There were three things wrong with the room.
First, the dust gathering on the counters was starting to become far more than noticeable. Unacceptable.
Secondly, Hannah was sitting on the other side of the room, lounging around as though there was no work to be done. Disappointing.
Thirdly, Alois Trancy's lifeless corpse was lying in the centre, sprawled out over the dining table, and it was starting to smell. Disgusting.
"I'm surprised," Claude said, sounding as unsurprised as could possibly be. "Shouldn't you have moved on? The boy's soul is gone. Your obsession quashed."
Hannah slowly turned her head, fingers playing through her hair. "I could tell you the same thing. Aren't you hungry, demon?"
"What reason would I have to leave? I have been a Trancy butler for many generations. This garden, this manor, has always been mine." He tilted his head. "You are the intruder."
She remained impervious, finally pushing her hair behind her back and neatly clasping her hands together on the table. "Until he sheds his very last flake of skin, until his heart has shrivelled away into dust, until his bones have all gone away – I will not leave my Master's side."
"Fascinating." He adjusted his glasses. "Your obsession runs so deep, Anafeloz. That rotten soul has truly poisoned you. Do you think the reaper did a poor job? Perhaps you'll be able to suck some scraps out of his marrow." A smirk squirmed across his face, "Come now, I am only trying to give you hope. There's no need to look at me like that."
Claude moved forwards, extending a hand towards the corpse. Hannah flinched in her seat, fingers unclasping. Still, she permitted the touch, watching as his fingers danced over her Master's face. He slid them upwards, towards the hollow of his eye.
"Five demons, and not one good enough to stop the candle pin pushing into his brain." He drew a circle around that half-shut hole, as though he was massaging it. "Such a pity, your Highness. Whatever could have driven you to that madness?" He lifted a piece of his straw hair, brushing it over the killing wound. "Could you have been trying to tell us something, by taking your life through your eye? Could you hear your little brother's cries whenever she was in the room? Could that have tormented you, brought you to this simple conclusion? Could it be that you were blaming Hannah?"
The slap knocked his head back. But, he had allowed it, after all.
"His brother doesn't cry around him. He loves him, I love him. He killed himself because of you, because he cried out for the love you could never, ever, ever give him. " Hannah leaned forwards, lifting up that corpse, cradling it like a mother and babe. She brushed his hair, brought her lips to his forhead. How dazzling those lips were, reflecting the night sky. Limitless. Empty. "Don't touch him. Never touch him again. If you do…" She glanced up at him with that one cold eye. "I won't hesitate to kill you."
Claude pulled back a chair, sitting himself in front of her. He knitted his fingers together in front of his chin. How strange, how utterly strange. If only Hannah were human. This kind of obsession, so deep, so burning, so fierce – what a way to spice a soul. Controllable, too – quite easy to draw out the most intense of passions. She'd have been quite the meal.
But alas, she was as hollow as the eye Alois had bored out.
Reaching out, he placed his hand on her face. He could feel her heat even though his gloves, as though her blood was rushing to meet him, drawn to his mere touch. Her eye wilted, her mouth crumpling.
"And how, Hannah Anafeloz, do you plan on doing that?" His fingers crawled over her face, softening her, patiently asking for her to open up. "With that sword? But how, how on Earth could a sheath learn to wield what is buried deep inside of it?" He leaned his head forwards, lips hovering over the little dead boy's. "No, I think only a hand can do that." Though her lips bloomed, the purple gate baring itself for all the world to see – he withdrew his fingers. Instead, he brought them to Alois's face, tilting it's sullen chin.
"My Highness, Hannah says she is going to kill me for doing this. But this is all you've ever wanted, isn't it?" He drew his fingers over it's lips. "Shhh, shh. It will all be alright, My Highness. She won't hurt me, not while you still want this. She loves you too much to ever hurt you. Even when it suffocates you. I know, I know."
"You're sick," she said. Such venom. So much fight in her.
"Yes." Claude leaned forwards, hanging above those wrinkled lips. "Your Highness is very sick." He craned his head, glancing towards her. "I think it is time for his bed. He will need plenty of rest."
He brought his arms forth, cradling it. "Now give him to me, Hannah. You know he prefers if I take him to bed."
She stared, just stared, open eyed. Dull. Thinking of some way to defy this. And yet, as soon as her mouth opened – he stuffed words down her throat.
"Don't worry." His voice softened into a whisper. "I'll make sure to kiss him goodnight." His grin was cold. "Just to make sure."
He wrenched the corpse away, turning his back on her.
"He should have hated you."
Her words were like rainwater.
"I wish he hated you."
He tuned her out, and made his way out of the room.