[It was not a dark and stormy night—but close, the temperature dropping with the sun as it plunged toward the horizon.
A strong wind swept over deep drifts, leaving swirling flurries in its wake, rattling barren trees on the long sweep north to the castle beyond. Past the broken gates, the open courtyard, the frozen pond and topiary left to run wild—throwing sleet against stone walls and dark windows as it rose, screaming, circling around the eaves and high towers. And just below the wind...branches clacking together like bones. The distant howl of wolves.
A nameless forest surrounding a nameless castle, forgotten by all who once knew of it.]
It's just that she'd been so excited to find a cluster of bellflowers peeking out from behind one tree not so far away that she hadn't given a thought to how quickly the sun was setting behind her. She'd managed to stash them carefully into her bag but by then the sun had become nothing more than a sliver above the horizon and all the faded signs at the crossroads blurring together and leading her astray, away from home and towards a creaky castle she's sure she'd never seen around these parts before. With the temperature dropping quickly and the lack of light to guide her, she's left with no choice but to wander past the gates and into the front courtyard in hope of a temporary shelter for the night.
Well, it's not like her father would miss her anyway, his attention focused on everything and anything that wasn't his family, his wife and daughter. And her mother would be alright for one night, attended to by their small (but loyal) cadre of servants. It's just one night. There's no reason to worry.
Her head twists this way and that as the heels of her shoes click lightly across stone. ]
Um, hello? [ Is there anyone here...? ] Sorry, I think I got a little lost while trying to get home and I need a place to stay.
[ She feels silly talking to herself, especially when this place hardly looks lived in, but looks can be deceiving. Maybe whoever lives (lived?) here just really hates cleaning. She can relate. Now, if only there was some sort of magical sign pointing her towards a bedroom....or even a giant fireplace filled with crackling flames. ]
[At one of the high tower windows, a rippling shadow—the twitch of a moth-eaten curtain, pulled aside just enough to offer a clear view of Annette approaching the castle.
...
The shrieking wind whips violently across the castle grounds, stealing Annette's voice away as it dusts her clothes with a fine layer of snow. Barely audible, a heavy door slams shut somewhere deeper inside the castle, echoing down the long hallway of the west wing and into the high, drafty ceiling of the foyer.
Or maybe that's just the wind, too. Because when one of the entrance's once-magnificent double doors swings half-open on rusted hinges, there's no one standing behind it.]
[ The longer she walks, the further goosebumps prickle up her arms. Maybe its just the absence of the sun, having finally dipped below the horizon, but the shadows suddenly look twice as deep and the wind howls an eerie song in her ears.
Annette pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders, feet scurrying against the snow-covered ground towards the entrance—right up until a door creaks open and she lets out a breathless shriek, slipping to a stop and almost falling right onto her ass. Finally. Someone she can talk to. Except...the closer she gets, the more apparent it becomes that there's no one there, the halls as empty as the courtyard had been.
Oh gods, please don't let the castle be haunted.
Mustering up her strength, she calls out once more. ]
Uh....hello?
[ Her thin voice echoes as she cautiously steps inside. If whoever - whatever? - lived here didn't want her entering, then they wouldn't have opened the doors for her, right? That's what she repeats to herself at least as she slowly shuffles forward. ]
[The foyer is dim but not dark, filled with deep shadows and the ghostly outlines of expensive furniture draped in faded white sheets. Crouched on all fours, comfortably concealed, Lys peeks around the edge of a long couch. Part of her hadn't believed that Annette was real—hadn't wanted to, afraid to discover otherwise. Years of isolation created hallucinations that often crept up on her, painfully persistent; if she hadn't smashed every mirror in the castle, she'd still be seeing other faces reflected back.
But the illusion of Annette's presence hasn't faded, hasn't broken. Her voice lingered in the empty air like the peal of distant bells—the scent of her hair and skin drove out the suffocating miasma of dust and cobwebs. Finally, after all this time, someone else was here...on tonight of all nights. The last full moon of the year, the anniversay of that day.
And now Lys had no idea what to do. Hiding had seemed as natural a thing to do as opening the door, but to what purpose? Maybe she really was a slave to her instincts, just like the warlock had said.
Grimacing at the flash of memory, Lys curls her misshapen hands into clawed fists, pulling them into the long sleeves of her servant robes. Dark blue to match the peeling paint on the walls, fitted with a hood and long enough to reach the floor, they were the perfect uniform for staff expected to fade into the background, keeping even their faces hidden from the lofty gazes of their lords. Swallowing hard, she pitches her voice low, a rolling whisper that echoes around the room: raspy at the edges, roughened by disuse and the kind of accent no noble would lower themselves to affect.]
[ Hard to say if a loud shout would have been more startling than the slow whisper that rises up around her. Annette gasps either way, eyes snapping wide open and her fingers flying up to tighten around her fur-trimmed cape. Furiously, she tries to peer through the darkness for the source of the voice, eyes darting this way and that, but she doesn't manage to locate the person (?) it's coming from. ]
I-I got lost in the woods. This place showed up out of nowhere a-and it seemed like a good place to take shelter from the storm. I'll—
[ She almost says she'll turn right back around and go back home, but swallows those words before they can leave her mouth. With the kind of weather that's brewing outside right now, only a fool would turn on their heel and head back out. She might be clumsy sometimes and hotheaded, but she's not stupid. ]
I promise I'll be quiet. I won't take up that much space, o-or make a mess of anything. [ Hopefully. ] I just need a place to stay until the storm is over. Please.
[So that's how it happened. The magical blizzard had lifted for a time, as it occasionally did, and somehow Annette had stumbled through the forest all the way to the castle grounds. She's numbly surprised that Annette had survived the trip; those were deep, dark woods, treacherous and threatening even without the added danger of a merciless blizzard. But more importantly, Annette—a stranger and outsider—was here. She was here and real and...and didn't that mean, just maybe, there was a chance? A new emotion flutters in her chest at the thought, so unfamiliar that she can't put a name to it; a curious lightness not felt in years.
After a moment, Lys resignedly pushes the feeling to the back of her mind. No, there wasn't any chance at all. To think otherwise would be the height of foolishness. Besides, the question had no bearing on whether or not Annette could stay in the castle, sheltered from freezing winds and hungry wolves.]
Of course you can stay. That's why I opened the door.
[Her voice is louder this time, less uncertain, closer to what you'd hear in a normal conversation, if still raspy and impossible to place as the sound echoes around the foyer. But despite coming so easily to a decision on the matter, she doesn't get up from behind the couch, remaining safely hidden out of sight. Crawling out from behind the furniture wasn't any kind of introduction for a proper servant to make; better to control when and how she was seen, rather than invite uncomfortable questions.]
Just...I need to prepare a room. Something suitable. So...please wait in the library until then. It's at the end of the hallway on your right.
[ Annette doesn't realize she's holding her breath until it all comes rushing out at the answer, one more welcoming than she expects. Even if she trends towards an optimistic view of others, the possibility that she might have been kicked back out into the snow or relegated to some dingy shack out back had loomed very real in her mind.
Her lips wobble into a smile, a faint burst of relieved laughter bubbling up. ]
Y-yeah, I guess you're right.
[ Whoever this mystery 'you' is, still unseen despite how openly she's twisting her head this way and that now for a glimpse. Is it some sort of magic spell at work, their voice projected out past their physical body? Or just some very clever concealment at work? She could take the chance to look around now, but that would be awfully rude. She can keep her hands and her eyeballs to herself for now. ]
Thank you very much! I promise I don't need anything fancy, just a bed with blankets and pillows. I can even help get things, if you just tell me where to go.
[ She is determined not to be a spoiled and indolent houseguest. ]
[Faint though it may be, unsteady and breathless, Annette's laughter slices cleanly through the gloomy emptiness, startling Lys into holding her breath in turn. When was the last time she heard a sound like that? Inside the hood that shadows her face completely, her fuzzy ears twitch and flick, straining to catch every note. So distracted, she almost misses the rest of what Annette says, mentally backtracking but only succeeding in confusing herself. With clothes like that, Annette obviously had to be a noble—or at least, a lady of means. Except that wasn't an offer a noble would ever make, unless to trick a servant into forgetting their place for the fun of punishing them. And just where were Annette's entourage, anyway? The bodyguard and handmaiden and other, similarly low-rank vassals who were supposed to attend to her every whim?
Torn between curiosity and the servant training that had been driven into her, Lys decides to say nothing on the matter at all. For the moment, anyway.]
...as you say.
[Rather than provide suggestions by which Annette could make herself useful, she lapses into expectant, slightly awkward silence, patiently waiting for her guest to leave the foyer.]
[ What she expects to follow are brief instructions on where to go, what to get, or even a soft refusal followed by another reminder to stay in the library. Instead, all she gets is a brief as you say and then....silence?
She waits a few seconds, and then a little more. Her smile wobbles into something more uncertain. Should she press the matter? But she's a guest here and shouldn't be too pushy right off the bat. But she should be considerate and helpful if she's a guest, right? Her fingers curl and uncurl, restless energy emanating from them, before she finally (mentally) slaps herself and lets out a resolute huff through her nose. ]
[She tenses all over again, once more at a loss for how to respond to that. Guests weren't supposed to follow a servant's lead as though the dynamic was one of equals—such a thing was beneath them. They made demands, gave orders, voiced their decisions and desires in firm expectation that they be met. But now Lys was cornered and she knew it; they couldn't remain at an impasse forever, with Lys hiding behind furniture and Annette making confused faces into the void. Whatever resistance she might have been able to get away with before would only seem like defiance now. What if Annette got angry? The blizzard outside prevented her from leaving, but there was nothing stopping her from storming off into the castle and ignoring Lys, maybe even punishing her.
That would be a hundred...no, a thousand times worse than being alone.
The foyer was no longer dim but dark, full of deep shadows untouched by the faint and fading light filtering in through the high windows. Steeling her nerves, Lys edges out from behind the couch, slinking through the cluttered foyer on all fours. Used to floating about unnoticed in the periphery of another's vision, she moves swiftly and near-silently through the darkness until she can materialize, wraithlike, out of the gloom—a tall hooded figure standing by the hallway to Annette's right, announcing her presence by way of a diffident cough.]
[ The silence grows ever more oppressive the longer she waits, fingernails slowly digging into the skin of her palms as she tries not to let the voice in the back of her mind convince her she's done yet another thing wrong. It reminds her of the judging silence before her uncle's chiding reprimands, and the suffocating silence of the wooden dolls her father had carved her, dark eyes unblinking as they stare at her.
It's cut short soon enough, her shoulders jerking upright at the sudden presence of a figure appearing in the doorway nearby. A hooded, mysterious figure, whose face Annette can't quite catch in the dim light. But the voice is the same as the one she'd heard before and the words are welcoming enough, if scarce. ]
Okay.
[ Carefully, she falls into step behind her mysterious hostess, feet tap-tapping away. Given the relative reticence of her host, she should probably keep her own mouth shut. But Annette's always been bad at that, mind constantly on the move unless she's deep in focus. Even now, her inclination towards conversation takes hold and her mouth opens before too long. ]
Does this place belong to you? It's very, um, [ old-looking, dusty, foreboding ] impressive.
[Night quickly swallows evening, turning the darkness of the hallway pitch-black and impossible for a normal human to see through. Fortunately, it's the work of a moment for Lys to surreptitiously strike a match and light the dusty, if still quite serviceable candelabra placed in a nearby alcove for just such a purpose. She holds it up entirely for Annette's benefit as they proceed down the hallway—monsters with acute night vision could get by with much less—careful to keep her sleeve folded tightly over the hand doing the holding, concealing every inch.
And like that, it's easier somehow. Not easy, but easier. Any kind of movement was certainly better than staying so uselessly still, and while the continued expectation that she converse like an equal was less welcome, walking in front of Annette at least meant there was no chance of her catching even the slightest glimpse of what lay beneath the low hood. The question prompts a soft, startled noise; in some other universe, it might have been a chuckle.]
I'm a servant. [A beat.] ...the servant, really. It's just me here.
[Which Annette must have already figured out, she supposes. The castle felt as empty as it looked and sounded; like everyone else was gone, not simply absent for the moment or hidden away somewhere. They walk past several paintings, once hung with so much pride but now mildewed with age and lack of care, and expensive decorations turned dull and dusty from neglect. Fine art slowly rotting in the dark.
Still, it was a perfectly sufficient answer. All she needed to say. And yet...not entirely against her own will, more words come.]
...I guess you'd know about impressive castles. You came from one, right? From somewhere on the other side of the woods.
[ Her step falters momentarily, not because of her companion's reveal of servitude, but because— ]
Just you? Doesn't it get lonely?
[ The words spill out before she can help herself, voice tinged with worry. To be all alone in a place as big as this...it sounds horrid to her, to be entirely honest. But the longer they walk, the more it hits her - really hits her - just how empty this place is. How every noise they make echoes through the dead air, with nothing else to buffer it.
She wonders what happened, to render a place so dusty and hollow like this. But she's already said so much she probably shouldn't have. She ought to give her host a little more space, and the option to say as much or as little as preferred. For now, she can be a good guest and talk about herself. ]
I wouldn't say I know much about impressive castles though. I mean, I guess the place where I live right now is pretty nice? But it's definitely nothing compared to here, at least in terms of size. My entire household could probably fit in a single wing here.
[ What a crazy thought.
Her head swings this way and that as they proceed down the hallway, taking in the faded tapestries and old paintings of people she can't even begin to recognize. ]
The people in the paintings....are they the people who used to live here?
[ Or still do?? It's so hard to tell with old castles. ]
Size isn't everything. Um, that is...I'm sure your home is perfectly suited to your needs. Though you hardly need me to say so, of course.
[She stops when Annette falters, continues walking when Annette does, never looking back over her shoulder. Never needing to in order to maintain an appropriate distance. She doesn't flinch when asked if she's lonely—who wouldn't be? who couldn't be?—but nor does she offer a reply. The question, so strangely layered with some emotion too unfamiliar for her to name...it wasn't meant to be responded to.
As for the rest, well. She's not surprised to hear that Annette is indeed a lady of estate and status, though it still felt...some kind of way to have it confirmed. A bit of welcome certainty in this chaotic situation, or maybe just resignation. Perhaps both.]
Yeah. [Ah—] Er, I mean, yes. Duchess Kaspersen and her family.
[She tries to will her heartbeat into settling back down to a normal rhythm. What was she thinking, speaking so casually? This would be a lot simpler if Annette would just order her around as befitted both of their stations in life.]
She...they used to own most of the mineral mines around here. Then again, that was...seven, maybe eight years ago.
The name doesn't ring too much of a bell, though she'd never bothered to spend much time memorizing the titles and peerage of the land (much to her uncle's dismay). What practical use was there in knowing the precise title of some man she would probably never meet? No, better to spend her time on other, more useful studies.
Seven years ago though.....such a long time ago. Annette wrinkles her nose as she digs through her memories for any flickering memory of events from that time. It would be nice to say that she was a lady who kept up with current events but that simply isn't true. ]
Used to? What happened?
[ Questions born out of genuined curiosity, even if they once again border on too nosy. ]
[Again, she doesn't flinch—not that anyone would've been able to tell, every miniscule wince and twitch completely concealed by the thick servant robes. Nor does she falter the way Annette had, continuing steadily down the long, long hallway past mildewed paintings, motheaten tapestries, and the occasional broken mirror through which their splintered and distorted reflections briefly traveled. The question stabs into her like an enemy's knife; painful, but not at all unexpected. The castle was too empty, too neglected, too mysterious for such a thing to not be asked.]
She didn't show proper manners to a guest. A warlock...or maybe a wizard. One of those.
[Her tone doesn't change, but hidden under her sleeve, her misshapen clawed hand tightens around the candelabra hard enough to hurt. Spell, enchantment, curse—whatever the term, it had been his decision to cast it. But she couldn't pretend to be so saintly as to not blame the duchess as well. All because the man had come to the door in patched and faded traveler's clothes, looking like a peasant instead of one of the most powerful magic users in the region...]
[ Annette listens quietly, letting the echo of their footsteps across old stone mingle with the steady voice of her host, both sounding far too loud in this empty castle.
The tale, short though it is, sounds like something out of the storybooks she'd read as a child; a great member of the nobility, cast down and out by an all-powerful magician. Not that magic doesn't exist in the every day here, but usually most magicians aren't so petty as to immediately resort to casting magic spells at the slightest offense.
Well. She makes a face to herself. Some of them definitely would. But still. That seems awfully like an overreaction. ]
Oh. [ She tries to slot together the scattered handful of pieces she's managed to pick up so far. ] Did he send her away or something?
[ But that doesn't make sense, not fully. If only she were sent away then there would still be people milling about here. If she and her entire retinue were sent away, then— Her thoughts stumble to a halt, a new realization stifling all her other immediate questions. ]
Hey, what's your name? I'm so sorry, I forgot to ask.
[The evasion comes out smoothly, clear and cool as glass. Annette didn't need to know the full story, the grisly details that still sometimes kept Lys awake at night. Perhaps later, ideally never, but not now. To speak at length about Duchess Kaspersen's fate might very well send Annette bolting for the door, out into the blizzard, as far away from the castle as her legs could carry her. If she died in the cold and the dark, terrified out of her mind, it would be Lys' fault.
The last door on the right doesn't look any different from the other doors they've already passed, save for the LIBRARY inscription lettered beside it on a wrought copper plaque. Lys puts a hand—covered, concealed, a formless shape under the heavy sleeve—on the scrollworked doorknob, then pauses.]
...you don't need to know my name. I'm here to serve you either way.
[To her former employers, her social betters, a flat "you" had always sufficed. They saw no real difference between a teapot and the maid or butler who held it; both existed only to pour tea into a cup. Of all the things Annette could ask, why her name? It didn't matter, so why apologize as though it did?]
[ She doesn't have much time to wonder about the fate of the absent Duchess Kaspersen, a polite rejection thrown in her face shortly after. Her brows knit together, a momentary look of confusion crossing her features even as words spill forth once again, unprompted. ]
But I want to know—oh.
[ Clearly she should have waited, held her tongue. Then she wouldn't have had to sound like an idiot. She colors a little, clearing her throat softly to chase away some of her embarrassment. ]
Lys, then. And just because you're a servant doesn't mean you only exist to serve me. You're still a person too.
[ What a rosy world she lives in, to casually say such things. She's never seen a point in treating anyone as lesser or different and she doesn't see a point in starting now, especially when this person might be the only other person she has to talk to here. Her eyes travel from the hood hiding Lys's face to the door, lighting up as they read the letters etched into the metal. ]
I know we're not here to read, but are there a lot of books in the library? Have you read any of them? Do you think I'd be allowed to read some of them while I'm here?
She lets that hang between them, unremarked upon, staring distractedly at the rising color in Annette's face as the girl herself jumps to the next topic like a child moving from stone to stone across a flowing stream. The hood hides where she's looking, like it hides so much else, and it tilts as she ducks her head, jolted back to her senses by a sudden tightness in her chest. It feels like a fist was curled over her heart, squeezing not quite painfully to the rhythm of yet another feeling that she couldn't name and didn't understand.
She doesn't let herself ask for Annette's name in return. The servant's training that had been driven into her was still too strong.]
Y-Yes, to all those things. Actually...
[The door isn't locked. (Why should it be, when she was the only one here?) She easily pushes it open—grimacing slightly for the first time in years at the protesting squeal of rusted hinges—and steps through, holding the door open for Annette to follow behind. Boasting floor-to-ceiling shelves, the library is both larger and marginally warmer than the foyer; better illuminated, too, if only because Lys had made a visit shortly before her trip to the west wing and had decided to light a few of the many fireplaces.]
..I was hoping you could pass the time reading while I prepared your room. I, ah, really must insist on taking care of that. You need to warm up, to relax...especially after coming such a long way and almost getting caught in a blizzard.
[ She'd insisted on helping before, but now that they're here she forgets all about her half-promise of assistance, too busy gawking at the floor-to-ceiling books and the fires that roar merrily all around. Such a big library....so many books?! She's heard of the royal library down in the capital, a room bigger than her entire home put together, but she'd never seen anything similar up until now. ]
It's amazing.
[ She hasn't realized she's whispered the words aloud, too busy detaching herself from her cloaked shadow to drift towards the nearest shelf, one hand already reaching out towards the rows of books stacked neatly together. Barely remembering her manners at the last second, her hand stops just a few inches shy of the shelf, her head swinging around as she blinks. ]
Oh, I don't mind staying here to read. [ Obviously. ] You're really sure you don't need any help?
[ Truthfully she would love nothing more than to curl up by the fireplace with a book (or ten) but she should at least make an effort to be polite. ]
[She doesn't follow, hanging back by the door as Annette makes a beeline for the shelves. Veiled beneath her hood, her mouth twists in a faint expression so unfamiliar that it takes several seconds for her to place it: a smile. After all this time, something's managed to make her smile.
It's that more than anything else which gives her pause, swallowing hard to make sure her voice doesn't sound strange. Still a little raspy, throaty in the way you'd expect from someone trying to speak after an indeterminable silence, but normal enough.]
I'll be fine.
[She already has a room picked out, but sees no reason to say so. Volunteering a detail like that seems like it might kindle Annette's interest all over again, and Lys wanted that focus to stay right where it was. Instead she makes a brief sweeping gesture to indicate the shelves of books (magic spells and alchemy texts, fairy tales and local legends, more mundane fare such as recipes and treatises on botany, mathematics, history), the dusty but only somewhat moth-eaten rugs and couches laid out in front of the crackling fireplaces.]
Please feel free to read anything you want. I'll be back shortly.
[And then she's gone, her silent exit marred only by the rusty squeal of the door's neglected hinges. It's not until she's halfway down the hallway that she thinks to hope Annette won't try for any of the books on the high shelves...not because they're forbidden, but because they're so far out of reach.]
[ Lys can rest easy knowing that Annette has no intentions (yet) of clambering up to the tallest shelves for books when there are so many already in reach. As Lys slips out the door, Annette circles the perimeter of the library, grabbing a book here and there as titles grab her interest and then depositing the stack in her arms in front of the nearest fireplace when it starts obscuring her vision.
By the time Lys returns, whenever that may be, Annette's hunkered down squarely by one of the fires, several stacks of books surrounding her and all as tall as she is. Her legs are folded in front of her and a book (a treatise on the history of restorative magic) resting in her lap. Her chin rests in the palm of one hand as she flips through the pages, a wrinkle born of deep concentration forming between her brows.
Deep enough in her reading is she that she hasn't heard her hostess's return. Every few seconds, she mumbles to herself, repeating a few sentences that she hasn't been able to fully parse. ]
[All told, it takes Lys about thirty minutes to accomplish everything she wanted to do, including making a brief trip to the kitchens to put together a tray of hot tea and light sandwiches (thinly sliced, the crusts trimmed off; the sort of fare so often served between meals, at tea parties and garden parties, and whatever else). Mindful of noisy hinges, she slowly pushes the library door open with her shoulder, peeking inside before allowing herself to quietly enter.
To find Annette so absorbed was something of a relief. Quite independent of any nebulous fear of punishment—having decided to, if only for now, at least theoretically accept the idea that Annette wouldn't lash out at anyone, even a servant, who was so hapless as to rudely disturb her concentration—it's a chance for Lys to study her houseguest in straightforward detail, comparing the girl curled up by the fire to the one who now lived only in her memories. Even after accounting for the physical differences between them, remarkably few as they were (blue eyes instead of green, red hair a few shades too light to exactly match), the two could've been mistaken for family. Cousins, if not sisters. Standing so still, holding a serving tray once again, her existence going unnoticed...Lys can't help but feel a strange doubling sensation, a rush of deja vu so strong it was almost hallucinatory. The past overlaying the present, memory imposing upon reality.
If she didn't blink, didn't breathe, would she see Anja peering intently out of Annette's face? Would she hear that confident (and just a touch imperious) voice uncoiling smoothly from Annette's mouth, telling her to sit down already and open this or that book, because servanthood was no excuse not to learn all she could?
The invisible fist closes over her heart again; cold instead of warm, not alien at all but as bitterly familiar as the tracery of old scars. Painfully dry-eyed, Lys walks over on legs that feel oddly detached from the rest of her body, the soft click of her toeclaws so much like the tap-tap of elegant heels. She navigates around the stacks of books with a practiced ease fully remembered only in the moment, clearing a space to set the tray down at the perfect distance: close enough for Annette to easily reach, not so close that a careless movement risked toppling everything over. Careful, always, to keep her back to the fire, angling herself so that the dancing, flickering light never touched what little could be seen of her face beneath the hood, sleeved hands raising the teapot in studied synch with a murmured:]
Tea?
[She doesn't have a plan for facing Annette in the cold light of day. She barely has a plan now, moving from impulse to impulse like a prey animal navigating an open field. Maybe, just maybe, she'll think of something by tomorrow morning...]
[ So engrossed is she in her reading that she misses the light footfalls across carpet and the usual prickling feeling of being stared at by a strange pair of eyes. Her lips, still moving as she repeats a particularly interesting description of a famous warlock from long ago, pause only when the offer of tea echoes through the air.
She shrieks softly, the book dropping into her lap, and blushes immediately over being caught so unawares. Lys probably thinks she's scared of every little thing, huh? Quickly she stammers back a reply. ]
O-oh. Sorry. I didn't hear you.
[ Obviously. Setting her book aside, she starts - carefully! - clearing away a few of the stacks that have accumulated around her. ]
Tea would be great though. You should have some too! Take a break after getting everything set up.
[Lys comes within an ace of jumping out of her (pelt) skin, smothering the reflex at the last second. Anja, the duchess, and every other noble she's ever served had always taken her presence so utterly for granted that they never so much as twitched. Either Annette really meant what she said about seeing servants as people, not objects, or her trek through the woods had left her as tightly wound as piano wire.
More likely that, Lys thinks. She debates reminding Annette that it's her job to prepare the tea, not drink it...and then reconsiders, awkwardly kneeling down on the other side of the tray. Her new body...well, her changed body, you couldn't really call anything "new" after seven years...wanted to prowl around on all fours, felt most comfortable in a predator's slink. Sitting cross-legged just wasn't an option; canine haunches simply didn't bend that way.]
It's chamomile. Good for the nerves.
[She expertly fills Annette's teacup, then one of the extras brought along for safety's sake. Sighing softly, she puts down the teapot and leans back, abstaining from both tea and sandwiches. Annette had to start first, like Anja always had; that was the rule.]
...what, um, what were you reading? You looked pretty interested.
[ The nerves.....haha, she does seem kind of on edge right now, doesn't she? Annette smiles weakly, leaning forward to take her teacup, holding it between both hands so she can enjoy the warmth against her fingers. Not that she's cold any longer with the roaring fire heating up the room, but it's always nice to feel extra toasty. ]
Thanks. I really appreciate it.
[ Carefully, she blows across the top of her cup before taking a small sip. Mmm, there really is nothing quite so comforting as a cup of hot tea. If only there were pastries to go along with them....but she supposes sandwiches are a pretty good substitute. ]
And it was just a book about some old wizard. I'm not still sure if it was supposed to be a biography or not, but it was pretty interesting reading about the kind of magic he used.
[She obediently picks up her teacup even as the question makes her squirm inside, cradling it in both of her sleeved hands. The curse hadn't stolen all of her manual dexterity when it reshaped her hands into shaggy paws, but it had stolen enough; if she tried to pinch the teacup's ceramic handle between clawed thumb and forefinger, she might drop it. Or break it. Instead she raises the teacup to the shadowed void that conceals her face and slowly tilts it like one might a soup bowl when trying to finish off the last few swallows, not so much sipping from the rim as controlling the slide of a few drops into her open mouth.]
...it's tradition for the guest to eat first.
[From what she's coming to realize about Annette's sensibilities, she hopes that answer will be enough. Technically it was true, but to more fully explain that everything on the tray was Annette's now, to share or withhold as she pleased, how Lys had no right to any of it...well, it might very well provoke further inexplicable resistance, more comments that made no sense.]
You...study magic, then? I mean, I guess you would, being a noble and all...they always know magic. [Entirely involuntarily, her voice goes flat and toneless for a moment, mechanical as a clockwork tin soldier's, before filling with polite (if slightly forced) conversational brightness again.] I can bring you some spellbooks? If you haven't found them already, of course.
[ Is that all it is? She hadn't been on all too many social outings after her father had just up and left, and her uncle's household was small enough that nobility and servant largely mingled together as one group.
Well, it shouldn't be hard to comply by that rule. She is pretty hungry, and those sandwiches do look pretty tasty. Setting her teacup aside, she picks up one of the sandwiches and takes a healthy bite. No eating like a bird where she's involved. A delighted smile blooms on her face as she chews, not bothering to finish chewing before she dishes out some praise. ]
Mmm, this is really good! Thanks!
[ Maybe she can get the recipe for these sandwiches from Lys before she goes....
Annette takes another bite, and has the good sense to actually swallow this time before talking. ]
And yeah, I was studying magic. I've always thought it was interesting as a kid - there's so many different rules of physics it has to follow! - and mages usually have a lot of freedom when it comes to where they get to go.
[ Is there an ulterior motive here....maybe. Her face dims when she realizes who she's talking to and her shoulders slump a bit. ]
But I guess that kind of sounds like bragging, huh. You probably don't get to leave this place at all.
[Resting her teacup in her lap, she listens to the blizzard howling around the eaves without really hearing it, absently savoring the heat cupped in her paws. She nods at the compliment, a touch stiffly and after a beat too long, but dismisses the rest with an indifferent lift and drop of her shoulders. Didn't Annette know that she could brag as much as she liked without any consideration for the feelings of someone like Lys? Apparently not. In fact, Lys was beginning to wonder if Annette wasn't some kind of eccentric, the sort of cavalier spirit that the duchess would never have tolerated for a heir.]
A servant's place is in their master's castle.
[No matter how silent and empty that castle was, or how long departed its master. But before those memories can grab her and pull her backward, something about what Annette just said registers as being a little strange, refusing to settle cleanly inside her head. Lys puzzles over the words, turning them over and over like a jeweler with a suspect stone, taking another awkward gulp of tea to mask the lull. This one drains her cup; she settles it back in her lap without going for a refill, ignoring the sandwiches completely.]
Is that why you were out in the woods? To feel free?
[Her half-incredulous, half-confused tone is dangerously rude by the standards of her training, but Lys can no more roadblock it behind her teeth than she can quell the blizzard outside.]
[ Even if it's a sentiment she's heard in one way or another during her short stay in the castle so far, the easy way Lys relegates herself to nothing more than a mere servant rankles Annette.
She ignores Lys's question in favor of addressing the issue she thinks is more important, her half-eaten sandwich and cooling tea gone forgotten as her blue eyes flash with indignation. Somehow it just feels so wrong to listen to Lys talk about herself as though she's nothing more than her station, a tool to be used and then discarded. ]
A servant is still a person though! A person with feelings and wants and wishes.
[ Deep down, she knows her viewpoint isn't shared by everyone, and particularly not by those in loftier positions than she could ever dream of, but that doesn't stop her from running her mouth, words impassioned. She doesn't even stop to think that she might be jeopardizing her stay in the castle, concerned only with her personal sense of right and wrong. ]
Surely you can't be happy just standing around and making sure I get whatever I need?
[Tensing all over, she ducks her head but not her gaze, watching Annette for a swinging hand or threat. But then the moment passes, taking the jolt of adrenaline with it, and she remembers all over again that she's nineteen now, not twelve. The masters whose eyes had flashed with emotions much more dangerous now lived on only in her memories.]
...if I offended you, I'm sorry.
[She clumsily puts the teacup down, folding her sleeves in her lap like a child dreading punishment. It's a mistake, just like allowing her shoulders to hunch into a defensive curl is a mistake—betraying too much of one's true feelings was to forsake the protective invisibility of stoicism—but she can't seem to help it. Just like she can't seem to accurately predict or manage Annette's moods, her behavior, everything her servant's training demanded she remain alert to at all times. Hypervigilant, even. With all that in mind, how on earth was she supposed to safely answer such a ridiculously loaded question?
Slowly, sounding out her response a little at a time—]
I've always been a servant. Always. But no one's ever asked me a question like that before, so...I don't know what you want me to say.
[The duchess, and nobles like her, had been quite predictable in expecting unquestioning obedience and docility, for those beneath them to agree that the sky was neon-pink and water felt like sandpaper, should such absurdity be required. Anja, eccentric to the last, had instead demanded the unvarnished truth. But what did Annette want? What would keep her here, as much at peace as someone trapped inside a gloomy old castle by a blizzard could possibly be?]
[ Seeing Lys shrink into herself has Annette hesitating, the worry that she might have pushed too far in trying to justify her beliefs beginning to bloom in her chest. But....she is on the right path, isn't she? People should be treated like people and not like tools or things or objects to be used and then discarded. How does she convince Lys of that? Should she even try? Will it only make Lys more miserable?
The sandwich gets put back on the plate absentmindedly, Annette taking the moment to twist her hands together in distressed motions. ]
I just...I just want you to say what you want to say. Not what you think I want you to say.
[ Urgh. She frowns the moment the words leave her lips, aware of how stupid they sound. Why can't she phrase things better? What if she's making this all worse? It would be just like her to open her big mouth and say something stupid and get kicked out of the castle right in the middle of a snowstorm.
Abruptly she changes tack, trying to approach the subject from a different angle. ]
So if you've been a servant here all your life, does that mean you were born here and grew up here?
[From underneath the hood, she studies Annette's reactions—taking in the uncertainty and hesitation and doubt, the second-guessing, the indecision. All things alien to a noble, an elite with power and influence and privileged birthright. Despite herself, she relaxes a little. It was...heartening, somehow, to realize she's not the only one flying blind here. Almost as much as coming up empty no matter how hard she looked for caprice or calculation.
Leaning forward, she tentatively slides the sandwich plate a half-inch closer to Annette. A small gesture of encouragement, of engagement, but it's there, and maybe that counts for something.]
I wasn't born here, but I was young enough that I can't remember living anywhere else.
[The confusion has faded from her voice, but nothing replaces it. No fond nostalgia, no warm tone to details left unsaid. No harsh tones of bitterness or anger either, for whatever that's worth with her expression completely hidden in shadow. Just a fact.]
So, I know all the secret places in the castle. All the hidden passages, too.
[A pause.]
I could show you?...tomorrow, maybe. If you wanted.
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A strong wind swept over deep drifts, leaving swirling flurries in its wake, rattling barren trees on the long sweep north to the castle beyond. Past the broken gates, the open courtyard, the frozen pond and topiary left to run wild—throwing sleet against stone walls and dark windows as it rose, screaming, circling around the eaves and high towers. And just below the wind...branches clacking together like bones. The distant howl of wolves.
A nameless forest surrounding a nameless castle, forgotten by all who once knew of it.]
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It's just that she'd been so excited to find a cluster of bellflowers peeking out from behind one tree not so far away that she hadn't given a thought to how quickly the sun was setting behind her. She'd managed to stash them carefully into her bag but by then the sun had become nothing more than a sliver above the horizon and all the faded signs at the crossroads blurring together and leading her astray, away from home and towards a creaky castle she's sure she'd never seen around these parts before. With the temperature dropping quickly and the lack of light to guide her, she's left with no choice but to wander past the gates and into the front courtyard in hope of a temporary shelter for the night.
Well, it's not like her father would miss her anyway, his attention focused on everything and anything that wasn't his family, his wife and daughter. And her mother would be alright for one night, attended to by their small (but loyal) cadre of servants. It's just one night. There's no reason to worry.
Her head twists this way and that as the heels of her shoes click lightly across stone. ]
Um, hello? [ Is there anyone here...? ] Sorry, I think I got a little lost while trying to get home and I need a place to stay.
[ She feels silly talking to herself, especially when this place hardly looks lived in, but looks can be deceiving. Maybe whoever lives (lived?) here just really hates cleaning. She can relate. Now, if only there was some sort of magical sign pointing her towards a bedroom....or even a giant fireplace filled with crackling flames. ]
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...
The shrieking wind whips violently across the castle grounds, stealing Annette's voice away as it dusts her clothes with a fine layer of snow. Barely audible, a heavy door slams shut somewhere deeper inside the castle, echoing down the long hallway of the west wing and into the high, drafty ceiling of the foyer.
Or maybe that's just the wind, too. Because when one of the entrance's once-magnificent double doors swings half-open on rusted hinges, there's no one standing behind it.]
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Annette pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders, feet scurrying against the snow-covered ground towards the entrance—right up until a door creaks open and she lets out a breathless shriek, slipping to a stop and almost falling right onto her ass. Finally. Someone she can talk to. Except...the closer she gets, the more apparent it becomes that there's no one there, the halls as empty as the courtyard had been.
Oh gods, please don't let the castle be haunted.
Mustering up her strength, she calls out once more. ]
Uh....hello?
[ Her thin voice echoes as she cautiously steps inside. If whoever - whatever? - lived here didn't want her entering, then they wouldn't have opened the doors for her, right? That's what she repeats to herself at least as she slowly shuffles forward. ]
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But the illusion of Annette's presence hasn't faded, hasn't broken. Her voice lingered in the empty air like the peal of distant bells—the scent of her hair and skin drove out the suffocating miasma of dust and cobwebs. Finally, after all this time, someone else was here...on tonight of all nights. The last full moon of the year, the anniversay of that day.
And now Lys had no idea what to do. Hiding had seemed as natural a thing to do as opening the door, but to what purpose? Maybe she really was a slave to her instincts, just like the warlock had said.
Grimacing at the flash of memory, Lys curls her misshapen hands into clawed fists, pulling them into the long sleeves of her servant robes. Dark blue to match the peeling paint on the walls, fitted with a hood and long enough to reach the floor, they were the perfect uniform for staff expected to fade into the background, keeping even their faces hidden from the lofty gazes of their lords. Swallowing hard, she pitches her voice low, a rolling whisper that echoes around the room: raspy at the edges, roughened by disuse and the kind of accent no noble would lower themselves to affect.]
...who...are you? How'd you find this place?
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I-I got lost in the woods. This place showed up out of nowhere a-and it seemed like a good place to take shelter from the storm. I'll—
[ She almost says she'll turn right back around and go back home, but swallows those words before they can leave her mouth. With the kind of weather that's brewing outside right now, only a fool would turn on their heel and head back out. She might be clumsy sometimes and hotheaded, but she's not stupid. ]
I promise I'll be quiet. I won't take up that much space, o-or make a mess of anything. [ Hopefully. ] I just need a place to stay until the storm is over. Please.
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After a moment, Lys resignedly pushes the feeling to the back of her mind. No, there wasn't any chance at all. To think otherwise would be the height of foolishness. Besides, the question had no bearing on whether or not Annette could stay in the castle, sheltered from freezing winds and hungry wolves.]
Of course you can stay. That's why I opened the door.
[Her voice is louder this time, less uncertain, closer to what you'd hear in a normal conversation, if still raspy and impossible to place as the sound echoes around the foyer. But despite coming so easily to a decision on the matter, she doesn't get up from behind the couch, remaining safely hidden out of sight. Crawling out from behind the furniture wasn't any kind of introduction for a proper servant to make; better to control when and how she was seen, rather than invite uncomfortable questions.]
Just...I need to prepare a room. Something suitable. So...please wait in the library until then. It's at the end of the hallway on your right.
4/5, great location and decor but sometimes it feels like someone is watching me in my sleep
Her lips wobble into a smile, a faint burst of relieved laughter bubbling up. ]
Y-yeah, I guess you're right.
[ Whoever this mystery 'you' is, still unseen despite how openly she's twisting her head this way and that now for a glimpse. Is it some sort of magic spell at work, their voice projected out past their physical body? Or just some very clever concealment at work? She could take the chance to look around now, but that would be awfully rude. She can keep her hands and her eyeballs to herself for now. ]
Thank you very much! I promise I don't need anything fancy, just a bed with blankets and pillows. I can even help get things, if you just tell me where to go.
[ She is determined not to be a spoiled and indolent houseguest. ]
who doesn't love a very, very, very attentive host
Torn between curiosity and the servant training that had been driven into her, Lys decides to say nothing on the matter at all. For the moment, anyway.]
...as you say.
[Rather than provide suggestions by which Annette could make herself useful, she lapses into expectant, slightly awkward silence, patiently waiting for her guest to leave the foyer.]
:/ :/ :/
She waits a few seconds, and then a little more. Her smile wobbles into something more uncertain. Should she press the matter? But she's a guest here and shouldn't be too pushy right off the bat. But she should be considerate and helpful if she's a guest, right? Her fingers curl and uncurl, restless energy emanating from them, before she finally (mentally) slaps herself and lets out a resolute huff through her nose. ]
If you lead the way, I'll follow you.
[ That should be harmless enough, right? ]
val tags are the best christmas gift of all
That would be a hundred...no, a thousand times worse than being alone.
The foyer was no longer dim but dark, full of deep shadows untouched by the faint and fading light filtering in through the high windows. Steeling her nerves, Lys edges out from behind the couch, slinking through the cluttered foyer on all fours. Used to floating about unnoticed in the periphery of another's vision, she moves swiftly and near-silently through the darkness until she can materialize, wraithlike, out of the gloom—a tall hooded figure standing by the hallway to Annette's right, announcing her presence by way of a diffident cough.]
...this way. Please.
a gift you get once a year, at the pace i'm going
It's cut short soon enough, her shoulders jerking upright at the sudden presence of a figure appearing in the doorway nearby. A hooded, mysterious figure, whose face Annette can't quite catch in the dim light. But the voice is the same as the one she'd heard before and the words are welcoming enough, if scarce. ]
Okay.
[ Carefully, she falls into step behind her mysterious hostess, feet tap-tapping away. Given the relative reticence of her host, she should probably keep her own mouth shut. But Annette's always been bad at that, mind constantly on the move unless she's deep in focus. Even now, her inclination towards conversation takes hold and her mouth opens before too long. ]
Does this place belong to you? It's very, um, [ old-looking, dusty, foreboding ] impressive.
[ That's kind of positive, right? ]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iz-8CSa9xj8
And like that, it's easier somehow. Not easy, but easier. Any kind of movement was certainly better than staying so uselessly still, and while the continued expectation that she converse like an equal was less welcome, walking in front of Annette at least meant there was no chance of her catching even the slightest glimpse of what lay beneath the low hood. The question prompts a soft, startled noise; in some other universe, it might have been a chuckle.]
I'm a servant. [A beat.] ...the servant, really. It's just me here.
[Which Annette must have already figured out, she supposes. The castle felt as empty as it looked and sounded; like everyone else was gone, not simply absent for the moment or hidden away somewhere. They walk past several paintings, once hung with so much pride but now mildewed with age and lack of care, and expensive decorations turned dull and dusty from neglect. Fine art slowly rotting in the dark.
Still, it was a perfectly sufficient answer. All she needed to say. And yet...not entirely against her own will, more words come.]
...I guess you'd know about impressive castles. You came from one, right? From somewhere on the other side of the woods.
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Just you? Doesn't it get lonely?
[ The words spill out before she can help herself, voice tinged with worry. To be all alone in a place as big as this...it sounds horrid to her, to be entirely honest. But the longer they walk, the more it hits her - really hits her - just how empty this place is. How every noise they make echoes through the dead air, with nothing else to buffer it.
She wonders what happened, to render a place so dusty and hollow like this. But she's already said so much she probably shouldn't have. She ought to give her host a little more space, and the option to say as much or as little as preferred. For now, she can be a good guest and talk about herself. ]
I wouldn't say I know much about impressive castles though. I mean, I guess the place where I live right now is pretty nice? But it's definitely nothing compared to here, at least in terms of size. My entire household could probably fit in a single wing here.
[ What a crazy thought.
Her head swings this way and that as they proceed down the hallway, taking in the faded tapestries and old paintings of people she can't even begin to recognize. ]
The people in the paintings....are they the people who used to live here?
[ Or still do?? It's so hard to tell with old castles. ]
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[She stops when Annette falters, continues walking when Annette does, never looking back over her shoulder. Never needing to in order to maintain an appropriate distance. She doesn't flinch when asked if she's lonely—who wouldn't be? who couldn't be?—but nor does she offer a reply. The question, so strangely layered with some emotion too unfamiliar for her to name...it wasn't meant to be responded to.
As for the rest, well. She's not surprised to hear that Annette is indeed a lady of estate and status, though it still felt...some kind of way to have it confirmed. A bit of welcome certainty in this chaotic situation, or maybe just resignation. Perhaps both.]
Yeah. [Ah—] Er, I mean, yes. Duchess Kaspersen and her family.
[She tries to will her heartbeat into settling back down to a normal rhythm. What was she thinking, speaking so casually? This would be a lot simpler if Annette would just order her around as befitted both of their stations in life.]
She...they used to own most of the mineral mines around here. Then again, that was...seven, maybe eight years ago.
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The name doesn't ring too much of a bell, though she'd never bothered to spend much time memorizing the titles and peerage of the land (much to her uncle's dismay). What practical use was there in knowing the precise title of some man she would probably never meet? No, better to spend her time on other, more useful studies.
Seven years ago though.....such a long time ago. Annette wrinkles her nose as she digs through her memories for any flickering memory of events from that time. It would be nice to say that she was a lady who kept up with current events but that simply isn't true. ]
Used to? What happened?
[ Questions born out of genuined curiosity, even if they once again border on too nosy. ]
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She didn't show proper manners to a guest. A warlock...or maybe a wizard. One of those.
[Her tone doesn't change, but hidden under her sleeve, her misshapen clawed hand tightens around the candelabra hard enough to hurt. Spell, enchantment, curse—whatever the term, it had been his decision to cast it. But she couldn't pretend to be so saintly as to not blame the duchess as well. All because the man had come to the door in patched and faded traveler's clothes, looking like a peasant instead of one of the most powerful magic users in the region...]
I guess you could say she offended him.
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The tale, short though it is, sounds like something out of the storybooks she'd read as a child; a great member of the nobility, cast down and out by an all-powerful magician. Not that magic doesn't exist in the every day here, but usually most magicians aren't so petty as to immediately resort to casting magic spells at the slightest offense.
Well. She makes a face to herself. Some of them definitely would. But still. That seems awfully like an overreaction. ]
Oh. [ She tries to slot together the scattered handful of pieces she's managed to pick up so far. ] Did he send her away or something?
[ But that doesn't make sense, not fully. If only she were sent away then there would still be people milling about here. If she and her entire retinue were sent away, then— Her thoughts stumble to a halt, a new realization stifling all her other immediate questions. ]
Hey, what's your name? I'm so sorry, I forgot to ask.
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[The evasion comes out smoothly, clear and cool as glass. Annette didn't need to know the full story, the grisly details that still sometimes kept Lys awake at night. Perhaps later, ideally never, but not now. To speak at length about Duchess Kaspersen's fate might very well send Annette bolting for the door, out into the blizzard, as far away from the castle as her legs could carry her. If she died in the cold and the dark, terrified out of her mind, it would be Lys' fault.
The last door on the right doesn't look any different from the other doors they've already passed, save for the LIBRARY inscription lettered beside it on a wrought copper plaque. Lys puts a hand—covered, concealed, a formless shape under the heavy sleeve—on the scrollworked doorknob, then pauses.]
...you don't need to know my name. I'm here to serve you either way.
[To her former employers, her social betters, a flat "you" had always sufficed. They saw no real difference between a teapot and the maid or butler who held it; both existed only to pour tea into a cup. Of all the things Annette could ask, why her name? It didn't matter, so why apologize as though it did?]
But you can call me Lys, if you want.
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But I want to know—oh.
[ Clearly she should have waited, held her tongue. Then she wouldn't have had to sound like an idiot. She colors a little, clearing her throat softly to chase away some of her embarrassment. ]
Lys, then. And just because you're a servant doesn't mean you only exist to serve me. You're still a person too.
[ What a rosy world she lives in, to casually say such things. She's never seen a point in treating anyone as lesser or different and she doesn't see a point in starting now, especially when this person might be the only other person she has to talk to here. Her eyes travel from the hood hiding Lys's face to the door, lighting up as they read the letters etched into the metal. ]
I know we're not here to read, but are there a lot of books in the library? Have you read any of them? Do you think I'd be allowed to read some of them while I'm here?
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She lets that hang between them, unremarked upon, staring distractedly at the rising color in Annette's face as the girl herself jumps to the next topic like a child moving from stone to stone across a flowing stream. The hood hides where she's looking, like it hides so much else, and it tilts as she ducks her head, jolted back to her senses by a sudden tightness in her chest. It feels like a fist was curled over her heart, squeezing not quite painfully to the rhythm of yet another feeling that she couldn't name and didn't understand.
She doesn't let herself ask for Annette's name in return. The servant's training that had been driven into her was still too strong.]
Y-Yes, to all those things. Actually...
[The door isn't locked. (Why should it be, when she was the only one here?) She easily pushes it open—grimacing slightly for the first time in years at the protesting squeal of rusted hinges—and steps through, holding the door open for Annette to follow behind. Boasting floor-to-ceiling shelves, the library is both larger and marginally warmer than the foyer; better illuminated, too, if only because Lys had made a visit shortly before her trip to the west wing and had decided to light a few of the many fireplaces.]
..I was hoping you could pass the time reading while I prepared your room. I, ah, really must insist on taking care of that. You need to warm up, to relax...especially after coming such a long way and almost getting caught in a blizzard.
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It's amazing.
[ She hasn't realized she's whispered the words aloud, too busy detaching herself from her cloaked shadow to drift towards the nearest shelf, one hand already reaching out towards the rows of books stacked neatly together. Barely remembering her manners at the last second, her hand stops just a few inches shy of the shelf, her head swinging around as she blinks. ]
Oh, I don't mind staying here to read. [ Obviously. ] You're really sure you don't need any help?
[ Truthfully she would love nothing more than to curl up by the fireplace with a book (or ten) but she should at least make an effort to be polite. ]
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It's that more than anything else which gives her pause, swallowing hard to make sure her voice doesn't sound strange. Still a little raspy, throaty in the way you'd expect from someone trying to speak after an indeterminable silence, but normal enough.]
I'll be fine.
[She already has a room picked out, but sees no reason to say so. Volunteering a detail like that seems like it might kindle Annette's interest all over again, and Lys wanted that focus to stay right where it was. Instead she makes a brief sweeping gesture to indicate the shelves of books (magic spells and alchemy texts, fairy tales and local legends, more mundane fare such as recipes and treatises on botany, mathematics, history), the dusty but only somewhat moth-eaten rugs and couches laid out in front of the crackling fireplaces.]
Please feel free to read anything you want. I'll be back shortly.
[And then she's gone, her silent exit marred only by the rusty squeal of the door's neglected hinges. It's not until she's halfway down the hallway that she thinks to hope Annette won't try for any of the books on the high shelves...not because they're forbidden, but because they're so far out of reach.]
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By the time Lys returns, whenever that may be, Annette's hunkered down squarely by one of the fires, several stacks of books surrounding her and all as tall as she is. Her legs are folded in front of her and a book (a treatise on the history of restorative magic) resting in her lap. Her chin rests in the palm of one hand as she flips through the pages, a wrinkle born of deep concentration forming between her brows.
Deep enough in her reading is she that she hasn't heard her hostess's return. Every few seconds, she mumbles to herself, repeating a few sentences that she hasn't been able to fully parse. ]
no subject
To find Annette so absorbed was something of a relief. Quite independent of any nebulous fear of punishment—having decided to, if only for now, at least theoretically accept the idea that Annette wouldn't lash out at anyone, even a servant, who was so hapless as to rudely disturb her concentration—it's a chance for Lys to study her houseguest in straightforward detail, comparing the girl curled up by the fire to the one who now lived only in her memories. Even after accounting for the physical differences between them, remarkably few as they were (blue eyes instead of green, red hair a few shades too light to exactly match), the two could've been mistaken for family. Cousins, if not sisters. Standing so still, holding a serving tray once again, her existence going unnoticed...Lys can't help but feel a strange doubling sensation, a rush of deja vu so strong it was almost hallucinatory. The past overlaying the present, memory imposing upon reality.
If she didn't blink, didn't breathe, would she see Anja peering intently out of Annette's face? Would she hear that confident (and just a touch imperious) voice uncoiling smoothly from Annette's mouth, telling her to sit down already and open this or that book, because servanthood was no excuse not to learn all she could?
The invisible fist closes over her heart again; cold instead of warm, not alien at all but as bitterly familiar as the tracery of old scars. Painfully dry-eyed, Lys walks over on legs that feel oddly detached from the rest of her body, the soft click of her toeclaws so much like the tap-tap of elegant heels. She navigates around the stacks of books with a practiced ease fully remembered only in the moment, clearing a space to set the tray down at the perfect distance: close enough for Annette to easily reach, not so close that a careless movement risked toppling everything over. Careful, always, to keep her back to the fire, angling herself so that the dancing, flickering light never touched what little could be seen of her face beneath the hood, sleeved hands raising the teapot in studied synch with a murmured:]
Tea?
[She doesn't have a plan for facing Annette in the cold light of day. She barely has a plan now, moving from impulse to impulse like a prey animal navigating an open field. Maybe, just maybe, she'll think of something by tomorrow morning...]
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She shrieks softly, the book dropping into her lap, and blushes immediately over being caught so unawares. Lys probably thinks she's scared of every little thing, huh? Quickly she stammers back a reply. ]
O-oh. Sorry. I didn't hear you.
[ Obviously. Setting her book aside, she starts - carefully! - clearing away a few of the stacks that have accumulated around her. ]
Tea would be great though. You should have some too! Take a break after getting everything set up.
[ It makes perfect sense to her. ]
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More likely that, Lys thinks. She debates reminding Annette that it's her job to prepare the tea, not drink it...and then reconsiders, awkwardly kneeling down on the other side of the tray. Her new body...well, her changed body, you couldn't really call anything "new" after seven years...wanted to prowl around on all fours, felt most comfortable in a predator's slink. Sitting cross-legged just wasn't an option; canine haunches simply didn't bend that way.]
It's chamomile. Good for the nerves.
[She expertly fills Annette's teacup, then one of the extras brought along for safety's sake. Sighing softly, she puts down the teapot and leans back, abstaining from both tea and sandwiches. Annette had to start first, like Anja always had; that was the rule.]
...what, um, what were you reading? You looked pretty interested.
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Thanks. I really appreciate it.
[ Carefully, she blows across the top of her cup before taking a small sip. Mmm, there really is nothing quite so comforting as a cup of hot tea. If only there were pastries to go along with them....but she supposes sandwiches are a pretty good substitute. ]
And it was just a book about some old wizard. I'm not still sure if it was supposed to be a biography or not, but it was pretty interesting reading about the kind of magic he used.
[ More importantly: ]
Aren't you going to eat?
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...it's tradition for the guest to eat first.
[From what she's coming to realize about Annette's sensibilities, she hopes that answer will be enough. Technically it was true, but to more fully explain that everything on the tray was Annette's now, to share or withhold as she pleased, how Lys had no right to any of it...well, it might very well provoke further inexplicable resistance, more comments that made no sense.]
You...study magic, then? I mean, I guess you would, being a noble and all...they always know magic. [Entirely involuntarily, her voice goes flat and toneless for a moment, mechanical as a clockwork tin soldier's, before filling with polite (if slightly forced) conversational brightness again.] I can bring you some spellbooks? If you haven't found them already, of course.
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[ Is that all it is? She hadn't been on all too many social outings after her father had just up and left, and her uncle's household was small enough that nobility and servant largely mingled together as one group.
Well, it shouldn't be hard to comply by that rule. She is pretty hungry, and those sandwiches do look pretty tasty. Setting her teacup aside, she picks up one of the sandwiches and takes a healthy bite. No eating like a bird where she's involved. A delighted smile blooms on her face as she chews, not bothering to finish chewing before she dishes out some praise. ]
Mmm, this is really good! Thanks!
[ Maybe she can get the recipe for these sandwiches from Lys before she goes....
Annette takes another bite, and has the good sense to actually swallow this time before talking. ]
And yeah, I was studying magic. I've always thought it was interesting as a kid - there's so many different rules of physics it has to follow! - and mages usually have a lot of freedom when it comes to where they get to go.
[ Is there an ulterior motive here....maybe. Her face dims when she realizes who she's talking to and her shoulders slump a bit. ]
But I guess that kind of sounds like bragging, huh. You probably don't get to leave this place at all.
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A servant's place is in their master's castle.
[No matter how silent and empty that castle was, or how long departed its master. But before those memories can grab her and pull her backward, something about what Annette just said registers as being a little strange, refusing to settle cleanly inside her head. Lys puzzles over the words, turning them over and over like a jeweler with a suspect stone, taking another awkward gulp of tea to mask the lull. This one drains her cup; she settles it back in her lap without going for a refill, ignoring the sandwiches completely.]
Is that why you were out in the woods? To feel free?
[Her half-incredulous, half-confused tone is dangerously rude by the standards of her training, but Lys can no more roadblock it behind her teeth than she can quell the blizzard outside.]
crawls back in here after vacation
She ignores Lys's question in favor of addressing the issue she thinks is more important, her half-eaten sandwich and cooling tea gone forgotten as her blue eyes flash with indignation. Somehow it just feels so wrong to listen to Lys talk about herself as though she's nothing more than her station, a tool to be used and then discarded. ]
A servant is still a person though! A person with feelings and wants and wishes.
[ Deep down, she knows her viewpoint isn't shared by everyone, and particularly not by those in loftier positions than she could ever dream of, but that doesn't stop her from running her mouth, words impassioned. She doesn't even stop to think that she might be jeopardizing her stay in the castle, concerned only with her personal sense of right and wrong. ]
Surely you can't be happy just standing around and making sure I get whatever I need?
[ Can she? Annette really hopes not. ]
waters u like a delicate flower
...if I offended you, I'm sorry.
[She clumsily puts the teacup down, folding her sleeves in her lap like a child dreading punishment. It's a mistake, just like allowing her shoulders to hunch into a defensive curl is a mistake—betraying too much of one's true feelings was to forsake the protective invisibility of stoicism—but she can't seem to help it. Just like she can't seem to accurately predict or manage Annette's moods, her behavior, everything her servant's training demanded she remain alert to at all times. Hypervigilant, even. With all that in mind, how on earth was she supposed to safely answer such a ridiculously loaded question?
Slowly, sounding out her response a little at a time—]
I've always been a servant. Always. But no one's ever asked me a question like that before, so...I don't know what you want me to say.
[The duchess, and nobles like her, had been quite predictable in expecting unquestioning obedience and docility, for those beneath them to agree that the sky was neon-pink and water felt like sandpaper, should such absurdity be required. Anja, eccentric to the last, had instead demanded the unvarnished truth. But what did Annette want? What would keep her here, as much at peace as someone trapped inside a gloomy old castle by a blizzard could possibly be?]
i finally sprout another month later
The sandwich gets put back on the plate absentmindedly, Annette taking the moment to twist her hands together in distressed motions. ]
I just...I just want you to say what you want to say. Not what you think I want you to say.
[ Urgh. She frowns the moment the words leave her lips, aware of how stupid they sound. Why can't she phrase things better? What if she's making this all worse? It would be just like her to open her big mouth and say something stupid and get kicked out of the castle right in the middle of a snowstorm.
Abruptly she changes tack, trying to approach the subject from a different angle. ]
So if you've been a servant here all your life, does that mean you were born here and grew up here?
waters u again, this time with piss
[From underneath the hood, she studies Annette's reactions—taking in the uncertainty and hesitation and doubt, the second-guessing, the indecision. All things alien to a noble, an elite with power and influence and privileged birthright. Despite herself, she relaxes a little. It was...heartening, somehow, to realize she's not the only one flying blind here. Almost as much as coming up empty no matter how hard she looked for caprice or calculation.
Leaning forward, she tentatively slides the sandwich plate a half-inch closer to Annette. A small gesture of encouragement, of engagement, but it's there, and maybe that counts for something.]
I wasn't born here, but I was young enough that I can't remember living anywhere else.
[The confusion has faded from her voice, but nothing replaces it. No fond nostalgia, no warm tone to details left unsaid. No harsh tones of bitterness or anger either, for whatever that's worth with her expression completely hidden in shadow. Just a fact.]
So, I know all the secret places in the castle. All the hidden passages, too.
[A pause.]
I could show you?...tomorrow, maybe. If you wanted.