When the frigid mist clung to the even more frosty glass, it coalesced into tiny droplets. Strings of these droplets, linked together and slid down from the top of the window fra. They were akin to a gentle pearl necklace, yet they were also like a monster in the dark, extending its talons from above.
The accumulated droplets left a trail on the glass, making it even clearer. Looking through these trails, a figure, paler than the fog itself, could be seen leaning on a chair.
Despite seeming neither emaciated nor frail, the figure had an abnormal pallor. Extending fingers nearly devoid of all colour, he stroked his cheek, straightened his back, and grasped the armrests of the chair.
His grey-eyed pupils were contracted to the point of being minuscule when he opened his eyes. The rest of his eyes seed like a lifeless desert, looking extrely desolate.
When he focused his gaze on sothing, his attention felt abnormally intense, yet sowhat disconnected.
A hesitant knock echoed "thunk, thunk, thunk." The knocker lacked confidence, and the final knock was nearly inaudible.
No one could bla the one standing outside, rkel. Just monts ago, Shiller had stepped back into the garden, used a gardening shovel to dig up the fertilizer once buried in the soil, laid the intact parts out, and sifted through each piece with the shovel. He was as picky as a custor in a marketplace.
rkel could tell that Shiller had not found what he was looking for. Therefore, he felt that knocking at this mont wasn't a wise choice.
However, as a butler, it was his responsibility to notify his master of his upcoming schedule. rkel hardened his resolve, knocked on the door, and prayed that whoever turned Shiller into this didn't implicate him as well.
"Co in," Shiller's voice seed sowhat low but not angry, portraying an excess of calm that only made rkel's heart pound all the more in anxiety.
It felt like walking alone in a forest and hearing a sudden, albeit faint, sound. The omnipresent fear was not too intense but unceasing.
rkel took a deep breath, trying to rember what he had learned in his emotion managent class, and mustered the courage to turn the door handle.
He smoothly and quickly opened the door, closed it, and turned on the light. Still, when he was inside the room, he had completely forgotten what he was supposed to say.
"What exactly are you afraid of?" Shiller's voice drifted from the sowhat dark office desk. "I know that you're going to tell that a group of people, before I even host a banquet to invite them, are inviting to a feast. It's both unreasonable and annoying."
rkel remained silent, saying nothing, as his instinct told him that the other side was not up for small talk. rkel could not detect a hint of the usual annoyance in the other's voice, which made his words oddly incompatible.
"It's a bit dark in here, sir. Would you like to turn on the light?" rkel stood by the wall switch, wishing for a deeper darkness to envelop him.
"No, I don't want the lights on." Shiller's response was perated with a sense of seriousness that rkel had never heard before. Hearing the professor answer his question so directly was not a welco occurrence.
rkel had long noticed that there were multiple Shillers, but having never t others, he didn't know whether the Shiller who had hired him was good or bad.
But now, he knew. His career, every choice he made, had substantially depleted his luck.
"Co here, let rember your face," Shiller said to rkel. "I have face blindness, so I'm not usually able to distinguish each person by his or her facial features."
rkel took only a step forward and said, "It's alright, sir. You don't have to rember the face of any butler. We will always be here waiting."
"I quite appreciate your attitude. So you don't have to hold back that bad news, waiting for an opportunity to speak." Shiller said, lightly tapping his pen against the desk.
rkel only felt more nervous. His throat trembled slightly. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the light switch. It was as if controlling when the light would turn on could provide him with so sense of safety.
"The Falcone Family has sent out an invitation asking you to attend the house banquet held by the Godfather at the Falcone Manor tonight. The invitation specifically stated that weapons are not allowed," he finally said, gritting his teeth. Shiller nodded, stood up from his chair, and stuffed one hand into his suit pocket, saying, "Isn't it a silly question that every scholar who mingles in high society hears? Isn't it a bit insecure to not allow a weak man to bring a gun?"
Summoning his courage, rkel replied, "The regulation is not intended for you alone. Of course, you can choose to not follow it. Really, it's more of a courtesy, a no-weapons warning. It's pointless in Gotham."
"Turn on the light," said Shiller.
With a click, the switch was flipped on. As the light illuminated the room, rkel saw eyes resembling a desert, eyes that contracted even more due to the sudden brightness.
"You don't have to worry. Unlike him, I have plenty of patience for these social etiquette and rituals. I comprehend the rules within, relish the honor high society brings, and understand the price one has to pay to enjoy such respect," Shiller spoke the longest and most complicated sentence since he opened his mouth, but that did nothing to relieve rkel's anxiety.
In tis past, rkel often felt the urge to have Shiller explain certain things to him, because explanations always have a way of putting one at ease. It feels as though the other person is completely invested in the conversation, taking you seriously, engaging with you in a focused manner. It leaves you with the impression that "this conversation will definitely be smooth."
But this ti, Shiller's explanations only served to tighten the knot of worry in rkel's heart. Sothing deep down told him that engaging in jovial conversation with the current Shiller was anything but a good thing.
"I recall we still have two good bottles of red wine in the liquor cabinet," Shiller stepped out from behind his desk, walking towards the door as he spoke, "I'll change my clothes; in the anti, could you help get the wine ready and bring the car around? Thank you."
Once Shiller left, rkel felt as if he might faint, propping himself up against the wall. The chill that ran down his spine when his back made contact with the cool surface was his cold sweat, about to freeze solid.
Once the wine was ready, rkel saw Shiller erge from his room, not in his usual choice of black suit, but sporting a deep brown checked one and a black turtleneck instead, sans glasses.
This was the first ti that rkel had ever seen Shiller's gray eyes clearly, but he still felt that it was not a good thing.
Those eyes held so kind of strange charm, making you feel truly seen and understood, even more so than you understood yourself, when they looked at you.
Standing by the manor's second-floor window, rkel watched as Shiller, bags in tow, made his way out the door.
Before he could get in the car, the headlights suddenly flared on—so bright, they made his pupil contract until he looked almost blind.
As the lights turned on, Shiller noticed a figure sitting in the driver's seat. Nonetheless, he walked to the side of the car, opened the back door, and took a seat, requesting, "To Falcone Manor."
The engine started up, its rumble making the wine in the bottle tremble. The figure in the driver's seat glanced at Shiller through the rear-view mirror.
"Who are you?" asked Shiller.
"I'm your driver," ca the silhouette's response.
"Got a thing for drivers, do you?" Shiller leaned over to adjust the wine bottle on the seat next to him making sure the bag side was flush against the seat back. Then, sitting upright, he fully leaned back into his own seat and looked into the rear-view mirror.
"Professor, I regret that our first encounter is under these circumstances. But I'm actually here to tell you that you needn't attend the upcoming feast. It'll be terribly boring. It's as simple as steering the car in another direction, and voilà—three extra hours in your life," the figure remarked.
"Is that why you're here—to drive? And if I refuse to alter my course, what then?" Shiller's eyes were locked onto the mirror, intent on keeping the figure in front of him in his line of sight.
"Of course, I wouldn't resort to violence. That's distasteful. I must tell you, however, that this is not a feast—it's a bloody execution. The ones they once fed will inevitably beco their killers."
"You've co here, sitting in my car, trying to persuade to change course. But there's no need for you to beat around the bush with a psychologist. You're here to make sure that I get to the feast, and more importantly, that I'll be in high spirits to watch your performance."
Without even a blink, Shiller tossed a look into the mirror while the man in the front seat shook his head ever so slightly. His cheek fat moved as if it was trembling from the car's vibrations. "What happened to your eyes?" He asked the reflection of Shiller in the mirror.
"I don't have the best eyesight, and I also suffer from a severe case of prosopagnosia, or face blindness—a disorder that prevents from recognizing faces. So after you park and leave the car, I wouldn't be able to rember what you look like," Shiller explained, "So you don't need to wear a mask. I wouldn't recognize you at the feast."
The hands on the steering wheel tightened their grip. "Mind if I say sothing? I'm a bit disappointed. You don't seem very interested in discussing what will happen at the feast, nor do you seem as ticulous, acerbic, or aggressive as you do in your writing," the figure continued.
"Or is it because...you aren't the ruthless serial killer you portray in your work? You're neither cold-blooded nor cruel—seemingly mad on the surface but have never actually crossed any lines. Are you friends with the hypocritical Batman rather than his enemy?"
"Astute observation," said Shiller, "That was true for a long period in the past."
"I seed mad but never hard the innocent, appeared to suffer from a severe ntal disorder but remained logical, seed to be Batman's enemy but endeavored to save him all the sa. Do you know why?"
Receiving no response, Shiller continued: "It's because Batman at the ti was boring. There was no point in opposing him if he didn't grow."
"From what I gathered, he changed?" questioned the person in the front seat in a relaxed tone.
"We both have changed significantly." Shiller's fingertips lightly brushed the top of the wine cork. "He experienced growth, and I benefitted from not having to keep a close eye on him as if he were a baby any longer."
Shiller paused deliberately, dropping his eyelids to hide his gaze. Lowering volu to a whisper, like a hissing snake, he said,
"So... I can now, do the things I enjoy."
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