Page 40 of Plaything of the Dark Elf

Dalia

This doesn’t feel real. I’ve pinched my hands, arms, and abdomen a few times, wondering when I’m going to wake up from this dream.

But I’m still here, so this is, in fact, reality.

Is he possessed? From one day to the next, he’s like a new person. He’s softer than before. He treats me with kindness, always making sure I’m alright and attended to. He laughs at the speechless expression on my face and keeps repeating to me how he’s entirely serious about treating me better.

I appreciate the reassurance he gives me, but it’s going to take some time to get used to this softer version of him. After all, it wasn’t too long ago that I saw him order his soldier to decapitate eleven of his servants. I’m not ready to believe that he’s willing to treat me right after something like that.

I have to give him some credit, though. He’s doing a great job at making me feel comfortable. He calls in a servant to help me get ready for the day while he waits outside of my bedroom. The servant assists in bathing me, running a damp washcloth over my back and shoulders. She also helps me wash my hair with a sweet smelling oil.

After we finish, she dresses me into comfortable clothes and escorts me to Etheron, who compliments my appearance immediately.

What the hell is happening? I still have no clue!

Grabbing my hand, Etheron takes me through the halls and starts his informal tour of his mansion. When he wasn’t here, I grew to detest this place. The servants often dragged me through these corridors, cackling loudly as they tore my hair out and scratched my skin with their weapons.

“How are you feeling?” Etheron asks, snapping me out of my daze. “You haven’t talked much since you came out of your room.”

“I’m taking everything in,” I reply. “I never got the chance to appreciate the beauty of this place. It was soiled by…”

His face softens as I trail off. Then, he nods.

“I understand. I’m sorry that things turned out so badly. If only I had known what they were going to do to you, I would never have left.”

“It’s pointless to dwell too much on the past. That’s what I’ve learned.”

“I guess you’re right, but it’s important to remember where you came from. After all, our decisions led us to where we are now.”

That’s an interesting way to look at things.

“Those servants didn’t give you a proper tour of the place, huh?”

“Not really. They just flung me into rooms and told me to scrub the floors until my fingers bled.” I gaze at art portraits that adorn the walls. “Your home is filled with history. It’s amazing.”

Etheron stiffens with my previous comment, but I squeeze his hand to get him to relax. It works, to my surprise. I’m only starting to realize the effect I have upon him.

“They neglected you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing for what they did to me. You’re not the one who did that to me.”

“My behavior and my absence enabled them. They thought it was alright to treat you that way and I curse them all. I’m glad they suffered in their last moments.”

I swallow hard. I don’t say anything to disagree with him. There’s a glimpse of the dark elf I always knew, hiding underneath a tough exterior until he’s around me. I don’t know if I can trust him entirely, knowing what he’s capable of doing. His fiery temperament still manages to send shivers down my spine.

“This mansion belonged to my parents,” he says, as we pass through two large doors that lead into a splendid garden, lush with bright flora. “I always get compliments on how beautiful it is. To be honest, the servants are the ones responsible for its upkeep. Not me.”

“They’re right. It’s a very beautiful home.”

“Most people don’t know about its true history.” Etheron pauses, taking in the peaceful morning sun and gentle breeze. “No one does, actually. Besides myself. The mansion and I are the only witnesses to that tragedy.”

“What tragedy? What are you referring to?”

Etheron beckons me towards a stone fountain situated in the middle of the garden. The clear water ripples gently as the centerpiece, a rearing equus, spurts water out of its mouth and down into the pool.

He sits on the edge of the fountain and directs me to sit beside him. We don’t speak for a few moments, only basking in the sun and enjoying the sounds of the water. Etheron places a hand over my knee and traces patterns into my skin with his thumb.

“When I was young,” he begins. “I witnessed the massacre of my family. Every single one of them was killed, but I survived.”

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