The Criswell's Curse

While his pride still recovering from last night’s blow, unprecedented news darted through the mansion, causing him to be in a situation he utterly hated and despised. As his father’s gaze fell upon the commotion outside, caused by the birthday of one of the butlers, Bradley darted into his personal chambers, surprising him slightly. His thin blonde eyebrows furrowed down seeing his son losing all sense of etiquette – the one thing he’d spent years of his life teaching him.

“Father, what do you mean the marriage date was set!?” Frustrated, he tried to keep his emotions at bay. How could the engagement still stand? Hadn’t he been rude enough to that spoiled brat?

Something felt wrong. Amanda was becoming distant, and yet, things seemed to go against his wishes. Could someone else have meddled? Were the strings being pulled by someone he couldn’t see?

“Duke Criswell came earlier today... his offer was very tempting. That’s all you need to know.” That cold, heartless expression on his father’s face was something Bradley had always witnessed, even when he was a child. It wasn’t something new, yet it still made him cower in horror, forcing him to swallow his words.

Slightly reluctantly, he muttered up some courage. “How much? How much did he pay you?”

“This matter does not concern you!” That man saw him as nothing more than a puppet, a pawn to be used at his command.

“You must reconsider!” On the spur of the moment, he ended up saying something he shouldn’t, regretting it a second later.

“Are you giving me orders, Bradley Trace!? I am still the Duke! Do you need to be reminded of your position!?” His loud voice made his son’s hands tremble. His bright green eyes glared down at the boy standing in front of him, belittling everything he stood for.

All Bradley ever wanted was to be recognized, just like his brother once was. But he knew that, since that dreadful evening ten years ago, nothing he did would ever be enough for his father. No matter how hard he tried, how good he was, he was still worthless.

Almost reflectively, his knees banged on the floor, his head resting on the carpet. “No, Father, I apologize for my rudeness. I spoke out of place.”

“Leave. I’m sick of seeing your face.”

And he obeyed. Like a well-trained dog, Bradley quickly exited the room, leaving the blonde-haired man to his affairs. Throughout the years, he had done everything and anything his father asked of him. He accomplished things no one thought of daring to achieve, and yet, that man’s eyes were always emotionless, like a bottomless pit of despair.

Whenever Bradley craved for something, fought for something, that man’s words would brand him like piping hot iron: Know your place. Verbal teachings that were imbued into his body with the company of regular beatings, scarring his body, heart and mind.

The study room’s doors opened in a swift movement, forcing the several loose sheets of paper to fly to the carpeted floor with the burst of wind. An intense amount of sunlight entered through the transparent windows from the two sides of the rectangular shaped room, allowing for a certain warmth to be created inside. Tall bookshelves, rising onto the pale ceiling, were attached to the remaining walls, displaying how much the young noble had read in his lifetime.

“Amanda... you should know your fucking place...” With gritted teeth, his hand strongly punched the hard wall, creating cuts on his knuckles. Shards of wooden pieces fell, dirtying his shoes.

Three things.

His father. Being toyed with. People who don’t know their place.

Those were the three things he hated most in the world and yet, both sisters had made a fool out of him. Somehow, his hatred was fully driven to the crimson-haired girl, turning his indifferent feelings into something far more vindictive. The image of his hand crushing Amanda’s skull on the wooden floor, forcing her to beg for mercy, allowing the vivid red blood cleansing her ugly hair, was repeating itself on his mind.

“Yes, that would teach her...”

Without noticing, a woman in her mid-twenties had entered through the half-opened door. In her calloused hands, a large food tray filled with delicacies stood. Swiftly, she placed it on top of the tall desk.

“Master, I’ve brought your meal.” She bowed down, forcing Bradley’s attention to shift towards her. “If you require anything else, please let me know.”

As she was turning, the nobleman grabbed her wrist, forcing her to face him. Shock and acceptance. That’s how she dealt with her feelings, indifferently.

His lips began moving, as some seemingly magical words left the core of his soul. “Vera... you truly are beautiful...”

Her master’s hands caressed her cheeks rather roughly, but, contrary to most ladies, the servant hid her horror through a very thick, unbothered façade. She had served the Trace’s for years and, for better or for worse, she knew the sins of this fallen angel.

“You know your place, don’t you? Why can’t Amanda be like you... Vera?”

She simply remained silent, allowing the noble to vent anything he wished on her, knowing there wasn’t another way to slither out of this situation.

“Beautiful... extremely beautiful... that’s why I love you Vera, you know your place...” Suddenly, Bradley’s honey-coated words became loud, enraged, but even then, the maid remained apathetic. “You know, you are nothing but a filthy peasant, and you act like one!”

“Yes, Master.”

Noticing her resolute expression, the amusement on his lips disappeared causing his grip to dissipate and to shove her off, allowing the woman to finally leave. No one outside the mansion knew about the horrifying personality of Carlyle’s son. He loved beautiful things, but this beauty wasn’t material like most thought it to be. Humans that followed his father’s teachings faithfully, beings that knew their place in society... those were the prettiest of them all.

And yet, here he was, going against his father’s wishes because of an insolent girl who he couldn’t seem to despise in the slightest. She went against everything he believed; she pissed him off and yet; she was constantly on his mind.

“Ophelia...” And there she was, slipping through his soul once again.

He wants to marry me into the Criswell’s, so it shouldn’t matter who, right?

Quickly, Bradley grabbed a loose paper and a light brown quill, a brand-new idea in his destructive mind. His fingers carefully shaped the words in his head onto the sheet, displaying his not-so pure intentions. “Vera!”

The maid, who was calmly waiting outside, as she often did for most of the days, opened the door. Her master was stretching his arm with a beautiful, carefully written envelope in his fingers. A sweet fragrance of lavender on it.

“Deliver this to the Wharton’s and prepare my carriage. I must visit a friend.”

Gently, the maid removed the letter from his grasp, bobbing her head before leaving. Thus, moments later, Bradley was all alone in the study, pleasantly thinking about how satisfying Alvin’s frustrated face would be. From all the enemies Duke Criswell expected to create, Bradley Trace was the one who hadn’t been accounted for.