Whereas, I put up a wicked smile too when I figure I am about to put him into wonder——"Do you not know about the chamber you moved in?"
His eyes widen while he questions, "What about it?"
'What about it'?
These chambers we discuss belong to a baroque-style building called Ignis Chambers. The building consists of four floors, while each floor consists of four chambers, except for the top floor.
The top floor was used as an attic. In order to fully utilise the space, the landlord renovated it, divided it into two separate chambers, built a bathroom for each of them, and rented them out at a lower price.
For the second time I size up the man in front of me a little——He seems old enough to afford a more lavish accommodation in Elwesburgh.
Driven by my curiosity, I squint at him, "How old are you, if I may ask?"
Out of expectations, a simple question from me is enough to put this man in confusion. With his lips pouted he mentions, "It depends on what year it is."
His words draw my eyebrows furrowed——Is he not sober? His question sounds aberrant enough to interrupt my cogitation. However, hoping to obtain an answer by the most efficient method, I decide to adapt to his flow, "It is the sixty-first year of the twentieth century, sir." I reported.
At once, my answer acts as a light that cracks upon his face, "1961, sounds about a good year to rise upon." he decides, "I will be twenty-eight then, I think."
It seems odd for him to sound unsure about his own age, but twenty-eight seems appropriate for him. Whilst, ten years of age difference isn't too much for me to handle, I hope, for I have a brother older than him.
"So, what about my chamber that put you in such concern?" that man raises his eyebrows at me, "Or was it just my age you were interested in?"
As if I care, I shrug, "If you are capable of affording a better place in this town, sir, you are suggested to look for a new place to stay."
While the man widens his eyes, lights seep into his eyes and swirl in them, turning them into blood moons that glow in the shade of rubies.
Hoping to cut himself off the suspense, he questions, "On the account of which…?"
Fortunately, the major issue is not reflected on the function of the chamber itself.
For the space in half of the attic is limited, each of these chambers on the top floor only consists of two divided spaces, which are the bathroom in the corner, and the multipurpose area.
Standing at the doorstep, I have my bed and wardrobe placed on the left, while a minimal set of kitchen cabinets on the right.
Straight after the kitchen, there is a low round table and a few cushions on the floor, as a dining and studying area. While after the table, there lies a couch right under the metal-framed windows.
The chambers' windows face the river and the other fascinating architectures across it. The scenery is certainly perfect.
To the left of the window, at the same time at the end of the bed, there consists of a bathroom with a shower and an old tub at the deepest corner.
Meanwhile, although the roof is slanted, yet as long as the space is built in an appropriate anatomy, it does not bother me, but…
"Nothing too concerning, it's just…"
The division method made them the thirteenth and fourteenth unit of the building. And when my chamber is labelled unit number fourteenth…
With my thumb, I point at the door next to mine. In honesty I claim, "Everybody knows, 'thirteen' does not make a good number plate."
Unexpectedly, the man is not startled at all. Instead he states, "That, I have heard of——'Thirteen' is said to be an 'unlucky number' in your world after all."
Sure… So he is not triskaidekaphobic, but, 'in your world', he said?
While the words he chose are about to tangle up my mind, his lips bends into an abstruse smile… Something amusing came across his head, didn't it?
At him I strike a captious glare, and it manages to draw some words out of his lips immediately, "Worry not, Mr Averell." he mentions, as if I do worry, "I have no fear of what harm you thought this chamber would bring me, because I might be even more appalling than the number alone ever would be."
At the end of his words, perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, he picks out a flower from his box and offers it to me. In uncertainty, I cautiously hold the flower within my fingertips by its stem.
From top, I give the flower a better glance——Upon the moist green leaves, six stamens with yellow anthers grow out from the middle, while encircled by four round petals and protected by four sepals.
When I hold it close to my nose and take a deep sniff, I can smell a sweet aroma similar to the scent of honey.
Surprised, I ask, "What is this?"
In enthusiasm he introduces, "Lobularia maritima, commonly known as sweet alyssums. It blooms all year round except when there are frosts. They symbolise purity, protection, and…"
After he ensures I am holding the alyssum's stem in my hand, his lips subtly curl up. Whispering, he then adds, "The sweetness of one's soul."
His queer behaviour draws a wry chuckle out of my lips, but the aroma of the flower somehow manages to magically set my mind at ease right away.
Well, although I don't mind spending my time talking to a stranger before I head to the living hell, yet, clearly it does not help with slowing down the burning in my lower abdomen. In fact, the heat rises while I remain in my position.
Instead of a hallway, I figure it might be more comfortable that I suffer the uncomfort on my classroom desk. As I decide, I cross the hallway and walk down the stairs.
Not to forget to greet my new neighbour, "Welcome to the unlucky chamber, Mr Llevric." and ironically, I wish him, "Good luck."
Before I take the turn, once more I lay my gaze on the ruby ring on his finger..
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When the sun is fully risen, places are getting more and more crowded, including the magnificent gothic architecture I am walking into.
University of Dunne Sleibhe is the most preeminent and opulent higher education institution in Elwesburgh, where the rich and popular families send their descendants, especially those who holds the hereditary titles and those who are in the highest class of the aristocracy, including some of the heirs of the notable families, who, some would say, bear high hopes and huge responsibilities of the kingdom's future.
It has been over half past the semester of the autumn term, still, I am currently in my freshman year, pursuing an undergraduate academic programme in Literary Art.
I, as well, come from a notable family. My great grandfather, Lord Neil Averell, is ennobled with the title of a Baron for his noticeable contribution in the development of naval engineering in the past decades.
We were told a story many times, that the first time our great-grandfather boarded a cruise with his father, he got lost and accidentally entered the engine room of the ship. The sailor on post enlightened him with his knowledge about shipbuilding, and it inspired him ever since.
Following years of continuing his studies and practising, in the year 1883 during his thirties, our great-grandfather founded Averell Shipwright Industry. He built ships for the royal families, the peers, and their important guests. Together with the family, they owned several shipyards all over the country.
As the youngest son, my father, Galiot Averell proved his talent and capability of running the company. He inherited the place of the director, and also the place of the biggest shareholder of the company.
My mother side wise, she was from a family of musicians. She was raised to be a pianist. As the world would say, behold the messenger of the angels——Idalia Hamilton, who brings the sound of heaven to earth.
Unfortunately, before I was grown enough to learn everything about piano she wanted to teach me, she put herself to eternal sleep. She struggled from depression after I was born, and her whole family laid the blame on me, which my father did too, for I had led his most beloved woman to death.
Still and all, there shall be no grudge I hold towards my mother, for I barely bare sufficient memories of her. In fact, the only memory I bare of my mother is the music book she published before her death.
Before I was big enough to live on my own, my father raised me with his wealth, yet I never had the chance to converse with him, because he never wanted to. I was always taken care of by the butler and the maids in the house.
Although he did not feel like a father to me, I respected him for his voluntariness of offering the funds to raise me. I was raised well enough to be a decent young man.
Until one day when I was sixteen, I was swept out of the house as a sign of disgrace. I was officially claimed to have become the family's black sheep.