Fearchar’s head went up at a whispered word from his wife. “Alfr,” she breathed at her first look of the man behind the mask. His skin was a cold pallor. He had no wrinkles, nothing to betray old age. His white hair was just a few shades lighter than his skin tone. His eyelashes, the same color, were feathery in their fineness. “What is she?” Fearchar asked. Then he felt the wrist stiffen in his hand. Brilliant green eyes snapped open.
Eoin sucked in his breath, adrenaline and fear hitting his system hard. He was trapped. He jerked his hand away from Fearchar’s grip and shoved them onto bare skin closest to the heart – Seonaid’s chest and Fearchar’s neck.
Fearchar and Seonaid found themselves adrift in sudden darkness before the wailing of terror and death deafened them. Smoke and the stench of burning corpses seared their sinuses. Their hearts raced painfully. Sweat broke out across their skin. Flashes of torture scored their minds. Deep voices shouted at the screams of terror. Witch, whore, warlock, devil, harlot were all insults thrown out at them as sharp stones.
“Stop!…Please!” a soft tenor voice called out in the foreboding darkness. “Please, don’t!” It continued wailing. A gust of wind circled their legs. “Please, I beg you.” Tears ran down their faces in torrents. “Please, don’t kill me, please,” the voice begged. They dropped to a solid black surface.
“I won’t kill you! Where are you?” Fearchar called into the hollow void. The floor fell out from under them. They tumbled back into their bodies. Their hearts raced and skipped painfully in their chest as cold chills burned across their shoulders and lungs.
The house came into focus. Seonaid shivered and sat back from Eoin’s face to cross her arms over her chest protectively. Fearchar pondered the trembling hand in front of him. Glittering green eyes that glowed against pale skin dripped tears.
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