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Chapter Text

                   The Duke liked to tote himself as a salesman to all who needed him, in actuality he was more of a collector. A collector of oddities and exotic trinkets, unique to the world. And to a collector of exotiques there was no better treasure trove than this small Eastern European Village. Tucked away from the judgmental eyes of the rest of the world and free to explore the most twisted parts of humanity without restraint. That is how The Duke came to be a fixture of Mother Miranda’s Village, the first outsider to be accepted in and live to tell the tale. On this exceptionally cold night, however, The Duke was neither shopkeeper, collector, nor observer. Right now, he was a caretaker.

                  Tonight, the shop was closed, the normally welcoming doors barred, the windows shuttered. Most of his precious carriage’s interior was dedicated to storing his wares and collections but he had made care to clear some space in the deepest parts of his abode for his own comfort. And that was where The Duke himself was settled at the moment. Sitting snugly and puffing a cigar in front of a small burning furnace, that was working exceptionally hard to keep out the chill, with a peculiar bundle on his lap he had recently acquired.

    As if on cue, said bundle began to squirm in agitation.

                “Oh, come now little one, let's have none of that now.” The Duke said as a small, clawed hand wrenched itself free from the blanket it was swaddled in and clawed at his stomach. He had little to fear from the creator's claws, for even if the poorly creature could break the skin, it would merely knit itself back together in the next moment. A small screech emitted from the pile of blankets as it succeeded in freeing even more of itself. Giving a little “tsk” of feigned disappointment, the giant laid his cigar down and picked up the poor thing with ease up higher onto his chest and belly. The creature squeaked in protest but ultimately was too weak to resist. Cradling the creature close, The Duke studied their face. The poor thing was drenched in sweat and its once probably lush dark skin now starting to grey and lose its luster. Their coily hair was also streaked with grey, most likely from the stress of the change. However, for all its pitifulness, its eyes stood out, vibrant, alive and Aware. Even at this moment its pupils darted around studying its captors face with an attentiveness, even if pain, fear, and fatigue inhibited it from expressing it. This is what made him stop and notice it, and even more, take it in and care for it. This was not the run of mill Lycan, who had no semblance of a self or will of its own to speak of. No, this was someone like him, an outsider that had stumbled its way in, albeit with a far less desirable outcome.

                The poor thing once again reached up to claw at The Duke face. The Duke reached up to take it in his own hand, ring laden fingers stroking its palm. That seemed to quiet its struggling, though it still mewled occasionally in discomfort and pain. Only time will tell if this creature will survive the change, both mentally and physically. Until then it shall remain here under his care, safe, warm and away from Mother Miranda’s clutches. For even with all her power and influence in this village, she knew better than to interfere with The Dukes' dealings. And who knows? Perhaps, if its mind is still intact, he could use an assistant sturdy enough to weather this savage place.

Chapter Text

                 Pain, that’s all she could register. Not pain like a bruise or a cut, this pain came from the inside. Like an invisible hand was stretching and squeezing her bones out of their sockets.  

                 This was supposed to be a very scenic trip through Eastern Europe. A long drive through the countryside and mountains, stopping in little towns and experiencing the local culture along the way. She had always been adventurous and despite multiple warnings from her friends and family saying how bad of an idea it was to travel alone, especially in Eastern Europe, she had brushed them off citing her prior traveling experience on the continent. Now, she wished had listened, as the pain blurred their faces and muffled the words of her loved ones.

            She had planned on skipping this town for the next. The neighboring village before this one (which was a good hour and a half away) had warned her not to stop there. Saying the people there were very unfriendly to outsiders, even their fellow countrymen. There had been a look in their eyes when they told her this, a look that said that there was much more to the story, but she didn’t pry for more information. While she was extremely curious, she wasn’t stupid. Traveling while black, while fun, required taking precautions. She had already taken enough risks, visiting a tiny village in the middle of nowhere that was known to be hostile to foreigners, wasn’t a risk, it was suicide. She didn’t need the full story to know not to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. 

             So she drove right past it, or at least that’s what she had planned. Unfortunately, a deer has “coincidentally” jumped in front of her car, making her lose control and drive it straight into a tree. Thankfully, she got out unscathed, but the place of the accident happened to be on the part of her route that took her the closest to this village. It wasn’t intentional, there were very few options to get past it and so it was inevitable that she would have to get near it. But to have her car totaled right where she was closest to the village was simultaneously the most unlucky and luckiest thing to happened to her. 

            The rest of the next few days were a blur. A dead deer being picked apart by a murder of crows. The withdrawn and pensive looks she got from the locals. The cacophony of crowing following her everywhere. Cold, wet, misshapen hands binding her to a table. Screaming. Writhing. Syringes. The Mother Mary looking down at her with a halo of blood. The clatter of broken chains, the crunch of the snow and finally something warm, soft, and inviting. Confining her but not suffocating her. She had been clutching to her psyche the entire time, but at sensing the first sign of reprieve in ages, it broke something in her. It broke the hold that her adrenaline, fear, and will had on her mind.  

                                She felt it start to slip away.  

                                She let it.