Ｈｏｕｓｅ Ｏｆ Ａｌｔｅｒａ || 【ᴀᴏʙᴀ ᴥ ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ】

III. Found

The walls seemed to cave forward, slithering around his frail form. Serpents of stone, encasing their prey before defeat is accepted. Taking the torch into my left hand, I paced forward slowly. Avoiding to spook him to an extent, he tensed, letting out shaky breaths. I recoiled my hand, to give him a piece of mind. He hadn't spoken, but yet I did not expect him to. Kneeling down, my eyes latched to his the entire time. I did not want him to think I was planning anything absently. I extended my hand forward, curling my fingers around the key and brushing against his wrist. His pulse sky-rocketed, his body striking against the chains in surprise. I peered up to him once more, letting out soft airy breaths to calm his sensitive nerves. Taking his wrist into my hand, and giving him a light squeeze, I slid the key into the mechanism-chamber curled around his wrist. Using my other hand to support his arm, I slid his wrist from the case. He let out a airy whine, and sluggishly extended and recoiled his fingers. His eyes tracing my next movements, as I released his other wrist from it's imprisonment. Getting to my feet cautiously, I loomed around him and located the main system lock that constricted his entire torso and abdomen. My hands were slick with his blood, I endured my own disgust and pressed through with it. Retracing the lock from his side, I slowly churned the key inside and released my hand. The locks snapped, plummeting to the floor with a rusted wail. He jumped, wringing his feet against the wooden chair-legs. I exhaled, and got onto the floor almost completely, dry-heaving at the dust and bodily fluids drifting into view. Holding the back of the lock in my palm, I bit my bottom lip and turned the final lock. I got to my feet in a bit of a rush, and slowly took a step back. He did not move, nor make an effort. His eyes stayed against his own hands, and he was trembling. I spoke, my voice horridly scratchy from fear.

"Can you move?"

He redirected his attention to me, his mouth agape. He pursed his lips as if troubled, and shook his head. I proceeded to step forward, and as if to warn me the ceiling began to churn. I opened my mouth, and before I knew it.. He had stood up, and was racing towards me. In a panic, I extended my arms to defend myself. But he had caught my thighs, and began to tower himself around me. Supporting my legs and shoulders, he began to sprint towards the cellar door. He was limping, and his face was strained with pain. I was alarmed, still pushing his face upwards, I soon realized my error. The cellar was collapsing. He was trying to protect me. Taking my hands from his face, I watched as the ceilings and walls caved behind me, sending clouds of rubble and debris throughout the small closing corridor. Being carried in the bridal position was extremely embarrassing, and I could only curl my remaining pride around me and endure. He was stumbling, occasionally pained expressions would cross his face and I would become slightly worried. We reached the entrance of the cellar door, and before I had time to process what had just happened he veered a sharp turn and busted into my room. I wheezed, gripping onto his shirt in a panic. As soon as his breathing became settled, he allowed me to get to my feet. He would not meet my eyes, he only sat down in the chair near the writing desk with heavy thoughts. Lifting his right leg, he pulled up the fabric. His skin was raw and skinned, he was indescribably pale, adorning his plush albino hair and strikingly alluring pink irises. He ran his fingers along his wound, and bit his lip before tugging down his clothing once more. I reached into my satchel and recoiled, returning with a first aid kit. I plucked a few cotton balls, dipping them in alcohol before wiping it along the wound on his forehead. His eyes traced my fingers, softly admiring every movement I made. I next motioned towards the wound on his left leg, when he veered a sharp right escaping the cellar. A prick of pain stirred in my chest, as I cleaned the grit from the wound. As soon as I thought he would look my way, he abruptly spoke in a delicate soft voice.

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing more, kneading his gloved fingers against his lap. His eyes still refusing to meet mine, I did not expect him to apologize. But for what?