Michaela had just finished buttoning up her new dress as Finnian came back through the window with a second cot for her roommate. At the young gardener's entrance through the window Bard froze in the middle of his thought that she hadn't been listening to anyways. He was dumbstruck as he and Finnian stared at each other silently, the fair blonde's ears turned a bright pink and he dropped the cot with a clatter.

"There! What do you think?" Michaela smoothed out the apron and spun around, asking no one in particular to cut through the suddenly thick mood.

"It looks really good on you, Michaela." Finnian answered, scratching at the back of his head with an awkward laugh. His laugh carried on into the silence, his eyes lingered on Michaela and the pink spread to his cheeks.

"Wait-" Bard began to put two and two together and pointed awkwardly between her and Finnian.

"Well then, shall we start our tour?" Michaela carried on, ignoring Bard's questions. She pushed the new cot into the same place the bed had been not too long ago and Finnian scrambled to help her. Bard looked as though he was doing complex mathematics in his head, staring up at the ceiling. Michaela's fingers brushed Finnian's hand as she smoothed the sheet, and she smiled as his blush deepened. He began to stammer something as she straightened up.

"It was good to meet you," she said and walked past Bard to stand in the doorframe, "will you be joining us on this tour?" Finnian shook his head, though the smile would not dislodge.

"I should clean up all these feathers before Mey-Rin's done the tea." He chuckled and Michaela grinned.

"And another thing, these feathers!" Bard tried to start his line of questions once more.

"Thanks…"She gave Finnian a small smile and a wink. She didn't want him to feel like he had been taken advantage of; and promptly turned heel and walked out of the room. Finnian sighed and threw himself back onto the freshly placed cot, Bard's questions unheard.

"Oi Finny!" He shouted trying to bring Finnian out of his daze.

"Hey Scruffs, where's the kitchen?" Michaela called, heading down the hall to her right anyways. Along the wall were small columns with a pale white bust at top each of them, a fancy portrait of people she didn't know at an interval of each three columns. Bard's heavy footsteps came tramping down the plush carpet behind her as she reached a cross way in the halls.

"You were- And Finny was- and the feathers? The bed!" Michaela turned and looked up at him. "Er, wh-what is it?" Bard faltered at the bored look on her face, he had expected embarrassment, shame or even annoyance.

"Kitchen, Scruffs, focus." Michaela pointed vaguely toward each offshoot of the hall. Bard stood dumbly staring down at the girl. She hadn't said anything to him at all during the ride from London. Upon walking in on her mostly naked she had simply told him to close the door and continued to slowly get dressed. The way the sun from the open window had danced across her supple looking skin… wait, wasn't modesty valued by these English women? Well, when she spoke to Finny she didn't quite sound like Lady Elisabeth or Mey-Rin, so…maybe she wasn't English? Just where had Sebastian found her anyways?

Michaela rolled her eyes and stalked off down the left corridor, stopping as she saw the tall butler pushing a tea cart past the far end. He paused as red met grey, and gave her the same vacant smile he had the day he hired her, and continued out of sight. She stared after him blankly, resisting the urge to shudder then turned to wait for Bard to catch up to her.


Michaela stared into the cup of Earl Grey numbly. The scratchy wool blanket that the red eyed man had wrapped around her now hung at an awkward angle on her bare shoulders. Though both of them were caked with blood, he stood counting small tea cakes onto a saucer for her.

"Your tea will get cold." He said plainly as he repacked the supplies he had pulled off of the tea cart, which he pushed back into the hidden alcove in the wall when she did not look up from her tea.

She pulled at the edge of one of the once white stockings, now torn and splattered with blood. Her lilac corset had come loose and had skewed, her entire right breast exposed. The fringe at the bottom of the corset that had served as her excuse of a "skirt" had been ripped, and now hung down low on her lap, her middle exposed. Down her entire left side was a deep burgundy stain from lying in the pool of blood. The butler seemed remotely aware of her exposure, but rather than concerning himself with her he seemed more focused on the door to their left. Almost as if whatever was down the hall held a stronger grip to his attention than the blood drenched girl he was serving tea to.

"Drink."

Michaela broke through the numbness and scowled at the authority in the voice of this servant, her posture stiffened.

"Oh my, such haughtiness from a common whore." His voice was dry as he unbuttoned his jacket. Michaela bit her tongue and glanced over at him; the slash across his back looked much more damaging now that you could see the blood on the white fabric of the shirt beneath. But as he turned to regard her again, she could make out the slight outline of the side of her body across his chest and her scowl etched itself deeper onto her features. She had broken the sword trying to slice him in half and he had still carried her away from it all.

"I suppose this will have to be washed too," He turned away again and pulled at the white dress shirt to examine the stains. The slice in the back previously caked down with blood shifted and Michaela let go of a small smile at the nearly imperceptible shift in the tall man's posture, "and mended."

Her toes curled in the feet of her ruined stockings, the drying blood made the fabric stiffen into sticky uncomfortable shoes. She wished desperately to remove them, to escape from this man and go back. The three coin sized tea cakes spoke against him doing anything particularly violent in that instant she supposed, as he removed his shirt. His skin was like alabaster beneath the wine coloured grime, it looked powdery soft as though he were made from chalk—though thinking of the sword hilt she had tossed aside, some tougher mineral would probably be more accurate. He unzipped his pants and turned towards her; she pulled her knees to her chest and bumped the saucer. The china rattled as tea spilt in the semi-circle the cup had tilted, and the butler froze. His eyes fixed on the door to their left. "Drink." He said again, and closed the door behind him.

Alone, Michaela listened for a moment before standing and inspecting the room. He had gone through the only door in the room, and she had regained consciousness already in the goddamned chair. She ran to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was dark outside now, but they couldn't be any higher than the third floor. She wrenched the window pane up high above her head and lifted her foot up to the ledge. As she began to push off, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and a pale hand wrapped around her wrist. She hadn't heard the door open, but as her skin burned under his touch she could not deny the butler's return.

"Leaving so soon?" He pulled her away from the window and she kicked her legs like a child being pulled from a toy store. He let out an exaggerated sigh that blew like ice over her neck and she sagged in his grip. Limp against his chest their bare skin came together, and Michaela felt as though a small fire had been set across her shoulders—what was his skin made of?

"Let go of me." Michaela scowled as her voice betrayed her, the order sounded more like a whimper. He set her down in the chair but held his grip on her wrist.

"Drink." He moved her hand to pick up the tea cup but her fingers balled into fists. He squeezed her wrist and the searing heat pricked down to her bones. Her fist tightened as she fought the urge to wrestle her wrist free and he placed his other hand on the side of her neck. Her fingers snapped around the tea cup's handle and the butler chuckled. He pulled on her wrist so the tea cup rose to her lips and she pursed them together childishly.

"Like a good girl now." He leaned in to her neck and whispered. The ice of his breath met the scorch his skin left on hers and sent a current straight up Michaela's spine. A tiny moan shook the base of her throat, her mouth pressed shut. He dragged his tongue from her collar bone to the hollow behind her ear. She opened her mouth to scream from the scalding trail he left, his tongue like liquid cinders contrary to his cool breath, and he twisted her wrist to pour the tea in. He rubbed his fingers along her throat and she spluttered as he forced her to swallow.

Michaela inhaled deeply as he let go of her, the wrist he had held shook despite her— the tea cup along with it. She glared into the empty cup.

"I had hoped bringing you here would have been enough." He sighed mopping up the spilt tea on and around the saucer. "I can't have you returning to him just yet, it might get in the way of my orders from the young master." The fog started to close in on her head as he spoke, nearly as thick as the anger that clouded up with it. Of course that's why he wanted her to drink it so badly. He opened the alcove once again and placed the saucer on the cart. "You should have tried one of the tea cakes though; they were imported from France." He pressed the fake door closed and turned back to her. Her body shook all over as she fought the closing in haze. She'd never make it back in time now. A smug smile pulled across the butler's face and the mist began to encroach on her vision, he was down a fuzzy grey hall rather than in the same room as her. The last thing she saw was the smile fall off of his face as she hurled the tea cup and it smashed on the door to their left.