The Feathered Antique

Prologue

Prologue

 

‘The desire to live, is it evil? Choosing between one's life and another's may seem a bit bleak when one imagines it, but when it is stripped down to the bone and suddenly two people are pitched against each other: the true selfishness of the human race is shown within seconds’ – Anonymous

The Feathered Antique

The room’s darkness continues to fight the flickering candle flames. Between each lit pedestal, stand a dozen masked men in black coats lining up in pairs on each side of a long staircase. At the bottom of the flight of steps something begins to change.

The men turn and face the change in atmosphere as strong winds begin to whistle and purr. The flames hanging on frantically to the candle’s wick, like a man holding onto a tree during a hurricane. Along with a cold chill in the air, the wind begins to bring a storm of tumbling black feathers from out of the darkness and into the centre of the candlelight. They stop for a second and then begin to swirl into a feathery tornado, rising high and higher and becoming more rapid and violent.  The sound becoming deafening as the feathers collide and shriek inside the vortex, until suddenly silence and stillness return to the room and the candlelight returns to its previous flickering battle with darkness.

The feathers now softly fall to the ground to reveal a new hooded figure with a presence to make the men slightly bow. The newly emerged man, named Prair, walks towards the stairs and waits at the bottom, brushing off a few stray feathers that cling to his black hooded jumper and jeans.

The masked men turn and bend knees as the room is flooded with light from the top of the staircase, showing more loyalty and respect with their bows then the last time. The hooded man at the bottom of the flight is forced to shade his eyes with his hand as the elegant steps of a beautiful young woman begin to descend to the floor. Each step is slow and paced, as if in sync with a clock.

Her white dress and high heels become visible as Prair’s eyes adjust to the light. After the dress comes her delicate marble neck and chin, then her blood red lips, her petite nose, but it’s the Sapphire eyes, hiding behind the strains of pure white hair, that Prair locks onto as the women descends down the flight.

She reaches the bottom and stands a foot away from Prair, staring at him in curiosity. She brushes a few strains of snow of her face and tucks the locks behind her ears. The hair moves to reveal a silver heart-shaped locket hanging from her neck.

“Is Matthew dead?” The woman asks plainly, scanning Prair’s clothing with her eyes.

“He is no longer a threat to you Sister,” Prair nods.

“What have I told you,” the woman snaps and bears her teeth at him, “it is already disgusting being your sister, I have no need to be reminded.” Prair lowers his head and diverts his eyes.

“My apologies, Sin.” He clenches his hand.

“Quit apologising, I don’t need you to look weaker then you are.” Sin begins to walk around him, “Honestly, what kind of man are you? Apologising, is that what you’ve become? I remember when you made our family proud,” Sin pauses as she flicks a black feather off her chest, “when you made our father proud. Now you’re just pathetic.” Sin turns her back and begins to walk away.