Entry 007::The Cloak of Privilege
A dim light flickered overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced across the worn wooden floor. Rue fidgeted in the uncomfortable mahogany chair. The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and old paper, punctuated by the rhythmic sound of the grandfather clock in the corner:
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
How long had she been here? Time seemed to warp and stretch within the confines of this liminal space. She had arrived with a flurry of nerves, summoned by an unexpected letter bearing the imposing wax seal of a law firm she’d never heard of.
The only heavy oak door creaked, revealing a withering figure with a neatly trimmed beard and spectacles perched precariously on his nose. His voice a dry rasp, beckoned her into his inner sanctum.
The next hour was a blur of legalese and unfamiliar names. Rue learned of a great-great-grandmother she never knew existed, a woman named Eleanor who had apparently carved a niche for herself in Richmond’s upper crust during the late 19th century and throughout the 20th century. A distant relative, it seemed.
Then the blur snapped into focus, regaining Rue’s attention. Eleanor, in her peculiar will, had bequeathed a single, curious item: a cloak. Rue’s confusion must have shown on her face, for the attorney chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.
“Not just any cloak, Miss Darby,” he clarified, his voice tinged with a hint of reverence. “A family heirloom, it appears. Quite valuable, I’m told.”
He gestured towards a shrouded stand in the corner. With a flourish, he unveiled the object of the inheritance. A cloak, indeed, but unlike anything she had ever seen. Crafted from a seemingly ordinary black fabric, it held a subtle pattern of her family’s crest that became visible at certain angle. An air of mystery clung to it, a faint whisper that prickled Rue’s skin. As she approached it, the aroma of lavender stuck Rue like the axe of a skilled woodsman strikes a tree. Rue shook her head to resist the scent’s intoxication. It was a stark contrast from the stale bouquet of the leather and sandalwood.
Hesitantly, she reached out and touched the material. It was cool and smooth to the touch, surprisingly light for its size. As Rue draped it over her shoulders. It rustled with words of affirmation as she twirled. It seemed to fit her perfectly. Rue adored its length as she noticed its edges caress her ankles. A warmth spread through her, and as she caught her reflection in the mirror, a voice whispered in her mind, “You are worthy.” Rue blinked, startled. Shrugging it off, she admired this new confident Rue staring back.
Bidding farewell to the attorney, Rue stepped blinking into the crisp night air. The city, usually a full of noise and movement, seemed strangely subdued. Pedestrians parted seamlessly as she walked, their gazes lingering on her, almost like they were hypnotized simply by her presence. It was unsettling. The sudden ease with which she navigated the bustling streets — this was not like her. Clutching the cloak tighter, Rue quickened her pace, her mind a whirlwind of questions. What legacy of her unknown ancestor did it represent? And most importantly, what did the cloak mean for her?
With each step, she had just embarked on a journey that would challenge everything she thought she knew about her family, her city, and the invisible threads of power that bound them.
