Trails of Intertwined Stars: Chapter 74 {Part 1}

~Chapter 125: My Porcelain Doll~

Jiu stared furiously at the man, who was glancing mindlessly at the stained glass, keeping his pistol pointed at the general's head.
"You're a fucking idiot trusting Mistress Mohan, Henry," Jiu whispered," I saw your past. She wanted to kill you off when you were young, that's why Leora protected you that day. Why did you go into a deal with her?"
Henry's face twisted with sick pleasure.
"You think I cared about that old hag?" He laughed," She was desperate too. Duncan was dead, and my father was a failure. I was all she had left; funny, how her little failure became her prototype genius. No, if anything, I've been using her...I must say, both of my grandparents are rather good stepping stools for money and status."
Jiu had always found Henry oddly disturbing, but seeing him so manic, well, it was a dreadful sight.
"You know, I don't much appreciate you cutting off my tale!" Henry hissed, pressing the pistol harder against his skull," You wouldn't interrupt the storyteller at a play, so what makes you think you have the right to cut off me?"
Leora let out a small whimper in pain, but Henry let out a roar and tugged the gun away, firing a bullet into the altar's wood to startle her to silence; swiftly pointing the pistol back in Jiu's direction.

"Darling sister, you ruin everything for me!" Henry huffed, flattening his hair," I am trying to tell you a little bedtime story, and you cannot help but interrupt. Be. QUIET!"
Henry let out a deep breath.
"Now, where was I...ah, right. In truth, I-"

"...did feel a sort of pity for my sister. I hated her, but I truly cared too. You must know how that feels, hm? When you love someone so much you want to watch them suffer. You look disgusted, Jiu...fix it."

Once my parents had passed, I found my mind was restless, like a stormy ocean, moreso than it had when I pushed Duncan. I started to have these bursts of delirium, immense surges of guilt, and dreams. Originally, I assumed it was my guilty conscience desperately trying to soothe my tumultuous state. But now I've heard Duncan has been giving you those dreadful dreams, I suppose it might have been him...toying with me. Either way; it was not Duncan, or even my parents, I saw in those dreams, but rather Leora. It was always the same dream too, never a new one. I still remember it as clear as day. It went as followed:
I would enter the old nursery, in which my sister had spent most of her days back then, as I used to when young. I would call out for her in my dream, with the urge to make an effort to beg her for forgiveness, but the nursery was always hauntingly empty. And then, I'd always notice a doll house of sorts would appear beside the old rocking chair the wet nurses used. Now, we had many dollhouses as children, mainly due to the fact Leora would throw a tantrum for one, and my father would always cave in and get her the most expensive ones. So, for there to be a dollhouse was not usually to me; I simply would assume Leora had just left it out after play. But then, I'd inspect it closer, and something particularly jarring always stood out to me.

It was an exact replica of Mohan Manor, rooms and all, every little minute detail. And worse of all, there was only ever one doll in that house. A small Leora, sat in the nursery, her little body slacked against the wood with a mournful expression on her little porcelain face. My mother, in the past, had always commented on how she had a doll-like disposition: with her pale face, large eyes, perfectly shapen lips and her custom frocks my father would get her. But to see such a sight in person, especially as a young gentleman, was chilling to me. That frail version of my sister made me feel I was doing some incredible injustice to her. The next part of the dream, was always the most disturbing for me, for you see, the little doll would let out a cry (the same cry I'd heard her make once before as a young babe when she caught a nasty bout of the flu). To my young mind, my sister sounded very ill, and whilst I wished her demise, I wished it not to be from plague. I would always awake from the horrid dream a blubbering mess, to the point our maids had gotten used to the routine of rushing into my bedroom to console me. They always assumed it was the loss of my best friend and parents, for I never admitted my nightmare to anyone, till this point. It was after the consolation that I ordered, as the heir of the house, that Leora must stay in the manor till adulthood, to avoid the peasant diseases that lingered beyond the walls of my future estate.