5. Victorian Doubt

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5. Victorian Doubt

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Then, from the torments of war, my mind became that of serenity and love. I was in a Victorian mansion, in a dark room, nestled within the richly carved wooden confines of our bedchamber. The dim glow of candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows upon the crimson velvet drapes that framed the window. My beloved Martha, adorned in a flowing white gown that seemed to shimmer in the faint light, stood before me. I, on the other hand, donned a meticulously tailored jacket, resplendent with the exquisite embroidery and intricate buttonwork. My wife and I exchanged kisses as we sat upon our bed.

“I find myself indisposed, my dearest,” said I.

Lifting up, I walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside, leaving just a narrow gap to peer through. Above the night sky, the full moon hung shrouded by ominous, dark clouds, casting an eerie glow that painted the world below in Gothic silhouettes. Looking down, I lingered my eyes upon the street, a narrow passage flanked by wrought-iron gas-lamp posts. Each stood as a sentinel in the night, casting its flickering glow across cobblestones that gleamed like wet, dark jewels. Beyond this confined view, the horizon stretched out in somber shapes of towering buildings and smokestacks, all black against the night. The sky itself was a murky tapestry, woven with the soot and pollution of the ceaseless industrial machines.

As I brought my fingers up to rub my eyes, I was overcome with an unsettling feeling that something extraordinary was occurring within my mind. Though I could not pinpoint exactly what was happening, I knew with certainty that my mental state had shifted in some profound and abnormal way. The experience was so bizarre and outside the realm of normalcy that I struggled to comprehend it. I attempted to grasp at what could be causing such an anomaly, but no rational explanation came to mind. The only thing I could conceive was that this distortion of my faculties must be an illusion brought on by the laudanum I had taken earlier to calm my anxious disposition.

As I glanced back, I saw Martha's countenance filled with concern. Her fair skin was furrowed with worry, blue eyes gazing upon me intently. She had pulled her brown hair back tightly, though a few unruly curls had escaped around her forehead. I was struck by her stately beauty, the fine lines around her eyes and delicate lips. Her dress had leg-of-mutton sleeves, a tight bodice, and layers of flounced skirts. Around her neck hung a cameo brooch that accentuated her graceful collarbone. Though no longer a youthful belle, Martha's elegance and poise were undiminished by time.

“What ails thee, my love?” queried she.

I let out a deep sigh and made my way over to the plush, high-backed chair just beside the window. The chair's carved mahogany frame and tufted leather cushions embraced me as I sank into its seat. I crossed one leg over the other and let my body melt into the familiar contours. Reaching into my breast pocket, I retrieved my worn tobacco pouch and favorite briarwood pipe. Packing the bowl with delicate precision honed over years of habit, I then struck a match and held it to the tobacco. Pausing to draw in the first sweet tastes of smoke, I exhaled a thin curling cloud that danced lazily up towards the ceiling.

The pipe smoldered between my fingers, tendrils of fragrant smoke twisting their way heavenward. I watched the mesmerizing flicker of candlelight on the walls, the velvet curtains swaying gently on the wind, projecting shadows on my beloved Martha's eyes full of concern.

“What troubles you, husband?” she persisted.

“Dost thou reckon there exist lives beyond our own mortal coil?” I inquired.

“Whence comes such a question, and so precipitously at that?” she returned, appearing startled.

“A philosophical disquietude hath momentarily seized my faculties,” I confessed.

“Hast thou imbibed thy medicine?” she questioned.

“Verily, yet pray, answer me still,” I insisted.

“There are learned gentlemen who posit that life may well reside in the celestial spheres outside our realm,” she divulged.

I took a long, thoughtful draw from my pipe as I mulled over Martha's words.

“Indeed, yet my query pertains not solely to such extraterrestrial existence. I speak of something more profound,” I clarified.

“Whate'er dost thou mean?” she inquired.

To the left of my chair stood a stately mahogany bookshelf, filled with leather-bound volumes. The gilded lettering on the spine of each book glimmered in the low candlelight. Staring at those books, it crossed my mind of the many faraway lands, different worlds, and fictional universes they referred to.

I looked back at Martha.

“My love, before thy birth, hadst thou ever beheld a star?” I pondered.

“I daresay not,” she answered.

“Or a manuscript, a candle, the Moon, or any object under heaven? Hadst thou ever felt the zephyr on thy visage, the sward beneath thy feet, or the aroma of freshly baked bread?” I further questioned.

“Nay, for I existed not; only upon birth did I come to know such wonders. But wherefore dost thou ask such evident truths?” she wondered.

Stroking my chin, I took a moment to gather my thoughts on how to articulate my uncommon ideas.

“Suppose, upon thy birth, thou hadst found red to be as yellow, blue as green, and pink as gray. What if the Moon bore a triangular countenance, and the Sun were a blackened cube? Hadst thou been newborn to these spectacles, wouldst thou find them strange?” I queried.

She paused to contemplate my words.

“In this present day, such oddities would bemuse me, for I am accustomed to the world as 'tis. However, were I a nascent being encountering these phenomena for the first time, they would strike me no stranger than those I learned in my current existence,” she concluded.

"This verily encapsulates my sentiment, dearest. Prior to our birth, we possess no faculties with which to deem our world either erroneous or virtuous, for we have yet to exist. It is upon our birth that we acquire the capacity for judgment." I paused, musing upon my words. "Yet what if the very foundation that guides our judgments is naught but capricious? What if all realms possess an equal claim to veracity?"

"But pray, elucidate thy meaning in this matter," she responded.

I looked to the bookshelves, and for a time allowed my eyes to contemplate the many realities that those fictional stories represented. She looked at them too, curious, clearly attempting to see that I saw.

"If thou wert to be born a character in one of those tomes, wouldst thou deem it to be... amiss?"

The question lingered in the air without answer. The silence stretched on, as if suspended in the very fabric of time. I remember looking back again to the window, to the Moon, only to realize its shape to be not a circle, but a rhombus. Soon after my mind started to falter again in chaotic frenzy, that time alongside a specially loud acute noise.