Reprieval

Part 3 : How it Almost Started

This is how the story almost started. Try not to cringe too hard. 

CHAPTER 1 : A Single Crimson Rose

I took a deep breath, letting the fresh pine scented air fill my lungs. I liked the way this place smelled, it smelt like home.

Seven years away and I hadn't found anything like it. The comfort I got from the simplest of things here was unmatchable. The very air was bliss to me, the sights were something else. But seeing as it was night and the moon—the only source of light—was half hidden behind clouds it was hard to see anything but I could hear so much. The howling of the wind as it brushed against tree leaves, the chirping of crickets and even the perfectly timed hoot from an owl, this place was home.

I loved the harmony of it all.

"Master Marcus!" Harrod called out for me. My cue to return to confines of my house. But I really shouldn't have been complaining. This was my home after all and I hadn't seen it in seven years. But it's weird, I felt more at home with the trees and wind than I did in that mansion.

But I would be lying if I said I hadn't missed it.

I walked back to the house, the sound of dead leaves and twigs crunching underneath my combat boots filled the air. The moonlight now freed from the cover of the clouds lit my path back home, but it wasn't like I needed it. I might have been gone for some time but these woods where imprinted to my memory like a tattoo on my brain.

I had spent many hours when I was younger wondering them. My mother would always freak out because I would disappear for hours but I never got lost. I always knew my way back home.

I re-entered the house leaving behind the cool autumn air for the warmth of the indoors. I slid my jacket off my shoulders and into my arms.

"You really shouldn't be wondering the grounds at night. Your father would not approve," Harrod chided. He hadn't changed at all, still the overprotective butler he always was. However time was starting to show it's mark on him, his chestnut hair had started to gray and there were little wrinkles here and there, an indication he wasn't as young as he used to be.

"I really don't care what he does or doesn't approve of," I said, carelessly tossing my jacket onto the nearby chair and plopping down on another.

"You shouldn't say such things," I couldn't help but role my eyes at that. The man sent me away to boarding school when I was only ten years—days after my mother's death. He didn't even let me visit home on vacations. I had no ounce of respect for him. I was glad he wasn't home right now. Ignoring the fact that I had just been expelled from said boarding school, I just didn't want to deal with him. He'd probably try to ship me off to another boarding school.

"So...when is he coming back?" I asked.

"Your father won't be back until the end of the month." I scoffed. Figures. It's not like he'd be rushing home to see the son he hadn't seen in years.

"Yeah, whatever." I stand. "I'll in my room. It's been a long day." Harrod didn't say anything more, just let me walk past him.

Opening my door I half expected everything be gone, that they probably cleaned out my room the day I left. But everything was there. The room was exactly the way I left it. My bed perfectly made with forest green bedspreads, my cream walls covered with sketches I made when I was ten and even my bookshelf was still stacked with all my favorites: from classics to adventures.

I let my fingers brush against the covers of the books, until they landed on an all too familiar one. Peter Pan. My mother read this to me so many times by the time I was seven I could probably recite it word for word. Feeling nostalgic I gently slid the book from between the others. Settling on my bed I embarked on the journey to never land but only to doze off after a couple of chapters into the book.