Episode 07
( Summoned in a Huff )
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"Ha… Ha… Why, heavens, Huff* Huff* pray tell, why was my presence demanded with such beastly urgency?"
Aravar panted dramatically, his breath fogging the air, his voice bouncing along the dark, yet strikingly beautiful corridor of the castle's fourth floor. The walls, a deep, lustrous black, were adorned with intricate carvings and sparkling jewels that shimmered subtly under the warm glow of hanging lanterns, casting enchanting shadows and giving the corridor an air of mysterious grandeur.
Barely half an hour after Julius's grand arrival, Aravar had made his theatrical entrance, bursting through the castle doors. Wrapped in a soggy gray trench coat, his green hair a tangled mess from the storm, and his suitcase looked as if it, too, had wrestled a dragon—or at least a particularly vicious gust of wind. He looked like he had been plucked from his bed to face this urgent summons.
Huff* Huff*
After a full minute of gasping—a pause long enough to draw curious glances—Aravar regained his composure with the poise of a seasoned noble. He slicked back his hair and adjusted his coat with a regal flick, transforming from a breathless mess into the picture of elegance. One could scarcely believe this was the same man who, moments ago, had been auditioning for the role of a distressed steam engine.
"So, His Grace has already returned?"
Aravar inquired with a tone as serious as the carved gargoyles guarding the corridor. He stood resolute in the hallowed hallway of the fourth floor—a domain off-limits to all but a select cadre, including Butler Elden, Headmaid Lara, and a few others privy to the castle's deepest secrets.
"Ah… It's not His Grace."
Elden corrected, his voice a mere murmur in the shadowy expanse.
"Huh? What do you mean NOT His Grace?"
Aravar's confusion was palpable, his voice bouncing off the gem-studded walls, a mix of intrigue and disbelief.
"Well… You should come and see for yourself."
Elden's suggestion carried a hint of mystery.
"H-Huh? HER?! What do you mean?"
Aravar exclaimed, his surprise echoing down the corridor, his usual calm shattered. As the dedicated Physician Mage to Julius, Aravar hadn't treated anyone else other than some knights at Frost Castle for centuries.
"Shh! Mind your voice, Sir Aravar! His Grace is resting in his chamber!"
Elden hissed, casting nervous glances around the shadowy corridor.
"Oh, apologies!"
Aravar quickly subdued his tone.
"Sigh~ It's alright. Just be careful, Sir Aravar. Now, please follow me."
Elden instructed, lantern in hand casting eerie dances of light as he led the way to a mysterious room on the fifth floor. Silently, Aravar followed in silence, each step fueled by a swirling storm of questions and the peculiar thrill of the unknown.
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It was a somber, stormy night at Castle Frost, where the atmosphere buzzed with an intensity uncommon for the typically serene stronghold. The castle felt as though it had been turned on its head, a place not merely busy but imbued with an urgent and mysterious disturbance.
In the midst of this chaos, a select group of adept maids had swiftly prepared a chamber for the enigmatic young woman their master had brought within the castle walls. They had gently bathed her and arrayed her in a pristine, soft nightgown, prioritizing her comfort while she remained unconscious.
"Ah…"
"She…"
"She is… So beautiful!"
Lying there unconscious, the woman radiated an ethereal grace. Her midnight-black hair flowed down to her mid-back, glossy as obsidian. Her skin was like delicate porcelain, and her long, dark lashes rested gently against her cheeks, bestowed upon her the appearance of a serene, celestial being. The cotton nightgown wrapped around her, accentuating the natural elegance of her form. Yet, beneath this otherworldly grace lay clear signs of distress and torment.
Dark circles marred the area beneath her eyes, speaking volumes of sleepless nights and unspoken fears. Her lips, though naturally rosy and full, bore the marks of nervous biting, likely a manifestation of her inner turmoil. Small, brown puncture-like marks dotted her hands—evidence of repeated, painful encounters with sharp instruments over a lengthy period.
Marks of a purplish-red hue adorned her wrists and ankles, indicating that she might have been restrained. As the candlelight in the chamber flickered, casting a play of shadows and light, her form took on a mysterious and almost otherworldly air.
The maids who attended her were left in awe, their gazes lingering on her serene and beautiful form. Although enveloped in silence and mystery, her presence conveyed a poignant blend of breathtaking beauty and a deep, haunting sadness that sent chills down their spines, as if her very presence echoed with silent cries for help.
The chamber was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the patter of rain against the stone walls of Castle Frost. Amid the dim light and the whisper of the storm, the maids clustered together, their faces etched with concern.
"But… What happened to her?"
One whispered, her eyes never leaving the unconscious woman's serene yet haunting face.
"I, too, am haunted by such questions."
Murmured another, her voice a soft echo of shared curiosity.
"Where do you think His Grace found her?"
The third maid chimed in, her tone laced with worry.
"With all that mud on her, she must've been somewhere near the forest road."
The first speculated, trying to piece together the fragmented clues of her mysterious arrival.
"Perhaps taken by brigands, traded for her beauty?"
The second posited, her voice lowering to a hushed, ominous timbre, suggesting a cruel and dismal fate.
"Aye, that must be it. For her beauty would draw the vilest of men."
The youngest maid concurred, her youthful voice laden with a sorrowful reverence.
"Whatever it is, she looks so pitiful lying there…"
The eldest maid sighed heavily, her heart heavy as she looked at the frail figure in front of them.
"Mhmm."
The maids nodded, their agreement unanimous, yet filled with an uneasy sense of foreboding.
Creak~
At that moment, the chamber door groaned open, slicing through the thick silence. Elders Edler and Aravar stepped into the somber room, cutting the quiet tension, their figures casting long, ominous shadows that flickered with the candlelight. At the sudden intrusion, the maids ceased their murmurs and, bowing low, silently withdrew from the chamber, their movements like shadows swallowed by the night.
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"This is the lady His Grace escorted back to the castle?"
"Indeed. Found nowhere less mystical than the forest itself."
"In the forest, you say?"
Aravar's eyebrows arched with a mix of incredulity and skepticism.
"Quite so."
"Not merely adjacent to its leafy confines, I presume?"
"No, squarely in its emerald heart."
"Oh, really…?" ಡ_ ಡ
Aravar's tone hovered between jest and genuine bewilderment.
"Quite so."
"In such torrential downpour?"
"Exactly."
"Haa~ How extraordinary... What could possibly lure His Grace into such a storm? And whatever was a maiden of her tender years doing amidst such wilds?"
"Well, that's–"
"No need to elaborate; my curiosity is quite piqued enough as it is."
"Very well. Now, would you kindly attend to the girl?"
"That was my intention."
With a flourish, Aravar approached the bedside, setting his case on a nearby ornate table. He then positioned himself beside the slumbering woman, extending his hands with a ceremonial grace. As he closed his eyes, a soft breeze stirred, setting his verdant locks dancing.
At that moment, Aravar's eyelids lifted, revealing irises of a brilliant, golden hue, glowing ominously in the dim light. From his palms emerged a cascade of golden fairy dust, which spiraled gracefully toward the woman, enveloping her in a luminescent embrace.
It was a spectacle of magic, profoundly bewitching to behold.