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“Oh Lotte!” Annaliese fretted as her sister came tramping back to the house. Grimacing, lips pressed together, the young woman hurried downstairs in a fluttering of silk dressing robes and lacy underpinnings, “Look at you, such a state and we've the party to prepare for!”
“Anna, really, I'm not a little girl, I didn't go rolling in the dirt and...” Lieselotte exhaled, rubbing at her temple. Where was that feeling now, she whispered out loud to herself, the moment she was off her guard, everything went back the very same way and...
Annaliese stared flatly at her twin, watching Leiselotte's glazed eyes and whispering words. She couldn't make the words out, but knew in the past it was all nonsense about monsters and demons and it was just enough to keep Lieselotte from getting prepared for a party in a reasonable time.
“Lotte, look at what you're doing, you're completely ignoring me and not focussing on me and you look past me and suddenly there's monsters everywhere,” Annaliese scolded, hands on her hips.
There were, Lieselotte wanted to reply, dully watching shadows bleeding into sinister shapes and eyes gleaming wickedly. Why did she even try? Sometimes it was so attractive to just slump to the ground and let them swarm over her, tear her to shreds and …
Faith. Nothing could take Faith. She loved her family.
“Anna,” Lieselotte announced, firm and quiet, reaching out to place her fingertips over her sisters lips. Surprised, Annaliese fell quiet, lashes fluttering.
“Stop,” Lieselotte went on, her gaze steady and deep in her sisters. She could see the surprise, the confusion, but went on carefully.
“I love you very much,” Lieselotte informed her, reaching to hug her sister tightly. Annaliese faltered a bit, but returned the embrace warmly.
“I love you, too, dearest sister, but...”
“No, no,” Lieselotte chided, as if speaking to a child, and that suddenly lit off delighted laughter in her heart, though it only quirked humor at her lips, “No buts. Just love. Hug.”
“...Hug,” Annaliese repeated with a little giggle. It had once been a silly little game they played as children. In the midst of some ridiculous quarrel, one or the other would hold out arms and demanded 'hug'. Then they would be laughing and hugging one another.
“Now let's get ready for the party, Anna, look at the state you're in, why, running about in your underthings is all well and good if you're a little girl, but you're a married woman,” Lieselotte scolded, a slow smile, wickedly amused, coming to her face. Annaliese gaped at her a moment before yelping in amused outrage.
“Oh, really, Lotte! Upstairs, I've had your clothing lain out. Where were you, anyhow, I thought you were in your room, and had quite a turn when I went in looking for you,” Annaliese frowned, her tones right back to the almost-scolding as she shooed Lieselotte upstairs.
Perhaps, Lieselotte considered, it was simply how Annaliese coped with their mother being gone so early, trying to be a little mama. And now, married and expected to be a young wife. Yet she frowned at Annaliese's words once they registered.
“A turn?”
“Yes, I walked in and your dolls all spilled off the shelf. Then Ellen strode in like the figure of Doom itself and barked out 'begone!', and she scared me half witless.”
Lieselotte exhaled softly. Annaliese could look right at one of the demons and see nothing. There was some strange blinder on the eyes of most people, Lieselotte decided that she envied that.
With a soft murmur of surprise, Lieselotte halted in her tracks briefly.
The hallway stretched into infinity, yawing, pitching and rolling in a heavy ooze of blood. Flies with human faces rose from the filth, their high pitched buzzing words lodging into Lieselotte's hearing.
“What a terrible curse, I never thought of that,” Lieselotte whispered, wide eyed, watching her sister blithely walking into a hellish warping of reality, “To have to see evil. To have to see it when you want peace and good...”
“What's that darling?” Annaliese called, turning back, her hand on a doorknob that had flowed into a brass beast, wrapping thick drooling lips and wicked tusks up to her wrist. As Lieselotte started to explain, her sister's face melted, skin running waxen down her neck and chest, followed by fresh red and writhing tumors festering in the bloody muscle.
“I have to get dressed now, thank you,” Lieselotte abruptly announced, her voice just slightly tinged with impatience. She marched to take Annaliese's hand, flayed and writhing with maggots, and pushed the door open herself.
“Lotte, really...” the ghoulish creature that was her sister protested.
And it was so very very ridiculous. Her lovely, perfect sisters voice, so proper and so wonderful, and it was coming from a rapidly decaying vision of repugnance. Lieselotte started to laugh. She couldn't help herself. She staggered into her room and had to catch the bed stead before she fell flat on her face.
“Perhaps you should lay down for a little rest before we get you ready,” Annaliese frowned faintly, following Lieselotte into the room.
“I'm fine, Anna, truly,” Lieselotte assured her, wiping at her eyes and turning to find that everything was as it should be once more, “It was … it was just one of my silly fancies and I saw it was silly and it made me laugh.”
“Well, I suppose better to laugh at them, but darling, you're not a little girl, you can't keep ...making all these … awful things up,” Annaliese exhaled, ringing for the maid, “I know when we were little, we would make up wonderful fairy lands and beautiful dream worlds... I never would have joined you in those flights of whimsy if I knew you were going to somehow turn them into hideous nightmares.”
“...I had forgotten those...” Lieselotte whispered, starting to undress herself. She rarely waited for the maid to help her dress, she was more than capable. Though Annaliese gave her a disapproving grimace, she moved to help her sister.
“I always thought you let them become nasty because I became too busy for them,” Annaliese admitted in a low voice, “Sometimes, I feel horribly guilty, because I must have helped build your illness.”
“...No, Anna. Oh, Anna. No,” Lieselotte breathed, turning to hug her sister tightly, “Not in a million years, you're a rock in a horrible storm for me.”
“I wanted to speak to Edward about it, but... well. He has enough antipathy towards you,” Annaliese grimaced, dashing a tear away from her eye before Lieselotte could comment on it, “And I didn't want to say anything to Papa, he's already so ...”
“Anna, remind me what our fairy worlds were,” Lieselotte murmured, glancing to the dark space under her makeup table. Catching an imp in the act of appearing, she nearly smirked at it. Going to p***k my feet and make spiders run up my legs when I do my hair? Stupid imp. Do better.
“Oh, those,” Annaliese chuckled softly, “We were twin princess angels who lived in a castle made of beautiful crystal that glided over the world upon a cloud of purest white. When anyone was in need, a rainbow would sparkle into being and we would hop upon that and go sliding down – why we would do that when we had the most magnificent white feathered wings I don't know, but we always loved our slide.”
“It was our play house in the tree, that beautiful castle and the slide...” Lieselotte blurted out as she recalled, “Oh, and we were often fairy princesses!”
“Yes, we would dance in the flowers and they would waken and bloom because we were so beautiful and graceful, and oh oh, we were Briar Rose and Snow White, but you would bravely fight away the wicked witch because we didn't have any princes, and then I would rescue you with a magic wand that turned the evil witch into a frog,” Annaliese laughed, plopping to sit on the bed and watching as the maid hurried in with a basin of warm water for Lieselotte to bathe with.
“Oh Froggy! Dear Froggy, he was always our villain!” Lieselotte blurted out laughing.
“Except when he was the Frog Prince, and you kissed him!” Annaliese squealed, pointing at Lieselotte in high amusement as her sister went red with the memory.
“Oh yuck! That was your fault, you dared me to!”
“You could have said no,” Annaliese countered, and Lieselotte threw her drawers at her sister.
“Oh really, you would have teased me forever if I hadn't!”
Annaliese fielded the underwear and popped them into a hamper.
“Well, I'm the one that always caught him, it was only fair,” she retorted, “Oh dear, I must get dressed, as well...”
Lieselotte stuck her tongue out at her sister as Annaliese rushed to her room, and then grumbled as she squirmed into her corset.
Could have said no, Lieselotte murmured, frowning. She could say no. She didn't. Because there was honor involved. Because Annaliese would have called her a sissy. She wasn't. She just didn't think she should have to kiss something cold and slimy.
We protected you from that. We saved you from Edward. Cold and slimy and worse...
Lieselotte could hear the echoes of the whispering, her brows knitting, while she and the maid managed to pull the gorgeous gown of blue and silvery white over her head. Was that really true?
Edward had been such a perfect catch. A young doctor, a man of integrity and science and honor, he had wooed her father more than Lieselotte. She hadn't been terribly interested in him. He was stuffy and boring and he was determined to marry her.
A good and true man that loved her would have quietly waited for her father to decide she was able to marry, Lieselotte mulled, slowly sitting at her dressing table. She felt a p***k at her ankle and rather than to jerk back, she kicked out smartly with her foot. She heard a yip and smiled in satisfaction.
We protected you from him. Why do you deny us, we have protected you, we have saved you? All of these so called good people treat you like a fool and worse, like a madwoman, and we all know you are not...
The voices writhed and hissed from the covered mirror. It was crazed and cracked, and if she took the cloth down, she would soon be able to see into an abyss of horror where horrible, faceless, moaning thing ranted over their words.
They were changing their tune very quickly, Lieselotte mused, tilting her head. From calling her horrible things and insulting her, they were suddenly very quick to insist they were defending her.
Look at how badly Kelly treats you, and she should know you want only to be of the light. But she doesn't want you there. She wants you to die. She uses her good for evil. She is evil...
“Flowers...?” Lieselotte inquired dubiously as the maid picked a small bunch from a white box.
“They were sent for you, Miss. They're wax.”
“...Oh. Who sent them?”
“Mr. Deerthorn, with an apology for all the flowers he sent that about choked you,” the maid replied, and Lieselotte rather grimaced. She'd half hoped that Desdenova had sent them.
“Am I ready?” Lieselotte inquired with a quirk of a smile, making a kissy-face to the maid, who giggled, reaching out to pet the girl's blonde hair.
“You look lovely, Miss, you haven't looked so well in many years.”
“I had some good sleep and Ellen said I ate like a pig this morning,” Lieselotte nodded, raising to her feet. She smoothed the beautiful dress under her hands and wished for one mirror that would show her as she was rather than insisting upon becoming a wireless set to hell.
“Ah, see, I saw two little white doves in the churchyard last Sunday, that's a good omen.”
Lieselotte glanced curiously to the woman.
“This place, it seems everyone is always looking for what's ill and evil and nasty, and my mother always said, if you look for evil, it will surely find you. So I make sure I look for good. It seems people hardly ever do that,” the maid explained, shaking her head slightly.
“A lot of people find it easier to believe that there is evil around us than that there is good,” Lieselotte responded slowly.
“There are angels all around us just as surely as there are demons, Miss. We just have to reach out to let them come to us.”

Desdenova was supposed to be the guest of honor, but Edward and his learned friends monopolized the conversation at the dinner table, talking of nothing but their various areas of study until it seemed Hans was about to start picking the younger men up by the scruffs of their necks and depositing them outside so the rest of the party could enjoy themselves.
Annaliese smiled charmingly from the hostess's seat, and leaned to whisper to her husband. He eyed her, annoyed, a moment later.
“I am never boring, dear, and the ladies certainly should enjoy the educational advantage of the conversation,” he informed her, just loud enough to hear. He earned a sudden and cold stare from his father in law, and hesitated, paling slightly. Annaliese, herself, found herself in that horrible quandary of being between her father and husband.
“Mrs Yorker, I notice several beautiful paintings on the walls that seem done by the same hand. Was the artist perhaps family?” Desdenova inquired in that brief and terrible quiet. Annaliese turned a gaze of pure gratitude upon him.
“Yes, you have a good eye for art, Mr. Von Tombs. Those were all done by Grandmama – that is, Papa's mother. She was a wonderful artist, but Lieselotte and I can scarce remember her. We are so fortunate to have these reminders of her.”
“Was she also from Germany? The paintings that my father brought from there are often dark,” Desdenova asked, tilting his head.
He was brilliant, Lieselotte decided with a bit of amused admiration. He had broken up a storm before it could form and opened several areas of conversation that everyone could participate within. Annaliese looked relieved, her station in life demanded that she manage such events with smooth elegance and taste. She was admired very much for her abilities.
And stupid Edward decides to be a …
“It's just so awful when someone doesn't realize the worth of their own staff,” someone noted, and Lieselotte winced, easily replacing the word 'staff' with 'wife'.
“Well, really, Mr. Von Tombs, you are a chemical genius, I understand, why would you prefer to speak of paintings and such in company with fellow scientific minds?” Edward demanded under cover of a jovial chuckle, though the glare in his eyes could hardly be concealed.
“My line of work is not appropriate dinner table conversation,” Desdenova reminded him, quiet and demure, “And it is far more healthy to the mind and spirit to allow ones thoughts to stray to beauty and family rather than to constantly speak of work. Besides, my mother said it was bad manners and bragging to be boasting off my knowledge in public if I wasn't performing a lecture.”
Lieselotte barely stifled the glee at Desdenova's quiet remark, which so thoroughly placed Edward into a bad light. If Desdenova noticed it, he didn't show any sign. He smiled now and again as he ate. Answering questions and asking them by turns. Edward fell quiet for once, glaring at the young man covertly.
It was proper for the hostess to take a dance with the guest of honor, yet Edward eyed Annaliese and Desdenova as if he suspected them of entirely improper doings. And there wasn't a thing improper, Desdenova danced, light and graced as Annaliese, a somewhat more than a proper distance between them, Desdenova's gaze more often than not over his partners head.
Absolutely proper, showing no undue interest in the woman, though there were several men that admired her who pushed against propriety until Annaliese refused to dance with them at all. And that reminded Leiselotte of her own predicament. She pasted a doll's meaningless smile on her face and leaned back to put distance between herself and Carl Deerthorn as they danced.
“I see you have worn the flowers I sent,” he murmured, gazing more larcenously than admiring over Lieselotte's features. Though really, as far as eligible heiresses, one could scarce do better. She was a beauty, delicate and fragile, skin of pale white, her lips tenderly pink and inviting, her eyes deep and mysterious despite their light coloring.
“They're very nice, thank you, I sincerely wish that flowers didn't make me sneeze and choke so,” Lieselotte noted, polite and with a wrench of her shoulders, managed to push him back.
“You look so much better, dearest Lotte, I wondered if your papa would allow me to take you out for a drive tomorrow afternoon to enjoy the summer evening,” Carl mulled, frowning as he realized that she kept pushing him back.
“I am sorry, I have another engagement. My sister and I...”
“Oh, pish. I'll tell her I wish to see you. She will be very happy to make another time for you,” he snorted softly, “I have a new brace of horses from an Irish stable, they're quite fine and beautiful, and my new carriage is wonderfully fitted with all manner of convenience. We might have a picnic supper overlooking the village as the sun sets.”
“I'm sure she would not mind postponing our date, Mr. Deerthorn, but I would mind,” Lieselotte informed him rather severely, “I don't care to break my word.”
“Honestly, Lotte, darling...”
“Mr. Deerthorn, you are taking most grievous liberties,” Lieselotte snapped, indignant.
“Oh, Lotte, dearest, how can you accuse me when it is your very beauty which encourages me and your grace which brings me to you?” Carl crooned, trying to pull her closer even as Lieselotte locked her arms to keep him back, her eyes wide and indignant.
“I will scream very loudly for my father if you do not release me immediately,” she hissed with a cold fury.
It was a sudden flush of power. She felt it rushing through her body, giving strength to her arms and fire to her eyes. She could push this fool away, cast him into the very demons that tormented her, laugh as he scuttled about like a cockroach in the horrific visions that visited her...
“It is entirely ill bred to blame ones own shortcomings upon a lady.”
Leiselotte caught her breath and her will as she heard Desdenova's soft voice. Carl jerked back, realizing that for some reason, he was terrified. He blinked several times, his heart racing and certainly not with passion.
“Do not bother Miss Lehmann again,” Desdenova whispered, his gaze steady as a cats. Carl gurgled something and abruptly stumbled away from them, quickly rushing for the bar. Desdenova and Leiselotte watched him go, both identically impassive, though triumph lit in Lieselotte's eyes.
“Shameful,” Desdenova murmured, offering her his hand, “Would you do me the honor, Miss Lehmann?”
“I would be delighted to,” she replied, a surging relief running through her, as if she had just been wavering at the very edge of a sheer cliff, and he had provided the balance to save her.
“Couldn't... couldn't you turn him into a … a bug or something horrid?” Lieselotte demanded rather peevishly as she drew into the waltz at the tug of his hand. She leaned into his arms, her cheek to his chest all without realizing it, and felt a light stroke of his hand over her hair before it rested on her shoulder once more.
“Oh, you are a wicked little thing, aren't you?” he chuckled, but with such affection, she glanced up at him questioningly. In return, he winked faintly.
“So much that you need to learn, and so little that I can tell you. You need your mother,” Desdenova murmured, shaking his head slightly.
“You are giving the learned brain doctor men a challenge to their wisdom again, Mr. Von Tombs,” Leiselotte informed him tartly.
“And you have shut that little rat trap you call a mind just to insult me,” he retorted, widening his eyes a moment as he spun her around.
“I did not have to shut it to insult you. It's easily done,” Lieselotte sniffed, tossing her head lightly, but a smile tugged at her lips.
“You are so mean to me, and I have done nothing but help you out of the goodness of my heart,” Desdenova sighed, as if his pure heart was torn asunder under her uncaring hands. Lieselotte scoffed at him, tilting her head.
“Goodness of your heart, hm? It's not because you heard my dear brother in law talking about his insane heiress of a sister in law, and whatever was to be done with her and oh, what a fascinating case of insanity she has.”
“Listen to me now,” he murmured, leaning his head down so that his lips were close to her ears, “You may pick up a thing of evil and use it as a tool, but you must never let it infect your hand or heart.”
“...I... I don't...”
“You do,” Desdenova corrected, tipping his head so she could look into his eyes, “They told you what your brother in law was doing, and you gripped the mace of hate into your hands when Deerthorn was bothering you.”
Lieselotte cringed, shuddering faintly and lowering her head. Desdenova quickly caught her chin and lifted it.
“Edward blathered all this off to my father, in fact, a man whom no one by any means should be telling such family details to.”
“...But... but... I thought your father was... an...” she stuttered softly. Desdenova almost laughed, shaking his head.
“Oh heavens, no.”
“Oh...” Lieselotte faltered, her brows knit. The song ended, and she took his hand, stepping back from the dance floor, “I need a little air.”
“And I am to come with you,” he chuckled, following as she towed.
“Yes. You were sent here somehow, so I think I shall be quite unreasonable in abusing you as my very own,” Lieselotte informed him, snippy, yet she cast a searching and almost anxious gaze upon him. He didn't protest, he simply responded with an open and laughing smile that turned his features into something etherial and beautiful for a moment.
“I ...felt that I could gather up every bit of the horrible, monstrous evil that is every day thrust upon me and cast it onto Deerthorn like a bucket of pitch,” Lieselotte whispered as she stepped to a wide bay window, reaching to open the sill. She hazarded a glance at Desdenova, expecting to see his disapproval. Yet, he smiled.
“Long ago, those who held power in their hands created rites that were wrought of the darkness,” he murmured, “They protected against evil by using evil's own favorite weapon: darkness. They were swift and powerful.”
“But... I felt that … it was … was evil,” Lieselotte admitted in a small voice.
“That is because you were angry. And in your anger, you didn't stop and think about what you were reaching for, you simply grabbed it. Now you know how to make it, you need only remove the hate and evil from it. So it is only to protect you, and not to go further,” Desdenova replied easily, “You had no control over it.”
“...I ...I have no control over my entire life, I... I want to just give up so often, I don't know why I keep trying...” Lieselotte whispered in a sinking despair. She felt Desdenova gently place his arms around her, holding her steady.
“My parents were in London and heard Edward's entire silly story about you. Mother scolded him thoroughly for speaking so of a lady, and when he tried to say it was a case history, father demanded that he be disciplined by the academy, as a doctor has no business at all telling the world of a patient's private history, particularly that of a young woman, whose reputation can so easily be destroyed; and Mother added that she felt he should be more than disciplined, for it would not take long for men to come looking for you to use that information against you.”
“They did?” she asked, astonished.
“They did. That's where your monsters got it,” Desdenova chuckled softly, “And why, no doubt, Edward showed up here a week earlier than he had said.”
“That liar, he said that he had finished his work early and I knew he must be lying because the work he was supposed to be doing was within the hospital, and wasn't paper work,” Lieselotte sniffed, only to eye Desdenova oddly, “But he didn't know you.”
“No. He knows my father is on the board for the academy, but he doesn't know it was mother and father who brought his behavior to their attention. Mother was concerned about all she had learned of you, and how you were being treated. She sent me,” he admitted with a faint shrug.
“Why...?”
“To get me out of the house because I am about as social as a rock, and prefer my books and studies to meeting people,” Desdenova noted promptly, his lips twitching.
“Oh, so I am to be an experiment, am I?” Lieselotte demanded, her chin lifting pugnaciously.
“A very pretty one,” he offered, widening his eyes.
“A pretty experiment.”
“Fascinating and pretty,” Desdenova tried, lips quirking at a smile.
“Fascinating as long as I have my monsters and fancies and don't know truly what I am, and once I do...?” Lieselotte demanded, shaking her forefinger at him. He was all innocence once more, a hand spreading to indicate his good intentions.
“Once I have command of myself and who and what I am, off you go, off to find another girl who is lost in some madness that she can't understand,” she went on, scowling, but humor pulled at her, “Or is all this to craft your experiment into someone that your mother will approve of? That would put up with you?”
Desdenova caught her accusing finger, tilting his head to regard her features.
“Oh, I'm far more selfish than that,” he promised, lips twitching humorously, “And Momma likes you well enough already.”
“She doesn't know me... Does she?” Lieselotte frowned faintly. He shrugged, but nodded.
“In a manner of speaking. Her work, you know, takes her all over.”
Lieselotte considered, but finally nodded, lifting her chin and eying him imperiously.
“Then you shan't complain when I abuse your presence as I so desire.”
“...I might like that,” Desdenova responded, mournful eyes and a slight twitch of smile. Lieselotte giggled, bumping her shoulder to his chest.
“You are so odd. Can we dance again? I do love to dance.”
“Very odd,” he agreed, shifting to guide her back to the dance floor, “You dance beautifully, I look forward to a time when you have taken that grace to the rest of your life.”
It was a peculiar thing to say, but Desdenova refused to explain it, insisting that he had to focus upon the music to be able to dance well enough to complement her abilities. Much later, after the guests had gone home or to bed, Lieselotte wondered if it wasn't some riddle that she needed to solve to help her gain control...
“Oh STOP it, honestly! Good night!” Lieselotte snapped at the visage of a wide grin beside the bed. She rolled over, placed her pillow over her head and went to sleep.

There was a pair of little white doves flittering about the churchyard, indeed, pretty little things darting here and there, landing to pick for seeds and rushing off in a whirr of wings. Lieselotte watched them, settled in the comfortable cool of the lych-gate, Ashes sprawled across a stone bench, watching the birds with only the mildest of interest.
“You wouldn't bother such pretty things, would you?” Lieselotte inquired of the cat, who mewed, a distinctly negative tone to it. He was employed to deal with rats and mice, the birds weren't of any interest. They wouldn't buy him a dish of milk or a scrambled fresh egg.
“I'm quite sure he'd give you those anyhow, Ashes, he seems very kind,” she murmured idly, gazing over the cemetery, half hoping to see Desdenova puttering through the graves in his overalls, working and not a bit adverse to putting her to task as well. But she knew he was working at the pharmacy.
“I felt so much power, Ashes. All I had to do was reach for it and grasp it...” Lieselotte whispered, “But it was so wretched and evil and even though the person I was angry at deserved all that and more, I just... I couldn't...”
Ashes mewed, as if this was of no surprise to him. His tail tip flicked.
“But... Desdenova... He did. I mean, he did something, it was ...but it wasn't ...it didn't sting and burn,” she went on, her brows knitting, “He said it was the dark, but without evil. Then he said to use it as a tool, but not to let it infect my soul and hand. And he said I needed my mother.”
Ashes tipped his ear, head lifting a bit to eye her.
“I know, any fool can see that, but there must be more. Said I closed my mind before... Oh.”
Ashes flexed his whiskers, seeming very much to smile as Lieselotte came to a realization.
“I... I can't go and see mother, but I can find mother, who she was... I've never … Really, how terrifically silly, she didn't just magically appear one day to wed papa and has no past at all,” Lieselotte snorted, shaking herself as she straightened, eying the church. Ashes gave an agreeing mew as he stretched to stand.
The rector didn't mind letting Lieselotte flip through the community Bible and other records, he simply reminded her to be careful with the older materials and went back to repairing hymnals in his office.
“...There's Mother's signature,” Lieselotte whispered, fingertip on the faded ink, smiling as she read the entry. Recording the baptism of twin girls Lieselotte and Annaliese and naming the godparents. Lieselotte mulled over the names. She remembered getting presents from her godparents and writing them letters, but couldn't recall them at all.
The girl's births were recorded, the marriage of her parents...
“They met in London, but where was mama from?” Lieselotte mulled, willing the spare information to give her more.
“Ah, there you are, Liebchen.”
Lieselotte blinked a few times as her father strolled into the church, smiling as he took a moment to gaze upon the altar before continuing to meet her. Ashes watched the man curiously instead of vanishing as he usually did. Hans absently reached down to pat the animal, to Lieselotte's surprise.
“Just like old Blackie, your mother's cat. Poor fellow,” he mulled, “I wanted to take you with me to London, Lotte, I have a bit of business there and I thought a little trip would be good for you.”
“...Mama had a cat like this? He belongs to the church, I think. Desdenova feeds him and the old cat that sleeps in the barn. I should love to go with you, papa, thank you,” Lieselotte blurted out, all smiles and a sudden realization that perhaps her father truly was coming to trust her.
“Desdenova, is it? Mr. Von Tombs is a kind young man,” Hans noted, a sly grin as he watched his daughter's face turn pink, “Yes, your mother had a cat very like this, but the poor thing was killed in an accident. I offered to buy her another, but she couldn't bear the thought. He was her constant companion. I would tease her that she loved him better than me.”
“Oh, papa, don't be so old fashioned, he has told me his name,” Lieselotte scolded, only to laugh softly, “She couldn't love a cat more than you, Papa.”
“Ha. I said the very same thing to my mother when she caught me using your mother's name so familiarly,” Hans grinned, amused, “She loved her cat in a different way, truly. There are different loves, you know. The way we love a dear friend or our parents, these are different things.”
“I understand. I was here looking to learn more of Mama. Where was she from?”
Hans simply escorted Lieselotte to the small train station, where she could see two of their trunks already waiting. Ellen waited as well, holding a smaller suitcase.
“Papa, I'm hardly dressed for travel...” she protested weakly. She was hardly dressed to be seen in public, she had simply thrown on a rather faded and patched dress, intending to walk about through the meadow and cemetery. ...And maybe help Desdenova work if he was out...
“I know, I heard you were running about in your play clothes. Ellen brought you proper dress, go into the lady's lounge and change.”
Less than an hour later, they were comfortably settled into a private compartment, Ellen knitting quietly, Lieselotte in a pretty dove gray suit digging into Ellen's work bag for something to keep her hands busy with. Her father amiably lit his pipe after opening the window to draw out the smoke.
“Your mama was from Caern Wydda, Wales,” he announced, thoughtful, “Her people had been there a long time. She wanted to leave there very much, she said it was terrible to live somewhere that no matter what you did, people always saw you as the same thing.”
“...What did they see her as?” Lieselotte frowned, picking up a darning egg in a sock and making a face at it. She was terrible at sewing. Ellen took it from her and placed a crochet hook and yarn into her hands. Lieselotte hunkered a bit with a sheepish smile and began to make a granny square.
“Her people were long rumored to be witches and sorcerers and worse,” Hans chuckled, “Mostly worse. Her fore parents had been shrewd and rather hard business men, and that quickly equals covenants with evil to those that can't understand the methods. In any case, your mother was scarcely a wicked person.”
“...But... Why does old woman Kelly go about saying just that?” Lieselotte asked slowly. It was rare that she could speak to her father about her mother, she always feared hurting him more than he had been at losing her. She never wanted to ask that question, yet couldn't stop it.
Hans face darkened faintly at the mention of Kelly, his eye twitching once. He drew off of the pipe a few times as if to calm himself.
“Jealousy and anger, I have always suspected,” he rumbled, “She has a daughter that I believe she fancied would make a good bride for me, despite the fact that the girl was in love with the miller.”
“Mrs. Skeering is her daughter?”
“Yes. Nice woman, but there certainly wasn't anything between she and I. Terribly embarrassed by her mother, of course, but there's nothing she can do.”
“She is always seeing evil in corners,” Ellen noted, placid as she worked, “I have heard it said that the world is dangerous not because there is evil in it, but because good people see that evil and do nothing about it. She takes it a bit too far.”
“A bit,” Hans snorted ironically, “Double stitch there, daughter, you've dropped one.”
“Oh... bother,” Lieselotte muttered, looking back at her work before blinking several times, “You know how to crochet, papa?”
“Grandmother felt idle hands were the devils playground, and I was not old enough to smoke a pipe,” he responded with a thunderous glowering of thick brows over twinkling eyes. Lieselotte giggled at him.
“I should like to meet Mother's people...” she ventured after a moment. Hans exhaled faintly, then grimaced, shaking his head.
“They won't have you or your sister, liebchen. There were furious at your mother for marrying me.”
“...Whyever for?” Lieselotte blurted out, astonished. Her father was an absolutely perfect man of his time and place. He was everything that he should have been and remained a kind and warm gentleman besides.
“I believe they wanted her to marry someone within their clan. ...I know they did, in fact, though I never told her, her family sent people to try and drive me away from her. The most ...repellent and disgusting ...pastor I suppose he was, finally came to me and told me that I was ruining all of the plans her family had for her, that she would be akin to a queen and I was dragging her into the dirt. As a gentleman, I should turn her away,” Hans admitted slowly, frowning faintly as he gazed into the past, his eyes sad.
“I'm sorry Papa. I can't believe anyone wouldn't want you as part of their family,” she told him gravely, but his description alarmed her.
“Your Mama wanted what I had to offer, and we loved each other ...” Hans added, rather strained, but he drew in a breath and steadied himself with the pipe. It just wasn't ever long enough ago, though he knew his daughters should know where they were from on both sides.
“I know, Papa. I remember mama saying we must be patient and we would one day find husbands as wonderful as you,” Lieselotte smiled, rather sadly, before giving a little laugh, “Of course, that was after you had sent her those beautiful rose bushes.”
“There was a diamond ring around the biggest rose,” he offered, a bit distant, smiling quietly into the memory, “Which she didn't even notice, she loved the roses so much.”
“Oh papa how romantic!” Lieselotte giggled, swooning into Ellen. He chuckled, his cheeks flushing faintly.
“Well, a young man will be a bit silly for his bride now and again.”
He father hadn't been so young when he married, but Lieselotte didn't say so. She just giggled a bit, flushed in the warmth of memory that was her parents love for each other.
After a long moment, Hans shifted, a bit uncomfortable, knocking the ashes from his pipe and pretending great interest in the passing scenery.
“So, what did you think of the party the other night?”
“It was lovely, papa. I enjoyed dancing with D- Mr. Von Tombs. He's a very nice man.”
“I saw that. He quite drove that moron Deerthorn away from you,” Hans pointed out. Lieselotte nodded, grimacing.
“I was almost ready to scream for you, Mr. Deerthorn was being so terribly rude.”
“I see. He has been most persistent in pleading his case to me, but last night, he simply left,” Hans mulled, frowning faintly. He tapped his fingers to the bowl of the pipe for a moment before glancing to Ellen.
“I hate to disturb your work, Ellen, but I am simply parched, I'm sure you are both, too. Please fetch us all some lemonades,” he decided abruptly, “Some pastries or something, as well. Have them put it on my bill.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed, rising gracefully from her seat to slide from the compartment. Lieselotte tipped her head slightly.
Hans exhaled, his brow heavy with concern and worry, briefly pressing his hands to his temples.
“Now tell me, what of dinner.”
Lieselotte stared at her father like a deer caught in the headlight of the engine. She finally bit her lower lip, sighing.
“...Edward... was rather an a**.”
“Rather.”
“...I mean... Well. Des... Mr. Von Tombs told me that Edward had been disciplined by the academy two weeks ago or more. I'm not quite sure, but it's part of the reason that Mr. Von Tombs decided to come here. Edward knows that Mr. Von Tomb's father is on the board, and well, that must be why he was so … rude, and ...” Lieselotte faltered, uncertain where her father was going to go with this.
“Is Annaliese truly happy?” Hans demanded a moment later, leaning to look squarely into Lieselotte's eyes. She gulped softly.
“No...?” he frowned, and Lieselotte swiftly grasped his hands.
“Papa, no, please. My … my... illness has made me so very selfish and self centered in many ways, I only see my own troubles and how things relate to me. Because I'm so weak it's the best I can do and now I know I must be stronger, but … Annaliese has always wanted to be a happy wife and have parties and keep house and ...” she sputtered out quickly.
Hans tightened his lips but nodded.
“She has never confided to me that they have ever been at odds save for when it concerns me,” Lieselotte assured him gravely, “And you know she adores being a wife and all those duties. Just because Edward is angry at me means nothing in their relationship.”
Somehow, Lieselotte felt Ashes purring around the back of her neck. Her lashes fluttered a bit as she reached back, wondering if perhaps he hadn't masqueraded as a fur wrap. But there was nothing there.
“You should ask Anna, though, Papa,” she added with a quiet confidence. She had a tool in her hand once more, she could feel it, strong and good. She could have spilled the pitch and acid of the hate, anger, and terror pooled about her over Edward, but she knew it was not the time for such measures.
“I did. I think that she perhaps loves him more than he loves her. ...I much regret not insisting that she spend more time at the parties and events, meeting and getting to know others...” Hans mulled, shaking his head, “I still find it strange that a man would turn from one girl to woo her twin...”
“It's … rather odd, but really, Papa, he wasn't all that interested in me. He is far more interested in Anna, and...” Lieselotte smiled, rather lamely.
It was more than odd, it was downright creepy.
“That is what we shall discover upon this business. Though you and Ellen might visit the museums and enjoy the sites... Ah, Ellen, thank you...” Hans murmured, smiling and standing to open the door as Ellen returned with a tray.
Lieselotte frowned faintly before taking her lemonade and a cookie.

Faline Edenhill was far more deserving of the epithets Kelly threw at her than Lieselotte ever was. The young woman was brazenly red haired, well hennaed, brows and lashes darkened with khol, her lips stained a rich red orange. Her clothing tended to that fine line between fashionable and tawdry, her posture was perfect and so was her amply displayed cleavage.
The young scientists and such that Edward had attracted to the village were in an utter snit over Faline, behaving like fools any time she stepped from her hotel to visit among the shops. She virtually held court in the little tea house, always somewhat slovenly in an old fashioned Empire waist dress and wrap, purring and cooing over theories and experiments that the men were engaged with.
Was she really interested in all that? Lieselotte tilted her head as she observed Faline strolling down the way, her parasol open against the late summer sun, though with as powdered as her face was, Lieselotte doubted that the sun could ever bring so much as a freckle up.
Three of Edwards friends trailed along with Faline, each seeming more desperate than the other to impress her with their educations. Lieselotte's brow knit faintly. Faline must have some interest in their studies, or at least was well versed in them.
Ashes mewed and slid from the back of the lych-gate bench to drape around Lieselotte's shoulders. She patted the cat absently.
“I think I understand now. Mother just wanted away from it. She didn't realize that she had to push it out of her... But she couldn't have known. All Kelly could do is see it was there, and Kelly being … well... Kelly... All she would have seen was that it was there. She wouldn't have known that Mama didn't want it, and should have been helping her... But Mama was worse than I...”
Ashes purred, rubbing his head to her chin. Lieselotte chuckled softly.
“I've always asked you for help. I guess it was easy because you're a cat. And I know you've done perfectly wretched things to others in my name. But I don't want revenge, I just want people to … Oh... dear... Go away go away go away...” she murmured, abruptly staring at Faline changed course to come gliding towards the lych-gate. For a moment, it sounded as if Ashes had snickered.
“Go away go away go away go... oh bother some spell that was,” Lieselotte sighed, giving up as Faline cheerfully sent the young men on, putting her hand to the gate.
“I shall see you later, gentlemen, we young ladies have not had chance to speak and know one another as yet,” Faline chirped, fluttering her hanky at the men before closing her parasol and barging into the lych-gate's shelter, “Hello, darling Lieselotte – I shall promptly call you Lotte, I think, I prefer the modern way. What a charming relic this is and so delightfully cool in this heat. How clever you are!”
“...Hello,” Lieselotte replied, just shy of sulky. Perhaps she should have screamed for a gargoyle, but this wasn't some demon, it was just a rather predatory and annoying woman.
“I feel I have such a connection with you already, darling, why, you are without concern of marriage and I see you in such study of late, a modern woman who will find her own way in life without a man to muddle things up,” Faline announced, turning and seating herself graciously on the bench opposite Lieselotte, “Though you have your Papa, of course, and the estate he has created for you. How fortunate you are!”
“Papa's a very brilliant businessman, and a gentleman,” Lieselotte agreed, already on guard and though she had scrabbled for her all-purpose meaningless doll-smile, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“So I have heard, why, it's all Edward will talk about some evenings, how clever his father in law is. I of course was privileged to speak with him, fascinating man. Why is it that no enterprising woman has come forward to take that terribly empty place at his side? He is vastly attractive and shouldn't be alone.”
“Papa doesn't want a wife. He's devoted to Mama,” Lieselotte shrugged faintly, struggling to keep from being grossly offended. She knew it was a common attitude, and many people found it odd that Hans had never remarried, particularly since he had daughters.
“Hm. Well that simply makes him the more valuable you know. Men are rarely loyal. They simply don't know the meaning of it,” Faline decided with a little flounce and smile. There was a decidedly feline and unpleasant edge to it, and Lieselotte could only nod.
“But, speaking of Edward, really an attractive man as well – this village boasts such a fine array of men, learned and handsome both, I am surprised there aren't more young women visiting here to scout for likely husbands,” Faline announced before composing herself into something passing as serious and mature, “But that hospice that Edward proposes. Such a fascinating concept, don't you think? Working step by step through the lives and minds of the mentally afflicted to find its root cause and bring about healing.”
“It's scarcely Edward's idea, the proposal for the treatment of the mentally ill was put before the Academy by...”
“Dear girl,” Faline chortled, flapping her lacy handkerchief at Lieselotte, “It never matters whose idea it is, it only matters who first and best implements it. Within a few years, people will staunchly believe it was Edward's idea.”
Lieselotte drew back slightly, frowning. That wasn't right.
“And I, too, have proposals that will make this hospital shine. Like a spa, you understand, but focussed upon healing minds and bodies as a whole. Nutrition and exercise and various exciting new treatments, all brought under one roof, an utter boon to humanity.”
“Father showed me your proposal,” Lieselotte nodded, shrugging faintly.
“Oh? And what did he say?” Faline nearly demanded in an eager gasp, nearly lunging at the younger girl.
“...He felt it was simply too experimental to be a safe investment.”
Faline frowned, but prettily, as if she minded each expression she made to assure herself that it was pretty and wouldn't leave lines.
“Hm. I suppose I cannot fault him there at all. But there are times when an idea is so bold and so brilliant that caution is only a hindrance...”
Lieselotte quirked a brow faintly. Faline was more than just an able saleswoman, she was virtually a performer, a high priestess, giving a sermon more than a sales pitch.
“It all sounds lovely,” Lieselotte smiled, her lashes flickering. She really needed to work upon her 'go away' spell.
What exactly was it that Kelly saw within Faline, Lieselotte wondered. She knew how Kelly had seen her mother and herself, but Faline seemed nothing more than a common gold digger with a better plan than most.
So much make up. Even in the early afternoon, Faline's face was a palette of cosmetics, so expertly applied that it took a keen eye to spot. Her dress bordered directly on inappropriate, but she always dressed like that. She was intelligent, but Lieselotte hadn't ever been taught that an intelligent and educated woman was a creature of evil.
Obviously, Faline was seeking money and ease. It didn't make her evil. Amoral perhaps. A spa such as she spoke of would bring employment to many and possibly healing to others. But it was that spa which Kelly spoke of with the most heat. A den of iniquity, a haven of sinners.
Yet as Lieselotte fell quiet, she could feel something within her denying Faline. Wanting the woman to go away. Lieselotte frowned, rubbing Ashes's ears as Faline chattered on about her spa.
“...Where are you from, Miss Edenhill?” Lieselotte inquired in a brief pause. Faline blinked several times before laughing indulgantly.
“Faline, dearest! We are modern women here,” she insisted before shrugging lightly, “Why, I was born and raised in London. Mama and Papa were teachers, and very highly educated at that, giving me that grand opportunity though we were certainly not of this class.”
“Ah... But... you are...?”
“Fortune smiled upon us, an old peer found mama and papa's work to be admirable and worthy of all merit, and upon his demise, willed his entire fortune and all to us,” Faline beamed, hands clasped almost prayerfully, “He had no family and we looked after him in his final years.”
“I see. That was very kind of him, and your family, of course,” Lieselotte nodded, abruptly and horribly repelled. It was a tale all too common in sentimental novels, the poor but noble family taken in by the madly rich man who had been cold and lonely and they make a happy home until the old man dies, leaving his vast fortune to the virtuous family.
Lieselotte supposed it must happen now and again, but it was very odd to hear someone claiming it as their own past. Alarming. How easy must it be to bring a lonely old man into your confidence, particularly when you were a lovely woman?
Worse, Faline had been inquiring after Hans. Lieselotte yipped softly, grasping Ashes's tail.
“...My dear, are you alright?”
“...Yes. I... Uh... Oh dear, how the time has flown, I must be getting back home,” Lieselotte twittered rather inanely.
“Oh, I will walk along with you then, it's a lovely day and it's cooled off considerably,” Faline volunteered, rising to her feet and beaming at Lieselotte's rather blank stare.
“Miss Lehmann, are you ready?”
Lieselotte yipped again as Desdenova's voice sounded from behind the lych-gate. He smiled, faint and absent enough for her to know he would laugh at startling her again later, and opened the gate from the cemetery side.
“I... I... Yes...”
“I must protest, Miss Edenhill, your attempts to usurp my intended companion for the walk,” Desdenova noted, humorous as he took Lieselotte's arm.
“Well, she is a very charming companion, but if you cannot share...” Faline teased, though there was something hard and unpleasant in her hazel eyes.
“Mother said I am a very spiteful and selfish child. Do have a nice afternoon,” Desdenova sighed, bowing his head as he opened the outer gate.
“Perhaps tomorrow, Desdenova, we might have a stroll,” Faline suggested as she sauntered from the lych-gate.
“Delightful as that must be, I shall have to allow another to take my place,” he responded, glancing back over his shoulder with an amiable smile, “I have other obligations.”
“Mm. Each time I inquire after you, you have another obligation. I am beginning to think that you are simply avoiding me,” Faline sniffed, arch. Desdenova laughed lightly, shaking his head, but didn't respond.
“...Are you?” Lieselotte whispered several moments later with a quick look back to make sure Faline was heading back to the village.
“Miss Lehmann, how you must think of me,” he chided, shaking his head, his features set into a wounded nobility.
“I think you're a rotten snake and you had better be teaching me how to avoid that painted tramp,” Lieselotte assured him. He broke into laughter without warning, running an arm around her and squeezing.
“I should demand your hand in marriage right now, but your father will hear my reasoning and put me out like a cur.”
“Oh, really, and what would that reasoning be?” she demanded, trying not to giggle.
“Because you're a devious and wicked thing that sees right through me,” Desdenova explained, amused. Lieselotte considered, head tilting.
“Hm. Considering all of the mutton heads who have come to him insisting that my love is the wondrous elixir that they must drink of and other creepy things, he may very well agree to your reasoning.”
“I've met your father, he'd have me beaten and thrown into the street.”
“Aw, but you're depriving me of entertainment, you're so mean,” Lieselotte crooned, grinning at his bark of laughter and one armed hug.
“I am. My one true love is my own sweet self,” Desdenova assured her with a raffish grin and wink. She bumped her shoulder to him.
“See? Honesty is far nicer than insisting I'm your sun, moon, and stars.”
“You are hideously spoiled,” he nodded, “You're a little monster.”
“But pretty,” she chirped.
“Very pretty,” Desdenova agreed, a brow lifting, “More lovely as the summer goes on. By winter I expect I shall have to squint in order to approach and survive your beauty.”
“I will buy you smoked glasses that you can still bask in my glory,” Lieselotte assured him graciously, “The rest of the men can go hang.”
“Aw, and here I thought you didn't like me,” he grinned.
“Who said that?” she protested, wide eyed, “You just don't annoy me as much as they do.”
“Abuse.”
“You must like it, too,” Lieselotte tittered, and he grinned, bright and etherial to the sunshine, his eyes pressed shut. He shifted to catch her hand and squeezed before swinging their hands between them childishly.
“I've learned much from Kelly,” Lieselotte volunteered quietly as they walked, “Why she never stopped to see what was truly going on.”
“Why is that?”
“Because... well... I shall have to tell you it all another time, it was just all so... so... vile, but ...Mama just wanted to escape the evil that was part of her. Then she realized that she still had to have it to defend herself but... she didn't know any other way to use it. She didn't want to ask for help and she didn't … I don't think she even realized that she didn't have to be what she was. That the power was just power and … she didn't know that she could choose,” Lieselotte whispered slowly, clenching a hand over her heart.
“Now you are learning,” Desdenova murmured.
“I wish I could say I was strong and sure with it, but I couldn't even come up with a good spell to make Miss Edenhill go away.”
“Don't feel special, she manages to overcome wards I have cast that will send away angry bears,” he snorted, soft, shaking his head, “I am glad. To know that you have chosen this path. It is the harder and longer, but will bring you to a better way.”
“I want to be the happy fairy princess girl my sister and I used to dream of being,” Lieselotte informed him, chin lifted.
“Kiss any frogs, then?” Desdenova couldn't help but to ask, his voice skittering into snickering.
“Oh! Here, lean down and I'll kiss you and see if you turn into something better!” she yelped laughing, swatting his shoulder with her bag.
“Oh no. I've seen your lily pond in the garden. If I'm to be a frog, I would prefer a greenhouse arrangement so that the herons can't get me,” he sniffed, a hand over his mouth as if to protect himself from her evil magic.
“Coward.”
“And proud of it.”
Lieselotte eyed him, and reached up to pull his arm down, reclaiming his hand. Desdenova smiled once more, a quietly joyous expression that always lifted her heart. She leaned against him companionably, both kicking at rocks as they walked.
“I learned how to put up pickles, and it struck me... To take a sturdy container, and clean all well with vinegar and hot water and … Like me. Clean away all the evil and leave ...”
“Pickles?” Desdenova offered, lips quirking. Lieselotte nodded.
“Pickles.”
“How shall you clean all within you? Drinking vinegar will just make you sick.”
“As I find each thread of it, I learn it. I put aside the evil parts because I don't need them.”
“Where do you put them?”
“If you must know, I choke them into a handkerchief and throw it into the fire,” Lieselotte sniffed, but she eyed him sidelong, “The book I showed you, from that museum, it says that fire purifies.”
“Water, sun, the moon and stars do as well. Or place it before the Old One in the woods, He will transform it,” Desdenova nodded agreeably.
“Transform...”
“Have care, my pretty Pickle. I can't help you more than I have,” he murmured, head lowered to brush his jaw to her temple. Lieselotte giggled softly, but she knew better than to lose his words in the sweetness of his action.

“Alright, now try this one,” Desdenova murmured, handing a pipette to Lieselotte, careful and precise. She made a face at it, but tilted her head back and let the liquid run into her nostril.
“UGH!” she shuddered, hopping and making a face, pinching her nose closed as she danced in place.
“You should have gone pee pee before you came here,” he chided, dry, as he put away various vials and powders.
“Oh you!” Lieselotte sputtered, smacking his shoulder, “It's wretched!”
“Stop your fussing,” Desdenova noted, amused. He reached under the counter and removed a sprig of ragweed from under a glass bell. Lieselotte eyed it uneasily as he waved it slowly under her nose.
“Can you smell it?”
“Yes, it smells dreadful.”
“No sneeze?” he prompted, and Lieselotte frowned, sniffling, and finally taking the rag weed from him to sniff closer.
“Don't get it into your mouth, I don't think anything can stop it from an allergic reaction if you take it internally,” Desdenova warned, watching intently.
“Isn't it unethical to use people as your test subjects?” she inquired in a thick voice, snuffling all the more.
“Quite, that is why I volunteered you.”
“Oh, I am going to get you for that,” Lieselotte informed him, narrow eyed and scowling over laughter.
“Everyone has a different level of reaction and million other details. I can't make something to block the allergins without torturing the patient a bit,” Desdenova explained, amused.
“I think... I think that's done it. No sneezes, my throat isn't closing, I can breath and smell,” she reported with a slow smile, “I can finally go back into the garden!”
“Well, check the time. It's not going to last forever, and likely only a few hours. It'll do you no good if it wears off while you're running around in the middle of a meadow full of ragweed.”
“I will... It's ten am,” she reported after filching his watch from his vest pocket. He swiped it back with a humorous scowl and popped her one upside the head.
“Thief.”
Lieselotte promptly sucked in her cheeks and made a fish face at him. He stared, astonished until he had to burst out laughing.
“Thank you, Desdenova,” she giggled, giving him a quick and birdlike hug, pausing when he caught an arm around her before she could escape. With a smile, he squeezed her tightly before releasing her.
“I'm going back to find old woman Kelly. She is dead set on confronting Faline as she woos that horrible Dicer fellow about,” Lieselotte explained, wrinkling her nose.
“You'd both do better to avoid those two. Dicer does not have the fortune that Faline imagines that he does, and Faline is not the comfortable heiress that she'd led him to believe.
“She did, didn't she?” Lieselotte frowned. Desdenova glanced at her as he brought out a different apparatus, carefully setting up a series of pipes and phials onto a cage work of stands.
“...Did what?”
“Snuggled up to some wealthy old man to leech off of his fortune.”
“That would not surprise me, but whatever it truly was, I can tell you that right now, she is beginning to run low on funds and her sort is rather ruthless in restoring their coffers,” Desdenova murmured, shaking his head, “She doesn't even have that so-called spa to show yet.”
“What is it with this spa of hers?” Lieselotte demanded, frowning. Desdenova frowned faintly, a soft exhalation sounding.
“It would become quickly nothing more than a very high priced brothel, and I suspect far worse, in all honesty. Kelly is right, there is something very bad about it all, but I can't really say what it is.”
“Is that because you prefer to make people find out on their own or because you don't know?” she inquired, her head tilted. He grinned, wry, as he began to take various chemicals down.
“Honestly. You have absolutely no faith in me.”
“And see right through you. Marry me?” Lieselotte teased, crinkling her nose.
“Pfft. Not down on one knee, no ring? What sort of man do you take me for? Out,” he retorted, imperious, though his cheeks had run terrifically red. Lieselotte stared wide eyed at him long enough to let him know she did see his blush before she banged out of the work room with a naughty child's giggling.
“Wretched Pickle,” he muttered as he set back to work.
Kelly was already in a fine fettle, making it rather easy for Lieselotte to find her. She stood before the village hall, a bizarre creature of righteous indignation. Quite a few people had gathered to watch the spectacle, children who watched in silent earnest or who made bawdy fun of the old woman; shopkeepers and merchants, most quiet and thoughtful, though quick to toss out a joke. The city council, though, they all passed by the fracas without a word or seemingly, a glance.
“Ye can see the evil burnin' within them, simmerin' hell and damnation tis what it be!” Kelly barked out, pointing her old umbrella and Faline and her escort of the afternoon, Mr. Dicer. Faline smile with a world-weary humor, though her eyes were as hard and cold as flint. She was not amused by Kelly in the slightest. Dicer didn't seem to notice the old woman at all.
“And that tis what they shall bring upon us! Hell! Sin! Sins upon sins!” Kelly barked out, “Drive them away before she sets her claws any further within this village, I tell ye that she is naught but a foul succubus seekin' easy meat!”
Tom Skeering came trailing after a few of his children, and stopped, watching his mother in law while mopping his brow with an old red kerchief. Faline turned to the man, rushing to him in appeal.
“Oh, Mr. Skeering, please, do something about her, this is absurd! I cannot even step outside of my hotel without your mother in law badgering me and calling me evil and really, do I look even the slightest bit evil?” Faline blurted out, her eyes wide and lovely, swimming in crystal tears which artfully did not fall. Tom shrugged faintly.
“Jus' a crazy ol' woman, missy, ain't doin' no harm,” Tom muttered, “Used ta go on about th' Lehmann gal too. She's ain't hurtin' no one.”
Faline's features hardened for a brief moment before her expression flowed once more to that of a horribly wronged innocent.
“You don't understand, Mr. Skeering, people are here that don't know her ...er... charming … ah... idiosyncrasies...”
“Her idiowhatsis?” Tom demanded, almost appalled, “Lady, ain't no one getting on th' ol' woman's anything.”
“Don't ye be speakin' ta him, ya henna haired harlot!” Kelly yelled, furious as she realized what Faline was doing, “He bein't naught t' me, I be me own woman!”
“Oh be silent, harridan!” Faline snapped, turning an acid glare on the woman, “I am tired of this foolish game of so called village idiots and bumpkins! If you don't silence that woman, Mr. Skeering, I shall have an official out to see her and have her committed as a public nuisance!”
There was a sudden silence. Kelly's eyes glinted, but there was triumph within her gaze that Lieselotte couldn't decypher. Tom was simply outraged. The children who had been mocking the exchange fell still and silent.
Transform. Transform... turn what is bad to good. Sunlight? There was sunlight. She could do this. Lieselotte shook herself and strode across the street to meet Kelly and take her hand. Kelly eyed the girl oddly.
“Get back to th' cemetery, lass, ye's...” Kelly hissed.
“It's all right,” Lieselotte whispered. She could feel the power in her hands. It was good and strong and light. It was a heady feeling, one that she didn't know she could ever have again. It was like when she was a child and healthy and she could do anything and everything.
“I see at least Miss Lehmann has some sense,” Faline snapped, “Though if anyone truly did care for that old hag, she would already be in an asylum.”
“We all care for Kelly,” Lieselotte responded, stung though her voice was even and quiet.
“Oh? And yet you let her run about saying things like she has?!” Faline demanded, fury boiling under the perfect set of her mask of makeup.
“Honestly, most of what Kelly says is what we believe and know ourselves,” Lieselotte responded, her chin notching up a bit as Kelly hissed at her to be silent, “She is just more honest than the rest of us can afford to be.”
“Is that so?” Faline replied, flat and unpleasant.
“Be silent, ye nasty bag o' tricks. Ye get what ye wanted, I be going. But I shall nay forget this. I shall be watching ye,” Kelly hissed, abruptly jerking Lieselotte into walking along with her.
“And you, ya red haired harlot, ya threaten me Mum in law again, an' I'll have ya in fronta the magistrate. How dare ya threaten a harmless ol' woman?” Tom added, glaring in fury at the woman before turning and shooing at all of the children, “Get on, th' lot of ya, what's ya teacher thinkin' lettin' ya ruffians run loose so? Back t' th' school house.”
“Ya idiots, both ye and Tom. Idiots,” Kelly snarled, pushing almost angrily at Lieselotte, “Get ye back t' th' cemetery, ya moron, an' stays there till young Des be able t' walk ye home.”
“Why are you so angry with us?” Lieselotte demanded, nearly in tears. Kelly gripped Lieselottes arms and pulled her close, staring into her eyes.
“Because. I be an old woman who be hard t' kill as a cockroach an' twice as nasty. Bein't close to me daughter or her family, hasn't any close kin otherwise. Let evil focus 'pon me, tis naught but me that 'twill bother an' I be powerful in me faith, as ye say. But ye, ye art a babe in th' woods with only a thin string t' lead ye; and Tom be a man what has a wife an' children t' lose, or that would lose him.”
“...But I felt the strength and good...” Lieselotte almost complained.
“And ye has a wee bit o' trouble with pride, too.”
Lieselotte winced.
“There be a time for keepin' ye great trap shut an' a time for lettin' that strength bellow out. Ye hasn't larned which be which. Hm. Just as well, though, t'were too much attention 'pon her and all her shenanigans. Now...” Kelly yanked open the lych-gate and shoved Lieselotte into the shelter, “Ye sit ye arse down an' be waitin' for Desdenova. Right?”
“I'll wait for him. Where are you going?” she agreed meekly. Kelly snorted.
“Home. I mean it, lass, ye stay here.”
“I will,” Lieselotte promised, slowly sitting down on the bench. Kelly grunted and went stalking down the lane, hunching her shoulders as if she had felt a chill run over them.
Lieselotte exhaled and crumpled into the seat, face in her hands. So foolish, such foolish pride, so much to learn and never realizing when the lesson would be taught... She grimaced against her hands, staring at the ground through her fingers.
It would be nice if Ashes was there, but the cat was busy about the churchyard. A lot of gophers had shown themselves, and they required much patience and cunning to catch.
“Lotte? Lotte! Oh, dear. Lotte, darling, do come along!”
Lieselotte startled, finally realizing that her sister was calling her from her buggy, half leaning from the seat. Edward drove, and studiously ignored his sister in law, staring at the back of the lovely chestnut hackamoor pulling the vehicle.
“...But... I was waiting for Mr. Von Tombs...” Lieselotte faltered, glancing quickly at the sun. It'd been over an hour at the least, the sun was well on its way down. She sniffled discreetly as she recalled the medicine he'd given her for allergies. It still seemed to be working.
“You'll have quite a wait then, silly, he was boarding the train just as we were leaving it,” Annaliese giggled, “He said he had to meet with Dr. Lorrescar next town over.”
“...Oh... I remember,” Lieselotte winced. Desdenova had told her his plans, she had completely forgotten them in the ensuing excitement.
“Come on, no telling when he'll be back,” Annaliese chided, though her eyes fairly blazed with curiosity. Her sister was practically acting love sick and silly. Yet she couldn't properly question Lieselotte with Edward right there.
Grumbling faintly in embarrassment, Lieselotte climbed into the buggy and thumped beside her sister, hugging her warmly as Edward snapped the reins.
“I didn't know you were going to be visiting, I would have asked Mrs. Haymarker to have a nice supper in the garden ready for us if I had, it's been so wretchedly hot that papa and I have just sort of been slopping about by the pond with sandwiches and ginger beer,” Lieselotte admitted with a roll of her eyes.
“See, without a proper lady in the house, you both just turn to wrack and ruin,” Annaliese sniffed, as propriety demanded, but she couldn't deny how comfortable sandwiches and ginger beer in the cool by the pond sounded.
“Mrs. Haymarker is very proper, it's just that Papa and I are pigs,” Lieselotte retorted smugly, “If it gets any more hot, we shall wallow in the mud, too.”
“Oh you shall not!” Annaliese protested, her voice jumping with laughter, “I absolutely draw the line, Lieselotte!”
“Fine, you're quite welcome to be hot,” Lieselotte assured her before bumping Annaliese's shoulder gently, “What does bring you out? We truly are in a bit of a mess, Papa has quite fallen in love with that stone cutter, and the garden is in disarray as is mama's tomb, but it will be splendid next year, you will weep to see the beautiful angel that is being installed.”
“Business, darling, the clinic, and I suppose something about a spa to be included?” Annaliese grimaced, trying to wave aside the entire dirty concept of business with a swing of her hanky.
“Papa didn't... He didn't care for that at all,” Lieselotte noted slowly, turning to regard the back of Edward's head. They passed through a narrow cut made through a hill, an ancient part of an ancient Roman road, straight and level. Sound ricocheted against the earthen walls, muting all else.
“It really is not any of your concern,” Edward snapped, almost glancing back but stopping himself. He frowned, distracted as Lieselotte started to speak again anyhow.
“Please be quiet. ...There is something ahead, I can't...”
Lieselotte and Annaliese leaned forward, looking down the road. They could see Kelly's familiar figure as she stumped along, just leaving the cut and entering the wide meadow. There was a dull, distant thunder; a heavy hand of foreboding clenched at Lieselotte's heart. She weakly tried to call out, but felt as if she was within a nightmare and her voice wouldn't wake to make any sound.
A heavy truck drawn by six rampaging and terrorized mules burst from the woods, barrels teetering and falling from the back as the mules raged out of control, bursting into amber liquid when they hit the ground.
Edward's eyes nearly came out of his head as the team stormed straight down the road. He snapped the reins, but the horse refused to run headlong towards the screaming mules. It turned abruptly and dragged the buggy around, slamming both into the hill side. Moments later, the mules and wagon were on them, dragging the buggy several yards before it was thrown free. The horse broke loose and went careening after the others.
“Anna! Anna!” Lieselotte screeched, kicking hysterically through the wreckage and pulling herself to her sister. Annaliese groaned, a deep gash in her brow, her legs twisted in the smashed body of the buggy.
“Edward! Anna's hurt!” Lieselotte yelped, only to realize that the man was barely conscious, a post driven through his upper chest. She gaped at him before scrabbling into motion, bandaging Anna's head and screaming for all she was worth for help.
“Horrid b***h, this is your fault, you shouldn't have said anything,” something feral and female snarled. Lieselotte froze, wide eyed.
“You should have died!” it bellowed, and Lieselotte screeched hysterically, scrabbling out of the wreckage as best she could.
She couldn't quite see it. It was a rubbed out motion, a blurr of darkness, moving with a hellishly serpentine ease. It struck again, and Lieselotte rolled aside at the last moment, panting and terrorized. She eyed the woods. The old one...
“Disgusting c**t, you've escaped us this long, now we bring you back to the fold, we bring you to your long denied mate!” the thing sneered, looping around Lieselotte in nauseatingly flickered movements of shadow.
“NO!” Lieselotte barked, managing to get her feet under her. She ached from every part, she knew she was bleeding from a cut to her thigh, she was bruised and battered, and she simply had no other choice but to run.
“We will have you, oh we shall, you aren't any better than your mother and look where she ended up. She is part of us now, she is our beloved sister daughter again...” the voice leered, and as Lieselotte ran, it was joined by others.
They blocked the way to the forest, and worse, as Lieselotte drew closer, she could see that Kelly had been smashed badly by the runaway team. Choking on bile rising up into her throat and hot tears, Lieselotte turned abruptly and charged through the meadow.
Her foot punched through the weak earth over a rabbit den, and suddenly, she was swarmed by the animals. Rabbits, but their teeth were long and slender fangs, red eyed, and they turned on her with snarls and high pitched screams.
Lieselotte tumbled from the warren, howling and throwing the beasts aside as best she could before getting back to her feet. They were all still coming, a violent hunt where she was the fox and didn't have nearly enough time to make a false trail. She would have to run, full out, when she was too injured to walk.
They closed in with derisive laughter and foul words, clawing and snatching at her as the noose was pulled ever tighter. Just a little further, Lieselotte chanted under her breath, her eyes wide and glassy, just a little further...
“Your mother can't save you, I am your Mother!” the female voice burst out, laughing maniacally as it twisted its shadowing form around Lieselotte.
“NO!” Lieselotte howled, utter denial in her every fiber, staggering forward to fall abruptly flat upon her face.
“Now, now now she is...”
The exultations of evil stopped short. There was a tremendous roaring, as if an eagle screamed within the mouth of a lion.

There was heartbroken sobbing. Lieselotte listened, slowly realizing that it was herself. Her own self, crying alone and grief stricken. She didn't know what to do. She felt strangely apart from her own misery. She knew it was her, she knew the horrible pain, and it still was as if she was hearing it from another part of the room...
Or... Wherever she was.
It was dark and cool.
“Oh, darling, don't you understand?” Lieselotte whispered to her pain and grief, “It was all just a... a dream. More than a dream, perhaps. It was everything we wanted, but... it wasn't.”
She certainly didn't want to be the mate of the Grinning Man. She shuddered and it felt strange, as if it was amplified.
“We really should have known. Everyone that we knew was good and had power over such evil was dead,” Lieselotte sighed, “And no where was anything holy. If it was there it was concealed or defaced or defiled. Poor Ashes. The doves managed... unless they were killed later.”
Lieselotte grimaced, hanging her head.
“But Mama... They just... they overcame her and … forced her to be … At least in that dreaming world or whatever, she has Papa. And Anna. She ...I hope she realizes what she finds, if she finds it...”
Would she though? Her mother had been trapped for so long. She was so broken now that she would even help defile her own daughter.
“I know she loves us. But she... I don't know. I can't let myself be blind. She may love us but she hasn't any other choice but to use us. That hurts the most, I think. It's just... Why couldn't have anyone helped her? Why couldn't Kelly have taken a moment to really see...? Why... Maybe because Mama just didn't have any hope...”
There was a growing warmth, as if the gryphon remained after all, curled around her. She could almost hear the soft breathing, hear the thick beat of heart. The smooth feathers and soft fur.
Banishment, it had screamed. She wondered why. Lieselotte lifted her head as she felt herself gathered back together under the great creatures forepaws and smiled, wan. She reached up to touch at the wickedly hooked beak.
“Why...” she started to ask, when light flashed across her retinae, when pain exploded violently around her.
“Did... what...” the dark returned, and before she could gather her wits, bright agony shot through her once more, longer, and leaving her shaken and terrified. Yet the gryphon simply watched her with pleasant golden eyes.
“What is –?!” Lieselotte squawked, the light and pain beginning to strobe against the comfortable darkness, fast and violent. She let out a scream, but it sounded strange and thin, and the air burned as she gulped it in.
Desdenova was over her, his face white to his lips, his features filled with terror, his hair gone wild, strands of it clinging to sweat on his brow. He was in terrible disarray, his tie undone, the collar buttons open. He stared into her eyes feverishly, his hands over her heart, pounding a painful beat against her chest.
Lieselotte tried to demand what on earth he was doing and could only choke into coughing. He reeled back with a startled yelp, and promptly reached out to place his hand against her throat.
“It's beating, she's breathing...” he burst out, almost laughing. A moment later, he collapsed across the foot of the bed, panting.
“Liebchen, liebchen, oh my baby, my baby, breath, breath,” her father blurted out, and to her terror, in tears, sobbing as he abruptly scooped her into his arms and holding her closely, rocking side to side.
“I was going to kill him, I thought he had lost his mind,” Ellen blurted out thickly.
“He made her heart start again. Her breathing. She's breathing. Praise God...” Hans responded, carefully laying Lieselotte back down and staring at her face, “Liebchen, can you hear me?”
“...Pa...” she rasped, and that seemed to take a supreme effort. Her chest felt as if it was on fire, her every nerve burned and screamed, her throat and lungs ached.
“Will she be alright now? Tombs! You must get up! Tell me!” Hans demanded, turning to stare wild eyed at the young man. After a long moment, Desdenova nodded.
“Past the crisis,” he breathed.
“Where is that good for nothing doctor? Tell him to get his a** up here and out of my damn brandy,” Hans snapped, “No, go tell him to go to hell and to stay there!”
“Resuscitation is studied a lot where I come from. Just had to keep her going till the drugs could work,” Desdenova added rather breathlessly.
“Go put him to bed, Ellen, give him a brandy,” Hans decided, looking the young man over with a calmer eye, “Poor boy looks like hell.”
“He's been here every day, which is more than I can say for that doctor,” Ellen muttered, pulling Desdenova to his feet to hook his arm around her shoulders.
“Anna...?” Lieselotte whispered, trying to reach for her father's hand. Hans chuffed softly, squeezing her.
“She is all right,” Hans assured her, “Now rest.”
“Kelly...?”
“It's too hard to kill an old cockroach like her,” he chuckled ironically, “Though I may start calling you and Anna that now.”
“Heh. Pickle and Bug,” Lieselotte muttered, and drifted to sleep as she heard her father laughing gently.
Hans exhaled, fumbling his handkerchief out to mop his brow. This was all such madness. None of it should have happened. He owed everything to one young man who had the dedication to stay and watch over his girls and pulled them both through an inexplicable illness stemming from a horrific accident.
The doctor hadn't been half as helpful and kept insisting that the young pharmacist be sent away. Desdenova had, in turn, asked for a different doctor, but each time they sent for another man, they weren't able to come.
It had become something of a battlefield, with the doctor refusing to let Desdenova make his preparations and Desdenova refusing to dispense them. He was able to win Ellen to his cause and that was when the girls began to improve, Hans decided.
They both began to go downhill rapidly from the last time the doctor visited. Hans paused and frowned, stepping to the hallway to call for his housekeeper.
“Are they all right?” the woman demanded, anxious as she rushed up the stairs. Hans smiled, nodding wearily.
“They will be now, yes,” he assured her, “Mrs. Haymarker, did someone take the girls medications that Dr. Crevon brought in?”
“I did, sir, a few days ago,” she admitted after a moment of fervent relief, crossing herself once, “He said that Mr. Von Tombs had prepared them and they had Kansweet's pharmacy mark on them, so I took them in. I've noticed they've been fighting over the prescriptions, but I can't think why, there's nothing wrong with Brewers over in Titusville, no more than there's anything wrong with Kansweets.” “Is Crevon still in the study?”
“...I thought he would have been up here. He had summoned Mr. Von Tombs to talk to him this morning, but when things started going badly for Miss Annaliese, the boy ran up here like wild fire,” Mrs. Haymarker scowled, “Dr. Crevon's things are still in the foyer. If he isn't here doing his duty, I assume he must still be in the study.”
“I see. I shall go and speak to him now,” Hans rumbled, flexing his hands.
“If I may sir. I... I honestly do not believe that man is trying to help the girls at all. I know he has claimed to be Edward's uncle and all, but ...he did even less for Edward.”
“And if it hadn't been for young Von Tombs barging in, Edward would be long dead by now,” Hans added in a low undertone, “Perhaps even again today had I not sent him to Mycroft's sanitarium.”
“...I... think I should have message sent to Mycroft, sir,” Mrs. Haymarker stammered, uncertain.
“Do that, and send for the magistrate as well,” Hans frowned, “And also ask Pastor Norse to come here, preferably for the night.”
“Pastor Norse?” Mrs. Haymarker repeated, but nodded and bustled downstairs. Hans followed, slower.
It seemed that the hall leading to the study went on forever. That it stretched further and further from him with each step. Hans paused, then stopped, thunder gathering in his knitted brows and rumbling in the depths of his chest.
“Move aside, I will not have this in my home,” he growled in almost unearthly tones of well controlled fury. Another step, and the hallway still moved, seeming to warp and melt.
“Nos Es Vires,” Hans snarled, hand reaching for his watch. He lifted it and held up a fob hanging from the chain: A small golden rampant gryphon with citrine eyes and the legend 'We are strength' etched in Latin on its back.
Hans eyes narrowed as the disturbance receded immediately. With a rather cruel smirk, he let the fob fall back to place. His ancestors had been wise to choose the strength of the gryphon as their totem and shield.
Crevon sat stiffly in an armchair, a ghastly and final grin hooked across his face, his eyes wide open and sightless. An empty glass rested on a table beside him, with it, a false beard and mustache. Hans gaped a moment, hands working into futile fists, gaze jumping from the mask to the face in astonished recognition.
“You,” Hans whispered, fury licking at his mind, “I thought it was you, but how could it be after so many years? What sort of a demon are you? You tried to drive me away from my Marianne. You were in town when she died. And now here you are again, pretending to be a doctor to take my daughters from me.”
Hans studied the scene, scowling. So nicely set, it would appear that Desdenova had poisoned the man. A packet marked with the Kansweet's pharmacy name rested on the floor beneath the chair beside Crevon. The young man's hair was likely on the chair, and no doubt other evidence.
Grunting, Hans picked up the packet and tossed it into the fire. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the chair down, tossing a few stray long black hairs after the packet. As he pulled the seat cushion out, he found a cufflink and collar stay that likely belonged to the young man. Those he dropped into his pocket before restoring the chair to rights.
“Now I see that I must believe Lotte's strange claims, and I must do my duty to her and her sister and poor mother – I do not for a moment believe you peacefully rest in death, nor that you burn in the hell that should have received you,” Hans announced before turning and walking from the study.
The family crest and shield were proudly displayed over the huge fireplace in the great hall. Hans strode towards it, his heels thudding heavily on the polished marble floors. Grand tapestries of medieval scenes hung along with ancient portraits of distinguished ancestors. Hans stopped short before a painting, aged and darkened with time, of a burly man wearing fine armor, a bearskin cape over one shoulder, a thick and wicked war axe in his hand.
“Pater Ansel the Bear,” Hans murmured in thoughtful German, regarding the deep set eyes and heavy jaw depicted, “Never for a moment did I believe that you stepped into battle wearing such fine armor, not when your war axe is so crude. But artists take liberties.”
There seemed to be an amused smirk at Hans's observation. Hans nodded.
“We are strength,” he repeated, turning from the painting to reach over the mantel and take up the family's most prized relic – the axe belonging to Ansel. Hans turned it in his hands a few times, testing the balance.
It was a fine weapon. Even after so many years of adorning fine houses and resting in quiet dust and distant admiration, it was keen and sound. Hans gripped it firmly and turned from the hall.
“Now, Father Lewis, Mr. Destil, Dr. Crevon, whomever you were...” Hans smiled, grim, as he marched back into the study to regard the body crumpled into the chair, “It is far past time for whatever reign of terror you have held over the family of my wife to end.”
There was some malevolent amusement glinting in the dead mans glassy eyes. Hans accepted that, walking to the chair and abruptly kicking the body to the floor, and again so that it was on its back.
“I will explain something now. Mr. Yorker despises all of his wife's relations, particularly her siblings who have all proven to be useless parasites. You have claimed to be her dear brother, and the only thing Mrs. Yorker hates more than impropriety is her brothers,” Hans murmured, his head tilting as he regarded the corpse, “Of course out of decency they would have you nicely buried, certainly not entombed in one of the lovely family vaults. But I suspect you might eventually claw from a grave.”
There was a sneering expression on Crevon's face that hadn't been there before, Hans was sure of it. Mocking him. Taking glee in seeing that Hans had realized that despite all logic and all sense, Crevon would soon be free to walk the earth once more.
“They would be glad, therefore, to have me take care of the arrangements. And I of course shall employ young Von Tomb's expertise as a mortician, for there will need to be two graves.”
The sense of disdainful amusement vanished. Hans lifted the axe, tested his grip upon it.
“There is no law against killing someone who is already dead,” Hans added in softly sibilant hiss, his teeth baring in a ferocious snarl.
The study was suddenly alive with hysteria, furniture flew from the floor to slam into walls, the fire bellowed from the grate like a dragon howling, the very walls warped and gouts of blood poured down them. Hans flinched as a table slapped against his head, but held his ground as if his feet had planted into the ground.
With a booming voice, Hans struck against a painting flung at him, kicked aside an ottoman, bellowing out a war-song of old within a battle he had never dreamed of. Books, pens, a collection of small knives, even the rug on the floor rose up against the man violently, and he shrugged his way through them with the stern resolve of an ancient skin clad barbarian.
“Pater Ansel, guide my hand, my eye be true!” Hans roared, drawing the axe back and up, its edge glittering in the freakish show of light. The horror and shock was clearly painted upon Crevon's face, horror, shock, and terror.
The axe fell with a mighty sundering of the air and clove cleanly through Crevon's scrawny neck, embedding itself into the oak floor. As Crevon's head skidded away from the blow, the study went silent, furniture and fittings alike falling into a jumble. A few small fires burned here and there though the fireplace was all but empty of wood.
“My pardon, war-axe, for there is no hot blood for you to drink, only hate and sin for you to cleave,” Hans told the axe in soft German as he worked it free of the wood. He smiled grimly and checked the edge of the weapon with his thumb.
With a nod, he turned on his heel, passing by the astonished servants who had run to see what the fracas was.
Ellen crept into the room and stopped short, her hands over her mouth. Wide eyed, she turned to stare at Hans's back.

Lieselotte's eyes crossed, as did her sisters, as they focussed upon the wickedly long and rather thick needle that Desdenova displayed to them. Annaliese's eyes rolled up and she fainted into a heap onto Lieselotte's bed, Lieselotte clutched her hand over her chest, swaying slightly.
“...That...”
“Yes,” Desdenova assured her with a faint quirk of humor, setting the syringe aside to shift Annaliese so she was less likely to slide off of the bed.
“...In my... heart.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and stifled a choke of laughter when Lieselotte joined her sister in blissful unconsciousness.
“Well, and I didn't believe you when you said you could convince them that they needed to stay in bed no matter how well they felt,” Ellen noted, nodding pragmatically, “I thought you were a nice young man.”
“I never said that,” Desdenova protested, wide and mournful eyed as he helped Ellen straighten Lieselotte out on her bed.
“Hm. True enough. Now. You need to go back to the room I prepared for you and rest as well, Mr. Von Tombs, you look little better than they do.”
“I'm...”
“You haven't eaten well, you haven't slept well, you've sat here for weeks in a very uncomfortable situation because you feared if we put a cot between their bedrooms for you that you'd fall asleep too deeply to wake when you were needed,” Ellen reminded him smartly, “And lacking knowledge in which drugs will make you sleep, I will have to resort to my knowledge of where to hit a young punk's head to make him unconscious.”
“...Oh, you wouldn't...” Desdenova sputtered softly, his eyes wide as he stared at the woman. In answer, she glanced around the room and picked up a half empty bottle of wine by the neck. She arched a brow, staring at the young man. Without a further word, Desdenova turned on his heel and walked quickly back to the room he'd been given.
Ellen trailed after Desdenova, watching with folded arms and wine bottle as he removed his shoes and lay back down. She nodded once and covered him with a blanket before stepping back.
“You will bathe and shave properly before you get up again, I'm leaving word with the maids. Ignore them, young man, and I will be here to bathe you.”
“...Very well,” Desdenova grumbled, exhaling. He couldn't deny he was exhausted, and certainly a bath wouldn't hurt. And it must be bad if he actually was scruffy enough to need a shave. He rubbed at his jaw irritably but fell asleep before he could push himself up enough to look for a mirror.
Smiling rather grimly, Ellen turned and headed downstairs, watching as the magistrate oversaw a pair of gentlemen from London as they slowly went through the wreckage of the study. Learned men, she had been told, attached to the police and employed to deal with complex crimes. Both seemed perplexed, to say the least.
“Has your employer ever done anything of this nature before?” one of the men demanded of Ellen. She wasn't English, she was truly their only hope in gaining truthful answers from the staff. Americans of the servant class, black or white, didn't hold the same sort of protective loyalty towards the family. They hadn't been generations in serving the same people.
“No, sir. Never. Mr. Lehmann is a man of quiet habits and restraint,” Ellen responded promptly, “I can't even see one person doing all this in a fit of passion.”
“...Neither can I,” of of the detectives muttered, eying the mess all over again, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, “But each time we have had reports of this Crevon person, we have had similar destruction.”
“This is the fifth time in as many years we were told the man was dead,” the other noted, irritated, “But the first time we actually have the body.”
“Who is... was he?” Ellen asked slowly, glancing to the sheet and towel covered remains still laying on the floor.
“That's what we'd like to know. He's had dozens of aliases. He works his way into fine houses, doctor, pastor, instructor, whatever he can. Then he causes all manner of mischief and trouble. Isn't content with swindle or black mail. Then someone snaps and tries to kill him, or he is reported to have committed suicide, and by the time we get there, he is gone,” the first explained, disgusted.
“And there is a mess like this...?” Ellen prompted.
“Almost every time. It's uncanny. And the staff and family often babbling about ghosts and demons.”
Ellen considered, her head tilted. Hans hadn't been arrested for cutting off Crevon's head, but his judgement had sorely been questioned. He had simply responded that in his anger at finding that Crevon had taken the cowards way out, he had marched out to take his ancestral axe and returned to behead the corpse.
“Perhaps, gentlemen, this Crevon person was insane, and staged these … well, messes to keep people from looking too closely at his suicide. Which obviously could not have been a suicide,” Ellen offered, tilting her head, “It must have been some drug which only mimicked death.”
“Possible,” the first man agreed, “But we won't put that down, some bright b*****d might take that to blame Hans for murder.”
“It wouldn't matter, Hans isn't a doctor, and as far as he knew, the man was dead. Because otherwise our report will end up being that Crevon was some undead creature moving house to house to cause trouble for his own amusement, and was finally stopped when his head was cut off,” the other noted sourly, glancing back to Ellen, “We'll get the corpse out of here shortly, Miss.”
“Mr. Lehmann has agreed to have it buried, he feels it is his duty,” Ellen demurred. The detectives eyed her, then one smirked faintly.
“Going to bury the b*****d at cross roads, is he?”
“We are not barbarians, gentlemen,” she replied, her chin lifting. The men agreed quickly, and were too well bred to point out that she hadn't exactly answered the question. They were grateful, however, for the solution she presented to them and quickly left as a wagon from the cemetery pulled to the front drive.
The gravedigger dragged a cheap pine box into the house, one of the footmen assisting him. He paused and regarded the body and head, mildly perplexed. He simply shrugged as Ellen walked up and began to pour a bag of salt into the coffin.
“Rector said he didn't want this nasty bit of goods in his cemetery, ya oughta know,” the man noted as he shifted the body to the box once Ellen was done.
“Just hold him in the chapel, we have instructions for his burial,” Ellen assured him, shaking a bottle of holy water into the coffin once Crevon was placed within. She could swear she saw curls of steam rising from where the water struck on his flesh and simply dashed more into the coffin.
Shrugging, the man nodded, waiting until it seemed Ellen was done before taking a folded paper from her. He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and closed the box, tapping nails into it and then dragging it back to his cart.

“They killed Crevon,” Faline hissed as she stalked around the outskirts of the village, furious, stamping past tall grasses and irritably brushing at the foxtails accumulating on her skirts.
“So what? He'll be back in less than a month, good as new,” Regis snorted, trailing after and hardly concerned. Faline barked a laugh, shooting a dirty look back at him.
“Oh really.”
“Really, Faline, or have you forgotten what he is?”
“No, and apparently, they knew too. That fat oaf Hans chopped his head off. They've got him in the cemetery chapel, and the stupid rector was out sprinkling holy water on the boundaries again,” Faline snapped, stopping short and glaring at Regis. He still failed to be moved by that information.
“It takes less than a day to de-sanctify a cemetery, and so what? Just claim Crevon as your dear uncle or something, they won't care.”
“Let me see. The man has been here for months, and I just now recognize him as dear uncle, and this after the detectives have been here to see him and know him as a career criminal who uses many names and identities, oh, and I'd like to have him lain to rest in the family garden now, thank you,” Faline noted, facetiously curtseying as she spoke.
“Why not? What are they going to do, check?” Regis inquired, unimpressed.
“I am not going to connect myself with that moron, I have too much at stake here,” she reminded him dryly. Regis snorted.
“Darling, your overblown charms haven't so much as twitched Han's short hairs. Whether you and your family want to admit it or not, he loved Marianne, and that has cut you all off at the knees.”
“You as well, dear cousin.”
“Mother foresaw all this collapsing ages ago, that's why she had us stop depending on your ancient little ritual. Blame your parents if they didn't listen and make sure that their abilities were real and not borrowed,” Regis sneered, flicking at her bright red curls.
“My abilities are real,” Faline snapped, “And once I do have my spa in place, they will restore everything Marianne ruined and then some. It's far past due for a new contract.”
“And how are you going to do that? Lieselotte slipped out of Crevon's hand so quickly, he may as well never tried. You couldn't get so much as a finger upon her.”
“I don't understand. Her stupid brother in law was braying it all over London that she was ripe to despoil and bring into her true heritage,” she exhaled, rubbing at her brow before focussing on the bare deer-path that she walked along. Muttering, she held up her skirts and started walking again.
“Just like Crevon thought Marianne was in the proper time and place to be dragged back to her beloved mate,” Regis sneered, amused, “And what did that do? He accidentally kills her. All anyone can do is lock her into the dreaming land. Fat lot of good that did, too.”
“Well at least she is what she is supposed to be there,” Faline retorted, aggravated.
“And still wife to Hans. Not even Gwenu could change that. She has absolutely denied him as a mate and is still so powerful that she recreated her husband and daughters there no matter what he tries. It still does no good. He can't breed a brat on a dead woman,” Regis smirked, idly lighting a pipe as he followed Faline down the path.
“Hush, idiot, don't keep saying his name, he'll pop up here,” Faline barked. Regis caught up with Faline, leaning his head to hers, all but purring.
“Aww. And take lovely Faline instead, and what a glowing perfection of motherhood you would be.”
Faline shoved the man back with a glare.
“Some women are capable of managing their own wombs, thank you very much. I have no intention of being mate to that moron. He hasn't ever thought big. He's an idiot.”
“So why are you so desperate to have him take Lieselotte, preferably by inhabiting Edward?” Regis inquired, shaking his head.
“Lieselotte will destroy him. See, I did listen to your mother, far better than you. She is far more powerful than any of us, and the powers are her own, not borrowed. But if she destroys him before he despoils her, she's useless. He is virtually created to know all of her weak points and exploit them, so we use him. Edward was simply the easy one to use as a vessel,” Faline explained irritably, pushing through a stand of trees.
“And that didn't work.”
“No. But he's still working at it, he's just been severely crippled by the loss of Crevon and now Edward is barred to him, that little p***k of a pharmacist sent him to a sanitarium that uses faith.”
“Okay, so you need what to do what?” Regis exhaled, “Seriously, Faline, it is past the time to cut your losses and run. Quit trying to depend on this family thing.”
“I just need another vessel...”
“Which you cannot get with Crevon beheaded. He can't creep into people's minds or drug them or whatever he does to get them to let him open themselves up to Gwenu's possession.”
“Not for him,” Faline snorted, “To hell with him, let him find his own way to get at Lieselotte. Which he will. He's determined. He's learned exactly what she wants and how to get to her. No. I need a vessel which will contain a far more powerful demon.”
“Why?” Regis inquired, almost rolling his eyes.
“Lieselotte destroys him. The more powerful demon steps in and demands retribution. That places her and her powers into my hands. We free her mother, again, placing her power into my hands. Now I can build my spa as a perfect disguise for my temple. After that, the sky is the limit, darling. The demons no longer hold onto the hems of our family, they are in our control, as should have been from the start,” Faline explained with a feline smile, stopping as she came to a stone fence. Regis nodded slowly.
“Alright, I approve of that, but what guarantee have you that you will be given this power? How is it that you will take it from these demons?”
“That proved to be a simple matter, actually. Ah. Here, I found the sinner's graveyard.”
“What?” Regis blurted out with a laugh, following as she walked along the stone work. Faline chuckled warmly.
“Evil people and suicides couldn't be buried within the confines of a nice cemetery, so they were buried outside of the fence,” she explained, amused, “They still do that, too, in many places. I suspect that they may bury Crevon here, too. These are quite old...”
Faline stepped to a small clearing, indicating a few ancient crypts, two open and apparently empty. A few tombstones had fallen over, some remained standing. A small door had been built into the wall leading to the cemetery, but was locked when Regis tried to open it.
“It's walled up on the other side, I doubt the current rector even knows this is here,” she explained, walking among the graves, “One of the crypts has been cleaned out, so I suspect they're going to put Crevon there. Or at least his body.”
“I hope it was empty,” Regis snorted, walking to the crypt that she indicated.
“Probably, the other two are. The sealed one should still be occupied,” Faline shrugged, trailing after, hands behind her back and watching the man keenly, “They may have been moved, maybe they were proved innocent or something. It happens.”
“Nice. It's downright comfy in here. If you're a dead man,” Regis noted, amused, as he strolled past the small vestibule and into the crypt proper.
An oil lamp hung overhead, pierced censors were fixed to the walls. Dim frescos decorated the walls, depicting fields and skies. A pedestal, elaborately carven, centered the room, waiting to receive a coffin. A few shelfs were built into the wall, as well. It had been recently cleaned, that was obvious.
Faline leaned to the doorway, shifting as the iron gate groaned faintly when it moved at her touch.
“So how is it that you will be the one in control of these demons?” Regis inquired, lounging back on the pedestal, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.
“I demand it, in return for the use of my dear niece,” Faline shrugged idly, “All these generations, and no one in the family has ever realized that they're giving everything for very little in return. Essentially making us slaves to that idiot.”
“Ah, but then we become the guilty and sinners,” Regis pointed out with a wolfish grin, “We no longer have our little sacrificial lamb who burns in hell for us.”
“Really, Regis, open your eyes. You saw where Marianne was. That is where all of our ancestors were, but not in nearly as lovely circumstances. Locked into limbo planes and not very well, I might add, because all it takes is one angered villager pissing on a grave to kick that soul right into hell. It was a poorly made contract.”
“Condemning us to burn in hell on death, really, Faline,” Regis chided, tisking softly. Faline smirked, sweet acid as she tossed her head, idly beginning to remove her hat. She removed a pin and waggled it at him.
“I have always believed that you cannot truly bask in the fruits of evil in life if you're not willing to take the punishments of death. Besides which, if you're really good at being bad, I suspect that you will find favor and more power after death.”
“Of course. Now about why we were taking this lovely stroll through the hinterland...?” Regis smiled, eyes narrowed as he watched her set her hat aside on one of the shelves before she set the hat pins beside it. Faline snorted softly.
“Always my most eager test subject, aren't you?”
“Always, dearest. I'm not going to come to my senses and go running to my mommy to tell her naughty Faline had her dirty little way with me,” Regis purred, his eyes flickering as he watched her every move, shifting to start to pull his jacket off.
“No, no, leave it on, this preparation is quite different,” Faline mulled, holding up a small vial of clear claret liquid and inspecting it critically against the light, “This one shall net me far more than just embarrassed promises of support and cash.”
“Oh really?”
“Really. This one doesn't just inspire lust, it forces it forward and will drive you to be the active party,” Faline murmured, a brow quirking, “If it works properly, you will be quite convinced that you were entirely in control and forcibly seduced me to your base lusts.”
“Brilliant, darling. Even though I am aware that I am willingly taking your nasty little potion?” Regis smirked, pulling to his feet and reaching for the vial.
“You will recall that, of course, but your body will insist an entirely different matter. It should mix nicely with wine and tea, though, for my less willing subjects.”
“They should take you now and call you their most wicked succubus, sweet,” Regis smirked, flicking the cork from the bottle and draining the fluid down his tongue. He considered a moment, thoughtful.
“Almonds. They will be suspicious of it.”
“Only if they smell it first, and I have many ways around that,” Faline reminded him, watching him intently. His lashes fluttered, and he swayed faintly before grinning.
“Potent stuff...”
“Very, darling,” she agreed, her smile growing.
Moments later, the man topped back heavily onto the slab, eyes wide open and glassed. Faline quickly went to his side and touched at his throat, her features intent. She nodded to herself after a moment, quickly stepping outside.
A large black bag rested behind a bush. She took that, carrying it into the crypt, swinging the barred doors shut behind her.

The sun was setting by the time Faline finally staggered from the crypt, a triumphant grin cutting across her sweat streaked features, her nude body slathered in oils and smeared arcane markings. She turned and slapped the iron gates shut, uttering filthy sounding words which barred the doors shut more than just the chain and lock she threaded through the bars.
Blood slowly drained from the crypt, enough light remained to see Regis's feet, booted, hanging off of the low pedestal. Over his unmoving chest, a darkness gathered in a belligerent cloud, sick reds crackling through it like lightning. A core to it began to form, a sulfurous yellow sphere with a wide slot of a black pupil.
It seethed hatred as Faline gaily covered herself in a concealing black cloak before she headed back for the village. By morning, she was bathed and fresh, bidding regretful farewells to her admirers. She had to meet with potential investors, and would be back whenever she could.
“Good riddance,” Tom Skeering muttered, spitting after the woman as she swept off for the train station.

Desdenova paused as he worked in the cemetery, his brows knitting. Plaster had fallen in patches here and there from the stone fence, was gone altogether in some places, and as he cut back an ungainly boxwood bush, he found that the plaster showed a distinctly rectangular impression in rusty cracks.
Tipping his head, Desdenova traced the cracks with a gloved finger before he turned back to his wheelbarrow, pulling out a chisel like tool. He quickly popped the plaster away from an old door set into the wall.
The door itself was locked, the mechanism clogged with rust and plaster, the hinges in no better shape. Desdenova glanced around, behind him, but the cemetery was deserted that time of day. Quirking a brow and murmuring, hand held over the lock, he created a quick pop of energy, then two more over the hinges.
Smiling rather wryly, Desdenova pushed the door, putting his shoulder into it against the plaster remaining on the other side. The door groaned and finally sprung open, creaking and cracking. Desdenova threaded himself through the door carefully, stepping down to the old graveyard.
Giving an unearthly yowl, Ashes leapt to the top of the fence, hugely fluffed, his back arched, hissing and spitting as his tail lashed. Desdenova paused, looking up at the animal, a brow lifting.
“That bad?” he inquired, but slowly backed himself to the door, regarding the few stones and crypts in curiosity.
A sudden and sharp crack rang out, a bullet pinged off of the stone near Ashes's paws. The cat and young man both swiftly ducked behind the wall for cover, both pressing into the thicker boxwood that Desdenova had yet to prune.
“Ya git it?” a man cackled, his voice a coarse tenor.
“Nah. An' I like pussycat, more's tha pity. Tastes like bunny rabbit,” the second noted mournfully, his tones carrying a slow slurring, as if he was already half drunk.
“Biddy better be playin' us straight 'er I'll straighten 'er neck arright. This here's a long jaunt f' a few pounds, an' I'm famished,” the first grumbled, irritable, as he stumped down the trail leading to the sinners graveyard. Desdenova frowned as he listened, shifting silently to move Ashes to his shoulder, where the cat settled tensely.
“Aw, quitchyer whinin', Billy, got plenty a pie in th' bag if ya so starved,” the second snorted, “There tis. Nice an' simple.”
“Pie what ya woman made, meanin' I may as well be gnawin' 'pon one of them rocks,” Billy muttered, and apparently shuffled through the bag for the food anyhow. The second man guffawed while metallic clicking sounded. Reloading, Desdenova decided.
“Middle one, Ralph,” Billy noted, speaking with his mouth full, “Wit' th' new lock.”
“Yeah, I see it,” Ralph agreed, moving towards the crypt, “Stinks t' high heaven, too.”
“It's a crypt, Ralph, not particularly gonna be smellin' like a posey.”
“Yeah, I don't like this,” Ralph decided abruptly, his tones suspicious and cool, “Red headed tart dressed t' th' nines jus' happens t' be hangin' aroun' Mole's Hole Bar, an' cryin' in her pretty lace hanky 'cause she found 'er dear ol' uncle's legacy t' her an' it's been locked up in a crypt? An' she's jus' so kind she'll give us a few pounds f' our trouble if we fetch it f' her? Not t' mention trustin' we won't take it all?”
“That bein' why ya got ya gun,” Billy reminded the man.
“Can't stop some things with a gun. Didn't you read on about them learned men all gone mad an' most dead for sittin' in a hainted house? They had pistols, all 'em. Didn't do any good,” Ralph noted darkly.
“We ain't learned men, an' so what, they all got spooked an' started shootin' each other,” Billy sneered, walking closer to the crypt.
“It was sumpthin' else. My gram always knew when there was ghosts an' such aroun'. Said ya could smell 'em, like rotten oranges an' filth.”
“Smells bad enough f' a fair mob o' ghosts, then.”
“Or a dead body, an' that trollop's settin' us up f' a murder,” Ralph muttered, “Sod this. She can get 'er own moneys from here if there really is money.”
Desdenova slowly tilted his gaze up to Ashes. The cat remained fluffed up, but was utterly still and stiff, his eyes fixed. He regarded the animal as curiously as Billy must have been staring at Ralph.
“So ya jus' now decides this? Wastin' trainfare an' th' whole damn day?” Billy demanded, astonished.
“So what, she paid f' it, an' all I gotta do is get one of them fat lil' deer runnin' loose an' we've made our money,” Ralph snorted, turning away. Billy stared after the man.
“You crazy?! ...Lettin' some stink drive you offa a few hundred pounds...?”
“How stupid we gotta be t' think that red head is really gonna trust us with her money when she coulda opened that gate 'er self?” Ralph insisted, his voice sounding further away.
Billy fell silent while Ralph walked. Desdenova bit his lower lip, turning faintly in place. He closed his eyes and whispered under his breath, creating a rippling of energy that disturbed every animal across the meadow, sending rabbits, pheasants, and the small deer alike scrambling. That should keep Ralph occupied.
There was another gunshot, further away, and Ralph's gleeful yell of triumph some ten minutes later. Billy abruptly grumbled.
“Stupid soddin' moron, shoulda known he'd see the game an' not give a damn for th' money,” he noted, a chain rattling. Ashes twitched abruptly, meeting Desdenova's gaze harshly. Desdenova set the cat onto a branch and swung from the bush to push through the small door in the wall once more.
“What are you doing?” Desdenova barked out as he marched out. Billy clipped a stare to the young man, alarmed before realizing it was just a boy. He smiled toothily and continued to work the key in the lock covertly.
“Heh. Jes' payin' respects, lad. Now g'wan about y' business, isn't no reason f' ya t' be disturbin' a man mournin' his poor uncle.”
“Get away from there, get away!” Desdenova blurted out as Billy cracked the lock open and released the chain.
“What...?”
“Get away!” Desdenova barked, trying to haul the man away from the tomb's door as it slowly opened, and finding that Billy was held there as firmly as if he'd stepped into cement.
Billy threw his arms over his face and screamed in horror, hunkering back as tendrils of blackish red slung from the crypt, wrapping around him and squeezing. Desdenova wrenched back with a yelp of pain before he set his teeth and locked an arm around Billy's shoulders, his feet set.
His voice cracked like a whip as Desdenova realized what he was looking at, barking out 'banishment' with all of the force he could muster. The tendrils jerked back briefly only to lunge back for Billy once more, this time winding around his legs and pulling. Billy yowled hopelessly, clinging to Desdenova as the young man tried once more to rally.
“Holy mother lovin' hell!” Ralph blurted out, skidding to a halt and fumbling his rifle up. He fired into the crypt before running closer and clubbing at the manifestation wound around Billy's legs with the butt of the rifle.
“Banishment!” Desdenova snapped once more, a foot braced against the outside of the crypt, sweat running down his face. There was a distant wailing, as if from far beneath an unfathomable pool of water, and the tendrils snapped away with a sick, wet popping and tearing. Billy shrieked, his eyes nearly coming from his head, and fainted, his lower left leg torn away at the knee.
“s**t...” Desdenova choked, and he yelled again after the retreating tendrils. With a squeal, it flung Billy's leg back, the appendage striking Ralph square in the face. The man yowled and toppled into a faint.
Panting, Desdenova slammed the door shut and turned on Billy, wide eyed. The man was bleeding heavily, in deep shock. There wasn't much time, and Desdenova was already pushing his limits driving the demon back.
“Please do not allow that thing to feed, not even on this sinner of a man,” Desdenova abruptly blurted out, hands clasping with the prayer. He dropped to his knees and for lack of anything else to, locked his fingers around the bloody stump of Billy's leg.
Not all as powerful as you would have people believe, are you? Voiceless words sneered, inaudible but present. Desdenova declined to reply, focusing his will into the injured man.
Nothing more than a pup wet behind the ears, thinking you can do a man's work when you don't have it in you, you're weak, you're a mockery, a shadow, of the true power that you will never have. Your blood is tainted and the only way you will ever command the forces of magic the way you think you should is to side with darkness...
Desdenova closed his eyes, ignoring the insidious words that seemed to write themselves in fire across the darkness of his mind. He did not fear the darkness, feared no black dogs, cats, horses, or birds. He knew who he was and what his choices were.
You never needed to fear the darkness, you are part of it, you are home here, take what is yours, power far more vast than ever you have dreamed. Feel it, taste it, the energy you should have always had to command...
It was there, Desdenova knew, as if an enormous enraged boil just waiting to be lanced. Sheer power without fetters. He could take it. It would only require a touch.
With such power, you would protect your beautiful little Lieselotte. She would never be in danger again. She would turn to you, be utterly yours, no questions would remain...
He seemed so near. Poised to reach for the darkness, drawn there as the words spoke of Lieselotte. How he would become perfectly the one she truly wanted. How she would give her love to him. How she would go into arms and never look aside. The temptation of words writhed eagerly as they stood in dark brilliance in his mind.
With a sudden, vulpine grin, Desdenova gave a choked yell, letting his mind flood with golden light, the joy of the sun rising rolling quickly into the stern power of the midday noon of the desert where he was born.
It wasn't nice at all, but Desdenova laughed in ragged gales at the outraged and agonized squalling of the temptation fleeing before light.
Panting, he wiped his brow and smiled rather wryly to Ashes as the cat hopped down beside him. He patted the animal before glancing to Bill rather unwillingly. Ashes mewed smugly, stepping onto the man's left leg, once more attached below the knee, though with a thick and ugly scar.
Desdenova blinked several times, rubbing at his eyes.
“Did you do that? I can't,” he asked the cat, astonished. Ashes marched up to the unconscious man's chest and sat, tail flicking as he mewed once.
“I know. He doesn't deserve it, being that stupid, but maybe he can learn,” Desdenova exhaled, checking the mans pulse before looking at Ralph, “At least he heard you.”
Ashes mewed again, smug. Snorting, Desdenova staggered to his feet and locked the chain. He paused and muttered a word, melting the mechanism before letting it fall. He spread his hands and sent two balls of light spinning from his palms to encircle the tomb several times before they finally faded, leaving it ringed against evil.
“Yes, and I'm positive he'll never shoot at another cat. They'll come to their senses soon enough and get as far away from here as they can. And if we hurry, we can probably find the deer he shot. Venison sounds good today.”
Ashes mewed brightly and took off at a trot, stopping at the edge of the old graveyard to wait for Desdenova. Moments later, a large black dog with the elegant lines of the wolfhound joined the cat. The pair loped up the hill, following their noses.

Daisy ran lightly as a deer down the snowy road, gleefully prancing along, cheered considerably by the strings of bells that Lieselotte had found and buckled to the cart turned sled harness. Lieselotte sat almost at the edge of the seat, eyes wide and laughing in exhilaration, the reins held tightly in gloved hands.
It was fortunate that Daisy was well trained, but it didn't matter at the moment, they both enjoyed the speed and sunny winter day immensely. The mare decided to swing through the woods, dropping to a brisk canter, head up and ears swiveling about as if she was looking for something.
The world was striped in glittering white and shades of gray, silhouettes of the bare trees etching shadows over snow randomly, turning the drive into a strange tunnel through a stranger reality. Had the ghosts, demons, imps, monsters retreated to the woods after finding that Hans did not necessarily have to see them to cast them away from his home, that all he needed was his daughter's help to to turn a formidable force of will and faith against them?
Perhaps it was Papa all along that they were trying to get to, Lieselotte mulled. Perhaps they didn't realize his power and influence until they had all but thrown the opportunity away, and the only way to him was through her.
If only Mama had realized it. She must have known his strength, but...
Well, that was their stumbling block. Pride. Lieselotte grimaced. She prayed that her mother could find the earring left in offering of a goddess, know it for what it was, and somehow accept it. Cast off the chains binding her and finally be free.
Daisy came to a smooth halt at the crossroads, and Lieselotte rolled from the little cart, laughing and stumbling a bit.
“It's so different here now. All the bones are laid bare in winter, but then the snow covers them...” Lieselotte noted, patting the animal before turning to the old plinth. The bowl Desdenova had left there remained, half filled with bird seed, a bale of hay broken apart around it.
Several small birds fluttered from the bowl as Lieselotte approached, and she cooed softly as she saw the prints of deer hooves punched through the snow and ice.
“It must be quite busy here in the evening,” she decided, adding a biscuit and a few old bits of hardware that she'd taken from the cart to replace with new, “I wonder what statue was here, which Old One. I always forget to ask Desdenova. But knowing him, he doesn't actually know, he'll just insist that he does.”
Daisy chuffed, and it sounded like amused agreement. Lieselotte snickered before she carefully stepped to regard the plinth, silent and contemplative. It hadn't been so long since she had come tumbling into the dirt before it to find an utterly obnoxious and laconic young man questioning her motives and soul.
Had she fallen? Lieselotte tilted her head slightly. She supposed that she had, in truth. Fallen from being the nasty demonic brat she should have been. Everything about her spoke of it, animals disliking her, flowers making her sneeze, Kelly constantly screaming at her.
But that wasn't her. That what was within her that she had denied and tried to hide from, to escape.
Trying to escape it hadn't done so well. Lieselotte grimaced faintly, but with a soft sigh, openly acknowledged that she had tried so hard that she had nearly given herself right into evil hands and ways. It was a hard truth, but the only one she had.
It seemed all tied in with that part of herself that she kept finding herself warned away from. Kelly assured her that it was best to leave it as it was, work around it until it was time to discover what it was. Lieselotte grimaced faintly. She was almost positive that she knew what it was, and wanted badly to work with it. But she resisted.
“In the stories, the struggling little princess would ignore what the good witch told her and try to fight it through only to be put into a worse position,” Lieselotte noted absently, “And then the hero would have to rescue her, yuck.”
“Yuck?”
Lieselotte startled, turning a circle, looking for the source of the voice. She almost expected Desdenova, but it wasn't his voice at all. It sounded like an old man.
It seemed that he'd been standing there a while, petting Daisy's head and gaining quite a bit of pleased nattering. Yet she hadn't noticed him.
Lieselotte eyed the man a moment, head tilted. No matter how she looked at him, he just seemed to be an old man, well off, taking a brisk morning stroll.
“Being rescued by a hero is yuck?” the man prompted humorously as Lieselotte stared at him like a startled doe. Her lashes fluttered and with a laugh, she nodded.
“It would be, simply awful, sir. Could you imagine? You wouldn't even know his name or where he was from or if he was even nice or not, and they generally expected the damsel to marry them!”
“Being a hero isn't proof enough of a mans good heart and intentions?” the old man inquired, a brow quirked.
“Oh, no. Just because you're good doesn't mean you're nice,” Lieselotte nodded firmly, stifling a laugh as she said it. He regarded her in warm amusement as she picked her way back to the road.
“I see. And what is this task that your princess would be set to that she would fail by ignoring good advice?” he inquired, bowing slightly as the girl approached the little sled, “Herman Omaha, at your service.”
“Lieselotte Lehmann,” she responded with a little curtsey, “Papa lives up at the Temperance, I'm helping old woman Kelly through the winter. ...And well, that's the thing, I'm not quite sure what it is, I just know that if I insist to myself that I can do it when I know I can't, then... Well, I don't care to be rescued.”
“Ah, you are the other daughter, I have come here at your brother in law's request to assist with his sanitarium,” Herman responded, beaming a moment before his features moved into thought, his head tilting, “Have you a name for this ...blockage, then?”
Lieselotte cringed inwardly. A man brought in to help with Edward's sanitarium could only be another mind doctor, and he was certain to have learned her history. Yet she pushed it aside. She would not be intimidated, and she would not fall back into the trap of thinking some pill or regime or diet or anything but her own hard work could save her.
“Not really. I think it's a lot of fears for my mother,” Lieselotte assured him with a bit of a frown.
“Ah, but she has passed away, I understood?”
There was something peculiar in the question, though it was entirely natural. Lieselotte couldn't quite put her finger on it.
“Yes, but... Well, she is gone, certainly, but all that I remember and such is still within me. It was all such a sudden thing and shock, I don't think any of us really dealt well with it.”
“I wouldn't expect anyone to deal well with the loss of their mother so early,” Herman decided with a wry smile, “Or ever, truly, I still miss my own mama. Not that men are supposed to say as much.”
“I think they should if they do. It's silly to pretend they don't,” Lieselotte nodded, “Papa often will say so, and that he misses his grandmother, too.”
“Ah, so you are another of those rights of women champions, are you?” he teased, looking her over. Pretty as her sister, indeed, with delicate form and features, but her clothing was simple utility, rather worn and somewhat untidy.
“I am, see, I have my trousers on,” Lieselotte announced, wide eyed as she flared out her skirt, “And driving my own pony quite fast down the roads, too.”
“I see,” Herman chuckled, glancing to Daisy as he scratched under her mane, “Society's very ruination.”
“I try to only ruin small parts of it. I was going into town – Daisy isn't truly mine, a friend has loaned her to Kelly and I for the winter... and I really don't know how to drive, but Daisy does... Would you care for a ride to the house, or town? Because I ought to be going.”
“Daisy? She doesn't look much like a Daisy,” Herman decided, chuckling as he offered a hand to Lieselotte. She laughed as she clambered back to the seat.
“She answers to it,” she nodded, quite pleased to have quoted Desdenova's own reasoning, and reached for the reins. Herman gave a grunt and reached quickly to steady her hands on the leathers even as he climbed beside her.
“Careful careful, you want to hold the reins quiet and still till your passengers are aboard. A shake means 'go',” he explained, thumping to the bench with a grin, “Now take off your brake...”
“...Where would this brake be?” Lieselotte inquired slowly. Herman blinked, a few times, as if he was truly debating his decision to ride with the young lady, or to even show her how to drive, but with a crinkling of humor at his eyes, he pointed to a red handle set alongside the cart's frame.
“That. And it seems to be up, so give a few clicks to let Daisy know we're ready and flick the reins,” he offered, “Tell me, young lady, however did you manage to harness Daisy without knowing anything about it?”
“Oh, there was a diagram in the stable,” Lieselotte nodded, clicking her tongue and flapping the reins once, “But it was for a plow horse. I figured it out though.”
Herman lifted his brows and leaned to look Daisy over as the mare cantered gladly through the woods. Every strap lay correctly, the strands of bells were properly buckled into place, the horse wasn't in any distress.
“An excellent job,” he assured her, “Now though Daisy seems happy with her current gait, we shouldn't come sailing into town, let's work on controlling her speed...”
Lieselotte paid careful attention to the man's instructions, occasionally sneaking peeks at him. He must have been very handsome as a boy, she decided, with strong, aquiline features and a warm tan skin, time worn into a fine patina of lines and wrinkles. His hair was cut quite short and was white under his hat, as were his short beard and mustache. Eyes that should have been a piercing black were merely warm and friendly under still-dark brows.
“Are you a doctor?” Lieselotte inquired as she carefully guided Daisy through her paces. Daisy nattered a few times, complaining about the easy walk, and compensated by giving a bounce to make the bells jingle all the more.
“She is quite a character,” Herman decided, watching Daisy before grinning, “I am, in fact, Missy. A physical doctor, not one of the mind, however. I was one of the staff looking after Edward while he was ill.”
“Oh. That's why he's had you come here?”
“He's found that mental illness may have many causes, and has even more paths to health,” Herman agreed, “Too many men his age believe that a mind illness must only be of the mind. They fail to realize that many diseases give that effect. He has asked for Pastor Parsons to give his advice as well, because a whole heart and mind must also have faith and hope.”
“I am truly glad he has learned that,” Lieselotte nodded.
“Most men of his sort have to learn that the hard way,” Herman noted, rather dry and droll, “Now, Miss, you see that sheet of shining ice up ahead? We'll slip and slide all across that and Daisy may lose her footing on it.”
“Oh... what shall I do?” Lieselotte inquired, reining Daisy in somewhat jerkily. Herman reached over for her hand, lifting it and pointing it towards a pile of snow freshly fallen from a tree's boughs.
“That will do. Move that snow to cover over the ice. And any leaves and such beneath it.”
“...I... uh...”
“Focus on the snow,” he informed her, patient, “As if you were closing fingers over it, much larger than your hand, of course.”
Managing to swallow back her astonishment, her lashes fluttering as she turned her gaze onto the pile of snow. She swallowed and focussed, first on the snow, then her hand. She closed her eyes and imagined the scene as sharply as she could, just as she visualized things when meditating.
It was slow and clumsy, imagining taking that big handful of snow and debris to sprinkle over the road, and cold. More than cold, it seemed to be quite a bit of effort. Lieselotte steeled herself. She wasn't ever the sort to turn away from work.
“Very good!” Herman announced some time later. Lieselotte opened her eyes and stared in surprise. The ice had been covered over nicely.
“Off we go, then,” he encouraged, “Focus and concentration are just as important as patience and obedience. We'll have much to work upon this winter, I think. I think you shall go back to Kelly to work on lighting candles.”
“...Uhm. ...I shall, then,” Lieselotte finally managed to blurt out, beaming utter sunshine, “Thank you.”
“Next Monday, I expect to see that you have mastered that, and become more adept at moving things,” he decided, “I'll meet you by the crossroads again, so I will have my walk.”
“I will, I'll see you there... You don't want a ride back to Temperance?” Lieselotte inquired, curious, as they glided into the village.
“No, I'll get the rest of my walk going back,” Herman chuckled, waiting under Lieselotte had stopped the sled and carefully set the brake before he stepped down. He gave her a hand down, and indicated Daisy.
“Now make sure she's not overheated or chilled, give her hooves a look and knock out any ice, and don't leave her standing too long. Let her have some to drink before you head off. Have a lovely afternoon,” he added, pausing to pat Daisy before he reset his hat and went marching off towards the meadow.
Lieselotte quickly went to see to Daisy before anything else, pausing uncertainly as she realized she wasn't quite so sure what overheated or chilled would be. She regarded the mare anxiously, startling as a light blanket was tossed over Daisy's back.
“Oh, gads, what have you done to my poor horse?” Desdenova demanded, huffing and flicking in disdain at the bells on Daisy's bridle. The mare snapped at him playfully, ears to the side, and tried to lift her head out of his reach.
“We like to be pretty, instead of boring,” Lieselotte retorted, settling the blanket and frowning as she tested the warmth coming from the animal before nodding, “So a light blanket after a run in the snow, and when we get back...?”
“A good rub down, make sure she's dry, and her usual night blanket. Check her before bed to make sure it's not too warm or cold,” he responded, making another grab for Daisy's bells. She caught his wrist and slobbered over his cuff.
“...Yuck,” Desdenova exhaled.
“It's not nice to take a lady's pretty things from them,” Lieselotte scolded.
“Next, you'll have her in ribbons and pantaloons,” he scolded right back, shaking horse slobber off of his arm as best he could.
“I think I shall,” she beamed, notching her chin up, “Are you finished being a thorough man-pig? I have shopping to do.”
“No, I came to see how you are both getting along,” Desdenova sniffed, finally taking a handkerchief to wipe his cuff.
“We brought you cookies,” Lieselotte informed him testily, arms folded over her chest. Desdenova eyed her suspiciously.
“Did you make them?”
“I did. I poisoned every one of them. Also, they explode in your face because I won't be here to smash them on you.”
“Thank you,” Desdenova replied with a low sweep of bow, a flourish of hand stuffing the horse-slobbered handkerchief under Lieselotte's head shawl and against her cheek. She squealed and hopped, batting to get the handkerchief out while he marched to root through the cart for the basket of cookies.
“They're awful,” Desdenova reported a moment later, his voice thick as he chewed.
“Good,” Lieselotte sniffed, pitching a snow ball at him. He paused, eyes narrowing, as the glob of wet snow slid down his forehead.
“Oh, you shall pay for that,” he informed her, finishing off the cookie and dusting off his hands.
Lieselotte promptly pegged him with another snowball, catching him square in the jaw. Outraged, Desdenova lunged for her. She cackled laughter, turning and darting away. Desdenova had long legs and plenty of reach, but Lieselotte realized quickly that he wasn't used to the snow, and headed for the deeper drifts. She was small and quick enough to navigate them, he bogged into the piled snow and with a yelp and flail, vanished entirely into it.
Lieselotte paused, considering darkly. He was a sly one, and would resort to dirty tricks if he knew he couldn't win by conventional means. But she could, too. Though she wasn't sure if that was fair or not. Most of his dirty tricks were just his wit or cunning, she rarely even saw him using his powers.
Someone might see, though, so Lieselotte decided to brazen it out. She shuffled through the snow bank and brushed away snow until she found Desdenova's hand. Poking a few times without reaction gained a frown. She grabbed it and pulled.
With a triumphant yell, Desdenova came bursting out of the snow to fall on Lieselotte, who yipped and swung a tight, hard left hook into his solar plexus. The yell turned to a gasp, and Lieselotte realized far too late that dodging would have been the wiser course as he flopped over her.
“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to slug you!” Lieselotte blurted out, mortified, the moment she realized that he was honestly gasping for air. She managed to shove him to his side and fretted helplessly as he struggled to get his wind back.
What had he done when faced with her, not breathing, her heart failing...? Lieselotte's brow creased, pushing his shoulder, and fancied he was turning blue. His mouth was open, eyes screwed shut, jerking as he tried to suck in air.
The solution was obvious, Lieselotte promptly leaned down and blew as hard as she could into his lips. She took another gulp of air and repeated the process, grasping his hair in her hands to hold him still.
Desdenova's eyes opened, startled, and was rather powerless to stop Lieselotte as she virtually hyperventilated into his lungs. But as the pain faded, and he could draw in better than a shallow breath, he simply lay in the snow, watching Lieselotte's resuscitation on him. He finally gave a choke of a laugh, trying to push her back.
Panting herself, Lieselotte stared at him tearfully.
“I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you,” she whimpered.
“Your father must have taught you that,” he replied, holding a hand over his upper stomach, his voice faint and raspy.
“...Well... of course... who else?”
“Nice punch,” Desdenova assured her with a quirky little smile, “You don't have to hit me if you want to kiss me, though. I am easier than that.”
Lieselotte gaped at him a moment, her face flushing red hot.
“You should be glad you're not a frog,” she retorted, a bit weakly, dashing at tears in her eyes, “I really thought I hurt you.”
Desdenova paused, his head tilting a bit. He smiled a bit, reaching over to brush carefully at her cheek, quitting when he realized that snow and gravel had dug into his skin.
“Just knocked the wind out of me, it hurts, but only for a while,” he soothed gently.
“But you were turning blue,” Lieselotte blurted out, suddenly in tears. Desdenova stared at her, taken off guard, and he shifted, anxiously trying to pet her hair or wipe away the tears, each time realizing his hands were dirty.
“It's just the snow reflecting off of my skin, see? I still look blue but I'm not,” he insisted, showing her his hand then holding it out of the snow to show the true color in the sun, “My lips would turn white if I was really choking.”
“You're just saying that.”
“Don't make me hold my breath until I really do turn blue and pass out,” Desdenova whispered, wide eyes wet and sad, “I will. I used to do it all the time before I realized that my parents were only grading my temper tantrums for dramatic effect and I came to with horrible headaches.”
Lieselotte choked out a laugh despite herself, and wiped her face on her sleeve, peering at him.
“Truly?”
“Truly,” he agreed, a sheepish little smile on his face, “I was the only boy, and was terribly spoiled.”
“Still are,” Lieselotte sniffled thickly.
“...Well, I have a little brother now,” he assured her with a crooked tilt of smile, his gaze flickering between her eyes, concern clear on his features, “Still spoiled.”
“Rotten and mean.”
“Well... yes...” he agreed, his gaze dropping with a soft sigh, “Not very social, anytime I'm myself I've probably offended half of the people, and I'll get to the other half shortly; I have to constantly be on guard. Most girls would have told me to go to hell a long time ago.”
Lieselotte paused as she considered that, frowning faintly. She shifted slightly, considering telling him to stop being such a baby, knowing he'd likely welcome returning to familiar ground, playfully insulting and rough housing.
Brows knit slightly, she leaned over and turned her head to regard his features. He glanced at her briefly with a fade of smile and slight shrug. She quickly pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, pausing when he turned quickly, surprised.
“Missed,” she told him gravely.
“You have terrible aim,” Desdenova agreed, his voice faint and his skin running red. Before she could respond, he returned the kiss gently, lingering a moment before giving a somewhat shaky exhalation.
“...Very... sweet,” he mumbled. Lieselotte flushed, fingertips at her lips, eyelids lowered. She nodded, then bumped his shoulder with hers.
“You alright?” she asked softly.
“Just sore.”
“I have to go shopping,” Lieselotte reminded him, stumbling to her feet and trying to pull him up as well. He managed to stagger back upright, cautiously drawing in a deep breath.
“That was an awesome punch,” he decided.
“You are really being strange now,” she snorted, taking his hand and towing him back to the horse and cart.
“No, no, my father used to fight bare knuckle, and was very good. He taught me how to fist fight,” Desdenova sputtered softly, a hand over his diaphragm, more protective than from pain.
“Really? I can't decide if that's thrilling or horrible,” Lieselotte noted, brows lifted.
“That depends upon whether you win or lose,” he assured her with a chuff of laughter, taking the basket of cookies and offering her one.
“They're very good,” he noted.
“Really? Kelly said I put in too much cinnamon,” Lieselotte responded, taking it doubtfully and eating it anyhow, “But I like cinnamon.”
“So do I,” Desdenova smiled, warm and sweet, “...So... Next week?”
“Are you challenging me to a bare knuckle match?”
“Yes,” he assured her, squeezing her hand before drawing away, turning back for the pharmacy.

It was almost a miraculous change at first glance. Faline in modest, unprepossessing clothing, her posture demure and humble. She sat quietly in a beautifully appointed parlor, a silver tea set spread out upon a small table that could easily support a family of four for a year in front of her.
However, her cosmetics were laid on as heavily as ever, though without the dramatic accents of khol and henna at her eyes, cheeks and lips. The smiling old woman regarding Faline never seemed to notice the thick pancake makeup.
“It is never too late to take up the bloom of health that age seems to have left behind,” Faline assured the woman earnestly, “Why, in less than a years time, the proper combination of diet, exercise, and water therapy would have you as spry as a girl. It's a proven fact, you know, and you see it over and over again.”
“I have read many cases that seem like miracles, dear, but with my rheumatism?” the old woman twittered, pouring out two cups of tea.
“Rheumatism responds remarkably well to such treatment, Mrs. Whiting, you can't imagine the joy I see upon faces much older than yours as joints that scarce move at all are suddenly loosed,” Faline assured her earnestly, “You owe it to yourself to investigate these treatments. You have many years before you, and this would extend those and make them far more enjoyable.”
“You are so persuasive, dear. I just haven't the slightest idea of where I would seek out such treatments,” Mrs. Whiting murmured, sipping her tea.
“They are rare as yet, that is true. I have brochures for two which are near by, but sadly, they have yet to embrace a whole wellness regime for the older patient. They haven't discovered the benefits of a wholesome diet or regular and specialized exercise,” Faline replied, promptly producing a pair of small folders to set onto the table. Mrs. Whiting picked one up, a faintly dubious expression on her face.
“Which is where I come in. I consult with the staff for you, overseeing their regime and cooks so that a real benefit is gained. I absolutely guarantee that you will return from even a short two week stay feeling ten years younger,” Faline assured her with a warm, wide eyed smile, so earnest and honest.
“Neither of these seem to have this longer regime that you were speaking of,” Mrs. Whiting mulled, flipping through the brochures with a faint frown. Faline pressed her lips together, chagrinned.
“No, but I have been able to make arrangements with both of these spas to procure the longer, more intense treatments. Someday soon I hope to have built my own spa and house of health. I have tentative plans laid with a young doctor, who hopes to build a total health asylum in the country, where we will create a full complex for those in need of healing, body and mind.”
“I see... But really, dear, cheek and jowl with the insane...?”
“Oh no no,” Faline chuckled warmly, “There will be a place for them, of course, but not connected at all with the main body of the spa. But as so many mental ills are caused simply by the stresses of every day life, many will be as able as ever in a short time.”
“I admit, it does sound very tempting. I will discuss a short visit with your regime with my son this afternoon. But knowing him, any chance to get me out of the house and out of his hair will be welcomed,” Mrs. Whiting chortled, leaning over to pat Faline's hand, “I'm sure I've seen a remarkable difference in Miss Boone since you started to stay with her.”
“Oh, yes. She complained quite a lot about the diet, and says horrible things to me as I oversee her exercises, but she has slimmed down enough that her clothing is loose now,” Faline beamed, “In just a few more months, why, you won't even recognize her.”
“She's never been a slender woman, even from a child. Always terribly indulged with sweets,” the older woman mulled, “And she was a bit thinner last week at that.”
“Every bit she loses in weight is another month or year to live,” Faline nodded firmly, “I learned so much of physical culture from mama and papa's Sunshine Ranch in Colorado, I simply had to return here to teach it to as many as I could.”
“You don't have information for their ranch?” Mrs. Whiting inquired, “It sounds like it must be lovely.”
“It is, wonderfully so, fresh pine scented air and sunshine, a wonderful climate and beautiful scenery, but sadly, they are every year booked in advance and rarely have an open place,” Faline assured her with a rued smile, “I hope to make that here, and expand upon their wonderful vision.”
“I'm sure you will,” Mrs. Whiting beamed, “Oh, dear, look at the time. I promised Miss Boone I wouldn't keep you past four, and it's near that now.”
“Oh, she is just a bit needy, but after so long of being so heavy, I suppose I can scarce blame her,” Faline giggled, gathering herself up, “Thank you for the lovely visit...”
Faline exhaled the aggravation that she had accumulated through her lovely visit with the old bat as the door to the beautiful brougham shut. She reminded herself that she had to deal with a certain amount of annoying old women if she wanted to build her dream.
Mrs. Whiting was fairly simple, she had a son that would decide if mummy ought to go frolic in the hot springs, and staging little indiscretions with them was a simple matter. With the threat of their mothers learning of how they'd taken shameful advantage of a morally upright girl alone in the world trying to make a decent living, they usually recommended months worth of Faline overseeing their health.
Soon, she would be past all this. She could hire earnest young ladies and gentlemen to do her sales, lovely and single and without relatives. Some would mysteriously vanish, but there wouldn't be anyone to complain. Some would take up permanent jobs at her spa, assisting the customers. She would always have the most attractive of them by her side.
It wouldn't be much longer. The Grinning Man had come so close to taking Lieselotte, and been humiliated by her unexpected resolve and a stupid symbol. He would have to make another move, and quickly before she learned any more how to control her powers.
Once he had done that, it would be her turn. She would make her demands, lure the smirking fool to her properly bound demon, and...
Faline frowned faintly, glancing at a filthy bar as they passed through a slum. The Mole's Hole seemed the same as always, but she could have sworn she had seen one of the men she'd tricked into feeding the demon.
It was imperative to keep it fed until she was ready to make her demands. Faline tapped her lower lip thoughtfully. If one of the men escaped, then she would need to send in another. Not too many, she didn't want the demon sated and lazy.
Shrugging slightly, she let it pass for the moment. Miss Bourne was utterly enchanted with her, and eagerly slid down that path of no return at Faline's bidding. Faline promised beauty and men throwing themselves at the fat cow's feet, and Miss Bourne didn't bother examining the methods all that closely.
That would be a simple solution to her quandary, Faline decided. She would have Miss Boone give her still considerable fat to the demon. Beauty would be another binding, and all the closer to owning the other woman's considerable fortune.
Faline pulled a large compact from her bag and opened it to admire her face. It was a shame that the rich upper class old ladies felt that any obvious cosmetic enhancements were the signs of wickedness, vice, and stage actors, but they didn't need to know how Faline prepared for the day. She took up a pad and deftly touched up at her hairline and throat, blending the powder in well.
It would be a disaster if that lovely mask ever fell.

Lieselotte slowly wandered up behind Desdenova, watching his every move as he worked. A few piles of snow remained under heavier bushes and trees, but a new storm was coming in, and she could feel the snow coming with it.
Desdenova patiently spread white plaster over the old stone work, matching it back up to the original, moving with a spare grace. Lieselotte tilted her head, considering. He rarely wasted a movement, yet never seemed abrupt. As if he'd planned how how would do anything to the last detail.
He could have been her mysterious prince. She knew he could move that loosely when he wanted to, and he danced much the same. As for the kiss... Lieselotte touched her fingertips to her lips, uncertain. Desdenova had kissed her, and it hadn't been anything like the kiss the prince had stolen.
The prince had been utter self confidence. Desdenova's self confidence seemed to fail when he was that near to her. Anneliese's voice reminded her constantly – he seemed one of those people who just didn't know how to act around women at heart. Terrifically shy under his near arrogance and cynical remarks.
After a long moment, Lieselotte determinedly shifted the intent of her gaze. Looking much more deeply at Desdenova than she had before. Herman insisted that it was obvious at a glance what he was, but she hadn't had the nerve to really see.
He was a shining thing moving against the wall, but there was something... strange, different, about the way the image showed itself. Too large, really, but she couldn't quite make sense of it. Lieselotte tilted her head, perplexed, squinting as if to reduce the amount of light.
“That's terrifically unkind,” Desdenova announced, never faltering in his task, “Don't you trust me?”
“Mm... Not for everything,” Lieselotte responded, hardly abashed, “You're very beautiful.”
Lieselotte heard him snort softly, but could see the backs of his ears burning red.
“Thank you, I suppose. Are you just here to leer at me, or were you intending on helping?” he sniffed.
“I brought you lunch,” she countered, beaming sunnily. He glanced back, his skin still flushed, then shot her a sour look when he realized that she had seen the blush. Desdenova abruptly grabbed a handful of snow from under the boxwood and scrubbed his face with it before turning.
“You know rubbing snow on your skin makes it red,” Lieselotte informed him brightly, and tried to duck the slush he promptly slung at her.
“Wretched Pickle,” Desdenova grumbled, sitting crossed legged on the old blanket she tossed out. Lieselotte giggled wickedly, unpacking the basket. He leaned in and started to help, snagging a sandwich to eat before she could filch it back from him.
“Pig.”
“Is there anything hot, I'm freezing,” he demanded, batting at her fingers until she shoved a cup of coffee into his hand. He promptly drank it then made a face.
“You should keep a coat with you, when you stop working, you'll get even colder,” Lieselotte chided, tossing her own cloak over his shoulders.
“This winter stuff is very cold,” Desdenova agreed, fumbling to pour another cup of the hot coffee, “I hate coffee.”
“Me, too, but it's hot,” she snickered, “Doesn't it get cold in California?”
“Not like this, no, where I grew up. It rarely snowed, and then just a little bit. I didn't know snow melted over the winter, too, I thought it was all just ...snow, all season long,” he explained, settling down to eating in earnest. Lieselotte watched him, trying not to giggle.
“Well, towards January, it will seem like that. Didn't you eat breakfast?”
“Does a leftover chicken leg count?”
“No.”
“Then no, I didn't, I had several prescriptions to get filled before I could get to work on the wall here,” Desdenova shrugged, cheerfully making a pig of himself.
“I really wish you would stay at Temperance. The staff would make sure you ate properly,” Lieselotte scolded lightly. He made a face at her.
“And your Ellen has already threatened to look after me, and I want you to know, she did so holding a bottle intending to hit me on the head with it,” he retorted, waggling a cookie at her.
Lieselotte laughed at him, snitching the cookie from his fingers and cramming it into her mouth.
“You probably deserved it.”
“Thief,” he huffed, snagging another up, “I didn't, either. I'm fine.”
“You're horribly skinny and you don't know what winter is like here,” Lieselotte countered, “Promise me you'll remember to bring a coat.”
“I promise,” Desdenova assured her with a quick smile and a wink, “You mean you won't be about constantly to save me from myself?”
“Not always,” Lieselotte nodded firmly, “I was swept off my feet by a man at the masquerade, since I couldn't find you.”
“What?” he scoffed, eying her.
“I went looking for you, and ran into a black prince. He refused to unmask.”
“Poor sport.”
“Very,” Lieselotte agreed, eying him covertly, “Papa said you had to go visit your sister?”
Desdenova nodded, his attention on a small bowl of hot soup. Lieselotte narrowed her eyes.
“So?”
“So what?”
“So how is she?” she prompted.
“How is who...?” Desdenova replied, only to flutter his lashes and flash a bright smile as he lifted his head, “Oh, Victoria, she's fine. Wanted me to meet her lovely girl friend.”
“Liar,” Lieselotte snorted.
“You think I would lie about visiting my sister so I could sneak off and don a costume that everyone else and their brother was wearing all so I could go sweep you off of your feet?” Desdenova demanded, wide eyed. Lieselotte nodded.
“That about covers it, yes.”
“I didn't, I was visiting my sister,” he insisted, once more looking down at the bowl.
“You can't even look me in the eye when you fib, and how else would you know several young men were wearing the same costume?” she huffed, amused. Desdenova grinned as he ate, flicking a glance to her.
“I can so, you just didn't notice,” he assured her, but didn't lift his head, “And several young men came into the pharmacy looking for boot black for their black prince costume.”
“What were you going to be?” Lieselotte inquired, eying him.
“Black prince,” he beamed, wide eyed.
“Oh you liar!”
“See? Right in the eye,” Desdenova pointed out. She sputtered, tossing a napkin at him.
“But I didn't believe you!”
“You're not going to believe me, either, unless I confess to being this mysterious prince,” he smirked, brow quirked up, “It must have been good then. Did he kiss you?”
“Desdenova!” Lieselotte yipped, her face scarlet.
“Oh, my. Better than my kiss? The cad. I will have to hunt him down and challenge him to a duel for your hand,” he purred, utterly wicked a grin on his face.
“It was a lovely kiss, and you will not duel for my hand!”
“Well, now I have to. I certainly cannot compete with my manly charms and suave sophistication with women,” Desdenova pointed out with a rogues grin, “Skinny and obnoxious sorts such as I rarely get the girl unless we cheat horribly.”
“Why don't you just ask Papa?” Lieselotte inquired with a toss of her head, starting to clean up the dishes.
“I'm not interested in him.”
“Oh honestly! You know what I meant!”
“What fun would that be? He bestows his favor on the man that's least annoying and has the best prospects for you. It's far more interesting to have the young lady's favor,” Desdenova nodded, giving her a hand.
“Oh, well...” Lieselotte sputtered, shifting when he bumped his shoulder to hers, half crawling over the blanket to set a few dishes into the basket.
“And see, you still think no man in his right mind would want you and have no idea that you can give your favor to a man and have him be deliriously glad of it,” he accused, low and warm, “You still haven't looked at you, for all you go about sneaking looks at me.”
Lieselotte exhaled and shoved at him, pleased when she realized she'd knocked him over. She promptly flopped over his chest, pinning him to the blanket.
“I can't look at me yet. There's things there that I'm not strong enough yet to see,” she explained, almost petulant, “I'm not going to rush blindly into that. I don't want to end up being at best rescued, and I don't even want to think of what is at worst.”
“That is wise,” Desdenova decided, placidly gazing at the sky as the clouds gathered thicker.
“Selfish. I want to be who I am by my own making,” Lieselotte nodded firmly, resting her head to his shoulder, “And of course I sneak peeks at you. Everyone tells me what a shining and beautiful creature you are, but you're just a nasty creep to me.”
“Terribly so,” he agreed, lifting an arm to lightly stroke her hair.
“And then you do something so sweet, it's disgusting.”
“I like playing with you. You play back. You're not all …grown up and too good for such childish things,” Desdenova admitted, idle as the run of his fingers through her hair.
“The word is immature,” Lieselotte snorted ironically.
“That's not such a bad thing, is it? As long as all of your proper work is done...?”
Lieselotte considered with a faint grimace. She finally shrugged a bit.
“I suppose it isn't.”
“You sound so disappointed,” Desdenova mulled, lifting his head a bit to try and see her. She shoved it back down, hand across his face.
“I ...I am, in a way. I mean, Mama was always so lovely and gracious, and even when she was playful and playing with us, she seemed so ...adult and queenly and... I'm never that. Anna always is.”
“You're you,” he reminded her, licking her palm impishly. Lieselotte squealed and wiped her hand on his shirt.
“Euw!!” she giggled. He smiled, squeezing her gently before pushing her to sit up.
“See? What does it matter if you're not elegant and gracious and all of that? You laugh and giggle and have fun. If you were all of that, you wouldn't want me around at all. Or you'd get tired of me pretty quick and go find someone mature.”
“How can you be so bright and shining and still think that any young lady wouldn't want your attention? All of the girls in the village here are quite taken by you,” Lieselotte reminded him primly, catching her cloak as he stood and dropped it back to her.
“Because I'm quite good at driving them away,” Desdenova admitted, “Even when I didn't want to.”
“You'll just have to work harder to get rid of me, then,” she sniffed, getting up and walking to his wheelbarrow to peer at the slush of plaster. He pushed a trowel into her hand.
“Like frosting a very large cake. Make sure it's smooth with the rest,” he nodded.
“What's outside the door?” Lieselotte asked, watching her work carefully.
“Graveyard for the suicides and wicked people and such,” he replied, absent, “It's become a bad place, and I don't know how to clear it away. I've sent a message to my mother, but she hasn't responded, which means she's either trying to figure out what it is herself, is trying to keep dad from plowing under whoever would dare bother his son, can't do anything about it, or all of the above.”
“It was bothering you?”
“Mm. Things like that can be painful,” Desdenova shrugged, taking a larger trowel to smooth over the plaster.
“How? What is it...?”
“I don't know. Either, really. It's one crypt. It was empty according to records, and ancient. The family moved the caskets to their estate a long time ago. Yet when I went to look at them, ...well. Something was there. Locked there, and not happy about it. All I could do is to ward it from others getting too close to it. The worst part is it seems to be connected to Faline.”
“Faline?” Lieselotte repeated, her brows knitting.
“Yes. I just … I don't know why. I know she wanted money, and that there really wasn't any depth to which she would stoop for it, but this seems rather excessive,” Desdenova noted, frowning.
“She was in that dream-world. Claiming to be sister to my mother, and Dicer was her husband,” Lieselotte mulled, “I wonder if she could be.”
“Wouldn't your father recognize her?”
“No, mother's family wanted nothing to do with him,” Lieselotte replied, tilting her head, “But they were all there... Her mother and father, her sisters and brothers... They all knew me.”
“Then it was probably so,” Desdenova replied slowly.
“What is it that she could want...?”
“Oh honestly. If you have to ask that...” he sputtered, laughing. Lieselotte paused, then laughed at herself.
“Money. Power. But she couldn't get it from the dream-world... Wait. If she was mother's sister, and she was alive and here, then... then she could try and take command of everything I did or said. And build her nasty little spa.”
“Exactly.”
“Then ...whatever is out there, she must be intending to use as well, since it didn't work to have the Grinning Man... ...But they were banished...?” Lieselotte frowned, pausing to glance at Desdenova. He grimaced faintly.
“Banishment is stop gap at best. It drives them back to where they started, but they can return unless the doors are all closed and the way is lost.”
“...And the doors aren't all closed.”
“No.”
“Then... that must be what is left to me that I'm afraid to see. Open doors,” Lieselotte whispered, wide eyed. She clicked a glance to Desdenova, expecting him to turn close to warn her, but he didn't move save to smooth the plaster.
“You are far more strong than you believe,” he finally murmured, shrugging as he set the tools down, “Thank you for lunch, I appreciated it immensely. I'm going to get inside before I freeze solid.”
“You're welcome. I'll walk you back, Daisy's waiting for me.”
“If you need me... just call,” Desdenova offered almost hesitantly, “You've done so much for me. It means the world to me.”
Lieselotte laughed faintly, shrugging and averting her gaze. When she looked up again, Desdenova carefully fitted a large white carnation into her hand. It was cold and felt real, with a wisp of scent to it.
“Won't make you sneeze,” he assured her, picking up the basket and offering her his arm. Lieselotte smiled shyly up at him before taking his arm, leaning against him as they walked back to the cemetery entrance.

Faline eyed Miss Boone sidelong as they travelled from the train station in a comfortable hack, heading for a delightful little ten room cottage rented for the winter. Which just happened to be within walking distance of Temperance.
It hadn't been difficult at all to convince Miss Boone to rent the house, and money certainly wasn't a problem for her. What would be difficult would be isolating the normally gregarious woman from the village, particularly Kelly, and making sure that she only learned wonderful things about her health and fitness coach.
Christmas was coming quickly, that provided considerable distraction, Faline decided, smiling as Miss Boone chattered inanely over whatever passed her mind. Most of that was trivial, often mean spirited, usually tawdry.
It wasn't over indulgence that had made the young woman fat, Faline decided, it was her hideous lack of social manners which had driven her to eat for comfort. Besides, with a full mouth, you couldn't say anything stupid at a party.
The lost weight hadn't done much for Miss Boone, either, she wasn't destined to be any beauty. That could be fixed. Faline had assured her of that. It was simple to set such things into Miss Boone's head. Things such as how sad it was that she had no heir and Faline would be just so flattered and thrilled to be put into Miss Boone's will, just as if they were sisters, and she had so wanted a sister all of her life.
“Here we are! I suppose we should refresh ourselves before we call upon the neighbors. I simply cannot wait to meet Hans. So handsome and dashing and strong!” Miss Boone blurted out, rolling from the carriage to flutter up the walkway to the carriage. Faline frowned faintly as she followed.
“You know Mr. Lehmann?”
“Yes, of course. No, not really. Papa always had our accounts handled by his firms. I saw him quite a lot when I was girl. At parties. I'd peek from upstairs. His wife died, didn't she?”
“Yes, several years ago,” Faline nodded, and quirked a brow when Miss Boone squealed and hopped, clapping her hands, “He never remarried.”
“How wonderful! I hope it was terrible, too because he was simply the most divine man I have ever seen and she was one of those nasty blonde girls, they simply get everything and why? Well now I'm thin and he'll love me!” Miss Boone chortled, bowling past the butler who had opened the door.
Faline found herself in the unique position of finding herself repelled by the utter selfishness of someone else. She smiled, however. Miss Boone was certainly an excellent choice.
The cottage was perfectly ordered and run by a small staff of servants, the property itself secluded and charming. It wasn't far from the Lehmann's property, and Faline wondered humorously if Miss Boone wouldn't try to blunder to Temperance on foot to announce her intentions towards Hans.
Hans would refuse the young woman. Even if he had any interest, Miss Boone would bray out something unkind about his deceased wife, and that would be it. Faline snickered softly into a glass of wine, standing on the back patio and looking over the countryside.
The graveyard was visible, and she gave a slow, feline smile as a dark halo showed over the tomb in the center. Those fools had warded it closed, but it was simplicity to break those wards. Once that was done...
Faline snarled as she was engulfed in a wrap of whirling shadows. She waved a hand as if to drive away a fly, and found herself held immobile. Her eyes narrowed, anger a slow burn through her heart.
“What do you want?” she hissed, “Go chase after your long unpromised bride so she can slap you down like the squealing b***h you are.”
“Funny, yes, you are funny,” the Grinning Man responded in kind, features of spinning shadow clicking now and then into something recognizable before swirling back into dust. And a grin, jagged toothed and cold.
“Thinking to break our engagements? Faithless whore, I knew from the moment I saw you first you were the true bride I should have, but even demons have taste,” he went on, acid and cold, “Do you really believe that the terms of the contract which yet bind you would allow you to go over my head?”
“I don't believe it, I know it. Blame your own shoddy skills,” Faline sneered, “Your games of distraction and delusion, doubt and lies, they don't work on me. I am not a weak kneed spineless little worm whose only defense against you is to wish you away when you pester.”
“You haven't half of her power, dearest, which is why you stand before me like a well paid prostitute,” the Grinning Man sneered, an arm-like flurry of movement depositing several handfuls worth of dust and ash down Faline's bodice. She regarded him, sardonic.
“Nor have you, dear boy, and resorting to little ghosty tricks? It seems to me that all I need to do to rid myself of you is to spatter salt into your dust storm. Oh, and you were so glorious and powerful when I was a girl, how I envied dear Marianne. But patience and time have told the true tale, haven't they, darling? You're little better than a poltergeist now,” Faline purred, unable to move, but she made no effort to do so.
“You think...” he snarled, his grin very close to her face, looming in dark spinning particles of stinging matter, “I have lost powers over the years? You dare...”
“I know, and I dare, Gwenu,” Faline growled, her eyes wide and filling with fury, “You have no control over me, and little over my sister, and none over my niece, you are failing with every moment, you can't even claim a visage any longer, just your idiotic grin.”
The Grinning Man's manifestation halted for a moment, as if anger had completely immobilized him. Before Faline could laugh, she found herself choking: The shadowy substance was abruptly the gray and rotting flesh of Regis.
“Very funny,” Faline snapped. Pallid, clammy hands clamped to her upper arms, the dull eyed corpse leaned closer to her, exhaling the stench of death and decay.
“It is, to me, my dear, sweet, Faline,” Gwenu creaked, his voice forcing from stilled vocal chords, “I shall be watching you all this night as you sleep, because when you realize the implications, your terror will be delicious.”
“Oh really, so you can take on the form of a ...” Faline spat, but before she could finish, the corpse clasped her closely for an obscene kiss, running hands over her body and rattling sickening laughter.
Faline let out a repulsed yelp when she was released, staggering back, retching and falling to her knees to vomit without warning as Gwenu laughed riotously. Before she could regain her bearings, the specter was gone, leaving no evidence that it was ever there.
“Filthy b*****d, you will pay for that,” she snarled.

Over and over and over and over. It was an unending dream of a perfect life. Meeting her beloved husband, a delightful courtship, a joyous wedding, the twin blessings of beautiful and healthy daughters, a vista of wonder and delight...
Over and over and over...
Marianne gazed over the seeming of her wonderful home, her beloved husband, her beautiful daughters. The girls were both toddlers, taking turns standing and taking steps under a perfect blue sky on an emerald green lawn under the laughing care of their handsome father.
Find my earring.
Irritated, Marianne shook herself. There. The girls were young ladies now, young women, married to wonderful young men, showing their beautiful children to Papa, and the wonderful young men were... Twins, she decided, they should be twins as well, and handsome, blondes and blue eyed, but with beards so soon they'd be as bear-like as …
Whyever would she need to find a silly earring?
It was that dark year. The girls were only six. Their papa was devastated, burying his beloved mother. His strength had failed him, he wept, hands over his face, beside the coffin and...
Why was she bringing this up? It was horrible, it was painful, it was … It was real. It had happened. It wasn't a continuation of the perfection, of every lovely dream she could manage.
The lovely dreams forced him away. He couldn't get to her in those beautiful scenarios...
That wasn't true. He had. He had used them. He had taken control of the fantasy, forced her to nearly see her beloved daughter...
Marianne shuddered, and there was nothing. She was alone within a cold and cheerless place, seated atop the marble sarcophagus that she had been lain to rest within. There was a plinth at the head of the grave now. A plinth where an angel should stand, and never would in her dim reality.
“You've never done this before,” a mans voice noted, a pleasant tenor.
“...Pardon?” she called, startled, as she looked around. She drew back, wide eyed, as a dark skinned man sat pleasantly on the sarcophagus with her. His clothing was fine and elegant, every piece as black as his skin, his eyes were as yellow as lanterns. He smiled, tipping his hat to her, showing close-cropped black hair.
“You have never done this before. Let the sham fall and look about.”
“Who … who a... Blackie...?” Marianne sputtered. The man smiled again, bowing his head in acknowledgement.
“Indeed, dearest Marianne, and I simply must remind you that your skill in naming things is atrocious.”
“I... I... was just a … just a girl and...”
“Yes. You have been a girl, a woman, a crone, all of these things in your little hell,” Blackie assured her.
“...This... it isn't hell, don't be silly, it's wonderful, beautiful, everything I've ever wanted is here at my whim,” Marianne protested, but it sounded forced and stilted. The skies lit a brighter blue as she turned to indicate the beauty, her family popped up like smiling cut-outs, the fields were green and flower studded.
“Hell, indeed, my dearest friend,” he nodded, reclining in quite a feline repose upon the sarcophagus, “Tell me, sweet, why I do not exist eternally within your dreamings?”
“...I... I... don't know, I... I guess I never ...” Marianne stammered, wide eyed, “I... I thought you would be here, waiting for me.”
“Alas, no, my dearest, for I may only be banished, albeit quite painfully when that involves squashing my mortal form. I return quite quickly once one of my descendents is prepared to receive me,” Blackie smiled, beatifically lifting his face to the sky.
“...I don't understand.”
“As a witches cat, a familiar, dear heart, you must have both the cat and the familiar spirit. The cats of my foreparents and children ply their trade from the churchyard. When one is born still, it is waiting for me or one of my kin to give it mortal life. Assuredly awkward when it is a female, but cats are not so troubled by things like that.”
“Oh... But...”
“Oh, Mary Mary Quite Contrary... You have always turned away from it. Ignored it. Pretended it was not there. Come now, lass, the body of the cat I was in was quite forty years of age when it was crushed, and as spry as ever. And so often did you announce 'why, it is as if I could hear you speak',” Blackie noted, almost annoyed, as he turned with fluid ease to frown sternly at the woman, “Now you have finally set down your cockle shells and silver bells.”
“I don't understand your riddles, Blackie, I... I've never wanted any of this, you know that. You more than anyone. I never wanted power, I never wanted anything to do with any of it, I just wanted to be a normal woman...” Marianne blurted out, hands over her face. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears to let fall.
“Just so,” Blackie nodded, “You wanted away from it, and yet, you used it to try and hide yourself from it.”
“I know,” Marianne exhaled, sagging, “But what else could I do?!”
Blackie had nothing to say to that, he admired the sheen of his fingernails, starkly white against the black of his skin.
“There wasn't anything, Blackie. They had beat me every turn I made, they would always win and there never was anything I could do about it,” Marianne snapped, glaring at the man.
“You never asked for help, either,” he murmured.
“Ask who? Hans? He would think I was insane and have me committed! Kelly? She hated me and wouldn't lift a finger for me, she probably danced to hear I was dead! Who could have helped me?” she demanded, lifting her chin though her lips trembled.
“How many times must you be led to holy places before you realize?” Blackie inquired.
“It wouldn't do any good! They always owned my soul!”
“Ah, so that is why you were willing to kill them all.”
Marianne stared at Blackie, her mouth hanging open.
“Isn't it so? Sweetness? All of them, dead and here and within your lovely dreamings?” Blackie prompted, head tilting, his brows lifted, “They would be safe here, or so you believed? Believed because it had owned your soul and made you think they would be safe?”
“...No.” Marianne rasped, “Not dead. But here.”
“Oh, my most precious, however else do you think that they would be here, but to be dead?”
Marianne closed her eyes, going still.
“...It would have stopped him finally. It would end.”
“Mm. And then, Mary, Mary... he would be as part of your lovely dreamings as you are, yourself,” Blackie purred, removing his hat to brush at invisible particles of dust.
“He is always there! Chewing on a piece of my soul like a fat, bloated tick!” Marianne burst out, frustrated and whirling to her feet, “I hate it, I hate him, Blackie! I didn't want to live with him, I didn't want to die with him, and now I am as damned as if I had been cast into the pits of hell!”
Blackie attended her outburst with a mournful face and still posture. After a moment, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a match. It flared as he struck the head with his thumbnail.
Marianne's lashes fluttered, taking the lit match as he offered it.
“...What...?”
“My dear one. It is how you remove a tick. Filthy parasites they are, you know. Where they bite must be purified. Keeping oneself clean and in clean surroundings, burning away any ticks that remain, and after going to where ticks are likely to be, clearing those away before they have dug in so deeply, that is how you protect yourself,” Blackie explained with a flourish of hand.
“What good would it do me now?” Marianne inquired flatly. The flame burned to her fingertips and over them, but caused no pain. She dropped it, watching the match burn out as the matchstick charred.
“Do you really wish to condemn your family here with you?” Blackie inquired, and as he did, he began to fade away.
“No... Yes. It would save … it...”
“Without mortal scions to amuse itself with, my most beloved friend, it will entertain itself with you and yours. Forever,” Blackie smiled, warm despite his chilling words. Then he was gone.
“Blackie?!” Marianne cried out, running around the sarcophagus. She stopped short and wrung her hands.
She was damned. She existed in a piece of hell that she could shape as she liked, but it was still hell. She was the continuation of a demon, the feeding of it, as were all her mothers before her. All of her fathers. Her family.
There was no match to burn it away. No purity at all. The holy places that Blackie had led her to in life were defiled in her dream world. Even her own love for her husband and children was corrupt.
Marianne slowly collapsed to the sarcophagus, hand over her face. There were no tears, and that seemed more of a tragedy than everything else. Her shoulders heaved in a voiceless sigh.
All there was for her was to surrender entirely. Endure a punishment she hadn't earned.
All the while with some stupid fixation on a stupid earring.

“Is he okay? Is he? He's breathing quite shallow. Desdenova! You are ignoring me!” Lieselotte fretted as she hovered over the youth's shoulder, watching his careful work.
Stretched out across the pharmacy work table, Ashes lay as if asleep, a glass tube aimed at his nose, his jaws propped open.
“You're being a horrible pest,” Desdenova responded, dry, “He is fine, as I keep telling you. I do these surgeries all the time, I have yet to lose a patient.”
“This time it is my Ashes!” she reminded him tartly.
“And he is fine,” he insisted, making a face as he carefully deposited a bloody bit of gauze onto a tray alongside several nasty wads of cotton and a cat tooth, “The infection's cleaned out of the socket, now you can take the tube away from his nose.”
“Are you sure?” Lieselotte nagged, quickly moving the tube and closing the small jar of ether it was attached to..
“Honestly, as if I want to spend another afternoon with you clinging to my back and pounding on my head,” Desdenova chided, carefully releasing the instrument holding the cat's mouth open. As he did, Lieselotte gently massaged around Ashes's jaws.
“My poor boy. How did this happen? It was dreadful, he was limp and crying and suddenly there was horrible drool and … ugh!” Lieselotte demanded, anxiously watching the animal.
“It happens to hunting cats a lot. They get an injury near the tooth, or something gets stuck in between them, and it abscesses. It's best to pull the tooth out, the abscess will just keep coming back otherwise,” Desdenova explained, unconcerned as he cleaned the mess up.
“But you feed him, don't you?” she sniffled, watching as Ash slowly opened his eyes. His tail flicked, and he shifted with a bleary and garbled mew.
“Of course I do, and the old one, and the mama cat and her babies, so does the rector. He said they're some sort of good luck charm and historical legacy.”
“They saved the town from the plague ages back,” Lieselotte nodded slowly. It had been the closest thing to anything clean in her mother's dream world.
“But he shouldn't need to hunt if you're feeding him,” she added, carefully gathering the cat up into her arms. Ashes muttered and snuffled, gladly curling against her while glaring daggers at Desdenova.
“Cats are cats, and his job is to hunt vermin,” Desdenova chuckled, making a face at the cat, “Oh, stop, you'd be in much more pain had I not pulled that tooth.”
“He is more than a cat,” Lieselotte nearly asked, watching Desdenova covertly.
“Why do you say that?” he inquired as he turned to wash his hands.
“Because. He's always here when I need him. He's always ...defended me, I guess. Bad things would happen to people when he was there and they were being asses to me. ...I ...I can hear him... A voice, telling me things, and I ...I talk to him... And...” she admitted slowly, staring at Desdenova's back steadily.
“Girls. Always convinced they're so special that all animals have voice for them,” he murmured in a teasing lilt of voice.
“And he told me that you gave him certain confidences about what you think about me that he wouldn't betray,” Lieselotte added, narrowing her eyes and lifting her chin. Desdenova spun on his heel, taken completely off guard, his eyes wide and his face scarlet.
“Of course he wouldn't betray,” Desdenova finally managed to respond, his voice rather choked, “He is a familiar spirit inhabiting a cat.”
“Like... like witches have,” Lieselotte nodded slowly.
“Of course. Did you think you were perhaps a wayward mermaid?”
“I could be, I can swim very well.”
“Good, I like to swim, too,” Desdenova nodded, abruptly turning back to his work, reaching for jars and bringing them to set onto the counter. Lieselotte eyed him.
“A witch. A witch is evil...?”
“Oh, honestly. Tell me again why we feed the cats here.”
Lieselotte eyed him, her head tilting.
“Because a woman accused as a witch long ago showed the village that her black cat was killing the rats that caused the plague, but...”
“But,” Desdenova interrupted, “They didn't know then what caused the plague. A familiar would know, and would quickly enjoin his feline family to assist in killing the rats. Which would just be a lot of hunting cats purposefully killing and then not eating their prey if the witch hadn't realized that somehow, the rats were bringing it.”
“...So...?”
“So, does that sound like an evil act to you?”
“Well, if everyone's dead, there's no one to do evil acts to,” Lieselotte pointed out, squeezing Ashes gently and grinning to hear the soft chuffing of his laughter. Desdenova snorted, rolling his eyes and amused despite himself.
“True, yes, but an evil witch generally does not have that sort of foresight. A witch is a human born, often but not always to a celestial parent, with powers beyond that of other humans. Or they are able to learn and use the spells and rites of those who had gone before them.”
“I see,” Lieselotte agreed slowly, “And that is why you wanted me to choose.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me this until now?”
“It wouldn't have done any good. You were raised by your mother wanting it all to be away from her. She never stopped and realized that she was using her powers as she wanted, for good. That's why animals didn't like you, why you can't look into mirrors, why fresh things would curdle when you touched them...”
“Why I couldn't sew and sneezed at flowers...?” Lieselotte added, amazed in retrospect that she hadn't seen it herself.
“Well... You do have allergies, but...” Desdenova shrugged, settling down and starting to weigh out various ingredients.
“Because my powers came originally from an evil source, I had all these problems. As I reject the evil, I overcome them,” she nodded slowly, “Will they come back? Will they haunt me forever?”
“No. Well – if you take those evil means, yes. It's entirely up to you. But once you have closed the door, they will be gone. You have to invite them in, so to speak,” he explained, shifting to read from a large book.
“And you were sent. By your mother... And your father is someone no one should tell intimate details to...” Lieselotte mulled, staring at Desdenova's profile, lightly chewing her lower lip.
“Yes, my father is an extremely bad man. Always has been. Very charming, very sophisticated, very handsome, very intelligent, and very much in love with Mom, and fatherly to the point of blind paranoia of his children,” Desdenova admitted with a wry grin.
“And bad.”
“Extremely.”
“Howso?” Lieselotte demanded, staring at him.
“I do not have to incriminate myself or my father to you or anyone,” he informed her with an arch of brow, attention back onto his work. Lieselotte huffed faintly.
“I just want to know.”
“None of your business,” Desdenova noted, glancing at her sidelong, “Why do you want to know, anyhow?”
“A lot of reasons. You know all about me, I don't know very much at all about you,” she pointed out, slowly pacing the room, cuddling Ashes to her cheek as she did, “I don't know why you believe the way you do, I don't know why you can be such a creep and then be so sweet, and I know you can be so elegant and gracious and sophisticated and all that but you don't...”
“I am extremely shy and become terrifically distressed if I do something to embarrass myself or someone else. Even the most gracious will have incidents, and I don't trust myself for that. Also, I like being how I am, I like to play, I like to be silly and obnoxious,” he responded, quite blandly, absorbed in his work.
“What are you?” Lieselotte demanded, stopping to stand behind him.
“Six foot three,” he replied promptly.
“No. I mean. What are you? A witch?” she insisted, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, “And Daisy must be your familiar.”
“Not exactly. Close enough, I suppose.”
“Why do you always talk in riddles!?” Lieselotte sputtered, reaching out to pull on a handful of his hair. He reached back quickly to catch her wrist.
“Do you truly wish to know or are you just being horribly annoying?”
“Both,” she nodded, letting him draw her hand around his head. She watched as he painted a large and sloppy purple iodine flower on her hand, almost laughing.
“Because. You are good at asking the right questions, and if I gave them to you, you could easily destroy me without meaning to,” Desdenova murmured, quirking a brow but not looking at her.
“I wouldn't ever hurt you...” Lieselotte blurted out, only to close her mouth with a pop. She had.
“Not on purpose. Believe me, I would like to smooth the way for you, help you at every corner, but … I can't. That would be a grave disservice to you. It would be unfair and unkind. And foolish,” Desdenova told her, quiet but toneless. Protecting himself, Lieselotte decided, grimacing.
“You can't trust me,” she sighed, pulling her hand back and bowing her head over Ashes.
Desdenova turned slowly on the stool to face her, rising to his feet. He lifted his hands to gently caress her cheeks, but grimaced.
“I do trust you. You. Everything else... I can't,” he told her, glancing into her eyes then letting his gaze fall. He shifted his feet, lowering his hands to her shoulders before releasing them, rather lamely stroking Ashes head.
“You're the best friend I've ever had. All the rest grew up and didn't have a lot of use for me being shy or silly or obnoxious,” Desdenova admitted with a wry smile, “The boys I grew up with became serious and intent upon their work, got married, and that's what they do. The girls would push me away and sigh and say if only you would grow up, and... I don't want to.”
“I don't want you to, either. You wouldn't be you,” Lieselotte decided, leaning into him lightly and smiling when he carefully wrapped his arms around her. It was a long while before he finally moved away, and then because he could hear Mrs. Kansweet calling something to a customer as she walked to the work room.
Lieselotte mournfully displayed Ashes to the woman, who chuckled and assured her the cat would be right as rain in a few days. Desdenova resumed his work, quiet and thorough.
“Leave Ashes here, there's a basket for him. He won't want to eat or do much of anything today anyhow,” Desdenova murmured, glancing over to Lieselotte as she anxiously fretted over what to do with the cat. She exhaled and settled the animal into a basket lined with old cloths, and turned to regard Desdenova in some odd dissatisfaction.
He could be that sophisticated and elegant man. He wasn't always. Did she want that always...? Lieselotte frowned as she strolled into the street, reflexively looking up and down for traffic. Always so perfect? Like her sister and brother in law?
But it seemed sometimes that there wasn't anything real between them. It seemed that often before Edward's time in the hospital. A marriage made of propriety and suitability, and nothing else. Annaliese never spoke of any swooning romantic moments, never giggled about silly little gestures...
Was it just an empty facade? Lieselotte frowned, arms folded around her as she walked to Daisy, reaching up to pat the mare's head.
Her mother and father, they had always seemed so perfect, so elegant, so romantic. Lieselotte paced away from the cart and almost into an alleyway so she could see into the workroom, biting her lower lip. He was perfectly in command of all around him, and yet, he was immediately blushing and embarrassed whenever a touch of true feeling and romance came up.
“He is very young, indeed, particularly for one of our sort,” a man announced in a low voice, seeming speaking to himself, “I had hoped to see someone of some maturity. This lad is still just a child.”
“...Beg pardon?” Lieselotte sputtered, turning towards the man, and pausing. An arrestingly handsome man stood with a simpering and somewhat chubby woman on his arm. His eyes were the tawny golden brown of a calm and noble dog, his hair as auburn as an Irish setter, wavy and thick. He seemed to be just into his thirties, with a powerful physique, a deep tan to his skin.
“Ah, I did not mean to startle you, beautiful lady,” he rumbled, warmly humorous, “I am Willem Boylin, and may I present the lovely Miss Angela Boone? I own Wisteria Cottage, where Miss Boone is staying. Mother had loaned the cottage out and neglected to tell me, it seems I must find other lodgings.”
“Oh. Oh, I know the cottage, yes. It's very lovely. I'm Miss Lieselotte Lehmann, Papa owns Temperance,” Lieselotte replied, bobbing a bit of a curtsey and sorely aware of how scroungy she appeared. Miss Boone eyed her curiously.
“Oh, you're one of Han's daughters, how lovely! I wanted to meet you and see him again. It's been ever so long.”
“My sister is having a ball this weekend, I'll be sure that she knows to send invitations to Wisteria Cottage,” Lieselotte assured them graciously, “You might also ask Papa to stay, Mr. Boylin, he enjoys having company over the winter.”
“Ah, saved at the nick of time. I was going to press myself upon young Von Tombs here, on the strength of a shared thread of ancestry, as it were, but I didn't realize he was quite so young. Is he still living with his parents?” Boylin noted with a wide smile, tilting his head to once more take a look at Desdenova as the young man worked.
“He lives here, over the pharmacy. I'm sure he's twenty one or two at least,” Lieselotte responded, a bit stung for her friend. He was young, and immature in many ways, but he wasn't a child clinging to his mother's skirts.
“Just a baby. But so pretty,” Miss Boone giggled, craning to all but devour the youth in her wide and slightly crazed blue eyed gaze.
“Mr. Von Tombs is very able and responsible,” Lieselotte assured them both.
“Of course he is,” Willem agreed with a warm pride, “Or they never would have sent him here. I find it to be immensely admirable that he knew where he wasn't able and requested assistance, though I know that some feel he's weak.”
“...Pardon...?” Lieselotte inquired slowly, badly taken aback.
“He requested assistance, of course. You must realize this. For someone more able to assist you in discovering the extent of your abilities,” Willem responded, wide eyes honest and warm, his voice lowering.
“It's so exciting, I always knew there was something different about me,” Angela added with a giggle, once more peeking in at Desdenova, “I wonder if he might be able to offer guidance to me, as well.”
“I... Uhm. I have someone that ...” Lieselotte replied, unnerved, but Willem winked.
“Good. It can be quite difficult to be a teacher when you find your student attractive and charming,” he murmured, gazing with a sudden intensity into her eyes, causing her cheeks to flush pink. He seemed not to notice, chuckling to Angela.
“Ah, but you are quite stuck with me, my dear. And Mr. Von Tombs, charming as I am sure he must be, is simply too young.”
“He's... not really. Charming, I mean,” Lieselotte admitted, lame, “He can be, but … he's … He's... him.”
“I look forward to meeting him, then,” Willem chuckled, “He sounds interesting. For now, your open heart to those like you has served me well, I will escort Miss Boone back to Wisteria and continue on to meet your father, Miss Lehmann.”
“...My...?” Lieselotte inquired.
“Yes. Even before we learn what we are, we open our hearts to others like us, to come to us and assist or to simply befriend,” Willen explained, “Together we are strong and wise.”
“Oh...” Lieselotte responded, blinking several times. She half expected Willem to give her some half-response or a riddle, not for him simply to answer the question.
“Yes. Will I see you later, should your Papa not simply put me out into the snow?” he inquired, gracious as he bowed to take her hand and smile warmly to her.
“...No, actually, I've been staying with a friend this winter. But I will be at the ball,” she replied, flushing once more.
“I look forward to seeing you in a gown which suits your beauty,” Willem assured her, gently squeezing her hand before nudging Angela, “Come along, dear heart, I can't have you wandering about aimlessly.”
“Oh, dear, Willem, I'm not a child,” Angela tittered, one last glance given to Desdenova before she walked away with the man.
Lieselotte tilted her head, perplexed. After a long moment, she shook herself and walked back to Daisy. The mare was tense, her ears laid back against her head. She turned and nipped at Lieselotte several times, trying to drive her to get into the cart.
“Ow! Daisy! I'm in the cart, I'm in the cart! Whatever is the matter, darling?” she yelped, scrambling aboard.
There was the brief sight of hennah-red hair moving through several people at the train station, and Lieselotte shuddered as she realized it.
“Oh, dear. I didn't think she'd come back. Let's go home,” Lieselotte whispered, giving the reins a shake once she'd unset the brake. Daisy quickly launched away, turning without Lieselotte's guidance and heading back for Kelly's home.

Lieselotte exhaled as she strolled through the garden. Pater Gryphon had nothing to say, or perhaps Ellen had said what he wanted to be heard. He still seemed to be scowling. She paused at the low wall surrounding the inner garden and slowly began to follow it around.
The Wisteria Cottage was usually a quiet place, the servants lived there and usually worked at other houses anyhow. Now, though, with Angela taking up residence...
Windows were broken, Lieselotte realized, her brows knitting. Several of them, the glass scattered outwards onto the thin snow, their shine hard in the winter sun. Among the glass was quite a bit of multicolored debris, and she realized it was china, plates and figurines, vases and even a lamp.
The servants were cleaning up, but the butler overseeing them was uncommonly grim, his arms folded over his chest, his brow low and thunderous. As Lieselotte watched, Willem came walking down the path to the cottage.
He was utter self assurance and pure confidence in every moment. His stride, the way he held his head, the open and engaging smile. Yet that failed to bring an answering smile from the butler as the older man turned to meet Willem.
Lieselotte bit her lower lip and moved a bit more into shadow, watching with a faintly knit brow. The butler curtly indicated the mess and spoke, clearly furious and containing that as only a long time and impeccably trained butler may. Willem responded with a look of concern and picked a bit through the wreckage. He seemed to sigh, and nodded several times to whatever the butler was saying.
Angela abruptly came storming from the cottage in a state of half-dress, screaming, running to Willem and flailing wildly at him. Lieselotte could actually hear the woman's howls about how Hans had been torn from her and Willem hadn't helped her as he promised and she was going to throw him to the wolves.
Willem spoke sternly, pushing Angela back and clearly giving her a lecture. The butler seemed pleased with this but said nothing more. Angela then collapsed into woe and tears. Willem gave a few orders and half dragged the woman back into the house.
It was exactly what she would expect to see, Lieselotte decided. The butler summoning Willem to show him the damage his mother's tenant had done, Willem agreeing however reluctantly to put a young lady out, and them scolding that young lady for being a horrible brat.
Yet Angela insisted that Willem had promised to help her win Han's heart...? That was a far difference from Willem promising to help Angela learn her abilities.
Lieselotte frowned. Perhaps it was Angela being dramatic, and equating abilities with achieving an obsessive romance. Some moments later, soon enough to realize that the irritated staff had already packed Angela up, Willem hauled Angela back out, now presentable and shuffling along like a naughty child caught in the act.
Willem put Angela into the small hansom and waited as her things were loaded into the back and the horse brought around. The horse abruptly squealed and broke away from the groom just as it was being led to the harness. Its ears lain back, the animal only reluctantly returned to the groom, tail switching and clearly agitated.
“That's... not much of a good sign...” Lieselotte murmured to herself, glancing aside just as a chickadee landed beside her, scolding, likely because she didn't have any bread crumbs to toss for it, “You're awfully fat for a poor starveling winter bird, you obviously know where the feeder is.”
The chickadee assured her it did not know where the feeder was, or so she fancied, and it wasn't fat, it was simply fluffy, and it was perishing for just one of the lovely blueberries that had been on the breakfast menu.
“Do all chickadees fib as prettily as you?” Lieselotte chuckled softly, “But I suppose I could be persuaded to put the leftover blueberries out by the feeder... I just wonder, whyever was that poor horse so frightened? Was it Angela?”
Alas, the chickadee was too weak to even flutter down the hillside, not even for a hundred blueberries, it was clearly at death's doorstep.
“Oh honestly,” Lieselotte snorted, turning away. Amazingly, the bird recovered its strength and zoomed along with her step until it realized she was heading to the dining room doors and clung in great excitement to the door frame while she went inside. The moment she returned with a dish of the blueberries, the chickadee had abandoned all good sense and landed in the bowl to gulp berries down.
By the time Lieselotte had set the bowl near the feeder, a fair dozen of the tiny birds had swarmed her, painting themselves a cheery blue as they gorged on the fruit.
“Didn't know where the feeder was, indeed. They certainly knew where the soft touch was,” Lieselotte noted, drolly amused, slowly walking from the bird feeder towards the private inner garden where her mother was buried.
Even in winter, it was its own elegant fairyland. It should never be a bleak place of mourning and loss, Hans had decided, it should reflect all the joy and love that they had shared in life. Small trees which were beautiful in every season formed a circle around the raised sarcophagus. The flowerbeds were decorated with silver and white wax flowers over the winter, chains of the flowers along with blown glass reflecting balls and twirled strips of tinsel hung from bare branches. The fountain was slowly freezing, but water still circulated, leaving behind fantastic shapes in ice.
“Hello, Mother,” Lieselotte murmured as she walked slowly to the sarcophagus. She smoothed a hand over the fine marble, smiling, before sitting gently upon it, as if on a bedside.
“There is a lot we need to discuss, things we should have talked about long ago. I was always so completely protected by you as a little one, I never once thought that I could stand upon my own. But what else could you do, I was so little and young... No mother would do any less,” Lieselotte murmured, a faint grimace in her smile as she idly petted the cold stone, “Don't you realize that all that time, you were in control? You were driving them away. You could drive them away. If you had just stopped and talked to Papa... If you had just told Kelly to stop being such a jealous booger and do her duty... if you had even stopped and realized that there was an Old One in the woods who would help you...”
A lot of what ifs and if onlys. There were as useless now as... Lieselotte paused, tipping her head. Were they truly useless? She had drawn a lot of important lessons from them. She had learned much from them.
And what if her mother just didn't know any of that and still believed she was helpless before a demon that she had denied from the moment she realized it was a demon?
Yet before she could expound on her thoughts and words, the entire little garden was engulfed in a sudden and violent windstorm. Stinging cold, with sharp bits of ice, rushed around Lieselotte, the ornaments clattered and jingled in distress, and worse, directly before Lieselotte, there seemed to open a black eye of utter darkness, sucking in the air and debris, hauling her towards it relentlessly.
Pater Gryphon would not help her, he was angered with her, she had fallen and not realized it, even her precious cat and Desdenova had turned from her, she had failed as her mother had failed and would always fail...
“Pater Gryphon!” Lieselotte barked out, far more furious at the hissing whispers than afraid, bracing herself against the suction with her hands and feet. The anger was a glorious thing, golden and sharp as a blade and...
There was a rolling madness of confusion, and Lieselotte homed in on it with narrow eyes, determination written across her delicate features. The righteous feel of the anger in her hand and the strength of good shining so brilliantly wasn't to be wasted in flailing madly about, and at the same moment, there was the immense power of the gryphon wrapping around her just as the evil which had clad itself in winter's bone white and cold gray went shredding to pieces in yowling pain under the blows she dealt to it and...
“Oh Pater Gryphon, it was glorious!” Lieselotte blurted out, falling to her hands and knees just outside of the private garden, her face striped in thin ice cuts, her hands bloodied and bruised, her entire body aching with the exhilaration of a battle well fought. She could feel the pride radiating from the beast, and then warning.
The battle is not ended. Fight on.
With those words, Lieselotte jerked herself upright, eyes wide, grimly prepared to face yet another battle against the enemies of her mother, and startled badly as she realized that Willem was in a heap against the wall, twitching and shuddering with each breath, his eyes closed. It was only a moment's impression, as she blinked several times in the surprise, she found he was standing and beaming at her proudly.
“Oh oh Uh Mr. Uh Willem Oh I am so sorry are you alright I thought you had gone out...” Lieselotte faltered, her gaze darting around for any sight of her foe.
“I had, but I felt I should return here and quickly, but I see you have more than managed...” he offered with a beaming smile, “Like a warrior princess, your eyes are of fire and your skills are honed true.”
More like a screaming brat ready to holler for help at the slightest provocation, Lieselotte reminded herself in morbid amusement, but such a remark would be more offensive to Willem than amusing, so she simply rolled her shoulders slightly, ignoring the ache of her hands as it felt as if she still gripped those golden swords of light.
“There is much I still need to learn,” Lieselotte responded calmly, lowering her head. It wasn't modesty, she simply wanted to release the feeling of the power she had called slow and careful, exactly like sheathing a weapon, so that it would be at hand should she need it again.
“You have already proven quite powerful, dear one. You should be more honest in your assessment,” he chuckled softly, “Trust yourself.”
“I do. Believe me, I do.”
“Very well, but allow me to say that I believe you are far stronger than you believe yourself to be,” Willem chuckled, “What is this place...?”
“My mother is buried here. I came here to talk to her, and ...well. Something doesn't want me to. It never has. It's always driven me from here,” Lieselotte noted, glancing back. That time, it hadn't driven her away, nor had it tried to. It was trying to drag her in.
“You're hurt, too. We should find young Mr. Von Tombs and have him fix these,” Willem murmured, caressing her hands gently before taking them to regard the abrasions.
“Oh, dear, go all the way to town just for him to throw a clean wash cloth, iodine, and a basin of water at me? I can get that from my brother in law here,” Lieselotte laughed, shaking her head and looking around sharply once more.
The battle was not ended, Pater Gryphon had warned, but she couldn't see her enemy. Perhaps it had retreated.
“I expected more gentle treatment from a man of the healing profession,” Willem frowned, taking Lieselotte's arm as she started back for the house.
“Ugh, you don't know many doctors, then. They're generally quite fed up with the amount of silly accidents you bring them and don't want to deal with you unless you've genuinely hurt yourself, and then they'll still lecture you if it was your fault,” Lieselotte chuckled, shaking her head.
“That's simply terrible, I won't stand for such an attitude towards a patient. They should be ashamed of themselves,” Willem declared, clearly offended as he escorted her back to the house.
Lieselotte paused as they passed the bird feeder. The bowl was absolutely empty and the birds were back squabbling over the feeder or preening away the juice staining their feathers. On of the chickadees buzzed her several times before landing near the feeder and fluffing, managing to look angry.
“What...? Ugh, birds, they're charming at a distance but a horrid mess up close,” Willem noted, waving a hand over his head. Lieselotte regarded the chickadee, frowning faintly before she simply laughed lightly.
“I rarely did see them close up, now that I can, I think they're adorable but fibbers.”
“Terribly adorable and fibbing messes,” he agreed warmly, opening the door to the dining room for her.
“I thought you had gone out?” Lieselotte noted, glancing aside to the man, and rather than bothering to find Herman or Jonathan, simply walked to the kitchen and found the kit of household medical supplies in a cupboard.
“Er, yes. Angela has … quite a ways to go in her education,” Willem admitted, chagrinned and loosening his collar somewhat. He sat quite heavily, watching as Lieselotte gathered up a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth.
“Whatever possessed her last night? Papa will not tolerate that sort of nonsense, and the way she was speaking of my mother was simply ghastly,” Lieselotte frowned, calm and direct, carefully washing the blood and grime from her face and hands.
“I fear it was, indeed, something that possessed her,” Willem admitted in a low voice, “I fear that which had been tormenting you here found easier access with her. I can feel it here, creeping about, testing the limits of your father's command...”
“There are no limits, not once he is angered, and once I've told him of this, I assure you that it will be burnt away without mercy,” Lieselotte noted, flat and cold, “What will you do about Angela?”
“I'm not certain you should bring that up again with your father, at his age and weight and health, he might have a brain-fever, or his heart might burst,” Willem frowned, shaking his head.
“This is our home, not the playground of something which has no right to be here at all,” Lieselotte responded, glancing aside at Willem. He seemed concerned, but smiled bravely.
“Well, true, there are a few doctors around here. And you are correct. Though I wonder, it seems that this thing has been here for quite a long time. I wonder if it was honestly summoned to protect something, and became skewed without direction.”
“It was not,” Lieselotte assured him, flatly as the stare she turned upon him. Willem smiled, holding his hands up, palm outwards.
“Peace, peace, warrior princess. I don't know the entire story, and well, being the devil's advocate is a bad habit of mine.”
“I understand, but ...there isn't anything good of it,” she replied, shaking her head and wincing as she dotted the antiseptic over her skin, leaving purple dots and lines. She could just make out the flower that Desdenova had painted on her hand and smiled sadly at it.
“That is a shame,” Willem murmured, reaching over to take the small brush from her. He carefully painted over the faded daisy, creating a beautiful rose. Lieselotte almost protested, but found herself smiling at the creation.
“You're a very good artist.”
“I study what is beautiful,” he responded with an enchanting warmth of smile before he sighed a bit, worry quirking at his brow, “But what to do with Angela. She had a terrific temper tantrum and made a horrible mess of the Wisteria. She even slapped and hit some of the staff, and they are furious.”
“She shouldn't stay there, especially if you suspect she was possessed,” Lieselotte pointed out.
“No, I sent her to the village, she'll take rooms at the hotel there.”
“That may not be any better, there is a woman here, Faline, she has bright red hair, very lovely, but she's very evil,” Lieselotte whispered, frowning.
“Ah, yes, we saw her. I'm quite positive I saw her getting back onto the train, however,” he replied, frowning, “Not someone one wanted to go and meet. She seemed ...repellent.”
“Most men find her quite the opposite,” Lieselotte snorted, ironic. Willem chuckled, shaking his head.
“I am not most men. I think you should rest, my dear, before you clash sword to shield again and seek out your papa,” he smiled, taking her hand and kissing the knuckle lightly, “As for me, I shall move back to the cottage now. I think that will help calm the servants and assure them that we value their opinions and thoughts.”
“Oh... Well. I suppose I'll see you. I'll be returning to Kelly's tomorrow, I think,” Lieselotte replied, a bit taken aback.
“I would gladly escort you there.”
“That's very kind of you, but Kelly prefers not to meet people at her home. Besides, I'll just be riding Daisy.” Lieselotte smiled, apologetic.
“That's rather odd, but I suppose I can't speak too much there. Daisy being your horse?” Willem inquired.
“She's Desdenova's horse, really. But she and I are great friends now. Thank you, I think I will lay down for a short rest,” she decided, patting the cloth at her face. The cuts and scratches stung, but they reminded her each moment of her will.
“Yes. I would dearly love, incidentally, to see you again soon. I can't think of anything but our dances,” he smiled, slow and verging on seductive as he bowed, reaching out to touch her cheek before he turned and walked away.
Lieselotte watched, a faint frown at her brow. Handsome is as handsome does, and if something seemed too good to be true...
Yet she could still feel the butterflies and weak knees, just his very presence made her feel flighty, even when she had everything within her control.
He listened to her, valued her opinion, he was kind and gentle and good hearted, he was concerned about others... He seemed to be the perfect man.
Yet... Lieselotte exhaled as she lay back on her bed. How paranoid should she be, she could start driving people away from her with it, possibly even those she didn't want to lose. She'd already driven Desdenova away.
She exhaled faintly, biting her lower lip. He accepted her just as she was. She kept picking at his seams.
“I guess I didn't really accept him after all,” she whispered softly to her old stuffed dog, “He did want that... Ugh. I feel like a monster, and I feel so elated and... I need Anna...”
Lieselotte knew her sister was going to alternately scold and console her, but that was precisely what she needed.

Desdenova sat quietly in a comfortable chair, foot resting on a bolster, his gaze reflecting the flames burning in the small fireplace. It was a small apartment, spare, a small kitchen area, a bed that doubled as a sofa, a desk and bookcase. Not much else. It seemed terrifically Spartan for someone who claimed to have grown up with great wealth around him, and odd for someone who could easily take up rooms in the finest of houses in the area.
Jonathan frowned as he stared at the younger man. Desdenova didn't move, was still and pale enough to alarm him briefly, but then Desdenova finally spoke.
“What is it?”
“Anna was concerned. You never responded to her invitation for Christmas eve, and it's coming up quickly,” Jonathan noted, almost mechanically.
“It seems odd she would be concerned over that,” Desdenova pointed out, moving an arm, pointing to the desk chair. Jonathan pulled it out and turned it, setting it next to Desdenova before settling to the seat.
“You know how women can be...” Jonathan grinned, rather lamely, but Desdenova wasn't looking at him.
“Not really.”
“Well. They can work themselves into frets over the silliest things.”
“If you said that to my mother, she would not stop at pasting your face into the nearest brick wall,” Desdenova decided, mildly quirking a brow. Jonathan snorted.
“Mine, as well. Mothers are different creatures than women, somehow. Will you be there? Anna ...She really would like you to be there, particularly after all you've done for us. I've never thanked you. If you hadn't been so vigilant and determined... I would have lost far more than I realized that I had,” Jonathan finally admitted, his gaze downwards on his hand. He'd clenched it as he spoke, half embarrassed.
Desdenova exhaled softly, shifting to rise to his feet. He quietly made up two cups of tea and handed one to Jonathan before sitting once more.
“I don't really want to. ...It was my duty to do everything I possibly could to help heal you and Anna and Lieselotte. But I understand what it means to you and everyone,” he murmured quietly.
“Why aren't you even trying? You're just going to retreat here like a beaten dog?” Jonathan demanded abruptly, frustrated. Desdenova startled faintly, lashes flickering, as he finally turned his gaze to the other.
“...I don't...”
“Oh for God's sake, Desdenova. That ...loudmouth ape with the holier than thou self righteous amazing hero attitude comes waltzing in here and in less than a week has completely blinded the girl that you have been sweet on for nearly a year – and you just walk away?” Jonathan blurted out, waving a hand in agitation.
“What else can I do?” he asked slowly, though he was startled.
“Well, for one thing, you could find out just who that jack a** really is,” Jonathan snapped, “Ten years old and heroically saves his family from a native uprising, my a**. Leading them through a tiger infested jungle with nothing more than his trusty pop gun – If I have to hear that story again, I will vomit all over his Italian leather shoes.”
“There's no way to prove or disprove that unless you can contact his family, and evidently, the uncle that was caring for the cottage accepted that his mother had taken control of it again,” Desdenova shrugged faintly.
“Hans is already trying to find what is going on with that. He said that Carl, the uncle, had been the one to have them declared legally dead, and hadn't been all that close with them in the first place,” Jonathan sniffed, irritated, “This man is a fraud. And you're just going to let him take everything you want?”
“If I do anything, if I say anything – it is nothing but jealousy,” Desdenova replied slowly, sipping in seeming calm from his cup, but his knuckles were white.
“Lotte is not that stupid.”
“She is when he's there,” Desdenova reminded him sourly, “Dear sweet Desdenova, just a child. A silly boy. Not truly worthy of a woman of elegance and refinement.”
“Since when is Lotte a woman of elegance and refinement?!” Jonathan blurted out, astonished.
“Because her bloody mother was, that's why, and the little twit hasn't seen that wasn't so,” Desdenova snapped, hunkering into his chair like a wounded falcon, “Anything I do or say is just me not wanting to lose my playmate.”
“Then what...?” Jonathan asked weakly. Desdenova shook his head.
“I don't know. She lost faith in me anyhow. There was too much I couldn't tell her, and it started playing on her mind.”
“Then tell her.”
“I can't,” Desdenova exhaled, rubbing his temple with one hand, brows quirked up for a moment, “In time, I would be able to, but ...not now.”
“I know he's planning on demanding her hand from Hans on Christmas Eve. Hans doesn't want him around either, but Lotte is absolutely infatuated...”
“Doesn't anyone like him?” Desdenova inquired, dubious. Jonathan snorted wryly.
“It's as if he studied everything he could about you and Hans and even I and combined them with some cloistered holy man into this … creepy perfect creature. If you make a sarcastic remark in his presence, he lectures upon it. If you say something nasty, he is offended. He's so pious it's nauseating.”
“That's not necessarily a sign of ill intent.”
“I didn't say it was...”
“You're looking for that. It's actually natural to be threatened and resentful of those sorts, and human nature to seek out the imperfections, to make someone so perfect more like us,” Desdenova shrugged slightly, “It's...”
“Look, even your horse doesn't like him,” Jonathan interrupted, watching the youth keenly. Annaliese had told him specifically to mention that, but he wasn't certain why it would matter. Yet it seemed that it did. Desdenova closed his mouth for a moment, his head tilting.
“Daisy? She likes everyone.”
“Not him. She bit the hell out of him yesterday. And I swear to God it looked like a dog bite.”
“...Daisy's an... older breed, she has ...uhm... tusks,” Desdenova noted slowly.
“So I noticed when I got a look at her teeth. Still looked like dog teeth to me, but far be it from me to recommend dental surgery on an animal that clearly isn't bothered by the extra teeth,” Jonathan smirked nastily, “Twenty stitches, Herman and I had to take in Willem's arm.”
Desdenova choked on a laugh, and Jonathan watched him keenly.
“Of course, he smiled and insisted that dear Daisy was merely jealous of the attention he was paying to Lotte, concerned about this strange man when she was used to her little boy being around,” Jonathan added with a moue of disgust crossing his face, “Send that cat of Lotte's around. Make her see her own pet run from him.”
“It won't matter,” Desdenova exhaled, shaking his head, “In fact, it'll serve him quite well to be the nobly misunderstood heroic man, standing true by his beloved when her family hates him for his perfection and because they think they know better than her.”
“...I hadn't thought of that...”
“Blame yourself if you never listened to the drama young women can concoct out of nearly nothing. She has to see what he is. And for all know, he really is that. If he is, and that's what she wants, ...I may not be a gentleman, but I know well enough when I'm beaten.”
“You aren't.”
“I can't be that,” Desdenova told Jonathan sharply, toneless though his eyes snapped with anger, “I can act it, I can pretend to be it, I can even have every girl in the county swooning at my feet in an evening, but it's not who or what I am. It's just something I can do.”
“Yes, and it's just something that Lotte can do,” Jonathan countered, spirited, “She can act the perfect elegant woman, just as well as Anna, and she is not that at all. She's suspicious, she likes sarcastic and even morbid things, she prefers to get dirty in the garden over sitting graciously at tea, and nothing has changed, she just is trying to be what Anna is because she thinks she wants this perfect man!”
Desdenova started to respond, listless, before he paused.
“Say that again.”
“Which part, and mind you, I've forgotten. Don't you have any alcohol in this place?”
“Lotte can act like the perfect elegant woman... And thinks she wants that perfect man who was you, only... perfect,” Desdenova responded slowly, unfolding from the chair to open a cupboard and
take out an ornate bottle. He offered it to Jonathan, his brows knit.
“How difficult could it be to recreate something like that...?”
“I don't know what you're on about,” Jonathan noted, taking a drink right from the bottle before choking. Desdenova simply rescued the bottle from him as the older man coughed.
“Her dream world had her as the more elegant between she and Anna. With a perfect version of you as Lotte's fiance. When she recovered, she told me how much she wished that that version of you was real,” Desdenova explained slowly. Jonathan hacked a few more times, wiping tears from his eyes.
“The hell is this...?” he rasped, pointing to the bottle.
“Everclear. Moonshine. Mom makes it,” Desdenova responded, taking a drink himself. Jonathan stared, then nodded in satisfaction when Desdenova choked on the moonshine.
“Well. I think Willem has gone far past what I may be as perfect,” Jonathan managed to snort, wiping his face with a handkerchief, “And her wishing for that man could be two things. One, she was trying to let you know that she'd like it if you were a bit more elegant with her. Two, which is just as likely, is that whatever had hold of her still has hooks in her and that is one of them.”
“If it is the second... It's well done. My hands are tied. Anything I do is going to be attributed to jealousy or immaturity,” Desdenova exhaled, dropping back to his chair.
“Then what can we do?” Jonathan demanded. Desdenova exhaled softly, a brow lifting slowly.
“Trust. Trust her. That's all I do here. Is hope and pray that ...she can see herself clearly and ...turn it aside for good and all. But she won't. Not so long as her mother is held. She will keep going until she's freed her mother... or they're both entrapped.”
“And then what?” Jonathan snapped, but Desdenova shook his head, his eyes dark and moody.
“I don't know. I don't know how to give up hope, even when it hurts... and I hope to stop hoping... I just don't know.”
“Come to the party,” Jonathan asked quietly. Desdenova exhaled, sagging, but finally nodded.
“Alright.”

01. Settled
The house is perfect gushed Marianne and she meant every word of it because she would not settle for anything less than perfection -- even the movement out of the corner of her eye didn't bother her in the least because she knew this was the place that she was going to bear and raise her children, all of them happy and content, and a family.

02. Seam
The blood oozed, slowly at first and then more fluid with every passing moment -- seeping out of the cracks and dripping down the walls in thick clots as Liesolette stood and watched, disbelief her only reaction at the sight (have I cut myself is my forehead bleeding it must be because what else could it be but there's no blood there I don't understand this) and finally dragging her gaze back to the wall as the crimson pooled on the floor, rippling for a moment before swerving out to rush at her; and it was her own scream that broke the silence, broke the spell, reminded her to run-run-RUN before it touched her (don't let it touch you !).

03. Similar
Liesolette had seen her mother make the motions thousands of times growing up and had memorized them twitch for twitch, as much as a child could -- and yet, when she made the same gestures, the Grinning Man simply smirked and leaned in until he was almost touching, hissing in her face in a not-at-all-playful manner, delighting in her horror as it grew and waiting for her to realize the futility; giving her just enough time to understand that close didn't mean anything before he made his next move.

04. Scrupulous
Hans watched his daughter grow after his wife's death, absently at first and then with more confusion as the weeks passed -- his frown deepening every time he realized that her behaviour was odd, that something wasn't right; that she wasn't acting the way she should, and it was only a matter of time before odd became wrong.

05. Static
It didn't take long before the monsters grew bolder and her days became filled with mocking laughter and relentless torment -- and, more and more, Liesolette found herself cligning to the memory of her mother's smile, even if the words she had murmured when the nightmares seemed so fresh and the only sanctuary could be found in the light were long since forgotten.

06. Skill
Liesolette was never sure if she should consider it a blessing or a curse -- but the fact remained that anyone human rarely managed to sneak up behind her, no matter how light they may have been on their feet.

07. Sheer
The nightgown fell about her body like gauze -- far from transparent and still somehow managing to highlight every flaw in her body (so thin bags so dark no breasts no figure might not even be female and oh so thin so thin so thin), no matter how hard she tugged or where she twisted; there was no hiding the truth it seemed, and she sighed heavily in resignation that Annaleise would simply have to see her like this, and there was no more avoiding it.

08. Simplicity
Life must be so simple seeing things the way Old Lady Kelly did -- good and evil, black and white, truth and lies, never any hesitation -- and Liesolette almost envied the way everything so clearly defined in her eyes, instead of forever being forced to doubt where she stood and if she was even sane.

09. Sinister
There was no doubt in her mind that the bleeding hallway was every bit as malevolent (would like to see you suffer crush you down destroy you) as the voices or the faceless grinning creatures or even the Grinning Man -- Liesolette had been tormented for long enough that she was no longer foolish enough to believe that sentience dictated intent.

10. Sorrel
The first tiime Liesolette caught sight of the back of the frame, smeared with something dark and suspicious (don't worry it's only grease Liesolette why are you so jumpy), her breath caught in her throat and she clenched her eyes shut, stubby nails digging into her palms as she counted to ten as slowly as she could, even though she knew the end result -- and when she finally opened them and the sight wasn't gone like a bad dream, she found no reassurance in the fact that the hallway really had been bleeding ... because now it had started, now it was real, it was never going to go away.

11. Satisfy
Lying in the dark, heart pounding at every sound of the storm outside, Liesolette was struck with the sudden epiphany that if she could just get rid of the Grinning Man, everything would be okay, maybe even tolerable -- because everything else was just things and he was a someone and that made it so much worse, even moreso when (he spoke to her talked to her forced her to realize he wanted her more than the rest combined) the only thing that seemed to please him was her terror, and nothing she did could ever deny him what he wanted for long.

12. Sanguine
Liesolette was sure the clip was offered with nothing less than genuine affection, a small gesture meant to make her smile -- but it was a child's clip, a garishly decorated toy, and the bright red reminded her only of dripping blood and nightmares instead of the chubby strawberry it was meant to represent; all the same, she accepted it and forced a tight smile, although no amount of begging would convince her to allow it into her locks.

13. Sashay
Annaliese always moved absently wherever she went, all but gliding across the ground and never needing to look where she was going, naturally gifted enough that she was never going to trip in an unflattering manner even when all her attention was on chattering away to her companion -- whereas her sister was the opposite and inched her way along (especially in hallways although it was never clear why), hopping over spots for no apparent reason and stopping for no apparent reason to stare around herself in a wild panic, biting her tongue harder the more distressed she became, but never saying a word.

14. Sepulcher
Pacing back and forth, chewing her nails (and her fingertips but never on purpose and never for long it hurt) and wimpering under her breath because the creature lurking in the doorway would just not move though it refused to attack, Liesolette thought the house would end up her tomb and she would never escape and they would never allow her to even leave -- and, if she wasn't so panicked, she would probably realize this was the same threat the voices whispered to her every night as she lay in the dark, tense and terrified, trying to fall asleep and abscond for just a second.

15. Semblance
Liesolette was never sure if there was something wrong with her, something deep and hidden that just meant she failed to bond with her father; or if the similarities between her and her mother were so haunting that she just never had a chance, even before her death.

16. Secure
There was no such thing as sanctuary, no such thing as a Safe Room -- and she knew this, even if no one else did, and ignored the frustrated noises that came from her panicked habits because it was better than listening and not looking under-the-table-under-the-bed-under-the-seat.

17. Sample
Once, when Liesolette awoke, the Grinning Man was closer than he had ever been before -- her eyes widened and her scream froze in her throat, and she could do nothing as he just leaned ever nearer, tilting his head and parting his (teeth he's all teeth there's nothing else) mouth, pausing to stare at her as if he was going to lap at her cheek and find out just what exactly fear tasted like.

18. Sennet
So startled was Liesolette by the monster popping it's head out of the soup that she screamed, instinctively back pedalling as it made intimidating faces at her and dripped all over the stove; she tripped over her own feet and knocking over bowls and cups as she tried to reach the door -- and that was where Ella found her, whimpering quietly with her arms over her head, the silverware strewn about her figure the only explanation for the cacophany that had long since died down.

19. Spoil
Annaliese never wanted for anything -- not attention to make her blush, fine dresses fit for a princess, delicacies to melt on the tongue, beautiful trinkets to catch the eye -- and although she often tried to share with Liesolette (come on just a bite you have to try new foods now and again trust me it's delicious !) the truth was all her sister wanted was to be left alone.

20. Sequence
Every action had a reaction, and every reaction had a consequence -- this was a lesson that Liesolette learned quickly, and so pleased was the Grinning Man that she didn't try to enrage him twice in the same way, that he, in return, didn't rip her pillow in half again and leave it scattered all across the room again.

21. Stage
There was more than one point where Liesolette really did consider that she might be insane (how could she not when no one else saw things that she did and she heard voices always that no one else could hear ?) -- the monsters abated, the insmonia eased, and it seemed like the medicine was working, that they really hadn't ever been there at all, that the mind of a child had simply created an elaborate world of endless horrors for reasons that would never be understood; and then, piece by piece, the nightmares returned, and she realized that her escape was nothing more than a phase, a way for them to torment her more with such false hope.

22. Survivor
Staring at the coffin, her hands clutching the bright posey and her father crying quietly beside her, the blonde child failed to understand why her mother was lying there -- why were they apart, when she had promised she would always protect her daughters, no matter what ?

23. Sobriquet
Edward considered himself the epitome of subtle humour -- oh yes, Lies is quite the houseguest, never a dull moment with her scurrying around, ha ha ha ! -- and although Annaliese never spoke up in her defense no matter how low his blows were, Liesolette couldn't really find it in herself to hold a grudge about this; after all, there was always some other way to interpret his remarks, so maybe she really was just being paranoid ...

24. Sunder
The monsters learned early on the best way to torment Liesolette was to isolate her, to tear her away from everything that may provide a sense of safety or comfort -- and the Grinning Man, especially, takes extra delight in taunting her with the fact they know this at the worst possible times.

25. Sooth
Though Liesolette rarely cries in her sleep this does not deter Ella, and it is faar from uncommon for her soft words of reassurance to curl their way into Liesolette's dreams, keeping the nightmares at bay for just a little while longer -- because even though they are lies, they are soft and sweet, and sometimes she is just too exhausted not to cling to hope.

26. Sanable
She understood that her father wanted only to see her improve, to be cured -- and whatever his motives, this was his goal -- but Liesolette wished he would just accept that she was irrepairably damaged, that she couldn't be fixed with doctors and inane remedies, instead of torturing himself with his own delusions of a happy ending.

27. Scrumptious
Liesolette was the Grinning Man's favourite, she knew this, knew that there was no other way it could have gone after her mother died -- though that didn't comfort her in the least when she woke and found him leering from inches away, about to take a bite out ... only to wait until the silence had drawn itself out to uncomfortable lengths, and cough up a scrap of white onto her pounding chest.

28. Succumb
It would be so much easier just to give in -- and when her hands are buried in her hair deep enough to tear her scalp, when her teeth are grit shut hard enough to ache just to keep the screams from escape, sometimes Liesolette thinks of how it will never be any different than it is at that moment and how she can never escape and she realizes, with cold horror, that that is more terrifying than any of the creatures could ever be.

29. Shroud
Liesolette misses the days when the only thing she needed to keep the monsters at bay was her mother's skirt scrunched between her chubby fingertips -- and the silence reassurance that came with it, that no matter what, she would not be left alone and there would always be a safe to place to hide.

30. Sawder
Sooo much prettier than your mother ... and she isn't sure if it's a compliment or a scathing insult sugary sweet and masqueraded as one, and more than once she wonders (why he even notices) at the point of such flattery when his only goal was to destroy her.

31. Scialytic
It is Ashes that she relies on as she walks about town -- draped around her neck, all soft fur and heavy warmth, his purring a constant rumble at the back of her mind that makes everything seem just a little less dire.

32. Situate
It took several days and more than one set of hands, but eventually the path from the front door to her bedroom was tactfully devoid of any mirrors -- and Liesolette didn't have to try quite so hard to fight the panic, to follow a set path (two steps left and one right, half a step back and then forward an inch) so one didn't explode in her face without warning.

33. Scale
It is the low hiss that alerts her, makes her take notice of the shadow scuttling up the wall -- and even though she presses her eyes shut and wills it to go-away-go-away-go-AWAY ! all she feels is its hot breath on her face, even long after it has melted under the dooor and away.

34. Silence
At first she savours the early mornings, the moments where the darkness presses hard enough to suffocate and there is still nothing and no one trying to drive her insane -- but the longer these moments last, the more often they occur, the less she appreciates it because she understands then that it isn't and never was silence ... it was patience.

35. Synchronize
In the beginning, there was nothing more terrifying than waking up to the Smiling Man with his face so close she could (almost imagine) smell his breath -- and later, though still terrifying, it was just a tiny bit irritating -- and even later there was more than a flicker of confusion; did he really have nothing better to do than sit there all night and wait for her to open her eyes ?

36. Servile
Yes, father murmured Liesolette, wringing her hands and chewing her nails and listening to his conditions without ever looking up or arguing at all -- and as he stared at her, Hans wasn't sure that he really wanted her to be fixed if it meant keeping her hair and seeing her the way she was ... until he remembered the alternative, steeled himself, and repeated again that she simply had to talk to someone about what was happening.

37. Saccharine
The first sign that Annaliese was about to start picking about something she had done (or not done or nearly done or should do) was her smile -- sticky sweet and betraying that she only wanted to help and had not even a single malicious bone in her body; but her twin knew her better than she knew herself, and was not foolish enough anymore to believe such a promise.

38. Sickening
Normal girls her age liked flowers and attractive strangers and bashful compliments -- Liesolette liked brightly lit rooms, and a comforting presence nearby.

39. Season
When Hans left the room, Liesolette was sneezing and hacking (in a terribly unladylike manner, but he could forgive that this time) into a tissue, insisting that it was the flowers making he so ill and not at all her fever; by the time he walked back into the room, the posey disposed of, she was curled up with her back pressed against the wall, her fists desperately rubbing-pushing-digging into her eyes, sobbing quietly and mumbling nonsense.

40. Sensual
Liesolette envied her sister, sometimes -- Annaliese never had to try, she simply inspired attraction and affection wherever she went, and her twin could never hope to imitate her, no matter how hard she tried or how much weight she gained.

41. Serendipity
Ashes lived up to every superstition that was ever breathed about a black cat -- but not for Liesolette (never for Liesolette) and because he kept the darkness at bay, she respected his wishes to never be inside no matter how desperately she wanted to scoop him up and bury him under her blankets with her, just so she could sleep.

42. Score
Liesolette didn't need to be told a second time -- after the decapitation of her favourite doll, she knew exactly how many strikes she had left (as many as he wants it depends on the day you can never be sure just when he'll snap) before the Grinning Man found her more irritating than amusing.

43. Simpleton
As she grew, it was no longer only the frustration of not being believed that kept Liesolette silent, it was the way they looked at her after she spoke of the horrors she saw -- how often they stared at her, like she was a child again and couldn't tell reality from fantasy, until in desperation she almost considered a conversation with the Grinning Man just so someone would talk to her like she understood what they were saying.

44. Sisyphean
Her time in the asylum taught Liesolette only one thing -- and that was no matter who tried, no matter how long they fought, no matter what they did, the end result would always be that nothing ever changed and she would always be left to fight her battles alone.

45. Sanity
In the dark, in the night, it was the voices that were the worst -- how was she meant to believe she was sane when all there was were murmurs laughing, mocking, telling her how wrong that belief was ?

46. Seize
It was so much easier to tell her father she was simply petrified of the water, Liesolette discovered -- it may not be a rational fear in his eyes, but it was one that he could pretend to understand, and in turn he would allow her to remain away from that danger, out of reach of the hands that wanted to grip tight and drag her down-down-down into the cold.

47. Saboteur
No matter how many times she deliberately hid the purpose (and he knew it of course he knew it he was smarter than he looked) the Grinning Man always played the game -- hunting high and low, in and out, behind and underneath, until he found the matching twin and forcing her to wear the pair until he grew bored; and, all things considered, never appeared to hold any more malice towards her for sabotaging his fun than he did for simply existing.

48. Softly
Hans can remember, as he cradles a glass of bitter liquid in the privacy of his study, what Liesolette looked like when she was born -- and how, so very gently so very carefully, he had brushed his wisp of hair from her face, because before she became a person, she had simply been his child.

49. Silhouette
There was only one silhouette that Liesolette wanted to see outside her window, or displayed across her bedroom wall in the moonlight -- but even she knew it was never the cat.

50. Sear
Ella understood that she couldn't save Lieselotte, not really -- even if by some miracle they managed to force the monsters away, the damage had already been done, and the knowledge gnawed at her relentlessly; and so, she did the only thing she could do, and she was determined that they would not be allowed to take the child without going through her, first.