Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2020 13:21:15 GMT
Fifty Shades of Gray
I knocked at the door with the bronze knocker and waited a few minutes. I was surprised when it opened. Far from being an old butler, the young man who stood in front of me had a somewhat juvenile face, with sweet and thin features, blond hair and grey eyes. He was wearing rather dark and luxurious clothes, white shirt, grey brocade vest, and some kind of black bow tie. He was about 6" tall and wore a mischievous smile.
"You are most welcome. My name is Dorian. Come in, don’t stay on the stoop. The icy rain penetrates the bones in this dreary season. There’s a good fire and brandy waiting for us inside. Come, i’ll tell you my story." I followed him in the victorian style mansion.
" I was born in Amber, a faraway land, at a time that won’t remind you of anything, and which remains a blur to me anyway. You see, living in Shadows in which the years go by so differently ends up making time dizzy and giving an abstract value to time, and utimately to the memories themselves. I’d say it was some times after Eric’s coronation.
I spent most of my childhood in Amber. Oh, not at the Castle, no. I’ve only ever seen Amber’s royal family from afar, during their rare appearances in the streets of the city, or near the port, or in a few peculiar situation at Eaglesign. My father kept me, whether on purpose or not, away from the life and pomp of the court. My mother was a noble woman, the daugther of Lord Chantris. So, i grew up in the wealthy parts of the city with my other parent’s family, up to the critical age when my blood could have aroused dangerous suspicion. From then on, I was taken somewhere else, to a place called Shadow Earth, in England, at a time called the Victorian Era. In 1880, to be precise.
I spent several years there. The most striking fact? My meeting with Oscar, no doubt. I mean Oscar Wilde. I was the inspiration for his novel. Which novel? The Picture of Dorian Gray, of course. We met in the slum taverns, two slum dandies. We hit it off right away. I’ve kept nothing from him of my true nature. Well, neither he does, but that’s another matter. It was probably a youthful error in my case. My blood doesn’t confide. We shared some great moments, though often over-alcoholic. But what i liked most about him was his spirit and his talent for writing, his style, his ideas. I think he was fascinated by
my paintings in return. However, although he was a very clever man, he could not really grasp the subtelty of my talent, the source of my power. Not in a Cartesian way, though he tried. That elucidating portrait of me, for example. I did try to explain to him once or twice, as years went by, Amber, Shadows, the immortality of my blood, and Trumps. It was the amalgmation of these last two that gave birth to his Dorian Gray. Perhaps also my cynicim in the face of torments that befall Shadow dwellers. Anyway, I have a special relationship to my own Trump, and Oscar saw it well. First of all, it’s a link to my relatives
because they also knows the Art of Trumps. Not that I’m that sentimental, but it’s my legacy. Then, concentrating on his picture probably saved me several times. I never let go of it, and that relationship probably shaped his story. He simply attributed the qualities he witnessed – exceptional resilience, a youth that time does not fade – to this image, this Trump, to what his novel presents as a painting.
When he passed away, twenty years after we met, I made the decision to leave Shadow Earth. Not that grief would’ve overwhelmed me, no. It is difficult for an Amberite to become attached to a being that does not have the same consistency as him. However, places seemed empty and unattractive without Oscar. And above all, the times had changed. Badly. I left to find a similar place, the place where we are tonight, Victoria, but i never saw Oscar Wilde again. Maybe I don’t really want that deep down.
Of course, i do travel from time to time. I've hardly seen my parents since, but I did visit a relative in Amber once, thanks to a Trump of the city. I’ve explored a few other places, especially those from my imagination, that i paint and which absorb me in daydreams for a few hours, a few days, a few months. The
one i liked and stayed most was Cathay, a Shadow in the style of Imperial China. Green tea, rice paddies, docile people, funny hats. Maybe it reminded me of the great hours of British colonization. But i’m afraid i’m a little too homely. Finally, I have everything i’ve ever wanted here.
Well, it’s getting late. You can spend the night here, of course. A confortable room is ready for you. We’ll have plenty of time to continue tomorrow. Have a good night."
I knocked at the door with the bronze knocker and waited a few minutes. I was surprised when it opened. Far from being an old butler, the young man who stood in front of me had a somewhat juvenile face, with sweet and thin features, blond hair and grey eyes. He was wearing rather dark and luxurious clothes, white shirt, grey brocade vest, and some kind of black bow tie. He was about 6" tall and wore a mischievous smile.
"You are most welcome. My name is Dorian. Come in, don’t stay on the stoop. The icy rain penetrates the bones in this dreary season. There’s a good fire and brandy waiting for us inside. Come, i’ll tell you my story." I followed him in the victorian style mansion.
" I was born in Amber, a faraway land, at a time that won’t remind you of anything, and which remains a blur to me anyway. You see, living in Shadows in which the years go by so differently ends up making time dizzy and giving an abstract value to time, and utimately to the memories themselves. I’d say it was some times after Eric’s coronation.
I spent most of my childhood in Amber. Oh, not at the Castle, no. I’ve only ever seen Amber’s royal family from afar, during their rare appearances in the streets of the city, or near the port, or in a few peculiar situation at Eaglesign. My father kept me, whether on purpose or not, away from the life and pomp of the court. My mother was a noble woman, the daugther of Lord Chantris. So, i grew up in the wealthy parts of the city with my other parent’s family, up to the critical age when my blood could have aroused dangerous suspicion. From then on, I was taken somewhere else, to a place called Shadow Earth, in England, at a time called the Victorian Era. In 1880, to be precise.
I spent several years there. The most striking fact? My meeting with Oscar, no doubt. I mean Oscar Wilde. I was the inspiration for his novel. Which novel? The Picture of Dorian Gray, of course. We met in the slum taverns, two slum dandies. We hit it off right away. I’ve kept nothing from him of my true nature. Well, neither he does, but that’s another matter. It was probably a youthful error in my case. My blood doesn’t confide. We shared some great moments, though often over-alcoholic. But what i liked most about him was his spirit and his talent for writing, his style, his ideas. I think he was fascinated by
my paintings in return. However, although he was a very clever man, he could not really grasp the subtelty of my talent, the source of my power. Not in a Cartesian way, though he tried. That elucidating portrait of me, for example. I did try to explain to him once or twice, as years went by, Amber, Shadows, the immortality of my blood, and Trumps. It was the amalgmation of these last two that gave birth to his Dorian Gray. Perhaps also my cynicim in the face of torments that befall Shadow dwellers. Anyway, I have a special relationship to my own Trump, and Oscar saw it well. First of all, it’s a link to my relatives
because they also knows the Art of Trumps. Not that I’m that sentimental, but it’s my legacy. Then, concentrating on his picture probably saved me several times. I never let go of it, and that relationship probably shaped his story. He simply attributed the qualities he witnessed – exceptional resilience, a youth that time does not fade – to this image, this Trump, to what his novel presents as a painting.
When he passed away, twenty years after we met, I made the decision to leave Shadow Earth. Not that grief would’ve overwhelmed me, no. It is difficult for an Amberite to become attached to a being that does not have the same consistency as him. However, places seemed empty and unattractive without Oscar. And above all, the times had changed. Badly. I left to find a similar place, the place where we are tonight, Victoria, but i never saw Oscar Wilde again. Maybe I don’t really want that deep down.
Of course, i do travel from time to time. I've hardly seen my parents since, but I did visit a relative in Amber once, thanks to a Trump of the city. I’ve explored a few other places, especially those from my imagination, that i paint and which absorb me in daydreams for a few hours, a few days, a few months. The
one i liked and stayed most was Cathay, a Shadow in the style of Imperial China. Green tea, rice paddies, docile people, funny hats. Maybe it reminded me of the great hours of British colonization. But i’m afraid i’m a little too homely. Finally, I have everything i’ve ever wanted here.
Well, it’s getting late. You can spend the night here, of course. A confortable room is ready for you. We’ll have plenty of time to continue tomorrow. Have a good night."