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"A gentleman, looks like," Ella says, not too generously. "No one I've seen before."

Still, Lotte comes out to tell them that her sister isn't back and to shove them into some parlour while she excuses herself out of dealing with Edward's s**t. The gentleman friend is indeed a stranger and indeed a gentleman. He's an older man, blond hair spinning into white gold at the temples. Lotte takes mere seconds to peg him: unmarried but not ashamed of it, of noble birth and a careful, moralistic upbringing. His clothes are appropriately trim and elegant, but they make no attempt at youthful trendiness.

He has a little grin that hooks into the corner of his mouth, and it cocks the skin back with a queer, lofty sort of affection, like a father indulging the happy gibberish of his child. He has exceptionally clean skin and an unremarkable face, other than eyes as frightfully blue as the rare flicks of white in a quivering fire.

When Lotte enters, he has a bit of fine white glove pinched between thumb and forefinger, and he's drawing it off, carefully (surgically, she realizes later), that avuncular smile of his fixed on Edward. They both pause to note her presence, though Edward's smile lacks entirely the geniality present in the stranger's.

Before anyone else can, Lotte says, "She isn't back yet."

"Still?" Edward tilts his head, like it's the most unforeseeable event in the world.

"You sound surprised."

"Well, it is nearly four. I had thought six hours might suffice..."

Normally this would fall beneath the 'worthy of my effort' threshold, but with a stranger here, Lotte feels like she needs to make a little show of things, demonstrate just how uncouth the beastly hidden sister is, how unwelcoming this household. So she sneers, "Shouldn't a man know his own wife a little better than that?"

But while Edward is choking on an irritated laugh, the stranger does just the thing she hadn't wanted.

"Although certainly never so well as her own flesh and blood," the man smoothly intervenes, adding on top of the compliment a respectful head tip toward Lotte. He's from the continent, a graceful accent layered over his English like sheer foreign silk. Lotte is caught between identifying the accent (German? Austrian?) or analyzing the flattery's motive, and leaves the conversation open for Edward to seize.

With an unnecessarily bold sweep of his arm, Edward says, "My apologies, where are my manners? Please, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Lieselotte Lehmann."

"How do you do, Miss Lehmann." The stranger's head dips lower this time, though he refrains from a bow. "I have heard you mentioned so many times while dining with the Yorkers that it is the greatest pleasure to join at last a face with such a charmed name."

Oh yes, Lotte is certain that he has heard more than a few things about Anna's 'charmed' (translation: 'touched') twin sister. Yet she can't detect the mockery that should be there and she can't find any disturbed grimace laying foundation beneath his smile.

And the man goes on to introduce himself, "Emeric Kunze," with a gesture creeping ever closer to that elusive bow.

"Well, Mr. Kunze," she tries to say, but Edward winces into an 'oh dear what a blunder' smile.

Stage-whispered, he corrects, "Doctor Kunze, I think you mean."

And Lotte feels her muscles stand up, every one of them immediately rigid, and she doesn't realize her teeth have bit down into her lip until she has to pull them out to speak: "You'll have to wait in a parlour until she returns. I've just remembered I need to make preparations before my lesson."

"Your lesson?" Edward says dryly.

"Yes."

"This is news to my ears," he scoffs. "Who finally persuaded you into becoming a lady?"

But then again, his words darting between the two of them like an innocent pleading ceasefire, Kunze clears his throat and says, "Pardon me, but if my timing is poor..."

"How could it be," Edward says tightly, "when I invited you here."

There comes an uneasy pause, and Lotte could feel some sympathy for the stranger, if she wanted to (she doesn't), caught as Kunze is between offending Edward or imposing on Lieselotte.

Kunze decides to say, fingers picking and pulling at the glove he holds, "I believe there may have been a slight misunderstanding..." His gaze slides from Edward to Lotte. "I have not come to diagnose or prescribe anyone... This is merely a social visit, Miss Lehmann. I can assure you of that."

"And," Edward has to ruin the gentle stream of words, "I should think you want lessons in socializing more than whatever subject you had planned today."

"Overwhelmed as I am by your concern for my well-being, I fear I must decline. It simply wouldn't be appropriate to keep a dissection waiting -- the organs will start to rot, you know..." With a cold, flat smile, Lotte adds in an undertone, "You can't imagine the stench, after even an hour."

And she doesn't wait to see this prim continental doctor's reaction (Edward's indignant repulsion is enough); she turns and takes her immediate leave. The servants can clean up her mess.

---

Anna, when she arrives home, is not impressed by this anecdote.

"Just once, Lotte. Couldn't you try, even once?"

"You know how I feel about doctors, and so does Edward."

"Once, that's all. He's a good man -- please don't look at me like that -- he is. He is an absolute gentlemen, and learned, and gentle, and mannered, and intelligent -- "

"Apparently intelligent enough to dine regularly with your husband."

"Oh, fine."

And that was that, door closed.

---

Until the little package.

A box of ten bonbons from Cologne, the packaging entirely in German, but helpfully annotated into English by the sender in slanted high letters, (a doctor's hand). Attached came a note:

Miss Lehmann,

My greatest apologies for the clumsiness of our first meeting. Your sister notified us that you were feeling too unwell for dinner, and while company can be reproduced, the same meal can never quite be created twice. If I had any hand in your absence, please do accept this trifle in retribution for such a lovely dinner missed.

Yours sincerely,
E. Kilian Kunze

P.S. Mr. Yorker did not wish to speak too much of your departing comment, so I could not exact an answer from him. Please do not think me too bold in thus asking you directly: Was it meant in jest? If not, I admit I am impressed to find someone else so candid about their interest in the matter.

Someone else?

Someone else? What, that tidy, old, soft fop enjoyed dissections? Lotte supposed she shouldn't put anything past a doctor, but... What an odd note. And didn't he introduce himself as something else? She didn't remember 'Kilian'.

---

"I'm not at all surprised," Anna shrugged later, when told about the letter.

"Did you suggest he send the chocolates?"

"No, and I doubt he consulted Edward either. He's a peculiar man, Lotte... In fact," and her smile was grim, "nearly as odd as you."

"And on whose conversation might you be eavesdropping?" Lotte grinned at the glower Ella sent her way. The maid had been paused near a door, feather duster forgotten, her head cocked toward the room and its inhabitants. She hushed Lotte and took her by the arm, drawing her away from the door lest they be discovered.

"It's that fella again."

"The gentleman doctor?" Lotte wrinkled her nose. "What does he want now?"

"He and your father have been talking a long time in that room. When I came in with tea, it was innocent business, them reminiscing, in and out of German -- I couldn't understand much. But now they gotten awfully quiet and serious..."

"In German still?"

With a frown, Ella nodded.

"Then let me have a go."

"Miss Lieselotte -- "

"Hush now. You'll get us caught." With a grin, she crept back to the parlour door and lined herself up with the hinges. She flapped a hand at Ella to go away, and mouthed, 'Keep watch'. Despite a sigh, Ella did as she was bid, circling around to the servant door that stood between the parlour and kitchen.

The words were in German, yes, but the doctor's voice was still recognizable: "...not the most comforting answer one could be given."

"Comforting or not, I want to hear your opinion," her father insisted.

After a pause, maybe a drink, Kunze said, "Every situation differs."

"Of course."

"What I say now does not apply to all families, nor yours in particular."

"I understand, I understand. But what do you think of them?"

Another pause. "I think that sanitariums protect the family more often than the individual. Do hear me out, my friend," Kunze said hastily, and her father gruffed something Lotte couldn't quite make out. "I heard once of a woman who was taken by madness after a stillbirth. She was driven by such grief that she attempted infanticide against her other children."

"So they sent her away."

"What else could one do." (In her head, Kunze's words were coloured grey; they sounded so flat and faded out.) "Murder is murder."

"Lieselotte would never harm a creature -- "

"Which is why my words do not necessarily apply to your situation. I do not know enough of -- "

"But you've spoken with her."

"On occasion."

"She isn't mad," her father begged.

"No, I dare say not."

Lotte breathed out and straightened up from the door. She didn't know when she had closed her eyes - maybe at her father's mutter, straining to make it out - but she kept them shut for another few moments. Father wouldn't send her away again. Would he? Then why consult this man? Why was he here anyway, why had Ed brought him here, except to sway her father into more treatments?

With a growl in her throat, Lotte turned away from the door. She opened her eyes and her hands flew to her mouth to stuff the scream back in. Two blazing eyes and the scythe-gash of a mouth smiled back at her.

She breathed out, "No."

If possible, the smile widened, stringing out to either side like garlands of shark teeth.

"No. Not now. Get -- no, go away, you need to leave," Lotte babbled, still catching her breath. "Not now."

The Grinning Man approached her (when had he dipped the hallway into darkness? how long had he been waiting for Lotte to turn around?), twin glints as he raised his hands.

"I mean it," she hissed, and alighted on an idea. "They're going to send me away again. And then you'll have no one to torment. Get away from here or they'll send me away."

This at last paused him, and his eyes burned into the door behind her. "The new man," he mused to himself. "The 'doctor'. We can't have you disappearing."

"So leave -- "

"The doctor," he repeated, and she heard his teeth grind against each other, contemplative. "You can't disappear. But he can."

"No!"

The door swung open behind her. "Lieselotte? My girl, what is the matter?"

Thankfully, her shout had also summoned Ella, who hurried toward them and made it seem like Lotte's cry might have been aimed at her rather than the otherwise empty hall.

"Nothing -- no, something, there is something absolutely the matter and I need to speak with you about it."

"Now?"

"Immediately." She gripped her father's sleeve, eyes still wide and breath shallow from the shock.

Behind her father, Kunze looked out of the doorway. "She looks pale as marble -- dear child, are you feverish?"

"No," Lotte snapped, her wheedling lapsing into a tantrum. "Father, now. Please."

"If you'll excuse me -- "

"Of course," Kunze murmured, appraising Lotte for other medical conditions. As she dragged her father a few steps away, Ella stepped into the parlour and shut the door behind her. They could still hear Lotte's raised voice ("He needs to leave." "What do you mean?" "The doctor! I want him out! He needs to leave!") but the parlour remained tidily silent, Ella and Kunze eyeing each other from a distance.

At last Kunze said, "I do not believe we have been formally introduced."

"No sir. But I know who you are."

"And you are Miss Lehmann's maid, I believe."

"Something like that, sir."

"And an American," which made him smile.

"Yessir."

Kunze's grin widened with every second that Ella declined to speak. "I had heard that Americans were quite talkative."

"Funny. I heard Germans don't have a sense of humor."

"Nonsense," a voice - not hers; not his - vibrated by Kunze's ear, like the rattling tail of a snake. "Everyone likes a nice, wide smile..."

For the briefest moment, Kunze could swear he felt something on his face, a thin cold thing, like wet metal, sliding over his cheek. Then the door snapped open and Lotte stormed in, cheeks red as flowers against her chalk white skin.

"You are leaving, now."

"Have I done something to displease -- "

"Yes! Everything. Everything; I loathe you; I want you out; you have to go; don't say anything or try to apologize; I despise it all; I don't want to see your face here again; do you understand; don't answer that; I don't care; you have to leave and that's all there is to say."

The words tumbled out of her as she and Ella marched Kunze down the hall. They carried him to the door like a poor log yanked along by river rapids, Lotte profoundly ignoring all his confusion and questions. Despite the rudeness of the ejection, Kunze seemed quite entertained, wearing a bemused smile even as they reached the front door.

"You must go. Goodbye, Mr. Kunze --- or Doctor, or whatever you are -- "

He snuck in, "Kilian, if you please."

"Then goodbye, Kilian," Lotte huffed and shoved the door shut. She whirled around and thumped her back against it. She caught her breath again, and took the time to brace herself for her father's shame and bewilderment (and she heard on the other side of the door Kunze quietly chuckle, "Never a dull afternoon")

Lieselotte sat on the bench.

Lieselotte sat on the bench, and her eyes were clenched shut.

Lieselotte sat on the bench, and her eyes were clenched shut, and she her arms were wrapped tightly about her stomach. Consciously, she knew this couldn't be doing anything to stop the pain, but it also wasn't making it worse, and when everything she tried made her retch with the agony, that was far, far more important than it had any right to be. She knew she should get up and move and find her way and leave, she really did, but it was just so much easier to stay where she was; so much easier to not move and try not to even breathe, to try and find a way to skirt around the constant pain. She was late for something, the girl thought, but she couldn't be sure what -- if only her head would stop pounding, she'd be able to think! If only it would stop pounding, she'd be able to figure out what to do next.

What to do next?

The thought didn't slip away like all the others -- it clung to the inside of her skull with pushpin pricks, piercing through the mist. The answer was obvious, of course: check there was nothing under the bench. Haven't done that for a while, have you, pretty little Lieselotte? You never know what's happening behind your back if you aren't looking, if you don't pay close enough attention... and my my my, has your attention wandered.

Her eyes snapped open -- panic and paranoia would always trump exhaustion -- and she jerked her feet up like the ground was made of hot coals. The hem of her dress still dangled low, low enough to drag her down-down-down if something thought to snag it, but already the terror was passing and she barely even saw. The view through the wrought iron gates was empty -- the only thing licking at her heels was the same dull, grey fog that smothered everything within view. Her feet began to lower and she hesitated, wiggling her feet until the fog itself scuttled out of the way, too.

It hid only dirt -- nothing but and only, not even disturbed by her squirming. With the paranoia satisfied, the rush of energy was already trickling away, and Lieselotte could feel herself drooping again. She was tired, so tired, and even though it would be foolish to give up, even though she knew she should try and stay alert, she could only be on edge for so long. Even with years of practice, the pain was slithering back and the thump-thump of her head was intensifying, and she just -- she only -- she couldn't --

Liesolotte sighed, curling in on herself, and let her eyes close. Sleep taunted her -- so close she could almost touch it, but skittering out of reach every time she tried. But, but maybe if she just sat there and waited a moment, it would come to her? Everything would be okay if she could only rest, and she knew that with the same certainty she knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, and she just -- she only -- she couldn't --

She needed to rest , the girl thought. If she could only rest a moment, everything would be okay.


===


"Lieselotte."

The voice was soft at first -- gentle and teasing, then leaving a slimy trail slithering into her ears.

"Lieseloootte."

The girl scowled, tilting her head to rub it against the rough material of her dress, automatically trying to rid herself of the sensation. It did nothing but remind her she was still there, still alive -- and after a second her head snapped up, startled.

That had been sound. Sound here, in the silent landscape that was so much more familiar than she wanted to know it was? Her gaze darted left and right, but all she found was fog and faint shadows and everything she had been trying to escape from. The ache in her stomach flared and she gasped, crushing both hands against herself like she could hold the pain in by will alone.

"Lieselotte~~"

Left -- the voice was to her left. She got a glimpse of thin lips and sharp teeth through the eddying fog, then an implication of movement and a promise of footsteps, and she wasn't nearly delirious enough to think that meant she was alone again.

"What?" she challenged, forcing herself to sit straight and setting her face into a hard scowl. Of all the things she was afraid of, of all the things she wasn't about to tolerate, being weak in front of him was the greatest. The pain became secondary, her confusion and distraction was -- well -- not forgotten, but pushed aside.

This was more important.

"If you're going to be rude," The Grinning Man mocked, barely out of sight. "I won't give you a gift."

"Good," Lieselotte declared, and slammed her feet flat on the ground.

She got the distinct impression this amused him.

"Pretty little Lieselotte," he sing-songed, and she swiped at the skitter of his words across the nape of her neck. "Sitting in the dark, her dress all muddy and torn..."

That struck a chord and she frowned, looking down at herself. For a second, from the corner of her eye, she could have believed he was right -- but no, just a trick of the light, because her dress was in perfect condition, all pressed and stiff and spotless, and not missing a single bow.

...As long as she ignored the hole, but Lieselotte wasn't about to get sidetracked by that right now. Her thoughts darted away and her eyes snapped up, refusing to look at the thing -- one glimpse had been more than enough, thank you very much, and she kept her fingers buried in the cloth bunched at the edges, holding it tight and firm and closed.

He snickered and the fog swirled -- it should have swirled away from the movement, but even as she squinted, it only grew thicker. It seemed the light was fading too, and she thought of being stuck in the emptiness and the dark with him, all alone, was enough to propel her to her feet. Her head swam in protest and her stomach screeched and she swayed, steadying herself against the bench, and she noted absently that her stomach remained intact despite only one hand on it.

That was hardly enough to convince her to remove the other one, but her chin rose defiantly.

"Ah!" The Grinning Man lunged towards her and the fog came in a rush, and Lieselotte flinched back -- he snickered, circling to her left, just out of reach. "Are you ready to play now, Lieselotte?"

He said her name slowly, drawing out the sounds and rolling them around on his tongue, before finally spitting them at her feet. She recoiled, despite having nowhere to go, repulsed by the thought -- but still, against her better judgement, curious. He had never spoken to her in such a way before, all marble-smooth and sharp edges, and it seemed almost t--

"No," the woman informed him, and strode forward.

His laughter skittered after her down the street -- and then, naturally, so did he.


===

At the end of the path there was a street, and Lieselotte paused -- not because she waiting, but because it would be a foolish thing to step out into the road without checking both ways, and she was nothing if not out to avoid such a mundane execution. Her feet stopped moving before she even had the thought and she almost fell over, struggling for balance, finding her centre, her stomach whining in protest at the flailing.

The fog was thicker, now -- she could make out vague shapes if she was close enough and movements in the corner of her eye, but whenever she tried to see anything it all became a roiling mass of insubstantial, grey tendrils. It still would have been easy enough to write it off as imagined isolation, as nothing more than normal fog, if not for the forced silence. Even her footsteps were muffled, swallowed by what remained of the light, and standing there on the road, there wasn't even that to keep her company.

She remembered being very young and creeping to her window, one night -- she couldn't remember why, but all she had seen was a rolling, grey sea, and she had felt so very, very small. She hadn't understood how everything could be gone even though it was still there; she'd been able to sense things, of course, she'd known it was just her imagination, but she had always just -- it had seemed -- she was so small and al--

"Are you lost, Lieselotte?" He was back, creeping up without her noticing, and she flinched away. The tree to her right rustled and she eyed it warily -- she hadn't even noticed that there, either! "Do you need an escort back home?"

The Grinning Man found this hilarious, but the girl only frowned. With her arms still wrapped around her stomach she looked left, right, left again -- and then strode forward confidently, out into the road. Her shoes slapped against the ground but nothing came flying over the hill to mow her down, and she found the cobblestones opposite without so much as stumbling. She paused again, hesitating, trying to grasp her bearings. She was sure she knew where she was, she just couldn't remember, and she frowned harder.

"My offer is not eternal," he reminded her sharply, as soon as she took a step forward -- something almost but not quite a face reared up at her and she fell back, hissing, and his laughter grasped at her again. She swiped, back-pedalling, almost tripping over the curb and back into the road.

Lieselotte forced herself to stop and took a breath, trying to calm the frantic pattering of her heart. It didn't work, so she tried again -- there was no taste to the air and it wasn't wet, not like how fog usually was, and her mouth remained dry and bitter.

It wasn't fog at all, she thought, not for the first time.

Her confidence wavered as she realized that she was, in more than the obvious way, completely lost. Her eyes cut to the side, towards the sudden movement, and she lifted her chin again.

"I can find my own way," Lieselotte informed the creature, and then -- with deep sarcasm and a withering glare, she added -- "But I do so appreciate your concern, kind sir."

"Then by all means!" She caught a glimpse of claws, and the grin ducked low -- was he bowing? Yes, he must be bowing, because the alternative didn't bear thinking about. "Do lead the way."

There were some things that were simply truths of the universe, and The Grinning Man following her home was one of these. The fact he was even out in public was doing more to unnerve her than anything else had so far, but at least she was confident that nothing worse could occur than this. Everything between here and home was going to be -- at the worst -- a cake walk.

She strode forward again.


===


Halfway through the town square, Lieselotte found her bearings -- her steps quickened and her breathing eased, and some of the weight lifted from her shoulders. She knew this place, and she knew where to go, and -- now -- she knew how to get home.

The faster she moved, the more the fog parted -- The Grinning Man still didn't appear no matter how hard she looked, but even though his footsteps were silent, she didn't think for a moment she was alone. She tried seeking him in the corner of her eye, just in case, but even that didn't work.

There were other things to see, but none of them were him -- they were too human, too slow. There was a flicker of something like memory, something that might have still just been her imagination, of what had happened before the bench -- (help me miss please help me I need help) -- but it slipped away, skittered through her fingertips like buttered string, and she frowned as she shook her head to clear it.

Not important, Lieselotte thought. Definitely not important.

She moved faster, and the glimpses through the fog grew more distinct -- it couldn't keep up, couldn't whisk them away fast enough. There was something so familiar about the way they hunched, but the moment she slowed the fog was back, smothering everything in a grey haze. She tried darting forward, moving suddenly, but the space ahead of her was empty, and -- frustrated -- Lieselotte stopped, clenching both hands in her dress.

There was a soft clucking of a too-long tongue, right behind her.

"Pretty little Lieselotte," the creature lamented, clearly mocking her. "So lost! So confused! So helpless!"

"I am not helpless!" she snapped, turning on him. She took a step forward and the fog parted as her hand thrust out -- there was a flash of something thin and long, of something sharp and pointed and a look that might have been surprise, and he was gone.

There was no time to celebrate -- before she could register what was happening, his hand gripped the back of her neck. She forgot how to breathe, and it didn't really seem to matter anymore.

"Hush now," he hissed, right in her ear, and she gasped as his claws dug into her skin. They didn't draw blood but the pain was different, different from the one in her stomach; sharp and demanding and immediate, and not at all the greasy, thick blanket she had become accustomed to. "That was terribly impolite, little Lieselotte."

Did he expect her to apologise?

...Perhaps that would be wise. If only her pride wasn't choking her so harshly, she might have even considered it.

The fog eased, and she could see the shapes as they moved past, now -- some darted forward, weaving back and forth, and some dragged their feet and hung their heads, but all of them moved like there was nothing else in the world but them. The Grinning Man held her in place for a long moment, delighting in her shock, forcing her to watch and understand just how much help was coming.

It wasn't really a lesson that she needed to be reminded of, but she bit her tongue hard against the snide remark as it bubbled up. The Grinning Man eased his grip, but she still didn't dare move.

"How disappointing," he remarked, of her imaginary saviour. "But perhaps someone might still come, if you call?" Now he was back in control, the creature was amused by her apparent complicity, trying to goad her into an action he could punish her for. "Have you considered asking, Lieselotte?"

"That is a good idea," she agreed, boldly stepping forward -- it was worth the risk to have his touch off, to have him out of her space, and she took a breath, free. She waited, still expecting retaliation for her audacity, but none came. She cast a suspicious look over her shoulder, but he only tilted his head, waiting to see what she would do now.

That was a good question. What was she going to do?

Well, she would ask for help. That's what she was going to do.

The fog spider-webbed away from her steps as she walked, like she was crackling along very thin ice. The analogy didn't thrill her, but so worried was she by watching her steps that she didn't look where she was going -- and the figure coming towards her was almost on her before she even saw them, and almost passing before she recognized the face.

"Annaliese!" Her voice betrayed her confusion, her reluctant delight, and against her better judgement, she darted forward. "What are you doing here?!"

--and nothing happened. The fog didn't swirl into her path, tripping her; her view wasn't obscured so that her sister might vanish; the ground didn't open and swallow her whole. All that happened was--

--her sister walked past, not even glancing to the side. Her hands were clasped demurely in front of her and she walked almost stiffly, jerkily, with her eyes focused on something far in the distance. Lieselotte flinched and frowned, reaching for her sleeve as she passed.

"Anna--"

The name died in her throat as she saw her twin from behind, and she took a step back, bewildered by the mangled flesh. Even the familiar presence at her side wasn't enough to break her free, and she could only stare.

"My my my," The Grinning Man uttered, trying very hard not to laugh. "Fancy that."

She barely heard him.

Lieselotte fled.


==


The coach was parked outside the manor gates, and Lieselotte saw it long before she reached it -- it stood out from the drab background, tangible and solid and even trying to shine, almost waiting for her. Her panicked sprint slowed as she came near, panting, blood pounding in her ears and vision swimming... but at no point had she dared take her hands away from her stomach.

The Grinning Man hadn't appeared again, either. Perhaps he was hanging back, laughing at her terror, she thought. Perhaps he was furious, planning his next attack from the shadows.

Perhaps he was already there.

The thought was a sobering one and Lieselotte approached the coach, cautious now -- there were no horses hitched to the front so it was hardly going to run away from her, but there were plenty of other ways this could go wrong. She circled it once, checking for the obvious, and stopped outside the door.

It was ajar.

She opened it up slowly, looking left and right, searching for what was inevitably about to leap out at her -- but the interior was empty. Completely empty. She glanced over her shoulder, and found the path devoid of any sort of life, too.

Well, if this wasn't the most obvious trap she'd ever seen, she would eat her best Sunday hat. Very slowly, Lieselotte climbed up into the couch.

And she wasn't even surprised when the door slammed shut behind her, plummeting the coach into utter darkness.


===


"Lieselotte." The Grinning Man laughed quietly, everywhere and nowhere, all at once. "Would you like your gift now?"

And it probably won't hurt barely at all, she thought, as he tore her hands from her stomach.

It was nice to find she could still be wrong, even in times like these.



===


"Lieselotte!" This time the voice calling her name was panicked, and very much female. "Lieselotte, are you okay? I'm so sorry!"

She tried to ignore the yammering, but then there was a rancid stench and that wasn't okay -- the blonde jerked away gagging, slapping out, and heard something shatter against the floor. The smell intensified until tears came to her ears and she whimpered, staring around, bewildered and confused.

Things slowly came into focus -- her sister, her brother-in-law, the sharp pain in her stomach, the dull ache at the back of her head. She winced, looking down as she probed at the sting, but Edward caught her hand and pulled it away, frowning.

"I wouldn't recommend that," he told her, despite her expression -- and before she could say anything, Annaliese grabbed her, crushing her face into her shoulder as she hugged her.

"Lieselotte!"

Well that didn't explain much, did it.

"What happened?" demanded the girl, her voice muffled. There was something in the back of mind -- something about fog and pain? -- but it was already slipping away, even as she tried to capture it. "Did I die?"

Annaliese let out a choked laugh at what she assumed was a joke, and hugged her all the tighter.

"There was a lawn dart," she cried, and Lieselotte recoiled. "You were getting into the couch, and--"

"That's okay!" Her sister cut her off quickly, her stomach dropping as everything fell into place. She really, really had no desire to hear that sequence of events put into words. "I-- I think--"

"We should let her rest," Edward interrupted, from her left, and gave his wife a pointed stare.

"It was barely a cut!"

"She fainted, Annaliese." Lieselotte made a sound of protest, and he glanced at her sternly. "There is nothing shameful about fainting."

"But--"

"This is my professional opinion. She needs her rest."

Lieselotte wouldn't have minded if they'd argued a bit more, but her sister allowed herself to be ushered out with barely more than a few more very vague protests. Edward shot her another glance, a little less friendly than he had been when they had company, and muttered something about checking on her later. The door closed behind him, and she lay back down, careful not to jostle herself.

After a moment, she pressed her hands against her stomach once more. No hole, she thought -- and then frowned.

Why would there be a hole?

There wouldn't be a hole. Holes were not normal things to have in stomachs.

It seemed to her that in the shadows, something waited -- this wasn't any great surprise because there was always something waiting for her, but Lieselotte still cast an uneasy glance towards the corner of the room. Something moved -- or maybe it was just her imagination -- and she looked away again, quickly, before she saw what it was.

It would appear, the girl thought, that the shopping trip was cancelled. What a tragedy.

"Is that what you heard?"

It wasn't the things the voices were saying that caught Lotte's attention as she sat there, waiting for the coach, but the way they said them -- low and furtive and secret and hesitant; they would sound better placed in dark alleys, with sunken eyes darting side to side, watching for spies.

"Yeah, that's what I heard."

But dark alleys were in short supply, in the Temperance park at midday, and there weren't a lot of residents that would pay attention to a cluster of children. Paranoid as they were, they would no doubt have stopped at her approach, if she wasn't so quiet on her feet.

It hadn't helped evade the monsters so far, being able to walk so silently, and she lived in eternal resignation that it never would. Did wonders for people, though.

"That's not what I heard, though!"

Lotte frowned the longer they argued, finding herself rather unconvinced by either side of this debate.

"I didn't ask you what you heard."

She was annoyed at that dismissal, but only because of the tone -- they probably weren't dismissing the girl because she was a girl, but because she was the youngest. No-one ever paid attention if you weren't in charge, and no-one ever listened.

"Well, then," she interrupted, her parasol held delicately, even if her tone was challenging -- the juxtaposition amused her, even if she was the only one. "What did you hear?"

The group spun as if it was one entity, startled into various degrees of defensiveness -- there were four in total, but only the one girl, and Lotte's expression didn't change in the slightest as they shuffled back, eyeing her sideways.

The gestures didn't cut very deep, either -- her reputation had a habit of proceeding her, especially among those who dealt in ghost stories.

"He says he was there," piped up the girl, stepping forward. "He says he saw her disappear!"

"Is that what he says," echoed Lotte sceptically, as if she had any idea at all what they were discussing.

"It's true," came the defensive grunt, complete with obligatory crossed arms and tilted chin. He didn't raise his voice, the leader of this discussion, but that didn't mean he wasn't lying anyway. "She was inside the circle, and then she messed it up, and The Raven Man took her!"

Well, that didn't sound very likely -- chances were the girl had run away, and this boy was covering for her. It wasn't unheard of, after all... and she would have dismissed it there, given it no more thought, if it wasn't for the look on his face.

It looked like he believed what he was saying.

She considered this, staring at him. He didn't look away. If he was faking, he was very good at it.

"Did he now," Lotte said, rather evenly. "Then I hope you your payments worth from this demon."

The flicker of uncertainty rolled through the group, and she heard the conversation loud as day, even if it was silent and spoken only in glances -- Who said it was a demon? I didn't say it was a demon! Does she know the demon? A grin spread across the leader's face, and she would have been alarmed, except his teeth were significantly less pointed than the ones she was used to seeing.

When he spoke, it was in an ominous tone -- meant to disturb her, no doubt, and failing miserably.

"Why don't you be the judge of that?"

---

When the coach arrived the group was gone, and Lotte was alone with a set of scrawled instructions and a faint headache. She might have believed it, but they were just a little too eager to let the floodgates open, after that first question -- it became an endless litany of second-hand stories and whispered secrets, until she well and truly regretted her passing interest.

Oh, and I heard from this person, that they did it, too! He told her about her future husband -- and he arrived the next day!!!

Love, life, death -- a demon that claimed to know the future and the past and everything in between. But you had to follow the ritual exactly, or-- or-- or The Bad Things would happen!

It wasn't even a good story, she felt -- omniscient creatures that stole away with your womenfolk? Pah! In her experience, arbitrary rules weren't what kept the bad things at bay, and the only believable part of the whole thing was that it never gave a straight answer.

Lotte had no time for such bad storytelling. Anything that left things to human interpretation was a waste of time, and you might as well just read the stars and pray to them for guidance.

There probably hadn't even been a missing girl to start with, she thought, and felt distantly cheated by the whole ordeal.

---

And that would have been the end of it, had the scrap of paper not fluttered into her face, in the dead of night. Lieselotte cried out, bolting upright and clawing at her face, desperately trying to tear the veil away -- it was white and cold, pressing hard into her skin, weighing her eyelids down and crowding into her mouth when she took a breath, suffocating and threatening. Her nails hit skin, and she ripped the cover away.

It dropped from her fingertips, fluttering demurely to the blanket. From the light of the candle (had it been lit when she fell asleep? She couldn't remember) she saw gnawed edges, and how they very carefully didn't come close enough to the words to obscure them. Her panic eased into irritation as she realized this wasn't a new and horrifying creature to demand her attention -- this was simply someone who had gone through her laundry.

The violation was nothing new, and certainly nothing to be terrified by. She plucked the paper up between two fingers, held her arm over the edge, and let it drop to the floor. The candle pushed the shadows back as best it could, but there were still plenty to be found, and she was uncertain what ones to address.

"Aren't you curious?" mocked a voice from beneath her bed, which at least solved that mystery; she imagined his eyes as the only thing visible in the gloom, and her hands knotted the blanket between her fists, quite without her say. "Always so curious, that one, they tell each other."

"No," Lotte snapped.

There was an implication of a smirk in that pause, and she cursed herself for letting her imagination run away with her already. For all she knew, the silence was because he was busy gnawing on a rat.

No, that was ridiculous, of course he wasn't -- he would be far more obvious in it if he was, on account of how terribly uncomfortable the sounds made her.

"Something might be smarter than you, my pretty little Lieselotte."

"It's nothing but a silly game," she informed the darkness, lying down to indicate the conversation was over. She rolled onto her side and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders... but no further, lest she find herself with a new bedmate. "I have no interest in children's stories."

"That's not what I heard," came the sing-song response, and the girl frowned. There was no way he could have been there, of course, but the cadence, the way he spoke--

No, don't let him get to you. He doesn't know any more than you do, and he certainly didn't plan this.

She chose not to response. If he wanted her to pay attention, he'd be waiting a while -- she had far better things to do than walk willingly into a situation that would end with her frustration and his amusement.

He would have to try far harder than that to pique her interest.

---

The scrap of paper was right where she had dropped it the next morning, and Lieselotte sighed at the mess. She bent to pick it up, hesitated, and turned it over carefully in her hands; there was no hidden meaning, no secret messages, and nothing but the same, childish scrawlings the strangers in the park had insisted was a real ritual.

There was a knock at the door and she spun, shoving the paper behind her back and doing her best to look like she had only just woken. It wasn't very hard to do, on account of being mostly true.

And it didn't occur to her for a moment there was no reason to hide it -- this is just what you did when a monster gave you a gift.

After all, there was no need for anyone else to suffer along with you, was there.

---

The day was mostly uneventful, and the evening found Lotte in the parlour, running her fingertips along the mantelpiece and pretending she was-- was-- was checking for dust, or something equally as ridiculous with Ella in charge. She moved slowly across the room, aimless and bored.

Nothing had happened that she couldn't handle on her own, and the relative peace gave her too much time to think; a thought had peered around the corner during dinner, and she poked at it experimentally, as if it was a tooth that wasn't quite sore but promised to be quite soon. There was no such thing as an omniscient demon, that much was true, and if it was preying on children then it couldn't even be very strong, but...

"I thought you had no interest in such games," needled the shadows of the hearth, and her heart leapt into her throat. She flinched back, but didn't step away -- there was too much light for him to stretch out, she reminded herself.

Wouldn't he ever grow bored of scaring her?

"I don't," the girl shot back, tilting her chin. Her fingers hit the matchbox and she only hesitated for a second before pulling back, slipping it into her pocket. Her eyes flicked around the room, betraying the guilt she felt, and chanced across the chair where her father usually sat.

There was a flash of emotion, unpleasant in its intensity, and she stepped back from the fireplace. There were no real memories of this room that would startle her so -- no nights curled on her father's lap, lulled to sleep by his voice; no days spent with her mother, sewing and laughing; no tea parties with stuffed toys or outspoken siblings, long since departed -- but the emptiness of it struck her strangely.

Her father was only out visiting -- he would return by the end of the evening, and Lieselotte pushed down the lump in her throat, turning towards the door. If there was a demon that could answer any question, then maybe she would have allowed herself to wonder why she had been denied such memories.

Foolish foolishness, of course, and it's not like she was really considering it -- there were plenty of reasons to take a matchbox, and she felt no desire to justify her actions to her unseen companion. He could assume her intentions all he liked, and it wouldn't change the truth of it.

She cursed her distraction all the same -- now it was too late to argue, without confirming his unspoken accusations.

There was no sound from within the cold stones as she stepped out of the room, but she got the impression they were laughing at her all the same.

It would hardly be the first time.

---

"Lieselotte!" The tone startled the girl just as much as the sudden sound of the words, and she tore her eyes away from the corner of the ceiling -- where the shadows were thicker than they had any right to be, even in the afternoon. It had occurred to her that if she stared at it just a little longer she would see it grow legs and begin to scuttle, and now, she couldn't remember why that had seemed so important to watch. "What are you doing in here?"

"Salt!" her mouth blurted, a few seconds ahead of her sluggish thoughts. How long had she been standing there? It had only seemed a moment, but apparently long enough for the previously empty kitchen to become populated by one very suspicious housekeeper. "I-- I was looking for salt?"

There was a pause. Ella studied her, and Lotte did her very best to look innocent.

"Salt," came the slow response, and there was the unspoken demand of Why?

"Monsters are not fond of salt," the girl told her, as the walls trickled red in the corner of her eye. She shifted her weight, glancing up at it before back to Ella. The shadows started moving too, underneath the sink; uncoiling, creeping and restless. "At least -- that's what I read."

"Read," echoed Ella, crossing her arms.

Finding it hard to keep both in sight, Lotte shuffled around so her back was to the window, her attention darting back to the wall. The blood was oozing a little faster now as the thick droplets gathered momentum, scuttling down the surface with purpose.

"Lieselotte?" the housekeeper stated sharply, demanding her attention, and the girl automatically obeyed. There was concern on Ella's face, but still Lotte snapped her eyes back to the wall -- which was now blank white, devoid of colour. Maybe she was finally going crazy after all. "You're not... doing anything dangerous, are you?"

The wall wasn't bleeding now. It didn't happen like that -- it wasn't meant to happen like that. She looked to the cupboard, but the shadows were still, too.

"Are you?"

"Without you?" Lotte spoke with a forced grin, focusing on Ella with effort. "What a preposterous idea."

The smile was returned, but neither was very convinced.

She was glad of that. At least if things went terribly wrong, one person would know not to bother looking.

---

Lieselotte sat on her bed, read through the instructions again, and pretended to consider if she really wanted to go through with this -- a box of matches was commonplace, and salt was believable in her experiences, but the rest of the items...

There was no excuse for having a protection talisman, for example, except if she was following the ritual. She gave this due consideration, worrying a small object between the fingers of her free hand.

"I have a gift for you, pretty little Lieselotte." The voice came from above -- there couldn't possibly be shadows there, but all the same, her head jerked up. Something nudged into her foot as soon as her eyes rose, and she sucked in a gasp, kicking out with both feet as she flung herself onto the bed proper, rolling over instantly to peer at the floor.

Her mother's earring came to a gentle stop against the drawers, and her heart skipped several beats until it found its usual rhythm. Faint laughter reached her ears, but she was still too startled to even frown.

"I didn't ask for your help," Lotte informed the creature, sitting upright. She tried to sound authoritative, and failed. She tried to fold the paper in half gently, and creased it flat in a severe kind of way.

"Of course not," came the mocking agreement. If all of this hadn't escaped her attention, then neither had it escaped his -- he must be so very proud of himself for scaring her. "You always have things so very much under control."

"You seem very interested in this, considering it is nothing but a game." She did her best to sound suspicious, but the hitch in her voice rather undermined her attempts; at least she had figured out how to frown, which was a start.

He said nothing, but the silence wasn't sullen. To cover her uncertainty, Lieselotte stood, smoothing her dress. She took small, calculated steps to the drawers, bent down, brushed imaginary lint from the earring, and straightened.

This was his favourite pair. They were Important.

"An odd choice for a talisman," she criticised, deigning the underside of her bed with her hardest look. There was nothing there, of course -- the day was still too bright to allow for shadows.

"I did not intend it as a talisman." It was more a warning than a statement, and she flinched away from the movement behind her drawers -- which was ridiculous, of course, because he wasn't even really trying to scare her with that. All he was doing was-- was--

"I have a pin," she informed him as she understood, her voice louder than she intended, and Lotte cursed the snicker that came in response.

But perhaps this offering satisfied him, because he didn't speak again -- there was more shuffling behind the drawers, back where it was pressed flush against the wall, but she was prepared for it and didn't give an inch.

She could still feel his eyes on her as she walked out of the room, shoulders back and steps certain, and she was no longer sure how much of his gaze was real, and how much she simply imagined.

He would be proud of himself, she thought.

---

"Lieselotte?" It was her father's voice this time that stopped her, in the hall just outside her door -- and he sounded just as surprised to have stumbled on her as she was to have been stumbled upon.

"Father," she greeted, forcing a smile as she turned around. Maybe if she behaved as if carrying a bundle black candles clutched to her chest was an everyday occurrence, he would think it was, too. His eyes shifted to her arms and she spoke quickly, not wanting to give him time to consider it. "How is Annaliese?"

"Well!" He seemed delighted by her interest, which was hardly surprising. "She is bringing Edward for tea on Saturday." He hesitated. "Are you-- out of candles?"

"No," Lieselotte told him cheerfully, glad for the chance not to have to lie about wanting to see her brother-in-law.

Her father nodded, clearing his throat -- maybe the implication that she was no longer out of candles was clear, being that she had so many, and maybe he just didn't want to know. Either way suited her just fine.

"Ah-- well-- goodnight, then, Lieselotte."

It wasn't even dusk, and dinner was not long finished. Unless she was a young child, it was far too early to be talking about sleep.

"Goodnight," Lotte agreed, and turned away.

---

Time passed slowly.

Lieselotte could still feel eyes on her from behind the drawers, but now she was convinced it was her own imagination -- they were too silent to belong to anything, if they were there at all, and at any rate, she wasn't about to allow them to dictate her afternoon. There were still puns to be written, jokes to be created, and general fun times to be had.

Yet all she did was sit there, pencil poised over a blank page, staring at the lined paper until her vision blurred. She told herself this had nothing to do with the impending ritual and who else would be in attendance, and discarded the notebook in favour of a novel.

Lotte pretended to read. She pretended to be unaware of the shadows blooming beneath her bed, or of the night creeping forward like so much molasses dripping from the sky. The temperature dipped, but it was only when she found her face pressed into the pages in a vain attempt to make out the words that she sighed and relented.

She leaned over, lit a black candle with a match from the new matchbox, and settled back into the pillows. She was still on the first page.

The Grinning Man didn't hurry her -- maybe he enjoyed this time they spent together just as much as she did. The idea was so ridiculous she would have laughed, if not for the thought that scuttled fast on the heels of the previous one:

If he's here, he's awful quiet, isn't he?

The shadows weren't quite so easily ignored now, and she bit her tongue against the accusations that bubbled up. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that she thought about him.

Lotte read her book, and adventures happened -- the love interest was captured, the hero helpless, the villain in control! As the final chapter began, when the stakes were at their highest--

--she closed the book carefully, and stared at the room. The candle flickered, but without it, there would have been no light at all. She moved to the curtains, parting them to check outside -- the clouds hadn't covered the moon when they had been drawn, and the suspicion that there was a reason why they were there now was just as irrational as it was foolish. All the same, her hand twitched into her pocket, feeling for the talisman as if to assure herself it was still there.

Of course, what was it meant to protect her from -- teeth in the night that delighted in her distress, or a demon that didn't exist? It would do little against either, she thought.

She turned from the window and let the curtains fall back, creating a rush of air that fluttered her skirt. Something bolted towards her from the corner and she gasped, stepping back, but there was nowhere to go -- not pressed against the wall as she was. She would have to fi--

A growl, a snap of teeth, and then nothing. The nothing was the loudest of them all.

"Was that really necessary?" Lotte demanded, infuriated -- but she didn't move.

"Quite," came the wounded answer, and some of the tension left her shoulders. It was replaced by a different kind -- Look how I take care of these distractions so that you may continue with your game, pretty little Lieselotte! -- but, one step at a time.

And that's what she took, all the way to the drawers. The erratic collection was gathered neatly on top of the instructions, and she bit back a sigh.

Too late to turn back now, you know -- your audience is waiting.

And how patient he had been. It was far from reassuring.

The instructions were simple, and she separated the items; two into her pocket, one in hand, the rest lined up in front of her. She took the last candle from her bedside table, counted them again, and knelt down. As she breathed out to snuff the light, a voice came right behind her ear.

"Don't worry," The Grinning Man assured her, delighted by her discomfort at his proximity; he didn't breathe into her ear, but maybe only because he couldn't. He wasn't breaking the rules and he wasn't touching her, but the snap! of his jaws echoed loudly, all the same. "I'll be your eyes."

"You don't match my dress," was her sharp response -- as if she'd been expecting him, as if she'd just been waiting for him to show up and ruin the day.

"You haven't even tried," he protested, and without moving at all, he was no longer behind her.

It was an old trick, and one Lotte had no time for. She closed her eyes, untied the bag of salt, and shifted it into both hands. She drew up into a crouch, angling the bag until she felt the grains begin to fall, and then...

She began to shuffle.

It was hard in the dark, but her companion was only too happy to help, keeping pace and offering suggestions -- forward a bit, to the left, back, back! perhaps stand on your head and sing a little tune? -- that took some effort to ignore. This was, clearly, why her judgement was off -- her foot knocked a candle, kicking it over, and she hissed in surprise.

She wasn't fast enough to stop it falling, but it never hit the ground. She jerked back from the motion, falling onto her rear with an audible thump, and that was just the most hilarious thing he had ever seen. She ignored him -- silence was, she heard, the best revenge -- and continued on, gathering her skirts beneath her knees as she reached out. The matchbox was heavy in her hand, and the candle was cold beneath her fingertips, but despite her fears, that's all it was.

She took a breath.

"On this dark night," Lieselotte uttered, flicking the match to life -- and for a moment forgot what she was doing, horrified by the fact that what had been such a perfect circle in her mind was, in fact, more of a squashed lemon in reality. The flames licked at her fingers and she gasped, shoving it against the candle and shaking it out. For a second it seemed she was to late -- that she would have to begin again -- but the wick caught, flaring bright.

There was a critical clucking behind her, and she grimaced. His tongue was just as human as the rest of him, and she had no desire to think of it.

"I call on The Raven Man," the girl continued, another candle flaring to life. Though the most emotion she could muster was a bored monotone, she made sure to capitalise the letters -- if only because it really would annoy her companion, who never got such a consideration. "Appear before me, here and now." A third candle, even if that was a little demanding. The echo that repeated each of her words certainly thought so, from the tone he used; his voice didn't quite meet up with hers, overlapping just enough that she couldn't ignore it. "And do my will."

No doubt you had to believe for the ritual to work, which meant this was all a waste of time. She certainly hoped so, if only because it would be terribly annoying to be proven wrong.

Lotte dropped the match to the ground, and -- in the flickering light -- reached for the pin in her pocket. What she found was most definitely not that, and she frowned as she pulled t out.

Her mother's earring lay in her palm, and there was a moment -- just the one, mind you -- when her irritation at The Grinning Man's insistence on playing these pointless games transcended her irritation at whoever was foolish enough to play this one. Her rational side was quick to rear up -- who is really going to win if you let your temper get the better of you? Who will really be satisfied if you give up now? -- but she still had to clamp her lips hard against the growl.

She took a breath.

Without a word, Lotte twisted the earring around, pressing the hook into the pad of her finger. At first it only dented -- he hadn't even though to sharpen it! -- and then she grimaced, blood swelling about the intruder.

She pressed the cut against the last candle all the same, and found her blood oddly vivid against the sleek black. It didn't belong.

"The flame is my beacon--"

"Who came up with this?" sighed the voice from the corner, quieter than her own, but very certainly doing his best to interrupt.

"--the blood is my sacrifice."

"How trite!"

Lotte didn't disagree, but she would hardly admit that.

The flicked the match against the last candle, and the wick caught.

---

It was a suitably dramatic entrance, so far as these things went -- Lotte still didn't think it meant much if it was tricking children, who spread lies and gossip and amassed power for legends without thinking, but she couldn't deny that if she wasn't so jaded about these matters, if would have been enough to give her pause.

There was a kind of -- rush, almost as if the space inside the circle of salt took a deep breath. The smoke from the candles twirled in and the cold air rolled out, slow and thick and seeping into her bones. Her breath frosted in front of her lips, hovering for a second, before that too was dragged along in the wake of the smoke, towards what couldn't possibly be human but was trying so very, very hard to appear so.

The Grinning Man began to laugh -- or maybe he didn't and it was just her imagination, wishing he was amused. It was getting hard to tell.

"Lieselotte Lehmann." The voice didn't come from within the circle; it came off-centre, those velvet words, from the salt itself. She thought there was a head turning towards her, but with only five tiny candles, the smoke dissipated faster than her eyes could keep up. "Why have you summoned me?"

The chortling stopped, and the silence was like a brick wall slamming into her from behind.

"Boredom, I must admit." The answer spilled from her lips before Lotte thought to stop herself, and as she knelt there on the floor, staring up at the omniscient demon, it was little comfort to know that wasn't quite how things really were.

But she said nothing more, and the smoke swirled aimlessly in the pause. She found herself rather unintimidated -- with no decapitated heads or shattering mirrors or creeping hands, this meeting was already more tedious than breakfast generally was.

The air shifted as The Grinning Man moved, flanking her. His attention was aggressive, but she couldn't tell if he was watching her or the thing in the salt circle, and his silence annoyed her -- if he didn't like how this went she would be punished, even though he had demanded it.

It was dangerous to do anyone a favour these days.

"What is your first question?"

The voice acted as if there had been no break at all, which wasn't quite the plan -- she'd been hoping that her silence would at least irritate it. Something wasn't right about the way it spoke the words, too -- they sounded unnatural, echoed from memory without comprehension of the meaning.

"What does every girl want to know," she shot back -- then heard the lack of inflection, and it wasn't a question if you didn't ask. She cursed herself for the wasted breath. "Oh, great Raven Man, he who come far across time and space, from worlds beyond -- tell me, who will I marry?"

"No-one." The answer came before she had even finished the last word, which was just rude. "You will die cold and alone."

Well it wasn't wrong, but who ever heard of a demon that told the truth? That was the exact opposite of what she had been expecting to hear, and while she felt a flicker of amusement at this, her companion was less impressed.

"That proves it," came the mocking whisper in her ear, a warning under his words that she had no time to consider. "This must be the real thing."

Lotte didn't buy it. She raised a hand, swiping the voice and answer away without looking. There was a tug at her skirts as he ducked away, tearing the cloth -- his hands had almost on her, and she flinched.

"Too easy," she allowed; the smoke swirled, too many arms and too many teeth and not enough time to be sure of either. "Tell me -- where is my mother's earring?"

A brief second of -- consideration? No, hesitation.

"Safe."

A-ha -- she knew it! Of course it wasn't safe, it was right behind her -- and an omniscient demon might have known that, would have been quick to point it out, but something only wearing the mask wouldn't be able to see through solid objects and--

--and--

"This game is no longer entertaining, pretty little Lieselotte."

--and why couldn't she feel it? Lotte twisted around, dress bunching as she ran both hands across the floorboards, panic rising as she realized it was gone. It just been there, it had drawn blood, and now she had lost and he was going to--

"Lieselotte." The word was a hiss, and his demand unmistakable.

He had taken it!

The smoke stilled and her eyes snapped back -- not too many limbs, then, because limbs didn't fall like snow. Movement resumed in the same instant and her eyes protested the shift, protested the lack of logic in what she was seeing. The smoke couldn't retain an image for long, she supposed.

Or... it could, but the imagine made no sense. The question it didn't ask was deafening.

"I am alone," Lieselotte lied, the air cold in her lungs as she drew breath.

She felt the snap of teeth just outside the pool of light, but she didn't see it -- he couldn't get closer without revealing himself. She cursed her own impulsiveness and lifted her chin, setting her jaw; she may have just looked defiant, but the cogs were turning.

There was something wrong here, in how The Grinning Man had demanded she stop. He couldn't make her, couldn't force her to, not while the candles were lit. He had wanted her to play this game and now he didn't, and she just had to figure out what that meant.

It meant it wasn't going to his plan. It meant he thought something was wrong.

She still didn't really think this was a demon, and it certainly wasn't omniscient -- she doubted it was even smarter than her -- but that didn't mean it wasn't something. It would be foolish to continue this game simply to spite the very creature she would have to face in the morning.

"Lieselotte Lehmann," came the voice in the salt again, and she could have sworn there was a hiss under the words that sounded a whole lot like her companion. "What is your last question?"

There was only one she could ask her, she knew -- she thought it over and over again, in the dark and in the light and in everything in between, until she never much stopped thinking about it. Had she known there would be answers, she would have asked others, but in the moment, there was only one thing The Grinning Man might be afraid she would find the truth to:

And so, she asked it.

"What is he?"

---

Time froze.

Lotte blinked to rid herself of the impression, letting her breath out through clenched teeth, and told herself the stunned silence from the shadows wasn't that big of a problem. She could handle it.

Then she heard the sharp movement, and the rage in it terrified her -- a pillow flew from her bed in shreds, gouges appeared in the leg, and the silent growl that rippled her skin felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing her all at once.

The two of them -- the creature in the circle and the creature without -- paid this display no mind. There would be punishment for that, too.

But she didn't take the question back, no matter how much she wanted to -- it was out there now, and she couldn't. Any moment claws were going to rend her flesh and the shadows would swallow her alive, and it didn't matter, because it was done.

What is he?

"Wrong."

Lotte's eyes widened -- was it chastising her? Was it judging her? Wait, no--

"That isn't an answer!" The protest exploded from her lips as she found her feet, just as furious as she had expected not to be.

Why did she feel cheated? She knew this was just a stupid game, so why did she care?

There was no response -- no movement, no offence, no anger. It just... waited.

And in that instant, Lieselotte knew -- it didn't matter what she thought, and it didn't matter what it was. Maybe it really was everything she had dismissed, or maybe it only told you the obvious, or maybe listening to what it said was as reliable as reading tea leaves.

The truth was, it told you the truth.

There was something infuriating about being proven wrong -- when you had thought something would be a waste of your time and found that it was, but for an entirely different reason. The only thing she had more than her own sense of curiosity then was the thing that had encouraged her.

She wished she had asked better questions.

"Oh great Raven Man," Lotte intoned, trying her best not to sound scornful -- and she failed, but maybe it didn't matter, because the thing in the circle didn't correct her. "I thank you for your time." Like it had anything better to do. "I thank you for your answers." As useless as they were. "I thank you for..." She wondered if could step outside the circle, and if it did, if she could run faster than it. "...heeding my call."

She knelt down, wetting her fingertips between her lips.

"I release you now, Raven Man."

The flame cried out as she snuffed it, and the darkness rushed in, as if the light it had offered had been more than it was.

There were still four more candles and four more repetitions of the phrase, but when she looked up, the circle was already empty. The smoke from the candles curled uselessly in the breeze and the flames burned high, but that's all there was.

Still, she followed the instructions. There didn't seem to be much choice.

---

The salt was harder to clean up than she anticipated -- the carpet was thick and soft, and it had scattered everywhere. She scooped what she could into the bag, tested the weight and found it lacking, and wondered how to solve this problem. In the light of the newly lit candles, Lieselotte rocked back on her heels and frowned.

Nothing for it, she supposed, except to keep on.

But when she reached for the bag it was already gone, and her dark mood got darker. It was one thing for The Grinning Man to be annoyed with her, but quite another for it to go the opposite way.

She said nothing, lit another candle, and climbed into the bed. She pulled the covers up to her chin, and scowled hard at the ceiling.

But as angry as she was, she wasn't about to close her eyes.

---

It was Ella knocking on the door that woke Lotte -- the light that filtered through the curtains was negligible, but not for lack of trying. The clouds had only bred during the night, and there was little chance of sunshine appearing through the rain.

Her candles had been snuffed out -- burned half-way down, and then pinched flat around the wick. She wasn't surprised.

Lotte sighed, pushing the blankets back -- and paused. A scrap of white dress was twined around her fingertips, and she knew without checking it was the same scrap of her mother's wedding dress that had been coiled in her pockets, wrapped around the same fingers she had snuffed the black candles with.

And just as he had known was the scrap was, she knew there would be lines of salt along her windowsills and in front of her bedroom door, right where Ella had thought it would be. The salt outside wouldn't last long with the rain, but you still had to observe the ritual, right?

Those were the rules.

It's just... she didn't trust The Grinning Man, and if ever suspected she did, he would never let her forget why that was a terrible idea. He already did everything in his power to remind her, at every opportunity, how dangerous he was when he was in a good mood.

...But he had kept the other monsters at bay as she prepared the ritual, and stayed at her side as she completed it, and instead of leaving her to the mercies of The Raven Man when she had angered him, had followed the very same instructions to protect her as she slept. Punishment would come -- of course it would -- but he wouldn't let anything happen to his favourite toy.

He wasn't much of a talisman, but when you had Lotte's luck, sometimes the best you could hope for was that your bad luck was worse than whatever was coming for you.

She said nothing. She unwound the scrap, rolled it into a ball, and slipped her hands into her pockets. She swung her legs out of bed and stared at the door for a long second, lost in thought, until Ella's knock roused her again -- and when she left, the shadows under her bed were sulking loud enough to make her teeth ache.

And the only thing she regretted was that she still didn't know the answer. Whatever he was so worried about, it's not like it mattered.

She didn't understand.

Of the many tortures inflicted upon Lieselotte in her life, church somehow ranked among the worst. Perhaps that was being a trifle dramatic. Perhaps she shouldn’t throw such a fuss. Fuming didn’t become young ladies of a certain stature, so she endeavored to cloak her sour disposition, not explicitly because she cared how others viewed her, but to placate her family and Ella and circumvent any harassment her inclinations would otherwise incur. Nevertheless, she ho’d and hummed her way through her early morning. Today’s goal was to achieve, with extraneous effort, a convincing look becoming of young woman of society. If not for Ella, who rolled up her sleeves and, with a cry befitting a warrior in the gladiatorial rings of ancient Rome, tackled the task of taming her hair and trussing her up so that Easter Sunday service would not be offended by her usual slipshod facade, she probably would have never attained the desired causatum.

From the approving nods and stares from other churchgoers, Ella’s magic must have prevailed. To be perfectly frank, Lotte thought her frame too thin to cart around her verifiable schooner of a dress. She looked like a child attempting to wear a wedding cake. Ridiculous, unbalanced, meretricious. Oh, the synonyms she could apply to the tawdry fashion fickles of her peers. Her Easter gown had been blessedly authored with calm colors that reminded her of a pleasant day on a lake and wasn’t quite so painful on the eyes, but its expanse more than made up for what it lacked in palette.

As if her attire were the worst thing about church.

Seated down the pew near the middle of the nave, her family took up about half of the row. Her father sat nearest to the aisle, with Edward directly next to him on the left, Annaliese to her husband’s left, and then Lotte between Annaliese and Ella, with Ella on the very end. Because of the width of their skirts, she felt isolated on her own little island of crinoline, an arm’s stretch or more away from either woman. Abandoned, despondent, she prayed the service clipped along at a steady pace, and then felt foolish for praying for such a thing. Was that blasphemic?

Her disorderly thoughts were interrupted by the notes of the first hymn. Every person in the church rose, chiming in from memory. Lieselotte moved her lips but declined to sing, having evaded enough services in recent years that she didn’t have any but the most common odes memorized.

The hymn ended and she prepared to resume her perch on the pew, but they launched straight into another and she made a funny bobbing motion before resigning herself to another song. Everybody else knew the dance, but she was perfectly rusty. After, the priest led them in prayer, one more familiar to her. She knew her cues, not that this made her role any more enjoyable. She coveted a glance to her left at Ella. As per usual, her features betrayed nothing beyond attentiveness. Whether she hated, loved, or was indifferent to the service, she viewed it as her duty to accompany Lotte, and so did so with dignity and willfulness. Ella was not a Christian woman, and yet she didn’t miss a beat during the service.

“She’s very much a tiger. A tiger has garish stripes, yet it blends with incredible aptitude to its surroundings.”

Oh no.

“Shut up, I think the priest is talking about us!”

Two voices, each unique in pitch and volume, began to run commentary for Lotte, much to her chagrin. What they were, where they were, or why they chose this moment to appear to her, she doubted she would ever know.

“Oh, by Satan’s salty ballsack, this is the exact same service as last year, verbatim.”

“You say that about every church service you ever hear.”

“So you listen. I’m going to see if I can get the negro to crack that stony face of hers.”

“Her name is Ella,” Lotte snapped under her breath, regretting her impulse to correct their behavior the instant she opened her mouth.

Ella’s head cocked and she glanced her way, apparently catching a wisp of her name.

“Nothing, sorry,” she whispered, twisting her hands in her lap to keep from clenching her fists in frustration.

“Oh-ho, she speaks! Aren’t you looking pert and luscious today my delectable, sweet-drizzled, sugar powdered…”

“Come off of it, you wank. I can’t hear over your babbling.”

Neither, of course, could Lotte. When the service commenced, she would have given anything for a distraction to incur and save her from the dreadful monotony. Two foul-mouthed voices hissing in her ear had not been on her agenda. For all she wanted to clap her palms over her ears, people would perceive her as being mad, or worse yet, rude. No civilized englishwoman plugged her ears while a holy man was busy saving her soul.

One of their many cues to recite “amens” Lotte muttered angrily, “Shut up, please!” The hum of voices drowned her out, but the voices certainly heard her.

“What a nasty little brat you are! Like you have authority over what we can say or do.”

“It’s snobbery is what it is. Over overprivileged exercising her superiority over lesser beings. She’s probably not even sorry.”

“I’m not,” she muttered, too low Ella or Annaliese to have a hope of hearing.

“You ought to watch your mouth. There are things I’d like to do with those pretty little lips that would--”

Lotte never hear the end of his threat. The choir began and everybody in the assembly stood to accompany. She had never more earnestly joined into singing accolades to the freshly risen Jesus Christ in her life. Ella glanced skeptically toward her as her voice blended with the chorus, but was otherwise reticent about her participation.

The hymns were never long enough, nor the chants and prayers often enough. The voices filled the gaps in between, fouling her mood beyond redemption. Her fingernails bit into her palms where she clenched them to keep from reacting to the outrageous allegations they made. They got onto Ella most fervently, attracted to her “heathen nature,” as they put it. It nearly brought tears to her face not to jump up and defend her. It was all to provoke her, so she endeavored to ignore them and rob them of their game.

When they began on Annaliese, however, she found herself riled to the cusp of action.

“Such pretty, creamy skin on this one here. Ooh, but if I could only inhale her scent.”

Eyeing her sister from the side, Lotte swore she saw her sister’s blond hair stir behind her ear.

“She looks the proper lady, but how well do you suppose she satisfies this boor of a husband. Do you think he begs for her to stop blushing long enough to explore under her skirts, or does she throw herself at him like a wanton hussy.”

The voice lowered in pitch, speaking directly to Annaliese’s ear. “You must love it when he creeps between your thighs in the dead of night, don’t you, my crumpet. You ache for the way he seeks you across the bed. You’re thinking of it now, aren’t you? Instead of focusing on the boring, drab, dried up old priest up there who has probably never known the touch of a woman, you’re thinking about your mate...or even someone else. Anyone else. Anyone who can quench that fire between your legs…”

Much to her horror, Annaliese licked her lips.

“Stop this,” she hissed, risking being heard by Ella.

“Oh yes, you are a delighted little slut. You can’t wait to get home. Or even to the carriage. Lift those skirts, get on your knees…”

“Enough!” Lotte snarled, pummeling her thigh with her fist hard enough to bruise it beneath layers of crinoline.

The voices cackled gleefully as every person within three pews turned toward her in consternation. Ella raised her eyebrows, although her inscrutable expression left her to guess whether she was sympathetic or disappointed in her.

“What’s gotten into you?” Annaliese whispered. Was she flushed around her chest? A little rosier in her cheeks? Those rotten voices. In a church, of all places!

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything,” she uttered timidly, dipping her head forward before she realized that her pinned hair was incapable of curtaining her face.

Ella reached for her. “Miss Lotte…”

She delicately shifted away from her caretaker, angry and embarrassed beyond words. Why did she permit the voices to needle her so? She gave serious consideration to swooning. Was it warm enough to plead that she simply overheated? Would they permit her, then, to abscond somewhere she could avoid or ignore the voices?

Thankfully, the priest was mid-sermon and the attention promptly shifted back toward him. It took all of her effort not to slouch down until she disappeared through the floor. The only good that could come from this debacle was if her father developed a fear to exposing her to public and permitted her to eschew all future services. She leaned forward slightly to peep down the pew toward him. He studiously listened to the the priest. She had not thought to observe his reaction to her paroxysm.

“Why should you even care what they think of you? They know you’re mad. Everyone has passed that judgement. You shouldn’t be ashamed, strudel. Embrace it. They all expect it, so why not let go and act it?” one of the voices crooned in her ear.

She tucked her fists in her lap and stared earnestly forward. They would fail to elicit further responses from her. Of that, she was adamant.

“It’s not like you can feign sanity for long. It’s only a matter of time before you snap and they send you back to the asylum and dope your insanity into submission.”

She should have filed her fingernails. They were going to draw blood.

“You can’t fight what you are. Doesn’t it just make you want to scream? Who here would understand? Who here could possibly relate to what you endure?”

“I’m certain it makes you angry, sugar-tart? They stuff you in that ridiculous dress and tell you to sit still for two hours, but none of them realize that being in your own head for that long simply isn’t feasible. You can’t handle those expectations. You are going to snap.”

“Crack.”
“Break.”
"Rend.”
“Burst.”
“Sever.”
“Split.”

On and on and on they went, hissing viciously about her inability to maintain social composure for even a short while. They were right, of course. Lotte had already proven her ineptitude at ignoring them. Everybody else knew it, too. Were those whispers at her back? People watching and waiting for her next outburst. It was simply expected of her.

“Mad little Lottie. Looney little Lottie. Lost little Lottie,” one of the voices sang while the other laughed and laughed and laughed.

Lieselotte felt like a fool. Tears bit at her eyes as her nails carved into her palms. She couldn’t even handle a couple of hours at church. The voices might be vicious, but they didn’t have to invent fictions to do it. The bitter truth would always make for a bigger impact.

“Lotte?” A touch on her arm snapped her out of the reverie created by the voices. Her sister smiled cautiously. “Shall we?”

Was it over? She absorbed her surroundings with sudden clarity as others in the church stood to uniformly exit the pews. “Oh. Yes,” she hummed, her voice far away.

“It was rather dry this year, wasn’t it?” Annaliese groaned. “I could scarcely find the will to pay attention, either.”

The church released them, spitting them out of its wide double doors to the lawn just beyond where they were left to accumulate into social clusters, catching up on visiting with those whom they had missed before the service began. As usual, Lotte dropped back, avoiding conversation unless it was impolite to do so. Nobody asked her about her mid-service tiff. If anybody remembered it, they had the graces not to bring it up. Perhaps they were even nicer, remarking on her good color--blatant lies, an irony considering they occupied holy ground--and groomed appearance.

The rest of the day would include meals and festivities, but those were less of a burden to consider after what she endured during the service. Reinventing small-talk and plastering a gracious smile on her face seemed such a small task now.

Over the din and chatter, she still swore she heard the two voices working the crowd, dispensing with suggestions of impotence or chaos, depending on their whims. Setting herself to ignore them if they came back around for her, she linked arms with her dear sister and set off to prove--to them and herself--that she could endure a single Easter day under the pretense that she was a nicely adjusted young society woman.

The voices, she declared to herself, were wrong.

It wasn’t often that one bore witness to a cadaver floating into the mortician’s shop on its own. Usually, the living didn’t see them at all until they were prepared for their viewing, and even then they did not move. If corpses were beginning to wander about the streets of Temperance, then perhaps the town had truly become the charnel house so many outsiders rumored it to be. More people died in London everyday than in Temperance, but London was a bustling city. Not a town somewhat dropped in the country. The level of seemingly paranormal disturbance, the statistics on disappearances and insanities gave rise to superstitions and suspicions. Why did Temperance need its own asylum? What transpired in the dark shadows and beyond the iron gates?

The town was dominated by the Lehmann family, a wealthy, multiple generation spanning brood of tycoons that knew money and made money. You are what you eat, even with the teeth of one’s brain. Strangeness and charm surrounded the family, luring in curiosities and alluring the wondering minds. The mother had tragically gone on to God, and the father was a frightfully stoic individual who favored silence and intellect over boisterous guffaws and common prattle. He was a kind man, nonetheless, and his twin daughters were beloved by him.

Annaliese was the delightful one, rosy pink and oft smiling, married and sociable. People adored her, found her infectious and urbane. She was as accomplished as any young lady ought to be, and soon, hopefully, she’d produce fine heirs as lovely as herself. Her husband, on the other hand, was not so well liked by society, for he was known to be a rather flighty and furled gentleman with an acidic tongue and odd sense of humor. His exterior was consistently coated in a layer of ice, and the depth of his gaze was commonly seen swimming with judgments and calculations, leaving one to speculate on his intentions and capabilities. Edward was much too similar to the sister.

Lieselotte.

Though identical to Annaliese, Lotte was immediately differentiated. Of ailing health since childhood, in and out of institutions, she looked every bit the gaunt little ghoul. She was not pink and perky, nor was she of solid constitution, making it extremely taxing to carry on a pleasant discourse with her. It was difficult to focus on anything she said when her crystalline eyes were so round and haunted, almost bruised and sunken. A stranger’s attention was honed in on her jarring physical appearance, caught in a loop of questioning how on earth she was alive. It looked as if she’d never eaten in her life. Or slept. Or smiled. Or gone to church. The sight of her made quite a few people uncomfortable, and those who knew her well enough preferred not to approach her. She was unfiltered and offensive, guarded and prickly. Her aura was an instantaneous mood killer, so most everyone did their best to get away with what was socially acceptable and nothing more.

Well, that suited Lieselotte fine, you see, because she loathed people anyway.

It was this little ghost that blew into the mortician’s shop on the winter wind, the onyx of her thick dress contrasting dramatically with her pallid complexion. Buttoned to the jaw and decorated in a fur muff, matching cap, and emeralds, Lieselotte fit the bill for the spirit of a rich heiress. Perhaps her late mother. Everyone knew how spitting of an image she was of Marianne. Death and doom, gloom and gray seemed to cling to the girl at all times, be it a metaphor, a comparison, or something imminent. She wore it with a stunted elegance, but grace was not a word in her vocabulary, nor a virtue she possessed. There was not a single soul in all of merry England that she’d care to transform for, anyhow, so what did it matter if she couldn’t cut a figure or didn’t carry around a grand air? Her life was for her, not for the enjoyment of wandering eyes.

The acrid stench of flesh and alcoholic substances filled the inside of the curious shop, a sourness in the air that could only be found in such a dismal place. The pungent odor was no longer offputting to Lieselotte, not now that she’d filed it away in her mind as something familiar and comforting, something that signaled a coming happiness. She much enjoyed the company of the aging mortician, for he was kind and wise, equally as avoided and shunned as she was. Anyone who dwelled within the realm of death in life garnered their own kind of scarlet letter.

Lieselotte hung her hat and her muff on the branches of the coatrack in the foyer, smoothing her skeletal hands over her golden mane. A faint and approachable smile dusted her lips as she ventured further into the foul smelling shop, fragile heart fluttering with anticipation and good cheer. Today was a good day, for once, because it was her birthday. Her father and brother-in-law were busy bees this morning, what with readying the manor for the party, so she decided she would take a snowy little stroll to see her one true friend on her special day. As it was her birthday, she wanted so very much to keep felicitous vibes around her, to fully enjoy her day. What better use of a birthday?

Henrik Lovell, the beautiful soul living inside the crinkled and wrinkled body that shuffled to greet her, smiled widely as he reached out to take hold of her delicate left hand. His back was hunched, his gray hair sparse, and his mustache long, but his legs were lengthy enough to give him some height. “Happy birthday, little Lottie!” he exclaimed, kissing her fingers. “Pray, why on God’s green Earth are you here on such a momentous day, my dear? You’ve only been alive for two decades, surely not long enough to be visiting me yet,” he joked, winking.

Chuckling through her nose, Lieselotte lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve only got, mayhap, four more to go, Mr. Lovell, I ought to start preparing now.”

Henrik chortled with a shake of his head and motioned her to follow him. “I,” he began in his raspy voice, “had planned to attend your gala, sweetling, but I would not have been able to stay long, I’m afraid.” He glanced back at her. “I am closer to death than you are, therefore, I ache in places you don’t have yet. Parties and dancing,” he shook his head, waving it all off. “I am unfit for it; however, I would have gone to give you your gift. You have come to me, though, and saved an old man a daunting trip.”

Lieselotte trailed after her friend into the back of the shop where he kept his bodies and shelves of sundries. Her blue eyes danced over the sheet covered forms, the fluid filled jars and preserved organs; she was unfocused on it today, or for now, at least. Henrik had mentioned a gift, and while Lieselotte typically scorned presents, she was used to receiving one from the mortician on her birthday. Birthday gifts were different, anyhow. They were for a special occasion, and those she happily accepted. There was nothing suspicious about someone, especially a friend, offering a present on a kind of holiday. It was, in fact, expected.

Henrik retrieved a small silver box intricately wrought and carved. This he handed over to Lieselotte with a smile. “Go on and open it.”

Lieselotte carefully opened the little box to find a silken green ribbon folded neatly. Her eyes lit up, and she pulled the dreamy strip of fabric out of the box so that it unfurled. “Oh…” she breathed.

“A prelude,” Henrik said, nodding towards the box. “The ribbon is silk, a gift in and of itself, but,” and he shrugged, “you have reached twenty, my darling, and deserve something extraordinary because,” and he reached into the box to pluck away the cotton, “you are an extraordinary young woman, Lieselotte.”

An audible gasp ripped out of the blonde as she stared down at the golden ring set with a perfectly carved pearl. It was made into a tiny skull, and Lieselotte was almost afraid to touch it for how impeccable it was. “Oh, Mr. Lovell, you should not have… I cannot believe you… oh, Mr. Lovell…” she said in disbelief, clutching the ribbon to her breast.

Henrik retrieved the ring and set the box aside, slipping it onto Lieselotte’s left hand. It fit like a glove. “Of course I should have,” he replied, patting her fingers. “You are my special helper, and a special lady deserves a special gift for surviving two decades on this cruel Earth. I am not long for this world, Lieselotte, and I wanted you to have something wonderful to remember me by when I am gone. When you wear this, you will admire it and think, ‘Oh, this is truly Mr. Lovell’s likeness now. How endearing,’” he jested.

Laughing, Lieselotte did admire the ring in front of her. “Oh, this quite looks like me now. How fetching,” she giggled. “Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Lovell.” She pecked him on his papery cheek. “I lovell it more than you can fathom.” She grinned.

As disappointed as Lotte was in not getting a dance with Henrik on her birthday, she kept him close as the evening progressed by wearing his ribbon in her hair and his ring on her skinny finger. Her spirits were high as she spun in lively gaiety ‘round the ballroom, flaxen hair shimmering beneath the candlelight. The jade dress she wore was bedecked with innumerable ribbons, and she couldn’t recall a recent time when she felt so beautiful. Despite society’s perceptions and opinions of her, she thought she looked as lovely as she felt. She’d rouged her cheeks to appear more alive, took careful pains to make herself attractive in the mirror, though she only dared to look for a brief moment with Ella standing quite close by.

Mirrors were dangers.

Parties and crowds of people were surefire ways to tick all of Lieselotte’s boxes, but she made a point to be approachable and joyful on this one occasion. It was all in her honor, as well as her sister’s, and everyone had been invited to wish her well. It simply wouldn’t do to be ungracious at such an event, so she wore her best smiles and reined in her nasty sarcasm and suspicions. Lieselotte wasn’t entirely hopeless, you know, she could be a good girl like her sister if the situation warranted the effort. The fine people gathered in her home were not present for ulterior motives, only to celebrate. They would receive her genuine gratitude for coming out to see her on her birthday. It was only right she be a ghostess with the mostess.

The golden grandeur and splendor of the gala had wrapped Lieselotte in a blanket of happiness, and she danced with alacrity and lightness of foot. For once, the townspeople smiled when they saw her, felt the same kind of infection that surrounded her sister. If only for one night, Lieselotte would entrance and enrapture the whole of her guests. Men lined up to dance with her, spinning her about the floor with laughter and silver tongues. Their compliments were graciously accepted, and Lieselotte even ventured to offer her own if the gentleman deserved such uncommon praise. If ever one wanted to bring the butterfly out of the moth, one must lure it mid-flight with saccharine nectars, and the way to see the colors of Lieselotte’s wings was to dance with her on her birthday. She dearly loved to dance.

To the young lady’s surprise, her father caught her up and out of her partner’s hands, stunning the man and Lieselotte alike. Hans offered a loving smile as he led her through the steps, hinging on her robotic ability to keep dancing. She moved, but her mind was scrambled, and her expression was a mixture of confusion and lightness. While she had waited for her papa’s dance, she had expected it to be more formally spurred. Hans had deftly thieved her out of the innocent hands of a delightful gentleman, who was nowhere to be seen now.

Hans placed a delicate, tickling kiss to his daughter’s temple. “I could wait no longer, my sweet, for the hour grows late and I’ve not yet danced with my little girl on her birthday. An old man finds fatigue sooner than he’d like,” he told her. “I also wanted to test my ability to steal a lady from another man; I’ve not done it in so long,” he chuckled with a twinkling wink. “Was I at all good?”

Lieselotte smiled warmly. “I would not have known, papa, that you were out of practice.”

“I’ve still got my talents, I see,” Hans laughed, bringing their dance to an impromptu end at the edge of the floor. His arm settled around Lieselotte’s waist as he led her to the outer rim of the room where people lingered and loitered.

Uncertain, again, Lieselotte shuffled beside her father and glanced up at him curiously. If he’d been waiting all night to share a dance with her, why had it been curtailed? Why did he look so intent on leading her away from the dancefloor? “What is the matter?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing’s the matter, Lotte, I’ve only got someone I’d like you to meet. He’s the son of a business partner, usually abroad, but here tonight. The two of you seem to harbor the same interests, and I think it prudent you make his acquaintance,” Hans revealed.

Lieselotte’s mood slipped into the doldrums as swiftly as a rock rolls off the edge of a cliff. The brightness in her eyes faded into the usual dullness, her lips pinching into a displeased line. She drew into herself, putting on the common face she displayed to the world around her. Dead and suspicious. Who would be so important to interrupt her party? She wasn’t interested in meeting anyone’s son, certainly not someone connected to her father’s business. While she could navigate her way through money as proficiently as her father, she wasn’t intent on becoming her father. His business partners and their families held no intrigue for Lotte, and she began to hate that her father swept her away from that gentleman on the floor. If this was his goal, his motive, she didn’t want to dance with him at all.

Hans approached two fellows, both of whom were beetling. The elder of the two wore round spectacles and a full beard, carried a subtle hunch to his shoulders, and appeared to never have smiled in his life. The younger man was a smoother image of the elder, only more alarming. His lanky form was unsettlingly long, his cheekbones high and his hollows concave. With deep set eyes as pale blue as a gray sky, his pupils appeared beady and suspended. He kept his blonde hair combed back, a fine and curled tendril bouncing above his forehead. It wasn’t everyday that Lieselotte came into contact with a person as white as herself, but this gentleman was the spitting image of a phantom, a looming creature that may not be quite human…

“Lieselotte, this is the Misters Von Grimmelshausen, Christophe and Victoire,” Hans introduced amid her nervous curtsy. “Victoire is oft abroad, and I believe he is just returned from paying a visit to his grandparents in Germany.”

Victoire smiled with a slow nod of his head. “I am returned but yesterday, Mr. Lehmann. Ms. Lehmann,” he said with a slight bow, voice thickened with the aggressive accent of German. “My wishes are for you on your birthday, fräulein.”

Lieselotte bobbed. “Thank you,” she muttered, averting her eyes.

Hans let out an uncomfortable chuckle and patted his daughter’s back. “She’s never been too keen on meeting new people, so you must excuse her.” He gave her a nudge towards Victoire. “It’s grown quite stifling in here; take a bit of fresh air on the terrace, hm?”

“I am not in need of air, father,” Lieselotte snipped, gathering her skirts and putting distance between herself and the three men. “I should like to go back to my dance if you would be so kind as to let me.”

“I have yet to dance,” Victoire chimed in, offering his thin hand to Lieselotte. “Would you care to dance with me, Ms. Lehmann?”

Lieselotte had half the mind to decline, but upon inspecting her father’s serious expression, she reluctantly placed her hand in Victoire’s and let him lead her onto the dance floor. Being so tall as he was, Lieselotte had only his chest to stare at, the scintillating ruby brooch pinned to his cravat. There was no mistaking his wealth, college education, and upbringing. Victoire was the typical heir to a fortune, carrying an air of pride and duty about him. He smoked imported cigars; she could smell the fragrant smoke on him, mere wisps his smoking jacket didn’t catch. Despite being as typical as he was, he was extremely atypical, too. There was something oddly familiar about him, something that felt inherent and reflective. As if he understood the supernatural and dealt with it beneath his upper class exterior. As if he, too, were a scapegoat.

Lifting her hard, suspicious gaze to Victoire’s impactful visage, Lieselotte drew in a deep breath through her nose. “Do you hear them?” she asked. “Do you sleep?”

Victoire smiled knowingly, frightfully. “It’s much too loud for them here.” His eyes were piercing. “I do sleep. I’m not afraid of them. Of him.”

It was Lieselotte who ended the dance abruptly this time, pulling Victoire from the throng and out of the french doors onto the terrace. Winter’s breath stole hers, and she gasped, placing a trembling hand against her corseted stomach. Still, she dragged the tall foreigner down the length of the terrace and around the far corner. Trees rustled beyond the balustrade and pillars, woods in which her father hunted for game. It was quiet in the dark corner, the music distant and the night hushed. Lieselotte could hear herself think, and she nibbled on her nails as she stood near to the giraffe-like German and stared him down. Nobody besides Ella truly understood what Lieselotte’s life was like, and Lotte was bound and determined to speak openly to someone who would not think her insane.

Her fingers curled around Victoire’s coat, and she peered up at him heatedly. “How are you not tormented by this life?”

“I said I was unafraid, not free of torment,” Victoire clarified. “I have grown used to the demons dancing in my world from time to time, and I have learned to give them no power over my mind. I control them,” he said. “I will not allow them to control me. I did that once…”

Victoire reached up to his cravat and deftly untied it, pulling it free from his narrow neck. With Lieselotte still attached to him, he moved closer to the balustrade so that the moonlight shed its silvery stream onto his face. Craning his neck, he revealed a shiny scar that stretched across his throat. Lieselotte’s blue eyes widened in horror, one hand lifting up to touch the raised tissue. The blue glow that emanated from the snow under the moon was cast over her slender fingers and one half of Victoire’s cutting features. He looked down at her without fear, without embarrassment, and brought his large, though equally skeletal, hand up to hers.

Their fingers played across the physical memory together.

“I was only thirteen when I tried to take my own life,” Victoire admitted. “The blood that followed me, the voices that hissed in my ears, the teeth that clouded my dreams… I was driven mad. Death was freedom, but my governess discovered me too soon. I was saved, though I never did quite recover from the attempt,” he sighed, bringing the stark fabric back to his neck. “I was placed in an institution for several years, and it was there that I discovered I could control my curse. I learned how to insult and thwart my tormentors so that they kept their distance from me until their prides were rebuilt. I throw them away as often as I can, and when their resistance is too high, I find a place within me that is numb to all warfare. It is confidence in one’s own ability that makes one untouchable.” Victoire adjusted his cravat.

Lieselotte swallowed and shook her head. “I can’t get rid of them… no matter what I do. They’re always there… almost everyday. E-even now I hear them…” she whispered, hands shaking as she touched her ears. “Whispering…”

“Because you’re thinking of them, channeling them,” Victoire told her, batting her hands away from her ears. He placed his own over her ears. “They speak naught but nonsense, picking at parts of you they know will bleed. You allow them to aggravate you. They’re like thoughts, fräulein, you must ignore them.” His fingertips slid down her jaw. “I can hear them, too. They prod you, influence you. Don’t trust me, don’t get close to me…”

Indeed, Lieselotte backed away from Victoire upon the voices’ behest, squeezing her eyes shut. “I do not know you, Mr. Von Grimmelshausen, I…”

His hands were on her biceps, her back meeting the wall violently. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up into his darkened face. The faint light illumined the very edges of his countenance, but all that glowed within the shadowed plains were his silencing eyes. Her body quaked beneath his hold, the voices converging on her mind, pressurizing it like a vise. She could hear nothing else but their frenetic pleas for her to escape the German’s clutches. The manner in which he bore into her reminded her of nothing but lies and murder. It was as if his entire appearance had shifted into something truly monstrous, and she wondered why her father would introduce her to a man who was so vague and unknown. So strange.

Panic seized Lieselotte’s body, formed inside her throat, forced water from her eyes. She wasn’t breathing, yet she could hear the scrape of her breath coming and going in hyperventilation. Every part of her felt frozen, flakes of snow swirling into the confines of the terrace. Victoire’s chilled fingers burned into her arms, and his voice was distorted and warbled beneath the weight of her subduction. She was slipping to the ground, vision waning, yet he followed as if he would secretly overtake her. Oh, God…

Lieselotte did not know it, but she was faintly shouting for help, limbs fighting against the surprisingly powerful German. She tried to see him, but everything had gone black, her hands clawing at flesh and fabric blindly. Even the whispers disappeared, and the sound of her heartbeat throbbed around her like a drum powering the core of her world. She could hear her pathetic begging now, but it was as if she were speaking to the empty air. She felt utterly alone.

“Loppy Lottie, how beautifully you tremble,” he said amusedly, followed by a grotesque cackle.

Lieselotte popped upwards, breathing shallow and rapid. Sweat clung to her body, and tears burned the edges of her eyes. Her bedroom hemmed her in, the familiar canopy and drawn windows. The gnarled body of the Grinning Man. He sat crouched in front of her, head cocked and smile wide. His crepey fingers curled coldly around her chin, causing a whimper to be released from her throat. Her chin quivered in his grasp, eyes shutting tightly to block his horrible image from her sight. She ought to have known that nickname. So much like a wide-eyed, snuffling rabbit was she, that old Grinny dubbed her to be as loppy as a lop. Nobody else called her such a thing.

“You danced yourself sleepy, my duckling dear, and fell into my clutches in a chair,” he laughed lowly. “Happy belated, lovely. Do you feel… closer to my reaping companion? Or does,” and he sniffed along the side of her face, pushing her down against her pillow, “youth still live through you?” he breathed. “Victoire was a debonaire little darkling, was he not, Lottie?”

Lieselotte opened her eyes, stricken with fear, and searched his glowing gaze for answers. “W-what… did you say…? V-Vic… Victoire? I thought…” she began to fervently shake her head. “No, no! No, he’s not real! He was a dream!”

“Half way,” he corrected, tracing her pink mouth with his finger. “He was a dull sort of fellow like his and your father. You danced with him rather late, and as he pleaded for rest for his feet, you sat yourself down a spell and,” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “poof. You became mine to dance with.” Another chuckle left him. “Here you believed you found a friend. The German is nothing but a sufferer of poor genetics. You’re still quite alone, Lieselotte. Still mine.”

Lieselotte shoved him. “Why are you talking to me, you putrid pustule!? You villainous vermin?! You… you horrid hag monger!? You never talk to me like this! You always speak in awful riddles and… and…”

“Hush, child,” he purred. “Your birthday is a special night, and I would do you no honor by treating it any other way. Do not fret, though, darling, I will return to haunting you as you are accustomed.” From a pocket in his coat, he retrieved a little earring, placing it carefully upon her forehead. “Your gift,” he said with a grin. “Hide it better next time if you want me absent on holidays. That was pitifully lazy, bunny.” He tsked.

Melting away from her and into the shadows, he left an echoing laughter. “I am here always, be it to torment you or protect you. You know how to summon me. Sleep now.”

Frustrated and frightened, Lieselotte violently buried herself under her covers, hidden beneath the dome of fabric like a shivering child. She curled up tightly, ears tuned in to the room holding her. All was silent. No scrabbling, no whispering, no footsteps. He’d gone, and he’d, perhaps, kept the others at bay. For once, on her second decade birthday, he left her bittersweet. And in her hand, she squeezed tightly the earring of her mother. I am twenty, mama. Am I all you dreamed? Please… tell me...