Endymion ran.
Behind him, the maids screamed and chased after him.
Despite his frail body,
bones too weak to carry him.
Endymion still outran them.
He laughed out loud, glancing back at the large manor house.
It didn't look so large from a distance.
He looked ahead.
The large field of red roses felt like a soft caress against his eyes.
Ten thousand at a glance.
Endymion marvelled at their beauty.
The wind rushed through his dark hair as he ran and he felt the sweet scent of flowers—
Was this what it felt like to be alive?
A sharp gasp.
He stopped and panted, his hand clutching his chest.
Not now.
He breathed in deeply.
Just a second, and you'll be alright.
Endymion was a young boy of merely sixteen.
He had been bedridden his whole life, treated like a candle that death could snuff out at any moment.
You see,
Endymion was born with a disease.
An incurable one.
He was simply fated to die.
He sighed softly.
The pain in his chest was subsiding now.
"Are you alright?"
Endymion was startled.
Has one of the maids from the manor found me already?
He looked up, fearfully.
Please don't let it be one of them.
He was surprised to see the person in front of him.
It was a beautiful woman.
She had long, magnificent red curls that fell around her like a dream.
Her skin had the flush of youth and her eyes…
they were like emeralds.
They sparkled and shone as they looked upon…
the pitiful sight of Endymion Thorne.
Endymion straightened up, nervously.
"Uh… Who are you?"
The woman smiled at him.
He put his hands up to his eyes.
She will blind me.
When she spoke, her voice was like the harmony of a hundred gentle bells.
"I am Clytie Fitzroy."
A grand name for a grand lady.
Her smile widened and she stood, beaming.
Is she waiting for applause?
Endymion was awkward.
"I uh… I'm Endymion Thorne…"
The silence stretched on between them.
Clytie's smile grew strained.
"What do you want?"
Endymion looked away slightly.
"What do you mean?"
Clytie raised an elegant eyebrow at him.
"Why are you here?"
Endymion was puzzled.
"I live here. This is the garden of my house.
What are you doing here?"
Clytie looked abashed.
"You do live here?"
"Well…"
Awkward silence again.
"I suppose I wandered in by accident."
Endymion was incredulous.
"Wandered in by accident? How did you bypass the guards?"
Clytie tilted her head to one side.
"Guards? There are none."
Endymion scoffed.
"No guards? Why, the Thorne Estate had been anointed with the most-"
"Shut up," said Clytie smoothly.
Then, ignoring Endymion's offended expression, she said,
"I've been here for a while you see."
Endymion squinted his eyes at her.
"How long?"
Clytie put a hand to her chin and smiled innocently.
"Around five hundred years… perhaps?"
At these words,
a chill ran down his back.
Five hundred years?
Endymion had heard ghost stories before.
When he was a young child, his mother would read him stories before bed.
She'd read him stories about ghosts who would steal souls, and eat people.
They'd drag them down into the dark.
He trembled.
"Are you a ghost?" he asked, in a shaky voice.
Clytie seemed disinterested at the question.
She leaned back, examining her nails with a high, lofty air.
"Yes, so what?"
Endymion was ready to scream and run, when Clytie chuckled.
"You don't look like a strong one."
His eyes widened with terror, his heart beating so fast…
it burned.
I'm done for.
He gasped and keeled over onto his back, his head hitting the hard ground.
Thud.
Endymion felt lightheaded, like the pain was going to split his skull.
Will I die because of something like this?
Soft footsteps approached.
Clytie stood over him, smiling.
"You don't have a lot of time left."
Endymion gaped at her, his hands clawing at his throat as his breath hitched.
Can't breathe…
She went on as if nothing was happening.
"I can save you, little boy."