This Dark Salvation

VI.

I was standing on my balcony again early the next morning, even though Thomas had told me to sleep in. All night I turned and couldn't keep my eyes closed; I soon gave up in defeat. It was quite outside; a few birds sang and splashed in puddles that the tires left in the gravel. A boy exited from the doors holding a rake and began straightening the gravel startling the birds away. Thankfully no reporters traveled back and that kept me from answering anymore questions.

I was getting anxious and Jack wasn't supposed to come until another hour, so I decided to dress myself and head downstairs. The morning light spilled out onto the white marble floors like spilled paint of pinks, oranges, and yellow. My footsteps echoed over the hall that led me to the breakfast table. Being so early, the breakfast hadn't been prepared so as I took my seat and waited, Hudson, my First Footman, stepped inside. I must have surprised him because once he saw me, he took a sharp inhale and wavered at the door.

"Mr. Turner, you're eating in here this morning?" he finally said.

I smiled smoothly. I wanted to act like I was overflowing with happiness, so I did. "Yes," I said, "that would be wonderful. Would you please bring me the paper as well?"

"Of course." Hudson swiftly turned around and left. Only a moment later he came back and handed me the morning papers, mail, and tea. I had received a bundle of letters addressed to me, and I immediately knew they were sympathetic replies towards my parent's deaths. Shuffling through the letters I heard someone enter.

Jack was standing before me looking no better in health. He had bags under his eyes and his jacket had wrinkles. He didn't seem too delighted that I was up. I forced myself to smile back and hoped that I would be a ray of sunshine in his unfortunate, shadowy, morning. Thomas didn't move nor did he smile back, but there was a slight flicker in his eyes, and I wasn't too sure if it was from happiness.

"Good morning!" I said, taking a sip of tea. "We've got a heap of mail, don't we?"

"Turner." He came beside the table taking the letters-of-sympathy. "This isn't something to joke about."

"I'm not making fun," I protested, "I'm merely stating the facts."

"Then in that case, you're stating obvious facts." He placed the letters back on the table.

"Right," I said. I stood up and took my plate over to the cooked meal that had just been delivered.

"Your father's adviser has received notice from your betrothed last night. They're waiting for your arrival with anticipation."

I kept myself from rolling my eyes. "How lovely," I exclaimed, gazing at the strawberries that gleamed back at me with their many eyes.

Thomas clasped his hands behind his back. I felt him watching me eat as I flipped through the news articles. It became so intense and uncomfortable that I dropped my fork to stare back. He knew I was acting foolish.

Every moment I breathed was a reminder that my parents' flesh was burnt like a sacrifice for the poor. The walls felt as if they were caging me in and I had only minutes before suffocating. I stiffened and curled my hands into fists. Thomas's expression made me feel as if I'd been slapped. I knew that he disapproved of my actions and it was painful.

"You can go now," I said. My foot started to tap.

Jack sighed. "Thank you."

He closed the door behind him and left me alone. A slow ring tapped across the windows and swirled into my ears. It pounded on my temples, grinding together any attempt to act like a silly fool. I gripped my cup and chucked it across the room. It shattered on the far wall raining white glass. I clutched the sugar bowl and threw that as well. Blood pumped in my ears as I realized that I couldn't act forever. I couldn't act enough to convince a servant.

I heard the door creak open again. Thomas glanced at me with wide eyes before surveying the mess. Everything I did he disapproved of.

I stood up and slammed the chair into the table. The silverware clattered and the strawberries stained the white tablecloth. Turning up my nose, I left the room slamming the door behind me. I winced at the sound.

I followed the ascending stairs up to the second level and found myself in my parent's grand bedroom, although it was not as grand as before. The walls were blackened, and the room reeked of smoke and burnt fat. I crossed my arms slowly making my way to the broken window. Peering below I imagined the activist flailing his arms in midair before his bones shattered and his skull split in two.

The thought was frightening but I enjoyed it. That man died a quick death, yet I wished it had been slow and that he suffered in anguish. I looked to the floor and stepped away. My nausea came back as the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I had bitten my tongue from shock.