Chapter 1
Start writing here…The rain fell incessantly, each drop striking the saturated ground with the intensity of a storm. A somber assembly had gathered, their black and white attire thoroughly soaked, mirroring their heavy hearts. Faces were pale, marked by grief—some streaked with tears, others solemn in silent mourning.
All eyes were fixed on a simple brown coffin, positioned at the center of the gathering. Within rested a woman, serene in eternal stillness. Her delicate features—closed eyes, a small nose, and soft blonde hair—framed a visage of tranquility. Her hands lay gently on her chest, as if cradling the love she had carried throughout her life.
As the coffin was closed and lowered into an eight-foot grave, the atmosphere thickened with finality. The earth enveloped the wooden vessel, leaving behind a marker of her memory. A gravestone was carefully placed atop the mound, inscribed with the words:
"Bellis Helden
A beloved daughter, wife, and mother."
These words resonated in the hearts of those present, serving as a poignant reminder of her life and legacy, now enshrined beneath the weeping sky.
As the burial concluded, attendees formed an informal line, approaching a man to offer their condolences. This man was Mr. Helden, the husband of Bellis. Like the rest of the crowd, he wore similar black and white attire; his light brown hair framed a face adorned with a well-groomed mustache and beard, while his light gray eyes glistened with unshed tears. One individual from the crowd, short in stature with blonde hair and black eyes, approached him and inquired, “What happened to Bellis?”
Mr. Helden hesitated before recounting the tragic events. “It was a Saturday morning when my wife, Bellis, called to say she wasn’t feeling well and asked if I could come home early from work to take her to the hospital. Reluctantly, I agreed and ended my shift an hour early. However, as I was walking to my car, my phone rang. It was Bellis calling, and as I answered, I intended to reassure her that I was on my way. Instead, I heard the voice of my son, Mroav, who was clearly distressed and breathing heavily. I will never forget his words: ‘Dad, Mom isn’t breathing.’ I rushed home, but I couldn’t arrive in time. As I entered the house and ran toward Bellis’s room…” Mr. Helden’s voice faltered, his expression etched with pain.
Just then, a hand rested on his back in comfort; it was Mroav, who bore a striking resemblance to his mother with his blonde hair and blue eyes. He had a slender build and a handsome face. “My father hasn’t fully recovered from that traumatic event,” Mroav said with a sad smile.
The young man then apologized for his earlier question and posed another: “You have a brother, right? Where is he? I don’t see him; is he out of the country?” Mroav fell silent, contemplating how to respond, when Mr. Helden interjected with a cold tone, “Yes, he is.” Without waiting for further discussion, he turned and walked away from the ceremony toward his car. Mroav quickly apologized to the other individual before hurrying after his father.
The drive home was marked by an oppressive silence. Upon entering the manor, Mr. Helden spoke in a low voice, “I don’t care how you do it, but I have a few guests coming for dinner tonight to express their condolences for your mother. Ensure your brother joins us.” Mroav replied firmly, “Of course.”
As his father departed, Mroav ascended the staircase to the second floor and approached the first door on the left. The door, a dark brown with gold handles, stood resolutely. Taking a deep breath, Mroav knocked, but received no response. He knocked again, met with silence. He continued, tapping lightly with his index finger three times, and on the sixth tap, he paused and waited. This was a code he had devised with his brother from a young age: three taps followed by six knocks.
A voice emerged from within, inquiring, “Are you done with the burial?” Mroav responded, “Yes.”
“Then? What do you want? I already told you I am not leaving this room,” the voice thundered from inside.
“It’s Dad. He wants you to attend dinner tonight. He has a few guests coming and has asked me to ensure your presence tonight, Esper.”
“Did you just call him Dad?”
Mroav fell silent.
Esper did not cease his outburst, exclaiming, “You know what kind of man he is, you know what he did to Mother, yet you still call him Dad. Am I the last remaining sane person in our family?” After delivering this final statement, he fell silent, ignoring Mroav's calls.
Finding no success, Mroav turned to his left towards the staircase but chose not to descend. Instead, he walked to the right, stopping at the first door. Upon entering his room, he sat on the bed and lay down, sighing. As he settled in, his mind began to churn with ideas to coax Esper out of his room. On his bedside table, a glimmering object caught his eye, reflecting light from the slightly ajar first drawer. Mroav turned to his left and carefully opened the drawer, uncovering a dagger featuring a grip embellished in black and gold, its tip marked with blood.After this discovery, Mroav closed the drawer fully, chuckling softly as he smiled. He rested his head on the pillow, attempting to sleep, but not before uttering a name aloud: “Bellis.”
…
The door to Esper's room creaked open, and a figure emerged. Esper had dyed his somewhat long hair black, and his light green eyes mirrored those of their father. With skin as pale as bone and a slender frame, it was Esper. He had locked himself in his room for three days, refusing to venture out. His body, however, required sustenance, so he planned to consume any snacks or leftover food he had in his closet. To his dismay, by the fourth day, he found all the food depleted. Reluctantly, he left his room to replenish his supplies before retreating once more.
As he descended the stairs to the kitchen, he moved stealthily, ensuring no servants noticed him. Upon entering the kitchen, the aroma of food intensified his hunger; he had subsisted solely on snacks for three days. Cautiously, he opened the fridge, only to be shocked by its emptiness. From the corner of the kitchen, a cocky voice rang out, “Well, well, well, look who decided to leave his room.” It was Mroav, deliberately trying to alert the servants.
Esper stood frozen in disbelief, asking, “Where did you put all the food? Why is it not in the fridge?” Mroav replied, “I transferred the items to another container to prevent you from isolating yourself indefinitely. After all, the human body cannot survive on snacks alone for an extended period.” Mroav smirked, enjoying the moment.
“How long have you been waiting for me in the kitchen?” Esper inquired, frustration evident in his tone.
“Waiting? Oh no, I was actually in my room relaxing when a servant knocked on my door and informed me about a certain young man nearing his twenties attempting to be stealthy on the first floor,” Mroav retorted.
Esper clenched his fists, ready to confront Mroav, but he composed himself. “So what now? I can’t get food in my own house?” he demanded, seeking justice from his brother, who coldly responded, “Of course you can, but only at the family dinner tonight”.
Esper departed with a sense of resignation, fully aware that he would eventually have to confront his father; he could not remain secluded indefinitely. "You win; I will attend the family dinner tonight," he conceded, turning toward the entrance of the manor.
"Where are you going?" Mroav inquired, puzzled by Esper's sudden acquiescence. "You already know," Esper replied, not glancing back as he made his way to the main hall. Mroav sighed and retreated upstairs to his room.
Not far from the manor lay a cemetery, a simple expanse of grass dotted with gravestones arranged in a line. A few visitors were present, paying their respects to loved ones. The rain had ceased long ago, leaving behind a brisk wind.
Carrying a bouquet of multicolored flowers purchased from a nearby shop, Esper entered the cemetery, easily locating his mother's grave amidst the vibrant floral tributes. He approached Bellis's grave, bent down, and gently placed the flowers before the gravestone. Sitting beside the grave on the lush grass, he spoke in a soft, measured tone, "I apologize for my tardiness. I had locked myself away, frustrated and upset with Helden for what transpired. However, I have finally emerged from my self-imposed isolation; I cannot retreat every time things do not go my way, can I, Mom?"
As he gazed at his mother's grave, adorned with an array of beautiful flowers, tears welled in his eyes. Realizing he wasn’t alone in the cemetery, he quickly stood, casting one last glance at his mother before turning to leave. At that moment, a gust of wind swept through, lifting the flowers into the air in a vivid, enchanting display. As Esper gazed upon the enchanting scene, he lost control of his emotions. It was at that moment he realized tears were streaming down his face.
