Ferox Amor by pearl

The Passage way!!

As I burst into the kitchen, the aroma of slow-cooked stew and freshly baked bread enveloped me, transporting me to a haven of comfort. Miss Priye's domain was a sanctuary, filled with the warmth of love and the scent of nostalgia. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the gentle simmer of the stove created a soothing melody, a symphony that seemed to lull the world outside into silence.

The kitchen, with its cream-colored cabinets and worn wooden countertops, was a testament to Miss Priye's dedication to tradition. Copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling, polished to a warm sheen, while the antique wooden table at the center of the room bore the scars of countless meals shared and laughter exchanged.

"Miss Priye! Miss Priye!" I exclaimed, slightly out of breath.

Miss Priye turned from the stove, a warm smile etched on her face.

"Not to mention that I see her, not just as a cook but also as a friend," I thought to myself. "She has been like a motherly figure who I could alwayconfide in.”

"Ah, little pumpkin, what brings you here?" Miss Priye asked, her eyes sparkling.

I recalled when Dad told her to stop cooking, saying the other cooks could do the job. But she shoved him aside, "My little Pumpkin needs to eat the best food. My eyes have seen so many years, and so have my cooking skills." She had said, which made me laugh now that I remembered how her face looked as she said that.

"Back to whatever brought me here... Hmm, that smells delicious!" I said as the aroma hit me like crazy. "What are you stewing, ma'am?" I asked, walking towards the gigantic refrigerator standing two steps away and grabbing an apple juice. "My favorite,” I have a thing for apples – it's Mum's favorite too.

"What did you do again, little pumpkin?" Mrs. Priye said, rolling her eyes.

Ahh! I exclaimed, shocked because sincerely, that was not the question. …Anyway, what was I expecting? Miss Priye surely has a way of finding out things. Sometimes I feel she's mysterious; I just wish I could place my hand on whatever it was…

"Don't even try to cover up that dirty linen of yours; I've already seen it all," she said, her eyes sparkling.

Here she goes again, I thought, rolling my eyes. I really don't look forward to hearing her sermons today, but obviously, there's nothing I can do about it, as she's hell-bent.

"Little pumpkin, come here and help me wash the dishes."

"But the dishwasher..." I began, clearly not wanting to succumb.

"All I wanted to do at that moment was try on those steaks she just made, but I knew she wouldn't even let me if I didn't do the dishes, so I decided to stick to my apple juice."

"Do you want my help or not?" she asked, holding back her laughter as I spat out the juice. My face suddenly becoming distorted as my acting skills kicked in. I couldn't afford that. I really need to talk her, She is the only one who could talk Dad out of this. I reasoned.

"Please, grandmother, you know I can't do anything without you," I said, trying the puppy eyes thing; it usually works on her. I just hope it does this time.

To make the acting look more realistic, I was almost halfway on my knees when she flashed those white teeth, and the next thing her wrinkled face was bubbling with laughter.

I felt so embarrassed.

"Oh, common pumpkin, don't tell me you nearly knelt down," she burst into another fit of uncontrollable laughter.

By now, I started smiling foolishly. I mean, who won't do the same when her laughter is this contagious?

"Pumpkin, I do understand your dad is the richest in the country, but that does not stop you from doing chores sometimes. You can just do one or two things; trust me, it will be beneficial to you."

"So, what's going on between you and your dad?" she asked.with brows raised

"Dad said I'll be transferring schools, and I'm seriously confused. Why would he say such a thing at this crucial stage of my life?"

"Why does Dad always like di…ctatttting my life like I'm… some two-year-old?" I stammered endlessly, breaking down in tears. "There's nothing I ever do that's up to his taste.

As the tears streamed down my face, Miss Priye's expression transformed into a poignant blend of empathy and understanding. Her eyes, like two shimmering pools of warmth, seemed to envelop me in a comforting embrace.

"Don't say that, child," she coaxed, her voice a gentle melody that soothed my frazzled nerves. "Your father loves you, Sash. He wants the best for you, even if his methods seem draconian at times."

I sniffled, feeling a mixture of despair and desperation wash over me. "But why can't he trust me? Why does he always have to dictate my life?"

Miss Priye's hands, worn from years of love and labor, reached out and cradled mine. "Trust is earned, child. But sometimes, it's also given. Your father needs to learn to let go."

As we sat there, surrounded by the warm, inviting aroma of her kitchen, I felt a sense of solace wash over me. Miss Priye's words, laced with wisdom and experience, were a balm to my troubled soul.

"But what about my transfer?" I pressed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Miss Priye's expression turned thoughtful, her brow furrowed in concern. "Ah, child, I'll speak with your father. We'll figure something out."

A surge of gratitude welled up within me. "Thank you, Miss Priye. You're the only one who truly understands me."

As the conversation drew to a close, Miss Priye's eyes locked onto mine. "Remember, Sasha, your father wil always choose what's best for you.

The clock on the wall ticked away, its rhythmic beat marking the passage of time. Yet, lost in conversation, we forgot the world outside. The kitchen became a bubble, a sanctuary where time stood still.

Forty-five minutes slipped by, filled with laughter and tears, concerns and reassurances. Miss Priye's wisdom and love wove a tapestry of comfort around me, shielding me from the uncertainties that lay ahead.

As I rose to leave, Miss Priye's voice halted me. "Sasha, don't worry. Everything will work out."You will soon understand everything.

I smiled, feeling a sense of hope. "Thanks, Miss Priye."

With renewed determination, I left the kitchen, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

***

As I departed the kitchen, my mind still reeling from the tumultuous conversation with Jasper, I sought refuge in the estate's venerable library. The musty scent of aged tomes and the soft glow of lamp posts enveloped me, providing a sanctuary from the turmoil.

Sitting in my father's library, surrounded by dusty tomes and fading light, my mind fixed on the underworld—a realm my dad now sought solace in. Desperate for answers, I scoured the shelves for any mention of this mysterious place. My quest to unravel the questions plaguing my mind led me to the restricted section.

My dad's warning echoed in my mind: "Do not enter this part of the library, Sash... lest you intrude into my personal space." Yet, my curiosity proved irresistible. My feet seemed to move of their own accord, drawing me deeper.

As I pushed open the heavy wooden doors, a warm glow of lamplight spilled out, beckoning me in. The room was a treasure trove of dusty tomes and leather-bound classics, each one a testament to my father's love of knowledge. I wandered deeper, my footsteps quiet on the plush carpet. My gaze drifted across the shelves, scanning the spines of the books. Everything looked normal, making me wonder if this section was truly restricted.

Just as I considered retreating to avoid my father's wrath, I noticed something odd—a section of the library seemed out of place, covered in a tattered tapestry hanging unevenly, like a patchwork quilt. Curiosity piqued, I approached the concealed area. With a gentle tug, I pulled aside the tapestry, revealing a shelf hidden behind.

The air was stale, and the books seemed to lean in, sharing a secret. My eyes landed on a single volume, its cover adorned with strange symbols and a central hub pulsing with an otherworldly light. Intrigued, I reached out, tracing the embossed patterns. The hub's soft glow grew brighter, illuminating the surrounding books.

Without thinking, I pushed the book gently, releasing a soft click. The shelf creaked, and the entire section swung open, revealing a narrow passageway. The air beyond was cool and damp, carrying the scent of aged parchment. A hidden door, expertly concealed, now stood ajar, inviting me to explore.

With a thrill of excitement and a tinge of fear, I stepped into the passageway, leaving the library's warmth behind. The door creaked shut, enveloping me in darkness, but the soft glow of the book's hub remained, guiding me forward.

The narrow corridor unfolded before me, lined with cobweb-shrouded lanterns and dusty, forgotten texts. "Where does this lead?" I wondered, my heart racing with anticipation. The passageway seemed to stretch on forever, beckoning me to unravel its secrets.

Suddenly, a faint inscription etched into the wall caught my eye: "Veritas odium parit."—"Truth begets hatred." A shiver coursed through my veins as realization dawned on me…..