Chapter Text
Beneath the heavy beams of an estate lay a mood seemingly tranquil; the eminence of it granting a temporary favor so valued, one would think such a place had no quarrel to begin with. This positive feeling was scarce and appreciated, but such attainment was only known by a single inhabitant. With a shade of hope, the young resident had believed that this time, his peace would linger for an hour or so of longevity; no more was he willing to slip that book under the cushioned seat he was accustomed to loll beside. This book, which fit into his hands quite faultlessly, had already succumbed itself to the ministrations of wear and dust. Yet it was held with perfect heed, as if a single scrape or dent of a finger could melt its savored contents away.
Moments wafted by, and the dim-lighted room maintained a presentation of said tranquility; however, it produced a notion that was beginning to oppose the eased feelings of the boy. The air carried with it an uncertainty, and by the minute did the pages of the title become less inviting, contrary to the hour before. Knowingly and rather quickly did he inhibit his indulgence, casting the book toward the cavity underneath the sofa away from any and all possible inspections. It was a habit of his far too regular; the feeling of dismay being overdue for his lack of stress.
With ease so apparently fragile, he got up from the carpet and sat himself down on the very same chair which concealed his precious read, and smoothly did he weave his fingers together. Composure was a self-proclaimed virtue of his, and he knew that persisting with such poise would not allow the consequences to go beyond the typical act of a contempt glare. The common passerby would find this matter unfortunate for a boy as young as he, and anyone with a mind curious enough would ponder earnestly about the reasons for his condition. It was a prolonged circumstance one would deem quite pitiful, and undoubtedly was this boy unlucky.
The abrupt sound of oncoming footsteps troubled his ears, yet he firmly remained collected as if the elements of that very book had never given themselves to his growing mind moments prior. With a heavy expression, he stared at the fireplace as he waited; another action that played a part in his usual routine. He fancied the imaginary thought of the flames peering back at him, as if they understood and melded with his hidden yearning for an experience that could gratify his senses. His internal sun burned at his very gut, its intensity paralleled with that of the warm sight before his presence. The brisk dance of yellows and reds grew alongside that seemingly infinite hunger of his, and he believed with much potency there was no possible way it could ever be snuffed out. This was the epitome of his ambition.
“Cerus,” said a voice, indistinctive of its tone. A figure had presented itself into the room, and still, did the boy remain seated with his fingers firmly laced together; but his eyes moved slightly toward the source. A few more steps were taken, and it was now known that the presence was that of a woman. Her face, lit with the golden hue of the flame from beneath, carried a manner notable of coolness to a degree which, without words, urged him to feel threatened by it. She bestowed a physical demeanor so similar to him that it would have only taken a mere second to realize they were linked by blood. Their crowns exuded the boldest of ebony. Another look was given, and she sat on a chair opposite from him. The blaze within the fireplace ceased, and so did empty minutes as they sat in utter silence. He had always given her the premature motion to speak when they found themselves in such quietness, and this circumstance was no different than all others.
“Your father and I,” she began, the tips of her fingers touching, “are expecting you to attend dinner with us the next evening.”
“Why?” Cerus asked, taking little time to dwell on this request.
Again was he quick to consider it as an obligation without fondness, and in consequence he hunched in his seat, a silent utterance that materialized in the form of a scowl. He paid no attention to her own sour countenance, for he was aware of her knowledge of his anticipated response.
“Is ‘no’ the only answer you are capable of giving me?” She inquired. “How many times will you have me knocking on your door to present you with your meals? I ought to send that damned elf to your quarters from here on out if you continue to act in such a way.”
There was a considerable minute of silence yet again, but unlike before, it was less than a desirable one for him. Plainly accustomed should he be to a meager understanding given to him, and undoubtedly he thought himself so. As moments like these were noted, melancholy had switched places with the confidence he subtly exuded. Like unmoving pools of water, his eyes were sheer and outwardly devoid of emotion; in contrast, however, he deeply felt everything.
“What will it be?” she asked, and her pitch had lowered in significance.
She might have gathered his reasons for the multitude of past rejections, however her ground was clear, and she carried her importunes rather sternly. Cerus in response, grasped at his own wrist, rotating it slightly as if to display that reminder profoundly. The woman’s eyes sunk to the presentation of his hands, and her mouth closed once her gall began to waver.
“Father does not want me there,” he spoke. “I know he doesn't.”
“It will be different this time, I swear of it.”
“No.”
Cerus propped his knee up to his chin, and quiet he was for the lot of it. He was firm with his decision, and his mother knew the condition of his stance would be implacable. With a taut sigh, she stood up from her seat, the appearance of her central conflict quite notable as it shifted from one point to the other. Definite was not the term to describe her at this very moment, and hardly was she able to maintain her sturdiness in the utmost of situations. The woman mindlessly flattened the creases of her skirts, to which the boy finally moved his gaze back to the dying hearth beneath him. A few strides were committed by her as she neared the entryway of the room.
“Again and again you so willingly give me that pitiful excuse of yours, and there will come a time I will handle it no more,” she muttered. “Now offer me some grace and tell me you understand.”
He tilted his head at her, his lips tightening with subtle indignation before he allowed himself to open his mouth, answering with a simple, “I understand, Mother.”
The utterance of the last word left a taste so grudgingly foul on his tongue that he was sure he’d be stuffing his own jaw with his fist. She had certainly marked this tone exhibited by him and that very same feeling of dread overcame his state at length for the many times previous to. Her faltering presence took place in Cerus’ mind beside that of the dim fire he gaped at, its weak yellows and reds now an ashy black.
“Do you remember what your father told you? There’s a dutiful boy who settles for what he earns, and another who wishes for something far beyond his entire being. I shouldn’t remind you of the fool in this case,” she said at last.
Without another word, she left, allowing him to reflect on her prompt. For many minutes he did, but from the beginning he understood that mindless remarks such as this would prove to be trivial. Nothing could be done to leave him dispirited, not when that internal sun of his was still alight. The boy relaxed his entire body and slipped from his seat, making the decision to sit upon the carpet once more. His hand reached for the dust laden book underneath the chair, and with eyes so dim, he stared at the empty fireplace for a hefty minute. He could have sworn that the long gone yellow and reds had flickered for a momentary notice.