Ruins and Evenings

“What do you mean?”

His voice boomed across the still, silent dining room. His voice seemed dark and deep, with an icy coolness which added sharp ages to every word he uttered. All the heads turned towards him expectantly- some expecting the worst scenario possible, the kinder ones hoping for the opposite.

“You know clearly what I mean, brother.”

Her voice was slightly above a whisper, but clear enough to reverberate the chamber. Her cold, icy demeanor paralleled with her smooth, sword-sharp skills of speech. The heads turned back at her, anticipating what would happen next.

The cold, grey halls dampened the situation even more. The chandelier hung like ice crystals on the trees outside the palace, above a polished, smooth, oak table with different delicious delicacies served steaming hot to the whole family. The paintings glued to the walls like windows to different portals; each painting had different shades of red, green or blue, which somehow harmoniously decorated the cold, quiet halls of Lord Damon. 

“I am afraid I don’t, Angela,” Damon answered after a long silence; his voice hinting his restrained anger.

“Do you really don’t, or just choose not to?” Angela smirked, her stony mannerism matching her brother’s behaviors.

Three of the ladies bit their lips, trying to suppress their emotions. They wore gowns of chartreuse and emerald, matched with indigo, long earrings which hung beneath their stylized hair. They looked at Damon from the corner of their eyes; their brother’s brow was already red, with a vein popping out with anger.

“Such audacity….. no wonder they call you…” Damon froze mid-sentence, and looked down at his plate to continue eating. He smiled to himself, with a satisfaction of victory mixed with a pang of guilt.

“Continue. Why did you stop?” Angela replied, her voice brimming with anger. She sat right opposite to Damon; both of them sat at two ends of the table.

The older man looked at them with a sigh. His ocean-blue silk shirt glistened under the light from the candles which lit up the dining room, along with his doe-shaped eyes and grey streaks of balding hair. He looked between them to and fro, conflicted about who to side with.

“Do you really not understand, or….. do you choose not to?” Damon said back, not daring to look her in the eyes. She might be younger than him, but she was far, far intimidating than any of their brethren. Nonetheless, he was amused at his comeback.

“For time being, I choose not to,” Angela seemed to measure each ounce of her words, “Anyways, if you’re done with your mindless babbling, let’s come to the point. Do you, or not, agree at my proposal, brother?” she stressed on calling him “brother,” like a bitter after taste on her tongue. She felt odd feeling such hatred to her bloodkin, to her brother whom she loved more than life itself. Her heart cracked seeing him get colder to her day by day, night by night. 

“I think it was already clear that I have no intention whatsoever to affiliate with your gruesome conquest,” Damon finished his meal, which although was the best served in all the lands, tasted nothing but sand dust to him.

The other two ladies snickered at Angela quietly, enjoying the tension building up. Both of them wore lilac silk evening dresses, which draped each of their bodies as if trying to supress and break their rib cages. Their hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, which seemed to pull up their already enormous foreheads. Their smirks were no more than a thin smear of blood on ghostly pale skin.

“Oh, so you consider,” Angela’s thin, dark eye-brows widened, “carrying out the instructions of our late father ‘gruesome’. That’s....” she mocked, “so, so much like you.”

“If that’s what you think, why bother us with your fanciful ideas?” Damon spat back, seething with wrath. “I am done with the dinner. Good night,” he stated with an authoritative conclusion. “Thank you for your kind visit to our family gathering,” his eyes sharply focused at Angela, “all,” he ended by looking at the rest of the people sitting at the table. He turned his back at them all, stomping out of the halls.

“I am so sorry, darling,” the lady, who was waiting behind the door, smiled apologetically at Damon. She was a couple of years older than Angela. Her gown was crimson-red, which matched the tint on her lean lips. Her hair was also neatly tied up into a bun.

“Why didn’t you enter?” Damon asked his wife, “you were here all along, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was,” she admitted- her voice as smooth as serpentine leather, “But you were.... talking with your sister. Oh, if I knew she would be arguing even today!.... Darling, don’t you worry about what she said. Some people just... love fires,” she cooed, trying to soothe Damon. 

“Yes, darling,” he replied, looking at the closed door behind him and sighed, “you were right. She is colder than December.”

“I know I am, darling,” her voice was barely above a whisper. She tilted her head slightly and smiled to herself, as her eyes trailed Damon walking away into the hallways. 

She felt victorious. Her plan was working. The wedge got even deeper and darker. Her mind envisioned herself with the imperial crown on her ebony black hair, with Damon beside her. Nobody, nobody would defy her commands, nor her demands. She would live the life of posh and princes with happiness and laughter. She was blinded by the lust of power, that she failed to see her crimes. She became deaf to her actions of separating two people who were bonded by blood, even if it scarred the man she claimed to love the most. Nothing else mattered- the well-being of the lands, its prosperity…… One thing that mattered to Deviannah was the Crown, her only Elixir.  

“As I said, some people love fire, but some love it so much that they ignite it,” she smiled inward to herself as she followed her dear husband to carry out her next move.