Melodies of Stone & Glass: A Gargoyle Story

Chapter 1; Still Is The Night

Lord Solomon

A fair night it was to play a 'friendly' game of chess. The hour was dusk and ready to swallow us all into it's beautiful abyss. I was ebony this time, why?, because I often lack the effort in making the first strategy to a cruel certainty. Although mannerism plays a hefty part, one my opponent knows well in return. At best the colour was dim in the candle light, the shades of the room beckoned me to listen to the wind and blow out the light. But If I did, my sight would falter my game and I'm sure it would be too easy for my companion to win. Of course, we could start if the fool would get here in a reasonable hour. Forsaken Gods, the moon was practically taunting me like a child awaiting his master. My patience was never a virtue.

I scafted at the lateness of my companion and sipped my wine in revolt. A gentlemen like myself didn't usually wait for the 'lesser' of his court. An atrocious detail indeed, but later forgotten if my game was as good as my punctuality. The darkness soaked the sky, shading pale light by clouds. I imagine my castle in full black, only held existence by the mere flickers of light from the large windows. Curtain's waving it's red velvet wings-attracting my eyes. Then the wings shifted to black and my sight was taken back by the large beast that owned them. His presence even darker then the sky, silhouetted by the dimming light from the table. His ears were down, his gaze a mystery and his stance still as stone-reflecting his curse.

My composure returned, allowing me to nod to my companion. "Evening, Salem." I gesture for him to enter.
The large beast just bowed, "Apologies, Lord Solomon." His wings drape at his side, nearly shielding his face. I wave his attempts away and beckon him to come closer. "Nonsense. Although I will express my concern for you're lack of formal hour knowledge?" My worries were correct and again, gestured with my hand. A glass with wine already poured at a small table by a chair across from me. He bowed again, walking to the chair. "Thank you, My Lord." He sat down, uncomfortably so. "Lady Lethia was in need of my assistance." He said it without moving a single feature.

Curious. I asked the obvious, "What on earth did she need help with, that a Gargoyle had to leave his post for..." My tone unnecessary threatening and demanding. "Hmm?"
Salem did not move nor flinch-something my servants did normally when I asked a question-and kept a still posture without expression. "Lady Lethia had ordered me to her chambers for private council." The beast weaves his slim claws together, looking calm and collective.

I made an confused expression, "Private council?" I repeat-making sense of the madness. "Curious. What on earth..." I was lost in thought, pushing away the anger. Surely there was a rational explanation for such an order.

Salem spoke up quickly, "It was in regards to her faith my Lord." He sounded very steady, honest. I nod with a stern hand on my chin, but then I withdrew my hand asserting for answers. "Her faith?"
The beast continued, "She questions it, my Lord." His presence starts to look bigger as the wax melts. "I believe her doubts are a result of the death of her son." There is no scepticism in his voice, but I groan nonetheless. How pitiful and tragic my sister's life has been in the first week of winter. I wept with her when my nephew died, for her even. My suspicion was she still feared for his soul and it's eternity of rest-a respectful and common practice. But did she truly doubt, and now? Seeking reassurance from a beast, was unheard of but still issued a more investment.

I pride, "Was she wary of the bridge-did she speak of her faith as false?"A portion of fear and guilt was erupting within me and threatened to escape. Had I not been there for her enough? That she needed Salem instead. I felt an ill sorrow and sipped the rest of my wine. Salem read me, a strand of pity could be seen if you could get close enough to see it.

"Do not blame yourself my Lord. Lady Lethia grieves still. Loosing a child is a defeating kind of pain." Salem lift his ears, very certain. "Time, is a magic of it's own."