Too much stuff

Yeah . . . . Not getting around to much posting. Can't see a good future either. I'll just say that I'm doing well, and leave you guys for a good long time with this. This was partly inspired by Cyrano, but only slightly. . . I msut have written it about a year ago . . . Enjoy.


Wiping the dirt and dust from the brim of his hat, a young, simply-dressed man dismounted from his steed with a sweep and a flourish of his riding crop. He was on the gravel driveway, in front of the stately mansion of the Baron of Munich, A large town in the south of Germany, in shadow of the mountains to the south. The mansion was beyond the wildest dreams of any of the villagers in the surrounding area. Lush, sweeping gardens, fountains, lawns in the front for games of Croquet and Tennis, the woods to the east for hunting: every Human desire could be fulfilled here, yet, the young man, deep in his heart, had a terrible foreboding.
Although his outward appearance suggested a calm, worldly man, on the inside, he was not of the world. Too tender, too loving, he could never survive here, although he never knew this, and if he did, he would have denied it. This man, not of this world, yet worldly on the outside, angelic on the inside, tethered his horse to one of the posts, and tethered his soul to this world. Ascending the flights of stairs, he rapped thrice on the magnificent gilded doors, and took a respective pace backwards.
A wizened old man, in a knife creased suit and spotless spectacles greeted him, and sweeping his arm inwards and bowing, invited the gentleman inside. Removing his hat, the gentleman placed it on the little table, designed for that purpose, and studied the family pictures in the entry hall. He knew them all quite well, so this was utterly unnecessary and absurd. But remember, he was not of this world; he only was here by accident. Needless to say, after a while, the Baron himself entered the room, and the gentleman turned and looked him in the face. And looking in his face, he received his answer, although any other “man” would leave immediately, he stayed, out of politeness.
“I know why you have come” The gentleman said nothing. His face was completely blank, a sheet of paper. “And I will make you a proposition” He paused and hesitated. “I could . . .” he trailed off into silence, and started again, quickly as if a waggoneer hurrying to get over a rough patch of road, “If you bring back the heirloom of my house, the Seal Ring, then, and only then, may you marry my daughter.”
Having said that, he turned on his heel and left the room, while the butler showed the familiar way out to the gentleman, who had not said anything the entire time. Although the young gentleman did not show it, the possibility of returning the seal ring sparked a dying hope, which slowly rekindled it into a blazing fire, a fire that did not consume, but strengthened. Picking up his hat, the gentleman strode out the door, and unfastening his steed, he glanced up at the window, to see her there, black hair flowing with the slight breeze; she looked almost as angelic as he was.
Down fluttered a square of silk, from the window, as if by accident, and he caught it, and blew a kiss to his loved one, and she waved, as he put her handkerchief in his pocket, almost reverently, and mounted his horse. With sound of iron on stone, he turned back, looked once more at her, and road down the driveway, as it all of hell was after him.