It was pouring outside, and in the blanket of heavy downpour, a bolt of lightning illuminated a hunched figure, inconspicuously slinking around a corner, staff in hand. "Bring the girl!" the creature whispered harshly.
"Bring the little whore. She needs to serve her customer."
Somewhere in the midst of futile struggling, a skinny girl launched herself towards an open spear, hoping to end it all.
What she got, was more than she had ever bargained for. What Emelia Rose Argyle had received was painful, unpredictable, and would send her toward a whirl wind of mixed emotion, blood, sweat, and tears. What the girl had received was:
Farther away, in an unnamed place, a knobby man sat upon a high-backed throne, smirking as scantily clad women draping themselves upon him making not so subtle noises. There was plenty of cooing, and crooning, even the occasional raunchy gasp. Clutched in the man's free spidery fist as his other hand was busy rummaging under the skirt of one of the women at his side was a smoking joint, which he passed to a few beefy men that flanked him.
The dogs pounced upon the little scrap like starving men. For they were no longer at the caliber of actual men. They were merely shells, completely consumed by the desire to escape, and release their oozing stench upon the world. They wanted to loose control.
Thought a boy in his mid-teens. His icy green eyes glinted in revulsion as he watched the oafs fight over who got the last puff of the little twig. The boy's lips curved into a humorless sneer as he watched in barely concealed loathing as his father continued to play with the 'guests'.
He was running. That was it, Leon could only take so much of this hideous life-style, and he could take no more! Ever since his mother had opted to jump from the astronomy tower than to live another second under the title as Lady Montague; Sir. Montague had run amuck, and was more than willing at least more than usual to cater to any woman's needs. He also made his 'secret' a more public secret.
Absent mindedly, Leon ran his fingers over the intricate burn scar that adorned his left forearm. Leon knew that by running away, he was accomplishing another important task. The scar that snaked around his arm, was the key to all his father's drug-dealings. The local transportation company had it's behind-the-curtain dealings with Sir Montague and the key, or pass code was the tattoo carved on Leon's arm.
As far has the platinum blonde could see it, he was killing two birds with one stone. No more drug-dealing, and his freedom. For him, it was a win-win situation. There was no harm in this, not really. And if his father went under, then all the better. Nodding in resolution, the boy slunk away from his perch that over looked the revolting scene of his father pinning one of the women to the back of his throne, and disappeared into darkness.
The boy hurried to his tower, and packed all the belongings he might have needed. Grabbing his cloak, and stuffing his reserves of bread and cheese into a knap sack, the young heir slunk down the adjacent corridor, and after dodging several stupefied guards, made it to the stables.
As he entered, Leon noticed that the horses were clopping, and tossing their manes with worry, soon they were shrieking in agitation. At a loss, the blonde looked for some barley to feed the horses, yet, as he stepped out into the storm to head back to the storage shed, he had no idea that bleak rain would be the last thing he'd ever see.
There was a split second of indistinguishable agony, as with a terrible crack, the boy fell to the ground. The lightning receding back heaven-bound.
The rain was pounding down in heavy torrents, and to Leon's misfortune, nobody had noticed. In the manor, the skinny girl was shoved into a dingy dungeon, riddled with cobwebs, and a large hole in the back for any fecal matter that needed to be disposed. The slave traders looked at the now disfigured girl in unconcealed disgust. "The fucking bitch has no worth left in 'er! Nobody's blind enough to sleep with that cunt-eyes…!" The man had left in a huff, but not before giving the scrawny girl a sharp kick to the side, and a menacing glare.
The girl wheezed in pain as she clutched the side of her face, which lay concealed by a dirty wash-cloth. 'I shan't cry' she thought, 'I shan't cry, the tears will only burn further.'
And so, the girl did not cry, instead, she opted to gasp, and sob dry agony. She wheezed loud, rasping blasts that reverberated against the dingy walls; the sound echoing back ten fold. As the last of her sobs rang back to it's owner, as dawn's scarlet fingers crept over the horizon's fluttering lashes, there was a terrible cry of alarm from the heart of the castle.
Moments later, two guards hauled the 15 year old boy into the castle. A large, boisterous maid quickly took charge of the twittering mass, and swiftly ordered the guards to leave Leon in her charge.
The maid, Ina, took the boy in her hefty arms, and heaved him to his room.
And there he stayed. There the young heir remained in his wing for many weeks, wracked with chills, and scalded with fever. At times, his eyes would flutter open, though they remained hazy, and unfocused. In the dead of night, the boy would stretch out, rasping for the mother that bore him.
His only companion was darkness. The master of the estate visited once, but that was only to make sure the boy hadn't died. The maids, nannies, and cooks occasionally set a cool cloth on Leon's head, sent him his food, or changed his soiled clothes.
But that was all.
Nearly two weeks after the accident, when Ina was stooping down to feed the boy hot, frothy, carrot soup; Leon's sweat-dampened forehead wrinkled. His eyes fluttered open, and a look of open horror passed across his handsome features.
"Ina" he choked out, "Ina, where are you?!"
A/N: Well, what do you think??? Review, and you shall become a fellow minion of DARKNESS!!!
No, but seriously, a review would be nice.