Chapter 18 – The Bloodline (part2)
Drosselmeyer exhaled through his unnecessarily large nose and looked at the next cup of fizzing liquid with melancholic eyes; which was strange for Drosselmeyer, he had never been so low in existence, but after watching Mytho’s past and witnessing the suicide of his beloved son-in-law how could he not. But this wore off after five minutes of wallowing in sadness.
“Well! Who is next? He threw the liquid at the cog and the dramatic sequence of events occurred once more as Drosselmeyer numbed himself to the performance. But once the colours began to swirl he became interested once more, “alright! Let’s see what’s behind door number two!”
White flowers scattered the area as a beautiful woman with long black silken hair walked down the isle of white clutching a bouquet of white roses. She looked shyly, blushing from underneath her veil at the young man who stood before her. Although he was rugged, he had a strange refinement about him; he was well mannered and proper but had the fierceness of a hungry wolf when it came to fighting. Beside him stood a young boy, face as pale as a sheet but large amber eyes which sparkled of gold and innocence; a naivety that was pure and preserved. And next to the small pale skinned boy was dark haired child who was a little fidgety. Although he was rugged, he was to develop an odd refinement about him; he would be well mannered and proper to an extent but would acquire a fierceness like no other has ever seen, a lust for protection and vast courage. This boy was nowhere near normal and his life would become a tragedy, from this he would have to search for the strength to carry on, alone.
While the two adults were standing together speaking their vows of love, the two boys were conversing, “hey Mytho…” the dark haired boy whispered sideways to Mytho.
“Yes?”
“How old are you exactly?”
“I’m eight, same as you remember?”
“I know, but weren’t you eight last year as well? And the year before that, you were eight too!”
“No, I was seven… like you. And the year before that I was six, like you.”
“But… hmmm” the dark haired boy scrunched up his face and thought hard for a few moments, “does that mean we’re like twins or something?”
“Well…we don’t look the same like twins” Mytho rolled up his sleeve and compared his white skin to the other boy’s skin, which was dark in comparison; a light chocolate hue, “you have darker skin to me…” then he inspected his hair colour, “and you have black hair. We can’t be twins…” The boy looked disappointed.
“Oh… so we’re not brothers” he stared at his feet sadly and sighed. Mytho’s memory sparked a little.
“Brothers…” he muttered silently to himself. He remembered his father; Godric, and his most dearest friend, no, brother; Edmund. Mytho thought, “If my father is brothers with Eddy, whose son is Marco, whose son is… oh my gosh…” the dark haired boy looked up at Mytho who was muttering to himself wide-eyed. He suddenly looked up at the boy, “we ARE brothers!” The boy gasped and grinned.
“For life?” Mytho held out his hand for the boy to hold.
“For life!” Fakir grasped Mytho’s hand firmly and shook it, Mytho didn’t expect this and stared down at what he was doing in confusion; but then he just smiled and they both turned back to their mother and father.
