If You Knew

June 19, 1850

Paris
2:37 pm
11 years old Daemon Age

    "Come here, child."

     My footsteps inside the large sitting room echo, the stretch of sweat, blood and something I don't know, filling my nostrils. I cringe away from the smell, but don't dare disobey father.

    My back is straight, and I place my hands inside my pockets so that they don't shake as ai finally reach my father who is sitting in the edge of a high bed, a blanket full of something in his arms while a silently crying woman lies bloodied on the bed.

    Even though I don't want to see it, my eyes keep finding the woman, her body covered in sweat, hair matted and greasy as it sticks to her face. She looks tired and worn, the blood coating the bottom of her night gown seeping into the sheets in bed, almost making her look dead. Father prefers things dead.

     "Silas." I turn my head back towards my father and gulp, knowing that I shouldn't have stopped to look at the lady, but thankful, he doesn't look mad.

    My footsteps echo softly as I complete the last few steps towards him, and once I'm about a foot away, my father shifts so I can see what's in the blanket.

    It's a..... baby.

    My eyes widen in winder as I look down at the small baby, face scrunched up, a tiny patch of black hair smattered across his head. And when I look down, there's still some smears of blood on his skin. So small. So innocent. Fragile.

    My hand begins to reach out to touch the soft hair along his head, but I place it back into my pocket, not wanting to face fathers wrath around the baby. But to my surprise, he nods for me to go ahead. I reach my hand back out of my pocket and allow my small fingers to touch the rosy pale cheek of the baby in front of me.

    I watch in awed silence as the eyes open, squinting in the light, and closing back up with a tiny, soundless yawn.

    "Perfect isn't he?" I hear and I look up to see my father looking down at me and I nod. The baby is perfect. I've never seen once unless it was in the distance, so seeing how tiny and fragile they really are makes him see fake. "Hes meant to be. He is going to grow up to be the son I always wanted in you." My heart drops at the words as my head snaps up.

    "What do you mean father?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

    "You've been a fucking disgrace to me since your mother birthed you. You're nothing but a soft human loving bastard who is no good to me. But he.... Graves, the last resting place of the dead, will be everything that you should have been. Wicked. Evil. Vile. A Daemon, through and through." I watch in sick horror at the living expression on his face.

    My eyes fall back on the body laying on the bed, and I find her eyes are already on me. Her life is draining away quickly, but just as I go to look away so that death may take her quickly, her lips move.

    And she's gone.

    "Graves will be my new heir to the throne. Your little brother. Graves Lilith. Second don to the Daemon King. This world welcomes you my son." My father says down to the sweet innocent face.

    The longer I look at it, the more I know that I will have to finally start doing what I've been fighting against my whole life.

     I have to become my father and take his thorn.

   Graves is a baby.

   So innocent and sweet.

   He doesn't deserve to have someone like him as his father.

   I have to be the one to take the throne so he, my tiny sweet brother can be free of the chains of this world.

    Because his mother's last words were to "Save Him".

~~~~~~~~~~
This story is getting harder and harder man. It's so much going on and so many emotions. How are you guys taking all this information? What does it make you think about Silas?

Thoughts?

Comments?

QOTD: What season do you hate?