TORMENTED FOOL 6: FAUNEL, STAR-CLOUD
'ARAGORN!'
Legolas snapped upright on the bed, his breath hard, as though strong fingers had just released his throat from a vile and malicious grip. At first, as quivering fingers flew up and clasped the Mithril ring at his neck, he could see nothing around him but darkness and despair; he wanted to weep, but bit his lip hard, forcing himself against it. When the blackness of the wide room finally paled into a dark grey with the acclimatization of his eyes, he could see two others in the bedchamber, sitting erect upon great chairs; it was then that he remembered where he was, and angrily drove the visions out from beneath his eyes.
'Legolas! What is wrong?' Elrohir sprang to his feet, and beside him Elladan followed, coming to the Elf's bedside.
The Prince had been surprised that the two Imladris Elves had come to his chamber in the night to watch over him before he slept, but was even more surprised to find that they had remained where they were even after he had been overtaken by slumber; and even as he thought this, Elrohir stroked the golden head with a gentle and caring hand. Sighing in humiliation, he slid back into the covers and lay down, his utterance as soft as the dark blanket of the night sky.
'Nothing,' the withdrawn Elf whispered. 'Only… a bad dream.'
...
Another week had passed since the second time Aragorn had touched the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, but no one had known of it nor of the third time, which had been so much worse that Legolas himself had preferred to wipe the matter out of mind. But now, at least Faramir knew what was happening; Frodo and Sam had told him the whole story, beginning from the despondency and gloom that had begun after the One Ring was thrown into the fires of Orodruin. Poor Legolas… he mused upon the terrible events, especially the lechery and intoxication of the King, and sighed upon the white stair, leaning back against a column.
But when he turned his face to the sky, to indulge in the cool air that breathed before the tower, he heard a clear voice ringing out: 'Greetings, Man of Minas Tirith! Enjoying the calm air, are we? Well, 'tis a compliment to be said of Gondor – the weather has ever been pleasant, or so I'd heard in the barren place from which I came. Has the King many matters at hand? Or would it be possible for me to speak to him?'
Faramir lowered his head once again, and was astounded to see that the figure standing before him was a desirably beautiful dark-haired Elf; his long hair, shimmering in the sunlight, was not braided as the Human had often seen of other Elves such as Legolas and Elrohir, because of the long and rough journey that was plain the Elf had embarked upon. He smiled at Faramir, a smile that was enchanting in a way that felt strange to him, warm and cool at the one time. The Human Prince narrowed his eyes and ran them along the slender body of the stranger, whom he now recognized.
'I have seen you,' he said suddenly. 'For many days, I have seen you traveling to Gondor from the South, as a black speckle on the grey stones in the distance.'
'Aye, that was me,' the Elf laughed. 'I have journeyed far from the South, and would very much like to stay in Minas Tirith for a while, to rest from my long expedition; my provisions are depleted, and I do not think I will be able to stir my weary feet any longer. Will you not let me speak to your King? It may be discourteous for me to stay at his tower without being granted permission beforehand.'
Faramir nodded, and graciously offered to carry the Elf's gear whilst he beckoned to the door in one swift motion. 'I am not sure if the King is occupied at this moment in time, but if I ask him in your courtesy, then mayhap he will be quick to give you permission. For to my knowledge, he has many Elf-friends, and would therefore have no objections to your stay; aside from that, I know he will listen to me – for I am one of his friends, Captain Faramir of Gondor who is now Lord Faramir of Ithilien. But what may your name be?'
'Faunel,' he answered, obediently following the Human into the White Tower. 'In my tongue, it means Star-Cloud.'
'Oh?' the Prince spun his head as he walked, and looked into the face of the stranger behind him. 'I do not understand why a babe would have been endowed such a name as Star-Cloud, and yet I perceive that it has some sort of beauty to it. But tell me, Master Elf-Cloud. I saw you walking towards Minas Tirith on the rocky plains South of Gondor, but is it true that you were not alone? I saw that you approached with another figure… a figure with a golden head.'
Faunel stiffened, and bowed his head in haste.
'No,' he swallowed. 'No, there was no other. I journeyed to Minas Tirith alone.'
Faramir looked at the nervous Elf, shrugged, and turned his head forward once more. 'Ai, then I must have been mistaken. It was, after all, perhaps three days since I saw your distant figure last.'
Faunel nodded with a faint smile but did not raise his head, and continued to follow the Human across pale floors, up many flights of stairs, along many halls of stone. Slowly, he pursued Faramir's feet; caught between weariness and thought, he did not truly give heed to his surroundings, as hunger also stirred inside of him and his limbs ached. However, he lifted his head slowly as he heard Faramir speaking, having been interrupted from his musing; and the sight that came before him was a sight that would change the course of his fate for the rest of eternity.
A fair Elf with golden hair, more beautiful than he, stood speaking with Faramir. Faunel did not know what awakened within him at that moment; to see the Elf's radiant complexion and deep, blue eyes, deeper than the swirled abyss of the oceans, he could hardly bring himself to replace the imprinted image in his mind. At once interest and curiosity came over him and he wondered who this Eldar was, so graceful with unmatched poise, so exquisite… he wanted to know the name at once, guessed at beautiful names, Laureloth, Alatarien, Lórindol. For they all matched the figure with the flaxen hair, described its streaming perfection, revered his loveliness and grace.
'Legolas, have you seen Aragorn?' Faramir's voice broke his thoughts unexpectedly, surprising him. 'I have an Elf here, he tells me that his name is Faunel; he wishes to see the King to seek permission for temporary accommodation.'
Legolas? Is that not the name of the Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great?
'No, I am sorry,' Legolas answered, and it was suddenly clear to Faunel that there was a tinge of sadness upon his face, a hint of a shadow that depressed joy and light, as though he were riddled with darkness and trouble. 'I have not spoken to Estel in two days – perhaps he is in his office, as there must be a lot of paperwork that he is to complete. But this is strange, seeing one of my kindred astray in Gondor. Are you a friend of King Elessar? I know that he has been to many Elf-countries, and has many friends of the Eldar.'
Faunel shook his head. 'Nay, I have not yet met the King. Even when the War had ended, I know that many of my folk traveled here to see him, but I did not.'
'I see,' the Elf-Prince nodded, and politely reached out an elegant hand. 'I am from Eryn Lasgalen, which before the War ended was known as Mirkwood. But there are many of our kin in the apartment in which the King has temporarily given permission to me to stay; Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien have come to stay with Lord Aragorn for some time, and Lord Elrond with his twin sons and his daughter, who is now wedded to the King, are also in Minas Tirith as we speak.'
'Truly? Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel are both here?' Faunel attempted a smile, although his voice quivered slightly with an unknown emotion as he spoke the names. 'And what about your kingdom, Master Legolas? Are you the only one from Eryn Lasgalen?'
'Aye,' Legolas answered. 'But King Thranduil my father will be coming in two weeks, perhaps.'
King Thranduil! So he is the Mirkwood Prince!
'You did not tell me this,' Faramir hissed, leaning towards Legolas sternly. But the golden-haired Elf only shook his head, calmly looking at the Human as he spoke in a soft whisper.
'Do not worry, my friend. He will not know of what has happened to Aragorn and I. At this moment, I am actually quite weary of that Man – I do not really wish to see him, even though I am to work by his side at all times.'
'But what if he does end up knowing? If Lord Celeborn or one of the Halflings were to utter a word… what! Why do you not wish to see him? What has happened?'
'Nothing,' Legolas sighed, and raising his voice once again he pointed up another flight of stairs. 'Go up to his office, Faramir, and see if he is there. If Faunel is seeking accommodation, then I would recommend that he swore his service to Lord Elessar as one who works for him whilst he is here, even if temporarily; for perhaps it would soften the heart of the King, and calm his currently wavering disposition.'
Before either Faunel or Faramir could ask, the Prince had already strode away, leaving both behind thoroughly bewildered as they listened to the delicate patter of his light Elven feet.
...
Was it not you who began this, who forced yourself upon me?
Forget it, then. I am a fool to have tried…
Legolas sighed again as he walked down the large hall, his mind filled with bleak memory. He seemed to now discern the tracks that his bad luck were leaving behind; all of them, especially the thrice that he had been with Aragorn, were out of a search for pleasure, and then became so twisted somehow that it became unrecognizable from the intended outcome. And common to these three times, he realized suddenly that he was to be blamed for everything that had occurred; it was not that anyone blamed him, no, not even Aragorn blamed him. But he knew himself, as it hung inside his mind like the black clouds in a snowstorm, that there was always something he should not have done, and many things he did not do that he should have.
And, for what seemed like the thousandth time, the melancholy memory returned, haunted and grasped him in the bony grip of its skeletal hand, and would not let go. Legolas cringed as he thought of that night two days ago, when Aragorn had once again come to him in the night and ordinary conversation turned to a longing for closeness and comfort. And, like the first two times, it had ended in either his own grief or someone else's… on the wedding night, he and Arwen had fallen into a misery like the dark depths of a well; the second time, he had fallen into it himself when he chose his temptation over his morals. And the third, he had brought Aragorn with him; something he had never intended, something that he would have given anything to reverse…
(Flashback)
'NO! STOP!'
Legolas pushed Aragorn away from him, with a strength that he did not know from whence it had come; and though it was not powerful enough to push him too far away, it had enough force to startle the unwary King. Breathing hard, the Elf clenched his fist and restrained himself from crying out in pleasure and anger and grief; the bright glint of the Mithril ring at his throat flickered at Aragorn, as though in deadly warning. The Man, absolutely shocked, inched closer, but Legolas only drew back, his face distorted into an expression of pain and longing and suffering.
'Legolas… what is the matter?'
'No, do not touch me,' he panted, his voice trembling. 'Go. Leave. You should not be here, Estel. Please, do not return.'
'Legolas?' Aragorn asked, squinting his eyes as he moved further away from Legolas and knelt upon the bed, staring into the frightened blue eyes that had darkened with yearning. 'Why do you say this?'
'You know why,' the Elf replied in a broken tone, his hand crawling up slowly to clutch at the ring. 'Do not pretend, Aragorn. Do not build a wall for yourself so that your eyes cannot see what lies on the other side. You are wedded to Arwen, Estel; you have been her lover for many long years. Do you honestly think that after two nights with me, when you were intoxicated and could not have known what you were doing, that I can be a convenience for you to bed whilst your wife is weeping in her chambers awaiting your return!'
Aragorn was horrified at this statement.
'I am sorry,' he said, backing further away slightly. 'Oh, Eru. Once again I have allowed my emotions to overrule my judgement.'
'Please. Go,' Legolas answered plainly.
Aragorn flinched slightly. He felt like cursing himself, for having ruined his chance of regaining Legolas' approval. The morning after the wedding night, he had told himself that he were to reform their bond of friendship… and he loathed himself for falling into lust every single time he encountered the Elf. The Man sighed.
'No matter what we have endured or will confront,' the King said slowly, 'you are still, and perpetually, my best friend.'
'Friends do not sleep with friends, Estel.'
Aragorn began to lose his patience. 'Listen—'
'—No, Aragorn; you love her. You have loved her from the moment you saw her, you have shared embraces and moonlit kisses with her that I do not even know of, and I will not have you sleep with me whilst your affections are with another; you grieve to see your bond with her crumble, and I grieve to know that I am the one who shattered it. I am no temporary hollow on which you may conveniently vent your lust until your true lover has forgiven you, Estel. You do not love me, and have never belonged to me; just leave!'
At this point, Aragorn's face darkened with an emotion that Legolas could not truly distinguish; it was as though the flickering shadow of some ghost had abruptly been thrown over the Man's head like a thin blanket of rippling dark water, red wavelets shivering from dancing candlelight. Then, he spoke; the voice was equally dark with an indiscernible passion, filled with erupting irritation, and at the same time silent sensations of a dusky appetite.
'You do not trust me,' he stated suspiciously.
Legolas inhaled, tightening his grasp on cold Mithril. 'I wish to; but I cannot. Go back to your Evenstar, mellon nîn. Perhaps it is not too late. Your heart has ever only belonged to her.'
Suddenly, the Man rose from the bed, and picked up his wrinkled breeches that had been sprawled over the floor beside where the two had lain. And, completely unforeseen to Legolas, he reached into the leather belt and pulled out a silver dagger; he held it lightly and with skill, the menacing tip outshining the previous challenge of the Mithril ring. Aragorn held the delicate weapon with both hands, one fingering the elegant new blade, and swiftly turned his eyes to the Elf who lay on the bed.
'For a time, I will bear your mark,' he said, repeating the Elf's words. Legolas stared at him in horror, not knowing what plan lay behind the shadowy dark eyes.
'…Aragorn…?'
(End Flashback)
...
'Come in.'
The large door creaked open, a shrill sound of piercing sharpness that reminded Aragorn of cold Ringwraiths. As he shuddered at the notion, a gust of cold air and the smell of youthful leaves filled the room; the clean scent drowned the pungent smell of bitter smoke that wafted from the single candle on the wooden desk, standing as proudly as an ancient tree that sires a forest of young wood. Aragorn lay his quill down gently upon the table, its fine hairs rustling in the sudden breeze, and turned his head around just in time to see the warm face of Faramir appearing in the doorway.
'Ah, beloved Prince of Ithilien,' Aragorn smiled, hardly noticing the lean figure that stood behind him. 'I am quite absorbed in paperwork at this moment, but I have been trapped in this room for two days straight without breath, so after much writing I do desire someone's company. Tell me, what is it that brings you here? You have very rarely come to my office.'
'I come on behalf of this Elf,' Faramir answered, beckoning Faunel to walk forward and present himself before the King. The Elf did so, bowing in respect. 'His name is Faunel, and has been traveling from the barren wastelands of the South for many days; he is weary, wishes to replenish his supplies, and seeks accommodation in Minas Tirith.'
'For how long?' the King inquired. Faunel raised his head, and Aragorn saw beautiful eyes, but somehow different in quality to the eyes of Legolas and Undómiel.
'Until I can regain my strength,' he stated.
Yes. Until I can regain it…
Aragorn nodded. 'Very well, Faramir, he may take an empty guard-house in one of the lower circles—'
'—Would it be possible for me to take one of the houses in the second to topmost circle?'
'Yes, that will be fine and, Faramir, I will put you in charge of him as your guest. He wants to bathe, no doubt, so bring him some fresh clothes and make sure he is dressed before luncheon; tell your cooks to produce for three henceforth, so that he may dine with you and Éowyn. But how, Master Faunel, will I be able to record your presence in this city? I do not truly wish for the understandable needs of one Elf to bring a swarm of others who desire uncontrolled accommodation in Minas Tirith.'
Faunel remembered Legolas' words, and slid down on one knee, lowering his head. 'Then I shall pledge to you my service, King of Gondor, to work beneath your command until my strength is fully restored.'
The King smiled, and gestured for the Elf to stand. 'Very well, I accept your service. You shall take your oath after luncheon, after the madness of all this paperwork is finished, so that I may attend it. In the meantime, cleanse yourself and meet those who dwell in Minas Tirith! There are even some of your kindred here, for many came to witness my marriage to my Elven wife Arwen Undómiel; they are in a white house in the sixth circle, where you will also find your house, if you wish to gather with them.'
'I have heard; I have met one of them, already,' Faunel explained, a grin upon his face. 'Legolas, Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. He has told me of Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond and the other Elves of Lothlórien and Imladris. He also mentioned something very interesting; he sounds as though he is reasonably annoyed with you, Lord Aragorn.'
Faramir tensed, shocked at the boldness of the Elf who did not understand what was happening; but Aragorn only sighed, and shrugged.
'Oh, we had a minor argument. I know however that he is my dearest friend, closest to me of all who resides in Middle-Earth, and such a conflict will not lead to anything devastating. But let us leave the matter; it is of much more importance that you are ready before luncheon, so that you may make yourself presentable.'
'Thank you, my Lord,' Faunel bowed and, led by Faramir, promptly left the chambers as suddenly as he had come.
For some reason, there was something about the dark-haired Elf that Aragorn did not like. He was undeniably beautiful, with a fair face to challenge that of Elrohir and Elladan; but the air around him was full of something mysterious to Aragorn, mischief perhaps, some sort of friskiness that was displayed clearly in the way he had outwardly told the King of Legolas' behavior regarding him. It felt… somewhat dangerous.
But secretly, it was also because he had made into a jest something which had deeply scarred him; like spiked twigs and sharp thorns pricking at his mind, the bitter memory returned, bled the painful reminiscence as it had done so for the past two days. And unknown to him, in another part of the White Tower, Legolas stopped in the middle of the hallway in which he was walking and pressed his hand to the stone wall for support; he was envisioning the same thing as Aragorn at that same moment, a memory so strong that it made him stagger…
(Flashback)
'…Aragorn…?'
Legolas lay in the bed terrified, and could not lift his gaze from the sparkling blade of the dagger that lay in the Man's hand. A song seemed to come from it, a song that he heard before from the icy Mithril of the ring that hung at his throat… both the dagger and the ring seemed to share something now, seemed to emanate a sense of unity, fitted together like bird and sky, or land and light; it frightened him. Aragorn passed it into his right hand now; the fingers of his left hand roughly pulled back flesh upon his own bare chest and held the glistening skin taut.
To Legolas' absolute horror, looking down with humility at his fingertips, Aragorn raised the dreaded blade.
'ARAGORN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!'
But the Man hardly heeded the words, as he pressed the sharp dagger to his heart. Legolas released a strangled cry and had just risen from the bed to stop him, when he realized from the way Aragorn was holding the blade that he had no intention of taking his own life; it was pressed level against his tight flesh, instead of the point touching the skin – which told the Elf that the Man was carving something into his chest, as a grey stone strikes a slab in a Dwarven coffin. But even so Legolas heard him wince, and the pain the King seemed to endure made him desperately wish to take the dagger away; but before he could even muster the courage to move, the dagger fell and clattered with dark silvery music upon the grey floor, drops of blood tainting the rigid plate of white gold.
And then, stillness, silence.
However, even then, after Aragorn had finished, Legolas' great alarm had taken him in a grip of cold sweat and rushed heartbeat, so that the secret ropes that held his body together had tightened its arms and would not allow him to move. But neither did Aragorn move, who only looked at his new wound calmly, a tiny stream of red trickling from an smothered scar. Watching in a thorough daze of shock, it took Legolas a moment longer before his senses were restored and his frozen body could move towards the Man.
'Estel… Estel…' he said softly, lifting his blouse from the ground and immediately cleaning the bloodstained flesh with utmost tenderness. He did not know what had just happened, could not perceive what had provoked all this madness. Aragorn sighed, and noticed that Legolas could not say aught else; only his name escaped the quivering lips, that paled in dying candlelight. The King only stroked the soft hand of the Elf that was tending to him, caressed it with consolation, reassuring through touch that no harm had been done.
When Legolas was finished, he drew back. Staring intently at the wound, mouth partly open in sharp awareness, he realized suddenly what Aragorn had done; there was no fuss that was worth making over what had just occurred. On the flesh, on the bare patch of skin on the taut chest, Aragorn had carved a rough circle, composed of many straight strokes; it still bled slightly, and was slightly larger than the size of the Mithril ring, but Legolas knew that it was in the same place where the faded burn had once flared.
Legolas opened his mouth wider, stammered, and did not end up speaking.
Aragorn nodded slowly, and bowed his head. 'You are my best friend. If I cannot have you, then at least I shall remember you. Henceforth it will always be here.'
He pointed to the wound as he said this.
But knowing that it would not pierce the Elf's mind, he gently lifted his garments from the floor and began to dress; the Prince calmly watched, his heart filled with so many burning emotions that he could not discern one from another. As though from some secret sensation of dissuasion, he brought to his body his own shirt that he had used to wipe away the small wound of the Man, and cautiously covered himself. When Aragorn had finished, he turned to the Elven Prince and bowed; Legolas did not know what the gesture was for, but he did not need to ask, for the Man immediately spoke.
'I apologize if I had engraved upon your mind the wrong impression,' he uttered blankly. 'But unless that was all it meant to you, I would not understand how you could see any of our encounters as carnality.'
Legolas sighed.
'I do not know what you are implying it means to you,' the Elf answered, 'but it is not love. You really are confusing me, Estel. You wish to regain my attention, but claim it is not lechery. Then it could be nothing but love, and I know you do not love me.'
Aragorn wished he could protest against such a comment; but even as he opened his mouth, no words came forth.
'You have not spoken to your wife yet of all which has happened; the only reason she knows is because she had accidentally stumbled into the bedchamber whilst you were drunken and I myself had been filled with longing.'
'Legolas… I have not yet spoken to her,' Aragorn confessed hesitantly, 'but I have planned to gather these matters together, and have counsel with her eventually. I have just been too busy these past few days to do so.'
'But when, Estel? When? Because I know how much you love her, how much you reminisced being with her when you were separated during the War, I cannot see these circumstances as any less than your usage of me as a child's doll to be bedded when your flesh desires it, and your usage of Arwen as a beautiful woman to be by your side in your great kingship. How can you prove me otherwise? There is nothing you can say that will defend your actions, Estel.'
This angered the King, and he spoke louder, his voice tumultuous in the echoing vastness of the bedchamber; though it frightened the Elf slightly to think that he had raised the wrath of the one jewel that sparkled most in his heart, he tried not to show any sign that he was being swayed, and remained standing boldly where he had been.
'You still do not trust me, even after all this. And how could you, as my closest friend, accuse me of wedding Arwen only to look impressive in future counsels just because my wife is a beautiful Elven woman with the blood of Lúthien in her veins?'
'Ah, so you do love her,' Legolas retorted. 'So you didn't wed her only to seem a great Man. And I find the thought almost inconceivable of anyone who is as valiant in their lifetime as you to consider loving two and courting both at once as something which is not wrong. Do not deny it, Estel. For was it not you who began this, who forced yourself upon me?'
Aragorn swallowed.
'…Forced?' he repeated in a whisper, the Elf's words having pierced his heart like spikes thrust from a loathsome hand. 'Was it not you who eagerly accepted my advances? These last two times, you were the one who pleaded me to come to bed. Have you not desired me to the point that you have even shooed Gimli from here to share Gandalf's bedchamber instead?'
'I asked him if I could have a chamber to myself, so that I would have been able to think,' Legolas answered angrily, his voice and face showing a dark shadow of his bubbling wrath. 'How dare you accuse me of surrendering to your lust. Just leave, before one of us is harmed! And I swear that not only would I loathe for you to touch me again, but that I also do not know how I will ever see you the same way.'
You understand now, Estel, that I could never again love you the same way!
The Man looked at Legolas, whose intense eyes now resembled Undómiel on the day that they had argued on the white stair; and not only was that memory returned to him because of the excessively grieved expression that had been planted on the Elf's face, but also because he had stated similar words as the Evenstar had. And suddenly, all at once, he understood. He understood that although Legolas was wrong about the matter of lechery, in another way he was also right.
He should never have touched another whilst he was bound in heart to the Evenstar.
'JUST GO! LEAVE ME!'
'Forget it, then,' the King mumbled awkwardly and turned, which surprised the Mirkwood Elf, who was not expecting it. 'I am a fool to have tried.'
And with only those words he left the bedchamber, leaving no trace that he had ever been there except for his faint shadowy scent upon Legolas' skin, which was fading from the flesh as rolling mist that was blown away by the breath of sharp wind.
(End Flashback)
...
'I think you may have this apartment, Master Faunel,' Faramir said, opening a door to a small white house. 'I know not of the lifestyle and the housing arrangements of the Elves, but I suspect that this will be quite comfortable, even for you.'
'Yes, it is homely,' Faunel answered with a smile and bowed courteously, dropping his luggage down with a thud and walking over slowly to the window. Then, looking back at the Ithilien Prince with a subtle hint in his eyes, he stated, 'Perhaps it would be a good idea to follow the instruction of the King and bathe before I take my vows… I can just see you if I am in need of anything, right?'
'Oh, indeed, indeed,' the Human said in haste, turning to leave the room; he had understood the hint loud and clear. 'I will have a handmaid come to these quarters and fill the tub in the smaller room with hot water; come see me in the Tower afterward for luncheon – just ask someone for my whereabouts or my wife Lady Éowyn's. I will leave you now to your privacy.'
'Thank you, my Lord,' Faunel grinned, and watched silently as Faramir walked outside and closed the door. His footsteps were heard quickly moving away into the distance.
The Elf made sure that he could no longer hear the Human Prince nor any other shuffling bodies lingering around the house, before he leaned out the window, very bent in his body like the long leaves of an old willow; wisps of his long cloak draped halfway inside the room and halfway outside. And suddenly, in a quiet and yet piercing voice that would have made any who had seen him at that moment misconceive him for a dark serpent, he hissed, 'Mela nîn! Mela nîn!'
A murky figure emerged suddenly from the slender shadows outside, alike an elegant demon rising from the mysterious depths of undisturbed water.
(To be continued)
