The cycle begins again

 Blood slowly dripped from the fingers of a shrivelled pale hand, chunks of raw flesh imbedded under the already stained long nails - one would think they belonged to some animal, rather than a human. In truth, humans aren't all that different from animals, we pretend we are, getting heated up at hearing even the slightest comparison, and thus acting more animalistically than a bear out on a hunt. Tonight the man was a beast, albeit one clothed in silk and fine fabrics, but a beast nonetheless. Hairs on his fur coat were slicked back, the once-white garment now resembled the back of a wolf who'd been shot, taking his last breaths in the cold, snow-covered woodland. The small cross adorned with jewels, mounted on a cane, had been stained, blood had gotten into even the smallest crevices, leaving no part untouched.He slowly stepped backwards from the pile of guts, flesh and bodily fluids that now resembled the watery and soggy minced meat that was often served back in Zebravk many years ago. The metal screws on the soles of his shoes and the extravagant cane stopped clanking just as a wet noise became audible, a liver had been squashed under the heel, blood splashing everywhere. The gallbladder had still remained intact, which displeased the man and made him kick it with all his might. The place was way too dark for anything even remotely fun, and so the dark figure left, hitting his head on the doorframe in the porcess, and made his way up the stairs without bothering to slam shut the door.-Master Malenki!- a young boy shouted, falling to his knees

at the entrance of the room.

He wasn't accustomed to seeing Sergei Malenki, the man himself, around that part of the manor, especially at this time of day. All the boy received was a sneer and had the fur coat and a cane dropped into his hands. By the time he realized what was going on, the master had limped away and was now draped over the couch and looked like a dying Victorian child, yet remained so elegant.-Mik,- the man sternly shouted from the other end of the room, -do get that cleaned for me.-The boy only muttered:-Yes, sir.-Mik walked away as quickly as he could without making too big of a fuss, so as to not act disrespectful. His own uniform will be stained beyond repair, and getting a new one was not for his pocket, let alone he had to figure out how to get the fur clean, and later on the corridor too. He's lucky to keep his head after the encounter, having to ask for favours or hesitate for even a moment was something the boy was deathly scared of.The hallways, especially the ones on the lower floors of the manor, were illuminated only by candlelight. Mik grew more and more uncomfortable passing by paintings of the family and all the chains and crosses hanging on the walls. Those weird obsessions always made him tremble. He had walked here hundreds of times, but the dread and feelings of melancholy that would always overtake one around these parts never seemed to go away. Every once in a while a head would appear on some bookshelf, the sight terrified Mik, he tried to pretend it didn't exist and not in vain. The eyes were always sewed shut, a thing commonly appearing in the paintings, the mouth, too. The head was always crying bloody tears and sometimes attempting to recite texts in unknown tongues. All residents just learned to ignore it, yet, even though Mik lived here longer than any of them, the whimpering and screams always got to him. Everyone guessed it belonged to their masters grandfather, but nobody dared to ask. There was nobody wiling to answer left among the living. Dead men don't tell tales. Fortunately death isn't the end, but character could be the end of Mik. The figures looming around weren't keen on interactions. As Mik passed along the halls, doing so quicker and quicker, he received glares from the shadows, greeted by hissing.-How disappointing. Look at it, pathetic.- Sergei muttered, thinking about the night. The feast brought nothing but sorrow. He tried picking the dried blood from under his nails, but to no avail. The place was still empty. He got up, breathing heavily, and slammed shut the heavy metal door that lead to the basement, while barely staying on his feet. Now that he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the man saw how his once-black hair had turned gray from all the dust and that it was inevitably time to make his way upstairs and into the bath. Sergei went on, muttering:-I provide a nice life for her, and look what I get,- his voice became as loud as the metal clanking, -what do I get. She's mean, that's mean...I. I don't know. It's cold, I'm cold, where's Mik, hell, why's everybody sleeping.- The man grabbed a sword that was once embedded in the floor as a substitute for the precious cane, and made his way to the lounge room, where a sleepy woman was slowly sweeping the floor.-Young lady, where's your friend? I want a bath.-The poor girl stopped dead in her tracks.-Sir, I...- -Why do we have so many sculptures of these,- Sergei said after glancing at the collosal table, covered in blood-red satin fabric, on which stood figures of various animals -they're ugly.- The man declared in a grumpy, monotonous voice and kept muttering to himself as he stormed off to his bedroom without giving the woman a chance to regain her composure. His mood brightened only after seeing the fluffy creatures, comfortably nestled in his bed.-Princess, I'm sad!- He shrieked, leaning in the doorway, and proceeded to run, dropping the sword, then immediately fall face-first into the bed next to a small population of cats, waking a few up in the process. -I'm terribly sad, my loves.- He whined.The wine-red silk bedsheets were now wrinkled and a few books, who'd previously been placed on the bed, had fallen down with a thud. They were mostly costly classics that shouldn't be there in the first place, but Sergei had money to spare. To everyones surprise, the man loved philosophy.

Mik discouragiously walked into the room to find his master dramatically draped over the bed, casting dirty and murderous glances at the intruder. Just as he fully entered the place, his masters eyes brightened.

-Is that...- he began shouting in disbelief.-I brought you the...- -Get out child!- Mik wasn't even a tad bit offended. He'd learned to recognise that shimmer in mister Malenkis' eyes, after all, there, in his arms, laid a board of Sergeis favourite foods, which included french cheeses and breads, grapes, wine and other treats, but most importantly beet soup. Mik could never wrap his head around why his master had picked such a simple and pathetic dish to be his favourite, but that only made him all the more misterious. Sergei was so eager to grab the meal that all silverware ended up on the floor and the man was left with a pout on his face, ready to fall off the bed.-What insolent little brat...-Mik shouted from the bathroom:-Sir I can h...- -Quiet, boy!-As mean as the remarks were, Mik became quite fond of them. As soon as he finished preparing a bath, Sergei barricaded himself in the steamy room, never to be seen again for the morning. The man watched himself in the mirror as he undressed, inspecting every single scar and making sure there are no new scratches, whom he hadn't registered yet. The sight always made his face turn in horror, yet slowed his heartbeat and brought back memories from the time at Zebravk. As he sat in the hot water, the thought came gushing in. The city was located in the very north, it wasn't a small one, but still had way too many people. Homelessness and poverty was skyrocketing, at first he couldn't grasp why they didn't just leave, but after spending time in those slums it was obvious that those people were doomed. The people who had money lived paycheck to paycheck, the compensations were small and you could only afford food that wasn't rotten if you were in the military or a prostitute, so that's what he immediately looked for. His father had sent Sergei to the city to attend military school and gain life skills, to become more manly. All the money he had, Malenki spent it to spoil women and once he realized he had none, he joined them. Those experiences were something one couldn't get out of the skin even with boiling water, and so he drowned them in spirits. He couldn't count the bruises left by his peers. Once the man reached sergeant, he ran, never to look back, and cursed the godforsaken city.His hair was now black and shiny like ink, while the nails had regained their true hue. Now in the mirror there stood a tall and beautiful man with dreadfully sad eyes, who was trying to choke out a smile, but failing miserably. The venomous grin could never be defeated. It acted like a shield, unfortunately, now stained by blood and tears, that couldn't be hidden. The bath was left looking crimson along with luxurious towels that now laid on the floor beside him.

Sergei hid himself under silks and leathers, tightening the garments up with studded belts and laces. They can't judge if they don't know. Judgement isn't all that scary, we should all live for ourselves, and Sergei had hard skin after years spent in Zebravk, however, after many avalanches of harsh words and glances that cut like blades of steel, and putting on grins, once one finds themselves in a dark corner all alone, like a cat on a quiet night, all the soul wishes for is to scream. To thrash, to hit and lash out on anything in it's way, to destroy. That's exactly why shivers ran down along the spines of the maids after hearing loud crashes from upstairs. They knew not to disturb it, to pretend nothing was happening, yet the ache kept growing stronger and stronger.

The tall figure was now curled up next to the freshly made bed, a collosal shard embedded into the once-mighty forearm stood out like the blood on fur, once worn by the man himself. The bathroom was left looking like a murder scene.

-Somebody will clean it up, I don't care... they're...useless, bloody hell, I don't care! They're plotting, they're plotting against me! They're waiting for the perfect moment to come...listening...listening...- his pupils dilated as a knock shook the whole room -get out! You scum, know your place!- However, no footsteps could be heard.-He left as quietly as he came... he's watching me! To hell with you, you damned child! I know what you're doing.-Long hair falling over the mans face obscured his vision and a few unlucky vases had to pay for this intrusion, shattering with a roar louder than thunder, one loaded with gunpowder. He thrashed no more and fell into a dreamless sleep right there on the cold tiles.The place was so cold that one had to armor themselves in all the sweaters and jackets they were provided, but not too many, because layers mean heat and heat means sweat, and that means the pain of ripping fabrics from the skin, afterwards shivering in a corner and finishing the day with a few blows straight to the head. You don't repeat it the next time after experiencing that kind of fun once. After messing up, one doesn't go out, that means they don't join the hunt and in the end get no carcasses. No matter how disgusting the meat was, it's eaten eagerly. Don't mess up. You can't mess up. Layers mean heat. Heat means sweat. Don't mess up. Be considerate. Be considered. Considerate. Consider, consider, consider. Don't be a brat. Consider. Be considering. Yes Sergeant. Don't mess up, what are you doing wasting that, don't talk back. Don't mess up. Go get the gun.

Even stained by symbols of unforgettable suffering, the room had remained glamorous. Warm morning sunshine was pouring into the room and dancing on walls as rainbows through holes in the thick velvet curtains, and illuminated everything in it's path, bringing a sliver of life into this pit of misery. The place had remained untouched, only the broken vases had been replaced by a food tray. Sergei made his way to a wall full of bookshelves, made from old coffins and dripping with knowledge, and held out his hands full of water to creatures in pots that vaguely resembled mushrooms, rather aggressive ones. Their tiny tongues were unsettling for the most ticklish person in the world, which seemed like the mkst entertaining thing in the world for the shrooms.

-I'll be staying here, by th...by the door, my loves.-The creatures only rumbled together in satisfaction as Malenki limped further away from them with a cheeky smile.

As much as he tried to not think about it, the man couldn't get rid of the void stuck deep in his stomach, the feeling as if he was rotting from the inside.

On the silver tray, next to the porcelain, laid an extravagant envelope, covered with a familiar seal. The letter itself was almost ripped in half as Lenki tore at the paper like a hungry animal, trying to reach the contents as if his life depended on it.