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jqnehr · 11 days

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les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 19

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : wow ok so this one is, once again, 16+ only. ANGST. copious amounts of angst im telling you. mentions of suicide (literally the first line ☠️), graphic depictions of attempted murder by hanging, andré is massive asshole and you will see why, graphic violence, this is a very heavy chapter so you have been warned, fluff and suggestive stuff (wink wonk) at the end to make up for it all <3 word count : 21k (i have no words.) note : twenty one thousand damn words later and here we are. y'all asked for it!! but i also promised it so. ANYWAYS, if the end seems a bit rush that's because i have a massive headache right now and i need to sleep RIGHT NOW. enjoy y'all <3.

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part eighteen⋮ masterlist ⋮ part twenty

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

Your mother committed suicide. Perhaps that was the first fracture in the foundations of your life. A fissure that was leaking, but you conveniently brushed it off. A problem unsolved will only grow in size, but you never let that occur to you.

What they don’t know can’t hurt them. A rather generic, overused saying—but, nonetheless, it held quite surmountable insight towards your mother’s day-to-day life, for it was a common one of hers, perhaps her favourite. When one is an outcast in society, with nowhere else to go but the Fleuve Cendre, one would be quick to find out the true, ugly nature of the impoverished realm sitting below the comforts of Fontaine, and how each day is swift to morph into one of a battle for endurance, survival. The Fleuve Cendre is a dismal place, and despite some of the genuinely good individuals dwelling there, it’s rather a haven for the more shady, the more illicit.

Bootleg organisations and fraudulent gatherings is something commonly seen, commonly encountered, commonly conducted—and commonly turned a blind eye to. Those with no ill-intent, and yet no authority, have no other choice but to overlook such crooked arrangements, for fear of their own safety, and their families’—if they have any. The overworld’s influence down within the sewers is weak; bribery is rampant, the hush money always so generous. Ex-criminals with no place in society above aren’t necessarily welcome below, but nor can they be turned away—on the surface, to any old law-abiding citizen of Fontaine, the Fleuve Cendre doesn’t seem all that bad; it appears to be well-maintained, the law is enforced and kept by the inhabitants—and people don’t like to think about it any more than what it seems to be at face value. Such applies for every other aspect of life also. Ignorance is bliss.

That’s what the overworld citizens enjoy. Bliss. And that’s why, during your youth, you made it your life’s goal to relocate to the overworld. To try and fit in, become one of the uppity, ‘righteous’ law-abiding residents. Live in a nice apartment, stroll about the grassy slopes of your region’s landscape, admire the vast views. Maybe get a Vision, and go explore the underwater world many renown for its otherworldly beauty.

You would’ve—and at the time of your first especially tragic, life-altering incident of walking in your own mother swallowing a cyanide pill, you knew that things were never as simple as your mind presented it to be.

Your mother had grabbed your upper arm with a vice-like grip, digging her nails into your flesh, hissing, “Burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will—” she hacked out a cough, “—get to you.”

How she managed her final words out with such vivacity and resolve even as she died is something you didn’t know whether to admire, or to resent. She left you shaking violently all over once her hand slumped from your arm.

Once you told Daniel, you and him immediately rummaged through your mother’s office, turning it upside down, gathering all the papers and ledgers and records you both could find involving her illegal dealings and set them alight, honouring her dying wish. Of course, you both read through them before you threw a match at them—throughout your childhoods, your mother had been dealing with gangs, Treasure Hoarders, even the Fatui, as a way to make a living and feed you both. Smuggling of illegal substances, unauthorised trading of alcohol and firewater for Fatui roaming about Fontaine, and even exchanging of highly-confidential governmental information to the Fatui, for a hefty price. All dealings that put your mother and her two children in grave, grave danger if she were ever to bail on them, sell her clientele out, or be caught by the court of law, which, to you—and as your brother also agrees—explains why your mother was very distant.

Your father disappeared when you were three. You and your brother were born out of wedlock, anyway, and considering what your brother has told you about the man before he took off, he wasn’t the most pleasant of fellows to your mother. Your mother once drunkenly shrieked that he left because you were born a girl, and it all boiled down to you, essentially, tearing her relationship with your father apart due to your birth. When she sobered, she expressed no memory of ever shouting such an awful thing at you, leaving you to pull away, to accept it, wounded.

The woman never treated either of her children with motherly love. She hardly ever inquired either of you of your whereabouts in the Fleuve Cendre, apparently uncaring of your safety. The sewers is an unkind place to most, but there is a sense of familiarity within—everyone looks out for each other, which explains how the only type of parental love you ever received was through Elias. But he was more of an uncle. A genuine old man, you’re thankful to him for teaching you many life lessons when the one person who should’ve, never did. It was a morbid stroke of luck that he died just when you were old enough to fend for yourself. Perhaps that was the final push towards you actually shifting to the overworld.

Your brother soon followed, and then he met Elvira. It was nice to see him appear so much freer compared to what he was like when barely scraping by down in the Fleuve Cendre. It took a few years until your brother and Elvira, his girlfriend at that time, finally agreed to marry. You remember him jokingly asking when you were going to get engaged, to which you waved off and dismissed, telling him not to pressure you about it.

Despite destroying all known records of any of your mother’s illegal dealings, a premonition stayed with you throughout the years after—what if there was something you’d missed? Something incriminating, damnatory—where it could end you both up in prison, just for being the primary culprit’s only living offspring? Yes, it would most certainly be inculpating. Hiding such criminal transactions and such would absolutely earn you a spot down in the Fortress of Meropide. Why, your mother had even committed treason by tipping off members of the Fatui about highly confidential matters involving the country’s government and judicial system. How she obtained that information, you’ll never know—and you don’t want to know. All you do know is that her shady relations had, essentially, left you and your brother in a tight spot for, as it would seem, the rest of your lives.

Perhaps moving to the overworld was an attempt at an escape from such.

Where—when—did things go wrong?

Long before you got your job at Chioriya Boutique, you were juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet. Such is the life of an individual without the certifications and required amount of education to pursue any real career—such is the life of an individual who has never had control or a choice over that. Such is the life of a woman who has grown up in the dejected world of the Fleuve Cendre, one without much opportunity.

Entering the Akademiya? What a painfully pathetic pipe dream that is for a peasant who lived her childhood in the slums. The Akademiya is for the elevated, for the brilliant of mind—and, most importantly, for the deep of pocket.

Those three things you did not have. And you still don’t really have them. The fuzzy memory of your aunt bequeathing her books to you is so vague now, you barely think of it anymore. But, that is still the seed that was planted towards pursuing your fantasy of entering the greatest university in Teyvat. It is a shame you had to give it up.

Either way, you’ve never really gone about your life resenting the circumstances you grew up in—in fact, you don’t even have an opinion of your mother anymore. You and your brother don’t bring it up. Your lives had improved so much, and it seemed to only get better.

That’s when you met André—confident, witty André.

Your first meeting was at a wedding anniversary party thrown by a mutual friend. It was a rather humble occasion, with only about thirty guests in total, where the atmosphere was hospitable and warm. Although you were never really a people person, this event was one of the few places where you felt genuinely welcomed. Amiable chatter came easily, and thus came the introductions.

“Mademoiselle [Name], allow me to introduce you to my dear friend here, André Banville.”

He was tall, swarthy, and had kind eyes. They were a deep brown, black against the orange glow of the chandelier overhead, but they were not cold, and they sparkled. He wasn’t the most handsome man you’d ever met, but there was something about him that just pulled you in. It pulled everyone in, like he was a welcoming gravitational field, drawing all those around into his orbit. This was clear—for many had greeted him and struck up conversations with him, and he was like the beating heart of the party, despite being a guest, and the hosts had no problem with it. In fact, the couple cheerily chatted away with him, and André never failed to make those around roar with laughter.

You had held out a hand for him to shake, but he surprised you by taking it and placing a gentlemanly kiss to the top of it. “Good evening, Mademoiselle. It is lovely to meet you.”

A wash of heat had enveloped you, and you stood stunned for a moment. “I—erm—why, thank you, good sir. How do you fare on this fine evening?”

André had released your hand and straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets, pose languid, and it was such a smooth, fluid motion, you blinked at the strange attractiveness of it. His curly dark hair flopped down over his forehand, brushing against his eyes, and you noticed he had long, pretty lashes. Slightly envious, you had regarded him with curiosity and fascination. He must be of Natlanian or Sumeruian heritage.

When he smiled, it brought his dimples to light. “Well, when there’s champagne involved, I’m always happy.”

His companion beside him, the one who introduced you, let out a hearty laugh, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hoho, good one, André! Now, where’s Stephie?”

André shrugged, and turned back to you. His friend clapped him on the shoulder once more as he turned and left you both alone, chortling, making his way back through the crowd to locate the woman he mentioned, presumably his wife. André inclined his head towards you. “So, what do you do for a living, Mademoiselle?”

You blinked, oddly surprised at the question. You hadn’t expected him to carry on a conversation. Attractive, likeable people didn’t usually do that with you. “Uh. I just work a few jobs in the city. I’d like to become a seamstress, maybe work at a renowned boutique one day.”

That had made his brows raise. Someone passing by offered him a flute of champagne, of which he immediately accepted with thanks. You were offered no flute. And then he surprised you further by extending it out towards you. “You are good with a needle and thread? Do you like to design clothes?” You, flustered, accepted the glass of champagne, blushing at his kindness. It had left you quite tongue-tied. “I—oh, n-no, not really—it’s, well…I like making the designs, you see? If I were to be corny, I’d say, ‘I like bringing them to life’.”

André had grinned. “Quite poetic of you, Mademoiselle. Say, would you be inclined to mending a tailcoat of mine for me? Of course, I will pay you. It’s really quite urgent, you understand, as I have an event I must attend soon and it needs to be fixed for the evening—”

“Of course I can,” you had agreed before thinking better of it, despite being surprised at the abruptness of his request. Besides, you could have used the extra money. “If you want, I can come pick it up.”

“I will deliver it to you.” He had reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a mini notepad and pen. “Here, just write your address or place of work down for me, and I’ll get back to you.” Any normal woman would have second guessed it and pulled away from immediately providing a man she’d just met her address, but none of that occurred to you. This man was charming, polite, and had eyes anyone would like. To you, he seemed perfectly genuine.

But, you realised soon after his attempt on your life, that was the very thing about André Banville. Perfectly genuine. Perfectly charming. Perfectly polite. Had mastered the art of acting with the eyes. Only ever reached out to you if you had something he wanted, something he could use.

You two got along like a house on fire. André had such a knack for putting everyone around him at ease. Conversation was quick to flow naturally, and soon you had divulged him of your origins, of your past, and of where you wished to be. No judgement shone in his eyes once your story came to an end, and all previous qualms you had about befriending this man had swiftly faded.

The eyes are the window to the soul. That is what you thought back then. And, back then, you looked into André’s and saw sincerity you hadn’t witnessed before.

That was the push off the brink. You were merely a guileless, worriless youth back then, still just a fledgeling spreading her wings in the outside world—in this scenario, that being the overworld—and you were much less practical than you are today. Back then, you daydreamed and fantasised readily, believing there to be nothing but happiness in the wake of your future. And that proved true, for a time.

It became easy to forget all the important things when around the things you loved and people you liked. André grew to be one of your closest companions, one of your most trusted friends, and a man you envisioned the rest of your life with. You introduced him to your brother, and Daniel heartily shook his hands and they, too, became good friends.

André was such a joyous addition to your life. The gods had finally decided to smile on you, you supposed, contentedly watching André and Daniel share common interests and laugh together over a good glass of wine. Elvira enjoyed his company also—and you all quickly became like one big family.

You were all so easily deceived.

He must have thought it hilarious. All of you, so effortlessly duped into his little bubble—one you, in particular, walked so readily into. But it turned into a cage, and it became impossible to leave.

Because you didn’t want to leave, until it was too late.

You still remember your second meeting like it was yesterday—the two, short knocks at your door, your excited leap from your seat on the couch, the quick once-over in your hall wall-mirror just to check that you’re presentable, and the slightly-rushed opening of your door.

There André stood, with one of his hands in his pockets in that same, the other holding a paper bag—presumably with his damaged tailcoat inside it—that signature pose of his that screamed nonchalance, a languid posture almost indolent, like he had all the time in the world to get whatever he needed to get done, done.

And that alluring, tanned skin of his, those deep brown locks spilling over assured dark eyes, rimmed with long lashes you covet. André exuded confidence, seemed so secure in himself, but never with that self-absorbed vibe you frequently detected from others with the looks and money and reason to flaunt. André was no flaunter, no bragger. People did the bragging for him. If you were his friend, you had something to boast about.

His popularity in Fontanian high society was growing steadily. Women and girls flocked to him. Everywhere he went, he was the life of the party. A true social butterfly, with the skills and talents that everyone admired, that everyone wanted.

“André,” you greeted, smiling, stepping aside and opening the door wider to allow him to enter. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Quite so, quite so! That’s a pretty blouse you have on there, [Name]. The colour makes your eyes pop.”

“Why, thank you.” How you had managed to get that out without stuttering, is still beyond you to this day. “Care for anything? Tea? Coffee? It’s not even noon yet.”

“No, no, I’ve actually got to run.” André glanced around for a moment before pointing at your dining table, a paper bag in his hands. “Shall I put this over there?” “Oh, here, I’ll take it from you.” You quickly approached him and reached for the paper bag. He swiftly handed it over, before giving you a wide smile. “Sorry I can’t stay. Let me get you coffee to make up for it.”

You blinked. He’s…asking me out? On a date? No. You both had just met barely a week ago. Sure, you had spent the rest of the evening chatting away, getting along like old friends, and he had said he was looking forward to seeing you again—but, surely it wasn’t that much to read into.

“Uh—sure, if you’d like. You really don’t have to.” I can’t be a bother and make him grow tired of me! You’d never had the most interesting of personalities, and you weren’t beautiful or rich, so you didn’t have much going for you.

André had never seemed to care.

“What do you mean? Getting you coffee is the least I could possibly do for you.”

“Oh…but you’re already paying me Mora—”

“Right!” He snapped his fingers at your reminding words. “Here. I hope it’s enough.” André pulled out a little brown pouch from his jacket pocket, the coins inside clinking in his palm, and he placed it on top of the paper bag that sat in your hold. “There you are. Coffee next week on Tuesday, if you’re free?”

You blinked several times to rearrange your thoughts, still reeling from the Mora so casually handed to you—practically thrown at you—and it made you wonder if he was wealthier than he let on. He never dressed in very expensive wear. It was neat and formal enough, sure, but it never looked exorbitant. “Erm…alright. I really do hope I’m not being a bother.” “If you were bothering me, [Name], I wouldn’t have offered, and I’d have long let you know, don’t you worry about that.” The man grinned and stepped past you—and even ruffled your hair lightheartedly on his way to your door. You had hurriedly put down the bag and pouch of money on your coffee table, scurrying over to see him out. André turned and gave you a friendly wave goodbye. “Again, thank you for agreeing to do this small favour for me. Really, you’re a lifesaver. Well, then, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Mademoiselle.”

With one final grin, off André went, hurrying to attend to whatever errand demanded his attention, leaving you dazed, flushed, and thrilled.

You had mended his tailcoat with the best thread you owned, making sure the seam you sewed the hole back together with was completely invisible on the finished product—just as if it was bought right from the factory. The hole was really quite big—it looked torn, as if someone had either grabbed it to wrench its wearer back, or some kind of item had snagged it and ripped it through in hurried attempts to get away.

It had made you hum to yourself in contemplation, holding the material up to the light and studying the serrated rip of the material. Thankfully, it’s salvageable. All you had to do was slightly snip at the jagged ends and sew it back together. Good as new.

It didn’t take you long to complete. Only an hour and a half, at best. That meant you had to wait about a week to return it to André…and a week you had to wait until seeing him again.

Stupid girl! You had immediately berated yourself at your train of thought, blinking back to reality. You just met him. Slow down!

Despite your attempts to brush it off, the week had dragged on by endlessly, almost driving you insane. You had tried to occupy yourself with other things—visiting your brother, having nice chats with Elvira over a few cups of tea, busying yourself with your jobs, going on a spontaneous cleaning spree in your apartment, finally getting around to washing those curtains of yours. All nice, useful distractions, but they didn’t fully distract your thoughts for a week. It had left you slumped on your couch, staring up at the ceiling, still with your rubber cleaning gloves on.

This is bad. You’d never been in love before, so you were sure this was just a fleeting little crush that would fade. Never mind him being the first man to actually treat you like another human being enjoyable to be around—you were sure (at least, according to the silly romance novels you had liked to sit down and read occasionally) that this would pass eventually. Yes. That’s all it is. You’re not a teenager anymore! Grow up! He probably doesn’t give a damn about you at all!

If only you had known how right you were.

André had knocked on your door that following Tuesday, beaming that same smile of his. One that was quickly becoming your favourite to see. Ugh, I can be so cringe at times.

“Well! I hope you’re ready for our little outing.” Were the first words he greeted you with upon you opening your door. You, in fact, were all dressed and ready to go, bubbling with excitement on the inside. “I suppose so. Ah—here, your tailcoat, it’s all finished.” You handed over the neatly ironed and folded tailcoat in the same paper bag he had given it to you in, strangely nervous about what his reaction would be.

You had no reason to worry, however, for he instantly lit up and accepted the item with an even bigger smile. “Wonderful! You really are a lifesaver, [Name]. Let’s take a look at it.”

André had pulled out the tailcoat, carefully unfolded it, and inspected the cloth with an intent eye. He held the material where the hole was, before flicking his gaze to you, eyes twinkling. “Goodness! You’d never have even known it was there!”

You had looked down bashfully, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear at the compliment. It made your blood sing. “Oh, thank you, André—but, truly, it’s the least I could do. Nothing to it, really.”

“Nonsense! I am highly impressed, you can’t even see the seam. Now, come along—you’re owed a latte and an éclair.”

“An éclair! My goodness, you spoil me, André.” You had smiled, shaking your head, locking your apartment door behind you, placing your keys back into your purse and adjusting its strap on your shoulder. He offered his arm, surprising you even further. “Well, my word! Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?” “Something I pride myself in.” André had grinned, patting your hand fondly. “Now, what is your favourite café?”

That day, after wandering around town and just getting to know each other, André invited you to accompany him to the ball he was attending in two days’ time.

“I—” you broke off, blinking, completely caught off guard by the suggestion. “Well, I would love to, André, but…I don’t have any proper evening wear for such an occasion. And, I don’t have an invitation.”

“No need to worry your pretty little head about that factor, [Name],” he had teasingly responded, tapping your forehead. “For I have a plus-one invitation. And, I have chosen you to be the one I escort.”

“Well, that’s great—but, as I said, I don’t have a ballgown. I don’t even have that much makeup, and only two pairs of earrings.” Such are the perks of being rather impoverished.

“And as I said, you don’t need to worry.” He paused before a building, and swept an arm up towards it. “Tonight is quite an important night for me, so having you as my partner is rather detrimental towards appearances.”

“I—I see.” You gaped up at the store’s marquee—Gaëlle’s Couture. At that time, well before Chioriya Boutique opened, ‘Gaëlle’s Couture’ was the number one boutique in Fontaine. Not only was Gaëlle’s Couture a true fashion emporium, but it also had a salon within it. So, it was convenient to purchase and have your selected gown or clothing fitted, and then get your makeup done.

“Are—are you sure about this, André?” You managed out, blinking up at him. “This…place is very expensive. You’ve already spent more than enough on me for a lifetime.” “Rubbish! Consider this one more favour you’re doing for me.” He turned and led you into the boutique. You were too dazed to protest any further. André winked down at you. “And, at the end of the day, I really don’t think you could possibly deny an excuse to get all dolled up, no? No woman would, as far as I know.”

“Uh, well…” you mumbled, warily looking around at all the colourful clothes and dresses and shoes on display, uncertain. Everything looked and smelled so expensive—that even if it wasn’t you spending any money, it still felt like getting a tooth extracted. You had never liked other people spending money on you, anyway. It always made you feel like they had one on you, as if you thus owed them something from then on. “I really don’t know, André…”

“Tut tut, hush for a moment, [Name],” André shushed you and turned to the staff member who had approached you both to assist you with anything.

“Welcome! How may I help you today, Monsieur?”

“It would be wonderful if you could find a proper ball gown for this lovely young woman here.” He gestured to you, smiling. You kept your eyes carefully trained on the carpeted ground of the store. “You see, we have an event coming up in a few days, and she doesn’t have anything appropriate to wear.” “Of course! That shall be no problem.” The woman smiled at you warmly, turning to lead you both to the women’s formal wear section just over in another aisle. “Please, follow me.”

André patted your shoulder and pointed to some couches over the side. “I’ll be over there, waiting for you. Pick out whatever you’d like. Don’t worry about the price.”

“Are you sure—”

“Go, [Name].” He nudged you in the direction of the awaiting staff member. “Dress up to your heart’s content.”

Defeated, you nodded and turned to the woman standing by, plastering a polite smile on your face. “Well, then, please lead the way.”

The dresses you tried on that day were all beautifully crafted, intricately designed, and costly. Of course, they were certainly worth every penny priced, but you felt very out of place trying on such expensive and luxurious wear. You, a commoner, hailing from the murky depths of the Fleuve Cendre, donning dresses fit for a queen? You, a rather destitute young woman, who once wore tattered old garments in need of a good wash and mend, now all dolled up like a noblewoman? It was unfathomable to you. It was a dream come true, yes—you had practically become the epitome of a ‘rags to riches’ girl like in those fairy stories—but you felt out of place, undeserving. You had read somewhere that what you were feeling was called ‘imposter syndrome’, and it really aptly described your sentiments toward that occasion.

You eventually decided on a deep sea-blue gown that had the most gorgeous gradient—the bodice was that azure hue with jewelled, hand-embroidered flora needlework, and the hems of the bodice were laced, with pearls woven into the filament. The blue faded down into a silver, with an almost moon-like shimmer when the light hit it right, and the skirt fell about your legs so fluidly, so naturally—and, above all, it was comfortable.

You selected a pair of blue heeled satin slippers, and the height of the shoes’ heels were not so elevated as to hurt your feet. It was perfect.

The staff member, Cecily, had clapped her hands together and put them over her mouth in wonder once you stepped out from behind the dressing room’s curtain. “Mademoiselle, you look breathtaking!”

You thought the dress was wonderful, not yourself. “Aha, thank you. It really is an exquisite gown.”

“Oh, but it’s like it was made for you!” Ah, yes, the flattery—all a subtle sale’s pitch to get me to buy this product. It’s probably the most expensive dress in here. You didn’t say anything in reply to the woman’s compliments. “Every eye will be on you at the ball, miss.”

“Haha. If only,” you answered dryly, fluffing the dress’s skirt, letting it swish about your legs. I really do like this dress though. The gown’s palette also struck a strange sense of familiarity in you, as if you’d seen this very colour scheme somewhere—or on someone—before.

“My word!” A masculine voice exclaimed, and you sharply turned to see André gaping at you. “Now, ain’t that a dress!”

You suddenly felt quite bashful, and rather naked, even though the garment was perfectly modest. “Does it…look alright?” “It’s as they say, [Name]—the dress really does make the woman.” He strode forward and grasped your shoulders gently, spinning you around in a slow circle, taking you in. “This is perfect. Have you chosen a pair of shoes? Let me see them.”

“Uh, yes, I thought these suited the dress.” You lifted the skirt up a bit and extended a foot, letting him see your chosen pair of heels. “Not ostentatious, you know? Comfortable, practical, makes the dress shine…”

“You really do have taste in fashion! This combination would never have even entered my head. I’m useless at this kind of thing.” Then, he turned to Cecily standing aside. “What do you have in terms of jewellery?”

“Plenty, Monsieur. Would you like to have a look?” She gestured to another section of the store, where pendants and earrings and even tiaras sat sparkling in sturdy glass cases. “I have a pair of earrings in mind that would go impeccably with the dress.” “Well, then, lead the way!” He’s awfully excited about this. It made you feel excited, glad—just as much as it made you feel restless. I suppose…it wouldn’t hurt to indulge a little.

Cecily rounded the counter before the encased jewellery and unlocked one, gingerly extracting a pair of dazzling cerulean earrings from the display case. “These are of carefully-hewn sapphire, with pure silver surrounding it. I believe it would go wonderfully with the dress, and would suit Mademoiselle here flawlessly.”

“What do you think, [Name]? Aren’t these perfect? Come, try them on.” André tilted your chin up and accepted the trinkets from the woman, lightly pressing one of the earrings’ hook into the piercing of your earlobe, locking it in with the little rubber screw-back. He swiftly added the other one, before stepping away from you to get a good look.

Cecily nodded enthusiastically. “I knew they were perfect!” “Stunning!” André exclaimed, looking like a proud father, even though he had to be at least twenty-four. “It’s minimal, but that’s all you need!”

You accept the mirror presented to you by Cecily and observe your reflection. Wow…these earrings are so pretty!

“Now—makeup!” André clapped his hands and swivelled around to face Cecily. “Anything in mind?” “Absolutely—allow me to get the pamphlet.” She left you both standing together in front of the jewellery display cases, heading over to the salon area. There were already about three other women getting their hair and makeup done.

“You will look truly breathtaking on the night, [Name],” André energetically said, patting your shoulder. He’s more excited about this than me. But, you weren’t exactly complaining. You found his enthusiasm cute.

“Oh, you flatter me,” you responded, bashful, fidgeting with your fingers. André looked down at the motion, and lit up. Oh no. “Ah—of course! You must get a manicure!”

“What the—André! You’re getting a bit excessive! Just imagine the bill!”

“Who cares! I’m not worried about that! Just think—don’t you think getting your nails done will fully complete the look?”

“Oh, but how will I repay you? The entire cost for all of this is sure to be worth more than a full year’s pay!”

“Why are you so worried about the price? If I was you and spending someone else’s money, I’d be going all out.”

“Well, I don’t like spending other people’s money! Buying all of this will probably send you bankrupt, and for what?” André shook his head in mock-exasperation. “All of this will pay off, don’t you worry. Loosen up a bit! Aren’t you having fun? Don’t let your stinginess get in the way of letting loose every once in a while.”

That had silenced you. It left you thinking: I really am having fun, if I think about it. And he’s kind of right…why shouldn’t I forget about my financial troubles for a little while?

It would be your first time going to a ball. Why aren’t you excited? Why can’t you be excited? So, you decided to stop fretting and enjoy your time here, essentially getting a makeover.

You finally nodded in affirmation to him. “Alright. I’ll get a manicure.” André beamed at that, those dark eyes now a delighted chocolate brown. “Wonderful! Ah, here she is.” He turned to the approaching Cecily, who held a brochure in her hands. “Miss, would [Name] here be able to get a manicure?” “Ah, I’m sorry, but we don’t do nail tech here.” Cecily looked rather disappointed. “I’ve raised the suggestion to Madam Gaëlle many times, but she has yet to get around to actually following through with it.”

“Oh, well, that’s a shame.” André looked rather deflated. “We’ll just have to settle for some makeup for now, then.” He faced you once more. “Have a look through that booklet there. Do you mind if I leave you here for a little while? I’ve got a small errand to run. It won’t take too long at all.” “Ah, alright.” You nodded, accepting the flyer extended to you from Cecily. “See you soon.” And in a flash, André was out the door with a wave, and you were left in Cecily’s care.

“Well, I really do like these earrings, Miss Cecily.” Now with the extrovert gone, you had to force yourself into conversational mode, as if your social interaction battery wasn’t running on very low.

“I think they look marvellous on you, Mademoiselle,” Cecily replied, and she gestured towards the salon area. “Shall we? You can have a seat and peruse the pamphlet for a little while, if you’d like. Would you care for any refreshments?” “…In this dress?” You looked down at yourself. “Are you sure that would be alright? I don’t want to spill anything on this gown. It looks like it took years to make.”

“Haha, you’re not too far off on that one,” Cecily laughed, pulling out one of the recliners in front of the vanity’s mirror for you to take a seat in. “It is one of the Madam’s best works. I’d tell you the price, but I don’t want you to faint.” You appreciated Cecily’s easy-going nature and talkative temperament. Unlike most people, she didn’t tire you out with gossip. “I like your honesty. I felt quite like fainting when I tried this dress on. The quality of the material is enough to make even the wealthiest of nobles have a heart attack.”

The woman chuckled, rearranging some of the cosmetics on the vanity’s top. “Quite so, honestly. Alright, you have a look through that and I’ll get you a…?”

“A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you, Cecily,” you smiled up at her, in the mood for something sweet. She quipped an ‘okay’ and went off to wherever, leaving you to it.

You opened the pamphlet to the blue-themed makeup looks and flipped through them, looking for something less extravagant than what the flyer had to offer. You didn’t want anything with bright, overdone eyeshadow and blood-red lips. You wanted something minimal, as the gown was already eye-catching enough.

You flipped the page, and stopped at a look that had the perfect shade of blue, and the way the eyeshadow was styled was flawless. With some blue pigment lightly dusted into the inner corner of the eye, the middle of the eyelid was left unshaded—instead, clear, glittery eyeshadow coated the centre of the lid, for the outer corner of the eyes, the same blue daub was dusted into a wing out from the eye, the black kohl of the eyeliner sweeping up with it. False lashes were part of the look, curled up nicely with generous layers of mascara, and it gave the perfect hooded-eyed, siren sort of look that was all the rage nowadays. This is perfect! But will it suit me?

Blue suits everyone, no matter their skin colour, you surmise, and you decide on this look. The lipstick was a glossy nude tone, with accents of pink to give the mouth a flushed look. Whoever the makeup artist is here, they’re a genius!

Not exactly minimal, but not gaudy either. Just your thing.

You liked extravagant, loud makeup looks—but if you went for one here, you’d look like a clown. The dress had already completed most of the look—lavish and almost showy, and therefore excessive amounts of makeup weren’t necessary.

Once Cecily returns with your beverage and gets started on your makeup, she is quick to compliment your choice.

“You really should work in a boutique someday, miss. Maybe you could work here. Madam would snap you up.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someday.” You couldn’t say you were ready yet. You had to get yourself fully sorted out yet.

“Well, if you’re ever in need of a job somewhere, come here and I’ll vouch for you.” “Thank you, Cecily. You’re very kind.”

By the time she had finished your makeup, André was back.

“Wow!” He exclaimed upon seeing you, eyes wide. “By the gods! You scrub up so well!”

“Haha, thank you.” You were unsure if that was a compliment or not. Or maybe you were just sensitive. “Now to take it all off after hours of hard work. I’m sorry, Cecily.”

“That’s quite alright, miss. It’s my job. I’m not offended!”

“You don’t have to take it off, [Name].” André shook his head. “It’s getting onto evening now. Shall we go get dinner? Somewhere fancy, so you won’t look out of place with that makeup on.’

“You’ve already spent far too much on me—” “Ah, ah, ah! What did I say about stinginess?” He waggled a finger in front of your face. “Stop fretting. Now, if you could wrap all of this up for us, Cecily, it would be much appreciated.” “Of course.” She turned towards the changing area, looking to you. “Shall we, miss?” “Yes, absolutely.” You had begun to grow tired of the dress, as it was rather tight around the bosom. You also wanted to go home, but you also wanted to spend more time with André. So, you could bear it a little longer, you supposed.

Not used to having such heavy makeup on, after André paid the bill (you looked away from the sight as if witnessing something grisly occur right before your eyes) and you both headed out, it felt like you were walking around with a pie stuck to your face.

But it was a sensation you could grow accustomed to, you supposed. For the first time, you felt pretty.

・・・・

The months following were what you considered, at the time, to be the best months of your life. André fit into your small family like a glove, like it was so natural; meant to be. He always made time for all of you—you especially. That gave you hope. It wasn’t long until you were ready to admit to yourself that you were in love with the man.

However, every woman was. At the ball you attended with him, the ladies flocked to him like flies swarming to a carcass. A morbid, unpleasant comparison, yes—but it’s one you’ve always used, even to this day. Especially today. Now, it’s more or less used in spite.

The spotlight on him left you in the shadows. It wasn’t the best of a first-time experience for attending a ball. Sure, you had the odd sleazy miscreant approach you and ask you for a dance, some of which you accepted, but it wasn’t enjoyable. It made your spirits drop, seeing André practically forget about you.

But you didn’t mind all that much. You supposed it was natural. He had to entertain his little fanclub, if to get them to leave him alone. And he took you home, so it really wasn’t all that bad in the end.

After blissful occasions of him taking you to see all the sights on Fontaine you’d always wanted to see, delightful times of ice cream down by Fountain Lucine and late night chats under the soft glow of a streetlight, you were sure you were both meant to be. Why else would he spend so much time with me? He must like me too, right?

Your confirmation came soon enough. It was over some Fonta at a table in Cafe Lutece one pleasant Friday afternoon. André had said he needed to tell you something, but you didn’t get your hopes up. He probably got a promotion at his job he talks about. A long-awaited and well-deserved promotion, by the sounds of it.

André had never really specified where he worked and what he did, but he did say that it was office work. You were surprised at his words, not having expected him to have that kind of profession.

“I thought you’d be the more physical-labour sort of type.”

André had raised his brows. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Well…you’re just not the kind of guy who sits around all day, you know? You’re always on the move; doing something and going somewhere.”

He had chuckled, ruffling your hair. André always seemed fond of doing that. You never hated it. “That may be so, but I’m not fond of lifting boxes or crates all day, [Name]. No, it’s much more comfortable at a desk.”

You couldn’t help but agree with that. But you could never picture him toiling away at his desk, swamped with paperwork. It’s just something you could never see, and for the first time, you had found that you didn’t believe him.

You never pried any more on the matter, though. If he didn’t want to tell you or talk about it, then you respected that.

That brought you back to that day—that wonderful day. Where you were peacefully sipping at your Fonta when André dropped a true bomb on you.

“I like you.” He had said—so casually, as if he was remarking on the weather. As if it was a normal thing to say out of the blue. “I think we should date.”

You had choked and coughed on your drink, wheezing, eyes wide. People had begun to stare. Cheeks flaming, you whirled on him, hissing, “A warning next time!”

André threw up his hands in an I-surrender! fashion, brows lifted. “Sorry! I just…didn’t know how else to bring it up.”

Once you had calmed down and collected yourself, you stared at him and said, “…Are you being serious? You want to date me?”

He furrowed his brows, tilting his head in puzzlement at your wording. “Why? Is that strange? That I like your character and think you’re pretty?” “You—you think I’m pretty?” You sputtered, blinking rapidly. You had felt like you were about to combust. “I—I—!”

André leaned forward and brushed his fingers upon your cheek softly, fondly, his smile not that signature bright, sunny one of his—no, this time, it was gentle. “I don’t lie about these kinds of things. Well? What do you say? Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

His wording took you even further off guard, making your heart shift and skip a few beats in your chest, and you felt real joy for the first time. This man made you feel seen, appreciated, and cherished. How could you say no? “I thought you’d never ask.”

That had made André roar with laughter, and he grabbed your hand to place a tender kiss to the top of it, those dark eyes so warm and full of joy. “You don’t know how honoured and happy I feel right now, beloved.”

And so you dated. You both had immediately left the café to go and announce the good news to Daniel and Elvira. Hand in hand. Before, it was arm-in-arm, mere gentlemanly courtesy on his part, and basic etiquette on yours—and that impersonal physical contact. Now, you held hands out of your own volitions, out of desire for that close connection, and it made your heart soar, as cheesy as that would sound.

With three excited knocks on Daniel and Elvira’s door, you felt André squeeze your hand in equal thrill, just as delighted as you. Well, maybe you were a bit more happy. You were walking on cloud nine back then. For the first time in your life, you tasted real bliss.

Elvira had opened the door, blinking in surprise to see you both standing at the door, before she beamed in greeting. “Hi, you two! What brings you—my word!”

She had swiftly spotted your two interlocked hands at your sides, and gasped in shock. You grinned rather bashfully. “Hey, Elvira.”

She immediately ushered you both inside, calling for Daniel. “Daniel! Come look! It’s finally happened!” “Huh?” Your brother answered, soon rounding the corner of the hallway to see you both. “Oh, hey, sis!” He greeted you, before moving to clap André on the back. “Hey, man. How are you…wait!”

Daniel had also seen your hands, and you exchanged glances with André at their reactions. They’re acting as if I just announced I’m pregnant. It wasn’t that big of a deal, declaring the ‘officiation’ of your relationship, but your brother and sister-in-law seemed particularly overjoyed.

“Uh, yeah, we’re dating now,” you answered the unasked question, breaking the ice. “About time, am I right?” André chuckled beside you, opening his mouth to speak, but your brother beat him to it. “What an understatement! A year and a half of waiting for you both to get going already! Pay up, Elvira.”

“What?” You snapped your head to look at your sister-in-law. “You guys…made a bet?”

Elvira sighed wearily, her shoulders slumped. She moved down the hallway. “Yeah. I bet that it would take at least ten years for you both to hurry up and date—not exaggerating. Daniel never doubted either of you, so we agreed to bet two hundred Mora.”

“Two hundred?!” You exclaimed, mouth agape. “What the—gods, honestly! You two have always been idiots!”

André was laughing heartily. “Hahaha! As if our day couldn’t get any better!” He let go of your hand and grabbed your waist instead, pulling you in and placing a kiss to the crown of your head. It immediately silenced you, too flustered to speak. “Would you look at that, huh, mon bijou?”

“I…well…” As usual, André left you quite tongue-tied. His spontaneity always had that effect on you. “I suppose…this calls for a celebration?”

“You can say that again!” Daniel whooped and rushed off for the wine cabinet. “Let’s pop the champagne!” “Daniel!” Elvira bellowed from their bedroom. “Don’t you make a mess!”

“It’ll be alright, my dear, I’ll do it over the sink—”

“No!” Elvira emerged from their chambers, Mora in hand, and hurriedly approached him, just as he was pulling the cork. She snatched the bottle from his hold and replaced it with the pouch of money. “Take your money and give it to me!”

Daniel immediately conceded, letting go of the bottle of (expensive) champagne, handing it to his wife. He tossed the small bag of money into the air, the coins inside jingling about merrily, and caught it, grinning triumphantly at you and André. “Now, that’s what I call making a buck—”

Elvira sharply smacked his shoulder with a wooden spoon. Clearly, she wasn’t very happy about giving up that two hundred Mora. “Quit your gloating and start peeling those carrots.”

“Yes ma’am.”

This was the sort of familial chaos you adored, where banter and insults held no real knives—where everything was lighthearted. It was nice to see how far you and your brother had come since relocating from the sewers. You were finally a family, a normal one.

All too soon, things started going downhill.

Two years of bliss flew by. Two years of dating André were the best of your life, and even though the memories are more painful than happy to reflect on now, sometimes you find yourself reminiscing. Pointless, yes, but you have never been able to help thinking about what could’ve been.

Either way, you appreciated the attitude André had towards you very much—he never asked for anything more than the odd kiss, and he never tried to make too much of a move on you. You were glad that he, too, seemed to share your sentiments of waiting until you both married before taking it all the way, something that would be bound to take a lot of personal preparation on your part.

He asked you to marry him out of the blue one day, much like how he announced his feelings for you and said that you both should date two years prior, and it took you so off guard that you didn’t know what else to say apart from ‘yes’. Not even giving yourself time to consider it—and that was likely because you didn’t need to think about it. To you, at the time, André Banville was your future, and you were more than ready to become Mrs. Banville.

It just so happened that that was one of his tactics, taking you off guard so randomly, dropping bombs on you and leaving you metaphorically stranded, with no other route to take but the affirming one. ‘Love bombing’, you think it’s called, but his version and methods were a bit different. But no less effective.

You were so weak-minded back then, such a pushover. So blinded by adoration for this ‘angel’ of a man that you continuously failed to see the signs of the true demon hiding behind a mask of light and benevolence.

How easy it must’ve been for him, how risible. Do spiders feel amused when their prey becomes caught in their web? Is it entertaining for them to watch their victim struggle so pointlessly? A good show to behold before it becomes a meal to scuttle back into their lair with, something to toy with, to feast upon? For that was likely what you were to him. Such simple, easy prey, with much to gain by deceiving.

If only you had guessed his true intentions—the real reasons—as to why he kept you alive in his trap for so long. A trap you didn’t struggle to be free from, for what reason was there? When your captive treats you well, treats you with appreciation, what is there to not grow fond of?

You had stared at that extravagant ring on your finger, the stone so large and sparkling, the jewel likely worth an entire manor. The lavish gifts he showered you with made you feel loved, but it also made scepticism gradually creep in. Where does he get the funds for such expensive alms? And, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you somehow knew not to ask him that question.

Scepticism is dangerous—dangerous toward the reality one invents for themselves. It begins as a small, imperceptible chink in the armour, a tiny ripple in the pool, a mere scratch on the glass. But it can grow—grow into a problem you must eventually face, must eventually admit to, must eventually resolve. A tribulation unsought; a life lesson detrimental to the maturing of oneself. And how it grew within you, until you couldn’t look at your fiancé anymore without suspicion.

I don’t really know him. You only knew the projection André had presented—and you were, initially, perfectly content to live with nothing but that façade, as it meant not relenting to the rational, logical questions that the annoyingly reasonable side of you ceaselessly posed. Three and a half years of paradise, but the shadows were finally closing in.

A premonition. A foreboding sensation that had settled and festered at the back of your mind for years, carefully pushed far back by your own self. An augury you never mentioned to the one person who was personally involved—your brother. Although you knew he trusted you, you knew he would never believe you. And why should he? Your mother, and her legacy, was dead.

It was supposed to be. The truth of the matter didn’t come to light until the very last, dreadful minute.

André’s visits were gradually becoming less frequent, sparking concern within you. At those moments, doubt and misgiving sprung to life within you like bile, compelling you to force it down, or else risking the endurance of your comfortable reality. If only you had any other option.

Fear had long injected itself into your veins, becoming an inherent constituent of your blood and being. You had continually refused to admit to that.

“André,” you had finally asked one day, unable to bear your rooted uncertainties any longer. At this time, you both had been engaged for almost a year, wedding plans and preparations well into motion, and this was the one question you abhorred having to spit out. You were standing in the hallway, watching him hastily put on his shoes, his countenance agitated. “Where are you going? It’s so late. You’re always rushing off at some ungodly hour, and you never tell me where or what you’re going to do.”

He had paused in his motions, and the atmosphere became distinctly heavier. Just as you feared. André turned to you—and for the first time in all the years you’d known him, you couldn’t read his expression at all. “It’s not for you to know.”

I’ve hit a nerve. That much was clear. He hardly ever addressed you without some kind of pet name, ‘mon bijou’ being his favourite. You sucked in a deep breath, and pressed it further. “I think it is. You’re worrying me. What secret are you keeping that is so…odious, you can’t even trust me to confide in?” André had sighed, brows furrowed in a frown utterly unlike his playful ones, or confused ones, or concerned ones. No, this one was of genuine irritation and chagrin towards you. “Let me rephrase. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Now, I’ve got to go.”

“No.” You strode towards him and grasped his wrist. Up this close, you were fully privy to the stone cold glint of his eyes. They weren’t their usual, familiar soft humour. “Tell me. Please.”

He had silently regarded you, his eyes narrowed, before harshly wrenching himself from your hold and yanking open the door. “I thought this message had been concisely, subtly put across years ago, but, clearly, you were too dull to catch it.” André looked at you from over his shoulder in the threshold of the open door. “Don’t ask questions.”

The door was slammed shut with such force, the ornaments on the walls had rattled. It probably woke up the entire apartment complex. And it left you shaken through, your thoughts and suspicions and doubts warring in your mind.

Maybe it was because of how tense he was that night that he snapped at you, but it was a serious mistake on his part. It practically confirmed your inklings, and you finally allowed those abscesses of mistrust within you to consume you fully.

Long overdue, don’t you think? The rational, reliable half of your mind sneered, and you stared at the ground in dread. Your ‘reality’ was finally shattering.

It was your fault to just sit back and let the cracks and splinters multiply across its shell for so long. You should have dealt with it sooner, or just let it be.

So you decided to. You deigned to ‘let it go’. At least, that’s how it appeared to André.

It didn’t take long for him to realise his mistake. That morning, when he entered your apartment again, he quickly made his way over to you and embraced you.

“Is everything alright?” You pretended to have forgiven him and feigned concern, accepting his hug. André held you to him tightly, kissing your head, and that traitorous heart of yours leapt in joy at the ministrations.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry for snapping at you last night.” He held you from him, cupping your face, eyes beseeching and truly apologetic. “You see, the reason why I’ve never told you the true nature of my occupation is to protect you.” You had raised a brow jokingly—however, on the inside, distrust reared its unsightly head. “What, are you involved in some underground, super-secret criminal agency or something?” André had chuckled at that, seemingly relieved at how unbothered you appeared to be about it. “Not quite. It’s something much more complex than that. And dangerous. That’s why you can’t know, okay? It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I just want to protect you. Please understand that.”

You had nodded easily, burying your face into his chest. “Of course. I believe you.”

You did not believe or trust him at all anymore. His temperament, the way he regarded you that previous night…it gave you a horrible feeling that you had finally gotten a glimpse of his true nature.

A nature he had kept carefully hidden from you, from your brother—from everyone around you. What was left to find out, you had surmised, was what he was really up to.

And so, you began your own, covert investigation of the man you were sure wasn’t all he appeared to be anymore.

If only.

It began with you frequenting his home more. André’s house was humble and unassuming; cosy and where you had both agreed to dwell once you married. At first, André was confused as to why you insisted on visiting him at his place now, to which you smilingly replied, “It’s to adjust to our future home! Have to work out where the nursery will be, right?” He had blinked and grunted at that, running a hand through his brown locks. “…Alright, you win.” And then he ruffled your hair.

You even began to sleep at his place more often, and you were relieved to see that he trusted you enough to be left alone in his own house. Whatever he’s doing so late at night, you thought to yourself as you saw him out the door at 11:30PM one night. It would have to be hidden somewhere in this place.

But, then again, if he was so comfortable with you staying there, then he wouldn’t have left any kind of incriminating evidence lying around. Maybe it’s hidden very well. You tried the door to his office, and your heart leapt in dread as the knob refused to be twisted. It’s locked!

Where’s the key? You used this opportunity in his absence to explore his house, to memorise it and search for any hidden compartments the key could be stashed. Or else he took it with him. That thought had made you pause as you pulled open the top drawer of his bedside table. Yes. He probably did. Why else would he be happy to leave me here alone?

No other door or cabinet was locked in that house except for his small study. You had offered to do the chores around the place for him while he was out doing his ‘work’, and he had agreed. But he had never said anything about ‘not going into the office’. Cunning man.

Your distrust of him was swiftly taking the shape of resentment, and it fueled your determination to find out what truly was going on even further. Isn’t it funny how one wrong move was enough for me to doubt him fully? It only spiralled down from there.

After searching through his home thoroughly and practically turning it inside out, you plopped down on his sofa and stared up at the ceiling. He’s definitely got the key with him. But how would you obtain it, without rousing any questions from him? Without sparking any suspicion?

The idea came soon enough—you were up all night, scouring through his cupboards and cabinets and drawers and closets that you got no sleep. It was about dawn when keys outside the door jingled, and in came André, shrugging off his coat.

That’s it. You strode forward and greeted him, carefully watching the man go through his pockets and hang up the coat. André seemed surprised to see you still up. I need to subtly steal that key from his coat pocket as he’s leaving, and replace it with another. And the only way you could do that was by appearing to do your ‘wifely’ duties every time he would leave by helping him into his coat and seeing him off. But where will I get a replacement key?

It would need to be one of similar shape, size and colour to whichever one it is. And you didn’t know what it looked like. I’ll have to sit back and observe for now.

“What are you still doing up?” André had inquired, blinking at you. You reached forward and helped him out of his coat, hanging it up for him. He seemed to appreciate the notion. Could the key be on that set of them he has there? The keyring in his palm had about eight keys on it, all of different shapes and sizes, making it utterly impossible to guess which was the office’s one. I wonder when he goes into his office. You hadn’t seen him go inside once during your stay there. He probably does it while I’m sleeping.

You beamed, acting as if you hadn’t been whiling the hours away nosing through his cupboards. I’ll have to act as if I still don’t know my way around now. “Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I just did a few chores to pass the time.”

At least you knew where the vacuum cleaner and broom was now. Useful props towards selling your act completely.

“Ah, I see.” André stooped and kissed the crown of your head, entering further into his home, you on his heels. You were watching his every move. “I’m going to have a shower now,” he said, heading for the bathroom. “You can sleep now. Thanks for cleaning up, you didn’t have to.” “Of course I had to,” you quipped, squeezing his arm, smiling widely. This is going to be tiring. “In a few months, I’ll be living here. I have to adjust, you know?” He grinned back and ruffled your hair. “You’re a real gem, you know that?” And you just beamed at him some more in reply, letting him go into the bathroom. You made your way to the bed and settled in, smile traceless. Let’s pretend to be asleep and see if he goes into his office.

You pulled the blanket well up over your mouth, so only your eyes and nose were showing, and acted to be fully asleep. You even slowed your breathing and increased its volume a little to really make it seem authentic. Let’s hope he falls for it!

The shower soon shut off and the bathroom door clicked open. A pair of feet padded down the hall, and you sensed André enter, heading for his wardrobe. He hadn’t appeared to notice you ‘sleeping’.

That night, you were left in disappointment. André didn’t go to his office—he settled in next to you, sighing wearily, and his soft snores soon sounded. Dammit! I won’t be able to sleep at all at this rate! You were too excited and jittery to notice. I’m going to have to tell Daniel. You really needed extra help, and you could only pray your brother would believe you.

・・・・

“I’m heading off to visit Daniel!” You called out from the front door. André answered back with an ‘okay!’ before you shut the door, opened your umbrella and headed out into the downpour for town. Ugh. Why does it have to rain today of all days?

Was that a bad omen? You had hoped not. You were relentlessly praying things would go smoothly for you.

André was watching you. Closely. You knew that. Now, you were sure that whatever he was involved in was most certainly dangerous—and he was the danger.

I have to tell Daniel everything. You tilted your umbrella up to look at the building in front of you. Just down the block was Daniel and Elvira’s home. Whatever this whole thing is…it means I’m in danger, and so are they.

You had a hunch as to what exactly this debacle involved. You hoped, with everything you had, this wasn’t connected to your mother. Her last words still rang clear as day in your mind.

Daniel and Elvira had recently gotten a doorbell installed, and so you pressed it, hoping they were home. Please be. Please be! I feel like we don’t have much time!

Such was the sense you had been getting of late, ever since the prickly feeling of being watched had started. You subtly looked around the relatively empty street, and apart from a few locals milling about, nothing stood out to you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling. He’s sent someone to tail me, hasn’t he?

You had begun to believe that André suspected you suspected him. Have you been too smiley, too friendly, too loving? Were you overdoing the act?

The door opened, and Daniel’s kind, familiar face greeted you. “Sis! How are you? Come on in. What brings you here?” And as you stepped into his home and the door closed behind you, he squinted at you and asked, “What’s wrong?” You pursed your lips. “I have something very important and very serious to tell you, Daniel.”

He sobered. “I can tell. Come along. Can Elvira hear it too?” “Yes.” It would be best to have support from both of them. “It’s about…André.”

Daniel shot you a look from over his shoulder as he led you further into the house. “About André? Has he done something? What’s going on?”

Elvira then appeared, brows furrowed. “Is something wrong, you two?”

“She’s got something to tell us,” Daniel answered, gesturing to a seat. “Let’s hear it. Have you two broken up? Called off the wedding?”

You sucked in a deep, readying breath. “No. It’s much more grave than that. You see…” You began to fiddle with a stray, loose thread on the sleeve’s hem of your jersey. “I think…André’s up to something.”

Elvira immediately frowned. “Is he cheating on you?” “No! Nothing like that.” It’s worse. “It’s just…I think he’s involved in some shady things. Has been for a long time. Before and during when I first met him, I believe.”

“Shady…” Daniel was staring at you from beneath his brow. His silent question was clear: like mother?

You lowered your head. “Yes.”

He leaned back into his chair, letting out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…I don’t know, [Name].”

“You have to believe me.” You reached forward and grasped his hand, eyes wide and desperate. Elvira’s expression shifted from one of mild worry to deep concern. “Daniel, are you absolutely sure we burned all that stuff of mother’s back then?”

He blinked at you, evidently perturbed by your tone and the look on your face. “…Yes, I’m sure. We practically ransacked her office. Don’t you remember?” “How could I forget?” Your hand grasping his had begun to shake. He glanced down at it, face blanching with disquiet. I don’t want to voice these suspicions. What if they’re true? “Did I ever tell you what mother said to me as she died?”

You noticed Elvira’s pale, troubled face in the corner of your eye, but you were solely focused on your brother. The uneasiness in Daniel’s expression and eyes was steadily increasing by the second. “I—yes, you did, but I can’t recall what you exactly said.”

“Well.” You sucked in a sharp, unsteady breath. “She said to me, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulbert will get to you’.” A droplet of cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. “Who could this ‘Fulbert’ be? What if—what if André is—”

“Now, [Name].” Daniel’s voice took on a stern tone. “We don’t need to be jumping to conclusions here—”

“He’s watching me, Daniel.” Exasperation at not being believed by someone you trust deeply bled into your tone. “He’s watching me. He sent someone to tail me today, as I came to visit you. And every night, he goes out—once, I asked what he’s doing out so late, and he told me to ‘not ask questions’.” You shakily leaned back into your seat, hands trembling on your lap. “And now, he’s sneaking out. A-About a week ago, he promised me that he wouldn’t leave me alone at night anymore, but…but whenever he’s sure that I’m asleep, he heads out. And the door to his office is locked. Every other room is open, except that one, and I can’t find the key. André goes into that office right after he gets home at some ungodly hour and doesn’t come out till morning. I searched everywhere for the key—I’ve even tried to steal it from him, but I just don’t know which one it is, and frankly, I’m scared! He’s not—he’s not…the man I once knew.” The man I once thought I knew. If I’m right, this would explain all of his abrupt disappearances while we’re in the middle of doing something in town. Going on ‘errands’ that takes him hours to complete, leaving me stranded in some restaurant, left to foot the bill myself!

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Elvira spoke up that time, and she moved seats to sit next to you, wrapping a comforting arm around you. “I can see that you’re telling the truth. Daniel.” She sharply turned to your brother, and he pensively looked up at her. “Should we ask Callas for help?” “C-Callas?” You stuttered, looking at her. “Who’s that?”

“He’s the head of the Spina di Rosula,” Daniel responded, straightening in his seat. “They’re an organisation that helps out citizens the Gardes cannot.”

“Okay? What has that got to do with it?” He sighed. “I’m saying that we could hire them—ask Callas, the president, for help. He has a daughter about your age. She could pose as your friend or something, and help you investigate.”

Elvira squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. “He is a good man. He was a friend of my father’s, and his daughter, Navia, is kind. She could be of great help to you.”

You considered it. It’s not like I have any other option—but what about the fee? “How much are their commissions costs?”

“We’ll cover it,” Elvira immediately answered. She looked at Daniel, who was staring at her in shock. “What’s that look for? Do you not want to help your sister out?” “No! That’s not it.” He ran a hand over his face. “I just…I’m just trying to process this.”

“The reason why I’m here is because ever since we burned mother’s illegal dealings’ records,” you said tightly, “is because I’ve been unable to shake this feeling that we missed something out.” “Well, your worries are baseless, [Name]. I assure you we burned them—”

“No.” You were not about to deny your intuition. “It’s what my gut says, and it’s been saying this for years. We missed something out. I’m sure of it. And I also have a gut feeling André has his hands on it.”

Daniel shook his head, shifting in his seat. “I just…I can’t picture André doing all this. Are you absolutely sure?” You glowered at your brother. “I am the one who lives with the man. I am the one who knows his routine back to front. Why would I lie about this?”

“Lay off on her, Daniel.” Elvira’s tone was dangerous. “I can’t believe you’re questioning her. I can feel her shaking. She’s not lying.”

Your brother looked at both of the women sitting before him one by one, studying either of your expressions intently. And then, he finally relented, sighing. “Alright. I believe you. If you were lying, you wouldn’t look so scared.”

You sighed in relief, relaxing into Elvira. She gave you another comforting squeeze, and you turned your head to her. “What’s the time? Would we be able to go visit this Spina-thing?”

“They’d still be open.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Yeah. Their base is actually in Poisson, but they have a headquarters here in town. Let’s go. Do you want to come, Daniel?”

“Yes, of course.” He stood from his seat, and you both followed. Daniel reached for you and gave you a hug. “If André is doing anything shady, we’ll get him behind bars.”

“I just pray I’m wrong,” you answered into his shoulder, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I don’t think…I don’t know how I’m going to handle this.”

Elvira joined in on the hug. “You’ll be fine. We’re here.” She kissed your cheek in an older-sisterly manner. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

You just smiled weakly back, fighting tears. Something dark swirled in your gut. Something like fear—and, oh, how right you were.

The three of you headed off into town, and you knew you were being followed. Whoever André had hired, had been waiting for you.

“We’re still being followed,” you hissed to the two of them. “Don’t look back. I don’t want them to report to André saying that we knew.” Elvira was holding your hand, and she squeezed it. “It’s alright. We’re almost there.”

Soon enough, you all stopped before a humble, inconspicuous building. In you went, and Daniel first approached the desk. “We’re here to enquire if President Callas is available for consultation.”

The secretary at the desk flipped through a ledger, humming. Then she looked up at you all, smiling. “You’re in luck. He’s free right now, just in his office there.” “Much appreciated.” Daniel nodded at the woman and turned to you and Elvira. “[Name], we’ll wait out here for you. Go on in.”

Nervous, you followed the secretary as she tapped on a door, calling out, “Sir, you have a client here to see you.”

“Let them in,” came the reply, and the woman opened the door for you. You were inexplicably anxious.

Sitting at a large desk was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with an eyepatch and his blond hair tied back into a low ponytail. His only visible blue eye flicked up from the paperwork he was perusing and faced you. “Ah, welcome, miss.” At his side, in a smaller chair, sat a beautiful young woman about your age, maybe younger, who stared up at you with a clear-eyed, sparkling gaze that held much less intensity than the man’s next to her—presumably her father, given their great resemblance. Her hair was sun-gold like her father’s—his a bit paler, conveying his age—and her welcoming smile was instantly comforting.

These people are kind, you thought, accepting the man’s invitation for you to take a seat before him. The girl must be Navia, his daughter, the one Elvira talked about.

“What is your name, miss?” asked the man, who held a pen poised to write. You squirmed in your chair and answered accordingly, giving your first and last name.

He swiftly jotted it down, placing the pen aside and steepling his fingers before his face as he leaned his elbows against the desktop before him. “I am Callas, the president of this organisation, the Spina di Rosula.” Then he gestured to the girl beside him. “And this is my daughter, Navia, who works closely with me in this establishment. Now, what brings you here today?”

“Well, sir, I have some concerns about my fiancé, you see.” As the words came forth, you soon realised just how foolish and trivial you sounded. “The thing is, he’s been acting awfully…suspicious as of late. Always sneaking out at night, won’t tell me things, and his office is always locked.” This sounds like I’m just complaining about a cheating intended! “I know it just seems like he’s fooling around with another woman, but it is much more intricate and shady than that.”

“Please elaborate.”

“In all the years I’ve known him, there have been things he’s always hidden from me.” You fidgeted with your fingers. “For context, I grew up in the Fleuve Cendre with my brother. My mother, to make a living and feed us, was involved with unscrupulous individuals and illegal transactions. Most were very endangering to herself and thus my brother and I. She basically ran an entire bootleg organisation of her own, and it was getting quite successful. I don’t know the exact details of what went wrong, but something definitely went terribly awry when I walked in on her swallowing a cyanide pill.” His daughter’s face fell into one of sympathy, but you ignored it and continued on. “As she was dying, she told me to, ‘burn it. Burn the papers. The documents. Get rid of it all. Or Fulburt will get to you’. Those were her exact words. So, I told my brother and we did.” You lowered your eyes. “I know this sounds very incriminating, and we should probably be in prison for not handing in such documents to the Palais to deal with, but our mother’s unlawful business stretched far and wide, and her clients knew of us, her children. We were in danger, so we did as she told us and burned every last record, document and ledger we could find.”

The president’s single visible eye had narrowed. “I’m assuming you missed something out?”

“Yes. You see, we were only teens at the time, maybe a bit older, and foolish. We double checked to make sure we had gotten everything, and it seemed like so, but ever since, I have had this terrible feeling that we did miss something.”

The man shifted in his seat, nodding to you. “Do go on.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but my fiancé has always acted strangely. Disappearing out of nowhere while on a date or something, claiming he’s got an ‘errand’ to run—and about two months ago now, as he was putting on his shoes to leave at his usual ungodly, strange hour, I decided I was sick of being in the dark and I asked him where he was going. And he acted in a way I’d never seen him act before. At least, not towards me. He coldly told me that I ‘shouldn’t ask questions’ and he thought he’d made that clear already, even though he has never actually voiced such a thing.”

“I see. And you believe your fiancé is a contraband of sorts, and possibly has whatever item you and your brother missed out in his possession?” “Yes. This suspicion is groundless, and I don’t know where it came from, but it came to me quite a while ago anyway, back when I started to wonder where he gets all this money from, and how he had never really told me what he does for a living. Years ago, back before we got engaged, he told me that he does ‘office work’ when I asked what his job was. He avoided answering the question. It’s not like I saw him doing anything strange, it’s just that his behaviour is, and I could just be paranoid, as I’ve had this premonition that my brother and I missed something for a long time.”

“Hm,” the man hummed thoughtfully, shuffling through a few documents on his desk. “This is an interesting dilemma indeed. However, this organisation is strictly legal, and involving ourselves with a situation that is rooted in crime—committed by you yourself—could potentially be a stain on the Spina di Rosula’s pristine reputation, if it were to come to light. I hope you understand that.”

“Oh, I do, sir, I really do.” Desperation gripped you. “But, you see, I know full well how unconventional my brother and I’s actions were, and although no excuse would be sufficient, we really didn’t know what else to do at the time. And now, I feel trapped into an engagement I no longer want anymore, that no longer feels real anymore—and if I don’t get any help to escape it, I fully believe that once my fiancé’s use for me is spent, my life could be in fatal danger. Please, please help me. I am not wealthy, but just name your price, and I will do everything in my legal power to pay it.”

President Callas studied you with an intent blue eye, and his daughter placed a hand on his arm. “Oh, father, come on, we should help her—”

“One moment, Navia,” he silenced her, holding up a hand. “Now, Mademoiselle [Name], I can see how desperate and genuine you are. And I’d really like to help you, but it isn’t within our principles to conceal such information that you have indulged about your past—”

“Father!” His daughter’s voice sharply interrupted him. He turned to her with a disapproving look, but she continued before he could respond. “Father, think about it. We don’t have any sufficient evidence, apart from her own confession, to present to the court about her past—her mother’s past. How long ago did you say it was, miss?” Miss Navia abruptly addressed you.

“Uh—about…seven or so years ago now, miss. I think I was…fifteen or sixteen when my mother died. I can’t recall exactly.”

She turned back to reason with her father. “There you go. Approximately seven years gone, with no evidence left. What are the chances of this coming to light? Very small. Can’t you see how scared she is? Why can’t we help her out?” The president must’ve had a serious soft spot for his daughter as he actually fell silent and considered her words, unable to hold those big imploring eyes of hers. You liked the girl immediately after that, getting the feeling that if she worked with you, you both would get along very well.

“…Alright,” he finally conceded, nodding reluctantly. “You have a point. I will help you, Miss [Name].” The man presented a contract for you to sign. “Please take your time reading over it. The fees for our commissions stated below.”

“Oh, thank you, good sir.” It felt like a massive weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You could finally breathe again—for a time. “I really can’t thank you enough. You too, miss.” In fact, the man agreeing to this was all thanks to his daughter. You smiled gratefully at her. “You both are, literally, life savers.”

The girl waved it off. “It’s nothing, really! It’s only what we do here.” She stood and you followed, and you both shook hands. “I look forward to working with you.”

“As do I,” you smiled, almost tearing up with how thankful you felt. You offered a hand to the president also, and he, still clearly uncertain about the whole thing, slowly reciprocated the hand shake. “And thank you again, Monsieur Callas. I may have a chance now.”

You quickly signed the contract and agreed on the date you would pay them. Navia said that your next meeting would be three business days from then, meaning on the following Monday you would meet and plan out the investigation. You didn’t know if you would be able to bear the weekend, having been so impatient to get that whole plight over and done with.

Navia saw you out, wishing you safe travels back to your abode, and your brother and sister-in-law all stood from their seats as you emerged from the president’s office.

“Well? How did it go?” Daniel immediately demanded. “Will they help you?” “They will.” You showed him and his wife the contract. “I will meet with them next Monday to discuss how this investigation will go through. You are welcome to tag along. I’ll need a proper excuse to leave the house.”

“See? Things are looking up already.” Elvira, ever the optimist, gave you an encouraging hug. “Soon, it’ll be all over. Nothing to worry about.”

You let out a breath. “I hope so.” If only that coiling snake of foreboding would have stopped twisting around in your stomach. I don’t think things are over yet. How you had hoped they were.

・・・・

The plan was simple. Tail André, follow him to wherever he headed every night, and wait for Navia and her henchmen to arrive as backup if things got physical.

Easier said than done.

You watched as André strode casually down the dark, late-night street, as if he was just going for a walk, not off to do something illicit. And then, hastily, you shut off all the lights except for the two lamps in the lounge and shoved your feet into your shoes, clicking the front door shut behind you and rushing off in his direction.

You made sure there was a good distance between you both—and you hoped he wouldn’t recognise you with this wig on your head. You also had a long trench coat on. And if you stuck to the shadows, in the case that he happened to glance back, he wouldn’t spot you.

You watched as he power-walked down the street, his hands in his pockets in that same languid way of his—a mannerism that no longer made you feel tingly all over. Now, it just aggravated you. Your distrust of him eventually resulted in the slow-but-sure fading of once very-potent feelings for him.

At this point, you were sure he was just keeping you around because you had a use for him. A use you didn’t know, but one you suspected. Were you being paranoid? Probably—and you hoped so, too. Having to deal with things that should have been long handled in the past is no mess anyone wishes to clean up again.

André took a left, turning out of sight. and you broke into a jog to catch up with him. You ran on the grass lining the sidewalk as to muffle your footsteps, before slowing down and peeking around the bend to make sure he wasn’t lying in wait for you or something. Again, paranoia—or was it foreboding?

He was far up ahead again, beginning to head into the town centre, before he crossed the street. André had looked left and right, staying out of sight of the patrolling Mekas—making you hastily hide behind a rubbish bin to avoid being spotted. A cat hissed at you, scuttling away, and you carefully watched as he melted into the shadows of a dark alleyway.

You rushed across the street also and sidled up to one of the buildings’ front wall, staying away from the illuminated spots in the street by the lampposts, peeking once more around the corner and into the alleyway. Just in time to have caught sight of two double doors swinging shut.

Hold on… You deemed it safe and followed after him, approaching the doors. Isn’t this one of the back entrances to…the Fleuve Cendre?

Easing one of the doors open, you squinted into the dark foyer before you, a single light overhead flickering irregularly, its bulb on well on its way out—but it was enough to illuminate the stairs descending down into further darkness. A chill skittered down your spine.

Your heart wouldn’t let up its incessant pounding in your ears, leaving you virtually deaf to any and all warning sounds around you. Deciding to just brave it, you let the door ease shut behind you and felt around for some stair railing, almost sighing audibly with relief once you found one on the left wall, trying to ignore its grimy, rusty texture to the touch. Okay. Let’s do this.

As silently as you could manage, you descended the stairs, trying to hurry while also trying to not, which proved terribly frustrating, and you cursed yourself for forgetting to bring a flashlight. There isn’t a single light installed down here! Who runs this place? Are they an idiot or what?

Being very careful to not miss a step and thus take a tumble, you slowly but surely made your way to the bottom, letting yourself relax a bit when you spotted the sliver of light peeking through the bottom set of doors.

You could already hear the bustling sounds of the Fleuve Cendre, the noises almost nostalgic for you, and then you were hit with its same signature stench. Ugh. Just shows you how much the overworld cares about these poor people.

You opened the doors and stepped through, looking around for André. You began to panic when you didn’t spot him for a good three minutes—before that familiar mop of dark hair caught your eye, and you finally noticed André chatting away discreetly with another man well over on the other side of the quay you stood on.

This unfamiliar individual was hooded, his face indecipherable, especially from this distance, and you quickly began advancing on them prudently, sticking to tall crates and boxes stacked up as places of refuge if they happened to have a little look around.

You took the path across the canal where the sewer water passed through underneath, thus over on their side of the Fleuve Cendre. You crept along the wall, before coming to a stop behind some crates a few metres away from André and his mystery companion. Smiling rather wearily to yourself, you inwardly lauded the stealth you didn’t know you had. I kinda feel like a secret agent right now.

This was no laughing matter, however. You sobered, and ordered yourself to focus on the task at hand.

You were close enough to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…You’re telling me…didn’t mention anything strange…how long?”

Even for such a late hour, the sewers were still busy, and thus the white noise all around blotted out some of the vital pieces of dialogue from the hooded man and André. From what you could catch, you deduced André was probably talking about you, if the ‘didn’t mention anything strange’ part was related to the man he had assigned to tail you wherever you went. You wished you could get closer, but that would require stepping out into the open, meaning you’d be instantly busted.

It was the hooded man who was asking the questions, and nodding respectfully at André whenever he answered them. You could only guess that this bear of a man was André’s lackey or something. He was much burlier than André, with an imposing, hazardous vibe to him—one that told you crossing swords or being caught by this man would not end well. Especially if your hunch was right—that you were, in fact, their target.

How long have you been the target? You don’t like to think about the high chances of finding out that all these years with André was just a sham. You thought you had been adequately preparing yourself mentally for such a skirmish, but you didn’t know if you truly were.

You watched as the hooded man said something to André and André nodded, delivering a friendly pat to the man’s massive shoulder, before turning around and striding off in the opposite direction.

You were well-hidden, but you still ducked down and pressed yourself right up against the wooden crates as André sauntered past. You also listened intently for the unknown male’s fading footsteps and, once sure they were both well out of eyesight, you peeped up and out, looking in the direction André traipsed off to, before hastily following after him.

Our men will be dressed in casual clothing commonly seen in the Fleuve Cendre, you recalled Navia’s words as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses. But they will be recognisable by the sunglasses they will be wearing. Inconspicuously conspicuous, I call it.

You spotted an unfamiliar man clad in faded-brown trousers and a musty button-up tee, hair hidden by a raggy old beret and with a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose. He caught your eye, and gave you a nod.

You spotted more around, all watching after you, all waiting for the set time to get into action to come around. Fifteen minutes is all I’ll need to rummage around wherever André is off to. You kept your eyes on his back, blending in with what crowd there was. Most people were shutting up their stalls for the night, heading back to their run-down homes. It’s almost midnight right now. Navia said they’ll act at quarter-to-one. I have just less than an hour. Plenty of time.

If André was really up to what you suspected he was, then hopefully, with the Spina’s help, you’d be able to put him behind bars. And as much as you forced the hurt you felt at the thought, you knew you had to do this.

He took another turn, and ascended some rather rickety stairs, and entered a dim-lit, decrepit building. It was more like a cabin than anything—a structure commonly seen around the Fleuve Cendre—and you were suddenly left in quite the predicament. How am I supposed to get in there? It looked very small, the interior likely tiny, and with this shady business of André’s, he and any other individuals inside would immediately ask questions upon your abrupt, unbidden arrival. Your disguise was not so good as to fool your fiancé up close. And if you were recognised, that was it.

I still need to give Navia time to finish preparing. She would’ve likely still been consulting the uncorrupted Gardes up above in the overworld for help with this one, and sometimes, they could be notoriously difficult to negotiate with. Shall I wait and see if André comes out of that building? Don’t I look strange just standing here, watching the door? Am I drawing attention to myself?

You had a look around, and felt your heart physically plummet for the ground when you spotted that same mountainous man standing right across from you—on the other far side of the Fleuve Cendre, with only canals separating you both—his bulked arms folded across his wide chest, and you could feel him watching you. He likely hadn’t recognised you, but he knew what you were doing, and who you were watching.

You swallowed, trying not to panic. Dammit, if he causes a fuss, everything will be for naught!

You had a bit of a staring competition with him, until he finally uncrossed his arms and turned away, heading off somewhere—likely to notify some informants. Thanks to him having spotted me, we probably have much less time to get in and out without a hitch now! You deeply feared what André was capable of. If he had such lackeys like that running around, this would probably be over before it had even begun.

I need to act fast. Otherwise you’d have a heart attack from the panic and dread that’s pulsating in your veins, inhibiting you from thinking clearly and quickly. I’m going to have to brave it. There are probably other men around here like that big one who are watching me right this moment. It was a matter of now or never.

Ascending the stairs with all the agility your rather unfit self could muster, you tried to peep into the single window of the door, but it was covered with thick layers of old newspapers. It didn’t just look run-down from this close up—it looked abandoned. As it was meant to, you had surmised.

You tried the rusty doorknob, not knowing whether to feel relieved or alarmed at how it twisted easily in your grip and gave way, the door opening. Easing it open further, you peeked inside, squinting, only met with inky darkness. Okay. So, this little house is not what it seems at all.

Obviously, there was something much larger connected to it, likely an extended interior of a building, so you braved it and slipped inside, clicking it shut behind you. You blinked several times, standing still to let your eyesight adjust to the darkness of the room, and finally started to creep forward further into the room.

It smelt musty and sour in there, like old, moth-eaten curtains in need of a good wash, and spilt beer from long ago staining the wood of the floorboards. There must be a door ahead.

Extending your hands, you tried to feel about the place to get a proper bearing on your surroundings. Your fingers brushed against something, and grasped it. It was warm, furry, and—

It squeaked in fright at your sudden grip, and you let out a muted shriek of your own, wrenching yourself back. There was the sound of hurried scrabbling, and you fought back the wave of nausea that had immediately drenched you at the realisation of what you had grabbed. Oh my god! That was a rat!

“Ew, ew, ew,” you softly whimpered to yourself, fighting back rising bile. Spooked, you wanted nothing more than to just turn around and head home at that moment. However, the sudden flicker of a light glinted in the corner of your eye, and you whipped around to see the faint sliver of an orange glow from the bottom of a door just over to your left. And then, abruptly, you heard the sound of three sets of stomping feet climb the stairs outside.

Thinking fast, you practically flew to the door, hastily feeling around for a lock, and almost cried in relief when you felt a deadbolt in the centre of the doorknob. Swiftly twisting it locked, you backed well away from the door and looked around, barely able to make anything out in that pitch darkness, before diving behind a shelf just out from the wall enough to squeeze in between.

The cobwebs were thick back there, and they instantly got stuck in your wig and tickled at your nose; the dust was so strong, you could barely restrain yourself from sneezing. Oh, please, please, please let there be no spiders back here! Your imagination was running wild and worsening your fear, bringing phantom sensations of little spider legs scuttling across your back and neck to life.

Tears pricked at your eyes from the dust and from fear as the doorknob rattled violently, before a masculine voice cursed and kicked the door in viciously. It was too forceful of a kick for the rickety old door to handle however, and in flew the door, crashing against the ground, its wood splintered and absolutely wrecked.

There wasn’t even any point in locking it! At least it gave you three seconds extra time to hide, though—and suddenly, all your fears about spiders back there behind the bookcase vanished as the sound of that thickset man stormed in—and, from what you could hear—there were two much smaller men flanking him. You didn’t dare to peep out from around the corner of the bookshelf; the books stacked on the shelves were so compact, not even a sliver of light shone through them.

A deep, harsh voice ordered, “I saw that bitch follow the Monsieur and creep in here after him. Turn this place upside down.”

‘The Monsieur’? Your blood turned to ice. André? Oh my god. Just how…big of a crime boss is he?

Who would have thought that you—an average, normal and utterly harmless young woman—would ultimately get involved with even more unscrupulous dealings almost ten years on from the death of the main perpetrator—your mother? If you were trying to laugh this off, you would’ve mentioned how it sounded so ridiculous, it was like it was right out of some shoddy crime/mystery novel. However, these men were on the hunt for you, and it was only a matter of very little time until they checked behind this shelf and dragged you out.

This can’t be real. You pinched yourself, shaking. I have to be dreaming. There’s no way this is reality!

You crept back further in behind the bookshelf, praying the darkness back there would be enough for them to miss you. You listened as the men trudged around, making a huge ruckus, the determination to find you evident in the mere volume and forcefulness of their movements.

And then the sound of a door clicking open sounded, and the three men immediately stopped.

Silence. You didn’t even dare to breathe. Hand over your mouth, you stared at the shadows cast by the light from outside, only stopping at the edge of the bookshelf, before a voice finally began speaking after ten long seconds of agonisingly tense stillness.

“What’s all this, boys?” It’s André. You could just imagine him standing in the doorway of wherever he’d emerged from with his hands in his pockets, posing languidly, like always. “You’re making an awful racket. I could hear you all the way from the end of the hall. I’m trying to focus, you know.”

Not a single word he uttered had lost that classic warm, friendly tone of his, but somehow—even though you’d never seen it yourself—you could easily picture the iciness in his smile. So easy-going, so unpredictable.

“Oh, boss, I’d spotted someone tailing you, sneakin’ around up here,” one of the men said, presumably the huge one. “A woman. Wearin’ a wig. She’s in here somewhere.”

“Yeah?” There was the sound of two slow footsteps entering the room. “Wonder who it could be.” Two more sounded, and they’d edged closer to the bookshelf. Stifling a fearful gasp, you flattened yourself best you could completely against the wall, its paper yellowed and peeling, scratching against the material of your trench coat. It elicited a soft scritch-ing sound, and the room had been so silent, you were almost sure they’d have heard it.

“Any guesses, mes amis?” André stopped right in front of the bookcase, and you heard him tap on the hard, dusty spine of some long-forgotten, neglected book stored in the shelf right above your head. “I’d like to hear them, if you don’t mind.”

“I reckon it’s your missus-to-be,” said an unfamiliar voice, its tone nasally and sneering. “You said she’d been actin’ pretty fishy as of late, boss.”

His two other companions concurred in unison, snickering to themselves. You didn’t see what was so funny about this—but then, you supposed, and you were the one who was going to be on the receiving end of whatever sinister outcome André had planned for you.

“Sound suppositions, boys,” André’s lilting voice singsonged, grating on your anxious nerves. He slowly slid out whatever book he had ‘selected’, and a sliver of light instantly shone in from the gap in the books. You swiftly ducked down even further, practically lying flat on the ground, and revulsion almost made you gag from the rat and mice droppings you could feel littering the floor below you. Hurry up, Navia! “I’ve been wondering what to do with her. Maybe this time, I’ll finally have a reason to be rid of her, yeah?” “Haw-haw! She’s doin’ all the work for us—” “Boss!” A new, urgent voice called from outside, and the sound of frantic running ensued. It swiftly stopped right outside the (now doorless) entrance to the cabin. “We have a problem!” André’s voice didn’t even waver from its signature cool, humorous cadence. “Ah. What’s got you in such a right panic, Alain?”

“It’s the blasted Spina, Monsieur. They’re causing trouble again. Much of it.”

André must’ve cracked open the book he picked out, for the sound of it suddenly snapping shut made you flinch roughly. “Is that so?” His tone wasn’t so warm anymore. “Is it the president’s darling daughter skylarking about in my business again?” “I-I’m afraid so, sir. She’s—”

“No matter. Let’s go. Seems as if I must have a bit of a chat with the girl myself, this time.” One pair of booted shoes marched for the entrance, followed by three more. “Calvin, you stand guard here. If my fiancé tries to leave, feel free to knock her out.”

“Yessir.” You didn’t know whether to be glad it was not the big huge guy assigned to stand guard, or whether to start fretting over the fact that he was just toying with you this entire time. He knew I was hiding behind here! Oh, thank the Archons he was interrupted!

It appeared that the fuss Navia must’ve been kicking up was of much more demanding urgency than you being hidden in this room. You waited until André and his companions’ footsteps faded, before straightening from your position on the ground. A plan was hatching in your head. Let’s just see who will really be the one getting knocked out around here, André Banville.

The bookshelf was tall enough for you to stand to your feet and quietly brush yourself off while keeping you hidden. A few of your bones popped and clicked from the stretch. Ugh. I’ll be needing a good long shower after this!

You looked around on the bookshelf, searching for a book big and heavy enough to smack this ‘Calvin’ over the head with and knock him out cold. Soon, you spotted a huge tome quite high above your head, and you lifted yourself up onto your toes to grasp it.

How will I have the strength to swing it around? This one is huge! It didn’t occur to you just how much adrenaline was racing through your veins, and how much of a boost in vigour that is. You finally got a grip on it, and began slowly, gradually, and quietly easing it out from its spot in the shelf.

It took up much of your energy, having to be so quiet. The man standing guard in the doorway didn’t know exactly where you were in that room, and you didn’t want him to find out until it was too late—for him.

“Alright, lady, you can step out now,” came his voice—and you groaned under your breath at recognising just which one of the men Calvin was: the nasally-voiced one, the sort that reminded you of a rat. “You ain’t got nowhere to run, y’know. The boss will prob’ly be havin’ a tonne of fun with you tonight.”

And so you did. You stepped out from your hiding space, quiet as a cat, keeping to the shadows, with an enormous tome in your hands. You slowly circled him, watching his every move like a hawk, slowly approaching him. He seemed utterly unaware, merely continuing on with that sneer of his on his grimy face. “He’s been waitin’ for this, y’know—waitin’ for you to come to yer senses and realise what ’e’s been up to. Was dreadin’ the wedding day ’n everything.”

Is that true? Even with all these questions flying back and forth in your head, you continued to approach the pathetically oblivious man, tome held over your head, ready to bring it down on his. “Better cherish yer last moments, I’d say—”

“Boo.” For dramatic effect, you sidled up to him and hissed into his ear, making the man leap out of his skin with a very unmanly screech. You didn't give him any more time to react, however, as you quickly swung the book down and onto his skull, whacking him over the head with every ounce of strength you had left.

A resounding crack sounded once the book made contact with his cranium, and he flopped to the ground, without a sound, face-first, his musket clattering from his hold and to the ground.

Did I kill him? You almost froze with fear before you knelt down beside him and hastily checked his pulse. The blow you dealt to his skull was stronger than you intended, and you heard it fracture—a sickening sound you never wanted to hear again. Feeling at his wrist, you almost slumped over with relief once you felt the faint pump-pump in his arm, meaning he was still alive, but you likely gave him brain damage with that bash you dealt. And you found that you didn’t really care if you did.

Straightening, you brushed off your hands and looked to the wide-open doorway André had emerged from, squinting into the darkness of the hall leading on. A pale yellow glow shone faintly at the end of the hallway and, without wasting another second, you stepped over the unconscious body of Calvin’s and rushed into the hallway.

Soon enough, you came to the end of it, standing before an ajar door. You could hear jazz music, of all things, softly trickling out from the office, and you pushed the door open, closing it back to its same ajar state as it was before, and thus striding into the room and taking it all in,

Towering bookshelves lined the walls, and the desk in the middle of the room was cluttered and stacked with papers, books, folders and binders absolutely packed full to the brim of more papers. A single fountain pen sat idly in a jar full of ink, and that’s when you realised it.

This is his base. You walked in further and picked up a random piece of paper. It was some kind of document, going on about proceedings for the (illegal) shipment of firewater to Mondstadt.

Firewater. You flung the paper away from you like it had burned your hand. Oh my god. Don’t tell me.

Unwilling to dally any longer, you swiftly settled in at his desk and began rummaging through his drawers, cabinets—everything that you could find that had something of importance in it.

And from what documents you could find, each one was one horror after the other. He runs an entire syndicate! Document after document displayed crucial information regarding dealings André had been doing—for the past seven years.

“Oh my god…” you gasped to yourself, reading the date of one record. It was an entry penned by André’s very own hand—written the day after you met André for the first time. It read, Located the woman’s daughter. Won’t be long until she introduces me to her brother. Finally, the ledger can be put to use.

Ledger? You felt lightheaded, as if the blood had been drained from you. And…is he talking about my mother? Is that who ‘the woman’ is?

Hurriedly, you yanked open another drawer and heaved out what items were stored in there—and a leather-bound notebook slipped out from the bundle of papers and plopped to the desk.

With shaking hands, you picked it up, unclipping its clasp, and easing it open.

There was a name written inside of the cover—and it was your mother’s name.

Bloody hell! You leapt from André’s chair you had sat in and clutched at your hair, ripping off the wig. Gods! I knew we’d missed something! If you didn’t get rid of this account book—this final remaining piece of evidence of your mother’s existence and her organisation, of her legacy—you and your brother would be in dire, dire danger from not only André and his associates, but also the court.

You flipped through the ledger, reading your mother’s handwriting, inspecting all of the recorded transactions of firewater and illegal substances and weapons—as well as the trading of classified parliamentary information for sky-high prices, paid for by the Fatui.

As you rapidly flipped through the pages, almost tearing the papers in your haste, the written annals and logs penned by your mother came to an abrupt stop. There was just nothing after that, leaving about a quarter of what paper was left in the ledger, blank.

Something caught your eye—a folded slip of yellowed paper peeking out from the very back cover of the ledger, left tucked into the book for a long while. Hands trembling so violently, you could barely get a grip on it, you pulled it out and placed the ledger down, unfolded the piece of paper.

Inside was a letter. And it was from your mother.

To my dearest son and daughter,

I was never a good mother to either of you. I neglected you, all for the sake of nothing, in the end. Without any other choice, I founded a hub for criminals, something that would make me money without having to resort to the final pis aller and sell my body for a coin. No brothel would take in a middle-aged woman, anyway. Instead, I opted to get my hands dirty instead. With a lot of blood, if all amounted up. It shames me, it does, and I know it sounds as if I was making excuses, but I really had no choice.

If you are reading this, it could be that you were snooping around, or that I am dead. I suspect the latter more. As I write this, I can only hope that you do find and have the chance to read this someday. Please don’t let this ledger fall into the wrong hands. You must get rid of my legacy completely, and lead better lives than I.

I am undeserving to ask for this, but,

Love,

Mother.

Tears blurred your vision completely, and you gasped back a sob. With violently quivering fingers, you set the letter face-down, collapsing into the chair behind you.

Curse you! You inwardly swore, forcing back the wails fighting to burst out. Curse you! Look at this mess you made! That you left for me to clean up! It had become like a hereditary curse—an ancestral sin—she had left on you, just like in those fantasy books, one that is inescapable, and always reveals itself in the lives of at least one of the forebearer’s offspring. That being your mother, in this case. And, oh, had it revealed itself—the entire blissful reality with André was nothing but a fraud—he was nothing but a fraud—and it was falling apart right before your very eyes.

In the midst of your misery and fight to regain your rationality, you spotted some kind of logo in the corner of your eye, printed in harrowing dark green ink on the top left corner of a document tossed on André’s desk, one you hadn’t picked up before, and you weakly shoved the manila folder dumped on top of it away, exposing it to the light fully.

Your eyes narrowed, your stomach rolling in foreboding. Hold on…does that say…? You dearly hoped it didn’t. That would mean…

It was a brand’s emblem—in this case, the official coat-of-arms, of sorts, for André’s organisation.

The Fulbert Union.

A door slamming open wrenched you from your thoughts before you could fully process what you had just found. Startled, you flinched back at the sound, your head snapping up, and you were met with the glacial stare of your fiancé.

“You probably won’t believe me, but…” André strolled casually into the room, prowling towards you, flicking open a lighter and bringing a cigarette to his lips, igniting it, before inhaling a long, drawn-out, insouciant drag of it. He tapped it, breaking the ashes from its end, letting the dead embers flutter to the floor as he puffed out a substantial haze of smoke. The smell made you want to gag. “I really did enjoy the time we spent together. You know, going around town, going on those dates, me spending money on you—you see, it was all for a good benefit, in the end.”

“That benefit being me—your source of profit—‘in the end’?” “You catch on quickly,” he smiled, but his eyes did not. “That’s another thing I’d always liked about you. However, I liked you better when you didn’t ask questions, and you stayed out of my business.”

For every step he took towards you, you took three back. You wanted nothing more than to poke that alight cigarette into his eyes and burn them out—and you glared such sentiments at him, making sure he knew it. “I don’t have the words to express how much I want to strangle you right now.”

“The feeling is quite mutual.” André’s tone was warm, but it was the kind of warmth that scalded, that killed. “You poking around in here has, essentially, signed your death warrant. And would you look at that—” he held up a piece of paper, and it was a death certificate, with your name and personal details all written out in neat penmanship—ready to be presented to the mortician at any time. “—I actually have it all written up right here. Thank you, mon bijou, for making things so convenient for me.”

“Do you know how pathetic you sound right now?” Desperation to get the hell out of there wasn’t letting you think, and you were only left to just blurt out any old hateful word you could to try and land some kind of blow on him before you met your end. “I see it now. You’re one massive egomaniac—and if I think about it, you always were.”

André coolly arched a brow, unfazed by your insults. “Slandering me to my face won’t achieve anything, honey. In fact, to me, it just sounds like you’re eager for death. Well, then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” You didn’t even have time to blink when he shot forward, throwing something purple at you—and you realised, in the blur of the moment, that this man had a Vision, and was using the power of Electro on you to render you paralysed for a time.

“Nope, not a Vision.” As if reading your thoughts, André held up a little circular object, and its dark, warped, swirling interior beneath its glass encasing conveyed its true nature. “It’s a Delusion, dearest. Kind of what you’ve been living in for the past three—no, seven—years.”

He had a hand wrapped around your throat tightly, and you didn’t have the strength to fight his grip. The Delusion’s electrifying power had successfully weighed down your bones and dulled your nerves so you were like lead. Completely at his mercy—something that this man did not have for you.

“It’s really a shame for you, you know? You could’ve played along, and I would’ve given you a quiet death later on, maybe a few months after our wedding. Died of perfectly natural causes—maybe taking a little ‘tumble’ off a cliff as we stroll about the landscape together on our honeymoon, falling deathly sick from ‘food poisoning’, or, maybe—” Something else replaced his hand—and this new grip on your throat was dry, coarse, and it burned as it was wound around your neck. You let out a desperate, choked and muffled shriek as you realised what it was. He’s going to strangle me! Hang me from the ceiling! “—a bit more of a tragic demise, such a devastating end for the family—death by suicide.”

The noose was fully wound around your throat, and André seemed satisfied with its taut grip on your neck. He stepped away from you, the rest of the rope in his hold, as he smiled malevolently down at you, slinging the rope over a little hook in the ceiling, and then he paused to continue chatting. “Had that hook up there installed the other day. Wasn’t actually meant for this—but, well, I’d say I’m a bit of a master at making better of a rather dull situation.”

You couldn’t even lift your arms to clutch at the rope, the shock he had dealt to you was too potent, too much for your body to overcome. Help me! Someone, please, help me! But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get anything else other than a pathetically soft whimper out. It amused André immensely, seeing you struggle so hard. “I find myself feeling very grateful that you never asked for sex or whatever. It pained me to even propose to you. You get me? My tastes in women are much more…” he looked you up and down with a scrutinising, rather repulsed gaze, and you felt his words and loathsome stare pierce you in your stomach. “…Refined. Anyway! That’s as irrelevant as you are, really. You helped me out a lot today, mon bijou. I owe it to you. Here’s your payment.”

And then he began pulling; heaving you up bit by bit, higher and higher, tightening the rope’s grip on your throat to the point where it broke the burned skin of your nape and bled—squeezing your throat so tautly to the point where air flow through your larynx was completely cut off.

Panic had embedded itself into every fibre, every cell, every atom of your body, and the despairing fight to survive never relented—but it was pointless. You were finished. All your brain could manage now was to flash every good and bad memory you possessed right before your eyes—and, as if to taunt you in your final moments, it showed you all the happy times of laughter and camaraderie with André, with your brother, with Elvira, with your workmates. But it was especially with André, as he had become the sole source of the best memories you had, and you detested it. Why must it be his face I look upon fondly as I die, when he is my killer? The gods must have truly, truly abhorred you—for a reason you will never know.

You were dangling in midair, not quite high enough up yet, and André was still talking. “Your suicide note is all written up—and in your handwriting, by the way—but, damn, if only you’d left it until we were back at the house. Then it would’ve looked a bit more convincing. How weird would it be if you randomly offed yourself in my office, huh?” He heaved a long-suffering sigh, as if fatigued at the mere thought of having to pose your murder as a suicide. “I’ll work it out. Actually, no, this is better…” André knotted the rope around the hook twice to make sure it held, before stepping back, hands on his hips as if to admire some artwork he’d created—that being your suspended frame hanging helpless above him. “I’ve got plenty of backup. We’ll just dump you somewhere—”

Black ants were crawling into the edges of your vision, gradually blotting out everything, obscuring that horrid face of his from your sights, and the memories were flickering out into nothingness, finally. You closed your eyes, accepting it. If this is how it ends, then this is how it ends. With what ability you had left to think, you could only pray that in your next life, you would be granted a better chance.

Faint, echoing sounds of commotion and yelling indistinctly resonated in your ears, but you were too far gone to decipher it. You barely even felt the rope being sliced just above your head and you dropping into someone’s hold, the person’s arms thin but strong, their perfume sweet, but mixed with sweat from exertion, and the sensation of curls brushing against your nose. You hardly felt any of that. All that was left was to fade away completely.

・・・・

“When I woke up, Navia, my brother and my sister-in-law were all passed out by my bed. They must have been at my side the entire time, waiting for me to wake up, for only the gods know how long.”

A gentle finger traces random patterns on your bare hip, his hand’s hold so warm, so soothing. Unwavering amethyst eyes gaze into your own, taking in your tear-stained face with no hint of judgement or criticism at all. “How long were you out for?” You frown, thinking. “Hm…Navia said something like…three or four days? I don’t know. Apparently, I was extremely close to death—if she and her men had been even half a minute late, I would not be lying here with you today.”

Neuvillette falls silent, merely continuing to gently massage your hip, his thumb rubbing circles into your flesh, as if to anchor you and help you feel consoled, seen. “…I find that to be a scary thought.”

You sniffle, choking out a feeble laugh. “Haha. That’s nice of you.”

“Nice of me? Is that all? Is that all you believe?” His arm encircles your waist and presses you flat against his torso, the ridges of his abdomen digging deliciously into yours, and he holds you so you’ve no choice but to stare up at him. That gaze of his holds such raw intensity again, it whips the breath from your lungs. “I wish you’d stop thinking like that. Why base your self worth on words a man who almost murdered you, and who is now dead, threw at you? His words mean nothing. They only have meaning if you allow them to. Why don’t the words of those around you who love you take precedence?” “Because it’s hard, Neuvillette.” You drop your eyes. They’re filling with tears again. Ugh, shouldn’t I be out of these already? “I—look, three years of what seemed like genuine love and affection and support, all razed to the ground in a matter of minutes. Insecurities that I had were ones he once told me were beautiful. How do you expect me to not believe that? But then he switches up as he’s killing me and says that his tastes are more ‘refined’,” you scoff, before drawing in a shuddering breath. “A-And then, he goes along and says that he was basically forcing himself to shower me with such warmth, and then he says that—”

“That’s enough,” Neuvillette softly commands, tenderly brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I see where you’re coming from. But, would you like me to tell you something?” You blink up at him, uncaring of the tears blurring your vision. “What?” you sniffle.

“In all my long years of living…” His lips meet your forehead. “I’ve never coveted something…” And then his mouth presses to your temple. “…So much. I never knew what it was like to want a person so dearly, so intensely, that I would gladly abandon all reason and precept if she so wished for it.” And he buries his face into your nape, lips ghosting over the scar on your neck, making you shudder in pleasure. “Precept that is my very being, what I live for—but what worth does it possess when she has such supremacy over it?”

“Neuvillette, I…don’t lie to yourself, you can’t—”

“Am I not one who has never been predisposed to lying?” Neuvillette peers up at you earnestly from his spot in your nape. “What makes it so hard for you to believe?” He licks his lips, eyes lidded. “Well, then, if I must show you once more—”

“N-No! Th-That’s quite alright, I believe you…” His displaying of excessive amounts of affection has made your brain short circuit, and you bury your face into his hair instead. “I don’t want you to forfeit centuries of such eminent principles you’ve upheld all this time, for a single mortal woman.” You feel him still beneath you, and you take this chance to continue. “I am merely a fleeting affair, Neuvillette—something that will barely last twenty years. You cannot simply renounce a role of extreme gravity not just to this nation, but to surrounding ones as well, because I would say so—which I will never. You are the Chief Justice. You are impartial. I am not an exception.”

He is silent, and as you fall quiet too, your own words settling in, and you realise just how hurtful your little speech had been. But the truth has always hurt, and it’s something you’ve long learned to face.

“…Happiness has always been a luxury for me,” Neuvillette finally says after a long, long moment of tormenting silence. “I just…want to indulge a little, for once.” “I know.” Your voice is gentle, comforting. “I know. But…unless there was some kind of way that I could become immortal and thus stick with you for the rest of your long life…this will only become a painful memory for you in the future.”

Neuvillette shifts beneath you, revealing his face. His eyes are thoughtful, but hesitant. They stare into yours for a few seconds before they lower. “…Yes. If only there was a way.”

Something in his gaze just now struck you with a peculiar feeling—what if he…knows a way? You’ve always surmised that this man is hiding some great secret from you—something directly involved with his true identity.

You’ve had your suspicions, but they’re not something you like keeping. And, it’s not really any of your business. If he is who you think he is, then there truly wouldn’t be a chance for you, anyway.

“You’ll move on.” You massage his scalp, and his eyes close in bliss, but a knot forms between his brows at your words. “You’ll eventually forget me. You’ll be fine.”

Neuvillette abruptly clutches you close, smothering your mouth with his, silencing you. “Stop being depressing for a moment,” he chuckles between kisses, relishing your surprised, soft squeaks and pants. “And let me make you happy.”

But his laughter is pained, forced, and you sense that—but you humour him anyway. The selfish part of you is saying, anyway, what’s there for me to lose? but you are not cruel.

Love is selfless. Love is kind. Love means considering your other half’s concerns over yours. If only that was something you had the privilege to do for him forever.

i have sat. at my mum's desk. for four days and eighteen hours straight, working on this MONSTROSITY of a chapter. TWENTY ONE THOUSAND WORDS. WHAT HAVE I DONE.

anyways i hope u guys enjoyed. i worked really hard on this one. i kinda enjoyed writing this chapter but then it fell off more towards the end. that much is clear.

taglist!

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