๋࣭ ⭑✶ ๋࣭ ⭑ Sleepwalker ๋࣭ ⭑☾

It was late at night. Pitch black outside, really in dead autumn when not a single tree has even a brown leaf on it and yet no snow covers the ground yet.

Depressing to say the least.

And it definitely doesn't help that the wind is so fast that it's rattling nearly every window and almost shaking the walls like a big bad wolf is trying to blow the house in.

So, needless to say, Enoch can't sleep and neither can you.

Enoch had been writing something, a poem, at his desk by the light of a single candle when he got a splitting headache. He didn't want to bother a servant (not that he cared about waking one up, he just didn't want to talk to anyone right now), so he left his room to head for his kitchen to get a cup of water.

On his way, he lingered in his favorite hallway, looking at the many fine art paintings that lined it. His personal collection. He can't help but appreciate each piece everytime he walks this way.

Meanwhile, you have been lying awake in bed for nearly half an hour, tossing and turning because of the wind. You're convinced that you're an insomniac. So you too leave your room, just wanting to walk around a little to tire yourself out.

Your side of the house was always more well-lit, always a bit more awake and active, heck you could swear that one of your maids was humming somewhere nearby even at this hour. Wait, your maids usually go home during the night, since they hate staying overnight here. Okay, that's creepy.

Anyways, you didn't really feel the need to bring a candle with you. And at some point you must've gone the wrong direction down the many hallways on your side of the house, because you find yourself in a hallway full of paintings now. You don't own this much fine art.

And then you pass by a kitchen that definitely isn't yours and you find it strange. You've definitely gone the wrong way. And as your walking down the hallway you spot a candle up ahead and a man that looks like a painting himself holding it. Oh great, it's him.

You then turn around and begin retracing your steps but because of the darkness ahead, you find yourself hesitating. It's scary. The wind is rattling the windows even louder now. You glance behind yourself again to find him looking at you like he's judging you for being so afraid. Even though he totally is too.

"I... can walk you back?" he mumbles bregrudgingly, gesturing to the candle in his hand. He doesn't want to help you. Nor spend any more time with you than he has to. But, in total honesty, he doesn't want to be alone in the dark either.