I rose abruptly from my bed, a sharp exhale escaping my lips as the memory of the bruises and old cuts from past abuse resurfaced with painful clarity.
Each step I took toward the mirror felt like eternity, the dull ache in my ribs slowing me down.
My thin, pale chest, once unblemished, now bore faint scars, evidence of the cruel hands of the maids and the Duchess herself.
The offense of being ignored by the maids this morning ignited a simmering rage within me.
They had deliberately chosen to ignore my room, disregarding me.
Their cowardice to even pretend to respect the fifth son of the Duke was as infuriating as it was pitiful.
How utterly pathetic.
As I caught my reflection, I noticed my black hair tumbling over my forehead, longer than I normally preferred.
It was tousled and unkempt, but somehow it framed my small face with a certain wildness.
Grabbing an old, dusty brush from the surface of my dresser, I began to run it through my hair, each stroke a small act of defiance against my circumstances.
I tied my hair back into a half-ponytail, allowing the remaining strands to cascade over my shoulders, the side pieces gently framing my face, giving my eyes a striking intensity.
After tending to my hair, I wandered into the dimly lit bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to rejuvenate my fighting spirit. I brushed my teeth with a battered old toothbrush, then stepped back into the main area of my sparsely furnished room.
Moving to the tiny closet, I rifled through the meager selection of clothing and selected a shirt and a pair of black pants that had seen better days.
As I discarded my pajamas, I slipped into the threadbare trousers, which hung loosely around my thin hips. The fabric felt rough against my skin, and as I tightened the belt, I couldn't help but feel a sense of degradation.
Shabby and ill-fitting, these clothes were beneath the dignity of a Duke's son, but life in this household had stripped me of any semblance of worth or pride.
I pulled on the oversized shirt, frowning as I noticed its transparency in the mirror's reflection. Turning to examine my back, my stomach dropped when I glimpsed a shocking sight. I froze, disbelief washing over me. No way.
I fully turned to the mirror and cautiously shrugged off the baggy shirt, letting it hang from my shoulders and revealing my back.
A startling array of soulmarks ran vertically down my spine: seven symbols etched into my skin like ethereal tattoos glowing faintly in the light.
The markings were delicate, shimmering softly in hues of silver-gray against my pale complexion, as if they were alive and whispered secrets. The intricate designs formed a perfect, flowing trail along my back, resembling a script of ancient origin.
I reached behind, my fingertips trembling with a mix of awe and fear as I traced the contours of each mark.
They were unique, each telling its own story: the first was a spear plunged into calm water, a symbol of strength and depth and then the second going down was a fox mask, intricately adorned with swirling patterns and jagged edges, signifying mischief and deception, like playful shadow waiting to pounce.
The third soulmark was a jagged bolt of lightning, fractured yet fierce, representing strength and a bitter pride, a soul that refused to submit while the fourth was a pair of torn white wings mixed with some black feathers, drooping yet resilient in their stance, hinting at a longing for freedom.
I traced my fingers over the fifth one which was a twisted vine, adorned with sharp thorns that curled protectively around a radiant diamond, signifying the duality of beauty and poison.
Trailing down to the sixth soul mark, I saw a closed eye confined within chains, seemingly symbolizing quiet suffering and an unyielding silence while the seventh soulmark was a blade trapped in ice, splintering as if yearning to break free, expressing a deep-seated fear smothered by cold steel.
Each mark pulsed faintly beneath my touch, as if awakening to my presence.
I removed the shirt entirely, searching for an undershirt amidst the clutter. Once I found a simple garment, I slipped it on and carefully donned the long-sleeve shirt again, taking my time to button each one, feeling the weight of those soulmarks settle heavily on my back, a reminder of my new life and a hint of what lay ahead.
Looking around the dimly lit room, my gaze fell upon two pairs of silver stud earrings and two elegantly designed rings, the very accessories the original villain seemed to always wear.
I slid them on, the cool metal against my skin feeling strangely powerful, while the earrings, two in each ear, adorned with deep purple amethyst crystals, caught the flickering light like tiny stars.
My eyes drifted to a pair of black combat boots, comically oversized and abandoned in the corner. With a decisive shake of my head, I chose to go barefoot, each step on the polished floors sending a shiver up my spine.
When I opened the door, there was no hesitation; I was ready to confront whatever lay beyond.
The hallway outside was eerily quiet, an unsettling stillness that pressed against my ears.
A maid, startled by my sudden appearance, gasped, her tray teetering perilously as she struggled to maintain her grip.
"You." My voice sliced through the silence like a blade, sharp, cold, unyielding.
She recoiled, her head instinctively bowing in submission. "Y-Young Master..."
With deliberate slowness, I stepped forward, my bare feet gliding silently over the gleaming floor. My violet eyes blazed with a dangerous intensity as a chilling aura enveloped me, radiating a palpable killing intent.
Nearby maids froze, their bodies quaking like fragile leaves in a gust of wind, shrinking back in fear.
"Where were you this morning?" I demanded, a smile on my lips that offered no warmth, only the promise of retribution.
"Did your service fade into insignificance so quickly that you forgot your master?"
"N-No, please, young master! We were ordered..."
"By whom?" I purred, the question dripping with menace.
Silence hung heavily in the air, thick and suffocating. Her eyes darted about in desperation. It was the Duchess, of course. But no one dared speak her name aloud.
"You forget," I said, stepping even closer, feeling an odd, tightening sensation wrap around my very being, as if some invisible force was trying to reign me in.
"Even the bastard son of the Duke possesses the dark violet eyes. Even a disgrace like me... can bring about your end."
The tray slipped from her trembling fingers, clattering to the ground, the sound echoing through the tense air.
I tilted my head upward, yet somehow managed to look down at her in utmost disdain, a cruel grin twisting my lips. "Pick it up. Now. And kneel."
With trembling hands, the maid obeyed and, in a synchronized display of submission, the other maids and servants instinctively dropped to their knees, the cold floor pressing against them in a stark reminder of their position.
One by one, they bowed their heads low, each trembling body a testament to the weight of my words, pressing down on them like dark waters ready to swallow them whole.
I allowed the silence to stretch, like a taut string ready to snap.
"I am Killain Eiden Constello," I declared, my voice low and dangerous.
"I am the fifth son. The rightful heir who has a chance to succeed this family. And you will kneel properly. Every morning you must kneel. Or I will ensure you live to regret the moment you opened your eyes today." As I spoke, I felt the tendrils of that strange sensation retreat, pulling back into my very being.
"Go," I commanded, my violet eyes gleaming with a fierce light.
They fled, scrambling away like shadows cast out by the dawn.
I stood alone in the vast dimness of the hall, the breath escaping my lips coiling into icy tendrils that brushed against my teeth, the pain from my bruised ribs a distant memory.
I would make them all kneel. This so-called family, the very heart of this vast Empire and even that damn Church.
A flicker of warmth pulsed from the soulmarks tracing the length of my spine, as if comforting me.