Dark Halls, Stone Walls (Hiatus InDef)

Chapter Twelve

The room was lit by a single candle that sat on the white antique desk in the farthest right corner away from me. The desk was just shy the size of my twin-sized bed, and although I could tell it was detailed, I couldn't make out all the swirls and vines carved into the wood and welded into the golden handles.

The warm yellow light caressed the many pens and edges of books that were piled high, which in turn darkened the pulled-out white chair.

I took note of the shadow that the chair casted and how different they were to each other. The dark shapes that stretched from the floor to the tips of my toes were wider than the seat. Almost like a subtle inverted triangle with an oval on top. Down towards the floor were two rectangles spread apart a bit and asymmetrical to the chair's shaded figure.

The chair creaked—the shadow shifted.

So that's where he's been. I thought bitterly. Sitting comfortably while I labored to find him—in the dark no less!

I spoke quietly and stayed in the doorway. "Hello," I began. "Sorry for the disturbance."

"I'm sure you are."

"Sorry?" Here we go again.

"If you were sorry, you would have stopped at the seventh door." He muttered. "That is, the first time you went through the hallway."

Be cortial. "My word, it's a courtesy, that's all." Remember what you came here to do—memories or information.

"Says who? Not I!" He scoffed. "Besides, if I thought you were troubling me, you would've been back in your room by now."

And yet you acted like I was annoying you when I apologized. I thought with a slight twitch in my jaw. Say, why do you let me roam the halls if you're just going to act like I'm a mere nuisance to you? I bit my tongue. "Very well." Wanker. "I meant to ask about the food sickness I had the other day." I raised my voice a little to sound confident. "The cook apologized, right? So, I was wondering... why was the storage area full of enough mold to make me sick?"

"I'm afraid that's not my area of expertise." He said simply. "In any case, the cook has been doled out his punishment—you won't need to worry about him anymore."

I latched onto the subject. "It seems like such a small thing to fire him over," I replied with a slight tremor in my voice and forced out the next few words. "Sure, mold is unacceptable, but mistakes happen, don't they?"

He clicked his tongue. "His removal was a long time coming—this was just the last straw."

"I see."

The chair nudged out from the desk along with the humanoid-looking shadow. He spoke a touch louder than before. "He wasn't a good worker anyhow. If anything, the place will run better without him."

What should have been words of comfort instead planted a pit that grew in my stomach. Similar perhaps to the pit of a peach that would give fruit one day years from now, but this seed instead grew like ivy up my spine and the only fruit it bore was a whisper that pressing anymore would yield nothing but trouble.

The room grew ever so quiet—not even the flickering candle dared to spark or flash too much.

Rather than take a step back from the doorway and towards my room, my eyes turned away from the chair and towards the rest of the room.

From what I saw, both the prince's bed chamber and its white antique furnishings were at least twice as large as my room and furniture. Be it the bed and its canopy, the dresser with clothes hanging out of its drawers, the mirror or the closet next to it, all of them matched the desk in both grandiosity, color, and design. The candlelight gave it all away, since it touched the ridges and casted shadows into the carvings' valleys of every swirl and leaf that each article of furniture had to offer.