Welcome to Fortrove Impressions, this is part of a series of creative impression stories based on items from our inventory written by famous anonymous authors.
Today's story is based on the following item:
Vintage Tiffany & Co Solid 18k Yellow Gold Set Of Two Candlesticks. If you are interested in this item it is available for sale here. The starting price is $55,500 and we are taking offers.
...and now we present the story written by our unnamed famous author.
The Lighthouse and the Duchess
The air seeping in through the poorly insulated brick made this night particularly cold in the lighthouse. Jeremiah valued the life of a minimalist. An individual delightfully prone to extended periods of solitude, his thoughts before contacting his employer were buzzing with opportunities of self-discovery. Perhaps he would meditate the whole year round, since “lighthouses practically run themselves” he said with a naive confidence. Now, he writhes and shivers in complete discomfort, using his backpack as a makeshift blanket. The cot he was lying on was stiff as a coffin, and absorbed the surrounding low temperatures to the point where body heat stood no chance in providing solace enough to doze off. It’s only a matter of time until the scent of winter turns the corner. Jeremiah lifted himself to the edge of his cot and rocked drowsily back and forth until the momentum forced him to his feet.
He took a long look into his environment, drenched in pitch black with a small rectangle of dark blue impressing upon the floor. After taking a minute for his eyes to adjust, he made his way to the desk on his right, below the window where the sound of ocean waves pulse in volume. The small rectangular chunk acted as an amplifier, turning the room into a full-bodied conch shell that vibrates the planks of wood acting as a floor. Grabbing a wooden chair from underneath the desk, he plopped it on top and began climbing the furniture toward the window. He peered through, and kept his eyes on the ocean for an oscillating beam of light to glaze its surface. The timeframe for the lighthouse beacon to completely rotate was around thirty five seconds. Jeremiah counted, composing tiny songs from the rhythm. It was a grueling two hundred steps to the top of the lighthouse, and he was often happy to shirk his duties until morning when he had to spend hours cleaning the lens and surrounding windows. After which, he’d wander the shoreline in echoes of lonely self-resentment, only rarely driving into a nearby town to restock on imperishable food goods. No one would look at him, or speak a word. He would return the favor in kind.
Twenty five seconds, and no light. Perhaps he’d caught the cycle just at the end and another ten seconds would suffice. Five more seconds. Three. Two. Jeremiah felt an unfamiliar creaking, and a shift in weight causing his balance to falter. The back leg of the chair had pierced through the hollow point of the desk drawer, sending Jeremiah tumbling. He awoke from his daze moments later, laid out on the wooden planks. Jumping to action with a start, he flew out the door and began climbing the steps of the lighthouse with no time to gather his equilibrium. His breath stung as the temperature dropped the further he went up, each inhalation a sharp staccato of perching autumnal air. He kept his eyes forward as the winding path gave way to the lighthouse door. A golden placard hung at chin height read “The Duchess guides our way home”. After swinging the door open to a lightless room, Jeremiah hesitated a moment when he heard the music of the ocean skip a beat, followed by the sound of a horn.
