In Love With A Vampire? Not To Mention He Kidnapped Me.

Exploring My Prison {6}

They brought me outside, flanking me on either side. It was intimidating, they were both over five inches taller than my short self.

I was anxious as the door to the room I'd been residing in closed behind us, with a loud bang. It echoed throughout the house. Beyond the door to my room, there was an antique hallway. It had a dusty smell and was carpeted in a dark wine color. The walls has old, flower print wall paper meticulously plastered over them. Some sections were chipping and revealed an unsettling, moldy brown color of the actual wall.

Photographs lined the wall. Each had its own unique, ornate frame. Some were of soldiers, saluting the camera with a solemn, yet proud, look, forever capturing their face.  Others were family portraits. I took a closer look at the one nearest me, which appeared centuries old.

Upon looking closely, I realized with shock that the sepia colored print wasn't actually a photograph at all; it was a painting. It was signed illegibly in the corner. Five figures posed in wooden stools. There was an older woman dressed in a ballroom gown, complete with barely visible dainty heels concealed under he silk folds of the fabric. I assumed it to be the same red color of the carpet. Her face had perfectly symmetrical features, and her hair was a light color, probably blonde or white. 

To her right was a stern looking man, her husband. He wore an ironed black suit with a large matching bow tie. One of his eyebrows were cocked up in a serious manner, making him look agitated. He had one shiny dress shoe sitting on the bar beneath his chair, the other on the floor. His features were also strikingly brilliant, an unnatural beauty for an average man. His hair was black, even in the photo, and slicked back. It seemed to shine beneath the frame.

Three very different children surrounded them. One was a teenage male, whose hair was blonde and curled around the frame of his face. He was much taller than the rest of his presumed family. I studied his beauty in particular, which was far more abstract than the others. He had barely visible freckles, setting him apart from the group. He was skinny, adorning a white dress shirt and black slacks. His shoes were identical to his father's, shiny and uncomfortable looking. He was the only smiling person in the group. His teeth glimmered, bright and obviously well taken care of. He looked so modern; it was almost as if he'd been photo-shopped into the print. He was an outliar, and made the painting look almost laughable.

There was a small girl, barely older than a toddle, standing between her parents. She frowned, looking directly into my onlooking eyes. Her eyes were an outstandingly bright color; I wished to see what their true pigment was. I was taken aback buy how longingly she looked at the painter of this painting. It was if she had a crush on him, if he were to be a boy. She was focused on the eyes of the painter, and they bore out of the painting. 

I unknowingly lifted my hand to touch the dust covered glass. I paused, before wiping it off, exposing the true brillance of the painting.

I had to look away for a moment, the sad little girl's look taking me aback with surprise.

As I looked back up, the last character's profile alarmed me.

It was a picture perfect painting of Jett. His hair ran to his broad shoulders, straight, jet black, mimicking the color of his proposed father. His eyes were the same bright color as the child's. He stood a little shorter than the blonde, although he was much more burly. I stood, looking, flabbergasted.

Blondie cleared his throat, breaking my trace on the painting. I whipped my head to look at him, although I refused to meet his intense gaze.

"Come on now," he said, "Let's not sympathize with ghosts of the past."

He gave me a gentle push in the general direction of the hallway. I couldn't resist from taking one last glance at the portrait. 

After descending a grand spiral staircase, I assumed we were in a lobby area. This house had a massive, royal feel.