Hypnovember 2023
Prompt - 2.Whisper 
For Sparky
By Limewah

The quiet of the dark church was disturbed, first by a soft creak of the door, then the tap of heavy boots. A brown mouse with a white face and belly slipped inside, clutching a long, scythe-like halberd. Annabelle Napolitano’s enchanted raiments - a butterfly like green mask, a sheer bustier, and a long flowing loincloth - made her look like she was dressed for a masquerade.
It didn’t matter how much the mouse tried - each footfall she made echoed through the chapel. The sound sojourned from the dusty wooden floors, along the stone walls, and up to the tiled ceiling. She moved with cautious tread, her weapon clutched at the ready. She wasn’t particularly concerned. She was too armoured to be stealthy anyway, and whatever creature was lurking in this place would either be scared off entirely or attempt an ill-advised attack. Either way, the church would be safe for the locals to use once again. Most of them seemed to be under the impression that the place was haunted, which would be even easier for the holy sentinel to deal with.

She slowly scanned, bringing her blade low to the ground not unlike a dowsing rod. The emerald metal gleamed softly, emitting the faintest chime. Whatever had taken up residence here was almost certainly undead. Corporeal, or not, that was yet to be determined. But that would be easy enough to handle…

A faint breeze caressed her neck, and she glanced quickly over her shoulder. The door was shut behind her, where had that little blade of cold come from?
Her ears twitched. She was picking up something. She worried at her bottom lip with her incisors and listened closely.
The word was like a soft breath, a breeze against a feather. It wasn’t until the third time she heard it that she was able to pick out a word.

Quiet…

She wondered if it was a hallucination, until she heard a different sound.

Closer…

She furrowed her brow and kept up her guard. The sound was too soft to determine its source, or even the identity of its speaker. No vocal chords, just air passing by lips and tongue to create something soft and intimate. 

Closer…

Was the voice giving her a clue of some sort? Perhaps it was a more benign spirit… too soon to tell. Annabelle clutched her halberd tighter, keeping her eye on its blade and watching for the tell tale gleam when it found her target. 

Closer…
The sound was becoming clearer, and closer to her ear. But she wasn’t detecting anything more than the whisper. No sign of a body, or a consciousness, and she began to wonder if it was all in her head, some sort of trick of an over-stimulated brain.

Her foot dragged against the ground unconsciously now and then as she found herself moving in a particular direction, towards the left transept and away from the altar. The halberd wasn’t giving any indication, but there was still something guiding her in that direction.

Closer…

She felt she was getting closer. And more at ease as she went. Her hands unconsciously slackened, and the shaft slowly rolled out of her hands and clattered to the floor. It made her squeak and jump to attention, before she swooped down to grab it.

The whispers reached her ears before she could put her hand on her weapon. Not just one word, anymore, but a stream of them, like a little brook drizzling warm water into her ears.
Close enough, and now you are here, and you may come to us, and you will come to us, and you will let us lead you..

Annabelle was frozen in place, her body paralysed by the sudden waves of aural pleasure, the sounds reverberating inside her mind and echoing constantly like the inside of her skull was a church of its own.
The voices were almost in concert, and almost all sounded the same. Other words were nestled in there, in the repetitive chant, but they slipped past what little consciousness she had.
She slowly stood, her face blank, her pupils dilated, and she looked where the voices were guiding her. The nave had a wooden, diamond-shaped icon hanging from it, seemingly unfinished, with thinly sketched faces staring at nothing at all - their lips moving just barely, their whispers emanating and beckoning her.

The closer the mouse shambled, the thicker the sea of whispering sound became, and the deeper she sank into it. Her arms dangled and her feet slid against the floor, the echoes barely noticeable under the constant, endless swarm of whispers.
Her lips began to move, just barely, her tongue and lips trying to produce sound. They were animated by the sound, a wispy, milky smoke starting to curl from her mouth. Her eyes were glassier, too, her irises and pupils hidden in that selfsame smoke. 

Annabelle stood directly before the icon. The thinly sketched lips were moving, and enchantments, barely visible to the naked eye, poured from them and wove into her mouth and her ears. Her lips moved with them, and her breath released the smoky whispers.
You are closer, and you are here, and we are closer, and we are here, and we come to you, and you come to us, and we speak to you as you will speak to them, and we will speak for you and you will speak for us…

The repetitive chants and complex mantras drowned out what remained of Annabelle’s ego and mind, the charms of the possessed lips weaving deeper into her mind. She accepted it all, repeating the dictations until her muscles could repeat them without any mistakes, or any thought at all.
Eventually, as the swarms of whispers drowned everything else out, she stood once more. Her eyes remained glassy, her face expressionless, her lips endlessly chanting and repeating without the slightest movement of her vocal chords. 
Her movements were slow, graceful and precise, golem-like. She walked slowly back down the aisle, towards the entrance to the church. 
The message would be spread.