I went to my room after a night of chores, and being a servant. I ate my regular scraps of hot food my family left me after they ate. I was still hungry, but it could wait, I had to see him again. I snuck out 20 minutes before midnight, and ventured my way to where he had saved my life, I turned around and saw the dark stairway leading to another street. I followed it until I stepped upon an old abandoned house, no it looked more like a mansion! I crept onto the steps, and twisted the door knob, it gave in with a moaning of the hinges.
I walked onto the crimson carpet that hadn't been swept or cleaned in years, I looked up to the ceiling, it had cracks and splinters. I grabbed a candle off it's podium, and lite it up with the matchbook I had in my coat pocket. A painting of a young man caught my eye, his eyes were a beautiful shade of gray, with a little caramel tint to them. His smile was warm, and his hair was black: down past his ears and it was neatly kept. I passed the painting, and walked up the stairs. I passed a room that looked like a Princes'. I walked in and saw that the bed...was made. It wasn't scrunched up or anything. I looked around the room and saw a bookshelf. I picked up a book that read "Where Could She Be?" And another book that said "Will I Find Her In Time?" I then realized whoever was here, or had been... They were alone, never having a woman to keep them company.
I realized this was exactly my life, reading books that were fairy tales. I picked up a photograph that displayed a woman, she had pale skin, deep blue eyes, and auburn hair. She was stunning, and her clothes looked like what our queen would wear. I nearly dropped the picture as a voice said
"Beautiful. Isn't she?" They took two steps into the room. Wearing a hood over their head, making it impossible to see their face. I stuttered
"Y-Yes, who is she?"
The man sighed, and took a couple steps towards me.
"You mean who was she. She was my mother, she was once Queen of England..."
He paused, and seemed to be staring at the picture.
"Her name was Emma-Rose Lynn Deamer, She died when I was 9. I am her son, Damien Charles Deamer, and I believe you are in my room."
I instantly felt ashamed, me having been in a gentleman's room. I exited in a hurry, and stood out in the hallway as I silently watched him admire his mothers 's picture. He removed the hood from his head. He had jet black hair that hung past his ears, it looked soft, but it also looked like it hasn't been combed in awhile; Deep gray eyes with a caramel tint, pale skin, a warm smile, and even a dimple in the right side of his cheek... I just stood there in complete awe. I felt closer to him more than ever.
