Ghosts of Christmas Present

Zlobin Manor
Russia
December 24, 2056


A flash of flame from the fireplace momentarily lit the room, leaving behind a rather tall red-haired teen. Blue eyes swept the dusty room, though the space they viewed was far different from what was there.

Figures - as real as flesh yet even less substantial than ghosts - flitted across the room. A stately woman, face softened by laugh lines, moved from one side to the other, gracefully weaving between furniture. Solemn, yet kindly at a glance, an older man read from the newspaper, reclining comfortably in the chair. Lovely dark locks bouncing behind her, a girl somewhere between teen and young adult pounced upon a unsuspecting form on the sofa.

Rhys' breath caught in his throat, tears stinging his eyes. They were still here.

The images didn't stop there. Memory after memory, happy, sad, special and mundane - all of them played before his eyes as the boy wandered, not only the room, but the entire whole of the abandoned manor. They were everywhere. Every nook and cranny was haunted by the memory of those he had lost.

Suddenly, it was too much to bear. With a savage cry, Rhys swept a table clean of the items resting upon it. Room after room, he did the same, throwing or overturning everything that he was able, until he had finally reach the last room. Spent, both of anger and energy, he collapsed to his hands and knees and sobbed.

They were gone - and Rhys wasn't entirely certain just who it was that he couldn't forgive for that.