Jack... It's horrible to meet you. *shakes his bony hand gently*
He stood aside overseeing some distant spot.
Something what caught his interest was quite a fascinating sight of his people, who scrupulously prepared for the upcoming Halloween. From afar the provident King could observe his fellow frights and monsters, how they worked and arranged the things to be ready to welcome another glorious feast in their homely realm. Spirited and unresting, all residents of the kingdom adorned their beloved capital with iridescent garlands and lanterns, painted the walls with amazing murals, beautified the old monuments, fixed all toys and decorations thoroughly, mended the rest of the finery… Each tiniest piece of their proceedings and diligent efforts brought and impressive result, what inspired every soul with life and glee. There were no more precious sight in this entire universe to his dead heart, than his loyal citizens indwelling in wealth and prosperity, happiness and cheer.
Yet their King was more to himself, more secluded. He spent his time surrounded by the gloominess of one beautiful garden. His shadows patrolled the entire place, therefore he always knew about every little action that occured in the Halloween Town and its vicinity.
But suddenly a sharp feeling of someone else’s presence pierced his mind. He felt how the stranger took his hand, not grabbed, but touched him so carefully as if he was made of elusive shroud of dreams… As if the alien was afraid to disrupt the peace of the dark monarch, was afraid to do an unwanted movement to not incure the wrath of the demon, who disliked being touched. And our fears often happen to be very justified.
The Tzar of Nightmares craned his neck deliberately to the side of that voice to see whom it belonged. This unbidden guest shook his hand carefully, but Jack immediately took it back quite leisurely and afterwards placed his gracile bony hands together in reserved manner. He looked away indifferently.
❝ —— Can’t say I’m surprised to hear that,❞ his voice replied in deep frigid tone, ❝What do you want?,❞ Skellington glanced impassively at another. There was just a smallest ounce of concern within his intend dark gaze.
That conversation had grown much more private and darker than what she would have ever expected. Surprisingly, she wasn’t against it. Sometimes derailed topics end up being the most interesting of discourses.
— ❝ Continue…❞
She uttered softly, genuinely curious.
Pluvious dampness filled the air with an emollient freshness. Tender petals of black roses caught crystallic cold tears and fluttered with the gentle gust of chilly breeze. Behind the large gloomy windows of his murky parlor lied no less grim, but mysteriously enchanting garden. Heavy mist embraced the gravestones, whilst the luminous pumpkin lanterns were looming here and there…
He stood near the window. Darkness caressed his pale features, just as the spider enlaced his thin neck with silky silver lace. Bleak light which illuminated the room barely reached the distant corners of that spacious living room. An echoing sound of falling raindrops banished the silence, but it tried to linger until demon’s resonant voice countinued to speak:
❝ Why, we can get a little crazy just for fun…,❞ his long bony finger just glided in the air cagily and an amorphous streak of blackness flourished around his hand. It smoothly flew through the room space, adorning the whole atmosphere with sophisticated swirls and figures. They all floated slowly, enshrouding Monet’s figure so carefully.
The Nightmare King placed his hands together reservedly, bringing them closely to the chest. Thin fingers entwined in a ponderment, while a weightless voile made of shadows fell on Monet’s shoulders.
❝ It always was such a significant part of me,❞ he murmured in a low voice, ❝A part that craved freedom and only received obligation,❞ he added gravely, ❝Often we don’t notice how similar we are to shadows. We only follow strange ways, at times, and only repeat the same mistakes. Sometimes we become shadows and then comes the night…❞
S h a d o w s …
They seemed to be the only things that reflected his feelings.
The only who sensed there still was something to hide.