Smile
The room was large.
Red tapestries hung from its cold walls and darkness engulfed it like a second nature.
The ceiling reminded him of one of those Catholic churches he went to as a child.
Tall, never-ending.
Mysterious.
The place had a sense of evil about it.
A sense that you just couldn't shake.
Like cold nails running down your spine.
His depraved smile spread across his hung face.
I think I'm going to like it here.
He could almost imagine the things that had gone on in this room.
He could see the banquets.
Ladies dressed in the finest wear, of red silk and gold, blue linen and sliver. Sort of like the one he had been to as a child. It was for some local hero who had been lead away never to be seen again, but had triumphed in escape. He had been surrounded by women who made him blush at their beauty, and by men who were strong and tall. He could see the music being played by violins and flutes, in perfect tempo to the perfect people. Dancing their ignorance away to the music.
People who's sins could never be pranced away.
He could almost taste the notes of the sweet sound.
Mind shifting, the bitter thought of the betrayers that owned this structure of wrongdoings passed through his thoughts.
He smiled again, thinking about the ridiculous ceremonies that must have taken place down here. Ceremonies that had been performed in whispers and in darkness. With prayers and knives.
Performed to cleanse the soul of sins.
How ironic. he thought, how very, very ironic.
For no simple ceremony would save them from the hell they were destined to.
He lifted his head and decided that, even with all the darkness, the room was a beautiful one. It had been decorated with utmost style and caring. The architect must have put hours of labor with paper and pen to have come up with this.
The picture of the Sistine Chapel before it had been destroyed so many years ago came across his mind.
He remembered how as a child, he had come across the picture. Full of light and color, with years of toil put it. And how when he found it that it was gone, he cried for a week for the mysterious man who's artwork had been put to rest by man's folly.
This was no Sistine Chapel, but it had the toil of a man's soul.
It truly was beautiful.
He pulled the shackles that held his wrist to the wall which made him feel like some kind of crucifix.
They were tight, but it did not matter.
He noticed his katana sitting across the room, gently set upon the velvet clad table.
His smile returned.
They were intending on killing him.
Killing him!
The thought amused him.
For only one man could kill him and only one could kill that man!
They intended to gouge out his eyes, cut out his tongue, slit his throat!
Him!
A small ruffle of ebony feathers caught his eye in the shadowed corner of the ceiling.
His smile grew.
They.
He smirked.
Mean.
He chuckled almost silently.
To kill.
His laugh grew.
Me!.
Laughter burst from his open smile, chiming his amusement across the room, with his head hanging forward on his shoulders, facing the tiled floor.
A soft clatter rang out through the room.
A young boy, probably not over 16, had jumped at the sound of him, and had almost dropped his tray of cups and tea.
The boy stared at this man in amazement.
This tall man of white hair and mysterious eyes.
He knew what his fate was.
What THEY were going to do to him.
And yet. he was laughing.
He must be insane.
The man seemed to know what he was thinking and in doing so lifted his head and grinned directly at the young boy.
That smile pierced his soul and heart.
The boy took off out the door, clattering all the way.
He knew what the boy was thinking.
That I'm insane.
His true smile returned.
He knew what the boy's masters must have told him.
That this man.
This man shackled to the beautiful wall.
Was evil. That he had done horrible things.
That he had even tried to kill them!
But oh.
If only that boy could know the truth.
About that anything he had ever done would seem like a child looking in on his birthday gifts compared to what those "masters" had done.
He laughed again, his deep voice echoing throughout the room.
The boy must have been a temple boy, in training, still ignorant about just what the syndicate was.
He doesn't know any better, poor boy.
The smile grew.
I'll kill him last.
The room was large.
Red tapestries hung from its cold walls and darkness engulfed it like a second nature.
The ceiling reminded him of one of those Catholic churches he went to as a child.
Tall, never-ending.
Mysterious.
The place had a sense of evil about it.
A sense that you just couldn't shake.
Like cold nails running down your spine.
His depraved smile spread across his hung face.
I think I'm going to like it here.
He could almost imagine the things that had gone on in this room.
He could see the banquets.
Ladies dressed in the finest wear, of red silk and gold, blue linen and sliver. Sort of like the one he had been to as a child. It was for some local hero who had been lead away never to be seen again, but had triumphed in escape. He had been surrounded by women who made him blush at their beauty, and by men who were strong and tall. He could see the music being played by violins and flutes, in perfect tempo to the perfect people. Dancing their ignorance away to the music.
People who's sins could never be pranced away.
He could almost taste the notes of the sweet sound.
Mind shifting, the bitter thought of the betrayers that owned this structure of wrongdoings passed through his thoughts.
He smiled again, thinking about the ridiculous ceremonies that must have taken place down here. Ceremonies that had been performed in whispers and in darkness. With prayers and knives.
Performed to cleanse the soul of sins.
How ironic. he thought, how very, very ironic.
For no simple ceremony would save them from the hell they were destined to.
He lifted his head and decided that, even with all the darkness, the room was a beautiful one. It had been decorated with utmost style and caring. The architect must have put hours of labor with paper and pen to have come up with this.
The picture of the Sistine Chapel before it had been destroyed so many years ago came across his mind.
He remembered how as a child, he had come across the picture. Full of light and color, with years of toil put it. And how when he found it that it was gone, he cried for a week for the mysterious man who's artwork had been put to rest by man's folly.
This was no Sistine Chapel, but it had the toil of a man's soul.
It truly was beautiful.
He pulled the shackles that held his wrist to the wall which made him feel like some kind of crucifix.
They were tight, but it did not matter.
He noticed his katana sitting across the room, gently set upon the velvet clad table.
His smile returned.
They were intending on killing him.
Killing him!
The thought amused him.
For only one man could kill him and only one could kill that man!
They intended to gouge out his eyes, cut out his tongue, slit his throat!
Him!
A small ruffle of ebony feathers caught his eye in the shadowed corner of the ceiling.
His smile grew.
They.
He smirked.
Mean.
He chuckled almost silently.
To kill.
His laugh grew.
Me!.
Laughter burst from his open smile, chiming his amusement across the room, with his head hanging forward on his shoulders, facing the tiled floor.
A soft clatter rang out through the room.
A young boy, probably not over 16, had jumped at the sound of him, and had almost dropped his tray of cups and tea.
The boy stared at this man in amazement.
This tall man of white hair and mysterious eyes.
He knew what his fate was.
What THEY were going to do to him.
And yet. he was laughing.
He must be insane.
The man seemed to know what he was thinking and in doing so lifted his head and grinned directly at the young boy.
That smile pierced his soul and heart.
The boy took off out the door, clattering all the way.
He knew what the boy was thinking.
That I'm insane.
His true smile returned.
He knew what the boy's masters must have told him.
That this man.
This man shackled to the beautiful wall.
Was evil. That he had done horrible things.
That he had even tried to kill them!
But oh.
If only that boy could know the truth.
About that anything he had ever done would seem like a child looking in on his birthday gifts compared to what those "masters" had done.
He laughed again, his deep voice echoing throughout the room.
The boy must have been a temple boy, in training, still ignorant about just what the syndicate was.
He doesn't know any better, poor boy.
The smile grew.
I'll kill him last.