The kind,handsome stranger named Lazarus

Despite the calm and collected way, almost laid back, he talks to me, I still feel like I am being preyed upon. Hunted and closely monitored by the same man who was sitting not even two feet away from me.

But despite this, the feeling of it was not as scary as it should have been. I wanted to draw him out and play. It was like a strange affiliation the prey has upon its predator. To tease and taunt, to show that it knew it was being hunted.

“That’s right-“ I realize I was not as forgetful as I thought I was. He was simply rude enough to not introduce himself at all. “I never got to introduce myself either… yet, you know who I am…”

While I know I should be bothered about it, I’m not. Actually, I feel a bit special. Special enough that someone looked at me and decided I was worthy enough to know from a distance. That I was not some backstory character in my own life.

“You got to introduce yourself long ago.” He speaks in such an ominous way that I feel a sliver of a threat in his voice and the way he eyes me.

My lips pressed together and I slowly looked away, tensing up slightly. Not everything he said made sense and that was growing to be a little uncomfortable. Have I lost my memory?

“My name is Lazarus.” The crimson eyed stranger speaks, bowing his head slightly, as a formal introduction, like things were not weird enough already. “Lazarus von Strugar.”

“That’s quite a strange name.” I comment. “Not from around here, are you?”

His brows furrowed and I feel like I might have spoken too much. Was he angry? Displeased? Was he going to toss me out?

“Actually, my family was the founder of the cities within this region. They were held in high regard until the church has set roots within the very heart of the community and started spreading rumors about us…” he speaks with a strange hesitation. There was anger and guilt and maybe even a hint of need for revenge behind his words, behind the way he almost hisses his words.

“I am Nesta, daughter of Ferdinand and Milena.” I speak with a bit of hesitation, trying to shift the attention from his grim tune. “I fear I own no fancy names. Even if we were not mere peasants, there was no need for a second name… I guess.”

“Well, Nesta.” He speaks and I think he is trying to smile, but to me he looks a little constipated. In a very handsome way. Comical even. “Feel free to break your bonds to those who have tried to suppress you. From those who tried to tag you and sell you as a brooding mare. Here you can be your own person.”

The way he speaks is awfully strange and I have to strain to actually understand what he was saying. It was an odd, harsh accent I have not really met before. No one from around these parts talk in any way similar to him, and the information of him being part of a long bloodline of locals seems a little forced to me.

Nonetheless, I know better than to contradict someone in their own home. A smile forces on my lips and I bow my head gently. I was no fool. I was just a woman trying to survive.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Strugar.” I add to my little smile.

“Please-“ the stranger spoke again, a bit of displeasure in his voice, making me a little uneasy. “Call me Lazarus.”

“Lazarus.” I nod gently in a submissive way he immediately notices.

There is a barely noticeable frown on his face and for a few long moments he seems to ponder on something. What it was, I could not tell, but as soon as he takes a decision, he slowly gets up and walks around the table, easing me out of his sight.

A sigh escapes me and I look down at my little platter with food. I was still hungry, but my appetite was gone and I felt uneasy to the very marrow on my bones.

“You can use whatever you need from here. Clothes and shoes, you can roam the castle freely, just avoid the basement. We are dealing with some water infiltration and the air is rather heavy… unpleasant.” He speaks as if he had rehearsed this in a mirror in his room before coming here.

Nonetheless, I take his word to heart and promise myself to stick to my room. He opens the wardrobe and pulls out a hanger with a thick dress. It seemed to have been tailored for someone taller than me. A little bigger overall. He seems to notice it too and he studies the material, mapping it out in his mind.

“I’ll have someone come help you alter these so you have comfortable attires and not walk around in nightgowns.” He nods to himself, and I am sure he was not talking to me. “The servants are at your service as well. Do not mind their coldness. They are not very used to having company.”

Lazarus sets the dress on the bed and eyes me again, those ruby like eyes pinning me down from a distance. There was a wild hunger deep within them that I found deeply unsettling at inviting at the same time. Who was this man?

The only time I have seen red eyes was when an albino baby was born, but their hair was white and their vision blurry. Their skin sensitive to light and their immunity compromised. Was Lazarus an albino? How did he make it to this age? Why was his hair not white or light? On the contrary. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a darker shade of hair than his…

Nothing of this felt genuinely real. This man seemed to be nothing but a representation of my wild mind. Of the books I have read one too many times. There was no way he was walking the same Earth as I did. His beauty was unmatched. His coldness was surreal. The hunger and the longing was beyond what a human could bare.

I find myself staring at him. Actually, we stare at each other and I feel my heart pick up its speed, hammering hard in my chest, the thumping loud enough for me to hear it. My cheek tint red and I dare to look away, back to the table in front of me. A hand moves over my heart and I breathe in deeply.

“You’re too kind, Master Lazarus.” I whisper, narrowing my brows. When a man was kind , he surely wanted something. There was no way he was not doing this to later use it against me. “But I think I have nothing on my name to repay you. Let me work for you!” I bow my head, a hint of shame gripping my heart.

“Work for me?” Lazarus’ voice was now coming from inches away, making me flinch. When did he get this close?! “What could you do for me?” He asks, his voice a little aggravated. “I did not sa-“

“I can clean! I know how to cook! I even have basic medical knowledge!” In intrerupt him, my hands gripping the material of my gown, while I keep my head low, a curtain of my own hair covering my face.

Silence settles over the room and the dread of being used grips me so tight I feel I can barely breathe. Tears spill freely and stain the gown I am wearing. Lazarus remains silent, confused, standing right beside me.

I can’t look at him! I won’t! I won’t show him my tears! I will do whatever I have to do if it meant I could be myself! If it meant I got to keep my integrity, my purity…

The thought of father Cassimir laying his hands on me springs to mind. The lust, the thought of defiling me was visible in those greedy eyes so vividly that it makes my stomach turn even now.

I will not let a man do that to me! Even if he was kind and gentle!