The blonde sat in front of her piano, drawing deeply on the euphoria that she held in between two delicate fingers. Her eyes were closed, all the candles in her room lit to shine light everywhere. Letting the smoke slowly release she opened them to enjoy the swirls of pink smoke wafting upwards. It was beautiful.
Reaching out to a small vial on the stained cherrywood upright, Darcy picked it up and held it to the light. A new drug that her current supplier promised would give her a high like nothing she’d tried before. Sunshine, the label said, with one instruction.
“Sure, why not.”
She muttered, pulling the stopper with her teeth and downing the bright yellow liquid inside with a grimace. It tasted terrible. Throwing the empty glass vial away with a small shattering sound, she put the blue cigarette between her teeth and stroked both hands over the keys.
This was her place, her escape from it all. Her truths laid bare on the keys as familiar as the scents of home. Pausing to put out the cigarette in a saucer on the piano top, she closed her swirling magenta-gold eyes and allowed her fingers to dance. Each intertwined note tied effortlessly into the next, building a bittersweet melody that sang her soul to the rafters. Blissful, heartfelt, her hands greeted the minors and the majors like old friends well met and loved. Her brow drew in with emotion, a million miles away. Idalos was a dream, and her dreams reality.
Did she feel? Really feel? Thoughts of Caius bled woefully into her mind, gripping her heart with a hitched breath of aching. Gone, he was gone. Why? Did she do this? Of course she did this.
You did this.
Beauty, Grace, Duty. What a poor example of Oliver’s written words she was. Venora was the shining example of what beauty should be, and yet, she was dirt. Soiled by her sisters rage, addicted to the mindless void of the drugs, a foul stain on their name.
The music flowed like so much light in the encompassing dark, and she clung to it. Held tight to it. The narcotic has kicked in, and she felt like she was floating. Soaring on the sharps and flats like birds on the wing.
Save me, Fates save me.
A sudden bright burst of pain stabbed through her head from behind, like a dagger plunged into her mind. Gasping, the pianist stopped her euphoric playing, clutching the spot with a grimace. It passed just as suddenly and Darcy stood shakily, putting her hand out to catch herself on the unbroken chair behind her as she felt herself stumble.
She slurred, taking a step and falling to her knees. Something was not right. Rolling to lay on her back in centre of the room, she stared at the ceiling with short shallow breaths of panic. Another searing pain gripped her head, so powerful she was unable to make a sound, back arched and face distorted in agony. She writhed on the cold stones, tears squeezing from tightly shut eyelids and teeth clenched. Her body convulsed. And again. Unrelenting the pain continued and the blonde lost all control of her body. Shaking violently, eyes rolled back in her head and jaw clenched so tight it hurt her teeth, the intoxicated Venora couldn’t draw a breath as every muscle in her body cramped and she convulsed.
It felt like arcs, dying to breathe and hurting in ways she’d never felt before. This was her end, not Pythera, ironically though in a way it was. Oliver would be so sad, and Caius? He had left, he didn’t care. No one cared.
The world began to go dark, her body stilled and muscles relaxed, eyes drifting shut.
Gasping for air and shaking, Darcy awoke with a start, coughing and spluttering. Fates, she wasn’t dead, but sarding hell...she hurt. Bursting into tears, head still swimming and every muscle aching in the after math of her fit, the Venora sobbed openly as she lay in her room. Still high but almost scared sober, the young musician used the furniture to pull herself off the ground, weak on her legs as she took a few short steps to fall into bed. Drawing the covers over her, the shaken blonde simply cried, curled into her pillows and waited for the drugs to pass from her system.
Did she sleep? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to tell. Sometimes her eyes shut but it was like pretending to sleep. They would open again, staring into the dark of the room. The candles burnt themselves out long ago, as the breaks ticked by. Eventually, it was morning. Eventually Darcy felt like she could move.
Everything hurt. Everything.
Rolling on her back with a groan, Darcy thanked the Fates and the Seven for the blessed freedom from her high. Never had she experienced something so awful on the drugs she used regularly. It was the Sunshine, it must have reacted with her system poorly. Either that or it reacted badly with the euphoria.
Closing her eyes with a sigh, the weary musician let the tears come, weeping silently and alone.
Alone. That’s what you’ll always be Darcy.