There is something to be said about silence. There are books filled with words, detailing the perfect pitchless nature of those who've gone their entire lives without drawing too much attention to themselves.
Silviu Sava was in this book. In fact, one could speculate that he'd written the first book on silence, on the mannerisms of living one's life without making a big production about things.
It's not that his life was boring - in fact, his life was anything but boring. It's just that Silviu had long since learned about ripples, and the effects they have. Where there's one, there's dozens, and ripples disturb everything they touch. Silviu didn't like making ripples. He liked things nice and quiet, where his personal, private life was concerned.
Of course, he realized that people talked about things, yes, and there's only so much a man can do to keep his name out of certain affairs. However, as long as that name didn't go too far, and not too much was said about it' So much the better.
It was all of these thoughts - and then some - that Silviu entertained as he slouched in the vast sprawl that was his desk's chair. A glass of wine dangled from pale fingers, but to be perfectly honest, he'd forgotten about it, so lost in his mental musings.
He was, in short, livid. There was no other word for it - and to be honest, even that was a rather paltry, pathetic word to describe what he felt at that moment. He had known that something was amiss the second he'd laid his eyes on Lola. Makeup might've fooled mortal eyes, but not his. And when she had told him what happened" It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep him from marching straight to her father's house and deforming him so badly that not even a Nosferatu would've touched him with a ten foot pool.
It was one thing to discipline a child. That was acceptable to him. However, to strike a grown woman' Absolutely not. For that matter, for a father to strike any grown child was abhorrent, but the fact that it had been Lola" Who, as far as Silviu had seen, could probably not so much as bear to hurt a fly'
Silviu scowled and, after setting the neglected wine glass atop his desk, pushed up to his feet. Here in his study, the rugs were so thick that his bare feet made not the first sound, but he was already starting to wear at it, pacing back and forth.
He had said that he would not meddle in the affairs of her family; it was not his place to do so. Lola was a grown woman, after all, not an invalid. That did not mean, however, that he would forget about this. Oh no - and if it happened again? He would not simply cast aside the first offense as a mere 'slip-up' or 'accident'. It would be remembered and acted upon. Even if it took twenty years for it to happen again - even if, in twenty years, Lola was gone and married to some other man' Silviu Sava was not a man that let transgressions go unpunished.
Even if it meant making ripples.
Silviu Sava was in this book. In fact, one could speculate that he'd written the first book on silence, on the mannerisms of living one's life without making a big production about things.
It's not that his life was boring - in fact, his life was anything but boring. It's just that Silviu had long since learned about ripples, and the effects they have. Where there's one, there's dozens, and ripples disturb everything they touch. Silviu didn't like making ripples. He liked things nice and quiet, where his personal, private life was concerned.
Of course, he realized that people talked about things, yes, and there's only so much a man can do to keep his name out of certain affairs. However, as long as that name didn't go too far, and not too much was said about it' So much the better.
It was all of these thoughts - and then some - that Silviu entertained as he slouched in the vast sprawl that was his desk's chair. A glass of wine dangled from pale fingers, but to be perfectly honest, he'd forgotten about it, so lost in his mental musings.
He was, in short, livid. There was no other word for it - and to be honest, even that was a rather paltry, pathetic word to describe what he felt at that moment. He had known that something was amiss the second he'd laid his eyes on Lola. Makeup might've fooled mortal eyes, but not his. And when she had told him what happened" It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep him from marching straight to her father's house and deforming him so badly that not even a Nosferatu would've touched him with a ten foot pool.
It was one thing to discipline a child. That was acceptable to him. However, to strike a grown woman' Absolutely not. For that matter, for a father to strike any grown child was abhorrent, but the fact that it had been Lola" Who, as far as Silviu had seen, could probably not so much as bear to hurt a fly'
Silviu scowled and, after setting the neglected wine glass atop his desk, pushed up to his feet. Here in his study, the rugs were so thick that his bare feet made not the first sound, but he was already starting to wear at it, pacing back and forth.
He had said that he would not meddle in the affairs of her family; it was not his place to do so. Lola was a grown woman, after all, not an invalid. That did not mean, however, that he would forget about this. Oh no - and if it happened again? He would not simply cast aside the first offense as a mere 'slip-up' or 'accident'. It would be remembered and acted upon. Even if it took twenty years for it to happen again - even if, in twenty years, Lola was gone and married to some other man' Silviu Sava was not a man that let transgressions go unpunished.
Even if it meant making ripples.