Corbin

I left the coffin lid open when I rose. These nights the wall holds my eyes longer than lying down ever does.

• MargueriteStill tracing that name on the wall, are you.
  CorbinIf it wears away, I'll carve it again.
• NinaYou said the crypt didn't need cleaning, but the dust is a little...
  BartholtNina. No one sets foot down there.

For the first time in three hundred years, I found myself curious about a face that leaves no reflection. Not aging, it turns out, means there's no way to check.

• MargueriteIf you've grown curious, it's already too late.
  CorbinToo late for what.
  MargueriteYou ask, knowing full well.
• NinaWant me to look for you? You're the same as yesterday.
  CorbinThank you.

The first frost has reached the garden. I started counting which century this is that I've bothered noticing winter come, and gave up partway through.

• MargueriteOnce you start counting seasons, you learn that everything has an end.
  CorbinI've learned it. I'm just poor at the counting.
• SerenaI do wonder since when the Count's clock started keeping human time.
  CorbinEven a broken clock is right twice a day.
• BartholtThe roses have been covered for winter. You've used the shears less this year.

Seventeen days now, and I haven't gone down below. Only now do I know a night can pass without my tracing that name on the wall.

• BartholtDust has settled on the coffin. Shall I clear it away?
  CorbinLeave it. It's been a while since anything settled there too.
• MargueriteYour first absence in three hundred years. I imagine you'll be the one paying for it.
  CorbinI already am.

I've forgotten how to sleep through the day. When I close my eyes, the words I never said keep rearranging themselves.

• NinaShould I hang a second layer of curtains? You've looked worse than usual lately.
  CorbinNo need for another layer. If sleep's the problem, the curtains aren't to blame.
• GabrielThe fog on the ridge has thickened. A hunter waits for the day it clears.
  CorbinThen wait. The nights here are long.
• SerenaYou've become someone who chooses his words. There used to be nothing to choose from.