Pretty Poison

Two

My feet ache as each sole of my flats connects with the polished oak wood floors. I stride down the hallway with slow steps, mentally checking off every room I pass in the wing. I jaunt closer and closer to the grand steps leading down to the main floor of the palace, chatter and loud voices bouncing off the porcelain marble walls.

Descending, I make sure to keep my hands to myself, not touching the metal railing free of all greasy fingerprints. Five steps from the bottom, I instantly stop in my place as two boys rush around the corner, one chasing the other. A small smile appears on my face as I watch the two sons bicker and fight with one another, day after day becoming more like their father. They shout profusely at one another in strong accents.

"Get back here, idiota!"

"You'll never catch me!"

They go back and forth like this, arguing emphatically. They run in front of the stairs and past the banister, the leading boy slipping into the next room as the trailing boy follows behind closely. He senses my eyes on him, admiring him, and he gazes up at me from where he stands. His flawless indigo blue eyes shimmer under the natural sunlight flooding into the foyer. Then, our connection is broken as he too disappears around the corner. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in, my entire body relaxing as I stepped closer to the ground floor.

A second later, a stern voice bellows after the two boys, "No running in this house, ragazzi," but they don't stop, their slamming feet mirroring off the checkered marble floors. If you looked closely enough, you could see flawless gold flakes glinting under the light, reflecting your image like the fountain of youth.

I step off of the last carved stone stair. I peer up into the foyer, the two story high ceilings topped off with a Renaissance styled brick dome. A grand chandelier hangs down from the middle, carved diamonds glinting in the sunrays casting rainbow prisms on the walls.

The foyer itself is a large circular shape, the grand staircase spiraling up the side with an arched threshold under the steps leading to the next large room. If I could, I would sit on the middle step and admire the beauty all day and night.

I break my gaze away from the chandelier and glide swiftly through the archway, heading straight for the grand kitchen. Pushing open the door with my elbow, I'm met immediately with shiny stainless steel appliances. The quartz countertops are decorated with an assortment of plants and glass ornaments, a perfect emphasis compared to the overwhelmingly white space. The pearl tiles create a backdrop that glistens and reflects every movement made in the kitchen with a distorted picture. Two servants rush around the kitchen, preparing a meal for tonight's dinner. The sweet aroma of freshly cut romaine and ground spice floods my senses, my favorite sensation.

I'm spontaneously jarred from my enjoyment as a tray is set in front of me by one of the bustling maids. She doesn't say a word to me as she pushes the polished steel towards me, but rather takes a glance at me and turns away swiftly, keeping her distance from me. This was a regular occurrence, and I always thought it strange.

I let out a silent sigh, taking hold of the handles and taking in the contents on the tray. Three embroidered teacups sit empty atop their matching saucers, a pot of steaming tea adjacent to that. Aesthetic steam rises from the spout.

I pivot on my heel, wincing shyly as I land on a newly forming callus. I push my way out of the kitchen, knowing exactly where to go. Everything worked on a schedule, everything is a routine, expected to be done and repeated every day the sun comes up.

I walk carefully with steady hands, the contents of the tray barely moving under the subtle movement of my body. Moving towards a pair of double doors down a lengthy hallway, my eyes connect with the same oil portrait that I've seen a thousand times over. Every time I stare at it though, the very first thing my gaze lands on are the beautiful blue eyes of the woman sitting next to her husband in a gorgeous baby blue dress. Two younger boys stand in front of their father, neat, toothless grins across their lips as their hands rest behind their backs. The boys wear matching tuxedos with baby blue bow ties. The portrait of the family seems innocent, but you would be a fool to believe such a naive assumption.