Chapter 1: The Family
Tea streamed into the delicate fine china, a thin trail of steam wisping into the air. Accompanied by an aroma of mint in spring rain, the rich darkened brown contrasted with the heavenly porcelain pot which was handled with care by a tall man, eyebrows forever raised as he pursed his thin lips. The pouring of the liquid stopped almost as soon as it had begun, the man straightened his back and subserviently continued to make his way down the dining table.
"More tea, sir?" He spoke without an accent, yet carried himself in a refined manner. A deep tone reverberating throughout the vast dining hall, bouncing off the the pearl walls and falling unto the ears of his masters. The spout of the large bellied teapot rested above the cup. He stood patiently awaiting an answer, as rays of sunlight reflected off of his glasses. Elegant silver curtains draped over broad arched windows, neatly pulled back with diamond clasps.
A man sat at the head of the table. It glimmered in the sunlight, specks of diamonds scattered across the glass. This was the main reason that the curtains were always pulled open during the day. The man looked as if he belonged there, at the head. His sole purpose of being born was to perch himself high above others around him, meant to view the world from a vista of superiority. A white beard was grown around his lower features, hair the color of brown mixed with ashes. It was carefully slicked back, beginning to age at the roots. He simply nodded his head, wisps of steam floating up to a pale, stern face. No words had to leave his lips for the butler to comply, walking over to the next person who sat closest to the man.
A woman with the same ashen hair, eyes the color of pure sea-foam, yet she lacked the serenity that the waves brought. Her skin was the color of cream and had blemishes of age which resembled soft bubbling coffee, time had done her well for her age. Although the texture of her skin was not youthful, it lacked unpleasant lines of age. The Butler questioned her as he had the man before, and the response she gave was no different, if not with a touch of disdain.
Inside this silent dining hall, the only noise made was the soft pouring of tea and the clang of silverware against silver platters.
Lining the table, were twelve seats resembling small thrones. The chairs were created from glass, translucent diamonds crowned the backrests. Eight of the twelve were occupied by the inhabitants of the castle, yet the room was devoid of all commotion and warmth. This room, was cold and barren, even though the decor was extravagant and filled up the large space. A white fireplace was constructed into the wall, behind the man at the head, a surprise that it was unlit. Dark oak logs rested inside of the pit, calling to be alight. On both sides of the fireplace, were indentations in the wall. Seemingly, made to form a corridor, yet they were four inches deep and their only purpose served was to have tall statues appearing as gods above mortals, filling in the space. The stone man and woman held large hammers in their left hands, and held their right outstretched, fingers spread apart. The symbol of The Craft. The process of forming man made creations. One of the many, representations of the Wyverlis.
Checkered marble tiled the floor and a chandelier crafted of authentic diamonds draped over their forms. It complemented the large silver portraits of family members, interspersed between windows on each side. The intricate frames drew away from the detail of the photographs, a shot of women and men from head to chest. They wore porcelain and silver, seafoam eyes and ashen brown hair, the only difference between them being skin complexions. In the middle of each set of portraits, was a single large one. One of a man and one of a woman.
Ferdinand J. Wyverlis and his wife, Monarda Wyverlis.
All remembered their names throughout the four kingdoms. Clover, Diamond, Heart, and Spade. Who wouldn't? The pair had changed the entire world together, not just their own.
Significant, in the Wyverlis House, bringing this family back from the Hell they had fallen to. Even in death, they were never forgotten. If it were not for them, there would not be a chandelier or a table with a set of thrones for chairs. And that of course, was all they cared about. They spoke not about the delicious meal before them, they did not ask how the morning had been going or if the night's sleep was well. They did not concern themselves with one another. Instead, cold, cold contraptions gathered around the table, programmed to eat and sleep. To maintain the utmost health which permit them to hold on to what they cared about most. The life of nobility flowed through their veins, their hearts filled to the brim with riches as opposed to love.
The Butler paused once again, his actions so well orchestrated, a dance could be made out of his duty. He straightened the black suited attire that he wore, a lone color within this castle of light hues. "More tea, Lady Mai?" The pot hovered over her empty, dry cup, only for her to immediately stick a tawny colored hand over the top, blocking the spout.
She looked up at the butler, soft spoken and polite, "No, thank you, Alston. I'm fine." A smile followed behind her words, her eyes squinting slightly, clear and peaceful. Every breakfast, lunch, and supper, tea was served and she would always decline in some way or another.
Alston's eyes were the color of the ocean, a beautiful blue hidden behind round frames complementing his youthful features, although he was middle aged. His lips twitched, her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her, yet he didn't smile. Those watery eyes glanced to the man next to her, at the head of the table and then back to her, before nodding his head. Within minutes, he disappeared through the dark oak doors leading to the kitchens, either because he had to retrieve more tea or he knew his services were not needed at the moment. The man had been with the family for as long as she could remember, he had undying loyalty to stay with the Wyverlis House.
Mai was left staring after the butler, her warm smile sticking to her lips like glue, before her gaze shifted to the man at the head of the table. She immediately wished she hadn't. His glare cut through her skin as if it was only a ripe peach. Eyes the same color as hers, yet they burned angrily at such an intensity she could never wish to obtain. The silence at the table was deafening, much more apparent now, as eyes fell flat on her small figure. All she wanted was for someone to speak, anyone to say something worthwhile before a horrid thing happened. Her wish would not get granted in this lifetime- or in death. She held back a flinch, as she braced herself for what was to come. Consequences for actions that she could not help.
The man before her took a sharp breath, suppressing oncoming anger, "how many times have I told you? Royalty does not befriend the help!" The emotions he partially withheld, made his face begin to redden with anger. With every word that dark emotion began to warp into something greater.
As he seemed to wait for her answer, Mai shifted in her seat, dark lips parting and closing countless times, while she fumbled over answers in her frantic mind. "I- I-" Her stomach churned, although her hunger was sated, and then dropped below her feet when his hands drew into fists.
A loud bang took up the silence, silverware launching into the air from the sudden force applied to the glass table. Surprisingly, it hadn't broken.
"Do you want to be treated like those animals living in those shacks?" His lips pulled back in a sneer, nose wrinkled in utter disgust as he looked at her. "Well, do you?!" The man raised his voice well above a speaking tone, he boomed over her, larger than life compared to her insignificant figure.
Mai did not meet his gaze, staring down at the unfinished blueberry pancakes, her plate dirtied with syrup. "N-No." The words were low, a stuttering whisper. Her throat had dried up and as much as she hated tea, she wished for some at this moment.
"What?" Mai felt his breath on her ear, he had gotten closer to her, his tone brought back below a yell. Mocking bitterness tangled within his words, not even bothering to bury it beneath. "I can't hear you, Mai."
She opened her eyes wider than need be, praying that the tears brimming at the edge of her lower lids would not slip and fall. Fighting to keep her voice steady against the tears, she spoke. "No." Mai took the fork in her hand and began playing with her food, lips flattened as she let out a sniffle. "No, I'm sorry, father." She refused to blink and refused to look at him, bowing her head in meek resignation. Her fingers tightened around the fork.
He scoffed, voice filled with nothing but displeasure. Taking her chin with his fingers and picking her head up to face him. It was deliberate. "Yes. You are very sorry." He wanted her to see how his eyes were full of hatred for his only daughter, on behalf of the Wyverlis House, all of his loathing was on display. "I might as well treat you like a lowly commoner with that pitiful level of magic that you possess." He spat the words like venom in the eyes of an enemy.
She flinched, salt applied to the wound her family had inflicted on her at a young age. Even as she held her eyes wide open, attempting to fight shedding a tear, she felt a streak of wetness slowly moving down the right side of her face.
Looking back at the rest at her family members, was something she refused. They would all share the same looks. It was times like this that she often forgot that there was one person in the room who was on her side, yet, they had not come to her aid at that moment.
"Such a disappointment." Her father snatched his fingers away from her chin, pushing her face to the side with his thumb. The unkind motion left her staring at an ebony square tile, a blank, frozen stare as she wished she could sink deep into the darkness, get taken by the shadows and thrown into oblivion. Then, he could not find her. Then, he could not touch her.
Fury attacked her chest like heartburn, she bit her lip and did not look up at the man. It swirled around inside of her and dangerously burned through her flesh and bones until there was nothing left, until she was nothing left. A buildup of pain and sorrow that she buried in a grave. Compared to her relatives, the commoners and the servants were not beneath her, but insolence was. And after all… she did not act. Somewhere far off on another planet, she shot up from her seat and slapped the once imposing man. She left no room for a challenge and asserted the new found power she would have over him.
But this was only a dream. A sweet, sweet dream.
And she knew better than to dwell for too long in a fantasy world. In reality, structures were made and were not easily broken. Her place was to listen to what he told her, no matter how it made her feel, because he was the king of this castle and although she was the princess, she was in exile.
A faint clicking of heels against the marble floor grew farther away from her and his air of vexation lingered in his place. The heavy doors slammed shut, the last indication of his departure as the maid tended to the mess he left behind.
Mai eventually shifted her head back in front of her plate, her eyes washed over the small part of the table she allowed for herself, they were clouded over in broken resolve. She was calm and collected.
As were her family members, they said nothing in response to his outburst, only moments after he left, the soft clang of silverware could be heard again. They acted as if, nothing happened. In their perfect noble world, not a thing could penetrate it, except her. One girl, had such a large impact and at the same time had none at all. She was a phantom, tied to the living world by a physical body that had not died yet.
As she sat, on the throne of glass, she never realized how tight her hair had been braided up into a regal style. Strands of hair pulled a certain, unyielding way, pins and needles sticking into her scalp. An oncoming headache.
She wished to abruptly stand from her seat, like her father had done and leave their judgment, yet there she sat. Digging a silver knife into cold blueberry pancakes, trying to find that warm smile which once graced her lips.