Chapter Text
Ashen One is myopic to the point of solipsism. As if a silver dish was pressed tightly over his head, a solitary candle below his chin, so that all he sees is his own stretched countenance in a garish chiaroscuro. But a singular crack has recently emerged on his periphery. It’s been expanding, at first at an imperceptibly slow rate. But now it threatens a fissure. Hot embers like white filigree being drawn out from the crack. Embers of attraction that could form into fire. And with fire will come disparity. Light and dark, love and spurn, man and woman.
Ashe fixed himself a drink. He was out of citrus, so he mixed together Laghroaig 10 year scotch, Benedictine, Green Chartreuse, bourbon barrel-aged maple syrup, amaretto, peach schnapps, and three long dashes of Peychaud's bitters. The color comes out a deep amaranth red, that in the casted light of his home took on the vibrancy of a light flame. He leaned in to smell it. The sear of smoked peat, that would lure him into the bog to his thighs. But the rich sweetness of maple and peach lifts him up. He sips. There is an initial cloying, but never approaches saccharine before a deep plunge into rich spice. He runs his gauntlet over the rim of his sweating tumbler and peers to his sundial. A quarter past one. The keeper is no longer tending her flame.
"Ashen one, if, when thou peerest upon the blackboard... Thou whishest yet, for a caffeinated drink, either hot or iced, or collation from behindeth yonder glass case of confections... Then call upon me."
"W-what?"
The firekeeper bowed her head obsequiously. Strands of her long, moonsilver hair fell over her face. She asked in her gentle, breathy voice, "Customer, hearest thou my voice, still?"
Ashe was flummoxed. How had he arrived here?
"... Ehm, I-I'll have a coffee. Flat white. ” Like her ghostly hair, he thought.
”Very well,” She said. “Then touch your payment card to the tile before me. Take nourishment from these sovereignless beans.”