Fear Me

Z E R O; p h o b i a

pho·bi·a
ˈfōbēə/
noun
an extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something.
..........
Her parents were out, and yet again was the big metal door shut closed with a lock closing her from the world and the rest of her own home. Though, she didn't really know the mansion enough to know what was beyond the attic and hallway leading to it.

She felt unclean, and the familiar scent of dust making her sneeze every few minutes. Servants weren't allowed in the attic or the room she stayed in.

Phoebe sat in an old dusty purple chair, one of only four furnitures she was provided with. Other then the twin size bed, small table, dinner chair, and dresser.

The room was old, creaky, and of course dusty.

Phoebe was feared by her whole family. She was a disgrace to them, and she knew it. Her father was scared of her, but he never showed it. He believed that it was her great great grandmothers fault.

Phoebe held the familiar book in her fingertips, flipping the pages patiently until her parents returned. The cover of the book was made of leather, with the words Pandoras Box graved into it. Phoebe knew this story like the back of her hand.

Suddenly, Phoebe heard a click. Her head snapped up, and her baby blue eyes narrowed at the door. She felt an energy rush go through her blood stream and to her face, where her eyes turned a dark grey.

The door swung open, and Mr.Charleston stood in the doorway. Mr.Charleston, was Phoebes father. He often wasn't there. But when he was, he said the most rudest words in any vocabulary. And Phoebe had a very interesting way with words.

"Phoebe," he acknowledged. "I see you've been reading again."

Phoebes eyes calmed down back to their original baby blue. Mr.Charleston pulled up her one dining chair, right across from his daughter.

"I have." She replied, looking down at her leathered book.

"You have a special gift, Phoebe," Mr.Charleston pulled a scroll from his back pocket. The base of the scroll was green, and the sides had a signs and patterns on them. He held it out to Phoebe. "It is for you, from an anonymous man."

A wicked smile formed on his lips, and Phoebes stomach began to churn as she unrolled it. Mr. Charleston left the room, shutting the door tightly, letting the sound of clicks fill Phoebes ears for a few seconds.

The letter was written in very fancy cursive. And for a few seconds, Phoebe couldn't read it.

Dear Phoebe Joseph Charleston,

You have been arranged to marry! On January 9th, at exactly 13:46 AM, I will arrive at your doorstep. Don't worry, we do know of your family and your powers, we will not be effected at all.

  You may be confused by me, and my family as well, but we all-me specifically- will provide you with love and care that you may need. You might think this is a trick. My love, it isn't.

  Love,
     Phobos, your future husband

   Phoebe was confused. She re-read the letter many times, her eyes darkening when she read the time. There was no clock in her room, let alone she didn't know there was a thirteenth hour. Maybe she was locked up for so long she forgot the changes in the world.

   Phoebe figured maybe it was night now, because her father worked during the day. She had no windows, nor a calendar. She decided it was a trick. So maybe, she should just begin her usual nights. Read, sleep, eat, sleep and read some more (pretty much me).