Chapter Text
The morning light pressed against his eyelids, warm and strangely heavy, as if the sun itself had leaned too close. He stirred, groggy, expecting the familiar scratch of his bedsheets and the faint hum of traffic outside his window. Instead, his hand brushed against linen so soft it felt like stolen clouds, and somewhere nearby, a bird sang a note too bright, too delicate for his neighborhood pigeons.
He sat up slowly, his groggy mind already forming into a slow state of panic. The room around him was not his, no not his at all. Tall windows framed by velvet curtains breathed in a countryside sky, all rolling greens and endless blue. A gilded mirror caught his startled reflection. His hair was down messily, his clothes… oh, god. They weren’t his clothes at all. Lace at his cuffs, buttons carved like tiny pearls, a night gown that looked like it had been borrowed from old Mr. Scrouge..
“What the hell,” he whispered, but even his voice sounded wrong, almost like his vocals were trapped in a sophisticated accent.
It wasn’t until he spotted the book lying open on the vanity, its pages fluttering despite the still air, that dread pooled in his stomach.
He backed away, immediately going to the corner of the room, almost bumping into one of the many fancy pieces of furniture. A small squeak immediately escaping his mouth.
“Oh fuck no..” he cursed. Sure, he can probably stand being kidnapped, it hasn’t been the first time, but things moving with no wind? He didn’t mess with that.
He stared at the book for a moment, sending prayers that this is just some sick trick and not a ghost trying to haunt him.
‘knock knock’
Another squeak escaped his lips as he stared at the door.
A voice spoke up, clearing their throat at first, “Young Master? Have you awoken yet? Duke Corvalis would like you to come eat brunch” The voice was soft and higher pitch, he assumed it was a woman.
But he was so confused. Duke? Young Master? Corvalis? And what the hell is ‘brunch’? And who the heck is that???
The knock came again, “Young Master? May I enter?”
“Uh—no! I mean, yeah! Wait—don’t come in!” He squeaked out before immediately covering his mouth. He immediately notices the panic in saying “don’t come in” actually made it sound way more suspicious.
The doer clicked open anyways, a younger male in a clearly expensive tailored suit. He looked like a man from those old American films, just.. younger. He has stylish brown hair and soft black eyes that seemed so.. familiar.
The guy bows, all polite, saying, “Good morning, Young Master Corvalis.”
This has to be a joke, or at least something similar to his sweet 16 birthday incident.. he immediately blurts out, stepping out of his corner. “Corva—what? No. Wrong guy. I’m—I’m just Till. Like… regular Till. Not even capital letters Till.” He really didn’t know where he was going with that sentence. The servant would look at him confused, probably thinking he’s being eccentric or just completely schizophrenic.
He was sweating buckets at this point.
Tull couldn’t take it anymore, “Look, I don’t know if this is hazing, or if I’m in a coma, or if i missed my birthday again..or if Netflix finally ran out of ideas and shoved me into a period drama, but I’m not a young master, okay?”
The guy stared for a moment, almost concerned before sighing and heading to the doors across the room.
“Young Master, I understand that you don’t want to eat with the Duke, but coming up with this sort of illness just to avoid eating with him is quite unlike you, is it not?” The guy sighed, picking out an expensive set of clothing. Like royalty from back then would wear it.
He placed it on the bed while Till just stood there in confusion and utter panic before finally shaking his head. “I’m not making this up! I don’t know who you are or what your talking about!”
Nevertheless the guy didn’t bother listening, instead he decided to quickly strip Till and quickly dress him in the clothing he had laid down on the bed. Afterwards he quickly sat Till down on the vanity chair before grabbing a comb and multiple different glass bottles that had some sort of chemicals bubbling inside. Till couldn’t tell if he should be worried about this situation or the fact that the guy is doing everything so casually so far.
Quickly enough after Till got his hair styled into a pretty slick back, despite the hair gel being ever so strong a couple strands of hairs still stuck out, Till was soon met with powder he assumed was make up. He coughed roughly as the man dabbed his face with so much powder he was sure later when he breathed his breath would look white.
“Now I know makeup goes first and then your clothes but I figured you were going to be difficult once again this morning.” The man muttered as fixed up tills eyebrows, “though surprisingly enough you are less rowdy as you usually are.”
He quickly put some light balm on Tills lips, quickly coming in with a brush that had a light tint of pink to it.
Till quickly backed away, even the whitening powder on his face couldn’t hide the sizzling blush that showed his embarrassment. He stuttered, waving his hands, “W-wait is all this really necessary?!”
The other deadpan for a moment before sighing and standing up right, “I suppose your right master till, while it’s good to know your aware that your a beautiful man.. we’re better off putting on something so Master Corvalis doesn’t bring up your appearance once more.”
Till paused at this information, was this person, ‘Master Corvalis’, a person he should be afraid of? Or at least fear in a sort of way? And for whatever reason, some reason, a sense of dread and anger was already boiling up inside the depths of his stomach.. or maybe he was just hungry.
Either way, Till had a habit of trusting his gut and he could already tell that whoever this Corvallis person was probably a bad guy and that he was in a shitty situation to have been paired with him for a ‘brunch’ hang out.
Either way, getting this dressed up seemed suspicious.. Well, his whole ‘kidnapped and getting dressed up like a fancy doll’ situation was suspicious. While he got pushed into the hallway and out of his room, he took the time to process his situation.
Firstly, if this was a joke or prank, it’s seemed far too detailed and highly expensive to even be a fabricated lie. Second what the fuck was up with that book?! Till didn’t believe in magic, like any other kid, he eventually grew out of it. He could’ve sworn there wasn’t a single gust of wind. Next, his hair was weirdly longer.. when he went to bed just last night in his home he had just recently got a crappy buzz cut and now his hair is at least shoulder length. He wasn’t any Disney princess so he was sure nothing could have made his grow out so long. Another thing.. just how did he end up here.. unlike his 16th birthday incident he actually knows how he got to where he was now. And.. and he’s already sitting outside at a table.
“Huh?” Had he spaced out for so long that he hadn’t noticed the change in atmosphere?
He looked up at the man before him, which he could only assume was ‘Master Corvalis’.. the man looked so unreal. He looked so gaunt and his presence felt intimidating. He was slender and seemed tall, he was as pale as Tills white powder and Master Corvallis’s face was bone-like, his cheeks hollow and his eyes aswell. His suit was white with a red emblem attached and multiple medals, almost like soldier. Till felt like there seemed to be a theme going on, the purple button up and the red tie. It didn’t look like a good fashion sense, atleast in Tills eyes.
His surroundings were.. absolutely stunning. Flowers upon flowers overgrew the area they were in. From what it seems like, it’s almost as if the entire place was made to look like a flower bed. The trees were covered in pretty pink flowers, and above the area they were sitting was barely letting in any sunlight with the tree branches covering almost every bit of the sky. The table felt like it was placed like the peice of a royal garden.
“I see you’ve finally decided to show your face this time. Behaving as you do, staying in your room and refusing to eat is quite childish.”
Till paused his hands in his lap as he heard the older man speak and for whatever reason, His hands started to tremble. He clenched his hands against the fancy fabric of his pants, but the trembling didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. It felt almost.. frustrating, having such limited control over his body for no apparent reason.
He looked at the plate in front of him, a assortment of foods that felt too small on the big plate. And his stomach, no his body, just felt so.. exhausted. Like a sort of numbness was overtaking him.
“You never eat enough. Do you mean to waste away before my eyes? I would not allow it. You belong to me, and I will not have you ruin what is mine.”
And now, Till felt like hurling. What kind of comment was that?
Despite this feeling he reached for the empty tea cup, picking up the plate as well. A ‘servant’ immediately came by and poured him a cup before bowing and setting the tea pot back down gently.
“Ah.. thank you—“
“Don’t.” Till immediately paused and looked up, the small ‘thanks’ already stopped by the other. Master Corvalis took a sip of his own tea before continuing and looking up from his cup, “How many times have I told you boy. Servants. Are. Servants. As weak as you are, this household is not and I expect you act a certain way. If you keep acting like a damn fool how will ever bring honor to this house!”
He slammed his cup against the table and Till couldn’t help but feel furious. How could some old man, one who couldn’t even dress properly treat him like this?! Especially when he had just given good manners to someone who had poured him tea and he didn’t even like tea!
Till stood up, hands clenched into fist at his side as his entire body trembled. He didn’t need this, never did, never will.
“I’m going back to that- MY room.” He announced he almost felt brave, almost atleast. The moment he walked away, no, the moment his legs had started moving he was immediately pinned to the ground.
He immediately struggled against the two servants who were keeping him down. They moved with the awful, polite efficiency of people who’d been trained to make cruelty look like ceremony. Two broad-shouldered servants pinned Till’s arms across his back; one knee pressed into the small of his spine, the other settled along his shoulder so his chest couldn’t rise properly. The world compressed into the hard press of wool and the distant, careful clink of china.
“HEY— what the hell?!”
Corvalis rose from his chair with the same calm that had made the garden feel like a stage. He accepted the whip with the slow, casual hand-off of a man who’d been offered a glass of claret. The leather was dark and well-oiled, the handle fitted with silverwork that caught the dim, filtered light. He turned it over between his long skeletal fingers once, as if admiring a watch, then turned his face toward the prostrate boy.
Till couldn’t see him. He could only see the sky dappled through cherry blossoms, the edge of the table, the palm of the servant whose knee pinned him. Everything in Till’s head boiled down to a single, stupid, childish hope: it was a prank. Someone would shout “surprise” and it would be over. Someone would laugh and hand him a cake, or a phone to see his reaction, or heck even IVAN would be alright.
The whip cracked the air with the sound of a gunshot.
Till didn’t have time to register pain at first, his body jerked, lungs stealing in a shocked gasp, and then a hot burst of fire threaded across his upper back where leather met flesh. He tasted copper, and the world went slow in that immediate, bright way pain does, sharp focus, scattered memory. The servants’ hands held him tighter; one of them muttered at him, almost pleading about dignity and obedience, but the words dissolved into the ringing in his ears.
“Do be reasonable,” Corvalis said, his voice soft as pollen and far more poisonous. “One does not throw tantrums like a common street urchin and expect to be indulged. You will learn restraint; if I must teach you with leather, then leather shall do.” He shook the whip once. A lazy, practised motion, and the tip salted the air.
A second strike tore across Till’s ribs. He tried to scream; the sound came as a wet, thin thing swallowed by cloth and leaves. Heat flared along his spine, hot and white, then spreading into a hollow ache. Words tumbled up his throat, pleas, protests, but the servants’ grip was a vise. He felt small and ridiculous and trapped in the middle of some ancient play where his part was always to suffer.
“You show weakness, and this house wilts. You sulk in your room, refuse to eat, and expect the world to arrange itself around your temper.” Corvalis’ voice was level, patient as a ledger being read aloud. “Weakness is contagious, and I will not have the Corvalis name fall ill because of one spoiled heart.”
The next lash cut in, and something in Till’s vision fractured at the edges, white blotches blooming where color had been. He breathed out and the air in his lungs tasted thicker. His jaw worked on a moan that sounded far away to him. He could feel the edges of his consciousness slacken, as if threads were untying.
There was a thunderous blood-roar in his ears, then the world dipped, like a boat tipping beneath him. The servants’ faces blurred; Corvalis’ silhouette leaned above him, tall, pale, small medals dulling at his chest, and for a frantic second Till thought of his birthday prank van, of cake and cheap lights strung like a promise that someone would laugh and then hold him. None of that reached him now.
Warmth pooled beneath him; a bright, bad heat. He tried to drag his mind back, tried to name the faces, to summon the ridiculous, defiant things he always said, but the names slotted out of reach. The last thing he registered was Corvalis’ voice, absurdly calm and close, as if spoken from the other side of water.
“You will remember this lesson,” the Duke said. “You will not be foolish again. I, Urak Corvalis, will never allow it!”
And with one final strike, he finally black out and the searing pain became a numbing sensation.
Everything finally went quiet.