Sunlight pierces through a tattered black curtain, its rays dancing playfully on the gaunt face of a sickly man as the curtain waves ever so slightly, caught up in the wind. The man's face scrunches up, and he opens a pair of bloodshot blue eyes. He rubs his eyes and mumbles,
" Why do those Sun Priests always have to be so punctual?" He pulls himself up, sitting upright in a small bed tucked away in the corner of the room. His falling blanket reveals that he is already dressed for the day, a black buttoned-up vest, a white shirt, and a red ascot. The very symbols of nobility, wrinkled as they may be. He pulls the curtain open and the sun shines through almost blindingly. Placing his hands on top of the windowsill, he pokes his head out to look at the street below.
His vision is slightly blurry, he spots families idly shopping amongst the street vendors that now occupy the dilapidated stone road. Guards wrapped in armor patrol the street, black roses etched into their armor just above their hearts. Others still, lone men and women, rush about, likely hurrying to the fields, mills, or other trade shops where they work. For a moment, jealously sweeps over him, but vanishes as quickly as it came. He sighs and vacantly reaches for his glasses. He turns away from the window as he puts them on and casts a cursory glance at the shelves that line the walls. Each and every one stocked until bursting with books and boxes stuffed with hundreds of empty bottles. All of which were once filled with elixir, Not that he ever found much use for any of them.
Pulling his legs off the bed, he gropes around for his cane, a simple thing, made of black Parsis wood from the mountains north of Galan. Placing the end in an already worn spot in the floor, he pushes himself up and hobbles towards the door. Once there, he leans his weight against a wall while putting on a gray trench coat that had been haphazardly thrown onto a nearby chair. Once he leaves his room, he tours around what is left of this estate. The halls are empty and quiet, apart from the occasional clacking of his cane against the marble floor. He opens each and every door along his way, even though he knows he will only be met with dust and unused furniture. When he comes across a set of black double doors etched with ravens, he stops and stares at them for a long time before reaching into his chest pocket and taking a swig from a silver flask.
He swishes the liquid around in his mouth and opens the door, laughter and the murmuring of people abound as sunlight peaks its way into the mansion. Standing just in front of the door, with his hands clasped in front of him and an eager smile on his face, is a portly, mustachioed, man wearing a golden vest with a white shirt underneath.
"Mr. Ransford, " he says cheerily,"Have the elixirs been effective? and..." He looks back and forth as if to make sure no one is listening before whispering, "How has that special product been treating you?" receiving no response, he straightens his back and continues to speak.
"I've just received a new batch of elixirs today, you see. Truly a miracle medicine from the deep forests of Jarmen. They say with just one swig even old men become as vigorous as they were in their youth!" The sickly man, Ransford, swallows the liquor in his mouth and frowns,
"I haven't yet had a chance to use it. As for the elixirs, they do well enough for their price. This 'miracle medicine' you speak of? I am uninterested." Ransford closes his eyes before speaking again,
"And... perhaps it is better if you no longer visit me. I am no longer as wealthy as I used to be and can no longer afford your elixirs." The portly man's eyebrows draw together, he frowns, saying,
"Ah, I see," before turning around and walking away. Watching the man's disappearing back, Ransford cannot help but let a crooked grin cross his face. Waiting until the man is out of sight, Ransford, steps onto the road. Then, as if it were any other day, he starts to walk down the street, patting down his short black hair along the way.
***
Ransford stands before a towering building. Other buildings of this stature would be made of the most polished stone or the grandest marble. This one is entirely composed of wood. In a strange symmetry, half of the structure is vibrant. The wood looks as if it were freshly cut and finished. A closer look would make you feel that the wood is almost breathing. The other side however is filled with rot and decay. It is a mystery how it is even able to hold up its own weight. Up a flight of stairs, the entrance to the building is a set of double doors, one rotten and one almost alive. Within each is etched the image of a woman. One holds and trowel in her hands and smiles gently, the other expresses no emotion, within her hands, a sickle.
Ransford steps upon the vibrant wood and makes his way toward the image of the woman with a gentle smile. Just as he touches the door handle, a soft voice asks,
"Wyndom, haven't you gone to the wrong side?" Letting his hand drop, Ransford turns and sees a woman in long black priest's robes tilting her head to the side as if confused.
"Sister Carling, have I not asked you to call me Mr. Ransford?" Pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek, she smiles and says,
"Yes, but everyone calls you Mr. Ransford, Annalise's followers know there is more value in a first name than a last, that is why we like to remind people of their first names, Wyndom. Now that I've answered your question, are you ready to answer mine?"
"No," Ransford says, "I'm not dead yet." Carling chuckles and says,
"No, but you're not far off." Ransford frowns, but Carling continues to talk,
"Don't be upset, death is natural. It is better to commune and prepare to meet Annalise. I'm sure you have your concerns, but our Church help prepare for everything you need before death." Carling smiles and looks around like she is going to tell a secret, she whispers,
"Although our Goddess may look scary, she is kind and compassionate. Many are unduly fearful." Ransford raises an eyebrow and asks,
"Oh, you have first-hand experience?" Carling fidgets and says uncertainly,
"well... uh... no...but..." Before she can defend herself, the door in front of Ransford opens, and he shuffles to the side.
A man and women walk out, both in formal attire. Behind them, a man in white priest's robes is all smiles as he says,
"Now that you have been wed in the name of our God Evalyn, I hope you can work towards creating the next cycle." The man smile and says, "Yes, Brother Lucian, I've always been a hard worker, so I'll start tonight." He giggles and the woman looks at him shyly with a red face. As they both walk away, Brother Lucian looks at Ransford, the smile washing away from his face.
"Mr. Ranford," he says, voice chilly, " I don't imagine you have made any progress in your duty to perpetuate the cycle." Holding back the desire to roll his eyes, Ransford says,
"If you can find a way for me to 'perpetuate the cycle' without creating a young widow, I would like to hear it." Brother Lucian frowns deeply and says,
"Again and again your incessant chattering about extending your life. You beg the Gods, you drive your family's estate to economic ruin simply because you are a selfish child. Not only that, but you dare to ask for things undue to you without even fulfilling your base obligation! Evalyn has already given you life, and you dare to complain to her and bargain with strange merchants simply because you feel entitled to more than you were given. If you dare to pray to our Goddess about extending your life one more time, I will expel you from the church." Gritting his teeth, Ransford asks,
"Am I not a life? Am I worth less than others?" Carling jumps back into the conversation and quickly,
"Of course not, Wyndom, those with shorter lives are not less important! They die quickly because Annalise is excited to meet them." Casting a scathing glance at the woman, Ransford says,
"If that is truly the case, then your Goddess is selfish. Like a man that chases women that want nothing to do with him."
"Mr. Ransford!" Brother Lucian admonishes,"I will allow no more of your blasphemy! Remove yourself or you will be removed." Ransford raises his eyebrows and smirks,
"Blasphemy, huh," Shaking his head he says the word again, “Blasphemy” Chuckling, he turns around and walks down the stairs. Once at the bottom, he turns around. Looking Brother Lucian in the eye, he says,
"Your whore Goddess cares more about sex than actually guarding life. If her title wasn't so misleading, perhaps I would not have been foolish enough to seek her help. If you had called her the Goddess of Lust, then I would have never come to this damned place." Having said his piece, Ransford turns and walks away into the bustling city as Brother Lucian screams,
"Bastard! You are exiled from the church! Banned from having a burial! Banned from marriage! No one will remember or pray for you after you die, and it is all your fault, you wretch!"
