chapter two — an ill fate befalls those who tread on the thirteenth stair
The air was parched.
A corsage of pale primroses, damp with evening dew as if they had been just plucked from a field, fluttered in the dark.
A young man wearing the garb of a medieval knight clutched the corsage to his chest. He exhaled quietly, and in a voice so soft that it could be mistaken for a sigh, whispered, “Together…”
The sound trailed off into silence.
The primroses seemed to droop and lose their radiance, as if his words had drained the life out of them.
In a tightly sealed subterranean room that lacked all illumination, the knight continued to calmly breathe in and out, clasping the corsage motionlessly.
There was no other sound in the room.
Until finally, he repeated his words once more.
And then many long years passed….