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sassyteatimeinquiries · 11 months

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The Would be Tragedy at the Midnight Manor of Dorian Payne

Chapter One: Welcome to the Midnight Manor

Maybe it was because he was expecting something more— Gruesome. An expectation making this settle into his bones all wrong. The Mitternacht der Wald was most certainly should not, could not, be not this. Not this strange forest with its twisted and twisting dark foliage. Never lingering, never touching the graveled road. Yet it sang. The Wald sang as if it did. As if its dark roots tangled their way up the sides of the carriage. Singing a song. A song he could almost remember. A midnight lullaby. Transforming— No, Revealing the forest for what it was, a wonderland of midnight secrets. Shimmering and whispering just beyond carriage doors. Beckoning him. Pulling at the very fibers of his being to return. Pulling at his fingertips, making them graze the handle of the door. Pushing the cool brass handle down. Door shuddering beneath the weight exerted yet refusing to budge. Just a little more weight and he can go back. Just a little more and they can’t stop him. Not this time.

No.

No, that couldn’t be right. This was his first time here. His first and only visit to the Mitternacht der Wald. To this bizarre place, and it's strange manor, whose visage just began to break from the Wald’s treeline.

“How odd.”

Not the first. Maybe the third? No, the fifth. No? No matter how many times those words have floated through his mind. This place only became stranger and stranger the further he was pulled in. Nothing had met, or seemed to have any desire to meet expectations. Nothing matched its name quite the right way, and appeared to relish in it. The Mitternacht der Wald, and most of all the actual Midnight Manor. It wasn’t blazing pink but it certainly wasn’t a gothic castle horror either. What it was, was a conglomeration of oddity. A hodgepodge of stained glass, open archways, a variety of roof types, winding ivy and flowering vines, and more windows than he has ever seen. All seamlessly blending. All melding in a way that made it absolutely Beautiful.

Or in the very least fascinating. Created lines for the eye to follow, a spiderweb of the architecture shifting seamlessly from one odd feature to the next. A trail slowly leading to the main entrance with the unhurried shifting of the carriage.

Empty. Yet again.

Agitating. Like an oil slick laggedly coating the skin, sticking to the flesh. But it shouldn’t surprise him. He was an unwanted guest. With the strings and so-called favors that must have been cashed in and pulled to get him here. To get him before the Nameless Lady. He was aware of what it took to get even a brief moment of her attention. Yet here he was with a personal invitation from the Nameless Lady, herself, signed and sealed. Oh, and all too aware that was most certainly forced. An invitation to paint the portraits of not only the enigma herself but of her new heir. The infamous, if not almost as infamous as her, Dorian Payne.

His liquid gold. His muse. His obsession. His golden beauty. Who had an almost tragic tale. A similar tale to the golden muse's own deceased birth mother. A sculpted angel that ran to the place even royalty fear to try to impose their will upon. A tale that mattered little to nothing to him. All that mattered was getting in. To find what was his. Hidden within the rumored and labyrinthine halls of the Midnight Manor. All of it just past the very annoyed face of the driver. Carriage door thrown wide open. Revealing his baggage all piled, leaning haphazardly against the pillars of the entrance archway.

All it took was a moment. A moment of pulling breath in too quick. With heart clutched by someone else’s hand. And the rush of acid to the throat. Burning along the back of the esophagus. Like bubbles rising and popping in a champagne glass. Then eyes shifted, breath and heart were released. There they were, the most important things. The only things of any true value to him. All in three neat stacks were his art supplies.

“Our Lady would not be pleased if something of that value were ruined due to the sheer displeasure of having you, Mr. Andrews.”

He stopped. Hand clutched to the doorframe, eyes snapped back to the driver. They spoke. He was certain the small lad was mute. With the way they met him and his previous carriage at the very edge of the Mitternacht der Wald. Curt and odd. They made him carry his own luggage the last few meters past the edge of the Wald. Refused both to help or allow the other driver past the limits with only a shake of the head. Answering every several questions with a nod or a shake. It only made sense.

Sense lost to whatever happened in those few seconds. It made the driver’s head tilt, eyes caught the light and for a brief second they looked— Metallic. Like blackened silver lost as eyes narrowed and lips pulled back, bared, a predator’s smile.

Then, gone. Both smile and driver simply vanished within the moment of a spider’s breath. Leaving him to ponder if any of this was actually real. Stumbling out of the carriage, door swinging close behind him, just, as it began pulling away if by some invisible force. Knees barely putting one foot in front of the other to pull, or push him towards the entrance. Carriage disappeared as each step brought him closer to the entry and towards his bags. Towards uncertainty. And towards unwelcoming hosts.

—_____—

He stood within the entrance just past the doors for what felt like an hour, or more likely a gathering of several stifling stiff minutes. Each one spent staring at his own feet. With each minute certain that as long as he didn’t look up the building would not warp around him. It would not be what it was. It would not be the Midnight Manor. The stain-glass windows would fade back to where they belonged. Their colorful sunlight would not be splattering his muddy shoes. And the windows would match the outside. No. All the inside would match the outside. It would not twist and it would not be different than what reality allowed. The solution was simple. He only needed to stare at his shoes. A little longer. Just a little longer.

“Mister Andrews.”

With two simple words he had failed. The lie had lost all viability the moment his head moved. The moment he looked up past the stairs to the balcony. To the second floor landing. To the figure with hip leaned against the railing of twisted gold vines sprouting leaves and heavy dusk dusted blooms. Looking up at golden eyes, a feature and feat as impossible as all the rest. The figure themselves looked like liquid midnight, a moonless night lost behind clouds and new moon wanings. Hidden behind a mask covering only the upper right quarter of their face. A mask with little horns pressed into the hairline. Hands clasped before them. Chin tilted up with eyes angled down. Watching him, moments ticking by as if they were waiting.

Eyes feeding fear. Unsure, no uncertainty building his anxiety. With each second another piece placed for decorum lost. Stomach to the throat. The smell of acid rising in the nose. Stomach climbed further into his throat as he leaned forward into a swallow bow.

“Thanking you my Lady for this honor—,”

He made eye contact with his shoes again, the figure cut off his even shallower words. A puddle not even a worm would drown in. The figure’s words are monotone yet somehow he knew that the stranger was annoyed.

“Leave the false platitudes for when you meet our Lady.”

They were already gone from the railing when his back had straightened and his eyes had raised back up. Leaving him alone. Again. Leaving him to the rearing anxiety. To feet drawing him forward with each pounding heartbeat. Every other beat a stabbing breath stealer. With each pang, another breath lost. Walls closed in like colored sun stained spots as feet hit the stairs tumbling forward with frantic thoughts. If only. If only he hadn’t insisted, if only—

“Come,” They were back. Standing on the stairs an arms length away. Hand clutched the railing. Gold clawed nails dung in. He must be making Mae angry, again. It wasn’t that hard to do. She never had much patiences. Like the time he— he—. He, what? And Mae? Who was Mae? Mae— “Mister Andrews, our Lady does not have all day.”

“Yes, I am sorry—"

"False platitudes," she, no, they were looking back. Headed titled, mismatched eyes locked on his face.

Then, gone. Standing once more on the balcony near where the stairs met the second floor. Now leaned forward over the railing, head angled to the lower floor. Looking towards something, and all he can think is “One push”. Just one push and no more Mae. Simple, easy, qui— no. Whoever this was. They weren't Mae.

"Sae, get Edvaars' to move the bags,"

Sh—They. They were talking to someone below them. Someone new. Someone, somehow in a room he was certain only had entry from the floor above. From the floor he was only one last flight of stairs from. From the floor the midnight figure stood leaned over that same railing. Leading eye to the someone new down below. A string he grasped hungerly to. If one was like a moonless night this one was moonlight swirled with vibrant stars and a near willowed match in height and stance. Except for their mask. Theirs was the same design but on the left side with similar little horns pressing into the hairline. And like the other, this Sae locked golden eyes with him and tilted their head. Watching and waiting.

“Mister Andrews.”

“Yes,” Conceivable it could be that he responded too quick or that the whiplash was finally settling in. With the way his stomach rolled or was it the way the stairs moved. Clutched at the railing as he swayed. Crushing a fragile bloom under vice-like grip. Or, maybe Sae swayed him. The swaying of Sae. Sae swayed to the swaying of Sae’s solemn song. The undignified sound escaped through his nose. Cheeks burned, flushing all the way to his fingertips. Mortification yanked his head to the side, eyes down.

Gone.

Just gone. Not a sign of them. The second midnight figure, Sae. They were just gone. A fact that remained unchanged no matter how far he leaned over the railing. This circumstance did not change even as he took long legged steps up to the balcony. It did not change as he looked over yet another railing. And it did not change when he looked to the first and back again. They, unlike him, did not look back. Instead continued with clicking steps, getting further and further away.

—_____—

*Click— Click— Click—*

Each step another bend turned. Another flight of stairs taken. Another window passed. The further he was pulled, and the further he was lost. Maybe, he should have— No, it was too late now. Especially since he was here now. Within these walls. Steps behind the moonless night as it shifted its weight from heel to heel. Taking a graceful, slow pace never once joustling the golden ornaments woven into the thick ropelike strands.

The same nimble pace shifting silk, fluttering it around thin willowed limbs. Hypnotizing as they moved him through archways leading to slithering halls and magpied rooms alike. Never knowing what the next turn or step would take him. A room with floral paper walls matching the potted plants dappled throughout and a fainting couch where someone has left a single book. A hall with partial paneling, who’s large windows and their deep sills had become home for several potted plants and a dozen or so books. Another room with different walls lined with bookcases with books spilling forth, a torrent tidal wave threatening to consume every corner of space. Books on window sills, seats cushions, and any empty space but not the floor. Another hall as distinctive as the last, leading to yet another hall.

A journey unending. A fruitless endeavor. If only, he hadn’t—.

They stopped. All those minutes lost to a journey of stairs, and labyrinthine halls and adjoining rooms. A journey that led him to a door. The first. It was an overtly ornate door, two making one. Adorned with reliefs of trees winding and coiling over each other, trees from the Mitternacht der Wald, hiding eyes of furred beastlings behind treeline. Like troubling thoughts of an unquiet mind, always barely visible.

His strange guide placed one foot forward and pressed palms to either side. Opening the doors with undue flourish.

“Lord Payne. As requested, Larkis Andrews.”

One simple sentence, and bliss returned. Waiting inside was Dorian Payne. Past long limbs and expecting golden eyes. Golden. Golden like endless fields of wheat swaying. Swaying like strands of hair caught in a breeze. Golden silk swooping past shoulders, escaping blue fabric tie. Brushing fingers across vellum, pausing then looking up. Gracing him— them with a golden smile.

He looked as godly as the last time he had seen him. No—. He looked better. No more hidden bags under the eyes. No more gauntly skin clingy to bone. Not that it had been so apparent before. All of it hiding under expensive clothes as he was paraded around at parties, a prized pig. Or, show horse. Something prized to be traded for greed. It’s just that now, looking at him. Really looking at him. Now, the contrast was so clear. Dorian’s eyes, there was life there. Everything else just followed. Making him so much more beautiful. His Dorian. His beautiful happy healthy Dorian. What was he supposed to do now—.

A throat clears. The sound grabbing his attention, gaze refocuses, taking in the full room. In that short time he hadn’t noticed a key problem. The midnight figure had moved. Now lazily leaned with hip against Dorian’s chair. Both of them, observing him.

He bows, a reflux he is unable to stop. Angled towards his “helpful” guide. He tries two words. A struggle at a polite dismissal in a place he had no power.

“Thank you—.”

He doesn’t know their name. He. Doesn't. Know. Their. Name.

A sound like silk bells drifts down to his ears. Body pulled from its bow to look. To look at Dorian Payne laughing. Touching. Moving. Holding the nameless figure softly by the elbow. Smiling at them. Not him.

“This is Mae.”

Mae. A Mae. No, it had to be that Mae. A Mae he shouldn't, doesn't know. But he didn't know any other Mae. This place was wrong. He shouldn't be smiling at her, they, whoever. They don't deserve it. He should be smiling at him. He was his Dorian. Not her's.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

He was still holding her elbow. He was still smiling at her, and she was letting him. Letting Dorian stand, maneuvering with him. Book slipped between hands. Hers now clutching it against her chest. Pulling away as she watched his face. Not Dorian’s, his. Observing, whatever twist and turns it was taking.

“The people here are all so beautiful,” Dorian is looking at him, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes not like it did with Mae. He was unwanted here, all round, even by what was his. And it was her fault. Mae’s. All her fault.

No.

No, it wasn’t. Not with the way she pulled herself away. Stoic face never changed, except for the slight twitch in her fingers, tapping at the book’s hardcover. A nervousness, no. A discomfort. A discomfort that led her away to the tall imposing window behind Dorian. His hand still lingering on her elbow. Head turning to her away from him. A private exchange and whatever was said or not said, the tapping stopped and Dorian let go.

Dorian’s face had turned solemn. The smile, now all gone. Mischief long faded from his eyes. How dare she. How dare she sadden what is his. How dare she take away his joy. And crush it under foot no matter how ridiculously dainty and graceful they were. Dorian was his. If anyone was to crush him, it would be him.

But Dorian hurt Mae first.

He blinks. This voice, one he had not heard before. A soft voice he was certain was not his own internal dialogue. And certainly not a thought he would normally have concerning his precious Dorian Payne. He would need to ponder this later. After. After he had spoken to the Nameless Lady.

He watched, the room still stiff, as Dorian returned to his seat. Mae shifted back around him, headed towards the door. She had left the book leaning on the window sill. Eyes returning to Dorian, watching him watch Mae. Then smiling, gaze flittered back to him as he waved towards the second chair, “Please sit. We can wai—.”

The door had shuddered open. The face of Sae briefly revealed as it lowered into a low bow. Long locks shifting to the chime similar golden ornaments together, falling past the shoulder.

“I apologize, Lord Payne. Our Lady will not be able to make it.”

Trinkets jingled once more as Sae raised, back straightening. Mae appeared at their shoulder. She leaned forward to whisper something next to their ear. Her lips moved in a pattern he could not recognize. Whatever language it was. It was not one of the several that he knew. Whoever they were, this Mae and Sae, they were not of the Epsclaen Empire. A fact that he should not forget.

“Mae, can you and your sister escort our guest to their quarter,” Dorian’s words are tired. This did not seem like it was the plan. A clear message as eyes flickered between themselves. For a moment it was if they all forgot he was there. A minute, or a second. Another bow, hair ornaments ringing out a soft medley once more.

With no words, and only the golden song playing as Mae stood and looked to him. With expression stoic she pushed past with clicking heels. Doors opened once more by pressed palm. Only then did she look back, past to him.

He followed her eye to Sae.

“We’ll lead the way, Mister Andrews,” Sae smiled at him, tilted her head. Gestured with her hand. If he hadn’t been looking at her, he would have sworn it was Mae that spoke. Their voices were identical. Except Mae’s expression never changed and Sae’s did. The smile provided it.

“Please, Mister Andrews.”

It was Mae this time. Yet either, or, it did not matter as to whose words pushed him forward to the hall. Forward to stand there, awkwardly in a patch of sunlight shaded pink. Leaving only Mae and Sae to follow him, a pair of shifting midnight figures adorn in gold and unknown silk. Placing three people together in a small hall. Three people that did not want to be in the same space as the others. Or, at least in the same place as one of them. Staring each other down, as a force outside of any one of them, closed the door behind them.

If you haven't read the introduction. Here is the link.

Or, here is the second chapter.

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