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theseeingfawn · 2 months

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Hi Everyone, I have been working on a small town Elriel fic for awhile now and finally decided to post. This is my first time writing fan fiction so please be gentle with me.

Summary:

Elain Archeron, beloved sweetheart of the quaint town of Hewn Hills, yearns for a life beyond the constraints and expectations placed upon her by her family and community. Azriel Rosehall, a captivating yet misunderstood outsider, struggles with the prejudices of the town as he endeavors to forge his own destiny. Drawn to each other by an undeniable connection, Elain and Azriel are determined to be together, even if it means bringing trouble to the charming small-town. “Everything that's worth having is some trouble. - L.M. Montgomery

Chapter 1: Matchmaker Mayhem | Read on A03

Elain

It's official, this is the worst date I have ever been on. It doesn't make sense. The man is gorgeous, almost devilishly so. I've heard nothing but praise about his charm and wit. I've even seen it myself when he didn't think I was looking. But, the man is a nervous wreck and awkward . Or is it me? Maybe we are just feeding off each other's horrible vibes creating a vortex of our own personal hell. I had been reluctant when my sister all but demanded I go on a date with her friend Lucien. For the last couple of years, all Feyre could talk about is how great Lucien is and how funny and on and on and on . It was almost nauseating. I felt like Feyre was close to hiring a skywriter to let the world know that I was destined for her best friend. Ever since she married Rhysand she has taken up the mantle of matchmaker. So, to spare myself from further harassment I relented. Sure, I knew Lucien, but we have never had a meaningful conversation. Nothing other than pleasantries. I also work hard to keep him at arm's length, despite how often we are forced to interact. I see I was right to keep my distance. He seems as reluctant to be here as I am. I almost feel sorry for him… almost .

I'm glad I had the foresight to pick Velaris as our meeting spot and not Hewn Hills, the small town in the suburbs, where we live. I adore Hewn Hills but it is full of nosy nellies and busybodies. My baby sister is the biggest busybody of them all. So, when I suggested my favorite upscale restaurant in the heart of the city, Lucien readily agreed. It would seem he isn’t a big fan of all the meddling either. Though, I assume for different reasons. Thankfully, no one we know is here to witness our nightmare of a date. It didn't make sense. Despite knowing Feyre for years, and serving on our town council together, Lucien doesn't seem to know a thing about me. Well, other than surface level stuff. I sighed internally, of course he doesn't know much about me. My sisters do not truly know me. They only see the version of me that they wish to see, not the real me. No one really did .

I sit here staring off into the distance like I'm lost in a vision, imagining the bubbly young waitress will come back to end my misery. Really, how many awkward silences must I suffer through? As if reading my mind, Lucien broke the quiet tension with a question. “So, you like to garden? What vegetables do you grow,” Lucien asked with the enthusiasm of a root canal patient.“I actually don't grow vegetables, just flowers and herbs for my shop. Vegetables are much more difficult to grow than people realize.” He nodded. Please, where is the waitress.Then it occurred to me, I could use the bathroom and get away. Maybe I could slip out the window and run. What would he do? Tell my sister I gave him the slip? I'd pay good money to see that. No one would believe him. Yes, sneaking out is the answer. I feel like I've won the lottery for coming up with this brilliant idea. “Excuse me, I am just going to freshen up,” I say with syrupy sweetness. I hope I look graceful and not like I am barreling toward the back of the restaurant like I am fleeing the scene of a crime, but I doubt it. Once behind the closed door of the single occupant bathroom I take my first deep breath of the evening. I look around but there is no window, just a floor to ceiling mirror. Son of a bitch. I sigh and gaze at my reflection searching for an answer. Maybe it was my appearance that rendered him stupid. I’ve heard all my life that I’m beautiful. Not the polite kind of beautiful that every mother dotes onto their daughters. But, the type of beauty that could be used. Before she died, my mother dressed me up like her own personal Barbie doll. Taking personal credit for my appearance and awkwardly telling anyone who would listen that I got it from my mama. I cringe just thinking about it. Even my father had dragged me along to client dinners to dangle me in front of prospective clients like a juicy carrot. My sister Nesta is always watching my back, weary of everyone's intentions. Feyre, the bane of my existence at the moment, all but pimped me out to the dullest man in Hewn Hills because she thought her friend's happiness was more important than mine. Just a pawn to be used to make her life more exciting.

That's not entirely fair.

I know I’m seen as a goodie goodie, a pushover. Maybe I am, I caved to Feyre's demands after all. My sisters love to remind me how I am too sweet for my own good. A chaste virginal angel that they must protect at all costs. My reflection taunts me. Not a hair out of place, a flawless exterior that was pleasing to the eye. But, what had that gotten me? A failed engagement. A cage of my own making. Putting everyone else first and myself second. I shake away the bitterness, burying it deep down. It could be worse. At least Lucien is polite and respectful. I could do this, I could muster some enthusiasm and carry on with this date. No matter how much I wanted to shrink into myself. He is just a man and once it was over I could tell Feyre I had given it my best effort but we weren't a love match. Though I knew I didn't give Lucien my best, in many ways I blame him for what happened with Graysen. I just wanted tonight to be over with so I could go home and binge watch tv without a bra on.

With a new sense of purpose, I step back into the bustling restaurant and head toward the table. Lucien has his back to me as he chats on the phone, “you don't understand Jurian. She's so… so… meek, boring even. I don’t know why Feyre keeps insisting we’re soul mates. I know, she is beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen but she is dull , a snoozefest. Just call me in five minutes with a fake emergency so I can bow out.” Stunned, I dropped my head in defeat. Well, I couldn't blame him for wanting out of the world's most awkward first date. But, to call me meek and boring is just mean. I fought the urge to cry. No need to spill tears over Lucien Vanserra. Besides, it's not like he is the sly and charming man I've heard everyone drone on about. He is the snoozefest. He has barely said a word to me all evening. He is the headliner of the snoozefestival. How dare he!!!

I slide back into my chair and slap on the biggest fake smile I can muster. “Has our waiter stopped by?” I asked, pretending that I don't want to kick him in the shin. “No, not yet. This place is getting packed. It's hard to even hear what you're saying, we can just listen to the music and Ow!” Lucien hunches over and grabs his leg. “Oh my, I'm so sorry! I went to cross my legs but didn't realize you were so close,” I feigned innocence as I bat my eyes at him. I turn my head from his scowl before I start laughing. My eyes peruse the growing crowd of people streaming through the door and there he is.

His dark hair swept back off of his face, dressed in an immaculate black suit that hugs his sculpted form. I don't let myself admit this often but I have a tiny, itty bitty crush on Rhysand's mysterious brother, Azriel . Even his name is beautiful. I have only interacted with him at family functions but the sight of him alone is enough to make me swoon. He is always busy working some sort of mysterious job. I never get a straight answer on what it is that he does because it is all very hush hush. I caught bits and pieces from eavesdropping on conversations when no one was paying attention to me. They rarely pay attention to me. I know it involves surveillance work and traveling, which only adds to his allure. I like to pretend he is a spy like James Bond or even a kingpin in the mob. A dangerous job for a dangerous man. At least I like to pretend he has a dangerous side, he certainly looks like he does. He has dark features and is always draped in black and cobalt blue clothing. He is stoic with a piercing hazel gaze that could slice right through you. He is hard to read but I feel like his eyes give him away. It's the way the corners wrinkle slightly or glow brighter when he is happy. It's how directly he stares when he is mad and fighting the urge to speak out. Despite his appearance, he is always kind and thoughtful toward me. He holds the door for me or pulls out my chair at the dinner table. One time, after I spent all of Thanksgiving day cooking, he took the serving dish from my hands so I could sit down and enjoy the meal I worked so hard on. He even made everyone wait until I sat to eat. Men are rarely that chivalrous these days. The memory sends my heart racing. Azriel is quiet, but not awkward the way Lucien is currently behaving. He is confident and reserved in a way that adds to his enigmatic persona.

I watch him as he walks through the door and turns to the stunning blonde behind him, Mor. He was on a date with her . I recall the time I overheard Feyre telling Nesta that Azriel was in love with Mor. It made sense I suppose, she is gorgeous and has a way about her that makes it seem like she was lit from within. But a part of me doesn’t believe it. Feyre is often wrong about these kinds of things. Look at me and Lucien, she thinks we are fated. But, this date feels like pulling teeth. “Elain, did you hear me?” I shook myself out of my daze, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lucien let out a sigh, “I asked if you like bread,'' Confused, I looked at the basket that was placed in front of me. I want to roll my eyes. Does he not remember that I own a bakery? “Who doesn't like bread, Lucien?” He scoffed, “you would be surprised, there are people out there who can't tolerate it.” I blink once, and then again. “That was a joke,” he states as if he were teaching humor to a martian. “Oh,” is all I can muster as I look at the bread, pleading with it to save me from this man. A dad joke, really?

Suddenly there is a long dark shadow cast over the table. My eyes shoot up to meet hazel ones. “I hope I'm not interrupting,” Azriel says, appearing like an answered prayer. “Azriel! It’s so good to see you,” I beamed, hoping the relief in my tone isn’t as obvious as it seems. The corner of his mouth ticks upward, “it's good to see you too Elain. I hope you have been well.” Gods he is beautiful and tall. Why is he so tall? He smells divine. I wonder if he is just visiting for a few days? Lucien clears his throat. I look at him, realizing I am still on a date. “Azriel, this is Lucien, you know, Feyre's friend.” Azriel slowly turns to Lucien and dips his head in greeting, turning back to me. “I didn't expect to see you out in the city,” he says with a curious look in his eyes. I smile shyly, “I'm… here on a date.” He looks back to Lucien slowly raking his gaze up and down, a hint of displeasure in his assessment. “I see. I'm just grabbing a bite with Mor.” He turns towards his companion who is sitting at a table across the restaurant. “I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I’ve taken a new assignment and will be in this area for the next few months. Hopefully we will see more of each other.” My smile widens, I would certainly love to see more of him. Azriel's lip quirks up ever so slightly on one side. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Lucien apologizes and grabs his phone, a puzzled look on his face. “Hold on. It's my roommate. It's odd he is calling since he knowsIi'm on a date.” He answers it quickly, while holding up a finger to shush Azriel and me. “Wait, what's wrong? Calm down.” Wow, he is really committing to the bit. “Are you sure? Okay… I am on my way,” he ends the call and looks up. “I'm sorry to have to do this but there's an emergency and I'm going to have to end our date early.” I fight back a chortle. “Oh no! What kind of an emergency, a flat tire or dead grandma?” Azriel coughs and turns away. Lucien looking stunned mutters out, “uhhh a flat tire.” I wave over the waitress who miraculously appears from nowhere, “Can we get our check?” I turn back to Lucien, “Sorry to hear about your roommates flat tire. I hate when that happens.” Before Lucien can reply, the waitress comes back with the bill. It's for two drinks and a bread basket. I start to pull out my wallet when Azriel clears his throat. Lucien looks from me to Azriel. Azriel asks with an unamused expression, “Aren't you going to pay, since it's a date?” My jaw nearly hits the floor. Lucien sputters and fumbles for his wallet. Hastily slinging a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Well it's been… a date. I will catch you around Elain.” Lucien shuffles around the crowd making a hasty exit. I keel over in a fit of quiet laughter the second Lucien bolts for the door. You know the kind of silent laughter where your shoulders shake and you can hardly breathe? That kind. I feel a warm rough hand stroke my upper arm sending a shiver down my spine. “Hey, it's okay, don't be upset,” came the soothing timbre of Azriel's voice. I look up to see his worried expression and start laughing even harder. His hand stills on my arm and grips me lightly. “Why are you laughing?” he asks, bemused by my giggling fit. I wipe away a few wayward tears as I fight back a bout of hiccups. “ it's just… it's just…” I snort. An honest to gods snort so loud that it draws the attention of at least three neighboring tables. Azriel is smiling fully now. A toothy smile that I just know he rarely gives to anyone. It over takes his whole face making him somehow even more handsome. Seeing him this way suddenly calms my laughing fit and I clear my throat. “It's just, we were having the worst date in the history of dates and he was so desperate to get away he made up an excuse to bail. But, I have to say his acting was pretty solid.” Azriel looks at me a little stunned, “you're not upset, not mad?” I smile again, “I can’t blame him, I wanted to escape through the bathroom window but they didn't have one.” His smile lingers as he stares at me. “You making him pay for the bill was just icing on the cake.” Azriel hums before saying, “it was the least I could do.” I stand and grab my small handbag off the table. “Well, Azriel, I’m happy I got the chance to see you. It’s been too long, I'm glad to hear you’ll be sticking around for a while.” He looks down towards his shoes and back up, the faintest blush on his cheeks. “Have a good evening,” I bid him farewell and walk out onto the street.

I stop to take a deep breath, cleansing myself of the bad date energy. It was terrible but at least I went out and could tell Feyre to back off. It had been several years since I had mustered the courage to date. Not since Graysen. I’m about to take a step when I felt a hand grab the back of my elbow. “Wait, I wanted to make sure you were truly okay.” I whirl around to see Azriel staring down at me. My heart flutters once again, the way it always does in his presence. His face was elegant with high cheekbones, a fine nose and a sharp jawline. In the halo of the street lamp he looked like a fallen angel. His scarred hand was still on my arm, a rose tattoo covered the back of it. “That's very thoughtful of you, but truly I’m okay. My pride is a little wounded but I'll get over it.” He studies me for a long moment before he leans in, “You're too nice Elain.” I stiffen but can't exactly argue. “He's a fool you know? Any man would be lucky to date you.” My stomach fills with butterflies. It was my turn to blush under the weight of his sincere gaze. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You should get back to your date, Azriel. I would hate to take up any more of your time.” He looks over his shoulder and back to me, as if confused. Maybe he was remembering where he was and what he was doing. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you need me to take you home? You could join us…” his thumb tenderly rubbing up and down my arm. He was probably just being kind because I'm Feyre's sister. The thought saddens me. “I'm sure Azriel, no need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.” He looks unsure or perhaps he is just reluctant to let me go. His hand is still stroking my arm. “It was lovely to see you, maybe we can catch up another time?” A smile tugs at my lips, “I'd like that.”

Azriel

I can't believe my luck. I get back into the city and happen to bump into the girl I have been obsessing over for months. Truth be told, I have a thing for Elain Archeron. How could I not? She is gorgeous and so incredibly kind. She radiates joy and has a way of making everyone around her feel special. I am normally so good with the opposite sex. Hell I have quite the reputation as a ladies man but something about her leaves me feeling like a lovesick teenager. I wish I had a reason to make her stick around and spend the evening with me but I know I probably shouldn't.

I watch Elain walk away down the crowded street. Utterly lost in the way the wind catches her long golden hair. The way her dress skims over her gentle curves. What I wouldn't do to get the chance to touch her. I exhale slowly, burying my thoughts on her deep down, as I always do. I walk back into the restaurant and sit across from Mor. Once, many years ago I thought I loved Mor. But I mistook her kindness for love. I had never been around a girl my own age until I met her. She is so gregarious and radiates confidence. So when she doted on me, I read the signals all wrong. I built up something that was never really there. It took too long to discover that Mor preferred women. Even after, I held out hope that she would change her mind. Truth be told, it allowed me to keep other women at a distance. If I hid all of my feelings in the safety of Mor's friendship I never had to address my own issues with intimacy. But, I was done hiding behind Mor and living in denial. I started to realize I could never be happy if I didn’t face reality, no matter how scary it was for me to open up to her. It was awkward and she was hesitant to even hear me out. It was worth it though, because now she was my friend and one of my closest confidants.

“So, how was sweet Elain?” she asks. Elain didn't know Mor well, but Mor knew all about Elain. Mor being a family friend of Rhys’ was well informed on the Archeron sisters. “She seems okay, though it looks like she was having a bad date. He actually ditched her.” Mor gapes, “that piece of shit! Who was it?” I sneer, “Lucien Vanserra.” Mor rolls her eyes, “seems as though Feyre finally wore her down.” l hum in agreement. I’ll never understand why Feyre thinks Lucien and Elain would make a good pair. I suspect she wants Lucien to stick around and worries he wouldn’t without some other incentive. Feyre dated Tamlin, Lucien’s former college roommate and friend. After the nasty break up Lucien had taken Feyre’s side. But, he had grown distant and their friendship never fully recovered. So, she clings to the hope that if Elain marries Lucien he will become a permanent fixture in her life. Feyre also loves to meddle in other people's lives. She likes to think she has a gift for connecting people but in reality she is terrible at it. No, truly terrible. Her own love life until Rhys had been a shitshow so it puzzles me why Feyre thought so highly of her skills in the love department. I know Elain is too good for Lucien. I don't hate the man but he doesn’t seem like the type of man she needs. Especially after his pathetic stunt this evening.

I think back to Elain, how utterly beautiful she looked. The way her skin seemed to glow, how her face lit up when she laughed. The utterly intoxicating smell of her jasmine perfume. I hate the thought of her dating Lucian. I hate the way they look together, the way she seems to shrink around him. She is a bright shining light in a world of darkness. She deserves someone who appreciates how special she truly is.

“Hello, Earth to Azriel,” Mor says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I'm sorry Mor, what were you saying?” She sighs. “I should have known the second you saw her that I'd lost your focus for the evening.” My eyes snap up, face utterly unreadable. “What's that supposed to mean?” Mor pats my hand and I pull it away. I hate it when people touch my hands . “Don't play dumb with me Azriel. I know you too well.” I narrow my eyes, weighing my next words carefully. “I'm not playing dumb. I'm just concerned after Lucien ditched her.” Mor gives me an unimpressed look. “For what it's worth, I think you should ask her out. You two would make the hottest couple.” She pumps her eyebrows at me suggestively. “I'm not going to ask her out… that's absurd… Why would you even suggest that?” Mor tilts her head back and laughs, “oh you have it bad.” I give her an incredulous look, “I can't date anyone, I travel too much for work, not to mention it could be dangerous. Besides, I'm not interested in falling in love.” She gives me her no nonsense face. I want to protest but there is that old saying about protesting too much and I don't want to egg her on. “Let's just drop it and enjoy our evening,” I say, refusing to take the bait. Mor sighs, “here's the deal Azzy, I will enjoy a lovely meal, which you are paying for, by the way. But, I'm not forgetting you are pining after you know who.”

“Fine,” I bite out.

“Have you decided where you are going to stay?” She asks in a tone that feels suspiciously like prying into more than just my place of residence. I shrug, “My assignment is in Windhaven.” Mor scrunches her nose in distaste. Not that I blame her, Windhaven is a shithole. “I don't have to live there full time, but I do have to stay a few days a week.” She nods, “why not stay in Hewn Hills?” There it is, her not so innocent suggestion. It's like she knows what I have planned. She knows me too well. I eye her suspiciously. “Don't give me that look, Az. Velaris is too far from Windhaven, and Hewn Hills is adorable.” It is a nice town, I wouldn't call it adorable. Though there is something there worth adoring . “They have great hiking trails, the parks are beautiful, and the downtown is just like Stars Hollow.” I sigh, “you don't have to convince me Mor, I've already booked a bed and breakfast.” She squeals, and I feel a headache forming. I rub my temple, “don't get too excited. It's the most logical choice.” She claps excitedly, “oh i just love it there, and now I have another reason to visit. You know I love Rita's and don't get me started on Petals.” I give her a perturbed look and pray to the gods that she doesn't read into anything more than she already has. There is only one reason I’m staying in Hewn Hills, Elain . Seeing her with Lucien tonight only reinforces the notion that I need to be close to her. Is it the smart thing to do? No, but I can’t seem to keep away. I’m just glad Mor’s job will keep her distracted from joining Feyre in competing for the biggest pain in the ass award.

#elriel #azriel x elain #elain x azriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic

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ataraxiaspainting · 11 months

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Hier Encore I.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), manipulation, references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and past stalking.

Word Count: 18k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

"She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

i. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow."

The sitting rooms in these types of hotels have always been your favorite place to sit because of the scenery. There is almost always a large window overlooking whatever city you are temporarily placed in with your captor, making everything below you seem insignificant. You see nothing other than your faded reflection in the window and blinking city lights that are so small they seem like a city of stars. At the same time, you can only touch the framed glass panes or the couch you are sitting on. You can only hear Chrollo’s pleased hums and the occasional page-turning of his current novel. You cannot feel or hear the world outside, no matter how much you try to imagine such.

When you were working, you would use your phone to notify others of what you were doing at work or when you would arrive home, but now you can't feel your pants pocket where the phone was usually kept. It would vibrate or chime loudly as its duty as your alarm and messenger. The phone, once opened, would relay your family members’ voices, or your boss’, or your assistants’. Even if some voices were secretly irritating to you before, you feel compelled to admit that they are better than hearing nothing other than the squeaky wheels of a room service cart or the air conditioner. You cannot feel the rest of your work uniform, a classic white dress shirt and black tie. You cannot hear your co-workers’ drunken laughs as they cheer with large glasses of beer in their hands. A small thud catches your attention, making you turn your head in that direction. Chrollo is putting his book down on the coffee table in front of you two. It is closed, with the cover facing upward, and the title in a foreign language. His cup is empty except for a few drops, having been previously filled with black coffee. Yours simply has room-temperature water, still filled to the brim. You make eye contact for a second or two, his eyes calm and composed. Chrollo breaks it as his arm reaches out towards his coffee cup. He picks it up with grace, sipping quietly before setting it back down on its porcelain saucer. A small smile forms on his pale lips as he looks at you.

"You seem rather bored, my dear. Would you mind conversing with me?”

“No, I would not mind.” You say, your lips moving to mimic his own with precision.

“Marvelous. Would you like to talk about anything in particular?” Chrollo asks, his left arm moving to rest on the couch.

“Anything you would like to discuss.”

“If you insist.” He places one of his legs over the other; his posture is relaxed but his stare is suddenly intense. “There is something I would like to ask of you. Tell me, do you enjoy being here with me?”

“I do. I needed some time to adjust, but I like it here. I have fewer responsibilities than what I used to have.”

“Wonderful.” Chrollo’s smile widens.

You know that he would not be pleased if you told him the truth; that you feel nothing for him aside from disdain. His softness would fade and give way to his true colors rapidly. An eye-catching crimson red specifically. It is the color of blood, danger, fire, some species of spiders and snakes… It is the color of danger and anger. Perhaps he would threaten to murder a dear friend of yours. Perhaps he would hit you. Perhaps he would isolate you even further by not returning for days at a time. Perhaps he will tie you to the bed. …Perhaps he will kill you. It would be easy, you know it from the bits of strength he has shown you. All it would take is a simple wave of his hand and–

“I enjoy having you here, beside me. Your presence is very comforting.” His eyes glimmer for what seems like less than a fifth of a second, a light that you learned only shows when he is curious about something.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

“I am glad you noticed.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “I do have something I want to ask you.”

“Well, what is your question?”

“Do you plan to try to run away from me?” His cold tone and facial expression are unlike the one he had a few moments ago.

“No. I do not.” You shake your head and take his hand gently. “What better place is there to be other than having you by my side?”

Chrollo’s eyes seem to soften at your answer. His posture returns to one of no worries. His shoulders are not as tense. His breathing is a bit steadier. He looks at your hand with a slight smile. He leans a bit towards you. He squeezes your hand lightly. You put your head on his shoulder to further convince him to believe the lie. Your captor hums with a pleased voice.

He is cold to the touch. It is like your hand is in a blizzard, a small warm flame surrounded by snow. There is a slight stinging sensation. It is colder than literal ice on your skin. Chrollo’s grip is tender yet strong, making it clear that he does not want to let go of your soft hand.

You feel his nose go into your hair and dare not do anything to stop it.

Your kidnapper inhales sharply and sighs fondly. His breath smells like mint; sharp, fresh, and cool. To distract yourself from the unpleasant truth, you look around the hotel room. There is a rose bouquet in front of you two, still fresh since you both arrived this morning. They are a deep burgundy color, similar to that of the city lights outside. The glass they were placed in is intricate with flower markings. The coffee table is rosewood by the looks of it, most likely polished right before you two came. The curtains on the sides of the large window are a fawn brown, obviously to match the roses. The carpet is a beige with chocolate brown swirl patterns on it. You try to follow one with your eyes but get lost in it after a few seconds. The couch you two are sitting on is beige as well. Perhaps the reason why this room is so dull is because of how colorful the city outside of it is. Designs like this are probably why this city has so many tourists. Either that or Chrollo chose its blandness specifically because he still wanted an aura of superiority, both literally with how high the hotel room is above and in spirit with the colors. It is ironic, but Chrollo’s white dress shirt is the brightest thing inside this room. You wonder if his clothing choice was on purpose too.

You know yours was. A black dress that stops just before your knees, with gold earrings and anklet. It is a part of your plan to lower his guard. You just washed your hair a few hours ago and put on a bit too much perfume. You walk with confidence yet not too much of it. It is similar to how you used to dress when you went to parties hosted by members of high society, tasked to butter them up a little to the higher-ups’ requests for funding public safety projects. Those people were pompous for certain, but still childish and easily fooled. Chrollo, on the other hand, is pompous but intelligent and a manipulator himself, hence why you have done this dance for the past thirteen months for him to lower his guard. You think it is working, but it is not time to escape just yet.

There are still matters that must be attended to. Like a possible escape route. You know that if you try to escape Chrollo in this hotel he will catch you quite quickly since this room is so small and he will for sure notice if the only hotel key is missing. Also, you note that you cannot know for sure whether or not Chrollo fully trusts you at this point. You plan to ask him to take you on a date tomorrow and then run away once you see an area with much fewer people. You will hide a change of clothes in your purse and change your appearance. You will use a false name from then on. You will try to notify your loved ones about your whereabouts and tell them to move within a few days to be safe just in case the Troupe knows where they live. Then you will try to go north then east using the money you have secretly been stealing from him. If he says no or still has a tight grip on you throughout the day, you will not try to escape that day and try within a few more months. You will repeat this process until you have escaped successfully. You must make sure that you have loosened Chrollo’s grip on you enough, otherwise, he will catch you quickly. Who knows what will happen after that? Who knows if you will ever get this chance again? The answer is most likely never.

“Your scent… it’s nice.” Chrollo whispers.

You bat your eyelashes at him as a response.

Chrollo’s eyes appear to be full of adoration. Your makeup is fully done, a style that you know your captor likes. Winged black eyeliner. Black eyeshadow. Dark red lipstick. Your hair is in a braid with your bangs just slightly covering your eyes. Your nails are painted a color to match your eyes.

Deep down, you worry if this is enough, too much, or too little. If it is too much, he will catch on fast, and you will pay dearly for the consequences. If it is too little, he shall not be impressed and not take you outside tomorrow. It has to be just right. Chrollo leans in closer, still making eye contact as you bat your lashes. His hand is still grabbing onto yours, but it seems to have gotten a little warmer because of the heat of your own. Either that, or you had gotten used to it.

“You truly are a sight… My girl…” Chrollo’s other hand makes its way to your cheek. There is a strong scent of flowers coming off of you. He leans in more until his face and yours are just inches apart. “You smell lovely… Let me taste you.”

You hide your disgust and nod your head.

Chrollo’s lips touch yours. The cold hand that was holding yours also makes it upward toward your other cheek and squeezes lightly. His fingers are thicker than yours. His fingernails are in pristine condition as usual. His wrists are bony. His skin looks callused, but in actuality, it is quite soft. There aren’t any scars or injuries on them, which is remarkable considering what he does for a living. You wonder if those he killed had touched his soft skin and thought they were being strangled by silk instead of actual human hands. His lips are soft too. Chrollo’s kisses always were elegant and gentle, but you think that is because you have tried your hardest to not disobey him. You wonder if the people Chrollo extorted information out of knew the touch of his lips. At least some of them knew, you think. Chrollo is attractive to many people, both rich and poor. He had told you a few stories such as when he had a sexual relationship with an older woman who had a high-paying role in government and one day he ran off with all of the riches in her safe. She died soon after. Chrollo says she died of a broken heart. You don’t know whether he meant she was mentally heartbroken and was joking with you or she had her heart mangled by Chrollo during her last few minutes alive. You don’t think you want to know the answer either.

Chrollo’s tongue starts to trace your lower lip with greed. You feel your heart nearly skip a beat. Let me out, you want to say. Let me out. It feels like you are black and blue all over from all the tall hurdles you had to jump through to make it this far. A voice in the back of your mind says that the outside will never heal your wounds, but giving in would. It is better to just give up, it speaks in the back of your mind with a forked tongue and unsettlingly calm tone. It would be better to just accept it. Perhaps Stockholm Syndrome is settling in, or it is just your hope for the future withering away.

Your kidnapper bites slightly on your lower lip and looks deeply into your eyes. His pupils are dilated.

You look down at his lips and notice the hue of your dark red lipstick.

Chrollo doesn’t seem to care as he pulls your face towards his own again. Either that or he did not notice it, but it is unlikely considering how perceptive he is. His cold hands hold your warm face in place as you feel his hot breath tickle your nostrils. His elbows go underneath your armpits and stab into the couch. You hear nothing except for his breathing because you look at the clock on the wall to distract yourself yet again. It is nearly midnight.

Your perfume smells like dahlias and roses, which Chrollo has mentioned liking on you before.

His right hand pushes your right cheek into the arm of the couch and he starts to suck and bite your neck.

Your skin is soft as usual, looking like porcelain.

Chrollo has complimented it before. He has complimented your scent before. He has complimented your makeup before. He has complimented your hair before. You look beautiful, there is always a genuineness in his tone that would make you feel slightly sick like you were going to throw up whatever expensive fruit or chocolate you had eaten. You would never voice it though, because that would mean all the progress you have made to lower his guard would be for nothing. It would only make him test your sufferance further by doing unspeakable acts against you or your loved ones. The only weapons he has not taken away from you are your tactical mind and honeyed words. If you play them correctly, you will eventually escape and live a somewhat peaceful life.

Chrollo moves upward toward your ear and nibbles at your lobe softly. “You are so beautiful, my precious.” He whispers. “So beautiful…” His perfume smells like sandalwood and musk. “Like a doll. Truly, you’re quite the sight to see…” Chrollo purrs.

His fingers trace the top of your hair.

“Like silk. So soft and gentle…” His fingers dance downward on your braid, twisting back and forth. “The shampoo I chose for you was a good choice.”

You smile.

“White jasmine…” A sweet and soft scent. Swirls of saccharine and fruit. A slight tart smell of citrus. Universally ambrosial paired with the bitter words that leave your syrup-covered lips; making a charming palette of a flavor similar to that of biting into a square of dark chocolate mixed with orange zest. The texture is not ever strange because of how well-crafted the chocolate is. It is not difficult to swallow but doesn’t melt in the mouth too fast either. The delicacy’s flavor stays in the mouth even after it is fully dissolved, coating each tooth in a substance that has a lovely bittersweet taste like honey mixed with black tea. “It suits you.”

*~*~*~*

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people.

A lot of them were on the lower floors, scampering away to locked exits like stray, captured cats, clawing and screaming at the metal doors to open. You sometimes envy them, for their time with the Troupe was short. They knew how their fate was going to end; swift and twisted. A quick punch. A sudden stab. A loud blast of a firearm. They knew how they were going to die. They comforted each other as they were ripped limb from limb.

You don’t know how you are going to die, or when you are going to die. You could die in a few seconds, a few months, or a few years. You could die by being shot, being poisoned, or being strangled. No one came to comfort you, and no one comforts you now. No one listened to your struggles and cries for help as you were pushed in a black car, gagged and restrained. No one helped you in one of your most desperate moments.

You are tired of doing everything with the person that made your life a living hell. You want to go back to eating dinner at a restaurant and not feel an unwanted hand on your thigh. You want to go back to sleep with a loose arm around you and not a strangling one. You want to go back to talking to someone you like about a topic you like and not think your every move toward freedom is a gamble.

1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people, leaving very few people to tell others of the tale. Perhaps you count, but you are presumed dead by the outside world so it wouldn’t matter anyhow. You are all alone and stuck in a situation akin to limbo.

*~*~*~*

Chrollo keeps batting his eyelashes at you across the dining table.

His hair is well-kept, he is wearing a fancy suit, and his nearly black eyes are wider and brighter than when you saw him last. It is well past sunset, the sky outside the window a murky, livid color. He is humming now, staring at you rather than the uncut steak in front of him. You are about to stop playing with your food when–

“Black is a good color on you.”

Your head jerks up. His eyes are even more vivid, and focused, while yours are uncertain. Your hand stops moving your fork to your mouth and falls back to the table lifelessly.

“Your dress,” he smiles.

“I…” You look down and close your eyes. You have to force your shoulders not to shake by thinking of happier times in your life. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You refuse to look at him for it will show what you are feeling. Your heart beats so fast that you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest. “I have something for you, after dinner.”

He has just come back from another successful heist in this city. It makes sense.

“I’m not very hungry, Chrollo.”

He hums. “You are going to go hungry.” You hear him place his cup of wine back onto the table. “At least eat the radish soup. You need to eat your vegetables.”

As if brought to existence by his words, you smell the bowl of vegetable soup beside the uneaten steak. You mostly smell the tartness of the tomato slices, big and bright. Mint comes second, fresh yet light compared to the tomato smell. You don’t smell the radish, though, despite the chunks of them being large enough to hardly fit in your spoon.

You open your eyes and lift your hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl. You take a piece of radish in your mouth, quickly chewing the peppery vegetable.

You still refuse to look at your captor. You just try to focus on eating the soup so you can at least temporarily avoid his gaze. You are never this nervous when you are about to try to manipulate someone into doing what you say, but Chrollo’s eye for tactics is about the same as yours. When you are almost done with your soup, you suddenly hear Chrollo’s chair move, followed by footsteps.

“You’re nervous.”

You shake your head and take the last bite of your soup. “I am not. I am just thinking about something, dear.”

He grabs the hand that was holding your spoon. His thumb makes circles around your own.

You take some of the quietest and quickest deep breaths and look at Chrollo, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into another deceitful smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. You already work hard enough as it is.”

Chrollo hoists you up and hugs you.

The window gives way to the starless night sky as dark as obsidian–the moon a slight crescent, and a snow white. It floats atop the carefully cut trees onto their tips and stays there, like a strung puppet in a finished puppet show, unmoving until called upon again by its master.

“What is my beautiful [First] worried about?” He murmurs.

“I was examining something.” Your fingertips graze against his palm. You plan to recreate the classic dance of Black Swan Pas de Deux, with you taking on the role of Odile. “Something most peculiar.” Your hand clasps onto his. “I am like a train. I can only run anywhere my rails take me. I suppose you are a new track I have yet to explore, and the only option is to move wherever it is you take me.” His hand feels warm, but not warm enough to comfort others. “It has been an unexpected journey with many stops, but it is my purpose to keep moving forward until the end. The end’s length feels far and I feel that only through death would the tracks cusp.” You stand up straighter than before and your breath echoes in his ear. “People focus more on the train’s condition than the tracks but the tracks are the most important part of the journey. Without tracks, trains would not exist. So, Chrollo…” You feel comfortably numb and not as timid as you were a few minutes ago. “How do you feel?”

You look into your captor’s eyes, and all you see is hell. The very gates of hell in the eyes of a human being. When judgment passes, all of your sins shall be weighed. The only way for your sins to disappear before that day is to lie.

The Devil himself is waiting for the moment when your mask shatters and gives way to a horrid monstrosity. Only then can he punish you for your misdeeds.

“...How I feel, huh?” Long, silent fingers move like a spider’s legs up and down your back. He is now reciprocating your dance by playing the role of Prince Siegfried. The gramophone plays Beethoven’s Für Elise. “I think you're a fascinating woman, darling.” His tone is gentle, contrasting with the usual coldness and detachment he carries so often. He moves his other hand to the side of your face and gently caresses your cheeks. “You're smart, creative, and strong. You have a unique charm that sets you apart from everyone else.”

Like a rose, Chrollo’s thorns and stunningly beautiful features cut deep into both your psyche and the world around you. He has spent what feels like years trying to pluck your petals off one by one in a game of effeuiller la marguerite, the logic behind it being a bizarre combination of many things. His stalk, the axis that connects all his reasons, would be simple curiosity. He was curious to find out where your traits stemmed from, what and who made you the way you are today if you were hiding something nefarious behind that bright smile and kind voice of yours, and thus began his hunt for more knowledge. His calyx, a shield made of his in the form of sepals, represents how protective he is of his deepest, darkest secrets. He has buried them all beneath a temple of fake phlegmatism and honesty. The petals of his biggest and most colorful flower lead his admirers astray so they could never uncover the real Chrollo, which you think is a mercy in itself. Most of those who have seen his true self are buried along with it soon enough.

You want to take a lighter and light him ablaze so that he shall never reroot in the soil around him. The only way you can do such a thing is to play a game of effeuiller la marguerite as well. This is the path you must take to get your freedom back.

The key is to follow the hidden rules.

That means doing things you find repulsive but he finds lovely.

That means kissing him when he comes back. That means letting him do what he wants with your body. That means lying straight to his face when saying you are attracted to him. It will all be worth it in the end, you tell yourself.

You hum, acting like those words that leave his mouth are the things you want to hear the most.

“Those eyes, so grounded yet divine, are the only ones worthy of reverence.” His pale lips twirl upward like a ballet dancer’s arms. “I shall be honored if you choose me to be your apostle.”

“Do you see yourself when you gaze into my eyes, my beloved?”

“I do.” His voice seems breathless, almost drunk, his mind above the clouds and fantasizing about the future. Your eyes are similar to that of a small, round mirror that can reflect light just like the surface of a pond does.

“I see myself when I look at yours as well,” You sigh with a pseudo impression of an amorous tone. “I suppose we are meant to be together.” Like an elegant ballerina, you relevé. “So, Chrollo…” Your lips are so close to his. Your voice is hushed, calm, and teasing. “I have a favor to ask.”

His eyes light up with adoration, similar to how Romeo first saw Juliet at the Capulet ball.

“Ask me for anything you wish for and I shall see to it that it is done.” The hand that is on your back clenches it a bit more.

“I would like to go somewhere tomorrow.”

“Hm? Where would you like to go?” Chrollo’s tone is now a mix of curiosity and hopefulness.

“The planetarium.” Your thumb circles his. “That is if you’d like to oblige my request.”

“Of course.” His fingers curl into yours. He smiles as he speaks, his tone soft and sweet. “I’d like to go to the planetarium with you, especially since you have such a desire to go.” There is a twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps afterward we can go to a cafe and sit in the park?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” He casts you an unfamiliar glance before your lips meet. You start to back away as he lets go of you, and you pick up your glass of water. You take a few sips before setting it back down on the table.

The absence of sound doesn't please you, as the music from the gramophone has ceased and Chrollo seems lost in thought. However, you're not bothered enough to not enjoy the silence. You are envisioning a future of peace, where your captor never finds you again.

Donned in velvet attire and sipping on tea, you frequent the sandy shores, observing the ebb and flow of the ocean. Undisturbed, you create music with your violin for an audience of one; yourself. A life of uttermost pleasure.

“I shall prepare for tomorrow, then.”

Chrollo nods with a satisfied hum.

“Very well.”

You slink off into the bedroom, grab your purse, and pack the money you had stolen from Chrollo’s jackets and pants. It is not much, but it should be enough to cover travel fees. You also pack more comfortable clothes and shoes to run in. They are clothes you have never worn, so they are the clothes most likely to not be recognized by him. You lay out a fancier outfit over your purse to hide it.

Now all there is to do now is wait.

*~*~*~*

“Get in.”

Your mouth is gagged with a tied scarf and your hands are restrained with handcuffs. There is no warmth in the monster of a man’s tone. There is only an open car door and a forceful push. Later, a slamming sound.

You are covered in blood, your supervisor’s blood–he tried to use you as a shield against the intruders but was met with a bullet to the head–so much blood. Your dress shirt is as red as a traffic light or a ladybug, though you would prefer the traffic light because you signal to those still dying not to scream anymore, that there was no point in trying to delay the inevitable. There are small pieces of his flesh inside your mouth, you are certain of it considering that you can taste something metallic and flabby. Multiple small, flabby things. Your colleagues’ screams still ring in your ears; they hurt so much.

You can still hear the crunching of their smashed skulls and bones, the alarms, the emergency protocol announcement, the gunshots, the loud severing and ripping of muscle and fat, and–

“Greetings.” A voice, calm and placid. A man sitting beside you, visibly comfortable with one of his legs over the other. He moves his left arm and clicks your seatbelt into place, then does the same with his own.

A blaring statement outside the car. “Two billion Jenny and she’ll be set free,” one of the thieves said, probably the one that pushed you into the car, “if we aren’t paid by next week she dies.”

“Do not worry.” The man beside you speaks in a lulling tone. “It is simply a ploy. We won’t kill you, I will make sure of it.”

You look down at your legs and shoes, considering what to do or say if the gag is ever taken off.

A firm grip on your shoulder and a say of your name makes you look at him again. His eyes are filled with nothing but obsession and make your heart stop beating for a split second. “If I take this gag off of you, do you promise not to scream?”

You nod, because what choice do you have other than being compliant?

There is a pleased hum and a praise you cannot exactly remember, then the scarf is off and on the floor of the car.

“I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” A warm chuckle. “My name is Chrollo, and… for now, just let me say that we are going to get to know each other quite a bit.”

*~*~*~*

“Stars are such wonders, aren’t they, dearest?”

You give an impressed hum as you look around and sit in your seat beside Chrollo. The room soon goes dark as the public speaker starts talking.

There is a single spotlight on her that is a bright white which contrasts with the pitch-black room. She bows as some of the audience claps, you included. You don’t think Chrollo clapped, though.

“It's been estimated by astronomers that there could be as many as one septillion stars in the universe.”

“Yet there is only one of you,” Chrollo whispers in your ear.

The announcer speaks with a proud yet modest tone, not being too outward yet not being too quiet to not draw any attention to herself. “The Milky Way galaxy is home to over 100 billion stars, with the Sun being the most well-known.”

You are not the moon above, you aren’t even a star. You are simply a piece of an asteroid, soon to fade to dust in the cold, cruel darkness of space.

You look at him and smile. He smiles back at you.

“The creation of this universe brings me joy, for it has led me to cross paths with you.” The spherical walls light up and turn a dark blue and fill with holographic stars and meteors. “I’m glad.”

“These fiery balls are composed primarily of hydrogen, with traces of helium and other elements.” The speaker continues. “Each star has a unique lifespan, which can vary from millions to trillions of years, and their characteristics shift as they age.”

“The Sun is needed to sustain life in this galaxy, just like how I need you and you need me.”

You hum again and grab his hand gently. “You do not need to hang a legion of stars around yourself to show you are not Neptune, for I already know you are my Sun.”

“Should the sun disappear, the Earth would be devoid of light, warmth, and life.” It is like Chrollo had a vision of the future. “Initially, the planets would follow their orbits for a short while before eventually exiting the solar system. Although the sun's rays would continue to reach us for a brief eight-and-a-half minutes after its disappearance, the world would be plunged into darkness.”

“Within a week, temperatures would plummet to zero degrees Celsius, causing the demise of most flora and fauna.” Chrollo resumes. “As time passes, the atmosphere would also gradually disappear. The Sun is very important if you cannot tell.”

“I concur, beloved.”

“It’s a miracle the Sun’s warmth exists in the first place, or that this planet’s orbit was placed in the perfect environment.” Chrollo sighs peacefully, but you aren’t sure if he is in awe at the planetarium or you. “We wouldn’t have existed if this planet was made in a different area of the universe.”

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? Thanks to the Sun, now we have a bright future ahead of us all.”

His hand clasps onto yours. “I make a vow to you that our bond will never break, and we will remain inseparable for eternity.” His mouth is so close you feel like he is about to kiss your ear. “Do not worry about the details, for I shall take care of everything.”

*~*~*~*

There is one mirror. There are two hanging jackets. There are three lights above you. There are four paintings on the wall facing the entrance. Five vases contain your favorite flowers, two on the floor and three on the table. There are six rows of stone bricks, then carpet at the start of the stairs. Seven glass panes make up the decoration above the entryway. There are eight engravings on the locked wooden door, each of a flower or deer. Nine smells are coming from upstairs; garlic, cheese, tomato, onion, poultry, olive oil, butter, pasta, and basil. Let me out.

It’s dark outside, but the chandelier above provides enough light for you to see that the door is still locked. As much as you want to mask your real feelings from your captor, you have to acknowledge the fact that you cannot breathe. There is a call from upstairs. You put your book down on the sole chair. There are ten steps leading to the second floor.

There is one staircase leading to the third floor. There are two rooms: the living room and the kitchen. Three footsteps are approaching you. Four words leave Chrollo’s mouth, but you cannot remember them.

You cannot cry. You cannot do anything but smile and hug back. His embrace feels like it is burning your skin. He says something about your beauty. He grabs your hand gently. There are ten steps you take as he guides you to the stove.

There is one pot full of food. There are two plates. Three instruments are playing on the gramophone; violin, piano, and cello. There are four chairs near the kitchen table. There are five books, with one of them being an open cookbook. There are six candles on the table with the lights turned off. There are seven wrapped gifts on the table. There are eight seconds of Chrollo hugging you.

You unwrap the gifts. Matching necklaces with engraved names on them. A gold ring with rubies. A decorated photo of you taken from a Polaroid. A large box of your favorite chocolate. A butterfly pin. A velvet coat with a spider embroidered on the back. Chrollo’s smile almost makes you shudder.

There is one chair you sit in. There are two utensils before you; a fork and a knife. There are thoughts in your mind for three seconds; fantasizing about you stabbing him. There are four seconds of temptation before you ignore it. There are five seconds of silence before you say you love Chrollo. Gifts are celebrating six months of you being held captive. There are seven roses in the vase in the middle of the candles. There are eight bites you take of your food, and then force yourself to eat the rest through your nauseousness.

Let me out.

*~*~*~*

The nutty smell of coffee brings you a feeling of slight warmth and relaxation. The chalkboard above the barista reads Carte Du Jour with white words, listing off the assortment of pastries, coffees, teas, and fruit-flavored drinks. Chrollo is ordering for you two, spending what feels like an unnecessary amount of Jenny on pumpkin muffins, chocolate croissants, and two espressos. The barista audibly gasped when he gave her a tip that can best be described as more than what she would make in a week.

The two of you soon make your way to this city’s largest park and sit on a bench away from most people. There is a musician loudly playing clarinet nearby, but he is not close enough for you two to see him, and he is too invested in playing his instrument to notice anyone. The sun is well above the pond, making the ducks swimming in it almost glow. Chrollo is still holding the paper bag full of the pastries and his espresso, but you are holding yours in your hand.

He is still, visibly calm, and enjoying the sight.

You feel an invisible pressure on your neck. It’s just a knot in my throat, you think to yourself, closing your eyes. The sight of his stillness gifts you a veil of comfort so thin that if anyone were to touch it it would tear. I’m not going to die. But you can’t breathe.

Your heart tells you otherwise. You can feel, no, hear blood pulse to the very tips of your fingers. Your feet tell you otherwise. They are cold. They hurt. They are adhered to the ground. Your arms and legs tell you otherwise. There is nothing but pins and needles all over. This is your chance, the little voice in your head says with blind reassurance. Who knows when you will ever get this chance again? Do it now, and be quick about it. But you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, and you have to try your hardest to stop the hand holding your espresso from shaking and falling on you.

“Thank you for taking me here,” You smile the best you can, as usual. You try to not focus on your memories of Chrollo’s observation skills. “You made my day. This is one of the best experiences I have had in a while.”

There is sweat going down your forehead. Chrollo nods his head and smiles. You’re afraid, and you never are afraid. His head leans forward until your noses are barely touching.

He is so close you can smell the mint in his mouth.

“Of course, my dear. It is an honor to have you in my life, after all.”

“I… would say the same.”

He lifts his head slightly. “Spending time with you is always a pleasure. I would commit the gravest sins if it meant having moments like this forever.” You know that he is being literal. That is the reason you nearly shudder.

He is leaning in closer. You want to run. You have to run.

He backs away after kissing you, and that is when you strike.

You throw your espresso on him, its lid on the bench. You don’t focus on his reaction, because you are running as fast as you can with your purse.

You toss your heels to the side of an unknown road when your feet start to bleed.

You change clothes in a rat-infested public restroom. You throw everything aside from your stolen money into a nearby lake in fear of a tracking device being on something. You cover the wounds on your feet with toilet paper and then put on sneakers.

You put your hair up in a bun and cover it with a hood.

You wash your makeup off using lake water.

You soon get on a bus. Then another.

You then eventually take a train. For nearly three days you stay, hardly eating out of fear of vomiting due to nervousness. You walk the rest on foot until you have reached somewhere far, far away from that city.

You steal money from those around you when needed. You threaten those around you when needed, threatening them to stay silent or their fate will end at your hands. You make use of a few kind-hearted people who let you into their homes when they see you, dirty and injured on the side of the road. They clean up your wounds, give you warm food, and you repay them with a simple, untrusting, and cold goodbye and leave without a trace.

You move from place to place every few hours.

Then you move from place to place every few days.

Eventually, you move from place to place every few months. You ultimately settle into a town by the seashore, under a fake alias. You move into a cabin by the beach with no warmth other than a few candles and no entertainment other than books or writing. You eat the cheapest food the local saloon sells that day.

The day you escaped was 1996, May 9th.

It is now 1997, August 3rd.

*~*~*~*

The speakers blare a sound akin to ambulance sirens. A man’s voice soon after, panicky and horrified.

He spoke of evacuating as soon as possible through the emergency exits. An infamous terrorist group is in the building, he said. Then the sound of a gunshot, cries for mercy, then another voice.

“Run, rabbits.” Whoever was speaking had confidence and arrogance.

Your supervisor stands up from his desk and his guards pull out their guns. You look around for a way out. Screams from outside the office. Flesh being ripped apart. The evacuation door was locked, as much as you and the guards pushed and pulled.

The main door was kicked open by a man taller than any you have seen, ripped apart by its hinges, and fell on the floor. The guards shot at him, but they reflected off of him like he was made of iron. He was fast, fast enough to smash their brains in with his mere fists. He laughed loudly, amused. Your supervisor grabbed you by your hair and put you in a chokehold.

A gun was put to your head.

He threatened to shoot you. The threat was met with a gunshot behind his head, his body falling on top of you as he cried out for mercy, and his blood covering you from head to toe as someone dressed in black slashed his body again and again.

You put your hands up and close your eyes, expecting the same fate as you hear his corpse falling off of you with a loud thud.

…

Instead, your wrists were grabbed and put in handcuffs. A hand on your shoulder and a pat.

“We can’t have damaged goods. You have been chosen to live… at least for now. Congrats.”

A push that blurred between light and strong. A walk out the office doors and to the elevator. A thumb pressing the down button. The elevator doors opened with an automated voice saying going down. Another button is being pressed, the doors closing, and jazz is playing.

One of them, the swordsman, asked how people working (or worked, really) could wait for an elevator every day to go to the top floor, saying how boring that would be if it was him. You cannot tell if he was joking with you or was genuinely curious. The elevator slowly goes down, the light at the top of the button selection decreasing from seventy to one. The doors open. Another push.

A walk out to the lobby.

“Oh, do you guys think that the pocket change from that dude will be enough to buy some snacks from the vending machines? I’m pretty hungry right now. Do you guys think so?”

A woman with magenta hair rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You are such a child, Uvo. You want to get snacks, now?”

Another scoff in response. “Hunger is part of the everyday human experience. Don’t think you are so above it, Machi.”

“Fine.” The swordsman speaks, clearly annoyed. He looks at you with a neutral expression. “Take her to the car and Feitan and I will get you snacks, my treat.”

The man wearing all black rolls his eyes.

“I never agreed to that.” He shakes his half-masked head. “I am also not hungry. We can also get food elsewhere. Vending machine food is expensive. Waste of money.”

Machi rolls her eyes in turn.

“Everyone is dead already.”

You are closing your eyes and imagining being somewhere else, anywhere else than here. A cafe. A ballet. Anywhere but here.

“I’m hungry.”

The swordsman punches him in the arm.

“Ow, Nobu!”

…

A man crawls on his arms towards you all, his legs ripped off. He cries out and curses as he coughs up blood. Curses for their family. Curses for eternal damnation. They are quickly snuffed out by Uvo’s punch and brain matter splatters all over the lobby floor.

Then silence.

The man called Nobu sighs, visibly exhausted. He looks at Uvo like he is two years old. He asks Uvo what snacks he wants. He responds with something meaty or cheesy, like jerky or something. An alright leaves Nobu’s thin lips and he asks you where the vending machines are.

You feel like you are about to soil yourself. Why the hell are they acting so normal after killing an entire building full of people? But with a shaky voice, you tell him that it should be on the 61st floor because that is where all the workers go to eat lunch.

A damn it leaves his mouth then, and another roll of his eyes. But he thanks you, and he and Feitan go back to the elevators.

Uvo and Machi stare at you.

“Listen,” Machi finally talks to you. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If anything, you feel like you are about to cry more at the sight. She puts her hand on your shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you. Far from it, if that helps.”

It doesn’t. You just look down at your feet.

A sigh. Another push.

“You could have tried to be more gentle, Uvo. Now she’s scared of all of us. What’s the boss gonna think?”

You stare at them. They glare at each other.

“Machi, she’s supposed to be our hostage, at least to the public eye.” He looks at the receptionist's desk, where the receptionist’s corpse lays, her neck bent to an acute angle. You look around for any possible escape route. You see one. The main entrance.

You run fast. Until you are outside. Uvo’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back.

“Listen. We do not want to hurt you. But we have to at least seem like we are rough handling you.” His hands go on your shoulders and make you walk towards a foreign black car. “Sorry. But it’s for the best. I promise.”

“Just put this on.” She wraps a scarf around your mouth, gagging you.

“Hey, you’ll have a good life from now on. Trust us with that, at least. You’ll be happier now.”

Uvo pushes you, hard, when he sees police cars approaching. He opens the car door. A malicious smile appears on his face, like a mask he has just put on.

“Get in.”

You hope that whatever is in store for you isn’t as bad as what your colleagues suffered.

*~*~*~*

There is a man around your age who goes out around the same time as you to smoke by the beach.

He has dark hair with a slight purple tint, making you assume that it is dyed. It looks long and it is swept to the side, except for a quarter of it which is shaved. He has near-black eyes, but they don’t look as intimidating as Chrollo’s. If anything, they look slightly sorrowful.

You go on the fishing dock as usual with a box of cigarettes and a lighter in your sweater pocket. The man is there, searching his own pockets and visibly frustrated.

“Do you want one of mine?”

He looks up at you. His eyes wander from your face downward towards your extended hand which holds an unlit cigarette. He doesn’t answer and just stares at it.

“I noticed you are looking in your pockets for one.” You smile, but as you usually do with fake kindness, not caring enough about him to get too close.

“I…” His eyes squint, slightly suspicious. Perhaps it takes a moment or two for him to realize you are talking to him. “Yes, thanks.”

“Hmm. You’re welcome.” You hand him the cigarette and you take another one out for you. You put it in your mouth as you pull out your lighter from your sweatpant pocket. “So, what is your name?”

He doesn’t answer, because he is looking in his hoodie pocket again.

“Damn it.”

You extend your lighter out to him. “Do you need a lighter?” He takes it. “You sure are forgetful tonight, huh?”

He presses the ignition button and orange flames arise. The end of his cigarette turns a yam orange. He hands your lighter back to you.

You do the same with yours. You then put the lighter back in your sweatpants pocket.

You inhale the puff of smoke that enters your mouth, an ash gray. You take the cigarette out of your mouth with two fingers and exhale. You then look back at the man, who just did the same thing.

“Thanks for the help.”

You smile.

“Of course.”

“I don’t think I have seen you before so you must be the one that just moved in, right?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Cool. Out of all the places you could have gone, you chose this town.” He raises an eyebrow, visibly curious. “May I ask why?”

You fix your eyes on him, taking a few moments to process the unexpected nature of his question. He inhales his cigarette again and breathes out the smoke.

“This town seems quaint.” You finally answer. “The locals are nice, the expenses aren’t that much, and the scenery is alluring.”

You use your cigarette again and use your other sweatpants pocket to fish out your portable cassette player along with your headphones. You then realize that you had forgotten your music tape at your house. You sigh and then put it back into your pocket. Footsteps get your attention and you see the stranger approaching the shoreline. He bends down and picks up a small rock. He throws it to the sea and it bounces; one, two, three, four.

It then sinks beneath the waves, and the man mutters something under his breath. “Should have been more.”

You take a few steps towards him.

“What is your name?”

“Sebaste.” His tone isn’t warm, but it’s not cold either.

You stare at each other for a few moments in awkward silence. Your tone is just as strange as his as you say, “My name is [First]. A pleasure to meet you.” You place your lit cigarette on the pier and stomp on it until it goes out. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Do you live with a family member?” You’re not sure where this question came from, but you are for sure more interested in him than you realize. He turns his back to you.

“Yeah.”

You look out into the deep and dark sea.

“I don’t have any family here.”

“Mmhmm.”

His voice is slightly dismissive, but you don’t think he means to be.

“It must be nice, having people you can rely on.”

He looks at you again, but you cannot tell what he feels.

You don’t look at each other after that. You look down at the items that line the beach instead. Even though they are indeed damaged, they feel more like treasures than whatever expensive gifts Chrollo gave you.

There are mostly large shells that are still vibrant despite it being nighttime as well as being covered in sand. They look like fragments of a broken rainbow when the moon’s light reflects in just the right areas. You have contemplated bringing one home and stringing it into a necklace.

Sebaste takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points out to the ocean. There is no sound aside from the waves and occasional seagull calls. His two fingers trace the stars beyond the horizon.

He says there is a constellation called the Hydra. According to Sebaste, during summer, the season of rebirth and peace, the Hydra constellation appears as a reminder of assured death to those below it, whatever arrogance mortals may have had disappearing in an instant. Their fates loom over them like the blade of a guillotine, knowing their hearts shall stop working eventually, the color of crimson fading like flowers in autumn. Memento mori, you suppose.

“You sure know a lot about nature.” You say.

“It’s interesting, but it’s not what I mainly like learning about.” He throws another stone into the sea. One, two, three, four, five. He throws his cigarette out into the ocean and watches the flame die out. “I’m mostly just coding on my desktop. That,” He lightly chuckles. “And playing games. Video games and board games, as well as comics. They are fun.”

You don’t know anything about those either, even more so than nature. “That’s nice. I… don’t know anything about those. They seem cool, though.”

He chuckles at that. You do too.

He turns to you and takes a few steps forward.

He says that that seemed sort of obvious considering how upright your posture is, and how polite you speak. He offers to play games with you sometime and lend you comics. He walks you to your house and says a warm goodbye.

Although the certainness of seeing each other again is unknown, this fleeting encounter holds a remarkable significance, because you don’t feel as alone as you usually do.

You don’t feel alone. It is a strange feeling.

*~*~*~*

You wanted to watch Sleeping Beauty.

“Beautiful.”

Chrollo wanted to watch The Nutcracker.

“Just beautiful.”

The dancers’ feet move with grace and precision as the orchestra plays. Green, yellow, and pink dancers. You let Chrollo have his way with which performance tickets to buy because you didn’t want to fight and lose all of your progress.

“Don’t you think so, dearest?”

You look from your compact mirror to him, your lipstick still in hand.

“Yes.”

Chrollo seems to be smiling, but you cannot tell because of how dark the theater is. It’s a miracle you can see your lips in your compact mirror.

“I spot something even more beautiful, however.”

You almost want to shudder as his hand reaches the one carrying your mirror. He closes the reflector gently. You are thankful for how dark the theater is now because it hides whatever lovesick expression he is wearing. He is the one paying attention to the ballet, while you daydream of being anywhere else.

There is a light chuckle. A light squeeze. A light whisper of a compliment you pretend to listen to.

“So beautiful.”

…

“Thank you for taking me.”

It’s Christmas Eve. A fur coat covers you and keeps you warm. It is snowing, and the sight makes you slightly less nervous.

You and Chrollo are walking out of the theater. Hand in hand. As much as you want to break away. Your captor soon opens the car door, and you sit down.

He goes to the driver’s side and sits down too.

The car soon drives away onto the salted road.

“I had fun.” You try your best to smile. “I did.” You look out the window to the snow-covered, dead trees, as well as the reflection of your red dress and white coat.

Chrollo grins as he turns the steering wheel left. After a few moments, the car stops. “Wait here for a moment. I will be back in a few minutes.”

With that, he steps out of the car and leaves the key with you to make sure the alarm does not go off.

He makes sure you lock the doors before walking away.

You don’t dare go sit on the driver’s side. You don’t dare touch the steering wheel or press on the gas.

You just sit with your thoughts until he eventually returns, and you unlock the car.

“I have something for you,” His voice is almost cooing, but is laced with honey. There is a large box in his hands.

He extends his arms out and you take it. He sits back down and closes the car door.

“Open it,” He croons. You pull on the tied ribbon until the knot is undone. You take off the box’s lid. Macarons. Colorful macarons, all spread apart within the box just enough for people to see their fillings. Green, yellow, pink. But there are also a few white ones in the center with red filling.

You thank him and he tells you the flavors. The green ones are pistachio, symbolizing good fortune in the years ahead. The yellow ones are champagne, symbolizing joy and celebration. The pink ones are flavored strawberry, symbolizing life.

There is a nefarious twinkle in his eyes as he points to the white ones. The cookies are vanilla with a cherry filling.

They symbolize renewal and love.

He says that the macarons illustrate your relationship well.

You agree, because what else is there to say?

*~*~*~*

Sebaste invited you to a summer night on the shoreline. He said there was something special going on tonight.

Most of the townspeople are by the fisherman’s shop, overlooking the pier. They bring lanterns and are huddled together in their sweaters. Knowing Sebaste, he has probably gone somewhere more remote on the beach.

You are right. He is sitting on a picnic blanket with a few takeout boxes of food. He welcomes you with a grin as you sit down with him. There is sashimi, cheese-covered cauliflower, and fried calamari.

There is something behind him. But you don’t ask about it.

Sebaste is a rebellious loner, from what you have come to know from both the townspeople and himself.

He hardly has anyone over because of how judgmental his stepfather can be. He often fights with his stepfather and half-sister, and as a result, was forced to live in the basement as per his mother’s wishes to not cause any more problems. He loves his mother, he does, you can tell. She seems to love him too.

His room is often full of takeout boxes and used cigarettes, as well as video and board games and his desktop. The couch in his room always has comics and food stains on it. But you sit on it anyway to wait for him to finish his work before talking to you about whatever interest he currently is fixated on.

You sit on the picnic blanket and face the shoreline, your dirndl moving slightly with the wind. Your boots are covered in sand, but they are the only ones you have that will keep you warm while keeping the sand out of the inside of them. It’s just you, Sebaste, and the ocean.

Sebaste isn’t smoking for once, and neither are you.

You both agreed to focus on the ocean instead.

Sebaste gets a bit closer by scooting over. He is smiling gently, a smile you know hardly anyone else has seen. He takes a rock and throws it into the water, making it skip. One, two, three, four, five, six. He cheers quietly at his accomplishment, and you do too.

He looks at you.

He looks at your left hand that rests beside his right one. He moves just a hair closer. He clears his throat when you make eye contact. His pale cheeks are a slight pink.

“I…” he starts as his face turns away from you. His voice is a bit jittery. “I think I like you. Romantically.”

Does he mean it? His body language is slightly tense and his shoulders are uptight. His left hand comes out from hiding behind his back as he shows you a bouquet. There are blue thistles, purple sweet peas, and orange poppies.

He waits for a response as he turns to you again, visibly nervous.

*~*~*~*

You continue to try to pull away, but your efforts are unsuccessful.

Chrollo seems somewhat amused at your struggles, though he still doesn't force you to stop moving against his grasp.

"You're acting in a very ungrateful manner, my dear. I've given you this beautiful home and life that you couldn't even dream of on your own. You should be happy and thankful for what you've been given, not trying to escape from it. This is what love is. You are too young and immature to understand that, it seems."

"Love? Do you call this love? You're insane! Let me go!" Your eyes fill with tears as you try to pull away, and your voice breaks as you speak. "You're insane! You're insane and sick and disgusting! You're... you're..."

Chrollo still doesn't force you to stop trying to escape, and he doesn't raise his voice or grow angrier at your words. He just waits patiently.

"Monster... Disgusting... Sick freak... Monster..." Your voice is shaky as you continue to speak, and your eyes are filled with tears. "How can you justify this? What was wrong with my life before you? Why did you have to destroy everything? Why do you enjoy hurting me?" You yell and cry out, still trying to pull away, even though you don't seem to be hurting him.

Chrollo, once again, doesn't seem to be bothered by your words. As the alarm goes off, signaling your time out of restraints, he turns it off and drags you to the bedroom once again. Something tells you that you won’t be sleeping much tonight, less so than usual.

*~*~*~*

“Ah. I… like you too.”

“Really?”

You give him a genuine smile as you nod. “Yes.”

He smiles at that as his posture becomes more relaxed. You take the bouquet from him and set it beside your small backpack. Sebaste seems unsure for a second, most likely thinking that you have misunderstood his question. He thinks for a second or two as his face becomes laced with slight worry. You smile again as you take his hand gently. His face becomes bright red and you chuckle at the sight. He does too, but quieter.

His fingers then intertwine with yours.

He doesn’t smell of cigarettes like he normally does. You assume he put on cologne. Refreshing, sweet, and crisp. Pine cologne, with a hint of citrus.

He bashfully giggles a bit more. He puts his free hand on the back of his neck.

“Does… this mean we are… dating now? Or is this just a fling or…”

Your grip on his hand tightens slightly. You both seem giddy. This is the first time either of you has felt this way. You seem to have sparked something in each other.

“If you want to, we can start dating.”

“Oh? You… actually like me?”

He seems confused or doubtful as to why you feel the way you do for him.

“Yes, I do. I like you. Would you like me to enumerate the reasons why?”

He looks unsure of it all like you will stab him in his back at any moment.

“You’re kind to those who are kind back. You’re willing to do anything for those you trust. When you trust, you trust wholeheartedly. You have interesting hobbies.”

Sebaste chuckles again. “So, beating you within six turns of Go Fish and collecting frogs covered in mud is interesting to you, huh?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as unique as you. I mean that most positively and genuinely. Well, what do you like about me then? I’m curious.”

“Everything about you. The way you walk and talk, your hobbies, the way you present yourself. Everything about you is just so alluring and admirable. You are everything I am not.”

“I suppose we always love what we cannot have ourselves. Opposites attract, after all.”

He nods.

The ocean starts to glow a bright blue. You look at it confused, with one of your eyebrows raised.

Sebaste giggles once more at your lack of knowledge of what is happening. “Every year, right before summer ends, jellyfish rise to the surface of the shore and glimmer.”

You’re too awed at the sight to put it into words. “Thank you for inviting me, I didn’t know about it. It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah. Beautiful.” He looks at you instead of the ocean.

*~*~*~*

You take a deep breath. You’ve come to pay what’s owed.

You knock on the door and wait for a response. After a moment, you hear footsteps approaching the door.

It opens and James is standing there. When he recognizes you, his face turns into one of triumph.

“Hmm, so you have come. Just like you promised,” he says to you in a voice a mix of arrogance and gratefulness.

“Yes. The… night you wanted.”

James’ expression changes to a wide grin. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” He says to you with a chuckle, stepping aside to let you into his apartment. “Come in, come in.”

He steps aside and motions for you to enter, closing the door behind you. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. To get information out of James, you need to make him believe that you are interested in him.

James is very happy that you kept your word. He’s smiling widely.

“Come in, I told you that I would host a special evening for you,” He says to you, sounding sincere and eager to please. He takes your hand and leads you inside the apartment. “I have a surprise for you,” He says to you, leading you deeper into the apartment.

You have to play the part of the seductress to the best of your ability.

“What is it?”

The usual city apartment, it looks like. Messy and full of mildew from the floor to the ceiling. By the only non-musty window there is a plastic up on the ground with drops of water coming down into it from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. You can only hear the drips of water and you and James’ footsteps. You cannot feel your true emotions, because you have a job to do.

James brings you to the only lit room in the apartment; the dining area. The circular table seems to be made of poplar and has a dark stain in the center of it. There is a vase of dark red roses on the top, clearly just bought. The chair you sit in is squeaky and is also made of poplar. James is staring at you. You can only hear the dripping of water, the squeakiness of the chair, the broken air conditioner, and James’ chuckles. Drip, drip, drip. James is still smiling, and staring like you are a piece of meat. You suppose you are, at least to him and at least at the moment. You smell cigarette smoke and spoiled food. You lean down to smell the roses, but you cannot smell them because the foul stink of the rest of the apartment is so much stronger. You pretend to anyway, a pleased hum leaving your painted lips. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Another chuckle, and another drip, drip, drip. His smile widens even more as he looks at you.

“Close your eyes,” He says to you in a soft, commanding tone. “I have a surprise for you,” He adds. “I want it to be a surprise. Keep your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to close your eyes.

You cover your eyes with your hands.

“That’s good, that’s good,” James’ smug voice says. “Just wait one minute.”

You hear his footsteps on the creaky floorboards quieting, making you assume he has gone elsewhere. You hear a cupboard opening and closing along with glasses clinking.

“Now, remove your hands from your eyes,” James says.

You do as you’re told and remove your hands from your eyes. James smiles at you, revealing the surprise that he had promised. On the table in front of you are two wine glasses and a bottle of expensive red wine. Cabernet. "This is my special surprise for you," He says to you, still sounding sincere and excited. James pours both of you a glass of wine and places one of them in front of you. He then raises his glass and holds it up in your direction. He smiles at you charmingly and says, "To you, [First]. And to your beauty."

You smile at James and cheer with him, raising your glass and taking a sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you.

James smiles at you, still looking charming and sincere. "Tell me," He says to you, "What do you think of the wine?" He takes a sip himself, smiling as he savors the taste. "I always buy the best when I entertain a guest as lovely as yourself," He says to you with a wink.

“It’s good. But… I feel like it won’t compare to you.” You wink back at him.

James smiles and takes another sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you. He seems to like your subtle flirtation, as if it's having the desired effect. "Oh, don't worry," He says to you with a charming smile. "I've been looking forward to this night all night. You're just as wonderful and beautiful as I remember," He adds. "I can hardly wait to spend some time alone with you."

James takes another sip of the wine and continues to stare at you, still smiling.

“Am I as beautiful as you say?” You blink your long lashes at James, your eyes gazing into his with a gentle but seductive expression. Your hair is loose, gently framing your face, and you look ravishing.

"Of course," James says to you with a smile as he gazes back at you. He reaches out a hand and gently strokes a streak of your hair, letting it fall back into place after it has been gently moved by the gesture. "You're the most lovely woman I've ever seen," He says to you confidently.

“What do you like about me?”

"Every inch of you," James replies, still stroking your hair with a smile on his face. "From your eyes to your long lashes, your hair, your skin..." James pauses, looking into your eyes for a moment. "To your soft lips, your small, delicate hands," He adds, still stroking your hair lightly. He looks at you with a charming and passionate gaze, as if he can't get enough of your beauty.

“...Would you like me to kiss you? It would be our first.”

James looks delighted by your proposition and nods slowly, in response. He finishes stroking your hair with one last, gentle touch and gazes at you once more. "Of course," He murmurs, his voice softer and more passionate than before. He pauses for a moment before taking the initiative and leaning forward to kiss you slowly and softly. His lips press gently against yours, and he holds you close as he pulls you into a gentle, intimate kiss.

Drip, drip, drip.

It’s for the greater good, right?

You kiss back and return James' affection, feeling the heat of passion slowly build as the two of you kiss. You hold him close and slowly pull him towards you. The kiss is soft and tender, and although it is a rather chaste kiss, it leaves you breathless and feeling dizzy. After a few moments, you both come up for air to breathe, and James looks at you with a warm and sincere smile.

"You're a wonderful kisser," He says to you softly. "I've always imagined it would be like this..."

At any cost, the greater good must come first.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?”

"Yes," James replies with a nod. "Let's go to the bedroom," He adds. "I can't wait to be alone with you." He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the dining area and into a small bedroom. You enter the bedroom and see a large, comfortable bed in the center of the room, with the moon shining through the window. James closes the door behind you and leads you closer to the bed.

You sit on the bed and open your arms. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

James smiles at you and steps towards you slowly. He takes off his jacket and throws it on a chair next to the door. He then comes closer to you and smiles, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. His arms are wrapped around you, and his body is pressed against yours. He begins to kiss you deeply and passionately, his lips lingering on yours for long moments.

James continues to kiss you, and as he does so, his hands begin to explore your body. He lets his fingers run down your arms, leaving soft, tender trails of affection on your skin. As his lips move to your neck, he begins to bite it softly. He starts to explore and taste every inch of your skin, leaving small marks of affection. You feel a jolt of passion and desire course through your body as you feel James' lips pressed against your neck and his teeth lightly biting you. As he continues to kiss and nibble your neck, he begins to breathe more heavily.

You pretend to groan and moan as James continues to kiss and nibble your neck. You lean your head back and close your eyes, trying to appear lost in pleasure. You feel his lips move down your neck, leaving little, soft bruises of passion. You let out another soft moan as he continued to kiss your neck, nibbling your skin and letting his teeth leave marks of affection.

"Do you like that?" He whispers to you, his voice deep and passionate. "More?" He asks, sounding breathless and eager.

Drip, drip, drip.

“More.”

James chuckles softly before moving his lips back down towards your neck once again. He bites your neck and kisses it again, this time leaving more marks of affection. You pretend to moan in pleasure once again, feeling James' breath against your neck.

"How does that feel, dear?" His voice is low and seductive. "More?" He asks gently, biting your neck once again.

“I want you to touch me all over.”

James pauses for a moment, his green eyes looking at you with a charming and seductive expression. He smiles at you, and you notice his eyes are filled with desire. "I want to touch you also," He says to you softly. His hand gently touches your cheek and strokes your hair. "Please, let me explore you," He whispers seductively. He moves towards you and gently pulls you towards him, kissing you softly before moving his hands towards your body.

As you feel James' hands start to take off your clothes, you begin to feel some of the passion and desire that James had shown before fade away. But as James continues to take off your clothes, you start to feel the heat of passion and excitement come back.

James seems intent on savoring and enjoying every moment of this moment with you, every moment of intimacy and passion. He slowly undresses you, taking off each piece of your clothing, as if you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. His touch is gentle, and his eyes are filled with desire.

Drip, drip, drip.

“Touch me, touch me everywhere, for your lips worship me.”

James pauses as he hears you speaking. He gazes at you for a moment, his face filled with a mix of passion and desire, as your words have left a deep impression on him.

"Oh, my love," He says to you softly. "My lips worship you," He adds, leaning forward to kiss you again.

His hands begin to run over your body, caressing you in all the right places. His fingers trace soft arcs over your skin, leaving trails of affection and passion wherever they go.

…

You find yourself standing in the middle of a large and eerie graveyard. The sky above you is dark and cloudy, with little sunlight filtering through the clouds. You take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, lighting up a cigarette and taking a few puffs. As you lean against a gravestone, you see a figure standing in the corner of the graveyard, just watching you. You can't quite make out who it is, the figure looks like a shadowy silhouette, but you can see the orange glow of a cigarette in their hand as well.

It’s James.

As you take another puff from your cigarette, you see James stepping closer to you, his figure now becoming slightly more visible in the dim light.

"Hello, [First]," He says quietly, the tone of his voice hinting at a slight twinge of concern for you. He takes a drag from his cigarette, his expression still difficult to make out in the shadowy light. "How are you feeling?" He asks, looking at you with a sense of curiosity in his voice.

“I see you kept your word.”

"Of course," James says, taking a soft puff from his cigarette. "I promised you, didn't I? I'm not one to go back on my word."

You notice James looking at your cigarette, seemingly a bit tempted by it.

"Can I have a puff?" He asks, looking at you with a tiny hint of a hopeful expression on his face. "I've been craving another cigarette for a while now."

James quickly steps forward, seemingly going in for a kiss, but you quickly duck out of the way and move away from him. He stops in his tracks, not wanting to make any sudden movements or startle you. However, he still looks at you with a tinge of frustration and disappointment on his face.

"You don't want to do anything with me, do you?" He asks as the light from his cigarette illuminates his expression for a moment. "Am I just not good enough for you, is that it?" He adds.

You keep your attention on your cigarette, ignoring James' frustrated expression and question as you take another puff. After a few moments of complete silence, James finally breaks the silence once again.

"I knew you were like this," He says, his voice filled with resentment and anger. "I've always known you were like this," He adds, moving closer to you once again. "And yet, I still fell for you like an idiot." He pauses for a moment and takes a drag from his cigarette. "You're just... so damn tempting," He adds.

“...Hmm. It’s my specialty.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James says, seeming slightly irritated. He takes another puff from his cigarette, the orange glow on it making his eyes seem brighter than usual in the dark. "You know, that was the reason I was attracted to you in the first place." He adds, his tone becoming a bit quieter. "Your specialty of seducing men... and women." This time, there was a subtle twinge of sadness in his voice. "You're just too damn gorgeous to resist, I guess." He adds.

“...It has its benefits. I don’t hate you, just so you know.”

It seems like James still hasn't given up in his attempts to kiss you, despite your repeated refusal earlier. He moves in towards you once again and leans in close to your face, his expression becoming a bit more excited and hopeful. That's when you see his gaze locked in on your lips, and you realize his next move before he even makes it. You quickly duck away from him, moving out of the way just in time to avoid his lips.

"I told you, stop." You say firmly, not wanting to give him another chance to kiss you. “It was a one-night stand. That’s all it was, and… it was for my matters.”

"Yeah, yeah, I know," James sighs, his tone becoming somewhat frustrated once again. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the light from it illuminating his face for a moment as he looks straight at you. "It was just a one-night stand," He echoes, seemingly to himself. "But... for some reason." He pauses for a moment and looks at you with slight confusion. "I still have feelings for you," He finally says. "Even though I know it's stupid to feel this way..." He adds quietly.

“It was just something I had to do.”

James seems to pause for a moment as your words sink in.

"What?" He asks, seeming slightly confused. "Do you mean... you had to sleep with me as part of an investigation or something?" He asks. "Or were you not attracted to me?" He adds. "You felt like you had to sleep with me, even though you didn't want to?" He stops for a moment to take a few more puffs from his cigarette, the light from it glowing orange in the dark. "Is that... what are you saying?" He asks.

You take a soft puff from your cigarette as James continues to look at you with a slightly frustrated expression on his face.

"I want the truth, [First]." He says, sounding more serious this time. "I want to know why you slept with me..." He takes a final puff from his cigarette before looking at you once again. "Was it because you were attracted to me? Or was it because you felt like you needed to sleep with me for some other reason?" He asks, his tone becoming a bit quieter again.

“...I suspected you of something.”

"A suspect, huh?" James says, sounding only slightly confused. "So this was all part of some elaborate plan to figure out who I was?" He pauses for a moment as he thinks about your words, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking up again. "Was... Was I really that suspicious, [First]?" He asks. He seems slightly hurt by your words but still manages to hold on to his composure as he looks at you with a bit of apprehension.

“...You were. You drove me five hours to that seaside town without a second thought, even though your guard shift at that hotel had just ended. I had to know if you had other motives… aside from sleeping with me.”

"I guess that makes sense," James says quietly. "So, that's why you decided to sleep with me..." He adds, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking once again. "Is that it?" He says, his tone sounding slightly less annoyed now. "You just wanted to gather information on me, and nothing else?" He asks. "Did you like, not enjoy your time with me in the slightest?" He adds with a tiny hint of disappointment.

You take a deep puff from your cigarette, the smoke rising upwards into the air before mixing with the gloomy clouds floating above. You can see James looking at you with a bit of disappointment on his face, but you just keep silent.

After a few moments of quiet contemplation, James finally speaks again.

"So, that's it, huh?" He says quietly, his tone becoming somewhat resigned. "You just... slept with me for information and nothing else." He takes another drag from his cigarette, the orange glow from the tip illuminating his face in the darkness.

“...That’s correct.”

"So... you don't like me?" He asks, turning to you with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It was just... part of the job?" He adds. He takes another puff from his cigarette, his eyes moving back to looking at the clouds above. "Is there nothing else you like about me?" He asks softly, turning to you once again. "Not even a little bit?" You can see James' expression change, his heart is affected by your words. "Please don't be silent again," He adds quietly.

“…You aren’t useful to me anymore, so from this point forward you will not see me again.”

"Not useful to you, huh?" He says softly, sounding a bit hurt by your words. "So... now that you got what you needed, you're just gonna toss me out like a piece of trash?" He asks with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "What happened to the [First] I thought I knew?" He says, sounding slightly frustrated. "Don't you feel at least a little bit bad?" He adds. "Even a tiny bit?" He takes another small puff from his cigarette before looking at you again with mild concern.

You start to lean away from him before he suddenly grabs you and pulls you towards him, the two of you now face to face. James then places his hand behind the back of your head and leans forward, trying to kiss you once again. Before you can get out of his grasp, he kisses you forcefully, pressing his lips against yours for a few moments as he tries to make you kiss back. Once James is done, he lets go of you, his expression still filled with passion and determination.

"Well?" He asks, sounding a little annoyed. "Where's your response?"

“...You know,” You throw your cigarette to the ground and step on it roughly, making a loud footfall noise as you squish it against the cobblestone. “I was going to let you go on with your life as I found no ties to the Spider.” Your hands go into your trench coat pocket. “But now you have forced my hand. Most unfortunate.”

James takes a moment to process what you had just said. “W… What?” He looks confused and panicked. “What do you mean by that?”

You display a smile, yet it lacks any semblance of kindness.

“The Phantom Troupe? You’re… a part of the Phantom Troupe?” The man takes a few steps back in fear, a stark contrast to how he was just a few moments ago.

“No.” You say firmly. You hear James sigh in relief.

“Thank God.”

“But,” You add, taking a few steps closer and still having that grin. “I promise you that soon, you will realize what I mean. Very soon, indeed.”

James laughs loudly and arrogantly like a crow’s caw. “You’re going to kill me?” He takes a few steps closer as well and crosses his arms, smirking. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you can even touch me.”

“Never say never.” With a smile on your face, you glance back while making your way towards the graveyard's exit.

James angrily yells at you to come back, but you don’t listen and soon you are gone.

He better prepare himself for death while he still can.

…

You broke into James’ neighbor’s apartment.

Victor, you found out later, was his name. Not that it mattered much. He was reading a book, Crime and Punishment, on his couch and facing away from the entrance. He didn’t have any instinctual gut feelings that someone was in his home, standing above him with a blindfold, ropes, and a scarf. He had good taste in books, at least.

“Greetings,” You bend down to the slumped man, weeping with his hands and legs tied, his tears wetting the white blindfold. “I have a favor to ask of you. Then I shall let you go, alright?”

Your voice is soft, and gentle, like a mother speaking to her crying toddler. Like a Venus fly trap, your jaws will soon lower onto your unsuspecting prey. Tender fingers snake around the back of the stranger’s head and untie the gag. A shushing sound leaves your lips as a finger lays on them for a second or two. You roll on your ankles backward and stand up. You tell him that if everything goes well, he can leave. He simply nods, giving up right away.

Your hands go into your trench coat pockets for a second, worshiping the fur that lines them along with your forged ID card, portable cassette player, and flip phone. It is just to make sure they are there in your jacket and not left out as evidence of the performance about to happen. The guests of honor are James and Victor, and they will never know it.

Drip, drip, drip. Through the thin walls, you can hear the usual drops of water coming from James’ ceiling to the container he probably has there. Drip, drip, drip.

“I just need you to say a few words.”

Your demand is sturdy, not taking no for an answer.

You open up a window and a gentle breeze flows in, making your braid sway from side to side. After a few moments of silence, Victor says that he will do anything if it means he can leave afterward. The floorboards are creaky and splintered and damaged from all of the feet, wheels, and canes that move on and off them.

“Repeat after me.”

You look down on him like a God. He is nothing more than a dog.

James deserves this. That’s what you tell yourself. James deserves this. James deserves this for being scum and only seeing you as a possession. He deserves this. He deserves what you are about to do.

The sun is rising behind you. You bear resemblance to a masterpiece crafted with the utmost precision and the most vibrant pigments. Your arrival is akin to that of a deity. Drip, drip, drip.

You take your hands out of your pockets.

“Say the name James Ericsson. Please.”

Your stare is vivid, and even with the blindfold on you know that Victor has sensed its intensity because he says. “James Ericsson.”

You smile and your hands dance with one another in a sort of waltz.

There are cries of pain and the sound of bones bending like plastic straws coming from next door.

Victor falls to the ground, not breathing. It is done.

…

The photos were shown on the news, late at night to prevent younger children from seeing them.

There was nothing left of James' upper half.

There was a huge gaping hole in his skull where the brain burst out. The face was completely gone, caving in on itself. As his body was crushed by the invisible pressure, his chest and arms were ripped apart, the muscles and organs ripping out and sticking to the walls, and the larger pieces of meat slipped down with copious amounts of blood, accumulating on the poplar table adorned with dead roses and a shattered glass vase that had been broken. The rest of his stomach spilled out onto the floor beneath the table he had been standing next to.

Victor was found dead at his apartment. There were no signs of a break and is presumed to have died of a heart attack or stroke. You were careful to attach and remove the blindfold, gag, and restraints so that no bruises or marks formed.

It is somewhat regrettable, but there was no other way. You know that. It was for the greater good.

Right?

There was no other way, right?

You know that there was no other way, right?

Because there was no other way, right?

They had to die for the greater good, right?

Right?

…Right?

You ride one bus after another back to town with something inside you telling you that this is wrong. James’ screams, his snapping bones, the way his muscle and fat separated like he was a slain cow being cut into pieces by a butcher. Victor’s begging to be set free, and the way that he trusted that you would let him go after he did what you wanted. All of this is wrong, a little voice in the back of your mind says to you.

This isn’t a crime. It isn’t.

The rest of your brain tells you that.

It was a necessary evil. James deserved it, he deserved every ounce of pain you had inflicted on him through the thin apartment walls. You can imagine hearing the dripping of blood from the formerly white now red ceiling.

Drip, drip, drip.

…

You eat at your poplar dining table, alone, in a squeaky old poplar chair. You have only managed to take a bite or two of your food before feeling the urge to vomit. You drank half of your cup of water though, at least. You would have preferred bleach or soap, though. Something basic.

That way your insides would be scrubbed clean by the mix of enzymes, organs, bacteria, and a strong base. Your skin, eyes, and hair would be cleansed with the sweat and tears produced afterward. You pick up your spaghetti with your plastic fork.

Your stomach churns and it feels like it is eating itself. You run to the bathroom, overcome by nausea. An acidic smell and taste. They are both sour and nasty.

You gag like you are being choked by a ghost or your guilty conscience. You are loudly gasping for air through your vomit-covered lips.

Drip, drip, drip.

Plop, plop, plop.

Bile piles up in the toilet water, making it bright yellow. You hold onto the toilet seat like it is your lifeline. After a few more moments of heaving, you adjust your posture to be more straight.

You walk back to the kitchen and put the dinner food in your refrigerator. It hums as if it is pleased with how you are feeling.

Drip, drip, drip.

There is some water leaking from the faucet. You put a cup under it and try to ignore what it reminds you of. You hope it goes away soon. You do. More than anything.

You want it to go away, and you would do anything to make it stop. But you’re not a plumber, and the only nearest one is in a neighboring town a few hundred kilometers away and his fees are worth a few thousand Jenny. Even if he was nearer, you wouldn’t be able to afford his services. Most unfortunate for you.

You still feel like you are being strangled.

Your neck’s muscles tighten and the tendons are sticking out. You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and you are disgusted with yourself. But you have to keep going, for eternal freedom.

Your skin is covered in goosebumps.

You want to vomit your organs out.

You want to scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work.

You want to swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

But you can’t, because you are living in a town now, one where the neighbors are so friendly and everyone knows each other. But you can’t, because someone will come to you, worried sick about you. But you can’t, because you are too appalled in yourself right now to lie to them and pretend you are better than them.

You cannot pretend you are cordial and graceful, because if anything you are sick. Sick and twisted. Your secrets mirror your repulsiveness. You want to lean away from yourself and run from yourself.

But you can vomit your organs out.

But you can scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work.

But you can swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.

That’s because this house is nearly impossible to find for most. Only the porch light is currently on, with the rest of the place in complete darkness. There are overgrown weeds and grass, trees, and fallen branches everywhere. You have tripped many times and almost broken something in the past. You are getting better, though.

This property can be the place where you bury whatever sins you have committed. No one comes here, and no one will come for you if you scream. No one will hear you because this property is cramped and large.

But you are still living in a town full of people who all know each other.

What if someone hears you?

It is best not to think about it, you tell yourself.

It is best to just let it all out, you tell yourself.

It is best to ignore and lie to those who ask you about it, you tell yourself.

So you vomit again.

You scream so loudly you lose your voice.

You scrub your hands so hard under the sink with soap until they bleed and have scratches all over them.

No one comes for you.

Good.

*~*~*~*

You have always been someone who never takes the time to appreciate the beauty around you.

Your thoughts are constantly besieged by a multitude of voices. Unloving, taking pleasure in others' misfortune, outrage, fear, happiness, delicateness, peacefulness, besiege, schadenfreude, wherewithal. In due time, emotions will reach their boiling point, unveiling the authentic hues of your being; crimson red.

You can make people prefer you over the largest of diamonds with just a few words. Your words can be either their exposition or their denouement.

But you can’t bring yourself to use Sebaste. This feeling is odd to you, but you don’t complain about it. If anything, you feel warmer than you ever have been.

Your emotions find themselves trapped in a state of indecision, teetering between self-centeredness and pure joy. Something has gone off course. You.

You, who was born with an innate desire to only help those who would help you in exchange. You, who never ventured out to explore the depths of your being, to discover the essence of empathy. You, who have always used others in an attempt to better humanity as a whole, to be in control of others. It is what you do best; being in control.

So, why does Sebaste, an impoverished man, interest you so much? Why would you be willing to give everything you have away just to make sure he has a good life? Why can’t you just leech off of him like you do with everyone else?

It cannot be denied that he holds the position of your greatest vulnerability.

But you cannot bear to discard him.

Even if you wanted to. Even if he wanted you to.

You cannot leave him. He holds your heart in his gentle hands, and you will never get it back. There it will stay far past when his body is deep underground and lost to time.

You would jump into the largest crimson tides if it meant he was waiting for you beneath the waves. In the end, the amalgamation of your emotions will birth a monstrous force, unleashing nothing but devastation.

A colossus.

The devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart.

No exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. It will stay inside you until your last breath. Sebaste will eventually uncover the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

In the future, when the stars twinkle no more, the moon loses its luster, and the night sky breaks apart, you will need to seek a new refuge to conceal your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun.

If Sebaste ever were to discover the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face, or your sticky, sticky, crimson hands, what would be done to stop you? What would you do to stop him from leaving you?

You simply confine the devil into the smallest crevice of your heart, pushing it inside as far as it can go and locking the door. That way, if Sebaste ever were to delve into the labyrinth that is your soul, he wouldn’t find it no matter how much he looks. There the devil will stay even far after it starts rotting, and you promise yourself to keep it that way.

*~*~*~*

The flowers are in bloom. You don’t know what species they are though. The night sky is above you, cold, injured, and bleeding you. Your only physical weapon is your nails, your dull and split nails.

It starts raining. You don’t have a home of your own, so you decide that a bus stop will suffice for now.

Every inch of you is shivering. Every drop of blood that you bleed hurts. The forest is deep and dark and cruel. If any animals were unaware of your presence, they surely are now considering how you howled in pain as your leg toppled into a bear trap, and howled even louder as you clawed it off with your bare hands, making them all scratched up. The cicadas are crying, even louder than you are. They only respond to your pain with shrill, grating noises and the flaps of their wings. You have nowhere to go that is nearby. Not with your injured leg that has large, deep, painful markings of the trap’s teeth on it. Aside from this bus stop that is in the middle of nowhere. You’re not sure if any bus at all is even on this route anymore, considering how rusty and broken down this stop is.

You attempt to light one of the few matches you have left. It’s pitch black outside, and the match is your only source of light and warmth from the rain and the night. Your jacket is still caught in that tree, far away from where you currently are. Well, it wasn’t yours per se, but it was your only protection from the elements with its hood and heat.

Your cries are wasted on your injuries. You know no one will come for you, aside from predators if you bleed out and are near death.

You cannot see anything, even the path of blood drops you most likely made as you gripped your injured leg and began moving once more to the poorly taken care of bus stop, ignoring the pain that shot up with every step. It’s too dark.

You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it.

Even if Chrollo knew where you were and was on the way, it wouldn’t matter. This forest is too big and you may die of blood loss before he even catches sight of you or hears your pained cries.

There are most likely predators here. Wolves, bears, hawks. Something is out there, watching you, you are sure of it. You know it.

Eventually, the rain stops sometime after your match goes out and you close your eyes after refusing to rest for far too long. You catch a glimpse of the flowers, soaked with morning dewdrops and reflecting the sun’s rays.

Ah.

Columbines.

The usual white ones are called doves for a reason. They look like five doves nestled together from afar. The white columbines represent many things. Love. Innocence. Calmness. Peace. Foolishness. Winning. Ironic enough, you cannot relate to any of them.

You’re not in love with anyone. Your innocence was stolen from you long ago, far before you even met Chrollo. You aren’t calm, you are weeping. You aren’t at peace, you are internally fighting yourself as to whether to go back to your captor’s gilded cage. Perhaps you are a fool for running away from the warm blankets and fresh, expensive food. You aren’t winning anything aside from both regrets and desperate want for stability.

Maybe that is why these columbines before you are red. An eye-catching crimson red, as red as your wounds and the trail of blood left from it as you walked to the bus stop. They look like dead doves. They only represent three things. Passion. Terror. Trembling. You find a resemblance of yourself in them, as odd as it would sound to anyone who doesn’t know of or believe your current situation.

The trap didn’t have rust on it, right?

*~*~*~*

Chrollo and Sebaste are both difficult to understand for you. However, they also could not be more different. This dynamic is similar to a newborn witnessing dawn’s sunrise blossom from the night sky. Both confuse you, for both are very similar yet very contrasting.

Chrollo and Sebaste both know what they want and they would do anything to achieve it, as long as the people they love aren’t in any danger at the reward of attaining their desires. They only trust a handful of people fully while they ignore other people’s presence. They both have that dark brown hue in their eyes. They both wear darker colors. But Chrollo holds the past in high regard and loves history, meanwhile, Sebaste thinks of the future and modern times more so than the past and as a result keeps up with new technology and media. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a doe or rabbit, while Sebaste looks at you with purpose, for he knows who you are; an equal.

You look at them differently, too.

You look at Chrollo with a facade in your eyes, as you pretend to accept your role in his theater by dancing the waltz and singing praises.

You look at Sebaste with veracity, for he is the only one to have ever earned your genuine admiration.

If either were to see the cracks within the mask you wear if either of them saw what was underneath… it would all be over, wouldn’t it? Chrollo would know more about you than you ever did about yourself and use it against you. Sebaste would leave you all alone to rot away.

That is why you will play the role of a doting queen who hangs onto every word her lover tells her because it is the only choice you have.

It is the only choice you have, and all you ever can be.

It is all you ever will be, you say to yourself.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore.#ultraviolet.#author aya

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oliversrarebooks · 7 months

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 42: Fitz's Cold Comfort

Prev > Masterlist > Next

June 1905

tw: captivity, mind control, aftermath of burns and mouth whump

When Fitz opened his eyes again, he was somewhere else entirely, being laid out onto an upholstered couch. His mind was swimming, still drowning in sleep. He was in a bedroom, a particularly large and ornate one. His childhood home? How was he back there? He couldn't be -- not when he'd been out for so many years --

No, he realized just as he started to panic, this was a different nightmare entirely. He was still in the auction house, still with the vampires. Through his lidded eyes he saw Mr. Alexander setting him down, and behind him, Miss Lily being comforted by a long-haired woman in a simple pinafore and apron.

"Mr. Lex, sir, what happened?" she asked.

"Our sire punished her -- forced her to cut out her tongue again."

Again?

"Please attend to your madam, Nellie. Take her into the bathroom and help her wash off the blood and calm down. She'll need to feed from you in order to begin healing the wound."

"Of course, sir, of course. Thank you for helping my madam, sir."

Fitz blinked, and Mr. Alexander was looming over him, making him involuntarily flinch. "It's okay, Fitz. I'm going to wash your wound with cool water. Please hold still."

He willed himself to stay still as Mr. Alexander brought a washcloth to the burns on his chest. The cooling sensation of the water felt heavenly, and he couldn't help but sink into it.

"There's an awful bruise on your face, too. Did he hit you?"

"Mm," said Fitz. For denying that I wanted you to buy me, he didn't add.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

"No, just the slap and the burns and the general air of threat and torment, sir."

"...I'm sorry," he said softly. "I need to go fetch some bandages and lotion. I won't be long. Why don't you rest, go back to sleep?" Before Fitz could respond either way, Alexander began to sing his lullaby once more, and Fitz couldn't help his eyes growing dull and heavy after only a few bars, couldn't fight the pull of enchanted slumber. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but he couldn't help but just rest his eyes for --

"Fitz. I'm back. Can I help you sit up?"

He opened his eyes, confused. He had only just blinked. Hadn't he?

"Here, let me help take the dress off, and then I can give you some lotion for the burn. I brought some pajama pants you can wear."

"Alright, sir," said Fitz, despising how useless and helpless he felt, how he was too tired for wit. How much he was at the mercy of this vampire's kindness. The memory of the Maestro effortlessly toying with his body as though he were a doll haunted him, and while Alexander's power was far more pleasant, he still couldn't help feeling trapped.

He wanted to believe that Mr. Alexander was better, that he'd escaped or at least postponed the worst of it, but how could he know for sure? How could he possibly begin to trust a vampire? And even if he could trust Mr. Alexander, there was the Maestro's challenge, his promise of inevitable tragedy.

There was a truly awful noise coming from the bathroom, something between a retch and a howl, and Mr. Alexander stopped unlacing Fitz's corset for a moment. "Lily's having a rough time, to say the least. I know it sounds terrible, but she will heal in a few days at most," he said, resuming. "Vampires can heal from almost any wound, given an adequate supply of blood. One important reason why we keep thralls, not as if I expect you to sympathize."

His new purpose, to feed a vampire. Even after all that had happened, Miss Lily's spell of submission still had a grip on him, made him long to be close to Mr. Alexander. "I understand, sir. Perhaps I wish I didn't, but I do."

"Here, sit down, this will help with the discomfort," said Mr. Alexander, as he gently pushed Fitz back down onto the couch. He had a little metal kit with a red cross painted on it, and he pulled out some pink cream and began applying it to the branded spot on Fitz's chest. It was soothing, and Fitz found he could breathe easier, sinking into the couch cushions.

"I'm going to have to stay here at the auction house for the next few days to help with Lily's work, while she regains her voice. While I was downstairs, I arranged for a room for us to stay in. We'll go home after that," said Mr. Alexander.

Home. His new owner's home, of course.

"Lily is my little sister in spirit, you see, and I can't just abandon her. Not after what happened," he continued. "I hope you don't mind."

Fitz started intently at where Mr. Alexander was taping a bandage to his wound. "Does it actually matter if I mind, sir?"

Mr. Alexander's hands dropped. He cleared his throat. "It does," he said. "And I certainly don't expect you to trust or forgive me after that, but... I am sorry. It was either follow his order or leave you with him, and what he does to his thralls..."

"And you're different, sir?"

"I like to think so, yes," said Alexander. "I won't harm you. I'll treat you well. I'll give you everything that you desire, that's within my power to grant. You have my word."

Fitz wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe that so badly. That's what made it a dangerous thing to believe. Hell, he'd seen this very con game before: one confidence artist as the tough guy threatening the mark, while another takes the role of a helpful good Samaritan, to ingratiate themselves more easily to the mark. How did Fitz know this wasn't all planned?

"You have every incentive to treat me however you please, sir," said Fitz. "Didn't your sire say that if you didn't train me to his standards, you'd be punished as well?"

"I don't care." There was a sudden flame in Mr. Alexander's eyes, a fierceness that hadn't been there a second ago. "He is not taking you, Fitz. Not ever. You're mine."

"Sir...?" Fitz couldn't help but be taken off guard by this sudden show of protectiveness and possessiveness in one.

"I haven't truly desired anything in decades," said Mr. Alexander with frightening intensity. "He may have delivered you back to me in order to control me, but all he's done is provided the incentive for me to finally break free of him, no matter what it takes."

Just as back in the showroom, Fitz could feel those eyes tunneling into him, could feel the weight and presence of the vampire's need. He could feel Mr. Alexander's hunger, his dark desire, and it took the last vestiges of his willpower to keep holding onto his mind.

It should be terrifying. They'd only just met earlier that evening, and Mr. Alexander owned him. With his vampiric and mesmeric powers, he could do anything he liked to Fitz.

And yet.

No one had ever felt so passionate about Fitz, not really. He'd flirted and manipulated his way into many a heart and many a bed, but no one had truly seen him as more than an idle diversion. He'd never had someone to care at all.

He wanted it, despite himself.

But everything Mr. Alexander was saying was exactly as the Maestro had predicted it. Mr. Alexander wanting to possess him, Mr. Alexander thinking they could both be saved.

Fitz swallowed his thought. He didn't want Mr. Alexander to know that and give him incentive to treat Fitz poorly, or discourage his plot to kill his sire.

A lot could happen in one year.

The moment between them was broken by Miss Lily slamming open the door to the bathroom. Compared to her perfect poise during the auction, and even how put-together she had been when meeting her sire in the parlor, she looked as though a horse had trampled her. Her hair was falling around her face in tangles, her makeup was half-washed off and smeared, and her dress was skewed.

"You look terrible. How are you feeling?" asked Mr. Alexander.

Her glare said it all.

"Sorry, I mean -- it's understandable that you look terrible after all of that -- you understand what I was saying -- perhaps I should shut my mouth," said Mr. Alexander, clearing his throat.

Miss Lily sighed and gestured towards Fitz.

"I fetched a first aid kit and patched him up. He should be fine," said Mr. Alexander before Fitz could report on his own condition. "I talked to Colette downstairs. She's going to let me fill in for you while you're... indisposed. Fitz and I will be staying in the room three doors to the left from here."

Miss Lily looked so tired as she nodded. As she crossed the room, she pat Mr. Alexander on the shoulder in a gesture that seemed to convey gratitude, then absentmindedly pat Fitz on the head before sitting on the bed. She gestured towards the bathroom, and Nellie emerged, walking briskly to sit next to her vampire owner. Fitz could feel the pull of Miss Lily's aura as she tucked back Nellie's hair, brushing her neck, before giving Mr. Alexander a pointed look.

"Oh, yes, we should retire to our own quarters so you can feed in private. Besides, Fitz needs rest after all of that."

By this time, Mr. Alexander's spell had worn off enough that his anxiety had returned. "I don't know how you expect me to rest after all of that, sir."

"I was going to put you to sleep again," said Mr. Alexander as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

Fitz looked from him to where Miss Lily was waiting impatiently for them to leave. Nellie was looking at her rapturously, tilting her head to expose her neck, waiting for the feeding. A vampire's servant, just as he was, now.

Is that how he would look? Adoring, staring into Mr. Alexander's eyes, with no thought in the world but to give his blood to a vampire.

"Let's go and give them some privacy," said Mr. Alexander, sweeping Fitz up into his arms.

"I could walk --" he protested.

"There's no need."

And Fitz really did have no choice but to let Mr. Alexander carry him out of the room, down the hallway to an equally ornate room. No choice but to allow him to tuck him in bed or sing him back to sleep.

Or perhaps he did have a choice, and he was simply too exhausted to make it.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week we'll return to Oliver's time as Alexander receives a social call.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree

#whump #whump writing #vampires #vampire whump #vampire whumper #mind control #rare bookseller #fitz #alexander #lily

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mossssor · 3 months

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made a maneater by nelly furtado joke to a friend while making this and then i had to explain the prison pits, as one does....

anyway theres a version with MORE blood and then no blood under the cut, have fun

included the bloodless version at all because.....arthur piano hands lester continues to captivate me (in the freak way)

#malevolent #my art #arthur lester #malevolent fanart #cw blood #once again this might end up in the m/sked tag who knows really #speaking of that hand it was a gift from god i didnt know i could do that LOL #gayisms #also i AM working on something for 43 but this just possessed me fr

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spageddy · 5 months

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Skibidi Toilet

The skibidi toilet (Skibidus latrina) is a terrestrial pulmonate gastropod mollusc in the family Dafuqboomidae. This species can only be found in the United States, primarily in Ohio.

The original habitats of the skibidi toilet are American public restrooms, but due to their adaptability, they have extended their range to outdoor urban areas. Scientists consider them to be an invasive species.

Skibidus latrina is usually diurnal and omnivorous, eating about 27% scrap metal and 73% human flesh. Its only natural predators are cameramen (Homo visus), speakermen (Homo amplificarus), and TV-men (Homo imaginum).

Skibidi toilet engaged in combat with a cameraman in Detroit, Michigan

Evolution

Based on fossil evidence from Dayton, Ohio, the first known members of the Dafuqboomidae family lived in North America in the late Anthropocene about 250 years ago. Similar tooth and skull structures suggest dafuqboomids and humans share a common ancestor, but molecular analysis indicates a closer relationship between skibidi toilets and snails.

A senior skibidi toilet without its shell.

Description

Physical Characteristics

The body weight of an adult skibidi toilet varies considerably with shell size, making it one of the most variably sized molluscs. It can range from 36 to 2246 kg (80 to 4952 lb), but is usually between 41 and 50 kg (90 to 110 lb). The smallest specimens live in southern Florida, while those near the northern limits of the skibidi toilet's range tend to be the largest (see Bergmann's rule). Males are usually 15% to 20% heavier than females.

Skibidi toilets have long, soft, flexible abdomens. The vulnerable abdomen is protected from predators by a salvaged empty latrine or urinal carried by the skibidi toilet, into which its whole body can retract. Multiple skibidi toilets may inhabit the same shell, especially when young.

Mature skibidi toilets develop a snail-like muscular foot that allows them to travel over hard surfaces. The large, flat foot remains attached to the surfaces over which it is crawling due to the adhesive properties of the skibidi slime it secretes to protect its soft tissues.

Intelligence

Studies have shown that skibidi toilets are capable of organized crime. Whether they know what they do is morally wrong is a topic of debate among skibidiologists.

Two male skibidi toilets lust after a female in Cincinatti, Ohio.

Behavior

Skibidi toilets are pack hunters. Typically, the largest skibidi toilet is in charge. Skibidi toilet packs readily accept new members until resources become limited. They are territorial and generally establish territories far larger than they require to survive, assuring a steady supply of prey.

Development and Reproduction

Skibidi toilets are well known for their mating call, which has a similar tune to the song "Give It To Me" by Timbaland, Justin Timberlake, and Nelly Furtado.

Female skibidi toilets lay their fertilized eggs in toilet water. The hatchlings feed on human feces and urine until they become large enough to consume humans themselves. Skibidi toilets reach sexual maturity at 6.9 years of age.

Captive skibidi toilets have been known to live for more than 80 years. However, the species' life expectancy in the wild is only 16 to 30 years, depending on local conditions such as traffic volume and hunting. Young hatched in infrequently used restrooms are vulnerable to starvation, and it is not uncommon for them to vore their own skiblings.

Young skibidi toilets share a shell with their skiblings until they are large enough to find their own.

Skibidi Toilet Syndrome

The bite of a skibidi toilet can cause Skibidi Toilet Syndrome, a serious disease that causes the infected to believe they are a skibidi toilet. Symptoms include sequestering oneself in small spaces such as laundry baskets or cardboard boxes and chanting the skibidi toilet's mating call. There is no known cure.

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xxrainshadowsxx · 15 days

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New Elite Chapter 13

You wake to a beam of sunlight on your face and your husband’s arms still wrapped firmly around you. It’s beyond comfortable, and you’d like nothing more than to go back to sleep, except for the fact that you’re suddenly very, very aware of the fact that neither of you are wearing anything.

The realization makes you want to shy away from him and wrap yourself in a cocoon of blankets. It’s ridiculous, you know that. After everything that happened the previous night, there are no more secrets left to hide as far as your bodies are concerned. But after sex being taboo for you for your whole life up to this point, there was still a level of shame that was intermingling with all your feelings about last night. You weren’t going to let him know about that, however. You didn’t want to make him upset, and you certainly didn’t want him to think you had any regrets about what you’d done.

You look back over at your husband, and he still seems to be sound asleep. You’d be fine to let him stay like that, but you had no idea how to summon Nellie to you, and you were also starting to get hungry. Waking him up seemed like the only solution to both your problems.

But even something as simple as that, you were unsure of how to do it. Nellie usually woke you by gently shaking your shoulder, but for some unfathomable reason, you felt far too shy to initiate touch. Besides, what if he became angry with you for waking him early? The last thing you wanted to do was risk his wrath.

Your other option was to find the robe he’d taken off you the night before and attempt to find your room… and pray to all that’s holy that you didn’t run into anyone on the way. If it was scandalous for a man to see you with something as simple as having your hair down before marriage, it was a thousand times worse for anyone but him to see you in this state now. No matter what autonomy you had, the fact remained that you were meant for his eyes only now.

Before you can make a decision, he stirs, yawns, and sits up, stretching his arms out over his head and letting the sheet fall from his bare chest. You don’t want to stare, but you can’t help it. He’s captivating, and the more time you spend with him, the more beautiful he seems to you.

After blinking a few times, he finally looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” he asks through a second yawn.

“Only a few minutes,” you murmur. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to do… leave or wake you up.”

“You can try to wake me up, but it’s not likely I’ll respond,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m a very heavy sleeper, especially after sex. But I don’t want you to ever think you should leave.”

His words were probably meant to be sweet, but they’re highly bitter to you. While not an outright confession, he had practically confirmed your suspicions that he had experience in sex before last night. It shouldn’t bother you, you weren’t in love, but it did, likely because your own father had died from consorting with prostitutes. You didn’t want the same fate to befall your husband.

Some of your displeasure must have shown on your face, because he suddenly frowns at you. “Hey, are you alright?” he asks in concern. “You don’t… you’re not regretting last night, are you?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” you assure. You’re not lying about that, but neither do you want to tell the entire truth about your ire. You quickly decide on a half-truth as a compromise. “This is just a strange place for me, not familiar enough to call it home just yet. And while I’ve received education on how a socialite is supposed to transition into a wife and homemaker, I have a suspicion that you aren’t expecting me to be a traditional wife, are you?”

“You’d be correct about that assumption,” he confirms. “But I think I’d like to address your other concern first. I want you to feel comfortable here. This is not just my home, it is our home now. So, shall I call Nellie to help you prepare for breakfast and give you the tour afterwards?”

You nod your assent, so he tugs a bell pull that rings along the length of the headboard of the bed. Within seconds, there’s a gentle knock on the door.

“Just a minute!” he calls. He gets out of the bed (you hastily avert your eyes), and he finds your robe from last night and tosses it to you. You dress awkwardly, trying to preserve your modesty, as he pulls out a robe of his own from a handsome chest of drawers. “Alright,” he calls again. You can’t help but notice he’s quite informal with his staff. You like that about him.

The door opens as Nellie and the man you saw last night slip into the room. “Nellie, would you take Mrs. Onceler to her room and prepare her for breakfast, please?”

Nellie inclines her head slightly before turning to you. “Come,” she urges. You follow her out of the room, and only two doors down does she usher you into your own quarters. The moment the door closes behind her, she turns to you, a mischievous smile on her normally calm features.

“So? Tell me everything!” she exclaims as you sit down at the vanity that you couldn’t quite see as yours yet. You rub your eyes before answering her. Despite sleeping quite heavily, you still feel awfully tired, making you question how late you were up last night.

“I mean… I don’t know how much there is to tell,” you evade. Talking about it out loud, even to Nellie, brought a burning red blush to your face. “It wasn’t a horror story. It was… good, I guess.” You can’t even look her in the eye. You couldn’t admit the heights he’d taken you to, and even if you could talk about it, no words could accurately describe the sheer euphoria of it all.

Nellie groans in mock despair. “I know that’s all I’ll be getting from you now, but don’t think I’m going to give up. One day soon, I shall get you to tell me about it,” she declares. “But on a more comfortable subject, I drew a bath for you. Would you like that before breakfast?”

You don’t want to keep him waiting, but your selfish desire to skin in warm water wins out. He can eat without you if he wants.

You spend a longer time than is probably reasonable in the tub. You didn’t realize it until you’d gotten in, but you were a bit sore, and the warmth was a perfect balm to your aching muscles. You only ask Nellie to start washing you once the heat of the water begins to die. The soap she uses smells like roses, and you’re certain he bought it specifically for you.

The water takes the curls out of your hair, leaving you with a soft wave instead. You decline Nellie’s offers to both put it up or re-curl it. “He doesn’t care how I wear my hair in the house. It’ll be lovely to keep it down and natural for once,” you explain. Nellie makes a face that you can’t quite read at your statement, but you don’t press her about it.

She instead simply helps you get changes, putting you in a soft green dress, which surprises you a bit. Green wasn’t exactly popular for the daytime–yellow and cream were far more common–but you thought seafoam green was more complimentary for your complexion. You hadn’t been allowed to wear the color for years. It was these little things that were truly showing how different life with Mr. Onceler was going to be rather than life under your mother’s strict eye.

Once you’re dressed, you can find no more reason to stall. Giving yourself a final look-over in the mirror, you deem yourself acceptable and allow Nellie to lead you to the dining room.

Now that the lights are on and sunlight streams through the windows, the whole place seems much friendlier and much less foreboding. While the layout was definitely different from your mother’s and even Mrs. Ryan’s, you felt it would be known to you quickly. You agreed with your husband that thinking of this place as ‘home’ would help your unsteady emotions.

Speaking of your husband, he’s already at the table, but stands abruptly when you enter. “I hope you find everything to your liking,” he says, and you’re shocked to hear a note of anxiety in his tone. “I was told you like raspberries, so I have them here. And no mushrooms at all. I understand they make you ill, so I had them removed from all my dishes…” he trails off, looking at you nervously.

You glance down at the table. You didn’t know how anyone could be unhappy with what was in front of you. Eggs, toast, rolls, and fruit, including the raspberries he mentioned. “This is perfect,” you tell him honestly as you take a seat. “If this is the standard of meals I am to expect, I fear I shall quickly gain fifty pounds and will be unable to fit into the wardrobe you purchased for me,” you say as you spoon raspberries into a small glass bowl in front of you.

He steeples his fingers and watches you intently for a few minutes. “I want you to be happy here,” he reiterates slowly. “I know that I’ve caused you pain, and that you still chose me is… well, let’s just say I did not expect it. So if there’s anything I can get for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. If it’s in my power, I’ll obtain anything you desire.”

You twist your face as you slowly chew a bit of a roll. What you wanted was an insight into his true intentions, and that was the one thing you weren’t sure he’d give you. At times, like last night, you could almost swear he’d developed feelings for you. He was so tender towards you, cared for you in ways you’d never experienced, from your physical well-being to how mindful he was during sex. And now that you were married, you felt some honesty was due to you. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide to take the plunge.

Of course, you’d still have to be subtle. You didn’t want him to catch on to the fact that your feelings towards him had moved from indifference to… well… you weren’t quite sure what you felt for him. Thus, you choose your words very carefully, keeping your expression as neutral as possible.

“I know why you married me,” you start, causing him to quirk an eyebrow, and you could tell he was giving you his full attention. “I know that you wanted my name–I won’t pretend to know how you’ll use that as an advantage now–and that you’re expecting children from me. But other than that, I’m not sure what you want from me. All I would like from you, at least for now, is clarification, so that we might live as harmoniously as possible together.”

His face is odd. Often, he looked at you like he looked at most things, as though you were a sideshow that was mildly interesting to him, or as if he were amused by you. Not so now. Not only did you have his attention, but he was frowning slightly, his brow furrowed. You’d never seen that expression from him before. Were it anyone else, you’d have guessed they were working to solve a particularly difficult problem. With him, you could never be sure.

He takes a considerable amount of time to answer you. “I would like companionship, first and foremost,” he finally confesses. “I have been alone for much of my life, and while I’m comfortable with my solitude, I did not realize how much I could enjoy the company of others, provided they are intelligent enough to catch my notice. It is… nice.”

Now it’s your turn to raise an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem to me that one would need a marriage for something as simple as companionship,” you point out. “Surely something as banal as friendship could accomplish just as much? And none of that would have caused as much trouble as it did to obtain me. I still feel as though there is an element I am ignorant of.”

As you were speaking, his face grew increasingly darker, until he was veritably scowling. “Of course there are things about me that are missing,” he growls. “Just because we are married does not mean you are entitled to every one of my secrets. I’ve given you my reasons. I need an heir and for the most part, I enjoy your company. Is that not enough for you?”

You’re taken aback by his sudden shift in tone. “I am sorry if I’ve offended you,” you start in an attempt to placate him. “But I am simply trying to get to know you. You are my husband. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life married to a stranger.” You almost add something about him being insufferable again, but you didn’t think that would help his temper much.

He runs his hand through his hair, and despite everything, you can’t help but notice how much you like it when he musses his thick, ebony tresses. “I am not trying to antagonize you,” he grumbles. “I meant what I said when I said I want you to be happy. But I also warned you that I am a difficult man to tolerate. For the past year, I have been hounded by people who feel they deserve every detail of my life, every emotion I’ve ever felt, simply because they want to know. I am guarded about these things. Why should I divulge them to anyone? They are mine and mine alone.”

You sigh deeply at the end of his tirade. Whether he had meant them or not, he’d revealed a deeper truth about himself. He’d had no one in his life. He’d admitted he enjoyed the presence of another, but even you were marred by others who had come into his life before you. No one had ever cared for him as a person, they only wanted to unravel the mystery of this man from Georgia who had made his fortune in New York in less than a year. No wonder he treated your prodding with hostility. He’d grown up trusting none, and the elite of New York had only heightened that mistrust.

You wanted to be the exception. Hesitantly, you reach out and grab his hand. He looks up at you suspiciously, but makes no move to pull his hand away. “I’m not like others,” you murmur. “I am not your enemy. I am your wife, and I would implore you to think of me as such. Your burdens are mine as well.”

He huffs out an impatient breath, though you note some of the tension has left his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I have put you through far too much in marrying you. You lost everything you knew, and still you stood by me. I know you only did so because you believed in the security that I could give you. I do not wish to add to my many sins against you by forcing you to bear what I have. I have dealt with far more than you know, by myself. I can continue as I am. You need not worry yourself about me.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do to stop me worrying over you,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He raises an eyebrow as you feel a crimson heat rise to your face. “I mean, you’re my husband. It’s my job to worry about you now, isn’t it?” you add quickly in a futile attempt to preserve what remained of your dignity.

“And yet I’m telling you that you don’t need to waste your energy on such matters,” he reiterates, still looking at you quite quizzically. You wish he wouldn’t. You’d much prefer to figure out your own emotions before he came to a conclusion on his own.

But in regards to his insistence on shouldering all his cares alone, that was one thing you couldn’t accept. Nothing could stop your curiosity or your desire to help carry his burdens. Your instinct is to argue with him, but it would likely do more harm than good here.

Still, you wouldn’t completely fold. Forcing yourself to look into his eyes, you say, “Well, let me know if you ever change your mind. I’ll be here if you do.”

He nods slowly before he gestures to your breakfast that, in the depths of your discussion, has gone forgotten. “Eat,” he commands gently. “You’ve been wasting away these past few weeks. I want you as healthy as possible before we head north.”

You freeze with a spoon halfway to your mouth. “I beg your pardon?” you ask as you slowly lower the utensil.

His usual amused look is back. It’s quite incredible how swiftly his moods are able to change. “I do seem to recall that I told you that I spend quite a bit of my time upstate, where my business has its headquarters. Surely you don’t want to be left alone here for the next several weeks?”

“But… it’s winter,” you protest. “The city is cold enough during the winter. Up north must be even worse. Where would we stay?”

“It’s not much colder than the city,” he says. “I would have preferred to go there earlier in the season, but I was rather preoccupied by courting and then planning a wedding with my new wife.” Oh, how you loathe how much enjoyment he derives from teasing you. “As for where we will stay, what do you expect of me? A log cabin in the middle of the woods? I wouldn’t subject you to that. I had an estate built for my use, and I daresay you’ll find it lives up to your standards. Of course, you can pick out rooms for your parlor in both locations, as well as decorate as you see fit. Finances are no object.”

“I doubt I shall have time to change anything here if we are to leave for the north soon,” you sniff. You were thoroughly annoyed he’d answered all your objections satisfactorily. “When do you mean to travel? How long will it take?”

“Less than a day by train,” he answers easily, seeming much more comfortable now that the conversation has turned toward far more mundane matters. We’ll leave within a fortnight. You’ll be comfortable there, don’t worry. And it’s beautiful in the summer; that’s when we’ll be spending the most time upstate. I have every confidence you’ll love it before long.” He studies you for a few moments. “I haven’t managed to distract you, have I? You’re still determined to try and help me.”

Your mouth twists as you debate how honest you want to be. He’d probably see through a lie right away, which was an inconvenience. “You did distract me a bit,” you admit. “But unlike most men, who in my limited experience tend to focus on one topic at a time, I was given an ability to think of several things at once. It’s not something I’m often thankful for, but in this case, there’s not much you can do to discourage me from wanting to lessen your burdens any way that I can.”

He’s inscrutable now, though at least he’s not outright hostile again. “I suppose this is the reason I married you. I do admire that mind of yours,” he sighs. “But please trust me when I say that you don’t want to know me. If you think I’m awful now…” he trails off, though he doesn’t pull his eyes from yours. They’re like icy blue daggers, piercing you straight to your soul. You could get lost in them for days.

You rise from your chair, almost as if you were hypnotized. Without meaning to, you walk so close to him that you have to crane your neck to see him properly. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though he makes no effort to move away.

“I don’t know,” you breathe. And even still, neither of you move. The tension in the very air between you is palpable. Something was going to snap, and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to leave or…

He makes the decision for you. With no warning, he twists his hand into the hair on the nape of your neck, while the other plants itself on the small of your back. His head closes the distance between the two of you, and his lips find yours. It’s a far cry from the mostly gentle kisses you’d exchanged thus far; this one is filled with a kind of hunger from him. He seemed desperate for you, like he’d never get enough of you. It was all you could do to grasp onto his shoulders and go along with the ride.

“You’re too tempting for your own damn good,” he growls against your lips. The hand on your back starts pulling at the laces on your dress. “And you’re wearing way too many fucking clothes.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register the language that would normally make you blush. But the way he says it, all it does is serve to make you feel more desirable. He may not love you, but if you could satisfy him this way, he may not feel the need to frequent brothels like so many other men.

The thought of him doing this with anyone else annoys you, so you force it from your mind. Instead, you just barely manage to detach your lips from his. “Are you really… going to undress me in the middle of the dining room?” you manage to gasp out.

“I don’t have the patience to go all the way back to the bedroom,” he huffs. He grabs your face in between both of his hands, making you look back up at him. Even still, his touch is expertly toeing the line between being forceful and making sure he wasn’t hurting you. His eyes shoot through yours again. “You’re so fucking irresistable. And you’re all mine.”

Those few words, small though they may be, changed the entire mood for you. You feel your brow furrowing and your eyes start to narrow, and when he goes to kiss you again, you bring your hand up to push him back, even though, physically, you want to let him continue. But mentally…

“So were they all just words to you sir? Pretty words to get me to agree to what you wanted?” you hiss venomously. He looks dumbstruck, clearly not able to use enough brain power at the moment to understand why you were so furious.

“What?” he asks, blinking a few times. In his confusion, you wrest yourself from his grasp, holding up the bodice of your dress since he had indeed managed to loosen the laces a decent amount.

“All of your talk about me having my own autonomy! Clearly, that was a promise you never intended to keep,” you lash out, attempting to maintain your dignity even while holding your clothes up. “The first thing you do now that we’re married is tell me things I’m ‘allowed’ to do, and not even twenty-four hours later you’re declaring that I belong to you.”

“No!” he scowled, instantly going on the defensive. “Blast it all, that’s not how I meant it and you know it!”

“Do I?” you scoff. “You only ever corrected yourself after I pointed out the tyranny of your words. I think you’ve become quite good at saying what I wish to hear.” You turn from the table, your breakfast still uneaten. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.” You exit the room in a whirl of skirts, leaving him alone with nothing but the memory of your wrath.

You make it halfway down an unfamiliar hallway before you sink against a wall. God, what a terrible start to your marriage.

#fanfiction #onceler fanfiction #the onceler #onceler x reader #the lorax #also on ao3 #onceler #lorax 2012

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