not like I require much anymore, but a hair brush and some Scope were appreciated.
No mirror. Thank fucking God.
I shower, change, and feed off some microwave-nuked blood. Seems like a good time to explore the castle.
I wander down a staircase that looks familiar but turns out to lead into a library with towering, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. I poke around the volumes, discovering quickly that very few are in English. I flip through various pages, attempting to decipher some of the print.
Suddenly aware of eyes burning through my back, I spin around. The figure smiles and steps out of the doorway.
“You must be Lori.”
He walks with a long, smooth stride; his eyes emit a piercing glow, something fierce stirring behind them. He has a majestic demeanor and wears dress appropriate for the 1800s. This is what I’d been anticipating.
“Yes, and you must be Marcus?”
He smiles, picking the book out of my hands.
“Is it that obvious?”
He closes the book, fingering the faded gold calligraphy.
“Do you know Latin?”
“No, I was just admiring the collection—got kind of lost roaming the castle. I hope you don’t mind.”
He hands me the book. “Not at all. I’m very proud of this collection. Very few are my own, but I worked to bring in volumes from around the globe. Some are first editions, others don’t hold much value, but each one tells a story, cemented in paper, priceless, timeless.”
I nod, returning the book to its place on the shelf.
Marcus stands roughly six feet, medium build, with olive skin, impactful eyes, and thin, black hair pulled into a pony tail. I guess an Asian ethnicity. However, his perfect English and somewhat Americanized accent offer no indication of his origin.
“I’m sorry I was unable to greet you upon arrival. I trust you had a smooth flight?”
“Yeah, very. My first time on a private jet. It was quite luxurious.”
My memory flashes to the horrific events just before departure.
Marcus regards my expression with concern. I erase the pain with a smile.
“I’m still comprehending everything that’s happened the past few weeks, so forgive me if I seem a little flustered.”
“You will have time to adjust.” He strokes his goatee. “I trust Catch has brought you up to speed on the war.”
“He has.”
“Then you at least understand why you’ve been brought here. That you now have a greater purpose.”
“I’m still a little vague on the ‘why’ and as for a greater purpose, I suppose that remains to be seen…”
“You met Adrian?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did he say to you?”
“He spoke of rainbows and pink unicorns.” Marcus is not amused. I shrug. “He didn’t tell me anything you don’t already know.”
After an uncomfortable silence, I figure a bad first impression is not the best way to go and try again.
“He told me, in vague metaphoric prose, that Catch and I would change the outcome of the war. He didn’t elaborate on how. He mostly told me to embrace this new life and that the sooner I abandoned everything and everyone I knew, the better. So I did and now I’m here.”
“He spoke of a prophecy?”
I shake my head, but I can’t say for sure one way or the other. “I think you’ve been reading too many of these stories.” I run my finger across a row of books.
“There is much that can be learned from these volumes. It’s all a matter of how you interpret their message.”
“Any of these written about you?”
His scrutinizing eyes soften and a smile emerges.
“Maybe after I’m gone, my tale will be told.”
“And if I were to pen your biography, would it be a cautionary tale or one of inspiration and triumph?”
Marcus ponders, “It remains to be seen. One would hope the latter.”
“One would hope,” I muse.
He swings his arm around me, proclaiming jovially, “I like you.”
He leads me around the castle, describing the origin of every piece of artwork we pass. I don’t have to feign my interest;
No mirror. Thank fucking God.
I shower, change, and feed off some microwave-nuked blood. Seems like a good time to explore the castle.
I wander down a staircase that looks familiar but turns out to lead into a library with towering, floor-to-ceiling bookcases. I poke around the volumes, discovering quickly that very few are in English. I flip through various pages, attempting to decipher some of the print.
Suddenly aware of eyes burning through my back, I spin around. The figure smiles and steps out of the doorway.
“You must be Lori.”
He walks with a long, smooth stride; his eyes emit a piercing glow, something fierce stirring behind them. He has a majestic demeanor and wears dress appropriate for the 1800s. This is what I’d been anticipating.
“Yes, and you must be Marcus?”
He smiles, picking the book out of my hands.
“Is it that obvious?”
He closes the book, fingering the faded gold calligraphy.
“Do you know Latin?”
“No, I was just admiring the collection—got kind of lost roaming the castle. I hope you don’t mind.”
He hands me the book. “Not at all. I’m very proud of this collection. Very few are my own, but I worked to bring in volumes from around the globe. Some are first editions, others don’t hold much value, but each one tells a story, cemented in paper, priceless, timeless.”
I nod, returning the book to its place on the shelf.
Marcus stands roughly six feet, medium build, with olive skin, impactful eyes, and thin, black hair pulled into a pony tail. I guess an Asian ethnicity. However, his perfect English and somewhat Americanized accent offer no indication of his origin.
“I’m sorry I was unable to greet you upon arrival. I trust you had a smooth flight?”
“Yeah, very. My first time on a private jet. It was quite luxurious.”
My memory flashes to the horrific events just before departure.
Marcus regards my expression with concern. I erase the pain with a smile.
“I’m still comprehending everything that’s happened the past few weeks, so forgive me if I seem a little flustered.”
“You will have time to adjust.” He strokes his goatee. “I trust Catch has brought you up to speed on the war.”
“He has.”
“Then you at least understand why you’ve been brought here. That you now have a greater purpose.”
“I’m still a little vague on the ‘why’ and as for a greater purpose, I suppose that remains to be seen…”
“You met Adrian?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did he say to you?”
“He spoke of rainbows and pink unicorns.” Marcus is not amused. I shrug. “He didn’t tell me anything you don’t already know.”
After an uncomfortable silence, I figure a bad first impression is not the best way to go and try again.
“He told me, in vague metaphoric prose, that Catch and I would change the outcome of the war. He didn’t elaborate on how. He mostly told me to embrace this new life and that the sooner I abandoned everything and everyone I knew, the better. So I did and now I’m here.”
“He spoke of a prophecy?”
I shake my head, but I can’t say for sure one way or the other. “I think you’ve been reading too many of these stories.” I run my finger across a row of books.
“There is much that can be learned from these volumes. It’s all a matter of how you interpret their message.”
“Any of these written about you?”
His scrutinizing eyes soften and a smile emerges.
“Maybe after I’m gone, my tale will be told.”
“And if I were to pen your biography, would it be a cautionary tale or one of inspiration and triumph?”
Marcus ponders, “It remains to be seen. One would hope the latter.”
“One would hope,” I muse.
He swings his arm around me, proclaiming jovially, “I like you.”
He leads me around the castle, describing the origin of every piece of artwork we pass. I don’t have to feign my interest;
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