Thief's POV
I opened my eyes. Always the same landscape. Always the same time. Familiar bed. Dim, but elegant light.
It was my room, a prison. I've always been calling here a prison.
Someone knocked outside.
"Have you woke up, son? Let's eat breakfast downstairs."
If I have a common thing with others, it would only be that my mom is a scolding machine. I washed up my face and went down to dining room. Chefs were busily preparing for breakfast.
"Had a good dream, little puppy?"
Mom's stare deeply poked me.
"I've all grown up, mom. Don't call me that."
"You're still a puppy to me. Anyway, no more nightmares?"
"I said, I not a child anymore."
In fact, I had nightmares for two days in a row, but not severely. I'm a man. I don't afraid of some bloody flesh. Gore movies contain those, too. Who scares of gore movies?
Fortunately, breakfast was served soon, stopping our conversation. Mom always have been saying that talking with mouth full of food is out of attitude and elegance. Elegance schmelegance. Nobody stops talking while eating at school. But for now, I felt thankful for the 'elegant' rule. I ate up all the dishes, and I stood up quickly to run away to my room.
But as if she read my anxiety, mom grabbed my arm.
"Would you like to talk to me, son?"
I violently shook off her grip and ran out of the great mansion.
"I'M NOT A LITTLE BOY! DON'T BOTHER ME ANYMORE!"
It was an escape. No, it was an jailbreak.