Some of the words in this tiny pre-chapter dictionary have been mentioned before, but still explaining it for all those who forgot. :D
Herculean: Pertaining to things of great strength, size etc.
Aureate: Golden/gilded.
Psychical: Mental
Innumerable: Many/countless.
Aspersion: Derogatory remarks.
Paroxysm: Sudden, violent outburst.
Countenance: Appearance/visage.
Empyreal: pertaining to the sky/celestial.
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Ambrose's POV:
I marched down the hallway of the mansion, every footstep echoing down the empty halls. Somewhere in the distance where I was heading to, music and laughter rang out.
What are you doing?
I had no idea. I despised celebrations for they were a frightful waste of money, time and energy. But yet, some impulse rooted deep within me had driven me to attend one.
Could it be because of...her?
I felt my muscles tense. I corrected myself: It was a he ― Mr Linton, my private secretary.
He is no longer in your employ, thus that doesn't really apply, does it?
I clenched my fists. I hated how I had involuntarily made a valid point that countered what I intended to believe.
I forced myself to continue moving forward. Since I was already there, I must as well stop wasting time and get it over with.
"Sir!"
I turned around, shooting the man who had interrupted my stride my iciest glare. The young lad faltered.
"Goo-good evening sir. The party has already begun. Lord Nithercott ordered that no one else is per-permitted to enter the great hall."
"Indeed?"
Sensing the frost in my single word, the man's legs trembled. "Ye-yes. I will have to escort you out now, Sir."
I turned and continued walking.
"Sir!" He sounded desperate now. "As the Herald, I was given orders that you and I have to adhere to!"
I channeled even more ice into my deadpanned glare. That look never failed to reduce men into cowering wimps. The young chap before me was of no exception. "Tell that to someone who cares."
He gasped.
Disregarding the Herald, I made my way to my destination and stopped before two herculean gold doors. I stared distastefully at them. The wastefulness of the wealthy but psychically inept never ceased to amaze me.
"Sir! Please reconsider your decision. You would not want to make Lord Nithercott your enemy! Everyone knows how he dislikes interruptions!"
"I believe that it should be the other way around. Lord Nithercott will not want to make me his enemy."
He stared quizzically at me, in a way that questioned my sanity.
"Do you know who I am?" I decided to aid the young man who was suffering from facial contortations.
"No..."
The audacity!
I was detesting the man before me more and more by the second. "Mr Ambrose. Mr Rikkard Ambrose."
YOU ARE READING
After the Storm
Fanfiction*After the Storm* After the perilous journey to retrieve a file of paramount importance, and a trip to the desert to hunt down bandits, Lilly Linton believed that the turmoil had come to an end. But what happens when the ghosts of Mr Rikkard Ambrose...
