The dancing flame of the candle shone dimly, its light just about enough to illuminate the sparsely furnished room that was almost lost in darkness. The head manager hunched over his desk, his mind deep in thought, his back to the corners of his quarters that whispered secrets of their own. His shaking hand clutched at the quill tightly, feeling the weight of this moment, as the black ink pooled onto the parchment, recording his hesitation and doubt as to where to begin this monumental task.
Finally, with a deep, fearful breath drawn into his lungs, the tip of the quill pressed firmly onto the paper, ready to convey his thoughts.
"I am very sorry, everyone."
He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the words as if willing them to somehow change on their own without any effort on his part. They didn't. His jaw clenched in a tightly set determination, and he continued with what he had to say.
"When the Madam and I shared something so special, everything around us felt so incredibly… right, even if, in the eyes of the world, it might have been considered wrong. We filled our days with joyous laughter, much like children delighting in carefree play in a vibrant world devoid of any consequences or worries. We enjoyed charming picnics spread out in beautiful open fields. The sun danced and sparkled as it caught in her flowing hair. We had quiet moments together where words were not needed, and our connection said it all."
"I really don't know what happened to it, to be honest. What the heck happened to us? That thing we had, it's like it never existed at all. I really never wanted to make her cry or hurt. I absolutely never wanted to lose her in any way. I am so sorry for everything. I blame this on my shortcomings."
His hand holding the quill moved it just a little too firmly down upon the paper with a sharp tip, the point scratching the delicate surface in just such a way that tears had begun to faintly take hold and small imperfections in the fine parchment resulted. As he held it, it began to shake harder; his hand was fighting it, as if resisting a stronger, unseen force trying to grasp it, but with clenched teeth, he refused to surrender as the pressure mounted inside his heart. His breathing became suddenly ragged and labored, giving away a tempest brewing inside him.
"At this moment, she gazes at me as though I am an unfamiliar face, a complete stranger to her. It feels like I am just a person she has already chosen to forget completely. Her actions denote me as something of the past—like an ancient page from a book she has torn out and discarded without the least thought. Yet, as contrary to that as possible, here I stay, being captive and completely unable to move on with my life to the next page. I stood there, watching her take flight, soaring away into the distance, while I was left behind, grounded and alone. I am just completely bewildered by the situation. All I want is to know why things are this way.
A single tear fell from his eye and landed on the paper, causing the ink to blur slightly in such a way that some of the letters were distorted. He made no motion to wipe it off but let it remain, evidence of his emotion.
He finally lowered the quill from his fingers, letting his hand go limp and slack, the apparent result of being completely drained of all his energy with the simple act of placing his innermost thoughts upon the page. For a very long period of time, he simply stared blankly at what he had written down in front of him. In the poor and flickering light of the candle, the words seemed to bleed together in some sort of confusing haze-an incomprehensible mess that reflected his turbulent emotions at that moment.
Silence in this instance grew heavier and began weighing on all present. The gentle dancing of the candle flame seemed unnaturally silent and subdued, even as the very darkness appeared to hold its breath.
Then, suddenly, the cracking of his voice right through the profound stillness of this moment broke the spell around them.
"Why is she this way?"
He sniffed hard, his sleeve tugged upwards to blot the streaming tears from his face as he fought for composure. "I did nothing wrong… nothing at all…" His voice was lower now, barely audible as he spoke. "She's like a completely different person now. It happened overnight. She is married to him—to that tyrant of an emperor who rules with an iron fist."
The word "tyrant" clung in his mouth, bitter as ash. There was a bitter and deep-seated resentment twisting and coiling through his chest, wrapping his heart in its binding vine. But just as fast, another wave of guilt rolled in over him, overwhelming and relentless.
I really don't have it in me to hurt him," he muttered to himself, staring blankly at the desk in front of him, almost as if it were a black hole absorbing all his thoughts. "I hate him, yet at the same time. I respect him, too, which is confusing. I don't even understand why I feel this way. Maybe it's because he embodies everything I'm not capable of being. Or maybe it's because he holds her attention, her unwavering loyalty-her heart, which seems to belong to him."
He let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded hollow and empty, devoid of any real amusement.
"Am I a complete fool for feeling this way about the situation?
Outside, the sound of faint footsteps echoed softly beyond his door, almost imperceptible in nature but just loud enough to make his ears twitch involuntarily. He turned his body slightly, as his instincts honed from years as a servant began to kick in instinctively. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of two maids moving stealthily around the perimeter of the building, their figures cast in shadow and silhouetted dramatically against the faint, ethereal moonlight.
"Spies," he muttered quietly under his breath, a touch of paranoia and unease creeping into his voice as he spoke. "Why would-
The candle's flame danced and flickered wildly, as if an unseen gust of wind had suddenly swept through the room, disturbing the stillness. He came to a complete standstill, frozen in place. The air around him grew significantly colder, sending a chill down his spine.
From somewhere deep within the shadows that loomed behind him, a voice—low and guttural, possessing an unsettling edge that seemed to scrape at the very depths of the soul—crawled into the room, invading his senses.
"Guess who's back."
The words slithered through the darkened space like a serpent, carrying with them no sense of warmth or comforting presence—only a palpable sense of malice and foreboding.
The blood ran cold in the head manager's body, as if his heart had been stopped by an icy grip of fear. In a quick, instinctive reaction, his hand flew out and clutched the edge of the desk, whitening his knuckles in the process. With deliberate slowness, he turned his head toward the enveloping darkness looming around him, and in that instant, his breath caught deep inside his throat, trapped by tension.
The voice emerged without any sound of footsteps. It did not arrive with any movement or indication of presence whatsoever. Rather, it was just the voice, taunting and disembodied, echoing in the stillness.
"Who…" he whispered, barely above a murmur and cracking with the strain on his voice, "who's there?"
There was only oppressive silence in response to his forlorn question.
And yet, with everything going on around him, the air continued to grow colder, the chill creeping through the room. The shadows in the corners of the room stretched and twisted unnaturally, almost as if they were alive and moving on their own accord. The head manager's pulse quickened with anxiety, his heart pounding within his chest like a drum, reverberating with each beat.
"I'm imagining things," he whispered softly to himself, squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an attempt to block out the unsettling sensations. "It's just—just lack of sleep. I haven't been sleeping well," he reassured himself in a feeble attempt to rationalize what he was feeling.
He slowly opened his eyes, allowing the world around him to come into focus. The candle that had been illuminating the room was almost completely burned out, its flame sputtering weakly and flickering in a feeble manner.
In the darkened reflection visible in the window, something seemed to move unexpectedly.
To be continued.