“Not a very natural feeling for me,” the man in the chair whispered, rubbing the stubble on his chin, “that dull ache in the chest.” He sighed and leaned back against the wooden frame now supporting him, “shall I continue? It’s not as if you’re going anywhere and I feel like sharing the revelry of a good story,” sharp canines exposed themselves here as the man grinned.
The bound body on the ground did not move; a wheezing sound emitted only from their mouth as they breathed through their bloody cracked lips. The man’s grin faded quickly though and he stood, moving to the side of the room he picked up a dark cane, the metal of the pole dented in some areas, bloody itself from…Use. “Hmm…” The man spoke, running his fingers along it, all the way up to the shadowed head at the top.
“I think the next time we spoke…Was a week later.”
A thunder came, a sound that resonated, clop, clop, clop, along with the heavy panting of a dark beast, mane moving in the wind as a flurry of dirt spiraled in the air after its quick departure, blazing by under hoof. A figure rode the steed, covered in black, bent slightly at the neck of the animal he was riding, silver and dark locks coiling in the wind which rushed by his pale face, amber eyes piercing the rays of sunlight that split the canopy above.
White clouds, grey at the edges, floated by in the sky, gloomy trees waving their long branches in the silence. The breath of beast and man flourished in front of their faces, gone the second it spun before them as they sped down the road. The sun was barely peeking out, its golden face shrouded by the gloom that filtered through the air, marking fall.
The road kept going for another few moments, the rider finally pulling on the reins of his steed, whose hooves skid in the dirt, leaving a thick trail of overturned mud – moistened from the passing rain of the night.
The road kept going for another few moments, the rider finally pulling on the reins of his steed, whose hooves skid in the dirt, leaving a thick trail of overturned mud – moistened from the passing rain of the night. The man riding the horse looked around with steeled eyes, amber reflecting like a pool of frozen copper. Seymour. The dawn was bleak and that was the way he liked it, able to ride in frigid air before returning home but he paused here at the end of his journey.
Dismounting his steed in a rustle of fabric he threw the reins over the branches of a nearby tree, his boots smashing into the damp earth. Seymour removed his cloak, throwing it over his horse and resting his top hat there as well. He moved to the side of the road, stepping down from its side he found a small path worn into the land from past travel and he recalled more than once a time that he had trudged this trail. Every stride was careful, the mud making wet squishing sounds beneath his feet and he stopped when the silence of a draft drifted by, the trees shivering, causing a gentle clatter to wave through his ears.
He resumed his walk once more, with more haste this time to the sound of a running brook. Seymour came to a small ravine, water running over the stones of a long spanning creek, trees lining it’s bank, bare to the world with no leaves, their grey, lifeless bodies stretching their branches to the sky. He listened to the running of the water, a feeling of serenity coming from this place but also…The undeniable sense of sorrow and loss. He touched the cool bark of the tree next to him, amber eyes scanning the path ahead warily. Finding nothing wrong he stepped away, treading along the bank, arms slack at his sides as he walked.
A feeling of déjà vu seemed to course through him now, eyes tracing the gloom ahead as his breath ran over his features, curling in front of his face and losing itself to the wind that came. The trees shimmered in the breeze once more, the occasional clack piercing the air as pebbles slid out of place beneath him. The chill that followed the breeze did not deter him…If anything; it solidified his resolve to see his destination.
Carefully he stepped from the water, onto the opposing wall of the ravine and made his way up the other side. Mud slushed once more under his feet but instead of worrying over his shoes he simply tightened his gloves and pushed some debris that hung from the trees above away. Dead branches hung down here, blocking passage through this place, their dead bone like fingers hanging down to block the way but Seymour merely snapped them, smashed them with a powerful fist. Seymour stopped when he was immersed in them, a few yards into the thicket he could just see the first bit of a clearing.
He turned his head, checking behind himself before turning his amber eyes back to the challenge ahead. He lifted his hand, touching his fingers to a dead branch that was as white as snow, breaking it he watched crimson rivulets run down his hand, a series of caws piercing the air as black birds split for the sky. Seymour turned his head to the sky, narrowing his amber eyes on the scavengers above he slowly returned his cruel irises to the branch, removing his hand from it he pushed past and into the clearing.
A hiss filled the air as he entered, his eyes scanning the forest floor for signs of life and found none. Leaves of gold, brown, and red scattered the floor, the trees above making a canopy with their dead limbs, blocking most of the light of the ashen sun above but every now and again a powerful beam of silver would touch the forest floor.
Seymour turned his eyes toward a dark colored archway, directly across from him, shaped like that of a door. Darkness spread beyond it, the edges rough and gashes painted into the doorway, looking like swirling runes. He crossed the clearing slowly, every step a soft crunch drifted through the air and as he neared the tunnel he could hear the subtle whistle of wind flowing through it. Seymour moved forward, his gaunt face solemn as he entered, cold embracing any who would dare follow him. But this was not the frigid cold of the season, no; it was the bitter taste of death and sorrow that followed him now.
The soft clack of his heel against the smooth freezing stone beneath his feet was like the beat of death, the drum of one’s heart struck as he stepped down. Golden light peeked from somewhere beyond and he continued, heedless of the sound of his steps, as the crackle of a flame filled his ear. The flame gave a snap as he removed it from the holder, a small ember landing at his feet, the golden red blinking in the lack of light, quickly crushed under his boot as he moved down the tunnel once more.
“Master, Master, are you alright?” The shivering voice of a maid asked, her eyes wide and hands folded in front of her but she seemed to be cringing. The study remained unchanged; the cackle of the fire in the hearth filling Seymour’s ear as he was pulled from his memories, beams of moonlight spanning the floor and over the room. His amber eyes narrowed as he raised them to meet the scared irises of the maid. She was a tiny thing, shorter than Lillian but a bit wider with brown hair he was sure and the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen.
“Who told you to come in and disturb me?” Seymour growled furiously, eyes hardening and the callous undertone of his voice was not lost either. The maid gulped, sweat peppering her brow as she turned her gaze quickly to the floor, eyes wide with fear as she heard him stand in a rustle of fabric and the screech of protest his chair gave over the wood floor. Seymour moved to her side slowly, stalking around her like a wolf would, his hands folded behind his back as he stopped behind her.
Seymour turned to where he was facing her back, his head coming down so he could rest his chin on her shoulder. “You’re shivering,” he observed in a husky voice, “are you ill?” The maid was shaking, hiccups almost wracking her and she could feel tears touch along the bottom lid of her eye.
“N – No Master,” she whispered in a raspy voice and Seymour’s face turned into a snarl.
“Stop that!” And she gulped, trying to swallow her cries as he pulled back, standing behind her he growled till she stopped but her shaking did not. “Go back to the kitchens,” he hissed harshly and she nodded, almost running from the room, not looking at him as he heard her start to sob as she closed the door. Seymour rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, going back to his chair and looking at what was before him…The letter.
He ran a hand through his hair, freeing it from the bow in the back, locks of black and silver falling to cup his face and fall over his forehead. Seymour grabbed the ribbon and threw it on his desk casually, jaw setting as he stared at his handwriting on the page.
Dear Lillian,
I am sorry to say but because I am so busy as of late I think it best we stop meeting. My time is precious and I’m afraid that I will be spending too much time out of the country for the next few months to even be of use through letters which will unfortunately be lost to me. I’m sorry to have to tell you this way but, again, I am rather busy.
~ Count Seymour of Arc
Seymour growled and tore it in his hands, sighing and frowning deeply at the thought of writing another letter. It had taken him so long to even get that one out. But he wanted to write it, he felt the indefinite need to explain it to her even though he had no real reason to. He had made no promise, no vow to stay and give any regard to her…But that was the coward’s way out. Seymour leaned back in his chair, knitting his fingers together over his stomach, and staring at the tattered remnants of the letter.
“Sir,” a small voice asked, the oak door at the head of the room gave a moan as it was opened and Seymour almost didn’t even hear her. “Something…Something just came in for you.” Her eyes were on the ground – one of the more experienced ones – taking her paces, eyes on the ground, and hand outstretched quickly to give him the letter when she neared.
“Thank you,” Seymour snapped, snatching the letter from her hand, no once of thankfulness in his voice. He ripped it open, without even seeing who it was from, and unfolded it with nimble fingers, boredom on his face. Eyes tracing the page his brow furrowed and he leaned forward his chair, suddenly holding the letter in both his hands.
“When was this written?” He snapped, the gravely tone in his voice making the girl shiver.
“It’s on the letter sir,” she said in that small voice that was hers and he seized it from his desk quickly, trying to see what he had so blindly dismissed. Turning his eyes from letter to envelope he ran a hand through his hair, standing and pacing around his desk. Seymour put his right index finger in his mouth and bit down, amber eyes wide.
“Why are you still here?!” He snapped, turning on the maid who almost whimpered.
“You – You have –“
“Dismissed,” Seymour roared, “get out!” And she scurried from the room like a frightened mouse, a clammy hand slipping on the door knob a few times before she jerked it open, and slammed the door behind herself. He didn’t even watch her go, throwing the letter and envelope down he ran to his desk and threw the books on the surface to the floor with a wave of his arm, papers splitting away and plummeting to the ground. The lamp split on the ground, the flame dying out quickly with a hiss, glass shattering and Seymour roared again in anger.
“Fools, desolate, monkey brained,” more words spewed from his mouth, lewd in a language not known to the world. More vulgar words left him as he lifted his desk over his head, the mahogany only able to creek in protest and then screech in pain as he threw it onto the balcony. The chair was thrown, smashing into the railing, the leather splitting, the whole thing broken in pieces as Seymour growled.
His dark and silver hair whirled over his features, covering his face in a veil as he raised his hand and covered one half of his face, bending over he stared at the ground, panting. The room was in shambles, the only thing unharmed were the bookshelves on the walls, the fireplace, and the carpet. Seymour turned on his heel, falling to his knees to stare into the eyes of the black wolf in the scene below, hands planted on either side of the wolf’s head.
“No…I will not let her become stained by the darkness there…Or anywhere. I will protect her,” he hissed, the dark promise spinning between him and the desolate irises that matched his. On all fours, there in that moment, he felt something press down on his shoulders and immediately he stood, snapping off the ground. “Don’t think to console me,” he spat to the room, the fire giving a snap, flames rumbling for a moment before calming,
Eyes darting from side to side he turned in an angry flare for the door, hair lashing across his face again as his boots thumped over the carpet, the door to the study slamming behind him loudly…
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