“Father,” said Edward, bowing his head and kneeling. His face showed no emotion nor did it portray anything that he may have thought. Edward’s voice was monotone, allowing an air of eeriness permeate the room. Unlike before, candles lit the room, even if only by a little.

His so called father looked down on his kneeling figure from his ghastly throne. His blue eyes scanned Edward thoroughly as if he was a warden while Edward was a prisoner. The seated man cleared his throat and, after a long period of silence, spoke. “I heard that you have this country boy friend.”

He paused but he didn’t get any word or mumble from his son. His eyes traced the wall patterns. “Heidst is his name, eh?”

No reply.

The man on the throne once more trained his eyes on Edward. The boy looked down on the cold floor and kept his gaze there. The man started again, “… Heidst… Heidst… Heidst…” As he chanted the name, his face softened suspiciously. “Say, do you know this Heidst boy’s origins?”

Edward, for the first time, gave a reply—a quick and shallow nod. Aside from his breathing, his father’s breathing, and the crisping noises of the candles, no sound was apparent. But that silence was quickly broken. “Heidst… Don’t you think that name’s really uncommon?” questioned the father.

Once again, the son didn’t reply. The father gave out a snort and looked towards the ceiling. The candle flames danced about and, suddenly, the tiny flames of the candles erupted into thick jets of fire. Edward held his breath while the flames nearly singed him.

The father took no notice of Edward’s condition. “But… then again, parents are really going wild with their children’s names…” he muttered. “Kronis, Laccim, Shi… A bunch of weird names have popped up…”

The raging flames dimmed, allowing Edward to breathe out a small sigh of relief. His father, however, was not done yet. “Yet… Heidst… I can’t help but feel something wrong about your newly made ‘friend.’” His cold blue eyes stabbed Edward’s small figure. “Don’t you think that your ‘friend’ seems a bit suspicious?”

Edward’s answer was immediate; he shook his head. The father raised a brow. “Hoh?” he let out. He squinted his eyes. “Not even an inkling of doubt?”

For the first time since he last said anything, Edward spoke. “None at all.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Everything.”

“Elaborate,” demanded the man on the throne.

Edward took a deep breath and looked his father straight in the eye. “His actions… they’re too much like a child’s. He laughs whenever he wants to, he cries whenever he feels like it.” He paused. “He… he’s too honest to be a spy.”

“It could just be acting…”

“Then he’d be a damn great actor.”

“Language, young man,” reminded his father.

“Yes, father.”

*** *** ***

Now that he thought about it, no even before he thought about it, something was wrong. At first it seemed to be all great. He was born and his parents loved him. But as he grew older he noticed the strained atmosphere in his home.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

It wasn’t too obvious. No, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It was a real chore to chance upon it. However, once he felt it, he couldn’t get rid of that eerie feeling. The forced smiles of the servants, the growing isolation of his father, the disappearance of his mother, the muteness of his sister… It all magnified it.

“Go away,” he said.

But it didn’t go away. In fact, it seemed to spread even more.

“Stop it,” he cried.

But it didn’t stop. It just grew.

“Disappear,” he muttered.

It grew. It grew. It grew. It grew.

It was suffocating. He didn’t want to feel it anymore. He wanted something better. A solution. Or at least a reprieve. He always wondered what caused it but it was so meticulously hidden that he couldn’t find it.

“Die,” he commanded.

*** *** ***

“Hey,” said Edward to a passing servant, causing him to stop. Edward looked towards the garden on the left. The servant did the same and looked towards it. “Don’t you think that the garden’s beautiful?”

“It is indeed, young master.” The servant nodded.

“Drop the young master,” bellowed Edward. The servant looked surprised but at the same time his skin began to whiten. With a nervous face, he said, “I cannot do as you ordered, young master, as this one is truly below you to call you anything not worthy of your respect.”

“Why so?” Edward asked.

Sweat rolled down the forehead of the servant. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it and then opened his mouth and closed it again. This repeated for about three times when the servant finally decided to speak. In a shaky voice, he muttered something too softly for Edward to hear.

“Sorry, but can you say it a little bit louder?”

“Young master, it’s because…” The servant’s voice grew weaker and weaker until it could not be heard again.

Annoyed, Edward gave the servant a disapproving look. “Come on now, you’ve almost got it.” He said it as if he was speaking to a child but it seemed like the servant didn’t seem to mind or notice. The servant just stood there while looking down with a rather ugly countenance.

“Young maste—”

A rush of footsteps was heard and the servant stood up and dramatically paled.

“I truly am sorry, young master, but I have to go.” With that he quickly turned and fled.

“Coward…” Edward indignantly whispered. Though, I wonder, was I like that too?

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Author's Note: I'm back! At least I think I am... but whatever! Welcome back to this story which seems to have no goddamn progress! Hooray! Though in all honesty, I really suck at this thing called plot progression... :(