#splatooshy

1857.

“Excuse me,” Damon hovers in the doorway to his father’s study, where a maid is busy dusting the shelves. “Do you know where my father has gone?”

The young maid (her name starts with a ‘C’, he knows that much, she’s a year or two older than Stefan) turns to him, startled. “Richmond. He is fetching the guest.”

“Wh-oh!” The guest. From Richmond. Equal parts excitement and dread fight within him. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll, uh— leave you to your dusting. Enjoy….”

Before he can chastise himself for such a remark, the maid — Claudia? Collette? He knows her mother’s name is Enid — replies without thinking. “And you, as well.”

A beat passes where they just stare at each other, equal parts embarrassed and amused at the exchange. Clover, Damon remembers. He offers Clover a short bow, and leaves her to it, his heart a flutter of nerves. He’s been struck off kilter by her news.

The guest. From Richmond.

How badly he wants to see Sebastian, how badly he wishes he could not want.

He’s not prepared for this. The months since the incident have been filled with such a turbulence; an internal conflict he dare not address, but is utterly and completely aware of at any and every given moment, though where he sits on the topic changes by the day (and often the night), making it impossible to be objective, and with that, decisive.

He knows too well what the church has to say about such things. And the state. And his father. But he’s never been one for conformity. Except — maybe, just this once, he should. Conform, obey, resist. Do as he should, not as he wishes. Control whatever monster lurks beneath the surface of his skin.