The Ascension Of Dorian Blackthorn

Emberwood estate was a large mansion surrounded by beautiful gardens filled with trimmed bushes and marble fountains; all the gardens were filled with hundreds of lanterns. It was the same inside the ballroom; the luxury was almost suffocating. The walls were adorned with gold and high glass windows were surrounded by the luxurious smell of roses and champagne. It was a night of tuxedos and gowns, silken and satiny and diamond-clad people glided through the room like clockwork dancers; their laughter matched with the music of a live orchestra.

Tonight was Lady Seraphina Emberwood's fiftieth birthday, a ball that was not beneath one of the most prominent Silverhaven families. All the people of merit had come to pay their respects, elegantly clad and equipped with applause and rumors. Emberwoods were happy with their kingdom of richness and power; they ruled the evening like kings and queens.

And then there was Dorian Blackthorn.

He was close to the huge stairway, partly behind one of the fancy pillars. His suit was impeccably pressed and his tie was a poor man's attempt at trying to look the part. The black outfit, with fine silver threads running through it, could have served to make anyone else practically invisible. But not Dorian. His presence was conspicuous-not as belonging to this world but as a blot on the smooth face of things.

He squirmed, crossing his arms at the back, and if it were possible he would have disappeared. The looks had not ceased since he entered the house. People followed him with their eyes, murmuring behind his back like a vine with deadly spores.

"Is that Lyla's husband?"

"Yes. Poor thing. They say she had no say in it you know."

He must be a Blackthorn, but he does not resemble one at all. Isn't that supposed to be a family with noble blood?"

Well, they are old, of course. His parents are both deceased and as for the inheritance... or so I heard there is barely anything left.

Dorian firmly shut his teeth and feigned ignorance to the comment. The intensity of the mockery they gave did not spare him in any way, it weighed him down like a ton of burden.

All over the room, Lyla Emberwood glided through the sea of adoring males as the queen of the night. Her dress was red and she was elegantly dressed, her gown fitting her perfectly, and every time she moved, the gown seemed to glisten. Her laughter sounded, clear as a bell, and everyone present looked at her and could not help but stare. She was everything any father could desire for his daughter, she was the epitome of the Emberwood family.

To the world,d Lyla was the epitome of perfection. To Dorian, she was a living embodiment of his worthlessness.

The moment their gazes clashed – and it was but for a second – the woman's face was etched with hostility. There were no hugs or kisses; there was no love there. Only the cold hostility she had adopted with him over the past few months.

'Dorian,' her voice was shrill and authoritative, she continued. She was standing at the top of the grand staircase with her fingers leaning on the shiny wooden rail. The focus was on her, as it was usual. "Come here."

A hush fell over the crowd. Every mouth was left agape and people stopped in mid-sentence to look in the direction she was looking. The attention in the room shifted to Dorian as though it was a heavy pendulum and he felt the force of it hit him. His breath hitched in his throat but there was no other option. This is why denying her would only make things even worse.

Gradually, he started walking, the sound of his feet hitting the marble floor. The people cleared his path as though he had some disease.

"Look at him," someone whispered, and though he could not see the speakers' faces, he heard them as if they were shouting in his ears.

"He's so... plain."

"It was not surprising that she kept him out of sight."

Dorian arrived at the foot of the staircase and it seemed as if the steps were getting more and more concretized. Lyla's lips formed a smile, and that smile, so bright, so polished, so perfect, had no place for any compassion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to say a few words," she started, "I'd like to say thank you to my husband for being here tonight."

The words, which sounded so ordinary, had a sharp edge to them. Dorian felt a lump in his throat at the sight of her and he stiffened immediately.

"Well, after all," said she, with a smile that was both sugary and sarcastic, "he doesn't have the privilege of attending such functions." He is normally... well, a bit overwhelmed."

The crowd giggled, and a laughter wave swept across the room. Dorian's cheeks flushed red, but he didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even raise his fists at his sides.

"Oh, don't be cruel," Lyla mimicked a look of sheer nonchalance and stared out at the audience. "He tries his best. Isn't that right, darling?"

He saw her looking back at him, her eyes were sparkling with defiance. Dorian opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he didn't know what it was that he wanted to say. But the pressure of the moment brought his voice before it could get out, The weight of the moment.

"No response?" Lyla laughed, 'Come on, you big baby, tell me you're scared of the dark.' Well, I suppose that is part of his charm. Unobtrusive, consistent, and never in the way when you don't need them. Isn't that what we all look for in a husband?

They laughed again, and this time it was a full-throated guffaw that seemed to lack the reserved manners of the aristocracy of Silverhaven. It would take a lot to make Lyla's father, Lord Alistair Emberwood crack a smile, but he did it while standing by the bar. Her cousin Edwin who was seated opposite her simply rolled on the floor, laughing wickedly.

The shame that was reflected in Dorian's face spread throughout his whole body. He clenched his jaw but did not speak. What could he say? That it wasn't true? That he wasn't the useless, pathetic man they believed him to be? The truth was too plain to be hidden.

"Thank you, Dorian," Lyla said finally, and there was disdain in her tone. "You've done your part. You may go now."

People in the room started clapping-not for him, but for her. The guests clapped for the show, all of their faces filled with joy. Lyla looked at him, and then she waved him off as if he was a fly that had been bothering her for far too long.

Dorian didn't wait to see more. He wheeled round and went out, head down, and with hands that shook in his pockets. The whispers trailed behind him, becoming mean and spiteful, even as he exited the building and walked out into the icy air of the night.

The air outside was crisp and even stinging against the skin. He took a deep breath in a bid to calm himself down but the pain in the chest persisted. Behind him lay the lights of the estate like a mocking reminder of all he would never amount to.

He strolled about the garden, down the gravel path, the hum of the party receding into the darkness. He was overwhelmed with what they had said, the sound of their laughter. He tried to remember the time when he was a child-when he was living in a house where the doors were locked and there was no heat, and his relatives who didn't want him would hush him with a glance.

"Dorian..."

This voice made him freeze in his tracks. It was low, barely audible, but there was no doubt in my mind.

He turned around quickly, his heart racing. The path behind him was clear, the air of the estate only dimly illuminated.

"Who's there?" he shouted, his voice shaking.

Silence.

The wind blew throwing shadows across the trees and the air was tense. Dorian looked around at the darkness, panting slightly in the cold night. For a second, it seemed to him that he could make out the silhouette of a person, wrapped in shadows, off the trail. But when he blinked, it was gone.

"Dorian..."

The voice came again, this time it was a whisper, as if it was blowing into his ear. His pulse quickened. It was as if he was somehow not of this world, could not be of this world.

"Show yourself!" he bellowed into the silence of the room.

The darkness appeared to move, the night closing in on him. The weather became colder and oppressive, and Dorian started to feel uncomfortable. Whatever was going on, it just wasn't real.

He stepped back but his mind was telling him to flee. However, even when the feeling of fear overwhelmed him, a sensation that this was the start of something sprang up in him. Something bigger than him. Something that would alter everything.