Tʜᴇ Pᴀᴛʜ Tᴏ Hɪɢʜɢᴀᴛᴇs

Lᴀ Sᴏʟɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 14

A moment passed as you stood, feet glued to the wooden floorboards, neck craned to stare into the eyes of the Empire, his daunting figure rearing above you like the spire over O'Connell Street. You couldn't decide what was more important— to breathe or to keep an eye on him, as it was proving difficult to do both at the same time. His black uniform perfectly mashed with his dark-panelled chamber, which made you realise you were fully in his territory now, he knew every little detail of this room, while you only knew of two exits, one of which would be too far gone, the other locked.

With his claw-like fingers, the Empire placed his keys back in his pocket, before he turned his lumbering figure to stomp toward his wardrobe, which was a small sliding wooden door right of the bathroom. You breathed in deeply, then pushed it out shakily, his back was now to you, his violent presence much more docile to what would otherwise be an opposing threat. His figure disappeared into the elephantine doorway, leaving you standing in the lonely room, shrouded in darkness.

Your eyes darted around his chamber, first to the door you came in from; its massively oversized body hefty and elongated, too burdensome to open, even if it were unlocked. Then to the bookshelves and drawers, between neatly arranged cloth-bound covers and empty vases lay letters and mixed papers, as though German Empire had been revisiting something, though never seemed to get the chance to finalise them. A gas lamp sat atop the desk, its pale yellow glow being the only light source engulfing the room. Your eyes then moved past the two doors; bathroom and wardrobe, as they were both the same enlarged doors as the front one. Though between them laid a chair, a luxurious loveseat crafted of gold and red velvet. A small round coffee table sat beside it, a half-finished bottle of whiskey, a book, an antique telephone and an ashtray sat atop it, awaiting for the scene to be bursting with life again.

Then to your right, was the window, its egresses stood open, allowing a deeply chilling breeze to billow through the room's walls, freezing you to your own body. Beside you sat a king-sized bed, which took up more than half the room's surface, making you feel dwarfed in comparison to the towering bed poles and white fabric curtains enveloping the mattress itself. You could barely see over the top of the mattress as the frame came nearly up to your chest.

You felt tiny, like Alice in Wonderland, only you didn't need opium to feel as though the world was as discombobulating as a a drug trip, it was all hand-fed to you by reality. You heard shuffling, and as you glanced up at the wardrobe door again, the monarch emerged, a white shirt in hand.

You eye it suspiciously, your mind racing between every reason as to why he would have that. Perhaps to strangle you? Or gag you so you couldn't scream while he allowed himself to do as he pleased. It was moments like these when you really wished you had no freedom of thought. "Vy zo blue Schatz?" The gruff Germanic voice boomed from in front of you, "Zeres nozing to be afraid of."

Your eyes snapped up, watching the Empire's painted eyes with a deepened worry. "There's plenty to be afraid of when it comes to you." You say with a frown deepening by the second. The Empire held his head higher, holding out the white button-up shirt to you. "Zere is nein zuch zing (𝚈/𝙽). Have I not been courteous before zis point?" He inquired with his head tilted, beckoning for you to take the shirt from him, "Und even ven I vasn't I apologised for mein behaviour. I only locked zee door to azure myzelf vu vouldn't run, es ist mein duty to keep ein eye on vu remember?" The Empire continued as you took the item of clothing from his hands, and held it up in your own. It might as well have been a dress as it would dip down to your knees and expose your shoulders due to its tailored size. You eyed the country suspiciously.

"Am I supposed to wear this?" You asked, wishing you wouldn't have to, even his shirts reeked of alcohol and cologne, which seemed to be the smell he admitted everywhere he went. The monarch turned away, his hefty body gracefully marched across the room, then took a seat on the velvet chair. "Vell of courze vu do. Vu're not planning to sleep in your clozes now are vu?" He asked as he picked up the whisky bottle and spun it around in his fingers, causing all the liquid to slosh about as he played with it. "Well no," you shrug, your eyes meeting the ground, "uh thanks? I'm gonna go to the bathroom." You began to walk toward the door, the empty atmosphere reverberating your shoes around the tensity. But the Empire sat up straighter, slamming the bottle down causing a loud boom, making you jump. "Do it zere," he said casually as though he were speaking of the weather, "I von't bother vu." But he could see that he gave you no comfort in his words, only a deeper suspicion and unrest, so he reiterated. "Zink of it more like ein strip zearch, zo I can azure myzelf zat vu aren't carrying anyzing of ein violent nature." He leaned his heavy body back in the chair, his legs wide open and hands folded neatly atop his lap, his shrivelled dead eyes staring you down with a deep intensity. "Isn't zat fair Schatz?"