Arcadia

On this particular evening, it was raining outside. The sounds of thunder interspersed with the crackle of the fire. The pleasant scent of soil wafted up to where I was sitting on the couch in the old manor. I was reading by the fireplace, in my robe, no other light was lit inside the creaking manor. Anyone else might have found it creepy, but I found it had a pleasant effect. Lightning strikes lit up the shelves of the ancestral library.

A few pages later, I looked up and concentrated. Was that the sound of someone banging that rusted old knocker downstairs? It seemed to be, the squeaks echoed through the manor disturbing the quiet stillness of the air. I deftly stood up and walked down the stairs. By the time I reached the landing, the banging had ceased. I heard the groan of the manor door opening.

The visitor pushed the door and upon finding it unlocked invited themselves in. Whoever they were, promptly tripped over their feet, finally realizing there wasn't a single candle lit in the first story of the manor. I wanted to get back to my book, so I decided the visitor could see themselves out. I had no obligation toward them whatsoever.

I walked up the stairs, my feet light as a feather, so as not to let the visitor know the manor was inhabited. When I reached the library I firmly locked the door, seeing as it was neglecting to lock the main entrance to the manor that had got me into this mess in the first place.

What a mess, indeed! I was reading a book in my library pretending I didn't exist, while a stranger was downstairs in my home doing Lord knows what.

It took nearly an hour before I completed the book. The rain had ceased to a drizzle and the visitor hadn't left yet. I looked out the window and sighed. It seemed I had to tell the visitor to leave myself. I went downstairs and lit a candle. There they were, eating dinner and drinking cocoa. The visitor had lit a candle of their own, so I snuffed out mine.

They were carving their initials onto a table which had been passed through my family, ancestor to ancestor, for almost three centuries. That could be construed as an insult to my ancestors. I calmly fingered the belt of my robe for my jewel encrusted dagger and gracefully cut their throat. A few drops of blood fell into the cup of cocoa. The visitor's body slumped to the floor.

For a moment, I pondered what I would see if I pushed off the hood of the traveler's cloak. Would I see beautiful blonde curls of hair, framing a heart-shaped face, with plump lips, and glassy eyes the color of the sea? Or would I see a square shaped rugged face, with windswept hair the color of jet-black, and glassy eyes the color of almonds? Whoever it was, their throat was permanently stained with red. They no longer existed. No one would ever hear their voice or see their face ever again. I didn't care much, one way or another.

I calmly pulled up another chair and started eating dinner before it got cold. I drank the cocoa and moaned with pleasure at the taste of the copper tang in the cocoa. It was perfect. It was Arcadia.

The End