The Dark One
813 Words
“Come in”
The room is dark and cold.
Windows shut, drapes drawn so that the warm air of daytime has had no access to the cold grey walls.
Seating behind a dark red wood desk in the far end of the stone walled room, quill moving furiously across the rolled out parchment paper, The Master does not need to look up to know who has entered.
No one else would dare to come in after only one knock and no answer.
Quiet footfalls approach his desk.
On it sits a dark green bottle, one glass tumbler half-empty and containing the bright blue of the fruit of the vine native to Xesperia.
Another besides it and lying on its side, its contents dripping slowly down.
Becoming a dark patch as it spread out to stain the thick crimson rug.
Unless he had taken to drinking from two glasses at the same time, It is obvious that someone else had come calling on the man in the big backed chair but the visitor knows better than to ask.
The visitor stops in front of the desk and clears their throat.
But the Master does not look up.
The visitor is used to this.
But still they sigh quietly before beginning to speak.
“She is here”
The Master’s hand stills mid word over the parchment and the dark, silky feather remains poised above the desk.
A small smile he doesn’t let show, broods on his lips. “Is she now?”
The visitor nods. “Yes, she is.”
The master simply grunts in response, a low deep sound in his throat and resumes writing.
But when the visitor does not leave, he stops and raises one brow without lifting is head.
“You have some other message?”
The Visitor clears his throat once more. Reluctant.
“I don’t think…”
The quill drops and the visitor stops mid sentence.
The quiet fall of the pen might as well have been a bomb in the oppressive silence that now fills the room.
The Master feels his fists start to close.
Thoughts left festering yield doubts and doubt…doubt is something he cannot allow.
His fists clench and unclench. “You don’t think what?”
His voice is a smooth honey glided timbre, measured words disguising the darkness and anger beneath.
The visitor is not fooled.
They know the Master very well.
And yet, not one to back down so easily, swallows the fear they feel and continues.
“I don’t think she knows.”
At this, the Master behind the desk raises his head, tilting it ever so slightly till his eyes meet those of his visitor. “Do you feel for this…creature?”
“No”
The Master smiles at the force with which the visitor has uttered the word.
Yes, it isn’t quite hate, but it is close and that is good enough.
The Master smiles softly, making sure to keep his voice level.
“It matters little if she knows or not. It is in her blood, it is what she is. And when the monster in her rises, we will be here to end it once and for all.”
The visitor is silent.
Too silent for the Master’s liking. He tilts his head. An odd habit of his. “Do you doubt the sanctity of our plan?”
The visitor starts. “No. I…”
“Or perhaps…it is me you doubt?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then good. This is what must be done. This is what you must do.”
The visitor nods and without another word, strides out of the room.
The smile on the Master’s face vanishes the minute his doors swing shut.
The spilled wine drop by drop still falls silently on the rug below.
The stain growing bigger with each passing moment.
The Master stands up slowly, barely sparing it a second glance.
“Come Bastin”
His familiar, a large, dark phoenix, bursts into reality.
Its black and gold feathers cast shadows from the white fire torches burning all around the chamber.
He walks towards a tall mahogany bookcase filled with ancient tomes and mysterious scrolls.
“Ardomen”
A word of old forbidden magic uttered beneath his breath.
And in respond to the whispered command, the heavy bookcase disappears to reveal a wide opening.
The pitch black of the passage ahead is so oppressive it is almost a tangible thing.
Bastin the familiar, floats lazily through the air to rest on his shoulder.
The Master feels the corners of his lips pull at the edges.
Half smile, half sneer..
“I believe we have a guest to see to”
And with his thick crimson cloak trailing behind him, he steps into the darkness, the bookcase reappearing behind him once more to hide its secrets
- Writer
