ooc: Just a little story I had to write for my English Class. I quite like it, and thought it would be appropriate to post it up here for comments, concerns, fixations ^_^
Lament of Stone and Sorrow The townsmen were use to it by now. Once the last ray of daylight disappeared behind the treetops, the soprano’s voice would meander its way into the quaint village. The song never changed, and its forlorn lament would capture the hearts of all who heard, no matter how often it reached his ears.
No one knows for certain just what it was that caused the Duchess of Cantore Manor to sing each night, and no one in the tiny village could conjure up the courage to ask. So, for the past year, rumor after rumor was spread. Lady Tristana had lost her mind with the disappearance of her husband, that much was certain, but what had caused his sudden departure? It seemed that the only person who knew the answer was the Duchess herself, but she was rarely ever seen. Her nightly lament was all anyone heard, and prompted the villagers to call the estate Midnight Manor.
“Don’ ye be goin’ up t’that house.� The townspeople would whisper to one another, to their children, and to the occasional passersby. No one wanted anything to do with that ghostlike woman; until, one bright afternoon a stranger emerged from the forest path.
He wore a brown jacket over his white shirt that had been meticulously pressed until every sign of a wrinkle was beaten out of the cloudlike fabric. His appearance was enough to make him stand out among the disheveled locals, and the moment he asked about the Duchess of Midnight Manor only helped to quicken the announcement of his arrival.
People would stare through the cracks in their shutters and through the gates of the animal pens. To these simple folks, this man was just as dangerous as the unknown cause of Lady Tristana’s madness. His questions were greeted with blank stares and lowered eyes that clearly noted the discomfort caused by his presence.
“Please! I wish only to know if the Lady will take any visitors.� He pleaded with anyone who would even stop to acknowledge him.
“Visitors?� one elderly gentleman remarked with a look of shocked amusement, “If ye know anythin’ ‘bout Midnight Manor, ye’ll know tha’ nobody tha’ goes inta tha’ place ever comes out. Visitors? She don’ take visitors…� he paused, “What’s yer name, boy?�
“Geoffrey Owual. I’m from the --�
“I didn’ ask where ye was from.� The man interrupted, looking over his old wire glasses at the strange gentleman, “Owual, eh? Ain’t never ‘eard o’yer name afore. But ye mark my words Mr. Owual, iffn ye go getting’ yerself tangled up in her business, ye’ll wish ye hadn’t by th’end.� Without a word the elder hobbled off down the dirt path, casting hesitant glances over his shoulder.
Understanding that he would get no more answers about Lady Tristana, Geoffrey took off along the winding road towards the great iron gates of Midnight Manor.
The estate seemed to be made entirely out of stone, but it was so overgrown with vines, and other bits of overgrown foliage, that he could not be entirely sure. The gates were red with rust, and the chain that had once locked the doors now lay in shambles on the stone path. Brown and green algae covered the stagnant water of a large pond in the middle of the front yard. Even the birds seemed to have abandoned their usual perch in the trees. If he had not known better, Geoffrey would have believed this place had been abandoned long ago.
Pushing the gates open, just wide enough for him to slide through, he entered into the overgrown wasteland. His eyes scanned the front of the house, counting twenty windows, along with two sets of double doors: one for the front, the other leading out onto the balcony on the third floor. As he glanced up at the windows, his heart beat hard against his ribcage as the white drapes in one window fluttered, a face disappearing into the darkness within.
His steps became more eager than before. There, now, could be no doubt that someone still lingered within those barren walls and that thought alone was exhilarating. For years Geoffrey had heard stories about the infamous Midnight Manor. Each tale added more to his growing curiosity until finally he decided to take the long trip through the wilderness to visit the spectacular place. So far, he had not been disappointed.
Upon climbing the crumbling stone steps to the front door, the lock clicked, and with creaking hinges, opened just wide enough to show two hooded eyes. Geoffrey was so taken aback by the sudden figure that he stopped where he was on the second to last step and stared. This must be her…the Lady Tristana he thought.
“Erm…How do you do, Madam? I am Geoffrey Owual….� He did not have time to finish his introduction before the door opened wide to reveal a young woman. Her hair, dark as the legends about her home, hung limply over her shoulders where pieces were falling out of a hasty braid. Her eyes were the color of a pending storm, and her white dress, yellowed with age. She had a look of half madness about her, half fear, and even with such an unkempt appearance, Geoffrey could not classify her as anything but beautiful.
With one swift, lithe movement, the woman stepped back from the door and beckoned her visitor to step into her home. Each step that she took reminded the gentleman of a dancer, gliding effortlessly across a stage, and who was he to ignore the pounding of his heart that reached out to her.
“Lady Tristana?� he asked as he stepped across the threshold, unaware of the door closing softly behind him.
She did not answer, but merely beckoned him deeper into Midnight Manor. Geoffrey found he needed to follow closely because the candle in her hand was the only light in the darkened corridors. The house was like a maze as they turned right, left, left, right, left, straight passed four doors; he quickly lost his way. Each hallway was identical to the last in the darkness that shrouded them both, broken only by the small light of the candle. The rational part of his mind argued against following a complete stranger through a mazelike house, but his own curiosity pushed it away. He had come this far, there was no way he would give up his quest now.
Finally, the journey ended, and Lady Tristana pulled out a small gold key that slid easily into a small golden lock. Watching with ever growing anticipation, Geoffrey was satisfied to hear the small click of the bolt. Watching her hand, glowing yellow in the candle light, his heart beat faster as she opened the door, not even noticing that, unlike the other doors in the house, this one did not squeak.
Turning, she reached out and took his hand and pulled him quickly inside before pulling the door closed behind her. There was a click of the bolt as she locked it once more.
Geoffrey was too shocked to notice.
The moment he had entered the room he noticed the glowing eyes illuminating from every wall. High, low, middle, left, right, there was no escape from the unblinking stares in the darkness. He finally began to listen to his rational side, unsure if he really was curious enough to find out to whom those many eyes belonged.
“They do not like the light.� Geoffrey jumped as a rich feminine voice spoke from his side. Turning, he could just make out the face of Lady Tristana in the candlelight. He watched as she walked forward a few steps before lighting three candlesticks that rested on a small table in the center of the room. Immediately the room seemed to glow with a gentle light, revealing the owners of those eyes.
“Owls!� Geoffrey exclaimed, staring in alarm at the zoo of those magnificent creatures. He had never seen so many in one place. “How…how did you get them all in here?�
“Tea?� she asked. Without taking his eyes off of the walls, he took the tea cup and sat down in one of the two sofas that rested beside the table. Absently taking a sip of the odd tasting substance, he tried to mask his shock. He had never seen something as strange as the room where he now sat, constantly watched by nearly thirty pairs of glowing amber eyes.
“I sing because they get restless at night.� Tristana took a seat on the couch opposite of him, answering her guest’s pending questions before he could even form them on his lips, “I have found that only one song lulls them enough to keep them from flying.�
Each owl had his own small compartment in the grated walls, small rodents wandering on the smaller slots above and below each bird. They seemed content with their current situation, but every once in a while one would ruffle his feathers and poke at a dead rat at his feet.
“Do you like them?� she asked when he did not reply, leaning forward with unmasked anticipation. As she gazed at him, a small smile began forming on her rosy lips.
“They’re beautiful…� he murmured, vaguely aware of a tingling sensation in his arms and legs that slowly began spreading to the rest of his body. Looking up at her, he felt slightly out of place. He had never had to look up at a woman before, and hadn’t he been nearly a head taller than her a few minutes ago? Everything in the room slowly began coming into focus as if his eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. He could see into every corner, every crevasse of the room that had been invisible to him before. Suddenly uneasy, he shifted his feet and tried to raise his hand to his face only to find his arms were no longer working. In fact, it felt as if he no longer had arms at all.
“I’m glad you like them, Mr. Owual,� She murmured, stooping over the table and gently scooping a large tawny owl into her arms, stroking his feathers with the tips of her fingertips,
“Geoffrey….you are a beautiful owl…�
Walking over to the wall, she found an empty compartment and placed her newest addition into his designated home. Brushing his feathers once more, Tristana returned to the couch. Blowing out the candles on the table, she watched the thirty-one pairs of eyes for a few moments before closing her own eyes as she opened her mouth to begin the lament she had started one year before.
