Chapter 9

Paint it black

2 weeks later

I yawned while sinking my quill into a bottle of ink, the paper in front of me was already full. Elijah was teaching me alphabets and I had learned few simple sentences in English, but I was frustrated, I was sure that he thought that I was stupid. I didn't like writing, it was too difficult. He was a great teacher and he had been very kind towards me, but I felt that I wasn't a good student.

I liked drawing more, back home I had used coal and whatever paper I had got my hands on. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to continue writing same letters over and over again; I didn't want Elijah to think that I was ungrateful. He had gone to take care of something and told me to keep practicing while he was gone.

I was sitting in the library by myself, biting the end of my quill and swinging my feet back and forth. I had trouble to concentrate, even after two weeks. Sitting at a table for hours every day wasn't something I had got used to and I didn't like it. I would have rather been outside, walking in the garden. After another yawn, I decided to take a little break, surely Elijah wouldn't mind.

Once again I wondered who he was and what he was doing here; he never spoke much about himself even though I had tried to ask him all kinds of questions. Somehow he always dodged them, but he was never rude. I had figured out that he was a nobleman; everyone addressed him as 'my lord' and obviously he was the monsters friend, every night he had dinner with me, the monster, his sister and some other people. I had also learned that the monster's name was Niklaus or Klaus as he liked to be called, not that I usually called him anything; I didn't speak to him unless I had to.

He demanded me to act like some mindless little sheep when I was with him and so far I had managed to do that, although I hated when he touched me like I would be his pet. According to him I was and unfortunately there wasn't much I could do about it, not if I didn't want him to hurt me. Sometimes I thought that I would deserve to be hurt, I was betraying my family every time when I accepted anything he gave to me, food, clothes, shelter.

Right now I wearing a new pale blue dress made especially for me, I had the fancy bedchamber and I had a good meal as often as I was hungry. All those things had given to me by the man or the demon who had murdered my family and I simply accepted everything like a good little pet. I was disgusted with myself; I grabbed the bottle of ink and threw it against the stone wall. It shattered in pieces; the ink was running down the wall, like thick black water. Maybe my soul looked like that…

I had no idea where that thought had come from, but in that moment I realized that I hadn't prayed after my family had died. I hadn't lighted a candle for them, praying God to look after them now. What was wrong with me, I knew that mother would be ashamed of me. She had prayed every day and she had wanted her children to follow her example. She had always believed that our Lord would hear every singly prayer and perhaps show mercy towards His children if they were worthy.

The thought filled me with bitterness, my mother had been a kind and loving woman, hadn't she been worthy of God's protection? She definitely hadn't deserved to die like that, neither had my father or my brother. I swallowed my tears, I could cry when I was alone in my bed, like I had done every night. I hated my weakness, but it was a little easier to cry in the dark and press my face against my pillow, letting it to smother my screams.

My hand was shaking a little when I picked up a new bottle of ink and a blank paper. I looked at it for a while but instead of writing another round of letters, I started to draw. I didn't really think about what I was doing, I simply let my hand to work. After a moment I found myself looking at very dark scenery, there was a dead tree and a gloomy, partly broken stone angel standing in the middle of cemetery.

Had I actually drawn this? I had used to draw pictures of my family, our home, the village, our cow or something like that. I stared at my drawing until someone entered the library. Klaus. I turned the paper around as quickly as I could.

"Well," he said while slowly approaching me. "I see my girl is working hard. Where is Elijah?"

He was using English, I couldn't understand everything he said, but I could guess that he was looking for Elijah.

"He had something to take care of…" I started in Bulgarian.

"English," he demanded.

I pressed my lips together, I had no idea what to say, I only knew how to introduce myself, ask how the other person was and few other simple things.

"I…can…not," I murmured.

He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but I will not speak you Bulgarian for much longer, you must learn faster."

I gritted my teeth; it was easy for him to say.

"Let me see that," he said looking at the paper in front of me.

I tensed; I couldn't let him see my drawing. Thankfully I had other papers, I handed him one of them. He picked it up and looked at my writing carelessly.

"Good. Now that one."

"I have not written anything on it yet…" I murmured.

"Give it to me," he demanded firmly.

I didn't move; he frowned before yanking the paper from my hands. Slowly he turned it around and looked at it. His eyes narrowed and he was quiet for a while. I looked at the table, waiting for his reaction. Maybe he would be angry, maybe he would mock me, I really had no idea.

"You drew this?" he finally asked.

I forced myself to look up.

"Yes," I replied defiantly.

To my surprise he actually smiled.

"Well, it seems that you have some talent after all. This is very good."

I was stunned; all I could do was staring at him.

"Well done," he said and touched my hair. "Surely you do not mind me keeping this."

Yes, I did mind, he was the last person who I wanted to give anything to, especially something so personal. That drawing was the reflection of my deepest feelings; I didn't want him to have it. Yet I said nothing, I simply allowed him to take it. Why didn't I fight, attack him and demand him to give it back? Why didn't I shout at him, say that I would rather burn it than give it to him? The answer was simple, I was a coward. I was afraid of those prison cells, the room and especially losing my memories. I was nothing but a despicable coward.

"No."

He looked surprised.

"Pardon?"

I looked at him keeping my face free from emotions.

"I do not want you to take it, I want to burn it."

He seemed amused.

"That is not going to happen…"

I was on my feet before he managed to finish his sentence, my chair sliding on the floor behind me.

"Give it back!" I shouted and attacked him. All his amusement was definitely gone; he grabbed me and shoved me roughly against the wall.

"I warned you not to cross me," he growled, revealing his fangs. "It seems that a tougher lesson is needed here."