1
Once again, waiting for some sign, but… nothing. I… I can't take it anymore; I was shaking. The cold spread rapidly through my skin.
"Dylan," Michael said. "Are you okay?"
"Why do you ask?" I asked ironically.
"You've been vomiting, and besides, I think you're shivering. I can hear your teeth chattering," he replied.
"No, Michael," I said. "I'm not okay."
"…"
"I think I have a fever," I said. "And I'm also afraid I have indigestion, or whatever…"
My stomach no longer hurts from hunger, but from something else—something horrible. I feel like it's tearing more and more each time.
"If you hit me with that chair again, I'll lock you up even tighter," Michael warned.
He opens the door, and the light stings my eyes a bit. I try to get up, but I can't.
"Humm, I think you're weak," Michael noted.
"You don't say," I replied sarcastically.
"Come on, I'll help you," he said, lifting me off the floor and putting my left arm over his shoulder.
The two of us walked like that until we reached another room, but this one had a metal door….
"Here it is," Michael said. "My dad is the best healer I've ever seen."
"…"
He opened the door, showing a room with a bed and white sheets.
"Lie down," Michael said. "I'll call him now."
"Thanks," I muttered.
I collapsed onto that bed, gripping the sheets tightly, shivering, cold. I want to get out of here. I'm sick of this place. Again, I feel like I'm being dramatic. But at the same time, I'm not….
I can't think clearly; I just want to sleep.
2
My eyes closed before I could observe anything else other than the bland darkness I had already grown accustomed to.
"Dylan…"
Someone's voice calls to me.
"Eh?" I stammered, trying to pull myself together.
"Dylan, it's me," the voice said again.
I observe the surroundings; it's the same as with Merlin, only he isn't here.
"Are you lost, my boy?"
A woman's voice puts me on alert. First a normal voice, then a woman's—what is happening? Suddenly, something touches my shoulder.
"IT'S YOUR FAULT, DYLAN TYLER!" Ester screams.
☆☆☆
"Ah!" I yelled.
I sat up abruptly, drenched in sweat (and feeling slightly better). I was hyperventilating, while Michael and another wolf with brown fur and golden eyes looked at me with evident concern.
"Are you okay, Dylan?" Michael asked.
I sighed; I'm glad that was just a dream. Fever dreams are always weird, aren't they?
"So, he's Dylan," the wolf said.
I looked up at him.
"Yes. And you?" I asked.
"I'm… well, let's say, your uncle. I'm Rufus," the wolf said.
"..."
"My dad!" Michael hurried to say.
"Ah, right, okay…" I said.
"Roberto was very good to me," Rufus said. "I imagine he did the same for you, didn't he? I mean, he must have been better because, well, he's your father."
"...."
"He left when he met your mother…." Rufus continued. "That day, Dad drank much more. He screamed at me that I was useless, and he… hit me with the bottle…"
"Dad, why don't you go look at the orchids?" Michael asked.
"Yes, good idea, son," Rufus said.
He opened the door and left….
"Dad… was sealed. I haven't told him the truth because it's not right, you know? Even Mom is against it," Michael said.
"Michael," I said. "Who is asking you to do all this?"
"...." Michael's face darkened. "Him."
"Who is 'him'?" I asked.
But before I could keep talking, someone entered, kicking the door open with great force. It was a woman with magenta hair, blue eyes, and white pupils.
"Michael, what are you doing here?" she asked in a tone somewhere between calm and severe.
"Ah, Mom, well…"
"Forget it," the woman said with annoyance, fixing her gaze on me. "And who is this guy?"
"Dylan," I replied before Michael could. "Dylan Tyler. Nice to meet you. I was kidnapped, and if I'm lucky, my organs won't be harvested."
"Ha, how funny you are," the woman said. "If you're a real Tyler, whose son are you?"
Honestly, this lady was already annoying me. She says everything with a tone as if she thinks she's better than everyone; all her expressions scream arrogance. And the worst part is her horrible white suit—it's like a Russian military suit, but in that color.
"What do you care?" I snapped.
"Ah! So you have bad manners too? YOU DAMN WORM! You're nothing but an ungrateful brat!"
"Mom…" Michael intervened.
"What!?" the woman exclaimed.
"Dylan is Uncle Roberto's son," Michael said.
The woman stared at me for a few seconds, petrified, as if something clicked in her head…
"You damn brat! You are the son of that prostitute!" she screamed.
"The only prostitute here is you!" I yelled back. "Stop bothering me, you decrepit old hag!"
She's crazy! How dare she say that to my mom?! And I'm the one without manners? What the hell is wrong with her?!
"You son of a bi—!"
"Stop!" Michael shouted. "Mom, let's get out of here."
She gave a slight snort and left.
"Forgive her. She's…" Michael said. "She's very reckless."
After that, he closed the door, returning me to my confinement, though at least in this one, I'm more comfortable.
3
Love is something that traps you in a net, that blinds you, that doesn't let you escape, that keeps you in a safe place. But when you leave that net, it's not so pretty anymore…
Anne knew that. Her heart fell in love, to her misfortune, with Roberto Tyler. Because she little knew that he… didn't feel the same.
Being childhood friends, they had an incredible time together—going on missions, skating, swimming, etc. But Anne didn't know that Roberto's father would give him a concubine (kidnapped from Rastrean).
From then on, Roberto appeared very little to talk to Anne. He no longer told her anything; they drifted apart little by little….
And although there are a thousand pains in this world, being with someone you love who doesn't feel the same is the same as any stab wound or poison…
"Anne, I want to leave here. To never come back."
She could have stopped him, she could have manipulated him, she could have done many things, but the only thing she did was…
"Good luck…"
Of course, how was she to know that Roberto would leave with the concubine? That wasn't easy to guess, was it?
"I love Roberto. I love him with all my life. I want to help him, understand him, comprehend him. I love him. I want him to be my husband, the father of my children… biological ones, clearly."
The concubine's declaration always shocked Anne. Why didn't she tell Roberto that first? If she had declared herself before the concubine, surely she would have succeeded… right?
Tray was the name of the concubine. Surely she only cared about Roberto's looks; Anne was sure of that. He was very handsome and a heartbreaker. So it had to be a quick fling… no, it shouldn't be, it HAD to be.
But… that didn't happen. They both got married and had a child. Anne did the same with Roberto's brother. Why isn't she happy? Why?
Simple. Because he is not Roberto Tyler.
So she doesn't care if he is sealed.
Nor does she care about the son they had.
She likes Roberto.
Will we see each other again? Anne was sure she said that phrase. Of course, we are all sure we say things people say we didn't; the problem is that we speak and express them in a deaf voice…
◆◇◆◇
I watched as an hourglass let grain after grain fall. What am I doing here?
"...."
Dad…. what else are you hiding from me?
"Daddy, do you love me?"
"Obviously, son."
"How much?"
"Let's see…. So much that I would die without you."
"Daddy, I'm not your partner."
"And you?"
"I love you to infinity and beyond."
Dad and I were always very close…
"Are you in love with your dad?"
Howard's question crossed my mind.
"Dylan, there are times when I envy you, because you have such a good father."
Harold's comment also crossed my mind.
I got up from the bed just to check the door. I tried to turn the handle, but it's locked… It was obvious. Why did I think it would work? I checked the desk next to the bed. In one of the drawers, there was a metal necklace with a purple crystal.
"Whoa…"
The necklace literally jumped onto my neck, pushing me to the floor from the impact.
It was suffocating, until suddenly it wasn't.
"What the hell?" I muttered.
4
"It's cursed," a voice said.
"It's cursed," another voice said.
"You are cursed now."
"YOU ARE CURSED."
My head hurts like crazy. Dammit. I grip my hair tightly as I sit on the floor, waiting for the headache to stop.
Apparently, this thing is cursed (it's not like some voices just told me).
"I heard noises," my paternal grandfather said. "Oh, you put on that necklace."
"Eh?"
"Nothing. Just don't try to take it off."
Then he closed the door again.