forum Agony and Tenacity (SUPER, SUPER OPEN!!)(Dark)(LGBT+)

Started January 12, 2020 by Deleted user

tune

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I’m rather keen on destruction summoning, too, and I have a fun idea for it, so I think that one’s perfect.

Section One, Part One

In the very early hours of the morning, long before any of the birds had woken to sing their splendid songs from their nests in the tall trees of the Wutherburrow forest, a bleary-eyed young man by the name of Alastaros rose from his bed in a state of disarray. Not for the first time in the past few weeks, he’d managed to wake up before the wake up chime of his little wooden clock. Although he would have much rather rested for an hour or so, he knew instinctively that it was time to dress and begin preparations for breakfast. He unbuttoned the top he’d worn to sleep, wincing as the chilly air met his bare skin, and slid into the red undershirt and black vest he’d carefully laid out the night before. An old ache in his hip started up again as he exchanged his pajama pants for some charcoal slacks as well. He couldn’t help but grimace. It was going to be one of those days, then, where the brisk winter air reawakened the sore spots in his body and left him rubbing his aching joints for relief by the time night fell. Half of a silly rhyme from his childhood about healing teas popped into his foggy head suddenly. With a sigh, he dismissed it. There was absolutely no time to waste on songs and memory games when he still had to brush his hair, clean his face, and put on his boots. He performed each task swiftly in silence before exiting promptly through his door into the hallway that would lead him to the kitchen.

There was only one other person in the mansion that appeared to be awake at that moment. She was a servant, much like Alastaros, and her hands were full with preparing a tray of fruits, butters, and creams. When she heard him approach, she involuntarily flinched. Her pinched look of shock faded when she saw that it was only him.

Time really was of the essence. On one of the cabinets in the corner of the massive room was a neatly organized folder crammed with daily handwritten orders that he picked up and scanned quickly. As usual, their day was filled to the brim with all sorts of chores. They’d have to work unusually fast on that particular day, however; their khastas were expecting a guest. Whenever a visitor came, the heads of the household expected everything to be perfect. If even the smallest of petals was out of place in a vase, the servants would be sure to hear about it. Alastaros rolled and pinned up his sleeves as he’d done thousands of times before, washed his hands with floral soap courtesy of Eleanor, filled two of the kettles up with clean water, and set them on one of the large stoves to begin heating. The other servant quietly asked him if he could cut into a loaf of bread for her that someone had baked the day before. He sidled up beside her and picked a knife from the rack. With as much precision as possible, he sliced the thick, fluffy loaf into almost equal pieces. She thanked him kindly. Part of him wanted to ask why she couldn’t have done it herself; the other part, which had evolved to live in such a place, registered the tremor in her hands and decided to leave the matter alone.

Back to the teas he went. To the side of the stove was a drawer stacked with labeled containers and pouches of leaves begging to be spice up a bland drink. Visualizing the order for the day in his head, he let his muscle memory guide him in picking out ingredients that would lead to a wonderful blend. Before the water reached boiling he managed to ready two cups on matching saucers that he poured it into. He finished out the teas by letting them begin to steep on the golden carts that they polished each afternoon.

“There’s that,” he whispered to his coworker. “Are you almost done?”

“Yes. Do you mind moving them for me?”

He did as she asked, lifting each of the trays she’d prepared carefully and setting them onto the carts as well.

“Thank you.”

“Who would you like today?” There was an obvious answer to that question. Everyone wanted to serve Eleanor. She was by no means gentle in nature, but she tended to be subdued in the early hours. Her brother was quite the opposite. Alastaros dropped his hand to his hip. It was bothering him again.

She glanced down. Her guilt was almost palpable. “Eleanor, if you don’t mind.”

His gaze found her hands again. They were still trembling. He gingerly took one of hers in his and studied it. Just as he’d expected, there was a bright red mark on the back of it.

“I’ll take Cyprus, then,” he murmured. She took her hand back. Relief washed across her features. “And let’s both hurry; that tea isn’t going to be good for much longer.”

Carrying the carts up the stairs to the third floor was always such a pain, but the two of them had become skilled at it over the years. They went the separate ways at the top. He quietly approached the door on the left and knocked.

“Come in.”

His khasta’s bedroom was extremely dark and smelled strongly of burnt candles. It took about all of his concentration not to stop pushing the cart to sneeze at the odor.

There were three basic, unspoken rules that all of the servants in the mansion knew to follow when dealing with Cyprus in the morning: don’t speak unless spoken to, never look him in the eyes unless ordered to, and always stay on his left side. Alastaros brought the cart directly up beside his bed and stood to the side of it, his arms crossed behind his back.

“What a shame. I was hoping for the pretty one,” Cyprus muttered. “Open the blinds, garrhas.”

It wasn’t quite light outside yet, but the rich blue sky was still brighter than then darkness caused by the blinds. In the dimness, Alastaros could see his khasta more clearly. His black hair obscured his eyes from view due to its messiness.

Breakfast passed abnormally slowly. Cyprus seemed deep in thought. He paused between bites, crossed and uncrossed his arms, and sighed more than once. Not once did he criticize the tea or cooking. He simply ate. That was highly unusual in itself, but what was even more peculiar was that he stayed in his spot when finished.

“We’re having a guest today.”

Alastaros took the cup from him and set it on the cart without a word. When he went to pick up the tray, Cyprus burst into life. He grabbed his servant’s wrist in a vice grip and yanked him forward. Hints of his icy gray eyes flashed through his hair.

“You’d best respond to me,” he hissed.

“As you wish, khasta.”

That appeared to appease him. Indelicately, he thrust his servant’s arm away, stretched, rolled into a sitting position, and gestured towards his wardrobe.

“Pick out something nice for me to wear.”

There was no part of that command that wasn’t a trap. If Alastaros refused, even politely, he’d incur the young man’s wrath. If he picked out an outfit, it most likely wouldn’t suffice. He weighed his options and, in a fraction of a millisecond, decided the latter was better. Cyprus watched as he opened up his wardrobe and looked it over for a moment. Perhaps he’d enjoy a navy tailcoat the most for the frigid day. Navy was one of his favorite colors, after all. He selected it, a white undershirt, black pants, thick socks, and an elegant clasp to hold his hair back from his face for the activities of the day.

“That’s not half bad. You might actually have half a brain after all, garrhas.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re dreadfully boring. Go prepare my vanity,” he said dismissively. Alastaros did exactly as he commanded. He hurried to the cherry wood vanity and inspected the mirror to make sure it was as clean as possible. Then, he went over the items on the top of the table, straightening out his brush and opening up his jewelry case for easy access if he felt like dressing up for the day.

“How do I look?”

Cyprus was actually a rather handsome man in a frustrating way. His features were fine, like they’d been carved from a precious stone, and his hair was as soft as silk. It’d been hard for Alastaros to come to terms when they’d first met with the fact that someone so refined on the outside could be so tempestuous on the inside.

“Navy compliments you, khasta.”

“I agree. Brush out my hair, would you?”

Another trap. If he took too long, Cyprus would snap; if he tugged too hard, he’d lash out.

He went at a medium pace with the opal-covered brush, starting in the back of his khasta’s curtain of long hair and working his way to the front. It relaxed him to note that the other man seemed to be enjoying it. His eyes fluttered shut after about the tenth stroke. Had Alastaros not known who he was, not known what he was capable of, he would’ve almost felt pity for him. Dark shadows like smudges of ink rested under his eyes, and he definitely had lost some weight in the past couple of weeks.

“Garrhas?”

“Yes, khasta?”

“I’ll take lunch in my room today. Nikolai should be here around dinnertime.”

“As you wish.”

“And garrhas?”

“Yes, khasta?”

“I order you to bring it to me.”

He couldn’t bite his tongue fast enough. “Not the pretty one?”

Funny, he’d almost forgotten just how inhumanely fast Cyprus could move when he boiled over. He snatched the brush from his hands and struck him across the face with it so hard that he actually toppled over. Ironically, he landed on one of the carpets that Cyprus had acquired recently that had come from his homeland. He winced. His cheek stung and eye watered, but it was his hip that drove him crazy. It had really begun to act up.

“Get up.”

With a soft groan, he pushed himself back onto his feet. Cyprus, still seething, set down the brush and exchanged it for a case of powder. He brushed some on his in the hollows under his eyes, paused, and brushed on some more.

“Listen to me, and listen well.”

“Yes, khasta.”

“If you pull anything like that tonight in front of our guest, I’ll do much worse than that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, khasta.”

“And you’re still in charge of bringing me my lunch.”

“Of course.”

He turned his head to the side and frowned at his reflection. “And tea after dinner.”

That hadn’t been in the orders for the day, he was sure of it. Was this some sort of memory test? If he agreed, would he strike him again?

“As you wish, khasta. Which tea would you prefer?”

“I’m not sure. Something mild would be best.” Back again was the odd, faraway look. “Something that’ll help ease my mind. My dreams have been troubled as of late.”

At such times, Alastaros really didn’t know how to feel about him. He sounded vulnerable, bordering on depressed, and it sent his mind reeling. Cyprus had been diagnosed with multiple ailments as a child, he knew that. Manic depression, bipolarism, intermittent explosive disorder; there practically wasn’t a condition that he didn’t have. He was an impossible perfectionist; an insomniac; a quick-tempered whirlwind of a young man that’d been foolishly granted powers that came with a regal reputation. All of that had been told to him by one of the other servants, a sweet, older woman named Lovey, who’d been assisting Cyprus longer than all of them. She was sent away the previous year to a different manor. There wasn’t much time in the day to spend reminiscing on all of those who’d come and gone, but she was always lingering in his thoughts. She’d been like a second mother to Alastaros.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I don’t want your pity, garrhas. Just bring me the tea in the evening. Now, go away. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, khasta.”

He was unable to control the sigh of relief that escaped him when he left the room with the cart. Now that he was outside of the line of sight of his khasta, he took a moment to rub slow circles into his hip with his thumb. It was unfortunate that Eleanor wouldn’t share any of her fancy salves or lotions with them to soothe their aches and pains. If she did, he was sure that his productivity would increase tenfold.

Well, never the matter. There were going to be some long hours ahead anyway. He supposed it was really time to get to work.

End of Section One, Part One

(And this is where you come in! After every Part I send, I’ll ask you a series of questions that will guide the next one. This Part was rather short, so it didn’t take me long to whip up; others might take a little longer.
Here are your questions for Section One, Part One:

1. Would you rather see more of the kitchen or see Alastaros interact with other areas of the mansion?
2. Would you prefer to meet some of the other servants, or does Eleanor intrigue you more?
3. How do you feel about Cyprus?
   Honesty is key for continuing the story. Once you give me your answers, I’ll begin working on the next piece.)

Oh! For number one I'd actually like to get to see more of the mansion, your descriptions are too tempting for me not to want to see more of the house

For two, Eleanor does intrigue the fuck out of me, im curious as to see what she's really like!

And three, I have mixed feelings my friend haha, i mean, he just went at my favorite character so we'll have to see

I don't know why but i feel villain vibes rolling off if him, but in a good way. I love my villains

(Quick side note that it may take me some time to respond because I have exams this week)

Section One, Part Two

In the five or so hours before Alastaros had to be back in the kitchen to take Cyprus his lunch, he’d completed enough chores to fill a short novel. He had brushed the dust from all of Eleanor’s potted plants, checked all of the mirrors in bathrooms twice for smudges or stains, cleaned the spice rack in the pantry, decorated the largest archway in the front of the mansion with winterbuds from the garden, dusted off all of the bookshelves and cards table on the third floor, fluffed the pillows in the guest room and fussed with the bedspread, glazed rolls with honey for lunch to satisfy Eleanor’s sweet tooth, placed homemade candles all throughout the dining hall that he reminded himself to later light for ambiance, polished the golden vases for that night’s flower arrangement, started a dough for the berry-filled pastry his khastas and their guest would have for dessert, swept several rugs, tidied the entryway over and over again, and tucked several sweetly-scented beads subtly into every pair of curtains except those in the rooms of the servants. When he finally got his hands back on the cart he’d had earlier that morning—which had been freshly polished, of course, because having it go between two meals without a nice cleansing would be an absolute travesty—his clothes stuck to his sweat-damp skin and the dull soreness in his hip had grown into a red-hot, fiery pain that overwhelmed him more and more with every step. His face wasn’t looking good, either. It was a miracle that Cyprus had missed his eye, but his cheek was bruised, tender, and swollen. Every time he passed another servant, they took one glance at him and instantly looked away. He wasn’t offended by it. Hardly a day went by that one of them wasn’t in a similar way, and they’d developed a sort of code to deal with it: don’t stare, and definitely don’t say a word. If they did and were caught, they might end up the same way.

Alastaros started out of the room but stopped when he noticed that there were two trays on the cart. He looked around helplessly for an explanation. The only other person in the kitchen was the same female servant as earlier. She’d finished his berry pastries and was sprinkling them with powdered sugar. When she saw him, she drew near to him.

“They’re both in Cyprus’s room,” she murmured, touching him on the arm. He nodded his thanks and went up the stairs straightaway. This time, somebody actually opened the door when he knocked.

“Oh, it’s about ti- goodness, what happened to you?” Eleanor stared at him in utter dismay. Cyprus, who was seated at his desk with papers before him and a quill in hand, eyed him. His face was unreadable.

He ducked his head to avoid meeting their eyes. “I acted out this morning and was reasonably punished for my transgressions.”

She whirled around to face her brother, causing the huge skirt of her white dress to puff outwards. “You did this to him?”

“You heard him. He acted out. What was else I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but this is ridiculous. We’re having a guest! Does this look presentable to you?” To emphasize her point, she seized Alastaros by the chin and gestured wildly. Her fingers were icy and her nails dug painfully into the wound. It was all he could do to keep from crying out. “It’s so swollen! He’s ugly enough to put off anyone’s appetite!”

“Please, Eleanor, don’t be unreasonable. It’s Nikolai. You know his reputation as well as I do. He’ll probably be thrilled to see us—ah, what was it?—‘disciplining them’ like Uncle taught us to.“

She pushed her servant away finally with a sniff. “I guess. Still, you couldn’t have done it anywhere else? Under his clothes, perhaps?”

“Listen, if it bothers you that much then we can lock him away in his room until it heals,” he sighed. A drop of ink slid off his quill and stained the back of his hand without him noticing.

“No, no, you’re probably right. Nikolai is big on this sort of thing, and we do want to keep him in good spirits.” Her sharp gaze slid over his face once more. “You do look absolutely grotesque, though. Keep your head turned away from me.”

He did as she asked, naturally, before pushing the cart forward into the center of the room.

“Really? I think it’s rather becoming,” Cyprus teased. He drummed his fingers on his desk and grinned wildly. “I’d even say it’s an improvement.”

Although he didn’t intend to do so, he couldn’t stop himself from gritting his teeth. The beatings were bad; the taunting was equally so.

“What do you think, garrhas?”

“I think it was a rightful punishment to correct my unforgivable behavior.”

“Yes, I know that. But how do you think it looks?”

“I think… I don’t…” Color flooded his cheeks—or, rather, what was visible of them. Eleanor giggled at him, and Cyprus only smiled wider. His stomach twisted. “If I think if I were to say anything about it,” he started again, choosing his words carefully, “I’d say that it is not the most unsightly I’ve ever been. I thank you graciously for not doing worse, khasta.”

“See? Look. One little bruise and they’ll be as loyal as a dog. Actually, you know what? That’s not a half bad idea. You’d make a decent bitch, wouldn’t you, garrhas? You already have the collar for it.”

“Cyprus-“ his sister began. He cut her off by standing suddenly. Like a beast of prey, he strode forward proudly and marked his victim by looping a finger through the metal ring around his neck.

“You’d do anything we asked, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, khasta,” he mumbled.

“I’d like to hear you say it.”

He was so close that eye contact was inevitable. Alastaros squeezed his eyes shut.

“Say it!”

“I’ll do anything you ask, khasta.”

“Cyprus!” The quiet shuffling of a skirt brushing the ground filled the room. “That’s quite enough. If you keep messing around then our food will get cold, and I’m starving.”

The knuckle that’d been digging into the space between collarbones slid away. He only opened his eyes when he heard the scraping of a chair. Cyprus, apparently already over his little game, was eating his lunch and scribbling out a letter. His sister looked bored. She plucked a honey roll and nibbled at it delicately. He didn’t bother trying to find any pity for him in her made-up eyes. He’d lost hope of getting her on his side long ago. Like brother, like sister. She wasn’t nearly as cruel as he was, and honestly not half as clever, but she still did have a mean streak to her. A tiny gasp escaped his lips as his hip throbbed. That was right. It’d been her cane that’d given him that wound, after all.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked disgustedly.

There was that twist of nausea again. He hadn’t missed it in the slightest. “Nothing at all, khasta. My deepest apologies. Please, continue your meal.”

Her dark eyebrows pinched together. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t mean to do so. I apologize once more.”

“Stop apologizing already and just leave us be. Your voice is grating on my nerves.”

Listening to Cyprus always wore him out. In just the one conversation alone, his khasta had been both downright furious and curious, pleased and malicious, and now he was acting like he’d been forced to take part in a particularly boring chat.

“As you wish, khasta. What do you wish for me to do with the cart?”

“Leave it, I’ll call someone up later.”

“Alright.” He opened the door as quietly as possible, making sure the hinges didn’t squeak, and started to step through it only to be stopped by the young man’s voice once more—

“Oh, and garrhas?”

“Yes, khasta?”

“Woof.”

That was about all Alastaros could take. He managed to get about halfway down the stairs before he started to sob. Silently, of course, and without tears. Whimpers could be heard and tear tracks seen. All of the servants in the mansion had discovered rapidly that crying would not be tolerated, so they’d learned how to do so without paying the price in blood. He bit back a scream by literally biting down hard on his fist, stumbled down the last few steps, and darted for his room. The second his door was closed behind him, he snatched up his pillow and opened his mouth wide to let loose all of the rage that’d been festering inside of him. All that came out was a shuddering gasp that lasted for over a minute. During it, his hands, lungs, and legs shook like he’d been left out in the snow.

And then, just as soon as his fit had come on, it was over. He felt hollow and very, very tired. All he wanted was to crash into his bed and have some sweet dreams for once, but he knew he couldn’t waste more time. Dinner needed preparing, and there was still a handful of chores he needed to wrap up before Nikolai arrived. He rolled over to the side of the bed and let his feet thud onto the ground. Standing was hard but not as impossible as it’d seemed.

The hearty aroma of roasting meat filled the hallway to the kitchen. He padded towards it slowly, hand back on his hip, and found two servants in the kitchen: the same girl he’d seen multiple times—she was fancily frosting the pastries—and a guy whose name could’ve been Pierce that appeared to have just finished up putting the last of the main dishes on the fire pit to cook. As soon as he did so, he grabbed a sponge from one of the cabinets and a homemade soap and scurried off to who-knows-where.

He went back to read their orders for the day and found that everything was either finished or in the process of becoming so except for the vegetables that would be served as an appetizer. That was good, he‘d gladly handle that. Preparing food usually didn’t require that much movement, and he could snatch something small to eat in between cooking times since the only thing he’d eaten that morning had been a stale hunk of bread.

When he moved over to the spice rack—which he was glad he’d organized earlier—to start generating ideas, he found that the servant girl was awfully close to where he needed to be. She slid past him to grab a container of edible luster powder and, as she went by, said under her breath, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he mumbled back. If anyone had been looking—which they weren’t, luckily, not another soul was in the room but one could never be too cautious—they would’ve assumed he was talking to himself. He kept his focus on the wall and didn’t dare risk a glance her way.

“I should’ve offered to take him this morning. He’s alright to me.”

“Your hand says otherwise.”

“What…” She exhaled and walked by him again. “What did he do?”

“Besides this?” He pretended to idly scratch the bruise. “Called me his d- d-“ The word wouldn’t leave his throat. He coughed into his elbow and ignored the burning in his eyes. “His dog.”

“Goodness.”

No more words were shared after that. They’d said all that needed to be said. Neither one could do anything about what’d happened, not if they treasured the skin on their backs, and besides, there was still a fair amount of cooking left to be done while the others shined up the floors a last time and set up cozy fires in the hearths.

Speaking of fires, he really did need to get to cooking. The recipe he wanted to prepare floated up in his mind’s eye. When he’d first come to the mansion three years prior, the only thing he’d known how to do properly was cook. His own mother had started teaching him how to make a decent meal when he was about five. Fourteen years later, he was still excellent at it. Hundreds of recipes and tips were forever stuck in his head. Cleaning would always be his least favorite task; it was rivaled only by gardening simply because of his ineptness at it. Whatever he tried to grow usually ended up dead within that same week. But hand him a few spices, a stove, and a bucket of ingredients and he became someone truly special—truly worth paying attention to, and not because of the blossoming blue mark on his jaw. It gave him comfort to know that he was good at something, at least. He told himself, as he had many times before, that it didn’t matter if he was good-looking if he could make a good meal. Someone would appreciate his food eventually, surely. The mental image chipped away a sliver of his bad mood. It didn’t matter if they hated him. They’d always hated him. He could do something they could never dream of, after all.

And now it was time to prove it. He dove into the pantry to pull out all of the items he’d need to whip up something tasty, like mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes, garlic, diced roots, three or four spices, olives and olive oil, parsley, and, after thinking for a moment, a handful of other ingredients to help create a nice broth.

Onto the stove it all went in a large cast-iron pan. He’d show them. Just like the vegetables, he was simmering. Around and around his spatula went like the anger swirling inside of him. He’d make them regret their cruelty. He’d make a meal so good they’d weep.

Something broke him free from his internal rant. It hit him in an instant. That scent was familiar. He inhaled it slowly, savoring it, and closed his eyes dreamily. How had he not recognized it before? This really was one of his mother’s recipes, not one of his own. It was one she made often, too, because they lived next to a family that owned a vegetable patch. They gladly traded their produce at least once a week for a hot, tasty free meal. His anger faded away. He missed his family more than anything, especially his mother. Her hugs were always so comforting. He could picture himself snug in her arms after a bad day. For about the eightieth time that afternoon, he could feel tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. Reluctantly, he forced another image to fill his head, someone he’d already pictured that day: Lovey. He imagined she was there with him, her hand on the small of his back, pushing him to do his best so that he’d avoid both, literally and metaphorically, getting burned.

Wait.

Burned?

He fell hard back to reality and looked upon the dish he’d been crafting in horror.
No. No, no, no. He couldn’t have burned it, because if he burned it then that would mean he’d get punished again, and he couldn’t do that, not again, he couldn’t-

“Get a grip,” he scolded himself, lips trembling, and put his hands on his hips. His brain kicked into top gear. So, he didn’t have time to start over. Was there anything he could do to salvage what was in the pan? Tomatoes, as well as the peppers and mushrooms, could actually be delicious somewhat burnt. With an artful was that surprised even himself, he expertly wielded the wooden spatula and scooped out the other vegetables, leaving behind the edible ones in a simmering broth. Recipes flickered through his mind at unbelievable speeds. If he added a quarter cup or so of cream and a dab of butter to even out the texture, it seemed likely that nobody would be able to tell he’d made a mistake at all. He raced for the icebox in the pantry and scooped up the ingredients in the blink of an eye. Then, masterfully, he did exactly what he’d wanted to. The transformation was beautiful. Before long, he wasn’t so much back on track as he was completely ahead of it. Speedily, he transferred the dish to actual dishes and set jewel-encrusted cloches on top of them to keep them warm. The dreadful tightness in his chest dissolved into giddiness. He’d really done it. Celebrating would be a mistake, so he allowed himself one simple laugh before launching a last lap to clean up the kitchen.

The girl and possibly Pierce joined him in bringing all of the food out to the table. They shared small, exhausted smiles while they did so. Pulling off such a large order in such a short amount of time was an incredible feat. Normally, they only had to cook for the two khastas, and they didn’t have to try nearly as hard to impress them. As rich and powerful as they were, he’d bet neither knew the difference between milk and cream.

Just seconds after they’d finished, a different servant rushed into the room. She was the most recent addition. In a panicked tone of voice, she announced loudly, “He’s here.”

“Keep it down!” Alastaros whisper-yelped back. “Is anyone out there with him? Did Cyprus give us orders on where to be?”

“Yep, Louisa and Agnace, and also yep, but they’re kind of weird. He said the pretty one’s supposed to help serve the food. He also said something about a dog taking dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Do you know what he meant?” She tapped her chin. “I haven’t seen any dogs around here. Didn’t think he was an animal person.”

“I know what he means. Just… just get to where you’re supposed to be.” He spun towards ‘the pretty one’ and gestured at himself. “Do I need to change?”

“No, you’re fine. I can’t see any stains. I’m going to start lighting the candles.” She scurried away to grab matches from the kitchen. In the meantime, possibly Pierce sidled up beside him.

“Have you eaten?” he asked in the softest of whispers.

“No, I was busy.”

“Come to my room later, if you can.”

While it wasn’t outright forbidden for the servants to spend time with each other, it was frowned upon severely by their khastas. They’d given several excuses as to why they shouldn’t, but Alastaros was pretty sure it was because they thought they’d plan an escape or something. It wasn’t like they could, really. Their tattoos meant that everyone in Morrim would know who they belonged to, and they’d just be brought back. There was only one servant he could remember that had ever tried to run. He was the reason there was two empty bedrooms for servants instead of one, and it wasn’t because he’d succeeded.

“If it’s not safe, then don’t risk it. Eat this for now. It’ll keep your stomach quiet.” He passed him a small block of hard cheese that he devoured in approximately five seconds. “He didn’t tell me what to do. I’m going to assume I should stay out of the way. If he asks, I’m upstairs.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

When ‘the pretty one’ came back, he helped her in lighting all of the candles and lanterns. The whole room smelled absolutely heavenly. They finished in about two minutes flat and assumed positions at the opposite sides of the table, her by an antique painting and him by a tapestry and cabinet that was strictly for decoration.

Luck might not have been on his side earlier, but it was then. Cyprus and Eleanor took Nikolai upstairs to set his bags down first before bringing him down to eat. They entered the room and sat less than a minute after the two of them had settled into their places.

The first thought that registered in his head was that Nikolai was, much like his cousins, beautiful. He had their same black hair but shorter and curlier, eyes of rich, vibrant emerald that caught the flickering candlelight wonderfully, and slightly fuller lips than either of his cousins. His nose was more prominent than theirs in a fitting way; it didn’t just disappear into the paleness and sharp angles of his face. He was also nicely dressed, but in a deep green cloak and white undershirt, not in creams and navies.

The second thought that registered was that he should most definitely not stare at the young man. He’d heard bits and pieces about him over the years. Most of it was about how horrid he was to his own servants, although he had a vague memory that was suspicious in legitimacy of catching briefly that he liked plums. Either way, whether he enjoyed the fruit or not, Alastaros end up in trouble if their eyes met. He tilted his head down, subconsciously hiding his injury in shame, until the edge of his metal collar bit into his neck.

The stranger was in the middle of a story. His voice was like music. It crescendoed at the perfect moments and rose and fell in a lovely sort of way. “-and then I said that he was probably fit for a different occupation, if you know what I mean.” His laughter was sweet and warm and bright. “But all joking aside for a moment… ah, Cyprus, are you well?”

“I’m in perfect shape.”

“Are you sure? I mean no offense by this, but you’ve looked better, hava.” Hava was a new word to Alastaros. He figured it to be some sort of slang for cousin in a language he didn’t know and continued to stare holes into the floor.

“Admittedly it has been a difficult few weeks, but I’ve survived.”

Alastaros nearly snorted. A difficult few weeks for who, he wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want there to be three empty rooms, after all.

“I’m glad to hear it. I wish I’d been here sooner, but I got caught up in the mountains.”

“I really wish you’d consider moving in. We have extra rooms, you know,” Eleanor said wistfully. “And you could bring your servants, too. They could share rooms.”

“I know, I wish I could as well, but you know my home is elsewhere. Besides, I’d drive you both to madness in a week with my ramblings.”

“You most certainly wouldn’t, I assure you.” If he hadn’t known Cyprus, he would’ve said he was charming. Perhaps it was the same with his cousin. He made a mental note not to trust Nikolai. “But you know what is driving me to madness? My hunger. Are you in the mood to eat?”

“I am! It smells amazing in here.”

“Thank you,” Eleanor humbly said, smiling. A twinge of annoyance worked its way through her servant’s core. As if she had any right to say that. She’d done nothing at all to help set up the room.

“Unveil the first course.”

The female servant swiftly stepped forward and scooped servings of his vegetable dish into bowls. Once she was finished, she put the cloche back on top of the serving plate and retreated.

As usual, Eleanor and Cyprus said nothing about the food. They just ate it. He supposed he’d spoiled them; they were used to his cooking. Nikolai, on the other hand, wasn’t. After he swallowed the first bite, he was clearly in paradise.

“This is splendid. Might I ask who made this?”

“Of course. Garrhas, come here.”

For just a moment, his and Nikolai’s eyes met.

The other man dropped his gaze first.

“You’ve trained your servants well, I see,” he remarked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Cyprus said smugly, “they’re as well behaved as dogs.”

Alastaros wished he was dead.

“Dogs, huh?”

“Not to brag, but I’d even say better, really,” Eleanor chimed in.

“My father would be so proud of you two! You’ve made such great lives for yourselves out here. It’s impressive.”

“That means a lot. Thank you, Nikolai. I know he’d be proud of you, too. I’m sorry about his passing. He really was a great man, someone truly worth honoring.”

“Thank you, hava.”

The rest of the meal, including dessert, had a much lighter tone to it. Nobody at the table mentioned the servants again—except to call either of them forward to take away or open up dishes—or the deceased at all. In fact, the majority of the conversation was packed with boring details about travels, artifacts, old weapons, jewelry, maps, and hunting. Nikolai did most of the talking, although his cousins would occasionally join in with a tidbit of information or witty anecdote.

They stayed at the dinner table for longer than Alastaros was required. After he’d taken the last plate, he and the girl were dismissed to their rooms for the rest of the night. Neither one of them said a word on their way to the second floor. It was only once they passed by possibly Pierce’s door did she decide to speak.

“Go in quickly. I’ll keep watch. They shouldn’t be coming up for a few minutes, anyways.”

“Alright.” His nerves spiked as he rotated the knob and entered. Possibly Pierce was folding some of his clothes. He looked up when he heard the creaking, and Alastaros really took a second just to look at him. His skin was the color of a dark tea, his hair was just a shade darker, and his eyes were a pleasant sort of light greenish gold that instantly reminded him of his sister’s. There was an old scar across his lips that, if he had to guess, was most likely dealt by one of the pieces Cyprus’s large knife collection.

The chore was forgotten. Possibly Pierce came over to him and returned his stare.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” he joked in the same quiet, soothing voice he’d used earlier. “You should try and put something on that.”

“It’s not bad. Mostly, it’s my hip that hurts.”

“Make a heating pack before you go to bed and put it on it. It’ll help it. Now here,” scrambling back to his bed, he yanked a small pouch out from under his pillow, “take this and hide it in your room. You Can eat it later.”

“Why’re you doing this?”

“I don’t now. I heard what he called you, I guess, when that girl came in. It made me sick. You’re not a damn animal.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Don’t listen to him, alright?”

“You’re right.”

“Good. Now, get out of here. I don’t want either of us to get in trouble.”

Alastaros took three steps before, unable to resist, asking what his name was.

“Pierce Vanguard.”

“Alastaros Deviari.”

“Good luck, Alastaros.”

“You too.”

The girl smiled at him when he exited. She walked him to his own room before taking the hallway back to hers, leaving him standing there alone.

What a day it’d been. He wanted to call it quits and head in for a nice three day nap, but he still had work to do. What was that rhyme he’d heard once? He hummed it as he hid the bundle of food and made his way back to the kitchen. A troubled soul with a heavy head kept would have miles to go before he slept…

End of Section One, Part Two

(Hey, don’t worry too much about the speed of your replies. As long as you get them to me within, like, two days then you’re fine. Besides, it’ll take me a while to write out each bit, and I definitely understand your exam situation. School’s been tiring me out, too; that’s why you might see some grammar mistakes/unfinished sentences in the Part I just sent. I don’t have time to proofread them, sorry, because writing them takes up quite some time.

That being said, I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Here are your next questions!

1. Who would you rather see more of/learn more about: Nikolai or Pierce?
2. How did you feel about the punishments in this Part? Were they too much, fine, or not enough?
3. Would you like to amp up the drama in the next Part, or would you prefer to keep it on the same level as it already is? I know things happen fast in it sometimes, but it’s hard to make them seem longer sometimes without boring both you and me to death lol
4. How did you like the length of this Part? Did you feel like it should be longer? Shorter?
5. Is there anything in particular you’d like to request for the next Part?)

(Thanks, school really sucks the energy of you not gonna lie, and I'll make sure to make a mental note of the replying in two days' time thing.
And actually, I have no idea what you're talking about because that was perfect- flawless- believe me when I say I have never read such elegant writing like that, it almost makes me jealous of your skill with words ^^ heaven knows I can't write half as good)

1. Nikolai sounds like quite the character actually, very charismatic and everything a girl would want in a man, but uhh I'm gonna have to go with Pierce because he's such a sweetheart and I already love him-
2. The punishments seem appropriate for the situations given so far, I think you've done a pretty good job at balancing it all out, though I do want to strangle the hell out of Cyprus and his sister- like bad
3. Dude, I'm not gonna lie, I loved seeing your skills in action, I couldn't keep my mind off of the fact that your writing is so perfect- I know I'm saying this a lot but it's because I'm s h o o k at how good you are, color me impressed mi amigo
   but then again, some drama wouldn't hurt haha, I love seeing a little spice go into this, give it a little more flavor
4. So, my eyes grew the size of two saucers when I saw the length and I may or may not have let out a string of curses- but not in a bad way! It's just that this piece alone is probably more than anything I'v ever written in my life.
   But, I would like for them to be a little shorter, not because I don't like it, god knows I really do, but for your own sake. It takes a lot of time to whip some up like this and I don't want it stressing you out or anything
5. mmm, nah, it's okay, I don't have anything in mind at the moment, just keep doing what you're doing kid, it's wonderful-

(Ok! I mean obviously if you can reply before two days have passed then that’d be awesome, but I totally get it if not.
Thank you for all of the wonderful compliments you’ve given me, man. If I’m being honest, I haven’t had this much fun writing in a long time. I’m kind of proud of it, actually :’)
I’m eager to get back to writing it right now, so I’m gonna cut this little ramble off here for now. I hope you like the next Part just as much—I aim to write something that’ll be fun for both of us, after all.)

(And you should be! I'd be really proud if this was my writing!
Alrighty, I can't wait to see what you bring to the table next, I don't think I've been this excited to read something in a veerryy long time dude)

Section One, Part Three

A handful of long, hard days passed by at the mansion like a tornado, tearing away whatever tidbits of energy the servants had gained from the successful first night and leaving them all to futilely flounder about like fish out of water in hopes of catching their breath. The only time they hadn a smidgeon of privacy was when they were climbing exhaustedly into their own beds at night. Even then, however, they couldn’t always expect to be entirely unbothered. Cyprus had woken them all up one night with enough fury blazing in his eyes to make it feel with his every glare as if he were burning holes straight through their skin. He’d snapped his whip once at the ground, commanded them to be up and dressed within the next ten minutes, and strode out of there like he was off to partake in an honorable battle. They’d found him in four minutes flat in the entertainment room on the third floor with a cluster of darts in his hand. One by one, he’d lined them up against the wall by a dartboard he’d recently hung up. Alastaros was the closest to it. Luckily for him, his khasta was actually decent at the game. He hadn’t hit a single one of them. When he’d finished with the sport just about an hour later, he’d sent them back off to bed without another word. The next morning, none of them appeared to have gotten any sleep. They were clumsier, slower, shakier, and louder than normal, resulting in complaints from Eleanor. Every time they made a mistake, she’d whack the back of their legs with one of her canes as if to remind them of how they were supposed to act. Smack!—stand up straight—smack!—don’t let any glasses remain unfilled—smack!—offer Nikolai blankets if he even so much as shivered—smack, smack, smack! Their calves had blossomed with so many different shades of blacks and blues that they resembled some of the mansion’s more abstract pieces of artwork in the prize room.

During the middle of the forth day of Nikolai’s visit, Alastaros finally got a temporary reprieve from her frustrated attacks. He was told to go to the garden to pick fragrant buds from one of the bushes to put into the candles that he’d been ordered to make that very same day. Out he went into the freezing, biting cold in a thin black jacket that was about four sizes too big for him. It dangled off of his slender frame like a cape, not a coat, and threatened to fall off with his every step. Funnily enough, he remembered a time in which the loose article of clothing was actually almost too tight. The amount of weight he’d lost working at the mansion was shocking even to him. He didn’t hate it, oddly enough, feeling a guilty sort of pleasure whenever the sleeves slid down his arms. There’d always been guys in his village that had been better than him, whether it’d been physically or mentally, and, as a result, his old body had been much too soft for his liking. Though he knew it was silly, part of him hoped that if he just kept working to erase that softness—kept dropping pounds, kept pushing himself—then he’d manage to impress his khastas and they would cease their painful mockery of his looks. He was tired of the shame that erupted inside of him when they prodded at his stomach or cheeks with their canes or knives, snickering to each other loud enough that any other servants in the room could hear. Of course, he wasn’t the only one they treated in such a way, but he couldn’t help but take their jokes to heart.

His sister had always been gorgeous, his mother transcendent, but him? His
cooking was always the thing that’d set him apart, and even that was something he’d been teased for as a kid.

A deafening gust of wind brought him back to the present. Snow had caught on and weighed down his shoulders during his wallowing. He swiped it off with his bare, trembling fingers, then continued on his way to the bush. If his memory was right, it was in the back behind a row of particularly tall ferns. With the swiftness of a blind, deaf ox with a missing leg, he smushed, slid, and tripped his way around several flowerbeds and hopped a decorative vase. Panting, he stopped and looked around. His sense of direction was terrible, and it wasn’t helping that snowflakes had begun to gather on his eyelashes.

The rhythmic crunching of footsteps in the snow behind him caused him to startle. He spun around, expecting Cyprus to appear, but sighed as a much more welcome figure approached. Pierce smiled at him sincerely. He was in a knee-length black coat and matching pants that stood out against the stark whiteness of their surroundings.

“Hello.”

Alastaros nervously looked back at the mansion. He couldn’t really see it from so far out, but that did nothing to staunch the squeamishness that rose in his stomach.

Pierce followed his gaze. His smile turned grim. “Oh. Don’t worry, they can’t see us. They aren’t looking, anyway. I just set up a card game for them. It’ll keep them busy for a while. Louisa’s keeping watch on it for us.”

“Why’re you out here?”

“To help you.” He laughed, his breath turning to a cloud of mist in the frigid breeze. “I saw you come out earlier, and you didn’t come back in, so, well, I thought you might be lost. You don’t come out here that much—it’s mostly Louisa and I. What’re you looking for?”

“The mismaya bush. I’ve been trying to find it for a while now.”

“We’re not far from it. Want me to walk you there?”

“That sounds great, thanks.”

The two servants walked side-by-side through frozen hedges and over frost-bitten roots. Unlike Alastaros, Pierce had a natural talent for navigating the garden’s twisting corners and archways. He had to stop and wait several times for the other boy to catch up.

“How are your legs?” he asked, clearly trying to make conversation as Alastaros huffed for air.

“They’ve been better. Yours?”

“Mm, they ache. I’d like to ice them, but, well, you know. I don’t have a lot of time for that.”

“Why not do it now? You’re not busy and you’re knee deep in the stuff.” To illustrate his point, he kicked up a cloud of frosty white flakes with the tip of his shoe.

Pierce chuckled. “True, but I don’t have a cloth or anything to wrap it in. I can’t just put raw snow on my leg.”

“Raw?”

“Yeah, you heard me right.” They both laughed. Alastaros was surprised at how good it felt; he hadn’t truly done so in a long time, too long to remember. “Also, we’re here. The mismaya’s in that purple pot.”

Mismaya bushes were breathtaking in the winter. Literally. They were so aromatic that the scent of their leaves alone flooded the lungs like a cloud of smoke. Delightful smoke, nonetheless, but still smoke. Alastaros and Pierce both gasped a little as they neared it. Going from the weak, clean smell of winter to such a blast in the senses was indescribable.

Picking the buds from the bush was a difficult task because of its thorny branches. His slippery fingers managed to pluck a couple without getting pricked, but he couldn’t avoid his fate forever. When he pushed his arm in deeper to pinch and retrieve an elusive light blue bud, he was shivering so hard that he jerked his hand sideways. He hissed out a curse, pulled back his thumb, picked out the thorn, and frowned at the blood that was welling up on the pad.

“You alright?” Pierce, who’d been picking buds on the other side of the plant, came up behind him.

Alastaros stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it. The salty taste of his own blood made his nose crinkle.

“The thorns get you?”

“Mmhm,” he mumbled around his knuckle.

“It’s cause you’re not wearing gloves. Here, I’ve got mine in my coat. You keep your pockets open, and I’ll put the buds in them.”

“Alright.”

They did their job in silence for the first couple of minutes. Whenever Pierce resurfaced from his prompt picking and plucking with a cupped handful of the buds, he’d tug open his coat to pack them away inside of it safely. The petals dripped with thawing ice. Before too long, his side grew unpleasantly damp. He decided to put his mind off the miserable feeling and focus on the young man before him.

“Do you miss it?” he asked.

“Miss what? The smell of fresh air?” Pierce responded, jokingly gagging at the fragrant plant.

“Never mind.”

He lowered himself down from the tips of his toes and shuffled over with three or four of the flowers. “Hey, come on, you can tell me. I’m sorry for messing around.”

“Just… I don’t know. Everything about being,” he gestured towards the closest wall of the garden, “out there.”

“Every single day.” He tried to laugh, but it came out sad. “It’s the little things that get me, you know? Yeah, I miss my family, and I definitely miss my friends, but sometimes I just lie in bed thinking about all of the other things I can’t see or have in here. I used to always go to this one shop and I can’t stop thinking about the curry they make. Sometimes when I’m almost asleep I pretend I’m there. It almost feels like I can taste it.

“And there’s other things too, you know? I miss this river that was by my house. Every spring it’d burst into life with all of these beautiful flowers, and when I was really little I’d go down to its banks and pick a bouquet for my parents. That’s where my friends and I used to hang out. We’d swim, climb trees, and make up all of these games to play. Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of them. There was one where we were warriors defending a castle, I think, and another where we would pretend we were adventurers with these crazy magic powers. We’d have fake fights in the mud, casting ‘spells’ at each other until it was time to go home. When we were older, we mostly just went down there to have a place to talk and relax, but it was still nice. Nothing beat like laying out by the water in the summer. There was always a breeze going, and sometimes it’d rain so hard that we’d take shelter under rocks to avoid getting completely soaked.

“There’s a lot of other junk, but-“ He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. When they opened, they were glistening. “Look at me. I’m about to cry like a baby.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Don’t be sorry. Sometimes that stuff’s the only thing that keeps me going. It’s feels good to say it out loud. Reminds me of what I’m going to get back to when I get out of here someday.”

“You want to go back?”

“Don’t you?”

Alastaros shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to get out of here and see my family more than anything, but… I really don’t know.”

“Yeah? Are you a big traveler?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then why don’t you want to go home?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. It’s weird to wonder what the people I knew would think of me if they saw who I am now.”

“Are you… uh, are you ashamed of yourself?” When he didn’t answer, Pierce’s shoulders slumped. “You are. Why? Nothing that’s happened to you is your fault—you have to know that, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Why not?” interjected a new voice. They both tensed. Fear hotter than a lump of coal settled into Alastaros’s heart. He turned to find himself facing his worst nightmare.

Cyprus was shaking. Not from the cold, no, but from something deep inside, an ailment of the mind; the kind that turned men into monsters ready to unleash upon the world the agony of their heart. His eyes were wide with venomous wrath, his skin was flushed a bright reddish purple, and he appeared to be staggering. When he dragged a hand across his mouth, it came away smeared crimson. Thin rivulets of blood dripped from a cut in his lip onto the rumpled collar of his shirt. In his white-knuckled grip was the hilt of his black whip. Despite how much he was trembling, his hand was terrifyingly steady.

He looked ready to kill.

“Khasta,” Pierce breathed.

“You two seemed to be having an awfully good chat. Why not proceed?”

“You- you were- playing cards, and I thought-“

“Shut up and get on your knees,” he snarled. They immediately followed his command. Although neither looked at each other, they both seemed to realize the same thing. This was no little game, no round of darts in the game room, no playful jab or scathing remark.

“Khasta, it’s not-“ Pierce started slowly, apologetically, and flinched as Cyprus seized him by the jaw.

“You know what?” he growled, voice as low as it was lethal. “I’m sick and tired of my servants thinking they can do or say whatever they please. I did not send you out here, did I, suvam?” That was a Morrim word that Alastaros actually knew. It meant maggot; rotting one; filth; gutless.

“You did not. I’m sorry, khasta, I just-“
his words trailed off in a squeak as Cyprus dug his nails into his cheek. The blood on his knuckles from his lip smeared the skin by his nose.

“Why should I keep you around if you won’t listen to me?”

“I’m really sorry, I-“

“No. No! I want to hear it. Tell me why you should stay.” His words dropped to a whisper. “Beg for your life.”

Pierce’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times. He swallowed a panicked breath of air before directing his wide eyes foolishly to the other servant. Cyprus yanked him upwards so fast that Alastaros nearly missed it. His heart began to race.

Cyprus had a knife.

“You’ve been a real pain in my side for the last few weeks, suvam. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you slacking.”

“I- I-“

“You what? What is it? You want to tell me that you’re sorry? You want to tell me that you’ll never do it again? We both know that’s not true. You haven’t stopped running your mouth since day one.” He leaned in close. “I think it’s time I shut you up for good. I don’t need you—I don’t need any of you. I can get more of you anytime I please, you especially. See, suvam, there’s nothing you could’ve said to change my mind about this. You’ve always been worthless to me. I should’ve realized it earlier, but I figured you’d change. I figured I just had to beat the disobedience out of you. But I tried that, didn’t I? I’ve beaten you over and over again. I’ve cut up your face and twisted your ankle. You haven’t learned.”

“Khasta, this was my mistake,” Alastaros pleaded. “I asked him to show me where the mismaya plant was earlier, so we came out here together. He wouldn’t have if I didn’t ask.”

“You think I believe that?”

His lungs squeezed like they were in a vice as a wave of bile rose into his throat.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget right here, right now, garrhas, for lying to me. And every time you think about misbehaving in the future, you’ll think of this.”

“No!”

The world turned into a blur. He didn’t remember getting to his feet, but there he was, standing tall, yanking and slapping at his khasta’s wrists. Thankfully, the knife had fallen into the snow. Unthankfully, his khasta had never looked so furious in his three years of service.

“You do not touch me!” Cyprus screamed, and then there it was, a horrid slapping sound followed by a stinging, slicing, excruciating pain, the first crack of his weapon of choice. Alastaros choked on his own spit in an attempt to cry out. His vision went blank—no, white, he was face down on the ground—and his body spasmed. Someone started to grab at his jacket. Let it be Pierce, he hoped desperately, knowing that it wasn’t. Pierce didn’t have deathly pale hands. Pierce wasn’t rough.

“Do you know, garrhas, what happens to dogs when they bite their masters? Do you?”

“I’m sorry, please, please-“ his sentence was punctured with a wheeze. Cyprus’s boot was pressing into the back of his neck, hard, so hard that spots danced in his vision. “Don’t! Don’t, please! I’m sorry, I’m so-“

This time, he was cut off with a blood-curdling screech—his own, to be precise. The whip had come down again, this time on his exposed back. It bit into his flesh over and over again, raining down in torrential blows, before he could say or think anything else. He couldn’t tell anymore whether the wetness he was feeling was snow or blood.

“I should just stab you now.” He was rambling. In between every word was another crack of the whip, another mind-numbing pain that shot through his entire body. “I want to—I really, really want to—but I want this first, I-“

“Please, please-“

“-should’ve been doing this all along. It would’ve saved me so, so much trouble-

“Damn it!” Alastaros howled. He dry retched and wheezed roughly afterwards. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. He needed to run- no, he needed to- he couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t-

The beating halted for a brief moment, and footsteps started in the other direction. Words were said. He couldn’t tell what they were; he could only hear his heartbeat, thready uneven, frighteningly fast.

When the whipping started again, Alastaros couldn’t take it. He went unconscious for a brief, almost pleasant moment, then woke with blurred vision. Cyprus was breathing nearly as hard as him. That made him glad. He hoped he’d run out of air. He hoped he’d die, and that Cyprus would die beside him. He hoped Pierce would get to see his river again.

The pain stopped again. More words were exchanged. Alastaros didn’t care. He drooled onto the ground openly, letting his spit mingle with his tears and blood in the snow.

A hand touched his shoulder—or what was left of it, anyways, it was shredded to bits—and he heard a soft voice buzzing above his head. Not Cyprus’s. Whose was it? Eleanor’s? Surely not. It had to be Pierce’s. That was nice. What was Pierce doing? He was saying a lot of things. He tried to listen.

“—ou’re going to be alright. I’ve got you. Do you think you can get up? I need you to get up.”

“Wha?” Was that his own voice? Why did it sound like that?

“Give me your hands, I’ll pull you up. I’m taking you inside.”

He tried to raise his arms. Instead, he passed out again. When he came to, he was sitting on the edge of a bathtub. Something was being dabbed at his back. It hurt, but he was almost too numb to feel it. He’d been out in the cold for so, so long. Wasn’t that bad? He couldn’t remember.

“Hey there,” Pierce murmured. His eyes swam in the other servant’s vision. Why were they so red? Had he been crying?

“Why’re ‘ou- why’re ‘ou cryin’?” he slurred.

“Shh, I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“But tha’s bad, cryin’. ‘Ou’ll get ‘n trouble.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Save your energy.”

“But- but-“

“Shh, it’s fine. You’re going to be alright.”

“Where’s Cyp- Cyp-“

“Don’t worry about that. You’re safe.”

“Wha?”

“You’ll see in a minute. Just breathe for me, mm?”

“Am I dyin’?”

“I… I hope not.”

The door swung open. They both flinched. Cyprus entered, his clothes still stained red, next to Nikolai, who was blank-faced.

“Are you sure about this? He isn’t in the greatest condition, and he’s prone to acting out,” his khasta said. He still sounded out of breath.

“I’ve thought it over.”

“None other will do? It has to be him?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“His cooking was exquisite. As of right now, I don’t own a single servant that can do what he can. I haven’t eaten such a wonderful meal in years.”

“But surely you can find someone else who can cook,” he protested. Pierce paused whatever he was doing to Alastaros’s back and glanced down. “He’s a pest. Out of all my servants, he’s the least loyal. He’s a badly behaved mutt; I think it’s because of his blood.”

“I could use a challenge, hava. Life has been a bit too easy lately. Too much wine, too many festivities. It’s all gotten repetitive. Surely someone as passionate and hardworking as yourself can understand.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cyprus responded earnestly.

“Then will you agree to the trade? The three first editions for this servant?”

“Of course! Anything for you, Nikolai. I think you’re making a mistake, but you know that I respect you and will therefore respect your decision.”

“Excellent. I will take him home with me in about an hour’s time.”

“You’re leaving tonight? But you haven’t been here a week!”

“I know that it’s unfortunate, but I have just received news today that my presence is requested by the court of my city. I am to be granted an award of some sort, and it does my reputation well to show up.”

“I understand. Suvam!” he yelled, changing both his tone and direction. “Get up and pack up Nikolai’s belongings. You too, garrhas. Tell the others to help.”

“Actually, hava, do you mind if I take a moment to examine my purchase?”

“Oh. Ah, absolutely, do as you wish. I’ll go inform Eleanor of your departure. She’ll be devastated, you know.”

“Tell her I’ll be back in two weeks with the books. That should cheer her up.”

Cyprus and Pierce hastily left the bathroom, each heading their separate ways. Without the support of his friend, the aching servant slumped over partially. In doing so, his eyes met directly with a pair of empty green ones.

The door shut, followed by the small click of a lock. Alastaros, not for the first time that day, froze.

He was alone with Nikolai.

-End of Section One-

(I think I was a little off on my balance this time in terms of description. It’ll be better next Part, I promise—I just had a really busy few days and didn’t have as much time to think things out as clearly.

Question time!

1. You seemed to like Pierce, which is a surprise to me. He originally wasn’t going to be a big character at all. Unfortunately, he’s probably not going to be featured in person again for quite some time (if at all). Would you like to see him again in the future?
2. How are you feeling about the drama? Was that enough? There won’t be as much in the next few Parts, I swear. I know that was a little fast in terms of pacing.
3. Have you liked any developments in this Section as a whole, not just Part, that I’ve made in terms of Alastaros’s character (his body issues, cooking skills, traits, etc.)? Disliked? Be honest :D
4. Would you like to learn more about Cyprus, or are you satisfied with him being a mystery?
5. I know there aren’t many plot twists in this Part, so I can’t exactly ask about them, but were you surprised by how it ended?
6. Once again, is there anything you’d like to see in the next Part?

Brief Side Note: Each Section will have three Parts. I’m not sure how many Sections there will end up being, but I don’t plan to end it anytime soon.

There might be some stuff that’s confusing, by the way, but it’ll all be cleared up in the next Section. Also, as usual, I apologize for any grammar mistakes/sentences I forgot to finish. I’ve been typing all of this in the notes on my phone aha)

1. You: Unfortunately, he’s probably not going to be featured in person again for quite some time (if at all)
   Me:
   
   but yeah I want to see him again! He a v nice boyo! I really like him, he so soff !
2. No, no, it's okay! I'm actually really curious as to where this is going to go now! And yeah, the drama was enough- i almost shit myself when Cyprus showed up- i mean, i knew it was going to happen but i got so absorbed in their conversation that i forgot lmaoo
3. hmmm, that's a tough one, but if I had to say anything about it, it wouldn't be anything I disliked, but more like I feel something is missing but I don't know what that is-
   Like, I love Alastros, I really do, but maybe if you added a little more character to him than just cooking, it would feel a little livelier? I don't know if that's just me though, cause I love action packed stuff, but then again he was kind of restricted in the house by the Khasta's so that may be why, but overall, everything is super cool!!
4. Y'know, I've always had this thing about villains. I know that they are the way they are because of probably some unfortunate events, but I always love to see what makes them tick- what happened for them to get that way? Are they just bitter naturally? Or did something happen? So yeah, I think i would like to see a little more of him
5. Was I surprised? Yes and no. No, because I knew something like that had to happen, and yes, because of the timing of when it happened. I guess I wasn't expecting for it to come that quick haha
6. The next part? hmmmm, maybe get to know more about Nikolai? I'd also love to see how Alastros reacts and what his thoughts are!! I love getting inside the mind of the main character, it makes things more interesting!

(kab'su wn ao;urbrhd8, how daRE- !! You don't need to apologize about anything ! >:(( I love seeing what you bring to the table and it's very entertaining for me, so if anything, I should be thanking you for making this!! It's a work of art dude! But! If you get busy like that again, don't worry about it! Because at the end of the day, we writers have lives too, so it's okay to take a few days off, I don't mind it! I know I have a lot of stuff to do over here on my end too because of school, so I get that kinda thing)
_{also, don't worry about putting trigger warnings, im a very tough boyo and I got this! Well, most of the time anyways, I do cri if I see someone I like die-}

(I’m sorry the pikachu meme really just killed me 10/10 perfect execution
And ok yeah I definitely get what you’re saying about Alastaros’s character. I’ll be sure to consider that when writing! I also understand the villains thing. Villains are pretty rad, and even though their backstories don’t exactly excuse their actions it’s cool to see how they impacted them.
Ok not gonna lie I’ve literally been checking Notebook every 3 minutes to see if you responded not to sound wack but lol I am still so hyped
Unfortunately there isn’t going to be that much direct action in the upcoming Part—I can’t believe we’re already at Section Two, tho!—because it’s going to be more of an exposition type deal, but things will get more intense after that
I’m totally excited to see what you think of Nikolai in the next Section too
anyway it’s time to get back to work!!!)

(Ahahaha sorry bout that, I answered then went straight back to bed cause I was dead tired dude! I stayed up really really late lmao

ahhhhh I'm really excited as to what you've got mi amigo!!! Oof and dang, we really are that far along already!
But its okay if we take a little break from the violence for a bit, tis never hurt anyone!)

Section Two, Part One

For a long, torturous minute, neither Alastaros nor Nikolai spoke. The former did his best to take in his company and if he’d heard right, which was doubtful in his dizzy state, new owner. Collecting his thoughts was as difficult as threading a needle with a frayed string. They continuously popped up and slipped away into the foggy corners of his head before he could give them attention for more than five steady seconds. What he did know for sure was that he was in a dangerous situation and that his best hope of escaping it was to die. He tried for a minute to do so; it was no use. For as close as he was to his end, it eluded his grasp.

The raven-haired young man was the first to make a move. His jade green pants creased as he dropped down to his knees before his servant and tipped his head downwards. He appeared to be mumbling something. Alastaros did his best to comprehend the soft stream of words and caught, “-ease forgive me. I should not have waited for as long as I did. I was foolish—goodness, I was so foolish, wasn’t I? And now if you- there’s no delicate way of saying it, is there? If you die, it’ll be my fault.”

“Wha?” he asked, instantly regretting it. Nikolai looked directly up at him. Alastaros, remembering faintly his manners, fixed his gaze elsewhere.

“Oh, it’s a miracle that you’re still conscious. Pierce put some numbing solution into your wounds, but he couldn’t use too much without overwhelming your system. Um, that being said- how do you feel?”

“Why’re ‘ou whisperin’?”

“This bathroom isn’t that big, and I’m afraid that one of my cousins might hear me. You’re slurring quite a lot. How’s your head?”

“Uh,” Alastaros said in response. He’d already forgotten the question. He shivered at the melting ice that was still dripping down his chest and started to wrap his arms around himself, only to stop at the fierce pain that ripped through him at the movement.

“You must be freezing. I’ll bet you have hypothermia.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nikolai glance to the door and get back to his feet. “I do wish they’d hurry. The sooner I get you home, the sooner I can get you by a fire.”

The whole scene was bizarre, even to one as mentally muddled and mixed up as the servant. He couldn’t understand what game Nikolai was playing. He was putting on a very good front, admittedly, but there was clearly something sinister behind it. There had to be. It was likely that he was trying to manipulate him, possibly so that he’d feel grateful for his assistance. That was it, surely. He’d play the lifesaver card for the years to come until he realized, just as Cyprus did, that he’d be much more useful in the ground as fertilizer than he was as a servant. He just hoped the revelation wouldn’t take as long this time around. Three years was a long time to spend walking around on eggshells.

“Alright, Pierce just gave me word that my luggage is about ready. He’s going to help you down to my carriage. Do you think you can stand?”

He heard the words, but he couldn’t process them. Had his head been filled with cotton? He became very alarmed suddenly that it had, but his arms were too heavy to lift to check. Had they been stuffed with lead? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He was just tired, tired, tired—why was he so tired?

Three years was a long time to spend so worn out.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Could he hear him? His brain registered sounds distantly, like he was hearing somebody speak through a mouthful of water or syrup. Why was he thinking about syrup? Why was his back so wet? Had he spilled syrup on it? That wasn’t good; he’d get in trouble for that. Someone else was getting in trouble for something, weren’t they? Or had they already? Had he? Why was the word crying stuck in his head? Who was crying? Not him. Not the person in front of him, looking oh-so worried. Who were they? He knew their name, he was a thousand percent certain that he did, but he couldn’t recall it at all.

Three years was a long time to spend forgetting the names and faces of his home.

“Are you alright?”

He wasn’t.

Three years was a long time to spend being so, so not alright.

Where was he? Why was he tilting to the side? Why was he falling over?

Who was he?

“Hey- hey! Stay with…”

He passed out again.

Days later, when he woke up in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, he’d recall only small pieces of how he’d gotten there. He remembered Pierce’s arm around his waist and the sound of sobs almost too quiet to hear. He remembered hearing him say, softly, so, so softly, “I wish I could’ve known you. Be happy for me,” before lifting him into the back seat of a carriage and laying his head down gently. He remembered reclining on his stomach with his eyes closed and his cheek pressed against a plush seat that smelled of leather. He remembered hearing a lovely voice ask a question before feeling cold fingers press into his neck to check his pulse. He remembered the snap of a whip, a story of a river, the strong scent of a flower, and a purple pot. He couldn’t remember much else.

The room he was in was painted the color of cream. It took him a moment to realize why he felt such an abhorrence for it. He rolled onto his side to get away from it and whimpered as his back flared up in agony. That explained the whip sounds, then. What had, he wondered, he gotten whipped for, and who had wrapped his torso so nicely in bandages? Not Eleanor or Cyprus. Could it have been Pierce? Why had he looked so sad?

“You’re awake.”

Alastaros jumped. He hadn’t seen Nikolai. The green-eyed cousin of his khasta was sitting in a rocking chair beside the bed.

“How are you feeling? Not well, I’d imagine.”

“I’m…” He was at a loss for words. Why was Nikolai there? Where was he? He needed to answer, he knew, but his mouth didn’t feel like it was connected to his head.

“You look confused.”

He nodded.

“What’re you confused about? Do you, um,” his voice, which had previously been too loud for Alastaros’s weary head, dropped in volume, “remember what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to get back to sleep?”

He’d been given a choice. Funny, he hadn’t had a real choice in such a long time. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to make Nikolai mad, after all. Not answering at all was definitely not an option, though, so he managed a simple, “What would you wish me to do?

That seemed to sadden him; his eyebrows scrunched together, and his handsome features fell. “Oh, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“How… hard it is, I guess, to talk to you guys at first. I don’t mean that in a rude way, of course. It isn’t your fault.”

That struck a chord in Alastaros. He could remember someone saying that—who he wasn’t sure, but he’d definitely heard it.

“I know what I should do. Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Nikolai Zayad, and you are?”

“Alastaros Deviari.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

“Why…” Alastaros bit his lip. “Why are we meeting?”

“I bought you from my cousin a few days ago.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “I understand, khasta. Thank you for your patience.”

“Don’t-” Nikolai dropped his head into his palms, and Alastaros flinched. He didn’t look like he was going to lash out, but he knew better than to let his guard down.

“I’m sorry, khasta, did I do something wrong?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Oh. As you wish. What would you prefer?”

“Nikolai.”

“But that’s-” He cut himself off. Refusing an order was the best way to end himself up in trouble. “Excuse my poor manners, please. I was just confused as to why you would request me to use your name. Would you not prefer a different term? Master, perhaps? Sir?”

“No, my name will do fine. Unless there’s something else you want to call me.”

Alastaros was incredibly frustrated. Talking to him was like performing an elaborate dance without knowing any of the steps. He hadn’t messed up yet, or at least he didn’t think he had, but he was scared that he’d trip at any second. Cyprus and Eleanor had been different. Oddly enough, he almost missed them.

“There is nothing that comes to mind, kh- sorry, I mean Ni- Niko-”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about that now. It’ll take some time getting used to. I know this is probably a lot to handle.”

Finally, they’d reached a spot in the conversation that he was familiar with. He knew exactly how to respond. “It is nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.”

Nikolai looked up and groaned. “This is going poorly, isn’t it? You’ll have to excuse me, I’m really trying my best.”

“Of course you are, and I thank you graciously for it.”

“No, don’t thank me. Please, it’s more than I think I can handle.”

“Oh.” Damn it, Alastaros thought, he’d been wrong once more. “Of… of course, kh- uh.”

“You should hate me.”

That had to be a trap. “I do not. Unless, of course, you wish me to. Would that please you?”

“No, it wouldn’t. Here, let me give this another go. I bought you and brought you here, but I didn’t really buy you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he responded confidently, not understanding in the slightest.

The faintest hint of a smile played across his new khasta’s lips. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He said nothing. Either way, he’d be caught. In the dance of their conversation, he’d basically just stepped on his partner’s foot. Fury was sure to ensue.

“That’s alright, I’m doing a horrible job.”

Or not.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re free now. Well, sort of. You’re probably wondering where we are. Welcome to Whikhash. It’s decently far from where you were in Morrim—we’re in the mountains now, and we had to go through the forest. Without the snow, the trip takes about half a day. With it, it was about sixteen hours, maybe a little more. That’s besides the point, though. What’s important is that you’re safe now. Out here, forced servitude is frowned upon by most. It’s illegal, actually. I really don’t own you. In fact, I’d let you go back to your house and family, if you’d like… but I kind of can’t. You’re not the only one here. There are several others like you. Three girls and two boys and, well, me. I’m not like you guys, though. Sorry, I’m getting off track. Like I said, I’d let you all go anywhere you please and never see me again, but your markings… the tattoos on your hands mean that if I do, then you’ll probably be caught by bounty hunters. And I won’t be able to get you out again if those bounty hunters bring you back to your original owners. Plus, if anyone found out that I’d been taking and releasing you guys, my reputation with them would be ruined. I wouldn’t be able to help any of you ever again. No one outside of Whikhash would trust me. I could live with their hatred, I could, they’re all monsters, but I can’t live knowing you guys are still out there being treated so poorly. So you’re free, but you have to be free here.” He crossed his arms and frowned a little. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. It’s not always so bad here. I go on trips a lot, and I try and take you guys if I can. If I can, I sneak your families and friends in here to visit, too.”

“Oh.” And that’s all Alastaros could really say. He was still trying his best to figure out Nikolai’s game. Was he trying to lure him into some sort of false sense of security? That was messed up. He seemed so sincere—or, at the very least, his acting was really on point.

“You don’t seem pleased, is something wrong?”

“I don’t… know if I believe you.”

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t believe me, either.” A new look swept over him: curiosity. “How long were you with my cousins, Alastaros?”

Instantly, he said, “Three years, give or take a couple of weeks.”

“Three years? That’s… wow. That’s a long time.”

“It is.”

“Was. You’re not there anymore, and you’ll never be going back.”

“Why?”

Nikolai smoothed a hand through his thick hair, messing it up. Under the pale light of the winter afternoon that drifted in through a window to his side, he looked strange. Inhuman, almost, but not in a scary way. It was like he was staring at one of the artworks Eleanor kept in her part of the prize room. He was a marble sculpture with shards of gems for eyes and a near heartbreaking hopefulness etched into his every feature. When he tilted his head up, the marble warped considerably. He had dark bags under his eyes and bitten lips, lines in his forehead and a strain to him that spoke of stress beyond his years.

“Why what? Why am I doing this, or why are you not there anymore?”

“Why am I here?”

“You really don’t remember it, then. Makes sense. You were going in and out of consciousness. I’m not sure why, but you were out in the garden. Pierce had just set up a game of cards for my cousins and I when he left to go take care of other business, which, as it turned out later, was helping you. Another girl was left in charge of assisting us. After a while, I noticed that Cyprus was becoming agitated. I asked if he wanted to leave the game where it was; he said yes. I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do. Eleanor went back to her room and me to mine. About- well, I don’t know how many minutes later, Pierce came sprinting into my room shouting bloody murder about, uh, bloody murder. I immediately asked him to calm down, of course, but he was a mess. By the time I finally got him to explain what was happening, Cyprus had whipped you into a pulp. I decided to buy you and bring you here in hopes of your recovery.”

“Why’d Pierce come to you?”

“That’s the thing. You have to understand, Pierce is a good kid. He’s strong—much stronger than an eighteen-year-old has any right to be. And he has a big heart. That’s why I… I was originally going to bring him here. I told him about it one night after everyone else had gone to bed. He was ecstatic. When it came down to that day, though, he decided your life was his top priority.”

Both dread and awe flooded Alastaros’s veins. “So you took me instead, just like he asked.”

“I did. I asked him if he was sure about it, but he was dead certain.”

“And now he’s probably just dead,” he whispered. Tears prickled in his eyes. He drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring his aching back, and tried to steady himself. His whole world had been thrown off kilter. Someone he’d barely known—a boy he’d literally met twice—had willingly thrown away his happiness, his sanity, his life, even, to save him.

Pierce’s words—likely the last he’d ever heard—bounced around and around in his head.

‘I wish I could’ve known you. Be happy for me.’

‘Be happy for me.’

‘Be happy-’

Alastaros shattered.

How ironic was it, he bitterly thought, that even miles away from his old mansion he’d still be so thoroughly controlled by it? He was crying tearlessly, soundlessly, into his legs, shaking like there was no tomorrow.

“What is it? Are you seizing?” Nikolai was on the bed in a flash. When Alastaros jerked away, he retracted his hand. “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I was going to see if you had a fever, but that’s not it, is it? You’re… I see that I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll go, if you’d like.”

“You were right,” he hoarsely said in response.

“I was? About what?

“I do hate you.”

He pursed his lips. “I know.”

“I wish you’d let me die.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I-”

“Leave me alone!” he screamed, curling his fingers into fists so hard that his knuckles hurt. Nikolai got up in a hurry and stumbled backwards to the door. Fear flashed through his eyes. It was chased away by sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I hope you can learn to like it here, I do.”

“Please just go away,” Alastaros croaked.

“Alright. Shout for me if you need me. And… Alastaros?”

He said nothing, too wrecked by his sobs to bother throwing out an answer

“You’re not the only one, you know. I hate me, too,” he muttered, then let the door shut with a click and walked away.

End of Section Two, Part One

(Before anything is brought into question about the length of this part aha I know, I know. This was a shorter Part not because I was lazy but because the really long description Part comes next and I didn’t want to have two parts of solely description because I know that can be boring.

It’s that time of the day—question time!

1. Would you rather meet the other servants first or take a grand tour of the new mansion? I promise that this is the only other big setting swap that’ll happen anytime soon lol there definitely won’t be like a new mansion every Section that’d get exhausting
2. Did you like the food scene in the first Section, and would you like something similar to that again in this one?
3. Do you like Nikolai’s character more or less so than in the first Section? Were you expecting something similar to this, or did it surprise you a bit?
4. Anything else you wanna add?

Also I haven’t forgotten about Cyprus’s background reveal or any of that it just didn’t feel right to shove it in there so uh that’ll come later

As always thanks for reading and I hope you’re still enjoying it!)

(Oh no, it's all cool with me, I'd say it was still preettyy long, it was fantastic tho cause they got to talk! Alastros thoughts made me sad >:'( but it's okay because that's what i asked for but now i feel so b a d fOR HIM-)

1. OoooOOooOo i would like to see the description for the mansion, you're so good at doing those that i really love it!
   Ahahaha thats true, descriptions can be hard to do sometimes, well, for me anyways lmao
2. bsgxisvd, "hv shskxixgsso I WOULD LOVE ANOTHER FOOD SCENE
3. Bro i love Niko, he's ao sweet and he's really trying his best BUT IM SO WORRIED AND SHOOK BECAUSE OF WHAT PIERCE DID- HE'S GOING TO DIE ISN'T HE
   But i got to say that it did kind of surprise me that Niko was going to take Alastros, i was not expecting that-
4. Yes. You cannot kill my baby Pierce, you caNNOT-

(It's alright haha, and I am!! I can't wait to see what happens next dude, Alastros and Pierce have broken my oh so fragile heart lol I wanna see how Alastros reacts to this new found "freedom")

Section Two, Part Two

The sky in winter in Whikhash was different than the one in Morrim. It, like the skin of a corpse, was a stomach-churning gray tint that would make even the hearts of the bravest soldiers sting. The clouds that hung in it sagged like they were ill, and not a single bird dared to swim in its ghastly murk. For hours upon hours, Alastaros stared at it from his place entangled in the bed’s sheets. He didn’t want to move. There was a whole new world to explore outside the door that Nikolai had left through, but he couldn’t bear to see it. He didn’t deserve to. All he wanted to do was to stay with his head on the all-too-comfortable pillow beneath him until dehydration overwhelmed him and he slipped away. Maybe then Nikolai would have a reason to go fetch Pierce—if he was still alive.

He was so pathetically stupid. Kind-hearted, hopeful Pierce had been just a day or so away from happiness, and he just had to have intervened. He wished he could remember exactly what had happened. Hearing Nikolai explain the events of the day had been like listening to someone read a diary entry about him aloud. None of it was that familiar. If he really focused he could maybe picture what his beating might have looked like, but it was always from the point of view of an outsider, never his own.

His mouth tasted chalky. He licked his lips and shifted onto his stomach to give his back a break. The lacy edge of one of the blankets caught on the side of a bandage as he did so, and a tingle of morbid excitement rushed through him at the pain the tugging of his skin caused. If he tried hard enough, he could rip it off; then, he supposed, letting his arms cross and cradle his head on the pillow, he’d likely bleed out. Nikolai could simply tell Cyprus he’d done so, go buy Pierce, and things would be right. Pierce would appreciate the bed. Pierce would love the sky. Pierce would make friends with the others, definitely, and not outright offend and scare off the person helping him.

He disgusted himself.

Somebody knocked on the door. Merely the thought of his new owner was enough to darken his thoughts. He pushed himself up onto his elbows limply and growled, hoping it would agitate the man, “I already told you to leave me alone.”

There was a spot of quiet before the door clicked open. A stranger with a deep, melodious, and richly accented voice responded with the lilt of someone telling a joke, “No, I don’t think you did.”

Alastaros tried to twist around to get a glimpse of the unfamiliar person, who he had a suspicion was a girl—possibly from somewhere far away judging by the roundness of her vowels—and ended up in excruciating agony. Whoever it was came to his side to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. They hummed to him encouraging whispers until the last of the dots in his vision faded away. Their palm was soft and sweaty. He unconsciously leaned into it, sighing, and caught a hint of a fruity, sugary smell that made his stomach rumble. Up until that moment he really hadn’t been hungry at all, but suddenly all he wanted was to be at home in his old kitchen, stirring up some fruit jam for a tart.

“Lullay, lullay,” the person soothed in their calm, hushed way, “it’s just a little pain, that’s all. You’re alright.”

“Who are you?”

“Would you like to see?” The stranger stopped to wait for a nod, then helped him to sit up. He’d been right in that it was a girl. She had beautiful dark skin and a mane of tight black curls that bounced when she moved. Much to his surprise, she was also pregnant. Heavily so, too. A strip of her round stomach peeked out between the fluffy jacket and matching pajama pants she wore when she moved to push back a strand of hair that’d fallen into his face.

“My name‘s Kalila.”

“Alastaros.”

She had a laugh like honey. “Oh, voja, I know who you are.“

“You do?”

“I do. You’re all Niko’s been talking about for the past few days.”

“Oh.” For an undetectable reason, that made him feel small. He shrunk in on himself and pulled his blankets closer.

“Can I sit?” she asked.

“If you want.”

It took her a couple of seconds to lower herself onto the comforter. In the meantime, Alastaros observed her further. She had a rosiness about her that made her brass-colored eyes and plump cheeks incredibly likable.

“Alastaros is a fascinating name. I’ve never heard it before. Does it mean anything?”

“Not really. Does Kalila?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, actually. My mama always tells me something different whenever I ask. One day it’s ‘radiant beauty’, the next it’s ‘lovely flower’. Between you and me, I think she just made it up.”

“That’s nice.” Frantically, he searched his mind for something to say. The first thing that popped up was, “How, uh, old are you?”

“Seventeen, about to be eighteen. You?”

“Nineteen.” It was bewildering that she was younger than him. So far, she’d been nothing but mature and confident. He would’ve guessed twenty-one if he’d been asked, possibly even twenty-two.

She must’ve caught onto his confusion because she smiled patiently. “I have an idea of you might be thinking. It’s alright, go ahead and say it. I won’t be upset.”

“Isn’t seventeen a bit young to be…” He gestured vaguely to his stomach.

“Yes, it is. If I could’ve, I would’ve waited until I was older. But that wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was assaulted, voja.”

“By-“ he cut himself off, queasy at the thought. Maybe it was better that he’d ended up in such a place instead of Pierce. He was already messed up; the other boy, at least, still had some of his innocence, some of his will to fight. “By Nikolai?”

That caught her off guard. She blinked, slowly mouthing the words, grinned, and then burst out laughing. When she was finished, she emphatically shook her head three or four times.

“No! Niko’s a sweetheart, really. No, it was my old master, the one he took me away from. He was a mean old pervert. Never touched any of the guys, but, well, I’m sure you can imagine what happened to us girls. Made us wear short skirts and heels every hour of the day. Unless he called us to his room, of course, in which case there was no uniform.”

“That’s… disgusting. I’m sorry.”

“Mm, it’s alright. I recently heard that the place burned down with him inside of it, which isn’t surprising. Niko’s actually trying to see if he can track down some of the girls that escaped to bring them here.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Not at all.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that he isn’t exactly interested in that sort of thing.“

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Besides, it’s like I said. He’s too sweet to do anything like that. He’s also far too busy. If he’s not helping out around the house or in the town, he’s up in the attic, working away on his next big project. And before you ask, he fixes up books. That’s his main job. People will bring over their favorite childhood stories or import their expensive, ancient first editions, and he’ll spend hours patching them up. I’ve seen him at it. It’s kind of boring to watch, actually. I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have anything like that you like to do? Any hobbies, I mean?”

“Not many. I like to cook.” Admitting it made him blush. Compared to her, he felt silly and insignificant, like everything he’d been through was such a small deal that he should’ve already forgotten about it.

Her eyes lit up. “Cook? You’re not joking, are you?”

“Uh… no, I’m not. Is that bad?”

“No, it’s amazing! All of us are terrible at it! I mean, not Eko, but he’s usually working when dinner rolls around.” She giggled loudly. “I need to show you the kitchen! You’ll love it!”

“I don’t-“

“And the pantry! We keep getting all of these fancy ingredients as gifts from neighbors, but none of us know how to use them. Niko and Marin usually just put them on toast. That gets kind of old, though.”

“I-“

“Marin’s going to be so excited to meet you. She can be such a handful sometimes around new people. You might have to shake her off your leg! She’ll especially love you if you can cook, she-“

“Stop!”

Rather than jump, she just tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry. Did I say something that upset you, voja?”

“Stop calling me that! I don’t know what it means! I don’t know you! I don’t- don’t-“ His lip quivered. He looked away. “Damn it.”

“You don’t have to act so tough here, you know. I know it’s what you’re used to, and I’m sorry for that, but there’s no use bottling it all up anymore. There’s this thing that my mama used to say when I was really little: bottles break, and you will, too, if you don’t open up.” She reached out to him. “I’m not going to make you talk now if you don’t want to. It’s hard at first, and this is all probably too much, I’m sorry. It’ll be like that for a while. But you’ve just got to start doing things, one step at a time. I promise, it’ll get better. And someday, if you ever do feel like talking to me, then you can.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, once again on the verge of tears, and took her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that at once. That was a lot to shove at you—all those names and stuff. So, let’s start slower. What do you want to do right now? We can talk some more, you could take a bath, or I could show you around. You don’t even have to meet the others yet. That can wait until you’re ready.”

He thought about it. While the privacy of a shower would be fantastic, the idea of unwrapping all of the bandages made him want to groan. More alluring to him was the possibility of a fully-stocked pantry to explore and a series of pots and pans to acquaint himself with.

“Kitchen,” he said unsurely.

“There we go, that’s better. Come on, I’ll help you stand, and we’ll put a shirt on you. On the way to the kitchen, I can answer any questions you might have about this place. Does that sound good?”

“Yes.” Even to himself, he sounded small.

They draped one arm each over the other’s shoulders and, with a grunt of effort, both got to their feet. Alastaros winced as he bent the wrong way. Luckily, she didn’t seem to have noticed. She was humming again, this time a part of a song, and it sounded like the chorus to one of his mother’s old lullabies. He hadn’t thought of those in years. The words to one came back to him in a flash, and, despite himself, he found his lips moving instinctively to murmur them. If Kalila thought it weird, she didn’t say anything. She simply fetched him a loose, long-sleeved shirt and helped him slip it on.

Getting out of the room was easy. Climbing down the set of stairs at the end of the hallway, however, was a different beast entirely. He was winded so quickly with his back that he had to catch his breath every five or so steps, and she wasn’t much better off. She told him bashfully that she should probably get a room on the bottom floor to spare her ankles, which were indeed swollen, and he asked her whether or not she’d picked out a name for the baby yet. Like the rest of her responses, she went off on a long tangent between heavy breaths about needing to see the child before coming up with the perfect name to match. They talked about names for the rest of the minute or two they had until they reached the bottom step of the darkly-wooded staircase, finally taking a long break to sink their feet into a plush carpet the color of red wine. Against his bare feet, it felt softer than silk. He braced one of his hand behind him on the silver railing and let his eyes examine the room they’d found themselves in. It was the back section part of a wide, grand hall with floors of smooth, artfully stained wood, multiple ornate rugs, and dozens of paintings of homey scenes like a bakery and an orchard in the autumn on every wall. As they went, the soon-to-be mother joyfully pointed at various artworks and explained the backstories behind them. Some had been painted by Eko, who she claimed he’d meet later, and some were dealt as gifts from those in other regions for Nikolai’s aide or presence. Although Alastaros knew nothing of art, he couldn’t help but admire the stylistic expression of each. Many were realistic; a few were more simple; none were abstract. All, however, were intended to instill a sense of comfiness in the eyes that they greeted.

But the greatest work of art in the house had to be, in the heart of any aspiring cook, the kitchen through a set of double buttercup-colored doors on the left. Smooth, dark red tiles pressed with real flower petals led up to counters of cocoa-colored marble, an unused fire pit, a sink, a basin to wash dishes, and cabinets on the sides stacked full of dish sets with endearing patterns. There was plenty of room to move around the large island in the center, which had artfully been strewn with decorative beads, flowers, and a couple of fake fruits. Two plump plastic pomegranates perched perilously amongst a pile of purple poppies beside an astounding array of azaleas and gorgeous geraniums that would put any professional gardener to shame. They lent a nice touch of freshness to the more deeply hued setting in which they lay. More beautiful still was the pantry. It resembled a walk-in closet in size and had shelves bearing spices both local and exotic, dried roots, breads, baking necessities, jams, herbs, oils and sauces, real fruits, vegetables, edible grasses, and much, much more stored inside the icebox. There was also a whole shelf dedicated to mechanisms and tools to use for cooking, including bowls, spoons, whisks, measuring cups, special dishes, brushes, tweezers, droppers, knives of all sizes, and about a thousand objects unknown to Alastaros. Neglected in the back corner was a case of dusty cookbooks and crinkled recipe sheets that had long since lost the sharpness of their original colors.

Hundreds of ideas for recipes exited his mouth in run-on, tangled, muttered sentences as peeked, perused, and poked his way up and down the ingredients available for his use. He’d never dreamt of having such a luxury almost completely to his own. The fact that there were a large amount of recipe books from all over the world blew his mind. Two or three were in languages he couldn’t read and one was waterlogged so badly that the ink was illegible, but the majority were in mint condition. He chose the five that looked the most interesting to start and carried them out to a counter. Kalila laughed at how eager he was. She’d long since taken a position up on a dining room table chair with a book of her own and a paper fan.

Apple pudding cake. Biscuits. Coriander toast. Dumplings. Egg drop soup. Focaccia. Gingerbread chicken patties. Hearty butternut squash stew. Iced coffee. Jelly roll cake. Kebabs. Lemon salmon. Macaroni spaghetti bakes. Nutmeg cake. Orzo with garlic, cheese, and basil. Pesto grilled cheese. Quinoa tacos. Rice tarts. Shrimp linguine. Turkey kebabs with cherry sauce. Ugali. Vegetarian wraps. Waffles with pecans and syrup. Xacuti masala. Yam casserole. Zucchini pasta. Those were just some of the recipes that stood out. There were thousands more, but his mind couldn’t keep track of all of them. He read and read until his eyes watered and his hands cramped. Some of the recipes were so descriptive that he could almost imagine himself making them.

“Find anything you’d like to make?” Kalila asked, flipping a page.

“What? Oh, definitely. Right now I’m looking at… uh, a couple of things. There’s a recipe for sopapilla cheesecake pie here that looks like it’d taste good. If I made it right, of course. I’ve never made cheesecake before.”

“Well, that’s why you should try to. Even if you mess up, you’ll probably learn something from it, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Do we have the ingredients for it?”

He blinked. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Because you could make it now, if you really wanted to.”

“I- I don’t know about that. I mean, it’s too early for dessert, isn’t it? Won’t Nikolai think that’s kind of weird?”

“Probably not, he’s most likely starving. I don’t think he’s eaten today. Besides, what’s it matter if he thinks it’s weird? I thought you didn’t like him.”

Insecurity hit him like a punch to the face. “You heard that?”

“No, he told me. That’s why I came to see you, not him. He seemed pretty rattled. Went straight up to the attic after telling me that you needed some space from him. I don’t blame you for saying whatever it is that you said—I get it, you’re stressed, this is a lot—but I also don’t know what he could’ve done to deserve it.”

“I don’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Like I said, I don’t blame you.”

“He killed someone.”

He expected a big reaction. Instead, she simply lowered the book, arched one of her eyebrows, and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why? You don’t think he can kill someone?”

“I know he can’t. He’d be wrecked. I don’t think he’d be able to get out of bed in the morning.”

“But he did. By saving me, he killed someone else. Pierce—this other servant I knew. He told him that he’d take him and he didn’t.”

“Oh, goodness. That’s what he’s been so torn up about. He wouldn’t talk to any of us about it, but I could tell something was wrong.”

“Did he… take it out on you?”

“No. Remember what I said earlier? He’s a good person. He’s not like his cousins.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“No.”
“What do you believe?”

“That he’s… playing some sort of game. He’s got to be. Easing your suspicions so that he can get in your head, get you to do what he wants. Soon, he’ll go further. His niceness is just a front.” Alastaros scowled as he noticed that she was laughing. “What?”

“Sorry. I was just as paranoid as you were when you first came here. But let me tell you a story. When I arrived about seven months ago, I was scared out of my wits. I’d just found out that I was pregnant, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Still, I was afraid that Niko would be upset if I didn’t work, so I did. Or, I tried to. I cleaned three whole bookshelves before I broke down crying. He found me. I expected him to yell… or do worse, but he didn’t. He sat down on the floor a few feet away, curled himself up, and asked if in the softest voice possible how I was doing. I screamed some pretty nasty things at him. If he was going to hurt me, I said that he should just get it over with. Shouted that I wouldn’t be as pretty in a couple of months. And you know what he did? He took a sheathed knife from his coat and slid it over to me. Told me to slit his throat if he ever did so much as lay a hand on me without my consent. I could’ve stabbed him then and there if I wanted to, and I honestly don’t think he would’ve resisted. I still have that knife, but I don’t carry it on me anymore because I know that he wouldn’t ever hurt me. He doesn’t even ask me to work if I don’t want to. I could walk all over him, and he’d still ask me if there’s anything he can do to help the kid and I.

“I know that it’ll take time, Alastaros, to trust him. I don’t expect you to immediately like him, and I understand it if you don’t feel safe yet. I’m sure I can even get you a knife of your own, if you’d like. Just…”

“Just?”

“Try and give him a chance. Even just a little bit of one. He might surprise you.”

He shrugged and pulled a new cookbook over to him. “I think I’ll try something else, not the cheesecake pies. How do you feel about curry buns? I’ve made those once before.”

“That sounds lovely,” she sighed. “But you’re deflecting. I get it. You’re probably afraid to try or think something new at this point, because when you did in the past, it ended up with you getting hurt.” She stood, stretched, and shuffled over to the doors. “Take your time. Cook whatever you want—the curry or the cheesecake things, or whatever we have the ingredients for. Think. I’ll come back later.”

Solitude was a blessing. Alastaros hopped up onto the counter beside the cookbooks, swung his feet, and really gave what she’d said some thought. He wanted to believe her, but every time he started to think about it he couldn’t push away how indifferent he’d seemed around his cousins.

Thinking was complicated. Cooking wasn’t. He peeled open the cookbook with the recipe for the sopapilla cheesecake pies and let the recipe for the curry buns pop up in his head. One or the other, one or the other. The flavor of cream cheese and pastry dough with a touch of cinnamon and honey would properly cheer him up, but he could do wonderful things with curry. He did a quick run through of the pantry again. It had all the necessary ingredients for both.

Curry buns or sopapilla cheesecake pies; sopapilla cheesecake pies or curry buns.

Looking forward or looking back.

Words danced through his head. Kalila’s; Nikolai’s; Eleanor’s; Cyprus’s.

Pierce’s.

He went to the oven and turned it on, then went to the pantry. In his head, he ran through the list of ingredients for what he was about to cook. Cinnamon, vanilla, honey, sugar—

He had some cheesecake pies to make.

End of Section Two, Part Two

(There'll be more of the mansion coming up, although the next Part won't be anywhere near as intense as the ending of the first Section.

Questionsssss!

1. Are you ready to meet the other people in the mansion, or would you rather hold off on that a bit longer?
2. How do you feel about Kalila? Do you want more of her, Nikolai, both, or neither?
3. Would you be interested in an eventual scene in which you watch Nikolai restore books? Be honest lol I know that might sound boring to some, so that's why I thought I'd ask.
4. Would you be interested in me giving you little soundtracks to listen to while you read the Parts?
5. Does Kalila's backstory make you uncomfortable, or would you be alright with eventually learning more about it? Cause I know I gave you some details, but there could always be more if you're interested. No nasty specifics lol just more general things about her
6. Any other comments/ideas/things you want to see can go here

I'm excited for you to eventually meet the gang. I've been giving their creation quite some thought. I really do think you might like them, but I understand if you want to wait 'till the next Section to meet them.

Hope you're having a good day! Also, just as a side note, Pierce is…

lol I'm not gonna reveal it that easily

but he's not havin a time)