Chapter Text
Warm summer nights in Leiden never brought the comfort Dietfried sought. In his quarters, he felt accompanied only by sheer curtains swaying cautiously in the breeze. Outside, he could hear the lively cajoling of his soldiers enjoying beer and song, but it only roused annoyance colored by resentment. He laid for a while in the dim room which felt disconnected from the laughter that rolled in from a far away world, entirely foreign. The clock that hung on the wall brought him no solace with its mechanical clicking. Its only purpose was to serve as a reminder that he would suffer another sleepless night. The hands moved like his: methodically, every gesture and pause intentional.
His training had become part of him. Even pulling the blanket from his body was accomplished in precise movements. Both feet touched the floor simultaneously and his body rose from the bed in a practiced harmony of lithe muscles raising him to his great height. Dietfried made his way to the window like a vigilant tomcat, and quietly wrapped his fingers around the curtains as if not to stir any other creature in the room. However, he was acutely aware that he was without present company.
The past was another story. It played constantly in his mind like a bedtime book that a child begs mother to read every night. Images flashed like slowly turning pages, staying long enough to ensnare him in the colors but never long enough to study the details. The shadowy silhouettes shifted forms in the corners of his eyes, from dirtied toy soldiers to music box ballerinas twirling atop luxurious velvet. Their dresses came alive as they spun around the room, transforming into wooden carousel horses. Dietfried always observed them from his periphery, fearing that if he looked upon them, they would look upon him in turn.
Feeling fingers creeping up his back and to his shoulders, he pulled back the fabric curtains and the room came awash with moonlight. The shadows were chased away by brightness, relegated to the corners where they would once again bide their time.
His verdant eyes adjusted, awed by the dusting of stars glittering in the ballroom sky. They waltzed around the full moon, like carousel lights that grow brighter the faster the cavalry runs. But this time, instead of turning back into army men, they stayed beautiful dancing women, skirts spinning him dizzy into dreamy reverie. One, two, three. The shimmering strides were tireless, stepping gracefully in a roundabout circle, calling to him from their celestial soiree. Four, five, six. They whirled, whimsical and airy, until the dancers paused and the hems of their dresses delicately sighed to rest on their calves. The gentle ruffles seemed to be laughing girlishly until shushed by the gloved hands that smoothed them. Those same elegant hands slowly reached up and out, leaning in towards the open window to caress his cheeks. He watched in reverence, anticipating their warm touch, eyelids fluttering as he shuddered.
Just then, a cloud passed over the moon and the gloves slipped off to reveal steel fingers glinting in the last beams of starlight.
Dietfried slammed the window shut. Dazed, he took a moment to collect himself, but his body decided it was a moment too long and he swiveled to survey the space behind him. There were no shadows. The room had dimmed again with the overcast, and he welcomed the darkness. The rapture of light had unsettled him more than figments of memories ever had, and he was shaken by how easily he had been estranged from not only reality, but his own sense of self. Despite the countless hours of reliving past terrors, he had never been so freed of his mortal coil. That very freedom terrified him.
After pulling the curtains back together to keep the light out, he took a shaky breath and stared down at his hands to ground himself. He listed the things he believed to be true: I am Dietfried Bougainvillea, I am in Leiden, I am in my sleeping quarters, the floor is oak, the walls are stone, and I am safe. Doubt threatened to encroach on his thoughts but he hastily dismissed it, too exhausted from his episode of trance and derealization to second-guess himself. As he laid his heavy body down on top of the blankets he mused on how tiring it was to anchor himself time and time again and wondered how long it would take until he felt like a boat moored at the dock. He wondered if he ever would.
Though frustrated by his inability to sleep, Dietfried indignantly resigned himself to another night of the wandering mind. He gazed in rueful admiration at the wall, made of stones that stood tall and steadfast despite their weight. Did they feel as tired as he? He relaxed and tensed and relaxed his muscles again in a steady rhythm. Would he ever be free of this constant uneasiness? He listened to the clicking of the clock.
Tick, tock. The hands moved round and round in circles, always coming back to the same start. Why did she continue to plague him? Tick, tock. Like fingers on a typewriter, incessant. Tick, tock. Her echoing footsteps, fading to nothingness.