Page 47 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

One day, I will stand tall and shout into the stormy winds, how the ocean came to swallow me whole, but I fought back. I pulled myself from its depths, clawing against its relentless tide, stronger from having drowned. It will be my triumph, my story, and in that moment, the world will know that I survived. That I lived.

But what of Sebastian? Will I survive him? His voice haunts me, a litany of raw, unyielding truths that I cannot escape. The way he understands pain—the way he makes it a part of him, feeds off it—revels in it, all while wearing this mask of power. He promises to take the lives of those who have made rivers flow in my eyes as I watch him burn their bodies to ash, the smoke curling into the night, rising with a beauty that is grotesque. He wears death as a second skin, a scent so potent and thrilling.

There is something inside me that yearns to understand him. He knows the secrets that weigh down my heart, and l want to know the ones he keeps locked away, caged in the darkest corners of his mind.

The words I long to speak are right there, sitting on the edge of my lips, desperate to escape. I want to ask him what drives him, what pushes him to the brink of madness. But I know the answer will not be simple. He is both a puzzle and a labyrinth. Each piece, each step, a mystery to be uncovered, and perhaps it will take a lifetime to understand him completely. But it’s a lifetime I am eager to unravel.

I close the door to his office, the cool handle slipping beneath my fingers. My heart beats faster, anticipation mixing with the sweet thrill of fear. I follow him as he moves toward the bookshelf that lines the far wall, his handsbrushing against the spines of the books as if searching for something. He presses his fingers against one particular book, and with a quiet pull, a hidden mechanism releases. The shelf grinds against its hinges, and a narrow passageway is revealed, beckoning in all its glory.

There is a moment of hesitation, a brief pause before I follow him into the darkness. The air is thick, heavy with secrets and bloodshed. The walls around us are damp, suffocating, and I feel a shiver run down my spine as we descend further into the ground. The path before us is illuminated only by the faint glow of dim lights, casting long shadows against the stone walls. It is a place untouched by time, a place where the past has been buried beneath layers of dust and cobwebs.

I clutch the key tightly in my hand, my fingers white against the cold metal. My heart beats erratically, a frantic rhythm as we venture deeper. Part of me longs to uncover what lies in the shadows, to see the truths that have been hidden away for so long. But another part of me, the part that fears the darkness, wonders what I will find. What if it is more than I can bear?

But I cannot turn back now. I must know.

We walk in silence, our footsteps echoing in the stillness as I follow him through the winding passageways. Finally, we reach a door, an ancient thing made of iron and wood, its edges worn by years of neglect. Sebastian pulls me closer to him by the wrist, guiding the key in my grasp to unlock the gate, wordlessly.

Inside, the air smells of flowers and old wood, but there is something else, something colder, more metallic, like the scent of a thousand forgotten sorrows. The room before me is unlike anything I could have imagined. At first glance, it appears to be an industrial laboratory, a madscientist’s lair. Tables are scattered with strange instruments, tools of a twisted trade that I cannot begin to understand. But it is the ceiling that steals my attention, a sky full of flowers, their petals facing downward, casting a soft, eerie glow over the room. Some petals have already fallen, littering the floor like the remnants of a dream.

And then, in the center of the room, I see it—the piano. Unlike the one upstairs, pristine and polished, this one is worn, its keys chipped and graced with age. It has history, a story to tell that I long to hear. There is something hauntingly beautiful about it.

Sebastian’s hand brushes against mine, a subtle gesture, but it feels like a promise. A promise that despite what lies ahead, he won’t let me go. And so, with a trembling breath, I take the first step forward into the unknown, knowing that once I cross this threshold, there will be no turning back.

“You play in here.”

“It is rhapsodic,” he tips my chin up with his thumb, “and when their screams tangle with my music, I can almost taste their deaths.” His eyes smolder a sinister fire as they darken.

I pull away from his hold, breaking free with weakening limbs and a shattering resolve. Or I hope I do until his grip around my waist pulls me back to him. The tension between us is palpable, it could match a forest ablaze. My heart begs to be freed of my body and thrown into his hands and my flesh yearns to be licked of bliss with his tongue of ecstasy. His menacing frame towers over me, drawing me closer to him and flashing away my willpower down the drain.

“You promised a piece of you tonight.” I gently press my hand on his chest as I feel the beating of his heart under my touch. His eyes close for a brief second, and god do l takehim in for what he is. An adonis sculptured from sanctified water and holy stones. The moment comes as it goes and before l can bask in it more, he leads me past another door, glimpsing at the many we don’t open and I wonder what’s in them.

The room we step into is shrouded in darkness, yet I do not fail to notice the woman curled in the corner. Sebastian lingers behind me, his presence shadowed and still, a silent watcher in the gloom. As I take a cautious step forward, my eyes settle on the lone structure—a cage. I reach out, drawing closer, yet I keep my distance from the cold metal bars, uncertainty settling in my chest.

“What’s her name?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” his voice sounds from somewhere around the room.

Her hair is a tangled ruin, and the scent clinging to her skin speaks of neglect and time left unkind. Just as I begin to think she will remain tucked away in the gloom, she stirs. Slowly, she lifts her head, and when her eyes finally meet mine, my breath falters—air catching in my throat, leaving me hollow. Iris

I could not miss the akin eyes from clouds away, despite her deteriorating appearance, she is every bit like her family. Her head turns to the left—that thing Sebastian does when he is taking you in—and a wicked smile presses against her chirped lips. Her bones sound bristle under the weight of body when she tries to stand but fails. She then scratches the patchy skin under her knees, perhaps to soothe the pain.

“She’s a pretty one, nephew.” Her voice is painfully hoarse, like gravel stones crunching under shoes.

Her grin doesn’t melt off, and when she crawls like an animal closer to me, the yellow wash staining her teeth sends a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. Herworn out dress that I have an inkling was once white now takes up the same shade as the floors. Dark and grim with blood soiling it.

The word on paper is that she died, but I did not believe that, though nor did I think she was alive. A conundrum for sure, but this was far out of reach for me. Not once did it cross my mind that she was a few feet below where l rested my head. A raspy manic laughter spills from her lips and chills cascade down my spin as the hollow room fills with an eerie breeze. It is not loud, but the room echoes it dramatically ill-omened.

“Il male è qui, il male è vicino, il male è vivo.”She whispers the chant over and over, her voice slithering through the air like a lingering curse. The words press into me, relentless and unyielding, until my head pounds, unable to take any more.

“I would like to leave now” I glance at Iris one last time before taking Sebastian’s hand as he leads us back to the first room. My mind is an abyss away, lost in thought, with a bag of unanswered questions filling the gaps in my head. However, why would Iwander for days, when I could ask the man who must know some of it, if not all?

“Why did you keep her all these years?” Before I can protest—not that I am sure I would—he lifts me up and seats me on the top of his piano. His hands grip my waist as he cages me between himself, his legs resting beside my own. I breathe in his intoxicating scent to calm my frying nerves and beating heart. And indeed, I’m not so far gone alone. He leans in, his breath warm against my skin, burying his face in the curve of my neck as he inhales the scent of my hair, as if committing me to memory.

“When I was fifteen, Iris forced my father to watch her man rape my mother, and when she was nothing but ashell, she ripped her head off and stabbed my father to death.”

My hands clasp around my mouth, forcing back the gasp that wants to fall. Their death was never printed on any article and while rumors sparked, most believed they were involved in some accident. My heart bleeds for him, and as tears well in my eyes, threatening to spill, I can not help but wrap my hands around him and pull him into my arms. The things that lurk in the night are not born, they are made. Created from violence shrewd in blood and lost love. The people that wound us do not get a say in how we sew what they reaped, and what little pity I felt for Iris is no more. Sebastian has seen the gates of hell and walked Satan’s wrathful fire, yet I believe it’s heaven he is owed.The devil was once an angel too.

“Your tears bring me great sorrow.” His hands cradle my face, his touch unexpectedly tender as he wipes away the lone tear that escapes. “And to answer your question,” his voice is laced with something raw, “I keep her because my hell makes the biblical one seem like a bed of roses in comparison.”

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