Humble Vanity

Now he is lost with only the autumn leaves to watch his plight. He had not meant to drop the candle in the study. He had not meant for the flames to eat the sacred scrolls and volumes of stories from times long past. He had never wanted to destroy such valuable texts, but they were gone now. Then the flames took his greatest feature. He had always prized his looks, paying attention to put lead on his skin as the ladies did to keep it as pale as the nobles’ skin. With a mere glance, he could charm the ladies from across the Riviera. They flocked to him like bees to the fragrant blossom. But that had not protected his face from the flames. The hungry fires had first knocked him down by devouring the base of a pillar and crushing him underneath it. Then it licked his face at first, as if tasting its prey. Then it latched on, sinking its fangs deep into the flesh. He had tried to beat the flames down, but nothing worked. The fire workers had managed to get him to the hospital. But soon, they learned that he was the one who burned the sacred texts. With his looks gone, he was called a monster, even a witch for destroying the most holy of books. With that, they chased him out of the hospital, with their axes and torches, threatening to let the fire finish its work. That was how society abandoned him.

Unfortunately, the only salvation within the dense forest was a temple. The priestess who had opened the door saw through his scars as soon as she laid eyes on him. She had released a mighty laugh, startling him. “That is the Rule of Three for you,” she said with a smile. “You try to burn us ‘witches’ at the stake, and the fire finds you. It’s too perfect.”

Hearing this, he had tried to apologize, “I have nowhere else to go, please let me stay.” He had lost his ego and gained humility in his few days in the forest.

The priestess had not been pleased. Her red lips pursed. The dawn-colored hair flowed from her head to her shoulders like a dangling crown. He had not realized she was so beautiful. But her looks were matched by her ampathy. “If you had destroyed this temple, as you so brilliantly campaigned for, those who follow its path will have nowhere else to go and nowhere else to stay when society rejects them.” Her dark eyes had suddenly softened only to return with a fiercer anger. “You called me a harlot. I would have forgiven if you had said witch, for that is true. But a harlot, sir, I am not!” With that, she had slammed the door. He had beaten the door until his fists were raw from the splinters and numb to the pain. Still, no one answered. He had offended the only people who could save him. He was doomed.

Now, the dying leaves wave to him in silent mockery. They have a place to go, to the ground, to rot away and return to their mother. The tree would grow stronger with this nourishment, and the cycle would continue. But his cycle is over. The end is here. He lays his head on the pillow formed by his coarse brown cloak and waits for the powers to take him. With a sigh, he lets the scarred skin slide over his vision as he closes his eyes. He had been wrong, now he pays the price.

THE END