Courtship Stop #1: The Keats Estate
Orpheus felt the sting of each mark on his body, the heavy cloud of a bright, hungover morning creating a throbbing sensation in his head. He had not slept all night, a continued ache in his body, and a swirling reminder of each interaction of the night before taunting him, pulling him from sleep with each painful recollection. He had barely pulled himself from the floor of his bedchamber as the sun rose, avoiding Corin and his morning meal in order to begin his rounds.
His father had demanded Orpheus form a strict route for the day, apologizing to all of the people he had embarrassed himself in front of during the previous night. Not simply embarrassing himself, no, embarrassing the Langston family.
Ezra Langston had demanded so strongly, in fact, that it left a purplish hue to Orpheus’ skin along his neck, his wrists, and his stomach.
Each movement forced a cringe from Orpheus’ features, a painful reminder of his extended welcome home the previous night. The agonizing mix of a hungover mind and a weakened body left him stumbling at times, grasping for the sense of composure he often held on days like this one.
The first house on his list was his father’s top priority, the one he would apologize to with clearest intent, on his knees if needed: Ilyas Keats. The Keats family were a well-respected, highly-titled, family, one that Duke Langston did not want to anger by continuing a petty feud between their sons. Orpheus was to make amends with Ilyas by any means necessary, a request that made his stomach turn more than the alcohol had.
Orpheus approached the Keats’ door, Jerald, his butler, hesitant to speak to the doormen that stood nearby as he kept a watchful eye on Orpheus’ downcast expression.
[color= #BC0057] “I am here to speak to Ily-Lord Ilyas Keats…please…” [/color] Orpheus’ words were barely a breath, faint and forced. His eyes remained fixed on the ground, unwilling to meet Ilyas in this state.
In truth, he knew Ilyas likely deserved an apology of sorts. The past few days, no, their entire lives, had been nothing short of petty fights between the two. However, Orpheus was far too stubborn, and currently, far too battered, to admit it.
To him, Ilyas had been, and would always continue to be, the very origin of everything wrong in his life and everything that pained him the very most. Even the bruises that littered his body now, despite who actually painted their violent creation across his skin, would not be there had it not been for Ilyas. Despite the pain, he would have taken the hits ten times over if it meant not having to stand before Ilyas now. Orpheus had thought the beating preferable to stumbling outside of Ilyas’ door at the dawn of calling day in a half-distressed shamble.
Calling day was important, and Orpheus had ensured that his clothes had been pressed to perfection, his hair perfectly swept, even his cheeks flushed from morning sunlight, yet there was an emptiness that betrayed his perfect form.
The Langston family had long held the colors of gold and white, yet Orpheus felt more like fools gold, polished on the outside, mimicking the look of gold, of a handsome Langston heir, yet filled with the pain and secrets of his past and present curling and clawing at his coat collar underneath, threatening to expose the truth of his life. Orpheus subconsciously pulled at his sleeves, attempting to shield the markings of his punishment from the Keats estate. The very last thing he needed was for Ilyas to think he was weak, broken.
To battle all that had been unleashed upon him, to handle the weight of the pressure and pain that surrounded him, to cope, he hated. He hated Ilyas with everything he had, because if he could not hate Ilyas, if that part of his life were not stable, he would be lost. It had been the only remaining piece of his past and present that tethered him to his own mind, knowing that hatred and anger still simmered, it kept him whole.
In Orpheus’ story, in his own mind, Ilyas had been, and would always be, the villain.
mentioned:
Ilyas (@Madilfill)