#close inspection reveals so many wonders in her songs!

[asteracaea]

I don’t think Scott Borchetta tried to buy pills from Cara D either…. So who was it?

well, this could be a literal thing that happened or it could be a metaphor. a literary device to evoke a feeling parallel to the action she's talking about.

she has said she changes details in her songs (the green cat -> dog, "I don't think you've changed much and so I changed your name and any real defining clues") and that could be for the sake of anonymity or hiding, or it could be because a different detail makes for a better story. or a more universally relatable story.

[underswitch-official]

Part 10

I go inside, and Hera says, "Do you smell that? Surprise! It's a butterscotch-cinnamon pie. I thought we might celebrate your arrival."

I lift my visor and reveal a beaming face. "I love butterscotch-cinnamon pie! My brother used to bake them all the time."

Hera smiles and says, "Oh, that's wonderful! I want you to have a nice time living here. I do not suppose you like eating snails, do you?"

I facetiously scrunch up my face and say, "Blegh, no! Hahaha! My uncle Jean-Luc used to bring escargot when he came over, and I always had a hard time keeping it down."

"Oh," she says, laughing, "okay. I guess I'll hold off on snail pie for now. Here, I have another surprise for you."

Hera leads me to the right and says, "This is it… A room of your own. I hope you like it!"

I look up at her with excitement and gasp, "Really? Aw, yeah!"

Hera chuckles and then realizes that she smells a tad bit of smoke. "Is something burning…? Um, please make yourself at home," she says before running to what I suppose it the kitchen.

I go inside the room and look around. At the foot of the bed, a box of toys. The voice returns and says, "*Look at these cool toys! They don't interest you at all."

With a sense of disappointment, I go explore the rest of the room.

On the floor shelf, an empty photo frame. It's really dusty…

Next to the shelf, a box of kids' shoes in a disparity of sizes.

Next to the box, a stool with a lamp. I turn the light on and off repeatedly for fun.

I notice that very homely music plays, and that when the light is off, the song is played by a music box. When the light is on, the song is played by a guitar.

I decide to take a nap later.

The song continues as I leave the room, and I go explore further down the hall. I find a mirror, and the voice says, "*It's you!"

I smile and go find Hera. On the way to the kitchen, I pass by her room. I peek inside, and decide to look in her drawers.

The voice says:

"*You peek inside…

*Scandalous!

*It's HERA's sock drawer.

*...

*Wait a minute, those aren't socks…

*You can't bear looking any longer, it's so gruesome."

I close it quickly and look around for something else to inspect.

I see a bucket by the door and go look in it.

The voice says:

"*Just a regular old bucket

of snails."

I decide that enough is enough and go find Hera. I walk to the living room and see her sitting on a chair. I decide to be silly and call her from behind the dining table.

"Hey, you silly child," she says after answering the phone. "If you want to talk to me, I am right here."

She hangs up and puts the phone in her pocket.

I go up to her and say hi.

"Hello there, little one!" Hera responds. "The pie has not cooled down yet. Perhaps you should take a nap."

I realize that I am tired and nod sleepily.

"Sweet dreams, my child," Hera says as I go to my room. I lie down on the bed and fall asleep quickly.

When I wake up, I see a slice of pie on a plate on the floor. I pick it up and slip into my pocket because I'm not ready to eat such and amazing pie.

I come back out to the living room and talk to Hera.

"Up already, I see?" She says. "Um, I want you to know how glad I am to have someone here. There are so many old books I want to share. I want to show you my favorite bug-hunting spot. I've also prepared a curriculum for your education."

I ask if I can sit on her lap.

"Oh, of course, Frisk! Come here."

Hera picks me up and sits me on her lap.

"Anyway, this may come as a surprise to you, but I have always wanted to be a teacher," she continues.

"That isn't surprising. I think you'd make a great teacher," I say.

"Really? Thank you for that, my child. I am glad to have you living here. Oh, did you want something?"

I nod and try to say that I want to stay here with her, but what comes out doesn't sound right at all.

"When can I go home?" I ask.

"What? This… this IS your home now. Um… how about I read a passage from this book I'm reading?"

I try to say sure, but what comes out instead is, "How can I exit the Ruins?"

Hera looks very concerned, mostly because I look surprised that I'm saying these things.

Instead of answering, she asks, "Are you okay, my child?"

I manage to say what I want to say, "Help me."

Hera's face is drawn with worry, and she takes me off of her lap and says, "I have to do something. Stay here."

I try to obey her, but something controls me, making me follow her. I go to the next room and down the stairs into the basement.

I catch up with Hera, and she says, "You wish to return 'home,' do you not? Ahead of us lies the end of the RUINS. A one-way exit to the rest of the Underground. I am going to destroy it. No one will ever be able to leave again. Now be a good child and go upstairs."

With that, she continues walking. Despite my strong desire to obey Hera, I continue following her.

Once again, I catch up with her, and she says more, this time with an aloof expression.

"Every human that falls down here meets the same fate. I have seen it again and again. They come, they leave, they die. You naïve child… If you leave the RUINS, they… EZRAAN… will kill you. I am only protecting you, do you understand? Go to your room."

I try to say that I want to, but Hera walks off before I can respond. Again, I follow her against my own will.

I catch up with her again, and she says, "Do not try to stop me. This is your final warning." She then walks off. I turn around for three seconds, then continue following her.

I reach a heart shaped room with a large door. Hera stands in front of it. I approach her. She says, "You want to leave so badly? Hmph. You are just like the others. There is only one solution to this. Prove yourself… prove to me that you are strong enough to survive."

[shivada-jade]

reply back

modern!au/idol!au

characters: aether, lumine mentions: venti, xiao, kazuha, barbara, azhdaha warning(s): swearing because lumine and aether are siblings

notes: i've been lACKING these idol au's so im gonna write more idol au's because i nEEED it

You were seven when you were introduced to the twins. Coming from a foreign land, you struggled with the language they spoke in, but they were patient with you and taught you their language and much more. The twins were multilingual and explained it was from their frequent traveling and relatives from different places.

You and the twins were close, but Lumine spent more time with you, making Aether whine a lot. He would always poke sticks at you and hide your legendary, full art Pokemon cards to catch both Lumine's and your attention. It does work, but Lumine's mad.

"Aether!" She'd scream with a lisp because of a missing tooth. "Stop doing that!"

Oh, but Aether is a sibling, meaning he'd play the 'innocent' card. "Stop doing what? What am I doing?"

In the end, you'd always have to call their parents when they fist fight at the sand pit. "Aether and Lumine's mom! They're fighting again!"

"Again?" The tall blonde sighed. "Thanks for telling me, hon."

After a good scolding, Aether and Lumine would be totally okay the next minute like nothing happened. You were used to their banter and rightfully took your Pokemon cards back. Lumine stuck a tongue out, blowing a raspberry at Aether when he turned his back, grabbing three large sticks.

"Fight me!" He cried with glee, giving one stick to his sister and one to you. "I will be the grand king of the sand pit!"

You vaguely remember the rest. Maybe you lost the 'sword duel,' or maybe you didn't, but what you did remember was this tall kid playing with his cat and eating the sand. Forget the kid, the only thing you remember is his cat's name called Azhdaha.

Your hands close your story book. You would never admit to your friends, but Lumine and Aether that you still read fantasy. The other kids in the neighbourhood would laugh saying what you were reading is a kid's story.

"So what if it's a kid's story? If you like it, read it," Lumine says aggressively while Aether opens the door for both of you.

"Lumi's right. They think they're all grown up, but they're kids too," he closes the door behind him, waving goodbye to your grandma rocking on the porch. "What's the story about anyway?"

You walk ahead, leading the two to a local mall. Every week, Aether, Lumine and yourself would spend Fridays and Saturdays together.

You and Lumine often joke how Aether doesn't do 'Saturdays are for the boys.' To which, Aether would scoff and reply with, "Boys who say that are stupid, not all but most. Saturdays are for spending time with people you care about. I don't care if they think I'm weak."

You step foot in the bus, tapping the card to pay for your admission. The twins, walk behind, doing the same and sitting next to you on the bus.

"It's called 'Songs of a Siren.' It's cool, you should check it out." You say, scooting a bit closer to the side so Lumine could have more pace to sit. The bus is packed. Teenagers littered inside, only a few adults were there including the bus driver. "Let's leave. Teenagers stink."

"...But you are one."

"Well-"

After the next stop, you push yourself through the crowd, trying to exit. Lumine pushes people, muttering a few 'excuse us' while dragging her brother. Your feet land on the concrete sidewalk and you finally breathe freely.

You see the twins finally get off the bus and tilt your head, "Let's go, the mall isn't gonna wait for us."

Entering the mall, the first thing you pass by is a clothes shop. You and Aether share a look, quietly doing rock-paper-scissors behind Lumine who's beaming to go inside.

Rock.

Aether chooses paper.

You droop to the floor because you're dramatic, knowing that once you go in the shop, you'll be the one carrying Lumine's purchases.

"Alright, Lumine," you say sighing. "Let's go shop."

You see Aether in your peripheral vision, pumping his fist laughing a quiet, "Yes!" when Lumine takes out her wallet.

"I know you did rock-paper-scissors." She counts the bills from her wallet, "But I'm buying for Aether which means even if you carry the things I buy, Aether's gonna have it much worse because he will be trying on everything I tell him to wear." She grins, settling with a black debit card.

After hearing this, Aether tries to walk in another shop to avoid dressing up for Lumine, but his sister quickly catches on and pulls him by the ear and walks in the clothes shop.

"Let's go!" She says to you, "These clothes won't shop themselves!"

...

"This one?"

"No, you look like grandpa in that outfit."

"Well what if I like looking like grandpa, huh? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Some people can pull off the sexy grandpa look. You're not 'some people.'" Lumine pulls out another outfit from the rack. "Try this one," she laughs, seeing Aether's horrified face and pushes him in the dressing area.

This is the ninth clothes shop you three go to, and you were starting to feel bad for Aether who had to wear every outfit Lumine wanted him to wear.

"Lumi," you say calmly, having trouble holding five shopping bags on each arm. She's on a shopping spree and you wonder how she gets all the money to buy these things. "That should be enough shopping for the day. I'm hungry."

The blonde lifts a hand. "Hold on a second," she smiles before banging on the changeroom door, "AETHER LET ME SEE THE FIT."

You can hear the loud sigh from the other side of the door as it slowly opens. He only peeks his head out, shyly mumbling, "This is embarrassing. I don't want to walk out like this."

Lumine rolls her eyes and pulls the door open, revealing Aether in a white dress shirt and dark pants.

Aether lifts an arm, inspecting the design. "It's a bit..." he pauses, thinking of a way to not offend his sister. "It's not my style." His eyes seek for your help to back him up, but you couldn't. The style on him looks so ethereal to him, and Lumine has the same idea.

His twin ran up to an aisle and picked out two accessories: a silk cloth and a floral pin. Lumine shushes Aether who tried to punch her.

"Shut up Aether, you'll look great." She pins the black rose onto the front of his shirt and ties the silk cloth around his neck. She steps a few steps back, making a rectangle shape to symbolize a picture frame and elbows you lightly. "He looks okay for once."

Okay is underwhelming, but to describe Aether better, he looks celestial. The warm studio lights hug every angle of Aether from head to toe. His golden eyes seem to brighten more and the outfit only accentuates his physical traits more.

From the corner of your eye you spot a tall-ish man who has been wandering past the same aisle but never picking anything up. He wears ordinary clothes- a T-shirt and jeans (rather stylishly), but you know from his incoming aura he's more than just an ordinary person.

You tap Lumine discreetly while still holding onto her shopping bags and tilt your head towards the man.

Aether, who keeps picking on the cloth around his neck goes frigid when the strange man walks up to him.

"Hey kid," he says cooly. He looks Aether up and down, lifting his shades to see clearer, and pulls out a small business card from his pocket. "You look like idol material. Ever thought about being a part of a boyband?"

Out of politeness, Aether takes the card and laughs nervously, "Not really" He looks at Lumine and you for help, but you two pretend to not know him when he turns to you.

The man shoves his hands in his pocket, blowing a bubblegum and popping it. His hair slightly tousles when he turns, waving a hand.

"If you ever do decide if you wanna be an idol, auditions are held next week at 10AM," he saunters off. "If they ask who recruited you, tell them a man by the name of Valentin did."

His lavender irises looks back once more before leaving the store, "The people from Teyvat Entertainment are introduced by my very hands. Don't disappoint me."

The automatic sliding doors open for him and he waves the store greeter a goodbye.

You see Aether's eyes scanning over he card Valentin gave. His lashes flutter quickly, signaling you and Lumine he was either shocked, or confused.

Lumine grabbed the paper, a habit she picked up due to being a twin and having to share everything with Aether who won't share. Her lips part, showing the card to you.

Teyvat Entertainment.

A company who created the world's famous DCKZ and the idol, Barbara. Teyvat Ent. has one of the youngest, top rookies of the year because of a group called TVT Dream. A company with many celebrities' and the business card is legit.

A store worker no older than your age meekly walks up to the three of you and asks, "Hey, uh. Are you ready to purchase your clothes?"

...

Aether shoves Lumine (don't worry she shoves him 10x harder) on the stairs while you watch from a safe distance.

You wave hello to their mom before waltzing into their home like you did many other times. You were their third child in their mom's eyes.

You slam the twins' room open and lay yourself on the bottom bunk of their bunkbed. "So do you wanna check Teyvat Entertainment?"

You fish out your phone from your pocket and hand signal for Aether and Lumine to come close to see. Your phone turns on, showing the lock screen of the twins in their embarrassing toddler moments then unlock it. Quietly laughing at the twins who have their faces beet red from the photograph.

"Why do you have that pic? DELETE IT."

"Did mom give that to you..."

You ignore them, opening up Google and typing in the Teyvat Ent. website and search their contacts. You ask Aether for the business card, comparing the two numbers side by side, and Valentin is indeed one of the scouts for the company.

You shut your phone off, hugging the two siblings together tightly. "Whether Aether decides he wants to be an idol or not, we'll still be the best of friends."

Lumine grins, squishing your cheeks, taking a closer look at you. "Well, duh. Are you scared we'll fall apart? No, if anything you should be scared we're never going to leave you alone even if you're 60 and married."

You pinch her cheeks and start to say something until you hear sniffles and coughing. You turn to Aether who was hiding his tears.

"Shut up, I'm not crying." He harshly wipes away the water falling from his eyes, "When I go famous, I'm going to give you my autograph so you can sell it and eventually get 20 cars and houses."

...

You were a teen when the dark-haired Valentin scouted Aether to be a trainee in Teyvat Ent.

You note that without Aether, their home is extremely quiet. It's odd not seeing Lumine scream at Aether for taking her hair clips. It's odd not seeing Lumine aggressively pull on the colourful flower hairclips on Aether's hair, just to get the clips back. It's so odd not seeing Aether is general.

Lumine scrolls through her phone, looking for furniture to add to her new apartment she shares with you. The only thing in the newly bought apartment is three mattresses, three plates, and three cups, just in case Aether visits. Though, Aether visiting is rare. His visits only happen during December for Christmas, but even then he had not visited. It's been two years since you and Lumine last saw him.

You stare at your last sent messages to the blonde boy.

▶ hEY. (threatening)

YO

▶ take care okay? lumine's worrying all the time for ur health bc she keeps watching yt vids on how idols over-do themselves from training

haha thanks for telling me

are you sure it's not you who's worrying 🧐🤧

the last thing lumi sent to me was "FUCK YOU"

▶ well the last thing you sent to her was "U BUTT"

▶ and she took that seriously

are you siding with her?

▶ yes

oh okay, frick you too seen three months ago

Your feet pad against the wooden tiles, grabbing a glass of water while scrolling through twitter. You lift the glass to your lips and almost choke from the water you drink.

You click the link on the phone with the title "Debuting boy band already claiming the hearts of many! Please welcome 4nemo!" Four boys stand in the picture, one being Aether.

You place your glass to the sink and run to Lumine, sitting next to her and who her your phone. She reads it over and visibly shakes. You swear she was about to cry until she takes the phone from your hand and starts throwing it, "AETHER THAT BITCH. HE DEBUTES AND SAYS NOTHING."

You're mortified and pull your friend away from your phone, "THAT'S A NEW PHONE, STOP." You push her away and run to your device, clicking on the link.

"One, two, three! Hello we are," Aether, the familiar blonde says.

His group members follow after him. "4nemo!" They say in chorus. One by one they start introducing themselves.

"Hi I'm Aether!"

"Kazuha," one says with a raise of a hand.

An energetic member steps up with a grin, "And I'm Barbisabeto!"

"He's Barbatos, forgive him." Teal undertones make it's way to the camera, "Hello, I'm Xiao.

The one with twin braids step up, mischievously grinning. "Please take care of us and support us during our journey through the music industry."

His teal eyes squint behind the camera, whispering to the member behind him. "Psst, Xiao. I can't read I'm blind."

Xiao rolls his eyes and steps up, slightly bowing, "Please support our debuting group, we will see you in our music videos."

But Lumine and you never paid attention to what they were saying. Both of you just started crying insults of endearment to Aether because he looks so... different. His face had mature and he's a real idol now.

Reality sinks in.

Now that Aether had a growing fanbase, it's going to be harder to contact him.

"Lumine, how are we going to talk to him now?"

Lumine ponders a bit, resting her chin on her hand before smirking. "Let's create an Aether hate page."

"Yes, let's do it."

After a quick recording of Lumine and yourself, you posted the video online, and soon enough, it goes viral.

Lumine laughs, replaying the video.

"This one's for the boys with the booming system," You say monotonously in front of the camera like what you said was a speech instead of a song. "Top down, AC with the cooler system."

Lumine comes on screen, flipping her middle finger at the camera. "When he come up in the club, he be blazin' up. This one is actually not for the boys with the booming system. This is for the BITCH, AETHER WITH THE BLONDE BRAID. Look at you with your ugly ass smile," She speaks in one breath and it amazes you. "Make sure you get millions of hits or it's all for nothing. Oh Aether's an ass."

The screen shows your hand scooping the phone up and waving good bye with Lumine still dissing Aether.

You nudge Lumine, showing a comment written at the bottom of the video, covering a laugh.

"who's aether?"

"huh??! aether?"

"lOL Why Does The Person On The Left Look Like Aether?"

"OH 4NEMO DABUTE. SHUTUP YOU ANTI. THEY'RE GORGEOUS. YOU'RE THE ONE UFLY" ➡ "ahisfdh you obvi didnt watch the whole video. she said "make sure get millions of hits"

Lumine grins, commenting at the people calling her ugly and Aether way better looking. "Lol, IKR. the one on the left is trying too hard to look like Aether. it's like shes tryna be a twin or smthn"

Though, because of your viral "hate" video, 4nemo's popularity sky rockets because of the unknown 'Aether' of the group.

...

Aether watches the video on the news channel, because that's how popular the video got. He looks at his manager, "Can I send a hate video back?"

"Aether, no."

But the winds are troublesome as the ocean, because a boy with teal tips on his hair snatched the managers phone, running and giving it to Aether. "AETHER. DO IT RIGHT NOW."

...

It was a shock to you seeing people follow your twitter account.

"LUMI, [NAME], IM SRRY I LOST MY PHONE AND DIDNT WANNA TELL ANY1 OR THEYLL GROUND ME," said the tweet, tagging you in comments.

Lumine doesn't have twitter, so when she looks over your shoulder seeing the tweet with her name on, she grabs the phone and locks herself in the bathroom, "R U FR AETHER?U DIDNT REPLY TO MY HAPPY BDAY. WE SHARE A BDAY DUMBASS"

She calmly unlocks the door, giving your phone back casually while you whine, "Lumine! This is twitter! They're gonna cancel me!"

"I'll cancel them back."

Ding! You receive a post with you name under the comments again.

hello, i have to apologize for our member stealing the manager's phone to tweet that. i swear that kid's the most responsible, but he's been triggered. #kazuha

You quickly type back, under the hashtag 'kazuha.'

"@/4nemo sorry uh thats one of ur members twin & shes mad that aether never gave her a bday present when she gave 1 to him #kazuha"

notes: psst here's where i got aether's outfit inspo when they were outfit changing at the mall

[thedeathdeelers]

just a little bit of magic (you know the rest by heart) ✨

my take on a Juke HP AU for the lovely Taryn @pink-flame on her birthday 🥰🎂 may you have an amazing day/week/month/year, you wonderful human being.

hope you like it!

----

Luke eagerly pulls Julie along as they walk down several corridors, up moving staircases and through low hanging archways. The deeper they walked into the castle, the quieter it got.

He had been jittery all morning, too impatient to pay attention in any of his classes as he counted down the hours and minutes until he was free to find Julie and drag her to his surprise. He’d lost his house countless of house points, his leg bouncing and his mind wandering whenever any of his professors called on him in class.

Alex had tried to help a few times whispering the right answers to him, but unfortunately nothing could help Luke when he got in one of these moods. He was just too excited.

Julie trips on her feet behind him, a reminder that her legs were shorter than his. He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present as he focuses on the girl next to him. Luke slows down his pace, squeezing Julie’s hand once in apology as he gives her a few seconds to regain her balance.

The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up by having her trip and fall right before his big reveal.

Alex had already nearly blown the entire thing when they had passed him on the fifth floor coming out of the prefects’ bathrooms, forcing Luke to very loudly and purposefully talk over him to stop Julie from hearing anything. When he had realised his mistake, Alex had quickly gone quiet, his features morphing into a sheepish expression as he waved at them, walking away and back towards the Hufflepuff common room.

“Luuuuuke, where are you taking me?" His lips twitch at her whine, finding it to be very endearing. "It’s nearly past curfew and as Prefect I really can’t afford to be caught sneaking around by Harrison again.” He sees her look down at her outfit from the corner of his eye, a look of frustrated confusion taking over her face. "Also why did you tell me to change into my normal clothes under my robe?"

Luke snorts at her words, hopping onto the stairs leading them towards the seventh floor, Julie quickly following suit as the staircase starts moving.

“First of all, Harrison absolutely loves you — she'd probably thank you for being you and then very politely ask you to head back to your tower, and then turn right around and give me 3 months’ worth of detention in the same breath.” He turns his head towards her, throwing her his signature grin. “You’ll be fine. And second of all, you ask too many questions. We’re nearly there -- be patient Young Padawan."

"Young-" She shakes her head, cutting herself off, the muggle reference clicking. Luke grimaces at his choice of words, thinking might be spending a little too much time around Reggie lately. "And where is there, exactly?"

Luke tries very hard not to take the stairs two steps at a time.

"Nuh-uh, I already told you - it's a surprise."

He smiles at the disgruntled noise she makes, knowing just how impatient Julie can be. He sneaks a look at her face from over his shoulder, nearly tripping over the stone steps when he sees a little pout on her lips.

At his fumble, a smirk replaces the pout, her voice coming out cockier than usual. "You good there, Patterson?"

Luke whips his head back around, his eyes flying to his feet and staying fixed on the steps in front of him.

"Yeah," he clears his throat before continuing, "yeah, I'm fine. We're uh- we're nearly there."

"It's what you keep telling me," is her teasing, sing-song reply, her mood apparently shifting at his fumble.

Luke keeps his eyes forward, hoping Julie can't see his reddened cheeks as they reach the seventh floor landing. He stops for a second to let her catch her breath before pulling her along with him again, taking the first left corridor they come across to head towards the Troll tapestry.

He'd been taking this route so many times in the last few weeks, he could probably do this with his eyes closed. He had wanted everything to be perfect, practicing again and again until he was sure he had nailed the process.

Only the best for his Julie Molina.

Their steps echo as they make their way down the seldom used corridor, the flickering lights from the torches casting long shadows on the stone floor ahead of them.

"Merlin, this castle is so creepy sometimes," mutters Julie to his left, shivering slightly as her hand tightens its hold on his.

Luke squeezes back, his eyes zeroing in on the tapestry up ahead. His heart starts to beat faster, the excitement reaching an all-time high, only slightly tainted by the nerves that fought to make their presence known.

Taking a deep breath, Luke slowly lets it out as they reach their destination, stopping and turning to face the large tapestry.

Julie stands next to him, confused as she takes in the scene before her - a group of Trolls in tutus attempting to learn the ballet. He watches her as she follows their movements, zeroing in on Barnabas the Barmy as he attempts to direct the Trolls to his left, while the ones on the right pull out their clubs ready to hit him over the head.

Luke loses focus for a second, too taken by Julie - by her furrowed brows, her scrunched up nose as she leans forward to inspect the design on the tutus, and especially by the way her lips twist before her bottom lip slips between her teeth.

He's only shaken out of his daze, his eyes flying up and away from her lips, when she suddenly turns to him with a quizzical look on her face.

"Is this the Barnabas the Barmy Tapestry? Why are we- wait..." She turns her head back towards the Tapestry, taking in the scene with new eyes. "I remember reading about this in Hogwarts: A History years ago...It was the chapter about the many hidden magical rooms in Hogwarts and..." She trails off as she looks at him, her eyes widening. She lets go of his hand, slowly turning in place to face the wall behind them - the one right across from the Tapestry.

"Wait....Isn't this-"

Luke rushes to cut her off, quickly turning around and stepping up in front of her to block her view of the wall, in a hurry to derail her train of thought.

"Okay! So, if you could stand right," he places his hands on either side of her waist, pulling her forward as he walks backwards, positioning her right in the middle of the corridor. "Here."

His hands don't move once she's in place, his fingers brushing against smooth warmth right where a sliver of skin peaks out between her t-shirt and the top of her jeans. He had somehow slid his hands under her open robes without even realising it.

His eyes fly up to meet hers, already wide and staring. They stand there in the quiet space, both locked in each others' gazes, neither one of them daring to move. Within seconds Luke can already feel the now familiar thrum of electricity that always crackled whenever they were both together. Only this time it felt even more surreal.

If he could, Luke thinks he could stay this way for the rest of the night, of the school year, but he brought her here for a reason, so he loudly clears his throat, effectively breaking some of the tension that had built between them. He lets his hands slip away from her waist as he takes a step back, his fingers still tingling from the contact.

"So just...yeah just stay there for a few seconds, while I..." He trails off as he looks away, turning around to face the bare wall in front of them and trying very hard to refocus on the task at hand.

He closes his eyes, clearing his mind until all he has left is the image of the room he wants to recreate.

Taking a deep breath, he pivots on his right foot and faces the direction they had just come from. He takes a few steps forward then abruptly turns back around and walks back down the corridor, making sure to keep his focus. He stops again once he reaches the edge of the Tapestry, turning back around and repeating the process until he starts hearing the sound of crumbling walls that always preceded the emergence of a large wooden door, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Luke opens his eyes to take in the transformation in front of him, only turning to look at Julie when he hears her surprised gasp.

"Luke-" she's cut off by the increasing creaking sound of the door hinges slotting into place, the loud grating out of place on the deserted floor - until suddenly - everything stops. A deafening silence follows, only broken by the crackling of the torches nearby.

Coughing quietly to get her attention, Luke speaks up.

"So...Reggie told us about this room he read about a few weeks ago when we were trying to find a new rehearsal space to use, since, you know, Covington kicked us out of the fifth floor classrooms 'cause he obviously has no taste whatsoever when it comes to real music and loves making everyone miserable, especially Hufflepuffs and-" Luke cuts himself off when he realises he's rambling, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat to continue.

"Yeah well, I asked around to check if this place actually existed and then Willie, you know how Willie likes to listen to us play - although honestly I think he just likes to hang out so he can watch Alex - but anyway, what I'm trying to say is that one of the ghosts from down by the dungeons owed Willie a favour so....ta-da," he finishes lamely, his arms coming up to point towards the door in front of them while wiggling his fingers.

It's quiet for a few seconds, Julie presumably taking it all in.

"You- you found the Room of Requirement?" She asks quietly, sounding almost awed.

"I mean- I had a lot of help from the guys and then Willie and the Bloody-"

"You found it," she cuts him off, her fingers reaching forward as she moves close enough to touch the door.

Luke scratches the back of his head, suddenly feeling shy in her presence.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did."

He keeps his eyes on her, tracking her movements as she traces the patterns on the door, following the curving decorative loops down the length of the doorframe until her fingers wrap around the protruding metal handle.

"Luke, this is incredible."

The tone of her voice makes his cheeks grow warmer.

"Nah it's nothing," he tries to brush it off, shuffling on his feet, glad that she is too preoccupied with the door to see his continuously reddening cheeks.

She turns to him then, her hand still latching onto the handle.

"It's not nothing! There's a literal betting pool over at Ravenclaw tower to see who can find this place first, and so far no one's done it..." She shakes her head at him, a smile making its way onto her lips. "But you did."

Luke scuffs his shoe against the stone flooring, not sure what to do with himself. He's always been awkward with compliments, especially when they came from Julie.

Apparently Julie eventually takes pity on him, speaking up again.

"So Patterson, what am I going to find behind this door? A record store? That dodgy hot dog place you told me about? I saw you pacing back and forth three times in front of it, so I'm assuming you already have something or somewhere in mind."

She quirks a brow at him, her eyes shining bright with curiosity.

"Yes! That's actually why I brought you here," he chooses to ignore her little digs as he bounces closer to the door, coming to stand right next to her. "So I remember you saying at the start of the year how you've been struggling with music and...y'know...because no matter where you went you just never felt comfortable enough? And then I remembered the studio you always talked about, the one where your mom taught you everything you knew..."

He watches as her expression slowly morphs, her eyes getting wider and her lips parting ever so slightly.

"I asked Flynn to show me if you had any photos of the space and well..." Luke wraps his fingers around the metal chain hanging off his jeans underneath his robe, squeezing tight to keep himself from fidgeting.

Julie continues to stare at him, her expression frozen on her face. It only made him more restless.

Shit, did he take it too far? Was this not what friends did for each other? Sure he had been in love with Julie for years now, but he's been trying really hard to keep it strictly friendly between them, not wanting to ruin anything, especially after having lost her mom.

And Luke likes to think this is definitely something he would have done for either Reggie or Alex.

But maybe her studio back home was something too personal to her? Maybe she wasn't ready?

"Oh Merlin Julie if this is out of line we can just forget this whole thing happened and-"

Suddenly Luke is cut off by a small bundle of limbs and soft curves throwing themselves at him. His arms reach up reflexively, wrapping them around her, his hands coming to rest on the small of her back.

"Thank you," she says, or so he thinks, being the only words he can barely make out, muffled as they are against his t-shirt.

"Of course Julie." He moves his hands up and down her back, a gesture he knows is comforting to her.

The arms wrapped around his neck tighten for a second before she releases him, taking a small step back and wiping at her face with the sleeve of her robe.

He takes in her face, her expression so vulnerable, unsure about what to do next. But then a small smile appears as she nods at his unanswered question. He reciprocates, nodding back with a smile of his own.

He gestures towards the door. "So, want to do the honours?"

He watches as she nods again, taking in a deep breath before turning to face the door once more. With slightly shaking hands, Julie reaches over and wraps her fingers around the handle, twisting it before pushing. The heavy wooden door creaks at the movement, slowly swinging open until they were both standing on the threshold of a brightly lit garage-turned studio space.

Luke only takes a second to check that everything inside is as it should be, before turning back around to look at Julie.

Her eyes widen at the scene that welcomes her, the steps she takes as she crosses over into the space small and tentative. Luke slips in right behind her, taking her hand off the handle before easing the door shut behind them. He keeps her hand in his as she looks around the space, her fingers brushing over everything within her reach - from the throw covering the armchair that greets them on the right, to the trinkets covering the corner shelves on their left. As they gradually move into the studio, the sound of their footsteps alternating from loud to muffled as they cross over the various rugs decorating the space, Julie’s eyes move upwards, her attention momentarily shifting to the ceiling. Luke follows her gaze to see the three hanging chairs he’d debated leaving out, glad to have included now that he sees a wistful smile take place on Julie’s face.

With the late afternoon Californian sunlight streaming in through the windows, the studio almost looks magical, a warm golden glow enveloping the space. Julie’s gaze comes back down as she pulls Luke along with her further into the studio, walking around the baby grand piano, her finger lightly trailing its side, to stand in front of the wall of plants nestled against the glass back wall.

"My mom..." Julie starts, breaking the silence before trailing off as she reaches over to touch the leaves hanging closest to her. "She always said that plants were sacred. She used to tell me and Carlos all these stories about these spirits that lived in each and every single plant on Earth, protecting those who cared for them. Nurturing all those who treated them with love and kindness and respect." Luke takes in the sight of the green foliage, noting how beautiful it looked. "Said tjat our loved ones’ spirits somehow lived in the very roots of these plants.

“Our house has these pots and vases full of flowers and all sorts of plants all over the place - even our garden looks like a jungle!" She lets out a watery laugh, sniffling as she gets on her tiptoes as if on instinct to pull down a green watering pot resting on a shelf above them.

Luke, seeing what Julie wants to do, hurries to pull out his wand from his back-pocket, muttering a quick Aguamenti as he taps the watering pot. Julie shoots him a grateful smile before she starts watering the plants one by one, Luke tucking his wand away into his robe pocket.

“We used to take turns, each of us spending a few minutes or hours watering and pruning every single plant in the house and in here - but my mom was always there anyway, singing to us, to the plants. Keeping us company.” Julie leans forward as she tries to reach the back row. "But when she...when she wasn't around anymore, I- I stopped. I couldn't bring myself to think about her plants or her music or her stories — let alone come in here where everything about this place reminded me of her." Luke gently rubs the back of her hand with his thumb, not wanting to cut her off, but still finding a small way to try and comfort her.

"I guess my dad took care of everything last summer..." Julie trails off as she finishes watering the remaining hanging plants, before placing the watering pot back in its place.

She turns to him, a peaceful smile lighting up her face. "I forgot how soothing it felt to do that. Thank you."

Luke's smile widens at her words, nodding at her in response.

She keeps her eyes locked on his for a few more seconds before averting her gaze, turning back around to face the piano they had walked past earlier.

Julie lets go of his hand as she slowly makes her way towards the instrument, only stopping when she reaches the bench. Luke takes note of her hesitancy to touch the piano, only to then take a deep breath and slip onto the bench, fingers poised over the fall-board.

He slowly walks up behind her, squeezing her shoulder once before moving away.

"Julie, if you need some space or want me to go I can just-"

Her eyes, which had slid shut, pop open at his words as she cuts him off before he can even finish his sentence.

"No! No, this is- Stay. I want you here, really." She looks at him with so much open trust and something else he can't quite place, that Luke doesn’t really know what to say. So instead he just nods at her, pointing at the black couch behind him.

"I'm uh- I'll just go sit there? Give you a few minutes to yourself, yeah?"

At her nod, he takes a step backwards before spinning around on the spot, his shoe squeaking against the wood flooring, jumping over the coffee table and landing on the old weathered couch cushions.

He hears a little giggle behind him, his head whipping up in time to find Julie attempting, and failing, to smother the sound. His pokes his tongue out at her in response even as warmth blooms in his chest at the sound of her laughter.

She shakes her head at him before averting her eyes and focusing the piano before her, slowing reaching out to lift the fall-board.

He can see the anticipation and fear and love and grief and happiness swirling in her eyes, noticed the way her fingers shake as they hover over the keys. His own fingers dig into his knees, forcing himself to stay still, to stay quiet, as he witnesses a moment that truly is monumental for Julie.

He watches her as she takes another deep breath, squaring her shoulders as if ready for battle. She nods to herself once right before her fingers land on the keys, music instantly filling every corner of the studio, every corner of his soul.

Luke has always been sensitive to music - he thinks that's why he's always been good at picking up new instruments so quickly, at finding the right words and melodies and blending them together to create something new and exciting. But the feeling that courses through him as he listens to Julie singing takes him completely by surprise. It's like a physical punching him in the gut, squeezing his heart and taking his breath away all at once. He sits there, stunned, as he listens to Julie inadvertently command his full attention, singing her heart out.

He thinks it must be an original, because he doesn’t recognise it at all.

Her face goes through a rollercoaster of emotions, pain leaking through as she makes her way through the first pre-chorus.

And you use your pain,

‘Cause it makes you you,

Thought I wish I could hold you through it

I know it’s not the same

You got living to do

And I just want you to do it

But then just as she reaches the end, gearing up for what feels like the chorus, Luke sees determination take its place.

So get up, get out, relight that spark,

You know the rest by heart

Julie dives into the chorus, full of energy and hope, another one of her many smiles suddenly changing the tone of the song.

She makes her way through the second verse, pre-chorus and chorus in the same vain, the energy around her building and building, Luke’s heart beat matching it.

The song reaches its crescendo, her voice climbing as it builds on every note it hits, Julie getting to her feet, spreading her arms wide as she gets to the high note. A look of peaceful acceptance crosses her face before she eases the songs to it’s final chorus, settling back down onto the bench, singing and playing softly as the song comes to an end, the last two words ringing in the quiet studio.

Wake up

All Luke can do is stare with his mouth hanging open as Julie lowers her hands onto her lap, her eyes closed, chest heaving. He had always known that Julie was a powerhouse, always known that music coursed through her veins right along her magic, but he had never heard her sing the way she just had. Not with the full force of her voice as so many raw emotions filtered through.

It left him reeling. He needed to catch his breath.

If he wasn't already in love with her, he knows he'd be head over heels for her after what he had just witnessed.

He's pulled out of his daze when Julie moves, her eyes open as she stands up and steps away from the bench, slowly moving towards him.

Luke scrambles to shuffle down the sofa making space for her to sit, only to be surprised when she chooses to sit on his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as she burrows her face in his neck.

It takes him a few seconds to react, his body frozen and unable to process.

"I know I keep saying this but....thank you," she whispers, voice unstable, her lips sending shivers down his spine as they brush against the skin of his neck.

The movement snaps him out of his stupor, his arms coming up to fully wrap around her, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans back against the couch cushions.

"I told you," he says, resting his chin over her head of curls, "anything for you, Julie."

Her fingers curls into the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling herself closer to him at his words.

They stay that way for a while, Julie’s breathing eventually easing into a calm rhythm.

Luke stays quiet, understanding her need to absorb everything she had just gone through, happy to just hold her in his arms. When she does break the silence, her voice comes out a little more composed.

"I- that was a song my mom wrote for me before she- when she found out..." Her whisper trails off into silence, the pain in her voice squeezing at his heart.

Luke tightens his arms around her.

"You don't have to explain it to me, Jules, it's okay."

"No I- I want to."

Luke relents, nodding at her words as he patiently waits for her to continue.

"I found the song right before leaving home back in September, and when I saw it...it just hurt too much. I couldn't even get past the title." She releases her grip on his shirt only to start tracing random patterns on his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

“I packed it up and brought it with me thinking I’d be able to read it once settled in my dorm, a space my mom’s never been in but — it took me months to even take it out again, and then a few more months after that just to read through the whole thing. That first time I was a mess," she laughs, a small quiet sound. "Flynn was so close to dragging me to Madam Pomfrey but I managed to convince her I was okay-ish. And then after that it slowly started becoming a little easier every time I read through it until one day I just knew the full song by heart." She stops talking for a few minutes, lost in her own thoughts as she continues her ministrations on his arm. "But even then I still couldn't get myself to sing it, I was always so scared that once I did, it meant that my mom really was gone, that the last piece I had connecting me to her was over and I couldn't bear it..."

Luke's heart drops at her words, an apology ready on the tip of his tongue.

"But the minute I walked into our studio again, this studio, after watering those plants and being able to share all of her stories about spirits and magic and life always being around even after death with you, it just...clicked." She lifts her head up from her hiding place, finally locking eyes with him. "I carry her with me, in everything I do. And I know that I would have eventually figured this out myself, probably once I went back home over the summer, maybe, but..." Julie places her hand against his cheek, her fingers warm against his skin. "It wouldn't have been the same, and I- well, thank you. Again." She tilts her head, looking at him from under her lashes with a smile so radiant on her face, all he can do is nod, turning his head to press a kiss against the palm of her hand.

He feels her fingers twitch against his face, a hitch in her breathing as he looks back up at her.

He finds her looking at him, eyes wide and open, looking both tired and fully awake with dried tear tracks down her cheeks, her bun falling apart with loose curls bending at weird angles from a long day of classes, but all he can think is how beautiful she is. How much he loves her and everything she is, and he tries to hard to stop himself but-

"I love you.”

The words spill out, unable and unwilling to stay locked up anymore. His own eyes widen at his confession, regret flooding in the second he says it.

"I- I- I," he tries to backtrack, to fill the silence, anything, but now that the words are out in the open, his brain and mouth seem to have detached, neither one wanting to cooperate with the other.

Julie stares at him, her eyes somehow growing larger, her mouth forming into the shape of an "o".

“Oh.”

Luke braces himself for her rejection, prepares himself to feel the cold air rush in the minute she moves off of his lap.

But instead, Julie brings up her other hand to fully cup his face, her mouth stretching out into a full blown grin.

"You love me?" she asks, breathless.

Luke, too stunned to do anything else, simply nods at her question.

“You love me," she repeats, this time more of a statement than a question.

She surprises again him by laughing, a lovely melodious sound that pulls the laughter out of him, joining her in her mirth as he chuckles quietly along in his confusion.

"I'm sorry I'm not- I'm not laughing at you," she tries to get out between laughs, her smile still present on her face. "I'm just in disbelief, I-" She shakes her head, laughter quietening down as her thumbs swipe along his cheekbones.

"I love you too."

Those four words take him by surprise, affecting him in a way even her singing hadn’t, his mind spinning, heart racing, entire being vibrating.

Julie Molina loved him.

She loved him too.

He takes his time to commit this moment, her face, the feel of her weight on his lap and the warmth of her hands against his cheeks, to memory. His eyes roam her face, taking in every detail, before they finally land on her smiling lips.

He briefly thinks back to all the moments he had wished he could kiss her, taste her smile and her joy and happiness - and share in that glow that always seemed to be uniquely hers.

He now smiles at that thought, thinking that maybe he might actually be able to experience the one thing he had always craved but thought was off-limits.

Lifting his eyes back up to meet her, Luke leans slightly forward, in askance, in invitation. When she reciprocates his movements, Luke brings both his hands up from behind her back, cupping her face as he pulls her closer to him, ending years’ worth of pining.

That night was the first time of many that Luke Patterson was given the privilege of tasting Julie Molina's smile.

fin

[valdomarx]

Geralt thinks he might be losing his mind.

He’s distracted, and short-tempered, even more so than usual. Every time he looks at Jaskier his heart rate rockets and his palms start sweating.

He can’t stop noticing Jaskier, everything he does, the way he stands, the way he moves, the way he nibbles his bottom lip when he’s thinking. He can’t focus, and if he can’t get this under control he’s going to get one or both of them killed.

His first thought is magic. Some kind of spell, maybe. But his medallion is still against his chest, and when he surreptitiously stops by a herbalist’s shop in a nearby town, the woman there finds no trace of a spell or curse on him.

Perhaps, he thinks, the problem is Jaskier. He’s wondered why Jaskier doesn’t seem to age, and how he has the energy to traipse across the continent after him. Perhaps Jaskier is hiding a secret. Perhaps he’s not as human as he seems.

Jaskier could be a siren. That would explain how he can enchant a crowd with a simple song, as Geralt has seen him do a hundred times, and how he could have enchanted Geralt as well. But when Geralt hands him his silver sword, ostensibly to hold while he cleans out their packs, Jaskier’s skin doesn’t smoke or burn. Instead, he turns the sword over in his hands, inspecting the sleek blade and the tightly bound leather of the grip. He runs a thumb over the edge to check its sharpness and nicks himself, clumsy as ever. Before Geralt can berate him, he brings his thumb up to his mouth, and then Geralt is distracted all over again by the way Jaskier sucks the digit between his plump lips, and that’s just not fair.

Maybe Jaskier is an incubus. That would make sense, given his fondness for the ladies and his obvious good looks. But if he’s been filing down his horns all this time, he’s done an awfully good job of it. Geralt finds an excuse to run a hand through Jaskier’s hair, and he doesn’t feel any bumps beneath his fingers. But Jaskier does lean into his touch, smiling softly, and Geralt’s heart flutters in a most unhelpful way.

.

Just because Geralt is dealing with an unwelcome onslaught of feelings, that doesn’t mean he has to make it Jaskier’s problem. He does his best to maintain the usual tone of their interactions: gruff and to the point. Businesslike. Practical.

He thinks he’s doing rather well at that. At least until they stop at a tavern and Jaskier performs for the locals, catching the eye of a pretty girl.

Geralt waits for Jaskier to head to the bar and he does, perhaps, talk a little louder than is strictly necessary about the horrible monsters which stalk anyone close to a witcher. And he does, perhaps, feel a mean twist of satisfaction when the pretty girl’s face pales and she runs from the tavern.

He feels a little bit guilty when Jaskier returns to find her gone, but Jaskier looks tired anyway and readily takes him up on the suggestion that they retire for the night, so he can’t have been that disappointed after all.

But when Geralt returns from washing and walks into their room he stops dead, feet frozen on the threshold. Because Jaskier is there, lounging on the bed. And he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts and nothing else. The black shirt hangs off his frame in a manner that’s somehow more obscene than if he’d just been naked.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Geralt manages to growl, and his voice only cracks a little bit.

“My clothes all need washing.” Jaskier shrugs, and the collar of the shirt slides down to reveal more of the smooth planes of his shoulder and the dark hair dusting his chest. Geralt can’t stop staring. “I borrowed this from your pack. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Geralt concentrates on getting his legs to work and takes a few steps toward the bed. Up close, it’s even worse. Jaskier smells like Geralt. No, he smells like he’s Geralt’s.

His bard in his shirt in his bed.

Something primal and possessive thrums through him, and he can’t tear his eyes away from how the black fabric highlights the pale skin of Jaskier’s throat, the way the hem of the shirt floats around the meat of his thighs. Blood pounds in his ears.

“Are you coming to bed then?” Jaskier asks, an impish smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Bed. Right. For sleeping. That’s what they’re supposed to be doing.

Stiffly, keeping his eyes firmly averted, he manages to climb into bed and resist the urge to tear the shirt off Jaskier and do.... something unwise. He curses his luck that the bed is so small, with barely enough room to keep a decent amount of space between them.

He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. As long as he doesn’t turn his head and look at Jaskier, everything will be fine.

Jaskier fusses and rearranges himself several times, energetic as ever, but Geralt steadfastly ignores him and soon enough he’s rolled over onto his side, back to Geralt, and fallen asleep.

Geralt allows his eyes to flick over Jaskier’s sleeping form then, and it still strikes him as astonishing that anyone could feel safe and trusting enough to sleep next to a witcher. But there Jaskier is, content to the point of naivety, vulnerable and fearless.

In sleep, Jaskier’s face softens and he looks even younger than usual, his typically animated features relaxed into something graceful and delicate. He sleeps soundly, unconcerned by the voices from the bar downstairs or the rustle of the nearby trees in the wind.

Geralt is fidgety and on edge, every sound blaring into his consciousness. He’s exquisitely aware of the feel of the rough cotton sheet beneath him, the warmth pouring off Jaskier, the gentle rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest, the comparatively furious rhythm of Jaskier’s heartbeat.

It takes him many, many hours, but eventually he sleeps.

.

Geralt wakes the next morning warm and comfortable, with a low thrum of pleasure spreading throughout his body. Something feels good, really good, and as he rolls his hips the pleasure spikes, heady and potent, waves of satisfaction running through him like the ocean lapping at a sandy beach.

He nuzzles into something soft and familiar, a soothing, spicy scent washing over him, a distant thrill of mounting gratification building inside him. Whatever this is, he's greedy for more of it.

It takes a few minutes until he wakes up fully and realises that he’s shifted in the night: His face is nestled into Jaskier’s hair, his arm is around Jaskier’s waist, his leg is thrown over Jaskier’s hip, and his dick is rock hard and  grinding up against Jaskier’s arse.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He stills, trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to extract himself from this situation without making it any more embarrassing than it already is. He’s planning his exit strategy, trying to untangle their limbs, trying to keep his breath low and steady so as not to betray his roiling emotions, and then Jaskier’s hand curls around his and squeezes.

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier says, voice thick with sleep, face still buried in the pillow.

And that’s. Gods. That’s exactly what he wants to hear, on one level, and some kind of tantalising torment on another. Because Jaskier surely can’t mean that, he can’t seriously want some lust-addled witcher rutting up against him. Who would want that?

Jaskier continues to defy his expectations, though, and rucks up his shirt to his waist to expose his bare ass, and Geralt can’t stop the little gasp that escapes his throat at that.

“C’mon,” Jaskier says, voice still thick but undeniably awake now, and Geralt is weak because before he can get a hold of himself he’s shoving his own shorts down and rubbing up against the soft swell of Jaskier’s ass, warm and smooth and deliriously good.

His cock slides between Jaskier’s thighs and Jaskier squeezes, and he’s dizzy with it for a minute, the heat and the scent of Jaskier and the strong grip of muscles around his cock. He fucks between Jaskier’s legs with abandon, and judging by the way Jaskier reaches down and furiously jerks himself off he’s enjoying it plenty too.

If Geralt cranes his neck he can just see the tip of his cock sliding between Jaskier’s legs, periodically bumping up against his balls or rubbing against Jaskier’s hand where he’s working himself.

He grabs onto Jaskier’s hips and holds on tight, tight enough that he’s going to leave bruises if he’s not careful, and then he’s picturing Jaskier walking around for days with impressions on his skin in the exact shape of Geralt’s spread fingers, marked and owned. That’s really all it takes to push him over the edge, and the next thing he knows he’s coming all over Jaskier’s ass and thighs with a low moan.

He nestles closer, making an utter mess of both of them but he doesn’t care, he just wants to feel Jaskier in his arms and smell that maddening scent that’s been hovering around him for days. They’re so close that he can feel Jaskier’s approaching orgasm, feel the way his muscles clench and his toes curl, and feel the moment he lets go and comes with a breathy sound over his hand and the bed and Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt winces. He’s going to have to burn that shirt, because it’s now covered in both of their seed and he’ll never be able to look at it again without thinking of this morning and this moment, and that’s not the kind of reminder he needs.

They lie there for a time, bodies intertwined, just breathing together. Soon Geralt knows he’ll have to push himself up and clean himself off and go back to pretending that this... whatever it is between them... is enough for him, that he’s happy, that he‘s getting what he wants.

His heart aches at the thought of slipping back into their routine of bickering or casual friendship, interspersed with moments of unspoken lust. Not that he doesn’t want that, he certainly does, but he longs for something more. He doesn’t know how to name it, but he knows what he wants is too much for someone like him to ask for.

Still, for now, he lets himself inhale Jaskier’s scent and feel Jaskier’s solid weight in his arms, and he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of what life might look like if this were something he could actually have.

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 3

Thomas X Shelby

2075

Summary: Thomas goes on a date with Grace. An old melody makes it difficult.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

Grace paced nervously in her flat as she went over the details she had planned for this evening. She’d chosen a venue she knew was outside of Peaky Blinder territory and far enough away from any sort of police presence that she should be able to get Thomas to relax tonight. 

Inspector Campbell’s instructions the other night left her rattled. She didn’t appreciate the idea of being so expendable even as she reasoned that it was for a good cause.

Even as she flattened her dress again in an attempt to calm her nerves, she heard the doorbell ring. She flinched from the noise but made her way toward the doors regardless. Grace checked the clock next to the door. Ten minutes early. A true gentleman.

When she opened the door there he was. He'd traded out his normal attire for something more eloquent, tailored. However, his signature cap was still there revealing the devil in fancy clothes.

Thomas smirked, "Keep staring at me like that, and we won't make it to the dance." 

It took everything Grace had not to recoil. But instead she ducked her head, attempting to conjure up a blush. She grabbed her purse and hurriedly joined him in the hall.

After an agonizingly long stroll she finally led him up the steps to a restaurant that had been converted into a dance hall for the evening. Every surface behind the tall oak doors gleamed in the dim electric light. The floor was marble crafted so seamlessly it looked as if it were poured from the heavens into the place it was now. If it wasn't marble it was either polished oak or gilded in gold.

A soft music filled the air, filtering through thin red curtains that seperated the VIP lounge from the rest of the diners. Upon entering they were greeted by the host.

He stood tall in his immaculate uniform, "Do you have a reservation?"

Grace nodded, "It's under the name Shelby."

She barely caught the gang leaders' raised eyebrow as they were led further inside. Upon further inspection not only did the venue reek of upper class opulence, but so did the guests. Many of them were upper middle class citizens, which the Peaky Blinders rarely had any interaction with. There were even some lower level parliament members sipping wine and leering at the demure maids who served them.

When they arrived at their table Thomas, ever the gentleman, helped Grace with her chair. His eyes scanned the room slowly deconstructing each detail a thief would need. Grace shifted uncomfortably as she waited for him to join her. 

Eventually he took his seat, “You have quite the taste in venues.”

Grace shrugged, “You’re footing the bill. So I figured we would go somewhere we normally wouldn’t.”

He turned towards her, taking her in for the first time since they left her flat. Grace couldn’t help but shift underneath his gaze. Reflexively, she cast her eyes about the room for any type of distraction.

“Admittedly,” she said, “I had thought this place would be more targeted towards dancing. I’ll be right back and see what I can do about the music.”

“And if the waiter returns?”

“Order for me,” she waved her hand dismissively as she rose, not giving him the opportunity to pull out her chair.

She hurried off to put some distance between herself and Thomas. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly hot. All the small ways her clothes pinched and clung to her began to become an irrational irritation. Her skin was already crawling with the idea of what might happen after she left this place. At any cost. 

The walls around her became a safety blanket of finery. If she could find a way to make the night stretch long enough then maybe she could prolong what seemed to be the inevitable. Even as the thought crossed her mind she schooled herself on the unprofessionalism. She should want to serve her country. Even if it crossed every boundary I’d set for myself?

Grace’s eyes kept being drawn to the only color in the room. The red curtains separating the lower class citizens from their ‘betters’. And the musician.

She glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention before she slipped past. She blinked awkwardly; the majority of the light was outside of the curtains, casting a disturbing red glow on the room. A haze of cigar smoke filled the room making it even harder to see. Only small candles were used to create the barest amount of light for people to function. This particular part of the building was in a more secluded alcove which the patrons used to the fullest.

Men who ran the country were letting themselves be seduced. Women watched as their jewels were being bartered for. Every indulgence was being passed around from exotic chocolates to opium. Soft sighs punctuated the murmur of conversation.

In the middle of the room was an elevated platform with a grand piano. Grace blinked a couple more times to make sure she was seeing correctly. Instead of the man in a tux she’d expected, there sat a woman in one of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. Something about her was familiar, but Grace didn’t pay much attention, only wanting to get out of the room as soon as possible.

She strode up before  waving towards the bored looking pianist, “Excuse me, do you do requests?”

Grace was initially answered with an arched eyebrow, “What kind of requests were you thinking about Ma’am?”

“I was thinking maybe a sad love song then building up to some dancing music?” Grace collapsed her hands before her, wringing them together.

The woman paused to think, “Classical dancing or something more lively?”

Grace blinked, “L...Lively.”

She nodded then went about finishing her song. Grace shrunk in on herself as she scurried away. The whole exchange reminded her of being scolded by a school teacher and in the end she wasn’t even sure if she’d gotten anything out of the endeavor.

〜

Thomas glanced around once more. While he’d feigned ignorance with Grace this location was one he was well aware of. It was a nice building but it was also mere moments away from becoming a glorified opium den. He’d looked into possibly being a supplier for the more illicit items. The only thing stopping him was the lack of financial security his other ventures were producing at the moment.

He’d chosen their foods, intentionally going for an array of items. Their cups were full, and he leisurely sipped his wine. Thomas began to wonder if Grace knew the worst of the drugs that frequented the Birmingham underground. If she did, would she leave me alone with her food?

After a while, Grace seated herself opposite of him with a huff.

“How did it go?”

He watched as she schooled her features. “The elite seem to be hoarding the music tonight.”

Thomas chuckled, “That’s how it is isn’t it? Don’t worry, we can always find somewhere else.” 

She shook her head. “No, I chose this place. Let’s experience it.”

“If you insist.” 

He wasn’t sure when things had changed but as he spoke something pulled at the edge of his senses. It was an undercurrent below the ebb and flow of conversation. His heart began to ache even as it sped up. It wasn’t until the echoes of war began that he realized what it was. The music. Her music.

Thomas’ face fell as the words died in his throat. The finest wine he’d tasted in years turned to acetone in his mouth. All the splendor of England was laid before him and it was worth nothing.

He could sense the tension in Grace as she watched him cast his eyes about. He hadn't seen the source of the music on the way in, and honestly if he couldn't see her she couldn't see him. Yet that song still played.

"Thomas?"

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at the woman he'd been admiring moments before.

"What's wrong?"

Everything. Nothing.

He cleared his throat, "Do you know this song?"

Grace paused then closed her eyes to listen. After a few moments she shook her head.

"It was created three and a half years ago by a woman posing as a man." He continued.

Her brow furrowed, "How do you know this?"

Thomas couldn't stop his wicked grin as he stood, nor did he want to, "I was there when it was made. Tell me. Where did you see the musician?"

Uncertainty was clear in Grace’s eyes but she pointed toward the curtains nonetheless. Thomas knew he shouldn’t be doing this in front of her or possibly future clientele. But as the notes on the piano hit the chorus he couldn’t find himself to care. For this was the one song he couldn’t bleach from his soul. It was his song, the one he asked for on one of his darkest days. Or so he thought.

He strode with the confidence of a Shelby. His back tall and his chin held high he gripped the heavy curtains and flung them open. He welcomed the hiss of the patrons as light stung their eyes. Every glare that landed on his skin felt like soap in his wounds. It was familiar, something he could deal with.

Blessedly, the music stopped. Even then he wasn’t prepared for the wide eyes that found his among the chaos. Y/N sat there back held straight in defiance prepared for whatever fight might come her way. There was a strength there wrapped in fine lace. A memory of hands gripping his shoulder firmly and hauling him away from certain death. It caused something inside him to come to life. A resonating pull towards a destiny he couldn’t name. 

“Alright, Ladies and Gentlemen, I will be hiring out your musician tonight. I was promised some dancing, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get it.” As he spoke he pulled out his wallet and slapped a stack of bills onto the polished wood beside Y/N.

He didn’t give her time to reply as he waved the Host farther into the room, “Come here. Yes, good man. You see this room? I want you to open a bottle of wine and make sure everyone here has a glass. Then clear out this mess. We’re dancing tonight.”

A portly man, with his vest and shirt unbuttoned, wadled his way up to Thomas with a face as red as a tomato, “Who do you think you are? The King of England?”

“Oh no friend. I’m not the king. I’m Thomas-Fucking-Shelby.” He let his smile spread too wide across his face. He knew the look he got in his eyes when he did this and loved to watch as people cowered before it. Just like the nameless bastard in front of him.

The Host glanced at Y/N, giving her a nod to continue as Thomas had instructed. With a shrug, Y/N pocketed the money and began playing quite the jaunty tune. Thomas lingered a moment, making sure his instructions were being followed. As he turned away he didn’t miss the tense set of Y/N’s jaw. A thought, there and gone again, begged him to kiss her stress away. 

He returned to Grace. Her eyes were wide as he held out his hand to her. She’d seen the whole affair, he knew she would. However, the fact that she didn’t actively shy away from him meant something. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Care for a dance?”

〜

Hours later, Thomas escorted Grace back to her flat. He scoffed at himself for not taking the chance to go farther with her but the night had gone sour the moment the music began. And I told Y/N I wanted her playing every Saturday.

When he’d brought Grace to her door she looked at him expectantly. Yet even a blind man could see she was absolutely terrified of spending the night with him. Hell she shook like a lead when he removed her coat. It was a gentlemanly thing to do. Something Aunt Pol had beaten into him at a young age.

Now he strode down the near deserted street smoking to keep himself warm. Thomas hummed a tune. That one.

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolatier’s Rose {Willy Wonka x OC} Ch.44

GIFs not mine. Credit go to owners.

Summary: It’s Christmas and the whole family comes together to celebrate.

A/N: Here we are. The final chapter! However, there will be an epilogue after this and then I’ll get to working on the fairytale AU. Again, let me know if you want to be tagged for The Chocolate Prince and The Lovely Maiden.

Tagging: @willymywonkers @holdmeicant @sleepiesapphicxoxo @frozenhuntress67

It was that wonderful time of the year where the snow fell, leaving a thick soft blanket on the ground, the windows of homes and shops would be filled with decorations on display, a certain sense of cheer filled the air, and families all came together. Christmas had come around again like it does every year.

Christmas had to be Rose's favorite holiday. There was just something about it that always made her feel so happy. Maybe it was because the snow always looked so pretty around the holidays. Maybe it was because the town looked festive when there were lights strewn about, windows filled to the brim with decorations, and the tree that always went up in the middle of town. Maybe it was because this was the time of year that always brought families together.

No matter what the reason, Rose loved Christmas. All the Buckets did.

Normally, Willy didn't give Christmas a second thought. He used to be alone at Christmas so he didn't bother to celebrate it. But that changed when Rose came into his life. When she told him how much she loved Christmas, he decided to give it a chance and celebrate it.

Turns out that Christmas was a whole lot better when you had a family to celebrate it with. And he loved how happy Rose got around this time of year. He loved coming home one day to find that she had the entire Garden Room covered in decorations, as well as the house. He loved how he found a large Christmas tree already put up and decorated in the living room. He loved hearing Rose break out into Christmas carols.

Christmas quickly became Willy's favorite holiday.

But this Christmas wasn't going to be any ordinary Christmas. This would the first Christmas with the twins. And the Wonkas were going all out with it. Normally, Christmas dinner would be held at the Bucket house, hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Bucket. This year, however, Rose and Willy decided to host dinner for the first time. And their whole family would be coming.

******

Rose and Mrs. Bucket were cooking together in the kitchen. Every once in a while, Rose would look up and peek out the window. Every time she looked out that window, she saw her children playing together with their father and Uncle Charlie. She smiled at the sight.

"Look at them, mum" Rose said. Mrs. Bucket looked up from the vegetables she was cutting. She followed her daughter's line of sight. "He's such a wonderful father. A wonderful husband. He looks at me, and he looks Fleur and Dulce like we're his whole world. You should hear him telling them bedtime stories"

Mrs. Bucket didn't say anything. Instead, she just smiled, stared, and listened as her daughter went on about Willy and the twins. "Mum, why are you looking at me like that?" Rose asked when she caught her mom staring.

"Nothing," Mrs. Bucket chuckled, shaking her head. "It's just, you've been so happy for the past two years. Before Charlie found that ticket, you've worn many smiles on your face but you've never really been happy" Mrs. Bucket placed her hand on her daughter's cheek. "But now when you smile, it's not because you're trying to be strong for us. It's because you have truly found happiness in your life that we alone couldn't give to you"

"I find myself thinking sometimes where I would be right now if Charlie hadn't found that ticket," Rose thought out loud. "I'd probably still be working for Mrs. Mason, barely just getting by. Or, perhaps maybe I'd be stuck in a marriage that I didn't want"

"Or, maybe you'd still have met Willy somehow"

"You really think so, mum?"

"Of course I do, darling. He's your soulmate. If Charlie hadn't found that ticket and hadn't brought you along on that tour, you still would have met Willy one way or another" Mrs. Bucket seemed so sure about that.

Rose giggled. "Is dad your soulmate?"

Mrs. Bucket smiled, pushing a fallen strand of hair out of Rose's face. "Without any doubt"

A new voice called out, making its presence known. "Hello, Rose! Hello, Helen!" It was Priscilla. She had wandered into the kitchen. "Merry Christmas"

"Merry Christmas, dear" Mrs. Bucket smiled at the girl who overtime, started feeling like her own daughter.

"Merry Christmas, Cilla" Rose said. "Did you say hi to Willy and the twins?"

"I did" Priscilla nodded. "I swear, Fleur and Dulce keep getting cuter every time I see them"

Rose eyed the thick bag that Priscilla was carrying. She did not doubt that there were a bunch of toys and other gifts inside. "Cilla, what did we say about spoiling?"

"This isn't all for the twins" Priscilla defended. "There are things for Charlie and Jenny here. And at least one present for everyone else. That reminds me" She reached into the bag and pulled out a couple of presents. She gave the bigger of the presents to Mrs. Bucket, who in turn looked quite surprised.

"Priscilla, sweetheart, that's very kind of you, but you didn't--"

"I wanted to, Mrs. Bucket"

Mrs. Bucket smiled and accepted the present. She opened it up, revealing a small antique display case. But it wasn't the display case that made her eyes light up. It was what was inside it. "Priscilla, this china is beautiful" There were beautifully designed plates, bowls, and cups.

"I actually made it" Priscilla explained. "I have a knack for pottery"

"I never knew you liked pottery," Rose said. She was surprised that Priscilla never mentioned her talent.

All Priscilla did was shrug. "It's nothing serious, really. More of a hobby" She presented the other present in hand to Rose. "This one for you"

Rose smiled, taking the small present in her hand. She unwrapped it, revealing a velvet red box. Then, she opened up the box to reveal a piece of jewelry. It was a pendant of a terrarium with a tiny rose inside of it. "Oh, it's beautiful"

"I immediately thought of you when I saw that, and not just because of the rose," Priscilla said.

"Wait right here!" Rose said in sudden excitement. She ran off, disappearing behind the curtain that led to hers and Willy's bedroom. When she came back, she was wearing the pendant and had a gift in her hand. "Here," She handed the gift to Priscilla.

Priscilla grinned and she ripped the wrapping paper off. She gasped in delight when she found a sweater, made in her favorite color with her name stitched in cursive gold along the front of it. "Rose, did you make this?"

"Yeah" She bit her lip, waiting to hear Priscilla's thoughts on it. "Do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it!" Priscilla gave Rose a great big hug. "Rose, you're amazing, you know that? You're the best sister anyone could ask for"

"Sister?" Rose asked. Sure, she and Priscilla have been close for a long time, but she's never heard her call her sister before.

"Well, yeah. You're not just my best friend, Rose. You're my sister. You, Willy, and the twins? My family. Charlie and the rest of the Buckets? My family. Danny, Eleanor, Felix, Lucy, Jenny, and Harry? My family. Mrs. Mason and Dr. Wonka? My family. We're all one big family, Rose"

Rose smiled. She thought back to some wise words Charlie once said long ago.

You don't have to be related to someone for them to be your family. People who care about each other can be considered a family, whether you're related or not.

For a boy of thirteen, Charlie was quite wise for his age.

"Darling, why don't you go out there and say hi to your friends?" Mrs. Bucket suggested. "I've got it in here"

Rose kissed her mother before walking out of the house with Priscilla. All of their friends were crowding together with Willy and Charlie. The twins were now being held by Lucy and Harry respectively. Of course, Willy was the first one to see his wife. "Hello, starshine!" He beamed at her.

"Cocoa bean" She greeted back, wrapping her arms around him in a secure hug. Rose's eyes wandered to Fleur, who was being held by Lucy. But it wasn't her daughter's infectious grin that caught her eye. It was the sparkling diamond that was wrapped around Lucy's ring finger. "Lu?"

Lucy looked at Rose. "Yes?"

"On your finger, is that what I think it is?"

Eleanor went wide-eyed. "Wait, you and Harry are engaged!?"

Lucy shrugged, smirked, and made an attempt at a joke. "Who said it was Harry I was engaged to?"

"Sis, you're not fooling anyone" Jenny laughed. "We all know you two are googly-eyed in love with each other"

"Let me see," Priscilla said. She took Lucy's hand and inspected the diamond on her finger. Priscilla let out an impressed whistle. "That's quite the stone you gave her, Harry"

Lucy grinned and then eyed her fiance. "Even if I told him a simple plain ring would do"

"And I'm only getting truly engaged once" Harry quipped. He and Rose shared a knowing look. The two of them were never really engaged. It was more of an...agreement... of sorts. Luckily, it was one that was never carried out. Harry looked back at Lucy. "I wanted to make it special for both of us"

Lucy very well knew of what had transpired between Rose and Harry. They were both very honest with her about that. But, she was just glad to see that they had made amends and that they were now friends.

"Where are those little angels?" A happy sing-song voice called out. "Nana's here! And she wants to see all her angels!"

Mrs. Mason came running with Dr. Wonka not far behind her. The two of them were married now. The ceremony had been small and private, taking place at a courthouse with only Rose, Willy, and Charlie in attendance.

"There they are!" Mrs. Mason cooed once she saw her grandchildren. She squished their cheeks and kissed their foreheads, causing the babies to smile and giggle. Once she greeted the twins, she greeted the rest of her angels the same way, starting with Priscilla.

"Uh, Mrs. Mason" Priscilla mumbled through her squished cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"I did say I wanted to see all my angels, now didn't I?"

Mrs. Mason got through with greeting Priscilla, Eleanor, Lucy, Danny, Felix, and Harry all the same way. With squished cheeks and wet kisses on the forehead. She still saw all of them as her children, even if they weren't related to her the way Rose, Charlie, and Willy were.

"And where's my youngest son?" Mrs. Mason turned on her heel until she spotted Charlie. "Charlie, my dear boy! Come here!" She hugged Charlie as tight as she could. "I swear you're getting bigger every day I see you"

"And you keep getting kinder" Charlie said to her.

Mrs. Mason grinned wildly. "How does a boy get so sweet and polite?" She let go of Charlie, and then there was no saving Jenny from the inevitable hug. "And here's my sweet girl! Oh, Jenny, you just keep getting prettier"

Jenny blushed and giggled. "Thank you, Mrs. Mason"

"Charlie, you've got quite the girlfriend here. Don't ever let her go" Mrs. Mason advised, winking at the young boy.

Both Charlie and Jenny blushed deeply and glanced at each other. "We're not boyfriend and girlfriend" Charlie defended.

"Yeah. We're just friends" Jenny added. "Best friends"

"And that means in exactly ten years time, you two will be married" Mrs. Mason joked but at the same time, there was a hint of seriousness in her voice. Charlie and Jenny both muttered something about Mrs. Mason being embarrassing before the two of them ran off.

Mrs. Mason chuckled, shaking her head. She caught Rose in her sight and smiled at her. "And last but certainly not least, my beautiful daughter" She grasped Rose's face with a gentle grip and kissed her on both of the cheeks. "And my wonderful son" Mrs. Mason hugged Willy and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Hi mom" Willy greeted her, giving her a kiss and a hug back. He then let go of Mrs. Mason and walked over to his father. "Hi dad" He greeted before hugging him.

"Hello son," Dr. Wonka said, a grin coming over him. After hugging his son, he stepped closer to Rose and hugged her as well. "Hello daughter"

Rose smiled at that. It always warmed her heart when she heard Dr. Wonka calling her daughter. "Hi, dad. Merry Christmas"

"Merry Christmas"

Mrs. Bucket stepped out onto the porch of the house. "Rose and Willy, dears" Mrs. Bucket called out for her daughter and her son-in-law. "I need your help with something!" She flashed an almost mischievous smile at them, before disappearing inside the house again.

"Hmm," Willy hummed curiously. "I wonder what that's about" He wasn't blind to see the way she had smiled at both of them.

"I suppose we should go find out" Rose said. She and Willy joined hands and made their way to the house.

******

"That's weird," Willy said as soon as he and Rose entered the house. They found it empty except for all the furniture and the finished food that was sitting on the counters in the kitchen. "Moms not here"

"Mum!" Rose called out. There was no reply. "Come on, mum. Where are you? Are you playing some kind of joke?"

Willy looked around the room as his wife continued to call for Mrs. Bucket's attention. It wasn't until he looked up that he noticed something hanging off of the ceiling. It was a green plant with white berries and a red bow wrapped around it.

"Cocoa bean," Rose finally noticed her husband staring upwards. "What are you looking at?"

"Have you gotten any new flowers or plants recently?"

"No" Rose finally looked up to see what Willy was looking at. She recognized what it was right away. A smirk danced across her lips. "Oh, I see what you're looking at"

"What is it?" Rose didn't answer him right away. Instead, she started giggling. Willy's eyebrows furrowed and he looked back at his wife. "What's so funny, starshine?"

"You've never seen mistletoe before?"

"No" He looked back up at it. "I wonder why it's there"

"I'm thinking mum probably put it there"

"Now, why would she do that?" Wow, he really didn't know. "I'm sorry but it's just a poor choice for decoration. It doesn't do anything to tie this room together at all"

"Cocoa bean, it's not for decoration"

"No? Then what's it for?"

Rose grabbed Willy's face and tilted his head down so that he was looking at her rather than the plant on the ceiling. "Do you really not know the tradition for people who stand together under the mistletoe?" Her voice had softened into an almost sultry purr. Her thumb was stroking his soft and plump bottom lip, and she was giving him that look with hooded and glossy eyes that made him weak in the knees.

Willy blushed deeply as he looked her right in the eye. "No"

"When two people find themselves standing under the mistletoe, they're supposed to kiss, otherwise they'll have bad luck"

"Oh. So is it like walking under a ladder, or opening an umbrella indoors, or breaking a mirror--" Willy was cut off when Rose's lips were pressed against his in a passionate kiss. It didn't take long for him to ease into the kiss, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around her waist. What they didn't see was Mrs. Bucket standing in the doorway of the nursery, watching both of them with a smile on her face.

She knew that her daughter and son-in-law had yet to kiss under the mistletoe. So, she set up the mistletoe and lured them inside the house.

Rose and Willy pulled away from the kiss, both of them with a dazed look in their eyes. No matter how many times they kissed, sometimes certain kisses still felt like their first one. "Wow," Willy muttered, breathless from the kiss.

Rose giggled. "Yeah, wow"

Willy smiled at the sound of her heavenly giggle. "I like that tradition. Can it only be done at Christmas?"

"I don't think so"

"Good, because I'm going to set up mistletoe all throughout the factory so you'll have to kiss me wherever we are, or else we'll both end up with bad luck"

******

It finally came time for Christmas dinner. Everyone was seated at the long table that was set up just outside the house and underneath a fluffy, pink cotton candy tree. Rose helped her mum and dad bring out all the food.

"Mum, all of this looks wonderful" Rose mentioned.

"Well, I did have some help" Mrs. Bucket smiled, winking at Rose. Once all the food was set out and she was back in her seat, Mrs. Bucket announced. "Everyone dig in and enjoy"

Everyone served amongst themselves and quickly got into feasting. Rose and Willy fed their children when they weren't feeding themselves. Everyone chatted, joked, laughed, and told stories with each other. It truly was like they were all one extended family.

'That's because we are a family'  Willy thought to himself.

Family. He really was beginning to like that word a lot.

"Mr. Bucket and I would like to say something," Mrs. Bucket said as she stood up. Mr. Bucket stood up as well and joined hands with his wife. "If we may?"

Rose nodded and gave an encouraging smile. "Please!"

Mrs. Bucket nodded and then looked at her husband, urging him to start. "We've celebrated many Christmases in the past. For us, it was never about the gifts or even the food we ate. It was about spending this special time of the year as a family"

"But no Christmas has never felt more like Christmas than it does now" Mrs. Bucket continued. "And it all has to do with our special family. Look at us. We went from being a family of six to a family of eighteen"

"And we couldn't have asked for a better one" Mr. Bucket finished off. He and Mrs. Bucket sat back down, indicating that they had said all they wanted to say.

Dinner continued. Rose noticed that Willy had fallen awfully quiet beside her. He had been talkative all night, especially to his children. When she looked at him, she noticed that he was in a dazed look, like when he used to get his flashbacks. But there was something different about this dazed look. It was the smile on his face.

"Cocoa bean?" Rose piped, placing her hand over his. "Is everything okay?"

Willy looked over to her, blinking as he broke out of his daze. "Oh, starshine. I feel absolutely wonderful"

"Yeah?" Rose smiled.

"I was just thinking about something"

"And what would that be?"

"Before I met you, I never realized just how lonely I was" Willy was looking right at Rose when he spoke, but his words weren't just directed to her.  "Looking back, maybe I was a little miserable because I was lonely, but my success made me blind to that. Now, I can't imagine a life without you, starshine" He looked to everyone else, realizing their stares were on him. "Or any of you, really. If there's a family out there better than this one, then I don't want to meet them because we're already a perfect family. You're all my family"

Everyone smiled in agreement and nodded to Willy's words.

"I say we make a toast" Priscilla announced. She reached over and grabbed her cup. She held it up high in the air. "To our great, big, and happy family"

Everyone else grabbed their drinks and joined in the toast. "To family!"

In the end, Charlie Bucket won a chocolate factory.

But Willy Wonka got something even better.

A family.  

And one thing was absolutely certain.

Life had never been sweeter.

THE END

[nickkkdoesstuff]

general 24 w/ lewvithur maybe? :0c

Prompt list.

“I haven’t seen (her/him/them) smile in months.”

I’m not really used to write about lewvithur (or ot3 in general) and I apologize if this is a little odd or off character <: i’m trying 

Summary: None of them had genuinely smiled since their lives had torn apart. Arthur finds his old keyboard and plays an awful familiar song.

Song: “Slow Dance” by Saint Motel

Vivi licked the melted marshmallow off her fingers with as much enthusiasm she had. Definitely the idea of taking her boyfriends out in the woods for a nice little evening soiree, technically they were on a mission hunting down a werewolf but it wouldn’t hurt if they stopped for a second, and the night above them was lovely- 

The blue leader couldn’t avoid the dark sky filled with stars and lights of distant cities, she had told them to rest for a while, they all deserved it anyway. Arthur had brought the idea of building a fire when the sun started to set behind them and Lewis suggested s'mores because “it wasn’t a real campfire if it didn’t had s’mores”, the ghost couldn’t eat anymore but who were they to deny such a delicacy. 

So there they were, their faces red because of the heat and a little sweaty too. The van’s radio had gone off a few minutes ago and they had run out of conversation topics. The three of them sat on a fallen log, pressed together like a human sandwich one next to another, a little awkward if you asked, but way more comfortable than try to get a real conversation out of anyone. 

Vivi sighed tired. “Looks like we ran out of cookies.” she stood up. “I’m going to see if there are some more in the van.”

Arthur nodded and Lewis just didn’t mind at all.

She jumped on the back of their van, a lamp on her mouth to leave free her hands. She brushed with her eyes the tall, metallic shelves that held many of her supernatural artifacts that she assured held properties and could be handy on one of their jobs, she had never used them, true, but you never knew when a spirit could strike, so she kept them to collect dust on tagged cardboard boxes like forgotten items, one of those boxes should have the food supplies, she was sure, but after Lewis died, nobody had reorganized the shelves, and nor she or Arthur cared enough to do it, so now the “food supplies” were strange books Vivi didn’t remember collecting and a few shiny rocks Arthur probably picked up during their trips.

The blue haired girl emptied all the van and couldn’t find those damned cookies- she had looked everywhere except for the higher level of the shelves, “They must be there”, she thought. “I swear for the love of fuck, Arthur, that if you ate them I’m starting a war”.

She picked the box but it slipped out of her hands and landed on top of her hair. 

“Ow” she patted herself. Many other things fell along with her, Lewis wasn’t going to be happy with the mess she made. The girl kicked some stuff out of her way until a strange one came across her path, she didn’t recall having that one when 99% of the stuff stocked there was hers. It was a black square bag, it was dusty and a little heavy but the lazo on one of its sides made it easier to carry around. 

“Arthur, sweety,” she called, popping her head out of the van. “what 's this?”

Half asleep Arthur turned to her. “Oh.” 

He moved to inspect the bag and put it on the floor, his slim hands slid open the zipper to reveal an old keyboard piano.

“I have been looking for this for ages!” Arthur kneel before it and ran his fingers through the white and black tiles. “I haven’t pla- played this since- since… well…”

The hurt look on his eyes said it all. The boy turned it on, wondering if it still worked after a year of abandonment. To his surprise, it did, the screen came back to life and lights shone brighter than before. A small smile crept upon his lips, shy as himself. 

“C’mon, Artie.” Vivi hurried to sit down next to the ghost, right in front of Arthur like they were a crowd. “Delight us, please.”

Arthur looked at her hesitantly, and then to the keyboard, unsure if he even knew how to play it anymore. “I don’t- I don’t know, Vi, it’s been a- a while…”

“Pweaseeeee.” Vivi wore puppy eyes. Oh no, please don’t, he thought, not the eyes.

“Fi- fineeee. I guess I can play something.”

The blond man ran through his memories, he should remember how to play any song, literally any song was good…

“This is one that everyone knows.” And then he played the first chord.

“I'm waitin' for that slow dance.”

Vivi gasped.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

Oh, she definitely knew that song.

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

Arthur laughed a little at his girlfriend’s reaction.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

With a hand on her hip, she stood up, smiling brighter than she had ever done it. Vivi fixed her messy blue hair, tied her scarf tighter and tucked under her skirt her oversized sweater. Offering a hand to the ghost, she invited him to dance. A funny expression broke the specter’s skull and took her hand in acceptance. They pretended the dirt under their feet was a fancy dance floor and the moon a disco ball.

“Well, they don’t know that much about it.”

They began to move around to the beat of the song. 

“Been waiting every single day.”

Vivi spinned around, holding her boy’s hand as he catched up with her.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

She planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He carried her bridal style and leaned her to the floor, taking a laugher out of her.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Vivi escaped from his grip with a jump and rolled a little on the dirt.

“So I can feel your arms around me. Wait ‘till the music turns to romance. Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

They both danced a silly dance, no longer making sense.

“Hand on my back, panic attack. Pull it together, don't overreact! Keepin' her close, don't step on her toes. Leave enough room for the holy ghost.” 

Now Mystery had joined them.

“Romance”

Arthur grinned at the sight. 

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

For a moment, Arthur was no longer in the woods but the Kingsmen’s mechanics garage. He was a small boy once again.

“We could talk for forty hours.”

He was sitting outside, watching the sunset over the mountains, time didn’t matter, he was simply staring at the beautiful magentas and lilacs the sky had painted. 

“We’d end up right back at the start.” 

It reminded him of Vivi and Lewis, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. He thought it was beautiful. It was the night of the prom, he knew he should be sunking his problems on punch and dancing cheesy songs with his friends, but nobody had asked him out, Lewis and Vivi should be there, enjoying their night.

“I could be your best friend, I could be your centerpiece, I could be your soulmate, I could be your everything.”

They made a nice couple after all. 

“Thunderbolts and lighting queuing up the symphony.”

He was lost on himself until both of them showed up with bright smiles at him and asked him out.

Arthur had never been so glad to say yes.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

Suddenly, without a warning, a cold hand pulled him. It was Vivi.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Oh, no no no no, I’m- I’m not a good dancer.”

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

His girlfriend laughed. “Who cares?”

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

She gently took both of his hands -flesh and metallic- and dragged him along with her where Lewis awaited.

“Vivi- wait, no-!”

“There’s no doubt about it.”

She kissed his cheek to make him shut up, it worked indeed. Flustered, Arthur surrendered.

“It’s something magical.”

She never lost her grip on his hands, and, as if they were little kids, Vivi spun around slowly.

“Feeling our surroundings.”

The world around him moved fast, the couple stayed still, or that was what Arthur felt when  he could only stare at her beautiful blue gaze.

“And time is slowing down for us.”

Arthur sank in the moment. Looking at her toothy smile directed at him, Arthur welcomed that warm gesture in his heart and let the feeling of being all right washed over him.

Vivi slowed down and when they weren’t that nauseous she quickly grabbed him in a suffocating but nice and fitting hug, right when he was about to return it, he was pushed towards a black suit.

“You know I’m waiting for that slow dance.”

“¿Me concedes esta pieza?” Lewis said in fluent spanish, Arthur looked up to meet not a terrifying skull but a human face with a gentle smile on him.

“So I can feel your arms around me.”

“Huh?” Arthur didn’t even pay attention when Lewis talked with that accent. 

“Wait ‘till the music turns to romance.”

“Would you grant me this piece?” He laughed and Arthur just limited himself to nod as his blush warmed all his face.

“Go tell that Dj that he owes me.”

A hand went to his back and another one lifted his robotic arm, the blond boy followed him, taken back a little, was he really dancing with Lewis-?

It didn’t feel real, but he loved it.

“Hand on my back, panic attack.”

Arthur rested his head on his boyfriend’s big chest just like a pillow. 

“Pull it together, don’t over react!”

How long had it been since he had been this happy?

“Keepin’ her close, don’t step on her toes.”

He hadn’t seen any of them smile, a true smile, one that didn’t lie.

“Leave enough room for the holy ghost.”

A smile that could warm your soul for decades.

“Romance.”

No, he hadn’t seen one.

“Too slow but this is how you showed me.”

The music ended and Lewis didn’t pull away his boyfriend, instead he kept him close and placed his lips on top of his tall hair. Vivi came to finish the hug, her short arms doing their best to hold them together until she was tucked under both of her boys. 

No, Arthur hadn’t seen them smile in months.

He opened his eyes to snitch on them, beautiful smiles decorated the moment, he couldn’t help but think that things were going to be alright.

[immoral-tales]

Wicked Ballad

Simeon X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,313

Warnings: angst; mentions of religion; corruption;

A/N: I would like to thank my close and dearest friend for aiding me when I was writing this heart-wrenching story. If it had not been for her, I would have—most likely—made it much worse. Truth be told, many stories and art have inspired me to write this story, therefore, I would like to thank everyone. I sincerely hope you love this story as much as I adore it. I almost cried whilst writing it, I poured my heart and soul into it.

Summary: a bittersweet tale of an angel and his human crossing paths with each other. their story truly is a wicked ballad.

❝You say I took the name in vain I don't even know the name But if I did, well really, what's it to you? There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah❞

He could vividly recall the very first time his blue gaze had laid on her. It was in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, in the middle of the night. Dragging an unfamiliar piano in the deserted streets of Paris, the clock striking midnight. He could remember the word “Yamaha” was emblazoned on the wooden part. Settling herself on the wooden stool, she opened the lid of the piano, her manicured fingers skimmed over the keys. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath and started playing a soothing melody. The harmonious notes lingered in the air, dancing with the wind, engulfing the deafening silence with great ease.

The moon glimmering in the darkness of the night, the scattered stars accompanied it with their dim illumination above the cloudless sky of the city. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, one in a million. A familiar wind caressing her face; the symphonious notes her slender fingers produced, reverberated in the air, waltzing around the ancient buildings of the capital of France.

It was an enchanted song for a creature like him. Humans... Who would have thought their simple, yet unforgettable creation would mesmerize an angel?

The rumors spread like wildfire about the fallen angel finding refuge at the cathedral. Every one of them refused to accept the responsibility, the humans heard about their ceaseless quarrel and took matters into their own hands.

Both of the sides present in the city, they had heard so much about. It was the day when the creatures of hell and heaven had decided to leave their humble abodes and visit the neutral territory, the human world. If they had been familiar with the term, they would have referred to this realm as Switzerland, always avoiding conflicts like the plague and minding their own business. Even though they had a perfect opportunity to get involved, they would never trouble themselves as humans abandoned their faith years ago. They stopped believing in miracles decades ago.

Heaven and Hell, paying a visit to the capital of France to see the scene unfolding right in front of their eyes. It was the day when humans had enough of their endless cycle of invisible war as if they did not have their own wars to handle.

An angel had fallen and no one was certain what path he would choose. The spectators surrounding the Cathedral of Notre-Dame had made sense now. As a human would have said, they were the juries of the court and they would be making a verdict. A final decision would be theirs. And humans, they had to play the devil’s advocate. An ironic choice of words.

The situation was becoming tenser and tenser, it could have been cut with a knife. The air surrounding the cathedral felt suffocating, making it almost impossible to breathe. And it was not because of the pollution.

It was a sight to behold, and every one of them was well aware of it. The woman sitting in front of the piano resumed playing her captivating melody. She had realized the predicament she was in when she dragged the piano across the empty streets of Paris. She was not alone, she had viewers from other realms. If she were not too engrossed in her activity, she would have mocked their curiosity. Tilting her head; her cold and calculating eyes were fixated on the entrance of the cathedral. Her hands moved in a hypnotic manner as if it was natural for her to be in the darkness, playing an enthralling piece of music. As some would have called it, a true masterpiece. It had never been her responsibility to lure the fallen angel out of the holy grounds, yet she understood his dilemma rather well.

The song was nearing its end and the woman could sense the tension in the air rising as the last notes of the harmonious melody faded, becoming non-existent. Finding a replacement to it was not that difficult, the breeze swept in, greeting her as if it had been an old friend of hers. The silence reigned in the air, lingered there more than necessary. It had overstayed its welcome, refusing to leave her side.

Standing up from the wooden stool, she stretched her arms and stepped forward. The sounds of the clacking of her high heels against the pavement resounded in the deafening silence. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, her eyes continued to study the grand entrance as she did not trouble herself to pick up her pace. Strutting towards her destination, her walk was painfully slow as she was tormenting her spectators by depriving them of the show. She inspected the tufts of white hair peeking out of the opened door. Her suspicions proved to be correct as she halted in front of the cathedral. Opening her lips, she started speaking. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Raising her hands, she demonstrated she was unarmed. Perhaps, he was not aware of the gesticulations, but the tone of her voice indicated she was not a threat to him.

Taking his sweet time, he had finally decided to reveal himself. Stepping forward, he walked out of the cathedral. His movements were slow; however, the woman had no problem with it. It was a normal occurrence for her, and she was well aware, earning one’s trust was not a simple task. Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand for him to take. As he fully exited the premises, she could clearly see his appearance under the artificial light of the lampposts. He was a young angel. His stark white hair covered his amber eyes filled with curiosity. He was not a fallen angel, he had merely lost his path and found refuge at his Father’s home.

Tilting his head, he examined her cautiously. Before the woman in front of him had a chance to utter a word, he ran towards her and wrapped his small arms around her, embracing her tightly. She froze in one place but quickly reacted as a low chuckle escaped her full lips. “Easy there, no one is going to hurt you.” Ruffling his short hair, she looked down at him with a smirk. He was so young, yet they kept referring to him as a fallen angel. Hypocrisy at its finest. She had a strong desire to roll her eyes but refrained herself from making the young angel uncomfortable.

She handled the situation quicker than anyone had anticipated, therefore, they were free to return to their respective realms. But one issue was still present, she was not certain what to do with the angel. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the boy who was not planning to release her from his iron grip. Opening her mouth once more, she was interrupted. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she furrowed her brows as she heard a loud clapping noise resonating in the air, shattering the deafening silence. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a red uniform. The Prince of Hell graced her with his presence as his loyal butler trailed behind him.

Quirking a brow, she turned around to greet the familiar faces. Shielding the young angel with her body as he hid behind her, watching two men with great fascination. A sly smirk danced across her beautiful facial features. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she began speaking. “Came here to enjoy the show, My Lord?” Those undertones of mockery still laced her alluring voice as she cast a glance at the notorious butler. Allowing every one of them to realize she was aware of their location as they lurked in the darkness of the night.

A sigh escaped her full lips, her attention returned to the young angel as she squeezed his shoulder lightly, in reassurance. As long as he was with her, she would never allow him to be put in harm’s way. It was her silent vow, yet all of them understood it. She had no intention of demonstrating her positive qualities to the world to see—the spectators of the three realms, to be more precise. The woman could feel how her young companion’s tense body relaxed as he resumed staring at the demons. He had never seen them before, and it was not that difficult to deduce it.

As always, booming laughter reverberated in the streets of Paris, bringing her back to reality as she craned her neck to get a better look at the handsome prince. Despite wearing high heels, he was still taller than her. As much as she did not wish to admit, she had always wondered what they had been giving him to be this huge. However, she did not have any right to complain, and she was not going to.

“How could I possibly miss such a spectacular show?” Grinning confidently, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world; and crossed his muscular arms over his defined chest. His golden eyes glinted with mischief as they studied his beautiful companion. Straightening his back, he resumed speaking. “It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness a human playing the piano for an angel in the streets of one of the human realm’s most popular cities.” His excitement was quite noticeable in his voice, but he did not trouble himself to conceal it as he meant every one of his words.

Nodding her head in understanding, she glanced at his loyal butler as he mirrored his master’s action. Of course, every one of them was aware of it, but a human had to do the dirty work. Their every step was calculated beforehand; however, the humans had the element of surprise; and she used it to her advantage. These immortal beings never anticipated such an outcome, but she did. It was her world and no one knew it better than her.

Shaking her head to dismiss all of her useless thoughts, she gave them a questioned look; and was ready to deliver her endless cycle of sarcastic remarks. Taking a deep breath, a sly smirk danced across her attractive features as she opened her mouth to start speaking. “As much as I wish to give you what you desire most, unfortunately, I enjoy our game of cat and mouse a bit too much.” Her mesmerizing eyes shone underneath the moonlight, yet they did not reflect anything.

Another boisterous laughter echoed in the air, stepping forward, the brown-haired demon prince got closer to the woman. He pounced on her, enveloping her with his strong arms in a tight embrace; and lifting her off the ground. A low chuckle escaped her full lips as she looked back at the young angel. He was still astounded by the scene that unfolded right in front of his eyes. Feeling safe around the demons was an understatement, but he could feel at ease as she was with him. This human woman was his guardian angel, but in reality, it should have been the other way around. His amber eyes observed their interactions cautiously as he understood the woman was not hostile towards the demons. He had always had a great fascination with humans, but coming into contact with a human was a different experience. The young angel was thrilled to learn more about them. His morality clashed with his desire. At this point, he did not wish to return to his home, the Celestial Realm. He decided to remain with her. Oh, how excited the woman would be upon hearing the news.

“I would like to discuss a very important matter with you, but not here.” The tone of the demon prince was quite serious as it caused the young angel to snap out of his trance-like state. Getting even closer to his companion, he whispered words that were only meant for her. His golden eyes were locked with her captivating ones as he awaited her answer. He earned a nod of approval from her. His grin widened as he clasped his manicured hands together. He snaked his arm around her waist and guided her away from the cathedral. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame. He assured her his loyal butler would take care of her piano.

Walking away, the clacking of her high heels resounded through the streets of Paris. The young angel followed her as he eyed the demon prince suspiciously, but he trusted her. He had faith in her.

Saved an angel; was tempted by the demon prince himself as he led her away from the cathedral. The woman was aware of her surroundings from the beginning. No one could use her. That was her remarkable ability. She was desired by many, yet none of them had the privilege to touch her or even dream about having her in their arms. She was one of a kind; and every one of them knew. The Prince of Hell did not cajole her into following him with his words, she merely accepted his offer.

The clacking of her high heels became unbearable as the spectators resumed enjoying the scenery. His blue gaze had never left her as he silently prayed she would look back. One last time. The woman halted dead in her tracks, surprising her companions. Looking over her shoulder, a half-smirk decorated her beautiful facial features as her eyes stared into the void of blackness, far away from the artificial lights. His breath was caught in his throat, she could sense his presence. She could feel his eyes on her, she had heard his prayer.

“After introducing our new exchange program students,” a loud, booming voice resounding in the large ballroom. Covering the melodious music to earn every one of the attendants’ attention. All eyes were on the tallest man in their presence and they looked at him with great interest as they awaited their prince to resume his speech. “I would like all of you to enjoy yourselves.” It was not the monologue they had anticipated, but none of them were troubled with the short introduction of their prince’s guests from the other realms.

Every one of them returned to their respective activities as the pleasant, yet unfamiliar melody played in the background to make the visit of attendants at the Demon Lord’s Castle unforgettable. The Prince of Hell himself was quite preoccupied with engaging in conversation with his close friend, the Avatar of Pride, and an old acquaintance of his as his sharp golden eyes detected a rather familiar face in the ocean of people. A huge grin tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkled in delight as he managed to get both of his companions’ attention. The black-haired man gave him a questioned look, awaiting his response. Diavolo did not pay any heed to his subtle signals. Waving his arm, he opened his mouth to start speaking. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you would never come.” His voice had a playful lilt to it as his eyes were fixated on a feminine figure in front of him.

A woman clad in a long, black dress with a slit that reached her mid-thigh that hugged her curves perfectly. A simple, yet elegant combination of attire attracted their attention, but she did not seem to mind all the eyes that were on her as she idly conversed with the white-haired sorcerer. Flashing him one of her infamous smirks, she excused herself and turned on her heel to leave. Swirling her alcoholic beverage absentmindedly, she straightened her back and stepped forward. Her high heels were clicking and clacking against the marble flooring as she took a deep breath. She already had a certain destination in mind, her smirk grew wider. Her eyes were fixated on the handsome demon, weaving her way through the crowd was not an obstacle for her as she easily arrived at her destined location. The tantalizing sway of her hips earned her several compliments from the demons.

A low chuckle escaped her full lips as her eyes met his golden ones. Bowing her head for the sake of formality, she straightened herself, once more, and took a sip of her beverage. “My apologies, My Lord. Every woman takes her sweet time preparing herself for the big event. Unfortunately, I missed the introduction of your new students.” Breaking eye contact with him, she cast a glance at the sorcerer and resumed speaking. “I have to admit, you have chosen rather intriguing candidates from my world, without consulting me.”

Simpering, he followed her gaze and nodded his head in agreement. Diavolo shrugged his shoulders as he commented on her remark. “It was Lucifer who chose the candidates from the human world.” Looking at his companion, his eyes glinted with an unreadable expression as he continued talking. “I believe you are familiar with Lucifer, but have you ever met our new exchange program student from the Celestial Realm?” the brown-haired prince questioned his beautiful companion as he directed her attention towards his third companion.

A handsome dark brown-haired man with a brilliant shade of blue eyes—the most enthralling color she had ever seen in her life. He had a charming smile dancing across his breathtakingly beautiful features. His blue gaze never left her figure as his companion resumed his conversation. “Allow me to introduce you to Simeon. He is one of the two angels sent from the Celestial Realm to take part in the exchange program. And this is [Name] [Surname]. She is…” He trailed off. The Prince of Hell stopped for a moment to think about it.

The woman standing right next to him sensed his distress and decided to get involved to avoid any unpleasant situations. Offering one of her infamous smirks, she extended her hand for him to take as she opened her mouth to begin speaking—well, finish what Diavolo had started. “Lord Diavolo, I’m certain the introduction was not necessary as we are familiar with each other.” She sent a wink in his direction as Simeon stared at her extended hand. It took him several seconds to realize what that gesture meant as he took her hand, shaking it. His grip was firm but gentle. Releasing her slender hand from his bigger one’s grasp, her next sentence made him snap out of his reverie as his heart picked up its pace.

“We met in Paris.”

Simeon blinked once, twice, thrice. His heartbeat was getting faster and faster as her words echoed in his mind. He did not hear how Diavolo and Lucifer left them alone to speak with other guests. His companion took another sip of her beverage and attempted to break the ice. Biting her lower lip sensually, she thought for a moment. “Have you ever heard the tale of Romans? In ancient times, Romans shook each other’s hands to demonstrate they were unarmed and their handshake was a symbol of friendship and loyalty.”

Shaking his head to dismiss his useless thoughts, his blue eyes met with hers. She was aware of the events, taking place in the capital of France. Oh, Lord Almighty, she knew. The brown-haired man was great at having conversations with anyone, yet this one human managed to take his breath away by uttering several words. He was not certain how to respond to her, but to one’s relief, she quickly detected his uneasiness and resumed speaking. “I know what you are thinking, Simeon.” A low chuckle escaped her lips, once more. “Please forget what happened in Paris. The young angel is safe and he is with me. During my absence, he will remain in Rome, at my family estate. If you don’t trust my word, then you may pay a visit to him. In the meantime,” she inspected her surroundings. “May I have the honor to accompany you outside as it is getting rather crowded in here?”

Placing her half-empty glass on the nearby table, she inhaled the fresh air. Getting closer to him, she linked her arm with his and started to lead the way, guiding him outside of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Simeon was speechless, he could not utter a word as he allowed her to sweep him away. The blue-eyed angel had met many humans and demons in his long existence, but this human woman intrigued him. Her enigmatic aura attracted him, he wished to learn more about her. Simeon was an experienced and mature angel, he could easily read anyone like an open book; however, her behavior puzzled him. By now, he could have gone through numerous subjects during his conversation with Diavolo and Lucifer, but not with her. The woman waltzed into his life without asking him, and currently, she is dragging him away from the ball.

It would have been an understatement if he had said he preferred to remain at the castle. His gorgeous companion guided him outside of the premises, into the gardens. There was the moon glimmering above them in the darkness of the night as the stars accompanied it with their dim illuminations. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky. Looking up to get a better look at the scenery, he noted the moon of the Devildom differed from the one in the human world. And he was certain, she would not be fascinated by the view unlike him. His blue gaze landed on his arm that was linked with her, and then, his mesmerizing eyes studied her as if he was trying to memorize every small detail of hers. In his eyes, she was perfect.

Yet the angel wondered to himself, how he had managed to find her. There were more than seven billion humans on Earth and he had the privilege to meet an occult detective with an eccentric personality and antics. He had to find this particular human interesting. Simeon cursed his existence, at the same time, he silently thanked his Father for allowing him to meet her. Developing romantic feelings for a human was not an option, but he indulged in his sinful desires a little bit.

Releasing him from her grasp, she turned around to face him as she leaned back on her elbows against the railing. Her cold and calculating eyes studied him, but not with a scrutinizing gaze. Her tense body relaxed as she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. The deafening silence reigned in the air, she refused to speak up, taking pleasure in being far away from the crowded ballroom.

A soft hum resonated in the darkness of the night, opening her eyes, she straightened herself. Her gaze softened as she glanced at her handsome companion. Pretending she was sitting in front of the piano, her slender fingers started moving with perfect synchronization. It seemed they had minds of their own as they produced illusive notes, waltzing in the air. Her eyes met his brilliant shade of blue. She studied them with great curiosity. It was barely undetectable, yet she noticed how his sapphires lit up, engulfing her with his warmth.

Stepping forward, she got closer to him. Her eyes were locked with his as the silence lingered between them, not planning to leave them any time soon. Even though she delighted in being with him in solitude, she had a strong desire to have a decent conversation with the angel. The woman opened her mouth to start talking. “This will remain between us. Cross my heart and hope to die,” a low chuckle escaped her full lips as she resumed. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

Before the brown-haired angel had a chance to respond to her a rather odd vow, she gave him a two-finger salute and turned on her heel, leaving him to his own thoughts. Simeon opened, then closed his lips into a thin line as his blue gaze never left her. Her tight-fitting dress outlined her curves, awakening immoral desires within him. Feeling his heartbeat increasing, this human did wonders to his immortal heart.

The rays of sunlight seeped through the famous stained rose windows of the cathedral, dimly illuminating the surroundings. The rows of pews decorated the main part of the church to greet as many believers as possible. Its doors were always open to anyone that wished to pay a visit to one of the wonders of the modern-day world. Every one of the visitors adored the magnificent masterpiece of the French Gothic architecture accompanied by its loyal guardians, gargoyles—never once leaving their respective places to keep a close eye on the place they learned to call home. An intriguing statement, yet all of them were well aware it had the seeds of truth.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame—The place where it all had begun—had always had countless visitors to witness its greatness with their own eyes, yet it was devoid of its usual attendants. A familiar silence reigned in the air as it lingered more than necessary, not allowing anyone or anything to produce sounds. However, the clicking of the rather familiar shoes against the marble flooring resounded in the large cathedral, shattering the deafening silence completely. The sounds of footsteps halted in front of the altar as the man dropped to his knees, his white cape pooling around him as his head lowered in humiliation. His heavy breathes resonated throughout the church, his quickened heartbeat could be heard.

His lips were pursed into a thin line as both of his hands clutched a rosary, hard enough to draw blood. Closing his endless oceans of blue, letting out a shaky breath, he stopped himself. The stagnant air in the church was suffocating, burning his lungs. The man opened his mouth, yet no words came out. Inhaling the fresh air, he listened to his heart hammering against the ribcage, convinced it would jump out of his chest.

Evening his breathing, he gained enough confidence to open his bewitching eyes as he raised his head. He started speaking. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.” His words echoed in the cathedral.

His very own words made him shiver with disgust. Was remorse eating him alive? Were his mind and intuition screaming at him that it was too late to redeem his actions? Was he regretting his deeds? All of the questions were running rampant in his mind. He could not help himself, yet he had tainted himself. Was he even worthy of stepping his foot in his Father’s house? Thinking about it made him hang his head in shame, the tufts of his brown hair framing his sapphire blue eyes. The angel tightened his grip on the rosary.

A soft melody found its way as his mind played tricks on him. It was a wicked ballad, yet he was enamored by it. He could not escape its clutches, dragging him further into the depths of hell. The return was non-existent. His predicament was laughable, he understood the absurdity of his situation. The brown-haired angel had always believed he would not make a similar mistake, yet there he was contemplating his own existence. Simeon was certain it was a fleeting feeling, a mere infatuation with a human woman.

The brown-haired angel should have heeded the warnings of not following the white rabbit until the end of the road. Now, he had fallen down the rabbit hole and he could not claw his way out of it. He fell deeper than he had anticipated. Could his soul still be saved?

An angel falling for a human. How could anyone be so foolish to voluntarily corrupt themselves? Straying away from the path of the righteous man. An angel; a man of God—falling head over heels in love with a human. Having strong bonds with the creations of God had never been an issue, but getting involved with one of them had always been frowned upon. Simeon had been aware of it, yet he could not help himself.

His body stiffened, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. His heart-wrenching pleas had not been heard, it was apparent. He could sense it. Simeon’s words merely ricocheted off the ancient walls of the cathedral. His stark white attire dirtied, his hands scarred beneath the black gloves from clutching the rosary. It was a sight to behold. An unforgettable memory for a mortal man, yet no one was there to witness the angel’s former glory. The angel’s silent cry of distress to be heard. He was all alone at his Father’s home.

The cursed notes of melody had never left him, accompanying him until the end. A loud clatter reverberated, the rosary slipped through his iron grip and fell to the polished ground. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he looked up, his brilliant shade of blue staring at the ceiling. He should have known, yet he knew. It was inevitable. Every one of them was aware of it from the beginning.

The clanking of ice, joyous laughter, and a familiar song played in the background. Creating a welcoming aura for the guests that desired to visit a small bar in Zurich, Switzerland. The true neutral territory of the human world—especially for humans. They had once said: “politics is a dirty game.” And every one of them agreed. As they would say, it was a “human thing” and a demon, nor an angel would never understand it. An intriguing concept, yet some were not courageous enough to delve deeper into the matter. The creations of God—humans—were an interesting case.

As the music resumed playing in the background, the guests enjoyed their alcoholic beverages in their own small circle of friends. It was a unique place and all of them intended to keep it that way for a long time. It was a perfect consensus among strangers.

A certain woman frequented the bar with her associate and it was yet another day to discuss their daily lives. Her eyes had a mischievous glint as they were locked with her companion’s unnaturally-colored ones. With a shake of her head, she took a sip of her dirty martini. Settling her glass on the wooden table, she opened her full lips to throw one of her snide remarks in his direction, but she was interrupted when someone barged into her haven. Quirking a brow, she looked over her shoulder to see the person who opened the wooden double doors with such force. Her eyes widened as she froze in her seat. Her words were caught in her throat.

Her companion mirrored her actions as he cast a glance at the entrance of the bar. Exhaling, he blinked several times to adjust his vision. He was not certain whether his eyes were deceiving him or his mind was playing tricks on him. He swallowed thickly as he opened his mouth to start speaking. “Luke, what are you doing here? Most importantly, how did you find us?”

Solomon took the words out of her mouth as if he had read her mind. His yellow-blue eyes studied his partner thoroughly, her every facial reaction and movement. The sorcerer did not require her affirmation to understand something unspeakable had occurred, yet he was not certain whether she was aware of it or not. His curiosity had always been insatiable, but with this woman, he never allowed himself to let his guard down as she was a walking disaster. She attracted trouble without even trying. And of course, the young angel—already—in front of their table was the living proof of it.

Clenching his hands into fists, his face was entirely red as his nostrils flared. “How could you do this to us?! I thought you cared.” The young angel’s fury was directed towards the woman.

Her expression was unreadable, her eyes were devoid of emotions. No sign of life. She could not utter a word as she lowered her head in shame. All eyes were on her, everyone at the bar watched how the entire scene unfolded. The guests of her favorite bar were the witnesses of her humiliation and failure as their judgemental stares bored holes into her soul. Every one of them was observing her with their scrutinizing gazes. Lowering her head even further, her hair obscured her regretful face. She received their silent curses openly, accepting them. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked at him.

The white-haired sorcerer could sense her melancholic soul, her nihilistic thoughts, and the rapid beat of her heart. He did not even deem necessary to use magic on her to see her facade cracking and her mask slipping after all these years. Yet he still was amazed by how she held herself. He could not tear his eyes off of her as he resumed observing her.

“Of course, I did…” She trailed off, taking her sweet time to process the young angel’s every word. The background music did not allow silence to reign in the air, not this time. “I…” The woman stopped as she pursed her lips into a thin line, refusing to say another word.

It was getting unbearable, the tension was tormenting the young angel. He was not used to it, he was not even used to being surrounded by so many sinners. Humans and their judgemental gazes. He could feel his lungs burning because of the air. It had been tainted. Shaking his head in disbelief, his nails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white from the sheer pressure. Gritting his teeth, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world.

“They are judging Simeon.”

Four words. Those four damned words. Feeling her skin being prickled with goosebumps, her frozen state worsened. She could not hear anything, his words were nothing but white noise. A shaky sigh left her full lips as she blinked once, twice, thrice. Her mind replayed those four words. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to the song that resumed blending in with the background effortlessly. The woman then allowed her heart to calm down as she opened her eyes. Looking at him, she finally responded.

“Tell me more.” Her voice was firm but uncertain.

“Simeon’s life is at stake. He is going to fall.”

Slamming her hands against the wooden table, she stood up from her seat. The chair fell to the laminate flooring with a loud thud, yet no one paid attention to it. Their eyes were still on her as every one of them heard. “I have to go,” muttered under her breath.

Taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage, Solomon continued watching the entire scene with great amusement. His eyes followed his companion’s figure as she left their favorite bar, the young angel running after her.

Once he had heard a visit of an angel supposed to be a good omen, but now, he started to doubt the statement. A sly smirk danced across his handsome facial features as his hand started glowing, surrounded by the dim golden illumination. With a flick of his hand, the golden light spread throughout the small bar. “Always making me do the dirty work.”

How hypocritical of him to speak such words. Solomon was fully aware of it, but he could not care less about it. He had always been more of a spectator than a player. It was a mutual agreement. She had his back, and in return, he was always there to aid her. A perfect symbiosis between two human beings. He was quite proud of his achievement.

The judgement had been passed.

An angel had been cast out of heaven.

He had fallen.

Standing in front of the familiar castle, the darkness of the night concealed her figure rather well. Her hands shaking, her breathing ragged as she was on the verge of losing her consciousness, yet she held herself perfectly. Her nerves betrayed her as she dropped to her knees, her legs refusing to assist her. Digging her manicured nails into her own skin, her gaze lingered on the Demon Lord’s Castle. Her vision blurred. Blinking several times to adjust her vision, but she could not. She had not realized how tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking the soil beneath her. When was the last time she cried? She could not recall. Her pulse skyrocketed.

Her mask was cracking without her noticing it. The beating of her heart could be heard from kilometers away. She should have known, yet she did not deem necessary to pay any heed to it. Now, he had to pay the price. He already had. Lowering her head in shame, her hair covered her disheveled appearance and expression.

Attempting to stand up, she teetered. The woman mentally embraced herself for a possible impact, but it never came. Looking up, her eyes met with his. His arms were wrapped around her waist to catch her. Draping her arm around his shoulders, she balanced her shivering body as she tested her legs. This time her legs did not betray her as she leaned against him. He did not reject her physical contact. Laughing bitterly, she straightened herself and opened her chapped lips to start speaking. “Impeccable timing as always, Barbatos. You’re always there to witness my failures. You have seen both of them. Would this answer your eternal question of what it means to be a human and hurting someone you love?”

“He has been waiting for you. Forgive my curiosity, but how long have you been in the Devildom without anyone being aware of it? How did you manage to convince the Young Master to permit you to remain here?”

Assisting her to stand up, he bombarded her with so many questions, she did not have enough time to process every one of them. It was quite uncommon for the demon butler to question people, yet the woman in front of her was a different occasion. He was one of the most powerful demons in existence, yet he still had difficulty understanding human nature and how this woman’s mind functioned. Inspecting her unkempt appearance, he noted she had seen better days.

Separating from his strong grip, she stretched her limbs and wiped her tears away. Inhaling the fresh air to calm her beating heart down, she pushed her hair back and tilted her head. Biting her lower lip—a rather familiar habit of hers to which even Barbatos got accustomed to. She thought for a moment, she was stalling some time. She could have easily used a question dodging technique, but she decided to tell the truth.

“You and I both know you are already fully aware of my current predicament. Is there anything you wish to know?” Those undertones of mockery were remarkable, considering her current situation. Quirking a brow, she studied the demon butler as an infamous smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips. “I thought we had a mutual understanding here.” Stopping herself for a moment, she shook her head to dismiss her useless thoughts. Straightening her back, she looked at him and added the last part. “My egotistical desires led us to this irrevocable act. I should have known. I did, yet I did not do anything.”

The last part of her speech was barely audible, but the demon butler heard every word of it. Nodding his head in acknowledgement, he placed his chin between his gloved thumb and index finger, he appeared as if he was thinking. He opened his mouth to start speaking. “This is not my place to meddle; however, do you regret your decision of getting involved with him?”

A low, bitter laugh escaped her full, yet chapped lips. Her eyes glinted with an unreadable expression, once more, he had difficulty comprehending her emotions. He decided to await her response before jumping to conclusions. That smirk of hers still present on her gorgeous features. Several dreadful seconds passed before she responded.

“How could I?” She stopped, once more, allowing the silence to reign. “I have made many foolish choices in my God-forsaken life, but loving him is something that I would never regret.” Looking up at the darkened sky, she resumed. “It’s quite ironic, I’m telling my life story to a demon who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. Look, how low I have fallen.” Her every word was dripped with venomous self-hatred.

“Unfortunately, you are not wrong; however, I’m not the only listener you have tonight.”

Casting a glance at the demon butler, she noticed another dark figure standing behind Barbatos. Under normal circumstances, she would have easily detected an unwanted presence looming into her field of vision. It seemed she was too absorbed in her self-pity not to let her guard down. Her mask had slipped. She realized it a long time ago, but it was too late. It had always been too late for her.

Furrowing her brows, she did not say anything as she patiently awaited the figure to reveal themselves. The woman already had her suspicions, yet she refused to believe her own intuition as her heart skipped a beat. She could not shake her head or dismiss her useless thoughts as she did, not long ago. Her entire body was frozen in one place, she had no desire to move. Inhaling and exhaling, her chest was rising and falling. Mentally, she tried to deceive her mind to calm her rapidly beating heart, but to no avail. Her heart rejected her attempts, becoming an obstinate vital organ.

The tall figure stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim moonlight. Her breath hitched as she stepped backwards. It was him, the most magnificent creature in this damned world. A genuine smile decorated his handsome face as his brilliant shade of blue shone—in the darkness of the night—brighter than ever. A pair of midnight black wings were folded tightly against his back as a pair of black horns protruded out of his skull, completing his ethereal beauty.

Simeon stepped forward, but she moved backwards. Her gaze shifted between him and the demon butler. Her heart was wrenching, the feeling of regret was getting unbearable. She watched how Barbatos turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. As expected, he always did it. It would be no different in this situation.

She stopped moving, raising her head up, her grief-stricken eyes met with his. His smile grew wider as he approached her. Without wasting any moment, he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid of waking up in a world where she did not exist. Placing her head against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat. It was not quickened like hers, it was as serene as the melody of their wicked ballad. She refused to stand idly, but she could not touch him. Her consciousness did not allow her to reach for the stars.

He could sense her distress, but he was fully aware of her internal conflict. As much as he could remember he had always been fascinated with human nature, how different they were from angels and demons. Humans always had a knack for making their lives more difficult and he had a perfect opportunity to witness such an event with his own eyes. Ironically, he could relate to her struggles. He understood her. 

Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he whispered. “I forgive you.” Wrapping his large wings around her form, he shielded her from the harsh weather of the Devildom.

Three words. It only took three words to lift all of her burdens off her shoulders. A shaky sigh escaped her chapped lips as she snaked her arms around his torso, tightening her grip on him. Her heartbeat started to quiet, inhaling the fresh air did not burn her lungs anymore, and her tense body relaxed. After all these years, she had finally found her place.

“I know.”

[shinidamachu]

No Place I Would Rather Be

Summary: We're a thousand miles from comfort. We have traveled land and sea. But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be. Word Count: 3.617 Genre: fluff Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: oneshot AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

Boredom was eating him alive.

Days had passed without a single lead about the jewel fragments. So much that their little group had disbanded for the time being. Sango went back to what was left of her old village. It had been a while since she last paid homage to their dead. Kirara, of course, was her loyal company — and also ride. Miroku was visiting Mushin’s Temple, as if the place hadn't been profaned enough, already. Shippo was still around, but keeping his distance due to InuYasha’s stormy mood.

The frustration of it all got him desperately wishing for some kind — any kind — of action. Something that didn’t involve sulking under a tree and watching time crawl. Every second of this idleness meant another second Naraku was out there, still breathing. Collecting the shards was a small mean to achieve a bigger, imperative ending. It gave him purpose, a sense of getting closer to his ultimate goal step by step. Waiting got them nowhere. It only granted him to be alone with his thoughts and the combination was nothing but disastrous.

Lucky for him, his private source of distraction was not too far away.

Kagome was humming a foreign tune, the same one she liked to sing whenever she was happy. Following the melody was almost mandatory. InuYasha didn’t realize what he was doing until he arrived to the other side of it, where the girl thumbed through her hair in a futile attempt to tame her hair, the lake’s surface a natural mirror at her convenience. InuYasha made his presence known before his own reflection joined hers.

“It’s no use, ya know.”

“Jerk!”

The girl glared at him and retaliated by splashing water on his direction — of which he easily dodged. InuYasha had to admit her reaction was justified, given his past tendency to be utterly unkind to her. This time, however, although his tone wasn’t devoided of casual teasing, he was being completely honest. When you spend sunrise to sunset with someone for so long, it was inevitable learning a thing or two about them. Kagome had a wild hair. Not in a bad way, but it sure had its own will. Especially in the humidity, which was definitely the case of that afternoon. To an outside viewer, the strands could pass as straight. Noticing the shy waves at the end and how they used to stand out after getting wet was a privilege for the few allowed to look closer — a privilege InuYasha cherished. She always had her hair down and he liked that she did. It was destined to be free, to go with the wind. And it had grown a hell of a lot since they first met. The half demon wondered if Kagome was aware of how much. He certainly was.

Then she got up, revealing clothes that were undoubtedly new to his eyes. It was one piece, all lime flowers and malleable fabric against her cream skin. A bit longer than what she usually cared to wear, but leaving her arms and shoulders at plain sight in compensation. The view was thrilling, until his eyes caught the yellow backpack laying by her feet, causing his grin to falter. He understood the implication behind it, even if the question had yet to pass his lips.

“What’s with the weird kimono?”

“Oh, this.” Kagome lowered her gaze, inspecting for herself. Her combative attitude swiftly turning into a cautious posture. “It’s a sundress. I’ve been meaning to ask… can you please give me a ride to the well? I’m going home.”

There it was.

Somehow, getting his suspicions confirmed did nothing to prevent the scowl from forming on his face.

“Thought the school thing were over for the summer.”

“Well, yes...”

“Then why the fuck ya going home for? We still have plenty of supplies!”

“Because I promised I’d go to the movies with Hojo and now that we’re on vacation I don’t have excuses not to go, anymore. My grandpa literally ran out of diseases I could have. And what’s the point, anyway? Jewel hunting is going through a dry spell, everyone left… and I haven’t seen my family in weeks.”

Half of what she said didn’t make any sense to him and InuYasha positively hated the half that did.

“What if something comes up? I can’t see the damn shards like you do.” He argued.

“You jump through the well and get me.” She shrugged, as if the idea was highly unlikely. InuYasha opened his mouth to list the many, many reasons her solution was flawed. She bit him to the punch. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’ll be back tomorrow. I bet Miroku and Sango won’t even be here yet.”

It wasn’t fair.

In general, storming off to her era was Kagome’s way of punishing him for being a massive asshole. He got that. To tell the truth, more often than not he deserved it. But InuYasha was in his best behavior — despite feeling rightfully entitled to throw a tantrum, given the circumstances — precisely because he needed her close. He needed her to stay. Picturing Kagome hanging out with someone else instead was the worst kind of self torture. Would she change her mind if he swallowed his pride long enough to say so? Would he ever get the guts to let it out? She hadn’t invited him to come along. Was this Hojo guy really that important to her? More than InuYasha was? Trying to talk her out of it was a dangerous move. He’d put his foot in his mouth, she’d put his face on the ground. That’s what they did.

Either his expression betrayed the turmoil inside or Kagome became too good at figuring him out. Whatever it was, her smile shined, reassuring and warm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be so quick, you won’t have time to miss me.”

“Who says I’d miss ya?” He dismissed, his indifference unconvincing even to himself.

InuYasha perceived another presence approaching. Shippo. His arrival couldn’t be more providential. Kagome had a soft spot for the brat. If anyone could get her to stay, it was him.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just the runt.”

Like he had been announced, the kid emerged from the trees in a hurry, Kagome’s bow and quiver looking gigantic on his tiny hands.

“Kagome! InuYasha!”

“Shippo-chan! What’s going on?” She asked, as soon as the boy reached them.

“There are rumors of a jewel fragment, two villages to the west.” He explained, with the pomposity the information called for. “Kaede sent me.” His chin was up high, like the statement added a final hint of importance to the message. “Here,” continued the kit, offering Kagome her weapon in a formal manner.

She hesitated.

“Kagome, let’s go!” InuYasha was prepared to move at the sound of the word ‘jewel’, their earlier argument happily buried and forgotten.

“Wait! Don’t you think it’s strange? For days we had no leads, and now, just when we splitted up…”

“Yeah, well, so what if it’s a trap? It wouldn’t be the first.”

Coward that he was, Naraku resorted to the nastiests schemes in order to get what he wanted. His disgusting fingers laid on every happenstance that had ever caused them harm. What choice did InuYasha have, though? Ruse or not ruse, he had to check it. Regardless of anyone else’s help, it was his duty to get vengeance on the bastard — for Kikyo, for himself — and Kagome knew that.

She sighed and took the bow and arrows from the fox’s hold.

“Thank you so much, Shippo-chan! Now can you do me another favor?”

“Anything!”

“Go back to Kaede. Tell her InuYasha and I are on our way.”

“I’m not coming with you?” He whined, as confused as InuYasha. They never traveled without the child.

“That’s right. We don’t know how dangerous this may be. I need you to stay and if we don’t come back tomorrow by noon, get Miroku and Sango and send them to us. Can you do that for me?”

Shippo resolutely nodded .

“I won’t let you down, Kagome.”

“I know you won’t.”

And through the same path he had appeared he went. Kagome fixed a pleading glance at InuYasha.

“Can I at least change clothes before we g—”

“No time to waste.” He said, grabbing Kagome and her bag to leap towards west.

Kagome was whistling that same song again.

It took him an enormous amount of self restraint not to whistle along.

He was happy. So wonderfully happy. It was astonishing, the effect that tiny, bossy human girl had over his humor. The fact they were following the possible whereabouts of a lost jewel piece also played a role on his attitude swing, there was no denying that. But even if this turns out to be nothing at all, it would be a small price to pay in exchange of spending more time with her.

“Weren’t you mad about not coming home just now?”

His curiosity was genuine. Kagome had been angry since they left and InuYasha would be the person to know. She had two kind of anger. The one he could hear and the one he could feel. Even though she had been unusually silent, her frustration was palpable at first. Mercifully, it seemed to fade away the more ground they covered. Her one complaint was the soreness that too many hours on the same position inflicted upon the muscles, which was why they were both walking. As a rule, he was strictly opposite to anything that might slow them down, and the human pace was unbearable once you had a taste of demonic speed. Running free, with trees and people alike turning into a blur on each side of him, was an unparalleled sensation, amplified tenfold whenever Kagome was riding his back. He didn’t regret giving in, though. They weren’t far from their destination, after all. In addition, her comfort came to be a priority, despite him still being unaware as to when or how.

“Well… yeah, but… what can I do, right? Besides, I haven’t realized how much I missed this.”

Clueless, InuYasha searched their surroundings, unsuccessfully intending to spot what she could possibly be referring to.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“This!” She spinned around, open arms and face to the sky, chasing daylight like a sunflower, the movement bringing her garment to life. “You. Me. An adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I love Shippo and the others, I’m glad they joined us. It just feels like we haven’t had as much quality time together as we used to, after they did.”

“Y-you miss that?”

She shook her head up and down with enthusiasm and a content smile fought its way across his lips.

“I know we could hang out in Kaede’s village, but it’s not the same as going out. O-on a trip, I mean.”

Although InuYasha couldn’t make out why her cheeks were suddenly burning red, he did see the logic her reasoning, and the feeling was mutual. There was a certain level of closeness only the road could provide. No curious eyes. No sly comments. No need to explain themselves. InuYasha had missed that as well.

He often played with the thought of stealing her away, of placate his selfish thirst for her undivided attention. Not once had he imagined Kagome would be as eager to go as he was to take her. Regardless, the timing wasn’t right. It never was. From the moment they met, they were tossed into a mission and there was hardly space for anything else. So he settled for whatever he could get until it was over.

“Why would you miss those trips? It ain’t like I was nice to ya back then.”

It didn’t make sense to him that she would. His memories were of a spoiled little girl, complaining about the bugs and her aching legs and the fact she hadn’t bathed in days. There was no escaping InuYasha’s share of responsibility on the issue. He could have made her life easier, had he bothered to. But at the beginning he saw Kagome as a potential threat he would eventually get rid off. How could he have guessed, after the many betrayals he had endured through the years, that his heart would be safe on her hands?

Kagome limited herself to a shrug.

“You are now.” She stated, as if it made up for his unexcusable former behavior. Her unconditional forgiveness amazed him, no matter how regularly she had shown it to him. “Also, it feels like old times.”

“It doesn’t unless you get kidnapped, somehow.”

“It happened once or twice!”

“Keh! Stop kidding yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“No, shut up. I’m sensing a shard and it’s moving away.”

Wordlessly, InuYasha returned the backpack to her and offered her his back.

They raced at full gallop, Kagome guiding their course. The forest transitioned into arid highland, where dirt, thorns and rocky surfaces took place.

“Hey, you!” Kagome yelled at the youkai emerging in their camp of vision. Their target. Over his shoulder, the startled creature sneaked a peek at them and increased speed. Growling, InuYasha matched his rhythm. “Wait up! We won’t hurt you.”

“I’m pretty sure Imma hurt him.”

“Give the jewel fragment to us peacefully and you’ll be free to go!” She went on, his snide remarks as ignored by her as her plead was by the demon. InuYasha’s patience was wearing thin. Now that the rumors turned out to be true, his focus was entirely aimed at the task at hand.

“Are those fancy arrows of yours just for show?”

Kagome let out a deep breath. Shooting was her last ressource. She preferred to sort things out with words first. It rarely worked. Still she always tried.

“I suppose we have no choice.”

The arrow hit the creature in the calf and his groan of pain reverberated through the field. Not lethal, but enough of a nuisance to make him drop the run. InuYasha closed the distance between them within seconds. Kagome climbed off him and together they inspected their opponent.

On the floor, a possum demon hissed and exhibited his fangs at them, his ugly face twisting in agony while he pulled the arrow out. A cascate of blood immediately flowed from the wound. InuYasha was not fooled by it. Being a full youkai, he would be healed soon.

“Where is it?” InuYasha asked Kagome, not daring to leave the bastard out of his sight.

“His belly.”

“Step away, you filthy half breed!”

“Excuse me?” Kagome defied, any trace of courtesy forgotten.

“That was quite the damage she did on ya, there.” InuYasha released Tessaiga from its sheath as he approached the fallen man. “Think I can top it, though.”

“Step away, I said!”

His fear was palpable. InuYasha could feel it. See it. Smell it.

Smell it.

Faster than realization, the odor filled his lungs. It burned his nostrils, his throat. He could taste the toxic substance on his tongue. It was unbearable. And gasping for air only resulted in the pungent scent flooding him further, overwhelming his senses. A defense mechanism, he thought, his vision blurring, his knees giving in. I’m going to faint. No. No, no, no, no, no. Kagome. He had to protect Kagome.

There was a cry of his name.

And then an awful lot of darkness.

InuYasha came to abruptly, uncertain and alarmed by the new reality.

In one minute, the sun was up and he was succumbing, his consciousness leaving him to drift. In the next, he was awake and crickets sang the night’s arrival.

It was tempting to think he had dreamt the whole thing. A stupid, ridiculous, crazy ass dream. However, the lingering smell left no room for argument. It happened. The scent was weaker. Fading. But was there, overpowered by a significantly nicer aroma. A familiar one, sweet on the nose and soothing to the soul. Kagome’s.

He was lying half naked in her sleeping bag.

Sitting up, InuYasha seeked for the priestess, desperate to make sure for himself she was safe and sound.

The fragile light of her modern lantern illuminated the cavern that sheltered them. At its entrance, a girl rested — her silhouette contoured by a starry sky. 

“Kagome.”

“You’re awake!”

She rushed to him, tripping over her own eagerness. Her beautiful clothes were dirty and a bit ripped at the hem. A small scratch cut her cheek, remnants of dry blood tainting her skin.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine!” Kagome kneeled in front of him, a gesture he appreciated. There was no peace for him without an up close inspection of her well being. “I purified the demon after you blacked out. Turns out it was a trap. Thousands of Naraku’s second-class demons came for the shard when I took him down. I tried to purify those too, but more of them kept coming and I ran out of arrows, so I casted a barrier and—”

“You casted a barrier?”

InuYasha was beyond impressed. Barriers required great power and discipline. Even from Kaede or the monk. Kagome had apparently done it all by herself. Effortlessly. On the spot.

“To be honest, I don’t know how I did it. I just… I saw you lying there and I… anyway, the barrier purified the ones who touched it. Eventually they all died or left. How are you feeling?”

InuYasha didn’t answer the question.

“I’m sorry, Kagome, that you couldn’t rely on me.”

Guilt pulsed within him like a heartbeat. Constant and compulsory, expanding the outcomes of its work through every inch of his body.

“It’s not your fault. Your nose is too keen, of course you’d be affected the most.”

“But you got hurt!”

“In the thorns. I was careless. Don’t worry about it, it’s not even going to leave a scar.”

“It shouldn’t have even happened. I’m supposed be the one protecting you, not the other way around.”

It could have been worse. InuYasha should be grateful for that. He wasn’t. It could have been worse. And he wouldn’t be able to help her, to save her from this insignificant peril while she had already saved him in every conceivable way there was for a person to be saved.

“I’m not as helpless as I used to be, you know? I’ve grown a lot.” She had a point. InuYasha himself had told her that much, once. Kagome had faced scarier dangers than that. And she could absolutely take them. But he didn’t want her to have to. “Not to mention, it was totally worth it.”

As a proof, she exhibited a jewel fragment, glowing in the healthiest shade of pink.

“You got it!” InuYasha captured the shard, glancing at every angle of it in awe.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

Kagome went for her backpack and came back, falling on her knees again. Her hand dove in and emerged holding the glass container in which they kept the other pieces. She opened it and tilted the receiver to InuYasha, hinting for him to do the honors.

It was as if she had been waiting for him so they could do it together.

As if it was their private, sacred ritual.

He did as she wanted, mirroring her satisfied smile.

“Where’s my haori?”

“Oh! I… I put it away.” Blushing, Kagome tore her gaze from his and InuYasha followed it to a corner of the cave, where a huddle of scarlet fabric laid forgotten. “I figured you’d heal faster with that smell gone and your haori is soaked on it. Sorry.”

“D-don’t apologize, stupid. It was the right call.” To feel useful — and to occupy his brain with something other than the image of Kagome undressing him — InuYasha searched her backpack for the first aid kit, a tool from her era he was sadly too intimate with. “Now let’s take care of this cut.”

“Okay. You have to g—”

“I know what to do. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.” Her lips parted, and InuYasha added: “Don’t act so surprised.”

He cleaned the wound with cotton, water and soap, then used a different ball of cotton to carefully apply the content of a smelly little bottle to the extension of it. Kagome hissed, but he ignored it in favor of wrapping it all up with a band-aid. To ensure it was properly stretched, he gently ran his thumb through it, allowing the touch to linger more than necessary and his stare to go from her cheek to her eyes.

Her eyes.

The most stunning maze.

Let yourself get in, you are sure to get lost.

She blinked before he could, keeping them closed and leaning into his palm, her hand lifting to cover and caress his.

It would be so easy to grip her chin. To turn her face to him. To bring her to his lips. 

So easy to steal a kiss.

Why do the easiest actions have to carry the most difficult consequences?

Clearing his throat, InuYasha transformed present into a loving memory.

“Take some rest. We leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me.”

On the way to claim Kagome’s prior guarding position by the entrance of the cave, InuYasha collected Tessaiga while she busied herself with getting cozy inside the sleeping bag.

“Kagome?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“InuYasha, I think we’re way past saying thank you for saving each other’s lives.”

“No, not for that. I mean, for that too, but... for coming. For staying by my side.”

“Stupid.” She mocked him, her voice lethargic as exhaustion finally caught up to her. “Where else would I be?”

A/N: this was some serious self indulgent bullshit. I regret nothing.

@inukag-week​ here is another piece of contribution. Kind of merged the Loyalty and the Instinct prompts here. Oops.

[gyuutahoe]

The Pen and Sword - Part 1

Summary:  Newly recruited to the Demon Slayer Corps, you finally meet your designated swordsmith. He may be as much of a misanthrope as others had warned, but you were nothing if not determined to bring him out of his shell.

Warnings: None

a/n: female reader, eventual smut, penpals with the feral misanthrope, both reader and Haganezuka are seventeen at the start of the story. 

Upon official induction into the Demon Slayer Corps, you spent day and night at the residence of a safehouse thinking about the blade you would soon wield. Nobody had asked you about your fighting style. You were simply instructed to trust the swordsmith that you were assigned to, and trust in him you shall.

Nothing could have prepared you for the man who many regarded as an utter misfortune to work with. You had waited patiently with the kind old mistress of the safehouse at the front steps of the manor, and immediately upon hearing the distant melody of wind chimes, she hung her head and sighed.

“Dear me, who would have thought to match a beautiful maiden to this young man?” she lamented.

“What do you mean?” you asked, and the woman looked at you sympathetically.

“That swordsmith’s temper fuels his forge,” she replied. “A word of advice - you are young and inexperienced. There will no doubt come time for you to break your sword. When that time comes, please do not take his ramblings to heart.” She rubbed her chin in thought. “Although, even the strongest steel bends to unyielding heat … “

You curiously glanced at the approaching figure. It was impossible to glean any sort of human feature from how heavily clothed he was, and his face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat lined with the wind chimes that effortlessly soothed your mind. You closed your eyes for a moment, and listened.

Rustling leaves. Soft breaths beside you, comforting and motherly. Singing cicadas cutting your senses, only to be mended by whimsical tinkling, glass pinging against glass, it sharpens your awareness into a singular point -

“I think … “ You bowed politely to the swordsmith as he came nearer. “Anyone who has such a gentle song to them must be pure of heart.”

The hostess threw you a surprised look and muffled a quiet laugh behind the sleeve of her kimono. “You are a lovely young woman. Protect that innocence. It is sure to win you a splendid husband someday.”

You had little time to think of an adequate response, so frazzled by her brazen statement. And that is how the swordsmith met you, catching an eyeful of your reddened face as you sputtered nonsensical words to the hostess and gripped her sleeve like a child.

Haganezuka Hotaru. Immediate threat to say nothing of his given name. You could not stop staring at his strange mask. It looked a little demonic, if you were being honest, and the undercurrent of sternness as he explained the importance of maintaining your sword’s integrity made you wonder if perhaps the warnings about him were true. But his voice was youthful and he spoke with such heartfelt passion for his craft that you felt comforted by his humanity. He could not have been much older than you, if even that - a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. Haganezuka was simply a dedicated swordsmith, and you would become a demon slayer worthy of having such a fine man supporting your endeavors.

You listened to his explanation about the construction of nichirin blades with rapt attention as you kneeled across from him.The hostess sat off to the side and politely watched from a distance. Your heart raced in anticipation as Haganezuka finally unveiled your sword, removing the protective cloth with reverent care as he handed you the sheathed blade.

“I am honored,” you earnestly said, reaching out to hold the sword with both hands. The weight felt just right, not too light and not too heavy.

“You should be,” Haganezuka deadpanned. “Take care of my precious work, you hear me? I am not a forgiving man, should something go wrong. You understand?”

The hostess audibly sighed, and you quickly answered before he became offended. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He waved a hand at you impatiently. “Go on, take a look!” The corner of your mouth turned upward at the sudden excitement in his voice. “The nichirin blade is also known as the color-changing sword. The metal takes on a certain color depending on who wields it.”

“The Roaring Pillar used a golden sword … “ you absentmindedly murmured as you laid the weapon on your lap. The sharp, pungent smell of lightning was permanently embedded into your memory after your first encounter. The ringing sound of the warrior’s breath style still sent shivers down your spine.

Haganezuka’s intent stare brought you back to the present. It was as if the very air itself quieted down for the unveiling. You grasped the crimson handle and pulled the scabbard away to reveal your first sword.

“Focus on your breathing while you hold it,” Haganezuka explained. “Or however you slayers do it.”

The hostess shifted imperceptibly. “Trust in your senses, child. You are attuned to sound. Use it to summon the spirit of your blade.”

And so you listened.

The blade rested comfortably against your thighs. A bird chirped beautifully from the treetops. Haganezuka’s wind chimes sang their whimsical tune. But you did not call upon these sounds. You wanted to know how the metal would speak to you.

You placed two fingertips at the base of the blade, beside the lovely handguard you had failed to admire properly. The braided grooves of the handle held your hand steady as you trailed your fingertips across the cold metal. As they moved, so too did a soothing sound come forth to greet you, and a pale blue glow crept through the path you made.

“What a beautiful color,” you breathed.

“It’s no red blade, but it’ll do the job,” Haganezuka muttered. “Then again, you don’t seem the type to … no, your aura is all wrong. Too gentle.”

You did not know whether that was a compliment or not, but you blushed all the same. “Are red swords special?”

“Yes.”

“ … “ You wanted to hear more, but the swordsmith already had his back to you as he gathered the wooden box that transported your sword. “Will you be staying the night, Haganezuka-san?” you asked with a hint of hopefulness.

“No. Too much work to be done.”

You furrowed your brows. Haganezuka was a man of either too many words, or too little, it seemed. “That is a shame,” you lamented, lifting the sword to inspect the handguard at last. “I hoped you would stay. There’s so much more I wanted to learn about nichirin blades … “

Haganezuka stilled and turned his head slightly towards you. “Why would you want that?”

“How else can I utilize a weapon without fully understanding it?”

“Ask a mentor.”

“Wouldn’t that be you?” He looked back at you fully now, the jerking motion causing the wind chimes to sing. The gormless stare of his painted eyes did not deter you. “Who better to ask than the very person who poured his soul into my blade? This sword is a part of you just as much as it is a part of me.” You smiled, sheathed your weapon, and bowed your head. “Please stay a while, Haganezuka-san.”

“You think your time is worth more than my duties?”

The unrestrained bite in his question caused your confidence to waiver.

“If you educate her properly,” the hostess piped up. “Then that would mean less chances for accidents to occur, yes?”

The effect was immediate. Haganezuka stood up so quickly that you fell back in surprise, and pointed down at you with renewed zeal. “First, I will drill it into your empty head that you should never, ever put your grubby fingers on that precious metal.” He prodded your forehead as he spoke. “And then, I will show you how to clean your sword. Then, I will teach you how to unsheathe your blade without wearing down the blade or scabbard. Then and only then will I teach you how to sharpen the edge. You will not sleep, Demon Slayer. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

True to his word, you did not sleep. But your blade sang happily as you followed Haganezuka’s instructions during your lessons, and that had been enough to invigorate you. Metal may bend to intense heat, but the hammer of his swift tutelage removed all impurities of ignorance from your mind.

[fictionisfact]

I got this little part from The Schuyler Vidders on YT so credits to them. ❤️

A/N: I had so many ideas for this one so it was kinda tricky picking which one. I hope you enjoy! 💞

Part 1

Here for you | Part 2

Based on S1 Ep. 9

You hated being ignored. But that’s what has been happening ever since that night. The night Ty had decided to kiss you and then run off. He hasn’t texted you back and he definitely hasn’t tried to return your numerous phone calls either.

“And my mom’s letting me look at drama camps for the summer.” Kyle said, knocking you out of your own thoughts. You were currently walking with him and Annie, alongside the baseball field that Ty currently occupied with his teammates.

“Kyle, that sounds amazing! Don’t have too much fun without me.” You responded lightly elbowing his arm. Your frown turned into a smile when he looked over at you and stuck out his tongue.

“Well, I’m thinking about spending the summer with my dad in Atlanta.” Annie spat out before she was interrupted by the one and only CeCe.

“Bottom of the eighth, CeCe Matney is at the plate.” CeCe started with a megaphone as you all three stopped in your tracks to see what was happening, “The crowd’s hushed. The whole game lies on this one pitch. Will ty Townsend go to prom with her?”

Your jaw dropped at the scene unfolding in front of you. Of course she asked him to prom. You guys walked a little closer to the fence.

“She’s funny if she thinks he’s going to say yes.” You stated with venom, more to yourself than anyone else. Annie looked over at you knowing how you felt about Ty ever since the kiss, she frowned upon her inspection seeing that you stared coldly at what was happening.

“And here comes the pitch. Is it a homer or is it a strike? Here comes the swing!” CeCe continued as she walked forward until she was right in front of Ty. She put down the megaphone and waited for his answer. “Well?” She said as she chuckled.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You heard Ty respond. She jumped into his arms and he picked her up and off the ground. When he placed her down, they kissed. You wish you could say it didn’t hurt, but it did. You scoffed and right when Ty looked over to see you looking, you took off with Annie and Kyle hot on your tail.

It was Saturday. The day you and Ty usually hung out together. You tried to put Ty in the back of your mind so your day wouldn’t be completely ruined. You jumped out of bed and headed for your door.

You came out of your room to see Dana Sue and Annie already in the kitchen getting ready to make smoothies. Dana Sue’s phone rang and Annie was first to pick it up.

Annie looked at you with an ‘uh oh’ look. You gave her a questioning face and she showed you the phone. You saw a text from Aunt Helen reading, ‘Can you pour it out right now?’ You covered your mouth in surprise. Annie handed the phone to her mom and she responded with, “Oh dear.”

“You can go. Take care of Helen. We’ll be okay!” You told Dana Sue with a smile. You hoped she would go for Helen’s sake.

“Fine, you girls be safe while I’m gone.” She responded in a hurry to get her bag and keys. She finally shut the front door when she had everything.

“I know you’re feeling down today, but that’s why we’re going to make today amazing!” Annie said as happiness sparkled in her eyes. You gave her a big hug and thanked her. That day was filled with amazing activities and your mind only wandered to Tyler only once.

“And the whole team was standing there chanting as if Ty had just won the World Series instead of agreeing to go to prom. So stupid.” Annie said informing Issac of why you were in a mood.

You had church this morning and of course Ty didn’t even dare to look at you. You were now sulking at Sullivan’s while working with Annie and Issac.

“Very stupid.” You hummed while listening in on what she was saying right next to you.

“Yeah, I didn’t go to my prom. My mom said I’d regret missing it, but I don’t.” Issac said plainly while you were shocked.

“I don’t think my mom went to hers either.” Annie responded causing your jaw to drop. Prom was so special to you.

You tuned out the rest of their conversation thinking about your ideal prom night. What you had been envisioning since you learned what prom was. To go with your best friend, which was off the table completely.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Micah walking in with gifts. Your smile grew as he asked to see the chef. As they reunited you continued to serve tables, finishing up after a long day.

It was finally prom week. You woke up and jumped off the bed and immediately threw on an orange t-shirt with blue ripped jeans. You tied on some white converse and waited for Annie to get done dressing so you could walk together.

As you neared the school, Simon suddenly called out to Annie making her turn around. You knew he was going to ask her to prom cause he texted you about it earlier.

“I’ll see you inside.” You said to Annie lightly touching her arm. You walked away with a big smirk waiting close by. You heard her say yes and you started whooping loudly. You regretted it once she gave you a death glare.

You both walked inside and got to your locker. You took out a few books before you were interrupted by someone calling your name, trying to get your attention.

You turn around to see Jackson with a poster that read, “I might strikeout asking, but will you take a swing at...Prom with me?” He had one of his baseballs in another hand as well. You gave him a smile and turned your head to see Ty looking at him with anger.

“Sure!” You gave him an answer and hugged him. You knew you shouldn’t have, Jackson was his biggest enemy. But you had to get back at Ty somehow for ignoring you. You looked over Jackson’s shoulder to see Ty walking away down the hall.

“You can just wait out here while I go tell Kyle.” Annie told you solemnly. You responded with a nod, waiting outside of the Townsends home. You weren’t waiting long until suddenly, the door opened hastily and revealed Ty.

“Uh, Ty I wasn’t expect-“ you started to talk before he cut you off.

“How could you do this to me?” He asked with sadness and anger mixed in his eyes. Knowing what he was referring to, you rolled your own eyes.

“What do you mean?! You have been ignoring me for days after YOU kissed ME.” You whisper-yelled at him, becoming angry at his attitude.

“That doesn’t mean you can go and get close to my greatest enemy!” He responded angrily. You wiped your face and looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry, but you hurt ME first. You kiss me leaving me wondering if there was a chance you had feelings for me too, but then you go and accept CeCe’s promposal while I watch you kiss her. How is that fair to me?” You said with a single tear rolling down your cheek.

“You like me?” He asked dumbfounded and confused. You both were interrupted by Annie walking out of the front door. She realized what was happening and started feeling awkward.

“Uh, did I inturupt something?” She asked you both with a confused face.

“No.” You answered her before Tyler could. You grab her hand and start walking back home before Ty could say anything else. She knew better than to ask what happened.

You were currently taking prom pictures with Annie, Simon, and Jackson. You were wearing a crimson red dress with black heels to match Jackson’s suit. You put your H/C in cute bun.

Jackson ordered a limo for the 4 of you, as he is the Mayor’s son. Although he protested about going to prom with Annie and Simon, you forced him to due to the fact he has always had a crush on you. But you never took interest in him.

When you arrived Jackson left you to go hang out with the baseball boys. Throughout the whole night, many of your boy friends asked you to dance, causing dismay to Ty and probably to Jackson as well. You had a nice time, as you blatantly ignored Ty, trying not to ruin your night.

A slow song suddenly came on and Jackson asked to dance. You of course said yes. As you danced closely to Jackson, you couldn’t help but look over to see Ty and CeCe dancing as well. You felt yourself roll your eyes and look away once Ty locked eyes with you.

Prom was over but the night was not even close to being done. Your group went to Jackson’s house for the after party and of course Ty came with CeCe.

When you arrived, everyone was forced to put their phones in a bowl. Meanwhile Jackson was tending to his guests. You sat on the couch with Kyle and on of his friends, catching up with him. You looked over the couch to see Ty and CeCe, once again dancing.

You were overwhelmed with anger and jealousy. You interrupted Kyle mid-sentence telling him you were going to get some air on the balcony.

After a few minutes of laying your arms on the railing, you heard the sliding door open.

“Sorry Jackson, I just wante-“ you cut off noticing who it was when you turned around. It was Ty. You immediately tried to push past him to get inside but he held your arm.

“Please. I need to talk to you.” He begged you with his puppy eyes. You couldn’t resist and ended up listening to him. He closed the door and leaned on the railing next to you.

“You probably hate me.” He chuckled dryly. You frowned at his sudden realization. You grab his hand.

“Yes, you have been a total jerk this past week, but you know I could never hate you.” You said with a small smile.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, for everything. When I kissed you, I got scared, scared that you didn’t feel the same way. I ignored you because I didn’t want to feel rejection. Not with everything going on with my family anyways.” He expressed with an apologetic tone.

“What about CeCe?” You said quietly, almost inaudible, looking away. He smiled at your jealousy and shook his head.

“Honestly, she’s great, but she’s not the one I want. Not talking to you everyday made me realize something. I don’t know if I could live without you. I tried to replace you with CeCe and well...that didn’t work out at all.” He laughed causing you to laugh and smile as well.

“I broke it off with CeCe, so you know.” He stated seriously after you were done laughing. You turned to him with a smirk.

“What are you implying?” You said teasingly. He smiled wide and tilted your head up with his finger.

“This.” He said simply as he leaned down to kiss you. You kissed him back with passion. You never knew how bad you wanted him until this moment. The world faded away and your problems were shoved to the back of your head.

You pulled away slowly not wanting it to end as soon as it started.

“We need to tell Annie.” You smiled softly at him.

“Ugh. Can’t it wait, I want to spend more time with you.” He said selfishly as he hugged you.

“Hmm nope.” You said getting out of his arms and bopping him on the nose. He looked at you with puppy eyes. ‘This is the boy I love,’ you thought to yourself, smiling happily.

A/N: I hope you guys don’t mind it was kinda long...Sorry! I wanted to stick to the episode and had to throw a few different scenes in there. At first I wasn’t happy with this, but I re-read it and I was more confident. Thanks for reading 🥺❤️🥰

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

“To bring order to a disordered world was the detective’s job.”

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cedric~

The bed looked untouched; it was arranged exactly like Cedric’s when he had arrived. There was nothing on the desk, nothing on the bedside cabinet. Nothing hung on the clothes hooks, and there was no suitcase in sight. There were no move-marks from the nearby armchair on the carpet; no slight body-mark in the pillow.

When Cedric had stepped over the threshold, coldness had washed over him even before he had taken a closer look at the orderliness of the room. The room was significantly colder than the corridors, and the fireplace inside it did not look like it had been used recently although it had been fairly cold lately.

At least, there was really neither an adjourning room nor a divider.

“Duke Kristopher?” said Anaïs, and Cedric flinched when she spoke to him. “Is something wrong?” she asked and walked from the desk to him. Before she reached him, Milton hurried forward and wrapped an arm around her. Surprised, Anaïs blinked at him. “I will handle this,” Milton said, his voice strangely breathless, and gently pushed her back to Gérard and Arnaud. Then, he went to Cedric and closed the door.

“Are you all right, Kristopher?” Milton wanted to know. His voice still sounded a bit shaky, and he dug his fingers into his palm. “Do you want to sit down? Lie down?”

Cedric looked at him in bewilderment. “I’m okay.”

Milton nodded absentmindedly and walked to his bed and knelt in front of it. He reached under it and – to Cedric’s slight relief – pulled out a suitcase. He retrieved a smaller case from it before he put the suitcase back. With a heavy strait, Milton headed to the desk and sat down. Cedric went to join the others, and Arnaud put the birdcage clock on the table.

Milton took a deep breath, then unlocked the case with an odd key to reveal numerous tools. They were perfectly polished and neatly arranged, and Cedric did not recognise most of them. He could only make out some screwdrivers, a hammer, and a little saw, but there were many, many more, and he could only wonder how they could all fit into such a small space. From his jacket pockets, Milton took a pair of white gloves which he put on before he started to inspect the clock. Milton was focused in a way Cedric had never seen before. The nervous energy that constantly flowed through him seemed gone, and he sat there perfectly still and calm while he scrutinised the broken clock. The children must have noticed Milton’s strange calmness too as they silently spectated him work as if they did not dare to interrupt him.

While everyone’s attention was on the birdcage clock, Cedric sneakily stepped back to glimpse into the wardrobe and the drawers of the bedside table which were all empty. When he went back to the others, Milton had already opened the cage and taken out the bird. Now, he turned the cage around to open the casing and look inside. He took a good look at the cogs and wires before he went to work. It was wondrous to see him work so meticulously. With quick, swift movements Milton alternated between various tools which he used on the clock. Although Cedric was undoubtedly interested in this process, he could not help himself but drift away now and then.

Not that he could make out much anyway: Cedric saw Milton doing things, but, for the life of him, he did not know what he was doing. While blissfully ignorant spectating was a lovely thing in many cases, it certainly wasn’t when one was halfway to dreamland. Cedric snoozed off for a few minutes at most and when he jolted awake again, Milton had moved on from the inner workings of the clock and was now putting back the bird. With a few more skilled movements, it was done, and Milton closed the cage. He waited a moment, and everyone held their breaths.

Then, Milton turned on the birdcage clock.

And metallic sing-song filled the air.

The bird, now perched on a top again, moved its beak and head and sang its melody which sounded only a little bit off to be true birdsong; and the clockhands had been set in motion too. The children jumped around happily, and Cedric could only stare at the now again intact clock, entranced by its uncanny song and in disbelief about what Milton had accomplished.

“That’s amazing! How can you do that, Baron Milton?” asked Anaïs.

“A lot of practice and…” Milton began, his eyes glowing as they had in the corridor, but then he interrupted himself and the glow vanished. He and Cloudia displayed the same enthusiasm for what they loved; only Cloudia’s was persistent while Milton’s was always cut short. “I was a very bored child,” Milton continued and packed his utensils in his case and locked it. “And you do not have to call me ‘Baron’ or ‘Lord,’ Miss Anaïs.”

Anaïs put her hands on her hips. It was a funny gesture on someone so small and young. “Only if you stop calling me ‘Miss Anaïs.’”

“Of course,” he replied, and she beamed. “Is it simply Milton then or may I call you something else too? Am I allowed to give you a nickname?”

Arnaud blinked at her, seemingly horrified at the request and familiarity, but didn’t say anything.

“I allow you to give me one,” Milton told her, and Anaïs jumped up and down. “Thanks! It has to be something cute…” She weighted her head left and right. “How about ‘Millie’?”

Milton tensed a little bit. “Could… could you please pick another nickname?”

“Why?” asked Anaïs.

“It…” Milton fumbled with his toolbox. “It’s only that my father used to call me that.”

“‘Used to,’” she repeated before it dawned on her and she put her hands over her mouth. “I apologise. I didn’t want to…”

“It is all right,” he assured her. “How could you have known?” Milton stood up and took the case from the desk. Milton returned his toolbox to his suitcase and then looked at Anaïs who still seemed uneasy. “All is fine, Anaïs. I could never be upset with you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiled. “You may pick any other nickname.”

Anaïs returned his smile. “I’ll think of one!”

Milton’s smile widened a little before he turned to the singing clock, and as soon as his gaze fell on it, the shine from before reappeared in his eyes. “I still cannot believe it,” he said dreamily to no one in particular. For a moment, Cedric wondered if he should interrupt Milton to spare him any potential embarrassment that might grow from his absentminded monologue, but he decided against it. After all, Milton usually did a fine job cutting himself off – and Cedric wanted to see if Milton’s enthusiasm could hold firm.

Milton picked up the birdcage clock and turned it in his hands. “Automata,” he said. “A fascinating subject that has kept humankind busy since ancient times. How could they not? Artificially created life – or, at least, life-like entities. Clockwork birds have been reportedly designed since the Hellenistic Period, but then there’s the legend of King Solomon’s throne and its mechanical animals which is, of course, dated much earlier. Even if it may only be a story, it is still a testament to people’s continuous fascination with automata.

“And then we have this lovely piece,” Milton continued and turned to Cedric with the clock in his hands. “Born 1721. Died 1790. Pierre Jaquet-Droz. His ancestors were from the Brandt-dit-Grieurin, Sandoz, and Robert families of clockmakers, and this made him pursue this craft, this art, as well – and we can only be blessed that he did as he is one of the, maybe even the, best creators of automata of all time. His first singing birdcage came out in 1780 and featured a miniature pipe organ; each pipe was for a different note. He and his partner later exchanged the pipe organ with a chamber whose size was altered by the movement of a piston.

“While Jaquet-Droz’s career is astonishing, it was fuelled by tragedy: He lost both his wife and daughter in short succession and, in his sadness, fully dedicated himself to his work.” Milton placed the clock back on his desk but did not let go just now. “Still, although he became internationally famous after he created six magnificent pendulum clocks for the Spanish king and his court and went on to present his crafts to various other kings and queens and even the Chinese emperor, he did not neglect his only living child, his son Henri-Louis. Instead, they worked together, and Jaquet-Droz made him the director of his workshop in London. Jean-Frédéric Leschot, Jaquet-Droz’s partner, was also his adoptive son. It was a family business that flourished despite its tragic history.

“But their success did not last forever. Towards the end of Jaquet-Droz’s life, they lost their partners in China and London. Their business started to show losses, and Jaquet-Droz moved to Biel where he died. A year later, his son Henri-Louis and his daughter-in-law died on a journey. Leschot, now all alone, worked hard to keep the business afloat, but the revolution and Napoleon’s Continental System led to the eventual ruin of Jaquet-Droz & Leschot.”

“Out of your system, hm?” said Cedric and leaned against the desk. The sudden flush of wakefulness was beginning to wane, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

Milton abruptly let go of the clock as if it had stung him and craned his head to Cedric. “I rambled again, didn’t I?”

“You did, but it’s fine. How are you?”

“I am…,” Milton began and tilted his head a bit. “I am feeling better than before. The… the repair was quite…” He fiddled with the hem of his right sleeve. “… refreshing.”

“If it’s such an intricately made clock,” said Cedric, “it is even more impressive that you could fix it.”

Milton let his hands fall to his sides. “There was not much wrong with it. A few sprung-out gears, loose bolts… I suppose the owner does not maintain the clock enough. Fixing it was nothing.”

Cedric yawned. “Still, it was quite amazing. You must have practice in this.”

“As I said, I was a very bored child.”

“I was bored at times too,” Cedric replied with a shrug. “Still, I never went to try my hand on fixing clocks. You were even so focused and calm. I barely recognised you. You must be quite fascinated by clocks.”

Milton looked at him. Even if Cedric had been fully awake, he would not have been able to read them. “It is not the clocks. Not just them. Or just automata. I appreciate their composition, their machinery, but I would say I am fascinated more by the reason why they were invented.”

Cedric wanted to respond something, but then Anaïs walked to them and said, “Milton? If you can repair things, can you build some too? I am asking because, if you are feeling better after fixing the birdcage clock, I think you should continue spending your time doing something like that until the rain stops. Arnaud, Gérard, and I can help too if you want.”

Milton blinked at her and then smiled softly. “This is a good suggestion, Anaïs. How about we create a chain-reaction machine? Then, you can all help me with it. And, I suppose, it will be more fun and interesting for you than the repair of a clock. I have to bring Kristopher to his room first though.”

“Oh, no,” replied Cedric. “I still feel sleepy, but I also feel more secure on my feet than before. I can go to my room on my own. You only need to tell me how to get there.”

“Kristopher, are you sure? You…”

“I am. You are not in the best state yourself, and I think it would be better for you if you stayed in your own room instead of wandering through the château. If you get an attack again, it would be better it happened here instead of anywhere else.”

Milton wanted to fight against his words but restrained himself and only said, “Very well, Kristopher.” He was about to turn around and reach for his notebook when Arnaud came forward.

“If you do not mind, Duke Kristopher,” he said, “I would offer to bring you to your room. I do not feel comfortable letting you go on your own, and I know the château’s layout very well. I also fear that, if you are told the way to your chamber, you may forget your given instructions in your exhaustion and get lost.”

Cedric blinked at the little boy. It was a bit weird to get help from a nine-year-old, but did he really have another choice? It was either Arnaud or Anaïs after all who could guide him through the building. Perhaps even Gérard could, though that would stretch the absurdity too much. “That would be good. Thanks, Arnaud,” Cedric replied, and Arnaud bowed his head in response.

***

~Cloudia~

There is still so much left to do, Cloudia thought while she and Yvette walked through the shadowy village to the inn once again. She hoped that Maxime and Violaine had returned so that she had not taken the effort to go to the pension in this weather twice in vain. She hoped Lisa and Kamden would find something interesting while inspecting the corpses. She hoped that whatever she could learn from the Guilberts or the bodies would be enough to find out who the culprit was.

Still, there was so much left to do. For example, she had to speak to the victims’ friends.

This case. Part of me wanted to end it here and now. Run to the mayor and tell him that he was on his own, then turn the village upside down to find out anything about Townsend, find the Queen’s box, and return home after spending time with my relatives and a brief round of leisurely exploring France.

But this was not to be. I was too deep into this now, and another part of me did not want to abandon the villagers to their murderer. Especially considering that such a development might prove to be difficult to hide from Milton, even if he was leaving for Paris tomorrow. After all, he would return in a few days and might catch sight of the aftermath of the hypothetical chaos that could be unleashed in Nanteuil-la-Forêt.

Also, I did not want to give up now. Giving up was like losing, and I did not like to lose.

Cloudia straightened against the rain for the last few metres of their way, for the rest of their investigation.

A hot bath. A change of clothes. A meal.

The storm was making me impatient, tried to fray my thoughts. I needed to calm down, sit down, make myself comfortable and think everything through at the château. On my own or with Cedric if he could be bothered.

I could do it like this. I would be able to do it like this.

At the pension, Yvette knocked against the door, and they waited for a few moments until the door was thankfully opened by Maxime.

“Yvette, M Gauthier,” he said, his gaze darting between them. “What are you doing outside in this weather? Come in.” Maxime ushered them inside and closed the door.

“We would not have come here again if you had been here before,” Cloudia told him, pulling down her hood. It had been wonderful to have been able to dry herself at the church, but now she was as wet as before again.

Only a few more hours.

Maxime turned to her. “Hm?”

“We have been here before,” Cloudia informed him. “Hours ago. Where were you, M Guilbert, when it’s pouring outside and a murderer is going around? Even if they have only been acting at night so far, we can never know when our killer will change patterns.” Again, she added in her head.

“Maybe we should sit down and talk?” suggested Maxime. He walked ahead to the inn’s community room, and Yvette and Cloudia followed him. There, they were greeted by a woman who smiled awkwardly at them and shifted nervously on the sofa.

“Violaine,” said Maxime. “That’s M Gauthier, one of the men I’ve told you about.”

His wife nodded at his words, and Cloudia smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Mme Guilbert. I am glad that you are here too, and I want to apologise in advance for potentially ruining your furniture.” She spread her arms, water dripping from them as if she was a fountain. “The weather has not been particularly kind lately.”

“Yes, it hasn’t, but don’t worry about the furniture, M Gauthier,” Violaine replied. “Please just sit.”

Cloudia sat down on an armchair. “I shouldn’t worry? I thought you would be very upset. Not only as the wife of this tavern’s owner but also as its housekeeper who meticulously makes sure that all the rooms look immaculate.”

“Well,” Violaine said and touched a lock of her brown hair that had sprung free of her up-do. “The state of the furniture is only a subsidiary matter in our current situation, isn’t it?”

Cloudia smiled. “Yes, of course, it is. Mme Guilbert, I’ve already told your husband about this, but Mlle Guilloux and I were here earlier today alongside two of my colleagues who are currently investigating elsewhere. We knocked and knocked and waited a considerable period, but you were not present. Considering that the village is in a state of emergency with a murderer going around and Mother Nature herself trying to destroy this place with this heavy rain, could you tell me where you and your husband were, Mme Guilbert?”

“Where we were earlier?” Violaine repeated and then clutched and unclutched her hands.

“My apologies, M Gauthier,” Maxime interjected, “but my wife may not be suitable to answer any questions right now. She is easily unnerved and, as you said, a killer is going around.”

“Chamomile tea,” Cloudia said, and Maxime blinked at her, perplexed. “If you have correctly guessed that your wife is anxious right now, M Guilbert,” she explained, “why not bring her a cup of chamomile tea or do something else to ease her nerves? After all, you guided us here, fully knowing that she would be here and the reason I am here – fully knowing that your wife is nervous and uneasy. Why not help her a bit? Chamomile has relaxing properties, and so has peppermint if you have no chamomile tea at hand.” She smiled at him, and, for a fraction of a second, Maxime narrowed his eyes at her before he wordlessly left for the kitchen.

“How kind of him,” Cloudia said hollowly. “I wonder if he knows how to use a kettle.” She looked at Violaine. “At any rate, Mme Guilbert, I do not want to unnecessarily distress you or anyone, so I’ll ask you: Are you comfortable with answering some of my questions? Please be honest.”

Violaine tensed immediately and looked from Cloudia to Yvette and back, glanced briefly to the door through which her husband had left. “I…,” she began, “I think I can answer some questions.”

Cloudia smiled at her and wrapped her arms around herself. She was cold from the rain, so she was not certain if it was true or not, but the room itself seemed unusually cold too. “Thanks. Let us wait a moment until M Guilbert returns with the tea. I also want to address that it is very considerate of you to agree to help. We need as many to help out, need to find out as much as possible to bring this to an end. Cooperation is key, especially when it is about a murderer roaming around. They have been predominately targeting young people too – and if I remember correctly, you have a daughter around the age of the latest victims. What was her name? Marie-Claire? How is she?”

Violaine’s eyes widened. “Marie-Claire? Oh, she… she is doing well.”

“That is good to hear. I assume she is at home? You don’t live at the inn as well, right?”

“Oh, she…” Violaine trailed off and curled her loose lock of hair around her finger.

“They do not live here,” Yvette came to her rescue. “They live down the street in a little house and come every morning to the inn for work. Marie-Claire is someone who prefers to spend her time inside; you have to practically drag her outside.” She chuckled.

“I see,” said Cloudia. “How far is the kitchen from here?”

“It is down the corridor, why?” Yvette replied.

She raised her shoulders a bit. “I wondered when M Guilbert will join us again. While he is still absent, Mme Guilbert, may you tell me where you were earlier today? Were you with your daughter?”

“Yes,” Violaine answered. “Maxime and I were with her all day.”

Cloudia smiled. “I see. Spending time together with your family is good. As you have said that you were with her ‘all day,’ can I assume that you currently have no guests at the inn?”

Hesitatingly, Violaine shook her head. “No, we do not. We… we rarely get any guests at all. The stranger was the first in a while.”

“Must be terrible business,” Cloudia remarked, “having a pension in a place such as Nanteuil-la-Forêt. When it is not pouring, the village is beautiful enough, but it is certainly not in the best of locations.”

“We are working on advertising Nanteuil-la-Forêt,” Yvette said. “My father and M Descombes want to give Nanteuil-la-Forêt more presence and prominence as they want to share our cosy place with others. Soon, the inn will flourish because many will come here.”

“How very nice,” Cloudia replied. She pricked up her ears, but she could still not hear it. How curious. “Then, Vidocq and I should hurry to wrap up this case so that the inn’s flourishing will indeed happen ‘soon,’” she proceeded. “Though I suppose that a place that has once harboured a vicious murderer may become an attraction even without a pretty village around it.” She smiled at Yvette, and Yvette replied with a crooked, uneasy smile.

“Now, Mme Guilbert,” Cloudia began, “did you know any of the victims better? Mme Allemand, Dominique Duhamel, Gustave and Marius Beaubois?”

“I…” Violaine’s grip on her lock tightened. Cloudia almost feared that she would rip it out. “I knew Dominique, Gustave, and Marius. Marie-Claire went to school with them, but they were not very close.”

“I see. And the boys amongst one another? Were they close?”

“No,” said Violaine before she backtracked. “Yes. You must know how boys are at that age: often quarrelling and arguing, but still being close. It is a little hard to tell whether they are friends or not because of that. However, they were friendly.”

“Thank you for the information,” Cloudia said at the same time as Maxime returned with a cup of tea which he handed to his wife with a slightly breathless “Here, my dear.” Cloudia glanced at the floor and then smiled at Maxime. “Welcome back, M Guilbert. You have left us waiting for quite some time.”

***

~Cedric~

A few corridors into their little journey to his room, Cedric realised that Arnaud was not very talkative. He had associated noise with the boy; now, he understood that it was only attached to him in the form of Anaïs who would always talk and laugh. Cedric would not have minded this aspect on any other day, but right now, he needed anything to help him stay awake or he feared he would fall asleep here and now.

“Arnaud,” Cedric began. “What do you think about Anaïs calling Milton a faerie? I know Jacques does not like it, and I’m curious what you think of it. I think of it as childishly charming.”

“That is how Anaïs is,” Arnaud said. “She is very fond of associating people with something – as you have found out at her picnic.”

“Yes, she is,” Cedric replied. “Only she is especially insistent about the whole faerie affair.”

“Anaïs is also very fond of faeries. She loves reading about them and telling everyone about them. As Papa is an expert when it comes to birds, Anaïs loves to talk to him about faeries as they are, like birds, flying entities. They also sometimes explore forests.”

“In search of faeries?”

Arnaud nodded. “Anaïs, at least. Papa ‘helps.’”

“I see,” Cedric said and yawned. With difficulty, he dragged himself to his room with Arnaud’s guidance. At his blessed bedroom door, Cedric said goodbye to Arnaud and then walked straight to his bed.

A quick nap before Cloudia returned. I wanted to reach at least some level of rest until she came back so that we could talk. I also wanted to catch some sleep before dinner or I feared I might miss it like I had missed lunch.

With a tired half-smile on his face, Cedric took off his jacket and threw it on the closest chair, freed his hair from the band, and kicked off his shoes on the way to the bed. He was about to jump into it when he heard someone say, “How unsightly, Not-Kristopher.”

Cedric flinched and every fibre of his body sighed.

Could one not find rest in this damn château?

He rubbed his eyes. “Dammit, Cecelia, what are you doing here?”

Cecelia leaned back on the armchair she had made herself at home on. “Waiting for you, obviously.”

“But couldn’t you have waited a bit longer?”

“Don’t worry, Not-Kristopher. The servants have informed me about your sleepiness. Thus, I have brought you a gift.” She gestured to the little table in front of her which bore a tea service.

Cedric laughed hoarsely. “I’m not drinking anything you offer ever again,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “A butler brewed the coffee. It’s to help you stay awake.”

He scrutinised the pot. “I don’t believe you. Now, leave.”

“You are being dramatic.”

“So would you be if you had been nearly killed by some unknown substance. Now, go.”

“Not-Kristopher, sit down.”

“I will laydown and you can go.”

Cecelia sighed and then poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip without taking her eyes off Cedric. “See? I’m perfectly fine,” she said when she sat the cup down again. “There is only one pot. You will drink from it too. Its contents are fine. Now, stop being difficult and drink your coffee and sit down.”

Cedric ran a hand over his face, defeated, and then poured himself a cup and sat with it down on his bed. He sank into the soft blanket, and his heart tightened with longing to simply curl himself up in it and drift into dreams. Instead, he glared at Cecelia and took a deep gulp.

And started coughing.

“What isthat?” Cedric said, grimacing at the evil dark tincture in his cup.

“Coffee.”

“I hadcoffee. That’s not coffee. What’s this?”

Cecelia rolled her eyes. “It is coffee, Not-Kristopher. There are different kinds of tea. Did you think there wouldn’t be different kinds of coffee too?”

He scowled at his cup. “It’s vile and bitter. The coffee I had was a little bitter too, but not like this. I thought drinks have to be drinkable.”

“The French like their coffee harsh and bitter,” she said with an elegant shrug. “And you cannot deny it did not wake you up thoroughly.”

Cedric opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again. She was right. Even if the coffee itself might not have kicked in yet, its taste had certainly shaken off part of his sleepiness. He put his cup on the little table. “I don’t like anything that tastes bitter.”

“I realised.”

“That includes you.”

Cecelia laughed. “Oh, don’t make me repeat that to Cloudia.”

Cedric glared at her, and she smiled at him. “Now,” she said, “tell me: How was your day with Milton?”

***

~Cloudia~

Cloudia and Yvette said their goodbyes to Maxime and Violaine and headed back out into the rain and to the hospital. It had been an interesting conversation, and Cloudia could not wait to go over and discuss it with Cedric.

And write down everything in a fresh, new notebook. After Maxime’s arrival, I had taken out my notebook and learned that it had not survived the rain although I had safely put it in my pocket.

A new notebook, a night to myself. Normally, my memory was good enough that I did not really need to write everything down, but I liked to have everything structured and laid out in front of me. Also, good memory or not, one could not recall all at once, and writing everything down helped to draw everything out of one’s mind.

Considering the amount of input I had received in the last few days, it might be quite beneficial to write it all down.

And considering that I felt a little frayed – the dread of one of those episodes was always at the back of my mind – writing down everything when I still remembered it all would be for the best.

Yvette informed Cloudia that it was a relatively long way from the guesthouse to the hospital. Hearing of a distance was wildly different from experiencing it though. A “short ten-minute walk” could feel like an eternity when it went up a hill, the path was uneven, or the sky had spontaneously decided to empty its water storage for several weeks in a single day. If it was not a ten-minute walk, but a thirty-five-minute one with similarly awful conditions, one could not help but wonder which deity they had upset to have to suffer like that.

Just the hospital left. It was just the hospital left, I told myself all the way to it.

When Cloudia and Yvette finally arrived at the hospital, a nurse led them to a waiting room after greetings and introductions. There, Vivienne, the nurse, told them to sit down and wait while she would go to get the head doctor. Cloudia thanked her and sat down.

I was athletic. I trained whenever I could, but today’s ordeal was unnecessarily exhausting.

But it was just the corpses left now. At least for today, only the corpses were left. Then, it was time to–

Cloudia sat up straighter when another nurse hurried into the room, an angry man following her and demanding to speak to Laurent Michaux, the head doctor. The nurse began to say “I am sorry, but I cannot help you. I have already said that he has…” when Cloudia stood up and went to take hold of the man’s arm before he could grab the nurse’s.

“I am sorry for interfering,” Cloudia said to the man. He had looked stunned the moment she had taken his hand, but his surprise was slowly eaten away by his anger yet again. The nurse took a few steps back. “However, it seems that this situation is getting out of hand. Monsieur, may I ask you what you are doing? Yelling in a hospital and running after this nurse?”

The man narrowed his eyes at her. “And you are?” he said. He tried to get out of her grip, but Cloudia held on tight. He was considerably taller than her and seemed strongly built, so it was quite a strain to keep her grip on him, but she wouldn’t let go just yet. “Wait. I’ve never seen you before: You are one of those people from Paris, aren’t you?” the man continued and his tone became even angrier.

“Exactly. I am Jean Gauthier, Détective Alexandre Vidocq’s assistant,” Cloudia replied, holding her gaze steady when she looked at him. “And who are you?”

“Fernand!” exclaimed Yvette and walked to them with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Yvette, what are you doing here?” the man asked.

“I am guiding M Gauthier through the village.” She turned to Cloudia. “My apologies. This is Fernand Beaubois, the father of Gustave and Marius. Could you perhaps let go of him?”

“Of course, I can,” Cloudia replied and glared at Fernand. “He has to promise not to do anything though.”

Fernand glared back at her. “Fine,” he growled. “I promise.”

Smiling at him, Cloudia let go. “Much obliged,” she said and then looked at the nurse who was standing frozen a few steps away from her. “Are you all right?”

The nurse nodded.

“Would you like to sit still? You look a little pale.”

“No, it’s fine. I need to be elsewhere now anyway.”

“I see. What is your name?”

The nurse blinked at her. “Uhm, Corrine.”

“Corrine, do you have a few minutes to spare or are you in a hurry? I want to ask you something, but it is fine if you have no time.”

“One question will be all right.”

Cloudia smiled at her. “Thanks, Corrine. Could you please tell me why M Beaubois has been running after you?”

Corrine glanced briefly at Fernand. “M Beaubois wants to speak to M Michaux about his sons. I was strictly instructed to send him and anyone else away as M Michaux does not want anyone to tamper with the bodies. It was decided that nobody could access or retrieve the bodies until the murderer is apprehended. I don’t have the power to undo that decision, and the doctor is busy right now. I have told M Beaubois this, but he does not want to hear and keeps enquiring.”

“‘Tampering’?” Fernand’s face turned red. “I only want to see my sons. I cannot understand why I’m forbidden from seeing them.”

“M Beaubois, as I said, I am sorry, but M Michaux has prohibited it specifically,” said Corinne with a halting voice. “No one is to see the bodies except for the doctor himself and the investigators until the murderer is caught.”

How interesting.

Cloudia smiled. She had been smiling so much all day; she hoped her face would not hurt tomorrow. “Thank you, Corinne. I will handle this from here on. We have impeded you enough.”

It seemed as if Corinne wanted to protest but then decided against it. She just bowed and said her thanks before she left the room. As soon as she was gone, Cloudia turned to Fernand who still looked highly displeased. “M Beaubois, I am sorry. It must be terrible for you not to be able to see your sons now. However, I cannot condone that you are directing your anger towards innocent people. I hope today will be an isolated case,” Cloudia said firmly. “At any rate, I am here because I sent two of my colleagues to the hospital earlier to inspect the bodies. Of course, this will not be the same, but I will promise to tell you about the conditions of your sons’ bodies – and make sure that the investigation will be wrapped up as soon as possible so that you can see them yourself before the funeral.”

Fernand continued to glare at her, and Cloudia fought back the urge to sigh and tell him that, if he neither wanted help nor reassurance, he could leave and stop wasting anyone’s time and pestering people. She was not patient enough for such things. Still, she forced herself to soften her voice and repeated, “I promise to ensure that Détective Vidocq will quickly wrap up the case. Also,” Cloudia sternly looked at him, “I was at your house earlier, M Beaubois, and met your wife and son. I know that you are hurting because of your loss. I promise to take care of the dead; I urge you to take care of the living.”

Fernand held her gaze for a while before his shoulders sacked. There was still fight left in him, but it had mostly cooled now. “You better catch the killer soon,” he said and then turned and left.

“M Gauthier, Yvette?” said Vivienne when she returned a few minutes later. “I will now lead you to the deadhouse – the doctor has said that he will meet you there.”

***

~Cedric~

“How should it have been? It was a normal day. We played some chess. Ate some sandwiches. That’s it,” Cedric said dryly, and Cecelia raised an eyebrow.

“Not-Kristopher, do you need more coffee? Because your mind still seems to be fogged from sleepiness – or are you deliberately answering my question in such an obviously avoidant way?”

“I have told you all we did today,” he replied. “Did you really expect thorough replies when you broke into my room and are now preventing me from sleeping?”

Cecelia chuckled. “You sure are prickly today, Not-Kristopher,” she said and broke into an impish grin. “Of course, I expected thorough replies because you know exactly that they are the only way to ever get me to leave. I also did not break into your room. A break-in is a forced entry, but your door was never locked and I, thankfully, did not have to resort to using force.” Cecelia took a sip of her coffee. “Please indulge me, Not-Kristopher, what did you and our dear Baron Salisbury do today?”

Cedric sighed. “We played chess and ate lunch I prepared because we missed the actual lunch.”

“I wondered where you two were.”

“You had lunch with the others? I thought you preferred to eat alone in your room.”

“And I do, but every once in a while, you should be polite and eat alongside your gracious hosts. Anyway, it must have been a veryengaging game for you to get so caught up.” Cecelia smiled. “Did you have any engaging conversations as well?”

“If you want to know if we talked – of course, we did. And I did learn a few more things about Milton. I just don’t think they will interest you much. It was nothing particularly substantial. However, what I can say after spending time with Milton today is that I doubt that he could be capable of something like arms smuggling. He’s overflowing with anxiety and can barely hold himself together. If he truly were a weapons smuggler, he would have surrendered himself to the authorities a long time ago.”

“Still, there is the rumour,” Cecelia replied.

“Yes. While I think that Milton is not involved in any smuggling himself, I do believe someone is using his company under his nose to engage in illicit activity.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Who do you believe to be the actual weapons smuggler, Not-Kristopher?”

“Wentworth,” Cedric said, and while he felt confident when he said it aloud, his confidence vanished when Cecelia started to laugh.

“Enough of the joking. Tell me, who do you believe to be the actual weapons smuggler if not Milton?”

“It… it was not a joke,” he replied, now feeling quite silly and foolish. No, I don’t have to be, he thought right afterwards. It makes sense that Wentworth is the culprit. I cannot allow Cecelia to talk me out of it; I only have to explain my logic to her.

“Wentworth? Don’t be absurd. It’s not him.”

“Are you saying this because you did not consider this possibility yourself? You only gave me notes on Milton; you only focus on Milton. Everyone does. Who would ever focus on the butler? That’s how Wentworth could do it – even if it was at the expense of Milton who is supposed to be his beloved protégé. You made no effort to look into Wentworth or consider him as a legitimate suspect, Cecelia, and now you–”

Cecelia glared at Cedric, effectively cutting him off. “Making false claims on my persona? On my abilities? Of course, I researched Abraham Wentworth, Not-Kristopher, who do you believe me to be? Only because I did not tell you about my findings regarding this part of my research does not mean I did not do it.”

“You did?” said Cedric, slightly taken aback. “Then why didn’t you inform me about this?”

“I did not inform you as I did not think it would be necessary, Not-Kristopher. We are, after all, focusing on Baron Salisbury, not on his butler. That’s what I’ve told you. I wanted you to focus on what is of importance. If I wanted you to keep an eye on Wentworth too, I would have given you two files, one for each.”

“But if you looked into Wentworth, you surely must have found anything that could explain everything – that incriminates him because I am sure his background is as sparsely documented as Milton’s and–”

“And why do you think that, Not-Kristopher?” Cecelia interrupted him.

“Because he has always been at Milton’s side, and Milton’s life is like ‘Swiss cheese’ as you said.”

“Of course, there’s a large gap between when Wentworth moved with Milton’s family to Milton’s mysterious birthplace until they went to London. Rather unfortunately for your speculative daydreams, the rest of Wentworth’s life is as well-documented as anyone else’s.”

Cedric blinked at her, and Cecelia sighed. “What do you want, you pathetic fool? Proof? A summary?” she said, and he slowly nodded.

“God, I cannot believe Cloudia has still not thrown you into a ditch,” she proceeded and poured herself a new cup of coffee.

“Abraham Wentworth was born in Cadgwith, Cornwall to Asher Wentworth, a fisher, and his wife Leah. They were not bathing in money, but they had enough to feed their family of six. Wentworth was the second oldest amongst four children; he had an older and a younger brother and a younger sister. His family was quite liked where they lived and their business provided food to the nearby gentry. This eventually allowed Wentworth to be schooled to be a butler in the household of Lord Helmer Carrington for whom he worked until he was hired by Milton’s grandmother in 1811.

“I hope you remember that Milton’s mother Kordelia was adopted after she had lost her entire family in a shipwreck of which she was the sole survivor? Her adopted mother was a certain Idella Scarborough who was quite the character.

“She had been adopted too, was a rich heiress, and quite the traveller and an acquaintance to many – amongst others, to Lord Carrington. When she took in Milton’s mother, Miss Scarborough – who was never married and, as I heard, very much refused to be wed – looked around for servants to hire. She did not have any herself as she thought they were only a hindrance in her nomadic lifestyle, but she changed her mind after becoming a mother as she certainly needed a bit of assistance to take care of her new daughter while scouring through Great Britain. At times, Miss Scarborough would even leave Kordelia and her little household in a rented house in Britain while she ventured to the continent. You can only wonder why she adopted Milton’s mother in the first place. After all, Miss Scarborough evidently had never planned to settle down and having a traumatised child and a few new servants did not quite agree to her chosen lifestyle… Surely, she needed an heir, but the timing seems to have been inconvenient… Anyway, enough of this; I am diverting.

“Miss Scarborough talked to Lord Carrington about searching for staff, and he warmly referred Wentworth to her. Wentworth was hired to take care of Kordelia Bloomfield – apparently, she took her adoptive mother’s surname for a while, but did not use it when she moved to London. Miss Scarborough also employed a maid and companion for Kordelia.

“The little household around Miss Scarborough – she, Kordelia, Wentworth, the maid, and a family friend – travelled through the kingdom until 1819. The longest they stayed at a place together was a month. When Miss Scarborough decided to cross the Channel, the others would stay at the same place for a considerably longer time. After eight years of constant travelling, Kordelia got tired of it and asked her mother if it was possible for her and the others to settle down somewhere while her mother would indulge in her travels on her own. Miss Scarborough accepted Kordelia’s request, and Kordelia went to live at her mysterious choice of settlement. There are reports that her mother visited her as often as she could – Kordelia was only fifteen at that time after all – but there is nothing on where Miss Scarborough went, where Kordelia chose to live. And this absolutely ridiculous circumstance leaves us with a gap of eighteen years.”

“A very large, very suspicious gap,” chimed in Cedric.

“Definitely, but not exactly something that would incriminate Wentworth now, eleven years after he re-emerged into common society with his household. There are no documents on Wentworth having been spotted anywhere else in those missing eighteen years, so I would presume he had simply been staying there, taking care of Kordelia Bloomfield’s household day in, day out. Still, this is obviously an eyebrow-raising topic and needs to be examined further. Unlike Milton, however, that’s the only gap in Wentworth’s timeline. After the death of his mistress, of Milton’s mother, in 1838 Wentworth was regularly seen running errands alone or accompanying Leland,” Cecelia said, counting the differences between Milton’s and Wentworth’s stories on her hand. “Milton was only seen twice in the same year. In 1841, Milton travelled overseas and did not take Wentworth or anyone else with him – he went alone. Again, Wentworth’s schedule is perfectly documented in contrast…”

“Wait – Milton went away alone?” Cedric cut her off, earning a glare from Cecelia. “He alwaystakes Wentworth with him, why not then?”

“That’s the mystery, Not-Kristopher, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “And how often do I have to tell you that you should not interrupt me!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down before she continued, “After Neal Salisbury’s death, Milton went missing from the public eye again; Wentworth was still seen in the city. When Milton engaged more in society, his butler was at his side, loyal and true as a shadow. When Milton was in Cardiff around the time of his uncle’s death, Wentworth was with him. He accompanied him to his travels afterwards – to Germany, to France, to Sweden… all the way to China and Korea and back. He was with him when Leland died. He was with him when he got involved with Cloudia. He was with him when he travelled again. He is with him now. Whenever Milton is in public or away, Wentworth is by his side; and when Milton is unseen, Wentworth is observed running errands for his young master. Wentworth’s file is airtight except for the eighteen-year gap. The rest of Milton’s gaps aren’t Wentworth’s too. He did not use them to his benefit to hide his criminal schemes if you believed that, Not-Kristopher.”

“But that does not mean he isn’t doing any criminal scheming; it only means that he didn’t hide it with that,” Cedric pointed out, and Cecelia rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee.

“You’re hopeless, Not-Kristopher, and I wish I brought something stronger to drink to get through this,” she said. “If you are so adamant about Abraham Wentworth being the true arms dealer, why don’t you explain his motives to me? After all, this business would harm the Salisbury Company – and it almost did. The Salisbury Company, the pride and joy of Milton’s family; his dear protégé’s company. Why should he purposefully try to exploit and hurt it? What is he gaining from it?”

“Maybe he doesn’t care for the Salisbury Company and Milton? Maybe he intends to ruin Milton and run off to have a better life elsewhere with all the money he accumulated on the side with his smuggling business?”

“You’re wrong: Wentworth does care for Lord Milton.”

“No, you are wrong. Milton flinched when Wentworth spoke to him in Dover. Wentworth left him alone when Milton was not feeling well. Does this sound like he cares to you? And since when are you a sentimental person?”

Cecelia put down her cup. “I am not sure if you know that, Not-Kristopher, but Milton needs his butler to function. In the time he was involved with Cloudia, she and I came to understand that Wentworth is his safety net. He is independent in any other manner, but emotionally he isn’t. This isn’t surprising considering that Wentworth is the only constant he has ever had. Everyone else either died over the years – his parents, his sister, his uncle, his cousin – or left; his mother’s lady companion and the family friend left his household in 1841.”

“This only proves how much Milton needs him. How much he loves Wentworth, not the other way around.”

“Cloudia grew fairly close to Lord Milton in the months they spent together,” said Cecelia, ignoring his interjection, and Cedric flinched a bit. He hoped that Cecelia hadn’t seen it, but she tilted her head and smiled. “She hasn’t told you yet, has she? I suppose she will soon, so be patient. And don’t contemplate to ask me. I have neither the time nor desire to inform you about those months. Also, Cloudia would be very mad at me if I did tell you, and I am already walking on thin ice with her considering that I researched Baron Salisbury and his butler.”

Cecelia leaned back. “At any rate, Cloudia grew quite close to Milton – not that she would ever admit this; their relationship has always been a little odd and complicated. And at some point, Milton told her that when he let go of his mother’s lady’s companion and his family friend left his household, he also talked to Wentworth about his retirement. Apparently, Wentworth was quite insistent that he would not retire anytime soon despite his advanced age.”

“Of course, he does not want to retire,” Cedric replied. “If he did, he would lose access to the Salisbury Company, and his illicit business would be harder to undertake.”

“Once you got your teeth into something, you really won’t let go of it, will you?” Cecelia sighed. “Cloudia did not go into detail as she may not know the full extent of Wentworth and Milton’s relationship, but from what I’ve heard, Wentworth very much cares for the Baron.”

“Milton said that while he views Wentworth as his family, Wentworth does not return this sentiment.”

“He’s a butler, is he not? I suppose he would want to keep a certain distance between himself and his master because his occupation requires him to do so. Just because he says that he does not think of Milton as family does not mean that this is the case. What you say is not necessarily the same as what you do and actually think and believe. Cloudia certainly believes that Wentworth cares a lot for Lord Milton.”

“And what about Dover? What about Wentworth’s neglect of Milton today?”

Cecelia rolled her eyes and poured herself another cup of coffee. “We are talking about Cloudia who has observed them for months and a few isolated cases that happened in the span of a few days. What may give us the best data to work with? You also care for Cloudia, don’t you? Do youget along with her all the time? Lord Milton and his butler are still human. Maybe saccharine Milton would never be upset with Wentworth, but Wentworth may have the capacity to be ‘harsh’ to a certain extend – and they have known each other since Milton’s birth. There isa certain familiarity and closeness between them; that cannot be denied. Also, have you asked why Wentworth was not with Milton today?”

“Wentworth wanted to spend time with Alfred and…” Cedric began before he stopped himself when the memory flowed back.

“Bram didn’t just leave me alone. I… I had to convince Bram for quite a while that I would be fine on my own. I didn’t mean to ruin Mr Newman’s day. I can look after myself after all.”

“Milton sent Wentworth away to be with Alfred because he knows they get along well and he did not want to hinder them from spending time together,” Cedric said ultimately.

“See? Milton ordered Wentworth to leave him alone – and a butler can only fight that much against his master’s wishes,” Cecelia said. “And in Dover… did the Baron flinch because his butler spoke to him or because someone said anything to him at all?”

Cedric blinked at her. “What?”

“In what state was Milton back then? Did he flinch because of Wentworth’s words or because of something else?”

“He flinched when Wentworth called him.”

“And?”

“Wentworth said Milton’s name when… when Milton was staring at Alfred,” Cedric replied haltingly, slowly drawing out each word as it dawned on him.

I had often seen Milton flinch like that. Every time he was deep in thought or very focused on something, and someone – anyone – interrupted him, he would flinch.

I had been the cause of this plenty of times.

Cecelia looked at her fingernails as she spoke. “Have you understood? Milton flinched not because Wentworth was the one who spoke and addressed him but because someone pulled him out of his thoughts.” She looked up. “And now, please answer this question for me:

“What is with you and your insistence to prove Milton’s innocence in this still very hypothetical matter that he may be an arms smuggler? Have you become so smitten with him in this short time? Or are you simply trying to convince everyone and yourself that you don’t hate and aren’t jealous of Milton for the petty fact that he was ‘there first,’ whatever this entails?”

“I am not jealous of Milton. I don’t hate him either.”

“Do you like him then?”

Cedric was silent, and Cecelia laughed. “Not-Kristopher, how idiotically amusing you are. What does it do for you to lie to yourself? No wonder why your hair is all grey. I never lie to myself as I believe it to be a matter too pointlessly exhausting. And look at me: As youthful as ever.” She leaned back. “So?”

“I barely know Milton,” Cedric said matter-of-factly. “I neither hate him nor am I particularly fond of him.”

“And still?”

“And still… There’s no ‘and still,’ Cecelia.”

“And still you were almost about to tell.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No, you are being ridiculous,” replied Cecelia, raising her voice ever-so-slightly. “From all I know and from all I have heard, I believe that there must have been at least one instance today when you thought that there is something off about Milton. Am I right?”

Cedric stiffened a bit. Agitated by his stubbornness, Cecelia did not seem to notice as she energetically carried on. “I know you’re a fraud,” she said, “but I assume you have not lived under a rock until last year, have you? So, is there not something about Milton that strikes you as fundamentally odd?”

Cedric blinked at her. “I haven’t lived under a rock, but what do you mean? ‘Fundamentally odd’?”

She sighed. “A young man, well-bred, titled, extremely wealthy, and if I dare admit, rather easy on the eyes – do you understand it now?” Cecelia asked and when Cedric stared blankly at her, she sighed anew. “In his social class, people his age with such good attributes usually cannot save themselves from possible suitors – or are already married. I would even dare to say that if you ever glimpsed at Milton Salisbury’s bank statement, you would drop those trousers faster than humanly possible. Still, Milton is a bachelor, and there are only very few who even consider trying to win him over. In part, this has something to do with his constant travels, but then, don’t you think he should have still found someone by now? Maybe even in a different country? I believe Milton is like Blanche Ingram.”

“Blanche Ingram?” asked Cedric, and Cecelia rolled her eyes in frustration. “You cannot tell me I am the only one Cloudia is telling detailed plot summaries of novels to. I refuse to believe this.”

“Well, sometimes my brain automatically turns itself off while she rambles. I try to listen, but it’s an old habit and I haven’t managed to outgrow it yet…”

“What a wonderful suitor you are, Not-Kristopher. Cloudia should consider herself fortunate,” Cecelia deadpanned. “Anyway, what I want to say is that Blanche Ingram from Jane Eyre is beautiful, quite talented, and comes from a good family. All this should make her very desirable to everyone. However, like Milton, she is in her mid-twenties and still unmarried. For a woman, this is even more eyebrow-raising than for a man as women of the gentry usually marry in their early twenties or, in some cases, their late teens which means that she has surpassed the ‘usual’ age of marriage by a few years. The question is: Why does nobody want to marry Blanche Ingram despite her apparently good qualities? Because she’s a haughty person: beautiful on the outside, rotten on the inside with skin quivering in rot and on the edge of breaking up and falling apart. The kind of apple you would not even throw to the pigs. Beyond disgusting.”

“And you think Milton is like that… an apple rotten on the inside?”

“Maybe not as dramatically as Blanche, but I suppose there’s still rot inside him too. What kind of rot do you think it is? Blanche’s rot is her arrogance, her haughtiness, her ill-treatment of those below her in social status. I am aware Blanche does not know that Mr Rochester is in love with Jane Eyre by the time he faux-courts her. Still, imagine ‘indirectly’ insulting the governess of the ward of the man you are pursuing and that right in front of him? Reminiscing with your family how you maltreated your own governesses?” Cecelia shook her head. “Now, I am sounding like Cloudia, going on and on about books and fictional characters. What I am intending to say, and I am putting this as plainly and clearly as I can so that evenyou will understand it: There must be something about Milton Salisbury that is driving people away which is especially interesting as, from my observation, people are often strangely drawn to him as well. This is, of course, not always the case as can be seen from me and Cloudia’s maid Lisa Greene.”

Cedric yawned. He knew he should take another sip of the coffee, but every fibre of his being protested against it. “You are not particularly companionable people though.”

Cecelia raised an eyebrow. “Would you describe Cloudiaas a ‘particularly companionable person’?”

“No, but she’s not as openly hostile towards people as you and Miss Greene are. Or, well, in your case your hostility is packed up twenty times and wrapped to seem to be a gift.”

She smiled. “How nicely put, Not-Kristopher. Maybe your true calling is to be a writer of fiction. I believe Cloudia would very much welcome the career change.”

Cedric scowled at her, and Cecelia continued, “Maybe what draws others to him also keeps others away. However, I don’t think this characteristic of his is the one we are looking for. After all, this particular adverse effect does not seem to occur very frequently and, if it does, is more ‘severe’ if I can put it this way. Whatever drives others away from him must be something else. It may be more like a ‘feeling’ someone has in regards to Lord Milton rather than anything he does and says considering his personality.”

“Like some kind of ‘sinister gut feeling’ whenever he is around?” suggested Cedric.

Cecelia smiled. “Exactly. Have you felt something like that, Not-Kristopher?”

“I cannot say I have.”

She shrugged. “Very well.” Cecelia stood up, and relief made his heart jump.

I could sleep. I could have my peace. I could rest before Cloudia returned. I could rest to have the energy to talk to her for hours and hours, maybe even through the entire night. I-

“I will leave you now,” said Cecelia and those five words were an even more beautiful sound than the birdcage clock’s song to Cedric. She walked to the door, and he was ready to let himself drop onto his bed and promptly fall asleep as soon as the door fell into its lock behind her when she turned to him once more, a sly smile on her lips.

“This question has left me wondering for quite some time now, and I want to give it to you to ponder over as well,” Cecelia said.

“Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

***

~Cloudia~

Hector hurried towards Cloudia, Yvette, and Vivienne as soon as he spotted them. “M Gauthier, Mlles Guilloux and Gaumont!” he greeted them with a wide smile. He was so happy and enthusiastic; one could almost forget that corpses were stored in the next room. Vivienne had told Cloudia that they did not have a separate deadhouse; they only refurbished a basement room to function as one some years back. They still called it a “deadhouse” though.

“I am glad you’ve finally arrived,” continued Hector.

“I am sorry to have left you and the others waiting for so long, Officier Monteil,” Cloudia returned. “Our conversation with M and Mme Guilbert took quite some time, and the way from there to here is long – and even longer in this horrible weather.”

Hector nodded a little excessively. “Indeed, indeed.”

A moment passed in which nobody said anything, though Hector kept smiling.

“Officier Monteil,” Cloudia asked slowly, “won’t you lead us into the deadhouse?”

“The deadhouse?” He looked to the door. “Oh. Oh, no. I cannot. I am prohibited from entering. I am standing here so that I am not a hindrance while they are working inside. M Fouille and Mlle Ledoux even told M Michaux to leave. However, he waits outside with me for a while, goes into the deadhouse to speak to your colleagues, M Gauthier, then comes back out, goes back in... I am not quite sure why. Every time, I try to stop him from entering, but he ignores me and goes inside anyway. M Michaux just entered the deadhouse again, so I would say that they will send him out any moment now. Mlle Ledoux in particular does not seem to enjoy being watched while she works.”

“That’s how she is,” Cloudia replied. “However, she does not mind when I see her work, so I would say that I can enter safely. If there is nothing else, I would like to go into the deadhouse to talk to my colleagues.” She stepped past Hector and barely touched the doorknob when he said, “The door is fairly heavy and a bit tricky to open. Not that I doubt that you can open it; it is just difficult and I want to warn you before you start to wonder. Perhaps, it would be better to wait until M Michaux is sent outside again…”

“Thank you, Officier Monteil, but I think I will be able to handle opening a door – no matter how heavy it is,” Cloudia said. She turned the knob and before she could push or pull the door – she assumed it was a “pull,” though could not be sure – the door opened and a man with greying hair came out… and flinched back when he noticed Cloudia.

“Not much was needed and then Mlle Ledoux could not oppose my presence in the deadhouse anymore,” Laurent Michaux said, glaring over his shoulder and into the room. Then, he cleared his throat and turned back to Cloudia and the others. “Vivienne, you are dismissed,” he said. “Please go and help out Corinne.”

Vivienne bowed her head and left without a word. Laurent cleared his throat again and held out his hand to Cloudia. “Laurent Michaux, pleased to meet you.”

Cloudia took his hand and shook it. “Jean Gauthier, likewise.” They let go of each other, and she proceeded to say, “I apologise if my colleagues have been troubling you too much.”

Laurent’s expression soured. “Not too much.” He narrowed his eyes and looked sideways to the deadhouse and closed the door to it.

Oh dear.

“M Michaux, may I briefly ask you a few questions?” Cloudia said.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she said and then proceeded to ask him about his relationship to the victims, to Nadia, Dominique, Gustave, and Marius. Laurent told her that he knew Nadia better than the others, but still barely knew her at all. He spent most of his time in the hospital or at home, wanting to spend the time he was not working away from people. As Laurent was one of the three physicians in the village, he was always pestered by everyone and, over the years, he had developed quite a distaste towards people. It did not affect his work; it only made him not spend any time with his fellow Nanteuillats. His house was even a bit farther away from the rest of the buildings to guarantee that he saw as few people as possible when he was home. Thus, Laurent had not been anywhere close to the crime scenes when the murders happened, though this circumstance did not provide him with an alibi that could protect him.

“I have one more question,” Cloudia said. “M Michaux, have you examined the corpses yourself? I know Grégoire and Maryse are currently examining them, but I want to know what you’ve learned before I talk to them about their findings.”

“I don’t have anything to say to that,” Laurent replied, and Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment. “I am not being uncooperative, M Gauthier. I did not examine the corpses myself at all.”

“Pardon?”

“Ever since I started working here as a doctor, I was never confronted with a murder case,” he explained. “Neither were the other two doctors. I asked them both, and both told me ‘Laurent, I am sorry, but I have no idea how to handle this.’ I stored the corpses and made sure they stayed in good condition which is not easy. Now, I am telling you what I have been told: M Gauthier, I have no idea how to handle this. Preserving the bodies was all I could do – Mlle Guilloux said I should keep them safe; it may be important for the investigation, she said. So I did. I cannot do anything else. Therefore, I cannot tell you about anything concerning the bodies, M Gauthier. I swear I did not tamper with the corpses in any way though.”

Cloudia nodded. “I see. Thank you for your efforts, M Michaux. They are much appreciated. Now, pardon me as I have just remembered that I wanted to ask you yet another question: I can see that the door is rather thick. Are the walls of the entire deadhouse built as thickly?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, they are. To contain any putrid smells. People also wanted to keep as much distance from the dead as possible. No one lying in a hospital wants to be constantly reminded that they may potentially die and end up in the deadhouse.”

“I see. I assume this also means that nobody can hear you gag or something like that?”

“Indeed. Nothing can penetrate these walls: no smells, no sound. That’s why always at least two people have to be here in case of an emergency. One has to remain close to the exit to get out quickly and call for help. It is quite tedious, and we are working to install some sort of bell system.”

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know. I know that you dislike it when you are told to leave your own workplace but may you please leave me and my colleagues alone? We have to discuss some matters of utmost importance and confidentiality,” said Cloudia.

“Of course,” Laurent begrudgingly replied. “I will wait for you upstairs if you need me.”

“Thanks. We will not take long.”

The doctor bowed his head to her. As soon as he was walking upstairs, Cloudia turned to Yvette and Hector. “This, of course, also applies to you. I am sorry, but you cannot go inside with me.”

They nodded, and Cloudia gave them an appreciative smile before she entered the deadhouse – a cold, grey, windowless room which was well-lit by multiple lamps – and closed the door behind her. Hector had not exaggerated: The door wasextraordinarily heavy.

“We can talk,” Cloudia said in English. “The walls are thick enough that nobody will hear us.”

“Oh, finally,” Lisa exclaimed. “I was going mad being moved around like a brainless game piece, not knowing what anyone is talking about, and not being able to say a single word. And then we were always with this girl – Yvette.” She grimaced. “I have no idea what she said all day, but she sounds insufferable.”

“Maybe when we are back in England or have some time left here after everything is wrapped up, you should learn French,” suggested Cloudia.

Lisa huffed. “Of what use is it to me then? The mission will be over; it’s unlikely that we’ll return to France. And it’s not like I am one of those fine ladies who may need to know French to find a husband, accumulating and listing ‘good traits and skills’ as if they are applying to a job, or to be able to continue gossiping even in the presence of lowly maids.”

“Oh, dear,” said Cloudia. “Kam, would you agree with me that Lisa’s grouchier than usual today?”

“I am not grouchier than usual.” Lisa turned to Kamden. “Mr Kamden, if you take her side, I’ll shave your head and make a broom out of your hair.”

Kamden looked between them. “I… I will not comment on the level of Miss Lisa’s grouchiness. However… learning French may be useful for you, Miss Lisa. You can never know enough. Mr Newman could help you practice.”

“You could listen in on the secret gossip of the young ladies you think are irritating,” Cloudia pointed out. “Imagine their faces if you reveal that you actually understood everything they said.”

Lisa crossed her arms in front of her. “Hm. This does sound intriguing. Let’s see.”

Cloudia clapped her hands together. “That’s good. Now, what did you find out?”

“Some things,” Lisa said. “Yvette is not the only nuisance. That man Lawrence…”

“Laurent.”

“…whatever his name is, is also tremendously annoying. Mr Kamden tells him to please go and wait outside, we want to do the examinations in private, and he keeps coming in! You have barely touched a corpse, he comes in, starts to chatter – don’t ask me what could be so urgent and important – and I stand here,” Lisa pointed next to a table with a body laid out on it, “or there,” she pointed to another table, “and can only think ‘If I could talk to him, I would cuss him straight to his own grave.’ Another reason why I should perhaps learn French. Mr Kamden has the most difficulty to get him out again – you know how soft he is – and I can only seethe and glare in silence. A pain. I don’t care what that doctor’s name is. He’s a pain. I’m calling him that – Pain.”

“‘Pain’ is bread in French,” Cloudia told her.

“That fits too. If we chop him up, we’ll likely find pieces of bread wedged between his cerebral lobes. Assembling the pieces might even give us a whole loaf.”

“A whole loaf?”

“A whole loaf! This village is infested with the most idiotic people.” Lisa gritted her teeth. “And then there’s this moronic police officer or whatever he is.”

“Hector Monteil.”

“He is so stupid, he’s wholly undeserving of any name. He got lost multiple times from the church to the hospital. We lost so much time because he has a worse sense of orientation than a headless chicken! And then when we finally arrived, he let Pain enter the deadhouse every two minutes! How can you be so spineless as a police officer? If someone says to maybe take care that someone does not enter a room – and Mr Kamden politely told him that after I could urge him to do so in the short window between us being all alone and Pain barging in again – you make sure that person does not enter the room!” Lisa pinched her nose. “If he was in charge of protecting someone, his protégé would die within minutes because he would let the killer into the room – maybe give them a little gift basket too.”

“Miss… Miss Liiisa,” Kamden said. “Do you want to sit down…?”

“Nice of you to ask, Mr Kamden, but I cannot simply sit down in Lady Cloudia’s presence.”

“You have my permission to sit,” Cloudia said.

“Well then,” Lisa replied and threw herself on the deadhouse’s singular chair.

Kamden took a deep breath. “Cloudie, what Miss Lisa was trying to say was that we did our best but were unable to do much due to outside factors.”

Lisa huffed and crossed her arms in front of her. “Don’t be so kind to those idiots, Mr Kamden. They hindered us at our work. It is a miracle that we managed to do a full external examination for all four bodies.”

Cloudia pressed her lips together. “That’s definitely not ideal.” She glanced at a clock and sighed. “And it’s too late to continue now.”

“It is not that late, Cloudie,” Kamden meant, but she shook her head. “No. Today is an awful day. You must be tired. I do not want to force you to do the internal examination now too. Also, if you do it while you are exhausted, you are more likely to make any mistakes which I’m sure you don’t want. This is not ideal at all and things can change overnight, but whether we like it or not you will have to continue tomorrow. The results of the external examination are better than nothing.” Cloudia leaned against the door. “Now, Kam, tell me, what did you find out? Then, we can finally head back and have dinner.”

Kamden grabbed his notes and walked to the table with Nadia’s body on it. “Nadia Allemand. 61 years old. Killed in the night from the 16th to the 17th of June. She was found by Mme Armelle Peletier in her tailor’s shop. As you can see, Cloudie, Mme Allemand wore only her nightgown when she was killed. Her bed was untouched, so it can be assumed that she was killed shortly after she changed clothes. Mme Allemand possibly heard noises downstairs and went to look for their source. I doubt the culprit changed her clothes; neither her wardrobe was in disarray nor could we find any marks that indicate this happened.” With his pencil, he pointed to the numerous pins that still protruded from Nadia’s corpse, though many had already been carefully removed and placed in bags. “Her nightgown exposes large parts of skin. Every exposed part has been meticulously punctured with pins. Miss Lisa found the same pins in a tea box at the tailor’s shop, meaning that the culprit knew Mme Allemand and used her own property against her. However, the pins were not the cause of her death.”

“It would be odd if they were,” Lisa continued. “They are quite thin and have not been stabbed very deeply into Mme Allemand’s skin. It’s a bit like acupuncture: There are so many pins in her skin and it makes for a horrifying image, but she did not die of that. I checked the needles and can say that they aren’t laced with poison.

“There’s nothing special about her nightgown; it’s some old rag-type thing, too often washed, too long in use. This is surprising considering that Mme Allemand used to be a seamstress. I guess, she was simply fond of it. Thomas is also weirdly attached to his especially stinky pieces of clothing that won’t ever lose their horse stench no matter how often I wash them.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, apart from the hundreds of little puncture holes, Mr Kamden and I found only one more outward blemish on her body.” Lisa touched the back of her head. “The backside of her head shows clear signs of blunt force trauma. Fractures in skulls aren’t as ‘flashy’ as hundreds of needles, I suppose, so it was overlooked. Mme Allemand was likely hit in the back with something and died. Then, the killer spent an ungodly amount of time putting metal-toothpicks into her skin for whatever reason. Maybe they wanted to distract from the head injury, no idea.”

Kamden moved to the next body and pointed with the pencil at it. “Dominique Duhamel. 19 years old. Killed in the night from the 17thto the 18th. He was found by the clergy when they went to the church to prepare for Sunday Mass. He was hanging from the church’s roof and a knife pierced his heart.” He pointed to the “empty” wound. “We removed and bagged the knife. The knife seems to be perfectly ordinary.”

“Imagine if the culprit had used a knife with their initials on it. We would only need everyone’s name and the case would be wrapped up in no time,” Lisa said. “We might have caught Townsend by now and be on our way home. Who knows?”

Cloudia sighed. “If only things were that easy,” she said and immediately remembered Cedric’s frequent suggestions to use “his method:” “Don’t be like that, Countess. You know that my method is much easier and faster. We can spend the time we save getting something to eat.” She knew that “his way” was indeed easier and faster; only, she did not want to become too reliant on such methods and use Cedric’s “short-cut.” As long as a case was not virtually unsolvable through regular means or she had not completely lost patience with an investigation, Cloudia had no desire to use it. While this investigation was wearing her nerves thin, it had not snapped them yet.

Maybe that would happen one day; maybe it would not. I hoped it would not. I very much wanted to avoid seeing Cedric’s triumphant face and hearing his snappish remark.

“Kam, please continue,” Cloudia said.

“Of course.” Kamden looked at Dominique’s body. “He was hanged on his neck, though he was not strangled to death. He was already dead by the time he was hanged. His neck didn’t break and uhm…” He looked at his notes. “M Duhamel was stabbed in his heart twice. The first stab killed him. Miss Lisa guesses that the murderer removed the knife when carrying his body to the roof as it may have been inconvenient to carry it with a knife protruding from it.”

“‘May’? Mr Kamden, I want to see you carrying a corpse with a knife lodged in its chest without any problems,” Lisa interjected.

“I wouldn’t be able to carry M Duhamel’s body though,” Kamden said. “Obviously, the culprit has to be strong as he was able to hang M Duhamel from the church’s roof. According to M l’Abbé, no contraption to get the body to the roof has been used after all. Also, Dominique Duhamel is quite muscular; it would not have been easy to carry him at all. We have no idea where he was actually killed before he was brought to the church.”

“Someone stabbed M Duhamel in the heart,” said Lisa. “Then, that someone brought him to the church, hanged him and stabbed him anew. It is curious that the culprit stabbed him again.”

“Indeed,” Cloudia replied. “I would say that it has some significance; maybe not the fact that he was stabbed twice, but that he was stabbed in the heart. It’s interesting that he was stabbed cleanly through the heart – and that the murderer made the effort to bring him to the church. Are there any other injuries? Any signs of a struggle?”

Kamden shook his head. “Nothing. I can’t say yet if he was drugged or not, but I would assume he was. It would be strange if he had stood still while someone stabbed him in the heart.” He moved to the next table. “Let’s continue with Gustave Beaubois. 18 years old. Killed in the night from the 18th to the 19th. He was found by Marc Cazal in the woods. He was lying on the ground, and, unlike M Duhamel, he was stabbed in the back. The kitchen knife that was used to kill him still protruded from his back. We bagged the knife too, and it is, again, a regular knife. M Gustave was lying on his stomach, but his head was turned to look up. His eyes were still open when he was found. Again, there were no signs of a fight. It is likely that he was also drugged before he was stabbed. His pockets have been emptied. Because he is the woodcutter’s son and helps his father a lot, I think, M Gustave is very fit and muscular.”

“If there had been a fight,” Lisa added, “he could have easily subdued his attacker. So, he musthave been drugged. However, there are no signs that Gustave Beaubois was carried to the woods. The culprit must have given him the drugs then and there, though why would he have taken something from someone he potentially did not know at all? It’s weird, but then the living residents of this place are all horribly dumb. I guess, he was as much of an idiot and took something a stranger gave him. In the forest, no less.”

“Or it was not a stranger,” suggested Cloudia. “The killer knew where Mme Allemand stored her pins. The killer could easily give Gustave something to drug him. If the stab to the heart and the church have some deeper personal significance, the killer may have known Dominique too. I do not want to completely disregard the ‘the murderer is the stranger’-hypothesis just now, but it seems more probable that the culprit is one of the villagers. Furthermore, the stranger was seen by multiple people – he does seem to exist. The question is: Where is he?”

Kamden nodded. “I would also say that one of the villagers is the true culprit.”

“And everyone is blaming the stranger because it’s always easier to blame the stranger,” said Lisa.

“Exactly.” Kamden walked to the fourth and final table. “Marius Beaubois. 17 years old. Killed in the night from the 19thto the 20th. He was found in the fountain on the village square by someone on their way to work. His entire body was submerged in the water. His skin is shrivelled because of this and his clothes are completely wet. It rained heavily that whole night, but he is not wearing a jacket or a cloak. There was also not an umbrella found at the crime scene. The rain made it impossible to check for any marks that indicate that he was carried to the fountain or that he fought against his assailant. Thus, unlike with the others, it is harder to discern whether M Marius knew his killer or not.

“M Marius did not drown. His head was smashed.” Kamden nonchalantly circled with his pencil over the damaged head. “He was both hit in the back and the front with possibly a hammer or something similar.”

“It looks like someone tried to pry open his scalp with a hammer and brute force,” commented Lisa. “As if the murderer saw Marius Beaubois and thought ‘oh, canned food.’ Only the culprit did not manage to open him up properly and then threw him in the fountain out of frustration.”

Kamden looked at her, horrified, and she shrugged. He blinked at her and then cleared his throat and looked through his notes. “I think that is all for now. We’ll have to look further into everything tomorrow.”

***

~Cedric~

“Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

If I had not seen her eyes and knew better, I could make an excellent case detailing why Cecelia Williams was a demon – maybe even the devil. It would be a case so convincing that everyone would hunt her down, and I would finally be at peace.

Cedric rolled around on his bed, trying to shake away the question and rattle his restless mind into silence.

What had I even done to her? Nothing. Nothing at all. I was her “ally,” and she still did this to me. Heavens, how would Cecelia behave if I had done something to her? If I were her enemy?

If she ever found whoever killed her husband Michael, I would not want to know what she would do to that person.

Cedric turned and turned around. He rolled over his bed countless times, even changed his position from correctly to sideways to upside-down and all the way back. The bed must look like a warzone.

He kept his eyes firmly closed while he tried to find a comfortable sleeping position and shut out his thoughts. Unfortunately, Cedric was quite unsuccessful in either as Cecelia’s damn question had taken root in his mind: “Have you never wondered why Lord Milton’s in love with our Cloudia?”

He turned on his back and sighed. The question was haunting him, but he had refused to give it an answer.

Until now.

Lying in his bed for what must have been hours and being unable to find any sleep while a very persistent question asked by a demon lady knocked against the walls of his mind had drained the last bit of energy and strength Cedric had. His willpower had been filed off, and when the question knocked again, he answered in his mind: “How could he not.”

My sleepless, restless, haunted mind kept threading this string of thoughts into a cursed blanket that laid heavily over me.

I had no idea how they had met, how they had interacted and been at each other’s side, but if Milton had spent such a long time with Cloudia, he should have collected plenty of reasons to fall in love with her. How could he not have fallen in love with every bit of her being then?

The light in her eyes when she rambled about anything she was passionate about. The mischievous shine in her eyes when she had a witty remark on the top of her tongue. The triumphant smile whenever she solved a case. Her smiling face, her thinking face, her annoyed face when I teased and teased her…

Her sternness, her stubbornness, her eagerness to succeed and win. Her determination to take on all challenges. The calmness that appeared on her face whenever she was reading and which made her look so youthful – made her look as young as she actually was. Her softened expressions when she read a sad part, a lovely part, a funny part.

Her glares and scowls and strained patience… The brief moment of disdain that laid itself over her face whenever she had to eat olives – or any other bitter or overly salty food.

Her hand in mine. Her warmth against me.

The warmth that filled my body whenever she laughed at a silly joke or made one herself.

And her laugh. Her laugh, her laugh… Carved in my memory was the meadow in Wales, the sunshine, the bright blue sky… and her laugh that filled the air, rang in my ears and heart and which had been more beautiful than any song I had ever heard.

It was one of those memories I liked to dust off and replay on bleak, grey days when I had worked long, tiring hours, and her and my work had kept us apart and busy for too long.

If he had heard this laugh once too, what other reason could he even need to be in love with her?

“God, what am I thinking?” Cedric mumbled into his pillow. “What’s the matter with me,” he said and rolled around again, trying to shake off these thoughts, shake off these thoughts which had not arrived with Cecelia’s words. They had been infesting his mind for weeks and weeks and months and months. They had come one day in silence and never left again, no matter what Cedric did.

These thoughts had been there all this time, but he had managed to hide them away temporarily –only for Cecelia to drag them out again with her damn, damn question.

Cedric rolled around again, though his movement was a little too wild this time and he fell with a shriek. He opened his eyes, saw himself tangled in blankets and stared up at the ceiling.

If I did not know better, I would be certain that Cecelia was a demon.

“I am not,” said Cedric to himself as he struggled to sit up in this tangled mess he had made, “in love with the Countess.”

“I am not,” said Cedric as he pulled himself up and sat down on his bed, “in love with the Countess.”

He let himself fall back. “I am not in love with the Countess,” he said a moment before he sat up quickly, his heart pounding vehemently in his chest, because Newman came to his room to tell him that Cloudia and the others had returned and were currently taking baths.

***

~Cloudia~

Relief overcame Cloudia as soon as she walked over the threshold and into the château. It felt as if she had been away for a year or more, as if she had travelled far and long and finally returned home after spending a long time on the road and living through countless adventures. Only, she had been in the village down the road for less than a day. Cloudia wondered how intense the feeling of return would be when she came back to Phantomhive Manor after actually having travelled far and long with many hours on the road and adventures on the way.

One step after another.

First a bath. Then Cedric. Then catch the murderer. Then Townsend.

Then return home.

But, first, it was time for my bath…

“What is this mess?” Lisa asked. She pulled down her hood and stared at the weird “apparatus” that took up most of the entrance hall and even went up to the main staircase’s first landing. It was made out of all sorts of things, and Cloudia had no idea where to look as there was so much to see. So many unrelated objects – cutlery, books, wheels, toys, a service wagon, etc. – had come together to create this Frankenstein-construct, but for what purpose?

“That’s not a mess!” said a very upset voice. A second later, Anaïs walked into the entrance hall, carrying a few boxes of playing cards. Gérard followed her like a duckling.

“Miss Lisa,” Anaïs continued when she stood in front of them. “This is a chain-reaction machine Arnaud, Gérard, and I have been creating with Milton’s help.” With a bright smile on her face, she gestured to the machine. “Oh! And welcome back, of course,” Anaïs quickly added and curtsied to them.

“Thank you, Anaïs,” said Cloudia as servants came to help her, Kamden, and Lisa out of their wet cloaks and wrapped them in dry blankets. They wanted to usher them to their respective rooms to take a hot bath and change clothes, but Cloudia told the servants to prepare the baths and that they would go to their rooms in a little while on their own. With nods, they left, and Cloudia, Lisa, Kamden, Anaïs, and Gérard were alone in the entrance hall.

“With this now over…” Cloudia said and wrapped the blanket tighter around her. She yearned for this bath, but her curiosity prevented her from rushing to her room just now. “…could you tell me more about this chain-reaction machine as you have called it, Anaïs?”

Anaïs nodded enthusiastically. “After lunch, Arnaud, Gérard, and I explored the château. We have been here so often, but its unique shape allows you to discover new things, no matter how well you think you may know the place. So, we found this one room and a beautiful clock was in it. All gold, shaped like a cage – it even had a bird inside! And the bird sings!” She sighed. “It’s sopretty, Claudette! But then we made a mistake and the clock was damaged. The bird fell off and the clock stopped working… We panicked and walked around in the château and eventually met Duke Kristopher and Milton. Milton recognised the clock and said it is a Jaquet-Droz and very expensive and important. We panicked even more and then he said he could perhaps repair the clock! We went to his room, and it was like magic, actual magichow he fixed the clock, Claudette! I shudder only thinking about it. Afterwards, Duke Kristopher went back to his room because he was sleepy. We returned the clock to its original place and then gathered all kinds of objects to build a chain-reaction machine. As you know, Milton can’t be left alone now, so I suggested that we could build something together if he can do such things, and he said we could make a chain-reaction machine. And it’s been so fun to put everything together! Milton is amazing. He thought of most, but we helped too, of course. We are almost done! He and Arnaud should return soon with the last few bits and then we can see if the machine works. I know you are wet and tired, but it will not take long, I suppose, until they come back.” Anaïs looked at Cloudia with big eyes.

Cloudia blinked at her cousin, trying to make sense of her words. Milton had fixed a broken birdcage clock that could sing? A Jaquet-Droz even? She had heard of the Jaquet-Droz and Leschot clocks and while she did not know much about them, she knew that they were definitely not simple to build or repair. And then, Milton had also planned out this convoluted monster-machine that had taken over the entrance hall and wound up the stairs?

“Yes, I will wait a while to see the machine in motion,” Cloudia eventually said. “But Milton and Arnaud better be quick.”

Anaïs smiled at her and then turned to Kamden and Lisa. “And what about you two?”

Kamden glanced at the machine. “I think… I think I’ll wait and see the demonstration.”

“Lady Anaïs,” said Lisa, “excuse me, but I will not stay. I am wet and cold to my bones, so I must decline.”

“I understand. Warm yourself up well, Miss Lisa,” Anaïs replied, and Lisa bowed her head at her words. She was about to leave when Newman and Wentworth entered the entrance hall.

Immediately, Lisa stopped in her tracks and huffed at Newman’s sight. “There you are,” she said. “I have started to wonder whether you were eaten by this unnecessarily confusing building.”

A soft blush crept into Newman’s cheeks. “I profusely apologise, Lisa. I have been busy all day. Still, I should have worked harder to wish you a good morning earlier at least.”

“How dramatic you are being, Al,” said Lisa as if she had not complained about his busyness and absence this very morning and said that she had begun to believe that he was eaten by the château a moment ago. “It’s fine.”

“Let me make it up for you later,” Newman replied with a smile and then turned to look at Cloudia and Kamden as well. “Welcome back, Lady Cloudia, Mr Emyr,” he said with a bow. “I suppose preparations for your baths are being undertaken at this moment?”

Cloudia nodded. “Indeed, though Emyr and I are waiting until Milton and Arnaud arrive so that we can watch the chain-reaction machine’s demonstration.”

“I see,” Newman replied, and right on cue, Milton and Arnaud entered the entrance hall. They halted at everyone’s sight.

“Lady Cloudia, Emyr, Miss Greene,” said Milton, looking rather surprised to see them. “Welcome back. I did not expect to see you here. Or you, Mr Newman and Bram.”

“Everyone has been waiting for you, Milton,” Cloudia told him. “We are very much looking forward to seeing you demonstrate the machine you put together with Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard.”

Milton’s eyes widened. “You have been waiting to see this machine work although you are wet and cold?”

Kamden nodded. “Yes.”

Milton blushed and looked down at the final piece in his hands, a small toy wagon. “Then, we should not leave you waiting any longer.” He was about to set out to make his finishing touches on the machine when Wentworth said, “A moment, please, Master Milton.”

Milton turned to his butler who walked to him, held his arm, and put a hand on his cheek to crane his head to inspect him. “Mor,” Wentworth said softly. Cloudia had heard this voice of his many times before; still, it always surprised her anew. “We have been separated all day – how have you been?” the old butler continued. “Did you get lost?”

Milton leaned a bit into his touch. “Almost,” he answered faintly. Their conversation, despite being held in the presence of others, felt so private, Cloudia was nearly embarrassed for listening to it. “But Kristopher was there for me, and then Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard. It was all right. I am all right – I am as well as the circumstances allow me to be, Bram.”

Wentworth let go of Milton’s arm and cheek, and Cloudia could have sworn to have seen a smile on the butler’s face for a split second. “That is good to hear, Master Milton.”

Cloudia tore her eyes from the scene – and noticed Lisa next to her grimacing at them which made her chuckle. Lisa had always disliked seeing Milton and Wentworth displaying their closeness.

Some things never changed.

“Ah, the chain-reaction machine,” Milton exclaimed, “but first before I forget it.”

He swiftly took hold of Kamden’s hand, and Kamden blinked at him, clearly taken aback by the sudden touch. “I know this is several hours late,” said Milton with a smile on his face. “Still, I wanted to thank you for helping me during breakfast.”

Kamden blushed and promptly looked away. “Youu… Yooou’re we-welcome, Milton.”

Milton’s smile brightened a little and then an embarrassed blush crept into his cheeks and he let go of Kamden’s hand. “I am so sorry, Emyr. I got carried away. I didn’t mean to take your hand like that.”

“No-no, it… it is aaall right,” Kamden replied, still keeping his gaze diverted from Milton.

Milton smiled awkwardly at him and then looked at Anaïs. “Anaïs, do you have the card games?”

“Yes, I do!” Happily, she handed them to Milton. “Thanks,” he said and then hurried upstairs to do… something. Cloudia could not tell what he was doing from where she was standing, though he seemed deep in concentration as he set the pieces in place.

“Anaïs, Arnaud, Gérard,” Milton said after a little while. “May you come up here please to set the machine in motion?”

The children looked at one another for a moment before they bolted upstairs with surprising care not to destroy the precarious apparatus. When they arrived by Milton’s side, he turned to speak to those downstairs, a shy smile on his lips, “It has been a while since I last created a chain-reaction machine, but as this one has been a group effort – and Anaïs, Arnaud, and Gérard did so well for this being their first one – I would say that it will be a success. I hope you will enjoy the demonstration.” He nodded to the children who together pushed the wagon forward to set the machine in motion.

The wagon collided with a row of playing stones that fell down one by one. Like dominos, they fell – and so did the rest of the machine. One part fell into the other, drove into the other, circled and catapulted and pirouetted and rolled into the next. One by one, the separate parts and objects handed the energy the children had put into the machine with their push to the next in line. This inanimate relay race continued down the stairs, circled and zig-zagged over the entrance hall’s floor. It was fascinating to watch the objects interact, and all their interactions cumulated into a set of domino stones falling against a doll that had held down a wound-up music box. The doll tumbled down, the pressure was taken from the music box – and its song echoed through the hall.

Excitedly, Anaïs and Gérard and even calm Arnaud jumped up and down when the music box’s melody rang out. “It worked! It worked!” they chanted and hugged one another.

Cloudia started to clap and the others joined her, even Lisa who had said that she would leave but who had been intently watching the machine in action. The children hugged a taken-aback Milton. He turned red in all this joy and the praise he and the children received from those downstairs. It was a lovely sight, and it had been a triumphant, satisfying moment when the box had begun to sing. Still, a bad feeling had overcome Cloudia when the machine had reached its end. She was glad no one noticed how stiff her clapping was.

***

~Cedric~

Cedric thanked Newman for the information, and when Newman asked him what had happened to his bed and offered to tidy up everything, he declined the offer and said he would fix it himself. He forced himself to smile to seem normal and not distressed from his mind infestation and sleep deprivation. Then, Newman left, and the first thing Cedric did afterwards was to rub his eyes and stand up. He swayed a little, but quickly recovered and went to the little desk where Cecelia’s evil coffee still was.

Cedric had planned to sleep a bit before Cloudia’s return so that he would be energised enough again to be able to talk to her at length. Only he had been unable to catch any sleep, and the coffee had helped him earlier. It would have to help him now too. Cedric braced himself before he poured himself another cup and drank it like it was bitter medicine.

It was worse than before. Earlier, it had at least been hot and fresh, now it was cold, and every fibre of his being protested as Cedric forced the cup down.

If this didn’t work now…

Grimacing, Cedric put the cup down. It was as vile as before, and the coffee’s bitter taste stuck to his mouth and throat in the worst way possible. He then walked to his bathroom and splashed cold water into his face – however, he had forgotten to remove his glasses first. Cedric cursed and took them off. His vision blurred, and he kept his face close to the furniture to see anything at all. It must have looked comical how he was hunched over, dripping to the ground and onto objects, carefully moving from the sink to the shelves to find tissues. Normally, Cedric would have wiped his glasses on his clothes, but that would wet them, and he neither wanted to look even more dishevelled than he already did when he met Cloudia nor was he pretending that he would have enough energy to change.

If someone entered my room now…

After an agonising while, Cedric finally found some tissues and dried his glasses. He put them back on, walked back to the sink, took them off to wash his face again and dry himself off, and then put his glasses back on. He felt like a fool with every action he took, but it couldn’t be helped. Cedric rubbed his eyes and squinted at his reflection.

He looked awful. Maybe, before he had washed his face, he had looked worse, but he had forgotten to look into the mirror beforehand. At any rate, he looked pale and exhausted and had dark rings under his eyes. Cedric knocked against his head to set his tired brain in motion to think of good excuses and come-backs for later when Cloudia would remark on his appearance. At least, while he could not fix his face, he could fix his hair which had turned into a bird’s nest.

Cedric leaned against the sink – he wanted to sit down but knew very well that he would be unable to stand up again if he did – and stared at his reflection while he brushed and brushed his hair. The length was a hassle. Hard to wash, hard to brush, hard to maintain. Still, Cedric could not imagine ever cutting off more than just the tips again.

When he had brushed out all knots, Cedric bound his hair to a ponytail and then stood for a moment in his bathroom. The coffee’s bitter taste still clung to him, and the cold water had minimally helped to wake him up.

Maybe I should move around a bit. Wake up my body, get my blood pumping. I had no idea how many minutes ago Newman had come to tell me that Cloudia, Kamden, and Lisa had returned from Nanteuil-la-Forêt, though I discerned that enough time must have passed that Cloudia would now be in her room.

I guessed she would want to talk. She always did even if I were to say nothing at all, not that I had ever sat quietly and listened; she liked to have someone to whom she could talk about her cases. Talking to yourself too often was, after all, maybe not the healthiest in the long run.

Still, I didn’t think that Cloudia would come to seek me out. She would want me to come to her. After all, I had, theoretically, the opportunity to rest and catch up on some sleep, and she had been wandering around Nanteuil-la-Forêt all day in terrible weather and must now be awfully exhausted. Cloudia couldn’t know that I had delayed my rest and that Cecelia had come to ruin my day and sleep.

Of course, I could tell her that “yes, I know that you are expecting me to come to you, but Cecelia was being a nuisance and did not let me sleep, so could you come to me instead?” But I didn’t want to sound whiny, and moving would likely help me to shake away some of my sleepiness. And I needed to be, I wanted to be awake when I talked to Cloudia. I had, after all, much to say to her too.

Cedric clapped his cheeks a bit and then coerced his protesting body to leave the room and get to Cloudia’s. At least, it was not far.

***

~Cloudia~

Cloudia sighed in relief when she slipped into the warm bath. She had known that she needed this for hours, but she had not known how much she needed this until she was doused in water.

My body warmed up and relaxed, soaked in bubbly, scented water. The water soothed my muscles, untangled my thoughts that laid in my mind as a ball of string. The strings came loose, snippets of today rattled my mind: the carriage ride, the rain, Yvette, Antoine, the tailor’s shop, the bakery, the church, Nicolette and Marcel, Hector, Armelle, the rain, the rain…

I could stay in the bath forever. Let my skin shrivel for warmth and relaxation, for comfort and peace.

At least, I wanted to stay until I could sort all I learned today and the days before. Bring the pieces together bit by bit like the chain-reaction machine, laying the pieces out one by one in my head before I wrote them down. Laying them out until they clicked into place and I reached a conclusion.

But it was only a small part of me that wanted to remain here. To think this through all by myself. A small piece that was still the lonely girl of the past that had no one to talk to, no one to listen to her words.

I had one now.

With yet another sigh, Cloudia emerged from the water. Her body was refilled with energy. She could do anything – sprint over fields, climb mountains, swim across seas – but for now, it was enough to get dressed and cross a few corridors.

And the thought excited her more than anything else she could do now.

***

~Cedric~

It was such a short way to Cloudia’s room, but Cedric’s tired bones made him feel every step, every movement, every minute and second. It was not a long way; still, he felt like he had been wandering for hours like an adventurer crossing forests, deserts, glaciers in the hope to find anything at all that was not a tree, a dune, a sheet of ice.

Cedric had seen enough carpets, enough lamps and portraits and vases of flowers, had wandered enough corridors that looked the same.

His destination was so close, yet so far. And so he trudged through monotony until finally, finally he arrived.

***

~Cloudia~

Quickly, Cloudia put on layer after layer of undergarments before she stepped into a yellow dress. It was not a colour she usually wore and would pick herself. Cecelia had chosen the dress, telling her that yellow complemented blue and that she was young and should bring more colour and change to her wardrobe. Cloudia had accepted the gift with a raised eyebrow. After all, she very much doubted that even though blue and yellow were complements, the dress would look flattering on her – and Cecelia who had not worn anything but black for nearly seven years had made this remark. On a whim, Cloudia had agreed to pack the dress when Lisa and she had been laughing over it during travel preparations. And she had only chosen to wear it now because, after all that rain, she could not bear to wear anything blue or dark.

Now, wearing it for the first time and looking at herself in a full-length mirror, Cloudia had to admit that Cecelia had chosen well: She looked brighter, looked like she was glowing, and the yellow of the dress went exceptionally well with the blue of her eyes and hair. Baffled, Cloudia gazed at herself from all sides. If Cecelia saw her in this dress, she would never talk about anything else again.

Let her talk. I did not care. At least not now.

Cloudia tore her gaze from her reflection and then went to leave her room. Talking to Cedric about cases had become a normalcy in the past months; he would expect that she wanted to talk about the Nanteuil-la-Forêt murders now. Expecting this, Cedric often came to her, but Cloudia would seek him out just as often. She could wait a while until he appeared on his own. However, she doubted this would happen today: Even if Cedric had been able to sleep for a few hours, he would still be tired. Newman would have informed him of her return by now, and this and the expectancy that she wanted to talk made her sure that Cedric was awake now – awake and waiting as he, while he was ready to talk and listen, would not want to go to her room in his current state.

It was her turn to visit him.

Cloudia pushed open the door and walked down the corridors to his room. It was, thankfully, not very far.

***

~Cedric~

The carpet looked the same in all passages. No matter the wing nor the floor, the carpet was a rich burgundy hemmed with gold and lightly threaded with other shades of dark red. Every step Cedric took was heavy as if his shoes were made of lead. The corridor did not seem to end, and he grew sick of the carpet.

And then a dash of yellow entered his sight. The colour clashed horribly with the carpet but still brought a smile to Cedric’s lips.

***

~Cloudia~

Energised by the bath, Cloudia wanted to dash through the halls, gather her skirts and run, but she held herself back and covered the distance between her and Cedric’s room in long, fast steps instead. The corridors’ colours blurred a little, ran into one another – the burgundy of the carpet, the beige of the walls, the gold of the frames and the light emitted by the lamps –, partially because of her speed, partially because Cloudia did not pay much attention to them.

Gracefully hurrying through the halls, it did not take long until Cloudia spotted a dark figure. He moved slowly and did not mix with the other colours. A steady, separate spectre – and she smiled upon seeing him.

***

~Cedric~

Cedric wanted to rush to her, wrap his arms around her, whirl her around. Only, his body betrayed him, and while he made the first step after they both had halted for a moment when they had spotted each other, it was her who reached him first.

He wanted to tip forward, fall forward and into her arms, but he caught himself and stood upright.

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, and his heart stopped for a second when she took his hand and smiled at him, shining so brightly from inside and from outside in this yellow dress… “Undertaker, come, let’s go.”

***

~Cloudia~

Cedric’s body temperature was slightly too low. It was something she always noted whenever she touched him. Colder than the living, warmer than the dead. Cloudia wondered if it was a trait he shared with the other Grim Reapers or one that was all his own. She tightened her grip on his hand and did not let go until they were inside her room and she had placed Cedric in an armchair. As soon as she let go of him, he fell back into the chair like a puppet whose strings were cut. He looked pale and had dark rings under his eyes. The few hours of sleep she guessed he had definitely hadn’t been enough. Cedric certainly needed to get back to bed after their conversation and dinner.

Cloudia clenched and unclenched her hand. Apparently, it was now her hand’s turn to be cold. She sat down on a sofa opposite Cedric and when she was done arranging her skirts and brushing her hands over them, she looked up and saw him grinning like an idiot at her.

“You are grinning like an idiot at me,” Cloudia said, and his smile widened.

“I must be an idiot,” Cedric replied, and she was stunned by his sudden introspection. “Because I missed you all day, Countess. You were gone for a day, not even a day, but it feels like years have passed since we’ve last seen each other.”

Cloudia chuckled, and he continued, “Who would have thought that, at the end of the day, you are the most normal person here.”

“Beside you?”

“Beside me, of course.”

“I would not exactly describe you as ‘normal’ in any way, Undertaker.”

“Me neither, but this is a madhouse! A madhouse! No matter how weird you are, you become the most normal person as soon as you enter a madhouse. The competition is too hard.”

“Even for you?”

“Even for me.”

Cedric smiled at her, and she smiled at him. There were a million things she could have said now, so many possibilities that were ready to be spoken out – and out of them all, Cloudia chose a question she wanted to ask, but not one that rang true now. “How was your day, Undertaker? Did you play chess with Milton like you planned to?”

Cedric sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I was able to play chess with Milton. He was fairly good, but I still beat him every time. Except once.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “I lost on purpose! He is doing so badly today; I didn’t want to be too hard on him. I let him win the first round we played, but Milton noticed it and told me to play normally. I did not think that he would notice. But then – I told you that, remember? – he somehow correctly guessed that I’m allergic to cats. Milton is as strange as he is nice. Anyway, we also ate together and then he fixed some pretty birdcage clock Anaïs, Gérard, and Arnaud accidentally damaged.”

“Anaïs told me about it,” Cloudia said. “Earlier in the entrance hall. They were building a chain-reaction machine there, and we arrived just in time for it to be completed and watch the demonstration.” She let her gaze drift through the room, let her eyes jump from shelves to books to lamps to paintings.

“You look worried. Are you all right?” Cedric asked, and she looked back at him. “I am. There is just so much on my mind right now, as you know,” Cloudia replied. She took a deep breath. “I… I didn’t know that Milton could build such things.”

“You didn’t?”

She shook her head. “I would say that I know him fairly well, but I did not know about this until today. Just like I didn’t know that you were allergic to cats until today.”

“It never came up. We’ve never run into a cat together, and I could start to sneeze like I’m a step away from my second death and tell you, ‘Countess, I have a confession to make: I am allergic to cats.’ You were my cat-repellent until now, Countess.” Cedric shifted in his seat. “You can know people for years – friends, family, colleagues, etc. – and never know all they are. Some things simply do not come up in conversations. You can know people for decades and still discover new aspects of them. It happens.”

“You’re right. It’s only…” Cloudia sighed and brushed non-existent dust from her dress. “I doubt this will become an issue. I do not want to sound overly arrogant, but if I didn’t know, what are the chances many others do? Milton’s quite isolated after all. Still, I cannot wonder: How many do know about this and how good he is?”

Cedric blinked at her and then his eyes widened when he understood what she meant. “The box.”

Cloudia nodded. “The box. It was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw the chain-reaction machine work. I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but it’s not a simple construction at all. And the Jaquet-Droz clock – I have heard of those clocks! They aren’t easy to create or fix either. I have no idea if this means that Milton can open the Queen’s box. It doesn’t even matter if he can or not. If Townsend could not find the Clockmaker and learned that Milton might also be able to open it, he would definitely force him to try.”

Cedric took a deep breath. “I would say you are worrying too much about this, Countess. As you have said, it is highly unlikely anyone knows beside those who are here in the château…” He suddenly stopped talking and all colour vanished from his face.

“Undertaker?” Cloudia said and stood up to walk to him. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but...” He looked at her. “Countess, I’ve been in cahoots with a demon.”

“Excuse me?”

“You see, Countess, two days ago, Cecelia gave me some papers on Milton. She said that you forbade her to research him, but she still did it because she didn’t want to go on the same ship as him unless she knew all about him. Only she could not find out everything because Milton’s extraordinarily secretive and large parts of his history are widely unknown. That’s not all: Cecelia has also heard of a weird rumour that Milton’s smuggling weapons with his trading company! Those rumours surfaced one day. Interestingly, before they could blow up and be everywhere, they vanished overnight. Cecelia caught them in time though and as the situation is so odd, she is, of course, especially suspicious. Rumours don’t have to mean anything, but the fact that they disappeared that fast means that someone wanted to get rid of them. Of course, this could have been done to protect the Salisbury Company’s reputation, though it’s unclear if this was the case or if there’s not another reason…

“Anyway, Cecelia is immensely suspicious when it comes to Milton. The rumour is bad enough, but then there is also his hidden history. It’s easy for her to find out everything about anyone else; only, she cannot find out many things about Milton. It annoys her. It also annoys her that he learns his employees’ names and gives them gifts and amazing pay and benefits. Cecelia thinks that it is only a ‘good persona’ and that he is, in fact, a terrible person. As Cecelia is Cecelia, she does not want to take the rumours at face value and told me about them so that I can spend time with Milton for her and find out if he seems like the kind of person who would viciously smuggle weapons.

“I think that everything about this is silly. I swear I only spent time with Milton because I wanted to spend time with Milton and because there was no one else I could spend the day with – not because Cecelia made me do it. Only, of course, her wicked words were always at the back of my head while we talked and played and cooked and you know. And I spent the entire day with Milton! It was interesting. He’s very odd, but under no circumstance, I would say that Milton is an arms smuggler. This doesn’t fit at all. And then I thought: If Milton is not the smuggler but his company is, in fact, involved in illicit activities and that’s how the rumour came to be, who else could be the smuggler? Milton is so careful and observant. However, he mentioned that he is good at ‘reading’ people – except for Wentworth. Thus, I thought: Wentworth is so close to Milton, and Milton can’t ‘read’ him, so it would be fairly easy for Wentworth to exploit Milton and use his company for his illicit activities. I told Cecelia how I believe Wentworth to be the actual weapons smuggler and she laughed in my face – she actually laughed at me! – because she thinks my hypothesis is beyond outlandish.

“And now, you have talked about Milton and his hobby of fixing and building objects and machines and whatnot and who could know of it: Wentworth knows of it! He literally watched him grow up and changed his garments when he was an infant! He knows of Milton’s aptitude and is apparently a dangerous smuggler that does not seem to genuinely care for Milton: Who says that he wouldn’thand Milton over to Townsend?” Cedric clapped his hands to his cheeks. “Countess! Milton is here because something went wrong with his company! What if Wentworth made sure something would go wrong and Milton had to go to France of all places to fix the problem? Like that, he brings Milton to Townsend without him knowing! Perhaps, Wentworth is already in cahoots with Townsend like I am in cahoots with the demon Cecelia. What if Townsend is not here but in Paris and Wentworth will give Milton to him when they go there? What if…”

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, holding up her hands to emphasise that he should stop. “How much sleep did you get today?”

“I am not sleepy. No worries, Countess. Where was I again? Oh right… What if…”

“Undertaker.” She walked to him and looked down at him, narrowing her eyes. “How much sleep did you get? Did you take a nap before I arrived or not?”

Cedric sank deeper into the armchair’s cushions. “I tried but I could not. But I am awake, Countess. I drank the horrible coffee Cecelia gave me. I put my face in ice-cold water and all.”

For a moment, Cloudia was surprised that he had done all this and wondered what reason he could have had. Then, she sat down on the armrest and said softly, “Undertaker, you are talking nonsense. You always do. Right now, it is especially nonsensical. Wentworth and Milton hold each other very dearly. They would never do anything to each other. And don’t listen to that rumour: Milton would never do anything like that. Maybe someone else has been secretly using Salisbury Trading to smuggle weapons, but I assure you that it was neither Milton himself nor Wentworth.” Cloudia chuckled to herself. “What else has your exhausted brain cooked up, Undertaker? That Milton is the murderer terrorising Nanteuil-la-Forêt?”

Cedric slipped a bit down from the chair, and Cloudia stared blankly at him. “You cannot be serious.”

I had been looking forward to this – and he came with that? Seriously?

“Countess, I know it sounds a bit outlandish, but hear me out,” Cedric honestly continued and sat up properly again, and Cloudia was too poleaxed to interrupt him just now. “You remember what Maxime said? The stranger is a tall man – Milton is a tall man! The stranger likes to vanish – Milton likes to vanish! Maxime said the stranger has a ‘nice’ eye colour – Milton has nice hazel eyes! The stranger hid his hair beneath a hat – Milton has very noticeable gold-blond hair! And you found blond hair on the stranger’s bed! Today I was in Milton’s room because he had to get some tools to fix the birdcage clock. You know how odd it is that the stranger’s room is completely untouched as if no one was there? It’s the same thing with Milton’s room! Nothing looks like he ever even touched it. There are no signs of anything. I had the same feeling I had when I entered the stranger’s room when I entered Milton’s.

“I’ve not told you about this because I didn’t have the chance until now, but last night, I went to the kitchen to get some biscuits for our night talk which did not work out. I saw Milton on my way there. I turned invisible and followed him. I wanted to see where he was going because it was so late, you know? What could he possibly want to do at such a late hour? I followed him, and when I noticed that he was also going to the kitchen, I waited until he was inside, turned visible again, and went in too. I wanted to greet him and say ‘oh, what a coincidence to find you here, Milton!’ – only Milton was nowhere to be seen when I entered the kitchen! I entered it a minute after him! Maybe there was even less time between his and my entering. He couldn’t have left. Still, he managed to disappear in this minute. I was in the kitchen for about five to ten minutes and he never reappeared. What if there is some sort of secret passage in the kitchen that leads outside? What if Milton has been leaving the château via this passage to get to Nanteuil-la-Forêt and murder people? He does not seem at all like a person who would ever kill someone, but you can never know! Someone can be the nicest person around and still have a basement full of skeletons.”

While Cedric had been talking, a laugh had built up in Cloudia – a laugh that now burst out of her in full force. She doubled over with laughter and it took her several minutes and multiple attempts to calm herself down enough that she could say anything.

“Dear Undertaker,” Cloudia said, smiling. The laughter still lingered in her and it was hard to say anything without accidentally reigniting the ember. “I appreciate your efforts and that you went out of your way to make deductions to bring this case forward. However, you are disregarding one very crucial aspect: The stranger came to Nanteuil-la-Forêt and the murders started a day before we even arrived here. How could Milton have committed the first murder when he was still on his way like we were? He could have only done it if he were like you and capable of transporting himself instantly to another place. And I know for a fact that Milton cannot possibly be like you.”

She brought her face close to Cedric’s and noticed him sinking into his backrest a bit and sucking in his breath. “After all, as you’ve told me, all Grim Reapers have eyes like you, and I’ve seen yours enough to be able to say that Milton certainly doesn’t share that trait with you.”

Still smiling, Cloudia backed away, and Cedric breathed out again. Did he forget to brush his teeth and did not want her to know or why was he doing this? “Undertaker, you are too sleep-deprived to think properly.”

“I am not,” he protested.

“You can barely keep your eyes open as we speak. Go to sleep.”

“No, we had this already!” Cedric sat up straighter and then fell back again, his body too tired to hold him up.

“You don’t have to push yourself like that. If the rain stops tomorrow, you’ll have to wander to the Clockmaker, have you forgotten?”

“I do not care about the Clockmaker!” Cedric exclaimed. “I do not care about this case, about this mission. I am only here for…” He trailed off and looked away.

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you are here for, Undertaker, it is no reason to die a second time because you didn’t want to go to bed.” She brushed over his face, and he tensed for a second but there was not enough strength in him anymore and he immediately relaxed again. Cloudia rested her hand in his hair, and Cedric’s eyes fell closed.

It was astonishing how feathery and soft his hair was, considering how rarely he washed it. It was so silky and pleasant to touch; one could almost forget to wash their hand afterwards.

“You should go to sleep now, Undertaker. You are completely exhausted. We can always talk later.”

“No, Countess,” Cedric mumbled and opened his eyes again. “Perhaps I can’t talk much anymore, but I can listen. I can listen.” To her surprise, he took her hand. “Just tell me anything. I’ll lend you my ear for anything. I don’t want to sleep now. I can’t sleep now. I…” He yawned. “I’ve waited for you to come back all day…”

Cloudia’s eyes widened and she suddenly pulled back her hand from his head, and Cedric’s head rolled back and fell hard against the backrest. He groaned, and she put a hand over her mouth. “Why are you always hurting me… Countess…”

“This time I didn’t mean to do this,” Cloudia said and stood up. Surprised by her own action, she had forgotten that they were still holding hands. Thus, when she abruptly stood up, Cedric was first pulled forward and then let go and his head collided just as hard against the armrest. He groaned and mumbled something into the armrest Cloudia could not make out.

What was wrong with me?

“Let me get you something to cool your head. You’ve hit it twice now,” Cloudia said and hurried to the bathroom. She grabbed a towel and ran it under cold water. Cloudia turned off the tap and briefly looked up, catching a glimpse of her flushed face, before she hurried back to the main room.

“Undertaker,” Cloudia said, “this will be cold now; beware.” She was about to put the cold, wet towel on Cedric’s head when she noticed that he had fallen asleep.

Cloudia sighed and smiled at him. Then, she put the towel in the washbasin and called Newman to carry Cedric to his room.

***

Her stomach made highly unladylike sounds while Cloudia walked to the dining hall, and she was quite relieved that no one was with her to hear them, even if it was a little boring to walk alone. She sighed. It couldn’t be helped though.

To entertain herself and drown out her stomach’s noises, she mumbled a poem to herself: Thy soul shall find itself alone/’Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone –/Not one, of all the crowd, to pry/Into thine hour of secrecy:/Be silent in that solitude/Which is not loneliness – for then…

“‘The spirits of the dead who stood/In life before thee are again/In death around thee,’” Cloudia heard a voice behind her and startled. She halted and turned to see Milton behind her who was looking absentmindedly ahead. “‘And their will/Shall then overshadow thee: be still,’” he finished the stanza and then blinked – and turned red when he saw her.

“Ah, Lady Cloudia,” Milton struggled to say. “I am sorry. That must have been so weird… I’m so sorry. I… I heard you start and I recognised the poem and I couldn’t help myself and continued half-consciously – I had not heard it in a while and…” He craned his head to the empty corridor behind him and swallowed. “After the kitchen… Anaïs forgot to get something for Gérard, but Arnaud had to go to his father, and she could not leave Gérard with me and could not leave me alone. I assured her that it would be fine; I said I was fine enough to walk a bit alone, and she left after I convinced her, but said she would be quick and would catch up with me in no time. She’s still not here, and I feel very guilty relying on a little girl. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have. I thought… I thought…” Milton scratched at the hem of his sleeve, a nervous movement that Cloudia had not seen before and which made her eyes widen in concern.

“I thought it would go well because I did fairly well while we assembled and disassembled the machine and then went to... Then, she left… she left, she ran away, and I…” His eyes became distant, and Cloudia stepped forward and gently took his hand. It was an instinctive action – how many times had she seen him like this? how many times had she helped him through this? – and what little awkwardness she might feel now, taking his hand again after all this time, was drowned out by focusing on the situation at hand.

“Milton,” Cloudia said softly, “what do you need me to do?”

Milton looked at her, though it seemed more as if he was looking through her, his wide eyes looking, searching for something, someone else. Cloudia had never doubted the story of his weak heart and childhood illness, but she had always wondered if there was not more to it than he was comfortable to share; it just seemed so much like he was stuck in a nightmare.

Cloudia slightly squeezed Milton’s hand, and it seemed to help. His face twitched a little, and he closed his eyes, breathing a bit raggedly. “I… I…” Milton pressed out. “There is too much, too much… I cannot recall how it goes on.”

She smiled. “It is fine, Milton. I do. I do. ‘For the night – tho’ clear -- shall frown –/And the stars shall look not down, /From their high thrones in the Heaven,” Cloudia said and wished to have chosen a more pleasant, less heavy poem than one titled “Spirits of the Dead.” “‘With light like Hope to mortals given –/But their red orbs, without beam, /To thy weariness shall seem/As a burning and a fever/Which would cling to thee for ever.’”

“‘Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish –,’” Milton continued slowly, eyes still closed, his hand loose in her tight grip. “‘Now are visions ne'er to vanish –/ From thy spirit shall they pass/No more – like dew-drop from the grass.’”

Milton opened his eyes again and the odd far-away expression was gone from them. A little smile appeared on his lips, the kind that made it seem as if he was half-dreaming, half-awake, and Cloudia was rather relieved to see it. “Lady Cloudia, you’re here,” he said as he always did.

“I am,” she responded. “Tell me, what do you need now?”

“I want to sit down,” Milton said after some time of consideration. Without letting go of his hand, Cloudia carefully helped him to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. She sat down opposite from him, and their entwined hands hung between them as if he would float away and disappear if she were to let go.

Maybe that’s what would happen – that Milton would float away like a balloon into the sky or like a buoy out to the sea.

Milton and Cloudia sat like this in silence for a few minutes. He breathed in and out evenly to calm himself down, and she scrutinised him. Seeing Milton like this reminded her how ridiculous Cedric’s words from earlier were. Still, thinking about them again, Cloudia remembered something. The thought had lingered in the back of her mind since Lille, only she had been unable to grasp it until now. She had heard the name “Quentin Nichols” before; she was sure of it now.

In 1843, he had killed one of his co-workers. Quentin had managed to escape, and Scotland Yard had been searching for him since.

However, Cloudia could not imagine Milton hiring anyone without doing a background check first. Quentin’s crime had been in the newspapers for some time. It wasn’t an unknown case. Perhaps the Quentin Nichols she had met in Lille was not the same as the one she had heard of? That was possible. Milton surely would not employ a wanted criminal, and Quentin’s full name was “Quentin Thibault-Nichols.” The Quentin from the papers didn’t have a hyphenated surname. The Quentin from Lille might have been born a “Thibault-Nichols” or one part of it might come from his wife. As “Thibault” preceded “Nichols,” it was more likely that “Thibault” was Quentin’s birth surname.

Cedric’s absurd theories had really got to me.

“Lady Cloudia,” Milton said eventually. He still looked like he had seen a ghost, but some colour was slowly returning to his face. “I am sorry for making you see and do this again.”

“It is all right, Milton. You cannot help it,” Cloudia replied.

He smiled weakly at her, and at once, they let go of each other. Cloudia held her breath for a moment, but Milton stayed where he was.

What a silly thought, Cloudia.

Milton dug his hands into the carpet as if he too was thinking about floating away. “Thanks, Lady Cloudia.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I may need another moment.”

“Take your time. It’s fine.”

He leaned his head against the wall, and she heard him count to himself from thirty downwards. When Milton was done, he let go of the carpet and rose to his feet. As soon as they were both standing again, Cloudia heard a screeching sound behind her. Someone was running and had momentarily lost balance. She craned her head to see Anaïs hurrying towards them.

“Milton,” she said when she reached them, “was everything all right?”

Cloudia looked at Milton, and Milton avoided her eyes and replied, “Yes. Everything was all right.”

Anaïs beamed. “That’s good. You’re getting good! I feared something might have happened while I was away. And hello, Claudette! I am so happy. Now, we can go to dinner together.” She trotted ahead, and Milton and Cloudia readily followed her.

“Where did you leave your brother, Anaïs?” asked Cloudia.

“We walked into Maman on our way! He wanted to stay with her which was better anyway.”

“You ran into your mother?” Milton said. “Anaïs, you did not have to find me then.”

“Of course, I had to! I promised I would come to find you. You never break promises!” Anaïs replied energetically. “And I could not risk an incident and lose you back to the faerie realm.”

Milton smiled. “Of course. I’m sorry for saying that. Thank you, Anaïs.”

She returned his smile and then started to chatter about helping out a bit in the kitchen with Milton and the others – they had brewed some tea –, getting the item they forgot, and running into Amélie. Cloudia listened intently to what she had to say but kept glancing over to Milton. He looked fine; he thankfully looked fine. Under normal circumstances, he would have long left such a rain-heavy place, and Cloudia felt bad again to have dragged him here.

I only hoped Paris would have nicer weather.

They had almost reached the dining hall when Cloudia saw Milton putting a hand over his chest. A cold calm rushed over her, and she was about to ask if he was fine… and then, he smiled. Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment.

“It has stopped,” Milton answered her unspoken question. “The rain has stopped.”

***

Except for Cedric and the Marquis, everyone was at the dinner table today. Even Cecelia had come and was now conversing with Sylviane about something Cloudia could not catch. Jacques and Anaïs were arguing again. Aurèle was grimly eating his food, and she spotted him glaring at Milton now and then. She had to talk to him about his, to her, unreasonable dislike of Milton later. Arnaud was helping Gérard, though the little boy could eat remarkably competently for his age. On the other end of the table, Amélie was talking to her husband and brother. A few moments ago, the constellations of the conversations had been different: Anaïs had talked to her and Kamden, Jacques had asked Milton something, and Arnaud had spoken to Aurèle. Now, the exchanges and interlocutors had shuffled and Cloudia had no one to talk to. She did not mind much. This would change soon again after all, and like that, she could properly savour the delicious soup that was part of the entrée.

Cedric would be over the moon if he had it. He would swoon and then say something along the lines of “If the appetiser is this good, how would the dessert be?”

A few times, Cloudia glanced over at Kamden and Milton who were talking. They got along rather well, and Kamden seemed slightly livelier than usual when he spoke to Milton. Since the rain had stopped, Milton was looking and doing well again. He still seemed a bit shaken up, but he was almost back to normal.

By the time the main course replaced the appetiser and tea was served with the meal, Cloudia was telling an interested Anselme about her experiences during the last Season and the bit she had to endure this Season before she had been thankfully sent away by the Queen to France – not that she mentioned the latter part, of course.

It never stopped being strange to engage in such ordinary conversations in such normal settings after having looked for a murderer and inspected corpses hours before.

Halfway through the main dish, Amélie addressed Milton: “Lord Milton, I heard that you will leave us tomorrow.”

Milton halted in his movement with the sudden addressing and put down his cutlery. “Indeed, I will leave you tomorrow, Baronne, though it will not be for long. A few days, a week at most.”

“I see. For business, I heard?”

He nodded. “Yes. I have to do some business-related duties in Paris.”

“Paris?” Amélie repeated, and an odd silence fell over the other adults. “You may not have heard of this, Lord Milton, but the atmosphere in France and especially in Paris has been considerably tense in the last months. Lately, a great number of people are heading to Paris to find work. I am sure that this will not end well considering the current situation. Lord Milton, I advise you, if you haveto go, to wrap up your business quickly and return here.”

“Thank you for your piece of advice, Baronne,” replied Milton with the trained calmness he reserved for social events such as this one. “I will take care. I will do my best to complete my work there as fast as possible then.”

Amélie smiled. “You are welcome, Lord Milton.”

***

After dinner, Cloudia instinctively headed to Cedric’s room. Only halfway there did she realise that he was sleeping and that she should not disturb him. She hovered for a while in the corridor, not knowing where to go. Suddenly, Cloudia remembered that she had wanted to speak to Aurèle, and now he was elsewhere and she scolded herself for forgetting. At least, she didn’t want to talk to him about anything urgent.

Eventually, she decided to just walk. Cloudia hoped she would think of something to do while she was moving around – and that her legs would not lead her to Cedric nevertheless. Also, she had barely been in the château since her arrival; she still had so much to see and explore.

And now, I sounded like Milton. I wondered how he was doing right now. The rain had stopped before dinner, but it had bothered him all day long. It must have been awfully tiring; not that he would ever admit it.

Cloudia wandered a while through the labyrinthine château before she grew bored. The building was immensely beautiful and filled with objects that could make her talk and talk for hours – but without having anyone to talk to, it was not enjoyable at all. She had already spent years of her life talking to herself. She was not very eager to repeat the experience. Sighing, Cloudia gathered her skirts and headed downstairs. She had no idea where those stairs would lead her but they would eventually bring her to the ground floor of which she had a fairly good grasp. From there, she could go to her room, wrapping up this tiresome day even though her blood was still boiling with the desire for more. Cloudia’s entire day had been filled with the investigation; she wanted to do something for herself. The bath had re-energised her, but since dinner, she felt even more vitalised.

With nothing else to do, I supposed I would have to satisfy this want by simply reading a book. First, I would have to navigate my way through this maze though. Next time, I should ask Lisa for the Maid’s Manifesto.

Lisa.

With an idea overcoming her, Cloudia stopped on the stairs. Of course, she had been with Lisa all day long, but apart from the deadhouse and the drives to and from Nanteuil-la-Forêt, they hadn’t had an opportunity to talk. And she had barely spoken with Newman all day too. Smiling, Cloudia bolted down the stairs to the next landing and sought out the next best servant to ask which way she had to take to get to the servants’ quarters. The servant told her how to get there, she thanked him, and then excitedly went off her way.

Cloudia was almost there – only the corridor down and then through a hidden stairway – when she noticed familiar footsteps behind her. For almost a year, those footsteps had followed hers, and she would forever recognise them: His ghostly steps which came along with a soft metallic clack. She had always wondered why, but never asked.

And then, they were sometimes so ghostly I could not hear them at all. That had been the case when I encountered him before dinner.

Her smile widened a bit as Cloudia turned around to face Milton. “I had thought of you a little while ago – and now you are here as if I managed to manifest you, albeit a little slowly.”

A small, sheepish smile appeared on Milton’s lips. “I…” He took a deep breath. “It’s good to see that you are still so lively.”

Cloudia looked at him in bewilderment. “Why shouldn’t I be lively? Because my powers of manifestation are weak and lacking?”

“Oh, well.” He looked at his sleeves and fumbled with them. “I suppose my mind is still a bit muddled from today. I did not mean to blurt it out. I… Anyway, I said this because you have been so busy lately, and you also seem deep in thought whenever I see you.”

She chuckled. “I suppose my mind is still muddled from today because I should have figured that you noticed. Don’t you always notice?”

“Not always.”

Cloudia looked at him and then shook her head before she realised with a pang that, for the first time in years, they were actually all alone again. Earlier, it had been an emergency, and Milton had barely been with her in that hallway mentally. There had been much else to focus on besides the awkwardness between them. Now, the rain had cleared and they were both well and conscious and all alone again.

The last time had been on the day of the failed proposal, and Cloudia felt awkward thinking about it. Everything had become weird and fallen apart after that day. Although they had resumed their talks via letters a few months afterwards, it had never been the same again. Their written words were always laced with a certain stiltedness, one worse than the one when their little acquaintanceship or whatever one could call it had begun. Cloudia had never known how to describe their relationship.

With the others around, it had been so easy. She could have nearly forgotten that anything had ever happened at all. Now, being alone with Milton, the distance between them was palpable again. He stood only a few steps away from her, but he could have been kilometres away. Cloudia had never been a natural when it came to understanding people. She did not have the talent to look at someone and understand, see every bit of them and realise what might be hidden. She had had to acquire this skill through hard work and training, and although she was good at it now, the skill failed her every now and then.

It did not fail her now. Cloudia had intentionally not paid it any attention before, but there was always a bit of hurt in his eyes whenever they talked. He was still friendly to her, still smiled at her, had still helped her with this trip. Cloudia had been shocked and annoyed when Milton had behaved as if nothing had occurred the day his villa blew up – a month after the proposal. She also had not expected him to write to her months later.

It had seemed as if Milton had been doing well after the failed proposal, as if he had got over it well. Accepting that he was not, that he had not, made her realise with a heavy heart that they had yet another thing in common: For one and a half years, they had pushed the memory of the proposal away and pretended that all was fine although the event still clung heavily to them. It was easier like that. Even now while acknowledging everything, Cloudia’s first instinct was to push it all away. It was a bad habit, yes, but it had been a long day. A very long day. This was her hard-earned time off. She had a murderer to catch and a thief to find. She had no time and strength to deal with the remnants of the past.

Maybe one day, she would. But not now. Not now.

“Where were you heading to?” Cloudia asked, smiling as if nothing had been. “You are quite a bit away from your room. Did you get lost again?”

“I didn’t,” Milton replied. “I wanted to go see Bram.”

She blinked at him. “In the servants’ quarters?”

He nodded. “In the servants’ quarters.”

“Isn’t it funny how I planned to go to France at the same time you planned to?” she said. “And how now, again, I am going to the servants’ quarters at the same time as you are?”

Milton chuckled. “It is indeed quite funny,” he said and walked towards her. “I guess you know the way?”

“Yes, a footman told me. Do you?”

“Yes. I…” He hesitated. “I have been charting the château.”

“Huh?”

“Did I never tell you?”

“No, never,” Cloudia told him.

Cedric’s words came to my mind: “You can know people for decades and still discover new aspects of them. It happens.” And now I had found out two new things about Milton in a single day.

Milton smiled bashfully. “I like to create maps for buildings, make my very own blueprints. It’s an old habit of mine, and I know it is strange but…”

“There is so much to see, so much to explore even in a building?” Cloudia continued, smiling.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes.”

“You are becoming predictable, Milton.” She put her hands on her waist, content that she got at least that. “Also, when I said that I was thinking of you – and unwittingly conjured you by doing so – I thought about this exact thing.”

Milton closed his eyes. “‘There is so much to see, so much to explore. Roads to travel, people to meet, mysteries to unravel.’ Right, I said that to you.” He reopened his eyes, and they began to walk, side by side, down the corridor and to the hidden stairway without any of them having to indicate to do so.

“Mysteries,” said Cloudia; the word alone brought excitement with it, and she hoped she did not sound too eager as she continued. Not that Milton had ever seemed to care for that. “Have you found any on your most recent travels? Where have you been last again? Sweden?”

“Yes,” Milton replied, paused, then added: “Yes, I’ve been to Sweden last. I’m not sure about mysteries though. There has been the occasional misplaced document, but that’s not really a mystery, isn’t it? And while this is also not a mystery – after all, I know how this came to be – there is this mistake I have to fix and for which I have to go to Paris. Maybe you could call it a bit of a mystery still… the Paris part at least. I need to go there to find something out; however, I don’t quite know what will await me there. I cannot measure the extent of what I will learn there and…” He fidgeted with his right sleeve. “I mean I knowmore or less what will await me. It’s just the details, you know? Perhaps it’s more of a ‘surprise’ than a ‘mystery’ though. I am not sure.”

Despite our commonalities and Milton’s odd little habits, he was still so amusingly ordinary. My mystery was a serial murder in the nearby village. His, a company-intern mishap.

“Let’s call it a mystery,” declared Cloudia as they descended the narrow stairs together. He let her go first and followed her. “It sounds better like that. And it’s not quite a ‘surprise’ if you know that you will find something out, isn’t it? Only the content of the information will be a surprise, but that’s essentially what a mystery is anyway.”

“You’re right,” Milton said. “Of course, it cannot be a surprise when I am expecting it.”

“Your mind is still really quite muddled. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “It has been a long rainy day. I should be completely normal again by tomorrow.”

Cloudia threw a glance over her shoulder at him. The light was so dim here that he looked quite ghostly. “Speaking of today… how was spending time with the Duke?”

“It was lovely,” Milton replied. “Kristopher is so kind to have kept me company despite being unwell himself. I’m glad that he could finally find some sleep. I hope he will sleep well and sound. Kristopher was very patient with me all day, and he defeated me in every round of chess we played. He is really talented.”

“He sure is,” said Cloudia, remembering the countless days they had spent playing chess together and how Cedric had beat her in every single round without fail. He would always tease her for being so bad at the game. She was not even that bad; he was simply very, very good.

“Kristopher surprised me quite a lot of times today,” Milton continued. “Not that I believe that he was incapable of any of the kinds of prowess he showed today, of course. I simply have not met anyone with such chess skills in a very long time. Or anyone at all who, I suppose, correctly guessed that when it rains and my senses act up, I anchor myself by focusing on all kinds of details – often details concerning people. I have never thought about this myself before. It’s usually just Bram and me on rainy days after all.”

Cloudia halted on the stairs and turned around to him. “Oh, he did that?”

Milton stopped too, and she noticed that he had been walking a few stairs behind her to keep his distance. “It was a remarkable observation. Kristopher did not believe that you would believe him, so I wanted to let you know.”

“He did not make you say so?”

“No. He…” Milton paused. “He did say I should be the one to tell you, but what I am saying is not a fabrication. Kristopher cares a lot about what you think of him.”

“The Duke? Caring for what I think of him?” Cloudia laughed. “I assure you, Milton, that this is not the case at all. He does not care for anyone’s opinion of him or he would not walk around the way he does. He cares for mine the least of all. If he truly did, would he do me such a disservice with the way he dresses and carries himself? And have you ever seen him dance? It’s like watching a chicken hobble about.”

Cloudia felt Milton’s eyes scrutinising her. As if he was searching for something specific. Then, he smiled.

“Is something?” she asked, and he shook his head. “No. It is just that…” His gaze softened. “I’m just glad for you.”

Cloudia blinked at him, then turned and continued to descend the stairs. “Milton, the storm had gone on for very long today. Your mind is still all scrambled. Are you really fine?”

“Yes,” Milton replied, sounding a bit merrier than before. She heard him following her. “I am perfectly fine now.”

They walked for a while in silence, but the silence soon became stifling. The stairs seemed unbearably endless, and Cloudia felt herself suffocating under the stillness and her overflowing energy. “Milton,” she said to break the silence open and be able to breathe again, “the clock you’ve repaired – do you think you can show it to me before your departure? I am interested to see this birdcage clock of tales. I have heard of Jaquet-Droz clocks but never seen one in real-life.”

“I can show it to you on the way back from the servants’ quarters if it has not become too late by then,” Milton replied. “I have to head out so early tomorrow; I doubt I will find the time then. Though I will return in a few days or a week at most anyway. Thinking of it… maybe, if it does not work out later, it may be better if one of the children showed it to you.”

“I can wait if it does not work out. I want you to show it to me so that you can tell me what you fixed and how.”

“Eh,” blurted it out of Milton, and Cloudia smiled to herself. “I, uh,” he stammered. “You are interested in this?”

“Yes, I am. Very much so. I have never been very adept at creating or repairing anything, so I am quite fascinated whenever someone can. I am actually a little bit mad that you have never mentioned this talent of yours before, Milton.”

“It’s… it’s not a talent. It’s just… something to pass time with. A little hobby. I am not even very good at it.”

“Let me be the judge of this,” Cloudia said. “How many know of this ‘little hobby’ of yours anyway?”

“Not many. Before today, only my family knew. Now, everyone here knows too,” Milton told her the very instant Cloudia reached the end of the staircase and arrived in front of the door that would open up to the servants’ quarters. She waited until Milton was caught up with her before she put her hand on the doorknob.

“Lady Cloudia,” Milton said then, and she stopped her action and looked at him. “I will not ask for specifications regarding the matter that is keeping you busy,” he continued. “All I want to say is that, if you require my help, I would be happy to offer my assistance in any way. And if it is a mystery you are busying yourself with and at which you are stuck… at times, it is best to take a short break and think of anything else, do anything else. Sometimes thinking too intensely is the problem: It often blocks your mind. Letting your mind wander to different places, you may be able to think of possibilities you have not considered before.”

Cloudia’s gaze softened. “Thank you, Milton. Let’s see if whatever chaos my servants will hand me behind those doors will ease me up,” she said and opened the door. They stepped into a hallway with multiple doors left and right that led to the servants’ personal rooms. Newman had told her before that Lisa’s, Wentworth’s, and his rooms were those closest to the door and that there was a community room at the end of the corridor. Cloudia knocked on Lisa’s and Newman’s rooms and Milton on Wentworth’s. When they got no response, they walked to the community room.

“… to Nanteuil-la-Forêt today,” said Lisa when they entered. She was sitting at a table with Wentworth and Newman, some biscuits and sandwiches spread out before them. There was a pot of tea on the table and everyone had a cup in front of them. “And I tell you: Denis Cuvier attempted to kill us – what other reason could he have to race into the village with such speed? Gallop there if you want, but don’t drive a wagon like that, least of all one with people in it. Mr Emyr was rather green throughout the entire rides.”

“Telling everyone about our adventure in Nanteuil-la-Forêt, aren’t you?” Cloudia said, and everyone turned to her and Milton. From the corner of her eye, she could see Milton’s gaze wandering to Newman before he discreetly looked away.

“Our disgustingly wet misadventure, Lady Cloudia,” Lisa replied and shuddered. “I took a bath and still feel cold. I’ll be counting the sponges I waste trying to scrub off the moistness that seemed to have sunk into my very flesh and bones.”

Newman stood up and bowed to Cloudia and Milton as a greeting before he turned to Lisa. “Shall I fetch you a jacket if you are still so cold, Lisa?”

She patted his hand. “That would be nice if you can be bothered, Al. Maybe a blanket would be even better.”

“I can always be bothered for you, Lisa,” Newman said with a small smile. “I will go and get a blanket from your room at once.” He looked at Milton and Cloudia. “If you may excuse me for a moment.” Cloudia nodded, and Newman left the community room.

Lisa grinned at Cloudia. “I see you are wearing the yellow dress.”

“Yes. I surprised myself by picking it today,” Cloudia replied and looked down at herself. “I didn’t expect Cecelia to be at dinner for once, so she has seen me in it. Until now, she wasn’t able to say anything to me about it, but the time will definitely come…”

Lisa chuckled. “It had to come to this. You don’t look as silly as we imagined you would though, Lady Cloudia.”

“That surprised me too.”

“You do indeed look very lovely, Lady Cloudia,” Milton said and immediately blushed and looked away. Lisa rolled her eyes.

“Thank you, Milton,” Cloudia responded. Then, Wentworth stepped to them and bowed to Cloudia before he asked, “Master Milton, are you all right?”

Milton took a deep breath to compose himself and then smiled at his butler. “You asked that earlier already, Bram. When Lady Cloudia, Miss Greene, and Emyr returned, and we all met in the entrance hall.”

“The rain didn’t stop until shortly before dinnertime. A lot could have changed between the chain-reaction machine’s demonstration and dinner. Between dinner and now.”

“I promise that it did not,” Milton replied, and Cloudia was surprised that he lied to Wentworth like that. Though perhaps he didn’t want to disclose what had happened before dinner to Lisa?

“What I told you before still holds true,” he went on. “Kristopher and the children helped me, and I have been doing well because of that. And since the rain stopped, I have been even better.”

“Albeit your mind is still a bit muddled,” added Cloudia, and he looked at her. “Indeed.”

“I am glad, Master Milton. It was a strong storm today,” Wentworth said. “Even with the support you received, I was worried. Forgive me if I am overstepping my boundaries, but my duty is, first and foremost, to ensure your well-being, Master Milton. Next time, I will not leave your side; today was an exception I do not want to make a rule.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you, Bram. I…” Milton fumbled with his sleeves. “I should not have asked for that.”

“It is also my duty to worry about you all the time, Master Milton. You do not have to apologise for something that cannot be helped,” Wentworth replied, and Cloudia could see Lisa grimacing in the background again.

“I have returned,” Newman announced as he stepped into the community room, a blanket in his hands. “I apologise for having kept you waiting.” He walked to Lisa and gently draped the blanket around her.

“Thank you,” she said, and his cheeks roused a bit. Pulling the blanket tighter around her, Lisa said to Cloudia, “Not that I oppose your presence, but why have you come here, Lady Cloudia?”

“To see how you and Newman are doing, and what you are doing,” Cloudia replied and sat down at the table where Lisa was sitting. “And to talk to you for a while.”

“Is His Grace still asleep?”

“Very much, but I might have come here anyway.”

Lisa scoffed. “Very well, Lady Cloudia. Do you maybe want to play something then? To pass the time and have something else to do while we talk?”

“Why not?”

“Great,” said Lisa and took out a deck of cards from beneath the blanket. She was always carrying playing cards with her, eagerly awaiting the first available moment to take them out and make someone cry.

“Milton,” Cloudia said and turned to him. “Would you like to play too?”

Milton blinked at her, taken aback by her offer. “Oh. Sure. Thank you,” he responded and sat down – keeping a chair between them free.

“How about we play poker?” suggested Lisa while she shuffled the cards. A mischievous light shone in her eyes.

“Still taking every opportunity to practise, aren’t you?” teased Cloudia, and Lisa scowled at her.

“One day I will return there and be victorious.”

“Return where?” Milton asked, puzzled.

“Earlier this year, Lisa lost to someone in poker,” Cloudia said and earned a dirty glance from her maid. “Apparently, I am forbidden to say more on this matter. Anyway, she taught me how to play poker afterwards so that she had more people to play with. Lisa already taught the servants at the manor as they regularly arrange game nights.”

“That sounds interesting,” replied Milton. “Miss Greene, I wish you the best of luck that you will win against that person one day.”

Lisa nodded at his words and kept shuffling the cards. “Lord Milton, have you heard of poker?”

“I have, actually.”

“And can you play it too?”

“Yes,” said Milton, and Lisa was surprised by his answer – and so was Cloudia. After all, poker was still very unknown in Europe.

“Of course,” Cloudia said when the realisation hit her. “You have told me you travelled often to the States.”

“Do you want to play poker with us then, Lord Milton?” Lisa asked with a little sly smile on her face. “I can guarantee that this will not be a pleasant game to play as a newcomer, and it may be better if you found something else to do.”

“Every game is not a particularly pleasant one if you play with Lisa,” Cloudia interjected. “She is quite passionate and competitive when it comes to games.” At her words, Lisa’s little smile became a wicked grin.

Milton smiled sheepishly. “I do, in fact, know how to play poker,” he told them and worried at the hems of his sleeves. “However, I have not had an opportunity to play poker for quite a few years. Or to play any card game, to be frank. Playing cards is common at social gatherings of a more familiar nature, but as you know, I do not really attend such gatherings or any at all as I have been on the road for the last year and…” He cleared his throat. “I want to say that I do know how to play poker but I may be a bit rusty.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, it is good that you know, but I hope you don’t expect us to play kindly for your sake, Baron.”

“Oh, I would not want that,” Milton replied. “I think that no game can be enjoyed if the participants do not give their fullest. I will try my very best. I simply wanted to inform you that I’m not very good even at my best.”

Lisa shrugged. “Well, not that you would have had a chance if you were any good,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Wentworth, do you also know how to play poker?” Cloudia enquired.

“I do, Lady Cloudia,” the old butler replied.

“Then, do you want to join us?”

“I am thankful for the invitation, but I will have to decline. I have only played the game once myself and have mostly watched others play. I do not want to slow the game down and would rather spectate.”

Cloudia nodded. “I see. Feel free to watch then, Wentworth.”

“But you’ll have you watch from a place where Lord Milton can’t see you but I can,” interjected Lisa. “I do not want to outright accuse anyone of cheating – not before we have even begun playing at least – but I want to make sure that it does not happen at all.”

“I can do this if it eases your nerves, Miss Greene,” said Wentworth.

“Thank you.” Lisa smiled at Cloudia. “See? Manners.” Then, Lisa craned her head to Newman who was still standing behind her as if he was her butler and not Cloudia’s. “Al, you’ll play too, won’t you?”

He bowed his head. “As always, Lisa.”

She smirked at his words, and Newman sat down next to her.

“If I am recalling correctly,” said Wentworth, “chips are needed for this game.”

“Yes, of course,” Lisa replied. “I put a bag of them on my nightstand. Could you fetch it, Mr Wentworth?”

“Of course. I will hurry.” Surefooted and quick for someone his age, Wentworth left the community room.

“I’m glad that you play too, Mr Newman,” blurted it out of Milton whose eyes lingered a bit too long on Newman yet again. Cloudia frowned. She would have been a fool if she had not noticed Milton staring at Newman back in Dover, but she thought that, by now, the initial surprise would have waned. Apparently, it had not. At least, Milton was seemingly trying to suppress his staring.

“As it is said,” Milton continued, fidgeting with his hands, “‘the more the merrier.’ How well can you play poker, Mr Newman?”

Lisa chuckled and distributed the cards. “Trying to find out if you will have any chance at all, Lord Milton?”

“Not at all, Miss Greene. I only wanted to ask,” Milton replied. “I do not care whether I win or lose as long as the game will entertain everyone.”

Lisa rolled her eyes which Milton, fortunately, didn’t see as his own eyes were fixed on Newman who answered him, “I am not as proficient as Lisa, though she assures me that I still play fairly well.”

“Definitely better than Thomas,” said Lisa. “Which isn’t that hard, but still.”

At this moment, Wentworth returned with the bag of chips which he handed to Lisa before he went to sit at a nearby table, a bit away but still close enough to spectate. Quickly, Lisa distributed the chips and then smiled. “Let’s begin.”

***

They had not agreed to bet actual money. Lisa had never asked, and Cloudia thought that she might not have wanted to be overly brash, though she was still very brash, to Milton even if he likely would not have minded playing for money. Still, Lisa grinned like she was doubling and tripling her monthly wages with every won round and envisioning retiring early. Although Lisa was triumphant in every round, they had great fun playing the game. Milton had said that he might be rusty as he had not played poker in years, but he was a surprisingly good bluff. He was almost as good as Lisa. However, here and there, his façade would crumble: His mouth would twitch, his eyes would betray the truth… Cloudia caught it twice.

I wondered whether this was normal or a product of the fact that Milton had not fully recovered from today’s “phantom pains.”

Lisa was better at that and relentlessly played everyone to the ground. It was past midnight when everyone decided that it had become too late for another round.

“That was fun,” said Milton with a smile on his face and stood up. “Thanks for letting me play.”

“You are such a strange one, Baron,” Lisa replied and closed the bag with the chips. She did not have to do much collecting as the chips had naturally wandered to her anyway. Newman, on the other hand, had to walk around the tables to collect all the cups and the empty teapot.

“All smiles although you have not won a single round this evening,” Lisa said.

“It is only a game. I don’t particularly care if I lose or fail.”

Lisa huffed. “Well, once or twice you were fairly close to winning.” “I was?”

“Yes. It was quite a surprise – you are not half as bad as I thought you would be.” Lisa grimaced at her own words, and Cloudia chuckled at Lisa’s anguished appraisal. Then, Cloudia stood up too.

“The evening ended as expected,” she said. “Nevertheless, that were some good games. I’ll head to bed now. Tomorrow will be a long day again.” Cloudia looked at Milton. “And didn’t you say you will leave very early in the morning?”

He nodded. “Yes, I will.”

“All the more reason to return to our rooms now. You need to be well-rested for tomorrow’s gruelling carriage ride to Creil.”

“That would be good,” replied Milton and fumbled with his sleeves. “Good night, Miss Greene, Mr Newman, Bram.”

Everyone returned the “good night” and Cloudia gave her own before she and Milton left the community room and walked down the corridor and back to the château’s main area.

Unlike when they had gone to the servants’ quarters, they were silent now as they ascended the stairs. This time, Cloudia was too tired to perceive the silence as suffocating or awkward and attempt to pierce it. Upstairs, they walked around until they found a servant still wandering the halls to ask for directions and then headed to a forking the maid had referred them to. According to her, they could go to their respective wings and rooms from there.

“Until here and not farther,” Cloudia said when they arrived at the forking and halted. “Well, at least, not together.”

Milton smiled at her. “Good night, Lady Cloudia. I suppose we will not see each other tomorrow, so I guess this is also goodbye for a little while.”

“Seems like it. I wish you well in Paris, Milton. Don’t forget that you will have to show me that clock upon your return, and good night.”

His smile brightened. It was like sunshine after a long grey day. “Thank you. I will not forget this, and I wish you all the best for your mystery. Speaking of mysteries… we haven’t finished the poem earlier: ‘The breeze – the breath of God – is still –/And the mist upon the hill/Shadowy – shadowy – yet unbroken, /Is a symbol and a token –/How it hangs upon the trees, /A mystery of mysteries!’”

***

I could not sleep.

I had not looked at the clock since I had laid down, but I was sure that it had been about two or three hours since I had said goodbye to Milton at the forking. I had tossed and turned in a desperate attempt to find some sleep. I needed to be rested for the day. However, the energy and restlessness that filled my body did not allow me to sleep.

I needed answers, I wanted answers.

This needed to be over.

I had told Yvette to barricade everyone inside for the night, to huddle them together, to keep them safe. But that had not worked before.

One slip-up would mean another dead body. Another web of strings I had to investigate.

Lives and time were running through my fingers, and I was sick of it.

Cloudia kicked away the blanket and stood up from her bed. She had to go back to Nanteuil-la-Forêt. The murderer had made the worst mistake to come here, and she was dead-set to show this to them.

A stakeout was something I had not done yet.

It was time to wait and watch from the front row.

It was time to catch the culprit red-handed.

Cloudia went to her wardrobe and pulled out some clothes she could wear as “M Gauthier.” When she was done changing into them, she let her skull pendant necklace vanish beneath her shirt. She had not taken it off before going to bed. She never did as it soothed her mind to have someone on close-call in case of an emergency. Cloudia only ever removed it when she bathed, but still kept it close to her then.

Of course, this only worked if Cedric wore his necklace all the time too. And I had no idea if he did.

Afterwards, Cloudia took off her blue Phantomhive ring which she also never removed before bedtime and went to her jewellery chest. She wanted to wear it on her finger all the time, but could only ever do it when she was at home or exclusively around family. Nobody knew that the ring was in her possession – it was, after all, “Earl Phantomhive’s.” Not that this mattered now, of course. After all, Cloudia would go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt as Gauthier, and it would be rather eyebrow-raising if a simple detective’s assistant wore such a fine piece of jewellery.

Cloudia opened the chest but did not put the ring inside. She did not like to leave it behind, and in cases she could not wear it openly, she wore it on a chain around her neck. Behind her clothes, it would be concealed for all; only she would feel the ring’s comfort against her skin.

She rummaged in the jewellery chest until she found the chain and then slipped the ring on it. Just as Cloudia had finished putting on the chain, she spotted something in the chest. Smiling, she took it out and inspected it.

The four-leaved clover necklace Cedric had given her for her seventeenth birthday was a piece for which she rarely found an occasion to wear. It was too simple to wear at balls and gatherings, and Cloudia generally disliked wearing two neck-pieces at once. She only, begrudgingly, did an exception for the Phantomhive ring. The clover necklace had no place next to the skull pendant one.

However, Cloudia sometimes put the clover necklace in her pocket if she had any. Skull pendant around her neck, ring on her finger, clover in her pocket – it was a bit like a spell. But then, the clover necklace was supposed to be a good luck charm on its own anyway.

Cloudia pocketed the necklace, grabbed her cloak, and left the room.

She had gone down to the stalls often enough to know the way herself, and she went there with quick, silent strides. Denis should be fast asleep now, and a wagon would be too bothersome to bring to Nanteuil-la-Forêt anyway. A horse would do; Cloudia would tie it to a tree before going to the village.

Cloudia pushed open the door to the outside and was relieved to see the sky dark and clear above her. No rain clouds. She had seen enough of them already.

She hurried to the stalls. There, while she was looking around, trying to find a suitable horse to borrow, a voice said behind her: “Cloudie?”

Surprised to hear it here and at this hour too, Cloudia turned around and saw Kamden standing at the doorsill to the stalls. The moonlight left him as a shadowed silhouette – except for his hair which shimmered a bit under the light. Lisa was right: Kamden just looked odd with blond hair.

“Kam, what are you doing here?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“I had the weird feeling that you would be here,” he said, and she smiled. “Cloudie, have you slept at all?”

There was no use lying to Kamden. “No. I have tried for hours, but could not. I am too restless to sleep.”

Kamden nodded. “Then let me accompany you. We can take a wagon then: I can drive, and you can take a nap until we arrive.”

There was no use fighting back either. Especially not when it was already so late and time was tight. “Okay,” Cloudia said. “Let’s go to Nanteuil-la-Forêt.”

***

~Cedric~

Cedric was woken up by Jacques and as soon as he saw his face, he groaned.

“Your Grace,” said Jacques while Cedric sat up and glimpsed at the clock – six in the morning, brilliant. “It is a clear day today. It is time to visit the Clockmaker.”

***

Somewhere, United Kingdom – May 1843

~Cloudia~

They had guided her into a room where she could wait while they released him. Cloudia had not expected much of this process – in fact, she had barely thought about how exactly Oscar’s actual release would go – but having now waited for over an hour, she admitted to herself that she had hoped that someone would have simply opened his cell’s door right after she was done talking to him. Right then and there. If they had done that, Cloudia could have been on the road home now. Instead, she was waiting in potentially the least shabby room the wardens could find for her, twisting and turning her father’s sketchbook in her lap.

I hoped they had at least informed Clifford that it was taking so long. I would not want him to worry whether or not the Yard Ripper had killed me on the spot after being released or not. But then, I supposed, the wardens would certainly tell him that.

Cloudia drummed her fingers on the sketchbook and looked at the clock whose hands seemed to move painfully slow. Sighing, she flipped open the book. Since she had found it in a secret passage in Phantomhive Manor three years ago, Cloudia had looked through it a million times and every time, it gave her a warm, comforting feeling. She loved the soft brushstrokes, the precise lines made with pencil and coal. Nobody had ever told her about this hobby of her father’s, and looking at his drawings made her feel closer to him than she ever had before. It was a solace Cloudia sought out whenever the days were especially bleak or she was hit with yet another wave of loneliness, though this had been happening less and less frequently since she met Kamden.

Cloudia thumbed over the landscape drawings and went to the one that had brought her to this place. She had stared at this portrait of Oscar Livingstone for three years and wondered who and where he was. Now, she looked at it and wondered how much he had changed since Simon Phantomhive had immortalised him on paper.

Not that I even knew how exactly Oscar had looked back then. The portrait was uncoloured, a quick sketch in black coal. His hair was drawn black in it because of that, but maybe it was not that dark at all. His eyes had not been filled in, so, I thought, they must be of a light colour. Blue or green? Maybe grey?

Cloudia closed the sketchbook. Soon, she would find out. She only hoped this ��soon” would not break the word’s definition. Cloudia leaned her head back, looked up at the tattered ceiling, and kicked her legs back and forth. A year ago, her feet had hovered above the floor when she sat properly on a chair. Now, her feet reached the ground, and when she kicked her legs, her feet scraped the floor – click-clack like a pendulum.

Had so much time passed that I had become my own clock?

Then, the door opened, and someone entered. Cloudia had thought at least one of the wardens would be with him, but, apparently, they had only escorted him to the door and allowed him to enter the waiting room on his own. He was truly her problem now.

“They took their time arranging the final steps of my release,” said Oscar, “but here I am now.”

With a pounding heart, Cloudia tore her gaze from the crumbling ceiling and sat up properly on her chair. Her imagination of him was replaced by reality, and she hoped she did not stare as she scrutinised him.

Oscar Livingstone towered over her in the truest sense of the word as he was fairly tall and broadly built. He seemed robust and steadfast although he was not well-nourished: His cheeks were sunken and his skin taut. If he had not been so broad, his clothes would have hung on him like laundry on a washing line. He was only forty-four, but his black hair had largely faded to grey, and it hung long and wild over his shoulders. Oscar’s beard was also long and unkempt. Despite the wardens’ efforts to shield her eyes from the other patients in the asylum, Cloudia had been able to glimpse at some of them. Unlike Oscar, their heads had been shaven. She wondered if he had resisted when they tried to shave him, or if the staff had been too frightened of him to ever try.

But it was not the fact that Oscar looked like he had not spent the last six years of his life in an asylum but hidden away from the world in a forest that surprised and fascinated Cloudia. It was his eyes which were a beautiful light blue and which, despite the last few years, were still sharp and shone with life. They also provided such a stark contrast to his hollow body.

Looking at the rest of him, she might not have stared, but she feared that she was staring at his beautiful blue eyes now. Cloudia blinked, shook herself out of her amazement, and wrinkled up her nose when her focus was broken and her senses were not directed to one thing anymore.

“You need a bath,” Cloudia said.

[myhauntedsalem]

When the Dead Come Calling – Signs That a Deceased Loved One is Nearby

When we sleep, our vibration rises, nearly matching the higher vibration of loved ones in spirit form. Because our subconscious minds are far less cluttered than our waking minds, spirits have an easier time getting through to us. For many, dreams of this nature have a realistic texture to them, not feeling as dreamlike as most dreams. You will also have a higher probability of remembering it, even if you don’t normally remember your dreams. When you have dreams of this nature, pay close attention to them. They might be a message from beyond the grave.

Phantom Scents

Loved ones often reveal their presence by sending us scents that we always associated with them. This makes perfect sense, considering scent has the strongest connection to memory recall than any of the other senses.

For some, the scent might be a favorite perfume or the smell of pipe tobacco. For others, it could be the smell of a favorite meal or bread baking. Frequently, the smell is so faint and fleeting, you might attribute it to your imagination, but you shouldn’t. It took a lot of energy for your loved one to send that to you. Appreciate it for the gift it was.

Misplaced Items

When you place your reading glasses on your nightstand and find them on the kitchen counter, you might wonder if you’ve lost your mind. I had this happen to me repeatedly until a psychic medium friend clued me in to what was really happening. A family friend who often visited me liked to play pranks on me, similar to the things she did in life. It made me feel much better knowing it was Betty and not the first signs of dementia.

Others might find more obvious signs, like a photo of the departed loved one that refuses to remain upright or a piece of jewelry that continues to turn up in odd places. This is especially significant if the jewelry or item once belonged to the person who is visiting you.

Songs

When your traveling along and certain songs come on the radio to remind you of this certain person. Pay attention to songs.

Thoughts That Aren’t Your Own

Often, we dismiss many of the messages we receive from our loved ones as our own internal monologue. Think of ways to determine if this is your thoughts or helpful advice from a deceased friend or family member is to inspect the thought.

Unexpected Gifts

A gift doesn’t have to be something purchased from a store. It could be a cherished moment or an act of serendipity. Have you ever been feeling down and then received a friendly call from a friend to see how you’re doing? Or perhaps your melancholy thoughts might have been interrupted by the sight of a beautiful cardinal landing on your fence post outside your window. Another gift could be a flower blooming out of season or a perfect white feather on your door stop.

Meeting the Right People When You Need Them

Don’t think for a moment that it was coincidence that led you to the so-called chance meeting that changed your life. Think about your life, viewing it through the rear-view mirror. Was there ever a time when you really needed guidance, only to have exactly the right person come along to provide it for you?

Funeral Signs

Most attend their own funeral after they die.They will often roam around the room, offering comfort to their loved ones, trying to give them signs that they are peaceful in their passing.

While most people are tuned inwards during funerals, absorbed in their own emotions, if they look outside of themselves, they might see the signs their loved ones are trying to give them. It could be a touch on the shoulder or a caress on the face or simply a fond memory playing in their minds.

Watch Your Pets

If the loved one was someone who was also fond of your pets, your cat or dog might see them and react to them. Does your dog sometimes wag his tail while staring across the room? Does your cat start purring for no apparent reason? Both dogs and cats have far superior hearing than we do. They can pick up sounds that expand beyond the scope of normal human hearing. Their sight is also different, allowing them to see further into the red spectrum.

Pets often come back to visit after they’ve passed too. Signs of their presence will be similar to the habits they followed in life. They will sleep in their favorite places and jump up on beds and couches with a pronounced landing. If your cat often liked knocking the knick-knacks off your mantel, you might find them on the floor on occasion after his passing, as well.

Watching for Old Habits

Was your father always complaining about people leaving the lights on in rooms after they left? One way he might let you know he’s there is to frequently turn the the lights off, sometimes even while you’re still in the room. Was your grandmother fussy about where things went? If you rearranged her items, you might find them back in their old familiar locations.

Always bear in mind that it takes a tremendous amount of energy for spirits to manipulate the physical world. If you ask for a sign, look for the subtle signs as well as the obvious. If your best friend always called you on the phone on Thursdays, you might not receive a phantom phone call, but you might notice difficulties with the phone itself.

The soul is eternal and your loved ones will let you know this to the best of their abilities. Life goes on for them, but in a different way. Watch for the signs because they are there. You just have to know where to look for them.

[yoonchrisgull]

Alpha’s little wolf | pjm (1)

-> Synopsis: Your mind stutters dysfunctionally and you slowly take a step back.

Your brother gets abruptly cut of by a low growl, and everyone’s attention lured towards the alpha announcing his claim.

“Mate.”

-> Pairing: alpha jimin x omega reader

-> Genre: romance . Fluff . Smut (in future chapters)

-> Words: 10k

-> Chapters: preview - first - second

-> Warning: none in this part

-> About: Jimin is a bad bitch, reader is an even bigger bad bitch, seriously you’ll fall in love with the reader’s character, lots of magic shit, taehyung is a handsome creep, lots of horror, reader and Jimin are soft for each other (later on) brother Hobi cause why not, kook is a bun bun with a man bun, possessive jimin, lots of romance and understatement, this is the good shit, you won’t regret reading it…

-> In: Narrative POV, Third person POV

Check out my Masterlist

Wattpad Account: Here

“Is she done yet?”

Mira flinches at the sound of Y/N’s voice creeping up behind her and quickly turns to shoot her a disoriented look, her chest heaving in pants as she smacks a palm to her racing heart.

“Don’t scare me like that!” She screeches and once she caught the tail of her escaping breaths, she hollers towards that specific rigid door and opens it.

Well, she tried.

The door just wouldn’t budge, no matter how many times she tried jerking it. Y/N guessed that the younger had locked herself in.

Mira clicks her tongue in annoyance, mumbling some incoherent words and let go of the handle.

The blank look on her face when she turns to face her elder sister makes Y/N to hold back a grin, knowing for a fact that Mira just mentally noted to never piss the baby of the family ever again.

Y/N wonders what it was about this time. As if already excepting her to pop out the question, Mira pulls her hand up in a halt and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t even ask,” She sighs out frustratedly and walks off, her figure soon disappearing at the end of the corner.

Y/n’s lips stay clamped when the second youngest is finally out of view. After a few minutes or so, she shakes away from her trance and nears closer to the door.

“Vi,” Still, in faze by her previous state, Y/n slowly lift her knuckles to knock softly against the mahogany, her sensitive wolf ears’ picking up the shuffling coming from the inside.

Then it stops.

“Vi, it’s Y/n. You need to come downstairs. Your friends are already here,” She adds.

Y/n holds back a smile when the door swings wide open revealing the birthday girl herself clad in a cute, puffy, pink gown. Her dark hair all tied up in adorable pigtails with a visible shimmer of diamond-like pins tucked to keep her hair in place.

The elder hums in approval at her frame before crouching down to lift the 5-year-old girl in her arms.

With both of the sisters heading downstairs, where the party’s at, Vi goes on and on about how Mira unnie being a meanie when she confiscated her pink iPod.

Of course, Y/n can’t help but chuckle at her use of the big word.

However, she also can’t help but wonder why the two don’t get along sometimes.

Y/n sighs.

She’ll probably never understand. Fifteen years gap sure is a long time compared to a ten-year gap.

But what’s much worse is that she’d sometimes find herself stuck in the middle whenever the two engage into an unnecessary quarrel over a tiny misunderstanding.

One expects her to take their side, while the other individual practically forces her to agree with whatever their story is, with a threat.

At times like this, Y/n could only dread being the third born in the family while also wishing the presence of her oh-so-dear brother.

At least he knew how to keep the house sane from any sort of bicker created by the two.

Vi’s still in her arms as she makes her way towards the back door, where the event’s taking place when Mira suddenly decides to mind-link her.

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“He’s back and he’s bringing a bunch of friends along with him.” Y/n ponder momentarily, wondering just who on earth was she talking about.

“I miss Oppa,” Vi mumbles with a pout and that’s when it hits her like lightning.

Y/n shudder slightly at the soothing night breeze grazing her skin as she steps out of the house, Vi’s friends running their way the second they spotted the two of them.

“Hi, Unnie!” They cheer and Y/n acknowledge their cute presence with a smile, crouching down to allow Vi to stand on her own before fixing her posture.

“Go have fun. Unnie will be in the kitchen if you need her, okay?”

The five-year-old girl nods vigorously before sprinting away with her friends towards the balloon filled platform.

“To our close relatives, friends, and of course.” The mother of the three starts with a mic in her hand. “Vi’s precious friends.” That earned her a wave from the front row- where all the kids were situated.

Then she takes a glance behind towards Vi sitting on a little throne chair at the stage, before looking back at the crowd.

“Thank you all so much for taking the time to come and celebrate our youngest daughter’s fifth birthday. We hope this won’t be the last. Again. Thank you and we hope you enjoy,” After that, the DJ hits the button and soon enough, the place’s bouncing with cute kiddy songs, and the adults can only watch with happiness filling their eyes when spotting their children having fun.

-

“I’m home!” Y/n and Mira momentarily freeze at the voice, water running from the sink being the only sound rushing the wind until Mira decides to snap out of her daze first and off the faucet.

Y/n place the knife down, leaving a half minced onion on the counter to go inspect the familiar voice.

With reluctant steps, she opens the kitchen door only to gasp in surprise when a tall figure comes lunging in to attack her in a hug.

She knows him.

“Hobi put me down!” The female screech at the man who carries her from the kitchen to the living room only to twirl around with her still in his grasp.

“Aww~ why~?” He whines like a five-year-old child but puts her down nonetheless.

Mira comes barging in into space and immediately pounces at the eldest, tackling him to ground while Y/n’s still trying to catch her balance from all the twirling.

“Mira sto- no! not the ear- ouch!”

“Seven years, you idiot. You haven’t called us for seven years and you still have the guts to show yourself!” Mira spats and Y/n reluctantly help her off her elder brother.

Hoseok rubs the back of his ear as if trying to ease the pain and pout forms on his lips.

“They don’t allow phones at Alpha Academy,” He mumbles, “Didn’t Dad tell you that?” Hoseok’s arm grasps Y/n to help him stand up.

Y/n’s about to assure him that her parents did tell them all about that, but then he decides to screech horribly with his wide eyes glued to her chest.

“You got boobs now!?”

“Oppa!”

After hitting the male in the head for yelling out such thing, the pout on his face only grows more when he explained why it was rather shocking to him.

Y/n felt guilty, and at the same time wanted to just shove a sock inside his mouth.

He kept pointing out the stuff he noticed getting wider and bigger.

Y/n practically had to smack his hand away when he started tracing the outline of her waist only to later claim that she has got a ‘good curve’.

She doesn’t blame him though. She was still thirteen when he left for Alpha training and she pretty much agrees that her body structure did change from a chubby little preteen to a somewhat normal size one.

He’s changed as well.

Hoseok grew a few more inches, his features did sharpen to a whole new level and judging by the way he was crushing her a while ago, shows to prove that beneath his dark attire, which consisted of a sweatshirt partnered with his tight jeans and converse, there are muscles just waiting to be exposed and flexed.

Y/n cringe at the thought.

She doesn’t want to see that. She’ll barf honestly.

Just like how he did it with her, Hoseok lifts Vi in his embrace and spins her around. The sight truly is heartwarming and despite the judging face created by Mira, Y/n know that she’s feeling it too as Vi’s cute waves of laughter mingling with his raspy deep one.

“Now all my children are here!” Their mother chimes out of nowhere before running up to engulf her firstborn into a bear crushing hug, the youngest refusing to let go of his neck even when their dad tries to take her.

“No!” Vi shrieks. “I’m staying with Oppa!” Y/n let out a laugh when her dad pulls out a bar of Snickers from his pocket in attempts to bribe the youngest girl sticking to Hoseok like glue, who so happens to be busy talking to their mom to even notice the deal created by their dad.

Vi excitedly accepts it and immediately detaches herself.

“The movie’s starting in a few minutes by the way,” The elder male of the family announce and Y/n playfully salute at that.

“We’ll be there,”

“Ah Y/n, Mira! There are people I want you to meet,” Before the two could even protest, Hoseok’s already grabbed a hold of Y/n’s wrists, immediately dragging her figures at the corner of the massive yard.

Though dark, she’s able to spot a few males standing underneath the tree her great grandfather planted.

As they neared the place, a waft of blueberry suddenly fills Y/n’s senses and her wolf decides to wake up from her deep slumber to shake her fur.

Y/n feels her wolf urging her to fasten her pace as if Hoseok’s tempo wasn’t fast enough, towards the undyingly alluring scent and the back of her hair stands.

Then, she purrs.

Y/n bite her lip, moving her eyes to look at the ground.

She knows that scent.

“Guys!” Hoseok’s cheerful voice calls out and Y/n soon come to a stop, the male’s hand leaving hers.

She doesn’t look up. She’ll never lookup.

Her brother’s completely oblivious at the feeling surging her body.

Y/n shift uncomfortably in her spot, still refusing to look up.

She can feel his gaze planted on her. It’s strong and she flinches when Hoseok suddenly nudges her arm.

She shouldn’t feel intimidated.

This is normal for all werewolves.

So, with an uneasy heart, she inhales a deep breath and looks up.

Almost instantly, she locks gazes with a pair of beautiful ebony eyes, the moonlight piercing through the leaves, cascading down on him like an enchantment highlighting his eyes, nose, lips and then down to his perfectly chiselled jaw.

Y/n look away first, gulping dryly.

“Guys, I’d like you to meet Mira, and Y/-”

And that’s when they hear it.

Y/n’s mind fumbles uncontrollably and she slowly takes a step back.

He gets abruptly cut off by a low growl, and everyone adverts their attention towards the wolf claiming what belongs to them.

“Mate.”

Y/n can’t stand the rapid growth of tension building in between all of them. Even from the corner of her eyes underneath the translucent moon, she’s able to spot the anticipation of what’ll happen next reflecting from their eyes.

So the only clear choice she’s able to come up with in a heated situation such as this.

Is to run.

With no words whatsoever, she quickly turn on her heel and and start sprinting out of the group. Her wolf pounces up almost instantly at her action, angrily growling at her from the inside of her head.

No doubt was she disliking her for abandoning her mates.

'Go back!'She says, and Y/n wince at her obnoxious bark before deciding it’d be best to tune her off momentarily.

Even from a few feet away, she can still feel his eyes burning holes at her figure as she try to slip her way through some of the guests, at the same time making sure to not bump to one.

This probably wasn’t a good idea.

After what seemed like forever, a sigh of relief escapes the caves of her mouth when she finally reached the safe tunnel of her house, her back pressed against the hard mahogany of the door.

Definitely not a good idea.

There’s a moment of silence where her breathes’ the only sound echoing the empty space, her chest heaving slightly from all that running. Once she has caught up with her breathing, a little flashback starts playing and she recalls what had just happened.

Then, she groan.

She has completely made a fool right out of herself. In front of her siblings, her brother’s friends, and most especially her…. her mate.

Y/n grimace, but she know exactly why she did it.

She’s still not ready.

The last thing she wants in this world is knowing she’ll get stuck with the same person forever. She’s twenty for goodness sake and her desire to view life in a different perspective’s much stronger than a pack of well-trained wolves getting ready for battle.

She wants to experience what its like living a life of freedom and on her own. She’s not ready for the commitment, the relationship too and the obligation that comes along with it, at least not yet.

Wait. No!

She doesn’t want this one bit. She wants out.

Out of this mate-bond that’s slowly forming in her, away from him and everything that comes with him.

Sighing, she’s then pulled out from her little trance when she feel the handle beside she arm shift. With narrowed eyes, she move her attention to the side.

That familiar scent of blueberry decides to attack her senses again, and she unconsciously shudder at the sensation it was giving her.

“I know you’re in there, little wolf.” Then the door creaks open.

Well crap.

She forgot to lock it. If she had any alternate way of escaping this fate, then she’s willing to accept it with open arms.

She bite her lips hard.

The door slowly starts to open, and he’s on the other side. With panic rushing her system, accompanied by the immense beating of her heart. In one swift motion, she collect herself and immediately turn to apply pressure against the door.

Basically slamming it shut again on his face and she hears him curse something under his breath. “Don’t make me repeat this twice. Open the door. Now!”

Y/n gulp.

'Stupid and selfish.’

She knows she is that.

Behind that mild deep growl, lies a sea of impatient creatures that’s ready to devour anything in its path if not given what it wanted.

He almost sounds pissed.

Wait! Who are you kidding? He sounds freaking furious!

When Y/n don’t say anything, or do anything. He grabs a hold of the handle again and starts to push. No doubt would he easily empower her figure, and she honestly expected it. Her mind begins to fumble with a bunch of different escape options when she feel her feet starting to graze backwards.

A light bulb pops.

The front door.

Y/n can run to the front door, shift and disappear into the near by forest.

That’ll work.

She’ll be back when they leave. Of course she can’t leave her family.

Taking in a deep breath, she gives herself a good three seconds before quickly releasing the handle to sprint towards her escape.

The door then flys open revealing the man himself and his eyes go wide when her figure starts to disappear in the corner.

A cold chill ripples down her back at the sound of him growling, his heavy footsteps soon ringing her ears and she force herself to quicken her tempo.

He’s definitely beyond furious right now. I mean who wouldn’t? What wolf in their right mind would just run away the second they’ve found their mate?

Its crazy, but at the same time, judging by her current situation, she can consider herself one of those crazy wolfs.

She knew this is the stupidest thing she has done in her life and she would love to stop and explain all the matter to him like a normal human.

But at the stupid run she did back there, she’s confirmed that he’ll probably won’t let her go after that.

Once reaching the front door, she quickly swing it open and practically hop out from the porch, not caring if her clothes rip into pieces when she start to shift.

The man’s getting closer and we all know that she don’t even want him anywhere near her. A few cracks fills the whistling air when she start transforming.

It takes about a minute for her amber fur to emerge, its follicles shimmering underneath the hues of the bright moon, and soon enough, she land hard on four paws.

Y/n push away her wolf who’s struggling to take over, but she accomplish that with ease before taking her leave to hide away from the man running up behind her.

He’s fast, even in his human form.

Adrenaline rushes her system when she speed towards the forest, trees hovering her wolf form as she zap away in this cold breezy night.

Just when she thought she has already lost him, she pick up the sound of his running footsteps.

Her wolf whimpers and she can’t help feel the guilt forming in the pit of her stomach at the sound that rumbles out of him.

Her fur stands straight, chills slithering her spine when she hear the sad howl piercing its way through her surroundings.

He’s transformed and now’s expressing what he feels. There’s a cry of desperation in his voice, a longing of want taking over its every melody.

It was her turn to whimper now at the thought, but she doesn’t stop at all.

No!

She only quicken her pace with much determination flashing her eyes.

Why?

Cause she won’t allow a little guilt to come change her mind.

Splattering of her rushed footsteps flows the howling night, her heavy breathes mingling with the wind as her wolf form continues to zips through natures given resources.

Y/n don’t want to slow down despite the urge being great.

How can she?

When knowing too well that the big wolf behind her starts picking up his speed, his scent uninvitingly filling her nostrils.

Uneasiness electrocutes her body when she sense it getting stronger by the second, and her hind legs jerks up to its limit.

If she could run any faster, then she would. With determination flaring her eyes, she pursue to dodge every bark, tree, every obstacles forming her way.

She can’t get him near her. She doesn’t want him to reach her.

Y/n glance over her shoulder momentarily, oh how she wished she didnt.

Cause at that very moment, the second she lock gazes with his dark moon reflected eyes, she absentmindedly lower her speed.

A wave of chills slides through her spine as she takes in the masculinity of his wolf.

His fur’s white as the bellowing snow, the beam of the moon cascading down the soothness of his hair, providing a pleasant illusion of turquoise dancing on the ends.

His front legs are strong as they bounce off the ground, reflexing when dropping hard on the moist soil.

Her conscious’s left in a state of adoration at the species before her and her wolf purrs at that thought, that all of that, is hers.

A moment of silence invades her environment as her eyes stay glued to him.

She can’t take them off, and slowly by slowly, the air around her stops brushing against her body when her legs comes to halt.

She’s no longer in tact with her inner self that’s reminding her what she’s suppose to do.

She’s suppose to run, but she can’t.

Being able to see him with her very own eyes sends her jumping of a cliff,  providing her the unnecessary feeling of euphoria.

He is beautiful.

She’s still staring at him, like a deer caught in a headlight. She’s stuck in between mixed emotions and the faint memory of having to run away.

She doesn’t even notice his presence inching closer to where she’s left hanging.

His wolf emerges from the bliss of darkness, leaves rushing along his fur as he makes his entrance, the light beaming from the moon working like a spotlight as they trickle down his figure.

His eyes stay glued with her’s when he nears her, and before she’s even able to comprehend everything and eventually make a run for it, he rubs himself on her.

Y/n can only hold in a breath as her muscle tenses to his touch. Feeling him a few feet away already made her frenzy, but now that he’s this close?

She feel like her paws’ about to give way.

He continues to nuzzle his snout against the crook of her neck before trailing up to her ear, his tongue flicking softly on the edge.

She can only stay stiff when he moves to her other side, feeling his big body brushing against her own.

Eventually, her wolf starts to relax to his soothing gesture, and she frown.

Just because she seems okey in the outside, it doesn’t mean she’s not in a state of havoc in the inside.

An endless wave of worry and anxiety schemes through her veins when a truck of realization hits her hard.

She know what he’s doing now. Why didn’t she notice this sooner?

Every wolf’s aware of the meaning behind this act and she always despised it.

She try to take a step back, but freeze when a low growl escapes the depths of his throat.

So, she just stay still and let him do it.

He’s rubbing his scent on her, making sure everyone knows that she belongs to him and no one less.

Like every other werewolves out there, despite the different ranks.

She knows what he was doing and she gulp dryly.

He was marking his property.

-

Sighing, Y/n finish pulling her hair up into a ponytail, not giving much effort to the task really, before reluctantly exiting the comforts of her bedroom.

After the little moment her wolves shared amid the forest, she surprisingly found herself giving in to his soothing dark eyes that were telling she it was time to go home.

She grimaces at the memory, face scrunching slightly at how she just simply obliged without a word, submitting to him like a little pup who’s still in need of a parent’s guidance which is so unlike her.

Just as she’s about to take the last turn that’ll eventually lead her to the living room, she draws back from her little trance when Vi appears from the corner with bloodshot eyes.

Her fingers curled into fists as she gently rubs her eyes, faint sobs escaping her and Y/n instantly approach her with a worried look. “Vi, what wrong?”

The five-year-old doesn’t answer her, her body just lunching in to attack her in a tight embrace when she has crouched down to her level.

She’s still crying, her wet tears meeting the bare of her neck as she stands up. With her hand gently soothing her back in hopes to at least get the little to relax and tone down a bit, the elder female resume back on her track and finally made it to the living room.

A lump abruptly forms in her throat, stomach slightly dancing when her eyes fall on the figure sitting on one of the couches.

He’s there, conversing with their father over something serious judging by the expressions they had on.

They don’t realize the female’s presence only until Vi decide it was time to calm down and she instantly jumps in Y/n’s hold as a sign to let her down.

“Unnie.” She whines in a not so little sound, not that Y/n was planning to eavesdrop or anything.

And soon enough, two pair of eyes are planted on her.

One of them makes her shiver, in contrast to the one her father sends her.

“Ah, Y/n.” Her father smiles before gesturing her to come closer, Vi all long gone heading to the only God knows where.

“I’d like you to meet the son of a good friend of mine.”

Oh.

Aside from feeling a bit relieved about him not revealing the whole being-his-mate-thing, Y/n can’t help the disappointment flashing her veins though.

“This is my daughter, Y/n.” Her old man chimes too excitedly for her comfort, before gesturing towards the male.

“And this young man’s the next alpha. Jimin.”

Well, cruds. Is that how Hoseok got to know him?

At the Alpha Training Center?

A fake smile stretches across Y/n’s face as she acknowledges him with a polite bow.

Great.

If the heavens didn’t think it bothered her at all when they finally decide to drop in the package of her-not-so-wanted mate, finding out he’s a soon-to-be alpha is another.

She’s not ready for any of this.

Jimin smiles at her, not the really friendly type though.

It’s as if he’s forcing himself to show off charm for the sake of her father.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/n.” His voice’s silky as they brush past her ears, a little bit strained for some reason and the look in his eyes’ the opposite to what he’s trying to flaunt out.

An obnoxious clap from her dad steals her attention and Y/n swiftly turn to face him.

His hands are clasped together in front, a wide grin in full display.

“I’ll leave you kids to it. Get to know each other.” He inquires before quickly passing them both and eventually disappearing up the flight of stairs.

When he’s gone, the male beside her speaks up “Okey, let’s get one thing straight here.” He starts and Y/n can only quirk her brow to what he has to say.

His eyes held bluntness in them, the fake smile from earlier vanishing his lips and it almost looks like he doesn’t care at all.

Okay?

“I’m not ready for a mate.”

If only he knew that rush of relief relinquishing her whole body then no doubt would he be struck with surprise?

Honestly, a part of her is happy he doesn’t want a mate, but the other part makes her wanna curl into a tight fetus and pour her heart out in agony.

Ouch.

And to think he was the same wolf who chased after her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Okey.” She responds tightly, holding her unwavering gaze at him. “Then let’s end it here. Right now.”

There’s a moment of silence that seeps around the room when her words finally sink in.

It catches him off guard and one can easily tell how surprised he is just by the looks of his face.

His shoulders’ tense, eyes widening as they peer through her own before they drastically and almost instinctually fall.

She was being serious, and that doesn’t go unnoticed at all.

Jimin’s now glaring at her with clenched fists, his jaw constricting to the point where Y/n Can feeling her whole body burning with heat beneath his immense stare.

What’s he glaring for now?

She’s making this a whole lot easier for him bringing this solution up. If he doesn’t want a mate, then it’s better to put an end to this before it’s too late.

She takes in a deep breath, getting ready to spill those very words forming the pit of her throat.

Jimin immediately notices this.

“I, Jung Y/n-”

She can’t finish her words.

Why?

Cause Jimin’s now clasping her mouth with his manly hand and his arm is around her waist.

He suddenly jerks her body to press hard against him that way their faces are only a few centimetres apart.

Y/n widen her eyes, and he silently scoffs, unamused.

“You’re an idiot, my little wolf. A complete idiot.”

When Y/n succeed with wiggling her mouth away from his grasp, both his arms fall to completely secure her inside his grip.

Y/n doesn’t notice the way he pulls her even closer, if that was even possible, due to still being left in a state of dilemma and shock.

Why on earth did he stop her?

He said it himself that he didn’t want a mate!

Anyone from a few feet away can tell how confused the female was, her mouth gaped in surprise at his actions and words.

Jimin leans in to nuzzle his nose against the crook of her neck and she falls stiff.

A faint yet noticeable churn forms the pit of her stomach and she grimaces.

He’s affecting her not only physically but emotionally too. She doesn’t even know him that well.

The male relaxes in her hold, nuzzling his face even more and a fast rush of tingles zaps through her system when she feels something soft press against her.

The female’s breath hitches.

His soft lips grace her skin, sending a glittering effect of something as he now plants sweet butterfly kisses on her shoulder.

When the reality of her situation decides to finally sink in, Y/n immediately plants her palms on his chest in a hopeful attempt to push him away.

Too bad the plan doesn’t work, cause when she tries to do just that, a low intimidating growl vibrates out of the man’s throat before he harshly grazes his teeth to keep her in place, daring her to go on with her motives.

It doesn’t hurt, but Y/n’s afraid he’ll sink his canines deep enough to mark her as his if she does make another move.

Y/n internally pound him with a hammer for the threat before dropping her arms in defeat and she could have sworn she felt him smile against her skin when he retracts his teeth away, replacing its place with two soft lips.

The man hums pleasingly. “Stupid little wolf.” He muses almost mockingly, and when he chuckles, the caged female can feel the vibration of his body seeping through both their clothed forms.

“I said I wasn’t ready for a mate. Not, I didn’t want a mate.” He pulls back and plants his forehead against his mate’s, closing his eyes as if to enjoy the moment.

There’s a smile on his full lips when he releases a relieved sigh. “You smell amazing, little wolf.”

This guy’s a weirdo.

A moment of silence follows the man’s words as Y/n’s mind’s not comprehending anything other than the feeling of those butterflies crossing her abdomen.

Jimin’s eyes stay closed in a still manner, his chest heaving as he breathes.

At that very moment, Vi comes rushing in with heavy footsteps but then decides to abruptly halt in her steps when noticing the unusual sight before her.

Panicking slightly, Y/n look away from the handsome face in front of her and drawback to lock gazes with a pair of those familiar eyes.

Vi’s currently tilting her head to the side, sending her sister a weird look and Y/n probably know why.

She’s still trapped inside Jimin’s hold, her bodies too close for her comfort and now a five-year-old girl is shooting the both of them a questioning look.

“Vi!” Y/n screech, like a kid, caught stealing candy.

Quickly, she uses this chance to completely get away from her undeniably hot mate when he decides to glance over where she’s looking at.

Jimin scrunches his nose slightly, her warmth no longer intact with his own once she slipped out from his grasp.

“What are you doing here?” Y/n ask Vi and Jimin doesn’t hesitate to approach her again, slowly pressing his chest against her back with both his arms now securing her tight.

He rests his chin on her shoulder and when he speaks, firecrackers uncontrollably explodes inside of her.

“You’re Violet, right?” He whispers to the little girl, purposely teasing his mate with his breath.

Vi snaps out from her curiousness, but what she does next, leaves Jimin tightening his grip around Y/n’s struggling form with his face all nuzzled against the portion of her neck.

He smiles amusingly.

“Mom! Unnie! Y/n Unnie has a boyfriend!”

Y/n immediately jerk out of Jimin’s grasp as the voice of her little dear devil shakes the walls of her house.

“Vi!” She shriek, staring down at her in disbelief as she looked up at her with large innocent doe eyes.

For a record, Y/n could not blame her. The little girl literally found her elder sister in the arms of the man Y/n now was officially starting to dislike.

As if hearing that a new pup was born in a family, their mother and sister did not waste a minute as they came running into the living room in bewilderment and shock.

'Great! Just great!’

“What….?” Their woman trails off the moment she enters, eyes flickering from Y/n’s tense figure to Jimin’s grinning face while her second last daughter is too busy having that shook look on her face to say anything.

Jimin simply smirks from behind Y/n, stepping in as he places a hand in the small of her back.

Goosebumps immediately raise themselves at even his slightest touch. “Mr Jung! We haven’t really decided on saying this out loud this early, but since you have already found out” Smiling down gratefully at Vi, he continues in a soft voice. “Yes, Y/N and I are dating.”

Mira’s jaw drops to the ground as well as the amount of hugeness her old woman’s eyes turn.

And there Y/n was, standing in the middle of all the lie and drama Jimin was showcasing like a fool.

A thrilling excitement squeal suddenly leaves Vi, her small hands turning into fists as her body literally one-off positive energy and response.

'Oh for God sake!’

Y/n internally roll her eyes, mouth opening to end all the blind lie Jimin was telling them when her eyes land on her mother.

And she stops.

Tears were welled up in her shining happiness filled eyes, her bottom lips shaking lightly and Y/n could tell she was happy.

A breath escapes the female’s parted lips at the sight.

Y/n have been single too long for her mother to start worrying about her. There was once even a thought that she doesn’t have a mate.

Of course, she had to react like this.

Y/n close her mouth, deciding to comply against the ich in her mouth.

A feeling close to mischief pass through her guts suddenly and she furrows her brows at that.

For sure she hasn’t felt like one, actually, she’s pissed.

Then what is this sudden unusual feeling?

Y/n direct her eyes to her so-called soulmate and she frowns when she spots the current shine in his eyes.

Mischievous.

'It’s him.’ Her mind states and she internally groan.

The stupid bond.

It’s the mentioned, she knows it.

It’s him who is feeling like he has every power over the situation right now and he’s excited.

And because of the oh so stupid bond the Goddess has gifted her with her mate, she can feel him slowly and clearly.

And that means, he can too.

And he is taking advantages of that.

“We met a while back when Hoseok Hyung came to visit overnight.” He smiles softly. “Mrs Jung! Please don’t cry. I do not like seeing you like this at all.”

Although sounding truly genuine in his last sentence, Y/n could not help but turn to him with a scowl.

What is he up to?

He turns his head to her, his smile widening as he linked eyes with her. “I’ll take good care of her.”

His eyes reflect the light of the living room, hidden promises and genuine statement dominating his irises and Y/n feels her heart skipping a beat.

His posture suddenly look buffing, height towering as he gazes down at her.

And she couldn’t help but take a step back in submission.

Their mother nods, thining her lips as to stop herself from pouring her eyes out.

Y/n sigh.

This is going to be a long ride.

-

Y/n bit her lips, feeling the skin of her neck pricking in anger as she stirred the food she was preparing for the guests.

'Should I poison him?’ The tempting thought passes through her head but she instantly makes a face.

Yeah! as if that jerk of alpha would die? Moreover, he’ll come after her even as a ghost.

No! She definitely does not want a possessive obsessed Alpha after her that might rape her as a ghost.

Jokes aside, she has read a book like that.

What happened today in the living room did not leave her surprised, but the only regret she had of was why she did not speak up?

She could have just said they weren’t really together, but just dating.

But who is she kidding? Y/n do not want him anywhere near her.

'Well, at least they don’t know that we both are mates!’ This thought was the only thing that was keeping her insane.

How is she going to face Hoseok?

He was the only one who knew that this was her and Jimin’s first time meeting and he had not come home in the past seven years once.

“Y/n!”

Concern said the voice of her brother hits her eardrums from behind.

He sure does carry a long life.

Y/n turns around, praying to the one above that this was not about today, but her pathetic prays were broken into pieces when she sees the frown ingulfing his handsome face.

“Oppa!” She answers, not liking the expression on his face one bit.

“What is going on?” He gets straight to the point and Y/n freezes in her place before the stove.

“Oh, that! It’s no–”

“Truthfully Y/n! I don’t want to be fed with lies.”

And the female quite down. He knows something.

Y/n breath out, dropping her shoulder in defeat, knowing really well that it was hard fooling this man.

He was the one to fool everyone, not the other way around.

“He’s….” Pouting at him to leave the matter alone as her last attempt, she’s met with a defeat when he shakes his head, clearly wanting her to speak up.

She gives up.

“He’s my mate!”

As expected, his eyes turn wide in disbelief but his expressions confuse her the second moment when they narrow in what she sees is anger.

“No!” He shakes his head, whispering, leaving her further confused.

“Hobi.” Y/n call out to get his attention but gasp when a growl rips out from deep inside his chest.

“Not my sister.” With that, he turns to storm out of the kitchen with his steps literally shaking the ground.

The female gasp, her steps running off right after him.

Something is definitely not right.

Y/n panics.

Hoseok looks angry, really angry.

She hasn’t seen him like this for years. The older male has been away for alpha training for seven years and she has forgotten how terrifying he was when he got mad.

Her brother was many steps ahead of her. No matter how much she tried keeping up with him, his one-step alone was the size of three of hers.

“Oppa!” Y/n call him out one last time, not wanting him to do something he’ll regret.

He was surely going to beat the living crap out of Jimin.

The male who was the future alpha of their pack.

She didn’t know why she was defending him and honestly, she could have said that she didn’t care about her tease of a mate.

But she did.

She cared about him cause it wasn’t his fault either.

They were bonded by the moon goddess and it wasn’t his fault that his mate was her, the sister of one of his great friends.

Hoseok didn’t listen to her calls, the anger has taken over his entire head, leaving him completely blank but a mission to confront his young friend he practically grew up with.

He skips outside of the house, his steps taking him to the back of the garden where he knew he’ll be.

Not long, the chuckles that rambled through Jimin’s chest hit his eardrums and he got even madder.

Jimin was a great guy.

He would take care of his sister until his last breath. He would listen to her rather than his own beta.

But he was not for his sister.

He knew how Jimin was. He knew what really went through that mind of his.

He knew exactly what his future plans were and he was not going to let his sister get involved with someone like him.

“Jimin!” He growls, the voice released from deep inside his throats, literally freezing even the male alpha on his place.

Jimin turns towards the voice only to feel the breath getting knocked out of his lungs the other second.

He stumbles back a little on his feet before feeling himself being dragged forward by his collar.

Gasps were heard around him and the other males who were chilling around the garden a moment ago were now on their feet, left completely bewildered by the elder’s sudden act.

“Hoseok!” Jin scolds in a booming voice, taking a step in to separate the future alpha and beta.

He’s however stopped by Namjoon, who takes a hold of his hand and shakes his head at him, mind linking him to leave the two males alone.

They were in a fight and the first rule that they were forced to drill into their minds was to never step in a fight acting out between two dominating males.

“You successfully got inside my family.” Hoseok barks into Jimin’s face who was too calm for the situation.

He didn’t fight back nor jerk himself out of the tight hold of his older friend.

Y/n watch from afar with her mouth gap open, eyes wide as she took in the situation led mainly by her own self.

“You managed to get inside my sister’s head. Just like you promised, you fucker.” Hoseok whispers the last sentence to the male who was held tightly in his fist.

Jimin breath out before a smile slowly tilt upon his lips. “Oh, you know that really well, Hyung.” He whispers back and before he knows it, his head wipes to the side harshly.

Hoseok fist mercilessly stabs into his jaw, once, twice, thrice, yet the future alpha doesn’t do anything to get himself out of the male’s hold.

He rather chuckles, as if the protective brother’s blows were not hurting him at all.

But they all knew they were.

The cracks of his bones located in his jaw were diffusing like palm twitching torture into the air.

But he still laughs.

Y/n watch with a scrunch up face.

He’s crazy.

And she will never involve herself with someone like him.

“Hyung! That’s enough.” Jungkook and Taehyung step forward to prey the male away from the now beaten alpha.

With much difficulty, they were able to separate the males and Jimin freely let his body be thrown to the ground of the blooming garden.

Moon stared down at them in disappointment, Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi copying its expression as the two younger held Hoseok on their hold with all their strength, their alpha laughing his heart out on the ground with a bloody mouth while his mate just stared in bewilderment.

“You dare manipulate her. I won’t even care if you’re the fucking alpha. I’m gonna kill you with my own bare hands.” Hoseok growls, jerking his body for a release from the tight hold of the two youngers.

Y/n steps in and they all feel her presence by the whiff of a strong female scent that suddenly lingers in the air.

She starts walking towards them and all must have thought that she’ll normally run to her bleeding mate.

Wrong.

She ambles right towards her struggling brother and the fact leaves everyone confused.

Even Jimin slows down his mischievous chuckles.

No female can resist the pull towards their mates, especially when their males are hurt.

“Oppa. It’s alright. It’s alright.” She calms Hoseok down with a soft voice, taking a hold of his hands.

Her touch immediately calms him down and he surprisingly stops struggling.

Jungkook and Taehyung release him and stare down at the small female in shock.

Hoseok was a male who could fuck someone up with just his looks and bright personality, but no one wanted to get on his bad side.

As much as his smile was wide enough to reach his eyes, his mouth was as wide as to tear an individual apart into shreds in seconds.

And she did something not many could do with just a touch and a smile.

“I won’t let him manipulate me. Don’t worry. I’m not that gullible.” She giggles at him and he fully melts into her hold.

Wrapping an arm around her, he suddenly bends all the way down to place his head on her shoulder, his breath heavy as he tries to forget about the now silent male sprawled onto the ground.

Y/n pat his back slowly and a squeal leaves her lips when he suddenly picks her up over his shoulder.

“Come on.” He pats the back of her knees and she giggles even more. “We have a lot to catch up.”

Like he had not just beaten the alpha till bleeding, he turns around with a wide grin and carries her inside.

The six males left alone with the darkness of the night breath out in disbelief.

“Unbelievable..” Yoongi, who has been silently observing and resting his back on the tree with crossed arms shakes his head and directs his eyes down at the silent alpha.

To say that Jimin was left pissed off was an understatement.

Then why did he had that pained expression on his face?

Why did he look so bothered?  

Why is he suddenly showing how he feels after closing himself off since the beginning?

-

Y/n yawns, a hand rubbing the showering sleep out of her eye as the other held a glass under the cooler which poured out water for her.

Her hair was a mess, black shorts drowned in the sea of her cream-coloured oversized sweater, making her look like she wasn’t wearing anything underneath while one of her shoulders was exposed to the air, showing off her black bra strap.

She knew well that she looked extremely unbearable at the moment and stepping out of her room in that state, especially in the presence of male guests, was not a good idea.

But did she care?

Nop! Not at all!

'Screw them all! This is my house.’

“I will advise you to not wear something like that in the presence of so many men in the house.” A voice speaks up from behind, making her flinch in her place.

She holds the glass of water tighter in her palm and turns around to look at the culprit.

The male smiles, arms crossed over his chest as his body was leaned on the wall next to the kitchen door.

Y/n blinks in bewilderment. “What?”

Taehyung shakes his head, discarding her question by greeting her while leaning away from the wall. “Morning to you too, sunshine.”

Y/n furrow her brows in confusion, watching as his figure starts to walk towards her.

She swears she saw his eyes lingering over her.

She takes a step back when he keeps on stepping closer, eyes slowly widening at his decrease of distance while looking so unbothered.

He grins when he senses her body backing away and it makes him keep moving further.

Just as he’s close enough to touch his body with hers, he stops and reaches out his hand behind her.

Y/n’s breath hitch due to his proximity and she feels him grabbing something from the shelf behind her.

Her hands fist tightly on her sides, backing herself away from his reach.

She won’t know what is happening, nor as to why he’s acting like this, but all she’s getting from him is uncanny eerie vibes.

She hasn’t even met him or any of Hoseok’s friends to be this friendly with them and for them to get this close to her.

'Do all the male who is deprived of a female presence for so many years act like this?’

She knows for a fact that the alpha training academy was only organized for males. These boys probably have not seen or interacted with a female for seven years to be this mischievous around them.

They sure are thirsty.

'Just like someone.’ She almost rolls her eyes at the thought of her certain mate.

However, this man sure does takes his time on taking things but thankfully he pulls away.

He shows her the small bowl and a spoon he has just taken and finally moves away from her and walks towards the refrigerator.

Y/n only inhales when he’s far away from her, the soreness in her throats now stretching too much for her to satisfy them with just a glass of water.

She needs air. Fresh air.

“I’m quite surprised actually.” Taehyung pours the cereal into the milk-filled bowl. “You calm Hobi Hyung down really easily last night”

Y/n rise a brow. “Is it suppose to be hard?”

Taehyung chuckles, nodding his head. “You tell me. He wasn’t like that in the academy. Not until he got here….”

His last sentence was a whisper, making it seem as if he didn’t want her to hear it but he purposely said it loud so that they could hit her eardrums.

'This man is so weird…’ She bits the inside of her lips, placing down the filled glass of water on the counter, she starts to skip out of the kitchen.

To be in the suffocating presence of this male is the last thing she wanted to do.

His act might have been not that bold, but his whispering words and lingering eyes made her feel uncomfortable even inside her skin.

“You’re leaving.” His raspy voice makes her halt hallways in her step and a shiver went down her spine when she turns a look at him.

He was smiling and it almost reaches his cheeks, but his eyes made her freeze.

They were wide open, staring at her as if she was something precious, something so delicate to break.

He almost looked crazy.

She gulps, the silence piercing through her body like sharp pins.

She couldn’t move, nor speak.

She felt paralyzed.

For the first time, she was scared.

She wanted to walk out, to get herself out of the sudden dark aura that was now lingering around the whole kitchen.

And as if the moon goddess has listened to her silent prayers, the door of the kitchen slides open, welcoming her one and only mate inside the walls of the warm residence.

Y/n snaps her head towards the door, her breath releasing itself from deep inside her throats in relief.

Jimin looks up from the ground as he enters, his eyes shifting from Taehyung to Y/n.

He stops his gaze on her, orbs darkening immediately as it lingers down her red cheery plump lips, to her pale delicate shoulder blades.

The sight of her black strip peeking out proudly from her sweater and the way her exposed thighs softly press against each other almost makes him groan in delight.

Is she trying to tease him? If yes, then it is working well.

He feels his body getting warmer, a shiver going down his spine to the shapes of butterflies inside his stomach and then further down right in between his legs.

He bits his lips, shamelessly checking her out.

Y/n scrunch up her face, a feeling of disgust lumping in her throats.

She runs a hand through her hair, fully forgetting about the sitting male who was still staring at her with the same expression.

She walks past Jimin, making sure to not touch anything of him as she skips out of the door in utter disgust and disturbance.

'What is wrong with them?’

She keeps walking towards her door, wanting nothing more than to just drawn herself in the dozens of cloths.

Just as she’s close enough to touch her door handle, she feels her body being jerked backwards.

A gasp leaves her lips, instinct caught completely off guards to move away when she feels her back hitting the wall.

“Where do you think you’re going, puppy?” The voice rasps out close to her face as the unknown male roughly pushes his body into hers.

Y/n gasps and felt the unknown male roughly push his body into hers.

Her head spins for a second, her wolf instincts caught completely off guard for her to jerk him away.

His breath hits her left cheek like a soft touch, his leg sneaking in between her knees.

She exhales, eyes wide and unfocused as her wolf whimpers in the corner at the sudden attack.

It’s when the voice of his throaty chuckle hits her eardrums is when she snaps out of her daze and her brows furrow.

She starts to wiggle her body out of his firm hold. “Let go of me.”

The male clicks his tongue. “Little wolves do not talk. They whine, baby. Will you do that for me?”

Y/n scrunch her face in disgust, her hands that were pushing at his chest clenching his shirt. “You psycho. Let me go.”

This cause the male to push his body even further into hers, loving the way she felt against him.

He ignores her jerking and leans in to tuck his nose into her morning bed hair.

He inhales a deep breath and tightens his hold around her waist, feeling his wolf getting excited with just the sight of her.

His close proximate cause her to flinch back, her wiggling and jerking body suddenly weakening.

“Don’t.” She sharply lets out, her sensing high from his alluring scent.

Of course, she had to be affected.

This jerk of a male was her mate.

The one who has succeeded in taking first place in her dislike list in just a few days.

She’s sure if he knew that fact, he will be so proud of his achievement.

“You wouldn’t be here if you have behaved. There are more than enough males in your sweet sweet home and yet you decided to roam around in just that.” His hand sneak up her thigh, halting just at the edge of her black shorts.

Y/n lets out a growl. “I will wear whatever the fuck I want. You have nothing to do with what I decide.”

“Oh but I do, little wolf. I’m your mate. And more than that, I’m your alpha.” He possessively wraps the hand that was playing with the edge of her shorts, around her thigh.

And Y/n flinch back.

“Jimin, No.” She lets her wolf whimper out, her small fist clenching tightly around his shirt.

If this would have acquired more normally then the little devil inside her would have been jumping in joy right now, but this…

This felt so wrong.

He was showering his possession over her in such a way that it scared her to her bones.

He is her mate. He will do anything for her.

But she didn’t know him well enough to know what he’ll do to her.

He suddenly loosens his grip on her, as if the sound of his little mate’s whine has hit his senses.

And it has.

It has hit him deep into his heart and he had immediately pulled away to examine if he was hurting her.

He finally gazes into her light-coloured eyes, the small speckles of gold that were dancing around her irises leaving him in extreme awe.

She was pretty, beautiful even.

Aside from her looks and posture, she has managed to take his breath away by just her smallest of acts.

By the way, her hair sways with the wind as if they were conversing with each other in a subject they’ve been craving for, to the way she simply moves, her smiles, the care in her eyes.

They all reminded him of her bother’s when he first time visited the Alpha academy.

Innocent and pure.

Something he was not. Something he will never be.

Y/n trial her eyes over his features, feeling his head leaning closer to hers.

Everything dims around them as if even the air has stopped its waves to not disturb them.

Jimin drops his eyes on her soft-looking plump lips and he brings his head even closer.

Y/n’s heart skips a beat, glancing at his mouth as well as her head lifted slightly to lean over his touch.

Both of them breathe out against each other, their sighs hitting each other’s cheeks with soft finger pads.

Y/n looks into his eyes again which were still over her lips and she whispers out. “Leave.”

Jimin looks up into her eyes, finding them wavering in slight fear and determination.

After all the time she had seen him act, she’s sure that it will get him a long time to gain her trust.

She might have a lovesick wolf inside her, but she was a woman with a mind.

And she definitely won’t let him play around with her.

And he seems to fully acknowledge that right now.

He brings his head closer to softly bumping their foreheads together before completely pulling away and flashing out, leaving her alone in the empty hallway.

-

“Unnie, why don’t I have a mate?” Vi leaves Yoongi’s side and comes running towards Y/n with the question and the elder immediately bends down to her height.

Y/n pass a glance at Yoongi who now sat alone, his eyes directed towards them as he anticipates for a reply to the question he had successfully drilled inside Vi’s innocent mind.

“Hm… You do have a mate.” Y/n states, smiling at her little sister as her hands reach out to fix her loose ponytails.

Vi gasps in happiness. “I have a mate?” She questions and turns her head back towards Yoongi and squeals out. “I have a mate.”

She then turns towards Y/n again and furrows her brows. “What’s a mate?”

Yoongi chuckles at the little girl and Y/n follow after him, her eyes shining in amusement.

“Mate is someone who will love you forever and make you happy.” Hoseok shows up behind Y/n and ruffles Vi’s hair.

The little girl part her lips in awe. “Wow. Yoongi Oppa! Tell me more.” She runs back to the elder sitting on the bench in the shadows and the male happily welcomes her with open arms.

Hoseok grins and takes a seat on the blooming grass next to Y/n. “I feel so bad for not being here when she was born. She doesn’t even know me.”

Y/n turns her head towards him and shakes her head. “Don’t be. We always made sure to tell her about you. She might be a little distance right now but she’s a smart girl. She will be sticking to you like glue in some while.”

Hoseok sighs, a sad smile talking over his features as he stares at Vi who seems to behave a serious discussion with Yoongi.

Y/n glance at him, a question bugging her in the tips of her tongue.

She decides to speak up, seeing as they were finally alone.

“Oppa, why were you so mad about him being my mate?”

Hoseok smile drops instantly at the question and Y/n bites her lips.

He seems to dislike Jimin.

Hoseok drops his shoulders and shifts his eyes to hers. “It’s nothing big. It’s just…he’s my friend and you being his mate is kinda…awkward.”

Y/n nods.

If she were to be that dumb main protagonist in a novel then she would have believed that.

But she didn’t.

'Something is going on.’

But she plays along, hoping for him to spill something out.

“It’s not his fault though. We are bonded together since birth. It might be awkward but it’s just how it is.” She states, watching him as he smiles at her, it not reaching his eyes.

'If only you knew, Y/n…’

let me know about your thoughts for the first chapter. happy reading :))