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In a hidden corner of Frankfort lurked an ancient one-story house, veiled by a lush garden and whispers of sinister enchantments. Nathalie, its mysterious inhabitant, was rumored to be a witch from distant lands, her origins shrouded in secrecy and suspicion. Despite such rumors, no concrete evidence of her dark arts had ever surfaced, shielding her from scrutiny.
The garden, once rumored to host eerie feasts and shadowy gatherings, now lay deserted, basking in the oppressive summer heat. Red roses, vibrant and alluring, adorned the overgrown foliage, casting a stark contrast against the house’s foreboding aura.
Inside, a dimly lit chamber revealed Edward, a figure immersed in arcane pursuits. Clad in somber attire, he marked a date on a parchment calendar with a crimson pencil, his demeanor a blend of concentration and contemplation. His companion, Thomas, joined him, exuding a brooding elegance that belied his inner turmoil.
Edward shared his ambitions with a hint of pride. “My name spreads through Frankfort,” he proclaimed, a glint of determination in his eyes.
Thomas, however, remained distant, his gaze fixed on the vibrant garden beyond the shuttered window. “Your doctrines stir controversy,” he remarked, his tone tinged with reservation.
Unperturbed, Edward defended his unorthodox teachings. “I challenge the norms, yet they come to learn,” he remarked, a trace of defiance in his voice.
Thomas’s eyes narrowed, betraying a mixture of envy and resignation. “Your fame grows while mine remains hidden,” he confessed, his bitterness palpable.
Their conversation shifted to darker realms, hinting at forbidden knowledge and elusive powers. “We delve into secrets,” Edward declared, a flicker of excitement dancing in his words.
Thomas, however, harbored doubts about his own abilities. “I struggle to command the spirits,” he admitted, a shadow of defeat clouding his features.
Edward’s concern deepened at his friend’s admission. The specter of their intertwined fates and the looming darkness of their ambitions hung heavy in the air, casting a foreboding spell over their clandestine pursuits.
As tension thickened between them, Edward’s face betrayed a mix of anguish and desperation. “Your success is not mine,” Thomas declared with a hint of bitterness. “Nathalie favors you, not me. I lack both fame and fortune—Saint Ambrose’s gold is gone, and I rely on your charity.”
Edward’s gaze softened, reflecting genuine concern. “That’s not true,” he protested weakly, but his troubled expression spoke volumes.
“I’m leaving,” Thomas announced firmly, sending a shockwave through Edward.
“Leaving Frankfort?” Edward gasped, his voice strained with disbelief.
“No, this place,” Thomas clarified, his determination unwavering.
Edward’s features drained of color as if drained by unseen forces. “You can’t mean that,” he pleaded, his distress palpable.
Thomas, resolute, faced the room. “I won’t break our bond,” he reassured, though his gaze wandered to the witch’s garden outside.
“Where will you go?” Edward’s voice quivered with anxiety.
“To Court,” Thomas revealed, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and resolve. “Jacobea of Martzburg offered me a position as her cousin’s secretary. I’ll be close to her.”
Edward’s response was a silent agony, his hopes crumbling before him. “Are you happy?” he managed to ask, his voice barely audible.
“I haven’t forgotten her,” Thomas affirmed, his voice swelling with emotion. “And there’s potential for us to achieve more through your dark arts.”
Edward’s anguish filled the room like a heavy fog. “I’ll lose you,” he whispered, his despair evident.
“You’ll still see me often,” Thomas tried to reassure, but Edward’s sorrow was palpable.
Their conversation spiraled into the depths of their conflicting desires and their pact with darkness. As Thomas turned to leave, Edward’s haunted gaze lingered, torn between loyalty and longing, as the shadows of their choices loomed large in the dim room.
Edward’s desperation filled the room as Thomas prepared to depart. “Are you leaving?” he asked, his voice trembling with fear.
“Yes,” Thomas replied firmly, his hand on the door.
“Don’t go,” Edward pleaded, his words catching in his throat. “We have everything ahead of us if we stick together...if you...” He couldn’t finish, overcome with emotion.
But Thomas was resolute. “Your arguments won’t change my mind,” he stated, opening the door and stepping out.
Left alone, Edward sank onto the luxurious gold cushions, his fingers entwined in anxiety. Through the window, the vibrant red roses in the garden contrasted sharply with the blue sky, a scene of deceptive tranquility.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
As Thomas sang upstairs, a bitter realization dawned on Edward. “He sings because he’s leaving,” he whispered to himself, a pang of anguish piercing his heart.
The next time Thomas entered, he was ready to depart, his belongings bundled up. “I’ll bid Nathalie farewell tomorrow, or maybe tonight. But I must see the Chamberlain now,” he informed Edward.
Numb with grief, Edward could only nod, still standing by the calendar that marked their fateful meeting.
Once Thomas left again, Edward felt the weight of his departure crushing him. “He’s gone—gone—gone,” he repeated softly, feeling the loss keenly.
He approached the window, opening it wider to let in the sunlight. The roses outside seemed to mock his sorrow with their vibrant beauty.
In a moment of desperation, Edward cried out to the heavens, invoking dark forces. “Satan! Give him back to me! I’ll give you anything!” His plea echoed through the room, but there was no answer, only the buzz of bees among the roses.
As he collapsed into the window-seat, Nathalie, the witch, appeared before him. Edward’s gaze was filled with a mixture of sorrow and anger as he confessed, “Thomas has gone.”
Nathalie’s response was calm and unsurprised. “I knew he would,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“He left without a proper farewell, without remorse,” Edward lamented, his distress evident.
“He is neither good nor evil,” Nathalie observed, her eyes glinting with wisdom. “Let him go. His heart and passions are in conflict; he lacks the courage and clarity to succeed.”
“But I want him back,” Edward insisted, his longing palpable.
With a knowing smile, Nathalie shook her head. “You who can have the world, let him go.” Her words echoed in the room, leaving Edward to grapple with his grief and the harsh reality of Thomas’s departure.
“He’ll come back. He’s too deep in it to stay away,” Nathalie remarked confidently.
“I want him back for good,” Edward exclaimed. “He’s my partner—he has to be by my side always—his thoughts should be only of me.”
Nathalie’s expression darkened. “This is foolishness. From the day you came to me talking about Master Lukas, I saw your path—yours was to be everything, his nothing. I saw your name echoing across the world while he faded into obscurity.” She stood up emphatically. “Let him go! He’ll only hold you back, a burden on your journey. He’s envious of you, not particularly skilled...what can you say about him except that he’s nice to look at?”
Edward slipped off the cushions, pacing the room slowly. A serene smile graced his lips, his eyes reflecting a gentleness.
“What can I say about him? In three words—I love him,” Edward declared, folding his arms and lifting his head.
“You came from mystery—as you should,” the witch smiled.
Edward’s smile was tinged with pain. “It’s a mystery...to speak of it would be to invite damnation right here and now. It feels so distant, so strange, so dreadful...well, well!” He rubbed his forehead, lost in thought. “As I worked in Master Lukas’s abandoned house, painting, carving, reading forbidden texts, I felt no fear; it was like I had no soul...so why fear losing what was gone before I existed? ‘The Devil put me here,’ I said, ’and I’ll serve him...he’ll make me his emissary on earth...and I waited for his command. People spoke of Antichrist! What if that’s me?’...that’s what I thought.”
“And so it shall be,” the witch whispered.
Edward’s eyes gleamed with intensity. “Could anyone but a demon entertain such thoughts?...then Thomas came, and I saw in him a mirror of myself—he did what I did, knew what I knew; and—and”—his voice faltered—“I remember watching him sleep—and then I realized I wasn’t a demon, for I knew I loved him. I had terrible thoughts—if I love, I have a soul, and if I have a soul, it’s doomed;—but he’ll go with me—if I’m from hell, I’ll return to hell, and he’ll come with me;—if I’m damned, he’ll be damned and walk hand in hand with me into the abyss!”
His smile vanished, replaced by fervent determination. “She may try to claim his soul—if he loves her, she might lure him to heaven—with her golden hair! Didn’t I long for blonde locks when I saw my bride?...I’ve forgotten what I was saying—I mean, she doesn’t truly love him...”
“But she might,” the witch interjected. “He’s charming and handsome.”
Edward turned his darkening gaze to Nathalie. “She can’t.”
The witch played with her fingers. “We can control many things, but not love or hate.”
Edward placed a hand on his chest. “Her heart belongs to another—a man in her employ, ambitious, poor, and married.”
Approaching the witch, Edward, slender yet radiant, seemed almost ethereal compared to the aged Eastern woman. “Do you grasp my intent?” he asked.
The witch blinked slowly. “I understand that witchcraft or dark magic aren’t necessary here.”
“No,” Edward agreed. “Her own feelings will betray her...she’ll be the one to bring him back to me.”
Nathalie shifted, her coins tinkling in her hair. “Edward, why are you fixated on his return?” she asked, torn between reproach and longing. She gently touched the impassive yet smiling youth. “You’re destined for greatness,” she spoke with eagerness. “I might not have much to my name, but you hold the keys to many realms. The world will bow to you—let him go.”
Edward maintained his smile. “No,” he replied softly.
The witch shrugged and turned away. “I’m just your servant now. You know the words that can command me and all my kind. So be it; bring your Thomas back.”
Edward’s smile grew more profound. “I won’t need your help. I can handle this alone. Even if it risks my path to greatness, I’ll have my partner back.”
“It won’t be hard,” the witch agreed. “A silly girl’s influence versus yours!” She chuckled.
“There’s another who’ll try to keep him at Court,” Edward mused. “His old friend, the Margrave’s son, Balthasar of Nola, who shines in the Emperor’s circle. I met him recently—he’s my enemy too.”
“Well, the Devil will turn them all in your favor,” the witch remarked with a smile.
Edward glanced absently at her as she crept away.
As the sunset approached, its red light danced in the roses, casting a deep crimson hue in the dim chamber. Edward stood by the window, deep in thought, concocting plans where Jacobea, her steward, Sybilla, and Thomas would be entangled like flies in a web; a mix of devilish plots and desperate human emotions brewed grotesquely in his mind, birthing dark and macabre ideas.
The sound of a bell broke his reverie, reminding him of a time when that sound had interrupted his thoughts in an empty house—when he had found Thomas outside his door. Edward left the room to find the witch, but she had vanished. He assumed the bell was for her; she often had secretive visitors. Crossing the dark passage, he opened the door to the small garden that separated the house from the cobbled street. There stood a woman in a green hood and mantle, deep within the porch’s shadow.
“Whom do you seek?” Edward asked cautiously.
The stranger replied in a low voice. “You. Aren’t you the young lecturer who talks about many things? They call you Constantine.”
“Yes,” Edward confirmed. “I am.”
“I heard you today. I need to speak with you.”
She wore a mask that hid her face completely, just as her cloak concealed her form. Edward’s sharp eyes gleaned nothing about her.
“Come in,” she insisted urgently.
Edward held the door open, and she entered the passage, breathing fast.
“Follow me,” Edward said with a smile, convinced she was Jacobea of Martzburg.