"You look thin."

"Are you blind?"

"I am the Duke."

"Then you see nothing."

I laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves in a ditch. The castle was cold. Always cold. The stone drank the heat from our bodies. We stood in the throne room. The light was gray. The dust motes danced. They were the only things alive. I held the glass. It was empty. I held the cup. It was heavy. Lead and silver. Old. My father had drunk from it. My grandfather before him. It was a chalice. Or a trophy. I did not know the difference.

The Duke looked at me. He was fat. He smelled of rosewater and fear. He sat on the throne. It was carved from oak. The wood was black with age. He tapped his finger. It was a red finger. The nail was long. It scratched the wood.

"Sir Aldous."

"Yes, my lord."

"Your men are restless."

"They are hungry."

"Feed them."

"With what?"

"I do not care."

He waved his hand. A bird flew out. It was a raven. It screamed. The sound cut the air. It was sharp. It was cruel. I looked at the cup. I squeezed it. The metal creaked. It was fragile. It wanted to break. I wanted it to break. I wanted to shatter it against the floor. I wanted to drink the shards. I wanted to bleed.

"My father," I said.

The Duke stopped tapping. He looked at me. His eyes were small. They were dark. They held nothing.

"Your father is dead."

"He is in the cup."

"He is in the ground."

"He is in the wine."

The Duke smiled. It was a thin smile. It did not reach his eyes. He picked up his own goblet. It was gold. It was bright. It blinded me. He drank. He wiped his mouth. He looked satisfied.

"You are a soldier," he said. "Not a poet."

"I am a guard."

"Guard what?"

"The crown."

"The crown is on my head."

"Then I guard your head."

He laughed. It was a wet sound. It was ugly. The other lords laughed. They were in the shadows. They were silent. They were watching. They were waiting. They wanted blood. They always wanted blood. It was their religion. It was their law.

I looked at the cup again. It was cracked. A hairline fracture. It ran from the rim to the base. It was white. It was pale. It looked like a vein. It looked like a bone. I traced it with my thumb. It was rough. It was cold.

"Give it to me," the Duke said.

My heart stopped. Then it started. It beat fast. It beat hard. It hammered in my chest. I could feel it in my teeth. I could feel it in my fingers. I could feel it in my skull.

"Take it," he said.

I reached out. My hand shook. I was a coward. I was a fool. I was a dog. I was a tool. I took the cup. It was lighter than I thought. It felt dead. It felt empty. It felt like my life.

"Pour the wine," he said.

I went to the table. The wine was red. It was dark. It was thick. It looked like blood. It looked like life. I poured it. The liquid splashed. It hit the rim. It went over the crack. It seeped in. It stained the silver. It turned the pale crack into a red line. It looked like a wound. It looked like a scar.

I brought it back. I held it up. The Duke took it. He held it in both hands. He looked at the crack. He frowned.

"Is it broken?" he asked.

"No, my lord."

"It looks broken."

"It is strong."

He raised the cup. He drank. He drank deep. He drank fast. He drank until the cup was empty. He drank until his throat was empty. He drank until his soul was empty. He lowered the cup. He looked at me. He looked at the crack. He looked at the red stain.

"It is a flaw," he said.

"It is a mark."

"It is a weakness."

"It is a story."

He threw the cup at me. I caught it. I caught it in my hand. It was hot. It was heavy. It was alive. I felt the crack in my palm. I felt the pain. It was sharp. It was clear. It was true.

"Get out," he said.

I bowed. I turned. I walked. I walked out of the throne room. I walked down the hall. The hall was long. The hall was dark. The torches flickered. The shadows moved. They looked like men. They looked like ghosts. They looked like me.

I went to my room. It was small. It was cold. It was bare. There was a bed. There was a table. There was a chair. I sat down. I put the cup on the table. I looked at it. It was still. It was silent. It was waiting.

I took a knife. It was a short knife. It was sharp. It was clean. I held it. I held the cup. I looked at the crack. I looked at the red stain. I remembered my father. He was a king. He was a god. He was a man. He was a ghost. He was in the cup. He was in the wine. He was in me.

I pressed the knife into the crack.

The sound was loud. It was a snap. It was a crack. It was a scream. The cup broke. It shattered. It fell apart. The pieces scattered. They hit the floor. They hit the table. They hit my face. I bled. I did not care. I felt nothing. I felt everything. I felt free. I felt empty. I felt full.

I picked up a piece. It was sharp. It cut my hand. I looked at the blood. It was red. It was bright. It was beautiful. I put the piece in my mouth. I bit down. I swallowed. It tasted like metal. It tasted like iron. It tasted like death. It tasted like life.

I laughed. I laughed hard. I laughed loud. The walls shook. The windows rattled. The guards came. They ran down the hall. They burst into the room. They saw me. They saw the blood. They saw the pieces. They saw the cup.

"Sir Aldous!" the Captain shouted. "What are you doing?"

I looked at him. He was young. He was scared. He was brave. He was me.

"I am free," I said.

"You are crazy."

"I am clear."

He stepped forward. He took the piece from my hand. He dropped it. He looked at me. He looked at the blood on my face. He looked at the shards on the floor.

"Put it back," he said.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"It is broken."

"Fix it."

"I can't fix a ghost."

He looked at me. His eyes were wide. His mouth was open. He was confused. He was angry. He was sad. He was afraid.

"You have betrayed the King."

"I have betrayed the cup."

"They are the same."

"No. They are different."

"How?"

"The King is alive. The cup is dead."

He drew his sword. It was long. It was shiny. It was cold. He pointed it at me. I did not move. I did not care. I sat on the chair. I held the blood in my hands. I looked at the shards. I looked at the crack. I looked at the red stain.

"I am not your enemy," I said.

"You are."

"I am your mirror."

He swung the sword. It missed me. It hit the table. The wood splintered. The cup pieces flew. They hit the wall. They hit the floor. They hit the air. They were gone. They were dust. They were memory.

I stood up. I walked to the door. I walked out. The Captain followed. He was angry. He was fast. He was close. He was near. I could feel his breath. I could feel his fear. I could feel his hate.

I stopped. I turned. I looked at him.

"Stop," I said.

He stopped. He panted. He sweated. He was tired. He was old. He was young. He was me.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because it is over."

"What is over?"

"The story."

"Which story?"

"Ours."

He lowered the sword. He looked at me. He looked at the floor. He looked at the dust.

"We are nothing," he said.

"Yes."

"We are dust."

"Yes."

"We are shadows."

"Yes."

"We are ghosts."

"Yes."

He sheathed the sword. He walked away. He did not look back. He did not speak. He did not run. He walked. He walked down the hall. He walked into the dark. He walked into the night. He walked into the void.

I stayed. I stayed in the room. I stayed in the silence. I stayed in the cold. I looked at the floor. I looked at the dust. I looked at the blood. I looked at my hands. They were red. They were clean. They were free.

I picked up a shard. It was small. It was sharp. It was cold. I put it in my pocket. I walked out. I walked to the gate. I walked out of the castle. I walked into the town. The town was quiet. The people were sleeping. The dogs were barking. The wind was blowing. The rain was falling.

I walked. I walked fast. I walked hard. I walked until my legs hurt. I walked until my lungs burned. I walked until my heart stopped. I walked until I was gone. I walked until I was nothing. I walked until I was everything.

I stopped. I looked up. The sky was black. The stars were out. They were bright. They were cold. They were far. They were near. They were me. They were you. They were us.

I smiled. It was a small smile. It was a sad smile. It was a true smile. I put the shard in my mouth. I bit down. I swallowed. I felt the pain. I felt the cold. I felt the end.

It was over. It was done. It was finished. It was complete. It was perfect. It was broken. It was whole. It was me. It was you. It was us. It was everything. It was nothing.

I walked on.