A Tale of the Shapeshifters

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑿𝑰 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒓

Nothing could have been more hideous than Sir Claudius's outfit, or so Henri thought. When the strange, cloaked man spoke the word "castle", Henri pictured vast walls with cascading curtains and lovely furniture. He thought of French mansions and manors and châteaus. But, upon arrival, to both his surprise and disgust, the castle was of the Medieval style, as outdated and dilapidated as the clothes stuck to Sir Claudius's back.

"Oh!" Henri gasped.

"Magnificent, no?" Sir Claudius queried, lips upturned with pride. "One of my great-grandfathers built it many years ago. I wanted to keep it in its original form."

"I see... Monsieur...?"

"Claudius."

"Monsieur Claudius," Henri whispered, pursing his lips and squeezing his sketchbook between his palms.

"Now, the only thing I expect from you, Sir Clermont—French, is it?—is to redo the portions of the castle that obtain fabric. The furniture, the tapestries, the curtains, my wardrobe. The rest I must hire an architect, or something of the like, for—unless you know how to repair crumbling stone."

"Not in the slightest, Monsieur."

"I know it may not look the sharpest it's ever been, but I grew up in this castle and it means a great deal to me. I want to repair it to be as shining as it once was."

Henri lifted his eyes. "You speak as though you saw it in original form."

Sir Claudius shivered. "It is mighty cold, don't you think? Let us enter and I will treat you to a warm fireplace and tea. What say you, Sir Clermont?"

"Indeed, Monsieur, it is cold. I would be glad to join you."

Henri followed Sir Claudius inside the grand doors. He wasn't quite sure if the dastardly winds blew him in or if the great black void sucked him in. Either way, he was in, enshrouded in a cloud of black, a clapping thunderstorm of darkness.

"I apologize for the lighting, Sir Clermont," Sir Claudius spoke, his voice streaking like lightning across the black sky. "Or, lack thereof, rather."

"It is no problem, Monsieur. Although I would prefer a little bit of lighting so I may see what I am working with, regarding fabrics, that is."

Sir Claudius chuckled. "You are strictly business, aren't you, Sir Clermont? Upon entering, most visitors are sweating to the core and demanding light! But you—" he shook his head, his locks falling over his eyes, "you are completely unphased."

"What can I say? I am in love with what I do." Henri lifted a brow. Sir Claudius glanced from a distance, his eyes trailing over the gray streaks of what he thought to be Henri's face.

A few moments passed wherein Sir Claudius gathered his senses and trudged toward the Grand Hall. "Follow my voice, Sir Clermont."

"Of course, Monsieur." Henri listened for the sound of the boots squeaking across the floor as well as Sir Claudius's deep, husky, yet somehow soothing and lively, voice. His dark timbre did not match his light, childlike energy.

Soon, sparks ignited, illuminating Sir Claudius's black gloves; Henri focused his eyes on each thread of fabric as the gloves rubbed two pieces of metal together. Not even two minutes had passed when flames began swiveling up the side of the fireplace, like a fish swimming upstream, squiggling around to avoiding predators. It was the quickest Henri had ever seen anyone light a fire.

"Now then," Sir Claudius spoke, "let's discuss the deal, shall we?" He arose, his tall figure sweeping across the room. Henri felt a breeze tingle his skin, emanating from the swoop of the cape. That must be the thickest fabric I've ever encountered, besides animal hide or leather perhaps.