RedInk

Prologe

"This place seems dead," An old man spoke, removing his felt cap as his eyes grazed over the dinner. It had the same kind of gloomy air an art gallery would have with its dim lighting and bronze trimmings that ran around the countertop and sign pinned against the back wall – Castello. He limped across the room like he were a weary trader pulled out of a novel, and removed his heavy grey coat, hanging it on the rack placed in the far corner. His pocket watch read mid-day.

"So do you, old man," A girl spoke as she pushed through the doorway. Her hair had been soaked from the storm outside and started frizzing from the heat that resonated inside of the dinner. Her pockets rattled has she stepped further forward, filling her with the same amount of comfort and pleasure a toy would her child a fraction of her age.

"Now now," The old man smiled unevenly as he lowered himself onto the stools lining the counter. Charcoal lines ran across his grey suit, ending in a penguin tail that hung above his knees. "What do you young one's call it? A spoiler?"

The girl said nothing. Simply stepped forward and claimed the seat alongside him as they stared at the set of happy doors leading towards the kitchen, knowing it would never swing open.

"Why do I waste my time speaking to you?" She asked, allowing a slight chuckle to slip through her frosted words. She wove her hand through her hair and stared at him. "You're not real. None of this is."

"Are you sure about that?" He asked in a calm voice – his accent sounding so rich, it may have been faked. The kind an American butler might use on the first few days on the job. He smiled again, stepping off the stool and pulled his coat over his shoulders without needing to retrieve it from rack across the room. Something sparkled behind his eyes. Something mysterious and magical - the kind of magical you'd find in fairytales about queens and enchanted mirrors.

"I'm sure," She spoke, doubting her own words as she found herself retiring from the seat as well. He reached into his coat and drew out a small book. It was bound in rich black velvet with silver words running across it. Its pages were aged yellow and were written over, rather than printed. The girl ran her fingers over the words, allowing it to sink into her heart. She frowned.

"What is this?" She questioned as her stomach twisted up tighter than a scrap of copper on a coil. The book felt heavy in the girls' hands. Her eyes locked onto it as she slowly felt the heat and colour flow out of her cheeks as if she had been staring into an abyss. Or the grave of a loved one. "It feels..."

"Dark?" The man asked, heading towards the door as he fixed his felt cap. "Or perhaps hopeless? Either way, you world will forever change."

"Familiar," She admitted. "And perhaps, change is good..."

The man smiled over his shoulder as he swung the door open with hand, the other gripped tightly onto his cane made of silver and ivory.

"Wait," she pleaded, hoping to stop him where he stood. She knew what would happen the moment the door closed – that she'd be back where she started, in a room staring at a black screen as the blue cursor beaten by weakly.

"Wait!" She yelled out one final time.