VII. Vincent Nightray
Young Vincent has always been the queer sort, in my opinion. Father had always been rather close-lipped when it came to my pressing inquires about why we should accept a street rat into the household and furthermore, reward him the privileges of nobility; I was sure for whatever justification Father had in keeping Vincent around, he could've easy granted him a position as kitchen-boy as opposed to ward.
There was a refinement I tried to instill somehow. A few scant weeks after his adoption in the family was finalized, I took him on a carriage ride into town to outfit him with proper clothes suited for a boy of his new rank. Several times I tried engaging him in conversation on the ride there, but to no avail, with the child staring indifferently out the window. His attitude did not change once we got into town and he drifted away from myself and his nursemaid to disappear in the crowd several times, much to my frustration.
The only emotional response the boy seemed to have was when I found him upon the fifth time of his wandering off that afternoon. Vincent had collapsed in the dirty street, shredding the sleeves of his frockcoat viciously with a pair of scissors and making high-pitched screeching noises. The maid and I had no idea what prompted such a vicious reaction; I asked him, accommodatingly, if he wanted to go inside and see the traveling circus that stood across the way, but upon hearing that recommendation he only wailed even louder and swiped the twin blades at me. Luckily, I took that moment to snatch the instrument from his hands. I picked him up bodily and slung him across my shoulder to make a hurried retreat to the carriage.
The little savage kept screaming the entire time until we returned to the manor.