Alone, a young man sat in his new office. The lights in every other room had already gone out. The house had been redecorated. White and brown was his choice. A fresh start was what he needed. Memories haunted him. But he knew they'd never go away.
The room was a mess: shattered glass, papers, pens, and books were scattered across the room. The desk he was slumbered on had led a consistent trickle of wine that the laminated floor collected in a growing puddle.
The brown double doors creaked open slightly and slowly a maid stepped forth from the dark.
Her eyes scanned the room before she stared at the young man for a brief moment.
It isn't his fault Tracy, it isn't his fault, she told herself, before beginning to clean up the mess he had made.
It didn't take her long to do so, as she was used to the chore by now, and when she had finished, she walked over to the window to take in the beautiful view, looking down onto the countryside's peaceful nature; something she did every night to relax her mind before she took herself off to bed.
Before she could close the curtains and turn around, she felt the young man's body pressing against hers.
His hands wrapped around her waist and she looked forth at the reflection in the window. The dark reflection didn't allow her to understand what state he was in, so she carefully broke his hand from off of her stomach and slowly turned around to face him.
The young man was always too unpredictable for her to know what to expect. All she knew was that he was troubled soul.
"When will you see that you aren't well?" She whispered softly as she looked into his bloodshot, hazel eyes.
She waited. Expecting something. Anything. No reply.
For a few moments they stood looking eye-to-eye. His face always held a heavy darkness to it, and his manner was full of a wild danger. Everybody around the City of Kresten had heard of him. Unstable, but smart. Everybody had heard rumours. But nobody really knew him.
Madam Tracy was first to break the eye contact and her slow retreat left the young man alone again.
Mr. Ward Junior watched her walk away and, after downing a glass of wine which had been on his desk since the morning, he walked out of the brown double doors leading to the grand entrance hall and retreated to his private bathtub.
After running the water, he undressed and slipped in. The silence was something he longed for. Alone he felt comfortable. Alone he knew he didn't have to hide.