Morbid Symphony

Doubtful

Sometimes people take advantage of my weaknesses, and that's why I can never trust anyone.

My eyes were starting to flutter open. A bright light was shining across my face. I blink wildly, at whomever was flashing the light.

"She's awake, boss," A soft voice says. I look at the petite woman kneeling beside me. My look darts from her to her "boss".

"Good." Her boss tells her, as he motions for her to leave. She stands up, hand in hand a silver tray, with all sorts of silverware. As she left, his eyes slowly rests on me. I could sense him looking deep into my soul.

"I am very sorry about what Tar did to you." He says gently, as he pats a damp towel over my forehead.

I sat up, and look at him skeptically. I know that he is waiting for me to say something, but somehow, I have lost my voice. My hands immediately searches for my throat, and luckily, it is still there.

"But, need not worry. He won't be doing it again." He says, as he stands up, and hands me a silver glass.

I hesitantly take it, and look at its contents.

"Oh, darling, it's safe!" He says, as he takes it from my hands and gulps down half of it.

I nod my head at him, and take a sip into the glass. I study his face. It was mostly made out of stress lines, and wrinkles. I'm expecting him to be eighty years old, give or take a couple of years. And he looks kind enough to help me.

"I'm Gregor Boss, by the way," He extends out his arm to me. I place the glass down, and I happily take his arm, and shake it.

I open my mouth to speak, but realize that until now, nothing comes out. He laughs at my gesture.

"It's alright, dear, no need to speak." He smiles at me knowing-fully, and he stands up.

"You must take your rest now. I will be leaving, but I'm going to check up on you once more later." He closes the door behind him, and I was left alone, in a dim room.

I look at the room around me. It had book shelves all over, and there were tons of silverware too. I could tell that Gregor is one rich man, for him to afford all this.

I lay my head back, and I can't help but think about what lays outside these walls, and where this is located.

My eyes were starting to shut, but all of a sudden a large thud sound erupts from behind the door. I felt tempted to go and see what it was, but felt the need not to.

A couple of moments later, someone comes in. A couple, I suppose. Since they were both holding hands, as they went in. They both jump, as I accidentally knock over the silver cup. They both let go of each other's hand, as I glare at them.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" The blond girl asks, as she took a couple of steps forward, her hands on her hips.

I just stare at her, hoping that she'll realize that I am mute. At least for the time being.

"Why won't you answer me?" Her British accent annoys me the most.

"I think she can't speak, Criselda," The boy tells her, as he grasps her arm. She pushes him away, and walks towards me.

"Granddad never lets anyone outside of the family into this room!" She points her index finger accusingly at me, and I move back, as a sign of cowardliness.

"Criselda, just let it go. I'm sure your Grandfather can explain the situation." The boy says, as his semi-long black hair covers his wonderful green eyes.

"Look, Peter, it's not your business, so butt out! You're just my fiance, and that's all you are. You don't have any right in family business!" I could sense that Peter was hurt by Criselda's choice of words, and I would too, if the love of my life had said that to me. Except, of course, the love of my life is already dead.

She takes a couple of steps closer to me, and says, "Whatever reason why you're here you...you...peasant, should be a good one."

She bangs loudly as she leaves the room, while me and Peter stay hanging in silence.

"I'm sorry about that." He says to me. He takes out a piece of paper, and hands me a pen. "Here, you can talk this way."

I quickly scribble something down into the paper.

"What that was all about?" He repeats my question. "Well, it's hard to explain, since, well, I'm not immediate family; as Criselda puts it, I'm just her fiance."

I take the paper from his arms, write something down, and hand it back to him.

"I can't tell you that, I'm sorry." He hands me back the piece of paper, and leaves the room.

Once again, I am alone. Like I have always been.