YAY! ****SCREAMS****
I HAVE WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR SO LONG! I absolutely love this story, and it makes my day when I can write about my favorite little heroine's adventures! (***Cuddles Eve****)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters!... And I doubt that Jonathan is selling himself for money. (Me: O.o?) Well, you never know... Valentine has probably done eviler things to get some cash...
"Eve," Mother demanded. "Get up, now!"
Mother threw off the ruby-colored bedspread, leaving Eve to shiver in the center of her bed. The little girl gasped at the sudden, startling wave of icy air and tried to open her eyes. Only moments ago, she had been warm and asleep and dreaming: a dream of angels, Eve thought, but it was hard to tell. Dreams were impossible to remember once you were awake.
She glanced upward and saw her mother looming over her, with a blazing brass lantern in one hand and a rigid scowl on her face. The lantern-glow surrounded Mother with a harsh, orange light; a light that threw dark shadows across her beautiful features and caught in her long red curls like tiny flames. Mother's narrow green eyes flashed with impatience.
"I said get up," Mother raged. Her slender hand shot out again, clamped on Eve's tiny wrist, and hauled her, heartlessly, out of bed. A jagged lightning bolt of pain flared throughout Eve's arm: partially from Mother's long, cat-sharp nails biting into her skin, and partially from the shattering force that Mother was using to pull on her arm. Eve somehow landed on the floor upright, although her bare feet almost slipped as they touched the cold marble. Mother released her arm with a growl, ignoring the tremble that ran down in Eve's spine.
She spun around and swooped to Eve's chest-of-drawers in the corner, rummaging through it irritably for something she didn't seem to be finding. Eve took the opportunity to draw her throbbing wrist to her chest, in hopes that it would stop the hurt. But her wrist was braceletted with deep cuts where Mother's nails had sliced her, and the pain didn't end.
Eve surveyed the room, trying to find the reason why Mother had awakened her. Beyond the lantern-light, the room was crowded in shadow, and it made her uneasy. Even in the dark winter months, the stone fireplace in the corner would be ablaze when she woke up, although now in the summer, it usually wasn't necessary. The sun was up hours before she ever was.
Then why is the room still dark?, Eve wondered.
She looked out the window to her side and knew why: The heavy, velvet curtains had been pulled aside and Eve could see the pearly moon shining in the diamond-studded black sky, casting eerie shadows on Idris' rolling hills below. A wind swept across the landscape, rustling through the long grass. It was night still: But that did not explain why Mother would wake her then – when morning would not come for hours…
Eve wished that she could go back to her dream of angels.
"What are you looking at?" Mother hissed. She had returned from the chest-of-drawers, clearly with whatever she had been looking for. In her hand was a bundle of pale fabric that Eve didn't recognize. "Arms up," snapped Mother.
Eve winced at her whip-like voice and raised her arms. Any hesitation when obeying Mother always ended with a punishment of some kind. Usually, one that left Eve with bruises.
Mother tugged off her nightgown and drew the other dress on quickly over her head. At first, all Eve noticed about it was that the fabric was cool and unfamiliar, and that she would rather have been wearing her warm nightgown.
Neither of those things changed as she saw herself in the mirror. The dress was new as she had thought, but the sight of it on her was odd. The long sleeves were unlike anything she had ever worn before, especially in the summertime, and the delicate folds of the skirt felt heavy, and the hem brushed against her knees when she moved. It made her feel like one of the princesses in the stories that Father read her: the ones that spent their lives stuck in dungeons or castle fortresses, waiting for a prince to come by and save them.
Except that those princesses probably never wore a knee-length dress like she was wearing. And they were probably never wakened in the dead of night. For any reason.
Mother put the lantern on the floor, which gave her light and two free hands as she fussed with the dress, forcing the skirt-folds to fall the way she liked.
Eve fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Mother? Am … am I going somewhere?" she asked.
Mother glared. "Of course you are, you brainless little fool," she sneered. "You think I would be awake – and at this unholy hour – if you weren't?"
Eve recoiled from her mother. She wanted to ask where she was going, and why, and for how long, but Mother grabbed her wrist again, and the stinging pain made her forget everything.
She was shoved in front of the tall mirror at the far end of the room, where Mother dragged a stiff brush quickly through her hair. Eve winced at every downward stroke, but she kept quiet, knowing that even the slightest whimper would send Mother into another vicious rant.
Within seconds it was over and Mother studied her handiwork in the mirror with a glance of self-gratification.
Eve thought she looked strange.
The shadows in the room made her blue eyes seem large and incredibly dark, and her long blonde curls a shade or two paler than they were in reality. The darkness washed all color from her face, making her skin appear unnaturally white. It was like staring at a ghost of herself.
Eve looked quickly away, and watched as Mother took up the lantern from the floor. It flooded the reflection with cold, orange light.
"Come," Mother commanded.
Eve did.
She was led out of her room and into a labyrinth of dark corridors. The obscurity caught at Eve's nerves, as if the shadows hid lurking, invisible dangers. She tried to avoid looking at them and stayed close to her mother, but the darkness wasn't her only fear: the silence was just as stifling – and worse than the shadows somehow. Their soft footfalls simply could not break the silence the way the lantern broke the darkness. And being close to her mother was less than comforting.
They descended a staircase together, though Eve couldn't tell which one it was in the dark. In fact, most of the manor looked unfamiliar to her at night. All of the doors appeared to be the exact same and the corridors all the same, like a never-ending stone maze of hallways and entryways. It was when they finally got to the bottom that Eve first noticed a shaft of light sneaking out from under one of the doorways: a light that blazed like fire against the marble floor.
Eve trailed closely after her mother. So closely, that when Mother stopped at the doorway, Eve had to quickly dig in her heels to stop from colliding with her.
Like a whip Mother spun around, brandishing a glare that could have melted acid. Eve cringed, just as Mother moved suddenly, to sneer at her again or to strike her, Eve didn't know.
But a servant-girl cut Mother short. She emerged from the half-open doorway and with her entry came the sound of voices; one of them, Eve recognized immediately as her father's. The second one was a mystery, but Mother seemed to know it instantly.
Her green eyes widened as she snatched the servant-girl by the shoulder and dragged her aside. "My God, is he here?" Mother demanded at a whisper. "I thought he would have sent someone else to fetch her…"
The servant looked uncomfortable. She blinked and shook her head, sending her brown hair flying. "No, my lady. He said that no one else could be trusted – and that it is best if no one else knows."
Mother gazed dreamily at the door. She released the girl with a harsh shove and bolted to the mirror on the wall beside them.
Eve stared in bewilderment as Mother examined her reflection: She prodded her red curls and batted her eyelashes and smoothed her pale violet dress, muttering all the while about how the staff never told her anything and that she really ought to fire them all. Eve noticed that the servant-girl had slid cautiously out of Mother's reach, although Mother herself didn't seem to notice. She had a bright faraway look in her eyes that Eve had never seen.
For a moment, Eve eyed the half-open doorway, an unhappy thought forming in her mind. What did Mother mean, 'someone else to fetch her'? Who was fetching her? Where was she going?
She frowned as her mind swam with unwanted questions. Almost without thinking, she edged closer to the door, but her mother towed her back with a snap of her wrist. Eve cried out in pain and surprise
"Now listen, you little rat," Mother snarled. In absolute terror, Eve took a step back and was jerked forward by Mother's vice-like grip on her arm. Mother's nails bit deeper as she tightened her hand. It made Eve's skin sting. "You had better not mess this up," she continued viciously. "Because if you do, I swear by the Angel, you will not live to regret it. Do I make myself clear?"
A whimper sounded in Eve's throat. Mother shook her ruthlessly. "I said, do I make myself clear?"
Eve nodded hastily and Mother let her wrist go. She straightened up and smoothed down her waist-length hair as Eve cowered against the cold stone wall, trying to catch her breath. "And for God's sake," Mother growled. "Don't forget to smile; we want him to like you."
The servant-girl moved aside as Mother made her way to the doorway. Eve stood paralyzed, feeling the warm threat of tears welling in her eyes. But in an instant, the servant-girl was kneeling at her side.
Her hand was soft and affectionate where she placed it on Eve's cheek. "Don't worry," she whispered with a sympathetic smile. "He is a good man – Better than your mother is any day," she added.
Eve nodded and wiped her eyes, although she doubted anyone could possibly be worse than her mother.
"Eve! Come!" Mother called. She was waiting by the doorway and her sharp voice reminded Eve of the pain in her wrist.
She shot the servant-girl a pleading glance.
"Go on," the dark-haired girl said. "You'll do fine."
With another hard, long look at the servant-girl, Eve turned away and slipped warily into the room with her mother.
The first person she saw in the room was Emile, her father; his blue eyes and golden hair a perfect twin to her own. He was standing by the window at the other end of the room, his good-looking face hidden as he pulled back the swaths of dark velvet curtains. The fireplace was blazing beside him, but his Rune-scarred hands were rigidly stiff at his sides, as if he was still cold despite the heat. His sunny hair curled casually at his high cheekbones and at the hard line of his jaw – but his hair was slightly disheveled, she noticed, as if he had just gotten up. It reminded Eve of the countless times she had curled into his lap and fell safely asleep; then had woken up later with that same bed-hair.
It was a shock to her when Father finally turned around.
He didn't smile at her, or tease her, or open his arms and let her run to him. His expression was closed, his mouth unbearably tight, but his eyes, his eyes were the most awful. It was as if the laughter that had once been there had shattered into a million jagged pieces. Or like he had gotten lost and didn't know who she was or why he was there. Eve had never seen him look so miserable.
"My Valentine," Mother crooned beside her. "I had no idea you were coming!"
Eve shot her mother a look. The voice she was using was one that Eve had never heard before; an adoring sort of sing-song voice, so sweet it made Eve sick. And hadn't the maid just told her that he was here?
Mother slid closer to Eve and beamed down at her, although Eve could tell that her smiles were far from genuine. It wasn't really a surprise to her, but it was certainly frightening.
In her experience, Mother smiling always meant something bad was going to happen to her. A vision surged in Eve's mind of her Mother grabbing at her wrist again, her nails digging into her soft skin…
Eve cowered away from her mother and stumbled back, going far enough that Mother couldn't reach her anymore. A flash of rage sparked in Mother's jewel-green eyes, but all she did was laugh. "She must be nervous, Valentine." Mother insisted. "Really, she's never done anything like this before."
Valentine? Was that who was taking her?
Eve looked at the man Mother was talking to – and stared.
He was sitting in one of the rich armchairs, and even so, Eve could tell he was tall – very tall, and impossibly broad, with a face as hard and handsome as a marble statue. He was like a carving of ice, all pale white, even his hair, but his eyes and suit were endlessly black. It was strange, she thought, that his hair should be so pale. He didn't appear much older than Father was: if anything, she thought he looked faintly younger. There was something about the way his dark eyes gleamed… something that made him seem brighter than anything else in the room.
Valentine frowned past her at Mother, making Eve wonder if he could see through her fake smiles as well. In an instant, though, he was smiling amiably, and Eve was glad to note that it didn't make her feel afraid or apprehensive at all. "Minerva," he greeted in a silken voice. "How nice of you to join us…"
Mother slid to Valentine's side and outstretched her hand expectantly. She giggled as he received her, taking her hand with faultless grace. Mother looked ready to purr as he kissed the back of her hand.
Father looked away with an expression of disgust.
Valentine's ink-colored eyes flicked to where Eve was standing and he immediately dropped Mother's hand. "So this is Eve…" he murmured, rising to his feet.
Eve stood in the center of the room, to unsure to move or say anything as he came toward her. Valentine was even taller when he stood, and yet, she still felt no fear of him. The only thing she did feel perhaps was a sort of curiosity: Who was this man? What did he want with her?
"She is a beauty to be sure," Valentine commented. "Certainly her mother's child," he put in, throwing a short smile at Mother.
Mother giggled like a fool.
"Although, she has much of her father's looks as well," he continued pleasantly as he circled around Eve. "She looks quite a bit like you, Emile," Valentine added, glancing at Father.
Father glared out the window and said nothing.
For a split-second, Eve thought that Valentine looked concerned. A few muscles in his neck tightened slightly, over the color of his white shirt, but the look was gone before she could even blink. She saw Mother throw a dark scowl Father's way, as Valentine turned his attention to Eve again.
"How old are you now Eve?" asked Valentine. "You must be six or seven, am I right?" His voice was rich and melodic, and Eve decided that she liked it.
"I am six," she answered, gazing toward Father. He had finally turned away from the window and was staring at her. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking, a distant sort of pleading.
Eve wondered if it was somehow her fault that Father seemed so sad.
Valentine studied her face with an expression of calculated interest. His features were striking, Eve thought, and yet handsome, in a way that was very unlike her father's own golden looks. Eve couldn't help but stare back.
"How old are you?" Eve asked Valentine, trying to break the heavy silence. She could tell from the flicker of surprise that crossed his features that he hadn't expected her to ask that question – or maybe any question at all, for that matter.
Humor flashed in his black eyes like sparks as he smiled at her. "Older than six," he replied.
Eve smiled back.
Unlike Valentine, Mother seemed enraged at her for asking – her cheeks flushed a furious shade of red – but it was a short-lived fury. Valentine gave Mother a look, and within moments, Mother was biting her lip and giggling and toying with her hair, just as she had done before.
He ignored Mother as he slid flawlessly across the floor and returned to his seat. Valentine moved with the kind of elegance Eve wished she had: His motions were like liquid metal; making every movement seem like a dance. She wondered if he might teach her how to move like that someday.
He glanced at the armchair to his side, a smile playing around his lips. "Come here, Eve," he said.
Mother turned and glared at her. "Go to him," she hissed, but Eve was already half-gone. She ran over to Valentine's chair and sat down at his feet, her skirt falling around her like the petals of a flower.
Valentine raised his hand to her face, and despite herself, Eve flinched. He noticed her recoil unlike Mother ever did and paused, his hand staying close to her cheek. It was almost as if he was waiting for her permission. Eve thought it was fascinating that anyone would wait for her permission at all.
He gently slid his fingertips under her chin and raised her face to his. His fingertips were rough but steady, and very unlike Father's. "Tell me," Valentine insisted. "What do you know about me, Eve?"
Eve stared at him intently. Up close, his eyes were not flatly black as she had thought: His pupils were a bit darker then his irises, like blacker shadows standing against lighter shadows. "Nothing," Eve answered. "I have never been told anything."
Valentine frowned thoughtfully. "Is this true?" He glanced up at Mother and Father questioningly.
Neither of them spoke.
"We thought it would hurt her more," Mother interjected suddenly, her voice full of false affection. "– if we told her about this – circumstance – any time beforehand… And she was too naïve to understand the situation if we did…"
Valentine's mouth curled at the corner, but there was dislike in his eyes as he watched Mother. "So you thought it would hurt her less, when she found out that you had deceived her her entire life? Did you really think you were sparing her, by lying to her all these years?" His gaze dropped to his feet, where Eve sat, and the dislike faded from his black eyes. "And as for Eve being too naïve, I think you are mistaken. She seems perfectly capable to understand the truth, if you ever decided to tell it to her."
Eve met Valentine's gaze with confusion. "The truth?" she inquired. "What do you mean?"
Eve glanced at her father imploringly, hoping that there was no 'truth' that he had not told her. But his face gave her the answer: Valentine had been right. Father had lied to her in some way and she had never known it. Father, who had always cared for her, who she thought had loved her above anything else, had betrayed her.
Father took a step toward her, his face a mask of burdened guilt. "Eve –" he began, his voice shaking.
But Eve shifted away from him and nestled in closer to Valentine. Her face was hard as she stared at her father. Part of her longed to run to Father, to embrace him, to assure him everything was going to be alright, but another part of her, the larger part of her, refused to. He had no right to look so miserable. Not when he had been the one who betrayed her.
He saw her draw nearer to Valentine, and he winced into himself sharply, as if seeing her choosing him had broken something deep inside him. Father's face drained of color, making his hair seem surreally gold and the shadows under his eyes seem like bruises, and Eve knew that it was the worst thing she could have possibly done to him.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he had been running.
"You are right." Father began, his blue eyes shining brightly. "I owe her the truth. And the truth has always been this: I love her. Everything I have ever done for her has been out of love – and that includes whatever I have kept from her as well."
Eve started in surprise at her father's voice. It was as fragile as brittle metal, yet held an intense conviction. She glanced up at Valentine, wondering if she should believe her father – or if it was just another of his lies.
Valentine seemed to understand the question in her expression. He nodded his approval with a look of pleasure. "I'm certain that she recognizes that, Emile. But there is much more that she still needs to learn." Valentine stroked Eve's hair absently, as if she were a kitten. The steady motion relaxed her, and reminded her of how tired she was. She rested her head against Valentine's knee, her eyelids suddenly heavy. "For now, the most you need to know is that you are a very special child, Eve," he said in his smooth voice. "The blood of the Angel runs in your veins."
Father's expression shattered like glass as Valentine stroked her hair. He exhaled painfully and took an unsteady step back toward the window, gazing at them in vacant sorrow. Eve noticed that his hands were trembling – so violently, that even when he balled them into fists, the shaking continued. His eyes blazed for a moment – in anger, betrayal, or pain – Eve didn't know. But Father suddenly bowed his fair head, so that his face was hidden, and when he raised it again, the flame in his eyes had died.
"I can teach her what she needs to know, Emile." Valentine continued softly, persuasively. "She will have the best of training – the best tutors that Idris has to offer…"
Father's gaze was empty as he looked at Valentine. "Of course," he replied after a pause. All of his conviction had disappeared, leaving his voice hollow and distant. His voice had died, like his eyes had died.
"Then it's settled!" Mother chimed, ignoring Father's misery. "We know that she will be in the best of hands, Valentine. We certainly expected nothing less from you."
She fluttered over to Father without really looking at him. Her attention was never really on him when someone else was around. Dislike flashed across Valentine's features again as Mother spoke; tightening his jaw and sharpening his eyes, but Mother didn't seem to notice.
"Forgive me Valentine, but there will be a wait," she continued merrily. "The servants are still attending to Eve's trunk, you see, which may take some time. I would have prepared her things earlier, but I must admit that the delight of you company wasn't expected quite so soon…" She slid into the chair beside Valentine and gazed at him, her expression as faraway and dreamy as ever. "I suppose we must find a way to preoccupy ourselves, for the time being," she added in a low voice. She smiled at him as if he were heaven incarnate, though the affect appeared lost on Valentine.
He just looked supremely bored. "I have no desire to wait," he told her. Valentine gently drew Eve away from his knee and rose to his feet – and Eve scrambled to stand up beside him. "And it is hardly necessary that she bring a trunk. I can provide her with all her needs once we arrive." Valentine glanced down at Eve, questioningly. "Unless there is something in particular that you would like to take, Eve."
She knew by his expression that he would have let her keep anything she desired, but Eve shook her head, sending her gold curls flying: There wasn't anything she wished to take and Valentine already mentioned that he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
Mother's eyes widened. "What?" she cried. Mother catapulted to her feet, faster than Eve had ever seen her move, and slid in front of Valentine. He hardly seemed to notice her display; the most emotion that touched his features was a mild irritation as he brushed off his expensive suit.
With a bit of effort, Mother schooled her expression into one that was less desperate. "I mean – Must you go already?" she sputtered hastily. "I – I had hoped that you would stay for longer! Surely there must be another order of business – something else that still needs to be done…"
Valentine moved to walk past him, but Mother placed her hands on his chest to deter him, and for the first time, Valentine glanced her way. His eyes raked her from head to toe, and Eve thought she saw his gaze linger on Mother's bright red curls and her brilliant green eyes. His expression darkened for a moment, as if in memory, but then he looked away. "As a matter of fact, there is one last 'order of business'." Valentine turned, glided out of Mother's reach to a short table, and produced piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He placed it on the marble surface with a look of finality. "It is completely optional that you sign this, of course. But it would please me greatly if you did."
Mother immediately bustled around the room, searching for a pen. Father glanced at the paper warily, and slipped away from the widow to read it. "What is it?" he demanded uncertainly.
"It is nothing we haven't discussed before, Emile." Valentine declared with a smile. "I simply want our agreement to be put down on paper; just as a formality, I assure you."
Father didn't look convinced. He took up the paper and read through it slowly. Once he was finished, he dropped it back on the table and eyed Valentine warily. "I thought that this was a very figurative agreement, Valentine," said Father. "I didn't imagine that you were prepared to make this so official."
"It will only be made official, if it must be made official." Valentine insisted with a wave of his hand. "It is a declaration of engagement, Emile. Engagements can be renounced. I'm hardly expecting them to marry each other if they do not choose to." Valentine glanced knowingly to Eve. "But if the time comes…" he continued suavely. "– And their will is to be with each other, then who am I to deny them that? You are simply giving me your permission, Emile – giving them your permission – to wed."
Mother flounced back with a pen in hand. "Where do I sign?" she asked with a smile.
Valentine indicated the place with a tap of his finger. Mother seemed to pounce on the document, signing so quickly that Eve wondered if it was even legible. "Here Emile," Mother demanded after, shoving the pen in his hand. "Sign."
Father's shoulders drooped. The silence that followed carried away the momentary aversion left in his expression. It was replaced instead by a gaping hopelessness as he took the pen. "For all your sins, Valentine, you are a man of your word." Father said quietly, a fresh tiredness seeping into his voice. "So give me your word. Swear to me by the Angel, that you will not force Eve to marry against her will if I sign this contract."
"A marriage contract?" Mother wondered. "Is that what this is about?"
Valentine smiled at her dryly. "A contract of engagement. You should know, Minerva, you just signed it."
Mother seemed to only notice Valentine's smile, and none of his blatant sarcasm. "Well, I don't see why it is so important that Eve chooses who she marries." Mother shrugged. "I'm sure whoever Valentine has selected for her will be the right choice. And don't forget Emile," she added. "That our marriage was arranged: Your family chose me to be your wife."
"And I refuse to see that misfortune repeated with Eve," growled Father.
Mother realized the insult and glowered at him. Her mouth twisted like broken glass, and she took a breath in, ready to snap an angry retort back at him, but for once she seemed lost for words. Mother still looked vicious though; all tense, like a cobra ready to strike. It made Eve cower instinctively closer to Valentine.
"I have known you for decades, Valentine," Father continued on. "We were younger than Eve is now when I first met you. Do not deny me this, if you truly come in good faith,"
Valentine became quiet, calculating. Eve thought he must be pondering over whatever downfalls there might be to such an oath.
A heavy pause cut the room before he spoke. "Do you really distrust me so, Emile –" Valentine inquired pleasantly. "– that you would demand my word for such a matter? What would I gain, even if I did force her and Jonathan to wed? I would have a bride for my son certainly; one with a good family pedigree, but surely you must realize that there are more venerable bloodlines in Idris than yours." Valentine stepped forward and took Father's hand in both of his own, curling Father's fingers tighter around the pen. "I understand your fatherly concern Emile," he said in a soft persuasive voice. "But do not forget that I also have my son's best interest at heart. I would not drive my child into a loveless marriage any more than you would. We are fighting for the same thing, you and I."
Father looked deflated. Mother, on the other hand, looked beside herself with spiteful glee. "See what I told you, Emile," she hissed at Father. "Jonathan Morgenstern will be a good match for Eve – an advantageous match for Eve. Just sign it."
Valentine slid his hands away from Father's and stepped back, waiting to see what he would do. There was a moment of hesitation, then, with a pitiful curse, Father leaned over the table and signed the paper, right beside Mother's signature. It was impossible to ignore the tenseness of Father's shoulders as he did it, or the look of total satisfaction that crossed Valentine's features.
Eve listened to the scratch of the pen on paper, her eyelids growing heavier with each moment. Adult-talk was always confusing to her: She had no idea what 'marriage' was, why Valentine and Mother wanted her to do it, or why Father didn't want her to do it. And she also had no idea who 'Jonathan' was, or what he had to do with the whole business.
Eve imagined being back in her bed, having the ruby-colored blankets pulled up to her chin, and wished with every cell in her body that she could go to sleep.
"Everything is settled then," said Valentine after Father had signed. He took the paper off the table and put it in his coat pocket again, looking victorious. His smile was dazzlingly white as he glanced down at her. "I think it is time to leave, Eve."
A yawn overtook her as she nodded. Valentine sidestepped around Mother and walked towards the doorway, not looking back to see if Eve had followed. She had trailed after him, though, plodding behind him obediently, ignoring Mother and Father totally as she did. Soon, she back in the dark corridor, with no lantern-light this time – the only thing guiding her was the sound of Valentine's footsteps echoing farther down the hallway. Somehow, the shadows didn't frighten her as they had before. They only reminded her of Valentine's eyes; darker shadows against lighter shadows, black against blacker. It was nothing to be afraid of.
Light flamed suddenly, a sort of bluish light that flew strange patterns on the walls. When Eve looked, she saw that the light was coming from something in Valentine's hand. It rayed out light between his fingers as he turned to face her, illuminating his face with its otherworldly glow. And she realized that he was farther ahead than she had thought.
Valentine stopped and waited patiently as Eve hurried to his side, and in that moment, another light flared in the corridor. This light was a familiar orange color, at odds with Valentine's blue light. It was Mother of course, holding the lantern high while strutting down the corridor towards them. Valentine looked about as happy to see her as Eve was and started walking again.
Eve had a bit of difficulty keeping up; he was so much taller than she was, making her take three steps to match just one of his. Shortly though, they exited the corridor, finding themselves in the entryway of the manor, and Valentine slowed his pace. He tightened his fingers around the object in his hand, dousing the alien glow. Now the natural brilliance of the moon poured through the windows, casting a ghostly pallor over the pale stone walls and the wide, sweeping staircase.
A manservant lingered by the main door, and opened it hastily for her and Valentine when they approached. He seemed nervous at the sight of Valentine; though it was easier in the moonlight for Eve to see just how tall Valentine was, and not just tall, but broad, as well. He made the manservant look like a twig as he past him.
As soon as they were outside, the cool air hit Eve like a blow, and she was momentarily thankful for the long sleeves of her dress. The night was in its full glory, the stars flung across the sky like silver powder. A carriage was waiting at the bottom of the steps, gleaming an inky black in the moonlight. It was led by a pair of midnight colored horses and the driver was dressed in black as well, with dark hair that fell over his forehead, leaving his face in shadow as he swung up to his driving perch. Another shadowy figure jumped down from behind the carriage, and politely opened the door for them as they came closer. This man was different from the other coachman; his hair was a fairer shade of brown, and he was wearing a loose white shirt that tightened at the cuffs, tucked neatly into black pants. It made him seem less mysterious than the driver, which Eve was grateful for.
Valentine paused at the top of the stairs and Eve paused with him, feeling farther from the prospect sleep than ever. Footfalls sounded behind them, and Eve turned to see her mother lounging in the doorway, her lantern still blazing. Father was drifting at Mother's side like a phantom – soundless and devoid of soul – like the hollow shell of a once-living thing.
Silently, Valentine lowered his hand to his side, and Eve saw the light-making object more clearly. It looked like a rock, about as big as her fist, but smooth around the edges – worn with use, she supposed. Eve wondered how it made light at all, but she held back her question; it did not seem the time to ask, considering the grave silence between Valentine and her parents. She glanced up at Valentine inquisitively, curious at what he was waiting for, and when he caught her gaze, he seemed to understand what she was thinking.
"Farewell Emile, Minerva," said Valentine with an inclination of his head.
Eve took the hint and went to her Father. His face tightened in pain as she drew near to him, then suddenly he dropped to his knees, becoming eyelevel with her.
"Goodbye, Father," Eve began. She meant to say more, but saw her father's expression and decided against it. He was studying her face with a sorrowful intensity, as if trying to memorize every detail of her features, as if drinking in the image of her. Reaching out his hand, Father placed his fingertips on her cheek, too lightly to be considered a touch. Eve could only watch him mutely as he leaned closer to her.
"Eve," he whispered in a shaky voice. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"
She thought of every time he had held her, had read stories to her, had sat by her bed until she fell asleep – and nodded. "I know," she told him after a pause. "I love you too, Father."
Father tucked a lock of her golden curls behind her ear, more tenderly than he ever had before, his fingers lingering on her hair. He took both of her tiny hands in his own and kissed them before letting her walk back to Valentine.
With one last glance at her parents, Valentine led her down the graceful stone steps to the carriage. The man at the carriage door offered her his hand to help her up, and Eve placed her hand in his, ready to go inside the gloomy-looking cab, but a voice cut her short.
"Eve," her mother chirped. "Aren't you going to say goodbye to me?"
Mother outstretched her arms to her, as if expecting Eve to run into her arms for a hug. Memories of that morning surged in Eve's mind and her wrist throbbed painfully. "Goodbye, Mother," Eve offered, insensitively. She caught Mother's expression change and was thankful that Valentine was going to take her away. Mother looked ready to commit murder.
Mother spun on her heels and stormed back into the manor house, hissing something under her breath that sounded a lot like 'little, ungrateful wench'. Valentine smiled.
The man helped her into the carriage, and once inside, Eve's eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was much warmer inside the cab than outside, and the black leather seats were surprisingly comfortable; a great deal more comfortable than her own family's carriage. She resisted the urge to curl up on the seat and sleep as she looked for Valentine. He was standing next to Father at the top of the stairs, speaking to him, though Father didn't seem to appreciate the conversation at all; he looked ready to drive a dagger through Valentine's heart.
"You have done me a great favor, Emile," Valentine was saying, his voice distant.
"I have done you no favors, Valentine," Father snarled. "The only thing I have done is be foolish enough to let you waltz into my life and let you take everything I have ever loved." Father shook his head, a bitter smile curling his lips. "You have my wife's heart in the palm of your hand – surely you know that – and by the Angel you can have her. I couldn't care less for Minerva. But Eve?" Father's voice rose furiously. "Eve has been the only good thing that has come out of this marriage, the only shred of happiness I have had in years – and now you're taking her too. Is this how you repay a lifetime of friendship, Valentine? With treachery?" Father took a few steps back from Valentine, his face a mask of disgust. "You're cruel," he whispered, but the whisper sounded like a sob. "You're cruel!"
Father thundered back into the manor, slamming the door behind him, leaving Valentine standing alone on the steps. His shoulders were rigid, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Without another word, Valentine turned and stalked to the carriage, and although his face held no anger, there was an eerie gravity of calm surrounding him that made Eve wonder what he was feeling. The man at the carriage door stepped aside obligingly as Valentine climbed into the cab, a question in his eyes.
"To the manor, Mr. Morgenstern?" he asked Valentine.
Valentine appeared extremely uninterested in the matter. He stared pointedly at his fists and slowly unfurled his scarred fingers. "Yes."
The man nodded courteously and closed the carriage door, and they were alone. Eve gazed sleepily out the window to her side, assuming that Valentine was not in the mood for talking. There was a sound like bells, the jangle of the reins, and a lurch as the carriage lunged into motion, taking them farther from her home with every hoof-fall. The thought frightened her for a moment: What if she didn't like her new home? But something touched her wrist, and she was distracted from her reverie.
It was Valentine's fingers, tracing the line of her wrist. "You're bleeding," he said, a wealth of displeasure in the words. "Why?"
Bleeding? Eve thought.
Sure enough, when she glanced down at her hand there were dark blossoming stains on her white sleeve. Blood. Eve's memory recalled the image of Mother, her nails piercing her skin, and she realized.
"Mother," she tried to say, but a yawn interrupted her before she could finish.
Valentine seemed to know what she meant anyway. His expression became darker than the night sky outside as he gently inspected her wrist; turning it this way and that to see the extent of the damage. Eve leaned her head against the wall of the cab, her eyelids heavy, fighting to stay awake.
"It will have to wait until we reach the manor," Valentine told her, smoothly releasing her wrist.
That was the last straw for Eve.
The melodic sound of his voice was the last thing she heard, before sleep drew her into its clutches, and she fell asleep to the steady rock of the carriage.
Well? What do you think?
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P.S: She meets Jonathan next chapter! So excited! (*writes like crazy*)
Love, Fishie
