(via grasshoppah-be-mastahs)

(via grasshoppah-be-mastahs)

Name of Piece: Hound of Baskervilles
Deviantart: www.cookieeater33.deviantart.com

Chapter 2: The Blue Danube

        There must have been quite a commotion outside my room to have woken me. I could not tell whose voice any of them were because all were mumbles. The door was shut, and the sunlight shone in from the window, like it did every day, had it not rained. It barely rained and in the winter it mostly snowed in the evening through the night. This morning, however, the tweets of the canaries were not heard. 
        Someone knocked on the door, followed by, “Milady, may I enter?” The voice I could recognize; it was my maid, Catherine.  
        ”Yes.” I responded facing away from the window as I rubbed my eyes awake. I pulled the nightgown off over my head, leaving on only my undergarments.
        ”What would you like to wear today, Milady?” She asked, standing by the open wardrobe.
        I sighed and stared down at my almost-bare body. “Anything’s fine.”
        She reached in and took a pink gown off the hanger. Catherine laid the gown down neatly next to me on the bed. She took a corset and waited for me to get up. 
        Standing up, I lifted my arms and patiently stared at the wall across my gaze as she put the corset around my torso. 
        It was inappropriate for a lady such as myself to be dressed by a male butler, so Catherine would do all the work that involved dressing or undressing me.
        The butler, Jackson, was the only butler in the entire house, and considering just how big the Manor was and the amount of work he had to do, he had my respect. Out of all the servants, it was him that I trusted most. He escorted me to every corner of Britain and he’d do the same for the world if I had desired so. My meals were all served by him and my clothes washed and ironed by his hands. He was more loyal than a dog to me, but even a dog had to have its days. No — Jackson was nothing like a dog, he was like a friend, not that I could ever call but a butler that.
        ”What’s all the noise?” I asked Catherine as she was finishing up dressing me by wrapping a honey-yellow bow tightly around my waist as a finishing touch.
        ”Duke Kinlan’s son, Lord Henry William Kinlan.”
        It hit me as no surprise. Every day my problems seemed to involve him more and more. He was nothing but a nuisance in my life, one that I could never see as my betrothed.
        ”Pardon me, My Lady, but he’s speaking in tongues. He’s gone completely mad!”
        ”I’d think the same if I were to see him. What is he going on about now?” It was unusual for Henry to appear in the Manor this early in the morning, but considering how I had ended yesterday’s conversation, I wasn’t all that surprised. He’d have gone insane some day or another.
        Catherine folded my nightgown and put it the drawer. “His tongue is twisted in knots, he’s spouting about demons!” A worried look appeared on her face, but I couldn’t tell if it were the demons she was worried about or Henry’s sanity. 
        ”And who do you suppose twisted that tongue?” A voice echoed inside my head. It was that cloaked man’s voice. He hadn’t regularly habituated in my body during the day, or not that I knew of. I could see a faded image of his face appear before me. 
        ”You twist just about anything, including my words.” I responded back to him, completely forgetting that Catherine was still here. 
        ”Pardon, Milady?” Catherine leaned in as if misunderstanding what I had said.
        ”Sorry, nothing.” I smiled, feeling frustrated on the inside.
        ”And soon enough your sanity,” By the tone of his voice, I knew he was grinning.
As if knowing my thoughts and worries; Catherine excused herself and left the room. If only Henry was able to do the same.
        I closed my eyes and fell back on the bed. “You’re quite the nuisance.”
        I could feel his cold black aroma leaving my body as he replied, “Only for you, my sweet.” 
        How sweet could I be when my soul was drenched with the dying screams of people who died at my hands? If anything, I’d taste of bitter dark chocolate, melted by the fires of Hell. ‘Tis the reason those words sounded so brutal to me when told. Those words escaping a demon’s mouth made me only worry more, for such words a demon would never say.
        ”That’s not the kind of favour I’d ask of you.” I frowned, turning my face away from him. When I opened my eyes, I could see his dark figure through my peripherals. I felt the same way I always did around him. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a sense of fear or hate, but more like a long-lost feeling of ceasing to exist. My existence all of sudden become as light as paperweight, as unimportant as the jewels covering my body. Perhaps I was already dead, and this hollow body was nothing more than old shed skin, no longer serving a purpose. That I’d never know ‘til death would truly come.
        ”Are you referring to my annoyance, or to the little strings I pulled of poor Henry?” He replied, smiling as if proud of either.
        I stayed silent for a moment, and then responded, “Both.” I didn’t know what such ‘strings’ he pulled, but I knew it would not be to my liking.
        The man lay down next to me and made it so that we were face to face. His eyes stared deep into mine, and although only for a moment, I felt as if he were not looking into just my eyes, but inside of me, into my soul, into a secret only I knew of.
        The smirk on his face lightened but not by much as he began to boast, “I tried holding back, but of cou—”
        ”What’s your name?” I interrupted him, completely uninterested in his accomplishments that buried over my own.
        His grin widened once more. It seemed as though any question asked would keep his attention long enough for him to answer. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again; names are of no importance to me, and neither should they be to you.” 
        You’d think it’d have been the first time I’d asked with a reply like that, but it must’ve been the thousandth, and every time he’d say the same thing. “Does that truly answer my question? I believe you are missing the point of it.”
        ”Well, I— “
        ”I asked you what your name was, not why you think you should not tell me.”
        Suddenly that grin he had kept up for so long turned into a frown, as if disappointed in my victory. “You’re quite persistent.”
        ”And you’re quite persistent to not answer what you are asked.” I replied, sitting up on the bed. “How strange is it that I’ve known you since I was 10 and yet I know not of your name?”
        The man’s eyes shifted away from my gaze to the ceiling. “Aloïs Nacht.”
        ”Pardon me?” I replied as if insulted.
        He got up off the bed and headed towards the door, but stood when he got there. Without turning back to face me, he laughed softly and said, “My name is Aloïs Nacht.” 
        I smiled, still sitting, and replied, “That was not so hard to say, now was it?”
        There was no smile on his usually joyful face when he looked back at me, just an emotionless expression that made me wonder if it was really there, or just an illusion. It was so cold and cruel that for a mere moment, the sun outside went out like a burning candle under a glass cup, and all the smiles that I’d ever smiled in my 19 years of living were worthless. It made me see the reality of things. It made me question my existence. Worst of all, it made me question God and his decisions. The words were scratching at the corners of my lips, trying to escape, ‘Don’t… do that again.’ But they didn’t make it out. The world seen behind the eyes of a demon was more horrid than anything a human would experience. You could never begin to imagine what Hell was like, nor would you want to.
        Without saying another word, he left the room, his body completely disintegrating into ashes. He must’ve been disappointed in me, though I didn’t know why, but at least I had finally found out his name after these 9 years; and what a strange name it was. It definitely was not English. But that was not the point; I finally knew, in price of a little piece of my joy. Perhaps that moment of regret I felt in me was what I had to experience in exchange for something of his, whether it be an object or information.
        ”Milady?” A head peeked into my room. I nearly jumped at the shock of seeing a man, mistaking it to be the demon. “Pardon.” He finally said, bowing down in forgiveness.
        ”Is there anything scheduled for today?” I asked the butler as I stood up.
        Jackson offered a hand as I got up, using it for support. “Marriage requests. If you’d like to meet any—”
        ”I don’t.” I interrupted him, “Cancel them all. Is that it?” 
        ”Dance lessons.” 
        ”Dismiss it as well. I’m not in the mood.” I replied, yawning.
        His face looked stern as he responded, “I cannot. Mr. Grayson is already downstairs. It’s 9:00 in the morning.”
        I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, only imagining what pains he had to go through to still stand waiting on the first floor. “Oh, dear. Was he there to witness Lord Kinlan’s tantrum?”
        ”I’m afraid so.” said Jackson as he opened the door to the hallway, motioning his hand towards it. “Milady?”
        I sighed, walking through the doorway. Art lessons twice a week, dance lessons thrice, and one hour of fencing; and that was only so far. Eventually Lady Annabelle would squeeze my schedule so tight, my corset would feel loose to me.
        Mr. Grayson awaited me at the end of the curling staircase, with his hand ready to take mine. He was dressed in a black tailcoat and his hair was combed back. He looked more professional than usual. 
        I gracefully curtsied when I got to the bottom of the stairs and took his hand, using my free hand to hold my gown up to avoid stepping on it.
        ”You look dashing, Milady.” He smiled, his eyes tinting from brown to orange as the chandelier hit them. 
        ”As do you,” I replied, keeping my face as pleasant as possible. “But please, do drop the formalities, Rhys.” I said in a lower tone of voice.
        He laughed softly and took my waist and other hand. “I would, Ms. Strathmore, but in the presence of your family and peers, I must refrain myself from seeming informal.” He whispered, pulling me closer as we began to dance. “After all, what am I but your dance instructor?”
        The musicians played The Blue Danube Waltz, and as the rhythm picked up, we began to move faster and in tune.
        ”One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four…” He quietly mumbled.
        Rhys was so much like Aloïs on the outside; the taunting voice, the sinister smile, even that leading hand that wouldn’t let you take control no matter how much effort you’d make to change that. They were both so… in command.
        I constantly looked down at our moving feet, worrying if with each step I took, I was going too fast or too slow.
        ”Relax.” Rhys whispered in my ear, loosening his grip on my waist a little. “Don’t get so tense, you’re doing fine.”
        It wasn’t as if I’d never danced before, but never had I waltzed with another, let alone Rhys. It was my first lesson, let more reason I hadn’t wanted to attend.
        Moving even faster, he pulled me back closer to him, our faces now only a few inches apart.
        Rhys stared into my eyes so determinedly; I couldn’t help but look back down at my feet again. 
        He removed his hand from my waist for a moment and tilted my chin back up to look at him. “Have you heard the recent news, Milady?” He asked as if trying to keep my mind from focusing so closely on how I danced.
        ”Depends on what news, Mr. Grayson.” I replied, gathering back all of my composure.
        Rhys softly laughed at how swiftly my formality had wavered back. “There have been sightings of a pirate ship not far from the St. Katharine docks. It’s only a matter of time until they’re manifesting the streets of London, ‘less they are already.”
        I strangely stared at Rhys, surprised by what he’d said. The tempo of the dance slowed down a bit, but it wasn’t long before Rhys forcefully brought it back up again to match the rhythm. “Frightened, Milady?” He grinned that terrorizing smile that so much reminded me of the demon’s.
        ”Not the least bit.” I replied, straightening my back and continuing to follow his lead of the waltz. “I’m more surprised than anything else. There haven’t been pirates in ages!”
        ”Well who wouldn’t be surprised at such non-expectancies? Since it’s only the ship that’s been sighted, and from afar at that, it might be deserted.”
        I sighed, already beginning to feel tired of waltzing about. “Does that mean I will be forced an escort with me to any destination outside of the Manor?” 
        ”Why, Milady, are you not forced to have one already?”
         I would have stopped to rest by now, but the pace at which Rhys was dancing made it seem he insisted on continuing more so, regardless of whether I wanted to or not. 
          The space between our bodies grew tighter, so much that I could feel his breath on my neck and his hairs on my skin.
        I firmed my feet on the ground, rejecting the movement that he so heavily swayed upon me. Pushing his chest away, as if asking for room to breath, I took a step back myself, as if needing more. “That’s a bit too close for even myself, Rhys, even if I did ask that you don’t be so formal.”
        ”You have my sincerest apologies, Milady. Please forgive me.” He replied as he kneeled down on one knee, placing himself no higher than a servant.
        Could that really be an apology, or just a plead for another chance? I never let anyone get as close to me as I did the demon. So close, he literally had felt upon all of my insides, even barely grasped onto my soul because he was curious as to what it would feel like. He once told me it was fragile and vulnerable, much like a newborn; perhaps reason being why almost everyone took advantage of it, though I tried only my best to stop them from doing so.
        We continued to dance for another 40 minutes or so, Rhys showing me how to do this and that and what postures to refrain from doing. It was quite the tiring hour for me, while Rhys didn’t even seem to break a sweat. 
        ”Would you like to join me for a cup of tea, Milady?” He asked me, letting go of my waist ever so gracefully.
        ”Rhys, call me Starling, I insist.” I’d nag him about it ‘til he’d finally agree to do so. I couldn’t stand all these formalities and being called ‘Milady’ all the time. Being an orphan since birth for 10 years, I wasn’t accustomed to such until only at the late age of 11. “And certainly. I have not yet eaten breakfast either.” I added, glaring over at Jackson who was standing next to the group of musicians. 
        ”Please excuse me, Milady. How improper of me. I’ll go fix some eggs for Mr. Grayson and yourself immediately.” Jackson responded, bowing down in forgiveness.

        I bit down on the edge of the teacup after taking a sip, staring directly at Rhys who sat across from me. We were sitting in a part of the courtyard where my room could be seen from, and the tree before it still had the canaries’ nest, but no canaries themselves. 
        I sat there thinking of the many possible situations that would force the canaries out, or even kill them. It wasn’t as if they were game-birds like geese and ducks, so that gave them no reasons to be killed by humans.
        ”Something on your mind?” Rhys asked, sipping his own tea. I could see a slight grin coming out from behind the teacup.
        My face must’ve been buried with worried lines for him to have asked that, else he could read my mind as well as Aloïs. “The canaries are no longer in the tree outside my window. I may never hear their sweet morning call again.”
        Rhys smiled at my response, and this time it was more relaxed and loose than those smirks and grins he’d throw around. “You must’ve been quite attached to them to worry so much.” He laughed.
        ”But of course!” I gasped. Only realizing how devastated I sounded when I had said that, I looked down at my teacup, bringing it back up to my mouth. “Sorry.” Taking something out that had been there every day of my life was more than noticeable and I couldn’t help but constantly think about wanting it back.
        ”Don’t apologize, Starling.”
        I nearly jumped at the sound of him finally call me by my first name.
        ”I find it absolutely captivating when a woman has so much care for something.” He added, leaning in closer.
        I merely blushed at his response, trying to cover my embarrassment by continuing to sip my tea as if ignoring his comment. I took a deep breath as I set down the teacup. “Rhys, not to seem rude, but I hope you are not expecting my hand in marriage for saving my life. I know how ungrateful that sounds, but there are reasons why I cannot.”
        He laughed at my response as if thinking so lowly of me.
        I frowned, and egoistically turned away.
        ”Starling, I do not expect anything in exchange for saving your life. I don’t regret saving a life worth saving. If I am to ever wish having you as my wife, I want to work my way to your approval and make myself even worthy of being your husband. I do not intend pushing such excuses as debt to make you marry me. That is unforgivable.”
        Whether he had intended to marry me or not, I could never accept, for the contract would break from the very dying words ‘I love you’. To be exact, that was what it consisted of. In exchange for my soul, the demon would mirror my life, making it as though I was never born an orphan, but the daughter of the Countess of London. She was never able to have any children, making my sudden appearance at the gates of her Manor quite convenient.
        On the other hand, the reason I was able to stay alive was because of Rhys Grayson, the son of the chief inspector of Scotland Yard, who had pushed me away from my death by a moving coach at the age of 13. He was 20 at the time, refusing to follow the footsteps of his father, and become what he really wanted; a dance instructor. Of course, I only knew that one day he would be my instructor. 
        ”That’s… quite bold of you to say.” I replied, trying not to make direct eye contact. I knew that if I did, he’d be able to know what I was thinking almost instantly. I took a deep breath, as well as a hard try to change the topic. “Concerning my first waltz lesson, how was I?” 
        ”Had I not known it was your first, I would very well have thought it not. Are you quite certain it was your first time? This is the Era of Waltz after all.”
        ”As certain as I am that Lord Kinlan’s a nutcase.” I smiled reassuringly.
        ”Don’t have to get so rational.” Rhys laughed as he poured himself another cup of tea.
        I stared at the warmness of Rhys’ ever so rarely occurring gentle smile. The teacup in my hands was just as warm as it, and I softly smiled and drank it bit by bit constantly, thinking of how different things would be if I could ever love.

Name of Piece: Frostbitten
Deviantart: www.cookieeater33.deviantart.com 

Name of Piece: Poisoned
Deviantart: www.cookeeater33.deviantart.com 

Chapter 1: The Dim Star

        The purpose of a chantry is to forgive and be forgiven. Matron took us there often to replenish our souls and throw behind our sins, but never forget them. We’d pray for the dead through song, a requiem, to celebrate masses for the founder’s soul. The chantry fed us all these lies about finding peace in the afterlife but I was never even able to find it while breathing. And if I sold my soul to the devil, I wouldn’t find it anyways.
        So here I am in the dark where the wind doesn’t blow and the dogs don’t howl. My face is my face but I’ve never really seen it. The mirrors that use to be here were long gone before I came. If there’s a corpse in this room, or the next, there are undoubtedly rats feeding on it. If I’m alone, whether in here or outside, I’m not safe.
        This use to be a haven made to protect us, but now there are cracks in the walls and the flood of death seeps out like swarms of bees. The roof is gone, the walls are open, the floor is damp, and my soul is on fire. This use to be an orphanage, but now it’s just the reason we should have ceased to exist.
        The only noise that rings in this hollow building is the clinging of steel against the wood floor. It’s being dragged and it bumps into every piece of wood sticking out. The only scent is the smell of rotten flesh and dry blood. 
        It’s a man, no doubt. A man who kills without mercy, and lives without hesitance. I remember him well.
        The clinging sound disappears as he goes farther away, but he’s still here, and so am I. I’d run, but where to?
        The Matron said to run, just as she herself did, but she died. Her body’s here, next to where mine is soon to be.
        ”Am I pretty?” I asked the Matron, touching my face.
        Her face was grounded into the wooden planks in a puddle of blood. She could not answer, so I’d never know.
        ”Am I horrid?” I loudly whispered out to whoever was out there, followed by a short giggle. 
        The noise of steel was gone and everything was silent. I could only hear my heart that softened its beat over time.
        I wasn’t scared because I’d gone through worse. I’d gone through having to grow up without parents.
        I got up and twisted the knob on the door. “My name is Starling and I grew up grotesque,” I sang, opening the door, “I wrote on the floors, instead of the desks.” The floor creaked with every step I took, “The doctors said that a needle wont hurt me,” I stepped over the dead body lying in front of me, “Now all is gone, lost to the red sea.”
        The door to the exit of the orphanage was right ahead. If it were daytime, the light would seep in through the cracks of the door, but there was not a single light in the building. I couldn’t see very well, but I knew the entire orphanage inside out. “If I were naughty, I would be hung,” I continued to sing, unlocking the front door, “If I dare cursed, they’d cut off my tongue.”
        ”I’d always use manners, wash my hands before meals,” I opened the door, a slight breeze rolling in, the first breeze I’d ever felt, “If this was the end, I’d know that it’s real.”
        The outside was not much different from the in. Bodies lay everywhere; none of which were mine. Why was it that I was alive after all this time? This place was home to the poor; nothing got in and nothing got out. I could wait for days for the large wooden gates to open, but they never would. It used to be the cries and laughter of children that filled the streets, but now it was just that single breeze looping in the air, whistling an unfamiliar tune.
        My foot sank into the mud as I took another step. The mud gushed between my toes, inflicting pain on the sores on my feet much worse than before. I never had shoes, at least not ones that were mine. The clothes on my back and the roof above me were always paid for by donors and the Matron. I was as poor as a church mouse, if not more. 
        One question still wandered my mind; how was it the murderer got in when no one could get out? The doors were thickly layered with the wood of a turkey oak tree and were then barred over with steel planks. A chance of escaping was as good as gone.
        I covered my mouth as I coughed, choking from the intoxicated air. My hands were covered in dirt and dry blood from the Matron’s body. If one were to stumble upon me in such a situation as this, they’d think almost instantly that I was at fault for the retched state the small town was in. I looked as much of the killer as I did the innocent.
        The sky above was blocked by the black ashes that fogged the air. It looked like a burned out fire, clearing up but not quite gone yet. The thickness of the fog could be compared to fine Arabic silk, weaved to appear translucent and smooth, but made to conceal when layered.
        Matron use to tell us, “The day when nothing is here, is the day no one is here.” I never really understood what she meant by that for we had nothing to begin with. No parents to welcome us home or cook for us or scold when we did wrong, no money to satisfy our wants and needs and teach us the difference between the two, and no more than a farthing’s worth of quality soil to grow crops. As poor as a church mouse, we were, if not more than.  
        I might close my eyes and imagine some place better, but for someone who grew up here, you wouldn’t know what a place like that looked like. It could look like the simple street of Little Britain you grew up on, or a castle on the edge of the map. It might even be a guest room or a basement in one’s home or a meadow of wild dandelions. Or it could be none of those. It might just be something out of this world, like the moon with a ladder that would lead all the way up to it. But I’d never know, because after all, I grew up here, in this junkyard of a town, Adayus. 
        In your world it would be the alleyways between buildings or the cage of a dove at the theatre. It was even the shrieks of a banshee and the groans of a dead man. Nothing was as simple to say as it was to know what a place like this felt like to live in. 
        ”I’ll let you choose,” A soft husky voice spoke behind me, “as you are the only remaining one here.”
        When I turned, all I saw was complete darkness. All the lamps, all the fire, everything, was gone. He only stood before me, with a look in his eyes that had no sign of life or peace, just disruption and chaos. 
        ”You can die like you should, or you can live, price be paid.”
  
        ”Come on, Star. Don’t keep men like me waitin’—hic!—too long. You won’t get another chance for any shorter than a while, if not ever,” Henry wavered around before me, holding a tankard that’d seem like it’d spill its contents at any given moment.
        ”Men like you? And what such foul men pray tell, Lord Kinlan? You’re as drunk as a fish. Please excuse yourself before I am to hear any complaints regarding yourself,” I clutched my purse in my hand, walking around the drunken swine as if only natural.
        He grabbed onto my arm and pulled me back. “Complaints and Lords together is finding a fork in a bowl of soup. All I ask—hic!—is for your hand, Star. A hand is not a heart.”
        I jerked my arm out of his grasp, my temper shortening. “And neither shall you have. Leave thy well alone or I shall see you to the door,” I would have slapped him, but then I recalled who he was, and who I wasn’t. He was a lord, drunken or not, and I was no more than a woman.
        One would find it simply foolish to refuse proposal from a Lord, the man with power, but what power was made of a drunken man? What power did he have over what he could have if he were sober? But men like these, men like Henry, were only ever seen drunken or passed out, and not much could be said about a man like that. He might’ve been a rich man and a handsome man, but what good was a man if senseless? If a man were to have a woman, he’d have all of her, and not just for the plain purpose of having a wife, to be known as the ‘married drunken Lord’ and what not. You could only wonder what was to become of such a man.
        I heard the Lady’s voice call from behind, “Starling, dear! Over here!” 
        I turned with a welcoming smile on my face, seeing both Lady Annabelle and Duke Kinlan. 
        Heading over to them, the Duke greeted me and I did likewise. “Nice to see you, Milady. I see you have not yet taken fancy of my son,” He told me, bobbing his head of black hair in Henry’s direction.
        I sighed, tired of such questions. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I shan’t ‘til there is not a drop of wine or whisky left in all of Britain.”
        The duke laughed, and then his face turned stern. “You are a fine woman, too fine for even my son, I must say. Had he not had his eye on you, I might have asked to have you for myself.”
        ”And I might have accepted, had he not been your son,” I replied. As if I’d ever be interested in a man such as himself. I never quite found myself to ever imagine being married to a man thrice my age.
        ”I don’t know whether to be disappointed or flattered,” He chuckled a sort of nervous chuckle, staring deeply into my eyes, studying my character.
        The Lady turned to Duke Kinlan and made a small bow with her head, so small it could barely be called a bow. “I apologize on her behalf if she has offended you, Your Grace.”
        My face must have swelled in embarrassment when the Duke said, “Nonsense, I quite enjoy her company. You are lucky to have such a beautiful young daughter such as Starling.” A daughter but an orphan, a woman, a bride-to-be —all these things I was or had to become. So little control I had over my life, I’d never considered it to be mine alone.
        A chill ran down my spine. I had no intentions of leading him on like this, but I could not do so without coming off as rude. “Forgive me; I should see to our other guests.”  I curtsied down to the Duke and turned as I said, “Pardon me.” 
        Heading off with no idea of where I was going —I just had to avoid the Duke— Henry’s drunken voice echoed in the ball room. Every time the Lady had or attended such gatherings, he would be invited along with his father, the Duke. 
        ”Listen ‘ere, everyone!—hic!—Me and the young lady are gettin’ us married!” Henry stood up on the dining table, wasted from head to toe. I swore, I would have that swine’s head on a platter by the end of this. 
        I sighed, walking away from the center of the commotion. 
        ”Ain’t that so, doll?” He yelled, everyone’s attention directing at me. What had become of a Lord these days? Had he no respect for himself at all? I’d tell him, he’d have none of mine.
        ”Broadening rumours is dirty business, Milord, if I might say so. As desperate as you may be, and as single as I might be, I’d appreciate if you didn’t expand what gossip is already roaming our streets along side the rats.” I turned, hoping this one reply would be enough to keep his mouth as shut as the guilty. But even if it did, it wouldn’t get rid of his father. It would only have me hanging by a string right above the Duke’s nose for him to grab once in reach. If Henry was no more, I’d definitely become more than acquaintances with the Duke, and that was not something I intended. Men were such a hassle, especially lords, but what bothered me most was how they treated women as if nothing more than accessories. I’d have no such thought of having to be treated like one running through my mind.
        ”You—” Henry’s words slurred and elongated. He could barely keep himself up with those two feet the way he was tangling them with each other. “You don’ know what you was sayin’ there, ‘ight?”—More than you do, naturally—”Come, come, lassie,” His eyelids drooped halfway over his eyes as he motioned me towards him with one finger. “Come so I can show you what a pain you women are.” At least I didn’t have to do anything to show what a pain Henry was.
        Obeying him, I walked towards him, one step after another. Apparently nothing could rid me of this man. He was as determined as the cold that nipped away at my skin in the winter. “Yes, Milord?” I said, looking up at him like I wanted to look down instead. 
        “‘Milord’? One moment you look down on me and the next—hic!—you realize your place?” He kneeled down on the table, holding a glass of whisky in his left hand.
        I gasped as if in shock, “Look down on you? Milord, I’d never!” My eyes watered with innocence and regret. Thank you to the woman who raised me so.
        ”Not ever? Then why does it seem otherwise?” Henry raised his brow, bringing the glass closer to his face.
        I said nothing, for I had nothing to say.
        ”And now you are as silent as a grave. ‘Tis the woman I planned to marry.” My voice was not the only one unheard; the entire ball room dropped quiet, though I felt as if the only person’s silence he noticed was mine.
        My eyes gazed down at the floor beneath me. I endlessly hoped the tiles would fall through into Abyss and take him with it, but had no such luck. “Pardon me.” I finally said, walking the other direction.
        ”I’m not done with you yet!” He yelled from behind.
        ”But I’m done with you.”

        I slipped out of my ball gown and put on more comfortable attire; a nightgown. The door to my room slightly opened, a pale face covered by a black hood peering in. How foolish of a lady I was to forget to lock the door.
        ”Do you wish him dead?” The man asked me as a grin stretched on his face from ear to ear. How stupid of a question that was to demand an answer to.
        ”I’d never wish such upon anyone.” I replied, hanging my ball gown in the closet.
        ”Don’t you have butlers for that?” He asked, pushing the door open even further.
I sighed and kept walking around the room, avoiding eye contact. “I can do as much as hang my own clothing.”
        ”Continuing,” The man took off his hood, revealing his dark raven-coloured hair and his face that appeared as if all the pigments in his skin had been drained. “I could easily slip poison, or perhaps tear his soul from his body and devour it.”
        ”And why would you have such unnecessary motives?” I asked him as I sat down on my bed, taking off the boots that so tightly grasped around my leg, they refused to come off. “His soul is foul.”
        He only smiled at my answer. He brushed his black locks off his face, revealing crimson red eyes and sacks under them that only one who had never fallen into slumber since birth could acquire. “A soul, foul or not, is still a soul, just as burnt bread is still bread.”
        ”It has an unpleasant taste.”
        ”But yet it still remains food, does it not? If you were starving, would you not eat it?” The man blew out two candles on my side-table, one left still burning.
        ”I suppose, though I do not hope to ever come cross a situation where as I might have to.”
        ”This soul might not befit my tastes, but it’s better than feeling a gaping hole in my stomach.” He blew out the last candle. I could feel him coming closer towards me, I could hear each footstep he made, and I could smell the stench that would only be recognised as his. The air around me grew colder, like on the first day of winter; it made me want only the warmth of a blanket and hot English tea. The man tucked me into bed and looked me in the eyes. “I do the butler’s job better than he, do I not?”
        ”Don’t flatter yourself.” I smiled, closing my eyes, “Get on with it.”
        ”Goodnight.” He whispered in my ear before the darkness of the night slowly twisted into the darkness of Death’s wrath, or so called embrace.

Name of Piece: Blood Bath
Deviantart: www.cookieeater33.deviantart.com