The woodcutter peeps out from within the room, opening the door slightly. He checks the hallway and no one is there. He strides out slowly and carefully, cautious of disturbing anything or anyone, whether they are within distance of being disturbed or within the distance of his imagination.Whichever the case, he cautiously steps out.
He had slept for a couple of hours, but the worker in him, the laborer, could not help but be uneasy. He simply could not find comfort, to not only be at ease and free of any labor, but to rest in such luxury. It felt to him that he might be somehow cheating, breaking a law, or even downright stealing. It bothered him.
The hall was, again after checking once more, empty. The note in the room, on the desk, did state that he was allowed to venture forth from his room and browse through the castle. And so upon being granted prior permission, the woodcutter took the liberty of exploring the castle, rather than feel the discomfort of being in such comfort.
He strode down the hall looking at the stands, the desks, the items atop these stands and desks, and the portraits and landscape paintings hung above. Sometimes instead of a stand, a desk there would be a suit of armor, fixed atop of a pedestal the height of a foot. Next to it was perhaps a portrait and a landscape painting, the portrait stating to whom the armor belonged to and the landscape painting depicting a glorification of the owner of the armor, either in an epicly victorious battle, or a tragic last stand.
In another hall was the hanging of only portraits, apparently of the ancestors to the bloodline of the lord of the castle. Amaneul Bestalman, Codrice Bestalman, Sizor Bestalman, Fleud Bestalman. This hall, with great interest, did the woodcutter examine in order to determine the identity of the castle's master. “Bestalman”, the woodcutter murmured. “I have never heard of such a house. But then again, what do I know? I only know mine own lord, my own line of descent and perhaps the king. How would I know of such a noble house when I don’t even know the lands of which the house commands?” And with this thought the woodcutter browsed through this hall, leaving it to peruse the other halls. “What a vast and enormous castle”, the woodcutter exclaimed, “There are no windows to look out of but one can tell that the size of such a place is grand with decor and luxury, just as grand as the space of it. “One can truly tell the wealth of the lord who is master”, the woodcutter praised.
Eventually the woodcutter ended up going down the stairs, to the grand entrance. He explored the ball/dining room, saw the white sheets with dust on them, measured the amount of dust with his fingers, and attempted to determine for how long the room had remained unused. Unable to determine he leaves.
His walks take him back to the circular garden and once more he sees the pink rose, floating with unnaturally bright shining light. Emotions of all kinds rush through the woodcutter. He admires it, loves it, adores it, and-
HE WANTS IT.
Surprised, the woodcutter staggers at the want. “No,no, I don’t want it. It is not mine to take. I can not betray the good will of the master. Who has been nothing but generous. Who am I to betray that trust?”
I WANT IT.
“No, no, I don’t”.
MY DAUGHTER WOULD LOVE IT
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“But it’s not mine for me to give”. The woodcutter leaves and just as the sinister thoughts came, they disappeared as if a breeze had just brushed by, carried off the same way it had come.
The woodcutter retreats back to the room granted to him by his gracious host and another written letter is on the desk. “Lunch is served. Unfortunately I will not be able to dine with you, however you are welcome to help yourself to anything you desire. If there is a delicacy that you wish to consume yet has not been served, ring the bell and announce the dish and your preferences regarding the dish. It will be served to you shortly”, the woodcutter read, reading softly to himself. He looked around the room once and seeing nothing that he desired to interact with found that dining at the dining hall was the only natural action to take. He exited the room, went down the hall, went down the grand staircase down to the grand entrance, turned and went below the staircase, through the archway that led to another hall which led to the dining/ballroom.
The same long table is prepared with the same amount of different varieties of exotic and luxurious meals set upon it. Candles are lit along the middle of the long table to give light to the food. A single seat is placed at the table, and the woodcutter interprets that seat to be his. He grabs the empty plate and utensils, walks along the long table, reaching and placing foods that catch his eye. He then goes back to his seat and eats. Several times he does this, and one time he even rings the bell and announces a dish he remembered eating as a child. He continues to eat and a little further down the center of the dim and dark dining/ballroom a single beam of light shines down from the ceiling, shedding light upon a table. The table lights up, presenting the dish that the woodcutter had requested. The woodcutter had not noticed anyone entering the dining/ballroom, nor did he hear any noise of any servants of any kind walking and placing the dish upon the table. And this he noted and wondered about, wondering how he could have not noticed anything at all.
After the woodcutter had eaten his meal, seeing nothing left to do in the ballroom he gave a sigh and rested a moment, before sliding his chair back with an echoing creak. He gave a look of regret that he could not eat anymore and felt it an awful waste to leave it alone. “Perhaps the servants will feast on the leftovers”, the woodcutter thought, “They sure do deserve it. How skilled they must be for the dish to have been prepared and placed that quickly and silently without me noticing”. With that thought in mind he left.
He went back to his room and sat a while, upon a very comfortable armchair next to a low table and a couch, feeling too full and too tired to do anything else but to digest the large meal he had dined on. As he situated himself comfortably he closed his eyes.
He woke up hours later. He looked at the room, remembering that he was a guest. He saw the lights and wondered why he had not wondered this question before, “How are these lit up?”, he thought as he looked at several glass-like objects shaped like hand-sized quartz crystals. The thought was brief. He did not know what he was looking at, could not even understand how it could work, and felt that no matter how long he tried to study the objects he would get nowhere. He saw yet another note, noticing that previous notes had disappeared, this new one telling him his bath was ready and that he should go to the bathing room attached to this room as soon as he woke up.
He saw the door, which the note mentioned and opened it. It was a rectangular room, steamy, with a porcelain tub in the middle. The ceiling was painted with clouds and bright angelic beings flying. Shiny porcelain tiles made up the floor and the walls were sculpted out of marble with carved shapes of pillars jutting out from the wall, making it seem as if the ceiling, in a picturesque sense, were held up by these fictitious pillars. Towels were folded and placed within a rectangular opening in the wall, and bathing products in glass bottles were stacked neatly in another rectangular opening, placed where a person bathing could easily grab without getting up.
The woodcutter looks here and there. The excess of wealth is extremely immense. The woodcutter only had a wooden basin to bathe in, cold water too, with occasionally him and his daughter visiting the local bathhouse for more thorough cleansing. The sculpted marble walls, the tiles, the porcelain tub and the numerous amounts of bathing products encased in expensive glass bottles.
The woodcutter could not be overwhelmed further. He had accepted that this place was sublime in wealth, in beauty and luxury, all these flowing with excess. From further on, the woodcutter would not be surprised at any show of wealth, beauty and luxury. The woodcutter undressed, the steam flowing around him and he entered the bath, sliding down, sighing in bliss.