#wicked reference

She stood apart from the rest, a lone figure swathed in black lace, her veil obscuring the grief-stricken expression beneath.

His wife.

The word felt hollow now, as though spoken from another lifetime. What was she now, if not the wife of the man they cursed? The whispers had already begun—how could she not have known? How could she have laid beside a man with the devil’s grin and never seen the hellfire in his eyes?

But she had known.

She had known from the very beginning.

She had met Alastor on a summer evening when the air was thick with the scent of magnolias and the sound of jazz curled through the streets like smoke. He had been charming, so very charming, his voice warm like the whiskey he poured her, his laughter infectious.

She had loved him immediately.

Perhaps that had been her first sin.

He had taken her hand and led her into a world no other woman dared enter. His world—one of secrets and shadows, where the missing never returned and the wicked were punished not by law, but by him.

It had frightened her.

And yet, she had stayed.

That had been her second sin.

And now, she committed her last: grieving a man the world had condemned.

The funeral was held in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, beneath a sky choked with heavy clouds, as though even the heavens refused to shine upon the dead man’s final resting place.

The priest spoke in measured tones, his voice a thin veil of piety stretched over the weight of judgment beneath. There were no kind words, no lamentations for a life lost too soon—only the murmured prayers of a man who feared for his own soul in speaking them.

She knelt at the grave as they lowered him down, her hands clenched in the folds of her dress. Her breath hitched, but she would not cry.

Alastor had never liked tears.

That night, the city rejoiced.

The terror was gone, the Monster of New Orleans put to rest at last. Music poured into the streets, the living celebrating while the dead turned in their graves.

She sat alone in their home, the ghost of his laughter still lingering in the walls, in the floorboards that creaked beneath her as she walked. The gramophone sat silent, its usual melody absent.

She could not bear to play it without him.

She could still hear them outside—people whispering his name, cursing it, spitting it into the dirt.

Had none of them loved him? Had none of them seen the brilliance in him, the fire that burned so hot it could only consume?

No.

Only she had seen.

And now, she was alone in her mourning.

The city moved on quickly, as cities often did. Another scandal would come, another name would replace his in the papers. Soon, he would be nothing more than a ghost story, a hushed warning spoken to children who strayed too far after dark.

But she would not forget.

She could not.

Late at night, when the streets fell silent and the candlelight cast long shadows against the walls, she swore she could still feel him.

She would wake to the phantom press of fingers against her wrist, the faintest trace of a breath against her ear. The scent of cigar smoke lingered when she had not lit one. The record player clicked on in the dead of night, playing a tune she had long since stopped hearing.

He was still here.

And oh, how she wished he wasn’t.

Because if he was here—if his soul still roamed these halls—then he had not found peace.

And she could not bear the thought of him suffering, not even in death.

The knocking began three nights after the funeral.

At first, she thought it was the wind, rattling the shutters in its restless wail. But then she heard it again—sharp, deliberate.

Three knocks.

Like a gentleman at a parlor door.

Like a husband returning home.

She hesitated only a moment before crossing the room, hands trembling as she reached for the handle. The air was thick with something unspoken, the kind of quiet that sat heavy in the chest.

She opened the door.

Nothing.

Only the dark, stretching out before her in endless silence.

And yet, as she closed the door, she swore she heard it—

The low, familiar hum of a tune.

A tune only he would sing.

It continued.

The soft shuffle of feet behind her when no one was there. The sudden flicker of candlelight when the air was still. The radio tuning itself to static, then settling on a voice she had not heard in days.

His voice.

“Did you really think I’d leave you all alone, my darling?”

She gasped, the breath stolen from her lungs as cold fingers brushed her cheek.

Not a trick of the mind.

Not a dream.

He was here.

He was with her.

She pressed a hand to her lips, a sob choking its way free. “Alastor?”

His laugh curled around her, warm as the summer nights they had once shared. “Who else would it be, dearest?”

She shuddered. “You—”

“I know.” His voice was teasing, affectionate. “A terrible shame, isn’t it? I had such plans for us. And now look—stuck haunting my own home! How embarrassing.”

She swallowed thickly. “Are you… are you in pain?”

A pause.

Then, softer, “No, my love.”

She exhaled, her body sagging with relief.

If he was still here, still him, then perhaps there was justice yet.

Perhaps the city had not won.

She no longer feared the voices outside, the ones that spat curses at his name.

Let them speak.

Let them call him monster, murderer, devil.

He had been all those things, and more.

And yet, he had loved her.

Was that not proof enough of his humanity?

So she loved him still.

Even in death.

Even in whispers.

Even as she sat alone, her fingers tracing the cool wooden surface of his coffin, her lips parting to hum the song he had so often sung.

The melody drifted through the house, carried by the wind, by the dark, by the presence that lingered just beyond sight.

And somewhere, just behind her ear—

A voice joined in.

Laughing. Loving. Hers.

(You) About Diluc: A growing bond

He can be funny at times, but I don’t think he knows it. Like, he once told me he doesn’t like wine, so I pointed out that he owns a winery, and he just looked at me, dead serious, and said, “Is the hunter expected to eat raw meat?” Hahaha! The way he said it was so deadpan, I couldn’t stop laughing!

The more time I spend with him, the more I notice the little things—the way he always makes an effort to listen, even though he doesn’t know what to say; or how, when he opens up, his perspective is always so mature, so layered. I noticed that every time I come to the tavern now, my favorite drink is always prepared beforehand, even when Charles is behind the bar. He may not say it out loud, but I can tell he cares.

(Diluc) About you: A growing bond

Beneath their lightheartedness, there’s a quiet strength, a sincerity that’s rare to come across. I never expected to find myself looking forward to our conversations. It’s almost as if I’ve started depending on those moments. I’ve been manning the bar more frequently, secretly hoping they’d stop by—even for a short while. How did this happen?

(You) About Diluc: What is this feeling?

I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I’ve been thinking about him wayyyy too often—more than I should. It’s like my day revolves around him now. I wake up wondering if he’ll pass by the flower shop again. When I’m at work, I catch myself picking out flowers I think he’d like, just in case I see him. And don’t even get me started on lunch breaks—I’ve been stopping by the tavern more than I’d like to admit.

And the worst part? I’m starting to wonder if I’m imagining things. He’s so… reserved. It’s hard to tell if he even enjoys spending time with me or if he’s just being polite. What if I’m reading too much into it? What if this is all one-sided, and I’m just setting myself up for disappointment?

It’s frustrating—why can’t I just stop thinking about him?! He’s so serious, so closed-off, but every once in a while, I see these small moments where he softens, where he lets his guard down just a little… and I can’t help but be drawn in. Ugh, what am I doing? Falling for him? No, that’s ridiculous. We’re just… friends.

I don’t even understand why he’s so guarded in the first place. I mean, it’s not like he has anything to hide… right?

(Diluc) About you: What is this feeling?

I can’t focus on my work lately. I keep hearing their voice in the back of my mind, or catching myself wondering if they’ll stop by the tavern for lunch. When I think about them, my head starts reeling, and my pulse rushes. It’s strange. I’ve been this way for days now. Adelinde has noticed, and it’s been difficult to hide. I thought it would go away—this feeling of unease when they’re not around. But it’s not fading. The more I think about them, the more it becomes impossible to ignore.

It’s starting to affect me. I’ve always prided myself on keeping control, but now, I’m beginning to feel like I’m losing it. This attraction… it’s dangerous. What if I can’t protect them the way I want to? What if my responsibilities get in the way? Maybe I should keep a distance now. I don’t know how to reconcile what I feel with my duty as the Darknight Hero—ah, another reason to stay wary. But the thought of pushing them away… I don’t want to.

(You) About Diluc: Worries

Is it just me or does that man have too much on his plate? For the past few days, I noticed how distracted he was during our conversations. It’s like there’s always something on his mind, something that adds to the weight on his shoulders. He’s speaking a lot less now, as well, much like when we first met… always keeping his answers short. His eyes look tired, his frame is getting lighter… and if you look closer, you’ll see his rare smile is torn. I’ve tried asking if he’s okay, but he brushes it off with that calm, distant demeanor of his, then suddenly dismissing himself because ‘something came up.’ No, I don’t have time to think about how I feel, right now. Something’s up.

I guess I worry about him a lot. What if things aren’t going well at the winery? What if he doesn’t come back to wherever he’s running off to? What could he be keeping inside that makes him act like this? Hm, it could be just all in my head, but… whatever it is, I hope he knows he doesn’t have to face it alone. Even if he thinks he does.

(Diluc) About you: Worries

Why? Has something happened to them?—Ah… apologies. I’ve been on edge these past few days. It’s difficult to explain, but I can’t seem to shake this instinct to protect them. I’ve been watching the crowds more carefully, scanning for any sign of danger, and keeping an ear out for anything that might threaten their safety.

I fear they’ve noticed how distracted I’ve been during our conversations. I tried to keep my distance, to ensure they’re not caught up in anything dangerous because of me, but it’s… not easy. The more I try to step back, the more I find myself thinking about them. Have they noticed the change in my demeanor? Do they suspect the reason behind it?

I only hope they understand that my distance isn’t because of them… but because of the risks that follow me. If anything were to happen to them because of me… I don’t think I could forgive myself. Yet, even knowing this, I still feel drawn to them. It’s a dangerous contradiction.

(You) About Diluc: Distance

I’m starting to realize that Diluc might be more closed off than I thought. Every time I try to reach him, it feels like I hit a wall. Why does he keep pushing me away? Doesn’t he see that I just want to help?

Every time he dismisses me with that calm mask of his, I can’t help but feel like I’m losing him. Maybe I should give him space, maybe he needs it, but I just don’t want him to shut me out forever. I don’t know how much longer I can watch him bear the weight of his responsibilities alone.

If words won’t reach him, then maybe I’ll try something else… something to remind him he doesn’t have to do this by himself.

(Diluc) About you: Distance

There’s a part of me that wants to tell them everything—about my past, my duties, the dangers that follow me. But I can’t. Not yet. If they knew, would they still look at me the same? Would they still want to be near me? I’ve been keeping my distance for their sake, but the more I avoid them, the more I feel the ache of their absence. *sigh* I don’t deserve to rely on them this way.

(You) About Diluc: Flowers

Since asking him directly isn’t getting me anywhere, I decided to try a different approach to maybe let him open up. I heard Small Lamp Grass flowers were his favorite, so I decided to get some and leave them in the tavern for him. I even left a note, hehe. Considering what’s going on between us, though… do you think he would appreciate it?

(Diluc) About you: Flowers

“For when nights are long, and the weight feels heavy—may these remind you that you’re not alone.” That was their note, marked with a little heart at the end. I thought it was a mistake, at first—that the flowers were for someone else. But as I recognized their handwriting… something in me softened.

Honestly, it’s silly. Such a simple gesture, yet I find myself reading their note over and over again. I placed them in my office. Their glow brings a warmth in the room, and whenever I look at them, I’m reminded of their smile. Hah… Everyday, it gets harder to draw myself away from them. Maybe I can allow myself this one sliver of respite. Just this once.