chapter Six

Red, all he could ever see is red. Not a true red, but a false one. A single murderous look from the amnesiac's eyes caused an interesting reaction within him. A reaction rooted within both a familiar face and yearning.

His blood feels hot, dramatically warming his body. Xavier's long, slender fingers twitch, while he could feel his heartbeat speed. His tong brushes against his bottom lip, before scraping his sharp, white, teeth.

Bite. Pick. Scratch. Kill. Those four desires hounded his brain. It didn't help a dinner of delicious smelling victims, sat around him without a care in the world. It's only day one, so he mustn't do these things. But, in the end is it truly his fault? No. Maybe, so. Yes, according to the Master.

Then again, most of these souls willingly step foot into this lovely place. It is their greed that brought them here, and it will be that greed that keeps them here. 

Every decade a game is played. A game that satisfies the murderous desires of the residents. A game that seems fair for all, and free from the bounds of rules. Yet, the reality is almost completely contradictory. Though The Estate itself may treat everyone equally from afar, one color holds significant power over the house. One man has absolute authority over everyone. To make things even more fun, Master regularly participates in an attempt to ease his boredom. His mere appearance is enough to ensnare victory inside his grasp.

The last victor of this game was Johnthan Riggs, back when the Master was a small child. Nobody has won sense. More likely than not, nobody will ever win again. Everything is flawed. Everything is red.

"Master, I love thee. Master, I swear by thee." Xavier thinks to himself, not daring to mutter it aloud. He will murder him. String him by the neck, hanging him for all to see. Or he could be potentially thrown from The Estate's gates to fend for himself and only after terrorizing the rest of the human population will he be allowed back in. 

A shiver travels down Xavier's spine, violently jolting him back to the current reality. Bringing the glass filled with red liquid to his lips, he smiles as it calms boiling body. 

Waylen's almond eyes flicker around the scene, watching Xavier quickly engulf the drink. 

Wrapping his fingers around the glass, Waylen slowly lifts it to his pretty face. It won't kill him, Xavier confirmed as much. The liquid is oddly thick, and smells strongly of iron. To drink it or not? 

"Don't drink it Waylen." Xavier answers with a hint of sarcasm, his heart beating so fast an outsider could hear it. 

"Drink it Waylen." The caretaker says from the corner, his lips crooked up and monocle dangling off his aged face. 

Xavier raises his eye slightly in disapproval, before returning his focus solely on the amnesiac in front of him.

"You won't like it." Xavier explains, staring into the almond-colored eyes. His tone flamboyant, completely lacking in seriousness.

With that Waylen took the glass to his lips, taking a small sip of the red liquid. Strings of saliva drip from his pink lips, pooling at the chin. It's metalic taste lingers on his tong, inducing a small gag. 

Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. The clock strikes eight, and the residents arise from their seats each turning to their own select set of maids. 

The caretaker timely makes his way over to Waylen, extending his gloved hand to him. "If I were you, I wouldn't leave the walls of the west wing." The old man warns, peering into those beautiful almond eyes.

"Is there something I should be fearing?" Waylen asks again, this time a slight sense of mischievousness added to his monotone voice. Cocking his head to the side, he bites his lip before staring him dead in the eyes. "You can kill me if you want." 

The branches on the trees begin to sway, as the cold wind violently pushes against the old man. The grass turns an even uglier gray, and all noise ceased to exist. Two people, completely separated from everyone else. 

"What about Chesslyn?" 

"We can join in hell."

Human blood filled those glasses. He had drunk human blood. Clearly, he's already a goner. All he needs is a signal for that cellphone to wish his sister goodbye. Speaking of which, he willingly followed the caretaker to the doors of the west wing. He didn't step inside, leaving Waylen to fend completely for himself. 

As much as he slept today, it didn't stop the waves of drowsiness from falling onto his body. Whether he try and make sense of stuff today or tomorrow didn't matter. It's not as if it could potentially change anything. He walked up to his bed, completely bundling himself in the sheets. 

Everything is familiar and everything is different. Before this, he had his sister. He couldn't let his sister live here. In a place so cut off. In a place under clear manipulation. In a way, Waylen knew he's going to die. But that didn't stop him from sleeping soundly and dreaming peaceful dreams. Dreams of a deep love. Dreams far too realistic to be his own. 

Sensing the steady rhythm of breathing, Johnthan Riggs left the west wing doors. The moon shines overhead, stars filling the dark, navy-blue sky. With that, he hummed. It is a simple song, the same song from the night he finally separated the pair of dependent twins. It is time to awaken the place. He hummed until something far less flattering broke the otherwise silence, the scream of a single maid.