What Makes a Monster

♱Forty-Four♱

I'm scared, although it is a fear that differs greatly from what I've felt before, like on the night that assassin nearly took my life. This fear is more of a worry, a worry over what the future holds.

Once I step through these locked doors, I will know more than most, not more than all seeing as Higra and Layne are aware of the secrets behind these doors. However, handing me these keys, the one's as cold as ice in the palm of my hand, is Soran's way of letting me in.

It's his way of saying he wants me here but isn't certain I should be. I understand. I've been having the same thoughts, but he said it himself; it's too late to bury these feelings. They're here to stay. Others know. I don't want to leave, something tells me it will be useless even if I did, so I will find these truths and hope to avoid the past repeating itself.

The first keyhole is square shaped and leads to the room I glimpsed once before. When the door opens, I'm met with a familiar sight. Everything is as it was, somehow more alive than Soran's room yet eerily dead. The painting that caught my attention the first time, I see it fully now. My heart immediately aches with sorrow then unbridled rage.

The painting is a masterpiece; a beautiful family portrait.

Soran's smile is filled to the brim with love as he holds a young girl with brown hair and green eyes. She appears just as happy to be held by Soran, a young, bright and bubbly child.

Beside Soran is a beautiful woman that must be in her forties. She appears youthful with a dazzling smile and appearance that matches, what I'm presuming to be, her daughter sitting in Soran's lap; the same brown hair and green eyes.

Behind the woman is a teenage girl with long black hair in a navy dress that only brings out the green of her eyes. Her hand is on her mother's shoulder and the other wrapped around the arm of her father beside her, presumably at least. They look very similar, only his eyes are a warm brown, the same as the last person in the portrait; a young son. He's likely barely into his teens with hair the same deep black as his dad's. He's holding the hilt of a sword at his side with the Makai family crest etched into the silver handle.

There is only happiness and love in their smiles. They are close together, huddled happily in a painting that probably took days, if not weeks, to finish. The colors are slightly faded but taking a guess at the age, it's a miracle the painting continues to exist at all. Soran must have imbued it with magic, otherwise it would be long gone. Actually, I imagine these rooms are imbued with magic in general.

I step closer to inspect the portrait, wondering who they really are.

Looking at Soran, then admiring the others, I can't deny that there are some similarities between them. The father and Soran share the most similarities though.

I thought the Makai family was wiped out? Emperor Elyon saw to it. Whether Soran and the man in this painting are related by blood or not, it is clear that this is...or rather, was Soran's family at some point.

In the room there are signs of the wife and husband. There's jewelry and neckties on a vanity as well as a horror book on the bedside table and some half knitted mittens on the other. This must have been their room and Soran keeps it the same to this day. That is most telling of their importance. How long has it been like this? With Soran's age, there's no telling when these people were a part of his life.

I'm both curious and dreading to see the remaining rooms, locking the door after I leave to go to the next.

I fumble with the keys, finding the one in the shape of a diamond. It clicks open, revealing the youthful room of a girl with sundresses and plastic flower headbands on the vanity. Although we've never met, something tells me she was as bright as her room, warm and sunny. There's a handkerchief on her bedside table though, with stitching in it that reads, "Josette Makai."