The day was as cold and dark as spring could be; the wind blew frigid in that dank space I tried to sleep in. The musty smell of the room mixed with disposed tomes and furniture gave it the appeal of a rotund, greasy woman in lingerie. I paced the room; 3 steps by 8 steps one time, two times, three, ten, ninety. I moped back on the grimy floor and lean on the brick and dust walls of the storage room. It was always like this ever since I was young. I had no memories of my mother when I was young, my father copulated like a rabbit, finding women left, right, center. I guess that's just what it means to be powerful. And talentless trash like me should either rot in a damp storeroom and not be let out until necessary; or not exist at all, the latter my father's wishes. I choose the former, thank you very much.
Footsteps. I stand, not wanting to be scolded by Father's tirade about being a general's son and living up to it. It was for the same reason he had changed my name. My mother, he had told me in that severe and hubristic tone that he so often employed on me, and me only, wanted me to be named Adelard Diggory. "Noble strength of the soul," he howled, the empty chamber echoing his guttural laugh. He pretended to wipe away tears from his laughter. "Even a dog," he snarled, fangs showing, "has more nobility in it than you."
I did not answer. If I did, I would have been punished by whipping. No. Even if that raging sea of fire that glows in my heart wishes to be unleashed, I must not. I did not. I nodded.
"Ha," he bellowed. The paintings of kings and rulers eyed me with malicious glee; the chairs looked strangely blunt; the overhung silver blades glinted an unforgiving silver. I looked again towards my father, massive and short. I did not have a chance. "You do not even have an ounce of pride in that pathetic body of yours. Very well, your name will no longer be Adelard Diggory as I, Friedrich Diggory have bestowed upon you. It shall now be Anima Diggory. Lost soul, you are dismissed!"
I slammed the door as carefully as I could, dashed outside the manor, into the sticky hot evening, entered the forest of oaks and elms I had once smelt when I gleefully trot with my brothers and sisters who were now betrothed or in the army. It was my solitude now. Nobody intruded. Nobody judged. A thick mist blanketed the sleeping trees like a mother coddling its child. I screamed. Nobody heard. Nobody cared. I punched the trees, sap oozing like the blood in my hands. Rage burst forth; a contained geyser now screamed. I huffed and puffed, kicked and hit. Soon, I lay on the ground. Nobody came. Nobody at all.
Footsteps. Coughing. Voices came. It was not Father. Then wh—the servants! They were the pleasant people in this hellhole. I put my ears on the door to listen; they provided me with entertainment.
"Which is she?" a gravelly voice asked.
"Fifth one now," came another; a woman, perhaps. Coughing again. "There, there, my dear. All will be all right—the doctor will treat you nice and good, dear."
"She looks dreadful, Ms. Lucie," Gravel throat remarked.
"She does." Ms. Lucie agreed. "Pitiful."
The voices faded into the hallway as I did into the dark chamber of mine. Infection, huh. If I was not mistaken, it was the same unknown disease that had killed my mother sixteen years ago. And nobody has found a cure yet. I lay there a bit more, thinking then not thinking at all, then thinking again, an endless cycle of back and forth that faded into a dark velvety curtain. I dreamt. Of my mother. Memories I was sure were not mine to bear. Lithe fingers stroked my hair as she sang a lullaby to put me to sleep. A kiss that would turn the world into darkness, and suddenly, ghouls form from the black of the world, sprouting into hideous forms of caved-in carbon flesh, drooling from their mouths hinged open.
I awoke to a searing pain in my stomach. Food, I thought. I was hungry…? I did not know. This hunger was ravenous as I stood, rubbing off the dust and cobwebs that had stuck to my skin. I emerged into lit torches and narrow tunnels; the pain is even more unbearable now. I trudge on, leaning on jagged and coarse bricks that appeared dried blood in the low light of the torches. The whole trip felt like hours even though it must have lasted for only a couple of minutes, the tunnel stretching like long legs. Wearisome. Narrow. Stairs, finally. Up. The manor comes into view: its sharp towers and turrets housed cage-like lattices on narrow windows. Grotesque pinnacles and spires where gargoyles perched made it more malevolent than beautiful. It did not stretch on, into the sky, like a gracious angel but towered over me like a tyrant not even bothering to look at his subjects— Argh! The pain is even more unbearable now. My stomach feels like it's about to explode. I trek on. Inside the building, the door a mouth that swallowed me as I entered. I stared at the darkness, and if the abyss had eyes, it stared back at me, watching my every move. I search for people I know, stumbling, whimpering in pain, getting back up and leaning on the cement filled to the brim with scorching cold. I stumble, fall, whimper. I do not get back up.
The abyss surrounds me, shrouding me with its veil of shadows that hid ghouls and monsters. "No!" I try to shout but it comes as a croak, feeble and unheard. The abyss does not hear. It does not care even if it did. It clutches me, my throat drier and drier each moment, eyes bulging in distress but neither sound nor strength comes and I slip into the arms of the ghouls and monsters.