Chapter 1
Will it ever feel natural to sit in my father’s chair, I wonder. It has not thus far and probably never will. Even so, I relax against the sinking feathers of red velvet luxury and look to the fireplace for some warmth or reassurance. Just like my father, its flames are humming with heat, but wish to share none of that with me.
This fireplace was truly something special to my old man. It has been a part of this house long before he bought the land, back when it was just a decorative addition to a small cottage. He was never one to miss an opportunity when it was presented to him, if that even counts as a virtue. So he tore down that old cottage, all for the fireplace and forged this modest manor around it. Now it resides as the prime spectacle of a rich man’s living room, only to be complemented by an ornate carpet and gold titled books that line the shelves.
When I was a boy I thought that one day I too would sit here and revel in my wealth, reading alone with a grand book of some kind splayed across my lap. I would never vocalise my success to anyone, for I would let my demeanour do the boasting. I would shun my boy to the cold corners, away from my precious fireplace. I would leave him to grow fatherless as I betray all with my vanity and self absorbance. Have my son watch day after day as I slowly replace him with an alien figure, a heartless artefact.
Now I am a man who has only ever chased one aspiration, and that is to never be like my father.
With him gone and all left to my name, I can only be grateful for it now that the wretched thing is mine. Like a curse passed down, I suppose that makes it special to me too.
What an odious thought that is, to be like him.
