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         the quiet and rhythmical ping of a foreign yet familiar melody sounds in his workshop. his figure leans over a wooden desk, large hands working meticulously to perfect the memory of a song only his soul has heard. eyes focus on the task in front of him, but his senses remain alert. footsteps approach quietly in order to avoid disturbing. he greets the visitor with a kind tone. 

         ❝ can i help you? ❞

lorna stared up at the man with eyes wide as saucers, trying valiantly to regain her breath. ❝oh, would you, sir!❞ how worried she’d been that he would turn her away–that he would dismiss her! ❝yes–yes, come, please!❞ quickly, they must go, quickly. her small hand slid into his upon her cheek, pulling him towards her cottage.

❝she–she’s been sickly for days, but i had thought it was getting better–she’s been so cold, so weak…❞ she rushed down the path as hastily as her companion could allow, tucking stray strands of hair back under her bonnet. heavens, she did not even know what she would DO if… if auntie whispers was d e a d. who would help keep her demon at bay–who could know the secret? she barely knew anything of the outside word besides what she read in her books, let alone how to live in it on her own.

sniffling, lorna tugged her bonnet on straighter. ❝i-its not far, sir, just on the edge of town…❞ oh, gods, if any were listening, let this man be a miracle worker–!!

dettlaff allowed himself to be led by hand, putting aside his errands for the day to help the girl as best he could. he listened with intent as she explained her aunt's condition, treading along as quickly as her feet could manage. he remained close behind. ❝ did you not seek aid when first you knew of her ailment? ❞ he questioned, but guessed already that no one paid her mind. she does not look wealthy in the least, and dettlaff has learned that often if there is no gold to be made, rarely will a human lend a helping hand.

even through his bitterness, dettlaff’s heart thrummed in agreement at the other’s words, the solid wall he has built since love forsook him, quaking and threatening to tumble as his heart softens. he would remain silent, his now saddened eyes averting his gaze elsewhere ❝ i have found that love is much too great a feat for a monster to ask for. ❞

@doloramor

pallid hands clung to the edges of her apron; lifting the ragged hem fro the muddied path as she FLEW down the village street. she never would have thought this could happen–oh, no, oh, heavens no–! slippered feeet stumbled on a rock–she was running too quickly to look where she was going, but lorna caught herself && back on her flight in seconds.

tears streamed from tortoiseshell eyes, tracking rivulets down her ivory face. someone HAD to help her; they h a d to! auntie whispers had been unwell, yes, but she had seemed to be GETTING BETTER. until this morning. so pale she’d been, so cold–! && lorna, all alone–!

oh, she was a flustered mess!

there–a man, tall, in dark clothing–perhaps he could help. lorna reached his side, && tiny hands reached out to grasp at his cloak; fear of strangers left behind in her distress. ❝please, sir–please, you must help me! my auntie, i think–oh, i think she has DIED! i–i don’t know what to do… i do not know if she lives or not–can we help her yet? PLEASE, sir!❞

at the feeling of another grasping at his coat dettlaff turned suddenly, yet his eye line was far above her head, thus presently he adjusted, now looking down at the pale girl, a slight tilt of his head conveying his curiosity. she spoke to him through breaths. she must have been running for a while. searching he assumed, for help as it would have it.  upon hearing the full extent of her plea dettlaff placed a hand upon her head, then upon her cheek. his gaze was softer than what was usual of him. he was not lacking in basic knowledge of healing, but little he would be able to do if her aunt was indeed dead already. still, he would not turn her away. not as many other humans would (or had already, perhaps).

random messages… // @fruitsofbeauclair