Unikum 08 October nett

SHORT STORY
Illustration: Unikum // Sohpie Stubbe
As the twelfth chime echoes into the distant, devoured by the
emptiness and fog seemingly gathering around the outline of the
town, the giant door opens and grants her passage. Just as it closes
with finality behind her, it obstructs the sound of the thirteenth
strike, and she is spared a terrible fate.
What meets her, is a confirmation of her previous suspicions.
The entrance hall is filled with hundreds of burning candles, the
wax slowly dripping into the golden plates they reside on. What
had previously been dull and broken wooden panels plaguing
the flooring are now sparkling parquets, practically mirrors
in their shine and decorated with lavish and crimson-colored
carpets leading to two doors and a staircase. From the outside,
Azalea guessed approximately three floors, her initial visit neither
confirming nor denying her theory as the first-floor stairway was
broken upon her arrival. Yet now, it is fully intact, a gorgeous sight
as it leads to a stained-glass mural depicting a garden with a tree in
the middle, a mountain looming in its background. Azalea’s stare
follows the multitudes of luxuries and peculiar objects, oozing of
rich cultures from across the world, and some which she has never
seen the likes off.
her bag in the process.
“Excuse me, Miss Azalea?”
From a door underneath
the stairway, emerging
from a tiny door, a
stark contrast to
the being dwelling
within, a robust,
young man appears, a
butler’s outfit draping
him, the buttons on
his white shirt in
constant battle with
his chest, and a welltamed
jungle of brown
hair sprouting from
his head. His sudden
appearance causes
the ball of nervousness
planted within Azalea’s
gut to implode, sending a jolt of
shock through her system, dropping
“Ah, I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you! Here let me help you!”
he excuses as he rushes to the bag’s aid.
“No, I’m sorry, I was lost in my own trail of thought, you don’t have
t-”
“You’re our esteemed guest, the first in a while actually, of course
I will help you!”
Azalea studies Eric, studies his body, his movement, his features,
as he swiftly moves to aid her. In her mind, veiled in a thick fog,
something is trying to reveal itself, but is lost to the gray sea, sunken
into its depths, but its shine penetrating the transparent surface.
Had she met him before? In her quest for remembrance, she had
forgotten civility, blushing at her own discourteousness.
“Yes. To your prior question I mean. I am Azalea. You don’t need
the miss part though,” she smiles between blossoming cheeks.
“Perfect! As I’ve said, we’ve been expecting you, or well, Mister
Alighieri has been, the entire family actually, but me too of course!
So I went ahead and prepared-!”
“A dinner party. How many moons have passed since our last
visitor? Not even the grandest of banquets could celebrate this
tremendous occasion.”
Obscuring the stained-glass mural is an outline of an adult, clad
in darkness. But as he inches closer, the darkness is revealed to be
merely a black suit. He walks so elegantly and effortlessly down the
staircase, one would easily confuse walking with levitating, a black
cane adorned with an emerald snake coiling around it, its jaws
wide, ready to gnaw at the red marble residing comfortably at the
top. His face provides no features, all tucked away and concealed
by a black mask, yet what the chiffon fabric can’t shroud are two
piercing, lavender eyes, measuring up every ounce of Azalea.
“I hope to remedy the lack of courtesy our butler exudes, do excuse
his lack of manners, I partially blame his lack of experience in our
house. My name is Adam Alighieri, I am the head of the House
Alighieri. And our easily excitable help here is Eric, no last name
needed, he is merely a spectator to tonight’s grand spectacle,” Adam
explains softly. Despite never sounding monotone, no intonations
nor word stress convey a single emotion, only the intricate semantic
web communicating his intentions.
Eric himself blushes at his own indiscretion:
“Oh my gosh, so sorry, I did forget to say my name! I’m Eric, so nice
to meet you!”
He sticks out a hand, but before Azalea can even consider returning
the civility, Adam smacks Eric’s hand with his cane.
“Do not sully our guest’s hand. Need I remind you of your position
here? You are not to interfere, you are merely here out of necessity,
nothing else. This is my house, my home. You will play your part if
needed, if not, we’ll have a vacant position to be filled, won’t we?”
Azalea quells a surprised yelp, then a bobbling desire to comfort
Eric, red marks trailing the outline of the cane’s impact on his hand.
However, disrespecting her host upon their first interaction would
not bode well, especially one which may aid her in her (quest/
pursuits?). Manners taught through harsh fashion is not uncharted
waters to her, yet she hopes that it is a dying tendency, seeing the
OCTOBER 2022 UNIKUM NR 8 11