A buff hand pulled the bell hanging outside the Cordelia Residence. It shook violently before oscillating to and fro in the dead of the night, alerting the residents of the household and all the birds and bees around.
A maid paced over the carpeted floors and pulled the door open, only to frown in the face of the Royal Inspector. His silver badge gleamed against the lantern that she held in his face, also illuminating the underside of his unruly mullet with a golden glow.
"My sire, it is beyond greeting hours," claimed the maid, as if the man was oblivious to the dark sky overhead and the stars twinkling within it.
"This does not happens to be a greeting. Inform your Master that I'm here for a brief inquiry."
"Of course," the maid let the Royal Inspector in and ordered a subordinate to wake up the Master of the Household. "May I prepare tea?" She asked, knowing well he would deny any courtesy at such an hour to avoid inconvenience, considering that he was a nobel gentleman.
"Yes please, make it dark and strong. Don't serve it too hot, but surely sweet enough," The Royal Inspector nodded, much to the maid's shock, and took a seat in the middle of the sofa.
"Yes Sire," the maid curtsied and left.
The Cordelia drawing room was nothing short of vintage riches, considering they were a reputed founding family. Everything seemed old and used, yet it shone with an elegance beyond his comprehension. Thick dark curtains with intricate designs covered the bright walls, the floor was carpeted with luxurious rugs, no chandeliers hung from the rooftop for the room was lit with a zillion candles sprawled all over the room. The house was eerily silent and all of it made the room feeling like a cozy blanket, excellent for the winter and torturous for the summer.
Very flammable, observed the Royal Inspector.
"Ah! Alzack!" Master Cordelia walked through the doors, barely making any noise to announce his presence. His dark hair seemed disheveled and the robe he bothered to wear over his night clothes remained untied. The royal Inspector had a good view of Master Cordelia's chest muscles, bouncing up and down, as he made his way over the unnecessary large expanse of the drawing to greet him.
The Royal Inspector stood up and curtsied, "Mr. Cordelia! My apologies for bothering your household so late at night but I happen to be investigating something confidential," he shook hands with the host.
Master Cordelia gulped momentarily, but it went unnoticed by the Royal Inspector.
"Oh it doesn't matter, not at all! We're always open for services to the Empire," Mr. Cordelia laughed a hollow laugh. He took a seat beside the Royal Inspector and urged, "What may I help you with?"
"Straight to the point, you have my respect. It is about the Grand Tutor's nephew—"
"Ah, yes, he hasn't been coming — I wonder what happened? He was supposed to be wedded! Did he not invite us? Tsk, I am disappointed, he was a nice lad—"
"My Lord, I would take it back if I were you. That nice lad is on the run as a murder suspect of twelve."
If exasperation and confusion had a child, it would be Mr. Cordelia's face as of now. With brows furrowed and mouth agape, the old man stared at the young Royal Inspector, dark eyes unblinking. The only momentary motion within them was from the dancing candle falmes.
"I understand, it is a lot hard to take in, but because he frequented your household is why I reckoned it would be safer to inform you. The matter's a hush now, I'm sure you understand why— but His Majesty agreed with this little exposure. You're an integral part of this Empire, after all."
The seriousness laden in the Royal Inspector's face did not seem like he would be cracking jokes with the Cordelias around midnight.
A knock at the door pulled Mr. Cordelia out of his trance.
"Your tea, my sire," the maid rolled in a trolley.
Everything happened a little too silently here.
"Ah! How pleasant!" the Royal Inspector grinned, "Bring it over. Do you fancy the pot, Mr. Cordelia?"
"Huh?" Master of the Household let out a puzzled whisper.
"I asked if you prize this tea pot?" He gestured at the elegant blue kettle letting out out subtle steam through its spout.
"I don't assume...?" Mr. Cordelia's reply was not decisive but it was affirmation enough for the Royal Inspector to get up and pick up the pot by its handle.
"Very well then, I shall return it if I ever happen to tread past here," He curtsied Mr. Cordelia, "Good night!" and marched out of the drawing room and the house, leaving an exasperated maid and a very confused master behind.
After Mr. Cordelia collected his wits, he called out, "Where is that wench?! Bring her out! I know you all have been hiding her! She won't be in trouble, I assure you!"
No one uttered a word.
"Bring her out or I will surely kill her the next time I see her!"
"My dear!" Mistress Cordelia charged inside the drawing room with a painful frown. "What is it? What happened?" She shot queries before slotting herself beside him and interlocking their arms together.
"The Grand Tutor's nephew is wanted for twelve murders," Master Cordelia sighed and ran his hand over his wife's. "I can only assume it is related to this morning's news. Do you understand what happened?" His voice cracked at the end, helplessness drowning over his face as his body cosied against his wife's.
"I have no idea, my dear. I have no idea," she ran a hand over his greying hair and gave the maid a subtle nod.
"You don't think it was her again...do you?" Master Cordelia uttered, unsure and ambiguous with his accusations.
"Merlin forbid! I hope not!" Mistress Cordelia swatted a hand over such allegations.
The maid nodded in understanding and pushed the trolley out of the drawing room. Its abrupt creaking resonated in the silent Cordelia household and she made a mental note to oil it as soon as possible.
"This scares me. Do you assume the Royal Inspector was threatening us? He took away a tea pot and promised to be back! I'm afraid he knows!" Master Cordelia gritted his teeth, "BRING HER OUT I SAID!!"
His wife flinched away and he was immediately overtaken by guilt.
Through the doors walked in Tibetha Cordelia, a lanky girl of nineteen, with a grim face and sunken eyes. Her shoulders were hunched, arms folded against her lanky torso and she took small steps to further her presence inside the room. Her lavender dress was crinkled and worn out around the hems; her dark hair were a mess of her own creation.
"There you are."
"Here I am," she spoke through gritted teeth.
"Do you have any curtsy towards your parents?!" Master Cordelia snapped.
"Do you deserve it?" was her frigid reply.
"We deserve everything more than you," Master Cordelia tsked.
"My dear!" Mistress Cordelia waved a hand to brush off the tangent their conversation was taking.
"Then why don't you find someone who's more deserving of you?" Her consistent dead tone ran chills down her mother's spine.
"Tibetha! Silence!" Mistress Cordelia snapped at her daughter.
The said mess of a human pursed her lips and took a step back.
"I'd rather get rid of you," Master Cordelia grimaced, "You shall be attending the Pearl Festival. I want you to be as normal as possible. One mistake and you will not return. Dismissed."
The girl glared her way out of the room.
"We've failed with her," Master Cordelia sighed in the face of her retreating back.
"Did you have to?! What are you even planning?!" Her mother's voice caught up to her ears but she escaped it with a few strides. She ran up the stairs and entered her room, locked the door and scrambled underneath her bed.
On the hard floor, in dust and darkness, she folded herself in a foetal position and let the tears flow. She was a curse. She hated her family for tolerating her existence, for constantly giving her chances when all she did was bring them loss and harm.
She was the harbinger of death.
She lived and walked in constant terror of accidently killing people. Of scorching them out of existence. Of cursing them.
She was a bad omen.
Why did her mother still care if she lives? Why does her father still give her chances?
They should just...kill her.
But—would death be easy?
"It won't be easier," a scratchy voice emerged out of the shadows. "I'd know all about it," it coughed out a giggle.
"Then what is easier?" Tibetha whispered, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists with hopelessness. Nothing had been easy ever since she was born.
When she was a kid, she was dark and bullied by her cousins for being different than them. All she ever wanted was to be fair. So, she showered for hours to no end and scratched her skin to be fairer, just to fit in and be like everyone else. But it only made her prone to injuries and infections.
Sickness made her lack at school. Lacking made her weaker in her studies. Being weak at studies brought about more mocking. More mocking birthed within her a detest for the world.
The detest brought the curse. The curse brought It to her.
"Giving in to the temptation. Own the control you have on people's lives. Imagine the respect you can attain when people cower in your presence and worship you like a God. A gift like yours... it's not easy to come by," the scruffy voice drawled.
"I— I don't want to kill people. I— want, but I don't know, I don't feel good. It scares me. I don't want them dead!"
"That's because you cannot control your powers right now!" The voice hissed, "But when you can, it wouldn't always be death. It can be so much more...!"
Tibetha scoffed. "So much more? Like what?"
"That you'll know if you promise to surrender all of yourself to me..." it drawled.
"I- I don't want to! Go away; I don't want to leave. I-I like my family. They hate me, but I still love them. I don't deserve it, but I still want them to love me, to see me, to think about me. I- I don't want to be the monster you're trying to make me!"
"You're no monster. You keep denying the truth. You're powerful enough, to defend yourself. More than the most."
The voice manifested into a small wisp of darkness. It circled around her head, triggering a memory.
Her Tutor's hands slithering over her thighs made her press her knees further in her chest. His slimey, meaty, hands and disgusting smile coercing her as he pushed his hand over her breasts in the name of education.
Goosebumps rose all over her body.
"Shh, do you not know this is biological education? These," he dug his nails into her breast, "will produce milk one day. Do you want to hasten the process?"
The next thing she remembered is his charred corpse on top of her desk. Third of the day.