It shouldn't be too difficult.

She had treated him like a stranger before. It didn't matter if she had marked him her own, wept in his arms, shared a bed with him, fell in love with him, kissed him… she should be able to return to that attitude anytime she wanted.

In theory, that is. Jeanne could feel Vanitas' gaze on her. Under the pressure of it, she wasn't able to focus on consuming soup – her mind was already wandering on her second helping.

Vanitas had met Chloé.

He had been to her castle.

Was it Chloé who wounded him? No, Jeanne refused to believe that. Sure, it had been over a century since they've last seen each other and another since they've truly spoken, but the Chloé she knew would never do that to anyone.

Then who did? She had been itching to ask, to find out the thief who dared lay a hand on her possession. Who dared lay a hand on him. Venting her anger on food, she bit a chunk of potato in half, sulking in front of the fireplace. A chasseur bitten in the line of duty was daily occurrence, nothing of her concern. As much as she wished to take matters into her own hands, she has no right to make any moves unless it was a curse bearer and she was appointed to eliminate the threat.

Even if it was her human.

She wouldn't be able to do anything for him, just like how she had failed Chloé when the Senate ordered her execution a century ago. A bourreau does what is told. A tool needn't have thoughts, nor wishes. It would be and has been her life for so long, it was as well pointless to be frustrated by it.

Jeanne gulped down the rest of the soup in her mug, trying to redirect her emotions. The huge pot she had prepared, however, only guided her thoughts towards him. The opportunity to offer him some was missed, so was the timing for any kind words. She had meant to casually bring up the subject of his injuries and generously, exceptionally share her late-night meal with him, but Chloé's name disrupted the plan. It would be weird to speak to him again as she has started playing cold and distant.

She should have at least heard him out instead of cutting him off. Now she'd never figure out what he wanted to tell her: it could have been a simple 'thank you', a question on the situation, an answer to her confession. Whatever was on his mind must be serious – he rarely chokes on his words like that, putting his hesitation on full display. Perhaps he was deciding on excuses to politely turn her down, given the sternness on his face. If so, she really should have let him continue.

"I am thrilled to return to the clergy," maintaining a respectful distance, Vanitas joined her by the fire. "But I don't really know where I am."

Despite his wounds, he's up and about. Jeanne suppressed the urge to whoop in joy and gave him what she hoped was a look of indifference.

"Some pointers?" He flashed her a smirk - not as cheeky as his usual ones, yet charming in its own way. Jeanne felt like an idiot for having to stop and admire the view.

Stop staring. Stop staring. She chastised, but her eyes weren't following the command. Under the flickering light, his smile was tender and gentle, contrasting with his battle-scarred uniform. It wasn't designed to seduce, she was certain of this much; the way it was torn and spread open which offered a peek of both his bare chest and her mark, however, ended up suggesting so.

Stop drooling over him. She lectured herself, this time more solemnly. Whatever hides beneath those clothes is none of your business.

His naked body is not new to you anyway...

"A refuge in the Silver Forest." Deterring her mind from reminiscing a specific scene, Jeanne forced an answer out. "Not far from the foot of the castle."

"You said it wasn't in the forest anymore." Connecting her response with something she had said, Vanitas recalled her comment from earlier. "What do you mean?"

Such a long story to tell. Anyone would have thought navigating your childhood home was as natural as breathing, having spent days and nights scampering through the woods. As forgetful as she has gotten, her destination could eventually be reached by heading uphill; if even the simplest track went wrong, it couldn't be just her memory which was to blame.

"It's visible from afar, but once you get close it turns into an illusion you can't touch." She explained, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Trails leading to it took me downhills. The cliff I climbed has no end. I landed in the forest when I tried to access it from the sky."

Not to mention entering a loop and wasting a whole hour walking around in circles. No matter which path she took, she couldn't get to the gates: as if the forest was indeed enchanted as the rumours have it.

"Interesting." He noted, resting his elbows on his lap in deep thoughts. "So they're putting up some kind of barrier around the castle."

They. Vanitas was again implying the existence of a second habitant whom Jeanne has absolutely no knowledge of. Throughout her stay with Chloé, it had always been the two of them in her palace which was most frequented by Ruthven, excluding squirrels and birds. Any other visitor was unheard of, let alone a housemate: her parents were long gone, so were the last generations of the d'Apchier bloodline. "Who else is with her?"

"Another vampire called Jean-Jacques." Vanitas spitefully named her companion. "The guy who drugged me and ditched me here."

"Drugged you!?" Jeanne exclaimed, her eyes flying back to the bite on his arm. Had she finally identified her target? If this man, Jean-Jacques, was the cause of his injuries, nothing could grant him amnesty for trespassing - not exactly the reaction she should be giving to a human she allegedly doesn't care about.

"This isn't him." Conscious of her glance, Vanitas fiddled with the bandages on his wrist and rolled his sleeve back down to cover it up. "He's not the violent type. If he's abusing Chloé d'Apchier in any way, it's turning her into a spoiled child by doing all the housework."

Conveniently, the chasseur categorised her concern into one for her friend. Little did he know, Chloé was one of the strongest vampires she has ever come across that worrying over her safety was plainly foolish. Jeanne didn't bother correcting him, though. Apparently she lacked practice, the ability to maintain a straight face even if the world came crashing down on him.

"I see." Pretending she hadn't flipped out about an unknown vampire doing him harm, Jeanne launched a log into the fire. While Chloé's physical appearance was frozen in time, she had moved on since their parting and had found someone she could call family; Jeanne, on the contrary, had stayed behind despite becoming a full-fledged adult. She would never have possibilities in this lifetime.

Without her interference, Vanitas, too, shall carry on with his life, bachelor or not. Get promoted to paladin. Quit the Church. Have kids. Whatever he has planned for his future.

To distract herself from agonising over the inevitable, she gave the pot a stir and refilled her mug, just in time to calm her growling stomach. Making a huge portion was proven right as the protest escalated, broadcasting its discontent across the room. Somehow, it sounded… further away than usual. Like it was from someone else.

Turning towards the man sharing her cabin, Jeanne found said person sheepishly gazing around. His insides pleaded guilty to making the noises by repeating the offense, saving the need for interrogation.

You can't laugh, Jeanne. Fighting for control over her facial expressions, she looked sideways to hide her face. Or think he's cute.

"…You can have some." She placed the cup on the ground and shoved it towards him, struggling to keep her voice steady.