Deacon's Manor

9 • paintings

          I walked briskly down the halls of the manor. My eyes scanned each and every portrait and painting in sight. At the rate I was going, one might fear that my eyes would start spinning. Well, for a place like this, I doubt that it would be out of the ordinary. I spun around a sharp corner and almost collided with a young maid. She squeaked in surprise but I was in too much of a hurry to stop.

          "Sorry!" I called out to the maid as I continued my hellbent search. 

Come on Charlotte, you've got to be here somewhere. The faces of my ancestors and long-past relatives darted across my vision. Each one from a faraway era. Generations upon generations of Adelaide's. To be quite frank, I didn't quite know exactly what I was looking for. I mean, of course, I was looking for Charlotte's portrait somewhere on the walls of this damned manor; however, I never stopped to remind myself that I had no idea what she even looked like! My steps began to slow as my mind began to catch up with the rest of my body's movements. I let out a heavy breath in frustration as I examined where my relentless feet had taken me. 

          It seemed that I had stopped in a very unfamiliar part of the manor. The corridor was void of any doors or rooms. The only sounds I could hear were the eerie creeks of the hardwood floor beneath my feet. I clearly hadn't explored every part of my new home just yet. Moreover, it was only then that I noticed small steps just off to the corner of the empty hall. Slowly, I made my way towards the black marble stairs and took a peak. Nonetheless, I couldn't see anything since the narrow set of stairs seemed to wind upwards with nothing but walls on either side. Ugh, I could suffocate just looking at these stairs. Any claustrophobic person would've been sent running at that point. But, my determination got the better of me. Finding Charlotte's painting would be the next piece to the puzzle that was Alexander. The very thought of that demon made my arm hairs stand up.

          I walked forward and began my ascent. With each step I took, I began to dread more and more what I might find. There wasn't a single thing I could expect at this point. I finally reached the top of the stairs and was met with a small walkway with a dark wooden door at the very end. Continuing forward, I eventually placed my hand on the brass doorknob and began turning it. I held my breath, the anticipation and anxiousness I was feeling only increased. Oh, come on Gabriella. Get over it, what would Eliza say? I rolled my eyes to myself and pushed the door with a sudden force.

My eyes quickly squinted and I threw my arm up to shield them from the blinding light. After a couple of seconds, my pupils adjusted to the bright light that shown through the windows. Finally being able to see, I glanced around the room I was in. There were three large glass-paned windows across from where I was standing by the door. The walls and floor were in the same style as the rest of the manor, however, more worn down and tattered. Seemed like not too many people wandered up there. Although, what really stood out to me were, all the white sheets that hung around. A few easels and blank canvasses were tucked away to one corner of the room. I assumed there could only be more paintings and portraits under the sheets that hung around. 

Stepping further into the room, I strolled around the sheets covering objects and paintings. Each step I took resounded in the form of a loud creak. Moving to one of the sheets on the wall closest to me, I whipped off the white cloth. Unfortunately, it only caused a heap of dust to waft all around me. I coughed and covered my nose and mouth, moving back to reveal what was beneath the sheet. Hmmph, well it's definitely not a portrait. Guess I'll have to check the other ones. 

          One by one, I checked each painting. With each portrait I uncovered, I became wearier. The bright light that shown through the large windows earlier had begun to dim. Moreover, the more I would observe a portrait or painting the darker and more sinister the images seemed. One moment I would see a field of beautiful spring flowers, and the next I was staring at a war scene. Even the portraits of people became more and more peculiar.