I'M STILL ALIVE.

Hi, long time not read.

I think I should rename WotQ to "Executive Meddling." It's a better title.

Anyway, it took a long while to get this chapter done because of lack of time (exams and university) and because I had to restructure the chapter - and split it because the plot wouldn't quite work otherwise.

Whatever.

The chapter is not the best or the longest, but it's something, and I still hope that you will enjoy it. :)

Chapter Eighteen:

The Countess, Cornered

"Tangled is the path..."

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – May 1845

~August~

"Do not worry, August. Cloudia is a very sweet person," Cathleen had told me the last time we had seen each other. And even though she had said this while smiling her warm, calming smile, I could not help myself but feel nervous.

Next month, I would be marrying Cathleen, and because of that, I wanted to get to know her extended family better. Even before our engagement, I had met her uncles and aunts and cousins, but that had only been brief encounters. I wished to get to know them just as well as Cathleen's parents and sister. I had already spent time with all of them but one, and today, I would finally meet that cousin of Cathy's which I had never seen before, which I only knew from her stories – and the stories of others.

Cloudia Phantomhive – the girl who rarely attended any social events or engaged with other nobles. The girl whose mother had once been a celebrated actress and opera singer, but now, she never left her chambers; whose fiancé, the current Earl of Phantomhive, was a mystery man, an enigma, and always present in conversations even if he was not there physically. I had asked Cathy if it was possible for me to meet Penelope Phantomhive or the Earl as well, but she had only shaken her head, apologised for it, and hoped that it did not disappoint or even anger me. It didn't; of course, it didn't. But while I couldn't meet them, I could still meet Cloudia – and today, I would.

Cathleen had assured me that her cousin was very nice and kind albeit stubborn and harsh at times, that I did not have to be afraid to meet her: She was just another fifteen-year-old girl after all. No matter what the whispers said.

"She is just another fifteen-year-old girl," August mumbled while he waited in Phantomhive Manor's drawing room for Cloudia to arrive. A few minutes later, her butler – a fair-haired giant of a man – opened the door to the parlour, and Cloudia stepped inside. August stood up and mustered her – her facial expression, her posture, her clothing. And while she seemed just like Cathleen had told him, a fifteen-year-old girl like any other, there was something subtle in her movement and smile and eyes which did not quite fit into the picture.

But it was nothing unpleasant. I had never listened to the whispers surrounding the Phantomhives; I had never found a reason to do so. I did not know what other people had to say about them – and, honestly, I did not care. I had always walked away, never listened. And this would not change in the foreseeable future or ever at all.

What I knew, however, was that the whispers were not pleasant, just like it was their nature. Cruel things were associated with the Phantomhives, but Cloudia only seemed as different as any other young girl. And this, in all honesty, took away some of my anxiety and made me breathe with much more ease.

Cloudia approached August and said, "Welcome, Mylord. I am terribly sorry for my tardiness. Something came up which had to be handled straightaway and stole a few minutes of my time."

August took her hand and bowed. "No need to apologise," he replied and straightened up again. "And please just call me 'August.' We surely have no need for formalities."

"Because we are going to be family soon?" said Cloudia and gestured for August to sit down while she took place opposite of him.

August nodded and watched the butler refilling his cup and filling Cloudia's from the corner of his eye. This man was a giant – tall and broad – and did not look like a butler at all, but he did his job without any complain and without erring, and August wondered where Cloudia had found such a butler and what had made her employ him.

"How were the meetings with my cousins? My aunts and uncles?" Cloudia wanted to know, smiling at the butler when he was finished and went to stand by a wall.

"I know how they perceived these meetings – especially Constantia did not want to stop talking about it. But I am really curious what you thought of them. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone about this conversation, so you can be completely honest."

August chuckled. "I genuinely think that every single one of those meetings was delightful, and I firmly believe that this one will be no different. However," he started, absentmindedly taking a scone and splitting it into halves, "I could not think of any activity we could do. Miss Cathleen told me many things about your cousins and uncles and aunts beforehand so that I was able to plan my visits thoroughly beforehand. And while she, of course, told me about you as well, all she said was that you enjoyed reading and that I must not be afraid of you or nervous because of you – no matter what I might have heard of you before."

Cloudia smiled at him from beyond the rim of the cup which was raised to her lips. "And what did you hear about me?"

"Barely anything, to be honest."

"I see," she replied. "But isn't it refreshing and exciting to dive into something without knowing anything about it beforehand? To get to know someone with having heard next to nothing about them before? Not knowing anything or knowing only little prevents you to give yourself to expectations too high, too unfulfillable and to be disappointed afterwards. What do you prefer: to be prepared or to be caught by surprises?" Cloudia set the cup down, and August laughed. "Anyway, to return to your worry that our meeting may become too bland if we spend it in all its entirety in my parlour: Can I make a proposition?"

"Of course, Cloudia."

"Then, I propose to go hunting," Cloudia said playfully, and August blinked at her. "Pardon?"

"Hunting," she repeated with a glow in her eyes. "You went hunting with Keegan and Ceara, didn't you? Keegan may be a talented hunter but he finds no joy in it. I, however… Well, I have never gone hunting before so I do not know if it suits me at all or not. Barrington – I guess Cathleen has told you about Sir Barrington too? – is not very fond of the idea of me learning how to use firearms even if he once promised me to teach me. And despite my best efforts to defy him, I have never managed to find a way to learn it on my own.

"The request may seem odd," she continued, making a short pause, "but if it doesn't seem odd enough to you, is there a possibility for you to consider it?"

Her proposition had come completely unexpected. Of course, ladies often accompanied hunting parties, but it did not happen very often that a lady actively joined one, but it was not unheard of either. I didn't have any reason to decline her suggestion and I was more than happy and willing to take her hunting.

"Of course, we can go hunting," August said, amused. "But, unfortunately, we have to go without the usual: hounds, any kind of activity associated with hunts, etc. I hope you do not mind."

"Oh, I don't mind at all," replied Cloudia. "I think it will be more fun like this anyway."

"I hope I am not too terrible a teacher."

"Don't worry," she said and her smile reminded him of Cathleen's: warm and beautiful and making you feel as if everything would be all right – as if everything was all right. "I have the feeling that you will be a wonderful teacher."

Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848

~Cloudia~

"Oy, girl, could you stop staring at me and be useful for a change and free me?" the man, Franklin, said, shaking Cloudia out of her thoughts.

"You couldn't be any ruder, could you?" Cloudia replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Girl, just–"

"Cloudia."

He frowned. "Please, what?"

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "My name is Cloudia with an 'o' and a 'u' instead of an 'a' and a 'u.' I don't like to be called just 'girl' as if I didn't have a name."

"We are in the middle of a deadly labyrinth, and you are making a fuss about how you are called?"

"Everyone has their priorities – also, didn't you make a lengthy statement about your name a few minutes ago, Franklin?"

"That's different. After all, what kind of name is 'Franklin' even?" he replied, annoyance dripping from his voice. "It's such a terrible name. It does not sound pleasant at all. It sounds like you are belittling a Frank for his entire life. 'Oh, little Franklin, come here!'" he exclaimed, disguising his voice so that it was shriller for a moment. "Is 'Little Franklin' a double belittlement, then? Do people really hate their children so much that they call them 'Franklin' of all names? It's a horrible name. Nobody should be given such a name. Everyone who wants to call their children 'Franklin' should be punished. If my parents weren't dead, I would still…"

I wished that I would know whoever Phantomhive was the first to become the Crown's Watchdog so that I knew to whom I had to direct my curses.

"I understand that you hate your second name," Cloudia interrupted him, not being able to listen to him anymore. "But how should I call you then? What is your first name? Do you like, at least, that one?"

"Why did they have to call me 'Franklin' all the time?" he continued. "That's not even my first name. It's only my second. Why did they always have to rub it in that I have such a dreadful second name? Did they…"

Cloudia snapped her fingers against his forehead. "What did you say about making a fuss about how you want to be called? If you don't stop this nonsense right now and tell me your first name or how you want to be called instead, I will make sure that the name 'Franklin' will be branded into your flesh and everyone and their crickets will call you by that name until you get into one of those highly unpleasant asylums, do you understand? Of course, considering that I don't decide to leave you here, bound and vulnerable, to die because I can't stand listening to your whiny nonsense anymore.

"The last two weeks were already terrible for me, but today is the tip of the iceberg: I was kidnapped by an idiot playing witch or puppeteer or whatever and forcing me to be the prey in a silly hunt. I am sleep-deprived. I have barely eaten anything today or in the last weeks. I left four more idiots at my home which they are most likely wrecking right now because two of them always start a fight when you sit them in one and the same room. The third is an ex-convict, and the fourth is just an idiot. And the worst? They are perhaps the closest I have to friends. I am telling you: I am not going to spend the rest of this goddamn day listening to you being a hypocrite and then die at the hands of that moron Manon von Brandt."

He stared at her for a while, bewildered, before he slowly said, "My name is Leon Melville."

Cloudia rubbed her temples. Leon's ramblings had only fuelled her already excruciating headache. "Melville like Herman Melville, the author of Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life?"

Leon nodded. "Exactly like Herman Melville."

"Before or after the 'e' was added?"

"After."

"Good. And please remember that if you start talking about how much your second name again, I will break your arms and legs and leave you to be eaten by whichever creatures are lurking in his maze," she said and went to kneel down behind him to unfasten the ropes.

It would take less time if I still had the dagger. I hoped that I would have it back when it was time for me to cut out the Witch's eyes.

When Cloudia was done, she stood up, and so did Leon after stretching his limps. "Finally," he exclaimed, moving his arms in circles.

"How long were you tied up?" she asked him.

"Since this morning," Leon told her, rubbing his wrists. "Those devils attacked me in my sleep, tied me up – don't ask me where they got the rope from –, and pushed me out into the labyrinth. I wandered around for hours, trying to find some kind of exit, but I only got tired and sat down, ready to die alone but not without cursing every single one of those demonic bastards. Then, you came."

"What did you do that made them banish you? Let me guess: You packed out your 'Franklin' speech?"

Leon glared at her. "I didn't do anything! Those people are crazy bastards! They were imprisoned by a madwoman, and they have become madwomen and -men as well. That creepy man, who always sits in a corner and smiles, even ate Ernest, Claude, and Vanessa! I am not exactly sure if I was lucky that they didn't sacrifice me to him. What do you think is worse? Being eaten, most likely while you are still alive, or being killed or turning crazy by or because of whatever is running around in this labyrinth? Dying during one of those hunts?"

Pain crept up on her again when Cloudia wanted to answer and she had to hold her head and massage her temples for a moment.

Breathe in, breathe out, everything would be all right.

"I think that dying inside the maze is better than being eaten alive," Cloudia said when the pain was gone again for the moment. "If you are held down and eaten, there is nothing you can do – you can only lie down and wait for it to end. But if the eating process will take too long, you will lose your mind before you lose your life. But if you are running around in a labyrinth filled with things, if you are part of a hunt, are a hunter's prey, you can still hold on to your sanity because, even if it's small, there is a chance for survival. Just like rabbits can sometimes outwit and outrun the fox, you can escape the hunter's claws – or, if you know how, you could even turn the tables."

"Aren't you a grim lady?" Leon said, grinning – and while Cedric's grins were always wide and playful, Barrington's laced with something heavy, Cecelia's sly and knowing, and Oscar's cut out of nightmares, Leon's grin was crooked and his eyes lit up. "Also, I really want to be there to see you trying to outrun the fox, Cloudia."

"Oh, no," she replied, grinning herself and wondering how it looked like. "I am not intending to run away – I am here to turn the tables.

"And now, Leon, what do you know about these hunts?"

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848

~Cedric~

Cedric's eyes were still fixed on the frozen clock's hands, the bureau still filled by the eerie echo of Oscar's words. "Finally, today's game time starts."

And then, this suffocating tension was shattered when Cecelia clapped her hands together.

"Game time!" she exclaimed with a smile on her lips, the clapping and her voice reanimating the room. "Slightly better than story time, but not as good as murder time. Nothing beats murder time."

Cedric was finally able to tear his gaze away from the dead clock and, now, he stared from Oscar to Barrington, Cecelia, and Thomas before looking back at Oscar and starting the circle again. The thoughts in Cedric's head were spinning frantically – and with every spin, compatible parts clicked together.

Every time, I had tried to leave the room, I had been held back.

By Barrington's excessive storytelling.

More blatantly, by Cecelia's hand.

The almost duel.

Barrington's willingness to tell me so much about Cloudia and her family.

Cecelia and Barrington's constant nagging.

Oscar's unsettling words – "Finally, today's game time starts."

His smile.

The looks on their faces which were so different from the one which rested on Thomas'.

"What have you done?" Cedric said, his voice at once angry and worried, shaky and tense.

Cecelia smiled sweetly at Thomas. "Mr Holmwood, would you be so kind to leave us alone again?"

"But Lady…" he began, but she cut him off with a wave.

"I told you to leave and not to talk back to me, Mr Holmwood," Cecelia said. Her words echoed through the bureau, loud and powerful, even though she hadn't raised it.

Thomas cast one last worried, puzzled glance at Cedric before leaving the Aristocrats' Bureau, the door falling behind him into its lock.

"What have you done?" repeated Cedric, the worry slowly leaving his body and offering the space it occupied to burning anger.

"We heard you the first time," Cecelia said, looking bored. "Not-Kristopher, I am rather disappointed that you didn't suspect anything before Mr Holmwood burst through the door – which thing, that certainly does not involve any thinking, can you do that would be beneficial to the Watchdog?"

"I don't care about any of your petty games. Where is the Countess?"

"A game is everything but petty if you are tangled in it and lives are at stake," said Oscar and stepped in front of Cedric, looking down at him with these scarily opaque eyes of his. Something dark and twisted seemed to lie in them, something which, before you could catch it, could define it, was replaced again by indistinctiveness in a fracture of a second.

And I did not know why, but there was something unsettlingly familiar about them.

Under any other circumstances, Cedric might have struggled to hold Oscar's gaze, but now with anger and worry running through his veins and mixing together, it was – almost – as simple as holding anyone's gaze.

"A test," Oscar continued, subtle amusement woven into his cold voice. "A game is often a test, and tests may often be seen as games. And in life, you are irregularly faced with both – and while, to me, this test is nothing but a game, to you, this game is nothing but a test. But, in the end, none of this is of importance as both tests and games are not desired to be lost and failed."

Oscar eyed Cedric, let his eerie eyes wander over him – and Cedric wondered what he might think when he saw him, what he might see when he looked at him.

"And both have rules and purposes – just like this game or test, however you may want to call it."

"And what are the rules? What is the purpose of this? What is the purpose of keeping me in this room? In endangering the Countess? In endangering her for the sake of some sick, twisted game?" replied Cedric, putting every bit of his strength into his words and voice.

Oscar's wide smile made Cedric shiver, flinch even by the instinct to distance yourself from apparent danger.

"Just the same purpose as always: results."

Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848

~Cloudia~

"Not much," Leon answered, shrugging, and they continued walking through the labyrinth.

"The Witch doesn't participate in the hunts herself," he told her. "But I guess that's obvious. She lets the two idiots, the gardener and the butler, hunt instead. However, they won't kill anyone: They are supposed to hunt down the prey and bring it alive to the Witch so that she can slit their throat or something like that and feel all mighty while doing so."

"And how do you know all this?" Cloudia wanted to know, raising an eyebrow.

"I sound really suspicious now, don't I?" he said, looking absentmindedly into the distance and clenching his fists. "Don't worry, I only know this because this is not the first hunt the Witch conducted during my stay here. And you have no idea how much I wish that I didn't have to live with this knowledge and experience.

"There were two hunts; every time, she sent one of us into the maze and let them be hunted by her servants. The first one was Charles, a child, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. He was a little bit chubby and practically emitted innocence. Very kind, very hopeful and always optimistic. Stephen – another prisoner if you haven't heard of him before – and Charles were very close; he was devastated when Charles was murdered in front of our eyes. He didn't say anything and barely ate the days after his death. If you ask me, the effect Charles' death had on him was part of the reason why he followed Agnes into the maze after she ran blindly into it.

"The second was Sonya, never did much, never said much – it worsened after Isaac's. I think she was his sister – Isaac hurried after Stephen, trying to get him back to the dungeon, but he died in the labyrinth just like the other two.

"Anyway, after Charles and Sonya were collected by the Witch's servants, they were brought to the Witch to be executed. We others were forced to watch." Leon looked around. "You mentioned being the latest prey? When those morons sent me into the labyrinth, I thought 'at least, the Witch won't kill me.' A very small part of me was content with the thought of being ripped apart by whatever is lurking in this maze. But now, I can only hope that I will have the time to spit in the Witch's face before she can kill me."

"There is something I've always wondered about," Cloudia began to say. "You all know that your abductor's name is Manon von Brandt, and still you keep calling her the 'Witch.' But why? Is there another reason for it instead of just because she is, at least, a little bit evil?"

"We call her that because of Ava as she…" Leon suddenly stopped and pricked his ears. "Did you hear that?" he whispered, alarmed, and Cloudia concentrated on the sounds around them, but…

…but there was nothing to hear. No screams, no footsteps – there was nothing to hear but the sound of our own voices.

Cloudia walked back and forth while Leon observed her, wide-eyed and anxious. She jumped up and down, but neither the walking nor the jumps produced any sounds as if the ground completely swallowed even the lowest of noises. A shiver ran through her body.

"Leon," Cloudia started, but before she could come any further, all of a sudden, Leon let out a scream, his eyes still wide, but now, not only anxiety was reflected in it but horror and fear as well while he stared to his right – his eyes fixed on something which was not there.

"Leon?" Cloudia said, carefully taking a step forward, her arms outstretched and her body and mind alarmed.

And then, Leon started to shake and made one clumsy step backwards, nearly tumbling back while his gaze was still fixed to his right, but he caught himself in time, tore his gaze away, turned around in one fast movement and started to run – right into Cloudia. They collided, but Cloudia managed not to let him and herself fall down.

Leon stumbled back from Cloudia and tried to circle her and hurry down the path behind her, but while he tried to go past her, she quickly turned to him and grabbed his arm before yanking him towards her and taking hold of both his arms before Leon had the time to try escaping again.

"What is wrong?" she demanded to know, burying her fingers into his arms to keep her hold on him and in an attempt to turn his focus to her – and attempt which was in vain as Leon kept on staring behind her.

"There is nothing here. Stay calm and tell me what is wrong," Cloudia said. She was gradually losing her grip on him and the suddenness of her own movements had increased her headache.

"You and I are the only ones here. There's nobody and nothing else in his passageway. So, look at me, shift your focus to me, and tell me what is wrong."

Leon blinked one last time at the space behind her before locking his gaze with hers and saying, "It's the monsters" – and breaking away.

Immediately, Cloudia moved to grab him again, but the ache in her temples blurred her vision, bringing her to a halt and allowing Leon to grasp her, whirl her around, and hurl her to the ground. When Cloudia had managed to struggle back to her feet, Leon was long gone and her headache significantly worse than before.

"Goddammit, Leon," she mumbled and broke into a run.

Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848

~Cedric~

There were only two words floating inside his head when Cedric ran through the manor and towards the stables. Two words which were connected in the most twisted way he could imagine: Insane for this entire situation; Cloudia for keeping him going.

All of this – their insistence for Cloudia to go and for me to stay –, all of this for nothing but… not a game, not a test, but for Oscar's amusement.

And they had all played along. Cecelia who claimed that Cloudia was her friend – her only friend, her precious friend. Barrington who had known Cloudia's father, who had been her father's best friend, who had looked after Cloudia for years and would look after her for many years to come.

Barrington, who had averted his gaze, when I tried to look at him before I stormed out of the bureau.

They knew how troubled Cloudia was right now; they had told me about it while knowing very well that somewhere out there – wherever it was – she was in grave danger. They claimed to care for her, they claimed to like her – and still, they had allowed her to be used in Oscar's play. Still, they had betrayed her without remorse.

The sound of Cedric's boots echoed through the manor while he hurried through the corridors and ran down the stairs to get outside.

Let Cloudia be fine.

Let her fire them all afterwards.

Cedric burst through the closest door outside – and momentarily stopped when he saw how close it was to sunset, and then, he ran again and rounded the manor. Thomas looked up from grooming and calming Cloudia's horse, Falada, when Cedric approached him.

"Do you know what is going on, Kris?" Thomas asked, his eyes wide with worry and question.

"Not exactly," Cedric replied, struggling to keep his voice even and leaning against the stable wall. "All I know is that it's Oscar's doing. The others were his accomplices." He took a deep breath, trying to fight the anger inside of him. He wanted to destroy something, wanted to scream, wanted his anger to take over him – but it would not help. It would fix nothing. It would only waste time he didn't have.

"All this – all this only happened, only happens, for Oscar's amusement," Cedric continued, pushing himself off the wall.

"I have always hated Livingstone," said Thomas, his voice and gaze dark. Cedric had never heard his voice so full of venom, his gaze so shadowed in all the time he had known him. Thomas was usually quite cheerful, a bit of an airhead, and talking a little bit too often about horses whenever Cloudia was too busy for Cedric and Thomas offered to take him to town while posing as his footman. Thomas was the kind of person who expressed his dislike towards something or someone rather playfully – but it was only ever dislike and never hate. Now, however, it was clearly the latter.

"Sir Barrington was never happy with Lady making Oscar one of her Aristocrats," Thomas told Cedric. "He tried to talk her out of this, but she wouldn't listen. I tried the same, but she only dismissed me. Livingstone may be competent, but there's also something seriously wrong with him." His voice lowered but was still full of fire. "There are whispers in St Lacey, you have to know, whispers that the Phantomhives attract the oddest people. Lady attracted Livingstone, and if you listen closely to the whispers in the dark, you hear about…"

Thomas shook his head to cut himself off and perhaps to clear his mind as well. "That can wait. Lady can't." He looked at Cedric. "But what can we do?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Lady could be anywhere. The forest is huge, and we don't even know if she is still inside it. Falada might be able to lead us back to the place where they were separated, but…"

"Which thing, that certainly does not involve any thinking, can you do that would be beneficial to the Watchdog?"

Upon remembering Cecelia's words, Cedric instinctively put a hand on the place above his heart, the place where the skull pendant was hidden beneath his clothes and hummed softly against his chest.

"Thomas, do you know what I can do?" he asked, electricity filling his veins and determination his mind.

Thomas blinked at him, confused.

Cedric patted Falada and, in his head, he counted from ten downwards before mounting the horse. "Every Aristocrat was chosen because they can be of help for the Watchdog," he started, turning Falada around. "Cecelia and Oscar can gather information and look through people – and I? I can find the Countess."

Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848

~Cloudia~

The pain tried to pull me down into blackness like it had so often in the past. It pulled on my energy, my sanity, but I had to keep on going. I had to; I wanted to.

Why had Leon tried to get away?

He had said that he saw a monster, but there had been nothing. There had been nothing behind me. In all the time I had been in the labyrinth, I hadn't seen any monsters. Everyone kept saying that there was something wandering these paths, but the only thing I had encountered in his maze so far was Leon.

Even now as I was running through the maze in search of him, I didn't cross paths with any creature.

Not being able to go any farther, Cloudia came to a halt and slid to the ground.

I was so, so tired, but I had to concentrate. There was something wrong with this maze. Something terribly, terribly wrong.

She tucked up her legs and held her head, counting from ten downwards while keeping her breath steady.

Ten.

The walls were too perfect, too flawless.

Nine.

There was no way to tell any path apart from another.

Eight.

The ground swallowed every kind of noise.

Seven.

Perhaps, the walls did it as well.

Six.

No, they had to do it too.

Five.

After all, the purpose was to make sure that nobody knew whether or not something dangerous was close.

Four.

The gardener, Axel Shade, and the butler were the hunters, but I hadn't seen them until now.

Three.

There were dangers and monsters in this labyrinth, but nobody knew what they were exactly. I had never seen any of them either.

Two.

The prisoners had lied; what if everyone was lying?

One.

I had the feeling that I was forgetting something.

Cloudia took a deep breath, the pain in her temples slowly decreasing. When she looked up again, Cloudia froze, unable to do anything else but to stare in horror at this creature, this thing, this person, this impossibility in front of her.

Zero.

What if Leon had really seen something behind me?

What if I just hadn't been able to see it?

Cloudia's heart raced in her chest and her vision started to blur when the little girl – the creature, the thing – in front of her mustered her out of dark blue eyes, curious and wondering, for a while before opening her mouth to say, "I am lost, can you help me?"

I guess, it's obvious which part I wrote during exam time.

A while ago, I've started to watch Once Upon a Time properly. (Before, I had only seen S1 whenever it was on TV, half an episode of S3, the complete S4, and am following the current S7. It's messy, I know.) One thing Snow White and Prince Charming always say to each other is "I will always find you" and, well, Cloudia and Cedric are those guys in some ways... Anyway, I've not done it on purpose with Cedric's "I can find the Countess" and have only noticed the similarity/parallel later on. Ah, fun coincidences.

(Also, I don't know if you've noticed, but I deleted the Untold Stories/Miss Peregrine's School because 1) I wrote it not as well as I wanted and 2) didn't think I would continue it because of that. I've thought about deleting it for a year or so, but couldn't bring myself to do it until now. I hope it's all right.)

I hope you liked the chapter and let's see when the next (proper) chapter will come...