Chapter Six: Reckless

Distraught by his ignorance to their romance, Mercy feels he world crashing and decides to take matters into her own hands - by destroying the evil in "Snow" herself.

“Are you sure you are ready for this, Mercy?” Ange, or Charles the librarian, asked for the fiftieth time that night. Although Mercy was annoyed from his constant questioning, she understood why.

Both Charles and Mercy were hidden deep in the bowels of the Library, far beneath the dome of tomes. Here, they could yell without the fear of being seen or heard.

Mounted on an easel, Snow shook and vibrated, as if something fought to be free from the encasing that bound it to the stand. Ever since the painting entered this hidden underground, it resisted and fought. It was evident that it sensed the good magic and struggled in vain.

“Charles, I need to do this. I need find Claire, Peter, and Marie. I can destroy the curse.” Mercy refused to look at the painting until the right moment. However, beneath her shivering flesh was an urge to physically demolish the cursed object to bring back the souls the painting had stolen.

“Mercy, I know you are angry about Liam-”

“Do not say that name.” Mercy cut him off sharply. She sheathed the purified dagger in the hilt on her waist.

“Forgive me,” Charles humored with a sly smile, “I can identify with your anger, but I must ask, why you want to destroy him?” he motioned to the curse that possessed the painting. “I can do this you know; I have faced the horrors of that monster. You have not. I cannot lose my only grandchild like the way I lost my son.”

Mercy sighed, all pretense of her fury gone, “Grandpère,” she said softly, “I need to fight him. If I am already marked for death by the L'Ange du Mal, then I am taking as many curses as I can with me. I cannot just watch from the sideline anymore while my family falls around me.”

Charles teared up and hugged his granddaughter, “Please be safe. And whatever you do, do not lose your confidence or your mind. You are a Roux and a La Volpe, you have the blood of our ancestors who fought these curses before and succeeded.”

“Thanks, grandfather.” Mercy felt strange not calling Charles by his name. She had not called him ‘grandfather’ since she was a teenager, worst of all; she had not spoken to him for a long time after her parents’ murder.

Well, after her father disappeared into Winter’s Run and never returned, they had waited a week, two weeks…

After a month had passed, and the magic still active within the painting, Charles was forced to expel the magic; it had nearly destroyed that painting yet it banished the evil within, and his son. Without the La Volpe guarding the Roux, Mercy’s mother was unprotected and killed in a drive by and neither the police, nor the remaining La Volpe ever caught the culprit.

In truth, it was only after she divorced Liam that the family members had reconnected, then worked with the Fox Thief on destroying these pieces.

 

Knowing that their time was limited as the week was almost up, Mercy faced the painting; although expelling the curse did not require the La Volpe family member to enter the acrylic scene, Mercy wanted to do something reckless. She had faced Death’s cold grip before, and she was ready to face him again. She needed to release the surge of anger, towards Liam, towards the L’Ange du Mal; she knew that if she did not do something quick, she would self-destruct and harm herself, and possibly her grandfather.

Placing herself five feet from the cursed object, she stared at the winter scene, glaring.

As if on cue, the snow began to fall. The trees, which were still as stone before, began to sway in the harsh winds. Shadows moved near the horizon as if they wandered aimlessly in a cold wasteland.

 “I… see… you, Mercy La Volpe.” A spine tingling voice cooed softly in Mercy’s head after she stared almost unblinkingly into the painting.

“I see your fears, your worries, your pain; I can make them go away. Let me take all your pain away. Let me calm your doubts.” The demon’s smooth, deep voice left Mercy feeling frightened yet calmed, anticipated yet defenseless. Although he said the words she wanted to hear, she knew it was just a ploy to gain another soul for its own pleasure.

The voice continued, he penetrated deeply into Mercy’s mind. It carried throughout her body and soul like a seducing virus. He continued to speak to her, he truly knew what she wanted, and he would do what he could to have her.

“Let me protect you from the dangers within your world. Give me your entire soul and body for my own. All you have to do is just say ‘I do.’” He repeated in a gentle, passionate voice, “Give me your love, Mercy La Volpe, and all your dreams will come true.”

 

As the words formed across her lips, Mercy hesitated as she half-opened her eyes and stared into the painting. Looking back, she found that his illusion had formed from the dark shadows if the canvas, staring at her.

Delirious and in a trance, Mercy whispered, “I do.”