I am sorry that I haven't updated for so long.

Many things happened since November. For example, we moved and didn't have internet access until February. Throughout December and January, I had to write a very big research paper for school, because I am in my last year of school. And afterwards, I was not able to write anything for what felt like ages.

But that gave me time to think about WotQ. Behind the scenes, this story had expanded quite a lot - expanded to the point that I told myself "You will never finish it like this." So I went and changed things. I threw out unnecessary arcs, combined arcs, threw out a huge plotline which would have made the whole story even more complicated. There were two "puffer" arcs which I cut down to special collections. Special collection like this one: The Lady, Childhood.

I thought that it would be better before I finish "The Lady, Decorated - Part 2" and upload it, that I should do this collection first because it tells a lot of quite important aspects of Cloudia's childhood which did not fit thematically into the "Rise of the Watchdog Arc." (Another reason is that these aspects, these stories are too short to be full-length chapters) For example, this collection will show how cruel Agatha really was to little Cloudia; Cloudia's relationship with Clifford, Constantia, and some others; why exactly Cloudia does not like her cousin Celeste, and some other things.

I hope you enjoy the first part of "The Lady, Childhood."

Special Collection:

The Lady, Childhood

1 - Meeting Agatha Bolton (June 1834)

"Young Mistress!" Theodore Clifford called.

I made myself even smaller than I already had. I did not want him to find me, so I did not reply and also did not make any noise.

"Young Mistress? Where are you?" Clifford continued to search for the little girl, his late master's only daughter. "Young Mistress? We are missing you! Mabel, Nelson ‒ all of us! So, please come out."

I knew what he was doing. I would not get out, no matter what he said.

"Young Mistress, where are you? Please, please come out. We are worried about you."

Did they really worry about me? Miss Mabel, Nelson, Clifford, and the others? Mr Carl and Paul? Lena, Norman, Martin, and Sadie? And all the others? I did not want them to worry about me, but I also did not want to get out of my hideout. What should I do?

"Young Mistress?" someone else called ‒ it was Miss Mabel, her nursemaid, and the desperation in her voice made her feel incredibly guilty.

But... but I did not want to come out! But Miss Mabel and Clifford...

"Ah, found you! There you are, Young Mistress," Clifford said and opened the cupboard. "I knew that I had heard something."

Oh no! Did I make a noise on accident?

Cloudia Phantomhive clenched her knees. "Please, Teddy, just go and pretend I'm not here."

Clifford's gaze softened ‒ and it had already been quite soft in the first place. "After I have searched for you for so long? You need to come out, Young Mistress. I am sorry, but I cannot change that."

"But..." Her lip trembled. "I do not want to meet her." She buried her head in her knees. "I want to stay here."

He put a hand on her head. "I know, Young Mistress, but..."

"I am Cloudia," she said without looking up. "I..." She lifted her head a little bit. "I am not the 'Young Mistress.' My name is Cloudia."

"I know, I know," Clifford assured her. "But I cannot really call you that now anymore."

Cloudia made herself a little bit smaller again. "But why?" she mumbled into her clothes. "I do not understand it. Because Daddy..." She stopped, her tiny shoulders were trembling again, and she already felt the tears coming.

"Youn... Cloudia," Clifford started. "I know that this is hard for you, but times have changed. Just like you, I wish that everything was still as it was, but none of us can go back in time and... redo this event."

I couldn't remember ever hearing him so... so bitter and sad.

Clifford carefully ruffled through her hair. "But what we can do is to make the best out of our situation ‒ to go on living and find ourselves a new path. You are now the absolute heir to the Phantomhive family, and you should make the best out of it. This opens a lot of paths for you which you could have never had otherwise. See this new situation in the most positive light you can, Cloudia."

"What is positive if Daddy's not here anymore?" Cloudia replied, sobbing. "I want him back," she added in a whisper.

Clifford embraced the little girl and caressed her head. "I know, I know," he whispered softly. "You know what? I want him back too."

"Why did he have to go?"

"That is how life functions ‒ everyone has to die someday."

Cloudia dug her tiny hands in the butler's uniform and pressed herself against him. "But why did he have to go so early?"

Clifford carefully lifted her out of the cupboard. "I do not know. Nobody does. Only God knows when it is time to go for a person."

When he knew ‒ could he also decide? And if yes, why did he have to take Daddy away from us so early?

"Miss Mabel," Clifford said. "I've found her."

Cloudia could hear Mabel approaching, the clattering of her shoes filling the whole room. "Young Mistress!" she happily exclaimed. Mabel took her from Clifford and made Cloudia look directly into her friendly face. "I've been worried," Mabel stated. "We've searched so long for you now; I actually began to think that you've run away or were taken away by someone."

Cloudia looked down and dug her fingers in Mabel's apron. "I am sowwy," she mumbled.

Mabel playfully poked her nose. "You don't have to apologise, Young Mistress! I'm just glad that nothing has happened to you in the end."

Cloudia looked up. "But I do not want to meet her," she firmly stated.

Lovingly, the nursemaid tucked a loose streak of Cloudia's hair behind her ear. "I know, I know, my dear, but, sometimes, we even have to do things we do not like. That's life."

"But... but what if she does not like me?" She leaned her head against Mabel's shoulder, her tiny body shaking slightly.

"It is all right, dear," the nursemaid gently replied. "Do not be afraid. She will definitely like you. How could somebody not like you? You are extraordinarily loveable, Young Mistress."

"But what if she does not?" Cloudia asked. However, she still let herself being carried down to the parlour by Mabel, followed by Clifford. Right before they entered, Mabel put Cloudia down and readjusted her dress ‒ which was black as the whole Phantomhive household was still mourning their master's death – and her hair. Then, Clifford pushed open the door and went inside the drawing room. Mabel followed her, Cloudia right by her side and half hidden behind the nursemaid's dress.

Someone sat at the table in the parlour, but when the door opened the person stood up and smoothed their own clothing and straightened their back.

The person was a young woman, not older than sixteen, wearing a simple grey dress, and her brown hair was kept in a tight bun at the back of her head.

Clifford bowed in front of her. "I am sorry for the long wait. It took us a while to find the Young Mistress."

The woman, no, the girl, smiled politely. "I have waited much longer in my life before."

Then, her gaze met Cloudia's. "Is she that?" the girl asked curiously. "Lady Phantomhive? My new protégée?"

Clifford nodded. "Yes, she is."

The girl bent down and extended her arm. "I am Miss Agatha Bolton. I am going to be your governess from now on. Nice to meet you, Mylady."

Cloudia grabbed Mabel's skirt and hid behind the nursemaid.

"You do not need to be afraid," the girl assured her and smiled too broadly.

Gently, Mabel took Cloudia's hands and withdrew them from her dress before she gave her a soft push towards the girl.

Cloudia stared at her with wide eyes.

The girl smiled. "You can call me Agatha if you want, Lady Phantomhive. And how should I call you?"

Something nasty, something absolutely angry ‒ probably because of the long wait – flickered in the girl's eyes for a split second, when Cloudia neither answered straightaway nor took her hand; however, Cloudia still saw it. She kept staring at the girl's hand before hesitantly stepping forward and saying: "'Young Mistress.'"

2 - The Wolf of Phantomhive Manor (June 1834)

Agatha Bolton did not even wait a week until she showed everyone her true face. The friendly and courteous way she had presented herself in front of us, the servants and me, in the last couple of days vanished from one day to the other. From the very first day, I had known that Agatha was not the nice person she pretended to be, but I had never thought that she was a true monster.

Everything started with Agatha selling my toys.

The sun shone brightly outside the windows when Cloudia hurried through the corridors. She had finished her breakfast early only to be able to spend a while in her beloved playroom. With lessons and lessons keeping her busy all day long, she barely had time to play properly anymore.

I remembered all these hours I had spent in the playroom with Connie. They all seemed to be so distant now.

With a bright smile on her lips, Cloudia pushed open her playroom door – only to stop in her movement. Her eyes widened at the sight before her.

With grey faces, the gardener Martin and a butler named Norman ran around in the room and gathered Cloudia's toys. Her dolls, her wooden horses, her balls, her cuddly toys... everything was heartlessly thrown into boxes while the coachman Carl and the footman Paul were busy knocking down her beloved, huge dollhouse. And in the middle of this horrific scenario stood Agatha who commanded everything.

"You can't do this!" Cloudia yelled and ran to Agatha. "Tell them to stop!" she demanded, grabbing the skirt of her governess.

Icy blue eyes glared down at Cloudia which made the little girl flinch. "Norman," Agatha said, her wicked eyes still directed at Cloudia even though her words were not, "take the Young Mistress to her room."

"Yes, Miss," Norman who used to make Cloudia laugh answered without hesitation. With wide, teary eyes, Cloudia let go of the skirt and stepped back when Norman walked towards her. She yelled and fought back, kicking and hitting Norman, when the butler lifted her up and carried her out of the room.

I was locked up in my room and could only stare out of my window in horror – screaming and crying – while the servants filled carriages with my childhood packed in boxes.

But that was not the end of everything.

In the following days and weeks, Agatha redecorated the entire manor. The once colourful rooms were repainted in white and grey. Flowers, vases, beautiful paintings... everything bright and wonderful was either destroyed or locked away in the basement. Even my wardrobe was exchanged with dull, grey dresses.

In a short time, my home was turned into a cold place, and the rest of laughter and joy which had been left in the manor after Daddy's death vanished.

Now, Phantomhive Manor had entirely become a place of death.

Slowly, Cloudia walked to her schoolroom.

When Daddy had still been alive, I had loved every short lesson he had given me. But now, I dreaded going to the schoolroom where I would stay for seemingly endless hours. Every day, I had to go there right after an early breakfast. At lunch time, I only got little – mostly bread and water –; and by dinner time I was too exhausted to eat anything.

For hours, I sat in a grey room and listened to Agatha or other teachers. My governess only taught me basic things like writing and maths, and the others were there to teach me "special Watchdog things." Right now, these lessons were short and seldom as I was still small.

Agatha always said that the changes in my timetable, wardrobe, food, and the manor "had to be done so that there was nothing which could distract me from my lessons." She had even removed the clock from the schoolroom so that "I would not focus on it instead on my lessons."

My life only consisted of lessons anymore.

However, when I entered the schoolroom on this June day, Agatha was nowhere to be seen. Therefore, I went to her chambers.

Nervously, Cloudia knocked on her governess' bedroom door and entered. Agatha stood in front of a full-length mirror, and Mabel was lacing her corset. Both women did not seem to have heard the soft knock.

"Can't you work faster?" Agatha snarled at Mabel. "Because of you, I am late for the lesson, you incompetent woman."

"I am already working as fast as I can, Miss," Mabel answered, unhappiness written all over her face.

Suddenly, Agatha cried out and angrily whirled around to Mabel. "That was too tight, you moron!"

"I am sorry, Miss, I..."

Agatha grabbed a letter weight from a nearby table. "Don't talk back to your Mistress, you incompetent fool!" She was just about to hit Mabel with the paper weight when Cloudia hurried forward, took a cup of tea and threw the content into her governess' face. "Young Mistress!" Mabel cried out when she saw Cloudia. Agatha let go of the weight, and it fell heavily to the ground. Cloudia positioned herself between her nursemaid and Agatha, her arms extended.

"You cannot hit Mabel!" she yelled. "And you are not the Mistress of this house – my mother is!"

Agatha pushed away a wet streak of hair, and her face was red from anger. "You!" she screamed. "How could you threw tea at me, you little demon!"

"And how could you try to hurt Mabel!"

The governess narrowed her eyes. "Nursemaid – leave the room."

Mabel flinched but only looked at Cloudia – her eyes wide with fear. "I am not going to leave the Young Mistress," Mabel replied, her voice only slightly shaky.

My dear, good Mabel!

Agatha narrowed her eyes. "Nursemaid – leave the room immediately," she snapped at Mabel. "I don't want to see your face today anymore. And if you ever talk back to me again, you would wish to have been hit with the paper weight."

All blood left Mabel's face, and she blinked at Cloudia who nodded slightly. With a final quick, teary glance at her beloved Young Mistress, Mabel left the room in a hurry. The instance she was gone, Agatha slapped Cloudia over the face.

No tears, no tears, no tears...

"How dare you to speak to me like that!" Agatha said furiously. "I am your governess. The King himself employed me. He personally gave me the task to teach you and manage Phantomhive Manor." She bent down to look directly into Cloudia's eyes. "And do you know why I even have to manage this place? Do you know why I have to do this – a task governesses are not supposed to do?"

When Cloudia did not answer, Agatha slapped her again. "Answer me when I ask you a question, stupid girl!"

Cloudia mumbled something, and Agatha nodded. "That's right – it's because your mother does not want to have anything to do with this cursed family anymore. That's why she does not come out – because she does not want to see the demon child she bore."

Agatha cradled Cloudia's head in her hands and forced her to look at her. "Yes, did you listen to me? You are a demon child – and nobody wants to have such a child." The governess let go of her face and pushed her down the ground. Cloudia cried out when she landed. With wide eyes, she looked up at Agatha whose wet hair messily framed her angry, disgusted face.

"And do you know why you are a demon?" she continued, kicking the little girl on the ground. "The Royal advisers always call you that – the Phantomhive Demon. I once listened to their mumble. And who you know why they call you that?" Another kick. "Because someone in your family did something terrible and cursed his blood – and this cursed blood also flows in your veins." Agatha kicked Cloudia again, this time directly in the gut. "So stop trying to be a hero – because you will never be one."

Then, she kicked me in the head, and everything turned black.

3 - No Kiss Goodbye (July 1844)

Two weeks after Clifford found me passed out and bruised in Agatha's bedroom, my governess did something which I had thought was even too cruel for her.

I was not able to recall my father's face. I was not able to recall my father's voice. Some day in late April, I woke up with no memory at all.

I did not know my own name or who my mother was. I didn't recognise Clifford, Mabel, Connie and everyone else. From one day to the other, the people who had once been so close and dear to me had become strangers in my eyes. From one day to the other, I had to start from point zero.

My family, the servants – they all still had to deal with my father's death as the wound his loss had left behind was still too deep. And then, I woke up without any memories, making their lives even more miserable. And still, my poor mother, Clifford and my aunts and uncles worked hard to teach me their names and tell me stories from the past, in hope I would remember them.

I didn't.

All the stories they told me – all the fun we had, all the things we had done – did not trigger any memory inside of me. But I learned all their names anew and started to get to know them again. I might not remember our past, but I cherished every new memory I made with my loved ones.

Mabel had been my nursemaid since the day of my birth. From the very beginning she had been there for me, and if things had not turned out as they had in the end, she would have been there for me at the very end too. I was certain of it.

Nelson had been the Phantomhive family's cook even before my parents married. He had been a close friend of my father who had saved him the slums of Paris. And when my mother married my father, he also became a good friend to her.

Lena had only been employed as a maid a few years ago. Back then, she had been twelve, and even though Father had told her that whatever path she wanted to choose, whatever she wanted to become he would support her, Lena decided to devote her life serving the man who had rescued her from slavery.

Only weeks before his death, my grandfather Percival employed Carl, Paul and Martin – three young boys he had saved from a terrible factory where he had investigated a murder. Norman, Clifford's second-in-command as the Butler of the Phantomhive Household and his successor, had been trained to kill from a very young age but had run away with sixteen, wandering around my father found him. Sadie, the scullery maid, had been forced by her mother to prostitute herself when she had been barely ten years old. When Father had once walked through Houndsditch, she had offered him her services which resulted in him arresting her mother and taking her in.

The Phantomhive Household might not have many servants – but every single one of them was devoted to their work and incredibly loyal to us.

I might not remember anything they had done for the rest of my family and me before Father's death, but I remembered everything they had done after I had woken up. Ever since that day, my love for them had added up. And not even Agatha's commands could make me love them less. After all, if they had tried to riot, this would have happened earlier.

On a July day, I woke up to the world raining and only Clifford sitting next to me.

4 - Mother's Birthday (October 1834)

My mother had been with me when I had woken up in late April. She had helped me to get to know everything and everyone anew. She had held my hand at Father's funeral in May, and in the weeks between my awakening and the funeral, she had never left my side.

But on the day after the funeral, she had locked herself up.

Summer had ended fast. Slowly getting used to her new schedule, Cloudia went through the days like a ghost. In the blink of an eye, the days got colder, and the leaves changed their colour and whirled through the air. But none of the new colours of the leaves – these nuances of red, brown, and orange – seemed to reach the manor which remained grey.

One day, after a particularly horrible day, Cloudia returned to her chambers and glimpsed at a calendar before letting herself fall onto her bed. Only after lying there for a while, Cloudia realised what she had seen: Today was October 9 which meant that...

With new-found energy, Cloudia leapt out of her bed and called for Clifford.

"Tomorrow is Mummy's birthday!" she cried out as soon as he had closed the door behind him. "What will we do tomorrow?"

I had not seen her since May! With Agatha and all the changes, I had almost forgotten that I had her. My dear mother.

I wanted to see her so badly.

Before Clifford could reply anything, Cloudia was already talking again. "She has to come out tomorrow! It is her birthday!" She jumped up and down, her eyes shining. "We have always celebrated birthdays together. I am so excited to see her again! What do you think she will look like? Different or the same? I hope it's the same. I do not want her to look different."

Clifford, not knowing how to deal with the little girl in front of him and not wanting to shatter her imagination and dream somehow, gestured at her to calm down. "Calm down, Young Mistress."

"Cloudia."

"Cloudia," he said, making her smile. "If Agatha or any of her servants hears you it will not end well."

She nodded. "All right. I will be quiet. But you need to do me a favour."

"You do not need to ask me for a favour, Cloudia. After all, I am only a servant."

Cloudia blinked at him, confused. "You are not, and I will ask you for a favour."

Clifford allowed himself to a small smile. "I will gladly do whatever you ask me to."

"Then, can you help me bake a cake for Mummy? Cook wouldn't do anything if I asked. But we can't go now – at day, Cook is always in the kitchen. We need to go at night. It is a secret mission." Cloudia held out her little finger, a serious expression on her sweet face. "Promise me that you will never ever tell anyone about it."

Clifford softly chuckled – it was a sound she had never heard him do in the last months; a sound which warmed her from the inside when she heard it – before he clasped her little finger with his.

It was past midnight when Clifford came and collected me. While we walked to the kitchen, I had to cover my mouth with my hands because I feared that I could start to laugh in excitement and wake everyone up if I removed them.

Clifford and I baked a cake for hours – of course, he did most of the work, but he let me put in some ingredients and stir the dough sometimes. And while he worked with stunning precision, Clifford told me in detail all what you had to keep in mind when baking a cake.

This night, after we had finished and Clifford had hidden the cake in his room to cool, I went to back to bed with a smile on my face and warmth and hope in my heart.

I woke up early to sneak to Clifford because he had promised me yesterday that I could decorate the cake just like I wanted.

It was a strawberry shortcake – Mother's favourite –, and I covered it in whipping cream with Clifford's help. Then, he cut some strawberries into small pieces for me, and I laid them down on top of the cake in the shape of a heart in which I wrote with a shaky hand "Mummy" using strawberry jam.

I was happy how beautiful it had turned out, and I kissed Clifford on the cheek for helping me. But, first and mostly, I hoped that Mother would like the cake.

Today I did not have any lessons – Clifford made sure that I got "rest days" from time to time – and thus spent the entirety of it in front of the door to Mother's chambers with the cake beside me. Tapping against the door. Waiting for someone to answer. Someone to open the door.

For Mother coming out and embracing me.

Clifford found me sleeping, curled up in front of the door, at midnight on October 10 – Mother's birthday.

5 - Names (November 1834)

After I had woken up after Father's death, I had had to learn the names of everyone anew. My mother had been by my side at that time, and when she hadn't, it had been Constantia because, back then, my family had been allowed to visit as often as they had liked.

Constantia had told me that I possessed a good memory, but I had still had difficulties learning the names of everyone anew. It was like I had suddenly lost the ability to match names to faces. I would always mix up names, but Constantia had always held my hand and corrected me when I got it wrong again.

I had learned my parents' names – Simon and Penelope –, my grandparents' names – Percival and Genevieve, Edward and Hortense –, my aunts' names – Eleanor, Felicity, Joanna –, my uncles' – Isidore, Aiden, Jonathan –, and my cousins' – Cathleen, Keegan, Constantia, Clarissa, Ceara.

Every night when I lay in my bed, I would say their names silently in always the same order into the darkness while trying to recall their faces so that, someday, Constantia would not have to shoulder the burden to guide me anymore. Eventually, I had added the servants' names to my nightly chant.

And after so many horrible weeks, I had stopped mixing up names anymore.

Constantia was loud and always wanted to drag me everywhere because she had had another weird idea what we could do, but, apparently, out of all my cousins, she had been the closest to me before Father's death. And even though my memory from that time was blank I could still feel part of the closeness I had shared with her. Exactly this remnant had let me decide that I could not, although I enjoyed her company despite her loudness (I, as I had found out, preferred silence), shackle her to me like that forever. It had made me incredibly happy when I had ceased messing up anymore – and this had made Constantia happy too, and her smiles had added to my joy.

But while I had learned all their names anew, it still felt odd to me to call them by nicknames. Constantia had told me that I used to call her "Connie," but whenever this name left my lips, it felt strange. And this strange feeling always reminded me that, no matter if, deep down, they felt familiar and close to me, that a divide had appeared between my loved ones and me after Simon Phantomhive's death.

Cloudia lay awake in her bed. It was long past midnight, but she was unable to fall asleep as her hands were still burning from Agatha's punishments. Quietly, like a ghost fading into the darkness, Clifford sat next to Cloudia's bed, just like he did every night until she fell asleep. The dim light of a flickering candle slightly obscured his facial features and let him appear older and wearier than he was.

"Clifford?" Cloudia called out all of a sudden, her voice full of sleep not to come.

"Is anything wrong, Young Mistress?" Clifford replied.

"Can you tell me a story? Maybe, then, I can fall asleep."

"All right. What story would you like to hear?"

"A happy one," Cloudia yawned into her blanket. "One in which the good win even if it's hard. One with a happy ending."

"Very well. I know one which you may enjoy," he said, and Cloudia could hear the smile in his words. Clifford cleared his throat before speaking.

"'There was once on a time a man who was about to set out on a long journey, and on parting he asked his three daughters what he should bring back with him for them. Whereupon the eldest wished for pearls, the second wished for diamonds, but the third said, 'Dear father, I should like a singing, soaring lark.' The father said, 'Yes, if I can get it, you shall have it,' kissed all three, and set out. Now when the time had come for him to be on his way home again, he had brought pearls and diamonds for the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for a singing, soaring lark for the youngest, and he was very unhappy about it, for she was his favorite child...'"

I closed my eyes and drifted between being asleep and being awake while Clifford's soft, comforting voice rang in my ears. And when he was done telling his tale, sleep was pulling at my sleeve, wanting to embrace me, but, even though I wanted to let sleep take me with it, I forced my eyes open.

"Shall I tell you another story, Young Mistress?" Clifford wanted to know, having noticed that Cloudia had not fallen asleep during his narration like she should have been.

"No," Cloudia mumbled. "And do not call me 'Young Mistress.' I won't allow you to call me that anymore."

I had never liked it when Clifford called me "Young Mistress," and only now, I had realised why. And before this matter was not settled, I could not fall asleep.

The softness of his voice had reminded me how harsh the word "mistress" with its sharp t and r sounded – a word not fitting into Clifford's mouth, a word too strong to be able to describe me. After all, right now, I was merely a little, powerless girl. A weakling, a whimpering, miserable creature.

And just like the word "mistress" did not feel right when it came out of gentle Clifford's mouth, calling me one did not feel right either. I was too soft, too weak to be called by such a strong word.

But I would make sure that, one day, I would be worthy enough to be called "mistress."

"But that is what I am supposed to call you," Clifford said in his gentle voice she knew so well. "And I am afraid, but I cannot call you 'Cloudia' anymore, not matter how hard we wish for it."

"But it does not feel right," Cloudia replied, barely being able to keep her eyes open anymore. "Just... call me anything else but that."

She heard him standing up, and shortly afterwards he blew out the candle and darkness fell upon them. Now, sleep was trying to pull Cloudia with all its might into the dreamland, but she did not want to let their conversation end like this. But before she could open her mouth, Clifford laid his hand on top of her head, carefully patting it, and her eyes fell shut.

"Sleep well, Young Lady," the old butler whispered and left the room in silence while Cloudia fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

6 - Milk with Honey (March 1835)

Cloudia could barely hold her eyes open.

For almost a year, Agatha Bolton was already enriching Phantomhive Manor. For almost a year, Cloudia was already enduring this witch of a governess. And just like the two hundred other days, Cloudia was sitting in the schoolroom with Agatha talking about something boring in front of her. Usually, Cloudia was half-listening to her governess, but today, she was incapable of doing so. Pain pulsed in her temples and blurred her vision and hearing, and she was afraid that she could fall into blackness again, so she put all of her energy into holding her eyes open – a task easier said than done.

Clifford who always quietly observed the lessons in one of the room's corners was the first one to notice that something was wrong with Cloudia.

"Miss Bolton," he spoke up, "I am holding the suspicion that the Young Lady is not feeling well. She may have a headache again."

Agatha sighed, annoyed, closing the book she had read out of a second ago. "How am I supposed to do my work like that? I am quite a few lessons back because of that."

"I am sorry," Clifford replied without meaning so, heading towards Cloudia, "but we cannot do anything against it. The doctors her uncles and aunts called were not able to do so, saying that her form of headaches was strange as it was able to pull her away from reality. Especially, the Young Lady herself cannot do anything about it – she is, in first and last place, the victim here after all."

Clifford lifted the barely conscious Cloudia out of her seat and carried her out of the schoolroom and into her bedroom. Carefully, he sat her down on her bed.

"How are you?" Clifford asked her, holding her shoulders to steady her. Cloudia opened her mouth but was unable to form words.

"I see," he said, his body tensing up. "I remembered something. Can I leave you alone for a few minutes, Young Lady? Do you think you can stay awake for a little while more?"

Cloudia nodded, and Clifford gently laid her down before hurrying out of the bedroom.

It felt like I was underwater. My vision was blurred. I could not hear. I could barely feel me breathing.

My body slowly descended into the darkness of the water. My body felt heavy and made it easier for me to be dragged down.

I closed my eyes while the blackness grabbed me. My body felt numb; my body felt cold. I did not feel like doing anything.

"Do you think you can stay awake for a little while more?"

Clifford's words set off a spark inside of me. I opened my eyes and tried to reach the water's surface, kicking and fighting to escape the darkness. I had to stay awake until Clifford came back. I could not fall asleep now. Not now.

"Young Lady?" Cloudia could hear Clifford's panicking voice. "Young Lady? Are you there?"

She managed to hold out a hand. "I am here, Clifford," Cloudia said, barely able to withstand the blackness anymore.

"Thank God," Clifford sighed and sat her up, leaning her against a large pillow. "I have something which could help, Young Lady."

He showed her a cup of steaming milk before putting it to her lips and making her drink it.

The moment, my lips touched the cup, and sweet milk ran into my mouth, the blackness tried to pull with all its might at me, but for some reason, it failed.

I was not dragged farther underwater. I stayed at the surface.

I did not know why, but it was like the milk had managed to give me an anchor I had not possessed before. An anchor which could save me from being dragged into the darkness.

When Cloudia was done drinking, Clifford put the cup on her bedside cabinet.

"Four years ago, your mother was in Ireland for a couple of weeks to visit her sister who was about to have a child," he told her before she could ask. "During her absence, you suddenly caught a fever and your father – may his good soul rest in peace – decided to take care of you on his own. At that time, we were in the middle of a snowstorm, and we could neither leave the manor nor could a physician come to us.

"Your father refused to let me help him and tried to cure you on his own. And one day, when you were too weak to eat anything, your father made you a cup of hot milk with honey. You grew very fond of it, and your father made it for you every day, and eventually, it helped to cure you of your disease. From that time on, every time you were not feeling well, your father would personally prepare a cup for you."

He put a hand on her head. "I can see that it helped again. Now, it looks more like you are here." Clifford put a blanket over her. "I think you should sleep now. It must have strained you to stay awake."

"Thanks," Cloudia said, cuddling into her pillow and closing her eyes, not having to fear to be pulled away and be trapped for days.

The story Clifford tells Cloudia in "Names" is The Singing, Springing Lark. The title of the second short "The Wolf of Phantomhive Manor" is a reference to The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken. Agatha's actions are also based on what their evil governess did to Bonnie and Sylvia Green, the protagonists.

Last but not least, I want to say that despite me rearranging the story, I have no idea if I really will finish WotQ. I love writing it, but lately, I feel drained more often.

In case, that I will not finish WotQ, I left hints a long time ago - in form of my one-shot My Lenore. The one-shot and the two poems and the fairytale it is based on are my emergency hints for you.

But still, I hope you've liked this "chapter."