Diary or the Dead

Visibly Stained

A cold breeze brushed through Dew's hair and he pulled the blue cape tighter. Charles had insisted that now would be the perfect time to go outside because the pouring rain from the morning had stopped but he didn't consider this part of the weather. Now both of them had to bear the consequences. They were following a path often visited by chariots and servants that were traveling between the castle and the city part below, with fifteen minutes by foot it was the fastest route after all. But Dew and the barely living Charles weren't on transit. "We should be close" Charles stuttered and looked into the thicket of oak trees. A wet sound came from the ground as he stepped off the road and into the woods and Dew considered whether going barefoot would be the better option. Just a moment later he learned that it would have been, his poor shoes were soaked in mud and water. "What are we looking for?" he asked as he caught up to Charles. "Small yellow flowers on top of a ring of pointy leaves. They usually grow in groups'' he recalled. "They are called Winter Aconite but some people say Winter Wolf's Bane to them. Pretty sick, huh?"
Finding a yellow plant among the rather dull plants seemed easier to Dew than convincing Frederick to chug a whole bottle of liquor, not a huge deal for a mild alcoholic, but Dew still regretted offering his help. All the cooks knew of this little tradition Charles persuaded every January but never knew what it was about. They just knew that he was very serious when it came to the date because he usually skipped the rest of his shift that day. When Charles muttered something about going his chef had spoken to Dew about a small incident in which the lanky man had passed out on his way from work back to his bed which caused him heavy bruising. Claiming to be too busy himself, Frederick had heavily hinted at the blonde person to do something. One glance at Charles's deep dark rings under the eyes had been enough to convince him to be on the lookout, especially in the forest the overworked man's life was at high risk and Dew knew he'd feel guilty for the rest of his existence if something dangerous would happen.

After several minutes of stumbling through the forest Dew dared to ask: "Are you sure they even bloom here?" "Almost certain. They were around here last year after all," he replied, "or where they?" He scratched the stubbles of beard in his chin. "It could also be that there wasn't enough light lately, those cuties need that. Oh!" Just by the sound Dew could guess that Charle's face had just lit up. Squatting down next to him, Dew watched him carefully removing leaves from the ground and revealing little flowers round petals and a surprisingly vibrant lemon color. Quickly Charles reached for his belt to unfasten a sachet. "You have the cape, can you pluck some of the aconites and throw them in?" He looked at Dew with excitement. The blonde one hesitated but quickly came to the realization that he had already dirtied the cloth and therefore followed his instructions. Why he insisted on picking plants that could have poisonous effects when coming in contact with skin was a mystery to him, though he suspected there to either be a personal connection or a symbolism behind the plant like poison ivy, which was one of the plants he learned from to have a corny meaning about love which Josephine loved so much. He himself wasn't a big enjoyer when it came to plants, at least when it came to picking or taking care of them. To him they should be admired in their natural habitat in which they mostly even looked the most aesthetically pleasing as far as he could judge.

Thanks to Dew's sense of orientation they made it back to the street and to the city. The red rooftops of the houses could be seen from far away as well as the marketplace where street performers and wandering traders could make a fortune on Saturdays. After all it was a day for common people particularly reserved for both prayers to their goddess and celebration of health and peace. He had strolled through the streets with and without Josephine. Mostly they had to buy stock for the pantry but from time to time Dew also bought himself and his roommate everyday objects like a second set of pillows and blankets or clothes. Ironically, Dew made more money than Avery, whose only payment was the room they shared, even though he had a higher social rank than he. Dew assumed it was part of the deal he made with the king: He would obey every command given to him while the king would give him the information needed to find his brother after four years of serving. It would be before midsummer.

"Don't stand still, we still got places to go" Charles reminded him. He must have stood still again. Other than Dew had expected, they did not enter the city but took a smaller path through fields of dead grass covered in frost. "Where are we even going?" he asked. "The graveyard of course" Charles answered while looking back at him. "What? Never been there before?" Dew shook his head. "I don't have family here." "Lucky you!" The graveyard was exactly as the books he read described it: A large area with stones of various shapes and a place for flowers and memorabilia in front of them scattered around with several trees that looked as old as time itself watching over the rotting bodies of the dead. Charles went straight through the rows without giving a single look to any of the stones. Pretty far from the entrance he finally turned left and stopped in front of a small square stone. Moss had grown over the rough surface and Dew could barely make out the carved letters. Without wasting a moment the tall man began removing any waste from it. Revealed were three names: Marvin, Rosalinde and James. "You can go now. Thanks for the company, I appreciate that" Charles addressed Dew after a long pause as if he just remembered that he was still standing beside him. "Are you sure?" There was no answer.

He made his way back to the entrance but got distracted by a stone tomb that was, differently from all the others, located above the ground with five small statues of babies playing around it. Even though it had such a unique design the grave had not been cared for in years. Piles of leaves, gravel and dirt were covering everything and there were no offerings. He got closer and bent over the top hoping to be able to discover a familiar name or more interesting details. To his disappointment there was nothing to be seen and he didn't want to touch anything without the knowledge of who might have been buried here. He turned around and almost bumped into a black figure. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you-" he apologized automatically but the old man laughed: "It's always good to know my stealth did not lose itself through all the years. But enough of that. Are you a friend of that boy?" He pointed at Charles who had cowered down on the ground with his forehead pressed to the dirty ground. Dew pondered. "I wouldn't consider him a friend. We work together in the castle but we rarely talk." "Perhaps because he barely talks to anyone at all," Dew wanted to add but kept it to himself. "That poor boy, he needs someone to talk to,'' the man in black sighed. "Do you know what he's doing there?" Charles was still in the same position and Dew was worrying he would freeze to death at some point. "I do, at least a little. I met him six years ago, a fifteen year old kid covered in dirt and no parents whatsoever. He asked me to make a stone and of course I said yes. When I asked him where the people he wanted it for were buried he said that the king had burned them." A memory from half a year ago came to his mind. Josephine and him had gone to the market and came across a fire that had been newly piled up next to the gibbet. She hadn't noticed it early enough because the wind carried the scent of burning flesh away from them but as they reached the fire it was clear that an execution of two or more people had taken place and their bodies were now being disposable in front of everyone. The crown should be on everyone's mind, especially because it had lost more and more meaning to many. It had disturbed him, just like it was supposed to and the thought that this could be him at some point couldn't get out of his head. Why he even considered it was nothing more than anxiety, never would he do something harshly punishable, sometimes he even considered himself a model citizen until he remembered all the times he had dutifully agreed with his chef whenever he began ranting about the king's inability to rule again. "When I asked him who they were" he continued to tell, "the boy said they were his older brother and parents. He was the only one left. I remember him saying 'there was this round little child in the courtroom that cried out to the king to save the boy'. She must have warmed the king's heart that day."

During the time Dew went back to the castle he thought about what the gravedigger had said. A son in a family of bandits who had received a second chance. The king had killed them. His family. His life. Perhaps they were forced into stealing and robbing, maybe they were from a poor place and shunned by society which led them to be unable to live an honest life. Only Charles ended up getting to live like that but at what cost? Now that he feels indebted to the royal family he does everything to please them, even if it means destroying himself in the process. Dew wondered how it felt like to be under the constant stress of perfection which was demanded from him on a daily basis if he wanted to keep his life. One misstep and that was it. He wondered how it was to be so dependent on another person to keep one safe.