His Little Heir

Murder Talk

     The cases whispered of an era that had gone up in smoke. In one, was a battered dress torn down the middle, and in another, what looked to be a gurney.

     And then there was the carriage, shining with an odd familiarity.

     A mahogany finish glazed over its polished layers. From the outside, Daya could almost feel the maroon velvet seats caving in. The exterior too, like the dress, fell into tatters, but not from age.

     Everything looked to be fairly recent; the gold detailing reminded her of Faye's, sparkling in a similar pattern to the molding's trim. Leon had told her the castle had been remodeled when he was five.

    Twenty years ago.

    

   "You okay?" She looked to her left, and there he was.

    Leon's forward demeanor from earlier had washed away. Beside her, his shoulders drooped as far as his lips, and slowly, vulnerability took shape.

    The light that usually filled his eyes flickered into dullness. It turned serious and peered deep into Daya, resonating sadness.

     "O-Oh yeah, I'm fine... just zoned out." She turned back to the cases.

    Leon about faced, and returned with a cushioned chair, "Here, sorry this took forever, and uh, for dragging you into this."

    Daya sat down. The chair held her up, providing the support she had craved all day. A second one appeared next to her.

     "Where did-"

     "Everybody go?" Leon sighed, "The next room over; while you were drooling over the cases, they left."

     "I was not," she made quotes with her fingers, 'drooling' as you say."

     He smirked at her, taking his thumb and tracing it across the corners of her lips.

     "Just checking."

    
     Daya brought her gaze to the floor. Even when he was being serious, Leon took every chance at teasing her. Her face flushed. Couldn't he focus on the task at hand?

     "Uhm, on another note, why did you, ah, bring me here?"

    Leon took her hand, "You said you wanted to learn more about our culture, yes?"

    "Yeah, so, this is... everything, huh?" She gestured to the cases as her face fell, "Everything from your mom."

    "My dad asked the museum to build this place in her memory. When I turned twenty, he brought me here and told me how she... how she died."

    His eyes twinkled with wetness. Part of Daya wanted to hold him as the tears fell, but another held her in place.

     "Was she a good mom?" Her mouth went dry.

    "I was two when she died, so I don't remember much. Dad was never the same, though."

     She leaned in closer to him, squeezing his hand, "How so?"

    "Funny you say that," Leon sent a gust of air out of his nose, "That's the whole reason I met you."

    Daya raised her brow. She leaned backwards, letting his statement sink in. Before the agreement, they had never met. Never had they layed eyes on eachother.

     "What do you mean, we never-"

    "Saw each other before, I know." He supplied the ending to her words.