Notes

Monsters Of The Men Of Tea

Rain pattered down on the empty road in the large village of Cristeine. Gray clouds boomed threateningly above the city, and a few lone people hurried across the sidewalk. The date was 1642, and the big European village was in constant fear. No one spoke to anyone, and people rushed from place to place with their heads down and blankets wrapped around themselves. It's half past seven o' clock PM. Penbrí, an eighteen year old citizen of Cristeine, walked home with a bag on his back full of vegetables, meat slices, and a loaf of bread for his home. He lives with his mother, older brother, younger sister, and best friend, Eltinu. In Cristeine, you only trust the members of your household. They're your only friends for life.

On Penbrí's way home, he got disoriented from the heavy rain and took a wrong turn. Lost and confused, he tried to find the river which flowed through the center of the city. His home was on the river, so he would be able to find his way home from there. He sat down to think on a nearby bench that had pools of rain water spilling over the sides. His brown hair and troubled face dripped water, soaking himself to the bone. Soon he saw a mother and her daughter hurry across the street, a hood over the mother's face and the daughter's hair concealing her eyes. He stood up and ran to meet them.
"Pardon me, miss, may you direct me to--" He broke off his sentence. The mother, eyes still hidden, turned to him and kept her daughter protected behind her. She quickly pointed a thin, sharp finger in the direction the river was.
"The river is that way." Her voice was quivering, as if in fear. "Do not ever speak to me, stranger, or my daughter ever again." She grabbed the little girls hand and they rushed away. Penbrí stared after them, watching them leave. In Cristeine, that was normal. See, only in this village, there are creatures that look like humans. Everything about them looks human, but inside, they are nothing. They are empty, and they steal others' souls, only by looking into their eyes. That's why you can only trust your family members.

He got home eventually. His mother, Fabarine, ran to him. "You took long!" She fretted. "Cavalri has had to wash the clothes without you. You know that is irresponsible of you to be late, he works around the house all day." Cavalri was Penbrí's brother, 20 years of age. He was very quiet, but always looked after Shinshu, their 9 year old sister. The two were very close, despite their age gap of 11 years.Their mother had Cavalri when she was 17, as the custom for women of Cristeine. Shinshu, when she was older, would do the same.
"I brought food, though, mother." Penbrí smiled, and his mother looked relieved.
"I suppose I always fear that when you, Cavlari, or Eltinu go out, you will come back soulless..." She whispered, eyes glazing with sadness as she sat on an old, dusty couch. Fabarine didn't let Shinshu out of the house, and she wouldn't until she was 12. Most yong children only got to go out when they were 13. Each house in Cristeine, however, has a tiny, fenced-off yard that children can go and sit outside in.

Looking up, Penbrí saw Eltinu at the top of the stairs, smiling. Her long, silk dress trailed behind her and she walked down, arriving at the bottom of the stairs with grace. Eltinu always managed to take great care of her looks and manners, but she didn't brag. Her generosity was rare for someone like her, and she always put the care of the household and the people in it above herself. Eltinu placed her soft, pale hands on Fabarine's old, worn-out ones. "Fabarine, do not worry. We can and will take care of ourselves, and we shall take the utmost care of you and Shinshu." Her voice was like cream, smooth and delicate. Eltinu smiled, and Fabarine did the same.
In the Mayor Building, far across the city where the government and ruling of the city takes place, three men in button suits sit in expensive velvet chairs, drinking raspberry tea and watching the rain. They sit in silence, observing the city and the lightning strikes that reign above it, until one plump, mousy man speaks. He twirls his gelled mustache nervously and says, "When do we tell them?" Across form him in the half circle of chairs, a fat man that radiated with authority barked with laughter.
"Har! You certainly are a delight, Councilman Davis, a delight indeed." He didn't bother looking at Councilman Davis, the one who spoke first, when he tapped his feet nervously.
"But, Mayor Arvor, we must not let them-" He broke off as Mayor Arvor interrupted.
"HAR!" Arvor laughed again. "What do you mean, Davis? We can! We will. No one has to know. Right, Advisor Harold?" Advisor Harold was a tall thin man who advised Mayor Arvor in almost all his decisions. He had been around for ages, and had brittle white hair and a thick French accent.
"Indeed, Mayor sir." He spoke slowly and creepily, like mayonnaise. "This is indeed the best way to get the citizens to agree with our laws. Fear." He sipped his tea. "If everyone thinks some random man on the street could steal their soul with one look in the eye, who wouldn't pay taxes to keep them away?" Davis looked distraught while Advisor Harold was speaking.
"But Harold! We are lying to them! Those monsters everyone speaks of and fears are not real! Do you feel any pity at all? They deserve to know that the 'monsters that have haunted the city for decades' are made up! We made them up!" Arvor turned to Davis, eyes so narrowed they were almost closed.
"Did you not listen, councilman?" He spat out the word with distaste. "You lowly scum think what's best for them is what's best for us. You're hardly better than them," he gestured to the window outside the city and took a drink of his tea, the pink color staining on his mustache. "You heard Advisor Davis."

"Fear is the best way to get them to do what we want."