Something Immoral

Chapter 1 - The Gilded Cage

NOTE: this first part is in third person then the rest of the book will be in first person... enjoy reading !

The mansion loomed over the landscape like a silent sentinel, its grandeur belying the darkness that lurked within its walls. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of opulence and oppression. At sixteen, Elara knew no other life than the one dictated by her father, Christoph Pavlov, a powerful don  in the Russian mafia.

The mansion stood like a fortress against the backdrop of the sprawling countryside, its imposing façade casting a long shadow over the manicured gardens that surrounded it. Vines crept up the weathered stone walls, weaving intricate patterns that spoke of years gone by.

But beyond the grandeur and opulence lay darker truths, hidden beneath the surface like buried treasure waiting to be unearthed. Locked doors whispered of forbidden rooms, their secrets guarded by the passage of time. And in the depths of the mansion's heart, a darkness lurked, its presence felt but never seen, a silent specter haunting the dreams of those who dared to wander too far from the light.

Yet amidst the shadows and the secrets, there was beauty to be found. In the quiet moments of solitude, when the world outside faded into obscurity, the mansion revealed its true nature, a sanctuary for the weary soul, a haven from the storms that raged beyond its walls.

For within the confines of its ancient embrace, one could find solace in the whispered echoes of the past, comfort in the warmth of flickering candlelight, and the promise of a tomorrow yet to be written. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape, the mansion stood silent and watchful, a silent sentinel guarding its secrets for eternity.

Trapped within the gilded cage of her existence, Elara moved through the halls with a grace born of necessity. Despite the luxurious surroundings, she was anything but complacent. Trained from a young age in the art of combat and espionage, she was a lethal weapon concealed beneath the facade of a delicate young woman.

As she wandered through the labyrinthine corridors, Elara's mind raced with thoughts of escape. But every exit was guarded, every move monitored by her father's watchful eye. To him, she was nothing more than a pawn in his deadly game of power and control to be used and to be abused.

Elara refused to be a mere puppet in her father's hands. With each passing day, her resolve grew stronger, her determination to break free burning like a flame within her soul. She may have been trapped for now, but she was far from helpless.

In the depths of the night, when the mansion was shrouded in darkness and silence, Elara  would steal away to the hidden chamber where her weapons lay concealed. There, she would hone her skills with a quiet intensity, her movements fluid and precise, her mind focused on the day when she would finally confront her oppressor and reclaim her freedom

She moved with the grace of a dancer and the determination of a warrior, her petite frame belied by the strength that simmered beneath her skin. With chestnut locks cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face adorned with bright green eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief and defiance, she commanded attention without uttering a word.

Her features bore the unmistakable blend of Russian and Italian heritage, the delicate curves of her nose and lips a testament to the fusion of two distinct cultures. But it was her eyes that held the secrets of her ancestry, a kaleidoscope of emerald hues that mirrored the depths of her soul.

Despite her diminutive stature, there was an aura of confidence that surrounded her, a quiet assurance born of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of her upbringing. For she was not just a girl, but a survivor, forged in the crucible of adversity and tempered by the fires of determination.

And yet, beneath the veneer of strength and resilience, there lingered a vulnerability that she kept hidden from the world. It was in the quiet moments of solitude, when the moon hung low in the sky and the world slept soundly, that she would steal away to the hidden chamber where her secrets lay concealed.

There, in the soft glow of candlelight, she would shed the layers of her facade, revealing the scars that marred her skin and the memories that haunted her dreams. Among them, a single mark stood out, a faint but unmistakable scar on her hip, a testament to the clandestine combat training she had undergone in the dead of night.

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A FEW WEEKS AGO

In the stillness of the night, i move through the darkened corridors of my home like a wraith, my steps calculated and silent. With a sense of thrill burning in my veins, I slip past closed doors and down narrow hallways, my destination clear: a secluded corner of the house where i can train undisturbed and away from the watchful eyes of the guards

In the dim light filtering through the windows, i begins my nightly ritual, my movements a balance of grace and determination. With each strike and dodge, i immerse myself in the art of combat, honing my skills with relentless focus. My breath comes in measured puffs, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

But as i push herself to the limit, fate intervenes with a cruel twist. A misstep, a lapse in concentration – and suddenly, pain flares through my body like wildfire as i falls onto the hot poker in which the fire is controlled, piercing her skin. With a sharp cry, i stumbles backward, clutching at the wound that mars my flesh.

In that moment of vulnerability, fear threatens to consume me. But i refuses to surrender to the darkness, drawing upon reserves of strength i never knew i possessed. With gritted teeth and a steely resolve, i push through the pain, carrying on my combat sequence now involving knifes. The feeling of the knife hilt in my hand gives me a sense of ecstasy and thrill.

As the night wears on and the pain grows stronger, blood dripping down my hip to the floor, i continues my training with renewed fervor, my movements fuelled by my weapon of choice . And so, beneath the cover of night, i presses on, swing after swing jab after jab , my resolve unyielding. For only I know that in the darkness, I will find not just my fears, fears of being locked in her room from a young age for days on end, hearing nothing but my own thoughts screaming to get out but also my strengths, her desire to escape the institution that my father has placed a gilded cage over me – and it is in confronting both that I will truly become the pawn that destroys my father in the game I was always meant to play.