Ruin (The Rhodes 1)

It’s beautiful.

Not like the beauty of Mother’s smile or the little stupid things my cousins Tristan and Thia find beautiful. More like the beauty of the scars in Aunt Ariel’s wrists.

Whatever Father is doing to Victoria is beyond beautiful. It’s mesmerising. I can’t look away.

The blood flows red and vibrant, like the colour of the flowers in Grandmother’s garden while in full bloom.

Is Father perhaps like me? Is it hard for him to find things beautiful, too?

Father turns around. My body jerks back to blend with the wall. My hands fly to block the sound of my breathing. Instead, another warm palm covers my mouth.

My eyes widen, hands clenching into fists.

“Shh.” Aunt Ariel faces me, a forefinger on her dark-painted, thin lips. She readjusts a shotgun on her bare shoulder. “Come with me.”

I shake my head. Mother doesn’t like me getting close with Aunt Ariel. She said Aunt is a bad influence and wants to ruin my relationship with Mother.

Aunt Ariel glares at me. “Either come with me or bear Arthur’s punishment.”

Father’s punishment is trouble. Despite liking darkness, a night in the dungeons isn’t my idea of fun.

“Okay,” I murmur.

Aunt Ariel’s blacker-than-the-night eyes glint as she takes my hand in hers. The firearm is tall enough to reach her knees. Although I’m eight, I’m on her shoulder level.

“Are we going to hunt?” I ask, following her hasty steps through the hallway, back to the sleeping chambers.

“No, my dearest nephew.” She throws me a grin over her shoulder, her voice as haunting as the mewling still coming from Victoria. “This will be a lot better.”

We slip into her room, and her hand finally releases my clammy one. She turns to adjust a vase of purple anemone flowers, the only break of colour in the otherwise white marbled and decorated room. Aunt hums a tune of stormy nights and snowy days. It floats in the air and reaches me in the form of a shiver down my back. The room smells like the far end of the estate, our ancestors’ hall, and winter. Barren. Lifeless. Dead.

Aunt Ariel’s pale hands arrange the flowers with undivided attention. Due to the lights, her wrist scars are angry, a lot redder than they usually are. Beautiful. Enchanting. Freezing.

Aunt never wears long sleeves in the quarters. She always shows us her cuts with a proud glint in her eyes. Us, includes me and her pet jaguar. My cousins and Dylan aren’t allowed near her.

Mother disallows me to spend time with her, too, but Father makes me.

I like the beautiful cuts on Aunt’s wrists, but I don’t want to disappoint Mother.

With silent steps, I inch to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her stare, colder than a winter night, pins me down.

My hand drops from the doorknob. “Nowhere.”

Aunt smiles, coldness persistent in her features. “Listen carefully, Aaron. Tonight, you and I will save this estate.” She unleashes the shotgun from her shoulders, sits on her favourite white leathered chair, and motions toward the one facing her. “Sit down.”

I walk with heavy steps. The icy blackness of Aunt Ariel’s eyes sends a current of pulses in my ear. Where’s Mother? Didn’t she say she would always be there for me?

The squeak of the leather breaks the imposing silence.

Aunt Ariel leans forward, taking my eyes captive with her relentless ones, her voice monotonic. “Everything is spiralling out of control. Your mother and Alexander are doing their best to turn our heritage into a disgusting happy cliche. Of course, your father and I won’t permit that, will we? Only your father seems to have caught the ‘Eva’ disease. He refuses to kill your mother. No matter how much I tried to convince him. That’s why he allows you around me, I can mould you in any way I like as long as I don’t hurt your snake of a mother.”

“Don’t call Mother a snake.” I glare, ignoring her scowl.

“Don’t defend her!” Her skin reddens but she soon cools down, her voice soft. “She’s a normal boring human, Aaron. Just like your uncle Alexander and his stupid family. Arthur and I aren’t. You’re like us, dearest nephew. Special.”

My mouth dries, but words still roll out from my lips. “How are we special?”