A/n: Warning! Mild sexual themes ahead.

An eerie yet familiar tune played on an antique record player as Irina brought in a cherry wood trunk from the carriage, setting it on the floor next to the stall where the Duke had set up shop. He sat against the wall, smoking a cigar as he watched her.

"Much appreciated," he said with a grin.

Irina took a much-needed breath. The trunk was a bit heavy.

"It was no problem," she mentioned.

Rubbing her lower back, she added, "Was there anything else you needed of me?"

The Duke nodded in agreement. "I'd like you to put the contents of that trunk on the table under the window over there."

He motioned towards the area, and Irina bent down, humming to the tune as she unmatched the trunk and took a look. Inside was an old manual typewriter. What did he need with this? Not questioning him, Irina picked it up with a grunt and sat it on the table.

Turning, she grinned as the Duke swayed his hand in front of him to the beat of the tune, as if he were orchestrating it. Catching her eye, he stopped and took a deep puff from the cigar.

"Are you familiar with this tune?"

Irina nodded in agreement. "I heard it when I was a kid. My brother and I loved it, but our mother never let us read the book it's based on. She said it was too sad."

Recalling the memory, she frowned. "I read it when I got a little older, though."

After her mother passed from cancer.

"Was it what you hoped it would be? The Village of Shadows."

Irina shook her head. "It was tragic."

"And yet you like the song?"

The Duke was interested to hear her answer.

"It's strange, I know, but it's all I have left of her," Irina said with a sad smile.

The day she and her brother put their mother in the ground ended her halcyon days. After that, her life went to shit. Her brother left a year later and never returned. Irina liked to think that their mother's death weighed heavy on his heart, and he could no longer take the sorrow.

Irina took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. She didn't need this right now.

"Sadness gives our lives meaning, Irina. No human is unfamiliar with it," the Duke stated. "Never keep in your tears."

He was right, but there was no room for sadness right now.

Irina cleared her throat and gave him her thanks. Taking her mask from the pocket of her wool cloak, she put it on.

"I have to go, but I'll return tomorrow to feed and water the horses," she announced.

The Duke nodded. "See you soon."

She turned to leave but heard him sputter out her name as he coughed on the smoke from his cigar.

"Before you go," he mentioned. "I have something for you."

Irina puckered a brow, grinning.

"More gifts? You're going to spoil me."

The Duke laughed. "I like to take care of my customers."

Taking out a case, he laid it on the table in front of himself and pushed it towards her. Irina sauntered over and opened the case, humming in disapproval.

"I'm not sure I can take this," she mentioned, staring at the firearm in concern. "I never shot a gun before in my life."

Or held one, for that matter.

"I insist you take it, Irina. It's better to be prepared," he stated.

Be prepared for what?

She closed the case with a sigh and picked it up by the handle, thanking him again.

"I'll start practicing with it when I have time," she assured him.

The Duke was content with her statement. He allowed her to leave the gatehouse without another word.

Irina wandered out into the cold, stretching her arms above her head to alleviate the soreness in her shoulders. Since she returned to the gatehouse in the early morning hours, she had been unloading merchandise from the carriage and running errands for the Duke, delivering orders to the people of the reservoir.

She learned many things about the eastern village, mostly about Moreau, rumors, and sightings of the reclusive lord. One particular story had her curious. The weary elder who took care of the gatehouse, whose name Irina could not remember, claimed to have seen a hunchbacked creature looming over the surface of the murky water down from the gatehouse one morning when the fog was thin. When he shouted out to it, the beast turned and dived into the abyss. Moments later, ripples too large for it have made appeared on the surface, moving erratically about, as if something enormous were swimming around.

This claim started the rumor that an aquatic monster was living in the lake, eating anyone who dared to venture too close to the water's edge. And when Irina asked the Duke about it, he laughed and said that it was possible.

She did not doubt that it was. One thing she had learned while running errands for Heisenberg was that anything was possible.

He could move metal, an unnatural ability that amazed Irina. The rumor of the giant water monster was no surprise to her. Perhaps it was Moreau who the claims were about; the Lord of the Reservoir.

Irina was not brave enough to investigate further. She wanted nothing to do with the other lords; Heisenberg was enough.

Though working with the Duke, she would meet one or two of them at some point. He made mention of having business in the castle. Sooner or later, Irina supposed she'd meet Lady Dimitrescu, a woman whose waistline the Duke seemed to fancy.

The Duke had her thanks. She could hide her fear behind the mask.

Irina took a deep breath, curling up her nose as the pungent smell of horse shit and rotting plant matter invaded her nose. This place somewhat disgusted her. She thought she could grin and bear the smell, but after a week of living in the eastern village, she was certain no one ever got used to the scent.

Making her way up the path towards the main village, Irina wondered about her recent task. Perhaps she had bit off more than she could chew. It wasn't going so well for her.

She planted a lie with the village people, asking voluntary laborers to restart the factory - an idea Heisenberg gave her. Yet, she had no takers.

Were they scared of Heisenberg? Irina couldn't blame them.

She pouted and wandered through an iron gate leading into the eastern village. A woman on her porch turned and starred, motioning for her young daughter to come inside. Irina did not blame her. Despite being seen with the Duke, she was still a stranger here.

No one knew who she was.

It's better this way, she thought.

Irina stepped onto the front porch of an old house at the base of a snow-covered knoll and knocked on the door.

An older man came to the door, shooting her a heated look.

"Mr. Grigore," Irina addressed.

He grunted. "I see you came back."

She nodded her head. Of course, she came back. Grigore Fieraru was a sturdy man despite his aged appearance. He was a smith in the village and one of the only men to show interest in the factory when Irina proposed Heisenberg's idea, though he was uncertain about taking the offer.

Irina swore to come back, giving him some time to mull over the idea. That is why she went to the village instead of returning to the factory, to get his answer and see if anyone else was interested.

"And your answer? What is it?"

Grigore shook his head. "I have responsibilities here."

"That is a shame," Irina stated. "Lord Heisenberg is willing to pay, and he offers a place to stay while there is work to be done."

He grunted. "My answer is no, but my youngest son Petre is interested."

Was he?

Irina was pleased that the mask covered the surprise on her face.

"Is he a good worker?"

Grigore snorted. "More or less. He knows enough."

"Lord Heisenberg will be pleased," she stated with a grin. "I will return for Petre tomorrow."

The man shooed her from his house with guarantees to have his son ready.

Irina was content.

Arriving in the square as she announced she would, to meet with those interested in her proposal, Irina waited for a while, growing bored when no one came. She clutched the handle of the gun case and decided to return to Heisenberg to inform him about her success in finding a valuable test subject.

More participants would be better to have, but Petre was her only one for now.

It's better than none.

Irina returned to the factory, surprised that Heisenberg was in the yard, tearing through a rusted car, stripping its hood and doors.

She approached him with a grin.

"Don't hermits generally stay indoors?"

Heisenberg gave her the finger,

"What the fuck do you want?"

Irina snorted.

"I came by to tell you that someone was interested in your proposal. It's only one person, but perhaps more will want to join soon," she explained.

He hummed and cleaned his hands on his pants, smearing grease and dirt onto the material.

"Only one, huh? Compared to what I had been doing, it's not a bad start."

Irina didn't want to know.

"I plan to bring him to you tomorrow under the guise that you will compensate his family," she explained.

Heisenberg shot her a heated look.

"You can be a real bitch sometimes," he grunted.

That's the pot calling the kettle black.

"No one wants to work for free," Irina argued. "And this way, the villagers won't question the disappearances."

I'm the one who has to look them in the eye and lie to them.

She was almost knocked off balance when Heisenberg slapped her in the lower back. Groaning, she glared at him.

"I knew I was right not to kill you," he stated with a grin.

He motioned for her to follow him, and she did.

Leading her back into the factory, Heisenberg bought her to the room where they watched from above as Klinge tore apart the Lycan and yanked off the tattered cloth above the desk on the far end of the room.

Irina stared in shock. How long had this been there?

Across the back wall were various photographs perforated by knives – maps and locations she had never seen before. Pictures of Mother Miranda and the Lords were amongst the slew of lewd side notes and research papers.

"What is this?"

Heisenberg snorted, taking out a bottle of Tuica. "It's my obsession."

No shit, Irina thought.

Her eyes scanned over the pictures, curious about the one she assumed was of Moreau. Perhaps the rumors about him were correct. He certainly wasn't human.

Irina shivered.

"Are they like you?"

Heisenberg grunted and took a drink from the bottle, then handed it to her. She stared at the bottle in doubt but took a sip regardless, humming as the clear liquid touched her tongue; it had little to no taste.

She took another and handed it back to him, setting her gun case on the desk.

"Failed experiments, yeah."

He pointed at the pictures and added with a snarl, "But these puppets are brainwashed. I'm nothing like them. I want more; I want to fucking leave this hellhole."

Irina did too, but she stood and listened, drinking from the bottle of Tuica when Heisenberg offered it to her. Most of what he was saying, she had already figured out.

He had a strong hate for the other Lords – his siblings, he called them – and Mother Miranda, wanting them dead. His cruelty had no bounds. Something told her this might not stop if he were to leave the village, but thanks to the alcohol, Irina didn't care.

She agreed to his every word.

Drink after drink, she listened to him. Her stomach was on fire, her head reeling. Leaning over, her shoulder bumped his.

Heisenberg laughed at her. When did he stop ranting?

"Shut it," she grunted.

Focusing on his face, she saw the scars, the fruits of his labor. Who knows how long Heisenberg had been planning to take down Miranda and her brainwashed children? Years? His entire life, perhaps.

Irina pitied him. Her heart wept for the monster he had become. Miranda took away his freedom, his pride. She made him this way.

"I want to be there the day she dies; I want to watch that bitch burn," she uttered.

Heisenberg grinned. "Stand beside me, and I'll burn this entire damn village to the ground."

"I am at your mercy," Irina declared.

Perhaps she was asking for it, or maybe the alcohol made her numb. Regardless, Irina was not against him kissing her, so when Heisenberg seized the moment and pressed his mouth against hers, moving her tottering body closer, Irina welcomed the rough kiss with a sigh of pleasure.

It wasn't hard to loosen her lips – Irina consented to it – to taste her; the alcohol on her tongue was faint but tart.

She pined for Heisenberg and trembled when he buried his fingers into her long coarse hair and angled her head back, breaking the kiss to stare into her eager eyes.

"Not the best choice of words," he stated.

Irina was aware.

"I meant it," she assured him, reaching up to touch the scars on his cheek.

Irina had no idea how much those words would impact her, how powerful they made him feel.

She forsook her humanity and laid to rest her beautiful days.