Formatting is a little off, so where it looks weird, it's probably because it was either centered or indented strangely on the page.
For those who would like to have some idea of context before reading this:
Spoiler
Altan has been addicted to amphetamines for a few months, and, after his mentor told him he was proud of him, Altan tried to get off the 'poison' to prove to himself he wasn't addicted. We left off with him experiencing withdrawal the scene before this. Ezra is in an ongoing process of trying to win Layra over, and Layra is Maynard's daughter. Diana is a whore from another city whom Altan whisked away; she likes him, but he's terrified of her after she stabbed him in the back at Maynard's command (Maynard has been manipulating and flattering her for a long time). Right now Layra, Ezra and Diana are attending a celebration held in in honor of the king's visit.
~~~~
Five, six, seven, eight—the beat of the music accelerated, and Layra laughed as Ezra twirled her around. The music pulsed and the light flickered all around them, flashing brightly whenever Ezra moved out of the way and Layra squinted to look at his face. In the mass of people, nobody knew they could not waltz and even fewer recognized Layra enough to shy away from her. Layra didn’t notice those who did, her eyes fixed upon the face of the man who had escorted her, Ezra Silas Huffrey. The music swelled and swayed with each new beat, riveting through the air, but it sounded muffled to Layra, far away from the space between she and Ezra and the rhythm of their feet. The bright lights behind Ezra seemed to furnish everything she laid eyes on, creating a luminous hue around Ezra’s shoulders, the wooden poles extending up into the high ceiling, even the bodies of others dancing around her. She forgot where her feet were going, forgot the time, didn’t notice how the rain had stopped outside and given way to a calm night freeze.
“The snowflakes look like stars,” Ezra suddenly said, his voice cutting clear through the other noises in the hall.
Layra looked up with a touch of surprise and spared a glance for the window, smiling a little at the white gems floating outside in the darkness. “They do…” she whispered, and then laughed lightly, looking down at her feet. “I—I guess you just get used to them after a while,” she stammered.
“Used to them? Why, when I find something beautiful, I never get used to it,” Ezra said. Layra felt his eyes on her, but she thought nothing of it, just nodding shyly. “Layra,” Ezra began gently, guiding her slightly away from the majority of the massive crowd. “What does a girl like you think about falling in love?”
Her heart jumping, Layra swallowed hard, keeping her eyes fixed on her own shoes; Ezra moved a little and she ran into him, her face suddenly buried in his chest. Sneezing at the stench of his clothes, she stumbled backwards, but Ezra held her firmly so she wouldn’t fall. Layra blinked, taking one hand from Ezra and wiping her arm under her nose before giving him back her hand. Ezra looked at her arm with a touch of surprise, but Layra didn’t notice. “I—um—well, I guess every girl has thought of what it would be like to fall in love… but I’ve rather given up,” she admitted, sniffling as another sneeze lodged itself in the back of her throat.
“Give up?” Ezra asked incredulously, taking out his handkerchief and wiping the mucus off of Layra’s arm with an ever-pleasant smile. “Why would a beautiful young lady like yourself give up on being in love?”
Layra laughed nervously, blushing when Ezra wiped off her arm. “Well, being the daughter of a mad, power-hungry lord dampens a girl’s hopes.”
“I think daughters of mad, power-hungry lords are irresistible.”
“Oh, shut up,” Layra shot back playfully, unable to help her lopsided smile as he twirled her around once more. “You’re just saying that to make me blush.”
Ezra grinned. “Guilty as charged. It’s pretty when you blush,” he told her, twirling her around completely and then drawing her close to him. Unable to think of any good response, Layra just looked up at him with a reluctant smile. “But really, daughters of mad, power-hungry lords are irresistible.”
“And why is that?” Layra asked, cocking one eyebrow at him as he twirled her again and she watched her dress fan out around her knees, folding further than it should across her legs and then hanging naturally.
“Well, to an extent, they are mad and power-hungry. Hey—ˮ Ezra grasped Layra’s wrists tightly when she suddenly tried to jerk away, heat flooding her face in an immediate surge of anger. “Let me finish,” he instructed, holding her there facing him and enduring her glare as he continued. “Or rather they are mad from the madness of their fathers, mad enough to drive me madly in love.”
Layra stared up at him, quivering. “Did—did you just say that you loved me?”
For a minute or so, Ezra paused, looking more than a little flabbergasted himself, but, finally, a massive smile broke out over his face and he held her hands more gently. “I do believe I just did. Funny. I had to think back myself.”
“So… you didn’t mean it then?” Layra breathed, biting her tongue once the words had escaped. Layra lowered her eyes.
Ezra did not respond at first, leading her through the dance in silence; he felt warmer, a little tenser and Layra heard him clear his throat before he spoke up again, his voice more tentative than before, the playful tone more forced than she remembered. “Well,” Ezra chuckled. “I suppose I’d have to… psychoanalyze myself to come up with an answer to that question, so… I can’t really say, I guess. I mean, I did say it. But—well, you know how people are.”
“Yeah,” Layra whispered. He twirled her around again, and Layra bit her lip, silently berating herself for asking him if he meant it; as she recalled his words, her heart sank within her chest. Yes, she knew how people were. Sighing, Layra waited until the song ended before she gently pulled away from Ezra, giving him a polite smile. “Thank you for the dance,” she breathed.
“What? Not another?” Ezra asked, frowning.
Layra glanced towards the clock and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the time. It was almost midnight. Altan should be here. “No... I mean, yes. I mean, my cousin should be here now. I need to find him,” Layra said, looking up at Ezra almost apologetically as she laced her hands behind her back. “I—I’m sure Diana would love to dance with you.”
Ezra’s face fell, but Layra did not allow herself to lament the lack of a smile on his lips before she turned around and shouldered her way through the crowd (I can still remember…), forcing her way out into the lobby of the guardhouse. Altan was supposed to come find her when he got here—why hadn’t he reached her yet? Layra gazed around the guardhouse, standing alone as people walked in convoluted paths to keep a safe distance from her. Too panicked to notice the stares, Layra darted towards the door, pushing her way out of the guardhouse and facing the throngs of people, scanning the crowd for Altan. Altan would never leave her alone here… and he was never late when it mattered. And she mattered. Altan thought she mattered. (…that playing with the fire too long burned them, and destroyed me…) Squinting through the rain, Layra stood out in the street, gazing around her in hopes of catching a glimpse of Altan. Nowhere to be found. A deep frown curved Layra’s lips and she shivered as the rain ran down her arms and soaked her dress. Breathing heavily, Layra lifted her head a little and gripped the bottom of her dress, picking her way delicately along the street. (…unaware of what they were doing…)
Layra wiped her stringy hair out of her face as rain poured down upon her. Her mind rushed with a thousand horrible things that could have happened to her cousin. She knew something was wrong with him. But surely he would tell her if something was wrong. Layra drew in another heavy breath, struggling to see ahead of her through the downpour of rain. Lessa wasn’t safe at night. Layra picked up her pace. She’d left Ezra. Ezra said he loved her… but surely he didn’t mean it. Her heart racing, Layra trudged up the steps of Katol’s house, coughing and shivering from the freezing snow and rain as she unlocked the door and opened it. Warm light greeted her and she closed the door behind her, gazing around the empty living room. She leaned against the door, catching her breath, her drenched brown dress clinging to her skin.
A crash resounded below her in the basement. Layra stiffened, opening her eyes; slowly, she crept away from the door, a nauseating stench suddenly overwhelming her. Coughing, Layra winced and froze when she saw vomit on the carpet near the fireplace. Her heart rocketed. Layra stepped slowly towards the open door into the basement. “Altan?” she called in her quivering voice. The air responded with the faint echo of her voice. “Altan!” she shouted again. Trembling, Layra started to descend the stairs, holding onto the railing tightly. Still, all was silent. “Altan!” she called once more, making her way down the stairs slowly. (…unaware that seers can only see so much before...)
Layra stepped down into the basement and squinted. Her heart stopped for an instant. She sucked in a breath.
(i am blind)
The guardhouse swam before her eyes and Diana stood near the wall as she watched the people—noble and orphan alike—dance, all in one giant mass of elaborate costumes and rhythmic waltzing. It was impossible to distinguish individual people from the crowd, and Diana was content to watch, the static heat emanating from the mass of people making her dizzy. A cold breeze wafted in from the door, piercing the humid atmosphere Jared and his men had created in the guardhouse. The king was still nowhere to be seen; Diana hoped she would not have to meet the extravagant man she had heard so much about. Altan was supposed to be here by now; he had said he would come and rescue her if any of the young men in the guardhouse had gotten carried away dancing with her.
Her heart pattering in weak excitement, Diana sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. Every man who asked her to dance she had turned down, waiting for Altan to show up. And now he wasn’t here; Layra had gone to retrieve him. She hoped they would be back before the night was entirely over. Diana had been to celebrations before, but the classy music Jared had trained the street musicians to pull off sounded nothing like the pulsing music she was used to and, as filthy as the floor of the guardhouse was, it was better than her former home in Eldaroy.
Tapping her fingers with the music against the wall behind her, Diana smiled at another cold breeze, resting the back of her head against the wall and breathing in the fresh air. All of Lessa had been dressed extravagantly; any visitor would think that it was a city made entirely of nobles and wealthy families. Any outsiders would be impressed. Diana just felt uncomfortable; the young men in elegant suits who had come asking her were the same young men she had seen in rags only days before. As the men donned a new identity, they also donned a façade entirely their own. The façade was charming sometimes, hearing them try to perfect their words out of street-wise accents, but it was a façade nonetheless and in a few weeks, they would be back in rags, crude and grinning at their one-night glory.
Diana brushed her hair behind her ear. (these things i remember…) Suddenly, a hand shot out and gripped Diana’s wrist; she gasped in surprise, her eyes flying open and her heart lurching forward when she saw a smiling, older man standing in front of her. Brown hair, that face. Diana could feel her throat closing up with a strange mixture of excitement and bitter loathing. “You look lovely tonight,” the man said in his smooth voice. “We have not spoken in a long time.”
She tried to swallow, but she only choked on her next breath, her skin crawling as the man led her forward away from the wall. Lord Maynard Kellan. All the words died on her tongue, her lips quivering too badly to make a sound. “What—what do you want?” she stammered, clenching her fist trying to pull away from him.
He looked at her with a touch of confusion. “I want to dance with you. That’s why you were standing there, wasn’t it? Waiting for a dance?”
“Y—yes,” Diana whispered. “But—ˮ
“But you were waiting for someone in particular,” Maynard finished for her with a wry smile. When Diana stared at him in surprise, he laughed and touched her face. “Darling, he’s not coming.” Before Diana could protest, Maynard continued, still smiling. “Do you really think he would come after you stabbed him in the back? He won’t come for you. But I will, dear. Do you know how to waltz?”
Her voice stolen by Maynard’s strangling words, Diana only managed to nod dumbly, her entire body trembling as Maynard led her out onto the dance floor. (…all smashed to pieces, a story caught in this burning cloud…)
“Altan!” Layra shouted, choking off a cry as she sprinted forward from the staircase, her heart thundering when she saw him, her cousin. Lying on his side on the floor and breathing heavily. Gasping, Layra fell to her knees next to him, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. “Altan!” she shouted at him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking. Altan coughed, his face damp with sweat and dark circles shadowing his eyes. “What happened?” Layra cried, helping him to his knees. As soon as Altan climbed to his knees, he doubled over, retching dryly, and Layra stared with wide, terrified eyes, gripping his shoulder with one quivering hand. She could feel his skin burning up beneath her fingers. “Altan?” she murmured. Altan wheezed, covering his face with one hand. Tears streaming down her face, Layra looked past Altan’s shoulders, freezing when she saw a vial lying on the floor with a long needle attached to it, only half full of a strange, clear liquid.
One, two, three. One, two, three. Diana didn’t really know how to dance, but she followed Maynard and he led her one, two, three. Her heart beating, dancing in her chest, with terror and exhilaration. Eyes that had once commanded her to betrayal, a face that smiled all too easily at her cries… and yet that peculiar admiration in his face made her heart to beat out of control. What are you doing, Diana? Why are you even here? A sharp pain stabbed through Diana’s chest, but she didn’t run. Did she even want to run? They danced faster, faster, faster.
A sick, cold feeling coiled up in Layra’s stomach as she watched the vial roll slowly over the basement floor. About a month. For about a month, Altan had not slept. And those circles under his eyes, his strange reactions. She remembered the girl in the sparkling pink dress, how Altan had disappeared into the basement. A few tremors set inside Layra’s bones and she bit her lower lip, heat rushing into her face as anger joined her fear. Altan wheezed painfully, and Layra looked down at him, furious tears leaking down her cheeks. How dare he? How dare he not tell her? The poison—of course. He was a chemist. He hadn’t roamed the streets as much lately. When it wasn’t one obsession, it was another.
Her entire body felt stiff with indignation, but she wrapped her arms around Altan anyway, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and letting the tears flow as she held him close to her, listening to his violent gasps and feeling his each and every shudder. He was only getting warmer, damp with sweat, but Layra held onto him anyway, trembling even as she hugged him.
One, two, three.
Spin!orisitTwirl?
Three, two, one. Diana’s feet ached. Pain spread through her soles; Maynard gripped her hand too tightly; she looked at his strong arms with a touch of fear. Fear like a bitter mire. (…See…) And she winced. Her heart. Beat. Fast, faster, faster. Layra didn’t wipe away her tears. Diana spun, spun, twirl. Dizzy—lightheaded and confused, some part of her burning. (…THE SMOKE; THE STARS FALL DOWN…).
“Layra…” Altan’s voice like bitter ashes. Ashes in the burning sky. Diana spun, breathless, unable to fill her lungs with enough air.
No answer; Layra could not summon up her voice. She hugged him a little tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. Ezra wondered where Layra had gone, standing alone in the mass of dancing people. In elaborate costumes while Jared showed the king around. The king wore an embossed smile like he was a wax figure of a great, deceased ancestor. Layra bit her lower lip, wishing she wasn’t so angry. Diana spun, twirled, her wrists starting to ache. The p.u.l.s.e. guiding her every step—not escaping the rhythm, rhythm faster the closer you get to the bottom. It’s the law of gravity, but people don’t fall at a constant velocity. Diana spun. Ezra watched; he did not know the man who twirled her so fast. (…FALLING UNTIL…) Altan relaxed a little, still shaking; Layra kept biting her lower lip, tears leaking down her red-flushed cheeks. Her perfect world fallen to pieces in her cousin's broken body.
(UNTIL THERE IS…
Nothing left to confess.
niente)
~
Yes, my narrator broke out the caps lock on me.
Anyways, I know this piece is pretty much confusing without some backgrounds on the characters, but what impression do you get on the characters from this portion? Is the narration deterioration effective? Any overall style/pace issues?
I value any and all suggestions, critiques or just general impressions. Keep 'em coming. ^_^
