#goldiewrites

"That's not mistletoe," you sigh out, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger as you will away the headache trying to form. This is a Satanic clergy, why in His name were you decorating for Christmas?

"Sure it is," the ghoul holding an armful of plant matter assures you.

"It's not," you counter.

"It is."

"It's—" you stop yourself and raise your head to pin them with a stare. "Why are you so sure it is?"

"It's got berries. Papa Primo said it'd have berries."

"And did Papa Primo tell you what color those berries would be?"

"White!"

"And what color are those berries?"

"Uh," the ghoul stutters, dropping their attention to the plants in their arms. "White?"

"They're red."

Their head whips up. Surprise, and you'll be damned if you don't think it's genuine, widens their eyes. "Red?"

"Yes," you confirm. "Very."

"Oh, I see." They deflate, and you feel the anger you were harboring for them slip from you in the process.

"Just put it on the table," you say, doing your best to soften your tone. "It's not mistletoe, but holly is still festive. I'll find something to do with it."

"Alright," the ghoul says, dejectedly doing as you command.

"Thank you for trying," you force out. "And perhaps you should consider getting your eyes checked."

They nod their head and turn to trudge out of the room. You bite your lip to stop you from calling out and trying to make things better. You aren't honestly sure you could manage that, given that you're stewing over having another task added to your already long decorating list. You would need to find mistletoe yourself, otherwise you would never hear the end of it—not in this clergy.

You clench your jaw, but then force yourself to release it. As much as you want to give up and return to your real tasks, the request to decorate for Christmas had come from the upper echelons. You had better keep on. You gather a couple of sprigs of the holly, careful of the prickly leaves, and then head towards the ladder still set up from where you had just been hanging lights. It will look festive, it will be fine, you assure yourself as you climb the ladder and set to work.

"Bellissima!" a voice calls, startling you. You drop the holly from one hand and grip the ladder as it shakes under you. Slowly, you turn your head to watch Papa Terzo walk into the room, face alight as he takes in your progress. "This, this is Christmas spirit, no?"

"Uh, yes," you agree, pieces clicking into place in your brain. You had been so ready to be angry at whoever ordered this, but you could never be angry at Papa Terzo. Now eager to be off the ladder, you turn to back to your work and listen as Terzo's footsteps grow closer.

"Ah, and all this mistletoe," you hear him purr from near your hip, "the siblings will have such fun with it."

"This isn't mistletoe," you point out, bracing yourself as you pause to look down at him.

"It's not?" he asks, eyes twinkling just as you'd expected, and your heart flutters in response. For as much as you tried to prepare yourself, you knew you're no match for those eyes.

"It's not," you say and force yourself to turn back to the sprig you had been working on. You finish securing it, then carefully start down the ladder. "It's holly."

"Holly jolly?"

"Mm," you agree, finding your footing on solid ground again. You turn to get the next sprig and continue your work, but Terzo's question freezes you in the spot.

"Does that mean I can't kiss you under it then?"

Your breath leaves you in a gust and you feel your brain scrambling for purchase. Sure, you'd thought about kissing the devilishly handsome Papa before…but did that mean he'd thought about kissing you too? Or was he just flirting; looking for some banter and a quick conquest?

Did you really care?

"It means you don't have to," you finally say carefully. You allow your eyes to shift back to his, and again fall under their spell. The playfulness is there, but there's also something else you can't quite name.

"You never have to kiss anyone," Terzo says, sincerity dripping from his tone. He take a step closer, and you grip the ladder tighter in response. "The mistletoe just gives us, eh, an excuse to act on our impulses."

You lick your suddenly dry lips, and Terzo's eyes dart down to watch the motion. "And you impulsively want to kiss me?"

"No."

"Oh," you say, straightening up and shaking your head. That hurt, but then you had been a fool to think that a Papa wanted you. "Right. Well, I'm going to get mistletoe later, but I'm sure you can still kiss—"

Terzo's hand wraps over yours where you're still gripping the ladder. The leather of his glove is soft against your skin, and warm from his own heat. "I meant only that it wasn't an impulsive desire. It's a desire I've had for quite some time."

"What?" you whisper, thoughts slow to catch up. You can't quite pull you attention from where his hand envelops yours until his other hand comes to pinch your chin, the prick of the nail on his glove assuring you that you haven't fallen off the ladder and into a dream.

"I've wanted to kiss you for quite some time," he continues, eyes meeting your own so you can see the truth there. "It's why I asked for you to have this task. I hoped I might find you under the mistletoe and have my chance."

"You didn't need the mistletoe," you confess. "You could have kissed me whenever you wanted."

"Does that mean I can kiss you now?"

"No, no, it's fine," you assured your friend, trying to focus on their voice instead of the crunching you could hear coming from the high table. "I can- it's just- I'll be fine."

"Mm-hm," you friend replied, their disbelief evident in their voice. You tried to rally a response when an especially loud crunch rang out. Tingling shivers skated down your spine and you let out a slow breath. It wasn't the crunching, exactly, that you found so distracting. It was the thought of Papa's jaw working, his strong, white teeth obliterating the offending cereal—and the thought of those teeth pressing into your own flesh.

"How you can be so hot and bothered as a man eats dry, plain cornflakes is beyond me," you friend drawled before taking a large spoonful of their yogurt. You gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"It would be so much easier if I wasn't," you replied.

"Aren't cornflakes supposed to be the anti-horny cereal?"

You shrugged and make yourself eat some of the eggs on your plate. You barely tasted them as you tried to command your body to behave and your mind not to conjure images of Papa smiling so mischievously before lowering his head and—

"I think he's done," your friend said, and your head whipped around to confirm it. Sure enough Papa was standing from the table and one of the Siblings assigned to kitchen duty was coming to collect his bowl. You felt your shoulders relax as you quickly turned back around to focus again on your food. You couldn't quite decide if you were relieved or disappointed that the sweet torture was over.

"He's coming this way, just ask him," your friend urged.

"No," you whispered back.

"Come on."

"I can't!"

"Why not? This ministry encourages sin—"

"I can't just ask Papa to bite me," you hissed. your voice louder than you meant it. Your friend smirked, and you felt your stomach drop. Knowing what you'd find, you slowly turned to see Papa had stopped at your table, a look you couldn't quite decipher on his face.

"A pity, Sibling," he purred, "I'm sure you'd bruise so beautifully too."

A strangled noise came out of your throat.

"If you change your mind, I am free after three this afternoon," he added, before giving a small nod to your friend and continuing his exit.

"How could you?" you hissed at your friend, then buried your face in your hands.

He felt bad for the creature, he did, but his own pet situation was hardly ideal. Still, it obviously needed somewhere to go. Someone to take care of it. He let out a long breath.

"You know I have other pets?" he asked.

"Yes," it said, voice trembling as its body continued to shake. Secondo pointed at the roaring fire. The human tilted its head, then understanding lit behind its eyes and it moved to stand in front of the flames. "I like people."

Secondo lifted his brow.

"Men, women, other..." the human continued, "if that's your concern."

That had been his concern. Or, at least one of them. His pets were attached to each other, as well as him, and he anticipated that any new addition would need to be open to such attachments.

"Good," he allowed. The human smiled up at him, eager, hopeful. He tamped down on the part of him that reacted to that. He couldn't just let any old stray into his group. He needed to be sure this one was right for him. "Have you been owned by anyone before?"

"No. I- I've never actually met a vampire before today. Heard stories, of course. When our friends vanished we'd always joke they'd found a vampire home. Somewhere nice and safe, where the food was plentiful and the master was good. It was a nicer story than..." the human trailed off, biting its lip as it fought to keep the sadness off of its face. Again, Secondo felt an emotion try to squeeze his heart. It was getting harder to ignore that. "Anyways, nope, no other owners to answer your question."

"And you understand what it would mean to be my pet?" he pressed.

"I think so. I give you access to my blood and"—it cleared its throat, a blush staining it's cheeks—"body and you make sure I'm fed and warm. Right?"

"More or less," Secondo agreed. He hesitated again, trying for force himself to think clearly, not to be swayed by his compassion, before giving in and stepping closer to the human. He was relieved to realize it had stopped shivering and didn't retreat from him as he moved close. Slowly, as not to startle it, he raised his hand and pinched its chin between his fingers.

Its eyes widened at his touch, the pupils expanding as he watched. Its pulse quickened, the blush from earlier becoming more pronounced, and its lips parting on shallow breaths.

"You will allow me to smell you," he commanded. It was a redundant exercise, he already knew it smelled delicious. It smelled of dark, sweet berries and, though it was possible that he was smelling the rain still clinging to its skin, he was certain that petrichor was part of its own essence as well. No, this was purely to see how it would handle a command.

It tilted it head to the side, offering its neck to him.

"Frater?" the ghoul asked carefully.

"Another!" Copia said again, this time sitting up slightly, his white eye beginning to glow. The ghoul help up his hands in surrender.

"At your service," an new voice replied, this time soft and lilting and feminine. Copia slumped back, taking another pensive sip, his eyes moving between the two ghouls at attention before him.

"Hm," he hummed, his voice contorted as he spoke into the glass. "Another!"

"Really?" the third ghoul questioned, letting out a sigh and crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot. "What can you need with three ghouls at this hour?"

"I am Frater," Copia asserted, struggling to sit up straight and finally relinquishing his glass of wine to the coffee table in front of him.

"Okay, Frater, what can we do for you?" the third ghoul asked with only the thinnest veneer of patience.

"Have you ever seen Star Wars?"

"What?" the third ghoul asked.

"No," the ghoulette said at the same time.

"Excellent, you can watch it now," Copia decreed.

The ghouls paused, sending each other looks that Copia might have had a chance of deciphering if he hadn't so thoroughly indulged. Eventually, the first ghoul shrugged and moved to take a spot on the sofa. The ghoulette followed after a final glance at the third.

"This better be the original version," the third ghoul grumbled, and moved to wedge himself between Copia and the arm of the sofa. "Han shot first."

Copia snorted, reaching for the remote. "Of course, the VHS is not just for nostalgia, eh?"

The ghouls held their peace as Copia hit the play button and wiggled back onto the sofa. It was a tight fit, the four of them on the sofa, but that seemed to be exactly what Copia had wanted.

You straightened your habit, using the small reflection of yourself that you could see in the polished plaque declaring this door to the office for Papa Emeritus III. You smiled at yourself, trying to make it seem confident and excited instead of nervous. You weren't sure you manged it.

This was a good thing, you reassured yourself—for the twentieth time since you left your quarters ten minutes ago. It was a good thing Papa wanted to see you. It was. Try as you might, you couldn't believe that Papa's office summoned errant siblings with gilded invitations begging "the pleasure of your company." So that must be good. If only you could figure out what good thing you'd done to bring yourself to Papa's attention.

You had been diligent in your studies, helped eagerly whenever one of the senior siblings asked, and had even scrubbed the chapel floor until your fingers were raw. It had been worth it, the pride you'd felt as you beheld the shining floor as rich a sin as your Dark Lord would want. The floor really had been beautiful, so polished and neat and…

Oh no.

As an idea occurred to you, you saw yourself grimace. But, no! No! You mentally slapped yourself. You had already decided that they wouldn't summon naughty siblings with polite gilded invitations, therefore there was no way that Papa Terzo had slipped and fallen your beautifully polished and scrubbed floors. Even if he was rather notorious for his tumbles.

But what if this was a trick?

What if they lured siblings here for punishment with polite gilded invitations because they'd learned that if they told them they were in trouble then such delinquent siblings wouldn't show up. That was it, wasn't it? You were being lured here so that you could be punished for breaking Papa Terzo. You knew it. He was behind that door, in a cast—or casts!—ready to berate you for your insolence.

And of course it was Papa Terzo that you broke. Not that you wanted to hurt any of the Papas, but it simply had to be your favorite. You liked the other Papas fine, not that a novitiate like you actually got a chance to speak with any of them, but there was something special about Papa Terzo that caught your eye. You made sure to attend every service, no matter how minor, he led. You'd thought he'd smiled at you a time or two before. You'd thought maybe, just maybe, he'd begun to notice you. Which made this all the worse.

Bile rose in the back of your throat and the yawning abyss of failure opened in the pit of your stomach. How had you been so foolish? You'd indulged your own pride and now you were paying for it. Fool! You were such a—

"Oh! Hello!" a soft voice said from in front of you and snapped you out of your spiral. You blinked and realized that the door had opened and now a short, round faced, middle-aged woman was peering at you expectantly. "I had thought someone was out here. I've got a sense for it, you know."

"Yes, ma'am," you agreed by instinct. She seemed pleased by your agreement and gave a kindly smile.

"You look lovely," a familiar voice purred into Sibyl's ear. She allowed her lips to curl into a smile then turned to look over her shoulder into familiar eyes.

"M'lord Terzo," she said, leaning close so he could hear her over the din of voices and music, "allowing us to use the hall was a most kind gesture."

"Think nothing of it."

"You'll have all your serfs looking at you expectantly now."

"They can look," he replied dryly and Sibyl didn't bother to try to stifle her laugh. "They'll have to give me a better reason than some pleading eyes."

"Oh, and what reason did I give you," Sibyl teased back, turning in the process so she could face him fully. He was dressed magnificently, as always. Gold embroidery sparkled around the neck of his rich blue surcoat. His face paint denoting his nobility was still crisp despite the heat of the hall.

"Your cheese, of course," he answered promptly, the perfect blinking picture of innocence. "What other reason were you thinking?"

"Oh, nothing," Sibyl lied, lifting a hand to stroke carelessly down her throat. "I'm sure you'll having to fight the women out of the dairy once I'm gone."

"You won't be gone that far."

"No, but I won't be in within your curtain wall anymore."

"No." He studied her for a moment, before slowly asking, "will I truly need to find a new dairymaid?"

Sibyl let out a long breath and shifted her attention to the crowd. Smiling, ruddy faces that she'd known all her life filled the space and her heart twisted at the idea of being far from them. "Hick and I haven't discussed the details."

"Ah," Lord Terzo breathed, but didn't push her.

"His farm is on the far side of the village," Sibyl continued, feeling the need to explain. "It's a long walk up to the keep and he—we—want children soon."

"I understand," he assured her, but Sibyl still couldn't look at him. She lifted her hand to play with her necklace and bit her lip.

"It's- it's going to be so quiet out there," she admitted.

"It's not that far."

"No, no it's not."

"And you will always be welcome here."

"I know," she said and finally mustered the courage to turn to look at him again. There a softness and a kindness in his expression that she, or for that matter anyone, rarely got to see. "It's just all so different so fast."

"But you'll be happy with him?" Terzo pressed.

"Yes." That was an easy answer. "He's so good and earnest and makes me feel like the center of the universe when I'm with him."

The softness lingered in his expression for a moment longer, before his smile turned back into the teasing one Sibyl was more familiar with. "I'll try not to be insulted."

"You shouldn't be!" she laughed, and carelessly batted his chest in admonition. He made a humming noise that indicated he didn't quite believe her, but a true smile still crinkled his eyes as he caught her hand and held it.

"I have something for you, before you go."

"Oh, but m'lord you've already done enough."

"Ah, as lord I get to decide that," said Terzo, as he adjusted his grip and tugged Sibyl after him. She fell into step behind him, winding through the crowd and towards his solar. Her mother caught her eye along the way with a questioning look, but Sibyl could only shrug in response.

She focused on the back of his head, yearning, as ever, to run her fingers through those raven locks. At one point she had thought that yearning would wane if she knew what they felt like. Now that she did, she knew it didn't. Knowing that she never again would wrap those dark strands around her fingers did strange things to her heart, but it was just another change that came along with her wedding day.

"Here," Lord Terzo urged, holding the door open and releasing Sibyl's hand to gesture her into the room. Sibyl obeyed and stepped into the solar. It was a familiar room to her, though that was another thing she shouldn't admit too loudly. Her eyes roved over the room, looking for some indication of what might have made Lord Terzo bring her here now. It looked at it always did: plush chairs were situated in front of the fire, curfewed at the moment but ready to be re-lit when Lord Terzo wanted to retire, a large desk situated by the window to make the most of the daylight, and a screen at the far end to obscure his bed. When the door knocked shut, she pinned him with a surprised look.

"I thought we agreed that was over now," Sibyl chastised.

"What?" He paused where he was on his way to his desk to give her a puzzled look, then his brow cleared. "Ah, yes, it is. I didn't bring you here for that—unless you tell me otherwise."

He winked at her, but then resumed his route to the desk. Sibyl chuckled and shook her head, moving towards the desk with him too, sidling up next to him to see what he was about.

He shuffled about through the parchments on his desk before locating the one he had obviously been after.

"Here," he said and held out a small roll with a ribbon and seal hanging off of it. Sibyl reached for it, trying to quell the shaking in her hands.

"You know I can't—" she cleared her throat "—what is it?"

"Permission for you and Hick to leave, should you wish."

"What?" Sibyl gasped. She dropped the parchment on the desk and took several quick steps back. "Are you banishing us?"

"No!" Terzo replied, hands raised as he followed Sibyl's retreat. "Not at all! I would like nothing more for you to stay, but I wish you also to have this freedom."

"Why?" she pleaded, her heart thudding in her ears. She pictured all those face she had just been looking at. Faces of her loved one she might never see again."Have I displeased you?"

"No! You talked about London…"

"What?"

"Last year, you talked about wanting to go to London. To see if your cheese—"

"That was just talk!" Sibyl cried, slightly frantic. "I- I- I— please don't make me leave, m'lord."

"Sibyl," Terzo breathed, easing closer.

"I'll be good," she sputtered, voice faltering as she tried to keep her breathing under control. "I'll—"

Her voice was muffled as Terzo pulled her into a hug, banding his arms about her and holding her tight. "Shh, there. I am not sending you away."

"I'll be good m'lord," she continued to try to insist against his chest.

"It's alright, Sib. I'm not sending you anywhere."

"I don't want to go."

"Then you won't."

"I don't want to go to London."

"Sib," Terzo implored, releasing her enough to cup her face and make her look at him. "I do not want you to leave. I am not sending you anywhere. Forget the letter."

She tightened her hands in his tunic, holding him to her. If she held on, he couldn't make her leave. "You're sure?"

"Positive. It was meant to be a gift, I see it was poorly done."

She studied his face with wide eyes, looking for any sign of a lie. She found none.

"You're sure," she asked again, her heart beginning to slow as she let herself believe.

"Yes, Sib." The corner of his mouth lifted into a smile. "I didn't want you to even leave the bailey, why would I want you to move to London?"

Still gripping his tunic, but starting to feel more herself, she dared, "You just want my cheese."

"Not only your cheese," he insisted, his shoulders dropping and humor entering his expression. "You make damn fine butter too."

She gasped in mock outrage and play slapped his chest. His arm tightened around her when she tried to step back. His head lowered so he could speak into her ear, "There's other things I'll miss too, things I've been missing for—"

The crack of the door slamming against the wall startled them both, Terzo pulling her even tighter to him and angling his body in front of hers. Sibyl's head spun to see who had thrown open the door and found a familiar face.

Hick stood in the doorway, hands braced on either side, hair in disarray and face flushed—though from embarrassment, exertion, or drink Sibyl couldn't hope to say. His eyes took in them both, then dropped to where Terzo had his arm still banded about her waist. Sibyl tried to pull free, but Terzo's grip wasn't moving.

"Hick—" Sibyl began.

"M'lord," Hick interrupted, stepping into the room. "Forgive my intrusion. But I- I hope to ask for a boon."

"A boon?" Terzo echoed. Sibyl's head snapped back around to look up in his face. He didn't look angry, which was a relief, but she also couldn't quite decide what emotion he wore instead.

"Yes, m'lord," Hick continued. Again Sibyl's attention flew back to him. He dropped his hands from the doorway and stepped fully into the room, eyes dropping again to where Terzo still held her waist. "I know you are, uh, well within your rights, m'lord, Sibyl is your subject and this is her wedding night. But, I wonder if I might beg you to wave them."

"And why should I?" Terzo replied, sounding more curious than angry. Again, a good sign in Sibyl's mind.

Hick's hands twisted in the skirt of his tunic for a moment, before he straighten with effort, brushing his palms against his thighs. "We- we had planned to go to our bed untouched."

"Untouched?" Terzo echoed. Sibyl felt her stomach drop.

"It may not seem important to you, m'lord, but as we start our lives—"

"Untouched?" Terzo echoed again, then laughed aloud.

He stills. Fear or excitement—it's hard to separate those when it comes to this man—skitters down your spine as he so slowly turns his focus to you, eyes flashing in his painted face.

"My fault?" he purrs.

You swallow hard but nod.

"How exactly is it my fault?" he presses.

"You— you lured me into that alley," you say, doing your best to get the words out as a statement instead of a question.

He steps closer and into shadow. Without the assurance of his expression, you adrenaline ratchets higher.

His voice is surprisingly intimate when he asks, "did I, now?"

"Yes," you say, voice trembling. "I said we should get in the limo, you were the one who asked where my sense of adventure was."

Your blood rushes in your ears as you wait for his reply, and when a slow, soft laugh answers you you take a quick step back. His tsk echos off of the shuttered buildings.

"And where's that adventure now?" he taunts. "Running from your Papa?"

"No," you lie.

Another soft laugh.

"No," you try again, "why would I run from you?"

"Why indeed?" he murmurs, finally emerging from the darkness and into the wan light you're standing in. The expression on his face—a curl to his lips but the humor not quite reaching his eyes—doesn't settle your nerves. "I think it was you who pulled us off our path."

"What?" you gasp.

"Sì. With those glances and touches and whispered desires, how could I say no, la mia piccola volpe?"

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. It's true that you had been doing your best to drive him wild all night, but you had only thought it fair as he'd been doing the same to you—though you couldn't say whether intentionally or not. Still, it had been your fingers tugging teasingly at the waistband of his trousers that had finally caused him to snap and drag you off into the alley.

"You could have said 'yes' in the limo," you finally stutter out.

"Ah, ah," he chides, "as if you didn't like it against the wall. Your blood sang from the thrill of discovery and sweetened your cries."

"You—"

"Your blood is still singing now, are you not satisfied?" His head tilts and his white eye glows far brighter than a simple reflection from the streetlights should allow.

This.

This is what had attracted you to him in the first place, what keeps drawing you back. There's something off, different, more about him and you're never sure if it wants to ravish you or devour your. You're decently confident you'd enjoy either.

"I'm satisfied," you say, voice only just above a whisper. Your eyes slide off of his, as if that will make him believe your lies. "Let's just go home."

"Home?" He moves closer, and you retreat until your back is pressed against a wall and you're both swallowed in shadows. He's just an outline now and though he's not touched you, you know you're boxed in. "And ruin our fun?"

"We could have fun there."

"È possibile," he allows, then leans even closer. You feel his breath caress your neck as he exhales and then draws a deep breath. "But would your heart beat so we were back in your room? If you knew that you were safe? If I couldn't chase you when you ran?"

A choked noise clenches your throat. He's right, back at the Ministry people—or ghouls more likely—would stop him, rein him in, hold him back. But here on this mystery street in this maze of old cobblestones there's no one. If you ran, he would chase—and he wouldn't be gentle went he caught you. Desire coalesces in your stomach.

"Well?" he presses.