Painted in Grey

“Mida!” someone shouted from one of the carriages in front of ours.

Amidst the rain’s roar, the voice was barely audible.

This time, the armoured man screamed “Mida”, loud enough for the carriages behind us, likely unable to hear the earlier cry.

He then turned to us and disclosed, this time in a regular volume, “Art estige~ su Mida.”

A glint of relief shone through the other passengers’ expressions.

Was “Mida” the name of the town I saw blanketed by the dull weather, or just the word for “town” in their language?

It wasn’t the first time I misunderstood something they said, so I couldn’t be sure.

Either way, it meant we had arrived somewhere.

Was this our final destination? At first glance, the town seemed very small.

Were the villagers temporarily moving here? I didn’t know.

I knew nothing at all.

We had left Tristte in the blink of an eye.

I had no idea what was going on back then. I was unable to ask the Old Man either. I simply had to trust his decision to send me with them.

Arriving at the town’s entrance, we were greeted by a roaring gale that swept through the empty streets. The showers struck the stone houses from the side. Hollow thumps resonated through the air, shaking the carriages’ structure.

High-pitched shrieks and sudden screams rose from the wagons.

The wheels sank into the mud, leaving behind faint prints swiftly covered by the downpour.

I peeked my head through the side of the carriage once more.

The carts in front of us stopped close to a large, barely lit building. It was the only source of light aside from the moon, mostly covered by clouds.

When our carriage stopped, I stared at the building’s entrance.

The passengers from the first carriages were already stepping foot inside what looked like an inn.

It seemed like we were yet to reach our final destination.

It made sense.

The provisions were starting to run low. People needed to restock them before continuing on with the journey.

The creatures pulling the carriages also needed to get some rest. They had been walking constantly for the last week.

We were bound to stop for a few days before setting out once again.

“Vert sige~!” quipped the soldier as he got up.

He opened the carriage’s gate, stopping to its side, and extended his left arm outwards, prompting us to run for cover.

People sped towards the building’s door.

I was initially planning on staying behind, but since the soldier was waiting for everyone to leave before he began sprinting inside, I followed.

The walls were made of massive stones placed on top of each other. A solid paste connected them, probably something close to cement.

The door and frame were built from a dark wood, perhaps taken from the darker trees in the forest. The same timber ran across the ceiling as horizontal beams, locking the roof rafters in place, while greyish shingles, likely carved from rock, covered above.

The floorboards groaned as I stepped inside, the sound echoing through the room. It wasn’t warm, but the freezing wind from outside could no longer reach us.

I stood at the junction of two dim corridors, one to either side, each ending in a spiral staircase. Ahead, the space opened into the reception, where the soldiers lingered, trading jokes with an old man behind the counter.

The old man smiled at them…

The villagers gathered around the open area of the reception.

The image of the children soaked by the rain and shivering with cold left me anxious.

It reminded me of the troubles I went through to keep Yrish from getting wet. But there was no fire to provide warmth.

It felt disgusting.

More and more people gathered inside.

As they passed by, they moved away from me, pulled their child closer to them, and gave me short glances.

I was some kind of monster.

Beside the desk stood two round tables, each with four wooden chairs. A candle burned at the centre of each, while a lantern dangled from a rafter, its chain grinding softly as it swayed.

A faint breeze seeped through crevices on the window frames and the still-open door. The light wavered, fading and flaring.

The villagers murmured, breaking now and then into bursts of laughter. The children cried from exhaustion, quickly shushed by their parents.

After a few minutes, the soldiers began gesturing for people to approach the reception.

I pressed myself against the wall next to the entrance and watched, trying to understand what was going on.

People snatched several silvery coins from their sacks and began handing them to the receptionist.

I didn’t know how much the rooms cost or how valuable the coins were.

I had thought about counting the money the Old Man gave me, but not knowing the exact amount beforehand made it unsafe to do so in front of others.

There were too many uncertainties at the moment for me to spend the money I had here, so I decided to return to the carriage. Uncomfortable, but still shelter.

I quietly turned the doorknob.

As I opened the door, a sudden gust of wind struck with astounding strength, startling me.

It was bone-chilling outside, but I had already made my decision.

When I turned to close the door, I was met by the villagers' glares.

They all stared at me.

Whispers of the words “xanture e anarit” hissed at my ears.

Their gazes darted between me and one another, hushed tones muffled behind cupped hands as they repeated those words.

Voices breathed all around me, crawling under my skin. Louder and louder each time.

I quivered in fear.

My heartbeat grew faster.

“I’m sorry…” I tried to blurt, but nothing came out.

I couldn’t speak. My voice stuck in my throat, dragged down as if by some invisible weight.

I couldn’t even cry.

The villagers’ shadows crept around me, crawling all over the floor, trampling all over my body.

All eyes on me.

Behind the deafening mumbles, distorted voices rose from the crowd.

“It’s…” “Your…” “Fault…”

Repeated over and over.

My vision swayed.

It all felt sickening.

The screams didn’t stop.

The red kept dripping.

I didn’t want to hear it.

An awkward smile broke through my shaky lips as I struggled to grip the doorknob. My hand slipped from the metallic surface, trembling vigorously.

Finally, I closed the door.

I stood alone, rain grazing my body.

I couldn’t shake off my dread. I let myself bathe in the darkness.

Gradually, the voices faded.

Looking back at the carriages, the horse-like creatures were no longer there. They were most likely taken to a stable or a sheltered place.

I took my hood off and slowly trod towards the carriage.

Rain traced my face.

It was cold.

The dirt sank under my feet. Water rapidly filled the void left by my soles.

The ground splashed with my every step and squelched as I lifted my foot.

I opened my arms, embracing nature’s strength.

The rain masked my tears.

If I weren’t wearing the cloak right now, I would drop down to my knees, plunging into the frigid mud.

I was soiled.

My thoughts sank into the blackness of the night.

Was I really a monster?

Was I no better than the beasts of the forest?

It felt so cold.

I looked back at the inn.

Through the windows, I saw the silhouettes of the laughing children with their families as they walked the length of the corridors and arrived at the stairs.

It was so dark.

The noise was so loud.

I plodded to the cart, letting myself collapse as I slumped inside. I extended my arms and pulled my legs up inside.

I couldn’t see anything at all.

It was still cold.

I let my limbs sprawl, lying fully stretched out on the floor.

My drenched cloak painted my figure across the planks, leaving a mark of myself behind.

I was there. At that moment.

I kept shivering, but my fear gradually waned.

Through the rain, faint buzzes plagued my ears.

I laughed.

Even in this world, I couldn’t escape this sound. Mosquitoes always found a way to get to me.

It was still cold.

Pushing myself upright, I took my dripping cloak off and laid it flat on the other side of the carriage.

I grabbed my backpack and took out the blanket, putting it over myself, but the cold didn’t stop.

Lying down, I looked at the ceiling boards and listened to the melodic sound of drips hitting the floor, reverberating through my skull. The rhythmic knock lulled me into a trance.

When I closed my eyes, I was floating in complete emptiness. Moving up and down the ripples.

“Does it matter if I am a monster?” I asked myself, whispering.

I paused.

“I’m not sure… I don’t know.” I continued. “Does it mean anything?”

Thinking about it reminded me that I hadn’t seen Yrish’s parents yet. Did they also stay behind in Tristte? They wouldn’t risk their lives for nothing, would they?

Even if they died, there was no atonement.

But they couldn’t have died.

The Old Man had to be alive.

“Isn’t everyone a monster?” I continued to ponder.

“There is neither pure goodness nor pure evil. There are always two sides to every action. Nothing can be defined as sheer black or white.”

“We are all just grey.”

“Some darker, others lighter, but grey nonetheless.”

“And if everyone harbours evil, is there anyone whose existence isn’t that of a monster?”

I chuckled to myself.

Stress melted from my body, slowly pouring out and seeping through the cracks in the planks.

“We are all monsters…” I mumbled through a loud sigh of relief. “But this isn't a problem. It’s simply a truth we all share.”

“Even in the decay of society, flowers can bloom.”

It was so cold.

I felt so warm.

I fell asleep.