Chapter 76: Weeds
I stand behind my master, watching as he rises gracefully from the bed, his movements elegant, deliberate, almost otherworldly in their serenity. His beauty is like that of a rare bloom, untouched by the harshness of the world. Even now, with the room still tense from the tears he shed earlier, there is something calming about him.
As he steps toward the vanity and sits in front of the massive mirror, the soft glow of the setting sun catches on his flawless skin. I watch as he delicately dips his fingers into a jar of ointment, applying it beneath his eyes with careful precision. His face, serene and composed, betrays nothing of the grief I had seen only moments ago. It’s as if it never happened.
"You don’t talk much, do you, Doris?" Noelle’s voice, soft and velvety, breaks the silence. He doesn’t turn to look at me, but I can see the faint curve of his lips in the reflection, his eyes still focused on his own reflection.
I feel a familiar warmth at the way he says my name, as if he’s always found comfort in my silence. I’ve been with him for long enough to know he prefers it this way. And so I say nothing, just as I always do.
He nods slightly to himself. "It’s okay," he says, continuing to dab the cream under his eyes, blending it with gentle taps. "I like that about you. You’re quiet, observant. You don’t meddle. No one could’ve been better suited for me."
His words should fill me with pride. After all, I’ve spent years perfecting my silence, my ability to blend into the background,through years spent doing assassinations I’m better suited to be the unseen force protecting him. But something in his tone feels different tonight—there’s a softness, yes, but also something else. Something unsettling.
Noelle places the ointment back on the vanity and picks up a brush. As he slowly runs it through his hair, his gaze remains fixed on his reflection, not on me.
"Have you ever grown a garden, Doris?" he asks suddenly, the question so casual it almost startles me.
I blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic. A garden? I don’t answer, as is our usual rhythm, and Noelle doesn’t seem to expect me to.