sadness

Sunrays flew in thru the curtains and drenched the room in sadness. The manor had been left unattended today. There was an edge about it.

Everything looked as if it had been untouched for weeks. The curtains lifelessly hung as if the wind stubbornly wouldn't help them away, the table smelled of uncleaned wine, the shutters of the wine case had been left open, utensils kept inside the kitchen were visible right through the ajar doors.

The house was in a messy state. Not much space for a human to sit on. A ring flew in the distance. It was the telephone. No one picked the brass gold reciever, there was no sound of rushing footsteps and no indication of life. The null telephone rang once again after a while. And again.

And again. Almost as if the caller knew the manor wasn't devoid of life.

Only when it rang for the the fifth time were the creeks on the floor above heard. Dirt poured through the ceiling as someone walked down to the living room.

When the door to the living room opened, a young lady in a beautiful black gown made her way. The gown looked awfully expensive but it seemed like it had been quite a while since it had been purchased. It had white frills on the end of both the sleeves and the base of the gown. There was a lacy pattern on the two side of the gown composed of roses made of yard and leaves highlighted with cut off clothe. The dress was loose at the breast, the ropes a messy knot as if the owner had tried to undo them but ended up knotting it even more.

Her hair, however, oh dear lord, her hair were such an ominous mess, it must have been at least a thousand centuries since she had combed them.

The girl walked bare feet on the carpet and pulled the reciever. A males voice was heard faintly. It said "Am I talking to Ailin Francesc?"

There was no reply. The girl drowsily stood by the phone and waited. After a while, the voice spoke again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The question went unanswered too along with a couple of hellos. After a while the caller cuts the call saying that someone would be sent to the fransesc manor to deliever the message.

The girl put the reciever back in its place. Her face was slender and her chin a little pointy, pretty. Her eyes tho, oh those thick and black lashes that curtained her pupils, that sapphire blue that glowed through the dark shadows of her eyelashes and her puffy lips. All about her was pretty in a way no human being has ever discovered.

But alas, if she could learn how to smile a little. With a dreamy expression, she moved to the kitchen table placed near the wine unit. Above, in the cupboard hung plates all of extravagant designs. On the floor were huge flower vases with artificial roses.

On the table was a letter that read,

"To Fransesc manor"

Into the seal was carved the symbol of a cresent moon. When the girl, who was supposedly Ailin, slightly touched it with her fingers, it was perhaps because she recognised it. 

A secret, perhaps, that no one but her knew. Ailin puts it back in it place without checking the letter contents. The emblem gleamed in the rays of the sun. What mysteries did it hold?

She slowly reached her hand to the top shelf of the wine case and drew a bottle out through the already open shutters.

She sat on the chair and breathed a sigh as she sipped right from the bottle, red contents spilling on her black gown. She looked tired even though she had done nothing but sleep in the past few hours. Morning had began and long flew by, it was almost eve now. The sun's rays were starting to vanish, along with the warmth they bring.

She put the bottle down and walked through the curtains on the east side of the living room, her footsteps light and soft.

Beyond the plain rosey curtain was a room with white creamy walls, a little dark, but not enough to have trouble seeing. On the top stair of a maroon shelf that hugged the right wall was a gold and glimmering player, the only thing in the Fransesc manor that seemed to have been maintained.

With a frantic motion of hands, the player was started. At first it was nothing but static and broken voices, but then a slow and melodic symphony began. The girl crossed her legs and gracefully shifted the balance of her body to her toes, she lifted her right arm above her head in the usual dreamy way she did things, and then the other arm.

And slowly, along the beat were her steps, her hands, her body, all as if resonating with the music. It was a passing moment of peaceful melancholy. The dance of a bird that lost its wings while trying to fly in the opposite direction of the wind.

It was a silent cry, a call for help. Then the steps got faster quicker. An impatience, "hurry up" the dance said. "Hurry up, or I might fall deep into the depths", frantic, manic, that was what those steps were. Anxious, restless. Agry.

And then, slow, steady steps, and the dance flew into a flurry of unusual steps. A form of ballate that had perhaps never been seen before. The dance said "You're too late. I've slipped, and I've fallen. You can't save me anymore. I wish you had hurried, come over quicker."

And then the music ended. There was only the loud silence and the heavy panting of Ailin. She was gripping the loose thread of the carpet firmly. Her hands shaking in anxiety.

She then let out a scream as if her chest was being torn apart, gripped her head hard and bent on her back in an unusual angle. Perhaps if she had someone to hold her. Perhaps...

As if lead on a whim, she got up and managed to walk herself to the table. She put her hands on it and breathed heavily. Beads of sweats had formed around her hair, a trail of blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She'd bit her own tongue.

If only the walls had a mind. Suddenly the shutters of the hall flew open, knocked by a forceful gust of wind. The wind invaded into the house and blew the letter lying on the corner table to Ailin's feet.

Ailin picked it up and tore the seal away. Inside the envelope was a thin paper folded into half. Ailin stared at it for a long time, her eyes wide and haunted. A few whimpers escaped her lips as the letter slipped through her petrified fingers.

"Roses are red

violets are blue,

fear not, milady,

for i am coming to collect you"