The Empty Mirror
Chapter 16: Sugar Nightmare
With deliberation, I withdrew, silently advancing towards the stairs that led to the lower regions of the castle. Each descending step became a small journey into the unknown depths of that ancient enclosure. As I progressed, my mind couldn't help but evoke the unsettling image of his scarlet eyes, whose insane gleam provoked in me a strange and unpleasant sensation, as if I were witnessing the very essence of the unnameable and forbidden, piercing the barriers of conventional understanding.
Finally, I arrived at the lower level of the castle and collapsed exhausted in the heart of that colorful cenotaph, enveloped by the majestic fabric of an intense vermilion hue. The roughness of the stone and the cold emanation from the walls only heightened my discomfort, adding to the growing oppression that had already seized me. The atmosphere, as a whole, became stifling and menacing, as if the castle walls themselves were imbued with an ancestral darkness lurking in every corner.
There I was, a prisoner in a sinister and unknown enclave, populated by inscrutable entities that eluded my understanding. My mind was immersed in unsettling questions, while uncertainty and fear intertwined in the depths of my being, and curiosity struggled not to abandon me. It was inevitable to wonder if there was any connection between those disturbing scarlet eyes and the strange repulsion nesting within me.
Swoosh swoosh
In the dimness of my misfortune, such an extravagant event has burst into my sanity, to the extent that my nerve fibers, arrogantly self-proclaimed as steel nerves with narcissistic disdain, teeter on the edge of their own disintegration. That ephemeral encounter in the castle and the singular anomaly of the forest, once considered insurmountable challenges, fade into insignificance when compared to the onslaught of this unprecedented struggle.
To say they pale in comparison to this situation would be an understatement, as such terms lack the necessary depth to describe the heart-wrenching magnitude of what I am experiencing. In this grotesque theater of misfortune, the limits of despair are challenged and transgressed in such a staggering way that not even literary language can encompass the true essence of my anguish.
In this misguided juncture, my person was plunged into an unparalleled delirium, with no glimpses of another term to refer to, undoubtedly auguring submission to a catatonic state that would cast doubt on the authenticity of my own existence. The reality unfolding before my eyes, to the point of tempting me to gouge out my eyeballs with my own phalanges, seemed more like a stab perpetrated by what was once a loyal friend, or even worse, the sensation that my own limbs were thrusting a bitter dagger into the depths of my heart, unknown to my full knowledge of such a tragic event.
Indeed, I consider that I could be affected by some disorder inducing such a phenomenon, although my certainty wavers on this particular matter, given that I have lost various memories from my mind. All this misfortune would happen, provided that this reality is nothing more than a dream. A dream, you say? Smilingly, I affirm it so; I will not allow the shadow of doubt to loom over my conviction that this is a dream. The mere contemplation of doubting the dreamlike authenticity of this situation awakens an uncontrollable desire in me to shed desperate tears, in the face of the uncertainty that assails my understanding, even escaping the scrutiny of numbers, from one to nine; an uncontrollable reality, where even the surrounding grove does not grant the solace of counting, as it did in the truthful forest.
On the threshold of reverie, imaginary numbers, perhaps, could be quantified, but I fear I might be misinterpreting the very concept of what the notion of imaginary numbers entails. It is not, perhaps, about silently enumerating them while attempting to maintain serenity, but rather articulating them with gracious lips... Am I indulging in excessive narcissism? Truly, it matters little. Although I do not adhere to the mathematicians' guild and certainly do not aspire to become an expert in such a dry discipline, not because I disdain those who excel in this numerical art, but because my proficiency in the mathematical realm is, at best, modest.
My cerebral capacity may not stretch beyond my level of understanding of such complex abstractions. Nevertheless, I pay homage and reverence to mathematics, considering it a sublime art. Likewise, I profess respect towards its exponents and inquisitive minds, as 'fanatics' does not sound particularly elegant when referring to mathematics enthusiasts. Though I do not entirely dismiss the term, simply put, mathematics bestows upon me serenity.
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In the assumption that this reality is, indeed, a dream, the crucial question that arises is how I arrived in this dreamlike place. Obviously, in the dream scenario, the answer to 'how I got here' translates into immersing myself in the realm of dreams, surrendering deeply to its embrace. I've heard through word of mouth that dreams manifest rarely and do not follow a completely predictable pattern. Likewise, I've heard that dreams constitute the last journey of the night, when our body has already found its rest. Throughout my life, I have experienced dreams, both good and bad, like any human being, although I do not characterize myself by remembering them before waking up. It's not about forgetting, in the sense of losing them in the mist of forgetfulness, but rather realizing that I dreamed something and it simply slipped from my memory. Is this common, I suppose? However... This is a full-fledged nightmare.
Moments before, in the antechamber of slumber, when shadows begin their nocturnal dance, I find myself descending majestically down the stairs of that centuries-old castle. At the zenith of my dream, I rest in a cenotaph of vivid colors, a place that emanates an uncomfortable feeling when considering the act of dozing in such a funerary abode. Although my repose takes place with relative comfort, I cannot overlook the original purpose of that sepulcher, attributing a new meaning to it by comparing it to a plush bed. This cenotaph, an uninhabited funerary monument, stands as a canvas of dancing shadows on the castle's stage, where colors, among yellows, reds, and blues, playfully contrast with the enveloping shadows.
However, in the moment of reverie, I find myself at the door of this castle, not the terrifying and archaic one, but one that lives at the pinnacle of its splendid beauty, brimming with life, albeit life in an ancient castle having different nuances. At its peak, the castle displays commendable maintenance; its stone walls delight the eyes, while the imposing main door, carved in dark and weighty wood, appears so meticulously crafted that it seems a building alien to the one I knew. It is essentially the same castle, just more flourishing, as if time had surrendered to the timeless beauty of this ancestral fortress.
Suddenly, and without preamble, I noticed that, in addition to standing right in front of the door, just a few scant centimeters from my face, my hand was extended in a closed fist, in the posture of a door knocker, at the moment when one is about to seek the attention of the castle's lord. No, indeed, I had already knocked on the door, delivering several resonant blows, oblivious to how many I might have caused, whether unconsciously or prior to my dream. The fact is that when this reality was revealed to me, a sense of unease enveloped me as I heard footsteps resonating inside the castle, heading towards my position. I felt noticeably embarrassed, anticipating how that man with a somber gaze, with crimson eyes, would open the door, with an expression of displeasure so expressionless. My cheeks burned, imagining myself once again shamefully saying, "My apologies..." only to follow him slowly.
However, far from this anticipation, the door creaked open with a silent murmur, and suddenly, a middle-aged lady, with barely noticeable wrinkles and full lips, welcomed me. Before me, a completely unfamiliar woman, and yet, I couldn't help but articulate hesitantly, "My apologies..." lowering my head, envisioning myself as an intruder in the castle, being received at the entrance. Though beautiful, I could not label her as stunning, a term reserved for those ladies capable of captivating my gaze; however, she certainly lacked no allure, even though she appeared to be of older age. As I looked at her, I experienced a tumult of emotions, a sense of insecurity and fear that made me lower my head, as if that woman were about to strip me of everything. Discomfort seized me because she did not inspire trust, even though I was the one knocking on the door.
Despite my insecurity, I quickly raised my head, facing her. Her height slightly surpassed mine, just a noticeable difference, but she seemed to triumph by a few centimeters. However, I was considerably younger. Could she be the betrothed or wife of the castle's lord? I doubted it; he seemed oblivious to such simple matters. The lady had a mane of bronze-brown hue, slightly gathered and somewhat extensive, mostly hidden by a coif of an even darker brown tone, elegantly styled and presumably made of costly material. Despite all, my now white hair is even more beautiful, albeit supernatural... I couldn't help but reproach myself with a light tap on the head, maintaining silence. I should not rival her or foster competition, especially when I was the intruder. My behavior seemed to escape my own essence, and perhaps, just maybe, I was experiencing a subtle... jealousy.
That lady wore a velvet outfit with an archaic air, yet, in all honesty, it gleamed almost as if brand new in a state of perfection. The dress, in a petrol blue shade, was adorned with embroidered details and lace, discreetly fitted, accentuating the woman's figure. Without reservation, I would assert that she possessed a commendably shaped and voluptuous anatomy. Although, speaking truthfully, I shouldn't blush to express it, being a woman myself; it's not like I'm about to make a similar statement about a man, as, even though it pertains to the realm of human behavior, it would be embarrassing.
Nevertheless, the lady exhibited a somewhat diminished appearance, with slim facial features, barely perceptible in her thinness, and slender hands. Her height seemed slightly above average, wearing a dress with flared sleeves that added volume to her slender figure, along with a thick dark brown belt adorned with a metal buckle and threads of gold. On her feet, she wore closed black leather shoes, devoid of heels. Her sun-kissed complexion and pink lips, along with fine features, gave her an appearance of high society, as if she had emerged from the pages of a fairy tale. Am I the Snow White here? Additionally, she distinguished herself with an indifferent and circumspect attitude, revealing a certain reserve towards others, as well as a tendency towards vanity and egotism.
"I awaited your presence eagerly; I invite you to step into this chamber. With great pleasure, I wish to reveal to you the splendid acquisition of this castle, recently added to our heritage by my spouse. Undoubtedly, certain marvels will captivate you, as our residence here spans mere months," the woman uttered after casting me a quick glance, with a haughty gesture and slightly raising her chin. Following that, she turned her back and proceeded towards the interior of the castle, inviting me to follow and explore the zenith of such a majestic fortress.