Frederick Mortcombe snapped back to reality, refusing his haunting memory from resume playing on its own accord. He continuously forced himself to alter his memory and replaced them with that of his even younger happier days.
But it proved to be a huge mistake! Though he may have succeeded in stopping the memory of that particular night, his emotion was a wreck! His heart began to race as he was inevitably consumed by overwhelming grief and regrets.
Cold beads of sweat began to line his forehead and spine-chilling waves washed over his body over and over, making him shiver uncontrollably.
Without further ado, he strode towards the bathroom like a terribly drunken man and fumbled on the silver doorknob. Once he had access, he dragged himself straight to the standing porcelain tub and hauled into it.
Clumsily, Frederick dialled the golden bath faucet and adjusted it to the warmest setting he could take. He laid there dazed until the pool of water regulated his temperature.
Even then, his bloody racing heart just would not calm down! He laid his head at the edge of the tub with his eyes closed, took a deep breath and started to think of all the people he had tortured. When the villain began to recollect the fears in his victim's eyes, his face began to light up.
A devilish smirk slowly crept up as more and more images played in his head like flipping the pages of a book. He became more excited as he remembered seeing his victims tremble, begging for mercy. The very thought that their life is in his hands was arousing to him.
Until! The image of an expressionless golden brown hair woman appeared. His heartbeat began to produce a regular rhythm as a newfound warmness, one he had never felt before, filled his heart.
With every pump of his ticker, the same warmth was slowly transported to parts of his body. It was euphoric! He felt like he could burst. Out of a sudden, he had forgotten about the past trauma that haunt him and the joy he felt from looking at the faces of his suffering victims felt minuscule.
Instead, he found in him registering what had happened earlier and how his prisoner had turned down his offer. Frederick immediately pulled the plug, gathered his legs and hastily showered, still having this unexplainable excitement within him.
"Princess," the towel-dried hair man called out as he knocked on the hidden wardrobe.
There was no answer. Suspicious, he gave her the benefit of the doubt and several knocks. But there was only silence.
'Fuck with morality!' He justified his action as he carefully pushed the door open.
Nobody. No one was there to welcome him in that secret room of his. The very one that used to be in its minimalistic concept and now turned feminine with the white and pink hue vanity table and its dainty but bright light bulb. The pastel pink mattress cover complements the pastel blue pillows that housed assorted adorable cartoon characters.
The sofas that used to be plain in black now had too many cushion pillows that there was no place to sit and the floor? Oh, his beautiful marbled tiles are now limited to a small corner as beige furry carpets covered a huge section of the floor.
It was too much and too sudden for the villain's taste even though he was the responsible person who handpicked all of those offensive goods. Despite his internal conflict, the room brought a smile to his face.
He treaded to the centre of the room with his ears pricked up, listening intently for any water movement from the bathroom. But zilch. And the silence was eerily loud, Frederick the evil villain, could not stand it!
He was too accustomed to being close to his prisoner - Audrey Bloodsworth, whose lineage he branded as traitors to the underworld. The suicidal woman he initially met that was supposed to be dead by his hand, somehow now he tended to. How fate played its mysterious game.
Recollecting the suicidal image in his head, panic began to rise. He ran towards the bathroom and barged the door open while belatedly apologising for the intrusion. To nobody in the empty room.
Feeling stupid about his action but also troubled by his captive's safety, he sprinted out of the room and screamed, "Gerard! Gerard!"
He was about to dispatch all of his housekeepers to search for the poor princess. However, midway sprinting he caught sight of the brown-haired lady behind him, who sat on the floor cross-legged looking through the baby catalogues.
He smiled at his foolishness for missing her as he passed by. But that smile instantly turned into a frown as he scolded her, "Princess! Why are you sitting on the floor? Don't I have enough chairs for you to sit on??"
Her brown eyes looked up but still beneath his face with her mouth slightly parted. She was about to respond but it was interjected by Gerard.
"Mister Mortcombe, what's the matter?" the old Head Butler huffed. His hand rested on his aged bent knees trying to catch his breath. His face was distorted by the lack of oxygen pumping into his heart and the anxiety of having to answer to a screaming Master.
Thankfully albeit embarrassing, the villain found an excuse for his abrupt shouting. Of course, he still has to find an excuse as the Princess witnessed his puzzling solo race.
"Get that bloody couch from the living room and put it here!" He demanded while avoiding eye contact with those two.
"C-couch? Which living room, Sir?" The wrinkled Gerard in his smart black attire asked, fixing his tone from bewilderment.
"Any! Just put them here and you! What are you waiting for? Waiting for cramps to kick you back to reality? Geez! Next time make sure our little rebel does not sit on the floor."
Frederick ranted on and on as he walked away down the stairs, leaving the two clueless people behind. Pretending downstairs was where he intended to go and ended up in the kitchen for no apparent reason.
An elaborate ruse to soothe his ego.