♡Dearly beloved♡

You choke, desperately inhaling life into your drowning lungs. Tears grow and well in your eyes as your dimming mind swirls. How could this happen? Why? Where did you go wrong? Grass crunches under someone's boot and you slowly tilt your head to face the sound, your hair behind your head growing damp as it rests in blood and your damaged glasses askew. Before your gaze is a pair of blue combat boots, reserved for knights and military personal. You notice the initials etched into the heel, but your vision is too blurry to make out. Gasping, you try to form words, hand weakly reaching out. The foot pulls away, out of your line of sight. The person crouches, their face is blank and unrecognizable through your wavering vision, but you recognize the voice that speaks. "I had to do this. Don't you understand?" That wretched voice that once brought you comfort had instead driven a sword through your abdomen. Crouching, they lean forward watching as the life drains from your eyes. "I needed to do this." A manic grin slowly climbs their face, eyes widening as their pupils shakingly dilate. Their hand extends, glove covered in blood that didn't belong to them. "To prove my love." They touch you paling cheek, feeling your faint breaths on their fingertips. "To affirm my devotion." Your eyes flutter shut and their speech fades into the distance, mere mumblings as your conscious slips away.

Awakening as your curtains are pulled aside, you grumble, much more exhausted than when you went to sleep. You briefly linger on the strange dream you had. Begrudgingly, you struggle against your covers as your maid eagerly greets you. "Good morning, master. Lovely day isn' it?" She smiles brightly, standing beside your bed. Exhaling, you raise your hand to block the sun boldly streaming through your glass windows. "I guess so." You mutter, tone casual as you drop formalities around your maid. turning your head, you slide your legs out from under the covers and slip them over the sides of the bed. Lisbeth, your maid, helps you out of bed, holding you steady as you yawn, fighting the desire to go back to bed. "Why so chipper?" Stretching your arms as you speak. "A maid can't have a good day now?" Lisbeth crosses her arms and pouts, brown ponytail bouncing with the motion. You pause and then chuckle and rub the back of your neck. "Sorry, But usually you're less...energetic." Lisbeth isn't somber, but she has always been grumpy. Shaking her head, she leads you to your vanity. "People can change, young master." You sit and she begins taking care of your hair, then offers you a cloth to wash your face and arms with.

You ponder her statement for a moment, then dismiss it with a shake of your head. Something about it sounded so definite. Regardless you decided to move on, rising from your chair and walking to your closet, Lisbeth follows behind. "Is there anything on the schedule today, Lis?" You pause and contemplate which outfit you should wear. "Only your meeting with young master Mylo." Your stomach turns, twisting in knots of anxiety as you recall your betrothed to be. Heavens, you had forgotten that the marriage was so close, "Right, I forgot about that." Wringing your hands together, your stomach flips and you place a hand over it to try and soothe your stomach. Lisbeth places a warm hand on your shoulder, your head turns to face her. "Don't worry, I heard that the young master is smitten by you." You shoulders drop and you should be relieved, but you aren't. You feel ill and resentful, but you aren't sure why. Your gaze falters, falling to the floor as you try to catch the fleeting thoughts in your mind, something important you know. But you fail to catch it as you maid brings your attention back to the present.

She grabs two outfits from the closet, both similar shades of red, and holds them out to you. "Which would you like to wear, (Y/N)?" It's a difficult decision, both are equally stunning albeit simple, as are all of your clothes. Should you choose the red velvet suit? It's tapered vest overlaying a comfortable black blouse and completed with a matching pair of pants. Your switch your gaze to the second option. A black, high collar dress with a cinched red velvet overcoat. Neither options were glamorous and you weren't sure if they would catch Mylo's attention, sure red is his favorite color, but the choices are so drab. "Are you sure those are the best options available?" You hesitate, hand reaching out to your choice. Lisbeth rolls her eyes and pushes your choice into your hands. "Absolutely, his maids mentioned the exact color scheme he would be wearing and you know how he loves to match." That's true, he always coordinates outfits with his friends and family members. You relent, trusting Lisbeth's judgment. You hold the suit up to your body, turning to ascertain how exactly it would look on you. "Do you think this is a good choice, Lisbeth?" Your tone is uncertain, nervous even. She tilts her head, places her hand under her chin and hums thoughtfully. "Hmm, well, I am partial to dresses, as is Lord Mylo, perhaps you should wear that instead of the suit?." You are mildly disappointed, smile falling briefly before you agree and place the suit back in the closet, gaze lingering on it. "Right, of course." Obviously the dress was the better choice, you wanted to your first impression to be one of grace and elegance. Despite this, a part of you yearned for the suit.

Lisbeth smiles and then steps away, turning her back and allowing you the privacy to undress. You turn to the delicate folded divider hidden away in your closet, pulling it out, you unfold it and step behind it. Your maid hooks the dress on the top of the divider and allows you the time to change. You slip out of your night gown, shivering as the cold of your room grazes your skin, then you reach for the dress. It has so many layers, you sigh and begin the arduous task of redressing, straightening your slip before you do so. once dressed, you return the divider to its original place and Lisbeth faces you once again. "You look wonderful, young master. Shall I escort you to the sitting room now?" Nodding, Lisbeth begins leading you out of your room and down the hall. Your anxiety returns as you think about what exactly is happening, you're getting married. You, of all people, and to someone as wonderful as Mylo. You should be overjoyed, you should be beaming, but you aren't. Your face is stuck in a frown, eyes downcast as you try to understand this strange feeling of dread that overtakes you the closer you come to the room where your soon-to-be-husband awaits you. Lisbeth eases the doors open, bowing her head and allowing you to enter the room.

You step inside, heels against the plush carpet as your eyes roam over your surroundings. The room is the same as you remember, floral curtains, light color furniture and sunlight gracing the inhabitants of the room with its existence. Then your eyes run over the lounge, the man sitting on it. His red hair stands out against the beige furniture and the pale wooden walls. It's messily arranged, pushed back to draw attention to his golden eyes, narrow and eager, and warm peach toned skin. His lithe frame is adorned in a elegant suit matching the shade of red you wear and you can tell it elates him. Mylo rises from the lounge, arms open wide and face breaking into a wide grin. But you don't feel warm or fuzzy or overjoyed, you feel nauseous, Ill and betrayed. You didn't understand why. He's been nothing but loving, accommodating and eager. Yet, resentment seems to boil beneath your surface as he approaches. "(Reader!)" He chirps, eyes wide as he advances. You freeze, but he doesn't. "It has been so long, My dear." Mylo's strong arms embrace you, wrapping around your waist as he nestles his head against your shoulder. Your stomach swirls. "How have you been?" Tilting his head, his wretched voice pleas for your attention. Images flashes through your mind, battle and pain, oh so much pain. You pull away, gaze unfocused as your eyes flit across his face, searching for that frenzied grin that seemed so prominent in your memory. Confused, he tilts his head, allowing you to escape his grasp. "My dear, are you alright?" You weren't. You open your mouth, determined to respond, but you falter, your voice weak. "I'm.." A sharp pain causes you to double over, abdomen cringing in agony and your nausea returns. Mylo rushes to your aid, as does his butler whom you hadn't noticed before. His hands hover over your shoulders as you fall to the floor, one knee knelt and the other folded. You place your palm on the floor, bracing your weight against it.

You cry out, the pain overwhelming as tears spill from your eyes. The door slams open as your maid rushes in, having heard your cry. Mylo stammers as she pulls you away, escorting you out of the room and to your bedroom. "(Y/n), what's wrong?" She whispers, arms holding you tight to her side as she supports you weight, doing her best not to let you fall to the ground again. Your response is simply groans of pain and tears running down your face as flashes of hot, searing pain repeatedly stab your stomach. Struggling to articulate your suffering, you gesture to your stomach and continue groaning. Lisbeth's face contorts gracefully into a gentle care and she rubs your back. She pushes the door open, it creaks with little protest. Shuffling inside your room, she carefully walks to your bed and eases you down on the pillows, quiet grunts of exertion escaping as she does so. Her callous hand brushes your hair from your eyes and a concerned smile flickers across her expression. You curl into a fetal position, arms over your stomach and knees to your head.

Your family's personal Doctor is ushered into the room, he carries with him a leather briefcase and around his neck is a stethoscope. It's a newer invention that assist the doctors immensely. Someone turns you over, Lisbeth more than likely, and sits you up despite your groans or protest. After a short investigation in which nothing is accomplished as the Doctor simply dismisses your symptoms as a simple stomach ache, possibly food poisoning. He gives some medicine to your maid and sternly informs her to give a spoonful of the wretched liquid to you with your meals. She nods sincerely and agrees. "Of course Doctor, whatever you say." The Doctor bids you goodbye and his assistant follows close behind him. Lisbeth sighs and turns to you, now laying back in your bed, her empathetic features displaying great sorrow at your discomfort. She paces to the side of your bed and sits down on the edge, placing the bottle on your end table she reaches her hand forward to brush your hair back. "Poor Child." She mutters, warm skin wrinkling with her expression. It makes you want to cry and so you do.

Panicking once more, Lisbeth coos and grabs a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron. She dabs at your face, pleading for you to not cry. "Oh no, Young Master, Please don't cry! I know the aches are terrible, but you must be strong." But you couldn't be, not when your death was repeating in your mind, not when you were reliving the agony of betrayal as the sword was stabbed into your abdomen. Was it even a real memory? You don't know. "I'll make you some tea, alright? That always helps me when I have a...stomach ache.." More tears spill down your face as she leaves your side, that wasn't what was wrong with you. "It hurts." You groan, pulling your knees to your chest and hiding your face once more as your cried. Lisbeth's sympathetic tone responds with comforting words that fall flat in your current state. "I know, but it is only temporary." In an attempt to raise your spirits she tries to follow up with a a rather unhelpful statement. "And in a week or two the pain will be gone."

Now you felt even more ill, you didn't want to suffer that long. "You know, The maids often gossip about how gentle young master Mylo is with the sick and injured. They say he practically obsesses over them until they feel better." This information doesn't make you feel any better, in fact you feel worse now. Lisbeth giggles as she puts together the tea, your hear clink of porcelain as she pours it into your favorite cup. "And I'm sure he will pamper you as well, when the two of you marry." She returns to your side, placing the tea on your end table and then attempting to unravel your ball of comfort. After failing to make any progress, she huffs and then massages her forehead. "Master please sit up. This tea will help, it came from a well-educated merchant." You know Lisbeth was trying her best to raise your spirits, but you didn't want to feel better. Right now you just wanted to be sad and alone. "Please leave, Lisbeth." You muster up enough strength to wave her away, cringing as another wave of pain stings your body. Rolling her eyes, she sits up and then, with much more effort, pulls you into a sitting position. "Now, Now, none of that. You are much too old to pout like a child." Tsking, she holds you up with surprising ease and guides the teacup to your mouth. Reluctantly you drink from the cup, the warm liquid soothing your nerves temporarily as you try to ignore the sharp pains. Once you finish drinking the tea, your personal maid lays you back down. "Lay here and rest, sweetie. I will come back later to check on you." Lisbeth pulls a blanket over your shoulders after slipping your shoes off, though it was hard to get comfortable in your dress, but you are much too tired to undress. You were quite relieved when Lisbeth didn't bring it up. She soon departed, taking the medicine and dirty teacup with her. You watch as she walks away, eyes bleary with tears that are slowly subsiding now that the pain is easing up. You turn over, placing an arm across your forehead as you process what exactly you've learned.

Those strange flashes of a memory were so coherent and your pain felt real, like you're reliving the past or...the future? It didn't make sense. You sigh and continue staring at the ceiling for a moment more. This was your first official meeting with your husband, before now the two of you simply exchanged letters and caught brief glances at one another at balls and noble gatherings. Though the two of you never had time to socialize as you both had connections to make. If that was your first in person meeting, why did it seem so familiar? Why did his face make you so sick? You don't recall feeling that way before, did you? Closing your eyes, you try to recall your past meetings or glances rather. But everything was fuzzy and it hurt your brain to try and remember the past. "Maybe it was just a nightmare, yeah, that's all." You try to convince yourself, voice wavering. Exhaling sharply, you give up and hastily sit up. After tossing the covers off, you swing your legs over the bed frame and linger for a minute before slowly rising to your feet and making your way to your dresser. Well, on the bright side, since the doctor assumed you were Ill he would inform your mother and she would insist that you stay at home so as to not exhaust yourself. This meant you wouldn't have to interact with the other nobles for a few days or perhaps even Mylo, you want to avoid him as long as necessary or at least until you figure out why his face disgust you.

You go through the arduous task of undressing, shedding layer after layer carelessly and allowing it to fall to the ground in a messy pile. Now left in your under garments, you analyze yourself in the mirror, hesitant to face your own gaze. Then you look away and decide it's a good time for a bath. Stepping away from the dresser, after grabbing a nightgown to sleep in, you casually stride to the door on your right wall, behind it is your bathing room. A few years ago your parents renovated the wing you're staying in and attached bathrooms to most of the bedrooms in that area. You didn't particularly mind, it meant you wouldn't have to travel far to bathe. However, during the renovations you did have to stay in the same wing as Harlee, a man that was once married to your older brother. Harlee is a bitter, older man and always scowls at you, but he truly loved your brother and was just as devastated as you when he learnt of your brother's untimely demise. Since then Harlee has kept to himself and your parents pity him so, they simply refuse to kick him out. Huffing, your nose scrunches as you think about what a nuisance he has become.

Shaking your head, you enter the bathroom and shut the door behind you, you walk forward a few paces and place your gown on a stool close to the bathtub in the room. You slip your garments off with little grace, briefly catching your figure in the mirror and you freeze, turning slowly to face your reflection your mind resumes it's racing thoughts. There on your stomach is a jagged scar, it's a revolting sight and you rush over to the toilet bowl, bile running up your throat and spilling over the edge of the bowl as your stomach turned. You were there for several moments, gagging unsuccessfully once that first bout of vomit was expelled. Your hands rest on the cool porcelain surface and you whine as your stomach continues protesting this revelation. Was that dream true? Did you go back in time or was this a form of clairvoyance? Should you talk to the priest? Would he believe you if you told him that your fiancé murdered you on the battlefield? You should've worn that tacky armor the knights had offered. You were so cocky, assuming nothing could defeat you just because you won a few battles on familiar ground. "Stupid fool, look where your arrogance has got you." You smack your hand against your head and then sigh, uncertainty plagues you being you stare blankly at the floor. Exhaling, your head turns to the bathtub. "Perhaps a bath will ease me?" You mutter, lifting your body from the floor, putting your weight on your hands that rest on the surface of the toilet.

Shambling to the bath with shaky knees, you lean forward and begin to adjust the water. Faucets are your saving grace, you will always be grateful to the scientist that invented them and the mage that created warming stones. Once you have the water adjusted to your perfect temperature, you carefully slip into the tub and slowly lower yourself into the warm water. It swishes as you sit, water swaying over your body as you again pull your knees to your chests and rest your chin on your knees. Another sigh escapes you and small tears begin to fill your eyes, quietly spilling over the edge of your ducts. Surely that dream couldn't be true, would someone you love genuinely betray you like that? You didn't know, how could it be true? "Time loops aren't real...are they?" Your tone is marred with confusion and your voice cracks. You'll just have to talk to the priest, once you 'recovered' of course. For now you'll just try not to think about it, that should be easy, Right? "Right, yeah, just don't think about it." You mutter, sinking further into the water.

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You choke, desperately inhaling life into your drowning lungs. Tears grow and well in your eyes as your dimming mind swirls. How could this happen? Why? Where did you go wrong? Grass crunches under someone's boot and you slowly tilt your head to face the sound, your hair behind your head growing damp as it rests in blood and your damaged glasses askew. Before your gaze is a pair of blue combat boots, reserved for knights and military personal. You notice the initials etched into the heel, but your vision is too blurry to make out. Gasping, you try to form words, hand weakly reaching out. The foot pulls away, out of your line of sight. The person crouches, their face is blank and unrecognizable through your wavering vision, but you recognize the voice that speaks. "I had to do this. Don't you understand?" That wretched voice that once brought you comfort had instead driven a sword through your abdomen. Crouching, they lean forward watching as the life drains from your eyes. "I needed to do this." A manic grin slowly climbs their face, eyes widening as their pupils shakingly dilate. Their hand extends, glove covered in blood that didn't belong to them. "To prove my love." They touch you paling cheek, feeling your faint breaths on their fingertips. "To affirm my devotion." Your eyes flutter shut and their speech fades into the distance, mere mumblings as your conscious slips away.

Awakening as your curtains are pulled aside, you grumble, much more exhausted than when you went to sleep. Begrudgingly, you struggle against your covers as your maid eagerly greets you. "Good morning, ma'am. Lovely day isn' it?" She smiles brightly, standing beside your bed. Exhaling, you raise your hand to block the sun boldly streaming through your glass windows. "I guess so." You mutter, tone casual as you drop formalities around your maid. turning your head, you slide your legs out from under the covers and slip them over the sides of the bed. Lisbeth, your maid, helps you out of bed, holding you steady as you yawn, fighting the desire to go back to bed. "Why so chipper?" Stretching your arms as you speak. "A maid can't have a good day now?" Lisbeth crosses her arms and pouts, brown ponytail bouncing with the motion. You pause and then chuckle and rub the back of your neck. "Sorry, But usually you're less...energetic." Lisbeth isn't somber, but she has always been grumpy. Shaking her head, she leads you to your vanity. "People can change, Milady." You sit and she begins taking care of your hair, then offers you a cloth to wash your face and arms with.

You ponder her statement for a moment, then dismiss it with a shake of your head. Something about it sounded so definite. Regardless you decided to move on, rising from your chair and walking to your closet, Lisbeth follows behind. "Is there anything on the schedule today, Lis?" You pause and contemplate which outfit you should wear. "Only your meeting with young master Mylo." Your stomach turns, twisting in knots of anxiety as you recall your betrothed to be. Heavens, you had forgotten that the marriage was so close, "Right, I forgot about that." Wringing your hands together, your stomach flips and you place a hand over it to try and soothe your stomach. Lisbeth places a warm hand on your shoulder, your head turns to face her. "Don't worry, I heard that the young master is smitten by you." You shoulders drop and you should be relieved, but you aren't. You feel ill and resentful, but you aren't sure why. Your gaze falters, falling to the floor as you try to catch the fleeting thoughts in your mind, something important you know. But you fail to catch it as you maid brings your attention back to the present.

She grabs two outfits from the closet, both similar shades of red, and holds them out to you. "Which would you like to wear, Ma'am?" It's a difficult decision, both are equally stunning albeit simple, as are all of your clothes. Should you choose the red velvet suit? It's tapered vest overlaying a comfortable black blouse and completed with a matching pair of pants. Your switch your gaze to the second option. A black, high collar dress with a cinched red velvet overcoat. Neither options were glamorous and you weren't sure if they would catch Mylo's attention, sure red is his favorite color, but the choices are so drab. "Are you sure those are the best options available?" You hesitate, hand reaching out to your choice. Lisbeth rolls her eyes and pushes your choice into your hands. "Absolutely, his maids mentioned the exact color scheme he would be wearing and you know how he loves to match." That's true, he always coordinates outfits with his friends and family members. You relent, trusting Lisbeth's judgment. You hold the suit up to your body, turning to ascertain how exactly it would look on you. "Do you think this is a good choice, Lisbeth?" Your tone is uncertain, nervous even. She tilts her head, places her hand under her chin and hums thoughtfully. "Hmm, well, if you want my opinion...I believe the dress would suit your frame much better and it would help sell the idea that your a sophisticated young woman." You are mildly disappointed, smile falling briefly before you agree and place the suit back in the closet, gaze lingering on it. "Right, of course." Obviously the dress was the right choice, there was never any doubt about that..right? Dresses are better suited to a lady of your stature anyways, despite how upset the thought makes you.

Lisbeth smiles and then steps away, turning her back and allowing you the privacy to undress. You turn to the delicate folded divider hidden away in your closet, pulling it out, you unfold it and step behind it. Your maid hooks the dress on the top of the divider and allows you the time to change. You slip out of your night gown, shivering as the cold of your room grazes your skin, then you reach for the dress. It has so many layers, you sigh and begin the arduous task of redressing, straightening your slip before you do so. once dressed, you return the divider to its original place and Lisbeth faces you once again. "You look wonderful, My Lady. Shall I escort you to the sitting room now?" Nodding, Lisbeth begins leading you out of your room and down the hall. Your anxiety returns as you think about what exactly is happening, you're getting married. You, of all people, and to someone as wonderful as Mylo. You should be overjoyed, you should be beaming, but you aren't. Your face is stuck in a frown, eyes downcast as you try to understand this strange feeling of dread that overtakes you the closer you come to the room where your soon-to-be-husband awaits you. Lisbeth eases the doors open, bowing her head and allowing you to enter the room.

You step inside, heels against the plush carpet as your eyes roam over your surroundings. The room is the same as you remember, floral curtains, light color furniture and sunlight gracing the inhabitants of the room with its existence. Then your eyes run over the lounge, the man sitting on it. His red hair stands out against the beige furniture and the pale wooden walls. It's messily arranged, pushed back to draw attention to his golden eyes, narrow and eager, and warm peach toned skin. His lithe frame is adorned in a elegant suit matching the shade of red you wear and you can tell it elates him. Mylo rises from the lounge, arms open wide and face breaking into a wide grin. But you don't feel warm or fuzzy or overjoyed, you feel nauseous, Ill and betrayed. You didn't understand why. He's been nothing but loving, accommodating and eager. Yet, resentment seems to boil beneath your surface as he approaches. "(Reader!)" He chirps, eyes wide as he advances. You freeze, but he doesn't. "It has been so long, My dear." Mylo's strong arms embrace you, wrapping around your waist as he nestles his head against your shoulder. Your stomach swirls. "How have you been?" Tilting his head, his wretched voice pleas for your attention. Images flashes through your mind, battle and pain, oh so much pain. You pull away, gaze unfocused as your eyes flit across his face, searching for that frenzied grin that seemed so prominent in your memory. Confused, he tilts his head, allowing you to escape his grasp. "My dear, are you alright?" You weren't. You open your mouth, determined to respond, but you falter, your voice weak. "I'm.." A sharp pain causes you to double over, abdomen cringing in agony and your nausea returns. Mylo rushes to your aid, as does his butler whom you hadn't noticed before. His hands hover over your shoulders as you fall to the floor, one knee knelt and the other folded. You place your palm on the floor, bracing your weight against it.

You cry out, the pain overwhelming as tears spill from your eyes. The door slams open as your maid rushes in, having heard your cry. Mylo stammers as she pulls you away, escorting you out of the room and to your bedroom. "My Lady, what's wrong?" She whispers, arms holding you tight to her side as she supports you weight, doing her best not to let you fall to the ground again. Your response is simply groans of pain and tears running down your face as flashes of hot, searing pain repeatedly stab your stomach. Struggling to articulate your suffering, you gesture to your stomach and continue groaning. Lisbeth's face contorts gracefully into a gentle care and she rubs your back. She pushes the door open, it creaks with little protest. Shuffling inside your room, she carefully walks to your bed and eases you down on the pillows, quiet grunts of exertion escaping as she does so. Her callous hand brushes your hair from your eyes and a concerned smile flickers across her expression. You curl into a fetal position, arms over your stomach and knees to your head.

Your family's personal Doctor is ushered into the room, he carries with him a leather briefcase and around his neck is a stethoscope. It's a newer invention that assist the doctors immensely. Someone turns you over, Lisbeth more than likely, and sits you up despite your groans or protest. After a short investigation in which nothing is accomplished as the Doctor simply dismisses your symptoms as mere menstrual pain, much to the embarrassment of everyone around you. He gives some medicine to your maid and sternly informs her to give a spoonful of the wretched liquid to you with your meals. She nods sincerely and agrees. "Of course Doctor, whatever you say." The Doctor bids you goodbye and his assistant follows close behind him. Lisbeth sighs and turns to you, now laying back in your bed, her empathetic features displaying great sorrow at your discomfort. She paces to the side of your bed and sits down on the edge, placing the bottle on your end table she reaches her hand forward to brush your hair back. "Poor Girl" She mutters, warm skin wrinkling with her expression. It makes you want to cry and so you do.

Panicking once more, Lisbeth coos and grabs a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron. She dabs at your face, pleading for you to not cry. "Oh no, My Lady, Please don't cry! I know the aches are terrible, but you must be strong." But you couldn't be, not when your death was repeating in your mind, not when you were reliving the agony of betrayal as the sword was stabbed into your abdomen. Was it even a real memory? You don't know. "I'll make you some tea, My Lady. That always helps me when...well, the time comes around." More tears spill down your face as she leaves your side, that wasn't what was wrong with you. "It hurts." You groan, pulling your knees to your chest and hiding your face once more as your cried. Lisbeth's sympathetic tone responds with comforting words that fall flat in your current state. "I know, but it is only temporary." In an attempt to raise your spirits she tries to follow up with a a rather unhelpful statement. "And when you have kids you will worry about it less."

Now you felt even more ill, you didn't want children, especially not after you know what awaits you. "The maids often gossip about how gentle young master Mylo is with children, they say he just adores his younger siblings." This information doesn't make you feel any better, in fact you feel worse now. Lisbeth giggles as she puts together the tea, your hear clink of porcelain as she pours it into your favorite cup. "And I'm sure he'll pamper you as well." She returns to your side, placing the tea on your end table and then attempting to unravel your ball of comfort. After failing to make any progress, she huffs and then massages her forehead. "My Lady, please sit up. This tea will help, it came from a knowledgeable merchant." You know Lisbeth was trying her best to raise your spirits, but you didn't want to feel better. Right now you just wanted to be sad and alone. "Please leave, Lisbeth." You muster up enough strength to wave her away, cringing as another wave of pain stings your body. Rolling her eyes, she sits up and then, with much more effort, pulls you into a sitting position. "Now, Now, none of that. You are much too old to pout like a child." Tsking, she holds you up with surprising ease and guides the teacup to your mouth. Reluctantly you drink from the cup, the warm liquid soothing your nerves temporarily as you try to ignore the sharp pains. Once you finish drinking the tea, your personal maid lays you back down. "Lay here and rest, My Lady. I will come back later to check on you." Lisbeth pulls a blanket over your shoulders after slipping your shoes off, though it was hard to get comfortable in your dress you are much too tired to undress. You were quite relieved when Lisbeth didn't bring it up. She soon departed, taking the medicine and dirty teacup with her. You watch as she walks away, eyes bleary with tears that are slowly subsiding now that the pain is easing up. You turn over, placing an arm across your forehead as you process what exactly you've learned.

Those strange flashes of a memory were so coherent and your pain felt real, like you're reliving the past or...the future? It didn't make sense. You sigh and continue staring at the ceiling for a moment more. This was your first official meeting with your spouse, before now the two of you simply exchanged letters and caught brief glances at one another at balls and noble gatherings. Though the two of you never had time to socialize as you both had connections to make. If that was your first in person meeting, why did it seem so familiar? Why did his face make you so sick? You don't recall feeling that way before, did you? Closing your eyes, you try to recall your past meetings or glances rather. But everything was fuzzy and it hurt your brain to try and remember the past. "Maybe it was just a nightmare, yeah, that's all." You try to convince yourself, voice wavering. Exhaling sharply, you give up and hastily sit up. After tossing the covers off, you swing your legs over the bed frame and linger for a minute before slowly rising to your feet and making your way to your dresser. Well, on the bright side, since the doctor assumed you were menstruating he would inform your mother and she would insist that you stay at home so as to not exhaust yourself. This meant you wouldn't have to interact with the other nobles for a few days or perhaps even Mylo, you want to avoid him as long as necessary or at least until you figure out why his face disgust you.

You go through the arduous task of undressing, shedding layer after layer carelessly and allowing it to fall to the ground in a messy pile. Now left in your chemise, you analyze yourself in the mirror, hesitant to face your own gaze. Then you look away and decide it's a good time for a bath. Stepping away from the dresser, after grabbing a nightgown to sleep in, you casually stride to the door on your right wall, behind it is your bathing room. A few years ago your parents renovated the wing you're staying in and attached bathrooms to most of the bedrooms in that area. You didn't particularly mind, it meant you wouldn't have to travel far to bathe. However, you did have to stay in the same wing as Harlee, a man that was once married to your older brother. Harlee is a bitter, older man and always scowls at you, but he truly loved your brother and was just as devastated as you when he learnt of your brother's untimely demise. Since then Harlee has kept to himself and your parents pity him so, they simply refuse to kick him out. Huffing, your nose scrunches as you think about what a nuisance he has become.

Shaking your head, you enter the bathroom and shut the door behind you, you walk forward a few paces and place your gown on a stool close to the bathtub in the room. You slip your chemise off with little grace, briefly catching your figure in the mirror and you freeze, turning slowly to face your reflection your mind resumes it's racing thoughts. There on your stomach is a jagged scar, it's a revolting sight and you rush over to the toilet bowl, bile running up your throat and spilling over the edge of the bowl as your stomach turned. You were there for several moments, gagging unsuccessfully once that first bout of vomit was expelled. Your hands rest on the cool porcelain surface and you whine as your stomach continues protesting this revelation. Was that dream true? Did you go back in time or was this a form of clairvoyance? Should you talk to the priest? Would he believe you if you told him that your fiancé murdered you on the battlefield? You should've worn that tacky armor the knights had offered. You were so cocky, assuming nothing could defeat you just because you won a few battles on familiar ground. "Stupid fool, look where your arrogance has got you." You smack your hand against your head and then sigh, uncertainty plagues you being you stare blankly at the floor. Exhaling, your head turns to the bathtub. "Perhaps a bath will ease me?" You mutter, lifting your body from the floor, putting your weight on your hands that rest on the surface of the toilet.

Shambling to the bath with shaky knees, you lean forward and begin to adjust the water. Faucets are your saving grace, you will always be grateful to the scientist that invented them and the mage that created warming stones. Once you have the water adjusted to your perfect temperature, you carefully slip into the tub and slowly lower yourself into the warm water. It swishes as you sit, water swaying over your body as you again pull your knees to your chests and rest your chin on your knees. Another sigh escapes you and small tears begin to fill your eyes, quietly spilling over the edge of your tear ducts. Surely that dream couldn't be true, would someone you love genuinely betray you like that? You didn't know, how could it be true? "Time loops aren't real...are they?" Your tone is marred with confusion and your voice cracks. You'll just have to talk to the priest, once you 'recovered' of course. For now you'll just try not to think about it, that should be easy, Right? "Right, yeah, just don't think about it." You mutter, sinking further into the water.

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Their parents apparently arranged it months ago and just now informed the two heirs. At the time you could not read his expression as it was hidden behind his beloved porcelain mask, a fair skinned floral feature meant to resemble his favorite gardens. But you could feel the tension grow, his betrayal at the reveal as he swiftly tried to refuse what had been stated, This was futile, his future had already been decided or so his parents believed. Regardless, they introduced him to Eden and she seemed lovely, well-educated, polite and respectful. Daelan was not impressed, he played aloof the entire time and then stormed off halfway through their conversation. You followed after him, doing your best not to fall behind as he outpaced those around him. He turned a sharp corner and then slammed open the doors to his bedroom and you shut them swiftly. This was the best decision you could have made as he soon began to throw a tantrum, shouting angerly, proclaiming how unfair this all was and tossing around some expensive decorations. Which included, but was not limited to, candlesticks, his hairbrush, his hand mirrors, pen and ink and he yanked out one of his drawers then tossed it at the balcony doors. It's a good thing you closed them beforehand or it would've flown out the window.

Now you are crouched on the floor, gathering the various objects he scatted across his room and trying to avoid the shards of glass from his poor hand mirrors. You politely ignore his crying as he always gets embarrassed when someone draws attention to his emotions. Your hand nicks a glass shard, you wince and shake your hand, then rub it against the cloth of your blouse. Behind you, Daelan raises his head from his hands and looks at you. His eyes follow you as you scuttle across the floor, now gathering the garments he had tossed out of his closet. A small, vicious part of him begins to form bitter, hateful thoughts of envy and, against better judgment he voices these thoughts. "How lucky you must be" His sentence wavers as he rises shakily from the bed, his waistcoat swishing as he slowly proceeds in your direction. "to have the freedom of choice. To marry who you desire." Your shoulders tense, but you do not yet halt your actions, continuing to clean the mess he made. "I envy you." You find that idea humorous, a noble envying you. His steps are louder as he slowly grows closer to you. "All the freedom in the world. You will never have to 'grin and bear it', as my mother loves to say." Obviously, he is wrong, your entire life you have had to grin and bear it, this job was not even a choice of your own, the mask certainly wasn't either. But you stay quiet, knowing that he is simply expressing himself. "So much freedom." He mutters, low and solemn, halting behind you.

"(Reader)" Daelan utters your name quietly with a rather curious turn. "Turn around and Face me" He requests, you pause and cautiously place the brush you were holding down. His gentle touch lays firmly upon your shoulder. You slowly turn around, gaze low. His hand runs up your shoulder, under your chin and then raises your head. Brown eyes hold your gaze for a moment, searching for something he desperately needs to find. "What do I do?" He asks, so simple, so heavy. "How do I continue living like this?" His voice darkens as he lowers to his knees. "As someone I am not? How do i continue performing as Ellis, the dignified noble, and not Daelan, the.." Pausing, his voice cracks as he tries to explain his thoughts. "I can't even.." Now on the floor, he finds that he doesn't know who Daelan is, he can't remember how to be himself. Hiding his face in his hand, he leans against your chest and cries silently as he confronts the possibility that his true self doesn't exist. Your hands naturally wrap around him, comforting him and offering momentary solace. Although reluctant, he didn't have the energy to resist your comfort. His entire world was crashing, after this he would no longer be free. How could he possibly escape this fate?

The idea came to his late at night, when he laid in his bed and rested his eyes upon the ceiling, beside him you slept as the two of you had once again fallen for the age old temptation. It was liberating, being with you. You were never one to push, always allowing him the freedom of choice. It is wonderful, he decided. Turning on his side and nuzzling his face in the crook of his neck. He panicked for no reason, the solution was simple really and so easy to execute. A small smile dawned his face as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

The wedding would be in two weeks and yet Daelan seems calmer than ever, it made you nervous. It's already hard enough to read his emotions behind the mask, his solemn demeanor was increasing the difficulty. But you didn't bring it up, aiding him as usual, brushing his hair, planning his outfits for every date he has with Eden. Every interaction he muddles through, time seems to pass rather quickly and then the dreaded ceremony is just a few days away. Your nerves are wrecked, you haven't been able to see Daelan all day as the higher rank servants have kept him occupied, preparing him for what should be the most glorious moment of his life. You don't even get a glance at him when they cart him to chapel or when he and his new wife are escorted to the honeymoon carriage. It doesn't really set in that he's left until later that night, when you expect him to call you to his chambers and he doesn't, because he no longer resides there. You spend the night in your bed, cold and alone. You turn and toss, struggling to sleep and eventually give up. Instead choosing to rise early and start your chores ahead of time, by evening they are done and you're exhausted. Your instincts guide you to his hallway, but you halt at the door, because he is no longer there. His room is empty and dark. So you turn away and return to your bed. You sleep and awaken with not letter from him or anyone else, you are reminded of how alone you truly are in this world.

It's sobering, you think, as you lay there under your cotton sheets and stare at the ceiling. Your mind beginning to accept that your time with Daelan was short lived, a moment of reprise in this cruel world. You abide by that thought throughout the months, waiting patiently for your lingering feelings to slowly dissipate. And it seems to succeed, as summer rolls around and the weather warms up, the flowers begin to bloom. You start to understand that being with your Master, that loving him was but a season to pass through, a phase. You started to see the world differently, appreciating it yet again. Until you wake up one morning and prepare yourself for another simple day of doing domestic tasks, such as washing clothes or assisting the cook. You had just pulled on your apron when your door burst open and you quickly turned your head, snatching your leather mask, now much more worn, from its hook on the closet door and swiftly tying it onto your face. Swerving around to face the person who dared to barge into your room, you open your mouth, preparing to lecture them. But you halt, realizing that it was the head maid. Her hair was askew and she looked quite nervous. "Hasten, the Young Master has returned. His wife is dead and we need to swiftly prepare his quarters." You pause, flabbergast as you are smacked by the sudden influx of information. "Wha-?" "There's no time!" She informs you, waving off your questions and hustling out of your room, beckoning you to follow her and you do. Because that's your job.

Rushing out of your room, you quickly tuck your hair away in the bonnet laying on the table near the door and struggle to process the situation that has fallen into your lap. Your master was back, his wife was dead, and his room needed to be prepared. There was so much to do, you would have to change out the curtains, the sheets, the carpet and you would have to dust everything, arrange his clothes, discard out of season decorations. Oh heavens, you were overwhelmed by the mere thought of what you must endure. "The young master is currently in the drawing room with his parents, they are discussing funeral arrangements." That would take some time, his parents are perfectionists. "We should have enough time to tackle the bigger jobs, such as the sheets and curtains." Nodding your head, you increase your pace, stepping in stride with your supervisor. "Elisabeth and James are going to be assisting us, I want you to ensure that everything is dusted and that there are no unsightly garments left in his closet." Unsightly meaning out of fashion, it was a waste of material, truly. "Of course, I will do my best." The Head maid pauses outside the bedroom door. "You must do more than that, the young lord is in mourning. Everything needs to be perfect, we do not need to add any undue stress to his shoulders." Nodding again, you wait for her to open the door. Then you enter and begin the daunting task of cleaning.

Your tasks were fairly simple, albeit tedious, and Dusting ate up a majority of your time. But the room was cleaned or it looked to be manageable. Obviously there was more to do, but the Head maid insisted that only the most important tasks were to be completed today. It took up the entire afternoon, by the time the others dispersed it was evening and you were left behind organizing his closet. Sighing quietly, you rolls your shoulders and yawn, stretching your exhausted arms. Stepping back, you observe your objective, proud of the progress you made. You went through nearly twenty different articles of clothing before you could start rearranging the clothes. Fortunately, your master has always been ahead of fashion trends. Turning away, you survey the room, now dawned in gloomier colors to perpetuate the mourning that awaits Daelan. You pause, would he mourn? Did he find himself falling in love with his wife? Is that why he never wrote to you and said goodbye before he left? You stew in your thoughts, then shake your head and crush the pain of unrequited love. Instead turning your attention to the suitcases on his bed, there were quite a few of them. It would likely be a good idea to go ahead and start hanging up his clothes.

Exhaling you shamble forward, slowly making your way to the cases of clothes he brought with him. Then you began to unpack them, each suitcase carefully sorted and hung, with love you didn't believe that you didn't believe you still possessed. You opened the third suitcase, the latches clicking as you popped them off and you were going to sort through this one all the same until your eyes laid upon the porcelain mask on top of the clothes. It was pristine, newly made and decorated with floral designs of the deepest red across the forehead and cheeks. Across the front of the mask, over the area where the eyes would be, was a strange design. You were sure it meant something, all of the designs Daelan chooses do. But you didn't know what, that wasn't why it caught your eyes though.

No, it's because there were small stains on it, it looked to be similar to rust, but you weren't sure. Something about it was wrong though, however you placed it aside and then reached for the ceremonial coat he wore the day of the wedding. You froze. It surely would have been gorgeous, the gentle cream meshing with the golden flowers and red engravings. However the large stain on its side ruined any beauty the garment held. You couldn't deny what that was, the reddish-brown splatter was clearly blood. You knew this much from your past, but what should you do? Surely there was an explanation. The door creaks shut behind you. "They believe it was an ambush orchestrated by cunning bandits." You freeze and listens as the floorboards croak in protest with each step he takes. "They believe that she died in my arms, that I screamed her name to the heavens." His voice is much closer now, you drop the coat. "That i begged the goddess to bring her back." Your heart races, had he truly..? "But the only name I have ever screamed was yours, servant." Daelan stands behind you know, breath hot against the nape of your neck as his arms snake around your waist and he leans his body against yours. "I only ever beg the goddess for you."

Softly, he nuzzles the crook of your neck, one hand sliding up your chest to rest above your heart. "I will only mourn you." His statement is final as his other hand slides down your waist and he carefully turns you around. "I had to wait so long to act." Pulling you close, he smiles, face bare and smile just as deranged as the look in his eyes. "Always pretending, it was so exhausting to keep the act of a loving husband up." His soft hand runs up your shoulder, cupping your face. "But i no longer have to do that. Now I am free to love you as I please." Leaning his head forward, he closes the gap between the two of you, his eyes flutter shut and Daelan kisses you softly. He pulls back for a moment, whispering softly. "I found my way back to you." All he had to do was sacrifice himself.

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The End

Hope you guys enjoyed and forgive me if you spot any grammar errors, i write way too late.

You carefully brushed out his hair, avoiding his gaze as was customary. It is a disgusting sin to lay one's eyes upon an unmasked individual, especially if they were unmarried and even more so if they were your employer. To prevent this all servants, except high ranking servants, are given leather masks. The masks covers the servant's eyes and blocks a majority of their vision. The servant is left with a pinprick of sight and forbidden from raising their head in their master's presence.

The brush cards through his dark hair, the inky strands gliding effortlessly between the soft horsehair bristles. His delicate locks shimmer under the candlelight and are soft to the touch, like silk. Your hand lingers, pausing to take in the fine, glossy wisps. Your master's hair is so soft despite how often it's colored, you envy his healthy tresses. Yours is brittle by comparison. You feel his head tilt up, signyfing that you must continue caring for his hair. Exhaling quietly, you resume your duties, eyes focused soley on the locks the brush caresses. You hear his breathy sigh and your shoulders tense as you pause yet again. He exhales sharply and waves his hand, gesturing for you to continue, which you only recognize due to the bells hanging from his wrists. A kind addition that some nobles will bear to spare their servant the stress of misinterpreting hand motions. once again you resume brushing through his hair, much quicker this time as you fear he grows bored.

Pulling the brush away, you place the engraved object on his vanity and reach for a ribbon in the deep color of purple and deftly pull his hair back, tying it gently in a low braid that hangs just below his shoulder blades. He swiftly rises from the winged velvet chair, ghosting it as he glides pass, sashaying to his bed, and your eyes follow his hips. The bells ring obnoxiously as he traipses. He carelessly tosses off his silken robe and gracefully collapses onto the bed. A loud jingle following his motions. Hurrying after him, you avert your gaze as he turns to face you and bow your head, blindly grasping for the robe. He chuckles in a low tone, relishing in your flustered behavior. The black haired man exhales benginly and then sits up, pulling his knees under him until they only peek out from beneath his satin slip. Cradling the blue robe close to your chest as though to protect yourself from whatever he intends to do, you turn away and clamber to his wooden closet. Pulling the doors open, you hang the article gently on its hook and close the doors.

You hear him sigh once more and then you hear him call your name, followed by a pet name. "Dear." Shoulders tense once more, you raise your head, to signal that you are listening and he chuckles yet again. His gentle voice beckons you to his side. "Come here." And you follow, as is your duty. Facing your head down, you stagger to his side and stumble when you halt. He adjusts his position yet again, removing his legs from underneath him and places his hands on either side of his thighs, the movement causes his bells to ring. The man raises a hand and listlessly gestures for you to grab it, you do. Grasping his smooth, tanned skin and momentarily squeezing it as you desperately crave connection. So does he, it seems, as his voice begins to suggest that the two of you have a rather suggestive conversation. "That mask of yours, it is so...impersonal, no?" Squaring your shoulders, you gulp nervously. Whenever your master begins to suggest unmasking you, it causes anxiety to swirl in the pits of your stomach. "Mine is already off, it would be rude to cause me such distress with no compensation." You did not ask him to take his mask off, he did so of his own volition and eagerly too and being bareface causes him little distress. Pulling you down to his height, he continues his persuasive speech, "Surely it is not necessary between us, we are so close after all." You have served him loyally since the two of you were young children in school. He has shared with you secrets that no one else on earth knows and it is a heavy burden to carry.

His soft hands caress your callous skin, his manicured nails claw lightly at your the back og your hands as he tugs you closer. Yet, you continue averting your gaze, determined to avoid encouraging his bad habits. He sighs once more, seeming to give up the game as he releases your hand. "Is it too much to ask my dearest servant and closest friend to see their face? Do you truly believe me to take advantage of such a intimate thing?" You do, he is no stranger to manipulation or cruel games brought on via bribery. He seems to lament, flopping back onto the duvet and covering his face with his arm. Peeking from the corner of your eyes, you observe the way his slip spills beneath him and the elegant framing it provides him. Embarassed, your face flushes and you are eternally grateful that he cannot see your face beneath this leather prison. He sighs and requests something unexpected. "Say my name." Uncertainity drowns your voice as you mutter the name he is referred to by those in society. "Ellis?" Groaning loudly, he sist up hasitly and slams his hands on the plush surface beneath him, bells jingle. "NO! My real name." Your hesitant expression is difficult to read as your face is obscured by your mandatory mask, but he knows you well and reads your body language even better. "Do not be hesitant, i will not hold it against you." He tries to reassure you. His voice unusally insecure as he shifts to sit on his knees, reaching for you once more. "Please, say my name. I fear that I have forgotten it." Sorrow drips from his melodious voice, an uncommon emotion for him to display and you risk a glance at him. Your eyes take in the pinched brows that remain their orignal ashy purple and the dark bags that drag his brown almond eyes down. You notice the small breakouts of acne that have occured due to stress and the cracks on his thin, pale lips. He looks ill, like he hasn't rested properly in days.

You look away, he pulls you closer. "Do I have to beg? It is such a simple request." Biting your lip, you try to ignore the guilt that twinges your soul. "Have you forgotten it as well?" Your heart breaks, his sorrow traps you in an endless pool of sympathy and you relent, mumbling his name with the shyest of tones. "Daelan.." His weary eyes widen and he gazess at you for a moment too long then sighs softly as a look of relief crosses his face. His brows lose their furrow and his hands run up your arm. "It has been so long." Daelan's tender hands graze your skin, pads of his fingertips imbedding themselves in your memory as he rises, still on his knees but now level with you. "Everyday it slips further and further from my mind. It is such a distant sound now and no one seems intent to utter it anymore" His tan hands slide over your shoulder, lingering for a moment then continuing upwards to lovingly cup your face, forcing you to face him. "I wonder if my parents even remember my name. If they will ever see me as..." He's hesitant to speak the word. "Daelan again" His breath hitches as he speaks his birth name, struggling to pronounce it properly. "Or if they even care to remember me that way." Daelan touches his forehead to yours, direct contact prevented by the mask you wear. His hands work to hide within your hair, nudging the string that holds your mask on. "Perhaps not. Perhaps they have always wanted me to be" A mournful sigh predates the utterance of his noble name. "Ellis." He speaks it wiht bitter distaste, reserved only for enemies.

Your mask comes loose as he manages to untie the knot holding it up and it flutters to the ground in a rather casual manner. Vulnerability attacks you as you are forced to face him with no buffer, to personally interact with him. You notice his smile, the way his mouth curls and the small dimples that joy forms. "With you, I feel.." Daelan pauses once more, fighting the cautious part of him that warns him to pull away, to put up the wall. "free." But he doesn't listen, embracing you and slotting his lips against yours, kissing you feverently as his fingers card through your hair. You reciprocate, despite your better judgment, and sturdy hands grasp his shoulders then begin to creep up his neck and eagerly claspes his nape. The motion pulls him closer, a passion sparking between the two of you as hungry lips fight for dominance. Both of you battling for control, your hands begin to wander and he mimics your action, grabbing your waist while you grab at his upper back. You briefly note the satin fabric wrinkling beneath your touch, but refuse to linger on anything other than the man before you who manages to pull you into bed. Daelan parts temporarily, gasping desperately as his hands continue to wander, exploring the uniform his loyal servant wears. He bites the corner of his pale lips, eyes narrowing as his mind races. Brown eyes search your features, memorizing what it can and simultaneously asking a sincere question which he soon voices. "If it pleases you, might we continue?" His gentle voice wavers, as though afraid you would reject him. Instead you nod and agree. "It would please me greatly, Master Daelan." His face flushes a vibrant red and his grin grows as he rapidly resumes his previous actions, kissing you yet again and pulling you as close as possible.

Tonight he was free, tonight he could enjoy a moment of intimacy with someone he trusted. Tonight is enough, It has to be.

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Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed and i might make a part two. I've got a few more ideas, but idk. Apologies if my writing is off, i'm writing this at 6:19 in the morning on no sleep. :p started writing it 4 hrs ago

Tell me what you guys think about Daelan and the small bits of lore i dropped. Below is Daelan, a very average looking individual. Those red spots are supposed to acne, but i gave up. That's his old mask.

Pausing, he hesitates, dreading the upcoming meeting which will likely spiral into an argument about something ridiculous such as what lace to use to decorate their clothes. The obvious answer is Alençon lace, it elevates even the simplest designs. He exhales once more then pushes the left door open, it swings loudly and he winces then tries to sneak in. "Late once more, Gael." He groans internally and lazily rolls his head to face the Elder whom rests in his cushioned chair, beside him is Madam. "Did we not already have a conversation pertaining to your poor timing?"

The door slams shut behind him, likely due to a servant, and his shoulders tense. Asasel gestures to the chair next to Amro, who is doodling on his paperwork, and Gael drudges towards it. "You're lucky the Countess is running late." Phaeln chimes in, her voices grates against his ears. Her tone as condescending as always. "Hush it, girl." Gael hisses, baring his teeth at the child. She taunts him further by sticking her tongue out and a soft exsaperated sigh follows as Madam interrupts. "Let's Not Argue In The War-Room." Asasel gently corrects his lover. "Boardroom, dear, we aren't at war." "Yet." She responds. Asasel glances their way and brushes his hand over her glove. Gael slumps in his seat, Phaelen copies him as to irritate him further and Amro notices, snickering at the display.

The door creaks open again in a timid, reluctant manner as Callum enters the room. His gaze directed to the floor as he begrudingly approaches the table. Finding he seats, he claspes his hands together and rests his elbow on the surface of the wooden table, creasing the map laid across it. Gael eyes him critically, scoffing at the somber display on his face, his nose scrunches as he analyzes the sorrowful slump of Callum's posture. rolling his eyes, Gael turns away, mumblingly about how dramatic his coven member is and Callum winces. Amro glances at his brother and bites his lip, resisiting the urge to correct his callous behavior. Fortunately, The Elder politely chastises him. "Gael, Do not be so cold." Gael's face burns with embarassment and mutters an insincere apololgy. Phaelen's narrow eyes flit between the two, observing the tension and braces for any sort of argument.

Fortunately the wooden doors are forved open with a dramatic display of dominance belonging only to Countess Naia. She pauses, building suspense as the attention is turned to her. Her posture is straight as a rod, shoulders square and balanced. Adorning her is the latest fashion, a sharp fitting suit hightlighting her dark skin and elegant curls. Stepping into the room, she struts to the table and places her palms on the surface. A quirky, sharp tooth smile graces her face as her boisterous voice greets the room. "Good Evening, My Dear Family, We Have Much To Discuss."

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I did not wann write this you guys, but i did and introduced two new characters! Sorry about my absenc, but hello! Man i really need to read more 😭My vocab is struggling, it's depressing me :/

A wet cloth is pressed to your forehead, dabbing at the sweat and slowly calming the fever. Groaning softly, you lean into the relief it offers and whimper as the pain returns full force. Forcing your eyes open, you glare at Gael, blaming him for whatever suffering you're enduring. He simply smiles and continues patting away the drops of sweat continuously running down your face. Whatever illness these wretched creatures infected you with gives you more reason to despise them.

Irritated you swat at his hand, shoving helplessly at his wrist and pushing away the cloth. It doesn't matter that it alleviates your suffering, you don't want anything from them. A small sound of disapproval is Gael's response, "Tsk." though he obliges with a tilt of his head. "Don't you want to feel better, beloved?" Your response is immediate. "I don't want anything from you or the other curses in this spoiled place." He frowns, lowering the damp cloth with a pout and huffing. "Don't be stubborn, you need my help." You muffle a whine as you weakly begin to sit up, your arms quaking at the effort expended and your head spinning nauseasly. Again he reaches forward to push you down, but your resistance is stronger this time and you pull back from him, unfortunately falling onto the pillow. Your groans continue as the fever increases and you place an arm across your eyes to ease the headache caused by the dim lighting. "Poor thing." You hear Gael's sympathetic voice lament as he resumes dabbing at your heated skin. Again, you try to swat at his hand and fail. Temporarily your give up and allow yourself a chance to gather your strength.

The bloodsucker seems pleased by your compliance and inches closer to your body, moving your arm carefully to gaze into your eyes for a reason only known to him. Naturally, you keep your eyes closed, because he doesn't deserve the luxury of your sight. Sighing softly with minor disappointment, Gael relents for the moment and pulls away, you savor this small win. Though it doesn't last long as he soon returns, lifting your head up and propping some pillows behind your neck. Your disobedience returns and you move your head away from the pillows, he returns them and aggressively cups his hands around your face to prevent you from moving. "Don't move." He warns, nails digging into your skin come more and you briefly freeze. Then, in an act of rebellion, you worm your jaw free and bite the crook of his hand. He tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his hand away as your teeth break skin and latch on painfully.

You draw blood, you didn't even know these creatures had blood. It tastes disgustingly bitter and cold, you reel back and spit out the liquid. Your nose scrunches and your mouth purses as you regret biting into him. Gael quickly retrieves his hand, holding it close to his chest and wincing as his fingers brush over the wound. His dark eyes narrow as he chastises you. "That was rude, I was just trying to help you." He scoffs, rises from his seat and informs you that he is departing. "Obviously you need some time alone." Gael's snarky tone is more than enough to express his displeasure and he marches away from your bed, slams the bedroom door shut and leaves you to your lonesome, not that you're complaining. You knock the pillows back into place and lay back down, resting for a minute before you attempt to find an escape. Pulling the covers back, you survey the length of the chain, grabbing it and tugging at it to test it's durability.

The chain is heavy, clearly made of strong iron, the links are properly connected and not the least bit rusty. Turning it over, you notice that cutting through the metal would require tools that you don't have on you. Looking to your right, you notice the end table with the bowl resting on it. Your nose scrunches involuntarily at the sight, but you ignore your urges to knock it down. Instead, you reach over and pull the top drawer open. The only thing inside the shallow, wooden drawer is a few unopened letters and, ironically, a well-worn bible. You chuckle a little, then close the drawer and try to open the bottom one. Tugging on it is fruitless as it won't budge, whatever's in there they don't want you to get access to it. Exhaling, you mean back, wincing at the pain such small actions said you, and then look through the left end table. Again the bottom drawer is locked and the only thing in the top drawer is a thin book about poems. Your sister loved poems, you slam the drawer shut and collapse back into the comfortable bed. Nothing helpful whatsoever. Running your hands over your face you fight the frustration and tears back with determined thoughts of spite. Sitting up, you swing your legs over the bed, might as well see how far you can get.

Breathing out, Gael slumps briefly against the door then straightens as he realizes that he had taken the wet washcloth with him. Grimacing, he looks around for a servant. Eventually, after pacing the hallway he finds one and unceremoniously dumps the cloth in her hand. Then dusts his hands off with a handkerchief he keeps in his breast pocket and resumes his walk. Perhaps he should talk to one of his siblings or report your behavior to Madam. He isn't sure, sighing wearily he massages his forehead. The thought of talking to anyone about you gives him a headache. They don't understand how importantly you are, they don't understand that if you were properly taught you could be such a useful asset. Perhaps even a lovely companion for him or anyone really. It's not like he's attached to you, he barely even knows you. Though your attitude is so reminiscent of someone he comes knew and that makes it much harder to remain professional when interacting with you. Clearing his throat, he hastens his pace and decides to stop dwelling on the idea. There are much more important things to focus on right now, such as the meeting later today. Gael winces at the endless conversation awaiting him in that dusty boardroom. Might as well head that way now, lest he have to endure a lengthy speech regarding his attendance.

Not very far it turns out, you collapsed the moment you tried to stand. Your body was too weak, too injured, to move and the fever wasn't helping any. You nearly vomited again, which would've been extremely upsetting but satisfying as it likely would've stained their nice wooden floors. Reluctantly, you crawled back into bed and curled up under the covers, pulling them over your head to hide from the world while your emotions slowly breaks down and leave you a sobbing mess. It would be disasterous if any one of your captors saw you weak and vulnerable. You couldn't let them have that, you would remain strong and stubborn in front of them, even if it killed you.