Deep, Dark, & Atrocious

Chapter One: A New Home, Hopefully a Fresh New Start.

A set of doors opened, revealing a duo of males who seemed to be in their 20s behind the previously closed piece of wooden mahogany.

"Alright, buttercup, we're here."

A smooth voice with thick Russian accent smiled as he took hold of a teenage girl's hand.

"Please don't call me that, Mark."

The girl twirled her previously-dyed caramel hair in boredom... that, or it was just a façade.

"Yeah, Mark, don't make her hate you." The other male, an Italian, smirked as he ran a pale hand through his luscious mop of dark brown hair. Though not Irish, he seemed to had lived in Ireland, that would be the answer to his "perfect" Irish accent.

Mark glared at the other, who glared back without hesitation. They do this whenever the girl isn't watching, which was understandable as she was inspecting the unique glass window paintings.

"Okay, Caramel! I'll show you your new room." The Italian grinned brightly, slipping a hand around his girl's waist, who blinked in mild surprise.

"Hold on for a fucking minute, dear," Mark seethed, masking anger and annoyance by smiling as Caramel gazed at him in pure lethargy. "Why not let me do it, Jackie? You must be tired..." He finished, grabbing the chance to "playfully" push the other away from the 13-year-old female.

"It's okay, Mark... Jack, I'll just go and find it on my own..." She sighed, as the two didn't listen but instead were engulfed in obvious malevolence. She crept away, raking her long locks of hair with a gloved hand.

She passed the quiet hallway slowly, taking in everything and deciding take note of what to look out for and whatnot.

Drip.

She sighed, shaking her head to clear some of her thoughts.

Drip, drip, drip...

She gave up, there was nothing she could possibly do right now.

Drip...

She glanced at the dripping liquid, which originated from the rotten ceiling.

"Stop, stop thinking about it."

Caramel scolded herself, crossing her arms and proceeded to keep on walking, but she was not really conscious to do much about it. As much as she didn't want it, she had already succumbed to her personal thoughts.

Police sirens...

She clutched her fists, eyes darkening slowly.

Heavy downpour...

She began to tremble.

Bloodshed-

...Crack!

The lass's breathing became heavy, and she blinked. Her gaze moved from the marble floor to her fist, which had collided with a grey door. With pupils dilated slightly in shock, she removed her bruised knuckle which the gloves were supposed to protect her hands from the wooden surface, as her gaze lingered on the silver doorknob. Suddenly, she felt like she had just woken up from a splendid nap; she felt new.

It was her senses kicking in fully.

Fully conscious, she rotated the silver knob around and found the door was unlocked. She took a nervous peek in, and marveled at the sight...

Not really. The room was spacious, sure, but that or it was the effect of the walls, ceiling and floor, fully coated in pastel grey paint. The maiden slapped a hand to her face and sigh in utter dissatisfaction.