Watching

When the heavy rain finally dried up and the black thunderclouds cleared, the figure outside the tall thin house did not lower its hood. It stayed perfectly still, perfectly silent, seemingly oblivious of the way the rain had drenched through its robes, the way water spilled out of the clothing onto the muddy floor. The figure didn't move, the way it hadn't moved for so many hours now, standing and watching, eyes fixed on the house in front of it.

Then finally came a time - weeks, months, years into its watch - that the figure twitched. The hooded face turned, slowly, wrenching its gaze off the house and to the path behind. There was a moment of silence again. Then the figure disappeared into nothing.

A few moments later the sound of horseshoes came into being. A carriage, rich in red and gold, pulled by three grand horses, pulled into the wide gravel entrance. The horses whinnied and snorted, still damp from the recently departed rain. The carriage pulled up very close to the imposing house's entrance, and, after a few seconds, the door swung open.

A booted foot exited the coach, followed by a man just as rich and extravagant as his transportation. He adjusted a fur-lined cape, and then languidly took the steps up to the manor. He waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder to the driver of the coach, not bothering to turn, and then put his hand on the brass door handle, retrieving a key from an inside pocket.

As the man slipped through the door, the hooded figure reappeared silently in his spot. The driver didn't turn, and, even if he did, would have seen nothing out of the ordinary. The figure watched the closed door with a cold, calculated interest.

Well well. Seemed that now there wasn't only one person interested in Bloodstone Mansion...