No more fluff. We get serious now.


February 12th, 1767

Jean-Charles unlocked the small room. His fortnight had been overdue, and he considered himself generous. But now there was no more waiting. He stepped inside, the light casting on the old man bound to the chair. He knelt down in front of him and made sure he was awake.

Gilles glanced up uninterestedly.

"You should be grateful I was caught in family matters. Otherwise, I would have come sooner. Now, tell me what you've done with her!"

He lowered his head. "It seems pointless to relay the same story."

Jean-Charles nodded. "For an old ass, you still have some brains up there. Do you confess?"

Gilles hesitated, but then shook his head. "With God as my witness, I never murdered Catherine DeCiel."

Jean-Charles straightened, casting the old man a dead look. "I want to believe you, Gilles."

Vincent and Clement rushed in, untying him and thrusting him out of his seat. His legs gave out under him from lack of use, but they dragged him towards the door. Jean stood with complete satisfaction.

"I certainly hope the judge will want to, as well."

"JUDGE!" Arnaud shouted suddenly, chuckling.


February 13th, 1767

Matthieu made a mental note of everything he needed. Bath, shave, food, trousers, more food, everything to say and when to do it. He peeled back the curtains every few minutes, following the sun as it made its journey across the sky.

Full moon tonight.

He flung them closed again. If he were to break this curse, if she was to be safe, he had to tell her today.

The door knocked, making him smack his head against the wall in surprise. He rubbed it off. "C-Come in."

It creaked open slightly, a head of messy brown hair peeking in. Matthieu groaned.

"Don't be surprised to see me." George leaned against the threshold. "Catherine is worried about you. More worried, I should say."

Matthieu scratched his arm, hair begin to crawl down his sleeve. He gritted his teeth, willing the process to slow. The sensation stopped, and he could breathe.

"It's...It's getting to that time," George noted carefully. Matthieu nodded. "Are you going to tell her?"

He sighed, raking his hair out of his eyes. "I...I think I am."

"You think?"

"George, this isn't as easy as one might think. After everything I've put her through, after every compromising and confusing situation I've brought upon her, how can I ask of her to stay? I'm not sure what to do!" He covered his eyes and leaned against the wall. "If I tell her, and she says no, what will happen?"

He heard George's approaching footsteps in front of him. "Well, that's something you have to figure out."

Matthieu growled. "You just don't want to get involved!"

The boy shrugged. "This is true. But, I do have nothing to say about this. You know how I am with romance." Matthieu uncovered his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Don't you say a word!"

"Leave me," Matthieu begged. "At least for now."

George sighed through his nose, arms crossed over his chest. He turned to leave. "She's waiting for you, so you'd better be prepared."

With that, he left. Matthieu groaned, seizing his hair in tightly clenched fists. He pushed himself from the wall and stumbled into his sacred place, ignoring splintered hole in one of the doors. He needed comfort in seeing her, only not in person. He knelt down by the water.

"Show me Catherine."

The water rippled, and the witch's image appeared.

Matthieu screamed in frustration. "WHY DO YOU KEEP COMING BACK!?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be surprised to see me." He swiped his hand at her image, but she still remained. "Don't bother trying to hang up on me."

He swiped at her again, and still she stayed. He swiped the water again.

"Stop - " And again. "trying - " And again. "to - " And again. "IGNORE ME!" And again and again and again and again.

He stopped to catch his breath, the witch glaring at him with her arms over her chest.

"Are you finished?"

He nodded, still panting.

"Look at you, out of breath and sopping wet like a dog! You're being such a coward."

"How dare you!" he hissed.

"I'm speaking the truth! You hole yourself up in here, asking for only an image when you should be experiencing the real mortal beauty." She shook her head in shame. "I thought you'd changed."

He gripped the stone edge of the pool. "...Whether or not I've changed will not matter."

"You think she'll deny your request?"

"I am...prepared for the possibility," he answered simply. "And when - if - she does, I've arranged for her to journey exactly where she needs to be."

"And how, pray tell, do you intent to do that?"

Matthieu pulled a rose petal from his coat, willing it to glow. It rose out of his hand and curled in on a central point, swirling until it disappeared. The witch went wide-eyed.

"Do you know how many roses you'd need to do that?! You'll lose your power, your protection! Everything!"

"I don't care!" he snapped, standing. "I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy." He strode over to his cabinet of empty vials.

"You can't be serious!" she cried from the water behind him. "You're willing to give up all control so this girl can be happy for you?!"

He whirled around with small, flat, round vial in hand. He dipped it into the water and capped it closed. He image appeared in the glass, still glaring at him challengingly.

"I'm using whatever control I have left to keep her alive!" He shoved the vial into his coat pocket. "Perhaps you'd like to see the performance."


Catherine sat outside, her feet in the melting snow. She glanced at the gate for the umpteenth time, growing increasingly impatient. She thought she should seek him out herself, but knew why that would not work. Full moon tonight. He was most likely agitated. If she sought him out, he'd shrink away from her and hide. He had to come to her himself. But sometime before nightfall would be nice.

The gate rattled just as she looked away.

"George, what did he sa - oh!" Matthieu stood at the gate. "I'm sorry. I was expecting - "

"I know!" he interrupted. He took her hand. "Will you walk with me?"

She beamed immediately and stood up. "Lead the way, monsieur."

He guided her deeper into the roses, squeezing her hand. She studied his face. He was tensed, his eyes focused straight ahead. Was he afraid he'd snap? It was a very tense day, but was there something he needed to tell her? Was it serious? He glanced down at her, a reassuring smile spread across his face.

She shouldn't press. No need to upset him further and make the situation worse.

He stopped suddenly, making her stumble a bit. He steadied her before she could tumble. She never asked him to do that, but it was sweet how he never let her fall. He never wanted to see her harmed. He took her hand in his.

"Catherine..." he started, trailing off.

"Yes, Matthieu?" she probed gently. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" he affirmed quickly. "At least, I hope nothing is." She furrowed her brow. "What I mean is...Catherine, do you enjoy your time here?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"Do you like this place?"

"I love it," she admitted. "This place has become more of home than anything other place I've been."

"So..." he held her hand more tightly. "would you say that you're happy here?"

"Yes!"

"With me?"

She blinked, heat rising in her cheeks. Was he implying...no! Of course not! Why would he take interest in someone like her? Yes, she'd been kind to him. Yes, she'd taken care of him when he was at his most vulnerable. But she was just a stupid village girl, naive and impulsive and reckless. Surely, he'd prefer someone more ladylike.

"...You've been so kind to me."

His gaze fell to his boots, his grip on her hands slacked. She'd said the wrong thing again.

"Wait, Matthieu," she brought her hand to his face. "I am happy here with you. Truly I am! And I want to help you...but I fear I might be too late."

He gently took her wrist and pressed his face into her palm. Her heart fluttered as his lips parted ever so slightly. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"What am I going to do when you don't come back?" she lamented.

He gently seized her hand in his own. "Catherine, I have made sure you are well taken care of. I can send you anywhere you need to go."

"But...but the snow!"

He sighed. "Catherine, even with this snow, you realize you could have left whenever you wished, right?"

She hesitated, but finally nodded. He'd mentioned it before, but she thought it was because he was pushing her away, or he couldn't live with himself if he hurt her.

"Do you really want me to leave?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Angel, I wish you could stay! But...I can't make that decision."

Was he truly asking her this? She knew her answer immediately. "Yes! I want to stay! If I can help you break this curse, and you can finally find peace. I'm sure I can find another cure than death."

His eyes shone hopefully, and he opened his mouth to tell her something. But she cut him off.

"But, I...I need to know if Gilles is alright." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I don't know if he's still alive. If I could see that he's alright, that'd be enough for me."

There'd be no time to search for him, even if he'd returned to Chastel. She only wanted reassurance that her friend was safe. Matthieu cleared his throat, holding a small, round vial out to her on a chain. She cupped it in her hands.

"What is this?"

"Ask for him," he told her.

"What?"

"Ask to see him, and you will."

She stared at the reflection in the water. It seemed alive almost. This wasn't possible, but then again, neither were lycanthropes or magic roses. She inhaled shakily.

"I'd like to see my friend, Gilles. Please?"

Her reflection faded away. Outlines of several men crowded around a hunched figure, battered and bruised with a burlap sack over his head. He was being carted through the street with his hands tied. The cart stopped in front of an angry crowd, beside an all too familiar stage.

She let out a scream.

"What?! What is it?!"

"They're going to have him hanged!" Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You have to go to him!" Matthieu ordered, but his voice shaking. "you must go now!"

"But, I'll never make it!"

His face grew determined and he stepped back. "Yes, you will."

As soon as he said that, the roses bloomed and painted black. Their petals began to disintegrate into gold light, swirling around her like a whirlwind. Terrified and confused, she glanced back up at Matthieu. He slowly approached her and handed her a single pale pink rose still tucked tightly together.

"Don't forget me," he begged.

She shook her head furiously. "Wait! Matthieu!"

Her vision was blinded by the flurries of gold around her. She raised her arms over her face to shield it, her ears ringing. She wanted them to stop! She tried to yell for Matthieu to stop, but she couldn't hear her own voice. Her head spun violently, threatening to bring her to her knees.

The lights suddenly dimmed, her feet landing on the ground. The wind stopped and the soft rustling of rose bushes was quickly replaced with jeering and scorning. She opened her eyes. She was in a field, the setting sun falling over Chastel. She shook her head in disbelief.

"But...but..." she peered down at the vial and the rose in her hand. He'd done this for her. She pressed the rose to her chest. "Merci beaucoup, Matthieu."

She hauled up her skirts and sprinted towards the village square.


If one were to look into the garden, they would think Matthieu merely a statue. He stared unmoving at the spot where he'd last seen her, the roses heavy and black. No emotion hung on his face. He simply stared.

The sun had fallen below the treeline. He whirled around and rushed back inside, intent on locking himself in his chambers forever. Mrs. Townsend appeared just as he entered.

"My lord, how did it go?" He ignored her. "My lord? Matthieu?"

"Go to your room, Madame." He said simply, leaving her in the hall. He rushed across the foyer to his rooms, casting George aside as he passed.

"What's your problem?!" he shouted.

Matthieu ignored him as well and marched towards the silver door. He flung it open and stepped inside. He couldn't be bothered to lock it himself. The door closed on its own, leaving him crouched in the dark.

She's gone...he thought miserably. She's gone.

Two pairs of hands pounded on the doors.

"GO AWAY!"

"Matthieu?" Mrs. Townsend asked worriedly. "Matthieu, what happened? Where is Catherine?"

Matthieu gasped, gritting his lengthening teeth. "SHE'S...GONE!"

"WHAT?!" George cried, banging on the door. "What did you do?! Where is she?! What did you do to her?!"

His hands - paws - dug into the floor. He shook his head, even if it brought him more pain. He couldn't manage this! He just wanted them to lock the door and leave. His feet snapped out of his boots.

"JUST GO AWAY!"

"Matthieu," Mrs. Townsend sighed. "Did you send her away?"

He was silent. He couldn't bear to relay the past events. He simply wanted them to leave as he finally died. She knew his silence too well, though.

"Why did you send her away?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"

There. He'd said it. He let the only human being he'd ever loved fly away, and it was his fault. His thoughts went blank, and he embraced the pain of his transformation.