Secrets Held Within
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Chapter 6
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Dark didn't know how late it was before he awoke—all he knew was that it was cold, and dark…again.
Sitting up lazily, he looked around the dimly lit room, eyeing the dying candle. Groaning, he put a hand to his head and yawned his sleep away, also noting to himself that his fever had died down. Apparently, Whatever he had eaten had calmed his sickness.
Getting up out of bed, he caught something out of the corner of his eye-a vibrant contrast in color to that of the normally dark room. Turning to gain a better view, he extended a hand and lifted up what he now could identify as an elegant white rose.
As he looked at the ashen petals, he pulled the flower to his nose and lightly inhaled it's soothing aroma. Then, drawing it away he began to twirl it in his fingers as a professional would, looking about the room for any clues as to who might have left it there.
When he found none he simply sighed and pulled on a set of dark clothes. He looked at the rose he held between his fingers once again. "I wonder how you got here," he said to it, his thoughts escaping into words.
Shrugging, he stepped into the common room and looked about it, a smile creasing his lips as he looked at the four younger teenagers sprawled out atop each other, lying on the floor. "I guess they won't be much of a help," he whispered to himself, as he turned to look out the window.
As fate would have it, it was horribly dark outside—and the violet haired man wouldn't have even been able to see the contents of the room if it hadn't been for the dying flames and embers that still lingered in the fire pit.
Dark looked at the group of friends, the door, and then the friends again, before deciding to head out to the mansion. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.
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The snow had long since stopped falling, but a few light inches lay littered atop of everything. Dark sighed, watching his breath linger on the cold air as he listened to the sloshing sounds of delicate snow being crushed below his feet. The moon was still high in the sky, reflecting off the sweet whiteness that was everywhere, and Dark paused for a mere moment to look at it.
It was then, in that moment of peaceful silence, that a note drifted into the air. Cocking his head to hear it better, Dark tried to see if he could identify its source. To no avail, his search came.
He had but one clue—it sounded as though it was coming from further down his path.
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Several moments passed as Dark hurried down the old, snow-covered path, and through the dark woods. He passed a bend in the road, and the manor he had grown so familiar with sprouted into view. In all that time, the faint noise had grown only the slightest bit louder, and he realized, that it was coming from within the forest.
Taking one last, fleeting glance at the mansion, he turned his direction towards that of the curious noise
Wet from the snow, dead branches cracked weakly below his heavy strides, and Dark's pace grew quicker as the sound grew more audible.
He was now able to make out a tune; a haunting melody that made him think of some tragic tale of remorse and pain.
Panting lightly, Dark paused for a moment to lean on a tree and regain his breath. He noted between the alluring melodies there was a mild rush of water, and it sounded as if, far off in the distance there might be a waterfall. He waited in silence, and then heard a closer, more prominent gurgle of bubbling water.
He cocked his head to the side, and let his glance slide at what he thought would be a small brook.
And he was right.
His eyes widened, and he emitted a small, strangled gasp at what lay before him. It was a brook, a stream that had failed to be frozen during the cold months of winter, but it was, by no means, ordinary.
Stumbling backwards, Dark's back collided with a tree, and he continued to look into the depths of the flowing liquid.
The musky, crimson liquid.
'Is this…blood?' He thought, and his mind froze at the realization that it could be nothing else. He wanted to run from it, and convince himself he had been seeing things—that his eyes were playing tricks on him.
But he could not. His legs refused to work, and even though he tried, he knew what lay before him.
A horrible, icy stream of blood.
And then, a note of the haunting melody reached his ears, spurred him to run—and his legs obeyed. He leapt in a mad dash towards the sound, praying to anyone who would listen that it be something normal—someone normal who would tell him everything was okay, that he really was seeing things—that he still had a fever…just something!
Out of the corner of his eyes, he was almost sure he could see the stream of blood trekking slowly, gurgling as a brook would, and he shivered at the thought. At the music. At the blood. All of it, when put together, made it so unrealistic, that Dark figured he was dreaming when he reached a clearing.
Before him, a figure elegantly held a violin, sadly stringing together a mass of haunting notes, gracefully stepping to the music he made.
Before him, stood Krad.
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My apologies! I've had writers block for the longest time, and only just now was able to think of this chapter. I know it's short, but the second part of it will be coming up in a day or two, so please bear with me. School is a pain, but I promise to try and have a more annual update now that I'm no longer plagued with such a cursed disease. I hope you enjoyed, and forgive me for my flaws. As usual, if you've found any, please inform me of them. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!
Also, I wanted to thank one of my reviewers for supplying the meaning of white roses—in my own personal words though, a white rose stands for: Reverence, Purity and Innocence, Respect, Remorse, Affection, Appreciation, and, Secrecy. Very fitting, no?