The Folly Of Over-Confidence (35)

From the moment they crossed the threshold into the estate, he should have known. Open doors, empty halls, and a lone servant extending them an invitation to accompany the master in the rose garden – it was as if he was an old friend.

For the first time, he should have heeded his inner doubts. He should have fled instead of deluding himself that the “rules” would secure his advantage. Or if this were the only path, regardless of the advantage or the risk, he should have been more adamant about doing it alone.

Now they found themselves ensnared, trapped amidst serpentine roses. Swiftly, the branches struck out, coiling around their bodies and imprisoning them. Thorns pierced their skin, snaking underneath, with new buds sprouting from the very punctures they inflicted.

Leaning on his cane, the master of the house delicately inspected a pruned rose. He showed little concern for the companion, permitting his plants to ravage them.

“I had hoped this encounter could be as pleasant as our first, Eliza, wasn’t it?” he enquired, lowering himself to implant the rose within a fresh wound. “Where is she?”

He winced, teeth grinding as the stem penetrated him. “I’ve already told you,” he hissed, “I don’t know.”

“But that cannot be true, can it? You’ve spent nearly a decade in pursuit of her, have you not?” The master paused, but when met with silence, he resumed. “So, after all these years, your efforts have yielded naught?”

“Yes,” he finally admitted, the word catching in his throat.

The hollow core of the cane reverberated as the master paced. The limp in his leg hindered him greatly, but every movement, while slow, was deliberate.

“You stole her from me, lingering long enough to forge a connection to that which was never yours. It was your very existence, your place as her pet, that kept her from returning to me. Thus, like a loyal dog, you shall retrieve her for me.”

A sharp intake of breath, a shift in stance; the cane lifted from the ground and its end found rest upon the companion’s forehead.

“Will you not, Eliza?”

He strained to not only formulate a response but also to predict the outcome should he refuse. Flexing his wrists, he sensed his vitality surging as he regained control of his systems. An escape presented itself.

In the blink of an eye, he broke free. Bloodied shards cut through thorns as he propelled himself upward. Yet, even faster, his companion, once a friend, dwindled to a husk, a skeletal figure amidst blossoming roses.

“Will you not, Eliza?” The master repeated, pressing the scarlet stain on the end of the cane against his forehead.