Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2013 21:40:51 GMT -6
Restlessly, endlessly, stumbling and falling, picking himself up and falling again, Romano wandered the halls. He was beside himself, thoughts running through his head in an infinite loop.
My brother is dead.
I've gone insane.
My brother is dead.
I've gone insane.
Those were the only two options. There was no alternative. He had seen it with his own eyes: Veneziano's ghost. He had spoken with him, watched his wispy form be swept away by the wind. The phantom had claimed that he was merely a figment of Romano's imagination – a shadow that took the form of his brother, be it by some trick of the manor, or born of the intense loneliness that swallowed Romano as he wandered the halls.
Go inside, he said… He could still hear Veneziano's voice, clear as bells. It isn't safe, he said… He could still see his troubled face, tearstained and eyebrows contorted in more pain than Romano could imagine. But nowhere is safe in this goddamn mansion! Nothing can be trusted!
Not even my own brother.
He couldn't wipe that thought from his mind. What if it had been real? What if his brother was dead, and he didn't even realize it? Romano felt sick to his stomach, doubling over with hands tangled in his hair where they had been since he left the the desolate excuse for a garden the manor kept outside. Had he lost his other half? His better half? Could he have spoken with him, the dearly departed, so coldly in his desperate cling to the hope that his brother was still alive somewhere in this manor? Or perhaps some small part of him had felt Veneziano leave him, and the specter really had been his imagination, illustrating the loss that was harsh reality? The notion made him stumble yet again, falling to his knees as another anguished cry escaped his lips. My brother is dead… No sooner did the words form in his mind than the pain welled up in his chest, this time as every time before it. It was like a knife was thrust into his heart, and twisted a little further with every word. He pulled at his hair, the sobs choking him as the tears he thought had run out continued to fall from the corner of his eyes.
Nothing can be trusted… Romano had no conclusive proof. So far as he knew, Veneziano might be alive. It was all so unclear, he wasn't sure what to believe. He hadn't encountered anyone in so long. Perhaps his all-consuming solitude really had made him snap. With no one but he and himself, he had longed so much for companionship that he had an imperfect vision of his brother to speak to, to keep him company. He was just talking to himself, and nothing more. Could he be doomed to wander alone forever, entertaining himself by talking to shadows on the wall? It was a heavy and dreary fate, but much preferred to the survivor's guilt that came with the loss of family. If I could be sure that Feliciano was alive and safe, I wouldn't mind being alone forever… Once more, he lifted himself off his knees. Once more he shuffled down the halls in his endless wanderings, peering into rooms and letting out a strained "Feliciano?" in some vain hope that his brother would be on the other side of the door. At this point, he didn't care if it was his actual brother or an illusion. He just wanted someone to talk to. I've gone insane… A wry smile stretched across his face as he barked out a laugh and opened one more door.
"Feliciano…?" he called out, papers fluttering from the wind as the door swung open. Books and papers were everywhere, it seemed, with a large writing desk sitting in the center with all the prestige of an altar. Unable to resist the temptation, Romano circled around to the other side, eyeing the red velvet chair as though it could sprout jaws at any moment and swallow him whole. When no such thing happened, he was almost giddy as he plopped in the kingly seat, scooting up to the desk and propping his elbows up, tapping his fingers together like he had a master plan. Alas, he had no plan. He wasn't sure where he was going – not in this manor, nor even in his own thoughts.
My brother is dead… His mind made yet another loop, head collapsing on the desk in front of him. His fingers wound themselves in his sweat-drenched hair yet again as he shook violently enough to shake the desk, too overtaken by agony to notice someone enter the room. Have I gone insane?
My brother is dead.
I've gone insane.
My brother is dead.
I've gone insane.
Those were the only two options. There was no alternative. He had seen it with his own eyes: Veneziano's ghost. He had spoken with him, watched his wispy form be swept away by the wind. The phantom had claimed that he was merely a figment of Romano's imagination – a shadow that took the form of his brother, be it by some trick of the manor, or born of the intense loneliness that swallowed Romano as he wandered the halls.
Go inside, he said… He could still hear Veneziano's voice, clear as bells. It isn't safe, he said… He could still see his troubled face, tearstained and eyebrows contorted in more pain than Romano could imagine. But nowhere is safe in this goddamn mansion! Nothing can be trusted!
Not even my own brother.
He couldn't wipe that thought from his mind. What if it had been real? What if his brother was dead, and he didn't even realize it? Romano felt sick to his stomach, doubling over with hands tangled in his hair where they had been since he left the the desolate excuse for a garden the manor kept outside. Had he lost his other half? His better half? Could he have spoken with him, the dearly departed, so coldly in his desperate cling to the hope that his brother was still alive somewhere in this manor? Or perhaps some small part of him had felt Veneziano leave him, and the specter really had been his imagination, illustrating the loss that was harsh reality? The notion made him stumble yet again, falling to his knees as another anguished cry escaped his lips. My brother is dead… No sooner did the words form in his mind than the pain welled up in his chest, this time as every time before it. It was like a knife was thrust into his heart, and twisted a little further with every word. He pulled at his hair, the sobs choking him as the tears he thought had run out continued to fall from the corner of his eyes.
Nothing can be trusted… Romano had no conclusive proof. So far as he knew, Veneziano might be alive. It was all so unclear, he wasn't sure what to believe. He hadn't encountered anyone in so long. Perhaps his all-consuming solitude really had made him snap. With no one but he and himself, he had longed so much for companionship that he had an imperfect vision of his brother to speak to, to keep him company. He was just talking to himself, and nothing more. Could he be doomed to wander alone forever, entertaining himself by talking to shadows on the wall? It was a heavy and dreary fate, but much preferred to the survivor's guilt that came with the loss of family. If I could be sure that Feliciano was alive and safe, I wouldn't mind being alone forever… Once more, he lifted himself off his knees. Once more he shuffled down the halls in his endless wanderings, peering into rooms and letting out a strained "Feliciano?" in some vain hope that his brother would be on the other side of the door. At this point, he didn't care if it was his actual brother or an illusion. He just wanted someone to talk to. I've gone insane… A wry smile stretched across his face as he barked out a laugh and opened one more door.
"Feliciano…?" he called out, papers fluttering from the wind as the door swung open. Books and papers were everywhere, it seemed, with a large writing desk sitting in the center with all the prestige of an altar. Unable to resist the temptation, Romano circled around to the other side, eyeing the red velvet chair as though it could sprout jaws at any moment and swallow him whole. When no such thing happened, he was almost giddy as he plopped in the kingly seat, scooting up to the desk and propping his elbows up, tapping his fingers together like he had a master plan. Alas, he had no plan. He wasn't sure where he was going – not in this manor, nor even in his own thoughts.
My brother is dead… His mind made yet another loop, head collapsing on the desk in front of him. His fingers wound themselves in his sweat-drenched hair yet again as he shook violently enough to shake the desk, too overtaken by agony to notice someone enter the room. Have I gone insane?