"Arthur, is it?" There was a voice that came from behind her and so she lifted her head from the book and turned to meet the person who owned the voice.
"Yes?" She blinked at the rather handsome male, not amused for she noted that only the popular boys were the good-looking ones.
"What are you up to?" The male seemed rather kind, or maybe it was respectful —she couldn't really tell.
"Reading." She replied, the look in her eyes cold as if it was obvious whilst she tried to turn her attention back to the book in her hands.
He gave a short laugh. "I couldn't tell this was a library, thank you for hinting me."
She kept silent and went back to the book.
"Um, my name is" —he was interrupted.
"Diarmuid, I know —you have the room beside mine. An Irish nobleman and Son of Don, others rumour it's Angeus; but he is only your foster father since Don had to give you up." She glanced back up at him.
"Oh," he furrowed his brows, "do you... know everything about everyone? Because that is an amazing talent."
"I don't know everything." She closed her book after putting in the bookmark. She noticed that he was not saying it in a sarcastic tone but rather a genuinely amazed tone. "Only the important and interesting ones."
"Interesting?" Diarmuid smiled. "Thank you."
"No, you're the important one. You see, I need to make sure that I don't get in shit with you."
Diarmuid laughed again. "Oh, so I'm not interesting?"
"Not enough."
He bit his lower lip and smiled brighter. "I see. So what are you reading."
"Nothing." She turned on her heel and continued down the isle of the library.
"Why are you so hostile, Arthur?"
"Why are you following me?" She nearly hissed towards the male.
"Because, my father told me to follow my dream."
Her head flicked towards him and she looked a bit offended as a blush began to dust her cheeks. "What?"
Diarmuid let out a hearty laugh and took her by the wrist. "Shh." He put a finger to his lips. "We're in the library."
"You're the one that is laughing."
"I wanted to see your reaction; it was rather cute." He hushed and pulled her out of the library. "Come with me."
"What do want?" She rolled her eyes and blinked up at the tall man again.
"I want you to be my partner." There was still a smile on his face, warm and kind, he almost looked like a child.
She blinked a couple of times again and then took a deep breath. "I apologize, but I am not interested in homosexual relationships. I also apologize if it looked as if I was."
There was confusion that flooded his eyes and then he noticed how it looked. He was holding Arthur's wrist, a smile on his face, and he was asking the other to be his 'partner'. Immediately, Diarmuid let go of Arthur's hand and laughed nervously. "No, that was not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"Well, I feel as if there is something in this school..." His voice lowered and he was now whispering.
"Um, students?" She lifted her eyebrow.
"No," Diarmuid huffed, "I mean at night, not the students; but someone."
"The janitor?"
"Arthur." He nearly hissed. "I'm being serious here."
"Okay, okay, so you think there's a ghost?" She crossed her arms over her bind chest; she was trying to look as manly as possible, but it wasn't really working.
"Yes." He nodded slowly. "And I figured, since you're into mystery;" he pointed at the book she held in her hands —Conan Doyle's 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes', "you could help me out."
"What? No thank you. I don't want to sneak about in the nighttime and loose sleep over something that is only a suspicion." She huffed and turned to leave. "Sorry."
"Are you sure?" Diarmuid called behind her.
"Yes."
"If you change your mind, you know where to find me."
"Yes, yes." She waved her hand about and made her way to her room, where she figured she would rest for a long while; reading the novel that she had not signed out of the library because the male had dragged her out in less than a minute.
There was a soft knock on the door and Arturia allowed entrance as she sat on the bed cross-legged and reading her book. "Bonjour, milord." A gentle voice hummed.
"Hello, Jeanne. Look, the killer must be..." The young girl continued to speak about her book as the other poured some tea in a teacup and sliced some cake.
"Well, you can never know until you finish it." Jeanne smiled. "Have you made any friends?"
"No." Arturia shrugged as she continued reading.
"Why not?"
"No one's interesting enough."
"Not everyone is going to be a Sherlock Holmes; come on and try to make some friends." The maid handed her the tea.
Arturia took a sip of the sweet liquid, the warmth filling her body and giving her some peace. "Well, on the bright side; I don't have to wear corsets."
"I am not as lucky as you." Jeanne made a sound as if to be suffocating and then sat next to the other lady. "Read me some, please?"
"As a rule, the more bizarre a thing is the less suspicious it proves to be..."
The night fell upon them and Jeanne stood from the place she had taken on the bed. "It is time for me to leave. Thank you for reading to me, it was beautiful."
"Thank Conan Doyle." Arturia smiled and sat up straight.
"Then, I will see you in the morrow. Will you be bathing tonight?"
"No, not tonight; I'm a bit too tired." She replied and yawned.
"Alright then, goodnight, milord." Jeanne nodded and exited the room.
Arturia set her book down and laid back on her bed for a little while before she fell asleep; dreams filling her head. It had been around three in the morning when she awoke for she had felt rather cold. Upon opening her eyes, she noticed that it was because she had kicked the blankets off herself. The moonlight was the only thing that illuminated her room in the cool fall night. She grumbled and sat up from the bed to collect her blankets. Once her feet had touched the floor, she felt the cold of the night seep threlough her skin and into her body.
She stood from the bed and began to pick up the sheets and blankets from the cold floor. Doing her bed messily, she prepared to crawl onto the bed again. Yet, as she lifted her right foot to climb upon the grand sized bed, she felt a freezing cold grip on her left ankle.
A chill ran down her spine and she dismissed the feeling, she was still sleepy -or so she thought.
As if the grip was a hand, it clawed it's nails into her skin; penetrating through it and making her wail in agonizing pain as she tried to kick off the grip from her foot. "Let go." She hissed whilst she kicked fiercely, causing her bed to creak under her, and tried to shake off the hand.
