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It was worse than it had been before.

Phoebe stared into the large mirror that was hanging above his vanity. Scattered on the surface of the vanity were little bits and bobs, such as hair clips and the occasional tube of chapstick. He'd been far too pleased with his human appearance, he thought bitterly. Should have known it wouldn't last. He examined his beastly form and winced as one of the large wings knocked over a bottle of cologne. It didn't break, thankfully, but he had a headache anyway. That's what happens when your hair suddenly grows long and darkens to an oily black and then you grow a pair of horns. He reached upwards to touch the point of one of the horns. He hated having horns. They got caught on anything and everything and it was impossible to change without help.

If he'd known his curse would return in this fashion, he never would have let Dragon leave. Phoebe had learned too late that Dragon's proximity and consistent love was what had broken the curse and that it would come back without Dragon there. Worse, certain additions from the past were no longer present, namely his invisibility. At least back then he could pretend that he looked normal. Now, everyone could see him for what he truly was: a monster. He resisted the urge to strike at the mirror and turned away with a sigh.

"Benson!" he called, waiting patiently for the old butler to appear at the door. He gestured towards the messy room and clenched his fists when his wings caught the dresser and knocked down a picture frame of a younger Phoebe and his elder sister. Benson rushed to pick it up, but Phoebe held up a hand and stooped to pick it up himself. "Can you clean this up for me, please?" He set the frame back on the dresser and lingered on his former happy face. "I'm sorry about the mess," he muttered absently, then cleared his throat and looked back to the man. "Damn things are so hard to navigate after so long without them." He gestured to the wings and forced a chuckle.

The man nodded and ventured cautiously into the room. He opened his mouth to ask his master a question, but just as quickly as Benson appeared, Phoebe was gone.

It took less time than he expected to get to the art room, although he suspected it was because of his lengthened legs. Wonderful, yet another change. He hated being tall. He hated these stupid wings and these stupid horns and these stupid, sharp claws that had already cut him twice that day. He hated Dragon for leaving him. Well, that's not fair. They parted amicably. But still, Dragon should've-

No. It would not help thinking like that. Phoebe moved towards the easel with his last work abandoned on it. He smiled despite himself at the splashes of color and delicate brushstrokes. He'd started this around the time that he began to notice his transformation back into the beast. The wings hadn't come back yet at that point. He rolled his shoulder at the memory of the painful regrowth of the bony things. At least before, they had feathers. Now they were like bat wings. He paused in his thoughts and shook his head. Dwelling on the negative would only upset him. He picked up a clean brush and held it between two fingers. A little voice in his head reminded him that he was wearing a nice sweater and it wouldn't do to get it dirty, yet Phoebe dipped the brush in paint anyway. It wasn't like anyone was going to see him out of the house. He dragged the brush across the canvas and breathed slowly. His life was falling apart again, but at least he had this.

It took about five or six minutes before someone finally pulled the heavy doors open. A short, slim man stood in the doorway with an exhausted expression on his face. His hair was cut short and greying everywhere but the temples and his eyes were deep-set, black as coal, and ancient. He looked the youth up and down, eyes narrowed in momentary confusion before he saw the envelope and took note of the suitcase and the uniform. With a firm nod, he gestured towards Lurtz. "Please, come in. I understand you are expected." Ever the proper butler, the old man bent at the waist and picked up the suitcase. He grunted for a moment at the weight, then stood upright and stepped backward into the house. He stopped by a waist-high table and glanced back to Lurtz. "Welcome to the Dierdre house, Mister... I'm sorry. I don't know your name." He was about to ask for the letter when a loud sound took him by surprise.

It was a scream, but the animalistic growl to it was not like any other human one he'd heard in all his years of living. This belonged to a man in great pain and not very far away. It clipped off at the end and had they listened closely, they would've heard the whimpers that followed the scream. A door could be heard opening and shutting, then footsteps rushed across the wooden floors into another room, opening and slamming the door shut.

Benson let out a heavy sigh, his whole body seeming to deflate with each breath he took. He pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side in thought. To explain or to not explain. It would probably be much easier not to, but Benson knew any reasonable person would ask questions. Was it even possible to go in between with an explanation? He raised his eyes to Lurtz. "Our master is ill," he said at last, then gestured toward the suitcase and started to walk in the direction towards the kitchen to use the table there to look over the paperwork of this new young man.

"My name is Carter Benson. I am the head butler here at the Dierdre house." He glanced back towards Lurtz and then paused in their movement and took a moment to listen before speaking. "The house belongs to the Diedre family. Our current master of the house is Phoebe Dierdre, who resides upstairs and does not come down unless absolutely necessary. His rooms are on the second floor in the west wing and he is not to be disturbed under any circumstances." He continued to love after a short while. He was about to explain more about the young master when a second scream echoed through the house. He closed his eyes and listened carefully to the scream as if attempting the gauge its seriousness. The transformation was taking much longer this second time around. Last time, it all happened within forty-eight hours and was over rather quickly. Phoebe had even recovered within a week!

However, this time was different. The young master had been in pain for ages now and every moment he started to feel better and adjust to his former reality, the transformation would reappear and in spades. Today was the horns. They were growing still and, as Benson understood it, would not stop until they had fully emerged. That could take several more weeks and Benson wasn't sure he could handle much more of this. He loved Phoebe like his own son. He couldn't bear to watch a good man be in so much unnecessary pain.

Benson opened the door to the kitchen. "The servant's quarters are accessible by the staircase near the back fo the kitchen. If you'll let me look over your reference letter, I can start getting you set up." Looking his age (maybe more than his age), Benson shuffled into the kitchen and sat at a large wooden table. He took his phone out and began to look through his personal records. "Any questions?" he asked, his head bowed over his phone.

Benson was no more than two lines into the letter when the dam broke and a flood of questions hit him. He listened intently, hand curled loosely under his chin. He lowered the letter to the table and nodded along with Lurtz's questions, waiting patiently for him to finish. He sighed deeply, then gestured for the chair across from him. "Please." He waited for Lurtz to be seated, then cleared his throat. "Let's see. First, I lead a very disciplined staff. Rules and regulations will be included in the contract you are given to sign for copies of the keys. You will be given a copy of your own. As long as you work professionally and efficiently, there will not be any problems. Secondly, we welcome all kinds here. I myself have elvish blood. We most recently lost a treasured employee of the rougarou subset. Nonhumans can find a place to belong here alongside humans." He paused to take a breath, struggling momentarily to recall the other questions. "Third, this is a rather old house and therefore there is a bit of iron present. However, we do have precautions set in place to protect those who have... shall we say, aversions. Fourth, it is entirely up to you how you will speak with the staff. You may be as polite as you wish. For example, you may call me Mr. Benson or simply Benson. Either works for me. Fifth, we encourage modernity but are open to folk recipes. The master especially is easily excitable when it comes to folk remedies. None of us know why. Sixth, the master is currently very ill, but he will acquaint himself with you when he feels well enough. He prefers to hand out tasks directly rather than go through me, but until he recovers, I will be delegating. Seventh, as the house is as old as it is, a lot of it has been updated with modern technology but it is still a largely analog household. We are not as heavily reliant on technology as we were at the old house, but we do still rely on it from time to time. Eighth, you will not be required to act as a guard for the grounds. Your position will largely remain inside the house, although you may be asked to mind the greenhouse or gardens from time to time." He took a moment to breathe, hoping that he'd answered all the questions well.

Lifting the letter again, Benson read through the writing fairly quickly. It outlined the usefulness of Lurtz, his references, anything they might need to ask. He nodded to himself, then folded it and slide it into his jacket pocket. "This is satisfactory. Shall we?" He stood and gestured for a maid to open the doors for them. "The house is a little intimidating at first, but the layout is simple to remember. The second floor will be largely your domain until we get into a steady rhythm. Regardless, you will be required to know the full estate in case of emergencies. Come along." He stepped into the parlor, hands clasped behind his back. "There are three floors. The first is where the master entertains guests when he has them. Through the kitchens, you can find two separate stairs that will lead up to the servants' quarters. You will be assigned a room when you receive your keys."

The tour wasn't that long, but it was packed full of information. He explained the history of the Dierdre family. They were old money, filled with doctors, lawyers, and politicians. Phoebe Dierdre was one of nine children and heir to several estates. He had sold much of his land before settling into the old family home that none of his siblings had wanted. He updated the house and restored what he could, bringing it back to its former glory. He had a job as a lawyer but had recently decided to start working from home instead of making the commute to the city. He didn't need to work, having made serious bank upon selling his land, but enjoyed having something to do that he was good at. The second floor was the guest bedrooms and the less public rooms, such as the study and the library. The third floor belonged entirely to the master, consisting of his rooms, his studios, and his personal art gallery. "The master is a great patron to the arts," said Benson proudly as he led the new hire towards the gardens.

At the end of the tour, Benson led Lurtz to their servants' quarters. "Tonight you may sleep in the spare room to go over your new contract. I will send a maid for your dinner order, then to show you where to have dinner after the chef has finished cooking. Tomorrow if you decide to stay with us, I will give you your keys and assign you to a room. Sound good?" He unlocked the door to the spare room, a tiny but very clean bedroom with a bed, a sink, and a window. "I know, it looks like a cell. The assigned rooms are much nicer, and the one we have open for you has an adjoining bathroom with a shower so count your blessings." He didn't explain that the room had a shower put in because it belonged to the rougarou girl. "Is there anything else you would like to ask me before I take my leave?"

Benson was wildly out of practice when it came to glamours. He hadn't needed to use one in years and hadn't needed to catch one in even longer. His time at the Dierdre house had made him soft, so when he saw Lurtz's ears change, he almost jumped in shock before catching himself and reminding himself that there were many, many reasons why any particular creature would choose to hide their less human parts. There were even some on the grounds who chose to maintain a glamour 24/7 despite living in a house that encouraged species diversity.

After the tour and after he had paused by the spare room, Benson stood with a neutral expression on his face as he listened to Lurtz's remaining questions. Although he knew there were bound to be many, as there usually were many questions, even he was beginning to feel overwhelmed by all these questions. The letter had claimed that Lurtz was not to make his own decisions, something that Benson doubted was even possible, further deepened by the number of questions. It was fair to believe that Lurtz was simply being thorough and had been trained to be so, but Benson wasn't quite sure of that. Every movement made is a conscious choice, even when trained to be a perfect servant.

The butler nodded when Lurtz finished, taking a moment to examine his thoughts and reorganize them to best answer him. Lurtz was a vampire. Well, that explained the scent that followed him on the wind. Benson had not retained many of his tricks from when he'd been a stronger practitioner of magic, but he could still tell the inhuman from the human, and vampires were special because of their smell. It wasn't blood, but death just barely discernable in the air. He tightened his lips, not wanting to burst out a question of his own: what kind of father turns their own child? How unnecessary is that?

"There's only one werewolf that works on the grounds," he answered, pausing once more to think about the man he was speaking about. "And I think Lionel is currently with his pack until the next full moon so that's a bridge we can burn when we get to it. I'll be sure to update him before he returns, though." He was interrupted in his explanation by a door slamming. A maid hurried past them, her head down and her face flushed. Sirens were always late in this house, he thought with a shake of his head.

Benson collected his thoughts once more and spoke. "Free will runs rampant in this house, young man, but I will concede if your training has led you down a different path." He gestured to Lurtz, then to himself. "If you decide to stay, I can personally promise to do as you ask and keep you from making too many choices. We wouldn't want to overwhelm you." His tone, while quiet, was strong and sincere. He didn't know Lurtz's background outside of what he'd been told, but he already had a firm and depressing picture in place. "The staff will not be inconvenienced by your dinner order, young man. You said you're of vampiric descent. Surely that comes with dietary restrictions." He meant to continue, but a long shriek of pain interrupted him yet again. This one was far more distant than the first one or the second, but just as loud.

The old man sighed deeply, shaking his head and raising a hand to touch his forehead. He needed aspirin or a vacation. Maybe both. Both sounded good. He sighed once more and dropped his hand to his side, then winced as a door slammed on the floor above them and feet click-clacked away at a fast face. That probably wasn't very good. Alright, it was more than time for this tour to end. He was needed upstairs. However, he didn't want to have to do this interview all over again with another person, so he lingered.

"I apologize for all the ruckus. As I said, the master is not well." He turned toward the door, then stopped and partially turned back. "I hope this does not affect whether or not you continue working here. I'll send over the contract and your room key in the morning. A maid can bring you to your new room then, so don't unpack just yet. If you need absolutely anything, my room is right nearby. Just knock. And thank you once more for your time." He bowed his head, then fully turned away again and walked out of the room, leaving Lurtz on his own.

Meanwhile, Phoebe was laying on his bed in his bedroom. The shades were all drawn and the floor was covered in shreds of paper and fabric. He'd long since gotten rid of his pre-curse clothing and no longer fit into his human clothes. He was now wearing a pair of pajama bottoms that were far too short and what remained of a white wifebeater. He'd had to force his wings through and that had somehow been easier when they were feathered. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself, feeling the familiar pain in his hands beginning once more. His claws were growing longer and would soon be their former length.

He closed his eyes, trying not to let himself think about the pain. It hadn't hurt this much the first time around, he thought for what felt like the sixtieth time that day. At this rate, he might not last the night. A drip of blood from his protruding horns dripped down the side of his head, disappearing into the inky black hair. The wounds were open and he needed someone to care for them, yet Phoebe didn't sit up. There was a part of him that wanted it to become infected. He wanted it to kill him. Maybe then...

No. There's no use in letting himself sink into despair again. Phoebe sat up and kept his eyes closed, placing his hands onto his thighs. He focused hard, trying to see beyond the pain in his fingers, but he knew he wouldn't last. The pain started small but picked up to excruciating very quickly. He grit his teeth, the incisors cutting into his mouth but he didn't care. He grunted, rocking back and forth, then let out a window shaking scream as the pain escalated to unbearable.

His horns had continued to bleed even as he lay back down, eyes shut as he tried to think of better days when the curse was gone and he was human again. His happiness with Dragon hadn't lasted very long, but it had been glorious while it did. Phoebe had been remembered and loved for the first time in a long time. His house flourished from the love that emanated between the two and his employees had been so grateful for the extra attention paid to the detail of their work and the extra gratitude that came from a sweet young man like Dragon. He was pulled from his memories by a sharp pain to his back. The wings were causing him problems again.

Moments like these reminded Phoebe of a song his mother used to hum when she brushed his sisters' hair. He would sit nearby, a Rubik's cube or a book in his hands, and listen to her as she sang. It was an ancient song from the thirties or so about time and how it goes by, but one line, in particular, was striking out at him right now. "It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die". Well, he did, and now he felt like he was going to die. He howled out one more moan at the pain in his wings, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. "Sh-t." He rolled onto his back, desperate for any measure of relief from the aches. He forced himself to remember that this would be over as soon as the transformation was complete, but it had been so long already. Who knew how long that would take?

Time passed so slowly with each ache and every sharp pain. He didn't know how much more medicine his body could take before he died of liver failure or heart failure or something. Benson had brought him something in the middle of all of this, or at least he thought it was Benson. He couldn't tell butlers from maids in this state, his delirium due to his lack of sleep, and the extraordinary pain he was suffering through.

It was hours past his last dose when another figure entered the room. Phoebe was laying on his stomach to give his wings time to rest and clutching a pillow to him. It was already ripped in a few places, but he didn't care. He whimpered into it, desperate for just a moment's peace so he could drift off to a temporarily painless sleep. He panted, eyes half-open and gazing off into the middle distance. Was this how he was going to die? From lack of sleep? He always imagined he'd die in the arms of the person he loved, a la the Notebook. Oh, he loved the Notebook. He needed to sit down and watch that movie again when all this was over.

A sharp pain yanked him back into reality and Phoebe came to just in time to listen to the figure speak to him. Diabetes?

He faded in and out of his ability to understand, but ultimately got the gist of what "Benson" was saying. Phoebe shook his head at the question then dropped his head back onto the pillow. "Just make it stop. Please." He begged into the pillow. "The pain... I can't stand it anymore. I feel like I'm dying all over again." He didn't further elaborate, voice scratchy from being used only to scream and for little else. Phoebe closed his eyes again, waiting for "Benson" to help him. What could he do anyway? Benson hadn't been able to do much magic the entire time he'd worked for his family.

But then again, this wasn't Benson.

Phoebe had never been a student of the magical arts. He'd gone to school with a few very gifted people and had been present for one or two spells, but he was ultimately a human and fairly pleased with this. His cursed human state did offer him a few gifts to offset the pain and anguish of his monstrous life but he never ventured to make any attempts to learn to control or otherwise use them. However, he knew power when he saw it and even blurry, the magic before him was powerful indeed. He closed his eyes once again, inhaling deeply through his nose. The voice of his savior was warped by his horrible headache and possible damage to his ears from the transformation, but he still heard the voice say that this was going to be painful. He nodded as firmly as he could. Would it really be any worse than he was already feeling?

Apparently, yes.

The moment Lurtz's magic began to counteract to the curse, Phoebe could feel the opposition attempting to rip apart his body from the inside out. He opened his mouth to scream, feeling his fangs elongate to a fuller state and screaming loudly as his voice deepened. The walls seemed to quake from his anguish, the pain of a speedy transformation putting him through a sort of hell that he couldn't remember ever feeling before. His horns continued to grow, his nails sharpening to points and the bones in his shoulder cracking as they moved to better accommodate his wings.

By the time Lurtz finally stopped, Phoebe was over halfway transformed. He still had a ways to go, his wings and horn were not quite fully extended yet and he could feel his spine was preparing to give him a tail, but this was much faster than if he'd continued the way he'd been going. He panted heavily as he was levitated, his body still trembling from the pain as Lurtz cleaned him up. He kept his eyes closed and wouldn't dare to lift his head or open his mouth to speak. His energy was already greatly drained and he could still feel the ripping sensation from before, although not as much as he had.

Once safely on the bed once more, he tried to speak. "I-" He then stopped, feeling the effects of a sleeping spell fall over him like a soft curtain. Phoebe licked his lips then swallowed hard, eyes fighting the spell to open just enough to see Lurtz's outline. "Ben..." He loosely curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, trying to gather what remained of his energy to speak. He needed to say something. Phoebe waited for a few moments, fighting the sleepiness, then moved his hand as fast as he could (so not very but still) to touch Lurtz's, or at least what he thought was the butler's hand. "Thank you, Benson. Thank you." As much as it hurt, he knew it was going to help him in the long run. He was grateful for the elf and wanted to show greater gratitude, but his eyes closed once more. "Will you stay? Until I sleep? He always... He always left before... I could fall... asleep." He kept pausing and taking long breaths. The spell was winning his fight, and the last expression he had before falling asleep was one of great sadness.

Hours passed like seconds on the clock and the house waited on bated breath for the master to wake. It had been so long since he'd slept restfully that they weren't quite sure what to make of their time without his constant presence. Even when feeling at his worst, Phoebe had always made the effort to be the one who directly handled the broader details of his staff. Dinner for the house went relatively uneventfully, the cook whipping up a basic bloody steak and some fresh sides for Lurtz to eat. She tried to speak to him, to explain that it wasn't a question of his preferred dishes but the limitations of his vampiric diet that she needed to know, but she found it difficult to bring any of her thoughts up when face to face with the young man. She turned her back to him, pulling her sous chef aside to instruct the lad to ask Lurtz himself when they had the time, but he refused, citing distrust of anyone new who didn't make an effort to befriend the current staff.

Benson made the effort to take full control of the house as the night slipped into daylight and Phoebe still hadn't awoken. He appeared at Lurtz's door at the beginning of the day to begin his instruction, but time and time again got removed from his side with some issue or another in the house. By the time lunch finally rolled around, Benson had left Lurtz to dust the gallery for over an hour all on his own in order to assist in the birth of twin foals in the stables. He went to his bedroom and cleaned himself up before returning to the gallery with a stack of papers in his hands and an exhausted expression on his face.

"I apologize," he wheezed as he stepped into the gallery. "No one was expecting the master to be sleeping this long so I've been having to do most of his paperwork." He gestured to the papers, then walked deeper into the gallery. "Nice work, Lurtz. Now then, the master's doctors will be spending the night tonight so we'll have to set up the guest bedrooms. They're all mostly ready, they only need to have the sheets changed and the decor adjusted for the changing season. The master used to have a... well, let's say a friend, he used to be in charge of the decor in the house. After he and Master Dierdre had a falling-out, we started having fewer visitors and it became less of a priority."

The elderly elf led Lurtz out of the gallery and towards the guest bedrooms. They passed by several of Phoebe's own pieces that sat between professional pieces he'd collected over the years that weren't as valuable as the gallery's occupants. There was one specific painting that had the light above it burnt out, leaving it in darkness. It was of a tree or really more like two trees that were entwined. The two trees were shaped into a pair of lovers, two men embracing and kissing passionately. Neither of them was very obviously any particular person, but the meaning of the passion and love behind it was obvious enough. Benson didn't spare it a second glance.

He stopped at the end of the hallway, gesturing to the six doors they'd passed. "Alright. There are four doctors so we only have to fix up four of these six. I'll take two on the left if you take two on the right. Oh, that reminds me." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a keychain that held around ten or twelve keys on it. "These are your keys for the household. As a butler, you have a specific set that must never be lost. I labeled each of them. These keys only work for this house, so if we ever visit the main houses of the family, we won't be able to bring these. Trust me, it's a huge hassle. They should all have the same keys so we wouldn't have to keep getting them made but whoever listens to the help?"

Benson rolled his eyes, then pulled out his own keys and pulled up one of them. "The bedrooms each have a locked linen closet near the back. This key unlocks all of the linen closets in the house except the ones in Master Diedre's quarters. The summer decor and fresh sheets should be in there." He nodded at Lurtz, then turned to walk into his first room and set to work.