Chapter 63
Written by Bayzo Albion
From the Perspective of the Second Self
I returned home. Home... sweet home.
Yet even as I tread familiar paths, inhaling the comforting aroma of aged wood and faint dust, one gnawing question refused to fade: Why had he forsaken all this? The original me... the master of this soul.
Though... why torment myself with queries when the answers seemed just out of reach? Or perhaps they weren't answers at all, just illusions dancing in the shadows of doubt.
"Ahh..." I exhaled in relief, spreading my arms wide as if embracing the world anew. "How I've missed you all! My soul ached for you, my dear ladies..."
A shadow materialized in the doorway. The Baroness.
Her silhouette sharpened against the dim light, and her voice cut through like steel brushing skin—cold, unyielding.
"Ah, it's you?"
"I admit, I'm not the original," I said with a warm smile, stepping forward. "But I'm an extension of his soul. His shadow. His whisper."
The Baroness narrowed her eyes, peering not just at my face but deeper, as if trying to pierce the veil to the essence beneath.
"And who are you, if not him?"
"A profound question." I spread my hands in mock surrender. "Unfortunately... I'm still searching for the answer myself."
"You speak with such confidence that I don't believe a single word." The ice in her tone didn't thaw, sharp as ever.
Strangely... that very chill warmed me from within.
Her venomous words, cloaked in reproach, didn't sting—they soothed. Perhaps because they masked concern, expressed in her unique, guarded way. Or maybe they echoed something she wouldn't admit: her own solitude, a quiet ache that mirrored mine.
I approached and gently enveloped her in an embrace. She tensed like a predator poised to strike... yet she didn't pull away. Her body radiated warmth, belying the frost in her voice, a contradiction that drew me in deeper.
The heat of her touch seeped through my barriers, straight to my core. And the subtle peach scent rising from her skin stirred something ancient, nearly forgotten—a reminder of why life was worth clinging to, beyond mere survival.
"Time to get to work," I whispered, reluctant to release her just yet, savoring those extra seconds of shared warmth like a thief hoarding treasure.
"Working through the night?" Her voice softened slightly, though her reserve lingered, a shield she rarely lowered.
"My mind thrives when the world slumbers. Night isn't rest for me—it's silence, where the most crucial decisions take shape."
She nodded silently, as if accepting my words... or at least pretending to.
I moved deeper into the house—toward the study, the tasks, the horizon ahead.
For even if I was merely a shadow... I could cast my own mark. And perhaps, one day, that imprint would eclipse the original.
Seated over quill and parchment, no grand scheme materialized in my mind. Lines formed, only to crumble like sand slipping through fingers. Then it hit me: my purpose wasn't to lead the charge of ideas. It was to advise the primary self, to echo his choices, not proclaim them first.
I was the shadow, not the vanguard. The murmur at his back, not the banner at the army's fore. And therein lay power: a shadow could spot what the light-blinded leader might miss forever.
"Who am I, truly?" I mused aloud. "Goethe was right through Faust... I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good. A paradox, a curse, and a blessing wrapped in one."
In this paradise, for the first time, an uneasy premonition gripped me. As if storm clouds were gathering slowly over our world, something ominous approaching from afar. I couldn't pinpoint it—a calamity, a trial, or the creeping shadow of doom, inching closer with every breath.
"I have a bad feeling..." I admitted, frowning deeply. "This shouldn't be. In paradise, I shouldn't feel this sticky anxiety, this nagging sense that something's amiss."
The door creaked suddenly, and I startled, my heart plummeting for an instant. But it was only the Baroness, a steaming mug in her hands.
"You scared me," I breathed out in relief.
"Imagine that, Gandalf," she smirked, a teasing glint in her eye. "You can feel fear too?"
I took the mug from her, inhaling the rich, comforting aroma of hot chocolate that wafted up like a balm.
"I'll drink this and head straight to bed. Hopefully, dawn will chase away this unease along with the night."
The Baroness tilted her head, a flicker of genuine concern softening her gaze.
"Sweet dreams," she said quietly.
I nodded and took a sip—the scorching sweetness flooded through me, a promise that the night might yet grant a sliver of peace, even amid the gathering shadows.
– – –
From the Perspective of the Main Self
"So that's how it is, huh?" I murmured, a lazy smile curling on my lips like the slow unfurling of a petal under the sun. "My other self finally decided to get off his ass and do some work? How surprising... almost touching, really."
I lounged in a vast stone bath, the water scalding hot, verging on unbearable, yet my submerged body reveled in it—not pain, but pure bliss. Wisps of steam rose languidly from the surface, shrouding the room in a hazy veil, blurring the line between waking reality and a feverish dream.
In my right hand, I idly twirled a glass of chilled, tart wine. Droplets of condensation trickled down the stem, mirroring my thoughts: fluid, indolent, drifting without purpose.
Flanking me on either side were my lovely twin guardians—my shadows, my constant companions. They were stunningly beautiful, embodiments of femininity doubled over, as if perfection had split itself in two just to grace my presence.
One silently refilled my glass, the wine pouring in a gentle cascade that whispered against the crystal, her movements graceful and precise, like a dancer in slow motion. Her eyes—brimming with quiet adoration—occasionally brushed against mine with a timid glance, sending a subtle spark of connection through the air, her breath carrying a hint of vanilla and spice from whatever exotic essence she wore.
The other sat closer, her thigh pressing against mine beneath the water, the soft, yielding flesh seeking contact I hadn't yet granted, her skin slick and heated, transmitting a thrill of anticipation that tingled along my nerves. Their wordless presence was sweeter than any whispered vow of love, enveloping me in a cocoon of unspoken devotion that I could almost taste on the humid air.
*"Out of two samurai, the one who dies before the battle wins,"* a stray thought flickered through my mind like a distant echo. *"I let go. Why cling to eternal life when death might be its ultimate indulgence?"*
I smiled and turned my gaze to my companions. In their eyes, I saw reflections of what I'd long since lost: faith, desire, a willingness to burn brightly beside me, even if it all turned to ash one day.
"Well then, my beautiful demons of paradise... let's get to work."
"W-what kind of work?" the one pouring the wine asked hesitantly. Her voice trembled not from fear, but from a delicious anticipation, as if she already knew the answer deep down.
"I'm possessed by lust," I said without a shred of shame. "And what else is there to do in paradise but sin beautifully?"
The silent twin slipped beneath the water—smoothly, decisively, without hesitation, like a predator that knew exactly how to approach its prey. The hot water rippled around me… and then her presence closed in, warm and deliberate, moving with an intimate certainty that sent a sharp jolt through my entire body.
I lit a cigarette. It crackled between my fingers, releasing a thin ribbon of smoke into the air. The contrast drove me wild: scalding water, her closeness beneath the surface, steam clinging to my skin while cold smoke filled my lungs.
Heat and chill, tension and surrender, vice and tranquility—they all blended together until it was impossible to tell where one sensation ended and the next began.
"Mmm..." was all I exhaled, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. "There it is... balance. Between life and death, body and soul. Between sin and sanctity."
The second twin—the one who had been tending to my wine—could no longer hide her restlessness. I heard her breath quicken, faint but distinct above the gentle lapping of the water. She stepped into the bath, the surface rippling as warmth rose to meet her. Her scent—soft, floral, and slightly intoxicating—spread through the steamy air as she came closer.
Her palms settled lightly on my chest, warm and steady. She traced a slow path downward over my soaked skin, her touch careful and deliberate. When her fingers brushed against her sister beneath the water, they tangled for the briefest moment. A gentle nudge followed, and the first twin surfaced with a quiet gasp, droplets streaming down her face like liquid silver. She moved aside with a serene, knowing smile.
The second twin leaned in, her presence enveloping me with a confident, undeniable warmth. She pressed closer, her breath brushing my skin—bold where her sister had been subtle. The first twin didn't withdraw; instead, she joined in again, their hands moving in perfect, synchronized rhythm, supporting, guiding, steadying.
Their harmony was mesmerizing—an intimate, wordless dance driven not by rivalry but by an almost sacred unity. The air thickened with heat and breath, the bathwater stirring gently around us, carrying their soft sighs and quiet laughter as they moved with effortless grace.