Winona [18+]

chapter seven

The looks that he received were unwelcoming, to say the least. Others made it obvious that his presence was worthy of caution.

He is an outsider, after all.

Couples danced under the starry sky, laughing and giggling to themselves. The jovial music was live, played by a band that he recognized from Riya's wedding. Violins and accordions permeated through the night, the folk music drowning conversations.

It was around midnight when he saw Winona D'Alia and everything fell into place.

"You made it!" Her friend shouted. "Let's dance!"

The fire at the center of the garden colored her face with golden and warm hues, a flicker in her amber eyes. She clapped her hands with everyone else, laughing and twirling as she enjoyed the nightlife.

She looks free.

Morals and virtues aside, almost everyone seemed enraptured by the young beauty. She carried herself with ease, mingling with everyone who stepped into her path. Salvatore could see their faces light up when she spoke to them, confirming that Winona was nothing like her mother.

With her, she carried an aura of compassion and understanding that no camera or painting could encapsulate.

On his third beer, Salvatore felt the world blur around him.

Meanwhile, Winona's knight in shining armor approached her. Emmett. The pair danced together slowly, even though everyone else around them seemed caught in the fast pace of the music. They whispered to each other, sharing words that brought about shy smiles.

Time felt like it stopped for them.

That boy looks at her like she's everything he ever wanted; like she's got the wonders of the universe in her eyes.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Salvatore wanted to smash Emmett's face into the fire pit.

As though a demon sunk its claws deep under his skin, Salvatore recoiled from the scene. He couldn't stand the sight of it and, the harder he tried to understand why the more restless he grew.

Pray for us sinners...

The painter weaved through the crowd, still feeling like an odd piece that didn't fit. If he were a puzzle piece, he belonged to a different box entirely. He crushed his empty can of beer and tossed it aside, stumbling up the dark path back to the manor.

Inebriated, he groaned and allowed his feet to take charge. Carrying himself over uneven lands, he eventually caught sight of the black iron gate and made a beeline for the entrance. His chest ached as he stepped over the lawn and trudged into the foyer with his muddy shoes.

Ignoring the messy trail he left behind, Salvatore climbed up the steps and searched for his room.

He ripped off his shirt and tossed it at a chair, making his way to the bathroom. At the porcelain sink, he gripped the edge of the counter and dared not to look at his reflection. He wouldn't recognize himself and there was nothing more terrifying than a man who has lost his way.

Gritting his teeth, he ran cold water and splashed his face. Once, then twice. He pat his skin dry with a towel, tracing it over the back of his neck.