What is that soft brush against my cheek? Something snaps beneath weight. A twig? Warmth presses against my side. I graciously snuggle against it like a kitten would their mother's belly. Warmth fades as a growling rumble breathes against my ear. Strange...
...
Life prickles through my limbs, my entire right side numb, as I shift uncomfortably. I am lying on something very cold and very hard, like granite against my cheek. I pull my arm out from under me. A hammer is being beat against my temple, driving me insane, I just know it. There is no way that my head can hurt this much without it. Groaning, I blink past the sleep in my eyes to take in my surroundings.
No wonder my "bed" for the night has been so uncomfortable; I am lying on a slab floor. The coarse floor has left an etched pattern on the skin of my cheek. Gargoyle statues haunt the room. Horns of Aries curling round their bat-like ears as their gaping mouths are bared threateningly. Soulless eyes burn into my skull as I tear my own away from their intimidating forms to look back around. They may be just statues, but that does not make them any less scary to me.
An icicle chandelier, hanging overhead at the very apex of the ceiling, is the single solitary light source. Though it is a welcoming contrast to the very room for which it lights, the light is still ghostly. Phantom light. Like the full moon on a storming night.
A pair of spiral staircases lead to both the left and right ends of the room, hugging the walls, each curling up to a shrouded hallway. Crimson tapestries hang from the stairways' balconies, bordered with black symbolic roses and vines. In the center of each tapestry was a flat black...heart?
Pushing past my slight dizziness, I gather up my feet, holding my head against my palm. The air is so musky it makes my head spin; leaving a bad taste on my tongue. Unruly knots of blond hair curl around my face, adding to my growing annoyance.
"'Bout time you got up," I swear I jump five feet into the air. I swerve around, back to the beginning of the stairs. There, slouching over himself as he sits upon the stairs, is a young man.
Shadows cast from his spiky brown hair hang over his face. Eyes hidden, he seems to be staring at his own booted feet, completely ignoring my presence. From what I can gather from his appearance, I would say that he is some sort of miner. Then again, no amount of rock and soil could mark someone's skin like that. Scars and bruises decorate what little I can see of his arms, neck and legs. Some scars are fainter than others, but they all seem the same in one way. Equally spaced out, the sets of five scars run parallel to each other - like a wild cat scratch.
I swallow past the harsh lump of pity in my throat as I imagine the pain these many scars would have caused when first made.
"You can stare all you want," I flinch back at the low harshness of his voice, "I don't need your pity!"
Before I could even think of a reply, he was up and started his way towards me. Breathing weakly, for each step he takes forward, I take one back. Fear clutches at my heart as I am backed up against a marble pillar.
"Are you scared of me?" he almost sounds smug, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk. All I do is nod. I really am scared. But why was he taking pleasure in that?
"Are you more afraid of me...or the Heartless?" he asked a question of his own, one I was not expecting. With that question passing by his lips, the gleam of his cruel smile vanishes. He is being utterly serious with me now.
"Th-the Heartless..." I cannot help the quacking in my voice. Images of those men dying before my eyes...why won't they go away?
"I see." I catch a slight glimpse of cerulean through his curtain of brunette bangs. Something stirs in my heart, my fear melting as I am captivated by something so simple as his eyes.
Just as easily as the spell on my limbs was cast, it is broken as soon as those deep warming eyes are hidden beneath shadow once again.
"You have a dept to pay," he said as he brushes his fingers across my cheek. My stomach twistes but I cannot help how the soft, gentle, touch makes me feel so safe and warm. "A life was saved last night, now it is under my control. You owe me that very life," he breathes against my ear. The awareness that he is drawing his lips closer and closer to my own grows, "and I shall use it as I see fit."
Just a breath's length away now, I would just have to tilt my head back to make our lips touch. "You are my prisoner - my slave - until I say otherwise..."
He catches his breath, as if someting has burned him. He draws back sharply, a hiss escaping him.
What was I thinking? I had completely forgotten my fear and had wanted to kiss him!
I can feel the blood rush to my face, colouring my cheeks, as I jerk my head to the side to hide my embarrassment. All is silent as I try to catch up my mind with his words. What had he said? 'Slave'?
"A slave?" I asked, head hanging in shame.
"Yes. You shall do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it."
I bite my lip.
"Follow me." I follow after him like the hopeless slave I am.
Each room is more depressing, dank and darker than the one before. Cobwebbed corners. Dusty ripped curtains. The floors are no better...
"I expect the tables to be cleaned, spotless, before every meal," the muscles of his back flex tensely as he storms ahead of me, never checking to see if I am keeping pace with him. "you will attend such meals if I say so. If not, you take into intuition that you should eat in the kitchen."
He awaits my recognition. I am to be formal and yet not dote when addressing him.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now, that is all the rooms that shall concern you," he continues off down the chapel-like hall after the dining room is closed. I trail after him until my straying eyes hone in on a mahogany pair of doors. A single golden heart knocker, clings five feet from the floor upon the door. He has yet to tell me about that room.
"Uh...sir," I said tentatively. He freezes mid-step. "What about that room?"
He turns his head stiffly in the direction of my gesture.
"That room is none of your concern." His tone tells me that that is the end of the conversation.
"Y-yes, sir."
"This way. I'll show you to your room."
Wha-?"My room? But I thought-"
"That you'd sleep on the floor like a dog? Would you prefer that?" he asked sharply. Tears sting the corners of my eyes.
"I- No...sir."
"Then follow me." I do so, no more questions asked.
It took less than five minutes to reach my appointed room. I do not think that this room will be any cleaner than the others. If the very door is covered in dust and grime, I fret as to what state I will find the room in.
"I expect you to be dressed suitably and to have your room cleaned by the time I sit down for dinner." He turns to leave me to my work.
"Wait!" I bite my lip. Never raise your voice to him. "Uh, sorry..."
There is no doubt in the way he holds himself that he is annoyed with my continuous interruptions.
"What is it?" he asked, hair hanging over his eyes still as he denys the courtesy of looking at me.
"May I ask - if it is not too much to do so - that I...ask for your name?" he raises an eyebrow to me, I can tell as I see his head twitch over in my direction. "What is your name, sir?"
He obviously did not expect me to ask such a simple question for he finally looks up to me.
Once again I am stunned by the warm familiarity of those cerulean eyes. They make my tense stance slump. Cerulean. Just like my brother...
"...ra."
I am snapped back into the time at hand as he blinks at me, his dark fan of lashes cutting off his hold on me. I clear my throat.
"Um...pardon?"
I am surprised that he does not harden up when I ask again. "Sora. That is my name."
"Sora..." I tested the way his name feels passing through my lips. His eyes are so warm and soft now, as if happiness is seeping into his veins and stirring deep within him. Vast, everlasting as the sky. I can almost feel the warm embrace as I look into them.
He turns back, taking away the eyes of my brother and shrouding them beneath his brunette locks.
"If you need anything, my servants will attend you." Sora said through gritted teeth, the tension in his jaw pronounce, "I will see you at dinner."
"Sora..." but he is too far gone for my whisper to have been heard. I sweep my fingers across the brass doorknob of my room, slipping inside as I pull the door open.
I tenderly trace my fingers across the wall, searching for a switch of some kind. The light of the moon seeping through the torn-curtain window is only enough to cast a light hue against the floor. Finally, I find a notch in the wall.
Warm radiance fills the once dark room, stinging my eyes for a moment as they try to adjust to the world around them. It...is not as bad as I thought. A midnight blue canopy double bed lies against the right wall, opposite the oriel windowed wall. The starlight gossamer curtains drape over the bed on either side, hiding the head of the bed. A rose emblem etched the footboard. Cobwebs and dust are scarce. Crossing the carpet floor, the lone mahogany Victorian wardrobe draws my eye. 'I expect you to be dressed suitably...'. That's what Sora had said, I must obey. However, what would be suitable in his eyes?
Opening the doors to the room-height wardrobe, I brush my hand along the hanging gowns and dresses. What a selection. Where did all these lovely dresses come from? They are certainly not meant for a "servant". From silk to cashmere, these are not meant to drape upon those that kneel on dirtied floors. Humble to my master, I choose the most modest of them all.
...
The beige sundress now adorned my body. The black omen bodice clings to my sides and waist, pressing my chest forward whilst leaving the dress's skirt to fan out like a flower's petals as I sway in front of the mirror. Showing my curves not too modestly yet not too pronounce either. I am thankful. There is hardly anything to "show off", and I would have looked like a flat stick if I had chosen any of the other gowns that hung lifelessly in my wardrobe.
I sigh heavily as I brush my fingers along my blushing cheeks, why am I thinking so much of Sora? He is so...grotesque. I should not have acted the way I did. Groaning, I see the blush glow in the mirror as I think about how close I had been to kissing him. I had been so drawn to him - so warm, it felt so right. So easy. I needed to have him kiss me at that moment, his eyes caressing my face. In that moment, with his cerulean eyes holding my own brown eyes in place, I had felt so safe. Why is he so harsh when his eyes are so soft?
Because he's hiding something, I can tell at least that much. Soft and open one moment, hard and glazed over, protected, his eyes are the next. My saviour is hiding something; something close to his heart.
All those scars, mauling his body. What has he been through? What has he lived through to scar him in such a way? All these questions, running through my mind, they are never going to be answered!
Brushing my hair back away from my eyes quickly, I gaze across the room. My room, now. Now, the tattered curtains are lying in the trash. The walls are dusted of cobwebs. The bed is made; my own dress is smothered amongst the others in my new wardrobe. Happy that everything in this room is to standard, I rush out the door, swinging the door shut, and race down the hall to the kitchen.
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