When night falls on my demesne, I light a lantern, go outside to the western side of my manor, heave open the immense doors of my root cellar, and descend its staircase. To a bystander, this ritual is confusing since, during the day, the root cellar is only a cellar. But, there is a purpose. You see, at night, the cellar becomes an entrance to the lower demesne.

The lower demesne is, I suppose, still a part of me, though I have negligible control over it. This is unlike the upper, where I retain a small part of control, in spite of Flaw. Incidentally, Flaw cannot fully follow me down into the lower demesne.

The lower demesne belongs primarily to a nameless being who attempts to persuade me to stay below. They can take many forms, be it man, woman, or beast. They most regularly appear as a man, so for ease of reference I will refer to them henceforth as a man.

The nameless man has manifested using many guises. The most emblematic to me, however, is that of a tall man with long, curly red hair. He does not often take this shape, but it is memorable and has become the way I prefer to depict him, again for ease of reference. Luckily, he has no preference when it comes to my depictions of him, so I am not committing a social faux pas by determining this.

Though he changes shape, I know him when I see him because he always radiates the same feeling, the same atmosphere. He is showy and dramatic, placing himself as some sort of authority that he'll deign me to reach.

Bafflingly, in defiance of the man's temptations, there are nights when the lower demesne will reject me entirely. I'll attempt to descend the gloomy staircase only to be hurled back out by an invisible force. On certain cruel nights, this will happen repeatedly. It is exceedingly distressing, for venturing into the lower demesne is required for my continued survival in this realm. Why this is, I do not know.

Of course, on such cruel nights, Flaw takes full advantage of my torment and endeavors to restrict me further from entering the cellar. However, I'll usually escape its grasp and hover around the various levels of the staircase, but I'll never completely descend into the lower demesne proper.

There have been few torturous nights where I could not be on the staircase whatsoever.

At times I wonder if the lower demesne rejects me because the man below is angry with me. I resist his entreaties without fail, no matter how romantic he becomes. He will put on splendid shows and I leave the cellar the next morning wishing I had stayed, but I know that I cannot.

I do not understand his reasoning for wanting me prisoner.

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By Adaline Guerra