Romance Fan Fiction ❯ Breakaway: ab imo pectore[From the bottom of the heart] ❯ Chapter-1: She will do for now... ( Chapter 1 )

Breakaway: Ab imo pectore[From the bottom of the heart]

Chapter-1: She'll do... for now..

A tall dark figure, starkly masculine in its width and shape stood silhouetted against the beautiful silver-blue moonlight cascading through the gaping hole in the wall. He had thrown him through this hole with the edge of his sword just after he had plunged a hole through that black heart of his. He lifted the bloodied sword he held in his right hand and felt an overwhelming tingle of victory. He had finally won the battle of three thousand years ago.

He raised his face up to the moon and shut his eyes, feeling, for the first time in his long and dreary life, a ruptured calmness spreading through his veins. He was, at long last, free. Free of the deadly hold the curse had had over him, free to live life again without the pain and the piety of his sister. He opened his eyes and looked down over the cliff side, to where the raging water thrashed and chafed against the blindingly sharp rocks rising up from the ocean floor. His silver eyes turned a deeper shade of steel and his brow puckered in rage. Though he could not see the body, he knew it lay there, slowly sinking to the ocean floor. Returning back to the place from where it had risen; where it belonged.

"I've avenged you, sister. He is dead. He will never come back to haunt us," he said the words, his husky voice solemn and grave. He hung his head, waiting for the exhilaration of curing the curse to die down. Yes, he was happy to be rid of the curse and of finally being able to avenge his sister. But what had revenge brought him? A lonely, hollow feeling deep in his heart.

He felt his chest tighten at the thought of all the lives that creature had taken from him. All that pain, all that fury, it hadn't helped him from saving his sister when she needed him the most. A lone tear slipped out of the corner of his eye. He had killed him, but at what cost? His sister, the only kin he had, was dead. What more did he have to live for?

A low groan punctuated that thought, bringing his attention upon the only remaining soul who was still in the realm of the living, with him.

"Aritasu."

He turned around and just stood there looking at the crumpled form of his maid. Aritasu had come to save him, even when he had asked her to stay away. That idiot. He smiled, a slow, happy smile that brought out the ice-white shards in his silver eyes. She never listened to him. He was going to have to give her that lecture. Again. Not that she would actually listen to a word he had to say about 'Orders' and 'Safety', which she would automatically dub into 'Submission' and 'Cowardice'.

He smiled again, happy to finally be rid of that abominable curse. He was already looking forward to that lecture of his, not to mention other activities of a much more indecent kind of which he had been denied for three thousand years.

He walked toward her and placed the sword on the polished surface of his dresser. His gaze ran over the amount of damage his sword had taken tonight. The blade had several abrasions and the hilt was broken on one edge, where it curved upward. His sword needed fixing and cleaning, but he would get around to that later. First he needed to deal with this penchant Aritasu had for jumping into the middle of a dangerous situation. His eyes lifted from his sword. They widened when he saw the sight before him.

'It can't be! No! Not her! Please....'

~*Two months ago*~

Eighteen-year-old Aritasu Amaya stood in the plushly decorated entrance hall, feeling more dwarfed and more incongruous by the minute. If there was one word to describe her surroundings, it would be: rich, filthy rich. The mansion in itself was tall and must have cost a small king's fortune, but the entrance hall, where most people received their visitors, was huge. It was a round, circular room, partitioned from the rest of the house by shimmering white curtains that billowed whenever a slight breeze blew in.

If the front hall was this huge, she could only guess that the rest of the house looked like. The ceiling was so high above her head, she couldn't help wondering if it just didn't disappear into the sky. But the entrance hall was dotted with various antiquities and intricate desk ornaments that it fairly reduced the size of the entire space. A gold-gilded mirror stood on one wall, just beside the coat hanger and a desk was positioned beside it. After hanging up her coat, she walked over to the desk and perused the contents that were littered upon it, haphazardly. Letters, notes and invitations, not to mention a pile of dusty old books. She blew the dust off the edges, and lightly fingered the cover of the book on the top. It left a slightly curved, clean line down the front. Her finger came away with a faint sprinkling of dust powder which sparkled upon her finger like fairy dust. Her brow furrowed in question at the sparkle, but her mind quickly discarded the matter as just a trick of the light. She reexamined the books with careful precision.

The books were all rectangular and looked at least two centuries old. They were bound tightly in rough, hewn leather. It was soft and rough at the same time. She blinked when she caught the faint scrapings of an engraving on the leather. She peered down and tried to read the odd inscription in the dying light of the sunset, as night approached fast on its heels, filtering in through the window. But still, the words were in shadows and she couldn't make them out clearly.

Her eye was suddenly caught by the faint glitter of a golden ornament lying carelessly on the desk. She picked it up and held it to the light, marveling over the intense craftsmanship. It was a small, oblong-shaped ash tray. It carried recently stubbed out cigarettes and ashes. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

Even the ash tray was more expensive than her. She was poor and knew that she couldn't afford more than the necessary things. She had never begrudged the fact that she didn't have a very expensive or a particularly vast wardrobe. She had only two dresses and she alternated between them. For today she had worn her most becoming dress, the one she only wore to church. It was pale yellow, with a fine golden trim. But yet that didn't come close enough to rival her lavish surroundings. Compared to the luxurious furniture in the front hall alone, she looked like the street urchins outside, who went around begging for coins and sleeping on vacated benches.

She felt like one as well. From the furniture and antiquities littering the front hall, she could tell that the owner was a big spender. What if he took one look at her and fired her on the spot? What would she do then? Would she be able to go back to the church and face Sister Clarence again? Would she be able to explain to Father Lyon that it hadn't been her fault that she had gotten fired the very first day?

She cringed. She owed her whole life to the church. Ever since she had been abandoned at the church steps eighteen years ago, the church had been her home. Sister Clarence had taken the place of her mother in her heart while Father Lyon had taken the place of her father. They and the other children in the home the church ran were the only ones who were her family. Her true family had long since left her and she no longer cared about them. When every orphan who entered the home wished they could find their parents, Aritasu refused to have anything to do with them. She was so consumed with fury and hurt at being abandoned not long after she had been born that she no longer cared if they were alive or dead. She had her surrogate family; she didn't need her biological one.

Sister Clarence had been the one who had proposed the maid position in this mansion, while Father Lyon was the one who had sweet-talked and charmed the housekeeper into giving her the job. He was charming, especially to the ladies, which had caused a great many rows between him and sister Clarence, whom in Aritasu's opinion was a mite jealous of all the women fawning over Father Lyon. She knew that she would've never gotten this job if not for them. Especially since the mansion belonged to the late earl of Kensington, which was way above her head. But since the mansion was situated on the very edge of the cliffs overlooking the North sea, isolated from the city of Kentworth by a good five miles, the housekeeper had been short of staff and much too obliging to take on a poor urchin as the maid.

And who knew how far away this place was? She had gotten lost, following the half-hidden trail to the Mansion, for nearly three hours before she had remembered the stream that she had passed by earlier. It had been dusk when she had finally entered the Mansion. For a servant who had to have arrived nearly four hours ago, she couldn't help wondering if her lack of punctuality would add to her list of faults. And what would Sister Clarence and Father Lyon do if she lost this job as well? She had had been fired from so many jobs in the past five years that she had lost track of them all. That's what came from not getting a good education.

Although the home was sufficiently well-established and brought in lots of donations, the sisters and fathers didn't have much money leftover after they had bought all the necessities for the children, which left them in an emotional quandary where education was concerned. They had taken over the job themselves but it was only so much that they could do. And as Aritasu had found out, there were not many well-paid jobs they could get without a college degree. And Aritasu had proved herself incapable of keeping any of the jobs she had had so far, which wasn't exactly her fault. So she had let the chickens loose in the dining room that one time she had worked as a waitress. It was not her fault that one had flown over and sat on top of the overweight lady who was wearing fake eggs on her hat(who wears eggs on her hat?). It was not her fault that the lady had run from the restaurant, screaming that her brain was being eaten by pack of wild birds.

Aritasu sighed in resignation. She hadn't meant to do any of the things she had done. But still at the rate that she was going she portended a future of begging at every street corner in her not-so-distant future.

"I don't believe that'll fetch a very nice price, Ms. Amaya," a gentle voice said, pulling her from her worried thoughts. She turned around slightly and felt like she had been punched in the gut. A really beautiful women in a long, very clean, violet sundress stood in front of her, her head cocked to one side in quizzical amusement. If this is what the housekeeper looked like, she couldn't help wondering how the master of the house looked like. She had long beautiful brown hair that shimmered around her shoulders and beautiful gray eyes that were twinkling in amusement. And although she didn't wear any ornaments, nor was her dress very decorative or expensive, the lady was really glamorous and graceful.

Aritasu chiding herself for just standing there gaping at the lady, narrowed in on what she had said. Aritasu looked at the ash tray she still held in her hands and felt herself blush. The lady had caught her staring at it and the ash tray was now clutched tightly between her fingertips, looking as if she were in fact weighing the cost of such an expensive ornament.

"I... I.... didn't mean to...," she trailed off, her face flushing a deep magenta. She stared at her feet in shame. Oh, God, how could she explain this away? She probably looked like a thief in her rough, patched-up clothes and raggedy suitcase, which she clutched preciously to her side, or at least someone who was in desperate need of some cash. She looked up through lowered eyelashes. The lady didn't appear overly angry or snooty. In fact, she looked like she was amused by it: appearances and raggedy-dresses and all.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Ms. Amaya," the lady reminded her gently. The lady really had the most softest, beautiful voice Aritasu had ever heard. It sounded as gentle as the music produced by Hamilton's harp. Hamilton was one of the children who had recently arrived to the home after his memory had been wiped clean after a motor accident. But he was the most talented of them all, and played almost all of the instruments the church had. He was their sound coordinator for Sunday mass.

"Ms. Amaya, you're really trying my patience."

Flustered now, since the lady looked like she was getting angry by the second, she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

"I was worried that you'd fire me, mistress." Shit! Well, it was the truth, and the lady couldn't exactly condemn her for speaking the truth.

"Why did you think I would fire you?" the lady asked, sincerely curious to hear the answer.

Aritasu hung her head in embarrassment, although it was shame that tinged her cheeks an unbecoming color that wavered between deep pink and light orange. "Because I don't exactly look like a maid."

"And how would a maid look like?"

She looked up to see if the lady was jesting with her, but the lady was genuinely baffled. "Well..." She pointed to her coarse, patched-up yellow dress and hung her head again, shamed that she couldn't have more money to make herself up for this interview. "Well... for one, 'twould seem that your furniture is more beautifully made up than me." What had she been thinking? This raggedy, old thing would be enough to get her the job? In an aristocratic house? She was delusional, surely.

"You needn't worry that I'll compare you to my furniture, and that they'll outrank you in your job specifications." The lady laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that made Aritasu catch her breath in a short gasp. She didn't know why, but whenever the lady looked at her with those soft gray eyes, she felt out of breath. She also felt a slight tingling in her stomach. Nervousness, surely, but still... There was something in the way the lady was looking at her that sent tingles up her spine and made her feel hot, cold, nervous, comfortable and a slew of other emotions that she really didn't want to put a name to.

Although if she was sane enough to understand the situation and looked at it objectively and with an open mind, she knew that that tingling in her stomach was from desire. For the lady. Absurd. She shook her head. She must really be going crazy from the desperation of wanting to keep this job.

She suddenly felt hot and cold just at the thought of…. Her and the mistress….

She flamed a deep red. Suddenly desperate to change the topic, she blurted out the question that nagged at the corner of her brain.

"My lady, if you don't mind me asking, how did you come by this exquisite furniture?" She picked up a delicate Chinese vase from it's pedestal beside the small desk in the front hall. The design was so intricate and delicately done that she afraid to touch it, but at the same time she was loathe to put it down. It felt so good in her hands, cool and smooth and beautiful. "Did this vase come all the way from China?"

The lady turned away from her, her back stiffening suddenly. Aritasu couldn't help wondering if she had asked the wrong question. The lady seemed kind of stiff and unbending suddenly, which usually meant that she was upset about something and wasn't exactly willing to talk about it. Aritasu gently placed the vase on the scarlet cushion placed on top of the pedestal to provide a soft bed to cushion the vase.

"Did I say something-?"

"My brother took over the decorating of this house when he came of age." Her tone was strained and hinted at a measure of grim solemnity about the entire topic. Aritasu couldn't help wondering what had happened to the brother that could make the lady so sad.

'Wait a minute! Did she just say that her brother decorated this house when he had come of age? Did that mean...?'

"Mistress, are you the housekeeper of this house?" Aritasu asked just to be on the safe side.

"Housekeeper?" the lady looked astonished, but a moment later she burst out laughing. Guess that's a no. Aritasu blushed for what felt like the millionth time this morning. For a girl who never blushed, she was sure making up for lost time. Was there never an end to the amount of mistakes and misconceptions she could make in one day? She looked up at the lady, trying to guess if she was insulted by Aritasu's careless mistake. The lady looked down at her, smiling mischievously.

"Don't worry. I'm not insulted by such a common mistake." She turned to pass through the curtains and motioned for Aritasu to follow. Aritasu obeyed and followed her into a wide, circular hall. On one side of the hall, a tall marble staircase, curved gently, leading to the upper floors, apparently. On either ends of the hall were two passages leading to the lower rooms. They were also curtained off and dark.

"You see, Mrs. Morioko, had to leave on an important errand, and since we are short on staff, I decided to welcome you on my own. My name is Sakura Midou and I'm the lady of the house. I'll explain your duties to you now and give you a tour of the house, so you can get settled in. Shall we start?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, she turned and swept her arms in the general direction of the passageways on either side of the hall. "These rooms are the lower rooms in the house. The rooms on the right are the drawing room and the parlor and the study, while the rooms on the left are the kitchen and the pantry. Now don't look so shocked. Ms. Amaya. We can't keep going back and forth to the city and so we usually buy all the supplies once a month and store it in the pantry."

Aritasu nodded.

Sakura pointed to the top of the staircase, to the point where it disappeared into the sharp curve of another hallway.

"The rooms on the second floor are mostly guest bedrooms and empty storage rooms. Your job lies within these two floors. You'll clean, sweep, dust and do everything to keep all the rooms in these two floors spotless. The kitchen isn't among your duties since that territory belongs to Mrs. Morioko." She turned and started to walk up the stairs when Aritasu hailed her.

"Mistress!"

Sakura turned around and looked down at her. Her gray eyes glittered like sharply cut diamonds and Aritasu suddenly felt self-conscious. She felt hot too. Again.

"Sakura, please."

"Yes, madam... uh, Sakura. I wanted to ask you something. Why do you live so isolated from the city? I mean, with the way this house is furnished and the precedence your family title has amongst the commoners, I'm sure you could afford a palace in the very centre of the city."

"Yes, I'm sure you are correct. But this house is our inheritance. We can't bear to part from it."

"We?"

"Uh... my brother and I."

"Your brother lives here too? The one who decorated this house?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounded non-committal, almost vague as if she were thinking about something else that pulled her presence mentally, away from this place and time. Sakura turned away from Aritasu, her back stiffening again. Aritasu mentally cursed herself for bringing up the topic of her brother. She made a note to herself never to speak of it and followed her mistress upstairs.

At the point where the staircase curved into the upper hallway, Sakura suddenly turned around, her face pale and her eyes unfocused. She looked at Aritasu as if she were seeing right through her. Suddenly, for just a glimmer of a second, Sakura's eyes became constricted into distinct pinpoints and became translucent. With a groan, she started to fall forward, but Aritasu quick on her feet, acted on instinct and caught the lady around the waist. But her good luck didn't seem to holding today. With a loud scream that echoed through the old, and empty mansion, she tumbled down the staircase, cradling the light bundle against her body as if she meant to protect it from the grievous fall with her own.

She groaned as her body hit the steps one at a time; the plush carpet pinned to the hardwood floor of the stairs helping somewhat in cushioning her fall and from giving her any serious wounds. When she finally reached the bottom of the staircase, she collapsed against the floor, her arms stretched wide on the floor on either side of her. Sakura lay cuddled against her body, clutching the frills on the front of her dress as she meant to hold onto it like a life preserver. Aritasu breathed hard, looking down at the small, almost porcelain features of her new mistress' face. Sakura's cheeks were ashen, and Aritasu felt a distinct pang of sympathy and compassion for the poor mistress. Tiny beads of sweat trickled down Sakura's brow and her hair was damp from the sweat running in rivulets down the sides of her face. Although Aritasu hadn't seen it before, she could see it now: her mistress was very, very ill.

The Mistress suddenly started shivering, her skin becoming more and more sweaty. Without giving it another thought, Aritasu curled her arms around Sakura's waist and closed her eyes, sighing from the pleasure of it. She could feel her mistress' heartbeat, pulsing light and slow, but still remaining persistent in its promise of life within this light, frail body. Aritasu, felt warm again, and she smiled, enjoying the warmness of the body lying on top of her… It almost felt like… almost like a… man…

Mine… A silent oath echoed in her ear, whisper-soft and so seductive that Aritasu was momentarily stunned and seduced at the same time. She groaned and buried her nose deep into the fringes of beautiful, silky brown hair splayed over her face and neck from the fall... So sweet and so…

“Ahem” A loud clearing of throat shattered the moment of elusive sexual haze that clouded her mind from all things sane. With a light yelp, she jumped up, trying to get to her feet. But with the weight of Sakura on her, all she could manage was a halfway-awkward-kneeling. Cradling Sakura in her lap, she gave the old lady standing over her a sheepish smile. She was sure her face would be tinged a permanent magenta if she kept this up longer…..

“What are you doing here?!!! Hauling the mistress, like that…?!!!” The old woman's kindly blue eyes sparkled with tremulous anger. ”Are you some kind of sick pervert, trying to take advantage of our kind Mistress….?!!!!” Aritasu truly did not know how, but suddenly the old lady had a broomstick in her right hand and was about to strike when the Mistress suddenly groaned and rolled over on Aritasu's lap. Instantly the broom fell to the floor with a soft pang and the old lady rushed over, her great white-blonde bangs flying behind her as she rushed and kneeled beside the Mistress, taking Sakura's hand in between two of her crinkly, old ones. She peered down at Sakura, her expression concerned, almost fearful about the state of the Mistress's health. It was something akin to the look a mother gives her sick child when she's sure that her child didn't have long to live. The concern softened the hard-lined features on the lady's face, and Aritasu was finally able to witness the deep abiding love and loyalty this old woman possessed for the mistress. The softened her opinion of this woman somewhat from shrieking killer banshee with a broomstick to kindly, loyal mother hen.

“Are you the-?” Aritasu began, but was stopped as a damp cloth landed squarely on her nose and mouth.

“What the hell are you still doing here?!!!!!!! Get the mistress to bed, will ya?!!!!!!!!! She's very ill!!!! And press that damp cloth on her forehead!! That'll lower her fever a little! Come on, come on, get up faster!!! We have important work to do here!!!”

Guess you can't take the shrieking banshee out of the loyal mother hen! With a resigned sigh, she slowly walked up the stairs, carrying the small bundle in her arms, holding it against her chest as if it were all the gold in the world. Aritasu could once more feel the frail heartbeat, beating in a pulsating rhythm that was sync with her own.

Just hold on, Mistress… we're almost there… you just hold on!