The Mistress & The Young Man

Copyright © 2022 Zeynep Ekim

All rights reserved. No part of this book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission of the publisher.

First digital edition 2022.

Front Cover By Zeynep Ekim

THE MISTRESS AND THE YOUNG MAN

It was too late when the Young Man arrived at the mansion that he was supposed to start working as a servant. The Head Servant, who looked as if he just got out of his grave only to fulfill his duty, was hastily dragging him while mumbling things under his breath that the Young Man couldn’t understand. Their footsteps were clicking through the white marble floors, creating a sign of life inside the dead silent corridors. A strong scent of lavender mixed with the tint of wine was traveling to the deep corners of his lungs with each step that carried him to the heart of the mansion. The dustless white interior was almost blinding, even though the only light sources were the candles hung up on the walls. Oil paintings, coated with the weight of years, were following the Young Man with their dark orbs. Old fashioned, white velvet sofas with gold reliefs were scattered around the lounge. Yet, they looked as if no one ever sat on them. If the Young Man had tried enough, he could have heard how the mansion was hiding blood-filled cries behind its pure white walls. He never knew that white could be so dark.

A woman was standing right in front of the fireplace that was giving its last breath. The Mistress of the mansion was just as white as the mansion itself. The Young Man could have bet that her aura was colder than the weather he just left outside. The Mistress’s silky white hair was long enough to touch her slim waist. Her all-white clothes were elegant yet carried a touch of masculinity.  She did not even bother to turn around when the Head Servant and the Young Man approached her. 

“Good evening, Madam, please accept our apologies for being late… The new servant just arrived.” The Head Servant talked slowly then turned to the Young Man standing next to him, gesturing him to talk.

“I will work hard and not disappoint you, Madam.”

The Mistress was caught off guard when the Young Man spoke. A voice so familiar and long lost to her. In disbelief, she turned around. Hopelessly praying to God that never took her side, to unite her with the only man she ever waited for all these lonely years she endured. On the opposite side, the Young Man was left speechless at the Mistress’s enchanting beauty. He realized that the only thing that time never touched in the mansion was the Mistress. He was right.

The mansion had seen so many different servants in the span of countless centuries, yet none of them knew the dark secret that the Mistress hid behind dusted years. She had been cursed to live under shadows for all those countless years, but despite the time she spent on earth, she was always as youthful as she was in her twenties. Her slenderly sculpted face was the only thing that carried the legacy of her unknown blood-stained past.

Her features engraved and preserved every little detail from the time she killed the only man she ever loved. She considered herself too valuable to be betrayed by anyone, by her first and last love. Never accepted the fate written for her and stabbed her love right through his heart. But even though he betrayed her, she waited for all these years and continued to love him throughout her now cursed endless life. Although she was still not entirely convinced that the night finally gifted him to her, she wanted to believe that the one she had longed for all these forsaken centuries, the one she already forgave, was standing right in front of her. 

“I will give him the usual punishment for being late, Madam.” The Head Servant spoke as he took the Mistress out of her dark and heavy mist of thoughts. Yet before he could take the Young Man anywhere, one simple gesture of the Mistress stopped him. 

“Let him sleep.”

The Young Man was busy unpacking his small ripped suitcase while the Head Servant was eyeing him head to toe.

  “I have been working for her more than 84 years, yet never seen her slack someone off of their punishment.” He mumbled with his irritated husky voice as the Young Man took out a crumpled piece of paper. 

The Young Man was so immersed in the crumpled paper that he held it in his hands as if his life depended on it. 

“Someone, you love?” The Head Servant coldly questioned as he eyed the photograph.

“Someone I had to marry.”

“Both add up to the same thing.”

“Perhaps, not all...” The Young Man answered him as calmly as he could while putting the picture in the pocket of his shirt. “She is the only reason I threw myself into this living hell.” he mumbled under his breath so low that even he couldn’t hear himself.

“Our, Mistress, would never tolerate such things. I have heard and witnessed how countless servants got banished from this mansion... And from their lives…” The Head Servant’s grip on the gold doorknob tightened. But not a single emotion was plastered on his face. “If you want to stay and live in this mansion, do your duties on time and never be at places you are not told to be at.”

The Young Man nodded quietly, looking down at his feet as the Head Servant looked over his shoulder one last time. 

“Also, do not dare to step out of your room at night. Our, Madam, never sleeps.” 

The Young Man crept inside his narrow bed and covered himself with the silky sheets. The lavender scent inside the room was helping him to calm down, calling sleep closer. Sleep took one step closer with each breath yet before it could reach the Young Man, a screeching melody burned in his ears. A sadness so familiar yet so unknown awakened his sleeping soul and its memories. Unconsciously, he got up from his bed and started to follow the footsteps that each note left behind for him. He lurched inside an unfamiliar dark corridor, and there he found himself in front of the room of the Mistress, who was the source of that painfully familiar melody that pierced his heart with each note.

The Mistress was now certain that the Young Man was the one she had been looking for. No one in the mansion except her would hear the downhearted cries of her cello, yet he could. There he hardly stood, centuries and deaths later, again finding his way back to his true love. The Mistress’s fingers drifted apart from the fragile neck of her cello. As the melody stopped and left them alone, the Young Man’s legs weakened, finding himself on the ground. The Mistress’s hand tried to reach out to him but failed to do so. Without music, she was nothing but the cold and unknown Mistress in his eyes. 

When his consciousness came back, the Young Man saw the Mistress sitting on the edge of her bed. A cold breeze was entering the room through the window that framed the endless lavender fields. The delicately embroidered canopy was dancing with the breeze that traveled inside. The Mistress’s light grey eyes were shining as if they were a pair of pearls hidden inside the deep oceans. Those eyes that veiled many secrets were tindering a war between the Young Man’s soul and mind. When she realized that the Young Man was looking at her attentively, the Mistress spoke with her rarely used voice.

“You should go back to your room.”

The Young Man nodded nervously as he got up, not knowing how he had ended up there.

As he was walking out, he saw a spot of darkness at the corner of the room. A piece of black satin fabric veiled a frame mysteriously. It was seductively conjuring the mind of Young Man, and his soul was writhing to see what that mysterious veil hid beneath. 

For a week, sleep never visited the Young Man. He never heard that painful melody again yet longed for it each night. Each day, the Young Man was trying to remind himself the reason why he threw himself into this cursed mansion. Being a servant in the mansion that no one would dare to step in was the best option to hide from his sold future, and was a life he was willing to live. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on his job, his eyes were searching for the Mistress, who had disappeared into thin air after that blurry night. Although it was rare, the thought of the Mistress would slip out of his mind for a second. Then the Young Man would feel her thin cold breath rushing behind his neck, yet she would never be there when he quickly turn around. A feeling that he could not describe, yet his soul very well knew was pulling him closer to the encrusting emotions of the Mistress. That day the Young Man decided to risk his meaningless life. He needed to see what was behind that black veil, the only black thing in the mansion.

He silently entered the Mistress’s room and slowly walked towards the rusted truth and love that awaited for him to descend its veil. In each step, a shiver was running down his spine, not even knowing what consequences his actions will lead to. The Mistress appeared at the corner of the room as if she was the Young Man’s shadow, and observed the Young Man silently. It was a mysterious object to the Young Man, but to her, it was the last proof of their memories that she had kept and protected for centuries. 

When the fabric met with the marbled skin of the floor, an old portrait of two lovers gazed back at the Young Man. The Young Man took a step back in denial and confusion as the realization hit him. It was no one other than himself and the Mistress on that old canvas that barely stood on its own. The Young Man’s eyes were starting to get glossy; it was apparent that his soul was in pain and aching to be free. When he turned back around, he realized the blurry presence of the Mistress and met with her captivating eyes; his weak body gave up on him.

The Mistress caught him before he could hit the ground. Laying him on her bed that she had never laid on it herself once. With a yearning gaze, she took the courage to touch him. She slowly pushed away the strands of the Young Man’s dark curls. Her movements were so delicate as if one wrong touch could easily shatter him to pieces. The Mistress felt her eyes getting heavier, the forgotten feeling of sleepiness was rushing through her body while her fingers trailed down from his hair. Her head softly landed on the Young Man’s sculpted chest. His muffled heartbeats were traveling to her ears, gently putting her to sleep, breaking her curse. 

There without their realization, two old longing souls were united at last when the Head Servant entered the room slowly. His emotionless face was painted all over with brokenness. He mumbled under his breath as he looked over to the old canvas.

“So you finally found the one you blindly looked for…” A silent tear escaped his old eyes as he slowly got his aged body and wasted life out of the room.

When the moon took its place in the sky, it woke the Mistress up. And there, she saw a folded crumpled photograph sticking out from the Young Man’s pocket, right before her eyes… She straightened herself up and took the photograph out unwillingly as if she sensed what was waiting for her. 

The fate unfolded itself with the photograph, as the woman that the Young Man had to marry stood and looked back at the Mistress mockingly. The history was repeating itself right in front of her eyes. Just like how things started centuries ago, that woman was here to steal him from the Mistress again. The Mistress should have guessed that God would not have returned her love for free. There was always a price to pay.

Without her realization, a teardrop carrying the weight of centuries left the Mistress’s eyes, landing on the chest of the unconscious Young Man. The ruthless game of fate was burning her heart, and that tiny tear was too weak to extinguish her piled-up pain. Yet it was enough to bloom the dead flower that slept inside the Young Man’s chest and let his aching soul take control of his consciousness. As the flames of her anger raged, she quickly rose from her seat and ripped the picture into pieces while walking towards her french style windows. She let the wind take the teared-up bits away from her and hide them in the darkness of the night. She gazed through the vast lavender field that she created with her own hands. The field was devoured by crows disguised in shadows and waited for death. The Mistress was so caught up with fighting with her own shadows when a pair of arms framed her fragile body and whispered a long forgatten name.

“Dierdre..”

Her aching heart skipped a beat. The Young Man was the last one to call her name before she abandoned herself from humanity. And now, many years later, he was the first one to recall it. The Young Man’s hand traveled to the Mistress’s chin, carefully guiding her to face him. His coal eyes were burning with a yearning for her. He tucked away the Mistress’s smooth hair behind her ear. The Mistress tried to push him away only to find herself buried in his chest even more. The Young Man’s grip tightened as he breathed in her lavender scent. 

“You are just like how I left you….” The Young Man chuckled. “Even more beautiful, if I may add.” Directly gazing at the Mistress’s eyes.

“Then you must be aware why you shouldn’t be keeping me inside your arms.”

It was not recognizable whether it was her voice or her heart that cracked. The pearls in her eyes were drowning in their own ocean, where they learned to survive long ago. Although she was getting weaker each second with the intense gaze of her old lover, she was putting on a mask of coldness and strength. But she couldn’t help her tears. Although she loved him, killed him, and forgave him, his betrayal and her murder were two ugly truths that could never be forgotten. The Young Man softly touched her cheek, wiping away the rivers that flowed down her porcelain-like skin with his thumb. 

“I was never mad at you for killing me...”He buried his head on the crook of her neck. “Although betraying you was never my intention, I deserved to die… I needed to die…” He was finally with the one he ever wanted, whom he loved so much that life was meaningless without her.

The weight of lonely years and endless longing silenced the room as two old souls reunited with each other. Even the shameless wind was scared to step inside. The Young Man’s loving eyes were absorbing the pain that the Mistress carried throughout all of these endless years. Yet their long-awaited moment was broken as the Mistress diverted her gaze away sharply to the window. There was an unexpected visitor to the mansion that never welcomed guests.

The Young Man rushed behind the Mistress, who stormed towards the lounge. If the flames inside the Mistress’s eyes could have sputtered out, they might have started a fire enough to burn down the whole mansion she built throughout the centuries. But the real reason behind her raging soul was very far from an uninvited guest. Deep down, the Mistress very well knew who was waiting for her in the lounge and she was already too drained to deal with another game of fate.

While the Head Servant was trying to find a way to handle the situation that he had never faced before, the Uninvited Guest was sitting comfortably on the Mistress’s untouched sofas, and the lounge was covered with the guest’ filthy guards. No matter how hard the Head Servant tried to get her out, the Uninvited Guest did not budge. Looking at her attitude, someone could have thought the Head Servant was trying to get her out of her own mansion.

As the Mistress stepped inside the lounge, weakly burning candles blew out one by one. And the expansive windows that caged the atmosphere have burst open. The lounge was now only lit by the moon that kneeled before the Mistress. The Mistress’s faithful servants bowed, and the Guards of the Uninvited Guest stepped back in fear. Yet the Uninvited Guest herself looked unbothered, not even bothering to get up nor meet the owner of the mansion that she barged in. 

The Mistress was never the type to change her tune to solve things around, and her eternal life was not the only secret she kept from the world. With one swift and effortless finger flick, she made the Uninvited Guest fall onto her knees. But rather than being terrified, the Uninvited Guest looked like she was more irritated due to her creased dress. The Mistress walked towards one of the windows, passing and leaving the Uninvited Guest behind. The smooth yet heavy fabric of the Mistress’s coat was floating mesmerizingly with her each step that echoed throughout the room. If the coat had an opportunity it could have wrapped itself around the Uninvited Guest neck and strangled her to death. Behind her shoulder, the Mistress gazed down at the Uninvited Guest. The fate was no longer surprising the Mistress; as she guessed, the Uninvited Guest was no one other than the Woman.

The shadow of the Mistress was falling on the Woman, who was glaring back at her. The heavy atmosphere inside the lounge was stealing away the night. The Woman collected herself up as she brushed off her dress and stepped towards the Mistress confidently. 

“That’s not a really nice way to welcome a guest you invited yourself, darling.” The Woman shamelessly spoke. Then she averted her gaze towards the Young Man who nervously waited at the gold doorstep. “I was expecting a simple apology for stealing someone that is mine.”

The moonlight that fell inside the lounge, directly from the window, was creating an ethereal glow on The Mistress. But unlike her heavenly calm and unbothered image, the Mistress’s centuries-old bottled-up anger was resurfacing with each act and word of the Woman. She was the one that the Mistress had to drown in her raging oceans long ago, yet now unlike her nature, the Mistress was trying to keep her waters calm—hoping that the Woman would sail away far from her and the Young Man. Maybe deep down, she was hoping that God would pity her if she behaved well this time.

“I see… Not eager to accept that you have stolen the man I paid for.” The Woman smirked as she broke the silence one more time.

“You must be either really brave or dumb to barge in a cursed mansion and behave like this.” The Mistress spoke coldly without even glancing at the Woman. “Yet, I will guest you here till you take your leave tomorrow before the sun rises.”

“I’m not even thinking of staying for a night at this mental place where all of you wait for death!” The Woman let out a sarcastic laugh while gesturing to her guards to take the Young Man. “I will just take what is mine and leave.”

“The floor is yours, but I wouldn’t advise you to go against my will.” 

The Guards obeyed the Woman’s order and walked towards the Young Man. Yet none of them fulfilled the Woman’s wish. Each guard that stepped closer to the Young Man lost their ability to breathe gradually with each step that carried them to death. And when they dared to touch what’s Mistress’s, they fell onto the ground, dead. The failing attempts were driving the Woman mad, yet she was not stepping back. She was furiously commanding more guards after another, yet losing to the Mistress each time.

“I suggest you accept my offer, or you won’t even have guards on the way back.” The Mistress coldly spoke.

Before the Woman could reply, with the sign from the Mistress, the Head Servant gestured to other servants to get rid of the dead bodies, and forcefully guided the Woman to the guest room while underlining the rules of the Mistress. But the Woman was not listening nor planning to take leave empty-handed.

The Young Man was trying to calm down the Mistress, inside her room. Her raging flames were now replaced by dark stormy clouds. She was from time to time gazing at the Young Man’s pocket with her glossy eyes, then continuing going back and forth. The love that she longed for was right in her arms, yet she doubted whether she was the one to hold him. Maybe he was really meant to be with the Woman rather than her cursed self. Understanding what was bothering the Mistress, the Young Man swiftly caught the Mistress from her arm and pulled her in his embrace—calmly explaining the side of the story that the Mistress never learned.

“You know how my parents were… If at that time, they did not  put your life on the line, I would have never left your side even if I was sold to marry her…” The Young Man’s eyes started to tear up as a sigh left his mouth. “But now that I think of it, the ending was gonna be the same even if I had told you the truth... It would have been and always been you that got hurt….” The Young Man weakly rested his forehead on the Mistress’s as a tear slipped from his eye; their contrasting curls were getting tangled when he gazed back into the Mistress’s eyes with a determination that she had never seen on him before. 

“But this time, I won’t make the same mistake and obey them… When fate gifted me one more chance...”

The Young Man’s hand slowly traveled towards the cheek of the Mistress as he placed his lips gently on hers. Their slow and passionate kiss carried a centuries-old longing of two grey souls. The Mistress’s deserted heart wanted to bloom again, but the weight of years was crushing her tired soul. She pushed the Young Man away, losing the war against her heart. And at that moment she realized, a strand from his dark curls and one of his eyes were now just as cold and pale as hers. The Mistress was dumbfounded at the view in front of her. Her heart ached. She couldn’t have burdened the Young Man with the same endless curse that she earned with her own blood-stained hands. 

Leaving the Young Man behind, the Mistress slowly walked out of the room to think thoroughly. Her thirst for love and happiness resurfaced her forgotten desire for living, and her heart writhed to live the life she couldn’t live with the one she only ever wanted. The loneliness that she comforted herself with was getting much heavier and more painful than she could endure. 

As her heels clicked throughout the lonely corridors, she stopped in her tracks when a mirror caught her attention. She carefully gazed at her own eyes, which looked the same way as the Young Man’s did. A strange wave rushed through her veins as she stared at the earthy color inside her one eye.

“Who took an oat to end anyone who crossed her lines?” a familiar voice called out to the Mistress.

The Mistress turned around quickly, but no one other than her was there. When she averted her gaze back at the mirror, she realized who was talking to her. Inside the mirror there, the young Mistress stood with her blood-stained hands and clothes. 

“What happened to your desire to descend upon anyone?”

“I don’t want to continue living like that anymore.”

“You don’t?”

A loud thud snapped the Mistress back to reality. She slowly walked towards the open wall of the corridor, where she saw the Woman walking out of her room with confident steps. The Mistress looked down to her pale hands. After all, she had already been cursed and objected to her fate once. She would again willingly battle her fate, for a prize such as the Young Man when the bird was already inside her hands. 

The unknown slender corridors were making the Woman feel as if she was lost inside a labyrinth. The Mistress was watching over her each step carefully. Unaware of the events that this endless night would bring, the Woman was determined to find and take what she thought belonged to her. After taking many turns and looking after many closed doors, the Woman cracked a door open that she should have stayed away from. Inside the hall-like room, there stood a wall that displayed countless daggers. Each is unique and used. The Woman tried to step back in fear yet found herself in the middle of the room.

“You should have listened to me. When I gave you the chance…” A voice echoed, sending shivers down the Woman’s spine.

The candles in the room started to burn with blue flames as the Mistress appeared from the darkest corner of the room. The Woman falling down on her weak trembling knees. 

“Don’t consider this as bad coincidence… I’ve been waiting for this confrontation for a long time. ” The Mistress held the Woman from her delicate collar and pulled her up harshly.

“God will curse you!” the Woman screeched pertly. Her careless confidence was decreasing each second that death stepped closer to her.

“Don’t I seem cursed to you?” The Mistress tightened her grip on the Woman’s neck in anger. “Dead souls can not be cursed again.”

The Mistress took out a dagger hidden under her long layered coat. This dagger looked way more different and special than the ones on the walls. It was engraved intricately and decorated with black rhinestones. The neck of the dagger was sitting perfectly in the Mistress’s hands. It was the dagger that the Mistress created with her own hands, just for this moment. She slowly traveled the dagger around the Woman, yet before she could do anything, the Woman got out of the grip of the Mistress swiftly by kicking her. The Mistress chuckled at the last stand of the Woman. The Woman rushed towards the door but before she could reach it, she felt pressure upon her neck. 

On the other side the Mistress was rising her arm and slowly squeezing her hand. The Woman was holding onto her neck in pain as she elevated from the floor slowly. But before she almost suffocated, the Mistress sharply shifted her arm to the side, making the Woman crash into the wall. . The daggers fell down to the floor, followed by the Woman. Taking her time, the Mistress walked towards the Woman, while turning the dagger in her hand gracefully. She slowly kneeled to meet the Woman’s weak body.

The Woman’s emerald eyes decreased in size with pain as the Mistress stabbed her without batting an eye. The Mistress’s perfectly white clothes were not even stained by a tiny splatter of her enemy’s blood. The Woman, who was already struggling to keep her head high, fell into the pile of her own blood, agonizing to death. With the wave of satisfaction that winning this war has brought, she felt a quick spark of hope before the door of the room burst open, revealing the Head Servant.

“Him.” The Head Servant let out breathlessly. 

“Him?”

The echo of the dagger, hitting the floor was followed by the rushing footsteps of the Mistress. The Head Servant followed behind her anxiously, knowing a deadly storm was approaching. The Young Man was on the floor, bleeding from the exact same spot where the Mistress had just stabbed the Woman. The Mistress kneeled next to the Young Man in dismay, her white suit absorbing the crimson red blood slowly. While commanding the Head Servant to bring doctors; her hands, which never trembled, were now shaking as they tried to block the wound on the Young Man’s body. She realized that she had declared victory too early.

“Now I know... Why you were returned to me...” 

  Centuries later, the Mistress was accepting her 

        defeat against fate. 

She very well knew that there was only one chance to redeem his life and set him free. Opening the cabinet drawer that stood right next to her, she took out a blood-red velvet box. The Young Man was not expecting to see the same dagger again, the one that killed him once. But now, the tip of the dagger was pointing at the Mistress instead. 

After all the failed attempts against this curse and life, she saw a way out of it for the first time. A possibility of sacrifice to save her only love and find peace with herself was a price she was willing to pay. But the Young Man was quick to snatch the dagger away from her hands, refusing to go through another end.

“At last, we united this cannot be the end!”

The Mistress did not reply.

“You can’t leave me behind to live alone!” the Young man cried. “Without you, how would I fill the emptiness that will be left in my heart and soul?” 

“I killed you once and paid its price... I have no power left to bear another eternity.”

“You can’t make me live with the same sorrow!” The Young Man held the Mistress’s face close to him.

“This is the only way that God can redeem your life back and put an end to my living hell.” She whispered.

“No… There must be another way!” the Young Man winced in pain. “Th-there must be a life that lets us be together!”

The Young Man was ready to heal her tired soul and embrace the endless nights, yet fate was not allowing him to live with her. Their fate was never written as a happy ending. Each second, the Young Man’s body was falling weak, and his eyes were trembling with fear of separation. Holding onto his lover as if there is no tomorrow. 

The wind was carrying the sad cries of the crows, and the moon was hiding behind the dark clouds. Although she never wanted to part this way, the Mistress knew it was time to finally put an end to this dark circle of despair and seal her wounded heart by letting him free at last.

“Why should we fight what is meant to happen?” She spoke brokenly as she put her soft hands on his cheek. “Our hearts already know the answer… All that is left for me is to set you free.”

The Mistress slowly placed her soft lips on the lips that she knew she would never feel again. Their tearful eyes closed one last time while their lips danced their last dance. The Mistress’s delicate hands softly traveled down and grabbed the Young Man’s hands that held the dagger and slowly pulled them towards her body. As their lips slowly parted and their yearning gazes met, the Mistress swiftly stabbed herself with the dagger that still stood in between the Young Man’s hands. Her own blood was now filling the unstained parts of her clothes, getting mixed up with his. A broken smile was the only thing she could gift the Young Man besides his life. Her head slowly settled on the shoulder of the Young Man, a tear escaping her eye.

“At last, I have…

Found, loved, and saved you, In this one everlasting night...”

"The Mistress & The Young Man" a short story by Zeynep Ekim