7 in 3

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Iota 

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Sitting on a real bed for the first time, touching the probably expensive blankets, I feel out of place. The large room assigned to me is filled with fancy furniture, illuminated by recessed lights in the ceiling. Looking down at my new, extravagant clothes, I smile. At least I finally got properly fitted clothes, I hated running around shirtless. I laugh softly as I poke the ruffles under my chin. I’ve been invited to dinner with the Count. Dinner with a Count! I shiver nervously, a little intimidated at the prospect. Jumping down from the bed, I walk to the door. When I open the door, it bumps into something - something that squeaks. Looking into the hall, I see a maid on the floor. 

“Did I knock you over?” I ask the fallen woman. Looking closer, I see that she's trembling with a scared look on her face. “Are you okay?” 

The woman, finally pulling herself together, jumps up and bows. “Of course I’m quite fine, sir! Please follow me to the dining room if you’re ready.” With a nod, I follow her through the large halls of the house. The hallway is decorated with odd objects sitting on shelves and pedestals. Most of them seem to have no use, so they're probably art. Soon enough I find myself in a room taller than the hallway and much wider. A large, dark, wooden table fills the room, decorated with small crystals that glow softly. A large sheet of fabric smothers a good portion of the surface, covering the center of the table lengthways. The end of the table is dominated by a massive seat, arguably a throne. The glorified stool looks as if someone convinced a tree to grow through the floor in the rough shape of a chair. 

I sit down next to the throne, across from Zenith. I wave at them and get a blank look back. In an attempt  to dissuade my nerves, I start playing with a small metal thing that had been placed in front of me. Twirling it between my fingers, I almost drop it when a door loudly opens. The Count must be here. I try to remain calm even as my anxiety spikes and I feel the cold spreading out from my chest, small amounts of mist coming out of my shirtsleeves. Just as I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack, Cleave sits down in the massive chair, filling it perfectly. 

The large man gives me an even larger smile. “What’s with the smoke, boy? You scared of little ol’ me?” Chuckles roll over the room, and I scowl. He’s the Count? Aren’t Counts important? How can someone as goofy and strange as him be a Count? Seeing my scowl, Cleave’s face shows a hint of worry. “What’s wrong lad?” 

I mumble a bit, evoking a confused grunt from him. I hurry to get the embarrassment over with and repeat my mumbled words. “I didn’t realize you were the Count." 

The maids in the room jump at the booming laughter coming out of Count Cleave. “No wonder you were so skittish, did you think some scary Count wanted something from you?” I nod at his question, avoiding eye contact. “No, boy, don’t worry, it’s just me." Chuckling, he motions to the maids, who have a shocked expression. “Let’s talk over some food, hmm?”