The Horror of Castle Bleck
Chapter Three
A knock. Simple, staccato, but rough, piercing, an acknowledgement of good news, bad news, friends, foes, lovers, family, destiny.
Not many realize all that goes into a knock. And what goes with the answer.
Answering knock can alter fate, ignoring it can alter one's fate as well.
However, can one really alter their fate?
Blumiere made a decision that morning, a decision that he believed would change his fate.
He chose not to answer the door.
Blythe did.
Laying an aged hand on the door, the old woman slowly separated the closure between Castle Bleck and the outside world. The dark elements of the approaching storm poured into the house with a violent gale of wind, but the figure waiting for acceptance into the magnificent halls was unfazed by the gust.
It was a woman. A beautiful woman at that. Clad in a soft pink dress the bounded over her lithe figure and pleasant curves. Framing her body elegantly, the powdery shade of pink made the woman stand out amongst the dismal backdrop like a naysayer in the holy ground. Her delicate hands were gloved and her tiny face beamed with beauty. Her golden curls lightly draped over her sloping shoulders. She was the apex of beauty, the pinnacle of glamour and the epitome of a woman.
Blythe invited her in.
"Thank You," were the first words to escape the woman's pursed mouth. The words rolled off of her tongue like honey. Sweet and benign the woman could have been taken for a priestess. She shook her luscious curls and they embraced the edges of her face.
Blythe ventured for her name.
"Lisette." The woman replied.
The name struck Blumiere like gunfire. He drew a chilly breath and his heart seemed to slow. That name, that name and how it pierced his soul! Blumiere almost fell off the grand staircase but caught himself on the rail.
"Lisette," he called out.
The woman turned to him.
"Blumiere."
General White's small legs moved like the wind as he raced for the train station.
"What am I doing?" he thought to himself.
A malevolent storm was brewing, and the General hurried his already alacritous pace. Coming to a stop at the train station he doubled over for breath, finding no relief. He wanted to sit, but remained upright as he saw a figure approach.
"Who...are…you?" White breathed.
The figure was short, hidden in a cloak the color of shadow. Almost invisible against the midnight sky, the figure came so close to White he could have touched it. The figure lifted a gloved hand to their hood and dropped the cloak.
"Nastasia…" The old bob-omb gasped.
Blumiere came down the steps, each footfall a step towards his purgatory, towards his paradise, towards his demise, towards his rebirth. Lisette strode forward, her clean shaven legs extending from underneath her blush dress. The two met.
"I…I…" Blumiere was speechless.
"Speak not, I have come, and that is all that matters, I trust you have kept it safe," Lisette said.
Blumiere extended a hand, and she took it.
"Of course, would like to see it?"
"No, not now, the time isn't right," she cut herself off, "Oh Blumiere! You don't know how it's been! Father has fallen ill, and you know mother…she hasn't been quite right for a while. I've sent letters but I can never reach you here, but I've come."
"You have...indeed," Blumiere responded.
Blythe's speech seemed to shatter the moment that the man and woman were having,
"Some tea?" she probed.
Blumiere pulled himself out of the encounter and phased back into reality.
"Tea would do fine Blythe, and rouse Merloon, he need not to slumber through Madam Lisette's arrival. And scratch the tea, bring out the Westershroom, a drink is in order." Blumiere commanded.
As Blythe took her absence to deal with the chores her master had requested of, Blumiere took Lisette by the hand once more. Tenderness developed inside of the wretched misanthrope's heart. The same tenderness kindled in Lisette.
However one thought kept dissolving the recluse's thoughts of warmth and glee.
Tippi.
