Costae Verae (Work In Progess)

WIP. It isn't done, so the rest will be posted at a later date.

This stairwell was a familiar place.

It wasn't exactly appealing, though. Certainly not a nice place to wake up. It's musty interior was always dark, the only source of light was a fleeting, flickering lamp located somewhere within the basement, where the flight of steps lead. And of course, there was always the door which proceeded to the first floor, but one could never expect that door to be open. It was always locked, the contents unknown to all but a select few. 

Clarisse gently stirred, letting out a sudden moan as she snapped back into consciousness. She found herself in a routine location: the flight's landing, which only created a more isolated image for the contents of what was below. If one were to find the door to the first floor open, they would see nothing but a few treads and risers and then a single landing, which only hinted at it's inner components with the occasional flittering light. Random shadows were cast against the wall, creating out-of proportion shapes.

As Clarisse shifted her body with an upmost amount of caution, her shadow danced across the back wall. With slow and heedful motions, she attempted to lift herself with no avail. Her expression, when her massive mess of chestnut hair was removed, was one of confusion. This was a familiar place, but somehow it looked different today. Perhaps it was the headache she had, or the way random colors danced across her vision without any particular rhyme or reason. Not that there was much to see. Her forehead gently bumped against a step, the rest of her body violently spread out as she lay on her stomach. As time went on, she became aware of tiny aches and pains, along with the fact that every time she moved, she would gasp or moan with some new form of agony that surfaced as she tried to collect herself.

Finally, Clarisse managed to roll herself over, moaning as she did so. Her breathing became increasingly more shallow with each tiny motion. As is she had done this a few times before, she shot her hand up, causing the entirety of her body to jolt with it. Her fingers wrapped against a piece of cold metal railing, completely halting her upwards momentum. A gasping noise escaped her lips as her free hand shot out towards her ribcage.

There was a problem. Some throbbing internal pain told her there was definitely a problem. It wasn't currently her concern, though. With another upwards tug from her hand grasping the railing, she successfully pulled herself up into to a seated position. The completion of this task caused her to give off a sigh of relief, which was followed by a sharp intake of air. Now was the time to be concerned about her body. Her eyes flickered down to her hand, which clutched at her ribcage, though it provided little relief. A gentle caressing of the area confirmed a broken rib.

Closing her eyes, Clarisse let her head lean against the wall behind her. This stillness made her much more aware of other aches, which were not really all that wide spread, but extremely concentrated on her torso, the highest bruise making itself known by peeking out of the turtleneck she was wearing.

"How are you feeling?"

The voice caused Clarisse to jump, if not whimper a bit. She hadn't even noticed the broad-shouldered figure on a lower step… No, it wasn't that. He had just gotten there. Her posture instantly straightened with his presence, her eyes only momentarily locking upon her father's before they drifted off nervously.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see a smile spread across his face, which Clarisse detested more than anything. She hated the fact that he thought he had the power to speak to her as if nothing had just happened. There wasn't much she could do about it, though. It was just the way he worked. A tiny amount of compassion would manage to display itself after Alexander Barret had released his pent up anger upon her.

And now here he was, daring to display himself again. He hunched a little as he turned away from her, leaning on his hands and looking down the steps as if in deep pensive thought.

Author's Note

Welp, it isn't done.