I sat silently in the warmth of the attic. Light streamed through the long, thin arched windows that stretched above me. They illuminated the room, revealing should be forgotten crates and boxes which contained everything from cleaning supplies to discarded weaponry. I liked it up there, where everything was open, bright, airy, and somewhat happy. It was also the perfect place to reminisce. I would sit there whenever i could, sifting through the boxes, imagining life in times past. This particular day i was looking through a box of old portraits.
It was of my family. My mother, father, brother, and me. We did have others, of course, but this one was special. My mother and father were both very young, missing the deep lines and worried eyes they had acquired over the years. My brother was nestled in my mothers arms, wrapped tightly in a crisp white blanket, his dark eyes gleaming underneath his mop of dark hair. My father was holding me. I was wrapped in the same white blanket, but one of my arms had broken free and my chubby baby hand was cheekily tugging on my fathers beard. The painter seemed to of left this in because it seemed to the add to the aura of homeliness that the painting had. I suppose that was why the painting was hidden away up here, it was far too informal, innocent, and delicate. I thought about my family, how much they had changed. I felt the anger rising in me again, but i held it down. Save it i told myself. Save it for Ivory, The more you save, the more she will hurt. The more she will suffer. The more revenge you will get. Still, the anger was bubbling, threatening to take over. Ivory's seemingly innocent face clouded my mind, mixing with the faces of my family. Back then my fathers eyes shone in mirth. Nowadays they were clouded with an evil, cold gleam. My brothers innocence was tainted in deciet, all loyalty to the great family gone, and my mother. This part broke my heart the most. Her eyes in the painting were the brightest green, gleaming in wonder and hope. Her face kind, rosy cheeks flushed with pride as she presented her children and supported her husband. I breathed in, finally giving in to the anger. The shutters swung open releasing a swirl of wind into the room, upsetting dust and papers. I glared at the portrait, my mums gleaming eyes turning a dull lifeless grey in my mind. Her emerald green dress became stained by a river of blood cascading down her front, a single silver arrow peircing straight through her chest. Her now lifeless body was replaced by Ivories. She was standing on top af a wall, balanced precariously, dress and hair billowing in the wind. In her pale hand she held a bow. She looked at me for a second, then turned and jumped.
As the memory burned in my head, the portrait itself errupted into flames. It burnt in seconds and left me alone, with ashes floating around my clenched body. Tears fell but quickly evaporated in the heat. As i left the room in it's smoky, dreary glory, i had only one thought left in my mind; Revenge.
