Kindly do not fret yourselves, I'm nothing so macabre as Edgar Allan Poe. I just thought I'd like to have a go at writing in his style.
This is not actually my first foray into this arena, but I'd actually like to publish the other one someday, so I'm keeping it off the internet until then.
Aurelius
(Or, the Memory Thief)
(Or, the Memory Thief)
Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it
-Michel de Montaigne
I do not know where it was that I first came across the enigmatic Aurelius, or if I knew, I can only assume that I have put the troubling occurrence from my mind. Elsewise, I must conclude that the memories no longer exist, and that I have followed after my beloved sister's fate: the paths of my mind have been wandered by another. To the nearest estimate of my beleaguered recall, it was never so much that I made his acquaintance or that he introduced himself to me. After a mild summer and a dank and gloomy autumn where the mist floated through the cracks in the windowsills, tainted by the scent of decaying leaves, winter surged into life. With it came Aurelius. He simply appeared: standing in misty fields at dawn; gently correcting the butcher's mischievous lad when he caught him flinging pebbles at women; watching from the corner of the ballroom with something about his face that was not quite a smile, nor yet a frown. It was the expression of some internal debate to which we were never privy.
Aurelius was not what some might have deemed exceedingly handsome. He possessed a rather high forehead topped with lank hair, yellow in color, under which there resided a long, thin nose and a rather small pair of lips in a permanent pout. Of his eyes, I would hardly say much, save for that they receded slightly and had the same liquid brown quality one often finds in the eyes of horses. Aurelius was of no great height, but neither again was he very short, and I once believed that he had taken some injury in the near past, for he often leaned upon a cane made of blackthorn that he had wound about with witch hazel. It was, I thought, a very ugly walking stick, although I never made comment upon it for fear of angering him. It was not that he was a man of violent temper: indeed, he never once raised his voice above a drawing-room whisper, and when he did, it had such a peculiarly musical sound that all surrounding Aurelius would stop to listen. Rather, it was that there was something I found to be unsettling in his gaze, a kind of uncomfortable knowing look that I did not understand, as though he could look into the thoughts of the person who displeased him and see each motive and suspicion. He seemed to have the ability to bewitch every acquaintance with the smallest gesture, and in no place was this so evident as within my own home.
My dear sister, my sweet Deirdre, seemed to have garnered his special attention, for he was often at her side, and she, poor child, hung attendant on his every word. I can easily believe that, if it had been within her power, she would certainly have left home and followed him wherever he wandered. Yet my mother was not lax in her vigilance, nor my uncle in his cupidity. By and by, one of them came to the erroneous conclusion that Aurelius had come from money, and was in want of a wife. I once pointed out to them over a cold and uncomfortable tea that we really knew very little about the man, that my father would never have agreed to let his daughter marry a man who had just appeared in a field one morning. "Don't be so foolish," my mother scolded me, grown man though I was, "Do you not recall? He came with Madame and Monsieur R- from their summer home. Come now, my dear son, we all saw him leave that splendid carriage!" And what had always been merest quivers of uneasiness now began to bloom in earnest within my mind. My mother would never have told a lie, believing it to be a sign of deep betrayal, but I could not ignore that she had spoken falsely. Madame and Monsier R- did indeed own a carriage, but it was a shabby thing of black leather, more like a hearse than a coach. And it was common knowledge that they were an elderly couple, and childless. There was not the slightest possibility that Aurelius was a relation of them, and I said as much.
My uncle did not take to my words, and protested that I did not know what I spoke of. "Tell me, uncle, " said I, "What resemblance does Aurelius hold to the R- family? He never got those eyes of his from Mme R-, and what explanation could be given for such bright hair? The R-s have ever had dark curls, nothing like Aurelius!" My uncle affected an air of shocked affront, and warned me not to speak so indelicately. At length, he persuaded my mother that Aurelius ought to be allowed to court my darling sister, and for the first time since meeting the winter visitor, my blood chilled in my veins. Twice more over the following weeks I attempted to warn them all that Aurelius was not who they thought him to be, but each time I was ignored. And each time, the story they gave as explanation was different. He was the nephew of Mssr. R-, or he was a long-lost cousin of my father's, or he was a merchant sailor, stopping to visit. Never mind that our sleepy town was no closer to the sea than Hermia to Demetrius, but more troubling was that I could see within each one's eyes that they clearly believed each of these outlandish tales!
Whenever I thought to ask about one of the previous and contradicted answers, they each eyed me as if I were some dangerous wild creature that might, at any moment, turn upon them all in a savage frenzy. Deirdre would ask if I felt quite alright, my uncle would forbid me to speak, my mother would gently tell me that she hadn't the faintest idea of what I was talking about. By and by, other things more ominous began to occur. My mother, who wore a widows weeds though her husband had been twenty-eight years gone, forgot my father's name. My uncle, a creature of unbreakable habit, so neglected his garden that the boys of the village helped themselves to its produce with none to stop them. And my sister, oh what can be said of my sister? For by that time, she had been married to Aurelius, and yet not a single person I have spoken to can recall the circumstances of the wedding. She simply did not live in the main wing of the house anymore, but saw us at meals. She spoke as though she remembered the day of her wedding, but I believe that she must have been lying as well, for no one could provide me with a single description, and I was meant to have been the one to give her away at the ceremony! Days went by and Deirdre did not come down to the parlor, nor to the library, which she so often used to haunt. Sometimes I went to her wing of the house in an attempt to speak with her as I used to, but I ever received the same answer. "Oh, dear brother, do not fear so! I am happy, yes I am very happy!" But her voice bespoke a soft confusion in her sweet tones, and I believe that she did think she was happy, but she could give no reason for it.
I think now with darkened and halting mind to the last time I saw my Deirdre. I could wait no longer, unsatisfied with whispering through the door to her, and I found a way in. How precisely is not important, but I made my way to her chamber and my throat closed up, tightened with horror, for in the bed was a pitiful little thing, all pinched lips and pallid cheeks. One bony arm and knobby elbow hung limply at her side while the other twirled spindly fingers in her lusterless raven hair. Dull grey eyes that seemed far too lifeless for the girl I had known squinted uselessly at a book on the coverlet. I made some exclamation of terror, and my eyes started from their sockets. She raised her head, neck no stronger than a newly-hatched bird. It flopped horribly to one side and she regarded me as some frightfully new and unusual creature. "Hullo," the creaking voice rasped, "Where have you sprung from?" This was not the voice I had so recently heard assure me of health and well-being not two days ago. Was it possible for disease to overtake the body so rapidly? "Deirdre, my dear, what's happened to you?" I begged her upon my knees beside the bed, for I had always doted upon my sister. "Have you fallen ill?" At the sound of her name, a little spark came back into her eyes, and she repeated it softly. "Deirdre? Deirdre. I am Deirdre?" Certain that she was somehow delirious, I reached out to lay a hand upon her pale forehead. It was icy cold, and dry as death itself.
"Who are you?" the creature croaked, "Have you come to see my husband? He is out. He has gone to see my mother." Could it truly be that she had forgotten me? My heart was heavy within my breast, and I only smoothed her dull hair. "I am your brother, Deirdre, do you not know me? I'm your own Robert, come to see how you fared!" It is to be wondered at that the body can react to things that are not seen by the eyes, nor heard with the ears. I was overcome by some deep and horrible dread, and every hair on the nape of my neck stood upright. Over and again in my mind, I felt the grave suspicion that someone was watching us. Very suddenly, color returned to Deirdre's cheeks, and her hair shone like a raven's wing. "Hullo, dear brother!" she said, as if I had only just come in, "It's terribly sweet of you to come and see me like this. Do give my love to Mama, won't you?" Words left me, so gripped was I in the vise of a nameless fear, for her gentle eyes shone the liquid brown of Aurelius's. At last, I gasped, "And shall I see your husband when I go to greet our mother?" There was an awful moment when the stranger's eyes in my sister's face narrowed and seemed to measure me and sift me like wheat. An awful, crowding sensation came over me, as though I stood in a ballroom with too many guests, all their chatter buzzing about my head and drowning out my own thoughts. "Why, Robert, why ever would you say such a silly thing? My Aurelius hasn't gone to see Mama, what reason would he have to do so? No, dear brother. My husband has gone to the doctor for me, that is all. I expect he'll be back any moment now." And I suspected that he was, in fact, already returned.
Charitable thoughts for the man began to steal over my suspicions, tinged with a brotherly affection and gratitude that he should be so concerned with the health of my sister. I found myself, quite unaccountably, promising my sister that I would greet our mother for her, and asking that she tell Aurelius that I would keep a place open in my office, should he ever need work or funds. I stumbled towards the door under some power other than my own, and as the door opened, I passed Aurelius. He smiled at me, but o! What creature that crawls upon the earth or swims beneath the sea could ever match the horror of that smile? No sooner had I passed out of sight of his eyes than my mind was clear again. I could not understand the words I had said, nor the thoughts that had seemed so foreign to me. It was as though a stranger had wormed his way into the chambers of my mind and taken up the role of setting down thoughts for me. I became filled with dark horror, and fear drove me to my mother's parlor, where she was accustomed to sit and read between the afternoon and evening hours. One dainty hand, shriveled and pale, rested across the back of the sofa, and at first glance I believed that she slept. Then I stepped closer and saw that her eyes were open, glassy, and devoid of all life, though her chest rose and fell. She almost appeared to have aged a decade within a single day, and her dress hung loose upon her wasted body. "Who is there?" she asked, and the voice that had always been so strong now quavered like a brittle thing that, if dropped, would shatter. "Mother, you were the picture of health this morning!" I cried out, "What has done this to you?" A troubled expression rose from the wrinkles and she murmured, "The night-mare, my son. The night-mare." I thought then that she spoke only of bad dreams.
Then she spoke again. "Tell me, have you seen your uncle? I am sure that he has not gone out of the town, for last night his horse was still here, but I have not seen him in a fortnight! Oh Robert, I am so afraid! You must leave this house at once!" Then, in seconds, a prodigious change came over her, and the wrinkles smoothed away. The life came back into her eyes and she sat up quickly, smoothing down her skirts. I did not need to look to know what color orbs now spun in her sockets. "What is the nightmare that so troubled you, Mother?" I asked, averting my gaze. "Nightmare? Oh, nevermind that, my dear," her voice was smooth and full once more. "Dreams are but as shadows, and cannot hurt the sleeper once he wakes!" I hazarded a fleeting glance at my mother's face, and once more I found my mind full, brimming with a strangeness that I could not identify as kindly thoughts of my brother-in-law and indulgent thoughts of my mother and sister flooded over my perception. Understanding that they were not my own, I looked away again, and my mind cleared. I pretended to straighten a doily upon the tea table to give an excuse, and asked, "Have you seen Uncle, Mother?" for no better reason than to see what the stranger might say. I greatly doubted that it would be anything regarding his supposed disappearance, and I was soon proven right. "Oh," the not-Mother said, "I expect he's locked himself in his study again. He has been very concerned about a private matter in the bank at which he is employed. What a fortunate thing your sister married Aurelius! He has been able to aid your uncle on several matters of family finance since he has come to live with us!" The room began to spin around me, and I was aware of my own voice answering faintly, "Yes, a very fortunate thing." and then I somehow excused myself and left the parlor.
I resolved that I had to leave the home of my childhood, or else suffer the fate of my mother and sister. It galled me to leave them behind, but I had no way to rescue them without Aurelius seeing. I did not even dare look into my own horse's eyes as I led it from the stables and tied it a little ways into the woods behind our home. I would take all my life's savings from the secret place in my rooms that evening, and then escape to an old schoolmate's home several towns over until I could more fully understand what malignant force I was meant to deal with. Every moment of that afternoon was torment, for I was certain that my plan would be found out, though I needn't have worried that my family would recognize this. Indeed, when not in the presence of the winter visitor, they seemed vacant, unfocused shells who could remember nothing for more than forty minutes. This, I used to my advantage, making sure to tell them repeatedly that I intended to be working late in my study that evening, and that I was not to be disturbed. In the times that their eyes were not their own, I even pretended that I too felt the influence of another's thoughts, and suggested that Aurelius be given the key to my library, had he any need for it, and that I desired that he accompany me on a hunting trip I usually took in the spring. This seemed to convince them all, but I thought I saw in Aurelius some shadow of knowing and was hard pressed to keep a shudder from my frame.
Night fell at last, the heavy darkness a welcome shield in between the tall windows of the house. I slipped silently from shadow to shadow, icy perspiration bespangling my brow lest my footsteps be heard. Within the pockets of my heavy coat and a valise that weighed down my arm I carried all that I had ever earned, and several antiques of particular value that had been passed down through my father's line for generations. I had no intention of leaving them for Aurelius's dubious purposes. I left through the servants' quarters, long since abandoned, and only the cook witnessed my departure, but as she had served as my childhood nursemaid, I could be fairly certain of her silence. From the kitchens, I made my way through the frosted desolation that had once been my uncle's garden, and prepared to climb over the low stone wall that led to the fringe of trees and freedom. It was the work of a moment, and I trudged away, well aware that any member of the household with even mildly adequate vision would be able to trace my path through the snow. My horse fidgeted nervously, a light dusting of the white powder covering his thick coat, and it barely stood still long enough for me to fasten my bags to the saddle. As soon as I had settled into the saddle, the horse bolted forward, as if being in the very shadow of the house was a torment to it. As we passed through the great front gates, I could not help but follow after the unfortunate wife of Lot. I looked back, as though I were vowing silently to return and rescue my mother and sister, for I now doubted that my uncle remained in the house at all.
Aurelius stood in the window, a mocking smile upon his face, and the smile has followed me the rest of my days.
Aurelius was not what some might have deemed exceedingly handsome. He possessed a rather high forehead topped with lank hair, yellow in color, under which there resided a long, thin nose and a rather small pair of lips in a permanent pout. Of his eyes, I would hardly say much, save for that they receded slightly and had the same liquid brown quality one often finds in the eyes of horses. Aurelius was of no great height, but neither again was he very short, and I once believed that he had taken some injury in the near past, for he often leaned upon a cane made of blackthorn that he had wound about with witch hazel. It was, I thought, a very ugly walking stick, although I never made comment upon it for fear of angering him. It was not that he was a man of violent temper: indeed, he never once raised his voice above a drawing-room whisper, and when he did, it had such a peculiarly musical sound that all surrounding Aurelius would stop to listen. Rather, it was that there was something I found to be unsettling in his gaze, a kind of uncomfortable knowing look that I did not understand, as though he could look into the thoughts of the person who displeased him and see each motive and suspicion. He seemed to have the ability to bewitch every acquaintance with the smallest gesture, and in no place was this so evident as within my own home.
My dear sister, my sweet Deirdre, seemed to have garnered his special attention, for he was often at her side, and she, poor child, hung attendant on his every word. I can easily believe that, if it had been within her power, she would certainly have left home and followed him wherever he wandered. Yet my mother was not lax in her vigilance, nor my uncle in his cupidity. By and by, one of them came to the erroneous conclusion that Aurelius had come from money, and was in want of a wife. I once pointed out to them over a cold and uncomfortable tea that we really knew very little about the man, that my father would never have agreed to let his daughter marry a man who had just appeared in a field one morning. "Don't be so foolish," my mother scolded me, grown man though I was, "Do you not recall? He came with Madame and Monsieur R- from their summer home. Come now, my dear son, we all saw him leave that splendid carriage!" And what had always been merest quivers of uneasiness now began to bloom in earnest within my mind. My mother would never have told a lie, believing it to be a sign of deep betrayal, but I could not ignore that she had spoken falsely. Madame and Monsier R- did indeed own a carriage, but it was a shabby thing of black leather, more like a hearse than a coach. And it was common knowledge that they were an elderly couple, and childless. There was not the slightest possibility that Aurelius was a relation of them, and I said as much.
My uncle did not take to my words, and protested that I did not know what I spoke of. "Tell me, uncle, " said I, "What resemblance does Aurelius hold to the R- family? He never got those eyes of his from Mme R-, and what explanation could be given for such bright hair? The R-s have ever had dark curls, nothing like Aurelius!" My uncle affected an air of shocked affront, and warned me not to speak so indelicately. At length, he persuaded my mother that Aurelius ought to be allowed to court my darling sister, and for the first time since meeting the winter visitor, my blood chilled in my veins. Twice more over the following weeks I attempted to warn them all that Aurelius was not who they thought him to be, but each time I was ignored. And each time, the story they gave as explanation was different. He was the nephew of Mssr. R-, or he was a long-lost cousin of my father's, or he was a merchant sailor, stopping to visit. Never mind that our sleepy town was no closer to the sea than Hermia to Demetrius, but more troubling was that I could see within each one's eyes that they clearly believed each of these outlandish tales!
Whenever I thought to ask about one of the previous and contradicted answers, they each eyed me as if I were some dangerous wild creature that might, at any moment, turn upon them all in a savage frenzy. Deirdre would ask if I felt quite alright, my uncle would forbid me to speak, my mother would gently tell me that she hadn't the faintest idea of what I was talking about. By and by, other things more ominous began to occur. My mother, who wore a widows weeds though her husband had been twenty-eight years gone, forgot my father's name. My uncle, a creature of unbreakable habit, so neglected his garden that the boys of the village helped themselves to its produce with none to stop them. And my sister, oh what can be said of my sister? For by that time, she had been married to Aurelius, and yet not a single person I have spoken to can recall the circumstances of the wedding. She simply did not live in the main wing of the house anymore, but saw us at meals. She spoke as though she remembered the day of her wedding, but I believe that she must have been lying as well, for no one could provide me with a single description, and I was meant to have been the one to give her away at the ceremony! Days went by and Deirdre did not come down to the parlor, nor to the library, which she so often used to haunt. Sometimes I went to her wing of the house in an attempt to speak with her as I used to, but I ever received the same answer. "Oh, dear brother, do not fear so! I am happy, yes I am very happy!" But her voice bespoke a soft confusion in her sweet tones, and I believe that she did think she was happy, but she could give no reason for it.
I think now with darkened and halting mind to the last time I saw my Deirdre. I could wait no longer, unsatisfied with whispering through the door to her, and I found a way in. How precisely is not important, but I made my way to her chamber and my throat closed up, tightened with horror, for in the bed was a pitiful little thing, all pinched lips and pallid cheeks. One bony arm and knobby elbow hung limply at her side while the other twirled spindly fingers in her lusterless raven hair. Dull grey eyes that seemed far too lifeless for the girl I had known squinted uselessly at a book on the coverlet. I made some exclamation of terror, and my eyes started from their sockets. She raised her head, neck no stronger than a newly-hatched bird. It flopped horribly to one side and she regarded me as some frightfully new and unusual creature. "Hullo," the creaking voice rasped, "Where have you sprung from?" This was not the voice I had so recently heard assure me of health and well-being not two days ago. Was it possible for disease to overtake the body so rapidly? "Deirdre, my dear, what's happened to you?" I begged her upon my knees beside the bed, for I had always doted upon my sister. "Have you fallen ill?" At the sound of her name, a little spark came back into her eyes, and she repeated it softly. "Deirdre? Deirdre. I am Deirdre?" Certain that she was somehow delirious, I reached out to lay a hand upon her pale forehead. It was icy cold, and dry as death itself.
"Who are you?" the creature croaked, "Have you come to see my husband? He is out. He has gone to see my mother." Could it truly be that she had forgotten me? My heart was heavy within my breast, and I only smoothed her dull hair. "I am your brother, Deirdre, do you not know me? I'm your own Robert, come to see how you fared!" It is to be wondered at that the body can react to things that are not seen by the eyes, nor heard with the ears. I was overcome by some deep and horrible dread, and every hair on the nape of my neck stood upright. Over and again in my mind, I felt the grave suspicion that someone was watching us. Very suddenly, color returned to Deirdre's cheeks, and her hair shone like a raven's wing. "Hullo, dear brother!" she said, as if I had only just come in, "It's terribly sweet of you to come and see me like this. Do give my love to Mama, won't you?" Words left me, so gripped was I in the vise of a nameless fear, for her gentle eyes shone the liquid brown of Aurelius's. At last, I gasped, "And shall I see your husband when I go to greet our mother?" There was an awful moment when the stranger's eyes in my sister's face narrowed and seemed to measure me and sift me like wheat. An awful, crowding sensation came over me, as though I stood in a ballroom with too many guests, all their chatter buzzing about my head and drowning out my own thoughts. "Why, Robert, why ever would you say such a silly thing? My Aurelius hasn't gone to see Mama, what reason would he have to do so? No, dear brother. My husband has gone to the doctor for me, that is all. I expect he'll be back any moment now." And I suspected that he was, in fact, already returned.
Charitable thoughts for the man began to steal over my suspicions, tinged with a brotherly affection and gratitude that he should be so concerned with the health of my sister. I found myself, quite unaccountably, promising my sister that I would greet our mother for her, and asking that she tell Aurelius that I would keep a place open in my office, should he ever need work or funds. I stumbled towards the door under some power other than my own, and as the door opened, I passed Aurelius. He smiled at me, but o! What creature that crawls upon the earth or swims beneath the sea could ever match the horror of that smile? No sooner had I passed out of sight of his eyes than my mind was clear again. I could not understand the words I had said, nor the thoughts that had seemed so foreign to me. It was as though a stranger had wormed his way into the chambers of my mind and taken up the role of setting down thoughts for me. I became filled with dark horror, and fear drove me to my mother's parlor, where she was accustomed to sit and read between the afternoon and evening hours. One dainty hand, shriveled and pale, rested across the back of the sofa, and at first glance I believed that she slept. Then I stepped closer and saw that her eyes were open, glassy, and devoid of all life, though her chest rose and fell. She almost appeared to have aged a decade within a single day, and her dress hung loose upon her wasted body. "Who is there?" she asked, and the voice that had always been so strong now quavered like a brittle thing that, if dropped, would shatter. "Mother, you were the picture of health this morning!" I cried out, "What has done this to you?" A troubled expression rose from the wrinkles and she murmured, "The night-mare, my son. The night-mare." I thought then that she spoke only of bad dreams.
Then she spoke again. "Tell me, have you seen your uncle? I am sure that he has not gone out of the town, for last night his horse was still here, but I have not seen him in a fortnight! Oh Robert, I am so afraid! You must leave this house at once!" Then, in seconds, a prodigious change came over her, and the wrinkles smoothed away. The life came back into her eyes and she sat up quickly, smoothing down her skirts. I did not need to look to know what color orbs now spun in her sockets. "What is the nightmare that so troubled you, Mother?" I asked, averting my gaze. "Nightmare? Oh, nevermind that, my dear," her voice was smooth and full once more. "Dreams are but as shadows, and cannot hurt the sleeper once he wakes!" I hazarded a fleeting glance at my mother's face, and once more I found my mind full, brimming with a strangeness that I could not identify as kindly thoughts of my brother-in-law and indulgent thoughts of my mother and sister flooded over my perception. Understanding that they were not my own, I looked away again, and my mind cleared. I pretended to straighten a doily upon the tea table to give an excuse, and asked, "Have you seen Uncle, Mother?" for no better reason than to see what the stranger might say. I greatly doubted that it would be anything regarding his supposed disappearance, and I was soon proven right. "Oh," the not-Mother said, "I expect he's locked himself in his study again. He has been very concerned about a private matter in the bank at which he is employed. What a fortunate thing your sister married Aurelius! He has been able to aid your uncle on several matters of family finance since he has come to live with us!" The room began to spin around me, and I was aware of my own voice answering faintly, "Yes, a very fortunate thing." and then I somehow excused myself and left the parlor.
I resolved that I had to leave the home of my childhood, or else suffer the fate of my mother and sister. It galled me to leave them behind, but I had no way to rescue them without Aurelius seeing. I did not even dare look into my own horse's eyes as I led it from the stables and tied it a little ways into the woods behind our home. I would take all my life's savings from the secret place in my rooms that evening, and then escape to an old schoolmate's home several towns over until I could more fully understand what malignant force I was meant to deal with. Every moment of that afternoon was torment, for I was certain that my plan would be found out, though I needn't have worried that my family would recognize this. Indeed, when not in the presence of the winter visitor, they seemed vacant, unfocused shells who could remember nothing for more than forty minutes. This, I used to my advantage, making sure to tell them repeatedly that I intended to be working late in my study that evening, and that I was not to be disturbed. In the times that their eyes were not their own, I even pretended that I too felt the influence of another's thoughts, and suggested that Aurelius be given the key to my library, had he any need for it, and that I desired that he accompany me on a hunting trip I usually took in the spring. This seemed to convince them all, but I thought I saw in Aurelius some shadow of knowing and was hard pressed to keep a shudder from my frame.
Night fell at last, the heavy darkness a welcome shield in between the tall windows of the house. I slipped silently from shadow to shadow, icy perspiration bespangling my brow lest my footsteps be heard. Within the pockets of my heavy coat and a valise that weighed down my arm I carried all that I had ever earned, and several antiques of particular value that had been passed down through my father's line for generations. I had no intention of leaving them for Aurelius's dubious purposes. I left through the servants' quarters, long since abandoned, and only the cook witnessed my departure, but as she had served as my childhood nursemaid, I could be fairly certain of her silence. From the kitchens, I made my way through the frosted desolation that had once been my uncle's garden, and prepared to climb over the low stone wall that led to the fringe of trees and freedom. It was the work of a moment, and I trudged away, well aware that any member of the household with even mildly adequate vision would be able to trace my path through the snow. My horse fidgeted nervously, a light dusting of the white powder covering his thick coat, and it barely stood still long enough for me to fasten my bags to the saddle. As soon as I had settled into the saddle, the horse bolted forward, as if being in the very shadow of the house was a torment to it. As we passed through the great front gates, I could not help but follow after the unfortunate wife of Lot. I looked back, as though I were vowing silently to return and rescue my mother and sister, for I now doubted that my uncle remained in the house at all.
Aurelius stood in the window, a mocking smile upon his face, and the smile has followed me the rest of my days.
The End.
Well, I did say it was meant to be like Edgar Allan Poe, so...yeah. Macabre, but nowhere near as gruesome as an actual Poe story would have been.
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