Beautiful Day

Osric crunches through leaves in the forest just outside his village, carrying a pack full of clothes, cutlery, and other things he'll likely need.

He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memory of that house. The longer it stays in his head, the more his heart aches. The crunching footsteps behind him bring him back.

“Stop following me!” Osric barks over his shoulder at Elayne and Helen. “I said I’m giving you freedom. Now go.” His eyes drop back to the map Angus had given him.

“I wish to follow you everywhere,” Helen blurts out, as if it were second nature. “You saved my life and my daughter’s. Even if I were not bound by the collar, I would still serve you.”

“Why are you so mad?!” Elayne snaps.

“Let’s see… it should be just up ahead,” he mutters to himself, ignoring them.

The forest opens, and the three step onto a vast circular lawn. A single tree stands near the mansion.

The “mansion” strikes Osric as very unimpressive. A porch juts from the first floor, its wooden beams painted a fading off-white. The second story features paned windows framed with shutters.

He inserts Angus’ key into the rusty lock. After a bit of jiggling, it clicks. Stepping inside, he inhales the smell of musty wood and dust. Coughing, he swats at the dust. How long has it been since the last lord lived here?

There's a staircase on his left, a table on his right. Folded garments rest on the table, a piece of parchment rests on top.

Osric reads the note: “Think of these as housewarming gifts and an apology for speaking so rudely — Edith.”

Underneath the note lie bedsheets. Osric’s eyes travel down the table to the kitchen, landing on several pots and pans sitting on a wooden counter lining the kitchen wall. Next to them are burlap sacks. He walks over to find they’re full of ingredients: flour, dried meat, vegetables, and satchels of tea leaves.

“Thanks, Edith.” Osric mumbles, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Helen and Elayne’s voices erupt into yelling from the porch. He peeks out at them from kitchen window. Shouts fly back and forth with pointed fingers.

Elayne suddenly storms in, stomping up the stairs, barging into the first room she sees, slamming the door behind her.

Helen enters after. “Osric, I know that—”

“Edith sent us some ingredients,” Osric cuts her off. “Make me some dinner,” he adds, walking down the hall to explore the rest of the house.

>>>

Osric decides to survey the mansion while waiting for dinner. The hallway that separates the staircase and the kitchen leads him to a study. An old desk sits surrounded by three bookshelf walls. Each book is caked in dust and cobwebs. Four doors line the upstairs hallway, each opening to a bedroom. Just large enough for a bed and a wardrobe — most likely servant quarters. At the end, large double doors open to a master bedroom, complete with a canopied bed, a desk against the left wall, and a massive wardrobe on the right.

Osric sits at the desk, reading one of the old books he pulled from the study. Rain patters softly on the roof above.

“Osric — dinner’s ready!” Helen shouts.

He scurries down the hall and stairs. Helen and Elayne are already seated. He scoops the third bowl and cup, and heads back up the stairs.

“Hey!” Elayne shouts.

Anger boils up as she watches him disappear up the stairs. She takes off after him.

Helen snatches her wrist, shooting her a glare. “Eat your meal first.”

“Catalina would be mad if he took his meal upstairs,” Elayne snaps back.

“I know, but this is his mansion. He can do what he wants.”

Elayne plops down and loudly slurps her stew.

>>>

After dinner, Elayne sits on the bed in the room farthest from Osric. She can’t sleep. The pounding rain only makes her more upset. Her clenched fists are briefly lit by flashes of lightning; booming thunder follows.

“Why is he mad at me? I only wanted to help him,” she mumbles.

A second boom shakes the house, aiding her decision. She swings the door open, stomping to the end of the hall.

She kicks his door open. Osric sits at the desk on the left side of the room, a book in hand. His head turns toward her slowly, unbothered.

“Why are you so angry?” she shouts.

“Get out of my room.” He turns back to his book.

Elayne stomps over and snatches it from his hands. “I — we really were trying to save you! Why are you so mad?”

“You didn't save me. I was trapped in that dungeon for far too long.” He reaches for the book, but Elayne tosses it into her other hand, standing her ground.

“I kept telling them to hurry up, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“Give me the book.” He lunges for it again, and she springs backward.

“But I was trying really hard. I was trying to be your assistant.”

“Trying? Trying doesn’t matter if it didn’t happen.”

“You don’t get it! I was trying my best — the training was so hard, and the reading too!"

“Give. The. Book. Back.” Osric charges her — then steps on his pant leg and starts to trip. Unsure if she should catch him or let him fall, she stands still as Osric crashes into her.

Elayne is pressed between Osric’s body and the floor. She opens her eyes. His face hovers inches from hers. The frightening black veins across his face have almost completely faded, but his black holes for eyes seem to bore straight into hers.

They remain still for a moment — a long moment. She lets him lie there, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. The silence in the room only broken by thunder.

Suddenly, Osric’s eyelids fall closed, his head slowly drifting forward — their lips nearly touching.

“No,” she murmurs, flinging him off her.

He flips through the air and bonks his head on the desk. “Ahh!”

Elayne throws the book at him and jumps for the door.

“If trying doesn’t matter, then you don’t need me here. I’m leaving!” The slam of the door merges with the thunder outside.

Stomping down the hallway, Helen peeks her head out of her room.

“Mama, I’m leaving!” Elayne shouts, resting a hand on her doorknob.

“I can have bags packed for you by morning,” Helen sighs.

>>>

The next morning, Osric is greeted by chirping birds and faint sunlight streaming through the curtains. He stretches across the expansive bed. Here’s to a life of peacefully lazing around.

Osric hums as he changes into his clothes. He bounds down the hallway and stairs, catching the scent of a fire burning in the stove.

“Helen? Make me a cup of tea. I’ll be out on the porch,” he calls, his eyes on the kitchen.

Elayne sits at the table, spooning something into her mouth, a leather backpack over her shoulders.

“I’ve made porridge. Osric, would you like some?” Helen asks, tending the fire.

“No, tea first.” Osric opens the front door.

A beautiful day greets him. Sunlight streams through the trees, and birds flit from branch to branch. Rabbits hop across the front lawn...
but there's a man walking up the porch steps.

A green hooded cloak covers his head, and a mask hides his face. A hooked beak slightly protrudes from the mask, surrounded by detailed brown and tan feathers. Large, oval eyes — orange with black pupils — an owl mask.

He strides toward Osric. His brown, baggy pants flap with each step. On his feet — what Osric wouldn’t really call shoes — are more like wrappings of leather.

“Hand over the book, and I will make your death quick and painless,” the man demands in a deep voice, stopping inches from him.

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong guy. What book are you talking about?” Osric says, forcing a friendly laugh.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Osric, I’m leaving!” Elayne’s footsteps pound behind him.

She, too, freezes in the doorway at the sight of the man.