Tales after Dusk 02

He dispels his regard for self preservation and it is a full on run that takes him towards the house. As he gets closer, its sheer size makes his entire town look tiny. Thick, ivy covered stone seems to extend up towards the heavens. The large front doors are at least three feet taller than the Governor's and are intricately set with panes of stained glass. To the left of the doors, the wall is set almost entirely with windows but the darkness inside the house makes it impossible for Sevan to see in. Despite the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, he knocks urgently. There is no answer. He pushes gently against the door, finding it unlocked.

"Hello?" He calls to the empty house, "I am looking for my Mother—her satchel was out in your yard. I don't mean to bother anyone, I simply was wondering if you had seen her."

He waits a moment but still no response, no movement. He hears a noise as he steps into the foyer. To his right is another smaller set of glass doors that seem to lead to the rest of the house. To his left is a set of stairs leading down. Between them are several plush benches, pegs full of various cloaks and a neat row of shoes.

"Hello?" he asks the darkness again. He swallows hard, trying to listen to the silence over the loud thumping of his heart. His eyes try desperately to pick out any movement, any detail through the doors to the house but there is nothing.

"Sevan?" A tiny, hushed whisper comes from the stairs.

Sevan recognizes his Mother's voice—without hesitation, he bounds down the steps, "Mother?" He replies, full of relief.

A single torch lights the cellar, which is stocked better than the general store itself and is in fact larger too. It has several smaller chambers lining the walls, each full of a different item; the first is full of overflowing sacks of potatoes, the second has towering shelves of bottles, the third has several barrels of apples in it, along with his Mother. A twisted branch door closes her in.

"Mother!" Sevan exclaims, running to her. He reaches through the door, grasping her cold, clammy hands, "What happened to you? The horse came home, I was worried you had perished in the woods!" He cups a hand against her warm cheek, finally seeing the pale worry in her face.

She squeezes his hands tight, "Sevan, you must listen to me—leave here at once. Never come back." Her voice is hoarse, frantic. Her eyes dart back and forth as she scans the shadows of the cellar.

Sevan's brow wrinkles; he yanks on the wooden door, "What? No, you must come home. I won't leave without you."

"Please, go!" She begs as he struggles with the door again.

The torch flares, brightly lighting the entire cellar.

"Oh no!" Mother cries. She shoves Sevan's hands away, trying to push him further from her to safety.

A strong hand grabs Sevan by the back of his cloak, lifting him off of the ground and to the wall. Confused, he looks around but sees no one. He reaches behind himself, struggling to get away; he feels a gnarled wooden hook clamped over his cloak. His mind tries to grasp at what is happening.

Slowly, from the darkness at the top of the stairs a fully cloaked figure emerges, walking down the steps; Sevan can feel his heart pounding. His Mother pleads, "Please, let him go—he only came here to find me, he is my son. He didn't touch anything—I beg you, please."

The figure stops at the bottom of the steps. The thick, black cloak covers it fully, hood drawn up and over its head so much so, that it hides all of the figure's face, except for the very shadowy bottom of its pale, white chin.

"I don't understand, please, let my Mother go!" Sevan struggles against the wooden hook, though he has a feeling it will do him no good.

"Your Mother was stealing from my garden," a cold woman's voice responds from the cloaked figure, "and trespassing on my land, just as you are now. She is my prisoner."

Shocked, Sevan holds still, staring at the shadowy figure of a woman before him. He can see it now, the delicate indentations in the cloak that hint at the figure beneath it. She must truly be a frightening creature to have gotten his Mother so worked up.

His Mother pleads, "I told you, I was only gathering herbs for my youngest son, he is sick with the Fever. I know it is wrong and I am so sorry, I will pay you back whatever it is that you wish, just please let my son go—he didn't take anything."

"No," Sevan says to his Mother, "I will not leave without you!"

"Very well then. You can both rot down here for all that I care," the woman replies, turning back towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Sevan shouts, somewhat more desperately than he intended to. The woman halts, back still turned towards them. "Please, let my Mother go. Give her the herbs she needs and I shall vow that I will remain here as your slave, to do as you wish."

"No!" Mother cries.

The woman turns her head slightly to the side as if she is considering his proposal. He can barely see her pale cheek in the shadows, skin so white it rivals the cold snow outside.

"I promise, I will never leave, please," he pleads once more, "Surely, a young man like me can be of greater use to you than a frail, old lady." He flinches at the insult he applied to his Mother but feels it necessary to convince the creature of the benefit of their trade.

The woman turns around, her face still hidden, "You would give up your life, your freedom, just to save your Mother and your brother?"

Somehow, the hook releases Sevan; he lands on his feet but falls down to his knees. He grovels, almost crawling towards her, begging before the witchlike creature, "I would." His desperate eyes search the darkness of her hood for her own but he cannot see them.

The silence grows awkwardly in the room as the witch considers the proposal. She breathes in deeply, her voice slightly hesitant, "Very well then." She kicks an empty basket next to her. Immediately it unweaves a few legs from itself, wobbling towards the witch, "Gather up the herbs. Make sure you get the right ones, enough for a week's worth of tea," she tells the basket. With a teetering, wobbly gait it runs towards the stairs, climbing them as best as a basket can. She waves her hand towards the woman, "If you tell anyone what you saw here, I will kill him. Say your goodbyes." The wooden gate clenches up and moves out of the way, allowing Mother freedom. The witch turns and disappears up the stairs.

He rises and rushes to his Mother.

"Sevan, no, you mustn't. That witch—that, that, creature, that beast—whatever it is, is evil—who knows what she will do to you!" Mother cries, wrapping her arms around her son. He strokes her hair gently, "I have to. If I do not, I will lose both a Mother and a brother. Please, do not worry about me. At least you will know that I am alive."

Something pulls Mother away from him. He looks up to see part of the gate, now with two branch legs and two branch arms dragging his Mother up the steps. She cries frantically, reaching out towards her son. Sevan tries to run to her but he is caught on something. He turns only to see that he is restrained by the other half of the gate. Desperately whipping his head around, he watches his Mother disappear into the gaping darkness above.

His heart pounds as he struggles to get away from the wooden branch man; finally, he unclasps his cloak and slides out of it, rushing to the stairs. He stumbles up the worn steps, emerging into the foyer only to burst through the front doors just in time to see the wooden man shove his Mother into a black carriage. The basket, full of herbs, scrambles in, the door shutting behind it. Without a driver, the black horse turns and takes off through the gate, disappearing almost instantly into the blizzard just beyond.

Sevan falls to his knees, heartbroken, "Goodbye," he whispers. If he had more time to think about what had just happened, he might have cried. But caught up in the whirlwind of the past few minutes, his mind and body still numb from the cold ride, he almost wonders if he is dying somewhere in the woods and this is all a hallucination.

A cold rain falls from the sky above the mansion, drenching his hair and dripping down his back, yet he doesn't move. His clothes begin to grow heavy with the weight of the water, sending a shiver down his spine as he sinks back onto his heels. The past few minutes start to weigh him down, his heart still pounding with adrenaline, his mind swirling with confusion. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of a shadowy figure. He doesn't move but keeps his eyes focused on the snow just beyond the gate. Soon the witch turns and heads towards the house without speaking a word.

He remains still, trying to calm down the franticness that pulses through his veins. Mother is gone but she is safe and Thomas will most likely live now; that is, if he can trust the witch to keep her word. Taking deep breaths, he makes himself calm down, assuring himself that there is no reason for the witch not to keep her word—if she had wanted to, she could have simply killed them both. But she didn't.

Slowly he rises to his feet and drags himself into the house. In the foyer, he finds the witch kicking off her wet shoes to slip her feet into a soft pair of dry ones. She removes her cloak, hanging it on a peg; he can't see her face, only the back of her unkempt wild brown hair. He stands still, unsure where he is supposed to go. After receiving no direction, he turns and heads towards the stairs to the cellar.

"Where are you going?" She turns her head slightly, to speak over her shoulder. Her voice seems to be a bit more harsh than she intended, for she drops her chin down after she speaks.

Sevan sees the shadow of her white face, illuminated by the faint glow of the moon outside; covered with thick indentations, the scars form a scrolling pattern along her cheek bones and forehead.

"I am...going down to the cellar, ma'am. I assume that is where I will be staying," he tries to say respectfully, resigning himself to the fact that he will be stuck here now, far away from everything he has known with a strange, cruel creature in an enchanted mansion.

She opens the door to the main part of the house, "You assumed wrong." She walks inside, leaving him alone in the foyer.

Sevan kicks off his wet boots just as she did, though it doesn't do him much good as he is soaked and dripping water. Cautiously, he follows her through the inner glass doors. He is surprised to see flames come to life above him in a large metal chandelier hanging in the center of the vast hallway. The light they provide is dim, enough to distinguish shapes but not enough to see any detail. The witch grabs a lantern from a long table against one wall, blowing softly inside to spark a flame from nothing. As she walks down the hall, Sevan slowly follows her. He passes a door on his left which opens into a large dining room. From a glowing doorframe against one wall comes the sounds of pans clanking, the smells of freshly baked bread. When a tall, wooden log with two branches as legs and three as arms peeks out around the corner, the noise stops. A crooked chef's hat swings from the top of the log. Sevan pauses to stare at the bizarre sight. He forces himself to stay calm. A large black cat speeds past him, startling him. He turns to watch the cat blow by the witch only to disappear around a corner. Sevan quickens his pace; around the corner he sees the witch climbing, an elegant, spiral stair case. He takes the steps two at a time to catch up.

The second floor is entirely pitch black; a long hallway stretches across the house, with black glass windows covering the entire right side. Though the spiral staircase ends, there are a dozen more steps in a small cove tucked into the wall. The witch continues up them, opening a door to reveal the room within one of the towers that he saw from outside. As the black cat scurries inside and jumps on the bed, a fire roars to life in the fireplace. Sevan steps inside, just next to the witch. He is shocked to find the room is exquisitely furnished; a tall, four post bed with expensive bedding takes up most of the room. Beyond that a large oak desk sits just next to a glass door that leads to a wide balcony. To his left is the fireplace and past that a door which leads into a bathroom larger than his Mother's bedroom. It contains a large wardrobe, an elegant copper tub and a long, mirror backed marble counter upon which a porcelain pitcher and basin rest.

"I trust this will do," the witch says. Sevan turns to her, seeing her head on for the first time. She is much younger than he guessed, probably around his age if not a year or two older. Her long, disheveled hair frames her pale face. Her hazel eyes are milky, suggesting that she might be blind, though Sevan doubts that she is. Her forehead and high cheek bones are indented with wicked filigree scars which extend down her chin and neck. Had it not been for those scars and her milky eyes, she would have been a beautiful woman.

"This is more than I expected," he says quietly, slightly off put by her appearance. He wants to stare at her, take in all that she is, examine her scars close up but he remains still, keeping his eyes on hers so as not to offend her.

She ignores his curious gaze well, "You are not to go into the room in the opposite tower, or the garden, nor shall you leave my property. There are clothes in the wardrobe that will fit you. You will come down for dinner in an hour." Irritation grates on her voice; he isn't sure if it is from the fact that he stared at her, or because he is simply present. Her harsh eyes quickly appraise him; though he stands tall with his chin raised, he is cautious to keep his shoulders slightly hunched so as to admit her dominance. His thick, black hair is tousled and well he took care to groom himself properly for the Governor's ball and is wearing his finest clothing, he feels like a cheaply wrapped present amongst the elegant decor. Despite her rather frumpy appearance and her simple, slightly dingy blue cotton dress, there is something about her mere presence that demands respect, hinting that her upbringing puts her in a class well above any other that he has known.

Sevan nods slightly, letting his eyes downcast from hers first, conceding to her authority and his agreement with her. The witch lingers for a moment, letting her eyes wander over his person before she turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

Sevan feels a sneeze coming; he muffles it with his sleeve, rediscovering that he is soaking wet. He walks into the bathroom and opens the cupboard; though he expects to find something akin to what he is wearing, he finds an array of high end clothing worthy of the room he is in. Stunned, he selects some before swiftly stripping naked and redressing. The fine quality of the fabric feels unusual against his skin. He walks to the counter, seeing that his hair has gone awry. Undoing the ribbon in the back, he brushes out his shoulder length black hair, carefully pulling it back into a ponytail again. Sighing, he rubs his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror, half wondering if he is delusional.

"What have I got myself into?" He says to his reflection.

"She is actually not that bad," a voice says.

Sevan jumps back, unnerved, "Impossible," he says. Slowly he reaches out to his reflection, touching the cold glass.

"Yes, in fact it is impossible. Mirrors don't talk," the small voice says again.

Sevan peers out into his room, cautiously looking around at each object: the desk, the rug, the end table, the bed. Finally his eyes fall on the cat, sitting on his bed. "Hello," it says.

Tentatively, Sevan steps towards it, "Hello." On any other day he might have thought he'd gone mental but seeing as how today his dinner is being prepared by a dead tree, a talking cat doesn't seem like too far of a stretch.

"I know she seems rather unfriendly but like I said, she's actually not that bad. We haven't had company for almost ten winters now, so...she's a little out of practice," the cat says before licking his paw and wiping his face.

"I can't imagine why," Sevan says offhandedly. He sits on the edge of the bed next to the cat, "So, do all cats talk, or is it just you."

The cat looks at him like he is being ridiculous, "No, just me."

"Why?"

Tilting his head, the cat looks at him for a moment as if pondering something. It almost hesitates, as if it is struggling to decide what he should say and what he shouldn't say. Finally, he begins his story, "A long time ago, there was a child born into a wealthy family. The parents finally felt complete with her in their life; they didn't want for anything in the world and were as content and happy as anyone could ever be. Then one day, when the child was still young, her parents died, leaving her all alone in the world. But the child was fortunate enough to have a governess, who continued to raise her with all of the grace an elegance of the finest of ladies, making sure to teach her as her parents would have. However, it wasn't long before the governess, too, left this world, leaving behind a young, elegant, beautiful woman. In the neighboring town of Waterford, that woman, Isabelle, became a highly sought after prize; not only was she every bit as beautiful as the first cherry blossom in spring, she was wealthy beyond any of their wildest dreams. Many tried to win her hand in marriage, though none succeeded. Isabelle soon discovered that they were after her not because of who she was inside but because of her looks and fortune. Her heart grew cold and cruel. She began to enjoy toying with the men, leading them on to believe that she had eyes for no one else; when they fell deeply in love with her, she would end their relationship. She left many heartbroken in her wake, ruining them for other eligible women and even for life itself.

One day, a stranger came into town. He was older than most of her suitors but he was devilishly handsome, charming and clever. It wasn't long before he, too, was caught in Isabelle's web. One warm summer's night, he came to visit her; she was sitting beneath a large magnolia tree in her garden, carving an apple while watching the fireflies dance in the darkness. The man lied down next to her, drawing her up into his arms. With a passionate kiss, he declared his undying love and asked her to marry him. As she had done many times before, she shyly thanked him for the offer but told him no and said that it would be best if they didn't see each other anymore.

The man didn't take kindly to the rejection; he pinned her down. Though she begged to be let go and struggled against him, he tried to force himself on her. Isabelle didn't want to hurt him but she had no choice—though she only meant to wound him enough to get away, in the struggle her apple knife ended up in his chest. It was then that the man revealed his true nature—he was a wizard. With his dying breath he cursed Isabelle and all known to her, that her ugliness within be reflected on her outside, so that no other man would suffer the same fate as him. As he died, a terrible rain began to fall. It down poured so much that the river rose and wiped out Waterford; it would have flooded this very house as well, had it not been shielded by the wizard's cursed magic. As a result of her poor choices, she would remain within her enchanted prison, untouched by the world outside, while the seasons raged at their extremes."

Sevan rises, walking towards the balcony; he opens the doors, looking out over the vast garden. Though he feels a small amount of pity towards the woman from the story, he can't help but feel disdain for her as well. Every day of his life has been a struggle, yet he has never felt the desire to be cruel towards others. He has had several advances from the women back at home but he quickly squashed those notions before anyone got hurt, simply because he wishes to find the one person he was meant to be with. Sevan stretches his arms above his head, staying just inside the doors and out of the rain. At the very back of the garden, he spots a magnificent magnolia tree, whose flowers seem to glow against the darkness. He is barely able to distinguish the cloaked figure in front of it; the witch reaches her hand out to gently catch a falling bloom. With the utmost of care, she sets the bloom down into the small moat at the drip edge of the tree. As he squints his eyes, Sevan sees hundreds of glowing magnolias floating in the small pond, each as beautiful and as perfect as the day they fell. The tree, however, only has a few dozen blooms remaining on it.