Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hello, how are you dear reader? I thought it would be a little unkind to present this story to you without just a word of friendly warning. I am about unfold a story that will speak to the mysterious fears of our nature and awaken a thrilling horror."

Spooky and dramatic organ music plays.

"One to make the reader dread to look around."

Spooky and dramatic organ music plays again.

"To curdle the blood and quicken the beating of the heart."

Spooky and dramatic music plays for a third time.

"Okay, what's with the creepy music?"

"Just trying to set the mood."

"I told you that this was a subtle horror story. The terror is built up, not in your face. We don't need any dramatic music, so knock it off."

"Hey I was brought into this story to help with the setting, and if you don't like my talent-"

"Alright then, you're fired!"

"Fired?! You can't fire me! I've got rights!"

"Not in this story."

"You will not censor my art! I will not be silenced!"

"Security!"

Waits until they're gone and casually listens to the sounds and screams of struggle before everything becomes quiet again.

"Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen. There will be no more interruptions. Now where was I? Oh yes. This story is about five very curious and peculiar characters. A man of science, who became so obsessed with life and companionship that he sought to create both without reckoning upon God. A couple so in love that not even death  could keep them apart. And a being and his mate forced to constantly struggle to live with what they are and what they will be. It is one of the strangest stories ever told, it deals with two great mysteries of creation, life and death. With the two great struggles of choices, good and evil. And with the two great longings of the heart, want and love. I think it will thrill you, it may shock you, it might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you cannot subject your nerves to such a strain now is your chance to...well I warned you.

The doctor approached his work, that being he had created and that was now lying on his back on a large metal grill, covered with a sheet that looked like a shroud. The grill was surrounded by a whole network of heavy chains, an idea that he  had copied from the cargo cranes he had seen on the big boats. He checked the chains to make sure they were firm and that they would hold up. He approached the wall and released a chain attached to the pulley. He pulled that one hard and the other chains tightened while, slowly, the creature was climbing towards the ceiling, still attached to the metal grille. His arms and legs were open and extended, which made him vaguely remember Leonardo de Vinci's anatomical drawing.

As soon as the creature had reached the ceiling, his stood under it and looked up. Swinging slightly, held by that whole network of chains, the body seen from below really resembled Leonardo de Vinci's drawing, even though its proportions were very far from the perfection represented in it. He stood on his toes, took the edge of the grill and gave him a powerful push. It began its journey through the roof of the attic, transporting the body to the copper sarcophagus.

As the grid was advancing, the doctor ran behind the body, stood in front of him and saw him travel the laboratory along its entire length. Upon reaching the opposite wall, just above the sarcophagus, the body collided with the wooden stops placed on the wall and stopped.

He climbed into the sarcophagus and stood at the end of the same, precisely where the creature's head was, he observed the bubbling liquid and raised his eyes to see the body that was now going down as slowly as it had risen. He carefully let go of the chain and made the body lying on the grill descend until he touched the dark liquid inside the sarcophagus. Once he was in the right position, the doctor removed the fabric that covered the body and left it naked.

Little by little, breathing hard under the weight Dead, he went down the body the rest of the way until he was immersed in the dark liquid, which was nothing other than the biogenic fluid already processed. He then pushed the sarcophagus along the rail in the direction of the bed of embers under the cover of it. After aligning the sarcophagus with the heavy cover, he lowered it until he had it in place.

Then he fit it in and secured the tormillos and the latches. The body was now completely enclosed in the metal uterus, like a fetus waiting for the moment of birth. The doctor snifted through the side light and saw the corpse's arm floating in the liquid.

One after another, he removed the acupuncture needles that hung from a wooden gadget and introduced them through the holes of the sarcophagus in the points of the creature's body marked with iodine: one in the neck, another in the co-ronilla, one in the shoulder, one in the knee. The last one was inserted into the foot.

The time had come to apply energy. The doctor approached the corresponding terminals and established the connectors so that the electricity circulated from the capacitors through the voltaic batteries and the cables that reached the sarcophagus.

After increasing the intensity of the bed of embers placed under the sarcophagus, he went to the boiler and observed the indicator needle. The temperature was high, but much more heat was still needed. He went to the steam generator and adjusted the steering wheel. A breath of steam came out with a powerful hiss and the wheel began to turn at a higher speed, while the boiler needle began to move towards the maximum level.

Then, he turned the crank of the induction generator several times and started the wheel with his moving wire brushes. Between the driver's arms, several sparks jumped that started a spiral path through the cables that went from the driver to the voltaic batteries and that again emitted sparks from the battery batteries to the riggings located above.

The laboratory was full of energy sources generated from everywhere. The electricity was controlled by the cables that led to a control panel and that left there. Same through other cables connected directly to the sarcotagus and with the acupuncture needles that are inserted into it and into the body of the creature. On the panel there was a valve that at that time kept the circuit open and that allowed the voltage to enter but not its output. Through the fogs emanating from the steam and the mist caused by the chemicals, the doctor ran through the laboratory in the direction of the valve, held it with tweezers and opened it. When the electrical circuit was closed, there was a dazzling glow like lightning. In fact, it was lightning, a herald of the storm that was coming.

Inside the metal sarcophagus, the body began to suffer convulsions as a result of the waves of electricity that circulated through it. The limbs shuddered and shook and the head hit the glass of the light hard due to the powerful shaking that moved it up and down. However, it was only a reflex movement, as had happened with the amputated legs of the galvanized frog. The creature had not yet come to life.

But the doctor knew why and was prepared for that result. A final step was needed, auxiliary energy was needed, the alternative energy source that his mentor himself had not been able to find. He ran to the sarcophagus and, with a thick rope, took out a thick glass tube from a large bag that hung from the ceiling; the bag shook furiously. Whatever was inside her, it was evident that she was alive.

The glass tube fit perfectly with a projection of the sarcophagus cover. He joined it and checked that it was well coupled. Yes, it was.

When the glass tube was perfectly affirmed in the cover of the sarcophagus, the doctor pulled a chain that removed the cover of the large container and allowed the entry into the sarcotago of dozens of huge electric, rabid and hungry eels, which furily opened their voracious mouths and began to give teeth with their sharp teeth. While they eagerly bit the creature's body, they gave off sparks that transmitted to it all the electricity they had stored.

The presence of electric eels was a curious idea. That it had occurred to him and that he went back to experiments he had carried out as a child. These eels, without embargo, were much longer and more dangerous than the tiny ones that he kept in a bucket when he was a schoolboy. He had been keeping them alive in a huge bag for days and fed them with bloody carrions that gave off a nauseating smell. In fact, those bugs were well fed and inside their bodies they had transformed raw meat into electricity. The eels became, then, another source of auxiliary energy.

He climbed into the sarcophagus. He crawled face down on the cover and snared through the light at the end where his head was. The eels swarmed around the creature, they moved agilely running through his body from head to toe, biting him madly with his teeth sharp like blades, providing his flesh with direct sources of energy. He saw the electricity throbbing through the amniotic fluid.

"Live!" he murmured, first in a low voice, but then in an increasingly loud voice: "Live! Live!”

Suddenly, the creature's head hit the light. The doctor was waiting sitting on the sarcophagus, expectant. Could that be a manifestation of life? Was it possible that it had happened so quickly? He jumped to the ground and ran to the energy source, removed the staples and the energy was diminishing. After a few moments, everything was plunged into stillness and immobility. The wheels no longer turned, there was no sizzle, the buzzing of the electric wires and the hissing of the steam had ceased. Inside the sarcophagus, the creature was still inert.

The doctor  slowly approached his creation and looked through the light in front of his head. The body was immobile and the arms and legs were floating in biogenic fluid. It didn't move; there was no life.

"No!" He cursed. "No! No! Damn you! No!"

Everything was over, he had done as much as he knew and could and it had been useless. He had taken care of the reconstruction of the body, he had found the necessary parts to form the whole, he had provided him with the three basic elements, heat, energy and nutrient substances but it had been in vain. All of them

His theories, all his studies, all the work he had taken had ended in nothing.

Suddenly, with an almost imperceptible noise, the creature's hand hit the glass of the light. Inside the sarcophagus, the creature's eyes, full of panic, opened before he hit the glass again.

The doctor's  face lit up like a flame and his eyes shone like headlights. The exaltation was such that he felt that he completely forgot about the exhaustion he felt.

"It's alive! It's alive!" He shouted, thinking that he had made the ultimate accomplishment and finally reached success, but in truth he had no idea what he had just unleashed.

Chapter Text

One month later...

Dearest Sister,

You would not believe the amount of bad luck I have suffered in the past year. All these months, I've sunk every penny I had into an expedition up North, hoping to make my fortune on my findings. But tragically the ice, snow, and other factors of the harsh climate made it impossible for me to reach the other side without freezing to death. All that time, money, and effort wasted. I am left with nothing.

Yet I cannot bring myself to return home anytime soon. I cannot bear to face our father and hear him call me a failure, boasting on how right he was about me amounting to nothing. I may travel to London and see if our much more successful older brother will help me find work. I find him insufferable with his perfect and proper ways, and that coal mining business of his is absolutely revolting. But he's not nearly as dreadful and unbearable as Father.  Our brother is equally boastful but at least he gives me credit for making an honest effort.

I just wanted to thank you for being the only one in our family who believed in me. Ever since we were children, you always supported my dreams and talents. You said that I could do anything if I had the will to do it, and that is something that means more to me than any riches and glory I could have earned myself.  And unlike Father, I admire you for accepting the proposal of Collin Stafford based on your own feelings of love. I know he does not have much, but he is a good man who will love you and keep you well. For that you both have my blessing and I shall send whatever money I make to help you both with your new lives.

Love Always,

Your brother, Anthony.

Anthony then folded his letter, placed it inside the envelope, and stamped it with the hot wax. Slipping it into his coat pocket, he made plans to mail it once the carriage stopped in Geneva. That trip was the last thing he had been able to buy with the remaining money he had. He wasn't sure what he was going to do for food, clothing, and shelter there. Not many people were kind to the homeless and the poor, and he refused to be a beggar. He did have his dignity after all.

He looked out the window of the carriage, taking note of the rain pouring down like a water fall and seeing the streaks of lighting flare up in the clouds after each terrifying clap of thunder. This was probably one of the most awful storms he had ever seen in all his life. Thunder was so powerful, it made you feel like the earth was shaking and about to break apart, and the wind blew so hard that it had knocked over a few trees. Some carriages and wagons were forced to stop cause their horses had been spooked so bad that they either wouldn't move or just ran away. People were rushing to find any form of shelter that was nearby, anything to avoid getting crushed by a falling tree or carried off by the wind or struck by lighting.

"Maybe I should get off now." Anthony thought anxiously. "But then again where else could I go in whether like this? I hope the driver doesn't kick me out until the storm passes."

That's when the carriage came to a sudden stop.

"What the hell just happened?!" Anthony asked.

"It's a fallen tree sir." The carriage driver called. "It's blocking the path."

"Oh fabulous." He said sarcastically. "What else can go wrong?"

As he got out of the carriage to assist the driver in moving a fallen tree blocking their path, it became apparent that their combined strength was insufficient for the task at hand. The driver, realizing the urgency of the situation, hurried off in search of additional help, leaving Anthony alone in the carriage.

Just as Anthony contemplated retreating to the shelter of the carriage, a piercing scream shattered the howling wind – a woman's scream. Despite the ominous weather and the unknown dangers that lurked in the darkness, Anthony's instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he braved the elements and followed the sound of distress.

In the midst of a desolate, storm-ravaged landscape, Anthony found himself navigating through the chaos. The howling winds and pounding rain obscured his senses, yet amidst the tumult, a voice pierced through the cacophony. It resonated in his ears, unmistakably that of a woman, yet eerily resembling the cries of a newborn.

As he trudged through the debris-strewn terrain, the voice grew clearer, weaving its haunting melody through the chaos. It beckoned to him, a siren call amidst the turmoil, drawing him closer even as the storm raged on. Each step forward brought him closer to the source of the ethereal voice, its enigmatic allure guiding his path through the devastation.

Finally he found the source of such a chilling cry. He found that it was indeed a woman, but she was such a horrible sight. She was soaked wet from the rain, in a white gown that was tattered and stained with blood, her face painted with fear and a sense of being lost.

He approached her cautiously, unsure of what had happened to her and why she was in such a state.

"Miss?" He said, keeping his voice low. "Are you alright? Do you need help?"

He gently reached out to her, trying to offer some comfort and reassurance. The woman looked up at him with haunted eyes, tears streaming down her face. She started to scream and cry, running from him in terror.

"Wait a second!" He called chasing after her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

But she didn't seem to understand his words. She continued to run, her sobs echoing through the empty streets. He finally caught up to her, gently grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Please, let me help you," he pleaded, with sincerity.

When she felt his touch, her behavior turned even more frantic. She slapped him, shoved him, did anything to get him to let go of her. Finally she let out another scream and collapsed into his arms.

"Oh God!" Anthony quickly gathered her up into a firm hold, and carried her back to the carriage. "Help! Somebody help!"

It was on this very same night, that in the house of the baron Stolas Goetia, his twelve year old daughter Octavia awoke to hear a sound much more frightening than that of thunder. It was like the howling of a mad man yet at the same time it was also like the cries of a scared child. She quickly jumped from her bed and ran to the window to see what was happening.

Peering through the rain covered glass, she could make out her father and six other men trying to force a large figure inside their stables. The rain made the look of it all obscure and blurry but she could tell that there was a great struggle taking place. Fearing for her father's safety, she rushed to help him but by the time she reached the end of the stairway, both men had come inside, soaked and breathing hard.

Her father's face was as pale as death and his entire body couldn't stop shaking. He looked as if he had come face to face with the devil himself. He then turned on the other man who was with him, with a gaze of great anger and disapproval.

"Just what in God's name have you done, Benedict?"

"I've done it Stolas." The man said, looking as if he had accomplished something incredible. "I have finally conquered life and death. I've created a means to ensure that we shall control our own destinies instead of leaving it in the hands of our so-called benevolent god."

"You've created an abomination! That's what you've done!"

Stolas felt a surge of fury wash over him as he listened to Benedict's twisted words. How could he think that tampering with the very fabric of life and death was a triumph? It was nothing short of madness.

"Controlling our destinies?" Stolas spat, his voice filled with scorn. "You have meddled with powers beyond your understanding, Benedict. What you have created is not a gift, but a curse. And mark my words, it will bring nothing but destruction upon us all."

Benedict's eyes gleamed with a manic fervor as he reached out to grab Stolas' arm.

"You don't understand, my friend. This is the key to eternal life, to immortality itself. We could be gods among men."

Stolas recoiled in horror, wrenching his arm away from Benedict's grasp.

"There is a reason why mortal men are not meant to play god, Benedict. Your arrogance blinds you to the consequences of your actions. You have made a force that will devour us all. It must be destroyed!"

"But this is my life's work!"

"Did you not see what that creature did?! It killed four men with its bare hands! God knows what other kinds of evil it is capable of!"

"I just need to find a way to remove the violent streak in it. Until then I need you to keep it hidden here."

"You can't be serious! You expect me to harbor such a threat? Something that could so easily kill me and my daughter?! Does any of that matter to you at all?!"

"As long as it's kept locked up, you should be safe. And Mammon has agreed to stay here and keep it under control."

"I don't trust that man."

"He knows how to handle it. Please Stolas, I can't keep it at my estate. The authorities are already suspicious of me. If I'm caught I could be hanged."

Stolas sighed in frustration, contemplating his decision. Deep down he knew he would regret it, but his feelings for Benedict won out in the end. Just like they always did. 

"Alright." He agreed. "But just how am I supposed to explain how four men were killed on my property?"

"Blame it on Edward Talai. He’s a known and hated serial killer. They won’t think twice about him being responsible.”

"I thought he was dead."

"He is but they never found the body. I saw to that."

"Oh Lord...What about that woman from the asylum who just disappeared? Jillian Hennigsen. Were you involved in that too?"

"Father?"

Their argument was halted when the concerned voice of Octavia interrupted.

"Is everything alright Father?"

At the sight of his daughter's scared face, Stolas's demeanor became soft.

"Yes, darling. Everything is fine. Just a little disagreement with Benedict here." Stolas replied, trying to brush off the tension in the room.

Octavia looked back and forth between her father and Benedict, sensing the tension lingering in the air. She knew her father had a past filled with secrets and she had learned not to ask too many questions. But she couldn't deny that her curiosity was piqued by the mysterious conversation she had just stumbled upon.

"Just go on back to bed now. We're sorry we woke you."

Octavia did as she was told, but she knew that Stolas had lied to her. She was young but she wasn't stupid, she had never seen her father so angry and afraid before, not even when her mother had one of her maniac episodes. Her father was hiding something, something very wrong, and she was going to find out one way or another.

Chapter Text

Vagatha had always been forced to do her reading in the dead of night, huddled by the flickering kitchen fire, where no one could see her do so. This was because her insufferable employer, Sir Cassius Blitzenstien, held the antiquated belief that neither women nor servants should possess the ability to read. It infuriated her to no end. During her time in Spain, she had been on the brink of becoming the first woman in her family to attend a well-respected university. However, a cholera pandemic abruptly forced her to flee to Geneva, where she found herself settling for a job as a housemaid for some loud, greedy, and chauvinistic pig.

Unlike many men of his era, her father instilled in her the belief that a woman could be just as independent, free, and bold as any man. He emphasized that she deserved the same abilities and opportunities as her male counterparts, and she embraced those lessons wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, such beliefs were often deemed foolish, and at times even taboo, in many societies. In some instances, a woman who exhibited behavior like Vagatha's could be labeled as mentally unstable and sent to an asylum. As a result, she felt compelled to adopt the role of a submissive servant, concealing her intellect and true self in the shadows.

With a warm flame flickering in the kitchen fireplace and a lit candle in hand, Vagatha settled down by the hearth, ready to immerse herself in one of her favorite books: Evelina: Or, the History of a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.

She had just finished reading the first chapter when a sudden crash of breaking glass echoed from a distance. Surprised to hear any noise at this hour, she instinctively suspected an intruder was nearby. Vagatha swiftly set her book aside, extinguished the candle, and retrieved a rolling pin from the cupboard. With careful, silent steps, she stealthily made her way out of the kitchen, heading toward the source of the mysterious noise.

Before long, she spotted a figure in the distance. He had shattered one of the windows and was reaching through to unfasten the latch. The scent of blood lingered around him, sending a wave of panic through her. In a moment of instinct, she swung at him, her heart racing.

The figure jerked back, startled by her sudden movement. He quickly withdrew his arm from the window, leaving the latch untouched. Blood dripped from his arm, pooling on the ground below.

"Thief! Get out!" Vagatha shouted, swinging at him once more.

"No! Wait! Stop! Ow!" he yelped, wincing in pain.

"Leave now, or I'll wake the entire house! Believe me, my master is far less merciful toward thieves than I am!"

"You call this mercy?" the man retorted, struggling to defend himself. "You're assaulting me with kitchen supplies!"

"Well, it serves you right for trying to steal!" Vagatha shot back.

"I'm not trying to steal anything! I just need help!"

"Do you really expect me to believe that pack of lies?"

"It's the honest truth, I swear! I found a woman lost in the woods. She's hurt and passed out. I looked around, and this house was the only place I could find. I tried knocking, but nobody answered; I guess they couldn't hear me over the storm. So I thought we could take shelter here and explain ourselves in the morning."

Vagatha hesitated, her grip on the rolling pin faltering slightly as the stranger's words sank in. The storm outside raged on, wind howling and rain lashing against the windows, and the thought of a woman in distress tugged at her heartstrings. Yet, the blood on the man's arm and the broken glass made her wary.

"Why should I trust you?" she demanded, her voice steady despite her internal conflict. "You could be lying to me. You could be dangerous."

"I'm not dangerous!" he insisted, his voice rising in urgency. "I'm just a man who found himself in a terrible situation. Please, I'm begging you. If you help me, I swear I'll explain everything. Just let me in."

Vagatha glanced back toward the kitchen, weighing her options. If she turned him away, the woman he claimed to have found could be in dire need of help. But if she let him in, what if he was indeed a thief or worse?

"Tell me your name." She said, trying to buy time as she assessed the situation.

"Anthony." He replied, his breath coming in quick gasps. "Anthony Walton."

"Anthony Walton." She repeated, rolling the name around in her mind as if it might unlock some hidden truth. "And the woman? What's her name?"

"I don't know, I just met her tonight. She didn't tell me anything, she just screamed in my face and fainted. I swear I'm telling the truth. I wouldn't be here if I had any other choice."

Vagatha's heart raced as she considered the possibility of a woman in need.

"How do I know you're not just making this up?" She pressed.

"Because I'm bleeding!" He exclaimed, gesturing to his arm. "If I wanted to steal from you, I wouldn't have broken my own skin doing it. I just need to get inside and get help for her."

The sincerity in his voice, coupled with the urgency of the situation, began to chip away at Vagatha's resolve. She took a deep breath, still clutching the rolling pin as if it were a lifeline. "Fine. But if you make one wrong move, and you'll regret it."

Anthony nodded fervently, relief washing over his features.

"Stay right there." Vagatha commanded, her voice firm. She quickly moved to unfasten the latch, all the while keeping the rolling pin raised in case he tried anything.

With a soft click, the window opened, and Vagatha pulled it wide enough for Anthony to slip through. He winced as he climbed in, careful not to disturb the broken glass. Once inside, he immediately dropped to his knees, his breath ragged.

"Where is she?" Vagatha asked, her heart pounding.

"She's outside." Anthony said, his voice hoarse. "I'll go get her. Just—just keep the door open."

"No!" Vagatha said, suddenly alarmed. "You can't leave me here alone with the window open!"

"Please, I can't let her stay out there any longer. She needs help!"

Vagatha weighed the risks, her mind racing. "Fine. I'll come with you. But if you try anything-"

"I won't." He promised, his eyes earnest. "I just need you to trust me."

With a reluctant nod, Vagatha grabbed a lantern from the kitchen and stepped outside, the rain soaking her instantly. Anthony led the way, moving quickly through the storm, and soon they reached the woman lying on the ground.

Her face was pale and smeared with mud. Vagatha knelt beside her, searching for a pulse. It was weak but there.

"What happened to her?" Vagatha asked, her voice laced with concern.

"I already told you, I don't know," Anthony replied, frustration creeping into his tone. "I tried to get her to explain, but she wouldn't say a word. All she did was scream at me and slap me."

"Why would she react that way?"

"I have no idea! I don't even know this woman! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

"Well whoever she is, we better get her inside before she catches pneumonia out here."

Together, they carefully lifted the woman supporting her weight between them as they trudged back toward the house. Once inside, they took her into the servants's quarters and laid her on Vagatha's bed. Then Vagatha quickly grabbed blankets and a bowl of warm water. She worked alongside Anthony, wiping the woman's brow and checking for injuries.

"Padre en el Cielo." Vagatha gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What? What is it?" Anthony asked, concern etched on his face.

She directed his gaze to the woman's back, where under her skin a myriad of scars and stitches crisscrossed from her legs up to her shoulders. As they carefully turned her over, they discovered even more on her stomach, chest, and arms. Remarkably, only her face remained untouched by such marks.

"Shit!" Anthony exclaimed, frustration evident in his voice. "No wonder she started screaming like a maniac! What kind of diseased mind could do something like this?"

"She needs a doctor." Vagatha declared firmly. "I'll send for one immediately."

"Wait a minute. It's pointless trying to find a doctor at this hour, especially in this weather."

"Well, what do you suggest we do?" Vagatha shot back.

"There's nothing we can do but wait until morning. Do you think she'll make it through the night?"

"Let's just pray she does." Vagatha replied, crossing herself with a quick gesture. "In the meantime, you can sleep in the kitchen. I'll get you some blankets to make it more comfortable."

"Why can't I sleep in here with you two?" He asked.

Vagatha recoiled in disgust and slapped him across the face.

"Ow!" Anthony yelped, rubbing his cheek. "What is it with women hitting me tonight?"

"Tu cerdo de mente sucia!" Vagatha spat. "Is that your little game? Pretending to be the concerned gentleman, just to sneak into a woman's bedroom?"

"No! It's not like that at all! I'm not suggesting we all share the same bed! I just thought I could sleep on the floor."

"Are you out of your mind? What woman in her right mind would sleep in the same room as an unmarried man? Do you have any idea how that would look?"

Anthony shrugged.

"I'm not one for convention. I shared a room with my sister until I moved out."

"Well, that may be fine wherever you come from, but here, men don't enter a woman's bedroom unless they want to find themselves hanging by a noose.” 

Anthony nervously rubbed his throat, realizing the gravity of the situation.

"Okay, I get the message."

With that settled, Vagatha handed him a spare blanket and cushion, guiding him to the kitchen to rest. Once he was settled, she made herself comfortable on the floor of her bedroom with another cushion. As she drifted off to sleep, her mind buzzed with questions about the mysterious woman they had encountered that evening and the uncertainties that tomorrow might hold for them.

Chapter Text

By the next morning, the storm had subsided, as many late-night tempests often do. Yet Octavia remained unsettled by the events of the previous night, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. At her age, she was caught in the delicate balance between childhood and the early stages of womanhood—a time when curiosity flourishes and the desire to explore the world becomes insatiable. It's a period when believing every word spoken by parents becomes increasingly difficult.

Now, don't misunderstand; Octavia adored her father, and he cherished her more than life itself. When people speak of "the love of your life," they often think of a soulmate or a romantic partner. But for Stolas Goetia, the young baron, that kind of love had always eluded him.

Stolas was not attracted to women; his desires belonged to men, a truth that society deemed taboo. His father had forbidden him from acting on these desires, even going so far as to send him to a strict convent, hoping to purge his soul of what he called "filthy urges." Ironically, even his father's devout staff recognized that this approach was extreme. Out of compassion, his butler and nanny orchestrated a daring escape from that oppressive place, lying to Stolas's father about the boy's supposed "correction."

While they didn't fully understand his feelings and sometimes viewed them as sinful—like many in their era—they loved him unconditionally. They believed that their God loved him too, regardless of whom he was attracted to. Still, they feared for his safety and gently urged him to keep his true preferences hidden, convinced it was the best way to protect him.

When he came of age, Stolas married a woman, as was expected by society. His union with Stella, the daughter of a duke, was arranged—a marriage of convenience devoid of love. Their relationship was so fraught with animosity that they could barely coexist under the same roof. Stolas made every effort to make the marriage work, especially after the birth of their daughter, Octavia. Yet Stella's instability was alarming; she often erupted into violent rages, lashing out at everyone except Octavia, who was the sole recipient of her fleeting affection. This led Stolas to continually grant his wife second chances.

As the years passed, Stella's erratic behavior escalated, and Stolas found it increasingly difficult to suppress his true desires. One fateful night, Stella discovered him in bed with another man, and her fury erupted. In a fit of rage, she seized a kitchen knife, intent on killing both her husband and his lover, screaming accusations of betrayal and mockery.

Stolas fled, but Stella pursued him. In the chaos of the darkened house, he stumbled, and she seized him by the throat, poised to plunge the knife into him. Just then, a soft, frightened voice broke through the tension.

"Mother?"

It was Octavia, only seven years old, standing in the foyer. The darkness obscured the scene, but Stella, despite her hatred for Stolas, couldn't bring herself to commit murder in front of her daughter. She dropped the knife and collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

"Mother? What's wrong?" Octavia asked, her innocence shining through as she approached.

Stella clutched her child tightly, rocking back and forth, weeping, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

In the aftermath, Stolas had no choice but to send Stella away to their second home in Bavaria for treatment. He had considered sending her to an asylum, but he couldn't bear the thought of Octavia witnessing her mother being treated inhumanely, even if she might have deserved it.

Octavia was the true love of Stolas's life. From the moment she was born, every decision he made and every action he took were driven by a singular purpose: her well-being.

As Octavia grew older, she became aware of the strained relationship between her parents, but she never fully understood the depths of their troubles. Stolas shielded her from the truth, wanting to protect her innocence for as long as possible. He poured all of his love and devotion into his daughter, determined to give her a life filled with happiness and security.

But as Octavia reached adolescence, she couldn't help but sense the tension that lingered in their home. She yearned for answers, for a sense of clarity about her family's past and her own identity. And so, on that stormy night when she overheard her father's conversation with the mysterious stranger, her curiosity was piqued, and she felt a stirring within her—a desire to uncover the truth that had been hidden from her for so long.

"Good morning, darling." He greeted her as she entered the dining hall to join him for breakfast.

"Good morning, Father." She replied, taking her seat at the table.

"Good morning, Miss." their butler, William, said, approaching her with the tea tray.

"Good morning, William." she acknowledged with a smile.

"Would you like some tea?" He asked.

"Yes, thank you." She answered.

William poured her a cup of tea, carefully mixing in just the right amount of cream and sugar, just as she always preferred. Then, he excused himself to check if breakfast was ready to be served.

Once alone, Octavia seized the opportunity to confront Stolas about the events of the previous night.

"Father." She began, her tone steady. "What were you doing in the stables last night?"

"Just helping Benedict with a new steed he acquired." Stolas replied. "It's a wild mustang, not yet tamed. Since Benedict doesn't have a stable, the creature will stay here until it's properly domesticated."

"That was a horse?" Octavia asked, skepticism lacing her voice. "It didn't look like a horse at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw it standing on two feet."

Stolas's expression shifted to one of concern.

"You saw it?" He asked, his voice low.

"Through my window last night. I couldn't get a clear view because of the rain, but... a horse? Really, Father?"

"You said it yourself: you couldn't get a good look at it."

"Yes, but that thing couldn't possibly be-"

"It is a horse, Octavia." He insisted firmly. "And a very dangerous one at that. Until it is properly domesticated, I don't want you anywhere near the stables."

"But Father, you know how much I love to ride! Especially this time of year, when the wind picks up and the leaves begin to fall."

"I understand, but for your own safety, horseback riding has been suspended until further notice."

Stolas's tone left no room for argument, and Octavia knew better than to push the issue further. She sighed, realizing that her father was not going to budge on this matter.

"Fine, Father. I won't go near the stables." She conceded, taking a sip of her tea to calm her frustration.

"Thank you, darling. I just want to keep you safe." Stolas said, reaching across the table to gently squeeze her hand.

"Now, don't be sad. I know how much you love those horses and how lonely and dreary it can get in this vast, gloomy manor. That's why I've brought you a little surprise to help ease the wait."

"What kind of surprise?" Octavia asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Something I picked up during my trip to Siberia. William! Mary! You can bring them in now!"

The butler and nanny entered the hall, carefully carrying a medium-sized box and gently setting it on the floor. Octavia rose from her chair, her eyes filled with eager anticipation. Suddenly, she heard a soft whimper emanating from inside the box, prompting her to hastily open it.

To her delight, she discovered two adorable husky puppies—one grey and white, the other sable and white. In that instant, Octavia's unease melted away, replaced by pure joy. She scooped up both puppies, who immediately began showering her cheeks with affectionate licks.

"Oh, Father!" She squealed, her heart brimming with happiness.

"I found them just before they were to be thrown off a bridge and drowned in icy waters." Stolas explained. "Their owner was trying to breed champion sled dogs for profit, but these little ones were the runts of two different litters, deemed worthless by him. The man was cruel; I had to pay a hefty sum to rescue them. I was almost tempted to shove him off the bridge myself, but I figured you deserved two new friends instead."

"They're so adorable!" Octavia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Father, I love them! Thank you so much! But you always said I couldn't have pets."

"That was your mother's rule, not mine." The baron replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Speaking of which, sir." William interjected cautiously, "if you don't mind me asking, how is Stella?"

Caw! Caw! Caw! Suddenly, a cacophony of crows screeched outside, startling the baron and his servants.

"To answer your question, William." Stolas continued, brushing off the unsettling noise, "The last I heard, she's managing well enough. Of course, she still despises me and wishes me dead, but at least her fits have decreased to just one a month. That's an improvement."

"When is her next visit scheduled, sir?" William asked.

"Next week. I'll be meeting with Benedict to discuss updates on his work. During her stay, make sure to keep these pups away from her. And if her doctor isn't accompanying her, I don't want her in the house for any reason."

"Understood, sir."

"Does she really need the doctor with her every time, Father?" Octavia inquired, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Now, Octavia, that was the agreement we reached long ago. I consented to let your mother visit you occasionally, but only if her doctor is present. I can't trust her to be alone with you without medical assistance nearby."

"But she wouldn't hurt me."

"I know she wouldn't intentionally, but that doesn't mean she couldn't. Your mother is a very ill woman, Octavia. Although she loves you dearly and would never wish to harm you, the disease affecting her mind could lead her to unintentionally cause you harm."

Octavia fell silent, her heart heavy with the weight of her father's words. She understood the gravity of her mother's condition, but it was still hard to reconcile the woman she knew as her mother with the one described by Stolas.

"I understand, Father." She finally said, her voice soft.

Stolas reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his eyes filled with paternal love and concern.

"I know it's difficult, my dear. But I promise to always keep you safe, no matter what. And these puppies will be here to keep you company when I'm away."

Octavia leaned into her father's touch, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping her. She knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they would always have each other.

"Why don't you take your new friends outside and show them around?" Stolas suggested. "But remember to stay away from the stables, alright?"

"Yes, Father." She replied, a hint of excitement in her voice.

"That's my girl." He kissed her cheek, and she hurried out the door, each puppy clutched in her hands.

"Now, while she's away, I'll take a moment to say my prayers and prepare my house and staff for the arrival of Stella."

Caw! Caw! Caw! Once again, cacophony of crows erupted outside.

"Ahhh!" He jumped in surprise. "Good lord, you'd think I'd be used to that by now."

Chapter Text

"It has been said that each of us are placed on this earth for one special purpose. What if yours was to save another?"

Like most puppies, the two huskies instantly warmed up to Octavia. Throughout the morning, they frolicked and wrestled with her, playfully licking her as they rolled around on the lush grass outside.

Octavia couldn't help but laugh at their antics, feeling her heart swell with joy at their playful energy. She was amazed at how quickly they had taken to her, feeling a sense of connection with the two furry creatures.

As they ran around the estate, their fluffy tails wagging in excitement, Octavia felt a sense of peace wash over her. It was as if the huskies had brought a sense of calm and happiness into her life, filling a void she hadn't even realized was there.

"Now, what shall I name you two?" She mused, her brow furrowing in thought. "They need to have good names—not those silly ones like Fluffy or Fido. I've never understood that; if you're going to name something, why not give it a real name?"

The puppies tumbled and playfully licked each other, just as most dogs their age would.

"First, I need to see what I'm working with here." Octavia gently picked up the grey and white puppy, inspecting beneath his legs. "Alright, you're a boy. What would be a fitting name for a boy?"

She recalled a book she had once read about a noble hound who braved a blizzard to deliver medicine to a town plagued by misfortune. His name was "Vladimir the Hound of Heaven."

"Yes, that's it! I'll call you Vladimir." She set him down and then picked up the sable and white pup, checking under its legs as well. "And you're a girl. Now, let's see..."

After a moment of contemplation, the perfect name illuminated her mind.

"I've got it! I'll call you Bea. It's a name that signifies beauty, but also means blessed and bringer of happiness."

After that, Octavia set about doing all kinds of fun activities with her two new friends. She read to them stories from her picture book, she played music for them on her wooden flute, and later she engaged them in a game of chase and hide and seek. When the day became late and the sun dipped below the horizon, Octavia called out to Vladimir and Bea to come home. To her relief, Vladimir obediently trotted over to her side, but Bea was nowhere to be seen.

"What happened to Bea?" Octavia wondered, a sense of confusion washing over her.

To prevent Vladimir from wandering off and getting lost as well, she instructed her nanny, Mary, to take him upstairs to her bedroom. Meanwhile, she and the butler, William, set out to search for Bea outside.

As Octavia and William searched the estate grounds, calling out for Bea, a feeling of worry gnawed at Octavia's heart. She couldn't bear the thought of losing one of her beloved huskies, especially after just naming them and feeling such a strong connection to them.

"Bea, where are you?" Octavia called out, her voice tinged with concern. She scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sable and white pup darting around somewhere. Suddenly, she spotted something small, furry, and sable-and-white darting into the stables.

"Oh no!" Octavia exclaimed in a panic. "Not in there!"

Her father had explicitly warned her to stay away from the stables, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her new pet inside with whatever dangerous horse might be lurking within.

"I'll just grab Bea and get out," she reassured herself, approaching the stables with caution.

As Octavia entered the stables, her heart pounded with a mix of fear and determination. The dimly lit interior was filled with the musty scent of hay and the sound of horses shifting in their stalls. She scanned the area, searching for any sign of Bea amidst the shadows.

"Bea? Bea?" Octavia called out softly, not wanting to startle the timid pup. She heard a faint whimper coming from the corner of the stables and followed the sound, her eyes adjusting to the low light.

There, huddled in a corner, she found Bea cowering, her sable and white fur blending in with the darkness of the stable. Octavia knelt down, extending her hand slowly towards the frightened pup.

"It's okay, Bea. You're safe now," she whispered soothingly, hoping to calm the trembling husky.

Bea tentatively approached Octavia, her tail tucked between her legs. Octavia gently scooped her up, feeling the warmth of the pup's body against her chest. She could sense Bea's fear and knew she needed to get her out of the stables as quickly as possible.

With Bea nestled in her arms, Octavia made her way towards the exit, her footsteps echoing in the quiet space. As she reached the door, a sudden noise made her pause.

Creak!

Octavia turned around to face the locked gate of a nearby stable, where a small hole in the door caught her attention. Through the opening, she could see an eye staring back at her—a human eye. Was there someone trapped inside?

Before she could investigate further, she heard footsteps approaching. Panic surged through her; there was no time to escape. If one of the servants caught her, her father would surely ground her indefinitely. Thinking quickly, she ducked into an empty stable and closed the gate behind her.

"Keep quiet, Bea." She whispered to the pup at her side.

Peering through the cracks in the gate, she watched as a man approached the locked stable. He appeared to be in his thirties or forties, athletically built but dressed rather oddly in a green riding cape. Any thoughts of his ridiculous appearance vanished when she noticed the whip he brandished in his hand.

He leaned down to peer into the locked stable, a menacing look on his face.

"Hu...Hu...Hu...Hungry," A voice called out from within. "Hungry."

It was the voice of a man but it spoke like a small child just learning how to use speech.

"Oh, so it's food you want, is it?" the man replied, his tone dripping with disdain. "Do you think you deserve to eat after what you did to me last night?"

What happened next sent a chill down Octavia's spine. The creature kept in that pen surged to its feet, erupting into a furious rage unlike anything she had ever witnessed. It towered at seven feet tall, its pale, translucent skin marred by scars and stitches. Its hair was a tangled mess of brown, and its teeth were sharp and pointed, resembling those of a wild animal. The creature's face was disfigured by more stitches and scars, but it was its eyes that captivated and terrified her the most. One eye was a deep, rich brown, while the other gleamed a vivid, bright green, creating a haunting contrast that was both beautiful and horrifying.

The monstrous creature unleashed a guttural roar, its speed and ferocity catching Octavia completely off guard. Yet, it could not harm its intended target; its neck and wrists were shackled by heavy chains, bound in such a way that they could only be released by a key hanging from an iron ring.

The man sneered at the creature's futile attempts to attack.

"Not so tough when you're in chains, are you? You pathetic mistake of nature!"

Octavia's heart sank as she watched the man mercilessly beat the creature, his laughter echoing in the air as he reveled in its suffering, taunting it with cruel words.

"What's the matter? Aren't you going to fight back? Where's all that ferocity and strength from last night?"

Soon, the monstrous roars transformed into the broken cries of a frightened child. The creature eventually sank to its knees, cowering in a corner, weeping like a scared little boy.

Octavia was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or cry out. She could only sit in her hiding place, praying that Bea wouldn't betray their location. Even after that horrible man left, she remained frozen, petrified by the terror she had just witnessed.

Her paralysis shattered when a gagging, wrenching noise echoed through the stables. Quietly, she crawled out of her hiding spot and peeked through the door. There, she saw the creature struggling, choking on the chain around its neck. It pulled, yanked, and clawed at the metal, gasping for breath as its face turned an alarming shade of blue.

Remembering the key, Octavia grabbed a nearby chair to reach it from the ring. With determination, she climbed over the locked gate, pausing for a moment as fear washed over her at the thought of being so close to such a being. But in the end, her sense of morality triumphed over her fear. As the creature collapsed to the floor, she hurried to unlock the chain around its neck.

With trembling hands, Octavia fumbled with the key, her heart racing as she glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting the man to return at any moment. The creature lay on the ground, its breath shallow and desperate. Every second felt like an eternity as she struggled to insert the key into the lock.

Finally, the key clicked, and she quickly lifted the chain from the creature's neck. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as it fought to regain its breath.

The creature gazed up at her, his mismatched eyes brimming with confusion and fear. But then, an unimaginable rage ignited within him, flaring like the fires of hell. Octavia attempted to flee, but she was too slow; the creature seized her, lifting her by the sleeves of her dress.

Her heart raced as she dangled helplessly in the air. The creature's breathing grew erratic, and for a moment, he seemed on the verge of losing control entirely. But then, his gaze fell upon the chain that had once constricted his throat, lying discarded on the floor, and the key clutched tightly in Octavia's hand. In that instant of realization, he released her, allowing her to scramble back over the gate.

Octavia snatched Bea from the ground and sprinted toward the manor as fast as her legs could carry her, completely unaware that she had left her flute behind in the creature's pen.

Chapter Text

When she opened her eyes, confusion enveloped her. She had no idea where she was or what surrounded her. The room, the bed, the chair, the window—everything was foreign. The sunlight filtering through the curtains and the distant sound of mockingbirds singing in the morning felt utterly unfamiliar. She couldn't even grasp who or what she was. There was a complete void of recognition or understanding of her surroundings.

As she crawled out of bed, she didn't stand; instead, she moved like an infant, her hands patting the floor with tentative curiosity. Her wide eyes took in the world as if it were a brand-new experience, each touch accompanied by a look of bewilderment.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a figure entered. Panic surged through her, and she scrambled into the corner of the room, desperately seeking refuge from the newcomer. Little did she know, there was no reason to fear this person.

"Good morning." The woman said with a warm smile. "I'm glad to see you awake."

She noticed the trembling figure crouched in the corner, wide-eyed and fearful.

"Oh no, please don't be afraid." The woman continued gently. "I won't hurt you. My name is Vagatha. I brought you here last night because I wanted to help."

The woman remained silent, her gaze fixed on Vagatha.

"Can you speak?" Vagatha asked, concern creeping into her voice. "Do you understand English? Spanish? Hola, ¿cómo te llamas?"

Still, there was no response.

Vagatha took a cautious step closer, extending her hand in a gesture of peace. The woman flinched, swatting Vagatha's hand away. In a moment of instinct, she stood and attempted to flee. But Vagatha quickly grasped her arm.

"Wait! You can't just run out there! If my master finds you, we'll both be thrown out!"

In response, the woman erupted in a frenzied rage, fighting with all her might to escape Vagatha's grip, screaming incessantly as if she were a wild child.

"Please, I'm not trying to hurt you! I just—"

SLAP! The woman's hand connected with Vagatha's face, and she stumbled back, pressing her fingers to her lip, which was now stained with blood. Anger flared within her.

"Oh no! There will be none of that! Not with me!"

With newfound determination, Vagatha seized the woman again, channeling her strength and fury. When the woman attempted to strike her once more, Vagatha retaliated, delivering a sharp slap back. The woman fell to the floor, shock etched across her face as she looked up at Vagatha.

"That's what you get when you hit me!" Vagatha declared, her voice firm. "Raise a hand or a foot to me and I'll do the exact same to you! I promise you that!"

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, a mix of fear and confusion flashing across her face. Then she broke down crying. Crying and sobbing, once more behaving like a little baby.

Vagatha watched as the woman's defenses crumbled, the defiance in her eyes replaced by vulnerability. The sobs filled the room, echoing against the walls that felt like they were closing in. It was a heartbreaking sound, one that tugged at Vagatha's heartstrings. Yet she would still remain firm. Firm but gentle.

"Now, now, there's no need for that." Vagatha said, kneeling beside her. "I didn't hit you that hard."

She wrapped her arms around the woman, who attempted to fight back once more. This time, Vagatha accompanied her embrace with gentle pats and soothing caresses on her cheeks and hair. Gradually, the woman's sobs began to subside, and she turned to Vagatha, her eyes wide with a mix of confusion and wonder.

At first glance, the woman was not conventionally beautiful. Her blond hair was wild, tangled, and matted, and her skin was as pale as a corpse. Her lips, devoid of warmth, appeared almost black instead of red, and her expression was tense and strained. Yet, amidst this disarray, she possessed one striking feature: her eyes.

One eye was a vibrant, piercing shade of sapphire blue, reminiscent of a clear summer sky reflected in a tranquil lake. In stark contrast, the other eye was a mesmerizing hue of cool, silvery grey, evoking the image of a stormy sea shrouded in mist. Vagatha had never encountered anyone with such a unique trait; it intrigued her so much that she nearly lost track of her purpose.

Her thoughts returned to the present when the woman began to mirror Vagatha's actions, tentatively patting and rubbing her own face and hair, as if this were the first time she had ever experienced genuine affection.

"That's it." Vagatha encouraged softly. "I'm your friend. I only want to help you."

Though the woman still struggled to comprehend Vagatha's words, she began to sense that she could find solace in her presence.

Recognizing the need for assistance, Vagatha quickly woke Anthony and sent him to fetch a certain physician in town: Dr. Asmodeus Utterson. He was a rare colored doctor in this day and age, having earned his position as a "beloved pet" of a wealthy and noble family connected to the monarchy. Despite this favoritism, he was not deemed important enough to treat affluent patients; he primarily cared for others of his own race, and if he treated a white patient, they would have to be of the lower class. However, given the circumstances, he was the perfect choice to examine the strange woman, as his presence in the servant's quarters would raise little suspicion.

Asmodeus spent about an hour and a half assessing her before arriving at a diagnosis that left him both puzzled and intrigued.

"It is the most peculiar thing." He said to Anthony and Vagatha. "Physically, she appears quite healthy, but mentally, she seems to have regressed to an infantile state, possibly due to a traumatic event if those scars are anything to go by. She has a very limited understanding of her surroundings, lacks language skills, cannot reason or problem-solve, and has no memory of past experiences."

"What do you recommend we do with her?" Anthony inquired.

"Any other doctor would suggest sending her to an asylum."

"Dios mío! No!" Vagatha exclaimed, shaking her head vehemently. "Dr. Utterson, you know what those places are like. The treatment of patients there is inhumane! There must be another option—anything else."

"Well she does seem remarkably bright and observant despite her circumstances." Asmodeus replied thoughtfully. "There's a chance she could be re-taught to behave as a civilized adult woman, but it would require an exceptionally patient teacher. Educating an adult with the mind of a child is one of the most challenging tasks imaginable, and in some cases, it can be downright impossible."

"I'll do it." Vagatha volunteered. "I used to tutor children back in Spain, and believe me, five out of ten could throw some nasty tantrums."

"But this is not a child." Asmodeus warned. "This is a grown woman who thinks like a child."

"If I can manage my master's man-child of a son, then I can certainly handle her." Vagatha declared with determination. "However, I will need to take some time off work to dedicate myself to teaching her. Someone will have to take my place for the time being."

She turned to Anthony, her resolve unwavering.

"Anthony, I don't suppose you'd be interested in taking up a job in house keeping? I'd share my wages with you and you would have free room and board."

"What would I have to do?"

"Just keep the house clean and tidy. See to the needs of Mr. Blitzenstien and his son. Do you have experience in such matters?"

Anthony paused for a moment, contemplating the offer. He had always been more of a laborer than a housekeeper, but the idea of sharing wages and having a place to stay was appealing. Definitely sounded better than going to work in brother's coal mine, that's for sure.

"Not exactly, but I've done my fair share of cleaning and doing household chores with my brother and sister. I could manage." He replied, a note of uncertainty in his voice.

Vagatha smiled, her eyes lighting up with gratitude.

"Thank you, Anthony. Your help would mean the world to me, and it's for a noble cause. This woman, she needs someone to teach her how to live again, and I want to be that person."

"Alright then, I'll do it. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll see to it."

Vagatha then turned her gaze back to the woman, who was now quietly observing them with an expression that danced between curiosity and fear, she felt a swell of hope. This was not just a project; it was a chance to genuinely connect with another human being, to help someone find their way back to themselves.

Dr. Asmodeus, still deep in thought, added, "I suggest you start with the basics. Communication will be essential. Use simple words, gestures, and expressions. You'll need to build a safe space for her to explore her emotions and thoughts."

Vagatha nodded, absorbing every word.

"Thank you, Dr. Utterson. I'll create an environment where she feels comfortable. However, I will need your support as well—perhaps regular check-ins? I want to ensure I'm on the right track."

"Of course." He replied, adjusting his glasses and regarding her with a blend of admiration and concern. "But remember, patience is essential. The journey ahead may be long and filled with challenges."

"And Dr. Utterson." Vagatha continued, her voice low, "can we keep this between the three of us? My master is not exactly understanding or charitable, especially towards women of a lower class, if you catch my drift."

"I'm a doctor." He replies raising a finger to his lips. "Every physician, regardless of background, is bound to uphold patient confidentiality. I won't breathe a word."

"Thank you. I don't have much to offer you right now, but perhaps I could—"

"Just give me what you can." He interrupted gently.

Vagatha smiled appreciatively, her heart warmed by Dr. Asmodeus's understanding.

"Your support means more to me than you know, Dr. Utterson. I'm grateful for your willingness to help."

After Dr. Asmodeus left, Vagatha turned her full attention to the woman, who was still sitting quietly, her wide eyes darting between Vagatha and Anthony.

"Well now, I think the first thing that needs to be done is a bath." Vagatha said. "Anthony, there's a tin tub in the closet, way back. Fetch it and bring it in here."

Vagatha then cracked her knuckles.

"We have a lot of work to do."

Chapter Text

Anthony returned shortly with the tin tub in hand. Vagatha placed it in the center of the room and filled it with warm water from a nearby pitcher. She added a few drops of fragrant lavender oil, filling the room with a soothing aroma.

"Alright, honey." Vagatha said gently, turning to the woman. "It's time for you to get cleaned up."

But this woman was a stubborn one. When Vagatha tried to undress her and get her into the tub, she fought against her.

"Dios Mio! She's strong!" Vagatha thought. "Never seen that amount of strength in a woman before."

But strength was arguably pointless if one didn't know how to use it and  Vagatha knew exactly how to use hers whereas this woman didn't have the slightest idea. In the end, the maid was able to strip her new charge bare and shove her in the tub. SPLASH!

"There we go." Vagatha then grabbed a bar of soap and a scrub brush. "Now on to the hard part."

Despite the woman's resistance, Vagatha was gentle but firm as she washed her, cleaning away the grime and dirt that coated her skin. The warm water and lavender oil helped to relax the woman, calming her nerves and easing her tension. As Vagatha finished cleaning her, the woman finally relaxed, sinking deeper into the tub. Vagatha wrapped her in a soft towel and helped her out of the tub, guiding her to a nearby chair.

"Now, let's get you dressed in some clean clothes." Vagatha said, rummaging through a chest of clothes that Anthony had brought up earlier. She found a simple dress and undergarments that would fit the woman, and helped her into them.

Once dressed, the woman felt a sense of renewal and transformation. The bath had not only cleansed her physically but also seemed to wash away some of the fear and confusion that had clouded her mind.

"At this point, you're probably starving." Vagatha said. "I'll whip you up some breakfast, so just stay right here."

Vagatha didn't take long with the cooking. She knew that if left to her own devices for too long, the woman would likely find herself in all sorts of mischief. In no time, she had fried up some eggs and sausage in a skillet, accompanied by buttered bread and a steaming cup of tea.

Meow!

Just as Vagatha lifted the skillet off the stove, she caught sight of a small, velvety black cat with glowing eyes peeking out from the corner of the kitchen.

"What are you doing here, you silly cat?" Vagatha chided. "I've told you before, you can't come in here. My master doesn't like animals—not even horses. If he finds you here, he'll make me skin you."

The cat meowed again and rubbed against her leg, undeterred.

"Hmph! Typical stray, thinking with your stomach instead of your brain."

Vagatha glanced around to ensure no one else was watching, then filled a saucer with leftover sausage scraps and placed it in front of the hungry creature.

"Eat quickly and get out of here." She  warned.

After that, she carefully arranged the meal she had prepared on a tray and carried it back into the room.

"Here we go, breakfast is served."

The woman eyed the food with curiosity, as if she had never seen a meal before. She poked at the eggs with her finger, then sniffed them. The enticing aroma prompted her to give one a lick, and she was pleasantly surprised by the taste. Suddenly, she began grabbing the eggs and sausage with her bare hands, shoving them into her mouth.

"No! No! No!" Vagatha exclaimed, quickly grabbing the woman's hands to stop her. "Put that down! We don't eat eggs and sausage like that! I know you're hungry, but that's no reason to eat like a savage."

The woman's lips began to quiver, and she looked as if she might cry.

"Don't start crying! You're not in trouble. I'm just going to show you how to eat properly, with a knife and fork. Well... in your case, we'll start with just the fork."

Vagatha cut the sausage and eggs into small pieces and demonstrated how to eat them with a fork. The woman struggled at first, but as the doctor had said, she was very observant and picked up the concept quickly.

"Now you're going to need a name. How about Margarita?"

"Oh no." Anthony said, entering the room and shaking his head. "That sounds like a drink."

"A drink? Don't be ridiculous! I'll have you know that in my country, Margarita is a beautiful and highly regarded name."

"Still sounds like a drink to me. What about Isabella?"

"No, Isabella was the name of a queen in my country, and let's just say from my view point she wasn't particularly benevolent. How about Catherine? Now that was the name of a great queen—devoted to God and her country, and incredibly strong. She even fought in battle while pregnant! Granted, that may not have been wise for the child, but it was still admirable."

"Yeah, but I recall there being another Queen Catherine, and rumors say she had a rather questionable attachment to horses."

"Personally, I don't think that nonsense is true, but people will believe anything."

"How about Carlotta?"

"I don't like how that sounds. Oh, I've got it! Why don't we call her Charlotte?"

"Charlotte?"

"Yes! It means 'free man,' but it also has a feminine connotation, and I think that's what we should teach her to be—just as free as any man but as gentle as any woman."

The woman, having caught snippets of the conversation, glanced back and forth between them, her curiosity ignited. The name seemed to resonate with her, and she softly repeated, "Char...Char..."

"Oh good! She's finally trying to speak." Vagatha exclaimed. "That's it, say your name. You can do it. Charlotte."

Charlotte looked at Vagatha with wide eyes, absorbing every word. With gentle encouragement, Vagatha began to break the name down into syllables.

"Char-lotte. Can you say it?"

"Char...Char...Char...Lotte...Char-lotte...Charlotte."

Vagatha beamed with pride, while Anthony leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, observing the transformation unfolding before him.

"Yes, Charlotte!" Vagatha praised. "Now that we have a name, how about we explore a bit more? After breakfast, I'll take you to the garden. It's beautiful this time of year, and you might find it calming."

"Charlotte." The word tumbled from Charlotte's lips, the only one she knew. "Charlotte. Charlotte. Charlotte."

"I guess she really likes her name," Anthony remarked. "Speaking of names, you still haven't told me yours."

"I haven't?" Vagatha replied, feigning surprise.

"No."

"Oh... Well then, I'm Vagatha. Vagatha Harker."

Anthony raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in his expression.

"Vagatha Harker? Sounds rather regal for a maid, don't you think?"

Vagatha shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"My father was a proud man with high expectations. He wanted his children to have names that reflected their potential. When I was born, my mother wanted to name me Agatha, which means 'good woman,' while my father preferred Victoria, meaning 'victory.' In the end, they decided to combine the two."

"Huh..."

"What?"

"Well, it's just that Agatha is a German name, Victoria is English, and your surname, Harker, is also English. Yet you and your family are Spanish."

"Most of my family is Spanish, but my great-great-grandfather was originally from Yorkshire, which is how our family name became Harker. As for my name, my parents wanted me to have a name that signified who I was meant to be. By giving me an unusual name influenced by two different cultures, they hoped it would symbolize that my greatness would extend beyond Spain, reaching all corners of Europe, perhaps even farther."

"Must be nice to have parents who think that highly of you. My old man thought I was a disappointment from day one. My mother chose to name me Anthony because it means 'praiseworthy' or 'priceless one,' but my bastard of a father always said she should have named me Belial, which means 'worthless,' because that's how he saw me."

For a moment, Vagatha looked utterly horrified.

"How could a father say something so cruel about his own son?"

"Easy. He never wanted a son. He never wanted children at all. He didn't want me, my brother, or my sister. But you can't prevent a pregnancy if you keep having sex with a woman. Each time our mother gave birth, he acted as if he had been cursed. He wanted my brother to be named Malvolio, the 'evil one,' my sister Ophelia, the 'helpless one,' and me Belial, the 'worthless one.' For once in her life, my mother stood her ground. She insisted we wouldn't be named after misfortune."

"I can't imagine having a father like that."

"It was a nightmare growing up with him, but eventually, we managed to escape. Angelo did it through his business, Molly through marriage, and me... well, I'm still trying to figure that out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not important," He dismissed, his tone closing off the conversation.

Just then, the cat from the kitchen sauntered into the room. When Charlotte spotted it, fear washed over her. She screamed and scrambled to hide under the bedcovers.

"Oh no! Don't be afraid." Vagatha said, rushing to comfort her. "It's just a kitty cat. Come out from there, she won't hurt you."

Anthony chuckled softly as he watched the scene unfold.

"Looks like we have a bit of a scaredy-cat on our hands."

Vagatha shot him a glare.

"This is serious! She's still adjusting to everything. We need to be gentle."

Charlotte peeked out from her cocoon of blankets, her wide eyes darting between Vagatha and the small black cat, which was now sitting innocently on the floor, flicking its tail curiously.

"Char...lotte?" She whispered, uncertainty lacing her voice.

"Yes, that's you!" Vagatha encouraged gently, picking up the cat and settling down beside her. "And this is a kitty cat."

Charlotte gazed at the black creature with a mix of suspicion and curiosity, pondering whether it was a friend or foe.

"Ki...Ki....Tty." She attempted to say. "Ki...Tty...Ki-tty...Kitty. Kitty."

"That's right! Kitty cat." Vagatha affirmed.

"Kitty...Ca...Ca...Cat. Kitty cat." Charlotte repeated, her voice growing steadier.

With cautious determination, she slowly reached out toward the cat in Vagatha's lap, her hand trembling as it approached the animal. The moment her fingers brushed against the soft, velvet-black fur, the cat began to nuzzle against her hand, inviting her to continue.

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of joy breaking through her initial trepidation. She hesitated for only a moment longer before gently stroking the cat's fur, a soft smile spreading across her face.

"Kitty...Cat. She repeated, her voice now filled with wonder.

Vagatha watched the scene, her heart swelling with happiness.

"See? She likes you! And you like her too, don't you?"

Charlotte nodded slowly, her fingers still brushing the cat's back as it purred contentedly. She seemed to be absorbing the moment, the warmth of the cat's presence providing her comfort.

Anthony observed quietly, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"Looks like you've made a new friend, Charlotte."

"Kitty cat." Charlotte exclaimed, her confidence growing with each interaction.

Vagatha chuckled, her gaze shifting between the two.

"Well so much for hoping that cat would leave her for good. But the master doesn't come down here anyway and every kitchen could use something to keep the mice away."

As Charlotte continued to pet the cat, Vagatha decided it was a good time to introduce her to more of the world outside the confines of the room.

"Let's head to the garden, shall we? You can bring Kitty along if you'd like."

Charlotte's face lit up at the thought.

"Kitty... Gar...Gar...Den...Garden."

"Yes! A lovely place filled with flowers and sunshine. I think you'll find it very beautiful."

Vagatha helped Charlotte gather her things, including a small blanket to wrap around Kitty, who seemed to bask in the attention. As they made their way to the garden, Charlotte held the cat close, her newfound courage shining through.

Once outside, they were greeted by the vibrant colors of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Sunlight spilled across the garden, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

"Welcome to the garden, Charlotte!" Vagatha said, her voice full of excitement. "What do you think?"

Charlotte's eyes widened as she took in the scene, the beauty overwhelming her senses.

"Beau...tiful," She whispered, her voice barely audible.

With a newfound sense of freedom, Charlotte stepped forward, setting Kitty down gently. The cat wandered off to investigate a patch of daisies, while Charlotte followed, her fingers brushing against the petals as she walked.

"Look at her go." Vagatha said, a smile on her face. "She's really starting to come into her own."

Anthony crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby tree, watching as Charlotte navigated the garden with a blend of caution and delight.

"It's remarkable to see her like this. It's almost as if she's seeing the world for the first time. You ever see an adult react that way before?"

"No, can't say I have, and as incredible as it is, it's very curious. I mean Dr. Utterson did say it was probably a traumatic incident that reduced her to this infantile state but, I don't know. I think there's more to it than that."

Charlotte paused, kneeling beside a cluster of flowers, her expression one of pure wonder. She reached out to touch a bright yellow bloom, her fingers lingering on the soft petals.

"Flower." She said, her voice filled with awe.

"Yes! That's a flower." Vagatha encouraged. "And you can smell it too."

Charlotte leaned in, inhaling deeply. A smile broke out across her face, and she looked back at Vagatha, clearly elated.

"Vagatha! Vagatha! Where the hell are you?!"

The tranquility of the moment shattered as a slurred voice echoed through the air.

"Oh shit! It's my master!" Vagatha exclaimed. "Anthony, it’s time for to uphold your part of that agreement we made!"

"I'm on it!" He replied, rushing off to respond, leaving Vagatha to continue with her teaching.

Chapter Text

Octavia couldn't shake the image of the poor man and the way he was being treated.

"Father lied to me." Octavia thought bitterly. "That wasn't a horse I saw that night; it was a man. But why would he keep a man locked up and treat him like a wild animal? It's not like him to do something so horrific."

She felt a strong urge to confront him, to uncover the truth behind the unsettling secret. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding, and her father was not capable of such cruelty. Yet, she feared that if he discovered she had ventured into the stables against his orders, she might never leave the mansion again. He could confine her to the house until she was of marriageable age or, worse, send her off to a strict boarding school.

After hours of wrestling with her thoughts, she tried to convince herself that her father must have had a good reason for keeping a man in the stables. It would be wiser to act as if she had seen nothing. However, the disturbance lingered in her mind, evident on her face. Until she could mask her feelings, she did everything possible to avoid her father's watchful gaze. Fortunately, he seemed too preoccupied with his secretive work alongside Benedict to notice her distress.

The Goetia estate was eerily quiet. Stolas often left to meet with Benedict, leaving Octavia to spend her days in her room, using books and her pets to distract herself. One day, when her puppies grew restless, she decided to let them outside to run and play, careful to keep them away from the stables. It was meant to be a quick romp in the garden before returning indoors.

As Octavia opened the door to the garden, sunlight poured in, illuminating the vibrant flowers and lush greenery surrounding the estate. Her pups bounded out, tails wagging with excitement, and for a brief moment, she felt a sense of peace watching them frolic in the grass. Yet, the unease nagged at her, a constant reminder of the secret lurking within the stables.

She paced the garden's perimeter, her thoughts drifting back to the man she had glimpsed in the shadows. The image haunted her: his wild hair, scarred face, and the desperate look in his eyes. What had he done to deserve such a fate? What kind of man was her father to imprison him like an animal?

Octavia forced herself to focus on her puppies, tossing a ball for them to chase. Their joy was infectious, but as she bent down to pet one of them, a noise from the stables caught her attention—a faint rustling, as if something was shifting within. Her heart raced, and she glanced back toward the mansion, half-expecting to see her father's silhouette watching her from a window.

"Just the wind." She whispered to herself, though doubt crept in. She tried to shake it off and returned to playing with her dogs, but the sound continued to tug at her thoughts.

Then, unexpectedly, she heard music. It was a melody she recognized—the kind she played on her flute. It dawned on her that she had left it in the stables by accident.

A wave of anxiety washed over Octavia as the realization struck her. The music floated through the air, a haunting melody that seemed to beckon her closer. She glanced at her puppies, who were now distracted by a butterfly flitting around the daisies, blissfully unaware of the turmoil stirring in their owner's heart.

With a deep breath, Octavia made a decision. The desire to retrieve her flute—a cherished instrument that allowed her to express herself—overpowered her fear of her father's wrath. It was a part of her, a connection to her creativity, and she couldn't leave it in that dark place any longer.

Steeling herself, she moved toward the stables, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. As she approached, the unmistakable sound of music grew louder, intertwining with the rustle of hay and the soft whinnies of the horses. She paused for a moment, caught between the instinct to flee and the pull of curiosity urging her forward.

"Just a quick look." She muttered, her resolve strengthening. "I'll be in and out before anyone notices."

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she stepped inside the dimly lit stable. The air was thick with the scent of hay and something else—something that made her stomach churn. As she navigated through the stalls, the music seemed to guide her, leading her deeper into the shadows.

Then she saw it: her flute, cradled in the hands of the strange man who was playing it with remarkable skill.

A mix of shock and awe coursed through Octavia as she realized the man was not only holding her flute but playing it with a mastery that took her breath away. The music flowed effortlessly from his fingers, filling the stable with a melody that resonated with her very soul. It was a tune she had never heard before—beautiful, fantastical, yet tinged with sadness.

"You can play?" She asked.

He stopped playing, the last note hanging in the air like a lingering echo. He flinched and scuttled into a corner upon realizing she was there, but quickly calmed himself when he saw it was only Octavia.

"Sorry." She said, her voice softening. "I didn't mean to intrude. I heard the music and was curious. Also, that flute happens to be mine."

He looked at her, confusion etched on his face, as if he didn't understand her words.

"I know you can talk." She continued, her heart racing. "Why don't you?"

He opened his mouth slowly, struggling to form the words.

"Go... Go... Away," He stammered. "Go away!... Want... To be... Alone."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"Not...Not...Normal...Can't Spe-spe-speak...Normal."

"But you play my flute so divinely."

Octavia took a cautious step closer, her curiosity overpowering her initial hesitation.

"You play better than I ever could." She said, her voice filled with admiration. "Why do you want to be alone? You have such a gift."

The man's eyes darted around the stable, as if searching for an escape.

"Not... a gift. Just... noise," he replied, his voice trembling. "Not for you... not for anyone."

"Why not?" Octavia pressed gently, intrigued by his struggle to articulate his feelings. "Music should be shared. It connects people."

He shook his head vehemently, his wild hair catching the dim light.

"No... no one... should hear. They will hurt me."

Octavia's heart sank at the thought of this man being harmed for his talent. "Who would hurt you?"

"The man in... green... He... angry... locks me... away... beats me."

"But why? You don't deserve to be treated like this." Octavia's voice was steady, filled with determination. "You shouldn't be imprisoned here. You're not an animal; you're a person."

The man seemed to soften at her words, though doubt still lingered in his expression.

"Not... a person... not like you. Not normal."

"How do you mean?" She asked, leaning in closer.

"Not... natural... a mistake. I... am...She is...Not. She... is... beautiful... perfect... She ran... He blame...me."

Now it was Octavia's turn to look at him like she didn't understand a word of what he said. Language issues aside though, he seemed harmless. What could he have done to warrant this kind of treatment?

"But you...Are...Not...Like them...You help me....Thank...You."

He pointed to the scars on his neck, remnants of the chain that had once held him captive. Her gaze traced the jagged lines, following them from his neck down to his painfully thin midsection, where she could see the outline of his ribcage.

"When was the last time you ate?" She asked.

"I don't know... He says... I... eat... when he... says... so." He replied.

Octavia paused, weighing her options. On one hand, he was a stranger—potentially dangerous, especially given her father's warnings. Yet, from her perspective, he didn't appear threatening. But then again, how often did danger wear a friendly face?

Surely, there was no harm in offering him some food though.

"I'll be right back." She said, determination in her voice.

She slipped quietly into the kitchen, searching for something substantial to give him. A few carrots and greens sat in the pantry, but that wouldn't suffice. Given his emaciated frame, he needed something hearty, packed with protein and carbohydrates. Just then, a tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, leading her to the cook, who was pulling a fresh batch of meat pies from the oven. The savory scent of seasoned beef and rich gravy enveloped her, encased in a flaky, buttery crust—one of Octavia's favorites.

"Perfect." She thought, her heart racing.

As the cook turned his back, she swiftly grabbed a thick cloth and snatched a pie from the tray. With the pie and a few vegetables in hand, she hurried back to the stables.

The man's eyes widened with surprise as she approached, holding out the food to him.

"I brought you something to eat." Octavia said gently, offering him the pie. "I hope this helps. Just be careful; it's still hot."

He hesitated, eyeing the food with a mix of wariness and anticipation before tentatively reaching out to take it from her. With a ravenous hunger, he tore into the pie, devouring it with a speed that startled Octavia. She watched in amazement as he ate, his eyes closed in bliss, savoring each bite as if it were his last meal.

Thinking he might want something to wash down the pie, she walked over to a nearby well and filled a bucket with fresh water.

"Here's something to drink, along with some carrots and greens if you're still hungry."

He practically swallowed the vegetables in one gulp before chugging the water. Octavia was surprised he didn't choke.

"Take it easy." She cautioned him. "I know you're hungry, but don't forget to chew... and breathe."

He let out a loud burp, causing Octavia to scrunch her face in disgust.

"Oh good God! Your breath! It smells like a dead animal!" She exclaimed, gagging slightly. "Next time, I'm bringing you some mint leaves to chew on! No, scratch that, mint leaves won't be enough to overpower that stench! You need to suck on a lemon!"

The man paid no heed to her complaints, continuing to savor his meal.

"Thank... You... Good food... What is this...?" he asked, his mouth full.

"It's called a meat pie. My father, mother, and I love to have them for lunch. It's one of the few things we all agree on. That's probably why the cook made them, because Mother is coming to visit."

"Mo...ther?" He inquired, confusion etched on his face. "What's mother?"

Octavia was taken aback. He didn't know what a mother was?

"You know, a mother. A woman who loves you and takes care of you. Basically a female version of your father."

"What's father?"

"You don't know what a father is either? Don't you have a father and a mother?"

He shook his head, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.

"No... No father...No mother. Just...Him."

"You mean you don't have a family?"

"What's family?"

Octavia's heart ached for him as she grasped the depth of his isolation and loneliness.

"No parents? No family? Do you even have a name?"

"No name."

"So, what do people call you?"

"It... Thing... Creature... Freak... Monster."

"Wow, that's really sad. You deserve a name, and lucky for you, I happen to have a book of names. I'll come by tomorrow, and we can choose one together."

Before the man could protest, she was already gathering her belongings and heading home. He watched her with curiosity, pondering her motives. Why was she being so nice to him? Why didn't she see him as the abomination that everyone else did? And why was she so much smaller than the others. Smaller and more delicate? He knew that females could be more petite than males, but this one seemed to be an extreme case.

"Strange." He muttered. "Very...Strange."

Chapter Text

SWAT! SMACK! Oh, how he relished the thrill of squishing, squashing, and exterminating those pesky horseflies that tormented him. Each time they buzzed around his head, he would catch them with the swiftness of a cat, squeezing the life out of them. There was something deeply satisfying about eliminating those insects; he imagined them as the barbarians who had imprisoned him or the savages who had beaten and starved him. Yet, this urge was a troubling one, a destructive way to cope with his anger and pain. This morning, he would begin to understand why.

He had just finished off his tenth fly when a sudden commotion interrupted him. A small figure darted toward him, barking incessantly. It was Vladimir, who had ventured ahead of Octavia and Bea. Having never encountered the strange man before, the puppy reacted like any dog would, barking at the unfamiliar presence. The man glared at the pup, seeing him as no different from the flies he had just dispatched.

"Pest... Quiet! Be quiet!" Hw growled, bending down. The puppy tried to flee, but the man's hand was too quick. He seized Vladimir by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him up. "Nasty... Loud...Pest."

Just then, Octavia and Bea burst into the stables. When Octavia saw the man about to snap her beloved friend's neck, terror and rage surged through her. She rushed forward, leaping into the stables, and slapped him hard across the nose.

"Shame on you!" She scolded, snatching Vladimir from his grasp.

"What...I...Do?" The man asked, rubbing his nose in disbelief, surprised by the force of her blow.

"You tried to kill Vladimir! An innocent puppy! What's wrong with you?!"

"Puppy?"

"Yes! He's just a baby, and you were going to break his neck! If that's what you enjoy, it's no wonder you're locked up in here!"

The man stared at her, bewildered. Why was she so furious? Why did she care so much for this obnoxious little creature?

"Some friend you turned out to be! I brought you food yesterday, and today I came all the way out here to help you choose a name, and then you try to hurt my pet!"

"Fri...Fri...End? Friend?"

"Yes, I wanted to be your friend! But not anymore!" Tears of betrayal welled in her eyes. "I can't be friends with anyone who hurts my other friends! Come on, Vladimir, we're going home. Don't worry, I won't let that mean man hurt you."

Octavia scooped Vladimir into her arms and stormed out of the stables, leaving the man alone with his turbulent thoughts. As he watched them depart, a heavy sensation settled in his chest. It was akin to a stomach ache, yet he felt neither nausea nor physical pain; instead, it was a profound sense of self-loathing. He had been labeled as something terrible countless times, but this was the first moment he truly believed there might be some truth in those words.

He was feeling guilt, mingling with shame and, most importantly, empathy. For the first time in his life, he began to grasp the consequences of his actions, realizing the pain he had inflicted on others. Confronted with Octavia's anger and disappointment, he finally started to recognize the gravity of his misdeeds.

He didn't see Octavia again for several days, and the absence only deepened his guilt. Each day, he sat in that pen, lost in thought, reflecting on his actions and grappling with the impact they had on Octavia. He recognized that he had done something wrong by attempting to harm that puppy, yet he struggled to comprehend why his actions were so hurtful.

"Nothing to say today, you heathen?" Taunted the man in green, brandishing a whip. It was only later that he learned the man's name was Mammon.

His prisoner remained silent, casting his gaze away from Mammon.

"I saw the Goetia girl fleeing from this place the other day. Care to explain what that was all about?" Mammon pressed, his tone sharp.

Once more, his prisoner chose not to respond.

"Do you really believe she's your friend? Why would a little girl want to associate with someone like you?" Mammon taunted, a smirk creeping onto his face.

Silence hung in the air, thick with tension.

"You need to leave that girl alone. You have no business being around kids like her.” Mammon declared, his voice firm. "Good thing I'm here to protect her from freaks like you."

At last, the man turned to face him, his expression unreadable.

"I... I see how...How you look at her... And I...Don't like it."

Mammon's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What do you mean by that?" He demanded, taking a step closer to the man.

To be honest, the man wasn't entirely certain. All he knew was that for some time now, he had observed Octavia stepping outside while Mammon was in the stables. He noticed Mammon watching her intently, and there was something unsettling about the way he gazed at her.

"Stay...Away...Leave her...Alone." He finally managed to say, his voice low but firm.

Mammon's eyes blazed with fury as he unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes upon the unfortunate man, each lash bringing him closer to the brink of death. The sound of the whip cracked through the air, and soon blood streamed down the man's back.

"Don't you dare tell me to stay away! You're the one who needs to be kept in a cage! Not me!"

After that, the man could no longer muster a response. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, his strength waning under the weight of pain and blood loss.

Later that day, Octavia overheard her father engaged in a heated argument with someone. Initially, she suspected it was Benedict again, but as she listened more closely, she realized the voice didn't match his.

"We hired you to keep it under control, not to beat it half to death!" her father raged.

"I had no choice, sir. Violence is the only language monsters like it understand." Came the reply.

Curious, Octavia leaned over the railing of the staircase and recognized the man from the stables. His hands were smeared with blood.

"I'm surprised you're allowing it to live." Mammon continued. "You said it shouldn't exist. Why not just let me destroy it?"

"Oh, believe me, I would love nothing more." Stolas replied, his voice heavy with sorrow. "That poor creature—suffering is all it will ever know. It's better off dead. But Benedict insists he can somehow correct it."

"Then why isn't he here doing it?"

"Because he has to find the other one."

"Other one?" Octavia thought, her curiosity piqued.

"You mean he created two of those damn things?!"

"Tragically, yes."

"And one of them is still out there?"

"He swears the one that escaped is harmless, but in this situation, there's really no way to tell what these... these things are capable of."

Octavia listened intently, her heart racing as she absorbed the conversation between her father and Mammon. The weight of their words pressed down on her, filling her with a mix of fear and determination. She couldn't shake the feeling that the "creature" they were discussing was the man from the stables—the one who had frightened her so deeply, yet had also shown a flicker of humanity when he held Vladimir.

Her mind raced with questions. What did they mean by "correcting" him? And who was this other creature? The thought of a second being, possibly as misunderstood as the man in the stables, sent shivers down her spine. She had glimpsed something more in him; he had felt pain, guilt, and even empathy. Could it be possible that he was not the monster everyone believed him to be?

"So what are we going to do?" Mammon asked.

"Keep it alive, but don't torment it." Stolas replied, his voice laced with disgust. "I mean for God's sake, Mammon, show a little humanity, will you?"

"Hard to show humanity to something that isn't even human. That doctor friend of yours, he's not right, you know?"

"He's had it very hard." Stolas continued, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of sadness. "Just because he's different doesn't mean he doesn't have the capacity for goodness."

Mammon scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Goodness? He's a damn lunatic! What goodness can he possibly provide? Is he even capable of it?"

"You know, Mammon, sometimes I wonder the same thing about you."

With that, he dismissed Mammon and strode into his study. Octavia, feeling a surge of urgency, rushed to her window and peered out at the stables. She watched intently until Mammon finally emerged, leaving for good. As soon as he was gone, she quickly gathered a few books, stuffed them into a bag, and stealthily made her way outside.

Peeking around the corner, she noticed the stable door slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what lay ahead. The air was thick with the scent of hay and earth, while the gentle rustling of the animals inside provided a comforting backdrop to her resolve.

As she slipped through the door, the familiar sight of the stables welcomed her. There he sat against the wall, his back turned to her, lost in thought. The remnants of his injuries—dark bruises marring his skin—were visible. Despite the fear that had once gripped her, seeing him now filled her with empathy and a fierce determination to help.

"Hello again." She  called softly, her voice hesitant yet hopeful.

He turned slowly, surprise flickering in his eyes as he recognized her.

"Octavia? What... are you... doing here?" His voice was rough, laden with exhaustion.

"I came to see you." She  replied, stepping closer. "And to see if there was something you wanted to say to me."

He looked at her, confusion etched on his face.

"Something along the lines of 'I'm sorry.'"

"I-I-I'm... sorry? What is?"

"Are you kidding? You don't even know what it means to be sorry?"

He merely shrugged.

"Okay, it looks like we have a lot of work to do."

She pulled out one of her books from her bag—it was a book on names.

"For starters, I'm officially giving you a name." She opened the book. "I'll read a name and its meaning, and you tell me if you like it. Naturally, we'll start with the A's."

She began to read through the A names and their meanings.

"Abbott. A name that means 'little guy.'" Octavia looked him up and down, taking in his impressive height. "Yeah, that's not going to work for you. How about Achilles?"

The man grimaced.

"Are you sure? It's the name of a hero from a famous story."

He shook his head.

"Adelio? It's a royal name. Then again, you don't exactly look like the royal type."

He nodded in agreement.

"Okay, how about this one? Alastor. It means... oh wow, that's scary. Revenge and bloodshed."

But a smirk crept onto his face, as if he found the idea amusing.

"Oh, it has two meanings: revenge and defender of man. Hmmm..." She paused to think. "Maybe that one does suit you. It's a bit of an illusionary name. The first meaning sounds bad, but the second meaning is quite good. What do you think? Alastor?"

"Al... Alas... Tor... Alastor. Alastor."

"Alastor it is then. Nice to finally officially meet you Alastor."

The name hung in the air between them, a fragile bridge between their worlds. Alastor looked at her, his brow furrowed in confusion and curiosity, as if he were trying to understand the significance of this simple act. For so long, he had been a creature of shadows, defined by the darkness of his past and the pain he had inflicted upon others. But now, in this moment, he felt a glimmer of something new—a flicker of hope.

"Alastor." He repeated, testing the sound on his tongue. It felt foreign yet strangely comforting.

"Yes! And now we can work on other things too." Octavia said, her eyes sparkling with determination. "We can learn about feelings, and kindness, and—"

"Feelings?" Alastor interrupted, his voice laced with skepticism.

"Yes! I'll teach you. Just like I'm teaching you about names. We can start with simple emotions—like happiness, sadness, anger. Let's talk about what makes you feel each of those things. Like what do you do normally? What gives you a good feeling?"

He thought hard, searching the recesses of his mind for an answer.

"Killing flies."

Octavia's expression shifted to one of concern, but she quickly masked it with a gentle smile.

"Well, maybe we can find other things that make you feel good." She huffed. "Boy do we have a long way to go."

Chapter Text

Days passed, and Octavia continued to sneak into the stables to visit Alastor, reading to him and teaching him about the world beyond his confines.

She brought books filled with tales of heroes and adventures, stories of friendship and bravery. Slowly, Alastor began to absorb the lessons like a sponge. With each visit, she introduced him to new words, concepts, and emotions.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the stables, Octavia sat cross-legged on the ground, flipping through a book about emotions.

"Okay, Alastor," she said, her voice bright with enthusiasm. "Today, we're going to talk about happiness. Can you think of something that makes you happy?"

He furrowed his brow, deep in thought, his expression shifting as he searched for the right answer.

"The... the stories you tell. They make me feel... good."

"That's wonderful!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Stories can transport us to different worlds and help us feel connected to others. You're doing great, Alastor!"

As the days transformed into weeks, Alastor underwent a remarkable change. He grew calmer, more contemplative, and increasingly patient. His understanding of the world deepened, and he even began to articulate his thoughts more clearly. New emotions stirred within him, some of which felt particularly significant, especially those he experienced toward Octavia. Yet, he struggled to comprehend the reasons behind these feelings.

"Hello."

One day, as Alastor pondered these thoughts, he heard a new voice and saw a new face in the stables. A young man, small yet strong and handsome, with green eyes full of innocence and a divinely crafted physique. He wore gentleman's clothes with the colors of white and blue. Normally, Alastor would have hidden from any stranger, but for some reason, he felt no fear of this one.

"Who are you?" Alastor asked.

"I'm Maximus Clerval." He replied politely. "I just moved here recently and was exploring the area. I heard rumors about a monster being kept in here, but it looks like those rumors were indeed false."

Maximus didn't seem afraid of Alastor. He wasn't screaming or running away. Why?

"Actually, the rumors are correct. There is a monster here, and you're looking at him." Alastor said.

"Really? Because you just look like a man to me. Although, perhaps you shouldn't be hanging around in a horse stable. Why don't you come out?"

"I can't. I'm locked in."

"Then break out. You're a big fella; you're probably strong enough."

"I've tried."

"No, you haven't."

"I have so."

"No, I don't think you have. I mean, look at yourself—you're huge. Are you really going to tell me that if you put all your will into it, you can't even bust open a gate?"

"Listen, if you're so concerned, why don't you help me get out of here?"

"Oh, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be unnecessary for me to help you. You can get yourself out of there; the problem is you don't want to."

"What the hell are you talking about? You think I like being in here?! You think I enjoy sleeping on straw and waking up to the smell of horse manure every morning?"

"No, but I do think you're afraid."

"Afraid? Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of the world. Afraid of people. I'm guessing they haven't been very nice to you, have they?"

"No." He sighed. "From the moment I first came to life, everyone seems to detest me."

"Oh, surely not everyone. There must be someone who has treated you kindly."

"Well, there is a little girl who comes to see me. She seems to want to help me, and for some reason, I like that she's helping me. I like her."

"She's your friend." Maximus said. "And you want to be her friend, don't you?"

"Yes, but I don't know why."

"It's because, as human beings, we need companionship. We can't truly exist on our own. We need friends, family, and love."

"What's love?"

"It's the only thing that makes life worth living, really. It's the most precious gift in the whole world."

"Really? Can I have it?"

"Sure, but you'll never have it as long as you stay in here."

Maximus then turned around and began to walk away.

"Wait a second, where are you going?"

"To see more of the countryside; it's beautiful this time of year."

"So you're just going to leave me in here?"

"You can get out. You just need the right motivation."

"Wait! Come back! What is motivation?"

But he didn't return, leaving Alastor to just sit and wonder.

Days turned into nights, and Alastor found himself replaying the conversation with Maximus over and over in his mind. The words echoed like a haunting melody, stirring something deep within him. He had never thought of himself as anything other than a monster, a creature to be feared and shunned. But Maximus had seen him differently. He had seen a man, a being capable of friendship, of love, and of happiness.

But he was just one person. So many others had seen him as something to be hated and feared. How could he possibly try to be a part of a world that hated him?

Octavia was on her way back from the fields, holding a bouquet of flowers she had picked for her father. Vladimir and Bea, now almost fully grown were following close behind, stopping only to briefly lick one another.

Suddenly she heard the two dogs start to growl at something. She turned around and there stood Mammon at a distance, eyeing her like he always did.

"Hello there Miss Goetia." He said with a sickeningly sweet tone that made her feel ill all the way to her stomach.

"Hello, Sir." Octavia replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "What do you want?"

Mammon stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. She took a step back, Vladimir and Bea's growling grew louder.

"Now don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to have a look at that pretty dress of yours. It looks really nice on you, it's from Paris right?"

She stepped back further.

"You're so pretty. I have something for you, it's sweets from England. The best in the world."

Octavia's heart raced as she clutched the bouquet tighter, feeling the rough stems dig into her palm. She could sense the tension in Vladimir and Bea, their instincts on high alert. Mammon's presence was suffocating, and she felt trapped between the desire to flee and the need to protect herself.

"I really must be going." She said, her voice wavering slightly. "My father will be expecting me soon."

"Oh, come now." Mammon purred, stepping closer, his smile widening. "Just a little chat won't hurt, will it? You wouldn't want to be rude, would you?"

He pulled a brightly colored wrapped piece of candy from his pocket and started to bring it toward her. But he was getting too close for the liking of her pets. Vladimir lunged forward, biting him on the arm while Bea tackled him.

Octavia sprinted away from the stables, her mind racing with fear and adrenaline. She could hear Mammon's startled shout behind her, followed by the sound of Vladimir and Bea barking furiously. She didn't dare look back, knowing that the moment of hesitation could cost her precious seconds.

As she dashed through the fields, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced around her. The world felt surreal, as if she were in a nightmare from which she couldn't wake. She could hear Mammon's voice calling out, taunting her, but she pushed it all aside, focusing only on putting distance between them.

"Come back here you naughty girl!" Mammon's voice rang out, laced with an unsettling calmness that sent chills down her spine.

She didn't stop. She zigzagged through the tall grass, her legs pumping as she navigated the familiar terrain. Her only thought was to reach the safety of her home, to warn her father about Mammon's presence and the danger he posed.

Suddenly, she stumbled upon a small grove of trees, their thick trunks providing a momentary refuge. She ducked behind one, pressing her back against the rough bark, trying to catch her breath. The sounds of the world around her faded, replaced by the thundering of her heart.

But the respite was short-lived. She could hear Mammon's footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring the hunt.

"Where are you?" He called out, his voice dripping with feigned sweetness. "I promise I won't hurt you."

Octavia clenched her fists, her mind racing. She couldn’t let him find her; she needed to think of a way to escape. Taking a deep breath, she bolted away, weaving through the trees.

"There you are!" She heard him shout.

"Leave me alone!" She screamed, desperation lacing her voice. "Father! Father, help me!"

Her father couldn't hear her, but someone else could. Alastor sat up instantly, and when he spotted Mammon chasing Octavia, he began to ram himself against the gate with all his might.

"Here I come!" Mammon taunted, closing the distance between them.

Alastor slammed himself against the gate, again and again.

The wooden barrier creaked and groaned under the relentless force of Alastor's determination. Splinters dug into his skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the urgency of the moment. Octavia was in danger, and he had to save her.

"Gotcha!" Mammon boasted, followed by another piercing scream from Octavia. "Now be nice for me, little girl. Be really nice."

With one final, desperate push, Alastor threw his entire weight against the gate. It shuddered violently, and for a fleeting moment, he thought it might hold. But then, with a resounding crack, the gate burst open, sending him sprawling into the open air. He charged toward Mammon like a wild beast, just as the vile man pinned Octavia to the ground.

"Huh?!" Mammon exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder. "Hey! How did you get out? Get back in there, you overgrown urchin!"

But Alastor only moved closer, undeterred.

"Didn't you hear me?! I told you to go back! Now! Or I'll beat you so hard that—"

Before he could finish, Alastor lunged, grabbing him and hoisting him up.

"Wait! What do you think you're doing?!"

Alastor flashed a sinister smile, revealing sharp teeth.

"No! No! NO!"

Chapter Text

"Where is that girl?" Stolas wondered, glancing at the clock as an hour ticked by without any sign of Octavia for dinner. "William! Mary! Go fetch Octavia for dinner."

"I already went to look for her, sir, but she's not in her room." Mary replied.

"Nor in the library." William added.

"Hmmm... Where could she be?" Stolas mused, anxiety creeping into his thoughts.

Just then, a knock echoed through the hall. Mary rushed to the door, her heart racing. When she opened it, a chilling sight met her eyes: Alastor stood there, cradling an unconscious Octavia in his arms. Blood smeared his hands and mouth, and tears streamed down his face.

"I... I didn't mean to..." He sobbed, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to!"

Mary let out a piercing scream, the sound slicing through the air and alerting William and Stolas. They hurried to investigate, and when Stolas laid eyes on his precious daughter in such a state, fury ignited within him.

Stolas's heart raced as he absorbed the horrifying scene before him. The creature he had kept hidden stood at the threshold of his home, cradling his daughter as if she were a fragile doll. Blood stained Alastor's hands and mouth, and his eyes were wide with fear and remorse.

"What have you done?!" Stolas bellowed, his voice reverberating through the hall. "What have you done?!"

Without another word, Stolas snatched Octavia from Alastor's grasp and carried her upstairs, the servants trailing closely behind.

"My baby!" Stolas wailed, his voice breaking with despair. "My baby!"

Heartbroken and consumed by guilt, he fled from the house and stumbled back into the stables. Collapsing to the ground, he felt the weight of his actions crash down upon him. He had killed her. He must have held her too tightly, broken something within her. He hadn't meant to do it, but that didn't change the fact that she was gone and he was responsible.

He had never truly understood the weight of remorse until this moment. Convinced that he had taken the life of his only friend—an innocent child who had been the first to show him any semblance of compassion—he felt an overwhelming urge to end his own life.

Hours later, the sound of bootsteps echoed through the stables, and a shadow loomed over him. He looked up to see Stolas, rifle drawn, aiming directly at him. The man had resolved that anyone he believed had harmed his child should not be allowed to live, and Alastor was now the target of his wrath.

"Go on, kill me." Alastor said, offering no resistance. "It's what I deserve."

"You..." Stolas momentarily lowered his gun, taken aback by the creature's unexpected composure. "You can talk?"

Strange. Stolas had always assumed this being was nothing more than a mindless, savage abomination, incapable of any human intelligence.

"What's taking so long? Pull the trigger already! I'm not going to run away! Just do it!" Alastor sobbed.

In that moment, Stolas finally noticed the tears streaming down Alastor's face, he had been crying this entire time. Could it be that he was capable of human intelligence and emotion?

Stolas hesitated, the gun trembling in his hand. The creature he had always viewed as a monster now appeared more like a broken soul than a villain. Alastor's tears mirrored his own anguish, and for a fleeting moment, Stolas was struck by the absurdity of the situation.

"What did you do to my daughter?" Stolas demanded, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and confusion. "What happened?"

"I... I don't know." Alastor choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just saw the man chasing her, holding her down! When I grabbed her from him, I guess... I guess I was too rough!"

"Wait a second, what man?! Who?!"

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

"You're lying to me!" Stolas shouted, re-aiming the gun.

"No! I swear!"

"My daughter could have died today because of you!"

"Could have?" Alastor inquired, his eyes wide with fear. "You mean she's still alive?"

"Yes, by God's mercy! But I won't risk her life again!"

With a swift motion, Stolas took the safety off the rifle, directing it right at Alastor's forehead. It would be a clear shot, a quick and painless death. Just as his finger slid over the trigger, however, Bea limped into the barn, barking weakly.

With whatever strength she had left, she grabbed Stolas by the sleeve with her jaw and pulled, as if urging him to follow her.

Stolas hesitated, the gun still aimed at Alastor, but the sight of Bea, his daughter's loyal companion, struggling to get his attention tugged at his heart. Her eyes were wide with urgency, and her whimpers seemed to plead for him to follow.

"What is it, girl?" Stolas asked, lowering the rifle slightly, his instincts as a father battling with his rage. Bea tugged at his sleeve again, her tail wagging weakly. Despite his judgment, he chose to spare Alastor's life for now and follow Bea, but not before locking Alastor in another pen.

Bea led him out into the field, where they came upon Vladimir, resting on the ground and licking a wound in his side, a knife lying beside him. Stolas picked up the knife and examined it carefully.

"I know this blade." He said. "It belongs to Mammon."

Bea continued to lead him further until they reached a grove near the trees. There, Stolas discovered Mammon's lifeless body on the ground, his throat torn out—bitten out, to be precise.

"So that's where all the blood came from." Stolas concluded. "Could it be true? Did that monster really save Octavia?"

Uncertainty gnawed at him; he still didn't trust Alastor entirely. But he wisely chose to let him live until he heard Octavia's side of the story. In the meantime, the so-called monster would remain contained while a physician tended to his daughter and her beloved pets.

By the next morning, Octavia had awakened, her only injury a bump on the head from her fall. She quickly explained everything to her father.

"Oh, Octavia." Stolas said, rocking his little girl back and forth, overcome with remorse. "Forgive me for allowing such a man near you. I knew there was something wrong about him. I swear to you, this will never happen again! Never!"

"Is he gone?" She asked, clinging to him fearfully. "Is he still out there?"

"No. He's dead. He won't ever hurt you again. Oh, my precious darling, I'll do anything to make this up to you! Anything!"

"It's not your fault, Father."

"Yes, it is! I put you at risk just to please someone else. I almost lost you, and I'll never forgive myself for that as long as I live."

"Well, I don't blame you, Father, but there's something I'd like you to do for me."

"Anything! Just name it!"

"Please let Alastor go."

"Alastor?" Stolas asked, confusion etched on his face. "Who's that?"

"He's the man in the stables, and he's also my friend. He's been treated so horribly since he arrived here, like an animal. He doesn't deserve that."

"Octavia, it's not that simple. He's not just a man. It's...Hard to explain."

"Father, he saved my life. If nothing else, we're in debt to him."

Stolas sighed, considering his daughter's words. She made a valid point, and this creature wasn't nearly as far gone as he had originally perceived.

"Can I at least see him?" Octavia asked. "Just to let him know I'm alright?"

"Very well." He consented. "But I'm going with you."

As Stolas led Octavia to the stables, he felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity, unsure if this was a good idea.

When they arrived, Alastor was still locked away in the pen, his eyes hollow and filled with regret. He looked up, his expression shifting from despair to surprise upon seeing Octavia.

"You're okay." He said, his voice trembling.

Octavia jumped over the pen gate and ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. Instinctively, he scooped her up carefully, hugging her tightly. It was the first time he had ever given or received a hug, and it felt warm and wonderful.

The scene unfolded before Stolas like a vivid tapestry, each thread woven with emotion and uncertainty. He stood at the edge of the pen, grappling with the conflicting feelings that surged within him. The sight of Octavia, so unguarded and trusting, wrapped around Alastor, stirred something deep in his heart, a flicker of understanding that perhaps the world was not as black and white as he had always believed.

"You're really okay." Alastor whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held her close, the weight of his earlier guilt momentarily lifting. Octavia's presence seemed to breathe life back into him, and for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Stolas cleared his throat and stepped forward cautiously.

"So...How did you two become so close in the first place?" He asked.

"Oh...Well..." Octavia hesitated, knowing she was about to reveal her secret visits to the stables. "I might have been sneaking in here for a while now."

"Even after I told you not to?"

"Sorry, Father. The first time was an accident. I was just trying to find Bea; she had wandered in here. Then I met him, and well...One thing led to another."

Stolas raised an eyebrow, his protective instincts flaring up once more.

"You've been sneaking around with him? Octavia, do you understand how dangerous that is?"

"I know, I know!" She replied, her voice rising slightly in frustration. "But why does he have to be locked up? What's wrong with him?"

"Yes." Alastor interjected. "What is wrong with me? Why was I put here?"

Stolas struggled to find an answer. He knew the truth, but revealing it was impossible, Benedict had sworn him to secrecy.

"I can't tell you." Stolas said finally. "And I can't exactly let you go either. But perhaps I was wrong about you."

"So what does that mean for me?" Alastor asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I suppose I could allow you to live with us. I'll tell everyone that you're a nephew of mine whom I've chosen to take in."

"You think anyone will believe that?" Octavia questioned.

"I have ten legitimate brothers and sisters, and God knows how many illegitimate siblings. They'll buy it."

"And what would I be doing?" Alastor inquired.

"Well, I would try to educate you, help you integrate into civilized society. Maybe even teach you a trade."

"What's the catch?"

"One condition. You will look after my daughter and guard her with your life when I'm not around. If you ever hurt her or any of my staff, you're done for."

Alastor nodded slowly, the weight of Stolas's words settling heavily on his shoulders.

"I understand."

Octavia beamed at her father, her eyes sparkling with hope.

"Oh, thank you, Father!"

"Just remember, Alastor." Stolas warned, his tone serious. "This is a second chance for you. Don't waste it."

As Stolas unlocked the pen, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a complicated journey. He had opened a door that could lead to unforeseen consequences, but for now, he chose to trust his daughter's instincts.

Chapter Text

Sir Cassius Blitzenstien was initially skeptical about Anthony taking over Vagatha's responsibilities. However, when Anthony explained that Vagatha had been feeling a bit under the weather, Cassius quickly accepted the excuse without further question.

"Illnesses from foreigners!" He grumbled. "Ugh! It'll be the death of us all! Well, that and a woman's tongue."

"Yeesh!" Anthony thought to himself, taken aback. "He sounds just like my father."

Despite the initial doubts, Anthony excelled at managing Vagatha's work while she focused on educating Charlotte. However, teaching Charlotte was no easy task. The young woman was stubborn, highly emotional, and often acted on whims. One memorable instance was when she suddenly burst into song.

"La-La-La-La-La-La." She sang, like a small child blissfully unaware of the lyrics but enchanted by the melody. "La-La-La-La-La."

"Charlotte, what are you singing?" Vagatha asked, puzzled.

"Pretty...Pretty sound... I hear...Pretty sound," Charlotte replied, her eyes wide with wonder.

"You mean music? You hear music?" Vagatha listened intently, but the atmosphere around her was silent, not even a bird chirping. What music could that girl possibly be hearing?

Another time, in the dead of night, Charlotte was crying in her sleep, tears streaming down her face.

"Dead...She's dead...My fault...My fault... I... I... Should die too!" She sobbed.

Vagatha assumed it was just a nightmare. She crawled into bed beside the frightened girl, holding her close and soothing her.

"There, there." She whispered, gently combing Charlotte's blond hair. "It's only a bad dream. You have nothing to fear."

It was challenging to comfort Charlotte during her moments of sadness, anger, or fear. Yet, when she was happy, it was a sight to behold. She found joy in the garden and in the little black cat that frequented the estate.

"So many...Colors." She once marveled, taking in the vibrant flowers.

"Yes! Each flower has its own unique color and scent." Vagatha replied, guiding her through the winding paths. "This one here is a rose, and over there are daisies. And look at those sunflowers; they're as tall as you!"

Charlotte's gaze followed Vagatha's pointing finger, her excitement palpable. She took a few tentative steps forward, reaching out to touch a nearby daisy.

"So pretty." She said, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals. "So soft."

"Exactly!" Vagatha encouraged, kneeling beside her. "Flowers can be soft and beautiful, just like you. They bring joy to everyone who sees them."

Charlotte smiled, her confidence blossoming as she explored the garden. She began to pick a few flowers, carefully selecting the ones that caught her eye.

"Can I...Keep them?" She asked, looking up at Vagatha with hopeful eyes.

"Of course! You can make a bouquet," Vagatha replied, her heart swelling with happiness at Charlotte's progress. "Just remember to be gentle with them."

As Charlotte gathered her flowers, Vagatha watched with pride. The girl was beginning to express herself, and it was a beautiful sight.

"Look, Vagatha!" Charlotte exclaimed, holding up a handful of colorful blooms. "Bouquet!"

"That's perfect, Charlotte! It's beautiful!" Vagatha praised, clapping her hands together. "Now, let's find a vase to put them in when we get back inside."

Charlotte nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with joy.

As they continued to wander through the garden, Vagatha pointed out various plants and herbs, explaining their uses and benefits.

"This is lavender." She said, kneeling beside a bush. "It smells wonderful and is great for calming the mind."

"Calm...Mind." Charlotte repeated, her brow furrowing in thought.

"Yes! It helps you feel relaxed." Vagatha explained. "And over here, we have mint. It's refreshing and can be used in tea."

"Tea." Charlotte echoed, her interest piqued. "Drink?"

"Yes! Would you like to try some mint tea later?" Vagatha asked, her heart lifting at Charlotte's growing curiosity.

"Yes! Try!" Charlotte exclaimed with determination, her small hands clutching the bouquet tightly.

As they made their way back toward the house, Vagatha felt a sense of accomplishment. Charlotte was not only learning but also beginning to find joy in the world around her. It was a long road ahead, but each small victory felt monumental.

Once inside, Vagatha helped Charlotte arrange her flowers in a vase, teaching her how to trim the stems and place them carefully.

"Now, we can set this on the table for everyone to see." Vagatha said, placing the vase in the center of the dining room.

Charlotte beamed with pride as she admired her handiwork.

"Pretty...Flowers." She said, her voice filled with satisfaction.

"Yes! You did a wonderful job." Vagatha praised, affectionately ruffling Charlotte's hair. "Now, how about that mint tea?"

Charlotte nodded eagerly, her excitement palpable. Vagatha set to work, boiling water and steeping the fresh mint leaves. As the aroma filled the kitchen, Charlotte watched intently, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Smell!" Vagatha said, holding out a cup for Charlotte to inhale the steam. "What do you think?"

"Fresh!" Charlotte exclaimed, her face lighting up. "Good!"

"Exactly! Now, let it cool a bit before you take a sip." Vagatha instructed, pouring the tea into a smaller cup for Charlotte.

After a few moments, Vagatha handed the cup to Charlotte, who took it with both hands, her expression serious as she brought it to her lips.

"Careful now." Vagatha cautioned, watching closely.

Charlotte took a tentative sip, her eyes widening with delight.

"Good! Good!" She exclaimed, her smile infectious.

Vagatha couldn't help but laugh, her heart swelling with joy.

"I'm so glad you like it."

"Meow!"

The black cat had sneaked in again, likely hoping for a handout. It hopped onto Charlotte's lap and began to mewl. Vagatha sighed and filled a saucer with milk for her.

"Since you've been coming around here a lot, we might as well give you a name." She said, placing the saucer where the cat could reach. "How about Hungry? It definitely suits you."

"Kitty... Kitty... Ki... Kee... Kee... Kee-Kee." Charlotte said, experimenting with the name.

"Is that what you want to call her? Kee-Kee?"

Charlotte nodded enthusiastically.

"I guess that works too. Considering you somehow get in here even when the doors are locked. It's as if you have your own personal keys or something."

The cat, now named Kee-Kee, yawned and began to drink the milk.

Vagatha chuckled at the sight of Kee-Kee lapping up the milk, her playful spirit bringing warmth to the room. Charlotte watched with wide eyes, completely captivated by the little creature.

"Look at her go!" Vagatha said, smiling at Charlotte. "Kee-Kee is quite the hungry little thing, isn't she?"

"Yes! Kee-Kee!" Charlotte echoed, her face lighting up with delight. She reached out a tentative hand, gently stroking the cat's soft fur. Kee-Kee paused for a moment, then resumed her meal, clearly enjoying the attention.

"You're very gentle, Charlotte." Vagatha praised, feeling a swell of pride for the girl. "Animals can sense kindness, and they love it."

Charlotte beamed at the compliment, her confidence growing with each passing moment.

"Kee-Kee likes me!" She declared, her voice filled with joy.

"Absolutely! And you know what? You can be friends with Kee-Kee, just like you're learning to be friends with the flowers in the garden," Vagatha encouraged, her heart warming at the connection Charlotte was forming.

As they sat together, sipping mint tea and watching Kee-Kee, Vagatha felt a sense of peace enveloping the room. It was a stark contrast to the earlier chaos and uncertainty that had surrounded Charlotte.

As the evening wore on, Vagatha and Charlotte continued to share words and laughter, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. Similar moments followed as the days went on, and Charlotte continued to learn and understand more. Once she learned to speak properly, Vagatha taught her how to read and write. Charlotte's progress was remarkable, and Vagatha felt a sense of fulfillment in guiding her. Each day brought new challenges and triumphs, and Charlotte's determination to learn was inspiring.

"I don't understand, Vagatha." Charlotte said, looking up from the book she had been reading. "Why is Clarissa's family so insistent on her marrying this man when she doesn't want to?"

"Because, unfortunately, she, like the rest of us, lives in a society where marriage is often about convenience."

"Convenience?"

"A business deal or a trade. When two people marry, the groom's family gains something, and the bride's family gains something. Things like money, land, or a higher social status. Most people think that an arranged marriage is the only thing a daughter is good for, but my father wanted better for me than that."

"So is marriage a bad thing?"

"Not when it's done for the right reasons. Not when it's done out of love."

"Love? What's that?"

"Oh right, I haven't taught you about love yet. Then again, love isn't just something you can look up in a book to fully understand. But perhaps this will help."

Vagatha then presented Charlotte with her beloved book, Evelina: Or, the History of a Young Lady's Entrance into the World.

"This is ironically one of my favorite books. Much like Clarissa, it's about a woman's place in society, but this one also happens to be a love story, and the protagonist is actually in love with the man who wants her. Well, one of them, anyway."

"There's more than one?"

"Yep. Same with poor Clarissa. That's the curse of being a beautiful woman; men want you like mad. And you know, you're kind of a beauty yourself. Maybe someday you'll have more than one man going after you, and should that happen, you need to know how to tell which one truly loves you."

"Wouldn't they all love me?"

"Not exactly. A man typically pursues a woman for one of two reasons: either he loves her, or he wants to own her. Never choose a man who wishes to own you because you're not an object, and you're not a pet. You're a person just like he is, and a man who loves you will recognize that."

"You sure do know a lot about things, Vagatha."

"Well, you can thank my parents for that. They taught me everything I know."

"You talk about them so much, but what are they exactly?"

"Now don't tell me you don't know what parents are. Surely you must know what a mother is. What a father is."

Charlotte shook her head.

"Oh querida." Vagatha sighed sympathetically. "You must have been an orphan, because I'm certain at this point you would at least recall something about your parents, your family."

"Family? I don't know what that is either."

Vagatha's heart ached at Charlotte's words. It was clear that the girl had endured a life filled with uncertainty and loss, and the absence of family was a heavy burden to bear.

"Family is...Well, it's the people who love you and take care of you," Vagatha explained gently. "It's the ones who support you and help you grow. They are the ones who should be there for you in good times and bad. They celebrate your victories and comfort you in your sorrows."

"Like what you do for me?" Charlotte replied.

"Well...Yes, I suppose."

"So does that mean you're my family?"

Vagatha felt a rush of warmth at Charlotte's question, her heart swelling with affection for the young girl.

"Yes, Charlotte." She said softly, kneeling down to meet her gaze. "In many ways, I consider you family. I care about you deeply, and I want to see you happy and thriving. Family doesn't always have to be by blood; sometimes, it's about the connections we make and the love we share."

Charlotte's eyes sparkled with understanding, and a smile spread across her face.

"Then I have a family!" She exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. "You are my family, Vagatha!"

"Yes, I am." Vagatha replied, her voice thick with emotion. "And I will always be here for you, no matter what. You'll be the younger sister I always wanted."

Charlotte leaned in and wrapped her arms around Vagatha, hugging her tightly. Vagatha returned the embrace, feeling a sense of fulfillment and purpose. In that moment, the bond between them felt unbreakable, and Vagatha knew she would do everything in her power to protect and nurture Charlotte.

As they pulled away, Charlotte's expression turned thoughtful.

"What about you, Vagatha? Do you have a family?" She asked, her curiosity evident.

Vagatha hesitated for a moment, memories of her own family flooding back.

"I did." She said finally. "I had my parents, and they taught me so much about love and kindness. They are my greatest supporters, and I cherish the time I spent with them."

"Are they far away?" Charlotte asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

"No. They're gone." Vagatha explained. "They died from an epidemic that spread through the country, which is also why I had to come here to Geneva. I didn't want to leave them, so ill and weak. But they begged me to go while I was still healthy. I carry their love with me every day. They taught me to be strong, to care for others, and to find my own way. That's what I want to pass on to you."

As they settled back into the warmth of the fire, Vagatha felt a sense of peace wash over her. The bond they had formed was unbreakable, and she knew that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Now, let's get back to our book." Vagatha said, smiling at Charlotte. "There's so much more to learn about love and life, and I can't wait to share it all with you."

Charlotte's eyes lit up with excitement as they settled back into their reading, the warmth of their newfound family connection wrapping around them like a cozy blanket.

Chapter Text

Anthony was not skilled at doing laundry; he had never learned how. This meant that Vagatha either had to teach him or continue handling it herself. As a result, Charlotte would have to spend laundry day alone for a while. Vagatha gave her strict instructions: she was not to speak to any strangers, let herself be seen, or venture beyond the servants' quarters and the garden. Charlotte promised to obey Vagatha.

She spent the morning in Vagatha's room, engrossed in reading Evelina, and in the afternoon, she ventured into the garden to play with Kee-Kee, her little cat. Kee-Kee loved to hide in trees and bushes, and Charlotte delighted in the game of finding her.

As Charlotte searched for Kee-Kee, she felt a sense of freedom in the garden. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting playful shadows on the ground. She called out,

"Kee-Kee! Where are you?" Her voice echoed softly, blending with the gentle rustle of the leaves. Suddenly, she spotted a flicker of movement near a bush. "Got you!"

Kee-Kee darted out, her fur glistening in the sunlight as she climbed higher into a nearby tree. Charlotte giggled, her heart racing with excitement. The game was on! After chasing Kee-Kee for an hour, she took a moment to rest under the tree, with the cat curled up in her lap. As she relaxed, a familiar melody began to play in her mind, and she found herself singing along.

"La-La-La-La. La-La-La-La."

"You have a very pretty voice." Someone said without warning.

Startled, Charlotte stood up quickly and hid behind the tree, peering cautiously from behind the bark. She saw another young woman standing nearby.

The woman had a unique complexion—darker than her own, Vagatha's, and Anthony's, yet lighter than Dr. Utterson's. Her magnificent black hair was styled in ringlets, and her thick lashes framed a pair of tender yet striking grey eyes. She was a vision in a gown of black and red.

Charlotte knew she was a stranger and recalled Vagatha's warning about strangers, but something about this woman felt safe. Kee-Kee seemed to share her instinct, remaining calm instead of fleeing as she usually did around unfamiliar faces.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you." The woman said. "Are you alright?"

"I... I'm fine. I'm just not sure if I should speak to you."

"Don't worry, I won't tell old Cassius. I know that's what Vagatha is worried about."

"You know Vagatha?"

"I've heard of her. She works for my uncle and cousin. We've never officially met, but from what I've seen and heard, she's a remarkable woman and someone you can trust." She smiled warmly. "Anyway, I'm Milliana Lavenza. I come here occasionally to visit my cousin and my sweetheart."

"I'm Charlotte."

"It's lovely to meet you, Charlotte. That was a beautiful song you were singing. But I'm guessing you don't know the lyrics, do you?"

"Lyrics?"

"Words that accompany music. Music is beautiful on its own, but adding words can make it even grander. Luckily for you, I know that song by heart."

"You do?"

"Yes, my love wrote it just for me. Would you like me to teach you the lyrics?"

Charlotte's heart raced at the prospect of learning something new.

"Yes, please!" She exclaimed, stepping out from behind the tree, her initial nervousness fading. "I would love to learn!"

Milliana smiled, her grey eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Alright then, listen closely. The song goes like this..."

As Milliana began to sing, her voice was rich and melodic, weaving through the air like a gentle breeze. Charlotte listened intently, absorbing each word as if it were a precious secret. The lyrics flowed beautifully, telling a story, and Charlotte felt herself getting lost in the magic of it all.

"Now, let's try it together." Milliana said after finishing the first verse. "I'll sing a line, and you repeat after me."

Charlotte nodded eagerly, her heart swelling with joy. They sang together, Milliana's voice guiding her through the lyrics. With each repetition, Charlotte felt more confident, her own voice blending harmoniously with Milliana's.

As they practiced, Kee-Kee curled up tighter in Charlotte's lap, seemingly enjoying the music as much as they were. The garden, with its vibrant colors and fragrant flowers, felt like a perfect stage for their impromptu performance.

After a few rounds, Milliana clapped her hands together, her face beaming with pride.

"You have a beautiful voice, Charlotte! You picked that up so quickly!"

"Thank you!" Charlotte replied, her cheeks flushing with happiness. "But it seems like such a sad song."

"It's bittersweet. It tells the story of a man longing for a past love. He is in pain but speaks very little, waiting with a rose in hand. He hopes she will return, but knows it's unlikely, so he keeps his expectations low. He offers her his last hope, his last bit of life, and pleads with her not to leave him. The song reminds us that, even in difficult circumstances, love is powerful and can bring people together."

"There it is again. That word. Love. Whenever I hear it, I feel like something is missing, and I have to find it."

Charlotte placed her hand over her heart and began to rise to her feet. Again, she heard that melody in her head, and this time she sang the lyrics Milliana had taught her. She felt an urge to move her feet with the music. Her steps began slowly, one at a time, then joy seized her, and she began to spin round and round.

The world around her blurred as she twirled, sunlight dancing through the leaves above, casting a golden glow on her and Kee-Kee. The garden transformed into a magical realm where worries faded away, and all that existed was the music and the joy of the moment.

Charlotte felt liberated, her spirit soaring with each spin. The words of the song resonated within her—a longing for something she couldn't quite grasp but knew was out there, waiting for her. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to guide her, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin and the gentle breeze that seemed to join in her dance.

Octavia had wanted Alastor to teach her the song he played on her flute the second time they met. She had hoped to learn it the very first day after her father took him in. Unfortunately, that would have to wait until the man's new identity as her "distant cousin," known as Alastor de Changy, was established. The story her father concocted for him was that he was the son of Stolas's illegitimate sister, who had died in childbirth after becoming pregnant through an affair with a French cavalry officer. He had spent most of his life in an orphanage and then a workhouse until Stolas discovered his late sister's will, revealing his existence, and chose to take him in out of kindness.

Stolas spent the mornings training Alastor to memorize the false backstory, while evenings were spent having the servants scrub him down to rid him of the awful smells that seemed to cling to him. Oh, how Alastor hated those baths. Every time William would scrub him, he'd fight back, often ending up dunked in the tub. It was a frustrating experience, but one could not have the nephew of a nobleman smelling of rot, blood, and body odor.

Eventually, Stolas consented to let Alastor have the afternoons to entertain Octavia. She was overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with him. Those afternoons became her favorite part of the day, a welcome reprieve from the rigid structure of her life. She would often find him sitting under the sprawling branches of the old oak tree in the garden, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting playful shadows on the ground.

"Alastor!" She would call, her voice ringing with excitement as she approached him. He would look up from his makeshift music sheets, a crooked smile spreading across his face, and she could see the remnants of his rough past fading away in those moments.

"Ready for another lesson?" He would tease, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Octavia would nod eagerly, clutching her flute tightly, the instrument feeling like an extension of herself.

"Alright, now watch my fingers carefully." He instructed. "It's all about feeling the right vibrations and putting them together."

He started to play his song. The melody danced through the air, captivating the young girl as she studied his fingerwork on the instrument.

Suddenly, he stopped and began to spin in circles. He looked so silly that Octavia couldn't help but laugh.

"What do you think you're doing, Alastor?"

"I... I honestly don't know." He replied, a bewildered look on his face. "I feel odd."

"Are you tired?"

"Something is spinning. Going around like a bird."

Octavia giggled, her laughter ringing like the notes of her flute.

"You certainly look like a silly bird, Alastor! Is that your idea of a dance?"

"Stop! Stop! Oh, I'm getting dizzy! Oof!"

He dropped to the ground.

Octavia rushed to his side, her laughter still bubbling.

"Are you alright?" She asked, concern mingling with her amusement.

"I think so." He said, putting a hand to his head as he tried to regain his bearings. "I wonder what made it stop?"

Charlotte had whirled around and around until she was so dizzy with happiness that she collapsed onto the grass, rolling around and laughing.

Lying on her back, she gazed up at the sky, her heart still racing from the exhilaration of the dance. The sun warmed her face, and she could hear the faint sound of Milliana's laughter mingling with her own.

"That was so much fun!" Charlotte exclaimed, still breathless from her spinning. "Do you do things like that, Milliana?"

But when Charlotte sat up to address her, she discovered that the woman she had met was gone.

"Huh... That's strange. Why would she leave without saying goodbye?"

"You expect me to eat this damn swill?!" Came the enraged voice of Cassius, bellowing as he threw a bowl of stew out the window.

"Oh..." Charlotte deduced. "I guess that's why. I better get back inside before someone like him sees me."

Quickly, she gathered herself, brushing the grass from her dress and glancing around the garden to ensure no one else was lurking nearby. The sudden shift in atmosphere made her heart race again, but she reminded herself of Vagatha's instructions. She needed to stay safe and follow the rules.

As she made her way back toward the servants' quarters, she couldn't shake off the feeling of joy that had come from her encounter with Milliana. The song, the dance, and the warmth of the sun still lingered in her heart. She felt a sense of longing for more moments like that—moments filled with laughter, music, and perhaps even this strange thing known as love.

Chapter Text

Once inside the quarters, Charlotte took a deep breath, attempting to calm her racing heart. The muffled sounds of Cassius shouting echoed in the distance, but she chose to focus on the warmth of a cherished memory instead.

Finding a quiet corner, she settled down and pulled out the book Vagatha had given her. As she opened it, her mind drifted back to Milliana's voice, the enchanting lyrics of the song, and the way the world had felt so magical in the garden.

What if she could learn more songs? What if she could dance again? The thought filled her with excitement.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Vagatha stepped inside, her expression softening as she saw Charlotte lost in thought.

"Charlotte, are you alright?" Vagatha asked gently.

Charlotte looked up, her eyes sparkling with the remnants of her earlier joy.

"I met someone in the garden, Vagatha! She taught me a song!"

"A stranger? Charlotte, I told you not to speak to strangers."

"But she was nice to me."

Vagatha sighed.

"I understand, but you must be careful. Not everyone has good intentions, especially in times like these. Right now, no one can know that you're here."

"Why not?"

"Because my master is a cruel, greedy, and unreasonable man. He wouldn't hesitate to throw out a poor woman in distress and the servant who helped her. As much as I loathe this job, I desperately need it."

"Job?" Charlotte inquired, her curiosity piqued. "What is a job?"

"It's what keeps women like us from relying on arranged marriages and prostitution!"

"Huh?"

"What I mean is, it's something people do to earn a living. It's how they provide for themselves and their families. I work for my master, tending to the household and ensuring everything runs smoothly."

Charlotte furrowed her brow, trying to grasp the concept.

"So, you have to do what he says?"

"Yes," Vagatha replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "I have to follow his orders, even when they go against my own wishes. It's the only way I can get paid."

"Paid?"

"Given money, which I use to obtain things I need, like food and clothing."

"Does everyone have to get a job?"

"Everyone who's not born into money or doesn't become nouveau riche like my master and his family."

"What's nouveau riche?"

"It's usually people who were originally poor or had average means but made their fortune through hard work. I admire those who earn their wealth, but my master just got lucky and inherited his fortune from a well-married relative."

Charlotte listened intently, her young mind trying to piece together the complexities of the world Vagatha was describing.

"So, if you don't do what he says, you won't get money?" She  asked.

"Exactly." Vagatha replied, her eyes clouded with a mixture of resignation and determination. "If I disobey him, I risk losing everything, my job, my home, and the little security I have."

"Wow, your master sounds horrible. Are they all like that?"

"Many are, at least in this family. The original mistress of the household was the daughter of impoverished aristocrats, who let their status and greed dictate every choice they made. They disowned their son, her brother, simply because he fell in love with and chose to marry a woman of color he met while sailing."

"They disowned him? Just because of who he loved?"

"Yes." Vagatha said, her voice heavy with the weight of the story. "It was a scandal in their circles. They cared more about appearances and social standing than about family. It's a cruel world, Charlotte, and love often takes a backseat to wealth and status."

Charlotte felt a pang of sadness for the brother she had never met. Though she had never known him, she felt a connection, imagining him sobbing over a letter from his parents, once again denying his offer of reconciliation.

She could almost picture him: a man with dreams and a heart full of love, cast aside by those who should have supported him, punished simply for falling in love.

"But why would they care so much about what others think?" Charlotte asked. "Isn't love more important than money or status?"

Vagatha smiled softly at Charlotte's innocence.

"You would think so, but many people are blinded by their desire for power and prestige. They forget that love is what truly enriches life. They become so consumed by their ambitions that they lose sight of what matters. However, the mistress always felt remorse for her brother's fate, and when he and his family passed, she took in his only surviving child to raise as her own, a niece."

Charlotte's eyes widened as she absorbed Vagatha's words.

"So, the mistress took care of her brother's child even after everything that happened?"

"Yes." Vagatha nodded, her expression softening. "She regretted how she treated him, and when she lost him, she realized the importance of family and love. It was her way of making amends, I suppose."

"That's really brave of her." Charlotte said, her young heart swelling with admiration. "It must have been hard for her to go against her family's wishes."

"Actually, by then her parents were dead, and it was her husband who objected, until he found out he could become a lord."

"What do you mean?"

"Her brother may have been disowned by their parents, but they never made it official in their will. By right of blood, he was the firstborn and only son, making him next in line to inherit a higher title after their parents' death. Since he was gone, that right went to his daughter. So the master decided to betroth her to their son. Ick! What is it with rich people and marrying their cousins?"

Charlotte giggled at Vagatha's comment, the absurdity of it striking her as funny.

"That does sound strange. Why would they want to marry someone so close?"

"To keep the wealth and status within the family, of course." Vagatha replied, shaking her head. "It's all about maintaining their power and influence. They think that by marrying within the family, they can preserve their lineage and ensure their riches don't go to outsiders."

"But that doesn't sound fair to anyone involved." Charlotte said, her brow furrowing in thought. "What if they don't love each other?"

"That's often the case." Vagatha said. "Love is rarely a consideration in these arrangements. It's more about alliances, power, and money. The feelings of the individuals involved are often overlooked. But in the end, the engagement fell through."

"Fell through?"

"The bride didn't go through with it."

"Why? What happened?"

"No one really knows." Vagatha said. "It's one of the biggest mysteries in this household. One night, she just disappeared without a trace. Rumors say she ran off to Paris or Venice with a secret lover, but no one's seen or heard from her since."

"What was her name?"

"I don't know. I only found out about her a year ago, hearing from the other washerwomen during their daily gossip."

Charlotte leaned in closer, her curiosity piqued.

"Do you think she really ran away with someone? Or maybe something happened to her?"

Vagatha shrugged.

"I can't say. I started working here shortly after she vanished; I never met her. But I do know this: her disappearance drove her fiancé to the brink of madness. He once attacked me because he saw me putting away her old dresses."

Charlotte's eyes widened in shock.

"He attacked you?"

"Yes. He just grabbed me and started screaming that I had no right to put away her dresses because she was coming back. That she wasn't dead. I had never seen anyone so unhinged before." She said. "He seems better now, but sometimes I look in his eyes and see a flicker of something...Something unstable."

Charlotte felt a chill run down her spine at Vagatha's words. The idea of someone being so consumed by their emotions that they could lash out in anger was both frightening and fascinating.

"Do you think he still loves her?" Charlotte asked.

Vagatha paused for a moment, contemplating the question.

"I don't know if that can be called love. It sounds more like obsession. Another thing you need to learn: love and obsession may seem similar, but they're actually vastly different."

Charlotte nodded, trying to process Vagatha's words. The distinction between love and obsession felt important yet complicated.

"But how can you tell the difference?" She asked.

"Love is about respect, understanding, and support." Vagatha explained. "It's a bond that allows both people to grow and flourish. Obsession, on the other hand, is possessive and often stems from fear or insecurity. It can suffocate the other person, making them feel trapped rather than cherished."

Charlotte considered this for a moment.

"So, if someone truly loves you, they would want you to be happy, even if it means being apart?"

"Exactly." Vagatha said, her eyes softening with pride for Charlotte's insight. "Love gives freedom, while obsession tries to control."

Charlotte felt a sense of clarity wash over her. The stories Vagatha shared were not just tales of the past; they were lessons about the world she was beginning to understand.

"But what if someone is obsessed with you?" Charlotte asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What should you do?"

"First, you need to recognize it." Vagatha replied, her tone serious. "Trust your instincts. If something feels off, it probably is. You should set boundaries and communicate how you feel. If they don't respect that, it's important to distance yourself for your own safety and well-being."

Charlotte felt a shiver at the thought of someone not respecting her boundaries.

"That sounds scary."

"It can be." Vagatha admitted. "But remember, you have the power to choose who you allow into your life. Surround yourself with those who uplift you and respect your autonomy."

"I had someone obsessed with me once." Anthony said walking in on the conversation. "We had great sex and we went to the greatest parties and events ever held in the country. But my partner always wanted me to stay locked in a basement when we weren't together. Never wanted me outside, around other people."

"Why?" Vagatha asked.

"Cause he was a man and he didn't want anyone to know that he was sleeping with another man."

"Oh...You're into men?"

"Actually I take em both. Another reason why he wanted me locked up, he always suspected that I'd leave him for a woman, cause society prefers men to be with women. Even though I told him a hundred times I don't give a damn about society and convention."

"Why did you stay with him if he wanted to keep you locked up?"

Anthony sighed, a hint of sadness in his expression.

"Well he threatened to out me as a guy who went both ways, and you know how people feel about men who like other men that way. They probably would have burned me at the stake or something."

"So how did you get away?"

"We went to a Turkish bath once and I seduced one of the ladies working there to get him drunk to the point of passing out. After that I stole his jewelry, used his diamond ring to pay a woman to give me her dress and make up, and I slipped out in drag, using my charms to hitchhike a carriage ride out of town."

"And they actually thought you were a woman?"

"The guy in the carriage was senile. He thought a rat we saw on the street was a small dog."

Charlotte's laughter echoed in the small quarters, a lightness that momentarily dispelled the heaviness of their earlier conversation.

"Wow, Anthony, that sounds like quite the adventure!" Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. “Did you do other things like that?”

Anthony chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, honey, where do I even begin? Let's start with the time I accidentally crashed a royal party..."

As Anthony began to recount his story, Charlotte and Vagatha settled in, captivated by the vivid imagery and excitement of his words. Curious to see just what kind of life this strange man had.

Chapter Text

It took many weeks and serval visits from Dr. Utterson, but soon Charlotte was able to become a fully functional adult. With talking, reading, and writing having been taught to her, Vagatha felt that the next step had to be teaching her about work ethic. Vagatha believed that instilling a strong work ethic in Charlotte was essential for her independence and self-sufficiency. She started by introducing Charlotte to the concept of responsibility through small tasks around the house. Each morning, Vagatha would assign Charlotte a chore, such as tidying her room, helping with meal preparation, or tending to the garden.

At first, Charlotte struggled with the routine, often forgetting her tasks or feeling overwhelmed by the expectations. However, Vagatha was patient and encouraging, reminding her that every small effort contributed to a greater goal. They would sit together at the end of each day to reflect on what Charlotte had accomplished, celebrating her successes, no matter how minor they seemed.

As the days turned into weeks, Charlotte began to embrace her new responsibilities with a sense of pride. She found joy in the little things, like arranging flowers from the garden or preparing simple meals with Vagatha. Each task became a stepping stone toward her growing independence, and she started to understand the value of hard work.

With those lessons learned and a proper work ethic established, Vagatha set about trying to find a job for Charlotte. On the maid servant's day off, she took Charlotte on a trip into town, to reintroduce her to social interaction and to find someone willing to employ the young lady.

As they walked through the bustling streets of town, Vagatha pointed out various shops and businesses, explaining the different roles people played in the community. Charlotte listened intently, her curiosity piqued by the vibrant atmosphere around her. The sounds of laughter, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the sight of people engaging in lively conversations filled her with a sense of belonging she had never experienced before.

On her first visit into town, words could not begin to describe Charlotte's amazement. She marveled at the colorful shops and the variety of goods on display. Vagatha encouraged her to observe how the shopkeepers interacted with their customers, noting the importance of communication and friendliness in their work.

But she was so excited by all the new sights, places, and people, that she could scarcely pay attention to Vagatha's words.

"Now Charlotte." Vagatha told her. "One of the best jobs you can get to support yourself is to work as a maid for a wealthy household. Granted it's also probably one of the most difficult, considering who your employers are but one has to weigh pros and cons- Charlotte? Charlotte?"

She had wandered away, running around, gawking and staring at everything and everyone.

Vagatha chuckled softly, watching Charlotte's wide-eyed wonder as she explored the vibrant town. It was heartwarming to see her so engaged and excited, but Vagatha knew they had a purpose for being there.

"Charlotte!" she called gently, waving her hand to get her attention. "Come back here, dear. We need to talk about finding you a job."

Charlotte turned, her face lighting up with a smile as she rushed back to Vagatha's side.

"I'm sorry, Vagatha! Everything is just so amazing! Look at that shop with the beautiful dresses and the bakery with all those pastries!"

"I know it's all very exciting." Vagatha replied, "But remember, we're here to learn about work and responsibility. Let's focus on that for now, shall we?"

"Alright but- Oh! What's that over there?" She asked, pointing to one thing.

"That's a horse. You know what horses are."

"I've read about them, but I never seen one up close before. Oh he's so beautiful. I want to pet him."

"Charlotte wait!"

But the young woman was running toward the creature before Vagatha could stop her. This horse in particular happened to be pulling a coach and when Charlotte ran right in front of the steed, the driver pulled hard on the reigns, bringing the coach to a quick stop.

"Mayhew!" Shouted a voice from inside the coach. "What the hell did you stop this thing for?!"

"Oh no." Vagatha said, recognizing the voice instantly.

Vagatha's heart sank as she turned to see the familiar figure emerging from the coach. It was her employer's son, Dr. Benedict Blitzenstien. She hadn't seen him for over a year but had heard rumors about him coming back to Geneva.

"Charlotte, come back!" Vagatha called, her voice laced with urgency. But Charlotte was already kneeling beside the horse, her hands reaching out to stroke its mane, completely oblivious to the commotion she had caused.

"Mayhew, what is going on?" Benedict demanded, stepping down from the coach with an air of irritation. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Charlotte, who was now giggling in delight at the horse.

Suddenly it was like the man had seen a ghost. He looked upon her with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"You..." His voice at a whisper. He stepped out of the coach and approached her up close. "It's really you. At last!"

"I beg your pardon." Charlotte said. "Do I know you sir?"

Benedict's expression shifted from shock to a smile.

"We've never met, but I've heard so much about you."

Vagatha stepped forward, her heart racing.

"Sir, this is Charlotte. She's amnesiac, she has no idea who she is."

"Well then it's a good thing you two ran into me. I know exactly who she is." Benedict said.

"You do?" Vagatha said, puzzled.

"Yes. She's the daughter of my brother, Felix Daae."

"You don't have a brother." Vagatha said.

"Half brother. Conceived by my father during one of his acts of adultery against my poor mother. He had planned to come visit me on holiday to introduce me to his wife and daughter but their coach was in a terrible accident caused by a storm. Felix and his wife were found dead, their daughter no where to be found. Until now of course."

Vagatha stood frozen, processing the revelation. The implications of Benedict's words hung in the air like a heavy fog. Charlotte, still kneeling beside the horse, looked up at Vagatha with wide, innocent eyes, unaware of the gravity of the conversation unfolding around her.

"Charlotte." Vagatha said softly, kneeling down to meet her gaze. "This man...He says he knows who you are."

Charlotte blinked. "What do you mean? I'm just Charlotte."

Benedict stepped closer, his demeanor shifting from shock to a gentler curiosity.

"You are more than just Charlotte. You're my niece, my last remaining member of my family. Well, remaining member who matters that is."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means that as your only relative, it is my responsibility to take care of you and give you a life here and now. If you trust me."

Charlotte looked at with uncertainty. Something was very familiar about him. She felt like she already knew him, yet nothing about who he was to her could come to mind. It was very confusing.

Vagatha on the other hand was suspicious. Ever since she started working for the Blitzenstines, she never once heard one mention of this Felix Daae. She knew of a sister in the family who died young but no brother. But then again, if he was illegitimate, that would probably explain why.

"What do you think Vagatha?" Charlotte asked.

"Well..." She said, looking at Benedict. "If he really is your uncle I suppose it's only right that you live with him."

Vagatha's mind raced with possibilities and concerns. She had dedicated so much time and effort to helping Charlotte regain her independence, and now the prospect of her living with a relative—especially one she had just met—was both exciting and daunting.

"Charlotte." She said gently, "This is a big decision. You've only just begun to learn about responsibility and work. Do you feel ready to leave our home and start a new life with someone you don't really know?"

Charlotte looked between Vagatha and Benedict, her brow furrowed in thought.

"I... I don't know. It's all so sudden. But he seems nice, and I do feel like I know him somehow."

Benedict smiled warmly, trying to ease her uncertainty.

"I promise to take care of you, Charlotte. You won't be alone. You'll have a family, and I'll help you find your place in the world."

Vagatha could see the glimmer of hope in Charlotte's eyes, but she also felt a protective instinct rising within her. On one hand none of what Benedict said felt right to her but on the other hand, Charlotte needed an identity and closure from the past. This might be the only way she could have that.

"Dr. Blitzenstine." She said. "A word? If you please."

Benedict nodded, his expression shifting to one of understanding as he stepped aside with Vagatha, allowing Charlotte to continue petting the horse, blissfully unaware of the weight of the conversation taking place.

"What is it, Vagatha?" He asked, his voice low and serious.

"I have my doubts about this." She said, crossing her arms. "You appear out of nowhere claiming to be her uncle, and while I understand that you may have good intentions, I need to know more. What do you really want from her?"

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I want to give her a chance at a life she deserves. She's been through so much, and I can't stand the thought of her being alone in the world. I want to help her find her identity, to connect with her roots."

Vagatha's eyebrow raised.

"You forget sir, I've worked for you and your father, and neither one of you have a history of being honest or trustworthy."

Benedict's expression hardened slightly at Vagatha's words, but he maintained his composure.

"Then you should also know that I have a history of being very lonely and wanting a family. A real family."

Vagatha studied him closely, searching for any hint of deceit.

"And what about your father? What does he think of this?"

Benedict's jaw tightened.

"I'll handle the old man, I always do."

"You give me your word, swear by God himself that you won't harm her."

"Vagatha, you know I gave up religion years ago."

"Fine then just give me your word."

Benedict took a moment, his gaze steady and serious.

"You have my word, Vagatha. I will not harm her. I want to help her. I promise to protect her and support her in every way I can."

Vagatha paused as she considered his words. She could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"One more thing." She said. "I'll be keeping a close eye on you and her. Remember, I work closely with the cook who prepares your meals, and your father has everyone convinced that I'm too stupid to even speak English properly. So, if you even consider trying anything, just know that I could easily get away with murder through food poisoning."

For a moment, Benedict looked frightened. A lump formed in his throat as he considered her threat, then gulping the lump down.

"Noted." He replied, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I wouldn't dream of crossing you, Vagatha. You've proven to be quite formidable."

Vagatha's expression softened slightly, but she remained cautious.

"Good. Because Charlotte deserves a chance at happiness, but I won't let her be used as a pawn in some drama. If you truly care for her, you'll have to earn my trust."

"I understand." He said, his tone sincere. "I'll do everything in my power to prove that I'm here for her, not for any ulterior motive."

After concluding their conversation, Benedict graciously invited the two ladies into his coach and escorted them back to his home. Where Charlotte would begin her new life as Lady Charlotte Daae.

Chapter Text

Benedict was genuinely kind when he chose to be. Upon arriving at the house, his first act was to reward Anthony and Vagatha for their diligent care of Charlotte. He insisted on raising their pay and offered them his late mother's guest cottage to live in, rather than the servants' quarters. For Charlotte, he prepared the most exquisite room in the entire house—her very own suite.

The suite was adorned with soft, pastel colors, featuring delicate shades of light pink, blue, and green, complemented by charming floral patterns. The walls were either graced with elegant wallpaper or painted in a gentle hue. The furniture was ornate, crafted from rich woods like mahogany and walnut. At the center of the room stood a magnificent four-poster bed, draped in luxurious fabrics beneath a graceful canopy. Porcelain vases, framed portraits, and a small collection of books on a shelf added a personal touch to the suite.

Inside the wardrobe hung beautifully tailored gowns made from silk and brocade. Each gown featured fitted bodices with low necklines, intricately adorned with lace and embroidery. Silk sashes and ribbons, delicate lace shawls, gloves, linen chemises, corsets, fine petticoats, and dainty satin slippers with a slight heel completed the collection. At the dressing table, mirrors reflected the soft light, while perfumes, blushes, rouges, lavender water, powders, and an array of jewelry awaited Charlotte's touch.

As Charlotte stepped into her new suite, her eyes widened in awe. The room was like something out of a fairy tale, and she felt a rush of emotions—excitement, confusion, and a hint of anxiety. This was a world so different from the one she had known with Vagatha, and it was overwhelming.

"Do you like it?" Benedict asked, standing at the doorway with a hopeful smile.

"It's... it's beautiful!" Charlotte exclaimed, her voice filled with wonder. She took a few tentative steps into the room, running her fingers over the soft fabrics and admiring the delicate details of the decor.

Benedict stepped inside, allowing the door to close behind him.

“You deserve every bit of it, Charlotte. This is your home now, and I want you to feel comfortable and happy here."

Charlotte turned to him, her expression shifting from joy to uncertainty.

“But what if I don't fit in? What if I can't live up to all of this?"

Benedict knelt down to her level, his gaze earnest.

“You don't have to worry about fitting in or living up to anything. Just be yourself. You have a fresh start here, and I’ll be by your side to help you navigate this new life."

Charlotte nodded slowly, still processing everything.

“What will I do? I mean, I’ve just started learning about work and responsibility. I don’t want to be a burden."

"You won’t be a burden.” He reassured her. "We’ll figure things out together. You can help me with various tasks around the house, and I’ll introduce you to the people in our community. You’ll find your place, I promise."

As Charlotte explored her suite further, she noticed the collection of gowns hanging in the wardrobe.

“These are so lovely! But I don’t know how to wear them properly."

Benedict chuckled softly.

“Don’t worry. I have a wonderful seamstress who can help you with that. And I’m sure Vagatha will have plenty of tips to share as well. You’ll learn in no time.”

He opened the wardrobe and pulled out a dress.

“Here, why don’t you try this one on?”

It was black with delicate lace trim and a fitted bodice that flared out into a wide skirt.

“It is lovely.” She admitted. “But I think I’d like to try this one on first.”

She reached for another dress inside the wardrobe, this one was white with soft, flowing fabric that seemed to shimmer in the light. It had delicate floral embroidery along the neckline and sleeves, giving it an ethereal quality.

However Benedict seemed displeased with her choice.

“But isn’t black your favorite color?”

“I do like it but I think lighter colors are more suited to me.”

“Very well.” He said. “I shall leave you to change. Then I can take you on a tour of the household.”

Benedict stepped out of the room, allowing her some privacy. As she changed into the flowing white dress, she admired how it felt against her skin. The fabric was soft and light, making her feel almost like a princess. She twirled in front of the mirror, watching the skirt swirl around her, and for a moment, she forgot her worries.

Once she was dressed, she stepped out of her suite to find Benedict waiting for her in the hallway. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he smiled warmly.

"You look pretty, Charlotte.” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Shall we begin the tour?"

Charlotte nodded, a shy smile creeping onto her face. As they walked through the grand halls of the Blitzenstien estate, Benedict pointed out various rooms and their purposes.

"This is the library.” He said, opening a large wooden door to reveal shelves lined with books of all kinds. "You can come here anytime to read or study. I know how much you love to learn."

Charlotte stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight of the vast collection. She could already imagine herself curled up in a cozy corner, lost in the pages of a book.

"And over here.” Benedict continued, leading her to a sunlit room filled with plants and flowers, "Is the conservatory. It's one of my favorite places. You can help tend to the plants if you’d like."

Charlotte felt a sense of comfort wash over her. The conservatory was filled with vibrant colors and the sweet scent of blooming flowers. It reminded her of the garden she had tended with Vagatha, and she felt a connection to this new space.

As they moved through the house, Charlotte began to feel more at ease. She learned about the kitchen, where the cook prepared delicious meals, and the dining room, where they would share family dinners. Each room held a story, and she felt a growing sense of belonging.

Finally, they reached the outdoor garden, a sprawling area filled with flowers, trees, and a small fountain at its center. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over everything.

"This is my favorite spot.” Benedict said, gesturing to the garden. "I used to play here with my cousin, and my friends when we were children."

Charlotte, already familiar with the garden, darted about like a carefree child. As she twirled and danced among the flowers, her laughter rang out like music, filling the air with joy. Benedict watched her, a swell of pride and warmth enveloping him. It was a delight to see her so free and happy, embracing her new life. But the moment was fleeting, as a shadow loomed over the vibrant scene.

Sir Cassius approached with a menacing stride, his presence as oppressive as the dark clouds that sometimes rolled in over the mountains. A scowl etched deep into his weathered face, he surveyed the garden, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Charlotte.

"What is this nonsense, Benedict?" Cassius barked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Why have you taken in a strange girl? Have you lost your senses?"

Benedict straightened, his heart racing at the confrontation. He had anticipated this moment, fully aware of his father's archaic and cruel views on women.

"Father, this is Charlotte.” He began, striving to maintain his composure. "She is my niece, the daughter of my half-brother, Felix Daae. She-“

"That’s a lie.” Cassius interrupted, his voice rising. "You have no brother by that name."

"How would you know? With the way you shamelessly fooled around with countless women behind Mother’s back, you’ve probably fathered hundreds of children."

“Enough! You’re lying, Benedict. You’ve always been a bloody liar! What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Benedict clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“I’m not lying, Father. Charlotte has endured so much, and she deserves a chance at a real life. I want to help her."

Cassius scoffed, his expression twisted in contempt.

“Help her? You mean coddle her like some delicate flower? Women are not meant for independence or intelligence; they are meant to be subservient, to serve men like us. You’re wasting your time on this foolishness."

Benedict inhaled deeply, steeling himself against his father's vitriol.

"No, Father. I believe in a different future. I want to usher in a new breed of woman—one who is independent, intelligent, and bold. Charlotte can be that woman."

Cassius's laughter was harsh and mocking.

“You think you can change the world with your naive ideas? You’re a fool, Benedict, just like your damn mother was.”

Benedict grimaced at the insult.

“Women are nothing more than sexual conquests, and you would do well to remember that."

A surge of anger coursed through Benedict at his father's words.

“You know, technically, this house belongs to me now, Father. You may have ruled over it for years, but I hold the title. If you continue to act like this, I can very easily have you committed to an asylum."

Cassius's expression darkened, the threat hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“You dare threaten me, boy? You think you can control me? You are nothing without my name, my legacy."

Benedict stepped forward, his voice steady and resolute.

“I am not nothing, Father. I have my own vision for this family, and I will not allow you to destroy it with your outdated views. Charlotte deserves a chance, and I will give it to her, with or without your approval."

Cassius glared at his son, the tension between them palpable.

"You will regret this, Benedict. You are playing a dangerous game."

Benedict met his father's gaze, unyielding. As the two men faced off, Charlotte, blissfully unaware of the brewing storm, continued to play in the garden, her laughter echoing like a beacon of hope. Benedict's heart swelled with determination; he would protect her at all costs, even if it meant standing against the very man who had raised him.

"Come, Charlotte!" He called, forcing a smile as he turned back to her. "Let's show your uncle just how capable you are."

Cassius's eyes narrowed, but Benedict ignored him, focusing on the girl who had already begun to change his life. He would not allow his father's darkness to overshadow the light that Charlotte brought into the world—not as he had done to every other light in his life. Together, they would forge a new path, one that defied the oppressive legacy of the Blitzenstien name.

Chapter Text

It's fascinating how people perceive someone whose mind straddles the line between childhood and adulthood. To adults, such a person may seem peculiar, perhaps even threatening. Yet to children, they are the most enchanting friends in the world. This was certainly true for Octavia.

She adored having Alastor around, as he dedicated all his free time to playing with her. His fascination with her toys and games was infectious, and she relished the opportunity to teach him how each one worked. His favorite were her puppets, as she would put on delightful little shows just for him. Alastor would sit cross-legged on the floor, his eyes wide with wonder as Octavia breathed life into her puppets. Each character had its own distinct personality, and she spun intricate tales that captivated him. The way she animated the puppets, giving them unique voices and quirks, made Alastor forget the world outside. He often found himself laughing uncontrollably at their silly antics, their exaggerated movements and expressions drawing him deeper into Octavia's imaginative realm.

"Hey, Miss Two!" she made the funny-looking man puppet say. "How many miles do you think I can run?"

"I don't know. How many?" the funny-looking woman puppet replied.

"None!" Mr. One exclaimed, looking down. "I don't even have legs!"

"That's a horrible joke." Miss Two said, brandishing a stick and playfully hitting Mr. One.

Alastor erupted into laughter, thoroughly enjoying the playful banter between the puppets. He loved how Octavia could transform even a simple joke into a delightful performance.

"Bravo! Bravo!" He clapped.

"Thank you, thank you! You're a wonderful crowd." Octavia said, emerging from behind her puppet theater and taking a bow. "Do you want to see another one?"

"I'd love to, but I think your father will insist that you go to bed now. It's almost eleven."

Octavia pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she crossed her arms.

"But I don't want to go to bed! I'm not even tired! And I'm not so little anymore. I don't really need a curfew."

Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"I know, but you really shouldn't test your father, especially since he's still upset about you sneaking out to the stables to see me. You don't want to give him another reason to worry, do you?"

She sighed dramatically, her shoulders slumping.

"Good point." She replied sheepishly.

Together, they began to tidy up, putting away the puppets and props, the echoes of their laughter still lingering in the room. As Alastor picked up two porcelain dolls displayed as a couple, he paused, studying them.

The first doll, representing a gentleman, was dressed in a finely tailored coat of rich brocade, adorned with intricate embroidery and gold thread. The second doll, a lady, was equally exquisite, wearing a lavish silk gown with a wide skirt supported by a petticoat, her hair styled in elaborate curls and adorned with a matching ribbon. Alastor had seen them many times before and remembered how Octavia always kept them together, as if they were inseparable.

"Octavia." He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why do you always keep these two dolls together?"

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled brightly.

"Because they're in love! They're a happy couple who belong together. Just like everyone has someone special to love and share a life with."

Alastor felt a pang in his chest at her words. He glanced at the lady doll, her serene expression reminding him of someone he held dear. She was much like that doll the first time he saw her—lying still, seemingly lifeless, yet so beautiful and perfect. But others had called her ugly, an abomination like him. What did those fools know about real beauty?

He remembered being so eager for her eyes to open so he could gaze into their depths and see how beautiful they are, for her lips to part so he could hear her perfect voice. She was meant for him; he knew it from the moment he saw her. His heart told him she was his bride, his Eve, and he was her Adam.

But then he was pulled away from her. By Him. The one who had promised Alastor he would never be alone, that he would have someone, a family. If only Alastor would be patient, he would have everything. But he lied. He lied and said that the bride was not for him.

As Alastor held the lady doll, the porcelain features reflecting the soft light of the room, memories surged within him—anticipation, longing, and the whispers of those who had judged her, calling her an abomination. Yet he had always seen beyond their cruel words.

"Do you think everyone really has someone special?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate atmosphere.

Octavia nodded enthusiastically, her earlier pout forgotten.

"Of course! Everyone deserves to find their own special someone. Just like these dolls. They belong together, and one day, I'll find my someone too!"

Alastor smiled at her optimism, but a shadow flickered across his heart, and Octavia noticed something strange in his eyes. A flash that is rarely seen in the eyes of any man. She had come to recognize it as a distinctive trait of his. One moment, his gaze would blend in with the rest, and then, in an instant, that captivating yet terrifying flash would emerge. As if to signify something deep and unnatural hiding within him.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

Alastor quickly masked the fleeting darkness that had crossed his mind, forcing a smile to return to his face. He didn’t want to dampen Octavia’s spirits, especially when she was so full of hope and joy.

"Nothing." He replied, placing the two dolls together. "Nothing at all."

Octavia studied Alastor's face, her brow furrowing in concern. She sensed something was troubling him, even if he tried to brush it off.

"Octavia." He said.

"Yes?"

"You'd never lie to me, right? You'd never deceive me, yes?"

"Of course. Why would I? Friends don't deceive each other."

"And what of your father? Would he ever lie or try to deceive me?"

"I... I don't know." She admitted. "Father tries to be an honest man, he truly does. But when he's frightened of some terrible truth, I don't think he can help himself."

Alastor nodded slowly, absorbing her words. He understood the weight of fear and the lengths people would go to protect themselves and those they cared about.

"Fear can twist the truth, can't it?" He mused, his gaze drifting back to the dolls. "It can make people act in ways they never would otherwise."

Octavia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean?"

"Just promise me that you'll never lie to me. I was lied to by someone I thought I could trust, and that betrayal is how I ended up locked in those stables and beaten in the first place."

Octavia's eyes widened, the weight of his words sinking in. She could see the sincerity in Alastor's gaze, the shadows of past pain lurking just beneath the surface.

"I promise, Alastor." She said earnestly. "I will never lie to you."

He smiled softly at her reassurance.

"How silly of me, I don't need to make you promise anything. You're not like him or the others. You're good. You're not capable of betrayal."

"Who betrayed you?"

"I can't remember his name. For some reason, my mind is so different from everyone else's. Some things I can never remember, and others I can't ever forget. His lies being among the latter."

Octavia's heart ached at the thought of Alastor's pain. She could see the weight of his past etched in the lines of his face.

"Alastor." She said softly, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I want you to know that I'm here for you. You can tell me anything."

Octavia reached out, placing her small hand on his arm.

"You're not there anymore. You're here with me, and Father, and we will be good to you. We have been good to you, haven't we?"

Alastor looked down at her hand resting on his arm, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"Yes, you have." He said softly, his heart warming at her words. "You and your father have shown me kindness when I didn't expect it. It means more to me than you know."

Octavia beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with sincerity.

"Good! Because that's what friends are for. And I promise to always be your friend, no matter what."

He felt a surge of gratitude for her unwavering loyalty. In a world that had often felt cold and unwelcoming, Octavia's friendship was a beacon of light.

"Thank you. Now, let's get you to bed." He said, gently nudging her toward the door. "Tomorrow is a new day, and your father intends to test me on proper etiquette."

Octavia frowned and cringed.

"Oh, I always hated learning etiquette." She  said. "If you ask me, it's a completely useless subject. What good is it really? At least compared to reading, writing, and arithmetic?"

Alastor chuckled at her playful disdain for etiquette.

"It is rather dull, I'll admit. But your father said it was the only way he'd let me go to your party next month."

"You mean he's actually going to let you come?" She exclaimed, excitement bubbling in her voice.

"If I can pass for a proper gentleman, yes."

"Oh, that's perfect! Now I'll have everyone I love at my birthday party: you, William, Mary, Father, and Mother—oh dear, Mother. She doesn't know about you yet."

"And?"

"Well, Mother doesn't exactly like change. Or new people. If you do attend the party, try to avoid her. Be polite but don't attempt to converse. Although she'll most likely just ignore you."

"Hmmph, charming woman." Alastor smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I'll be sure to keep my distance then. I wouldn't want to disrupt the delicate balance of your household."

With a final hug, Octavia reluctantly made her way to her bed, the warmth of their conversation lingering in the air. Alastor watched her settle in, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating her peaceful face.

Chapter Text

"As the weeks unfolded, dear reader, these two peculiar individuals—possessing the bodies of adults yet the minds of children—were guided and nurtured in the ways of high society by their new mentors. The baron and the doctor proved to be kind and attentive guardians. The baron instilled in the young man the qualities of a charming, respectful, and kind gentleman, fostering a sense of belonging akin to that of family. Meanwhile, the doctor encouraged the young woman to embrace both spirit and intelligence, all while preserving her gentle and nurturing essence as a lady.

By the end of the month, both were poised to be introduced to the world of the affluent and influential. However, this momentous occasion would also ignite the awakening of their desires for one another, as they began to understand the distinctions between man and woman and the profound connection that binds them together. Tragically, this journey of discovery would lead them to uncover their true origins. Once that knowledge is revealed, and their innocence and blissful ignorance are shattered, they will never be the same."

"Dun-dun-dun!"

"Hey I thought I told you to get out of here!"

"I thought you just didn't want me playing the constant organ music."

"Well this isn't any better! Seriously? Dun-dun-dun? You know that's not scary if a person says it right? In fact I think it makes people laugh."

"I was just trying to set the mood."

"The mood was already set! But you ruined it! Ugh! Morons! I'm surrounded by morons!"

"Sorry."

"Just get out here! Go on! Shoo! Before I lose my temper and write you into a death scene." Rubs forehead in frustration. "I bet Bram Stoker never had these problems. Alright everyone, shows over. Let's get back to the story, and someone please bring me something deep fried and smothered in chocolate."

Octavia's thirteenth birthday gala was to be one of the greatest events in all of Geneva. Thirteen was an important age for a young girl, it marked her path into womanhood and when she would be introduced into society, so of course her father spared no expense. The house would be lit up in golden globes, fountains would be put everywhere, there would be imported champagne, the best food, tables covered with beautiful cloths of every color, and flowers banked all over. Nothing was too good for his daughter.

Benedict would also be attending this gala where he would then show off his latest "project." A new breed of woman, the perfect woman, one who could match him in terms of grace and intellect. He had chosen this particular occasion to make her introduction because he knew all of his and Stolas's peers from the university days would be in attendance and for years they had mocked Benedict. Laughing at his experiments and talents, calling him mad. But how envious they would be when he arrived with a woman like Charlotte.

"What is taking her so long?" He muttered, waiting impatiently at the end of the stairway, dressed in his best suit. We're going to be late."

"Not really." Anthony said. "The gala begins at six, it is only four-fifty."

Benedict sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, but I want everything to be perfect. Charlotte needs to make a grand entrance. It's my big night, and I want her to dazzle everyone."

"Your big night?" Anthony said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought tonight was supposed to be about this baron's daughter. It is her birthday after all."

Benedict shot Anthony an annoyed glance.

"Of course, it's about Octavia, but Charlotte is my creation, my masterpiece. She deserves to shine just as brightly, if not more so. This is her moment to show the world what she can do."

"Right, right." Anthony replied, crossing his arms. "But you do realize that the guests will be focused on the birthday girl, right? Who by the way, from what I hear happens to be the daughter of your best friend. You might want to temper your expectations a bit."

Benedict waved his hand dismissively.

"You don't understand. This isn't just about the gala; it's about proving to everyone that my work has merit. That I am not just some mad scientist in their eyes. Charlotte is the culmination of my efforts, and tonight she will be the star."

"Look I know I'm not a servant and I'm probably going over the line by saying this, but I really don't think this is the right place to make your success the main focus. I mean you're talking about upstaging a little girl's birthday and even I know that's something you should never do."

Benedict frowned, his impatience bubbling beneath the surface.

"It's not about upstaging her, Anthony. I'd never do that to Stolas. It's about showcasing what I've created. Charlotte is more than just a woman; she's a testament to my work, my dedication. If I can impress everyone tonight, it will validate everything I've done."

Anthony shook his head, his expression a mix of concern and disbelief.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Charlotte appeared at the top of the staircase, adorned in a demure but elegant blue gown in which the fabric flowed around her, and her hair was styled in delicate curls that framed her face perfectly. She had refused to wear a wig and only painted her face with subtle amounts of make up. Nevertheless, she was breathtakingly lovely in a sweet, fresh and innocent way looked every bit the enchanting lady Benedict had envisioned.

"Ah, there you are!" Benedict exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with pride. "You look magnificent!"

Charlotte smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing with a hint of pink.

"Thank you, Uncle. I hope I can live up to your expectations."

"You will." He assured her, stepping forward to take her hand. "Tonight, you will captivate everyone. Just be yourself, and remember everything I taught you."

As they settled into the plush interior of the coach, Benedict couldn't help but steal glances at Charlotte, who was gazing out the window, her expression a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Are you ready for this, Charlotte?" He asked, his voice softening.

She turned to him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"I think so. But what if I make a mistake? What if they don't like me?"

Benedict chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"You won't make a mistake. Just remember to be confident and kind. You are a reflection of my work, yes, but you are also your own person. Trust in yourself."

Charlotte nodded, taking a deep breath.

"I will try my best, Uncle."

As the coach rolled through the streets of Geneva, the lights of the city twinkled like stars, and the sounds of laughter and music began to fill the air. Benedict felt a surge of pride as they approached the grand estate where the gala was being held. The sight of the lavish decorations and the elegantly dressed guests milling about made his heart race with anticipation.

"Look at all those people." Charlotte whispered, her eyes wide. "There are so many of them."

"Yes, and they are all eager to meet you." Benedict replied, straightening his kerchief.

As they stepped out of the coach, the grandeur of the evening enveloped them. The sound of a string quartet floated through the air, and the scent of blooming flowers mixed with the rich aroma of gourmet dishes being served. Charlotte took a moment to absorb it all, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Entering the grand hall, the atmosphere was electric. Guests in exquisite attire mingled, laughter and conversation creating a symphony of sound. At the center of it all stood Stolas, the baron, greeting guests with a warm smile, his daughter Octavia by his side, looking so beautiful and radiant in a very special gown.

The gown was white, originally worn by her mother on her thirteenth birthday, but Octavia had adorned it with delicate lace, purple ribbons, and black sashes repurposed from her father's coats from the same age. When her father first saw her wearing it, he thought she looked more beautiful than the moon and the stars above. That no other beauty in the world could compare to her.

"Do you think Mother will like it?" She asked him, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"She will be pleased." He assured her, a hint of confidence in his tone. "She always wanted you to have that dress."

Just then, another coach arrived, one that the baron recognized with a surge of dread. He grimaced, but quickly forced a smile onto his face.

"Remember, this is your daughter's special day. Be nice, be amicable, no matter how difficult it may be with this woman." He reminded himself.

William opened the door of the coach, and, as if summoned by fate, out stepped the baroness. A tall, imposing figure, she exuded an air of cold authority, her long hair pinned up tightly. Once a vibrant blond, it had turned stark white, a testament to her madness. Her serene yet icy face was devoid of warmth, her lips thin as a bird's beak, and her eyes, black as coal, mirrored those of her daughter. That was the only trait Octavia had inherited from the baroness—her eyes. Nothing else.

"Good evening, Madame." William greeted politely, extending his hand.

She swatted it away with disdain.

"I'll exit this coach the same way I got in—without you!" She snapped.

"Yes, Madame." He replied, his voice trembling. "Announcing the baroness, Stella Goetia."

Caw! Caw! Caw! The sound of crows echoed ominously, causing everyone to flinch each time her name was uttered. The baroness, accompanied by a richly dressed man—her doctor—stepped out of the coach and approached the entrance of the house. Stolas took a deep breath, steeling himself to act as kindly and respectfully as possible.

"Hello, Stella." He said, attempting to break the tension.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Stella regarded him with eyes brimming with pure hatred and contempt. She loathed this man, viewing him as something wretched and disgraceful—an insect she longed to crush beneath her heel.

"Hello, Mother." Octavia said, her voice steady.

The baroness's icy demeanor melted at the sight of her daughter. A genuine smile broke across her face, revealing a warmth that seemed almost foreign.

"My darling." She said, reaching out to embrace Octavia. "How beautiful you are."

"Thank you, Mother." Octavia replied, her voice soft yet filled with warmth. She felt a rush of affection as her mother enveloped her in a hug, but an undercurrent of tension lingered in the air, an unspoken weight that neither could ignore.

Stolas observed the interaction with a mix of relief and apprehension. He knew how desperately Octavia sought her mother's approval, and witnessing Stella's affection for their daughter brought him a small measure of comfort. Yet, he was acutely aware that the baroness's moods could shift like the wind, and he braced himself for whatever might follow.

As they stepped further into the grand hall, laughter and music filled the air, but the baroness seemed impervious to the joy surrounding her. She surveyed the room with a critical eye, her expression betraying her disdain for the festivities.

"Is this what you call a celebration?" She scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "A mere gathering of fools, parading around in their finery."

"Stella, please—"

Caw! Caw! Caw!

"It's Octavia's special day. Let's focus on her."

"Very well. But she deserves better than this."

"She told me everything was perfect. Or rather, everything will be perfect, as long as we don't fight. Understand?"

She bit her thin lip, hating to do anything he asked her to do. But for her daughter's sake, she would consent to this.

"Fine." She said, her voice icy but begrudgingly compliant. "For her sake, I will try to behave."

Stolas nodded, relieved yet wary. He knew the evening was still young, and Stella's mood could turn at any moment.

Chapter Text

While the party took place down bellow in the hallways and ballrooms, up above, at the top of the stairways, Alastor watched the festivities take place like a phantom hiding in the shadows. Although he had been invited to this affair he couldn't help but feel like an outsider. A specter haunting the edges of a world that felt just out of reach.

He wanted to join in, he really did, but he was afraid of how everyone would react to him. What if he didn't fit in? True he now looked and knew how to act the part of the well-respected gentleman. But that didn't change the fact that he wasn't normal, he knew that for sure.

"Nervous?"

Someone had spoken from behind him. Alastor turned around, there stood Maximus, wearing a finely tailored suit with a blue jacket in contrast to the red jacket Alastor wore.

"Oh, it's you again." Alastor said. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"And I see that you finally made your escape." Maximus smiled. "So how does it feel?"

"Well it's nice that I don't have to sleep in a stable anymore. But being here is just as scary as being back there."

"I know what you mean. I remember my first gala. I was eight years old, and I was expected to play piano for all the guests. Sir Cassius's bone-headed idea to show off in front of all the snobs."

"Oh? How did that go?"

"Don't laugh but I...I fainted."

"Fainted?"

"I couldn't help it! All those eyes on me, my father and Sir Cassius spending the whole week before threatening me if I messed up, it was too much pressure."

Alastor held in his laughter but couldn't help grinning.

"It was the second most humiliating experience of my life." Maximus continued.

"Second? What was the first?"

"The time I fainted in my anatomy class. I was studying to be a doctor and it was my first time seeing a brain getting taken out of a body. An already dead one, mind you!"

Alastor chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a bit.

"I suppose it's comforting to know that even the most polished among us have their moments of weakness."

Maximus nodded, his expression turning thoughtful.

"It's true. We all have our fears, our insecurities. It's what makes us human, or... whatever we are." He glanced around the hall, where laughter and music floated through the air, a stark contrast to their quiet corner. "But you know, sometimes it's those very moments that connect us to others. Everyone here is putting on a show, pretending to be something they're not."

"Is that how you see it?" Alastor asked, intrigued.

"Absolutely. Look at them." Maximus gestured to a group of elegantly dressed guests, their laughter ringing hollow. "They're all trying to impress each other, to fit into some mold of perfection. But underneath those fancy clothes and polished smiles, I bet they're just as scared as we are."

Alastor considered this, his gaze drifting back to crowd. The sounds of laughter and music swirled around him like a distant echo. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced along the walls, but he remained rooted in place, a solitary figure in a sea of revelry. Anxiety coiled tightly in his chest, a familiar companion that whispered doubts into his ear.

But then, amidst the cacophony of voices and the clinking of glasses, something shifted in the air. It was subtle at first, a gentle tug at the edges of his consciousness, but it grew stronger, more insistent. Alastor's heart raced as he turned his head slightly, scanning the crowd below.

There was a presence, a warmth that enveloped him like a soft embrace. It was unlike anything he had felt before, a sensation that sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't quite place it, but it felt familiar, as if a part of him had been awakened from a long slumber.

His breath caught in his throat as he focused, trying to pinpoint the source of this inexplicable feeling. It was as if the very essence of the party had shifted, and in that moment, he felt a connection that transcended the noise and chaos around him.

"What's wrong?" Maximus asked, concerned.

"I... I don't know." Alastor replied. "I just feel..I feel strange. I feel like someone is here. Someone important. Someone I know."

He took a step forward, his heart guiding him down the staircase, into the crowd, trying to find whoever exactly he was looking for. It was quite strange really, knowing that there is someone you have to find but you don't know who that is.

As Benedict and Charlotte entered the grand hall, the ambiance enveloped them like a warm embrace. The soft glow of chandeliers illuminated the lavish decorations, casting a golden hue over the guests who mingled with laughter and delight. Charlotte's heart raced as she took it all in—the vibrant colors, the exquisite gowns, and the lively melodies of the string quartet that filled the air.

"Stay close to me." Benedict instructed, guiding her through the throng of elegantly dressed attendees. "Remember, you are here to captivate, to leave an impression."

Charlotte nodded, her nerves tingling with both excitement and apprehension. She felt small amidst the grandeur, yet she was determined to rise to the occasion. Her eyes darted around the room, catching glimpses of the various guests, all caught up in the celebration.

"Announcing." William said. "Dr. Benedict Blitzenstien, and his ward Lady Charlotte Daae."

The room fell into a hush, and all eyes turned toward the entrance as William's voice echoed through the hall. Charlotte's heart raced, and she felt a surge of anxiety as she stepped forward beside Benedict. The lavish gowns and dapper suits seemed to shimmer under the light, and she could almost hear the collective intake of breath from the guests.

Benedict stood tall and confident, his chest puffed out as though he were the maestro of this grand symphony. Charlotte, however, felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on her. She glanced sideways at Benedict, who beamed with pride, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

As they advanced into the hall, whispers rippled through the crowd. Some guests leaned in to catch snippets of what was being said, their expressions a mix of intrigue and skepticism. Charlotte tried to meet their gazes with a smile, but doubt flickered in her mind. What if she wasn't as remarkable as Benedict claimed?

He escorted her over to the Goetia family where he presented her. Octavia greeted them with a smile, Charlotte smiled in return. Stolas also smiled but there was a hint of suspicion in his gaze.

"Good evening, Baron Goetia." Charlotte spoke. "I am Charlotte Daae, and I am most honored to be here tonight."

She curtsied for them.

"Delighted." Stolas said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "You are a ward of Benedict, are you?"

"I am his niece."

"Niece?" Stolas turned his suspicious gaze toward Benedict. "Strange, Benedict. I always assumed that your only sibling was a sister who died before she could have children."

"She is the daughter of an illegitimate brother of mine. You remember what a horny dog my father was in his prime." Benedict chuckled.

"Like father, like son." Stella muttered.

"I heard that you old witch!" Benedict snapped.

"Just speaking truth, dear doctor." She smirked deviously. "And I find it very amusing that such a beautiful young lady could be related to the likes of you."

"Stella!" Stolas scolded quietly.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Charlotte flinched.

"What was that?" She asked.

"Just ignore it. Happens all the time, no one knows why." Benedict whispered to her.

"No doubt you are in need of a refreshment dear lady." Stolas said. "Octavia, why don't you escort the lady Charlotte to the banquet table?"

"Yes Father."

As Octavia led Charlotte away from the Goetia family, and Stella walked off to no doubt complain to her doctor. Now that it was just Benedict and Stolas alone, the baron pulled him aside to talk to him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Stolas demanded to know. "I have been trying to reach you for days, regarding that little 'experiment' you asked me to watch. And not once have you responded."

"I'm sorry. I've been busy."

"With what?"

"With her." He pointed toward Charlotte. "My latest and greatest creation ever. Isn't she magnificent?"

"Well she is lovely but what do you mean by-" But then the truth dawned on him and he was horrified. "Oh no! Don't tell me, she's the other one, isn't she? The one who got away."

"Yes she is. I found her, and transformed her into the perfect woman. My perfect equal in every way. What do you think?"

"I think you seem to have allowed certain details to have slipped your mind."

"Details?"

"Your first creation! Remember him?"

"Oh...Right. Is he still out in the stables?"

"No. Not anymore."

"Oh shit! Did he escape?"

"Not exactly. I...I've taken him in."

"Taken him in?"

"I made him my ward just as you made the woman yours. Passed him off as my nephew and trained him to behave as a gentleman."

"You did what?!"

"Well you obviously weren't going to 'correct' him so I had to do it."

"Is he here?"

"Yes."

"Son of a bitch! I can't let him see me! Or her!"

"Why not? I think you owe him some explanations."

"Since when are you on his side?"

"Since you pretty much abandoned him and left me to clean up your mess."

"It wasn't like that Stolas. I meant to come back, to help him. But things got in the way."

"Oh spare me! Our fathers used those exact same words on a daily basis."

Benedict clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"This isn't the same, Stolas. I had my reasons."

"Reasons? You mean excuses." He shot back, his voice low and intense. "You created a being, Benedict. A life. And then you just...Left him to fend for himself. You think he's just going to forget that?"

Benedict's gaze flickered to the crowd, anxiety creeping in.

"I didn't abandon him. I thought I was protecting him. You were right, he was a mistake."

"Oh so now I'm right about that? Why wasn't I right before you made him?!"

"Just don't let him find me or Charlotte! Lock him in the attic if you have to!"

"I will not lock him up! Never again! I was wrong to do that in the first place! We were wrong to be so cruel to him!"

"Then just get rid of him."

"Are you mad? You can't just throw him away like he's a piece of junk!

"You were the one who called him an abomination!

"Correction, he was an abomination. But not anymore! Now he can read and speak and think. He has feelings and hopes and dreams. He's a person now. You can't honestly expect me to just destroy him! That would be murder!"

"I can't let him ruin everything I've worked for!"

"You! It's always you isn't it? It's never about anyone else! Not me! Not my daughter! Not your creations! Not even the people you loved came before you!"

"Don't you dare bring that up!"

"You know what you did! And no amount of successful experiments or glory will wash away those sins!"

The tension between Benedict and Stolas crackled in the air, a storm brewing beneath their polite facades. Guests continued to swirl around them, oblivious to the tempest brewing just a few feet away.

Chapter Text

As Octavia and Charlotte approached the banquet table, Charlotte's eyes widened at the stunning array of delicacies laid out before them. The table was adorned with ornate platters brimming with everything from delicate pastries to savory hors d'oeuvres. The rich aromas wafted through the air, making her stomach rumble in eager anticipation.

"Help yourself." Octavia encouraged, gesturing toward the spread. "You can't enjoy a party on an empty stomach."

Charlotte stepped forward and selected a small pastry, its flaky crust glistening with a hint of glaze. As she took a bite, the flavors exploded in her mouth, and a smile spread across her face at the delightful taste.

She then glanced around at the other guests, marveling at their elegance. An awestruck smile illuminated her face, her eyes sparkling with amazement. Octavia couldn't help but notice the peculiarity of Charlotte's gaze—one eye a striking blue and the other a soft grey, reminiscent of Alastor's mismatched gaze of brown and green. There was a familiar flash in her eyes, a spark that echoed Alastor's.

Just as Octavia was about to ask her some questions, the music swelled, and Charlotte was suddenly swept into the center of the hall, dancing. She twirled gracefully, her laughter ringing out like a melody that harmonized with the lively music. The other guests parted to make way for her, captivated by her beauty and grace.

The first man to notice her was a dashingly handsome figure clad in the uniform of a cavalry officer. As she danced toward him, she tripped over her own feet and began to fall, but he caught her effortlessly.

Charlotte's heart raced as she found herself in the strong arms of the handsome officer. His grip was firm yet gentle, and she looked up into his striking features, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment.

"Careful there." He said with a charming smile, his voice smooth like velvet. "I wouldn't want you to fall for me just yet."

Charlotte's cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she regained her balance, stepping back slightly.

"I—I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—"

"No need to apologize." He interrupted, still smiling. "It's not every day I get to catch a beautiful dancer. I'm Captain Stefan Holmwood, by the way."

"Charlotte." She replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Charlotte Daae."

"Would you care to dance again, Charlotte?" He asked, extending his hand toward her. "I promise to keep you on your feet this time."

"Thank you, but... not now. I... I'd much prefer to dance by myself."

His brow arched in intrigue at her response.

"Dancing alone, huh? A bold choice. But I must admit, I find it quite captivating." He stepped back slightly, giving her space, yet his gaze remained fixed on her, a mixture of admiration and curiosity in his eyes.

With that, she had captured the attention of everyone in the room. None had ever seen a young woman so extraordinarily beautiful, dancing with such divine elegance. Many spectators admired her; women watched with envy, while men gazed at her with longing. Among them were three men in particular.

The first was, as you might have guessed, Captain Stefan Holmwood, who felt an undeniable attraction to her charm and allure. She seemed so different from any other woman he had encountered.

The second was Benedict, who initially felt mortified by Charlotte's spontaneous dancing. She was not supposed to act so wildly, like some street performer. But as he observed her, he couldn't help but notice how her beauty had transformed since their first meeting, her figure now seemingly perfect.

And third was Alastor. Drawn by an invisible thread, his gaze landed on her, enchanted by her dance. She moved like an angel, beautiful as a rose, graceful as a doe, yet with a fiery spirit in her steps. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his heart racing as he watched her, feeling the warmth of her presence tugging at him, urging him to step forward and join her in this moment of unrestrained joy.

Soon, the crowd joined in, swept up in the infectious spirit of the dance, causing Alastor to lose his footing and stumble right into Charlotte.

"Hey!" She cried, but her irritated tone quickly shifted to concern as she saw him fall. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry." Alastor said, quickly regaining his balance. "It was an accident."

"Oh, you're not hurt, are you?"

Alastor shook his head, trying to collect himself as he looked up at Charlotte. Their eyes met—his brown and green clashing with her blue and grey—and a spark ignited between them. The world around them faded into a blur, leaving only the two of them in that moment. Charlotte slowly approached him, as if drawn by a magnetic force. She scrutinized his face, her fingertips brushing against his skin. Something about him felt achingly familiar.

"Excuse me, sir, but have we met?" She inquired, curiosity lacing her voice.

"I... I... I don't know." Alastor replied, his voice barely above a whisper. She felt familiar to him as well—her hair, her voice, her lips, her eyes. He knew he had seen them all before. "Maybe."

Suddenly, a melody floated into their minds, the tune of a waltz. With cautious movements, Alastor helped Charlotte to her feet. Her hand rose to rest on his shoulder.

At first, their movements were tentative, a gentle sway, but soon they found their rhythm, stepping and twirling in harmony. They cradled each other's arms, both smiling in a daze as the waltz continued, growing increasingly wild and joyous, describing glorious circles around them.

Then, a flash of imagery struck them both—a vision of another gala, filled with richly dressed socialites dancing and conversing. Among them, a gentleman and a lady shared a waltz, but it was unconventional, filled with passion and joy. The gentleman spun the lady in his arms, and she threw her head back in laughter, both radiating happiness. But this vivid memory was accompanied by a sharp pain that shot through their heads.

"Ah!" They gasped in unison, halting their dance and pressing their hands to their foreheads.

Charlotte wondered if the pain was merely a dizzy spell from all the dancing. But for Alastor, the pain triggered a memory from when he first began to understand himself and the world around him—the moment he had truly seen the lady standing before him.

As the pain subsided and his vision cleared, he looked at her with shock, awe, and relief.

"You... It's you."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" She replied, confusion etched on her face.

"Oh, how I've longed to see you again. To officially meet you. To gaze into your eyes and hear your voice. They're even more lovely than I ever could have imagined. And you're even more beautiful than I remember."

“Who are you?” Charlotte asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Alastor's expression fell at her question, a shadow crossing his features.

“He has never told you about me?”

Fear gripped Charlotte once more, but strangely, it wasn’t directed at him. It was something deeper, something lurking within the implications of his words. But what could it be?

The moment hung in the air until it was shattered by Benedict, who stood at the edge of the crowd, his eyes widening in recognition.

His heart plummeted as he identified Alastor—the very first creation he had ever brought to life. Panic surged through him, cold sweat breaking out across his brow. He had worked tirelessly to distance himself from the past, to bury the memories of his mistakes and the consequences of his ambition. But now, Alastor stood before him, bringing with him the potential for chaos.

“Charlotte!” Benedict called, his voice strained as he pushed through the throng of guests. “Come here, dear! I need to speak with you!”

Charlotte turned, confusion flickering across her features.

“What is it, Uncle Benedict?”

“Just… just come away from him!” He urged, his eyes darting between her and Alastor. “He’s not who you think he is.”

Alastor's expression darkened, horror morphing into rage.

“You…” His voice trembled with fury. “You! You lie! Liar!”

His shouts echoed through the room, drawing the attention of everyone present. When Stolas caught sight of the escalating situation, panic surged through him, and he rushed over as quickly as he could.

Alastor lunged at Benedict, his hands reaching for the doctor’s throat, driven by a primal urge to strangle the man who had betrayed him.

“You promised! You promised to help me! You swore I’d never be alone! I waited! I endured countless days and nights of torment! But you didn’t keep your word! You lied to me!”

“Please!” Benedict gasped, desperation clawing at his throat. “Let me explain!”

“No! No more lies!”

“Alastor, stop!” Stolas shouted, grabbing the man’s arms in a frantic attempt to pry him away from Benedict. “Don’t do this! I beg you! He doesn’t deserve this!”

“What do you know of what he truly deserves? You can’t fathom the pain I’ve suffered because of his betrayal!”

Alastor's strength was overwhelming, more powerful than ten men combined. Stolas realized he had to play his final card, one he hoped would resonate. Leaning close to Alastor’s ear, he whispered urgently,

“My daughter’s eyes are on you right now. Would you let her witness such an evil act? On her birthday?”

At Stolas's words, Alastor's body tensed, the fire in his eyes flickering as he hesitated. The mention of Octavia struck a deep chord within him. He could almost feel her gentle gaze upon him, a reminder of the joy and light she brought into the world.

With a shuddering breath, he slowly released his grip on Benedict's throat, stepping back as confusion and anger warred within him. The crowd watched in stunned silence, the tension thick as Alastor grappled with his emotions.

Then his gaze fell upon Charlotte and Octavia, both looking at him in terror. Ashamed, he bolted from the room, Octavia quickly following in his wake.

Stolas watched them go, not with fear or revulsion, but with sympathy and remorse. Tears filled his eyes as he turned to Benedict. Though relieved that he was alive, disappointment weighed heavily on his heart.

“You haven’t even begun to comprehend the damage you’ve done.”

Benedict let out a heavy sigh, regret etched across his face.

“Stolas, I—” He reached out, desperate to bridge the chasm between them.

“Don’t!” Stolas snapped, his voice sharp and filled with pain. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow night. But for now, I can’t bear to look at you. Just get out of my sight!”

Benedict's heart plummeted at Stolas's words. He had never seen him so furious, so deeply wounded. With a nod, he turned to leave.

“I’ll be waiting.” He said softly. “Come, Charlotte.”

As Charlotte trailed behind her uncle, her mind swirled with confusion and concern. She cast a glance back at the door through which Alastor had vanished, her heart aching from the turmoil she had just witnessed. Who was he really? And why did he evoke such a sense of familiarity?

Chapter Text

"And you were worried I would spoil the party!" Stella raged at Stolas as the last of the guests finally departed. "It was ruined by that so-called nephew of yours and your disgusting male concubine!"

"Oh Lord, give me strength!" Stolas exclaimed, face-palming in frustration. "For the last time, woman! Benedict is not a male concubine!"

"Well, he might as well have been! He lived with us, and you fornicated with him the entire time we were together! The humiliation! At least with a woman, some people might look the other way! But a man?! Think of our daughter's reputation! How will she ever secure a respectable marriage?!"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! Who tried to kill me with a butcher knife! At least my actions aren't criminal!"

"Wanna bet? A lynch mob would probably hang you in ten seconds if the world knew your filthy secret!"

"And they would burn you at the stake, you she-devil of a witch!"

"Stop it!" Octavia cried out, having heard enough of their bickering. "Both of you, stop! It wasn't Father's fault the party was ruined, Mother! Stop blaming him for everything bad that happens! I don't care who my father is attracted to! As long as he is still my father! And I don't care about my reputation! To hell with my reputation! Like that's actually going to lead to a good marriage. It didn't for you or Father!"

Stella wanted to argue, but she couldn't. Despite her young age, Octavia had made a very valid point.

"Mother, I love you! I miss you! I want you to stay for the week. I want to spend time with you. But not if you're just going to be cruel to Father. I know you're not well; I know you're sick, and that's why I keep trying to make things right between us. But if you truly hate Father more than you love me, I'll stop trying! And you'll never see me again! Is that what you want?"

Octavia's words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Stella looked at her daughter, her heart aching at the pain she was expressing. The fierce anger she had felt moments ago began to fade.

"I... I don't want to lose you, Octavia. I love you more than anything in the world. In fact, you're the only person I've ever truly loved and who has ever truly loved me. You're the only pure thing in my life. But your father... he makes it so difficult."

"So do you." Octavia countered. "And forgive me, Mother, but you're more difficult than he is. At least Father tries to be friendly; you, on the other hand, are always ready to pounce on him. For once, can't you try? Really try? For me?"

Personally, I doubt Stella Goetia could stop hating Stolas even if she wanted to. The kind of disease that plagued her mind was like a force of evil itself—something that would always be there until the end of time. But it is often said that nothing is stronger than a mother's love for her child, and if a heart as cold as ice and a mind that burns like fire can still harbor one ray of sincere love for someone else, then there is hope for change.

I cannot say for certain if Stella could ever truly turn her hatred into peace, but she loved Octavia more than she hated Stolas, so perhaps she could at least learn to tolerate him. Only time would tell. Well, time and medical attention.

"I'm going to bed," she said, heading upstairs. "I'll see you both at breakfast tomorrow."

She embraced each of her parents, giving them a kiss before disappearing upstairs. Stolas began to follow, but Stella called out to him.

"The dress she wore tonight," she said. "That was my old dress, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," he confirmed.

"You told me you had that dress burned. That you burned all of my old clothes the day after I was taken away."

"I burned all of them except for two: that dress and your wedding gown. I knew you were saving them for Octavia, and as much as I hated you for what you tried to do to me, I couldn't be that cruel."

Stella paused for a moment, turning her back to him as if she couldn't bear to look at him for another second. She started to make her way toward the east wing, where her lodgings had been arranged, but stopped midway and, still with her back to him, said, "Thank you."

Stolas watched as Stella walked away, a mix of relief and sadness washing over him. He had hoped that Octavia's words would resonate with her, and perhaps they had, even if just a little. The tension between them had been suffocating, and he couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way to coexist without the constant bickering.

"Your patience with that woman is beyond admirable, sir." William remarked. "Other men would have left her to rot in the asylum and never think of her again. And forgive me for saying this, but I think she would deserve it."

"Maybe." Stolas replied. "I think that sometimes she can help her awful behavior, but other times I believe she truly can't help it. I know that disease or no disease, she'd wish death upon me until her last breath. But I don't think she would have tried to kill me that night or put Octavia through so much pain if she could stop herself from doing so. And then there's the matter of what triggered it."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Her brother. I was told that he did unspeakable things to her when she was a child. Things that I don't think anyone can recover from unless through a miracle of God or science."

"You mean..."

"She always denied it; her family denied it; their friends denied it. But you know how servants talk."

"No wonder you're so patient with her."

"I pity her, William. That's all I can feel for her now. Pity."

But Octavia didn't head straight to bed. First, she needed to check on Alastor. She sensed that something had deeply upset him that night, and she worried that without someone to talk to, he might spiral into a violent rage. Once the house fell silent, she opened her window and carefully climbed onto the roof.

She remembered how Alastor liked to escape to the rooftop when he was troubled; she had shared with him how she used to do the same as a child. Looking at the vast sky always made her problems feel smaller, and it seemed Alastor had taken that lesson to heart.

As she made her way up, the cool night air brushed against her skin, a refreshing contrast to the heated emotions that had filled the house just moments before. Her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and concern for her friend. Alastor was unpredictable when he was upset, and she wanted to be there for him, to help him find some semblance of peace.

When she reached the rooftop, she spotted him sitting at the edge, his silhouette stark against the starry sky. He stared into the distance, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a heavy silence. Octavia took a moment to gather her thoughts before approaching him.

"Are you alright?" She asked softly.

"I ruined your party." He replied, not turning to face her. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay." Octavia said, settling beside him. "Those parties are just for appearances anyway. They're not really any fun. Can I ask you something? What happened tonight? You actually tried to kill that man. That's not like you... well, not anymore."

"I'm sorry, Octavia. I didn't mean to go that far... No, I won't lie to you. I did mean to, but I also didn't. I don't know."

"What did Benedict do to make you so mad?"

"He's the one who lied to me, Octavia. He's the one who betrayed me."

"Him? There must be some mistake. Benedict is strange and not the most trustworthy person, but he's not evil."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he and my father are...Close."

"How close?"

"Uh...Well..." She said, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her voice. "Remember when I told you how sometimes a man and a woman have certain feelings for each other, so they get together in a way?"

"Yes."

"Well, try to imagine that with a man and another man."

Octavia braced herself for his reaction, expecting him to shout and call her father a disgrace. To her surprise and relief, he merely looked hopelessly confused.

"How exactly is that accomplished?"

"Oh God, please don't make me explain! I beg you. I already had to deal with the haunting images of him with my mother when he told me where babies come from. Don't traumatize me further."

"Sorry."

"The point is, they're close, and that's how I know."

"I think you only know what your father wants you to know."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Octavia, I... I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you this. You love your father so much, and I know he loves you. I'd hate for you to think less of him. I thought Benedict would never come back into my life, so I didn't see the need to say anything."

"Say what?"

"Your father was there the night I came into Benedict's lab. He knew about me from the beginning. I saw him visiting Benedict while I was held there. I think he knows what's wrong with me."

"Now I know that has to be a mistake! My father would never be a part of something like that! You know my father; he's not evil or abusive!"

"I know that, in his heart, he's a good man. But even good men can make terrible mistakes. Even good men can lie and keep secrets. Octavia, he knows something about me, about where I came from, and I need you to get him to tell me."

"He doesn't know anything."

"But you don't know that for sure? Octavia, I'm scared that Benedict might try to get rid of me or lock me up again. I have to know what's going on. Please, I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't a matter of life and death."

"I... I don't know. I want to help you, But...But..."

"I have to know, Octavia. I have to know who I am."

Octavia fell silent, retreating back into her room. Alastor didn't stop her; he knew asking her to do something like this was a long shot. She was just a kid who loved her father. Of course, she wouldn't be able to do it.

Or so he thought. As much as Octavia loved and respected her father, she understood that keeping secrets was second nature to him. After all, he had carried on a secret affair with a man right under everyone's noses. Curiosity gnawed at her, just like it had the first time she met Alastor. She simply had to know what her father was up to.

Chapter Text

The following night, Stolas paced anxiously in his study, glancing at the clock as the minutes slipped away. He had agreed to meet Benedict in the garden—a neutral ground for discussing the chaos of the previous night. However, Octavia had her own plans.

As her father prepared to leave, Octavia quietly slipped out of her room, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. She needed to uncover the truth about Alastor and what secrets her father was hiding. With careful steps, she trailed Stolas through the dimly lit corridors, her breath hitching as she neared the garden doors.

Peeking through the crack, she spotted her father standing beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree, its leaves rustling softly in the night breeze. Moments later, Benedict arrived, his expression tense and guarded. Octavia pressed herself against the wall, straining to catch their conversation.

"Stolas." Benedict began, his voice low but urgent. "First of all, I want to apologize for what happened at the party. It was neither the right time nor the right place to introduce Charlotte."

"Well, I suppose I should be grateful that you at least acknowledge that mistake." Stolas replied, his tone sharp. "What the hell are you doing, Benedict? What's your endgame here?"

"As I mentioned before, I intend to turn Charlotte into a perfect equal for men—the ideal woman."

"You speak as if she's some mare to be trained. You gave her a human brain and a human heart. You can't exactly train beings with those two particular organs."

"Why not? Your father had you trained like a dog."

"Trained? You mean stifled and abused! I can't believe you'd even say that!"

"Look, I apologized. I've made my peace. Can we part ways on good terms now?"

"No, we cannot! Because there's still the matter of Alastor."

"I told you what to do: get rid of him!"

"And I told you that I can't do that!"

"You were the one who said I should have destroyed him in the first place!"

"That was when he was a mindless, brutal killing machine! Now he's... I don't want to say domesticated, but... docile?"

"Docile?! He tried to kill me the other night!"

"And why is that, I wonder?" Stolas replied sarcastically. "You abandoned him and lied to him! I was there when you made that promise to him! I heard you swear you would give him a mate and let them leave, never to return. I tried to talk you out of it before you made that promise, but you went ahead anyway. Then you created that she-creation and changed your mind! What kind of fool does that to someone with a temper like his?!"

"That promise was a momentary lapse in judgment. True, I created her to mate with that abortion, but I quickly saw the foolishness of that. I thought she was fit for finer things."

"Who are you trying to fool? I know why you really changed your mind! When you were about to give her to him, it reminded you of when Milliana left you for Maximus, and you couldn't stand it!"

Octavia's heart raced as she listened, piecing together the fragments of their argument. The tension between the two men crackled in the air, and she felt the weight of their shared history pressing down on them.

"It had nothing to do with that!" Benedict shouted.

"It had everything to do with that, and you know it!" Stolas countered.

In a fit of frustration, Benedict threw his hands up, a journal slipping from his grasp and landing on the ground with a dull thud. Octavia's eyes widened as she caught sight of the leather-bound book, its pages filled with scrawled notes and sketches. She knew this was her chance.

As the two men continued to argue, Octavia quickly darted forward, her heart pounding in her chest. She snatched the journal from the ground, clutching it tightly to her chest as she retreated back into the shadows. The voices of her father and Benedict faded into the background as she slipped away, her mind racing with questions.

Octavia hurried through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The journal felt heavy in her hands, a tangible weight of secrets and revelations that she hoped would illuminate the chaos surrounding her father and Alastor. She reached her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, and took a moment to catch her breath.

Alastor was perched on the edge of her bed, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light. He looked up as she entered, a mix of curiosity and concern etched on his face.

"Octavia? What's wrong?"

"I found something." She said breathlessly, holding out the journal. "It's Benedict's. I think it might have answers about you and... well, everything."

Alastor's expression shifted from concern to intrigue as he took the leather-bound book from her hands. He flipped it open, the pages crackling softly as they parted. The handwriting was neat and precise, filled with meticulous notes and sketches chronicling Benedict's life.

"This is the journal of Benedict Blitzenstien..." Alastor began to read. "September 13th, 1793. It is hard to be born in a time when others cannot understand you or your talents. I have always been, as my mother would say, a misunderstood genius. My interests and hobbies lie outside the social norm, and that is frowned upon. But soon, I shall create something that will bring shame to those who have laughed at me and mocked my genius."

Alastor flipped to the next page.

"A little full of himself, isn't he?"

He started to read again.

"I suppose I'll start where it all began. In Geneva, 1773. I lived with my good-for-nothing father, my saint of a mother, and my other half, my twin sister Barbara. My father cared only for money; his heart had no room for family or love. But Mother adored me and my sister, ensuring we wanted for nothing.

In matters of friendship, I did not have many. Other children found me too queer to associate with, often making me the target of every practical joke. But I did have friends: one was the baron's son, Stolas Goetia, someone my father arranged to be my playmate to help me fit in better with the aristocracy. Then there was Maximus Clerval, the son of my mother's maidservant, whom I considered the brother I never had, and my dear cousin Milliana Lavenza, who would be the love of my life.

I still remember the first time I ever saw her..."

Geneva, 1773

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the lush garden of the Blitzenstien estate, laughter echoing through the air. Young Benedict, with his tousled dark hair and bright eyes, raced around the manicured hedges, his twin sister Barbara close behind. Stolas, a few years older, watched with a bemused smile, while Maximus, the son of the maidservant, joined in the playful chase, their laughter mingling with the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

"Catch me if you can!" Benedict shouted, darting past a cluster of vibrant roses, his heart racing with the thrill of the game. Barbara giggled, her pigtails bouncing as she tried to keep up.

"Just wait until I tell Mother you're cheating!" She teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Stolas chuckled, shaking his head.

"You're all going to tire yourselves out before dinner. Save some energy for dessert!"

Just then, the garden gate creaked open, and a figure stepped through. Matilde, the twins' mother, entered with a gentle smile, her presence instantly calming the raucous energy of the children. Behind her stood a young girl with soft black hair, brown skin, and wide, sorrowful grey eyes.

"Children, come here." Matilde called, beckoning them closer. "I have someone I want you to meet."

Benedict and Barbara exchanged curious glances before rushing over, their playful spirits momentarily forgotten.

"This is my niece, Milliana, and your cousin." Matilde introduced, her voice warm yet tinged with sadness. "She has lost her family to scarlet fever and will be living with us now. I need you all to be kind to her, to look after her, and to think of her as your own sister."

Milliana stood shyly beside Matilde, her gaze cast down as she clutched the hem of her dress. The children, sensing her vulnerability, softened their expressions.

"Hello, Milliana." Barbara said gently, stepping forward. "You can play with us! We were just running around. It's really fun!"

Benedict nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes! We can show you all the best hiding spots in the garden. It's like a maze!"

Milliana hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting over the vibrant garden filled with laughter and warmth. Then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, her eyes locked onto Maximus. The world around them faded, and in that instant, it felt as if they were the only two people in existence.

Maximus felt his cheeks flush as he caught her gaze, an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. He shyly took a step back, unsure of what to do.

"Stay, Maximus!" Benedict urged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Don't be shy! Milliana is going to be our new friend!"

With a gentle nudge from Barbara, Maximus found the courage to step forward again.

"Um, hi." He stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi." Milliana replied, her smile brightening as she took a tentative step closer. "I'm Milliana."

"I'm Maximus. I'm... I'm Benedict's best friend."

"Does that mean you'll be mine too?"

"Yes, if you want me to."

As Maximus and Milliana stood facing each other, their hands slowly reached out, fingers intertwining in a tentative yet electric connection. It was as if the world around them faded into a soft blur, leaving just the two of them in that moment. Milliana's eyes sparkled with a mixture of surprise and delight, while Maximus felt a warmth spread through his chest—a feeling he had never quite experienced before.

"Look! They're holding hands!" Barbara exclaimed, her voice ringing out like a bell, shattering the fragile bubble of intimacy that had formed between them. She couldn't help but giggle, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Maximus and Milliana are in love!"

Maximus's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, and he instinctively pulled his hand away, glancing down at the ground in embarrassment. Milliana, too, felt her heart race, but she couldn't help but giggle along with Barbara, the moment transformed into something lighthearted and playful.

"Shut up, Barbara!" Maximus protested, trying to regain his composure.

With the teasing, the tension melted away, and the children found themselves swept back into the carefree spirit of their play. The garden, once a backdrop for a moment of connection, transformed into a vibrant playground filled with laughter and joy.

"Let's play tag!" Barbara shouted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'll be it!"

Before anyone could protest, she dashed off, her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind. Maximus, Milliana, and Benedict exchanged glances, a shared understanding passing between them.

"Come on!" Benedict urged, breaking into a run after his sister. "We can't let her catch us!"

Maximus and Milliana quickly followed, their earlier moment forgotten as they raced through the garden, dodging between the hedges and flowers. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and the rustle of leaves, the sun casting a warm glow over their playful antics.

Chapter Text

Milliana was a true gem to the Blitzenstien family and their circle of associates. Not only was she stunningly beautiful, but her sweet and charming nature endeared her to everyone she met. It was rare for anyone to encounter her without feeling an immediate affection. Yet, no one loved her more fiercely than Maximus and Benedict. The three of them were inseparable, bound together like thieves in the night, sharing every moment from dawn until dusk.

The three children could often be found sneaking away to indulge in fun or mischief. This brought great joy to Madame Blitzenstien, who understood that after losing her parents and brothers, Milliana was likely feeling sad and lonely. She worried that the child might succumb to depression. However, her son and his friend provided the companionship and laughter that allowed her niece to smile once more.

"Did you really make this?" Milliana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she admired the small flute Maximus had recently carved.

"Yep! The process is quite simple, really." He replied with a grin.

"Simple for you, maybe!" Milliana laughed, twirling the flute delicately between her fingers. "You make it look so effortless. I wish I could create something as beautiful as this!"

"Just wait until you hear it." Maximus said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Maximus raised the flute to his lips and began to play a beautiful melody, prompting Milliana to leap to her feet, twirling like a ballerina.

"What are you two up to?" Benedict chuckled, watching them.

"I think we're putting on our own private show." Maximus replied with a grin.

"Come dance with me, Benedict!" Milliana exclaimed, grabbing his hands. "My brothers used to love dancing with me!"

"I can't right now, Milliana. It's almost sundown, and that's when the fireflies come out."

"Oh, are we going to chase and catch them?" Milliana asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"And keep them!" Benedict added eagerly.

"Keep them?" Maximus raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I'm going to put them in a jar! I want to find out what makes them glow.” He declared.

"But, Benedict, if you do that, they'll die." Maximus protested.

"Maybe." Benedict replied nonchalantly.

"But I like fireflies! They have such short lives already. Can't you just let them be?" Maximus urged.

"Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the sake of science. That's what Professor Pentious says. Besides, they're just insects—it's not like I'm killing a person." Benedict reasoned.

"I guess you're right." Maximus conceded. "But it still feels sad."

"Think of it this way: you want to be a doctor someday, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, did you know that in medical school, they study cadavers to understand how everything works?"

"Ewww! You're lying!"

"I'm not! I swear! That's really what they do!"

"Gross!"

"Being a doctor can be gross." Milliana giggled. "But it's one of the most meaningful ways to be gross. That's what my mother used to say."

"My mother says that being a doctor is the closest thing to being an angel because angels heal others, and that's what doctors are supposed to do." Maximus added.

"That's so corny." Benedict replied.

"What's wrong with being corny? Sometimes corny can be great—especially when it comes with a roast!"

At that, all three children erupted into laughter.

"You tell the worst jokes, Maximus." Benedict chuckled. "But that's what makes them so funny."

"Hey, I have to tell jokes, whether they're good or bad. You've met my father—he has no sense of humor. I don't think he can even smile."

"Your father scares me. He scares everyone." Benedict replied. "I never thought I'd meet anyone's old man who was worse than mine. No offense, Maximus."

"None taken. I'd trade my father for yours in a heartbeat if I could. Sure, he's a drunken idiot, but at least he'd be too inebriated to come after me with the strap."

"Did he try to do that last week when you came home late?" Milliana asked, concern etched on her face.

"He did, but Mother hid me in the cellar and took the beating for me."

"Is she alright?" Benedict asked, worry creeping into his voice.

"I patched her up after he left. She'll be fine."

"Hey, Maximus, why don't I ask Mother if you can stay over for the week?" Benedict suggested.

"Oh, I don't want to be a burden."

"She won't mind. She enjoys having you around. She says you're a good influence on me. Whatever that means."

Maximus smiled at Benedict suggestion, feeling a warmth in his chest at the thought of being welcomed into their home for a week. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"Trust me, you won't be. Besides, it'll be fun!

"Alright."

As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the landscape, the three children made their way to the garden, eager to catch fireflies. They laughed and chased the flickering lights, their giggles echoing in the warm evening air.

"Look! I caught one!" Milliana exclaimed, holding her cupped hands up to show her friends.

"Be gentle!" Maximus cautioned. "They're delicate creatures."

Benedict watched in awe as Milliana opened her hands, revealing the tiny glowing insect. "It's beautiful!" he said, his voice filled with wonder.

"Let's let it go." Milliana suggested, her heart swelling with compassion. "It deserves to be free."

Maximus nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, let's watch it fly away."

With that, Milliana opened her hands wider, and the firefly took off into the night sky, joining its fellow glow-worms in a dance of light. The three friends stood in silence for a moment, mesmerized by the beauty of the moment.

"See? That's what makes them special." Maximus said softly. "They're meant to shine in the darkness, not be trapped."

Benedict looked thoughtful.

"I guess you're right. Maybe I'll just observe them instead of catching them."

They lingered outside, captivated by the dance of fireflies, until the governess called them in for supper and bedtime. Benedict turned to his mother, asking if Maximus could stay for the week. She agreed and promptly sent a messenger to inform Maximus's mother. Deep down, she sensed that Maximus's mother might have preferred her son to remain with them permanently.

"Do you know what I wanna do when I grow up Maximus?" Benedict said as he and Maximus put on their nightgowns.

"What?"

"I want to find out how the world works. I want to know the meaning of life and death, and everything."

"I don't think anyone can know all that. Except God."

"God. Wouldn't it be great to be like him? To have all the knowledge and power? To be able to create things and give them life, and purpose."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Aren't you the one singing his praises at church every Sunday?"

"Well yes but I wouldn't want to be in his position. I wouldn't know the first thing about giving someone a purpose or deciding who lives and dies, and you know that he forgives everybody as long as they're really sorry. I don't think I could do that for everyone whoever did something bad to me, and I know you couldn't do it either."

"If I were God nobody would ever die or do anything bad to each other."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"You're just not a philosopher."

"Do you even know what a philosopher is or are you just repeating what you hear grown ups say?"

"I know what it is."

"Alright, name one."

"Um...Um…Socates!”

“That’s Socrates and do you know about him?”

Benedict scratched his head, clearly struggling to recall anything substantial.

“Um, he... he asked a lot of questions, right? And he didn’t write anything down.”

“Okay that’s right. But I don’t think you quite grasp why he refrained from writing, or why philosophers do what they do.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, because unlike you, I believe even the simplest things can hold deeper meanings.”

“Oh really? Even a rock?”

“Yes even a rock. At first glance, a rock seems ordinary, but it could one day become a cornerstone of a great mountain.”

“That’s a wonderful perspective on life, Maximus.” Madame Blitzenstien said as she entered to tuck the boys in. “I believe we all share that essence, like you, my dear sweet Benedict.”

“What do you mean, Mother?” Benedict asked.

“I’ve heard what others say about you, my darling—that you’re strange and nothing special. But I know that’s not true. One day, you’ll be part of something great, just like my brother.”

“What was so great about him? Didn’t the family disown him?”

“Yes, but he followed his heart, choosing love over money and societal expectations. Because of that, he created a wonderful family and lived a good life. I believe you won’t be like your father, Benedict. I know you’ll be a good man and make me proud.”

Benedict nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of the future.

"You know, Mother, I think I might want to be a scientist when I grow up. I want to explore the world and understand how everything works.” He said earnestly, feeling a surge of ambition.

“That sounds wonderful, Benedict!” Madame Blitzenstien encouraged. “Science and curiosity can lead to amazing discoveries. But always remember, learning is a lifelong journey. Never stop being curious.”

“I won’t, Mother! I promise!” Benedict replied, determination filling his voice.

As Alastor finished reading the first chapter of the journal, he felt very puzzled. The boy depicted within its pages was nothing like the careless, arrogant, and cruel man who had abandoned him in that stable. This boy had been kind and joyful, eager to help others. How could this sweet child that madman be the same person?

“I almost don’t recognize him.” Alastor said.

“What do you mean?” Octavia asked.

"I mean the boy in this journal—Benedict was innocent, joyful, and full of dreams. He’s nothing like the man I know.”

"That's how many people begin, Alastor.” Octavia said. "Most start as innocent children, never intending to harm anyone. But then something goes wrong, and they change."

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It’s usually because something or someone hurt them really bad and they just can’t let go of that pain, so it drives them to madness. Like what happened to my mother.”

“What happened to her? I assumed she was born crazy.”

“No. My mother…When she was a little girl, my uncle did something horrible to her…Do you remember the day you saved me from Mammon? You knew what he was trying to do to me right?”

“Yes.”

“Well no one came to save my mother when it happened to her and little by little that evil twisted her up until she became so ill, that she couldn’t even be around me or my father anymore. Sometimes I wonder if someone like you had come to her rescue, would things be different? I mean I know she and my father could never love each other, but could she at least not hate him so much?”

Alastor didn’t know what to say. So he just sat there with her until she was ready to go to bed.

Chapter Text

Charlotte felt a swirl of confusion and worry. She was particularly concerned about Benedict and perplexed by the man at the party held at the Goetia estate. Who was he? Why had he attacked Benedict? And why did he seem so familiar? She had bombarded Benedict with these questions the morning after the event.

"He's a former patient of mine." Benedict replied. "He's very confused and delusional. He suffers from a condition that blurs the line between reality and imagination."

"He called you a liar." Charlotte pressed. "He said that you broke a promise to him."

"I'm afraid that's all a fabrication of his mind. Poor man, he needs help—help I unfortunately cannot provide."

"Do I know him?" She asked, her brow furrowing.

"Of course not. You've never met him before in your life."

"But I feel like I know him, and he said that he knew me."

"He believes he knows you. When he was my patient, he saw many pictures of my family, including you. He clings to those images and creates fantasies around them."

"Are you sure? Because the way he spoke to me, it didn't seem like he was making it all up. And the way he looked at me..."

She would never forget the way he looked at her—his eyes so filled with longing and adoration, as if she were everything to him, more precious than life itself. How does one look at another with such intensity? What does it mean?

"He's a lonely soul—one beyond help." Benedict said, his voice heavy with concern. "I urge you to avoid him anyway you can. He's extremely dangerous."

"I understand." Charlotte replied, recalling the fury she had witnessed. "His rage terrified me, but I was frightened for myself. I have the strangest feeling that he wouldn't hurt me for anything in the world."

"You have such a good heart, Charlotte. You see the best in everyone, perhaps too easily. You might not even recognize evil, which makes you a perfect victim. Please, stay away from him and the Goetia estate. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

In Benedict's eyes, she saw a great sadness and loss, as if he had lost everything he cherished and would do anything to reclaim it.

"I'll be careful." She said. "I promised."

"Good."

Life returned to normal for her during the day, with her studies and her bond with Vagatha and Anthony growing stronger. But her nights took a darker turn. She began to have unsettling dreams—dreams of herself and that man, surrounded by haunting voices.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

"Run away! Run away! Run away!"

"I love you! I love you! I love you!"

"Be quiet!" she and the man would shout in unison. "Please, be quiet!"

The metallic scent of blood mingles with the visceral thrill of strangling someone with your bare hands. Ice-cold water envelops you, restraints around your body. Suddenly, a warm embrace envelops you, accompanied by a love song softly hummed in your ear.

Charlotte's dreams grew increasingly vivid, blurring the lines between reality and the subconscious. Each night, the man's presence felt more tangible, as if he were reaching out to her from the depths of her mind. The voices echoed louder, filling her with a sense of urgency and dread.

The only person Charlotte could confide in about it was Milliana. Milliana often appeared whenever Charlotte was alone in the garden, they mostly just sat together and talked. Charlotte trusted Milliana, feeling she could share anything without judgment. The thought of revealing her dreams to anyone else filled her with dread; she feared they would think something was wrong with her.

"Everyone has nightmares, Charlotte." Milliana reassured her. "It's perfectly normal."

"Then why do I feel like I can't tell anyone else about them?" Charlotte asked.

"Maybe you're worried they might mean something—and that you might not like what they mean."

"Do dreams always have meanings?"

"Not always. But tell me more about the man you dream about." Milliana said, a teasing smile on her face. "Anything naughty going on?"

Charlotte felt a blush creep up her cheeks at Milliana's words.

"No, I don't think so. Honestly, I just want to know who he is. But Benedict says he's dangerous. What do you think?"

"I believe Benedict cares about you and has good intentions, but he's not always right."

"So you don't think he's dangerous?"

"What do you think?"

"I think he is, but not to everyone. Not to me."

"Then you have no reason to stay away."

"I don't know. The thought of seeing him again scares me, but it's not him I'm afraid of. I can't explain it, but I feel like something bad will happen."

"You don't have to see him if you don't want to. And if you do want to see him, that's your choice. Do what you think is right."

"But I don't know what's right. That's the problem."

She stood up and began to walk, she needed to clear her head. The warm, sunny day enveloped her, and she relished moments like this. The sun, in all its brilliance, felt like the most beautiful thing in the world. She often paused to dance in its golden light, savoring the joy it brought her.

He watched her dance, heard her voice humming the song in her heart, and caught the sweet scent of her hair. Even from afar, he felt her presence. She was breathtaking, and he longed to be with her.

They shared a connection he could feel deep in his soul. Sometimes, it seemed as if she was meant for him, made for him, though he struggled to understand what that truly meant. He had to see her again—he just had to. But how? And if he succeeded what would he say? What would he do?

"I wish I could help you, Alastor, but I know less about women than you do." Stolas had said when Alastor sought his advice. "Remember, my father had to practically force me to marry a woman. The only advice I can give is: never tell them they're wrong, or they'll kill you."

"Well, if you can't tell me about women in general, then tell me about men. Specifically about Benedict and why he's keeping his ward away from me."

Stolas halted, his expression shifting.

"I need answers, Stolas. You know I came from Benedict, and so did his so-called niece. But he kept her and abandoned me. Why?"

"It's... complicated. It's not for me to say."

"Stolas, you helped him hide me away. You helped him lock me up. Now Octavia swears to me that you're not cruel and that you didn't know about my abuse, but the truth is, you did do something wrong. You owe me an explanation. Why did he abandon me?"

"Alastor, you don't want to know. Trust me."

"I think I do."

"No, you don't! I know I haven't been honest with you. I've lied and kept secrets, but I promise you this one truth: knowing where you came from, what was there before you came to us, will only bring you despair. You'll never find happiness or peace. You'll loathe yourself."

"I already loathe myself! Look at me! I'm covered in scars, burns, and stitches! I look like a monster! What could be worse?"

"You can't even begin to imagine." Stolas said, locking eyes with him, his gaze filled with terror and trauma. "I owe you much, and I'll do anything to atone for my wrongs, but please, don't make me reveal the terrible truth. For your own sake and for my daughter's."

"Anything? You'll do anything else?"

"Anything else. I give you my word."

"Alright. If you can't give me the truth, maybe you can give me companionship."

"What do you mean? I've already given you that. You and my daughter share a bond unlike any I've seen. It's unusual, considering you're a grown man and she's a young girl, but it's wholesome, harmless, loyal, and true."

"I want a specific kind of companionship—the kind Benedict promised me."

"Oh God... I was afraid you would ask for that."

"I want her. The bride he promised me."

"I can't just give her to you. She's not an object; she's a person."

"I want to see her. I want to know her. I want to explore if she could someday be mine and I, hers. But I can't do that as long as Benedict interferes."

"I don't think that's a good idea—"

"She's the only person in the world who can understand me. I know I'm different, though I don't know how. But I sense that she is too, and that gives me hope. She's my only chance."

Stolas couldn't argue. He knew no other woman would accept him once she discovered what he truly was. No one could share a life with someone like him—not in that way.

"Alright, I'll talk to Benedict and see what I can do. I won't promise anything, but I will do my best. You must understand, he's still very angry with you. You did try to kill him."

"You would have reacted the same if he had put you through that torment."

"Not exactly, but I understand your rage. I have a meeting with Benedict tonight. I'll discuss your requests and your reasons. But you must stay out of sight, keep your temper in check, and above all, don't approach him."

"Very well."

Stolas began to walk away toward his study when Alastor called out to him.

"If Benedict refuses to listen, give him this warning from me."

"Warning?" Stolas asked.

"As I mentioned before, I can't fully grasp how or why I'm different from everyone else. I don't even know who I truly am. But I do know two things about myself for certain: there are two powerful forces within me, constantly battling for control, each demanding that I make a choice."

Alastor turned Stolas to face him again, his gaze intense, underscoring the gravity of his warning.

"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other."

Chapter Text

After finishing her dance, Charlotte decided to take a stroll into town. She wanted to do a bit of shopping and buy gifts for her friends, Vagatha, Anthony, and Benedict, who had been so kind to her. She felt it was only right to show her appreciation. Perhaps some perfume for Vagatha, a new shirt for Anthony, and a lantern for Benedict to keep by his desk while he worked at night.

Her first stop was the local candlestick maker, who sold exquisite crystal oil lamps along with candles. As she pondered which lamp to choose, a familiar face caught her eye.

"Well, hello again." It was Captain Stefan Holmwood, looking tall and dashing, his moustache elegantly styled in the Burgundian fashion.

"Oh, Captain Holmwood, how lovely to see you again." Charlotte said, curtsying as he bowed in return.

"Likewise, Lady Daae. What brings you here today?"

"I'm looking to buy a lamp for my uncle."

"How thoughtful! And your uncle is...?"

"Dr. Benedict Blitzenstein."

The young officer chuckled.

"Hard to believe you're related to someone like him."

"I beg your pardon?" She replied.

"Oh, I meant no offense. You just seem so different from him—elegant, refined, and quite beautiful."

Charlotte felt a blush creep to her cheeks.

"May I accompany you on your outing? I promise to behave as an officer should."

"Alright." Charlotte agreed, pleased for the company.

Stefan proved to be quite interesting, sharing stories of his victories in battle and the places he had traveled. However, when he spoke of war and taking lives, she felt a deep confusion.

"Why did you kill so many men?" She asked.

"Because they were enemies. One must destroy their enemies, or they themselves will be destroyed."

"But couldn't they have been reasoned with?"

"My lady, you cannot reason with savages."

"What do you mean by 'savages'?"

"Anyone who does not belong to our world. They are uneducated, uncivilized, knowing only violence. That is why men like me must respond in kind."

"I've read in the Bible that it is wrong to kill unless it's to protect oneself or others. When you kill, are you protecting someone?"

"Of course. I am protecting Geneva. That is my duty, the duty of all soldiers."

"Forgive me, but my uncle claims that soldiers are boastful and proud, obsessed with bloodshed and the spoils of war. He thinks they have an inflated sense of self-importance."

"Hmph! That's rich coming from him."

"What do you mean?"

"You say your uncle is a doctor, but have you ever seen him treat a patient?"

"No."

"Exactly. He's not really a doctor. A friend of mine was a classmate of his, and he told me they expelled Benedict from the university."

"Why?"

"For starters, he frequently contradicted his professors, acting as if he were the genius and they should learn from him."

"Learn about what?"

"Life and death. He believed science could control both. At first, they found his ridiculous theories amusing, but soon it bordered on madness. He sounded like someone who belonged in an asylum."

"That can't be true!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Benedict is brilliant! He's one of the smartest men in the world!"

"Smart, yes, but sane? I wouldn't be so sure. From what I hear, the real reason they expelled him was that after his sister died, he stole university equipment in a desperate attempt to revive her. The Baron Goetia had to pay a fortune to keep the university from pressing charges, and now no medical school will accept him."

"He…What?”

”Didn't he tell you?"

"No, he didn't."

As Charlotte and Captain Holmwood continued their conversation, Dr. Benedict Blitzenstein appeared, making his way to meet Stolas just a few paces away. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Charlotte laughing at something Stefan had said, the captain leaning in slightly closer than was necessary.

A deep sense of rage and disgust ignited within him. What was that shiftless cavalry officer doing talking to Charlotte? He already had enough women at his beck and call; he didn't need another. He had no right to be so close to her, admiring her beauty. She was far too good for him.

He was tempted to confront them and to shoo the solider away but he couldn't keep Stolas waiting. Not when things had suddenly become so tense between them. He would see to the matter of Charlotte and this wanna be admirer of hers later.

"He's becoming impatient." Stolas informed Benedict during their meeting. "More restless. He's asking questions and demanding answers."

"What have you told him?" Benedict asked.

"Only what everyone else knows. But he's agreed to let us keep our secrets on one condition."

"And that is?"

"He wants his bride—the one you promised him."

"I told you, I can't give her to him! She's far too precious!"

"She is the only one in the world like him, the only one who can love him as a mate and share a life with him. No other woman will ever have him! You know that! And no other man will ever have her!"

"What are you talking about?"

"She's beautiful, and at first, many men will desire her. But once they find out what she is, they will reject her, just as all women will reject him. Don't you see? They need each other, or they will be alone forever."

"Charlotte doesn't need a husband or a lover. She's destined for greater things."

"And what is greatness worth if she's alone in achieving it?"

"She won't be alone. I'll be by her side, along with Vagatha and Anthony."

"That won't be enough forever. Sooner or later, she'll have 'needs' that none of you can fulfill."

"She won't have those needs. I'll ensure it."

"You can't control if someone has needs like that. I know, my father tried to do that to me for years."

"What about Alastor? Does he have 'needs'?"

"No, not yet. But he wants a connection, and he correctly believes Charlotte can offer that."

"I'm not going to force her to mate with that monstrosity!"

"That's not what he's asking, and don't call him that. He only wants to know her, to see if they can love each other. To have a fair chance at being able to love and be loved in return."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

"Benedict, if he has to live his life alone, so will you. He'll make sure of it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a warning and a promise. You wronged him, and he demands that you make amends, or he'll take revenge. For your own sake, please comply!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because what if she doesn't want him? What if she rejects him and he can't handle it? He could become so enraged that he might hurt her—try to strangle her to death in blind rage just like he tried to do to me the other night!"

"Okay, you have a point. But aren't we being a bit hypocritical? Because as I recall you don't handle rejection very well either."

"That was an accident!" Benedict snapped. "I was drunk! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"I'm just saying, as violent and temperamental as he is, don't forget where he learned it from!"

"You said you didn't blame me! You said it wasn't my fault!"

"No, I said I forgave you and that I'd still be there for you. Even though you've never taken responsibility for what happened to them."

"Because it wasn't my fault!"

"How long will you keep lying to yourself like this? You'll never be able to make things right until you admit the truth and accept it! Deep down you must know that I'm right about this, otherwise you wouldn't get so angry every time I bring it up!"

They were so engrossed in their conflict that they failed to notice Alastor, lurking in the shadows nearby. His keen ears picked up snippets of their conversation, and a mix of curiosity and determination stirred within him.

Alastor had been waiting for the perfect moment to slip away, and now, with their attention diverted, and Benedict a way from Charlotte, he seized the opportunity. Under the cover of night, Alastor moved stealthily through the shadows, following a path leading to Benedict's manor. The house was locked up tight but he knew of a secret entrance inside through the garden, though he couldn't quite recall how he knew it was there.

With a gentle push, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with portraits of stern ancestors. Alastor felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity wash over him as he stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of old books and polished wood, and he instinctively knew where to go.

He navigated the hallways with ease, memories flickering in his mind like distant echoes. Each room he passed felt like a piece of a puzzle he was meant to solve. He could almost hear the whispers of the past guiding him, urging him forward.

Finally, he reached a door at the end of the corridor, slightly ajar. Alastor paused for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it—the room where Charlotte was staying. He pushed the door open quietly, peering inside.

Alastor slipped quietly into the dimly lit bedroom, the soft glow of moonlight spilling through the window. Charlotte lay peacefully asleep, her chest rising and falling gently beneath the covers. He felt a rush of emotions as he approached her bedside, marveling at her serene beauty, the way her hair cascaded like silk across the pillow, framing her delicate features.

He paused for a moment, captivated by the tranquility that enveloped her. Tentatively, he reached out, letting his fingers glide over the soft fabric of her blanket before gently taking her hand. His touch was light, almost reverent, as if he feared waking her from her sweet dreams. Yet, as he admired her, his heart raced, and he couldn't resist caressing her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and tracing the outline of her fingers. He then moved to her hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers like water, brushing a stray lock from her forehead.

As he touched her face, a soft sigh escaped her lips, and she stirred slightly. Alarmed, Alastor began to pull back, but before he could fully withdraw, her delicate hand reached out, capturing his and drawing it back toward her. In a sleepy haze, she nestled his fingers against her face, and to his astonishment, she kissed his fingertips.

His breath caught in his throat; her touch, her lips, felt electric. He reached for her other hand, kissing her fingers with the same tenderness, lost in the moment. He leaned closer, whispered softly to her,

“I love you.”

The words flowed from him like a long-held secret finally set free. He had known it from the very first moment he saw her, a truth that had blossomed in the depths of his soul.

Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, savoring the warmth of her skin against his lips.

“Sleep sweet, my dear. I will come for you again. My belle, my bride, my love.”

With that promise lingering in the air, he reluctantly withdrew his hand, casting one last glance at her serene face before slipping silently out of the room.

Chapter Text

They could feel tender, heated lips brushing against their own, and both glimpsed eyes filled with love. But the eyes she beheld were green, while the eyes he saw were grey. She dreamed of warm arms around her, a gentle hand caressing her cheek, and soft kisses trailing from her neck to her breast. He dreamed of a sweet voice moaning softly, delicate fingers weaving through his hair, and arms wrapping around his chest, clinging to him with fervor. She inhaled the scents of bergamot and strong alcohol, while he savored the fragrance of dewy roses and orange blossoms. Yet, both were enveloped by the earthy aroma of oak trees and hawthorn.

Music, the most beautiful music could be heard all around them. A melody they both knew by heart—etched in their souls, unforgettable. They danced, undressing each other in a waltz of intimacy, something strange happened: she saw one green eye shift to brown, while he watched one grey eye transform to blue. They struggled to control their breathing, each hungering for the other's touch, each craving love from the other person more than anything else. At last, their bodies intertwined, finally united.

Then Charlotte woke up. Her heart was pounding, and she needed to catch her breath. She didn't understand at all what she had just seen in her dreams. Was it a man? A man doing to her what...What men do to women if there's no one to stop them? Like Vagatha always warned her about? No, no it wasn't like that. Vagatha said what men like that did was brutal and ugly, that it felt terrible and disgusting. But what she dreamed was pure and beautiful, it felt wonderful and warm, and safe. Is that what love was?

She was filled with questions, eager to understand what it all meant and to uncover every last detail. Yet, for some reason, she felt unable to discuss it with anyone but Vagatha.

"It's called love making." Vagatha explained when the two had a moment to talk privately. "When a man and a woman fall in love, they make it official by joining their bodies together, so their souls can become one, and they can share one soul, one life, and one love til death do them part."

"That sounds beautiful." Charlotte said.

"It is beautiful. It's one of the most beautiful things in the world. But only if it's done out of love. If it's done for any other reason then it's disgusting and sinful. Hence why I hate brothels, forced marriages, and certain types of men."

"Does the color of a man's eyes have anything to do with if you make love with him or not?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

She couldn't remember the color of his eyes, strange as his eyes were the only things she could see in the dream. The rest was all sound, touch, and smell.

"I'm glad you came to me about this instead of Benedict." Vagatha continued. "Cause he...Well....Ugh! You don't want to know what that man does in a bedroom with anything that's capable of consenting."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I walked in on him once and now I can't even look at a boot strap without feeling sick to my stomach."

Charlotte looked at her confused, clueless to what Vagatha was implying.

"Also don't talk to Anthony about it either. I'll tell you why another time. Just trust me on this."

Charlotte nodded, she turned to look out the window, watching the early morning light filter through the trees. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what she had seen. Tried to remember the eyes and to picture the face that went with them. But she couldn't. Now that she was awake, everything seemed so foggy. That was interesting thing about dreams, one minute they were so vivid and then the next it was almost like it never happened to begin with.

"In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest notion that ever madman in this world hit upon, and that was that he fancied it was right and requisite, as well for the support of his own honour as for the service of his country, that he should make a knight-errant of himself..."

Charlotte painted vivid images in her mind. She could almost see the wind-swept plains of La Mancha, the noble figure of Don Quixote charging forth on his old horse, tilting at windmills he mistook for giants.

"...and so, with a heart full of valor and a head full of dreams, he set forth on his adventures, seeking to revive chivalry and win the love of his fair Dulcinea."

She imagined how Don Quixote would react upon seeing Dulcinea. Would they embrace, share a kiss, and touch tenderly, just as she had seen in her dreams? Would she ever experience anything like that in her own life?

"Quite the romantic, aren't you, Don Quixote?" Vagatha chuckled. "But I can't imagine any man around here acting chivalrous or saying sweet things like—"

"Oh, my lady Vagatha del Harker, perfection of all beauty, summit and teacher of knowledge, treasure house of grace, depositary of virtue, and the very ideal of all that is good, honorable, and delectable in this world!"

Vagatha screamed and jumped when Anthony's voice rang out, delivering the grand proclamation. She spun around, her face flushed.

"What's the matter with you?! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Anthony wore a mischievous grin.

"Just practicing my chivalry, Señorita." He said, mockingly bowing and kissing her hand.

"Oh, get away from me!" She exclaimed, jerking her hand back.

"Saints above, I am not worthy to gaze upon such loveliness! Señorita, I grovel at your feet, begging for your forgiveness for my audacity!"

"You're insufferable!" Vagatha shot back, struggling to suppress a smile despite her irritation.

"Perhaps thou wouldst prefer that I sweep you into my arms and nip at your neck with passion." He suggested, stepping closer.

"You come near me, and the only thing you'll be necking with is the hot coals from the furnace!" She took off running, and he chased after her.

"Señorita Harker, I am in love with you! There's a moon out tonight!"

Charlotte watched the playful chase unfold, smiling. How sweet.

Alastor awoke from his dream with a bittersweet feeling. It had been so perfect, and the woman in it was undeniably his bride. He had held her in his arms, kissed her, and loved her. But then he woke up to find her gone.

It was overwhelming. From the very first moment he laid eyes on her, he knew he had to be with her. Nothing else could bring him happiness. How long would it be until he saw her again? The uncertainty gnawed at him; he wasn't sure he could bear the wait.

During breakfast, Alastor learned from Octavia that Stolas was still away, engaged in discussions with Benedict. He couldn't understand why they were making this so difficult; his request was hardly unreasonable. He just wanted to spend time with the woman he loved, and find out if she could love him in return.

"Why are they determined to keep her away from me?" He muttered to himself.

"That's not exactly what's happening." Someone said. Alastor turned to see Maximus standing there.

"Do you always just appear out of nowhere?" Alastor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I find it keeps things exciting." Maximus replied with a grin. "Anyway, Stolas is doing his best. He genuinely wants to help you. It's not his fault that Benedict refuses to listen. You understand that, right?"

Alastor sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I get it, but every moment apart feels like a moment wasted."

"I know what you mean. The sound of her voice, the scent of her hair, the look in her eyes—it's the closest you'll ever get to heaven on earth. You wonder how anyone can expect you to live without her. You need her like the earth needs the sun, like Adam needed Eve."

"You... you love someone like that, don't you?"

"I do. I'll love her always and forever."

"Did you two ever get married?"

"Only in heart and soul. But things are good between us; we just need to sort out a few things."

"What things?"

"It's not a good time to talk about it. Besides your problems seem more important at the moment."

"I'm trying to be patient Maximus but the longer I'm away from her, the more I get these terrible feelings inside.  I have this urge to lash out, to terrible things to others. At times, it feels as if my hands crave the sensation of wrapping around someone's throat, squeezing the life from them. I imagine my teeth tearing into flesh, watching the life drain away, like what I did to Mammon. When I killed him it sent a thrill through me, making me feel truly alive. But then I think of her, and suddenly I'm terrified and ashamed of myself."

Maximus gave Alastor a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry, I wish more than anything that I could be more helpful to you, but in this situation it's out of my hands. Best I can do is give you advice."

"Alright then, what's your advice?"

"Hold on to your love and have faith that it'll give you strength, and bring you to her."

"Does that actually work?"

"It worked for me, it'll work for anyone as long as their love is real."

"I hope you're right."

"Do you want to talk about it, some more?"

"No, I think I'll go inside. Thanks for the advice Maximus."

He needed a distraction—something to occupy his mind until he heard from Stolas.

His thoughts wandered to Benedict's journal, hidden beneath his mattress. Although he wasn't particularly fond of its owner at the moment, the journal had proven to be a captivating read. It sparked his curiosity about what other little secrets the good doctor might be hiding. A man like Benedict definitely had a lot of secrets; that much was clear from the start.

He went up stairs to his room, retrieved the journal from beneath the mattress, and flipped through its pages until he reached one dated Geneva, 1781. The page began with...

That was the year everything changed for me. When it all started, when I discovered how the world truly is and uncovered my true purpose in life.

Chapter Text

Geneva, 1781

Benedict, Barbara, Maximus, Milliana, and Stolas grew up sharing everything: Matilde's love, the same books and toys, and a tutor who taught them history, mathematics, Latin, and literature.

Despite their shared upbringing, each child was unique. Benedict found joy in the solitude of his study, immersed in math problems and scientific experiments. Stolas preferred the gardens, nurturing flowers, trees, and herbs, eager to learn their names and purposes. In contrast, Barbara and Milliana loathed their classes; science and math bored them to tears.

Barbara longed to socialize and attend parties, eager to begin her life as soon as possible. Milliana, on the other hand, dreamed of climbing the grand oak in the garden or riding horses. However, if there was something that really delighted her - apart from the drawing, in which she also stood out - it was poetry, and literature which Maximus excelled in. He would read sonnets and tragedies aloud, and even when the meanings eluded her, the beauty of his voice captivated her.

But despite their differences, there was one special interest that they all had in common. A profound love for music. Maximus played the harpsichord while the others took dance lessons. Benedict preferred to dance with Milliana or Barbara, while Stolas only wanted to dance with Benedict. Milliana, however, preferred to sit beside Maximus, singing along as he played. In those moments, with music filling the air, their worries faded away.

Eight years after Milliana's arrival, she and Barbara blossomed into charming, beautiful young women, adored by all, while Benedict, Maximus, and Stolas emerged as bright, handsome young men, poised for greatness. Maximus aspired to study medicine, to lead an orderly and prosperous life exercising his profession. Stolas was set to inherit the title of Baron and enter an arranged marriage to secure the Goetia legacy.

Benedict, however, had a different vision. He thought about studying medicine, yes, because he aspired to expand his scientific knowledge, but he didn't see himself dedicating his life to repairing broken legs, mitigating fevers, opening boils or putting plasters on caly breasts. He had a protund and reflective intelligence and an insatiable curiosity for everything related to life and death. His profound intelligence and insatiable curiosity drew him to research. He yearned to venture into uncharted territories of knowledge and make discoveries that could benefit humanity.

By seventeen, he had devoured most of the Goetia family's vast library, particularly the ancient texts on alchemy that ignited his imagination. Medieval philosophers had blended Pythagorean teachings, Egyptian and Arab wisdom, mysticism, and the properties of metals, believed to possess magical powers.

The elixir of life! The philosopher's stone! What fascinating concepts! Judged from a realistic point of view, they were impossible facts, simply myths, of course, but still... What if, thanks to modern techniques, it could be shown that things like these could become reality? After all, what did the ancients know about the modern science of electromagnetism, which was today's magic? That thought excited Benedict.

Night after night, he stayed up late, reading until the candles burned out. Even as he lay down to sleep, his mind buzzed with the strange and alluring ideas from those arcane texts. He became obsessed with the mysteries of life and death: Where did life come from? What happened when the heart stopped beating? What was the essence of life—biological, chemical, electric? He fervently sought answers to these questions.

He began studying alchemy through a rare manuscript of philosophical works and essays on magic and occultism. Stolas and Barbara found these subjects intriguing, but Maximus, Milliana, and Matilde were unsettled. They believed such topics went against the ways of God and the laws of nature, two barriers that must never be crossed. While Maximus and Milliana worried, Matilde, despite her unease, took pride in her son's curiosity and tried to support him.

"It's just a phase." She told the two. "He's exploring, as we all do at that age. He'll realize it's nonsense in the end. Besides, a true genius educates himself in everything, even the seemingly absurd."

The only time she ever really said anything to Benedict on the matter was when he wouldn't leave his room for days. She understood how important study was to her son, but there were other important things in his life.

Matilde gently pushed open the door to Benedict's study, the faint flicker of candlelight illuminating the stacks of books that surrounded him. He was animatedly gesturing, his eyes alight with excitement as he spoke to Stolas and Barbara, who sat across from him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"...and the Greeks believed that certain flowers could restore youth!" Benedict exclaimed, his hands moving as if conducting an orchestra. "Imagine a bloom that could turn back the clock, revitalizing the body and spirit!"

Stolas, leaning back in his chair, crossed his arms and shook his head.

"That's not true, Benedict. Flowers can't do that. It's just a myth, a fanciful tale to entertain the gullible."

Barbara, her brow furrowed, looked between her brother and Stolas.

"But what if there's some truth to it? There are so many things we don't understand about nature. Maybe there's a flower out there that holds secrets we haven't discovered yet."

Benedict nodded vigorously.

"Exactly! Just think of the possibilities! If we could find such a flower, or even understand its properties, we could unlock the mysteries of life itself!"

"Benedict I've studied plants my whole life and I can promise you, there is no such flower." Stolas argued.

"Mind if I intrude?" Matilde said.

"Don't be silly Mother, you're never an intrusion." Benedict said. "Did you need something?"

"Maximus says it's time for your dance lesson."

Barbara and Stolas instantly left the study and headed for the ballroom but Benedict just continued looking over his notes and writing down new ones.

"Aren't you coming dear?" Matilde asked.

"I just need a moment to finish this."

Matilde stepped closer, her expression a blend of pride and concern.

"You're always so hungry for knowledge. All these strange and ancient books... You'll be an even greater scholar than I ever dreamed for you."

"Thank you Mother." He smiled.

"But you know, Benedict, life shouldn't be all study. There's such fun to be had. What good is a knowledge in your brain if there's never a smile in your heart and laughter in your soul?"

“Am I becoming a recluse again, Mother? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“A little, my love.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I know it’s not healthy to stay cooped up in here all the time, but I feel like I can’t waste a single moment. If I just keep working and studying, if I can prove some of these theories, I’ll achieve something fantastic—extraordinary enough to go down in history. Do you know what that would mean for all of us?”

“What?”

“With all that fame and money, I could give you, Barbara, Milliana, Maximus, and Stolas everything you need and want. Maximus wouldn’t have to become a doctor; he could pursue his dream of being a musician. Stolas wouldn’t have to endure an arranged marriage, and you could finally leave Father.”

“Benedict…” She said softly.

“Don’t tell me you stay because you love him; that can’t be true. He treats you poorly, cheats on you constantly, and talks to you like you’re nothing. The only reason you haven’t left is that we don’t have enough money to make it without him. But I can change that.”

“Benedict, I don’t want you to carry that burden. You should live your life for yourself.”

“But I want to do this for you, for us. You don’t deserve to spend your life with him, and I won’t let him get his hands on Milliana’s inheritance when she comes of age. I won’t allow Stolas to be forced into a marriage he doesn’t want, or let Maximus waste his potential, or see Barbara sold to some wealthy old man.”

“Your compassion makes me prouder than any success ever could, my son. But you underestimate the resilience of your friends and family. Have you considered that they might be just as smart and capable of saving themselves as you are?”

“Well, yes, but Mother—”

“They will be fine. God will take care of them.”

“But will He take care of you?”

“Of course. He always has, and He always will.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Why hasn’t He struck Father dead instead of letting you suffer with him for so long?”

“Because He had a more benevolent and productive solution for my problem. God saw that I was unloved, so He blessed me with two beautiful children to love me in my husband’s place. Then He brought me three more precious children to cherish, though they didn’t come from my womb like you and your sister, I love them just the same.”

She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“My parents forced me into a marriage of misery, but the Lord gave me five blessings, and they’ve brought me more happiness than any money or husband ever could.”

Benedict's heart swelled with joy; to him, his mother was the most wonderful person in the world. He believed she was the least deserving of hardship and should know only happiness.

As they entered the ballroom, Barbara and Milliana were already dancing, their laughter blending with the lively tune. Stolas stood nearby, arms crossed and observing with a bemused expression, while Maximus played, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys.

Benedict danced first with his mother, then with Barbara, and finally with Milliana. Maximus and Stolas watched them with longing eyes, feeling a flicker of envy. Benedict and Milliana looked so perfect together, like an ideal couple.

“Stolas.” Benedict called as he finished his dance with Milliana. “May I have the next dance with you?”

Blushing, Stolas approached him. Benedict gently rested his hand on Stolas's waist, and just as they were about to begin a mazurka, Matilde let out a strangled moan and collapsed to the floor.

“Mother!” Benedict exclaimed as everyone rushed to her side.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” Barbara asked.

Matilde couldn’t respond; she began coughing into her handkerchief, which quickly stained with blood. It was consumption. Dr. Utterson did everything he could, never leaving Matilde’s side until there was nothing more he could do.

Never had Benedict felt so helpless and useless. He would have done anything for his beloved mother; he couldn't bear the thought of doing nothing. One night, overwhelmed by despair, he rushed upstairs to her bedroom, with Barbara, Stolas, Maximus, and Milliana close behind.

Dr. Utterson emerged from the room, dragging his feet, his appearance that of a shattered man. He was pale and trembling.

“I’ve done everything I could… everything…I…”

Benedict was the first to reach the bedroom. He opened the door and was met with the horrifying sight of his mother lying lifeless. He burst into tears like a small child. Barbara arrived next, screaming as if a dagger had pierced her heart. Milliana nearly collapsed, but Maximus caught her, holding her as she sobbed into his shoulder. Stolas wrapped his arms around both Barbara and Benedict, trying to be their strength in that moment.

“Bring her back!” Benedict pleaded, looking toward the heavens, begging God not to let his mother go. “Please, bring her back!”

But that was a wish that could not be granted. Matilde Blitzenstein was dead. Benedict's loving, cheerful, beautiful mother was gone. This tragedy would mark the beginning of Benedict Blitzenstein’s descent into madness.

Chapter Text

Matilde Blitzenstien’s funeral was held in the Goetia family’s private chapel—a courtesy Stolas was glad to extend. The procession gathered in solemn reverence, dozens of mourners bearing contrite expressions and lowered eyes, all united by a shared desire to honor a woman remembered as a devoted wife, a loving mother, and a devout Christian.

The altar, draped in black like a makeshift catafalque, stood at the chapel’s center. Before it lay Matilde’s coffin—a small, white and gold vessel now veiled in black cloth, topped with a bouquet of white lilies. The entire chapel overflowed with tall vases brimming with lilies, their scent thick in the air—overwhelming, cloying, as sweet and suffocating as death itself. The perfume made Benedict nauseous. His head throbbed, and the relentless fragrance only deepened the ache.

He kept his distance from the others, watching the ceremony with a dazed, hollow stare as voices offered platitudes of eternal peace and divine redemption. But to Benedict, they were hollow phrases—empty consolations wrapped in false promises. The only truth that echoed in that grand chapel was the presence of his mother’s body—already beginning to decompose—a soulless form that would never again gaze at the sky, dance in the blue drawing room, or lovingly comb her fingers through her son’s hair. The only future awaiting Matilde Blitzenstien was the grave.

Her husband, Cassius, merely sipped from a concealed flask, his demeanor barely touched by grief. Barbara wore a mourning veil, not for custom but to hide her tears. Stolas, Maximus, and Milliana stood stricken, torn between offering comfort to the Blitzenstien siblings and succumbing to their own sorrow. All three had known this loss: Stolas’s mother had died in childbirth; Milliana, as you know, had lost both parents to the Scarlet Fever; and Maximus… his mother had been brutally taken by his cruel, unrepentant father. Matilde had become a second mother to them all. And now she, too, was gone.

“Goodbye, Aunt Matilde. I love you.” Milliana whispered, placing a single tulip atop the lilies. She then knelt quietly beside Benedict.

“Why did it have to be her? Why?” He murmured—not to her, but to the silence, as though hoping the still air might offer an answer.

He could not make sense of the loss. All his learning—alchemy, natural philosophy, even religion—had not prepared him for this: a death so abrupt, so final, so devastating.

How could someone so vibrant, intelligent, beautiful, and kind be taken in mere hours, without warning? How could a woman so deeply loved not live forever? If the soul was immortal, as faith insisted, why not the body? Was it less worthy?

And if immortality could not save someone like Matilde Blitzenstien, what value did the concept even hold?

“All I know.” Milliana said gently, “Is that we must accept it.”

But Benedict couldn’t. He wouldn’t. No comfort could touch the place within him that now rejected the world’s order. He could not accept the vision of his beloved mother turning to dust, locked in a box, prey to the worms. He had seen death, and its face bore a sneer.

Something had shifted within him. His mother’s death had torn away his innocence, and in that moment—seventeen years old, broken and raw—Benedict vowed to dedicate his life to a single purpose: to defy death itself, to conquer it, and make it kneel before him.

“Benedict.” Milliana said softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s up to us to keep the family together. Think of Barbara. She needs you. I need you.”

He turned to her and embraced her tightly. It was true. He needed her too. Now more than ever.

Though Barbara was expected to assume the role of lady of the house, her grief left her shattered, unable to rise to the task—at least not yet. So Milliana stepped in, filling the void without hesitation. She took on the duties of both home and family, balancing strength with compassion, just as Matilde had. Many began to say she was Matilde reborn—so similar were they in grace, warmth, and quiet resilience.

Milliana brought light back into the household. Into all of them. Benedict, Barbara, Maximus, and Stolas all loved her deeply—but while two of them loved her as a sister, the other two had come to love her as a woman. But romance was the last thing on her mind, for the time being. Milliana had more pressing concerns—keeping her family from collapsing under the weight of grief.

“Benedict, it’s such a beautiful day. Why not come outside with Barbara and me for a picnic?” She asked one morning, standing in the doorway of his cluttered workshop.

“No, I have work.” He replied curtly, not even glancing up from the contraption on his workbench.

“Come on.” She coaxed. “Barbara and I made your favorite—open-faced sandwiches.”

Still, Benedict didn’t budge. He was hunched over his latest experiment, fiddling with a tangle of wires and oddly shaped glass bottles. At his feet, a large tub held a few writhing eels. The room buzzed faintly with electric charge.

Milliana stepped closer and picked up a long, unfamiliar instrument from the table.

“What’s this?”

“It sprays electric eels.” He said flatly.

Curious, she aimed it at him, squeezed the nozzle—and a stream of water shot directly into his face.

Benedict recoiled with a shout, soaked and sputtering.

Milliana let out a delighted laugh.

Dripping, Benedict returned the eel to the tub, then lunged at her. She darted away with a grin, still spraying water, while he chased her around the lab.

“Give me that! It’s not a toy!” He yelled, though he was laughing now too.

For a few minutes, they were children again—laughing, breathless, light.

“Alright, alright, you win!” Benedict finally conceded, catching his breath. “I’ll come. Just let me change into a dry shirt.”

They chose to hike into the mountains. As true Swiss, they knew the Alps well and cherished their beauty. Benedict carried the heavy food basket; Milliana and Barbara followed with blankets bundled under their arms.

At the top of a gentle hill, a cool breeze kissed their cheeks, and the air was thick with the scent of alpine flowers. Higher up, goats grazed peacefully on rocky slopes, the kids sticking close to their mothers. The sky above was the brilliant blue of Canton porcelain, and clouds drifted by like tufts of wool.

“Slow down, Benedict!” Barbara called. “You’re getting too far ahead!”

“Oh, let’s not complain.” Milliana said, smiling. “We should be grateful he left his lab for even one day.”

“Who says I left it behind?” Benedict replied, smirking.

Milliana raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

He turned and pointed to the distance.

A massive black cloud loomed on the horizon, streaked with lightning. It was moving swiftly toward them.

The laughter died.

“You knew?” Barbara said sharply.

“I suspected.” Benedict admitted. “Storms are common this time of year. I was hoping conditions would be right. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Magnificent? It’s terrifying!” Barbara exclaimed. “You shouldn’t have done this!”

“We need shelter. A tree!” Milliana said urgently.

“No!” Benedict barked. “That’s the worst place—trees conduct electricity better than we do.”

“Then what do we do?”

With the storm racing toward them, Benedict led them to a flat alpine meadow where the soil was soft and sparse. He set the food basket down and, to the girls’ surprise, began unpacking a metal lightning rod he had secretly stashed inside.

No wonder the basket was so heavy.

He unfolded the rod, attached a conductor, and extended the metal prongs. Then he gave clear, calm instructions.

Milliana and Barbara spread the blankets around the rod in a star-like formation. Benedict looked up: the storm was nearly overhead.

“Lie down—now!” He ordered. “Don’t move. Don’t raise your heads. Stay low.”

They obeyed, lying face-down around the rod, close but not touching. Every part of them hugged the earth—no protrusions, nothing to attract a strike.

Then it came.

A deafening crack split the air. A bolt of lightning struck the rod, lighting it up in a violent blue glow. Electricity hissed and sizzled through the metal and into the ground. The scent of ozone filled the air.

For a long moment, no one moved.

“One, two, three—now!” Benedict called, rising to his knees.

Everyone was safe.

Barbara sat up slowly, staring at her hands. Tiny sparks jumped between her fingers. She pressed them together and watched as a spark leapt and vanished—no pain, only an extraordinary sensation of raw energy surging through her.

She looked to the others. Milliana and Benedict were both surrounded by the same electric shimmer, faint arcs dancing along their skin like ghostly threads.

Benedict extended a finger toward Barbara. She did the same. A spark snapped between them with a soft jolt. Then they leaned in, and another spark leapt between their noses.

They burst out laughing.

“How do you feel, Barbara?” He asked.

“Alive!” She grinned. “And starving. Let’s eat!”

They all laughed and proceeded with their lunch.

Chapter Text

A tear traced down Alastor's cheek as he finished reading the page. For the first time, he felt something unexpected—sorrow, and even compassion—for Benedict. It was as if he'd been there, standing beside him when Benedict's mother died, sharing in the same raw grief, the same aching sense of loss.

It's a strange kind of revelation—to realize that the person who hurt you, the one you've come to hate, is more than just the villain in your story. That behind the cruelty was a boy—someone scared, shattered, doing whatever he could to hold his family together. A boy desperate for his mother. Desperate to be loved.

"As desperate as I am." Alastor thought.

He closed the journal, his chest heavy. He didn't want to read any more—at least, not tonight. Sleep was pulling at him now. Quietly, he marked the page, slid the journal beneath his mattress, and dozed off.

Maximus was on his way to the Blitzenstein residence, heart racing with excitement. He could hardly contain himself—he'd been accepted into the University of Ingolstadt alongside Benedict. College. It still didn't feel real. He was going to become a doctor. He was going to save lives.

So thrilled was he that he didn't even think to knock. He simply burst through the front doors, breathless and beaming. Fortunately, the Blitzenstein family was used to his unannounced entrances.

"Benedict! Milliana! Barbara! I have the most incredible news!"

Milliana and Barbara had just returned from a picnic. Barbara, as always, was striking—tall and slender, with a long neck, a wide mouth, and deep black eyes. Her ambition was as sharp as her beauty. She had plans to study under one of Austria's rare female governors, a bold move in a time when women were expected to stay quiet. Barbara was rare, and men noticed.

Even Cassius had taken advantage of her charm. He sent her to prestigious lectures, arranged her attendance at aristocratic galas, and dressed her in gleaming gold and emerald green to make sure the dukes and barons knew she was someone. Her wit, poise, and daring drew attention wherever she went. To most, she was the jewel of the Blitzenstein family.

But Maximus's gaze was always drawn to Milliana—the one the aristocrats ignored, the one Cassius kept in black and red, as if to mark her as strange. Petite, elegant, full-figured, with witchy dark hair and grey eyes like storm clouds. She moved through the world quietly but with grace. She gave her days to others—embroidering fine cloths, tending to her family, whispering Latin prayers, and singing in a voice so pure, Maximus was sure that it would make angels weep.

She was bold like Barbara, but her boldness came with sweetness.

To the world, Barbara might have been the jewel. But to Maximus, Milliana was the flower. And a flower, he believed, could be even more precious. Jewels dazzled, but flowers gave life. According to Stolas, there were flowers that offered water to the thirsty, nectar to the hungry, fruit for nourishment, and medicine for the sick.

Yes—Milliana was that kind of flower. A healer of broken hearts.

"He went back to the lab, didn't he?" Barbara asked Milliana, sounding disappointed.

"I'm afraid so. I begged him not to."

"He's completely obsessed. Almost as obsessed as Father is with money, women, and the bottle."

"Well I'm sure after he finishes his study in Ingolstadt, he'll come out of it."

Barbara scoffed softly.

"Unless Ingolstadt feeds it. You know what they say: knowledge is a flame. And Benedict... he's already halfway burned."

"He'll be fine." Maximus said, stepping forward and making his presence known. "He just needs to get away for a while—stop living like a hermit."

"Maximus! What a wonderful surprise!" Milliana beamed, rushing into his arms.

She wrapped him in a tight embrace, and for a moment, Maximus forgot the burden of the news he carried. Her warmth, her scent—roses and orange blossoms—eased the turmoil in his chest. When she pulled back, her smile lit the room, the kind that could melt even the coldest silence.

Barbara offered a wry smirk from where she leaned against the archway, arms crossed.

"So what brings you by? You look like you've just been knighted."

Maximus laughed, straightening his vest.

"I've been accepted to the University of Ingolstadt. Just got the letter this morning. I'll be going with Benedict."

Barbara raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

"Well, I suppose that means there'll be someone there to keep him from starving."

Milliana clapped her hands.

"Maximus! That's wonderful! Your mother would be so proud."

Maximus smiled, touched by her words. He hoped Milliana was right. His mother had been the reason he'd discovered his knack for the medical field—after all those years of tending to her wounds following his father's violent outbursts.

"You have a healer's hands, my precious boy," she had told him once, after he'd finished bandaging her bleeding side. "And a heart full of love. You're nothing like your father. He can only destroy and hate. But you—you'll be a thousand times the man he could ever be."

"Dr. Maximus Clerval!" Milliana cheered. "The most famous doctor in all of Europe! And the only doctor ever to use music and laughter as medicine!"

Maximus bowed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if Milliana had just bestowed a royal title.

"At your service, Lady Lavenza. I shall cure ailments with symphonies and stitch wounds with jokes." He turned toward Barbara with a grin. "Even your icy heart, dearest Barbara, may one day thaw under my revolutionary technique."

Barbara rolled her eyes but smirked again—less mockery this time, more amusement.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Doctor."

Milliana laughed softly, the sound like a soft chime in the room. She took Maximus's hands in hers, her eyes bright with admiration and hope.

"Promise me something, won't you?" She said.

"For you? Anything."

"When you go... promise me you'll watch over Benedict. He listens to you more than he listens to any of us. I don't want him to disappear into his science. Support him, of course, but make sure he remembers to get some sunlight."

"And that he remembers to bathe." Barbara added.

They laughed, the sound echoing through the Blitzenstein parlor like an old song that hadn't been sung in years.

Barbara then gave a final flip of her sleek black hair, and turned toward the door.

"Well, if we're celebrating, I'll be heading to the tavern with the girls. Don't wait up—unless you're planning to play bodyguard, Doctor Clerval?"

Maximus smirked.

"Tempting. But I think Milliana would protest the idea of me leaving."

Barbara flashed him a wry wink and disappeared with a swirl of emerald silk and perfume.

The house fell quiet. Milliana stood by the tall window, watching the sun begin its slow descent beyond the hills, setting the edges of the sky aflame with amber and rose. The light caught in her hair and turned it to soft fire.

Maximus stepped beside her, hands folded behind his back.

She didn't look at him right away when she spoke.

"I'm happy. Truly. For you. For Benedict. For Barbara. All of you are moving forward. Living the dreams we all whispered about when we were children."

"But?" Maximus asked gently.

She finally turned to face him, her eyes glimmering.

"But it means you'll all be gone." Her voice was soft, but steady. "And I'll be here. In this house. Alone with that pig of a man."

Maximus stepped closer and gently took her hand.

"Stolas will visit you every day. I'll make sure of it."

She gave a soft laugh.

"That ridiculous bird. He'll probably lecture me about ancient herbs and scold me for not sweeping the fireplace."

"Exactly." Maximus grinned. "What better company?"

She squeezed his hand, but her expression was still tinged with longing.

He paused—thinking. Then a spark lit in his eyes.

"You need a place." He said. "Your own place. Somewhere Cassius can't reach you. Somewhere that's just... yours."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to show you something."

Without another word, he led her outside. They crossed the gardens in silence, passed the old chapel and into the cemetery, where ancient gravestones lay weathered and cracked. The wind from the sea tousled Milliana's hair, and she clutched her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Maximus replied with a twinkle in his eye.

They moved beyond the cemetery, past the forgotten trees that had grown wild with time, until they reached the cliffs that looked out over the sea—massive, jagged, and magnificent. The wind howled here, carrying the scent of salt and memory.

There, hidden behind a wall of ivy and stone, was a narrow path leading downward. Maximus pulled the vines aside and revealed a small iron door. It groaned as he pushed it open.

"This way."

They descended into darkness. The path curled underground, carved long ago through salt and stone. It was cool and damp, and the sound of dripping water echoed around them.

Milliana's fingers brushed the wall as they walked, her eyes wide.

"What is this place?"

"You'll see." He told her.

After several minutes, the tunnel opened—first into a stone corridor, then into a vast chamber bathed in the dim glow of ancient lanterns Maximus had lit on earlier visits. Milliana gasped.

Before her stood an opera house.

Silent, crumbling—but hauntingly beautiful. Rows of red velvet seats stretched into shadow. A cracked marble stage arched toward the domed ceiling above, where a mural of angels and stars danced beneath the faint light of a shattered chandelier. Moss and ivy clung to the columns, and the sea could be heard in the distance, crashing below.

"A hundred years ago, this was part of the city." Maximus said, his voice tinged with reverence. "Then the land split. The sea swallowed most of it. This is all that remains. I found it after Mother died—during a visit to her grave. After that, I started coming here to get away from Father."

He paused, glancing around the space.

"Stolas gave me money to help fix it up, in exchange for music lessons. And... for a trick I learned—how to make someone's ears go temporarily deaf."

"Why would he want to know that?"

"To block out his fiancée."

Inside the opera house, it was like stepping into a dream carved from history and twilight.

The air was cool and still, touched with the faint scent of saltwater and forgotten velvet. Dust motes hung in the lantern-glow like ghosts of applause long since silenced. Though worn by time, the place still held its grandeur—still whispered stories from when music ruled the air and chandeliers trembled under the thunder of standing ovations.

Above them, the domed ceiling arched like the heavens themselves. Its mural, though cracked and peeling, was breathtaking: angels locked in dance with stars, some reaching upward, others downward, their wings open in motion, their expressions serene or sorrowful. Time had chipped away at the colors, but the story still pulsed with life.

But this opera house had more than just a stage. Maximus led her through a place full of wonders—rooms adorned with hand-carved furnishings, a chamber brimming with instruments, cozy bedrooms, and even a small library tucked away in the back. Its shelves still held old books, sheet music, and timeworn journals.

"There's even a kitchen." Maximus said. "And a ballroom."

Milliana walked slowly through each room, her fingertips brushing worn piano keys, lingering on the velvet of forgotten curtains.

"How come you never told us about this place?" She asked.

"I thought about it, but you know how Benedict and Barbara feel about underground spots."

"Oh, right... I forgot."

"They don't even know this place exists. Only Stolas does."

Maximus sat at the piano, brushing away a thin film of dust from the ivory keys. The old bench creaked under his weight as he adjusted himself, rolling his shoulders. The instrument had been left untuned for too long, but he knew its voice—knew how to coax melody from its age. He stretched his fingers, then placed them on the keys and began to play.

Milliana wandered to his side, drawn to the music like a moth to light. Without a word, she slid onto the bench beside him. Her skirt brushed his leg, and he felt the warmth of her presence like a candle in winter.

She added her hands to the keys, weaving her own voice into the melody. At first, she played cautiously, searching for the rhythm—but then their harmony clicked, and together they brought the forgotten piano back to life.

Their duet danced through the air: her part, tender and curious; his, steady and warm. Notes climbed and fell like waves, echoing off cracked marble and velvet seats. Somewhere above them, the sea rumbled in approval.

As they played, their shoulders brushed. Then their hands. The contact was brief—a soft meeting of skin on skin—but it was enough to make them both pause.

The music faltered.

Maximus looked up.

Milliana was already looking at him.

Their eyes locked, and in the flickering lantern light, the distance between them narrowed to a breath. Her lips parted slightly, his pulse quickened. They leaned in—closer, closer still—and for a heartbeat, the entire opera house seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

BOOM.

A sharp crack of thunder split the air above, rolling through the tunnels like a shout from the heavens. The chandeliers trembled slightly, dust drifted from the rafters.

They both jumped, startled, breaking away from each other as if pulled by invisible strings.

Milliana let out a shaky laugh and stood, smoothing her dress with a trembling hand. Maximus cleared his throat and looked down at the piano, suddenly very interested in the keys.

"I—I think a storm's coming." She said, glancing up toward the ceiling.

"Right." He said quickly, standing as well. "We should, uh... head back before the path floods."

They exchanged one last glance—unspoken words hovering in the space between them—then turned toward the exit.

Chapter Text

A sharp clap of thunder snapped Alastor awake, his eyes flying open. Where did that dream come from? He could still see fragments of it—Maximus, Milliana, Barbara—but Benedict was nowhere to be found. None of it matched the entries in the journal he'd read. Did I just imagine it? That had to be it. And yet... it had felt so real.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Who is it?" He called out.

"It's Octavia. I'm heading down to the lake to skip rocks—want to come?"

"Isn't it storming outside?"

"Storming? There hasn't been a cloud in the sky all day."

"Oh... must've imagined it then. Sure, Octavia, I'll be ready in a few minutes."

They walked together, with Vladimir and Bea trotting close behind, tails wagging. The trees stretched long shadows across the path, and the crisp air carried the quiet promise of a changing season. In the distance, the lake shimmered like glass, still and serene under the late afternoon sun.

At the water's edge, Octavia crouched down, scooping up a few smooth stones. One by one, she flicked them across the surface—each skipping in tight, clean arcs before sinking with a soft plunk.

Alastor glanced to the side—and there, just beyond the treeline, half-concealed by the underbrush, something caught his eye. A stone cross. Weathered. Tilting slightly. The kind you'd find in old graveyards.

A cemetery. That's where Maximus's special place was.

"I wonder..."

His gaze drifted back to Octavia. Vladimir and Bea stayed close to her, flanking her like silent guardians as she skipped another stone across the water. Always watching. Always near.

"Loyal." He thought. "I'll give the mangy mongrels that."

Knowing she'd be safe with Vladimir and Bea at her side, Alastor quietly slipped away, his steps muffled by the damp earth. He moved toward the stone cross, curiosity pulling him deeper into the trees.

It was indeed part of a cemetery. Small and old, nearly hidden by time and wilderness. Moss clung to tilted headstones. Some were broken, others barely legible. Iron fences, rusted and twisted, marked its forgotten borders. Alastor wandered between the graves, reading names he didn't recognize, running his fingers over weather-worn carvings. He had never been in a graveyard before—only read about them.

He stopped in front of a weathered headstone, its engraving still clear despite the years:

Emmaline Clerval
Beloved Friend and Mother

Alastor reached out and gently touched the stone. The granite was cold beneath his fingers—but a warmth bloomed behind his eyes. Images, sudden and vivid, filled his mind.

He saw a boy—no older than six or seven—running through a sun-dappled field, wildflowers clutched in his small hands. A young woman stood waiting, arms wide with joy. She swept him up in an embrace, kissed his cheeks, and laughed as he handed her the flowers. She tucked one behind her ear, its bright color nestled in her hair like a crown. Then, with a delighted laugh, she took his hands and they spun together in a circle, dancing in the sunlight.

But the happiness shattered.

A man appeared on the horizon—powerful and terrible. His eyes glowed like live coals. The boy stopped dancing, shrinking back in fear. The man stormed forward and seized the woman, forcing her to her knees. In one hand he held a horse whip; in the other, a brand of burning coals. He struck her. Again and again. Her cries echoed in the boy's ears, her pain painted across the world like fire.

Then the man dragged her toward a waiting coach. She looked back, her eyes pleading, desperate. She fought. She reached. But it was no use. The boy ran toward her, arms outstretched—but she was pulled inside, and the coach door slammed shut. It rumbled away, leaving the child standing alone in the dust.

When the image faded, Alastor blinked—and found tears on his cheeks. Why am I crying? he wondered. The vision had felt so real, so personal. He could still hear the woman's laughter, still feel the heat of the fire, the weight of helplessness in the boy's outstretched arms.

But none of it belonged to him. He didn't know these people.

"Are you alright?"

Alastor spun around—and stumbled backward, nearly falling over himself. Charlotte. Of all people, Charlotte was standing just a few steps away, watching him with those beautiful eyes of hers.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, heart pounding in his chest. His mouth opened, but no words came.

Oh God, she was here.
She was actually here.
He couldn't believe it.

"Please don't be scared," she said gently, taking a hesitant step closer. "I... I don't know if you remember me, but I—"

"Oh no!" Alastor interrupted, his voice catching. "No, I could never forget you. Never."

The words spilled out before he could stop them. His chest felt tight, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"I've been wanting to talk to you." Charlotte said, her voice barely above a whisper. "To make sure you were okay. What happened at the gala was... well... I—Are you alright?"

"I... I'm fine." Alastor said, though even he didn't believe it. His eyes flickered away. "Aren't you... aren't you afraid of me?"

Charlotte didn't answer right away. She looked at him carefully, as if trying to see past the layers he'd built up around himself.

"Should I be?" She asked softly.

"No." Alastor said quickly, shaking his head. "You don't have to be frightened of me. I wouldn't hurt you. Not for anything."

"I didn't think so." Charlotte replied, her voice calm—certain.

He studied her face, the way the light caught her eyes, searching for doubt. There was none.

"Did you... were you looking for me?" He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Not exactly." She said, glancing toward the gravestones behind him. "Something just told me to come here."

He couldn't stop looking at her.

Charlotte tilted her head slightly, a curious smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Why do you stare at me so strangely?"

Alastor hesitated, caught between the urge to speak and the fear of saying too much. But the words came anyway—soft and unguarded.

"Well... for one thing... you're—" He swallowed. "You're so beautiful."

A blush rose faintly in her cheeks, and for a moment she looked away, flustered.

"That's very kind of you." She said quietly. "Though I'm not sure I deserve it."

"You do." He said, firmer now. "More than you know."

How sweetly he spoke to her. How tenderly he looked at her, as if she were something fragile.

Charlotte's gaze drifted to his hands.

They were scarred. Covered in rough, uneven stitches, like a patchwork of old wounds and hasty repairs. Her heart ached at the sight of them.

"Poor man." She thought. "He's been hurt so much."

Not just physically. She could see it in the way he held himself, in the hesitation behind his eyes. As if he was always bracing for pain. Without thinking, she reached out and gently took one of his hands in hers, careful not to press too hard.

"These... they must have hurt." He said softly.

Alastor looked down, surprised by the touch—by how gentle it felt.

"I can't remember if they hurt or not." He said quietly, eyes lingering on the stitches. "I don't remember how I got them. They've just... always been there."

Slowly, almost reverently, he took her hand in his.

Her fingers were warm, delicate. Even her hands were beautiful—soft and unmarked, like she had somehow been spared the cruelty the world had carved into him.

No... wait. There was something on her hands. Not at first glance—they looked soft, unblemished, perfect. But as he looked closer, really looked, he saw it. Faint lines beneath the skin. Scars, almost invisible. Stitches—just like his—but hidden, woven into the flesh as if someone had tried to sew her back together from the inside.

Not as easy to see. But he saw them. Somehow, he knew how to spot them.

He held her hand a little tighter, afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again. Charlotte didn't pull away. Her thumb brushed lightly against the back of his stitched hand.

"What is your name?" She asked.

"Alastor."

"That's a lovely name."

"Really?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes. Almost as lovely as your eyes."

His breath caught.

"You... you think something about my face is lovely?"

"I do."

"But my eyes... One's brown, the other green. They don't match."

"Neither do mine. I've never met anyone else with two different eyes before." She paused, then added with a smile, "And brown and green complement each other beautifully."

"I think blue and grey is more beautiful." He said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes locked with hers.

He reached for her other hand, holding both of hers now, as if grounding himself in something real—something good.

"Could you..." His voice faltered for a moment, but he pressed on. "Could you please just stay awhile? Stay and talk to me?"

Charlotte's expression softened, her thumbs gently brushing against his fingers.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me about yourself." He said earnestly. "What you like, what you don't like... what makes you happy. I want to know every detail. Even the small things."

How interesting. No one had ever asked her that before. People were always talking at her—telling her what she should do, what needed to be done, what everything was. But Alastor had asked her to talk to him.

"Alright." She said. "But only if you promise to tell me the same."

"Deal." He nodded quickly.

Chapter Text

Charlotte spoke, Alastor listened as if her words were music. She told him everything: how she loved the sweet scent of blooming flowers in spring, especially lilacs and honeysuckle; how there was a black cat named Kee-Kee who followed her everywhere, always curling up in her lap no matter where she sat. She told him how dancing made her feel like she could fly, and how sometimes, when no one was watching, she would sing to the moon just to hear her voice echo in the stillness.

Her eyes lit up as she spoke, her words spilling out like petals on the wind—small, beautiful pieces of who she was. And Alastor clung to every one of them, treasuring each as though it were a secret meant only for him.

Charlotte liked having someone listen to her for a change. She was so used to listening to others—people telling her what to do, especially Vagatha and Benedict. To be fair, they meant well. But Alastor was different. He wanted to learn from her—to understand what she wanted, what she didn't, and everything in between. He wanted to know her.

"Vagatha is my favorite person in the whole world. She's my friend and my teacher. She taught me how to read, how to write, how flowers bloom, and why birds sing. Technically, she's not a real teacher—she's only my uncle's servant—but she should be a teacher. She's the smartest, most brilliant woman in the world."

"Fascinating." Alastor said. "Then why isn't she a teacher?"

"She says it's because female teachers aren't really in demand here in Geneva. But she's certain that if she went to Spain or England, she'd have a hundred offers waiting for her."

"I have two teachers, you know? Stolas and Octavia. Technically, they're not teachers either, but they're just as good."

"Octavia is a teacher? But isn't she a child?"

"Yes, but she's very bright. She taught me about people and feelings—she even gave me my name. I don't remember what my name was before. In fact, I can't remember anything before I came to Stolas and Octavia."

"I don't remember my real name either. I don't remember anything before Vagatha and Anthony found me."

"Really? Nothing at all? Not even... hypothetically speaking... something about a laboratory?"

"Laboratory? What's that?"

For Alastor, the laboratory was the place of his earliest memories. All he could recall was thunder, opening his eyes, and finding himself in that strange room—confused, scared. Benedict was the first person he saw. For some inexplicable reason, Alastor felt both relief and fear at the sight of him. Nothing made sense. He ran around, not knowing who he was or what anything was, until Benedict pushed him into a cellar, locking him inside for a long, lonely time.

Alastor tried to remember. He remembered peering through the cracks, watching Benedict work, listening to him argue with Stolas, talk about fixing something. Then Benedict began dropping letters into the cellar: love letters a woman had written to her missing sweetheart. She adored him, missed him, vowed to wait forever. Alastor couldn't read all the words at first, but he could grasp her love. He began to crave a love like that, especially since he was trapped and alone.

So he made a request.

"If... you... can't let me... out... then... give me... someone to... love."

Benedict promised him, but always put it off, telling him to wait. Finally, Alastor grew tired of waiting. He broke out of the cellar, threatening Benedict to force his compliance. Benedict then said he would find him a mate.

Or did he say he would make him a mate? No. Of course not. That was nonsense.

Alastor remembered Benedict mentioning a woman named Jillian Hennigsen. He had left to get her, but Alastor never saw her. When Benedict returned, he heard a woman screaming and Benedict trying to calm her. Then everything went quiet. That was the last thing he remembered before breaking free once again. Broke free and at last saw his beloved Charlotte—more beautiful and perfect than he had ever dared to imagine his mate could be.

And now she was here, talking to him, smiling at him—the way he had always dreamed his mate would. Yet she had no idea she was meant to be his. He wanted to tell her, but what if she didn't believe him? After all, she didn't remember her time in the laboratory.

Also... was she really Benedict's niece? She didn't look anything like him. And even Alastor found it odd that a man would offer his own niece to marry a strange man in a cellar. Was that why Benedict had backed out of his promise? But then, why bring her to him in the first place?

"Is something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

"No. Everything's fine. Tell me—do you want to be a teacher someday?" He asked, wanting to change the subject.

"No. I mean, it's a wonderful occupation, but I want to do something where I can sing and dance, where I can hear music."

"Oh, you like music?" He said, pulling out his flute. "I can play music on this."

He put the flute to his lips and began to play. Charlotte was amazed—it was the song she had always had in her head. The one she would hum to herself, the one Milliana had been teaching her the lyrics for.

"A soul in woe, he lives though hardly speaks."

She sang.

"He waits for her in front of this picture, of way back when.
He—he's not a fool.
He believes in it, that is all.
He sees her everywhere.
He waits for her, upright,
A rose in the hand.
Apart from her, he awaits nothing.
Nothing around him has any meaning."

Alastor kept playing, but his eyes went wide. She knew the song—and she knew the lyrics. Those were the lyrics he knew yet couldn't remember until now.

"And the air is thick.
The look is absent.
He is alone and talks to her often.
He—he's not a fool.
He loves her, that's all.
He sees her everywhere.
He waits for her, upright.
Upright, a rose in the hand.
No—nothing holds him back, no more.

In his love story,
In his love story,
In his love story,
His love story."

With each note he played and each word she sang, images sprang to life in their minds—a man playing the song on a harpsichord, and a woman dancing to it, radiant and gleeful.

Alastor stopped playing, and Charlotte stopped singing.

"How do you know that song?" They asked each other at the same time.

Then they both answered.

"I don't know."

"I just always knew it." Charlotte said. "Like it was instinctual knowledge."

"Me too." He said.

They looked at each other for the longest time. Then she reached out to him. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly placed his hand in hers. The images continued, and something about them drew her to his face. He mirrored her impulse, brushing his fingers across her skin. She traced the line of his eyelids and the bridge of his nose; he explored hers. His fingers lingered on her lips and cheeks, and she returned the gesture, tracing his in turn.

Vagatha had told her that if a man held her or touched her and she felt afraid, she should stop him immediately—and if he didn't listen, she should scream as loud as she could. But he didn't frighten her.

"How can you touch me?" He asked. "I'm hideous."

"Says who?" She replied, as entranced by him as he was by her.

"So many."

"I think you're beautiful."

Their eyes drifted to each other's lips. Drawn together, they closed the distance—and kissed. They barely realized it, carried by an irresistible urge, as if some divine hand had made them for each other. The connection between them felt instinctive, effortless, a love that bloomed fully at the very first glance.

For a moment, Alastor was overwhelmed with happiness—the happiest he had ever been. He grabbed her, holding her tight. But the embrace sparked something else in her.

Something dark. Something terrifying. As if she were being pinned down, forced, bound, pricked with needles.

“No!” She cried, shoving him away. “No! Stop!”

He released her instantly.

“I’m sorry…did I hurt you?”

The terrible sensation began to fade.

“No. No, it wasn’t you. I… I just… I don’t know. Something about my body.”

“It’s okay. We don’t have to…ever do that again.”

He looked wounded, as if he’d forced her into something she didn’t want. But that wasn’t true. She had wanted it—she had—but maybe she wasn’t ready. She didn’t know. Everything was so new, so strange.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No…not yet.”

She didn’t want him to leave. With him, she felt safe, grounded—like there was nothing wrong with her, like she wasn’t so different from anyone else.

“You know, Octavia and I came out here together, and she’s probably hungry by now.” He said. “Why don’t we head back to the Goetia estate for lunch? If you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much.” She replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Hand in hand, they walked together, seeking out Octavia.