January 3rd, Tuesday
Ansidara woke up to the morning light that glistens against the glass window of his bedroom. The gentle light basks around him, turning the white walls of his room a warm tangerine tint as he lay motionless. He stares at the apricot ceiling for half a minute before awkwardly rubbing his eyes. He slowly lowers his hand to his side as he turns his head finding that a maid is beside the window.
She stands straight, her crisp eggshell white button up shirt neatly ironed. Her fragile hands fidget with anxiety, she seemed to want to fix her small satin bow that was tied around her neck.
Ansidara's cruel dark eyes catches the small movements.
She hastily settles her hands beside her long black skirt, masking her anxiety with pure serenity.
He finds the expression irritating.
The maid begins to speak. “It is currently forty three degrees outside, the highest temperature today will be sixty degrees Celsius. You must leave the house-” Before she could finish he throws a chiffon white pillow across the vastness of the room and the delicate feather filled pillow misses her head by only a hair.
She flinches at the surprisingly strong gust of wind that swipes her jet black bangs to the left.
He perches up onto his elbows as he lets out a soft groan and a loud crack of his wrist. “I thought I told the staff no one is allowed to wake me up.” He gives his "I swear I'm a nice guy" smile.
He bores his dark eyes deep into her. She wisely looks to the marigold tinted floor instead.
“Y-yes,” she stutters “But your father.”
He throws his head back as he chuckles in pure amusement of the woman's ignorance. “Is father in the house?”
“No.” She mumbles in a feeble voice that did not match her rigid stance.
Ansidara sits up, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at the tangerine tinted ceiling. “Yes and how old do you think I am?”
She fidgets at the question. “Eighteen.”
He moves his legs out of bed only to find they were tangled up in the silk smooth sheets and the thick warm comforter that covers him. He kicks his feet free throwing them out of bed and into his fluffy beige slippers that were carefully placed beside the pine green bed skirt.
He rose from the soft bed to his full height of six foot one. With three large strides he meticulously crosses the immaculate white carpet to the maid who cautiously takes a step back. She did nothing to conceal her eyes that were filled with blossoming fear and a hint of scruple.
“That’s right,” He smiles wider, his almond eyes crescent. “I’m already eighteen,” he says leaning down to match the maid’s height. “So when my father and mother are away I am obviously head of the house.”
She opens her mouth, her carmine lips turning into an o' as she begins to form the next words, but before she can utter a single vowel Ansidara speaks first. “You probably think Somnium and Lousia have authority over me,” His voice was smooth and rich as he spoke. “Don’t you?” She almost nods as her head bobs slightly. “Well guess what,” he grins devilishly. “They work for me,” he grins wider. “I can tell them to leave this house and they will do so without hesitation.” He places his hands on his hips as he leans forward. “Granted they may rat me out to my parents but honestly what can my parents do? What could they teach me that would make me a better person at this age.” He turns away walking back to the bedside. “I can wake myself up to go to school, thank you.” He turns back around settling onto the bed with an immeasurable amount of believability.
“Run along and tell the rest of the staff.” He smirks.
She gives an obedient unsure nod once before rushing out the great large mahogany door.
He scoffs in amusement while turning away from the wooden door to the large crystal clear window she opened moments before.
He tilts his head in interest, watching as the sun rose above the horizon and into the smog covered sky turning it a saffron red.
He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as he listens to the silence of the great huge house that felt nothing like a home.
Ansidara glides down the long marble staircase in his crisp feather white button up shirt, raven black slacks, and his rosy red blazer. These restricting articles of clothing were the mandatory uniform he had refused to follow until senior year of high school. If it wasn't for his fifteen year old brother, who was the Sophomore Governor, President of nearly every club he joined, and smartest student in his grade, he would have ignored his nagging and never wore the uniform.
He reached the bottom step of the stone staircase smiling at the slick white marble floor that reflected his appearance. He throws his attention from the shiny floor up to the shimmering crystal chandelier. The carefully crafted shapes, gently caught the delicate rays of sunlight that danced through the large window at the top of the staircase. The rays of sunlight became entangled in the extravagant crystals sending a kaleidoscope of warm vibrant colors against the white floor and the adorned walls. The chandelier hung over the grand entryway watching over every single person who had ever crossed beneath it. It reminds Ansidara of a sentinel that observed the house’s front door in peaceful silence.
With a measured turn of his head, he watches in amusement as part of the house staff on the second story balcony cleaned the chandelier, their long poles quivering with an intense anxiousness as they try to avoid his unavoidable eye contact.
They were all scared of him, as they should be.
Ansidara was always sensitive to the emotions of others for two reasons. The first being his families wise teaching that to know what another person is thinking is one of the highest advantages you can have. So ever since he could speak they had began to teach him how to tell what a person was thinking. The second reason was that within the deep confides of his being, lies a special ability many had dreamed and fantasized about for thousands of years. An ability he dare not tell anyone.
He calmly walks across the grey, veined marble floor toward one of the large double doors that were finely detailed in golden angels and intricately carved saints that he knew little of.
All he did know about the door was it once resided in a European castle from the fifteenth century. In other words the door was far too old to possibly still be used, yet it still was, typically with the utmost caution, of course.
He shoves the doors open with a strong, hasty push that startles the staff behind him. Past the large doors seamless threshold a new room opened to him. The grandest ballroom of all his parent's estates.
The staff swiftly wax the imperial gold granite floor as they did every Tuesday, hoping to perfect the stones shine to an unbelievable shimmer.
Ansidara forms his lips into an o’ as a slow tune comes to his head turning into a beautiful whistle that echoes off the stone walls of the brightly lit ballroom. He smiles at the turning heads that wondered what Ansidara Tore could possibly be whistling about. He carefully unties his shoes continuing to whistle an old tune from a song no one could have possibly known anymore. He slips his black sneakers off one at a time as he carefully takes a step across the granite floor. His sock covered feet become frigid against the icy stone that didn't have it's heaters on.
He strolls across the long dance floor, thoughtfully turning his head to the right where a grand floor to ceiling window took up the portion of the whole right wall. The windows were constructed much like a mid century contemporary modern home a means of allowing the lively nature outside to come into the home, almost like the room extended to the outside. He always found the window a bit strange considering the exterior was an almost neoclassical style a stark contrast to the window.
He looked past the clear pane sighing in deep admiration of the beautiful white tiled courtyard that was scarcely scattered with large trees and evergreen viburnum there was also the many pieris japonica, and euonymus bushes.
He looks to his left where a set of windows lined the wall. Each long narrow window was about sixteen feet high and exactly eight feet apart, each one is made with window panes so thin you think they'd break at the gentlest of breezes. He turns his attention away from the windows to a staircase in front of him that was not nearly as grand as the entryway but just as lovely as it descended from the second story balcony of red velvet curtains to the first floor, opening at the last three steps into a wide arc.
Just as he reaches the end of the grand ballroom a set of red velvet curtains were opened from above.
A group of young maids emerge sighing as they lean against the dark wooden banister above. “Good morning.” They smile with pearly white teeth.
He fakes a smile then waves once. “Yes. It is a great morning now that I have seen you ladies.” The girls burst into a flurry of giggles as he passes below them.
In Ansidara's young mind there are only three options people could choose from when meeting him. One become his admirer, two stay quiet if you hate him but respect him when in his presence, then there was three, the option only fools chose, voice your opinions and risk getting hurt.
He pushes through a set of large wooden doors behind the stairs.
'Now there's a fourth.' He tells himself as he enters the dining room. 'Yes, the newest option only one person has been able to receive.' He thought to himself. Voice your opinions and gain Ansidara's interest, but this option could only possibly exist if Ansidara, the benevolent King, had been interested in the subject before their first encounter.
He ignores the truth of the fourth option, looking around the large dining room that is covered in royal blue carpeting. He shuffles across the smooth carpet placing his shoes underneath the
table as a butler pulls a dark cherry wooden chair out for him. He gently lowers himself into the chair comfortably sitting upon the vibrant mustard yellow cushions he had upholstered himself.
He recalled the memory of that day, when his father had said. You stained the red ones. So you will upholsterer the new ones. He remembered that his father’s voice was calm but still held a certain loudness only a five year old could feel from their father.
At the time he had hated the idea. He had in fact cried for hours as he tore off the original red cushions with scissors and pliers far to big for his hands.
A world famous furniture designer supervised him with calm calculating eyes before asking in a soft voice. "Would you like me to show you again."
Even at such a young age he knew the woman felt sympathy for him. So much sympathy that she ran the risk of losing a good job like teaching Ansidara Tore how to upholsterer. All because she felt the fire engulfing guilt that his father was making him do all of the chairs except for one.
He clearly remembered as he was finishing the final chair his index finger and thumb had become numb in the dim light of the golden chandelier above. He sat silently all alone in the dining room, his legs crossed as he focused on a strange new passion that bloomed within his chest. The frivolous art of sewing.
A small voice behind him broke the silence making him prick his finger.
"Do you want help?"
He whipped his head around only to see it was a maid’s three year old daughter named Rose. He looked up to her strawberry blonde hair, her gentle sea sage eyes that held so much sympathy and kindness. Kindness he felt he could never gain no matter how much he tried.
He scoffed at her insolence. "You can’t, you’re just a baby." He turned away from her calculating eyes that watched him with growing curiosity.
"You messed up." She said pointing to a stitch that went crooked.
He turned to her glaring hard before giving her the needle. "Then you finish."
She smiled her round cheeks lifting up as she took the needle and finished the final seat with an incredible speed he could never match. "Done!" She smiled with all the innocence of an angel and the brightness of the sun.
A porcelain plate clicks against the wooden table snapping him out of his memories and back to the harsh reality that such simple things from his childhood were now a luxury he could barely afford.
The butler stands tall giving an overly fake smile as he speaks. “Breakfast is a simple bowl of oatmeal with seasonal toppings.”
“Thank you.” Ansidara mumbles with a nod.
The butler gleefully left him as he Ansidara stares out the window, watching the brown trees rattle in the distance like bones set out in the roaring wind.
He directs his attention back to the chairs finding that the only sound in the whole universe was his fork clicking against the plate with the loudness of a lion's roar in the silence of the dining room.
Silence was deafening in its own form and he hates that, but he also hates the loudness of the fork clicking against the plate. What he wanted was something perfectly in between. He didn't like being alone, though he did not consider himself neglected like some may have assumed.
In the end he decides to ignore the ideas as his dogs run into the dinning room from a door in the corner which led to the music room.
“Hello girls.” He beams petting both of their heads. "Wish me luck.” He smiles brighter. “I'm about to befriend the coldest person on Earth.”