Tick tock goes the clock,
Until this Manor is
No more
Will the mouse
Find a way out?
Free of guilt;
Oh, safe and sound?
Time is running out, detective.
Angel Mallory has always been unlucky. Seemingly retired from their old job working for the Guil...
Author's Note 1: Holy Moly! 400 reads and 100 votes?? You lot are absolutely insane! Thank you.
*Casually drops one of my favourite chapters so far*
Comments and votes are appreciated.
Author's Note 2: Unedited!
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The car journey to The Silverguard Manor was an absolute nightmare. Packed with three other passengers, there was little space left unoccupied. Baggage, suitcases, more bags. There were bags everywhere; of all brands and colours.
Its exterior had been shiny, the metal ever-so-slightly sizzling under the sun rays. The tinted glass preparing you for a luxurious ride with a good rosé wine under a sapphire blue sky.
Never had I been more wrong. And I was meant to be a detective.
The weather had been weird recently, completely different one day from the other. Newspapers had mentioned the testing of newly-engineered weapons by the Council. Just in case someone attacked- who would anyway?
When me and Jonathan entered the limousine, we were (unfortunately) met with a few more people, some of whom we had heard of in the past:
A tall man with a prominently shaved head and a monocle sat opposite to our spot. His hair was trimmed short. He was a rather, eccentric fellow; and he would stare- oh boy was it menacing.
I could tell he'd been involved with military work before- harsh marks littered the side of his serpent-like face. He wore a cold, stern expression.
This man carried himself like a soldier. He was very obviously annoyed by the packed atmosphere. He wore gloves, black leather to be exact. Now doesn't that ring a bell.
I knew him from somewhere.
Next to him, sat the happiest woman I have ever met in my life. Miss Cynthia Fairchild. She looked so friendly, fair skin, blue eyes and all. Her hair was tailored in fancy curls. They were a light spicy ginger colour, as if touched by sunlight.
She told us she had been one of the young Viscount's childhood friends. They'd grown apart over time, due to unfortunate events. Miss Fairchild was actually 37 years of age, compared to the Lord Silverguard's son, who proudly stood at 32.
A hand shook my shoulder. Quite harshly. Rude, I thought, turning to face Jay who shuffled closer to me.
"You're going all psycho-analysis mode again man, snap out of it. These guys are chill." He whispered close to my ear, giving me a pat on the shoulder.
"I can't exactly control it." I murmured, resting my chin on my palm. This long ride had really tired me out. Jay was lucky. He had headphones. I was left alone to practically rot next to these guys' company.
I crossed my legs, shifting my gaze to the young man next to the chauffeur.
Sat on the front seat was Mr. Cedric Hart- a broad-shouldered politician and a charmer at that. He'd walk around the streets shaking arms, taking photographs and making a name for himself.
