Canvas of Twilight ⡇A Fallacy X Encre book.

𝟗. 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

StarPoisons.

Faciliate, involves helping or enabling a process or task to happen more smoothly or with less effort.

☆

Dreams, relentless and elusive, continued to haunt Encre as he stirred from slumber. Yet, upon awakening, an unsettling question lingered: Was he truly awake?

Before him stood a solitary chair, suspended in an abyss of nothingness, a stark contrast to the bed he had believed he lay upon moments ago. The chair pivoted towards him, as though aware of his presence. An inanimate object, yet it seemed to possess a consciousness. How was this possible?

He rose from his seated position, his body heavy and achy, as if it were on the verge of crumbling into fine particles of dust. It was a peculiar sensation, as though the very essence of the void had seeped into his being, causing him to feel like he might dissolve into nothingness.

With cautious steps, he drew nearer, and the chair underwent a perplexing transformation. First, it assumed the form of a simple dish, then transmuted into a solitary pencil. Finally, it evolved into an abstraction, Fallacy.

Encre stood bewildered, grappling with the enigma that now enveloped him. It was all undeniably peculiar.

But the lingering doubt remained: Was any of this real?

"Encre!" A distant voice echoed through the boundless void, calling out to him with a sense of urgency. "Encre!" It persisted, a spectral cry in the eerie emptiness.

...

"Encre! You're late!" Suave's voice cut through the eerie stillness, snapping Encre out of his enigmatic reverie. His heart pounded as he jolted upright, a gasp escaping his lips, and cold sweat trickling down his brow.

"Late? Late for what? What's happening?" Encre's mind raced, confusion and panic swirling as he tried to make sense of the surreal situation. His wide eyes met Suave's, who wore an expression of stern urgency that left no room for complacency.

"Your duties!" Suave's voice was a sharp reminder, demanding immediate action. "The Lord is summoning a meeting with fellow nobles, and we must hasten to attend to our cleaning tasks, just as the others are doing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," Encre replied in a hurry, his actions driven by a growing sense of urgency.

As he swiftly rose from his seat, Suave took the cue and left, closing the door behind him. Encre had been through this routine countless times before.

In a matter of moments, he had changed into his customary butler-like outfit, the attire reflecting the peculiar ranking system where everyone was designated by card suits. Oddly, Encre was assigned the role of a club meaning he was of lower class.

With his outfit in place, he dashed out of his room, snatching an apron from the row of cloak hangers as he went, and then propelled himself into the bustling kitchen where his fellow staff members were already hard at work.

...

"Asleep again, Artist?" Horrificación's voice rang out, tinged with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Encre had met Horrificación when he had attempted cooking, a task at which he often failed.

"I overslept by fewer hours today, at least," Encre retorted with a hint of defensiveness. He snatched up a sponge and dipped it into a nearby bucket, bubbles frothing from the soapy water.

The kitchen and dining room were seamlessly connected, designed more like an open chef's counter area. Encre, in his characteristic rush, opted to vault through the window that bridged these spaces. "There's a door, you know!" Horrificación yelled after him, shaking his head with a bemused expression as he set to work cleaning the dining table.