10: Together

The lights suddenly went out, plunging the lively party into darkness and uncertainty. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, followed by nervous exclamations. At first, uncomfortable laughter tried to dispel the tension, believing it to be a temporary glitch that would soon be resolved. But soon, it gave way to uneasy whispers and growing complaints as the discomfort became more apparent. The guests, unable to orient themselves, instinctively gathered at the center of the room. No one knew what was happening or why it was so difficult to find a solution. The hosts hadn't appeared throughout the event, in fact, they had barely shown their presence, and no voice offered an explanation for the persistent blackout. The staff, barely visible in the dimness, moved among the guests with clumsy attempts to calm the crowd. They made an effort to remind them not to scatter, that it was better to stay together in the darkness. But the tone in their voices betrayed more than concern: a hint of fear began to spread in the thick air of uncertainty, which ultimately created more social hysteria.

Vasiliy stood on the balcony of a room that served as a library, a cigarette between his lips, his eyes fixed on the sky. It was truly dark; the moon was barely discernible, and there wasn't a star to adorn the sky. His face and fingertips were red from the cold; he breathed irregularly to hold the smoke in his lungs and exhaled with resignation. His father would show up at any moment and order him to fix the blackout, but he couldn't care less about saving that social gathering full of old perverts with no goals in life but greed. The scent of the pages in the books mixed with that of the cigarette, soothing his mind. From time to time, he closed his eyes to rest; he was tired. Even in that state, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop paying attention to every little sound his sensitive ears picked up or every distinct smell his nose detected.

Soft footsteps crossed the room. They weren't his father's. Not his mother's. Alexandra was home. But still, he felt a certain unsettling familiarity with the gentle, coordinated, and precise rhythm, as if every step had been measured and planned in advance. If he weren't so perceptive, he might not even hear it, but there it was, like the echo of a ghost haunting the library. When the sound suddenly stopped, he turned inward, still slightly leaning on the balcony railing. There was no one, or rather, that someone was hidden where figures were consumed by the darkness. But there was someone; he knew it. He could feel the eyes of a hunter silently devouring him once again.

Another pair of hurried, disordered footsteps echoed in the hall, tinged with palpable urgency. Vasiliy barely had time to compose himself when the sound shattered the fragile stillness surrounding him. For a moment, he almost managed to push away that unsettling sensation, the one that still made his skin prickle as if he were being watched as prey. The young staff member arrived, breathless, unable to speak for a while. He leaned on his knees, trying to regain control of his adrenaline, his eyes avoiding Vasiliy's grotesque gaze, even though in the darkness, he could barely make him out.

Something was happening, and it wasn't good.

"Lord Kuznetsov, the garden is on fire, and the guests—"

His words were interrupted by the sound of gunpowder exploding. Vasiliy leaned out over the balcony, greeted by a display of colorful fireworks forming a heart before dissipating into the darkness. As he tried to make sense of it, his eyes lit up, reflecting the colors of the next explosion, which bore the same symbol as the previous one.

A laugh escaped his lips almost reflexively, further unsettling the young staff member, who could barely stand upright. It was for him, that's what it was. All of this, absolutely everything, was for him, and somehow, this filled him with curiosity. He still had to find his gift; there was bound to be one. The cigarette in Vasiliy's lips was crushed under the sole of his shoe as he turned, not even glancing at the boy who was making an effort to blend in.

Junseo, who had been resting against one of the bookshelves in that library, couldn't help but smile maliciously. His masterpiece was decorated and arranged, he had managed to make sense of his plan, now it was time to enjoy the show. His pulse quickened, filling him with excitement. His entire body felt warm, every corner of it thrilled at the thought that he understood his game. But the truth was, he was only just beginning.

The majority of the garden succumbed to the flames; many of the flowers had turned to ash, decorating the stone path that led to a small recreational area where Vasiliy's mother often took tea. The fire had been controlled, but the air still carried the acrid scent of smoke and the desolation of what was lost. However, what caught Vasiliy's attention wasn't the charred remains, but what awaited at the end of the path. As he approached the table, the intrigue turned into a growing pressure in his chest.

Seated in the chairs, with several red orchids embedded in her chest so methodically that not even the clothes showed any bloodstains, was a woman sitting cross-legged, her eyes closed, her hands resting on her lap. She appeared to rest peacefully. She looked innocent, pure, like a muse caught in the eye of the storm. In front of her was a letter, which, as he expected, had him as the recipient.

He took the letter, sitting in the chair across from the body to read it calmly. He rested his body against the backrest and carefully broke the wax seal, careful not to damage the envelope.

"Dear Vasya,

Will you discover in the crimson of my blood the greed that lies hidden in your gaze, or will you listen to my whispers that crawl between the shadows?

Here is my gift, a symbol of my desire;

here is my spectacle, the living image of my ego.

Find me in the cracks of the walls, or in the shape of the darkness. I can be eternal or fade in a sigh. I can ignite you or consume you.

The darkness is my path, the fire, your inevitable fate.

At the bottom of a forgotten sea lies a heart of crystal,

beside it, a flower of blood.

And when the last breath leaves your lips, when the night closes its fist around your skin, you will know that you were never alone.

I have always been here."

Vasiliy stood up, expressionless. He tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, then pulled out another cigarette from the same pocket and lit it before turning to the woman. He exhaled the smoke through his nose, leaning in to examine the flowers embedded in her chest.

They smelled familiar. Again, that scent that was so common yet so unique, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't figure out what it was. He pulled one of the orchids out and took it with him, leaving the body to the solitude of the garden and the trail of its ashes.