Shadowbook

Chapter 5: Lord of the Night

𝔒 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡, 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱! 𝓘 𝔞𝔪 𝔞𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡,
𝔅𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔞 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪,
𝔗𝔬𝔬 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔟𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔩.

𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔱, 𝓡𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔍𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔱, Act 2, scene 2, 𝟷𝟺𝟻-𝟺𝟽

He was magnificent. His pale skin appeared to glow in the bluish light of dusk, but it seemed natural, as though it were normal to have such a colorless complexion. A night breeze ruffled his long black hair. His dark robes draped over the windowsill and trailed past his feet; they looked misty, ethereal. It was as though he had melted out of the darkness around him, and it had clung to his shoulders. "Hello, Nyx," he whispered. "I hope I have not frightened you." His voice was melodious.

Stunned to see him, it took me a moment to respond. I still wasn't sure he was really there, that I wasn't dreaming. "Astor...?"

Astor pushed himself off the windowsill and into my room. His robes floated unnaturally, like they were made of smoke and shadows and the clouds in a night sky. "Did I wake you? I hope I did not frighten you."

"I... I..."

I rubbed my eyes, and Astor was still there. This was probably one of those waking dreams, the sort in which I was certain that I had gotten up and gotten dressed for school, only to open my eyes and find that I was still lying in bed. Astor was not really here to spirit me away in the night. Any moment, I'd open my eyes to a bright off-white room and have to drag myself out of bed...

"Nyx, I desperately hope you are still willing to come to Umbragard with me. The Shadow Realm is splendid, and I'd so love to share it with you. If tonight is not a good night, I can leave—"

"NO! I mean... you're really there, aren't you?"

Astor smirked, irresistibly. "You are not dreaming, Nyx."

He offered me his hand. Still groggy, I took it. His hand was cool and soft, and definitely real. For a moment, I stared into his half-shadowed face, hearing only my own breathing. Oh, yes...

"I take it that you will be coming with me, then?"

"Are you kidding? Yes!"

"Excellent."

I stood up, "I like your robes," I said blandly. "They're really cool."

"Aren't they?" Astor twirled, swishing his cloak, which fanned through the air. "I am so proud of my folds." He grinned over his shoulder at me.

"Folds?" Atra had said something about 'folds,' and I knew that the Ars Nocturna had mentioned them a bunch of times. "Why do you call them that?"

Astor blinked incredulously, and then looked scandalized. "You mean you don't know what folds are? Huh. I do not know how it is possible to know of Shadows, but not of folds."

"Oh I'm sorry, is this some dumb obvious thing that I should have already known?"

Astor held open his robes so that they were silhouetted in the light from the window. They were mostly opaque, and fell as if they were heavy fabric. But they weren't — couldn't be. "A Shadow is its folds, dear Nyx! We are not confined by stiff fabric as you are. Folds are the source of our power, the essence of our being — folds are what you get if you wrap the darkness around you like a cloak, and fill it with all your secrets and vices and hidden things." As if to demonstrate, he wrapped his folds around his shoulders, burying his nose in them like a delighted kitten in a blanket.