Crash!!

Cale Henituse awoke to a huge ruckus throughout the manor.

-creak

With the door creaking open, odd for a house full of wealth, young Cale peeked through the crack made between the double doors, when rushed footsteps briskly passed by him in a hurry.

He knew that figure.

'Papa...?'

Swift and quiet, he bolted after the man, leaving the door ajar.

The hallway was dark and cold. Moonlight filtered in through the window panes.

A full moon.

Since ancient times, a full moon had always been labelled as an ill omen.

Absently thinking, he chased after the running adults. Silently, Cale creeped after his father's running figure.

"Count, right this way!" The head maid exclaimed. Her face was as white as a bedsheet.

What's going on...?

He did not know why, nor did he understand. He simply felt the need to hide, for this unpleasant feeling in his stomach tightened the moment he thought of calling out to his father.

Hurriedly, silently, they rushed through the dark manor, with only the bright moon as their source of light.

This is...

He came to a stop. Hiding at the corner, he peeked, eyes wide with both fright and curiosity.

Silver beams bounced off the crimson strands of his hair, the red and the white mingling with the trick of the light.

They had reached the foyer.

It was deserted.

He wondered, if he should also venture outside the doors of the manor.

'Won't Papa get mad...?'

Conflicted, he hugged his knees to himself as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

'Should I go or should I not?'

Weighing, thinking, half lidded eyes stared at the doors that were left agape, the cold night draft blowing in the halls oh so freely.

Woosh

'It sounds like a ghost.' He mused. Sighing, he stood up, ready to follow his father outside, when the servants' whispers reached his ears.

"--don't be silly, Liz."

"I'm serious! The Countess got into an accident, Annie. They said she will not be able to make it."

...What...?

Shattering, crumbling, young Cale's world came to a stop.

***

Cale ran.

It's a lie.

He ran through the gardens, where his mother's red roses were planted.

Mother might have just fainted.

He ran, past the hedges he was so fond of jumping on.

Lies.

Past the exclaiming servants.

It's all a lie!!

Past the downtrodden knights.

It's just mere gossip!

Past everything that stood in his way.

Lieslieslieslieslieslies-

Huffing, panting, he stood a few steps away from his father.

His father who was kneeling down on the cold dirty ground.

'Eh..?'

He was crying.

He was wailing.

Long strings of crimson were vibrant against the silver moonlight.

It was his mother's.

'It's Mama...'

Relief flooded him. She's only sleeping.

Certainly.

Truly.

Why is everyone being so dramatic?

Slowly, he tiptoed behind his father, who had been blocking his view of her.

"Fa-"

A sharp intake of breath.

A heavy silence.

His eyes stung, as he saw her limp and unmoving.

Her face was white, skin sunken and cheeks missing its healthy hue.

Her lips were blue, awfully different from the usual rosy pink.

....she's only sleeping...

She's supposed to only be sleeping.

Why...

Why was she like this?

***

Cale Henituse's world, life, and passion broke apart the moment the lady of the house passed.

Quickly, like a passing bird, Jour Henituse's soul left without warning...

***

Clouds rumbled overhead, the wind pulling up the orange autumn leaves into the air in a small, formless dance.

The sun was setting, and Cale Henituse stood behind his father, face blank, heedless of the cacophony of sobs and whispers spearing at him from all around.

He does not have time for the barking of lowly dogs.

Today, he must focus on Mother and Father.

Everyone else and everything else is insignificant-

"Cale."

Eric Wheelsman patted his shoulder, but the redhead boy did not look at him.

Unblinking, young Cale stared at his mother's white coffin.

He stared.

And stared.

He was lifeless like a marble statue in the Henituse estate.

"Our love and deepest sympathies to you and your family."

Eric's eyes watered as he spoke words of comfort. He could not do anything else, and he was well aware of it.

Painfully so.

Closing his eyes, he prayed.

For his friend.

For their sanity.

For everything, really.

As a friend and as a fellow noble of the Northeast, it was the least he could do.

***

It was odd.

Before this happened, Cale thought of funerals as a drag.

A trifling and boring drag.

It really feels different, when the matter at hand is related to himself.

It hurts.

But, he cannot cry. Father was already crying for the both of them.

It was enough.

"Young master, it's time to leave." Ron softly spoke from beside him, the ever so competent servant staying by his side the whole time.

"Ron?"

"Yes, young master?"

"I think Father would appreciate cinnamon tea when we get back. Can you prepare it for him?"

"Of course, young master. Leave the Count to this humble servant."

A curt nod.

With the autumn leaves crunching under their shoes, they left.

***

Bang!

Cale flinched as he peeked from the cracks through the door. 

Father's office was a mess.

The lamp was upturned, papers were strewn across the floor, it was as if a tornado swept through it.

Crackle!

Plip plop

Thunder rumbled from the night sky while the raindrops fell into the soil. A light pitter patter, until it slowly turned into a roaring storm.

A broken ink bottle laid near the door, and Cale could not help but think that the dull shards were similar to the broken fragments of water called rain.

All of it was broken, just like Father.

Cale Henituse's heart ached.

He could see how Father looked so so wilted.

Tired.

Defeated.

Drained.

It was as if the life was sucked out of him, and he could not do anything about it. He knows very well, that the very sight of him makes Father feel pain.

The sight of his hair.

His own smile.

What else could he do other than hide himself?

He must focus on Father. Anything else is insignificant.

***

Rumbling, pouring, 18 years old Cale was drenched as he drank his whiles away underneath the man eating tree.

Sobbing.

Crying in anguish.

His whole pathetic life made him wish to have the earth just gobble him up and die.

Sobbing.

Wailing.

He spoke his regrets, each and every one, as he drank the expensive yet tasteless wine. Both he and the sky were crying, as if both had agreed that life was too difficult.

Cale kept drinking.

The rain kept pouring.

His heart felt like it was torn in pieces.

His life really turned from daylight to darkness, with the disappearance of one lady.