Author's Note: The first section of this chapter is in Amy's ., the second section is in Raphael's p.o.v, and the final section is once again in Amy's p.o.v.

Amy jolted out of her dream, the room around her dark except for the small quivering flame of the candle lying on her bedside table.

Not again.

Amy rubbed her eyes, yawning once she was finished.

"Bad dreams?"

The girl jumped, looking blurrily at the form of Raphael, who was sitting on a chaise lounge beside the door to her room. As her eyes adjusted to the dim room, Amy could see her foster father more clearly. Raphael was wearing his green jacket and cape, his white-blonde hair immaculately brushed. The most startling feature, of course, being his red eyes, which matched Amy's eye color. Why Raphael occasionally made the habit of popping into Amy's room like this whenever she was sleeping, she didn't know. She was seventeen now; she didn't need to be looked out for. She turned eighteen in a few weeks—would he still be treating her like this by then?

Probably.

"Yes."

Amy pulled the covers back, sliding her frail frame out of the king-sized, four-poster bed. Her black nightgown trailed across the marble floor as she walked over to her dresser, prepared to get ready for her daily training. As Amy looked for the appropriate attire, Raphael pushed onwards with his questioning.

"Care to elaborate?"

"No."

He stood up from his seated position and approached Amy's armoire, leaning against the elaborate wallpaper lining the young girl's bedroom.

"And why is that?"

"Because," she whispered, pulling out her black and pink ruffled dress, which had accents of fur and lace, "I've told you about the dream several times. It hasn't changed yet."

"Is that so?"

The girl slid behind the changing shade, prepared to get dressed.

"Yes. Can you leave me be, please?"

"Why, of course."

The room was silent for a few moments before Amy heard Raphael's footfalls as he exited her room and closed the door.

Raphael stormed down the winding staircase leading away from Amy's room, trying his best not to scream in frustration.

Those damn fools don't know what they're doing.

Ten years ago, Raphael had destroyed a town called Éclat Ville, lying North of his castle. It was a town filled with commoners of the farmer and fisher persuasion and only consisted of about eight little homes and a local eatery. For a few years, this town was making a lot of money from its restaurant and the surrounding marketplace, due to the large number of travelers the town received because of its location towards the center of France. However, the business Éclat Ville was generating was taking away residents and potential visitors to the village Raphael ruled over—Le Sang Ville, named after the fact that many of the same bloodlines that founded the city still existed within its walls. Upon hearing that his citizens were losing business and were not able to feed themselves or pay taxes, Raphael took it upon himself to make Éclat Ville disappear. He set the village aflame, taking in the sounds of the screams of terror the people of the town released into the night air—the purest form of music. However, as Raphael was leaving the village, he noticed that he had left one townsperson behind—a little girl with scarlet hair and emerald eyes. Unlike the other people of the village, the young girl didn't seem to be too afraid of Raphael. Sure, he heard the pounding of her heart, but the seven-year-old girl did a fantastic job of hiding her fear from him. She even stood up for herself when he talked down to him. After seeing how the young girl acted, Raphael knew he had to know more about this young girl. So, he hypnotized her and erased all of her memories, replacing them with some he and his servants were able to fabricate. Raphael made the girl believe that her parents didn't want her, and so they abandoned her on the road leading towards Raphael's castle. Of course, her little brain had eaten up this tale quite thoroughly, and no cracks in Raphael's story have made their way to the surface.

Over the past few months, though, Amy has been discussing bad dreams she's been having. Of course, Raphael was no stranger to hearing about the girl's bad dreams as she grew up, but these nightmares were different. These nightmares reflected what really happened the night Raphael discovered Amy.

Once Raphael discovered that these nightmares were the memories from Amy's childhood trying to resurface, he had gathered his servants right away to make some sort of concoction that could coax Amy's memories back into a kind of hibernation. Raphael instructed his servants to slip a few drops every night into Amy's drink at dinnertime, in the hopes that these nightmares would cease. However, his attempts have been futile.

Or had they?

It was possible that the potion wasn't working, but Raphael thought it was more likely that his servants had been lax in the amount they were putting in Amy's drink. Or perhaps they weren't giving any of the fluid to Amy. Raphael needed to get to the bottom of the situation, and fast.

What if she figures it out? What if more of her memories come back?

The fancily dressed vampire stormed into the kitchen, spooking the newest edition to servants, Celeste. Her ebony hair bounced as the jumped, backing herself into the corner of the counter.

"Celeste! How are you this evening, my dear?"

"I-I'm alright, Lord Raphael," the girl said, shakily returning to her task of preparing Amy's food tray, which she appeared to be almost done filling. A succulent slab of rainbow trout lay in the center of the tray, a slide of bread and grapes alongside it. The most important part of the meal, which Celeste was currently preparing, was the drink that was to go along with it—the liquid that was supposed to contain the potion Raphael had instructed Celeste to give Amy. "How are you, milord?"

"Just splendid!" Raphael approached the quivering girl, laying a hand on her shoulder before leaning in to whisper into her ear. "Say, have you been adding the little 'gift' to Amy's drinks? Because she is still suffering from such terrible, TERRIBLE, nightmares."

"Of course, master. Why wouldn't I?" As these words left Celeste's mouth, Raphael heard her heart begin to beat faster.

I see that I misplaced my faith in Celeste.

Raphael sighed in the servant's ear, causing a tremor to rock through her body. "Have you truly? Hmph, how odd." Raphael swiped a loose strand of black hair behind Celeste's ear, the girl now shaking profusely as she lifted the silver tray. The tray began to shake. Raphael backed away from the girl, allowing her to walk towards the door.

"Whatever is the matter, dear girl?"

"Nothing is the matter, s-sir. Just tired, is all. Jacqueline, Marienbard, and I have been cleaning the castle all day to ensure you and Amy woke up to a magnificent estate. That's all." Celeste smiled, turning around again to head for Amy's room.

Raphael didn't say a word until the girl was about to leave the room, allowing Celeste to believe that she had gotten away with lying to him.

"Oh, Celeste?"

"Yes, Lord Raphael?"

"You forgot Amy's drink."

All of the colors washed from Celeste's face as she watched Raphael pick up the chalice, bringing it under his nose and smelling it.

Just as I thought—no potion.

The vampire motioned Celeste to put the tray down and walk towards him, her body unwillingly following its master's command. The girl stood before him, her green eyes full with fear as he brushed Celeste's black hair away from her neck, smoothing it down her back. He handed the cup to Celeste.

"T-Thank you, Master."

"My pleasure."

But before Celeste could turn around and add the chalice to the tray, Raphael grabbed the girl by the back of her neck. He brought her forward, sinking his gleaming white fangs into Celeste's jugular, piercing various arteries in the process. Blood began to gurgle in the woman's throat, the sound of her struggle falling on Raphael's deaf ears as he drank in her life force. Celeste dropped the chalice, Amy's beverage spilling across the floor. Once Raphael had his fill, he dropped Celeste's carcass to the ground, discarding it like Amy's wasted drink.

"Such foul blood. MARIENBARD!"

The dark-green haired servant sprinted into the kitchen, stopping just short of trampling over Celeste's corpse. Her yellow eyes looked from Raphael to Celeste, a look of disgust painting across her pale face.

"I see she didn't work out. I apologize for her failure, Master. Shall I clean her up and prepare Amy another drink?"

"Yes—and do make sure the potion finds its way into the liquid this time. I would hate to see my favorite servant end up like this wretch."

Raphael kicked the corpse as he exited the room. Wiping his mouth off with a napkin, he turned around to say one last thing to his loyal servant.

"Once you're finished with that and Amy's done eating, make sure you two make your way down to the courtyard—I'll be overseeing Amy's training tonight.

"Which weapon will you be using today, milady?"

Amy eyed the row of rapiers, choosing her favorite out of the collection.

"I think I'll use Albion today—she could use a few swings."

Jacqueline nodded, fetching the blade and kneeling before Amy to present it to her. Amy rolled her eyes.

"I'm not like Raphael, Jacqueline. I don't need people bowing at my feet every few minutes. Please stand up."

The red-headed servant nodded in understanding, quickly standing up.

Amy took the blade from the woman, admiring it's gleaming true edge. The blade was given to Amy by none other than Raphael, who had the blade fashioned to look like one of the swords he frequently used in combat. She was so excited when she first got it that she didn't think about how odd it was that he wanted them to have similar rapiers. Wouldn't that just make it harder for them to tell apart and cause confusion?

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Amy approached the courtyard, ready to begin her training session. As she got in her fighting stance, she noticed that Raphael had taken it upon himself to watch her training session, too.

Great. First my bedroom, and now the courtyard.

"Who do you wish to fight, Lady Amy?"

Amy turned her attention towards the three servants—Marienbard, Jacqueline, and Auguste. Probably the oddest looking trio she had ever seen, the servants that worked throughout the night in Raphael's castle held a special place in Amy's heart. They weren't like the stereotypical servants she had read so much about in various novels stored away in Raphael's library—the three individuals in front of her truly cared about Raphael and Amy and weren't just working in the castle to make money.

I don't know what I would do without the three of them.

Then an idea popped into the fiery girl's head. I wonder if fighting all three of them at once will convince Raphael that he doesn't need to watch over me every waking moment.

"All three of you."

Amy saw out of the corner of her that Raphael sat forward in his chair at her announcement, his hands clasped together with his elbows on his knees.

"As you wish."

Auguste and Marienbard approached Amy's ready form, their weapons at the ready.

Who to go after first?

Suddenly, Jacqueline charged towards Amy, her daggers at the ready. Amy twirled out of the way as Jacqueline attempted to slash her, coming behind the red-haired servant's form and shallowly cutting her on the back of the arm. Jacqueline turned around, unfazed by the oozing wound. She quickly raised her uninjured arm, Amy narrowly dodging the small blade. As Jacqueline tried to stab at the young girl again, Amy kicked her to the ground.

"Does it hurt?"

Then Auguste took it upon himself to commence his plan of attack, his wolf-head mask bobbing as the muscular man ran towards her, sword raised. Instead of shying away from Auguste's approach, Amy ran toward the man, sliding between his knees, and rising behind him so the point of her blade could slice him up the back. The servant let out a yowl, trying his best to recoup.

"Frustrating, isn't it?"

Finally, Marienbard retaliated when Amy's back was turned, the blunt end of her scythe swinging above the ground and knocking Amy to the dirt.

Raphael leaned back in his seat, a smirk gracing his face. Amy shot him a glare.

Bastard.

Raphael left his seat, ambling back into the castle.

"Amy! Are you alright?" Marienbard exclaimed, rushing to help Amy up.

"Yes, Marienbard—I'm quite alright. I hope I didn't harm any of you too much."

"Nonsense," said Auguste, "If you struck a little deeper, though, we might have a problem."

"You're becoming an excellent fighter, Amy—just like your Lord Raphael."

Yeah, the girl thought, helping Jacqueline off the ground. I just wish he would tell me that.