Sunlight was pouring across the buildings, molding them into desperate silence. Zoltan was glancing at their turmoil with delight. Out of the entire day, the sun’s dread was his favorite; you cannot escape its whipping presence, it hypnotizes you into a mass of dried and thoughtless puddle of meat. The sun was his favorite. Fierce. He glanced at the buildings around his castle…if he desired, he could own them all. The fact that it was no issue obtaining them made him feel disgusted. Nothing that easily obtained is worth any attention. The castle he was living in was worth it, though. He knew he couldn’t get his claws upon it the common way, so he fought viciously for his prey. The previous owner mysteriously disappeared while on a trip with his mistress, the mistress the owner’s wife knew nothing of until receiving some… revealing photos on the topic. After the disappearance of her husband, she gladly sold it all and vanished to some unknown country. Nobles were peculiar, to say the least, Zoltan thought while grinning. Specially women…such easy prey, it made no difference having them around or not. Much too easy to get…repulsive.
All of his slaves, servants, valet, cleaning and cooking staff were all men; in the event he might feel like hunting, it must be so that his hunt is enjoyable. Prey must be untouchable to common knowledge. They must run, and run hard, they have to put up a fight…they should, at least. Time taught them that it is better to kneel and surrender rather than igniting a master’s hunting instincts; so Zoltan got jaded soon enough. Willing prey is no prey for a fierce predator.
A trembling voice came from behind the door. “Master Zoltan, may I enter?” A moment of silence reigned over the room. Zoltan hated to be interrupted, and all of his servants and slaves knew it; he once held a slave in chains for a week with no food or water for interrupting him while admiring some gothic architecture. Retched disobedient disgusting slaves; forgotten hounds transformed into kittens. “Very well, come in” Zoltan spit out with much difficulty. He wouldn’t waste energy torturing this slave’s unskilled manner…not today.
The servant opened the door, made one step and stood still. He was shaking so vigorously that it caused the tray to tremble. He could see the shuddering despise from Zoltan’s eyes. He really was a splendid creature…yet such an evil one. He locked his eyes with his master’s expression; Zoltan kept on looking through the wide window, speechless.
Would he dare ask permission to serve his master his coffee? Risky business interrupting his master’s pondering…
“Intending to pose as a statue? I did not request such a performance, did I?” Zoltan whispered, slowly moving his chilling glance from the window to the trembling slave. “Am I supposed to come get the tray myself, slave?”
Utter despair crushed the slave’s heart and soul…he infuriated the master again.
“P-please pardon me, master, I beg of you.” He flew to the master’s grand and sumptuous desk, placing the coffee, sugar and milk in the right position. “M-master, how would you desire your coffee today?” the slave breathed out.
“I am bored, slave. Your manners bore me… find an entertaining way to serve me or you shall experience the taste of my wrath.” Zoltan articulated grinning devilishly.
‘Dear Lord, this will be the end of me; it will undoubtedly be my end’... The slave poured milk in the coffee and slid in two cups of sugar, just the way master liked his coffee. He then kneeled before his master and shyly spoke, “How may I serve you, master?” He could cry, if permission had been given. Yet he was afraid of even breathing knowing that he was not given permission to.
Zoltan threw him a jaded look. The slave’s body was covered with proof of the master’s mood swings, every scar witness to some cruelty. How disgraceful, to have one’s body covered with scars…yet slaves needed to be disciplined in order to serve him well. He used to enjoy torturing them when he was younger and blood thirsty. He rejoiced with feeding upon their tyrannized look. But after a while, it all seemed too much alike, all wounds would bleed in the same way, all slaves were broken in the same manner. How damn jejune…
