Countless promises had been made on both ends. Both hoped the other would stay and the other might leave. Promises are never meant to be broken nor have the feeling of potential betrayal in the back of your mind. The feeling of secureness was important, and Brahms needed to feel secure from his Greta. Trust is earned not given on the spot of demand. It was fear that always held him back from letting his closed mind open up to possibilities he didn't even know existed. Greta gave him this opportunity to think as if he was a normal person without the demons taking over. It took work, so much work, it was utterly exhausting at times, but she made it easy for him. From what was once a dark cave, he entered it, over and over, but never found his way out. Every time he tried to leave the fear and anguish he held; it would constantly change paths making his way to freedom even more difficult. There was never any life in the abyss and no light would ever grow. The constant replay of this scene would soon shatter because of the power her had over his mind now.

He had this dream before, many times. He'd be trapped in utter darkness that decayed with every step he took. He felt as though he was drowning, he would feel the water circling him in waves. Deep within the trench only rested his death mark. He didn't want to claim it, he wasn't ready, who would be ready? No, not him, he wanted to live. Death's hands dragged him down, deeper into the waves of hell. They crawled and clawed at his face, trying to tear off the mask and show the demon behind it. A new arrival was on the edge of collapsing into utter despair and he would become one of them, fully. He would thrash and try to scream and plead, but no one seemed to hear his cries for help. It would always end the same way, he would succumb to this fate, and he would give up because he felt as though time was never on his side. His savor never returned to him, he's been waiting and waiting but the light never appeared above him. It had been years of reliving this dreadful situation of becoming more and more evil every day. To feel nothing but hate and anger because they sent his savor away. How can his parents be so cruel, how could everyone he's ever encountered be so vile inside and out? The odd ones were always left to suffer within a world of their own because no one wanted them. Time was slow and it was never on his side. Over twenty years had gone by as he stayed at the bottom of the dark ocean with the demons he was now used to. He did not cry because he had no more tears, he did not fight because he didn't have the strength, but he did not lose all his faith. As much as he always hated to admit it, he knew she'd return one day, but when? Just as the darkness conquered his weakened soul, he'd looked up at the faraway light he was never meant to have, because she never came back.

This would happen on a never-ending loop of misery and desire to taunt him. As if he was always meant to be chained to the bottom of the abyss without having the privilege of seeing the light, he desperately wished to see it again. After years of waiting in the dark and trapped by his red eyes demons that held him down, the light from high above the surface of the water. They taunted him, yes, it was their doing, their cruel games playing tricks on him. To keep his spirits down, they did not want him to lift his sorrow because the taste of suffering would vanish from their lips. It was something he was used to though, by now it was just a continuation of this terrible dream he created himself. Brahms was torturing himself and by this time he didn't know how to stop killing himself from the inside.

One year later he recalled it so well, that there was a shift in the tides, and a massive blow of air rushed to his masked face. Someone was here and that only increased his heart rate exponentially.

He remembered looking up and there he saw the light. The blood in his body started to flow once more as the life he once had was reconvening. It was so bright, but he was so far away. The determination and willpower to flee from the hold the red-eyed demons had over him was strong. They always tried to stop him, and they would always win, but not this time. Brahms broke free from these chains that held him down. With fists of fury and all mighty strength, he took over and conquered these binds. Force driven purpose to reach the light was essential and he had no more time to waste.

He knew it was her, he couldn't keep her waiting, not this time. She finally returned to him. Their minds were one, they always had been from the very beginning. It'd been too late, so much time had been wasted not seeing each other. He had so many questions, why didn't she come sooner? Where have you been? How has your life been without me? Do you even remember me… even if you saw my face, would you flee? Or would you stay with me just like it used to be?

The skull's red eyes began to fade from below as Brahms rose to the water's surface. Time seemed to slow down the closer he got to the light, but visions became clear. He could see the outline, dimmed colors began to prosper with anticipation running all over his eyes. With a rise of his arm and his hand wanting to reach her. Everything seemed to go still. His masked face was right under the surface, and she was looking down at him. He could see her, but she didn't seem to see him.

Brahms placed his hand under the surface opposite from her. She hesitated but did the same, her eyes were everywhere. Perhaps she couldn't see him entirely, but she did see something. He hoped she knew it was him trying to reach her. He could feel the warmth, it felt like home, where he truly belonged, with her. Brahms never wanted to leave but time was running out. He felt the pull once more. His hand began to separate from her palm. He panicked but everything felt so slow in this water-like state he was trapped in. He felt as though he wasn't in control of his own body. That another force was taking over him, and he couldn't do anything about it. He had to watch her become smaller the lower he sank.

Was this his conscious speaking to him? Was it the fear he held of what she might think of him? Seeing what he has become… what he's done. He wasn't in control of the demons that killed him. It was his mind; it was sick and demented. What would she think of him and his wicked sins? What he has done to Emily, would she give him, or would she understand his actions? Because of this, it could hit his face. From what was once a beautiful creation drawn by God to be set down to the boy just being burned off like wax. He felt embarrassed, ashamed of the way he must look in her eyes. If he ever removed this mask, he knew she would run. He must always keep it on. There weren't any other options, nothing. He had to live with a new face that wasn't his and he hated it deep down but dealt with it. He didn't want to scare her when she came back home. He wasn't the same as when he was a child and he hated it. Everything's changed and not for the better. He just wanted to be held but knew he must be too horrifying to be even touched by another being without thinking they might catch his curse. Would she think she might be cursed by touching him? It only made him sad and feel utterly ashamed inside, fearing or perhaps knowing she wouldn't see him the same way again. He'd been waiting for this his entire life and now it was here. She opened the door to his odd realm, his odd mind, and his odd soul. Yet, he wished he could say he was pleased, and he was, but he wasn't pleased with himself.

It was his surprise though. Suddenly, she reached inside trying to save him. Maybe it was the demons making him doubt himself. He never used to doubt himself so vigorously. Maybe she didn't care about his face. Perhaps he was overthinking it. Maybe she remembered him and wanted him back too. Oh, how he wanted to hold her into the morning and let the sun's light take them both to a better place. A place that might be peaceful and calm without the demons trying to tear them apart. A place where he wouldn't ever have to be alone again. He'd have her by his side now and forever. He held hope she wouldn't let him fall but it was too late. Brahms tried to reach for her precious hand but just as their fingertips almost touched, he fell.

The line of water that separated them was a pure curse to Brahms. Just when he thought all hope was lost, she reached in. Brahms tried to grab her hand but failed. The tide was pulling him down once more. No, not again, why was this happening?! She came back, SHE CAME BACK! SHE DID! Why is he becoming lost in the darkness he hated so much once again?!

Wait… was she… changing her mind? She pulled away and went back to her side as she stood tall. She was leaving, her eyes were no longer fixated on him. The light faded once more. How could this be? They finally reunited in this repeating dream. The light began to fade now but now he knew she was here. There was still hope but the darkness completely engulfed him, and everything went black.

His eyes opened. He was on the floor again in the Heelshire Manor. He'd passed out thinking about her. That'd never happened before. There was a shift in the dream he had every day. The manor was deathly quiet because he was the only soul there, but now the calling of her essence had finally arrived. Yes, it was her, he was so sure of it. He needed her back; it'd been too long. She must've remembered him, he had to tell his parents when they got home. The image of her was blurry in his mind, but Brahms knew it was her. There wasn't any doubt that she was indeed calling to him, finally. Within his dream, she finally entered the door that held forgotten memories. The hidden bond they shared was tied by the white strings of hope and passion. He knew she wouldn't forget and, for the first time, held hope that she was finally coming home. Yes, he needed a new nanny anyway, he hated the one he had now he had been planning on getting rid of the nanny anyway.

This was it; Brahms would finally see her again; he was so excited, and he stood up with a burst of energy. Running between the walls, he had so much to do, he didn't know where to begin. That would be the perfect cover to get her back, a nanny was needed, and she'd see that he was a boy in a doll, and she would come take care of him. His parents would pay her handsomely, but they'd need to find her location. She may have entered the door in his mind, but he still needed to get her physically. He'd make his parents find her, yes, that was it. He didn't care how they did it, just get to her back and he'd finally be able to feel something again knowing she was under his roof. Most of all though, he wanted her home, and she would be here very soon.

The demons still taunted him though as he tried to calm himself, but his mind felt as though it was splitting in two. No, no, no, no, not now, he cursed himself, feeling as though he might have another outburst. His temper was on another high, his mood swings weren't helping. He had no one to guide him and he hated this feeling of anger and utter violent rage crawling its way to the top. As he continued to walk in quick paces, he didn't even know he was heading outside the walls.

Until he saw her, yes, he had to think of her, it was the only way he was going to be able to survive this. She'd be here soon, he'd make his parents bring her back now, to make her leave her current home and come here. He didn't care how they did it, he just wanted her back, now. He just needed to be patient, yes, patient. He needed to remind himself of these things, but he still felt rather impatient.

Brahms had to clean up the mess though. Where he stood was blood all over the carpet. A woman dead on the floor with a bashed skull. He dropped the cleaver in hand as it made a loud thud on the floor making more of a mess. He didn't even remember entering the kitchen or exiting the walls. Well, like he said he was getting a new nanny anyway. Maybe one who wouldn't throw the doll into the garbage can outside like a lazy fat hog. No, this time, he'd make sure history wouldn't repeat.

.

A week had passed by in a flash. Time was going fast, and Greta couldn't keep up with the clock hands. There have been some changes, but they were good changes. Brahms kept to his word on Greta's behalf. Promising her that he can do better. That Brahms was more capable of doing the simplest of tasks without screwing like a child. Well, he still had the tendency to act out as one, but he seemed to hold a little and listen to her whenever he wanted to learn something. She was there to help him, tame him, and encourage him to do things he couldn't ever imagine doing on his own. The biggest was leaving the manor. Yes, it was eventful, but he could do without leaving again for a long time, but it was nice, nonetheless. Still, he was selfish that day, he left his Greta to do all the work and he walked around like a lost child looking up at the clouds seeing it would create a funny image.

Greta was so patient though… well, not all the time, you could see it in her face. A face saying, 'MOVE IT BEFORE I LOSE IT'. He wanted to help her in the kitchen, but he always seemed to be taking over the entire taking up Greta's space obliviously. He'd seen her cook millions of times; how hard could it be? Well, it was immensely hard apparently even though Brahms was having a blast doing something entertaining with her. He practically almost burned down the kitchen. No wonder his parents never wanted to leave him home alone, she thought.

The boy was simply making cookies and they came out blacker there the night sky. When Brahms opened the oven to only let the dark smoke escape straight into his face. Greta hacked and coughed like she was eighty years old.

"BRAHMS!" She coughed again. "Are you trying to kill me?! I can't breathe!" Greta tired swatting the smoke away and went to switch off the oven. "Why would you set the heat to 400 on convention? It's supposed to be on bake, you're not cooking an entire turkey you know." She coughed some more and quickly drank some water from the sink. How Brahms was not coughing was beyond her lateral thinking. She didn't even know why Brahms wanted to make cookies. Well… at first, he wanted to cook the food that was set for dinner, and he went to season it with rat poison thinking it was a chopped-up garnish. Greta caught him and screamed in fear, taking it from him and he almost fell on the floor from the fright as well. Most likely thinking he was doing something right when in fact was doing something very… VERY wrong but he just didn't know it because he was so eager to help. That was when she suggested he could make dessert. It was simpler and easier and not deadly at all; she thought a little desperately. He quickly agreed and got to work on whatever he was planning on baking. It was a sweet gesture you could say but Greta knew he was trying to be more helpful. In truth though it was becoming more stressful but funny in a way seeing him look so hyper and eager.

Brahms didn't even cough when he pulled out the cookies in the hot metal tray. Thank God he remembered to wear the oven mitts, she thought relieved because if he didn't that would be another painful story. Brahms put them on the wooden board and Greta quickly tried swatting away the remaining dark smoke.

She couldn't help but fall back into the pit of her stomach. Seeing the unevenly circled cookies with burned ridges, edges, chocolate, and just basically the entire cookie was garbage. He spent all his time making it from scratch and she had a feeling he was making it for her. Greta felt so bad for him right now she cringed a little as she spoke.

"Oh Brahms," she said sympathetically. "I don't think cookies are supposed to turn out darker than your hair color." She tried to joke as she looked to the side facing him with an unsure smile.

Brahms seemed to not even hear her words as he eagerly grabbed a plate and started putting them on the plate with ease. Why was he doing that? No one can eat that. Not even with a strong stomach, no one would be able to digest it without getting a one-way ticket to the hospital. Brahms continued to do his own thing and grabbed a bottle of sprinkles. Greta had no idea where he even got the jar of sprinkles and white frosting.

She shook her head as she lowered the heat for their dinner in the big soup pot. Give the broth with potatoes, carrots, and leek sometime to simmer for a few more minutes. Plus, now that she had tons of yeast from the trip to the store, she made her own loath of bread. God, this dinner is going to make them so sleepy, and Thanksgiving wasn't even here yet. For a moment she thought about her family, Greta missing them dearly. She wondered if they'd tried to contact her at all. Maybe, but she wouldn't know for sure because all the hardlines in this place had been destroyed by Brahms. It was so annoying, and it still angered her to high heaven, but she could cope for now she supposed. After all, Brahms did say he trusted her now and was trying to do better… in his own way. That was huge progress and a breakthrough on her end but now she just needed to be very careful. Greta didn't want to break that trust, it was too raw, and perhaps unsteady a bit, well, not yet anyway.

Greta had a feeling in the pit of her gut, and it didn't settle well with her. She wasn't as hard on the inside as before. Was it guilt, was it that tiny voice in the back of her mind telling her to stay? Not to take care of him but to genially help him because no one else would. Even his own parents never truly helped him. They locked him within the walls, that was just shit parenting but on the other hand, he did kill a little girl at a very age and many others no doubt. There might be no hope for him anyway, it might be too late to save him from his shattered and unstable mind. Too many secrets were in these dark mysterious walls. Brahms would never confess, no, he just wouldn't because he cared about what she thought of him and his character. It was a tricky area and it bugged Greta because that side of her that cared just a little was trying to speak to her. Greta had her family though, her own values and morals she must abide by, she wasn't one of those women who'd fallen in love with their kidnappers. It was sick and demented and that wasn't her, and that little light of hope that he might change wasn't very bright on the other end of the candle. To change someone who is so broken, and sick was utterly impossible. Greta didn't have the means or the strength or the knowledge to help such a person. She was just the nanny and nothing more, she wasn't a doctor being assigned an insane patient to watch over every day for the rest of her life. She wasn't even just a nanny anymore though she was… well… she didn't know what they were. Friends, she supposed. A job she wasn't getting paid for and was being forced to comply with demands from the master of the Heelshire Manor. God, she thought, she was in a mansion with the heir, the son of who knows how much money. Just my luck, she thought annoyed, too bad he wasn't normal or at least a little less murderous. What a silly thought, she rolled her eyes to herself. How was any of this going to end well? It wasn't, it was simply a question without a simple solution. She took a sigh with her heart feeling like the guilt was eating her alive.

Suddenly Brahms came up from the side showing her the burned crispy-edged cookies with rainbow sprinkles on them. She turned her head with a slight jolt but relaxed seeing him look so happy even with a mask on. She smiled a little and nodded.

"Yes, they're very nice Brahms." She said politely. "I think you could run your own baking show. I know your British people just love these… cookies with some warm tea." Brahms nodded in agreement but seemed to be waiting for something. Secretly she was hoping he'd run away from her showing the cookies to, oh, I don't know, the plants outside, the rats too if they got lucky, she thought.

"What?" She asked. Brahms nudged his head forward gesturing for her to take one. He pushed the plate towards her.

Oh… fuck me, she thought defeated.

"Oh!" She tried to act surprised. "There for me?" Brahms nodded. "Thank you so much, that's so sweet of you but you didn't need to do that just for me. I'm sure there for you too, right?" Brahms just pushed the plate to her again right in front of her. Awe jeez, she thought, this is my one-way ticket for that hospital trip I was thinking about from earlier. How is healthcare in the UK anyways the United States's costs for healthcare are outrageously disgusting.

"I think… I will try one." She hesitated but took the least-looking burnt cookie and yet they were all pretty terrible. She looked at Brahm and could see the wide eyes of a little boy who wanted the parents to like it so much but in Greta's case, he was practically obsessed with her.

Greta put the cookies to her lips and opened them with a crinkling face of not wanting even to taste it. Brahms looked eager to hear her feedback even though she'd given it zero stars if she could, but she had to remember this was Brahms. If she had been with her face they would've laughed at the failure and thrown them all away and gone out for ice cream. In this case, Greta was trapped between a burnt cookie and an overbearing Brahms. Greta tried to keep a straight face as she bit the very dark cookie hearing the hard snap of what sounded like chalk. She took a small bit, but it was still pure torture being nice.

"It's uh, very uh… crunchy," she said with a strained smile. "I like the frosting and the colorful sprinkles that… I didn't even know we had." She shrugged with a chuckle and tried to hold back a gagging sound. She closed her mouth giving him a nod and a thumbs up for doing such a great job.

Brahms perked up with joy at her words and when to put them on the table in the kitchen. Just as Brahms turned away Greta turned on the sink water and quickly rinsed her mouth. GOD! It was like eating a coal straight from that big ass bag. She turned back and put a glass of water into the sink, filling it up.

Brahms turned back with two bowls in hand for the soup dinner. Greta smiled and she drank the tap water like her life depended on it.

"That was very nice of Brahms, thank you." She thanked him kindly. "I could eat them all day." She chuckled knowing she wouldn't, but she didn't want to say anything meant to upset him. Brahms turned and brought back the plate of cookies letting her have more.

"NO! N-no thank you, Brahms," She panicked but calmed quickly holding the palate with him as she looked up. "I'm sure your parent wouldn't agree to have more sweets before dinner, right?" Brahms seemed like he was thinking about it, and he nodded in agreement. His head suddenly declined a bit, but Greta quickly spoke up to not be down.

"Hey," Greta picked her hand up to his strong chin to look at her and he did without a fight. "I really liked them, and I appreciate you making them for me. Maybe next time you make a sweet… maybe I can join you. Two heads and more hands are always better than no help at all, right?" Brahms nodded at that; he would like for her to join him in the baking process. Perhaps they could make a cake this time, or cupcakes, or tarts, or maybe more cookies without the blackness tattooed on them.

The days continued with more events between the two souls. One day Greta had to do the laundry and Brahms helped her as well. He picked up the heavy stuff catching her off guard. She thanked him but said it really wasn't necessary it was an easy load to get done but Brahms insisted he help her complete the task at hand. Greta gave up and told him to carry the large wicker hamper to her room in the deepest parts of the mansion. Greta just hoped this would all go smoothly.

Right in front of the machines they were, and Greta began her class on how to use a washer. His would be interesting.

"Ok," Greta breathed handing him his load of laundry. "First things first, put your clothes in the machine Brahms." Brahms took the clothes from the hamper she was holding and shoved them into the machine a little too hard. She looked confused at him.

"Uh, Brahms, there's no rush. It's not a race." He continued to put the rest in swiftly. He stood tall once more and looked Greta's way. He was literally like a soldier wanting to do no wrong. Greta didn't want him to be so stern and hard in his poster but didn't say anything as she continued.

"Okay, so now we close the cover, and this is where the soap goes." She handed him the soap from the laundry in the massive jug. He took it as he looked at it with curiosity for a moment. He took the cap off and brought it to his porcelain nostrils. Greta heard the air go in and out as he smelled it. Greta could laugh at seeing him look so clueless. He looked at the machine and then at her.

"Do you need help?" Greta asked him with a brow raised and an amused smile. He nodded sheepishly at her like he was embarrassed not knowing how to do something as simple as doing the laundry and working the actual washing machine.

"It's ok, here look, this is where it goes." She urged him to come closer to the machine and he did. "Ok, so put the liquid in here," She pointed, and Brahms was about to do it. "But make sure you don't put- TOO MUCH!" He doused it with the liquid but luckily Greta left it as they both held it. Brahms looked like he was either in shock or afraid of her sudden outburst. Greta huffed as she hit her head on the machine and rested it there with a tired sigh.

"Brahms… are you trying to give me a heartache? We don't have an endless supply of this chemical. We need to conserve it for as long as humanly possible. Do you understand?" She sounded desperate with a huff as she looked up at him. Brahms took a moment to answer but he nodded in understanding. She could sense the awkwardness now. She had to say something. She never used to be like this, trying to make him feel better, what was happening? It was getting ridiculous now, truly. Greta knew it was that stupid guilt again she was feeling deep inside the pit of her gut. She felt bad, it wasn't his fault he didn't know how to work the machine. He always had his parents order the nannies to complete the simplest of tasks. How he's even alive to this day amazed her. He seemed to know how to hunt and build things, but he couldn't cook nor could he clean clothing properly. He had it good in that scene of being pampered but in a very different way. He was taken care of in secrecy but now that he was out in the world, Brahms had a lot of catching up to do. Greta knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with every little thing, but he needed to at least try, and Brahms seemed more than willing to oblige.

Plus, if it was for her, he wouldn't object at all. She never doubted he'd say no to anything she asked of him, well… besides leaving. Still, she had this boy right in the palm of her hand and she didn't know what to do with him. She had a mind to think of many things he liked to do to her… sexually. It felt wrong to think of it, but she was not a naïve little schoolgirl with a skimpy skirt. That was a stupid tacky porno that everyone knew but she wonders if Brahms knew about porn or even the internet for that matter. She thought it best to not even ask because once he discovered it, he'd never leave his room again like a horny high school teen boy. It scared her though deep down not knowing what he thought of her in that way. Maybe it was every fear of a woman had when being taken by a grown man and the first thing that came into their minds was rape. Brahms wouldn't do that, right, she thought unsure. He has done some… questionable things towards her when her back was turned. Sneaking into her bed with her at night these few times now. He had never done anything inappropriate, she must admit, but that didn't mean he would hold back completely from doing things to her. Greta knew he thought of her… in that way. Yet, he seemed to stay back and remain in his spot until she'd come forward perhaps.

Greta wasn't one to have wet dreams, when she was younger, yes but not now anyway. This whole crazy experience had put a damper on the special area. It was always the fear that made her numb, completely numb. Plus, it wasn't all that important to her anyway, as they say, been there done that, and yet Brahms has never done that. It only made her more curious though, did he even know anything about female anatomy or even the male anatomy and its basic function? Did he know what a woman looked like under her garments? Did his parents ever give him that talk about the birds and bees? No, that was stupid, she thought, most people would about it on their own before attending middle school, but Brahms never went to school. He read books though, she knew that was true, that had their own library for Christ's sake, how many people can say that? Home-schooled perhaps but that didn't mean he knew about the other information that would be considered taboo in his own household no doubt, she thought. Yet, he must have figured out something because he created a doll of her… of God, she scolded at reminding herself. No, no, move on, move on, she insisted quickly changing the thinking topic.

Still, Brahms was one big mystery on the inside. She couldn't quite read him all the way. He had a dark mind though but a good heart at best. She could see it, it was there, it just needed a little help. Was she the one to help him? She didn't have the willpower to help completely but she could try, just a little before she needed to save herself.

Greta took a sigh as she faced him.

"Hey, it's ok. Here, just use the measuring cup." She took it and handed it to him. "You're good a measuring stuff, you build wonderful little birdhouses, and you craft wonderful pieces of art, right?" Brahms seemed to have his eyes widen a bit as he shied away a bit but nodded slowly.

"Hey… I just want to say thank you… for everything this week. For helping me even when I didn't ask you to. I think I'm always just so used to doing everything by myself I… I seem to forget that I have some willing company to help me." She knew deep down she was referring to Cole. She struggled for many years and was trapped with an abusive man but now she had something better. Maybe… Brahms cared enough to not violently push her aside like she was a rag doll losing her sweet innocent unborn doll in the process.

Brahms was too kind to her; it almost made her sad inside. How could she ever allow this to happen, form a bond he thought was unbreakable? Greta didn't know where her home was anymore as the days progressed. The one she's known since she was just a kid or was it the Heelshire's hidden manor within the endless woods? She must be really losing her mind now. It was guilt, the guilt, she reminded herself. They wonder what the outcome will be between the pair. It was only them in his endless cycle of banter and comfort. It wasn't good, and she feared she might be getting too comfortable with him. That wasn't supposed to happen and yet she couldn't delay, she felt for him and cared for his well-being and yet it was the horrors of the demons that cling to him. She doesn't have the strength to help him defeat them, only he can be rid of these blackened parasites. He may be kind but with the flick of a switch, he could return to his sinful ways of his darkened world of endless killing sprees.

Greta doesn't recognize herself anymore, she is so confused and feels rather abandoned inside, like she can't even help herself. She wasn't enough for herself anymore. Yet, she knew herself better than anyone, and yet why was she so stumped? Why was she letting this guilt consume her already weakened soul?

She knew the answer, she just didn't want to say it.