When Love Runs Red

When Love Runs Red:: Chapter Seven

          Ivory practically went pink with rage.

           "What sort of quest sleeps in a man’s bed!!? It is apparent she is a whore," Ivory screamed.

           "The reason of her placement here is something I do not need to discuss with you Ivory," He all but spat with rage, "No leave before I report you,"

         She wanted to scream again, Charlotte could tell. Instead though she stormed out pink faced and seething in anger; barging past the man (whom now Charlotte knew to be Dante) as she did so. She did however turn back while standing in doorway and shot Charlotte a look so menacing had it been a knife it would have pierced her heart. Then she left. Charlotte sighed and held the bridge of her nose. It ached, a high piercing ache that made her whole face throb.

        "How are you faring?" Dante asked moving to her side. She rubbed her nose; blood smearing on her hand.

        "Not so well I am afraid," she replied. A metallic taste touched at the tip of her tongue. It tasted like iron and salt, and made her shudder.

        "You seem to bring such trouble upon yourself," he muttered carefully removing her hands from her nose. "Come we must take you to see our doctor,"

         He bent down, handing her the large palms of his hands. With a flushed face and a thankful nod, Charlotte placed her own hands within his and allowed him to raise her from the group. Blood still spurting from her nose and a terrible dizziness still rushed through her nimble body and so she allowed the profoundly dashing man known as Dante guide her from the room. She could not help but wonder, however, what a strange place she had found herself in.

　

　

Dante groaned in annoyed displeasure. It sickened him to think that if he had not arrived when he had, that the young girl would have been in great peril. Something inside him wept at the thought of her pain, so as he watched a swell form on her nose and the low trickling of blood drip from it too, rage all but filled him. He clenched his left hand into a tight first and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to make his anger apparent to the girl who clutched his arm, terrified, as he lead her through the empty soulless walls of the castle. It was quiet now. The maids and servants where probably doting on Ivory’s every impulsive whim at this point, but Dante did not blame them; she was a force not to be reckoned with.

         They entered a stairway now that descended downwards towards the lower parts of the castle. Their Doctor was located there. It was a narrow hollow passage, with walls that rose high above them, ascending into a seamlessly endless nothingness above. The murky brown of the walls creaked and moaned, silent tears of despair. Dante had always found it to be a depressing place. The girl stopped now and looked up, seeming to gaze endlessly at the walls. Her eyes grew sad.

         "So sad...Everything is so sad," she mumbled seeming to space out. Her observation of this made him take a pause. He had never mentioned how he found this place sad, for no one other than him seemed to notice and yet now this girl; this stranger seemed to notice how everything seemed to weep too. Suddenly she turned and looked at him, her face full of wonder. Her nose had stopped bleeding and despite the small stains beneath her nose, she seemed endlessly beautiful, and reminded him of a china doll.

         "You notice it too don’t you," she muttered her voice a caress whisper. He wanted to confess to her, that this place had seemed so sad to him for a long time. Since he had lost the one thing he had cared for the most, for there was something strangely inviting about her innocent gaze, something that made one want to open up his soul to her. He stopped himself thought. In his line of work you never opened yourself up to another.

         "I do not know what you are talking about," he replied, not able to look at her gaze. He could tell she wanted to protest, but she wisely opted not to.

        "Your name is Dante if I am correct? That is what the other girl called you. But tell me Dante what is your last name? What should I address you as, for I find it painfully improper to call you by your first name when we are mere acquaintances?"

         "I do not have a last name," was my reply. Though it made him wince that she had asked, for she seemed to reach and poke at his most private, painful memories.

         "But everyone has a last name! We are all born with a last name, even if we know it or not. I believe you mean to say you disregard your last name. Am I correct?" She asked titled her head to the side; making her long honey brown curls tilt while doing so.

         "Perhaps," He replied rather gruffly. Dante did not wish to go into depth; once again it was one of those things best left forgotten and buried. "Now let us move, you are still in your undergarments which I am sure is not acceptable to be seen in. We shall see the doctor and he shall tend to your swelling nose; then we shall find you something to wear,"

         "My name is Charlotte Elizabeth Watson, but to you just Miss Watson," she said following him once again down the stairs. Something deep in the pit of his stomach made Dante believe that this girl, that Charlotte would make him unlock things best left hidden. The walls surrounding them cried once more, though a small tingeing of laughter seemed to follow as Charlotte walked into the swallowing darkness of the descending stairs.

　

　

Stanley watched in grim silence as his brother twiddled with his letter opener. It was made of silver, with a sharp and could be deadly end. Something about his brother holding the possible weapon made Stanley antsy. It was correct in saying he did not trust his brother and he never had. He was sly, cunning, brute like and greedy. He would sell out his own mother, brother even children and wife if he thought it benefited him.

         "Brother, you seems so tense. One would think you didn't enjoy having me here," Michael smirked.

        "One would be correct. I most certainly don't," Stanley replied, fighting the urge to smile. Michael cocked his head.

         "That is no way to speak to your brother," he said still smiling. He slowly set the letter opener down and paced the room. The long drawl of the chiming grandfather clock, placed in the room directly beside his study, filled the air; adding the numbing silence. It was safe to say Stanley was tense.

        "Has your plan been set into motion?" Stanley asked breaking the icy silence.

         "Patience brother. Patience, it will happen in due time. We shall have the girl in our grasps. I know it," he replied, is voice as icy as his eyes. His face seemed to fall into a mask of pure menace, and then Stanley knew his brother was right. He may not favour his brother much, but knew from eons of experience if he wanted a job to be done, naught would stand in his way.

          "Very well," Stanley replied looking away from his brother and out at the sky. Everything was coated in a sinister read, sending a chilling sense of ivory down Stanley's spin. Now that his brother had arrived he had been plagued with a daunting feeling in the pit of his stomach and he knew that now blood would be spilled. But whose he did not know.