Somewhere Someplace

Evening settled as the sun began to fall more and more down towards that horizon, dusk looming as the sky turned more orange and yellow than pristine blue. Yesterday was quite the laborious day, one during which all the juniors had not the choice but to skip morning meal so that they could be props on display for a demonstration done in vain.

This day, however, was tame. From morning to now this rising predusk, the tasks and chores to be done were all but only the most essential and barebones. All throughout the evening and dusk of the day preceding and the morning of the day present, many maids of both proper and senior kinds departed off and away in order to return to whence they had come; families, communities, and such. Even some of the juniors had left too.

Many others, however, had opted to remain within this house and manor. Even so, the majority out of these many others traveled to that visible village nearest to the estate, to attend the festives and celebration which had no doubt already begun. Only a handful had decided to neither go on a short trip nor visit the nearest village; to spend this day for respite from the laborious fatigue of the days before; however, even these few leftovers nevertheless had their obligations and dues—offerings to be made.

For indeed, this day was one that belonged to a seasonal divinity, not mortal doings. This day was the final day of Autumn’s Eve; the day of the equinox; that day of Autumn’s true beginning reign. And this year, these days actually aligned into one, the real equinox corresponding with this calendar month’s end instead of deviating by a day before or after. Such meant that this year’s festives of Autumn’s Arrival would not be spread out over two or so days, but rather would be condensed into one single day of the most glamorous celebrations and rites.

Unlike Trinity and Heaven, the Gods of these lands cared neither for strength of faith nor dogmatic convictions of belief, but rather correct practice and the rites and sacrifices appertaining thereto. And none were more demanding than the primeval Goddesses who governed the Seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

These festives, consequentially, were not merely excuses to indulge oneself in celebratory passion, but rather were amongst the many necessary practices that ensured stable relations between mortals and the Gods; a rite of sacrifice of one’s time and commitment, to give to the God dedicated—offering, glory, vigor, energy—so that they themselves may be given in turn; for the Gods only gave when given.

Such was why these days were ones that superseded mortal hierarchies and the like; days wherein slave, serf, peasant, commoner, noble, sovereign, and the like all had their participatory roles.

At least, such was how things had been centuries ago. In this era, material pragmatism and lust for efficiency had taken their hold; these sorts of days were nothing but a waste of precious time better used to further advancing progress—at least in the eyes of some.

And it was said that the reason for the preceding dry year and the continuation, if not worsening, thereof which impacted many regions of this continent was due to the lackluster festive rites and rituals during the preceding years’ springs. The Goddess of Spring only gave when given, and it was the mortal’s failure to give; thus, neither rain nor rebirth had come to undue Winter’s touch, and the Seasons only ever worked in harmonized cooperation, not selfish competition.

Blossom sighed as she aimlessly strolled. The halls of this manor-estate seemed emptier and more hollowed out, as if haunted by ghosts and shadows. And it had already felt empty enough priorly.

She paused and began to gaze out one of the many large windows of this hall, staring down into that sizable garden below. A small gathering, she saw, of a few maids who still remained… An improvised totem made from thick branches and dried zebra skin, adorned by an encirclement of dry oranged leaves, a woven basket fixed in place. Each held an offering in hand—harvest from the manor’s garden—to be placed into that basket and be allowed to rot.

Such was the common improvised, but still sanctioned, practices amongst those who had not a proper shrine or means to give; it was the minimum that these maids could do on this day.

“What a waste of time…and good fruit…” Blossom, however, had…differing views, even if she perhaps recognized the importance.

Sighing yet again, she continued her aimless stroll of boredom.

She herself did not know what she was going to do this day. She had nowhere to visit or go, and it was…best if she simply stayed within this manor; it was the safest place for her. Yet she used to always attend these seasonal festives and such… Honestly, it seemed only in retrospect that she realized their enjoyment; only when deprived with the possibility of attendance, did she yearn to attend.

Blossom spotted two maids who seemed to be standing with brooms, whispering—quiet but audible; these two did not seem to care particularly for this day. Nevertheless, hearing, she slowed down and…began to listen, having nothing better to do.

“Hugh, dearest… I know, most truly…”

“Oh, say, have you heard the rumors circulating about?”

“Heaven above, you must know how vague that question is… Do you mean of what happened yesterday morning?”

“No, best we not commentate on that… I meant Humbleberry”

“Oh… Yes, of course… It is a travesty, I cannot even imagine; for the souls lost and us too…”

“Well, someone has been spreading rumors that divine intervention put a halt to Grandberry’s raids; that they were unable to complete their devastation…”

“What? The central gods…intervened? Who is spreading this?”

“I have not the clue, but it has been spreading…”

“If that is…true, then that would spell a terrible…terrible omen for the Alweny… I wonder how this would have even spread this far to us, for Grandberry would surely keep this out of other’s ears?”

“Maybe it was brought up during the Sir’s discussions?”

“But those discussions had went completely private since yesterday; we have heard nothing…”

“I have not the clue, dearest…”

“Heaven’s truth, I am skeptical any of this is true…”

“Oh, honey, you need something?” One of the maids, having noticed, turned her eyes to Blossom…

Blossom’s posture flinched a little; “Oh, no… S-sorry…” She felt somewhat flustered.

“Peeping in on our words, are we, girly?” the other maid teased.

“N-no… I mean… Uhm…” Blossom flustered more; “I will be on my way…” Bowing, she promptly departed off… She let loose a gentle exhale…

Indeed, such was why the subject of ‘gods’ was even stuck within her mind. All throughout this day from morning to this predusk, she was hearing gossips spreading amongst the maids of some kind of ‘divine intervention’; that the Gods had put a stop to Grandberry’s razing of Humbleberry or had…at least denied them the completion thereof. Such were the two variations of these rumors she had been hearing, at least.

Blossom did not know if these rumors were true… However, she hoped it was true; that the Gods had put a stop to the burning slaughter… A part of her knew that such were likely distorted rumors and hearsay, but she nevertheless wanted to believe they were true… The Gods, after all, seemed especially active in this one realm alone as of late, with what had happened more than a year ago.

These contemplations were not the only such things so lingering in her mind, however…

Ever since yesterday, the discussions between Sir Berrybottom and Earl Walnut had gone completely private, with not a single maid present to hear and gossip. Thus, Blossom knew not what was happening in that regard, only that…a couple hours ago, the earl and his men had departed off and away alongside the Sir and…Billhook; Swordstaff was left behind—truly, that man-boy was facing quite the Fortune’s blight these past two days.

Nevertheless, Blossom sighed yet again…

Truly, thinking about this earl and Billhook affair made her heart…burn and seethe in ways she…really found unpleasant. She did not want to think about this, but…there was nothing for her to do besides think…

Out of all moments, Blossom genuinely wished that Melon was here with her right now, so that she could be snagged out from her mind’s own shadow which presently trapped her so.

Yet, alas, so engrossed in her own head she had become, she was inattentive to everything else around. Her eyes merely gazed out the large windows as she continued to aimlessly wander and thoughtlessly wonder, the sun falling more and more as the sky oranged ever-more, as if becoming the embodiment of Autumn’s falling rise.

Before, all so suddenly, from a turning corner came a pouncing lunge. Her left-arm was grabbed and yanked, her mouth and nose smothered by a hand, as she was forcefully pulled and dragged off into the hall next and towards a conveniently reclusive spot; her back was shoved against the wall harshly as a hand came slamming right next to her head, loudly, causing her spine to shudder.

Such eyes from such a face stared her down in a way that sent shivers down her spine, and Blossom was, indeed, trembling with such sudden panic.

“S-s-s-s-Swordstaff?? W-w-w-what what are you doing??” Her voice so expunged.

Indeed, Swordstaff. And he had effectively pinned her in place; she was stuck against that wall with his figure locked in front, close.

Seething breaths flared in and out, the burning heat evident as each exhale carried vindictive spite. “You… You… You…” He spoke as if a demon on the brink.

Blossom’s heart palpitated frantically… Where had he even come from? Had he been following her? Waiting for her? Or happened upon her? Truly, her mind was still struggling to process what in all thousand realms was even happening. She remained frozen in shivering place, eyes widened.

Swordstaff’s sharp fixated stare only pierced closer… “Why… Why is that…you have been there for every one of my recent humiliations… Every single one, you were always there…” His voice was slow and as unhinged as his eyes and demeanor.

“I-I-I don’t—What are you even…” Blossom struggled to articulate without tripping over her trembling breaths.

Yet Swordstaff’s hand slammed against the wall once again even harsher, causing Blossom to almost yelp. “Don’t bother playing stupid with me or covering your trail, you indignant snake! You know what is happening, this has been all your doing!” he shrieked, though quietly so; “That dinner nights ago… I saw you there, sneering at me as if maniacally giggling from Billhook’s words… And yesterday…” His breaths sizzled as he recalled yesterday’s events, eyes drifting astray… “Never before had I been so…humiliated! In front my father, those girls—my own servants…”

“I… I…” Blossom immediately shook her head with such cramped shakes; “I-I-I don’t…”

Yet… “AGH!” His hand once again came slamming, causing Blossom’s shoulder to contract in yelping fear. “And they left me behind! Never… That has never happened… I always accompanied, but they left me behind! Billhook was taken but not me! Despite everything I am and was told to be!” he seethed; “And now my own servants… They denied me—me! Those girls were grateful that I would even bother with them, that I even considered them worthy to service me and be serviced by me—to give to be given… They had respect! They knew their place and saw my greatness… But now they sneer at me as if I am beneath consideration!”

Indeed, the events of yesterday and Swordstaff’s attempted immolation, to which the majority of the juniors had borne witness, had seemingly affected so. Once eyes of allure and desire, as if servants bowing to their king’s feet or worshippers giving their bodies to their god, now looked at him…differently.

Of course, owing to internalized prejudice and biases, many of the juniors had actually pitied Swordstaff that Earl Walnut had orchestrated such a situation; that the young demi-fiend had deceived them with her hapless innocence only to turn out to be a potent spellcaster and presumed menace. However, even so, a hefty dozen were nevertheless unable to look at him the same way, considering the recentness in memory.

More particularly, yesterday evening Swordstaff had attempted to…solicit…a junior maid only to be, tacitly and respectfully, rejected; he had attempted the same thing a few hours ago this day with a different junior, only to again be rejected. Blossom was there to witness both of these events, to perhaps her…then amusement; however, such was exactly…

“And you…” Swordstaff’s lancing eyes finally returned their pierce; “You were always there, standing and watching and judging me… Sneering away as if the orchestrator…” His hand gripped her collar aggressively; “What lies did you tell them?! What trickery did you use?!”

Blossom frantically shook her head; “I-I-I-I… I did not do anything! I did nothing! I did nothing!” Indeed, she had absolutely done nothing.

“No, no, no…” He tugged at her collar even harsher; “Ever since that day you tried showing yourself as if you believed you were greater than me… as if you believed you could humiliate me in front of those girls…” His breaths jittered as his grip loosened, eyes withdrawing… “Ever since that day… I thought nothing of it besides the need to… But you have invaded my head, always there, sneering at me, taunting at me…”

Yet Blossom only shook her head more and more, her breaths becoming even more panicked; “I didn’t do anything… Please, I did nothing! Just leave me alone! Please…” she reiterated, her voice as loud as…it could be—which was to say, not that loud at all… Even in this frantic state, Blossom still knew how dangerous a situation she was in.

“No, no, no!” Swordstaff’s eyes came returning; “You have not the faintest idea the weight that has been placed upon me since my birth…” his voice sizzled; “And ever since that day, you have been trying to undermine me, embarrass me, and use every trick to humiliate me! As if…a fay sent to spite me…”

Unfortunately for Blossom, Swordstaff’s quasi-narcissistic insecurities had already made everything she did since their first encounter, even the nothingness in her behavior and actions, be interpreted by his mind as intentional slights targeted against him specifically. Indeed, although Blossom herself had tried to ignore him and move on, Swordstaff had seemingly become quite…obsessive with her and not in any way pleasant or sound, the extent to which he himself might not have been consciously aware of.

“But I see it now… Only recently did I make the connection… There was some been…a taint… I have been feeling this corruptive taint, growing and spreading throughout this house…like rust… And it only began…when you appeared out from nowhere…” His eyes and breaths drew closer in way that made Blossom’s muscles contract; “And you reek of taint…”

She was scared, absolutely scared.

“The worst of all things… A servant ignorant that they exist to serve their lord; a woman who believes her life is anything more than to serve men; that is why the Gods have placed us all in our roles, but you try to defy it as if you are anything more than what you were born to be…” His breaths only drew closer… “You are a jealous wench with bewitching craft, you can’t hide it from me… You saw everything I am and coveted it—you covet me and what I am, but could not have… You envy the other dignified girls who are more deserving of me… So, you have been trying to undermine me, humiliate me, and invade my head…”

His hand proceeded to shove her back further against the wall, harshly, pinning her with its grip… Although already evident, in this moment the strength difference between her and him…was made further apparent; he was significantly stronger than her, physically. Blossom…was at his mercy; her dread only heightened.

“Yet… Look at you… Exposed again for what you truly are… A squirming whimpering weakling who hides behind a shell of faux strength and braveness yet thinks she is something greater…” Abruptly, his hand began to stroke her face…in a way very unpleasant, causing Blossom to tense with shuddering breaths… “You know…what separates us by the end of all things?” His voice was mutating in a way that Blossom absolutely did not like; “I can do anything to you.”

Abruptly, his other hand began to…touch her chest, harshly.

Blossom’s panicking eyes widened as she tightened between her legs, her breaths contorting as her racing heart felt as though it was bursting… This…this could not possibly be happening?

“I could strip you down and claim you in front of the others, and they would only watch and do nothing…” His hand grabbed her face’s cheeks, tightly squeezing, lifting her head to his… “That is what separates us. I have the power to do whatever I wish to you, and you can do nothing besides squirm and wheeze… If you so happen to do anything more, it is you who would receive the gallows…”

“…I… I…” She had frozen completely, her muscles stiffening; she was beyond simply terrified.

It was evident that Swordstaff was presently experiencing a total psychological breakdown stemming from recent events, much of which Blossom herself had the misfortune of being present for—allowing a most spurious of connecting conclusions through no fault of her own. Indeed, as it stood presently, his thinking was delusional, his actions erratic, and his thoughts disorganized; his mind was compromised.

Any reasonable assessment would have already concluded prior to this point that Swordstaff posed a present and active danger to Blossom, in both safety and…sanctity.

One that perhaps overstayed its relevancy.

And indeed, such is what has already been determined

“Don’t worry… I would never stain myself with likes of you… But I will empty you until you become mine—” Abruptly, however, his voice paused mid-sentence… There was a sudden tonal shift in his eyes, as if he was…sensing something, or rather…as if something within him was detecting something… Only for that sense to pop in glimmering fade, as if no longer there…

“Oh, hello… Mind if I ask what is happening here?” A sudden voice so asked.

Immediately, Swordstaff swung his head and glared; “Mind your…” Yet he again paused… “your…” And simply stared… He let go of Blossom as he froze in on himself, as if trapped by the gaze of she who stood ahead before his sight, having just arrived.

Blossom so instantly slid down and onto her bottom, breathing in and out as if gulping the greatest relief… Her eyes shifted in kind and saw… “M… Miranda?”

Indeed…

“Sorry, was I interrupting something?” Miranda simply said, staring.

Swordstaff stepped away and forward somewhat, his breathing oddly tense; attentive and guarded, as if his mind was spontaneously stabilizing, or rather…as if something else within him was forcing synchronized sanity… “What are… Who are…you?” Such was his first utterance.

“Just a girl…” Miranda merely replied, her voice so mellow yet focused; “And you must be the young sir Swordstaff…” The outline in her irises brightened just a bit.

“Wait, no… I know you… You’re that half-elf that’s been meandering about…” he remarked, yet his breaths were oddly flustered…

“Yeah… Though, I doubt you have seen me often…” Miranda just replied, before she began to approach, slowly yet…docile and relaxed; “I’ve gotta say… I’ve heard so much about you and your talents, sir Swordstaff; you really are…impressive…and handsome…” Her eyes were utterly locked onto him, and in a way most unsettling.

“Your eyes…” Swordstaff immediately noticed… “Something is…”

“I know, aren’t they pretty?” Miranda merely remarked… “I hope you find me pretty, because I find you to be so irresistible…” her voice was soft and warm.

Yet Swordstaff was not precisely reciprocal… “Magic… That is what I… I could have sworn I felt… There was something else with you, wasn’t there? A presence, an…apparition or…” he struggled to make sense of his priorly felt senses.

“Wow… So sensitive…” Miranda’s voice only worsened… “You really…know how to make a girl…hungry…”

Indeed, there was something fundamentally terrifying in this moment, yet not a terror necessarily experienced by the mind, making it…nebulous to define.

Swordstaff remained frozen, unable to move despite being able… He just stared…as Miranda approached and stood before him, close…

“Wow…” She leered with brightening eyes as invasive as her voice, eyeing him up close and only leaning herself closer; “You must be strong… You must be so…” Her fingers began to gently prod his chest, suggestively.

He could feel her burning breaths, her eyes remaining locked, fixated… Yet he remained stuck, as if something deep within him was reactively freezing.

Miranda’s brightening purplish eyes somewhat glanced at Blossom…evaluating, before sharply refocusing… With a strange smile, she stood herself higher as she leaned her breaths into his ear; “Say, if the other girls are giving you trouble now, you can have me…”

“I… I…” Swordstaff flustered, tensing… So much about her…was enticing and alluring, and her presence was one making him…wanting, yet…something imbued deep within him, becoming more active and alarmed, was telling him to run. Indeed, his head began to ache and throb, as if two different things were being seen…

“How about a trade? You give me my friend, and I will give you me…” Miranda’s encharming voice enticed.

“…your friend?” Swordstaff mumbled with entrapped breaths, his eyes glancing down at Blossom…

“Ah, ah, ah…” Yet Miranda’s hand so gently pushed his face back to her own; “Stay with me…” She stroked his cheek as her touch became more intrusive; “Your blood may be higher born, but I am willing to be yours if you are willing to become mine…” Her irises brightened a bit more.

Swordstaff’s own irises partially responded, almost as if that which was deep within reactively panicked.

His breaths intensified; he was sweating… He stepped back, Miranda’s touch letting go, and gripped his forehead; his was head aching even worse… Her voice, her aroma, her breaths, her words, her very presence, none of it was normal; it was doing something to him… “I… I am flattered, and…you’re…very pretty…” His voice was more boyish… “But…I have to leave…” Without further consideration, his legs turned around and began to walk away, fast.

Miranda’s eyes only continued leering at him as he ran away as if a mouse trying to escape… Reactively, she began to creep forward with a lean, as if an enticed cat readying itself to…

Don’t.

Yet she abruptly stopped, the outline in her irises shifting momentarily in almost ‘flicker’. She remained halted in place, though her eyes certainly remained locked.

It was said that in the eyes of mother nature—

“…you are…really weird…you know that?” Blossom…instantly remarked, still slumped right down where she was… “…super creepy and super scary…” Indeed, that was certainly not the rescue she was expecting… “But…thanks… Thanks… Thanks a lot…”

Miranda immediately snapped out of it, shaking her head a bit; “Ahem. Anyway…” Her voice abruptly changed tone, irises dimming quite. She immediately went to Blossom.