Midnight Conversations - A collection of stories

Midnight Conversations #3: I burn for you

Year 1834

In a big, dark mansion...

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The dark portraits stared down at Omylia in the dark hallway. She hadn't paid them particular attention until now. It felt like the deceased people inside the frames stared down at her, judged her, despised her, or whispered to her about the secrets in the old mansion, about the man who was sitting in the common room just two doors down the hall.

She had practiced her manners all morning, what to say, how to act, what to do. She paced up and down the hall, in the moonlight, feeling a knot tie itself in her stomach. Her soft shoes and dress moving between her legs were the only sounds. She could do it tomorrow, or any other day. It wasn't that urgent, or bothering her all too much either. So she told herself.

She walked past the old grumpy lady with a grand headpiece for the seventh time, before she sank down on the floor. It was late, she shouldn't bother him. Or perhaps this was the perfect time, when the job and people didn't take his attention. He could spare some of his time, just this once.

Suddenly a door opened, spreading out warm light into the cold corridor. Omylia got quickly up from the floor, turning her head to see if she could hide somewhere. But the servant girl was already walking down the hall, so Omylia just turned and pretended to admire the portraits above her. Yes, how beautifully painted they were.

"Is Your Grace admiring the portraits at this hour?"

Omylia turned to the servant girl.

"Erm, yes, I am." She felt like she needed to explain herself further. "I was just strolling around and they caught... my liking."

"They are beautifully made, aren't they?" The servant girl said, while turning towards the portrait Omylia was standing in front of, which was a young man in clothes far too old fashioned. "Such a shame Your Grace had to admire them in the dark, they are far more eye-catching in the sunlight."

Omylia nodded. "I can imagine."

"Well, I shall not take your time anymore, His Grace is waiting for you in the common room."

Omylia thought she had heard wrong.

"I'm sorry?"

"His Grace asked for your presence. I almost thought you had read his mind when I found Your Grace just outside."

Omylia just smiled at the servant girl giggling.

"Shall I announce that you have arrived?"

Omylia felt her heart skip a beat. "No, it's quite alright, thank you."

"Shall I bring tea?"

All these questions made it spin in Omylia's head.

"Er... no thank you."

The servant girl disappeared down the hall and Omylia felt the sweat build up. Why did he want to speak with her? He rarely asked for her presence. Now she was asking the question if he could read her mind. She stood by the portraits, looking down at the door to the common room. The bubbles in her stomach became worse and she wanted to run away, hide in the dark. But now she couldn't. She shook her hands, trying to shake off the feeling. It was nothing, it was going to be fine. She wiped her hands off her shirt— or perhaps just straightened out the fabric, it could be both— as she approached the door. She moved a quick hand over her hair, placing her hands against her face, feeling the blush, before she took one last breath. What didn't kill her made her stronger. And it couldn't possibly kill her, so she opened the door.