The Haunted Mansion. [closed]

[Faustus]

Donovan struggled to his feet. I mean really struggled. Donovan pushed himself up against the wall and slid up. The way he kept his right leg extended and gingerly touched his foot to the floor made it clear the leg was damaged. In a practiced motion, so identified by the fluidity of its execution, Donovan freed the blood from his blade by spinning it once before threading it through the mouth of his scabbard.

When Elowen touched her should to his, he smiled reassuringly before leaning off the wall and shifting his body onto the princess. She was delicate. Princesses were not often fed hearty foods and, aside from learning when and how to run away coquettishly, did not spend much of their time in strenuous labor. Elowen was dainty, frilly, pretty. Donovan was strong, and heavy, and so were his thick clothes and essential accoutrements.

Under normal circumstances would she had even looked his way? Donovan was not without his boyish charm but he was still so clearly a child, and had a chipped tooth on the right side that bespoke of a general air of recklessness. Under normal circumstances the fair Princess Elowen would have collapsed at the mere sight of the grungy boy and now, covered in the stink of fear and the stench of decay herself, Princess Elowen meant to carry the boy and herself to safety?

But these were no normal circumstances. Elowen was struggling for her life, the life of her hero, and the future of her kingdom; if even an ounce of what could be called noble blood filled the blush of her rosy cheeks, then the pride of her lineage would straighten her back and drive her knees and take them from this accursed spit of land.

It was a grueling process, demanding care and concentration. Stairs were the worst. The upward climb made Elowen's thighs burn and speckled her brow with perspiration; Donovan had a sheen covering his entire face, a pallid demeanor, and was now dragging his right foot behind him. But they made it. They made it out of the basement and into the reception area. He could actually see the front door.

"H-how dare you . . ." Slithered a voice from the stairwell on the right hand side. Periodic thumping heralded the descent of a man down a flight of stairs. The numerous, smaller, scattered accompanying thuds spoke of friends.

There Kaleb stood between the children and their only means of retreat from the haunted manor. The atmosphere was more gravid than just a few moments prior because just a few moments prior the room was lighter; the sun was beginning to sink, portending night.

Donovan whispered softly against her neck. "In my hip-pouch there are a few small cylinders. One of them has an F craved into one of its ends. Grab that one for me, put it in my hand."

"How dare you try and take her from me right out from under my nose!?"

[mire]

Elowen’s lack of physical strength and Donovan’s injuries doubled the time it would have taken them to escape. True to her word, the princess supported the bulk of her hero’s weight, and helped him take each debilitating step up the stairs. She too struggled with each step, as her earlier encounters with monsters and strange hallways had left her with very little energy. Nevertheless, she never once asked to stop, and even managed a smile for her hero whenever their eyes crossed paths.

“We are almost there,”

Somewhere along the way, Elowen had taken up the words as a mantra for keeping their pace, though slow, in constant motion. The two young people ignored the creaks and whispers of the mischievous house spirits, who were apparently uninterested in causing them harm or hindering their progress. Elowen, with one of her arms securely wrapped around Donovan’s waist and her hand flat against his stomach, all but refused to acknowledge anything else was with them. She concentrated all of her remaining energy on getting them to the top of the stairs, where the boy had promised her would only be another little bit of traveling before the two of them could be freed from the wretched mansion. She helped him up the last step, her pretty face covered with dirt, sweat, and bits of blood of mixed origin. She smiled up to Donovan, and very gently squeezed his side.

“We are almost there.”

Donovan nodded in agreement, and pointed with his chin the way to the door. With her heart wildly thumping in her chest, Elowen caught the faint glow of light, and nearly erupted in a fit of bubbling laughter. They were almost there! So close, so close to home; to see her land, her people, her parents, her young brother. If she could only go a little more, just a bit more, and all that she had lost would be restored. The burning sensation in her legs made it painful to take a step, but Elowen repeated her mantra to numb out the pain.

“We are almost there—“

The words had barely left her tongue when she heard his voice. That man, that terrible man that had caused it all—he was there to stop them. Elowen immediately began to shake, her expression frozen in sheer horror. She forgot all about Donovan’s injuries, and clung to him with panic-stricken desperation. With her eyes shut, she buried her face against his neck, and softly begged him to make it all go away.

“It’s him, it’s him…please not again!”

What he whispered to her held no meaning to Elowen. She could not comprehend the words, nor could she act in a timely matter. With Kaleb steadily approaching, Donovan was forced to use a harsher tone, forcing Elowen to snap out of her spell. With fumbling fingers, she searched for the vial he requested, her frantic fingers touching things the young hero would have probably never imagined would be touched. At last, she found the vial with the carved F, and shoved it in Donovan’s hand.

“Here! Here!”

Cowering, Elowen stood behind her hero.

[Faustus]

Elowen hung from his chest and shoulders, depositing onto the boy's already burdened shoulders the additional ballast of all her fears and doubts. He had to bend at the knees a bit and brace himself to support her weight without keeling over. If they had been by themselves in a neutral setting, alone in a meadow perhaps, Donovan would not have minded falling. But before an enemy, one wicked enough to inspire so debilitating an emotional response from the princess, it was of highest import that Donovan did not show weakness of resolve. Like a jackal, or a vulture, the villain was oft times nothing more than a simple opportunist with a nefarious slant.

The young princess began searching about Donovan's hips and waists for the trinket her savior designated. A slight blush crept into the young boy's face as Elowen proved to be as nearly as persuasive with her hands as she was frightened by the man. She soon found the treasure and, with a harrowed whisper, deposited the cylinder into Donovan's hands. This action snapped away the boy, who was still blushing from the princess's inadvertent touch, and brought out the warrior.

Kaleb stalked forward. His face was a grim mask of absolute desperation. They didn't understand. Even the girl, the object of his twisted affections, did not understand the true depth of his heart. They tried to make him a monster, tried so hard to pervert his intentions, but Kaleb knew he was pure and he intended to show them.

No matter what it took.

Kaleb's hand dropped, the sleeve rolled up high to the elbow. Black tar oozed from sores and self-inflicted wounds, covering Kaleb's arm in a lacquer. The casing hardened, then elongated into three sickly talons extending from that selfsame limb. So sharp that they cut parallel grooves along the ground from just barely skimming across the top of it.

Red and orange tongues blossomed from behind Kaleb, with force enough to push him off the ground and toss him against the wall opposite, with force enough to send a shower of splinters to rain against the fair princess's skin, and then thunderclap that followed made the whole manor groan and sway.

Donovan dropped to the ground the gutted remnants of his spell shell and the dagger he'd used to carve the crystal out of it. His sword was sliding along the ground while the boy himself ran at full sprint (about half speed as what he's shown himself capable of, due to injuries) and buried himself into Kaleb's back just as the man was gathering his wits and coming to a stand.

Boy and man both were driven through the nearest wall and the wall after that, by the sound of it.

Now Elowen was alone. She had at her feet Donovan's sword. The staircase had been blown to smithereens, the goblins Kaleb had summoned to his aid likewise smitten, and the manor suffered a gaping wound through which five of the princess could walk through shoulder to shoulder.

A minute later only four of them could have made it through. A minute after that and the opening was smaller still.

[mire]

Fear drained Elowen’s spirit, stole her energy, and paralyzed her body. She stood, unmoving, where Donovan had left her and was only vaguely aware of the tiny wounds the splinter rainfall had caused on the left side of her body. Her big eyes, glazed over by passivity, were fixed on Donovan’s increasingly remote figure. He was moving away from her, but she could not follow, because that man was there too. That disgusting man, the one that had ripped her out of her reality and into a nightmare she was bound to remember for the rest of her life. Weakly, she shook her head as a sudden thought emerged through the ribbons of her reasoning. Slightly less scared than a minute ago, she took one step toward where her savior and oppressor were battling out her fate, her mouth widening as she prepared to scream.

“Come back…” She croaked out, suddenly remembering she could attract the attention of that man or other creatures if she was any louder. “Come back…!”

It was useless to fight him. They just had to leave; they could hide, and wait until later to make their escape. She had to get Donovan’s attention, and get him to somewhere safe—well, somewhere relatively safe. If she could only…

There was an explosion of sorts, the mansion shook, and Elowen fell to the ground on her hands and knees, right over Donovan’s sword. Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbows, and instantly recognized the weapon as that of her hero’s. With great difficulty, she managed to sit up, and cradled the sword awkwardly against her body. It was something of his, and that gave her a very small comfort.

After recovering a little bit of her spirit, she looked around and noticed that Donovan, that man, his gross minions, and a good portion of the mansion were all gone. With that man removed from the immediate premises, Elowen regained more of her clarity of mind, and quickly shot to her feet. The faint glow of a residing light caught her eye, and she watched as freedom lay but just a few feet away. Elated out of her mind, she started heading that way, big heavy sword and all, and just about reached the opening when she witnessed it decreasing in size.

“No!”

With all that was left of her energy, she sprinted forward, and managed to step underneath the opening when it was big enough to let three of her pass through shoulder to shoulder. All she had to do was go a little further, and she would be safe and out of that wretched mansion! She hesitated, the sword in her hands a constant reminder of what she was potentially leaving behind.

“I’m almost…”

Donovan’s sword hung from her hands, heavy and much too difficult for her to carry. Big, thick tears started to fall from her eyes as she turned to look back, where Donovan was nowhere to be found. She stood underneath the opening that grew smaller still, her vision blurred by the tears. He had to come out with her, she couldn’t go without him. In between sniffles, Elowen reached for that last ounce of her inner strength, and called out to her hero:

“DONOVAN! COME BACK! COME BACK!”

She shouted, forgetting all about her fears and reservations for making noise. He was more important than fear.

[Faustus]

Donovan was fast. Too fast for the likes of Kaleb. The boy popped the man twice on the nose in rapid succession, making Kaleb's eyes water, but Donovan was just pawing at his target. He meant business with the right-hand cross-over hook, however. Business like a sack of rocks that lined up real pretty with Kaleb's jaw and half-way liberated one of Kaleb's teeth from the pernicious hold of his gum line.

Kaleb took a step back. Eyes watering, mouth dribbling blood and spit, tooth hanging over his lip attached by a few feeble strands of nerve fiber. Donovan had his hands up, ducking and weaving and moving around while he kept his eyes on Kaleb.

"Alright. So you know how to dance. Is that why she likes you? Does she think I don't know how to dance too?

Kaleb shook his hand; like muck sliding off a greased pan, the hardened ooze that formed his sinister talons sluiced off and splattered on the ground and against the wall. it looked like an ink blot, or so Donovan mused, and he made a mental note to stay away from that corner. Who knew what a guy like that had up his sleeve.

Donovan blinked and suddenly Kaleb filled up his vision. Donovan felt Kaleb's fist persuading his stomach, and quite convincingly, to fold in against his fist. So it did. Donovan bent at the waist and a sound like a soft sight escaped his lips. Kaleb straightened him out with a shot to the nose and gave him a beeline with a straight right that sent Donovan stumbling backwards.

Now the boy's eyes watered, and blood trickled down as a branch of streams that ran down his cheeks, lips and chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, sniffed up the excess in his nostrils, and squared his eyes at Kaleb.

Kaleb was smiling. Crooked, rotten teeth, breath steaming between the too-many gaps like sewage ventilation, his skin pale and mottled, eyes yellowed; the whole thing reeked of disease and squalor. Donovan was panting hard. His body ached, especially where the Minotaur had given him a brand new set of wounds. The potion was working its magic but it wasn't miraculous and he had made it himself with the Herbology knowledge he picked up at the Gaian Academy; didn't even know if it'd work all the way.

"Alright then. Whatever."

Kaleb was on him again but Donovan was ready for it. The boy became formless. All art, all grace, left his limbs. Kaleb planted a fist into Donovan's face and Donovan ate it, while reaching around Kaleb's waist with both of his arms. He landed the same punch into Donovan's stomach as he did before, the guy was too formulaic. When he came with the overhand right, Donovan ducked his head to one side, tucked his shoulder under Kaleb's arm pit and lifted his arm straight up, tightened the circle around Kaleb he made with his arms and then set his legs.

With a tremendous effort, Donovan tensed his entire body and arched backwards. He lifted Kaleb clean off the ground, kicking and screaming, and slammed him into the floorboards headfirst and with no meager backing. Kaleb, dazed and confused and with a broken jaw, tried to scramble away from Donovan but before he could get away, the room lit up with sparks. A shower of sparks spraying off Donovan's body as electricity poured into and ran the circuit of his body.

The smell of burning skin began to fill his nose but Donovan ignored it. Kaleb's body began to seize up and chatter but he ignored that too. Donovan counted out a full minute in his head before he pried Kaleb off of his own body, strands of skin sticking to his clothing from the sizzling corpse.

Donovan lay on the ground with his face to the ceiling, panting harder than ever, absolutely spent. He was blacking out. He knew he'd faint before long and this filled him with dread a thousand times more potent than that of the corpse next to him. Kaleb wasn't the problem, he never was. Kaleb was a parasite. The house was the problem. If he didn't get out before sundown, he'd die.

"Elowen." He shouted as loud as he could, which wasn't that loud at all. "Elowen. I'm in here . . ."

[mire]

Elowen waited. Even as the bricks around her reformed to restore the walls that blocked her passage to the outside world, the princess waited for her hero to return. Part of her, the rational part that had resurfaced just moments prior, urged her flee with what remained of her life before it was too late. Her feet, despite all of the abuse they had suffered, itched to feel the earth of the plains of her home. If she only took a few steps more, she’d be free.

Go home.

How badly she wanted to go home. But she couldn’t go, not without the boy that had risked his life for hers. Though their time together had been brief, and certainly stressful, Donovan had grown to mean more to Elowen than she could properly articulate in words. She could not—would not—leave without him; so when the walls around her finished forming and threatened to crush her unless she moved, Elowen whimpered, and took two steps forward and out of the opening that had once meant her freedom. She did not glance back, and could only tell the hole was gone by the complete lack of natural light that had once seeped in through the destroyed wall.
For a long moment, Elowen stood motionless, her mind completely blank. This was it. Despite her strong convictions for staying behind, she had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do now. She was no warrior, no hero. She did not know how to do anything that could help her situation, and so, she continued to awkwardly stand in the middle of a darkened entryway, waiting.

The mansion did not seem particularly interested in her, or at least, not for the moment. She was left in relative silence, an occasional muffled cry or laugh breaking the bleak atmosphere and keeping her from succumbing to her exhaustion. At some point though, she heard something that sounded like her name, from a very weak voice, and nothing like the sounds she had heard up until now. There was a wild hope in her that maybe it was Donovan that had called her, but she hesitated to make any sort of reply. Shortly after, she heard only the cries and laughter of the mansion’s creatures, and wondered if her mind was losing its integrity after all that had happened.

I’m in here…

There, more words, just as faint and different as before. Slowly, she looked around, and focused her tired eyes in the direction she thought the words might have come from.

“Do...novan?”

There was no reply.

“Donovan?” She tried again, this time with more force. Still, no reply.

It was probably her mind playing hopeful tricks on her. It was best if she just….what, did nothing like always? Elowen shook her head, irritated by her complete and utter helplessness. Was this really how she was going to spend the last hours of her life, wondering if her name had been called? She looked down at the sword that hung heavily from her left hand, and was suddenly filled with a reckless desire to wield the weapon, like a hero.

Before the burst of energy could dissipate, or her rationale could object, she started forward, dragging her feet and sword toward where she was just sure Donovan had called her.

It had to have been him, she had to believe it.

When she was closer, she called out his name again, and she continued to do so, over and over waiting for Donovan’s voice to answer her back.

[Faustus]

Darkness enveloped him in a stifling embrace, crawling along his arms and legs with sharp, sickly fingers and pressing clammy hands against his eyes and mouth. Donovan was falling into that mindless void and he knew it and it scared him. He was a brave boy, one of the bravest and strongest and most resourceful around, but that didn't prepare him for death any more than any other living being. He was not afraid of death so much as of dying, and this was not the way he wanted to die; alone, in a cursed house, to be stripped of his flesh and bone, maybe played with for a little while before his body couldn't take it anymore and he just gave up.

But really, we all die alone.

Donovan wanted to roll around. To get his blood pumping, or maybe he thought if he kept moving then he'd be less inclined to going numb and dark. But his last show of galvanizing strength sapped him of almost all vigor. He had an itch on his nose and he couldn't even get his arm up to his face to ease the irritation.

He took a deep breath and let it out, hoped for the best, expected the worse, and was just about to resign himself to whatever hell lay for him in the short while before sunset, when something of etheric beauty skipped across his mind and sent ripples of hope across his body.

"I –" Donovan noted how pitiful his voice was, and failed to put any more strength in it; he had no more to give. "I'm in here . . ." Hardly above a raspy whisper; was his hope nothing more than Fate's final attempt to break his spirit?

"Elowen!" There it was. Vibrato. Fear. Force. "I'm in here."

Donovan struggled to his feet and it sent his world spinning on three axes. His mouth was cotton dry and tasted like copper; blood. A heat behind his eyes made it hurt to keep them open, but he knew if he fell to the ground that getting up again was more distant a hope than before.

"The sword! Swing the sword against the wall with all your might!"

[mire]

Elowen stumbled through the debris Donovan and Kaleb’s struggle had caused, all the while shouting her hero’s name. She dragged his sword behind her with both of her hands while the mansion’s ghoulish inhabitants surrounded her, taunting her with promises of a swift and sweet death that would soon be delivered. She paid them no attention, having realized that despite their threats, they were not going to cause her harm. From what they said, it seemed something else was going to deliver her death, but that was something best left aside until it could no longer be ignored. For now, all that mattered was that she found Donovan, and the rest would take care of itself.

Armed with that unbreakable determination, Elowen increased the speed of her movements, coming to a slight jog that she interrupted with short breaks to catch her breath and shout out Donovan’s name.

“Donovan! Where are you? Donovan!”

Elowen! I’m in here.

It was him! Elated, Elowen followed the raspy sound of her name on her hero’s lips. She came close enough to see his silhouette, battered and on the brick of unconsciousness, and let out a whoop of a laughter. Their situation remained as dire as ever, yet Elowen’s mouth curved up, and her eyes watered with what just absolutely had to be the last of her tears.

“Donovan, I am so—“

She did not get a chance to finish, or move any further. He feverishly commanded her to swing the sword she dragged against the wall of the mansion, using all of her might. Confused, Elowen looked to him, then to the sword in her hands, and the wall beside her. She shook her head, and had started to move towards Donovan when their eyes locked again and she saw in them his desperate need.

She had to do as he requested, right now, where she stood. If she hesitated a moment longer, she would sign their lease as permanent residents of a haunted mansion. If she wanted to live, she would have to be a hero. It was up to her to get them out.

Elowen gave Donovan a firm nod, and forgetting all about the limitations the frail body of a princess imposed, she brought the sword she still held on both hands as hard as she could against the mansion’s nearest wall. She remained there, gripping the sword that was inches deep into the wood, and prayed for their lives.

[Faustus]

Donovan regained his strength at a steady pace. That final cry, one of desperation, showed the boy just how much vigor he had stored up inside of him when fear came prying apart the floorboards and decided, then and there, that he did not want such a despicable emotion determining his lot in this life. From sheer exertion of will, mixed with just a tiny dash of the rejuvenating effects from his stopgap potion, Donovan managed to teeter on his feet, looking so much like a boy on stilts for his uncertain steps, and watched Elowen as she plied all of her strength into burying his blade into the wall.

He said a prayer, though incantation was likely a much more fitting word, and the sword blossomed out in beautiful nuances of color and heat. Another gaping wound, this one closing more rapidly than the last one, glared at them from the house's side. Even at a gradual pace, with Elowen shouldering Donovan's weight and Donovan limping along, they were able to step through the hole and out onto the lawn just as the sun was winking out of sight. Donovan insisted on haste until they were outside of the courtyard as well, but after that it was easy street.

The moment they arrived at the castle, boy and girl were besieged with whispers a mix of awe and repulsion, questions flung at them from every mouth and pair of eyes in sight, handmaids and servants doting on them. It was, of course, not at all acceptable that they enter in league with one another, particularly so with Donovan so heavily depending upon and straining the young princess's delicate frame, so Elowen was thoroughly cleaned and pampered before seated at the throne to her father's left. Where Donovan had his face toweled clean and was given a stick to hobble his way forward.

Donovan did not mind this. He had seen more than one odd custom in more than one odd kingdom and this one was on worse than the rest. He smiled wide and beamed brightly, happy just to be alive and to have shown them all that a boy was just as good, sometimes better, than a man.

"If you want of anything, champion, merely say the word." The king's voice did not echo in the hall, but rather suffused it.
"Just a couple of day's rest in a soft bed, a few meals, and maybe a book or two to get me through the days would be nice. A doctor if you have one, a needle and thread if you don't."
"It is done."
"Can I say just one thing?"
The king smiled; pleasant, and plastic. He expected this. Not that he held it against the boy, but champions came at a price and the price was not steep. He'd negotiate a little and everyone would be happier for it. "Yes?"
"You have a very brave daughter. She came back for me when she was as good as free. It takes guts. Shucks, I oughta know. If I were you, I'd be proud to be her pops."
The king smiled again, this one real, and glanced sidelong at Elowen. "I am. Thank you."

[end thread]

[mire]

Elowen’s ordeal ended in a blur. She remembered rushing to Donovan’s side, where she clung to him and feverishly promised him they would never be separated again. He said something back, but his words evaporated into history before her memory could record them. She remembered Donovan urging her to follow the faint glimmer of light that suddenly appeared, and to try and move them out of the mansion as fast as she could manage. Even as Elowen succeeded in the task, and had them out of the mansion just as the night settled in, she did not stop moving and continued forward. Whatever happened during their journey back to her homeland was completely lost to Elowen, who only realized she was back in her father’s kingdom when a rush of human bodies pulled Donovan’s weight off her and whisked her off to be thoroughly examined, cleaned, and wept over.

Though she was advised against it and it cost her a great deal, Elowen insisted on attending her father’s recognition of Donovan’s heroic deeds. She was carefully brought to her father’s court, where she was seated to his left. Her father dotted over his little girl, promising her the world and her eternal safety from now on, but the princess barely heard a word; her attention belonged to the boy that had saved her. He stood before her family, his blood still drying on his skin, his clothes dirty, his smile wide.

It was his smile that Elowen mimicked, just as wide and as full of joy. She had gone through the most terrible of times, had survived trials she never could have imagined possible, met the most amazing boy, done things princesses do not do, and was moments away from never seeing the love of her young woman’s life again—and yet Elowen smiled. She would never wish for the nightmare she had endured to repeat itself, but now that it was over, now that she knew she was capable of more than carrying a title bestowed upon her through her blood, she had become a much stronger person.

And it was all thanks to Donovan that she could say—well, think—those things. Now that she was back to her rightful position, sitting to the left of her father’s throne, she could not say the many things she had hoped to share with Donovan before their time together was done. He shared with her family and the whole court one of the greatest compliments of her life, one that would always give her strength in tough times to come. While a ferocious blush crept up her cheeks, and caused her father to believe his daughter was falling ill with a fever, Elowen moved down from the throne and stood before her hero.

Slowly, as to not upset the aching muscles of her back, princess Elowen bowed before Donovan. When she lifted her head, there was a smile on her lips, and she gave him two words that she hoped would forever stay with him.

“Thank you.”



[end for reals]