Sins Loom: The Unwilling Weaver

Classical music rang through the air, setting the atmosphere in the dining room. The walls were embossed with floral patterns made of gold, standing out on the clean marble background. A large chandelier hung over an elegant mahogany dining table. The chairs matched the table, and the backs of the chairs were exquisitely carved in a similar design to their family’s crest. The room was lavishly decorated, floor to ceiling mirrors stood out with elegant wooden frames, perfectly reflecting the opulence of the room. The focal point of the room being a giant family portrait hung directly over the fireplace.

The entire room was the definition of expensive opulence.

At the head of the table, Joshua was roused from his sleep by the music. Where Am I? Dazed, it took him a while to figure out where he was. Looking around, he found the room to be incredibly familiar. Everything clicked when he saw the painting above the fireplace.

Why am I here? He jumped in shock, but found himself stuck in the chair. His brain went into overdrive as he tried to escape.

“Good morning, Joshua. I believe you have figured out where you are. This is the room where six people lost their lives. But you know exactly what happened that night, don’t you? You were tired of the way you were treated and decided to take matters into your own hands. Because of you, six people died. Only one family member survived. That is a one-in-seven chance, and today you will be faced with similar odds. Seven cups have been placed before you. Only one of them is completely safe. You have to figure out which it is and drink it in order to survive. Good luck.”

Joshua’s face turned pale as sweat clung to his back. How do they know? Nobody knew it was me, I’m sure of it.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” He shouted, desperate for an answer.

Nobody answered. Left with nothing but silence, Joshua looked down at his bindings, and struggled to try and escape them. He kicked and thrashed until he was exhausted, but nothing he could do allowed him to escape. His arms and head were the only things that were free to move around.

He looked around the room, hoping to find something that could help him. In the middle of the table, he saw a large carving knife. That might work! Excited, he wrapped his arms around the bottom of the chair and leant forward as much as possible, trying to pick up the chair and start moving. He lifted as hard as he could but failed to move the chair at all. Damn, it’s too heavy, I’ll have to try something else.

he started shifting his body weight back and forth. Come on, come on. After a few minutes of trying his hardest, the chair didn’t even so much as shift. It felt as if the chair had been bolted into the ground, making it impossible to move it.

Having exhausted all his options, he hesitantly turned his attention to the cups placed before him. Thanks to his years of working for them, he could immediately tell which cup had belonged to which family member. The three crystal wine glasses belonged to the parents and the oldest son. Recently, they had taken up drinking more often because of the PR disaster their family had found itself in. The parents preferred a richer red wine, with the father favouring an aged wine, while the mother went for a younger one. The son preferred a dry white wine, and their choice of glass reflected that.

The three porcelain teacups belonged to the three middle children, with each containing a distinctly different tea in them. The youngest child had a simpler, relatively unadorned mug, containing a pleasant fruit juice. Being significantly younger than his siblings, he always felt disconnected from them, and disliked how the rest of his family used their wealth and authority.

There’s no way it's this simple. It has to be a trap. They’ve definitely poisoned the youngest one's drink. But which one do I go for then? He sat there studying the drinks, hoping to find something to point him in the right direction. Unfortunately, he found nothing.

Did they use cyanide as well? Picking up a wine glass, Joshua took a big whiff, hoping to catch the scent of bitter almonds. After smelling all of the drinks, he concluded that he couldn’t smell it at all. Damn.

He sat there for several minutes, trying to figure out which one was safe. The youngest one has to be a trap, so that one’s out. Maybe I have to think about this from how they treated us. The father was undoubtedly the worst, I saw him physically abusing the maids on more than one occasion. The mother yelled at us a lot, and so did the oldest son. The three middle children just bossed us around a lot... Which one would be safe? Ugh, this is so difficult.

He took a moment to relax, allowing the music to wash over him. He looked at the aged red wine in the father’s glass. If the youngest is out, just maybe... He hesitated for a moment, before picking up the father’s drink. Here goes nothing.

He took a deep breath before slamming back the drink. The mellow notes of wood and earth were overpowered by the burning sensation on his tongue. He realised almost immediately that he had made a mistake, but now it was too late to fix it.

Several minutes passed in excruciating agony before he slumped back on his chair.

“Unfortunately, Joshua, that was the wrong drink. You should have trusted your original judgement. Instead, you overcomplicated the situation, and have now made the wrong decision. There was no trap, nor trick. We poisoned the exact same drinks that you did, meaning that the youngest child’s fruit juice was the correct decision. Now, you shall join them in the afterlife. Enjoy Hell Joshua. Goodbye.”