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[SPRING AWAKENING] Thirty Years From Now - Hanschen x Ernst

Closing the door, my instincts led me immediately to the cabinet. I faced my shoes heel-up on top whilst I knelt and opened it. Inside was a variety of silver cutlery: platters, chalices, knives, forks. A smile widened across my face, as though I were a mother seeing her new-born for the first time, and I lunged for the items. They glistened with my familiarity, a look that I in no way envied until now. What a prince I would be, yes, stallions would bow to me, wives would kiss their husbands goodbye before intertwining their arms with mine. I could be a noble, or the one to save Germany from this mess. Yes... Citizens would rejoice the name of the historic Rilow; my name would be honoured to all descending generations.

Where my fantasy would lead me in fact took quite the opposing turn, as one of the platters slipped from those nimble fingers of mine when I attempted forcing it into the satchel. It clattered against those dreaded floorboards, and I made every effort to grab it again, forcing the cabinet to a close and making my way to the supposed dining room. There, I found a grand table, seemingly where the cutlery was - or would have - been set out. With the tablecloth hung over its edges, sheltering anything concealed beneath it, I tossed my satchel through and followed behind on all fours. I hadn't to know if anyone had heard, but if I were to take my chances, I would bet that they most definitely had.

My theory had proven correct when I heard the footsteps of multiple individuals above the room, a clattering of bare feet that tormented my thieving ears. I drew my legs into my breast and awaited the coming of my captors. There had to be at least three, with two bounding lightly down those stairs in anticipation whilst the third tread carefully along. The light of their candle shone through the fabric like that supposed "light at the end of the tunnel" that was fabled amongst the dying. How treacherous of me, treacherous, indeed; though I wouldn't stop. I searched for the pocketknife I had often equipped with me (it had yet to be cleansed) but alas found none but emptiness. Damn this... It must have fell victim to that snow, the unholy ghost.

The most unusual sound was what came next for me, a sniffling of sorts. Following the removal of my hand from my pocket, a peculiar... thing protruded from outside of the confinements of the tablecloth. The darkness that engulfed me made me unable to identify what this was, and though I was anxious in doing so, I touched it. A wet sensation met my hand and I briskly collected it back upon my lap. Then came a face - a slim face, with ebony eyes that blended with the darkness yet revealed a spark of curiosity. A hound, it had to be. Not three individuals, but two, one of which was my newfound companion. I ushered it away as it tried to gouge its snout into my ear, taking the collar wrapped around its neck and propelling it from the table.

Unfortunately, my efforts only brought me misery, and I hadn't noticed that the other was closing in. A man, to be exact - this one was bare-footed wearing a nightgown that reached down to his ankles. I was grateful for the hound's inability to wail for its master, something that would only induce panic into me, and could only use its heightened senses to detect intruders. Nevertheless, all the while the man took the tablecloth to uncover what was beneath, I crawled to the opposing end of the table, and that damned dog followed.

At last prepared to make my escape by force, I ducked my head out from my confinement, unaware that my first obstacle to overcome would be a wooden chair. I let out a screech as I accidentally knocked my head against it, full throttle, with the willingness to flee. The man - who I assumed by now was the parson - winced, but the dog remained unchanged and pounded its forelegs suddenly onto my back.

'Leave me, you filthy mutt!' I howled, sliding through the chair legs. I stumbled to my feet, driving the now excitable dog away with my fist.

'Lotti, here!' The parson beckoned the dog by his side. 'I hope she didn't frighten you -'

'It could have killed me, that thing!' The candlelight allowed me to easily discern the features of this man: a slim old fellow, wizened, I could say roughly the same age as I, forties. Jet black hair and a complexion that told me that he felt genuine concern. His voice was soft, as though I'd heard it before. I desired to feel reassured in it, yet I simply could not. In his hands, he carried my shoes. Of course: I had left them atop the cabinet. What a fool I was.