#my oc Carmilla | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scrivenerofchaos · 2 months

Text

Shadows of Faith 1/3

SUMMARY - In "Shadows of Faith: The Corruption of Sweet Carmilla," we follow the story of Carmilla, a devout young woman who anticipates a traditional marriage arranged by her parents. However, as her wedding day approaches, Carmilla's nightmares grow increasingly vivid and disturbing. She finds herself consumed by hunger in her dreams and haunted by the sensation of being watched. Amidst the chaos of her nightmares, a seductive voice calls out to her, whispering her name, "Carmilla." This voice belongs to Desdemona who reveals to Carmilla that she will eventually lose her faith, at which point she will be ripe for the taking.

Carmilla’s Nightmare

Carmilla relished in her morning walk around the Everhart family grounds. A grand estate, purposefully decorated for each season and occasion from Gregory, her father’s library to Genevieve, her mother’s painting studio to the classroom where she and her brother, Benjamin, were taught etiquette and culture of the world. Carmilla followed the well-trodden grassy path created from years of her foremothers footsteps. The sun warmed her deep skin, likened to the soil of Mother Earth. She glided her bare feet across the blades of grass and dirt to be cooled before taking another tentative step forward. Her house was a home filled with memories she’d cherish forever.

She wondered how she could feel at home on her fiancé, Irvine’s land. He was, “a fine young man,” according to her father. A stranger to her. She couldn’t help her thoughts turning to dreadful things. All the musing made her head spin. A sinking feeling formed in her stomach. These were not the butterflies she read about in her romance novels. It was a more familiar feeling. She was hungry.

She sat at the dining table. It stretched the length of the room. There were no decorations centered, there was nothing on the table at all - no plates, cutlery or crystal. She didn’t think it was odd, that her family were not in attendance. But the servants were nowhere to be found as well. The entire estate seemed devoid of people. She was alone and suddenly became aware of it.

Everything was still and quiet. Not even her old home made a sound, not a creak or settling noise. Carmilla struggled to remember how she got here, sitting at the empty grand table alone. Her memory faded, her skin still felt the warmed by the sun. She remembered that she was outside once. Why couldn’t she remember that?

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her. Nothing else mattered, she was starving. She made a move to leave the table, when she smelled the most delicious meal. A feast materialized before her, tempting her senses with its tantalizing aroma. She wanted nothing more than to take the food in her hands and bring it to her lips. In confusion, she hesitated, a fleeting thought came crossed her mind, how’d this get here?

The gnawing hunger roared in her gut. Without hesitation she took bite after bite, hardly chewing, hardly breathing as she gulped each morsel down, each tastier than the last. She felt she would never get full. The more she ate the greater the pain grew in her stomach. She was so hungry, the food intoxicating, she could hardly get a hold of herself.

A voice, velvety and commanding, pierced the silence, calling out her name, “Carmilla.” The voice was strong enough to break whatever curse compelled her to eat without sense. She pulled herself away from the plate.

There at the opposite end of the table, a dark figure sat, still and quiet yet their presence filled the room. The air was dense, heavy. Carmilla struggled to breathe. She couldn’t see the stranger’s face as it was shrouded in darkness, she felt the tingle of eyes watching her.

Carmilla swallowed the last morsel, before attempting to speak. She felt the urge to ask the dark visitor a question yet she didn’t know what. She whipped her face with a crisp white napkin made of cloth. As she returned the napkin on the table, a bright red stain caught her eye. She froze in confusion at the sight of it - it was blood.

In shock, she put her hand to her face and felt the congealed blood cling between her fingers, sticking them together, they formed ribbons as she pulled her fingers apart. She looked down at her plate as if that would grant her answers. That it did, in horror.

As she struggled to comprehend the gore before her, the stranger’s voice, resonating, a haunting melody like chimes in the wind, “Carmilla.”

The room smelled of fresh cut flowers. She felt a powerful urge to shift her focus on the stranger at the end of the table. Yet, She couldn’t break her gaze from the carnage before her on the silver platter.

She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. She shook her head in disbelief. “No, no, no,” Carmilla shook her head, covering her bloodied face with her soiled hands.

A familiar warmth enveloped her, “Carmilla,” sang her mother.

Her mother’s voice, a sweet escape from the hellish nightmare. She sat beside her daughter, eager to start the day, holding fresh clothes and water in hand for her, “my darling, Carmilla.”

Carmilla jerked awake, startled but grateful to be free of the deep sleep. The sun’s raze flooded her bed chambers. A look of relief washed over her beautiful sweaty face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Bad dreams again, my sweetling?” Her mother inquired, concern evident in her voice.

“Yes, but”, her mind losing the grip of the dream that felt more like a fading memory, “I can’t seem to remember it at all.”

”Ah, what a blessing then. We can focus on more important matters.” She set her daughter’s day clothes on the bed and poured a pitcher of warm water in the washing bowl. She gleefully continued, “We have wedding dresses to try on. They’ve just arrived this morning.”

Carmilla sat up slowly, the lingering fear of her dream made her feel sluggish. She felt the familiar feeling in her abdomen. She lifted her covers to reveal fresh blood staining her bed linen and sleep gown. Her mother, unshaken by the sight, did not hesitate to ring the bell for the servants’ assistance.

”Do not fret. We’ll get you freshened up.” Her mother assured her with confidence.

“I guess I won’t be trying on any dresses today?” Carmilla asked, disappointed.

”We can still peruse the selection,” she held her daughter’s hand, “You just rest. The first day of bleeding is always the worst. I will have the servants bring you your favorite.”

Her mother made a gesture to the servants without speaking a word. They moved in an organized fashion. They prepared a copper tub for bathing and fresh clothes for bleeding days.

She was served a plate of duck bacon, buttered toast with apple-cinnamon jam, freshly cut fruits and berries with black tea. Gazing at her food she felt a hint of nervousness but couldn’t remember why.

Her mother distracted her from her anxious thoughts, ”When you feel better, we can take a stroll around the grounds if you desire. Exercise is good for you, especially on your Moon-day.”

She recalled the serenity of walking, then the dreadful feeling returned as if anticipating the other shoe to drop. The emotion soon passed, fainter now and weaker, she focused on other matters.

She forced a weak smile, ”I’d like that very much.”

In the dressing hall, several rows of pearly white wedding garb displayed before them, waiting to be chosen by Carmilla. She and her mother studied the dresses intently before moving to the next. A servant follows them closely, writing down their comments about each garment.

”Number…34,” Carmilla paused, making sure the servant wrote it down before continuing.

”I love the lace trim on the bodice,” her mother commented, the servant feverishly writing.

”It’s a bit tight here,” Carmilla criticized.

“We’ll send it to the tailor, of course,” her mother reassured, she couldn’t find a bad word to say about any dress, she loved them all.

The mention of a tailor and Carmilla’s mind reeled with thoughts. Each trousseau felt like clouds beneath Carmilla’s fingers. This was everything she dreamed of since she was thirteen years old. She had libraries full of diaries, vision journals and scrapbooks packed with artist’s illustrations, poems from classic writers, and her own prayers detailing her perfect life to come; her perfect wedding, her perfect husband and perfect children. Choosing the perfect dress with her mother completes one task from the list of to-do’s.

Carmilla decided to do a combination of her mother’s wedding dress and something new. Her mother’s wedding dress, passed down for five generations, didn’t quite fit her body type. She had wider hips and a deeper bosom than her mother. The sense of style had changed over the years, Carmilla desired to make a dress of her own.

The dress would be tailored by none other than the bride-to-be’s best friend, Emily. She was more than an expert tailor, she knew every curve of Carmilla’s body as they were once interested in heavy petting on the long and lonely nights.

Emily’s affections couldn’t be returned by Carmilla. It was unclear if it was the pressures of tradition and religion, economic status, or the fact that Carmilla couldn’t see herself happily wed to someone who couldn’t give her children.

Her mother would say, “Have your fun with the girl now. When the time comes to make the family and your God proud, you must get married to someone who can provide for you as you provide them with future children.”

Emily is a tradeswoman. Carmilla is an Everhart. The Everharts amassed a great fortune from once being tradespeople several centuries ago. Now the family is a thriving business. Taking their special friendship seriously would be going backwards down the poverty line.

When Carmilla envisioned her perfect wedding, it was her betrothed that flooded her mind’s eye, not Emily. Her husband-to-be, is Irvine Quartermaine. A man her father approved of. He was of good stock, wealthy, and he’s a devout follower of Easis, like the Everhart’s. A perfect match for sweet Carmilla.

And yet, she desired nothing more than to be held by Emily again. She couldn’t shake the forgotten nightmare, she had grown accustomed to Emily’s support. The ill-faded dream slipping from her mind like smoke in the air. She couldn’t tell if the sinking feeling in her gut was from her cycle or the ill night visions. No, this aching was deeper, the pain lingered in the body, like the dull soreness of fatigued muscles.

She remembered the sleepovers of her younger days. Carmilla grew up sickly and bedridden most days. Emily would keep her company during those challenging times. They’d hold hands as Emily fed her because she was too weak to lift the spoon. When Carmilla woke up screaming, Emily would be there, holding her in her arms. She wondered if Irvine was as kind and gentle. He had to be, she dashed the thought of doubt, if he follows Easis’ teachings he has to be a good man. But what if he isn’t? Her stomach turned at the thought of her dreams being dashed. She closed her eyes and hurriedly plucked a pale bridal gown from the rack.

Her mother smiled happily before confusion appeared on her face, “This one, love?”

She nodded her head before muttering, “I don’t feel well,” and hurried out the room.

The day yielded to the night. Carmilla drank chamomile tea to soothe her nerves. The uneasiness of the day melted into the rhythm of night. Cicadas sang and the cool breeze rustled the tree leaves. She looked at her bed intently before making her way to the walk-in closet. She borrowed through a forest of hanging clothes to reach a wooden box. She knelt before it as if praying. She opened the box to reveal an aged charm. This trinket was handmade. She gently took the charm into her hands and hugged it to her chest.

“It was only one bad dream,” her mother’s solemn voice came from behind her.

“I haven’t lost faith like you,” she walked past her mother to her bed.

Author's Notes: My inspiration - "Write about the love you've always wanted," My sibling told me.