Chapter V

Beauty...Laughter...Darkness.

The sound of laughter mixed with dishes clashing was all over the village. Normal people in a normal town living a normal life was what every normal being would name such a scenery. But for him it was not the case, irritation and curiosity were the name his mind gave to it. Irritation for the same unknown source that made him fall for the violet shade again; curiosity for the laughter was melting the coldness of the winds as if it meant to serve such purpose in a mask made by happiness.

There was a round, oaken table covering the distance between the farthest shade, perceivable as a cottage and a sign post in front of the house that he was in before. “Do not tread here !!!” was written on it. A man, his face covered with hood, was passing by the house. At the sight of that post, he spat and went towards the table. The king followed him, for no reason. The man in the hood was hissing, so loud that he could hear it. He kept following.

All around the table was filled with wooden, old chairs and a hole was in the center which hosted a great blazing fire. The fire was red, beautiful, mighty and immoral. Immoral for being the lover of the coldness, for dancing in the arms of its opposite. The opposite which was unknown to be pretty or ugly, bad or good, for every bad is ugly and every pretty is good.

All the chairs were filled with men in the hood except for two empty. People were eating and drinking and laughing. They were talking loudly and making gestures in turns. The speech was hearable but in lost words. The king couldn’t make a meaning out of what he was hearing but it was a sweet and melodious speech that made him go closer and closer while following the man in the hood. He was going round the table in the direction of those two empty chairs.

As they were going closer, the melody of the speech was expressing some other feelings in his heart. A feeling of being lost, lost in a vast sea and desperately wanting to swim, not in order to find a ground but to see more, more water to get lost again. For being lost gave him worry and this worriment made him vigilant.

They reached the chairs and sat on them. He was listening to every tone coming out of the mouths, it was all in a low tone.

“He is here, He is here.” He heard it again but this time from a close distance, very close that made him look from face to face and soul to soul desperately just to see the same piece of cloth over all the heads.

“The man who kissed and cuddled death!”

The same low tone and shrieking voice, the source was right beside him, looking straight into his eyes. The eyes looking at him were each covering half of his upper face; nightmarish black and fixed at gaze. The same hood whom he followed.