Muted Darkness

Warning: Suggested violence.

It was dark. She almost could not see anything. The closed-door of the closet where she was hiding was blocking her from everything was the only safe haven she could have at this moment. She was shaking. She was scared. Another loud shot rang outside, and her hands immediately flew to her mouth, avoiding so much as not letting any sound to come out of her lips. She was void with the ability to speak since she was born, but being deaf would not stop her. She could not scream, but maybe her wails could get anyone’s attention. She could not do it yet, however. Not while the assailant was still outside, roaming the hall. 

Hands in her mouth, she felt the cold metal on her finger. Angrily, she slipped it off, regretting the day that someone put it on her. Salty tears streamed down her face, wetting her hands as she continued to cry quietly. Sweat trickled down her face, as well. It touched the hands, covering her mouth. She has been hiding inside for so long. Nobody expected it. They didn’t see it coming. He was the kindest man she met, whom she thought have accepted her despite her disabilities. She loved him, but she has been wrong after all. He was an opportunist who wanted nothing but power and wealth. And he would get it, even if it takes him to murder her entire family, including her. 

Her musings stopped when she noticed the silence. It was eerie and frightening. One hand fell to her chest, feeling her heartbeat hammering against it. Did he give up looking for her? She should be able to go out and get help. She would – 

The door to the closet suddenly opened. 

The handsome face of her husband greeted her with a sinister laugh. “Gotcha…” 

She shook her head. Soft sounds came from her mouth, and she wished she could talk and ask him why he did this. She started to ask him in the only way she could, her sign language. Why? 

In reply, he grabbed her hair and roughly pulled her out of the closet.

***

The series of curses continued. It just won’t go away! The rubbing continued, along with the sound of water slapping against the skin. With the tap closed, a towel was now rubbing against the skin, hoping to remove the stain of blood. He walked out of the bathroom and slowly towards her, his beautiful wife. 

He bent down and used the towel to wipe off the tears from her face and the blood that flowed down from her head when he banged her against the wall. His soft humming filled the silent room. His hands roamed her soft, silky skin. She didn’t flinch. She felt cold against his warmth. 

Outside, the people were in violent protests after the election to overthrow the monarchy failed. Nobody liked the monarchy anymore, and he, as the newly-installed Prime Minister, did what it takes to give the people what they wanted. They needed a reformation, but the ruling sovereigns were against it; thus, a revolution. 

The king and queen were gone, even a number of their loyal aides and the people in the royal court. He, as the head of the revolutionists, was tasked to take care of his wife, the princess, and the only child. No one should survive to continue the legacy. 

And he did what he must. 

He looked back to his wife, now void of life. His hands curled into a tight fist. Slowly, he stood up. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the blood of the royal family on them, but he never regretted it. There was no time for any emotions. His bloodied hands were proof that change has come. It was now time to move on and start a new government, a new life. 

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