Four Sisters At Hallowmas [Fiction]

Like a call from the great beyond, her soft, hoarse voice always found me.

It was that time of the year again when we came out to search.

Lyrasthru often rose first, her optimism shaking our stillness like a minimal earthquake within our wooden frames until we had no choice but to wake with her.

This year, our slumber felt so deep, like a dark and inviolable abyss that I missed the pull of our connection.

“Psst! Kalista, Arethria! Why do you sleep on so? Do you not feel my urging? Must I whisper like a thief in her own domain to announce a sight so wondrous that words alone cannot describe unless your lovely eyes behold them too?” She hissed.

I rolled my eyes and smiled even though she couldn't see it.

She did sound quite excited so I began to rise slowly. This effort usually took hours but my ancient curiosity had been stirred and so must my ethereal form hasten to answer.

Prickling pain rolled through my limbs, making me clench my teeth. This news had better be worth the discomfort.

“Dearest sister,” I called slowly. “I strive to rise as you bid. Forgive my reluctance but decades of waking at this time of the year has yielded nothing but heartbreaking disappointment. Pray, tell. What urgent news do you speak about?”

Her chuckle rang out like a victorious cackle, reverberating through the halls of the Scrolls Estate. The sound shocked Arethria and I into silence for a moment.

Lyrasthru was the eldest of us four sisters, of a sober temper and not inclined to mirth unless the moment truly warranted it.

“Do my ears deceive me or did our eldest sister just laugh?” Arethria asked, her chiming voice was a welcome sound, soothing the sting of my rushed awakening.

I pushed forward, fitting into my painted form upon the tall mural gracing the library wall. My vision was blurry for a moment before sharpening to take in Lyrasthru and Arethria standing beside the blazing hearth.

They appeared resilient and beautiful as though time had no effect on them. Oh, how I'd missed them.

“Sisters!” I whispered, stepping out of the mural with my arms outstretched. We embraced, our eyes closed and fore heads touching.

“Behold,“ said Lyrasthru, pointing to another mural leaned against the wall. “One of us is home! Rozarith is here.” We held our breaths as we approached it.

It was an oil painting of a pale, teenage girl in a yellow dress, dancing in a sunlit field. Her chestnut curls, full and bouncy around her lovely, oval face. My eyes traced her hands to the onyx ring upon her finger. It was her.

“Why does she not rouse like us?” Arethria asked, close to tears. “It's the night before Hallowmas. I feel her, do you not?”

I knelt before the mural, softly tracing the edges and surface with my fingers. Perhaps, she was too deep in her slumber or Heathson's magic still bound her.

Heathson's vile ambitions to own our father's lands and fortunes almost a century ago resulted in a war that nearly destroyed our town. His curse trapped us in his son's murals just as Arethria’s flaming dagger struck his heart.

His last words - “Until you are united side by side, you are eternally cursed to a lonely existence in these mural prisons.” A strange whirlwind blew us apart. We felt Heathson die that night but somehow his magic was alive.

Since then, our descendants kept on the search and at this time of the year, we would wake to see whether we had been united.

“Oh no!” I gasped.

“What is it? Speak, dear sister,” Lyrasthru urged as they both knelt beside me, gazing intently at the mural.

“It's a forgery.” My heart sank as I explained. “His magic is alive in…this thing!” I scratched the canvas from top to bottom, leaving deep claw-like marks. That effort alone drained my energy. I felt very tired.

Arethria sniffed softly as her tears fell. Lyrasthru scowled, her beauty twisted by an age-old fury that rattled the windows and doors. Books fell off the shelves onto the floor.

“Lets return to our rest, sisters,” I said, walking towards my mural. “May our bloodline fare better next year.”

By morning, our descendants would wake to the ruined painting and know that it was not our sister.

The Scrolls family would never be whole until the true Rozarith was found.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Halloween season and Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "one of us".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{Image credit: Wal_172619}