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thatscarletflycatcher · 2 years

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The Grey Woman, by Elizabeth Gaskell, chapter 2

A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les Rochers by the Paris milliner, to become my maid. She was tall and handsome, though upwards of forty, and somewhat gaunt. But, on first seeing her, I liked her; she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and had a pleasant look of straightforwardness about her that I had missed in all the inhabitants of the château, and had foolishly set down in my own mind as a national want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle to sit in my boudoir, and to be always within call. He also gave her many instructions as to her duties in matters which, perhaps, strictly belonged to my department of management. But I was young and inexperienced, and thankful to be spared any responsibility.

I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said - before many weeks had elapsed - that, for a great lady, a lady of a castle, I became sadly too familiar with my Norman waiting-maid. But you know that by birth we were not very far apart in rank: Amante was the daughter of a Norman farmer, I of a German miller; and besides that, my life was so lonely! It almost seemed as if I could not please my husband. He had written for someone capable of being my companion at times, and now he was jealous of my free regard for her - angry because I could sometimes laugh at her original tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was too much frightened to smile.

From time to time families from a distance of some leagues drove through the bad roads in their heavy carriages to pay us a visit, and there was an occasional talk of our going to Paris when public affairs should be a little more settled. These little events and plans were the only variations in my life for the first twelve months, if I except the alternations in M. de la Tourelle's temper, his unreasonable anger, and his passionate fondness.

Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure and comfort in Amante's society was, that whereas I was afraid of everybody (I do not think I was half as much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared no one. She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected her all the more for it; she had a knack of putting questions to M. de la Tourelle, which respectfully informed him that she had detected the weak point, but forbore to press him too closely upon it out of deference to his position as her master. And with all her shrewdness to others, she had quite tender ways with me; all the more so at this time because she knew, what I had not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that by-and-by I might become a mother - that wonderful object of mysterious interest to single women, who no longer hope to enjoy such blessedness themselves.

It was once more autumn; late in October. But I was reconciled to my habitation; the walls of the new part of the building no longer looked bare and desolate; the debris had been so far cleared away by M. de la Tourelle's desire as to make me a little flower-garden, in which I tried to cultivate those plants that I remembered as growing at home. Amante and I had moved the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to our liking; my husband had ordered many an article from time to time that he thought would give me pleasure, and I was becoming tame to my apparent imprisonment in a certain part of the great building, the whole of which I had never yet explored. It was October, as I say, once more. The days were lovely, though short in duration, and M. de la Tourelle had occasion, so he said, to go to that distant estate the superintendence of which so frequently took him away from home. He took Lefebvre with him, and possibly some more of the lacqueys; he often did. And my spirits rose a little at the thought of his absence; and then the new sensation that he was the father of my unborn babe came over me, and I tried to invest him with this fresh character. I tried to believe that it was his passionate love for me that made him so jealous and tyrannical, imposing, as he did, restrictions on my very intercourse with my dear father, from whom I was so entirely separated, as far as personal intercourse was concerned.

I had, it is true, let myself go into a sorrowful review of all the troubles which lay hidden beneath the seeming luxury of my life. I knew that no one cared for me except my husband and Amante; for it was clear enough to see that I, as his wife, and also as a parvenue, was not popular among the few neighbours who surrounded us; and as for the servants, the women were all hard and impudent-looking, treating me with a semblance of respect that had more of mockery than reality in it; while the men had a lurking kind of fierceness about them, sometimes displayed even to M. de la Tourelle, who on his part, it must be confessed, was often severe even to cruelty in his management of them. My husband loved me, I said to myself, but I said it almost in the form of a question. His love was shown fitfully, and more in ways calculated to please himself than to please me. I felt that for no wish of mine would he deviate one tittle from any predetermined course of action. I had learnt the inflexibility of those thin, delicate lips; I knew how anger would turn his fair complexion to deadly white, and bring the cruel light into his pale blue eyes. The love I bore to anyone seemed to be a reason for his hating them, and so I went on pitying myself one long dreary afternoon during that absence of his of which I have spoken, only sometimes remembering to check myself in my murmurings by thinking of the new unseen link between us, and then crying afresh to think how wicked I was. Oh, how well I remember that long October evening! Amante came in from time to time, talking away to cheer me - talking about dress and Paris, and I hardly know what, but from time to time looking at me keenly with her friendly dark eyes, and with serious interest, too, though all her words were about frivolity. At length she heaped the fire with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains close; for I had been anxious hitherto to keep them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting the skies, as I used to see her - the same moon - rise from behind the Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the sight made me cry, so Amante shut it out. She dictated to me as a nurse does to a child.

'Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company,' she said, 'while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee.' I remember that speech, and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I wanted amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance, but this speech - such as she might have made to a child - annoyed me, and I said that I had reason for my lowness of spirits - meaning that they were not of so imaginary a nature that I could be diverted from them by the gambols of a kitten. So, though I did not choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as I spoke, I began to suspect that the good creature knew much of what I withheld, and that the little speech about the kitten was more thoughtfully kind than it had seemed at first. I said that it was so long since I had heard from my father; that he was an old man, and so many things might happen - I might never see him again - and I so seldom heard from him or my brother. It was a more complete and total separation than I had ever anticipated when I married, and something of my home and of my life previous to my marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been brought up as a great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was precious to me.

Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events and sorrows of her own life. Then, remembering her purpose, she set out in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were but seldom attended to, and I never dared to give orders.

Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.

'See!' said she, setting it down. 'Look at my plunder. Madame must eat. Those who eat always laugh. And, besides, I have a little news that will please madame.' Then she told me that, lying on a table in the great kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier from Strasburg that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation with me, she had hastily untied the string that bound them, but had only just traced out one that she thought was from Germany, when a servant-man came in, and, with the start he gave her, she dropped the letters, which he picked up, swearing at her for having untied and disarranged them. She told him that she believed there was a letter there for her mistress; but he only swore the more, saying, that if there was it was no business of hers, or of his either, for that he had the strictest orders always to take all letters that arrived during his master's absence into the private sitting-room of the latter - a room into which I had never entered, although it opened out of my husband's dressing-room.

I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter. No, indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to live among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk. Had I never missed Valentin - that handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon? Poor fellow! he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village he had put an end to himself, but those of the household knew better. Oh! I need not be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with such people it was not safe to upbraid or insist. Monsieur would be at home the next day, and it would not be long to wait.

But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the letter. It might be to say that my father was ill, dying - he might cry for his daughter from his death-bed! In short, there was no end to the thoughts and fancies that haunted me. It was of no use for Amante to say that, after all, she might be mistaken - that she did not read writing well - that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool, my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with impatience to get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at home. All the time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning, then scolding. At last she said, as if wearied out, that if I would consent to make a good supper, she would see what could be done as to our going to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the servants were all gone to bed. We agreed to go together when all was still, and look over the letters; there could be no harm in that; and yet, somehow, we were such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.

Presently my supper came up - partridges, bread, fruits, and cream. How well I remember that supper! We put the untouched cake away in a sort of buffet, and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order that the servants might not take offence at the apparent fancifulness of sending down for food I could not eat. I was so anxious for all to be in bed, that I told the footman who served that he need not wait to take away the plates and dishes, but might go to bed. Long after I thought the house was quiet, Amante, in her caution, made me wait. It was past eleven before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled light, along the passages, to go to my husband's room and steal my own letter, if it was indeed there; a fact about which Amante had become very uncertain in the progress of our discussion.

To make you understand my story, I must now try to explain to you the plan of the château. It had been at one time a fortified place of some strength, perched on the summit of a rock, which projected from the side of the mountain. But additions had been made to the old building (which must have borne a strong resemblance to the castles overhanging the Rhine), and these new buildings were placed so as to command a magnificent view, being on the steepest side of the rock, from which the mountain fell away, as it were, leaving the great plain of France in full survey. The ground-plan was something of the shape of three sides of an oblong; my apartments in the modern edifice occupied the narrow end, and had this grand prospect. The front of the castle was old, and ran parallel to the road far below. In this were contained the offices and public rooms of various descriptions, into which I never penetrated. The back wing (considering the new building, in which my apartments were, as the centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and gloomy character, as the mountainside shut out much of the sun, and heavy pine woods came down within a few yards of the windows. Yet on this side - on a projecting plateau of the rock - my husband had formed the flower-garden of which I have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of flowers in his leisure moments.

Now my bedroom was the corner room of the new buildings on the part next to the mountain. Hence I could have let myself down into the flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill on one side, without danger of hurting myself; while the windows at right angles with these looked sheer down a descent of a hundred feet at least. Going still farther along this wing, you came to the old building; in fact, these two fragments of the ancient castle had formerly been attached by some such connecting apartments as my husband had rebuilt. These rooms belonged to M. de la Tourelle. His bedroom opened into mine, his dressing-room lay beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew, for the servants, as well as he himself, had a knack of turning me back, under some pretence, if ever they found me walking about alone, as I was inclined to do, when first I came, from a sort of curiosity to see the whole of the place of which I found myself mistress. M. de la Tourelle never encouraged me to go out alone, either in a carriage or for a walk, saying always that the roads were unsafe in those disturbed times; indeed, I have sometimes fancied since that the flower-garden, to which the only access from the castle was through his rooms, was designed in order to give me exercise and employment under his own eye.

But to return to that night. I knew, as I have said, that M. de la Tourelle's private room opened out of his dressing-room, and this out of his bedroom, which again opened into mine, the corner-room. But there were other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led into a long gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the inner court. I do not remember our consulting much about it; we went through my room into my husband's apartment, through the dressing-room, but the door of communication into his study was locked, so there was nothing for it but to turn back and go by the gallery to the other door. I recollect noticing one or two things in these rooms, then seen by me for the first time. I remember the sweet perfume that hung in the air, the scent bottles of silver that decked his toilet-table, and the whole apparatus for bathing and dressing, more luxurious even than those which he had provided for me. But the room itself was less splendid in its proportions than mine. In truth, the new buildings ended at the entrance to my husband's dressing-room. There were deep window recesses in walls eight or nine feet thick, and even the partitions between the chambers were three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows there fell thick, heavy draperies, so that I should think no one could have heard in one room what passed in another. We went back into my room, and out into the gallery. We had to shade our candle, from a fear that possessed us, I don't know why, lest some of the servants in the opposite wing might trace our progress towards the part of the castle unused by anyone except my husband. Somehow, I had always the feeling that all the domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was trammelled in a web of observation and unspoken limitation extending over all my actions.

There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the harm of my seeking my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's study? I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual timidity. But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as to the proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known of. I urged her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked, but with the key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on the table, their white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and revealing themselves to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of love from my peaceful, distant home. But just as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the candle which Amante held, caught in some draught, went out, and we were in darkness. Amante proposed that we should carry the letters back to my salon, collecting them as well as we could in the dark, and returning all but the expected one for me; but I begged her to return to my room, where I kept tinder and flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she went, and I remained alone in the room, of which I could only just distinguish the size, and the principal articles of furniture: a large table, with a deep, overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and other heavy articles against the walls; all this I could see as I stood there, my hand on the table close by the letters, my face towards the window, which, both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the mountainside and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only like an oblong of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I remembered from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out, how much I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not know, but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct in its profound shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft movements outside - soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was accomplished, and the window raised.

In mortal terror of people forcing an entrance at such an hour, and in such a manner as to leave no doubt of their purpose, I would have turned to fly when first I heard the noise, only that I feared by any quick motion to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger of doing by opening the door, which was all but closed, and to whose handlings I was unaccustomed. Again, quick as lightning, I bethought me of the hiding-place between the locked door to my husband's dressing-room and the portière which covered it; but I gave that up, I felt as if I could not reach it without screaming or fainting. So I sank down softly, and crept under the table, hidden, as I hoped, by the great, deep table-cover, with its heavy fringe. I had not recovered my swooning senses fully, and was trying to reassure myself as to my being in a place of comparative safety, for, above all things, I dreaded the betrayal of fainting, and struggled hard for such courage as I might attain by deadening myself to the danger I was in by inflicting intense pain on myself. You have often asked me the reason of that mark on my hand; it was where, in my agony, I bit out a piece of flesh with my relentless teeth, thankful for the pain, which helped to numb my terror. I say, I was but just concealed when I heard the window lifted, and one after another stepped over the sill, and stood by me so close that I could have touched their feet. Then they laughed and whispered; my brain swam so that I could not tell the meaning of their words, but I heard my husband's laughter among the rest - low, hissing, scornful - as he kicked something heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and which lay near me; so near, that my husband's kick, in touching it, touched me too. I don't know why - I can't tell how - but some feeling, and not curiosity, prompted me to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever so little, and feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me. I stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly hand of a corpse!

Strange to say, this roused me to instant vividness of thought. Till this moment I had almost forgotten Amante; now I planned with feverish rapidity how I could give her a warning not to return; or rather, I should say, I tried to plan, for all my projects were utterly futile, as I might have seen from the first. I could only hope she would hear the voices of those who were now busy in trying to kindle a light, swearing awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have enabled them to strike fire. I heard her step outside coming nearer and nearer; I saw from my hiding-place the line of light beneath the door more and more distinctly; close to it her footstep paused; the men inside - at the time I thought they had been only two, but I found out afterwards there were three - paused in their endeavours, and were quite still, as breathless as myself, I suppose. Then she slowly pushed the door open with gentle motion, to save her flickering candle from being again extinguished. For a moment all was still. Then I heard my husband say, as he advanced towards her (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I knew well, as I could see them in the light), -

'Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my private room?'

He stood between her and the dead body of a man, from which ghastly heap I shrank away as it almost touched me, so close were we all together. I could not tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her no warning, nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid her what to say - if, indeed, I knew myself what would be best for her to say.

Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite hoarse, and very low; yet it was steady enough as she said, what was the truth, that she had come to look for a letter which she believed had arrived for me from Germany. Good, brave Amante! Not a word about me. M. de la Tourelle answered with a grim blasphemy and a fearful threat. He would have no one prying into his premises; madame should have her letters, if there were any, when he chose to give them to her, if, indeed, he thought it well to give them to her at all. As for Amante, this was her first warning, but it was also her last; and, taking the candle out of her hand, he turned her out of the room, his companions discreetly making a screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow. I heard the key turn in the door after her - if I had ever had any thought of escape it was gone now. I only hoped that whatever was to befall me might soon be over, for the tension of nerve was growing more than I could bear. The instant she could be supposed to be out of hearing, two voices began speaking in the most angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him for not having detained her, gagged her - nay, one was for killing her, saying he had seen her eye fall on the face of the dead man, whom he how kicked in his passion. Though the form of their speech was as if they were speaking to equals, yet in their tone there was something of fear. I am sure my husband was their superior, or captain, or somewhat. He replied to them almost as if he were scoffing at them, saying it was such an expenditure of labour having to do with fools; that, ten to one, the woman was only telling the simple truth, and that she was frightened enough by discovering her master in his room to be thankful to escape and return to her mistress, to whom he could easily explain on the morrow how he happened to return in the dead of night. But his companions fell to cursing me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle had been married he was fit for nothing but to dress himself fine and scent himself with perfume; that, as for me, they could have got him twenty girls prettier, and with far more spirit in them. He quietly answered that I suited him, and that was enough. All this time they were doing something - I could not see what - to the corpse; sometimes they were too busy rifling the dead body, I believe, to talk; again they let it fall with a heavy, resistless thud, and took to quarrelling. They taunted my husband with angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and scornful replies, his mocking laughter. Yes, holding up his poor dead victim, the better to strip him of whatever he wore that was valuable, I heard my husband laugh just as he had done when exchanging repartees in the little salon of the Rupprechts at Karlsruhe. I hated and dreaded him from that moment. At length, as if to make an end of the subject, he said, with cool determination in his voice, -

'Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this talking, when you know in your hearts that, if I suspected my wife of knowing more than I chose of my affairs, she would not outlive the day? Remember Victorine. Because she merely joked about my affairs in an imprudent manner, and rejected my advice to keep a prudent tongue - to see what she liked, but ask nothing and say nothing - she has gone a long journey - longer than to Paris.'

'But this one is different to her; we knew all that Madame Victorine knew, she was such a chatterbox; but this one may find out a vast deal, and never breathe a word about it, she is so sly. Some fine day we may have the country raised, and the gendarmes down upon us from Strasburg, and all owing to your pretty doll, with her cunning ways of coming over you.'

I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from his contemptuous indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, 'Feel! this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife breathes a word, and I am such a fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can bring down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to my heart. Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion that I am not a grand propriétaire, much less imagine that I am a chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long journey beyond Paris that very day.'

'She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well. Those still silent ones are the devil. She'll be off during some of your absences, having picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel.'

'Bah!' said his voice; and then in a minute he added, 'Let her go if she will. But, where she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before you're hurt.'

By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation turned on what they should do with it. I learnt that the dead man was the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard of as hunting with my husband. I had never seen him, but they spoke as if he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant, torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them, and recognizing M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought him thither after nightfall. I heard him whom I called my husband laugh his little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead body had been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it appeared to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting some sick person. He repeated some mocking reply of double meaning, which he himself had given to someone who made inquiry. He enjoyed the play upon words, softly applauding his own wit. And all the time the poor helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to his dainty boot! Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked up a letter lying on the ground - a letter that had dropped out of M. de Poissy's pocket - a letter from his wife, full of tender words of endearment and pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud, with coarse ribald comments on every sentence, each trying to outdo the previous speaker. When they came to some pretty words about a sweet Maurice, their little child away with its mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing such woman's drivelling some day. Up to that moment, I think, I had only feared him, but his unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate even more than I dreaded him. But now they grew weary of their savage merriment; the jewels and watch had been apprised, the money and papers examined; and apparently there was some necessity for the body being interred quietly and before daybreak. They had not dared to leave him where he was slain for fear lest people should come and recognize him, and raise the hue and cry upon them. For they all along spoke as if it was their constant endeavour to keep the immediate neighbourhood of Les Rochers in the most orderly and tranquil condition, so as never to give cause for visits from the gendarmes. They disputed a little as to whether they should make their way into the castle larder through the gallery, and satisfy their hunger before the hasty interment, or afterwards. I listened with eager feverish interest as soon as this meaning of their speeches reached my hot and troubled brain, for at the time the words they uttered seemed only to stamp themselves with terrible force on my memory, so that I could hardly keep from repeating them aloud like a dull, miserable, unconscious echo; but my brain was numb to the sense of what they said, unless I myself were named, and then, I suppose, some instinct of self-preservation stirred within me, and quickened my sense. And how I strained my ears, and nerved my hands and limbs, beginning to twitch with convulsive movements, which I feared might betray me! I gathered every word they spoke, not knowing which proposal to wish for, but feeling that whatever was finally decided upon, my only chance of escape was drawing near. I once feared lest my husband should go to his bedroom before I had had that one chance, in which case he would most likely have perceived my absence. He said that his hands were soiled (I shuddered, for it might be with life-blood), and he would go and cleanse them; but some bitter jest turned his purpose, and he left the room with the other two - left it by the gallery door. Left me alone in the dark with the stiffening corpse!

Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not move. It was not my cramped and stiffened joints that crippled me, it was the sensation of that dead man's close presence. I almost fancied - I almost fancy still - I heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if once more imploring, and fall in dead despair. At that fancy - if fancy it were - I screamed aloud in mad terror, and the sound of my own strange voice broke the spell. I drew myself to the side of the table farthest from the corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could have feared the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless for evermore. I softly raised myself up, and stood sick and trembling, holding by the table, too dizzy to know what to do next. I nearly fainted, when a low voice spoke - when Amante, from the outside of the door, whispered, 'Madame!' The faithful creature had been on the watch, had heard my scream, and having seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down the stairs, and across the court to the offices in the other wing of the castle, she had stolen to the door of the room in which I was. The sound of her voice gave me strength; I walked straight towards it, as one benighted on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady light which tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and steers straight onward. Where I was, where that voice was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or die. The door once opened - I know not by which of us - I fell upon her neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached with the tension of their hold. Yet she never uttered a word. Only she took me up in her vigorous arms, and bore me to my room, and laid me on my bed. I do not know more; as soon as I was placed there I lost sense; I came to myself with a horrible dread lest my husband was by me, with a belief that he was in the room, in hiding, waiting to hear my first words, watching for the least sign of the terrible knowledge I possessed to murder me. I dared not breathe quicker, I measured and timed each heavy inspiration; I did not speak, nor move, nor even open my eyes, for long after I was in my full, my miserable senses. I heard someone treading softly about the room, as if with a purpose, not as if for curiosity, or merely to beguile the time; someone passed in and out of the salon; and I still lay quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing that the agony of death were past. Again faintness stole over me; but just as I was sinking into the horrible feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante's voice close to me, saying -

'Drink this, madame, and let us be gone. All is ready.'

I let her put her arm under my head and raise me, and pour something down my throat. All the time she kept talking in a quiet, measured voice, unlike her own, so dry and authoritative; she told me that a suit of her clothes lay ready for me, that she herself was as much disguised as the circumstances permitted her to be, that what provisions I had left from my supper were stowed away in her pockets, and so she went on, dwelling on little details of the most commonplace description, but never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why flight was necessary. I made no inquiry as to how she knew, or what she knew. I never asked her either then or afterwards, I could not bear it - we kept our dreadful secret close. But I suppose she must have been in the dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.

In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there were anything beyond the most common event in life in our preparing thus to leave the house of blood by stealth in the dead of night. She gave me directions - short condensed directions, without reasons - just as you do to a child; and like a child I obeyed her. She went often to the door and listened; and often, too, she went to the window, and looked anxiously out. For me, I saw nothing but her, and I dared not let my eyes wander from her for a minute; and I heard nothing in the deep midnight silence but her soft movements, and the heavy beating of my own heart. At last she took my hand, and led me in the dark through the salon, once more into the terrible gallery, where across the black darkness the windows admitted pale sheeted ghosts of light upon the floor. Clinging to her I went; unquestioning - for she was human sympathy to me after the isolation of my unspeakable terror. On we went, turning to the left instead of to the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms where the gilding was red with blood, into that unknown wing of the castle that fronted the main road lying parallel far below. She guided me along the basement passages to which we had now descended, until we came to a little open door, through which the air blew chill and cold, bringing for the first time a sensation of life to me. The door led into a kind of cellar, through which we groped our way to an opening like a window, but which, instead of being glazed, was only fenced with iron bars, two of which were loose, as Amante evidently knew, for she took them out with the ease of one who had performed the action often before, and then helped me to follow her out into the free, open air.

We stole round the end of the building, and on turning the corner - she first - I felt her hold on me tighten for an instant, and the next step I, too, heard distant voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy soil, for the night was very warm and still.

We had not spoken a word; we did not speak now. Touch was safer and as expressive. She turned down towards the high road; I followed. I did not know the path; we stumbled again and again, and I was much bruised; so doubtless was she; but bodily pain did me good. At last, we were on the plainer path of the high road.

I had such faith in her that I did not venture to speak, even when she paused, as wondering to which hand she should turn. But now, for the first time, she spoke: -

'Which way did you come when he brought you here first?'

I pointed, I could not speak.

We turned in the opposite direction; still going along the high road. In about an hour, we struck up to the mountainside, scrambling far up before we even dared to rest; far up and away again before day had fully dawned. Then we looked about for some place of rest and concealment: and now we dared to speak in whispers. Amante told me that she had locked the door of communication between his bedroom and mine, and, as in a dream, I was aware that she had also locked and brought away the key of the door between the latter and the salon.

'He will have been too busy this night to think much about you - he will suppose you are asleep - I shall be the first to be missed; but they will only just now be discovering our loss.'

I remember those last words of hers made me pray to go on; I felt as if we were losing precious time in thinking either of rest or concealment; but she hardly replied to me, so busy was she in seeking out some hiding-place. At length, giving it up in despair, we proceeded onwards a little way; the mountainside sloped downwards rapidly, and in the full morning light we saw ourselves in a narrow valley, made by a stream which forced its way along it. About a mile lower down there rose the pale blue smoke of a village, a mill-wheel was lashing up the water close at hand, though out of sight. Keeping under the cover of every sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past the mill, down to a one-arched bridge, which doubtless formed part of the road between the village and the mill.

'This will do,' said she; and we crept under the space, and climbing a little way up the rough stonework, we seated ourselves on a projecting ledge, and crouched in the deep damp shadow. Amante sat a little above me, and made me lay my head on her lap. Then she fed me, and took some food herself; and opening out her great dark cloak, she covered up every light-coloured speck about us; and thus we sat, shivering and shuddering, yet feeling a kind of rest through it all, simply from the fact that motion was no longer imperative, and that during the daylight our only chance of safety was to be still. But the damp shadow in which we were sitting was blighting, from the circumstance of the sunlight never penetrating there; and I dreaded lest, before night and the time for exertion again came on, I should feel illness creeping all over me. To add to our discomfort, it had rained the whole day long, and the stream, fed by a thousand little mountain brooklets, began to swell into a torrent, rushing over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying noise.

Every now and then I was wakened from the painful doze into which I continually fell, by a sound of horses' feet over our head: sometimes lumbering heavily as if dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and galloping, and with the sharper cry of men's voices coming cutting through the roar of the waters. At length, day fell. We had to drop into the stream, which came above our knees as we waded to the bank. There we stood, stiff and shivering. Even Amante's courage seemed to fail.

'We must pass this night in shelter, somehow,' said she. For indeed the rain was coming down pitilessly. I said nothing. I thought that surely the end must be death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men. In a minute or so she had resolved on her course of action. We went up the stream to the mill. The familiar sounds, the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening the walls - all reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I must struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find myself once more a happy girl by the Neckar-side. They were long in unbarring the door at which Amante had knocked: at length, an old feeble voice inquired who was there, and what was sought? Amante answered shelter from the storm for two women; but the old woman replied, with suspicious hesitation, that she was sure it was a man who was asking for shelter, and that she could not let us in. But at length she satisfied herself, and unbarred the heavy door, and admitted us. She was nor an unkindly woman; but her thoughts all travelled in one circle, and that was, that her master, the miller, had told her on no account to let any man into the place during his absence, and that she did not know if he would not think two women as bad; and yet that as we were not men, no one could say she had disobeyed him, for it was a shame to let a dog be out such a night as this. Amante, with ready wit, told her to let no one know that we had taken shelter there that night, and that then her master could not blame her; and while she was thus enjoining secrecy as the wisest course, with a view to far other people than the miller, she was hastily helping me to take off my wet clothes, and spreading them, as well as the brown mantle that had covered us both, before the great stove which warmed the room with the effectual heat that the old woman's failing vitality required. All this time the poor creature was discussing with herself as to whether she had disobeyed orders, in a kind of garrulous way that made me fear much for her capability of retaining anything secret if she was questioned. By-and-by, she wandered away to an unnecessary revelation of her master's whereabouts: gone to help in the search for his landlord, the Sieur de Poissy, who lived at the château just above, and who had not returned from his chase the day before; so the intendant imagined he might have met with some accident, and had summoned the neighbours to beat the forest and the hillside. She told us much besides, giving us to understand that she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where there were more servants and less to do, as her life here was very lonely and dull, especially since her master's son had gone away - gone to the wars. She then took her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to her with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into her head, she had not enough to offer us any. Fortunately, warmth was all that we required, and that, thanks to Amante's cares, was returning to our chilled bodies. After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but she seemed uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep and leaving us still in the house. Indeed, she gave us pretty broad hints as to the propriety of our going once more out into the bleak and stormy night; but we begged to be allowed to stay under shelter of some kind; and, at last, a bright idea came over her, and she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind of loft, which went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were sitting. We obeyed her - what else could we do? - and found ourselves in a spacious floor, without any safeguard or wall, boarding, or railing, to keep us from falling over into the kitchen in case we went too near the edge. It was, in fact, the store-room or garret for the household. There was bedding piled up, boxes and chests, mill sacks, the winter store of apples and nuts, bundles of old clothes, broken furniture, and many other things. No sooner were we up there, than the old woman dragged the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a chuckle, as if she was now secure that we could do no mischief, and sat herself down again once more, to doze and await her master's return. We pulled out some bedding, and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried clothes and in some warmth, hoping to have the sleep we so much needed to refresh us and prepare us for the next day. But I could not sleep, and I was aware, from her breathing, that Amante was equally wakeful. We could both see through the crevices between the boards that formed the flooring into the kitchen below, very partially lighted by the common lamp that hung against the wall near the stove on the opposite side to that on which we were.

#Elizabeth Gaskell #historical literature #spooktober #books and libraries #gothic #gothic tales #gothic stories #gothic literature

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Midnight chatter

Yandere Diluc x gn!knight!reader

Wordcount: 2385

CW: Yandere, drugging, kidnapping

This was a third week after his return and fifth day of the tireless fight with winery work, when Diluc received an unexpected guest. During his travels across the world, the winery business fell into disrepair and almost collapsed, so once he learnt the state of the wine industry he decided to settle in his office and try to battle the endless reports about necessary expenses and small profits all on his own.

He started to work with the first rays of sunlight well into the night, squeezing every bit of energy his body had, not only because financial issues could affect him personally, but also because of the night vigilante of Mondstadt title he took upon himself.Due to the increased workload he couldn’t find time to patrol the dark streets and alleys of the city, while experience and conscience didn’t allow him to thrust the safety of ordinary citizens into the hands of bumbling, cowardly and lazy knights.

The day soon turned into the late evening, and dawn winery workers started to go home, when someone knocked on his door. It was Adelinde.

Her steps were faster than usual, her stoic face shadowed by the note of concern. Diluc wanted to say that no, he won’t go and have a rest, but she spoke first.

“Master Diluc”, she stopped before his desk: “we have a guest, a knight”.

He lifted his head shifting the eyes from the report to the head maid and pondered - despite his long absence, a lot of people in the city had a general idea how much he dislikes the Favonius Order and so a rare knight would actually dare to bother him, unless… Unless, they were acting out an order from someone high-ranking, like Jean or Varka for example.

Apprehension that his former colleague somehow learned of his nightly escapades sent an unexpected wave of shivers and vague feeling of unease, but he didn’t let it get to him.

“Ask why this knight is here and if it’s something unofficial tell them to leave”, he ordered, at which Adelinde blinked, slowly and tiredly, as if she was looking for the strength to tell something incredibly upsetting or scary.

“The thing is, master Diluc, that I already let them in”.

“Without my permission?”, his eyes widened at that, and the heart started to pick up the pace. What if this knight was really sent here by Varka or Jean? If it was true, Adelinde, unknowingly set him up to fail.

She was looking after him from his earliest childhood, so she was allowed to do and say more than any other of his staff, yet this perceived audacity was unheard of before.

“They were badly injured and said that they needed to stop for the night and once it’s over they will travel to the city with the first sun rays. We helped them to patch up their injuries and offered a room for guests, yet they declined and remained to sit on sofa”, the maid explained absolutely unfazed, after noticing Diluc’s dissatisfaction and then added : “If you are that displeased, master Diluc, I can tell this tired and battered knight to get out from here into the dark night”.

Her voice remained even and emotionless as usual, but even like that young Ragnvindr could hear a light mocking in her words. And to think about it - he got so freaked out over some silly coincidence - the knight stopped here because of the injuries, not some insidious scheme.

“Alright”, Diluc admitted defeat: “they can stay… and offer them some food and tea”, he added just as Adelinde’s hand touched the doorknob.

“Will be done”, she replied before exiting the office. The corners of her mouth slightly moved and crept upwards.

***

Despite his earlier goal of finishing as much work as he can, Diluc couldn’t do anything. Small digits and letters started to float and dance before his eyes while the long lines fused together, when he tried to analyze the state of wine business in naught. But the worst thing was the fact that his thoughts strayed to the topic of mystery knight again and again and Diluc lost count how many times he caught himself thinking who this person is.

He sat like that for a while, until the cinnabar of dying sky got replaced by the darkness and pleasant chill of the night.

Diluc scolded himself for his uncharacteristic indecisiveness, standing up from the desk and locking the office, when this thought, loud and persisting, knocked into his head again. Wouldn’t it be nice, he wondered, to learn who this night is, and finally decided. After all the thoughts about them pestered him for a long time.

Quietly and carefully walking through the unlit corridor of the winery, he confirmed that all servants and workers had already left for sleep, some into the rooms of the main building designated for them, some into the cabins around it. All in all, he was confident that there’s no one except him, the knight, Adelinde and a couple of other maids.

His steps were quiet and slow and not even a single board in the wooden floor creaked under his weight as he knew the winery like the back of his hand. With a bated breath he made his way downstairs, making out vague shapes of the familiar objects. Moonlight pouring out through the windows illuminated only the silhouettes, but even with that he quickly noticed the unknown frame.

The person was half-sitting half-lying on the sofa, and their sword and armor were placed nearby the furniture, reflecting the pale light of the moon. They weren’t moving, seemingly asleep. Diluc couldn’t make out their face even after making a coming closer, so he decided to take the risk and summoned a small wisp of flame.

The dancing light illuminated everything in a small radius and what he saw made him jolt and take a step back. You were the mystery knight.

Why are you still a knight? Where were you? Who injured you?

Still shocked by the previous revelation, Diluc accidentally knocked over the breastplate with his foot and it fell on it’s side with a loud thump.

You woke up.

“What… Who?”, you stirred and half sat on the elbow: “Ah, it’s you” and saw him :”What are you doing here?”.

Caught red handed, Diluc didn’t find any words - it was so sudden and unusual to be caught unaware, and because of that doubly unpleasant.

“This is my winery and I am free to do whatever I want”, he decided to hide the awkwardness behind the faux annoyance.

“Easy, easy” you half smiled, half yawned: “I just managed to fall asleep”. You yawned again and blinked at him with sleepy tired eyes.

“I have sleep medicine if you want some”

You got surprised and touched by his sudden responsiveness: “Thank you, but I think painkillers would be better. My body is aching and that’s the main problem”.

Maybe because of the trembling, dancing light or maybe because of the recent sleep you imagined worry and pity twisting his facial features.

“I have it too. Wait here”, he quickly replied and vanished into the dim darkness of the winery, not giving you any time to answer, as you were left to sit and wait for him. Diluc, to your own surprise, happened to be extremely stealthy, able to move without producing a single sound.

“Here”, you first heard and then saw him,as Diluc used pyro vision to light the nearby candlestick and then opened the medicine vial he brought and handed it to you: “Drink it all”.

“Thank you”, you whispered to him, taking the painkiller before making a big gulp. The taste was horrible, so horrible in fact that you almost immediately started to violently cough. Well, if it’s as effective as foul, then I will be good as new in no time, you thought to yourself, suppressing the urge to throw up.

Diluc stood nearby and observed your reaction, his hand extended on his own when the coughing started as he awkwardly tried to pat your back in the gesture of comfort. “I will be here with you until you fall asleep”, he stated once the fit stopped and then, seeing your highly raised brows explained further: “Painkiller takes time to work. Tell me if you won’t feel better”.

You nodded in response, and closed eyes, listening to the sensations of your body. Your injuries still burned and screamed and throbbed, yet a strange numb sensation started to slowly surround you. Just like Diluc said, medicine would need time to fully settle in.

“If you're here can you talk with me?”, you decided to shorten the time in conversation: “Ijust wanted to talk with you. For a really long time”.

“About what?”, he allowed himself a shadow of the smile, Diluc that you used to know peeking through the gloomy facade, like a long awaited sun or it’s reflection on the tranquil mirror of the water surface. Next words stuck in your throat, bitter and acidic and totally unfit, and you had to force them out through your own hesitance to destroy this calm.

“What happened that day? The day before you left. I asked Jean and Kaeya and other knights who were present with you, yet no one said anything”, the water surface bubbled and the visage of that old, sunny Ragnvindr shattered into thousand pieces. The person before you adopted the same cold facade of annoyance and indifference.

“Why do you need to know it?”, he answered the question with another question and you sensed barely buried hurt and grief.

“You leaving hurt. A lot”

“That’s why you are still a knight?”, you quickly nodded at that.

A minute passed by and he still stood, without saying a single word, thinking what to do. On one hand, he didn;t want to open up, the story of his eighteenth birthday was incredibly painful and personal experience to be shared so freely, on the other hand he yearned for your understanding.

"Alright", he broke the silence:"Let's make a deal, you answer my questions and I'll tell you the whole story after. Deal?"

"Deal".

Diluc looked at you again, looked at the bruises and cuts, still peeking through the bandages and for a second his mind lit up with one thought alone: what disgusting bastard did that to you. He suppressed the rapidly rising rage, deciding to start from the most important.

"Is my leave the only reason why you decided to stay?" his heart picks up the pace again, he needs to know the answer.

"Basically yes, you knownI didn’t do it for my parents… I just.. That tragedy, I know it's not my place, but… I always wanted what happened to you. I asked this question to myself everyday and night, and I missed you terribly".

His breath hitched and he lowered his gaze. For some reason you always managed to fluster him with the words alone, even if it wasn't your intention.

"Your parents must be happy", h e changed the topic, stifling the heat in his heart.

"Yeah, they're ecstatic that I stopped being difficult and made their aspirations real. Hm, do you have any other questions?"

"What happened to you? ",he pointed at the bandages covering most of your body.

"Ah, catching treasure hoarders does that to you, usual stuff", you dismissed his concerns and Diluc started seeing red from the way your voice remained so calm and unbothered. Usual stuff? Usual stuff?!

"Grandmaster could send anyone else", he snapped:"Favonius Order has more than plenty of vision holders, they should've sent one, instead of you! You could die!".

Diluc’s sudden explosion left you speechless, but soon your own weaved words of irritation:"Ordo Favonius doesn't consist of Jean and Kaeya only. We can't let them handle all the hard and dangerous business all the time. Ordinary people like me can still help, even if the gods didn’t favour us. Don't think of me as some helpless idiot just because I have no shiny vision to show off"

Your heated response seemed to work and Diluc turned red from embarrassment, realizing how annoyed you got, despite the worry for your health and still present anger at the other knights for letting you get hurt. He also didn’t like how you looked at him, reprimanding and disappointed.

"Alright, sorry", he cleared his throat:"where were you before? I haven't seen you anywhere"

"City gates aren't the only thing that needs guarding. I was sent to the Liyue border, to make sure that no treasure gang crosses it. I think I will get sent there again, once I fully recover".

Diluc got angry at that too, yet this time he suppressed unpleasant feelings, already knowing how you will rebuke and reprimand him again. There's no convincing to be done, as you won't change your opinion. You left him no choice for what he was going to do.

"Alright, you answered all my questions", he said before changing topic again:"Did painkillers start working? I have another".

Being so engrossed in the conversation you forgot about the ache, yet once he mentioned it your body started to hurt with a renewed strength.

"Yes, I would like one", you decided and Diluc vanished in the unlit hall yet again.

"Here", he handed the small bottle to you already opened. The new substance was different, sweet and viscous. You managed to take two sips before your eyelids started to feel up with lead, and soon even lifting a hand seemed like a highly arduous task. Whatever the thing that Diluc gave you wasn't a painkiller.

"What…", you uttered, before your body relaxed and you fell asleep once again. Diluc bent over, looming over your unconscious form, as his hands carefully took the bottle away. He didn’t want it to somehow fall and injure you

This is a necessary measure, Diluc assured himself, before making a plan of actions. He would need to fake your disappearance and forge enough leads to direct investigation into the completely opposite direction, but now he needed to wake Adelinde up and ask her to prepare the room in the basement. He didn't want you to be uncomfortable in your new home.

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere diluc x reader #Yandere imagine #Yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #my writing

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yandere-society · 3 years

Text

The Rabbit Hole

Summary: The Windy City in the mid-1920s is a spectacle of lights and sounds, roaring with the excitement of jazz music and swinging dance moves. Amid the brilliant stars of Chicago nightlife, there is a dark underground of secrets, mainly that being the mysterious Wonderland Ball you've been invited to participate in and be crowned the next "Alice". What you don't know is you may or may not be allowed to leave, per the Mad Hatter and a White Rabbit's desires. So, daring and brave as you are, you decide to take a journey down The Rabbit Hole and come face to face with high society - people - as you've never seen them before.

Genre: Yandere; Historical Fiction/ Fantasy Based In The 1920′s; Smut; Thriller; Alice in Wonderland Inspired

Warnings: Yandere themes, Mentions of drug/ alcohol use with/without consent, mentions of “gangsters”, light talks of selling your soul/ the devil/ religious “themes”?, sedative drugs used non-consensually, vivid dreams/nightmares, maybe light profanity? Smut: Non-protected sex (twice), creampies, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), slight nipple play?, spanking, marking, bruising, slightly rough sex, use of a sex swing/ sex swing intercourse, f and m orgasms. I think that’s it.

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook (White Rabbit) x Reader (Alice) x Kim Seokjin (Mad Hatter), Side Pairing of Johnny (Jonathan) Suh from NCT x Reader, Johnny x Jung Jaehyun from NCT.

Author’s Notes: This is not going to be a historically accurate piece. As much as I am an advocate for research and learning about the times of old, I am only human and I am short on time researching in between my full time job. I have grown up and currently live in Chicago and I have never written a story about the Windy City before so here I am, writing to you about the wonderful city I call home. I am doing my best to stay true to my writing as well as make it as accurate as one can, but please forgive me if there are faults in this story!

We are not doing a collective Valentine’s Day event this year but the contents of this piece have been weighing heavily on my mind, so I asked if I could write this story for a little something-something. I hope you all enjoy it!

Written By: Admin 💖 @therealmintedmango

Also, who do you think the other boys from BTS are from Alice in Wonderland in this story? I’d love to know!

Stepping out of my very own vehicle my future husband’s family sent for me, I take in the sights and the sounds that Chicago provides this snowy afternoon.

People waltz around one another and mingle about, snow crunching under their feet. The faint sounds of jingle bells float down the streets in the chilly air, it smells of popcorn and roasted nuts as well as the sludge of gasoline tainting the snow. A cold breeze gliding across the buildings nearly knocks me off my feet as I look up to my new place of residence, a new high-rise Michigan Ave. The stars above my head seem to sparkle in the dark sky, or are those just the electric lights from the grand buildings surrounding me?

Curious, I think as I continue to have my sights set above the horizon. I’ve certainly strayed very far from the corn fields of back home. Inhaling the sharp, bitterly cold air around me, I feel a sense of dread almost wash over my senses. I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. Jonathan and I discussed it in great detail over the wire.

The reality of the situation is finally sinking into my layers of clothing.

Jonathan Suh, the grandson of Suh Realtor Industries Incorporated - which owns about one third of Chicago - has asked me to marry him. It was seemingly out of the blue too. I was going to spend the next years of my life trying to marry into the best livestock or vegetable farmer in town, not the filthy rich grandson in a large city. It felt like a dream when he called me and begged me to come as soon as possible. I suppose it pays off to be kind to everyone, especially when it felt like it was yesterday we were both in grammar school together.

I drink it all in, the busy sounds, the cold night air that leaves me feeling bitter and raw standing in the street while snow begins to descend from the blackened sky. It feels foreign to me even though it’s only about two hours away from the farm. The breeze blistering in from the west sends a chill up my spine.

This is a new beginning, I ponder to myself as I stretch upwards in the middle of the sidewalk. This is my chance at a better life, this is way better than being some poor, sad farm girl. That’s right! I’m going to be the wife of my childhood friend who just happened to be some rich playboy who has more money than he knows what to do with.

I’m going to be a Suh!

...Even if the whole arrangement is a sham...

“Miss, you are going to freeze to death outside!” Jonathan’s maids rush to usher me out of the cold quickly, but not before I accidentally bump into someone on the busy sidewalk.

“I beg you to pardon me,” I mumble as I set my sights over my shoulder on a man dressed in a long coat with hair as white as the snow currently blanketing the ground. “You’ll have to forgive me, I am just enraptured with how bright Chicago seems to shine at night.”

The man’s seemingly red eyes expand with my excitement, then soften. “No pardon to beg, Miss…?” He queries, a bloom of warmth spreading across his face.

“Suh.” I smile as the men shout from my car they have finished unpacking. “Well, I am the future Mrs. Jonathan Suh. For now I suppose I am still Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Strange, I didn’t think he… Well, never mind that now.” His eyes linger on mine. “Johnny’s got good taste.” I hear him mumble under his breath in a deep tone, slurring his words together in a string. “Well, I can’t wait to see more of you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.” He says as he swings his coat behind himself and takes off down the street, the crowd and the night dissolving him like a pill in warm water.

Curious and curiouser this night becomes, I think as the maids finally have enough of me standing about in the cold.

“Do you know who that was?” I ask the hoard of them, hoping someone has the answer to my bump in the night with a rather odd fellow. My heart is beating but I’m not sure what for. I know my place. I know why he called me… My fate was sealed as soon as I got the wire from my future husband.

The collective flock shake their heads and mutter polite “noes” as they lead me up grand staircases of marble and through dim corridors at this time of night, leaving my brain a drifting piece of snow in the blizzard that will surely accumulate outside overnight.

“Right this way.” A young redhead coos as she parades me up what must be my twentieth flight of stairs I’ve climbed this evening. “Master Suh will be so happy you are here at last!” They lead me into a beautiful room with the most lavish furniture I’ve ever seen in my life! Magazines and pictures certainly don’t bestow such fine items with quite the same honor as seeing such beauty in person.

“Madam Suh has a full schedule for you this weekend.” One of the elderly looking women dares to swoon as she says, “Wedding planning, I’m sure, no doubt.” My coat is taken from me and I am given house slippers to wear.

The flock - or really I should call them a herd of lemmings - all agree once more as a butler leads us through a hallway with objects of fine art, pottery, and paintings. Each item is so uniquely wonderful that it would make my brothers’ and sisters’ heads spin if they saw how perfect and polished everything is. How ornate and lavish! Am I to spend my life with fine, intricate pieces of art from all mediums? I wonder if Jonathan has created any of these himself? Would he allow me to paint? I wonder...

“Master Suh,” I inhale, realizing I am right at the threshold of a beautiful oak door. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N has arrived.” The butler announces.

My body feels all fuzzy and nervous for some reason. It’s been many years since I’ve seen my dear friend from when we were still learning how to hop on a bicycle in the country where his family had a small house and property that butted up against my family’s by the little lake in the middle of a corn field.

“Y/N!” A deep, refreshing voice purrs before he embraces me in a tight hug. “How was your ride? Did the car fair well, unlike the weather?” He chuckles as his tall frame dwarfs mine in comparison. The scent of him is most definitely cinnamon, scotch, and leather, which I’m not surprised. All fine things to smell of for certain.

The maids all giggle and mumble their approval and the butlers look away, anxious to gaze upon a woman in another man’s arms. I suppose his gesture of a greeting is very rude, but I don’t mind. Being smack-dab in the middle of my siblings, I feel like nothing phases me anymore, even the hug Jonathan wraps around me.

“Jonathan Suh,” I simper, pulling out of his embrace, “The ride was not too terrible, and my, how tall you’ve grown! And so dapper too.” I sigh earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I hope you say that every day you wake up and I am there beside you.” Jonathan’s brown eyes seem to daze in the glow from the lamp lights in the sitting parlor.

There’s nothing more I hate than an arrogant flirt, not to mention an arrogant flirt with money is all the more trouble. Is this really going to be the rest of my life? Living with Jonathan like this? So contrived and fake… it makes my insides twist.

“I am rather weary though from a day full of travels.” I pretend to yawn, shifting out of his arms bit by bit and heading toward the door. “May I have the delight in seeing you tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, you must be quite tired. I always get sleepy on car rides.’ Jonathan muses as he extends his hand to the door and the staff scramble into place. “Mr. and Mrs. Alan would you please escort Y/N to her room? I will be here but on the other end of the house until we are...you know-”

“Goodnight, Jonathan.” I say almost too quickly after that, leaving almost as swiftly as I’ve come.

Once my hair is down and I am dressed comfortably in my nightgown, I feel like I can take a deep breath again. It feels odd with my hair unpinned, sitting in a brand-new nightgown, overlooking the rocking waves of the lake and the snow that drifts down from the sky. Basking in the sill of my window from the beautiful lights and moonlight shining through my velvet curtains, I hope and pray that every night I spend in Chicago is not as forced and fake as this one has been.

I’m chasing something odd in my dream.

I move between pictures hanging on the walls, through the bellies of grandfather clocks, I emerge through the darkness every time, chasing a little white rabbit with a cottontail through or around objects of grand design. I have never had a dream that felt so vivid and real, like I am actually flying through my thoughts, time of the utmost essence for some unknown reason. I can’t seem to escape a dark feeling looming around me and I feel slightly frightened that I will not catch the little thing.

When I reach for the little dumpling covered in pretty white fur, it lurches forward, propelling my desire to catch up to the little beast.

I descend deeper and deeper, the spotlight in the darkness focused solely on the bunny ahead of me. I can’t reach him, I’m not fast enough, my feet do not carry me quick enough. I call to the animal but it doesn’t hear me, instead it flies between two large velvet curtains.

“Please!” I beg the animal as I pop through the hole in the curtains, shuffling through on my knees. “Where are you taking…me…” My question dies in my throat as I look up to find red eyes, his curly blonde hair waving at me from under a gold top hat, a gold mask from that of a masquerade celebration covering most of his face.

But, I know that soft smirk well now. I’ve replayed it several times already in my mind like the fool I am.

This is the man I met on the sidewalk. I gasp. But, why is he inhabiting my dream?

“Welcome to Wonderland, Alice.” A soft voice wafts from high above the two of us, making me shiver. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Why am I frightened? Surely this is not a nightmare. I was only following a rabbit and now I am here with these two men.

Slowly, my eyes trail up the large mahogany platform, showcasing a very large, ornately plush gold and maroon seat which houses a man in an all green suit of the finest quality. He is also wearing a mask trimmed with greens and golds, his lush lips pinkened like he had just indulged in delicious raspberry jam pulled into a dark smirk. He sits with the side of his pale face in one of his hands, resting comfortably on the arm of the pretty chair. The man from the street sits on a swing that hangs high from the rafters, silently taking me in. An aura of power and class drips tastefully from every fiber of his being, weighing heavily upon me like he is a hammer and I am but a humble nail.

“Good job chasing rabbits.” The man’s smile further stretches, his amber eyes boring down upon me, making my skin want to jump from my skeleton. “The next step is to find The Rabbit Hole.”

My eyes fling open, a train's loud horn blaring in the distance, the golden morning haze filtering from the curtains across the room. I jolt upward in bed, cold sweat beading my body, tainting the beautiful nightgown the Suhs have given me. I throw the sheets off my bed and clutch my forehead, musing the words of the man in all green over and over to myself in a frenzy.

...What a dreadfully vivid dream...

I’ve been here for almost a week and I’ve lost count of the tea parties and luncheons I’ve attended with Mrs. Suh. The people and the houses and families they all belong to are getting lost to me in the wake of planning for a wedding. Though, I’m not sure how much I am actually planning. Merely pointing between two colors of table placemats and napkins or choosing between a flower or two.

Tonight though, it is another snowy evening on the lakeshore, we are attending a jazz concert at the Sunset Cafe to see a wonderful show performed by the talented Cab Calloway and Louis Armstrong who make the most wonderful music. I was practically buzzing when I heard the news that the Suhs would be taking me this evening. As always, Jonathan and his mother have only two options for me to wear this evening and I must make a choice between them. A silver, more A-lined gown that shows off more skin than one should in the winter with a mink-fur cowl or more fluttering, off the shoulder velvet cobalt-blue style of a ball gown with embroidered golden stars falling from the bust in waves of tulle.

Call me old fashioned, but I choose the one that makes me feel like a princess, not the one that makes me fit in. My thoughts wander between which Suh picked out which dress for me to wear and the dream of me chasing a white rabbit.

I can never seem to catch that rabbit nor have I seen the two men since my first dream. It relieved me, but it also scared me.

A shimmering laugh that is made of moonbeams and stars pulls me from my spell of thought that engrossed me.

The Suhs are dotting and cheerful people, always looking out for their only son in this cruel world. They are wonderful and powerful in their own ways, working the men and ladies in the sitting room of the theater with just a glance or smile of their lips. Mr. Suh smokes a cigar and smacks Jonathan on the back as they stand in the corner away from the ladies. Mrs. Suh includes me in all her conversations, never wanting me to feel lost or dissuaded from a million questions by another matriarch of a well-to-do family.

I can see why Jonathan doesn’t want to disappoint them or the good people of his clan’s name before or after himself.

The room is hazy from the smoky cigars that the men all drag on in between their elaborate conversations about President Coolidge and his beliefs while the women discuss lighter subjects such as traveling to Paris and Morocco as well as tennis. I find my thoughts up in the cloud of smoke that hangs in the room.

“Pardon me, ladies,” Jonathan places a hand gently upon my shoulder, “may I steal Y/N away for a few moments?”

“The concert will begin shortly, Johnny.” Mrs. Suh smiles, casting her charms to her son who smiles with reassurance to his dear mother.

“Don’t fret, mother,” Jonathan grins as she calls him his nickname, “I want to show her off to my college chums.”

Her eyes twinkle in delightful mischief as she swirls her glass of sweet liquor in her hand. “Just be sure to return her in one piece. Y/N has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.”

More wedding planning I’m not privy to I suppose? Such is my life now. High society is fun and all but the pressure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before… No, my brain is captivated once more by the dark aura of the man from my dream, looming and lingering above me, teeth glimmering in the lim electric light of the room from my lucid dream. That was true, pure evil pressure I wish to never partake in the feeling of ever again.

Jonathan says nothing as he turns from her, ushering me away with his hand placed gently on my shoulder. We move silently and quickly through groups who mingle and giggle, alcohol strong in their glasses and upon their breath as we pass through the crowd of rich socialites.

We stop at one group of gentlemen, but I am only introduced to one handsome man named Jung Jaehyun who fondly shakes Jonathan’s hand and winks at me. What an odd fellow, I tell myself as we dive deeper and deeper into the crowd of people loitering in the fancy sitting room.

“I’m glad you wore the one I picked out.” Jonathan says so low that I may only be able to hear his words. Well, that answers that question then. “These men might eat you alive, so stay as sharp as a blade but soft as a lamb, understand me? They will not leave me be until I introduce you to them.”

“Are they your friends?” I query with a whisper as he pulls me to the edge of the room where young men have beautiful young ladies draped on their elbows.

I have never seen a lady look like they do, but I suppose it is fashionable and “kept up with the times”. I am not so appealing as these ladies are with their skin on display and their heels high, they attract my attention before the men who hold them up do. Their makeup is dark, yet shimmering in the soft glow from the electric lights from above. The fair ladies’ hair is cut so short, their sideways hats and feather headbands merely slip off their sleek and shiny hairstyles. I am in awe of the way they look and envy them for behaving and chatting so freely.

“Do not be scared, but they are budding gangsters who run speakeasies.” My eyes widen with his words, but I do what I am told. “Please do me another favor, Y/N, and become the most desirable woman here.” Jonathan whispers to me before we approach the hoard of people in front of me. “I will set you free from this cage as soon as I can.”

I can only nod as my demeanor switches like that of a light switch.

Walking up to these men and women I’ve never met, I invoke the acting spirit of Jane West for Jonathan. I demand my attention. I am the most beautiful creature in this sitting room, if not all of the world. I did not go to college but I am going to show you how well read and cultured I am. I am going to be a Suh and I command you all to bow down to me in this instant.

“Suh!” A tall man with coiffed, sandy blonde locks beams as he steps away from his fair darling on his arm tonight. “You dog! I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence this evening!” They shake hands and laugh at nothing vigorously as I look between the two before the blonde catches my eye. They are pretty amber eyes that remain half-lidded and surely dazzle in the glow from chandeliers above. He’s not as tall as Jonathan, but he is handsome. “This must be-”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

A voice from behind the blonde says clearly, setting to be free from the shadow of Jonathan’s friend.

It’s the white rabbit! I think as I try to hold myself together. He looks rather dapper in a white and gold waistcoat with tails, a top hat making him appear to be as formal as one can be. This is the gentleman I bumped into the streets, but I cannot press out of my head. I want to tell him to stay out of my dreams, but I fear he will think me mad if I declare such a bold thing without expressing my thoughts further.

“You know of my future bride, Jeon?” I feel the grip upon my shoulder tighten and breath being held from above me. Don’t fret, Jonathan, I would never tell anyone. I promise. Your secret is safe with me.

The friend with his hair as white as the fallen snow looks at me passively, eyes rimmed red like he can’t sleep a wink either. “I met her on the sidewalk, John, but we’ve never been properly introduced.” He bows and takes my blue-colored gloved hand in his white ones. He kisses the top of my hand and in this ball gown-like dress I am indeed fulfilling my fantasy of pretending to be a beautiful princess. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, future Mrs. Jonathan Suh.”

“Y/N,” Jonathan says, exhaling the concerned breath he’s been holding in, his grip returning to normal as well. “These are my friends from college: Mr. Kim Namjoon, whose family owns one third of the city like mine does, and Mr. Jeon Jungkook, who makes up the triangle of the most powerful families of Chicago.”

“At your service.” Jungkook says with a cheeky grin stretching across his face, kissing the top of my hand once more.

The way he looks up at me makes butterflies trapped in my body flutter and flounce about. But I cannot swoon or succumb to a young man so openly. Jonathan is counting on me.

“I’m delighted to meet Jonathan’s friends from his schooling.” I say in the same charming manner Mrs. Suh has produced all week.

“Forgive me for this is a bold question, future Mrs. Suh, but, will you be getting a gown made?” Namjoon asks me as he sips his scotch on the rocks.

“I think tomorrow I am going for a fitting, yes.” I nod my head, smiling just the right amount.

“Then it should be crafted by the finest in the Windy City, Kim’s Couture on the corner of Washington and LaSalle Street. Have you heard of the establishment before?” Namjoon queries.

“Indeed! I have!” I exclaim happily, my eyes wide as his stay half-lidded as though he is sleepy, though he smiles earnestly.

“Then I must insist you have a treasured wedding gown made by my seamstresses.” He hands me a white business card with only his name upon it. I stare at it until he taps it twice. “They will take excellent care of you, I promise.”

“Oh-ho!” A soft, almost melliferous voice rings out behind me. No... “This must be the infamous bride-to-be!” I know this voice! Fear rattles through me, making me tremble as I look over the shoulder Jonathan is not draped over to look at the mysterious voice. Time is slow as molasses as I face the man from my dream, clad all in a green waistcoat, vest, and top hat, wolfishly grinning at me.

“Ah, this is my eldest brother,” Namjoon muses as the electric lights flash, indicating the performance will begin soon, “Seokjin Kim.”

Kim Seokjin...

I feel like I know everything about this man yet nothing at all. He is the type of man who is a brilliant summer on the outside and stormy winter on the inside. The smile on his lips - that is the color of the inside of a cherry tart - is warm, yet cold all in the same breath. He appears to be a powerful man of high class, wrapped in an enigma of grace and power. But there is a scent of something malicious in the air as he closes the gap between us and gets down on his knee to kiss upon my hand.

I’m not sure what made me do it, but something comes over me, the flight or fight instinct animals possess lurches out of me in this moment.

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?” I ask, pulling my arm away from him.

Seokjin’s bright amber eyes slowly travel up my ball gown, disbelief and confusion colors his good looking features.

Mouths open in shock and my heart drops, but I feign a lie, turning out of Jonathan grasp, and quickly say, “Forgive me, for I feel faint.” I run to the bathroom in the hall as everyone piles into the main room of the Sunset Cafe, heart pounding in my chest and cheeks on fire.

I’m so sorry Jonathan, I did not mean to make a fool out of you. There is just something about the way Seokjin’s gaze is so feral that chills me to the bone.

A hand rests upon Jungkook’s shoulder while he continues to longingly gaze at the door as if he was willing me to come back with his mind. “Don’t worry, Jeon.” Seokjin purrs in his ear, amber gleam set upon the door. “She is the one who chases you every night, not the other way around.”

“I know, hyung.” Jungkook whispers as the brass begins to trumpet through the building. “When do we make our move?”

“Soon.” Seokjin chuckles darkly, guiding the younger of the boys to follow behind him. “Very soon we will have our glorious tea party.”

The subject of marriage has always been an odd one to me, I think to myself as maids and fashion consultants from the Kim’s dress boutique flutter and coo around me.

My parents married but it was never for love. I knew that, my siblings and myself knew that, yet they both loved us all the same. My mother and father married as more of a “good match on paper” sort of situation, than they were truly, madly in love. Still, they never fought, my father never hit my mother, never drank himself silly, never talked to another woman. My mother upheld the same standard and raised us all with love in her hardworking heart. I knew she was aware that I haven’t spoken to Jonathan since we were young children and that I would soon be in the same boat if I accepted his offer.

“A lifetime of money doesn’t equal happiness.” She told me. “You should marry for love, not for any green or gold.”

I agree. I know this full well. I’m not one to be stingy or greedy by any means. I don’t want to be an actress in a picture show or model for a beautiful Channel garment. And though I do want love in my life, I want a secure future. I am the middle child of middle-class farmers. The best match I could have made besides this one was with a cattle farmer or a man who works in the stockyards on the south side of Chicago.

It’s selfish for me to do this not only for myself but to my mother as well.

But, I am here and like my family, I will be fiercely loyal to the man I will call my husband. If not, call me a bold-faced liar and take me and my words to the grave.

Jonathan Suh is not a bad man for who he prefers in the sheets. I know that and have never felt such a way to treat someone less of me if they do prefer the company of one sex over another. I will not break the promise I’ve made to him, but I cannot help but feel like a songbird trapped in a tight, metal cage for the decision I’ve made to help him.

Due to the poor weather Chicago has currently come down with, the wedding has been postponed until further notice.

When I wired my family to tell them the news, my mother answered. I was a bit more than surprised that she almost sounded relieved when I told her the news. I promised I would wire soon and my younger sisters begged me to take them to the city to go shopping at Marshall Fields. My father sounded passive at first when the telephone wire was transferred to him by my youngest brother after he told me the family cat, Cheshire, had gone missing.

Truth be told, I am also more than happy to exhale a breath and not worry about someone questioning me about my upbringing. Or having Mrs. Suh and the don of high-class ladies and waist-coated men galloping around every breath I take.

I can finally relax, I think as I pull out a book in the study as Jonathan reads the Chicago Tribune on the couch across the way from me. We get along well, I realize. Silence suits us both. No tricks, not faking our way through hordes of important people. We have to conserve and save our energy for when we face the people mercilessly wanting to know everything and anything about us, good ole’ Jonathan and I...

No, not Jonathan anymore… I am to be his wife, and he...my…

I peer at him from over my book on flowers, losing interest in the pages.

Can I really pretend we are to be an item forever? Will one of us crack or slip up? It seems like we are stuck in a circle now, both of us floating in a pool of choices we will surely drown in.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Someone knocks at the door, plucking me from my fever of thoughts. I fully peer over the pages in my hands, pretending like I was in fact engrossed in the origin story of an author I enjoyed as a girl.

“Enter.” Jonathan says without skipping a beat, not looking up from his black and white ink. His eyes scan the pages, following the drumming beat of the grandfather clock next to the roaring fireplace. But, now that I study him closer, I’m unsure if he was actually reading or just musing to himself like I was moments ago.

“The post, sir.” Butler James reports as he opens the door, my handmaiden Emily gliding up to us with a silver plate in her hands.

“Thank you, Emily.” Jonathan gives her a half-smile as he takes the single envelope off the tray, slicing it open with trepidation.

I look at the blood-red colored wax seal as he flips the paper, revealing a knight chess piece glaring upside down at me.

Jonathan scans the letter passively at first, his orbs lazily scanning the pages, then suddenly his eyes ignite with rage behind them. “No.” He says softly, red flushing to his handsome face. He rips the paper up into shreds then, aggression and hatred oozing from every pore for some unknown reason. He gets up as he throws the scraps in the fire with vigor as butler James, Emily, and I all stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “Don’t you dare go.” He warns me, irises blaring with unmeasurable loathing. “Those people are dangerous.” Jonathan practically snarls as he exits the room in a fit of rage, stomping down the hall as we look on stunned and slack-jawed at what had just happened.

From what I can tell, Jonathan isn’t one to get upset easily or lash out so that letter must have set him off. But what could it have been?

It really has sparked my curiosity, that’s for certain.

Where wasn’t I supposed to go and who was so dangerous?

I got the answer the next day as I read a book about traveling the jungles of South America.

“Miss!” My handmaiden whispers like a hiss as she enters the study. “Miss!”

“Yes, Emily?” I smile, putting my book down as she flutters to my side in a nervous frenzy. “What is the matter?”

“I snagged this from the post, miss.” She hands you the letter you saw the previous day with Jonathan, the one that he got enraged over. “Please open it quickly, miss, before the butler spots it! They want us to destroy anything with this seal on it!”

I do as I am told, opening up the letter addressed to both Jonathan and myself with the odd wax seal to find an invitation inside.

You Are Cordially Invited To Participate In:

THE WONDERLAND BALL

A Masquerade Party To Determine The Next “Alice”

For Directions Follow Us Down The Rabbit Hole

Knock Thrice For The Door Mouse To Let You Inside

Cheers,

The ‘Mad Hatter’ & Company

“How curious...” I muse as my eyes trail over the letter over and over, wondering what has Jonathan all in a panicked rage. “Well, I don’t even know where “The Rabbit Hole” is so I shan’t be going.”

“Tis’ a speakeasy, Miss.” Emily says her eyes wide as she reads the paper with you. “They say it’s the most fun one in all of downtown!” She giggles. “Shall I fetch you a gown for the ball?”

“No.” I shake my head with a small smile, hanging her back the letter. “If Jonathan said he doesn’t want me to go, I won’t.” I pick up my book as she slightly deflates, wanting to paint me up for the festivities I was invited to. “Please burn this now, Emily, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Right away, Miss.” Emily bows a little before she heads out of the room, leaving me to daydream in the middle of the study in peace.

“How long must we wait?” Jungkook pesters Seokjin tirelessly who looks down from his wooden pedestal in the back room of the very peculiar club. “I am afraid a letter and her dreams are not going to cut it.” Jungkook snorts, frustration flashing in his red eyes.

“Mm, yes…” Seokjin rubs his chin with his white gloved hand, “Johnny boy has been hiding our little Alice away from our prying eyes, hasn’t he?”

“Yes!” Jungkook stomps his foot like that of a child, fists balled into tight fists at his sides. “And I was promised a maiden for all the hard work I’ve done for you!”

Seokjin laughs darkly then, the sound echoing off the walls of his private chambers. “Jungkook, I’m not sure if you understand that poisoning people and taking out a few smaller families in our beloved city is considered hard work.” He stops then, Seokjin’s usually light voice dripping with malice when he says, “But, I suppose this is one way to end the Suhs and get the last jewel on the crown you are desiring in your attempts to rule the city.”

“Is everything in place for the ball?” Jungkook grits his teeth as he stares up into the man who could end him in one go, but is choosing to help the young gangster. “Your magic won’t fail us now?”

Seokjin winks at him, spending him a flying kiss as he says, “It's going to be dreadfully delightful.” Ending the Suhs, managing to take out some more people in big crime families in Chicago, and adding one more perfect woman to his growing collection of pawns.

Sure, he was mad and about to destroy several lives in the process, but hell if he wasn’t half brilliant and good looking while doing so.

“Mr. Jeon!” I gasp as I peer at the man at my penthouse doorstep, covered in white flakes of heavy, wet snow sticking to his black trench coat and bowler hat. Everyone, even most of the maids were out this afternoon which is why I find myself in front of the door to the penthouse.

“Good evening, Y/L/N.” Jeon Jungkook smiles as he looks down at me earnestly. “Is your future husband not at home?” He whispers as he looks around the empty foyer, red-rimmed eyes glancing over the dim electric lights in the hallway.

I flush. My mind was hazy remembering my kiss with him and the other man that is never far away, Kim Seokjin, from the depths of my dreams. My dreams need to leave me be or I may turn into a codfish with the way they keep my head spinning. They haunt me so, the way my brain demands my nightmares to be replayed over and over like this.

“I’m afraid not, he said he’d be out for the night, taking care of something important at the office.” I say with a fake sigh, shaking my head. Truthfully, he’s been acting very strange lately and I can't quite put my finger on the reason for his odd behavior. Ever since he got that letter… Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any post since that strange night. I’ll ask Emily about it in the morning.

“I see.” Jungkook says softly. The grandfather clock chimes from the sitting room and I am suddenly aware of what time it is. I’m severely underdressed in my baby blue lounge attire, completely ill-prepared for meeting company. Books about faraway lands with princes and kings were the only thing occupying my time this evening and I’m embarrassed to even think that. “In that case, your outfit will just have to do, I suppose…”

Jungkook suddenly steps closer to me in one long stride, closing the gap between me and him. My heart skips a beat, his pupils dilate, my words run dry as he snakes one arm around my back, the other holding my chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“Mr. Jeon-” I stammer, unable to call for help, now that this man has me in his grasp.

“I have been willing you to come and follow me, to give into your darkest desires, but still you resist me.” The young man hisses down at me, brows knit with confusion. “You are the only thing anyone talks about and I cannot stand it any longer.” My mouth hangs open. His nostrils flare as he makes his move. “You will be mine. Not locked away in this tower while Johnny is out and about with another man. You will be our new Alice.”

Before I can say anything, he pours a vile from his pocket into my mouth, holding it above my arms so I can’t smack it away. It tastes like roast turkey and strong alcohol and I try to claw and get away but I cannot as Jungkook holds my mouth open; my tongue feels numb and my arms feel like jelly, going limp in Jungkook’s arms. The only thing I can remember before completely blacking out is the little tag on the side of the bottle that says “DRINK ME”, tied with a pink ribbon hanging from the tiny glass and the smell of his cologne which reminds me of musk with a dash of black pepper.

Faint sounds of brass and strings pull me from my unconscious state in a flurry.

My brain is working hard, producing series and strings of thoughts. Why did Mr. Jeon Jungkook do that to me? Does Jonathan know where I am? In the same breath, where am I? What was that drink? Have I been poisoned? I look at myself on the red heart-patterned bedsheets. I look fine. There is no sign or feelings that I’ve been harmed, no bruises, and most importantly of all, there is no blood. There is no indicator at all that I’ve been harmed at all, which makes me sigh in relief.

But still, where have I been taken? This surely is not a room in the Suh residence.

A room with no windows, a giant bed in the middle of the room, large wooden pedestals with various wax candles lit drip down the sides surround me, red velvet curtains drape the walls making the warm room seem even more dim, and a wooden swing all decorate the space I find myself trapped in.

I can feel the color drain from my face when I realize that I’ve been here before. In fact, I’ve been here many, many times - almost every night. Not in the flesh but in my dreams. The only thing that is missing are the two men I see every night…

All the little hairs on my body stand at alert, worry coloring my thoughts, and I feign a small gasp in the large room.

With a lump in my throat and my heart thumping so hard I fear it might try to escape my chest, I run from the room.

My blue nightgown flutters behind me, time seems to slow as my bare feet carry me through the rooms from my dreams - though it’s backwards this time. I dash like a mad person, twirling and twisting my way through the room with mirrors on every side, seeing myself panting like a dog running so hard in the reflective glass. Though, I am happy to see I have no scratches upon my face either. I run through the room with clocks hanging all over the walls chiming and ticking at different times, springing through the belly of a giant, tall grandfather clock. I trip over the hems of my dress in the room with a long table in the middle which appears to stretch on for miles in this long room. There are various tea sets, cups, and pots along with tea cakes and sweet treats placed in a perfectly chaotic mess on the table as the eyes of various animal heads stare at me from their places hanging on the walls.

As I shimmy through the small door leading to the room with the walls full of water and sea creatures from the ocean, I pause my panting and sputtering as I spot Mr. Jung Jaehyun with his back pressed up against the glass. He is moaning, panting himself, a masquerade mask dangling in his hand, legs wrapped around the waist of a tall man in a vest who is rolling his hips sensually into his. My eyes widen as I figure out what the two of them are doing quickly and avert my attention. My thighs rub together, a strange fire grows in my lower abdomen, and I know I shouldn’t be looking but there is nothing but pure bliss on Mr. Jung’s face.

I can’t stop, I remind myself as my feet continue to carry me through the rooms I know so well.

Slinking away across a far wall full of lobsters without being caught, I hear Mr. Jung Jaehyun mewl one singular name, “Johnny!” I want to turn around, catch my “future” husband's side profile as he makes love to another man, confirm it’s him, but my mind flashes back to meeting Jaehyun for the first (and only) time and how they touched each other so fondly. Jungkook’s words ring in my words as I hear laughing coming from beyond the rooms filled with tanks and gilled beasts.

Keep going. I can make it out of this place from my nightmares.

The next room is filled with more people, though it’s hazy at best in here. There are giant hookah pipes in the middle of floor cushions, people with and without masks on touching each other so unabashedly, some naked, half-nude, or still in their ball gowns all laying over each other in a pleasure-filled party I was slightly jealous I haven’t been invited to.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A deep yet clear baritone purrs over the sounds of jazz music and groans of love-making. I turn my head to his voice, feet skidding to a halt as I look at Mr. Kim Namjoon in his half-naked glory, navy blue silk robe hanging off his shoulders exposing a lovely chest, half-lidded eyes tracing my form like I am a piece of delicate meat he wishes to indulge in. “What are you doing without your mask?” He snaps his fingers, chuckling lightly as he takes another drag of his long silver pipe. “Twins, get her a mask!”

“Where am I?” I query as I feel the presence of two figures slowly approaching me out of the dim haze. “Who are you people?” It feels wrong to be here, to witness this. It doesn’t feel right. I feel out of place and my body is begging me to run and my legs tremble like a fawn.

His brows furrow as he takes the tube out of his mouth, blowing smoke rings in my face. “Who are you to question me, Y/N?” He snickers as the “twins” catch my arms, placing a mask over my face as I struggle. “You are but another “Alice” to me. Take her to the ball, you two. The rabbit and the hatter are dying to see her, I’m sure.” They tie the mask around me successfully, leading me out of this room into the next one which I know is the one where the floor is a giant chess board.

“Please,” I plead with the good looking twins who march on like the loyal soldiers to this strange cause, “what is all this?” The music and the chatter and maniacal laughing is growing louder as we prance down the hallway with portraits of people who are dressed in all white and all red. “I just want to know…”

“Suppose we ought to tell her?” The taller of the two says after a moment of silence between the three of us.

“Suppose we ought not to.” The shorter one shakes his head as he carries on in the quest to take me somewhere. “Boss will be mad.”

“You are to be the belle of the ball.” The taller one says with a viscous boxy grin.

“The new “Alice”.” The short one with fluffy lips nods this time.

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know what it means?” I say as I hold my breath, about to waltz into the strange chess-board-like room.

“The most beautiful, wonderful, talented, special, magical-” The taller twin rambles on.

“The most perfect woman at The Wonderland Ball is called “Alice” until the next one.” The shorter one states softly as he inhales a giant breath. They both let me go, pushing me forward as the drapery of the simple heart-patterned curtain gives way and I am standing at the top of a grand staircase while hundreds of people from below all gasp and stare up at me.

As soon as I regain my footing a spotlight hits me and causes me to shield me eyes away from the bright light bearing down upon me. The upbeat music falls silent and I am acutely aware that I am standing here in my loungewear and not properly dressed to be at the forefront of attention this evening.

“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” The voice that makes my hair stand up on end purrs as his lush lips soothe the microphone on the little stage they’ve set up for the jazz band to play on. Kim Seokjin, my eyes lock with his which dance with mischief, his smile greedy, dressed to the nines in a rich green suit. “The crowning of the belle of the ball, the apple of all our eyes, the one that shines brighter than anyone in the picture shows, Ms. Y/N Y/L/N!”

A roar of cheering, clapping, and brass music erupts as a white haired-man with a stretched, gummy smile that doesn’t fade takes my hand and leads me down the black and white staircase. The noises seemingly die in my ears as the man on my arm says nothing, grins like a cat about to catch a mouse in its claws. Time slows, people moving and waving at me become a blur as I see who is waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

Mr. Jeon Jungkook.

The man on my arm notices how tense I am and he ever so slightly turns his head and says to me in a deep voice, “They are not going to harm you. Jungkook is infatuated with you.” My cheeks heat up. “Seokjin is helping him accomplish his dreams because he signed his life away to the servitude of others for as long as he shall live.”

“Signed his life away?” I breathe, eyes never leaving Jungkook in a white waistcoat.

“You can’t get something for free in this world.” The cat-like man growls as we are almost there. “You’ve heard of an eye for an eye, correct?” I node slightly. “A soul of servitude so he can produce strange magic, according to him and the Red Witch of Underland.”

My heart nearly stops realizing what has happened. “The devil?”

“Bingo, babe.” The cat-man chuckles a deep rasp, sliding his arm away from mine. “Have fun.”

“Now you kids have fun chasing rabbits!” Seokjin’s voice crackles through the microphone. “Everyone, enjoy the last few hours of the wonderland ball!” More hooting and hollering echoes in the building as I am exchanged into Jungkook’s strong arms.

“I thought you’d never make it.” He smiles from under his white mask at me. He takes my hand and leads me to be embraced on the dance floor. Seokjin smirks at us as he begins to sing a popular pop song everyone swoons at.

“Would you like to tell me what this is all about?” I query with a sneer on my lips. “Why am I here? Why have you poisoned me?”

“I have not nor would I ever harm you.” Jungkook grips my waist tighter. “I merely gave you a strong sedative so that I could bring you to our wonderful palace.”

“Why?” I question as he twirls me around his outstretched arm.

“Because from the moment I bumped into you, you have been the only thing consuming my mind.” He earnestly tells me, sorrow coating his eyes. “I’m not sure what trap Johnny has ensnared or tricked you in but I very much hate seeing him lock you away from the world.”

“You’re wrong.” I state angrily, glaring at him.

“He doesn’t care about you. He likes to frolic about with diplomats’ sons, not farmers’ daughters.” Jungkook smiles at me.

“That’s not true…” I mumble, my eyes looking away from his red-rimmed ones boring down upon me. “I-I am marrying Jonathan for my own personal reasons.”

“Oh, ho?” Jungkook softly chuckles, leaning over, turning my gaze back to him as he gently caresses my cheek. “Do you really believe that, darling?”

“I do...I do! I-I came here willingly.” I tremble, my facade I’ve been trying to convince myself of this whole time crackling under the pressure of his words. “I l-love…” My words linger as I look beyond Jungkook, looking up to see, “...Jonathan…” walking toward myself in the middle of the dance floor.

“Jeon!” Jonathan says, Mr. Jung Jaehyun trailing behind him, eyes wide and scared when they find mine. The male in the waistcoat holding me turns his head to the noise, the brass music climaxing, the gasps of people Jonathan is stepping between couples dancing in the soft electric light from above - I feel like my heart is going to burst. My future husband pulls his arm back, fists clenched, ready to hurt Jungkook, and with an exhale I close my eyes fearing the worst was about to ensue.

The electric lights in the strange ballroom give out in the same second.

People scream all around me, a loud thud is heard and I feel like something unexpected is about to occur, the atmosphere heavy and full of invisible pressure.

“Release the jabberwocky!” A voice echoes as chaos ensues.

“Come with me.” A voice purrs, ripping me away from Jungkook’s arms. I feel almost empty as shouting and yelling break out in the middle of the dance floor. “I will protect you, Y/N, my crown jewel.” My stomach pits hearing him say my name, tickling my ear like the serpent that led Eve to eat the apple of her demise.

Kim Seokjin.

With a snap of his fingers, we are back in the room I started out this evening in and where my dreams always have me end at. I land on the bed in a huff and he ends up sitting upon the swing, looking at me with a triumphant smirk on his luscious lips. There is a certain air about him now that doesn’t seem so threatening, so serious now for some reason. Perhaps it’s him sitting upon the swing like that of a child? I haven’t the slightest clue.

“Where am I?” I demand, glowering at Seokjin from across the way.

“Curiosity often leads to trouble, my dearest Y/N.” Seokjin chuckles darkly, eyes roaming my body, a knowing look on his features. “I think before your marriage you are looking for a little trouble, if you catch my drift.”

Trouble…

My mind completely spirals remembering the scenes of people entangled with one another, their mouths working in tandem with each other, their slippery pink tongues entwined in a passionate battle for dominance. Mr. Jung Jaehyun’s face twisted in pleasure, moaning and mewling as his lover - my future husband - was thrusting vigorously.

A lightbulb finally goes off in my head.

“You want me to give into you both then my dreams will end?” My voice shakes as I query to Seokjin who continues to lightly push back and forth on the swing. “Then you will let me leave?”

His eyes flicker with a hungry vigor to them, gleaming in the dim candlelight. “Precisely.” His soft voice cuts the atmosphere like a sharp blade, leaving me with a chill radiating down my spine. “Let’s have some fun, “Alice”.”

“As long as you promise I am to be set free from all of...this.” I gesture around the room as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers at me.

“You have my word.”

Somehow, I don’t believe him, but I am desperate for any way out of this wretched place I can find.

So, I will use the body I was blessed with to the fullest extent.

I am a loyal woman. I step toward the man on the swing, my hands coming up to the ties around my chest and my waist. His eyes spark with a ravenous hunger in the depths of his orbs. I know that I am not doing a decent thing. Seokjin snaps his fingers again, all his clothes disappearing but his green top hat, vanishing before my very eyes. I know I am more than what I am succumbing to right now. But my stomach does feel hot and my thighs rubbing together is making me feel faint for some reason. My garments fall to the floor in a soft patting sound and I lose my breath in the same moment.

Don’t tell me I actually want this…?

I stand in front of him on the swing and I can’t help but bite my lip as my eyes roam his pale figure, tracing down his collarbones to his sculpted abdominal muscles he has been hiding. Did he sell his soul to the devil to become handsome too I wonder?

“So beautiful.” He revels looking at me unabashed, a wolfish grin spreading across his pretty face. Part of me wants him to touch me, to caress the underside of my breast, to trace the outline of my hips with his fingertips, but he doesn not.

I have to remind myself this isn’t for me. This is for the man that has been tormenting me.

“Get me ready for you.” Seokjin commands, smirk still spread across his face. I comply, dropping to my knees to be faced with a large member swinging forth from the middle of his legs on the swing. “And you will address me as “Sir”, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I respond, biting my lip as I look from his eyes to his member once more.

“Suck.” He chuckles lightly, pointing to his middle and I can’t help but follow this simple instruction.

I don’t tease him, though I’m not really sure I know what I am doing in the first place. I swirl the flat of my tongue over his mushroom-tipped head several times. He moans in response, his hands coming off the swing’s ropes to hold my hair from my face as I swallow him further down my wet cavity. My middle aches and pulses, empty, missing something as I steady myself against Seokjin’s thighs.

“Good little girl.” Seokjin hums, his sound voice making me feel appreciated. The sound vibrating through to my own middle, making me groan around him.

I bob my head up and down his long length, enjoying the way he hums and gasps in response to my efforts. It’s a little hard to breathe I think as I continue my pace, nose hitting Seokjin’s pubic bone, smelling the most intimate part of him.

My dominant hand grabs his member at the base, working him in tandem with my mouth. Up and down his thick member I go, reveling in every twitch and rumble that flies out of his throat. The swing starts to sway with my rhythmic movements, bobbing him back and forth with vigor, tears climb to my eyes. The tip of him hits the back of my mouth, making me gag and choke on his wonderful cock. The heat was pooling in the middle of my stomach and I fear I am going to lose my mind. I pick up the motions of my mouth and hand, tears skating down my pinkened cheeks, his grip tightening around the base of my skull, digging into my scalp.

It burns… But, I also enjoy it. This feeling...so wet and tight and I feel so evil and sinful but the pleasure is driving me mad.

“Baby girl.” There’s warning in his tone as I pop off his cock in an instant, looking up to him with big worried eyes. His head was leaned back, not focused on looking directly at myself, but the feeling of my lips and fingertips. “Up.” He commands once more, head twisting back to a comfortable position to stare at me.

I scramble to my feet, missing the feeling of him in my mouth already, not to mention aching for him in the middle of my legs. I rub my thighs together for some easy friction, knowing that it won’t help me much at this point.

Seokjin moves his hand to stroke against his giant member in his palm and I lock my orbs in place on the slit of his cock where a clear liquid was oozing out. My mind is truly hazy at best, as I just stand there and watch him stroke himself up and down in a lazy fashion. I bite my lip once more.

I do want this. I am almost ashamed to admit that I want this man.

“Are you going to be good and let me use you?” Seokjin’s dirty words make my middle pool and contort with more of a raging fire.

“Y-Yes, sir.” I say again, cheeks hot and damp from sucking his cock moments ago.

His nostrils flare, his cock twitches in his grasp as he motions to sit upon his middle. “I bet you’re so wet for me.” He chuckles, smile darkening with his words.

Seokjin eases me down on his thick member, my hole so wet, so slick, allowing him to stretch my clenching walls in an easy motion. I gasp, eyes popping out of my head. My nails dig into his shoulder blades, back arching with his giant, twitching dick tight inside of me. I wrap my legs around his lean waist, his pale skin flexing in the candlelight with his movements as he stills, letting my hips sink down into the base of his cock.

“Baby girl.” Seokjin purrs, breath tickling my ear as he throbs inside of me. “I need you.” He growls, littering the crook of my neck with sloppy kisses. He positions us just so on the swing, readying us to begin when he deems necessary.

“P-Please use me, s-sir-r!” I mumble in the base of his neck, feeling high on this pleasure-filled pain.

“I live to serve.”

I gasp as he starts moving his hips inside of my center, bucking up into my body with a fevered pace instantly. The swing moves back and forth and I feel like the motion is going to make me feel his body sliding in and out of me too well. I cling to him for dear life, my grip surely bruising him or harming him in some way as he slides in and out of my slicked out center at a brutal rhythm.

Tears find my eyes again as he nips at my neck, marking me up with tender love bites. I’m a howling, moaning mess, losing my sanity. I am finally full of Seokjin’s girth, filling me up beyond desire.

Seokjin kisses my lips then in his, melting our mouths together in a hurry. He holds my face in his palms, grunting and groaning for me, and only me. His tongue enters my mouth in search of something unknown, moaning into my lips laced together with his hot mouth connected with my pink tongue. He rolls his saliva coated tongue into mine in haste, need seeping into my senses, consuming my thoughts as he thrusts up in me, using the swing as a propellant to ease us forward and backward.

“Feels...so-o..good~!” I moan in between our passionate kisses.

Seokjin just growls like a feral animal in response. The tip of his cock kisses my cervix continuously, brushing past a spot inside of me that instantly makes me quake. He rockets himself against me, rutting his body against my core in sync with his hips slamming into mine. Seokjin expels filth from his mouth about filling me to the brim with his seed, seeing my stomach swollen and full of his children, his warm breath hitting my ear making me shudder in response.

I can’t focus, my climax getting ready to pop at any moment. Wet noises fill the dark room, as Seokjin’s rough speed of his length in and out of my molten, wet center continues. My erect nipples swirl on his pale chest, circling quickly as he bounces me up and down his giant cock, swinging through the air like some sexual trapeze artist.

“Are you going to be good to me?” He asks me, smirk present in his tone, pace almost blinding now as he pushes in and out of me with a need so heavy and strong I can practically smell it rising from his skin. “Are you going to let me fill you up, my little doll?” Seokjin snarls into my skin.

“Pleaseeeee!” I practically scream, eyes flying open as he hits my center at just the right spot that makes me see white.

“Ah-ah!” He tsks. “What do we say?”

“Please, sir!” I mewl and gasp, thighs quaking in his hold, my juices squelching out of me as he continues to thrust into my sensitive molten core. “Seokjin!” I cry while he growls into the scorching skin of my neck inhaling sharply as he slams his hips into my shivering body. “Sir!”

Seokjin grunts, cock spurting his seed into me with a need so raw, so feral he finds his footing hard to maintain on the swing, stilling us from moving about, holding my hips tightly down upon him. He sucks harshly on my skin as he too shudders and grunts, biting down on the crook of my neck, stretching my clenching walls around his member as he fills me with his hot white seed.

My cries of pleasure fill the small room, my pleasure-filled haze coming to a close as Seokjin shifts us - still joined together - to the bed in the middle of the room. I hold onto Seokjin as he keeps his seed inside of me, feeling like I just had the ride of my life on top of him. My climax dies down, my first high fading away, fog around my brain being lifted temporarily as my nails rake over shoulders I’ve definitely marked up.

A cool, damp towel appears with a wave of his arms, stroking my middle with it delicately cleaning up the mess I’ve made. “How does it feel to be connected with the devil?” Seokjin sneers as he pulls out of me, making my center ache and twitch for him.

My eyes grow wide and my lips part but before I can say anything Jungkook bursts in the room.

“Am I late?” Jungkook pants as he looks awestruck by me on the bed.

“For a very important date.” I gaze back to Seokjin who is now fully dressed, smirking that soft, playful smile like he usually does at Mr. Jeon. “Don’t worry, I was just getting her ready for you, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook eyes him with narrowed orbs, but buys the lie Seokjin is selling and proceeds to strip himself of his white waistcoat. “What is on the menu tonight?” His red-rimmed irises bore into mine and I feel self-conscious suddenly. He circles the bed in the manner like that of a wolf would as he finishes stripping himself of any dressy garments, though his slacks remain on.

“The one you most desire out of everything in this world.” Seokjin purrs, stepping up to take his seat on his pedestal high above us.

Is he going to watch us?

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls, dropping to his knees in front of the bed suddenly. He pulls me closer to him by my ankles, throwing my thighs apart so my center is exposed to him in the rawest form. He stares at my glistening middle as I try to close my legs with a little, pathetic whimper.

“Don’t.” The rabbit-like man moans wantonly, holding onto my ankles loosely. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” His hands glide up my thighs achingly slow, holding me in pace for his eyes to ravage as they please.

The fire in my lower stomach has returned, hungry and ready to go for more.

His warm fingertips make it to my inner thighs, kneading the flesh there tenderly, so close to my throbbing core that I almost beg him with a cry to dip down into me, but I refrain, hanging on to every trace or brush of his hands against my scorching flesh.

“What do you want, my darling?” He groans into my inner thigh, lips ghosting my sensitive flesh there, inching closer to my heated skin with his upper body.

“Please.” I finally ask, begging, almost choking out the word, forgetting Seokjin watching us from above.

His dominant hand finally finds my nether lips, tracing them up and down with his two longest fingers but not exactly touching me where I am aching quite yet. “Please what?” He teases, stroking me up and down slowly, holding his feral gaze in mine, amber eyes seemingly on fire.

“Please, Jungko-“

He slaps my middle with little force or malice behind it, but I jolt, mewling aloud, wanting him to secretly do it again.

Jungkook goes back to tracing my lips in the middle of my body, smug smirk seated on his devilishly handsome face. “You are so wet, darling.” He slaps me again, though this time I want it more than I’d actually care to admit.

“Jung-” I choke on my words.

He slaps me again, this time with slightly more force behind his fingertips. I hiss out a breath, staring at him with my mouth slightly ajar, brows turned up, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes already.

“I have to have a taste.” He kisses my inner thigh as he slowly traces his thumb over my slicked out folds.

I let out a wanton cry as he hums into my thighs, growling low and deep. I swear there’s a smile in his voice as he works with his mouth and fingertip in tandem. “Mine.” He breathes, sucking on the sensitive flesh of my innermost thigh, marking me with a throaty growl.

“J-Jungkook..!”

I am a mess. I let loose a series of pants, breathless moans as he works my coil in the pit of my stomach tighter with every brush or groan he grants my hot body. I am melting under Jungkook’s touch, my body feeling sticky, arousal dripping from my middle while he circles my delicate clit.

His thumb was increasing his pace of gliding over my bundle of nerves, still slow, still making my breathing become erratic, but the desire for Jungkook to do more was driving me insane. I’ve had a taste of sex and look at me wanting more. I didn’t know if I could be in the position to ask for more. But I wanted him to place those perfect, beautiful sinful lips on my molten core. Jungkook’s breath fans over my middle as he continues to stroke me down there.

I miss the twitch confined to the middle of his pants from the man watching us from above with eager need.

As if sensing my need, his tongue swipes a slow stripe through my folds, the cool of his muscle against my exposed center making me black out for a moment, the sensation far too much for me to bear with right now. His snort of laughter brings me back to reality as he swirls his pink tongue at my empty entrance.

Jungkook laps at my folds as if he is a starved man, hungry, desperate for his next meal. I keen, gripping onto the base of his golden torso as laps at me. I’d think grounding myself on top of Jungkook’s head would make me saner, gripping his strands of hair as he goes to town in my middle. But really, it makes me feel completely mad, like I’ve gone insane.

The feral, untamed animal-like noises that escape his throat drive me absolutely wild, my skin on fire with need and want. My nails cling to his scalp, dragging him closer to my middle as he ravages my core. He maneuvers his two longest fingers through the glossy slick, lubing his digits to breach my entrance.

“Jungkook!” I gasp, choking on my words as he makes a come hither motion with his fingers, splitting my velvet walls to open for him.

Jungkook swirls his tongue over my little pearl of sensitive nerves, lapping and sucking my flesh like he's never eaten a thing in his life. He continues his very audible growling and moaning, husk in his voice incredibly thick.

“Let go, baby.” He coos into my middle as I jolt and shake, his digits brushing past the most delicious spot deep inside of my clenching walls. “Give me your release.”

His words finally tip me over the edge.

I tighten my hold on him, gritting my teeth in the process. My head falls backward on the sheets, eyes screwed closed as Jungkook slurps every inch of my middle clean, not leaving anything to go to waste.

“Kookie,” I sputter out, the feeling of his tongue and fingers becoming too much for me. “I-I’m c-c-cumming-!”

As I say the last of my words, the world comes undone around me for the second time today, my tight coil finally popping. Blinding white stars coat my vision for a second, my body shivering and shaking as I drip out onto the flat of Jungkook’s tongue.

He laps up my sensitive hole up with more snarls, more feral noises escaping his body. Tears flow down my face as I unhinge my nails from his silky blonde strands, trying to push him away from my overly sensitive flesh with pathetic mewls of protest escaping my throat.

More. My brian prompts me to continue to sate my undying lust burning inside of me. I need more.

“Jungkook,” I beg while his tongue still explores my throbbing hole, giving my sensitive skin rapt attention. “Jungkookie. Please. I c-can’t.” I tug at his blinde hair gently, trying to get him to stop teasing me with his tongue.

He doesn't stop and I can only think of one thing to ask before I lose my damn mind with him between my thighs.

“Jungkook.” I shudder, high building up once more. “Please fuck me.”

Everything in the room stills, the only sound heard was our heavy breathing.

He looks up from my sensitive core, brows knit together as he looks into my eyes with such a passionate gaze of uncertainty. My juices were coating the bottom half of his face, his blonde hair is in a state of disarray, as he proceeds to slowly rise to his feet, looking over me on the bed.

“What?” He questions incredulously down at my fucked out form. Jungkook looks at me as if I am the most fragile thing in the world, as if I would burst into flames at any moment. “My darling, my love, there’s no going back if we-“

“I know.” I smirk up to the gorgeous gangster in all of the Windy City. “I want this too.”

His nostrils flare, his eyes widen, and his gaze softens. Jungkook looks down at me with something akin to lust, which makes my heart rate increase...

“Up.” He commands, raw husk pouring out of his tone as he starts to undo his pants, the zipper noise almost jarring in the quiet of the night.

I do as I’m told. I’ve fallen far down the rabbit hole now, I think as I shift on the bed. Standing was a little difficult as he’s just given me one of the best feelings I’ve ever had. I keep my eyes glued to Jungkook. His hands travel sensually down his tiny waist to his slacks he unbuttons. I am gasping, unable to take my eyes off the very beautiful sight of his thick cock bouncing, finally free from the confines of his dress pants. The tip was red and angry, a bead of precum adorning the slit of his mushroom-like head. He was long, girthy, and I want nothing more than it inside of myself at this very moment.

Jungkook grips the base of his cock with his hand while he steps out of his pants, giving his shaft a few pumps up and down while I watch with an open mouth.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.” He confesses softly, reaching for me with his free hand. I inch closer to him, gliding my hands over his defined body, admiring his lithe, yet sturdy frame. My fingers hungrily trace every ridge, every contour of his golden torso. Jungkook was so warm, so wonderful, and I am slightly kicking myself for not giving into him sooner. “To have you,” he continues, kissing up the side of my neck.

“Please.” I beg him again, eyes flickering back and forth between his.

“Turn around.” He leans in to kiss me with passionate need. His lips molding into mine as I cling to him for more. I taste my essence on his tongue which makes me whimper into his strong hold. “I’m going to fuck you now, my love.”

Again, I don’t need to be told twice as he guides me to where he wants me, bending me at the waist so my fingers dig into the unkept sheets below, my backside open and exposed to him.

“So pretty for me.” I hear the grin in his deep rumble. Jungkook slaps my bottom, granting him a hiss to escape my throat. I whine when he does it softly several more times, making my head soar.

I hear him spit before I feel the extra saliva lubricant coat my backside, the cool of his juices combined with mine was driving me up a wall.

“Jungkook!” I gasp.

He groans when I call for him, pushing his fat head of a cock at my aching, empty hole, wanting him to finally join the two of us.

“Darling,” he sounds like he’s straining to hold back. “Baby, please, fuck!” He grunts, splitting my walls inch by agonizingly slowly. I moan as he stretches me wide, entering me like he owns me.

He thrusts inside of me all the way with one snap of his hips suddenly. A cry leaves my lips along with a strangled one from the man inside of me. My eyes widen as I realize that he’s not going to go easy on me tonight, he’s going to fuck me on his terms. I was in for a wild ride this evening.

Jungkook leans the front of himself over my sticky back, pressing our heated flesh together more, growling to the outside shell of my ear, nipping the flesh under my lobe while sliding in and out of me with a brutal pace he’s set.

“Baby…” he moans in my ear, the deep purr vibrating throughout his body making my breathing hitch and sob. His hips snapping into mine with a rhythm, I swear, no human man could ever achieve. Liquid was flowing down my eyes as the push and pull of Jungkook slamming his giant cock into my velvet folds repeatedly already had me tearing the sheets in two with my nails.

“Jung! Ah! Kook!”

Seokjin glides his hand over his cock from above the bed, matching the rhythm Jungkook’s hips produce, enjoying the wonderful show.

I gasp this over and over like a prayer falling from my lips. My eyes are squeezed shut, my body hot with the raw purpose to feel Jugnkook inside of my heated center. His cock pushes in and out of me at a fevered pace, making my vision blur, seeing far too many white stars.

My brain is fuzzy as he hits the spot inside of me that blinds me, pleasure swimming in my veins. My third climax was surely on the way.

“Baby,” Jungkook grunts, one of his arms snaking up my torso, his long fingers finding one of my bouncing breasts. He starts pinching my erect nipple, holding on to me tighter as we slide back and forth off of one another.

My coil was wound so tight, I don’t know if I’d be able to last much longer. Especially not with Jungkook’s fingers attaching to my hardened nipple, his lips to the crook of my neck, and his cock slamming in and out of my clenching middle with a fevered need.

He bucks into me faster, my walls clamping down on him, my coil about to pop, about to burst forth again. I can’t hold myself up any longer, my legs shaking violently. My knuckles are turning white with how hard I am clawing at the heart patterned sheets.

“Jungkook! I-“ I mewl, but I don’t get to finish my thought.

In a split second, Jungkook pulls out of my middle, flipping me over and letting me fall onto my back so I could be face to face with him. Jungkook climbs on top of me quickly, wanting to resume his feverish pace immediately, hunger and need in his amber gaze. He settles between my legs, pushing himself back into my slicked out center easily, restarting from where he last left off.

I gasp when he enters me, clinging to his shoulders, holding him while the lewd squelching noises in the room continue to grow, faster, louder. He grips onto my hips, guiding me at a blinding speed I didn’t know he could achieve. Is he a victim of the devil as well?

Sweat was pouring off our bodies, my brain unable to produce a sane thought as he grunts and moans my name, his red orbs never leaving my face as he rockets his cock into my folds like it was his job.

It happens again, the very right feeling deep inside of my body, the one that makes me grit my teeth, that makes me see hundreds of tiny white stars.

“Jung! Kook~!” I scream into the quiet room, tears flowing from my hues as I card my fingers through his blonde strands, trying to make a purchase on his roots.

My hands travel down his backside as he snarls, “I’m going to make you my wife! Not some wannabe from the Northside!” Jungkook huffs, his movements slowing down, one of his thumbs finding my folds again, circling my aching clit in hurry - a stark contrast to earlier. “I’m going to claim you as my own.”

Seokjin smiles like he’s just won the lottery, masturbating to the sight of both his clients intertwined, fucking onto each other with unbridled lust. He comes then watching his new toy’s back arch, breasts in the air, Jungkook’s frame pounding into her with hungry trepidation.

I grab onto the ample flesh of his bottom, feeling the world come tumbling around myself once more. Letting my body shake and quake on top of the sheets, my third orgasm taking me by force. I feel complete - feel whole for some reason. I am so completely taken aback with the storm rippling through my body in pleasureful tremors, one right after the other, I cannot even begin to breathe properly.

He lets a feral snarl rip through his body as he pumps into my leaking middle a few more times, my whole being consumed by Jungkook. He leans over me, sucking my neck colors of purples and dark reds and I scream as his cock swells inside of my velvet walls, releasing his own essence into my womb, holding him there like a vice grip as he spurts his seed deep inside of me.

Once our highs come to a close, I run my fingers through his hair, his throbbing cock still joined inside of my middle. We both pant, holding the other for dear life, finally together, and fulfilled with one other. Jungkook kisses along my jaw, moaning my name, telling me what an amazing baby doll I am as his cock finally softens inside of my aching cunt.

“Bravo.” Seokjin claps as he walks down the wooden stairs. “You both did very well!” He chuckles darkly. I squeak in surprise. I forgot he was there and I scramble to cover myself with the soiled sheets.

“Okay, Kim,” Jungkook says as he kisses my nose, pulling out and picking up my clothes and handing them to me. He dresses in his undergarments and dress pants quickly, buttoning them up as he turns to the man all in green. “You had your show.” I listen as I dress myself with haste, back turned to the two men. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked: invested the money overseas, gotten rid of the competition and family in this lovely city, got you a new “Alice”, and even let you watch us play ball. I think it’s time to set us free.”

“Yes,” the mad man snickers, darkness clouding his tone, “you both have served me well. But nobody is leaving my perfectly curated speakeasy.”

I turn around and my heart is dropping to the floor. Shock is written all over Jungkook’s face as I clench my jaw in guilt.

“But, I’m afraid you both made a deal with me, and I don’t give up my new toys so easily.” Seokjin caresses Jungkook’s face in his pale hand, while holding my gaze with a sense of gentle anger. “You can’t always get what you want. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you have each other.”

---

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this trip down the rabbit hole! Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!

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smiting-finger · 3 years

Text

alive, and back on my usual nonsense

So after getting preoccupied with other things and temporarily falling off the face of the planet (for like an entire year ಥωಥ), I was thinking about the kdrama Mr. Queen (which I've been meaning to watch), and the Chinese novel it was based on (太子妃升职记, which I read a few years ago and very much enjoyed), and this popped out--

Wei Wuxian’s first thought is that there seem to be an awful lot of female voices around, for a bedroom inhabited by two men. Did he drink too much last night? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s overindulged on a trip to the town and woken up in a strange place the next morning, but that kind of problem has been cropping up a lot less frequently now that he has Lan Zhan around to ferry him home.

(Sometimes literally, on his back. His broad, strong--)

But perhaps Lan Zhan had gotten drunk, too? In which case, Wei Wuxian should consider them lucky to have woken up surrounded by people, rather than chickens, rabbits or, notably, on one occasion, mounds of resentful cabbages.

The chatter around him continues, pitched high with youth and - is that anxiety? It's interspersed with the odd interjection from what sounds like one (calmer, if more exasperated) older woman and a man. Probably not a nunnery, he decides. Perhaps the back rooms of a pleasure house? Although, if that’s the case, this amount of excitement over a mere two men is honestly a little excessive.

He reaches out tentatively, but pats all the way across the mattress to the edge without finding his usual bedfellow. A much less tentative venture towards the other side produces similar results.

Hm.

Wei Wuxian cracks open an eye and heaves himself upright, absent-mindedly scratching at his (unusually soft - as much as he hates to admit it, maybe Nie Huaisang has a point about drinking less and training more) side and squinting into the too-bright light until the person-shaped blur in front of him sharpens into focus.

“Niang niang!” a complete stranger cries tearfully, clutching at the sleeve of his other arm. “You’re awake! Thank Heavens, you’re awake! Physician Liu, quick, quick!”

A cushion is produced from somewhere and thrust expectantly between Wei Wuxian and the elderly man sitting at his bedside.

He sighs. It’s probably not worth fighting.

Wei Wuxian smacks his upturned wrist onto the unusually lavish brocade and is only a little surprised when it’s covered by a cloth before the physician reaches to take it.

(Do they think he’s diseased?)

((Is he diseased?!))

(((Is that why Lan Zhan isn’t here?)))

He looks at the row of young girls (+ 1 matron) kneeling along the wall to his left, dressed identically to the first and also now beginning to prostrate themselves and wail about “Niang niang!” and blessings and deserving to die.

Not a pleasure house, then.

He looks around at the rest of the richly-furnished room and its intricately-carved wooden furniture, the wealth of jade carvings and the obscene amount of gold that's gilding … everything (so shiny). The opulence of it all would put even Jin Guangshan to shame.

So, not a nunnery either.

He looks down at the small hands, delicate wrists and - he clutches one abruptly just to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him - breasts of the body that he certainly was not inhabiting yesterday.

“Well,” he says aloud, unable to stop himself from wincing at the high, soft voice that emerges despite fully expecting it. “It’s not the first time this has happened.”

===

Two days, one diagnosis of shock-induced memory loss and some discreet enquiries (as well as some indiscreet enquiries) later, this is what he knows about his situation:

He’s the main consort (unfavoured) of the crown prince of whatever place he’s landed in;

Three days ago, following a disagreement with one Consort Yun (favoured, main competitor for husband’s affections);

In the course of this disagreement, both women somehow fell into a palace lake and mostly-drowned;

Consort Yun (admittedly quite pretty) was revived at the scene, but Wei Wuxian took a full day to “miraculously” recover;

Angered by the unseemly behaviour of her daughters-in-law, particularly upon learning that the Crown Princess’s first act upon waking was to stumble upon a chance meeting between the Crown Prince and Consort Yun in one of the pleasure gardens and bodily throw herself between them (a tactical error on Wei Wuxian’s part. He’d been trying to throw himself over the battlements to freedom, but he’d gotten lost and scaled the wrong wall), the Empress (Crown Prince’s political opponent, not particularly fond of either consort) grounded both of them to their respective residences for a month, with no visitors allowed.

Which brings him to his current position, feeding the fish in his personal pond as an excuse to be alone. Not truly alone - he shoots a pointed glance at the maids watching anxiously from the other side of the courtyard - because he’s apparently a “suicide risk” now (and honestly, yes, he’d meant to throw himself off that roof, but he hadn’t meant to die - it’s simply that this new body’s cultivation level is not what he’s come to expect even from Mo Xuanyu’s modest abilities), but alone enough to start planning his next move.

Direct escape is out - he didn’t have a plan for what to do once he’d gotten out anyway, and honestly he’s better-resourced for finding out how he got here in the Palace than anywhere else, so it’s no great loss.

“What do you think, Master Fish?” Wei Wuxian asks a gold and black spotted koi with particularly sage-looking whiskers. “Shall I just stay here for the time being?”

It’s not a terrible place to be for the time being, he must admit, throwing more food into the water and watching the fish swarm. Being grounded, he’s at no risk from the Crown Prince’s amorous attentions for a month (a salute of gratitude to the Empress for the inadvertent protection). And thanks to Consort Yun and her voluptuous figure (and if the Crown Prince is more partial to that than the Zhao Feiyan style of willowy fragility that Wei Wuxian seems to have inherited, who can honestly blame him?), he’s at no great risk from them after that, either (a salute of gratitude to the unknowing sister-in-arms, taking one - and hopefully a great many more after that - for the team).

According to his maid (sleeve-clutcher extraordinaire, who even now is boring two holes into his skull with her woeful gaze from across the way while he does nothing more suspicious than scatter another handful of feed towards some latercomer fish), the body he’s inhabiting comes from a powerful military lineage. In particular, her father is (was?) a powerful general who currently commands more than half the nation’s military forces and has the absolute trust of the Emperor. So that more or less keeps him safe from the machinations of the majority of the nest of vipers in this palatial cesspit.

That just leaves the Empress, who - if his servants and the smuggled letters from the Original Goods’s mother (a salute of gratitude to the worthy woman for spelling it out so that even such an interloper as he can understand) are anything to go by - would definitely kill him to damage the Crown Prince’s political standing or throw any sort of roadblock in the way of him from becoming Emperor.

Less immediately - if his secret informants are anything to go by (a salute of gratitude to the resourceful host for cultivating such a valuable resource if not her dantian) - it also leaves the Crown Prince, who, upon cementing his power as Emperor, would also definitely kill his current Crown Princess in order to wedge his beloved Consort Yun into the Empress role.

Really, the only road to any sort of security for someone in his position is to raise the next Imperial heir, outlive the Original Goods’s faithless husband and become the Empress Dowager.

Hopefully Wei Wuxian will be long gone by then, but if leaving means the Original Goods will return (from … Mo Xuanyu’s body? The Ether? Or???) - well, he doesn’t want to repay her hospitality by leaving her house in a mess, so to speak. So he’ll try to set her on that career path, if he can.

But that’s an aspirational goal. First, he has to not-die before he can find out how to get himself home.

And find out how to get himself home.

If getting himself home is even possible.

Wei Wuxian dumps the rest of the fish food in the water and yells.

(It startles the maids, the fish and the poor eunuch the Crown Prince has sent as a spy into falling out of the tree he’s been hiding in and into the prickly bushes below.)

===

The problem with “staying for the time being” is … well, how interminably boring it is. The approved list of hobbies for an Imperial consort seems to consist of: eating (but not too much), sleeping (but not too much), embroidery (which he can’t do), reading (but only texts on female virtue and the occasional terrible novel), playing music (but not the flute), conversing with his maids (who are very sweet, but are all like, 12) and walking in the gardens (which he’s not allowed to do).

Honestly, it’s no wonder all the consorts turn to scheming and murder.

It only takes a week of confinement for him to snap and sneak himself out for a nighttime adventure, setting off to explore the grounds and see … a night-blooming flower, a ghost, a rat, he’ll take pretty much anything at this point.

In the end, he finds none of these things, but the walking is still pretty nice, and he even hears the faint sounds of a guqin wafting over from one of the other consorts’ residences. (He should probably learn who lives where at some point, but it’s not exactly a priority. What’s he going to do with the information when he can only visit during the nighttime? Peep?) When Wei Wuxian wanders closer, the notes resolve themselves into the familiar strains of Flowing Waters, and his breath catches on a sudden surge of longing to hear the same song, played by a different set of fingers.

(First played on a familiar guqin and then, later, accompanied by soft humming between soft, worn sheets, played across the edges of Wei Wuxian’s ribs, along the dip of his spine, and finally lower, into--)

((Is Lan Zhan thinking about him?))

(((Is Lan Zhan looking for him?)))

Stumbling blindly on, he’s so caught up in missing Lan Zhan that he misses the first few stanzas of the next piece, and it isn’t until the music starts to rise in a familiar refrain that he freezes.

He knows that song.

He’s one of the only two people who know that song, which is in fact how he got caught out the last time he found himself in a farce of an identity charade, by the only other person who knows that song, who must be - who must be -

Lan Zhan, his blood sings in his ears as he takes off in a dead run towards the source of the playing. Up ahead of him, small courtyard glows softly with the light of the only burning lamp in their vicinity. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan-

He scrambles up the wall with the ease of a lifetime’s practice, using bloody-minded determination to make up for the lack of muscle memory.

“Lan Zhan,” he yelps, forgetting to whisper in his excitement as he flings himself over the top and into the branches of a convenient, wall-side tree. “Lan Zhan, it’s me, I-”

This is, naturally, when his foot slips. He manages to catch hold of a branch, but his tender hands and puny wrists, unused to holding up anything heavier than a chicken leg, fail to maintain their hold through his weight, and he tumbles down the trunk into a sad puddle of fabric on the ground.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, fighting to untangle himself from the ridiculous train that, admittedly, made a considerable contribution to cushioning his fall. He clambers up onto his hands and knees--

--and looks straight into the wide-eyed stare of Consort Yun.

===

“I cannot believe,” Wei Wuxian growls, palming the ample softness of one exposed breast with one hand, while shoving the other deeper into the many (too many) layers of fabric between them and between Lan Zhan’s splayed legs, “that after everything that’s happened, you’re still taller than me.”

Lan Zhan huffs a laugh that turns quickly into a moan, and Wei Wuxian swallows it, smothers Lan Zhan’s gasping breaths with his own parted lips and sucks them greedily down even as he coaxes out more with twisting fingers here, another tug to Lan Zhan’s poor, abused nipple there.

He slides his fingers back between slick folds and then upwards again, pushing in and out in a few languid strokes before curling them to make Lan Zhan arch harder against the wall behind him, tilt his head back and expose a beautifully vulnerable stretch of neck to Wei Wuxian's teeth.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, and his voice is different, the shape of his lips is different, but the way Wei Wuxian’s name fits inside his mouth (tender, beloved), the way he tucks the flyaway strands of hair behind Wei Wuxian’s ear, the look in his eyes when their gazes meet (warm, open, knowing) are the same, same, same.

===

I am entirely too lazy to write the rest of it, but afterwards they regroup and it turns out LWJ has been in this world for exactly one more day than WWX, having woken up in Consort Yun’s body when she was “revived”. Consort Yun is the daughter of a high-ranking Minister in the Treasury or something, so Lan Zhan been using his new position as the daughter of a ~scholarly family~ to build a reputation for being really into Buddhist scripture, and eventually he’s going to request to be allowed to go to a nearby Temple to attain some virtuous brownie points for the Imperial family via prayer as his penitence.

That there’s also an elderly monk living there who’s got a reputation for being super good with the divine mysteries and spiritual lore about curses and whatnot is totally immaterial, if Lan Zhan happens to run into that guy, it’ll be a total coincidence, yeah.

So WWX also starts on the divine penitence route, and if everyone thinks it’s because the Crown Princess refuses to be outdone by Consort Yun, then even better, and two weeks into confinement they wear the Empress down into letting them make the trip, and when they get there, turns out the monk is Nie Huaisang.

(NHS: “OH THANK GOD, I’ve done the research but the lynchpin of this mess is definitely somewhere in the Palace and I could not for the life of me figure out a way to get in.”

WWX: “That's nice, but seriously, how come you got to stay a man?”

NHS: “My friend, I may be a man, but my balls are currently swinging somewhere around my ankles.”

WWX: “...show me.”

And LWJ is like “NO.” except WWX can tell by the look in his eye that he sort of wants to see, too).

So they return to the Palace and WWX whirls into one of their morning audiences with the Empress, distraught about a ~dream from the ancestors~ where they warned him about disrupted ley lines or accumulated resentment or an offended minor god that needs investigation by someone, and “How convenient, because we met just the guy!” And the Empress looks like she was Done Five Years Ago, but the Empress Dowager, who’s old and doddery, is like “oh no, you must bring him!” and the Empress mutters “to fucking what, offend some major gods and really do the job properly?” and that’s how they find out the Empress is Jiang Cheng.

In the meantime, the confinement edict expires and WWX+LWJ are allowed to return to their regular programming, which means that as the legal wife, WWX can continuously summon LWJ to his residence for increasingly tenuous and spurious reasons. The best thing is, it’s not even out of character for the Crown Princess, who used to regularly summon Consort Yun to subject her to not-so-veiled barbs and petty torments. So WWX summons LWJ, and then immediately expels both their entourages from the room, instructing that no one is to enter on pain of death.

So LWJ’s maids are gnashing their teeth helplessly while all sorts of piteous moans, pained gasps and the occasional scream emanate from behind the closed door, and when their mistress finally emerges there are no marks on her body, but she’s weak-kneed and having trouble walking straight, so who knows what kind of terrible tortures the Crown Princess has visited upon her.

The Crown Prince obviously hears about this, so he bursts in one day without warning, only to find the two sitting together, the Crown princess’s arms around Consort Yun’s waist, her cheek pillowed on one heaving bosom, and although she’s smiling besottedly at him now, he could have sworn that he felt killing intent being directed at him only a second ago? And to tell the truth, he’s not really in love Consort Yun either, it’s all an act to keep the two consorts (and their families) pitted in a power struggle against each other until he can finally outmanoeuvre the Empress and cement his position as heir to the throne (and also to protect his actual favourite, a third consort who’s a nondescript nobody with no political backing). So the fact that “It was all a misunderstanding, we’re friends now,” his Crown Princess says sweetly (and did she … rub her cheek against his Consort’s chest? Must be his imagination) is not the worst thing (at least neither of them/their families can be enlisted by the Empress in support of her son, and if they’re caught up with Being Besties, then at least they’re not bullying his actual favourite), but for some reason he still feels kind of … threatened? Like someone’s making moves on his wife, which is absurd because they’re both his wives, but the vibes he gets from the first one in particular are kind of … off?

In any case, the crew solve the mystery, find the lynchpin object (which turns out to be a jade dildo belonging to one of the Emperor’s favoured consorts because of course it is), and wake up in their real bodies, in their real world, to a very apologetic hermit-inventor-cultivator whose property they stumbled onto while pursuing a resentful beast. Turns out they triggered the glamour/enchantment/psychic maze world he created as a security system because, “I just didn’t want to risk people getting into my stuff, you know? I’ve got some things that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands”. WWX is like “oh yeah, for sure” and JC is like “WHAT DO YOU MEAN FOR SURE? HOW IS THIS AN UNDERSTANDABLE RESPONSE, IF YOU’RE AFRAID PEOPLE WILL TOUCH YOUR SHIT THEN JUST ENCHANT SOME FUCKING WARRIOR GOLEMS LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE.”

#CQL #The Untamed #mo dao zu shi #Wangxian #fic #not-fic

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corner-stories · 3 years

Text

for it isn't a dream (not a dream after all)

Calem. Serena.

Love At First Sight. Origin Stories. Impoverished Patricians.

19th Century Period Drama But Make It Pokemon.

13123 words

(ao3.)

…

(in my life)

…

Calem Bellamy-Beaufort had been born from diamonds, but raised in the dirt.

At birth he was named Baron Calem Xavier Trevelyan — his middle name representing his paternal grandfather who had earned a war fought generations ago, his surname representing the Galarian Viscount that was his father. Said Viscount had won over Calem’s Baroness mother on an endless wave of charm, promising a life of wealth and prosperity if they started a life together.

Had Calem’s mother knew what the deceitful nobleman truly had in store for her, she would have never let him into her world. Viscount Trevelyan had drained the Bellamy-Beaufort fortune, squandering the riches on horses and wine and women despite the wellbeing of his wife and child being at stake. Nowadays Kalos did not recognize the title of Baroness Bellamy-Beaufort, especially after her husband abandoned her and her four-year-old son to join his lover back in Wyndon. The impact of his actions had been enough to sully the Bellamy-Beaufort name, causing his once affluent wife and child to live in squalor.

As a result, Calem has few memories of his father. He only knows that the peaceful life he used to live in Camphrier Town had suddenly ended when his mother sold all her belongings and moved them to a desolate shack outside of Coumarine City. He was too young to comprehend what exactly his father had done, only that all the shouting matches between his parents had culminated in the man leaving and his mother breaking down in heavy tears.

From the moment Calem could walk, he began to work. Before he could read, he learned to shine shoes, usually cleaning the boots of soldiers and brogues of noblemen. His efforts had earned him enough francs for food as well as the affectionate nickname “Xav” amongst the troopers stationed near Coumarine. He earned coins by selling newspapers to the citizens of the city. He would stand on street corners with a paper in hand, giving out news of Kalosian Lords and Dukes as if he was never one of them in the first place. His mother took up honest work in a manor, where she served those who turned their noses at her and would never even think that the scullery maid ever lived a life amongst the diamonds.

At the age of thirteen, Calem had decided that his future resided in the heart of Kalos. The stories of the great city of Lumiose had clouded his mind and refused to leave. He did not even know exactly what he wanted to do with his life, just that the key to his life resided in the city of lifes. All he needed to do was actually make the move to discover that dream. His mother told him to stay with her, as she believed otherwise and that his future was by her side, but Calem persisted until his mother gave in. All young boys left home eventually, she just didn’t think that it would happen so soon.

To fund his move, he began working harder — selling more papers, shining more shoes, and even taking up work at a nearby Skiddo ranch to earn extra francs.

Calem went from a quiet little boy who shined shoes in street corners to a tall, admirable young man. His hair was black like the night’s inky skies, his face was sharper than the blade of a soldier’s sabre, and his eyes were blue like the water off the Ambrette coast. In another life where the world would acknowledge him as the handsome young Baron of Rivière Walk, he would have made strides within the Kalosian ballrooms and could have attracted many pairs of eyes to his angelically handsome face.

He left at age fifteen and never looked back. He kept his mother in his heart and sent letters to her as often as he could. He promised her that he would send a small percentage of his earnings, praying to Arceus that it would somehow keep her afloat.

Calem was not formally educated, but he could read and write and his arms and legs were as strong from his years of physical labour. He first found work at a shoe shining stand near Lumiose Station, occasionally playing with the napping Skiddo between shines. Six months later, his employer let him go due to the Kalos monarchy’s insistence that its citizens pay even more taxes. That left Calem to find work as a courier, where he would travel the city delivering packages and messages to Lumiose’s countless citizens and visitors.

…

A year into his stay in the city of lights, Calem comes across something digging through the garbage in the alley behind his apartment. Despite his muscles aching from a long day of work, his curiosity gets the best of him and he approaches the rummaging stranger.

After getting closer, he discovers that the thing rifling through food scraps and broken furniture is a little creature no taller than his knee. Its body is brown, but the claws on its feet are pale white and the spikes on its head are green. Calem is taken aback, as he has never seen a creature like this before — it differs greatly from the Skiddo and Gogoat he had grown up around.

Eventually, the tiny creature stops rifling through the pile of trash and looks up at Calem — its eyes are black and beady and frightened. It shows fear in the presence of a person who means no harm.

Calem acts on his first instinct.

“Hungry?” he asks. He reaches to his satchel and pulls out a half-eaten loaf of bread, a tip granted to him from a particularly happy client. The bread is unlike the soft and buttery brioche given to the more fortunate, but the few bites Calem has taken has given him enough strength for the day and he no longer needs it.

So Calem kneels to the ground, holding the bun out to the little creature with green spikes on its head.

“There is nothing good in the garbage,” he explains. “That’s for sure.

Curiously, the creature takes a few steps towards Calem and sniffs the bread curiously. Before he knows it, the creature starts nibbling on the loaf. Judging by its reaction, the bread is clearly more desirable than the rotten cheese and veggie scraps in the trash.

An hour later Calem has brought the creature into his minuscule apartment — a living space that only really has room for a cot, a desk, and a stove. He has nothing else of value on him but a few borrowed books, a stack of stationary, the blue overcoat his mother had given him before he left, and a little bit of food to get him through his days. He lets the little creature have some grapes and cheese while he reads his books, attempting some research to better understand the situation. After flipping through enough notes written by men more brilliant than him, Calem finds some information on the creature in his room.

Its official name is Chespin — the green spikes on its head are soft but when flexed grow hard enough to pierce a rock, its curious tendencies get it into trouble, its optimistic nature makes it an uplifting partner creature for anyone to have.

It takes no time before Calem decides to keep it.

…

(she has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun)

…

On an autumn’s day, Calem is seventeen. The soles of his well-worn boots slap the cobblestones as he heads towards Jaune Plaza. At his feet is a never-ending ball of energy that refuses to stay down, yet Calem absolutely loves it to pieces. At one point, Chespin climbs up the tails of Calem’s coat and perches on the young man’s shoulders, garnering a soft smile from his master.

“The view must be better from up here, is it?” he says.

The two walk south on Hibernal Avenue, where the whole street is aglow with citizens and creatures. Locals argue with food vendors, tax collectors roam around alongside their fearsome Houndoom for protection, and scholars walk upon the cobblestones with a vacant pondering in their eyes.

Calem passes by the more well-dressed men who walk alongside well-groomed Furfrou and pampered Pyroar. In his heart, he knows that they would never look twice at a young man like him, with his ratty blue overcoat and scuffed boots. Yet somehow, Calem finds himself listening in on their conversation. For all the disdain they may show him, his curiosity persists.

He hears the two men talk of books and writings that are only valuable to those who can afford it. They are too old to be students, so he guesses that they are perhaps professors, maybe of medicine or art or breeding of the creatures that surround them in this world.

Soon enough, the two wealthy men pass him by. Like the young man had suspected, they do not look at him twice.

Calem then hears the sound of splashing.

He glances across the street to see another creature running amok — this one is short, blue, has a cape of bubbles hanging off the back of its neck, and owns a pair of bright yellow eyes that crinkle as it smiles. The creature currently splashes about in a puddle, rolling around as if it were an infant just learning how to move. Calem can’t help but stop and watch it go — he’s never seen a creature like that before.

“Froakie, you silly thing!” says a voice.

The creature rolls out of the puddle and shakes the water off its skin. Using its skinny legs, it hops over to the bottom end of a dress skirt and leaps into the arms of the wearer.

Then Calem sees her.

Her hair is golden blonde and sways in the wind, her eyes grey like steel, and her smile as she holds her creature is absolutely delightful. She wears an immaculate black dress and ornate hat in a scarlet hue, something that could seem so common yet makes her stand out like she’s the only person on the street.

Like a fool, Calem can only stand there and stare. To say that she looks beautiful is an absolute understatement. His heart beats faster than a star falling from the sky, his world feels like it’s spinning around.

Then she looks up.

The stranger’s eyes meet his. They widen slightly just like his as she takes him in from across the street. As she holds her creature in her arms, her mouth is open but still, as if she’s looking for the words but does not know what to say. Calem doesn’t know what parts of him make her look at him that way, but he doesn’t question it.

The two make no sound as the world of Hibernal Avenue moves around them like a clock.

An older man then taps the young woman’s shoulder. Just like her she is very well dressed with a spotless tailored coat and a top hat that makes him look rather tall. She looks to him as one would to a father and he motions for them to go down the street. She nods politely and follows, giving Calem one more longing glance before disappearing into an alleyway.

But as she walks, Calem notices something falling from her person, an item seemingly slipping out of the basket she carries.

Acting indifferent to his own rationale, Calem takes a few steps forward. He arrives at the spot of the dropped item and picks up, soon learning that it is nothing more than a simple white handkerchief. With the little cloth now in his hands, he looks down the alleyway in search of the girl with the golden hair.

But to his despair, she’s gone.

…

Calem meets arrives at a Jaune Plaza Cafe, a small establishment that sells things like ale and wine and a stew that is rather palpable as long as one doesn’t question what’s in it. He finds his friends sitting at a table in the corner and takes the empty chair on the right. Chespin then hops off his shoulder and decides to sit on his master’s lap.

His friends do not press as to why he arrived late and continue their conversation like nothing has changed. As Calem orders a meal, he hears one of his more talkative friends tell an amusing tale.

Shauna Jan is a short girl of only fifteen, her eyes are bright green and her hair is deep brown and long enough that it goes to her waist. When she speaks, she always does so with a happy spirit to her high-pitched voice. When she smiles, her eyes get small and crinkle at the corners. She works at an Inn in South Boulevard, an establishment run by her parents that is a far cry from Hotel Richissime, but known to the common-folk as a safe place to stay in such an unpredictable city. Her partner creature is a chipper little thing called a Skitty, which prefers to nap near its master’s feet as opposed to doing anything else. She currently tells a tale of an incident earlier today where she caught a customer trying to pilfer some wine bottles that he did not pay for. Calem listens and learns that Shauna got to chase the man away with a broom, something her father was rather proud of her for doing.

The story garners a laugh from Calem and his other two friends. Sitting beside Shauna is Tierno Todaro, a paunchy seventeen-year-old who loves life as much as he loves a good waltz or schottische. With a grin, he puts an arm around Shauna and congratulates her for a job well done. He then goes on to say that his job — a sanitation position at a shop on Hibernal Avenue — is not remotely as interesting. The most amusing thing he sees is rich merchants and scholars roaming the streets all day, as if their lives are so unfulfilling that they must walk around the common folk to feel alive again. Even his own partner, a clawed creature referred to as a Corphish, gets more out of its own existence than the wealthy.

When Tierno expresses his thoughts on scholars, Calem looks over to the more silent friend of the group, the shy and brainy Trevor Pascal, a young fifteen-year-old who is shorter than Shauna and has a head of bright orange hair. He is the quietest friend of the group, but that is only because he does not speak unless he sees it necessary. He’s a boy who dreams of studying Pokemon and prays that his job selling newspapers will somehow fund it. Knowing that it is Trevor’s goal to become a scholar, Calem wonders if the boy will say anything in the event of Tierno’s comments about them, but upon glancing over he only sees Trevor with his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Even his partner Flabebe seems more interested in reading than paying attention to anything else.

Calem and Trevor’s dreams are awfully similar, the only difference being that Calem simply wants to discover what other creatures the world has to hold, whereas Trevor is content with studying what humanity has already found.

The friends continue to talk about their current lives. As the conversation goes on, Calem feasts on a bowl of stew — or as Shauna likes to call it: brown mush. The taste in question is rather unremarkable, but it’s something Calem looks forward to after a day of work. It’s his usual meal when he doesn’t have any extra coin on him, meaning that he eats it quite often. Despite the dubious origins of the stew’s meat and vegetables, it has kept him alive for this long and his stomach has yet to reject it. Even his Chespin doesn’t refuse it when Calem offers up a spoonful to his partner.

As the friends talk, Calem stirs the brown mush boredly as the sound of his companions and the cafe’s other patrons turns into plain ambiance against his ears.

“Calem?” says Tierno’s voice.

He does not hear him the first time.

“Calem!” Tierno’s voice says once more. He reaches over and taps his friend’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re not usually this silent.”

“Have some wine,” Shauna suggests, motioning to the bottle in the middle of the table. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Calem glances up and meets his friend’s gazes with his own. Even the shy Trevor looks worried for him.

“I had a long day,” he tries. He pats his Chespin on his lap, as the little one has started to nap. “We went all over the city searching for one customer.”

His friends nod along. They understand his job, as it’s a hair more physically more involved than their own. He spends his days running across the streets of Lumiose with packages or messages in his satchel. People call on him to deliver because they know he’s fast and dependable. When they need an object or letter sent inside city lines, the citizens of Lumiose simply call for the boy with the blue coat and the head of dark hair.

Today was no different, as it took Calem and Chespin hours to track down a man named Clemont Charpentier, an apparent inventor who dreams of making mechanisms to improve humanity’s life among the fantastical creatures.

Calem tells the tale and hopes that it will be enough for his friends. His better judgement tells him that they do not need to know of who he saw today, and how in a single moment, his entire world felt as if it had changed.

…

Throughout history, the strange creatures that inhabit the world — despite all their differences — had one shared trait: an eagerness to fight. So in the basement of the Jauna Plaza Cafe is an illicit operation, a tournament of sorts where people put their partner creatures against others. What started as a form of entertainment for the commonfolk evolved into a game for people to play in order to show off the strengths of their creatures. Tournaments like this were popular with the more wealthy folk, but are nigh impossible for a working person to spectate, let alone participate.

Despite his young age, Calem has built a reputation for himself in the basement of the cafe. Every week, he and his Chespin will see what opponent they can take on. The first had been a man with a creature called a Litleo, another had been against a winged being called a Noibat, and the most memorable was against a bulky pink beast referred to as an Audino. Those who do not know him as the messenger boy in the blue coat know him as the one commanding the mighty Chespin to victory. Although he gets mere coins for his fights, Calem accepts any winnings in stride and tucks them deep into his pockets.

Tonight is no exception, as after the meal, he and his friends head down to the basement where a world of competitors awaits him. Tonight he and Chespin go against a creature they have never seen before. The opposing creature’s master calls it an Azumarill and despite its stubby legs and floppy blue ears, it proves to pack quite the punch.

But Calem and Chespin persevere. In the cramped walls of the cafe basement with a crowd of people cheering them on, Calem and Chespin ride on a wave to victory. Calem fights as if he is a soldier and keeps up a sense of honour as if his family’s title had never been sullied.

…

Night comes and Calem walks Shauna to her home on South Boulevard. Skitty and Chespin walk in front of them like guards in Parfum Palace. Calem keeps his hands in his coat pockets as Shauna leads the way and proceeds to chat his ears off. They walk down the street and pass a street performer, a young girl no older than ten who sings a wistful song for the citizens of Kalos to drop coins into her tattered brown hat.

Lumiose is always dreary at night, a harsh contrast to the lively city it becomes during the day. What once was a bustling metropolis feels like the depths of the desolate woods once the citizens retreat indoors. The street lamps can only do so much to let the life of the streets survive.

Calem cares for Shauna like one would a little sister. He protects her like a young Pancham that has only been brought into this world. He watches over her like any big brother would.

It helps that she knows of his past, knows why he has come to Lumiose, and knows why a child with a double-barreled surname like his has been taking up work as a lowly courier in a tattered coat. She knows that his mother gave her own name in order to avoid any association with his bastard of a father.

“Calem, what’s wrong with you?” Shauna suddenly asks.

He blinks, then eyes his friend as they continue to walk. “What do you mean?”

“You’re still lost in that haze,” Shauna says and she knows she’s right. “What’s really wrong with you today?”

Calem sighs and digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He knows that Shauna will simply press even more in any attempt to hide. Most people see Shauna’s excitable and impatient nature and assume she is not as bright as her disposition, but those people would be very surprised to discover just how good she is at getting secrets out of a person. The Kalosian Army would make a good spy out of her.

“Promise you won’t tell the others?”

Shauna puts her hand on her heart. “Not a soul.”

“I saw a girl today,” Calem explains. He tries to remain calm as if his words mean nothing at all.

Shauna begins grinning like a fool. “Was she pretty?”

“She was…” Calem starts, but then struggles to continue. “She was a girl I have never seen before.”

He thinks back and tries to remember the face of the girl, from her long flowing hair to the wistful look in her pretty eyes. He tries to recall if he had ever delivered letters to either her or the older man who appeared to be her father. For the life of him, he can’t remember a thing.

“I only saw her for a minute there,” Calem tells Shauna. “And she was gone.”

Shauna lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Good Arceus, is Calem Bellamy-Beaufort in love at last?”

Calem eyes her quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”

“She must have been heavenly to have caught your eye,” Shauna suggests, motioning forward to Chespin and Skitty in front of them. “Tierno says that you carry yourself like you’ve never seen a woman in your life.”

He scoffs and sharply says, “That’s absolutely preposterous, my mother raised me.”

Shauna lets out a laugh and Calem finds himself smiling. He avoids her gaze and looks down to the Lumiose cobblestones. “That girl though, she wore a black dress and a red hat… and I may never see her again.”

“A love story for the ages,” Shauna comments in a playful voice. With a cheeky grin, she strides forward and leads the two on their way down the streets.

When they get to South Boulevard, Shauna asks Calem a simple question.

“Can you tell Tierno I won’t be able to make it next week?”

Calem nods his head. “Are you busy?”

“I have to take some extra shifts,” she says in a tone that’s less bright than her usual voice.

Concerned, Calem begs another question: “Is something wrong?”

Shauna looks down. “My mother has fallen ill. Father needs me to cover more shifts so we can afford medicine.”

To see Shauna looking so downtrodden is strange. She may very well be the most cheerful person that Calem knows, yet even her sunshine demeanor is susceptible to the reality she exists in.

Calem starts to think, which causes eyebrows to knit. As he and Shauna get closer to her family inn, a choice dances in his head. He turns to Shauna and looks her in the eye.

“How much money do you need?”

Shauna blinks. “What?”

“How much does the medicine cost?” Calem tries again. He turns to her and speaks with conviction in his voice. “I can cover it.”

Shauna shakes her head. “Calem, I cannot take anything from you.”

Calem stops walking and begins digging through his pockets. He pulls out some coins and a single banknote. It’s nothing compared to the fortune his father gambled away, but he holds it to Shauna like it’s fit for a king.

“You can pay me back later,” he says. “Shauna, I trust you.”

Shauna looks hesitant as she eyes the money. Eventually, she starts counting in her head, then takes most of the coins that her friend holds. She counts the coins with the same unsure look in her eyes. Once she’s done, she looks up to meet her friend’s gaze. Although she still looks uneasy, she says:

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Calem says, nodding his head.

“I shall pay you back as soon as I can,” Shauna promises. “If there is anything I can do for you now, please tell me.”

For a second, Calem thinks. He then says the first thing on his mind. “Actually… is there someone you can find for me?”

…

Calem’s apartment is a hole in a wall in the otherwise vast city of Lumiose. For all the city’s talk about beauty, the accommodations for the commonfolk were often dingy and infested with small creatures they referred to as Dedenne. Calem’s place in particular is cramped and constricting, but it’s enough for him and his partner.

When Calem returns to his abode, his Chespin is absolutely exhausted. He removes his coat as his partner creature stumbles through the room and hops onto the bed.

Calem wastes no time in finding the loose floorboard by his bed and lifts it up, revealing his hiding place with all of his valuable belongings, like his life savings and the wedding ring that his mother told him to save for an important occasion. He empties his pockets and places the money that he has next to the rest. He then replaces the floorboard back over his valuables.

As his Chespin naps, Calem goes to his writing desk, procures a piece of paper and a pen and writes a letter to his mother apologizing for not being able to send funds this month.

…

(tell me child, what is your name?)

…

Serena Johanssen was born in the dirt, but raised among diamonds. Nowadays she lived a happy life under the loving eyes of Augustine Sycamore, a scholar who had taken under his wing and loved her like they were father and daughter.

Of course, Sycamore wasn’t her actual father. While their eyes were the same shade of grey, her hair was bright like honey, his was dark like a shadow. Her smile was soft and gentle, his was charming and alluring. She spent her days reading stories and reports from lands beyond the city, he spent his days researching and studying. But that did not matter. They might as well have been related by blood because Sycamore raised her like she was his own.

They had met years ago outside of Lumiose, at a time of Serena’s life that was very unlike the way it was now.

For as long as Serena could remember, she was not like the other girls she knew. Instead of having ribbons to tie in her hair, she had shoes so thin that her little toes would turn red in the cold. Instead of having a loving Mama or Papa, she was watched over by the owners of the Dendemille Inn, a husband and wife who had taken her from a children’s home and promised her shelter as long as she did what she was told.

Serena could not remember her life before, even the supposed memory of her living amongst other orphans and street rats felt fuzzy in her head. All she could ever really acknowledge was that despite Kalos being a region of beauty, Dendemille was a city under constant cover of clouds. Even if snow would not descend from the frigid skies, the ground would be cold.

Sometimes Serena asked her caretakers where she had been before she had been placed in the children’s home. What they told her was that they were actually old friends of her Mama, that connection being the reason they were able to adopt her and have her live in the Inn. When Serena asked about her Mama, her caretakers would never answer beyond giving her name, which was Grace.

Serena’s days were often cold, but the nights were even colder — during evenings where she would sweep and scrub every corner of the Inn with her tiny hands, she would huddle near the hearth of the fireplace in a desperate bid to bask in the remaining warmth of the embers. Her meals consisted of a thin gruel that was varying shades of grey and brown but mostly grey.

Sometimes Serena would let herself dream. There was a shop in Dendemille with an open window, and in that window was a doll clad in a pretty pink dress and blue bow. Its hair was tied in a braid and its feet were small, just like hers. She dreamed that maybe one day if she saved enough coins from Inn guests, she would be able to buy the doll for herself. At the very least, she would have a friend with her while she slept at night.

On a winter’s evening when Serena was eight, the Inn was exceedingly crowded. Travellers from near and far had gathered in the main tavern to eat the food her caretakers provided, that being a bowl of stew with meat of a questionable origin and a cup of wine diluted with liquid of a questionable origin. Serena walked around the tavern, gathering dirty dishes as the guests around her told tales of adventures from far away. Serena often liked working on nights like this because she could eavesdrop on conversations from the travellers, then later on as she slept on the hay in the stables, she would dream about the stories she heard. The travellers often spoke of creatures she could never even imagine — dragon-like beings that could circle the globe in one second, long serpentine beasts with flesh of stone and steel, large avians that could soar through the sky.

At one point of the evening, Serena’s caretaker pulled her aside, reaching into her dress pockets for extra coins. The wife of the Inn ordered her to get some water from the well, which anyone would have abhorred on a freezing night like this, let alone a small child.

But she couldn’t say no — or risk the firm hand of the husband of the Inn — so barefoot in the snow Serena grasped a bucket in her hand as she headed up north to a place colder than the town, a cavern of frost that not even the locals ventured into.

The world around Serena was cold, yet as she trudged through the snow, she knew she was not alone. The creatures she found up in the woods were not as fantastical or viscous as the ones she heard of from the mouths of travellers, but they were no less sentient and alive. As Serena fished up a bucket of water from the well, a small horde of ice creatures surrounded her. She had seen some of them before — a few little white bears with runny noses, short pink birds with yellow hair and an adorable waddling gait, and the most peculiar of them all, a seemingly sentient chunk of ice with purple around their bright eyes.

Serena called these creatures her friends because she had no one else. Not even the people who were supposed to act like a Mama and Papa to her. She sang sweet soft melodies to them as she did not know any real songs, but they listened and appeared to be enjoying it as they gathered around the little girl by the well.

Then suddenly in the midst of the night, Serena saw a figure walking in the dark. One of the bears with the runny noses alerted her, and when she saw the person walking she gasped, dropped her bucket beside the well, and hid behind the closest tree she could find. Her creature friends fled as well, scattering back into the woods.

“Fear not, I mean no harm!” said the voice of the stranger. He took a few more steps, the moonlight illuminating his face. He wore a clean, fancy coat that reminded Serena of the richer travellers that would stay at the Inn, as well as a pristine top hat that only exuded the idea of wealth. Even if this man was not as rich as he dressed, he could still afford many comforts.

Serena stayed hidden behind the tree, peeking out just in time to see the man removing his hat, a sign of respect if she ever knew one.

“Bonsoir, my name is Augustine Sycamore,” he told her in a soft voice. He knelt down to her, yet kept a good distance away. His eyes were unlike the ones she was used to, soft, gentle, and inviting. “You can call me Gus. Tell me, Child, what is your name?”

“I am called Serena,” she told him.

Augustine smiled, then noticed her bucket on the ground by the well. “That looks very heavy, Serena. Would you like me to help?”

“You do not look very strong, Monsieur,” Serena said, still hiding behind the tree.

The gentleman laughed. “Oh my, what an honest child you are. It’s nothing I cannot handle, though.”

Serena thought for a few seconds, then stepped away from the tree. Together with Augustine, they fetched a bucket of water from the well, then with one hand on the handle and the other around hers, escorted her back to Dendemille Town. Although they were strangers, Augustine was warm — the way he looked at her made Serena think of the Papa or Mama she had been dreaming off her whole life.

When they got back to Dendemille, Serena showed Augustine some of her favourite parts of the place because he would listen — like the street lamp that glows the brightest even in the late of night or the doll in the shop window she would always look at.

Then as they approached the Inn, Augustine looked down to Serena and put on a more serious face. “Now, Serena, listen close to what I have to say. I am an old friend of Grace’s.”

“Of Mama’s?”

A soft, but sad smile crept onto Augustine’s lips. “Yes, of your Mama’s.”

A rush of excitement ran through Serena’s heart. “Is she coming to be with me?”

That was when Augustine’s face got more and more dour. He stopped walking, then kneeled down in front of the little one. “Serena, it breaks my heart to say that your Mama is not with us anymore. She is… she is no more.”

Serena went still. Her arms felt like ice colder than the snow in the city. She did not know what to think now and could only look into the eyes of Augustine, the dark pools that almost glistened in the moonlight.

“But in lieu of death, there is space to make life,” said Augustine. “And I promised her that I would take care of you… but only if you, and your caretakers, will let it be.”

Serena thought for a few seconds, then asked curiously, “So you’ll be my Papa?”

“Of course,” Augustine assured. “Like a Papa and a Mama to you. Is that okay?”

And with his hand in hers, he took Serena to the Inn where she lived to talk to her caretakers. Serena did not hear much of the conversation, only that Augustine had a letter from Grace allowing Serena to be with him. He tended to move around the region for work, but had the means to make sure that the little one could be cared for wherever they went. Serena’s caretakers ignored his main intentions and tried to bring him into the Inn for some gruel or watered-down wine, but Augustine refused. Serena sat by the hearth, taking in the last bit of warmth by the fire as the adults spoke. Eventually, she witnessed Augustine nod sternly and pull out a wad of bills from his pocket. He counted off a rather handsome amount of francs, then handed it over to the husband of the Inn.

Then without waiting another second, he made his way to Serena by the fire. He took off his coat and put it over her. “We are to go now, Serena,” he said, taking her hand.

With a nod, Serena stood up and walked with him to the door of the Inn. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of feigned cries from both her caretakers, something that felt as unreal like the creatures she heard about from faraway lands.

Before they left Dendemille, Augustine made use of the time before their carriage arrived. With Serena’s hand in his, he brought her to the store with the doll in the window, handed the old clerk another fraction of the bills in his pocket, and took the pristine doll in his hands. Then immediately, he knelt down to Serena and held it to her.

Serena could only stare in surprise. So many things had happened, some felt as make believe as a dream, yet others reminded her that this was very much real. She looked at the doll, then up to Augustine’s eyes.

“Take it,” he told her in a voice as gentle as a little fall of rain. “It is a gift from me to you.”

With a small smile, Serena took the doll, holding it like it was made of gold. It was heavier and bigger than it looked in the store window, but she held it tight nonetheless. As they waited for their late-night transportation, Serena held the doll close to her like it was her line between life and death. Augustine asked if she wanted to play with it, but she replied that holding it tight to her was playing.

Once the carriage arrived, Augustine carried her on board. His plan was for them to stay at a place in Couriway Town, a settlement known for the gorgeous waterfalls that cascaded off the cliffs. With her new doll in her grasp, Serena leaned her head on Augustine, closing her eyes as she let the gentle lull of the carriage’s wheels put her to sleep.

Her heart felt warm and full of light, the world around her was cold yet somehow she could feel the chill slowly seeping away as she entered her new life. All at once in the midst of the night, Serena finally understood what it was like to be loved.

…

Years later and Serena is fourteen, yet there is only an echo of the lonely frigid girl she used to be. She proves to be rather tall for her age, rapidly growing from a small underfed child to a young girl rapidly on the path to womanhood. Augustine even jokes that at the current rate she just might become taller than him.

Augustine is not of noble birth, but he is from considerable wealth. His great-grandfather had concocted a formula for a pristine tonic that would bring life to even the baldest of heads and a wax that could tame even the wildest of hairs. After charming a horde of Kalosian nobility with the product’s effectiveness, the Sycamore family had amassed enough wealth to allow Augustine to spend his life travelling throughout Kalos and researching the creatures that live in the region. And of course, his wealth allowed him to keep Serena as safe and as loved as he could. Although Serena is not a Sycamore by name, Augustine makes plans to change her name legally to guarantee her inheritance in the wake of his death.

When Serena is not travelling around with Uncle Gus, she’s being taught by various tutors in as many subjects as possible — literature, latin, arithmetic, calligraphy, history, art, science, and music.

Ever since she learned to read, she had been absorbing the words in the books that Augustine uses for his studies. Each one is full of wonders and sketches of creatures around the Kalos region and beyond. There’s something called a Bunnelby with floppy ears and a coat of short grey hair and there’s another called Dedenne that’s so small that one could fit it in the pocket of their coat.

She cannot help it, there is something exceedingly alluring and fascinating about the creatures. In particular, she comes across a page in a book regarding a trio of green and red and blue. According to the notes scribbled in the margins, the creatures hold abilities connected to grass, fire, and water. The tiny fire fox-like one is said to spout fire from its mouth, the blue frog can leap dozens of feet into the air and generate bubbles at a whim, and the one with the green head can shoot spikes of wood. It’s fascinating to think that creatures like this can live all around the world, but it’s even more fascinating for Serena to acknowledge that they very well may live outside of her window.

One day when Serena and Augustine are staying in Lumiose City in an apartment connected to a gated green garden amongst the sea of cobblestones. After a calligraphy lesson with her tutor, the young girl heads to a lab on South Boulevard where she had planned to meet her Uncle for an afternoon stroll. Upon entering a building made with white marble beams, Serena discovers an unusual sight for such a well-structured place — shards of glass are scattered upon the floor in the foyer. There are a handful of maids cleaning up the mess and they urge her to be careful or risk pricking herself upon the sharp edges.

A confused Serena holds onto the hem of her dress as she dashes through the building, searching around the rooms in a fervent haste. She heads to the second floor and soon finds who she is looking for at a room at the end of the hallway.

It appears to be a library of sorts, as various thick books line the walls. Augustine is standing with a group of other well-dressed men, no doubt the scholars he spent his days studying with. On the ground are more shards of glass, all culminating in a broken window above the highest shelf.

“Uncle! What happened?!” Serena asks with the utmost worrying in her voice. “Were you robbed?”

Augustine takes his eyes away from his notes and looks at his ward. A similar look of fear slips into his gaze. He walks to her, setting his hand on her shoulder and quickly guiding her out of the library.

“Let us speak outside,” he suggests in a soft voice. He takes her out into the hall, where things are more quiet.

Once they are out of the room of scholars, Augustine tells her what he can.

“You can rest assured that we have not been robbed,” he starts. “We simply had an accident, nothing more.”

His words do little to quell Serena’s fear. “What in Yvetal’s hellscape happened in there?”

“I can assure you that no one was harmed,” Augustine continues. His gaze upon her is plagued with intensity, such a vast change from the warm way he usually looks upon her. “We brought some specimens into the lab and they may have… escaped.”

“Exactly what specimens did you bring?” Serena asks, her fear now changing into curiosity.

“Ones in the books that you read so much,” Augustine says. “A Chespin, a Fennekin, as well as a Froakie — fine specimens, they are, such a shame we could not keep them under control.” He places a hand on her shoulder again and plants a kiss upon her forehead, something he had been doing since she was a young girl. “I know I promised you a stroll by the tower, but I must tend to this matter. Perhaps we can meet in an hour?”

Serena shakes her head, then leans in to give him a hug “Do not fret, Uncle. Take as much time as you need. What exactly made the specimens run?”

“I do not remember that well,” Augustine admits. “But you know how some creatures like to fight — we believe that they have taken things a bit too far. The Chespin apparently took some food from the Fennekin and they got a bit… rowdy.” He pats her on the shoulder again, “But this should not bother you, please head home and I shall meet you there.”

Serena nods her head. After Augustine gives her another forehead kiss, he walks back into the messy library to rejoin his colleagues.

Serena leaves the lab with much calmer steps. As she passes by another broken window by the front of the building, she begins to wonder just how far a small trio of tiny creatures could go in a city so vast.

She had read in her favourite books that Chespin liked to live in forests underneath trees, but the closest forest to Lumiose is outside of the city lines. Fennekin enjoyed living in fields, but Lumiose had no such things. Froakie would often make their homes in rivers and lakes and ponds, but the river that ran through the city seemed too touched by man to let nature thrive.

With her bonnet over her head, Serena makes her way back to her and Augustine’s home, an apartment north of Autumnal Avenue. She makes her way through the city streets, passing by merchants and street performers and students. Even under the current circumstances, she appreciates the liveliness of the city. Lumiose had its own heartbeat, very much like a human body made of flesh and blood and bone. Even the imaginary stories she read often spoke about how Lumiose could hold the key to one’s heart.

Serena walks with the wind blowing through the ends of her hair and the hem of her dress. She comes through Bleu Plaza, one of the least crowded plazas of the city. Unusual for the place, there is a group of people huddled around a fountain in the middle of the street. In no time her curiosity gets the best of her and she walks towards the horde, her heart practically begging to find out what’s going on.

In the fountain that has garnered such attention is something that surprises her — playing in the water is a creature with blue skin and large yellow eyes. It is rather small, but its legs are strong and bendy, allowing it to jump in and out of the water with ease. Its hands are white and on the back of its neck are a small collection of white bubbles reminiscent of seafoam.

Serena knows for sure that it is a Froakie. It is much more lively than it could ever be in writing or sketches — it breathes the same air that she does, it lives in the same place she does, and it is made of flesh and blood and bone like she is.

Her gut instinct tells her that the Froakie currently frolicking in the Blue Plaza fountain is one in the same as the one that had escaped a building filled to the brim with scholars. Serena reaches into her satchel and pulls out a slice of pound cake wrapped in old newspaper, something she had bought for her and Augustine but would give to a friend if they really needed it. She breaks off a piece of the sweet treat and holds it out towards the creature in the fountain, ignoring the prying eyes of the Lumiosians around her.

When the Froakie notices her, it is quick to stop hopping about in the water. Its large eyes settle on her with pure intrigue.

“You look like you’ve come a long way, little one,” she greets, giving the adorable creature a smile. “Why don’t you come along with me?”

…

The rest of the day is filled with Serena dashing through Lumiose City like an explorer on an adventure with a Froakie perched upon her shoulder. She tries to think of where a Fennekin and a Chespin could end up in such a place. She searches through a street lined with vendors, wondering if a little hungry creature would try to steal a bite of food from an unsuspecting merchant.

The little Froakie proves its skill when it hops off Serena’s shoulder, urging her to follow as it heads down South Boulevard. In no time the two come across a Fennekin basking under one of the trees in front of Lumiose Station, bits of bitten twigs scattered around it as it sleeps.

Happily, Serena rewards Froakie with a few more bites of cake and gently scoops the napping Fennekin into her arms. The creature proves to be a heavy sleeper and does not protest.

Serena and Froakie look around even more, wondering if the third missing creature will make itself known. But despite all their efforts to find a wandering Chespin in the city of lights, the two are unable to find a single clue. Serena ends up heading back to the marble building of scholars with only a Froakie on her shoulder and a Fennekin in her arms.

When Serena comes back to the second floor library with a broken window, she is greeted by Uncle Gus and a gaggle of his very surprised colleagues. They thank her dearly for her help, one older scholar in particular smiling like a fool and planting a kiss on her cheek. Uncle Gus pulls her into a hug, smiling at the wit and talent of his young ward.

One bespectacled scholar takes the sleeping Fennekin out of her arms and returns it to its large roomy cage. When another scholar comes back to take the Froakie perched on her shoulder, Serena feels the creature suddenly tightening its grip on her. Its tiny hands grasp onto the material of her dress and bonnet, clearly resisting any intention to drag it away from her.

Augustine is quick to notice the phenomenon in front of him. With an honest smile, he places a hand on his ward’s shoulder and looks his colleague in the eye.

“It’s no use, Marceau,” he says. “I believe Froakie won’t be able to help our research after all — this little one has found its match.”

Marceau looks unsure. “But what are we to do then? Find another water creature in the middle of Lumiose?”

“I shall figure it out,” Augustine assures. He looks at his ward with pride, then gently pets the top of Froakie’s head. “It would break many hearts to know I had to separate two friends.”

Marceau can only sigh, but without further questions he nods his head and leaves Augustine and Serena be. When Augustine looks at his ward, he is quick to see the look of confusion in Serena’s eyes.

“Uncle… I’m not sure what you’re implying,” she says. She reaches up and pulls Froakie off her shoulder to hold the creature in her arms, where it is very happy to be. “Do you want me to take care of this little one for a few days?”

“You can if you want. However, I was implying that you take care of it for a lot longer.”

Serena’s eyes widened in surprise.

“That is, if you want to,” Augustine clarifies. “You would be caring for this one under me, my dear — I can help if you need it.”

With a bright grin on her pretty face, Serena looks at the Froakie in her arms with glee, then looks up to meet her beloved Uncle Gus’s gaze with hopeful eyes and a nod of her head.

…

(and my life seems to stop as if something is over and something has scarcely begun)

…

The citizens of the city are caught in a buzz as news regarding King Lysandre V has reached the streets. The beloved leader of the country would be leaving his home in Parfum Palace to spend a week in the city of lights, apparently to learn more about the people he rules over.

Calem believes it to be a load of Skiddo droppings, seeing as that same King lived in luxury as the working-class of Kalos slave for a meger wage, only for said wage to disappear once the tax collectors come around. It is moments like these that make Calem rethink the life he could have had, the one where he would have been so wrapped in a world of opulence that he was blind to the suffering of the people. Sometimes he thinks his family name becoming disgraced is a blessing in disguise.

At the end of a day of delivering gossip-filled letters and fortune-filled packages Calem and Chespin get challenged to a battle in an alleyway. There’s an old Sot from the Jaune Plaza Cafe claiming to have seen Calem in one of the basement battles — the Sot is tall and gaunt, his face tinted light pink after one too many glasses of wine. He approaches Calem with a wobbling gait and a creature that he has never seen before. Its body is pill-like and on its back is a pair of bright pink wings. The Sot calls it a Vivillon and Calem thinks it’s one of the most fascinating creatures he’s ever laid eyes on.

His fascination with a new creature aside, Calem and Chespin accept the challenge and engage in a battle. It becomes quickly evident that some of Chespin’s attacks do not work on the Vivillon. The spikes of green that shoot out of Chespin’s head are nearly worthless against the winged creature. Vivillon releases a shower of sparkling purple powder down onto Chespin, when it graces the bipedal creature’s arm, the poor little one cries out in pain, causing a sudden rush of fear to pulse through Calem’s veins.

The two are forced to find other ways to fight. Chespin proves to have a fighting spirit stronger than a thousand hussars. The creature rolls itself into a ball and bounces off the walls of the alleyway, using its speed to dodge its enemy’s wind and powder attacks. Building momentum, it manages to ram its spinning body directly into Vivillon, sending the two tumbling to the ground with the winged creature taking most of the impact.

With a lively grin on his face, Calem sings the praises of Chespin as the creature rolls back towards its partner and hops onto its feet.

The Sot is left aghast, falling to his knees next to his Vivillon. Calem picks up his Chespin and approaches the drunkard, reaching a hand out to end the battle peacefully. To his surprise, the Sot swats Calem’s hand away. With a look of disgust on his wrinkly face, he throws a handful of coins at Calem and soon leaves the alleyway, picking up his fainted Vivillon as he goes. He bitterly mutters words about challenging Calem to a rematch, vowing to beat him that time, then disappears from sight.

Without a battle to continue, Calem shrugs his shoulders and gathers up the fallen coins. Although battles between creatures is something only done in dark alleyways and basements, a certain kind of etiquette has developed in place — it is expected for the losing person to give the winner some kind of reward, whether it be an extra flagon of frothy ale or a handful of coins or a stomach full of food.

As Calem slips the coins into his pockets, he notices that something is wrong with Chespin. He looks to the little one and cradles it in his arms, asking what may be wrong and checking its every limb for any abnormalities. Soon enough he spots a collection of purple powder sticking to Chespin’s left paw, most definitely a remnant from Vivillon’s attack.

Without hesitation, Calem immediately cancels his plans to meet his friends at the Jaune Plaza Cafe. With Chespin in his arms he rushes directly to his apartment, knowing that time is of the essence if he wants to keep his partner alive.

…

Between the walls of his small apartment, Calem tends to Chespin. The poor thing’s breathing is laboured and uneasy, its energy sapping away as the moments pass. Calem’s books tell him that his partner has been poisoned, so Calem rifles through his collection of berries until he finds the one that can act as an antidote. After feeding his Chespin a handful of pink fruit, the little one starts to feel better. Its breathing evening out as its strength returns. Calem lets his partner sleep on his bed, covering Chespin with a blanket and patting its head with the gentlest touch.

His heart is beating fast as unknown anxiety pulses through him. Even though Chespin appears to be making some semblance of a recovery, Calem cannot help but fear the worst. He ends up opening a cheap bottle of watered-down wine to calm his nerves, something that stings and burns on the way down but manages to keep him sane. To satiate his own hunger he digs into a bag of apples he has on hand — it had been a gift from a happy client he had met on a delivery job, while Calem decided to use it as food for Chespin it ends up becoming his dinner for the night.

The night drags and Calem keeps himself huddled in his own corner of Lumiose. As Chespin rests, the building’s landlord comes up to the apartment to deliver a letter that had arrived earlier that day. Calem sits on a chair by the open window as he reads the latest update from his mother, his hair a disheveled mess and the upper buttons of his collared shirt remaining undone. Her loopy handwriting tells him of a recent interaction from his father — Viscount Trevelyan had sent a letter all the way from Wyndon asking how his son was. Calem is used to sporadic updates from the man who disgraced the Bellamy-Beaufort name, he no longer has the energy to get emotional over them. His interest is piqued when his mother’s message tells him of an invite to travel to Galar, as the Viscount is curious to know if the young man would like to meet his little half-brother — the honourable Victor Trevelyan.

Before Calem can contemplate a theoretical trip up north, he hears a familiar voice calling from the city streets below.

“Calem! Calem! Are you in there?”

He puts down his letter and glances out his window, leaning on the ledge as he looks around. On the cobblestones is a large woolen overcoat with Shauna standing inside, she looks exhausted enough to make him wonder if she had sprinted all the way here.

“Calem! You weren’t at the cafe tonight!” Shauna calls up, ignoring the various Lumiosians walking around her.

“I could not,” Calem explains, looking down at her from three floors up. “Chespin was hurt, did something happen?”

“I shall explain inside!” Shauna declares. “I am coming up now!”

After a few moments Shauna arrives at the apartment, evidently having run up the stairs. She catches her breath and he offers her a seat at the chair at his desk, wondering if he should get her some water or wine. She refuses his attempts at hospitality and once her breathing evens out, she says:

“Calem, I found her.”

“Who?”

“The girl,” Shauna elaborates. She walks to him and gestures wildly with her hands. “The one you asked me to find, the one with the red hat and the black dress that was so divine to have made you fall head over heels with her! That girl, you fool!”

There is a beat of silence between the two friends, then Calem replies dryly, “Well… you certainly make me sound daft when you put it like that.”

“That’s not my point,” Shauna prods. “The point is that I found the girl you ran into. Or at least… I think it’s her.”

Calem eyes her suspiciously. He usually trusts the information Shauna can overhear from her family Inn, but he cannot help but inquire just a little further. “How do you know for sure?”

“There’s no way to truly tell,” Shauna explains. She reaches into the pocket of her ratty overcoat and hands her friend a piece of parchment crumpled and compressed beyond all measure. “I wasn’t able to find her name, but I have this.”

When Calem slowly unravels the paper, he finds a hastily written name of a garden written on the page.

“Autumnal Gardens,” Shauna says. “It’s just north of Rouge Plaza. Rumour has that a girl with golden hair visits on some nights to watch the stars. By day she dons a black dress and a red hat, just like your description, but at night she is said to be clad in white. It’s not much, but if you come there tonight then perhaps you may find out the truth.”

Calem is unsure what to do. For the briefest moment he paces across his apartment, running his hand through his dark hair as he thinks and further rumpling it. He begins to contemplate the logistics of such an act — wondering what it will be at best or at worst. To quell his raging thoughts, he walks over to his desk and searches through the drawers — what he finds tucked away is a simple white handkerchief, the unspotted square of cloth that he kept in his pocket for a week, then finally hid away thinking he would never find the owner again.

“The least I can do is return this to her,” he says as he eyes Shauna.

She gives him a nod as Calem puts on his coat. Once the garment is on, he steps towards his friend and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you.”

Shauna seems more amused than anything else. “It was nothing, really.”

Calem glances to his bed, where his Chespin now sits awake with a curious glow in its beady brown eyes. He walks over and kneels down to the little one.

“Mon amie, want to go on an adventure?”

…

(so many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong)

…

After dinner Serena finds herself in the apartment drawing room. She is dressed down for the evening, free of her stays and clad in the linen fibers of her chemise. On the floor by her bare feet is Froakie, currently napping on the rug without a care in the world. In her left hand is an embroidery hoop and in her right is a needle — with the use of the two she attempts to guide a piece of scarlet thread through the stiff canvas. When she pricks her finger and draws blood for the third time, she lets out an utterly loathsome groan. Frustrated by a piece of thread and canvas, she stands up and goes to the nearest drawer to dispose of the damn thing. She shall deal with needlework tomorrow.

In the moment she slams the drawer shut, Augustine enters from his study. To come out of hours of work to see his ward so fraught has caught him off guard in a rather entertaining way.

With a lively grin on his face, he asks: “What’s gotten into you?”

Serena puts her ring finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. “Needlework,” she tells him bitterly.

Augustine lets out a laugh. “Nice to see that you have taken to it well.”

Serena seems unconvinced. However, she spares shooting him the glare she’s tempted to give in favour of looking at the open door of his study. “Mind if I take a book?” she asks, quickly slipping in.

Like always, Augustine nods his head. “Of course.”

Inside the walls of the study, Serena moves past the various notes of her Uncle’s research in favour of perusing his collection of books. She has always found that he has good taste in tomes, specifically the ones about old Kalosian legends. She ends up picking one that depicts the tales of Kalos’s past, a saga of a raging war between life and death that could only be quelled by a creature of order.

When she returns to the drawing room with a book under her arm, she finds Augustine rifling through the cushions of the couch, possibly on the look for something.

“What are you doing?” she asks curiously.

“Have you seen my white handkerchief anywhere?” Augustine questions. “I have not been able to find it for weeks.”

Serena can only shake her head. “I will be on the look for it, Uncle.”

With that said, Serena heads to her bedroom and Augustine keeps looking around the apartment. He soon gets to the drawer housing the cause of Serena’s previous ire, promptly fishing up Serena’s less-than-stellar embroidery project. When Serena gets a second look at her dreadful work, she notes that it looks worse than before and sighs like a dour ogre.

On the other hand, her beloved Uncle thinks differently. “Do not fret,” he assures in a voice soft like the sun. “You will get better with practice.”

Serena can only stare at the floor with a bitterness in her eyes. “I do not see why you think I would be good at it.” Her voice is low.

Now Augustine is the one who was unconvinced, yet he still gives her that same cheery smile and says, “Your mother was good at it.”

“Or so you say,” Serena retorts sharply. When her eyes meet his, she is less downtrodden and more… curious, as the mere mention of her mother has a habit of awakening this side of her.

The truth remains that she still does not know much of the woman who brought her into this world. She knows that her name was Grace, she knows that Augustine had befriended her back in their youth, she knows that Grace had been shunned for becoming with child while unwed, she knows that needlepoint was a favoured hobby of hers, and she knows that she loved her to her last breath, having begged Augustine to promise to care for her flesh and blood before she left for another world.

But Serena knows not much else, such as her mother’s favourite colour or how she wears her hair or how she likes her tea. She doesn’t even know who her father might be, only that he spent a summer by Grace’s side but was gone when autumn came.

So standing in front of Augustine now, Serena looks her uncle in the eye and asks:

“Why won’t you tell me anything else about her?”

The scholar looks uneasy as he glances away from her. “Serena, you are too young to know,” he tries. He faces her again, taking a few steps closer. “It will make you sad and pensive, something you should not be.”

“But I know so little about her,” Serena reiterates. “Give me something, Uncle, something more to dream of.”

Hesitence hangs across Augustine’s face. But yet he shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he decides in an affirmative voice. He then presses a kiss to her forehead like he always did at night when she was young. “You should sleep.”

Without another word, he retreats off into his bedroom and shuts the door.

In her loneliness, Serena can only languish for more. Her grip on her book tightens as she mutters, “So many questions… yet not enough answers.”

She considers for a moment staying in her room to submerge her mind in tales from the past, but a look outside at the clear Lumiosian night makes her think otherwise. She ends up walking over to her napping Froakie, gently nudging her partner awake.

“Come,” she says. “I need some air.”

…

(i’m doing everything all wrong)

…

The city is dark as Calem rushes across the cobblestones. He fears nothing with Chespin on his shoulder, yet as he gets closer and closer to Autumnal Avenue, he feels the knot in his stomach growing tighter and tighter. His breathing tightens as he goes more and more north, a fear that he is not used to feeling. In his coat pocket is the handkerchief that he has been holding onto for weeks, his hand grasped around it so firmly that it may permanently warp the garment. With his nerves getting dangerously close to taking control of him, he starts to regret not taking in another goblet of watered down wine as good luck.

Soon enough he arrives at the Avenue. As he walks down the streets, the buildings around him change from shops and offices to homes — some eons more lavish than the ones in his own neighbourhood and some dreadfully uncared for. As Calem wonders if he is lost, he suddenly comes across a large metal gate taller than two men, on the other side of it are the overgrown greens of a lush garden, an oasis of nature amongst the city’s stones.

And in the depths of the flora on this clear Lumiosian night sits a girl with golden hair amongst the daisies and lilies and violets. Her shape is cloaked in a spotless white dress and protecting her from the chill of the night is a large woolen coat that looks a few sizes too big for her.

Shauna’s words prove to be true.

The knot in Calem’s stomach gets bigger.

…

(for it isn’t a dream, not a dream after all)

…

In the garden between buildings are vines that cling to the sides of the apartments and flowers of many colours (Serena fancies the red ones the most). In the center of the flora is a bench made of stone, a place often occupied by the tenants of the connected buildings. But at night it is empty, leaving Serena to enjoy all the space to herself. She sits on the bench with her book in her lap, alternating between reading some of Kalos’s folklore or staring up at the twinkling stars.

There is also a bird bath near the bench, something meant for the Fletchling that visit the garden during the day, but is often used by Serena’s faithful Froakie for a midnight soak. As Serena reads in peace, she can hear the sound of her companion splashing around. She looks up to see Froakie clinging to the rim of the bird bath, happily basking in the water and giving her a smile.

“I guess the water needed changing anyway,” she says, feeling joyful like a fool. She gestures for her beloved partner to come to her and Froakie obeys, hopping off the bath and skittering over. The creature climbs up her nightgown and perches itself on her shoulder, as if to read along with her.

With a grin, she playfully strokes her Froakie’s chin. In her mind she cherishes moments like this, times where she could feel close to someone who knows her for who she is. Not to say that Uncle Gus doesn’t know her at all — he knows as much as any good guardian would. But there’s some kind of unspoken understanding between her and Froakie, an acknowledgement of her unmasked self — a self that dislikes needlepoint and dreams of adventures beyond her own existence.

Sometimes the way Uncle Gus looks at her makes Serena think that he still sees her as the helpless little girl he had met on a winter’s night. Sometimes he tells her that one day she’ll grow up and become a woman, perhaps finding a successful, suitable husband and settling down with a family.

But part of her knows that it’s not her — in her heart all she wants is someone who sees her for who she is, whether it be a friend or a lover. Not even her beloved Uncle seems capable of that.

Suddenly Froakie leaps off Serena’s shoulder. The creature hops across the grass of the garden with startling speed. It takes mere seconds for it to arrive at the gate of the garden, where apparently something is so interesting it warrants startling Serena.

“Froakie!” Serena yells. She closes the book and drops it on the bench, dashing after her partner with haste. “Froakie! Come back!”

When she gets to the gate, she sees Froakie situated at the bottom of the structure, down there it looks through the metal bars to greet another creature. Said creature is small, roughly a foot tall, and has a brown body and face with pointed ears tipped with green. The creature looks rather familiar to Serena, as memories of her Uncle’s research books start to jog in her memory.

Dumbfounded, she says, “It can’t be, is that-”

“Chespin!”

Startled, Serena looks up and sees someone running towards the gate of the garden. His features are illuminated by the lights of the street lamps, proving him to be a sharp set of eyes upon a youthfully charming face and a head of dark hair pushed back and barely combed. Despite the elegance of his features, he looks just about her age and stands just a bit above her. He dons a blue coat with signs of wear over a corduroy vest that has seen better days.

The young man looks at her and he looks just as stunned as she is. The mere look of the awe in his eyes is enough to make Serena remember. There’s just something about the boy behind the gate that looks familiar.

Serena grasps onto the metal bars as if to steady herself in the storm she’s become trapped in, and then he speaks —

“Bonsoir, uh… forgive me, dear Mademoiselle,” he greets, giving a polite — albeit nervous — bow. He then lets out an unsteady laugh, as if to alleviate the situation. Had he a hat on then perhaps he would have tipped it towards her. “I cannot control the little one sometimes.”

“It’s not a problem,” Serena tells him. Her grip on the bar tightens, but she doesn’t know why.

The two then look down to the pair of creatures — Chespin and Froakie appear to be getting along fine. Judging by the little croaks and squeaks the two make at one another, it is fair to say that they are getting along.

“Curious,” Serena says.

The stranger looks up. “What is?”

“They seem to know each other,” she explains, meeting her eyes with his. “Or they just get along well.”

The stranger nods in agreement. “Connections can work like that sometimes.”

Serena’s grip on the bar of the gates loosens, as with every word she can feel her initial fear fading away. “Forgive me, Monsieur, but what is your name?” she decides to ask, feeling somewhat brave in such a moment.

“I am called Calem,” says the stranger. “And you are?”

“Serena.” Subconsciously, she moves just a bit closer to the gap in the gate, her forehead barely an inch away from the iron rods. “You…” she starts, but finds herself stuttering. How unladylike of her. “You… uh, you look rather familiar.”

“I would say the same to you,” Calem says. Suddenly he reaches into the pocket of his coat, digging around for moments before pulling out a white handkerchief. “Perhaps you will recognize this.”

Serena is surprised, but smiles widely. “Uncle’s handkerchief!” she exclaims. “He’s been looking for that for weeks!”

Calem seems caught off guard. “Uncle?”

“I borrowed it for a day,” she explains fervently. “It broke my heart to tell him I had lost it — I’m glad that it managed to turn up somewhere.” Moments pass and her mind finally slows down enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “That means…” she begins, then a look of enlightenment takes her eyes. “You were the boy I saw at Jaune Plaza! That’s where I know you from!”

Calem nods his head, a small simper forming onto his pretty face. “It is good to hear that you remember.” He holds the white handkerchief up and through the gap in the gate. “I suppose you would want this back.”

A rush of hesitance surges through Serena’s every nerve, an abrupt sensation that surprises even her. Coyly, she eyes the handkerchief, then looks up to meet his gaze. She reaches over slowly, taking the cloth in her fingers. Their hands graze when they pull away from each other, something that makes Serena’s skin twinge in a way she cannot quite understand.

“Thank you for returning this,” she eventually manages to say. She looks down at the fabric, feeling the soft material in her palm. “Gentlemen like you are a difficult find nowadays.”

Calem looks amused, then lets out another laugh. “How brave of you to think that I am anything near a gentleman.”

“You are much too modest,” Serena remarks, unconvinced of his words.

After another honest chuckle, Calem absentmindedly places his hand on the bars of the gate. When his fingers graze hers, both Serena and Calem pull away from the cold iron. It is a quick event that is over as soon as it starts and Calem quickly thrusts his tingling hand into his coat pocket. Serena avoids his gaze, her hand touching the gate again but only to slide down to where the metal is forged into a spade-like shape.

“Perhaps I should go,” Calem suggests. His voice is shaky, nervous.

When Serena finally glances up, she is quick to see that he is avoiding her gaze too. A part of her begins to wish that she had not looked away.

He speaks once more, “Have a nice night, Mademoiselle.” With his last word stated, he turns around and begins walking away, the soles of his boots tapping against the street and his loyal Chespin following at his feet.

Serena is quick to call out —

“Wait!”

Calem halts his strides and turns to eye the girl behind the gate.

Serena is uneasy as she speaks, every nervous pang in her body fighting to get the better of her. “You came all this way to return my Uncle’s handkerchief,” she starts, fighting back her own fears. “There has to be something I can do to repay you. Would you perhaps… like to come up for some tea?” she suggests. Then restlessly, she begins to retract her offer very slightly. “If you drink tea, that is.”

Calem’s unease fades into a smile. “I drink tea,” he answers, relieved. He turns around to face her. Even in the dark of night, the look on his face is astronomically bright, something that highlights his angelic face even more. “Something warm does sound heavenly right now.”

Excitement pounds in Serena’s chest as she goes to undo the lock of the gate. Once the barricade has swung open, Chespin runs back to Froakie and embraces the creature into a hug like they are old friends. Serena motions for Calem to follow and trailing behind her, the two young Kalosians escape the cold of the city to head upwards to a beacon of warmth. In her heart Serena thinks not of her future or her life or even any thoughts of her mother — but instead she thinks of the moment she is trapped in now and how curious she is to learn more about the young man by the name of Calem.

#kalosshipping #trainer calem #trainer serena #kalos #serena pokemon #calem pokemon #xy #pkmn xy #in which i write too much and make things looooong

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ausblack · 3 years

Text

Invenio | p.jm

➻ Request: “Here I am!! Can I request a series of witch au jimin x reader, I leave to you the plot decision I know you can write such wonderful things thank you in advance.”

HELLO EVERYONE✨✨

I’m aware that I said that this blog was dead and buried, but I found this fanfic in my drafts and I decided to post it as a farewell, to give you one last nice goodbye to the BTS Fanfics that I’ve posted during these years. Since it was in my drafts, I didn’t write a complete story and it’s a bit rushed especially in the end (because I meant it as a first part of a series) but I think it’s nice to just post it like this, so you can all see what has been sitting in here for 2 years. I love you all and who knows, maybe I’ll write some fanfics about other things in the future💕

✵ Summary: During your escape from the royal castle, you meet Jimin, a beautiful witch who offers you help in exchange of a little favor.

✵ Genre: Fluff , tiny Angst, mild smut lol

✵ Pairings: Witch! Jimin x Reader

You had never been out of the palace or it’s ground. To you all floors were marble, all stair rails were ornate, carved and polished so that it shined. Family portraits were painted in oils and hung in gold frames. Furniture was all handmade by master craftsmen and nothing ever got dirty. You, the princess, had never seen dust in the years of your life. The air was scented with fresh flowers every day of the year, yet you had never seen a flower ever die or wilt. Food was always perfect and served precisely on time, but you had never seen a kitchen. Each room was as big as a three bedrooms apartment and came equipped with everything you would ever need.

It seemed like the perfect life, the life that beggars and poor nationals dreamed off when they were faced with financial issues and popular diseases.

Every girl wished of being dressed in tight corsets and large gowns, with the only worry of acting pretty and knowing how to appear innocent to other royal families who came in town.

The reality, was much darker than that, and to you it was like a nightmare.

While they dreamed of being you, you dreamed of being free.

You wanted to go out and talk to normal people, that weren’t going to judge you if you didn’t laugh at a joke that wasn’t funny.

Every day you looked outside the window of your room, and you looked at the plaza of your own city beyond the walls of your castle, thinking about how great being there would have felt like.

You were tired of it all, and today It was no different.

✥✥✥✥

Putting on the tight corset that crushed your belly, you let out a tired groan at the sound of knocking against the door of your bedroom.

“What?” You called out and soon the low and snooty voice of your personal guard resounded through the door.

“Your mother ordered me to go to the marketplace in town, wait here and don’t go out without me.” He said and, as soon as those words came to your ears, you widened your eyes.

“Wait!” You yelled and opened the door, without worrying about the lack of corset on your body.

He stood in front of you with a confused expression stamped on his face.

“Wait for me, I’ll come with you.” He shook his head.

“You can’t, orders from the king. You know you can’t go out of the castle.” He repeated with an almost robotic voice.

You groaned in response “Why can’t I? Other princesses are allowed to go out!” He smirked.

“How would you know? I’m sorry princess but the rules are untouchable.” You know that he wasn’t even one bit sorry.

You thought in silence for a moment, before an idea came to your mind.

Now you were the one to smirk.

“If you don’t take me with you. I’ll tell mom that you’ve been seeing my maid every night instead of standing outside of my room.” He widened his eyes at your threat.

You had plenty of time inside that castle, and the only way of spending them quickly included spying on the people that surrounded you. It wasn’t something you were proud of, but in order to survive the boringness, it was the only option.

“You’re not telling anything.” He said with a lightly shaky voice and you shrugged.

“Not if you bring me with you.” Crossing your arms, you waited for his response and smiled when you saw him groaning in annoyance.

“Just get dressed properly. You won’t tell anything to your mother. Not about me, nor about the fact that I let you out of the castle. Now be quick.”

And that was how you found yourself out of the walls for the first time in your life.

✥✥✥✥

Strangely enough, the town was exactly like how you expected it to be.

A large crowd filled the streets and each person moved as if unseeing hands dragged them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and the other. You could feel the tight grip of your guard as you walked next to him, feeling uncomfortable in your wide and rich gown – in deep contrast with the poor rags that others wore as they looked at you with a hint of hatred in their eyes.

You would have undressed yourself of those clothes in front of anyone if you could, so that they could see the scars and the bruises caused by the tight corsage that your maid forced you to wear. They were so quick to judge, but you didn’t blame them. You could understand why they were coming from.

The asphalted street was occupied by a large number of stands, each with different items and workers inside. They sold food, furniture, objects, animals and many other things that you had never saw before.

Standing in the middle of all that chaos made you feel a sensation that you’ve never felt before – you were alive.

“Wait here, I need to get what the queen asked for, then we’ll go away from this shithole.” He muttered and you scoffed. How could he describe it a shithole, when you were used to live inside of a cage?

As soon as he gave you his shoulders to wait in line at a stand, you decided to take advantage of the situation, and look around as much as you could before he came back.

You were aware that sooner or later he would have found you, but postponing that moment was still possible.

You walked around without worrying about your long skirt, that was swiping the dirt from the street as you looked at the different stands – and you let your hair get loose from the unbreathable grip that the maid had created to keep them in place.

You looked at sellers of flowers, the source of the smell that you could sense in your own castle; and sellers of food that cooked the meals that you’ve only eaten – without knowing how they could become what they were.

The sight of a young men inside a stand caught your attention, and you unconsciously walked closer to where he was sitting, furrowing your eyebrows when you saw a sphere of quartz crystal in front of his hands.

Many people were waiting in line to sit in front of him and hear about their future and the fortune that they would have encountered, while the man smiled at them and touched the crystal ball lightly with his finger and closed his eyes – letting out warm words that would have left them anybody content and satisfied with how they’ve spent their money.

Without noticing, you found yourself next in line and your eyes met his majestic ones.

He was wearing a brown blouse and his brown hair was brushed back by his hand when a smirk compared on his face as soon as his eyes landed on you.

“Take a sit princess.” He voiced with a voice sweeter than the desserts of your castle’s cuisine, and you obliged – feeling somewhat enchanted by him.

“H-how did you know?” You asked, wondering if your clothes gave out too much information.

“I didn’t” He said under his smirk and you felt your cheeks blush.

“Excuse me if I ask you, your highness-“ He started but you cut him off.

“I’m not a highness, my mother is. I’m just her daughter.” You muttered and he smiled before correcting himself.

“Well, princess, why would you come here of all places and ask to a fortune teller to read your future?”

You shrugged “Can’t I?” He tilted his head.

“I thought the royal life offered more interesting things to do.” You furrowed your brows at his words.

“You mean like giving fake hopes to beggars?” You said and, for a moment, you worried that what you said might have offended him, but his small smirk said otherwise.

“I read the future. I just decide to ignore the bad sides of it.” Now it was his time to shrug and you nodded at what he said, thinking about it for a moment before speaking up.

“Mind reading mine?” You asked and he smiled at you “Not at all.”

You waited as he looked at the crystal sphere in front of him, and you rolled your eyes at the whole acting, before looking at him again.

Unlike before, the smile on his face had disappeared.

“You’re in danger.” He muttered before looking up, behind you - you widened your eyes.

“W-Wait...What?” You got up from your sit and he did the same, taking you by your arm.

“What are you doing?” You asked feeling him pulling you lightly.

“We need to get out of here now.” He said, looking at you in the eyes before a scream made its way to the crowd of the plaza.

“Y/N!” You recognize the voice of your guard and you looked at the fortune teller with confused eyes.

“It’s just my guard.” You said and he shook his head. It was then that you started hearing other voices, all overlapping each other. They all started screaming: at first you couldn’t understand what they were saying but as the voices were getting louder and stronger you understood the whole crowd has started screaming and looking for you: the rich princess lost in the city.

“You’re surrounded...” He breathed, without letting go of your arm and you froze at his words.

“We need to go. I’ll hide you.” For some reason, the stranger in front of you made you feel safer than the guard who was supposed to protect you with his life, and you decided to take the hand that he was offering – to step towards freedom. No more maids, no more controlling, no more watching eyes. You’ve always wanted to escape from that hell, and now someone was offering you just that.

The screams of your guard continued as he looked for you in the crowd, but the young man started to ran away from there with his hand tight around his, towards somewhere safe.

✥✥✥✥

You kept on stumbling over your gown, trying to keep up with the pace of the young man who kept on running, urging you not to give up and to keep on running.

You walked through narrow streets, dark spaces, trying to get away from the noises or shouts.

At one point, the stone houses started to minimize, more green was showing in between them.

And as vegetation started to increase, the young man's pace started to slow down.

When you entered in a deep forest, he let go of your hand and stopped walking, to let you catch your breath. And once you managed to stand on your feet without being afraid of falling from exhaustation, he started walking again, slowly this time.

The forest was deep but full of light, birds chirping and the noise of your shoes breaking thin branches.

Then suddenly the trees disappeared: you saw an immense cornfield, a golden color kissed by the rays of sun, in the middle of which you saw what seemed like a normal house.

The outside was covered by grey stones, its roof made of many tiles.

As you walked on a path in the middle of the cornfield, you could feel the wheat underneath your feet.

Once the boy opened the small red door, your senses were welcomed by strong scents of what seemed erbs and spices. The house seemed really big, but the rooms appeared so small because of the amount of stuff there was in there: black wooden tables almost entirely covered by thick books, parchments and strange tools of all forms.

Some where rounded, some where pointy and in the middle of others you could see crystals and stones.

"Welcome to my humble abode, my princess. My name's Jimin, just a poor futureteller at your service" you could hear the smirk in his voice as he bowed to his feet in a dramatic move. You took a look at his clothes: you could see intricate but subtle patterns in the fabric, the simbols on his rings and necklaces. "Born in a small village and travelled across the world to learn all that I could." "Y/N" you said playing his game, with a small bow.

"I was born in the royal castle and I've never left from there. They kept me busy by making me s-"

"sew and painting your parents and relatives to hung the artworks on the walls and show every nobleman the skills of the princess. But you never really liked being forced, that's why you used to leave small but controversial details in your paintings". He completed your sentence as he took off his jacket, waking inside what you presumed was his living room. You stood there, eyes wide open as he described such intimate details of your life.

"H-how did you know that? You lived in the castle, or what?” As you waited for a response, Jimin kept on looking at you with a smirk on his face as he played with his necklaces and sat on a big, black chair. You stood in front of him with hands tight around the material of your gown - feeling ready to go towards the door. Maybe following him wasn’t the best idea.

"..d-do you actually read the future? Or the past?" your being nervous started to grow: he didn't respond and you began hearing strange noises coming from other rooms. You remembered all the books you had read at the castle about supernatural creatures, thinking that they were all just a result of a great imagination, but when in particular had to do with fortune telling.

"Are you a witch?" the loud noise of books hitting the ground made you jump.

Books were falling from the shelves, parchments were floating: you were at the point of screaming at him to give you an answer, still sitting there as he focused on his necklaces, when a big vase in the corner of the room broke and pieces flew everywhere.

You jumped at the loud noise and he looked up at you with shiny eyes. It was then that you backed off towards the door and ran away from that damned place.

Your legs were numb as you ran away from the second time in a day. You passed the cornfield, feeling like the weight of the gown you were wearing was slowing you down, before you reached the forest. You turned back, to see if Jimin had decided to look for you but he wasn't following you. The only thing behind you were your shadow and the bright light of a sunset that soon would have brought dark: you needed to hurry up before the darkness swallowed the forest.

Feeling tired of running around with the huge weight, you looked around for something sharp around the forest. It could have been useful to cut off the excessive cloth on your dress.

It was only after a plenty amount of minutes, that you managed to find a rock that could be used to your purpose and you teared off your gown - sighing in relief when you walked around without that huge weight on your legs. You followed the footprints on the ground, trying your best to go back towards the city where you could have hidden yourself in other ways, but you immediately stopped when big figures hanging some sort of announcement on walls and trees came to your sight.

You squeezed your eyes trying to catch something on them but your blood froze when your name in capitals, your painting and the price came to sight. Your heart started racing and without realizing you almost tripped backing off, causing one of the guards to look in your direction.

“Is someone there?” He called out with a grunt and you managed to hide behind a tree, not even breathing. It took them a couple of seconds before giving up on trying to see with the now missing light of the sun. When you realized they were gone, you started walking back to the forest, hugging yourself as frightening sounds came to your ears.

You needed help and the only person willing to give it to you was the one you just escaped from.

✥✥✥✥

It didn’t take you long to realize that being out in the wild by yourself was only going to be a suicide move from your side, and it was exactly the reason why you found yourself with wheat against your legs – just meters away from the damned house that you visited just a couple of hours before.

You knocked a couple of times on the red door, and it took the young man only a moment before opening with a smirk stamped on his face. The one that he probably had since you first met him.

“I knew you would came back.” He stated before letting you come inside and closing the door.

You looked around, shocked to see that the mess of before was all cleaned up and the broken vase laid intact where it was supposed to be. What was he?

“A wizard. Or a warlock if you feel like being fancy.” Jimin answered, making you gasp.

“You read my mind?” You asked him and he shrugged, going towards a table filled with potions and bottles with different coloured liquids.

“I can do almost anything that involves magic, but I prefer working with potions and spells.” He said with a calm voice, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He was opening a huge book written in a language that you couldn’t understand as he spoke, searching for a page in particular.

“I thought witches didn’t exist.” You muttered under your breath and he chuckled.

“You don’t know about the existence of many things, my princess.” Jimin joked and looked up at you, moving his hands up in defence when he saw that you weren’t smiling.

“Maybe it’s too soon to joke about that.” You nodded at his words and walked around the living room, enchanted by the different objects that you could find in every corner.

“No worries, I’ll take my time to teach you everything you need to know about my world.” He said and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Really? I can stay here?”

“Well, I had no problems before. But after you ran away like that I don’t know…” You froze on the spot as he responded deep in thoughts and you panicked, so much that you didn’t notice the common smirk on his face.

“You took me by surprise! I’ve never met a witch before, I’m sorry if that offended you. I really don’t know where else to go.” You begged as you walked towards him with scared eyes, and for a moment he regretted playing around too much.

“You can stay here but on one condition.” Jimin started before passing a hand through his dark hair and you nodded, looking at him with excitement.

“I’ll give loyalty and protection to the princess…” He looked back at his table, taking the book that he was reading before and placing it in front of you.

“If she helps me make a potion in exchange.” You furrowed your brows and you detached your eyes from his to look at the name of the potion, the only readable word of the page: Invenio.

✥✥✥✥

"So what’s the potion about?".

The hot cup you had in your hands was warming up your cold body, making the room smell like berries and fruits.

Your partially bare legs were covered by a thick blanket as you sat on the soft couch.

"Just something I need, but I can't make it alone.” Jimin was sitting on the other end of the couch, legs crossed and hands holding a cup similar to yours, with the only difference that the spoon was moving without no one touching it.

"But I'm not a which, how can I help you?" you were looking at him, curious. His dark locks shielded part of his face from your eyes, but his were fixed with a bored look on his magical spoon.

"You'll see." You weren't a particular short tempered girl, but he was for sure testing your patience.

His smirks, the vague answers, the misteries. But for some reason you couldn't help but feel attraction towards him: maybe not in a romantic way, maybe just because of how interesting he was. You couldn't tell yet, but for sure you felt something strange linking you to him.

"Then what is it for?" your soft lips touched the mug and your mouth was welcomed by a strong yet enjoyable feeling. Your senses calmed down as you drank in the hot fluid, feeling more comfortable after each sip.

"It lets you...find someone" his eyes were now looking at your hands holding the cup to your lips, and then at your eyes. His dark eyes didn't feel intrusive as they took in your posture, your figure and your features. They seemed curious, and for a second you bet you had saw a shy, proper smile on his lips.

"Years ago a friend had to go away, and even after promising he would have wrote me, I haven't heard anything from him in years. Almost like he disappeared."

"He must have been a really close friend for you to miss him so much.".

And indeed he was. His name was Taehyung, and him and Jimin had been friends since childhood. They had done everything together, from kids things to sharing secrets and advice in their more grown up days. Since he had been gone, Jimin felt lonlier that ever.

You stood there listening to his shooting voice as he told you about their adventures, their accidents, their mischief. You couldn't help but smile when you saw Jimin so happy to recall such long gone times.

It felt strange, staying there under a blanket sipping tea: hours before you almost felt threatened there, and now you were slowly feeling at home.

✥✥✥✥

The sun had set hours ago, and after asking you if you were hungry, to which you responded you weren't, he took you to a cozy room: the bed was covered by many different blankets and pillows. He surely did know you loved being surrounded by them. A big window was ready to be covered by thick curtains, and in front of the bed there were a mirror, many shelves and a wardrobe. You opened it and inside you saw what seemed like dozens of different dresses: their colors went from light yellows and pinks to deep burgundy and purples.

On the bed you also saw a sheer, thin nightgown of a cream color. You stood there for a second, but then you realized something: how were you supposed to take your corset off?

Grabbing the lace with your hands, you tried to tear it off with all the force left in your body - failing miserably after only a few seconds. Usually, your caring maid would do it for you although you begged her to teach you so that you could be at least independent in the way you dressed, but she always shook her head saying that a princess shouldn’t wound her hands.

After feeling a sharp pain in your right rib, you decided that asking for help was probably going to be the right choice and you headed to the only man that could actually do something about it.

Jimin was sitting on his bed, bathed in a big book, as some tall, white candles burned quietly.

He was turning yet another page when the soft sound of knuckles hitting the door came to his ears.

He immediately stood up, wondering if he had forgot to give you something and scolded himself for being so dumbfounded until he opened the door, when he saw you standing him front of him with only a corset and a sheet, ripped petticoat.

He felt his ears and cheeks tinting of a pink color as you looked at him, almost embarassed. Your naked shoulders looked like they would glow and for a moment he wondered how they would look like if covered with love bites - but was quick to shake his head and get those thoughts out of his head. You were part of the royal family, how could he even think about such thing. if anyone knew, he would have been guillotined on the spot.

"I...I was wondering if you could help me to take this off." You looked so fragile, so pure in front of his eyes, just like a kid that never really learned how to put her clothes on.

He smiled at the soft scene and opened further the door, letting you in.

"Of course". You looked around, seeing a big bed, books everywhere. His desk was full of vials, bottles and flasks. The young boy had discarded his clothes, that now were placed on a chair.

His body was covered by light brown pants and a loose, sheer white blouse.

He made you sign to sit on his bed, and he took place beside as you turned a bit so that he could face your back.

“Usually my maid does it for me...its not that I don’t know how to do it, it’s just to hard for me to reach for it.” You explained feeling somewhat embarrassed and worried that he might think of you as spoiled, but Jimin was quick to make you relax by chuckling briefly.

You stood there, trying not to make noise even while breathing. You started feeling his warmth and his perfume, almost intoxicating.

His fingers started tracing your skin, from your neck to your lower back. You felt shivers everywhere, cold and warm at the same time.

You had never experienced such an intimate touch, and the more he touched your bare skin, the more you craved it.

His slim fingers started to undo the bows of your tight corset, and he couldn't unhear the way you sighed of relief when he loosened the strings.

You felt his hot breath on your shoulders, then the feeling of cold air hitting your bare back signaled you that the corset was fully untied.

You placed your hands on your chest, keeping the corset in place and making sure it wouldn't leave your body bare in front of his eyes.

You tried to get up when you felt his warm fingers on your skin again.

And you almost flinched when his fingertips traced your scars.

His gaze was fixed on the folds of your skin, red and purple splashes and tiny scars from the friction of the laces on your soft skin.

Both of his hands started tracing your sides and they stopped when they reached your waist, that until not much earlier was being suffocated by the strong, oppressive material.

Jimin wondered why the wounds on your skin felt like he had them himself, and he looked at your back with sad eyes - feeling like he should hold you back from going back to the royal lifestyle once again.

He couldn't help but place a soft kiss on the nape of your neck, whispering a soft "I'm sorry" before letting you go.

You wondered if he felt sorry for the kiss, or for the scars that he had seen, but the thoughts were cut off as soon as you laid on your bed - letting the sleepiness take over.

✥✥✥✥

The morning after, Jimin decided to wake you up in a very unconventional way, dropping a couple of pots on the floor right next to your sleeping form - causing you to almost die of a heart attack.

You looked at him with shocked eyes as he laid chuckling in front of your room, announcing that you had just about half a hour to get ready before starting to work on the potion.

After discovering that Jimin had casually thrown your corset in the trash, you wore the dress that he had given you - which fitted you perfectly and was almost as comfortable as your night vest - and you sat down next to him in the other room, ready to learn about what you had to help him with for the mysterious potion.

"What does this mean?" your fingertips were tracing strange looking simbols on the yellow paper of a big book, placed on the table of the living room. Pointy, long strokes of ink that, combined, created intricate symbols and drawings.

"It's a recipe, for the potion". Jimin was standing next to you, letting you look at the page he had opened a moment earlier.

"It's so strange..." your eyes were still glued on those black strokes, trying to translate them in any way possible, frustrated at your sudden ignorance.

"It's called Flaedrian. Every witch learns it when they are little, my mother tought it to me when I was 6." a smile grew on his pink lips.

"She's also a witch?" You asked, looking at him curiously.

"My grandma was one. My mother never got this gift, but she learned all the languages and potions that had anything to do with magic" he remembered.

"Anyway, this is why I need help. This potion lets you find people, but it has some kind of...a higher price than usual" he seemed uncomfortable, almost scared. You looked at him with a confused expression, waiting for him to go on.

"It needs royal blood" The witch wondered if you would back off after finding out that you would have to hurt yourself in order to help him, but to his surprise, you were looking back at him with no expression at all on your face.

"How much you need?" Jimin was taken back by the strenght and convinction in your voice, not even a drop of fear.

His eyes scanned quickly the page, translating the simbols in words in his head.

"5 drops" He didn't even had the time to reassure you about it, you already had a knife in your hand and made a cut on the other palm. Ruby red drops colored the bottom of a porcelain cup, and the contrast between the red and the pure white seemed so strange to your eyes.

He gasped, grabbing a towel from the table and wrapping your hand around it before looking at you ready to scold.

“I need 5 drops, not a whole barrel. Why would you use the knife? I could just lend you the needle.” You laughed at his behavior, shrugging.

“It’s not like a cut will kill me, you know?” He looked at you with furrowed brows before leaving your hand and looking at the red filled bottle.

“I just need to mix the blood with other ingredients but I think I have them in my cabin already. Maybe I still need to get something from the city, it’s no big deal.” He ignored you, reading the old and dusty book that now laid on his thighs as he sat back on the couch.

You sat next to him, looking at the weird signs on the book’s pages.

“It’s so fascinating.” You whispered, touching the page with your fingertips.

Jimin looked at you as you stared down on the pages, feeling his heart getting warmer at the sight of you with messy and loose hair. The dress that you were wearing was the first thing that he had made that morning, after throwing your corset away. It took him half an hour to made something comfortable enough to not irritate the wounds that you had in your back, but the view of you in it made it all worth it.

It was so natural, almost as if he could see a future with you by his side like that.

When you look up from the book, you gasped lightly when you noticed that Jimin was looking at you so closely, without backing off. The two of you stared at each other fondly for a couple of seconds, before he decided to get up shaking his head lightly - leaving you on the couch as he told you that lunch would have been ready soon.

For the second time he had imagined something that should have been forbidden, and he doubted that those thoughts would have disappeared anytime soon.

✥✥✥✥

Weeks passed by quickly with Jimin by your side and each day you felt more thankful for him and for the decision that he had made that day in the city.

You were learning about witchcraft and supernatural traditions by staying with him, and you were also learning about real life - the one that you didn’t get to live in your own home.

That night, you were chilling in your bed after a long session of reading Jimin’s old book with the witch itself.

The potion was almost done, the only missing ingredient was the one that Jimin didn’t own - an adventitious maca root that could be bought in a small cornered shop that you’ve never heard of before. It was far from the centre of town, and you were sure that no one would have recognized you if you went there - since, as Jimin said, only a few people knew about it. Maybe going and buying it for him as a surprise would have been a nice present to thank him for all the things that he had done for you since he first find you.

So you decided to go and you successfully got the ingredient, wrapping it as a present and placing it under your bed, ready to give it to him.

The rush of thought was stopped by the sound of knocking from the closed door of your room. You furrowed your brows at the sight of the hour, why would Jimin look for you at 11.53 PM?

“Come in.” You said, sitting up on the mattress of your bed and he opened the door slowly before closing it again once he entered.

He was holding a small package in his hands and what seemed like ointment filled it.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up.” He muttered with a blush obvious in his cheeks that made you smile sweetly - you haven't seen him so embarrassed since the day you asked him to take off your corset.

“No no don’t worry about it? What’s up?” You asked patting a spot beside you in bed and he quickly sat down, chewing on his lip.

“I just...I made you this.” He showed you the package and you tilted your hand.

“What’s it for?”You asked and he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“I saw the wounds and scars that you have on you so I made this ointment. I made a spell on it so it should make them disappear completely...it just..it looked like you were in pain.” He explained and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Jimin I...” You stuttered and he looked down and you reached out your hand to touch his thigh.

“Thank you, really. I’m so thankful for all the things you’re doing for me.” You said and he looked up to look at you in the eyes.

No words were spoken as you looked at each other.

“Do you want me to put it on you, I don’t know if you can reach it.” Jimin said scolding himself mentally, the blush reddening once again on his cheeks and you chuckled.

“Sure...” You mumbled, turning to give him your back.

You started unbuttoning your blouse, feeling slightly embarrassed at the intimacy, and you used the cloth to cover your chest as your naked back faced the blushing witch.

You hissed slightly when his fingers came in contact with your skin, massaging the cream that he had made on your scars with gentle movements that caused you to close your eyes and relax at the feeling.

Jimin didn’t know what he was doing, he knew that it was wrong and that he needed to keep a distance if he wanted to stop himself from trying anything on you.

Your presence had weird affects on him, as if you were a spell that he couldn’t get enough of. He gas falling in love, and you were becoming the only thing that he thought about when he first opened his eyes in the morning and the last think he saw when he went to sleep.

“Hey...Jimin, I want to give you something” you suddenly said, pulling your robe back on and turning to face him. He looked at you slightly confused with a tint of red still present on his checks.

“What...?” He asked and you got up from the bed, kneeling down to pick up the small box that you placed there earlier.

“I wanted to give you this present..as a thank you for all the things that you’ve done for me during this time. You truly changed my life and I can’t believe that a small trip to the city ended with me meeting you” now it was your time to blush and you looked at him as you handed him the small box wrapped in scarlet-Coloured paper.

He wrapped his fingers around it and started to rip the paper with slowly, with a bit of hesitation.

As soon as the last ingredient for the potion came to his sight he couldn’t help but gasp, widening his eyes.

“Y/N I can’t believe it... when did you get this?” He asked incredulously, now looking at you with a smile on his face.

“Just the other morning.” You chuckled.

“You were asleep and I decided to sneak out and find it before you woke up. It was a hard because no one knew where it was, but I’m glad that I remembered some information that you gave me a couple of days ago.” You continued, feeling his hands in yours. He had put the small box on the bed, reaching out for your hands as soon as they were free.

“I have no words...really. Thank you.” He said looking at your hands and then at your eyes.

Your hands intertwined and you got lost in his gaze, a gaze full of adoration and gratitude that made you feel warm and loved.

“I should be the one saying thank you. Jimin you’re my saviour.” You muttered without deataching your gaze from his.

His hands reached for your cheek and he caressed it with his thumb, looking for a moment at your red lips before speaking up again.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” He whispered, now the distance between your faces was shorter than ever before.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” You laughed touching his wrist, his hand still on your cheek.

“Who would have thought that I would have fell in love with a princess” he smiled, all fears pushed aside when he saw your lips curve at those words. You felt the same.

After a brief chuckle you couldn’t help but kiss him delicately, touching his lips with your and reaching to touch his neck, brushing his hair with your finger.

He responded almost instantly, pushing you as close as possible to him with eagerness.

Jimin held you close, squeezing your waist with his hands and pushing you on top of the bed without breaking the kiss.

“I guess from now on it’ll just be us..” he murmured in between the kisses.

“The with and the princess” he chuckled, kissing your cheek, then you neck, your collarbone.

You laughed and moaned at his touch.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way” you said, falling deeply in love and thinking about how bright your future with him would be.

54 notes · View notes

westmoor · 3 years

Text

voices from within (a post-halloween special)

(other parts can be found here)

Following the success of his latest novel, Jaskier accompanies Geralt to fulfill a contract. He only hopes to get some sounds on tape, film some furniture moving, get his name out there and maybe catch the start of a new story - but some houses are haunted by more than just the ghosts of former residents.

---

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice barely rang above a breath. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” For a moment he stood staring up at the building that was to shelter him for the next twenty-four hours, until the slamming of the driver’s side door snapped him out of it and he turned. “Geralt-”

Geralt only hummed his assent. It was impressive, stately even: When Jaskier had referred to it as a castle, it wasn’t far from the truth.

Wide and squared and two storeys tall, brick painted a light creamy beige offset by dark brown, a dozen arched lattice windows gleamed in the afternoon light. Had he believed houses had personality he might’ve said this one looked friendly, inviting.

“What do you think?” Blue eyes twinkled at him, clearly pleased. “Do you like it? Think it will meet our expectations?”

He didn’t. He was decidedly less excited than his counterpart by what awaited them, and truth be told he would’ve preferred not to be there at all - or rather, preferred for Jaskier not to be there. It was a rule of his, one he’d reinforced after they had gotten together. He did not allow humans near his line of work.

But the novelist, after the success of the initial story featuring a Witcher, had been the one contacted about the job and had even brokered the contract, holding it over Geralt’s head until they had reached a compromise. He would be given free reign to do what he needed for the night, gather whichever so-called supernatural evidence and material he required, as long as he followed direction and kept a safe distance when told to. He had until dawn.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help the sneaking feeling of foreboding lurking at the back of his mind.

So no, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way it loomed behind the lean figure of his partner, deceptively calm, crouched like a beast lying in wait.

Geralt was saved from the attempt to voice his concerns - as brash as his boyfriend could be, he was remarkably perceptive - by a second car pulling in behind theirs.

No outside involvement had been another one of Geralt’s demands, triggering a tirade of protests from Jaskier, who in turn had argued that he couldn’t possibly cover the necessary ground on his own. Not within such a short time frame.

Unable to move his witcher, that particular settlement had eventually been perched on a technicality: No outsiders would join their so-called expedition.

How Jaskier had been able to get hold of Lambert and Eskel, much less convinced them both to join in, Geralt would never know.

Sneaky bastard.

Watching his brothers emerge from the car and approach them, however, he felt the restless beast in his chest subdued. Jaskier drew trouble like a spoonful of sugar drew wasps, but surely even he couldn’t manage to put himself in too much danger, not with three pairs of seasoned witcher eyes at his back.

Rounding the silver hood of the vehicle, Eskel nodded at Geralt and extended a hand in friendly greeting to Jaskier. The two of them had only briefly met but hit it off immediately, which wasn’t too surprising - anyone with the sense not to balk at his scars would find the older wolf to be good company.

Still waters run deep though, and his brothers knew better than anyone what it would take for a stranger to work through the layers of Eskel’s polite facade and earn real trust. Luckily for all of them, Jaskier’s openness and frank speech - verbose but earnest - had battered at it in much the same way as he’d broken down Geralt’s own walls.

Lambert, on the other hand -

“Thought you said this place had ghosts, or whatever.” His hands were buried as deep in his pockets as they would go. “Are we going to go find some, or just stand out here until we join them? I’m freezing my tits off.”

Lambert was an acquired taste.

Jaskier didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, and eagerly grasped the incentive to get moving. Within moments he had ushered them all up the double stone steps with an authority that probably wasn’t appropriate for a young man to direct at three monster-hunting mutants twice his size, but seemed entirely natural to him.

Geralt thanked his lucky stars that neither brother commented on the quickening of his heartbeat.

---

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was overwhelming.

Heavy oak doors swung open on well-oiled hinges and they were led through to a lounging area, masterfully decorated to reflect the wealth and status of its original owners, walls practically dripping with frames illustrating its rich history. Past cushioned chairs, rococo sofas and tables on spindly legs, a grand staircase twisted up to the second floor, banister continuing along an interior balcony wrapping around the entrance from above. Beyond, rows of pearly white doors and pastel hallways would carry them into the heart of the manor.

Crossing the threshold felt like stepping through time. Despite the electric lights and vague distant hum of heating units, each piece in sight was as close to original as could be hoped for, selected and maintained with utmost care.

But there was something else, too. Not so much a smell as a breath, an unmistakable lingering of things long lost.

Neither witcher voiced it, though they all clearly noticed - eyes skimming walls and nostrils flaring momentarily before they discerned what couldn’t be pinned down.

Jaskier slipped seamlessly into the role of the enthusiastic guide, throwing tidbits and details left and right while introducing the trio to the building’s past and present characters. His brothers exchanged glances at the shift in demeanour, but Geralt remained unfazed. He knew the writer hadn’t stumbled into his profession by chance, but lived and breathed for such occasions. Be it in speech or in prose, he was a born narrator.

What followed was a thorough tour of every notable room, nook, and cranny, all with a performative flair and tinged with what Jaskier referred to as reported phenomenons. Geralt hung back. He had already heard the broad strokes of it, but listened nonetheless, the added structure and dulcet tone of his lover’s voice crafting it into a proper story.

The other two were paying the attention of hearing it for the first time, and his mind revived the question of how they’d been convinced to join in the first place. He might end up having to ask.

Though Jaskier was an entertaining host - and only got them lost twice - an hour had come and gone by the time they completed their loop and found themselves back at the top of the staircase.

“Now, gentlemen!” Clapping his hands, their guide halted in front of one of the large white doors. One, Geralt noted, they hadn’t opened yet. “If you would so kindly help bring in the equipment and start setting up for the night…” His lips quirked in that mischievous way at least one of them had come to know all too well. “I’ve saved the best for last.”

A lesser man would have succumbed to Lambert’s baiting comments and Geralt’s glare, but Jaskier’s penchant for dramatics could weather any storm.

Only once the car had been emptied of gear and devices, wires stretched and screens installed, and after he’d procured a sturdy meal for his companions through a particularly scared-looking pizza delivery person, were they allowed back near the second floor landing.

“I want to look everything over one more time before we start recording, and maybe move another cam down to the first floor. The maid’s quarter is said to be particularly reliable, lots of people claim to have heard voices - lullabies even - between 3 and 4am.”

It was Eskel, who so far had been the most amenable of the group and asked only the most practical questions, that finally raised the issue that had crawled steadily closer to the surface as they worked. “This seems like a pretty big contract for a few disembodied voices.”

“Ah.” Jaskier’s grin grew wide. “But we’ve only scratched the surface so far. “

“In here,” he tapped the great door behind him, “lies the heart of this little castle, the grand salon, where the original owners would entertain guests. Basically the entire staff claims to have heard sounds coming from here. Music, clinking glass, the clamour of voices, as if there’s a party taking place, dragging well into the night. But when they open the door and look inside…” He snapped his fingers. “Nothing! Dark and abandoned, quiet as a grave.”

“If the claims are true, this is where it all began. There was an accident, you see, a real tragedy, one that cost the master of the house - a mister Lamm - and all six of his sons their lives. His widow, Dora, unable to let go and half mad with grief, prayed day and night to be reunited with her husband and to see her family again. But when religion failed her, as it’s wont to do, she cast her net wider, and gathered every prominent mystic and occultist of her time to aid her quest.”

Geralt stepped closer, the crux of their stay finally about to be revealed to his brothers, who were following the recounting with rapt attention.

“And she succeeded in bringing them back. Not to life, perhaps, but the halls were filled with children’s laughter and the sounds of running footsteps once again. Dora is said to have sat up nightly, listening, speaking to them until dawn. Only, it wasn’t the only thing they brought along.”

Eskel nodded, an idea of which road the story was about to go down, but waited for the man to continue.

“Now, I don’t know that I believe everything -”

Lambert snorted, earning a sharp elbow to the side.

“- but according to mediums and other visitors who’ve stayed here over the years, the house is open somehow. Like a friction point worn thin. Supposedly whatever leaks through serves as a sort of battery for the rest - the knocking, the voices, the singing - but it’s not just that, either.”

Jaskier’s voice lowered a note as he dropped the theatrical edge, turning serious. “Previous employees say it… changes people. Makes them ill, triggers things. Makes them say and do things and behave in ways they otherwise wouldn’t. Most don’t stay very long. Others won’t leave, even after their employment is terminated.”

“The current owner wants it shut, whatever it is,” Geralt interjected.

If Jaskier was annoyed at having his flow broken, it didn’t show, and he smoothly picked back up. “And that’s why we’re here! By morning, thanks to Geralt’s ministrations, this place should be as devoid of any spiritual activity as any regular old heap of rocks, and I want to catch it before it goes.”

Silence fell over the group.

“That’s it?” Lambert looked at Jaskier, brows raised. Then at Geralt, and back at Jaskier, who nodded affirmatively. He shrugged. “Okay. Fun.”

Geralt released a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, and Jaskier leaned up to the door.

“Well then, friends, if you’re ready!” He flicked the lock, before stepping back and turning to Geralt, features seeped in expectation.

“Darling, would you do the honours?”

#horror fiction writer jaskier #the witcher au #the witcher modern au #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #still a witcher geralt #amateur ghost hunter jaskier #featuring Eskel (because someone asked him nicely) and Lambert (because its not like he had anything else planned today)

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queerchoicesblog · 3 years

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An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapter: The Understudy

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

____________________

A couple of days later I go back to Melchiorri for another session as planned. He is inflexible that I allow my voice to rest at least one day before practising again not to damage it. As I observe the streets of Vienna passing by from my carriage, I wonder if the little fugitive will visit us today too and a tiny smile crosses my lips. I should be bothered by such unprofessionalism but surprisingly I enjoyed the interruption. A private comedic enteract. It also reminded me the maestro is human: I stole a glance of the domestic, family life people like me is generally unfamiliar with. I don't plan to marry anytime soon honestly if I can avoid it, despite what my Aunt claims. I owe her and my uncle, the wealthy side of my family, everything. She brought me away from the small town by the Alps I lived with Mom, Dad and Hans, my little brother in a wooden cottage by a stream. We weren't indigents, we owned a small typography in town that mainly served the local journal of the valley and well, the church crafting the prayer books you would find on the bench every day at mass. We weren't rich with either: you don't exactly became high socialite with so little. Hans is now running the typography as my father's eyes are not the ones he used to have since he got sick. I don't envy my poor brother; I am glad I got my way out of that life. I am eternally grateful to Auntie Helga for insisting to drag me to Graz and deciding to turn me into a star of the opera after hearing me perform a solo in the church choir during one of her - not so frequent, actually - visits.

Auntie built her fortune over a good marriage with a promising young lawyer who couldn't resist her charm and eventually allowed her to live in sober luxury and even be invited to court. But that seemed to be her sole aspiration in life: she left the small town and never looked back. I am an opera singer, I want more. My career comes first and I have yet to meet a worthy match honestly. And no, I don't want to be a puppet, a doll to a man who will eventually ask me to leave the stage and my beloved arias to look after a child or be a proper wife, whatever it means. So, no, thanks, I chuckle in my head while taking the hand the driver offer me to get off the carriage. When I knock at the door, I am considering that maybe Herr Giorgio is not that bad, even if I didn't like the way he addressed the maid and the poor naughty boy. Nor the lusty looks he throws me. The maid welcomes me with a smile and a little reverence. Good girl, probably she expects me to chastise her too. As if I had any intention to do so! She takes my fur and quickly disappear into the wardrobe room before walking back towardsme. I thank her for her zeal but I know the way to the music room, the maestro is surely waiting for me, I say. I start walking but what she says next makes me freeze, confused. "Actually, Miss...the master is not here today. I'm very sorry. His wife is waiting for you in the tea room". What? That...that must be a joke. The maestro hired to prepare me last minute disappears before the official rehearsals. I turn and throw a bad look at the poor maid, who doesn't deserve it in the least. She's just a messenger, her eyes beg before lowering them to her feet. She's right, my anger is all for Mister Melchiorri. What do I do now? "Whatever, lead the way then" I exclaim, following her. "I can't wait to hear what the fair lady has to say about this". My voice is cold, sardonic; the girl doesn't say a single word while we walk in the opposite direction than my usual route in the house. She's certainly too afraid to dare say a thing. When we finally arrive to the right room, she knocks politely at the door and steps in when a female voice comes from the inside. She bows her head and announces my presence before disappearing back down the corridor. She stops only to let the door open for me. I let out an annoyed sigh and enter. The room is significantly different from the maestro's studio. No instruments, only paintings at the walls and fresh flowers on the little tables around the room. The perfume is delicate and inebriating: are they orchids, I wonder? A neat wooden library holds the place of honour on the main wall, opposite the fireplace and framed by windows that fills the whole room by natural light, even if the sun doesn't shine today: it will probably rain soon. Letting my eyes wonder outside I spot green and a carousel: I didn't realise we were so close to a park! Unlike the music room, here even if the furniture, the velvet armchairs, the Persian rugs, every decor are certainly expensive, the atmosphere is surprisingly...cozy, an adjective I would have never thought of associated with Melchiorri's place. It's almost inviting, calming? "Miss Bauer, I am so incredibly sorry for the the latest developments and all the trouble they must bring on you...but please, take a seat! Franziska will be back soon with fresh tea". I turn to see a woman gesturing me to join her by the fireplace. Her German has a thick Italian accent which gives her "a bit of exotic" as they say at court. She doesn't wear a wig, her long raven hair are done up in an elaborate grateful chignon and two curly strands frame her visage. She reminds me one of those shepherdesses portrayed in bucolic frescos at the Emperor's Palace. Her dress is not in character though: a plain, cerulean dress which is not necessarily cheap but does nothing to enhance her figure. Poor taste probably: even money can do little about it sometimes. She must be in her early thirties or so I wager and thinner than most ladies I know in her standing...I wonder why Melchiorri chose her if he's so clearly fond of female curves. Maybe it's another arranged loveless marriage. I wouldn't be surprised. I oblige and thank her politely, forgetting my anger for a moment. It surprises me, it must be a reflex, a natural response the soothing silky voice of the lady. Like the feral beasts tamed by the gentle melody of Orpheus' song, I think trying to shake away such thought. I suddenly realise that I don't know her name. Melchiorri never talked about her. But I don't want to tell her: it's not a nice thing to say to a wife, right? As if reading my thoughts, she shakes her head slightly embarassed. "I forgot my manners, didn't I?" she sighs. "You must forgive me, Miss, I do not receive many visitors lately and I've never been introduced to famous opera singers...nor any of my husband's pupils. My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Melchiorri". I feel a pang of sadness for this lady excluded from the theatre world his husband works in. I don't get why she has to be cast out like that. I've met other illustrious wives at social gatherings around Vienna or at court. I offer her my hand, gesturing no apologies are needed, and repeat her name. "Cecilia...". Sadly, I completely butcher it: I studied Italian for the opera but my Austrian tongue is still incapable to recreate the sweet sounds that comes so natural to her. It must not be the first time because her lips curl in a quick understanding smile. "You can call me Lia, if it's easier for you. My family used to call me so". Lia...what a pretty little name. I smile, grateful. "I will then, if you don't mind...Lia. You can call me Constanze: it seems only fair". "As you wish, Miss Bauer!" she says before realising her mistake. We share an amused look, even if hers is a bit more bashful. In that moment, after another polite knock, Franziska returns with the tea and some butter biscuits. They're different from the ones Mister Melchiorri usually offers me in his studio. She's serving the tea when a familiar figure materialises on the threshold of the room at my peripheral. Lia is giving him the shoulders so she can't see him. I turn in his direction with a smirk. "I believe we've already met, right, Sir?" The two women turn at unison too and the kid childishly hides his face but doesn't move. After a moment he spies us through his fingers and retrieves his hands, smiling. Franziska puts the tray underneath her arm and tells Lia that she will bring him to his room, making the boy pout. He's quite the character. "Maybe he followed you because he just wants a biscuit" I say, my eyes wandering between them to check if I'm overstepping. "Maybe you're right...but only if he doesn't bother you" Melchiorri's wife concedes with a tired smile. I shake my head and take the decorated plate in my hands. "Would you like one?" I ask in Italian to her son, not sure if he speaks proper German. His face brightens up and he nods enthusiastically. We share a soft laugh, even the maid joins. He gets ready to speed across the room when he stops, considering. He searches his mother for approval. Lia nods, asking to behave like a good boy though. So he approaches slower than he wanted, with great effort to refrain himself, and grabs a biscuit from the plate. Before taking a generous bite, he mutters a quick thank you. "Mystery solved" I comment, placing the plate back on the table. "You must excuse him, Miss Ba- Constanze" Lia say, gently pulling him closer. "Nino is not a bad kid, just a bit of a rascal at times". "A rascal with a sweet tooth" Franziska adds and we share another laughter. "I'm so sorry he interrupted your private session the other day. Franziska had quite a fair share of work to do and I was indisposed in my room, I couldn't look after him as I usually do". I dismiss her apologies, taking a sip of tea. "But it was fun, wasn't it?" I wink at Nino who chuckles. "Yes and she sings very well, Ma" he says, turning to his mother. "Of course, I heard her too from my room" she smiles. "She's a promise of the opera, it's written on the newspapers". "Sing again?" the little boy begs, expectantly. His childish enthusiasm amuses me. "I cannot do those trills now, I need to warm up my voice first" I apologise, before winking. "Another time, I promise". Lia whispers something into his ear and he thanks me, concealing his disappointment. Crumbs are stuck on his lips and make the smile that follows a bit funnier than it was supposed to be. "Now, sweetheart, why don't you follow Franziska back to the kitchen?" She says, stroking his curls. "Take another biscuit and she will give you a glass of milk, just as you like it, huh?". She doesn't have to say it twice: while the maid gently places and arm around his shoulders, guiding him away, he takes not one but two biscuits in his hands. He throws me a conspiratorial look before chuckling. Then he turns towards Lia and stretches his neck to kiss her cheek. She caresses his face and tells him to be good with Franziska. When the two of them are out of the room, she meets my gaze again, shaking hear head. "Apologies, Miss...I sent Franziska to buy these for you this morning and he managed to put his eyes on them. He became obsessed". "Kids" I shrug, unbothered. I am pleasantly impressed that she had such a kind gesture towards me. I mean it could be a way to get on my good side because of the news she has to give me...but after all, this situation is not her fault. Her husband left her to deal with this and me all alone. She turns serious and sighs. "Anyway, have you heard of the flooding near Salzburg?". "What?". "Torrential rain lead to conspicuous floodings in the area surrounding Salzburg. I don't know if Giorgio mentioned it to you but he head there after your session for a family emergency....his brother lives there". "I'm afraid he didn't say a thing about his little journey" I say, trying my hardest not to look angered, even if I am: I would have rather be informed sooner of such details. By the look on her face I can tell she expected such an answer. "He surely thought he would be back in time today, he didn't mention staying for long. But during the night the weather deteriorated and the roads are pretty much impracticable, so to speak. We've just received a note saying he will be back as soon as travelling conditions are restored and the emergency solved. Probably a couple of days...maybe more? He must have sent you a similar one, you just missed it because you were on your way here already". "A couple of days? Maybe more?" I exclaim. That's not promising... "The rehearsals start in a week" I frown. "I still need to practise...". "You are free to do it here if you wish, Miss" she suggests, apologetic yet encouraging. "I am perfectly aware this is a hideous setback for you with such a tight schedule. You must believe me when I say I wish we never put you in this situation...if there's anything I can do, Miss, ask away. I'm not my husband but...". I consider her words for a moment. My mind runs wild to find a solution for this unexpected unfavourable circumstance. I could find another maestro maybe but how, within such a short notice and little time before official rehearsals begin? I could do it on my own but another sudden foolish idea crosses my mind. "Do you play the cello, Mrs. Lia?" I must have taken her by surprise by the look on her face. She tries to conceal it, refilling her cup. "Why, yes. My father was a musician, I took cello classes in my youth but I don't see how this-". "Excellent! Then you can take your husband's place until the he’s back" I exclaim, cutting her short. My words must come as a shock: she almost spits her tea. "Beg pardon, Miss?". "You will be my maestro, well understudy maestro for the time being" I smile, explaining. "You said yourself that you can play the cello, you can assist me as I practice". "But...but I don't have my husband expertise" she objects, at loss of words. "You heard me practicing with your husband, right? So you must know how it should sound. And that aside, you can even tell yourself if my performance is good or not: you have ears too, if I am not mistaken". She opens her mouth to say something, anything to make me change my mind and spare her such thing...but nothing comes. Her lips presses together for a moment before she places her cup back on the table. "Very well, then...if you think it would work" she smiles weakly. "Just be patient with me: I do not usually play opera arias".

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #original work #lgbtqa+#vienna #opera

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but-first--tea · 4 years

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LFRP: Omori Kaya

THE BASICS

Full name: Omori Kaya

Pronunciation: Oh-Moh-Ree Kay-Uh (Omori is her surname, Kaya is her given name)

Nicknames: n/a

Height: 5'6" (quite tall for a midlander hyur)

Age: “A lady never reveals her age.” (adult)

Nameday: 32nd Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Languages: Doman, Common

Occupation: Not getting caught.

Current Residence: "Traveling abroad.“ (Basically living a tourist’s life in Eorzea, hoping to never be called out as the fraud she is. She’ll spend time as someone’s guest here, staying in a hotel elsewhere the next month, etc…)

Relationship Status: While she has never actually been married, the identity of the woman she pretends to be is a young widow and heiress. (Single)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Pale, silvery grey

Skin tone: Fair

Body type: Slender, athletic but not in an obvious way.

Scars: none

Accent: Doman

Posture

Poised, athletic– though she’s no master shinobi, she is her mother’s daughter. Her training began at the age of four, and it’s still evident in the way she moves, observes, and behaves. Others who have trained would likely notice it easily. She carries herself with quiet dignity, and moves (or refuses to) deliberately, as if she expects each action to be read for significance, and takes great care not to reveal too much unintentionally. Though, in the very rare instances when she lets down her guard, this facade can fade away, revealing that she’s still a girl who can be amused, and charmed, and is easily mesmerized by beautiful places and things.

Accessories

She’s almost never seen without jewelry, though all of it is merely decorative– the trappings of the life she’s stepped into. None of it is personal, or carries meaning beyond appearing as she’s expected to.

Apparel

Her taste ranges from the classically dramatic to the outright exotic- not out of a sense of vanity, but in an appreciation of what is more or less wearable art. She most frequently wears black and white, though she also favors blue and occasionally red. In keeping with her heritage, she tends toward modesty in her dress. Of course, most of these clothes once belonged to a woman whose identity she has stolen, and she’s begun to add Eorzean fashions to her wardrobe to stand out less. The more she blends in, the fewer questions about her past she needs to dodge...

CHILDHOOD

Place of Birth: Doma

Siblings: none she knows of

Parents: The samurai Masanari and an Imperial Shadow named Harue, though Kaya has never known her biological father, as she was still less than a year old when he disappeared.

Upbringing: Raised initially by her mother, and later trained by grandmother once her affinity for magic became apparent. (More details can be found in her character history.)

PERSONAL

Personality

Outwardly, she is polite and mysterious, with a demeanor ranging from businesslike toward strangers, to an unexpected sort of mischievous and rebellious streak around the rare soul she’s begun to feel comfortable around. She’s evasive and distant. She rarely connects with others easily, which leads to most people assuming she’s either very shy, or rather snobbish, at first impression. She doesn’t trust easily, isn’t prone to showing any emotion in public if she can avoid it, and is often the one who, from an outward appearance, seems to be just another quiet wallflower enjoying the view.

Beneath the surface, however, she feels everything perhaps far too much, watches everyone with the wariness of someone who knows all too well what people are capable of, and deeply craves the connections to others she doesn’t seem to be able to form easily. She’s always searching for the few who can see the world the way she does- as something equally beautiful as it is deadly, meant to be lived in, not just endured. She’s a powder keg of passions always kept under a tight lid, hidden away for safe keeping.

Still, she is difficult to anger, and it’s a cold anger when it happens. She knows that engaging in violence and revealing her training would likely break character entirely, and being discovered as a fraud wouldn’t end well for her. As a result, she’ll try to think her way out of any situation, instead.

Motivations/Goals

If asked what she wants more than anything else in the world, she’d probably say to be able to do what she wanted, not what she was told, or allowed, or expected to. She craves freedom in all its definitions, but nearly always denies it to herself out of fear or pragmatism. While playing the role of a young, noble heiress she feels the restraints of her gilded cage all too keenly. She must behave in the way one raised to the role would be expected to. As a result, she finds small ways to rebel that aren’t likely to be noticed. Her fierce and defiant nature, thus repressed, will see her doing seemingly pointless things like rearranging the furniture in hotel rooms, stealing small items she could easily afford, or finding ways to secretly get even with those who have behaved poorly.

Financial Status

Ostensibly wealthy, though not one gil of it was ever truly hers. Still, she feels no guilt in obtaining the Omori family’s accounts considering they would have otherwise been seized by the Garlean government following Lord Omori’s assassination.

She has been quietly seeking a way to invest ‘her’ money in a way that would divorce it from her stolen inheritance, make it more truly hers, and greatly reduce the risk of losing everything should her false identity be uncovered.

Weapons

While she was raised to the blade and bow for most of her childhood, she hides her training and doesn’t carry a weapon openly, if at all. If cornered and forced to defend herself, she’d mostly likely attempt to disarm an opponent and steal theirs, or improvise.

Vices

Seemingly none, as she has striven to present herself as a woman of proper graces. However, she is prone to self-indulgence and spending far too much gil merely because she can, which she considers a vice in herself and tries to resist.

Likes

People who are intelligent, interesting, vibrantly passionate and alive. Watching people do things that require specialized skill, especially combat training or constructing something.

Constructive debate and interesting challenge. Trying/learning new things.

Music, dancing. She’s often wished she could play an instrument, but has never learned to.

Nature, gardens, fireflies, birds, waterfalls, the ocean/seaside. Traveling to anywhere with a spectacular view or vibrant culture. Learning about said cultures.

Exotic spiced foods or just about anything she hasn’t tasted before that doesn’t look absolutely disgusting. Tea. Fruits, chocolate, and spiced cider or tea. Have I mentioned tea?

Unusual crystals and/or gemstones. While she’s generally unfazed by wealth or status, she appears to be positively mesmerized by sparklies.

Dislikes

Politics, rumor mongering, cattiness, insults, and general poor behavior.

People who think getting drunk is the best kind of fun to be had.

Addictive drugs, and those who sell them.

Being forced to do anything, feeling not in control over her own life.

Overly objectifying unwanted attention, awkward social situations/obligations/expectations.

Being cold, biting insects.

Hobbies

Reading, especially the arcane.

Learning the history of different places and cultures.

Collecting small, easily transportable items (generally clothing or jewelry) in local styles from each new place she visits.

Pets: None, currently. She once had a magpie as a pet when she was younger, and maintains a fondness for birds of all kinds.

RP HOOKS

She’s looking (quietly) for a way to launder, er... invest her money to gradually eliminate the need to rely on her stolen identity and foreign contacts for access to funds. Have an opportunity?

A trusted lady’s maid, retainer, or guard type to help her maintain appearances.

It’s possible that someone from her past in Doma might recognize her, or perhaps have known the real Omori Kaya.

The woman she is impersonating is an ill-fit for her. She is fierce, independent, and rebellious... the exact opposite of the demure and soft character her stolen identity demands. But, her mother risked everything to secure her new identity, and she won’t cast it off unless forced to. Still, she isn’t perfect. Someone could catch her in a mistake, and become curious...

The Lady Omori Kaya appears elegant, mysterious, ...and wealthy. Potential suitors aren’t unlikely. (Romance is an option, though she’ll be hard to pin down at first, for obvious reasons.)

She has a (stolen) soulstone in her possession, and has been working to unlock its secrets.

Open to brainstorming other connections, past associations, or jumping into -your- existing plot!

OOC

I make my own schedule. I can be available pretty much any time from 8 am to 9pm CST. Sadly, I can rarely do late nights because I need to do that sleeping thing.

OOC communication is a priority for me.

I have been RPing for 20+ years. I am comfortable with both in game or Discord RP, and anything from short, quick posts to multi para. I do this because I enjoy writing!

I am not interested in random ERP outside of a long-term character interaction. I do love writing ships as long as there's strong chemistry between the characters, and both the character and the writer of said character are mature adults. However,I will not consider ships with alt or AU characters, as this is my one and only RP character. (No multi-shipping.)

I prefer a RP style that works with what is plausible within the scope of the lore. I'm open to creativity, as long as it makes sense. I prefer to stay away from void-heavy, AU, inserts from other universes, and anything involving cross-breeding with non-playable races/beings. (These are only my personal preferences, and everyone else is free to do whatever they like!)

Absolutely no: rape, harm to children, or graphic torture.

I do enjoy game content as well, and prefer company over doing so alone! I am currently sitting in my own personal FC house, but would consider joining a real FC if it makes sense for my character.

Confession: I probably spend way too much time decorating virtual houses.

#ffxiv rp #updated character sheet #Omori Kaya #hyur midlander #Doman

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swinners1990 · 3 years

Text

Not So Berry Part 2?

Finished @lilsimsie’s ‘Not So Berry Challenge’ and looking for something else to keep you occupied? Well i was bored today and decided to write up my own 10 gen challenge for Sims lovers! I tried to go for aspirations I’ve personally not used, also the traits don't particularly match the generation colour but i find it fun having a colour to work with! Please let me know what you think of this and if you try it!

Basic Rules:

1. Each heir must represent the colour given for that generation (i.e hair, make-up, clothes and home items) 2. The colour of your sims spouses don't matter, nor dose the gender unless stated. 3. Cheats can be used, but not excessively.. (you can use freerealestate for your first home or mccc cheats for number of babies) 4. You may live in any world unless it is stated in the rules. 5. Keep lifespan on normal. 6. Every generation must complete both aspiration and career unless stated otherwise. 7. If you do not have all the packs and cannot do some aspirations or caeers etc. then adjust that generation to what you do have! & have fun!

Generation One; Charcoal (start as teen with parents)

You’re a angry teen who’s parents don't understand why you wear thick black makeup and can always been seen in a band tee-shirt or anything with chains. Growing up with two strict military parents (you may cheat both parents high up in the military career) you are always rebelling, sneaking out after curfew to meet with friends or to drink at the local bar. Your parents are always nagging at you, so you have enough and leave for the big city, they think you wont make it on your own, but you’re stubborn enough to grind and grind to prove them wrong.

Traits; Mean, Kleptomaniac, Erratic Aspiration; City Native Career; Baby Sitter (teen) & Odd Jobs only when a young adult/adult/elder (you may keep the Baby Sitter part time job after aging from a teen)

Rules;

1. Master City Native Aspiration. 2. Live in tiny apartment. 3. Never marry & only have one child 4. Master Guitar & Handiness skills plus two other skills of choice. 5. Have neutral relationship with child. 6. Leave home the day you age into a young adult. (or while a teen, but I'm unsure if teens can move out alone?)

Generation Two; Rainbow (all multicoloured clothes/hair/item's etc.)

After growing up in a dark colourless home, you want to be surrounded in as much colour as possible, you wanted it to look as if a rainbow crash landed in your home! You didn’t have a good or bad relationship with either of your parents, and being an only child was lonely, all you’ve ever dreamed of was a big happy family!

Traits; Good, Family Oriented, Childish Aspiration; Big happy Family Career; Professor

Rules;

1. Master Big Happy Family aspiration and Professor career. 2. Max the Research & Debate, Parenting, Bowling & Cooking skills. 3. Have at least 4 children. 4. Marry an adult sim while you're still a young adult. 5. Have a family bowling day out once a week on a day of your choice. 6. All children must share a room.

Generation Three; Hazel

Your home was always crowded, sharing a room with all your siblings you could never hear your own thoughts, so you spend most of your time outside playing, reading, playing the violin or cloud gazing, dreaming of a quite life by the sea.

Traits; Bookworm, Loves Outdoors, Child Of The Ocean Aspiration; Beach Life Career; Diver (teen) / Marine Biologist

Rules;

1. Master Beach Life aspiration & Both Careers. 2. Max Fitness and Violin skills. 3. Must live in Sulani. 4. Have a mermaid best friend. 5. Have a close relationship to all children.

Generation Four; Pearl

As a toddler you loved life on the beach, but once a child you went to school and discovered the Drama Club! You fell in love with acting and spent all your time in front of the mirror practising lines! You had stars in your eyes and nothing would stop you from being famous!

Traits; Self-Obsessed, Materialistic, Ambitious Aspiration; World Famous Actress Career; Actress

Rules;

1. Master World Famous Actress aspiration and Actress career. 2. Max the Acting, Charisma and Wellness Skills. 3. Join Drama Club after your first day at Grade School. 4. Have a butler and a maid. 5. Marry another famous sim. 6. Live in Del Sol Valley. 7. Become a 5 Star celebrity.

Generation Five; Mauve

While having celebrity parents was fun at times, they was always busy and you spent a lot of your time with the staff. After a while you started enjoying the company of animals rather than other sims. You decide that you want to run your own Veterinary business, but don't want it just handed to you like any other rich kid. So you BORROW the money from your parents for a small starter Vet Clinic & pay them back as soon as you start making money. (you can ask for large loans if your charisma is high enough, if not then use money cheats then cheat the money away to “pay it back”)

Traits; Cat Lover, Dog Lover, Cheerful Aspiration; Animal Lover Career; Vet Owner

Rules;

1. Master the Animal Lover aspiration. 2. Adopt stray animals only. 3. Lot traits to be both Cat & Dog Hangout 4. Max the Veterinarian, Pet Training and Knitting Skills. 5. Donate all knitwork to charity. 6. Marry an employee. 7. Vet Clinic must get to at least 4 Stars.

Generation Six; Emerald

Growing up surrounded by cats and dogs meant you was never alone, which in turn was an issue as that's all you wanted at times! As a teen you would love nothing more than to take a cooler to the local lake and spend hours alone, fishing! And if you wasn't doing that you would be out back crafting away!

Traits; Loner, Neat, Maker Aspiration; Angling Ace Career; Fisherman (teen) / Freelance Crafter

Rules;

1. Master Angling Ace aspiration and Fishing career. 2. Max the Fishing, Fabrication and Piano skills. 3. Have twins only. (don’t matter how many sets, but all children must be twins-Good luck!) 4. Fabricate most of own furniture. 5. Be engaged but never marry.

Generation Seven; Tangerine

Being a twin was amazing and you loved your sibling, they’re your best friend! But sometimes you never got all the attention, it was shared.. EVERYTHING was shared! When teens, your twin becomes more into sports. While you are always glued to a phone or computer screen. Constantly taking selfies and updating your social media.. Finally getting the attention you've always craved!

Traits; Hates Children, Self-Assured, Jealous Aspiration; Fabulously Wealthy Career; Internet Personality

Rules;

1. Master Fabulously Wealthy aspiration and Internet Personality career. 2. Marry a rich sim. 3. Constantly upload videos, blogs & drone recordings. 4. Max the Media Production, Singing and DJ Mixing skills. 5. Hire a nanny daily to take care of any children you have.

Generation Eight; Cotton Candy

Your parent lived online for as long as you could remember, you had a good relationship with both your parents but you was always closer to you father. You found beauty in the greenhouse, and was never more relaxed than while you was tending to the garden and bonding with the bees. Your aim is to make your neighbourhood greener than your grandparents hair! You have one BFF as a child, but once teens the friendship turns romantic!

Traits; Greenfiend, Recycle disciple, Vegetarian Aspiration; Freelance Botanist Career; Botanist

Rules;

1. Master Freelance Botanist aspiration and Botanist career. 2. Max the Gardening, Flower Arranging and Herbalism Skills. 3. Have a well maintained garden. 4. Don’t Woohoo until after married. 5. Have an outdoors/Beach wedding to childhood best friend. 6. Live in Evergreen Harbour 7. Make your neighbourhood green.

Generation Nine; Powder Blue

You had a happy free childhood and loved your parents dearly, but growing up you longed for adventure! You would jog everyday dreaming of climbing Mt. Komorebi! After taking a vacation there as a teen you fell in love with the scenery and culture, after that you concentrated on your training to do the big climb!

Traits; Active, Proper, Outgoing Aspiration; Mt. Komorebi Sightseer Career; Extreme Sports Enthusiast

Rules;

1. Master the Mt. Komorebi Sightseer aspiration and Extreme Sports Enthusiast Career. 2. Max the Rock Climbing, Snowboarding OR Skiing and Fitness skills. 3. Successfully climb Mt. Komorebi. 4. Have a ‘No shoes Allowed’ household. 5. Only ever do a ‘Respectful Introduction’ 6. Go jogging every morning.

Generation Ten; Sunflower Yellow

Your parents love for adventure rubbed off on you, they always taught you to follow your dreams, so you do and you set your sights on Archaeology! It was exciting and a different kind of adventure to your parents mounting climbing! You'll be the next Indiana Jones, but how will you fund your full time adventures? Why not write about your amazing adventures too? Surly people will read about that!

Traits; Adventurous, Genius, Romantic Aspiration; Archaeology Scholar Career; NO JOB. (Odd jobs are allowed on occasion)

Rules;

1. Master Archaeology Scholar aspiration. 2. Write & publish books about your adventures. 3. Max the Archaeology, Writing, handiness and Selvadoradian Culture skills. 4. Only ever vacation in Selvadora 5. Marry a Selvadorian native.

I hope you enjoy this challenge as much as the original Not So Berry Challenge! It was so fun to come up with!

#thesims #thesims4 #notsoberrychallenge #notsoberry #gameplay #simschallenge #notsoberryparttwo #fun #keepingbusy

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Tale as Old as Time - Chapter 3

Rami!Prince Adam x Reader

Summary: A prince cursed. A young woman aching for adventure. The classic tale of seeing beauty within.

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @xviiarez, @rogerina-owns-me, @brianssixpence, @mirkwoodshewolf, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: But she won’t discoooover that it’s him! til chapter threeeeeeee :)

Warning(s): Mentions of homophobia

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 here we go!!!

Just learning Rami’s name was a breakthrough. Two weeks passed peacefully at the castle. Though you were still wary of him, you trusted that he would not lash out unprovoked. You just wanted to learn what provoked him.

But the more you spoke to Rami, the more you understood that his anger came from a place of deep hurt. It wasn’t an aggression he came by naturally. His usual disposition was actually rather awkward. At times, even amusingly so. It was obvious to you that he had not interacted with anyone outside of his staff in many years.

Even so, you kept your guard up. You continued to search for the prince all around the castle, but there was no sign of him. Although, after getting to know Rami, you found it hard to believe that he had ever really harmed anyone. Sure, he could be unreasonable about things, but you didn’t think he was dangerous. There was only one place you hadn’t looked. The west wing.

Your curious mind was desperate to find out what was up there. But your logical side reminded you that it was best to not test the limits of Rami’s patience. He could easily put you back in the dungeon if he felt like it. On the other hand, it could hold all the answers to your questions. Putting it all to the back of your mind, you went down to the vegetable patch to help Daisy.

Daisy was another mystery to you. She was the only servant who had come to the castle after the deaths of the king and queen. You bonded with her because she was the only other person there your age - since you couldn’t be sure how old Rami was - and you had fun together. You wondered what brought her to the castle.

“Daisy,” you said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she replied, brushing some dirt off a carrot.

“How did you end up here?” you questioned. “You’re young and talented. How come you’ve committed yourself to serving Rami and a near empty castle?”

She placed the carrot in her basket and looked down.

“The master is a complicated person,” she said. “I don’t know all the details of his past - and I don’t need to - but he understood me.”

“Understood you?” you pressed.

She nodded. “In my home village, I…”

“You what?”

She met your gaze. “I fell in love. And I was driven out.”

“What?” you gasped. “For falling in love?! That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, the thing is…” she trailed off. “We’re friends, right?”

“Of course we are,” you said, brow furrowing. “What is it?”

“Just - swear to me you’ll never tell anyone what I’m telling you,” she said.

“I swear,” you promised.

She took a deep breath. “I fell in love with another woman.”

Your eyes went wide. “R-really?”

She nodded again. “The people of my village saw it as something evil. My mother told us there was a plan to have us arrested and tried as witches, so she packed us some things to smuggle us out.”

“I’m so sorry,” you told her. “That’s horrible. How could they punish you for loving someone?”

“I don’t know,” she said, eyes watering. “I still don’t understand. But the night before we knew they were coming, we arranged to leave. We planned to meet in the woods just before midnight and escape together.”

“Your lover, did she abandon you?” you asked.

She shook her head. “No. My father told the village about our plan, so they got her. All I could do was run for my life. I ran till I had nothing left in me. It was the master that found me in the woods. He brought me back here and had Mrs. Carson tend to me. The plan was to send me off afterwards, but then I told him my story. As an extra, I told him I could cook and would serve as a kitchen maid if he’d let me. He said they had no cook, he understood what it meant to be seen as something you’re not, and then gave me the job. I didn’t ask no more questions after that.”

You blinked, completely shocked. How could Rami be so understanding of someone like Daisy, but so irrationally angry over a rose clipping? You had to find out the truth about him. And you needed to find out as soon as possible.

“I’m glad you found a place to belong, Daisy,” you told her. “Um, I’m going in for a little while. I’d like to get some rest before dinner. Is that alright?”

She looked at the ground. “You see me differently, don’t you?”

“What? No!” you cried, pulling her into a hug. “Of course not. You’re still my friend.”

You pulled away and she forced a smile.

“I believe you,” she said, cheerful now. “Now, go get some rest. I’ll figure out dinner.”

You nodded. As you entered the kitchen, you removed your apron and started up the stairs. You jogged through the corridors, heading the opposite direction of your bedroom. You were going to the west wing.

When you climbed the steps, you hesitated. There was a door there that loomed ahead like a dark tunnel. Once you entered, it would be difficult to return. And if you found out that Rami was the cause of the deaths of the royal family, what would you do? Go back on your word? Risk re-imprisoning your father?

You took a deep breath. You had to know. With a shaking hand, you reached for the door knob. It turned with a click, and then the door swung open with a creak. Then, you stepped into the west wing.

It was much like the rest of the castle. It just felt different because you knew you weren’t supposed to be there. You briefly worried that Rami might find you. You had not seen him yet today, and that usually meant he was up in his room somewhere. His room was within the west wing.

You stopped at the first door that appeared on the right. It was locked. You moved on to the room across the hall. It was open, although dark except for the sun peeking through the window. It faced the north though, so it was still dim.

It appeared to be a bedroom, but it wasn’t grand enough to belong to any of the family. You guessed that it served as a guest room for when other members of that class came to stay. That had evidently not occurred in many years.

Dust covered most of the furniture. There was a desk in the corner, so you decided that was the best place to start. Any records would be in there. You opened the top drawer and sifted through the leafs of paper, but nothing was promising. Until you got to the last one.

It was a letter. The addressee was a Lady Marietta, which you didn’t recognize, but clearly it had never been sent. It wasn’t sealed.

You picked up the letter. It was in beautiful, scrawling cursive that you were certain a woman had written. With one more glance around, you carefully lifted the envelope flap and tugged the parchment out. You unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Dear Marietta,” it began. “It is wonderful to hear from you! I’m glad to know you and your family are well. The king and I are so thrilled to hear of your pregnancy! Perhaps if it’s a girl, we can introduce her to Prince Rami…”

You stopped reading. Prince. Rami. Prince Rami. Your heart rate accelerated so quickly you felt you had just run a one hundred meter dash. Rami was the prince? How could it be? He was a beast!

You jumped when you heard a dull thud and a hiss of pain come from the window. A second voice followed shortly after. The only other person allowed in the west wing was Rami. If there were other people there, they were not the household staff. And they were not you. Thinking it might be some villagers sent by your father, you went to investigate.

Crouching low you slunk towards the noise. You hid behind an old dresser and peered around the edge. Two men were standing just inside the window, dressed in dark clothing and looking around as they brushed some dirt from their trousers.

“Do you really think there’s anything of value here?” one wondered.

“I dunno,” the second one said. “But the royal family lived here. There’s bound to be jewels and stuff somewhere.”

“Unless others got here first, “complained the first one. “It’s been almost thirteen years since the king and queen were killed.”

“Even their old clothes are worth something,” insisted the second. “Let’s just take a look around. It’s not like anybody’s here.”

Fear turned your stomach. Robbers! You had to warn Rami. You started to get to your feet, only you banged your head into the top drawer of the dresser, which was hanging open. The wood smacked together, and you bit back a squeak as a bump started to form on your scalp. Eyes watering and head throbbing, you stilled, hoping against hope that they had not heard you. Judging by their acute silence, they had.

“Who’s there?” called the second one.

“Are you certain it’s a person?” questioned the first. “There’s rumors about this place being haunted.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said the second. “Those are just stories for children.”

You closed your mouth to quiet your breathing. You listened closely to the sound of their footsteps approaching. Your mind went wild with solutions. You could run, but they would catch you. You couldn’t fight two men all on your own. And you couldn’t exactly call for anyone since there was no guarantee that anybody was nearby. Just when you were going to make a break for it, a face appeared beside you. It was the second robber.

“Well, well, well,” he sneered. “What do we have here?”

You trembled as the other took his place in front of you. Their menacing laughter made you shrink back.

“R-Rami…” you began shakily. Then you screamed. “RAMI!”

Rami was in his bedroom, looking at a key in his paw. It was the key to the library. He was considering giving it to you since you told him about how much you loved books. That way, you could be more comfortable here. His only hesitation was that it felt like a betrayal to his mother. That was her safe haven as well, and he wanted to preserve it. He set the key down on his desk, deciding he would ask Mrs. Carson about it.

Beside the key was the mirror the enchantress gave him all those years ago. It was his one window to the outside world. With it, he could see anyone he wanted, just by asking. For years, he tried to use it to find the enchantress herself, but it never worked. So it mostly collected dust. On a whim, he picked it up.

“Show me Y/N,” he said.

The glass began to glow, bright and blinding for a fleeting moment. Then, the picture took shape. You were walking through the west wing, and exploring a guest room that his mother had used as her study.

He flared up, prepared to march down the stairs and scold you, but another movement caught his eye. You were not alone. Then, through the mirror and from the hall, he heard you cry out for him. He dropped the mirror onto the desk and hurtled out of the room.

He ran toward the guest room. When he was first transformed, he was alarmed by the speed he had, especially on all fours. He was also surprisingly agile, and now that he was used to this body, moving swiftly and securely was as natural to him as breathing. Only, he wasn’t going to bother being quiet now.

One of the robbers took hold of your arm and you struggled against him. His grip was like iron, though, and as much as you tried to wrench away, he had a firm hold on you. He clapped a hand over your mouth to keep you from crying out again.

“Quiet, you!” he warned, while the partner flashed a knife. “Or we might silence you permanently!”

You screamed into his hand and wriggled some more, to no avail. Then, the door burst open and a ferocious roar rang out. It shook the dresser that was now beside you. The robber dropped your arm, but it was right as you pulled away, so you toppled over.

“W-what is that thing?” the first robber stammered.

“I don’t know, but we should be rid of it,” the second said firmly, snatching the knife from him and brandishing it.

Rami fearlessly bounded over with a threatening growl, and the men quickly realized the size of the animal they were challenging. Only, Rami was no animal. He grabbed the first one around the throat so quickly you might have missed it had you blinked. His grip was steady, but he could clearly still breathe.

“Don’t kill me!” the man begged.

Rami started to answer, but just as he opened his mouth, the second robber slashed his arm. Rami howled and dropped the first one, who scrambled away. Blood seeped into Rami’s fur. He gathered himself and then rose up to his full height. With a fierce growl, he snatched up the man with the knife by his arm, forcing him to drop the weapon. It clattered to the floor and you grabbed it.

The first man saw that they were now without a weapon. He looked to his partner.

“I’m out of here,” he said, and he took off back through the window.

The second man was more persistent, struggling to get free, as you were doing just moments ago. Then, Rami grabbed him around the neck and dragged him to the window. Then, he held the man up so they were face to face.

“Get. Out,” Rami warned with a growl.

The man stopped struggling.

“O-okay,” he stuttered. “I-I will, just don’t kill me, please!”

“Tell no one what you saw here!” Rami insisted.

“I swear!” he returned. “I won’t tell anyone, just please let me go!”

Rami tossed him almost lazily out the window. He struggled to his feet and took off into the woods after his partner. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Rami -”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” Rami bellowed, rounding on you.

You stepped back, nearly stumbling, but Rami caught you by the arm.

“This place is forbidden!” he continued. “These are my private things!”

You shook him off and planted your feet, becoming defensive. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I only came here because I didn’t know where else to go!” you shouted back. “I needed answers!”

“Answers to what?!” he demanded.

“If I’m going to live my life here then I have a right to know who you are!” you cried. “I thought -”

You stopped yourself. Knowing now that Rami was the prince, you didn’t want to tell him you had suspected him of killing the king and queen.

“What?” he pressed. “What did you think?”

You looked at the floor, ashamed. “I thought you were the reason the king and queen were dead. I was trying to find evidence of what happened to the prince.”

When he didn’t answer, you looked up. His shoulders sagged and he refused to meet your gaze.

“You can imagine how shocked I was to find out that you…” you trailed off. You didn’t need to say.

A beat of uncomfortable silence passed. You wanted him to say something - anything to answer for what had just happened. You stared at him, willing him to speak. But he didn’t.

“Rami,” you sighed. “You’re hurt. Let me help you with that cut.”

“It’s fine,” he snapped, recoiling from you.

“Don’t be a baby,” you said. “It could get infected.”

“I don’t need to -”

“I’m not giving you the option!”

He met your eyes and you glared at each other. He heaved a sigh.

“Fine,” he conceded.

“Come on,” you said, offering your hand.

He took it in his massive paw, and you led him out. He told you how to get to his bedroom. There, he flopped down into a chair. You, however, were distracted immediately by the rose floating in a case on a side table that was pushed into the back corner. It had a soft pink glow around it, but it was wilting. Several petals littered the table’s surface.

“What is that?” you asked, pointing.

“None of your business,” Rami replied harshly.

You frowned. “If you don’t start explaining, I’ll just get more curious, and then we’ll have more instances like today.”

“I’m beginning to think I relieved your father of a most annoying housemate,” he said.

“Oh!” you gasped. “That was so uncalled for!”

“Well, listen to you!” he returned. “Demanding answers at every turn, walking around people’s private rooms!”

“My father didn’t keep secrets from me!” you shot back.

You glowered at each other for a moment before Rami caved once more.

“The rose...is a symbol of my curse,” he began.

“What curse?” you asked.

You knelt down beside the chair and started tending to the wound on his arm.

“When I was twelve, an enchantress came to the castle to collect a debt owed by my father…”

He told the whole story. The way she attacked the palace and killed his father. He and his mother’s escape attempt. And that he was paying the price the king owed. He did not tell you about the way to lift the curse.

“That’s ridiculous!” you cried, securing his bandage with a tug. “She punished a child for something his father did?! Who is this enchantress? I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind!”

You got to your feet, and started toward the door, only he grabbed your hand. You faced him. He eased you back to your place beside him.

“I admire your readiness, but it’s no use trying to find her,” he said. “I spent the first four years of my life as a beast searching. I tried using the mirror, but it showed me nothing. She just vanished.”

“It’s so unfair,” you said quietly. “Is there a way to break the curse?”

“There is,” he admitted. “But I won’t tell you.”

“Why not?” you wondered.

“It’s not something you can do for me,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

That was true. The last thing Rami wanted was for you to feel any sort of pressure to lift the curse. If he was going to earn your love, it would not be out of pity or obligation.

“Are you sure there’s no way I can help?” you asked.

He almost smiled at the sweetness of your offer.

“I’m sure,” he told you. “You’ve done enough.”

He placed his paw atop your hand, which rested on his fresh bandage.

“Please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s my fault you got this. I’m sorry, Rami. I shouldn’t have pried, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re right, if you’re going to live here and we’re to be companions, I can’t keep my life so secret.”

“Thank you,” you said. “For opening up. And for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

You held his gaze. You suddenly realized why the eyes in the painting seemed so familiar. You had seen them before, only on the beast, and they were so bereft of their former joy that you had not seen the similarities.

“I should have known you were the prince,” you said.

“You should?” he questioned.

You nodded. “You have the same eyes. They’re just...sadder now.”

“Yes…” he trailed off. “Sadder.”

Another beat passed.

“Rami, I…” you hesitated. “Now that I know you better, I’d like it if we could be friends.”

He blinked. “Friends?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Is that alright?”

He did smile now, and his sharp teeth didn’t frighten you.

“I’d like that,” he said.

“Good,” you replied. “And just so you know, friends give each other hugs after they share things like this.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” you joked.

He didn’t argue any further. So you stood up, leaned over the chair, and put your arms around his furry neck. You had never really gotten to feel his coat before. It was soft and wavy, and beautiful in its own way. You felt his powerful muscles relax beneath your touch.

“There,” you said with a little extra squeeze. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I suppose not.”

“Good,” you said. “Now, I’ve got to go and change for dinner. I’ll see you in a little bit?”

He nodded. “You will.”

“Alright then,” you said.

You bid him farewell, and he listened to you cross the room and close the door behind you on your way out. Rami’s cheeks were burning, and it wasn’t from the fire in the hearth. Little did he know, you felt the warmth too.

Dinner went smoothly. It was a lighter conversation, which made both you and Rami relax. You even made him laugh. Twice. His laugh, though seemingly tainted by the rumble in his voice, was warm. It made you smile. He had clearly not laughed in years, because he seemed startled by the sound of it.

After the meal, Rami actually walked you up to your room. Anna was waiting for you, and her eyebrows shot up at the sight of you walking hand in hand with Rami. Or rather, hand in paw. She glanced quickly between you before lowering her eyes, but you saw a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Good evening, Y/N,” she greeted.

“Hi, Anna,” you replied. “You can go ahead in.”

Anna nodded and disappeared behind your door. You turned to Rami.

“I suppose this is goodnight,” you said. “Your highness.”

He shook his head. “No, just Rami for you.”

You shot him a questioning look.

“Because that’s what my friends call me,” he explained.

You beamed. “Well, then. Goodnight, Rami.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replied. “I wanted to ask you if...um…”

“Yes?” you pressed.

“Would you join me tomorrow for my morning walk?” he asked. “Please.”

“I will,” you told him.

“Good!” he said excitedly, before clearing his throat and becoming dignified again. “I’ll come for you at nine.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said.

“Goodnight,” he said. “Again.”

You giggled. “Goodnight, Rami.”

You stepped forward and hugged him again. You felt him stiffen before releasing his breath. It broke your heart that affection was so jarring to him. But you were glad you could show it to him.

With one final look at each other, you followed Anna into your room. You smiled once more at him before closing the door. Rami stood there, for once grateful for his face being covered in hair. You couldn’t see the blush he was feeling.

Anna raised an eyebrow at you as you turned around.

“Not a word,” you jokingly warned.

She giggled. You joined her. Then, she helped you change for bed. Your head hit the pillow, and you drifted off, dreaming of warm paws and glowing roses.

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darkhymns-fic · 4 years

Text

Promise Me a Sweet Dance

Nobleman Lloyd only had eyes for the clumsy maid named Colette. But that just wasn't how things worked in Meltokio. Could he ever hope to get her attention anyway?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Kratos Aurion Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Colloyd Week, Day 5: AU/Crossover day! I decided to go with a Nobleman/Maid AU I made with @frayed-symphony ! We're actually in the middle of making a mature doujin with that same concept that you can check out more here! This story takes place before the events of the doujin.

“It’s simple, my most pitiful bumpkin. What you just gotta do is sell yourself! Allow me to demonstrate.”

Zelos would always go the extra mile to save his friend from disaster. And he did so with a generous sweeping motion with his arms, flicking back his braided hair, his dark frock moving as gracefully as his body. From seemingly out of nowhere, a red rose appeared in his right hand, illuminated by the rays of the sun. Then he finished it all off with a wink. “Soon enough, the hunnies will be falling all over you!”

No response. Nothing at all.

Zelos decided to do away with his professional winking, opening both eyes instead so that he could look clearly ahead. “Yo, Lloyd!”

The garden grove just in front of Zelos’ mansion was pristine, and a bit gaudy. A perfect quiet place to invite any of the proper ladies to tea, with its expensive outdoor furniture, the tables and chairs seemingly molded out of gold, with even silken umbrella above it to shade such ladies’ soft skin from the sun – but he had sacrificed those opportunities to instead train his best friend in the art of courtship.

And there he was, head on the white table, taking advantage of that expensive shade! If it weren’t for his fine clothes, he could have easily been mistaken for the gardener himself, sleeping right on the job. “Mmph…five more..”

Zelos’ eye twitched. He threw aside the rose, peeved that no one had even been around to see him do that amazing trick! “At least don’t drool on the stuff! That’s an antique!” He paused. “I think.”

Lloyd muttered right out of his stupor, blinking into the brightness of the sun when his head left the comfortable shade. “Muh…?” He rubbed at his eyes, yawning so wide it took up half his face. “Did ya say something?”

“I was giving you a lesson for the past twenty minutes! Have you really not been paying attention?”

Zelos never knew he could be heart-broken by such a stupid face, the guy’s brown eyes so wide in its innocence. “I thought you were just telling me one of your weird stories again…So I took a nap.”

“I’m not appreciated at all by you…”

Lloyd waved away his friend’s complaints as he stood up. “I already gotta go anyway. You can tell me more about uh, all that stuff later! I’ll even drink a whole bunch of coffee to make sure I’m awake.”

Zelos sighed. “Whatever. You know, if it weren’t for your old man and those clothes, you’d just be like any other peasant boy!”

Lloyd frowned. “You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.” His white jacket still chafed his neck at times, and the whole outfit felt too heavy to wear on a hot summer day! The cuff links sometimes weighed down his sleeves, and the silken fabric that sat just beneath his neck could feel suffocating, especially in the humidity. What he wouldn’t give to wear some looser clothes. The only thing he liked about his jacket were the red collar strips that extended from his neck, their edges inlaid with metal clasps. It was probably the coolest part of his stuffy outfit.

Zelos sighed. “Seriously…if you told me that you were born in a log cabin out in the boonies, I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. Why don’t you just go play out in the woods if you want to so much?”

“Sounds better than being stuck in the palace all day…”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, my young friend.” Zelos turned from Lloyd with extreme huffiness – an act that one could only achieve with practice. “Being in the company of Princess Hilda compares to nothing else…”

“I guess so if you usually just hang out with me all day.”

“I have other friends!”

This, Lloyd highly doubted. “Well, go find them! I’m leaving now!” And just as Lloyd was rushing off, ready to jump a fence or two as it beat having to politely walk through the upper streets of the city, Zelos whistled.

“Hey, hunny, didn’t forget about the party, did you?”

Lloyd froze in mid-step, the sun beating down on his thick jacket. He groaned, turning back to face Zelos. “I told you I don’t like those.”

Zelos was grinning. “Not like you have a choice, you know. All the important noble families have to be there.”

“That’s why it’s dumb.” At that, Lloyd’s frustration resurfaced, taking some of it out on the leering Zelos. “Everyone just talks down at me while I’m stuck inside that room for hours!”

“Ah, but you forget one important thing. A lot of pretty girls go to these.” The grin grew even wider, it was almost scary-looking. “This can be your big chance!”

“Ugh, they don’t pay attention to me anyway with you around.”

“Ha! I knew you were jealous. That’s why I was trying to teach you earlier! After all, picking up women is a professional art-”

“T-That’s not the point! I’m going for real this time!” And to make sure he’d stay true to his word, Lloyd used the table he had just sat on as leverage, stepping on its surface to use its height and vault over one of the fancy green hedges that lined Zelos’ garden.

“Lloyd! Don’t dirty my stuff like that! Barbaric!”

But Lloyd had been done listening, cutting through other noble’s gardens as a shortcut back home. His mind was swirling as he ran. Besides…I only want one person to pay attention to me…

Lloyd always avoided going in through the mansion from the front door. There were servants there, ready to open the door for him or take his shoes, or any other number of awkward things he didn’t want to endure. As he snuck across the lawn, crouching low to avoid any eyes, he eventually made it to his bedroom window.

The houseplants on its sill, ivy leaves reaching up for the sun, always let him know he was in the right place. The mansion was so big that he still got lost, especially from the outside where every wall looked the same. He didn’t want to make the mistake of accidentally jumping through the window of his dad’s room again.

With an energetic whoop!, Lloyd grabbed the windowsill and leaped inside with barely a thought. He at least knew what his room looked like! Kinda big, with his dresser pushed to the right wall and his bed near the back. There were also one or two wardrobes, but he only filled the second one with projects he had learned to make from a local craftsman in town. And maybe a few non-noble clothes here and there…

What he didn’t expect was to leap right into the maid who was busy cleaning up the space before him.

“Aah!”

Her cry of surprise was the only thing that warned Lloyd before he practically barreled straight into her. She had been kneeling somewhat, probably sweeping up the floor when he had just appeared. His legs wobbled as they tried to find their footing to avoid her, but then the maid stood up, apparently moving to the exact same place he had been retreating to.

“Colette!” he yelped before stumbling with her, both falling flat on the floor.

“Ow…I’m sorry.” The girl wriggled underneath the boy’s weight, her maid cap half-askew. Its ribbons were already entangling themselves into her hair as she shifted. “I messed up.”

Lloyd had to take a few seconds to get his bearings and lean up. His hands were placed against the floor, lifting his body with a groan. “Agh, how did you mess up though? I was the one that just crashed into you.”

From her position, Colette looked up with a smile. Her green maid dress was also now much more wrinkled, some of the front already covered with dust – or had that been from her dusting his room earlier? “Heh, well I was supposed to be finished with my shift today, but I took a long time cleaning things…I dropped the dustpan a few times so I had to keep re-dusting…”

“…Okay, that makes a bit more sense,” Lloyd said. He looked down at her with a grin, enjoying the sight of her smile, the way her braided hair unraveled from her cap slightly. He then noticed where his hands were, just a few inches from either side of her head.

Even then, it took him a long time to sit up, reluctant to leave her. She still smiled as he did so – maybe she had been too worried to tell him to move. “Er, anyway, I’m sorry too,” he said, standing up and reaching out a hand for her to grab.

Colette hesitated at first, then reached for it. He pulled her to her feet easily, eliciting a small giggle from her. “It’s okay, Master Lloyd. I’m fine!”

He scratched at his hair, the nervousness in his chest growing. “Just calling me Lloyd is fine…”

“Oh? But…it’s not right if I do that though, isn’t it? Or Master Kratos might get upset.”

He sighed. His dad would be a weird stickler for this stuff. “Guess so… Well, how about this? You can say all that master stuff when he’s around but when it’s only me, just call me Lloyd!”

“Hm, well if that’s your order for me to do so, then okay!”

“It-it’s not an order…” This hadn’t been the first time he had asked her to call him by his name, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. He decided to give up. “Um, forget it.”

He looked again at her dress, its front red ribbons also a bit messed up because of their earlier fall together. “You know, I don’t really think my room is that dirty anyway. How come you stayed so late?” Usually Colette would leave by mid-afternoon, retreating back to the servants’ quarters of the home.

“Ah, I took a bit of time earlier feeding Noishe in the stables today.” Which meant that she had spent a lot of the time both petting and hugging the giant dog. “And also, I just wanted to give it my best! I know I haven’t been doing so well lately, so I want to prove myself!” At that, Colette stood up tall, confidence in her being. It made Lloyd smile. “Sorry, maybe this is a bit weird to tell you…”

“It’s not! I’m not your boss.” Lloyd gave a thumbs-up. “Just my dad…and uh, maybe by extension I’m supposed to be. But, just barely.” Yeah, that made sense.

She smiled back, looking brighter then he usually saw her. “Sorry, I hope Master Kratos will forgive me for last time.”

“Honestly, he should have dodged pretty easily from that pie you dropped onto his hair,” Lloyd recalled, remembering one time at dinner when Colette had tried serving the dessert. “And he wasn’t even mad, so don’t worry!” Even if his dad never really reacted to much in general…

It had just been one month since Colette had started working for the Aurion household, but she wasn’t like any other person he had known. She was flighty, she dropped her fair share of dishes, and she seemed like she would be better at handling weapons instead of a broom (remembering quite clearly when Colette had nearly socked him with the broom handle one time on accident – it had been strong enough to punch a hole in the wall). She was just different.

And he liked her a lot. He wished he could just tell her. Yet he wondered if there would be any point to it if she didn’t like him back. At least not how I like her.

Colette glanced toward the window Lloyd had jumped through earlier and stiffened. “Ah! It is getting late…I should go.” She bowed before him, then stopped in mid-bow to do a curtsy instead. That only made her feet confused somehow, for she began to wobble before she was done in either action. “Ah!”

Lloyd caught her just in time, one hand on her waist, while the other grasped her hand. “Careful! You don’t need to do that either for me.”

Colette looked shy then, glancing to the far-right wall. “If that’s what you wish…”

“That’s not-” he started, then stopped. His hand rubbed her waist, then let her go when he realized what he was doing. “Sorry. Um, see you tomorrow, Colette.”

Trying to right up her cap again, Colette turned to Lloyd. Her smile seemed more natural this time, less practiced. “Yeah…see you tomorrow… Master Lloyd.”

When she left his room then, shutting the big door behind her, Lloyd let out a long breath. He really, really liked her.

And he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

Lloyd had completely forgotten all about the party until his father handed him the invitation, the paper dangling in front of his face.

“Your friend Zelos handed this to our doorman,” Kratos intoned. His neat and prim frock of white and grey looked too classy sometimes, along with his purple neckerchief. Though staring at that always made Lloyd’s neck itch. “Seems as if you’ve been avoiding these lately.”

“Eh, you can throw that away.” Lloyd leaned back up from his chair, seated at his antique desk that was already riddled with scratches and marks. Any other noble would have gasped at the sight of such needless damage. (Lloyd just liked to draw and he sometimes pressed the pen too hard on the table). He was dressed in much easier clothes this time, a black thread-worn shirt and rolled up trousers while his noble outfit was thrown into the corner somewhere.

“It’s prudent for you to fulfill your duties,” Kratos continued, still holding the envelope high. “You have responsibilities.”

“For what? Watching Zelos get drunk again?” Lloyd turned away. “I’m good.”

“I’m not asking you, Lloyd.” And with that, Kratos let the envelope fall onto the desk. “You need to understand that you cannot always do as you please.”

“Argh, but what’s the point of these stupid high-class parties?” he argued. That’s all he and Kratos usually did. Ever since his mother passed, it had been hard to find much common ground with his dad since. “I thought you didn’t like those either!”

Kratos closed his eyes, shook his head. “It’s important to make yourself seen as reliable – relevant, even. The world does not cater to you for shutting yourself away.”

“I know that! And that’s not what I’m doing!” Lloyd turned away, refusing to look at either father or envelope. “I’m not like any of them. All they to do is talk down on me because of…”

Kratos’ eyes shifted. Lloyd recognized that look. A small warning. “Lloyd.”

But instead, Lloyd shook his head “Ugh, but you should get that! After all those people would say about mom! Why should we deal with all their stupid rules?” He stopped, held his breath. Dammit.

He didn’t hear Kratos say anything at all at first. He thought he’d hear a reprimand, a hard shouting of his name. Lloyd knew he had messed up by mentioning his mother, but when he turned back, Kratos was already walking off.

“I have to be at the palace tonight. Do what you will. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.” He turned down the hall, disappearing behind a corner, leaving the door open to Lloyd’s room.

Lloyd felt guilty and ashamed, as if he were a child. It was just frustrating. Everything was frustrating. But how could Lloyd stand there as everyone made blunt remarks about his mother being a commoner? How could he stand there and hear them talk so badly about both his parents like this? About himself?

The envelope stayed on his desk. He could just imagine Zelos’ smirking face as he handed it over. Ugh. Maybe he’s just trying to help…Maybe.

But why couldn’t he be just a normal person? Not this fancy stuff. Not this whole section of rules for a people that didn’t even care about anyone other than themselves. Why did he have to be a part of them?

Because if he didn’t then maybe… Colette would look at me. He blinked, wondering at himself. How…how did his thoughts end up there?

It was because she wasn’t working at the household today. Apparently, she had been called somewhere else. He didn’t realize how badly he missed her until now.

Taking the envelope in hand, Lloyd left his chair, reaching for his clothes. Maybe he did need to go. At least to get Colette out of his head.

Was this how Dad felt? he thought. Maybe one day, he could ask.

“Lloyd!! Bud! Hunny! You made it!” Zelos vaulted forward to grab Lloyd in a very touchy bear-hug. “The barbarian finally leaves his cave to join civilization.”

“Gah, get off me!” Lloyd shouted, shoving the guy away. A flock of women, dressed in high-finery, were standing just outside the great doors of the party hall, laughing at the scene before them. The building was reserved for such gatherings, looking close to a min-castle even to Lloyd’s view. Already he could hear the music drifting in from indoors. The same harpsichords, the same pianos and violins, all of them playing the same tune as last time…

“First off, rude,” Zelos said, wiping away the front of his coat. “Second, are you not happy to see me? Come on, let me show you the sights! And by that, I mean these lovely girls right here~”

Lloyd flushed slightly, which only made the girls laugh more. Half of them wore curls, and held fans to their faces. But something about their laughter also felt so biting. “I-I’m fine, I’m just here to stay for like a few minutes-”

“Aw, don’t be shy!” Then Zelos widened his eyes, as if hit by a lobbed Exsphere to the head. “Ohh, or are you trying to sneak off to meet someone? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Lloyd was now very, very lost to Zelos’ ramblings. “Huh? I never said-”

“Very proud of you! But first, you gotta at least drink up. Believe me, it makes the afterparties that much sweeter~” And with that same leering grin that made Lloyd’s discomfort grow, Zelos grabbed the boy’s arm, bringing him inside the building.

These places were always too big, always too full of people. Chandeliers were hanging above Lloyd’s, their lights so bright it made Lloyd blink. Much of the middle hall was wide, open for those who would dance with one another to the boring music, their high heels clacking against the polished stone. There were also dining tables in another corner of the grand room, laden with platters of turkey, beef stew, gravy and some other foods that Lloyd couldn’t pronounce too well.

This was probably the only thing Lloyd would like about a party, and he would have gone straight for the food if his route to escape wasn’t cut off. “H-Hey!” he exclaimed, his voice soon drowned out by the people milling around him. They were all dressed in clothes decked out in golden trims or frills, sewn with pearls or ribbons. Material as soft as velvet brushed against him way too closely when people introduced themselves to him, or Zelos mostly.

“A pleasure to see you! I’m the Earl of Sybak, and I wanted to speak with your family on possible expansion…

“I am of the Altamira Resort, speaking for Lord Regal Bryant! We have a few trading opportunities we would like to speak about with your father…

“Master Zelos! How cute of you to bring your busboy! You even dressed him up!”

Zelos was laughing so obnoxiously, Lloyd’s ears were hurting. “I confess, I do have a heart of gold. One must in these trying times.”

Lloyd tried to wait for an opportunity when Zelos and everyone else would stop noticing him. This eventually happened after about a half hour, and when he felt the time roll by, Lloyd carefully stepped away. Perhaps a few of the nobles tapped his shoulder, thinking he was just a more immaculate waiter that forgot his serving platter, but even these people, he eventually brushed off.

Well, at least there was food! Yet once he broke free from Zelos’ crowd, he nearly bumped into someone else on the way out.

“Uh, sorry!” he said reflexively, then took a moment to see who it was exactly.

Wearing small glasses perched onto a hook-shaped nose, the strange noble held a wine goblet in hand, swishing around the liquid as he spared a glance at Lloyd. He was strange because he has a weird smile, unlike Lloyd would usually see in people. “In a bit of rush are we?”

Beady eyes blinked behind those glasses. A wrinkle formed in the man’s forehead. “Ah, I recognize that family crest. Of the Aurion Household?”

Lloyd didn’t know who this person was, but his high-pitched voice wasn’t doing his ears any favors. “Er, yeah? Sorry, do I know you?”

A laugh, one that seemed piercing, yet no one around them both turned to look. Maybe this guy was a regular to these parties. “Oh, I’m just a humble man. Lord Rodyle. I once worked with your father many years back. Different times back then.”

Lloyd knew he wasn’t exactly the brightest, but he caught that particular word. “Worked?” he repeated back.

The man smiled, but there was nothing kind about it. “Of course, ever since that embarrassing incident, Lord Kratos has rarely spoken to us. Perhaps I cannot blame him.” A pause, just to make that strange smile on his face ever stranger. “All men have their weaknesses.

“What…what are you talking about?” Lloyd asked, knowing that to be a mistake.

The man called Rodyle hummed pensively, until he turned to the right, gesturing to someone. “Ah, just who I was looking for. You know more about the Aurions, don’t you? I’m afraid my memory is a bit rusty, hehe.”

Another man moved through the crowd, just past Zelos’ own bunch. This noble had eyes so dark they seemed to absorb whatever light passed through. His grey hair was slicked back neatly, with not even a stray lock out of place.

“Ah, that name… A name that’s fallen into disgrace.” The man turned to face Lloyd and whatever he had thought about Rodyle being unkind, it felt nothing compared to the feeling he got from this person instead. “And you are the offspring?”

Offspring? What the hell?

“…I have a name,” Lloyd said, voice low. “Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.”

The man chuckled, not nearly as piercing as his friend, but it slid through the air to settle inside Lloyd’s ears, like a serpent. “Amusing. But I suppose I must remember my manners. I am Lord Kvar, of the Asgard District. I happen to know this matter quite personally…and I know your name already, Lloyd Aurion.” He smirked.

Lloyd tried to not let the man’s voice get to him, especially as he addressed him that way. Even over a decade later, Lloyd could never help how the last name just…never fit him.

“Is there something you want from me?” he asked, even though his tone got just as low.

Kvar smirked, noticing it. “It just fascinates me. Ever since that one incident, I suppose it’s safe to say any business between our region and the Aurion holdings are null and void. I hold no more hopes on waiting around for the man to come to his senses.”

Lloyd was not liking where this was going. Zelos was still too busy talking with his hunnies to even notice that his friend was no longer standing next to him.

“But when a nobleman of his ranking goes for a lowly subject from my region, and does not even have the honor of giving me compensation, then I have the right to be a little peeved.”

“Oh, so true,” spoke Rodyle, sipping his wine pleasantly.

“And since that woman worked for me, it was only necessary I make sure to keep my reputation intact. She was quite willful for one of common birth, but that still did not save her from such frail, poor health.”

Lloyd clenched his fists. He had been so young when his mother became sick, but he remembered still. She had needed medicine, but the medicine had been locked in shipment in another part of the country, and once it could finally get through customs-

“It takes quite a bit of paperwork to get such valuable treatment. And with having such a busy schedule, I just simply could not find the time. The few clerical errors, I admit, did not make this easy, but important matters cannot be stopped for a lowly strumpet-”

“Shut up!” Lloyd shouted, then pushed this Kvar creep away from him. “Don’t you dare mock my mom!”

“Ghastly!” spoke Rodyle, one hand on Kvar’s shoulder, still smirking. “Is this how children are taught nowadays?”

“More like it runs in the family,” Kvar straightened, eyes narrowed. “That woman was the exact same way.”

Lloyd reached for his shirt collar, gripping it tight. “I said shut up!”

“Lloyd! What the hell are you doing?” He felt another arm grip his shoulder, making him loosen his hold on Kvar. Of course Zelos notices now. “Calm down!”

“Oh yes, take this boy away,” Rodyle sneered. “He just assaulted us after a friendly chat!”

Lloyd gripped his fists, marched towards both men. “I’ll show you friendly, you bastard-”

“Hey, enough!” Zelos pulled him back again, then smiled at the crowd that was slowly gathering. Even the music had stopped momentarily. “Just had one cup too many, nothing new here! Back to the festivities!”

“I didn’t even drink anything!” Lloyd argued, but Zelos was gripping his shoulder so tightly that it hurt. He moved him away from the crowd, neared to the back wall with its tall windows.

“Hey, I just saved face for you. You trying to ruin everything?” Zelos spoke in a whisper. “What’s your problem?”

“Those-” Lloyd gestured towards the direction of the men who seemed to have vanished. He saw other people instead; one man with unruly red hair and arms as thick as stairway banister, and a woman in high-heels that was with him, her eyes painted with dark kohl, an azure mink wrapped around her shoulders. They also briefly looked at him before turning away. “Wherever they are, those guys just started talking crap about dad and…” And are the reason mom is… He shook his head. “I didn’t ask you to help me anyway!”

Zelos sighed. “Hunny, you're giving me a headache.” He pushed Lloyd further towards the back of the hall. “Cool off in the kitchen. Have a couple of cookies. Just don’t mess up more than you have.”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m an idiot?” Lloyd said through another shove.

“Because you’re acting like one.” Any hint of the laid-back bachelor left Zelos’ voice. “Kitchen. Now.”

With that, Zelos patted his back then walked back to the main hall. Lloyd could already hear his loud voice greeting everyone again and apologizing for the interruption.

I’m always an idiot, aren’t I? Lloyd thought venomously. What did it matter anyway? I’ve never belonged here. Seeing a door ahead of him, he didn’t care where it actually led to. He reached for it, pushing inward. He just wanted to escape this suffocating party. This was so stupid…Why did I bother…

Then he heard a familiar yelp of surprise. “Aaah!”

Lloyd blinked, already moving forward with the door, unable to stop his momentum. “Colette?!”

This time though, there was a kitchen counter nearby, one stacked with an array of cakes, pies and other confectionary. The maid, Colette, leaned against it and caught herself. Lloyd did the same, though he was in front of Colette, hands reaching to grip the counter as he did so, leaning over her.

“Uh…” Lloyd blanked out, wondering what was happening suddenly.

“Lloyd!” She shook her head. “Sorry, I mean Master Lloyd! Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way…”

“You don’t need to call me- I mean, it’s not your-” He shook his own head in turn, still confused. “Agh, never mind. What are you doing here?”

“Oh…well, I’m working here for tonight.” She giggled. Lloyd noticed a few patches of flour on her cheeks, and some on the front of her chest too. “I was helping with some of the baking…and I was going to serve it too…”

“Wait, that’s why you’re not at home?” he asked. He finally had the sense to stop locking her against the counter and leaned back, hands slightly raised. “That’s cool… I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Oh, only for fruit pies and cakes,” she said happily. “They’re my favorite so I learned how to make those. Everything else I just sort of burn, hehe.” She clasped her hands together, fiddling with her flour-stained fingers. “How come you’re here, too?”

Lloyd looked away in embarrassment, his voice getting stuck in his voice. “Dad said I had to… But I think I just messed up things instead.” He sighed. “I’ve never fit in with these people. I should have just stayed home.”

Colette looked at him silently, still fiddling with her fingers. He mentally kicked himself. Now he was just making her uncomfortable. “Sorry, um, I won’t get in your way so I’ll just-”

“I think it was right, what you did,” she said, raising her head to him. “What those men said. About your mother… That was wrong of them.” She flushed, nervousness moving through her hands again. “I’m sorry.”

Lloyd stared. He wasn’t even sure what to say. But he tried to anyway to not let the silence stretch on. “Uh, th-that’s okay. But wait…I was like half the room away and the room is huge. How did you hear us?” He’d get it if she just heard him shouting but the rest…

“Ah, I just have good hearing. Like, really, really good!” She stood on her tiptoes, proud of her ability. “At least when I focus on it. I heard them speak awful things… I know people who’ve worked for them before, and they’re…very bad. Like, there’s this man named Remiel who I briefly served and-” She flushed again, bowing apologetically to Lloyd. “I’m sorry! I shouldn't have said that.”

“No, don’t worry! You’re right, they were total jerks!” Lloyd grinned, and soon Colette was grinning back, moved by his reassurances. “I think I was still pretty stupid for trying to punch them…but man, I wished I could have.”

“Maybe one day you’ll be able to!” Colette said in full support.

“Uh, yeah sure! If you think I can!” That was so nice. No one had ever cheered him for punching a guy before! “Thanks, Colette!”

She nodded again, smiling, but he saw she was hesitating in something, mouth partly open before shutting herself down.

“What is it, Colette?”

“It’s just…” Another furtive glance. “I lost my mother too. Because of an accident. Um, I was too young to really remember but…just…I wanted to mention…”

Lloyd's first thought was to reach out to take her hand, the one that she had clutched at her right arm. But he stopped himself, not wanting to seem creepy or weird. Instead he said, "It’s okay. I’m sorry about that.” He looked away to the shut door, where the party was still going, where the music was still playing.

Another nod, the silence stretching between them. Then Colette raised her head up to him, the shyness still there, even as she looked at him so plainly. "Hey...do you wanna go for a walk?"

Lloyd thought he was just hearing what he wanted to hear, and it wouldn't be exactly the first time that had happened. But Colette was looking at him earnestly, even with the flour of her baking still all over her. There was the urge to wipe that away, but still he kept his hands at his sides. It wouldn't be right, would it? For a nobleman like him to just start doing that for a maid, even if she was…

He ignored such thoughts and smiled brightly at her. "Heh, sure. Lead the way."

It wasn't the first time Lloyd had ever been out here in the backyard of the large mansion where the party was held. He had gone here a few times by himself, bored of the people, of the music, and eventually, even the food. But he had never gone outside with someone else next to him.

It was an outdoor garden, more simple than Zelos' own, and this didn't have any wooden stables like the one back home (where Noishe would sleep in), but there it did have a cobbled pathway, along with a small fountain in the middle. The falling water was the only constant sound in the stillness - if he didn't count his heart pounding between his ears.

"I like to go out and watch the stars when my shift is over," Colette said to him as they walked, her black dress shoes clicking over the stone. Lloyd saw the brightness of her white stockings displayed against the night, and hastily tried to move his gaze away. But luckily, she didn't seem to notice.

"I do too. My dad actually would talk with me about the stars a lot!" A pause afterwards, the brief warmth from that memory turning chill. "He, uh, hasn't done that since mom died."

"I'm sorry," Colette said to him, and it didn't sound just like a repeated condolence like he would expect. It sounded like she really meant it, like she always did with her apologies, as if she was the source for all of the world's troubles. “Did she also like the stars?”

“I think so…” Something about the way she asked him too made him want to talk more, especially with the stars overhead. And it seemed like she would want to hear it.

“I used to live with my mom before we moved here. At this old town called Luin. Though I don’t remember much of it… Dad would live there too. But then she got real sick and…we just moved here. Her grave’s still over there.” When was the last time he’d visited it? It felt so long ago. “So uh…I haven’t always been a noble person, but I guess I still was one because of dad.”

“I see,” Colette commented, thoughtful with her words. “He must understand how hard it must be.”

But…did he? Lloyd wondered about that. “It's okay… so, uh, have you always lived in Meltokio?" he asked randomly. They stopped in front of the fountain, their warped reflections within its depths.

"No, I used to live in a small village called Iselia. It's very different from here." She said so with a nervous laugh, but it brought out a redness in her cheeks that Lloyd couldn't stop staring at. "So much more people! And you can't see as many stars...but I still try to count them when I can."

"Count them? How do you count all these?" Lloyd looked back up the stars, remembering brief explanations of patterns and constellations. He wondered if his dad remembered that too.

"I just start from one end of the sky to the next! I never finish before I get too sleepy."

He grinned. "We should try counting them together. I bet we could get the whole sky that way!"

"Heh, really?" Colette looked over at him with excitement - until something tempered in her expression and she turned away. "But you're so busy. I wouldn't want to keep you."

You could, he thought, and managed to stop himself from saying it out loud. "It would be nice to spend time with you," he simply said, wondering if that was any better. "I mean, if you wanted to."

Colette looked like she was struggling on what to say next, even as a smile sprouted on her face. "I would, but… I don't know how to act around nobles. And they always say we shouldn't."

"Who cares what people say?" Lloyd tried not to let his tone get too sharp. It wasn't Colette he was mad at. "I mean...isn't that why you invited me out here?" Or did you just feel sorry for me?

Colette clasped her hands together, still sullied with flour. "I'm not as graceful or as pretty like the noble ladies though. I can't talk as well as them… and I can't even dance like they do."

"Huh? What do you mean about dancing?" That had felt out of place from everything else she mentioned. "Did you want to dance?"

Something from what he said got Colette blushing much more fervently. It rushed to her ears half-hidden by her hair, rushed to her neck where the collar of her dress was slightly unbuttoned. Did that happen when she was baking earlier? "I-I've always wanted to but never learned how."

At that, Lloyd grinned, index finger pointing at himself. "That's fine. I can teach you!"

"Oh! You know how to dance?"

"Well, not really. But how hard can it be?" He had seen enough of high-class dances to get the gist of it. Just hold hands and move your feet in a small circle. Simple!

Colette looked eager, and that only boosted his confidence. "Okay! Um, I'm not sure if I have the right shoes for it."

"Don't worry about it!" Lloyd reassured, then walked up to her. He couldn't let his nerves get the best of him now, even his heart still beat pretty fast. "Just give me your hand here...and uh, your waist?"

Colette tilted her head. "How do I give you that?"

"I mean, like, I can just…" So much for nerves, but then he let himself reach out this time, one hand holding against the small of her back. His other hand held hers, then raised them both up, outstretched and to the side. "Okay, I think this is how we start."

Colette's face was still very red, but she wasn't moving away. In fact, with her free hand, she reached out to grasp his shoulder. "I think… this is what I'm supposed to do too?"

"Y-Yeah! Good call." He swallowed, stood up straight with her, then...had no idea what to do next. Shoot, I never paid attention to this stuff before…

Colette waited patiently before letting her right foot move to the side. "Maybe we do this next?"

"Right!" Lloyd instantly agreed, following her direction with his own. But wait, he had heard about how he was supposed to be leading instead. After a while, he wasn't exactly sure who was leading who anymore, but they were going slow in their circles, just inches away from the fountain.

They did this for some time until he felt something heavy on his foot. "Ouch."

"Ah sorry, I didn't mean to step on you!" Colette said with another apology. "I was trying to catch up."

"Am I going too fast?" he asked. He tightened his hold on her waist. "Sorry, guess I'm not as good of a dancer as I thought."

"Ah no it's okay! I think you're really good." Colette didn't sound like she was just humoring him, at least going by how much she was smiling at him. The moonlight highlighted her braided hair, her cheeks that were still a bit stained with flour. "I'm happy you could teach me."

"Well in that case… there's other dancing moves we could try!" Because while it was nice being with Colette, dancing in circles was already getting a little boring now. "Like um...doing a twirl!" Now how would they do that?

"Oh, I know what you mean! I think you're supposed to lead the other person like this." At that, Colette stepped back and somehow used their connecting hands to motion him to move away.

"W-Whoa," he could only utter as he found himself twirling out slightly, his red ribbons nearly hitting him the face (that happened a few times before and it did actually hurt) then twirl back into the position they were in before, his hand on her waist again. "Hey, I did it!"

"Hehe, yeah!" Colette said back, so proud.

"Though I'm not sure if it was supposed to be me...but whatever!" Then he thought up something else. "What about this now?"

"What about wha- ahh!"

Lloyd dipped her slightly, like he would see Zelos do with one of the random ladies he'd take out. But Colette was shaky, nearly making Lloyd lose his hold. He spread out his stance slightly so that he could hold her with more stability. He probably looked awkward but luckily no one was around.

"I had you, Colette! I wasn't going to drop you."

“I know, I’m so sorry.” Colette looked up at him, one hand clutching at his shoulder more tightly. The light of the stars reflected in her eyes. Blue…“I’m…not a very good maid, I know…I mess up so many things…”

“What? That’s not what matters. And I’m the one that just started a fight not even five minutes ago.” Lloyd smiled at her, still holding her close, the sounds of the fountain still drowning out most sounds. “Besides, being a maid isn’t all you are.”

“Heh, yeah?” she giggled. Her braid fell back, towards the ground. If any closer, it would have dipped into the fountain water. Maybe he should pull them up now. “Thank you…for doing this with me. No one really looks at me as anything but a maid.”

“Well, they’re wrong then.” He nodded, getting a better grip of her waist. “You’re Colette.”

Her eyes grew softer, along with her voice. “And you’re Lloyd…just Lloyd.” Was she closer to him? The stars were brighter now. “And sometimes you’re silly…”

“Hey…where did that come from…?” he whispered back, but didn’t say anything more when her mouth pressed over his. Or his pressed over hers? Did it even matter?

What mattered though was that she was kissing him, the seconds passing as the sound of the fountain continued on in its constant dance.

It had been brief. He pulled back gently, finding his own blush reflected in her cheeks again.

“Ah…um…” Colette started before laughing nervously. “I didn’t…mean to.."

“You sure?” Lloyd asked, before once again leaning in, his hand pressing more against her waist, to bring her closer. “Because I think I did…” When did he ever become this smooth? But it didn’t matter because he was kissing her again and she was doing the same, noticing him… She sees me.

And maybe he should have noticed when the sounds of the garden changed. Because he could hear more clearly of the people inside the party, along with its music.

It took him a moment to realize that meant that someone was opening the door to the garden from the house.

“Okay, bud, what part of just staying in the kitchen did you not get?! I know you're out here!" And there was Zelos' huffy whine, shoes going up the stone path. "You can stop moping now. Now let's get you back out there and-"

A pause. Lloyd turned to see Zelos blinking within the muted lights from the mansion's windows, dumbfounded. “Uh…mingle?” A beat, mixed in with the chirping of crickets. “Why are you standing like you’re about to do a split?”

“Ah!” Colette yelped, her body moving again. “I’m sorry! I didn’t-!”

Lloyd tried to warn her. “Colette, wait! I’m gonna- whoa!”

He tried to save them both by reaching out to the fountain. But that was his first mistake. The rim of the fountain was too low, so he couldn't really grab at it at all. Instead, his forward momentum had only brought them both towards the fountain…

...until they fell right in it too.

The calm of the night completely crashed along with the furious sound of splashing water. The water wasn't deep, both already sitting up, their clothes drenched, along with pretty much everything else.

"Agh! Colette! Are you okay?" he asked while coughing up water at the same time. "I'm sorry!" He couldn't believe how badly he had messed this up.

Colette was seated across from him in the fountain, until her body started to shake. She must have been cold now...until he saw her smile. Wait, she was laughing?

"That...that was fun!" She said between fits of giggles. And for some reason, it only made him laugh too.

"You have a weird idea of fun," he said back, even if he couldn't deny how much fun it felt like right now.

"And you're a mess!" she said pointing at him...then suddenly splashed him with more water!

"Hey! Well, so are you!" And then he did the same to her, watching as she tried to shield herself, her maid's cap drooping on her head. "Take that!"

Both were too busy playing that they had long forgotten about Zelos who stood there, confused and maybe a little irritated that they already forgot about him in the first place.

"You know what? Fine. Just have fun at your kiddy pool!" Witht that, he turned away. But both noble and maid showed no indication of hearing him, still busy splashing each other. He sighed.

"I guess he knows more than he's letting on," he said with a smirk, and left the two to continue their very weird way of having fun with each other.

#colloyd #tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #colloydweek2020

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