Thread: *~*Sickness to Your Heart*~* (Love&translucentfeathers)

Vincent hadn't meant to. Wide eyes watched as the candle stick fell from the small table in the entry way of their home. It clattered noisily against the hard wooden floor covered by an ornate rug, the hot liquid wax spilled over the floor, their bright dancing flames being snuffed out by the fall. He had been bored, their confinement to the attic had worn on him and their nanny not coming to care for them and keep them company had left him feeling restless. Vincent had spent the morning pacing and staring out the window listlessly as he ignored his sisters attempts to cheer him up. When the idea of slipping out and sneaking downstairs to get a book or some sweets from the kitchen had been suggested, a spike of fear and excitement raced through him. It wss only due to their mothers light almost happy playing he agreed, otherwise the fear of being caught would have outweighed his wants for escape. Vincent's face crumpled at the realization of what he had done and he shook when their mother's hands stopped playing at the sound before slamming hard against the keys of the piano. He heard Vanessa urging him to run, pushing at him to go back up the stairs and he turned, scrambling up the steps as their mother's shrill voice snapped at them bitterly. He heard mother approaching, the click of her heels against the dark oak floors as she stalked out of the parlor she had been playing in into the entry way. It was then Vincent glanced back to ask Vanessa what they should do when he realized his sister had not followed. The young boy stopped, eyes widening as he noticed she had stayed, standing at the base of the steps next to the fallen candles, between him and mother. He pressed his face agsinst the railings and banister, small hands clinging to the wood as he heard his sister take the blame, claiming she had made the mess. The beating was savage, and he flinched at each strike the woman inflicted upon Vanessa, unable to tear his large dark eyes from his sister even as she fell in a crumpled heap beneath their mothers savage screams and vicious blows. When mother finished he shrank back under the dark glare she gave him and snarled out her warnings before she left, the music of the piano starting up once again to fill the dark cold house with a bright tune that didn't fit their mother's mood. Vincent crept down the steps, falling to his knees. Vanessa? He whispered, small hand wanting to reach out, wanting to soothe her, hug her, but the blood and bruising left him frightened he would hurt her more than help. So instead he lay on the ground next to her, brushing her golden blood stained hair from her eyes as he curled up next to her on the floor. Vanessa please wake up. He waited for her to come back before noticing she had fallen on the melted wax and over the candles and he sat back up to try and slip them out from under her, away so she could lay evenly on the floor without the metal holder digging into her. It was then Vincent heard his sister stir, her voice shaking as she struggled to sit up, calling for him and looking. He quickly sat in front of her, dark eyes meeting her blue ones, as he fought back tears seeing the results of her defending him. Reaching out he used the corner of his sleeve to wipe at the blood gingerly on her upper lip and nose to keep it from getting into her mouth. It had been his fault, his clumsy fumbling that had brought on the attack. He should have been the one battered and bleeding and he ignored the way tears began welling up in his eyes before spilling over the edge silently. Right here, sister, always right here. It had been almost ten years since that night, though nothing had changed, not truly. Vincent walked through the dark halls of their fsmily estate, the soft gentle melody of music slipping from the parlor was comforting, almost soothing in its dulcet tones when he knew the fingers at the keys were his sisters and not their mother. He had always loved to hear Vanessa play, his own desires to learn having been immediately squashed and dismissed by his mothers quiet terse reply and later again fathers angry disapproving fists. Father had always disliked him, his pale complexion, black hair and dark grey eyes resembling mother spurned his distaste in Vincent's appearance. Adding on that as he grew he never quite developed into the broad shouldered musculature that Sir Morgan had hoped for his son, instead he was more lithe and slender, his strength hidden within his whiplike frame rather than displayed blatantly in an athletic build. It coaxed more beatings from the man, constantly attempting to force the smooth soft tones and quieter activites from his son, trying to force him to be the man he wanted Vincent to be, the man he as a father thought deserved to carry on the Crowley name. Sir Morgan hated his children, but detestes Vincent nearly as much if not even more than his wife. The brutal beating he had endured the day before last had left his back and legs raw when the man had thrown him down the steps, taking a his leather belt to him when he failed to get up and walk off the pain of the fall. Vincent's gripped tightened on the book as he slipped into the dimly lit parlor where his sister sat. He crossed the room silently, easing gently onto the small couch before opening the book he was reading, though he found himself glancing up to admire Vanessa every few minutes as she played. She had always been the protective and strongest of the two as children, stepping between Vincent and their mother on multiple occasions. He wondered if this is why Lady Clara favored him more. No, he thought decidedly, Morgan and Clara Crowley did not have favorites, they merely had one child they chose to focus their cruel attentions on more than the other. Lady Clara hated Vanessa with her beauty and brightness, and Sir Morgan loathed the mere sight of Vincent, deeming him not a worthy son. Vincent ignored the anger and rage and hurt the abuse and neglect had imprinted upon him, squashing it down as he focused on his book, eyes flitting over the page. He was not permitted to read or be seen doing the more 'gentile' things when father was home, and he was grateful for the brief reprieve they had been granted when the man left this afternoon to go into the city for a day or so. Though, there was a slight sense of apprehension Vincent felt but he would wait to confirm his fears until his sister had stopped playing. The letter he had seen in her desk drawer had been accidental, stumbling across it as he searched for the jar of ink he had lent her last week, needing it to use for his studies that morning. It had left a cold feeling in his chest, but he returned his attentions to the words on the pages of the book in his hands, ignoring the way they melted together and he was left unable to focus.