Chapter Text
The first time Imogen Temult dreamt of the red storm, she was fifteen years old. When she woke up, it was to the sound of feet rushing to her bedroom door. She sat up, panting, sweat dripping down her forehead when the door was shoved open.
“Imogen?”
Her father was just a dark figure in her doorway, but even without any light, Imogen knew that his face was that of concern.
“I’m sorry, it was just a dream. Did I wake you?” She asked, still attempting to catch her breath.
The figure in her doorway visibly relaxed, and Imogen could hear the soft sound of his breath escaping.
“I heard you scream,” he explained.
“I’m sorry. I’m okay. Just…go back to bed,”
Relvin Temult nodded slowly, before backing out of the room and shutting the door.
It’s not as if the dream was the scariest of dreams…but it just felt different. Like, more real than most dreams. As she lay there, it was as if she could feel the unique feeling of electricity running up and down her arms.
Imogen didn’t go back to sleep that night, instead finding herself staring at her ceiling until the sun rose.
The second time was a week later. Imogen awoke on her own, still the same sweating and gasping for air as she shoved herself into a sitting position. Amidst her heavy breathing, she heard the faint sound of gentle and quiet feet walking towards her bedroom. The feet paused on the opposite side of the door, and she could picture the way her father’s hand hovered above the handle, before returning to a fist and pulling away. Imogen calmed her breathing, listening carefully as after a few moments, the footsteps began to patter slowly away against the wooden floors.
The third time is slightly different. While it’s still the same image and the same storm, there is also a visible figure in the distance. A boy, around her age. She can only see his back, but for a second she thinks she recognises the shaggy blond hair. However, she is unable to think too deeply about it before the boy begins to walk straight into the midst of the storm.
Imogen feels herself panic, as her eyes widen. Not only is someone else in her dream, but they are walking straight into the eye of the storm.
Imogen screams as loud as she can, STOP! DON’T GO IN THERE! But it’s as if no sound comes out. And she is forced to watch, as the boy disappears into the red storm.
She clenches her eyes shut, trying to shut out the vision of the storm and the boy, when a voice echoes in her mind.
“ Imogen. ”
A woman’s voice, one that Imogen instinctively recognises but not enough to pinpoint exactly who it belongs to. As the red storm beelines straight towards Imogen, the voice echoes in her head once more.
“ Run.”
When she wakes, she awaits the sound of Relvin’s footsteps. But they don’t come.
***
“Daddy?”
Relvin’s head lifts from his focus on the horse in front of him, turning to look at his only daughter. He tilts his head, wordlessly telling her to continue.
“What was mama like?”
Relvin heaves a great sigh, turning back to the horse, “I’ve already told you everythin’, Imogen,”
“You’ve told me that she was beautiful and kind and looked just like me, and that she died when I was a baby,”
Relvin nods, brushing the horse’s mane.
“And that’s all there is to know. Why are you even askin’?”
Imogen shakes her head, reaching down to pull a piece of hay out of the hay bale she’s sitting on, twisting it between her fingers.
“I just… I think I might’ve heard her the other night,”
Relvin freezes momentarily, before his hands begin to work once more.
“And how in God's names do you think you heard that?”
Imogen shrugs, “I keep havin’ the same dream. But this time I heard a voice. Her voice.”
Her father sighs once again, taking a step back from the horse he’s caring for.
“You need to stop thinkin’ of those dreams. The more you think about them the more likely they are to come back.”
“I dunno Daddy, it feels-,”
“Different, I know. You said.” Relvin stretches out his hands, not even sparing a glance in Imogen’s direction, “I think your breaks over. Mind takin’ Flora out for a ride?”
Imogen goes to respond an immediate yes, given that Flora has always been her favourite horse in the stable. But before she answers, she pauses.
“Where’s Samuel? Doesn’t he normally take the horses out at this time?”
Relvin looks down at the ground, kicking a piece of dirt with the toe of his shoe.
“He got sick. Suddenly. His sister found him in bed one night’. He didn’t wake up.”
With that, Relvin briskly exits the stable, leaving Imogen standing there, staring at the door her father just exited from.
The now somewhat-familiar feeling of electricity races up and down her forearms. Immediately, she thinks back to the boy in her dream. Now that she thinks about it, the hair did look eerily similar to Samuel’s.
***
After that, the dream keeps coming back. Each night, Imogen stares at the ceiling above her bed, trying to think of only positive thoughts. Thinking of Flora, and her father, and her happiest moments. Yet, each night she falls asleep, and is awoken with the sound of her mother’s voice telling her to run.
After a few months, she gets fed up with sitting in bed, and throws the covers back, quietly sneaking through the house. She opens the back door slowly, hoping it’ll only let out a tiny squeak. Thankfully, she is able to slip out without a sound. She breathes in the fresh air of night time, letting the cold prickle her arms and blinking away the still present tears in the corners of her eyes. After a few minutes of just standing there, Imogen hears an unusual noise coming from the barn. She quickly turns her head in the direction, furrowing her eyebrows as she notices the barn door left slightly open. Reaching the door, she takes a deep breath, and then slowly turns her head around the big wooden door, eyes widening at the sight in front of her. Looking inside the barn, her dad lays with an old torn blanket thrown over his body, lying amongst the hay on the floor, fast asleep. He has a pillow that is half pulled around his head as if covering his ears. It takes Imogen a second to comprehend what she’s witnessing, and another few moments before she realises why. Immediately, she rushes away from the door, as if physically pained; gripping at her stomach.
She didn’t realise her night terrors caused anyone else that much suffering.
She doesn’t go back to bed that night. Instead she just stays on the porch, staring up at the night sky, watching the way Rudius and Catha cross the sky. By the time the sun rises, she feels tired, but not from a lack-of-sleep. More so just a sense of emptiness, and dread. Still, she lets none of that show, tending to her duties as usual; all the while unable to bear looking into her father’s eyes, not wanting him to see the bags under them, or the way her heart breaks as the image of him lying amongst the hay crosses her mind.
***
Imogen sleeps less, but it’s impossible for her to not sleep at all.
The dreams come and they go, sometimes awaking her once a week, others once a fortnight, and then sometimes each night for a month. They are all the same. Everytime she runs into the house, hiding from the storm, her mother’s voice echoing in her ears.
“Run, Imogen.”
It all changes when she’s nineteen. She falls asleep, having not slept for a few nights. It had been getting worse. More frequent. But there was no preventing the drowsiness of sleep from taking over her now. When the storm appears, Imogen feels the hair on the back of her neck prick up. Her heart rate increases as per usual, as the storm begins to swirl all around.
Then, she hears the familiar voice of her mother.
Imogen.
Imogen is tired. She is tired of the dreams, tired from a lack of sleep, tired of having no answers. She’s tried to speak to the voice before, to no avail. But now, she stands in the field of her dreams, and tries once more.
“Mother?” She calls out, her voice echoing in her own mind. “Please for once, just tell me what’s going on? I can’t keep doin’ this.”
There’s a moment of silence, as if the storm quietens down to hear Imogen’s mother’s response.
Then, “Run, Imogen.”
Imogen watches the storm approaching, taking a few paces back with laboured breath.
“No! Just listen to me for once! Please!” Imogen cries out, tears suddenly appearing in the corners of her eyes.
“Run.”
And so Imogen does, running straight towards the house where she normally hides from the red storm. When the door slams shut behind her, she can’t help but look out of the window, onto the familiar picture in front of her. Except, something shifts. It’s not the exact same as usual. Instead, for the second time in her life, Imogen can see a figure in the distance. Her mouth falls open, as she grips at the windowsill, watching from afar. The figure this time however, is a woman. She’s tall, and thin, and her dark black hair is long, covering portions of her face. The biggest difference to the first figure Imogen ever saw in her dreams though, is that this woman isn’t walking into the storm…no, instead Imogen watches as she walks out of it, the storm chasing after her and in the direction of Imogen.
“You gotta run!” Imogen can’t help but yell, unable to assist in any way to prevent the woman from getting sucked away by the storm.
The woman doesn’t react, just keeps walking on.
“The storm is comin’!” Imogen calls out, but to no avail. The storm slowly catches up to the woman, and before either of them can react, Imogen is pulled out of her dream as always, this time her heart beating just a bit faster, her brain rushed with thoughts. So many thoughts. Her head aches.
Who was that woman? Why was she coming out of the storm? Is this like Samuel again? Is she dead? It couldn’t be her mother, who had often been described as looking very much like her daughter. Did I water the vegetables this afternoon? Imogen must be awake, I heard her louder than usual. It must be getting worse. Maybe I should call a cleric again. Whose voice was that? Am I still dreaming? This blanket really ain’t doing much. Oh Gods, what is happening?
Imogen’s eyes widen, and she finds herself already crying. Sobbing, really.
“Daddy? Is that you?” She questions, voice shaking.
She can’t think straight. She must still be dreaming. Her head is buzzing.
“Wake up, Imogen. Wake up,” she whispers to herself, hitting her forehead with her fist.
She definitely feels the pain, and it shakes her to her core. Everything feels different. Nothing feels peaceful anymore. She scratches at her arms, suddenly feeling itchier than ever.
“Daddy?” She calls out, louder this time.
Imogen?
“Daddy I hear you,” Imogen explains, trying not to scream in discomfort.
Everything feels wrong. It’s like she can feel quiet whispers in her head, like there is another presence in there besides herself.
Is she okay? Maybe I should go check on her. She doesn’t normally call out for me anymore.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Imogen whispers to herself, suddenly shaking.
“Daddy, I can hear you! You’re scarin’ me!” She yells out, at full volume this time.
Ah shit what’s going on. Imogen. Imogen? The dreams must be worse. I wish I could- no. I better hurry up.
“I’m being serious daddy, this ain’t funny!” Imogen screams, curling in on herself.
Finally, her father comes rushing into her bedroom, wearing his night clothes and slightly out of breath from the run.
As soon as he enters the room, Imogen feels like she can’t breathe anymore.
“Imogen, what’s wrong?”
Sick? Worse? I can’t lose her too. Liliana would understand. Why couldn’t she-. Imogen are you-?
“Are you okay?” Relvin asks, and Imogen just shrinks. She reaches up, clenching her hands over her ears.
“How are you doin’ this!? Why are you talking about my mother!?” Imogen yells, her entire body shaking from the sobs.
Relvin steps closer, panic clear on his features. Imogen pushes herself further into the corner.
“Imogen I never said anything about your mother, listen to me, should I call for someone?”
Disease. I don’t know how to help her. Liliana would know. What is Imogen thinking? She’s sick. A trance. Curse?
“Just stop talking!” Imogen yells louder, and suddenly she can see herself, see the way she is crawled into a shaking ball in the corner of her bed. But she can see more than that. She can also see a slight purple scarring appearing on her hands, just at the same time as her head is flooded with similar thoughts.
What happened? Is she hurt? This has to be like her mother. Lightning? Imogen. Is she in pain? I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t understand.
Imogen lets out a gasp as she looks down at her hands, shaking in front of her. She sees them from her own eyes this time, not from whatever just possessed her, almost as if she was watching herself from her father’s eyes. But, no, that’s not possible.
Why isn’t she speaking? Oh Gods I should’ve put an end to this years ago. This is a burden to everyone. I should get the Cleric, maybe they can fix this.
“Do you really think I’m a burden?” Imogen whispers, barely able to speak.
“What? Imogen, darlin’, you know I’d never-,”
“You just said it though, you said this is a burden to everyone,”
How did she…?
“You said it, Daddy,” Imogen presses, as if convincing herself more than anyone else.
“Imogen, I didn’t say anything,”
“You’re lying,”
Going crazy. What am I supposed to do? She can’t be around other people like this.
“I’m not crazy!” Imogen exclaims, shocked that her father would admit such a thing, right to her face. (Even though she knows deep down that he never did open his mouth).
How can I help? She needs medical attention. Why did we have to live so far out of town? Crazy. I knew this would happen one day.
Imogen can’t bear it anymore. Her head aches from the terrifying feeling inside as well as from the two strong grips she has on either side of her head, trying to prevent any more noise from getting in. It’s too much. It’s all far too much.
Internally, Imogen screams,
I’M NOT CRAZY.
Relvin flinches away, eyes widening in sudden fear.
“How did you-? Imogen. How did you do-,”
Look at me. I should run. No, this is your daughter. There’s no helping her now. Run. Imogen, please stop this.
“Just stop talkin’!” Imogen yells, shoving one hand out in front of her. At this, an ornament on Imogen’s shelf flings itself to the floor at the exact time her hand waves across the room.
Her hands shaking, Imogen stares down at them, at the new scars crossing over her fingertips, her blood running cold.
How did she? No. She can’t have. Can she?
Imogen shoves herself out of the bed, and rushes towards the door, unable to ignore the way her father flinches away from her as she passes by him as if she were a hot flame.
Where is she going? Follow her. No. Needs space. Imogen. She’ll come home. Needs time. Not like her mother. But she is? I’ve seen this before, but not like this. This is more dangerous. Imogen. Imogen, where are you going?
Imogen feels like she’s going to be physically ill. She doesn’t realise when she starts to run towards the stables, but suddenly she is there, swinging open the barn doors. She doesn’t even notice that the bursting open of the doors is given more strength than her arms release, almost as if her thoughts of desperation pushed the wood for her.
She is immediately met with the eyes of Flora, her trusted horse, who seems to be the only one awake at this time. Relvin had probably woken her when he searched out Imogen.
Luckily, Imogen can’t hear anything from Flora besides the usual noises that breathe out of her nose. Without bothering for a saddle or even getting changed out of her nightclothes, Imogen runs towards the horse, ignoring the still present voice of her father floating inside her head as she climbs on.
Flora doesn’t seem unhappy by the idea of a late night ride, and as Imogen signals her to move, the horse is breaking out into a canter across the field outside of Imogen’s home. The same field that she had seen just minutes prior, covered in a red storm.
It doesn’t take long for Imogen to escape the noise of her father in her head, thanks to the surrounding forests and farmland surrounding her home. When it feels quiet in her head, she slows Flora down to a trot, breathing in and out, all the while her entire body still shaking from the fear and overexertion. She looks down at her hands once more, though it’s too dark to really see them properly; but it does appear as if there are tiny purple lightning scars that have suddenly appeared overnight on her fingertips. She lets out an accidental noise as she looks down at them, a half sob and half sigh. She reaches up to dry the tears that still sit in the corners of her eyes, her mind still ablaze with her own thoughts.
It must all be a dream. A really awful, terrible dream.
Except, it truly does not feel like a dream. Not even like the nightmares she experiences often. It all feels too real.
She stays out in the quiet for a while, before she realises she’s accidentally made her way towards town. She can hear it before she sees it, and it causes her to gasp as the somewhat quiet sounds of mumbling fill her head. She wants to immediately turn Flora around and flee in the opposite direction, but instead, she brings Flora slightly closer, and then makes her way down the horse and onto the solid ground.
She pats the horse’s mane gently, before slowly walking into the direction of the town, the mumbling in her head getting slightly louder with each step. She keeps walking. She walks into town, flinching at the sudden almost-pain returns in her head, with the noises of other voices bouncing around in her head. She sees flashes of what appear to be dreams, hears the sounds of grumbled thoughts tossing and turning in their sleep, with it getting louder and louder as she walks further into town.
Imogen can’t help but cry. Her voice breaks as she does, but she doesn’t stop. Not until it gets too much. When the nearby tavern is in her sight, she can suddenly hear many different loud, drunken voices inside of her head. It feels like she herself is the tavern, with drunken patrons tripping over tables and smashing into the side of her brain. Imogen backs up, unable to bear the thoughts of heartbreak, of lust, of anger, all suddenly flooding into her head. With tears pouring down her face, Imogen sprints back in the direction she came, not stopping until she reaches Flora’s side.
***
It doesn’t take long until Imogen learns more about her newfound abilities. She learns that she can move stuff with her mind. She learns that she can delve deeper into people’s thoughts, if she wants to. And she learns that all of this causes the purple markings on her fingers to slowly grow. She learns too much about other people, about their secrets, about the darkness inside of them. She learns that even the most innocent people can have seconds of darkness scouring their thoughts. She learns that a human middle-aged man in a small store in town thinks thoughts about her that she hates knowing; so she stops going on his side of town. She knows that the tavernkeep is having an affair with the bard who often plays at her tavern. She knows that people start thinking that Imogen is strange, and awkward. They notice her markings, and they watch her from afar, losing trust in her and feeling senses of unease whenever she is around as if they know what she can now do. She also knows that her father hates it. He hates the fact she can hear into him, and he hates how everything has changed. She can sense fear in him, but also concern. Seeing Imogen’s face change whenever a thought that hurts her passes through his mind results in him starting to avoid her more. He acts as if it’s to help her, and it does, but she also can sense something deeper, that he forcibly keeps away from her in his mind.
Relvin buys her gloves, when the markings begin to rise up her fingers. He leaves them on her bed without a note, but Imogen knows he would have witnessed what the townspeople now thought of them. She also notices that he begins to send others into town more, fearing the stares and the rumours that spread about his daughter with the strange markings who holds her breath when entering the busy market.
It takes years to learn to control. Other people’s thoughts are always there but she learns to build up a barrier so they don’t overwhelm her completely. On nights when she is awoken by the red storm, she goes out into the trees nearby, practising her telekinesis and other new spells she can work out.
And yet, despite feeling the constant bubbling thoughts of
everyone
around her, Imogen has never felt so alone.
***
Awoken once more from her dreams, Imogen finds herself riding Flora out into the woods, as has become natural for her to remain alone until sunrise. Dismantling off the horse, Imogen stares up into the sky, immediately finding herself drawn to Ruidus, shining down on her. She breathes in the air deeply, smiling to herself at the realisation that the only thoughts in her head are her own. She runs a hand down Flora’s mane, and the horse presses her head against Imogen’s body affectionately.
After a while, Imogen finally takes a few steps away, focusing on a moderately sized tree branch a few feet ahead of her. She raises both of her arms, staring with her eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration as she mentally lifts the branch from the ground, hovering it about 6 feet in the air. She can’t help but smile to herself as she does it, proud of the ability. However, when her eyes catch the lightning marks from her fingertips to her wrists, she immediately loses concentration and the branch crashes to the ground. She flinches away from it, before adjusting her gloves and pulling them tighter in an attempt to further hide her visual peculiarity.
Having been so concentrated on the branch and then her hands, Imogen barely registers the quiet noise that appears in her mind. When she finally does notice it, her eyes widen and she reaches out towards her horse, ready to bolt. Nothing good would be awake at this hour in the woods, but then she remembers that she too is awake at this hour in the woods, and the grip on her horse loosens, only slightly. Paying closer attention to the sounds, her body almost physically relaxes, which is different. Usually, her body feels more tense at the sounds of other’s thoughts, but this is unique. Whatever is out there, whoever is out there , is different. The individual must be further off, because the noise is quiet. Her senses are telling her to run, but she finds herself walking stealthily towards the thoughts, leaving Flora behind. As she approaches, and the thoughts get louder, Imogen can tell what is different. It’s softer, more whimsical, as if it was on a different pitch compared to everyone else’s. It’s almost…musical.
It doesn’t take long for her to be able to see the person amongst the trees, as the thoughts of gathering sticks, making shelter, and about new adventures begin to pour more consistently into Imogen’s mind. It takes her a few seconds of watching, but eventually Imogen also realises that the figure is a tall woman, who also happens to be audibly talking to herself.
“Look Pâté, I know we got too close last time, but this time will be different! See, we can make a nice little house, and keep to ourselves,”
A second voice appears, similar to the first, but deeper and with a slightly different accent.
“If I die before I find some hot chicks to bone, because you wanna make some house in the woods-,”
“Relax, Pâté. We’re far enough away from anyone for them to not find us for at least a few weeks,”
This whole scenario confuses Imogen, and not just by the words being said, but because it sounds as if the woman is speaking to someone, but the only quiet sounds of thoughts Imogen can hear are clearly from the woman in front of her. Intrigued, Imogen takes a step closer, still hiding behind some trees.
However, she happens to immediately step on a thin twig, snapping it in two with a quiet crunch.
The woman immediately turns in Imogen’s direction, her hand out to her side in an awkward looking position.
Imogen holds her breath, trying not to move an inch.
There’s complete silence for a few moments, before Imogen focuses on the woman’s thoughts. Luckily, she doesn’t hear any surface level thoughts of violence and anger, more just surprise and slight fear…before a hint of recognition appears.
“You know that I can see you, right?” The woman asks out loud, her voice sing-songy.
Imogen stays quiet. It should be difficult for anyone to see her, given that it’s a dark night and she’s hidden behind some trees. She must just be trying to trick her.
“I told you we were gonna die,” the other voice whispers, and Imogen can just make out the shape of the woman dropping the weirdly positioned hand and shoving something into her pocket.
“I don’t really feel like being hunted tonight so if you are just going to stand there with your… quite adorable little overalls, did you buy them in town?”
Imogen’s heart begins to race, as she comprehends that yes this woman can indeed see her right now.
After a few seconds, Imogen raises her hands defensively, “I’m not here to hurt you, I just…heard you while I was passin’ through,”
“Well I’m not here to hurt you either so you may as well come out from your quite awful hiding spot,” the woman replies, and although Imogen can practically hear the smile in the words, the woman’s thoughts still remain nervous.
Imogen sighs, and then side steps out from behind the tree, coming face to face with the woman.
Immediately, Imogen instinctively gasps and the woman flinches quickly. Hastily, Imogen holds out her palms to further indicate her lack of ill intentions.
The thing is, there are many sudden thoughts that arise in Imogen’s head as soon as she bears witness to the strange woman’s face.
Firstly, she is really quite remarkable. A unique type of beautiful that Imogen feels that if she were to look away, it would be impossible for her to describe or depict in a way that gives justice to any of her features. Secondly, is that this woman appears to be dead. Or half-dead. Or something of the sort. Her skin is pale, especially in this darkness, juxtaposing her deep dark hair, tied into a messy bun on the top of her head, with what appears to be a rock chisel holding it up. She looks fragile, almost all bones. Her outfit of dark colours with more random objects attached at the belt, including scissors and what Imogen thinks is genuinely just a bird’s skull.
Thirdly, is that this is one hundred percent the woman Imogen had seen in her dream all those years ago. The woman Imogen had seen when everything changed; when she got these new powers.
“It’s you,” is all Imogen can say, mouth opening in shock.
The woman looks around for a second, before responding, tilting her head.
“Have we met?”
Imogen takes a step forward, and the woman doesn’t move any further away.
“I don’t know, have we?”
“Well I certainly would remember you , although my life has been quite fast moving in recent years,” the woman responds, smiling a smile that seems almost too big for her face.
“I could say the same,” Imogen swallows and then continues, “ever since I saw you in my dream,”
The woman looks taken aback for a moment, before coming back to her senses, “normally when people refer to me in their sleep it’s more of a nightmare,”
“Well, I guess it sort of was a nightmare,”
Imogen curses herself immediately, as the woman’s large smile falters, and she takes a step back.
“Not, because of you,” Imogen concludes, mentally kicking herself.
The woman pauses, but her body seems to relax ever so slightly, and a softer smile appears on her face.
“Are you sure it was me?”
“Yes.” Imogen replies, barely even waiting for the woman to finish her sentence.
The woman hums thoughtfully, and Imogen can sense the genuine curiosity in the woman’s thoughts.
“What is it…that you’re doing out here?” Imogen questions, and the large smile reappears.
“Well, I’m just setting up camp, I suppose. We’re not from around here,”
Imogen suddenly hears a murmur inside of Laudna’s thoughts, before Laudna almost appears to reply to the murmur in her mind with: I like her. She isn’t going to hurt us.
“I’m not,” Imogen responds, forgetting that the woman never spoke the words allowed.
“You’re not from around here either?”
Imogen pauses, stuttering out a, “no- that’s- I am. I am from around here,”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, I just…I have this special li’l thing, it can kinda frighten people…” Imogen trails off.
“Trust me, I can handle frightening,”
Distracted from the previous topic, Imogen suddenly feels the need to know everything there is to know about this stranger.
“Do people think you’re scary a lot?” She suddenly asks.
The woman shrugs, “I prefer the term spooky,”
Imogen swallows, it’s hard to see the woman completely, but she can understand why someone could consider her spooky. It’s almost as if she’s spooky beautiful.
“Well, I know we only just met, but I think that you’re the best kind of’ spooky,”
The smile appears again, and the woman rests a creepily long finger on her cheek, tapping on her temple, “well you don’t know that for sure, you don’t know what’s going on in here,”
Imogen can’t help but smile at that, as she thinks for a second, before projecting her own voice into the woman’s head.
“Sorry to say but I think I have a slight idea,”
Imogen immediately receives fast paced internal responses, as the woman tilts her head curiously.
Did her lips move? Oh my Gods she’s a ventriloquist! No, come on Laudna that doesn’t make sense. She- How did she-.
The woman – Laudna – pauses for a few seconds, as she regards Imogen’s smiling face. Realisation dawns on her.
“You just spoke in my head,” Laudna states.
Imogen doesn’t know why she did it, she has only spoken in her own father’s head once or twice, but it unnerves him too much. Yet, here, she did it without question, and even now, she doesn’t feel the typical urge to run. She can tell from Laudna’s expression, she feels the same way.
“I did,”
“Can you hear...everything?” Laudna asks out loud.
“ Only your surface level thoughts. You’d know if I dug any deeper, ”
Laudna freezes momentarily, and Imogen feels a moment of regret. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Laudna does want to run away, how would Imogen know? They don’t know each other. Just because someone seems a bit unique doesn’t mean they’ll like her type of uniqueness.
“I’m sorry, this is probably really strange. I’ll let you get back to what y’all were doin’,”
Imogen gives a half hearted smile, before quickly turning away. She only makes it a few steps before Laudna’s voice calls out to her.
“No, wait!”
The woman’s thoughts float into Imogen’s head, but she tries to block it out, not wanting to invade too personally. She stops, and looks back over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to go, you know,” she pauses, before hastily amending, “I mean, you can if you want to! I just… I’m not weirded out by your thought stuff, if that’s what you believed. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way, I just haven’t really spoken to anyone but Pâté in a while,” Laudna concludes, running her long fingers through her hair quite aggressively.
Imogen pivots slowly back around, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Pâté?”
“Oh yes-,” Laudna starts, reaching around her waist to pull the bird skull from her waistband, “this is Pâté,”
Imogen’s eyes widen, but her smile doesn’t fade. She goes to speak, but before she can, Laudna speaks once more, her voice deep and her accent changing, as she maneuvers Pâté between her fingers.
“‘Ello there, m’lady, why you’re looking quite lovely in those overalls,”
Imogen has to try her hardest not to burst into laughter. She doesn’t want this woman to think she’s making fun of her, because more than anything, she’s just endeared by it.
“Nice to meet you Pâté. My name’s Imogen,”
The hand holding Pâté lowers, as the half rat, half bird skull-ed puppet is returned to Laudna’s waist.
“Imogen,” The woman says quietly, as if trying out the sounds of Imogen’s name, “it’s a pleasure to meet you,”
Imogen smiles, taking a few steps forward and holding out her hand.
Laudna happily takes the hand in her own, shaking it quite dramatically and with an abundance of energy. Her hands are cold to the touch; freezing really, but to Imogen it just reminds her of sleeping on a cold pillow.
“Laudna,”
Imogen smirks, “I already knew that,”
“How did you-,” Laudna starts, but stops mid sentence as the voice of Imogen echoes in her mind.
“ It’s nice to meet you Laudna, ”
Laudna stares into Imogen’s purple eyes, before quickly tearing her gaze away and looking towards the floor.
It’s strange, Imogen has never felt comfortable to use her powers directly for people before, especially to admit that she had been in her head and already knew something about herself that the woman hadn’t shared. But, there’s something familiar about Laudna – something comforting – and for the first time in a long time, Imogen feels a weight lifted off her shoulders, and a little less alone.