these sweet nightmares

chapter 12: black masquerade

The silent treatment is a universally known method of ignoring someone on purpose, without taking in account of what the other person feels. Social isolation can vary on levels of mild to severe, depending on the consistent duration of the problem. Prolonged segregation may become an issue if not dealt with immediately, and can result in tragic consequences, which includes loneliness, anger, sadness, depression, et cetera. Rejection is unavoidable in life, but there are measures in which one can take to prevent further progression that may end in regret.

I wished I could say the same in my situation, but I cannot. I hoping there was a way to lift the coldness stillness that had settled in the mansion by Henry, but hoping was as useless as desiring the world to be filled with peace and serenity in midst the chaos and violence which choked life ever since the beginning of the first sin.

In this black fairy tale of mine, it was achingly difficult to find connection with my family members, but they had become increasingly distant from one another since the time when we recovered our royalties. This was unusual, even for them. Henry in particular.

Henry was a naturally indifferent boy. He only seemed to do as much as enough, caring to be extremely punctual about the specific things he needed to do. This was the funny thing about him: The less he was interested in something, the more apathetic he was toward it. This trend began in early childhood, when people gushed how wonderful and influential he would become. Perhaps it was the expectations of society imposed on him that made him this way. In stark contrast to me, he much more of will driven person than I would ever be, so coming back to what Father said way back, about two months ago, it seemed a bit of an oxymoron. Why waste potential on a liability like me?

I could understand if he was a little bit disappointed, or mad, or envious, but he had assured me that he was not. Why did it seem that wasn’t the case?

Since my intrusion into his privacy, I dared not venture into his room anymore, not because of his threat, but because he locked it with a special key that only he carried round his neck. It looked like he didn’t want anyone messing with his stuff, but his standoffish behavior didn’t limit there. He grew quite estranged, almost like a stranger within the household.

Mother and Father spirits were dwindling. At moments when they were at their worst, the best they could manage was sighing. Like porcelain dolls, they sat immobile in their rooms, clasping their hands together. If I were to bend my ear closely, I hear them mumbling, trying to form words that were totally out of their scape of ability.

Informal family matters were an individual activity now, a sedate affair. I ate at the dinner table, played with toys unfulfilling like that of human interaction, and slept at night without anyone to read a book to me. I missed the times when parents cared about children’s well-being and not the stock market. Though, it didn’t differ much than before…

Occasionally, I would walk past by the frozen servants, the ones with silent lips and hollow eyes. Not a lot came from them; they were such bores, doing what they were told and never reacting. Once, however, I saw the one who was similar to the old Edward doing some washing outside on the fountain and, when I looked at a certain angle, I thought I saw a trail of water trickling down his face as he scrubbed. Of course, these servants had no emotions, so it was impossible for them to shed tears, right?

Even so, it was so heartbreakingly devastating to see them like this. Under the cold indifference of mind, what kind of tumultuous feelings were shifting? If I had the supernatural ability to see through people and see what lied in their soul, it would probably be astounding––though there would a drawback, if let’s say, the person I was reading his or her mind was actually a serial killer then I would prefer to not know anything at all.