“A place where I come to be alone,” he replies.
The flames grow, illuminating the room around me. My eyes sting at the sudden light, and I shut them to acclimate to the brightness. Once adjusted, I see an oversized canopy bed with a fluffy comforter and a couch covered in furs right across from the hearth. Every wall is painted in deep jewel tones, with vines curling around strange flowers. Even the ceiling is adorned with constellations and the moon phases rendered in hues of blue and indigo.
On the far wall, a painted grotesque creature looms in the shadows. Sickly green eyes glow above an open maw, drool dripping on a figure within its grasp. The scene is reminiscent of a medieval depiction of hell, but something about it feels…wrong, like it’s watching me. I’m stunned at the intricacy and vividness of the images. Abas turns and looks at me strangely. Is henervous?
“How did you know where I was?” I ask, walking toward a stack of books next to the couch. Before I can read the titles, I hear Abas sighing almost imperceptibly.
“Since your arrival, I have been acutely aware of your presence,” he says, not explaining much at all.
Now that the fire is fully lit, he approaches and lifts my face up toward his own. With his thumb, he caresses my jaw so lightly, I wonder if I’m imagining the touch.
“There you go being filthy again,” he says quietly, “There is no bath for you here, but you can clean over there.”
He points to a wash basin, and I follow his gesture with my eyes, not moving from the spot. Completely overwhelmed.
I try to wash up, but the uniform is making it difficult. It’s still damp and clings to my skin like a leech. Abas appearssilently beside me, holding out a robe. As soon as I take it, he leaves again, lighting a strange contraption hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a golden cathedral, and once lit, fragrant smoke drips from within. Abas watches the wisps of smoke curl around each other until he drapes himself comfortably on the couch in front of the fire.
I undress, wash my arms quickly, and slip on the robe. The fabric feels like silk between my fingers, and it’s just as deeply colourful as the walls in this room. It feels glorious, caressing my skin with each movement.
“I saw the bodies,” I blurt out.
He shrugs slightly without turning toward me. I slide next to him onto the couch, squeezing myself into the little space that isn’t blocked by his body.
“What is the significance of another corpse in a sea of corpses?” he says without looking at me.
I can see the fire lapping at his face, eyes glinting black even in the light. The flames must rejoice when he’s near, because this close, he is always glowing.
“Did you kill them?”
“You must be more specific,” he replies.
The words stun me, leaving me completely speechless. For a moment, I wonder what life decisions I made to be in a room with a murderer. I know I should be appalled, but, not entirely unsurprising, I’m not.
“Why did you kill them?” I ask eventually.
“I have to kill to ease the hatred in my heart,” he says quietly.
“What does that even mean?” I can’t help but scoff.
“What do you wish me to say? That I had righteous reasons? Is there ever a reason to justify murder?” He fists his hand around the fur, turning his knuckles a sickly shade.
“I don’t know, okay?” I reply quickly. I feel bad for making him uncomfortable, but I really do want answers.
“Let me ask you a more pertinent question. Why are you not frightened? How can you sit so calmly beside a murderer?”
“I told you already, I’m never scared,” I reiterate.
“Everyone is scared,” he says.
“Not me, okay? I feel nothing. I’ve never felt anything. That’s it. There’s no big secret, just nothing.” I cross my arms in front of my chest. I don’t know why I’m feeling so…so—I brush it off.
“I sensed the emptiness but did not comprehend it,” he says quietly.
I can feel the tension leaving his body again. I resist the urge to burrow into his side.
“What do you mean you sensed the emptiness?”
“I can feel things. I feel all; it never ceases,” he almost whispers the latter. That sounds like an actual nightmare—feeling everything all the time.
