The villain paused at the door, fist poised for another knock. He felt a tad ridiculous. He, the Shadowlord of the Darkstone Keep, knocking on his own guest room door to make amends to the chosen one of the Council of Light. Most people wouldn’t believe that he even had a guest room.
“I’m assuming you’re either asleep or refusing to answer,” He concluded, reaching for the doorknob. “I’m coming in.”
He opened the door slowly. The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed in her arming jacket, long golden hair sleep-mussed. She took a look at him and her mouth fell open in shock.
“Good morning?” He tried, setting down the tray of breakfast on the side table. Her eyes went to the tray, then back to him.
“Uh…” The dumbfounded expression on her face was amusing, but it looked out of place, a look not oft-worn.
The villain pulled the chair out from the vanity and turned it around so he was sitting in front of the girl.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He gestured with a pale, long-fingered hand to the tray of breakfast.
“It really happened?” The girl blurted out. “You won?”
The villain blinked. “Of course. You never could have won. Now don’t take offense; you did very well. But I have about five hundred years on you, I’ll reckon. And the knowledge of the cosmos, immortality, enhanced senses and … do I need to list it out?”
“Why are you giving me breakfast?” She pressed on. “Where are my weapons? Am I a prisoner?”
The villain sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “So many questions. In order: I thought you’d appreciate it; your weapons are in safe keeping because you promised not to fight; and you are not, in fact, a prisoner.”
The heroine was on her feet in an instant, fists balled and face stony. “I don’t want your breakfast and I don’t want your hospitality. You’re a monster and an evil excuse for a man. I’m leaving.” Long steps took her towards the door and the villain turned in his seat to watch her leave.
She froze, calloused hands halted an inch above the doorknob.
He found his words rushing out to keep her in the room. “Curious about the gods? About why you were chosen? About what it all means and why?”
He rose up from the chair like a plume of smoke. Bringing his hands together in front of him neatly, he considered the heroine. “If you go back now, what will it all have been for?”
The girl turned slowly, sizing him up with no small amount of disgust and anger. “I’m listening, but I’m not going to buy into your brainwashing.”
“That’s all I can ask for, I suppose,” He conceded. “If we are to talk, let us make introductions. I am not your enemy.” To that, the girl looked like she disagreed, but the villain persisted.
“My name is Balgoth Blackthorne; I believe most outside these walls refer to me as the Shadowlord of Darkstone Keep. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Balgoth bowed deeply.
“The Shadowlord does have a name,” The heroine mused. “Doesn’t make you any more human.” Her arms crossed defiantly in front of her chest.
His lips quirked. “Names are not usually that powerful.”
“Odette.” She said briskly. “My name. Now talk.”
