"You are insane."

Cyril sighs, flicking a hand at the woman in the corner. Immediately her jaw snaps shut, and her eyes, a deep brown (lovely, really), widen in indignation. "Please," he murmurs diplomatically, "what a spoiled brat. We give you a proper body—based off of your original features, even, a nice room, your companions a proper place to sleep, and you call us sick? Really now." He tightens his hold, watching beads of sweat roll down her neck as her supply of air diminishes. "Such a rude specimen."

Finally, he releases her jaw. She gasps, sucking in air. Cyril had to admit, her complexion was rather lovely when flushed red.

"Windows," she snarls.

He blinks. "Excuse me?"

"This room has no windows," she snips, regaining her composure. "Why, if I weren't such a lowly specimen, I might say that you were trying to keep me caged like an animal."

Unbeknownst to himself, his lips twitch slightly.

How amusing.

"I don't see the humor in that, Noah," she says coldly, "as well as you keeping me alive. What purpose does it serve you? Giving me a new body, a rather inappropriate one at that—there's no point. This—" gesturing to her torso, "is nothing but a shell."

"Come now, I think it's rather fetching for a shell."

"You should," she scoffs, "as you told me yourself that you helped decide it." Absently, she reaches up and runs a hand through her hair, now a darker blonde. "Will you tell me your purpose, or shall I have to ask a useful person for the answer?"

He chuckles, crossing his legs in the chair. She continues to stand as stiffly as ever by the nightstand, arms folded behind her back (they really were nice reattached back onto her body). "Impertinence, I'm afraid, is not really something that makes an attractive lady. We'll have to work on that in order for you to fit the role."

"Role?"

"Of course." Cyril smiles, fingers folding neatly under his chin. "My beautiful wife, Tricia, is away in one of the best hospitals in America in order to find help for her ailing body. Is it not natural that I, as the prime minister and her husband—" Here, he could see her jerk in surprise (or horror, which would work either way) "—take care of her younger sister as one of her leaving requests?"

"Her—" she splutters for a few moments before laughing. "You can't possibly think that will work."

"Why not? I must say that in this form, you do bear a striking resemblance to Tricia in this body. You could be related." He smiles calmly even as her face contorts with disgust. "Unless, of course, you'd rather the better task as taking her place entirely."

"Better task?" Quirking her eyebrow (much better now thinned and longer), she pulls her arms around her as if to shield herself, distaste barely masked. "Tell me, how is that better?"

Without responding, he simply bends a finger, and she is yanked in front of him, dangerously close. The sudden pull has caused her breath to hitch, eyes wide with alarm and hair to fall into disarray.

"As I have said," he says slowly, luxuriously as he reaches up, running a finger down across the nape of her neck and across her throat, his nails leaving red streaks on her white skin, "impertinence is not suitable for a lady's…" Nails, black as pitch, digging into her throat. "…demeanor, dear."

Slowly, he releases his grip, watching the crescent moons go from white to a dark red. "You will have to learn to behave," he says lowly, watching her suck in air, "if you want both you and your companions to survive. Remember that, my darling sister-in-law."

A single push on the arms of the chair and he stands over her by a good foot, beaming. "Now then, Tokusa, you're going to have to get properly dressed. Road's expecting you downstairs; she's awfully restless, you know, with the Earl too busy for any fun these days. She's been positively dying for a new playmate." His smile grows wider as the impact of his words sink in, her eyes filling with horror and disgust. "There is a dress proper for the occasion in the closet behind you—I expect that you will get changed and meet her down in no more than ten minutes."

"Ten min—I've never worn a dress before. How do you expect me to—"

"You will be able to figure it out." The smile, fleetingly warm immediately turns to ice. "Do not let down my expectations, Tokusa dear."

For a moment, she is frozen, dark blonde hair framing her pale face and dangling around her shoulders, brown irises stark against the whites of her eyes. And for a moment, she truly is a woman, placed in a situation beyond her control and with no way to stop the current from flowing. A rather beautiful woman, he muses, closing the door behind him, considering that she was originally male.

Cyril almost feels sorry for her.

Agh, yes. Another beginning to yet another multi-chapter fiction that I really should not be working on. D: What is wrong with me? Besides the fact that I'm writing something like this, that is.

Anyways. This is an idea that I've actually had (for a while, obviously), and hopefully you all enjoy. While I don't really like to beg for reviews, I am this time because I do want to improve, especially with topics as touchy as gender and sexuality (which is...sort of what this is about, in a way, and it will definitely become a big part as this is set in the late eighteen hundreds), and how a Noah as twisted as Cyril somehow manages to grow affection for someone outside the family (and Tricia). Tokusa's psyche I would also love criticism on because quite honestly, I have no idea how he will adapt and react to this situation - especially with that new body of his. :)

Wow, that was a wordy paragraph. Basic rundown: reviews would be highly appreciated, whether it's a long run-on on what I did right and what I could do better (I love those, by the way, as long as they're not on the verge of flames), to simply telling me whether you liked it or not.

Thanks!