The King's Persecution

Chapter Six

Music is "Organization XIV" by Yoko Shimomura, arranged by Project Destati.

Once upon a time...ah, those sweet words that signal you're about to read a fairytale. They're comforting, are they not? A tried and true sign that you'll read a story with a good ending, a "happily ever after." Bah.

I won't say this story throws that trope out the window, because that itself is a trope, but since this is my own story, I suppose I have some say over what makes a "happily ever after" for me.

My step-father married my mother when I had just turned eight years old, so my sisters and I moved into his home shortly after. He himself had one daughter, so of course, she was destined to be a spoiled child. When we first arrived at his home, he only had eyes for that child, who of course was all smiles and laughter. Ridiculous. My father would never have put on such a display with my sisters. Even Mother thought he was too much and ushered my sisters and I inside the house, away from their display of affection.

My mother and stepfather loved each other very much, however. Regardless of what the people in our village said, it wasn't a marriage of convenience or even for the meager fortunes they both shared. They were both widowers that found love again. Nothing unusual about that. Nothing.

All that changed, however, when my mother died suddenly.

Eliza ran through the halls, trying every door handle she could. "Come on, come on," she said, almost flying down the carpeted path. She had no idea what was in store for her that night, but a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach told her it wasn't going to be a pleasant night for her...or the monster.

Will my fate be like the rest of the people the king's sentenced here? If it isn't death, what is it?

Finally, one of the door handles gave way. It broke off in her hand as she opened the door, so she simply left it off and slammed the door behind her.

She was safe. As long as no one could use the door, there wasn't an issue of it being locked or not. She was protected from "he", whoever the man was.

Finally alone with her thoughts, she struggled to process the events of the last few hours.

Why did he just...let her go after she attempted to murder him? From the tales she had heard (rumors of course, since no man or woman sent inside the mansion ever returned), a cruel, mindless creature resided within these walls, one who left no one alive. But then there was the king's promise...

She turned her focus to her new surroundings, which were a four poster bed, a chest of drawers – well, a chest of drawer, only one drawer remained – a desk, a bookshelf, and a wardrobe. She pulled the doors of the wardrobe open, expecting to find moth balls and destroyed dresses.

Instead, she found a vast collection of furs, woolen dresses, and boots. Dust lined the furs, dresses and boots alike. Was it always winter here and never spring? Why would a woman need such a large collection of winter clothing?

The four poster bed had remains of a faded gray canopy covering the top, while the heather blankets and sheets were moth eaten and quickly crumbled to dust when Eliza rubbed them between her fingers. More furs lined the bed, the only bedding that had remained intact over the years of disuse after the former occupants had left.

In the corner, the chest of drawer yielded nothing either, just a splinter that she had to attempt to pull out in the darkness. Opening the window blind to give herself a little more light, she discovered that the full moon was shining down on the mansion that night.

The desk, however, revealed scattered, yellowed documents containing hastily written notes, and some bound notebooks, both written in the same handwriting. Scanning the pages, she discovered that they were letters written by a man named Darian, to his sister, who he didn't refer to by her name. One letter in particular stood out as peculiar. She read it several times, trying to guess the meaning behind it, but gave up.