Knight's Tournament with Damien Thorn

As dinner drew to a close, Lily, as usual, asked Jerome to help with the dishes. He looked at her without showing the slightest sign of displeasure. On the contrary, Jerome was ready to put all his energy into this task so that no one would suspect that he had already begun to make plans. After all, all he had to do now was look like an obedient and caring son. He climbed the steps to the sink confident that no one would suspect what plans he had brewing for tomorrow.

"Of course, Mom," he said, smiling. "I'll do everything now."

Lily, sitting in the kitchen, preparing to dry the dishes, did not pay much attention to his words. Jerome washed the plates with such persistence, as if it was the only thing he could think about. He washed each plate carefully, then placed it on the shelf, pretending to be completely absorbed in his household duties. Lily's attention was focused on her thoughts, she was in her element, lulling herself into her usual concerns, and did not notice how Jerome easily continued his evening ritual.

After the plates were cleared, he moved on to the cutlery and the process continued. The boy tried to work quickly, but without rushing, so as not to arouse suspicion. He carefully polished the forks and spoons, making sure that each item was as good as new. His mother sat on a chair with a cup of tea, stirring the spoon and glancing at the television. Sometimes she would talk to him briefly, but Jerome did not pay much attention to her questions. All that occupied him was how to make sure that she did not notice his plans.

"Jerome, are you completely tired?" Lily suddenly asked, looking up.

The boy handed her another plate, with a slight smile and a sigh, as if he was tired, but had no intention of stopping.

"No, Mom, everything's fine," he replied, wiping his hands on a towel. "I was just concentrating."

Lily seemed to calm down. She turned back to the television and went back to watching another cooking show that Jerome had never been very interested in. He knew this was the perfect moment-her attention was elsewhere, and his hands were working automatically. He finished washing the dishes and put them away, but his mind was already on the next step.

When he had finished everything that was necessary, Jerome wiped his hands on a towel and, as if by chance, said:

"That's it, Mom, I'm ready to go to bed."

Lily nodded, not too bothered by the fact that he had gone to his room a little earlier than usual. She knew that her son was not yet an adult, but he was already quite independent. Her eyes went back to the TV screen, and Jerome, leaving for his room, felt the tension inside him growing. Tomorrow everything would go according to his plan.

When Jerome entered his room, his first thought was to look at his wristwatch. He always carried it with him, and it had become something important to him, a symbol of adulthood and independence. But as soon as he opened the desk drawer where the watch usually lay, his hand froze. A memory from kindergarten came to mind, when Delia, with a sly look and a cheerful laugh, simply took the watch from him.

When Jerome remembered it in his room, he realized that it was not just a game. He smiled, thinking that Delia was not only a clever girl, but also a cunning one. She could captivate anyone without even noticing how she was drawing them into her game. And although he knew that it was not just an accident, he could not help but feel that it was only a prelude to something more - maybe she had stolen not only his watch, but his heart as well.

Looking thoughtfully at the empty space on his wrist, Jerome seemed to understand: he was no longer just a boy who had to return his watch. He felt himself becoming more and more immersed in this world of mysteries and risks that his meeting with Delia brought him. And despite all the little pranks she had played, he felt that this game was only just beginning.

Jerome sat by the window of his room, framed by old wooden frames through which the evening light streamed. On the table in front of him was his cassette recorder, and he turned on his favorite recording, which had long been his musical companion. The sound of the old cassette began to fill the room - it was one of those melodies that get into the soul and stay with you for a long time. Melancholic, a little sad, but at the same time enchanting music contributed to Jerome's special, peaceful state.

He didn't bother trying to find out what time it was - time seemed to slow down, dissolving in the sounds reflected from the glass surface of the window. Jerome looked down at the alley, along which people walked lazily and cars drove by. The leaves on the trees swayed slightly in the wind, creating a whimsical shadow on the asphalt. At this moment, he felt like a part of something big and quiet, as if every moment was significant, and he himself was not just a boy, but a person who observes the world, trying to understand it.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. His mind was spinning with thoughts of how the day had gone, how he still couldn't forget about one important thing: Delia. Today, while sitting at dinner, he remembered how she had looked at him mysteriously when they were in the garden. He wasn't even sure what it was: mockery, interest, or something more. But that moment left a persistent feeling in his mind, as if he had missed something important. Sometimes she was too unpredictable, and it worried him.

Whatever the case, Jerome couldn't help but think that there was something special between them. She was so different from all the other children - and sometimes it gave him a strange feeling that she was playing some complicated game with him, one in which he didn't quite understand the rules. But something inside told him that this game could be something important for him.

As the last note of the music faded, Jerome switched off the tape recorder, moving his hand from the button as if this moment marked the end of something important. He rose slowly from the table, feeling the weight of fatigue. A long day of uncertain steps and unexpectedly vivid impressions was ending, and the tension was beginning to leave him. The room grew quieter, only the rustle of his pajamas as he began to change disturbed the peace.