What an Odd Alliance

AN UNEXPECTED OFFER

That evening, a servant knocked on the door offering Zoya her evening meal.

"Come in."

"Evenin', Miss Zoya. Here t's your dinner. Yor father wistches to speak with you after you have done, Miss."

Zoya never could conceal her admiration for how far Mira, the servant, has gone a long way in enhancing her English. All thanks to Zoya, of course, who gave her the lessons every evening.

"You may leave, Mira. Don't forget our lesson at our usual time."

Mira bowed and left silently in the gray room. If Zoya's room had a voice that could speak for itself, it would have told a very perplexing story of its own. One that is not yet to be revealed by Zoya, nor the adventures this room experiences with her. The room wouldn't admit her sorrow about her father's treatment, nor that he redeems her as a disappointment. Nor will the room admit that Zoya weeps at night as she misses her deceased mother. Not even Zoya would admit to feeling such weakling emotions herself. Why would she? When she has been trained most of her life by her grandfather to be strong, never fear her enemies, and to never show emotion as it can be used against her. She was taught well, by the legendary hunter of all times.

Zoya devoured her hot meal, which gave her warmth and comfort on such a chilling evening. She brushed her teeth until they shone as white beads, and scrubbed her hands roughly. Once done, she tidied herself to look pleasant and left the room without any expectations of what her father has summoned her upon.

She knocked at that black door, which woven itself perfectly with the night's night. There were a few illusive lamps at each side of the door, but they only helped in giving a dramatic chill to Zoya's spine. She never could stop hating this place, her home. It could be very unpleasant in the evening when all colors fade from the sky, and not even the stars could give her the comfort of the sun.

"Come in, Zoya," her father called upon her.

She did as told for once and opened the door quietly to let herself in.

"Sit down. We have a few things to discuss."

She sat on the couch furthest from her father's desk, not because of its comfort but because of the undeniable distance it offered her.

"Yes, Papa. You called me?" She pretended to sound polite.

He opened a drawer and took out his pipe, and walked towards the window. Soft light shimmered through the window as he looked outside of it thoughtfully at the garden plot in front of him. If something that made Zoya relax, was knowing her father isn't cold as he enjoys smoking his pipe. Piper is what she calls it, though her father disapproves. Quickly, the closed room was filled with smoke. It was a mixture of mint, cinnamon and an unidentifiable smell that somehow reminded her of her mother. Those few moments of peace reminded Zoya of a time where this family was complete, and this office room was lively. The smell of her mother's perfume, a Lancôme La Vie est Belle, was sweet and it filled the room as she entered.

Her father wasn't this distant, Zoya still can see the wrinkles around his eyes. Each small wrinkle showed how much he smiled, and it was plenty. Rather than silence in this unpleasant room, there was always jazz music emitting from it. It used to disturb the birds' music outside, but even the birds never minded the songs. The house was loved and its reflection was clear as day. Not a single soul could deny that stillness of the once warm family, not even Mr Fernando himself.

"It is done," he began slowly, "You are off the hook and not a single soul besides us would know about the incident you've done."

"Thank you, Papa," Zoya replied coolly, and aimed at getting up.