Imps of the Peverse.Mature

A totally different thing to my last story. This is a very breif story, influenced by romanticisim. Its about Wolfgang and Delilah. Brother and sister, lovers, freinds; you decide. This is about their distate for control.
PS; theres a shout out to one of my favourite books; PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER.

I could feel the cold seeping inside the walls. The moon’s shadow, as it peered through the frost covered glass in the window frame, illuminated barely half the small room. The moon’s luminous glimmer was distorted through the buildup of ice on the window. It was like shining a light through a window full of broken glass. An exquisite sight I mused, chuckling because I knew it was a sight left unappreciated by the realm of the ordinary.

It was quite a queer thing to watch my bed, swallowed by a solitary darkness, a darkness whose grasp became stronger as the night passed on. Conversely, Delilah’s bed shone, under the waning glow of the moon.



“Wolfgang you son of a bitch”

Delilah knew I was as awake as she was. We both knew she was waiting for my response. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reply to her, it was that I couldn’t.

The cold here made me sluggish. The icy air which almost stung the bare skin, weighed down heavily on my body. But I enjoyed it. I appreciated the way that winter, in its underestimated glory, reduced everything and everyone to nothing. I lay in the dark, smirking, at my own thoughts, which I knew Delilah shared.

It never ceased to amaze me, the indifference of the weather. Rich or poor, we are all cold in winter.  None can build towers high enough, or walls thick enough, coats woolen enough, to keep out the cold. We all find our lips chapped, and our fingertips numb in the wintertime. The cold, it dulls everything. It was a sweet penance, the way that the bitterly frozen winds carried away the remnants of the seasons before her.

“It had to be done,” I whispered perversely.

Delilah groaned. I knew her feeling. The cold too, weighed down on her. Our minds urged us to roll over, and face each other, but our bodies felt otherwise.

It was spontaneous. We didn’t plan it, although, we both knew our occupation here was a prelude to it. Lye and I never spoke about how much we missed our lives before this. As much as I delighted the solitude that Lye and I exerted on each other, this solitude opened the flood gates of senseless feeling. Hapless to our own emotion, it guided and directed our every thought.

We were not like the other students here. They were happy to be locked away, in this desolate home. They were more than content to be let out on weekends, let out, like prisoners on parole. Every Sunday, at sundown Lye and I stood watching from that ice covered arched window. Watching the students file in, a herd of black coats, with shrouded heads, shuffling as fast as they could to escape the vicious elements surrounding them. Momentarily the view would be distorted by the cloud of breath condensing on the window, as Lye and I stood too close to the frosty glass.

This break of focus, led me to reflect on the first and only time Lye and I left for the weekend. It was guaranteed once we passed the gates, we weren’t coming back voluntarily. Walking through the gates was like passing through a threshold. As if once you left the boarding grounds, you shrugged off the collar of control they had imposed. The first time, the police found us wandering through private property of other estates, and brought us back to our own boarding college. It was not a cooperative affair. The police handed us back to the Headmistress at the gates. She graciously thanked them, and as their figures grew smaller in the distance, till they were barely black flecks against the snowy haze, Headmistress Stone snapped. She grabbed Lye and I by the folds of skin on our neck and dragged us back in through the gates. Spitting at us all kinds of reprimands, reminding us what an embarrassment and how disgusting we were.

To say that I hated her, would be grossly understating the sheer fury that raged through me.

The clang of the gates coming together would distract me from my ruminations. The sound of the chains locking fired the fervor in my stomach further. The desire to leave here was ravenous.

The End

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