Edmund stormed down the hallways of Moulde Hall, kicking at the walls and punching at the archways, while the storm continued to rage outside.
He wanted to run. He wanted to leave the house, and race off back to Downs Hill and the Orphanage, leaving behind the clothes, massive empty rooms, cruel looking statues, and Matron Moulde.
They had ignored him!
It galled him terribly, somehow. Before, people ignoring him insured his privacy. Now, it solidified his insignificance. Edmund could feel his choleric humour boiling inside him, bristling at the implications that he was nothing important.
He was neither a threat nor a challenge to his cousins, just another minor obstacle in their road towards usurpation. They had all seemed more irritated with having to make new plans than worried about anything he might do. He was little more to them than a sudden rain shower on a picnic outing.
Perhaps most frustrating was the fact that he was frustrated at all. He hadn’t even wanted to be a part of their feuds, but now that he had the chance he couldn’t bear the fact that he wasn’t at least somewhat noticeable, much less effective.
They were treating him like he was little more than…well, than an eight-year-old.
Edmund leveled a forceful kick at a small pillar and missed, the force of his swinging leg throwing him off of his other foot and sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.
For a moment he lay there, panting as a loud thunderclap split the air. He would show them… He’d show them all, somehow. He’d find a way. He was the Heir of Moulde Hall, Master Edmund Moulde. Some day, he could be Patron! Someday he would be older, stronger, smarter, and better than any of them–he would become a force to be reckoned with.
But at the moment, it was true. And that was what stung the worst; he was just an eight-year-old orphan who didn’t know the first thing about being a Moulde.
Edmund stared up at the marble bust of some dour-looking woman. Her pupil-less eyes stared blankly into space, her frown portraying an endless dissatisfaction with the world.
Slowly, the choler ebbed away from Edmund’s body, leaving him feeling tired and a little ashamed. What use was his anger? He was behaving like a child, throwing a tantrum because he can’t play an adult’s game. He picked himself up off the floor, gripping a nearby column for support.
A soft click, barely audible through the torrential rain, made him stop. Something felt uneven under his hand. Peeking around the small column, he found a tiny square that had sunk into the column when Edmund had pressed against it, like a catch. Edmund looked around in confusion, when his eye fell on a hairline crack in the
Stepping forward, he carefully pushed on the white wall only to have it swing away from him like a door. It was a thin opening, and Edmund could only just squeeze his head inside.
Between the walls lay a long thin passageway, stretching off into the darkness.