There are a couple of shorter stories in this world that I would like to tell, but that I don't want to put into the main chapters because it would break story flow. So for days when the next "main" chapter isn't ready (either because I'm writing really slow or the chapter is really long) I'll post one of these intermission short stories.

Hopefully it won't get to the point where it will be filler after filler.


Whitley Schnee was a lot of things; the third born child of the Schnee family and the only son, savvy enough to know what to do to stay in his father's good graces, and smart enough to realize just how broken his family was. Mother preferred the company of wine more than people, Winter had left for the Atlas military a long time ago, and Weiss had been off limits to general interaction for a while now. Loneliness was a constant in their lives, but Whitley had learned how to live with it.

But one thing that he wasn't was a fool. He had realized that something was wrong with the manor that he lived in for years. Mother's behavior was odd, even for a total drunkard. What drunk is still able to do the same routine of visiting every one of those horrendous statues that decorated the hallways every day? And then there was Weiss, who one day woke up screaming in horror as her face was bleeding from a cut over her eye. He still remembered the calm look on Winter's face as she held a crying Weiss, not caring for the blood staining her pajamas, and did her best to calm the girl. Even Father had looked unnerved by the incident. For Whitley, that was the day he first started to realize just how wrong things were in his home.

Then there was the day that he finally saw the horror that his elder sister had been hinting at for a long time. It was the day after a Schnee Dust Company train was hijacked and an entire car of Dust was stolen. He also heard that a lot of people had died during the attack too, but nobody would talk about that around him. Seriously, he was almost 14 years old, like he's never heard of death. In either case, the massive loss of revenue got to Father, just like every time the White Fang managed to deal a blow to the company.

Whitley had been taking a break from his studies to have Klein or another member of the staff make him some lunch when he saw Weiss running down the hall in tears. He stepped out of her way, his eyes tracing the scar over her left eye before settling on the bruise on her cheek, and said nothing as Weiss opened the door to her room and slammed the door behind her.

'Father must have lost his temper,' he thought with a sigh and continued walking through the halls. Whitley had been on the receiving end of his father's temper a couple of times before, though Weiss got her fair share of that as well. Him actually getting physical however was rare, though he had seen that happen more than he'd like too.

Whitley found himself lost in thought until he had reached the kitchens and told the staff to make him lunch and deliver it to his room. When he was sure his lunch was getting made Whitley left and started back to his room, making it to the last hallway to his room when someone ran into him and knocked him down.

"Watch out! Don't you know who-" he started shouting until he saw who, or rather what, he had ran into and felt the words die on his tongue. She (he thought it was a woman at least) looked down on him as he lay on the floor like he was a bug or some other lesser life, her white skin standing in stark contrast to her black dress. She had armor on her shoulders, jawline, and midsection, gauntlets on her hands ending in sharp red tips, and her white hair was done up in a high ponytail.

Whitley recognized the woman in front of him, since he had seen the many statues that looked exactly the same as her, but her face and eyes was new to him. She had horns coming out of her forehead and her eyes were a dark black with her pupils a deep red, filled with anger that even he could recognize as a Creature of Grimm. He had never seen one in person, but the pictures were enough to send chills down his spine.

And her face… looked just like Weiss. Maybe a little older, but it was definitely Weiss, right down to the scar running down her left eye.

She looked down at him for a second before walking around him and continuing on, the clacking of her black heels echoing through the hallway. Whitley's eyes followed her as she turned around a corner and he found he could move his limbs again and he scrambled up to his feet and, against his better judgement, started following after her. He made sure to stay a corner behind her as she walked through the halls until she reached the hallway to Father's office.

Honestly he was amazed by the woman when she barged into Father's office without so much as knocking. The door was cracked open when Whitley quietly walked over to it and peeked inside to see the woman walking over to the desk, with Father on the phone facing away from the door.

"Do you mind," Father had said without turning around, "I'm in the middle of some important business." The woman responded by reaching over the desk, grabbing the scroll from Father's hands, and crushing it in her hand. If that hadn't been enough to scare Whitley, then the sight of his father standing up and turning around angrily, only for it to immediately change into one of fear at the woman in front of him definitely did.

"Now you're not, Gelé," the woman said tossing the destroyed scroll aside, the echo in her voice giving Whitley goosebumps, and she crossed her arms behind her back. "Sit down."

Whitley was surprised when his father did just that, and especially how terrified he looked right now. 'Just who is this woman? Father hates his old name, so why does he let her use it and… he's just doing what she says?' he thought as she paced slowly in front of the desk.

"I heard about what happened from Weiss. All of it," she said, her every word dripping with menace. "The White Fang attacked a train of yours, stole an entire car of Dust, and killed 30 people. Normally I wouldn't care about that, I leave the business to you for exactly that reason, however your… reaction to it forced me to pay attention. I'm sure you know why."

"I'm sorry, but I don't-" Father started to say.

"Do not lie to me Gelé! I know when you're lying!" Father flinched at the anger in her voice. She stopped to take a deep breath before she resumed her pacing. "Don't get me wrong, anger is a very… human way to react to something like this. Again, I wouldn't care about that normally, but you crossed a line today that I won't forgive." The woman stopped and placed both of her hands on the desk and leaned close to Father.

"You. Hurt. My doll."

"I…I…" Father tried to say, looking more terrified as the conversation went on.

"You overstepped your bounds," the woman interrupted and leaned a little closer, "The only reason you and those wretches you call children have any kind of power and even live at all is because of my kindness and my doll. You can get angry and snobbish all you want, but you do not touch my property! Hurting that is the same as hurting me, and I do not take that kindly!"

Whitley couldn't stop thinking about what she meant as his father finally found his words. "I… just lost control," he said barely louder than a whisper, "It won't happen again, I swear."

"And I'm supposed to take your word at that? Oh Gelé, you forgotten your place. You're nothing more than a leech sucking the life out of a great family. I'm going to remind you of that and make sure you never touch my property again." She pushed herself up straight and held out a hand to Father. "Give me the hand you hit her with."

Father hesitated for a moment, shaking a little from fear, before he slowly held out his left hand. The woman's hand clenched into a fist and she growled as she grabbed Father's arm and pulled him up and toward her, pinning him down on top of his desk as she grabbed his right arm.

"I said," she shouted angrily as she grabbed his wrist with one hand and his index finger with the other, "don't lie to me!" Then she pushed the finger backwards until even Whitley could hear the snapping of bone, though that was quickly drowned out by Father's screams of pain. Whitley covered his mouth to keep any screams of his own silent as the woman grabbed Father by the hair and pulled her up to her eye level. "You're right handed Gelé. You do everything with your right hand.

"Oh Jacques Gelé, you're nothing but a filthy wretch who should have been stillborn!" She slammed Father's head into the desk and continued, "You taint this family with your filthy blood!" Slam! "You break my herald's heart!" Slam. "You hurt my doll!" Slam! "And after all of that, you have the audacity to LIE to me?!" One more slam and lifted Father's head back up, his nose bleeding and undoubtedly broken, and brought it close to hers. "I would have settled with just breaking a finger, but you've really pissed me off now!" She let Father's head go, moved her free hand back to his right hand, and then turned her head to look Whitley in the eye.

"The boy can either watch or listen," she said, her red eyes piercing right into Whitley, "I don't care. Just as long as he learns." On the last word she grabbed another finger and snapped it backwards.

Whitley couldn't watch; how could he? Instead he pressed his back against the wall and sank to the floor as Father screamed in pain. Whitley closed his eyes and sat there for the next few minutes, too afraid to try and leave or even do anything other than sit and listen to the snapping of bones and screams. Soon the screams died down and Whitley forced every fiber of his being into trying not to cry as the door opened and that thing walked out and stopped in front of him.

There was a rustle of fabric and he heard the monster say, "Open your eyes." Whitley didn't even think of disobeying and opened his eyes immediately, finding himself face to face with her kneeling down to him. Her face was nothing but contempt for him as she ran a red claw down her face, drawing a small streak of blood down her face. "Take this as a lesson whelp. I can make your life as pleasurable or as hurtful as I want, and that all depends on how you act. Keep your head down, tow the line, and do not hurt my doll and we won't have any problems. If you don't… well, just look at Gelé. And I won't be as kind to you as I was to him; he's useful." She leaned closer to Whitley and asked, "Understood?"

Whitley nodded furiously, anything to get her away from him. She huffed a little and stood up, brushing off her black dress as she started walking away from him. She stopped after a couple of steps and said, "This whole thing never happened, I hope you realize. Speak of this and I will know." She started walking again, muttering, "I hate getting his blood on me," and disappeared around a corner.

After a minute of gathering his courage Whitley slowly stood up and inched toward the office door and peeked inside, only to immediately gag at the sight of his Father crumpled over his desk. He was breathing heavily and crying from the pain, his nose bleeding badly onto the desk while his arm was little more than pulverized meat bleeding through the white suit with his arm and each of his fingers bent in all the wrong ways. Even worse, every time he moved he moaned in pain even louder such as when he looked up at Whitley.

Whitley couldn't take the sight and ran as fast as he could, trying his hardest not to vomit and rapidly failing at that. The only good part of that was that he managed to get to his room, and his personal bathroom, before he couldn't hold it back anymore.

'At least I didn't eat lunch yet,' he thought during a lull in retches, 'That monster… oh god, I owe Weiss an apology.'

To this day, Whitley still hasn't worked up the courage to do so.