"Marinette! You'll catch a cold out here!"

Marinette blinked. The sun was dipping behind the forest, its last rays glimmering on the pond's surface. Where had the day gone?

She blinked again. Tikki was buzzing worriedly around her head, trying to rouse her from her sleep. And another servant—the tiny snake—was hovering a little bit away, smirking.

"Tikki?" Marinette mumbled, wiping sand from her eye. When had she fallen asleep?

"Come with me. I'll get you some tea—that should warm you up properly. Next time you want to go for a walk, at least take a cloak with you."

"Or wait for sssomeone to give you theirsss again," the snake added slyly.

Marinette suddenly realised that she wasn't as cold as she had been, and was actually quite warm. She looked down to find a dark cloak draped over her body, leaving only her head and shoulders uncovered. Shrugging it off, Marinette frowned at the snake. "Whose cloak is this?"

"Whossse do you think?" he replied. "If you're heading in now, I should probably take it back. It'sss his lassst one."

Marinette stood up, arms and legs clicking, then held up the cloak. It looked to have once been a fine garment: good quality wool, faded gold embroidery, tiny stitches. However, it was worn, old, tattered at the edges. There was only one being in the castle who would require such a cloak.

She dropped it like it was a hot coal. The servant tutted. "What would the massster think? Throwing his thingsss around like common filth."

"Why was it… What did he…" she spluttered, trying to wipe the dirty feeling off of her. Had that monster seen her sleeping?

Tikki put her tiny hands on Marinette's shoulder. "Let's go in. You'll feel better after a hot drink." Despite being so small, the servant was able to propel Marinette away from the tree and back through the grounds. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the snake—he must have been the valet, Sass—picking the cloak up before ascending to the top window of what she assumed to be the west tower. He phased through the glass and didn't return.

That evening, when Tikki left her to sleep, Marinette stayed up in hopes the voice would visit again. With the curtains drawn, the only light was the glow of her candle which she left on her bedside table. She waited. It might have been a few minutes, or a few hours, but the voice didn't come.

"Maybe it was just a dream," she murmured, frowning at the door. "Or my imagination."

Nevertheless, she stayed up a little longer, changing position every now and again to stay awake. Eventually, Marinette gave up and blew out her candle.

She had not been lying there for ten minutes when a low creak rattled the silence. She gasped, throwing her covers aside. "Hello?" she whispered anxiously.

"Hello," said the voice back. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Marinette smiled. "I thought I dreamt you last night."

"Did you wish you had?"

"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I, that is…uh, I just enjoyed talking to you."

There was a pause, and Marinette was worried she'd said something wrong. Before she could back-pedal and fix whatever mistake she'd made, the voice breathed, "You did?"

"I—yes. I did." She bit her lip. "You…you never told me your name. Or, well, anything really. Who are you?"

"No one."

No one?

"You have to be someone," she replied. "Are you one of the servants?"

"No."

"What's your name?"

"It doesn't matter…" The voice sighed, melancholy. "I don't exist."

"But you're here. Talking to me," Marinette pointed out. "You must exist."

"Not anymore."

The sadness in that voice all but broke Marinette's heart. She had the sudden urge to reach out and hug the voice, but she wasn't even sure it had a corporal form. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm gone from this world. All that remain are memories, and dusty pictures on the walls."

There were plenty of those in the castle. Portraits of kings and queens, dukes and viscounts. People whose faces echoed in her mind like a rusty bell—people she should remember, but for the life of her couldn't pin down. The most recent portraits she found looked to be from a century ago, so really there was no way she could recognise any of them.

But if he was one of those pictures, that would make him over a hundred years old. Marinette pulled her blanket up to cover her shoulders, barely repressing a shiver. "Are you a ghost?" she whispered.

"In a manner of speaking."

She shivered again. "I suppose there are lots of ghosts in a place like this."

"There are, but not like me. They are fleeting shadows, gone in a blink. But I'm here, and-" the voice paused. "I'm alone."

"Do you remember who you were?" she asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does."

Another pause, punctuated with soft creaks. "You're kind to think that," said the voice. "I've all but forgotten who I was, so really it doesn't matter. But you, you're here. I'd like to hear more about you."

Marinette was glad for the darkness shrouding her blush. "What do you want to know?"

"Perhaps you could tell me how you came to be here. You claim to be a baker's daughter, yet you sleep in a lady's bed." There was an eagerness in the voice, but also the hint of nerves, as if it wasn't sure it wanted to know.

Maybe the chance to recount her story would give Marinette some semblance of closure. Or, better yet, the voice might have some idea of how to get back home. "I was kidnapped," she said. "From the forest by my village. I was walking home by the woods' edge, and I found an old man. He asked me to help him get back home to his cottage in the forest, which I did. But when I was making my way back, I got lost. I couldn't find my way out, and it was getting late, and there were wolves howling somewhere in the distance."

She swallowed thickly; it had been terrifying. A tiny thought pierced her mind: perhaps Plagg, and by extension the master, really had thought they were rescuing her. She bore it no credence and shook it from her head. "Then I heard a voice next to my ear. It said… 'this one looks lost, and it's not in the village'. I didn't know what it was; maybe a thief, or a kidnapper. I began running, and ahead of me I saw the way out. I know I was close. I could even see the village clock tower. But then something grabbed me and picked me up and… I suppose I must have fainted because the next thing I knew I woke up here. I did remember a pair of green eyes, though."

"I'm sorry," whispered the voice. "It sounds like it was a harrowing ordeal."

"I suppose."

"At least you're safe here. No wolves in the castle."

"Only ghosts and snake-men," she chuckled.

"But no one to hurt you."

"No. Although, for a while, I thought the master—the snake thing—was going to eat me. You know, I was convinced he was the one who plucked me out the forest—he had the same eyes. But it was one of the servants here. Plagg."

"I understand why you thought that. The master of the castle is a terrifying beast."

"Monstrous," she murmured. "But…perhaps not as much as I thought."

"No?" said the voice, surprised.

"He gave me his cloak today." She bit her lip, unsure if she should continue, but the voice didn't interrupt. "I was in the gardens, and I fell asleep. But when I woke up his cloak was on me. I thought maybe I should thank him, but he still scares me." A short, hollow laugh broke past her lips. "You know, when I first met him, he ran away. But when I bumped into him later, he licked me."

The voice made a noise like it was choking on spit. "What?"

"Tikki said he didn't mean to. But still...it was gross."

"Maybe he was trying to kiss you," the voice suggested jokingly. "You are very beautiful."

The thought of that monster trying to kiss her was somehow worse than it trying to eat her, but nevertheless Marinette had to force down her smile as another blush fought its way across her face. "It's pitch black in here," she pointed out. "How can you possibly know what I look like?"

"I'm not confined to dark rooms."

"Oh. What do you look like?"

The voice sighed. "It's late. I should go, leave you to rest."

"Wait. Will…will you come back tomorrow?"

"If you like."

"I want to find out who you are. Do you think, if you heard your name, you'd remember it? There are so many portraits in the castle—you must be in one of them."

"You can try." There was a teasing lilt in the voice. "Goodnight, Marinette."

"Goodnight."

"You seem in a good mood today, Marinette," Tikki remarked the next morning.

Marinette grinned at her from the desk, on top of which she had laid out some plain sheets of paper and a silver pencil. "Good morning, Tikki!"

Tikki set down the breakfast tray and returned the smile. "Are you planning on doing some drawing today?" she asked, nodding at the paper. "I can bring out some watercolours for you if you would like."

"No, that's all right. I wasn't going to do any drawing."

When Tikki tried for more details, Marinette only smirked and tucked into her hearty breakfast. Later, having finished eating and preparing for the day, Marinette emerged from her room and looked up and down the corridor. Where to start?

She set off left. After Wayzz' tour, the portraits seemed more familiar. Their stares, once intimidating and dead-eyed, now had a benevolence to them. She took her time studying each one, admiring the tiny flecks of white in their eyes, the fine wisps of hair behind their ears, the delicate flicks of eyelashes.

Although she thought her ghost was probably a man—her age, perhaps a few years older—she found herself often sidetracked by the female subjects in their luxurious gowns and gleaming jewels. A week ago she would have been drooling over such grand outfits, but now with the knowledge that she only had to ask and Tikki would probably produce one made her feel sick.

Of the male portraits, very few looked like good leads. Most displayed large, old men in crushed velvet with thin lips. There were a few children, their gender indeterminable with their white dresses and curly hair, and a couple of young men. She studied these in detail, her eyes lingering on their faces, drinking in every detail. Could one of these be her ghost?

To be safe, she made two lists. The first for the names of the young men who she thought might be the voice, and the other for the names of the other men who looked to be too old or too young, but if the ghost was over a hundred years old she couldn't base her assumptions purely on age.

She stopped briefly for lunch, eating quickly to avoid too many questions from Tikki, then went back to the task at hand. It was oddly relaxing, wandering around ancient hallways by herself, sun filtering through arched windows. She did pass Wayzz, who bowed respectfully before continuing on his way, and caught a fleeting glimpse of another servant. Something yellow with black stripes, like a huge hornet.

Marinette repressed a shudder and moved on.

For a while she was slightly anxious about bumping into the master. Although no longer worried the master would attack her, she still didn't particularly want to see him. She couldn't quite place if she was embarrassed about him seeing her asleep in the garden, or just afraid of his huge, lumbering form.

Marinette wondered if talking to the ghost had helped. Unlike Tikki, the ghost didn't try to talk up the master. It didn't tell her to give him a second chance, or insist that he wasn't that bad. If anything, the ghost agreed with her decision to avoid the master.

So why was her resolve beginning to crumble?

Marinette stood before a particularly large portrait of a tall, broad man with sleek, dark hair and eyes like copper. He had a stern face, square jaw, and thick stubble clinging to his chin. The plaque built into the frame read Emmett du Ponse.

She scribbled this down, although she couldn't really imagine her friendly ghost having such a stern face. Marinette stared at the painting again, taking in the dark clothes, the black cloak curling around his feet, the intense amber eyes… Her mind flashed back to that scene in the entrance hall; she thought she had seen the same look in the master's eyes: the same intimidation, the same power. Was it possible the master had been a human once upon a time? And if so, could this portrait be him?

Marinette shook her head. It was too difficult to equate his monstrous form to a prim and proper nobleman. Then again, it was also difficult to think of the snake-man who had ordered her kidnapping and licked her as being the same creature who had given up his cloak to keep her warm.

Perhaps she ought to give him another chance. At the very least, she could thank him for the cloak. And maybe she'd get some answers out of it, and a way home. And maybe, just maybe, he'd know the identity of her ghost friend.

It was early evening when Marinette returned to her room with a substantial list of names. Tikki wasn't in, so Marinette busied herself putting away her unused papers and the silver pencil. Then she approached the gold-framed looking glass by the wardrobe to assess her appearance.

The dress she'd chosen today was simple: pale green with draped sage sleeves. As with the other dresses, the skirt was a little too long, and the bodice a smidgen too big around the bust. However, the soft colour complimented her fair skin, and the shape was flattering. As usual, her hair was tied back, held in place by an old ribbon. She fingered it, feeling the edges warped by age, and the tattered ends. Despite Tikki's offer of nicer ribbons to match each dress, Marinette preferred using hers. After relinquishing her clothes, it was the only physical thing she had left from home.

Behind her, the window was gradually darkening as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Now or never. The green dress—plain as it was—would have to do. Tikki had yet to appear.

Marinette took a deep breath, checked herself in the mirror one last time, then swept from the room. She strode through the castle halls with as much confidence as she could muster, her white shoes clicking on the wooden floors. She briefly wondered if she should have hunted down a pair of heels for height before leaving, but decided she would rather be short than fall over.

All too soon, the door to the dining room was before her, looming tall. She reached a quivering hand to the handle, but froze.

She wasn't ready. There was no way she could face him again. No way she could be alone with him. She knew now he wouldn't hurt her—at least, she hoped he wouldn't—but she was still afraid.

Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. There was still time to run back to her room, still the chance to run-

"Marinette!"

Tikki barrelled around a corner, her tiny face bursting with relief. Marinette jumped backwards and nearly slipped over. "Tikki?"

"I've been looking for you! You weren't in your room." Tikki frowned suddenly, gaze flicking between her and the door. "What are you doing?"

Marinette composed herself and smoothed her skirt, then coughed and rolled her shoulders back. "I'm going to dinner," she said, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. "That is, if I'm not too late."

A wide smile spread across Tikki's mouth as she clapped her little hands together. "Of course you're not! This is wonderful! I'll go and tell the kitchen to send two plates-"

"Tikki, wait," Marinette called. The servant paused, her smile dropping. "I… Stay with me, please? I don't want to be alone with…"

"Of course, Marinette. I need to talk to the kitchen, but I'll come straight back. Wait here, I'll only be a moment."

Tikki disappeared in a pink flash. Marinette took the opportunity to breathe deeply a few times and collect herself. It was time to stop moping, time to start doing something about getting home. Time to confront her captor.

True to her word, Tikki reappeared with the minute and offered Marinette an encouraging smile. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Then let's go."

Before she could talk herself out of it, Marinette grasped the handle and pulled.

The dining room slid into view. It was as she remembered. A long table, the wood nearly black with age, faintly reflected the glow from the glistening chandelier above. The walls were plastered with ornate tapestries and more paintings, which Marinette made a mental note to investigate another day.

The master sat at the head of the table, perched on a stool as an animal would sit, its long tail trailing on the floor behind him. Even if the servants had once been human, surely it couldn't have been as well. It—he—looked up, startled, when she entered, but managed not to fall off his perch. "Mademoiselle Marinette?" he said in his rasping voice. "What are you doing here?"

Marinette gave him a withering glower. "Having dinner," she replied stiffly. "Unless there's an issue with that?"

The master blinked once, twice, then leapt to his feet. "No, not at all. Here, allow me." He hurried up the length of the table, claws scratching the flagstones, and pulled out her chair with a small bow. Marinette caught the flash of a smile glinting amongst his scales. Every time she saw him he seemed to have a different personality.

Marinette didn't realise she was staring until Tikki cleared her throat. "Oh, right." She stepped forward and sat down, allowing the large snake to push the chair in underneath her. "I'm not used to having my chair pulled out for me."

"A travesty," said the master, returning to his own seat. Tikki perched on a small silver pot in the middle of the table next to the valet Sass. "A lady shouldn't have to pull out her own chair."

"I'm not a lady."

"Could have fooled me." His smile was strangely human, or it would have been if it weren't for his sharp teeth. "So, what brings you to dinner?"

"I have questions. But whenever I go looking for answers, I'm told to talk to you."

The smile faltered. "I will endeavour to answer whatever questions you have to the best of my ability," he said. "However, perhaps we can leave this serious topic until after dinner?"

Marinette pursed her lips and fidgeted. "I suppose," she sighed. Just then, the doors were flung open and two plates floated in. She blinked and realised they were actually being carried by two floating servants: Wayzz, and the yellow one she had seen earlier. Wayzz continued past her to deposit his plate in front of the master, whilst the yellow one stopped next to her.

Close up, Marinette saw that her initial assessment had been nearly correct. It wasn't a hornet, but instead resembled a large bee. With what she assumed was years of practice, the servant managed to slide the plate onto the table then bowed deeply.

"Is there anything I can get for you, mademoiselle?" it asked, large blue eyes vivid against the yellow. "Perhaps some wine? Or freshly pressed juice? Or tea?"

Marinette shook her head and smiled awkwardly. "Oh, no, that's all right, uhh…" She desperately cast her memory back to Tikki's list of staff, and tried to think who this could be. One of the maids, perhaps, but why would a maid serve with the butler? The housekeeper then. Whose name was… "Pollen?"

By the way the bee smiled, Marinette assumed she'd guessed correctly. Pollen bowed again and left. The master was watching her from across the table, something like amusement dancing in his eyes. "You know, you are allowed to ask for things," he said.

Marinette quickly broke eye contact. "I don't need all this," she pointed out. "To be waited on. I'm a baker's daughter, not a lady."

There was a low rumble; it took Marinette a few seconds to identify it as a sigh. "Look, I know you don't want to be here."

"Well done."

He shrunk in on himself: sad or perhaps embarrassed. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he said quietly. "I can't get you home right now, so instead I want to make sure your time here is as comfortable as possible."

"By making your servants wait on me hand and foot."

"Tikki's glad to. She's been bored out of her mind for years. They all have."

"Oh yes, Marinette," Tikki chipped in, nodding enthusiastically. "I haven't had anything to do since…well…" She and Sass exchanged an odd expression.

A rumbling chuckle. "Enough of that for now." The master smiled again. "I'd like to know more about you."

"Why?"

"Because whether you like it or not, we're both stuck in this castle. I'd like us to be friends. Or at the very least amicable acquaintances." When she didn't reply, the master lowered his head. His eyes darkened, like clouds rolling in front of the sun. "I understand if that's not possible."

For a moment, her heart went out to him. He was no longer a monstrous basilisk, but an overgrown grass-snake, starved of affection. Marinette frowned at her plate, letting the steam from her dinner wrap around her face, then sighed. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she murmured. "That's my full name. My father, Thomas Dupain, is a baker, and my mother, Sabine, runs the shop. We don't have a lot of money, but we get by. And I make what extra money I can by sewing repairs. Or, at least, I did."

The master's gaze flickered up. He opened his mouth as if to interject, but thought better of it and remained silent.

Marinette wasn't sure if this was an invitation to continue or not, but decided to anyway. Anything to fill the silence which had grown awkward. "I was raised in Bordue-de-Bois, on the other side of this forest. At least, I think it's the same forest. I didn't have many friends growing up—I used to be quite shy. And Chloé Bourgeois—she's the baron's daughter—makes my life absolute misery whenever she's in the area. At least she doesn't visit often, just to lord her wealth and status over us peasants."

The master didn't respond, and Marinette was running out of things to say. No doubt her dull life was boring him, so she clammed up and concentrated on her food. Although she was certainly eating the same meal she would have had if she'd stayed in her room, it looked grander here. The shining gold plate, the bright silver cutlery, the gleaming candlelight.

For a few, quiet minutes she ate her fill, hating the way each clink of her fork echoed around the room. Tikki remained dutifully by her side, sitting on a napkin and nibbling on half a bread roll. At one point, Marinette glanced up to see the master trying to nibble flakes of flesh with his huge teeth from an entire grilled fish impaled on his fork. He probably wasn't used to using cutlery.

When they had both finished, and Wayzz and Pollen had swept away their plates, the master shifted in his seat. He was still positioned on all four paws, but was trying to straighten his back. "You had questions?"

"I—yes." Marinette bit her bottom lip, trying to collect her thoughts. Now that she was finally going to get some answers, all questions had flown out of her head. "First...what should I call you?"

"You don't have to call me anything."

"Referring to you as 'the master' all the time is weird. Can I at least call you...Master Snake, or something?"

He chuckled at this—the sound was startlingly human. "I suppose you can call me…" He looked towards Sass, who smirked and pointedly shrugged. "You can call me...Viperion."

The two servants sniggered at this, and with good reason. The name Viperion would more befit a pet than a lord. Nevertheless, it was easier than 'the master' so she nodded. "Okay, Viperion. Why did you kidnap me? Or order my kidnapping?"

Viperion grimaced. "I didn't mean for you to be kidnapped," he replied. "Plagg, my footman, thought you were in danger. The forest is dangerous at night."

Marinette narrowed her eyes. "The way Tikki said it, it sounded like you were looking to bring someone here. What was it you said?" She looked over at Tikki, who was attempting to hide behind the water pitcher. "Plagg was meant to bring someone who needed saving?"

"That was a long time ago," said Viperion hoarsely. "Believe me, this wasn't meant to happen."

As much as she didn't want to believe him, he uttered this with such sincerity and sorrow that she couldn't help it. Her gaze softened slightly. "Why can't I leave?"

"Because…this castle is cursed."

The words hung awkwardly in the air, like cobwebs clinging to the ceiling. "Cursed?" she repeated. "How so?"

"The residents of this castle—that is, my servants and I—cannot leave. Whilst you technically can, you wouldn't get far without perishing. That's not something any of us want on our consciences."

"Can the curse be broken?"

"Technically… But before you ask, I can't tell you how. If I told you, it would make it impossible."

Marinette smiled grimly—she should have known. "I get it. Some curses can't be spoken about out loud."

"Thank you. Any more questions?"

Thoughts of her ghost friend flooded her mind. However, something was stopping her from asking about it. Maybe she wanted to figure it out for herself, or maybe she wanted to have this one secret to herself—and Tikki, although she didn't believe her—a while longer. "No, that's all for now."

"For now?" Viperion echoed. The playful grin was back, making his eyes glitter. "Does that mean I can expect your company at dinner again?"

"If I come up with more questions," she replied with half a smirk. She stood and walked to the door, stopping only to casually say over her shoulder, "Oh, and thank you for lending me your cloak yesterday."

She caught a fleeting glimpse of his stunned expression before sweeping from the room.