The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

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They didn’t stay long in Riverside, and Kors was sincerely glad about this. He himself didn’t understand why he was so afraid of this place. It was somehow fatal for him. Here he attended the council of commanders before the attack on the Fort, and then he was an indisputable authority for his black warriors, he was one of them. Surrounded by his companions, he proudly sat in a place of honor at the head of the table, covered with a maroon velvet tablecloth, which Valentine had obtained from no one knew where that day. And he also sat at this table later, but the tablecloth on the table was crumpled and dirty. He sat alone in an empty house, his shoulders slumped and his posture of the chosen master forgotten — an outcast with a painted face, with a body covered with patterns of unclean ones, humiliated and turned into a slave.

Kors diligently drove these painful memories away from him. On that terrible night in this abandoned, decaying village, the Demon showed him his strength, but, in the end, Kors remained alive, and nothing seemed to have changed. Or so it seemed. But when, by the will of fate, he found himself in this cursed place, deeply hidden memories and emotions treacherously began to surface, spinning into a whirlpool of heavy thoughts and not giving rest. And Kors was well aware of the fact that he couldn’t calmly enter that room with a vile rat swarming in the corner.

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