SPARK: Dark Water Rising

ONE

The night was stagnant and silent as August took a long look at the room he'd be leaving behind. He said goodbye to his photos of his gleeful friends plastered to the wall, a collection of books and journals, and of course, Miss June who seductively straddled her throne of a glittering black chariot.

"I'm so sorry to leave you," He whispered to the image, "But I can only take the essentials." The tall, broad-shouldered, boy towered over the life he was leaving behind. He gripped his bags so tight his already pale knuckles shone bright white. Through the humidity of the summer and the stress of his departure, his long black hair stuck to his sweat-covered brow. Leaving how he did meant there was no going back. Not that he worried about wanting that. More so, August hoped he could easily slink away from his horrible home in the night, and he would not have to put up much of a fight.

He had only been home from school for a few weeks, but his family's hostilities were worse in the past nine days than they had ever been. Every day was a fight in House Blackwater. His tattle-tale little brother was no help. Maximus was the ideal son and fit in with the family exceptionally well. As the baby of their small family, he had been heavily favored by their mother and used that favor to hold power over August. Max was always in her ear with whatever it was his brother had just done, not that she needed help seeing August in a bad light. She nitpicked at him constantly, finding flaws wherever she could. He made it incredibly simple by never hiding his opinions on faction politics or his disdain for his family. He was pleased to be putting them and their ideals behind him.

With a deep breath and all the confidence, he could muster, he clicked the door closed and made his way lightly down the stairs, avoiding the spots he knew to creak. On his way down he stopped to peak in the drawing room. Luckily it was empty as the family were all tucked into their beds at this hour. He set his bags down gently and stepped in to examine the shell of a home one last time. Although he hated that house and had many bad memories it was still quite somber to be leaving. It had been his home for eighteen years. There were certain things he would miss, such as the extensive library where he had spent many an hour studying runes and exploring ancient secrets. He'd never again see his cave of somber solitude, painted with self-expression in the form of a murder of crows, rough open water, and of course, Miss June.

More than anything August would miss his days losing himself in the grand piano. He held the fondest memories in the distractions. Music had been the only escape he had from his mother's shrill screams of judgment. Unable to resist, August dragged his fingers across the keys, being careful not to press any and wake the beasts above his head. He wondered if the ivory would sleep under a blanket of dust without him there to wake them. Would his mother tolerate hearing them sing any longer, or would it remind her too much of him? Standing there in the shadow of his memories he recalled their most recent altercation:

"Why can't you be normal?" Nautica wailed across the drawing room. August clutched the back of a plush navy chair as he watched her theatrically pace about the room. His fingertips nearly tore through the upholstery.

"Normal? I'm the only normal one in the whole bleeding family!" he shouted back. "Did you stop to think that centuries of marrying one's cousin might start to make you a little looney?" With a wave of her hand, Nautica sent a decorative plate flying just past August's head in a tantrum. She boiled as drips of water flooding from her fingertips hit the warped wooden floors, like the soft daunting drizzle before a rainstorm.

"How dare you speak ill of this family!" She screeched, making the drops fall faster. "We have given you a home, privilege, riches, and chance after chance to claim them."

"You can keep it all, I don't want anything tainted by dark magic," August thundered back. "Everything in this house is drenched in darkness!" Nautica glared at her son but waltzed to him swiftly, taking up his jaw in her wet bony fingers. They turned to little crystals of ice as they made contact with his skin.