The Dawn of Malice

By The Wayside

She'd been here since morning.

Elaine, trapped by her father's proud boasting, gave out a faint smile to the strangers greeting her. Awakened by her father's booming voice, she ran in a panic toward the kitchen. She ran wearing only her nightgown and her hair in a mess to find Marseille cooking whilst singing. She couldn't help but giggle, her father hadn't changed at all in all those years. Marseille turned his head to find his not-so-little girl giggling. He couldn't help but smile.

"You're as beautiful as the day you were born."

"And you're still awful at singing."

Marseille wrinkled his face and smiled shyly before looking down, avoiding eye contact. He'd been feeling distant ever since Elaine had arrived. Elaine gently smiled and moved with open arms to hug her father. Marseille looked at her wide-eyed and gratefully took her into his arms. It was a peaceful scene to behold. A long-lost daughter is finally in the arms of her estranged father.

Elaine had always longed to return to her father. But she was always prevented by her grandparents. Then one day, she received permission from her grandfather, the duke, to return to Marseille. On the condition that she would visit them from time to time. She ran around her grandparents' estate hugging them lovingly. She was grateful for their gift of understanding.

Before their guests arrived, Elaine had changed into a more formal dress. And an hour later, a group of relatives came to introduce themselves. Then, they'd found seats and started to chatter amongst themselves. There was laughter and boasting and a busy debate about the empire. The debate ended with the agreement that the empire was incompetent. But the conversation was said in whispers to avoid unwanted ears.

Elaine was interested in the debate, but instead, she walked around the tavern, shaking hands with strangers. She walked quickly from one guest to the other, eager to leave and meet with Caerus. As Elaine passed a few tables in the corner of the tavern, she was pulled awkwardly. A young man held onto her hand. He looked awful. His greasy brown hair was swept sideways. His face was covered in grime as if he'd run through mud. Elaine instantly felt a dislike toward her guest.

"It's good to see you again, Elaine."

"Who are you?" Elaine pulled her hand away from the young man. Elaine tried her best to conceal her irritation. But it was plain on her face.

"You don't remember me? My name is Julio, Ignacio's son, the greatest hunter this city has ever seen."

"I'm sorry... I know nothing of you." There was an awkward silence. Elaine took a quick look at him from head to foot. Julio wore a typical hunter's garment complimented by his muddy boots that tarnished the oak floor. He must have caught her looking at him because he winked at her. Elaine felt a current of disgust run through her.

"You like what you see?" Julio replied confidently.

Reeling at Julio's awkward introduction, Elaine simply walked away without another word. She couldn't feel sorry for her actions. That man had no delicacy when handling women. He deserves to be ignored. She could feel Julio's lingering stare on her back. Elaine shivered in disgust and wished Caerus was there. She was confident he'd defend her. Then they'd just escape together like they used to when they were children.

Elaine passed through more tables, greeting guests, and answering questions. As she walked past an old couple, she happened to see the opposite wall. Leaning against the barren brick wall was a grandfather clock. She stepped back in surprise. It was long past the time she and Caerus should have met. She hurried to the kitchen where Marseille cooked.

She pushed through the kitchen's revolving doors and the scent of food entered her nostrils. The smell of freshly baked bread and melted cheese wafted in the air. Marseille and an assistant were pulling out a fresh batch of bread from the oven. As they settled the hot tray on the marble countertop, Marseille grinned at his daughter. His white hair was in a mess. Wrapped around her father's waist was a white apron though flour had managed to cling onto his hairy forearms. The assistant wore a matching apron and had moved to wash the dishes. The porcelain plates had begun to pile onto the sink.