Chapter Text
It was dark that night.
The flickering lights of the village below could scarcely be seen, obscured by a thick blanket of fog and rain. It was cold, too, even within the safe confines of the carriage. Joseph felt a shiver run up his spine and pulled his coat tighter around himself, suppressing a sour grimace. Something sat very poorly in the pit of his stomach, like a hard stone he had swallowed. With every jostle of the coach, every buckle of its wheels on the uneven road, he felt this discomfort grow and grow. Perhaps this was a mistake—perhaps he should have turned down the job.
His gaze shifted down to the letter he had received several months prior, clutched tightly in his hands once more. The letter had come unexpectedly one evening, from a foreign noble lord by the name of Wu Chang. The lord claimed to have seen his works recently and become enamored with his artistic skill. He bid him to come and paint his portrait, in exchange for generous pay and board at his home. Joseph could hardly turn down such a lucrative offer, even if the journey was long. Now, though, as he gazed out into the dismal expanse of rain-battered earth, he wondered if it was going to be worth it.
The darkened shapes of houses were beginning to rise out of the mist now as the carriage steadily approached the town. The streets were eerily still, the deafening quiet disrupted only by the click of the horse’s hooves and the rolling groan of wheels. It was to be expected for no one to be about in such terrible weather. And, yet, the sight of the empty streets only filled Joseph with deeper dread. He drew his face near the window, wiping the thin film of chill away with his sleeve to peer out. As he did, he caught a flash of movement from one of the buildings. There was a face in the window, eyes wide and watching, then a flurry of motion and the frayed cloth of closed curtains.
Joseph felt a shiver once more.
The rest of the ride continued uneventfully for a while longer, taking Joseph away from the crude structures of the village’s poorest housing to a resplendent mansion, nestled amidst forest and perched high atop a hill. The oppressive fog seemed to part here, revealing the quiet majesty of the home’s traditional architecture. But what stood out to Joseph the most was the warm glow of light spilling out through the windows, seeming to beckon him closer. If he was warm and inside, perhaps this awful feeling gnawing at him would disappear, he thought.
The carriage shuddered to a halt and the door opened to reveal his driver. The man held out his hand, to which Joseph shook his head.
“I’m fine getting down on my own.” he reassured. The driver glared at him in turn.
“Your fare, sir.”
“Oh.”
Frowning, Joseph reached into his coin-purse and took out a handful of coins—mere trifles to someone like him. He placed them in the driver’s hand and stepped down from the carriage, taking his suitcase along with him. He had more luggage strapped onto the top of the carriage, but the driver made no motion to take them down. Instead, he wordlessly pocketed his fare and began to head back towards his seat at the front, leaving the painter standing uselessly in the rain.
“Fils de pute...” he muttered venomously under his breath.
Several grumbled expletives later and a great deal of labored huffing, he had successfully taken down his luggage and dragged it to the mansion’s front door. His cheeks were flushed with the telltale crimson of exhaustion and he longed to stop for breath, but the rain continuously beating down on his already drenched form prevented any such respite. He rapped his fist hard against the door, trying to coax his heart back to an even pace.
Minutes later, the door swung open to reveal a man. Joseph was forced to crane his neck upwards in order to meet his mirthful gaze, so impossibly tall he was. And, yet, his form seemed anything but awkward or gangly. There appeared to be something remarkably graceful about this man, from his dancerly limbs, like that of a deer, to his shiny, ink black hair. What struck Joseph besides his elegance, however, was the fact that he was dressed in such fine robes.
This must be Wu Chang, his mysterious and wealthy employer.
“Ah, Mr. Desaulnier. How lovely it is to finally meet you~” he greeted. His voice flowed like smooth honey, sweet and warm. Joseph’s breath continued to evade him.
“You must be Lord Wu Chang, I take it...?” he asked tentatively. He set down his luggage and ran a hand through his wet hair, which he realized now looked like a disaster. He saw Wu Chang smile at this.
“Yes,” he confirmed, a soft laugh escaping him. “Are you surprised?”
“No, of course not. I was just—”
“My, you must be freezing.” Wu Chang’s brow furrowed in pity, though the amusement in his eyes still glittered. Was this funny to him, somehow?
The lord politely stepped to the side and gestured in. “Please, come inside. I would hate for you to catch a chill.”
Joseph was fairly certain he already had. But, too miserable standing outside to analyze Wu Chang’s peculiar expression any longer, he picked up what of his luggage that he could and stepped gratefully into the mansion. A faint wreath of warmth enveloped him as he did, coaxing a relieved sigh from his lips.
Wu Chang pulled his remaining luggage inside and quietly closed the door behind them, effectively shutting out the cold. The rain, though, could still be heard, pattering against the stone pathway outside.
“I’ll have my servants take these up to your room for you.” Wu Chang said, gesturing towards his bags. “I assume you would like to bathe as well, yes?”
Joseph, who was by now starting to drip a small puddle onto the wooden floor, nodded quickly.
“I would like that very much, yes.”
Wu Chang stifled another laugh at his desperate tone. “I’ll have someone draw a bath for you, then. Dinner should be ready by the time you’re finished.”
Joseph couldn’t help the way that his face lit up at the promise of warm water and food. He had hoped to start on the painting tonight, but he doubted he would have the energy, nor sufficient light. He decided he would take this evening to rest, then, and hopefully get to know his mysterious host better.
“Thank you, Lord Wu Chang, for welcoming me so graciously into your home.” he said with a small bow.
“Oh, please, no need for titles,” the other replied, dismissively waving his hand. “And it’s my pleasure to have you, Mr. Desaulnier. I look forward greatly to our time together.”
Joseph managed a smile.
“I as well.”
Freshly bathed and dressed in a clean, silken robe, Joseph was feeling tremendously better. All the doubt and discomfort that had been brewing inside of him had seemed to melt away with the sweet scented water of the bath, leaving him blissfully refreshed.
He now made his way down the hall, heading towards where Wu Chang had informed him the dining room was. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice several hanging scrolls of art on the walls. He viewed them only fleetingly in passing, but their sheer abundance was evident of one fact: Wu Chang truly was an avid collector. This pleased him, knowing that his next work would be going to someone with such refined taste.
He eventually found his way to the dining area, a surprisingly small room with a lovely view into the garden behind the manor. Wu Chang sat alone at the table, clearly waiting for Joseph to arrive. He perked up when he saw him and gestured to the seat directly across from him. Joseph took it with a polite nod of his head in greeting.
“Are you feeling better?” Wu Chang asked. He folded his hands in front of him and imperceptibly leaned forward.
“Yes, thank you.”
Joseph’s head turned as several servants entered the room, carrying three plates. The food all looked so delectable that Joseph hardly even noticed the discrepancy in the number of plates until it was set down, and he noted the one empty seat to Wu Chang’s left. He retracted his hand from where it had been creeping towards his chopsticks and curiously raised an eyebrow. “Will someone else be joining us?”
“No.” Wu Chang answered simply. He then smiled and gestured towards Joseph’s untouched utensils. “Please, eat.”
Joseph gave him a subtle, quizzical look, but nonetheless relented and picked up his chopsticks. He had dealt with many eccentric clients before—this was no different. As usual, he would pretend to ignore the issue, then subtly pry about it once he was certain he could get a non-defensive answer.
And so Joseph played the game, complimenting the food and the manor’s decor. He answered some questions about his journey over, asked about the weather and other mundane topics in turn, and slowly began to ease the conversation into a comfortable pace. Wu Chang seemed to enjoy his company and he would be lying if he said he didn’t harbor similar sentiments. The lord spoke so simply, and yet his words seemed to hide multitudes.
At last he could not delay his curiosity any longer.
“Do you live alone here, Wu Chang?” he asked. The other looked up from his food.
“Yes, for quite some time now.” he answered. “Why do you ask?”
Joseph pretended to fiddle with his chopsticks, not staring at the male directly. “I was just curious about that extra plate over there. Is it part of some religious practice?”
He glanced up towards his host and caught glimpse of a shadow falling across Wu Chang’s eyes. He did not look angry, however, nor even saddened. His expression almost seemed secretly triumphant, as if he had been waiting this entire time for such a question.
“No,” he said softly, “But I suppose you could say it is… spiritual in some regard.”
Here we go. Joseph shifted forwards in his seat, listening intently.
“I had a very close friend when I was younger,” Wu Chang began, “And we were always together—people often said we were like twins." A laugh tried to escape his lips, but it died in his throat and fell out with a sigh. "He lived with me in this house for some time, after we had grown up. Such happy times those were… but, several years ago, there was a flood in town. I'm still not quite sure how it happened, but he must have been out during the storm. He got caught under a bridge and... he drowned.”
His gaze traveled towards the empty chair.
“I know that he’s gone, but I swear that I can still feel his presence. So, a few months after his passing, I began leaving out extra food for him at every meal. I wanted him to know that he was still loved.”
Joseph remained silent. He had guessed the reasoning would be something of this nature, but he hadn’t expected it to resonate with him so strongly. Perhaps it was the way that Wu Chang’s face softened as he spoke, or perhaps it was the darkness of this night reminding him so painfully of another. Whatever it was, he found himself compelled to speak.
“I see... I’m sorry that you lost him. I lost someone very close to me, too.” Joseph said, his voice hardly registering above a murmur. His eyes suddenly widened and he tensed, as Wu Chang reached a hand across the table to grab his own. The male’s skin was smooth, and his grip warm.
“Who was it?” he asked in a whisper. He tipped his head to one side, and Joseph felt his voice catch in his throat.
“My brother—my twin brother…”
“What was his name?”
“...Claude.”
“And what happened to Claude?"
"He..."
"How did you lose him, Joseph?”
The painter yanked his hand back from Wu Chang’s in an instant and stood.
“I should be heading to bed now," he choked out. "It’s late and I had a very long journey.”
He looked Wu Chang directly in the eyes, hurt mingling in his gaze with a sudden, steely sheen. The other, slowly returning his rejected hand to his lap, merely smiled back. Did he ever stop smiling...?
“Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have kept you for so long...~” he mused sheepishly. “Good night, Mr. Desaulnier. Sleep well.”
Joseph dipped his head in recognition, though he couldn’t bring himself to return his words. Lips firmly pressed together, he swiftly turned on his heel and left the room. Wu Chang watched him every step of the way, something unintelligible dancing in the darkness of his eyes.
The rain beat down heavily against the earth, still.
Joseph stood at the window of his room, gazing out into the manor’s garden. Even bathed in cold darkness, it was a breathtaking sight. Stone pathways weaved throughout its expanse, guiding the way to pavilions that lay around the vast pond and carved bridges leading across it. Lotuses could be seen floating near the water’s surface, ancient willow trees looming over them and casting blots of shadow upon the water. And then there was the mournful song of wind-chimes, carried upon the gusts of chilled breeze.
But then, Joseph noticed something marring the harmonious landscape. It was a tall figure, standing beneath one of the willow trees. His back was turned, his eyes gazing towards the horizon. Joseph squinted and, though, it was dark, he could have sworn that this man was Wu Chang. Only, his hair was starkly different—not an inky black, but rather a ghostly white. His skin, too, seemed to be tinged by some unnatural, ashen hue.
Joseph stared and, as he did, the stranger began to turn. He caught a flash of reddened eyes and the sly curve of a serpentine grin, then nothing more.
He awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and panting heavily. In a panicked daze, his head snapped towards the window, struggling to catch sight of the tree through it. It was right there by the water, same as where he had remembered it. There was no figure at its base, though, or any sign that anyone had been there.
The garden was entirely empty, and the rain had stopped.