Cornucopia: A Fractured Cities Tale (The Fractured Cities Tales Book 1) by Alek L. Cristea

Author:Alek L. Cristea [Cristea, Alek L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2022-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

TEN

T here were three doors in the Idol's chamber. One painted like a vision of the sea and leading onto his bathing chamber, another grand, golden, and gaudy, and leading to the hall. Then there was the third. It was small, narrower than most doors though no shorter, its handle plain black and round, looking as though it would be the perfect size for his hand to fit around. Only the Idol's hand had never closed on it, his fingers had never so much as brushed against the plain wood. It was a door of no interest. Too plain. Too ugly. Too dark, as though it held monsters caged in blackwood and ebony. Neither his eyes nor his hands strayed to the door, not even a wandering thought snagged on it.

There had been no need, in truth, his world wrapped carefully from silk bed to bathing chamber to the glittering hall beyond. Only these places existed and only these places mattered, the chaos of an unpredictable routine stealing thoughts and desires beyond those of the flesh.

Only today had been different.

Today there had been an interruption, something to mark this day against all the others. Today was a day. It had detached itself from the formless flow of time that had ensnared him since he had been brought here, clad in silks and jewels. There had been days then. A unit of time marked at their very core by the tik, tok, tik, tok, of seconds. Seconds that made minutes that made hours that made, eventually, days. Tik, tok, like the watch in the pocket of the Stranger with bright blue eyes.

Tik, tok, like the grandfather clock in his father's mahogany office.

The Idol blinked. He had not thought of his father in a long time. Only he did not know how long for, as time was almost a stranger to him now. But once... Once, it had not been. Once time had marked his days like bathing and eating and touching now did. Had it been better? The Idol did not know. He felt lost, swimming within his own mind, his senses distant from the lips still gracing his collarbones and the hands washing him clean.

He did not remember getting into the giant bath that was his own, though now he felt the petals against his skin, bobbing by and then gone again. He had always liked the petals, liked how they clung to him, so many red blooms like painless blood. He was blooming amongst them. A proof of his beauty, his worth. The incense made him heady, drowned thoughts as surely as the water would have taken him if firm hands had not stopped him from slipping under. He didn’t mean to, but it was so hard to keep himself grounded.

There were words all around him, but he did not hear them, only the echo of a murmur as his eyes closed, even though they had been shut already. Layers of darkness enveloped him. Darkness of abandon, and darkness of forgetting.

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