Zene Oneshots

Melancholic Melody

Gene entered his distasteful old inn room, closing the aged wooden door behind him. The place looked rancid, with a small twin sized bed placed into the left corner of the room. On top of the small bed laid neatly folded attire, which appeared more expensive then his entire room combined into a single price. He walked over, admiring the fabric and delicate handwork that must've gone into creating such expensive attire. He had never seen, nor felt such soft fabric before, since his own family was just used to old rags and small patches of cotton as clothes. Despite his admiration for the formal suit, it only seemed to leave a sense of bitterness within him. You see, Gene was like almost everyone currently within the country. Poor. Many citizens were struggling to survive, with starvation and death rates leaving the towns overwhelmed. Body's built up into large stacks, since no one could afford a proper burial, many of the unfortunate souls were simply pilled up on top of one another, only to be burned to ashes. The winters were the worst, as the earth itself felt unruly, and harsh. Just like this one, where not even his rotting room could keep the freezing weather at bay. The mildly cold air within the room gave him chills, his eyes trailed from the nearly broken down floorboards, which appeared to have lost their original colour along time ago to the candle on the desk. Finally, his feet began moving once more towards the piece of furniture. Which was stationed in the left side of the room, tucked against the corner. Along side it, was a small glass window built into the wall. Small piles of snow had already begun to build itself along the windowsill, reminding Gene that despite the disappointing state of his room. It was still better then his home. His eyes flicked to the candle, the only source of light he held within his little area. It was warm, even if its temperature could only warm a finger of his. He smiled, whisking the flame away with his hand. He had no need for warmth, as he needed to focus on the task at hand.

He walked towards his bed, removing his old, raggedy clothes. He had gotten them from his father, as most of their clothes were just passed down by generations within a single family. Anything he didn't want to wear, he would've given to his younger brother Dante instead. It was on odd sensation to put on the expensive, and rich clothes laid out before him. His silver, and formal attire made it hard to believe he was a peasant at all. The silver, and white pallet of his clothes matched his physical appearance as well. After he had gotten dressed, he reached out for his final piece of clothing. A mask, covering his eyes and the top of his nose. It was a shimmering silver, finally laced with small specks of white which seemingly complimented his blue eyes. As if he didn't recognize himself, he glanced out the window. It was good to be this different, to feel different from who he wished to be, and from who he was going to be once the night, and the masquerade ball ended. Tonight blood will be spilt, whether he wanted to or not. His eyes seemingly narrowed as he watched the winds carry the falling snow from the air, leaving it to build up against small shops, and across the unruly streets. Cold. As if an icy wind had broken down his window, and was dragging him into the cruel clutches of winter. He felt as if the wind was surrounding him, whispering all the things about the world he did not wish to hear. Despite what literature may have taught an individual, what fantasies had grown within the people. Earth no longer seemed like a safe haven, the snow covering the lands, leaving the plants underneath to wither and die. The people were growing desperate, and tonight would be the last ball the rich would enjoy. He was putting an end to their suffering, the people will no longer have to starve while the noblemen fill their stomachs with more food then anybody could ever consume. It would all end tonight, for that was why Gene was in the old inn room to begin with, why someone had provided him with such expensive clothes. He wasn't the only one apart of this conspiracy, perhaps even servants, musicians, and noblemen would partake it tonight's massacre.

Either way, it wasn't his job to worry about others. His eyes hesitating before finally forcing themselves away from the window, a familiar loneliness following him as he left his room. He walked down the stairs, needing to use the back entrance where his carriage awaited him, attached to two horses ready to carry him to the most lavish manor in the country. He entered the carriage hastily, rubbing his hands together as his skin stung from the freezing cold. He heard the coachman start to lead, the small trotting of the horses blurring out as he watched them pass through the streets. Bakeries had run out of bread, and other food a long time ago. Occasionally you could see a shop window shattered, and broken into pieces. That was a normal case, as he assumed someone must've broken in to get a form of food or other usual material. The world was in chaos, and their very king even had the arrogance to refuse to even acknowledge the state of his own country. There was so much suffering, older women cradling their little children on the streets, offering any form of warmth and covering from the cold. Sadly, most children never made it through winters like these. They either starved, or died of hypothermia due to being exposed to the cold for to long. On tragic days like that the streets would be still, and the only thing that could be heard was the heart renching cries of a mother who had lost her own child. If Gene hadn't seen colour before, then he wouldn't have been sure if something vibrant even still existed. Things had grown dull, and colourless, as if everything had grown grey.