"Are you going to just stand there the rest of the afternoon?"
Snow couldn't help jump at the sound of that harsh voice and quickly looked around, unable to decide what to do. Was he supposed to stay inside that small bedroom with that dark monster? For how long? Would he ever be able to leave it again? Would he die in there?
The monster sighed and sat down on the crooked chair.
Snow simply stared at him. Though he already knew that there was a man inside all those wavering, massive shadows, it was still kind of … strange, watching such a dense mass of darkness sit down on a small chair. He couldn't help expect it to simply break under his weight.
"At least put down your bag. We'll be waiting here until nightfall."
Snow averted his gaze and obeyed, allowing his bag to fall on the floor at his feet.
As time went by, however, his legs eventually started to get tired, and so he simply sat down right where he stood, his back against the cold, hard wall. Pulling his cloak closer to his body, he covered himself as best as he could and wished he could simply disappear, or at the very least become invisible.
He hated that room! The air smelled bad, making it hard to breathe. The bed was too similar, too familiar, reminding him of the endless days he'd spent laying down, tied to four wooden posts, looking up at a darkened ceiling much like this one. Still he didn't dare complain. He didn't dare speak. He even wished he could stop breathing. He'd do anything, if that meant that the monster would forget that he existed. And it did seemed to work, for a while.
The sound of someone moving around the room made Snow take a peek, needing to make sure that he remained safe. He watched as the dark monster rumbled through his bag, much bigger than his own, and then took out a golden hourglass, which he placed on the small bedside-table, that actually looked more like an overturned crate.
Frowning, Snow looked at the small object, the white sand slowly running from one compartment to the other. By its slow speed it would take a long time until all the sand was gone, and he couldn't help fear what would happen once the time was up.
Without a word, the monster went back to the crooked chair. And then, before Snow's startled eyes, the unexpected happened.
The darkness around the dark monster started to thin out, slowly dissolving into the air around him, until it completely disappeared. Just like before the monster was gone and, sitting on that chair, was a mere man.
For a moment Snow expected to be scolded like before, maybe even beaten, but nothing happened. The man in front of him simply remained sitting, one booted foot propped against the wall, hugging the sword ZenTar had handed him against his chest and staring out the window.
From the only other time he had actually been able to see him, he already knew he was rather young, probably in his twenties. But before everything had happened way too fast, and the monster had been so mad at him that Snow hadn't really taken the time to actually take a good look at him.
Tall and with a lean build, the man's arms and legs looked even longer with him sitting in that crooked chair. His hair was pitch black, so much so that it actually glistened in shades of blue where the light coming from outside touched it. He had simply tied it up in a single ponytail that now slid down over his chest, all the way to his waist, thin shorter locks of hair framing his face and shadowing his forehead. There were no braids or ornaments, like the ones he knew the rich and important people liked to wear, and Snow couldn't help wonder how long it would be if he just untied it.
His skin was surprisingly fair, almost as much as his own, even though he was sure that, unlike him, the monster spent lots of time under the wide, open sky. And his oval face had an elegant beauty about it, with a tall forehead, slightly downturned lips, and a big, elongated blue eyes framed by long dark eyelashes. Not that he was delicately beautiful like some of the women Snow had seen, or frail-looking like the lord of the Fortress had been. It was more like a cold, silent beauty, one that could clearly become frightening very quickly, should those eyebrows frown and those eyes turn cold.
All dressed in black, a long coat reaching his knees, riding boots covering his legs, even though he was no longer enveloped by those dense shadows, he still gave out the feeling of something dark, something silent, cold and lonely.
Why was Snow suddenly able to see him so clearly, however, was something he could not comprehend. Not only that. Somehow he looked … weaker, not as frightening or scary as he'd been. Of course, the fact that he now looked like any other man and not some unknown, shapeless being, had also probably something to do with that. But somehow Snow felt that that wasn't all there was to it.
Also, unlike before, he didn't get angry at him. Not that Snow had given him any reasons to be angry. But before he hadn't done anything wrong either, but he had still been harshly scolded, almost punched and openly threatened with the death penalty, should whatever had happened before ever happen again. Now, however, he just sat there, mainly ignoring him, looking out the window, a hand wrapped around the sword's handle.
Maybe he didn't know, Snow wondered. Maybe he didn't know that he could see the change in him. More than once, Snow had suspected that he was the only one able to see the dark monster that he was. And if that was true, then he wouldn't know that Snow was also able to see when he stopped being that monster, reason why he just kept sitting there, instead of trying to squeeze the life out of him.