Chapter I
"Turn your goddamned head before I do it for ya."
Sophie's face was like those of the dolls posed upon her mantle: a delicate frame in cherry blossom skin; tufts and feathers of walnut hair falling to a face beset with eyes of flawless copper; eyes which stared with such helpless abandon, they betrayed her. Two fingers came upon her temples and pressed lightly. "Did ya not hear me?" Her head twisted. From her ear to left eye, she was submerged in the ruffles of her pillow.
The truth was that her eyes terrified him. Of course, there was nothing inherently disturbing about them. They were beautiful. It was the fear of what they had broadcast that gripped at his gullet like a noose. In their gaze, it was not she who choked him so; indeed, it was the awakening of such a self-loathing that his own throat forbade the air passage. He looked upon her eyes as the guilty look upon the judge, and when he pushed her head to the pillow, it was the same as when the guilty turn to hide their faces. He regained his composition shortly after and continued his task.
Sophie was still and her breath was unusually calm. There was a sock tied in a foible knot upon her lips, but it was unnecessary. She didn't cry; she didn't make a sound. She lay limp and docile, completely separate from her body. In her mind, what was happening was nothing but a nightmare that the dreamcatcher missed. She still fought to contain herself, for whether it be fantasy or not, she was afraid.
He didn’t take long to begin, nor would he take long to finish. He bore down upon her with his formidable weight, moaning like they did in the movies he’d watch. He was fulfilling himself, and satisfying an urge forsaken by the many prospective partners who did him the injustice of discerning who he really was. Perhaps that’s what lead him to Sophie: one so innocent, she was incapable of judging him as absolutely as others had.
He tilted his head down, eyeing Sophie’s face once more. She was as his hands left her, still folded into the pillow and staring intently past the side of the bed. Curiously, he followed her eyes toward their mark.
They were set on the armoire.
It was a bulky thing, and seemed so out-of-place in a child’s room. It stood well over six feet and spanned laterally another three. The burnished walnut doors and drawers were carved simply yet elegantly, and were distinguished with brass knobs and knockers, respectively. It looked old, though in very fair condition. A few dings and scrapes were scattered amongst the grain.
Feeling that he had digressed more than enough, he had just begun to turn his head back towards his current agenda when his peripheral picked up a mild peculiarity on the doors of the armoire. In the center of the left cabinet, there could be seen two knots which bore an awful resemblance to a pair of human eyes. They were of the proper shape, like a pair of lemons withered in the sun. The very grain between them fell and widened, and the culminating form vaguely recalled a nose.
The coincidence was uncanny and not at all lost on him; much in the manner he had grew unnerved by Sophie, these knot-eyes chilled him thoroughly and he again lost his concentration. He tried to continue his motions, to reach his climax, but couldn't resist looking back to the visage. He faltered.
Sophie lay as still as she always had when he reluctantly pulled away. He retied his belt and zipped his shaggy jeans, looking to the floor for no further judgment. That night, he was thwarted by the knots of a walnut armoire.
