The opportunist woke from his afternoon sleep to find Zadig far out of reach. He swung his legs over the bed and rose slowly, looking around as though expecting Zadig to be a rat hidden in the many crevices of the room.

"Zadig…?" He called softly, and froze when the door opened.

He turned slowly, clutching his shirt in apprehension. His father stood at the door, wary from a long day's work. His frail mustache even looked down. Ven neared him, raising his bony, chilled hand and placing it on his father's warm one. "What seems to be the matter, father?" he asked softly.

"It's time for your medication," his father replied in a harried tone, pulling a vial and spoon from his pocket. He uncorked the vial and held out the spoon, allowing the red liquid to pour into it. Once the proper dosage had been calculated, he held it towards Ven who pulled it into his mouth and drank it quickly. The bitter liquid slid down his throat and burned his gullet, giving him a sleepy, cracked sensation. Lock led him to his bed and let him lay down, petting the boy's head and brushing away his hair. "There's a good boy," he said.

Ven closed his eyes, overcome by sleep.

When he woke, approximately two hours later, he discovered Zadig bowing over him, his smile unwavering.

"Where have you been?" Ven asked, looking past him and out the window. Inky night spread its wings through the skies, dotted with stars and a crescent moon tilted to resemble a crooked smile. "It's so late..."

"I was here all along," Zadig responded smoothly, not giving any insinuation that this was not at all the case. "You do remember that your father came in to give you your medicine. I was hidden, so as not to be seen. You should have slept through the entire night, my lord. I apologize for waking you at such an untimely hour."

"That's all right," Ven smiled, still lying down. He curled his toes and pulled his feet closer to him.

"What did you dream of, my lord?" Zadig said, stepping away so as to not loom over his fragile master.

"I dreamt of very little, except for a crow mocking me, claiming to pull the life from my lips and plunge them into the bowels of hell, letting them rot there." Ven said, growing bitterer with each word, "He cackled a most dreadful laugh before flying away, a rat in his grasp."

Zadig hardly batted an eye, but he felt his stomach—or what could be called that—lurch within him.

"Also," Ven continued, tapping his fingers against his sternum, "I also saw a horse galloping in the distance. It was very surreal, but also very real… Does that make sense, Zadig?" Ven turned his head to look at his butler, who waited at the window, looking down into the murmuring streets below. Various beggars and impoverished children scoured the night for some form of consolation, some sort of mercy, turning towards the skies and hoping for something to come and give them what they have waited for their entire lives. Ven often looked down, too, and he would have risen at that moment to join Zadig. But his legs were too stiff and his heart felt heavy, as though a weight had been placed against his chest. He could hardly pinpoint a reason why.

"You should be proud of your father, Ven," Zadig said in a gentle tone, dropping formality briefly. Ven noticed, but didn't mind. "He has worked hard for you to live between four walls and to have a hot meal served to you daily."

"I know." Ven uttered reproachfully, "I never said that I disliked him. He tends to my needs, however sickly I may be…"

"You will be having guests, tomorrow," Zadig announced quite suddenly. "Your guests will be very detrimental to you, most of all, and so try not to fall asleep when they come."

"You know sleep steals me away at its own whim, Zadig, I never choose when to slumber. It chooses."

An uneasy silence fell between them, toxic. Ven felt more awake than he ever had. His eyes wide in their dark rings, he tried to start a conversation: "I never understood what you were, Zadig."

"Do you not remember?"

Ven recalled receiving him. He was troubled, for some reason or other, and had escaped from home. The reasons were indecipherable and vague in his mind. He had fallen and hit his head, bawling wildly, despite being fourteen years old.

In a moment he was swept away in a chilled mist, like Aphrodite snatching Paris from the duel, and he found himself face to face with a rat. A deal was made and the seal was burned to his ankle.

The rat took the shape of a human, a butler to be exact.

"What's your name?" Ven asked, sapped of all strength and energy.

"That is for you to choose."

"…How about the fated one: Zadig."

"Very well, Venice."

Ven turned, now, towards Zadig, nodding.

"I am simply 'one hell of a butler' as a counterpart of mine likes to say." Zadig smiled.

The moonlight caught in the single streak of white hair, trailing from his temple to his nape.