Waves of dust kicked up with every of his steps. Leaving in his wake the footprints of his bare feet surrounded by small ruddy droplets.
The individual continued on his way, his slow, strange gait giving off a slightly masculine air.
He came to a staircase, which he began to climb. His breathing was jerky, as if he was exerting himself with every movement. A stained-glass window depicting an angel with a brandished sword stood in the middle of the staircase,moonbeams shining through it as the only source of light in the darkness of this tower, making the white marble walls sparkle.
He paused for a moment, contemplating the moon at its peak. The moonlight illuminated his face for the fleeting moment he had stopped.
It revealed the features of a brown-haired child with deep black eyes.
They were devoid of emotion. Tanned skin covered his skeletal face. Wet streaks ran from his eyes to his cheeks. The child turned to observe the shadowy area created by his silhouette. His back, covered with a lacerated tunic, was revealed. And through it, his skin was studded with scourging marks.
Continuing his observation of the celestial body, he slowly raised his hand and placed it on the stained-glass window as if for a second he'd wanted to cross it.
He quickly snapped out of his reverie, shaking his head. He turned away from what had captivated him and resumed his journey. The staircase ended in a corridor with a single door. A torch hung on the wall, supported by a candelabra.
He tapped gently on the door, its hinges crying out in protest as it swung open.
With the door ajar, the child hesitated for a moment, then entered the room, sweeping it with his eyes.
A dying candle lit up the desolate-looking room.The only furniture was a half-ruined bed with straw visible through the holes. A table and two chairs made of worn wood sat in the middle. And a desk on which a woman lay sound asleep.
From where he stood, he could make out the ceiling, which was strewn with translucent white canvases, flarinìä canvases.
As if to punctuate these thoughts, an insectoid beast moved into a corner.
Four pairs of eyes watched it, glinting in the darkness.
The corners of his mouth parted in a smile, as the beast was hated and hunted on sight just like himself. The child moved towards the woman with the intention of waking her, his foot sinking into a hot, sticky liquid.
Losing his balance in surprise, he fell to the ground. His head hit the ground hard. The shock took his breath away. A dazed look came over his face as he tried to understand what had happened.
He got to his feet with an unsteady step, the sleeping woman hadn't moved a centimeter. He bent down to examine the slimy liquid, whose smell and coloring reminded him of something he knew all too well.
It was blood! His heart began to beat wildly. He waded into the pool of blood and with a trembling hand shook the woman he had once called mother.
He flinched as his hand made contact with the cold flesh.
Blood bathed the arms of the now-dead sleeper, deep gashes made with a sharp object. Whether it was a knife or a dagger, the reflection of the bloodstained metal on the desk confirmed his guess.
He closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was all a dream, but the cold, lifeless body was still there when he reopened them. He grabbed her with a kind of frenzy and shook her as if trying to rekindle even a spark of life inside her, repeating her name over and over like a mantra.
The silence of the tower was shattered by his cries as he screamed out all his anger and despair.
A few hours later, the screaming stopped, his voice had grown hoarse and his tears had dried up. No one had heard him, no one had come. He was alone, as he had always been.
He gradually came to his senses as his thoughts became more or less clear. A single question sprang to mind: why!
And the answer was almost immediate: it was because of him, everything had always been because of him.
A man's face popped into her mind, her jaw clenched in frustration.
She had promised him that when he was older, they could escape. Like the child he'd been, he'd drunk the words of the only person who'd never shown him a gesture of tenderness, his mother.
Now he understood that he had been fooled into hoping.
At the very moment he realized this, the child in him had died and only the man remained. Now he understood that he had been fooled into hoping.
At the very moment he realized this, the child in him had died and only the man remained.
A new flame burned in his eyes, the flame of resentment and revenge!