Mansion of Caged Dreams

Romania
1872

Chapter One

The street glossed with rain, and not one person to be found. Light rain tapped the window of the cab. There was only one thing Fran’s eyes were drawn to. A tall mansion, the only one in this pitiful town. This is has to be the place. It has to.
A horse-drawn cab stopped in front of a large mansion, a large mansion that unfolded the new future of her. Fran, a girl who just left her home in England, struggled to get out of the cab. When she carefully stepped out the ribbon of her dress got caught in the door. Fran tugged at the ribbon, trying to release it free, she stomped her heel on the ground and yanked it. Only half of the blue ribbon survived.
With one whip to the horses made a rough grunt and dashed away from the mansion. With the blue half-ribbon flowing behind it. Fran frowned when she finally stepped closer to the Gothic mansion, she felt a cold feeling on the sole of her shoe.
This mansion is at least a century old, considering the architecture. A cold feeling slowly began to spread, Fran looked down to find herself in the center of a puddle. Fran groaned and avoid touching the muddy water as she waddled her way to the mansion.
The gate was a rusty-red, and the lock was beaten. People must have wanted to break in… or maybe they were trying to leave. She yanked on the gate, it wouldn't budge, she rolled up her sleeves and pulled the gate with all her might, Fran fell to the ground when managed to open the gate. Fran got up and began wandered through a garden of roses. Unlovely and wilted.
From the corner of Fran’s eyes, she could see a graveyard on the side of the mansion. Her breathing quickened and she averted her eyes to the ground. Why would they ever need their own graveyard. Just how many people have died? The mansion was beautiful, nonetheless, but it also possessed an eerie atmosphere.
Fran stumbled upon by what was once a beautiful water fountain caked in dirt. The water was littered with crumpled leaves and small insects. Goodness, they certainly need people to clean.
Fran entered the main entrance door and stared up at the skyscraper’s spiraling staircase her ‘family’ had. The ceiling higher than Fran had ever imagined. Certainly, her mama had never mentioned anything like this on Fran’s trip to Romania. She was here to visit step siblings that only recently Fran has discovered. Those siblings, by the looks of it only two, stood on the top of the stairs, towering over her.
“So you’re our sister?” scoffed an older fellow, her ‘long lost step brother.’ She didn't believe it for one second. Yet, Fran did follow Mama’s advice.
Fran and her mama were desperate for money. They weren’t poor before, but after seeing how much universities cost, they might as well be. Her mama had suggested seeing the father that had disappeared from Fran’s life, her mama had talked about how rich they were. In a far mansion in Romania thousands of miles away from their homeland England. Fran prepared, even learned Romanian just for this trip. That’s how determined Fran was to go to university. To her, university meant a future. And that’s all she could have ever wanted.
There are two step-siblings, one of them about twelve years old. The girl’s eye color was a piercing scarlet red, her pupils were slit. Much like an animal, a cat or a snake maybe. Fran couldn’t help but stare, something this unusual was certainly not in England. Not even human perhaps. Her hair was oddly wavy with giant curls at the end. It was obvious they are related because of their hair. The girl wore a headband with a big purple bow perched. There was some resemblance, they both had wavy hair. Fran’s hair was black as ink.
Looks like Mama might be right, do I want her to be right?
The other one looked about eighteen, younger than Fran. He looked rather average. Brown eyes with short black curly hair. Fran stared at him, trying to find at least one distinctive thing or unusual. Other than the black curly hair that seemed to run in the family not a single thing stood out.
“Chose any room from this mansion, there are guest rooms on the bottom floor. I’m sure Avon could prepare a feast,” the little one said motioning towards her brother, “he is the head chef.” She paused for a moment, “Don’t be surprised if he sneaks poison into your bat porridge.” Fran gagged at the thought.
“Bat porridge? Thank God we don’t let you into the kitchen.” Avon glanced down at the younger one.
Perhaps she was joking, but still had a crude sense of humor. Bat porridge? Fran doubted that bats were edible, or at least Fran didn’t think that putting a bat into porridge was the greatest idea, to begin with.
Fran cleared her throat. “May I ask for your names?” They looked puzzled by her question. She heard whispers coming from the kitchen. From the few words she picked up, Fran became subconscious of her accent.
“My sister,” he rethought, “our sister, is Dement, I’m Avon.”
“A pleasure to meet you, my name is Fran.” And I thought my name was odd, who names their kid Dement? She was lead from the main entrance to the next room, the kitchen. Fran, having lived in England, spoke English. She knew exactly what it meant. ‘Out of mind’ was the definition of this peculiar word. What did those words imply baffled her.
The kitchen was the of a size small restaurant, they had a cauldron the size of a hot tub and shelves filled with odd bottles with unlabeled liquids. A book, thicker than walrus skin was laid on the dining table. A chef and a few others were cooking them. The kitchen itself was monochrome colors. The walls were as white as paper, and the kitchen had a long table, where the servants ate. This was only the kitchen so the dining room would look far better.
“A cauldron?” Fran began to giggle. As she was taking her seat she was still smiling. “I thought they were only in children’s books.”
“I’m surprised you even came all the way here. Once people heard what happened they ran for the hills. I’m sure the townsfolk all created silly rumors about what happened to this place. You know how townsfolk are with their theories.” Avon said.
Fran leaned closer. She cocked her head, trying to read their faces better. “What happened?” Once again another question was left ignored.
A maid nearby answered, ”people mess with the unknown. That’s what happened.”
She grew silent. Everyone is crazier than I thought. Why did I ever think leaving England was a good idea? I even had to learn Romanian just so I can stay with some crazy family. Fran pondered her past decisions. She glowered at the book as it floated across the room, flying until it hit the walls.
Fran straightened her back and cleared her throat before she asked, “may I ask who is the owner of this house? In other words, I want to see the man who my mama claims are my father.” For once she was tired of being ignored and invisible. Or at least to her she certainly felt invisible. She found the voice that brought those in the room to look at her. Maybe it was courage, whatever it was, Fran liked what it did. People glanced at one and another, uncertain how to answer such a question. Perhaps they thought that Fran would have never asked.
“I’ll escort you.” Avon solemnly said. The two went into the hallway. They went out of the dining room and back to the main entrance. The chandelier still glowing an orange hue. Fran walked ahead to the stairway, she felt like a royalty walking in such a mansion. The stairs were steep but manageable, Fran did not mind, however, if walking up steep stairs meant getting the money for education than she would happily accept. Not only that but Fran disliked complaining, after all, she's treated like a true guest.
Once they had reached the top step Avon took a sharp right turn, Fran running behind trying to catch up. The hallway never seemed to end. Fran was beginning to wonder if this was all a cruel joke and that the owner was not anywhere near this direction. Yet all that doubt ceased when they reached the last room. Fran could faintly hear Avon taking a deep breath right before he turned the knob.
The door unlocked and there was a humongous room. In the room was a large painting of what she assumed was her father and her step sibling's mother. “That painting is my father, Mr. Putere, and my mother, Mrs. Putere. You won’t be meeting Mrs. Putere, for she had died in the last two years I believe. I’m afraid I lost track of time.” Mrs. Putere had pursed lips and blonde straw hair. Her jaw line was sharp and there was a visible wrinkle on her forehead. Her nose long and angular, her eyes had a distant look. On Mrs. Putere’s right was her father. Mrs. Putere was the opposite of Fran’s warm, loving mama that Fran had left in England.
Fran blinked twice as she was taken back by the things Mr. Putere and her had in common. Mr. Putere had the curly black hair that Avon had. That apparently all of his children had. He had dark circles in his eyes and Mr. Putere was staring at something to the side, his eyebrows bushy and his nose long. He had a small mustache, groomed and well-kept. None of the two were smiling, if anything they looked like strangers who already loathed each other. What a childhood Avon and Dement must have had if they're raised by these distant and cold looking parents, Fran thought.
Next to the painting were newspaper articles. One read: ‘Man Receives the Family Fortune,’ the other, ‘Man is New Owner of Mansion.’ These two articles had a golden frame to them, while the painting is a normal frame. Apparently, all Mr. Putere cared about was getting the money.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Avon had gone to the door in the way back of the room. He knocked loudly. “Fran’s here.”
Mr. Putere emerged from what looked like another room. He looked identical to the painting. Mr. Putere ran his fingers through his curly hair and squinted his eyes when he saw Fran, where she awkwardly stood, staring at the man who had not once been a part of her life until now. Now she was relying on his to get the money. Fran thought about how that this whole trip had been about the money, perhaps she really was like her father. Maybe she truly greedy like her father. That having anything in common with her father was the last thing she wanted. For a bit, they stared at each other not saying anything, not smiling nor frowning. Just pure silence.
“I apologize, the only reason why I allowed you to come here is because I thought that Fran was short for Francisco. I could see how mistaken I am…”
She shook her head no. “I am sorry sir, I hope that it’s was not a disappointment. I have come here because I need to go to a university back home in England. I was thinking that maybe you could just spare a penny or two.” Fran managed to squeak. Fran’s voice was delicate and she could feel her shoulders shrug in a way that reached all the way to her ears. Speaking up was never really Fran’s talent.
“Absolutely not. I’ve already had too many crazy lunatics claim relation, so might as well pack your bags. Now if you excuse me but I need both of you to leave. Your arrival interrupted something important.”
“Well at the very least I wanted to know more about this place and about the whole family.” Fran blurted out as Avon grabbed her by the arm and forced her out of the room. Is it a crime to want to know more about my history? Fran asked herself.
When they walked out of the room Avon disappeared and Dement greeted her outside. “As our brother helps make our food, I thought it would be a pleasant surprise to show you something I’ve been doing,” Dement beamed as she took Fran’s hand. “Not many people volunteer to watch.”
Dement’s room was straight across from her father’s.
Dement, she looked everywhere, the Ruffles in her dress, the side table. Dement cried as she jiggled the lock, “I must’ve left the key in my belt!” She slapped her forehead.
“I can’t just call Talaz to get it. Actually, I think he’s trapped in there, too.” Oh goodness, how can a twelve-year-old casually say that there is someone trapped in her room, is this a common thing in Romania! Fran felt shivers thinking that there were more hostages in the rooms. One per room.
“Who’s- nevermind.” Does everyone here have strange names? Must be a Romanian thing. Though in England every guy has the same name. Fran’s mind wandered off into the spectrum of names, and how common they all are in England, she made whole lists of who she knows, three Oliver’s, seven George’s, and six Harry’s. And those are only the ones she met that whole year.
Fran stared at the lock, she pulled on the door and it swung open slamming a wall with a bang. Dement eyes widened and glanced up at her sister. Fran was just as shocked as her sister but shook it off as a coincidence.
“You should have been here sooner. This isn’t the first time I locked myself out. Sometimes I do it for fun and practice.” Practice for what? Does this girl pick locks or something, why would someone train herself to learn that?
The first thing Fran perceived was the smell of death, powerful enough to feel like a slap in a face. The room was a tad bit smaller than the kitchen. The wallpaper looked as if someone desperately clawed to it, ripping off some of the decors.
A tall wooden stand stood there with a… humongous eagle creature/ beast/ thing! Fran let out a scream, one that echoed through the room. Fran covered her face with her arms, Fran couldn’t bring herself to look. The eagle screeched back, which made her yell an even louder key. Not once has Fran seen a bird like that, the bird must have been one of the largest bird in all of Europe. Maybe in the world. The tails feathers are white while the rest of the bird was brown. The talons and beak were a really bright yellow.
“I see you met Talaz. Isn’t he just a delight?” Dement beamed. The abnormally large eagle flew off and perched on her arm. “Damn, I left my belt and gloves in that room. Oh well, what are few scars going to do?” She simply shrugged.
“A few scars? That bird’s wings look taller than any human I’ve ever seen. With those talons, they could decapitate someone. Maybe.” Fran felt her hands shaking, was that a bead of sweat? No, couldn’t be. Fran stepped back until she whacked herself against the wall. Her hand searched the side table.
“I don’t suppose I could,” she gulped, “leave, perhaps?” Fran’s voice grew shaky.
“We were just getting to the fun part,” Dement whined. “No one ever cares about what I do. I had hoped you were different.” Fran sighed and dubiously nodded. Dement grew a wicked smile. “Works every time.” Dement giggled.
Dement went to her bed. She managed to squeeze herself, including her puffy skirt, under the bed, only to return with a fishbowl the width of the bed, She smiled faintly as she held it up.
Fran was happily surprised to see the exotic fish, the colors swirled in a school of fish. Far more fish than any pond had. All the fishes colors radiated off into the room, the colors of purple, blues, reds, and yellows spiraled. “Such a beauty you have,” she mumbled as water splashed around. The carpet became soaked.
The more Fran squinted at it, she could see all the gills glistening in the light, all the fish’s eyes were black. Was it always like that? Fran asked herself.
It was beautiful if the smell of fish wouldn't have been too strong, it smelled as if the ocean was minimized into a bowl.
Dement gleefully brought out an odd belt with weirdly shaped pockets filled with even more peculiar objects, knives, and various more sharp things. from one of the cabinets. In it was various bottles, similar to the ones in the kitchen, and, not only that, but larger knives. This must have been the belt she was referring to earlier.
Dement raised her hands and suddenly, fish flew out of the water, Fran could feel water sprinkle across her face as they moved around in the air. Fran ran her fingers through her combed hair, seeing if there were beads of water that fell. A marvelous swirl of colors was in the air, like birds. Fran never seen fish out of the water, she did not even think it was possible, surely they couldn’t breathe. She was raising her hands with the fish… almost like Dement was controlling them. Fran’s could feel her mouth dropped wide opened.
“This is impossible.” Fran whispered under her breath.
Dement wasn’t finished with her show. “Someone wise once told me that nothing’s impossible.” Fran was speechless. “Especially when you’ve known the Putere family for quite some time.” Dement pointed at herself and winked.
“Ugh, this getting exhausting. Time to put this to an end.” She cracked her knuckles, Dement put down her hands, sending all of them back to the fishbowl safety.
She gave a smile as if nothing odd has happened.
Fran felt herself reaching for the doorknob, with only one finger on the cold yellow knob. She felt compelled to leave as fast as possible. What in the world is this strange place they call home?