Hello, dear readers.

First, I would like to apologise for my delay in updating my previous stories, but the reason is that I stopped having ideas for them, so from now on I am going to post only single chapter stories or with only two or three chapters.

I know I have written like TEN THOUSAND versions of this, but I promise this will be the final.

Belgium, France and a fictional country of my invention whose human name is Rémi will be the main characters. As for the rest, I will clarify which of them will be featured in each episode.

In this episode we have Switzerland as Vash Zwingli, Liechtenstein as Lilly, Russia as Jean (I read that it was the French 'translation' of his name), Belarus as Natalie (not related), the 2P Nyotalia version of England as Olivia and Monaco as Louise.

I want you to know that the characters might be a little if not fully OOC and you might notice that I named some characters with the French version of their names and that is because the story is set in a fictional Francophone country. I trust you won't mind.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it… over and over and over.

Okay, I'm a very indecisive person! Shut up.

Episode 01

Marguerite van Rijn Presents

The Northern Fairy arrives as the Sea turns red

Marguerite stopped dead in her tracks in front of the mirror hung on the wall by the entrance to the house. She knew she needed to move, that they didn't have much time and she couldn't stand around losing precious time, but she just wasn't able to move any longer. The memories of the recent days washing over her as if they had been contained inside a dam which was now broken beyond repair. Her father had told them that it was going to be the last time this happened and now she was thinking that it was going to be the last time, effectively, if she didn't move her feet! But she couldn't. She was completely paralyzed.

Marguerite stared deep into her green eyes, for which she had received compliments very often. They were as green as the forest, some even said. Her skin was fair, but with everything that was going on, lately it was not the right word to use to describe it. It wasn't fair, but pale. Sickly pale. Her hair was concealed underneath a wide-brimmed hat, because she hadn't even found strength to move her arms enough to do it, and neither had Cécile, her trustworthy maid and confidante. She had been crying almost all the time, and Marguerite had tried – in vain – to console her. She knew she wasn't well, but she was worried about her future well-being by staying in Belgium.

"Marguerite, dear, we must get going!" her father ran up to her with desperation in his eyes, adjusting his tie. He wasn't a man to lose his composure very easily, but right at that moment, he was sweating but unwilling to take off at least his jacket. He was a proper gentleman. Count van Rijn. A noble title that was well known even in the times of Leopold I. He gently tugged on Marguerite's gloved hand to get her moving, but there was no response from the girl who was, apparently, transfixed by the reflection of herself in the mirror.

She wanted everything to be like it had been before. Before the war had started and later taken her brother away. They hadn't received news from him ever since they left Brussels, two or three weeks ago. She feared for his life, fighting against the krauts. She never thought she would say that word, that disparaging word that now had much more meaning to her than it had before. She missed the times when her mother was alive and she was happy when all she had to worry about was attending school, and when not, busying herself solving cases that the Police couldn't. She knew that all the officers who she had helped hated the way she worked in their field as if she had studied like them when she was just a simple fifteen year old pretty girl, but in the end it worked fine for them because they got the credit for – basically – her job.

Now, those days were over.

After a couple more minutes of holding her tears in front of the mirror, Marguerite took a deep breath and was able to move to the automobile that was waiting to take her and her father to the port, where she would board a ship to England to escape from all this, and there, yet another ship to Sauville, a neutral country where her late mother's sister lived with her husband and son. But there was one small detail that accompanied all that information that her father had hastily given to her only a couple days ago, when it was obvious that the Belgian Army couldn't hold the German aggression, and its allies still were working on getting there. He would not be coming with her.

She had begged to let her stay, and every time he said no, because he was thinking about her safety. She had said that, if it was safe for him to stay, then it would be safe for her too, because she would be with him. Her reasoning had always been a problem to the Count, who feared that any man would be intimidated by her power of thinking and wouldn't want to marry his beloved daughter. He had told her several times that he didn't want her to end up like a lonely spinster when she was older, but she had brushed it away.

Now, she had no longer a place to call a home, as she had been yanked away from there and was put on a ship to a country she barely knew, to live with a family she hadn't seen in years, and even back then, it had only been a couple of weeks. Her cousin, Rémi. She hadn't seen him since they were both ten, but she had written to him almost every month, and she always got a nice letter back from him. He was a very cute and nice boy according to what her mother had told them before departing for the other world, a week after she had visited her sister in Saubrème, the capital of Sauville, where the Baron and Baroness – her aunt – Bilodeau had a permanent residence.

From the deck of the ferry, the only thing she could see, was it either by looking among the passengers or towards the port, were crying faces and generalised sorrow. People were leaving their homes and their families behind – in her case – because of a senseless war, venturing to unknown lands whether it was within the borders of the Old Continent or elsewhere. She didn't know how long this war was going to be, or how large in scale and territory, but she hoped it was over soon. She wanted to see her father. She had not yet left him – technically, because he was in the dock and she was on board the ship that was ready to go – and she already missed him.

She couldn't help but shed a tear, as the ship's whistle blew, at the thought of leaving her beloved father, to whom she had grown closer over the past years, bonding over the loss of her mother and their obsessive love of Belgian artisanal chocolate. She chuckled a little as she wiped the single tear carefully with a handkerchief. Oh, how she craved some Neuhaus chocolates.

And some peace. She desperately craved some peace in her life.

She had plenty of time to think, as she was waiting in the Terminal of Southampton, having already arrived two hours ago. She was sitting next to a cute little blonde girl with wide blue eyes who was playing with a porcelain doll. Marguerite smiled at her talking softly to the doll as if she was alive, and couldn't help but wonder how that little girl's life would be. Where were her parents? Was she English or was she going to travel somewhere? Was she escaping from the war, like she was? She decided to voice her thoughts "Bonjour, my name is Marguerite" she introduced herself with a smile to the little girl, who looked up at her and smiled shyly, her fair cheeks going slightly red as she introduced herself back.

"Nice to meet you, miss, my name is Lilly" she was very cute, and that made Marguerite forget about the horrible world they were both living in, at the moment.

"Where are you from? You don't sound English" she pointed out. She had a strong accent, but because she spoke so softly, Marguerite couldn't tell where country was she from. Or at least, a guess. She noticed she was very shy with people.

"We are from Switzerland. We are going back home" she said with a small smile. They probably are going to disembark in Sauville and then cross the border by train, but who else was she referring to?

"We?" she asked when a young blonde man sat down next to her, looking around the passengers in the Terminal. He was older than her, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, and they had the same eye colour. He was too young, though, to be the girl's father, so he must be her brother or stepbrother. Just when she was going to ask, she checked her watch and saw that it was time to embark "I have to go, dear. Have a good, safe trip" she said with a smile as she walked away.

She had added the word 'safe', because in this time of war, no one really knew.

The Reine Elise was the absolute pride of the Royal Sauvillean Line and Marguerite could see why as she was strolling through the deck and lounges of the First Class. This time, she did not see anguished faces and crying relatives, every passengers she had seen in her section of the ship were chatting and having tea like if they were enjoying the time of their lives. It made her quite angry, frankly, because she had to endure leaving her homeland and father behind for the Germans to take and this people couldn't care less about the situation in Europe. Only the men in the smoking room were discussing the war, but of course, to them it was a delight to be able to talk about something more interesting than the average boring politics of their countries.

Who cared if hundreds were dying? Let's all sit down, enjoy a brandy and a smoke and have a merry old chat!

She cursed them in her native French as she walked inside one of the lounges. Immediately, she was drawn to the large painting that was hung over the chimney. It was a beautiful woman with a hint of sadness in her blue eyes. For the clothes she was wearing and heir hairdo, she was from the late 18th Century. She leaned over to get a closer look at the name. It said "Queen Elise of Sauville". Of course, the Reine Elise for which this ship had been named after.

"Beautiful painting, isn't it?" a man with a sultry voice asked from behind her. She turned around and saw a very attractive man with wavy golden hair and a little stubble. He had a beautiful white suit with a pink tie, and was moving a glass of wine between his slender fingers while looking up at the painting. Marguerite, realising that she had not given the man an answer, nodded "Queen Elise was Regent of Sauville during the dark years of the Napoleonic Wars" Marguerite almost sighed. Again with wars "She is said to have ordered that all the gold of the National Treasury of Sauville be hidden before the French arrived in 1793. She died abruptly while she was still in exile and nobody ever knew where the gold went. The Gold of Queen Elise is one of the greatest mysteries of Sauville" he ended with a small sip of his wine.

Well, that story was a little more interesting than she thought it would be. She stuck out her hand, as any girl, with her palm facing downwards "Marguerite van Rijn. Enchantée" she said with a small smile on her face. The man looked at her in the eye before leaving the carved crystal glass on top of the chimney and kissing her palm gently, without taking his piercing blue eyes off her. She was feeling a little flushed.

"Enchanté, mademoiselle" he was very flirty, he was going to make Marguerite blush, and she didn't want to look like a dumb little girl swooning over a handsome older man "Francis Bonnefoy, proud member of Her Majesty's police force in Saubrème. At your service" he made a small bow of courtesy. She stifled a giggle.

"You are a police officer?" she asked, not very much believing this dapper and flirty young man was a tough officer of the streets, enforcing the law with his very fancy clothes. She was quite amused at such idea.

"Oh, heavens, no! God prevent this lovely ensemble from getting dirty in the streets!" he voiced her concern with a dramatic tone, putting his hand over his forehead. She couldn't help but giggle a little and he giggled with her "I'm an inspector" he said seriously, but still keeping the smile that suited him so well.

"Inspector?" she asked with a smirk "Well, that could come in handy"

"I think you could come in handy" he said with an equal smirk. Marguerite's expression changed. How dare he insinuate that she would – "Oh, don't get me wrong, mademoiselle. I'm saying because, between us, I know your 'business' with the police" he seemed to catch what her new expression meant right away.

"Well, then" she relaxed a little more "I see my reputation as a mastermind proceeds me"

Francis hummed and lifted his wine glass to her slightly "Santé"

The young maid put the silver tray with a jar of water and a glass down on the small table in the centre of the fancy stateroom. She was about to leave when she heard a loud noise coming from the closet. Curious as to what had caused said noise, she closed the door to the corridor and opened the closet, where he found that an evening dress had fallen with the hanger on top of a trunk.

She tried to retrieve it, but the only way was to move said trunk. She grabbed the handles and pulled it towards her slightly, but it fell loudly on the floor and opened. What she saw falling out of the trunk made her scream like she had never.

The corpse of a little blonde girl.

The Master at Arms had requested the presence of Inspector Bonnefoy at the scene, and the inspector had done the same with Marguerite. The other ship's officers were at a loss of words when they saw how young the inspector's 'assistant' was, and they didn't know her purpose for being there. Either way, he had received the news of a murder on board, but when he touched the 'corpse' was not cold, and when the felt her pulse "Well, what a miracle" he said, looking out the corner of his eye at the Master at Arms "The girl is alive. Just unconscious" he stood up.

The Master at Arms, in turn, looked at his own assistant, who was mortified "Forgive me, inspector. It was this idiot that informed me wrong" he said, glaring at the poor man next to him. From her place at the door, Marguerite walked forward and, in the middle of the stateroom floor was the little blonde girl who had been playing with the doll at Southampton.

"I know this girl. Have they located her brother, yet?" she asked the Master at Arms. Francis turned around and looked at him, too.

"He is being brought down here as we speak" he said.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the lounge, a woman left the table where a young man was sitting. Walking away from his table, she directed to him a smirk and left to take the air in the deck as two officers entered in turn, they had already looked in the other lounges. The young man downed his drink, quickly.

"Could you come with us, please?" one of the officers asked and the young man looked up, his throat closing, but he was ready to accept his fate. He looked up.

"Certainly" another man said. He turned around and saw a blonde young man with green eyes and a grey stripped suit getting up and following the officers out of the lounge. He was confused. If they had found his sister, why didn't they come to take him? He undid his tie and inhaled deeply. His chest was still feeling quite tight.

In the stateroom, everybody was waiting in silence while the girl was being treated by a doctor in the bed. She wasn't waking up, and according to the doctor, she was under the effect of some powerful drug. He was worried because he didn't know the dose in which it had been administrated to her and if it was the right one for her age and weight. If she had suffered an overdose, she could easily slip into a coma. Marguerite's stomach clenched upon that possibility for such a young girl.

"Monsieur, here is Vash Zwingli" one of the officers of the lounge said as he stepped in bringing with him and another officer, a young blonde man, but he wasn't the one that was sitting with the girl. Marguerite was confused, but she decided to observe the scene in silence. Perhaps they were related, too. Who knew?

"Excuse me, what is this?" the man – Vash Zwingli – asked upon seeing so many people in a stateroom that wasn't his, and with an unconscious child on the bed "My name is Vash Zwingli, but this is not my cabin. Mine is B-52" he said, trying to reach for his ticket inside his pocket.

"You are saying that you never saw this girl in your life?" Francis asked, approaching the confused passenger and pointing at the girl. He shook his head vehemently and Francis approached the Master at Arms with an air of secrecy around him, whispering "Monsieur Capitaine, excuse me but I believe that you are surrounded by idiots" said man was surprise by the suddenness of that statement. Francis exclaimed out loud with an air of drama that Marguerite knew – now – that characterized him "This young men might say to the Master at Arms that he is wearing the most lavish of robes, when he is completely naked!"

Marguerite stepped forward, she would have laughed at Inspector Bonnefoy's outburst if it wouldn't have been for the situation "This is not the girl's brother. I will show you who he is even if I have to turn this ship upside down" she said with an air of determination that had always been her trademark feature according to her father. She walked to the door and motioned for a couple officers and Francis to follow her.

"Well, that's him" she said with puffed cheeks. She was looking down, along with the Master at Arms and Inspector Bonnefoy, to the dead body that had been found in the lounge. It was the Vash Zwingli they had been looking for. Several people were crowded in the spacious room, they had to be questioned thoroughly, but most of them had said that he had started to struggle for air and then collapsed on the floor convulsing violently "Now we have to wait until the little girl wakes up"

The doctor looked up from his place, kneeling next to the corpse "According to the symptoms the other passengers described, this man could have been poisoned"

"There is a killer on board!" a woman yelled and the people started to panic.

A young girl with whitish girl had her eyes wide as plates as she ran outside, passing through those curious ones who didn't dare to come inside. She began hyperventilating, grasping the railing until her knuckles turned white "Calm down, Natalie" she breathed out "We are all going to die" her voice changed, revealing a terrified tone. Her eyes narrowed "Not if I kill them first"

She started chuckling, until it developed in a full-on laugh attack as images of blood and gore passed in front of her eyes, from past memories of her childhood and adolescence. A loud thunder startled the passengers on the deck, but not Natalie.

They were approaching a very heavy storm.

I hope you liked the first part of the first episode of this series – I know, it's a lot of 'firsts' – if you do leave me a comment, it would make me really happy.

The second part is coming!

Thanks for reading.