The Depths of Our Fall

by xeveningx

Ophelia has heard the fables of the beast. One who only seeks out flesh to feast upon and that is what she's up against, but she won't take it lying down. After what it took from her, it owes her a debt, and she's always one to collect. But could encountering a human and vampire along with an accursed book be what unravels the truth of all the senseless death it's caused?

3. Act I: Scene III

Act I The Abyssal Quarter

---

Scene III.| 'The seats are empty, the theater dark. Why do you keep acting?'

— 'After losing everything I had once held dear to me, I toyed with the idea of giving up. I wondered if beyond the darkness that hunted me so tirelessly I would find peace. Then I held you. You had been given to me as a chance to continue running, but I chose differently. You wouldn't suffer the fate my mother had, nor the one I would eventually face. It became and continues to be my deepest desire for you to not only survive, but live.'

---

It's so suffocating.

From that alone Ophelia surmised they had to be somewhere underground. Her little shoes clicked loudly against what sounded like stone beneath her, her short legs barely keeping up with the long strides of her father. A man she had met only a short six months prior now led her down the underground pathway by the wrist, his hand callously gripping it as he pulled her along. Ophelia had complained at first, a quiet 'it hurts' that only earned her a hard tug.

She only let a few whimpers escape after that.

But being pulled along was better than following behind him. This place was completely foreign to her, and Ophelia had only wandered two places in all her six years of life; the house where she lived until recently and the mansion she was to now call home. Any step outside the borders she knew by heart was dangerous, and it kept her secluded within walls.

Safe behind them.

Wherever this was felt anything but.

The wind had been gentle outside; in here, there was none to speak of. The sound of creatures, of birds, were boundless outside; here, all she heard were her father's hurried footsteps and her own labored breathing, both bouncing off of stone. It was all there was here, nothing but gravel surrounding her. Hard, impenetrable. So unlike the boundless freedom she had out of them. The only thing that changed the further they went was the scent. It smelt disgusting; of rust and rot.

Ophelia wanted to wretch.

Her hand was yanked forward when she allowed even the softest of groans to leave her. Complaining would do nothing, so to distract herself from the nausea that kept coming and going, she focused on her footsteps and counted.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

From there, she began again.

She counted to 10 twenty times before they stopped. Exhausted and with beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and neck, Ophelia could only take a breath before the creak of iron resounded against the walls. Air blew across her face as what she understood to be doors opened. The moment it hit her nostrils, a shock went so quickly up her spine that she had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting.

The smell…it was so much more intense in there.

There wasn't any time for her to wonder or catch her breath. Her father pulled her along beyond the door and all she could think of was what could be waiting inside that foul-smelling place.

---

|Outside Gallerie Valentine, Paris.|

This was frankly turning to be absolutely more trouble than it was worth. Certainly, there had to be another way to repay her debt. Something other than this.

Anything aside from babysitting this pair that was turning out to be a migraine in the making.

Resigning herself for the tenth time that morning, Ophelia could do nothing more to alleviate her growing pains than to take another drag from her cigarette. The warm smoke that filled her mouth as it entered and escaped through her lips had her nerves quieting a little. At this rate, though, she'd finish a whole pack by the end of the day.

"Oh, Miss Ophelia! Good morning."

While taking another drag, Ophelia turned at Riche's sweet voice only to choke as the smoke lodged in her throat at her inadvertent gasp. She hacked out a lung before turning her opal gaze back to the dham trio that now stood before her bandaged to the teeth and disheveled from an apparent fight.

"What happened to you all?"

Dante didn't dare make a comment. Johann simply smiled. That left Riche to mumble her way through explaining what had gotten them into such a mess. Ophelia listened intently to the girl, piecing together what she could from the dham's explanation. Once she got all of it, dull opal eyes widened a bit and her head tilted, curiosity piqued at her story.

"Robed men attacked you?"

"Oh, brutally so, my darling," Johann said at last.

Dante pointed out behind him at Riche. "Only after this chick tried stopping them from kidnapping a curse-bearer."

"I didn't ask you to butt in!"

As they fought amongst themselves with Johann playing peacekeeper, Ophelia wondered just why on earth someone would be taking curse-bearers for. Remembering something, she reached out to touch Johann only to stop briefly when he stiffened at her approach.

Oh…right.

Eyes downcast, she called his name to get his attention instead. "Didn't you almost get nabbed a few days ago, Johann?"

"Yes, darling," he responded through a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thankfully, it appeared they weren't interested in dhams."

That explained how they got the lead that someone was kidnapping curse-bearers. She turned back to Dante as both he and Riche now kept a substantial 5 feet distance from each other.

"Did you find anything about these abductors?"

He clicked his tongue and looked away. "Why? You gonna cough up the money to pay for the info?" Riche instantly jumped, reprimanding him for the unnecessary comment, but Ophelia quickly stopped her with a hand on her arm.

A part of her always forgot that the only reason Dante and the rest of them were even on speaking terms with her was because of their proprietor. Otherwise, with what they knew, they could've easily caused too much trouble for her. Picking through the pocket of her cloak, she brought out what was left of her last job's payment and tossed it at Dante who readily caught it without taking his glare away from her.

"If that isn't enough, you can have the payment of whatever job I'm put up for next."

He weighed it briefly in his hand before clicking his tongue again and putting it away. At the same time, he grabbed something from his breast pocket before stepping up and dropping a small silver button in her open palm.

"I managed to snatch that while fighting off the kidnapper," he said. "It ain't much, but for what you had, it's more than enough."

Dull opal eyes widened a bit at the insignia etched on the silver: a sword over six wings.

The church?

She toyed with the silver button, flipping it on its back, only to find something etched on the flat surface. Messily, the words and number 'No. 128' were scratched onto the silver. The wheels in her mind turned just as her fingers twirled the button in between themselves.

No, this isn't the church.

But it involved them somehow. That button—that insignia—said as much. If it involved them in any capacity, then whatever this was couldn't be good for anybody, implicated or otherwise.

"Thank you," she said after a minute before tossing back the button. Taking her cigarette and giving it another drag, Ophelia let it drop with finality, grinding the still-lit butt with the heel of her boot. The smoke of that last drag escaped her in waves as she addressed Dante, "Could you do me a favor?"

"It's gonna cost you extra."

"Dante!"

She waved it away, giving him whatever he wanted. "Tell those two that I'll be indisposed for the day. They're in with Count Orlok; they should be finished soon, actually."

Dante huffed, clearly against whatever she asked, but didn't outwardly deny her request. That was enough for her. Turning to leave, the jovial voice that spoke over the bickering that started anew between Dante and Riche stopped her.

"Why not wait for them? Surely they will accompany you through whatever this is if it involves curse-bearers."

His voice was sweet. Sickly so. It turned her stomach, but she swallowed the words all the same.

"I'd rather not after the trouble they caused at Carbunculus Castle," she responded. In tandem, the rambunctious shouting coming from Count Orlok's office only confirmed her words. "I am in no need of that where I'm headed. Besides, until I can assuage my suspicions, it is better that this is dealt with before anybody else gets hurt."

And to keep any blabbermouth from speaking out of turn.

Johann hummed in agreement, his long fingers tapping at his chin before a smile broke through. "In that case, be safe, darling," he replied with a wave and that smile that mocked her and belied his words.

Be safe, he said, and yet she could tell how pleased he'd be if she never again showed her face in front of them.

---

The faint sound of a bell rang above the quaint jewelry shop's door as Ophelia made her way inside. Unlike the rowdiness of the outside streets, there fell a solemn quiet upon the store broken by the soft talking of customers and shopkeepers alike. More involved in finding a new trinket to flaunt, those around promptly ignored her entrance. Busy as they were, only a young shopkeeper welcomed her in, saying she'd be right with her before returning to the ones she'd been attending.

Thank goodness she only came here to talk to one person who was never too busy to chat.

She made her way through the open foyer closer to the entrance of the doorway that led to the back of the store. The shopkeeper from before approached her then to ask what she could help with.

Ophelia feigned a smile just as bright as the girl's. "Is Madame Deveraux available?"

Before she could even check, a small yet vibrant voice cut in. "My, what a pleasant surprise."

The one that crossed the velvet curtain separating the shop from the rest of the building was a delicate old lady. Hair once a beautiful blonde was now aged and silver and perfectly set on her head in the neatest bun and decorated with soft-colored ribbons. Dressed with just as much tact, the woman brought almost little to no attention to herself unlike the jewelry store she owned.

"I apologize for the unprompted visit." Ophelia bowed her head, but the old lady dismissed the apology with a wave of her wrinkly hand and did the same to her employer. Soon enough both were left at the corner of the store apart from the rest of the uptown folks.

Carefully, Madame Deveraux placed a hand on Ophelia's back and guided her towards the back of the store. She obliged, knowing better than to deny her hospitality. Once beyond them, she found herself in a small waiting room decorated as its owner would have it. A spiral staircase immediately to their left led to what she knew were Madame Deveraux's living quarters.

The old lady offered her a seat and refreshments, but Ophelia swiftly and gently, refused her invitation.

"I would hate to interfere with your business, Madame."

"Hogwash," the old lady rebuked. Despite offering a seat, Deveraux hadn't taken hers either. "I pay due attention to my customers, especially the loyal ones. Your business keeps mine alive; especially, after the decline in sales over the years." Madame Deveraux sighed despondently before heaving through a long sigh, "And Lord, Almighty, knows business has been cruel to this old dame."

Ophelia's lips pursed, unable to find a consolable word to offer. As if noticing the awkwardness of it all, Deveraux shook her head before a smile once again came to her.

"But you didn't come here to listen to an old crone babble on. Tell me, young lady, what can I do for you today?"

"Actually, Madame, hearing you 'babble on' is exactly why I am here." Dull opal eyes scanned the area about them to make sure the employees were safely on the other side before speaking. "Has there been any recent incidents with those below?"

The sweet and gentle demeanor she bore washed away in an instant and hardened the old lady's features. That was an answer, all right. Not voicing anything, Madame Deveraux paused for a brief moment, then, as if nothing, headed towards the spiral staircase.

Instead of heading up, however, she took in hand a handle on the wall beneath the staircase and opened the door to a darkened hallway before heading in and taking the stairs that continued downward. Not needing a word, Ophelia followed.

Her hand strayed to the lantern that hung by her waist as she unlatched it from its grip and held it up. The light blue shine of the astermite within lit their way creating giant shadows that crawled downward through the narrow spiral. Though not sharp, its turns made it seem endless. The door closed behind her, a fact that no longer spooked her knowing that it was just a mechanism to ensure no one would follow.

It wasn't until they were left in the dark of the stairs that footsteps began anew and Madame Deveraux continued. Ophelia followed. Emile peaked a glance from the crumpled hood of her coat, the light from his eyes trembling as he shook. She placed the free hand upon his head, stroking him to keep the moving light of his eyes from creating more monsters out of shadows.

A couple of stories down was when the wooden steps changed into stone. Ophelia only took care not to slip on the moist gravel.

Each step down the stone staircase led them closer to a place she knew. With each step, the smell of mold grew stronger. With each step, the soft sound of water grew louder. Finally, at the end, only a slightly broader stone walkway welcomed them. A wide canal rushed through the rest of the space underground, its waters sloshing and spraying at their feet as they continued on.

It hadn't been long since she last came down here. Much of Paris was aware of the many waterways scattered along the city. They were infrastructures used to transport materials while the city was under construction according to some historians. Once finished, they were abandoned. Despite their similar routes, it was replaced by its aboveground counterpart, the Seine, simply for the mere fact that it was easier to tax a naval route they could manage better.

Now, most of the canals were simply used as reservoirs. The water wasn't all that sanitary—Dieu, she'd rather die of dehydration than ever take a sip out of those murky waters—but it at least lent itself well for those less fortunate.

It also lent well to its original purpose, too. Even when that purpose now was less than legal.

"They have been happening for a few weeks now, the kidnappings." Her voice was low but audible even through the running canal as they made their way through the passage. "Mostly their kind, children."

"How many?" she asked.

"Four so far."

"Any clues to who it might be?"

The old lady's head lowered as they continued. "Only that those behind it aren't human." Her head only raised when they came upon a double iron gate. The latch separating it from the outside was a mere twist and turn away from opening, something easily done by even the lady's old bony hand.

In the small hallway they were in now, Ophelia could hear the sound of voices becoming louder and louder the further in they traveled, until it crashed into them once they arrived at the other side. A multitude of people lingered about, mostly young women and children. All stared as they entered. Some of them bowed their heads solemnly while others simply refused to meet their gazes.

Some of their eyes were plain, normal; others, hid away their red pupils with a sneer. Ophelia didn't care for either. Human or vampire, neither were allowed to lift a finger against her and neither was she allowed to do so against them.

One of the rules of the safe house.

Madame's safe house wasn't known to outsiders. It mostly harbored those who found it by chance or young ones that the old lady herself stretched a helping hand towards. All she asked in return was for a bit of help with some hard labor.

Weapons were tough to manufacture with only her to work the iron, after all.

Long before it housed the destitute, it had been home to welding machinery. The jewelry shop was the physical front of her weapons manufacturer; working with similar materials made it easy to function under scrutiny. It wasn't until Madame realized she would need more hands on deck to work the welding storehouse that the safe house came about.

In exchange for shelter and food, Madame Deveraux worked those capable—men and women, but never children. For the humans, it was better than working in the factories scattered across the city that abused their bodies and their work; for the vampires, it was easy work that allowed them to remain unseen by the bureaucracy that overviewed them; for those in-between, it allowed shelter from the stigma of their mere existence. For all, it was the reprieve life had never given them.

All Madame asked was for the rules to be followed: Leave only at night if you must; Guide those in need to the safe house, but never speak of it; Work if able.

Three simple rules that most found easy to obey. Of course, there had been those who dared to disregard them at times. Unsurprisingly, vampires were the ones who usually broke the rules most. They didn't think the rules of a mortal keeper like her applied to them as the superior species. That's where the Enforcers came into play; all a mix of species, all of them former soldiers or the like. The Enforcers were usually those indebted to Madame in some way. People that worked under her by choice or convenience.

People like me.

The last time she had been at the safe house was close to two years ago. After parting ways with the Shapeless One, Ophelied wandered each and every place possible, refusing to set foot in Paris. It wasn't the safest place to begin with for a young woman alone, but for her, it was doubly so. But once she found the stable job that kept her fed to this day, her return to this city was inevitable. Once it did, Ophelia knew working under the cover of night would be best instead of constantly being out in the open.

That was what led her to finding the safe house.

Though not in need of shelter or food, she was in desperate need of hiding, and an underground house was exactly what she needed. Resting during the day, and working at night, she repaid Madame by bringing food instead of labor. Not to mention special requests on weapons. Anytime work brought her to Paris, the safe house was where she returned to. And because of the high turnover of people that called it home, it was the perfect hideaway. Even if anybody saw her, she was just another vagrant who wished to neither speak nor be spoken to.

But now that she had a charge it was different. The safe house couldn't be used as freely; at least not while her job was to care for somebody else.

Monsieur Noé's too much of a country bumpkin to be holed down here, anyway.

The guy looked like he needed as much exposure to the outside world if the Shapeless One ever hoped to leave the bastard on his own someday.

"Here we are." Ophelia lifted her gaze to meet a pair of red eyes looking up at them from their little corner of the shared space.

They were young; the oldest no older than her, perhaps. From her scowl, the way she held onto the younger girl and their similarities, it seemed that they were siblings. New to the safe house, she surmised. Theirs weren't faces she saw the last time she was here.

"These are Vera and her sister, Oksana."

Foreigners.

They were from the lands northeast from what Madame Deveraux told her. They had jumped ship from their country to Paris were they had heard discriminations against vampires weren't as bad as in the parts of Russia from where they came. They had traveled there with another sister of theirs, the youngest—Natalya. It was upon their arrival that she began to show signs of sickness and before long became a curse-bearer.

"Is that why you came here?" she asked gently. "To save your sister from being executed by the Kremlin?"

The older one didn't answer. It was clear from her expression that not a word would come out of her. The younger one, however, jumped at the opportunity to voice her qualms.

"We heard of doctor who could cure Natya! He is here, in Paris!"

"Oksa, tikho!"

A vampire doctor, huh. If she didn't know of him personally, she'd be just as doubtful as Vera. Ophelia crouched before them, her dull opal eyes passing over each one before asking what happened to Natalya in a much softer voice.

Oksana was quiet this time. She must not know or hadn't been there to witness it if Ophelia had to guess. But from the way Vera's eyes were looking everywhere but at her, she knew she had.

This time when she asked, she did so directly at the oldest. "What happened to Natalya, Vera?"

The young vampire pursed her lips, her bright blue eyes turning red as her brow furrowed, until her pride gave way.

"Natalya and me, we were looking for vampire count in Paris to help us. But people attack us on our way," she said in her broken French. Vampire count; they must've been heading to Count Orlok's to plead for asylum. "Strong men that didn't flinch when we hit or bit. They toss me aside against a building, but when they see Natalya, they take her. I screamed and fought, but—" Her eyes shone a more brilliant scarlet as tears brimmed the edges.

Unable to keep it to herself, Ophelia's hand moved and patted Vera on the head.

"It's okay," she assured her softly. "You did what you could. Those men weren't normal. Tell me, were they cloaked men?"

Vera nodded, her short hair bobbing with the motion. "With stupid faces. Bezmozglaya sobaka!"

Dull eyes narrowed at the unfamiliarity of the language. From behind her, Madame Deveraux aided with a quick, "Mindless dog." She shrugged her shriveled shoulders at the odd look Ophelia gave her. "Had myself some flings in Moscow during my younger years."

"Did you see where these men took your sister?" Vera shook her head. "Where exactly did they ambush you?"

"Docks," she said, straight away. "We used last money to pay for room in inn. It's where Oksana was sleeping when the men attacked me and Natalya."

Ophelia nodded while taking her suitcase from behind her and taking out a piece of parchment from inside along a piece of charcoal. She haphazardly drew what the port looked like as well as the couple of inns she recalled being there with crude images representing their logos before turning the page to Vera and Oksana.

"Can you remember which one it was?"

Oksana stuck out her hand and pointed to one nearest to the port. "Good apple cider there."

"Mmh." Dull eyes turned to Vera and gave her the piece of charcoal. "Can you point at where you and Natalya fought these men?"

Red eyes turned down at the paper once the charcoal was in her hand. They scrunched up as she focused on the parchment, mumbling things in her mother tongue as she seemed to be recreating their steps in her head. She tapped the paper a few times, going about the lines and turns before circling an alleyway.

"Here."

"Are you sure?"

Vera nodded. "I crashed into store that sells bread and jam; they gave us some. I never said sorry to them for breaking the wall."

Ophelia smiled at her simplicity. Despite being so ferocious and brave after the long journey they had to go through to get there, she was still just a child.

"Thank you," she finally said as she rolled up the parchment and stood up. "This is all very helpful."

"Miss!" Oksana piped up almost instantly. "Will…Will you find Natya?"

That isn't my job.

To be frank the only reason she even wanted to talk to them was to know of another place where those kidnappers could be lurking. Finding whoever they took wasn't even remotely in her mind. Yet there was something about the way those large eyes looked at her that she couldn't shake.

"I'm going to find the ones who took her," she said instead.

There wasn't an outright promise in her words, but to them, it was enough.

Not wanting to see that hope disappear in front of her eyes, Ophelia turned to Madame Deveraux instead with a nod. The woman answered in kind before thanking the sisters for their help and letting them know that lunch would soon be coming their way. Without much more preamble, she guided Ophelia out of the common space. It wasn't until they came to an impasse at a split corridor that Ophelia stopped.

"Is my room still here?"

"Those who work for me keep residence, young lady," she said, almost indignant at the suggestion that she'd rid herself of the space that was given to Ophelia.

"May I stay, Madame?"

Madame Deveraux didn't object nor question her query. All she did was turn about and guide Ophelia down the opposite hall she'd been headed. Ophelia followed. Beyond that initial hallway laid another littered with doors on either side. Rooms—all scattered. A bit of noise could be heard at times behind the doors. Almost like rats scurrying away from the light of their lanterns.

Ophelia ignored them.

Finally, the old lady came to a halt before one of the many iron-clad doors. She took an iron key from beneath her skirts to open the slightly rusted door. Inside was a tiny rectangular room, the same as all the others, and only a few feet by a few feet. Just big enough for a single mattress on iron feet and a small cabinet. Stone swallowed her as she entered.

How suffocating.

"Feel free to spend as much time here, young lady." Madame Deveraux stood by the door, holding it open with one hand while the other laid behind her back. "But remember, it is only noon."

"Of course, Madame. I thank you for your hospitality."

The old lady closed the door after herself and left Ophelia alone in the cramped little room. Emile jumped out from under her hood and towards the cabinet opposite of the bed. Ophelia, knowing there was no reason to hurry, placed the lantern and her gear atop the cabinet before throwing herself against the bed. The springs of the mattress groaned under the added weight.

Turning on her side, she stared as Emile scoured through the couple of drawers. He'd found nothing but miscellaneous things in the top one. Pens and paper were scattered on the floor where he tossed them. A couple of books haphazardly laid either open or on their side. As he went about opening the bottom drawer, his oily little hands reached in and brought out black fabric.

Emile tossed it aside. Reaching inside once more, he tossed the purple fabric of a sash as well. Then his grimy paws gripped a thin silver chain.

"Don't."

The automaton had the necklace just over his head when he stopped. Ophelia reached her hand out to him. He obeyed, climbing off the drawer and up the bed beside her before placing the pendant that hung from the silver chain in her hand.

It was a small rosary. Nothing fancy. Just a silver chain holding a silver cross. What made it stand out even a little was a gemstone—a pale white piece of opal.

Her gaze remained on the piece of jewelry for a moment, then suddenly, she turned over to face the wall. Her hand held tightly onto the rosary as she settled herself to sleep.

"Wake me up when the sun's gone."

She had snuck out of the safe house without anybody knowing before, but there was no point in doing that today. Not when what she planned to do was better done in the cover of night.

---

|Port de la Rapée, Paris.|

Waves crashed steadily against the ports and their brick docks. Over the years the salt corroded the structure which they had only patched over for it to continue its function. Most sailors were already deep in their slumber, readying for the next day's work. It left the skirts of the port in solitude aside from the wandering panderer or rowdy couple or drunk.

Ophelia found herself in the midst of this at the dead of night. Cloaked in black and having exchanged her frills and petticoats for black leather, she blended in well enough even when she wasn't trying to. And frankly, passing by inadvertently was the last thing she wanted right now.

Maybe I should've just dressed normally.

At least that would have garnered her more attention than this.

Not even all the noise and ruckus that Emile was making was getting anything other than odd looks from those that happened to pass by and not that of the actual people she was trying to bait in.

"Then again," she spoke aloud after a long sigh. Emile trotted up to her, standing by before her with a puzzled expression. "They only took curse-bearers. Maybe they can tell."

She doubted it. It was vampires in general they took with no preference to their status. If anything, perhaps she was too under the radar in either clothings.

Perhaps one thing may attract their attention.

Raising a hand, Ophelia's opal eyes turned crimson as droplets of water began to dance in her hands with the movement of her fingers. Once a bubble of water formed in the palm of her hand, she began to shape it with the other. Delicate touches and pulls of her fingers formed long ears, paws, and a button nose until what sat in her palm wasn't simply water but a rabbit.

Its nose twitched and almost as if coming to life, it jumped out of her hand and began chasing after Emile who screeched and growled at the water animal that was quick to catch up to him. Anytime it did, he would scratch it, deforming a part of its body, but the rabbit easily regained its form back before continuing its endless chase.

Animals—tiny figures in general—were easy to create. They used to be her daily exercise when small. Back then, when she was only just learning her way around her powers, it was hard to even make water in a bowl move, let alone mold it. Yet the more she pressed on and the more she experimented, the more she found ways to control it.

Bubbles at first, holding them still and forming in her hands without breaking their surface tension. Then small animals—rabbits, birds, fish. Mere replicas at first, then with little perks like a twitch of the nose, ears, or tail. She moved onward to more complicated movements. Lifelike, one might say. That took a whole year. The endless studying about their anatomy and how they functioned as a unit took the longest to understand, but once she had, applying it became a matter of practice.

It wasn't until much later that she learned to do that with replicas of herself. Those were the hardest to maneuver at the beginning. The double vision made it all the more so. Despite that, once she could discern herself from the others, and actually concentrate on their individual movements, it became as easy as breathing.

Or like moving a puppet on strings.

Forming weapons came only a short step after that.

But that would attract unwanted attention when, at the moment, she wanted a specific kind.

I suppose a little bit more might do the trick.

Ophelia brandished out her hands. Midjump, the rabbit returned to being swirls of water as it rushed past Emile and towards her. The light of the lamps scattered about the ports gave a faint golden shimmer to the water that now ran around her like a stream. With each touch of her fingers, the stream jumped, cascading down a few inches before returning to its path.

A few feet ahead of her, Emile jumped, enthused, and began to twirl around on his feet, stumbling here and there before doing it all over again. A soft chuckle escaped her at watching the little automaton dance, and out of sheer whim decided to join.

She had never been very good at dancing. Her sister had always been the more able of all of them. She was the example to follow; the most demure, the most refined, the best at what she put herself to in regards of etiquette and the social life they were meant to lead. Ophelia, on the other hand, followed more in their older brother's footsteps. She was capable, nimble, and despite not being strong in regards to brute force, her swiftness and mind made up for what she lacked.

Their brother had encouraged them both.

"Never despond for what you may lack. Hone what you excel at. And dabble in curiosity from time to time."

Her curiosity was what brought her to discover art. What had her immortalizing their summer picnics or their winter solstices. And her sister, too. Because the way she danced was beyond what words could describe.

Stepping around the wet asphalt, Ophelia skirted through the circles that Emile made as he ran around her feet. Despite his small size, it almost appeared like he wanted to partner up with her to dance. She, however, wanted a different partner. Recalling the faint memory, her hands moved as she twirled, fingers caressing the waters as they rushed around her and began to pool at the tips of her fingers.

She could still see her in her mind. The way her body moved as if swimming gracefully through clear waters; the way the light shone upon her making her shimmer in a midst of vibrant fabrics; the way her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, falling right where it was supposed to.

Ophelia likened her to a fairy, back then and even now. The faint silhouette of that same fairy now danced along with her, its body formed by the vibrant water that scattered the dim light of the street against the asphalt with each step and twirl. Dull opal eyes watched intently, repeating steps she had long ago learned but never perfected. Her hand reached out to meet the fairy's between them, their palms inches from touching but never quite doing so, before continuing their promenade.

With a final twirl, both finished by facing each other. The figure of water before that barely reached her shoulders lowered herself into a deep courtesy. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ophelia's lips as she did the same, feigning to lift the skirts of a dress she may have once worn. The figure lifted itself, and just as Ophelia was doing the same, the shadow of a bolt pierced through the fairy, rendering it into a puddle on the floor.

The bolt cracked the wall behind her—a wall that had already been damaged from a fight not long ago.

As she stood, Ophelia could see the man that now lingered across the alley. He was cloaked like her and had on attire that was familiar, but what caught her attention the most was the blank look on his face, barely distinguishable beneath the shadows of his hood.

Stiff, unfocused, dead.

He charged another bolt and raised his crossbow to aim at her. Avoiding it, Ophelia charged and kicked him back against the nearest wall. His hood fell back, showcasing more of that strange expression, and confirming her earlier suspicions. The man was probably already dead inside. Whatever controlled him, or what was left, seemed to do so completely. And if this was the thing that took Natalya and the other curse-bearers, then it would be no use in questioning him when there didn't look to be a single light on inside.

Which leaves one way to get to the bottom of this.

Knocking the crossbow out of his hands was easy work and had them struggling fist to fist. It wasn't hard to avoid his sluggish movements at first, but out of the many, a jab struck that nicked her shoulder. Grimacing at the pain from the one hit, Ophelia saw the uppercut aimed at her abdomen way ahead but didn't move to dodge it.

Instead, she braced herself.

It struck her right in her gut, bile rising a bit into her throat from the unexpected force of it. Ophelia fell to her knees holding her stomach and coughing at the acidity in her throat. Before she could do much of anything, the man sent a swift kick to her head, knocking her back against the very same wall she'd had him on.

Her vision blurred for an instant before her head hit the ground and all went dark.

…

"Wake up."

…

…

"Open your eyes."

…

…

…

"Little nymph."

Throbbing pain struck her awake. Cold metal slapped her cheek harmlessly a second later and brought her back to the now. Blinking away the pain, from the hit, dull opal eyes scanned her surroundings, the first thing that rushed her vision was asphalt, evenly paced. It took a bit to orient herself but once done, Ophelia knew she was over someone's shoulder.

And not just anyone's.

Well, phase one is going well enough.

Cold metal hit against her cheek one again and this time she turned to see Emile's paw sticking from where he hung around her neck by his tail. Her eye twitched slightly, wanting nothing more than to knock him off and have him run the rest of the way to wherever they were going, but thought better of it. Emile had been awake the whole time she'd been out cold. No matter how short of a time it could have been, he knew the way from the ports to wherever this man was taking her.

And if she were in need of an exit route, he'd be her ticket out. For now, this man would be the ticket in.

Ophelia did her best to not move unnaturally. If anything, she hoped the dull bastard that sucker punched her was dumb enough to not realize she'd woken up. And dumber enough to not notice the small movements she attempted. Fidgeting with her hands was enough to tell her that they were bound. Thankfully, her feet weren't since he was holding her over his shoulder with them held down by his arm.

All we have to do now is wait.

By the time she found herself anywhere even the slightest bit interesting, she swore her heart was pounding hard in her ears from all the blood pooling in her head. The cemetery itself wasn't familiar, but the fact that he entered a mausoleum piqued her curiosity. More so when he tore off the lid of a stone casket with ease and began his climb down a set of stairs built into it.

Doing her best not to move too much when trying to avoid the stone steps that came precariously close to her head during their descent, Ophelia watched as darkness swallowed them whole. The man remained unbothered, almost as if he didn't need any light to know where he was headed. Emile's little astermite eyes glowed eerily in their descent but he hid them through the cloak she still wore to keep himself out of sight.

It stank of moisture and dirt the lower they went. Though they lasted quite a bit on them, the stairs soon ended and Ophelia found herself in the midst of darker hallways. Judging from how suffocating it was getting and the damn smell, there was frankly only one place they could be in.

The catacombs haven't lost their shine, have they?

It wasn't difficult recognizing this musk scent once it permeated her nostrils. Not only did it reek of dirt and death, it also drove her senses haywire. For once, she appreciated and missed just how clean Paris' air actually was. Her train of thought paused abruptly when a pair of voices floated through the air into her ears.

"Intruders? Here?"

"One of the Paladins called it in. It's two of them; a silver-haired vampire and a black-haired young man."

Opal eyes widened at the crude yet ridiculously familiar description. You have got to be kidding. How had they gotten down here? Better yet, how did they manage to catch the attention of Chasseurs, let alone a Paladin? All that aside, if Noé was down here, it ruined her plan entirely. His presence changed her priorities entirely.

She would've cursed him if the sound weren't a dead give away. Thankfully, there wasn't much need to continue playing the damsel when the two voices she heard before talked again, much closer this time.

"Wait! You, what are you doing? What do you have there?"

The man carrying her stopped in his tracks. Nobody moved for what felt like a full minute until she felt the man beneath her shift. Ophelia opted not to wait a second longer.

"Apologies for this," came a soft grunt out of her as she forced her legs apart to rip his hands away from her.

Now free and causing him to lose his balance, she lifted one of her legs over his head, turning herself over and grasping the man's neck between her thighs. With another grunt and a quick sit up, her weight shifted forward. Gravity and force brought down the man seconds before she twisted her legs, the clean snap of his neck thrumming through her body.

"S-Stop right there!"

Ophelia jumped up in time to dodge the broadsword that crashed down onto the floor beside her. A sweep of her leg underneath the man brought him down, and a stomp onto his wrist had him releasing a yelp and the sword in his grasp. Not missing a beat, she grabbed onto its hilt with both hands still tied and sprinted towards the other Chasseur. Caught off guard, she parried the arrow that he shot at her before slashing at his chest. Rich, crimson blood spurted outward as he fell down to the floor in a heap of writhing groans.

The Chasseur from before suddenly held her neck in a vice under his arms. Ophelia cursed him before using their weight to fall back and crush him against the wall behind her. His head hit the stone with a harsh crack, but Ophelia didn't place bets on the single hit, quickly stabbing the broadsword into his thigh with a swift turn and thrust downward. A brutal scream echoed through the narrow halls dying out when she gave a swift kick to his head and slumping down against the wall.

Standing back, their groans and quiet breathing filled the air mixed with her small labored pants. She steadied her racing heart and turned back searching for the man that took her only to find him gone. Damn. The coward ran during the short brawl.

"There went my ticket." Blowing away a strand of wayward hair from her eyes, she turned to Emile who hid behind a corner. "Did you see where he went?"

The automaton scurried her way, making excuse after excuse through his little charades of how the man simply disappeared. Through mounting ire, Ophelia reeled her leg back and kicked Emile so hard that he bounced off the walls and ceiling a couple of times before crashing a few feet away.

"So useless," she spat, turning to the sword still stabbed into the one Chasseur.

Passing the sword through the opening between her arms, she pressed the edge of the blade against the bindings around her hands and sawed away. They fell from her wrists with ease and as she rubbed away the soreness, she whistled back at Emile who was still picking up some cogs and bolts that had come loose. She didn't bother waiting for him. Ophelia hurried through the corridor from where the Chasseurs had come through, Emile following behind her with loud screeches until he caught onto her cloak and climbed on for a ride.

It'll take ages to find them now.

The catacombs weren't closed off to the public for nothing. Anybody, even those knowledgeable of the place, could easily get stranded and perish in them with one wrong move. Finding a way out was hard enough, and now having to find two idiots in a haystack wasn't doing her any favors. But at least she wasn't the only one looking for them.

Ophelia hid behind the upcoming corner, listening to the hurried march of the hunters that traversed the corridors ahead. Through the cacophony of stomping footsteps she could hear their comments regarding the intruders and their last known whereabouts.

"West sector," she hummed under her breath as they passed her by. Turning down to Emile, the little automaton shook his head, letting the astermite eye inside jostle around until it found North. It fell through into his mouth, the light from it hitting the wall behind them.

Great. We'll be right behind them.

She managed but one step out of her little corner before an aquamarine silhouette stood in her way. Dull opal eyes widened at the sudden appearance of the shade. There had been no mist to warn of her appearance. Then again, thinking better of it, underground, where there was so little moisture, wasn't the best of settings for that.

It stood before her, tall and imposing even without a hint of an expression visible. The mere stance of her—the squaring of her shoulders, the lifting of her chin as though looking down upon her—had Ophelia on edge and, more than anything, irritated at her audacity.

"I haven't the time to deal with you." Ophelia brandished her arm outward, dispelling the water silhouette into nothing but shapeless streams before walking past her.

The jets of water rushed forward in a flurry and reformed, putting itself right in her way and having her crash into hardened water. With an impatient groan, Ophelia wiped off the splash of water from her face before glaring up at the silhouette.

"You haven't appeared for two years and now you're getting in my way?" she growled, teeth bared. "That idiotic bumpkin is here and I need to get to him before he gets himself and that aggravating little prick killed. Or worse, taken by the Chasseurs. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

The hardened water refused to bend. Instead, just when Ophelia threatened to dissipate it for good, the silhouette raised its hand. A slender finger pointed back to the opposite corridor, staring her right in the face.

She was pointing East.

Ophelia grimaced. "You heard them. They were last seen west. What do you expect me to do, just not follow solid information?"

Her hand remained aloft, finger pointed.

Dull opal eyes looked over her shoulder to the corridor behind them before her gaze lowered, pensive. Ophelia was torn. This silhouette only appeared when it suited it. All that had ever followed had been tragedy or mistakes, neither of which she was keen on finding now. Yet, there was a determination coming from it that she couldn't deny.

Begrudgingly, Ophelia turned back and walked down the corridor.

Her footsteps fell silently against the stone beneath her feet. The faint light of her lantern flashed in tandem while latched around her waist, keeping the darkness somewhat at bay. Emile, who laid on top of her head underneath the hood of her cloak, grasped the edges to keep away the cool subterranean air instead. It didn't bother her unlike him. If anything it at least let her breathe a little easier.

It had always been so suffocating being enclosed. Then again, being outside nowadays didn't feel any different with the sweltering heat that sent a mix of sweat and dry dirt into the air.

Hopefully winter will come soon this year.

The cold was always better. It felt good; familiar.

Like home.

"My parents were killed by a vampire."

Her heart skipped a beat as she stopped dead in her tracks at the words that reached her ears. What was more, she recognized the voice.

Vanitas?

"It was the Chasseurs who saved me from the vampire. The church then started training me to become a new Chasseur. But somewhere along the line, I caught Moreau's eye…and became his research subject." This time her heart stopped, breath hitching. "That's all."

There was silence for a bit and then Noé's voice filled its void.

"You…don't hate vampires?"

The question hung in the air so densely it could have choked her. His answer finished the job on its own.

"If you ask me, there's not much difference between humans and vampires. They're all terribly ugly, endlessly selfish creatures."

"We are all capable of giving great kindness and committing grave sin. Regardless of origin."

A ruckus she didn't expect suddenly went off ahead. Yelling from both sides ensued and had her hurrying down the corridor in a panic. Through the dimness of the labyrinth she caught sight of the two standing back to back and quickened her step to reach them. Sadly, she wasn't the only one to notice them. Ahead of them, Chasseurs closed their exits. Meanwhile, ahead of her on another corridor that intersected with the one they were on, two more appeared.

They were cornered.

"Shut your eyes, Noé!"

The flash grenade went off faster than anybody could react. Thankfully, unlike the time at the masqué ball, Ophelia didn't waste time avoiding it. She had her glasses, after all. The light went off and though it pained to look at it directly, it didn't fully blind her. That alone allowed her to reach the nearest group of Chasseurs and ambush them as the woman that led aimed her bow at the two.

Kicking in the back of her knees had her buckling forward long enough for her to ground herself and kick her back against the wall. She hadn't passed out like she'd wanted but Vanitas reacted quick enough to finish the job for her.

For an instant, it was all quiet except for the heavy thud as she fell onto the ground and the soft pants from all three of them. Suddenly, as if just noticing her now, Noé turned her way, incredulous.

"Mademoiselle Ophelia!" He was too close with how cramped the hallways were and had shouted right in her ear. Ophelia grimaced at the pain that struck her ear, covering it with her hand and grumbling. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"What are you even doing here, princess?"

Dull opal eyes turned down to Vanitas as he began tying the woman's hands behind her back. She didn't deem him the satisfaction of an answer and instead turned to Noé.

"I came searching for the same thing as you, Monsieur," she offered. "Dante gave me the information he had. Seeing as they were kidnapping vampires, I was curious and thought it would be beneficial to figure out what was happening. I assumed you would do the same on your own with Vanitas."

"Hey, where's my Monsieur?" he asked, more peeved of the respect shown to Noé, than the disrespect shown to him. She ignored him all the same.

"How did you get here then?" Noé asked. "We only managed to get this far because of Vanitas. This place is a labyrinth, not to mention crawling with Chasseurs."

Ophelia cleared her throat with a faux cough, covering her mouth with a fist, as her opal eyes turned askance. "I found someone to guide me here, as well." Atop her head, Emile snickered.

"Regardless of why you're here, it's good. We have our hands full as it is."

"I can tell," she said. What with all the Chasseurs and whatnot, that was pretty self-explanatory. "By the way, what is your plan now?"

"Get to where we need to without fighting that damn nuisance?"

"Nuisance?"

Noé was kind enough to explain. "We sort of ran into some captain or another of the Chasseurs, Roland."

Ophelia froze in place.

"I'm sorry," she muttered with a nervous chuckle. "Did you just say Roland?" Noé nodded. "As in 'Roland of Jasper', Roland?" He nodded again.

For fuck's sake, why not strike me where I stand and be done with it?

"Enough chit chat." Vanitas didn't let her wallow too much in her sudden despair and instead addressed them. "Listen up, both of you. From this point on, we have to beat that Roland fellow without fighting him."

"For as sound a strategy as that is," Ophelia said, arms crossed and foot tapping against the floor and making Emile bounce atop her head with each one. "He's too strong to avoid. And if he's after you, more so. Facing him may be dangerous but I reckon it's rather inevitable now, don't you?"

"Even if it is, we have to," he retorted. "We'll take too much damage if we face him head-on. Where we're headed, it's likely both Moreau and his reinforced humans are waiting for us. And if they're still alive…the abducted curse-bearers should be there as well."

The fingers resting on her biceps twitched.

"We can't afford to get injured here."

She abhorred how right he was.

"So," she asked with a deep frustrated sigh. "What's the plan?"

"We finish this in one fell swoop."

Although she didn't quite understand, Noé appeared to have gotten the gist of what he'd said. And by the sounds of it, he didn't particularly like it.

"Don't tell me…you're…"

"That's right. We'll use this woman as a hostage!"

"Proposal rejected."

"I reject your rejection."

Ophelia wanted to yell at the top of her lungs from their endless quarreling. It was nonsense that despite making sense at its core was something she didn't want to do if possible. She hadn't killed those other Chasseurs she encountered before them for a reason! Being part of a hostage negotiation involving one of them would be even worse. Noé's idea wasn't any better. Demanding reason from a Chasseur as a vampire was ludicrous. Neither of them could see eye-to-eye.

All this bickering was getting on her nerves, but before she had a chance to voice any kind of frustration, Vanitas beat her to it, seemingly as sick of Noé's naivety as she was.

"You're always saying things like that! That's why you lot are weak! You have all that power, yet you handicap yourselves until it destroys you."

This time, she listened. It was hard not to. Something about the tone, the fervor in his voice—the hatred—had her attention. It sounded like rage. Rage that had remained locked away for ages now broken by naive words. Bottled-up emotions that ended in the worst thing.

Name calling.

Crunch!

…whoa.

Ophelia had known Noé was strong. Just not destroy-stone-with-his-bare-hands strong. Vanitas seemed as taken aback as her, though he showed it quite more on his face than she did. Something about Noé changed, almost like a switch having flipped due to something in Vanitas' little tirade, or maybe just the heady speech in its entirety.

"I retract what I said." His voice was solemn, unwavering. It sent a bit of a chill down her spine. "Let's take a hostage after all."

---

Huh.

This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but it would do.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face and get me out of this!" Vanitas hissed at her.

"My apologies," she said sweetly, mimicking the facetiousness that he loved using so much. "But Monsieur Noé is the one I listen to. Besides, I don't see why you're upset. You requested a hostage situation and so we have one."

"You little—"

"Vanitas!?"

Ophelia didn't hesitate in her actions. While she'd hid behind Noé in lay of an ambush, she didn't wager it all on his height hiding her. Eyes turning red, droplets of water around her shifted the light around her, reflecting it back and hiding her from sight.

Now this was where the show started. Noé had one brilliant idea for once. Sure, they could've taken the female Chasseur as hostage like Vanitas had planned, but as enraptured as Roland was with 'saving' Vanitas, this was the better option, by far.

And judging by Noé's hostility—staged or not—it seemed to be working. Both played their parts marvelously; Noé made quite the convincing villain, if a little stiff, and Vanitas made for quite the damsel in distress. Meanwhile she would be there for support.

"Mademoiselle Ophelia, I'll do everything. Could you help me with creating an opening to reach Roland?"

It shouldn't be a hard task, she surmised. Especially if all she had to do was deal with any other Chasseur that wasn't a Paladin.

"Get ready, Emile," she whispered. The little automaton bounced upon her shoulder with bared fangs in response.

Him tossing Vanitas in the air was her cue to act.

The instant he did, both she and him charged forward. Noé was intent on reaching Roland, so when the other Chasseur stepped forward when the latter went to protect Vanitas from harm, she knew this was the opening she was looking for.

Ophelia rushed ahead of Noé toward the ax the Chasseur held at the ready. In her movement, her disguise wavered, the light unable to keep up with her speed and causing the slim sheet of water surrounding her to flicker. His gaze switched from him to her, disbelief etched for a brief moment before deathly intent overtook it.

He swung.

Her eyes shone brighter.

A water double replaced her, displacing her from the spot her body had been and propelling her backward as the ax fell upon the double. Noé took the chance as the blade pierced the floor, using the Chasseur as a springboard to reach Vanitas and Roland and leaving her with the one enemy.

The man lifted his heavy weapon and laid eyes fully upon her for the first time. As if finally realizing who she was, his eyes widened, shock and fear equal in them.

"Y-You—You're—!"

Ophelia rushed forward with her whip in hand and struck him. He deflected the attack swiftly but left himself open in the process. Wide enough for a precise attack.

"Emile!"

The automaton jumped from her shoulder and clung onto the man's chest before burying himself where he could. The man flailed around, unable to bring the little beast out before it was too late.

Apologizing but not meaning a word, Ophelia jumped midway through her run and roundhouse kicked the Chasseur face-first into the wall nearest to them. His head bounced before he slid down onto the floor. But her hit seemed like nothing compared to the solid impact she heard behind her.

Crack.

Ophelia managed to turn just in time to see Roland bouncing off of the floor a few inches from the strength of Noé's kick. With Vanitas safely in his arms, there had been no way to protect himself from the massive hit to the head. It left him dazed and it gave Noé the chance he wanted.

"It's nice to meet you, Roland!" he proclaimed as he pulled Roland up from the floor with a firm grasp of his arm. "My name is Noé. I came underground with Vanitas to investigate a certain incident."

Honestly, the more he spoke his case, the uneasier she became. She hadn't expected him to be so straightforward about it, but she supposed he didn't know any other way. Before there was a chance to gauge a response, however, a platoon of Chasseurs arrived led by the woman they had knocked out earlier.

Not liking this, Ophelia rushed over to cover Noé's back as Chasseurs surrounded them.

This isn't looking good.

"Doctor Moreau is alive!"

Time stopped and everybody stopped alongside it. All she could hear breaking the silence was the panting coming from Vanitas after his swift declaration.

"It's very likely the man you Chasseurs once exiled is still here underground. Hear us out first."

Surprisingly enough, they did. As did she. Ophelia had meant to reach the catacombs and wherever the curse-bearers were being kept on her own as living bait. She hadn't thought beyond that, honestly. Maybe bring them back to Vanitas so he could do whatever he did with that book of his. She knew the church was involved somehow, but she never expected this to delve deeper into their dirty laundry.

Much less something as vile as human experimentation. But if they could all face it and the man behind it, it would at least rid the world of one of its many evils. And thanks to Roland's quick acceptance despite the push back, the ceasefire was sealed and it left them with the same goal and a new temporary ally.

Fantastic. This should go by quickly then.

Ophelia didn't bother with any of their chatter as they were getting ready to leave. Roland had given Vanitas the go-ahead to lead them since he knew more of where they were headed. There was no point in arguing against a reasonably sound idea.

It wasn't until she turned away to head off ahead herself that the distinctive sounds of weapons readying rang in her ears.

And here I thought we would be able to let by-gones be by-gones for today.

Weapons aimed directly at her met her when she glanced over her shoulder, alongside Noé's and Vanitas' perplexed expressions.

The former was the first to jump up in protest. "Wait! I thought you said you'd listen!"

The Chasseurs didn't respond, only kept their weapons aimed at her. Ophelia didn't bother with them either and simply—slowly—turned fully about. Seeing them armed once turned, Emile was quick to react, growling at them as his tail sprung out. Ophelia quieted him with a couple of strokes to his head. The growling ceased, but the tiny automaton kept his guard.

"What's with the animosity?" Vanitas said, clicking his tongue.

"Captain, it's her."

The one who interrupted this time was the ax man she had kicked a few minutes ago. He must've gotten his share of beatings if he could regain consciousness so quickly. Chasseurs were nothing if not sturdy, that's for sure.

But the fact that they were all pointing their weapons her way after he was conscious could only mean one thing.

He tattled.

"Relax." It was amusing to see such war-hardened men and women stiffen at hearing her speak for the first time. "I'm not going to do anything to any of you, so long as you keep your hands off the dimwitted one."

"Your word is far from trustworthy," the woman from before hissed, gripping the string of her bow so taut that Ophelia could see the tip of the arrow shaking.

How stubborn.

Just as she was about to speak, however, Noé jumped in once again, rushing to her side with an outstretched arm in front of her. With resoluteness she couldn't pinpoint the origin of, her charge spoke on her behalf.

"Mademoiselle Ophelia has done nothing to garner such hostility."

"Mousier—"

He didn't let her interject. Instead he pleaded with the one who had listened to him to begin with. "Please, Roland. This kind of response is uncalled for."

This time the expression Roland wore was far from the amicable one they were used to. This one was a bit more serious, a bit worried even. Ophelia could understand. He may not think of her as a threat, but the others certainly did.

Regardless of what she did or didn't do.

Walking forth, she placed a hand on Noé's shoulder calling attention to herself as she stepped out from behind his protection.

"I understand you all may have your sentiments, whatever they may be, and are ready to hold steadfast to them regardless of what I say. So I won't bother wasting my breath on that," she said. Their weapons remained aloft. Aimed directly at her head. "If it will set your minds at ease, you can restrain me."

Noé was instantly against it, blowing off her ear about how this wasn't acceptable behavior. Vanitas said nothing, that bright blue gaze narrowed at her—curious yet apprehensive. The Chasseurs talked amongst themselves, in the meanwhile; or rather the two who'd accompanied him were vehemently attempting to convince Roland of something. Whether to take her in or simply be done with her there and then, was anybody's guess.

Roland wasn't one easily swayed, though. She knew that first-hand. He raised a hand to them, a gesture that silenced them and stopped them in their tracks. His brow seemed pensive—possibly weary if she didn't know better—and he spoke. For the first time, addressing her and her alone.

"Only a fool handicaps themselves for the enemy."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, a gesture that did not reach her eyes but that wrenched at something within her chest. "Then that tells you everything you need to know, doesn't it?"

There was silence. It weighed her down more than she cared to admit. Before long, he agreed despite the disapproval of those around him. They couldn't go against their captain, however. One of the Chasseurs held out a thin wire, one she surmised they used to cut from how fine it was. It was the only thing they had on them that would work as a restraint. Noé argued against it once more, but Ophelia merely agreed with a smile and a nod.

The man, Georges, came to tie her hands. The wire wrapped around her wrists in front of her, his actions heavy-handed and rough. The more he wrapped it around, the tighter it wound and the deeper it dug into fair skin. Feeling the heavy eyes on her, dull opal eyes lifted to find a light purple hue staring at her with worry evident in them.

"Relax, Monsieur. This is for all to progress swiftly," she said, showing a facetious smile of her own.

His only reply was a grimace.

How righteous.

How stupid.

A solid tug tied everything together and Georges held the lead to her makeshift chains. It took nothing more than a simple tug of her own to snatch away the lead from him, something that sent him and the lady, Maria, in a hissy fit almost instantly.

Instead of dealing with them, she instead focused on Roland who stood behind them and gestured her tied wrists towards him.

"I am no fool, sir," she reminded them. "Of you three, you are the least likely to harm me so long as I do nothing."

Those broad shoulders fell for a split second before that giddiness from before took over. He took the lead and turned to Vanitas and Noé without another word or glance to her.

"Now then, gentlemen! Lead the way!"

---

"Mind if I walk ahead?"

Roland didn't object. He didn't say much of anything to her, in fact. Aside from the few words he had directed to her some minutes ago, he refrained from addressing her altogether. He talked plenty to Noé; something about finding a vampire that was civil had him quite fascinated and charmed with him. Even asked him to be friends.

Truly, birds of a feather flock together. In this case, the birds were idiots. One by chance, the other by choice. Both idiots, all the same.

For once, she agreed with Vanitas. Their endless chitchat was starting to get on her nerves. Either that, or the fact she wasn't asleep at these wee hours of the morning was starting to get to her.

Those aimless thoughts scattered when a pungent scent struck her nostrils.

Ophelia remained quiet as she followed, careful with each step as they found themselves climbing down steps. The descent almost reminded her of the safe house, except for the scent.

It reeked of death here.

Soon enough, they reached a sort of entrance. Even with it closed, Ophelia felt repulsed by it and by the memory it brought up.

A blurry yet vivid one. Iron doors being pushed open, their creak a hollowed shriek in the near darkness they were in. Suddenly, a loud pop cracked her ears. Confetti flew in the air, startling her as lights flashed her eyes. Then a screeching voice called through before she could get a hold of herself.

"Welcome! And welcome back! My dear No. 69!"

Dull opal eyes took in the sight of the bald man in front of them, flanked by two others. Bodyguards. One of them actually looked familiar.

So, that's where you ran off to.

Who she assumed to be the infamous Doctor Moreau spoke up, a giddiness that revolted her and had her cursing his every word. And every one of them directed at Vanitas.

"Do you remember me?! You do, don't you!?"

If the giddiness in his voice didn't make her want to puke, then Vanitas' sudden sickly sweet voice got the job done.

"Doctor Moreau!"

A little bile rose to her throat as their conversation continued. Hold it together, Ophelia. She felt sick to her stomach even more as the stench of the room settled into her senses. There was no doubt about it.

She'd been in this place before.

"Who are those people behind you? They're armed…are they your friends?"

There wasn't an ounce of caution in his voice. Almost like he couldn't fathom someone like Vanitas—one of his previous test subjects—going against him. And the boy played right into it.

"They're your supporters, doctor!"

Ophelia caught the gist of something by the few sentences they exchanged. The doctor was gullible, more so if praised. Ego ran him. She guessed if they went along and fed it enough, he'd spill where he kept those kidnapped curse-bearers.

"As you can see, they're Chasseurs," Vanitas explained, excusing the presence of the three that had accompanied them. "I expect they'll be useful to you both as assistants and as guards. And what's more, I also found one of my friends!"

Those words sent a shiver down her spine. Vanitas turned about and walked to where she and Roland stood. Without a word, he took the lead from Roland's hand before his eyes rose to meet hers. Dull opal eyes barely moved when she caught it, that look in his bright blue eyes that told her one thing.

'Play along.'

The easy tug he gave as he turned was enough for her to follow the couple of feet behind him as he brought her closer to Moreau. Finally, face-to-face with him, dread suddenly filled her. Her chest tightened making it a bit harder to breathe with every passing scrutinous second. Her tied hands balled in front of her and became clammy.

It was strange. She'd been revolted by the thought of this man conducting such heinous experiments on people, regardless of species, but she hadn't felt specifically threatened by him. Much less after seeing how frail and idiotic he was. Yet something about coming near the man triggered something in her brain—

And her body reacted on its own.

It was then that a sudden shine came to Moreau's eyes behind those goggles.

"Oohhhhhh! This is—this is—!"

His stubby fingers suddenly grabbed at her face, pushing her glasses up with a disregard that shocked her. They dug onto her skin, his nails digging into her cheekbones and shooting pain across her skin.

"I can't believe it! You got her back for me!"

Vanitas smiled cunningly. "Of course, doctor. When I heard those terrible people had taken such a precious subject from you, I knew you would be happy to get it back."

Ophelia's breath quickened the more the bastard drooled over her. His grubby thumbs pressed underneath her eyes. Pulling her lids down. Hurting her from the pressure. Her eyes watered as a terror she couldn't identify suddenly swallowed her voice.

"Yes, yes! These are it! These precious little eyes! HOW MAAAARVELOUUUUUS!"

Finally, his hands ripped away from her face. Ophelia instinctively stepped back, bumping into Vanitas as she tried to calm her breathing. Hearing steps on metal, her eyes darted to the sides of the hideout and watched as more of those reinforced humans she'd fought before now appear in hordes from the shadows like foul cockroaches.

"Come, come, everyone! Hurry up!" he enthusiastically said with claps of his hands. "Prepare to entertain our guests!"

It was a blur what happened next. Vanitas led her easily because of her stupor and even had to help her sit down. But as he helped her into the wooden box that made for her chair at the end of the table next to Noé his voice reached her as nothing more than a whisper.

"Breathe and get a hold of yourself."

Something about the reminder made her focus. First, she minded her breathing. In, out. In…out. Then her heart. Slow down. Slower. She managed to somehow calm down a little by the time tea was brought out.

A chipped cup was set before her. Her vision blurred still as the hand setting it down pulled away. Instinctively, she tried reaching for it but when doing so, she was reminded of the wire around her wrists. The cord rubbed against her fair skin, reddening it. It'd be bruised later if anything.

Panic and anger set in at the reminder of her willing stupidity, making her teeth grind down. Roland had been right; she was a fool.

"All right! Allow me to introduce myself! My name is Moreau!" Ophelia wished her hands were free. At the moment, all she could do was imagine the color draining from his disgusting face, writhing gasping for air as she strangled the man. "No. 69 has probably told you already but I research vampires here!"

Roland risked the first question and went straight to the point. Why was he trying to create vampires? Apparently, the answer had to be obvious but thanks to Vanitas soothing the waters, he answered freely.

"You see…someday, I want to become a vampire myself!"

Insane. There was no other word to describe the man that rambled on and on about vampires and how they were the apex of human evolution. He bounced and flailed around the room, detailing his so-called 'dream'.

"And that first breakthrough—" Ophelia's back stiffened at hearing him behind her. Her gaze fell onto the cup of tea in front of her, focusing on that instead and trying to hide her mounting uneasiness.

Those grimy hands touched her, wrapping around her shoulders and laying his weight upon her head and back.

"The little gift that family sent me! My very first successful recipient of vampiric organs!"

Her blood ran cold, her breathing labored.

Suddenly she was six again.

That whole year had been a blur to her, more so than others. Now she knew why. A part of her recalled those sensations, stuck somewhere in the depths of her mind. Cold metal against her back. Leather straps around her wrists and ankles. Injections that burned, sharp incisions through her skin, hands toying with her insides.

Hands picking at her face—her eyes.

Bile rose again and this time it was hard not to let it rise to her mouth. The acid burned, tasting bitter. It was a miracle she somehow kept it in. But none of that stopped the unshed tears from forming in the corner of her eyes.

All she did remember about that year was how much she wanted to die.

He went onto a tirade that finally set her free. The weight left her back, and Ophelia found herself covering her mouth with her hands before anything else. Feeling eyes on her, her dull gaze rose and met a pair of vibrant green.

Their vibrancy, however, did nothing to hide the seething rage behind them.

"Both of you were such excellent subjects! Especially you, No. 69! You gladly cooperated with any experiment. Even when we cut you up, even when you nearly died, you never cried or complained!"

For once, she had to admit something. Vanitas was much stronger than her. She hadn't been the least bit prepared to face this part of her past. Unlike him, she couldn't simply set it back and detach herself from it. Not when, as the Doctor said, it'd been her family that brought her to him.

A coolness pressed against her neck. Hidden beneath the hood of her cloak still, Emile pressed himself against her skin. His touch soothed her. The soft clicking of his cogs turned, setting her on a steady pace to follow and breathe. While attempting to calm down her riled nerves, Ophelia listened. Vanitas was dragging the information out of the bastard with ease, and soon got to something that piqued her interest.

"After all, I have that exalted personage on my side now."

Exalted personage? Who in their right minds would help such an insane person? Regrettably, that wasn't something he would be willing to let slip, even in passing. Out of the blue, he pulled a jar full of water and something swimming in it. Ophelia reacted instinctively, turning towards him, but regretted it the instant she laid eyes upon what swam inside. This time when the bile rose, she couldn't keep it in. Ophelia spat it out to the side and got into a fit of coughing while he continued bragging about the rest of the parts he'd collected.

"...how are the vampires you brought down here?" Roland asked.

The bastard had the nerve to laugh. "I got rather carried away, I'm afraid. I've ruined nearly all of them!"

Ophelia took a deep breath at hearing that. Bright blue eyes came to mind.

Then Natalya—

A slow mist crawled from the edges of the room, small and careful to not be seen. His indifference left a sour taste in her mouth and lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. She knew this feeling all too well, too, despite not having let herself feel it in a long time.

Rage was difficult to forget.

It was raw, all-encompassing, like a ravaging wave washing over her and each time threatening to swallow her whole. Every foul word out of his mouth was another wave hitting over and over and over. His disregard for them as children, his apathy for them now, his disgusting need to further his own desires without regard to what he did to others.

You were wrong, brother. Some people are just filth that shouldn't be allowed to exist in this world.

In that instant, Noé rushed to Vanitas, stopping the doctor's hand from touching him again.

"Stop it."

"I'm sorry," he replied, "I can't." She hadn't been the only one riled up. Noé stopped the bastard from doing another depraved act and gave him the reprimand of a lifetime. "Quit referring to people as numbers!"

He flipped the man over, thrashing him against the floor and in the process showing off his eyes. At the doctor's call, the guards fell upon them. Ophelia didn't hesitate on jumping from her seat, preparing to guard with how her hands were still tied.

Thankfully, a flurry of blades burst outward, incapacitating most of them. Durandal was vicious in its attack, and Roland was showing no mercy.

"Thank you, Noé," he said passively but with clear rage in his eyes. "If you hadn't made a move, I'd be killing that man myself right now!"

The Chasseurs were ready to attack at their captain's words. Needing to protect herself as well, Ophelia turned to the one close enough to hear her. Green eyes fleeted to hers and instant before he retracted Durandal and placed the heavy blade between her arms.

"Don't make me regret this, Phel."

The wire snapped with little force as the sharp blade cut through it, falling in frail strands to the ground. Free at last, she gripped her whip and lashed it out at the incoming guards, letting her eyes glow red as water enlarged and sharpened the width of her weapon.

Water blades sheared through clothes and skin, tainting it red.

"What's going on?!" Noé's sudden yell made her turn just in time to see that man from the ball—the masked spider—taking the doctor off to safety.

Before any of them could do anything about it, however, a door not far ahead of them shuddered heavily as something hit against it. Dull opal eyes turned towards the door as it was hit more and more, the iron barely holding on.

"There's a couple of very lively curse-bearers in there, biting at each other's throats. Most of the other vampires were either eaten or sucked dry!"

A chill ran down her.

Is Natalya gone?

The door burst open with unbelievable force, and from it came a dark miasma with little resemblance to a physical body. Then, behind it, crawled out another. A much more physical yet no less grotesque shape; a twisted body on what seemed its back, its head twisted to lay on its abdomen as several arms jutted from its body, lending themselves as feet.

The black mass attacked first, its hands sprinting forward to catch whatever it could in their grasp. Ophelia managed to keep the one coming for her at bay, deviating it with her lance but sending it instead to one of Moreau's enhanced humans. Retracting itself back to its body, a large mouth with several rows of teeth opened and without hesitation dropped the men into it. A nasty crunch echoed with each bite through the empty lab as it ate them and their bones snapped under the pressure.

Suddenly from the blackness of its mouth, the mutilated body from before sprung forward, its claws outstretched as it scurried towards them. The Chasseurs let out a bolt but the insect-like creature darted through openings faster than they could land. Ophelia didn't let it get any closer, brandishing her lance out and raising a torrent of water to stop it in its tracks.

"There's two of them," she groaned under her breath, letting the water fall and splash around the room back into the mist it had entered as.

"Malnomen—Prédateur, The Shadow, and Pique-assiette, The Leech."

The Prédateur would continue engulfing anything in its path, he said, until the curse-bearer inside it died. The Pique-assiette was only an opportunist, feeding from what was inside the Prédateur and untouched by its powers due to its highly regenerative abilities. It explained how it was the only one alive still out of all the others. It took the chance and road coattails. Vanitas wouldn't be able to do anything to the former, not without pulling the curse-bearer out of that amalgam of shadows first.

"What about the leech!?" she shouted as she let her whip loose on the hands that only regenerated whenever she cut them.

Vanitas held his book aloft, a brilliant blue light shimmering in the room. The Leech squirmed as the light hit it, but just as quickly as it did, the thing scurried away on its hands back into the mouth of the Shadow. Both she and him clicked their tongues.

"Immobilize it! Otherwise it'll just keep hiding inside the Shadow!"

Ophelia didn't hesitate to charge forward with her lance.

"W-Wait, Phel!"

She didn't listen to Roland's call. Instead she focused on the mist. It gathered around her in a whirlwind that she ran through and in passing through, water lances followed behind her in a flurry of blue. Sensing her coming, the Leech came out of hiding and stood on its multitude hind legs, baring the horrid mouth laying underneath lined with serrated teeth.

Feeling light on her feet, Ophelia got close enough to smell the foulness of its breath before her eyes shone crimson. One of the water lances fell, turning into a puddle under it. Holding her breath, she slipped under, entering the void made through the water before the curse-bearer could ensnare her in its maw. The space was limited, the pressure tenfold, but Ophelia had done this enough times to know how to maneuver herself in such a small space. Using the pressure to propel herself out, she reappeared behind it, iron and water lances at the ready.

Too caught off guard, the Leech couldn't evade the first lance that struck it to the floor. With a swift kick, she dislodged it from the granite, slashing it upward with the iron lance before sending a barrage of water against it. Each lance struck successively and precisely, bringing the Leech skyward with each weapon piercing through its darkened flesh. Brandishing her iron lance once more, Ophelia struck it against the asphalt and commanded the remaining mist, sending it skyward to unite with the lances and disperse outward to create makeshift chains that kept the curse-bearer aloft. It flailed, a useless attempt to get its barings, but with nothing to get its feet onto, it wouldn't go anywhere.

"Vani—" A flash of attacks burst ahead of her, letting the name die in her throat. Durandal opened and slashed away at the Shadow that had come much too close to her, its hands intent on snatching her had the blade not cut them off.

Another flash. This time of two idiots running past her towards the curse-bearer, black and silver crossing her vision as they rushed past her.

"Maria! Georges! Take it down!"

The Chasseurs obeyed their captain's order. Ophelia jumped out of their way as attacks rained down on the Shadow. From afar, she watched as Vanitas opened his book midrun, the same shimmer she'd seen before at the ball coming to life and engulfing the Leech that she held suspended in the air.

Her powers disappeared as if affected by the book itself, but what caught her attention the most was what fell from the Leech as it disappeared.

A blonde girl. The name slipped from her lips almost instantly.

"Natalya!"

"Get her, princess!"

She didn't need to wonder why or how. Natalya's unconscious body was free falling and with the Shadow's maw bared opened underneath, she knew exactly where she would land.

I won't get there fast enough on my own.

Question and answer sprung forward together. Opal eyes turned to the one closest to her, gaze hardened, determined.

"Ro, toss me!"

Roland's vibrant green eyes matched hers, a boyish grin coming to his features as he brought Durandal back together and spun on his feet while spinning the double-bladed lance in his hands. Not missing a beat, Ophelia rushed at him and jumped just as Roland hurled his weapon towards the girl, her feet touching the tip before being propelled forward.

The force of his hit had her at the peak of the throw in an instant. Ophelia caught the girl in her open arms and brought her closer to her body, but turned when she saw those two being swallowed by the Shadow. It gulped them down without hesitation and opened its mouth once more, threatening to do the same to them.

Unable to stop herself or change their trajectory in time, Ophelia cradled Natalya's body against hers, bracing themselves for whatever would come once they got through those maws. But just as the tip of her boot touched it, the curse-bearer's form crumbled into nothing.

It didn't stop her from falling though.

Ophelia shrieked as beneath her Noé and Vanitas laid on the floor, barely breathing, and just at the tip of her boot. Unable to stop, she stomped on Vanitas's stomach and bounced off. The boy wretched, almost as if having taken a gulp of much needed air. Unbothered, Ophelia concerned herself with protecting Natalya as she lost her footing on the ground, rolling around and stopping when her legs hit the far wall, leaving her with them in the air and her back on the floor.

Breathing through short pants, Ophelia watched upside down as the two began laughing at their own stupidity. In her annoyance, she yelled from the other side of the room, though the two seemed highly unbothered by her ire.

"You both are maniacs! You're going to get us all killed one day! Stop fucking laughing already!"

She yelled the last of that with all the air left in her lungs and simply laid down after that, unable to believe they'd pulled that off somehow. Even when that quack slipped away, they at least saved not one, but two curse-bearers. Her hands held onto Natalya's body tightly, the girl breathing soundly in her arms.

I suppose I can let their stupidity pass for today.

A sudden explosion brought their jovial rest to an end. Dull opal eyes widened as she turned over and the ceiling began to collapse on itself.

"Run! We'll be buried alive!"

Ophelia carried Natalya in her arms and ran after them as the debris fell all around them. Cursing everything under her breath, she didn't stop until the laboratory was far behind them and they were completely out of breath at the end of a hallway. Her lungs cried for rest and Ophelia couldn't help giving it to them, sliding down to a seat against the wall behind Roland as she let Natalya rest on her.

Emile did laps around her, screeching and clapping at their successful escape. Ophelia let a curse slip again. Fucking thing didn't even run, he just rode her cloak.

He's going to the junkyard.

The quiet that ensued was only interrupted by Vanitas' disgruntled grumbling. She supposed that out of all of them, he would be the one most upset about having let the doctor get away. Then again, after what she recalled and confirmed with this little excursion, she wouldn't decline a minute or two with the man so she could get a punch or two in.

"Georges. Maria." Dull opal eyes turned upward, curious as Roland addressed the other Chasseurs. "Give those two your cloaks."

He asked Noé about the kidnapped vampires, promising to look after them. Ophelia didn't trust it, but it was hard to argue at the moment. Besides, with this being a mess that the Chasseurs should have dealt with, she felt a bit assured he'd keep his word. And if he turned over Natalya to Count Orlok then those two would get to see their sister again, alive.

"And so, you three should get away from here at once," he pressed. "No matter what the circumstances were, you invaded Chasseur territory, and you'll be apprehended and interrogated. Before that happens, hurry up and leave."

Wait, what? He was giving them an out? Ophelia stood up, shocked to her core as Roland told Maria to guide them out so they wouldn't arouse suspicion. Vanitas and Noé she could understand. Those two hadn't come here under malicious circumstances and could be pardoned if anything. Not like she had done anything wrong, either. At least not this time.

But still, letting her go after what she'd done to them in the past…

"Captain, what about her?"

There it was. Georges and Maria could let the issue with those two go, but certainly her deeds wouldn't go unanswered.

Roland responded with ease.

"There will always be another day."

Maria, utterly disgruntled by the outcome, tossed her cloak to Noé who clumsily caught it. Vanitas donned Georges' while poking the beast that had just let them go free.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Maria told him. "I just don't want to owe that vampire any favors."

I suppose we all can be reasoned with.

Gently, Ophelia laid Natalya against the wall next to the other unconscious vampire. The poor thing would be exhausted once she awoke. Hopefully when she did, it would be to the familiar faces of her sisters.

She stood once more and turned only to have Roland towering so much over her that the others were out of her view. Those vibrant green eyes lingered on her for a moment before his hands plucked the hood of her cloak over her head. Ophelia could do nothing except stand there, dumbfounded by the delicate gesture, dull eyes wide as she stared at the heartfelt smile that tightened something in her chest.

His hands remained on her hood, pulling it down to cover her features but not enough to cut away their gazes.

"Be safe, Ophelia."

Her mouth opened, intent on responding with something—anything!—but felt her throat tighten around the words. With a sting to her eyes, all she could do was nod, lips pursed shut into a thin line to keep them from trembling.

His smile broadened as he turned to carefully push her towards Noé and Vanitas. Ophelia dared look over her shoulder to meet his eyes one last time as from behind her Noé's gratitude rang through the tunnels.

Roland welcomed the heartfelt 'thank you', promising to meet them all in the sunlight next time.

---

One. Two!

The third kick did the trick, bursting the iron grate open and finally letting them out of the catacombs for good. Both of them went down as they passed through the grate on all fours. Ophelia didn't bother with them and simply stepped over to make her way out into the open.

She let her feet guide her back into the light. The rays of the morning sun kissed her skin giving her the much needed warmth that the underground lacked. Eyes still stinging, she let the heat of the morning dry them from her face as she stared up into the sky with closed eyes.

So much had happened in one night. Too much, actually.

Still, it didn't feel meaningless.

A small metal hand pressed against her cheek. Emile's cooling touch grounded her, dull eyes coming down to meet him. The little automaton opened its mouth and pointed inside.

"I agree," she hummed, petting under his chin with her finger. "Let's get something to eat."

"Mademoiselle Ophelia?" Ophelia didn't get to take even a few steps before Noé's voice stopped her.

She hadn't wanted to stay but something about the lilt of his voice, so full of benign curiosity, had her glancing over her shoulder. They were sitting on the ground, back to back, Vanitas completely obscured to her eyes by Noé's taller frame. Questions were clear in his violet eyes along with the way his brow furrowed so deeply. She could practically hear them rushing through his head.

All of them boiled down to a single question.

'What are you?'

Ophelia supposed they had earned as much after the long night.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself, Monsieur." Delicately, she grabbed onto the edges of her billowing cloak, using them as a makeshift skirt to deliver a perfect curtsey. She lifted her head after a brief moment to meet his puzzled violet gaze with her dull opal one. "I am Ophelia, the second born daughter of the Delacour Family."

"Delacour?" he voiced, confusion dripping from the unfamiliar surname. "Who—"

"They were a prominent ducal house here in Paris. A family who for generations trained their children to be offered to the Church in order to become Chasseurs." Vanitas' voice rang through from behind him. Ophelia stood straight, palms resting on her lap as she allowed him to speak. "They went extinct a little over a decade ago after the entirety of the duchy was massacred. Well," he scoffed, his voice dropping low as he muttered, "Not entirely, apparently."

Looks like someone did a little digging after we first met.

Guess he hadn't been calling her 'princess' only to exasperate her.

"Wait?" Noé said, seemingly putting the pieces together at last. "Chasseurs? Then you're—"

"Human, yes," she finished with a thin smile. "Your Teacher proposed it would be the easiest way to join you, Monsieur. We both surmised it would be rather nonsensical for one of us to fathom guarding one of your kind. Which is why you both will understand the necessity for secrecy."

Ophelia wasn't one for threats, but if necessary, she would rely on them.

Vanitas' hand sprung from behind Noé with a rather dismissive wave. Ophelia was sure he didn't care in the least about what secrets she kept, but knowing what little she did about him, there would be a time this would come back and haunt her through him. If anybody would dare use this against her, it'd be him, after all.

But for now, his compliance was a relief.

It was Noé on whom she waited for now.

A myriad of emotions crossed his face—confusion and bewilderment the top contenders—until it settled into a rather determined gaze. He nodded reassuringly. Ophelia dreaded trusting in his silence the most. Not because of the malice that could rest in him, but because of the goodness that did.

People like him often did stupid things believing them to be the right thing to do.

She bowed her head in gratitude before turning her back on them.

"Now, shall we return to the hotel? I am certain Mademoiselle Amelia will be beside herself when she doesn't find us in our rooms."

---

|Delacour Duchy. Sixteen years prior.|

Something wasn't right.

Ophelia didn't know what or how, but she could sense it. All about her current situation told her in her gut that something was just wrong.

Her brother—a man seldom somber, let alone indisposed—was crying. The tears choked him as he hunched over her; he sat in his usual chair as she sat on his lap, the warmth of his body during the rare summer rains welcoming yet suffocating. His strong arms held her in a grip that felt both tenuous and iron-tight, undecided on what to do as the hands that held her to him trembled.

Ophelia didn't know what it was, but something was wrong. Despite only knowing him for such a brief time, the fact that he was sad made her feel helpless. She cradled her small body against his chest, leaning her ear over his heart to listen to it beating. It was fast, his tumultuous breathing not doing much to help, but it was there. Her small hands held onto his shirt, not caring that this brought her all the closer to that suffocating feeling.

Dying of suffocation would be miles better than perishing in the cold.

Then again, she didn't much care about herself at the moment.

"What's wrong, brother?"

As if pained, Ophelia felt him flinch slightly only for him to quickly rebuke her statement with a shake of his head. Holding her closer still, one of his arms cradled her against him fully as the other pressed away the last tears that had fallen from his eyes. As he pulled his hand back, though, the burning light of the fireplace gave away the redness under his eyes.

"Nothing, Phel, it's just—" His breath hitched as he couldn't help the sob that escaped him still, forcing him to press the back of his hand against his lips.

Liar. But she knew better than to rebuke an adult. Father and Mother painstakingly reminded her of that much too often.

"Is it because of Father again? Did he say something mean to you?"

"He…" Unlike before, he silenced himself this time with a deep steadying breath. "Ophelia…have you ever wished you weren't like this?"

At first, she didn't quite understand him and voiced her confusion. Her brother didn't have to say much to clarify his question, though. All he did was brush his thumb over one of her closed eyes, the skin brushing against her dark eyelashes. Her brow raised then in understanding and she reached up to rub away at the tickling sensation left behind. The question remained for a long pause before she answered.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I've never really thought about it."

"What if you could change it?" he asked.

Her hands fell as she turned up at hearing the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if there was something that could be done, so you could be…" Her brother pursed her lips, the word he wanted to use unable to leave him.

But Ophelia knew the word even when he didn't say it. It was a word that she heard plenty from the help around the mansion. A word their siblings spoke in benign curiosity. A word that Father and Mother uttered in disdain and disappointment.

"Normal?" His silence was her answer. She pondered the question for a moment. "I guess, if it means that I'll be able to play with my sisters, or I could actually fence with you, or do all the things everybody else does then…yeah. I guess I would like it if I weren't like this."

"There is a way, Ophelia," her brother affirmed. "Father knows someone, a doctor. They've been speaking and apparently, he may be able to help you."

"Really?" The hope in her faint reply wasn't lost on them. Even if she never once wondered what being 'normal' might be like, it was always a feeling in the back of her mind. A faint 'what if'. One that might not be as far-fetched as she once believed. "Would Father really do that for me?"

There was a shift in the air. It didn't last long enough for her to question it. Before she knew it, her brother held her close again, his body moving as he nodded his head.

"Of course he would," he said, voice a bit broken. "He…father would do anything to see you happy."

A warmth unlike any other spread throughout her body as giddiness took over. Ophelia had never wished for, let alone hoped for, a way to be normal. It was just something she had been told many times to be impossible. And yet, here was a chance of a lifetime—a true miracle.

Leaning back away from him, Ophelia clumsily reached out her hands until she found his face and placed her small hands against her brother's cheeks. A giggle came through as she smiled at the first thought that came to her.

"I can't wait to see what you look like, Brother Raphael!"

---

A/N:

It took me a while but finally got around to writing this. I thought about breaking it in two, but i've always liked my first 3 chapters of to pack the most punch so I left it. Besides after so long, i thought ya'll would appreciate a longer one.

Thanks for reading and stayed tuned for the next update!

- Evie