They locked you in the storage room. It was dark, cold and stuffy. Yet you managed to curl yourself into a ball and sleep, clutching the worn-out paper from your dead mother. A small token of the past. A miserable war-plagued past, but it shows the love someone had for you. Just enough, for the little girl to keep holding on to the thin threads of life. You did not know how to read or write, yet just knowing that the letter was from your mother, a woman who cared for you, enough to ensure that her daughter would arrive safely in an unknown land.
Moments passed in silence. Night and day did not affect this small space in which you were locked in. Time seems to slow down and it was peaceful, though only for a few hours until the day went on about again.
When you wake up, the letter you were clutching in your hand was gone. The door to the storage was slightly ajar, light spilling from the gap from the door. You slowly stood up, hobbling your way from the storage door and to the dimly lit hallway. Hugging yourself, you walked towards the source of where voices seem to be coming from. Nighttime tinted the windows dark blue, the half-crescent moon engulfed in translucent clouds.
"With all due respect, sire, the girl have bad manners, it is simply improper to ask her to speak to you, a high class nobleman. To add to it, she is illiterate and is not capable to understand words properly." You heard the voice of the head caretaker. They are in the drawing room. Though the building is falling apart, the drawing room and the entrance towards the orphanage was still intact, and seems to be thoroughly taken care of. The drawing room being the best room out of all of the rooms in the orphanage, filled with silk furniture, a French window facing the outgrown garden and polished silver ornaments completed above a well-lit fireplace. It is as if the drawing room was reserved for the respected higher-class guest who is said to donate a huge sum of money to the orphanage.
You peeked at the drawing room; momentarily in awe with your surroundings which is looked so luxurious compared to the usual dusty, gray rooms you spent your whole life looking at. "I do not care whether she have bad manners, her speech is not the reason why I came here today. After all the money I invested and this is how you repay me?" A stern voice echoed through the thin walls, reaching your ears. It somehow had an unusual heaviness to it, as if the owner of the voice surrounds himself entirely in a sinister aura.
You are only able to see the head caretaker, holding of what seems like a piece of paper in her hands and, squinting her eyes, trying to decipher on what was written in it. After a few moments, you finally realized that it was your letter. The paper was worn-out and had a tear from the top right corner to the middle. "Pardon me sire, but I cannot bring her to you today. Please, come back another time, and you shall see progress on her behavior-" The tone of the head caretaker turned pleading. In the middle of her words, she threw the letter to the fireplace, flames greedily consuming the flammable object. You barged into the room.
"NO! My letter!" You frustratedly exclaimed. Eyes burning with hatred towards the woman in front of you, who now proceeds to see you in shock. "Well? Wasn't this a perfect timing?" The unknown voice said. You looked at the far corner of the room, where the light from the fireplace couldn't reach. There, sitting on a velvet red ottoman, a lean, deceptively young man smiled. Half of his face obscured in the shadows. His eyes was of an unusual Amaranthine hue.
The man then languidly rises from his seat, approaching you with long, deliberate strides. His face slowly came into view clearly, as the clouds cleared for the moonlight to pass through. His hair resembles the dark of charcoal, a bitter pitch black, contrasting with his pallid skin. His eyes incandescent, on a closer look were like snake slits or the pupils of a cat, with the same Amaranthine hue. He smiled at you; you could have sworn you saw a white pearly fang peeking at the opening from his lips. He stood tall, expensive clothing enveloping him as if it should have always been so.
He bowed down to your height, furrowing his perfectly arched eyebrows. You defiantly stared at his eyes, no longer caring on the glare of the head caretaker. "What did you feed her? At this rate, I would have to wait months until you get her into a proper condition. I believe I already gave you plenty of time and money." The man sounded furious, but it was a calm anger, all the more frightening. His voice lowering down to a hiss.
You glanced at the caretaker. Her expression is what the children would look like when they take a beating, helpless, terrified. You felt a slight satisfaction at her expression. Looking back to the man standing before you, he showed his amusement at your emotions. "Do you want to kill the woman, Y/n?" He whispered. Hearing the strange word coming from his lips made you freeze. Hearing the sound of a name, your name and the weight of his sayings. The name you never knew, never actually heard it despite the caretakers able to read the contents of the letter yet they never uttered your name your whole life.
With the other part of the words started to embed itself on your mind, you started to feel a spark, irritation. A suppressed anger, bottled deep within the crevices of your twisted heart started to rise within you. Sensing it, the man chuckled to himself. What an interesting child. You nodded once, as the man slipped something cold in your hands. Looking down at the object in your hand, it was a letter opener. Your reflection faced back at you with an intensity in your eyes. "Forgive me, Master Muzan. It seems that the clumsy child got herself in an accident not long before." The caretaker laughed nervously, standing before the fireplace.
"Well, what's done is done. I decided; I am going to bring her along, as scheduled." The man steps backwards, anticipating your next move. However, his face twisted back into displeasure as he saw your injured leg. Hiding the letter opener in your back, you faced the head caretaker.
"That is wonderful news! I, along with the members of this orphanage shall be ready to welcome you if you decided to visit again." The head caretaker giddily clapped her hands together. The man, named Muzan directed his gaze to the head caretaker, taken aback and embarrassed, she blushed. "That won't be necessary, and you won't receive anything from me in return as well." The man drawled out, tilting his head, whilst impatience gets him slightly annoyed.
"What do you mean by that sir? Surely, you did not mean that you wouldn't send funds to this orphanage anymore do you?" The caretaker's face fell, worry paints her brows, as perspiration gathered in her forehead.
"I meant exactly what you said." Muzan raises his head arrogantly. "After all, you are not going to be able to receive all that precious funds if you, along with the rest of the people in this orphanage, are dead." You were already in the caretaker's back, stabbing her in her left leg twice. A cry parted from the head caretaker, as she fell forwards. You kicked her in the sides so she would face upwards, earning a cough and a wheeze from the surprised woman. "NO! NO! PLEASE DON'T-" Her cries were cut by her own scream as you stained the pristine fireplace with splatters of a color redder and thicker than wine, the letter opener on both of your hands glinted, as you kneel before the destined-for-death woman. The color reminded you of the man's eyes. What a pretty, yet a dark shade.
"Sire! Please!" The woman crawled towards Muzan, yet drew back as she saw the transparent delight in the man's face. Her pleading abruptly stopped, and a repetition of 'nos' spills from her lips like a prayer, only to be replaced with her own shrieks. The screams died down, and it was silent. You looked at your bloodstained hands, gazing at it for a long moment.
When you came to your senses, the sun started to rise, and the man, glancing at the French windows, still at the furthest corner of the room uttered only but one word; a promise that he would come back for you.
"Marechi."
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
a/n: hee hee indeed
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