C H A P T E R : i don't like the countryside

*Following Morning

Plane rides have always been utterly gruesome for me. Being confined in an escort with about fifty people alongside you— not to mention sitting on filthy seats— for about four hours is tiring and uncomfortable. Even as a first class passenger, I'd much prefer to travel solo in my own vehicle.

As I watch the sun glare down its heavenly light outside my window, I remember Capinelli's face before my leaving. Her saddened expression paints an image in my mind, one leaving me to wallow in guilt and shame. But her memory also draws out another recollection: the absence of my mother and father before my departure. They'd promised me this morning that they would come, that after sending me away to avoid shame to the family name, they, at the very least, would say goodbye to me.

But they never came.

And I never bothered to give them a call to ask why.

After hours of feeling squeamish, and half an hour through customs and baggage claim, I finally step foot out of Albernacy's small and almost-empty airport to the dry, musty air of the countryside. Its very essence makes my skin crawl, and I have the sudden urge to throw a fit about it like a stupid toddler. But I'm a grown woman; I can't do that, especially in public.

But I really want to.

Unlike my hometown's airport whose outside is filled with honking cars, bustling people, and huge skyscrapers that stand tall in the sky, the outside of Albernacy Airport exhibits nothing more than two car lanes, which stands completely empty, and a huge patch of barren land that stretches far beyond from what I could see.

I could already sense how much boredom will entertain me everyday. Without the hustle and bustle of the city life, there's nothing for me to do here but listen to roosters crow in the morning and sing "Old McDonald" for the rest of the day. It doesn't help that my preset, pessimistic mind worsens my already crappy mood, but I really do my best to try to look at the brighter side of this.

Like Capinelli said, I should take this opportunity to accept my fiancé's betrayal and move on. But I honestly wish I was doing it in the Bahamas rather than freaking Albernacy.

"Miss Mielle Vinnaie?" I hear someone call, and I immediately find a young, handsome, and burly man approach me in a dark suit. Black shades shield his eyes, and his rich, black hair is slicked back like an agent from Men in Black. He holds a paper in his hand with my name on it. "Are you Margaret Moriselle's daughter?"

"Yes, that's my Mom," I respond, glancing past his shoulder to find a nice car.

I forgot that Grandpappy's loaded. It's been awhile since I visited.

"Milord's requested that I escort you to the mansion," he says formally, opening the car's door.

"Milord?" I ask, handing him my luggage and approaching the vehicle. "Grandpappy asked you to call him that?"

"Milord is rather eccentric," the man responds, loading my luggages and duffel bag into the trunk. I enter the car and close the door, waiting for him to enter in as well. "He is unlike most men in this town."

I observe the man beside me. "And has he also ordered you to talk in a strange way, too?" I ask, finding his formal and eloquent speech to contradict his appearance.

"No, I've always spoken in this way," the man answers, turning the engine on to drive. "Although he may have some ridiculous requests, Milord will never order me to do something that is not of my own will."

I cringe at the way he speaks. He's not much older than me; in fact, he might be one or two years younger. But the way he talks is like something of a poorly written novel about the nineteenth century, one where the author knows nothing of the kind of speech that was used within that time.

Taking this moment of silence to turn my head to look at the window, I find the airport disappear from my view just like the busy and fulfilling life I once knew. I notice how vast and open the barren fields that surround this single lane we drive on are, and I wonder what kind of activities the natives around here do for their spare time.

Besides yodeling and farming, that is.

Then, after minutes of disinterested stares, for some strange reason, I suddenly find the open, empty land that now transforms into fields of corn to be quite relaxing. Maybe this is what the natives do during their free time. They relax.

Something I was never able to do back in Sarsilia.

"So, are you like Grandpappy's bodyguard or something?" I ask the man next to me, creating conversation. His face remains still and stoic as his shades lay fixated on the road before him.

"I am his butler and right-hand man," the man answers. "I beg your pardon for not introducing myself earlier. But my name is Isakiel Gaushaun. Please feel free to call me Isak."

I nod. "And I'm Mielle, as you know. So, Grandpappy must be pretty loaded to even have a personal butler like you, right?"

"He is a wealthy man, yes."

"And what does he do for a living?" I ask, gesturing out the window. "I can't imagine some country farmer making enough money to afford a mansion and a butler."

Isak attempts at a chuckle, although he does it rather poorly. "Milord is not a farmer, Miss Vinnaie—"

"Mie," I interject. Our eyes meet. "Just Mie, please."

"Of course, Mie," he immediately corrects. "Anyways, Milord does own multiple farms in this town, but he has never actually worked in one. He is a renowned author in this side of the country with multiple best selling novels. That is where majority of his wealth comes from. I am surprised you were not aware."

Well, least to say, my mother doesn't have a good relationship with him. Hence, all contact between him and I is limited, close to being nonexistent even.

I shrug. "The last time I met the old man was when I was very young," I say. "My mother never really mentions anything about him, so I don't know much."

"I see," Isak comments, turning right on the road. Soon the fields of corn disappear behind us and a small village appears in the distance. "You mustn't worry, though. Milord is a kind and fun man. You will enjoy his company tremendously."

"Well, I hope so," I say.

Because I doubt I will be enjoying anything else.

The red rooftops of the village become clear in our view as we approach the sign of it. Its wooden letters read "Epsersein," underneath it having a population count of three hundred. It's not surprising that we arrive in a small town in the middle of "yee-haw" country. I'm assuming it's a close-knit community. And I'm assuming that anything shiny and new will attract village gossip.

So, a city-girl like me should avoid attracting any attention then.

The car Isak drives stops abruptly, and he unbuckles his belt and unlocks the car. I knit my brows.

"Um, what are you doing?" I ask, confusion driving my voice yet my hands follow along with his actions. "Are we not driving into town?" I hear him open the trunk as I exit out the car.

"No, Mie," he replies, heaving out my luggages to set on the dusty, brown ground. "The village of Epsersein does not allow foreign vehicles within the village, so unfortunately, we must walk through its streets. It's a very conservative and anti-technology community, so you must bear with me if you don't mind."

I glance at the entrance of the town, its only defense against foreigners and the outside world being a red, rusted iron gate that stretches for about fifty yards and wraps around the village's perimeters. A small watch tower made of grey and white stones hovers just above the entrance gate, and a man loaded with rifles and masked with a scarf stares down at us.

I grab my duffel bag as Isak carries my other baggage.

"Who's that?" I whisper to him, cautiously aiming my index finger to the man's glares above.

"That is the Watchman," Isak responds. He nods his head at the Watchman who, in response, clicks a button from within his tower that opens the gates. "He is the one that patrols who comes in and who comes out of Epsersein."

"What is this? Some kind of government facility?" I joke, although I display no laughter in my tone. My eyes remain fixated at the Watchman who keeps his gaze on me, even as we've entered past the iron gates. "Why would a tiny, countryside village need a loaded Watchman to guard them?"

"Epsersein isn't an ordinary village," Isak says. I notice his jaw tighten. "Like I've mentioned before, Mie, it's a conservative community. The townsfolk aren't very hospitable towards foreigners."

Not very hospitable, huh.

Just from the Watchman's glares, I can already feel the village's vibes.

And they're not a very good one.