Part 3 of ? “A Charming Proposition”

Our conversation lulled for a moment. The crackling fire filled in the silence.

“So where is your mother?”

Her face paled. She pulled her legs closer to herself, wrapping her arms around her knees. She shivered, despite the heat.

“…I don’t know.”

Her voice trembled, but she kept her composure. My mind warned me against furthering the topic for fear of wounding her, but my perked curiosity would not relent. In the end, I settled for a vague stance, leaving it up to her to make the decision. I patted her shoulder awkwardly, in hopes of consoling her.

“We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head fervently.

“I do want to. I’ve wanted to ever since she left me.”

“I just…didn’t really have anyone to confide in. Simon has always been a good listener, but…” She smiled weakly. “He’s not much of a conversationalist.”

“Neither am I.” She flinched. With a hurt expression, she turned away from me, her hair shielding her face.

“I suppose you were just being polite, then?” She whispered.

“No, no.” I winced. “See? I have no conversational skills whatsoever. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” My hasty apologies earned a small smile from her. “Please, do continue.”

She sighed.

“My mother disappeared when I was thirteen, leaving the house and Simon to me. I do not know why or where she has gone. And though I suspect Simon knows, he has never answered my questions about her.” She shrugged. “He can’t really speak, after all.”

“Why don’t you give him a pen and ask him to write it out?”

“Simon is terrified of sharp things.”

“Why?”

“Well…My mother used to use him to play pinfinger while she was thinking.”

She grinned sheepishly.

“Simon still gets scared whenever I bring it up.”

A quiet snap disrupted our conversation. Simon held a silver tray with one hand, balancing it expertly. He gestured at the paper piled on the writing desk.

“Oh, sorry!” She hurriedly moved it all aside.

Simon set the tray down. With a flourish, he lifted the lid off the tray.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the dish. “Smoked salmon risotto? You’re the best, Simon!”

Simon raised his hands in what resembled a shrug, then gave her two thumbs up. He rubbed his hands together before gesturing at the food.

She dined with gusto, casting doubt on her statement that she wasn’t hungry. She noticed my attention and brushed her hair away from her face. “Is something wrong?” She voiced her concern. “An allergy?” “No, no.” I took a ginger bite. It was delicious. I turned to compliment Simon’s cooking, but he had disappeared. Seeing my content expression, she beamed. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” I nodded as the flavor lingered and faded, prompting another spoonful. She resumed her meal, and we shared in silent enjoyment of Simon’s food. The sound of utensils clinking against porcelain echoed above the crackling fire, and soon the meal was over. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin as Simon reappeared soundlessly, retrieving the tray. The tray disappeared along with one of his hands, but the other lingered, hovering in hesitation. Tapping her shoulder to get her attention, he pointed at me. Then he gave her a thumbs up before dissipating.

“Simon!” Her face reddened. “I’m sorry. Please pay no attention to what he just did.”

Her embarrassment seemed to be contagious, and I felt my face flush in turn. She stared into my eyes, and I saw myself reflected in hers. I was drawn towards her, unable to blink, unable to think. My breath stopped, and perhaps my heart did as well, but I still could not break away. After what seemed like an eternity, she blinked, and with that the trance snapped. She glanced away, her blush more pronounced. “I’m sorry.” She murmured.

“What was that?” I struggled to catch my breath.

She shook her head slowly, and her blush faded. She turned to face me, and though she did not seem much different, her eyes were slightly dulled.

“About that question I asked you on the train.” She tried to smile, but faltered. I nodded slowly, remembering what had brought me here.

“You still haven’t given me an answer, so if you accept…my room is the second on the right.” Recovering her poise, she smiled enchantingly. Her voice was tinged with expectation, but her expression betrayed none of it.

“If not, Simon will see you to the station in the morning.” She stood up and stretched, her uniform lifting slightly over her waist. She yawned, sauntering to a shadowed corridor. She hesitated before entering it. “I will be waiting.”

Part 2 of ? “An Enchanting Abode

As we neared the top of the trail, a stone cottage slowly came into view, tucked cozily amidst a meadow. A lone tree stood guard next to it, sheltering it from the elements. The roof was decorated with shingles of varying shades. Unkempt ivy crept along the cracks in the gray walls, rustling softly as the wind caressed its leaves. The porch stairs protested, creaking quietly as she stepped on them. She released my hand to reach for her necklace, resting loosely above her chest. A soft glow emanated from its gem as she unlocked the door with it. I was ushered into the dim room, her eagerness undaunted by my inability to see. The door swung shut soundlessly behind us. For a brief moment, her eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, like violet embers, burning with anticipation. Then the lights flicked on, blinding me for a split second. I blinked.

“Welcome to my home.”

Noticing my amazement, she smiled triumphantly.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“How…?”

“Like I said, magic.”

The interior of the cottage was impossibly vast. Endless corridors led off to numerous rooms and secret corners. A spiral of stairs bordered the atrium, swirling into the darkness above. A colossal clock took up almost the entire wall above the fireplace. It was lopsided, the position of the 3 replacing the 12. Its second hand ticked counterclockwise slowly. The atrium itself was sparsely furnished. Two sofas sat side by side, facing the fireplace. Sheets of paper were sprawled messily on a writing desk in front of one of them. A worn scarlet carpet adorned the wooden floor, the area neighboring the fireplace slightly blackened.

She took off her shoes and placed them next to the door, gesturing that I should do the same. She hung her jacket and her scarf on an empty rack. She held out a hand, gazing imploringly at me.

“Huh? Oh. Thanks.”

Realizing what she wanted, I handed my jacket to her, which promptly joined hers on the hanger.

“Do you live alone?”

“You could say that.” Answering coyly, she winked. “Oh, but not tonight.”

She strode over to the fireplace, picking up a matchbook from the mantel. She crouched in front of it, striking a match. Flames licked ravenously at the kindling as warmth began to spread across the room.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

She settled down on the sofa behind the writing desk, patting the seat cushion next to her. I sat down beside her, sinking into the couch. I closed my eyes, savoring the aromatic scent of burning wood. As I was about to drift into slumber, she nudged me.

“Hmm?”

She leaned towards me, staring at me attentively with her captivating eyes, made even more stunning by the flickering flames. Her lavender scent became overpowering. I felt the urge to steal a kiss from her lips.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Her question broke the spell.

“Well…I’m not really hungry.”

“Me neither. Simon?” She clapped twice.

A pair of white gloves materialized, hovering midair next to her. The left glove waved. I hesitated before waving back at it.

“Could you fix us something to eat? Something light will do. Oh, and make enough for two.”

It raised an index finger, then snapped its fingers. It gave her the OK signal.

“Thank you so much.” She beamed.

With another wave, it disappeared.

“What…who was that?”

“Simon? He’s a familiar of my mother and the protector of this house. He has given me a lot of care over these years, and for that I am eternally grateful.” Covering her mouth, she giggled. “Although, I’m sure he’s exasperated with me, always cleaning up after me and all.”

“Quite the troublemaker, were you?”

She shot me a wicked grin.

“Why the past tense?”

“Touché.”

Part 1 of ? “A World of White”

Fog billowed through the station, isolating it as if it were a world of its own. A muted whistle echoed as our train slowly pulled away behind us. For a brief moment, the world was null; all was one with the blankness. Eerie silence pervaded everything; everything save for my heart, pounding in my chest, reminding me of my own existence.
“Hey.”
That single word broke my trance. A girl gazed intently at me with her violet, almond-shaped eyes. A sky blue wool scarf shielded her mouth as she breathed white vapors into the air. She stretched lazily, the zipper of her unzipped black jacket tinkling softly. The top buttons of her white school uniform were undone, revealing her collarbone. Her skirt swayed slowly at her knees. She brushed a strand of dark, silky hair away from her lips.
“So…we’re here.”
“Is it always this foggy here?”
She nodded.
“We should go, before night falls.”
The fog swallowed all but her hand, held out invitingly towards me. I took it, her delicate hand warm in my own. She twirled gently, and the whiteness spun with her, revealing a faded yellow arrow on the cobblestone beneath us. The mist muted our footsteps as we followed its direction.
Soundlessly, she led me. Her fingers danced playfully in my grasp, edging towards my fingertips with every twist and turn. Just as I was about to lose my hold, she intertwined her fingers with mine. Her fingers settled, nestling between my knuckles. I glanced at her. She did not turn to look at me, but the tips of her ears were flushed.
Rough stairs, seemingly carved into the face of a mountain, emerged from the fog, beckoning us upwards. She took two at a time with ease, her firm grip urging me to keep up. The sharp staccato of her steps echoed along the stone stairs, defying the quietness of the mist. A light breeze swirled around us, the frigid air imparting how far we’ve ascended. She pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck.
“We’re almost there.”
She flashed a smile at me, apologetic and encouraging.
She slowed her pace to match mine. A hint of lavender wafted through the air as we strode side by side.
A forlorn gate loomed into view as the whiteness slowly gave way to darkness. The fog clung to us with its pale tendrils, pleading for us not to leave, only to dissipate as we stepped through the passageway. I glanced back. It pulsed against an invisible wall, daring not to cross the threshold alongside of us.
“What’s stopping the mist?”
Her eyes gleamed at my question.
“If I said magic, would you believe me?”
Before I could answer, she shifted her attention to something behind me. Her vivid eyes dulled ever so slightly.
“We should go.”
She squeezed my hand tightly and, reassured that I was still in her grasp, led me up a worn dirt path. I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to catch sight of whatever it was that had caused the change in her demeanor. The fog surged restlessly against the unseen boundary, as if it was searching for a crack in its defenses. I turned away, its odd sentience sending chills down my back.