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She rubbed her head. While doing so she saw the black, inked letters on her arm reading "Hazel Edgar". Oh, yes, she recalled vaguely, that's my name.
Hazel began to walk around the room, not really remembering why she was there in the first place. It was cold and smelled awfully musty. She didn't like it. "Mother? Papa?" She called, hesitantly, opening the door. No response.
Outside this seemingly plush room was a very dark and dank stone hallway. Something that looked like it belonged to medieval Europe. Disgusted, she lifted up her hands. Those walls were filthy. At any rate, she began to walk forward, lifting up her elegant dress to avoid having it touch the ground.
She wasn't afraid of the dark so much as afraid of what was inside it. So she went back to retrieve a candle then was on her way, hazel eyes narrowed against the light. "Hello?" she called out, a little louder. "If this is some kind of joke, I will have my father involved!" she threatened. Though she couldn't quite remember who her father /was/. Maybe she hit her head.
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"Alan Morris?" He whispered to himself, "Oh of course that is my name." Alan chuckled quietly. The dusty air was hard on Alan's weak lungs. With caution Alan searched the room the he was stationed in. Candles all around along with dusy caked book shelves and an elegent door, unlocked.
One foot after another careful not stress the wood to much the man plucked a candle with a silver base from the note cluttered oak desk. Alan turned the beutifuly engraved gold door knob and made his was into the just as dusty hallway. The air was colder, the scent of dust and death filled the pitch black space. In the distance a faint glow could be seen, then followed a soft yet demanding voice called out.
"Hello?" It barked, something was called out afterwards but he couldn't quite catch it.
"Who's there? Why am I here?" He called out while coughing as he tried to breathe the stuffy air.
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"It's me," she replied, just as loudly. She turned a corner, dodging a patche of mildew, and walked into another bubble of light. "My name is Hazel," she said, raising her chin slightly. This man was certainly taller than she was. "Hazel .. Edgar."
She observed the man carefully. He certainly didn't look that bad.
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Not that she would have such knowledge anyhow.
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"No, I'm afraid. I fell asleep and woke up lying on a floor." She shuddred visibly. "And yourself, Mr. Morris?"
She could've continued the pleasantries for hours, but a loud bang somewhere down the path she'd just walked startled her. It sounded like a fist against wood, and it continued restlessly until the sound of the door splintering echoed throughout the hall.
She whimpered, her knees trembling, suddenly feeling like the candle wasn't enough light at all. "What was that? Was that a person?" she asked shrilly, starting to turn around. Hazel contemplated hiding behind Mr. Morris, when a clawed, bloody hand emerged for the darkness from around the corner. She didn't care to see the rest of it so she screamed.
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"I-I'm not quite sure mam," His words were choppy and disjointed. Exposed with a young lady behind his frozen body before him a hand--no not even a hand. Claws dripping with blood shined in the dim candle light as it appeared almost from no where.
A scream.
Alan Dared not move for risking Hazel's life was not an option. Peering back at where the hand emerged only blackness showed itself. Gone. Vanished. I must be going insane...
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She sighed. "I apologize.. I don't normally.." She shook her head, regaining composure. "Right. Perhaps we should secure some more candles, and hide out somewhere," she said assertively, starting to head down the hall again.
She faltered. It was dark. Very dark. "Er.. Mr. Morris, please lead on." She nodded, standing back to let Alan through.
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Alan cleared his throat "So miss, where shall we look first?" he asked as he passed small bits of what look to be a smashed wooden door, and of course a couple steps away a door frame stood with bared hinges. The doctor stopped and held the candle in the direction of the debris, found where our mysterious sound came from,"
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And then she lunged forward. "Ew, ew, ew," she gasped, flailing forward and falling facefirst on the ground. Darkness surged at her vision but she was still conscious. She curled up, arching her spine, starting to cry. She didn't like it here. She wanted to go home.
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I am starting to doubt my luck when it comes to traveling with Miss Hazel.
Alan set aside the dripping candle on a small class case and made his way to Hazel's curled up body. He stopped to think, staring at her postion and state of mind. He knelt down onto one knee and wrapped his hands around her petite torso.
"Pardon me Ms.Edgar," Alan spoke in a calm voice.
With great care Alan lifted Hazel bringing her to her feet but allowing her to lean against him. He continued to grip her narrow side hoping she wouldn't make her way back onto the floor.
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She was an Edgar. She was not weak. She had to stay strong and get out of this place, whatever it was.
"Right. Er..." she paused, out of words, before she inhaled and tried again. "We've got to keep moving. Maybe find some .. candles or something." The hallway in front of her seemed endless. She looked back at Alan. "Talk to me. Tell me about yourself," she said, trying to distract herself from the darkness and impossibility of it all.
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With his foot Alan shuffled wood debris from his path pondering on what he could possibly tell her about himself. "I am not one of you, I know that for certin," Alan muttered to himself. A sudden burning sensation came from his hand as the wax started to drip down onto his hand. "Ah! Heh..yes just a first degree burn," He chuckled painfully trying hard to hind any sign of pain.
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With his foot Alan shuffled wood debris from his path pondering on what he could possibly tell her about himself. "I am not one of you, I know that for certin," Alan muttered to himself. A sudden burning sensation came from his hand as the wax started to drip down onto his hand. "Ah! Heh..yes just a first degree burn," He chuckled painfully trying hard to hind any sign of pain.
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She peered into the room with the candle in front of her, then stopped when Alan chuckled. She took the fabric of her sleeve and wiped off the wax, wincing as if it physically hurt. She didn't know what a first degree burn was anyway.
She sighed. Her dress wasn't going to last long in this place. She continued in the room, for once quiet, fear pounding into her heart. She hated places where she didn't know what was inside, but if there was an exit, she wanted to find it. And fast.
"A doctor?" She guessed, not caring to look back at Alan, though expected him to know that she was addressing his occupation. She'd never heard if the classification of burns and whatnot, so if he knew it, maybe he was a medical man.
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Once again Alan set down the candle to examined the abandoned papers and quills. Unsatisfied with the nonsense he began to shuffle through the small drawers attached to the side of the desk. "Found two tinder boxes, a candle, and..." Alan's thought trailed of when the sight of two freshly stamped letters sat before him. He put down the new supplies and plucked the vanilla colored envelops from the shallow drawer. With the turn of his wrist the doctor inspected the other side of the thin envelops.
He glanced at his arm and back at the envelops, same ink, same names, still wet. "Miss Edgar," Alan didn't dare look away from the envelops.
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Without asking, she took the one with her name written in ink and opened the wax seal expertly with a flick of her long, pale fingers. She cast the paper envelope to the ground and read over the letter. The handwriting was the same as the ink written on her arm.
Hazel,
It's me, Hazel. I'm writing this letter to myself because I know after I drink this I will have forgotten everything. I also took the courtesy of writing my name on my arm. My name is Hazel Edgar. Where you used to live won't be important, but know this. You must find a way out of the castle, or at least find a way to survive. There are .. things here. I don't know what they look like yet, but they're here. I can hear them. There's also a man I met recently, his name is Alan Morris. He's a doctor. If you can find him, tell him your name is Hazel, maybe he'll remember. Keep him around. He might be quiet, but he seems useful. And remember, whatever you see in this place, you must stay strong. You are an Edgar. Don't give up hope.
The letter ended with a foreboding line of ink where a quill had been dragged down the paper, as well as splotches of black ink toward the bottom right side. Emotionlessly she tucked the letter into the front of her dress. This must be some sort of intricate lie. It must be.
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Alan,
Good to see you have finally woke up. I am writing this to you, or I should say myself, to tell you that I have this some sort of concoction that will relevantly make me forget everything. Better get writing then. As you can tell by the hand writing I have written my (your) name on my arm, thatās if you can still read your own hand writing. You arenāt the kind to worry so simply stay calm and remember all that you can about medicine; it will be a very big advantage for you and Ms. Edgarās sanity. Ah right this young lady you will need to come across is Ms. Hazel Edgar, part of the higher class of course. Not to useful now but later she will the key to surviving, donāt let your money differences get in the way of living. One last thing no matter whoā¦or should I say whatever you see donāt let it get to you. Protect Hazel with all your life she will-
The letter stopped as if someone fell asleep with the quill in hand. āI can hardly read the bloody thing, curse my doctor handwriting,ā Alan mumbled in frustration. The wheels in Alan's mind turned as he tried oh so hard to figure out what importance Hazel could possibly have.
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"We should keep moving," she noted as the candles seemed to dim simultaneously and she felt the crawling all over her skin. That and the gusty, cool winds only continued to strike up her fear. Also the candles were starting to get low.
She abruptly left the room, beginning down the hall again, her breathing a little erratic. She felt like something was watching her but she didn't know exactly what.
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Breathing, soft yet stressed. It was Hazel. āDo not take this the wrong way but,ā He stopped to think of the suitable words. āYou wouldnāt happen to be wearing a corset would you?ā A slight shade of pink glazed Alanās cheeks.
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"It's what I am expected to wear as an Edgar," she said, but even as she spoke the words the pointlessness of it all came up quickly in her mind. Ugh. She felt like she was losing herself. "Why?" she questioned.
They then came upon a door and she stopped, feeling the cool wood under her hands. It was locked. It wasn't a very finely made door, and its lock was rusty. She felt the handle under her fingers and an idea sprung into her mind. Maybe, if she could find something sharp -- a misplaced nail or chip of hard stone on the ground.. she looked up at Alan, though he seemed to be focused on something else.
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"Help me find something sharp. A nail or something, perhaps a stone might do." Given the conditions of the hallway, there were plenty of fallen stones and clumps of dirt that may yield a decently sharp stone.
She bent down, slowly (as the dress limited movement to the extreme) and searched for such an object among the dirt, dusting the stone herself. After a while, she came up with a flat rock that might be used for bashing something.
"Found anything?" She called, blinking away darkness.
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Suddenly to his side a dim glimmer of what seemed like rusty metal caught his attention. With prudence the doctor raised the shard of metal towards the candle to look over it more diligently. It was about the width of an average key and came to a razor sharp point.
He rolled the cold rusty pipe like metal in his hand as he strolled back to Hazel. āFit to your likings?ā Alan asked expressionless.
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She raised her arm high and hit the lock with the edge of the stone. After a few more hits, it groaned, weakened. She dropped the rock and then herself dropped to one knee. She inspected under the lock, braced herself, then jammed the sharp metal under the rusty lock. It didn't go far enough. She wasn't strong enough.
After several failed attempts and a frustrated sigh, she stood. "Have a go at it," she muttered to Alan. Technically, the pipe should've done it. Perhaps he could try.
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One final wrench and the locked clicked allowing the knob to move to its full capacity. He removed the pipe and placed it by the rock slab that Hazel used before. Using the frame as a support Alan got back to his feet and retrieved his candle. āAfter you,ā He whispered gesturing to the now unlocked door.
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