Page 26 of Tainted Serenity

There is a magnificent chandelier hanging in the middle of the ceiling, and I have never seen anything quite like it.

But the admiration in my eyes disappears as soon as the big doors open again, and in comes a woman in high heels, her hair in a tight bun, and a black dress that looks like she’s going to a funeral. Maybe she is.

After her comes an old man dressed in a black and white three-piece suit that doesn’t match an old man like him. Age hasn’t done him any good; he looks awful.

Irene Margaux Grimhill and Arthur Grimhill.

The mistress and mister that sold their souls to the devil to take after him on earth.

My first instinct when I catch a glimpse of them is to cower back, but I do not cower for anyone. The second feeling overtaking me is the rage, filling me up on the inside, spilling out like a full glass, until I have the strongest desire to strangle them both to death. In order to refrain from acting on my impulse, I have to physically clench my fists while grasping my dress until my nails press against my skin.

The Grimhill family is the one family that fucked everything up for me, ruining my life along with my mother, and for that, they will suffer. Maybe not today or in the coming year, but they fucking will. And I tend to get what I want when it comes to revenge. After all, my mother had it coming for her when I brutally killed her at seventeen years old.

All the women inside the room stand with correct postures, backs straight and precisely as unmoving as dolls, and it reminds me oddly much like Grimhill Manor, which sends a lump to my throat. That place fucked me up mentally. Seventeen months of pure torture. This dollhouse isn’t any better.

Arthur’s cold gaze slides over all the women standing along two of the walls in the ballroom, observing everyone, before it finally settles on me. His eyes harden, and there is something akin to hatred in them while I watch him having a hard time controlling himself.

Good, we both can hate each other. It will make it all the more interesting.

It takes several minutes of silence while Arthur and Irene take us in with their eyes, observing us and making sure we are all behaving. Despite my desire to disrespect them even further, ignore the shit about standing still, I remember the punishment I suffered from the master every time I disobeyed him. I don’t want to experience that again, and I feel pathetic for even worrying. For not being strong enough.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I hear approaching footsteps; the click-clack of steps dragging seems to echo in the huge room. Then I see shiny black shoes in my field of vision, standing in front of me. Wild memories pile up in my mind, and suddenly I’m having trouble breathing.

The master. He had such shoes, too.

He stands in front of me now, sending uneasiness crippling through my veins until I feel like I am going to faint from lightheadedness. Terror thrums through me to the very soles of my feet, and I have the sudden urge to pick at my skin there. An urge that is stronger than it ever has been before, causing the panic to rupture through me.

I feel nauseous as bile rises in my throat.

The master is fucking here.

Breathe, Naya. Breathe!

But it is futile.

“My sweet little girl. Come to your master, let me punish you in ways only bad girls need to be reprimanded.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the instinct to run away because I know guards are stationed everywhere and it will never work out. Blood pounds in my ears, and the moment seems to go on forever as I anticipate the worst, but it only goes a few seconds. The silence is defiant, and it is like every other person inside this room is holding their breath, anticipating the worst alongside me.

There’s a wrinkled hand that raises, and I feel the unwelcome sensation of another person touching me.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I whisper, though the words ring in my ears, and I’m not even sure if they are audible.

As I open my eyes, I am met with the darkened eyes of Arthur Grimhill. It feels like I can finally breathe again as I remember that the master is dead, killed at Grimhill Manor the day I was brought to Dankworth Institute.

But the relief is short-lived.

In the next moment, his grip on me sears my wrist, already tender from the intense scratching I did while trying not to lose my sanity inside the confines of the basement cell. Arthur storms up the center of the room with me in tow, dragging me next to Irene who stares at me with a palpable disgust, her lips curled up in obvious displeasure. It only heightens the simmering rage inside me.

Arthur holds me in a firm grip on my shoulders, and I barely dare to meet the other people’s gazes, which are equally as shocked at the revelation. For a fleeting moment, their robotic façade slips as they turn to look at each other, all with wide-eyed eyes.

“This, my dear dolls, is the woman we have all been waiting for.”

His words compel me to gulp down my saliva until a cough is forced out of me, but Irene pinches my forearm and shoots me a stern look.

“This is Naya, formerly known as Lily Blight. One of our new assessments to this doll collection, and one of fifty that survived the truth or dare game.”

I swear I can hear several gasps erupt through the lined-up women, as if they are supposed to know who I am. It makes me confused as fuck, but Arthur ignores me and continues talking.

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