Ever since their scuffle over the contract a few days prior now, Niklas had taken to standing before the door to the Countess’ chamber for a time each day. Every so often he would knock upon it several times, to no avail, and then he would call out to her loudly enough to be heard even through those thick, impenetrable walls, but this effort was also met with no reply.

“Milady, can we please speak? You know that I mean to apologize to you for what happened! I believe this can all be settled amicably if we only just speak a few moments…”

This routine would be played out over the course of about an hour each day, before eventually the small man would let out a deep sigh and let his shoulders slump in defeat. Inevitably, some other business would require his presence and he would be forced to depart for the evening. Yet, each time left, he would turn over his shoulder a final time and call out, “I shall come again tomorrow!”

It was not as if Niklas lacked in self-awareness–he knew just how pushy and arrogant he must seem to these dour folk. The pompous son of a far-distant Barony arriving without invitation and proceeding to order them about and tell them all their business… Tradition was a difficult enough thing to change for those who were willing to do so, let alone those who were resistant. Regardless, that did not change the fact that this County was ailing, and he was certain he could not just set it to rights, but make it even better than it had been before! So with this honorable goal in his heart, he would resign himself to being as pushy, bothersome and arrogant as was required for him to see it through.

Unawares to him though, as he departed back down the hall from whence he came, the County of Petrice was not the only thing ailing. Beyond that great door and deep inside the dark abode it protected lay a massive bed, upon which Uldred spent most of her days curled tight in a great cocoon of blankets in a great mound upon a bed. Scattered all around were many pieces of dark, stained armor pieces alongside a cloak, while upon the headboard of the bed hung a dulled silver mask.

At the sound of Niklas’ departure the form of a head perked up some from under the many blankets. All that could be seen from beneath was a violet eye, which was now also quite red and puffy from tears, along with some strings of greasy, unkempt black hair.

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“Spendin’ another day in the library, m’lord?” Asked Hemsley as he whipped up a ‘fresh’ mug of tea.

“Indeed.” Sighed the Count. “There are many things yet for me to learn about the state of the territory. I am afraid I am still quite the novice.”

In his mind’s eye flashed the sight of a grieving mother wailing over the corpse of a young boy, and that horrible and twisted human-like face of the monster he had seen. A shudder ran through him first, followed by a small yet determined anger.

“I can’t imagine spendin’ all my hours locked away in that dark room, ever void of light. Gives me the willies I tells ya!” Said the servant, presenting him with a cup of what appeared to be hot water, which at this point the lad knew would be preferable.

Niklas looked down at his drink and grimaced. As always, the only enjoyable thing about it was its warmth. “Yes well, I’m only a little put off by it until I dig into my work. Fortunately, that happens rather quickly.”

He cupped his hands around the piping hot mug to enjoy the feeling of it radiating up through his fingers, and then he set it aside before he rose to make his exit, with Hemsley following on his heels. It was a particularly dreary day even for Petrice, and an icy torrent of rain rattled against the Castle’s stone walls, its rhythmic sound threatening to lull one into an unplanned nap if they were not careful. Those unfortunate enough to be taken by that hypnotic tone would find themselves just drifting slowly into slumber, only to be violently awakened by the tremendous boom of the thunder that was amplified as it echoed and bounced between the great mountains that stood to the North and South of the County.

Finally the two men came upon their destination. Placed on the floor beside the library doors sat a wooden box filled with many wax candles, that despite their age and a coat of dust were fresh and whole. These were ones that the silent old Librarian had led him to after his initial visit. When Niklas retrieved them Belfort had nearly wept tears of joyful wonderment, as if the young Count had happened upon some buried chest filled with gold and gemstones rather than a forgotten old crate of candles.

“It is most fortunate you found these, my Lord!” Hemsley exclaimed in a tone of reverence, taking the steaming mug from Niklas so that he could reach down and retrieve one of the box’s waxen treasures.

First the young Count reached up, as best he could for his stature, and retrieved the singular barely-lit candle that presently sat beside the library doors. The pitiful thing flickered with its last light as the final nub of its wick burnt away, leaving nothing but the pools of liquid wax which dripped down its sides to harden into strange, abstract layers of stalactites. He lit its replacement, which he then put up in its rightful place, before reaching back into the box to retrieve a second for his own personal use.

“We shan’t let this one go out. Belfort worked hard on that… mechanism to produce this flame, and we cannot make another attempt until this storm lets up!” Niklas declared, remembering how Belfort had spun a twig strung with twine alike to a small bow against a dry branch, desperately attempting to create a fire with its friction for upwards of several hours. By the end of it he was red-faced and sweating profusely under his servant’s uniform, but triumphant all the same.

Hemsley looked down at the poor, spent candle and gulped, his heart suddenly welling up with a newfound respect for that small, but hardworking object that had given its all in serving them until the very end of its life. “I shall check on it hourly, my Lord!” He replied, his voice cracking slightly with a sympathetic feeling.

“See that you do.” Niklas replied, pulling open one of the doors to the library to reveal the engulfing darkness within. He smiled crookedly back at Hemsley. “I imagine the Librarian would be quite put out if she learned that, after taking all of her precious candles, we were unable to light them!” He joked, before turning away and letting the massive door swing shut behind him.

Now alone in the hall, Hemsley blinked in confusion at the spot where Niklas had just been. We have a librarian? Belfort’s never mentioned such a person before…

He looked down at the mug of tea he held in his hands, still steaming and nearly full. Shrugging, he raised it to his lips and took a sip–-which he immediately regretted.

“Yuck!”

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Old Belfort meekly pushed open the door leading into the Countess’ room, moving with the utmost care so as to not make any more noise or disturbance than necessary. He squinted his weak eyes as his sight slowly adjusted to the deep, all-encompassing darkness inside. He sighed wearily when he could finally make out the room and the dire state it was in. Stepping into that room was like going back in time to when the castle was in its former state, for it was a vast, cluttered mess draped in a thick sheet of dust beneath a ceiling of heavy, drooping cobwebs.

As always, the bed at the center of the chaos was home to a gargantuan, threadbare mound of assorted cushions, blankets and comforters. Belfort knew all too well that somewhere beneath that impossible pile lay the young Countess, thoroughly cocooned and hiding from the world, as per usual. However, this time was a bit different, for it was not simply her anxious and lethargic nature which compelled her to stay therein. Now a great change was sweeping throughout her old home, and it was unlike anything she had experienced in her life before. So it was only natural that this inexperienced young woman found herself weighed down by a substantial amount of stress, not unlike a nervous cat’s first reaction to its family moving house.

At least the Countess will not vomit or urinate to show her disapproval. Belfort thought to himself with a small chuckle, but then he cocked an eyebrow in consideration. …At least, I do hope she would not.

He then pulled himself away from that strange line of thought and gingerly reached one pale, wrinkled hand out towards a particular lump on the bed which he suspected concealed his mistress beneath its fabric. He winced as he successfully made contact with her, for every other time he had previously tried to comfort her in this way he had shortly found himself rocketing back out of the door and to sprawl against the far wall in the hallway, and he was unsure if his old bones could take another round of that. But at least on this day luck was with him, and when he touched her the only response that came was a brief, violent flinch of her own.

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“What do you want?” Came the Countess’ rumbling voice, muffled as it was by the many blankets that now obscured her–rather than her signature mask, which currently lay on her bedside table.

Belfort sighed then, but he spoke gently, and under his thick beard he wore a small smile. “I’m only checking on you, my Lady. You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, and today you’ve already let your porridge grow cold.”

“I’m not hungry. Leave me alone.” She groused back, shifting so as to wrap herself even tighter in the numerous blankets of her cocoon.

Despite Uldred’s words, Belfort knew her better than anyone, and did not believe she actually wanted him to leave. When the Countess truly did not want company she usually rejected him in a forceful and literal manner. This time, although she protested his presence, she lay relatively still and allowed him to remain in the room.

For a time there was quiet as Belfort stood there beside the bed, gently rubbing his hand in what he hoped was comforting circles upon what he suspected was her back. She did not move to pull away, but only rustled a bit beneath the comforters and sniffled quietly.

“I’m a failure of a Lady.” She muttered despondently, finally breaking the silence.

“No, no, my Lady! Nothing could be further from the truth.” was his prompt reply.

“I let the County fall into ruin!” She spat out derisively, although fire in her voice was clearly directed at none other than herself.

Belfort used his free hand to rub at his temple, and his expression was distant and worn, but when he replied to her his voice was patient and even. “The fault for that lies only with me and your late father. You have been doing the best that you can, my Lady, to keep us from living in true destitution despite your lack of social connections or any manner of formal education-”

Belfort found himself interrupted then by a low, resonant, moan that emerged from within the mound, which sounded not unlike the alien call of some great sea creature.

“But I let that… that man come in here and trick me into destroying the only source of funds we have left!”

“That…may not yet be true, my Lady.” Belfort replied, though his tone was hesitant and his expression a skeptical grimace. “If you would only come out from here and see for yourself all of the hard work the Count has been doing… He has been toiling long into the night, working on diagrams and calculations-” Here he was interrupted again by another loud and prolonged wail, which caused him to furrow his brow even deeper than before.

Inside her pile Uldred curled up in a fetal position, stared shakily at the shadowed forms of her large hands. “A-and then… I… I almost did it again!” Her voice cracked and shook weakly as she spoke.

Now Belfort sighed again, but this time in weary sadness, and he seemed to shrink in on himself a little as well. He rubbed soothingly over whatever part of her was still beneath his hand and his voice softened once more.

“But you didn’t do it, my Lady. You restrained yourself. I witnessed that myself, and I was quite proud of you!”

Uldred did not speak again, but only continued to sniffle and breathe shakily through her emotions as Belfort continued.

“Before was… an unfortunate accident, my Lady. You were very young, and you cannot keep blaming yourself for it.”

After another long bout of silence, Belfort shrugged his shoulders, rose from the bed and turned to leave the room. When he reached the door he made to close it behind him but hesitated briefly, before he turned to look back over his shoulder and speak again.

“I shall return shortly with some more porridge, fresh and hot. Please try to eat some of it before it grows cold.”

And then he shut the door behind him, but without closing it all the way, so that it could be easily reopened just a touch, allowing a small crack of light to shine through and illuminate that dark and lonesome room.

Now that she was alone once more, Uldred slowly turned where she lay and rose into a sitting position As blankets sloughed off her upright form she held up a hand to shield her left eye from the glaring beam of light which it was now quite unaccustomed to. It was difficult for her to squint the lid of that eye by itself, what with how the skin of its lid and the temple beside it was stretched taught and strangely angled. The ruined half of her mouth curled down into a grimace amongst the raw, charred crags and valleys of flesh that lay beneath the sharp curve of her cheekbone and the melted skin that covered it.

“...He did that on purpose.” She huffed to herself, before she arose fully and picked her way across that chaotic room to pull the door completely shut.

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In that dark void the inhabitants of Castle Petrice called a library, the concept of time became quite difficult to maintain one’s hold on. Case in point: Niklas had peered up from his diligent work to glance towards the candle which he had brought in when he arrived, only to find that its flame had almost reached its base, with melted wax having overflowed its humble saucer to spill down over the corner of the table, where it had finally cooled and turned solid before it dripped all of the way down to the floor below.

“Oh dear!” He exclaimed in alarm at his realization, grumbling quietly as he made to assemble his papers and rise from his seat.

But then, without warning, out of the darkness behind Niklas emerged a familiar pale, and wizened hand bearing another saucer with a fresh candle, which it reached down over his shoulder to place upon the table before him.

“Ah, thank you, miss!” He said in startled gratitude, even as her other hand appeared at his other side and retrieved the old spent candle, drawing back away into the dark without a sound. Niklas then thought he heard a quietly exhaled “Hmm…” ghost coldly down over his neck in response, which caused a trail of goosebumps to rise upon his back.

He waited until the feeling of the librarian’s presence had completely vanished before he quietly mumbled, “Not much one for conversation, is she?”

As he nestled himself back into a more comfortable position upon the chair in order to continue his work, a loud knock upon the library doors caught his attention. Taking up his fresh candle, Niklas made his way as carefully as he could over to the doorway which led out into the hall. As he pulled it open he saw Hemsley stood there, but with a most peculiar guest. For crouched upon the man’s wrist, which he held as far outstretched as he could manage, sat some kind of raven, though it seemed nearly twice as large as it should be and darker in hue, and its beak and talons curled in a thorny way so that it appeared much more menacing.

Even the tamest of creatures look unfriendly and mean here! Bemoaned Niklas to himself as he observed the foul fowl.

“A m-message for you, m’Lord!” He stammered, the majority of his attention currently focused upon the bird, which would sporadically stretch out its wide wings and flap them about to maintain its balance, wapping Hemsley across the face if he was not careful to dodge them. As he tried to placate the winged beast, Niklas knelt down to carefully retrieve the paper note that was tied to one of its legs.

“Stop, stop!” Hemsley complained as the bird smacked him about more, squawking loudly in indignation.

Niklas hurriedly unrolled the note, for there were not many people he knew of in the area who were wealthy enough to use a carrier bird, so they must be rather important!

Dear Count Niklas, The note began.

I extend my warmest greetings to you, along with my most humble gratitude to you for your recent correspondence. It is with utmost deference that I receive your wise counsel, and I find your unwavering dedication to the welfare of our realm truly touching.

I would be most honored to accept your invitation to visit the Castle in order that we may speak more about these reforms, so that I may ensure that they are followed to the very letter of your instructions.

With utmost respect and reverence,

-

Lord Edmunton Borney,

Mayor of Coronton

Normally, Niklas would have almost retched to read such overwhelmingly rich pandering as was contained within that letter, but he was far too excited to have received his first return correspondence, and to hear that his proposals may be met with acceptance and cooperation, that he did not pay such details any mind. Truth be told, he had not even expected Thomas to have already reached the distant border city of Coronton in little more than a week’s travel!

Maintaining a stern and neutral expression, Niklas looked back towards Hemsley who was still engrossed in his tussle with the large messenger bird. But after a loud and pointed cough, both the servant and the feather guest he escorted froze as they took in the young Count’s demeanor.

“Hemsley, go get Belfort.” Niklas spoke, his tone conveying the seriousness of the situation. “We must prepare…for a guest.”

Hearing this news, Hemsley gasped quite dramatically, until the bird shat a little upon the slightly-torn sleeve of his uniform and killed his enthusiasm.