[Slate]
Laughter was never intimate with them, but even the smiles had kept their distance these days. The already bland flavor of the management had become bleaker, dreariness oozed off of every greeting and each farewell. The absence of leadership pushed the people away, and the lack of growth tore their trust in ‘Ayres Castle’, the once glorious days of the group under Authen had waned. And the situation worsened with Ewan’s death, for Thea gave up on life.
Slate entered her room after an unresponsive knock, the groaning creak of the door announcing his visit, and bowed in greeting. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said.
“Hmm, I’m almost done,” Thea said, sitting on her rocking chair by the window, burying her head into knitting the damn muffler, the unending cloth entangled into the chair’s arms.
“Were you not able to sleep again?” Slate asked, opening the curtains and the windows to let the fake sunlight in. With her condition as it was, she didn’t need to shoulder the repercussions of the distorted world too. So, he worked with the ones who still held loyalty in their hearts and simulated the days and nights for her. Alas, it had little effect.
“I’m almost done,” Thea said with a nod, her bloodshot eyes glued to the needles and the knots. “I’ll rest after this. I can finally sleep in peace…”
“When you’re finished, can I have the muffler?” Slate asked with a forced smile, keeping his torn emotions stifled in his head. “It’s getting chilly lately, I could use something warm.”
“No,” she said. “It’s for him.”
“Of course, I’ll make sure it gets to him then,” Slate said.
“Stop pandering me,” Thea said, shooting him a glance. “I might be hazy but I’m not delusional. I’ve come to terms with his death.”
Slate lowered his head with his fists clenched, his pale knuckles trembling, and his mind went haywire with regret. He hated his impulse; he detested his judgment. Even if Ewan’s existence ripped her sanity apart, she at least had light in her eyes back then. Yet, he killed him, and he killed the only reason Thea looked forward to the next day. Even if it was to only torment him, Ewan’s presence in the world kept her going. And he took that away from her.
“Everyone’s gone.” Thea sighed. “First, it was that man, now him too…everyone keeps leaving before me,” she murmured.
“You still have me, ma’am,” Slate said with a desperate smile. “I’ll accompany you wherever you go.”
“Yeah, I still have you,” she said, continuing to knit the muffler. “At least I’ll be able to leave before you…”
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…..
Browned leaves welcomed his steps on the nigh unwalked path, cracking and crunching on the gravel trail, and the rustle of the tamed jungle tagged along. Away from the hubbub of the concrete forest, under the hue of the gentle candlelight, the quietude of the woods embraced his house up ahead. The place that he built himself but lacked the intimacy with; it was his abode, yet he couldn’t call it home, for the frigid walls lacked the warmth of that one person. The one he had always wished to call mother, the one who took the scrawny hands of a numb child and filled his husk with life…
“Are you even trying to look for it?” Slate asked as he made his way into the yard and then the hall, shutting the door behind him. She was still here, lighting up the candles with a half-burnt stick.
“I am,” Verina said. “But your place is still the best, I can't find anything better.”
“Don’t look for something better, just look for anything and go away.” Slate clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“You’re really ungrateful,” she said, blowing the burnt stick and flicking it into the dustbin. “I saved your life and all I get in return is a few days of shelter?”
“It’s been over two years now,” Slate said, crushing the remaining ember inside the dustbin, preventing arson. “I’ve repaid what I could, and I’ll repay the rest in some other way. For now, I need my peace.”
“Still a few weeks to go for the two-year anniversary,” she said, sitting sideways on the dining chair, twirling the strands of her long blonde hair around her finger. The change in her hairstyle and the absence of the nose ring had shifted the air around her, they made her nigh unrecognizable from when he first met her. “I don’t know why you care about her so much, she clearly only cares about her actual son.”
“None of your business,” Slate said, sprawling on the three-man sofa with an exhale of comfort, the velvety coziness easing his weariness. The faint vanilla aroma of the candles drifted around him, soothing his spiky nerves, and even with his perseverance, his eyelids flickered and almost gave in to drowsiness.
“I wonder what would happen if she knew that you killed her precious son,” Verina said with a playful smile.
Slate exploded away from the sofa, clawed her throat, and pushed her back into the dining table, growling—the candle flames fluttered and died in his wake. His fingers almost dug into her skin, drawing beads of blood, and his eyes spewed fire.
“I…lived with you…for so long, it wasn’t hard…to figure that out,” Verina said with choked breath, caressing his face with trembling hands, wiping the drop of tear falling from his reddened eyes. “No matter…what, I’ll always…be on your side.”
Time washed away the memories, the bonds faded away against the years, yet the same strengthened the sentiments and created new ties. And as the clamorous days with her flashed before Slate’s eyes, the days where her bright smiles filled his gray life, his grip loosened, and an irritating conflict brewed within him. She’d already built her place in him, he couldn’t kill her, yet it meant destroying all that he cherished in this place.
A blasting shockwave of spirit from the north interrupted his undulating emotions. It had a familiar aura, ever so close to him yet far away. And when the wave passed, the intensity of the spirit dimmed, and soon it flickered with scant signs of life.
“What happened?” Verina asked, getting up from the table, rubbing the blood off her neck. “Was that Thea?”
“Yeah,” Slate said, standing shell-shocked with tears welling up in his eyes, staring north. “She finished the muffler.”
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