Information


Cement has a minion!

Enchanted the Freaky Footrest




Cement
Legacy Name: Cement


The Bloodred Fester
Owner: Pureflower

Age: 9 years, 4 months, 3 days

Born: November 24th, 2014

Adopted: 9 years, 4 months, 3 days ago

Adopted: November 24th, 2014


Pet Spotlight Winner
May 1st, 2015

Statistics


  • Level: 85
     
  • Strength: 173
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 202
     
  • Books Read: 186
  • Food Eaten: 1
  • Job: Postmaster General


Part I

A crack in the sidewalk sent her to her knees with a yelp. The coarse surface chewed her skin, leaving two bright red patches in stark contrast to her short black skirt. Cem hadn’t skinned her knees since she was a very young child. Like a child, she drew them closer to her body and began to pick out the grit.

Her full name was Claudia Cornelia Cement. She hated her full name. As a girl she had used Cee Cee but that was just too girlish for a woman trying to make it in the professional world.

Color rose in her cheeks as she realized how absurd she must look. She scrambled to her feet, darting a glance left and right. Nobody was around to witness her undignified moment. The only living creature in sight was a robin intent on winning his breakfast from the earth.“You have to start acting your age,” she told herself firmly. “You’re not a child making magic potions from mud or trying to find fairy gates in the hedge. Now pick yourself up and get this over with.”

She got as far as the door, the notice of condemnation clutched in her sweaty palm. The house had been abandoned before she was born. Even the boldest children in primary school had not dared to approach it on Halloween. In her games of pretend it had alternated between a place of enchantment where a handsome prince resided and the false front for the den of a witch who brewed gruesome potions and vile brews. She’d even had a dream once about one of the tarnished knockers shaped like a lion’s head. They’d had a particularly odd conversation about egg salad sandwiches. She would have found the dream funny if only the lion’s eyes hadn’t looked so sad.

She slapped her cheeks as much to warm them as to wake herself up. Autumn was quickly fading to winter and there would be fresh coffee in the staff lounge by the time she got back. She put a handful of nails in her mouth, digging the hammer from her purse.

The first swing went wide, giving her fingers a good smack. She put her throbbing fingertips in her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. The hammer continued forward to tap the door which swung inward on well-oiled hinges.

Dropping the hammer back in her bag, she took a hesitant step over the threshold. She could just make out the shoes of dining chairs draped in white cloths through the door to her right. The sitting room to the left boasted bookshelves coated in dust and draped in thick cobwebs. A grandfather clock stood perpetually frozen in the seventh hour. She was tempted to approach, to see if she could make out the minute, but another shape demanded her attention.

It huddled beneath the stairwell, cloth-draped face turned toward the cold hearth and moth-eaten curtains of the sitting room. She was sure someone had mentioned the entry hall being clear, yet here stood some forgotten antique. Her polished shoes left marks in the dust as she moved toward the mystery object. She barely twitched the cloth, determined to give a thorough report. Getting a decent job had been hard enough. She wouldn’t jeopardize it by leaving some valuable collection of silver spoons to be crushed under the tires of a bulldozer.

It was a mirror, a mirror like none she had ever seen. The thick frame was solid gold, bordered by carvings of birds and berries. Or were they tiny cherubs with the moon and stars on their wings? It seemed impossible to name every piece that made up the intricate whole, but there was no denying the effect. She was enchanted.

The grandfather clock stood in the center of the glass. In her mind she could hear its subtle ticking as years of neglect melted away to reveal that the red velvet sofa was trimmed with gold. She locked eyes on her reflection, stunned by the rosy-cheeked beauty in the red satin gown. She was average at best. Crueler adolescent rivals had titled her homely. She raised her hand, fingertips brushing the warmth of a human hand.

No one was there to catch her when she fell.

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Part II

Cool moisture pulled her from the depths of a fabulous dream. The sensation of flying was forgotten as her eyes tried to make sense of the elaborate room in which she found herself. They came to rest on the young man kneeling beside her. He paused, hand half extended to reapply a cold cloth.

She studied his hair shamelessly, trying to decide on a fitting description for his hair. Cinnamon sprinkled on a fresh-baked pumpkin pie? The oak varnish on her grandmother’s rocker? The liquid gaze of a newborn fawn? Each fit in a way, but all were wrong. This had to be a dream or elaborate prank. Handsome men in white silk shirts did not magically appear except perhaps in Hollywood. She’d never been to Hollywood and no sane producer would want to film in this dreary town.

He even had gold buttons shaped like the heads of lions. She reached up a finger to stroke the glossy mane of the lowest, snatching back her hand with a gasp. The buttons were solid, warm, and very real.

“It has been many years since I’ve had a visitor. I would love it if you’d join me for lunch.”

Her recent memories settled into place and she could not keep a grin from spreading at this absurdity. “Let me guess. You’re having egg salad sandwiches.” She caught a bad case of the giggles at the stunned look on his face.

“How could you possibly know they’re my favorite?” He frowned. “I’m being a bad host. If there is something else you would prefer something else?"

She waved the offer away as the pressure in her temples eased off. Had she hit her head or something? She felt the back of her head, making it into a stretch. No lumps or smears of blood. She didn’t feel dizzy like the time she’d swung too high and landed on her head. “Anything is better than the usual cafeteria slop. Show me the way, my good host. I’m starving.”

His eyes darted to the door and it was then she really noticed her surroundings. She had never left the abandoned house but the furnishings, including the velvet couch she sat on, looked brand new.

“Before we dine, there is something I must tell you. It concerns this house and the one who keeps me prisoner.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s a lovely story but this place is due to be bulldozed in three days and I really must be getting back to reality now.” There was one sure way she knew to end a dream. Whether it was the moment when the wolf’s teeth closed on her leg or the sudden flash of a bright light accompanied by blaring alarms, she never failed to bolt up in bed at the moment of shock.

She’d spotted the pin lying on the table beside her. She closed her eyes, gasping at the sharp pain of contact. The stranger looked at her with pity as a drop of blood rolled down her hand to stain the carpet.

“This is no dream. It is a nightmare I will never wake up from, though for you this place is not inescapable. Will you at least listen to my tale?”

She pressed her finger against the dark fabric of her skirt, glad that at least her outfit had remained the same. The scabs on her knees looked days old. This medical mystery did not shock her. She had used up her stash of wonder for the day. As she worked to curl herself into a more comfortable position he began his story.

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Part III

I came to America clinging to the hand of my mother. She sought news of my father who had taken upon himself the task of preaching pious messages he was incapable of practicing. Mother had always relied on others to look after her affairs and though she was wealthy, she had a taste for jewels and trinkets that left us begging for our bread a month after our arrival. Father had been in his grave a month and we had no relations in the New World. Her face was comical when the jeweler told her the brightest of her pendants was paste. He gave her a few coins out of pity.

The sound of my hungry cries drove her to accept the first position she could find. The woman who took us in was a widower, or so she said. Her husband left her with a broken heart and a massive mansion she could not hope to properly care for. She showed us every kindness, feeding us from her own pot and outfitting us in garments more suitable for ballroom dancing than coal scooping. She was delighted when my mother discovered the dresses she claimed were hers as a young girl.

The witch insisted my mother must try on one gown in particular. It was blue silk, fine as a butterfly’s wing. I was pushed from the room, told to give the ladies a moment. When Mother emerged, all she could talk about was auditioning for an entertainment troupe that was in town. She kissed me on the cheek, promising to return in an hour with the contract that would change our lives. I never saw her again.

The widow encouraged my love of learning by assigning me the tasks that had been Mother’s. My hands were rubbed raw by harsh soap and my back never ceased to ache. My new bed was in the coal cellar. She continued to feed me well and to her credit she did not forbid me from browsing the books in her library. Sometimes she would even grant me a quiet hour in the evening to read.

It seemed the books called to me. I might be drawn by the color of the spine or the illustration on the cover. I could never quite remember what I’d read about but during that hour I could not put my chosen book down. The books chose me.

I was no longer a boy when the widow’s charm ceased to affect me. I craved the company of other men, something the most rousing adventure story could never give me. I also longed to see my mother again.

The widow did not like me to leave the house and I knew she would take convincing. I convinced the cook to prepare turnip mash, the widow’s favorite dish. She seemed in a particularly good mood and so I made my request without hesitation.

She laughed long and hard, sending bits of turnip gruel to spatter the wall when she lost her grip on the spoon. “It’s time you hear the truth, boy. It was twenty-one years ago on this day that your mother brought you into this world. It was ten years ago on this day that she abandoned you to my care. By the final cup of potion you have just consumed, the Decade Spell is complete and you are doomed to an eternity in my service.”

I threatened to have her arrested, I begged her to have mercy, I even promised her great riches that I did not possess. I would rob every coach and countryman from here to the wild western shores in exchange for my freedom.

She told me a woman would come, the only one with the power to release me.

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Part IV

Cem jumped at the ringing of a bell. She spotted the small golden shape half-concealed behind the ticking clock. The young man paled, eyes darting once more to the door. “We are expected for lunch.” Feeling slightly dazed, she allowed him to lead her to a formal dining room. The table was set for three with dainty china plates, silverware polished to a shine, and real crystal goblets.

The woman setting out the dishes wore a maid outfit straight out of a third-rate detective movie but there was no questioning her authority as she fixed the young man with a stern look. Her gray curls hung just to her shoulders, trembling slightly with every small movement. Her eyes were a gray so pale that the irises were hard to distinguish from the whites.

“I suppose you’ve been filling her head with nonsense, Martin.” Martin fixed his eyes on the contents of his plate though he did not pick up his fork. “I forbid you to say anything more this evening.” She transferred her gaze to Cem. “You took a nasty spill. I hope he hasn’t been tiring you.”

Her headache was back, a vicious throbbing that muddled her thoughts. She barely managed to swallow the second bite of her sandwich before she had to set it aside. “I’m not so hungry anymore. I think I’d better lay down for a while.”

The woman nodded. “Martin will show you to a room. We’ve a few to spare in this old house and we wouldn’t think of sending you out in such deplorable conditions.”

She hadn’t paid much notice to the building storm. She could hear the windows rattling as heavy rain spattered the glass. Martin led her to a room with an impressive canopy bed draped with lilac curtains. His lips parted as if he wished to wish her a good evening or offer some further cryptic warnings. She was rather relieved when he shook his head and turned away. The last sound she heard was the click of a lock.

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Part V

A flickering light pulled her from an uneasy sleep. Her eyes watered as she blinked at the brightness of the lantern. Martin clutched the handle, shooting an occasional glance over his shoulder. He held a finger to his lips as she sat up.

“The old witch has gotten careless in her confidence. She banned me from speaking in the evening but the midnight hour is past. You need to hear the rest of my story, before she gets rid of you like the last lady.”

He turned a small brass knob to dim the lamp as he began to speak in a whisper.

The Decade Spell is complicated not only by the necessity of a victim gullible enough to drink the brew, but by the ten months required to prepare it. There were three children before me, all of them children of the Old World. Two took ill before the ten years concluded and the third was a courageous girl from a superstitious family. She sacrificed herself to the sea when she realized what was happening. She was fortunate.

For many years I did the witch’s bidding, preparing spell ingredients and caring for this decrepit house. For complicated spells she would put me in a trance, using my young eyes and ears to her own purposes. She was very particular about keeping changes to a minimum. Any item I touched must be put back in exactly the place I’d found it. These clothes you see me in ceased to age when I did and none of the furnishings in this house show their true state.”

He picked up one of the pillows, holding a corner to the flame. It came away unmarked.

My only contact with the outside world is through the eyes of the lions. They have shown me the wonders of three centuries that are not mine. I cannot leave this house and I thought it was impossible to enter.

The first girl to find the portal thought it was all some elaborate prank. She thought me charming but she called me behind the times and tried to describe the music she claimed would change the world. She would take no food from the witch, which pleased me greatly. She insisted on serving what she called picnic food. It was my introduction to egg salad and lemonade, so different from my usual bland fare.

She called the witch a hippie and tried to convince her to wear a few violets in her curls. She said the story of my past was groovy but brushed it aside as a child’s tale. The witch had no difficulty leading her to the portal. I was forced to watch as she stepped through, promising to tell her friends about her far-out trip. I was foolish enough to believe she would return but the witch would allow me no peace of mind. The portal can only be found once. She also explained how a common garden weed once used to dull pain now brought pleasure and visions. If the girl remembered me at all, she would be convinced I was only part of a dream.

Despair hit me then. I ceased to look out on a world I had come to accept was unreachable. Then one day, ten years ago, I gazed through the lion’s eyes on a whim. Imagine my amazement when my gaze was met by a bright pair of gray eyes.

Cem smiled hesitantly. “I was looking for a fairy gate. I had a dream that bight about a talking door knocker shaped like a lion. We talked all night about the best way to make an egg salad sandwich. I always believed there was magic in this old house.”

“It is a dark magic. This is not a place for happy endings. You can break my curse, but there is a cost.”

It was a small sound that brought him to his feet. She would have said it was a mouse in the wall, certainly nothing to get excited over. His eyes widened in fear. “She knows I’m awake but she cannot enter this room outside the seventh hour. Lie down and pretend to be asleep.” He hesitated for a moment, and then leaned down to kiss her brow. “If you do decide to leave, please do not forget me.”

Something cool pressed into her palm and he was gone. The pendant was carved from a pale green stone, a perfect likeness of a lion’s head. She tucked it under her shirt. As it settled over her heart, her headache ceased, the mice fell silent, and she fell into a deep sleep.

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Part VI

Cem was used to waking up before the alarm went off. The nasal buzz never failed to annoy her but if she timed it right, she could beat the pesky sensor.Cem was used to waking up before the alarm went off. The nasal buzz never failed to annoy her but if she timed it right, she could beat the pesky sensor.

She opened her eyes, expecting to see bright red digital numbers. It took her a moment to place the columns of the canopy bed.

The witch stood just outside the door, eyes half closed as she watched Cem rise. Cem tiptoed across the carpet, her bare feet making no sound on the plush maroon carpet.

The summons was a subtle pressure in her mind, compelling her to move forward. Martin’s pendant was a comforting presence at her throat. She knew she could resist the witch if she wished but no charm can tame the demands of curiosity.

They descended the staircase, passing the familiar sitting room. Her gaze swept over the plush furniture and antique bookcases, resting for a moment on the clock’s face. It was fourteen minutes after seven.

The witch grew agitated as the seconds ticked by, tugging her arm to get her moving. Here was a cupboard beneath the staircase, one she hadn’t noticed before. Four steps carved from slabs of stone led down into a small cellar.

Martin sat with his head in his hands beside a spectacular gold-framed mirror. The shapes on the edges were ominous, beckoning with shimmering claws and baring ivory fangs.

“Tell the rest of the story, boy. Tell her how you lured her mother here because you were attracted to the child she carried. Tell her how you took the form of a lion and visited her in dreams, the ultimate imaginary friend. She had to make the choice to step through the portal but you did everything in your power to guide her there. Tell her how you are any better than me.”

There were tears in his eyes. “She’s right. I loved you before you were born, Cem. I’ve tried to be your guide and guardian but I will not be your master!” He glared at the witch. “I warned you there is a cost. You cannot return to your world as the woman you once were if the curse is to be lifted.”

Her constant companion as a child was a magnificent white lion named Frostmane. When she was bored or just plain lonely he would come to her, prowling at her side as she explored the wide expanse of her imagination. On his last visit he’d looked so sad that she’d buried her face in his mane, begging him to tell her what was wrong.

“You cannot return to your world as the woman you once were if the curse is to be lifted.” They were her dear companion’s last words before he turned around and walked away, leaving her crying in her mother’s backyard. Playing pretend had never been quite the same after that.

She hadn’t thought of Frostmane in many years.

She knew what she had to do now. There was really never a choice.

The witch was taken by surprise as slender fingers wrapped around her arm, shoving her through the portal. An image appeared on the mirror’s surface. The woman’s black curls were very old-fashioned but her sensible shirt and black skirt were modern enough. She stared with glassy eyes toward a dust-coated clock with hands frozen at 7:14.

The death certificate for Claudia Cornelia Cement stated plainly that her cause of death was inhalation of toxic vapors. The condemned mansion on 7th Street was torn down on schedule.

Cem looked in wonder at the red dress that appeared on her frame. Martin took hold of her hand, his face radiant with joy. “Do you know what this means, darling? The curse is lifted! We are free to live out our normal lives in any realm we choose. The moment we step through that mirror we will return to the natural timespan and we can live out natural lives in the paradise of our choosing.”

Somehow her purse had stayed behind, left open on a small side table on which apple peelings were scattered. Pulling free the hammer, she smashed the surface of the mirror into a million glittering fragments.

Profile by Ringo
Story by Pureflower

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Haunted Mirror Prop

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Antique Dark Dining Table

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