"The conflict within is an eternal rage of wars." ~Tasmiya Shaik
Margreave Cemetery
Saturday, 17:48
Sebastian would dare not allow Avery to succumb to the clutches of his shadows and nor would he forgive himself should he have failed her. She averted her gaze from the two graves that only ignited a scorching burn of agony within her and turned to meet with her uncle's gaze. What Sebastian saw in the child's remaining right eye was a force strong enough to raze the fires of hell; he mentally portrayed gratitude to the Elven God Azarr that the bandage on her left eye concealed the hidden fury. He was not met with sorrow and nor tears, but a child who stared in the face of death and even challenged it. Her spark interested him, but it was not in her best interests to harbor such wroth within. It was as though he had been staring at his very own reflection. That wasn't right, either.
He knew all too well despite the fact that the burial was a facade and pretense to complete the investigation's formalities, it still pained Avery. He had informed her that her parents' bodies were safely escorted to a secret location until they departed for Alvgard but making her comply with this false operation incited a pang of slumbering guilt within him.
'Avery if you-'Sebastian began.
He was silenced when Avery wrapped her tiny arms around his waist. She was afraid. He would never have expected her to express fear, but at this point, her sudden outbreak of the foreign feeling was more than justified. Sebastian attempted to comfort her, but Avery slowly separated herself from him, and her little hand clutched onto his.
'I am ready to go,' Avery replied monotonously.
It pained Sebastian to witness Avery's internal war, but what had he known about comfort? Hell, he was damn awful with children, but he would serve as her shield well enough. The Order would soon come for her, and he would be the one to decide her path. Whether that right was granted to him or not, he would selfishly claim it for her well being.
Avery was at war with yet another foreign feeling. Denial. She was not fond of the idea of admitting her fear. Solitude. The thought of being alone had terrified her. Alone? That wasn't quite right. She had Sebastian, but at times, she was uncertain if she had upset him. He often frowned. It would be a miracle if the man had smiled, but unlike others, Avery sensed an air of warmth about him. Was he hurting like her? Was he afraid to show weakness before her?
'It's okay to cry,' Avery said to him softly, 'I know that now.'
'I'm glad you do,' Sebastian's heart softened with her words, but sadly he believed himself a cold-hearted bastard. Love and affection were things he had never known how to execute, for he believed them nothing more than deceptive happiness.
'Avery...what did the Chief question you about?' He could not have chosen better timing. Indeed Sebastian was awful with children.
'My origins...the reason for our visit...and if I had known about anyone who would want to hurt papa and mama...I did not lie. I had told him that papa said we were going to visit his brother for the first time, and I claimed that I did not know anything about my uncle,' She trailed off into silence, and Sebastian would have applauded her had the situation not been so dire.
He led Avery toward a black sedan where his chauffeur awaited them, and the child noted the strange contraption once more. Her journey would be excruciating. The young man opened the door, and Sebastian allowed Avery to settle in as he climbed in after her. The contraption was strange, and the sound it emitted when it began to mobilize grated on her ears, but she endured the pain. Why hadn't it affected her uncle? Her gaze fell onto Sebastian's lap. She longed for the comfort and protectiveness of her father, but she retreated. She did not wish to burden her uncle with her preferences. He was kind enough to take her in, she could not ask for more, yet her heart ached to seek affection from a fatherly figure.
Such strange ways the deceased were buried in Ethuaria. Despite knowing that her parents' bodies were moved to a safer location, surely there would be a healer to lead the ceremony? There were was none. No healer to perform the final rites and send off the souls of the deceased to rest in peace with a sweet requiem. The land was barren with stones that had the language of the humes engraved on them. There was no clearing in the luscious forest where the land's roots would welcome the deceased and nor was there the preparation of the sweet liquid that was a necessity at every burial ceremony in her homeland.
Ethuaria was much to her dislike, but at the same time, it intrigued her. Avery caged away such thoughts and allowed the pull of slumber to overtake her. She had suffered far too many losses; she hoped that rest would ease the agony that crept in the shadows to strike at her when she was most vulnerable.
Sebastian dreaded his stay in London. He didn't quite enjoy the idea of affording time to his countryside Villa. It reminded him too much of 'her.' He wasn't particularly in love with her, but he cared for and treated her well. He showered her with luxuries and satisfied her every need. That had been enough, had it not? Sebastian did not wish to aggravate his inner beast further. The sedan swerved to the right along a snake-like tarred road and came to a halt before an enormous iron gate that was operated by two uniformed guards. They bowed as the sedan passed through and returned to their duties.
Sebastian noticed the distance between himself and Avery, and he was concerned that he might have frightened her. In truth, was she afraid? He was uncertain, but he would hope to earn her trust. Her head rested against the glass as she appeared to have fallen asleep. Her brows furrowed, and she groaned, but her breathing stilled to a calm rhythm when Sebastian gently embraced her. The sedan stilled to a halt, and the chauffeur opened the door as Sebastian emerged with Avery in his arms, her head rested on his shoulder.
'My Lord,' The pokerfaced chauffeur gestured to Avery, 'Should I-'
Sebastian waved a hand in dismissal, 'That will not be necessary, Nicholai.'
'As you wish, my Lord.'
Avery stirred in his arms, but he had been careful not to wake her. The Villa's exterior was designed with smooth white stone, a flat clear roof structured with a four-foot width of glass to withstand a reasonable amount of weight. The windows were of frosted glass and were designed to follow a personalized pattern. Sebastian was greeted by a young man clad in a well-tailored butler's suit at the arched entrance doors of oakwood. His coattails fanned at his sides as he bowed to welcome him, and Sebastian mentally sighed. What was he to do with the man?
'Good evening, Signór. I am truly sorry for your loss,' He greeted in a dignified manner.
'I do not quite recall employing a jester, Andreas.'
'I am self-employed Signór,' Andreas smiled. 'Shall I take the young Miss off your hands?'
'No need, I shall escort her myself. Have Miss Lorraine sent to the third room on the second floor,' Sebastian nodded in farewell and resumed his way past the foyer and ascended the mahogany stairs to the right that curved similarly to the other on the left.
On the second floor, to the far end of the right-wing, Sebastian balanced Avery's lightweight in one arm, and with the other, he opened a door that revealed a room with silver lace curtains donning the windows on opposite ends of the interior. The floor was concealed by a lilac Persian rug and the queen-sized bed by silver and lilac duvets. He laid Avery to rest on the bed and draped the covers over her as Miss Lorraine hurried in panting. Her black and white maid outfit was disheveled in the process.
'Welcome back, my Lord,' She said in a whisper. 'My dearest condolences,' She curtsied.
Sebastian was being pitied. He was not fond of it, but he could hardly blame her. She was simply considerate like any kindhearted, young woman. He nodded at her and gestured to Avery.
'My niece,' He said softly. 'Her name is Avery, and I would request that you please attend to her.'
'I shall, my Lord'
Sebastian nodded at her once more and retired to his study. His heart, as cold as it had been, began to surge with a burn that threatened to engulf him whole. He was never one to admit the fondness that grew within him for his brother, and now he had greatly begun to regret it.