She was Death, so Dead She Became (part 1 of 2)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
the beginning tale of aurelia's dance with darkness.

Submitted: March 18, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 18, 2017



August 28th, 2015:

Seventy Two Hours…

Seventy Two Hours after the Golden Age began.

Seventy Two Hours till the first Faye’s life was taken.

Seventy Two Hours and a body was lifeless in bed.


Seventy Two Hours till the Faye was nothing more than a pile of dust.


Seventy Two Hours…



Abuse dribbled from her lips the way drool fell from the mouths of Saint Bernard’s.


Abuse danced across her hands the way ballerina’s gracefully moved across the stage.

It was Zalarie Faye whose life ended at the hands of the one she abused.



New York, New York: 6:30pm


Despite the hustle and bustle of the city below, the sixteenth floor apartment in which the second female Faye resided, was quiet. The television, which at the time, ironically, was playing a History special about the Witches of Salem—was turned down low. The kettle on the stove was just beginning to heat up, forming the tiniest of bubbles. While, Zalarie herself, was curled up in her own bed with hues of grey eagerly feasting upon raven ink on pristine white pages.


There was no warning, no notion stating Aurelia’s arrival. She just appeared, a pure mad woman. Tresses sprouted from her head in an ungodly fashion, eyes that were once a cool blue were nothing but bottomless pits of black, clothes were ripped and what appeared to be blood was streaked across the expanse of opalescent skin. The Golden Age has begun.


Hands that were once able to solve the unsolvable murder cases, were now the weapons in her own murder scene. Cold hands wrapped around the fragile neck of her Aunt, grip tightening till the woman in her grasp was gasping for air and book tumbled to the wood floor below. Hands were crushing the woman’s larynx and threatening to crush her hyoid bone.


“You are pathetic. Thrashing around like a fish out of water. Come on, Zalarie. Fight back. Go on, try and beat me now.”


The grip around her Aunt’s neck tightened, there was thrashing on the bed. In a frantic state of fear, hands that once abused tried to scratch and pry off the hands that were stealing her life. However, pitiful attempts were met with Aurelia’s blood magic; veins and arteries and the precious liquid life flowing through them, would rise in temperature, till it matched the heat of the water in the kettle—boiling.


Thirty seven minutes passed. Thirty seven minutes of pure Hell. Thirty seven minutes was how long Aurelia tortured her Aunt.


New York, New York: 7:07pm


Aurelia was leaving the bedroom of her aunt. Past the History channel on the television. Past the black leather couch. Past the kitchen. Past the screaming kettle of water.


“Tea is done.”

Tea wasn’t the only thing done.


Laying on the bed behind closed doors, were the ashes of Zalarie Faye.


© Copyright 2019 Aurelia Faye. All rights reserved.

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