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Times of peace are a rarity at Oletus Manor.
If not spurred by the antics of the residents themselves, the ghosts hiding in the walls were sure to raise hell if someone – or something – dared disrupt their place of rest. An event far too common for anyone’s liking. It is for this reason that, when a moment of silence finally presents itself, you make the most out of it.
Tonight seems to be one such mercy. You sit out on the balcony and listen to the delicate wind brushing gently against whispering leaves. If you close your eyes, you can imagine yourself back at home, with naught but everyday responsibilities to worry over. It’s strange to think that you miss that mundane boredom, but being stuck in a murder manor, where not even death is an escape, puts some things into perspective.
You fully intend on enjoying this moment as a solitary activity, as you usually would, but the manor has shifted with its new arrivals and it just so happened that one took interest in you.
“Lovely night.” His voice comments. “Mind if I spend it with you?”
You needn’t look back to see who it is. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”
It’s not necessarily a lie, but how much truth it held was beyond even you. You were always overly polite: pushing away your wants and needs for others until they were just out of reach. The only question would be whether you’d regret accepting the invitation
Richard walks with a spring in his step, clearly delighted that you’d indulge him. You hear swishing of fabric as he takes the seat besides yours and the evening is now for two. He lets the silence overtake the conversation, but not for long.
“Do you often spend time alone?” An innocent tone for a not-so innocent question.
“The manor gets crowded.” You answer, plainly. You aren’t a loner by any means, but keeping up with the strange residents gets exhausting very quickly, even for extroverts. “Sometimes, it’s nice to get away from it all.”
“So it is a break from constant socialisation?”
“Something of the sort.”
Richard nods in agreement, though you can tell there’s disappointment in his tone. It is a, rather intentionally, dismissive answer, one that he learns very little from. But he is not one to give up so easily, not when you intrigued him so intensely.
“You’re an enigma, you know that?”
Confounded by his statement, you turn to look at him with a raised brow.
“How so?”
“Well…” He begins, crossing his legs in front of him. “Everyone I have ever met has been fitted into their respective roles quite easily. Though some, I admit, have deceived my eyes at first glance, it takes very little time for me to correct my misjudgement.”
He pauses, but only so that you may ponder his words. You recall a few instances of him referring to residents not by name, nor by their titles in the manor, but by a new descriptor given by the knight himself. You needn’t ask him for clarification for him to continue.
“But you… you are still a complete mystery to me.” The tone from earlier returns and now you know it as frustration, but he dares not deviate from his angelic voice. Patience is a virtue, after all. “The more I speak to you, the more muddled my perception of you becomes. I must’ve cycled through a hundred roles for you, yet it seems that I’ll have to cycle through a hundred more to even get a glimpse of what you are.”
He sighs and leans towards you, intruding on your personal place in his melancholy. You instinctively lean back and he, thankfully, does not follow.
“You don’t even give me a clue , my dear. What am I missing? What must I do to see your heart? To understand what you are?”
Though he certainly puts out an emotional show, you find yourself unable to sympathise with his plight. You recoil in your seat if only to escape that burning fire, seeking respite in the cold wind of the night. Labels were a delicate topic for you, who had spent so long fighting against them, and though you had hoped those days were long behind you, it seems society’s expectations followed you even here.
You’re unable to keep eye contact in your reply to him, lest the courage leaves as you gaze into those mismatched eyes.
“I’m just… me .” You tell him, but it’s clear that he does not follow. “You can’t force everyone into little boxes. Humans are more complex than that.”
“Complexity is not mutually exclusive to the roles we play.” He argues, the hand on his seat balling into a fist. Why can’t you understand? He must think. “The jester may return to his family; to his wife, his parents or what have you, but a jester he remains.”
“You’re only seeing one facet of the character, though.” You retort. Debating was never your forte, but as it turns out, it can be surprisingly easy when your opponent lacks common sense. “Perhaps his job is that of a jester, but what about his personality? Is he moody when he puts down the mask? Is he serious in every other facet of his life? How much of his being does “jester” describe, if any at all?”
“That…” His breath is shaky now, but you’re in too deep to really consider what it would mean to keep pushing him. “That isn’t important. He plays the role of a jester in my– the story and that is that.”
There it was.
Though he tried to hide it, you catch his fumbling front and centre. One’s personhood is not important if it does not serve his story. Otherwise, their hopes, dreams and needs might as well be thrown out the window, as if they are worth nothing at all . A frown you had not realised you were forming deepens.
“Selfishness is unbecoming of a knight.”
The words leave your mouth before you knew it and regret only settles in when you see his expression drop. Come to think of it, you don’t think you’ve seen Richard without his theatrical mask ever . Even in the face of confrontation, he would keep a facade if only to save face, but whatever limit he had, it looks like you were able to find it now.
You wish you hadn’t.
His new face is cold, like the unforgiving snow storms at the height of winter. It elicits the same dread in you as walking through the dark woods does, raising the hairs on your skin until goosebumps decorate your body. An intense desire to run away burns deep in your chest, yet his gaze pierces through your body and down to the ground, keeping you still in your place. For that moment, the threat of death becomes ever imminent and it's all because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut .
And then the “knight” smiles .
It’s not a comforting smile, nor does it pretend to be, carrying on the coldness you drew out before. It’s empty and doesn’t quite reach his eyes – but then again, has it ever? Yet in spite of this uncanny attempt at joy, you believe this is Richard at his most genuine. He doesn’t bother to put on his cracked mask again.
“Oh, sweet thing.” You can’t tell if he’s genuine or mocking. “If only you knew the sacrifices I made for the good of others, then perhaps you’d know that I am hardly selfish.”
Taking advantage of your petrified state, he leans forward with an outstretched hand that finds a comfortable spot on top of your head, gently ruffling your hair between his fingers. The cold, metal gauntlet feels hard and unwelcoming.
“Don’t worry, I’ll find a place for you in my story .” He reassures , forehead inches away from your own so that the only thing you see are his piercing eyes. “Your role is far too important for me simply to write out, after all, but until then:” His head shifts to the side, breaking eye contact, but any relief is quickly dispelled when you feel his chilling breath against your ear.
“You’ll be the pet I like to play with.”
Though he retreats soon after, the ghost of his lips lingers on your skin. It was as if he had marked you with some curse, one that could not be washed away with soap nor prayer. The back of his hand brushes your cheek before returning to his side and helping him stand up. He is done with this scene and needn’t stay longer to turn the next page.
“See you tomorrow.” He promises and slips away into the darkness, leaving you alone with your thoughts and prayers. Even when he’s long gone, you’re afraid to let down your guard, lest he take that opportunity to pounce. But even locked away in the safety of your room, his lingering touch will poison your dreams.
Times of peace are a rarity at Oletus Manor, and tonight is just another typical night.