ADAM'S WORTH - by Aeran

ADAM'S WORTH Chapter Five: 〜〜✧DARKENED HEART✧〜〜 Crunch, crunch, crunch. “Oh, gods,” I muttered exasperatedly. Why is this bread so tough? I sat at a long dinner table made of cedarwood. It was fit for royalty, its surface intricately carved with such exquisite designs that I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship. It reminded me of the castle, of Father, and of a life I desperately wished to forget. I hated that feeling. I didn't even know where I was. He sat at the head of the table, not too far from me, seemingly enjoying his meal. His posture was elegant, his demeanour almost unnaturally composed for a man of his stature. A golden jar sat upon the table, catching the faint light in the room. “Hm-hmm.” I cleared my throat. He seemed to flinch, as though he hadn't expected me to speak. Perhaps he wasn't ready for a conversation. “So.. where is your family?” The question slipped from my mouth before I could stop it. I might come to regret it, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I wanted answers, and this seemed like a good place to start. Well, I hoped so. He fidgeted with his fingers on the table, drumming them ever so slightly. The movement was subtle, almost unnoticeable. He took a while to answer, perhaps bracing himself for whatever conversation lay ahead. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “What?” I breathed. That wasn't the answer I'd expected. I glanced down at my empty plate, a few crumbs scattered across its surface. “I feel fine. Healthy, even. How do I look to you?” I looked up at him. “Because I've got a lot of questions.” I held his gaze for a moment before adding, “Well, I suppose a thank-you would be appropriate, wouldn't it? Thank you, kind mister.” I gave him a mocking smile. He adjusted his chair, pushing it backwards. Scrrrunch. “Ugh!” I winced. The sound scraped against my ears. “What can I say, Arsiers?” He paused. “I know…” His voice changed. It grew deeper, firmer, carrying an authority that hadn't been there before. He seemed on the verge of losing his composure, yet he remained remarkably controlled. I couldn't bring myself to care. “You don't have to be grateful that I saved you,” he continued. “But I couldn't stand there and watch you being killed by your father.” He gestured towards himself, leaning forward slightly, one hand resting on the table. “Hate me if you want.” I said nothing. I simply watched him as he stared back at me. His gaze was unnerving, almost as though he could see beyond my face and into the very depths of my soul. “What were you doing there?” I demanded. My voice wavered. “You left!” The words escaped me before I could contain them. “What happened?” I lowered my head, staring at my plate once more. My hair fell on either side of my face, concealing my tear-filled eyes. “Arsiers, I didn't mean to…” He faltered, searching for the right words, perhaps hoping to explain himself. “It's okay. I don't care anymore.” What a sarcastic joke. You liar. A voice whispered inside my head. “No. I'm sorry. Truly, I…” He hesitated. “I—” I rose abruptly, my thighs striking the edge of the table as I stood with sudden force. The golden jar toppled over. Its contents spilled across the table and onto the floor, and an unfamiliar scent filled the air. My senses sharpened. The liquid spread rapidly, its colour a deep, dark crimson. It smelled metallic, and the scent lingered at the back of my throat, so vivid that I could almost taste it. It was familiar. Far too familiar. “Blood…” I whispered. “What?” Fear seized me. I stared at the spreading liquid, my heart pounding as tears streamed down my face. Then I looked up and met the horror in his expression. I stepped backwards. He stared directly into my eyes, and for one terrible moment, I felt as though he could see straight through me. My heart sank. “Gods!” I screamed. “What are you doing with a jar of blood?” He looked terrified. At least, I thought he did. “I…” He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Something was wrong. The scent was driving me mad. It was enticing, almost irresistible, as though some hidden part of me yearned for it. What kind of animalistic behaviour was this? I looked down at the spilled blood, my eyes searching the crimson pool for something I couldn't quite understand. “Enora!” His voice rang through the room. Silence. Then he called again. Running footsteps answered him from somewhere outside. They were light and hurried, their owner moving with such quick, delicate steps that I could almost picture a small woman rushing towards us. A moment later, she appeared at the doorway. “Yes, young master,” she answered, her head bowed. She seemed frightened. Her body trembled slightly as she took in the scene before her. “Take the princess to her chambers, then come back and clean this up,” he ordered. “I'm not leaving!” I barked. I was still staring at him, too shocked to comprehend what had just happened. I placed a trembling hand against my stomach. “I need answers!” My voice rose into a desperate scream. “I NEED ANSWERS!” He looked at me. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he turned away, taking a step as though he were contemplating something. Perhaps he was searching for words. Perhaps he was deciding what to do. I didn't know. All I knew was that he left. He simply walked away. I stood there, my mouth agape, my eyes wide with horror and agitation. “He left,” I whispered. “He simply left.” My legs began to tremble. I reached desperately for the table, then the chair, but neither was close enough to steady me. My knees gave way. I sank to the floor, unable to hold myself upright any longer. My head spun, and the weight of everything that had happened pressed down on me at once. I couldn't deal with it. I couldn't understand any of it. “Y-Young master!” A tiny voice cried out from somewhere beyond the room, trembling with panic. But I barely heard it. I was drowning. Not in the blood that stained the floor, nor in the unanswered questions that crowded my mind, but in the overwhelming weight of everything I had lost and everything I still didn't understand. I wanted to remain in that moment forever. There was nothing waiting for me beyond it. Nothing I wished to face. The world had taken so much from me already, and I felt as though I had no strength left to fight against it. Perhaps I could simply stop trying. Perhaps I had already given up. Hadn't I? I could no longer tell.

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