I wanted to get this chapter finished on the 15th for WotQ's 6th (!) anniversary, but well, I just can't not be late. Impossibly, it's been six years already! Time is running away, and I'm writing at a snail's pace.

I did something little on my tumblr (tothelasthoursofmylife) for the anniversary if you're interested! If not, it may be better (especially if you don't like cheese). Still! Thank you as always for reading my FF^^ It means a lot to me.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Four:

The Countess, Clockmaker - Part 2

"I was sick of time, and forests too."

Nanteuil-la-Forêt, Marne, France – June 1848

~Cloudia~

Cloudia and Kamden had emerged from the deadhouse around midday, the sun hanging high and bright above them. Considering how the weather had been like for the last few days, it seemed as if they had been down there for longer than a few hours.

To appease Kamden who might otherwise attempt to drag her out of Nanteuil-la-Forêt – this wouldn't work, obviously, but it would make her feel bad, so she was skipping this step – Cloudia navigated them through the village and to the bakery. It had been a while since she had walked to the bakery on her own and in bright daylight, and she had never gone there from the hospital, but, surprising herself, she managed fine. And to their luck, Basile was still adamant to keep his store open despite his loss.

They entered the bakery, and Basile scrutinised Cloudia and Kamden through narrowed eyes like he had done that very first day when Cloudia had come here with Cedric.

"Haven't we become familiar enough to one another, M Duhamel?" Cloudia asked when she stepped to the counter.

"You are still strangers," huffed Basile. "What can I do for you this time?"

"Grégoire and I are here to have a late breakfast and a correctly-timed lunch. We came to Nanteuil-la-Forêt at the crack of dawn – earlier than that even – and haven't had the chance to eat anything yet."

Basile raised an eyebrow. "You want to have lunch at a bakery?"

"Yes," Cloudia said so quickly and with such conviction that she realised that she really did spend far too much time with Cedric. "As you can see, we came here without a guide. And I don't know any other place that sells food here besides yours. If you have any recommendations where we could have lunch instead, I would be grateful. Though Grégoire and I have so much work to do today that we decided to take a quick lunch. Preposterous, right? But that's the life of investigators."

Kamden went to stand next to her and nodded at her words in support.

Basile blinked at them for a moment before he said, "What can I get you to get you out of here as fast as possible?"

"Whatever you recommend, M Duhamel. We are not picky and curious to try out anything new."

"This won't be on the house."

"And we have never expected that it would be!"

The baker nodded at a table that was the farthest away from the counter. "Go sit there. I will bring you your food. Please eat quickly and don't scare off any customers. Business is doing bad enough without you here."

Cloudia felt Kamden's stare on her as she – gracefully – wolfed down one tartine after another. Basile had brought a lot of them with different toppings – some more suited for breakfast with jam and butter, others with cheese and air-dried beef, etc. –, a bunch of croissants, some cake, and a pot of coffee. He had even given them a plate of fruits. He either liked or, at least, appreciated, them more than he allowed himself to express or he had given them all this food to ensure that they would not get hungry any time soon again and return to his bakery.

"You can see that I am eating, Grégoire," said Cloudia with a low voice. This table might be the farthest from the counter, but with no one else in the bakery beside them and Basile, their words would easily and without obstacles carry to Basile. The business really wasn't doing well. "I won't throw a croissant out of the window or stuff a tartine into my trousers the instant you look away. Concentrate on eating as well. We don't have all the time in the world."

"I know but…" Kamden now directed his stare onto a slice of his layered whipped cream and hazelnut meringue sponge cake. Cloudia had made him a dacquoise for their fifteenth birthday. It had taken hours to prepare and bake which had been a chore, but everyone had greatly enjoyed it. Especially Barrington whose hand she constantly had to slap away so that he would not eat the majority of Kamden's cake on his own.

"The vitalisation is still on my mind," Kamden continued.

"As I said: We're going to look further into this later when we have the time for it," Cloudia replied, dunking a buttered tartine into her coffee. When she had taken her first sip earlier, she had been hesitant: She was already so energised, what would happen if she drank coffee in this state? Fortunately, the coffee did not amplify her mysterious vitalisation and she could drink it without fearing that her heart would explode.

"I know, but I can't stop thinking about it. What if it does have a negative effect when the positive one wears off? Like a drug."

Cloudia wanted to reach over the table and reassuringly pat his arm. However, Basile whose eyes she felt on her now and then could see it. "You are overthinking this. All will be well. I have an absurdly good feeling about this – and not just because I feel so energetic. Let's speak about the energisation wearing off when it happens. Now, you need to help me polish off all this food before M Duhamel burns holes into our heads with his stares. And now I sound a little like you."

Kamden was silent for a while. "You promised this," he ultimately said. "And I don't want to sound like I'm doubting your words, like I am not trusting you to uphold your promise. We will talk about this when it is the right time for it."

It was now Cloudia's turn to nod in support, and then Kamden finally helped her to eat everything up.

Filled with food and tingling energy, Cloudia and Kamden arrived at the blacksmith. To their luck, it was not far from the bakery, and Basile had been very forthcoming to tell them the way so that they could leave. Cloudia knocked first and when no one answered the door, she and Kamden walked around the house and to the workshop as Basile had advised them.

Cloudia heard the rhythmic clang of iron being hammered on an anvil in the distance and she looked around. There was barely anyone in the streets – the villagers must be terrified of the murderer – and there was no sight of Yvette. She wondered how long this would last. She had told Vivienne and Corinne they did not have to notify Yvette and Alain that she and Kamden had finished the examinations; they were busy enough. However, words moved fast in a place as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt. Especially if it was about the unfamiliar people who came to investigate a serial murder.

They found Xavier Fournier, Ruben's father, in the workshop. He was furiously working on something Cloudia could not make out; and reaching him, she realised that Xavier might not even know that his son had been murdered. Yvette and Alain weren't here. Had they stopped by earlier to inform Xavier of his son's death? Had Serge told him? Or did he still live in blissful ignorance?

I was most definitely not in the mood to break such news to anyone.

Xavier stopped working when he saw Cloudia and Kamden and put what he had been working on in the water. Cloudia glimpsed at it and saw that it was a ring. He blinked at them before he realised who they were. "The Parisian detectives! How can I help you?" he said with such vigour that it was evident that he didn't know about Ruben yet.

Cloudia took a deep breath before she replied, "Strictly speaking, none of us is a detective, but we are working for one – Alexandre Vidocq – who was unable to come here today. This is Grégoire Fouille and I am Jean Gauthier, Détective Vidocq's assistant. We would like to talk to you about the serial murders."

"I see. I will help as well as I can," Xavier said with a smile. "What do you want to know?"

Cloudia shook her head. "Not here. I think it would be better if we – or you at least – could sit down for this."

Bewildered, Xavier looked at her. "I am not that faint of heart. We can talk here if you do not mind."

"We don't, but trust me when I say that it will truly be better if you could sit," she said softly.

"But why–"

"Your son is dead," said Kamden.

Xavier paled, and Cloudia stared at her brother. He was rarely that blunt, and as if he had realised this himself, Kamden's face reddened a bit. "I-I am sorry for having said this so abruptly," he said. "Should we get inside for some tea?"

As soon as they had entered the house, Kamden had vanished into the kitchen to prepare the tea, and it had been Cloudia's task to get a dazed Xavier to sit down and keep him company. A few minutes ago, Kamden had returned and handed Xavier a cup of chamomile tea and another apology. Since then, Cloudia alternated between looking at Kamden and Xavier, waiting for the blacksmith to get ready to hear more about Ruben's death and perhaps answer a few questions. She waited patiently, but she also hoped that Xavier would hurry up. Even if she felt bad to an extent, their time was running away and the energy flowing through her did not mix well with her curiosity.

Every time, Cloudia turned her gaze to Kamden, she wished she could ask him about earlier. She wanted to know the reason for his uncharacteristic bluntness but held herself back. Everything had a time and place; this wasn't it.

"How did Ruben die?" Xavier eventually asked, tearing down the thick silence that had filled the living room.

"He was stabbed in the chest and then buried in the cemetery last night," Cloudia told him, keeping her voice soft. "Early in the morning, the groundskeeper Serge Renou noticed the dug-over ground and started grubbing that place – and found Ruben buried in the ground."

Xavier put down his cup and buried his face in his hands. "I… I cannot believe this. I said good night to him yesterday. I know he went to bed. Ruben was asleep and safe. Wouldn't I have heard if someone broke into our home? If someone attacked my son and he fought back? I know he would fight back; he would always fight back."

Cloudia hesitated. "We examined his body. Ruben did not fight back."

Xavier looked up at Cloudia, his eyes dark. "That does not make sense. Ruben would never go out in the middle of the night and just stand still and allow himself to be murdered. He must have been drugged."

"He wasn't."

"He wasn't?" Xavier shook his head. "This does not make sense at all. This is not like my son."

"That's why we are here," said Cloudia. "To make it make sense. Do you think you can answer me a few questions?"

To her surprise – and Kamden's who flinched next to her –, Xavier stood up with such power that the floor vibrated, the walls shook a little, and Cloudia feared for a moment that the teapot and cup would tumble from the jittery table and shatter on the ground. "Of course, I can! I will answer every question you have, M Gauthier. I need to know who that bastard is that killed my only son. I will help with everything."

Cloudia blinked at him. "It's… fantastic that you can and will. Thank you. Very well… Did you notice anything unusual about Ruben lately?"

"No, not at all. He…" Xavier trailed off. "No, that's not right. Ruben and I have always been close. He is a quiet boy and keeps to himself a lot. Has a hard time making friends, so he spends a lot of time with me – spent a lot of time with me and his mother. Ruben would tell us everything, never kept a secret from us. But for a week or a bit longer, I could sense that he was not telling me something." He paused. "If… I don't know if this secret he had – if it had even been a secret at all – is connected to why he was outside without telling me last night. But if it is… I never talked to him about it. I should have talked to him about it, but it was his first 'secret' and I wanted to give him space. I knew – I thought – that Ruben would eventually entrust me with it anyway. With time."

Cloudia wanted to say words of condolence and comfort, but time was running and she wanted to ask as many questions as possible while they were still undisturbed. "I see. His mother – where is she now?"

"My wife is in the neighbouring village visiting her sister."

"For how long has she been visiting her sister?"

"For about two weeks," said Xavier. "Her sister is very sick, and my wife went to help take care of her. My sister-in-law was always fairly sickly, but her condition took a sudden turn for the worse two weeks ago. She is still alive, but the doctors say that she won't be for much longer as she needs an operation to survive which she cannot afford. Not even if I helped her out."

Cloudia nodded. "You said that Ruben had a hard time making friends, but I heard he was best friends with Gustave Beaubois, the third victim."

"Yes, he was. Gustave was the only close friend Ruben had. They were childhood friends, and his death hit Ruben hard. That's a reason why I didn't want to press him about his secret. He and Gustave were inseparable and an oddity if you saw them together," said Xavier. "Gustave was large and imposing and brimmed over with confidence. And next to him, my boy Ruben. He was strong too because he always helped me out in the workshop, but he was small and you could not see his strength on him, nor would you even expect it considering his shy personality. Nevertheless, if there was a fight, he would fight. I cannot picture Ruben not fighting back against the stranger."

Cloudia hastily wrote down everything in her notebook. "And Marius Beaubois? If Ruben was such good friends with Gustave, he must have known Marius well, right?"

Xavier grimaced. "Yes. Ruben did not dislike many people, but he hated Marius. Every time he saw him or heard his name, his face darkened. I guess Ruben did not like Marius on Gustave's behalf. The brothers always fought, mostly because of their family business. Do you know about that?"

"I do."

He nodded. "Terrible thing. I liked Gustave and, of course, I love my son, but they had the same flaw: Both of them were lazy. Ruben was a wonderful blacksmith, he had such talent, but only if he tried which was not often. He briefly worked for Corentin and it did not end well…"

Cloudia wanted to enquire about Corentin and learn more about what exactly did not "end well" and how, but her time ran out at this very moment: There was a knock on the door.

"I will go and see who it is," said Kamden and left the living room. Cloudia turned to a new page and hastily wrote down what she heard from Xavier again, but shortened it. She heard familiar voices from the entrance, heard their footsteps, and then there they were: Kamden with Alain and Yvette.

It took them surprisingly long to find us.

"M Gauthier, Xavier, good afternoon," said Alain when he entered the living room. "My deepest condolences, Xavier, for your loss, and my apologies for not helping you and M Fouille, M Gauthier."

"It was all my fault," Cloudia replied. "You do not have to apologise. After Grégoire and I finished at the hospital, we had lunch and then I decided not to go and find you and Mlle Guilloux because Grégoire and I are, frankly, on a tight schedule today. I am sorry for having inconvenienced you and Mlle Guilloux in any way, M Descombes."

"It is all right. Only Yvette was concerned that you would get lost."

"And I am so glad that you didn't!" said Yvette and stepped to Cloudia. "Nanteuil-la-Forêt is not a big place at all, but I was still so full of fear. I went around and asked everyone – Vivienne and Corinne, Maxime, Basile, Fernand, Sylvie, M l'Abbé, etc. – but none of them could tell me where you went. We had passed by Xavier's earlier as well, only you weren't here then but I was sure you would come here sooner or later, so we returned and have finally found you."

"I am sorry. I will not worry you like that again," meant Cloudia and tipped on her notebook with her pen. "We have also just finished interviewing M Fournier. Mlle Guilloux, do you know where Gaspard Baudet and Enzo Chauveau could be? I would like to talk to them next."

Yvette nodded. "I have an idea."

"Wonderful. Also, could either you or M Descombes stay with M Fournier?" Cloudia looked at Xavier. "I think it would be best if he was not left alone now."

"Of course," said Alain. "I will stay."

"Thank you. We will see one another at another time again then. Goodbye, M Fournier, M Descombes," Cloudia said and followed Yvette and Kamden, who also gave their farewells to Xavier and Alain, outside. Right before the door fell into its lock behind them, Cloudia could hear Xavier say from the living room, "Alain, your order is almost finished."

~Cedric~

Really?

Couldn't I get a break for once? Couldn't things be pleasant and easy for once?

What was the point of an immortal life if it was only filled with such moments?

When Cedric got over his initial shock and surprise, Jacques had come even closer to the female Grim Reaper. Impulsively, Cedric quickly caught up to him and grabbed his arm. Jacques made a surprised sound and then turned to Cedric. Hopefully, the Grim Reaper hadn't heard him or noticed movement in the distance.

Cedric had learned to suppress his aura a little and, from this distance, it was unlikely that she could pick up on him, but it was not impossible. He was not very good and, at the very latest, she would notice him when they inevitably had to walk past her. And unless she was the most indifferent Grim Reaper in the world, she would certainly not let him go without a word. Especially considering Cedric was with a human who he, by all appearances, did not simply accompany to make a judgement. Furthermore, Cedric could not even pretend to be a very elusive colleague of hers she had never seen or heard anything of before because he did not speak French.

A "British Grim Reaper who is not on a mission but is still wandering around with a human in France" was ridiculously suspicious. Adding to this, Cedric stood out like a sore thumb with his hair and he was the only one in the British branch who had applied for vacation days in the right period. If the Grim Reaper woman reported a stray Grim Reaper to the British branch, they would immediately know that it had been him. How could he even talk himself out of this?

What was this Grim Reaper doing here anyway? This was kilometres away from the village! Even if it was unfavourable to stay in Nanteuil-la-Forêt right now when the villagers were looking for a murderous stranger, couldn't she have put up her tent a bit closer to the village? Why here of all places?

Was someone going to die in this area? Or was there another reason?

"Kristopher, I would be very grateful if you could let go of me," said Jacques. In his panic, Cedric had forgotten that he was still holding Jacques' arm. If the Grim Reaper woman had already noticed them and was watching them from her tent, she must surely think what fine, strange entertainment she was receiving in the middle of the forest. For free, even.

"And I will let go of you if you can tell me something," Cedric replied.

"I don't understand why you need to hold onto me for this. I will answer any question of yours anyway."

"Where do we have to go now?" Cedric asked, ignoring Jacques' remark.

Jacques turned a little and pointed directly at the glade. "We have to go in this direction."

"Is there no other way we could take?"

He looked at Cedric in bewilderment. "Why would you want to take another way? It looks like a perfectly fine way, Kristopher."

"Well because…" Cedric could not hesitate too long with his answer. Slight hesitation would mean that he was embarrassed; a longer hesitation would make him seem suspicious. He quickly had to come up with an explanation. He had no time to dwell on anything, flesh out a lie to perfection, but his mind was all over the place and when he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind before he crossed the line between embarrassment and suspicion it came out as "…I am afraid of glades."

At this moment, I was very, very glad that Cloudia was not here.

Jacques blinked at him. "Kristopher… you are afraid of glades?"

Cedric nodded shamefully. "Nobody can know," he said and that must have been magic words because the boy's eyes lit up.

"A secret?" Jacques said. His glasses magnified his already widened eyes.

Cedric nodded again. Secrets must be like sugar to the Dupont-Beauchene children because Jacques started to rattle off, "You do not need to be ashamed of your affliction, Kristopher! It is human to be afraid of something, no matter how big or small or weird the object of fear may seem! Maman once told us that she met a man who was afraid of buttons. He was telling her about this when she took off her coat. That day, she wore by sheer coincidence a dress with buttons running down from the throat to the seam, and as soon as she took off the coat, the man started to scream and run. Even after she put the coat back on, he refused to talk to Maman, believing that she did it on purpose to mock him. Papa had to speak to him because they needed to get a certain piece of information out of him. Only Papa gets very uncomfortable when he has to talk to strangers about anything but nature – and they needed information on a machine! This was not his forte, but he still did his very best and actually managed to get the crucial piece of information out of the man with a fear of buttons! Thankfully, Papa only started to talk about the genera of the Asteraceae family with 'button' in their name afterwards: billy buttons, water buttons…" Jacques cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Kristopher. What I am intending to say is odd phobias are more common than you may think. You do not need to be ashamed of them, but it is also your good right to choose not to announce them to the world. We can simply walk around it. The glade is not very big."

"No!" Cedric exclaimed immediately. Walking on the edge of the glade was still too dangerous. "I cannot even look at a glade or know that one is so… so close to me. This proximity is taxing enough. We would have to go around it in a wider radius. I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologise! I can fully understand you, Kristopher. If you could please let go of my arm, I could consult my map and devise a different route."

With a relieved sigh, Cedric let go of Jacques, and Jacques folded out his map and studied it. A crease formed between his eyebrows. Cedric was very thankful that this particular ruse worked excellently with Jacques. There were plenty of people in the world who would not have taken him seriously; honestly, Cedric couldn't even be mad at them. "Fear of glades" did sound outlandish, but then Jacques' parents had met a man who was afraid of buttons, and working as a Grim Reaper, one encountered not only the strangest ways people had died but also had to watch the oddest Cinematic Records sometimes. Maybe a "fear of glades" was not that outlandish after all.

Cedric peeked over to the glade. The Grim Reaper woman's tent was neither large nor tiny. It was clearly visible from here, and he could not fathom how Jacques could not have noticed it. Grim Reapers could conceal themselves from a human's eye, but this concealment only extended to what they wore on their body, not a nearby tent. Thus, Jacques should be able to see it. His eyesight must be terrible even with the glasses. Perhaps Cedric should smuggle him one from the Dispatch as a thank you for his cooperation. After all, Jacques was evidently not far-sighted. This could technically work.

Yes, Cedric. Avoiding one danger to the job, only to contemplate another.

"Ah, I've found a– Kristopher! You should not look at the glade, no matter how curious you are!" Jacques scolded him.

Cedric tore his gaze from the tent and looked at Jacques. "Sorry. You said you found a different way?"

He nodded. "I did. Now, please, try to fight back the urge to gaze at the glade. I know you can do this, Kristopher! And please follow me." To Cedric's immense relief, Jacques started to walk away from the glade. Cedric put on his hood. He followed Jacques and glanced one more time to the glade.

"And before you get your hopes up: I am still wary of you for what you did to Claudette!" Jacques informed him.

Cedric nodded absentmindedly, not that Jacques could see him, but he could not say anything now: It seemed as if she had noticed him and was watching them from afar. Cedric pulled the hood deeper into his face and quickened his pace.

~Cloudia~

I noticed Yvette watching Kamden and me more intently than usual. She did a good job trying to conceal this, but I still caught her eyeing me from the side, craning her head to look around and lingering a bit too long on Kamden who was walking behind us. How interesting this was.

Yvette told Cloudia and Kamden that Gaspard and Enzo liked to spend time at the edge of Nanteuil-la-Forêt where the village almost blended into the forest. Their specific "hideout" was an old, uninhabited building and the village's farthest point from the château. The owners had died years ago and, because no one wanted to live there, the house had been abandoned to the nature and weather ever since; only it turned out to be a particularly stubborn, defiant thing: No matter how bad the weather became, the house stood proud and tall in its little corner. No matter how wild the flora around it grew, it never touched the house. Looking at it, one would believe that it had only been abandoned recently, not decades ago.

It was Nanteuil-la-Forêt's very own "cursed house" because, apparently, not even villages as small as Nanteuil-la-Forêt could go without one. And because everyone avoided the building ever since the villagers realised that the trees and vines did not dare to touch it, it made a fantastic meeting point for three juvenile boys who wanted to prove their fearlessness. Their parents did not know that they were spending a considerable amount of their time there, but it was an open secret amongst their age group.

It took them a while to get to the cursed house, and when they finally arrived, Cloudia had to admit that its appearance was everything Yvette claimed it to be: An old building, a little crooked, its colours rubbed away by the weather. All around it, it was brilliant green, but the leaves and branches did not even brush the building. Nature grew around it; a living frame around a dead shell.

"As I have told you, M Gauthier, M Fouille," Yvette said, "this is the 'cursed house.' Even if you may not believe that it is cursed, you should be able to see how nature is shying away from it. I would rather not go inside and I would rather that you do not go inside either."

"Very well," Cloudia replied, trying her best to keep her disappointment out of her voice. On the way, she had become quite interested in this little "cursed house" and had hoped to go inside and explore it. That mysterious extra energy also fed to this.

It was for the better. I had promised Kamden to keep our stay in Nanteuil-la-Forêt short after all. However, if there was still time left after I had wrapped everything up – the serial murder and the Townsend issue – I would try to return here. I could take Cedric then. He might be thrilled, though not necessarily in the "excited" way.

"Should we simply shout for them to come out then?" continued Cloudia.

Yvette nodded. "Yes, we always do that. The nearby houses are also uninhabited; no one wants to live too close to the cursed house. We won't disturb anyone when we shout." She took a deep breath and then yelled, "Gaspard! Enzo! Come out here. I know you are there. It's important."

They waited a few minutes and Yvette had to call once more until Enzo and Gaspard finally emerged from the cursed house and walked to them.

"Enzo, Gaspard, may I introduce you to M Gauthier and M Fouille from the Parisian police?" said Yvette and gestured to Cloudia and Kamden. Kamden nodded to the boys while Cloudia broke into a smile and said, "Nice to meet you. I suppose you can guess why we are here?"

"Because of Dominique," one of the boys said. He was taller than the other one and had bright red hair. He held his hand out to Cloudia who shook it.

"Enzo Chauveau," he introduced himself and then started to chuckle. "You're seeing that, Gaspard? I'm shaking hands with an actual detective!"

"I see it," said Gaspard, and Enzo giggled and let go of Cloudia. "Excuse me," Enzo said. "I heard a few things about Eugène François Vidocq and got interested in him. I am not sure but isn't one of you called 'Vidocq' as well? Is it…?"

"No. He's an unrelated Vidocq," Cloudia told him.

Enzo nodded. "I see. Still, it is good to have you here. We don't have any detectives in Nanteuil-la-Forêt. We barely have any police officers and almost all of them are away right now. We have that new one – what was his name again? Ah, right, Monteil. Monteil does not count. And I doubt he can even count."

"He really doesn't," added Gaspard. "And I doubt that too. I've seen him struggle to get a cat off a tree and he's frequently getting lost."

"Right. Where is Officier Monteil now?" asked Cloudia, and Yvette shrugged. "I sent out a message that he should come to the townhall, but he hadn't arrived by the time I left looking for you and M Fouille, M Gauthier."

"Must have got lost again," said Gaspard with a nod. "We've got only a handful of streets and a few more buildings and Monteil still struggles. Makes you wonder how he even finds his way out of the barracks: They have multiple floors and rooms too."

Enzo cleared his throat and turned to Cloudia with shining eyes. "At any rate, I would love to help out a proper detective. Especially when it is for Dominique."

His enthusiasm was a bit strange, though, at least, it was much better than reluctance. His excitement over meeting a "proper detective" even made me stop myself from telling him that "Gauthier" was only a detective's assistant. Also, I had no idea if he would stop being so cooperative the moment he learned this and I couldn't risk it.

"Thank you," said Cloudia. "We don't want to bother you for too long, so let me start without much fanfare: Did either of you notice anything odd about Dominique Duhamel shortly before his death?"

Gaspard frowned. "Didn't the outsider kill him?"

"Gaspard, man! M Gauthier is obviously trying to weigh out all possibilities," Enzo told him. "He needs to be sure that it was the stranger and not one of us – even if it's doubtful that it was one of us."

"That's correct," Cloudia drawled out. Nanteuil-la-Forêt did not even have a cursed house but also its very own amateur sleuth. How delightful. "Now, please tell me, did you notice anything odd about him?"

Gaspard shook his head. "Dominique seemed perfectly normal before his death," he said right before Enzo burst out, "Dominique was a bit off. I often caught him deep in thought, and he never wanted to tell what he was thinking about. I saw him writing something now and then, and every time I came too close to him, he would hastily hide what he'd been writing. Seemed a little nervous too. It was so odd – and obvious! Gaspard, don't tell me you didn't notice all that!"

"I didn't notice."

"Gaspard, I told you not to tell me that!"

"Very well," Cloudia said with a firm voice. "Do you know whether Dominique had a connection to Nadia Allemand, Gustave and Marius Beaubois, and Ruben Fournier?"

Gaspard's blue eyes widened. "Ruben died?"

"He died last night, Gaspard," Enzo told him. "Didn't you hear? Serge found his body in the cemetery. He was stabbed and buried. Gaspard, have you been burying your head in the sand or why don't you know that?"

Cloudia sighed. "Please simply answer my question."

Enzo opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Yvette said, "I almost forgot! Enzo, your mother has been asking for you: Your sister's bed broke down again and she needs you to fix it."

"It's broken again? At this time? Oh no." He looked at Cloudia and Kamden. "Fiona's bed broke down months ago. We replaced it. However, she refuses to sleep anywhere but in her old bed. So we keep fixing it and it keeps breaking and we keep fixing…" Enzo cleared his throat. "It is time for her nap, and Papa is at work… so if you may excuse me, I'll have to go now."

"I see," Cloudia replied. "Just one more question: Where were you the night Dominique died?"

"At home," he said. "I've been helping my mother all day cleaning the entire house and polishing everything. She wants everything to be perfectly clean for Sunday. Thus, Saturday's our weekly cleaning day. It is very tiring and I always collapse into my bed afterwards and sleep – excuse me – like the dead. Is there anything else you want to ask me?

"No. Gaspard can answer the rest."

Enzo nodded. "Good. I'll go then. And if you need me for anything related to this investigation, I'll be happy to help. Bye!" Then, he hurried away.

Cloudia looked after him for a moment before she turned to Gaspard. "Now, please tell me: Did Dominique have any connections to the other victims?"

"Not really," Gaspard replied and glanced at Yvette. "Dominique knew them all, of course, because everyone knows everyone here, and we went to school together with Gustave, Ruben, and Marius. He knew them in passing and nothing more."

"Did Dominique have any enemies? Was there anybody he did not get along with at all? Someone who hated him?"

"No, he… Dominique was very… friendly and polite. I can't think of anyone he hated or who hated him."

"I see. Let us go back to what Enzo said before," Cloudia said, looking at Yvette from the corner of her eye. "Did you really notice nothing off about Dominique in the days preceding his death?"

Gaspard quickly glimpsed at Yvette before he said, "No, not at all. Enzo is a bit… Well, how to put it? Ever since he heard of that Vidocq from Paris – not your Vidocq from Paris; didn't know it was such a common name – he has been obsessed with him and crime and detective mysteries. This got even worse after Enzo got his hands on this one detective story, 'A Murder Without Example in the Something' or so. He wants to be like Vidocq and the detective from that story. What was his name again? Bernier? Well, whatever.

"Nothing ever happened in Nanteuil-la-Forêt until that stranger came, and although I don't doubt that he's sad Dominique's dead, I think he's also thrilled that his 'dream' of a case is unfolding right before eyes." Gaspard shrugged. "Before that, Enzo thought a mystery was around every corner. The bakery opens a few minutes too late? There had to be a crime! M l'Abbé mixing up a single word in his sermon? Maybe he got nervous because he is being blackmailed! Enzo's my friend but he has a very overactive imagination. I don't think anything was going on with Dominique before he died."

"I see. One more question: What were you doing the night Dominique died?"

"I was in the townhall," Gaspard replied, and Yvette nodded. "Gaspard volunteers at the townhall," she clarified. "That day someone dropped and knocked over many, many documents and he helped to pick them up and reorganise them. A secretary and I were there too."

"It was such a chore," said Gaspard. "Didn't get home until long past midnight."

"Is there anything else you can think of? About Dominique? Any of the other victims? The stranger?"

Gaspard had shaken his head at "Dominique" and "the other victims," but nodded energetically at "the stranger." "The stranger! I know something about him. Or, well, I've seen him very briefly," he said. "He walked past the market wearing a thick coat although it was very warm that day."

"What day was it exactly?"

"The day he arrived. He was tall and slender and wore a hat. I've only seen him from the back, so I have no idea what he looks like but at some point, he took off his hat for a moment! He has short gold-blond hair," said Gaspard, and Cloudia could see Kamden's posture changing a little from the corner of her eye.

Cloudia wrote down everything and then put her notebook in her jacket. "Well, that would be everything," she said with a smile.

~Cedric~

Jacques and I had been walking for almost two hours now. We – or, rather, I; after all, Jacques had not seen her, oh to live so worry-free – had encountered the female Grim Reaper less than an hour into our journey through the forest. Since I had spotted her on that damn glade and it had seemed as if she had spotted me back, I was on high alert and constantly looking around, watching out for chartreuse eyes gleaming in the distance. Thus, with every metre, every minute we brought between us and her and that event, I became more and more relieved, but also tenser. What if she was following us from a safe distance? I hoped that almost-encounter would remain the only problem we had to face – or, well, I had to face. Maybe this could still become an endurable trip then, even if I was gradually growing more sick of walking.

Jacques stopped walking to take notes on a plant. I leaned against a tree to rest my body a bit. The boy could catalogue every piece of flora in this forest for all I cared as long as this meant that I could take a brief break.

The trees were shielding us from most of the sunlight, but it was becoming warmer and warmer and although we received the light filtered, absorbed, and dimmed-down, the warmth was still slowly becoming unbearable. We were only two hours and a half into this trip. I hoped the temperature did not climb too high.

Jacques made a mistake reading the map and we had to walk quite the bit back to return where we took the wrong way. It was fine. He spotted another interesting plant to tell his father about, and I got to take another pause.

Out of nowhere, a flash of panic overcame me and I whirled around to see whether the Grim Reaper woman was there or not. I could neither see her nor feel her presence, but that did not have to mean anything.

This time, Jacques discovered a lizard. Judging from his reaction upon seeing it, I began to believe that he, his brothers, and cousins did not go out much. After I had regained my strength – I was striving to lean against every tree in this forest for at least a minute; this could take a while, but it's not like we would leave the woods anytime soon –, I would propose Jacques to accompany his father more on his field trips.

Bored, I rummaged in the pockets of my trousers and jacket. I kept forgetting what I had put there, and this always made searching my pockets a spectacle. Would I find old candy? Or an item that should not exist at this time? This time, however, while I was looking through my jacket pockets, I found something I had certainly never put in there.

Cedric took out the mysterious slip of paper. He knew exactly who had planted it in his pocket like a poisonous vine. He had not noticed the transfer though and could only be annoyingly amazed at Cecelia's quick fingers. In another life, she would make a terrifying thief.

Cursing under his breath, Cedric unfolded the slip – and cursed even more when he read what was written on it: "Food for thought for your journey: Considering all you know, don't you think the proposal was odd?"

There were finally quite a number of kilometres between him and Cecelia, and she was still bothering him! Cedric could not believe it and promptly crumpled up the paper and threw it away. She could shove her "food for thought" in her–

"I cannot believe it, Kristopher!" Jacques said at this moment, looking as indignant as he sounded. "Littering of all things! You cannot disrespect the environment like that!"

"Your family engages in murder, but you cross the line at littering?"

Jacques didn't even hear him. "Would you like it if Mother Nature threw rubbish at you, Kristopher?"

"Well, birds do indeed do their business on me some-," Cedric replied but cut himself off when Jacques trudged energetically to the crumpled-up paper slip. Coldness rushed through him. Under no circumstances could Jacques read the message on the paper!

Feeling every bit like a maniac, Cedric hurried forward and grabbed the paper mere seconds before Jacques could. "You're right, you're right. Jacques, I sincerely apologise for littering – to you and Mother Nature. I don't know what came over me. The long walk must be compromising my mind. I am sorry," Cedric said.

Jacques scrutinised him for a while and then nodded. "Apology accepted, Kristopher. But I have to inform you, you have sunken even more in my favour. If I see you engage in such a heinous act again, I would have to fulfil my duty as her cousin and inform Claudette about your bad character, I am afraid."

"I swear it won't happen again."

"That would be in your best interest." Then, Jacques turned around and walked ahead.

Cursing yet again and grumbling as well, Cedric stuffed the slip of paper back into his pocket. He could hear Cecelia laughing at him as he followed Jacques.

I took out my pocket watch to see for how long we had been walking.

Well, apparently, my watch had died between Jacques inspecting a blue flower and a red one. At least, we were heading to someone who could fix it for me, and Jacques still had a functioning clock.

I redid my ponytail. It was getting warmer by the minute, and we walked slower and slower.

Was there someone in the woods or had the trees grown eyes? I felt watched but sensed no odd presence.

Grim Reaper bodies could endure more than human ones. Still, I could barely feel my legs anymore while, for whatever reason, Jacques seemed to be perfectly fine! Was the wandering not as taxing I thought and I was simply getting old?

With nothing else to dwell on, my traitorous mind decided to think of Cecelia's message: "Food for thought for your journey: Considering all you know, don't you think the proposal was odd?"

Considering all I knew? I barely knew anything about the proposal! Cloudia had still not told me the full story. I only knew that Milton had proposed to Cloudia and she had turned it down sometime before I had met her. It was the last time she had seen him before the incident with Hunt and Morton.

Was there anything else that I was forgetting? I tried to think, but it was so warm and I was so tired… I could not think of anything anymore.

Behind me, I heard a soft "knack" and turned around. My heart beat too fast for something so trivial. It was only an animal, a rabbit or something comparable.

Not her, not her.

Please not her.

It would be very ladylike of Mother Nature if she had the good grace to stop letting the temperature rise!

I refused to believe that there was that much immensely interesting wildlife in this forest to warrant that many breaks!

How, how long had we been walking?

How, how much time did we have left?

I asked – two more hours?! I could have sworn we were only a few minutes away!

Jacques saw a flower, saw a mushroom, saw a bird, saw a lizard, sawsawsawsawsaw…

With all that walking, I was beginning to wonder why I still had feet: Shouldn't they have been ground off a long time ago? And how on earth was Jacques still walking with such energy?!

I started to believe that, maybe, the journey to the Clockmaker did not actually take six hours. The Marquis simply knew his grandson very, very well and calculated his easy distraction level into the total duration.

My theory had to be true. I had to restrain myself from shaking Jacques and yelling, "This lizard looks exactly like the last four you've seen and we stopped for!"

Why, why, why did I have to go.

Why, why, why did Jacques have to go.

I wondered if I teleported back to the château, took a fifteen-minute nap, and returned, Jacques would even notice I had been gone. He was so easily distracted by plants and animals, but the instant he took notes on them, he was focus personified.

My plan might work.

I hated wildlife now.

When we returned to London, I would kiss its roads, its buildings, even its sewer system. Civilisation, civilisation! Words could not describe how I loved you!

I could have sworn that we had seen this bird before! We must be walking in circles.

I had begun to walk with my eyes closed. If I saw one more tree, I feared I would lose it. Jacques was, as he continued being disturbingly energetic, chatting away happily. I was filtering out most of his words, but from the little I heard, I knew he was holding a lecture on wild boars.

With my eyes closed, I could pretend to be elsewhere. Oh crowded squares, crowded streets! Not well-aired pubs! Oh, shady people in side streets and shady people on the open road! You never missed anything that much before you lost it.

Closing my eyes was the best idea I had today! Maybe my brain hadn't turned to mush after a– ah!

I tripped. Maybe my brain had turned to mush after all…

Some people claimed that not the destination mattered, but the journey. Or that, at least, the journey mattered more.

They were all dirty liars. I could not think of a single person who believed this – and maybe nobody believed this and "this thought people had" was nothing but a very persistent rumour – but I knew that whoever believed this was wrong.

Or, at least, had never had to walk through a forest for six hours.

It was awe-inspiring that from a singular meeting the Marquis had been able to conclude that I would have never agreed to this trip if I had known from the beginning that it would take six hours. And then another six hours back.

Earlier, I had told Jacques that the length would not have scared me away. Now, who-knew-how-many-hours-in, I was not so sure anymore.

Especially considering that since the encounter with the female Grim Reaper, I had become paranoid and every movement made me jump. Or perhaps I had somehow managed to give myself an actual glade phobia just by pretending to have one. Turning a lie into the truth – I heard this could happen in certain circumstances. But I doubted that this could happen that quickly.

Oh, dear, was I going mad? It felt like I was going mad. What would happen first? My full descent into madness or my legs falling off?

"Jacques," Cedric croaked. His voice sounded awful although he had not said a word for only an hour at maximum; it must be the paranoia that was straining him and his voice. Or the self-induced glade phobia. "Is it still far?"

"We are four hours in, Kristopher!" Jacques told him with so much vigour that it almost made Cedric sick. Those young people and their energy reserves.

"Good to know that at least one of us is still energetic," said Cedric. He needed to keep himself and Jacques talking. Otherwise, he feared he would get crazy if he stayed in his own head for too long. Talking would divert his thoughts from the female Grim Reaper who might or might not be lurking somewhere. If this technique worked for Milton, it would surely work for him too.

"We can take a break if you need one, Kristopher," Jacques offered, but Cedric shook his head with the little strength he had. "Thank you, Jacques, but I firmly believe that I will not stand up again if I were to sit down and rest for even a second."

"I see. You are that exhausted? Usually, I would be as tired as you are because, I have to admit, I am not an athletic person, but today I am surprisingly fit! I suppose I must be so energetic because I am so thrilled to have been chosen by Grand-père." Jacques craned his head to smile at Cedric. "Aurèle is significantly more athletic than me. Because the task entails wandering for such a long time, I thought Aurèle would be picked instead! Or Oncle Anselme or Maman. I didn't think I would be chosen. Me! Now, I always do my very best in my studies and am adept in many subjects, but I believed my lack of athleticism would harm my chances. Maybe Grand-père heard that I was working intensely on getting better in this area?"

"So you still don't know why you have to accompany me? The Marquis did not mention the reason when he briefed you earlier?"

Jacques shook his head. "He has told me nothing. But he never does or orders anything without thinking thoroughly about the matter. Grand-père will have had his reason, or reasons. Maybe we will find out when we arrive at the Clockmaker's workshop."

"Maybe," echoed Cedric. "Your grandfather, the Marquis, is quite the character. Are you close to him?"

"Of course! He's my grandfather, and we've lived together forever," said Jacques. "We all are close to him. He has an intimidating presence, even towards us, but you can have in-depth conversations with him on every subject. Grand-père is very knowledgeable. I am striving to become like him."

I imagined Jacques growing into a man who was terrifying even while lying in bed, immobile and sick. However, knowing the current Jacques – large glasses, slightly messy hair, his childishness mixed with his attempts to seem grown-up –, I could not picture it at all. This made me wonder how the Marquis had been like at Jacques' age: Had he been like him? Like Aurèle or Anaïs or Arnaud? Or had he been born imposing and terrifying?

Jacques bit on his lip and fixed his gaze on the map. He mumbled something, and Cedric asked him to repeat himself. He hadn't been able to hear a single word he had said.

"Perhaps this is the reason why I was chosen," Jacques repeated. He was still mumbling, but, this time, Cedric could understand him at least.

"Oh, why so?"

He played with a corner of the map. "I take my studies very, very seriously. Of course, neither Aurèle, Arnaud, nor I will inherit the marquessate but we are still family and will still partake in the family business to some degree in the future. Arnaud is too young, and Aurèle…" Jacques chewed on his lip. "Well, Aurèle… You have met him, Kristopher. He is not the most… studious person. Or very…" He sighed. "Aurèle is my brother and I love him, but… You know how he is, Kristopher. He… he is not the brightest…"

Cedric raised an eyebrow. He could not say that he was fond of Aurèle. However, if he knew what his family thought of him… Cedric remembered Anaïs' words at the tea party. They had not made much sense then. Now, they were perfectly clear: "How will you know, Aurèle? Jacques didn't even know himself, and you have never been good at…"

"If you are all close to the Marquis, I doubt he would pick favourites," said Cedric coolly before he turned the "wheel of fortune" – or, rather, the "wheel of random conversation starters" – in his mind to change the subject. He was too tired to focus on such a loaded conversation right now. They could return to it at another time. If at all.

And, thus, Cedric turned the wheel. It was a weak turn and his mind was scrambled; it was hard to make out any "answer."

"How long do we still have to go?" he asked while his mind kept working on finding a better conversation topic. His brain cells must be half-dead right now for this to take so long. He usually had no problems coming up with topics and could even cook up stories and personas in no time. When – if (Cedric did not want to disregard the possibility that he could drop dead with every additional step he took, but then, how could he allow himself to die without seeing Cloudia one more time? And now his mind was being weird again; the self-induced glade phobia was getting to him) – they got back to the château, Cedric would rush to bed and sleep a thousand hours.

"Just two more hours!" Jacques said in a honeyed voice.

"Clock," Cedric's half-dead brain forced him to say. His mind had finally found a conversation topic but failed to inform him beforehand and put it right through.

"Yes, Kristopher, I looked at the clock to see how long we have left."

"Clock," he repeated. His brain was delaying to give him the rest of the "wheel of random conversation starters" answer.

Jacques looked at Cedric. "Yes, and we are going to the Clockmaker, Kristopher."

"Clock," blurted it out of Cedric before he could stop himself with the spark of strength he had left. His body was malfunctioning and it was not pretty. Would he ever get to say more than "clock" again? At least, Jacques did a phenomenal job replying to his taciturnity.

"Kristopher, you are more excited to meet the Clockmaker than I thought! Clock, clock, clock! This can be our chant for the rest of the way!" Joyfully, Jacques walked ahead, warbling away "clock, clock, clock."

"Clock," said Cedric with tears in his eyes.

~Cloudia~

The strange flush of energy faded away when Kamden and I were on our way back to the château. It was not a sudden withdrawal, but gradual drainage. And although it left quietly and evenly and I was not suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, the tiredness I felt after the energy's disappearance seemed stronger than any I had experienced before. But then, how could it be any different? The fall from absolute liveliness to complete exhaustion was a long one; of course, it would hit different to fall from such a height.

When we had left the village behind and entered the forest, Kamden took my hand. He must be feeling the same way I did. He only let go when we arrived at the place where we had left the carriage and the horse. Kamden's movements were a little sluggish; still, he insisted on driving and beckoned me to sit in the back.

I leaned back and watched Kamden sit straight and drive. Before we had left for Nanteuil-la-Forêt, he had got more sleep than I had. The energy's absence did not affect him as much, but now and then, the rope nearly slipped through his fingers, the wagon sometimes drove wavy lines, the pace was slow and uneven. We had worked too much on too little sleep.

When the energy faded away, my body returned to normal and nothing else. I didn't feel sick or dizzy or feverish; and while I felt a little sad that I was not so strangely energised anymore, I felt no longing for that energy. I was not desiring for it to return, was not eager to get more. I went from "fantastic" to "normal" and that was it. No side effects at all. Or perhaps they would come later?

Too exhausted to speak, Kamden and I were silent the entire way back. The time between entering the château and falling into my bed I experienced as a blur: Blink, helped out of the wagon. Blink, led inside. Blink, jacket taken. Blink, health enquired. Blink, tea offered. Blink, guided to my room.

And then once more: Blink – and this time it took much longer until I would reopen my eyes.

~Cedric~

Two hours.

Two hours of Jacques singing.

Where, where, where did he get his goddamn energy from?! From what I knew of him, this must be a very unusual occurrence for him. He was too serious to sing something as silly as "clock, clock, clock" for such a ludicrous amount of time. I blamed Jacques' excitement over his little mission for this. I wished the Marquis had chosen Aurèle. Then, it might have taken a more humane number of hours for us to arrive at the Clockmaker's workshop, and I knew that no level of excitement could make Aurèle sing for that long.

I could not believe that my own mind had betrayed me. "Clock" – honestly? Couldn't it have been an unsingable full sentence?

At least, we were almost there.

Cedric blinked a few times when he spotted the workshop in the distance. Rubbed his eyes. Pinched his side. To make sure that this was not a Fata Morgana, that he had not fallen asleep an hour ago, collapsed on the forest ground, and continued to walk and suffer in his dreams. But, no. What he was seeing was real. The workshop was real.

After six very, very long and agonising hours, they had arrived at the Clockmaker's workshop. Cedric wished this realisation came with an energy boost. Instead, he half-dragged himself the last few metres to the Clockmaker's front door. When he and Jacques stood in front of it, Cedric scrutinised the building. It was not a very large place, more a shed than anything. There were only a few windows far up the ceiling, none at eye-level. The wood the workshop was made of was plain and old but taken good care of. Still, it blended in perfectly with the trees and the bushes.

Cedric raised his hand and knocked.

If the Clockmaker was not home, I would scream.

Or, at least, try to scream.

Without waiting for an answer, Cedric put his hand on the doorknob and swung the door open because it was, to his surprise, unlocked. He had waited long enough to meet the Clockmaker. He had no energy to be patient anymore. No matter if Jacques protested beside him or not.

Cedric and Jacques stepped into the workshop and gasped simultaneously. A few metres in front of them was a counter and behind it was a door that led to another room. Maybe the workshop was not as small as Cedric had thought. He had no idea to what kind of room this door might lead – the actual workshop? the Clockmaker's personal room? – but the one he was standing in was most definitely the shop premises.

Every centimetre, every spot and area was covered in clocks. Clocks stood on the floor; some taller, some smaller, they stood erect and took up most of the space, only leaving a little walkway barren. Clocks on the walls, hanging so close together and so numerously that Cedric feared that the building would bend and break right here and now and bury them in clock-faces, clockhands, and wood. Polished wood, painted wood, carved wood… dark and light, fine and thick. Clocks in all colours and sizes shimmered in the faint light that came through the high windows. Some were faintly ticking, their hands moving steadily, others were silent. It was a surreal sight to behold; it was a magical sight to behold.

For a while, Cedric could only stare and wonder. This sight alone almost, almost made the long journey worth it. He was so taken by all those clocks – it must have been hundreds if not thousands! – that he did not notice a man coming out of the backroom and stepping behind the counter. Only when the man addressed Cedric and Jacques in French did he notice him.

Cedric did not know what he had expected. Perhaps someone who was similarly imposing as the Marquis. After all, they were friends, but the Clockmaker seemed perfectly ordinary. Short dark brown hair, tall and lean. A face whose serious lines Cedric could make out even in this dim light. He wore glasses and dark work clothes. In terms of presence, the Clockmaker reminded Cedric more of Milton than of the Marquis.

Excited, Jacques replied to the Clockmaker in French, and they talked a little – of their conversation, Cedric could only make out his and Jacques' names and "Marquis" – before the Clockmaker said in English that was surprisingly good for someone who lived in the woods: "Good afternoon. I am Florentin Chastain. You might also know me as 'the Clockmaker,' though I would prefer it if you did not call me that. I have a name after all." Florentin looked at Cedric. "Jacques told me that the Marquis sent you. He did not give me any details. I assume you will tell me more about this matter that has brought you here, Duke Underwood?"

"Kristopher," said Cedric. "And yes, I will."

Florentin nodded and then turned to Jacques. "There are some clocks with bird engravings in the back. Would you like to see them?"

Jacques immediately lit up and nodded. He walked through the narrow walkway to the counter, and Florentin held the backdoor open to him. Cedric followed Jacques with a bit of a delay. He had no particular interest in clocks with simple bird engravings after having seen a birdcage Jaquet-Droz, but hoped that Florentin had some biscuits stored back there as well… However, Florentin closed the door right after Jacques had vanished into the backroom – and locked the door as well.

Startled by the sound of the key-turn, Cedric froze in place and watched Florentin calmly bending down and lifting a lantern to the counter. He ignited it and the whole room was illuminated; the clocks looked even prettier now than they had before. And only now did Cedric notice that the Clockmaker's glasses were slightly tinted.

But Cedric did not have long to stare at and ponder over them because Florentin took off his glasses shortly after lighting the lantern.

And behind them, he revealed phosphorescent chartreuse eyes.

There's an alternative ending on my tumblr (tothelasthoursofmylife)/AO3 (RedThreat)! It's a short comic; that's why I can't put it here :/

The Grim Reaper lady's name is, by the way, Anastasie Faucher! (After a character from "Scythe" by Neal Shusterman and "Faucher" comes from the Latin falx for, well, scythe) I gave her a name, but considering everything, I doubt I'll get to actually put it in the story but let's see :/ For now, here's it!

One more thing: The fear of buttons is called Koumpounophobia. Unfortunately, there does not seem to be a word for the fear of glades.

Until next time^^