The man spat, now that I saw him, I recognized a certain resemblance to the archduke in his raven black hair graying at the temples and the shape of his eyes...his father?
"Damn it! How could you? Your life won't be enough to pay for what you did! That man was a hero, which you will never be!"
Farand menacingly grabbed him by the collar of his robe. He could see how the nostrils of his tall nose waved violently. His reddened neck and the pulsing vein on his temple were a clear sign of how angry and afraid he was. Stopped this time by the butler, who closed the doors, to avoid the curious glances of the servants. They were not alone, around them a group of illustrious men contemplated the scene without wanting to intervene, indifferent.
"Scoundrel!"
He spat the word before walking away. Fixing his dark eyes on him. But Archduke Ebenezer Stokehurt was undeterred. As if it were an everyday thing to be slapped and threatened as soon as you wake up. It went from the man and the insult. Since the two were in similar conditions, this was more a matter of courtesy than of power and it did not seem to be their first altercation, nor the last.
"Don't be dramatic, father."
My mouth moved on its own.
The silence that followed could be cut with a knife. But it served to calm the older man, his eyes burning, turning curiously cold, but the hostility was still there. His Adam's apple pumped in his throat as he adjusted his hair and clothes. It was at that moment that another of the men intervened, looking at him from above, spoke:
"You should know that as a magistrate, I have requested a trial from the king. Reports say that you massacred the northern villages, then try to set them on fire, and that yourself murdered the old hero. The other nobles and Prince Rufus...
He nodded towards the figure next to him. The red-haired man advancing briefly, urging him to continue, his arms crossed over his chest.
"They hope that you will be tried and punished appropriately, even if that ends with your death, we are aware of the great loss that represents for Sir Farand, as his only heir and we are willing to listen to him."
(Were these elaborate scenes normal in this kind of game? Wasn't it just an excuse to flirt with hot guys?)
I felt the impulse to turn my head to look at "my father". But my body didn't move. Anyway, it seemed like Archduke Stokehurt was made of air. I wiped my broken lip with the back of my hand, unable to avoid tasting, along with the blood, the different emotions that possessed me.
Resentment, frustration, fear, but above all a powerful resignation. It was so dense that, there was no way that the individual who possessed it would want to move forward in this life. The deep despondency eroded my bones, making it even difficult to breathe.
I knew it in that moment.
They will kill me.
No one was willing to do the least to save him. Everyone in that room was absolutely convinced of the archduke's guilt. The only reason they bothered to discuss it in front of him was because of his position. However, I was already a dead man to all of them.
My hands shook as they spoke and little by little I regained control of this body, very slowly like a cramping limb.
"Did you do it?!"
His father insisted. And I turned my attention when I heard the duke's voice projected on my chest.
Ebenezer Stokehurt took a breath, I could see it in my mind. That malicious smile filled with complicity, and with absolute conviction he responded:
"I didn't do it."
(WTF brother...)
With a neurotic giggle, my body raced, stretching my hands over my face in a strange grimace.
"You guys would never have been able to stop me! …And that idiot, he should never have gotten in my way!"
I wanted to rack my brain, what was that supposed to mean? What was this man playing at? My jaw dropped while the eyebrows of everyone present frowned in my direction.
But things continue on their own. Without saying more, the hermetic villain remained silent with a satisfied look at his brief response and there was no threat that would make him part his lips. Neither mine nor the men who taught him.
***
"Aaaah"
I lengthened the sound, dragging it to the back of my throat as I stared into space, my mind just as empty. I hadn't moved from my room, I barely slid out of bed but I was tired.
"It's gone"
That was my conclusion, with my eyes closed.
"No. Had you been there in the first place...archduke?"
Slowly, with some trepidation, separate the eyelashes again. And "that thing" floated in space invisible to everyone except me, shining iridescently.
INTRO end
It was that screen, the system, what had disposed of my body to inform me of my situation… to show me how screwed I was.
"This is of no use to me!"
I mentally growled, pinching the bridge of my nose carefully, noticing how the screen faded until it disappeared.
The still swollen cheek had been roughly treated by the old butler after his father left, defeated by his attitude. The ointment had a greasy and planty smell. If he were younger, he probably would have ranted, pounded the bed, and trashed the room. I skipped crying and being miserable, since I would do it later, at bath time. I was an adult, adults cried in the shower while wondering when things would get better. That's why I felt strangely calm now. It wasn't worth shaking the bush too much. I knew the duke was guilty, I had boasted about how well I drew all those scenes of him losing control with his hands covered in blood and madness in his red eyes. But I didn't remember anything similar to what happened today and, although I didn't fully know the story beyond the descriptions, concepts and situational summaries, I never drew the duke being slapped by his father, or waking up dying in bed. I also didn't remember talking to the writer or the designer in the project meetings. It all ended with the death of Duke Ebenezer Stokehurt. The good endings and the bad ones. There were no burned villages or massacres in his sketches...at least I didn't remember them.
"Unless…"
Leaning forward I opened the doors of the room suddenly, finding myself face to face with a maid. The girl let out a scream of horror, putting her hands to her chest. The sheets they were carrying scattered on the ground.
"Please forgive me!"
He screamed, about to prostrate himself.
Ignoring her, I grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me.
"What day is it?"
"Oh no please…yes?"
"What month is it? Is it cold?"
"It's, it's, it's, it's autumn."
That was enough. I left her lying there and went back to the room, listening to the other maids comfort the grieving young woman. They would do a better job than me.
"Autumn, she appears in spring. "This is before the start game."