The fifty-fifth day of summer, 514 AV
She stared with dead eyes, empty orbs that held nothing within them but the hollow ring of death. Her face was still; its pallor stark against the still vibrant curls of fiery hair that splayed across her skin in a manner that would have drove her mad. The body lay still, no sound escaping from the now grey lips. All reprimands had ceased, replaced by a silence so complete it seemed louder than all of the screaming she had ever done in her entire life in a single raucous amalgamation. The skin had yet to bloat and still retained the texture and appearance as it had during life, though it was cold and stiff to the touch. She had been placed upon the table, broken dishes and books scattered the floor beneath, and her pose was anything but comfortable. She was taller than the surface was long. Her legs bent at the knees, hanging freely over the edge while her arms were splayed out on either side of her, the left bent towards her head with the other a perpendicular line to the rest of her body.
Keene stared at her, his eyes icy, slowly trailing over the rise and fall of Mella's contour. He felt numb, as though his soul had been exposed to the chill of winter winds for too long. As he stared, his mind stalled, a blank blackness where not even thought had room to creep tentatively across his consciousness. There was nothing left. It had disappeared the moment he'd returned to find the empty shell that had once housed the woman Mella. He'd sat there, staring, for gods only knew how long, watching as the body shifted into a corpse. The color had been the first to fade, having already paled by the time he'd returned. Next came the stiffness. It had crept over the body like an invisible ice, cementing the corpse's pose into a grotesque sculpture of useless flesh and bone. What more of the process remained, Keene did not know. He had sat in his chair for what felt like years, unable to move for lack of any motivation.
Outside, the sun had begun to set once more. Keene felt as though the golden rays of the retreating sun had shone in exactly the same way in some distant time before he could remember. It was as if he were relieving the exact moment from a life not his own, an observer pulled into a world of action. His back ached; his eyes itched from fatigue; his entire body felt as weak and empty as the broken vessel before him. The soft, amber glow of the sun's setting filled the room with an alien warmth. For a brief moment, both figures were illuminated. The gentle caress of the light bringing with it an instance of perceived life in both faces before it faded into shadow. The grey of the late evening was quick to assert its dominance, shrouding both Keene and the body in an appropriately dismal atmosphere.
Time continued to pass, each tick an eternity. Keene remained still, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath a monotonous rhythm that only gave the impression of life. His had ended along with Mella's. There was no reason, no purpose left for him. His life had been created for the sole purpose of assistance, yet now the single source who had required such aid could no longer be helped. She had moved beyond his realm of influence, leaving behind an obsolete tool, a pen with no ink. Keene had spent little time considering what his life would be were it his own. Now was the time, and he had found nothing. His cognitive processes had shut down and refused to replay anything but the emptiness that pervaded everything around him.
A knock at the door sounded twice, two clean raps against the sturdy wood. Keene turned, his concentration broken, the nothingness interrupted by the advent of something. Slowly, in a daze, Keene rose from his chair, stumbling across the floor to catch himself against the wooden frame of the portal. Steadying himself, Keene drew the latch, letting the door swing out to reveal an official looking man with a slight sneer tugging at his lips. He stood taller than Keene, gazing down at him through milky spectacles perched atop an arched nose. Long, delicate fingers reached into his chest pocket, procuring a small envelop which was extended with a disdainful pout. "This is the residence of the late Mella Ward?" A slow nod from Keene pushed the envelope closer towards him. The man continued, his nasally voice growing sharper. "And you are her son, Keene Ward?" The man had extended his arm as far as he could without stepping close, the unreceived letter still daintily wedged between the spindly digits of the man. Another lethargic fall and rise of Keene's chin indicated that he was indeed Keene Ward. "This," The parchment flapped against itself, shaken by the man for emphasis. "Is for you."
Keene's hand seemed to move on its own, shakily receiving the letter, lingering for a moment extended before falling to his side, the note slipping from his fingers to settle on the wooden floor beneath him. The man raised a brow, "Well then." He turned to leave taking several steps away from the house before pausing, twirling around, he gazed back at Keene, his green eyes adopting a soft sheen that contrasted with his initial scowl. "I'm... Sorry. About all of it." Keene blinked, uncomprehending. "You look like you could use a drink." The lack of response seemed to make the man uncomfortable, as he shifted in his place. "The Grotto isn't far from here. You should go." More silence passed. "It... May do you some good." Keene nodded, his motions painfully slow from the stiffness of his muscles. "Right, well..." Trailing off, the man gave Keene a curt nod in farewell before heading off into the night.
Letting his gaze trail from the receding back of the disappearing man to the letter upon the floor. Stooping, Keene winced as his bones clashed with his taunt muscles, carefully plucking the note from its wooden rest. As he straightened, Keene fumbled with the envelope, the letter inside crumpling from his clumsy extrication. Unfolding the paper, Keene squinted down at the neat scrawl, the dusk requiring the note to be held close to his nose to make out it's contents.
Keene Ward,
The University of Zeltiva has recently been notified of your mother's involvement of potentially dangerous reimancy experimentation. As of now, all present and future association between Mella Ward and the University of Zeltiva will be terminated. Please return all books to the library within twenty four bells. As of now, all present and future association between Keen Ward and the University of Zeltiva will also be terminated. As long as you remain in Zeltiva, your actions will be observed and should the need for action to be taken against you arise, the citizens of Zeltiva are hereby authorized to enact said actions immediately.
The letter continued, listing restrictions as well as warnings against specific actions. Keene let the letter slip from his fingers, staring ahead into the soft glow of the light of the buildings in the distance. The man had suggested a drink. Keene had never had alcohol before, as there had been no reason for it. Now that he had seemed to loose all reason, it seemed petty to refuse himself the mysterious pleasure of alcohol due to such a paltry concept as "reason". Staggering out the door, Keene stumbled down the path, neglecting to lock the door as he departed. It would have been an empty gesture at any rate. Anything of value within the house belong to the University at any rate, and those books were to be returned within a day. Were anything to be stolen, it was unlikely the books would be taken. The corpse still sat atop the table, and it surely server a stronger guard than many a living beast.
It didn't take long for him to arrive at the tavern near the docks. His home was relatively close, though the walk had seemed all the shorter due to Keene's erratic sense of time. As he had walked, his stomach had begun to growl, protesting his negligence of nourishment. The smell of stew and warm bread caught his attention, serving to further rile his temperamental appetite, drawing him through the sturdy wooden door and into the sparsely populated common room of the World's End Grotto. As he stopped some steps into the establishment, he stared at the inscription of the tavern's name set into the wall above the bar. His lips curved upwards, a small sneer that slowly grew into hollow chuckle. How fitting a title to match his strife.
Settling himself into a chair at one of the many unoccupied tables, Keene placed his arms upon the wooden surface, staring blankly ahead as his smile slowly faded back into the slight downward curve of his natural expression. Having never been to a tavern before, Keene had no idea how the establishment worked. Instead, he sat and stared into the crackling fire that had been lit in the hearth. His eyes traced the flitting dance of the orange and yellow flakes that sprouted from the air just above the logs that had been placed haphazardly behind the grate. There was the sound of boots passing through the entryway and pausing much as he had done. With a labored twist of the neck, Keene stared at the newcomer with a blank, empty stare.
.
She stared with dead eyes, empty orbs that held nothing within them but the hollow ring of death. Her face was still; its pallor stark against the still vibrant curls of fiery hair that splayed across her skin in a manner that would have drove her mad. The body lay still, no sound escaping from the now grey lips. All reprimands had ceased, replaced by a silence so complete it seemed louder than all of the screaming she had ever done in her entire life in a single raucous amalgamation. The skin had yet to bloat and still retained the texture and appearance as it had during life, though it was cold and stiff to the touch. She had been placed upon the table, broken dishes and books scattered the floor beneath, and her pose was anything but comfortable. She was taller than the surface was long. Her legs bent at the knees, hanging freely over the edge while her arms were splayed out on either side of her, the left bent towards her head with the other a perpendicular line to the rest of her body.
Keene stared at her, his eyes icy, slowly trailing over the rise and fall of Mella's contour. He felt numb, as though his soul had been exposed to the chill of winter winds for too long. As he stared, his mind stalled, a blank blackness where not even thought had room to creep tentatively across his consciousness. There was nothing left. It had disappeared the moment he'd returned to find the empty shell that had once housed the woman Mella. He'd sat there, staring, for gods only knew how long, watching as the body shifted into a corpse. The color had been the first to fade, having already paled by the time he'd returned. Next came the stiffness. It had crept over the body like an invisible ice, cementing the corpse's pose into a grotesque sculpture of useless flesh and bone. What more of the process remained, Keene did not know. He had sat in his chair for what felt like years, unable to move for lack of any motivation.
Outside, the sun had begun to set once more. Keene felt as though the golden rays of the retreating sun had shone in exactly the same way in some distant time before he could remember. It was as if he were relieving the exact moment from a life not his own, an observer pulled into a world of action. His back ached; his eyes itched from fatigue; his entire body felt as weak and empty as the broken vessel before him. The soft, amber glow of the sun's setting filled the room with an alien warmth. For a brief moment, both figures were illuminated. The gentle caress of the light bringing with it an instance of perceived life in both faces before it faded into shadow. The grey of the late evening was quick to assert its dominance, shrouding both Keene and the body in an appropriately dismal atmosphere.
Time continued to pass, each tick an eternity. Keene remained still, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath a monotonous rhythm that only gave the impression of life. His had ended along with Mella's. There was no reason, no purpose left for him. His life had been created for the sole purpose of assistance, yet now the single source who had required such aid could no longer be helped. She had moved beyond his realm of influence, leaving behind an obsolete tool, a pen with no ink. Keene had spent little time considering what his life would be were it his own. Now was the time, and he had found nothing. His cognitive processes had shut down and refused to replay anything but the emptiness that pervaded everything around him.
A knock at the door sounded twice, two clean raps against the sturdy wood. Keene turned, his concentration broken, the nothingness interrupted by the advent of something. Slowly, in a daze, Keene rose from his chair, stumbling across the floor to catch himself against the wooden frame of the portal. Steadying himself, Keene drew the latch, letting the door swing out to reveal an official looking man with a slight sneer tugging at his lips. He stood taller than Keene, gazing down at him through milky spectacles perched atop an arched nose. Long, delicate fingers reached into his chest pocket, procuring a small envelop which was extended with a disdainful pout. "This is the residence of the late Mella Ward?" A slow nod from Keene pushed the envelope closer towards him. The man continued, his nasally voice growing sharper. "And you are her son, Keene Ward?" The man had extended his arm as far as he could without stepping close, the unreceived letter still daintily wedged between the spindly digits of the man. Another lethargic fall and rise of Keene's chin indicated that he was indeed Keene Ward. "This," The parchment flapped against itself, shaken by the man for emphasis. "Is for you."
Keene's hand seemed to move on its own, shakily receiving the letter, lingering for a moment extended before falling to his side, the note slipping from his fingers to settle on the wooden floor beneath him. The man raised a brow, "Well then." He turned to leave taking several steps away from the house before pausing, twirling around, he gazed back at Keene, his green eyes adopting a soft sheen that contrasted with his initial scowl. "I'm... Sorry. About all of it." Keene blinked, uncomprehending. "You look like you could use a drink." The lack of response seemed to make the man uncomfortable, as he shifted in his place. "The Grotto isn't far from here. You should go." More silence passed. "It... May do you some good." Keene nodded, his motions painfully slow from the stiffness of his muscles. "Right, well..." Trailing off, the man gave Keene a curt nod in farewell before heading off into the night.
Letting his gaze trail from the receding back of the disappearing man to the letter upon the floor. Stooping, Keene winced as his bones clashed with his taunt muscles, carefully plucking the note from its wooden rest. As he straightened, Keene fumbled with the envelope, the letter inside crumpling from his clumsy extrication. Unfolding the paper, Keene squinted down at the neat scrawl, the dusk requiring the note to be held close to his nose to make out it's contents.
Keene Ward,
The University of Zeltiva has recently been notified of your mother's involvement of potentially dangerous reimancy experimentation. As of now, all present and future association between Mella Ward and the University of Zeltiva will be terminated. Please return all books to the library within twenty four bells. As of now, all present and future association between Keen Ward and the University of Zeltiva will also be terminated. As long as you remain in Zeltiva, your actions will be observed and should the need for action to be taken against you arise, the citizens of Zeltiva are hereby authorized to enact said actions immediately.
The letter continued, listing restrictions as well as warnings against specific actions. Keene let the letter slip from his fingers, staring ahead into the soft glow of the light of the buildings in the distance. The man had suggested a drink. Keene had never had alcohol before, as there had been no reason for it. Now that he had seemed to loose all reason, it seemed petty to refuse himself the mysterious pleasure of alcohol due to such a paltry concept as "reason". Staggering out the door, Keene stumbled down the path, neglecting to lock the door as he departed. It would have been an empty gesture at any rate. Anything of value within the house belong to the University at any rate, and those books were to be returned within a day. Were anything to be stolen, it was unlikely the books would be taken. The corpse still sat atop the table, and it surely server a stronger guard than many a living beast.
It didn't take long for him to arrive at the tavern near the docks. His home was relatively close, though the walk had seemed all the shorter due to Keene's erratic sense of time. As he had walked, his stomach had begun to growl, protesting his negligence of nourishment. The smell of stew and warm bread caught his attention, serving to further rile his temperamental appetite, drawing him through the sturdy wooden door and into the sparsely populated common room of the World's End Grotto. As he stopped some steps into the establishment, he stared at the inscription of the tavern's name set into the wall above the bar. His lips curved upwards, a small sneer that slowly grew into hollow chuckle. How fitting a title to match his strife.
Settling himself into a chair at one of the many unoccupied tables, Keene placed his arms upon the wooden surface, staring blankly ahead as his smile slowly faded back into the slight downward curve of his natural expression. Having never been to a tavern before, Keene had no idea how the establishment worked. Instead, he sat and stared into the crackling fire that had been lit in the hearth. His eyes traced the flitting dance of the orange and yellow flakes that sprouted from the air just above the logs that had been placed haphazardly behind the grate. There was the sound of boots passing through the entryway and pausing much as he had done. With a labored twist of the neck, Keene stared at the newcomer with a blank, empty stare.
.
