Crimson Peak

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Thomas opened the door slowly as he ran words over his mind as to what to tell Agatha. They loved each other as per God’s eye but his plans had soon come to a tragic end. Her father was clear with instructions. As of that night he was ordered to intensively break Agatha’s heart and for the morning to come he was to leave with his sister back to the devil that had nursed them.

Agatha’ s father followed him to see the manifestations of his words. She stood a few steps away from the door of her father’s office and for a moment Thomas felt a fear that maybe she had heard the conversation that went on.

She broke into a smile and let out a breath in relief that he shall walk away from her broken and wounded but his sins tucked under a few ears. His knees burnt as he pulled himself to her. She brightened

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Lord, she was such a fragile beauty. “Thomas, were you to address me on something before father interrupted us?” She threw scornful glances at her father who stood far away as if clearing himself from knowledge of blood war. He looked down in disgrace, oh how was he to nurse her once she is broken. Once again like every other minute, he wished that her mother was alive to share her love.

Thomas stood,  this time scared, if his mouth could betray him and declare his undissolving love for her, would it be sin enough than what he was about to declare? Was fire any better? Would he accept that he owned that cracked face or he added to the ghosts that forever since a child had tormented her?

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His soul let out a silent cry that hollowed his blood and his mouth demanded a safer change of mind. He was going to kill her. He saw it outrightly.

“Thomas, what’s the matter?” He stared down at her. “Yes, darling… Agatha, I….” He stole a glance at her father father who nodded. This couldn’t go unnoticed from Agatha. He proceeded, “Your eyes are too in you. Your beliefs defy my standing and I get feeble by words in your book. Your hair, how many colours does it borrow and don’t you feel pinched in your regalia that shows off your chest to every eye here? Feel you insecure of the way you cry everyday in the absence of souls but ghosts and still believe that no one gets annoyed by the silent wails. Agatha, you are damned to unfulfilled statuary,  your peculiarity is hell’s creation.” He took a breath or two.

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“You are not the wind, you are the grizzled dust burried under unfruitful lands and lands of snow. You are so imperfect and stupid and left alone in this world. No wonder your hands make way to sin, your fingers…,” both stared at her fingers, how lovely they were, the way they laced Thomas’ hand on first sight but the frightening continuity it had picked.

Shivering in between their gazes and a tear confessed that Agatha has lived in so many fears but this one was her never ending pain, rejection.

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“You are purpose unreliable and your eyes brings forth your misfits to revelation,” Thomas declared. Her perplexed stare met rage and she lifted her hand only this time, to try to defend herself. She would not add love to her torments, not ever. Thomas shoved her hands away, so hard she felt her blood grow thick. “And you want me to claim love to your soul. Your puppeteer,  naivety.  I would rather die…,” he said watching her run, obviously to the comfort of her bed to imagine her long dead mother singing lowly in her ears.

She broke. She cried for days for later she would have to accept death. Later when her father was killed, later when Thomas had apologized to her grief, later when both of them were standing in an elevator, she cried again after seeing him with another.

‘You lied to me’
‘I did’
‘You married me’
‘I did’
‘You brought me here to kill me’
‘I did’
‘You told me you love me”
‘I do’

And there she knew, she was borne into the devil’s plans.

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