Chapter Text
The Lord and The Master.
Ah. So you are awake. This time around you are you and not… them.
Words are placed in such ways with voices that one would often mistake their sweetness for spun sugar. A banquet of thirty-five seats in total, occupied by two residents. Sometimes three, but more often than not, two.
You are you, not them.
Those words held meaning. Uncertain what it means when the Lord merely just opened his eyes. There were fruits on the table. The set was lined with perfection in every corner. Polished silverware and satin handkerchief. Condiments are placed to the left, and the voice before him is to the right.
Time means little in this room where they call home.
Often it was not home but merely a prison where nails dug into skin and bones sprouted from the unwilling vessel. The Lord grew fangs sharp enough to harm sinners. Yes, sinners. He would have never harmed the innocent. Even if sacrifices must be made–
The moonlight had decided to grace them this evening. There are two residents sitting in this somewhat empty banquet hall. The Lord, which had just taken his time to open his eyes, and the more often awake Master.
The Master held the Lord in high regard, but his words are often far too sweet. Compliments and cruelty run like poison from his mouth, bringing decay to the eternal banquet. More often than not, the Lord spoke to himself. The absence of a companion drove him mad, back to sanity, and then mere silence…
The two rarely spoken words to each other. Conversation held little meaning as both took actions on the matter of their own. By a lift of a finger or an outstretched hand, The Lord demands contact.
The Master complies with such request.
They shared a kiss. A sense of pleasure when their skin touches. But their little dance was often those of push and pull. With widened eyes, The Lord would push him away. The chair he had occupied fell, and the emptied eyes burned their way for wrath to boil. And yet no words came to fruition. The mouth that opened themselves were greeted by petals from a willow tree. Those petals filled his lungs. With an unresigned cough and muffled words of protest, The Master came to help ease his pain.
A single touch and the seed that was rigidly rooted to his heart transferred itself to The Master’s hand.
It left a scar of golden trees.
The Master stood up, taking The Lord with him wordlessly. The Lord often smiles. His smiles were those practiced over the course of years. He had never known how to properly smile, but that was all he could’ve offered the master. Smiles are a sign of happiness, but The Master had never known such luxuries existed.
To be truly happy.
What would those feelings be of value?
When The Lord closed his eyes, he would hear the sounds of rainfall. A split second and the scenery turns dark.
It was raining outside. Coldness envelops the lonely banquet. Soon, the fog appears to greet the two residents.
The Master’s body fades as he closed his eyes. Seeing the other man disappear before him, The Lord was taken aback. Slowly he had himself against the wall, confused, agitated…
The fog grew thicker and thicker.
With his mind numbed, once more The Lord fell into a deep slumber.
The Lady and The Master.
Ivory sheets and gentle cotton. Upon morning light the curtains were drawn by The Master. Even if The Lady disliked the morning sun, The Master insisted that a little sunlight would not harm her in this realm of bloodstained memories.
Blood?
Now now. It wasn’t the first time it has been discussed by the two.
A shared consciousness often brought unwanted memories. It resurfaces sporadically, confusing the residents and manipulating their psyche.
And yet, they have endured. They have always endured.
The world of living would be so much worse than their current living conditions. The Lady did not forget to say their prayer. To be grateful to God even when all her life she was betrayed by them.
It was for a greater purpose, she believed. Faith plays a grand part in her life. It stayed true even when her form and her acts of cruelty were made known and denied by history. The Master was kind enough to offer her a few extra minutes of sleep, noting how she should have adjusted well into the light.
“The golden light was man-made.” he said. “It was crafted by my hands, or well, perhaps, The Young Mistress’ hand if you would like to put it that way.”
The Lady groaned. She always hated his sweet saccharine words. She had endured a lifetime of those sorts of men, would her morning be easily ruined by another one?
“Oh. Come now, my Lady. The day awaits. And I would not be able to leave this room without your verbal consent.” His words were like soft down upon her nose. Itchy and teasing. She was weaker during the day, must she be tormented by this second-rate of a man early in the morning?
She pulled up the blankets, hiding her dark eyes beneath the soft silken material. “Fine. You can go. Leave me be.”
“As My Lady commands.” he chuckled.
As soon as the door behind her shut, she emerged from the blanket. It would be improper for him to see The Lady only in her undergarments. By stars, she hated when he had to greet her every morning.
It was always morning. She had always met him during the day, at her weakest time. It was seemingly intentional when she knew the nighttime always brought the darker side to her routines. Still, The Master always went ahead to the dining room where he never fails to provide her with nourishment. A glass of red wine before a morning stroll around the artificial landscape.
Each day, she strives to find a way to escape this constant loop. A cruel place where time could be a year in a blink of an eye or a month only filled with afternoon sunlight.
Since the measurement of time was often tampered with, she measured her time with how long The Master started to become irritable in her eyes. Unlike him, she has not resigned herself trapped inside this beloathed time and space.
The wine should be prepared for her now. She will start her day, dressing herself in the finest dark-colored dress. Wondering if one day she would have the power to escape this prison.
The Lord and The Mistress
It was empty.
For once, the halls that occupied the two were empty.
The Lord usually enjoyed the silence. Since both had similarities in how light their footwork were, there was no indication of how far they would've spent their time alone before fate brought them together.
A walk on these halls often reminded him of the cold home of the sultan. Back then The Lord would have been accompanied by his equally belated younger brother who was only now he recalled being as beautiful as The Master.
Perhaps time has skewed his own perception of that man. In his life, he had begun tolerating people who had harmed him and caused great pain to his land. It was a foolish decision masked in words such as mercy and faith.
Had he lost faith?
Never.
There was a faint dripping noise in which The Lord picked up coming from the shower.
As much as it pains him, the ability he acquired unwillingly had made him sensitive to such noises. All plans to venture deeper into the warped architecture were now simply focused on finding the shower room.
And there he found her.
The first time he had recalled seeing her was upon the gardens where she had looked up at the golden trees which she admitted had planted herself.
The heart needed a reminder to take root. As much as it would end horribly. The newly planted tree will soon face horrible decay from the ever growing fungi. There's nothing she can do to stop it. She can only scrape off visible hints of white and black, smiling as she had her dress covered in soot.
"Good day, My Lord" She replied.
The Young Mistress had taken it upon herself to fix a leak, it seems. It was unnoticeable considering it leads back to the shower, but she was adamant in fixing them before The Lord notices any imperfections.
Of course there's the matter of concealing them but the water problem will be there, and if she did not take it upon her hands to heal the root, it would cause more than enough trouble for the future.
What future? She knew not.
Perhaps she too had not given up on maintaining this fantasy.
The Lord shook his head. "Why is it that when I found you, you were always covered in some sort of a mess?" Soot, dirty water, dust, even blood.
The Mistress chuckled. "I do not know. All I saw was a bunch of patched walls and imperfect linings and myself was adamant in making things right. Was it not to your liking, my Lord?"
The Lord had made some dresses for her in the past. From the available drapes and curtains, he had made evening gowns and petticoats. It was unsightly to have seen a girl running around in an oversized uniform. She insisted it wouldn't be necessary but changed her mind when The Lord says he prefers her this way.
It was… sweet. A little smile and pretense, she had gotten away with most things just by melting The Lord's heart with her curtsie.
As My Lord commands, she said.
The Lord has taken her to the living room. Drying her hair up with towels and brushing her ridiculously messy waves. Commenting how she should have taken care of herself better. In which the woman replied she wouldn't have such treatment if it weren't for the current arrangements.
Huh?
"It might not have mattered to you, but I am grateful for such an opportunity."
Her neck was exposed. A few strands of golden linings ran through her neck. The Mistress’ body was a sight covered in bruises and a web of strings, trying to maintain the balance between the two clashing elements.
"My Lord, it's impolite to stare."
But The Lord could not help it.
A drop of red fell from her neck and stained her white cotton dress. Soon it seeps down into a pool, and wrapped itself into a different space.
"Darnic?"
The body sinks into oblivion, and The Lord now turns to the only source of light in the gradually dimmed room. Unwilling to let the body be swallowed by darkness, he took her by the hand and pulled her out of it.
This is not a good time to be asleep.
He ran.
He ran as the fog started to form.
He ran as the floor began to warp in itself.
A hand was placed on the visible tile to reveal rows of spikes, creating a safe path for the two.
It took him both hands to carry the gradually decaying body. Walking through the self-made exit path and slammed the door with his leg.
A shadow of a third man was almost unseen lurking beside them.
They have lost the living room.
End of chapter 1