Diaries of an Ooze Witch (Entry 3.10 Part 3) (Patreon)

3.10 Part 3

Even with my reticence, Diacyst accepted my agreement without batting an eye. It did not bother him if I was fully accepting of his plans for me or if I still harbored reservations over this arrangement. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part or that he possessed some contingency in the event I was less than agreeable. It didn’t matter. Currently, this man was my best lead in figuring out what had caused my Brother’s madness. I would be foolish to give that up, regardless of what consequences were in store for me. Diacyst explained what my role in all this would be. I would help Placedo stabilize the iron markets by doing exact as I had already been doing: Selling my family iron on the Black Market to Gabrin. He assured me that by doing so, it would be a benefit to both of our businesses, keeping iron prices from cratering and netting myself a tidy profit. As I had earlier presumed, this felt dubious but not something I could contest Diacyst over. I merely restated my compliance in the matter, something that drew a smile upon his face.

It was then that the chiming of a bell could be heard overhead, drawing Diacyst to his feet. When I asked him what that signaled, he replied that it was time for the grand reveal. Before I could inquire what that could mean, Diacyst requested that I accompany him to the Gallery, where everything would be answered. Seeing no other courteous option, I accepted his invitation and walked beside him as we strolled through the halls of his estate. Upon reaching the Gallery, I was immediately hit with two things. First was the size of the crowd, what appeared to be the entire party had poured into the room, standing in close company with one another, creating an atmosphere of choking claustrophobia. Second was the scent, I was prepared to catch the fragrance of sweaty nobles or barely covered ass amidst such close company, but instead, I was greeted with a sickly sweet smell, not unlike wild flowers. It was a pleasing reprieve from the mess this party was devolving into.

As I ruminated, Diacyst excused himself to approach some of his other contemporaries in the Gallery. While I gathered myself from my distraction, I soon spied another, far more dangerous distraction standing in the middle of the gathering. Her hair was the same mass of luxuriously dark chestnut curls that trailed behind her. Her dress was a crimson gown with gold trimmings and a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. She would be scandalous if not outright whorish in her presentation, but even still, there was that air of dignity to her where none should have been. Her vexing smile as she saw me reignited something within me; whether that was lust or wrath, I could not be sure. All I had known in this moment was that this was a dangerous woman.

My feet stirred, propelled by my indignity to act against this blasphemous angel. Before I knew it, I was standing face to face with her, a look of bemusement is what she wore upon seeking again. My fists balled up in rage, I restrained myself best that I could, attempting to calm the fire in my veins and the venom in my throat.

“Have you no shame?!” I hissed, trying to at least pretend to be chill, but gnashing my teeth in quiet frenzy.

“Why hello to you as well.” She spoke calmly, elegantly even, as she wore an impish grin on her face.

“You have a lot of nerve to be here after robbing my caravan blind.” I spat out my words like arrows dipped in poison, aiming to disarm or better yet, maim this strumpet.

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow as if she had been challenged, “And do you have proof of such crimes?”

I stepped forward aggressively, still hushing my words in polite company, “The proof I have is your ill-begotten heritage, Usuran.”

To this, she seemed to finally show offense, “Usuran? My dear boy, your words are harsh and misguided! I am no Usuran, in fact, had I not interjected when I did, those brigands would have slit the necks of you and your companion, dumping your corpses at the side of the road! I performed a favor for you!”

Her words betrayed a sort of bombast as a few eyes were drawn to her showy behavior. She pushed her chest out and kept her hands on her hips, striking me with a haughty expression that suggested she was somehow better than me. The way she held that pose almost felt like she was putting on a show, playing to the crowd while also verbally sparring with me. It incensed me.

“Strange how your favor seems to end in my misfortune.” My tongue clicked, attempting to pierce the armor of her personality. Her nose scrunched slightly at me, her distaste visible but not enough to show that she was bothered by the comment. She began to open her mouth again, only to be interrupted by the sound of a bell ringing true throughout the Gallery.

Distracted, my head turned to the front of the room, where Diacyst stood with two attendants by his side. Behind him was an easel covered with a red velvet cloth, obscuring what I could only surmise at the time to be the main attraction of the night. Diacyst addressed the crowd and thanked everyone for their attendance. The speech that followed came across as hollow, with a reception from everyone that was equally as fake. It gave off the feeling of a party of charlatans squabbling amongst themselves and gauging each other for reputation and ravor. The stilted language, the false masks, the fake laughter… It was all a charade. Had I really been trying to emulate this in my life? Had William done the rounds as well? Prostituting himself to be in this company of pretenders but despising everyone around him? I had to shake my head at it all. No, I could not accept that this hollow gathering was what William had wanted from life. What I had wanted. There had to have been something more, something that he could have truly sank his teeth into.

The crowd applauds and I break from my reverie. I look up to where the people send their accolades and… I freeze. Before my eyes, upon the easel, the painting is revealed. It is shocking to me, not because it surprises, but because it is familiar. The strokes of madness, the coloring of a diseased mind, shapes forged in chaos, a fetid mockery of life drawn up in the excrement and toil of my deranged Brother. I ask myself how it even got there, but I already know the answer. The servants I had trusted to get rid of the horrid abomination must have sold it to Diacyst. How anyone could find such a travesty to be worth paying for, much less presenting it in front of a crowd.

Presenting it… And getting praise for it? As the crowd grows enamored with what they see, I feel alone amidst a sea of sycophants. Could they not see how horrific the painting that stands before them is? Did not the smell of old feces revolt them as they turned their noses away? Or was it because I was the one going mad? Have my senses left me, destroying my ability to distinguish nightmare from reality? Suddenly, the world around me felt confusing and stifling. Everything seemed to close in around me, choking me in this architecture of madness with no room for escape. The air was thick with the acrid stench of my Brother’s abomination; each breath drove me to greater despair. Desperate for release, I pushed my way to the back of the crowd, where an opening allowed me to regain my wits about me.

And it would be there I would stay for the remainder of the party. Too feckless to challenge Diacyst directly, too bothered by my Brother’s work that I forfeited any further chance at finding anything else out about William’s madness. Had I been allowed to wallow in my own ineffectiveness, I would have let my despair fester until it became unbearable. But as fortune would have it, a glimmer of hope came from an unexpected source. Too inured in my own world, I did not sense the figure that approached me from behind. It was only when I felt the touch of their fingers upon my shoulder did I pay them any mind. I turned my head as the familiar woman gazed into my eyes. Her face framed by those dark curls and lips full, parting to say some words that failed to reach my ears.

“What?” I could only ask as the volume of her voice began to register in my ears.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?”

I could feel my resentment for the woman come back to the fore, but while my distaste was there, I had no energy for venom, “What are you talking about?”

“The painting that was revealed.” She continued on, an odd accent on the word ‘painting,’ as if even she didn’t believe the word fit, “You saw what it really was, didn’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes toward her, suspicious at what her intentions were but desperate for someone to corroborate what I had just witnessed, “And what is it really?”

While I had not said I trusted her words, I could see a spark in her eyes that suggested she knew I had seen it as well. She seemed to think over her words, trying her best to find the right ones to win me over. She wet her lips a bit when she believed she had found them.

“It is an abomination strewn across the canvas, masquerading as a masterpiece. Painted with excrement, it is as absurd as it is vile.”

I blinked at her words, trying to quantify what she had just said. That was to the letter of what I had thought, but to have those words dance upon my ears was something I had not expected. Again, my suspicions reared their head once more, “Who are you?”

“I am The Mistress, and I may well be your one chance at resolution.”

The world fell away as the woman, The Mistress, came into greater clarity. Her features grew sharper as she became the most real thing in this world to me, the only thing in this world to me. Her hand was outstretched to me, an offer of cooperation. She was of dreams and nightmares, of beauty and ugliness. She was my salvation and my damnation. It was here that I knew I had to make a choice: Reject her and continue to wallow in my own incompetence; or accept her and trust in this dangerous woman who offered me a way forward. To reject her would be putting my pride before my honor, to stay my hand and accept the world around me for what it was. But to accept her, to plunge further into what she knew, of which I was sure was much, would put my safety, my wealth, perhaps even my very soul in the hands of this dangerous woman.

My salvation or damnation.

I felt my hand squeeze hers firmly, surprising myself with my own strength. A smile curled upon her lips, and in that moment, I asked myself if I had made the right choice.