Memories of A Drunkard

An eerie feeling settles in my stomach. I stare at the book, holding it between my trembling fingers.

“How… How did Gryffin’s book end up in Seveg’s place?”

    Seized by doubt, agitation gains control and puts my body into frenzied motion. As if possessed by demons.

    I scour the room, searching for something, anything that would deny the theory shaping in my mind against my consent.

    I open a cupboard. Bottles. Most empty.

    I open another cupboard. More bottles.

    A knot grows, taking up all the space, twisting my guts.

    Hand numb, I retrieve the key I found last night in Gryffin’s pocket. As if to annoy me more, the key thus escapes my grasp multiple times before I can finally pull it out.

    Why can’t it stop growing?

    Slowly, I bring it closer to the door lock. I have to know. My resolve fails me inches before the key slides into the hole. I have to be sure. It hovers before the lock, as if stopped by an invisible wall. That wall is named cowardice.

    Taking a while to fill my lungs with much needed air, I finally gather enough will to defeat my demons.

    Click.

    Once inserted into the lock, once it turns, the much dreaded sound makes my heart miss a beat.

“Oh no… Please, no. No, no, no…”

    As I take a few steps back, I end up shoving the chest of drawers behind me.

    With a thud, the book I inspected hits the ground.

“This isn’t Seveg’s house, it’s Gryffin’s…” I mutter.

    There’s no way they’re roommates without me knowing. Seveg met Gryffin for the first time tonight.

“Bring me a heart by tomorrow evening and I will pay you twice the market value.” The craftsman’s words echo in my mind.

“I don’t like it. I don’t like this feeling…”

“Fine.” Seveg replied. “You’ll have it in your atelier in due time.”

    Eyes drawn to the ground. From the book’s pages, a folded paper has been misplaced. Of course, it’s a temptation no man can resist. Predictably, my knee soon touches the ground and I reach out a hand.

    A rustle of paper.

    Fingers grasp it, thumbs sliding beneath the folds to reveal a stickman drawing. Colourful. Two stick hands belonging to a man and a woman (most likely) hold a little girl’s ones. Gems are shaped here and there around the stick family. There’s something warm in the hues’ choice.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

“Do you like it, daddy?”

    A soft voice asked, her little fists clenched before her.

    If Gryffin didn’t comment right away, it was because he was too caught in the contemplation of Luciella’s drawing.

    But, his presence required, he lowered the sheet of paper to glance at the adorable pout directed at him. She had these lovely peridotite eyes, a mix of vibrant green and black flecks. The same as her mother.

    The latter liked to remind him how their daughter inherited her heart from her, with a hint of mischief. Gryffin, at least, never missed to retort playfully that Luciella had his hair. Which was, according to his words, the most important thing for a girl.

“If I like it?” Gryffin raised an eyebrow. “I adore it.”

    He leant forward to catch the beaming lassie in his grasp, settling her on his knees.

“This said, what I adore even more is to hear you laugh.” He added.

“But I’m not laughing.”

    Not missing a beat, Gryffin took advantage of his daughter’s confused state to initiate a traitorous attack she had no chance to escape. A tickle assault.

“Ahhhh nooo!!! Hahaha, ha ha! Daddy s..stop it! Hahaha! Please!”

    Grinning wildly, Gryffin observed the little girl wriggle in his arms. His fingers pursuing their merciless endeavour.

    From the corner of his eyes, he could see Cyallya. Sitting under the window, his wife had paused her embroidery to observe them with a tender smile. Over her fingers, a few bandages to protect the small wounds earned by endless hours on her handiwork. She did it all day along, selling it then to a local dressmaker who agreed to buy her handkerchiefs.

    They didn’t have a lot to call theirs, their soup was diluted more often than not, but they had each other.

    They had.

  𖢻                             

𖢻

                  𖢻

    Cough, cough. Cough, cough.

    Bedridden, his breath ragged, his fever still hadn’t diminished. It’d been five days that Gryffin hadn’t gone to work. By now, he probably got fired.

    But what concerned him even more right now was Luciella, snuggled against his chest.

“Don’t… stay so close.” He whispered. “You’ll end up as sick as dad.”

    Despite his words, Luciella only gripped his shirt tighter.

“No. I will heal you with my good health. It will chase the sickness away.”

“That’s not exactly how things are supposed to work…” He couldn’t help but smile. How could he even retort after hearing that?

    He couldn’t. Nor could Cyallya, sat next to their bed. He hated to see her like this, her hands pressed to her face, desperate about the situation. She did her best to heal him, though. The past days, she cast repetitive spells to lift his fever. But the sickness just wouldn’t let him.

    The fourth morning, he even tried pretending he felt better. Only to fall after a couple of steps, mocked by his dizziness.

    Still, if Gryffin was still alive, it was probably thanks to his dear wife.

“I’m sorry…” She lamented. “I’m so sorry my magic isn’t strong enough to heal you.”

    Gryffin reached out his hand to take hers, gently. So that she would look at him. So that she would sense the affection in his tiger’s eyes.

“Don’t. You did what you could, Cyallya.”

    For a while, she held his gaze. Only to end up shaking her head.

“I’ll go fetch a doctor.”

“We don’t have the Orlofflesia for that…”

“I’ll give anything we have if it means keeping you by our side.” Cyallya cradled his hand against her cheek. “I don’t want to lose you…”

“…”

“I’ll work harder to keep us going until you get better. It’s okay, Gryffin. It will be okay.”

    He didn’t try to stop her. He would have failed if he did.

    Not long after, Cyallya addressed Gryffin with one last smile before leaving their house. At the time, he didn’t know he would never see her again.

    An hour, maybe two.

    Maybe more.

    Any notion of time eluded Gryffin in his state. Still, after some time, he opened his eyes to a figure leant over him.

“Cyallya?”

    But, as his vision became clearer, three blurry figures turned into one.

    Small round glasses. A white beard. Eyes he couldn’t focus enough on to remember.

    It wasn’t his wife.

“Gryffin, am I right?” The old man asked. “Please, just wait a little while. I just examined you, in a moment you’ll be healed.”

“Ohh,” Gryffin thought, “so she managed to find one.”

    True to his word, the doctor soon began uttering a spell.

“Maleum de iktis red ebelantium sendel ubum de helea…”

    Even without the strongest heart, accurate knowledge was able to define an easier, less magic-consuming spell. What Cyallya failed to accomplish, it took the doctor minutes before Gryffin could feel his strength return.

    With a groan, he sat in bed. His daughter was observing the scene a few steps away, her tiny hands pressed to her chest.

“Come here.” Gryffin encouraged.

    Luciella didn’t need to be told this twice. In the blink of an eye, she hurled herself against her father.

“Thank you, doctor. I’m already feeling well.” Gryffin paused to take a look around.

    Something felt off.

    Why wasn’t Cyallya by his side? If the doctor was here, it meant that she returned with him, that she let him in.

    Something was wrong.

“Do you know where my wife is?”

    The old geman didn’t reply. Without a word, he observed Gryffin for a while, as if making sure that his task was complete. Once satisfied with his silent observation, he turned his back to Gryffin. He approached the door, retrieving from his pocket a little iron shape. A key. The doctor put it down on the chest of drawers near the entrance. The key to Gryffin’s home.

“Where is Cyallya?!” Gryffin shouted, filled by sudden fear.

    Frightened by his outburst, Luciella buried her face against his chest. Eyes closed tightly. Fingers choking the fabric.

    Only then did the man pause. Steps away from the threshold. He didn’t look back.

“Your wife presented herself at my place a few hours ago with a request, yet not enough Orlofflesia to allow me to grant her wish.”

    That wasn’t what he asked. Gryffin wanted to know where Cyallya was. He needed to know.

“I was about to close my door to her,” the doctor resumed, “when she begged me to listen to her complaint. That poor young woman couldn’t imagine her life without you by her side. Desperate, yet not resigned to her fate. In exchange of your health, she promised to sell me her heart.”

    Something broke within Gryffin the moment he heard those words. He didn’t even register how his daughter erupted into tears. He was healed in one way, wounded in many others.

    This day, as the doctor left his house, silence began to make its place in Gryffin’s life.

𖢻                         

𖢻

                     𖢻

    The first time Gryffin decided to enter The Merry King, it wasn’t out of a desire to quench his thirst.

    Roaming through Felbalia’s streets for hours now, he didn’t realise all at once that his steps had ceased.

    He was vacantly staring at the entrance of the tavern. The building in itself had nothing that fascinating, though. One main, wide half-sphere painted in beige. Two smaller ones on either side of the entrance, partly merged with the main part. Over the entrance, a round stone sign bore engraved letters, shaping the place’s name.

    No, nothing memorable. What caught his attention came from within the tavern.

    Voices could be heard from where he stood. Laughs. Warmth in their tone. Loud exclamations.

    Echoes of life.

    It made him feel envious. He wondered if he could be part of it too. If it could fill the void.

    A closed door begs to be pulled, so Gryffin ended up crossing the threshold. The sight was baffling at first. So many people gathered in the same place, sharing a drink, sharing a moment of respite. In that place, there was no silence.

    After a moment of hesitation, Gryffin approached the counter. He paid for a drink and took his place at a free table. It would become the one which always greeted him in the following years.

    Sipping on his alcoholic beverage, he planned to bathe in the surrounding good mood for a couple of hours. Gryffin was convinced he’d feel less lonely.

    Hence, he was at first confused when nothing changed. He still felt that distance between himself and the others. Actually, it was even worse. He ended up feeling even lonelier.

    The tavern was noisy, words were uttered without restraint. And still, the silence was deafening. It was as if he were waterproof to the laughs, sliding off him like rain would.

    Day after day, he nonetheless returned to The Merry King. At first, he hoped to undo the curse. He hoped to feel something. One time, he even hoped it worked. One night, a few other customers joined him at his table. They exchanged words and those laughs Gryffin thought he was excluded from. But the delusion came the next night.

    No one among them remembered his name. They only called him Tiger Eye. What else did he expect from them? Mere companions of an evening. They could share a drink, but it also made the words blurry.

    Nobody cared. Nobody would ever care.

    Where Gryffin ended up unsatisfied by his exchanges with people, he began to drink more. The moment liquor ran down his throat, he could feel the coldness in his chest being replaced, chased away. What he felt then was a warmth the world couldn’t offer him otherwise.

    He could finally ease his disgust for this world’s nonsense. A place where loved ones could be turned into magic artifacts. A heart had more value outside of one’s chest.

    An occasional pleasure became a habit. A habit became an obsession.

    And still…

    The first time Gryffin decided to enter The Merry King, it was out of a hope to heal his loneliness.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

“Was I just judging Gryffin the way people judged me?”

    The thought crosses my mind the moment his memories begin to fade away.

    Disgust hurries first to fill me when I realise that I felt annoyance at Gryffin. I played their game, blaming him for the bad reputation he left me with, for the way people saw him. Yet, I didn’t know a thing about his life.

“I thought that we weren’t so different, Gryffin and I. But… He wanted it. He still wanted it.” My fists clenched over Luciella’s childish drawing. “Connection.”