POTATO MOON, Part 7 by Christopher DeSantis

NOTE: This is the second entry within the past day. So be sure to read part 6 by Michael Davidson before you start on this one!

The room grew cold and colder in the night shade, and a wild wind whipped the flickering flambeaus on the façade into a flashing frenzy.

“Castle Thunder” grumbled throatily outside as Jakob stared into the face of Bela, the selfsame Bela who had just mocked his ardent devotion. Her eyes, usually as soft as triple-pureed adirondack blues, were now cold and devoid of affection.

“Woe is me,” sighed Jakob.

As if on cue, an apparition drifted into the room like steam over a bowl of boiled lilis. It was Woeisme, her raven hair standing out against her yellow-scalloped nightgown stamped with maris pipers, which only poorly disguised the growing shapeliness of her form.
With the greatest difficulty, Jakob peeled his eyes away from her and onto a portrait of Baron La Ratte hanging on the wall just behind the girl, thanking his lucky redstars that at the moment, Bela had eyes only for her daughter.

“Did someone call me?” whispered Woeisme, as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “No, love,” said Bela. “Mr. Blaq was just leaving. Go back to bed, or you’ll be too tired for your birthday pratie tomorrow.”

“Aye, child,” said Jakob, “I regret having disturbed your slumber,” and turned as if to leave. But once Woeisme had smiled dreamily and returned to her chamber, trailing a faint scent of truffles behind her, he whipped around and seized Bela, mashing her to his breast and giving her a passionate kiss.

“Bela!” he groaned, “in the name of your own beloved Papa Rellena, cease this folly; Edwood may think he’s a golden wonder, but he has nothing to offer you but an empty, scraped-out skin!”

Surprised by his zeal, Bela looked deep into his eyes. “Turning over a new leaf?” she thought to herself, “perhaps there’s more to Jakob than once I imagined.” Unwilling, however, to let her doubt show, she peeled his arms from around her waist and turned away. But looking coyly over her shoulder, she asked him, “And what do you have to offer?”