Survivors do not mourn together. They each mourn alone, even when in the same place. Grief is the most solitary of all feelings. Grief isolates, and every ritual, every gesture, every embrace, is a hopeless effort to break through that isolation.
None of it works. The forms crumble and dissolve.
To face death is to stand alone.
âThereâs nothing wrong with you being curious,â Armaud replied back. âIn fact, the curiosity we had as children makes us that much more informed as adults. And I certainly encouraged it in you: if I remember correctly, I was the one who let you have a little taste from my cup.â A nostalgic fondness came over Armaud, remembering the way Herbert looked when he tasted alcohol for the first time, the betrayed look on his face. He hummed in response to Herbertâs next words, still reminiscing about the past. Herbert was right that it seemed near abstract now, how idyllic it was, but Armaud was sure his impressions of Picardie were vastly different from Herbertâs own.
âHow is Heloise?â Armaud asked. âI havenât seen her in such a long time, and I havenât been back to CompiĂšgne since your motherâs passing.â His voice dropped low as he said, âSuch a loss.â The mood became somber, the conversation suddenly sober with the evocation of the late Alais Dubois. With a little pang of sadness, Armaud remembered her, she who was once his most fervent supporter, one of the greatest and most reliable people Armaud had ever known, who had taken great pains to conceal her ambitions and worries from her children, and Armaud was unsure even now if any of them knew the full scope of her intelligence and cunning. The group next of them continued their rowdy conversation, obstreperous and ignorant of the melancholic quiet that had befallen their neighbors, but with their noise Armaud was roused from his musings, remembering that this was to be a time for celebration. He took a swig of his drink and smiled at Herbert.
âIn any case,â Armaud continued, tamping down on his feelings as he changed the subject, âyour sister, how is she?â
âThank you for that enlightenment, PĂšre Rossignol,â Herbert said, not quite remembering the event but had little doubt in Armaudâs words. Perhaps it was one of his attempts back in the days to impress the other, and he wondered how well it worked. âI was positively traumatised.â He told him with a smile, more delighted than anything else, and took a sip from his glass.
âShe is well. She moved back to the old home last year. She last told me she is expecting a second child, to be born around the end of summer.â He placed down the glass, and his voice shifted back to his usual, more professional tone. âShe asked me if I wanted to name the child, I also told her about Philippe, and our reunion.â He continued softly, almost with a sentimental touch to his voice, something heâd rarely show nowadays, least of all to the Cardinal. But the man knew him too well.
âI havenât been back much either, which was terrible of me.â He paused, addressing his late mother with the silence that had befallen them. Herbert glanced over at Armaud, taking in his sombre expression. He has always been aware of their close friendship, which perhaps ran deeper than he would ever know, but he never thought to pry into it. Armaud held a deep respect for his mother, and only spoke of her earnestly, that was all he needed to know. âI miss her dearly, but she would have wanted me to ease my worries and not look back. God rest her soul in peace.â The words echoed quietly in his mind as his voice drifted off gently, he returned his gaze to his plate, and only looked back at Armaud when he spoke again.
âShe hoped that I would visit one day, perhaps bringing Philippe too. She said it is more important to hear it from me that I am doing well. SistersâŠâ He answered, sighing with a deep, melancholic fondness. âAnd I think I should. Perhaps before the end of summer.â
Sybille wasnât sure who the deity that sat at her bar was entirely, but the waves of purity that seeped from her was too tempting to ignore. A newly opened jar of peanut butter, just waiting to be spread. Ishtarâs smile grew.
âNow I want to know about those stories,â Sybille purred, hungrily lapping in the curve to her shoulders, the timid smile. She took the offered hand eagerly, taking the gentlemanly gesture and twisting it by pulling the hand up to her mouth and kissing it, leaving behind a red mark. âMy pleasure. What may I call you?â
Sybille smiled at the goddesses surprise at her drink, tongue wetting the edges of her lips. âI know what people want,â she answered, swirling the drink around her glass. âI know youâre curious. You want to know more.â She smiled, a kind, patient smile as she took up the goddessâ hand and squeezed it. âI can show you.â
âStories of ecstatic experiences, madame. And the atmosphere certainly proves so.â Astraeaâs smile grew increasingly sheepish, juxtaposing to how the other womanâs smile seems to grow increasingly desirous as she maneuvered closer to her, resulting in her letting out an unknowing gasp as Ishtar planted her lips on her hand, but she didnât wince. âMine too,â she managed to regain composure and nodded courteously, slowly retracting her hand and wrapping them around her glass, swirling it before preparing to take a gentle sip. âIâm Herbert. Pleasure. And should I call youâ Ishtar? Madame.â
âI heard stories of that as well,â she said, finally taking a sip, and pleased at the pleasantly sweet flavour with just the right amount of ice. She eased as the cold liquid ran smoothly down her throat like silk, slowly spreading a gentle warmth in her. âI⊠what do you mean?â She asked, bright eyes flickering under the dancing lights as the crowd continued to party on. What do you think I want to know?
She approached the figure sitting by a single table outside beside a fence, and only chimed in daintily when their gazes connected. âPhilippe, is it? Weâve met before,â she smiled, her gaze drifting about as she was evidently distracted by the amount of butterflies that settled themselves on the seated man. Astraea knew he was no mortal, or at least not anymore, but she has yet to figure out the exact identity of the other, and although the butterflies seems to be giving out a direct hint, she canât help but feel like sheâs been led in the wrong direction. âI didnât expect to see you. I used to work here.â She told him, flashing him another grin. âI hope I didnât disturb you reading.â
âThe butterfliesâthey are beautiful.â She commented softly under her breath, feeling obligated to address them, given how much they captured her attention.
For the evening after a night in the Temple of Ishtar, one required a sombre note of healing and that, was precisely what Al had taken themselves to doing. Mygdon was insistent on following their ankles no matter where they went, whilst the two felines occupied themselves in a mad half an hour frenzy. The sight of it always made Calliope wonder if Dionysus was lurking close by, but they knew better than that. There were only two perhaps three gods that would dare to appear at their down unannounced, four if you included the recent appearance of a certain demigod. They had forbidden thoughts of him up until that moment, the knife theyâd been using to chop stalled, fingers suddenly clumsy.
They were relieved of their humiliation, a gentle knock that they knew well enough to rightfully assume Astraea had wondered astray from her keepers. Mygdon was just small enough for them to scoop up, knowing all too well the little pup would be keen to launch himself out of the door at the first opportune moment. They answered the door with a soft smile and a kiss to each of Astraeaâs cheeks. âNot at all, come, come. I was attempting dinner.â They ushered her inside and shut the door, with Mygdon growing ever more incessant to be released until finally, he squirmed free and made a dash for Astraea herself.
âThose flowers, they are gorgeous.â They scanned the living room come kitchen for an empty vase, to which there was of course none. Living with Persephone meant countless prearranged bouquets appeared most mornings. A never-ending supply of spring until she disappeared to see her husband. They brushed the dog hairs from their thickly knit sweater. âPlease, sweetheart you know you are always most welcome in my home. Here or Olympus.â Astraeaâs company was like a blanket of fresh virgin snow, but without the chill. They were as warm as fire but as soft as the clouds. Al simply thought it was a shame that Persephone was not home tonight.
âWould you like to help me? Although I must admit I donât believe it is going according to plan. Iâm no Hestia.â They sighed and meandered back to the kitchen, the bolder of the two felines had struck a pose on the living room table sniffing at the newcomer. The other had curled up to sleep, exhausted from chasing its own tail. âWe should make something sweet!â
âThank you!â she beamed, her voice an innocent bliss as she leaned in to respond to the intimate greeting, then she gently opened her arms and exchanged the bouquet for a lovable small pup. Embracing, cradling and fondling the dogâs soft and flopped ears, Astraea chuckled at Calliopeâs comment on her gesture as a proper guest, and confessed sheepishly. âI know you must have an abundance of flowers already, but I couldnât help it. It fits so well and I needed to bring something.â She flashed them a virtuous grin as the pup proceeds to climb on her shoulders to lick her face before wiggling out of her hands and leapt for the ground.
âI missed you already, Calli, and Mygdon.â She said softly as she followed Calliope into the apartment, taking in the familiar environment that never failed to replenish her spirit. The sight of the two felines made her chortle again, and she was tempted to pick them up as well, but she knew better than to violate a catâs autonomy. âOrpheus and Linus too, and Claudie. I really hoped to see her.â She knelt down instead as one of the cat approached her, reaching out her hand as it sniffed her fingers.
âOh! Donât belittle yourself. No one can hope to match Hestia. You already know so much more than Iâll hope to learn.â She hummed as she teased the cat, only looking away occasionally when she sensed the movement of Mygdon. She finally stood up as the feline strode away, and turned to Calliope working away in the kitchen. âAnd of course! I would love to help.â
The mention of sweets made Astraea glow. While she might feel some awkwardness if it seemed like she only came by for a free meal, the promise of homemade dessert otherwise made her feel though as if her unannounced appearance is a blessing. âThatâs even better! Oh, Iâve been following so much food accounts lately. Such art.â She approached the kitchen with light steps and watched the muse intently as she asked.
âWhat do you have in mind? Do I need to go buy anything?â
Artemis had just seen the last of the girls off, standing on the edge of the property where the fathers could pick them up. While Artemis had no problems with women picking up their daughters, Artemis had very strict rules about men on camp property. Namely, that it was forbidden. In these days, she couldnât exactly kill men for breaking her rules, but she was sure sheâd find a way to punish any men that broke the rule. So far, none had.
Heading to where she kept the dogs, planning on double checking their water and food before she left, Artemis had the feeling she wasnât alone. Knowing the girls had all left, she figured the familiar presence must be Athena, so she sought it out, wondering what her sister goddess had forgotten.
When she saw who was standing there, Artemis narrowed her eyes and marched over the short distance between her and the man. Even though she could tell she knew who it was, the face wasnât familiar, and all the gods knew her rules about men. She grabbed his arm, wrenching him around and started to drag him so she could kick him off her property.
âHow dare you? I should set my hounds on you.â Artemis always had dogs, and many of those were hunting dogs that would obey her every word. âTear this body to pieces for your trespass.â Her voice was low and full of the promise of violence. Even just a small bit of resistance from the man would leave him with a bloody nose, black eye, or split lip. Or maybe all of them.
For the first time in perhaps fifty human lifetimes, Astraea has decided to once again grace the mortal realm with her presenceâor so the other goddesses would like to call it. She would like to think so too, that her descendence to the world below the sky is a blessing to humankind itself, though even a spirit as pure and innocent as she wasnât so blind to the fact that her mere appeareance could only be of so little influence to mankindâs corrupted morals. Yet she had hope, rather a lot of hope, that the humans have been moving towards the right direction. From what she has seen, Earth never seemed so attractive to live in, and the other gods infiltrating that realm never seemed to be at such ease. And for the first time in centuries she wanted to see for herself, witness a time of peace. She wanted to be there to guide them, show them that it is possible to create a world without malice and strife.
Under the guidance of Athenaâs spirit, Astraea took on a new, mortal form and arrived in the city of Paris for an indefinite stay. So her quest begins, and it was only appropriate for her to greet one of her favourite goddess upon her arrival. Said goddess should have been informed.
Astraea arrived on the grounds of Artemisâ camp with an awestruck and joyous smile, hardly able to contain her excitement to meet the revered goddess in her human form. Standing just around the edge of the property, she watched as mothers came and went with their daughters, all of them radiating with passion and bliss. She couldnât help but admire Artemis more. She had heard about the goddessâ doings for the mortal girls and had always wished to help. She was aware of a simple rule which she would technically be violating right now, but she also knew that times have changed for the concept of gender, and Artemis would never turn her away.
âMarie! I have come!â Upon making eye contact with the other goddess, she called out her current mortal name and waved cheerily, stepping forward and entering the property despite a few suspicious glance from afar. She only noticed the indignant expression present on Artemisâ face when she blatantly ignored her beckon and wrenched her arm without so much as asking for her identity. Something was clearly wrong.
âIt hurts, Artemisâit hurts!â She winced as words of pleading spilled out. Her arm, despite how toned and strong it looked for a human, was of no match with Artemisâ strength. She realised that communication must have gone amiss at some point, and that she should immediately explain her identity to the other, but the sheer ferocity of the goddess of hunt stuck a fear into her, and in her panic, she could only continue to recoil and grimace at the threats thrown her way.
âNo, donât! What are you doing?â She sobbed as she let herself get practically thrown around by Artemis, she could feel several hot gazes on her, leading her to further panic. âI donât like your angry hounds.â She yelped, flinching.
âTo pieces? That is terrifying!â Her voice was raised just slightly, though it came out much more aggressive than she intended it to. She struggled and tried to pull away as Artemis finished speaking, her voice shuddering and ready to break at anytime. âI just wanted to come greet youâŠâ
Astraea was something of a problem as of late. Athena knew that the goddess was curious, as was usually the case with beings as naive as she. While Athena did not fear that she would spill their secret like so many other gods, she still questioned whether she should be there in the first place. After all, Athena reincarnated only when she felt the humans needed more than just her whispered words to guide them and if she couldnât prevent some of the disasters that have befallen on them recently, how could the goddess of purity?
It was her insistence that she could do good that had begun to get on Athenaâs nerves. She seemed to insist that she was ready for the darkness of the Earth and no matter how hard she tried to shield her from the worst of itâAstraea did it anyway.
Athena went to Artemisâ apartment for this very reason. She heard that Astraea had gone to Ishtarâs club despite her insistence that she stayed as far away from there as possible. Among humans, she was used to her words often being ignored or scoffed at, but to think that Astraea thought herself to be a better judge of the place than the goddess of wisdom was enough to rise her anger.
âAstraea?â she called in a surprisingly calm tone as she stepped into the apartment. âHerbert? Are you here?â
Sheâs made some bad decisions, or so she would judge herself if this were her first week spent in this realm. Though since little question were raised when she decided that she is to become a fulltime human male, and part time bartender, it felt absurd to her that she is to keep her distance from mortals with their humanity on raw display before her. Besides, she never got herself into anything she couldnât get out of. Perhaps the increasing irritation at the other immortals that insisted on giving her a near childlike treatment, she began to long for some independence, and took matters into her own hands, just like how a fully grown man would. At first, she was uncomprehending, but she picked up on the craft soon enough. She then realised the worst decision she made was to rely on the human bodyâs built in resistance of various substances. Herbert, it seemed, fends quite poorly.
And last night, she may have let her guard down. Admittedly due to the underestimation of something the mortals callâmagic brownies. Magical it was indeed.
Still lying comfortably of what she always thought was meant to be Apolloâs bed, Astraea stretched out lazily before continuing to snuggle the pile of pillows she collected from Artemisâ humble apartment. It took a few minutes of drowsy moaning as a reaction to the familiar voice calling out to her before she finally pushed herself off the bed, as she slowly approached the door dressed in a loose fitting, gray lounge pants and an equally baggy shirt that she clearly borrowed from the Sun Godâs personal collection.
âAthena⊠heyâŠâ She purred, head canted to the side and leaning onto the door frame, her voice drowsy but dulcet. âWhat brings you hereââ
If there was any place to be tonight, it was Temple d'Ishtar. The club was bursting with patrons, excitedly bristling with excitement. The patroness was in town, they whispered, Madame Ishtar herself, and they knew that when she visited her humble establishment it would be a story to tell. That and the drinks were half price.
Sybille waited in the VIP room above the dance floor, putting the finishing touches to her outfit. Blood red lipstick, gold eyeshadow, black and white liner around her eyes mimicking the gaze of a lioness.
The music in the dance room below died down, as did all the lights. Sybille always liked her entrances to be dramatic, the sun rising for the first time. All eyes turned towards the stairs that lead up to the VIP room, the door where she would come out. The club was eerily silent. When the spotlight came on, reflecting off of the sequins and beads on Sybilleâs gold mini-dress like a shining star. She basked in the attention, a few girlsâ screams, some whistling, cheers. She waited for them to quiet again, patient, a wry smile creeping across her face.
And then-
âAre you ready to worship?â she purred, the hidden microphone booming her voice throughout the club. Unsurprisingly, they were. Ishtarâs name soared throughout the crowd, making her head dizzy with divinity and prayer. It was a sweet little death, Sybilleâs eyes fluttered shut as she took it in, cheeks flushing in pleasure. In exchange those denizens below felt a matching euphoria, eye-dilating, spine-tingling, breath-catching.
The DJ pressed play, and the frenzy of the night swept upon them once more. Sybille descended the stairs as only a goddess could, smiling sweetly down on those who looked up at her. The song, one of those popular club songs, had been mixed with the tune of an ancient Sumerian hymn- in Ishtarâs honour of course. Normally Ishtar would take to the dance floor, entangle herself in a web of distractions for the night, but something else caught her eye. Smirking, pushing through the crowd like Moses and the red sea, she approached the bar. Her hand traced a line from one shoulder to the next of the person there, down their arm as she sat herself down next to the stranger. Her eyes flashed at them with amusement as she ordered a drink for the both of them, something she knew theyâd like.
âNow, whatâs a dear like you doing in a place like this?â she asked over the rim of her martini glass, taking in a long, slow sip.
Sheâs been asked of, told of, and even invited to this place, or ratherâHerbert has. In her short bartending career, Astraea has learned rather a lot through what she came to know as small talk, and what the mortals call flirting. While under strict guidance and principles to respond to these with the same protocol of courtesy and refrainment, she couldnât help but grow increasingly curious of this establishment of sorts she keeps hearing about. A place of worship, or so she has heard it called at times, and quite often alongside whispers and gossips of a certain patron goddess and unforgettable experiences of euphoria. No doubt it was a popular club, and perhaps she could learn a thing or two, she thought. Then she also remembered, Athena warned her of this place, and of the goddess that apparently raised it upâbut she was sure that as Herbert, she would be safe. She also couldnât imagine how a goddess of love would want to hurt her, if she even could.
And it seemed that she has chosen the right night to visit. Upon entering the club, her presence was immediately swallowed by the roaring crowd, and her mind briefly caught by the frenzy, despite having little clue of what was going on. Repeatedly cheered and chanted was the name of Ishtar, and as she pushed through the crowd to find a seat to observe the spectacle, she managed to catch a few glimpse of the woman under the spotlight. Her revealing golden outfit glittered dazzlingly, not at all modest and thoroughly enticing. Under the dramatic lighting, the flashes, the glory, she looked like a star.
Astraea found herself approaching the bar, still processing her thoughts and coming to realize why Athena might not have wanted her to come here on her own. While she wouldnât blatantly decide that she dislike the atmosphere, the enthusiasm of the guests did rather startle her. Deciding to observe a little bit more, she adjusted the blazer over the broad shoulders of her chosen body and sat down at the bar, elegantly crossing her legs and resting her arm on the counter, occasionally turning to the stage when interesting development can be heard. But the show didnât last long after that, and it appears that she has caught the other goddessâ attention just as they were beginning to lose hers.
She tensed up a little when she felt the touch, though not too noticeable as she has been bracing herself for it since she noticed the approach. âIâve heard stories, many stories.â She turned to Ishtar and told her honestly, lips curved into a small, timid smile as she studied the otherâs face with clear and innocently observant eyes. âAnd I knew I had to come see for myself.â
âYou must be Madame Ishtar.â She offered a hand to the goddess, in a gentlemanly manner as she had practiced numerous times. âYour establishment is⊠quite impressive.â She offered back, voice soft with a raspy edge as her gaze traced the other as she ordered a drink for her as well.
âIt is very kind of you Madame⊠but I donât drinkânot unless it is Irish creaââ Her voice drawled out when she realised which drink have been served to her, ââoh.â She let out a coy gasp of childish delight, but with Herbertâs voice it came out much lower, and rather beguiling.
She preferred Paris during the day. Where the sun illuminated the city instead of the lights, and the streets are filled with the smell of fresh pastries instead of smoke and distilled wine. Though despite feeling more distant with Parisâ nightlife, Astraea strived in the city of lights, and in the past month since she had settled down, the city had been equally welcoming too.
She knew that the other gods felt the same, or at least the ones she knew of. It was under this knowledge that she chose to descend from the sky into this country, and take up a temporary residency in its capital. Here, she would learn to know the humans again, and could have her hand held through her quest if she needed it. Though part of her yearned for some independence, she admits that she would be lost without the guidance of the other goddesses, and lonelyâif it werenât for their company as well.
Luckily, she always had places to go. And her stroll down the docks of the Seine brought her yet again to her most frequented destination. Upon taking in the sight of a certain orange bike locked in its usual place, she approached the residence of the chief of muses and the goddess of spring, with a modest bouquet of pastel coloured flowers appropriately cradled in one arm.
The door opened shortly after she knocked on it, and receiving her was the eloquently soothing voice that could only be of a certain muse. Then came a wave of nice, calming smell of warmth and comfort, and following that the tiny footsteps that could only belong to a small, cuddly friend. âSorry this was all very sudden. Bad time to come?â She teased, smiling.
Once upon a time, many centuries ago, Astraea lived among the humans in a time known as the Golden Age. Though due to the disappointing nature of humans and a sad turn of events, Astraea was driven away and went to the heavens. Ever since then, she existed in the sky as stars, known by the humans as the constellation Virgo.
Over the centuries, she was only distantly aware of the affairs on Earth and only occasionally came out from some kind of hibernation to interact with her fellow gods and goddesses. Existence was easy for her in the heavens, and she rarely had any feud with the other deities. Still, it never interested her enough to revisit Earth in human form, as she was still devastated by the wickedness and irredeemable qualities of mankind.
Her impression for Earth however, started to shift since the 20th century, where she begin to take active efforts in communicating with the gods that have descended to Earth to live among men, and have been studying the world from the stars. She probably would have visited earlier if it werenât for the two world wars that broke out which saddened her more and got her brooding for another half a century. Though she promised to herself that one day, she will come back and save the world.
That brought the story to 2017, where she, the virgin goddess decided to descend to the physical realm once more, taking up the disguise of a adult human male to scout out the world for herself and also learn more about how she could help guide society back on the right track. She took up the name Herbert and integrated herself into the so called Parisian society. So far itâs been good, informative and properly elegant, hopefully it stays that way.
Random Facts&Clarification
Astraea is essentially a female identifying deity though of course the whole concept of gender is quite different for her and beyond our human comprehension. Anyone that knows her true identity would stick with using feminine pronouns for her, while people that donât probably assumes male pronouns.(Because yea) Also sex?? What sex. Get the most wholesome and scientific human reproductive education from the goddess of innocence and purity.
She likes her rose gold iphone 7 very much. It fascinates her how easily she can get access to music and endless supplies of baby animal photos. She keeps an aesthetic instagram account and a twitter where she spreads positive and hopeful thoughts and express her appreciation for art and french pastries.
As Herbert the human male, she fabricated a wholly fleshed out backstory for the new human identity, though every time she has to address her childhood, she ends up telling a different story.
She is currently half crashing at Artemisâ place and sometimes returns to her own cramped apartment in the 11th arrondissement of Paris. She is struggling to decide whether or not she should get a pet rabbit.
She started off with a day job as a barista but is slowly shifting to being a bartender recently. Sometimes she tells people she is a freelance painter, since she also decided she had an arts and culture degree.
âWhat do you care who she is?â Fernand snapped at him. He immediately felt a pang of guilt, Herbert was being kind to him. But he could still be the one to put the rope around his neck. Fernand needed to know if they were still friends or not, if he was trying to return the favor from all those years ago.Â
But if he was a friend, why keep him here? Why deny him sunlight, fresh air, even the venom of the guards would be welcome right now. Fernand was sick of seeing his face, that stupid, impassive, blank face. His eyes were burning holes in him when he reached for the food and he just couldnât take it anymore. He threw the tray at Herbert, he wasnât going to eat anymore. If this bastardâs idea of punishment was letting him live to old age in this damnable cell, Fernand would starve first.Â
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âPity.â He canted his head and stood, casting his shadow against Fernand, sighing.
âPity, pity, pity.â Herbert lent a certain ironic warmth to his voice as he looked down at his prisoner, leaning slightly in towards him intently, his gaze piercing. After a pause of observation, he smiled, clearly amused.
âYou speak like a desperate, deranged man. Nay, you bellow.â His smile thinned, his voice dreary. âBut you donât really want to die, do you? Baptiste.â The hatred in manâs eyes hasnât ceased, rather, it became more inflamed as Herbert continued to stare directly into them. He chuckled softly, his words embroiled in a snarl as he sighed at him. âWhat would your father think? His precious son throwing away his life without a cause.â
âWe may have a common enemy, a much bigger threat which may threaten this very country you wish to reform.â He reminded him, peering into his dark irises engulfed in an increasingly psychotic wrath. Then he calmed his voice, and continued to speak to Fernand more naturally than he did before. âIf we really were as sadistic as you paint us to be, I donât imagine youâd have your hands anymore to tear my face off.â He probed through his mind, visiting some of the darkest parts that contained dreadful memories. Memories of blood, of flesh and bones and broken spirits, crippled shells that used to be a man, now enslaved to fear. âOr your teeth to rip me apart, as you clearly wish to do.â
âWhipping? Bone crushing? What use would a broken man be to us?â A physically broken man. He emphasised to himself. Herbert was well aware that Fernand the man needed to break to a certain extent for even a bit of deference to be conclusively present. He would not yield until he is forced to bend, and he would likely break before he buckles.
âHowever, as you should be aware, there are more than one ways to tear someone open.â He told him coldly, sounding almost sinister as his shrouded countenance revealed a hint of veiled resentment. He leaned away and took a step back, allowing the torchlight to light up Fernandâs shadowed face. And he scoffed.
âI am a fool, a soft hearted, naive fool with the fortitude of a five year old. Arenât I, Fernand? How you make me laugh.â
âWhy did I expect you to yield?â He tsked, raising his voice and spread his arms for a shrug. Doubt and dismay left him, and he stepped in, leaned towards Fernand slowly, eventually cupping his face, pinching slightly and lifting up his chin.
âIâve given you the mercy I can afford.â He said, swallowing. âBut worry not, you wonât be kept here forever.â
Before the other waged an effort of protest, he released him. Pushing him back with an unharmful but unpleasant force, and he stood.
Herbert turned towards the cell door that had been tightly shut when he entered. Holding out the key, he opened the door and stepped partially outside. He gave it three heavy knocks, loud and steady and it was immediately obvious it was a signal. Within seconds, footsteps could be heard approaching in response. A few scurrying over, dropping items just by the cell outside of the prisonerâs view, and a few that were heavy and slow, as if the men it belonged to were carrying something large and heavy.
Herbert tore his gaze back to Fernand, his visage mired in indifference as the heavy footsteps continue to approach. âI know you have no reasons to like us but we are not true enemies. Iâve asked you kindly, and I will do so again. Will you answer to us? What other plots are stirring up in the Court of Miracles?â
He stepped back into the cell, traipsing towards Fernand, slowing circling him like he did so the first time they met, right here. He looked at him curiously, remembering an earlier comment made by him. âBut I do have the guts to kill you, boy. Do you have what it takes to accept your demise?â He glanced around the cell, bent over to pick up the jar of water, which was not yet spilled, and drank from it.
The footsteps halted by the door, as two figures emerged holding a large and wide wooden bucket, filled to the top with water, almost like an overflowing basin. The two men stood silent, their face stiff and as impassive as their captainâs, more visible as the door swung open allowing the cell to be more illuminated.
âWords can only get us so far. A pity.â Herbert gave a long lamentable sigh, and waved at the two men to bring in the large bucket. He resisted an urge to look into Fernandâs eyes, though he was certain it brimmed with the same rancorous enmity, perhaps with apprehension, he hoped.
âRestrain him.â
At Herbertâs command, the two men placed down the weighted bucket and circled behind Fernand, twisting back his arms and spreading them apart, knocking him on his knees and curling his wrist when he resisted. They only exerted brute force when Fernand fought back, and the more he struggled the further they twisted him limbs. Eventually, Fernand was left chained to the walls, suspended. He was forced on his knees, beaten, arms twisted in a way he was entirely restrained and can only lean forward. Despite the violence and his distaste for cruelty, Herbert only gazed at him coldly without uttering a word or even wincing throughout. As the two red guards pulled away from their prisoner, Herbert dismissed them, leaving him and Fernand alone once again in the dimly lit antechamber.
âThat is the wrong look.â He commented emptily before running his fingers over Fernandâs extended arm and tugging at the restraints. It was secure, as secure as it should be. âYou best hope you are a fast learner.â
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