The Friendly Neighbor

Rees crept across the side of a building, Darkwood in her shadow. There had been a disturbance outside, and the Choir had sanctioned off an area of the block. Rees was curious, but she didn’t necessarily want Darkwood coming with her…he still hadn’t gone through with deafening himself. Still, she very well couldn’t stop him. She could feel him breathing over her shoulder as she peered around the corner, staring at the looming figures in velvet black robes. Even their presence was enough to send a chill down her spine. What were they hiding..?

“I’ll check it out.” Darkwood tapped at her shoulder in morse code and she flinched, looking behind her shoulder at him. “No way.” She mouthed, narrowing her eyes. “You’ll get yourself killed, or worse.”

“I’m immune, remember?” He gave her a confident look- too confident. She knew otherwise. She’d seen him struggle vaguely every time the Choir came around. He hid it, but she saw the cold sweat, the twitching of his fingers.

“I said no.” But before she could grip his palm to make him stay, she realized with a cold jolt of fear that one of the Choir members was advancing towards their corner. Almost as if rehearsed, Rees took to a nearby bench, as if she were reading one of the many pieces of propaganda in the free magazine holders. Darkwood leaned against a lamppost so casually he could have been waiting for his bus to arrive. Rees discreetly kept him in the corner of her eyes as the Choir member approached him. She couldn’t hear anything, but she knew it must have spoken. She could see Darkwood’s hands subconsciously tense and clench. After a gut-wrenching moment of the Choir member speaking, she strained to read Darkwood’s lips, to figure out his reply.

“I’m doing just fine.” He spoke. “There’s no trouble here sir, I’m just waiting for my bus.”

Rees’s eyes shot to the post above him and her stomach twisted further. The bus’s route didn’t stretch this far. She swallowed down a flinch as the member’s hand shot out, grabbing Darkwood by the wrist. She saw the panic flare in his expression. They knew. It was evident. More Choir members came over as he began to thrash and scream, at least Darkwood knew to make enough noise to drown out their voices. But she could do nothing. She knew she had no power to stop them. She could only stare horrified as her best and only friend was subdued, forced into handcuffs. Then it struck her as odd. They weren’t screaming. Normally they would kill whoever put up a fight. But instead, they let Darkwood tire his own lungs out. She looked up with wide eyes from behind her magazine when she realized another member was looking at her. Instantly she pegged on her own brilliant smile, feigning her own outrageous happiness. They walked over to her closely, pushing the magazine in her hands downwards so they could look at her face. She could not hear what they were saying. She couldn’t see their face behind the mask. She couldn’t read their lips. Her smile almost faltered, but then she broke into laughter. Pure, hysterical laughter. The member drew back as if in shock for a moment, allowing her to finish her outburst. “I’m sorry sir,” She explained, wiping the tears from her face. The tears that didn’t belong to the laughter. “I’m just feeling really good today.” The member hesitated, then nodded and turned away, and Rees was left with leftover chuckles, her cheeks hurting as she watched Darkwood slip away from her, dragged down the pavement. Their eyes met, and all she could sign was //I’m sorry//. Darkwood paused in his struggle, watching her for a second before his screams died down and he hung his head, closing his eyes in defeat. They both knew it was pointless. If Rees would at least survive…he’d take what was coming for him. It was his fault. He thought he was impervious.

The loud creaking of gates snapped him out of his self-pity. He jerked his head up as he was forced to his feet, and his eyes widened when he realized he was at the gate of Origin, the central building. The headquarters. The palace. The home of Sylvius…the Peacemaker, as some would call him. The minute he was forced through the doors, the scent of thick, aromatic roses and sweet nectar filled his sinuses. He almost choked on it. He felt like he couldn’t breathe in the sticky, syrup air. It was warm and humid; he could feel the air as he walked through it. His sweat clung to the sides of his neck. “You will not obey.” He heard the Choir hum around him, discordant and haunting. “His Excellency has called for you. Personally.” Darkwood swallowed the ball of sap in his throat. It didn’t seem right. Why should he be called for personally? Was it because he was resistant?? He already had to fight for his life the minute he’d walked in, the sensual nature of the manipulation was all around him. He was made to stop before a large pair of wooden doors, ornately carved with pictures of blossoms and vines, pomegranates and lavish cups of wine and honey. Splendor. This is what this was. It was all a picture, a display of his majesty. The Choir put their hands on his shoulders, and he shuddered under the metal claws as the doors opened.

Darkwood almost stumbled as he was forced through the doors. He could have sworn he could see the air in front of him, magenta tufts of steam billowed around him as he walked. It was thickest here, the minute he took a breath in tears sprung to his eyes. He wanted to sob. He could feel his knees buckling under him, but he forced himself to go on, refusing to let out any noise as the tears slowly dripped down his face.

And there he was. A figure decorated in thick, lavish robes of silk and embroidered gold and silver thread lounged upon his curling throne of crystal, his headdress adorned in diamonds. His neck was gilded in gold and covered in countless gems, encrusted in emerald and sapphire. His hair flowed behind him in cascading waves of silver, but his face was blocked by a shimmering veil. He could see his chest rise as he breathed in, and he could have sworn he saw him breathe out the thick, syrup-like manipulation that surrounded him. He saw him, and his heart raced. Immediately he tore his gaze to the ground, it provided only momentary relief, but it was enough. The Choir forced him to his knees, and he obliged. After another deep breath, a crystal, shimmering voice rung in his ears. “Oh Alexander…why do you want to hurt me so badly?” It sounded like pure sugar to his ears. It was sweet, melodic, deep, and beautiful. It sounded like the father he’d always wanted, the father he’d always missed. It sounded like the sweet return to the forest, its rushing waters, and rustling trees. It sounded like his sister and her bubbly laugh; tears flowed down his face freely. It took everything in his strength, it made his muscles burn and ache to fight.

“You fight so hard…” The calm, beautiful voice sighed softly, and he clenched his teeth, his tears soaking his collar. “Come now. You don’t have to fight me anymore. I am not your enemy.” The voice whispered. “Look at me, Alexander.”

Against his will, he found his eyes drawn upward. Two of the Choir members on either side of the impressive figure lifted their heads to his veil, and delicately took it away, revealing his face.

The breath left Darkwood’s lungs. He found himself staring into a pair of suns. They were so bright; they burned his own. It hurt to stare; he could feel his own eyelids being scorched raw by the sheer beauty before him. But he couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away. He was perfect. His skin, the perfect, soft flesh was like glimmering opal, it shimmered like perfectly cut gemstone. His eyelashes were flawless threads of silver, delicately hovering above each harrowing iris. His gills swayed in tune with his breath, blood crimson in contrast to his sapphire skin. His idyllic lips parted only slightly with his breath, revealing teeth like pearls. He was caught. Fixated on this marvel of picturesque beauty, the shape and form of perfection. He was perfection. With every second, he found his will quickly slipping away.

He found himself take another sharp inhale in, remembering to breathe again as Sylvius flickered his lids in a blink. “You do not need to fight me anymore, Alexander…” Darkwood could not move away as Sylvius moved forward, his limbs were numb. He couldn’t take his eyes off the perfect, charming smile on his face as he gently took his chin in his slender, delicate gloved fingers. “I make everything better; you don’t need to hate me…” He whispered, his voice tickling the inside of his eardrums. He was putty in his hands. “…Because I love you.” The statement reverberated inside his ribcage and in his mind, and he found himself instantly released. No scrap of him wanted to fight anymore. He was only left in pure, saturated bliss. His eyes fluttered closed and he slumped over at his feet.

Sylvius sighed softly and leaned back in his throne as his veil was replaced. “I think I like this one..” He mused. “Perhaps he shall be my new puppet.”

“My eyes in a world gone blind.”