Chapter 67 | Glass Coffin

He stared at the door, muttering, “This damned black door again. I hate it.”

“What are you talking about, Raccoon?” Ella asked, glancing at the door. It was just a wooden door made of ordinary oak.

To him, it was a black door. Silver veins snaked across its surface, appearing to writhe with a chilling, unseen life. He could almost feel the cold, death beneath it. His finger flickered. As he imagined the ancient door’s slow, agonizing movements, a silent symphony of its fading existence.

Mother

He reached for the doorknob, but the door’s pattern shifted into a throne and spikes, aimed at his hand, swirling into a spiral.

Stay calm, it’s just your imagination. He gritted his teeth, then touched the door. A cold sensation flooded his hand, and pain surged through his mind. He saw a black-dressed woman weeping before a glass coffin, inside which a peaceful little girl slept. She had a pale white face with red lips and long black eyelashes, wearing a white dress decorated with star and chain gems that contrasted elegantly with her midnight braided hair.

He pushed up his glasses. “Anna…”

Tap, tap, tap. He walked closer to them both, a black trail of footsteps following him, the shadow of his younger self remaining.

He approached the black woman, who hung her head, black tears streaming down her face. He knelt and touched her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“…” She didn’t answer, only the flow of water continued.

He pulled out a book, Creaaak. He tore off a page, efficiently folding it into a white flower. “I can only give you this.” He placed the paper flower in her hand, “Please stop crying… I’ll help her.”

Her head remained bowed, but the tears stopped, and a faint sound echoed throughout in the silence hall, “Thank…you.”

“It’s okay, I’m her brother too.” He stood, walking past her, but his shadow lingered, a gentle touch that eased her sorrow continued like the clock ticking the same number.

Tap, tap, glock, glock. He stepped onto the marble platform, carefully navigating the fragile hall. Light touched two empty thrones far behind, and flower petals drifted in the wind. He caught some, their softness and brightness contrasting with the lifeless girl before him.

The little girl slept with a smile, but it was a cold smile, like that of a mannequin, forced into place.

Arrrrd. He lifted the coffin lid. “Hi, Angel.” He reached into his pocket, producing a chalice brimming with white liquid. “It’s buttermilk, you know, Anna? It comes from an animal with a black and white hide, and we make it from its milk. It is leftovers from butter production.” He tilted it slightly, the liquid almost spilling over. “Haha, you’d ask if the animal is white on black, or black on white, wouldn’t you?”

He gazed at her sleeping face, peaceful and still. “But you can easily guess, right? That this white water should produce a white animal?” He supported her head, her black hair brushing his arm. It was cold and sharp, cutting into his flesh. Red blood welled up. “Haha, I know you’re always clever with colors. Just wake up and talk to me, okay?” He offered her a drink.

But before the water touched her lips, her eyes snapped open.

Dark, fractured eyes stared at him.

“Life!” A sharp, eerie sound echoed, fast. She tilted her head, wanting to bite his arm, but he quickly grabbed her head, blocking her.

Grag! Grag! Her fangs tried to bite, but he held her head firmly, preventing her.

“Life, life, LIFE!” The eerie sound continued. Her face morphed into a grotesque, otherworldly monster, shifting and changing randomly.

“Don’t! Anna, you can’t do that! Don’t let it consume you,” he pleaded.

She didn’t listen, thrashing her head. Her hair swung, its curve slicing his hands. Blood gushed out, dripping onto her face.

“Don’t come to this side,” he said, forcing the chalice to her mouth.

Chum! Ten tiny, sharp fingers plunged into his arm, blocking the chalice.

“Life, life, I need… LIFE!” Her face shifted erratically, then suddenly stopped, then form back to the girl, with sweet sound. “Astra, please give me your life, I really need it. I want to eat more, listen more, and see more that shade of black and white… please, can you give me your life?”

Damn, It’s eat her inside too.

“Anna, it’s all fake. They lied to you. There’s not only black and white, there are other colors too.” His hand trembled, as he felt he couldn’t withstand the struggle with the girl.

The girl inched forward, her mouth agape. Her dark eyes cracked, growing and filling her face. "Please… Brother!" Her voice was a strange, parallel echo with an eerie sound.

Raccoon.

Her head shook harder. Her face shifted again randomly, her mouth continuing to speak, “Life, Life, Life!”

Blood streamed down her face.

Only centimeters from her lips, his blood was about to touch them. He looked at the chalice, now red with his blood.

Damn, do I really have to do this?

“Don’t blame me later, okay? You’re a bad sister.” He stopped pushing, instead pulled her close, hugging her tightly. He lifted the chalice and drank.

Clang, clang. The chalice tumbled across the floor, coming to rest in a ray of light from the window. As the light hit its edge, it cast a rainbow onto the ground.

Crickk! Scratch, ten tiny fingers extended into long, black steel, tearing his robe, some of it cutting into his skin. Blood and flesh scattered, but he didn’t care. He lifted her head, her face now a dark crack, and swiftly moved his face close to hers—

“Rain!” The voice echoed clearly throughout the hall.

“Ella.” Rain’s eyes widened in shock. He looked around, but there was no one there. The black woman was gone, and so was his shadow. He quickly turned back, and there she was. The girl lay in the coffin, holding an empty chalice. Blood and a pink light returned to her face, and the light scattered across her features, giving her a happy smile. Her chest rose and fell slowly, a sign of returning life.

He looked down at his hands. They were small, yes, small as always. He glanced at the golden saint beside him, and the entire scene shifted back to normal. The light and warmth of the artificial sun bathed his body. “Ah, Ella, I’m so lucky you’re here.”

“What happen? Why aren’t you moving? You’re gazing at the door without moving, like a statue.”

“Hehe, I’m scared of the door,” he said, rubbing his head.

Ella squinted at him. “Fool.” She pointed at the door. “Go, quickly. I still have work to do.”

“He he he.”

“Don’t he, he at me.”

He looked at the door. It was a normal brown oak wood door.

Taking a deep breath, he put his hand on the doorknob. This time, it was warm. Click, he tried to open it, but it was difficult. Vines clung to and held the door shut. He tried to force it open, Clack, Clack, but it wouldn’t budge. The vines had locked it tight. He looked back at the Golden Saint, “E…Ella.”

Ella stared at him, a light sparking in her eyes. “No.”

“Please, I can’t open it,” he said, rubbing his hands. “The vines are locking it.”

“No. If I open it, you’ll say I’m strong like that big mammal again.” She said, her feet kicking at the grass.

He swiftly raised his hands. “I won’t say that, okay?”

“No. Unreliable, with a silver tongue, like you.” She said, “And stop pretending it’s just a normal door; why are you so afraid of it?”

He clasped his hands together and looked at her with puppy eyes. “Please, please, Lady E—“

Woosh With lightning speed, she slashed at his neck, but he stepped back, his back touching the door. The knife cut the rim of his collar.

His smile slowly turned into a wrinkled grimace. “E…Ella, what are you doing?”

“Cut it, fast,” she flipped the knife handle toward him.

“Okay, okay, okay.” He nodded quickly. With sweaty hands, he grabbed the knife and cut the locked vines. Agilely, in two breaths, all the vines were gone.

Creak The door swung inward, inviting them with a rush of warm air that caressed their skin. They stepped inside, greeted by a welcoming warmth and the sight of intricately carved wood. The design mirrored the storage room in the east wing, filled with blocks of various wines, liquors, and ingredients. A small kitchen, complete with a compact stove and a neat arrangement of silverware, completed the scene. At the far end of the room stood another door.

Ella gestured towards the wooden door. “She should be—“

Tok, Tok, Tap, tap, sweeerpp. Rain stomped his boots, untying and removing them.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Rain tilted his head. “Taking off my boots?”

“I know,” her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes sparkling with irritation. “Why?”

“Why not? We’re in a home. Isn’t it proper to remove shoes?” A wide smile spread across his face as he walked on the warm wooden floor, his bare feet reveling in the sensation. “Warm as always.”

Ella sighed and strode into the house without bothering to remove her own shoes, heading towards the door at the end of the hall. “She should be in her bedroom—”

Clack, Clack.

She turned at the sound. The scene before her was igniting her temper anew. Again, his actions made her want to punch him. He was now wearing an apron, standing in the kitchen.

Clang, clang, whoosh. Rain lit the fire in the stove and placed a kettle on the burner.

Ella controlled her anger, stomping her foot and leaving a muddy footprint. “Raccoon, I have urgent matters to attend to. Why prolong this? Just tell me the truth.”

“What truth do you seek, Miss Ella?” he replied, reaching for a milk bottle. Using the ornate jeweled knife that was embellished with royal symbols, uncorked the bottle and poured its contents into the kettle.

“That knife is my royal family heirloom,” she stated.

“Eh? Sorry, I thought it was just your handy knife. I always see you using it to open and cut everything. I’ll clean it right away,” he said, rubbing it with his apron before returning it to her.

“When have I ever used it like that?”

Rain tilted his head in confusion, still offering her the knife.

The sweet smell of boiling milk, the crackling fire, and his comical appearance in the well-fitting apron, gradually calmed her. “Never mind, you can keep it.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll help you clean up, alright?” He gestured with his hand, tucking the knife into his belt. He picked up a piece of food, then grabbed four mugs and a jar filled with various tea bags. Furthermore, he poured milk into three mugs and boiled water in the last one. Looking at Ella, he asked, “Jasmine or ginger?”

“Raccoon!”

With a dry smile, he put a jasmine tea bag in one of the milk mugs and carried all the mugs. “We’ll need these when talking with—”

She grabbed two mugs. “Come on, let’s go! Don’t explain. It’s late.” She walked towards the door.

“Thank you, Ella,” he said.

She looked back. Suddenly, his hand held a plate with pieces of cake. She shook her head and sighed, a long sigh. “Thieving Raccoon.”

“I made it myself, and all the ingredients are mine,” he said, handing her the plate. “Try it. You’ll taste the honey and sweet grass, and your lovely vanilla…”

Not wanting to listen to his rambling, she pushed open the wooden door. The cool surface against her hand didn’t matter. She just opened it like any other normal door.

Woosh, white snow flew, and a blast of cold air rushed out. They both sighed simultaneously, then stepped inside and closed the door.

Silence returned, the only sound being the hum of the fire in the stove. The kitchen and floor were clean. White flower origami were inside the jar.