"Philippe-Claude?"

"No."

"Jean?"

"No."

Marinette squinted at the list, tilting the paper back to catch the slim shaft of moonlight. "Emmett du Ponse?"

"Definitely not."

She tried to keep the relief from her voice. "What about Viconte Jacques Trebadour?"

"I'm afraid not,."

Marinette sighed; she had reached the end of her list. "Well, I've run out of names for now. Still, there are more floors to search."

The voice chuckled. "I'm surprised you actually went and made a list of names."

"I said I'd find you, and I'm still determined to," said Marinette fiercely as she covered the windows again. As tempting as it had been to fling the curtains open completely and bathe the room in the moon's silver glow to find her ghost, she managed to resist. After all, if he was a ghost then she probably wouldn't be able to see him anyway. Blindly, she stumbled back to bed and clambered under the blanket.

"It's sweet of you to care so much."

"You deserve to know who you are," Marinette said. "Or, were…"

"Why don't you tell me about your day?"

"There's nothing much to tell. I spent most of it walking around looking at portraits. But I suppose-"

"Yes?" prompted the voice eagerly.

"I did go to dinner with the master."

"And how was that?"

"It was…okay. I'm not as afraid of him anymore. Truth be told, I think he's a bit of a dork."

"How so?" The voice sounded almost offended, but Marinette supposed her ghost was just surprised.

"I don't know. He was trying to act like a gentleman, pulling my chair out and all that, but he was...I think he was smiling." She shook her head with a quiet laugh. "It was hard to take seriously. It's strange to think just a few days ago he had me shaking against a wall."

"I'm glad you feel more comfortable around him, and that he hasn't hurt you."

"I think if he tried anything Tikki would throw him out a tower window," Marinette laughed. "She's very motherly like that. A little like…" she trailed off; her chest hurt.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"You didn't do anything," she cut him off. "I brought it up."

But the ghost continued to sound sad and apologetic until he left her to sleep.

Time passed more quickly after that dinner with Viperion. She still couldn't bring herself to eat with him every evening, and she still tried to avoid bumping into him during the day, but the thought of him no longer filled her with fear.

She gradually grew used to the castle. The winding corridors, its rich décor, and the magic seeped into the very foundations. It was always warm, always smelt clean. When it was dark outside, chandeliers and torches burst spontaneously into life whenever she stepped near. And despite the fact there weren't twenty servants, all of whom were very small, and no visitors, the castle never ran out of fresh, delicious food.

Marinette spent the next few days scouring the castle for more portraits. She was sure she'd exhausted the floor her room was on, and the ground floor. However, with the number of hidden staircases, disguised doors, and secret rooms, she could never be sure. Which was why, on Sunday, she approached Wayzz and asked for a map of the castle.

"No map exists, mademoiselle," he replied regretfully. "However, if you give me some time I can draw one for you by this afternoon."

"That would be fantastic," she said with a grin. "I think I'll take a walk outside after lunch."

"I shall find you when I've finished," Wayzz promised and disappeared into the library.

After accepting a bowl of stew and bread from Tikki, Marinette headed out the front doors, her lady's maid chasing after her with a red cloak. Marinette found the same spot as before, the tree by the pond, and settled down. It was colder than before, but the cloak Tikki brought was thick and warm. Each mouthful of stew burned down her throat and sent heat flowing out from her stomach.

Marinette didn't know how long she sat out there for, but before she knew it the grass was dark with long shadows, and the chalky haze of the moon was just visible in the pale sky, opposite the sun. It looked full. It would be beautiful when night finally fell, but the sight of it made her heart heavy.

As she stared, she became aware of a presence next to her. Perhaps Tikki, or Wayzz, but she then noted the large shadow that fell across her body.

"Having another afternoon nap, mademoiselle?" asked Viperion with a teasing grin. "I see you brought your own cloak this time."

Marinette glanced up at him tiredly. "Good afternoon, Viperion."

He lingered next to her, shifting awkwardly on his scaly backwards legs like a nervous child. Did he want to join her?

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked.

A flash of joy, but also disbelief, passed across his face. "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have asked."

"True." He sat down, hunched over as he had been at dinner. He kept his distance, leaving plenty of space between them, but despite this she could still feel warmth radiating off his body. A sudden breeze shook the tree, showering them with gold-tinged leaves. One fell on his head, which he plucked and held thoughtfully between two claws. "Autumn is truly upon us," he said.

"But so many flowers are still in bloom," Marinette pointed out. "Unusual for this time of year."

"That'll be the magic. The leaves change and branches grow bare, but flowers are always in bloom here."

There was a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was not staring at the leaf but through it, at some distant land beyond. Dappled sunlight filtered through the branches above them, casting pools of gold on his scales, turning them into jewels in the late afternoon glow. If it wasn't for the ungainly arms and legs, and the horrific, nearly-human face, Viperion might have looked quite attractive as a large, docile serpent. The sort of serpent Chloé Bourgeois would have shoes made out of to show off at the village at the next opportunity. When ordering cakes and breads for a party, or buying new jewellery, or dancing at a fête...

Marinette looked back at the moon, like a circle cut out from a cloud, and sighed.

"Is something wrong?" Viperion's voice was startlingly serious.

"No."

"No?" He looked at her then lifted his gaze to the moon. "It's looking to be a beautiful evening."

Perfect day for a village fête.

"Something is wrong," he said. "I can hear the sorrow in your sigh. What is it? Let me fix it."

Marinette sighed again, strangely touched by his determination. "You can't. There was meant to be a fête in my village this evening. But, as I'm here…"

"Oh."

"Mademoiselle!" Wayzz flew into sight, clutching a neatly folded wad of paper. "I've finished your map!"

"Thank you." Tearing her gaze away from the sky, Marinette accepted the map with a wide smile. "This is perfect."

"You are welcome, mademoiselle." With his usual bow, Wayzz flew down to touch the tray and empty bowl of her lunch and disappeared. When he was gone, Viperion leant closer to her to peer at the map.

"The servants are happy to walk you through the castle if you're getting lost," he said.

"I don't want to trouble them," she replied, thumbing through the papers. Each piece depicted a different floor, carefully drawn in ink with tiny labels in cursive. "Besides, it's not to find where I'm going, it's to remember where I've been."

"Are you looking for something?"

But Marinette only hummed vaguely and stood up. "Sort of."

Viperion looked surprised to see her at dinner a few hours later.

"I didn't think you'd be able to tolerate my presence twice in one day," he jested.

She sat down before he could rise to pull her chair out for her. "I didn't want to be alone this evening," she replied.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

She shrugged and cut into a potato. "Maybe."

That evening, she had a new list of names to try on her ghost, but he rejected them all.

"None of them are even a little familiar?" she asked, leaving the paper on her desk and shuffling to bed. When the ghost answered negatively, she groaned and pressed her face into a pillow. "I was hoping maybe I'd find a family member. A father, or a brother."

"Even if you did, I don't know if I'd remember their names."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle," said the voice. "Did you have a pleasant evening?"

Marinette frowned into her pillow then rolled over. "I suppose. I missed home a lot today."

"Any reason why today in particular?"

"Well…the village fête was this evening. We've held one every year for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Bordue-De-Bois is a poor place, but we do throw good fêtes, and the September Moon Fête is the best. There's food, music, dancing… Lanterns down the street, candles in every window. Children dress up, and sometimes the adults do too. But everyone wears a mask." She smiled ruefully, remembering her childhood sewing little beads onto the same cream mask year after year to match her dress.

"I'm sorry you couldn't make it this year," came the whispered reply. "It sounds like fun."

"It is."

"Forgive me for what might be an obvious question," continued the ghost. "But why September Moon?"

"Every year, it's held on the day of Autumn's first full moon. I think it started as a celebration when someone drove an evil spirit from our village. Although I heard one version where it was the wolf-king of the forest." She giggled half-heartedly, but her growing sorrow was obvious. She blinked hard; her eyes grew wetter. "Maybe it was Viperion. That's the master," she quickly added.

"Did you have somebody to go with?"

"My friend, Alya. She's new to the village, so I was going to show her around." She sniffed loudly and tried to force the tears back into her eyes. "It's okay though. Another boy asked her. Nino Lahiffe. So she won't be alone."

"Were you going with a boy too?"

"Uh, no. But…" Marinette swallowed thickly as her face warmed. "There was one I was hoping to go with."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied. Somehow, it felt wrong to talk to her ghost about cute boys from Bordue-De-Bois.

"I said the same thing about my name," said the ghost. "And yet that was the fourth list you've gone through in so many nights."

"I…it's not the same," Marinette insisted. "You're still here. Or at least part of you is. You matter, your name matters. But I don't think I'll ever see my village again. Or Adrien. So it doesn't matter."

"Adrien, huh?"

Marinette moaned and burrowed under her blanket. "Yes. But like I said, it doesn't matter."

"It does," replied the ghost. "You matter to me, and it matters to you. Therefore, it matters to me."

Her face grew hotter. Despite the thick curtain already shielding her from view, Marinette also pulled her blanket up to cover her cheeks. A pleasant warmth spread through her stomach and chest; in a castle full of creatures who owed her their care as they were responsible for trapping her there in the first place, it was nice to know she mattered to someone when such feelings were not owed. "You matter to me too," she murmured, so quietly she was scarcely sure he heard her.

The ghost was silent for a while, so silent Marinette thought he might have left, or suddenly been assumed into the next world. But then his soft, breathy tones returned. "That's kind of you to say," he said. "I haven't received such tenderness for a long time. I should leave to sleep. Goodnight, Marinette."

"Goodnight," she whispered back.

Marinette began attending more dinners with Viperion, and as time passed she grew more comfortable sitting with him. She didn't mind whenever he pulled out her chair for her, or attempted to pour her a glass of water. She didn't shudder when one of his claws brushed her back as he pushed her chair, or object when he asked if she minded sitting further up the table, closer to him, so they could talk more easily.

She didn't mind when he turned up after her one evening holding a posy of pink geraniums he had just picked from the gardens to decorate the dinner table, although she was slightly horrified when he admitted he was mostly late because he'd started shedding and wanted to slough away the loose scales in case they ruined dinner.

But she had laughed when he called his shedding his own personal autumn.

After a fortnight, she found herself actively looking forward to dinner with him. She had even agreed to walk with him sometimes, through the grounds to admire the flowers, or down the long gallery on the second floor to laugh at the silly poses and facial expressions the ancient nobles had immortalised in paint. Despite his bestial features, he proved surprisingly good at mimicking the pretentious sneers of the old, forgotten monarchs.

But still, what she enjoyed more than anything, however, were the nightly visits from her ghost.

He was still just 'the ghost' as she had yet to find his name in the castle. She'd been everywhere twice, meticulously marking off each room on her map. She'd had to rename a few places—she couldn't remember what third reception or fifth bedroom meant, but she instantly could picture the blue room with the grumpy governess and the griffin tapestry room. But all the labels in the world couldn't change the fact that the ghost's portrait was nowhere.