Hollow Truth

Ren's Panic

Zephyr still hadn't forgiven Ren for forcing him to go to the ball. Well, to get a costume, to be exact. It humored Ren to know this, and he often found himself teasing the blue-haired boy about it when he visited. Zephyr had decided to remain in bed until his side was completely healed, and Ren had to give him credit. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay in bed all day without being bored to death.

Walking down the dusty hall, Ren yawned, stretching his arms over his head. He almost wished he had some kind of noble appointment to entertain himself. Sighing, Ren paused, looking at one of the many gashes in the wall. Maybe he'd practice using his Talent. After all, he wasn't quite sure what the nobles were planning at the ball. If he could widen his range or make it so he only had to listen to a few conversations at a time...

No, he couldn't use his Talent at the ball, not if he didn't want to be killed on the spot. Dukes and nobles were quite good at figuring out weaknesses. Maybe he'd just read to entertain himself.

Walking to his private library, Ren scoured the shelves for something he hadn't read yet, a task he realized was impossible. Tracing the familiar spines, Ren sighed. He didn't have any distractions.

For a long moment, he simply stood in the forsaken forest, admiring each molded scripture. Dust gathered on the collection of knowledge. It lay thick as though he hadn't touched a single book in a hundred years, muting the colorful leathers and graying the once white paper. Ren had touched every single page, scoured each story for hidden truths and answers to gnawing questions. But they had never satisfied his endless hunger. And now that he was left with nothing, his hunger only grew.

Drumming his fingers on his arm, Ren pondered how to solve his crisis. He could always go out and buy more books. But from where he wasn't sure. It had been ages since the bookstore in town had closed, and no one seemed to find the joy in reading anymore, not even the nobles.

"Ren." The hair on Ren's neck tingled, and he looked around for the person who whispered his name.

"Ren." It was neither Zephyr's nor Blake's voice. In fact, it was a vaguely familiar female voice. Hadn't he dismissed all the servants?

"Ren." He realized it must have been transmitted through the shadows in his range. Where it was coming from, he couldn't exactly pinpoint. But it seemed to be coming from somewhere in the library. The voice continued to whisper his name as he scoured for the source, sending chills up his spine every time it shattered the silence.

Finally, he stood in front of the one room in the entire mansion he actively avoided. It was tucked away behind the final row of books, a heavy wooden door closing it off from the rest of the world. The voice felt closer now, and after mustering his courage, Ren pushed the door open.

A wave of dust slammed into him, and coughing, he waved his hand violently in front of him. When the gray film had settled a bit, he took a hesitant step inside, covering his mouth and nose with his handkerchief. The room was filled with mementos from his parents he couldn't stand to get rid of but couldn't look at, either. Clothes, jewelry, papers: he had thrown them all inside, locking them away. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to keep them. Maybe it was because he didn't want to acknowledge it.

Skirting around the piles of odds and ends, Ren stopped in front of what had been his father's desk. He could hear the whisper now with his own ears, hissing at him from somewhere in the desk. Pulling open the drawers, he rummaged through the ancient papers and files, wanting desperately to flee the room. Finally he discovered a beautiful silver pocket watch tucked in a file on his father's bank account. As soon as he touched the polished surface, the whispers stopped.