Chapter Six - Colossal Doors
WARNING: This story contains material that might be triggering to some viewers! Adult content! Proceed with caution!
Chapter Six - Colossal Doors
Lustrous strands of hair tangled around the bristles of the brush. They threaded around in loops, clinging onto the tan horsehair. It reminded Emoria of a useless fact she learned in middle school, about how the ancient Greeks and Romans used human hair for the springs of their cannons. People have a real talent for morphing attractive things for political and savage means.
The collected ball of fiber sat on the dull marble sink as she twisted the brush to face her hair. Her eyes wandered around the mirror, bouncing from corner to corner of the reflection as she recollected the chaotic events of the previous morning. Of the cherry headed boy and his barbaric vocabulary. A smile pulled the crevices of her lips up.
Although the chaos and the purple bump on her forehead was unwarranted, she felt relieved to have been in the company of someone who seemed to not care who she was. His freeness, his lack of care towards the etiquette and norms of civil humans was refreshing. No pointless small talk, no backhanded compliments, no walking on the tips of butcher knives- overthinking every phrase in case it gets you killed- just a babbling boy with wild dreams.
Her fingers laced over one another as the collected raven hair followed along between them. A tidy braid was fastened with an improperly cut ribbon and pushed away down her back.
Now, she can finally begin.
Her mission for the day was to find a library, they must have one in a manor this size, even if for simple boasting rights. Emoria scooped up a coin sized amount of salve and rubbed it in circles around the scratches. Her nose began to itch as the strong scent of mint washed over her, causing her to sneeze several times.
...
The stroll was the most exciting thing that had happened to her since reawakening. Not even Versailles could have compared to the splendor inside these walls. She opened doors of all sizes and styles. Salons surrounding an orchestra of instruments, brilliantly glistening grand pianos, rooms meant just to show off collections of paintings- it was all dazzling, like a museum.
Each door opened up into a different world, as if they were golden Easter eggs. Some were decorated with silver porcelain and intricate Victorian-like wardrobes, others seemed more eastern with relaxed fur throws lazily laying on ruby sofas. Statues of warriors and women with remarkable beauty littered every corner of the room. Although she was not a maximalist, she still felt delighted by the hidden pieces. They made the cold place feel a bit cozier.
Emoria idly admired the portraits of who she assumed where deceased Vaughans inside a room barren of any furniture. Knights kissing diamond rings, Viking-like tattooed men wearing panthers skin, inky haired women with children by their sides. Everyone was dressed in extravagant clothing and accessories. This was all for show, to demonstrate the prominent wealth and power that this family had obtained through god knows what means.
She stopped before an empty mount at the end of the wall and raised her brows curiously. It seemed out of place, had the maids accidentally left it here? Her shoulders raised up before falling back down as she shrugged, she should be searching for a library not creating conspiracy theories about a blank canvas.
As soon as she had escaped the display room, a whooshing sound stopped her in her tracks. Her head leisurely turned towards the bellowing wind as it seemed to drag her closer. As if puppet strings were tugging on her feet to come closer.
The siren-like manipulation of the wind came to a close as an extraordinarily colossal French door faced her. Two swans wrapped around a crest that displayed the letter V were engraved in solemn silver, the plaque serving a warning over the door frame.
Perhaps it was... Could it?
She touched the branch-like handles and used every ounce of her body weight and strength to push her way inside.
Her pupils dilated as a hushed gasp escaped her mouth.
Rounded walls held marble bookshelves littered with muted covers, brass and silver letters labeled each bound work. Overgrown vines wrapped around three-story high ladders, blossoming with vivid purple alyssums were placed on either side of the room to keep the symmetry in tact.
Emoria became dizzy as she danced to the center of the room, her eyes straining with excitement as she devoured every single detail.
Scrolls sat half unraveled on oak desks, spilled ink bottles with quills laying nearby. A dark Persian rug kept the floor from becoming too cold. Different shades of orange, blue, and red seemed to bend the light and move around the room.
Where were these colors coming fro-...
Her hand went to cover her mouth as she tilted her head all the way up, the strain sending jolts of pain down her spine.
A dome ceiling was sculpted entirely of stained glass, every inch of space was elaborately used with bright hues. A delicate scene of stars and planets connected through what she assumed was golden lead. Black swans had their necks arched downwards as the shadow of the moon from the outside world teased its way above the tinted glass.
Her heart felt like it had stopped, she was awestruck.
Emoria stumbled into the edge of a desk, her hand falling on the surface to steady herself. She watched as dust particles floated away from her palm when she lifted it again. After her initial astonishment, she could now make out how unkept this place was, as if its master had left and intended to come back, but has not in years.
The western ladder was missing a step, the spilled ink was a solid smudge on the wood, spiderwebs took shelter in the edges of the white shelves.
"How could anyone abandon..."
She trailed off before a creak behind her made her whip her body around.
A man seemed to emerge from the shadows, the golden light from the stained glass bounced off of his sharp features. He looked unkept, the top of his tunic was loosened and his hair fell over his forehead in a casual way. A glass of whiskey seemed too small between his long fingers as he tipped his chin up.
"Colette used to come here quite often when she was pregnant with you."
Emoria wanted to ask who Colette was, but thought otherwise of interrupting her father. He took a delicate sip of the drink before leaning his masculine build against a bookcase.
"She loved to read more than anything else. The balls, the parties, the events, the birthdays- they were all meaningless to her. I would finish my work and come here every night because I knew that she would be sat right there on that chair. I knew that no matter how tired or miserable I was, that my lovely Colette would be right here waiting for me."
His Adams apple moved up as his breath hitched, a dangerous scowl smeared across his face as he put the glass down. He stumbled over to her and met her gaze.
"But one day, after a particularly miserable battle, I walked into this room and found that she was no longer waiting for me, no longer here. Her body was, but not her soul, not her mind, not her heart. My lovely Colette was gone. Before I could understand why, or how, she had left me."
There were no tears in his eyes, they were as empty as his heart. The widowed man knelt down and reached out to cuff his daughter's cheek in an affectionate way.
Emoria trembled as his icy thumb drew circles on her velvet soft cheeks before pressing over her eyelids and stopping at the tips of her long lashes.
"Maybe if you..."
His voice trembled.
"Maybe if you did not resemble her so much... Maybe if you weren't born with those amethyst eyes... Maybe if your hands didn't tremble when you were angry... Maybe if you did not have that nose..."
He clenched his eyes shut and softly bumped his forehead against hers. She could smell the alcohol as he breathed through his mouth. Emoria blinked attentively as she absorbed every syllable that fell off his tongue.
"Maybe I could have let myself love you..."
The warrior of a man moved his fingers away from her, as if she burned to touch. He breathed in slowly before making his escape out the doors, the shape of his body disappearing into the candle light of the halls.
Emoria stood still as the words kept replaying in her mind. She bit down and felt her teeth grind against each other as she scratched the cheek he had touched until it stung.
"You think I don't know? You think I don't know what its like..."
Emoria pulled on her hair and knelt down, her knees digging into her chest as she wept.
"I know... I know how much it hurts too..."
Emoria gagged on her saliva as she tugged on the straight strands on her scalp.
She too had lost someone, a man who meant the world to her. She understood his pain, the numbness, the confusion, the anger. She understood that when she was left alone to think, left alone with the silence of her thoughts- she knew how maddening it was.
To remember his laugh, his nagging, all the times she took him for granted, regret for not taking care of him more, for not appreciating him sooner- for not telling him that she had loved him once.
She understood his pain, but not his anger, not his hatred. He was a fool, a coward who did not want to face the truth so he misplaces his rotten trauma on someone else- someone innocent. His own child.
Emoria had not blamed anyone for Kinon's death. Not him, not the doctors, not the nurses, not the abusive parents, not the cruel world, not fate, nothing.
The girl let go of her hair and began to scratch on her chest, as if she wanted to claw her way inside, to take her heart out and beg it to stop hurting, to stop reminding her.
Emoria knew all too well what it was like to lose the light of your life.
Author's Note:
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