CHAPTER 1
The pen he held unintentionally slipped to the ground, those fingers of his quivered nervously, deterring the delivery boy's chagrin.
After signing off the package, Raphael was left alone to his musings on this unexpected package.
As he withdrew his callous gaze for a moment, the world invited him to its silent beauty. The fallen autumn leaves, only wilted on its edges because of this scorching sun of noon.
Change was predictable, similar to the four seasons; this millennia old principle, was abruptly placed directly on his hands.
The identity of the sender, slightly shaking the estrangement between them.
'What do you want, dear mother?'
His urgency profound, as the door closed behind him.
His steps quickening, because of the weight of the past resurfacing. He passed through the white corridor, greeted by the strokes of art in display hang on the polished walls; masterpieces that he should be proud in everyday of his life, but misfortune always lingers in each step he took further from it.
Immediately after entering his office, he had no privilege to bask in its comfort. The dark leather office chair accepted his anxious form, and as a habit, he twiddled with the penknife between his fingers.
His eyes studied the package, mentally incurring while guessing the cost of the repercussions if he opens it.
'Regret has no hold on me.'
Suspicious in color, but he decided to open it nonetheless.
The suspicious red wrapping crunched, as he tore the box apart.
A jewel case with blue and white in its contours made him frown with apprehension. His mind slowed, while the photo beside him gave him the strength to open the mystery.
The Pandora's box presented the source of his misgivings on a cushioned pillow. Confusion whirled in his eyes, scrutinizing the meaning of the blue ring that he recognized.
While the flash disk was more intriguing, it was also plagued by premonitions.
Good or bad?
The ring solved half of his questions, but the flash disk itched his curiosity more.
'Lets the surprises you have for me.'
'But something tells me I'll regret it.'
His mother; a living reminder of the worst of paths not to take.
The suspense made him thirst. He decided to take a break, as he visited his wine cellar for a bottle of wine.
Choices became muddled, as he introspected himself in this dark room. Today was his anniversary, but where was she?
Trying to avoid a possibility, but holding his favorite brand encouraged him to face his mother's intent.
Walking back to his office, then he inserted the flash disk in the drive.
As their was time you spare, he quenched both his needs, with a glass of Pinot Noir.
The quality of the video was good, actualizing his mother's intentions in clear clarity.
His attention was drawn to the date stamp, as the short recording played.
"What this have to do with that bastard?"
The location of the capture was very familiar to him, he put down his glass of wine; his appetite disturbed.
His impatience peaking from interest, impatiently clicking the mouse in fast forward, until a shocking variable made him pause after. The main door to the room opened, as two people entered; the one ahead wasn't his target of scrutiny, but the last one drew his breathe.
Her dark hair peeked through her scarf, as she surveyed the room through her sunglasses. Clearly this was her first time here, even though her host was very forward with his intent, his lustful gaze towards her; spoke lengths.
What was her identity? Raphael felt his blood freeze, by that figure that was deeply imprinted in his mind and soul.
Like a bad dream, he couldn't wake up from. Fate decided to sate his curiosity, as she removed the needless items hiding her visage.
As the last of his doubts withered, the photo beside him, just made his fists clench harder; near the threshold of bleeding his heart out.
The man and woman, both sat down, talking. Sadly their was no audio, their conversation was beyond him. Failing to regulate the hope inside him; fluctuating wildly.
Sadly, when you love someone, you are giving them a chance to hurt you.
The illuminance of the office dimmed, a passionate kissing scene ensued.
"Veronica." Raphael muttered bitterly. The resistance he fervently wished from her allegiance towards him; a fantasy he was deluded in; tat fervor in their conjoined lips couldn't be more clear.
Stroking his chin as he held the silver frame of his beloved, somehow he could hear the moans and slapping of flesh as the adulteress sang a melody of betrayal; indulging in the heat with her soul mates nemesis.
Something and something else shattered physically and metaphysically, shards of glass cluttering on the ground, smears of blood accompanied them.
"Good, very good mother." The calmness in his voice, hatred within its timbre. Tears couldn't wash away his vision, looking at his wife accepting that man's member in her folds, yet her eyes hidden from his judgement; the effort both exerted for their pleasure, at the expense of his already broken heart.
******
Tranquility was deceiving; illusions feed from ignorance
Bliss had no reason to warn its prey, as she stood at the open bronze door.
Creases and flaws shaped her current expression, her beauty in a stand still of shock.
The tension that started to wither, accumulated again; the comfort she sort wrangled away by the sight of broken white fragments of a statue on the floor.
"Raphael."
Her voice resounded in the silence. And even after moments passing, no response disrupted the quietness inside.
Her heels echoed beyond the doorstep, then her feet abandoned them, as she had to run, towards and away; To either confirm or deny her worst fears.
The stairs accepted her, but blood was the price left with each painful step she took.
Broken glasses and vases littered her way, digging deeper; but not as deep as something else, as her expression morphed with horror
Sheer willpower held her steady, as she approached the office.
More sources of her pain barred her path, shattered sources of inspiration and creativity pierced her sanity.
The glimmering sunlight, auditioning the numerous shards scattered across the floor near her husbands workshop.
That blood definitely, not of her own stained the carpet. A mesmerizing art of despair, formed not a few moments long ago.
"Raphael!" her voice laced with worry, haunting premonitions forcing her injured legs forward.
But she wasn't ready to see the atrocity presented after her struggling arrival. Walking through the shattered works of art, unique strokes of both paint and intent, blemished for eternity; their creators vulnerable soul, forever ripped out of their canvases.
Vicious slashes and sinister tears in their visage, she grieved for them. She was there in there during their conception, intimately involved in each one of them as a supporting wife and lastly as a curator. Though a certain discrepancy was especially glaring, 'Where's the 'Nova' collection?' she asked no one, but herself.
Her reddened eyes searched, but something else diverted her focus. The monitor waited for her, her drifting eyes tempted to confirm a certain conclusion.
