March 2nd, 1767, La Maison du Loup

2:27 AM

The door to Matthieu's sacred place swung open. The pool rippled on its own, the witch appearing against the water's surface. A figure approached the pool, hunched over and dripping dark liquid onto the floor. It stopped at its edge, dropped to its knees, and fell sideways, breathing heavily. The witch grimaced.

"You look terrible."

Matthieu's limbs jutted awkwardly from his body, his torso thin and bony, his paws looking larger than they should be. His face was intact, but horribly lashed and scraped. He turned his gaze to the pool, staring challengingly at the face staring back at him. He suddenly tensed, his limbs retracting and snapping back. His hands and feet turned more humanlike. His physique broadened, but not by much. He relaxed, his eyes closed. The witch shook her head.

"You shouldn't be trying to fight it. That will only make it worse."

He sat up, pulling his scarf more tightly around him. "What does it matter?"

Her jaw dropped. "Don't you want this curse to break?! Don't you want to live to see her again?!"

He turned away from her. "Leave me be. Let me die."

She rolled her eyes. "What was it George called you? A drama queen?"

"I SAID LEAVE ME BE!" He swallowed painfully. He'd been forgetting meals and water lately. And when his stomach begged to be satisfied, he ignored it. He didn't see any point. At least, with Catherine gone...

"I could show her to you," the witch offered. "if you'd like."

He shook his head solemnly. "It's like you said: why waste your sight on an image when you should experience the mortal beauty?"

She frowned. "I did not say it like that!"

"EXCUSE ME FOR PARAPHRASING!"

Her hand pressed up against the water, pushing until she broke the surface. Her translucent form rose from the pool and came to the edge. She turned his head so he may look at her. "You are lucky to be alive even after the last full moon. And I must say, that was all her doing. She truly was helping. But, if you resign to your fate, you will lose her forever."

Unfazed by the maiden made from sea foam, Matthieu pulled his head away, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from quivering. He dared not say a word. It was like beating a dead horse; it was pointless. He'd never have her back. He could see she was needed more without him, and he was content to lie there while that happened.

March 14th, 1767, Chastel

The funeral for the Elder Monsieur Porcher had begun to disband. Attending the procession was the last thing Catherine wanted to do, but she'd felt obligated to do so. She had witnessed it after all, his murder. She had to excuse herself as the coffin lowered into the ground, with anger and hatred plastered on Jean-Charles's face. She locked herself in her room and slid to the floor. It was reassuring in a way, to know what happened. At least it confirmed her suspicions: Matthieu was too far gone to be saved.

She'd been lucky to hide herself away as long as she did. Jean was busy mourning his father, and her aunt was too caught up in her own frivolous affairs to take much notice other than to offer the Porchers some condolences (in the form of a few pigs). Catherine didn't see any point in leaving the house much, or even leave her room. But many times she had been summoned away from her sanctuary, whether it be for food or work.

Today, Catherine sipped discerningly at her tea in her aunt's sitting room. She felt strangely alien in this lavish setting. The pastel blue wallpaper burst off the wall and into her eyes, blinding her. She concentrated on the tea while Sophie rambled on, talking and laughing and even crying oblivious to her niece's disinterest. Catherine's eyes lifted from her cup to the window. She squinted against the sunlight, her gaze fixing to the mountain above.

"Catherine!"

She glanced out of the corner of her eye, unbothered to even turn her head. Sophie tucked a stray hair back into her updo.

"Catherine, I was saying - "

"I don't care to hear it," she interjected.

"I am talking!" Sophie pressed.

"And I am not listening!" Catherine whipped her head around to face her aunt. "I am sure whatever you have to say is important, but I am not interested. Please, ma tante. I cannot bear any hasty decisions."

"Honestly, Catherine!" Sophie set her cup and saucer on the table beside her. "You've been home for nearly a month. A month! A month after running away without so much as a note or a goodbye! I did not know if you were alright! Our town did not know if you were alive or dead! What did you expect of me?!"

"I expected nothing less of what you have given me!" She straightened her back, her eyes burning and glowing with determination. "I know what I did was not wise. In fact, it was quite foolish. But I have more than compensated with what I have witnessed! Sophie, what I experienced in those mountains I could have never learned from this village and you know that!"

"Ma petite, you do not need to learn anything more than - "

"Yes, I do! That's the whole point!" she cut her off.

Sophie sighed. "Cherie, whatever has happened is now passed. Now you must think of your future."

"With Jean-Charles?"

She nodded. "He is your best choice."

"I rejected his proposal for a reason, Aunt Sophie. I don't want to marry that man."

"Well, who then?" Sophie groused. "A family fortune will only allow you so much freedom. I was lucky to inherit anything! But, do you really want to end up like your father?"

Catherine sprang to her feet. "That's enough! I won't stand to hear this any longer." She made for the door, clutching her chest at the growing ache. She expected nothing less from her aunt at this point, but it stung that after all this time, she was still more concerned with marrying her off than her own wellbeing. Had it been her father who welcomed her back -

"Wait." She turned. "What do you mean end up like him?"

Sophie fidgeted. "Your father was a very...common man."

"Sophie!"

Sophie stood up and set her hand on her niece's shoulder. "Catherine, everything that happened was for your own benefit."

Catherine flinched away from her. "What are you not telling me?! What are you talking about?"

She stared at her fervidly, marching right to her face. She felt her eyebrow twitch as her anger grew with every second Sophie remained silent. "Tell me at once, Sophie Juge. Tell me."

"...Ma cherie,my heart broke when your mother died. The moment I heard of you, I knew I had to bring you in. But I knew your father would not let so easily. Catherine, your mother died so young in Paris. That disease ridden place was the last place I wanted her to leave to and that's where she stayed. With your father. I couldn't have that, and I was not about to make the same mistake with you."

Catherine gripped the door handle. "What are you saying?"

"I...sent a large sum of money to Porcher...to dispose of your father."

Catherine's stomach dropped. The room swayed a bit, but she stood firm. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Everything she'd been told was a lie. Her father hadn't died suddenly, nor by the hands of strangers. He'd trusted this woman and so had she, and they'd both been fools.

"How could you?"

"I-I...Catherine - "

"He TRUSTED you!" Hot, angry tears streamed down her face. "He trusted you and you betrayed him."

"Ma cherie - "

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you dare tell me that you did this for me. Don't you dare think that you saved me!" She turned the handle behind her. "I won't be back."

She ignored Sophie's cries, flinging the door open and sprinting out of the house. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't once look back.

March 15th, 1767

7:47 PM

No more hiding. No more running. Catherine was done with both. She hitched the cart to the horse, preparing the journey for wherever the wind took her. What Sophie had revealed gave her an epiphany: she most certainly couldn't stay here another moment. Gilles was packed and ready, and she had sent a letter to the village on the other side of the mountain requesting work. It wouldn't be an ideal life, but it would be better than this.

She glanced up at the last rays of daylight. Despite every technique she'd tried to forget Matthieu, she couldn't help but think back to him. The vial of water was never away from her person, and the rose he'd gifted her sat unused in a patch of sunlight somewhere. The deep, dark pit in her stomach dug further as she remembered how she'd seen him weeks ago. She could have easily been his next victim and he would have never known. She held her hand over her face. Perhaps she could look into the vial now. It would give her some closure.

She dug the vial from her apron pocket and held it aloft by the chain. Her shaking reflection stared back at her, but also something else. She whirled around.

"What do you have there?" Jean-Charles took her wrist roughly.

She pushed him away from her. "Leave me alone, Jean-Charles." She held the vial to her chest, and realized he was not alone. His friends circled the area, and the attention was beginning to garner a large crowd. She stepped back. "Gilles and I will be leaving now, so if you will excuse m - "

He seized her shoulders, and she froze. "Mon amor, I am only worried for you. With my father's passing, there is only more reason to keep you close."

Catherine glared at him from behind her eyelashes. "My aunt told you of me, did she not?"

"You worry her, Catherine. You worry everyone here." He released one of her shoulders to stroke her cheek. "What with all the reckless things you have done, you should be worried. There is a beast out here, and you are in no condition to - "

She slapped her hand across his face, stunning him backwards. "THE ONLY BEAST HERE IS YOU!"

The five men in front of her stared with the same shocked expression. Fury filled her being, so much that she almost did not hear the door open. Gilles stumbled out, having heard the commotion. Why now? Of all times, WHY NOW?! She wished she had her axe on her.

She held up her arm to keep him behind her, the twins Victor and Clement laughing at this show of compassion. She sneered.

"I do not claim to be any sort of saint," she proclaimed. "But I did what was right for me, and I continue to so. Jean-Charles Porcher, I'm sorry for you father's passing, but I am not sorry that I can never see him again. Not when that bastard murdered my father!"

Jean's face fell into one of surprise, but lifted into one of laughter. Cold, sharp, icy laughter. Her burning rage only grew as the crowd drew closer, and Jean's solid grey stare settled into a calm stupor.

"My father didn't kill Maurice DeCiel, ma cherie." He smirked proudly. "I did."

The same feeling she'd felt in her aunt's sitting room returned but with a new emotion: hatred. She hated this man, the very sight of him made her want him to suffer. She wanted him to howl in pain. She wanted him to be hacked to bits and roasted alive. She wanted him to be thrown into the deepest, darkest, burning pit of Hell and wail until his lungs gave. She wanted him dead, slowly and painfully.

She was so in shock, it hardly registered to her that his arms were around her, stroking her back and sniffing her hair. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she sunk her teeth into his neck. He stumbled back in surprise and Gilles yanked Catherine back from trying anything else. The blond man felt the place he'd been bitten, the crowd murmuring behind him.

"You bit me."

Catherine sucked in a breath to compose herself, never ridding her sight of the heinous man before her.

"You bit me! With your mouth!"

She shrugged, unable to respond. He stumbled back away from her and turned to the crowd to see their reactions. He finally turned back to her and waved his arm dismissively. "Mad woman! Get yourself killed if you want."

He lifted his hand, and her heart dropped. The vial, hung on its chain, swung back and forth in his hand. She rushed over, but Gilles held her by the waist. "Give that back! It's mine!"

Jean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cart. "it seems you have plenty of water for your journey. What's so important with this one?"

"That isn't - Give it back!"

His face twisted into a smirk and he slowly waved it in front of her, taunting her. "You want your silly water back?" He gestured to the large crowd behind him. "I mean, you've made a scene already, you might as well condemn yourself even more. All this crying over trivial little things."

"Damn it, man!" She dove for it but he stepped aside, allowing her to fall on her face. The crowd laughed at the scene. They didn't understand. Of course she looked like a fool. "Please, it's all I - Goddamn it! What does it matter to you?"

Jean shook his head as if he were disappointed. He knelt down in front of her, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "Foolish lambs lay waste to the wolves, little girl."

Cathrine gripped the ground beneath her. Why must this happen, she thought. None of it seemed fair. Nothing around her was fair and it angered her more than the situation. The truth of her father's death, her aunt's betrayal, Matthieu's demise, the stony gaze in Jean-Charles's stare -

The vial!

In one swift motion, she lunged for it. Jean-Charles would not give up so easily, pulling at the chain with all his might and yet she still managed to equal him in strength. The crowd rattled with mixed laughter and murmurs of confusion. Possibly, they were too transfixed by the display that no one stepped forward to stop them. Catherine paid no mind. All she wanted was that vial. All she wanted was Matthieu!

"Why is this so important to you?!" he yelled over the voices of people.

"I just want to see him!" she cried. "I want to see Matthieu!"

The vial in her hand radiated with light, bursting with energy in her hand until Jean was blown back. Catherine shielded her eyes, cradling the vial in her hand. The cork had popped off and mist poured from the opening, displaying a fireplace, a familiar armchair, half a dozen or so bottles of liquor, and - She couldn't believe it.

Barely visible in the dim light, but illuminated by the sunset's glow, Matthieu hung his head low over him. His face was worn, flattened, and wolflike, but his eyes were still green. Still beautiful.

"You're alive," she breathed.

"WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT?!"

She now became acutely aware of the crowd backing away in terror, a few of the women screaming in fear. Jean-Charles was at his feet, circling the image, his brow lowered and his mouth hanging open. Familiar anger peaked through his eyes and aimed his gaze at Matthieu.

"Jean, please - "

"Explain yourself, witch!" The crowd jeered in agreement.

"There's nothing to be afraid of!" she pleaded. "I know he looks dangerous, but he's not. He's a great man who's been through so much. He's strong and compassionate and humble...He's my friend." Even as she said it, the word didn't seem right. It wasn't enough to describe what kind of man he was to her, the man she missed.

"You truly are mad!" Jean's voice cut through her thoughts. "What is this - this - this thing?! What in the Devil's name has happened to your sense?! As if you've fallen for this beast!"

She clutched the vial to her chest, glaring to him. "He is not a beast!"

His hand clasped around hers, and a hard force sent her spinning. Her face hit the ground harshly, the vial hanging in Jean-Charles's hand. The image of Matthieu loomed over the people like a shadow. He waved it around, presenting it like a horse on display.

"Look at this! This witch and her beast! Ever since she's arrived, this beast has been coming to us by night! And now one of our own is dead! Is this what we want?! Are our people made to perish at the hands of Satan's spawn?!"

The expanse of people backed away in fear as he waved the vial around. Catherine pushed herself to her feet to stop him. They had to know this wasn't true! But their faces grew hard and hateful. The looks in their eyes blazed with fury and she knew she had only damned herself, and Matthieu along with her. Jean seized her wrist with her vial still facing the crowd.

"Jean-Charles, you don't know what you've done!"

He scoffed. "What I've done? Or...what you've done?"

The realization struck her like a blow to the head. He was a hunter, a skilled one at that, and she had sent him onto the prey of a lifetime. She heard the cellar doors fling open and Jean dragged her towards it, unceremoniously tossing her in with Gilles following close behind. The doors slammed shut and she heard the lock click from the outside. This was all her fault! With this crowd turned mob, the hunter had every man at his disposal. With enough silver, Matthieu would surely be dead!

And she pulled the trigger.