Ok, I'm going to be so straight with y'all right now.

This is 100% wish fulfillment, lol. I love Maria, but it's our time to shine.

Thank TikTok for putting random edits of Robin on my fyp, causing me to look up what the hell was Secret of Moonacre.

I absolutely fell in love with the movie, but there were some elements that either confused me or I wish were added.

Thus, I created this story.

Now, I do have a full outline for this story already, and if this chapter generates enough interest (because I'm not sure if the fandom is still alive), I will continue it. I have some other stories in the works right now, and I'm trying to finish college, so my schedule is hectic, and this story is just for fun!

I haven't read the book this movie is based on, and I do plan to add more magical elements to the story. So, there will be some canon deviance, but that's why it's called *fan fiction* but any additions I strive to make sense within the universe of Moonacre. This is really going outside my comfort zone because I am using second person POV and want to add smut (all characters are aged up!) which I have never written before. I'll be sure to give a warning when smuttier scenes happen!

So let me know what you think!

I hope you all enjoy it as we collectively thirst over a pretty boy with eyeliner.

They say there's place where dreams have all gone,
They never said where,
But I think I know.

You were odd.

You first learned that at five years old when the trees spoke to you.

"Miss Holcomb, a lady does not run like a wild stallion! Put your skirts down, I can see your bloomers, child." Your first governess called across the valley, picnic basket heavy in her hands.

Her scolding words only encouraged you to bunch your skirts higher and continue sprinting across the clearing, the breeze guiding you like an invisible friend. The spring weather had finally warmed enough that even your stuffy governess couldn't deny your pleas to picnic – though you would be forced to continue your dining etiquette lessons.

Stopping in front of a large elm tree, you flung yourself onto the ground, spreading your tiny limbs out. Your governess's scandalized gasp could be heard from the distance. Giggling, you leaned against the elm trunk and gazed at flower buds with pretty petals peeking at you. They were just like you - a cute little thing with great potential for beauty. However, unlike the buds that were companied by other flower buds, you were alone. Your only companion was your governess. Ever since you remember, your father had limited your interaction with anyone other than household staff.

The only time you felt free was outside in the forest surrounding your manor.

"Oh, child, you've completely ruined your stockings!" Your governess slammed the picnic basket on the ground and pointed an accusing finger at the sliver of dirt caked skin now exposed by rips in your stockings.

"How can you be upset by such a silly thing!" You threw your hands up in a joyous display. "Especially when it's such a pretty day."

"Your head is in the clouds. You certainly spend enough time outside to make it true."

She opened the basket and had you tediously assemble a picnic worthy of any educated, high society woman. But not even such a trivial lesson would dampen your spirit. Being out in the sun with the plants always energized you.

As your governess prattled on about the social nuisances of properly serving tea, the sun and peaceful breeze lulled you into a dreamlike state. The grass felt soft under your fingertips, and the birds above sang a beautiful tune. Your breathing slowed. The tree bark warmed under your skin. A longing to sink into the sturdy wood filled you.

And then, the energy around you shifted.

Secretive laughter.

Branches extended high in the air, and leaves danced in the wind excitedly as a couple lay intertwined underneath the shade.

Bunched skirts and a forgotten shirt.

The governess's face.

The married stable hand's smirk.

They visited underneath the tree leaves often.

You frowned as your young mind couldn't comprehend the memories that were not your own.

"Miss Brooks, have you been to this spot before?"

"Of course not, child, I do not frolic here – I have responsibilities that keep me busy."

"Is picnicking with Mr. Roberts one?"

It truly was an innocent, earnest question, but your governess quit the next day. Your father coincidentally had to hire a new stable hand too.

You hardly cared what a governess was doing and with whom, but it was a memory you couldn't forget.

Yes, something was odd about you.

Yet, the fact never made a huge impact on your opinion of life. Your father moved your family across the nation when you were three years old. Yet the estate where you lived never felt like home despite it being the only one you had.

Invisible strings always pulled you to go, go, go – but where you did not know.

Your father was always locked away in his office, never to be seen or disturbed. The house duties fell on your head of house, Nancy, a perpetually concerned woman with eyes always on the move, assessing for anything out of place at the manor. As you grew older and finances dwindled, Nancy took on your lessons when your twelfth governess quit after the living room roses let you in on a little secret.

The thorns yearned to subject her to their sharp punishment. The petals watched with unforgiving protectiveness as she slid in and out the master's space.

Your ten-year-old hands clutched the rose vase. Their floral scent would have comforted others, but you sensed their anger, and it only made your heartbeat faster.
"Mrs. Lancaster, what are you doing in my father's study?"

"Oh, Miss Holcomb, you shouldn't be out bed."

You tightened your drip on the porcelain. "You've been sneaking into my father's study for many nights. What are you doing?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

You touched the rose petals.

"Open the purse you're hiding behind your back."

Her face pitched into something truly ugly.

"Mind your tongue, child, and get back to bed!"

"Father!" You screamed at the top of your lungs. Mrs. Lancaster flung herself at you to cover your mouth. Footsteps sounded from the staircase, and your father and other servants stared at the sight of a frightened you with a desperate Mrs. Lancaster's hand clapped over your mouth.

It was revealed that your governess had been stealing money and important financial documents from your father's study. The police had quickly arrived at your home to arrest her. As they questioned everyone, and your father explained the situation, all the adults in the room turned to you.

"How did you learn what she was doing, darling?" your father asked.

You pointed at the broken vase and scattered roses that you had dropped when Mrs. Lancaster lunged for you.

"The flowers told me."

Mutters erupted.

"The girl is possessed."

"It's because she's locked away-."

"Now we understand why!"

Your father had stared at you with such horror.

"Everyone out!"

The police bid a farewell while the servants scampered back to their quarters with new gossip to end their night. Your father had slammed the front door before snatching up the roses, a few petals falling to the ground.

"First, it was the trees, then the garden, and now these bloody roses," he growled. "Twelve governesses, and the last one is a thief. Will I ever know peace?"

"Father, please. I'm telling the truth, just listen." You placed a hand on the roses, urging them to show him the memories they bestowed onto you. He gazed at you in utter exasperation.

"Stop it."

"Father-."

"SILENCE!"

You gasped at the rage twisting his face.

"Plants do not talk! This is just some silly childhood fancy you refuse to outgrow, and frankly, I have been too lenient on you." He shook the roses in your face.

"They. Are. Just. Flowers."

You stared at him confused and helpless. His fist trembled.

"They do not talk or show you pictures. They aren't alive!"

"I don't know why they only speak to me!"

"No more!" His voice boomed. "You are my legacy, and you will act accordingly. I have kept you here to protect you, but you insist on destroying everything I have built."

"Protect me from what?"

The incensed look in his eyes told you that was the wrong thing to ask.

"Heaven knows now the staff will spread word the Holcomb girl is a looney."

Without another moment's hesitation, he turned and threw the roses in the fire. You gasped as you watched them incinerate. You moved towards the fireplace, not sure what you would do, but your father's large hand slammed down on your shoulder, and his fingers curled into a painful grip.

"No one else can be trusted now. Ms. Nancy will take responsibility for you. No more plants talking. You will dedicate yourself to your lessons and on becoming a lady befitting the Holcomb name. If you mention flowers talking again, I will burn this whole estate down and move us somewhere without so much as a blade of grass. Do you understand?"

You gaped at him.

Before you could protest, your father marched out the room and left you completely alone.

The silence was deafening. Something wet fell upon your cheeks. You reached up and pulled away with tears on your fingertips. Trembling, you turned and retrieved the forgotten petals on the ground.

You clutched them close to your heart - the feeling of despair entirely your own.

"Miss Holcomb!"

You snapped out of your trance as you realized you accidentally spilled ink all over your French lesson.

"Apologies, Nancy, I must have drifted off."

"Daydreaming is unbecoming of a lady."

"Is my father still in his meeting?"

Nancy nodded and slid more worksheets toward you. "Complete these, and we'll move on to needlepoint. Yours could use some practice."

"I don't see how I need to improve anymore at it." You cast a yearning glance at the study door. "I should be learning the business."

"You don't need to do anything except learn how to attend the house."

"I think today will be the day he says yes."

"As opposed to every other day you've asked and been rejected."

Nancy chuckled as she reviewed your French. You bit your lip continuing to stare at the door.

"Have you been getting enough sleep, my dear?" Nancy gazed at your puffy under eyes in concern.

The past few months your dreams have become more vivid to the point where they cause you to bolt upright in the middle of the night, unable to go back to sleep. But you didn't dare confide in anyone at the manor. You didn't need to give them more oddities to use as ammunition against you.

You brush off her concern with a perfectly poised smile. "Thank you for your concern, Nancy, but I'm perfectly fine. I just have been staying up later than usual trying to craft the perfect business proposal for Father."

Your father's business lay in transporting valuable items, particularly ships and latest imports and exports. However, the past few years your father's sense has been slipping more and more. One bad business risk after another produced little reward, and soon you were hardly making ends meet. You knew that if he allowed you to learn more than just womanly duties of house and needlepoint, you could turn things around for the family. You just had to get in those business meetings.

The business wasn't the only thing your father had been slowing running to the ground. His patience and sense of security were in a rapid decline. He had become more paranoid about what you did and where you were. Every piece of mail arrived at the estate was immediately snatched by him, as if you even had a friend to create some correspondence.

"I'm worried about my father, Nancy." You whispered, eyes still on the door. "He's been having more secret meetings, and he's always antsy. I fear for his well-being."

Nancy took your hand and gently squeezed it. "My darling, your heart is too big sometimes. Your father is doing just fine. Business has frazzled his nerves I will admit, but it's nothing you need concern yourself with."

"I am his legacy. I need to start doing things that matter. Making pretty pillow cushions doesn't help anyone!" You released her hand and stood.

"Miss Holcomb, please calm yourself."

You drew in a breath and counted to ten, running your hands along your dress to smooth the wrinkles.

"Nancy, I appreciate the education you've provided, but what good is it if I can't save my family?"

"Oh dear," Nancy appeared by your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You readily accepted her embrace, desperate for any comfort. The older woman was essentially a surrogate mother to you. She knew exactly how to handle you, and you appreciated her immensely.

The door opening pulled you two apart as your father and a colleague stepped out of the study. Your father beckoned you inside while Nancy intercepted the other man to offer him tea.
The walls were littered with maps and newspapers. The scent of ink and cigar smoke filled the air. A single lily in a vase sat on his desk. A few years after the roses and governess incident, you gathered the courage to bring your father a flower to brighten his office. Surprisingly, he kept them for as long they were alive.

Your father sat behind his large mahogany desk, shuffling some letters in the drawer. A royal blue seal stamp with an ornate M caught your eye, but your father quickly covered it with another letter.

"Father, I hoped I could have joined you in this meeting."

His eyes fixed on you with a stern stare.

"Not now. I must leave soon. I have a boat to catch."

"Before you leave on business, I have a proposal that could help business-."

"I didn't ask you in here to discuss business," he hurriedly shoved the letters in his desk. He walked around to look you directly in the face. Your father was a tall, imposing man so you had to tilt back to look him in the eyes. You were surprised to see them soften - a complete rarity.

"I just wanted to say goodbye to you. I will be gone for some time. I trust the house will be in good hands."

You smiled. "I swear the house will be standing when you return."

He seemed to be mulling something over. "Please remain on the estate. Any errands to run, Nancy can complete them."

Your heart sunk to your stomach.

"Father, I am twenty-one. I should have more responsibility and freedom! The farthest I've gone is the forest – please, let me handle things."

"Yes, you are older now which is precisely why you need to be more careful with the outside world. The older you get; life becomes more complicated."

"But that is something I want to discover myself!" you protested. "Father, I love you, but there's more to life than just our estate."

Your father's eyes clouded. "Sometimes a man could have the world, and it's not worth pennies."

Strong arms surrounded you as George Holcomb enveloped you in a bruising hug. You were utterly shocked. When was the last time your father embraced you? You uncertainly returned the embrace.

"I'm sorry, daughter," he muttered into your hair. "I pray you'll understand one day."

He pulled back to leave you with one final warning.

"Stay at the manor."

You were in the forest, running late for dinner. You turned to go back the way you entered, but found your path blocked. You walked down a different path, but every step you took was covered by plants. The dark woods were changing and blocked your path.

Thorns and weeds gnarled the path into twisted roadblocks as even the moon became an unwelcomed spectator in your journey.

You look around, unsure where to go.

The wind rushed around you, pulling, and pushing you to move in all different directions.

"Stop!" You begged an unknown foe.

You stepped to try and climb over the overgrowth to escape, but a vine curled around your leg in a painful grasp. Thorns dug into your skins and ruby drops of blood seeped from the wounds.

You screamed at the sky only to realize the moon had turned to a red that rivaled your blood.

It darkened and darkened until the whole world turned black.

The vine slithered around your body like a coiled snake. In the darkness, you choked for breath, a helpless mouse. You heard your father's voice.

"You are my legacy. Stay at the manor."

I don't want to! You thought as oxygen left your lungs.

Suddenly, the vines were dragging you to the ground. You were pulled into the soil; body being crushed by the densely packed dirt. You could taste its grit. Worms and maggots wriggled around your skin, digging into you. They crawled into your mouth and ears and over your eyelids.

A gargled unknown hissed above you.

"You will die here."

You heard some sort of animal cry in the distance before you were completely buried in the ground.

A scream ripped through your throat as sat up, alone and sweaty in your bed.

You didn't even have a moment to calm your beating heart when Nancy flung the door open.

"Oh! I'm sorry Nancy I didn't mean to wake you-."

Tears on her face halted any explanation.

She gasped your name, as if it ripped itself from her chest in perfect agony. Your eyes fell to the letter gripped between her hands.

You knew.

"No," you whimpered. "No. No. No!"

She ran to you and held you as you sobbed, shrieking cries similar to the one in your nightmare.

His ship had gone down in a terrible storm. Not even twenty fours had passed before strangers were knocking on your door offering condolences. Your first time meeting the public soured by the tragedy that loomed over your head. However, that was not the worst of it. The loan sharks came swimming at the smell of blood in the water.

You didn't have time to grieve or even think. You had to set your father's accounts right.

But that meant going into his office.

"You don't have to do this," Nancy begged. "Let me go in."

"I am the only Holcomb left." Tears streamed down your cheeks. "It is my duty."

After standing outside the door for an hour, you mustered your strength and stepped in. The room had not changed since you last been there.

You glanced at the many maps and travel books your father had scattered around the office. He always seemed to be on the run from something, and now his adventuring ways caused his downfall.

"Oh, Father," you sighed, grief aching in your chest. You ran your finger along his financial journals before pulling the most recent one out. With a shaky exhale, you sat in your father's chair, feeling completely out of your depth.

The sun was high in the sky when you started, but by the time you finished going through half of his statements, the sky was black, and you had to relight the candles. You racked your fingers through your tangled hair tiredly.

"How could he let things get so bad?" You groaned, wearily.

The only option to settle his debts was to sell all his assets. With a portion of the sales set aside for Nancy to be comfortable until she found new employment, you would have little to nothing. You were going to be a homeless, penniless orphan. You wondered if things would have been different if your mother were here, but you had no clue. She died giving birth to you. For all you knew she could have made things worse.

Moving to the drawers for more information, you shuffled through all the letters. Just inconsequential letters from business associates. You groaned about to call an end until you saw the royal blue stamped letter at the bottom. The seal looked fancier than the rest with a time stamp from two years ago.

Probably from a potential investor.

You carefully pulled the paper open and began to read.

Dear Brother,

It is with a heavy heart I respond to your callous words. I am only trying to help despite your total aversion to good sense.

I implore you to come home. Ghosts of the past should have no power over the present.

Please.

Merryweathers belong to Moonacre.

I would have included some money notes, but you and I both know you would just burn them again.

Stop being a fool,

Benjamin

What?

Fresh tears pricked the corner of your eyes.

Your father wasn't a Holcomb? He had a brother. George Holcomb – Merryweather, had told you he was an only child and his parents perished when you were very young.

You had a family somewhere. There was no need to be alone your whole life, but your father deliberately kept you locked away. Bile raised in your throat as the paper wrinkled under your furious grip. You dug in the desk for more letters with the blue M seal, and found only one, but it was unsent.

Your father had written this one.

Benjamin,

There is only my daughter and me now.

You will never find it.

Farewell,

George

It was if the air was pulled from your lungs. You sagged in the seat.

You were still reeling from the revelations that you had a family and your true surname name being Merryweather. Find what? Why had your father lied? Could these secrets be the reason for his paranoia?

So many questions swirled in your mind. Your eyes darted to the lily, a little wilted now, still in the vase on his desk. After your father's threats you managed to completely will away the strange happenings with plants, but perhaps they could help you now?

You reached for the slightly brown petals. They were still soft but lacked any energy in their touch.

"I don't even know how to do this," you whispered to yourself. You surely looked a mad woman. "Give me something. What have you seen?'

You closed your eyes and willed for any enlightenment, a reason for the secrets.

You breathed in and out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

And . . .

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Damnit!" You slapped the vase in frustration. It shattered on impact, the shards seeming to glare at you as the lily lay helpless on the ground, sure to die now.

Cold regret welled in you, but Nancy rushed into the office before you could move to clean the mess.

"Miss Holcomb, are you alright!?"

You simply held the letter out to her. The drop in facial expression confirmed your beliefs, but you needed her to say it.

You had to be sure.

"You have worked for my father before I was even born. Did you know his real name was Merryweather?" You begged for the truth.

Her eyes roamed the words. Silence weighed heavy between you two.

Then, she nodded.

"I was first hired when he still went by Merryweather – when he first arrived here. He had changed his surname a few months after getting settled."

You gasped, and she rushed to your side.

"Please, my lady, do not act as though I betrayed you. I don't know why he changed his name or never told you about a brother, and my place condemned me to silence," she implored. "You must understand this."

"I do, Nancy. You have always treated us well," you cried, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I just . . . my world is upside down right now. I don't know who or what to believe anymore."

You snatched the unsent letter from the desk and stared at your father's signature.

He lied.

He had a secret.

And made you pay dearly for it.

There was nothing to lose now.

The royal blue seal burned beneath you hand, a symbol of all you lost knowingly and unknowingly. You thought for a moment and then decided.

No more being locked away, no more secrets.

Your father no longer stood in your way, and you would be damned if anyone else ever did again. You weren't a Holcomb anymore, but you also didn't know what it meant to be a Merryweather.

But you did know what it meant to be you, and you deserved answers.

"I know just where to start," you whispered to yourself.

"Nancy, please pack my bags. I am going to find this Moonacre."

That, babes, is what I call *establishing* 3