Arc One: Awakening

Chapter 6: Blood Ties - Part 2

Wooden timbers creaked under Bertram's feet and flecks of what he assumed was decade-old cobwebs swam in front of his face. Swiping at the specks, he lurched on the grimy steps and almost lost his balance. The neglected ladders wracked, and he clung to the sides until they stopped swinging.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd ventured this high into the manor. There was nothing of importance in the attic anymore, but persistent memories called to him. After weeks of wrestling with his conscience, he was determined to decide on a course of action before it drove him to frustration.

Clambering through the hatch and scraping along the angled wall, he groaned to himself about overdue renovations and flipped the switch. The hanging bulb crackled. He hissed at the immediate influx of murky yellow light, surprised more than anything that it still worked.

Grungy powder covered the furniture like a stubborn snow, suspending the bedroom in time. Striped wallpaper peeled and stretched for the floorboards, and discoloured splotches of mould dappled the draped fabric dangling from the four poster bed. Banners and paintings fastened to the faded brick above the desk crinkled at their edges. Everywhere Bertram looked, Francesca stared back at him and presented him with the wreckage of their bond, crushed beyond reparation.

When she'd first arrived into his care, Francesca ran from everything. The slightest noise or unfamiliar face terrified her, and in every instance she fled, soundless and scared. Bertram always found her in the attic, knees to her chest as she sought to make herself as small as possible. Despite being provided with a luxurious suite in the apartment wing, she never settled, and resolved to help her adjust to life in the clan, he had devoted months to converting the topmost room into a safe retreat.

As he turned on the spot, reminiscing the hours she'd spent in there painting pictures, learning to play instruments, studying, quarrelling with him in her unruly teenage years, and forging her future, droplets trickled down his ashen cheeks. For almost twenty-four years, Francesca had been their starlight. Everybody adored her for her kindness and her patience. And now she was gone, and he'd been robbed of the opportunity to apologise and say goodbye because of his own arrogance.

He scrunched his nose up and scrubbed the wet paths, coughing against the knot in his throat and wandering further into the room. Shards of a music box lay scattered by the maple bookshelves, and he carefully cleaned up each fragment. A piece of crumpled paper stuck out, and he plucked it from the debris. Unfolding it and brushing away the dust, little Francesca beamed at him, her arms curled around him and a teddy bear gripped tight in her grasp. Behind them, festival pavilions and bunting created endless strings of colour, but none of it outshone the elated smile lighting up her features.

"I'm so sorry," Bertram sobbed, the reminders of her brightness overwhelming his long-decayed heart. There was no evading his part to play in the animosity between them. No amount of tears, or apologies, or wishing would fix the past.

For years, he'd blamed the monster she dedicated her love to for coming between them, for poisoning her against him, but he hadn't helped matters. He could have done more. Should have done more. He had been charged with her protection, and after the furious row that drove them apart, he refused to fight to preserve that precious bond. He'd let her go. Back to that beast. Back to a life no decent person should be forced to lead.

He couldn't even begin to imagine the fear she endured after falling pregnant and facing motherhood on her own. If he hadn't already been undead, the guilt of her feeling unable to call upon him in so dire a situation would have killed him stone dead.

"You deserved so much better," he confided to the photograph. "You deserved a world of love and happiness. And I disowned you when you needed me most." In fits of sobs, he brought the picture to his chest, trying to feel some warmth amidst his misery. But the dusk of his mistakes devoured him, shadowing every perfect memory of her until all that remained were fractured images.