Mortal Masks

Chapter Twenty Nine

His heart was thundering in his chest, beating so forcefully that his breathing was laboured in response. He was nervous, but he wasn't quite sure what for.

Was it to do with standing before the person he was about to face? Was it to do with the answers he could find behind the door? Perhaps it was a mix of both. But when the door creaked open, and an elderly woman with salt and peppered hair is revealed, her eyes piercing, yet sorrowful, he balls his hands into fists, trying to contain the shaking.

"I was wondering when I'd be seeing you here again" She whispers, and yet, there's something in her gaze that encourages Jaemin to take a deep breath.

She had been expecting him.

She wasn't guarded, nor weary, nor blameful... There was something in her words that was welcoming, a softness that lured Jaemin's heart to steady.

"You knew I was coming?"

"It was only a matter of time," Her gaze lingers on him for a moment more before she opens the door wider, "Come, we have much to discuss"

And following her command, Jaemin follows Donghyuck's grandma into her house, his mind still nervous, and hands sweaty.

The house in its silence feels so harrowing. There's no thundering footsteps from the twins as they shout teasing's across the room, running from Johnny who only wishes to school them. There's no birdsong that filters through the rooms, the melodic sound carried by a sweet breeze that rustles the flower petals of the wild weeds that are scattered about the house in glass vases, teapots and whatever else could home nature's most beautiful creations. But most importantly, there's no Donghyuck- no warmth, no light, no familiar voice that calls out to him, dripping in honey and secrets.

Jaemin glances to the elderly woman leading him through the house, her sagged shoulders looking just a little bit heavier than they had looked on their first meeting. He wishes he knew what to say to her.

She silently leads him through the house, passed the kitchen, passed the staircase leading up to his friend's room, steering clear of the garden... They keep moving swiftly before she stops before an old oak door. From the markings across the frame, Jaemin has an idea of what he's about to walk into, and yet he's still surprised when such a scene unravels before his eyes.

Deep amber warmed with vanilla-sweetened patchouli embraces Jaemin as soon as he pushes the brass door handle, allowing him access to a world of leather-bound books and melted wax streaming down elaborate candlestick holders.

He feels as though he has stepped back in time.

Books wallpapered the room, some with coloured covers that had faded with time and use, others looking as though they were freshly printed. Decades, probably centuries, worth of knowledge was preserved here, within a messenger's study, both the room and the secrets inside having been passed down from generation to generation.

The room was a lot darker than the rest of the house. Thick patterned curtains were drawn, blocking any natural light from shining through. Because of such, the air was thick and suffocating, and Jaemin wonders if anyone had stepped foot in here since his friend's passing. He also wonders if that was how Donghyuck felt, suffocated, by his gifts and all the secrets he had to bare alone. Jaemin's mind drifts back to his godfather and how happy he was to be rid of it all.

"He spent most of his time here in his final days," She voices, her words whispered and fragile, almost as if she were afraid to disrupt the peace of the room, "I haven't touched a thing."

Where Jaemin's gaze had been concentrated on the deep red rug sprawled underneath a matching and worn armchair, and an old coffee table that seemed to be acting as a desk judging by all the books piled on top of it, he now turns to look at the woman stood beside him.