Page 12 of Velka Manor

“Please, sir.” He holds up his hands, crouching into a ball.

Bad luck for him but fantastic for me. I thought I was going to have to make the trekallthe way down to the dungeons and select one of the many people there to kill. Sometimes having them all there just gives me too much choice.

Should I slaughter the man who assisted in hiding where Octavia was taken? Do I torture Octavia’s old nanny who used to scowled her when she wanted to spend all her time with us, saying it wasn’t right? Or do I burn the staff members who used to tattle on her to Father?

It makes me feel like a child in a weapon shop; how am I supposed to choose just one? But now, I don’t have to, all because this lovely butler has made the choice easy.

“Oh, Jeeves. I’m sorry to say today is going to be your last day here. Time to meet your demons.”

I launch at him, grabbing his hair, dragging him down the hall. He kicks and screams, begging for mercy, but there is no mercy in the manor of sin. I cackle madly, slamming him into the wall as we go.

He cries all the way down to the dungeon; it would have been much more preferable if he screamed. I like it when they scream. I’m not a fan of tears, especially when they choke on their ownsnot and it bubbles out of their nose. Ugh, turns my fucking stomach.

The chains rattle as I secure them around Alfred’s wrist, and he doesn’t even fight it, already accepting what’s happening, his head hanging onto his chest.

“Way to take all the fun out of it, Barnaby,” I snap, slamming my knife into his thigh.

He cries again, whimpering like a little bitch, and I tut, rolling my eyes, tilting my head, pointing a thumb towards the other guy. “Fucking buzzkill. Am I right, Chad?”

Chad doesn’t answer; instead, he hangs there limply, rats nibbling at his toes. I only painted them yesterday, goddamn it. Pink for Octavia, as it’s her favourite colour. I’ve been practising painting fingers and toes so I’ll be perfect when she wants her nails done. She won’t need to go to a salon and have a stranger touch her. No, I’ll do it. I’ve been getting fantastic—lots of people to practise on down here.

“Oh, my God. Oh my God,” Jarvis mumbles, vomit flying out of his mouth, soaking down his shirt. “He’s dead. Aaron is dead.”

Huh, that’s his name. Definitely looks more like a Chad or a Brad.

“I ran out of dead bodies to practise my nail art on,” I say defensively, grabbing the knife out of his leg and slamming it into his stomach when he carries on staring at me like I’m crazy.

“It’s all for her, you know? I need to be everything I can for her. She gives us so much peace; she understands us. I need to make sure I’m perfect for her.” My voice drops to a whisper, and I go into the corner, grabbing the nail kitt and bring over a chair and a stool.

“Stay still,” I mutter, placing Smithers’ feet on the stool, taking off his sock and shoes.

He pleas for something, trying to make conversation, but I grab a nail file, jamming it into his leg until he shuts up and I cantune him out. Today, I want to paint a daisy on the big toe like I saw on the video online.

I’ve bought every colour nail polish you can imagine for my pretty girl. Until she reached sixteen, Father restricted her to using only clear polish or French-tip, and after that, it was only red. Octavia hates the colour red—always has, probably from seeing too much blood as a kid.

I protected her from seeing it as much as I could, more than Dorian. She was my princess, something soft and sweet, much too kind for this life. I didn’t want the bloodline to do to her what it did to us. From the day we took our first breath, Dorian and I have been ruined, our souls stained. She deserved more.

“I tried the whole dating game once. Went out on my own, attended balls without my brother, let our father introduce me to prospecting partners, but all I felt was an empty void with each one.”

He grunts, a whimper escaping, and I know he’s fascinated by my tale.

“I know it’s hard to believe I wanted someone else, was willing to leave my twin, but I was. There was this hollow hole inside me searching for something. I just wanted to be loved, to be needed, but no one was ever a match. They would get jealous over Dorian or moan if I cancelled plans because Octavia needed me. They didn’t get that they would never come first compared to them.”

I slip some tissue between his toes, gently blowing on the nail-varnish so it dries. Igor sobs, shaking his head, and I completely get him. This colour does not go with his skin tone, but this isn’t about him.

“No matter who I dated, who I found underneath me, they didn’t fill the emptiness. Onlytheyhave ever filled it so thoroughly, and it wasn’t until I stopped fighting it that I realised I never needed anyone else. I was complete with them, and they will always be more than enough.”

I grin, looking at his wiggling toes. The flowers look perfect. She is going to love them!

“Let me tell you a secret,” I whisper, jumping up and pulling him closer. “I love them, fully love them with my entire being. We’re not supposed to love. It’s a weakness the bloodline doesn’t tolerate, but them and especially her, I love with a power that feels like it’s about to burst from within.”

He’s speechless, totally speechless, staring at me wide eyed with his mouth hanging open. I hope Octavia doesn’t have this same reaction when I tell her, because I do plan to tell her.

“Say something then. Do you think she won’t enjoy hearing me tell her?” I snap, slapping him round the face.

A disgusting snot bubble blows from his nose, making my stomach turn. He stutters, pleading like a blubbering idiot, totally ignoring my question.

“Oh, forget it. I’ll ask someone else. You’ve already smudged your toes.”

---