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"I drink to our ruined house / to lips, lying and treacherous / to the fact no god has saved us."
— “The Last Toast,” Anna Akhmatova.
— ✤ —
The House rests on the plain surrounded by a copse of trees, gnarled branches spiraling towards infinity. Its foundation groans and creaks, unable to recall when it was first built, but still it stands—impenetrable—to weather the test of time. When the prince first offered his designs upon its creation, the House changed, unable to remain within the confines of monotony. The only certainty it has ever had is that none of its inhabitants are here to stay or return. One doesn't just encounter the House; they are found. There isn't usually any rhyme or reason to it, but over time the House has grown a penchant for lost souls and wayward suitors.Perhaps it may not possess the grandeur of a palace or the homeliness of a cottage, but the House stands all the same. At least it will always have a purpose and won't find itself wanting for company. It will not be left abandoned like other manors and houses; in fact, it always vowed to avoid ruination, nature reclaiming its boon of humanity—divinity? Nevertheless, it is here to stay.It is aware of the rumors that surround it: of murder and mayhem. Its recollection, though? Hazy as a dream if houses could sleep. Perhaps it swallowed an individual or two, but it certainly wouldn't recall. There are many missing people these days, too many to count for. The world outside the House is unknown and ever-changing, splicing the nobility and common folk in twine, bringing them closer and closer together as the days pass.There is unrest beyond its reach, an entire realm on the brink of uproar: chaos. The crows caw and jeer, hissing news from the outskirts, though they love gossip the most. Despite its reluctance, the House always informs the Servant of happenings afar.The Servant is a peculiar, albeit pristine, creature who roams the halls of the House. They meticulously polish the floors until they gleam with the reflections of the past, and with equal care, shake out the draperies so the dust motes dance like delicate snowflakes.While the House isn't certain where the Servant came from or when they appeared, it accepts their presence with learned ease. After all, the Servant always remains dedicated to its upkeep, and in return, the House provides an eternal abode for them.And so, the House keeps the Servant informed, filling their head with knowledge and secrets. As quiet as a mouse, the House echoes in the way it deadens the Servant's footsteps and allows them to appear anywhere they wish to within its halls. The Servant is constant and solemn as the moon, and yet, they are lonely.Perhaps they never show it, but the House feels the vastness of its entrance hall amplify whenever the Servant steps in there, mirroring the void within the Servant. The House understands loneliness as well; it too can be taught.The House and the Servant revolve around each other, providing each other company in the wake of potential eternity. Therein lies a mutual, but unspoken, agreement between the two of them. The House shall shelter and protect its most loyal denizen, while the Servant shall provide unwavering dedication in return.They coexist, sempiternal.
— ✤ —
A duke comes, signaling something new, an upheaval of everything, and he shatters the fine balance. The House bristles and sends the Servant to do its bidding.Hedges root, sprouting in great profusion, overtaking the roses that once blanketed the gardens. In less than a day, great green monstrosities dot the landscape, designed to torment the poor duke's mind.The House did not approve of the duke's arrival or his refusal to smell its once delightful roses. And so, there will be hedges instead.
— ✤ —
The House has never dreamed for houses never sleep, but if it could, it envisions an arrival. In all the humanity it lacks, she comes draped in red—gleaming, perfect, and true, yes, but human at last. There is enough velvet midnight in her eyes to rival the eventide, but the smell of apple blossoms pervades nevertheless.New residents come and go, the Servant diligently cleans, and the feet fish scamper like the dapper gentlemen they are, but the House? The House waits; it has been waiting all along for spring to come.Spring shall arrive in a hurry.
— ✤ —
She arrives, adorned with rags and crowned in stories only she can recall. A bird leaving one cage for another, though whether it will be her salvation or doom remains a mystery.Her sharp eyes take in the House's stone facade with all of its subtle variations and shingle accompaniments. The House would've fancied a gargoyle or two during its construction, but beggars can't be choosers. At least she seems to appreciate its foundation. The shadows dance upon its chiseled trimmings and the House almost wishes it wasn't so dark so that she could see it in all its glory.In its humble opinion, it is beautiful. Formidable, ageless, all-consuming. It delivers and takes and looms and . . . the Servant brushes their gloved hand against its wall for a moment as if redirecting the House's attention. The House snaps back into equilibrium."Peace," the Servant murmurs as they open the grand doors to welcome her.
— ✤ —
The pair speak of wainscotting and wood, the Servant praising the House for its beauty and size. A creak on the stairs as the Servant leads her to a bedroom communicates the House's approval towards the Servant's compliments. There is the slightest curl on the Servant's lips in response.It presents her with a spacious bedroom, though she does not seem to approve, much to the House's chagrin. What more can she want? A bath, an apple, a nightgown. The House does not understand the flicker of disappointment in her eyes when she spots the apple.Maybe she expected something more, but for all of the House's capabilities, it has never been able to conjure up more than apples. Perfect colors, perfect sizes, perfect apples, yet apples always.The House wonders what it is like to hunger, to sink teeth into supple flesh. The Servant might be able to explain that desire, with what little humanness they retain.For now, it watches as she is lulled to sleep, though if it will be restful, the House will have to see. There is something different about this inhabitant, something wrong, yet so right about her.
— ✤ —
The House has never dreamed for houses never sleep, and the Servant, bound by fealty, would never dare to. Yet, in this unyielding stagnancy, perhaps this newcomer—this Jane—can dream enough for the both of them, for all of them—dreaming up a better future than what is set in stone.Perhaps the time for change has arrived at last.