Ornate

Chapter 4

Valeria, December 1822

Music was his genesis. He watched them waltz with rounded eyes, consumed by curious love. How come his parents wound so well together? So in sync with the music, library, and fall of their hearts?

Choo-choo!

It only took but a second for the toy train to break his focus. Cicero was only but a boy, and the only kind of love he could cherish in understanding was that of his presents and his mothers tickling kisses before bed.

With the intensity of a diamond under pressure, Cicero tinkered with his soon to be station for his train. The soft chuckle and distant words of his mother did little to stir him from the task at hand. It was only at the command of his fathers voice did Cicero look up.

"You are so demanding with our son, dear. Let him be," his mother teased in her adoring haze.

"The boy's head is as hard as rocks, honey. If he is to inherit the legacy of we Stymeign's, his focus needs to remain intact." The bewitching blue in his father's eyes daggered down on him.

Cicero's eyes were much like his father's, though his were kinder and round like his mothers, so his father's gaze alone did not institute fear.

"Come here Cero," his mother beckoned cheerfully.

The boy, however, did not move to his mother. His interest alone lay solely on his partially assembled crafts. So after a moment of debate between his mothers differentiating colored eyes, he averted his gaze and hummed.

"Oh dear Maria," she sighed in defeat. "Cordelia and I were not so nearly as disconnected, darling. I wonder?"

Wonder, the word had always sparked interest in the boy. Cicero looked up, daring to press his mother for all her wonderful wonders, and only felt his heart sink. The image of his parents began to falter, slipping away in a distorted manner. A black matter inked over their bodies and consumed them whole.

Fear lapsed in his heart, no words bottled could burst out. The darkness slithered from this memory, and onward to the boy. The winding and daunting tendrils raced towards his heart.

"Cicero!" he heard his mother cry, her warning.

Without another moment's hesitation, Cicero darted in the other direction. He traveled through the blackened abyss that now surrounded him. His ears were muted, but he could feel the thud of every step forcefully planted into the ground. His heart had lost rhythm with his breath, and his mind could barely comprehend what it was it was meant to see.

Still, Cicero could sense the inking mass zipping through the air and towards him. Tears swelled and questions began to surface at the utmost speed. Concern and worry locked his jaw, what was a boy to do without his mother and father? In an abrupt shock, something linear to Cicero cracked.

An earthquake? Here in Valeria? No, he was not home. Cicero heaved in a breath, short lived and more damaging than good. Cicero choked on the pain that sprang through his chest and crushed his ribs. His lack of endurance was catching up to him. Another crack splintered in the ground.

It expanded in great length towards Cicero, catching him by the tip of his toes. The boy's balance collapsed him and now he laid shrieking in pain. Cicero could hear the black force closing in on him and a painful despair fell on him.

"Mother! Father!" he managed to hoarse out dreadfully. His scathed and dry wails continued in the echoing abyss.

The tendrils catapulted in the air before plummeting downwards and towards the boy. Just as the tendrils were in arms length, the ground beneath Cicero cracked once more before dropping him into nothingness.