[ Curtains breathe, though no one speaks,
the air is thick with powdered grace.
Painted masks and candle cheeks,
smile through cracks they can't erase.
A kindly hand commands the scene,
each motion soft, each gesture clean.
Yet silk can choke as well as bind,
when mercy dulls the watching mind.
Then enters one without a thread,
whose steps are sharp, whose gaze is dread.
He bows once low, then breaks the tune,
and marionettes fall like withered June.
Applause returns when night is done,
but none recall who played which one. ]
"Haa… haa… haa… HahaHAHAHA!"
The laughter skittered down the cobblestone alleys like a runaway spark. Torches wavered in the hands of shouting guards, their armor clanging in uneven rhythm as boots hammered through puddles and trash.
"Stop there, you wicked little thief!" one guard bellowed.
"HAHAha—catch… me… if… you… CAN!" the boy shouted back between ragged breaths, leaping over a fallen barrel that splashed fermented water against the walls.
He looked half-starved, half-mad, and fully delighted. His tattered shirt clung to his back, streaked with soot and sweat, his pants so patched that it was hard to tell their original color. His bare feet slapped the stones, leaving muddy crescents behind him. But his grin — that wicked, boyish grin — could've belonged to a prince who just stole the sun.
'Damn it, I need to lose them fast! I'm getting exhausted,' he thought, weaving between lantern-lit corners.
The city loomed around him — a maze of stacked brick and timber, narrow lanes winding between old churches, and the occasional glimpse of the towering Inner Wall that separated the rich from the forgotten. Bells rang somewhere far off, tolling for curfew, but no one in the outer quarters cared.
He turned a corner and saw salvation: a dark, velvet-draped carriage standing still, its driver gone.
"There!" he breathed, eyes gleaming. "A perfect spot!"
With the reflexes of someone who'd done far worse, he dove toward it. The latch gave way under his grip, and he slid inside a box-shaped container near the back — what he assumed to be luggage. He squeezed in, heartbeat pounding so hard it felt like it might echo through the wood.
Moments later, the thunder of boots passed by.
"Did you see him?"
"No! I swear he came this way!"
"Split up — check the side streets!"
Their voices faded. Silence settled again, heavy and stale.
The boy exhaled, slow and relieved. "Phew, they finally left… such leeches."
He leaned his head back against the wood and laughed softly, half-hysterical, half-triumphant. The air inside was thick with something — spice, wax, and… old fabric? He wrinkled his nose.
Then he felt it. A brush of something cold against his arm.
He turned.
And froze.
Next to him lay an old man. Or rather, what had been one. The corpse's mouth sagged slightly open, gray lips dry as parchment, hands folded across a chest dressed in fine ceremonial robes.
"Sh*t! I thought it was empty!"
The boy flinched backward so hard he hit the lid. The casket — because that's what it was — creaked under his weight.
"Okay, okay, okay—don't panic," he whispered to himself, pressing both palms against his face. "It's just a corpse. Just a dead guy. A fancy dead guy. You've shared worse company."
But the smell — that faint, medicinal sweetness mixed with decay — crawled up his throat.
He shifted, reaching to open the lid, when suddenly the outside latch clicked.
"Eh?"
Light spilled in. A shadow leaned over the coffin.
It was a woman — young, pale, beautiful in the fragile way that grief sometimes makes people beautiful. She wore a black veil, trembling fingers clutching the rim as her eyes welled up with tears.
"Oh, gods," the boy whispered, shrinking into the corner.
For three long seconds, they simply stared at each other. The boy's filthy face reflected in her tear-streaked gaze, the corpse lying serenely between them.
Then she screamed.
"AHHHH! There's… a G-Ghoul inside!"
The boy blinked. "…Ghoul?"
But that was all he had time to say.
He leapt from the carriage like a startled cat, hitting the cobblestones in a blur.
"Now!" he shouted to himself, sprinting down the street.
The woman's shrieks carried behind him — and unfortunately, so did the guards.
"Hey, chase him!"
"Chase that ugly ghoul!"
"Get that monster!"
"Monster? That's a bit much!" he yelled over his shoulder.
.....
By the time he reached the city outskirts, his lungs felt like they'd been set on fire. He slowed, bent double, and laughed again — a dry, breathless sound.
"Finally… those bastards are gone," he muttered, spitting dust. "Gosh, are they some professional poets or what? They sure get creative with their insults."
He glanced up. Beyond the last crumbling row of houses stood a crooked two-story structure, half-eaten by vines and weather. One shutter hung loose, swaying with a rusty creak.
"Home at last," he sighed, trudging toward it.
As he walked, he started talking. To no one visible.
"Wasn't that fun?" he said brightly, as if recounting a festival. "The chase, the coffin, the screaming lady—ah, what a show!"
A pause. Then, from behind a pile of rocks, a shape wriggled out — a plump brown hog with beady, judgmental eyes. It trotted up beside him, snorting sharply.
"Hey, aren't you going to show yourself sooner next time?" the boy said.
The pig oinked, sounding distinctly irritated.
"Oh, stop your nagging, will you?" he grumbled. "I know it was dangerous, but it was fun! You've got to admit, I almost looked like a real ghoul back there."
The hog squealed again, shaking its head.
The boy chuckled, patting its head. "Don't give me that look, Grepin. I wouldn't risk something if it wasn't worth the cost."
He reached into his pocket. "Look at this."
From the folds of his tattered shirt, he drew a small wooden emblem — circular, smooth, and engraved with a four-pointed star surrounding a cross shaped key. Despite the grime, it glimmered faintly under the moonlight.
Grepin froze. His tiny eyes widened, his snout twitching. He made a low, uneasy grunt.
The boy only smiled — slow, lopsided, and far too pleased with himself. The wind carried his laughter softly into the empty fields.
"You know what this means, Grepin…" he whispered.
The hog tilted its head, waiting.
The boy's grin sharpened, eyes glinting like shards of broken glass.
"It's time to destroy the city."