Interlude: Numbers and blades - Special Chapter: Rebirth.

The girl left the room. And Theodore was left to his wounds and tears. Eventually, he managed to sleep; scared and in pain as he was, he was a child, and falling asleep was always an option.

He woke up before sunrise, sneaked out making as little sound as possible, navigated his way through the mansion, and found the exit. He took a deep breath; the air was cold and aromatic. There was a deep silence that had more levels to it than one could count.

This must be what heaven is like.

However, whenever there was a heaven, there was always a devil to ruin it.

“Follow me,” he heard her voice before feeling her hand dragging his with irresistible force.

He frowned and followed her as she led him to the big room, the one that belonged to her father.

She stopped before slowly opening the door, she took a look, and he felt her grip tighten around his hand.

Is she afraid?

She took a breath and entered the room to see what she’d anticipated.

Signs of struggle, blood, and a dead body… I didn’t think it would be this early.

“Lady… are you…?” He checked.

“If you have time to worry about others, use it to do your job instead. I brought you here before anyone wakes up. If they do, they won’t let you get so close to it.”

Her breath is heavy.

He approached the body, caring not to step on the blood that dyed the floor. Lord Thornwood was sitting on his chair, with a clean and wide cut in his throat, from which flowed all the blood. The same blood that left a track of him being dragged across the room after his death.

After Theodore took note of all of that, he examined the room more carefully and then suggested leaving before someone woke up.

“Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem,” answered Eleanor, “even if they see us, I’ll say that you did it.”

He hoped she was joking and quickly headed to his room, where he waited for the inevitable scream of a housekeeper.

All he had to do was wait.

How hard could that be?

The door opened, and shaking in fear, the child got out and scouted the mansion for any sign of Eleanor. He opened many doors, caught a glimpse of the inside of each room before finding the one that belonged to her.

She’s not alone.
Should I go back?
I’m not allowed to be here.

He entered the room, shaking more than ever.

“Lady Thornwood…”

“My Lady, a guest of yours?” asked Altham.

“He may enter,” she answered.

Theodore walked in, getting as near as his moment of boldness allowed, not much, a big march by his standards, nonetheless.

He looked at the butler, which was more than enough for her to understand his concern.

“Speak, Theodore, I do not hide anything from my butler.”

“Your father…” he said, “how do you…”

…
Nothing.
I can’t think.
I’ve gone too far already.
The path at the tip of my toes is all uncharted.

“How do I?” she smiled teasingly.

How can you smile? How can you sit and drink your morning tea like nothing happened?

She let out a faint, inelegant laugh for a second.

I’m doing it again.

“Your father died!”

Shut up.

“What does ‘get both out of the way…’ even mean?”

You’re not the one speaking.

“It’s none of your business,” she said calmly, “get out of here.”

He walked back and closed the door behind him.

He looked away… no, that couldn’t be the case; there was nothing, or everything, for him to look away from, either way, simply focusing his vision on something else was no option…

Where did Theodore Wycliffe’s gaze fall? To a watching eye, he would seem focused on the bottom left corner of the hallway, a particularly dark one.

Nothing was for him to look at there. Hence, at nothing, he looked.

The truth is, to him, the world was a mirror, and when it reflected nothing else, his own was the only reflection he could see.

“You look weak, foolish, jealous, worthless and pathetic.”

Why?

“Weak for falling here for not the slightest reason to mention. Foolish for coming so far with less will than you need…”

Huh?

“Jealous because, although you hate to admit it, you wanted to be just like her… Instead of being strong, you just assumed she must be weak like you. Worthless, is what you’ve always been, ‘Genius’, ‘Miracle’, ‘Wunderkind’… don’t tell me you believed all that?”

Pa-

“Pathetic.”

Theodore stood up and walked to the crime scene.

The sound of wood cracking quaked through the mansion, summoning all those who were still asleep.

“Wycliffe, what’s happening here?” questioned the teacher.

In response, Theodore pointed at the dead body.

The long-awaited, now provoked, winds of shock and fear finally blew.

“Father!” screamed the killer, Leopold, as Theodore saw nothing in him but a treasury of living evidence, one rich enough that it made his mouth drool. “Who’s responsible for this?”