Danse Macabre, trash of the count's family

𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖊

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CHAPTER I :
MELINÖE

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          LUNCH WAS A CHAOTIC, if not humorous, affair. 

After opening the doors of the dining room, they were greeted with indifference first, so used to the displayed demeanor Cale does, not even bothering to second glance. However, that quickly ended, as their face turned into surprise when they saw her along with Cale.

Anxiously, she habitually stepped back, but Cale kept her in place firmly.

"Cale, you're here." Count Deruth says, not tearing his eyes away from Anastasia— no, not her specifically, but her hands. "Along with Anastasia, I see."

Cale seemed unfazed. "Of course. She's my wife."

There was a loud clatter of utensil bumping to one another, making her flinch. She turned to the source of sound, and realized that it was the Countess Violan, eyes slightly widened with shock. Her mouth was slightly open, however, no sound came out, until a few seconds later.

"Excuse me." She says, looking at her plate with an unreadable expression.

She hunched her shoulder. Anastasia knew her relationship with the family was not exactly positive but she didn't know she'd be this disliked by them. She lowered her eyes down to the floor, perhaps she should've refused Cale . . .

"Of course, of course." The Count agreed, smiling, although it looked uneasy. He discreetly glances at his own wife, and they both seem to share a silent conversation before looking back at Cale. "Now how about you both sit down now? It must be uncomfortable for you to be both just standing there."

She removed her hands from Cale's arm and waited for Cale to move first. However, instead of sitting down in the middle chair, right in front of his father, he approached the chair in the side.

Has he forgotten about etiquette also? It was customary for the eldest— if not the eldest, the successor then— to sit in the middle, just right in front of the head of the house. Then, at the side sits the head's spouse and other family members.

She approached him. "Cale you—"

Without saying a word however, he pulled a chair and looked at her as if waiting for her to do something.

What was she supposed to do? Should she go and grab another seat? Does the seat also displease him and he wanted her to remove it?

"Aren't you going to sit down?"

Eh? "Eh?"

Just as a noise or surprise came out from her, the Count's utensil fell to the floor. She didn't have time to look at him as she processed his words.

Sit? So he . . . pulled a chair for her?

Seriously— what was going on with him?

"I— I mean, yes! Of course." She uneasily laughed, cautiously sitting down. "Thank you."

He didn't answer, and instead nodded his head.

There were a few moments of silence before everyone started eating. The Count asked for a change of utensil, and Anastasia could feel his eyes on her. She didn't dare look back— she wasn't stupid enough not to realize that he must've been looking at her in disdain. Probably because he thinks she was being pompous . . .

I'm sorry . . . she silently apologized.

Unbeknownst to her, the Count was actually beaming. His smile reached from ear to ear, and he glanced at his wife, who had a satisfied expression on her face. Not smiling like him, per se, but it was close enough.