Suspense Short Story – Beginning – 3
Suspense Short Story – Beginning – 3
Photo credit: clarita from morguefile.com
The grand marble tiled hall was dimly lit by a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling; the light bouncing off of each small glittering teardrop. At the large mahogany table many men sat; not sitting was a young man along with the director of the ministry…of magic.
The young man surveyed the room full of penguins, all smoking cigars and sipping brandy. He took a large swig from his own glass which he held in his large shovel like hands. It burned with a familiar warm tickling at the back of the throat. The young man went by the name of James Dawson, he was from the filth of London but had somehow, after many toils made it here mingling with the rich and educated; however he still didn’t fit in.
Each man in the room stood with skeletal, frail bodies standing tall. All men with silver threads running through their hair and sad old eyes which were framed with deep set wrinkles. However old they were they didn’t show it, still seeming alert and certainly fit for defending their country and their hierarchy along with the money that came with their position in the so called ravenous ‘food chain’. Unlike the men around him Mr Dawson stood youthful, with a naive mind trapped inside of him. Though he was in fact the youngest man there he was not of a juvenile nature, in fact he was on the contrary
He was particularly sophisticated. He also was in fact of his 30th year. His hair was tight to his head; blonde with a slight auburn tint to it as he stood under the light being spat onto him. His shoulders were wide and muscular giving him a strapping image, his muscles covered in tanned skin which stretched over each ripple. His eyes shone sea blue and stood out against his dark skin. He stood tall in a tailored suit, not be known to fellow diners in the hall that it was in fact given to him by the grace of someone else. His eyes dropped; bored of seeing the same old scene.
The large solid doors were then drawn open and the whole room seemed to rise as one nation. In walked not men in furs, jewels hugging each finger and wearing fine silks as expected but three women. James’ eyes rose from the content of his glass, to the three ladies. His icy blue eyes would not falter as he stared.
On the left of the entourage was a tall shapely woman. Her hair was of the darkest raven, her skin white as a new born lamb’s cloak and her eyes a dark black like a substance charred after being licked by flames, though they glimmered with grey flecks. She smiled a huge eager smile at James, to which he replied. Her hair was pinned back, so to display the huge fist sized diamond on her chest. It was the clearest, most magnificent diamond James had seen in all his life. She wore it with a long draped scarlet gown, its bodice was structured yet its petticoats were rutted loosely around her legs and abstract. She sauntered forward. Confident.
The one on the right was dark, tired, almost ghostly looking however she still maintained a beautiful essence. Her violet blue eyes were lined with dark shadowy circles. Her almost translucent skin clung to her bony structure and from it a bag like black dress which was frosted with black shredded lace. Her wavy soft brown hair was tangled and hung limp around her face. Her face stricken with pain and her mind in another’s heart as she walked ahead, dazed.
The one in the middle was by far the most interesting. Her eyes were a buttery topaz and were rimed by a dark charcoal substance. They were the size of marbles, wide; alert and intelligent. Her face was of the whitest, whites, and chalk like. Her rose tinted lips were firmly and irreversibly stuck in a deep pouting fashion. Her spindly frame was caressed by a golden teardrop covered gown. Each droplet glinting into one thousand tiny rainbows, of light spectrums. Her hair was also golden; threads of the precious metal. They were in neat tiny ringlets each aligned and tied back into their rightful place, behind her ears.
As they all approached, James was very aware they all wore gold cuffs, bonded to their arms each with an individual stone. The one on the left: a black sea; onyx. In the middle: a butterscotch mixture; topaz. On the right: a twinkling star hit with the violet night; sapphire. Each stone matched the woman’s eyes.
They now stood before the Minister and James. The one in the middle held out her arm straight and gave James a firm, brief shake of her hand. She didn’t drop her gaze. Not once.
“Yvainne.” she said bluntly, “Lynd.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure.” James said courteously but with an underlying tone to it; smirking, however Miss Lynd did not look very impressed.
“Evangeline Porter, but you can call me Angie!” The one on the left declared, while kissing both cheeks of James and then scraping her crimson lipstick off of his cheeks. She seemed so out of time; more cheery and lively than any pretentious elitist of this era. She was very vivacious and continuously giggled with delight, though this did not overrule the fact she was still very much above in class.
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