Thê Ûntîtlêd

Small, timid footsteps padded on the carpeted floor of the hallway as a little girl, holding her bear doll, walked in the dark, in search of water because the maid who was in charge of filling the jar in her room has probably forgotten to do so.

Her timid footsteps proved that she was afraid of dark and the flickering lights in the hallways didn't help her to see much rather they made the atmosphere seem creepy to her, but her thirst for water has forced her to overlook her fear. While walking she saw a beam of light infiltrated out of her parents' room. She scrunched eyebrows in confusion as to why her parents are still awake so late at night. She decided to take a peak.

But that seemed to be the worst decision of her life as it scarred her young heart forever. Just as she came near the door, she heard muffled screams of pain. The screams were feminine so the young girl thought it to be her mother's.

Concerned that her mother might've gotten hurt, she poked in her dark haired head in the room. Almost immediately her eyes widened, whether it is by fear or horrification that is not known. She seems to be frozen in shock, unable to move and unable to tear her eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of her, she stood there, helplessly and hopelessly.

She found herself questioning that which one of them was true…her parents' happy married life, showering her with all the love and care of the world or the abuse of her helpless mother by her drunk, angry father?

Her mother's mouth was tied and her face as well as her screams is muffled up due to the pillow on which she had hid her face, laid on her front on the bed, her clothes disheveled to the point that her naked body can be seen, her hair….her soft, shiny blonde hair is wrapped in her husband's fist as he continued his abuse. The girl doesn't know how long she stood over there, her thirst long forgotten. It wasn't until her mother turned her face at the door and spotted her. Both of them were startled at the same time-the daughter upon seeing her mother's face and the latter upon seeing the former at the door. Before the Duchess could do anything, the little girl disappeared from there in the blink of an eye.

Before the Duchess could get out of the grasp of her husband and call for her daughter, her voice died in her throat by another muffled scream of pain. The young daughter of the Duchess ran with all her might, still holding the bear doll and entered into her room. She closed the heavy door and it was then that her legs gave out as she fell down on the floor. The bear doll fell a few steps away from her. The young girl sat down on the carpeted floor, still wearing her nightdress as the event she witnessed ran over her mind once more. She felt her head throb in pain.

She was sweating profusely, whether it was because of the running or the scene she witnessed just now, she doesn't know. She couldn't stop herself from trembling. She kept sitting down on the floor and closed her eyes, hugged her knees, only to open them after the scene she witnessed just a few minutes back plagued in her sleep. It seems like she won't be able to sleep tonight anymore.

However few things became clearer to her. Her mother's sudden sicknesses and the severity of it that she locks herself in her bedroom and refuses to come out for several days, her father's sudden disappearances, the blue black spots on her mother skin and her desperate attempts to cover it up with powder or some other accessories, never made any sense to her. But now she can link them up and can understand them fully. She can finally guess why the eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Richmond suddenly passed away just after being married for 5 months. She shook and her eyes filled up with tears. Will she suffer like this too in future? Will she die an early, miserable death? But why? Why will she live like the other noble daughters! The young girl sniffed, her small hands curled up into tiny fist at the ends of her bent knees as her tears brimmed eyes shone in determination under the low light of the lamp in her room. Slowly her little eyes drooped and in no time she fell asleep on the floor. 

At an arid place known as Heathanne, a young boy laid on the cold ground of the stables of the Count of Heathanne, curled up into a ball, unable to move. He kept his ears wide open to hear sounds of boots anymore but found none. Upon being convinced, he slowly lifted up his battered, bruised and bloody frail body, only to fall down on the floor again. But he didn't give up. After a few more tries he stood up, his thin legs trembled violently under his weight, But before he could take another step, he stumbled and found himself falling down again. But his face didn't come in contact with the hard surface of the floor again as he found himself in the arms of the stable man—Jon. Old Jon was his family's servant for a long time and it was he who always has tried to protect him but those hardly ever helped. Still, the young lad was grateful to that old man, as he carried him in his arms to apply medicines on his bruises and cuts. He hissed as a pain shot from his abdomen. Funnily, for a seven year old boy like him, he didn't cry like the other boys of his age. Well, he did cry when he was younger but now he didn't anymore. He didn't have any tears left to cry. Perhaps that had made his step mother angrier than she is with him.

The little boy never understood why he was always beaten and abused by her step mother and why his father always plans to turn into a blind eye in this. He should be the one angry at his father for trying to replace his dead mother to the point that he allowed that wicked woman to remove all the belongings of his former wife.

When the little boy protested and requested not to do so, all he earned was a slap on his cheeks from his step mother in front of father, who didn't even bothered to look up from the newspaper!

All his mother's belongings were thrown away just like a piece of trash and he couldn't do anything! However like a silver lining in the clouds, old Jon had sneaked away some of his former mistress's belongings before, which the little boy hugs it to sleep every night. He hissed in pain again, as Jon applied medicine on his bruised stomach. Neither if them spoke. Jon's frail, old hands stopped for a moment before they started working again. After completing his work, Jon turned off the lamp of his shabby room. Then they proceeded to sleep. The seven year old lad curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

The two lonely souls of two different worlds, hugged their knees and fell asleep on the floor.