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 |  Enter your story of 300 words or less. |
"Is this really necessary?" A tall, slim man stood at the window, his long fingers steepled together. Outside, the grounds of Willow Estate rolled into the descending fog that enveloped everything in sight. It was a stark contrast to the warm atmosphere inside the tall imposing castle. A fire roared cheerfully in the background as the man turned to face a woman who sat stiffly on a red velvet chair. She nodded regally. "I believe so. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." An expression of deep conflict slid over his features, and he turned again to stare into the fire. "She's just a girl." "Mr. Sinclaire. She may be a girl, but she will be a dead girl if your don't go through with this." She spoke brusquely, without a thought for his emotions. "Sir. Glentsworth has made his position on this very clear." "I told you not to call me that." He muttered, waving a set of five aristocratic fingers. A little pucker appeared between his eyebrows, a tiny frown on his mouth. "My name is Charles, dammit!" His voice rose to a shout, and in a fit of anger, he shoved a glass vase off of the table next to him. The crash silenced everything. "Charles..?" The woman ventured. "Leave me." His voice was emotionless, and she watched his finely clad form for a moment, before pushing through the door. "Lucy?" He calls, and she turns. He doesn't. "Tell Maybell to come, will you?" A grim expression slides onto her face, and she nods once. A moment later, he is still standing before the fire when a blonde teenage girl walks in. "You wanted to see me, father?" He nods reluctantly and turns to face her. "Darling... Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good." | ||||
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