#/jiiic this got a little dark lol

[autofloricide]

Venetia remembers to lock the door next time she bathes. All the doors. She has Felix's estate keys—a brass ring filled with slender brass keys, each worn smooth and golden from a lifetime of his touch—and starts from Oliver's room, down through the dressing room corridor, the bathroom, and finally Felix's bedroom. Her heart drops a little lower into her stomach each time the lock turns; there's almost a finality about it, like sealing a great and ancient tomb. Only then does she climb inside Felix's giant bathtub, her wrist though the keyring like a curious bracelet, and sip from a bottle of Dad's favourite gin until she can't keep her eyes open anymore. It's a little disappointing when she wakes up in the morning, finding a worried maid and a stoic-as-ever Duncan standing over the edge of the tub. He reaches into the water, all the way down to his elbow, soaking his uniform through, and smoothly yanks out the plug. "I was just tired, Dunc," says Venetia quietly, her voice ragged from poor sleep and overindulgence. She manages a tiny, watery smile. "Couldn't fall asleep in my own bed." Duncan silently takes a towel from the maid and dismisses her. "I can bring you to your quarters." He doesn't wait for her reply, simply pulling her out of the tub like a newborn calf and covering her up. It's not embarrassing in the slightest, to be honest; Duncan is practically a father to her. She waves him off as soon as she gets her bearings. "I've still got two legs; I'll manage fine. Thank you very much, Duncan." He stares at her for a long moment, long enough that she can read between the lines in his face and know he is deeply concerned. "Will you be taking breakfast?" "Just tea to start." Which he already knows means and nothing else. With a nod, he disappears. Leaving Venetia alone again, nursing the world's ugliest hangover, heart heavy in her chest. She shuffles down the hall, hair and skin still sopping wet, far too wet for the towel drawn up under her arms to really be of any use anymore. Behind her is a long wet trail on the floorboards that looks like blood under the dim lights. She almost doesn't notice the movement up ahead. And then she wishes she didn't when she takes a second look down the hall and realises it's Oliver fucking Quick, doing God knows what in their bloody house. "Something… is deeply wrong with you," she spits, laughing in disbelief. "You know that, right? They need to fucking put you in a lab and cut your brain open."