The Awakening Conscience

I pull on the large rope which hangs flaccidly next to the large oaken doors. Inside, a bell rings My hands shoot to my hair, checking my ribbon is in place, feeling for any strays. A bee floats in the flowers next to me. I watch it languidly drift in the summer air as I wait. A thirst begins to take hold of my throat, is he coming? Has he decided he has better things to do, other people to see? I can feel a light damp patch forming on my brow, the white cotton of my dress begins to itch against my legs. I lightly finger my lip (a habit of mine since my early years) as I think of what to do. Should I go? No, I've come this far. My hand reaches for the rope once more and suddenly the door flies open. A rush of cool air smacks me in the face. I let myself be pulled in. He laughs, muttering to me as he spins me around in his arms, tying a multi-coloured shawl around my waist. As I come to a stop I feel his hands lingering on my thighs. My eyes drift up from his gloved hands, over his jacketed arms and onto his moustachioed face. I notice his eyes flick up to my face, having been angled somewhere south only seconds before. He smiles at me and steps back, the floorboards groan under his feet and the back of his head appears in the mirror behind him. It's one of many in the house. It seems as though he must have had more mirrors than wallpaper when decorating.

I open my mouth to speak but he cuts over me, explaining that he's had the music room set up and I must come through. I nod compliantly as he takes my hand. He guides me past the ornate staircase and through the narrow hall. We enter a small, cluttered room. A large mirror hangs on one wall and a piano takes centre stage. He turns to face me, gently tugging my hair from its ribbon. He drops his gloves to the floor and falls heavily into the chair behind the piano. His hand drifts over the keys, his finger plunging at intervals as he holds his other hand out to me. I walk over and sit in his lap, his breath tickles the nape of my neck. I look down at the floor and see a cat's tail disappear under his chair. I feel his hands reach around my throat, tugging at the pink bow I had worn since I had begun to walk. I shiver as his fingers dart around searching for the clasp that held it. I lift my head and my eyes are met by a vast and colourful garden, stretching out through the open window in front of me. My mouth drops and I try to stand. He laughs, holding on to one of my arms as I try to pull away. I defiantly pull my arm free, whispering no as I walk towards the window and the garden beyond.