Charles

~~~

It's been thirteen days since he died in the flames, and today was the first day when there was snow.

It started to snow so early in the morning, that it was still dark. I only noticed as I was shaking with excitement about my decision about the house, and couldn't fall asleep all night.

I left soon after the sun rose, and made my way through the forest in quick paces. It was still slightly snowing, and it felt like everything was suddenly completely different from before. To be honest, I thought I was lost until I suddenly caught a glimpse of the red roof.

I made my way over to the small gates that were the entrance into the territory, and let myself in.

To my surprise, most of the red flowers were still in bloom, seeming even brighter in contrast to the fresh and light snow.

As I walked up to the door leading into the house, I noticed that shutters, - which, as I noted previously, were open last time I was there, - where now closed. A sense of dread snuck inside my head, as I realized that whoever lives here might not be home, and that all that build up of courage that I had last evening was completely in vain.

I knocked on the door, and received no answer. I tried again a couple times, and even tried to open the door, but it was locked. The owner clearly wasn't home.

As all my determination began to flee me and I turned to go home in disappointment, I noticed footprints in the thin layer of snow. I knew they weren't mine - I came in through the gates, whilst these were leading out the door around the corner of the house.

Hope was suddenly alive in me again, as I followed the footprints through the garden, with large red petals falling off the blossoms and resting in the snow, looking almost like drops of blood.

After circling another corner, I was greeted by a clearing in the garden. I could see a well and a small bench in the far end of the fenced-off area, and on the bench, surrounded by the flowers, sat a person.

Shoulder-length dark hair fell in soft waves on the chemise homme that the man wore, which seemed the same colour as both his skin and the snow.

His ice-blue eyes dug into me, and his cold gaze sent shivers down my spine. I remember thinking that someone was dancing on my grave.

We stared at each other for a while, and it felt like time stopped. There was just me and his deep, blue eyes... and I was drowning in them.

And then, I was scared again. I was terrified by the thought of walking up to this man in his blood-red garden and simply greeting him. I knew that if I did that, I'd never be able to turn back, that things would change. He was too beautiful for me to understand, too magical, and angelic, almost.

But then, he spoke.

And all my fear disappeared. His voice, although softer than most men's that I've met, was that of a human, and not an angel - or a monster, for that matter. The image of him being something unnatural evaporated, and although I am no longer scared, I still feel like my heart will never be calm again. It bats against my chest like a trapped bird.

He called me over, and invited me to sit with him and watch the snow melt on the flowers.

As I joined him, he introduced himself, and from there on he was no longer "the man with the flowers", but Arthur Dove, a single artist living near the lake, who spent his days painting, walking in the forest and occasionally baking apple pies. He seemed surreal, and I felt like he would disappear at any moment now.

I told him my name, and that I lived near-by, but kept my "royal" status to myself. Something inside me didn't want him to know. Perhaps it was the possibility of having a simple relationship, one between two humans - if he was truly one, - and not one of a lord and a peasant, which was what I experienced for most of my life. Or maybe it was just me instinctively choosing to lie, rather than tell the truth. Afterall, I've been doing that quite a lot. Lying, that is.

It felt good to talk to someone who wasn't Mark for a change. It felt even better to have overcome my fear. But most of all, I was filled to the brim with excitement. The change that I was so scared of just might be what will distract me from my sin, and the looming madness - even now I think of him, even if it's thinking of not thinking of him, - and maybe, just maybe, it will eventually give me a new reason to live for. Arthur Dove was new, and fresh, and so otherworldly that simply the thought of spending time near him made my soul flutter.

Before I left, Arthur stood up from the bench and bent down to pick one of the red flowers. He then turned to me, extending his hand with the flower in it.

He said he wanted me to have it. I took it.

Before I left through the gates, he called out to me one more time. He said I was welcome at his house at any time, whether it was night or day.

The thought alone filled me with a quiet happiness.