"…that will be all. Dinner is in an hour," said the butler, addressing nearly two dozen dazed men and women. "Attend to it. Should evidence arise that any here cooperate with the intruder, you will all be replaced."

He slammed the door on his way out, leaving the worker's quarters silent. Nothing in the meagre room, lined with creaky bunk beds and dim oil lamps and dusty wardrobes, could distract from the news they had just been given. The circle of listeners in servant's garb wordlessly drifted apart, filtering out of the dorm and heading to their assigned tasks around the manor, heads bowed all the while.

When only one remained, sitting on a bunk with her head in her hands, a second figure emerged from the shadows behind her.

"So these are manor's humans," Noel said, eliciting from Louise a mouse-like squeak. "Not one with any fight left. What an embarrassment. Is it always like this?"

"Always, since I arrived," replied the maid, rubbing tears from her eyes. "Th-there's no escape and no hope. We're fed, and clothed, and given sleep and work to keep us pacified until it's time for a dinner… oh Lord, a dinner…" She shuddered. "It's too soon for a dinner; it's only been a week since the last one…"

"Strangely soon, you say," Noel mused. The girl's grieving was inexplicably irritating. Still far better than the living dead the other humans had been reduced to. "Who's the menu?"

"One of us," Louise said. "Always. No rhyme or reason as to who… except those who disobey always go first. Then those that talk too much, or who catch attention. That's why no one looks up; just meeting someone's eyes might spell death. The family eats once or twice a month. Each time, someone I know dies."

"Once a month…" Noel did the mental math. The Rozay-en clan was known to be large. If there were as many vampires in the castle as there were humans, then… "That's restrained."

"Retrained!?" Louise's eyes shot wide open.

"Very," said the Executor. "The last one we hunted needed to devour several people a day. An Ancestor's appetite is as vast as their power. Once a month is nothing compared to what I've seen."

"You… you have no idea…" whimpered Louise, shoulders hunched and trembling. "No idea what it's like to be imprisoned for months, watching others vanish one by one!" Her voice cracked as she lashed out. "First fearing it'll be you next, and then wishing it could be you instead of them. You've never hoped for death instead of freedom-!"

The head of an inhumanly heavy polearm crashed into the floor between Louise's legs, cleaving her breath in two. Its edge was dull with dry blood.

"Spare me the pity party," Noel said. "I know who the star of the show is. Rejoice; it's not one of yours. My freak of a partner must've made the queen bitch angry."

"F-freak?" Louise brushed the dust from her apron and slowly backed away from the weapon. "Partner?"

"A hopeless mess of a human being," said Noel, "but a good fighter. Got more notches in her belt than anyone else. Not that it did her any good; she was captured earlier."

"T-then we…!" Something in Louise's eyes lit up. "We-."

"Take the chance to escape, yes."

The maid's shocked expression said it all. Noel rolled her eyes.

"Oh please," she scoffed. "What are you expecting? I'm a soldier of God, not an action hero. We had our shot at taking out the Rose Princess. We missed. The operation's a bust. You're like me; you know how it is. There's no getting everyone out of a situation this awful. Best you can hope for is one or two make it out. This is our chance to be the lucky ones. Once the bloodsuckers are gathered in one place, distracted by fresh blood on their plates, I'll bust open a hole in the wall. Then we'll ride out of here before they give chase."

"But that's…"

"Horrible?" Noel considered it. "Maybe. Worse than suicide? I don't think so. I want to live. I don't want to die here. I definitely don't want to end up as a thorned muse for a vampire. Aren't you the same, Ms. Bank teller? You're the only other person in this castle who hasn't given up. You're all clingy because you can tell I'm your only chance. That's why your neck's untouched. So, tell me: what's worth staying here for?"

Quiet returned to the dormitory. One woman's head was bowed. The other stared, waiting. Anyone, living or dead, could have opened the door and interrupted, but by some miracle, none did. Louise was allowed to formulate her answer, slowly and carefully, one word at a time.

"I'm weak, Ms. Noel," she said. "Too weak to do any good or save anyone. I can only pray for salvation. Yet I'm not weak enough to avoid the guilt of abandoning others to die. It's true they're hopeless, but they were still with me all these months. If one human escapes, the ones who remained will die. Knowing that, I'm sure even if we flee, whatever life awaits me will be a miserable one. I'd certainly never be happy again. Even if I spent the rest of my days atoning for it, I'd never be able to forgive myself. So I'll stay and pray for another miracle."

There was no immediate response. Louise looked up; her lips stretched into a shaky smile. "This is no judgement on you, Ms. Noel. Your circumstances are different. If you must silence me, go ahead. Just please, let the outside world know, somehow, of what became of us."

"Ugh… just shut up." Noel squeezed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, her eyes screwed shut. "God, I should've killed you. Playing right into the bloodsucker's hands for her of all people…"

"Ms. Noel-."

"Zip it. Just – just give me a yes or no."

Noel held up a black dress and white apron, taken from a nearby cabinet. Its monochrome contrasted her own: the garb of a servant of nobility rather than a servant of God.

"So," she asked. "How do I look?"

Two maids traversed the dim halls of the château. The smaller one held an oil lantern and led the way. The other clutched a basket filled with several empty wine bottles.

"Don't scream," Louise said. She stopped by an unadorned wooden door and pulled out a ring of keys. "This'll be worse than the paintings."

"Nothing can make me scream anymore," lied Noel. She felt pulled in all directions by regrets and fears. Showing mercy to the maid had been her only way of putting off madness.

With a click the door swung open, revealing a set of stairs down.

"…you said these dinners were 'restrained', earlier. Perhaps this will change your mind."

Noel had expected a wine cellar at the bottom of the stairs. She was half right; the smoothly fitted stone walls made for cool, damp air. Yet there were no racks in sight. Instead, she felt soft dirt beneath her feet and smelled coppery earth. The walls stretched onwards, a long hall much like the one they'd left. In the distance, barely illuminated by the lantern, stood humanoid figures in two rows against the walls.

Her skin crawled and legs quaked as Louise led her forward. She knew these shapes. She'd seen them once before, years ago.

The first to be illuminated was a middle-aged man. He stood naked, emaciated, eyes unfocused, a dumb smile plastered across his face. His limbs were too thin to support his weight. Vines kept him vertical, curling around his legs and up to his waist and then his arms and neck and head. Thin green tendrils pierced into his flesh in several places, and bulges beneath his skin showed where they had further wriggled. Thorns extruded from skin. Most disturbing of all were the cherry red grapes that hung in clusters from the vines, and the rusty metal tap that had been driven into the center of his chest. He showed no reaction to the light, nor their arrival. As Noel stared, he made a thin noise that could have been a laugh.

He was only one of several. All around her were unholy fusions of human and flora, planted in the ground and pumped full of sweet dreams for one purpose only.

Louise took one of the bottles and brought its lip to the tap in the man's chest. She reached out and turned the valve. The man let out a rattling sigh. Purple ichor flowed from his chest into the bottle. His eyes fluttered shut over the course of the next minute, until Louise closed the valve and corked the nearly full bottle of blood wine.

She held two fingers to his wrist, careful to avoid touching the vines. After a few moments she nodded to herself. "He'll live through this time," she said. "But not the next. They won't like that I stopped early today. When one dies… you can guess what happens."

Noel looked down the corridor. The rows of wrapped up, giggling bodies stretched out into darkness, forming a human vineyard.

"You see," Louise said. "None of us can be forgiven."

Noel's stomach churned. She clapped a hand over her mouth as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. She found a corner and heaved, over and over, until nothing remained, while a small hand gently patted her back.

The grand dining hall of the Château Rozay-en was one of the few places in the manor with an illusion of life. An unlucky servitor had climbed a ladder and painstakingly lit every one of the candles on the strangely shaped chandelier, sending shadows dancing across a table stretching from one end of the long room to the other. On the table lay neither plates nor cutlery; each of the two dozen vampires had before them only a series of cups: a deep goblet, a tall champagne glass, a standard wine glass, and a stemless tumbler. Many had already filled their glasses, calling sharply for servants to pour blood wine as they chatted merrily about inanities: harvesting runs, the state of the world, whether the president was or wasn't running the country into the ground, rumours of other Apostles and Ancestors, and of course, family drama. Others sat like wax statues, their glasses untouched. At the table's head was an empty seat, gilded in gold. Noel did her best to pick up the conversations as she passed by, hoping the shaking of the bottle as she poured a fresh glass for a loud Italian vampire would be mistaken for the right kind of fear.

"So I say to her," he gesticulated at the disinterested woman to his left. "Marina, you have nothing to fear from that priest; he will sooner stick his stake in that choir boy than through your heart!"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Drink," she ordered, holding up a glass. "The widow from '64."

Noel almost replied in the affirmative, before remembering servants existed to be seen, not heard. She instead bowed her head and retreated to fetch the bottle in question. As she passed by the end of the table farthest from the head, a vampire caught her eye. He was the oldest among them, sporting a brown beard flecked with white, sunken in cheekbones, and an unfocused gaze. Were it not for the glint of fangs in his slightly ajar mouth he could've been mistaken for a senile human. Flanking him on either side were two stoic men, one of whom sent Noel scampering away with an empty glare.

When she returned bearing a bottle of widow's blood, nearly all the seats had been filled and the other servants were streaming out of the room. Noel hastily uncorked the bottle as she approached the vampire woman, who held up her glass without so much as sparing a glance.

"Enrico and Richaud are missing," she said to the man. "Their side has suffered quite a blow."

There was grumbling from the surrounding vampires. The man shrugged. "Oh, it's supposedly the intruder's partner's handiwork. How exciting, to have a rat with actual teeth in our maze."

"If the rat is here," the woman said, "it is only because Rita wants it there – hm."

Noel heard the woman pause and sniff at the wine in her glass, more like a starving wolf than a person. It sloshed to and fro for a few moments before a tentative sip followed by a hearty gulp. Finally there was a deep, satisfied sigh.

"…anyway, you think she sent them to die on purpose? Prune the dissenters and all?"

"Dear sister," the man chuckled. "As ever, you say out loud what we are all thinking. One of these days, it'll get you into trouble. Just look at father's faction over there; they fume already. Who can say what our lady plans? Or whether she plans at all?"

Noel stepped away, her job finished. She was the last to leave. Louise waited for her at the exit, the look in her eyes begging the disguised Executor to hurry. Just as she reached the door, another at the opposite end of the room creaked open, and in stepped a pair of familiar figures.

"You there, maid." The Rose Princess' sudden address stopped Noel in her tracks. "A seat for our guest."

Refusal was not an option. Noel found a reservoir of calm within herself as she gave a humble curtsy and took into her hands one of the extra chairs just outside the door.

"Don't look up," Louise whispered to her. "Do nothing unless ordered to."

And then Noel was walking across the room, wilting beneath the stares, knowing Rita might have caught a glimpse of her during the battle, knowing one of the other vampires might connect the dots and realize they did not recognize her as staff, knowing that if anything at all went wrong here, the consequences of her foolish decision would come crashing down on her.

"Set it down by me," came Rita's command. "This is a guest of honour. She'll have a glass of the – ah, yes. You don't drink blood anymore, do you, Elesia? Enjoy the ambiance, then."

Noel kept her eyes down as she placed the wooden chair by the side of the woman she could not look at. She smelled floral perfume and dirt and felt a choking pressure upon her very soul. A woman took a seat in the chair, her own head bowed. Noel dared to flick her eyes up for an instant, confirming that it was indeed Ciel, still in her battle habit. The taciturn Executor was silent. Not lifeless, but still as a puppet.

"That's all. Begone."

Noel wanted nothing more than to run out the door. She instead forced herself to turn and calmly walk out, half-expecting to be stopped at the last moment. It was only when there was a door between herself and the roomful of vampires that she breathed a sigh of relief. Then she pressed her ear against wood while Louise nervously stood watch.

"Now then," she heard Rita say, muffled through the door. "Would anyone care to raise a topic of conversation? I'm aware of our other intruder; she's of no concern. Dear father, have you anything to say?" A too-short pause. "Oh, you don't? Wonderful. A toast, then! To the return of the serpent to our garden. Cast off shell she may be, but she yet shines as if still whole."

Murmurs of assent. The clinking of glasses. Gulps and sighs thankfully smothered.

"I should like," Rita continued, "to know dear Elesia more intimately. She's bared her heart to me, and yet," her words drew to a sharp point. "The heart within a heart remains under lock and key."

More murmurs. One rose from the crowd. "Hidden even from the Eyes of Roses?" spoke someone Noel recognized as the Italian vampire. "My, my, Margie, do you need glasses?"

Rita's amused titter was nearly swallowed up by the wood of the door. "Not as much as you need sense, dear cousin," came the confident reply. "No more of that now; I'm quite serious. The Serpent took his secrets to the grave and back. He played the game well." Was that a hint of respect Noel heard, or annoyance? "Yet the overconfident boor underestimates us. Trisha. Celine. Genevieve. Let us meet in the garden shortly. I'd like this finished before sunrise."

"How long's it been?" asked the deadpan woman Noel had served wine to. "Since we last exercised the family Principle? Gotta be decades."

"It will," came the delighted reply, "be worthwhile." Noel could not but imagine the honeyed smile of Rita Rozay-en. "Well, Elesia? Your invitation we extend, to our Rosarium. Let's gossip like girls, have no secrets between us. You'll tell us what the snake told you. Above all about our esteemed... original."

Noel heard nothing past muffled mutters and clinking glass. Then a lovely vicious laugh.

"You make me glad. I rather think that Rome deserves our thanks. Such a treat hand-delivered to us," the vampire decided, "merits an appropriate response. So? Shall we send flowers?"

Again came the laugh, now accompanied by a chorus. The howls of hyenas on the edge of madness filled the room, while those outside it felt only dread.

"And what," rang the loud man's voice above the din, quieting the laughter, "are we to do? Surely you didn't call a dinner just to preen."

The hunger in his voice was that of a hound straining against its fraying leash.

"Why, dear cousin," came the graceful reply. "I've a treat for you as well. She flees, hides, nips at our heels. So go on," drawn-back lips and jagged white teeth filled Noel's mind. The beastly rumbling started up again. "Hunt."