Year 1900.
"The artless walls of the room depicts your villainy heart. There's nothing to be loved about you...NOTHING!!" She spoke in a primitive tone of voice, one presuming to be honeyed. The creases of her brows and twitches of her perfectly thinned-lips, showed as a legible validation to her irritation and awkwardness. She sadly was not oblivious to the greediness of this man before her. To think he now owned her?
"I never asked to be loved" His obscure voice announced.
The woman abruptly exchanged a look with his, and coincidentally he too seemed to be focused on her. There was a slight line curved on his lips, one that was opted with a familiar sarcasm, before breaking the contact. He sat back leisurely, leaning his back against the seat, that swallowed him into the spirit of wealth.
"You are in no right to plead for such feeble emotion anyways" She too relaxed, released a soft breath and closed her eyes. She gradually drifted herself deeper into the carriage seat, as the melodious gasp and excruciating movement from the vehicle towed her heart and mind. As much as she enjoyed the thorough ride, she was quite suffocated with the presence of the man. He was the red card.
"You could have stayed and dealt with your imperial matters. Home is home without you in it" She whispered. At first, her feathery, ruthless words astonished and herded him asthmatic, but then, he howled a loud bang at the front door, where the coachman was seated.
She threw him a questioning gaze which he never returned, until he ordered "Get back to the Manor before ten minutes, or you lose your life. Seated in here is unhealthy to one's life" Although he looked nowhere, those words of his was definitely channeled to the woman beside him.
"Yes, Mr. Heathcliff" The coachman, being one who loved his job first and foremost, replied in a mellowed tone.
The woman rolled her eyes "You are bad news" she mumbled.
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FIFTY-FIVE DAYS AFTER
"You do not touch what's mine! Have i made myself clear? She...is...mine" The Duke proclaimed right in front of the crowd. As chandeliers clung together like chains in the hands of a giant, the whole lit candles died. Blood smeared the large table and hot-deafening screams reverberated in the entire hall-room. A feast which was supposedly joyous had become hollow. And there's the host of the show holding a hand captive in his grasps, with two of the fingers decapitated and the thumb smashed.
In the blink of an eye, the madness twirling in between the Duke's eyes became as calm as the smoothest water and his expression softened as if nothing had happened. The guests shared a look of horror at the scene as the moaning pains of the victim to the Duke's wrath hadn't stopped screaming.
"Darling, come. Let me kiss away another man's touch from your skin. Don't shy away, little troublemaker. Remember, you should only carry my fragrance" They all heard the Duke say, and immediately the room became vacant, leaving the couples to their banter.