The Soul Tracer

Breaking Point

Time is a curious thing. As a child it seems endless, death unfathomable. However as you grow older, time becomes clearer, your days seem to shorten, to fill with worries and regrets. Then love ones pass away and days of mourning go on forever, you long for the those precious hours you had with them. We lost little Tommy to the same illness I had, just days after my recovery. The years passed and the independence that I always wanted, turned into the responsibilities I dreaded. Soon it was time for my fairytale romance to begin. Fairytale, however it was not, with the responsibility of taking over Cheston Manor looming over my head, life was beginning to change.

Clara opens the delicate curtains allowing the sun to stream through the large windows.

"Morning my lady"

I wiped my eyes then slapped my face lightly. The sharp pain spread across my pale skin awakening me fully from my slumber.

"Morning Clara." I sit up reluctantly, "Has Ivy woken already?"

"Yes my lady, she's with her ladyship in the breakfast room. Lady Ivy thought it you should sleep in today, as its your birthday."

"That's kind of her, but I would have much rather have woken earlier."

Pushing the blankets away, I force myself out of bed and to the dressing table. Clara quickly does my hair and helps me into my favourite dress, the sunlight shines off the sequins projecting a rainbow flower shape onto the wall. The sky blue silk flows around my legs as I walk elegantly down the large oak staircase. Ivy steps around the corner of the breakfast room doorway.

"Oh. Good morning Ada, happy birthday. Mamas in the breakfast room." A quick but beautiful smile lights her face as she passes by.

The sunlight bounces of my dress alighting the room, and the smell of toast fills my nose.

"Morning Mama."

She doesn't move an inch, her eyes are fixed on the large willow tree in front of her. It's the only tree in this part of the garden, it's on a little island covered in daffodils, with a small wooden bridge crossing the water. Under the willow tree is a beautiful oak bench aligned with Tommy's grave. Mama sits here most days, same seat, same meal. She doesn't eat much anymore, she puts it on a second plate, to give to Papa, but Papa's never coming home. He was lost in action in the war. Mama refuses to accept that fact. It's better to go along with it, then try to break it to her.

"Beautiful day today isn't it." I spread raspberry jam on my toast. "Is Papa joining us this morning?"

"No, he's out there," she says in a monotonic voice as she points at the willow tree.

"Do you know what day it is Mama?" She doesn't move, her finger still pointing the same direction, like a statue. "It's my birthday Mama, I'm 18."

The sticky jam covers my fingers as I take small bites of the toast. I chew for a reasonable amount of time. Even in her state, Mama is still one for manors. The silence makes my ears ring. I stand up quickly, and slam my hands down on the table.

"That's it! Mama this is absolutely ridiculous, Papa isn't coming home. He's gone, forever!" Tears fill my eyes, and a lump grows in my throat, "Please Mama, accept the truth..."

I blink vigorously, trying to force the tears back. It's to late, however, and they push their way through my eyelashes and stream down my cheeks.

"Please." I beg one last time. Mama puts her hand down slowly, then turns to look at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and dark shadows lay under them. Bits of thick brown hair have fallen out of her, once beautiful, bun. She stares at me, no not at me, just passed me. At the large family portrait, hanging over the marble chimney piece. It was painted just before the war, little Tommy was only a baby, and Papa looked as handsome as ever in is army uniform.

Suddenly Mama lets out a huge high pitch scream, and tears start streaming down her face. Multiple footmen and maids come bursting in from all around the house.

"What's wrong my ladyship?" One says.

"What have you done?" a male voice asks from behind me. However this voice isn't a servants. It's to beautiful, almost angelic. It's a voice that's not ever forgotten.

"Go Ada, leave!" He orders, his voice gentle but stern. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of a tall, and handsome, young gentlemen. He's dressed in white tie, though its late morning. His hair combed back. The way he speaks is that of a different century, not past but future. His accent much like Clara's. I turn to look at him straight on. All I see is the back of his creased jacket, as he leaves the room. He's walk contains I slight bounce, not the sort of walk someone dressed like him should have.

I start walking after him, picking up my pace as the space between us grows larger. He heads through the salon, pass the grand staircase and and pushes his way through the wooden front doors. The large doors hit me with great force, as they close behind him, pushing me to the ground. Air exits my lungs with great haste, causing my chest to ache incredibly. I lay there on the cold, hard, marble floor, staring at the painting on the roof. Four beautiful angels gathered around an empty golden throne. Inscribed on the arms of the throne are all the Counts and Countesses of Cheston Manor, dating back centuries.