Well, this one definitely did not turn out the way I thought it would. I also decided to stick with the same character, because for some reason, this Colton fascinates me. Which is weird, since I should know him very well…
“… Colton? Earth to Colton?” I heard, tuning back into reality.
I blinked. Celia was looking at me, lips curled in an amused smirk, eyebrows raised in question.
“I believe I may have got distracted again,” I said, as if nothing had happened. “My bad. What is it you were saying, sister? Something about… A magnifying glass?”
She sighed. “No, that was what YOU were staring daggers at, the whole time I was talking.”
I put on a remorseful face. Truthfully, I didn’t feel that way. The magnifying glass occupied my mind. It exuded darkness and evil, something that was hard to resist, especially for me. I envied my sister; she was able to withstand the magnifying glass’ foul nature because she was so pure, so pristine, so unlike our—our—
“Brother, are you alright? You’re quite pale. Do you wish to talk?”
No, I didn’t. Therefore, I avoided answering her question, standing up and striding over to the console table, where the magnifying glass lay. It was a simple, beautiful thing; created entirely of gold, intricate patterns carved on the handle, the crest of the manor delicately engraved at the bottom. My hand stretched out to pick it up, but I faltered. What if it consumed me? What if too many awful memories came flooding back? I couldn’t have that.
I picked it up.
All the details resurfaced, making me drop the magnifying glass. I thought of Father. The way he acted around me: his eyes, hard, unkind, cruel things that felt no emotion. There was the way he conducted himself in public: a commanding presence yet an angel, his white hair slicked back, gentle and willing to do anything for his people. He was all lies, he was. Of course, only I knew.
I remembered the day I discovered the truth. I was eleven, a child’s phase of disobedience, when I dared to enter my father’s quarters. He was up to his usual lord business, something I had absolutely no interest in. Naturally, the rooms were perfectly normal, with shimmering candlesticks, beautiful silken curtains, and intricately decorative wallpaper.
As children do, I snuck into all his rooms, even this miniscule hole next to his washroom that was shaped a bit like an upside down lollipop. It was a bit strange, yet fascinating, so I poked the hole a couple times, contemplating the use of it, when I heard a moan. Terrified of being caught, I whirled around.
No one. Good—that only meant I could keep on snooping. The moan made me very curious, so I resolved that I wanted to locate it.
I did end up figuring it out, but when I came face to face with the person who uttered the moan, I froze, horrified. Scanning the entire area, I barely processed my surroundings. My only solution: a blood-curdling scream. I screamed and screamed, until my voice was unable to scream any further. Yet no one came.
It was repulsive, and atrocious, and the subject of many nightmares for years to come. These humans were no longer human; they were monsters, deformed, with limbs where limbs should not be, scars scattering their forms, skin puckered and in many cases, torn from the body itself. There were heaps of these monstrosities, more than half of them no longer moving, rotting in the corners.
I almost emptied the contents of my entire body right there, when I heard the bang of a door and I knew. It was him—my hero, my role model, my father. All these missing people in the cities, even back when I was not yet born, my mother, my brothers… And I knew I was next.
Petrified, I subtly reached my hand behind me and grabbed the first thing I could to potentially defend myself. A magnifying glass. Useless.
My father let me go that time, but I lived the next several years in endless fear. People continued to disappear. He no longer bothered to hide his true self around me, but treated me like scum. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t hang out with my friends. Deciding that isolating myself was the best option, I remained in my quarters.
I never once cried. I wanted to, several times. Nonetheless, even when I despised my father—as he did me—his teachings were implanted in my brain. Never bow your head to others, never dress in anything a commoner would wear, and never cry, as that is the absolute weakness.
He died two years ago. I often think about what I would have done if he’d survived. I also often think about the fact that maybe he didn’t die. Maybe he was killed.
I hope he was killed.
The magnifying glass continued to linger in my room. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe I should dispose of it, before it overwhelms me—still, I couldn’t seem to rid myself of it. It was the only memento of my father I owned, one that would always, always, remind me of the person I would never grow up to be.
That, and I was a coward.
I turned around, and forced a smile onto my face, my cheeks twitching uncomfortably. “It is almost half past,” I said. “Shall we go for supper, sister?”
Celia stared into my eyes. Seemingly satisfied about something, she stood up, leveled out her dress, and reached her pristine hand out to me.
“Yes, we shall.”
cratious mrrp *☮to #y@u~♫ 