The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 9

Stepping through the doors and into the stone castle sent an uneasy shiver through Will. Maybe the stories of ghosts rang true because the moment he crossed that threshold he could hear the screams trapped in the walls as if there were someone behind the stone wanting to escape.

The sound of their boots echoed tenfold as they crept through a dozen men's shadows. Tapestries were ripped from the walls they adorned. Expensive artwork shattered and torn. It littered the corridor loudly.

The flickering of the lantern called the eerie silhouettes from the past and Will found himself following the yelling and shouting, Hannibal trailing slowly after him. The corridor opened into a grand space. Shattered windows had allowed the elements free reign and Will found the same foliage from outside scattered across the floor.

There was a steadying breath beside Will, and he glanced over at Hannibal who was holding the lantern out to cast the flame around them as far as it could reach. Will couldn't read the expression on Hannibal's face, but the way that Mischa's red ribbon was laced tightly between the fingers on his opposite hand told Will that he was struggling even if he didn't say it aloud.

"I would play here as a kid," Hannibal explained, voice stable. "My sister and me. We had a dog that enjoyed playing. We would stand at the top of the stairs," -Hannibal pointed to the grand staircase at the end of the room, covered in the same dust and leaves- and throw a ball down them so the dog could chase it."

The phantom barks of a puppy sounded, and Will watched a grey furry blur rush past him as a ball bounced away. When he turned back to the stairs, he found Mischa descending the stairs, bloodied and dead eyed, laughing and calling the nameless pet back to her.

Hannibal continued through the room without a word and Will followed suit through the crunching of old and new leaves and towards the staircase. When they reached the top of it, Will stole another glance over his shoulder to the blonde girl throwing the ball again.

He stepped a ways down the next hall behind Hannibal, but paused when his attention was caught by a rather faded, worn and tattered painting. There were four people. A man and a woman and two children. The man stood behind the woman with a protective hand over the woman's shoulder. His features were sharp and his gaze more so. He had slicked back grey hair and a thick bead. The woman was flawless in her beauty. Her long brown hair fell in thick curls past her shoulders. Her eyes were kinder than the man's, softer, but just as powerful. Her lips were curled into a smile of some sort as if she were hiding a funny secret.

She held a little girl on her lap who had the same curls in her hair, but it was a golden blonde instead of brown. Mischa's bright blue eyes stared back at Will. The life in them was so different from the way that Will's memory recalled them and he was grateful to give a touch more life back to the spirit who liked to beg him to read to her.

When Will turned his attention to the young boy standing in front of the man and beside the woman Will was face to face with a slightly younger version of Hannibal. A Hannibal whose amber eyes seemed to glow in the painting, no blood soaked into them yet. He stood tall, proud just as he did now.

A throat cleared beside Will and Will jumped, having forgotten that he wasn't alone. "Those are my parents," Hannibal explained. "The likeness is decent."

Will took a moment to look over Hannibal in the dim light, matching pieces of his mother and father in his face. His father's sharpness was softened with his mother's gentler features. His eyes belonged to the man in the portrait, but the smile that Hannibal enjoyed showing leaned towards the woman and her hidden little secrets.

"Your mother was beautiful," Will said, a hand reaching out and caressing over the gaudiness of the frame.

"She was," Hannibal agreed with a nod. "She was a rather studious woman. She greatly encouraged my schooling, and I don't think there was a day where I didn't see a book in her hand." Will smiled at the lovely similarity that brought his own mother to the forefront of his mind. "She passed on her insatiable sweet tooth to Mischa. They would often sneak to the kitchens together and steal treats."