Light and Darkness (book i) : ALPHA

Ich Dien In Aeternum

The impurity of the bright light that graced the Council’s Chamber-it’s only life-struck the Marquis’ dark eyes. He took another step towards his assigned seat but a hand on his shoulder deafly told him to halt.  He regally looked over turned to his shoulder and by the corner of his eyes recognized the Seal. He turned about to grace the Seal with a smile, which his dark eyes certainly did not share. 

           

“My Lord, the Benign Mother wishes good health for her sons.”

           

            The Seal trusted a bottle of Red filtered and sweetened elixir to the Marquis of Cato without a change of expression in his face. The Marquis shivered with the coldness shown and took the elixir to drink it; it was undeniably sweet if only it was not clouded he would have asked for more. The Marquis braced himself for the painful gash of nothingness that is to strike and bind his conscience to the darkness of himself. It came right after that thought, after that there was only darkness, emptiness. He was there but was not, someone who is ready to dispose of a village if the Empress says so was in his place, again

            He hears everything, sees everything yet can do nothing. It is he but not. Everything is complicated for the elements-or puppets-of the Absolute Imperial Convention, even mere breathing. The dark entity ruling over his body, heart and soul proceeds to their assigned seat only to stay still. Not one talked, not one smiled, not one did anything. They were puppets, mere puppets. Just how the Benign Mother wanted his vassals to be, made only to obey with no question, kill with no doubt. This is how she control, the ruler of Scipio, a dictator, a murderer. A dark hand of evil, the reason why the Light Enigma does not overwhelm the Dark Enigma when appearing in the night hour’s dark sky. The darkness has blanketed the whole of Scipio since the Foundation itself has sunk into darkness. ‘Corruptio Optimi Pessima’, so the wisest men said “the corruption of the best is the worst of all”.

            The Marquis of Cato, still trapped within the darkness that lays, dwells and rules himself eyed each soul, for the hundredth time in his life as an element of such a powerful convention, he wondered if the others feel as he does. Peering through your eyes yet not feel your body with you, it felt like he was only soul, and his body possessed by another. By his side, he sees the Duke of Fraenar and across the Duke is the Viscount of the same region. Across him is the Acumen, white haired and all, his mud brown eyes shone beneath the glimmering chandeliers and his breath seemed to rasp like a squeaky door against his lungs. If only it was he himself who confronts the Acumen, maybe he would have bowed low for respect and he was sure half the rest would do the same. Such a reputed soul deserves rest eternal and not the horrible duties, which the Empress demands. He shrugs-if he could-no one really could object of what she inflicts upon her own children. It is not as if they could as much as think what they have done when they have done what is demanded of them.

 For a moment he envied him, being trusted absolutely by all whom his long life touches, the empress herself greatly depends on the wisdom that the Duke of Alfalfa possesses. Thinking twice, he took pity of him, of all the souls in the council it is but him alone who stands obliged to fulfill such tasks of insanity without the dark entities to with hold his conscience. His eyes seemed to be mirrors of knowledge and truth added by an enormous wound of sadness that must have sunk up to his very organs, he wondered if that would heal even after death and rebirth. A hundred lifetimes’ worth of sin. Speculating the Duke well from head to the edge that the rectangular table allows for study the Marquis of Cato noticed several slashes and burns by the Marquis’ wrist and pain crept unto his heart from nowhere. It had been rumored that the Marquis has long given up living since the first innocent blood has shed upon his soiled, regal hands. Many of his people said he wept for a year or so before the first attempt to take away his life; it did not work, nor did the uncountable that followed. It must be painful, not to be able to take your own life to save yourself from misery. If he could glare at the Empress he would, but accept the truth or not he is what he is, a puppet for the Benign Mother, whatever benign actually means to her.