The Archman

Chapter 37 - A Nocturnal Discourse

A few sparse rays of moonlight pierce through the cracks between a pair of curtains, cutting into the dark bedroom. Any light provided by the moonlight is rendered inconsequential, however, as a lit candle on the bedside table overpowers the natural luminescence of the moon.

Eira lays in her bed, eyes closed, her back facing towards the candle.

It had been over a month since she'd slept in her own bed. She was expecting to reacclimate to the setting almost immediately, but strangely enough that wasn't the case. There was no doubt that the room she'd slept in her entire life provided a certain kind of nostalgic comfort, but it wasn't the same as the bed on the Archman's ship. For one thing, the complete darkness of the Archman's bedroom made it quite easy to fall asleep, a luxury which she didn't realize she was taking for granted. Even the feel of her bed was different, though. What it possessed in familiarity, it lacked in novelty. It had a much more worn-in texture to it which easily sunk under her weight. The Archman's bed was much more rigid and sturdy, evidently built to support someone of the Archman's stature. It was also noticeably larger.

There are at least a few reminiscent elements that make the sudden transition more bearable. The cold grip of the steel collar around Eira's neck is something she'd gotten so used to sleeping with that it would probably be challenging to go without it. Additionally, the Archman's silent but noticeable presence in the space eased her nerves considerably.

He is sitting next to the bedside table with a booklet in one hand and a quill in the other, scrawling upon the pages of the booklet with intermittent strokes. The candlelight reflects off the Archman's glasses, which rest on the bridge of his nose.

Though Eira has her back turned to the Archman, it's as if she can see him with perfect clarity, the orange glow of the candle casting a warm light on his scintillating hair. Eira feels an urge to turn around and refresh the image in her mind, but she stays put. She's been laying still for several minutes now to give the impression of being asleep, and she doesn't want to break the illusion. She isn't sure exactly what she has to gain from this thespian trickery, but she continues to do so regardless.

The Archman sets down his booklet and quill, then stands up from the chair he is seated in. He turns around and blows out the candle, making the dim moonlight the only source of light in the room.

Eira focuses all her attention on her sense of hearing, as it is now the only way of determining movement within the space. She can hear the Archman walk a few paces, then come to a halt. There are a few seconds of nothing, until Eira feels a corner of the bed sink down considerably. Eira deduces that the Archman must have taken a seat on the bed, though she has yet to discern a reason for this action.

Through the pitch blackness of the room, Eira can feel the Archman's gaze upon her. It has such a unique quality to it that she is beginning to recognize it without needing to even see it.

After a few seconds of dead silence, she feels a light touch on her shoulder. She'd been anticipating some kind of contact from him, and yet it still took her off-guard when he placed his hand upon her. His touch was muted slightly from the many layers of fabric between his palm and Eira's shoulder, but she can still feel the intention behind it. There is a kind of soft delicacy to the gesture, which doesn't convey anything more than an acknowledgement of the connection between the two of them. It seems contradictory for a hand that is so adept at mutilation and vivisection to be so comforting, and yet that is precisely the effect it has.

The Archman removes his hand and stands up from the bed, though his touch lingers for several moments on Eira's shoulder. He makes his way towards the door and exits promptly. When she hears the door close shut, Eira opens her eyes.