Turmoil

Mr. James Sterne found solace in the grand hall, where he sat in his towering armchair beneath the bright lamp. His focus was entirely on the newspaper he held, a partial frown framing his face as the pages made a gentle rustling sound with each turn. The air carried a mix of old paper smell and a hint of cigar smoke, evidence of his indulgence beyond moderation, evident from his bloodshot eyes. The grand hall was directly below the room Anne and Emberline shared.

His focus was slightly hindered; he had not been following the words of his newspaper.

He heard Anne's muffled shout.

"Get out of my room, Morrie!"

A sigh escaped his lips as his brow furrowed in response to the disturbance. The newspaper, once held with intent, now sagged in his hands, as if mirroring his waning engagement with its words.

"It's not yours; it's Ember's," Mortmain replied.

"Stop touching my shelf!"

"It's not your shelf; it's Ember's," he repeated.

"Get out at once!" Anne's voice came stifled through to the grand hall.

"Emberline, tell Anne to shut up," Morrie replied vilely.

"Mortmain! Anne!" Mr. Sterne had enough. "Come downstairs at once," he scowled through his heavy breath. His words, laden with exasperation and weariness, held the weight of authority.

Emberline bore witness to the exchange. Morrie's heavy boots announced his arrival, and as Anne kept shouting at him to leave, but he teased by running his hand through each of her yarn and thread collection.

"Get out!" Anne shouted at last when she heard her father calling them both downstairs loudly.

"Oh, now you are in trouble," whispered Anne as she got off her bed. Joyfully leading the way while Morrie stood in the room entirely shocked.

"I am not going," Morrie told Ember.

"Well then he is going to come upstairs," she replied, not taking her eyes off her nails.

The arrival of Morrie downstairs was marked by the resonating thuds of his heavy boots against the floor demands, following Anne downstairs, where he met his pale father, looking straight at him.

Morrie's father, his face a mask of sternness, confronted his children with a gaze that brooked no argument. His words hung in the air.

"Why are you shouting?" he quizzed Anne.

"Morrie won't stop touching my things in my room, it's vexing!" she replied.

His gaze still fixed on Morrie.

"And he doesn't even listen to me; he even hit me!" she quirked.

"She is lying," Morrie thought, but before that thought left his mouth, his father stung him with a slap, his heavy hands now resting on his hair.

"How many times do I tell you to stay out of your sister's room!" he shouted.

The scene shifted once more, this time to the corridor upstairs, where Emberline stood as a silent observer. Her presence was discreet yet omnipresent, her emotions a mirror of the turmoil she witnessed.

Anne stood in horror.

He slapped him once, then again, and again. Anne stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do.

He held Morrie by the collar like a leash, unlocked the door and threw him outside, then rushed to close the door, but Morrie's hands stopped him. "I am sorry!" He whimpered "I am sorry!" he pleaded. But he didn't care; he forced the door on his hands as the young child stood in his doorway pleading to be let in. The door crushed the small hands, his fingers felt the force of a mans anger. Though he managed to stop the door from closing, his hands turned purple from the assault. His nail bore the first mark as the blood managed to clump under his nail in a few seconds.

Anne ran upstairs and saw Emberline standing in the corridor, watching the entire scene. Anne's gaze, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, conveyed a mixture of horror and helplessness.

"If anyone opens this door, I will make sure they stay the night outside as well!" he shouted.

Morrie kept banging on the door. "Dad, please!" but to no avail.

Emberline stood shocked at her father's heartlessness; this was the same man whom she had held a hearty discussion with earlier this evening and the shift in his mood was astonishing to say the least.

Mr. Sterne stumbled a little and opened the door to face his son again, staring at him with no sympathy whatsoever. "Go away," he scolded and smashed the door on him again. Defeated, the little boy stepped away from the door and sat on the stairs crying. Not making a sound even as he whimpered against the grapevine pillars. This wasn't the very first time his father had been unreasonable with him, and he hadn't known why. His breath still hurried, and his heart filled with anxiety. He had been sitting there for a few minutes simply staring at the door, replaying the scene that had just played out.

Anne looked at him from the window, making no sound, her heart beating in a hollow space, her mouth dry.

Emberline had sat by the corridor till she heard even a single sound of her father's snores as she inched near the door, hoping he hadn't heard her opening the door.

An hour had passed since Morrie had been sitting in the shallow darkness. Had it been any other child, he would have been scared, seeking shelter or help elsewhere, but it was Morrie. It was either resolute stubborness or absolute sadness that kept him at the doors that were shut on him.

She slowly unlocked the door in the darkness to not wake her father up and realized her brother had been sitting against the pillar, still silently sobbing. She failed to realize how heartlessly her father crushed his small hands in the doorway. He looked at her open the door, and his whimpers came stronger, unable to couldn't control his tears. Ember rushed to his side and tugged on his arm, but he let his hands go as he covered his face. His sobs got slightly louder. Emberline sat next to him, embracing him in a gentle hug. Her heart pained for him. Morrie could not help but feel nauseated; his heart went silent, and he suddenly felt lighter.

"It's alright, Morrie," she consoled him.

"You can sleep in Jeanette's room today," she hummed.

...

She didn't sleep the remainder of the night; she felt hollow from the encounter, and her stomach felt empty. She didn't feel hungry, just felt strings pulling at her heart. Emberline lay in her empty bed for an hour after she arrived, the room she inhabited was almost empty other than Anne. She remained frozen on the bed that she shared with her on routine. Usually, they would fight over the side farthest from the window to stay away from the sunlight. Yet she had been so late; Anne had been fast asleep, and she had to sleep on one that was closest to the window.

When she felt her eyes drowse, the weight of her memories bore down upon her like a heavy quilt, especially those from the previous night and the one before that. With each recollection, an icy shiver would race down her spine, and a sickening churn would grip her stomach, causing it to coil inwards. Her legs, almost as if disconnected from her body, became unsteady and feeble, rendering her incapable of leaving her cocoon of blankets.

Her sleep became fragile. Her body remained almost motionless, a trick she played on herself as if pretending that she had already slipped into a deep sleep. The night stretched on, each moment fraught with anticipation and uncertainty. Her tight breath made her heave in whatever position she was in.

She finally conjured the energy to sit on her bed, staring into the void with no thought. Her hair, which was made into a tight bun the night before, was now a mess; each moment became a witness to her discomfort. She felt the gaze of every eye on her even though she was hidden behind the thickest walls; she felt naked.

She got out of bed, and the feeling of discomfort and dissatisfaction increased.

Her thoughts ran wild; she glared at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes sunk deep into her skin, and her hair stood in awkward directions, her complexion dull, and her lips chipped. She felt her throat dry up. Her chest squeezed as though it had been held in a shrinking box while her head felt heavy with the feeling of constant ticking of impending doom.

Seeing herself like that was enough of a reason to cry, although she needed none. Each teardrop soaked into her blouse as she simply glared into her own eyes, rubbing each tear away like a clumsy child who had just been haunted by a ghost.

For the first time, she understood why people had lost the will to live.

She stared into her reflection, and her desire for change didn't stop; she wanted to change everything about herself. Her face, her gritty voice, her talon-like nails, and her pointy teeth. The dress made her cringe, and she stared at it before clawing at its corsetry, freeing herself from its embrace. Her teeth gritted as she picked up the brush and released her hair from her bun. She brushed her hair roughly and watched on with tears swimming in her eyes. Her brush had combed out a thick part of her hair, to which she realized her hair had started to thin out. The cracks on her skin were observable, and her swollen gapes now made her look outlandish. She wanted to run away from this place.

All her thoughts echoed into a void. A purposeless void; her voice of reason had diminished, replaced by a rather valueless need for change. It tugged at her own being; what was in her was lost all of a sudden. Unrecognizable, she was now a blank canvas, and she dreaded each moment of this feeling of nothingness.

She stood immediately, her conscience had clouded her mind like a foam that rolled in from the sea and Emberline knew she fared no better than a madman before her inner voice. With a frantic energy she ran around the room with an urgency that batted the heaviness in her heart, Each item she grabbed seemed to be plucked from a chaotic jumble, first picking a dress, then a skirt, then a shoe and then dropping it into a pile. Her fear and anxiety threatened to take hold but she didn't stop, half asleep she picked a suitcase, filling it with the items she most needed. With a determination born of necessity, she pressed on, her mind a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and half-formed plans. In a moment of clarity amidst the chaos, she spied a suitcase nestled in the corner of the room, without hesitation, she seized upon it, her fingers fumbling with the clasps in her haste. With each passing second, the urgency of her actions intensified.

She dropped all that she had collected into the vessel and closed it, the heavy suitcase now stood beside her, slowly cascading out with her as she took determined steps.

"Dad would understand" she thought to herself.