As the last of the diners finished their meals, the servants began to clear the tables. The mysterious man and I remained seated, our eyes fixed on each other. The tension was palpable, and I could feel the weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air.
Suddenly, a servant appeared with a tray bearing two delicate porcelain cups and a steaming teapot. He set the tray down in front of us and bowed before backing away. The man gestured for me to take a cup, and I did, my hands trembling slightly as I lifted the cup to my lips.
The tea was sweet and fragrant, but I barely tasted it. My mind was racing with questions, and I couldn't help but sneak glances at the man. He seemed to be savoring his tea, his eyes closed in appreciation.
As we sipped our tea, the silence grew thicker, like a fog that refused to lift. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, my eyes darting around the empty hall. The man's eyes snapped open, and he fixed me with a piercing gaze.
"I know you have a lot of questions to ask," he said, his voice low and smooth, "but, young lady, I'd prefer you not asking."
I felt a surge of frustration at his words. Who was he to tell me what to do? I took a deep breath and asked, "Where am I? Why am I here?"
The man's expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to bore into mine. He said nothing.
I felt a spark of anger ignite within me. "I demand to know where I am and why I'm here!" I exclaimed, my voice rising.
The man's silence was like a stone wall, impenetrable and unyielding. I asked again and again, my questions tumbling out in a frantic rush, but he refused to answer.
My anger boiled over, and I slammed my fist on the table, making the cups rattle. "Tell me!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.
The man's face remained impassive, but his eyes seemed to gleam with a faint amusement. I glared at him, my heart racing with fury.
Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed back my chair and stormed out of the dining hall, leaving the man and his infuriating silence behind.
I stomped down the corridor, my feet pounding the stone floor. I reached my room and grasped the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. The door was locked.
A scream of frustration rose up in my throat. I pounded on the door with my fists, but it refused to open.
In a blind rage, I turned and ran down the corridor, not knowing where I was going. I stumbled upon a large door that was half open and pushed it wide, stepping through it into the unknown.
As I emerged into the night air, I realized I was outside. The darkness enveloped me like a shroud, and I stumbled forward, my eyes straining to see.
The air was cool and damp, and I could smell the scent of wet earth and leaves. I ran, my feet pounding the ground, but I had no destination in mind. I just needed to keep moving.
As I ran, the rain began to fall, drumming against my skin and soaking through my clothes. I didn't stop. I kept running, my anger and frustration fueling my footsteps.
But eventually, my body began to flag. My legs ached, and my lungs burned. I stumbled and fell, my knees hitting the wet earth with a jarring impact.
I sat there, my head on my knees, and let the tears flow. I sobbed and sobbed, my body shaking with grief and frustration. The rain poured down around me, a relentless curtain of water that seemed to wash away all my hopes and dreams.
As I sat there, I felt the darkness closing in around me. I was alone, lost, and scared. And I had no idea how to find my way back.
**narrative switched to "SHE"**
From a distance, a dark figure stood motionless, watching her with an unreadable expression, he kept still not saying a word, he watched her wallow in self pity until he choose to break the silence;
"What are you doing?" he asked,
his voice calm and even.
As he spoke, he began to walk towards her, his long strides eating up the distance. He reached out and gently grasped her arms, pulling her to her feet.
"Wet, you are wet," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "Get back in."
As he spoke, her eyes locked onto his face, and she realized with a jolt of recognition that he was the man who had picked her up from the street. Her eyes flashed with anger, and she began to punch him on the chest, her fists flying wildly as she continued to sob in frustration.
"Leave me alone!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the night air. "Can't you all just leave me alone?" she added, her anger boiling over.
The man grasped her wrists in one hand, holding her in place as she struggled against him. "It is dangerous out there for you," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You are safe here. Boss knows."
As he spoke, his eyes flickered downwards, and he caught sight of her wet gown clinging to her body. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the swell of her breasts peeking from beneath the damp fabric. Then, he looked away immediately, his expression neutral once more.
She didn't notice the brief glance, she continued to struggle against his grasp, her anger and frustration boiling over.
"Come let's go"
he utters as he carefully drags her along with him,
He hurriedly moves with her as it continues to rain heavily
She noticed his lead isn't back to the house but to an opposite direction, regardless, she walked with him.
They arrived at a cozy bunk, the lit up candles on the inside could be seen from the outside.
"It must be really warm in there" she thought to herself ..
He pushed open the creaky door, and a warm golden light spilled out, beckoning her into the cozy bunk. She stepped inside, her dripping wet feet sinking into the plush rug that covered the floor. The rug was made of fine material, soft and luxurious beneath her feet. The living room was small, almost tiny, but it was cozy and well-defined. The old furniture was arranged to provide maximum comfort, and the air was thick with the scent of old wood and candle wax.
The candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the room. She noticed the fine details of the furniture, the intricate carvings on the wooden arms of the chairs, the delicate patterns on the rug. It was a room that seemed to belong to someone who appreciated comfort and simplicity.
He left her standing in the living room, disappearing into the shadows to retrieve a towel. He returned with a soft, fluffy towel and a clean cotton shirt, long enough to be worn as a gown. "Here," he said, handing them to her. "You're soaked to the bone."
She took the towel and shirt, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment. She knew the shirt was his, but she didn't bother to ask. She was too cold and wet to care.
He calmly asked her to go have her bath, showing her the way to the bathroom. The bathroom was simple, with no fancy interiors, but it was clean and functional. The old bathtub looked like it had been used for years, but it was spotless. She bathed quickly, the warm water soothing her chilled skin.
After her bath, she stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the cotton shirt he had given her. It passed as a gown, falling to her knees. She felt a sense of gratitude towards him, but she didn't express it.
He appeared out of nowhere, his eyes fixed on her. "Come," he said, gesturing for her to follow him. He led her to a simple room with plain sheets on the bed, a plain rug on the floor, and a well-defined table with cabinets. The walls were plain but beautifully outlined.
She wondered who used to stay in this room. It looked like it had been uninhabited for a while.
He seemed to cut into her thoughts, his voice low and soothing. "I would have taken you back to the house, but we are way too far from there. You will only get sick if we had run a bit more under the rain."
He paused, his eyes settling on her. "Stay here till tomorrow."
As he spoke, his gaze drifted down to her chest, where the cotton shirt clung to her skin, revealing the outline of her breasts. He quickly looked away, but this time, she noticed.