Canvas of Twilight ⡇A Fallacy X Encre book.

𝟏𝟐. 𝐕𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞

StarPoisons.

Vestige, something left behind, like a trace or remnant of something once significant.

☆

The grand hall was filled with a silence that was anything but empty. Somewhere in the distance, the faint clinking of plates punctuated the quiet like a distant heartbeat. Goblets shifted subtly between restless fingers, their soft clinks barely audible over the low hum of restrained conversations. Gentle laughter curled like smoke in shadowed corners, the kind that didn't quite reach the eyes, an attempt at lightness that felt forced. To Encre, standing rigid at the edge of the room, all these sounds blurred together into a distant static, a muted background to something far heavier pressing against the walls.

He still didn't understand why he had been summoned.

Only moments ago, he had pulled on his threadbare servant's coat with trembling hands, feeling the coarse fabric rough against his bones. A few other servants had gathered along the walls, their faces pale and eyes distant, mirroring his own uncertainty. None seemed quite as adrift as he felt, lost in a sea of expectation without a single direction to hold onto.

At the far end of the hall, beneath an ancient tapestry heavy with dust and forgotten history, Fallacy sat motionless at the head of the long table. His face was an unreadable mask, carved by time and sorrow. Reaper and Geno were already settled into their places. Geno with the meticulous posture of one born to command, fingers barely touching the silverware, eyes sharp and calculating. Reaper lounged carelessly beside him, his laughter spilling freely into his goblet as if they were in some low tavern instead of a palace steeped in secrets.

Encre shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, the coarse fabric of his coat rough against his palms.

Across the room, he caught Suave's gaze: calm but icy, a silent warning sharpened like a blade.

Don't move. Don't speak.

Despite himself, Encre's eyes drifted back to Fallacy. The man's eyes were hollow, sunken deep beneath a brow furrowed by years of weariness. For a fleeting moment, Encre noticed how Fallacy's hands rested unnervingly still on the table, as if clutching an invisible weight, holding back a storm no one else could see.

Geno's voice cut through the tension as he set down his glass, crisp and measured.

"How long has it been?" he asked quietly, his gaze locked on Fallacy's face. "Years, isn't it?"

Fallacy gave no answer.

Geno's tone softened almost imperceptibly. "You still keep her down there?"

Encre's stomach clenched painfully.

Reaper let out a low, amused chuckle, leaning forward as if sharing a private joke. "What, in the glass box? You're still guarding that corpse?"

Fallacy's head lifted slowly, eyes flashing with icy precision.

"Her name was not corpse," he said, his voice sharp and cold.

The words landed like a hammer, weighty and absolute.

"She was nothing but an infatuation," Geno stated flatly, voice like stone. "We all saw it. Obsession. You kept her close because she made you feel."

Fallacy rose to his feet with deliberate, slow movements that seemed to drain the room of warmth.

"You are not welcome to speak of her," he said, voice low and final.

Reaper shrugged with a wicked grin. "Then maybe your little servants shouldn't wander into your secrets."

Encre's breath caught. His heart hammered against his ribs, sharp and sudden.

Reaper's dark eyes locked onto him, piercing.

"So quiet, that one," Reaper said, amusement dripping from his words. "Pretty too. What's your name?"

Encre's throat tightened, no sound coming.

"Answer him," Geno prompted, voice firm but not cruel.

"...Encre," he finally whispered.

"Encre," Reaper repeated slowly, tasting the name like an unfamiliar spice. "Tell me. Did you see the coffin?"

The weight of Suave's warning crushed down on him. His hands grew icy. His mouth went dry. His voice caught and fractured.

"I—"

Before he could say more, a sudden voice rang out from the shadows.

"It was me," Jasper declared, stepping forward, smaller and more fragile in the long dimness. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

All eyes turned to him.

"I took him there. Not Fallacy."

Fallacy's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes shifted just slightly toward Jasper. That small movement said more than words ever could.

"Interesting," Reaper murmured with a smile, eyes glittering. "So you're letting children run your palace now?"

Fallacy's voice was low and steady. "I let people I trust go where they wish. And they choose whether to betray that trust."

A tense silence stretched.

Reaper drained the last drop from his goblet and set it down with a hard clink, grinning darkly.

"Always the dramatist."

Geno rose, voice clipped. "We'll rest. We have business tomorrow."

The two men turned toward the exit.

Reaper paused just before the heavy doors, his gaze flickering back one last time.

"Funny," he said, voice almost teasing, "at her last breath, she whispered only his name."

The doors shut with a dull, final thud.

Encre didn't realize he was trembling until a cold shiver rattled through him with each breath.

He glanced at Jasper, then at Fallacy who still hadn't sat back down.

In the heavy silence, Encre's fingers brushed the crushed petals of the blue flower in his pocket. The faint scent clung stubbornly, a remnant of something lost but not forgotten.

Whatever that woman had meant to Fallacy, it was a wound that time had not healed.

Not truly.

☆

End Chapter.
860 words.

I hardly remember what this story was even about, is this good? HAHA.

💌

StarPoisons