Successor

Chapter 2: Dalek

Chapter Two: Dalek

Stupid party. Stupid clothing. Stupid Krys. He always thinks he's the boss. I'm the oldest one here! I don't act like a child.

I stomp towards my bedroom. Lucky for me that it's the farthest away from Gail's stupid room. I don't know whether I mean that truthfully or in sarcasm, but either way. It's the chamber near the back of the castle, up to the second floor. The most isolated room in the castle. Works fine with me.

I dash up the stairs, slamming my door behind me when I enter.

The air of the familiar room already calms me more than Gail's had, which was covered in décor and elegant designs all throughout the large place. Patterns on the walls, carpets, pillows, even. Ridiculously overdone. My room is plain and simple; smaller than my extravagant brother's oversized room too. The walls are gray, the carpet a dark red, and my pillows white. No elaborate covering on them or something stupid like that. Who even cares what your pillows look like? I just want to be able to sleep without some weird pattern distracting me.

The sun's glare comes through the window and hits a painting on the wall, reflecting the light in an uncomfortable way. I raise my hand to my forehead, trying to shield the sun from my eyes. Despite the discomfort, I'm grateful for a window in my room to see the outdoors; breathe in some fresh air.

Gail had no window, though his room is near the outer wall of the castle. He blocked it off, or something. Who would do such a thing? All you'd have is unnatural light or you'd be in pitch dark. And you don't get a view of the outside world. I don't think I'd be able to handle staying in such a large yet enclosed place. Too confining.

Still thinking about that, I glance around. My room is comfortable but not too small, which is fine by me. My luggage had been brought up and placed carefully atop my bed, which was somewhat a comfort, somewhat not. I didn't want to see any more baggage, but I was glad it had been brought up. I hadn't been able to return to my room since we arrived back, having been overwhelmed by preparations and work. It had been almost three hours since our return and I hadn't gotten to relax.

My stomach growls suddenly, bringing a gnawing hunger to my attention.

Or eat.

I hate this stupid party.

Trying to ignore the hunger, I take in everything about my room. The sight is comforting. Everything was left as it had been before our excursion. The wardrobe in the back corner sits with both doors half-open at different angles. A sleeve is hanging out of it, lying on the floor. The bed is still half-made and pushed into the far right corner, untouched besides the things placed on it today. And the window sill remains covered in possessions of mine—small figurines, letters, things of that sort.

The dragon figure is still towering over the knight, whose sword remains poised at the creatures plastic neck. Their carefully-detailed paint is peeling; they'd been that way for years. I don't plan on moving them. Beside them, a rather crumpled letter sits, half in the envelope, and half out of it.

At the sight of it, I finger the charm around my neck: a single tear-shaped emerald hanging from a leather cord. The letter is one from my mother, as is the necklace. I had been reading it before we left, which was about a month ago. On the ground below the sill, an old chest sat, filled with similar letters from her.

I inhale shakily; the letters were a few of the last things left by her in the castle. Gritting my teeth, I glance away, to my left, before walking that direction, entering the bathroom.

Still the same. Everything is still in place. The tube of gel, the comb, everything is still there.

I don't know why I expected something to be moved. Maybe because of our father's death.