The feast of the harvest moon was a cacophony of clinking silver and the low, rolling thunder of men’s laughter, a sound that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of my bones, thick and sweet as the heavy, cloying wine that flowed from the great oak barrels in the corner of the hall where the air was already too warm and too still for comfort. I sat at the far end of the long table, my fingers wrapped tightly around a chalice of cold, pale mist that had been brought to me by a servant whose eyes were darting nervously toward the high table where the Lord of the Manor, a man with a face like carved stone and a voice like grinding gravel, presided over his domain with an air of absolute, unyielding authority, a figure whose shadow stretched long and dark across the entire room, touching every guest, every guest who was either too foolish or too proud to look down at their own plate and pretend they did not see the way the light from the tallow candles flickered and died as it reached the edges of his influence, a light that was so fragile, so easily broken, that it seemed to apologize for its own existence before it even managed to cast a shadow.

My name was Elias, though I had forgotten for a long time how to say it, and I wore the livery of the house, a dark blue coat with silver buttons that had begun to tarnish in the damp air, and I held in my hand a small, ornate key, a key that was made of silver and gold, a key that was so delicate it looked as if it might shatter if I breathed too heavily upon it, a key that I had been given by the old steward, a man named Silas who had served the family for forty years and who had looked at me with eyes that were full of a sorrow so deep it seemed to have no bottom, a sorrow that was not his own but belonged to the house itself, a house that was slowly rotting from the inside out, a house that was eating its own children, one by one, in the dark, in the silence, in the quiet places where no one could see them or hear them scream.

"You look ill, boy," Silas had whispered to me that morning, his voice barely rising above the rustle of the leaves outside the window, a voice that was cracked and dry like old paper, and I had nodded, unable to speak, because what could I say to a man who knew that I was not a boy, that I was a man who had been exiled from his own country, a man who had come to this place seeking refuge and had found instead a prison, a prison made of stone and tradition and the unyielding will of a man who believed that he was the center of the universe, a man who believed that the world existed only to serve him, a man who did not understand that there are things that cannot be owned, that cannot be controlled, that cannot be held in a fist no matter how tight you grip them, and I had looked at the key in my hand, that small, beautiful, terrible thing, and I had known that I was holding the thing that would destroy me, that I was holding the thing that would free me, and I had not known which one it was, and I had not known if I wanted to be free or if I wanted to be destroyed, and I had sat in the corner of the room and waited for the light to come, and the light did not come, and the dark stayed, and the dark stayed, and the dark stayed.

The feast continued, and the music began, a fiddle playing a tune that was old and sad and sweet, a tune that made my eyes water, a tune that reminded me of a life I had left behind, a life that was gone, a life that was never coming back, and I looked at the faces around me, the faces of the people who had invited me to this feast, the people who had welcomed me into their home, the people who had treated me with kindness and respect, and I saw in their eyes the same thing that I saw in my own, the same fear, the same sorrow, the same sense of impending doom, and I knew that they were all trapped, that they were all prisoners, that they were all waiting for the end, and I knew that the end was coming, that the end was here, that the end was in the air, in the wine, in the music, in the laughter, in the silence, in the dark.

I stood up, and the table went quiet, and every eye turned to me, and I saw the fear in their eyes, and I saw the curiosity, and I saw the hope, and I walked to the high table, and I stood before the Lord of the Manor, and I looked up at him, and I saw the fear in his eyes, and I saw the anger, and I saw the pride, and I spoke, and I said, "I am not your servant, I am not your guest, I am your judge," and he laughed, and he said, "You are a fool, a foreigner, a nobody, and you will be thrown out of this house, and you will die in the streets, and no one will remember your name, and no one will care, and you will be forgotten, and you will be gone, and you will be nothing," and I smiled, and I said, "No, I will be remembered, I will be remembered, and I will be remembered, and I will be remembered," and I opened my hand, and I held up the key, and I said, "This is the key to the lock in your heart, the lock that you have kept closed for forty years, the lock that you have kept closed because you are afraid, because you are afraid of what is inside, because you are afraid of the truth, because you are afraid of the light, and I am going to open it, and I am going to let the light in, and I am going to let the truth out, and I am going to let you see who you really are, and I am going to let you see what you have done, and I am going to let you see what you have become, and I am going to let you see that you are not a god, that you are not a king, that you are not a master, that you are a man, a broken man, a lost man, a man who is drowning in his own pride, a man who is drowning in his own fear, a man who is drowning in his own dark, and I am going to save you, and I am going to save us all, and I am going to save this house, and I am going to save this world, and I am going to save myself, and I am going to let go, and I am going to let go, and I am going to let go."

And I turned, and I walked away, and I did not look back, and I did not look back, and I did not look back, and I walked out of the hall, and I walked out of the house, and I walked into the night, and the night was cold, and the night was dark, and the night was full of stars, and the stars were bright, and the stars were beautiful, and the stars were watching me, and the stars were waiting for me, and the stars were welcoming me, and I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and I did not know where I was going, and I did not know where I was going, and I did not know where I was going, and I did not care, and I did not care, and I did not care, and I was free, and I was free, and I was free, and I was gone, and I was gone, and I was gone.

But the key was still in my hand, and the key was still warm, and the key was still shining, and I knew that I had not let go, and I knew that I had not let go, and I knew that I had not let go, and I knew that I was still trapped, and I knew that I was still trapped, and I knew that I was still trapped, and I knew that I was still holding the thing that would destroy me, and I knew that I was still holding the thing that would free me, and I knew that I did not know which one it was, and I knew that I did not know if I wanted to be free or if I wanted to be destroyed, and I knew that I was still in the dark, and I knew that I was still in the silence, and I knew that I was still in the quiet places where no one could see me or hear me scream, and I knew that I was still eating myself, one by one, in the dark, in the silence, in the quiet places where no one could see me or hear me scream, and I knew that I was still waiting for the light to come, and the light did not come, and the dark stayed, and the dark stayed, and the dark stayed.