Acacia knows quite a bit. She prides herself on knowing what others don’t. She doesn’t seem like the type to know such things, and that is just how she likes it. Knowing what others don’t believe her to know is one of her greatest joys. And just what does she do with this knowledge? One might ask. Well, unlike the majority of children who use their diaries as a way to log their mundane everyday lives, Acacia writes what she knows to be true about others. Her knowledge. Accumulated from countless hours of snooping and peeping and pretending not to be around when secrets are said, her knowledge has nearly filled the entirety of her ‘diary’. It reaches far outside the boundaries of the manor, even farther than the other families’ homes. It spans the past, present, and future, full of predictions nearly certain to happen. It goes deeper than she is ever willing to tell. The depths of her knowledge are murky with terrible secrets- each and every one a tragedy. The villains- the keepers of those murky secrets- circle around her and her knowledge like sharks while the victims of such events cling to her legs with their seaweed arms, begging for sympathy. On occasion it gets to be so much she feels as though she’s actually drowning. The feeling is quite an unpleasant one, and so Acacia vows to never let anyone else sink as deep into her knowledge as she has. No, the most she will ever allow is for them to dip their toes into it- maybe wade if she trusts them enough. It would be dangerous, for both her and the other party, if she were to let them dive to where she’s sunken to. She will never allow that to happen. Yes, she is the metaphorical ‘life guard’ of her knowledge. Those are the humans who watch over beaches, if she isn’t mistaken. She’ll have to ask Vincent later- her oceanic metaphor hinges upon the phrase, much as her knowledge’s secrecy hinges upon the metaphor. She’s certain that if she were, in explanation, to equate her knowledge with something as terrifying as the ocean, no one would ever want to go near it. That is the reasoning she’s hit upon after a good hour of trying to figure out how to deter others from reading her diary, were they to find out about its actual contents. For the entirety of that hour, she’s been scribbling down ideas in said diary- it can’t be all secrets and intrigue! It makes for a rather nice notebook, as well. Acacia must admit, however, that the pages covered in notes about highways, swimming pools, fortunetellers, and all other manner of horrifying notions do not look in the slightest bit professional. She shrugs the thought off, as she will be the only one to ever lay eyes on them, and goes to hide the ‘diary’ under her mattress. Vincent will be here soon. Vincent arrives on time as he does the majority of nights. Acacia is pleased that she need not reprimand him, as she must do on occasion. For the most part, Vincent is a good fiancé, and she wouldn’t want her relationship with him to suffer due to too much scolding. She leads him over to her room’s play area, and is just about to set upon deciding what to play with when she notices he’s acting peculiar. He’s fidgeting about with an uncertain look on his face. He seems to have something to say. “Is anything on your mind, Vincent?” Acacia asks sweetly, giving him permission to speak. He’s caught slightly off guard by her perceptiveness and shifts his weight back and forth between his feet a few times before responding. “Well,” he says, looking a little guilty, “I’ve been doing a bit of snooping.” Acacia nods, bidding him to continue. “While I was doing so,” he goes on, “I came across something quite, um, peculiar.” “And what might that have been?” Acacia questions. “You see,” Vincent hesitates for a moment, “I saw Marshall and Master Sullivan together in his room. He, I think… I think he was asking Marshall to bite his neck? I’m rather confused about the whole thing, to be honest.” Acacia’s eyes widen for a moment and then close as she shakes her head. “Honestly, brother, how far do you plan to fall?” she whispers to herself. “Pardon?” Vincent asks, not having heard her. “Nothing,” she looks at him with a smile. “I must say, Vincent, that’s quite an interesting find. Brother is surely a wealth of embarrassments- mother would certainly be furious if she were to find out. Knowing this, what would you like to do?”
Vincent looks back at her with confusion written across his face. She sighs- he’s lucky to have her around. “Come now, surely you must be curious about why Marshall bit brother,” Acacia states. Vincent nods in response. “I was, but Marshall wouldn’t tell me,” he frowns. “He told me to forget about it.” “Vincent,” Acacia shakes her head, “those are the times you must use your leverage.” “Leverage?” “Yes. When you know someone’s secret and they won’t do as they’re told, simply tell them ‘I’ll tell so-and-so about it’ and they’ll be more than happy to oblige,” she grins, further assured that Vincent is incredibly lucky to have her. “Now, I say we go and say just that to that mean old brother of mine.” Acacia extends a hand in Vincent’s direction. “What do you say?”
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What could be of greater importance than snooping? Vincent can think of nothing achievable that surpasses it. Certainly getting home would take precedence, were that a possibility. Sadly, it isn’t, and so snooping is Vincent’s top priority. He can’t recall exactly when this bad habit of his started. He doesn’t even remember why. All Vincent knows is that it’s become a habit at this point, and those are hard to break indeed. Today again, he stands by the door to Lady Desrosiers’ study. Again he looks around to make sure no one else is nearby. There never is anyone else in this area during the day, and they all assume the same of him. Satisfied that this remains fact, again he peers through the keyhole. Inside are Lady Desrosiers, and a human girl who doesn’t look entirely there. She has a glazed look in her eyes and is tilting back and forth and back again ever so slightly. Vincent watches with some kind of morbid fascination as Lady Desrosiers takes the girl’s neck gently in her hand, and brings her mouth to it. Delicately, her sharps fangs pierce the girl’s skin. Remaining unfazed, the human girl just stands there staring into space. Vincent looks on as the color slowly drains from her skin. She’s going to die at this rate, Vincent knows. But what good would it do for him to reveal himself? No, that would only result in his death in addition to hers. He’s rationalized this overtime as survival of the fittest- the food chain at work- but even in his earliest expeditions, he’s certain, he knew better than to make his presence known. Vincent continues to look on with a detached expression and sinking feeling resting in his stomach as Lady Desrosiers throws the husk of what’s left of the girl onto the floor. She putters around for a bit, arranging and rearranging her knickknacks, perusing her book collection, and eventually sets about reading a newspaper from some bygone era. Lady Desrosiers does not age, Vincent has been told, and that explains much of her fixation with the past. Having lived long enough, most would become stuck in their ways at one point or another. Stubbornly hanging onto the old, rejecting the new, and allowing the present to pass them by. Vincent has also been told that while she doesn’t age, her children age at around the same rate as humans do, and will continue to do so until reaching maturity. After some time, Lady Desrosiers folds up the newspaper and tucks it away with countless others, faded and creased with age. She picks the husk up off of the floor and swiftly drapes it over her shoulders. She whispers a few words, inaudible to Vincent on the other side of a heavy door, and disappears in a cloud of murky smoke, going somewhere he can only ever guess at. With this, Vincent knows it’s time to leave, lest he risk being found out. He sneaks back to his room, unnoticed. The next day comes and Vincent is summoned to see Acacia once more. He bows and she curtsies and they run off to play dolls. Lately, Acacia has found she enjoys the small plastic people a great amount- much greater than when it was just herself acting out their mundane little lives. Yes, dolls are indeed a group sport. As they putter around the little wooden dollhouse, Vincent is struck by the sudden urge to know. About what? The dolls? Acacia? Nothing that specific, although he would suppose the latter is included under the umbrella of what he is currently curious about. He wonders, as he does often, about what Acacia knows about the current state of the world outside the manor- about humans, more specifically. It’s the kind of wonder that pops up from time to time, but always goes away before the proper chance to satiate it comes about. “Say, Acacia,” he starts, still mindlessly moving his doll, “have you ever been outside? I don’t just mean to the other families’ houses, either. Outside outside.” Acacia shakes her head. “No,” she answers simply. “I’m too young and it is dangerous. My fangs are not yet full grown, and so I have no way to defend myself.” “Oh,” Vincent replies and slowly moves his doll up the stairs. “I suppose you don’t know much about humans, then?” This much he’d already gathered, but sometimes it’s nice to receive confirmation about what you know to be true. “Not beyond what I’ve been told,” Acacia replies and turns to face him. “You’re only the second one I’ve met, after all.” “And your brother? Is he the same?” Vincent asks, not expecting a particularly interesting response. Acacia pauses for a moment, and makes a face rapt in contemplation. After a brief silence, she lets out a small sigh. “Brother’s had more experience with the humans’ domain,” she crinkles her nose as she says this. Vincent understood this much from the state of Sullivan’s room. Acacia’s expression suggests she has more to add, but Vincent doesn’t ask, and so she doesn’t. The matter drops to silence and the two of them resume playing dolls. A few days go by and Vincent ends another night by peeping at Lady Desrosiers’ late-morning activities. It’s been becoming less and less fun with the passing days. The initial fear and adrenaline and the general shock of it all have all but subsided, he feels. He feels unsatisfied. As one often does when something gives them such a feeling, he decides to seek satisfaction elsewhere. Now it’s less of a conscious, decided decision, and more of a slow, creeping idea. It starts as a thought. Would it not be interesting to see what Sullivan gets up to at this time of day? Of course, Vincent shakes it away. Sullivan is terribly, horribly frightening. If he were to find Vincent snooping… Vincent would rather not even think of what kind of punishment he would face. But then again, Lady Desrosiers has not noticed him in all these days. What are the chances that her son, less experienced and perceptive as he surely is, would notice him? Vincent tries to push the foolishly dangerous thought from his head, but it clings to him, piling on irresistible scenarios. He surely wouldn’t notice him, would he? And wouldn’t it be a wonderful thing for Vincent to discover something more about Sullivan? What if it was something secret? It would surely be fantastic to have something to use against him. For how cruel Sullivan has been, Vincent can’t resist the temptation of having something to hold over him- a sort of safety net. This is enough to push Vincent’s better judgment aside as he takes a turn down the siblings’ hall. He passes by Acacia’s door. Most likely fast asleep at this hour, all is silent in her room. Young vampires, he is aware, need a great amount of rest as they grow and develop their otherworldly abilities. Coming from the next door over, however, there is the faintest hint of sound. As he gets closer, he recognizes the noises as some kind of voice. Who is Sullivan speaking with? Vincent wonders if Sullivan takes human ‘guests’ as his mother does. It seems likely, if not terribly disappointing. Vincent soon reaches Sullivan’s door and peers through the keyhole to see what all the commotion is about. He’s rather surprised to see Marshall and Sullivan, the butler’s mouth seemingly attached to his neck. “Yes! Bite me harder! Sink your teeth into my flesh~!” Sullivan squeals in a voice quite unlike him. He’s holding tightly to Marshall, and his legs are wobbling like a newborn fawn’s. It looks as though he might fall over if he let go. Vincent doesn’t quite know what to make of this scene, let alone this Sullivan with the wide smile on his face and the look of gasping for breath. Sullivan lets out a high-pitched squeak as Marshall does as he was told. The vampire’s posture relaxes and his face flushes a pale pink. “Ah,” he sighs with a satisfied smile and eyes pooling with tears. “Your dull human teeth feel so good~” Vincent is thoroughly confused at this point. For starters, from what he knows about vampires, they’re the ones who should be doing the biting. Why is this one being bitten? Secondly, it hurts, right? Being bitten, Vincent is fairly sure, isn’t a pleasant experience. Then why does Sullivan look so happy? Had Vincent misjudged the effects of a bite? Well, he’s certainly never been bitten himself, so it’s indeed possible. As Vincent is in the process of pondering this, he locks eyes with Marshall who proceeds to make a silent shooing motion behind Sullivan’s back. Vincent feels a shiver run down his spine. He was caught. He runs back in the direction of the stairs. He was caught peeping on Sullivan. He scrambles down the one staircase and back up another, leading to the servants’ quarters. Of course he was caught. How could he not be caught? He throws open the door to his little bedroom and slams it shut behind him. He’s incredibly lucky it wasn’t a vampire doing the catching. But still, Marshall could decide to tell the vampires about what he’s done. Vincent worriedly paces back and forth through the tiny space, three steps one way, three steps the other. What would happen if Marshall were to tell Sullivan, as he must be doing now? Vincent would be in huge trouble, that’s for sure. Possibly even enough trouble for the harshest punishment of all- always alluded to- death. Then again, Sullivan would certainly be in trouble if he killed Vincent without Lady Desrosiers’ permission. She’s been quite clear about that on multiple occasions. That would mean she would have to be told about his snooping as well, and she won’t return to the manor for a matter of hours. Vincent relaxes slightly. At the very least, he has time before his untimely demise. Along that same vein, wouldn’t Marshall get in trouble if Lady Desrosiers was told? Vincent is quite certain that butlers- not only ones that serve vampires, but butlers in general- should not bite their masters, as it seems like a rather impolite thing to do. Surely Marshall would consider this possibility as well, being rather wise and intelligent, and it may be enough to deter him from telling the vampires altogether. Yes, that seems like a likely enough outcome, enough so for Vincent to stop pacing and sit down on his bed. A while later, just as Vincent is beginning to feel comfortable enough to get some sleep, a brisk knock comes on the door and Marshall walks in.
“Are you aware of how incredibly dangerous that was?” he asks, sitting next to Vincent. “Dangerous?” Vincent asks, feigning innocence “What was?” “Spying on Master Sullivan,” Marshall elaborates with a slight frown. “If he had been the one to spot you… You understand, right?” Vincent looks up at Marshall for a moment and then nods. He can guess what would have happened. “But,” Vincent says, very quietly, “is peeping really that horrible? Why is there such a harsh punishment for it?” Marshall sighs and shakes his head. “It isn’t just about peeping- it’s about what peeping allows you to see,” he explains. “Sure, most of the time peeping can be harmless, but there is such a thing as privacy. It exists for a reason. And tonight is a good example of why. Vincent, you’ve seen something you were never supposed to. For your own sake, it’s best you forget about it.” “Can I ask you something?” Vincent questions. “Of course,” Marshall replies. “Why exactly were you biting Sullivan?” Vincent asks, tilting his head like an owl. Marshall sighs and smiles patiently. “Now, Vincent, that’s something you don’t ever need to know,” he states. “Like I said, for your own good, it’s better that you forget what happened today. Okay?” Vincent nods. He still has a great amount of questions regarding what he saw today, Sullivan, and what separates harmless peeping from privacy invasion, but he feels it’s better not to ask them now. No, it seems to him that Marshall isn’t in the mood to provide answers. It’s rather likely he never will be, as far as these specific questions are concerned. Vincent is still incredibly curious, however. As his initial fear has subsided- mainly due to the fact that he has yet to be killed, and the threat of such an event seems unlikely- his curiosity has only grown. It’s grown to such a size that it drastically outweighs obedience and honesty. With that in mind, he makes the decision to remember what he saw. And, if Marshall won’t tell him, perhaps he should ask Acacia’s thoughts on the matter. While she isn’t very worldly in general, she seems to know quite a bit about other vampires. Yes, Vincent decides this is a good idea indeed. As the weeks pass by and turn into months, Vincent finds that Marshall’s words were true. While it was indeed quite the shock at first, he has adapted rather nicely. You could say he’s become comfortable with his current situation. He understands more about the world of the vampires at this point. He understands his duties as Acacia’s fiancé. You could even say he’s begun to enjoy understanding. You could not, however, say he is content. Still, he longs for his old home, however far away it becomes. With each passing day he forgets just a little, his memories of the past drifting away from the now. What was his dog’s favorite toy’s name, again? How exactly did his mother laugh? What did he eat for dinner the night he was taken? These sorts of things he thought so commonplace have eluded him as of late. “Vincent,” Marshall’s voice interrupts his musings, “you’ve missed a spot.” He steps up to the sink and reaches out to take the dish. “I’ll take over from here,” he smiles warmly. “Acacia would be disappointed if you were late, after all.” “Yes, sir,” Vincent agrees as he dries his hands. Marshall sighs. “I’ve told you that ‘sir’ isn’t necessary,” he shakes his head. “But that’s the respectful way to address my elders, right?” Vincent hangs the washcloth back on the wall. “I’ve given you permission to use my first name. Besides, I’m not that much older than you are.” “You aren’t?” “No I’m not. How old do you think I am?” Marshall asks, rinsing off a plate. Vincent mulls it over in his head for a few moments. Marshall does look fairly young, although he talks very old. “Hmm,” Vincent hums, “ninety-six?” Marshall grins. “I’m only eighteen, you know?” he laughs. “Now, take that rude little mouth of yours back to your fiancée!” Marshall makes a shooing motion with the dishrag. Every time Vincent says something cheeky, he finds himself relieved that he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. He still has his spunk left, and that’s good. It means he hasn’t broken. He’s resilient. “Good evening, Lady Acacia,” Vincent says as he closes her bedroom door behind him and bows stiffly. “At this point it’s ‘good morning’, isn’t it?” she asks with a slight pout. “You’re terribly late.” Most days she would assert that he needn’t be so formal with her, but she’s feeling a bit miffed and therefore not in a familiar mood. “I’m very sorry, milady. It won’t happen again,” Vincent states sincerely. “It better not,” Acacia replies sulkily, sighs, and paints a smile across her face. “Now let’s get down to today’s business.” “I’m going to tell you about the families living around here,” Acacia says to Vincent as they sit down on the ottoman at the foot of her bed. “You’d better pay close attention, as I’ve gone to great lengths to obtain such relevant gossip.” Vincent nods. He wonders exactly what lengths she’s referring to, but decides to keep his mouth shut. He’s only just been forgiven, after all. “Now, there are the Frisks. They’re a relatively new addition to the area, being first-generation vampires. Mother loathes them. She says they give all of us a bad name, with all their partying and skimpy outfits. Rumor has it they’re thinking of adopting a human child. It’s said they plan to turn it once it reaches adulthood, but still, can you imagine? Mother and the other family heads think they’re out of their minds.” Acacia understands vampire traditions very well. She understands that, with that understanding, she must follow and uphold them. She understands, but still can’t help but think it would be nice to have another child about. Maybe they could even be friends. But of course not, tradition is tradition and vampires shouldn’t have such thoughts. Humans are not friends. They are beings meant to serve, whether directly or as a source of food. Well, there is also the rare occasion where they are meant to be wed. Still, humans are not friends. “Moving on, there are the Kokinos,” Acacia continues. “Mother is a close friend of the head of that household. They’ve known each other for quite some time. His son was just married recently- it can’t have even been a year yet- to a foreign vampire. I’ve heard she’s not talkative in the slightest, but she’s quite pretty so I guess that’s what matters in the end.” Vincent nods. Looks do seem to be quite important, in vampire society and in general. He’s never quite grasped the reason why, but everyone else seems to know and at this point it would seem silly of him to ask. “Lastly, you have the Rubio family. Now, no one speaks of the Rubios poorly for fear of how they may retaliate. Although there is an exception, as there often is with these things. The Rubios themselves can say nearly nothing complimentary about each other,” Acacia giggles slightly. “You really should see the way they bicker- it’s rather entertaining. Now, this is as good as fact, but I’ve been told that the head of the Rubios is a very serious criminal. In fact, the Rubio fortune is entirely built upon unscrupulous activities, from what I’ve gathered.” Acacia goes on for a little while longer, speaking mostly of family trees and estate locations, until it becomes boring to her and she decides that she wants to play dolls. Vincent is not allowed to want, and so they play dolls until Acacia becomes tired and sends him away. As Vincent gently closes the door to Acacia’s room behind him, he notices Marshall and Sullivan exiting the latter’s bedroom. He turns his head to look at them. As he does so, Sullivan suddenly pushes Marshall back into the room and slams the door shut. It’s quite possible that Vincent already saw, but it’s also possible he was quick enough- this is what Sullivan hopes. In truth, Vincent saw the whole thing, and is rather perplexed as to why Marshall is being hidden away from him. “What are you looking at, brat?” Sullivan snarls. “N-nothing, master,” Vincent stutters. “Um, actually…” Vincent is terribly frightened by Sullivan, but he is also equally terribly curious, which leaves him stuck in the bizarre middle ground of walking away and being nosy. “‘Actually’ what?” Sullivan narrows his eyes with a scowl, tipping the scales towards the curious. “Actually, w-why,” Vincent starts hesitantly, “is Marshall…” Sullivan visibly flinches at the mention of his butler’s name and a look of guilt passes across his face for a brief moment before being replaced by one of complete rage. “Not another word,” he growls. “You need to learn your place, vermin. Now, go and dust the main hall- all of it. Every inch had better be spotless by the time you’re done.” “What? B-but-” Vincent begins to protest. “What did I say?” Sullivan roars, interrupting him. “Certainly not that you were permitted to speak. If I recall, I said quite the opposite. Now get out of my sight before I become truly angry!” Vincent nods shakily, the scales having tipped back towards fear, and runs off towards the main hall as quick as his legs can carry him. Sullivan is always like that, angry and unfair. Vincent doesn’t think he’s done anything particularly worthy of such animosity, but he can’t imagine Sullivan is very nice to anyone at all, either. By the time Vincent is finished dusting to what he hopes will be Sullivan’s satisfaction it’s nearly noon. Vincent normally turns in relatively early in the morning, and so he finds himself quite tired. As he looks at the three sets of stairs- one leading to the servants’ quarters, another to the vampires' abodes, and the last to a door that must lead to the outside world, bolted tightly shut- he finds that, tired as he may be, he can’t go to bed just yet. No, he has something of great import that must be done.
Vincent is trapped inside a dream. A long, dark dream filled with nothingness. Anyone with less imagination would say that isn’t a dream at all, but Vincent knows the truth. He knows, and thinks that it might be better if he stayed there. But just as that thought hits his head, the nothingness shatters and he wakes up. He wakes up to that room, his room, from the morning before. He sleepily blinks away the last remnants of his shattered dream. He does not want to get out of bed. He doesn’t particularly want to stay in bed, either. The only thing Vincent wants is to go home to his real room and his real bed. He never thought that would be something he’d have reason to miss. As Vincent rises to a sitting position, a soft knock comes on the door. “Vincent? Are you awake?” Marshall’s voice asks from the other side. Vincent doesn’t answer. He feels as though his words were taken from him in his sleep, much as he was taken. They would never reach far enough, no. What point are words when you can’t use them to tell your parents ‘good morning’ or your dog ‘good boy’? What point is there to anything when you don’t know if you’ll ever see them again? Vincent begins to cry as the door opens and Marshall walks in. He looks down at Vincent with a kind of uncertainty on his face. What is one supposed to do to comfort a crying child? It’s something that he can’t even begin to guess at, but he supposes sitting down would be a good place to start. “How did you sleep?” Marshall is aware this is a horribly feeble attempt to start the conversation. Vincent only weeps in response. “I understand you must feel incredibly…” Marshall trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence. How exactly had he felt in this situation? It was so long ago he can barely remember. He closed the door to those memories what seems like a lifetime ago, locked it tightly, and threw away the key. “…unhappy,” he decides this word is general enough to describe whatever emotions Vincent may be feeling at present. Vincent begins to wail and Marshall instinctively reaches out a hand to comfort him, but thinks better of it. What comfort could he possibly be? From Vincent’s viewpoint he must be no better than the Desrosiers, keeping him here. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” Marshall says although he knows it’s nowhere near enough. Vincent sniffles in response and glances up at him with a look of complete despair. Slowly, his sobs grow quiet, and he rubs the remaining tears from his eyes. “Do you feel… better?” Marshall asks with a worried kind of smile. Vincent shrugs and looks down at the floor. “I,” he says with a very small voice, as if testing his ability to speak, “I don’t know.” “Yes, I suppose that’s to be expected,” Marshall responds with a nod. “Now then,” he stands up slowly and takes a step towards the old dresser in the corner of the room, “it’s about time we get you properly dressed for the day.” Vincent watches with slight confusion as Marshall opens one of the drawers and pulls out a small outfit, complete with a vest and bow tie. “Today you are to meet the young mistress,” he elaborates. “These clothes will be what you wear from now on. Think of them as a sort of uniform.” He hands the ensemble to Vincent who looks at it with a hint of disdain. It doesn’t appear incredibly comfortable. “I will wait outside while you get ready,” Marshall states and moves towards the door. “Don’t hesitate to ask if you find yourself in need of assistance.” Vincent manages to correctly button the vest, and dress shirt. He buckles the belt around his pants without much trouble. When it comes to the bow tie, however, he finds that he must admit defeat and ask for help. Now properly attired, Vincent stands nervously in a large ballroom area illuminated by the chandeliers towering overhead, aflame with what looks like hundreds of candles. He glances up at Marshall who looks back at him and smiles reassuringly as the red-eyed woman from the previous morning enters with a young girl by her side. With her unearthly porcelain skin and long glossy hair, jet-black like crow feathers, the girl looks like a living doll. Her face is alight with a pleasant expression. She curtsies sweetly as the woman who Vincent assumes is Lady Desrosiers introduces her as Acacia. “The two of you will get along well, I assume,” Lady Desrosiers says with a lofty air. “Of course, mother,” Acacia sings. Her eyes squint as she smiles. Those eyes, red as rubies. Vincent had assumed them to be a trick of the light or his tired mind, but they are just as they were the morning before. The eyes of the Desrosiers are an entirely jarring crimson. “Y-yes,” Vincent stammers a response. “Yes, mistress,” Lady Desrosiers corrects. “R-right. I mean, right, mistress.” “Vincent, you will be living under my care from now on, and you will learn to respect my authority. Is that clear?” Lady Desrosiers’ question leaves room for only one answer. “Yes, mistress,” Vincent says as there is nothing else to say. “Good,” Lady Desrosiers replies and her expression softens from the stiff hardness of a boulder, to the relative sturdiness of a porous plank of wood. “Now come, Marshall, we will leave the children to become acquainted.” “Certainly,” Marshall bows and gives Vincent a reassuring look before leaving with Lady Desrosiers. “So you’re a human?” Acacia asks, her eyes shining with curiosity. “Yes,” Vincent answers with a wavering voice. “If you don’t mind me asking, um, what are you?” Acacia laughs, a high ringing laugh like a wind chime in a summer storm. It sends chills down the back of Vincent’s spine. She opens her mouth in a wide grin, revealing a tiny pair of pointed teeth hiding in her otherwise average smile. “I’m a vampire,” she giggles, “Isn’t it obvious? That’s what the humans call us, right?” Vincent feels like his reality’s been turned on its head so many times it could be considered an acrobat. First kidnapping, and now vampires? Monsters? Monsters. He’s been kidnapped by a family of monsters. “Now, don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to hurt you,” Acacia laughs again. “Oh,” Vincent feels himself relax slightly, only slightly. “You won’t? Are you sure?” “Of course not, silly! Why would I hurt my fiancé?” she questions. Fiancé. Right. He’s engaged, isn’t he? “Anyway, foolish questions aside, I’d like to show you around,” Acacia reaches out and takes his hand. “Come, Vincent.” “This is brother’s room,” Acacia tells Vincent after exhausting the majority of other locations in the manor, which, mind you, is no easy task. Vincent is surprised by just how modern a great portion of the room’s décor is. From what he’s seen of the other areas of the house, this is unusual to say the least. “He doesn’t like me being here- he detests children,” she goes on. “But I enjoy snooping, and therefore me being here is a must. If you also enjoy snooping, I’d suggest not getting caught. Especially being here. Brother is very strict about privacy.” “Your brother is Sullivan, right?” Vincent asks as his eyes wander around the room, eventually coming to rest at the large mirror sitting in front of an old-fashioned coffin, looking as though trying to hide it. Acacia nods and sits down in one of two chairs. “Why does he have a mirror? I thought vampires didn’t have reflections,” Vincent wonders if this is another silly question. Well, it very well may be silly, but he hasn’t seen a mirror in any of the other parts of the manor, and feels it’s at least worth mentioning. “Have a seat, Vincent,” Acacia seemingly ignores him and motions to the other chair. He does. “You see,” Acacia begins in a similar way to how one would begin a monologue, “brother is a vampire. Not a very good one, mind you, but still a vampire. So he doesn’t have a reflection. As for why he keeps that gaudy thing in here I can only guess. Brother has always been-” Before she can finish, the door flies open and a young man- the one from the previous morning- stomps in.
“I’ve always been what?” the young man, all but certainly Sullivan, asks with a cold tone. Acacia smiles. “Brother,” she addresses him politely, “I doubt either of us would end up very happy if I told you.” Sullivan harrumphs. “Never mind that. More importantly, what reason do you have for bringing that urchin into my dwelling?” he glares daggers at Vincent who is feeling incredibly frightened. Acacia only said that she wouldn’t hurt him. Sullivan very well still might. “I was only showing him around, dear brother,” Acacia rises to her feet and motions for Vincent to do the same. “You know very well this room is off limits. As for you,” Sullivan grimaces and points a finger at Vincent, “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you won’t come near here again.” “Y-yes, mistress- I mean m-master!” Vincent stutters. Sullivan takes on a look of pure furiousness as Acacia bursts into her wind chime laughter. “He mistook you for mother! Isn’t that just fantastic?” Acacia exclaims between giggles. “Oh, brother, you should see the look on your face!” “I-I’m terribly sorr-” Vincent tries to apologize. “Scram,” Sullivan growls at the two of them and they scamper away. Like rats. Like the vermin they are. A young boy named Vincent awakens. He had been having the most pleasant dream about slaying dragons, but now finds himself in a hallway filled with a peculiar darkness. Faintly, candlelight flickers about the area, just dimly enough to not pierce the darkness while still providing the illusion of light. “Mama? Papa?” Vincent cries out weakly, quietly, for fear of what else might answer from the darkness. But there is no answer. There is nothing else there at all. Vincent finds he is completely alone, surrounded by darkness. He begins to whimper, then sob, and finally wails until he can cry no more. With nothing else to be done, Vincent decides to venture further into the hallway- further into the darkness. Surely, he thinks, he must come across someone else if he walks far enough. The earth is large, after all. Although, it is also round. He is just beginning to contemplate what a shame it would be if he walked all the way back to where he first started when he hears the muffled whisper of a noise. Frightened, but also hopeful, Vincent continues to walk towards it. He eventually finds himself in front of a very large and imposing door. A pinprick of light shines out from the keyhole, and the noises have turned into two voices. Suddenly more frightened than hopeful, Vincent feels it best not to interrupt them. Instead, he peers through the keyhole. “Regardless,” a young man with dark hair and fair skin sighs, “why bring that urchin into our dwelling now?” “Acacia’s husband should be raised properly, don’t you think?” a woman with eyes red like her lips asks with restrained frustration. Vincent watches with a kind of befuddled engagement. Who are these odd-looking people, and who are they talking about? “Could you not leave that to the humans? I detest children and the thought of having more than one on the premises… I can’t even stand to think of it,” the young man shakes his head with a scowl. “Now, now, my son. You were once a child as well. Have patience with them. As for the humans, they are barely capable of caring for themselves, let alone raising another being. Do you know what terrible things befall human children? Surely nothing that we would allow,” the woman states. “I’ve always thought them competent,” the young man shrugs. “But I suppose you know best, mother.” At this point, Vincent is far too confused to find the conversation intriguing. Who is this Acacia? A child? Is her husband one as well? Why do these people talk about humans as if they’re a different species? Are they aware he’s in their house? Feeling far too perplexed to be afraid anymore; Vincent raises a fist to knock on the door with. As he prepares to announce his presence, a whisper sounds from behind him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Vincent nearly jumps out of his skin and spins around to face a calmly smiling man dressed in butler’s garb. “Lady Desrosiers and Master Sullivan don’t take kindly to eavesdropping,” he explains and offers his hand. “Come with me.” Vincent takes it after a moment of hesitation and is lead through the hallway, down and up two staircases, and past a great deal of doors, all the way to a teeny tiny bedroom. The man in butler’s clothing releases his grip and sits down on the small bed, motioning for Vincent to do the same. “Who… Who are you?” Vincent asks, quietly. Even with this much distance he’s still uncertain if it’s safe to speak. “I’m Marshall, head butler to the Desrosiers,” the butler bows his head in greeting. “It’s quite fine to talk at a normal volume now, so you know.” “Oh, okay,” Vincent replies. “What is this place?” “This is the Desrosiers’ estate, Vincent,” Marshall answers. “How did I get here? Why am I here? How do you know my name?” “I’m not entirely certain, but I’d assume that either Lady Desrosiers or Master Sullivan absconded with you in the middle of the night yesterday,” Marshall sighs. “I’m sorry to say it’s not uncommon for the Desrosiers. You’ve been kidnapped, Vincent.” “Kidnapped?” Vincent asks with wide eyes and a head full of questions.
“Sadly, yes,” Marshall nods. “It’s quite the shock, but trust that it won’t seem that way for long. You’d be surprised how quickly one can adapt. Trust me, I’ve experienced it firsthand.” “Why? Why me?” “I couldn’t tell you beyond the obvious,” Marshall shakes his head. “You appear to be the same age as the young mistress. I’m not privy to anything more than that.” Vincent’s head spins as though his mind just stepped off of a roller coaster. It practically has, with all this talk of husbands, estates, butlers, kidnapping, and Desrosiers. “My apologies, this must be a bit much for you to take in all at once,” Marshall smiles sympathetically. “This will be your room for the foreseeable future, so it’s probably for the best if you settle in and get some rest. Events like these can be rather taxing on both the mind, and body, and it would be good for you to adjust to the odd hours the Desrosiers keep. Everything will seem more manageable after a rest, and I’ll come get you in the evening.” He stands up slowly and exits the room, leaving Vincent to sit in the unfamiliar space. Too full of emotions to process a single one of them, Vincent quietly weeps until he falls asleep. |
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