Chapter 3 Shame
Turning around to exit the room, I shut the door, and turned the corner of the antechamber into the bathroom. Shutting this door as I entered as well, I began to look at the details of the room. The bathroom was the same size as the bedroom, and just as bare. The walls of the room matched the purple silk on my bed, and the tiles a white matching that of the walls and rug in the bedroom. Along the wall to the left of the door, there is nothing but two white hooks for hanging towels. Along the next is a shower, a closet, and a small alcove with one large porcelain toilet. On the wall opposite where I stood there was one window identical to that in the bedroom. Finally, in another alcove at the far end of the wall to my right, was a sink matching the porcelain white of the toilet, set in a vanity counter, and overhung with a vanity mirror. Walking over to the closet , I opened it to find everything I needed within. Hung on the inside of the door of the closet was a long purple bath rug matching all of the other purple in the two rooms. After laying this rug down in front of the shower I turned back to the closet to find a set of white towels and cloths folded on the shelves. Removing a towel I hung it on the hook closer to the shower. Turning back to the closet I undressed and tossed everything into the laundry shoot set in the back. After reaching into the closet to flip a switch on the left wall turning on the shower light, I shut the door. Walking over to the left side of the shower, I reached inside to turn on the water and adjust the temperature from the recognizable feeling. Between the lights, and the water, this bathroom is a magnificent fissure manipulation achievement far beyond any other of this time, which I did not understand. Pulling back the purple shower curtains I climbed into the shower to find that the water was exactly the temperature I wanted. Looking to the back of the shower to my right, opposite the showerhead, and abutting the wall of the closet, I could see the edgeless mirror, strategically placed at face-height, and out of the reach of the water flow. Looking into said mirror I was faced with the gaunt expression that I realized I must have been wearing. Not yet touched by the water, my jet black hair was dry, and straight-up, standing about three inches tall. My facial hair too seemed dry and disorderly. I pierced into my own green eyes as I surveyed the rest of my face, to see the dry skin, sharp jawline, and the two white scars sitting about two inches long vertically under either eye. Turning back to the showerhead I proceeded to take a long cleansing shower. After showering I turned back to the mirror to take care of my hair and face. Opening a small waterproof, receptacle, embedded in the left wall of the shower, parallel to the mirror I found my skin and hair care products. I shaved my face into a neat extended goatee with sideburns, combed my hair into a slick comb-over, and applied moisturizing cream to my entire face. Turning off the water from the shower, and exiting it to find myself on the shower rug, I pulled down the towel from it’s the hook, and dried myself off. Walking over to the closet I removed the towel and threw it into the laundry shoot, and next moved to the vanity counter. Opening the top left drawer of the counter I pulled out my dark brown morning robe and pulled it about me. Looking up into the mirror I could see the robe covering every part of my torso except for a triangular strip of my chest, and my arms from the elbow down. Satisfied with my look I exited the bathroom to finally meet my wife for the morning.
“Good morning ma’am”, I said apprehensive yet respectfully, entering the enormous dining room with my eyes cast down shamefully. I stood there awkwardly for a few seconds awaiting some sort of reprimand or response, but soon realized that I simply looked foolish. Looking up I came to see that I was actually the only one in the room. Directly before me stood the long one hundred seat dining table, but only one place seemed to be set. In front of the one seat at the end of the table opposite of where I stood had not only been set, but it was also steaming with a plentiful fresh breakfast. Walking along the right side of the table to get a better look at that which was at its daunting far end, my eyes caught on the intricate details. The table itself stands about five foot tall and six-foot-wide. The length was impossible to estimate from a glance, but I knew that it seats exactly one hundred people with forty-nine on either side, and one on either end. I wasn’t exactly sure how I knew this, but I always had. This simple fact was something that everyone in the estate and the entire administration for that matter knew. This was the first time that I could actually remember reflecting on it and it began to fluster me. The fact that I knew not only knowledge, of whose origin I could not nearly recollect, and exactly who else knew it, but also that each other had the same amnesia as I, was both confusing and perplexing. Both the table and chairs are made of some sort of hardwood. The outside was stained a decorative dark Rowan brown, however, the actual identity of the wood was unclear to me. I came to realize that every seven chairs there stood a girthy support on either side of the table, meaning that there were fourteen supports in total with seven on either side. All of these supports are impressive individual identical intricate works of art. They are round and wider in the middle than the top and bottom. At its widest, each support looked to be about eight inches in diameter, and four at it’s thinnest. It was not clear how these supports were secured to the table but it is about two inches from its edge, causing the said edge to be parallel to the wide center of the support. Along the outside of these supports as well as the curved edges of the tabletop are the intricately carved depictions of the great tales of the FGs of old. The chairs too are pieces of both artistic and structural achievement. Each chair resembles a throne, with its girthy base matching the color and evidently the design of the table. From the leg bottom to seat top they are each about four feet tall, leaving about a foot of space between it and the tabletop. Each Seat is a perfect square of about three feet both ways with the legs extending completely across the open expanse giving it the appearance of a closed box. The sides of the seats are flush with the tops of the legs, and likewise each leg to the next. Each chair backing is parallel to the back leg of the base and about four feet tall, causing the entire chair to reach an impressive height of 8 feet, three taller than the table itself. Extending from these backings to the front of each chair, abutting the bottom of the table is a foot by three-foot arm. The arms stand supported by a wall of support from the seat leaving only the front open. Carved into the end of each such arm is the gaunt face of Mandrilya, to remind all who may sit there who it was that ruled the estate within which they were. These carvings are rounded intentionally, to be used as a hand rest, and along the outer walls of the seats are the same carvings as those on the supports of the table. As I neared the end of the table I realized two things. The first thing that caught my eye was that each chair standing next to a support abuts it directly, and the space between each other matches the width of those supports. This means that there are eight inches of space between each of the forty-nine three-foot chairs, and that contradictory to my previous thought I could indeed tell the width of the table. Having always been able to do math quickly in my head I soon came to the conclusion that the table is one hundred and seventy-nine feet long. This number seemed insignificant yet for some reason it stood out in my mind. The second thing that I noticed was that although it had been at least three years since this table was used and that we don’t have the housekeepers come in this room the place was dust-free.
Coming to the end of the gargantuan structure I realized that my initial observations about the steaming substance that sat there were wrong. Sitting in a large silver platter at the end of the table was what appeared to be the rotting corpse of one of the administration guards. Although I knew that what I should be sensing was fear all I felt was shame. I felt shame in myself for my rash behavior the night before, because I knew this was the introduction of my extensive punishment to come. Out of the shadows strode my stern-faced wife. In my one-hundred years of marriage to the renowned FG Mandrilian, I had seen the look I saw right now countless times. This look meant that I was about to face a punishment that would test the limits of my physical and mental endurance. With the shadows with which she debuted ominously yet not surprisingly following her and blocking out her features, she came to tower directly over me. Being about ten feet tall like most of the Virchian race, she towered a good four feet above my six-foot Prook frame. Virchians, more casually known as Vircs, are the natives of Virchanalada, the country with which the Septetium rules. As a Prook, I am a foreigner to Virchanalada, from the land of Endecorn, and this Prook was about to endure a punishment fit for an under-dweller. “I’m sealing you in”, she said flatly as she disappeared back into the shadows, “you decide when you get out.”