Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 72: The Muckraker’s First Paper.

Chapter 72: The Muckraker’s First Paper.

Outside.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

********************

Conan might have come to look for her, entered the cold and screamed.

But he hated witches.

Of course, he would hate witches, he’s an accomplice of Lord Theodore’s, his right-hand man, and they would share the same goal.

"Helena, where are you?"

He raised a question, his frown deep.

"You need to stop hiding, it’s too cold for this," he added. She refused to peek from where she hid but she could hear his foot.

He sighed and she couldn’t hear him anymore.

She felt a wall behind her so slumped on the floor, she had work to do but she’d return the kitten first, so much had happened in Critic Arley that she had a few topics to write about again.

The kitten meowed and she felt her heart break, she cried a little again, the tip of her nose red.

She felt a presence behind her too late, a tap on the wood floor and a voice followed.

"Young girl, why are you crying under my window?" The voice is delicate and slow.

Like an old woman.

Helena straightened her back, she cleared her throat quickly. She stood up and bowed slightly.

It is an old woman.

"I’m sorry, I was just leaving," she said softly.

"Tell me" the old woman prompted.

She is a grey-haired old woman, she walked gradually towards Helena, her left palm wrapped around the top of her wooden walking stick.

"I need to return the cat I was gifted" Helena relented.

The old woman sighed. "But why? If you do not wish to give it back you should not"

"You see, the house I live in isn’t mine, so it’s not my rules, the owner despises anything human..." she broke into a soft sob again "I have to give the cat away" she sounded refusing to dwell on the part where he hates anything human.

She wasn’t human!

"Then give it to me" the old lady offered.

Helena’s eyes widened as she clutched the cat tighter. "What?"

"You should not weep anymore, I shall take the cat" She rested her stick on the wall "Do you live nearby?"

Her question was calm and then she appeared under the moonlight, she had gleaming grey hair under the sun.

"Yes," Helena nodded, wiping her tears.

"You could come to check on the kitten whenever you want," she proposed.

Helena frowned, she looked at the woman suspiciously "Why would you?"

"I live alone," she said as her reasoning.

Helena nodded, as she narrowed her eyes thinking about how good it would be if it stayed with her, old women are good with cats, she thought. The woman must see her coming to the idea so she asked. "What is its name?"

"Ebony," Helena replied.

"Alright, give Ebony to me, I shall take care of it till you are ready to take it"

"Thank you, I shall come to check on it every day" Helena declared bright and strong.

"I’m sure you will," the lady said with a small chuckle

Helena watched her turn into the house slowly, eye felt perhaps this was a bad idea but she didn’t have a better option, she would rather the bad idea than return the cat somewhere far away.

There was fine food when she entered the kitchen.

Conan was out of the house so she sat in the dimly lit dining room adorned with soft tapestries, she sat alone in a polished mahogany table draped in lace.

She delicately lifts a silver fork and looks at it playfully, it is adorned with fruit patterns.

She went on to savour a bite of roasted pheasant, the aroma of it had been the one to fill the air earlier.

Her attire is dark today, she is in a black dress and cloak, Conan didn’t seem to notice earlier because of the cat.

The table is set with fine china and crystal glassware, his mother had gotten them for him.

She leisurely eats her meal before leaving the room.

She went back to the bedroom and after moments of silence, she drifted off to sleep.

***************

Midnight.

Bedroom, Conan’s Bungalow.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

***************

Helena lay in serene stillness when Conan stepped inside their bedroom, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with the cadence of deep slumber. He sighed and sat on the bed with his muckraker’s papers, she had a lot said, it is strange she knew all this if she hadn’t been around.

However, as the night unfolded, a subtle transformation gripped Helena’s countenance. A haunting tremor passed over her features, accompanied by a disconcerting twitch and occasional murmurs escaping from her lips. Conan’s ears twitched but he was deep in his reading.

The tranquillity of her slumber shattered as her once peaceful demeanour contorted with the invisible tendrils of a vivid nightmare.

In the depths of her restless sleep, her body tensed, limbs occasionally jerking involuntarily as though attempting to escape the intangible clutches of the dreamworld’s grasp.

Conan turned to her quickly, her body jerked again. The distress etched across her face manifested in fleeting expressions of fear and dismay as he reached to tap her shoulders.

"Lady Clingy?" he whispered.

But Helena is in a painting of vivid nightmares disrupting her peaceful slumber.

She couldn’t hear him answer, so she frowned.

"Helena!" he called again.

And at one she answered "Yes?" as though she wasn’t just jerking and mumbling, she rose to a sitting position.

"What is happening with you?"

His question came out breathless his palm on her arm, he held her eyes.

She pulled away. "What do you want?"

"How about you sleeping fine?" he countered his brows high.

"I am fine" she retorted, attempting to lie back down.

"No, you are not!" he growled, taking hold id her arm again, she had light cold sweats on her forehead, he wished he could wipe away.

"Leave me alone Conan" she muttered, her voice soft.

He gripped her arms tighter, both of them this time making her meet his brown orbs.

"But you are not leaving me alone Helena, you are everywhere, you make me breathe you and now you won’t let me sleep" he confessed in a breath.

She refused to be flustered.

"I’m sorry but I can’t stay in a room of walls that have a mouth, a room that whispers" she countered angrily, her chest rising and falling quickly.

"Why do you hear the whispers? I never do" he said quietly, his eyes attentive.

She looked down. "I do not know, it is your house"

Her reply made him nod, she was still irate at him. Understandably so.

"What nightmares haunt you?"

She pressed her lips together before retorting. "You woke me up, remember? I can’t recall the dream or nightmare"

He nodded. "Sleep then Helena, tomorrow we shall talk" he said and then he let her arms go.

She shivered at the new breeze that met her, she gulped before lying back down.

She doesn’t want to talk tomorrow.

*

* *

*

Dear Critic,

In the heart of a Critic-Ishire, Critic Arley was once a small there land that existed, it was overlooked and shrouded in the mists of neglect.

This city, however, carried within its perimeters a latent potential waiting to be unearthed.

Theodore found the city and the winds of change began to whisper, fate smiled upon the city and he declared himself the Lord of the modest kingdom, which is now a city in an empire.

Through visionary leadership and the benevolent rule of Lord Theodore who was wise and ruthless, the small Critic Arley burgeoned into an exceptional city.

Lord Theodore is known for his sagacity and compassion, and surely his relentlessness, and viciousness on war grounds, transformed the neglected land into the grandest among the whole of Critic-Ishire.

A mighty city rose, and fertile fields stretched beyond the horizon of Critic Arley until the casted land. The once-ignored land became a beacon of prosperity, a testament to the resilience that lay dormant.

Theodore became the Lord from the beginning and Salvatore despite being the crowned prince envied that.

The beating heart of this thriving city was its colossal marketplace, a bustling hub where traders from other cities and even distant kingdoms called together to exchange goods, ideas, and culture.

The marketplace, adorned with vibrant stalls and bustling with activity, became the envy of the other cities and other Dukes and ultimately the emperor. Merchants and craftspersons alike flocked to showcase their wares, making Critic Arley a melting pot of diversity and commerce.

Amidst this grand city, the people of Critic Arley emerged as paragons of nobility.

Lord Theodore, with a vision that embraced inclusivity and fairness, fostered an environment where every individual thrived, even the rebels. The men and women of the kingdom, inspired by their sovereign, displayed acts of chivalry, kindness, and unity, forging a society where virtues flourished, unless the bad eggs would still be.

Lord Theodore’s governance was characterized by wisdom, justice, and a commitment to the well-being of the city still with a strong and imposing presence.

Now a person to destroy this city has arrived in Critic Arley.

There is a visitor.

~Yours truly, Muckraker~

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