The Frog

Dirty Gowns

     "Ambrose!" Darcy stomped into the room. Her voice was much stronger than that of the usual ten year old, making Ambrose's teeth vibrate.

     "Yes, my darling sister?" Ambrose sat up, stress stacking on top of his chest. His words spat from his mouth lined with copious amounts of sarcasm.

     "You said you'd take my dress down to the wash!" Darcy thrust the gown forward, showing Ambrose the dirt that covered it. Ambrose sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

    "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind..." He rested his head on his palm, propping his arm against his knee.

     "The stains will never leave it now!" Darcy's whines made Ambrose want to strangle her. He'd wished these children wouldn't rely on him to be the parent amongst them when he was hardly finished being a child himself.

     "Please stop your whining, Darcy." Ambrose sighed. Darcy looked at Ambrose as if he'd cast a curse on her, wishing her dead.

     "I'm not whining!" Darcy ironically whined. "You told me you'd take care of it!"

     Ambrose threw his blankets aside, ripping the gown from Darcy's hands as he walked out the door. His heels knocked against the ground, becoming sore without the protection of shoes. His silence was louder than any yelling could accomplish, ignoring Darcy's hurried steps trying to keep up with him. Ambrose stormed down to the washing tubs, soaps and lady's maids.

     "My sister has dirtied her gown and we'd like it to be washed please." His voice was dark, obviously annoyed with the recent arguments. The girls eyed him, unsure of how to take his tone.

     Impatient, Ambrose left the gown on a nearby table, leaving the room. Darcy stayed behind, hurt by Ambrose's abrupt attitude. She looked back at the girls behind her, the confusion on their faces just as prominent as Darcy's wounded feelings.

     Ambrose made his way to Sorin's room, smelling dinner being prepared. His furrowed brows never relaxed, his heels still dug into the floor as he walked, and his fists remained balled at his side.

     "Sorin." Ambrose knocked at his door, waiting for an answer. After a few moments of silence, the door opened up to reveal a neatly dressed Sorin, a dark green suit complimenting his features.

     "Dinner is almost ready." Ambrose mumbled, turning his back to leave. Interrupted by a hand gripping his wrist, Ambrose turned slowly to face Sorin again.

     "I'd rather you not take that tone with me." Sorin softened his clutch.

     "I'd rather you let go of my arm." Ambrose glared, tugging at his wrist. Sorin heard the frustrated undertones from the day and pulled Ambrose into the room.

     "Sorin I don't have the time, nor am I in the mood for this." Ambrose rolled his eyes, allowing himself to be pulled in anyways.

     "Are you not stressed?" Sorin was careful to shut the door this time.

     "Yes but that doesn't mean I want to do anything like..." Ambrose trailed off, still shy about their arrangement.

     "Then we won't do anything like that." Sorin smiled. "Not very much anyways."

     Ambrose huffed as Sorin sat him in front of the vanity, a light glow sifting into the room as the sun began to set. Sorin glanced at Ambrose through the mirror, resting his hands on Ambrose's shoulders. Ambrose felt his cheekbones slightly heat with blush as his coat was slipped off his body, followed by his vest, a loose undershirt left behind.