CH 2
Sunlight cut into her vision. The golden beams beat at her pupils so that the darkness underneath her eyelids was no longer comfortable. Slowly, her eyes cracked open, letting in the jovial brightness of daytime.
Startled, the child gingerly touched her own face. Her skin was soft; her cheeks were warm. Her body was propped up against the back of an antique chair like a porcelain doll. The blue, velvet throne was one of the many placed systematically around a wide, cherrywood dining table. Sturdy, lustrous wood stretched fifteen or twenty feet before her, laden with exquisite china and iridescent glassware brimming with tantalizing food and drink that boisterously boasted wealthy extravagance. Navy upholstery embroidered in delicate tinfoil curls, spilled down the sides like dark waves, gathering around a bronze candelabra centerpiece and twine basket of prismatic crystal fruit. The little girl dumbly stared, perplexed, yet calm and ecstatic, not taking in what her eyes were seeing. It was unreal.
Five pieces. I'm worth five pieces.
The sharp memory reverberated in a small corner of her mind, drifting in and out of conscious remembrance. A small wave of discontent washed over the child as these previous events resurfaced. Five pieces. Five? It suddenly appeared particularly funny, and her shoulders shook slightly as she stifled a laugh.
"Good morning, Rumia."
The little girl jerked in her seat, eyes flying quizzically from chair to chair until they finally rested on a well-dressed man sitting comfortably at the other end. He smiled as her gaze met his. The blood drained from the little girl's face as she recognized his features and shifted anxiously in her seat.
Why is he here? Where am I?! Alarm bubbled underneath her skin. His face reminded the girl of a dog. No, but it was not quite that of a dog—too intelligent, too strong. It was that of a wolf.
"I apologize," boomed the wolf man, "I believe I've just greeted you, Rumia."
"Rumia" was an esoteric feminine name used by nobles historically, but long outdated and considered excessively flamboyant by many of modern day. In fear, however, the child banished all confusion clouding her mind. Go with it! The wolf man issued demands in a facetiously polite manner that suggested a deep, insidious intolerance for incompliance. What would happen if you didn't go with it?
At that thought, she timidly squeaked, "G-good morn—"
"It is indeed a good morning," the wolf man hooted heartily, "I'm elated that you think so as well, my da—"
His grandiose disposition made the little girl's stomach boil. Was he mocking her with his obvious wealth and status? Had he not just insisted that she was worth a miniscule five pieces? Her skin crawled in indignance. Why?! Her pride demanded to be justified.
"Why was I only worth five pieces?!" she blurted accusingly, then immediately covered her mouth and regretted it. Instinctively, the child balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head dubiously and awaiting the blows that were sure to descend for her insolence. I'm sorry, Father! I'm so sorry—
"You're worth a trillion pieces to me, daughter," the wolf man merely responded. "Now eat." The little girl snapped opened her eyes in surprise.
No, but Father isn't here anymore, she reminded herself. Even then, she was fearful that he could secretly hear her thoughts somehow, and then come drag her back to the slums. He was sure to kill her.
Despite her fears, however, the little girl blushed slightly at the wolf man's assurance. A trillion pieces? Her heart swelled. As unlikely as this situation seemed, her unloved, validation-starved soul was so weak and withered that it hungrily snapped at any palpable shadow of love offered by another, eager to fill its emptiness.
The child tried to imagine what a trillion pieces would look like—how big a mountain that would be! She stole a glance at the wolf man. Does he own a trillion pieces? She surveyed the glittering plates and dishes set before her. Perhaps. The only dish she absolutely recognized was a platter of ruby apple slices. She recalled the first and only time she had ever eaten an apple—how perfectly firm and crunchy the yellow flesh was, and how the sweet, tangy juice burst their membranal compartments and bathed her tongue when her teeth sank in. At that thought, the child waved away all inhibitions and began picking coyly at the exotic dishes in front of her.
Many of the dishes were small, made more for sampling than gorging. Each different pastry held a memorable array of tastes that left lasting flavors on her tongue. The food was nothing less than elaborate, something the poor could neither touch nor fathom.
Nor could they have dreamt of the regal architecture and elegant decor, the roof under which the food was served. One side of the room was entirely stained-glass windows, casting colorful geometric shapes across black granite floor. Tapestries of mythological scenes, gods, and winged creatures hung on the ivory walls, weighed down by thick, bejeweled tassels and filling up the spaces between cream, fluted Corinthian columns. Blue velvet etched with designs of silver laurel and astrological symbols were draped over each door. There were many doors, leading to wondrous places elsewhere in the marvelous estate. The looming curtains that partially covered the colorful windowpanes shivered with clear white beads woven in the deep sapphire fabric. The transparent spheres projected the multicolored light that streamed through the windows in splashes of rainbow all across the large dining table.
It was ethereal.
In the corner of her vision, the child caught a glimpse of jagged gray mountain peaks on the other side of the windows.
I wonder where I am.
"Eat, my daughter," the wolf man's voice brought the little girl back to the dining table. His stony eyes scarcely left her. Each time she slowed down, he would urge her to eat more, eat more. And she ate more.
For five pieces—I'm his daughter?
Every part of her yearned to trust and embrace ignorance, begging her to indulge in the riches thrown at her so sparingly. I am his daughter. He must've bought me from my poor parents to give me a better life! A whimsical lightheartedness blossomed in the little girl's chest, a rare, euphoric sense of relief and security. She delved into wilder fantasies of wealth and stability, fiddling absentmindedly with a silver fork cradled between her fingers until fell onto the tablecloth.
"Are you finished?"
I'm worth a trillion pieces.
"Yes…Father."
A trillion!
"You may excuse yourself," the wolf man clasped his hands, "Oh. Also," he released one hand and massaged his forehead just as the child tentatively rose from her seat. His eye glinted mysteriously. "I've arranged some new garments to be tailored for you before your arrival. How does a new dress sound?"
"G-great, Father," the little girl clutched her torn skirts self-consciously. The ungainly rags were embarrassing in the presence of her new waited as the wolf man lightly dabbed his mouth with an expensive handkerchief. After folding the cloth and slipping it in his pocket, he glided down the side of the table and opened one of the numerous doors for her. Unsure of how exactly to conduct her gait and trying to glide confidently like the wolf man, she made her way awkwardly towards the open door.
Frigid air enveloped her the moment she stepped through the door. The child gasped softly, twitching comfortably as the frosty tendrils seemed to penetrate her skin and wrap around her bones, bringing about a harrowing chill. For a moment, the world around her flickered. It was as if she had stepped into a different universe.
Up…the…pipe…
The child whipped around, the hairs on the back of her neck stiff and rigid. What that somebody's whisper?
Then, the chill disappeared as if it had never been there. Unsettled, she rubbed her arms to lend herself some warmth, eyeing her surroundings warily.
A dark, hallway extended endlessly on both sides, carpeted with soft, maroon rug and classic navy wallpaper. Portraits of austere, aristocratic figures hung on the walls, evenly spaced, each unique face staring with dead, glassy eyes. The child could not help but shiver slightly.
But this is just what rich people's houses look like in general.
She vigorously rationalized her fears and trailed timidly behind the wolf man, who proceeded down the left corridor wordlessly.
The passage seemed to extend forever, with no end in sight but a large, black void. There were occasional illuminating candles mounted on the wall, and evenly-spaced ebony doors loomed on each side of the hall. Suddenly, the hallway ended strangely and abruptly. At the very, very end was a single door, proud and pearly white.
The doorknob was shaped like a wolf's head. Its eyes were hollow, yet it was surprisingly lifelike. The snarling beast's jaws were perpetually open, revealing a row of malicious, glittering teeth encircling an outstretched tongue. The wolf man wrapped his fingers around it and twisted nonchalantly.
The creature's jaws clicked mechanically and snapped once, and the door opened with a lilting creak.
A shocked cry caught in the little girl's throat.
Much like the dining room before, this room was magnificent. Sunlight filtered in through a large, central window. Glass ornaments hung from the ceiling, reflecting rainbow shards of light all over the white room. The back wall was an enormous closet: drawers and mirrors, dressers and racks, closets, baskets, and bare, ivory mannequins. A single bed with a gold-embroidered canopy rested at the center, amid trendy teal pillows, luxurious blue rugs, and golden, tasseled cushions.
Four dresses lay on the silky bedsheets. The wolf man planted his hand on the child's back and gently ushered her inside. Heart thumping in her chest, she stepped forward and examined the dresses with wide blue eyes. Three of them could pass for ballgowns—glamorous, multi-layered outfits only worn by the queens and fairy god-mothers of fairytales.
The fourth dress was plain and black with a white sash. A red, scarf-like piece of velvet encircled the collar. The child turned around, searching for approval in the wolf man's eyes. However, he was not there and the door was closed. He must be waiting outside for her, giving her privacy to change.
She chose the plain black dress because she felt grossly incompatible with the extravagance of other three and could not bring herself to touch either.
When she stepped outside, the wolf man was waiting. His face lit up as he scrutinized her clothing voraciously. Gazing into his eyes, the hungry gray eyes startled her. The little girl froze in her tracks and stared fearfully into the wolf man's dilated black pupils. They gleamed with mad satisfaction. An ominous chill ran down the child's back. She opened her mouth but was absolutely speechless.
"You passed," beamed the wolf man, offering her his open arms, "You really are my Rumia."
I passed? Another uneasy feeling crept up her spine. What if I hadn't passed?
What then?
Impatient, the wolf man lunged forward and grabbed her arm. A silent scream issued out of the little girl's mouth as she was pulled forward. A finger found its way under her chin and tilted her face upwards until she was nearly nose-to-nose with the wolf man. The child gripped the hem of her new dress in terror.
"Rumia, my Rumia! I've finally found you! You had me so terribly worried!" the man's face flushed with happiness as he kissed her cheeks and pulled her into a suffocating embrace. "Oh Rumia! My Rumia! My sweet, little daughter…"
This man is crazy! He's utterly crazy!
The little girl shook with panic and tried to pull away, kicking and flailing with all her might. Her screams were muffled in the sleeves of the wolf man, and her efforts were futile at best. At that moment, the fleeting sense of security she had gained from the dining room dissipated. Her lurking suspicions transformed into full-fledged terror as her eyes darted frantically left and right, looking for escape and seeing none. Instead, she saw the insane ecstasy in the wolf man's eyes. He was lost in his own distorted, fictional world where his daughter Rumia stood before him, lovingly embracing him back.
What happened to the real Rumia?
The little girl intuitively knew that it must have been something horrific.
I shouldn't have trusted him. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious how peculiar and suspicious the circumstances were. A heavy stone dropped in her stomach as her fantasies of wealth were dashed.
Fight! Her insides screamed. Fight him! Fight! The child felt a surge of determination.
"Let go! I'm not Rumia! I was never your daughter! I hate you!" She raised quite a cacophonous din, but to no avail. Panic wormed in her stomach, and the little girl thrashed and convulsed in terror in the wolf man's iron embrace. However, he did not appear to notice and watched her with loving glee. She stared helplessly at his eyes. Crimson threads spread from his gray pupils and webbed outwards through the whites, the seeds of madness sown. Tears welled in the child's eyes and she tore her gaze away from the grotesque, bloodshot spectacle.
"Please…" she gritted her teeth and desperately consulted the help of higher, transcendent beings whose existences she had never believed in, screeching, "Someone! Help me! Please!"
"My daughter," the wolf man continued to ramble, "My sweet little daughter who is only six…"
You're the one with horrible memory, Mother. I'm not six.
I'm not six!
"I'm not six! I'm seven! I'm not your daughter! I'm seven!" screamed the child.
The mad rant stopped abruptly, giving way to an utter, ominous silence.
The little girl's blood ran cold when she locked eyes with the wolf man, and she again regretted her outburst immediately. His viselike grip slackened, and she fell unceremoniously upon the red carpet.
I damned myself. The child realized in wonder. How does someone damn themselves as quickly and absolutely as I have?
The madman's lip curled up in a revolted snarl. A low hiss escaped from between his teeth.
"You're not my daughter."
A whimper tickled the blonde's throat, "N-no I was j-just—" her voice faded feebly under the wolf man's intense glare. A fiery scarlet spread across his face as the madman's features twisted into a horrifying grimace.
"You're not my daughter!" With a scream of frustration, the wolf man kicked the little girl away like a stray dog. Her body slid across the hall and thumped against the blue wall, sending a hollow sound reverberating down the dark corridor. A heavy boot landed squarely on her left hand and ground her knuckles into the floor. The child shook in excruciating pain as the foot cruelly twisted.
"However," the wolf man continued, "you know where my Rumia is, do you not?!" Flipping over a nearby vase, he scattered bloodred petals over the child's crouched body and rammed his fist into the wall after smashing the vase, "Just like the others! All of them!" The ceiling seemed to shake. An inhuman shriek of frustration escaped his throat as he punched the wall again. A painting crashed to the floor in splinters as another hung precariously on one corner. Sweat trickled down the wolf man's forehead as his veins bulged with rage. His throaty breathing echoed down the corridors. The madman roared and stomped once more, causing something else to crash in the distance. The foot shifted away from the child's hand.
The moment her hand was free, the little girl curled into a pitiful ball, sucking her bruised fingers and burying her face into the skirts of her new dress. She sobbed, wailed, and cried while angry steps thumped about her, sending muted vibrations down the carpet. After throwing his fit, the wolf man knelt and seized her neck. Howling like a real wolf, the madman growled menacingly into her face, "You will tell me where she is! Tell me where my daughter is!"
"I don't—I don't k-know!" the child wheezed, gasping for air.
"Just like the other scum! Just like them!" he released her and snarled, "You'll tell me! I'll make you! Just like the others!"
Who were the others?
"I don't know I don't know—!" the little girl sputtered in panic. She was ready to shamelessly beg, as she had done numerous times before a different audience. The child pleaded and whined to unsympathetic ears. She yelped as the wolf man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her decisively down the hall.
"Shut up!" the madman spat, "You repulsive monster! All of you yellow-tongued demons! To think that you could have been my sweet little daughter! How stupid, how stupid…" He continued to fume, "The black dress only my daughter would choose—you chose as well! You were the first to pass and gave me such hope. I truly thought you were my Rumia, but no! You think you fooled me?!" he thundered. "I'm not your ordinary, brainless fool!"
The child dared not say another word. The others? The black dress? Would I have wound up like this anyways if I had chosen another dress? They went around corners, down corridors, and up stairs, navigating the maze-like estate at breakneck speed. Slowly, the pieces fell together. The others were like me, weren't they? They chose the wrong dress. Is that how he determines who is worthy of his mad fantasies? An hour ago, she had thought the wolf man was her savior.
He misses his daughter. And this is how he plans on getting her back,
The little girl shivered.
What happened to his true daughter?
The atmosphere had become heavier and colder. Almost on cue, the wolf man jolted to a halt somewhere in the dark basements of his mansion. He heaved the child against the cracked stone wall.
"You will rot or tell me where my daughter is!" he hissed. They were just outside of a heavy, mossy door deep underground. The moist air made breathing difficult, and she was too shocked to answer. Seeing her silence, the wolf man screamed in frustration and kicked open the door, grabbing the child by the wrist. She let herself be thrown inside the dark room. A sour, fetid whiff hit her nose.
"I will ask you one last time. Where is she?!" the wolf man loomed at the ancient, lopsided doorway. The child buried her face in her skirts and stayed silent.
The wolf man's expression hardened, "I'll ask again tomorrow." He slammed the door, and she was tossed into utter darkness—alone in the silence.