"See no evil. Speak no evil. Listen carefully."
A family akin to a modern Adams' Family moves into the derelict house across the street from Kota. Intrigued by the beautiful doll-like daughter, he and Nathan attempt to befriend her while trying to u...
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•Rue•
I watch the petals of Owen's roses pull away from their blooms as a breeze blows across the land. The day is frigid and chilly, the cold bite centering me from my ravenous state. Victor stands sentinel behind me, a quiet spectator of mine that simply lingers along the edge of this moment. He hasn't intruded on my reflections to which I'm eternally grateful. I feel off kilter, like I'm being dragged swiftly through time instead of in the stagnant inertia I'm so accustomed to.
What a tragic little thing I've become.
All alone in the world up until now, and yet so frightful of new things. Eternal youth doesn't free a person. In fact, I've found it often cements us in what we're most comfortable with. Our habits become so ingrained into our being that we feel anxious when our routines are interrupted. And mine has been irreversibly decimated.
I can't simply stand idle at the house as I have been, watching over my wards in the comforting embrace of suspicion and unease. Nine others now rely on me and they do rely on me despite what Phil says. They may be fierce and strong entities predestined to guard me, but they are scrambling foals in the face of my world. Specifically my world. The hidden society of the Methuselah is daunting alone, but my past is as gory as it is lethal especially to those not necessary to my father. Failed projects belong six feet under in his eyes. Collaterals will be put down like dogs.
My heart so deeply yearns for the idealistic visage one imagines when they daydream of having a horde of their own - happy endings, safety, security, freedom, possibly even love. These visions become melancholy, weighing my heart like a stone thrown into a murky lake, when reality sets in and I know I'll never be permitted to be free. My horde, my nine Cadavers, will grow to loathe me and detest my very existence in time. Just as I have grown to loathe myself.
They are honorable men by nature so see this as a valiant endeavor to pursue - a fair maiden who at first glance is so feeble and delicate, needing protection from a villain hiding in the Irish moors. It's such a quaint notion in comparison to the reality of matters. These honorable men will see the darkness in our hearts, the sickness curdling our souls from within, and will view me as the villain in this tale soon enough. It's inevitable.
