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Chapter Text

The light drizzle of rain created a slightly peppered covering over the carriage window, and the rocking prevented the novelist from trying to jot down any sudden ideas he had on the ride. 

Why had he gone out in the drizzling rain? Well, an invitation to a celebratory party hosted by a Kreiburg landed on his office desk. The invitation was to ask for the novelist's appearance at the party, in celebration of an Edward Kreiburg's composition being featured in an Opera. Said Opera received high reviews, and one Orpheus himself had enjoyed watching. He didn't see the harm in visiting for a few hours, mingling with the aristocracy and potentially taking a lucky man or lady back home for a reprieve. And this way, he could collect behaviors of the guests and the venue to incorporate into his next novel. 

Slowly he approached the Verano Music Hall, an up-and-coming hall built within the last few years. It had received high praise since it's construction, and remains a popular gather spot for the wealthy. A three floor building of limestone, held up by ionic columns with touches of gold in the groves and waves. Drapes were tied opened from what he could observe, and the crowd of people congregated to the second floor told him where his party was located. 

The carriage came to a stop just outside the doors, and Orpheus stepped out a moment later, pocketing his small journal in the inner coat pocket. After ensuring his monocle was set, he made his way up the bricked limestone stairs and into the front doors of the hall, walking with ladies in fine dresses and feathered fans at his side. They giggled to each other as they walked, and Orpheus could hear a lovely melody from the choir on one of the overhead balcony's. The inside was glittering with crystal and gold, fine women's jewelry catching the light and causing a sparkle. A congregate of dance was in the middle of the room, following a waltz. The brunet turned his gaze all around until he spotted a small group of silver hairs and jovial laughter on the second floor. 

Weaving past the dancers and the ladies waiting for a turn, he made his way up the velvet carpeted marble stairs, running his gloved hand over the equally marble railing, and letting his fingers run on the groves of the doll post. Once he has reached the top, the smell of wine and tobacco was strongest, and he barely suppressed the crinkle of his nose from the smell. Already he had overwhelmed with the practical congeal of perfume carried on the party goers. But he fixed on his smile and made his way to where his host was currently laughing at something with a lady on his arm, smiling at him and giggling behind her hand. 

His host spotted him once he had calmed down, and positively lit up at the sight of the novelist. He extracted the woman from his arm to make his way to Orpheus, offering a hand in greeting. 

"Mr. Orpheus! I wasn't certain you would show! What a lovely surprise this is!" the man practically yelled. Not that Orpheus could blame him, with the drone and laughter surrounding them. 

After a brief handshake, the two chatted for awhile, with Orpheus giving his congratulations to the Kreiburg, and weaving compliments on the composition. The host seemed almost bashful, but then flutes of champagne made the rounds, and such shyness was swiftly forgotten. Orpheus nursed his first flute, while the rest of the men around him began on their third or fourth. All of them Kreiburg's, with the patriarch sat to the side with a pomegranate juice as his drink of choice. 

There was a brief thought Orpheus had of joining the man, but then whispers laced with contempt reached his ears, and he turned his head to find a couple people grouped up and whispering to each other. When he listened in, "disgrace" and "unbecoming" were what he heard first, and he tried to track where their eyes followed. 

It ended up being the lower floor, where the string musicians used to be, that was now occupied solely by a grand piano and pianist. Silver hair tied back, and a high collared under a red coat were the first features Orpheus noticed, taking a sip of the champagne as the hall began to grow quiet. 

Anticipation lingered heavy in the air, and even the small group of Kreiburg's seemed more alert than ever. The patriarch himself had stood from his seat and now watched intently down at the man on the piano. There a pregnant pause, the nimble fingers of the pianist hovering just above the ivory keys, before they set down and began to play. Immediately, soft music filled the Hall, a familiar tuned crafted by the patriarch himself, who seemed to relax a little and returned to his seat, while gradually other people went back to their conversations. 

"I can't believe he still thinks he's wanted here," a voice began, prompting Orpheus to turn his head to the lady clung to his Host's arm. There was a sneer on her scarlet lips, and a look of disgust in her eye. "The most infamous Kreiburg, and you still invited him. We got lucky he knew better than to try and play any of his so called 'music'." 

The Host looked like he wanted to disagree, but he remained silent and took a sip from his flute. Orpheus couldn't help but step closer, using a quick wave at the lady to grab her attention to ask, "My apologies, I'm afraid I don't follow. That man is also a Kreiburg?" 

The Host nodded at his question, sparing a quick glance to the Patriarch before answering. 

"Frederick Kreiburg. My Uncle's son. He hasn't had very much luck with his music, despite our family gift. A shame it is, but one there is nothing we can do about." 

Orpheus nodded slowly, absorbing the information presented to him. His next question came out of his lips before he could think to change it, "If he's so infamous and mediocre, why invite him as the performer?" 

"I felt sorry for him. I offered him a chance to play, to see if he'd improved any of his scores. But he decided not to any, as you can hear," the Host explained, nearly splashing the wine in his flute as he moved it to direct Orpheus's gaze. "It is a good thing his looks make up for what he lacks, no?"

The lady on his arm laughed at that, and Orpheus moved his attention back to Frederick, who had just finished the song and was coming down from the focus. Slow applause filled the hall, before the string orchestra moved back in, and Frederick took his leave behind them. Intrigued, Orpheus quickly turned away from the group and began his way downstairs. He wanted to know more about this Mr. Frederick Kreiburg, and didn't wish to loose the opportunity to do so.

He followed the path he assumed Frederick had taken, slipping past bronze statues and wait staff down one of the tall hallways. Some rooms had open doors where more quests were sat, while some were closed with dubious sounds coming from them. Just as Orpheus was about to pass the last room, he walked back at the glimpse of silver and red, and peeked from around the doorway. 

Frederick had taken this room for himself, settling down in one of the lush loveseats and picking out a small silver box from his breast pocket. Orpheus straightened his clothes and pushed back his hair, before walking inside the doorway and giving a light knock to the wood. Frederick's head practically snapped up, and Orpheus was struck from a moment by the silver eyes that shined from the firelight being set upon him. Realizing he had a guest, Frederick closed the small box and set it on the small table in front of him before standing once more. 

"Apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just wanted to give you my applause on your playing." Orpheus explained smoothly, trying to keep his body language open and languid. Frederick merely nodded at him before averting his gaze back down to the small box. Orpheus stole the moment to truly take in the man's appearance, with his hooded eyes, kept low in a way that seemed pathetic and melancholy, and a narrow nose that suited his profile. A few strands of silver hair were coming loose from the tie it was in. When Frederick looked back up, Orpheus had to take a deep breath when Frederick spoke up.

"My thanks, for your applaud. It was merely a task given to me by the host." 

Orpheus nodded, suddenly dumbstruck for words. So much he wanted to say suddenly; so much he wanted to do. He stepped in further with a nod to the love seat, waiting until the Kreiburg used a hand to offer the seat for him. They both took their seat and Orpheus spared a second to take his notebook from his pocket. He watched as Frederick sat back down and picked up the box, opening it up before taking a cigar and a match stick from inside. Frederick set the cigar between his lips, which Orpheus noticed had a much pinker color, likely from some type of gloss, before he turned the cigar box to the side and struck the match along the groove. Once the cigar was lit, the Kreiburg waved out the flame and took a long draw before holding it. After a pause, he tipped his head back against cushion to exhale the smoke. The line of his throat, usually hidden by the high collar, was illuminated by the firelight, and Orpheus was too transfixed by the smooth skin to hear Frederick's question.

"Ah- pardon? Could you repeat that?"

Frederick sat up before offering the cigar to the novelist, "Would you like to try?"

Orpheus wasn't a smoker, he was a drinker, but something about the way Frederick looked in the firelight, touched by gold on his cheeks and hair, with the almost glowing silver eyes and the lowered gaze made him take the cigar and bring it to his lips. There was a faint dampness to the end, and a small hint of mint as he took a moment to properly inhale the tobacco, holding it for a few seconds less than Frederick, and exhaling much quicker. The thickness of the smoke clung to his throat, and began a slight coughing fit. Clumsily, he practically shoved the cigar back to the other man's hand, taking deep breaths and swallowing as the thickness gradually left his throat. He heard Frederick chuckle beside him, and wished to hear it once more, again and again. In the small room, the smells and sounds outside were dulled, and Orpheus could finally take in the scent of the other man, too.

It was warm, reminding him of sunlight, with a slight orange node hidden beneath. A pleasant scent, one Orpheus wanted to take more of. 

This was new. Dangerous. He had never felt this...obsessed over a human. Never felt the urge to be closer, inhale this smell deeper, to hold Frederick close so he couldn't run-

"I don't think I caught your name. Would you mind if I asked it?" 

Orpheus blinked slowly, swallowing the sudden build up of saliva, before smiling at Frederick. It was a miracle he wasn't shoving the man into the cushion and sniffing him like a dog. The temptation to do so lingered heavy in his mind, but he offered his hand to the other instead. 

"Orpheus. From the De'Ross family." 

Frederick nodded slowly, setting down the cigar in the nearby ash tray before taking the hand offered to him. Orpheus could feel how weak the man's grip was, it would be all too easy to pin him down and take-

"Frederick Kreiburg. Pleasure to meet you."

The pleasure is all mine, Orpheus thought, letting go of the other mans hand and laying back in the seat. He opened his journal and took out his pen, suddenly needing to do something to fight against the animalistic instinct in him. The two remained there, with Orpheus scribbling his previous thoughts from the carriage into the paper and Frederick finishing off his cigar without haste. When he had finished it, and killed the bud, Frederick glanced over to the novelist to peek at the man's notes. 

"Are you a writer? Your note taking is quite in depth." Frederick asked, causing Orpheus to pause his scribbling. Frederick mustn't have noticed just close to had leaned in to read, for his scent was stronger. It would take only a slight lean for Orpheus to be able to touch his lips to the silver hair. This close, too, Orpheus could see just how long Frederick's eyelashes were, the same bright color as his hair, that fanned over his cheeks like a blanket when he blinked. He held the pen a little tighter before nodding. 

"I write mystery novels," he began to explain, showing his notes more open than before, in hopes of making Frederick lean back. "I take inspiration from those around me. The scenes and sights I visit to construct the landscape. I attempt to understand human thoughts, emotions, desires. Of why people do the things they do." 

Frederick nodded, blinking owlishly, before he leaned back and stood. Orpheus remained where he was, observing as Frederick fixed his cuffs and lapels, taking a deep breath from his stomach. After smoothing out his vest and fixing the blue tie on his collar, he turned his head back to Orpheus over his shoulder. 

"I'll have to keep watch if I spot any of your novels. I'd love to read one sometime. However, I must retire for the night. So this is our farewell, Mr. Orpheus."

Orpheus closed the journal before folding his hands on top of it, letting the smirk come to his lips as he met Frederick's eyes.

"And here I was hoping to have a dance with you, Mr. Kreiburg. Another time, perhaps?"

Frederick shook his head with a faint smile, before finally taking his leave out the door and down the hall. Now alone, Orpheus let out a long, deep exhale and rolled up the top of his sleeve. The veins on his wrist pulsed under his scrutiny. 

The fangs in his mouth teased the skin, yet he hesitated when he noticed the cigar tray left on the table. If he truly wanted to, he could rush back out to find Frederick and return the tray, but a stronger part of him said to keep it. An excuse to see the man again outside parties. 

So, he picked up the silver cigar box, and snuck it into his coat pocket with his journal before he left the Hall for the night. Excitement bubbled under his skin, and he couldn't stop the almost manic grin from forming on his lips. 

A newfound passion burned like an inferno within Orpheus's chest. It clung and sang for the company of the Kreiburg, of his scents and his sounds. He desired desperately to reconnect with Frederick once more, and as soon as he could.

He had first started at the Kreiburg manor, where he assumed Frederick would be staying. However, the maid who opened the door told him that Frederick lived elsewhere, and he did not share his new residence with his family, so they didn't have an address for Orpheus to follow. Momentarily put off, Orpheus had thanked the woman and took his leave, though his disappointment didn't linger when the thought of hunting down Frederick whispered to his desires. With a new fervor to take him, he changed the destination of his carriage from his home to his office in the city. 

The editorial staff was surprised to see their lead writer burst into the office so suddenly, yet no one stopped him as he made his way to his office. He practically slammed the door shut before rounding the oak desk and opening up the drawers of files held behind the desk. Never had he had been glad for his organizational streak, and borderline hoarding habit, as he picked out previous newspapers that mentioned the word 'Kreiburg'. Various newspaper recounted accomplishments of the family, from the Patriarch, to the cousins. But he was looking for a specific one, a single Frederick Kreiburg. 

There.

One of the newspapers, hidden in the stack in the middle, recounted his arrival to the music scene. About how he had the ambition and makings of a great composer, yet there was a lack of execution. Praise on his looks, on how well he played other songs, yet an unsatisfying outcome of his own compositions. A few more articles under the first talked about how he was an outcast of his family, and a disgrace of the Kreiburg name. The reviews all seemed to mixed with both sympathy and vitriol. 

Orpheus wanted desperately now to hear Frederick's personal compositions, just to see how well he fared based on the reviews. The only issue being he had no way of finding the man. No address to send a letter to, no parties posted publicly with the guest attendance, and no job that Orpheus could trace to find answers. The only thing he knew was that Frederick was a Kreiburg and a self-proclaimed composer with subpar musical talent.

No, that wasn't all.

Orpheus remembered the cigar box he had taken home with him the night before, where it was currently on his bedside table. That was his lucky break. If the cigar's were from a shop, they would carry the name and label of course. 

He would have to pay his carriage driver extra for all the back and forth trips, but if it meant getting closer to the ever elusive Frederick Kreiburg, it was well worth every cent he had.

Just before the late evening hour of 7, Orpheus stepped out of the carriage in front of a small cigar shop. Smithson Cigar Shop, a remote little location in one of the back alley areas of the city. The wood was old, he could tell from the look and smell. The overwhelming smell of tobacco and paper assaulted his nose, scrunching up his nose in response. Nonetheless, he stepped forward and pushed open the door to the shop, glancing around the shop as he heard a voice from the back holler at him to wait a moment. 

It was more homey than he had expected, with humidor's in various designs and tiers laid out on display near the walls. In the middle were small tables that showcased the different rolling designs the shop sold, and additionally portable carriers for them. He looked up when he heard heavy footfalls come down from stairs, before a man well into his 50s rounded the door and fixed his tie. He mustn't had expected a visitor, as he only wore an untuck blouse and his evening pants. 

"What can I do yer' for, mister? We have quite the variety to choose from. I'm certain we'll have somethin' for your liking." 

The novelist stepped forward, taking out the silver cigar box from his pocket and holding it up for the shop keeper to see. The man scrutinized it for a moment, and Orpheus used the chance to explain. 

"I believe this belongs to one of your patrons. A Mr. Frederick Kreiburg to be exact. Am I correct in my assumption?" 

The shop keeper eyed him warily and sniffled before he answered, "Yeah, you're right. How'd a man like you get ahold of that?" 

He wanted to ask more, such as how frequent Frederick came into the shop, if there was address he had for delivery, what his favorite cigar flavor was, anything-

"We attended a party last night, where we met by chance. He left this behind when he left, and I came here to see if I could return it to him. Would it be possible for me to leave a note for him that you can give him, with his cigars, on my behalf?" 

The man pondered on it for a moment, tapping soot caked nails on the wood of the counter, before he shrugged and nodded. Orpheus smiled good naturally before taking out the note he'd written in advance and tucking it into the cigar box. As he set the box down, the shop keeper looked up at him to ask, "What name do I tell him if he asks who returned it?"

A few thoughts came to his mind, but he decided being truthful would work best.

"Orpheus. The mystery novelist who doesn't know how to smoke." 

Chapter Text

When he was a child, he was promised fame and recognition. He was promised ambition and success. That his skills at merely 5 years old were remarkable, and he would surely be a great composer like the rest of his family before him.

Fate, however, did not hold such promises for him.

Euterpe cast her gaze away from him, and tilted the pedestal he was on till he fell. The glimmer of Kreiburg slipped through his fingertips, and he was nothing more than an outsider once he landed in the murky waters of failure. 

Despite that, he continued to write, continued to play, compose; any shred of that childhood masterhood he was praised for was ripped from his chest and spilled onto papers in fine ink. But nothing stuck. Nothing sounded right. Everyone could tell, they could hear, they could see he was...mediocre. The voices around him, both in his head and not, all spilled vile to him.

Disgrace. Cheap. Talentless. Pathetic.

Moving to Paris was his only resort. The name 'Kreiburg' that stuck to his back eliminated any anonymity he wanted, but the glimmering Parisian arts and music were a lifeline he could only hope and pray didn't tear from him. For years after, he continued to compose, took what he could to play and find any applaud, but his only success was a smaller music hall that took him as a regular. The pay wasn't the best, but it kept him a decent lodging house in the suburban area and change for leisure. Even with his infamy, he was still sought after and invited to several parties, though he seldom played in those events until pressured. 

He only broke his rule when he was asked to play at his family's celebration. Envy dug her claws in his chest, but he accepted regardless. Any attention, even if he could not play his own piece, any recognition he could get, he would take. 

That night was a blur for him. He remembered playing, and then the stranger who joined him in one of the smoking rooms. 'Orpheus', as he called himself. 

The man seemed genuine in his approval. He didn't seem to be mocking Frederick's apparent lack of talent. Though politeness cannot equal praise. He had learned that the hard way, and with a great deal of embarrassment and shame that followed. 

Despite his apprehension, he couldn't help but feel less guarded around the novelist. So much so that the next day he went out and purchased on his latest novels and took to reading it during lunch. The man was a master of craft with words, and the level of detail in his works, which were on the horror genre rather than mystery, caused Frederick to set it down more than once to catch his breath. The fame Orpheus received was well earned, Frederick thought. He ignored the drag of envy in his chest, and continued his lunch that afternoon without much else. By the time he returned home at nightfall, he was halfway through the novel.

Several days later since that party, he had finished the first novel and began on his second. Tonight, he was invited to a small house party. The Host, a regular patron to the music hall he preformed in, personally invited him the day before after he played. She was a rather young girl, barely older than 20 if he had to guess, but she bat her eyes to him and her letter was soaked in perfume. Still, he accepted it with a kiss to her hand, and promised to attend. 

His eyes glanced to the open novel on his end table, trying to read the words on the page from where he left off and making sure his jabot was tied properly. Multitasking wasn't an issue for him, but his mind kept wandering to the novelist, and whether he would ever see the man face-to-face again. Why he had this desire, he was unsure, but when he thought back to the young man's face and his charming grin he felt his chest ache with...something.

Perhaps it was the fact he didn't tread further than was needed when conversing with Frederick. He didn't try to woo his way into Frederick's graces like so many of the nobles around him did. He treated Frederick like another friend. Not a Kreiburg, not a failure. 

As he shrugged on his tailcoat, a deeper, muted red instead of his usual, he went to his nightstand and opened the drawer, only to find it empty. 

Well, not completely empty. A quill pen and papers were stuffed neatly into the small box. What he was looking for was his cigar box, which was kept primarily in this drawer if it wasn't on his person. He had forgotten about losing it, and let a soft curse slip from under his breath. It was already 8 in the evening and he was due to attend at 8:30. He could manage a trip to the cigar shop, though he would be 10 minutes late to the party. 

The options of not having his cigars and having them were not fought over very long in his mind as he picked up his winter coat and cane before leaving his quarters. The lodging house he was able to rent was only a mere three floors, but with thick enough walls he hasn't had much issue with his neighbors. 

Once he was outside, he was able to hail a carriage rather quickly. He tried to keep himself calm and composed in the carriage, but the sudden anxiety caused his leg to bounce regardless. He had also forgotten that the shop usually closes at 8 as well. He would only hope the shopkeeper was working a late day or would be kind enough to let Frederick make a late night purchase. Time seemed to drag on for him, only lessening when he could see the worn sign of the shop. He rushed out of the carriage as soon as it stopped and pounded on the door. He was sure he was making a fool of himself to the poor driver, but he couldn't be bothered when he spotted some candle light peeking from the darkness. 

The door opened after a click, and Frederick nearly tripped over himself to step inside. 

"My apologies for coming in so late, but I have a small emergency and need to purchase a new pack right away," He said as soon as he was inside, already having picked up the first 3 pack he saw on display and setting it on the counter to fish out his coin purse. The shopkeeper chuckled good heartedly at him as he came around the counter, and set down the oil lamp. 

"Missing somethin' I presume?" The shopkeeper said, bending down below the counter to fish for something tucked back. Frederick felt his expression lower, though it morphed to surprise when the shop keeper stood up and presented the silver cigar box, "A young English man came in saying he wanted to return this." 

"How long ago?"

"Ah, few days, give 'er take. He left a note for you in there. I even went through the trouble of restocking' them for you, on the house." 

Frederick picked up the box from the counter where it was left, snapping it open to see 3 freshly rolled cigar's alongside the last 2. His match sticks were also refilled, and a sheet of folded paper was wedged in the lid. He thanked the shopkeeper and returned back the pack to the display table, practically flying out the door and into the carriage. As soon as he was moving, he opened up the box and took out the paper. 

The lamp light outside gave him just enough light to read as he opened up the letter,

'To Mr. Frederick Kreiburg, 

I couldn't happen to notice you forgot to collect an item brought with you the night we met at that party. This cigar box seems important to you, and you can rest assured I didn't touch or smoke any of the cigar's in here. I prefer a good drink over a good smoke. 

I won't ask for money as payment, as this was an act of goodwill, though I didn't lie when I said I wished to have had a dance with you. I know not when I'll attend another event where we can meet again, but if you have an afternoon free and would like some company, I would be honored to share a lunch with you.

If you would find that enjoyable, then you can write a return letter with the day and time and send it to the address at the end of this letter. If not, then you are free to discard this letter and forget my question. I will not be offended.

-Orpheus'

The letter was far more casual than Frederick expected of such a renowned novelist, though he supposed that the casual tone was to indicate familiarity. Even a lack thereof. 

Frederick pondered on the invitation for the rest of the night, even while he flirted and teased the noble ladies who approached him. Their honeyed smiles and sweet smelling perfume did little to distract him from the novelist and the potential of eating together with him. By the time the party concluded and he was back in his room, he was practically sweating with anxiety. It wasn't anything particularly harrowing, he was used to entertaining meals with those who wanted to eat with him, but Orpheus seemed different. He didn't seem to be after Frederick's family name, or any chance of marriage, just wanted to make friends. 

That terrified Frederick. 

He kept everyone at arms length, no matter who they were. He didn't have any real 'friends', just regular's that he was familiar with. Having a friend in Orpheus, the rising star to high society, choosing the disgraced Kreiburg that even his parents avoided, terrified him. The implications confused him and he didn't know if he was truly ready to take that step. 

Yet again, perhaps Orpheus was just better at lying with sweet words. Perhaps he did only want the Kreiburg name instead of Frederick himself. 

No better way to test than to dangle bait at the fish. Decided, he opened his bedside drawer again to take out the paper and quill to begin writing a return letter. Once he was sat at the small sun table, he began to write, keeping it concise and to the point. 

To Mr. Orpheus

Thank you for your kind invitation. I'd like to take you up for that offer.

There is a small cafe by the Norte-Dame called Cafe Guinevere. They have a wonderful lunch special on Thursday's, so if permissible, I hope that 1 in the afternoon at the cafe would work for you?

If the date doesn't work within your schedule, then don't worry about writing back. I won't be offended.

Kind regards, Frederick Kreiburg.

The last line was a bold faced lie, but he's grown used to disappointment. If Orpheus indeed didn't show up, then it was likely for the best. Even if he did have a busy schedule, he didn't want to make the novelist feel obligated to attend such a small event. Not a party full of fame and wine, or a show in one of the music halls. Just a lunch. 

He slid the letter into an envelope and wrote down the address given to him on the back. First thing in the morning, he reminded himself, send it to the post for delivery.

That was the plan. He didn't know what possessed him to do this, but he stood in front of the editorial building. Eurydice Publishing was written in French above the door, the publishing firm that Orpheus wrote for according to what he gathered. The composer took another glance at himself, fixing up the porterish coat he had found in his closet so it sat a little more unruly. His hair was hidden in a tight bun beneath the flap cap he had also rented for this simple excursion. 

Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the door and pushed it open. Once inside, the smell of ink, paper and coffee hit him, followed by the sounds of machinery and discussions. The reception desk was empty, and behind it Frederick could see a couple storage shelves and the printing presses, where some people were stationed at. In the middle of the room was a metal rung spiral staircase, likely leading up to the writing and editing desks. It was bright from the large windows letting in the fresh midday sun. 

This was very out of Frederick's scene, that he confirmed. He stepped up to the reception and plucked out his letter, taking a glance at that and then at the desk cluttered with all manners of books, papers, letters, quills and pencils. 

"Do you need some help?" a voice asked from his side, causing him to turn to the woman who was now standing beside him.

She looked fairly young, shorter than Frederick, and with warm brown eyes. Her hair, a more wheat blonde, was pulled back into a braid behind her head, kept together by a white bow. She was dressed in a cornflower blue day dress, paired with a matching blue shawl kept over her shoulders. Her arms were full with papers and folders, which were hugged against her waist. 

Frederick nodded and held up the letter to her, letting her read the address on the front, "I'm here to deliver a letter to a Mr. Orpheus. I wasn't sure where to deliver it to..." he explained, letting her take the letter from his hand. She flipped it over and back before nodding and holding it back out to Frederick.

"He's just upstairs in his office. You should be able to just go up there and leave it with one of the staff."

That wasn't what he wanted to do. He kept his hands at his sides and nodded to her, "Well, I wouldn't want to bother him if he's busy. I do also have more parcels to deliver besides this-"

"Alice! Where'd you go?" a voice yelled suddenly, causing both blonde's to snap their head to the stairwell, where none other than Orpheus himself was rapidly descending. He wasn't wearing his overcoat, leaving him with a warm cream vest and his blouse with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was also without his monocle, and his hair was slightly messy as if he was tussling it up. He was too focused on some papers in his hands to notice them, but Frederick took the chance to slip away and towards the door. Just as he reached it, he tugged the cap lower and glanced over at his shoulder.

The young woman who helped him had made her way to Orpheus, who now talked with her and pointed out some lines on the paper he was holding. Frederick stepped back towards a corner to watch them for a moment more. Once the woman, Alice he presumed, pointed out a different section of the paper, she picked out his letter and handed it to Orpheus. He took it curiously, flipping it over like she did, and taking another moment to talk with her before he, strangely, brought it up to his nose as if to smell it. 

Perhaps he wanted to see if it was a love letter from a lady, since it was common practice to spritz a bit of perfume. But this wasn't one, so Frederick didn't add any to it. 

The novelist brought it away after a moment, looking what Frederick could only describe as starstruck before he nodded to the girl and quickly rushed back upstairs. Frederick left soon after, letting out a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding. But the letter was delivered, and that was what mattered. It was only Monday, he had a few days before lunch.

He just wondered if Orpheus would actually show or not.

The rest of that day passed by in a blur, and Tuesday was spent at the music hall. He tried to keep the lunch not-date out of his mind for the few days before it approached, but Wednesday reminded him that he would have to face it. 

He spent the entirety of Wednesday in his room, smoking out the rest of his cigar's to try and calm his nervousness. Even his tuning fork didn't help much. Besides the lunch that he would attend tomorrow, he couldn't help but feel as if he was being watched the last few days as well. It made him uneasy, yes, and he wasn't sure if it was perhaps spies sent by his family to see if he was still alive, or if he now had a stalker. But he kept his curtains closed the rest of the day, but the windows open enough to air out the cigar smoke. It wasn't as if he wasn't allowed perse, but one of his neighbors had breathing problems, so he seldom smoked indoors. 

No matter how much he turned it over in his head, he could not find a satisfying answer to why Orpheus sought out his company. They were worlds apart, two different spectrums. Sure, Frederick came from a renown family, but he was the outcast of it, and had to resort to lower means to stay afloat. Orpheus was new to high society, but he had gained fame and admiration in the few years he produced novels. Orpheus was somebody, with bright ambitions and a fruitful future, and Frederick was, as the papers put it, a washed up, would be composer fallen from grace. There was no reason for Orpheus to seek him out like this. 

It didn't matter the reason, the date was set, and Frederick would have to come to terms with it. If Orpheus showed up, splendid. If he didn't, then well, it wasn't meant to be. He wouldn't hold up the hope of Orpheus actually showing up to the lunch. He's been met with such instances plenty of times before now. 

And besides. He was a regular there, and he usually ended up picking that cafe over the fact he knew the staff would pity him if he showed up with another no show date. Even though this was not a date. 

...or maybe it was?

Frederick shook his head to clear that thought, deciding to sleep in early. No use lingering on the hypothetical, he thought.

The marveling structure of the Norte-Dame came into Frederick's view through the window of the carriage. He made sure his outfit was proper, a simple navy blue suit with a lighter vest underneath, and a black overcoat to finish the look. He went without a hat, despite the odd looks given to him, and he made sure the blade in his cane was prepped if he so needed it. He intentionally was a few minutes late, delegating a test to see if Orpheus would truly show. If he went through the effort of asking Frederick for lunch, then he should be capable of waiting a few minutes longer. 

It was mean, yes, but Frederick was fully expecting for Orpheus to not be there. So no harm in testing him a bit. 

As soon as the carriage pulled up to the front doors of the small cafe, Frederick stepped out and made his way inside, greeting the hostess. They talked amicably for a moment as she took his coat and folded it to put away for later. Just as he was gazing out to the tables, she pointed him towards a window seat.

"There's another gentleman here that claims to be dining with you. An English fellow by the looks of it." 

Frederick paused in his fixing of his jabot to look over where she pointed. He still followed behind her as she guided him over, past the many tables that held other guests. As they approached, Frederick couldn't help the shock that showed on his face as he saw the other man at the table. 

Orpheus perked up when he saw Frederick approach, and was almost over eager as he stood up and folded a hand over his chest.

"Mr. Kreiburg! You made it. I was beginning to wonder if you gave me the wrong address." 

Frederick thanked the hostess, moving to take a seat before Orpheus was suddenly behind him to pull out the chair. Frederick followed, deciding to play along as he got seated and waited till Orpheus sat back down himself. The novelist was wearing a brown coat, with the same warm cream vest underneath. It suited him, he thought. 

"It took me some time to find a free carriage. My apologies for that," he lied smoothly, picking up the menu to peruse it over. He knew it by heart by now, but he didn't want Orpheus to know that. "I hope you didn't have to wait too long."

Orpheus chuckled at that, picking up his opened menu to scan it over, "Not too long. I'll admit to you, I was a few minutes late myself." 

He was probably lying, but Frederick didn't pry. He could tell they were both trying to test each other. 

"Have you been here before, Mr. Kreiburg? The staff seem to be familiar with you." Orpheus asked suddenly, closing his menu and picking up the glass of complimentary water to take a sip. Frederick examined the menu with a hum before closing it as well. 

"I've come here a few times, yes. I wouldn't say I visit here weekly however." 

Just as Orpheus was about to speak, their waiter came back around to get their drink and food order. A mimosa for Orpheus and a white wine for Frederick, then tilapia with green sauce and vegetables as the novelist's meal choice. Frederick always ended up getting the Peppered Tuna with Nicoise Salad when he came here, and this not-date with Orpheus wouldn't change it. The novelist didn't seem to mind it so much however, more than happy to continue conversation with the composer. 

"You lied to me, Mr. Orpheus." Frederick said first, keeping his eyes level with the novelist.

The man seemed surprised, enough that there was a hint of worry in his brow, before Frederick picked up his water to continue, "You claimed to write mystery novels, yet you write for the horror genre. Any reason why you needed to lie about that?" 

Any worry that was on Orpheus's face previously dissolved as he chuckled, fixing his monocle before answering. 

"I wasn't sure if horror was a genre you'd be partial too," he said, folding his hands together on the table. "So I didn't want to scare you off with my writings of the macabre." 

"You have an extraordinary way with words, Mr. Orpheus. While horror is not my usually go-to, I did find myself entranced in your stories when I read them. Though, I have only read two of your novels so far." 

The novelist smiled, sitting up a bit straighter as if he were a preening peacock. It was almost humorous that a few simple statements would make the man so happy. 

"Well, it is wonderful to hear that you've been enjoying my novels. Even if they are not of your usual standard." 

They talked for a little longer until their food arrived, by which point they began to eat. The chatter of the other guests was a droning lull for the composer, enough he had nearly forgotten Orpheus was with him until he said suddenly, "I tried to find you at your family's manor earlier, to return your cigar box, but the maid said you didn't live there. If it's not improper of me to ask, may I know why you don't live there?" 

"Ah, you mean the one by the riverbank? I'm afraid that is merely a vacation home for my mother, not an actual residence. My family remains in Austria." Frederick explained, taking a bite of the tuna and chewing. It wasn't a lie, in fact. "I'm certain you are aware there is some distasteful history between me and my family at present."

Orpheus nodded slowly, chewing on his bite of fish.

"You're from London, right? What brings you so far from home?" Frederick asked suddenly, taking a sip of his wine. Orpheus perked up at the question before he answered, "For work. My publishing firm had a lack of man power in their Parisian office, so I offered to help until they received more staff. It worked well timing wise with that party invitation from your relative." 

"And for how long will you remain in Paris?"

"We're expected to have new hires within two weeks, but it could take longer. There is no definite deadline." 

"Do you miss home?"

"It's not as bad since my sister was kind enough to come with me," he said, setting down his silverware to fold his hands in front of him. "Do you miss your family? Your old life?" 

Now that got Frederick to pause. He also set down his silverware, though he didn't take his hands off it. He hasn't truly considered if he missed his family. He, without a doubt, missed his old life, but did he miss his family?

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," Orpheus said suddenly, picking up his silverware again to finish his meal. "I didn't stop to consider if it was too much of a personal question. My sincere apology." 

Frederick shook his head and mirrored the novelist, "No, it's alright. I have not thought about my feelings in regards to my family often."

Orpheus nodded at that. The rest of lunch was spent talking about mainly Orpheus's novel career and how he rose to such fame. Frederick was content to hear about the novelist's success, even if he was envious of it. He kept his answers vague when Orpheus changed the topic to the composer's career and his life, not wanting to give the novelist too much. 

By the time they had left, two hours had passed since their arrival, and Frederick was certainly a little tipsy from the wine, giggling at something silly Orpheus said. 

"Mr. Kreiburg, if I may. My firm is going to host a small celebration this coming Saturday. Would you find it acceptable of me to ask for your attendance as my guest?" 

Frederick paused for a moment to consider it. Accepting would mean another meeting with the novelist, and another new crowd of people. But the idea of spending a weekend with people, rather than alone with only his demons, was far more appealing to him. So, he nodded his head. 

"I'll need the time you want me to arrive." 

The novelist beamed and quickly pulled out a small slip of paper before holding it out for the composer. Once Frederick had grabbed it, Orpheus spoke up.

"If you have any other questions, you can always come find me at the firm. If my sister wasn't here, I would probably be sleeping in there." 

Frederick smiled, looking down at the small slip of paper. A moment of apprehension hit him when he saw the name of the music hall. The very same he played at regularly. His mind began to race, not noticing that Orpheus had hailed a carriage for him. By the time it rolled up to them, Frederick had pocketed the slip of paper and fixed on a pleasant smile. Orpheus, being the gentleman he tried to be, had opened the door for Frederick already and kept a hand out to help the taller man in. The composer rolled his eyes, yet he still took the novelist's hand and stepped into the carriage. 

Orpheus held out a hand to shake, which Frederick returned. Before he could pull away, Orpheus had flipped their hands and brought the back of the composer's hand to his lips. He could feel his cheeks grow warm as he watched Orpheus smile and return Frederick's hand to his lap. 

"I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Kreiburg," he said, before finally closing the carriage door and sending Frederick on his way. 

Chapter Text

Paris at night was beautiful. 

While Orpheus loved the country side of England, the vast forest and the songs of the birds, there was a captivating beauty to the dazzling lights of Paris. He held onto the flag pole sat atop the City Hall and leaned his weight forward, peering over the domed roof and to the crowds of people below. For midnight, there was a bustling late night crowd that weaved around the pave ways. A perfect balance of sobriety and intoxication. A perfect grape vine to pick from. 

His eyes tracked a lone figure, a single human who monopolizes his thoughts and emotions as of late. As Frederick Kreiburg weaved past the crowds of people, keeping to himself and sticking to the walls, Orpheus hopped from roof to roof to keep track of his excursion. He'd done this the same day Frederick had come to deliver his return letter, sneaking out through one of the windows upstairs and following the scent of the composer. Now that he had an object of attraction, it was far too easy to find him in any scenario Orpheus should need.

He had been watching Frederick for an hour now. The composer had done a late night play at the music hall, one which Orpheus had snuck in to hear and listen to. The composer played all manner of songs then, from jovial to match the actors, or a more somber piece when it was just him alone. He played songs that already had scores, nothing original, much to Orpheus's dismay. One day, he promised, one day he would hear the composer play an original. But until that day arrived, he was content to take his sweet time courting and bringing Frederick to his side. 

A voice inside him stirred and whispered about simply taking Frederick now. Bringing him back to Oletus within the night. It would be far too easy...

"No." Orpheus said aloud, blinking his eyes to clear the sudden blurred vision, "I will do this properly." 

The voice didn't say anything more, and Orpheus took a pause when he saw Frederick suddenly stop. The alleyway he'd detoured in was empty, not too narrow, but lacking any light other than what peeked through the clouds from the moonlight. Orpheus focused his hearing, able to hear the rising beat of the composer's heart, and the scrape of something metal against the stone wall at the other end of the alleyway. A mugger perhaps? 

Orpheus turned to gaze from his infatuation and to the ragged man stumbling down the alleyway. A butchers blade was held firmly in his hand, which he was currently dragging against the stone. He seemed intoxicated, if the slurring of his words was anything to go by. But Orpheus could smell something foul on the man, and he snapped his gaze to Frederick. 

He had turned away, going back out into the main street. It would take longer now to get to his lodging, but there were people and lights, rather than a dim and lonely alleyway. The drunkard shouted something, and Orpheus snapped his head to see the man beginning to run after Frederick's retreating figure. 

Only an instant. A slight blink. A moment of unawareness. That was all Orpheus needed before he was slamming the drunkard into the wall hard enough to crack the stone, and burying his fangs into the mans throat. 

The man gagged and heaved, but Orpheus tightened his grip and was quick to all but drain the man. Once finished, he merely dropped the body to the ground and stepped back, breathing hard against the possessiveness that screamed for him to find Frederick now and whisk him away. Instead, he took out the handkerchief in his breast pocket and wiped his mouth clean, unable to register whether the blood was good or not. It likely wasn't. 

He spared one last look to the corpse before leaping back up to the roof and speeding his way across. 

He had to make sure Frederick got home safe after all.

"I'm worried about you." Alice said suddenly. 

Orpheus hid his yawn behind his hand to peer over at her, sat at their little dining table with fresh tea and a croissant in front of her. A plate of the same, with coffee swapped instead of tea, was in front of the other chair, which Orpheus filled a moment later. 

"What do you mean?"

Alice folded her arms in front of her, tossing her head to move the stray hairs from her shoulder. She was only in her nightgown, with her hair down and spilling across her back. It wasn't brushed, clearly. 

"You attended this sudden party a week ago, and as soon as you came back from it, you were practically mad to find this composer you met there. You even stalked him on his way home after he came to the office, and you're suddenly hosting a party at the music hall he plays at? You even had us go eat at the cafe you two went too!" 

Point taken, Orpheus thought with a bite of his croissant. He chewed slowly before swallowing and picking up his mug of coffee. Alice did the same with her tea, keeping her eyes trained to him. 

"I'm simply interested in him. He's different from the other humans we've met." 

"Interested platonically, or with the intent to take him as a mate?"

Before he could even respond, a wave of dizziness hit him, and he had to brace himself against the table. A voice not his own growled out "Mate", before it retreated once more and he shook his head, "No-well, yes, but- later. Not now."

Alice sighed, putting her head into the hand not holding her cup. She shook her head at him, which he ignored in favor of finishing his breakfast, whilst mentally beating down that ugly part of him down. Alice didn't speak anymore after that, choosing to stay quiet as Orpheus left to change into his day clothes. When he came back into the dining room, dressed and his hair slicked back like usual, Alice finally spoke up. 

"Orphy. You do realize the risk you're taking with this, right?"

Orpheus shrugged on his outer coat and fixed the lapels before pondering on her question. Of course there were risks, but the idea of not having the composer in his life now was unfathomable. Risks be damned.

"Never mind. Just...don't set your hope high, Orpheus." Alice said after the pregnant pause, standing up to move past Orpheus to her own room. 

The novelist stood there a moment more, blinking away from the morning sun and towards their little dining table. A faint flash of Frederick sitting there, breakfast in hand and a smile of love on his face as Orpheus approached, calling "Good morning" to him, invaded his mind so vividly he took a breath. 

One step at a time, Orpheus reminded himself as he left their home and stepped into his private carriage. One step at a time, and Frederick would be his soon enough.

 After confirming that the music hall was still ready for Orpheus's party, he made his way to a nearby flower store to pick up a previous order. The jingle of the bell made a head perk up from around a Chrysanthemum display and round the table it displayed on. The young girl dusted off her hands on her apron and fixed up her cuffs before smiling at Orpheus.

"Good morning! Are you here to pick up an order?"

"Yes, under De'Ross. It should be a Cornflower collection, with Forget-Me-Not's and Violets." 

The girl beamed and quickly rushed back behind the counter, leaving Orpheus to sit in the warm little shop. All array of flowers and botanicals surrounded him, and he had a thought of perhaps bringing back something for Alice as well. Just as he was about to pick out something, the young women returned with his bouquet, wrapped in white and blue ribbon. 

"Here you are sir!" she said as she held it out for him to take. 

Once they were stable in his hold, he thanks the girl before stepping out of the shop. A quick peek at his pocket watch confirmed he was on schedule. The party was at 7, and it was half past 6 now. Plenty of time to go over and help finish last minute preparations before everyone was supposed to arrive. The office was closed today, but he confirmed the day before that nearly all but a few would be free and were excited to attend. After all, selling over 20 thousands copies in total were a big achievement for them, and Orpheus wasn't going to stiff them out of such a celebration now. 

His second motive with this celebration was to see how Frederick would react, and if he could learn some more about the composer's life and his part-time gig there. He wasn't sure if Frederick would reveal those secrets willingly, but he was going to do his best to learn all he could. 

By the time 7pm finally rolled around, a handful of early participants were already crowding the stands, and several more were following. Orpheus personally took it upon himself, along with Alice, to welcome each guest into the music hall, and have the staff show them around. Orpheus had paid for a full event, a bottomless open bar and entertainment from the staff that he tipped handsomely for each. Jovial and overwhelming, perfect for Orpheus and too much for Frederick. Orpheus hoped that the composer would decide to retire to a quieter location, and that he'd allow Orpheus to follow. Maybe a tad possessive of him to want to monopolize the composer's attention and space, but a fool in love will do what he must to get closer. 

A lovely smell of sunlight and orange brushed under his nose, causing his head to snap to his honored guest for the night. 

Frederick had done up his hair in his usual ponytail, but his evening coat was black with a grey petticoat underneath. His slacks and shoes were also a matching black. It suited him, the dark attire, if only perhaps too close to a widow in mourning. But if he was mourning, then who for? What for, perhaps? Orpheus didn't think on it longer, smiling wide as the composer approached, a steady hand on his cane that was merely being held like a lifeline rather than necessity aid. 

"Mr. Kreiburg! You showed up," Orpheus said first, tightening his grip on the bouquet he'd practically held for the hour. He waited until Frederick was beside him before offering the bouquet to the other man, "A gift, for you. As a thank you, for the lunch and your appearance tonight." 

Frederick's surprised face was the best gift for Orpheus. The composer slowly, unsurely, took the bouquet of flowers and held them to his chest, using his free hand to thumb at the petals with an almost childlike wonder to them. Guests filled in past them, but Orpheus paid them no mind as Frederick smiled at the bouquet before looking up to make eye contact with Orpheus. 

"Thank you. This is...a very thoughtful gift." 

Orpheus couldn't help the smile that split across his face, preening at the simple fact Frederick liked it. Or at least didn't dislike it enough to discard it. Orpheus offered his arm for Frederick to take, which he did, keeping just enough distance to be civil. Alice waved them away as Orpheus brought Frederick into the theatre, and he gauged the composer's reaction to stepping into somewhere familiar. 

"Any reason you picked this place to host your party, Mr. Orpheus?"

"I was looking for somewhere homey since the editorial staff is smaller than what you might think. This place came up in my recommendation perusal, and after verifying with the owner, the prices were affordable for the staff. Of course, even though I get paid well, and ensured for an open bar, I'm aware some staff may want to still tip the workers or purchase tickets for later shows," Orpheus explained carefully, subtly letting Frederick take over their directional lead. "The reviews were mixed, but I think it's quite a cozy little theatre. Have you ever come here before, Mr. Kreiburg?"

Frederick cast him a soft glare out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps he was aware that Orpheus knew of his part-time gigs at this theatre. Orpheus will admit he wasn't being subtle about his curiosity of the composer, but he wasn't complaining if Frederick was sharp enough to notice. 

"Why the need to ask a question you're already aware of the answer to?" 

He did know. Orpheus smiled small, shrugging his free shoulder, "Because I'm curious."

Frederick didn't say anything more, guiding them through the crowds of people to find a spot to watch. Did Frederick notice, Orpheus wondered, that he was leading them so easily as if he's treaded this guide several times over? He knew of Orpheus's awareness of this theatre, so perhaps he's given up pretense? Or perhaps, faintly, he is longing for another company to follow him through the reverie? Were their souls so aligned that Orpheus could hope Frederick was also seeking companionship? 

This fallen composer, head held high as if he were still above. If he sought to be elevated, then would he let Orpheus raise him? Would he allow Orpheus to place him on that pedestal? For his eyes, only. To bask in the moonlight together and share her mysterious gaze. 

He was morphing his desire's with his fantasy again. Patience, the voice inside whispered, he will be ours soon enough. 

Frederick lead them to the balcony over head, where people had already begun to seat. Ladies with gentlemen, fanning themselves and hiding their words with flutters of said fan. Orpheus followed along easily as Frederick brought them to seats just in front of the railing. Here, he set down the bouquet on one of the seats before stepping back, letting Orpheus seat himself first. Only then did he sit down next to the novelist, crossing a leg over the other and setting his cane against the railing ahead of them. 

"These are wonderful seats, Mr. Kreiburg. Do you sit here when you attend?" 

Frederick looked over at him before resting his cheek against his fist, smiling in a way that said he was revealing a secret. 

"As a matter of fact, these seats are exclusive to sponsors. They give the best view overhead, and also captures the best sound. Since you are the sponsor this night, naturally these seats would be yours." 

"How delightful then. I'm honored I can share them with you." 

The composer scoffed at that, turning his eyes back to the curtains that now began to lift for the performance, "You're time is your own. Why you wish to spend them with me is not my concern or my place to dissuade."

Orpheus wanted to refute the statement, but the lights dimmed and Frederick was clearly focusing on the actors beginning to take stage. Instead, he settled back down to watch the show, hardly paying attention. The actors were great, yes, and the music was joyous. They were clearly performing at their best thanks to Orpheus, and he could see that his staff were enjoying themselves. But his focus, the entertainment he wanted, avoided his gaze and ignored his presence. 

But that was fine. He could find a way to monopolize the composer's gaze in his own way.

Alice found them a few minutes after the performance started, sitting herself next to Orpheus. Together, the three of them watched, alone, in that little overhead balcony, a performance entertaining for the common people, and amusing by the nobility. For the aristocrat with them, it was utterly boring. 

Mid way through the performance, Frederick finally turned his head to Orpheus, immediately bringing the novelist's attention to him. When Frederick leaned in to whisper between them, Orpheus meet him halfway, taking in the aroma of his muse.

"Do you want to go somewhere else?"

Orpheus nodded, quick to follow Frederick as the two stood. Alice's questioning gaze was left unanswered as Orpheus gave her a small wave and was lead back downstairs by the composer. In the darkness of the theatre, with the actors playing and dancing and the crowd enraptured, Orpheus examined Frederick's stature and wondered how long his hair went if it was loose down his back. It already began to slip out of the hold it was in, it would be too easy to untangle it fully. But he resisted, taking his gaze from the man with him to the brick and stone as they descended a stairwell off of the backstage. Underneath, oil lamps were hanging from the walls, illuminating their path as they went deeper in, until it opened up to an underground storage hall. 

Moonlight streamed in from the windows pressed near the ceiling, a basement that Orpheus hadn't known of. Here, the blend of the orange firelight melted into the faint blue of the moon, as Frederick made him way to an old piano set near the windowed wall. 

"Is this a secret cove you hide away in?" Orpheus asked suddenly, watching as Frederick sat himself at the piano. Fluid as if it was just a natural state of his. The piano was lacking dust, unlike the other tucked away novelties hidden here, which gave enough answer to Orpheus that his question would be answered favorably. 

"The owner never uses this place. So, when I need to destress, I come here," Frederick explained, testing the keys. "The stone walls provide insulation, so the performance should not be interrupted by my playing."

Orpheus hummed and slowly made his way closer. "Will I be receiving a private performance from a Kreiburg?" 

"Just this once, I will play whatever you want to hear. Even if this place is merely a way of life for me, you've paid so much here, that I feel it's only right to thank you on behalf of the owner and actors by something only I can do," a pause, before Frederick added, "And I'm certain you'd find my playing more enjoyable than the play out there." 

Ego was one of Frederick's vices it seemed. Not that Orpheus blamed him, and he even agreed. To hear Frederick play instead of watching an act that was mediocre at best, it wasn't difficult to pick the former. As he made himself comfortable behind the composer, he pretended to think for a moment. 

"Anything I want, you say? Then...I'd like to hear one of your composition, Mr. Kreiburg. And not just any made by Kreiburg, one you, yourself, as Frederick, have made." 

The reaction was instant. Frederick's fingers stilled, frozen in time almost, above the keys and his body was locked and stiff. Even his breathing had stilled, it seemed, but he cleared his throat and slowly, oh so slowly, lowered his fingers to the keys. 

"That is...quite the request, Mr. Orpheus." Frederick said carefully, yet lacking any tone for Orpheus to find. 

For a baited moment, Orpheus was ready to take it back, say he was joking, but Frederick took a deep breath through his stomach and began to play. 

The melody was slow, gentle even, like a rolling tide. There certainly wasn't anything grand in it, no intermix of keys commonly used by Kreiburg, but it was unique in it's own way. The tempo remained steady, taking a more hopeful note midway in, before the complexity picked up and just as quickly relaxed. It was a gentle tune overall, and Orpheus still enjoyed it the same. 

When Frederick finally stopped, taking the rest note to linger, he remained quiet. The rise and fall of his sternum told Orpheus he was waiting in anticipation for something, be it good or bad, any indication of Orpheus's thoughts on his work. Orpheus, instead, took a seat besides the composer, slow enough to almost make the other man squirm. When he turned his head to look at Frederick, he was instantly met with silver eyes, low and impassive, but clearly expectant. 

"I think the reviews saying you're lacking are incorrect. Certainly, you don't share the same grandioso as your forefathers, but in your own way, you shine just as brightly as them."

Frederick's lips pursed slightly, drawing his brow down in a mix of confusion and what Orpheus could only guess as apprehension. He couldn't blame the man, given how biting the reviews have been. But it was Orpheus's true thoughts, not merely words sweetened with honey. 

"There are some notes that I feel could be better, but that is merely coming from my rudimentary knowledge of pianism. If you'd like, I could offer you my thoughts while you play it." 

Frederick didn't speak, but he nodded and began to play again. Orpheus would pause him at certain times, pressing a few keys before guiding Frederick to replace the notes with the new ones. They continued like this, until Frederick played it once more with the new notes. It sounded better, they both knew it. When it finally ended, and Frederick hid his face behind his swept bangs, Orpheus smiled at him. It dropped quickly, however, when he noticed a shake in the composer's shoulders, and his fingers curling into fists above the keys. 

"Isn't that grand?" Frederick asked instead, his voice shaking. Orpheus watched as he lifted his hands to cover his face, beginning to sob into them. Between his sobs, he continued to spit out, "I've gone alone for over a decade with this mediocrity, and then one moment of someone like you-" which stung in Orpheus's chest, but he listened anyway, "here, telling me what's wrong, and suddenly it sounds fine?!" 

Frederick was an ugly crier. It wasn't little tears dipping down his cheeks, no. His face was blotchy with warmth, his eyes puffy and red and his brow knitted in agony. He bared his teeth at Orpheus, but it split into a laugh that bordered on mania, Frederick curling into himself as he laughed with no mirth. 

"The reviews were correct, Mr. Orpheus. They weren't wrong. I am lacking, I have no talent. I knew it from the start, but here I am, still pretending otherwise!" he shouted, hugging himself tighter. "Why do I keep trying, then? My father has already abandoned me, my family has disgraced me. And yet, here you are, claiming it's all a lie, when it isn't! What right do you think you have to claim it's false, when even you seem to know better than I do, when I've been doing this since I was born?!"

Frederick stiffened suddenly, baring anger and shame at the novelist, who had brought the composer into a tight hug. It was an awkward angle, with Frederick still protecting himself and Orpheus pressing against his shoulder, but he held tighter and tucked his cheek against Frederick's ear. He never noticed the little auricle piercings here, too.

"There is no shame in continuing to fight for what you want, Frederick," Orpheus whispered, feeling the hitch of breath in his companion. "Humans are social by nature. But you've gone on your own for so long, perhaps you've lacked that. Sometimes, all you need is companionship, to learn from yourself and those around you." 

Frederick was quiet, slowly dropping his arms to his lap. Orpheus used that to bring him in closer, securing a hand around his small waist and keeping a hand on the back of his head, petting down stray silver strands. 

"I know what it's like to fight alone. But I also know the joy of having at least one person there next to you." 

Orpheus would be far more insane if it weren't for Alice. It was only them for so long, leaning on each other when the yawning voyage of immortality presented itself to them. But Frederick didn't have that. Immortality, yes, he did not have, yet. But a companion, a friend-

"Let me be someone who you can rely on, Frederick. A friend, a mentor, or even just an acquaintance. Let me be here when you need someone to lean on."

For a moment Frederick was still. Then, like a dam bursting open, he took a shuddering breath and sobbed into Orpheus's shoulder. His hands clung to Orpheus's coat, but he merely pressed them closer together and pet Frederick's hair as the man nearly wailed. How long had he boarded up his feelings, that he cried like a man dying? How long did he think he was alone, that he was clinging like a babe to their mother, against Orpheus? 

How much of himself did he see in Frederick?

Perhaps he knew instinctively that Frederick was lonely. Their first meeting at that party per chance because Orpheus was too enraptured by the melancholy lingering on Frederick's frame. He did love Frederick, that he knew; loved his eyes that held both grief and pride, how despite the world against him he stood strong and refused to back down. The pathetic attempt at superiority, but the greatest muse to Orpheus's lonely heart. 

He loved Frederick because he found kinship in their solitude. He wanted to understand Frederick, to find agreements and dispute together, to laugh and cry when the endless wheel of time became too much. Alice had Melly now, Orpheus was bound to be alone again. But then, Frederick showed himself to Orpheus's world. 

He wanted Frederick to be his mate, eternal and forever. Frederick's witticism was different but alike to Orpheus's own. They were artists of their craft, and inspiration for the masses. Frederick was the sun, and Orpheus was the weak willed moon who yearned for that light. 

Frederick finally removed himself from the embrace, wiping his eyes with the ruffles of his undershirt. Orpheus smiled as him, rubbing his hand over the composer's upper arm. Frederick gave him a small smile in return, glancing up for a moment before exhaling and sniffling.

"Apologies, I've stained your coat." 

Orpheus shrugged, removing his hand and setting it to support himself on the bench. Frederick breathed slowly for a moment longer before chuckling to himself, bashful. They remained there in silence for a moment before Frederick looked back at him. 

"Thank you...Orpheus." 

Grinning, the novelist bumped their shoulders before standing. Outside of their little basement, the music had shifted to something mellow and suggestive, and he offered a hand to the composer once he stood. 

"Care for a dance?" 

Frederick gave him a curious look, but nonetheless, accepted the hand laid before him and follows easily as Orpheus lead them to the more open space. With the music outside softly coming in, Orpheus lead them in a slow dance, soaking up the warmth and scent of the composer. The man in question had his eyes closed, enjoying the moment and savoring the sound. They danced till the song came to a close, and then began to make their way back upstairs after tidying up their appearances. When they finally came back to the rest of society, rounds of applause surrounded them, and they both looked to the stage to see the actors bowing. 

Frederick weaved his way past people, taking out his cigar box as he went, while Orpheus found Alice once more and conversed with her about his achievement. She smiled at him, but he could still see her apprehension in her eyes. No matter, things would be right soon enough. 

As the two made their way outside, Orpheus scanned the crowd of people to find Frederick. When he couldn't find him, he follows the faint trail of his scent to an alleyway. The smell of tobacco also lingered in the air.

"Frederick, will you-" Orpheus started to ask as he turned the corner, only to halt. 

There, pressed against the wall was Frederick, bored and looking rather uncomfortable, while a man pressed kisses to his neck and held the composer's thigh against his hip. 

Chapter Text

The moonlight above casted her cold gaze to the masses, a tower of bodies piled below a lone figure. Draped in midnight shade, peeking bare shoulders and silver hair that glowed. Orpheus took great pride in putting his arms around that frame, taking in the smell of his beloved. Frederick turned his head back to Orpheus, tilting it up to rub their cheeks together. Crimson stained his mouth and dripped down his neck, prompting Orpheus to follow the trail with his lips. Lips parted, Frederick sighed as Orpheus bore down, bringing up sanguine heaven. 

"Orpheus."

He woke up with a jerk, feeling his heart rattling against his ribcage. The room was bright around him, the faint sounds of snores being the only medium of sound Frederick could immediately hear. He sat up slowly, wincing when his head throbbed with the movement, paired with the midday sun streaming directly onto him. Deep breaths, deep breaths. When the stabbing pain abided, Frederick took a glance around the room.

His lodging house, his room. His coat was throw against the wall nearest the door, followed by his shoes- and another set. There was also another coat put up on the back of his sun chair, and a monocle on the table. He swore he didn't wear one- 

There was a faint groan behind him, startling him so suddenly he was dizzy when he snapped his head over his shoulder and to the body that was pressed against his own. 

Orpheus was asleep beside him, snoring as if he was an old man despite his youth, with his left arm limply over Frederick's midsection. The composer's evening shirt was bare of its vest, and unbuttoned low enough to begin slipping off his shoulders. He checked behind his head to feel his hair down and spilling across his back, tangled like a birds nest. Orpheus was similarly undressed, only his evening shirt wasn't nearly as unbuttoned as Frederick's. 

How had they ended up there? 

Frederick wracked his memory, sitting up straighter to bring one of his legs up so he could rest his head there. He attended the party, played his music with Orpheus, they danced and he cried like he was a child, truly embarrassing. They left, he had gone out to smoke-

Ah, right. 

He had stepped out of Orpheus's gaze, needing to settle his nerves. The fact Orpheus pursued him for friendship, plain and simple, was unfamiliar to Frederick. Already he had sobbed like a child not getting their way in front of Orpheus, but he knew deep down that he needed it. He knew he craved the warmth and security Orpheus gave him while he cried, how touch starved he was for genuine touch, not flirtation or sex. 

He ignored his shaking hands as he lit a cigar, taking a long pull of the Cuban mix, holding it for even longer before letting it free. The roll of tobacco curled in his chest and warmed him, enough to center him back. Overstimulation was creeping on him, he knew it, if the faint irritation he felt at the chatter of people wasn't enough. 

"Out here all alone, beautiful?"

Frederick turned his head to the man approaching him, a hand behind his back and his other up as he waved. Dark hair, standard tailor made suit, nothing impressive. Frederick ignored him, taking another breath of the cigar, even as the man slid up against his side. Irritated, Frederick turned his head to blow the smoke directly into the man's face, flicking the burnt edge of the rolling paper after. 

"I'm not interested in talk right now. I'd rather be alone."

The man smiled amicably for a moment before suddenly he was smacking the cigar out of Frederick's hand and pressing a barber's blade against his throat. His eyes snapped to the man's, who was leering at Frederick, eyeing him up and down like a meal. 

"Be a dear for me and be quiet won't you?" 

Frederick wanted to fight back, but the man shoved him back into the wall, pressing the blade down hard along one of his arteries. He knew that it would be bad if it was cut, but he grit his teeth and turned his head away as the man ran a hand down his side and fondled the covered meat of his hip. Disgust creeped up his spine as the man raised the knife enough to press hungry kisses to Frederick's throat, groaning all the while as he raised the composer's leg. He moved closer, grinding his crotch against Frederick's, and he couldn't stop the grimace at the action. How disgusting-

In a moment, the man was off of him, slammed into the wall hard enough to crack the stone, the barber's blade falling to the ground with a metal clatter. Unprepared, he felt himself slipping down, only to be caught not nearly a moment later, lifted until his legs were straight and he was centered. Orpheus was in front of him, his face contorted in an odd mix of concern and rage. Faintly, Frederick wondered if perhaps he'd gone mad when he noticed the bright purple glow from Orpheus's eyes, before he blinked and he was back to his reddish brown. 

"Are you okay?" Orpheus inquired instead. Before the composer could answer, however, the novelist jerked his head over his shoulder when the man he threw into the wall coughed. Frederick felt a chill down his spine at the look in Orpheus's eyes.

His eyes promised death to the man.

Swallowing, Frederick brought a shaky hand up to gently nudge Orpheus's attention back to him. Though the eyes clung to the periphery, the novelist's head turned until finally their eyes were locked again. There it was again, curiosity, concern, and...

Affection. 

"I'm fine. It's alright now." 

Orpheus looked as if he wanted to argue, but just then, Alice had made the corner, carrying Frederick's cane and his bouquet. She rushed to them, heels clacking against the stone, saying something to Orpheus that Frederick didn't focus too hard on. He was instead focused on how close Orpheus was to him, the novelist's arms still held tight around the composer. He wanted to lean into it, to settle himself against Orpheus's chest and simply sleep right there. 

However, he kept himself rigid until Orpheus pulled away, avoiding the novelist's gaze as he thanked Alice when she handed him his cane. He remembered them leading him to a carriage, where Orpheus got in with him-

The rest he's unaware of. He doesn't smell alcohol on neither him, nor Orpheus, so he could rule out the chance they happened to get drunk together. In fact, the room smelled rather pleasant, like soap. Which was odd. He didn't remember doing any laundry or bathing...

"Mmn- Frederick?" 

The composer turned his head down to Orpheus, who was curling into himself to stretch, relaxing after a pause and blinking bleary eyes at the composer. He squinted briefly, bringing his arm up to his eyes to shield them as he hissed. 

"Not a morning person I take it?" 

Orpheus shook his head behind his arm, taking a breath slowly. Frederick took that moment to slink out of bed, standing on wobbly legs before centering. He made his way over to his dresser before picking up a soft ribbon and hair brush, "Mr. Orpheus, do you happen to recall what happened last night after we got into the carriage?" 

"Firstly, you don't need to call me 'mister', we're friends now," Orpheus said first, rustling the sheets as he sat up, while Frederick began to brush out his hair, wincing when the brush caught on tangles that tugged his scalp painfully. "Secondly, you asked me to bring you here before dragging me into bed with you and then falling asleep shortly after." 

That...doesn't sound like him. Sure, he's been pushy some nights when he takes a bed partner, but he never invited them to his lodging house. 

"I see...my apologies then." 

Orpheus hummed instead, rustling the sheets as he stood from the bed to stretch. Once his hair was tangle free, the composer gathered his hair into a fist before tying up the ribbon, mentally going over his morning routine. Quick wash down from the basin, coffee for his morning meal, he didn't think he could stomach an actual meal-

"Why do you keep your hair up so much?" Orpheus asked suddenly, snapping Frederick's thinking. He looked over to see Orpheus fixing on his monocle and using his other hand to ruffle out his hair. He looked...handsome, in a boyish way.

Instead of answering, Frederick pulled open the dresser to take out a new undershirt and vest, before stripping himself of the other. He heard Orpheus's breath hitch, and he sent a glare over his shoulder at the wide eyes Orpheus gave him. 

"Surely you aren't thinking this is indecent of me." 

"No, it's just...those marks..."

Ah. The pinkish spots along his torso, some small, some big. Discoloration from when he was born. The doctors never ruled out an exact reason for it, but they haven't brought any issues to Frederick so far in his life, so he merely turns a blind eye to them. His previous partner's never said anything about them, though he usually kept a shirt on during those times since he preferred it to be completely nude. 

As he was finishing fixing his vest, he looked over to Orpheus to ask him about brunch but stopped when the novelist yawned, choosing not to cover his mouth. By pure chance, Frederick spared a glance at his open mouth, noticing his canines seemed longer than usual.

All at once, his dream whipped across his memory, and he felt his blood run cold. 

"I'll have to apologize to Alice for leaving her like that, but I felt it was better to ensure that vermin wouldn't try to follow you back." Orpheus was saying, shrugging on his evening coat. Frederick didn't fully listen, too caught up lingering on the premonition of his dream. 

He and Orpheus, entwined like lovers would. The fangs of a monster burying into his flesh, of him basking in that...that sin. Not that he was a man of faith, but there was taboo in that dream, a promise that Frederick didn't know if he wanted to truly explore. When he looked back to Orpheus, who had begun to ramble to himself as he fixed his cuff links, a strange sense of wonder and apprehension began to mix in his chest.

There was something different about the man. Despite his youthful look, there was a heaviness to his shoulders that said he had hardened through prolonged suffering. His smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled in the corner, it was definitely a slipping mask. The way Orpheus held himself was too rigid, too perfected, and he noticed the rise and fall of the brunet's chest was too long between his conversations and rest.

The man was peculiar. Yet, no matter what, his eyes always found the other's, and he gazed at him like he was a meal to be devoured, yet there was an odd reverence that was mixed within the hunger.

Frederick didn't want to admit it intrigued him, even less that he wanted to tread that danger willingly, even if it meant falling into the maw of the novelist.

Orpheus was not a jealous man. 

There was little in his immortal life he truly wanted. Anything he did want, he could either kill or buy, or he would sweet talk his way into getting it through seduction. His fame and wealth secured vanity and egoism, the security of power and influence.

But Frederick Kreiburg could not be bought. Could not be attained through slaughter. And the whispers of seduction were tuned out by the demons in his own head, kept only at pay by the strike of melody. Orpheus learned quickly that music was the easiest language for Frederick, the one he spoke so well. 

The vermin who thought he could defile Frederick was let off easy. But once the composer was secured in his home, Orpheus had ventured back out to find the fool. Once he had exacted the pain deserving, he tossed his body into the river to be eaten by the fish, and returned to his beloved muse. Orpheus spent that night wafting the perfume bracelet under the composer's nose, teasing serenity to the Austrian, lulling him into tranquility. 

Orpheus was hedonist through and through, and a weak man when it comes to beautiful things. With Frederick asleep, slumbering like a babe, Orpheus stole some precious time to trail his fingers down the composer's chest, feel and listen to his heart beating, shivering at the difference of temperature between their skin, pressing cold kisses to Frederick's chest and collar. Thirst dried his throat and It whispered to take. But Orpheus resisted, bit his own hand and watched in fascination as the drops of crimson fell onto the composer's chest. 

Like this, asleep, with his hair loose and curling around his head like halo's, shirt open low and flesh warm, the burn of desire warmed Orpheus. He couldn't resist stealing some relief in his hand, creating risqué fantasies of the composer to fuel himself, hiding his face into the flesh of his neck and groaning into it when he came, filling up his lungs with the human's smell. All the while Frederick remained unaware, completely at the vampire's mercy.

After that night, the morning following, they attended brunch together, fighting off a hangover born of overdose instead of wine. The weeks following, Orpheus went with Frederick to dinners and parties, helped him with his music till they began to make a piece together, unaware to the composer. Orpheus brought him gifts, practical items, a journal for his compositions, a new pack of premium cigar's for the special occasions. He had even taken Frederick to a high renown tailor and fashioned him in premium attire, suits, evening shirts. Certainly he was taking advantage of Frederick's lack of friend's to spoil him like this, but the small smiles Frederick tried to hide were enough to put aside the faux guilt he felt. 

Despite the time spent with the composer, Orpheus was still a writer who had to blend in with humans. Demand for a new novel was high, and much to his dismay, for a week and a half he spent most of his nights with the candlelight, weaving fiction in his haze. Like an addict to their drug, he longed to see Frederick in those times, to smell his scent, hear his laugh, see his face and his silver eyes. His mouth ached to bite down into flesh and devour the sweet ambrosia of forlorn hope that beat in Frederick's chest. But here he was, confined to his desk in the office, nursing a headache born of hunger and a small bottle of whiskey beside him. Even if it took far more for him to get drunk, the burn of alcohol was enough to distract the dryness of his throat.

Just as the candle wick was beginning to burn out completely, there was a knock on the doors downstairs before they creaked open, groaning as the old wood was moved. A few footsteps followed after, with a slight tap of something else against the stone. The doors closed with a band, and Orpheus stood quickly, taking the small pocket knife from his drawer as he rounded the desk and walked light to the top of the stairs. 

"Orpheus? Are you there?" 

Frederick?

Dropping the knife to the ground, Orpheus began to make his way down the stairs, trying to keep his pace slow instead of rushing to the composer, who he could now see was standing before the reception desk with an oil lamp in his hand. His signature cane was in his other hand, planted on the ground rather than held. His hair was up, like usual, though Orpheus noticed there was more curl to the tips of his hair than before. Dressed in cream and white, he looked almost like a bride on her wedding day. 

Oh what a lovely thought that was.

"What're you doing here so late?" Orpheus asked instead, flipping open the small tab between the wall and the end of the receptionist desk, coming to stand near the composer. "Isn't tonight one of your playing nights?" 

Frederick hummed, setting the oil lamp on the messy, paper covered wood. 

"We're closed for awhile. There was an accident yesterday with the roofing above the dressing rooms, and two of the performers got injured," he explained, putting both hands over the handle of his cane. "And I'm sure you'll ask, but the owner explicitly asked to keep the incident out of any papers, hence why there is no knowledge of it." 

Orpheus nodded instead, crossing his arms over his chest and faltering when he had unconsciously lifted his hand to fix his monocle, which was sat on his desk upstairs. Frederick didn't comment on it, taking a glance around the dark building before asking, "I was passing by here and noticed there was some light upstairs. You had mentioned before that if you didn't have your sister here, you would end up sleeping overnight instead of retiring home." 

The novelist blinked for a moment, flattered and endeared that Frederick would remember a passing comment like that. It got a chuckle out of him, trying (and failing) to hide the affection in his eyes, enjoying when Frederick turned his cheek to Orpheus, faintly pink. The light from the oil lamp suited him. 

"Anyway," Frederick continued, clearing his throat behind a fist and turning back to Orpheus. "It's been awhile since you sought me out, so I decided to offer you an invitation instead. There's a small opera being held tonight at the Calypso Theatre, if you'd care to join me." 

"Is this you asking me on a date, Mr. Kreiburg?" the novelist teased, smirking a bit when Frederick gave him a glare. He straightened himself though, opening up the flip tab to head back to the stairs, "Just give a moment, and I'll be right back." 

Once he was out of Frederick's line of sight, Orpheus moved in a blur, dressing on his evening coat and fixing his hair back, forgoing his monocle for tonight. He popped a small breath mint from the small tray in his drawer, speeding for a moment to retrieve and hide his knife back. In less than a minute, the candle out and the door locked, Orpheus made his way back downstairs, smiling as Frederick killed the light in the lamp before following the brunet out. A carriage was sat outside, with the driver smoking a pipe and reading the daily paper, glancing to the gentlemen as they approached. 

"Still the Calypso Theatre, Mr. Kreiburg?" 

At the composer's nod, once the men were sat inside, they were off, the rocking of the carriage making Orpheus steady himself slightly. Frederick kept his eyes on the outside rolling past them, humming a tune under his breath as they waited. Orpheus instead watched Frederick for the duration of their ride. He couldn't help it, he liked looking at Frederick. 

The time took roughly 15 minutes, before finally the carriage pulled in front of a building. Rather than the usual limestone he saw commonly with theatre's, this one was out of brick, with dark rimmed windows and hanging lamps. There were even some small bird gargoyles by the top that Orpheus noted once he and his companion were stood in front. Frederick led them inside, past the reception desk and towards one of the staircases put to the side, where a valet looked at a card Frederick offered before letting them pass. Curious, Orpheus tried to sneak a peek before the composer pocketed it, waving to Orpheus as he led them upstairs. A wall full of open double doors leading to an overhead viewing were to his left, with an open area leading to outdoor balcony's were too his right. A bar and some tall tables were also here, though they passed by that as Frederick led them to down a small hallway, where private boxes were situated. 

"A private viewing, huh?" 

"The Prima Donna is a family friend, as well as the owner. One of the many gifts of my family is we are given a private booth here for when any of us visit," Frederick said as they took their seats, gazing out to the surprisingly full audience. Whispers and wine were what Orpheus heard and smelled the most, "My father, in his youth, had also played here several times as he grew in fame."

"Was your father a nobleman before he became an aristocrat?" 

Frederick crossed his legs and laid his cheek on his fist once more, a perfect mimicry of a man with arrogance. 

"He was a high commoner actually. My late grandfather worked in theatres as a musician, and taught my father. Before long, he grew in fame and wealth from his success, until you know him as he is now." 

It was common knowledge that Frederick's father worked for his success, but he hadn't known about his grandfather. And as uninterested in the Kreiburg history as Frederick's alone, he felt it was best to learn regardless, as it was still a part of Frederick himself. 

And if the Kreiburg's were to be his in-laws, then, well, best to know what to expect from them. 

They talked lamely for a few moments more before a quiet fell upon the audience, and Orpheus turned his head to see the curtains rising. A woman dressed in blue stepped out from behind a prop wall, beginning to sing the opening piece. Her voice was strong, and carried throughout the room. As she continued in, moving across the stage to match the lyrics, a tenor joined her from the side, dressed in a dark outfit, making his way to the soprano as they sang in a duet. A perfect harmony that even Orpheus got goosebumps from, taking it in as the music began to swell. He was enraptured as the first act came to a close, only to immediately follow in with the second, a perfect blend of the previous singers being out sang by the new. 

As the final act began some time later, Orpheus felt a nudge on his shoulder. It snapped his attention so suddenly, he was almost about to retort to the one who distracted him, before looking over to see Frederick leaning into him. Any anger he might've felt brewing was washed away, replaced by affection. 

"The woman who comes in next is the Prima Donna. She's the one who invited me here tonight." Frederick explained, directing Orpheus's gaze to the woman stepping in slowly, moving in like she was one with the ground beneath her. Her hair was styled in a braided bun, dark brown that sparkled from clipped gems, and a white, layered dress like it was a wedding gown was dawned on her. 

As soon as she began to sing, Orpheus felt a shiver run down his spine as her voice resonated, already filled with emotion as the song began. 

It told of a man searching for a muse, a forgotten love of his childhood that was tucked away in his heart, longing to reconnect with that forgotten love, only to learn it was never there, and he was chasing the feeling. 

Just as the music began to swell for the final few notes, Frederick stood suddenly from his seat, surprising Orpheus. Before he could ask, Frederick opened his mouth, just as the Prima Donna sung the final verse. And instead of a tenor joining the final duet, Frederick sung with her from the stand, reaching a hand out to her that she also reached for. 

"If not for fate
 I could believe in mercy;
 That the veil hidden in my mind
 Told me she was real. 

 If she is but naught a misty dream
 Then I pray to never wake up
 Than never be without her burning gaze." 

While Frederick dropped off after that, she finished the song with a flourish, pouring her heart into the delivery before it quieted, the last notes of the orchestra strumming as she slowly lowered to her knees and was soon covered by the drapes. For a beat, it was quiet, before rounds of great applause livened the room, Orpheus joining in as Frederick sat himself back down with a deep breath through his stomach. 

"I had no idea you sang opera's." Orpheus commented first, watching the way Frederick slowly looked over to him. 

"A family of musicians must be knowledgeable in the various musical arts. Piano is my forte, but violin, cello, singing; all of those were taught to me as well." 

"High expectations on you then. I would've cracked under all of that." 

Frederick smiled, though the corner's of his mouth told it was a sneer. He didn't say anything as he stood up and straightened his coat, taking a moment to straighten out the sleeve as well. Orpheus stood a moment later, following the composer as he lead them back out. Crowds of people surrounded the bar, with more flowing out from the seats and from the downstairs. Frederick ignored them as he walked to the bar, saying something to one of the bartenders before they quickly made two drinks. Frederick took one and held it out for Orpheus to take, which he did, before the composer took the other one and lead them outside. Instead of one flat walkway like Orpheus expected, it was small, closed off little nooks. Curtains were draped in front of the tall windows, tied back by the corners. Two cushioned seats and a small, low table between them was where Frederick sat them next, lounging back in the one he sat in. 

Orpheus half expected him to pull out a cigar, but the composer merely closed his eyes and enjoyed the night air. His glass, a whiskey mix of some sort, was swayed slowly in his hand. 

"Would it be impolite of me to ask you to sing for me?" Orpheus asked suddenly, taking a slow sip of his own drink. Silver eyes met his, low and off focused. But he nodded, taking a moment to think before he began to hum a tune, one Orpheus didn't recognize. There was a bit of a scratch to the humming, likely from the dry whiskey, yet the timbre of Frederick's voice paired well in relaxing Orpheus and captivating him. 

Orpheus couldn't help but admire the man. How relaxed he seemed, tipsy and singing, how music flowed through his veins and burst forth in his ambition. How he swayed the glass of whiskey as if it was a conductor's baton. He breathed music, and exhaled art.

His hand was moving before he realized it, tucking back some fringe that came loose behind Frederick's ear. He opened his eyes and looked at Orpheus, but his humming remained, though he began to quiet down when Orpheus leaned a little closer. His hand had moved to cup the composer's cheek, rubbing his thumb softly along the cheekbones, and his eyes snapped down to Frederick's lips when he went to wet them. The air was tangible, thick with something taboo and unknown, yet Orpheus leaned in more till their noses brushed. 

Frederick hadn't pushed him away yet. He seemed rather expectant for something to happen. And who was Orpheus to keep him waiting?

"You can punch me after-" he managed to weasel out, before his lips were connecting to the composer's, and he stole the sudden intake of breath Frederick attempted.

Warm was the first thing that came to Orpheus's mind. Warm, slightly chapped lips, with the taste of whiskey and tobacco lingering from his tongue. It wasn't anything more than a simple press of lips; he didn't go further, yet. Just savored the feeling of Frederick's lips against his own, before he pulled away slowly. He tried not to eat the hope that burst in his chest when Frederick clung to the kiss at their parting. 

Orpheus didn't need to breath, but he did now. His heart that beat slow was pounding, almost achingly in his chest, though he could hear Frederick's own matching the same tempo. Their breaths mingled in the close space, barely apart, and Orpheus heard the crystal of the whiskey glass shatter before Frederick was pushing in again, gripping the lapels of Orpheus's coat. They rocked in a push-pull, teasing tongue on the lips, but not breaching, trying to find a victor in this dance of theirs. 

All too soon, Frederick pulled himself away, breathing hard and so rapid, while Orpheus had to stop himself from diving back from more. 

"I got...ahead of myself. My apologies." Frederick said softly as he leaned back, finally allowing fresh air to go between them. 

Orpheus wished it hadn't, but he leaned back just slightly with a soft chuckle, moving his hand from the composer's cheek to run down his arm. Frederick shivered, watching when Orpheus's other hand came to touch his knee. The novelist leaned himself in, breathing warmth over the composer's cheek as he spoke softly, rubbing his thumb up the length of Frederick's thigh. 

"There's nothing to apologize about, Frederick. I have no disgust with you," He heard the hitch in Frederick's breath when he leaned closer, pressing his lips against the pierced ear, squeezing slightly on the thigh in his hand. "I should be apologizing to you for not asking your consent." 

"Was...the fact I haven't punched you not enough?" 

Orpheus laughed softly, bringing his hand higher up the composer's thigh. The both of them pretending to ignore how Frederick's legs open slightly, allowing more room for the wandering hand, so close to the diamond of the thigh. 

"I still would like to hear you say it. Or should I detail what I wish to do with you first?" Orpheus offered, subtly dragging the chair Frederick was in closer to lessen the gap. "To start, I would want to tease you, work you up slowly. Find where you're most sensitive." 

He ran the tips of his fingers up Frederick's thigh, passing over his hips to rest the fingers just under the composer's jaw, moving them behind his neck. Frederick shivered, bringing up a hand to the arm of the one Orpheus was trailing. 

"I'll undress you, so slowly, let myself admire you bit by bit..." 

Frederick swallowed, breathing heavier. "I didn't take you to be a tease..."

"Then...speaking from pure want, I want to ravish you. Make you weak and pliant in my hand, drive you mad with pleasure. I want to take you apart only to rebuild you anew." 

It was liberating, speaking free his desires, listening to how Frederick would hitch his breath and his body would jolt. Orpheus kept his hand moving all the while, leaving a gentle bite to the lobe of the composer's ear before continuing. 

"I must confess, I don't like sharing. I want to take you as mine, remove the linger of those before me who enjoyed the pleasure of sharing your warmth. I want you to only remember and feel me, to know how I can please you better." 

Frederick stifled a moan behind his free hand, shooting the other one down to press against the tent beginning in his pants. Tight as they were, Orpheus could see the stretch of the fabric, how Frederick whimpered as Orpheus held his forearm. 

"Will you let me take care of you, Frederick Kreiburg?" 

"...not here. There's eyes." 

"Let them see. Let them see how good I can make you feel, how jealous they can be knowing you aren't in their arms." 

Frederick whined, removing his hand to push Orpheus back enough. He didn't outright reject Orpheus, but he glanced over to the window, anxious. Orpheus looked past him to the drapes, noting how they almost touched the floor and seemed thick enough to hide any movement. Swiftly, he brought them both to their feet before pulling Frederick behind the drapes, settling the composer in the corner. There was a weak complaint from the man, before Orpheus laid a soft kiss to his lips, enjoying how Frederick almost melted into it before they separated. 

"Will you let me take care of you?" Orpheus asked again, keeping his hands firmly at Frederick's waist. The man in question breathed slowly, before nodding his head and whispering a "yes". 

Basking in his victory, he couldn't hide the grin that came to his face, lowering to his knees and he left kisses over the waistline of Frederick's pants. The composer's breath was unsteady as he braced himself against the wall, breath hitching when Orpheus began to undo the buttons on his pants. Slowly, like he said, Orpheus opened the composer's pants, kissing lower the more it opened and was slid down his thighs. The long ends of his undercoat hid his erection, straining and dampening the fabric as Orpheus blew a small breath over the covered head. 

A soft swear was all Orpheus heard before he was lifting the fabric and taking a moment to admire the member in front of him. Warm and pinkish, on the more narrow side rather than girthy. At the base was silvery white hair, matching the strands beginning to slip out of the composer's ponytail. Orpheus laid a gentle kiss on the head, looking up into the narrowed silver eyes before taking the head into his mouth. 

Frederick's hips gave a small thrust, seemingly on their own accord, amusing the novelist who merely relaxed his throat to sink deeper, savoring the whines from above. He pulled back, running his tongue along the underside of the shaft, before pulling off with a pop. With the pause, Orpheus brought one of Frederick's hand to his hair, letting the nimble fingers settling into his hair. 

"Don't worry about being rough. I can handle a little pain." Orpheus said, adding a small wink for good measure, before lowering himself back onto the member in front of him. Frederick groaned behind his fist, tightening his grip in the brunet's hair. 

Hips held firm in a steel grip, Frederick was left to the mercy of Orpheus's mouth, bucking slightly when Orpheus would swallow to the root, brushing his nose against the coarse hair at the base. The wet warmth of the novelist's mouth, paired with the suction, was coiling the warmth in his gut. It became harder to quiet his moans as Orpheus picked up his pace, opting to use his hand and mouth rather than one or the other. Threads of his sanity began to split, and Frederick couldn't stop himself from using both hands to tug the novelist's hair and hold him still as he fucked into the warm mouth. Orpheus let him, relaxing his jaw and shifting his grip to help guide Frederick as he chased for his own orgasm. 

"Orpheus I- mn, close-" Frederick gasped out, barely able to pull himself off as he felt himself tip. Orpheus held his hips firm and shoved his head down just as the composer came with a moan loud enough he worried others would hear. His essence was spilled into the novelist's mouth, who swallowed each drop as it came, lingering for a moment before he deemed it clean enough to pull away, licking his lips and snapping the thin spit strand.

The composer was leaned back, panting hard with his head lolled to the side, face rosy and warm. His hands had loosened in Orpheus's hair, merely resting in them now, limb and slow as Orpheus tucked Frederick back and buttoned his pants. Once he was complete with that task, he stood back up to Frederick's height, taking the twitching hands of his composer into his own to lay gentle kisses on the knuckles. 

"Feel good?" Orpheus asked once he was sure the composer could answer, drinking in the flush on his cheeks and how his breath was slow. 

Frederick nodded, blinking owlishly at Orpheus before his hands tightened their hold. When he finally met Orpheus's gaze, the novelist could clearly still the embers of his arousal swirling in the depths. 

"I'm afraid I won't be satisfied with only that..." 

Orpheus's smile was near wicked as he led them out of the cover of the drapes and back into the building.

The door shut with a bang, before Frederick was being pressed into the wood, holding on for dear life as Orpheus kissed the air from his lungs. A sinful tongue teasing along his own, and hands wandering to feel at his waist and chest, before long undoing the jabot and buttons of the composer's vest. When the need for air became too much, Frederick turned his head to the side to breath, allowing Orpheus's mouth to kiss along his jaw down to his neck, bearing down soft bruises on the porcelain skin. Whines spilled unbidden from the composer's throat as Orpheus removed the petticoat and opened the vest. 

"Orpheus..." Frederick murmured, bringing his hands up to tug open the novelist's own vest. "Don't think this will all go your way."

Orpheus let him, tugging the composer with him by the pockets of his pants towards the bed. It had been Frederick's demand to go to a hotel, rather than his lodging house. Strangely enough, the room they were given upon arrival was already pre-paid, but Orpheus put it in the back of his mind as the last layers of both of their shirts were tossed aside. Slowly, Orpheus laid Frederick down onto the silk sheets, sliding down to remove the composer's shoes himself. After kicking off his own, he slid himself up between Frederick's thighs, savoring the sigh the composer made as Orpheus planted kisses to the discolored spots on his chest. 

"Beautiful..." Orpheus mumbled into the warm skin, trailing his hands down to begin unbuttoning Frederick's pants like before. Frederick's hands tangled into his hair, and he rewarded the Austrian with a gentle bite to his pectoral, before taking a rosy nub into his mouth and sucking gently. Frederick moaned, bucking his hips up into Orpheus's hands as the novelist dragged them down, along with the garter's and socks. Fully bare now, Orpheus sat back to run his hands down Frederick's thighs, squeezing at the more meatier parts. He couldn't resist leaning in to kiss at the composer's hip bones, down his inner thigh, biting softly into the meat. 

"Let me find the oil first." Orpheus said, pressing a light kiss to the half-hard cock in front of him, only to be stopped by Frederick's hand on his shoulder. He blinked down at the composer, who's face was redder than before. The bob of his throat as he swallowed was all Orpheus saw before Frederick's hand ran down his arm and to his wrist, guiding the novelist's hand between his legs.

At the feel of soft skin, wet and warm, Orpheus's eyes widened when he could easily slip in a finger, listening to the sigh Frederick made. His eyes remained locked to the hand prepping him, but he spoke steadily regardless, "As you can see, we can go ahead to the main event." 

It clicked for Orpheus then, that Frederick had come out tonight intending to be bedded.

"We're you hoping for this tonight? Of me, sharing your warmth, bringing you to ecstasy?" Orpheus asked suddenly, shoving in a second finger, then a third, enjoying how Frederick squirmed and moaned when Orpheus stretched him again. "Or we're you simply ready to open your legs for whoever was deemed worthy?"

Frederick wanted to respond, but a quick crux of Orpheus's fingers at just right angle stopped the words the composer wanted to say, crying out when Orpheus fucked his fingers again, and again- 

"Tonight I will make you mine." Orpheus nearly growled, feeling his sanity slip. He was aching in his pants, using his free hand to undo the few buttons on his own pants. Frederick's erection was straining against his stomach, twitching and dripping pre-cum onto the sweat slicked skin of his stomach. Orpheus leaned down to lick at the underside, finally freeing his own erection and fisting himself, speeding up his fingers still buried within the composer. Frederick's cries grew and grew, stomach jumping and hips twitching as he thrashed. 

"Orpheus- ah, s-slow down! Gonna-!" Frederick wheezed out, clenching down on the novelist's fingers as they pressed deep. 

Ever the pleaser, the novelist pulled back enough to sit up and take himself in hand, using the slick oil from his fingers to coat himself. He nudged himself closer, spreading open Frederick's thighs to make room for himself, kissing the head of his cock to the composer's rim. 

"Are you ready?" Orpheus asked, waiting till Frederick's eyes were locked with his own. Flushed to his shoulders, gripping the sheets below him for dear life, hair loose and spilling across the pillows, highlighted by the faint candlelight, Frederick was a work of art, one Orpheus had created and honed himself. 

Swallowing, Frederick nodded, spitting a light quip for good measure, "Take me, Mister Orpheus." 

And who was Orpheus to deny? 

As much as his whole body screamed to fuck in one go, Orpheus pressed in slowly, groaning at the heat that enveloped him. Frederick's breathing hitched the further Orpheus slid in, until he was fully seated and they both gasped. The grip on Frederick's thighs were sure to leave bruises, one's Orpheus hoped Frederick would feel fondly. They both took a moment to settle, Frederick clenching down for good measure, before reaching his arms up and looping them over the novelist's shoulders.

"You can move...I'm fine." 

Swallowing, Orpheus lowered his hands to the composer's hips, pulling out as slow as he went in. Frederick moaned, gasping when Orpheus rocked in again. The groan Orpheus responded with was enough for Frederick to lift his legs higher, tipping his head back when Orpheus repeated his thrust. It was far more tender than either were expecting, especially for the composer, fully expecting to be pounded into the mattress. 

While Orpheus's paced picked up, enough to cause an audible slap between their skin when he bottomed out, he didn't go rougher, savoring the feel of his beloved. Of his first time with the man he wanted so desperately, being pleasured by him, not some stranger. Frederick's moans were low, occasionally turning into a whine when Orpheus brushed that spot inside him, digging blunt nails into the sweat slicked skin of Orpheus's shoulder blades. Hazy, lust blurred eyes met one another, and Orpheus couldn't hold himself back from speaking.

"Let me court you," he started, leaning forward to press their foreheads together, changing the angle to hit that spot inside, making Frederick cry out, "Let me be your partner, let me love you as a man does to a woman. Let me take you as a lover, mine alone and myself for only you." 

Frederick's eyes prickled with tears, hugging closer. The pace slowed just a bit -making love, they both thought-, enough for Frederick to sob softly at the next thrust.

"Please," he begged, bringing a hand to cup Orpheus's nape, "stay with me. I can't bear the loneliness anymore, it's too much."

Orpheus picked up their pace after that, bringing up his right arm to frame Frederick's head, moving his other to thrust over Frederick's member. His fist matched the speed, savoring the growing cries as Frederick reached his peak, not breaking their eye contact, even as he came and clenched tight around Orpheus. White spilled between their chests, staining Orpheus's hand as he quaked. Orpheus planted a kiss to the composer's lips, slowing his pace for only a moment, clearly still hard.

"Bear with me," Orpheus begged, before flipping Frederick over to his stomach, forcing the composer to brace his hands onto the sheets. The novelist's own held tight to porcelain hips, thumbing gently at a line of pink from the discoloration. Frederick's gasp was followed by a cry as Orpheus slammed inside suddenly, barely giving the composer a moment to recuperate before he was pulling back and slamming back in, setting a much rougher pace than the love making previous. Frederick sobbed when Orpheus's stained hand went back to his cock, fisting the soft member, burning overstimulation into the composer. 

"W-wait, I just came!" Frederick tried, holding on for dear life as he was fucked, truly fucked by the novelist, carnal like an animal. The slap of their skin was loud, burning Frederick's ears, even as he wiggled his hips in a futile attempt to escape the overstimulation. His cock, previously soft, was gradually beginning to harden again, no part short of the novelist's actions. 

The bed creaked below them, banging against the wall as Orpheus lost himself, sanity and control long slipping from him, moving slightly faster. His vision was blurring in the corners, transfixed to the silvery hair bouncing with every rocking thrust, the composer's face turned to his profile as he sobbed, eyes unfocused and mouth wide. He could feel It peeking to the surface, but going no further than simply watching. Even if It was a part of himself, the thought of anyone seeing Frederick like this raged his possessiveness. 

Swiftly, he wound an arm across the composer's chest, pulling him up so they were back-to-chest flush, tucking his head in the nook of Frederick's neck. The composer's heart beat wildly, body thrashing as Orpheus plowed into him like an animal, matching his fist in time with his thrusts, leaving bruising marks on the composer's skin from the hand not pleasuring. His fangs ached at this distance, knowing they were elongated, pounding harder into the pliant body before him. 

Frederick's cries were loud, nearly screams as Orpheus rammed against his prostate, shooting pleasure up his spine and quickly bringing him to his third orgasm of the night. Sparkles danced in front of his eyes, bordering a faint white blink, a warning that he was at his limit. 

"Sing for me, my dear composer," Orpheus said, using his free hand to tilt Frederick's head back impossibly more, moaning loud when Frederick clenched down at his approaching orgasm, cries turning into near screams of pleasure as his body quaked and went taunt like a bowstring. His fangs threatened the skin of Frederick's neck, letting out a final growl of "Sing." 

Just as he bit down, breaking the skin and bringing up that divine taste, Frederick screamed till his throat was raw, spilling what little he had left to offer onto the sheets. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he sobbed, barely registering when Orpheus stilled and spilled himself inside, warming the composer inside-out, staining him. Everything felt blurry as if he was submerged, and Frederick let himself fall into unconsciousness, breathing soft moans as his body went through the aftershocks. 

Orpheus opened his eyes slowly, not realizing they had closed, before taking his fangs out of his beloved's skin, watching the blood spill from the pinprick wounds. He licked up the stray drops, moaning softly as his body warmed from the mouthful's of blood he finally was able to taste, heavenly like he imagined, and sweeter than any wine. His saliva worked to heal the wounds slowly, and he reminded himself to leave a hickey to hide the scars before Frederick woke. 

But for now, he simply held Frederick close, drinking in his scent and listening to his heartbeat pump life into his veins like a steady song of Life.

Chapter Text

There was a soft ticking sound, followed by water against a surface. Slowly, Frederick opened his eyes, blinking away the blurry grogginess clinging to him. The room was dim, the candles having long gone out. He was in someone's arms, finding the owner a moment later, no more than a breaths distance from him. Orpheus's sleeping face was so close to him, and they were pressed close under the comforter. If Frederick wiggled any close, his nose would bump against the novelists'. Instead, he glance up at the window above the bed, drapes pulled mostly shut. The small part that wasn't confirmed the cloudy skies and the downpour landing on the glass. 

Taking a breath, he moved his attention back to Orpheus. They were obviously sharing a single pillow, even though the bed was king and they had multiple pillows. But he didn't mind it, strangely enough. He felt relaxed, safe, and so very warm. As he laid there, the previous night creeped up on him, making his cheeks warm. 

"Let me court you" Orpheus had said, begging to take Frederick as a lover, a partner. In the heat of the moment, he had responded in kind, being honest about himself. He was tired of the loneliness. 

But...did he really love Orpheus, like the novelist seemed to love him? 

There have, of course, been those who outright asked for his hand in courtship. But so many of them merely spent a few hours talking to him before asking that question. They flirted, complimented him, gifted him wealthy gifts and wine. Last night, even, he had indeed gone out to find a bed partner for the night, not intentionally ending up with Orpheus. That was a surprise in and of itself.

But Orpheus...He bought him practical items, things he would have proper use for. He's already made good use of the journal for his compositions. Orpheus sought him first as a friend, even if his full intent was to ask for Frederick's hand. 

How many people before Orpheus wanted to get to know Frederick, not Kreiburg? 

Slowly, he freed a hand to bring it up to the novelist's cheek, petting the pads of his fingers on the peach fuzz of his cheek. Orpheus slumbered on, though he did flinch away a bit, likely from the ticklish sensation. Smiling just slightly, Frederick finally settled his hand over the sleep warm cheek, admiring the sleeping face of Orpheus. As much as it terrified him, to consider loving someone, of being truly loved in return, it...

Orpheus's eyes twitched, before slowly blinking open, drowsy and cumbersome. He squeezed Frederick closer, before finally meeting the composer's eyes and leaning his cheek into Frederick's hand. He looked like a puppy, gaze open and inviting, moving a hand to rub gently at Frederick's naked back.

Frederick smiled in return, leaning close to press a soft kiss to Orpheus's lips. As he pulled back, opening his eyes again, the awestruck look in Orpheus's eyes helped him decide.

"Good morning." Frederick said, settling closer to the novelist, smiling wider when Orpheus held him close again. 

He'll give it a shot. Being formal lovers with the novelist.

He'll try to learn how to love earnestly like Orpheus did.

"Weren't you due back in London around 2 weeks ago?" 

They were sat in a cafe near the river path, taking a late lunch. Frederick had fallen back asleep apparently, while Orpheus remained awake and focusing on jotting down notes for his novel. Once the composer has woken again, they dressed themselves and headed out, the sun peeking out of the parting clouds once the rain passed. Frederick knew right away his hair would be messy from the humidity, which earned a chuckle from Orpheus when he stated that fact. 

Orpheus, now, looked up from his plate, chewing a bite of grilled fish. Frederick himself had only ordered a coffee and water, not finding the appetite. Though, he did accept when Orpheus held out his fork with a bite of fish on there, so that was something, even if he couldn't really taste it.

Swallowing, Orpheus smiled, something small and gentle, as if he was remembering something sweet, "Technically, yes. But, there is someone important here I want to stay with." he explained, reaching across the table to hold Frederick's hand. 

The composer felt his cheeks warm, suddenly bashful as he turned his head away, giving a small squeeze to the hand holding his. It wasn't as if it was busy, most people away from where they were, but besides the small worry of someone seeing them, the novelist's words stirred in Frederick's chest, constricting his breath. That he was important enough for the novelist to remain was...

"Unless, of course, you'd wish to visit London and come back with me?" Orpheus asked next, removing his hand so Frederick could sip on his coffee. 

Frederick smiled behind the rim of the cup, setting it down gently, shaking his head fondly. Orpheus smiled in return, going back to his meal while Frederick stared off. His fingers rapped against the ceramic, bringing a faint tinkling sound. Internally, he was trying to pre phrase what he wanted to say in response to Orpheus's question. Of courting Frederick. Taking him as a proper lover. 

"Orpheus." He called instead, waiting till he had the man's full attention. Taking a breath, he recited in his head what he wanted to say before speaking, "You asked to court me. To love me as a man would love a woman. To have me as a lover, and to have you the same." 

"...I did. And I meant it, Frederick." Orpheus said, setting down the fork and knife he had been using. 

Frederick hesitated for a moment, fingers twitching in anxiety, before he continued, "I have no experience being in a relationship. I'm not even sure if I could really love you back, at least not to the degree I think you love me, now."

He hadn't let anyone get close to him like this. Not friends, not his family, certainly none of is previous bed partners. But, he did mean it when he told Orpheus he was tired of the solitude, of the loneliness. How amusing it was, that all it took was Orpheus being nice to him and being a friend to realize he wanted something more. 

He didn't...want to be alone anymore.

"Despite that, if...if you're still asking for my hand in courtship with you, then I accept it. If you'll take me, I'd...like, to become formal lovers." 

He knew his face was red, practically burning, but he kept his eyes locked with Orpheus, needing him to understand Frederick's feelings. He couldn't decipher the look in Orpheus's eyes, but he wanted to believe it was surprise. For a baited breath, neither of them moved, and Frederick felt shame beginning to creep up his shoulders before Orpheus moved so suddenly, shocking Frederick when he novelist lifted himself over the table to press a kiss to his lips, nearing shoving the composer into his seat. 

With a gentle shoved, Orpheus leaned back, though he still held himself over the table, surprisingly not staining his suit with his lunch. Frederick's face remained warm, but he stared as Orpheus smiled so wide, giddy and excited like a boy on Christmas. 

"Orpheus! There's still people around...!" 

"Let them see, I don't mind." Orpheus argued, though he did sit back down in his seat and instead held one of Frederick's hands. 

Frederick shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, giving a pointed look over to the novelist who was grinning. Though the warmth that bloomed in Frederick's chest softened him from any real anger.

Being lovers...he wonders what it's like.

The first week of being lovers was...nearly identical to being friends, Frederick thought. Of course Orpheus still brought him small gifts when they met, sometimes food, one time a new pocket watch when he saw that Frederick's previous was wearing out. Twice a week they took lunch together, twice they spent either a night at Orpheus's office or at the theatre when Frederick played, and the rest they used to focus on themselves. At the start of the second week, Orpheus took them out to a garden walk, followed by dinner within a gazebo as part of the package, sipping champagne and enjoying the quiet of the birds and gardens. If they ended up at Frederick lodgings, holding tight together and quieting moans from within thin walls, then that was Frederick's secret to have. 

Tonight, Orpheus was locked in the office with his editorial staff pulling a late night, leaving Frederick alone in the dressing rooms behind the stage of the theatre. He didn't really need to be back here, but he wasn't forbidden, enjoying the rustle and packed area as a matter of fact. It felt familiar to him, quieting the demons in his head as he saw actors and stage hands joking and laughing. He himself was sat at an unused vanity, scribbling down notes in the new journal for his musical pieces. So wrapped up in it, he didn't notice one of the younger ballet dancers approaching him, jumping in surprise when she sat herself on the edge of the vanity and smiled down at him.

"You're distracted Mr. Kreiburg. I called out to you, y'know?" she said, giggling a bit when he sighed. She moved a hand down to her corset, pulling out a letter that was wedged there before handing it to the composer. "A porter boy said this is for you, from some publishing firm." 

Frederick, curious, took the letter, noting familiarity in the pen ship on the front before flipping it over to the wax seal. Using the sharp edge of the quill pen, he cut open the wax before opening the envelop and pulling out the letter. 

I find my view and my world stagnant and dull
And I long for when you return by my side.
For you to paint my world in the colors of your presence
And allow me to gaze upon the radiance you bring.

I count each minute before our reunion
And promise you, I will be waiting with open arms.
Once you are within them, by my side
I will linger letting you go when we must part.

-Your Admirer

Frederick hid his smile in his fist, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest at the cheeky way of writing. He was surprised Orpheus didn't sign with his name, but he also knew that they were both aware of their circumstance, and the demand of eyes and news outlets that were scouring for anything on them. 

"Oh, you have an admirer~" the girl said, suddenly next to his ear. He flushed slightly but tucked away the letter in his pocket, clearing his throat. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. I'm just glad you've finally got someone to be with. You always seemed so lonely." 

"You've been paying attention to me?"

The girl flushed this time, twirling her hair around her finger bashfully, "Well, yeah. I mean who wouldn't? You're lovely, and you play well, and you're probably the only one here who doesn't try to ogle the women at every second of the day..." She said, avoiding his eyes as he blinked at her. 

Unable to figure out a proper response, he was denied the chance to do so as she was called up to rehearse. She gave a wave and a trilling 'Goodbye!' before practically skipping away, linking arms with another ballet dancers as she went. Frederick watched her go before turning back to his compositions. Compassion whispered in his ears, and he was quick to follow the noise, marking new notes further down into the latest. 

Perhaps he could pay Orpheus a visit later. He, too, longed to see the novelist again, despite only seeing each other not even a full two days prior.

A month into their new relationship, Alice moved out of the temporary home to return to London. Frederick stood besides Orpheus to see her off, another woman loading her luggage into the back of the carriage trunk. This woman kept her face hidden behind a thick veil, but Frederick could see her brown hair tied up in a chignon under the weaved sunhat she wore. Her dress was a pale green, with a satchel secured over her shoulders and sat against her waist. 

"Thank you for doing this, Melly," Alice said, hugging the woman close when she could. Melly returned the hug, lingering for a moment before separating and guiding Alice into the carriage. 

Once the blonde was inside, Melly turned her head towards to the two men stood by side, giving a brief nod before beginning to step in herself. She paused, however, stepping back out and turning to Orpheus. 

"Can I actually discuss something you in private before we head off, Orpheus? About the journalism critics." 

Orpheus's shoulder stiffened, but he nodded, following Melly back inside the house, leaving the blonde's to themselves. Frederick lingered on where the brunet's had left before turning to Alice, who was also watching where they had gone, an expression of worry on her face. 

"Everything alright?" Frederick asked, causing her to blink and turn her attention to him. She chewed on her lip for a moment before sighing and slumping her arms onto the opened window of the carriage door. 

"They never get along," Alice started, turning her attention back to the front door. "I'm uncertain what exactly makes them so aggressive to each other, but it's very rare for them to ever be civil in private. I know they pretend to be when it comes to me, but...ah, nevermind." 

Frederick nodded slowly, processing the information. Both of them turned their heads when Orpheus's laugh echoed from the door, the other two emerging a moment later. 

"I assure you, Mrs. Plinius, you needn't worry. I have everything under control." Orpheus said, stopping beside Frederick once close. The composer hadn't realized how much he enjoyed the closeness until Orpheus had left and returned, shuffling slightly to be just a tad closer. 

If Melly noticed, she didn't comment on it, merely leaving Orpheus with a final, "I hope so." before she finally stepped into the carriage and banged the door. As the carriage made its way off, Orpheus took a breath and then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Frederick set a hand on his shoulder, concern in his frame, but Orpheus smiled at him and leaned in until their forehead's were together. 

"She's so uptight, Frederick. So uptight..." 

The composer merely hummed, raising a hand to pet softly at Orpheus's cheek, who leaned into the contact. His other hand found Frederick's, and held it, pressing a kiss to the composer's lips as a silent 'Thank You'. Parting, the novelist turned his head back to the house, humming to himself in thought. 

"Why don't you move in here? There's more room than you lodging, and there is a free bed now that Alice left. If I must be called back to London, I can keep it under reservation for you." 

Frederick felt his heart thump a bit, swallowing and looking to the cozy, brick cottage before him. The area was quiet, the air was fresher than in the city, and of course, spacious. He wanted to refuse at first out of respect, but Orpheus was looking at him expectantly, so Frederick paused before nodding. 

"Alright then. As long as you believe you won't grow tired of me." he said, smiling back when Orpheus grinned at him. 

"Never. No matter what."

Two months into their relationship, with Frederick moved into the house with Orpheus, he felt as if Lady Luck smiled to him, so peaceful and unbothered by the demons in his head after what felt like so long. He felt free of a shackle, able to enjoy his life without wondering when he'd finally collapse under the weight. 

His happiness was ripped from him when a letter was delivered to the house, addressed from one Amalia Kreiburg. 

"I swear to you, I never told anyone you were living here. I don't understand how they could know you were here." Orpheus was saying, standing beside Frederick at the breakfast table. The composer hadn't even brushed out his hair before he was handed the letter uncertainly by the novelist beside him. He was processing the words, but he knew ahead that this was deliberate. Maybe not from his Father, but his mother who always wanted "the best" for him, likely kept spies on Frederick as an obsessive "precaution". Orpheus was continuing to mumble to himself, weaving in apologies, but Frederick tuned him out to read the letter instead, taking it in with a detachment from his emotions. 

My son, 

I know we've not spoken in some time. And I'm certain you likely do not wish to hear anything from us, myself included. But I needed to let you know about this. 
As you're aware, or perhaps not, your Father has taken to illness, and has become weaker. His 55th Birthday is fast approaching, and I know how turbulent the relationship between you two is. But I'm still inviting you to return home if you so wish, to at least say a farewell to him. I know not how long he is due for this world, but- I want the best. For both of you.

I treasure you both equally. This is an incredibly selfish request of mine, I'm aware. But I have, and always will, want the best for you. I figured you might at least want to return home to collect any items you forgotten. I know you've made a life for yourself now. 

With love and warmth,

Amalia Kreiburg. 

Stuck within the envelope were two train tickets, Paris to Vienna, for 2 days later. If there was any doubt Frederick had that his mother had been spying on him, they were dismissed by the tickets as soon as he peeked at them. Orpheus, having pulled the other chair besides Frederick and was reading over his shoulder, now held his gaze to Frederick's profile. The composer could feel his stare, but his emotions began to atrophy as he spiraled on the anxiety. Of seeing his Father, his mentor and creator; his abuser. Guilt gnawed at his heart for his mother, who he knew was only doing what she felt was right. 

"Frederick?" Orpheus said, turning the composer's gaze away from the letter and to the novelist. Frederick couldn't fathom what was shocking Orpheus, until he realized he was hyperventilating, gripping the letter so tight it was crumbling beneath his fingers. His heart beat so loud in his ears, like a defining drum, bum, bum, bum-

"I don't want to go," Frederick said first, letting Orpheus pull him into his arms, holding him tight and secure. The novelist's heart beat was slow, suspiciously slower than what Frederick understood as standard, but it helped despite that to calm the composer, "I don't want to go, but I want to see her. My mother."

Orpheus rubbed a hand up and down the composer's back, letting the man cling as he tried to calm down. Orpheus picked up the letter instead, with Frederick watching his movements like a hawk, as if the crumpled paper was something dangerous. 

"Well, she left us two tickets. Two-way course, departing 2 days from now and set to return 3 days later. I'm still unsure how she knew we were...living together." 

"She's been spying on me. I'm unsure how long, but she has been. That's how she knew where we lived, that you were with me here. Always watching..." Frederick mumbled, hiding his face in the novelist's shoulder. Don't panic, do not panic, Frederick. You were better than this, he repeated in his head. 

Orpheus laid a kiss on the top of the composer's head, keeping his lips pressed there as he murmured, "Well, she obviously intended for us both to go. So if I'm with you, do you want to try? To at least see her?" 

Frederick sat for a moment, turning over the idea in his head, coming down from the near panic attack. It sounded doable, if not still nauseating for the composer to fathom. But...if Orpheus was with him...

3 days later, after arriving the night before, Frederick walked up the stairs leading to an all too familiar door. The Kreiburg estate was grandiose and large, full of large windows and precious greenery. Limestone and gold trim, with some ivy crawling up the west wing. It was achingly familiar and unchanged, making Frederick's hands sweat underneath his gloves. Orpheus was beside him, keeping his attention on the composer, who looked ready to flee at the slightly brush. As early into the evening as it was, the estate was alive with sound, ranging from music to laughter of guests. This was his family home, yet he never felt so much like a stranger. 

"We can turn back at anytime." Orpheus reminded him softly, taking his hand and squeezing. Frederick looked over to him, before nodding and taking a breath.

Together, they stepped inside into the foyer, crowded with bodies. Ladies in fine dresses, laughing behind their fans, and gentlemen winking to them between their conversations and drink. Frederick ignored them, picking up a flute of wine as one of the server's passed. Orpheus neglected to grab one for himself, though he was amazed Frederick drank an entire flute with only a few breaths. He did chuckle at the wrinkle of his face from the bubbles, but he followed behind as Frederick lead them through crowds of people to the back sun room, that acted as a smoking room with the multiple French doors that were opened. Here, Frederick paused at the doorway, staring at the crowd surrounded around the Patriarch, who was sat back in one of the loveseats, Amalia at his side laughing behind her fan. 

They hadn't seen Frederick past the gaps of the crowd- until his Mother glanced their way, and met his eyes. 

He took after her, in his looks. The same sharp, narrow nose, the same lowered eyes, the same silver hair. But her eyes held guilt amidst their warmth, and there was a warning in Frederick's gut that he was in danger. 

So he fled. 

He split from Orpheus, shoving himself through the crowds of drunk patrons, all the way through the halls of his childhood. He ran, breathing hard, unable to stop, listening to the demons screaming in his ears as he wound his way around. A maze he's treaded time and time again, getting lost in nowhere. 

By the time he came back to himself, he was on one of the balcony's overlooking the gardens, breathing hard as if his lungs would collapse, gripping the stone tight enough he felt the old material creak in his grip. The eastern wing, he realized; behind him his old bedroom. All of his stuff had been packed away in chests, tucked into the closet by his Mother, leaving it as if it was a guest room. But Frederick knew of the floorboard that slid to reveal the bottle of wine he stole from his Father's private keep, which was now empty in his hand after he swallowed down the rest. It was quieter here, always was, thanks to his diagnosis. 

"Frederick!" 

He turned his head slowly over his shoulder, spotting Orpheus rushing into the room. He found enough strength to whisper Orpheus before he was falling into the novelist's arms, holding close as he let out a shaky sob. Orpheus held him close, tucking him into the crook of his neck as if the composer was a small bird. For awhile they stood in silence, only broken by the soft sobs Frederick let out as the mania crashed on him. 

By the time Frederick had calmed down enough to pull back, Orpheus was wiping his tears away with his thumb, staining the gloves wet, "My love, what happened?" 

They both ignored the whimper Frederick gave at the endearment, but he stook a shuddering breath to explain. 

"I saw her. She noticed me, and I couldn't- I didn't- I-" 

"Breath, love." 

Another breath before continuing, "I just felt like if I showed myself, something bad would happen." 

Orpheus lifted his face up, ensuring they had eye contact. One of his hands secured themselves around the composer's waist, holding him close to the other body. 

"I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. I can make a vow to that."

Frederick felt the tears come back, but rather than continue to sob, he lifted his hands to cup Orpheus's cheeks, kissing him hard enough to take both their breaths away. Orpheus leaned into it, pressing Frederick against a wall. As much as Frederick wanted to go further, Orpheus stopped his wandering hands, pulling back to press their foreheads together again. 

"We can do that once we return to the hotel. Right now, I think we should get some food, leave a note for your Mother, and then go. I think you've had enough excitement here for one night." 

Frederick easily agreed. The faster he could get away, the better he would feel. While Orpheus left to retrieve food, telling Frederick to remain in the bedroom, the composer tore out an unused page from Orpheus's pocket journal and pulled forward a coal pen from his old sketching phase, writing in the page a small, simple note as fine as he could.

I saw you, and Father. 

I'm sorry. I love you.

Frederick.

The entire act took less than a minute, leaving him to occupy his time sifting through his old chests. Old clothes far too small for him, his early childhood compositions before his Father expected better of him, old notebooks talking about what he saw as a small diary. Toys, books, even some dress shoes he had searched for when he first moved to Paris that he was unable to find. He set them back, however, deeming them another part of his past he could leave behind for now. 

Orpheus finally returned 20 minutes later, making Frederick sit up from where he had been dozing on his old bed. His greeting was cut off by how...dark Orpheus looked. The same look he had at the man who attempted to rape him so long ago in that alley. A look of vitriol and murder.

"Orpheus? What happened, what's wrong?" Frederick asked quickly, sliding out of the bed to approach the novelist. Orpheus looked at him, then behind him, before asking instead, "Is your note written?" 

"Wha- yes, it is. But what-"

"We should go. Now. I'll find us a restaurant to eat at instead, anywhere you want," Orpheus said instead, taking Frederick's hand to guide them out. The composer was still too confused to fight, handing the note to the novelist when he asked. As they passed by a server with an empty tray, Orpheus instructed him to give the note to the Lady of the house, before they were both leaving the front doors. "I'm beginning to understand why you left." Orpheus said, once they were out. 

Frederick remained silent, until they entered a carriage that was idle. Once inside and rolling, Frederick was sat in Orpheus's lap, pressed against the wall of the carriage. The novelist simply held him, breathing deep. 

"You ran into my Father, didn't you?" If he did, that would explain Orpheus's anger. 

The novelist nodded, tucking his nose against Fredrick's neck.

"A bastard, that man. So arrogant and narcissistic. I wanted to rip his head off for how he was talking about you." 

Frederick nodded in understanding, pulling up Orpheus's head from where he'd hidden it. Brown met silver, as Frederick pressed a sweet kiss to Orpheus's forehead, endeared at how quick Orpheus was to defend Frederick's honor. 

"Let's get some soup and bread. Then we can go back to the hotel, and spend the night enjoying ourselves," Frederick suggested, shuffling close to whisper to Orpheus's ear, "I'm quite taken by your admiration to me." 

The smile they shared when they kissed was enough to clear their minds for the rest of the night, basking in each other's warmth.

The next morning, Frederick sat bundled in the bedsheets, huddled under it. The room was dim, with only a faint candlelight to light it, curtains drawn. Orpheus had felt to fetch them a breakfast, leaving the composer alone. He ached, pleasantly, running his hands over the bites and marks Orpheus had left on him. Perhaps it was how charged the night was, but Orpheus was wild like an animal as he ravished Frederick...

He rather enjoyed it. Perhaps too much, but he would deal with that later. 

For now, he sat in the bed, swaddled under Orpheus's shirt and scent, peering over his compositions. It was hard to see them clearly due to the darkness, but it was the best distraction against going out to the estate to confront his Father. But Orpheus was adamant against Frederick going, asking the composer to promise him to visit them before they left in a day and a half. Instead, they agreed to spend this day looking around Frederick's old haunts, his favorite spots and shops, showing Orpheus all he could about his old life. 

It still intimidated him, opening himself up like this. But he trusted Orpheus, was given no reason to think otherwise, and Orpheus never prodded him to open up any further than what he was comfortable. And as Orpheus returned mere minutes later, chiding Frederick about resting, he couldn't help but smile without a care as they enjoyed their breakfast. 

Their peaceful day was spent wandering around the city; to the barber shop Frederick frequented when he decided to grow his hair out, to the bookstore that Orpheus was infatuated with over their rarer novels and books, to the bakery that had a lovely Creme Brule special that Frederick savored each time he went, to the garden park where he frequented with his Mother and Aunt- everywhere he loved and lingered to say goodbye to. 

That night they spent at an old homey restaurant, eating meat that was nearly melting in their mouth until they returned home, content to work on their own individual crafts until sleep called them. The next morning they packed up their things into the travel trunks, secured their tickets, and hailed a carriage. The entire ride back to the Kreiburg estate was tense, with Orpheus's rage barely hidden and Frederick's anxiety spiking. 

"I still don't like this, Frederick." 

"I'm aware." 

Orpheus turned his head, rapping his knuckles against the window as it rocked. Frederick knew Orpheus's anger wasn't directed to him, but it still worried him all the same. He just hoped he could go in, say a farewell to his parents, and then return back to Paris in the afternoon, just in time for lunch near the Notre Dame. The memory of their first date made him smile, and helped him remain the slightest bit calmer as they approached the gates. 

Once the carriage pulled forward and rolled to a stop, Frederick exited behind Orpheus, taking one last look at the dark wood doors before him. Orpheus ended up following behind him as Frederick lead, reaching a hand up to knock on the door. He could hear the faint echo, and waited a moment for a servant to open the door. 

A moment became a minute, and Frederick tried again. After another minute of silence, he raised a fist to the door to pound on it. 

Finally it creaked open. But not by someone from inside opening it. 

The lovers shared a glance, before Orpheus stepped up to push the door open. Instincts clung to Frederick, gripping his cane tighter in his hold as he stepped forward. The previous bright and jovial room was now dark and barren, as if the residents had simply vanished. 

"Hello? Mother? F-Father? It's me, Frederick." he called out, only receiving his echo. The light behind him illuminated the hall enough he could see his and Orpheus's shadows stretch up to the stairs. As he followed their shadows, he noticed the drapes were tied closed. 

He didn't hear the creak of the door, nor did he notice his only source of light beginning to slim.

"Mother? Father? Are you here?" he tried again. 

Then the door banged shut. 

"Little mouse, you've walked into the trap. "

Frederick froze at the voice, before something was swiftly pressed against his mouth and nose, damp and stained with the smell of chemicals, while an arm came to lock his own at his sides. The cane fell, and he struggled as hard as he could against his assailant, calling out to Orpheus behind what he learned was a thick handkerchief. He managed to free a single arm and tried to pull the arm holding the cloth from his face, but the body behind him tightened like a snake around it's prey, constricting him as his vision swam and he felt himself become weak. Something was shushing him as black spots began to dance in his vision, and he felt himself slip into unconsciousness with a final, fleeting thought as his hand became limp and useless.

Where was Orpheus?

 It was silent in the foyer. 

Darkness was his domain. It was the perfect company to a night creature, an apex to stalk it's prey. The fear, the adrenaline, the blood rush as the prey's body attempted to protect its feeble self. But prey was only that; weak, defenseless, and far too trusting of it's predator. 

It purred at the sleeping beauty held within their arms, slumbering without a care in the world. Orpheus caressed his sleeping Prince's face, admiring how peaceful Frederick looked. How his eyelashes fanned over his eyes, how his hair fell just so perfectly around the frame of his face, and how his lips held a soft pink to them despite his porcelain skin. 

A beautiful man. A beautiful corpse, soon to match Orpheus's own. 

"I'm sorry, to deceive you like this, my love," Orpheus murmured, tilting Frederick's head up. Display his throat, feel and hear the blood pumping in his veins. "But I will not allow them to tear us apart." 

His Frederick Kreiburg. No one else's. 

He bit down, deep, breaking open the vein buried in the composer's neck. Reflex twitched his head, but he remained asleep, as Orpheus drank deep from the wound, groaning at the divine taste of his beloved. He had to stop himself, willing on centuries old self control, before he ripped open his wrist and held it over the composer's now pale lips. Crimson dripped from the wound, staining his lips and running down his mouth, his body continuing to act on reflex as he swallowed the blood down his throat. 

For a moment it was silent, with deep red blood staining Frederick's lips. 

His eyes snapped opened, vivid, dazzling ruby red, a perfect pair to the purple in Orpheus's own.

Then he wailed.

Chapter Text

The infamous Frederick Kreiburg has been reported missing by his family. The latest witness accounts claim that they had seen him at the celebration of Lord Kreiburg's 55th birthday. One witness report, the beloved Orpheus De'Ross, also recounts seeing the composer in the train station out of Vienna, before they happened to split paths and the composer was never reported to have returned home. His coworkers and friends have also reported not seeing him since his departure.

Any information should be delivered to the authorities at once, and a reward for finding Mr. Kreiburg will be ensured by the Lady Kreiburg. 

Orpheus set down the newspaper on the bedside table, taking a glance at the occupant in his bed. None other than their missing Frederick Kreiburg, sleeping soundly without a care. His eyes fitted around under his eyelids, lashes fluttering when they twitched. What was he dreaming, Orpheus wondered, and would Frederick remember them enough to share with Orpheus when we woke?

Alice's transformation was about the same. Asleep for days, only to wake up mad with thirst. Orpheus remembers fondly how happy he was to see Alice alive, even if they had to drink from each other to survive. Looking back, perhaps the times had not changed as much as Orpheus thought. After all, to transport Frederick's unconsciousness body from Vienna to London, he had to move him in a rather large traveling trunk. Padded, of course, for his beloved's utmost comfort, even while unconscious. He had to do something similar for Alice when they escaped Wallachia back to London. He repeated the same things he did for Alice during her transformation; feed Frederick his blood when the composer's body began to seize, adding a little extra in between the longer trek's of their journey. He didn't want to accidentally overfeed Frederick, but overfeeding him was better than not feeding him enough.

Frederick's body was accepting his blood fairly well, however, only having minor seizures when his body needed more blood. But remedying that was easy enough by just dripping his blood into the composer's mouth. 

"What are you playing at here?" Melly had asked, when they were helping Alice move back to London, a mere month ago, though it hardly felt like it.

The two brunet's stood in the shadow of the doorway, keeping a watchful eye on the blonde's as they stood in the light. It suited them both, Alice and Frederick, being kept in the radiant hands of the sun. Orpheus crossed his arms, heart fond and mellow.

"I've found my mate," he said matter-of-factly, sparing a quick glance to her direction. The veil over her eyes only swayed from the breeze, as she stood prim and stiff. "What more is there to it?" 

Melly finally turned her head to him, the corners of her mouth downturned as she spoke, "You know what I mean, Orpheus. He's a human. Did you forget the risk that you're playing into with this courtship?" 

The corner of his mouth jerked up in a sneer, "Critical as always, Mrs. Plinius."

"You don't believe him to be your 'Eve' do you? Even I assumed you wouldn't believe in such a myth like that."

Orpheus chuckled, before beginning to laugh. It wasn't even funny but the urge to laugh could not be held. Melly, disgruntled by his laughter, began to walk back out the door, as he followed a moment later.

"I assure you, Mrs. Plinius, you needn't worry. I have everything under control."

And under control it was. Orpheus couldn't have made it more perfect even if he tried.

One thing that the novelist was lingering on was Alice's reaction to him bringing home Frederick in his unconscious, half-turned state. Once she had helped tuck the composer into bed, she had made herself scarce around the manor, opting instead to stay at Melly's until Frederick woke. He could understand her grievances; he will admit that it was brash and selfish to turn Frederick so suddenly, ambushing him in his own childhood home. But the preparations for that morning took a whole day, of carefully studying and replicating Frederick's pen ship to direct a letter to the Kreiburg's, all done while Frederick slept. A letter saying that Frederick would meet them elsewhere, and designed to pull on Amalia's heartstrings. The love for her son, mixed with the guilt of bringing him pain, was easy enough to exploit in the letter, leading for the main family leaving all together. And once they were gone, it was easy enough work bribing some private workers to fill the house with an airborne chloroform and then hide the unconscious servants in the dining room. 

An entire night's work, carefully prepared with extra hands; the private servants none other than wandering vampires who were far too willing to aid a noble vampire. Even as 'unofficial' as the De'Ross's were, Orpheus recalled passively.

He settled back in the seat, closing his eyes as he recounted the night at the Kreiburg Estate. The night that spiraled all of this.

Frederick had fled so suddenly, quick enough even Orpheus was caught off guard. The warmth Frederick held quickly faded, his scent twisted to something rotten, something fearful. When he spared a glance to the Patriarch, he was laughing with other men. Amalia herself was whispering something to a handmaid, pointing in the direction Frederick fled. He tried to listen for what exactly she could've been saying, but the overlapping voices of the patrons dulled his hearing. No matter. 

He followed the scent of the composer, winding his way past ornate decor and paintings, the faint trickle of music that echoed throughout every corner of the house. Could this manor have music boxes in the walls, always casting music? A musicians utopia, perhaps. The halls began to lose the crowd, the eastern wing still echoing with violins and cello's. But it's cooler, quieter, and as Orpheus follows the scent of his beloved, he could hear the hitched pants from the ajar door. 

"Frederick!" 

The composer is beautiful in the moonlight, highlighted by the faint glow of the lights in the garden. An empty bottle is in his hand, that slips and thunks! to the floor as he turns. His silver hair is loose, falling in more strands down his shoulders, while his whole frame shakes in lingering fear. His eyes are wide, erratic, like a spooked animal and he all but collapses into Orpheus's waiting arms, finally letting tears fall as he clings. Orpheus held him close, securing the composer in his arms, kissing the silvery hairs that tickled against his cheek. Despite the few centimeters Frederick had over Orpheus, in this moment, Orpheus could gather that Frederick felt small. 

When Frederick left the warmth of Orpheus's shoulder, the novelist took the time to gently wipe away stray tears, wetting his gloves damp. It mattered little compared to the man in his palms. 

"My love, what happened?" 

Frederick had whimpered, nuzzling softly into Orpheus's hand at the endearment. A little thing Orpheus tucked away in his mind to remember for later as Frederick stuttered to speak. 

"I saw her. She noticed me, and I couldn't- I didn't- I-" 

"Breath, love." Orpheus said, watching as Frederick shook his head and breathed deep.

"I just felt like if I showed myself, something bad would happen." he admitted softly, more whispering between them as he subconsciously shuffled closer. 

Orpheus paused, his brows etching in worry. Despite it, he gently lifted the composer's head, winding an arm around the thin waist and making sure he could see clearly into the silver eyes of his beloved. At this distance, too, Orpheus noticed how they almost seemed to have blue mixed in with the silver. 

"I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. I can make a vow to that."

And he meant it. He would give Frederick warmth and happiness he so deserved. 

When Frederick kissed him, he responded in kind, letting their lips glide in a slow dance. He turned his head enough to kiss deeper, gently backing the composer into the wall. He wanted, desperate, so desperate, to vocalize his emotions, to ensure Frederick knew. He was a writer, proclaimed and vivid in details of the macabre, of the psyche and philosophy of the mind. Yet, now, he was at a loss for the proper words to tell Frederick. 

He had to stop the composer's wandering hands, lifting them from where they had began to thumb at the buttons of Orpheus's pants. It pained him, moderately, that Frederick turned to sex as a coping mechanism, but he could indulge his sweet composer later- not while they were in the room of his childhood, with his mother asking for his attention. 

"We can do that once we return to the hotel. Right now, I think we should get some food, leave a note for your Mother, and then go. I think you've had enough excitement here for one night." 

He watched closely as Frederick pouted but assented, letting their hands hold between them instead. Orpheus pressed gentle kisses to the composer's cheeks and forehead, before pulling back, lingering on the release of their hands. 

"Stay here for now. I'll return in a bit." Orpheus promised, kissing the back of Frederick's hands before separating himself from the other man and heading back out to the hall. He closed the bedroom door behind him before he began to make his way back down to the main area. He remembered seeing a buffet near the dining hall, though he couldn't remember what the food was. Hopefully something Frederick would enjoy.

As he turned the corner, a loud crash startled the crowd, all eyes turned to where the commotion was. Orpheus stepped through the crowd to see Amalia's handmaid on the ground, arms over her head as the Patriarch was standing over. A server was quickly scrambling up from where he had been knocked over, broke wine glasses spilling the fruity liquid. 

"You lie!" The Patriarch screeched, looking ready to beat the poor shaking woman to death. Her eyes were screwed shut, even as Amalia stepped in front of the poor girl, facing her husband's ire head on. "Move, darling."

"I will not," Amalia said instead, standing firm. Slowly, the handmaid lowered her arms, peeking her eyes up to her master. "Whether she lies or tells the truth, it should not change how you view your own son!" 

"A son that behaves like a harlot?! That is no son of mine!" 

Before they could continue, the handmaid had spotted Orpheus in the crowd, and was quick to point a finger over to him, "T-there! That's the man who I saw with the young Lord!" 

All eyes were suddenly on him. For a moment, he wondered if he was back in the central church of Târgovişte, surrounded by a coven who leered at his adolescent form. A trial by those more powerful than him, making him feel smaller than he already was, a meek prey to dangerous predators. But he was snapped out of the memory by the Patriarch grabbing the front of his suit and pulling him close. Wine reeked on his breath as he roared, "You! You miserable faker!"

Orpheus held his own, eyeing warily to the maid now being helped up. 

"Monsieur, we've met before. At your relatives party two months ago in France. Why would you assume me to be untrustworthy?" 

"Because, Mr. De'Ross," at this, the Patriarch waved a hand to the maid clinging on the arm of Amalia, shaking like a leaf and flinching at the motion, "She claims to have seen you being intimate with another man! None other than my disgrace of a son! Is that a lie or the truth?!"

Orpheus bit down on his own cheek, willing himself to not break out of the Patriarch's grip. Instead, he moved a hand up and tugged away the hand holding him up, stepping back to straighten out his suit.

"You demand honesty? Then yes, I was. In fact, we are in a formal engagement, as I am in courtship with him." At the confession, gasps filled the room, like a deep secret was revealed. Frederick would surely strangle him for this, but he would handle that. "In fact, since I conversed with him that same night we celebrated your relative, I have had full intentions of entering marriage with him through this courtship."

The crowd was a mixture of skepticism and shock, whispering amongst themselves. Amalia looked almost...concerned, but resigned, as if she had seen this coming yet was unable to prevent it. The Patriarch looked ready to strangle Orpheus to death, fists clenched and shaking in rage. Orpheus could take a punch if the man so desired, but if it came close, then he would be forced to reveal his inhumanity. 

"Marriage you say...I didn't take you to be so good as comedy! What a joke this all this!" 

Orpheus narrowed his eyes at the Patriarch, gripping the lapels of his suit tighter. 

"How do you mean?"

The Patriarch looked at him, critical and sharp, "The fact you think it's sensible to be courting another man. That isn't how the world works, boy. You are only deluding yourself into thinking that, same with the miserable harlot who shares my blood." At this, he turned away, picking up his glass set aside from much earlier to take a sip. As he lowered it, he muttered to himself, "I should've sent that boy to a sanatorium long ago..."

"A sanatorium?! You think him mad?!"

"Is he not?!" the Patriarch argued, whipping his head around to Orpheus. "You, too, both of you could spend your 'courtship' together in there. Thinking it's natural to love another man, it's disgraceful. Sickening. God never intended for that when he made you. And to think that 'son' of mine would stoop so low..." 

Orpheus growled lowly, deep in his throat, akin to what a predator might sound like. The people around them quieted as Orpheus turned away, stalking his way back to the bedroom. He would not stand another second in that mans presence; if he did, the bloodshed would be quite the spectacle. 

"You know," It said, peeking out from the shadows of the novelist's mind. Stewing beneath the surface of rage, possession, bloodlust, It tutted at Orpheus before continuing, "We could always take him away from here. Bring him to Oletus, hide him away."

It was a fair plan, one that Orpheus agreed with. Getting Frederick there, however, would be a new thing to figure out. The man had a life in Paris, a job, people who cared for him. Moving so suddenly wouldn't-

For a moment he stopped, breathing in the scent of his beloved right outside the door. Orange and sunshine. So human. So warm.

"If I turn him," Orpheus said to It, gripping the handle of the door tight enough to bend the metal, "Then no one can take him away." 

Silence. Blessed silence. It didn't respond, retreating from his mind as if he say he was on his own. But the words of the Patriarch returned instead, igniting the simmering embers of his rage. That night, though, with Frederick in his arms, crying out his name and squeezing thighs around his hips, leaving marks red and purple to the porcelain skin, moving in tandem with the composer rocky enough to wound the headboard, he knew deep down his decision. 

Once the composer was asleep, thoroughly worn out from their activities, Orpheus soaked up the warmth of his beloved, sweaty soft skin malleable in his palms. Savored the smell of human on his frame. 

Of course, using chloroform to incapacitate the composer was not ideal, but he wanted to ensure that there wasn't any interruptions to the turning. It also made it easier to ensure Frederick would be transported better, not struggling or fighting. He had already sent out servants to collect the composer's things from their home in France, and to bring them to Oletus Manor at once. 

All that waited now was for the transformation to complete.

A black, vast abyss. His footsteps made no sound as he trekked forward, following a glimmer of purple that shined from the distance. He was burning, scorching his skin, parching his throat. So, so, thirsty. 

"Come to me, my songbird," A voice beckoned, the purple glint flaring red as if reaching to him. He ran, pushing himself as fast as he could, stretching out his arms to grasp at it. 

"My eternal mate."

He shot up suddenly, wheezing at the dryness of his throat. His hands held around his neck, swallowing nothing but air as he choked, reaching out for anything-

A hand. A cold hand, in his own. Pulling him into a body; Familiar, achingly so. Like he was supposed to be here. But the smell, the thumping drone, something under the skin in his view singing to him. Instincts he didn't know of screamed, tugged at his self control as he pushed forward, toppling both him and the body below him onto the bed. Arms came up around his waist and held him close, while a voice spoke softly next to his ear, "Follow them. The instincts calling to you. Let yourself accept who you are now."

Everything was confusing, everything was loud, and his gums ached, sharpness poking at his lips that his mind knew were fangs. His fangs.

"Drink, my love."

Without anymore hesitation, he bore down, deep into the vein, releasing the flood of blood into his mouth. Heavenly, so warm despite the cold body below him, just a bit on the spicier side, reminding him of whiskey. He gulped down one mouthful, then another, holding tighter to the body below him as he drank steady. He couldn't let them get away, not when the burn in his throat soothed and he feasted so well. He wouldn't let them.

The body below groaned wantonly, squeezing at his waist where hands held him. They were enjoying this, he could tell, and the blood rushing into his body warmed him enough he also felt euphoric. How wonderful, this moment was. With pleasured sighs passing by his ear and a faint rock of hips against his own from below.

How disgusting the pull back is, when his teeth are no longer buried in the warm flesh, his mind crystal clear. 

Below him, Orpheus's head was turned away, cheeks pink and pupils blown wide, as if he were drunk. His neck was bloody, smeared with a mixture of saliva and his own blood, where a few drops spilled out from the puncture points in his neck. The man was dressed down in a black blouse, no petticoat, and his monocle was forgone. Even his hair was more tussled as if he had been asleep. He likely was. 

Then, his eyes looked down at his hands, still gripping tight to Orpheus's shoulders. The fabric of Orpheus's blouse was...he wanted to say soft, but he swore he could feel the texture of each thread sewn as it brushed against his palm. His fingers, long and nimble, suitable for a pianist, looked smooth rather than chapped on the knuckles like he was used to. The- nightgown, he was in a nightgown- was loose on his frame, and he could see the soft curls of his hair as it swept over his shoulders and tickled against the bedsheets. 

"You can take more if you need-" Orpheus said, cutting himself off when Frederick dove back in, groaning instead as he settled better over top the novelist. Orpheus couldn't help the arousal that ran through his blood, trying to remain still even as he felt himself becoming hard the more Frederick drank and shifted. 

For another minute, Frederick drank to a point Orpheus began to feel light headed before the composer finally pulled away. Blood was smeared across his lips and some of his cheeks, eyes a glowing, bright ruby red. His face was similarly flushed, through his eyes still darted around, hyper focused on every little thing. Still, Orpheus sat up slowly, blinking away the blurriness of anemia. Frederick sat back as well, silver hair messy and layered over his shoulders. He was breathing heavy, and Orpheus knew that he was overwhelmed. He couldn't blame him. 

"Focus on me, love," Orpheus said softly, cupping the composer's cheeks and directing his eyes to Orpheus's. The novelist watched as, slowly, the red dimmed back into his natural grey and his breathing slowed. His nightgown was beginning to slip off one shoulder, but Orpheus paid no mind to it, brushing back the strands of hair that fell in front of Frederick's eyes. 

Frederick let him, too focused on every little sound he could hear. The birds outside, the buzz of insects, a faint water rushing from a faucet somewhere downstairs, the creak of the house from the wind- not to mention how light he felt, as if his body was merely paper. He had felt light before, no small part due to malnourishment, but it felt- better? He felt stronger, as if energy was charged beneath his skin, waiting to spill out. The duvet below him felt soft, but he did indeed feel the bumps of stitching that wove the fabric in what it was. 

"Your body will acclimate soon. It's going to take a bit, at least a day. Your hunger, too- that will be more aggressive now than it will in the future," Orpheus was saying, still so softly to not overwhelm the composer further. He was grateful for it, every sound like a deafening drum in his ears, "Once you've calmed down though, I'll help teach you how to mimic being human again." 

Wait-

"Human...?" Frederick whispered, peering up to Orpheus. The novelist nodded, running a thumb up against the still-bloodied lips of his beloved, "You're a vampire now, Frederick. You aren't human anymore."

For a moment Frederick sat still, as if he had become a statue, before he quickly pulled out of Orpheus's hands and stumbled out of the bed. Orpheus followed behind as Frederick all but moved in a blur to the vanity, rocking it dangerously as he braced himself against it. Once there, Frederick examined himself in the mirror, taking in his sleep mused, bloody frame. He opened his mouth and looked at his canines, now much longer than they used to be. When he pressed a finger against them, he flinched at the prick against the flesh, watching blood bead from the small wound. Orpheus stood behind him, worried, as Frederick merely stared at the blood that slid down his finger. 

"...what happened? How did this happen, Orpheus?" Frederick asked slowly, hiding his face behind his hair, "Last I remember, we were at my- the Estate, before- where did you go? Were you also ambushed when we arrived?"

Orpheus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before stepping forward, taking the composer's hand and licking up the blood that was running down. After, he paused before speaking.

"It wasn't a stranger who ambushed you- it was me. I knocked you out, and brought you here. I'm also the one who turned you. It's been 6 days since." 

"But why...?" 

"Because I love you, Frederick," Orpheus said, watching as Frederick's face remained emotionless, passive, letting Orpheus try to explain, "That night after I left you to get food, I ran into your father. A maid of your mother's had seen us and when he found out, he was furious. He wanted to put you in a sanatorium because of it, Frederick. And I- I would never let him. I couldn't let him." 

Frederick's eyes went unfocused and blank, before Orpheus guided him to sit back in the bed. He kneeled before the other, taking the composer's hands in his own. 

"Right now, you're labeled as a missing persons. I've sent servants to retrieve your things from the cottage house, and they should be returning by tomorrow with everything. I won't strictly keep you here, but I urge you to wait on returning to society until you've become more situated in your new body. I know you'll want to, and as much as I don't want you to go out there, I won't stop you." 

"...my co-workers. My mother. Do they know?" 

Orpheus shook his head at the question, "No one you've previously known is aware of us. Vampires, I mean. They all believe you to have disappeared." 

"I...I see." was all Frederick said, still looking down at their hands. His body was so still, much cooler than it used to be. Orpheus still loved him all the same, his scent unchanged if only slightly duller. But now, Orpheus could also smell dew from the rain mixed in- Orpheus's scent. 

Frederick moved, taking his hands out of their hold and scooting further into the bed, pulling his legs up to his chest. 

"I want to be left alone right now. I need- I want to think about all this." 

Orpheus nodded, standing from where he was knelt. He watched his lover's frame for a moment, how Frederick hid his face in his knees, still so unmoving. But Orpheus leaned over to plant a kiss to the top of his hair, before stepping away and out of the room, sparing one last glance at the doorway.

"Just call for me if you need me. I'll hear."

He finally left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the composer to stew in his own thoughts.

The sunrise came some hours later. By that point, Frederick had brushed and pulled his hair into his signature ponytail, sparing a moment to glance at his reflection. The blood from when he had fed off Orpheus earlier was wiped away, leaving only a phantom sensation of the congeal on his mouth. His face remained unchanged, if only unnaturally paler and with a strange glow to it. The eyebags he was so used to were gone- mostly. Only a shadow of them remained. His hair looked healthier than he'd seen it in years. But all of it was a pretty, perfect lie.

He changed into the clothes set aside for him by Orpheus. A white blouse with frilled sleeves and a faded red petticoat, with matching pants to go with it. Once changed, he gathered a few items prepared ahead of time before finally pushing open the French doors that led to a balcony. The sunrise was just beginning to peek over the tree line, warm against his skin. It didn't burn, but he found himself uncomfortable in it before long.

No matter. 

~*~

He tugged forward the rope of sheets he'd done up earlier, tying one end to the railing of the balcony. Glancing down, he knew he wouldn't just touch the bottom if he jumped, nodding in satisfaction. A raven nearby on the tree line squawked at him, causing him to pause and glance at the corvid. It stared down at him, eyes glassy and beady, as if it was truly looking at him. 

"I know what I'm doing," he told it, beginning to tie the other end in a noose around his neck. Once tightened, he stepped up to the railing, testing his weight. The raven continued to screech at him, but he paid it no mind as he took a final glance at the sunrise before stepping off. Gravity pulled him down, the thick sheets straining and immediately pulling against his neck. He heard -and felt- the snap of his neck, vision blacking out for a moment before almost instantly it was restored and he was merely being choked out. The urge to breath and struggle was gone, and a quick hand raised to his neck confirmed that nothing was out of place- nothing snapped. 

"How-?!" he wheezed, throat strained and tugged. He dug into one of the pockets in his pants and pulled out the letter knife he had stolen from Orpheus's desk. He pointed the tip of it down against his wrist before beginning to carve into the artery until it split and gushed blood. However, the bleeding stopped a moment later and the skin healed over, not even leaving a scar. He changed his hand, gripping tight to the handle, still suspended several feet above. A weak, barely counting breath, before he stabbed and dug it into his gut, retching and choking on his own blood as the wound burned. It hurt, so much, especially when he twisted it, grinding up gore and tissue, but even so- some weird form of magic began to dull the pain and heal the wound. Cursing, he ripped it out with another grunt of pain before staking it into his chest, digging deep enough until he could feel it piercing his heart. Yet it only healed a moment later, quick enough it pushed the blade out by a few centimeters.

"Frederick!!" a voice screamed above him.  

He couldn't find the energy to turn his head up, though the raven from before squawked and began to swarm him, splitting itself into multiples, wispy like ash. A cacophony of squalls, they gathered under him before beginning to lift him up, releasing the strain of the sheets off his neck. Cathartic, he took a gulp of air, letting arms loop under his arms and pull him back over the railing. Those same hands were quick to rip the sheets apart and released his neck, before he was being led inside, and the letter knife taken out of his hand to be thrown across the room.

~*~

"Are you crazy?!" Orpheus yelled, the sound booming in his new ears he winced. Orpheus looked angered, but also...sorrowful. So deeply upset. "Why were you trying to kill yourself?!"

He shoved the novelist away harshly, baring his teeth to him. Orpheus stumbled but righted himself quickly, staring wide eyed at the composer, eyes now the same bright red as when he had fed.

"Because I never wanted this! I didn't want to become a vampire!" he screamed, fists clenched and trembling, "Did you even stop to think and wonder if I even did want this?! I get my father upsetting you, but you don't own me, Orpheus! Just because we were lovers didn't mean you could decide things for me! Especially something as drastic as this!"

The mirror cracked behind him. Orpheus stared at their fractured reflections for a moment as Frederick stalked forward into his space, jabbing a finger into the novelist's chest.

"Now, your poison runs through my body. You've made me a monster," Frederick sneered, stepping back a moment later, "I've read stories on vampires, you know. I hated them. I found them disgusting. Now, not only do I find out you're one, but you've made me one, too! What a mistake I made to ever think of loving you."

"Frederick, please-"

"NO! You took my life, Orpheus! Took away everything from me! All because of some comment my father made about me..." At this, the composer leaned back against the vanity, wringing his hands in his hair, ignoring the sting of the fine hairs still trapped in the ponytail.

Orpheus remained silent, unable to argue back, letting Frederick sob and scream his anger and pain. 

"...because of my blood, it will prevent you from dying. At least dying from...human methods. Your body will heal faster than they can take effect," Orpheus explained, hours later, sat at the edge of the bed as Frederick lay on the other end. 

The composer had been dressed out of the now bloody clothes and back into the nightgown, hair in a lower tie up to keep it out of his face. They had stayed like that for the last few hours, silent and stewing in either melancholy or grief. 

"Alice will also be back tomorrow. She's been staying with Melly while you've been asleep." 

"I don't care."

Orpheus sighed, turning enough to see the back of the composer, curled up fetal under the duvet. Orpheus wished to touch him, comfort him, tell him he's fine as is, it isn't that bad-

"I'm sorry."

"You aren't," Frederick argued, turning just enough so he could be heard easier, "You're only sorry because I'm upset."

Orpheus couldn't argue back, though he did feel only some slight regret. He will admit he reacted irrationally, rushed into everything. But despite it all, Frederick was at his side now, and that's what he was most happy about. Even if it would take awhile for Frederick to accept and come to terms with his new reality.

They had eternity, now, to figure it all out.

Chapter Text

Sleeping was strange now. He didn't know if he was lucid dreaming or fully within dreams, the world around him floaty and thick as if he was underwater. He could make out sounds, words, voices- murmuring in tongue's he knew not of what dialect. 

Confused and delirious, he opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness of the room. When he turned away and shielded his periphery, he realized the light was only from a nearby candelabra, wax melted low and dripping, as if it had been lit for awhile. The light outside was low, painting the ceiling in a warm, honey glow. He wondered if perhaps it was still sunrise, but the sunlight would've been streaming in, not reflecting it's glow. 

Sitting up, Frederick coughed and brought a hand to his throat. His body felt wired, twitchy and timid, an urge for blood crawling in the back of his mind. His throat felt dry, and his gums held a faint ache as he opened his mouth to breath an unnecessary breath. Running his tongue along his canines, he wasn't surprised now to find them slightly elongated. He remembered Orpheus's words, about how his thirst would be in it's most aggressive urge. It should've scared him, he thought, how quickly he was adapting to his new...body? Occult, perhaps. He'd always been fond of the occult and the mysticism of things beyond human control. 

Was that appreciation why he was so accepting now?

Shaking his head, the composer stood from the bed, planting his feet on the hardwood. It was cold, which was too be expected, but despite his body registering it as 'cold', he didn't feel it. Not enough where the human, him, would shiver away from it. Rather, it was like he was feeling it from the distance, just brushing past him enough he could be made aware. It was strange, but he nonetheless stood and undid his hair. As he made his way to the dresser, he glanced at the cigar box laid on top. He felt nothing for it as he picked it up and opened the lid, looking at the remaining cigar's.

Deep down, he detested smoking. He never liked the taste or the smell of it, only beginning the addiction when he was younger and didn't know better. He had been offered one at a party and continued to smoke them when offered, until the urge spread and spread. It was a lifeline for his anxiety he didn't want.

A smaller part of him whispered that it was a slow suicide he willingly partook in.

He set it down, no longer feeling an urge to light one, and reached to open one of the shelves on the dresser. Not a moment later, however, a knock on the door alerted him, before he made his way over and opened it. Standing before him were a few hand maids, all of them carrying rather large buckets of water in either hand at their sides. 

"Excuse us for the interruption, Mr. Kreiburg, but we are here to prepared your bath." The first one said, slipping past him. Dumbfounded, he merely let them, following behind as they entered a side room he hadn't noticed. The room was rather small, with a deep and large basin in the middle. A thin sheet was draped over it, where the maids began to pour in the buckets of water as if they weighed nothing. Frederick could only assume they were also vampires, though he had no way of knowing. 

Some few minutes later, two of them left with the now empty buckets, while the other 3 reached to remove the composer's nightgown. He stepped back from their hands, alarmed, before one of them spoke up, "Master Orpheus asked us to bath you. Please allow us to."

"I'm quite fine doing it myself, thank you," he argued, glancing to one of the windows that let in the last of the sun's glow. He blinked away from it, waiting until they all left and closed the door before he sighed. 

Now alone, Frederick eyed the basin warily, but decided to get it over with. Once stripped, he stepped in and sunk down, submerging himself in the lukewarm water. A small table next to the basin held a sponge brush and some small perfumes, which he picked up and dripped a few drops of into the bath water. He ignored looking closely at his arms and body as he scrubbed his skin, mindful to keep his hair away from the water. Outside, Frederick could hear a few flaps of wings, prompting him to turn his head and look back outside, where 3 ravens sat. They glanced at him, beady and shiny eyes glinting purple, before turning away and looking at something else. 

He leaned back in the water to soak, instead focusing on his hearing. The ravens outside, the buzz of bees of a hive, the footfalls of servants across the manor, hushed whispers a few rooms down. A giggle of a maid, the thunk of an empty bucket, and the faint chop of what he assumed was a chef in the kitchen. All these sounds he wouldn't have otherwise heard as a human, were now crystal clear as if he was merely a door away from them. 

It felt...invasive. 

Anxious, Frederick stood and picked up a towel to dry himself off, when he glanced to the mirror. His naked reflection looked back him, forcing him to analyze the swirling, twisting marks on his skin. Deeper reds, some faint pinks, all of them over his body and arms. A hand came up to trace at the composer's stomach, where one of the marks was darker than the rest. The wound from his impromptu suicide attempt was completely gone; no scarred skin, or bruising. If his skin healed that quickly, Frederick thought, then could he pull off the marks on his skin? Would they heal back as before or would they heal blank, like a fresh canvas. 

Ironic, now. The doctor's claimed that his marks were the work of him absorbing his twin in utero, while his family believed them to be marks of the devil. How fitting that he was a monster, a leech, who now fed off the lives of innocent. Perhaps he was destined, eating the life of his innocent twin before they could even be born. 

A squawk of a raven brought him back, staring at where his nails had begun to dig into his abdomen, drawing blood in their wake. He slowly removed his nails and watched as the skin healed itself over, stitching tissue together again. The blood remained, but a quick wipe of the sponge cleaned it to pristine order.

The mark of his sin was bled. And the skin healed over red once more.

By the time he finally left the bedroom, dried and his hair put up in a messy chignon, half done and rough, he was dressed in a loose cream blouse and high waist slacks, with a blue cravat tied around the collar. The glinting gold piece of his family crest lay in its knot, fastened tight and secure. The dark wood of the railings was smooth against his fingers, and the steps made a slightly creak as he descended. Voices from a room to his right reached his ears, two of which he recognized as Alice and Orpheus, the other familiar, but unknown. They were speaking softly, and through his broken memory of language, knew they were speaking English. 

He opened the door a moment later, revealing a dining room, a partion dividing the entrance to what he assumes was the kitchen and the hall. Sat at the seats of the table was Alice, next to another woman, who Frederick now connected was Mrs. Plinius. They were sat at the opposite side, farthest from the doorway. Instead, an empty chair sat in front of him, with Orpheus to the right of it, who had now stood to greet Frederick. 

"Good morning. Or, evening, I suppose. You slept for 13 hours." Orpheus said, back in French, which Frederick nodded to slowly. Within such close proximity, the hunger and scratch in throat grew, recognizing a 'prey' he could feed on. Subconsciously, he brought a hand to his throat, swallowing against the dryness, eyes focused to where Orpheus's neck was conveniently shown better around his collar. 

Melly's voice broke him out of his stupor, as she spoke up suddenly to say, "You're Orpheus's newborn mate, correct? A Kreiburg, from what Alice had told me. I remember seeing you a month ago." 

"I'm not his mate," was the first thing Frederick said, silently thankful she was speaking in French with him, rather than English. "We were lovers, but...not anymore." 

Alice kept up her poker face, though she did spare a glance to the man besides Frederick, noting how Orpheus's brow furrowed but he remained silent. Melly tilted her head to the composer, but didn't continue further, instead picking up her cup to drink from it.

"Regardless, you were turned by Orpheus. You two now have a permanent bond, even if you claim to not be mates," after this, she set down her cup and folded her hands in front of her. "As his creator, Orpheus, should you not take care of him and ensure he'd fed? Clearly he's hungry." 

Orpheus had already held out a hand for Frederick to take, which the composer took, albeit reluctantly. He was led back behind the partion, past the kitchen and further down the hall to a small closet that held dried goods and sacks of grain. It was stale and dry in the air, but neither paid it mind as Frederick was guided to the crook of Orpheus's neck. 

"Go ahead when you're ready." Orpheus said. 

Frederick closed his eyes, slipping out of awareness to something more baseline, only coming back once he had the taste of blood in his mouth, drinking deep. The blood was like a balm to his throat, losing himself in a daze as if he were a babe suckling. Rhythmic, therapeutic, natural to his new self, he didn't notice when the blood became thicker until he choked on a mouthful and pulled back, alarmed. Connected to the bitemarks and his mouth was a thick, dripping string, congealed and tar like. Orpheus cursed as Frederick reached a hand into his mouth to pull the string, shuddering when the tendrils pulled against the flesh of his throat, until it was fully separated and out. Disconnected, it seemed to melt suddenly, dripping into ashy whisps before they could hit the ground, leaving only empty air and the now healing holes from the bite on Orpheus's neck, bloody.

"What the fuck was that?!" Frederick nearly yelled, as Orpheus winced and rubbed at the bite mark. 

"That...I'm not sure..." Orpheus said slowly, looking away from Frederick's searching gaze. Both of them knew it was a lie, but neither acted on it, their attention brought to Melly's voice ringing from the dining, "If you're finished, come back here. We need to discuss this development."

The two shared a last look, before making their way back into the dining room, where food was now set in their seats. As the two men sat down, Orpheus picked up his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his neck, while Frederick did the same to his own mouth. When they began to start in on their food, Melly began spoke up. 

"As you're aware, Mr. Kreiburg, we are vampires. Though we look and sound human, we are not. And as such, we have rules we must follow at all times. First thing you should know about vampires is that we form covens. Some are big, some are small, or there are the few renegades that linger around. The De'Ross Coven, which is primarily Alice and Orpheus, is now your coven since you were turned by Orpheus. 

Frederick picked at his food, no appetite for the meal in front of him. "Do you also have one, Mrs. Plinius?" He asked, waiting until the woman ate a bite of her food and swallowed. 

"Yes, and no," she started, "My late husband and I were apart of one, however it fell apart when the Leader went mad and burned himself. Afterwards, I was indoctrinated to the De'Ross Coven by Alice, though I am not an official member." 

Orpheus spoke up a moment later, pulling something out of his pocket and standing to circle Frederick's chair before taking his left hand and sliding a ring onto his ring finger. 

"This ring, while appearing as a simple wedding band, is actually a ward to keep other vampires away. It's designed to let other vampires know you are apart of my coven, and are protected," he explained, letting Frederick examine the simple, silver band, with only a few thin lines carved in Latin, "...it also signifies that you're my mate. And if you are harmed in any way, it will be as if they are attacking the whole of De'Ross." 

"Keep it worn on your person at all times," Melly ordered, jolting Frederick out of his dissociation. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel them staring at him. "I know the circumstance of your turning, Frederick, but this is something you must accept, regardless how you may feel about it." 

The composer wanted to argue, but he held his tongue and nodded instead. Orpheus sat back down a moment later, speaking up again, "Secondly, while we do interact with human society, we can only do so in a contained manner. Because we do not age, if we remain prominent in society, it would jeopardize our livelihood, and would risk another war between humans and vampires. That's why we follow a golden rule. If we want to imitate human life, we are only allowed 10 years before we must step away."

"10 years is roughly the amount of time a human takes to mature," Alice added, swallowing down a bite of her food. "After 10 years, it becomes suspicious if someone hasn't aged." 

"After about 40 years, any humans in that time would have either died or grown up and forgotten," Orpheus continued, "Of course, for me as a writer, I simply pretend to ghost write for a 'previous' Orpheus," he explained, waving a hand to the ladies across from him, "As for Alice and Mrs. Plinius, they use pseudonyms for anything they publish."

Frederick held up a hand to them, silently asking for a pause as he closed his eyes to take in all the information. 

"Hold on, let me make sense of this. You're saying that I have to hide my existence for 40 years, only to be given a mere 10 to be...well, me? What of my family? Of my job? Did you forget I had one before you turned me?" 

"You will need to abandon them both, Frederick." Melly sternly said, hands now on the table. "We cannot risk the lives of millions all because of one. There is no way to change this. Besides, as famous as your family is, weren't you regarded poorly? It's not as if you have a demand to be seen." 

Frederick grit his teeth, standing suddenly with a horrible screech of the chair legs against the floor, his dinner hardly picked at and long forgotten. 

"You have no right to talk about my work like that!" the composer yelled, slamming his hands down on the table. The siblings both jumped at the raise in tone, while Melly remained impassive. She didn't know how much Frederick struggled and fought to get where he was- to be who he was. "You have no idea what I've gone through! How dare you!" 

The windows of the dining room cracked, lines fine and sharp like a spiders web, releasing a horrible sound as they shifted. Melly's former impassive demeanor changed as she turned her head to the window, then back to Frederick, the composer's eyes alight with a glowing red, and fangs bared. Both Alice and Orpheus also stared, unable to come up with any words as Frederick huffed and turned away, retreating out of the dining room. He didn't know any directions of the manor, running blindly, the world a moving blur around him as he fought back against tears. 

He knew her words were truth. He knew that the fame of his family would never touch him. That he would always be the disappointment and the disgrace, mediocre to the brilliance of his family. He'd known it since his first failure, and the ones following. He knew it when he'd spend hours in the quite solitude, mad with frenzy as he tried to ink anything cohesive on pages, failed attempts crumpled and scattered on the floorboards. 

"Gschissana!" 

When he finally stopped, taking slow breaths to calm himself down, he looked at the door before him, inconspicuous. Something drew him to it though, enough that he opened the door and stepped inside. It must've been a sitting room, with only a fireplace and a few loveseats around it. A small, homey piano sat besides the loveseats, drawing him forward to sit at the stool and test the keys. It was tuned. 

His fingers itched to play, but what, he didn't know. He leaned back, examining the patterned ceiling, before beginning to play a few notes. Nothing concrete, but a start. His mind wandered, to his memories of childhood. Of being a boy, blessed with prodigy, basking in the praise of his family, his father sat beside him at the piano while guiding his small hands to play beginner notes. Of the nights spent snuggled between his parents, babbling softly about grand notes and the stories within, being lulled to sleep by his mother's gentle fingers in his hair. Of his adolescence, when his compositions began to falter and when the voices in his head became more and more untamed. Of the expectations weighed on his shoulders, and the long sleepless nights trying to fix the mistakes. Of his young adulthood, still so naive, and ignorant, and proud. When lust tempted his lips and the collars of his fellow men aroused him more than the women's. 

The flavor of sin, tasted before his birth, sucking the life out of all around him. Perhaps he was already a vampire, long before it was reality. The notes of his playing pulling at his grief, of his misery, guiding his fingers to play a somber piece. He felt the warmth of his tears turn cold as they dripped down his cheeks, landing on the ivory keys before him. 

The notes finally stopped, followed by a sob as the composer hunched in on himself and cried. Cried for his childhood ripped from him and the pain of failed expectation. Cried for his life now, where all that he was would have to be hidden from everyone. 

It wasn't fair. 

With a scream, filled with rage and regret, he stood swiftly and gripped the key board of the piano tight enough to splinter the wood. And in the next, he had tossed it to the far wall, listening to it splinter and break, brittle as sand with a discordant sound that scratched like claws in his ears. He stood there, staring down at his hands, before glancing up to the broken pieces of the piano. The poor instrument didn't deserve his anger. As quickly as his rage burned, it was doused by the chill of regret. 

He fell to his knees, just as footfalls rushed to the door and made their way inside. 

"Frederick!" "What happened?!" "Mr. Kreiburg, what's wrong with you?!" 

Their voices swarmed him but he paid them no mind, out of his own body and merely staring ahead at the broken piano. The ivory keys spilled onto the floor from the broken wood. Someone was shaking him, someone was in front of him, but his eyes looked past them. 

The tune he played was ringing in his ears, as if the piano was repeating it all over again in it's broken state. In the corner's, he could see the wispy shadows moving to it, examining and curious. Then Orpheus's face was in his view, and he snapped back into his own mind at the worry across the novelist's face. He was saying something. 

"...ome back to me. It's alright, you're safe." 

Slowly, Frederick looked over to Alice, knelt by his side, faced also crossed with worry. Behind her, Melly stood with her hands to her sides, surveying the damage of the room. It was a blue when they talked, all in English he couldn't translate, and when he blinked he was suddenly outside, sat before a small fountain. It wasn't anything extravagant, mere stone and moss, but the drip of water spouting from the sides helped ground him. When he finally felt secure in his body, he turned to Orpheus at his side. The brunet was staring at him, concerned and holding the composer's hand in his own. 

"Why me?" was all Frederick asked, unable to shed anymore tears. He felt tired. "Why me, out of everyone who could've been?"

Orpheus gave a small, whimsical smile, before turning to look at the fountain for a moment. 

"You've fascinated me since we met at that party. You were haunting, carrying dread on your neck and fluttering with a song only You knew the words of. I wanted to learn, and hear, that melody, so desperately I threw aside my logic and followed the pull of curiosity." 

Frederick blinked, turning to also look at the fountain. 

"I wanted to understand your misery and your melancholy. I wanted to find how much of myself rested in you, for when I was also weak and useless. I was drawn to you the moment I saw you, and I remain ever attached, even now," at this, Orpheus moved to take a knee in front of Frederick, holding both of the composer's hands in his own. Frederick noted how Orpheus also wore a silver ring on his left hand. "I cannot take back my action, and I accept the responsibility and your vitriol. I made a choice in your place, without consulting your feelings on it, and I would be lying if I said I was regretful of it. I am sorry, but I also do not regret my actions. Not completely."

"Orpheus," Frederick whispered, "You took my life from me. You went with your own agenda. I can never forgive you for that." 

The novelist nodded, meeting Frederick's eyes. A thousand words, love and pain, were shared between them, missed and captured in waves. They didn't speak further, with Orpheus standing to sit besides Frederick on the bench, hand's returned to their laps. The purple night sky above them glinted stars, and a gentle breeze brushed away the dried tears on their cheeks. 

"That song you played...was it one of your compositions?" Orpheus asked in the quiet. Frederick shook his head as answer, blinking absently at a few birds that flew into the tree line, "It just came to me. I didn't write any of it, and I don't trust that I could recreate it." 

"It was beautiful." 

Frederick stood from the bench, turning back to the manor and beginning to make his way back, "I'm going back to rest." 

"You can take my room for now," Orpheus said, remaining on the bench, "I have spares I can rest in myself." 

The composer nodded, not that Orpheus could see, and made his way back inside. The servants fluttered about, doing chores or finishing them to return home. He could hear Alice and Melly talking in the dining room again as he made his way upstairs. The door to Orpheus's bedroom was opened slowly by his hand, and as he stepped in, he spotted his old cigar box on the dresser. 

The urge to smoke did not come to him anymore.

The next morning came with his luggage, all of his old journals and clothes. They were packed away in Orpheus's room, with the intent of the two sharing it as they were 'mates', in Melly's words, despite Frederick's protests. Breakfast was once more blood, without any sticky, unknown tar to choke Frederick, and an unappetizing human meal he felt no urge for. Any conversation was held primarily between the ladies, until their plates were cleared and coffee was brought out. At this point, Melly looked over to the newborn and spoke, "Do you have any questions, Mr. Kreiburg?" 

Frederick pondered on it, staring down into his own cup of coffee, swirling it idly as he looked over to the brunette.

"How old are you?" 

Melly smiled beneath the veil, taking a sip of her coffee before tutting softly at the man, "My, Kr. Kreiburg, it's impolite to ask a woman her age. But if you insist, then I am currently 432. I am the only child of my late parents." 

The composer nodded, glancing to the siblings next. "And you two, how old are you, then?" 

Orpheus set down his cup and pretended to think before he answered, "358, if I've kept track properly." 

"And I'm 355." Alice said next, raising her hand. 

Frederick nodded, taking in the information.

"Mrs. Plinius mentioned late parents...what about yours? Alice, Orpheus." 

Surprisingly, Alice spoke up for them this time, starting with "They died a long, long time ago. When I was young, and Orphy was just coming into puberty. It was just us for so long. Soon enough, we ran into Melly a decade later, and she helped us out a lot." At this, the blonde reached over to hold Melly's hand, the two sharing a soft smile. 

"It was indeed fortunate to have Mrs. Plinius on our side when I was trying to secure us a home," Orpheus commented next, garnering the attention. "As solitary as she is, having a noble born on our side helped make sure we wouldn't be burned at the stake, when powerful covens held over power and detested newborns." 

"What do you mean noble born?" 

"I'm a naturally born vampire," Melly said, "Unlike Alice and Orpheus here, who were turned through mutation. Like you were, Mr. Kreiburg." 

Frederick nodded, mentally keeping note of each detail fed to him. He asked some smaller questions, what Alice and Melly's jobs were, how long the De'Ross's have lived in Oletus, the like. Smaller, basic trivia of vampires, and the weaknesses he had to be careful for. Midway through, he had to be led aside by Orpheus to feed again, which was irritating this time rather than calming. But such was what he had to deal with now. 

That night, however, sitting in bed with his journal in front of him, filled with compositions and whimsy notes, he recalled all he had learned. Remembered the joy of having new love, and the pain he now faced with his new lifestyle. When he glanced around the room, his eyes trailed to the empty travel trunk next to one of the closet doors. Ideas fitted in his mind, a new plan brewing in his wake. 

A new symphony began to play in his head. A new suite called 'Life' begging to be played, to be explored and nurtured.

In the early morning, still dark and glimmering, Frederick hefted the travel trunk next to him as he snuck out through the garden, turning back to glance at the Manor. No candlelight burned from inside, and the croaking of frogs and crickets were the only sounds he could hear. One last breath to still his nerves before he turned away.

In the shadow of the night, Frederick Kreiburg disappeared once more. 

Chapter Text

"Where could he have gone?!"

The manor has practically been flipped upside down, with Orpheus damn near ripping the floorboards up to see if Frederick was under them. When Orpheus had woken earlier that morning, shouting in a panic and screaming himself hoarse throughout the manor, Melly had, begrudgingly, left the warmth of Alice's arms to throttle Orpheus for waking her so rudely. It was the intent, though she was stopped once she saw the panic and borderline mania in his eyes, filtering back and forth between reddish brown and striking violet. Now, the three of them stood in the living room, with the still broken piano as their focus. 

Orpheus was pacing, wringing his hands throughout his hair and he mumbled incomprehensible, defaulting to Wallachian in his stupor. Alice was biting at her nails, bouncing off Orpheus's anxiety. A part of the blood bond through creator and master, and their relation, Melly supposed. The entomologist was stood beside her lover, rubbing up and down Alice's arms to try and keep her calm.

"Why did you leave him alone? Why didn't you keep a raven on him?" she asked the brunet, watching Orpheus beneath the shawl of her nightcap. A custom made design for when she wasn't sleeping, but intended to. Or was woken up. 

Orpheus stopped his pacing, arms falling limp to his sides and swinging for a moment before the novelist turned his head just enough to plant a startling, glowing purple eye on Melly. She stood her ground against the eye, even as Orpheus sneered at her and closed his eyes. Within his mind, he sank down, deep into a swirling mass of black, glinting red and purple, as if he was deep within an ocean, weightless. It rushed around him, tossing him around like a predator playing with its food. He reached out, reigning in the mass around him, and staring back at the glow of purple before him.

"You tried to leech to Frederick. Were you successful?" he asked It. 

It chuffed at him, breaking free of his hold to simply circle him.

"No. Not enough that I can work with besides a vague direction."

"Well what's the direction?" 

It swirled him around, before stopping him in a new direction. 

"East. That's all I can sense."

As his mind swam back to the surface, Orpheus recollected himself to find that he had been moved to hunch onto the loveseat, Melly before him with Alice to his right, hand in his. They both stared expectant at him as he sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

"...he's headed East." 

Both girls shared a look, turning back to Orpheus as they all thought for a moment.

"What's East? Why would he go there?" Alice asked, just as Melly commented, "Paris is to the South-East. Perhaps he wants to return there?" 

Then it dawned on Orpheus. He stood, rushing out of the room and to his bedroom, moving in a whirlwind to pack a small travel trunk. Not more than a few seconds later, both of the girls entered, confused as he latched the trunk shut. 

"He's going to Vienna. Vienna is in the East."

Alice gasped in realization as Melly crossed her arms, "What's for him in Vienna?" 

"His mother." Orpheus said grimly.

Melly also sucked in a breath, dropping her arms back to her sides as she also reached a conclusion. Alice rushed back out of the room to hail for the carriage, while Melly and Orpheus began to make work on their new plan. 

"I have an acquaintance that's working in Frankfurt for an academic journal. Luchino Diruse, you've heard of him." 

Orpheus glanced to her as they made their downstairs, dressed now in dark attire. 

"You've mentioned him and quoted him in journals before. Are you certain he's useful?" he asked.

As they loaded up Orpheus's trunk into the back of the carriage, Melly replied, "He's a Dhampir who works as a retainer to His Majesty. He may not be loyal to us, but your mate is a unique case, one I'm certain he'd be much to thrilled to study up close, knowing him."

Orpheus paused at that, stopping completely. For a moment, he stood still motionless, before he picked out an old whiskey flask from the smaller travel bag he brought with him for the train. The funnel was just big enough to get liquid in. Melly stood still as Orpheus rolled up his sleeve before using his nail to make a small cut on the wrist, where blood began to drip out. He held his wrist over the funnel, letting the red liquid slide in. Yet, it began to congeal and blacken, as did his eyes go purple, and Melly stepped back as the blood began to wiggle like a worm and fit itself inside. Once done, Orpheus held it over to the woman, who slowly took it out of his hands and reapplied the cap. 

"Send this along with a familiar to Luchino," he started, explaining the rest to her before he set off to the train station. Melly waited until he was gone before she dug her nails into her palms and let the drops form into bees, swarming around her in glee at their master. She held up the flask for them until the swarm held it securely, whispering something to their gentle little ears, then sent them off.

Frederick Kreiburg was a lot of things. 

Snarky, talented (Yes, he was, screw the papers) , secretive, possibly a narcissist (according to the reviews, he didn't see it), pessimistic. 

Yet in this moment, he felt nothing less but a fool. 

Rather than continuing to stick to the woods like he originally thought, he instead changed his course to follow an old wheel path, between the forest and a tall field of wheat from the farm lands. While gifted in not feeling the cold, he was trudging along the dirt kicked path, breathing hard and his throat drier than he ever felt. His head hurt, his fangs ached, his eyes hurt from the heat. If he could sweat, he likely would be soaking his clothes right now. Instead, he was barely able to stand straight from the oppressive heat and the bloodlust itching in his very veins. 

Frederick had already, for a lack of better term, mauled four deer that crossed his path, but they were only temporary relief for him. He was sure that because of it, no matter how...clean, he tried to keep them, he looked like a mess. 

Stopping under the shade of a tree (again), the composer pulled out the folded map from his pocket and the compass he had stolen from the library in Oletus. Despite the pounding in his eyes, he navigated where he was to the map and to the nearest town, groaning when he realized he still had at least an hour's walk. Mentally berating his past self, he panted against the heat, massaging his throat to try and alleviate any of the dryness, to no avail. He half considered just turning back and heading to Oletus, but that was an even longer walk than the town. 

"Come on, Kreiburg...this is nothing compared to the stage..." he mumbled, pushing back stray hairs from his head. He sat there for awhile longer, trying to acclimate and tune out different sounds, before he finally stood and gathered the trunk back up. 

He managed to walk for another 15 minutes, covering his eyes now when the sun no longer were hidden by the trees and went above his eyes, when he heard a faint cry. Confused, the composer dropped his luggage and focused his hearing again, only to hear yet another shout. The shout of a child.

"Stay away from me, you bastards!"

As he began to jog his way, the faint waft of blood hit his nose. The smell of human blood. 

Like a snapped string, Frederick felt the vampire in him rush to the forefront of his mind, blurring his sights until he realized he was already upon the small clearing. He remained hidden behind a tree, though he peeked around it to look. Like a perfect harmony, both him and the vampire part of him surveyed the scene before him. A young boy, not even in puberty, with inky black hair curling and frizzy, dressed in hand-me-downs. The blood Frederick had smelt was from the boy, who clutched his bleeding arm, drawing the vampire's focus. Yet the composer looked over to the two men, clearly much bigger than the boy, dressed in miner's clothes. One of them held a small hunting knife in their hands, while the other was stretching out rope. 

"Just be good kid and be quiet, it won't hurt too bad that way..." the one with the rope sneered, while the other began to descend towards the boy, "Yeah, boy, just be a good little brat-" 

"Help me! Someone!" the boy cried out, beginning to turn into a sprint to get away, just as the one with the knife lunged at him. 

He never made his mark. 

Frederick had lunged to the man, moving in a blur, sending him back into a tree with a sickening crunch. The one with the rope shouted, though Frederick cut it off as he rushed to the man and buried his fangs down into the flesh of his neck. The man howled and dropped the rope, unable to fight back as Frederick all but drained him, dropping him afterword's as if he were no more than a sack of potatoes. The burn in the composer's throat soothed, greatly, and he couldn't resist moaning in relief, feeling softly at his throat. The other man screamed, immediately drawing the predator's focus. Slowly, in a stalk, Frederick approached the man, strangely delighted in the fear he saw in the brown eyes. 

"S-stay away from me! I'm- I'm- I'm warning you-" 

Frederick was upon the man, crouched over his prone form, the man's chin held in his gloved hand. He tilted his head and leaned in close to the man's ear, speaking low.

"I think you should reconsider." 

Much like the first man, Frederick drained him in no short time, before stepping back to examine his handiwork. The hunger in him was soothed for now, belly warm and full of blood and a pleasant tingle running through his body, all the way down to his fingertips and to his toes. The joy and excitement of a successful kill.

"Did ya' kill 'em?" a small voice asked, prompting Frederick to turn his head to the boy now stepping out from behind the tree had hidden beneath. His eyes looked...tired. If anything, black like the charcoal soot on his small fingers. 

A rather grumpy kid, in fact. Something about it itched Frederick to want to pinch the boy's cheeks and squish him. 

"...I did," he realized, glancing around at the bloody mess he made, "I didn't...intend for that." 

The boy made his way into the small clearing, only to kick the corpse of the first man, "Good riddance," he said, spitting at the corpse, "Nothin' more than extra mouths to feed. Ungrateful bastards." 

"I don't think a kid your age should be swearing like that..." Frederick mumbled, wiping his face clean with the handkerchief from his pocket, "What's your name anyway?" 

The kid looked back at him with narrowed eyes, his fluffy, ink hair casting a shadow over them as well, "Why d'ya wanna know, huh?" 

"Well, I just saved your life, did I not? And I figured you were from around here, so I was hoping that you could tell me how to get to the nearest town," the composer explained, stepping over the bodies to kneel before the boy and hold out a gloved hand, "I'm Frederick Kreiburg. What's your name?"

For a moment, Frederick wondered if the boy would just ignore the question, but he was surprised when the kid locked their hands in a weak handshake and looked away to speak.

"Norton Campbell. I ain't sayin' it again."

After hiding the bodies of his would-be assailants, Norton explained that they carried the boy out here on horseback, and had left the horses further in so no one would see them. They had paused for a moment after that to tend to the cut on Norton's arm, using torn cloth off the attackers to tie over the wound and stop the bleeding. Afterword's, Frederick was quick to find his luggage and bring it back to the horses, where he found Norton figuring out how to step onto them. Chuckling a bit, Frederick used the rope from earlier to tie his luggage to one of the supple pouch hooks on the saddle and tied the reigns of the second horse to the first. Once done, he lifted Norton on top of the first one, before guiding the small group back to the dirt road, where he then lifted himself behind Norton and set them down the path. 

Norton directed him pretty well, rocking back and forth against the horses trotting, while Frederick hummed nonsensical tunes in his boredom. 

"Are you a musician?" Norton asked suddenly, tipped back to lean against the composer's chest. Frederick blinked down at him, while the boy continued, "You seem like you know what yer singin'."

"I'm a Composer," he explained, resetting his arm around the boy to ensure he wouldn't fall off, "I write music and play the piano. Though I know various other music forms, piano is the one I know best." 

"Do you enjoy it?"

"For the most part, yes. Like any job, though, there are moments where I wish I didn't do it."

Norton huffed at that, but settled more comfortably against Frederick's chest. Despite the soot and grime on the kid, he still had that soft, childish smell to him. Frederick couldn't resist using his other hand to try and pet down the stray strands of inky hair, much to Norton's chagrin, who squirmed and batted at the composer's hand with complaints. The blond chuckled at him, causing Norton to scowl a bit, hiding his face in his collar as it warmed. 

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to coddle you." Frederick murmured, chuckling a bit when Norton merely huffed, picking up the dropped reigns to speed the horse up.

By the time they arrived in town, Frederick had secured one of Melly's hats onto his head, veil and all. He had to remember that he was still classified as a missing persons, and to remain hidden from the rest of society for the time being. So stealing one of her many hats was a good idea. Actually...

He leaned down over Norton to speak into the boys hair, "If anyone asks my name, say I'm Mr. Schelling. Don't mention my real name, please." 

Norton looked back up curiously but nodded regardless, likely uncaring. Frederick leaned back to his trunk before turning it enough to snap it open and pick out a small, silver pocket watch, before closing the trunk and handing the watch to Norton. The boy stared for a moment before taking it, looking it over curiously. 

"I'm giving this to you as a gift. If you ever fall on hard times, you can pawn that off for a pretty price. Thanks to this," at that, Frederick pointed to the cornflower engraving on the lid, "This is the crest of the Kreiburg Family." 

Norton nodded slowly, before carefully hiding it in one of his pant pockets, leaving his hand over the dented fabric for a moment more before moving his hand away.

The square was nearly barren, with only a few post guards and some elderly wandering about. Frederick left the horse first, before helping Norton off. As he was untying his luggage, one of the post guards walked up to them and nodded to Norton, "Mr. Benny was lookin' for you, kid. Where did you go?" 

Norton glanced up to Fredrick, who nodded under the veil, before the boy turned back to the post guard, "Merlot and Malcolm tried to kidnap me in the woods. Mr. Schelling here found me, drove them away, then brought me right back." 

It was just as the guard was going to address Frederick, a voice shouted from behind them, and all of them turned to see a middle aged man running to them. His miner's clothes were dirty, and torn in some places, but Frederick watched as Norton began to tear up and run to the man as well. 

"Uncle Benny!" 

The two fell into a tight hug, where Norton finally sobbed out from the scare. As tough as he tried to be, he was still a kid, and Frederick couldn't blame him for finally breaking down after such an event. The post guard turned to Frederick once it was clear Norton was safe, giving the composer a grateful nod. 

"Thank you kind sir."

"It's quite alright," Frederick said with a small wave of his hand, "Anyone would've done the same. Though, since I have your attention, would you be able to point me in the direction of the nearest town with an international train station?" 

The post guard thought for a moment before beginning to point Frederick in the direction, explaining how he could take the supply train in, then switch to the commercial line. Thanking the man, and sparing one last look over to Norton and the other man, Frederick turned and began the trek to the supply train station, mentally going over what he'd need to do after that.

Several hours later, when the sun began to sink into the horizon and Frederick was positively starved, he weaved his way out of the crowd of Frankfurt station, breathing hard as he tried to get away. Chatter, laughter, sounds, lights, beating hearts, pumping blood, blood, blood-

Wheezing, the composer stumbled into an alleyway, dropping his trunk to the ground -along with his cap- as he clutched at his throat and heaved, biting into his own arm to calm down the urges. It didn't work, not while his mind continued to supply him with the knowledge he had thousands of people behind him. Thousands of food to pick and choose from; a grand feast for him to taste. 

"You don't look too good," a sudden voice said, smooth in natural German, snapping Frederick's attention to behind him. At the entrance of the alleyway stood a man, dressed in greys and whites, brown hair braided and slicked back behind his head. A small, leather bag was strapped to his hip, along with a pair of keys. He looked casual and lazy, sauntering towards Frederick with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were sharp and critical, however, even as his smile was roguish. 

"Get away-" the composer wheezed, curling his hand into a fist as he tried to control himself, "Please, I don't want to hurt you-" 

"You won't." 

Frederick opened his mouth to argue, but stopped once he watched, as if in slow motion, the man brought a hand to his own neck and used the sharp nails on his fingers to cut open a few lines on his neck. The smell of blood flooded Frederick's senses, and he was not himself as he rushed to the man and shoved him into the wall. As he bit down, he let out a whimper as his hunger ebbed, drinking deep, even as the blood he drank down tasted familiar, thick down his throat. But his hunger consumed him, and for a long while he was spent groaning into the man's neck as he drank. 

The man beneath his hold was breathing hard, but seemed to be enjoying the suddenness far too much for any sane human to be. 

"Haha, guess she was right...you are a newborn..." 

That made Frederick pause, pulling away from where he had drunk. The man looked at him as if he was drugged up and high, rolling his neck and head to look at Frederick. 

"Who's 'she'?" 

The man smiled and stood straight, as if he hadn't just been nearly drained by a starved, newborn vampire. He straightened his collar to hide the bloody mess on his neck and fixed his cuffs, before making a dramatic bow to Frederick. 

"Luchino Diruse, at your service. As for how I know about you, you may thank a certain Ms. Plinius for that, Mr. Frederick Kreiburg." 

Frederick stepped back, licking his lips clean of any traces of blood. Luchino straightened himself out, smiling still, even as he turned to pick up Frederick's travel trunk and began to dust it off. 

"...are you going to take me back to Oletus?" he asked instead, guard up and arms stiff. Luchino merely chuckled before handing the trunk over to the composer, saying, "No, not yet anyway. You came to Vienna to see your Mother right? That's what Ms. Plinius told me anyway." 

Frederick took the trunk slowly, nodding in assent at Luchino's words. 

"That's right..."

"Then let's get to it! We still have quite a bit of road to cover after all!" the man said instead, grabbing onto Frederick's arm to drag him to towards the train station once more. As they made their way out of the alleyway, Frederick stopped to pick up the hat and put it back on, setting the veil properly over his eyes. Now that the nagging pangs of hunger didn't hold his sanity, Frederick could appreciate the building and people milling about as they approached.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather sprint there?" Luchino asked him as they were in line to get tickets. While he had been speaking to Frederick in German thus far, he had switched to French to speak to him now. "We'd easily beat the train by a couple hours if we didn't make stops." 

The composer shook his head, keeping his eyes forward as they moved up a bit, "I'm fine with the train. As long as we get there before sunrise." 

Boarding the train and finding their seats wasn't difficult, and it was a couple minutes later that the final train set off to Vienna. As it was a final train, there were few people about the cabin, which was more than fine for Frederick as he took off the hat and scratched at his irritated scalp. Luchino stared out of the window as they moved past, tapping his nails against the wooden table idly. The rocking of the train began to lull Frederick into sleepiness, but he fought against it.

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you meet Mrs. Plinius?" Frederick asked instead, folding his hands over his lap. Luchino looked over before pretending to think.

"We worked on several academic journals together," he began, "And while she's much more organized and critical than I tend to be, she's a wonderful conversationist when it comes to our studies, and her knowledge in entomology is quite vast and well known." 

"What do you write for, then?"

"I write for Herpetology. The science and study of reptiles and amphibians. I'm also a professor in the area, so I teach it at the local universities as well. While my primary focus is on the venom and toxin application of such creatures, I do believe that they are a forefront to the next step of human evolution." 

Frederick nodded slowly, not truly understanding the professor's madness. But Luchino didn't seem bothered, more than happy to begin rambling about various reptiles and their different venom's. 

"Mr. Diruse, I have another question," Frederick said after some time, when Luchino had finished gushing about his own pet lizard at home. At his questioning look, Frederick continued, "You're clearly well educated and you've mentioned several journals with Mrs. Plinius, but...you're not a vampire, are you?" 

Luchino smiled at this, leaning in towards the composer.

"You caught on quickly. Though, I technically am, just not a complete one like Ms. Plinius. I'm what's called a 'Dhampir' you see."

Frederick's brows furrowed, so Luchino explained.

"I'm sure you've learned that Ms. Plinius is a natural born vampire, right? Well, natural vampire procreation is incredibly low, even more so if it's with a human. The genetics and cells within vampires are far more volatile than humans, and there is far more complexity in them that actual copulation is one in a thousand," at this, he leaned back a bit to use his hands more freely as he spoke, "That being said, it doesn't completely eliminate the chance of offspring being born. For Ms. Plinius's parents, it took them well over a century just to have her, with...average attempts at it." 

Frederick wrinkled his nose at that. He wasn't particularly fond of knowing others sex life...

"My birth was a little different than that. Of course, human and vampire procreation is incredibly low, as humans are naturally weaker than vampires in their cellular complexity, but my Father was a researcher like I am now. He studied in genetics and biology instead, and was able to manufacture a drug that would allow my mother to first have me and then endure a full term."

For a moment, Luchino's cheerfulness dimmed, turning melancholy as he seemed to remember something saddening.

"My mother didn't wish to become a vampire, in the end. But she raised and loved me as I am. I know my father also misses her just as much as I do." 

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Luchino looked surprised as Frederick's words, but chuckled and waved it away, "Ah, it's okay. It's been several decades since her passing, I've accepted it," he said, "But, back to my composition, as a Dhampir I can sustain myself on both blood and human food, though I do occasionally need to consume only human blood. While I am still human, I did gain the capabilities of vampires, allowing me to keep up with them if necessary. My lifespan, unlike yours, is not infinite, however. But according to my father's studies, I should still live for well into a millennia before I pass.

They sat in silence for at least an hour, mainly spent scribblings in their individual journals, before Luchino closed his journal and cleared his throat. Frederick, who had steadily began to fall asleep, startled awake and looked over to the professor. 

"Do you mind if I ask you a few question, Mr. Kreiburg?" 

At the shake of the composer's head, Luchino leaned forward, eyes full of curiosity and some childish glee. 

"How did you and Orpheus become mates? I mean, of course you were human, so the bond wouldn't have been able to form, but I'm quite curious how you two met." 

For a moment, Frederick wanted to reject the question, but then- Luchino had answered all his questions fairly. It wouldn't be right to just...blow off his question like this. 

"We met a party, hosted by a relative of mine," the composer began, fighting against the blush rising to his cheeks as he remembered their happier days, "He...found and returned a cigar box I used. Asked for lunch, and then began to visit me at my work. After...an encounter, and a week later, I invited him to an opera. We began an official courtship the day after," He deliberately withheld how he and Orpheus had spent that night tangled together in sex, but he figured Luchino knew, if the heat in the composer's face and the almost coy smile the professor held didn't give it away. "For roughly two months we were happy together. We went on dates, talked, saw operas and spent time together. Then, when we were visiting Vienna for my father's birthday he..."

"...he?"

Gritting his teeth against the betrayal, Frederick took a breath before he finished with, "He kidnapped me and turned me against my will."

The air between the two was stale, a pregnant pause of their conversation as Luchino sat back with a slow nod. 

"I would say I'd be surprised, but that seems very in-character for him." 

"That isn't comforting."

"I know it's not. I pity you, Mr. Kreiburg, having Orpheus as your mate," Luchino looked back out to the darkness before them, outside their little train cabin, "I am still surprised he took you as his mate. I fully expected him to remain alone and grumpy until Alice finally left." 

Frederick was speaking before he could stop himself, "Orpheus isn't grumpy. Not completely anyway. He's gloomy, certainly, but it's borne out of anhedonia and monotony," Despite his apprehension of saying all of this, he knew deep down they were facts and truths, "I can never forgive him for turning me against my will, but he treated me kindly like an equal when I was human. And he shows the same to Alice, even Mrs. Plinius. He does care, but his arrogance conflates that with his loneliness."

Luchino stared at him in silence for a moment before smiling, as if he knew a small secret. 

"You seem to know him pretty well, despite only having about 3 months of time together." 

Frederick paused at that, before turning his head to hide his shame. It was the truth though. Even after he'd been turned, Orpheus had given him space, made sure he was fed and taken care of, didn't push him into something that would make him truly uncomfortable. Whether it was kindness and empathy meant to disarm Frederick into becoming docile, it still stood that Orpheus never saw him as less than he was. 

That was more than Frederick could hope for.

The Kreiburg Estate was just as grand as it always was. Despite the night patrol guards that walked the perimeter, it was easy for Frederick to sneak past them, moving in a blur they wouldn't noticed, and made his way into his old bedroom from the balcony. The lock on his door was broken, from when he had slammed it in his anger back in his youth, making it easy for the composer to go into the room. It was left unchanged, if only missing the sheets from his bed, which was now bare. He paid it no mind as he made his way out into the halls, the click of his shoes the only sound he heard. The familiar halls made his heart ache painfully, but he ignored it as he jumped over the railing downstairs and landed on the bottom. A faint ache in his legs zipped through him, but the faster healing prevented any other injuries. 

The hallway from the stairs led down to the dinning room, though he passed by to open the door to a smaller room. A little nook with the perfect windows to catch the morning light, it was the one place his mother always frequented when she woke up. When he was small, and she once brought him in with her, she explained that the warm sunlight helped give her energy and joy for the day. 

It was the only place that she visited alone. Where she didn't allow anyone else to enter. 

Frederick pulled out the small letter from his coat pocket, thumbing the pale letter and turning it over to examine the wax seal, remembering what he wrote in it before setting it down on the table. It would make certain only she would read it, and not anyone else. With one last look around, he watched for a bit as the sun began to peek over the horizon, before he snuck out of the room and sped back to his room to escape, just as he heard the servants beginning to wake for the day.

Mother,

I know you've always wanted the best for me. You've always been supportive of me, even when Father and the rest didn't.
But you also hurt me with your insistence, and I'm sorry to have to admit that.

Please do not worry for me any longer. I assure you, I am happy where I am now.
But for this happiness, I cannot return to your side, nor to the world I knew before it.
Please let the world think I ran away. 

I'm sorry that I cannot share myself with you anymore. But please keep me in your heart.
You will forever be in mine.

-Your Son, Frederick

Luchino met him at the edge of the gate, chewing on a stick of wheat. He merely looked at Frederick, who was wiping his eyes with his sleeves, shaking slightly from his crying. They stood there for a long while, watching the edges of the sun peek through the trees, before Frederick took a breath through his stomach and picked up the trunk. 

"Let's get going," he said, beginning to walk down the path they took to get here. Luchino followed behind silently, letting Frederick have more time to himself. 

An hour later, as they were walking into the square of the town nearby, with the golden glow of the sun painting the sky, Luchino suddenly sighed besides Frederick, prompting the blond to turn his head. Luchino gave him a wry smile, mouthing a small "Sorry", just as Frederick jolted at the sudden presence that tugged in his chest.

Orpheus.

Both of them turned to where the man himself was sat, at rim of the small coin fountain. Frederick felt himself stop breathing when Orpheus all but snapped his book shut and turned his eyes to the composer. The novelist stood, and before Frederick could open his mouth, Orpheus was upon him, gripping the composer's arms in a vice.

"What were you thinking?!" he yelled, shaking Frederick slightly. The composer looked to Luchino, who had his arms raised in surrender, before changing his gaze back to Orpheus, "Do you know the risk you took doing this?!"

"I know the risk I took, Orpheus! But she's my mother, I owe her consciousness some ease!" he argued, trying to struggle out of Orpheus's grip, "After all, you and Melly said I had to abandon her, so why couldn't I leave a letter telling her I'm okay?!" 

"If you wanted to send a letter, I could've sent a raven to deliver it! Why did you feel the need to go halfway across the country?!" 

"It's none of your business! Now let me GO!"

All at once, with the boom of Frederick's voice, Orpheus let him go so quickly and had stepped back, as if in a trance. All three of them looked surprised, while Frederick gasped at the cobblestone now cracked below his feet. Luchino let out a whistle, that turned into a chuckle, murmuring a small "interesting" while Orpheus stared at Frederick in a mix of proudness and shock. 

"What just-" the novelist began, only to stop as both he and Luchino turned towards the new presence behind them. 

For a moment, Frederick was confused, until the click of shoes reached his ears and he saw a figure saunter out of the thick mist in the square. As the figure emerged, Frederick noticed long, white hair tied behind the man's back, and blue eyes that took the entirety of the eyeball. He was dressed in navy, with a rather long coat tail. Frederick also heard soft clapping from the man, as he came to a stop before them. Two more people followed behind him, dressed in only black and less extravagance. 

Luchino bowed low suddenly, and Frederick was shocked when even Orpheus followed suit, though with much less willingness than Luchino. 

"Your Majesty," Luchino said, voice full of reverence. Orpheus glanced back at Frederick's confused sound, opening his mouth to whisper "He's-"

In what Frederick could only describe as a blink, the man was before him, boring his full blue eyes into the composer's grey. One of Frederick's hands had been claimed by the man, who pulled back to plant a kiss on the back of the appendage. 

"My name is Joseph DeSaulnier," he said, voice deep and shaking Frederick's core, as their eyes met once more. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kreiburg."

Chapter Text

Before Frederick could even think to respond, Joseph had straightened his form, pulling the composer slightly closer from the hand still held. Joseph's other hand reached up to cuff of Frederick's sleeve, pulling the fabric back enough to display the skin of his wrist. Frederick's eyes widened as he realized Joseph's intention, a fact also noticed by Orpheus, if his shout was anything to go by, yet nothing stopped Joseph as he opened his mouth and bit slowly into the skin. It stung more than Orpheus's did, making Frederick winced visibly, but Joseph went no further than simply puncturing enough to draw up a few drops of blood, which he licked at as they welled up.

"You bastard!" Orpheus was yelling behind them. Frederick could only stare as Joseph closed his eyes and tipped his head back, as if savoring Frederick's blood. After another moment, he trained his eyes back to Frederick's to say, "Humanity still clings to you. It's rather strong."

"What-" Frederick was starting to ask, before another hand pulled his arm away and tugged him into an embrace. He knew it was Orpheus straight away, if the dismissive amusement in Joseph's gaze was anything to go by, along with the smell of ink and dew that Frederick knew as Orpheus. He turned his head slightly to the novelist, taking in his profile, even as Orpheus all but wrapped himself around Frederick's frame and glared at Joseph, who merely huffed.

"Mates indeed..."

Frederick wanted to refute, but he held his tongue. Orpheus slowly moved the composer behind him, glaring to the older vampire in front of him. Luchino stood next to the other two who had accompanied Joseph, one of which was holding a scabbard in their arms, now that Frederick noticed. But what reason would Joseph need a sword? 

"Orpheus, I've tolerated you since you've kept to yourself. Your sister is in courtship with Ms. Plinius, and is far more behaved than you tend to be, which is why I'm less concerned with her," Joseph was saying, turning to walk towards the retainers, "But I'm afraid, now, you've made a grim mistake." He said, pulling out the sword from the scabbard. A cutlass style sword, "And there is simply too much at risk to let you be with only a verbal warning, so..." 

In yet another blink, Orpheus was no longer standing in front of the composer. Rather, he had been tossed across the square, crashing into the water of the fountain. Joseph was upon him soon after, bringing up the novelist by his hair before tossing him into one of the nearby walls. The loud crash echoed in the empty space, causing Frederick to jump. As Orpheus heaved from the impact, his eyes were burning purple, while a thick, black liquid began to drip down an injury of his head. Upon touching the ground, it began to move and form, slinking back up the novelist's leg. However, in another blink, Joseph was choking out the novelist and slamming him again into the stone, raising the cutlass level with Orpheus's heart.

"I will not allow you to risk us to near extinction. Never again." Joseph was saying, readying to stab the sword. 

Despite his hate for the novelist, the vitriol at Orpheus's betrayal and selfish interest, his body ran frigid as he realized Joseph intended to kill Orpheus. And the deeper part of him that still loved Orpheus was distraught.

"Stop! Let him go!" Frederick screamed, rushing ahead to them.

His voice once more echoed throughout the space, shaking the very ground below them and rattling windows. And though Joseph had began to move the blade, he stopped after Frederick's scream, before he slowly let go of Orpheus and stepped back, lowering his defenses. Just as Orpheus began to fall, Frederick was quick to catch him and drop them both to their knees, holding Orpheus close with small whimpers of the novelist's name. For awhile, it was quiet, and Frederick idly wondered how the rest of the citizens weren't awake and gathering at the noise, but a sudden laugh from Joseph made him turn his head to the other man.

"Oh, how remarkable! Only you would somehow find such a prize."

Frederick glared at the man, who merely ignored the composer and threw the sword to the retainers. Smoothly, it fit into the scabbard that was held out, before it was secured back in a proper carry. With a sigh, Joseph covered his eyes as the sun began to peek over the tops of the buildings, and the sound of people shuffling in their homes reached their ears. 

"Luchino, do we have any lair's in Vienna?" 

"The only one we have is a wing of the town hall building, Your Majesty." Luchino answered. 

Joseph shook his head at that, tapping his forehead with a single finger. With another huff, more exaggerated, he clapped his hands twice, before announcing, "Then we shall head to Paris!"

"Paris?" Frederick asked suddenly, slightly weary. Against him, Orpheus nuzzled into the composer's shoulder, holding the man closer. 

Joseph turned to him with a smile that was wicked, eyes glowing faintly brighter.

"Yes, your old home. We are kinsmen, after all," after that, Joseph turned to the other three, "Take your familiar, run, you chose. Just be at the Épines de romarin by tonight. We have much to discuss with Mr. Kreiburg that we shouldn't delay."

And with that, ignoring any protest Frederick might've given, his body separated into a clutter of bats that took off to the sky. The other two retainers sped away in a blur, Luchino also following them after a small wave, leaving the lovers alone. As Frederick tried to process everything at once, Orpheus shifted, lifting his head to kiss at the skin peeking through Frederick's blouse collar. Frederick was beginning to pull back when Orpheus bit down suddenly, cause heat to spread throughout Frederick's body, unable to do anything but sigh as Orpheus drank gently from him. It was only a few small gulps before he was pulling away, licking up the stray blood drops before sitting back, no longer having to lean onto Frederick to keep stable. 

"Have you thought to explain all of that to me?" Was the first thing Frederick asked after they had stood, dusting off their pant legs. Orpheus sighed, bashful and clearly embarrassed, but he didn't explain, instead he picked up Frederick's trunk and hat before handing them both to the composer, "I guess that's a no." 

"I'll tell you everything once we return to Oletus. But Joseph isn't someone we should keep waiting..." Orpheus said instead, blinking away from the suns rays. Around them, some people began to open their doors to investigate the noise. But by that time, Orpheus had picked up Frederick and leapt onto the rooftops to take them to the train station, leaving behind debris and cracks in the ground. 

By the time the couple had arrived in front of the Épines de romarin, sunset had begun to fall into the sky, candlelight being lit in the lambs to guide the passing travelers. Frederick stared up at the limestone building beneath the veil, an impressive three floors with silver and biblical carvings. Stepping into the foyer, a wide, open space with a glittering chandelier sparkling above, with a few cushioned seats filled by occupants as the decor. Paintings by Caravaggio were hung around the wooden walls, likely to act as an insulation. The smell of cigars and wine was rather comforting for Frederick, who followed behind Orpheus as the two made their way to the grand staircase. A man stood nearby in an all black suit stopped them.

"What is your business here?" 

"I'm Orpheus De'Ross," the novelist began, stepping aside to nod to Frederick, "And this is my companion. We were summoned by His Majesty." 

The retainer gave them a once over before nodding and motioning for them to follow behind him. Together, they made their upstairs, until they were on the third floor and lead down the hall to a set of double doors, handles rubbed worn from use. The retainer knocked before opening the doors wide, allowing Orpheus and Frederick to enter. Once inside, the doors were shut once more. 

Luchino was leaned against a desk by the biggest window, munching on a pear while he tapped a foot. He lifted the pear as a greeting to the newcomers, and Frederick shook his head as he took the hat off. Joseph was stood next to a small globe, lid open to reveal a small collection of whiskeys and bourbons. The rest of the room was warm, with two, thick leather chairs set across each other in front of the desk and the burning fireplace. The walls were dark and lacquered, with a few paintings hung on the walls to accentuate. A thick red carpet was laid across the middle of the room as the final touch.

"Mr. Orpheus, Mr. Kreiburg, welcome. I hope you didn't come across any issues while you made your way here," Joseph said, filling two glasses with warm honey bourbon. As he picked them up, he motioned one of his hands to the seat closest to the desk, "Mr. Kreiburg, please. Have a seat."

Frederick looked to Orpheus, who simply gave him a nod, before the composer made his way over. Sitting down, he sunk into the leather seat, rather comfy, just as Joseph held out one of the glasses. Frederick took it with a steady hand, swirling the amber liquid for a moment before taking a sip and letting the dryness slide down his throat. Joseph sat down a moment later, crossing a leg over the other, tapping the foot not suspended on the ground to a tune only he knew. Behind Frederick, he could hear Orpheus and Luchino conversing in English, only able to translate locations and his name.

"Mr. Kreiburg," Joseph said smoothly, catching the composer's attention, familiar and comforted by the French, "Did you know I've attend one of your performances?" 

Frederick blinked at the man, who smiled almost childishly, though lacking any real "joy".

"I found your music quite different from your forefathers, but no less pleasant. You're truly well gifted, if only your execution different from your family," At this, Joseph took a slow sip of his own glass, setting the glass to rest against the arm of the chair, "Perhaps, sometime in the future, you'd be willing to let me commission you for a private performance." 

"That is quite the offer, Your Majesty," Frederick said, sufficiently surprised, even as he could hear Orpheus make a sound that the composer wanted to believe was a sneer, followed by a chuckle from Luchino, "I'll keep that in mind, then."

"Lower your fangs, Orpheus." Joseph commented, glancing over to the novelist from over Frederick's shoulder, before moving his eyes back to Frederick, "I appreciate it. Now then, let me ask you some questions before we begin to...official business." 

Joseph stood from his chair, setting the glass onto the mantle of the fireplace and picking up one of the books that were placed on top as well. As he flipped it open to a random page, he turned back to Frederick, his eyes glowing slightly.

"How much have you been told so far about our society?"

Frederick thought back at the prompt, staring down into the glass at the bourbon as he recounted all he's learned, "Vampires are similar to humans in appearance, but are vastly stronger, faster, and immortal. Mr. Diruse is a Dhampir, who isn't immortal, but can keep up with a normal vampire's caliber. There are naturally born vampires like Mrs. Plinius, and created vampires like myself and Orpheus. Due to our longevity, he can only interact with human society for about 10 years before we must go back into hiding. There's also Covens, which are communities of vampires," Frederick paused, taking a sip of the bourbon as he wracked his brain for anything else he could've forgotten, "I believe that's all as of right now."

Joseph hummed, tapping a finger on the paper of the book, before flipping it around and holding the open page to the composer. 

"The general knowledge giving to newborns, very good. But there is quite some history that I get the honor of telling you." 

Frederick took the book into his hands, looking over the fine written lines and using a finger to follow said lines, though the writing was not something he could accurately translate. 

"To quote," Joseph spoke, voice carrying an almost echo that immediately called for Frederick's attention, snapping his head up to look at Joseph's frame, "Vampires came into existence seemingly unknown, with the mimicry of humanity and the thirst for their successors life source. Powers beyond what humans knew were at their fingertips, and for a time, they were revered as if Gods." 

Joseph turned to the fireplace, rather than Frederick, staring into the flames as he continued, "However, the strongest of these new species, claiming themselves 'Vampires', began to grow greedy. In an effort to collect more power, they experimented with their blood and powers, growing stronger and adapting. Before long, it became common knowledge to know how to create familiars out of blood and iron of a vampire, allowing them to build control by keeping watchful eyes over the common man," Joseph paused, staring at his hand, before it slowly clenched into a fist, "Then, a vampire learned that they could turn humans into one of their own. That became the critical point of the division between humanity and vampires." 

Frederick swallowed as Joseph picked up the glass of bourbon, swirling it for a moment before drinking down a few gulps, only to dump the rest into the embers of the flame. The empty glass he kept held in his hand. 

"The humans grew scared, as expected. This unknown new apex was taking your own and making them the same as their captors. Before long, there was a whole city who dedicated themselves to learning and eradicating vampires. But even then, not even vampires knew how to kill their own. So, these humans kidnapped the newborns and tested various ways of slaughter on them. The conclusion they came to was that only special metal tempered with the blood of another vampire could do any real harm. And once this knowledge was found out, it was only a matter of time before other weaknesses became found and known." 

Luchino spoke up after a pregnant pause, just to add on, "The records kept by these humans were shared among generations. And they eventually became known as Vampire Hunters." 

"The more resilient ones enhanced themselves off the blood of their captured vampires," Joseph spoke next, staring directly at Luchino, "Not as powerful as a Dhampir such as yourself, Mr. Diruse, but they used our kin's blood to strength themselves." 

Orpheus remained silent, only taking Frederick's now empty glass to set it on the desk next to him, tilting a head as Frederick looked at him. The composer shook his head, glancing away before finally turning to the book, with a small illustration of a stake in the middle of it.

"Once the humans, the Hunters, gathered this knowledge, they began to attack known covens. The Vampires retaliated, of course, though all this did was enact a back and forth squabble. Then, one day, the founding city of the Hunters was burnt to the ground, and the full war on vampires began. For a great time, we were victorious. But, the human population grew much faster than we did, and the knowledge of how to slaughter was soon know worldwide. In about a decade, we went from millions, to thousands, to hundreds. We were pushed to the brink of extinction, and were forced to go into hiding.

"By then, it became clear that vampires could not operate remotely in their own covens, and the demand for a single ruler to hold control became known. My brother was the first 'Royal', being the oldest and, at that time, most powerful..." 

Joseph paused for a moment, eyes going vacant and unfocused, while his hands shook minutely. Frederick held his breath as Joseph's face hardened and he turned to look over to the painting set above the fireplace. At this glance, Frederick could now concluded the man painted was Joseph's brother. 

"He was betrayed. The one whom he believed to be his fated betrayed him," At this, Joseph suddenly threw the glass at the wall, which splintered and shattered at the impact, "I dealt with her swiftly, and took the rule as 'King' in his place. And as it has remained for the last millennia," he explained, turning back to Frederick with a look that had the composer on edge; fearful, "I made a vow that day, to prevent another war, to act as my brother had. And part of that, means ensuring that we won't be exposed." 

Suddenly, Frederick's chin was held in one of Joseph's hands, the blue of his eyes now blending into vivid red. Frederick could only stare, paralyzed, as fine cracks began to spread across Joseph's face, starting from his eyes and down to his neck and chin. 

"You are Frederick Kreiburg, the dismissed of your family. You are the mate of Orpheus De'Ross, and you will remain as such for the eternity of your life. These are the facts of your life now," his grip tightened slightly, making Frederick wince as his jaw creaked from the forced, "Despite your infamy, you are still an object of attraction for the media. And you running away from Oletus was a selfish, ignorant risk. If Ms. Plinius had not the foresight to send Mr. Diruse after you, I would have killed you in broad daylight myself."

"I-I wanted to give- a letter-!" 

As Frederick tried to speak, Joseph shifted his grip from the composer's chin to his neck, squeezing down and cutting off the rest of Frederick's sentence.

"You truly are a narcissist, Mr. Kreiburg. You never consider the weight of your actions and what they do to others, do you? Need I remind you are the disgraced son of one of the most influential families in Europe?!" 

His voice boomed around the room, making tears gather in Frederick's eyes from both shame and fear. Joseph let him go suddenly, allowing the composer room to breath, instead changing his anger from the newborn to his maker. 

"You are on your final warning, Orpheus. One more slip up, and you will be dealt with accordingly."

The declaration wasn't lost to both parties, sharing a small look before Orpheus nodded in compliance. Joseph sat back down with a heave, rubbing at his forehead. He looked back over to Orpheus, who had now stood from where he had been leaning to check on Frederick. 

"Do you believe in fairytales, Mr. Kreiburg?" Joseph asked suddenly, standing in a blink and pulling a small box out from the nearby bookshelf. As he opened the box and pulled out the item, he didn't bother waiting for Frederick to respond before continuing, "There is a fairytale among the vampires. More a myth, that there are such things as fated mates. It's called the 'Adam and Eve' myth. Do you know why?" 

A tripod was set up, followed by the smaller box with a telescope like lens on the front, which connected to the tripod as Joseph aligned them. It remained in front of the lovers as he finished his sentence.

"Because they believe for every vampire, every Adam, there is an Eve for him or her to find and bond with." 

Snap!

In a quick blink of light, Frederick covered his eyes, peeking through as Joseph pulled something out of the small box; a thin piece of paper with black trims. Joseph shook it out for a moment before staring at it, then passing it over to the couple. Frederick took it slowly, looking down as an image began to fill out from the blackness. He and Orpheus, side by side, mixed expressions of confusion, and disgust from Orpheus. 

"Take this as a welcome gift, Mr. Kreiburg. I suggest you two rest here in the city for a night, then depart at the earliest tomorrow back to Oletus. You still have much, much more to learn, Mr. Kreiburg."

The double doors opened again, remaining open this time. Luchino didn't move from where he was leaned against, focused on a stack of papers now held in his hand with an expression of focus. Orpheus stood from where he was knelt by Frederick's chair to pick up the composer's trunk and hat, leaving Joseph to sit back down in his seat and glance over to the fireplace. 

Frederick stared down at the photograph for a moment more, before finally tucking it away into his breast pocket. He took a deep breath, settled in his mind, before he looked over to Joseph. As if sensing his gaze, blue eyes met his own, the King's face no longer cracked and frail. 

"You were correct. I am an outcast of my family. But, do not assume that just because of that I will intentionally put the risk of myself or those around me into question. You don't truly know me, Your Majesty," after this, as Frederick stood, the windows of the office splintered into cobweb cracks, just as the tension in the air suddenly became oppressive, pausing even Joseph for a moment, "I've accepted what my life is now, and I assure you I have no intention of ending it so soon. I knew what I was doing, and I took the proper precautions to keep my true identity secret. I am not so ignorant as to waltz around blindly and stupidly."

With his final word, the composer turned and made his way to where Orpheus was stood, not without jumping a bit at the sight of the broken windows. As Orpheus guided them out, Luchino took a slow breath, before looking over to Joseph, who had fallen into a giggling fit. His laughter became a cackle, loud and grating, before he calmed down, the grin following wicked and predatory.

"It seems Orpheus has found quite the rare prize."

The carriage ride to the old townhouse was long and tense, with neither of the occupants finding the right words to speak. Frederick wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't know what. And it seemed as if Orpheus also had no idea, glancing to Frederick and opening his mouth, only to shut it a few moments later. Yet, by the time the carriage stopped before the townhouse, and the two made their way inside, did Orpheus find his voice.

"You'll be put on house arrest when we return back to Oletus," he said, lighting a few candelabra's, "In addition, you will also have to face a punishment for running off and taking the risk of revealing yourself." 

Frederick said nothing as Orpheus moved around the house. The composer kept his gaze on his shoes, mind wandering and trying to make sense of all the information presented to him. Frederick only looked up when the tops of Orpheus's shoes entered his vision and the novelist took one of his hands into his own. 

"I know that this change is drastic and overwhelming. I know you won't forgive me for this, ever. But I promise you, this new life has its benefits, and its joys. And I want you to explore that," with his free hand, Orpheus gently tipped up Frederick's chin so their foreheads could press together, close and sharing breaths, "Despite our history, being a vampire isn't just about hiding and growing power. It's learning, and finding yourself. I swear to you there is more to be had in this life, and all I ask is that you give it a chance." 

Frederick pursed his lips for a moment, before he stepped away to sit down on the loveseat nearby. Orpheus remain stood as Frederick folded his hands together above his lap and then fixed a stern gaze to the novelist.

"I'm going to set some ground rules then." 

Orpheus looked surprised, but nodded in assent, waiting until Frederick began to speak once more.

"To begin with, unless you are truly dying, or on the verge of bloodlust, you will not drink from me. I've accepted that we are mates, and that we will have to look the part, but I don't consider us lovers. We will simply be housemates. Secondly, if you hadn't planned for it yet, I want my own money and privacy when I so wish it, if I'm to live in Oletus." 

"I had already planned to set up a secondary bank account for you should you have need of it," Orpheus said after a pause, but closed his mouth again at Fredericks nod. "Third...Even though you can't drink from me, I will need to drink from you. I don't trust- I don't know anyone better than you. So I have to rely on you."

Orpheus smiled at that, stepping forward to kneel above Frederick's lap, bracing himself against the back of the loveseat to tilt over the composer, pressing close and letting Frederick eye the smooth flesh of the novelist's throat.

"I'm quite fine with that. I'd rather you only take my blood than anyone else's. I wish for you to desire my blood so much, you'd go mad just thinking about it."

Like this, baring himself vulnerable to Frederick, looking at him as if he's won the game-

It is a truth of myself,

"You are an infuriating man, Orpheus."

And a fact that I can never lie about,

"So I've been told."

It is that I am still fond of you.

As Frederick leaned in to bite down, the taste of Orpheus's blood was warm on his tongue, the sigh of the novelist like a note of his song. He swallowed down the blood, heady, mellow; drank it down like a man starved, groaning at the taste.

You know, Orpheus,

As Frederick pulled back, lapping up the stray drops, Orpheus tucked himself in close, pressing his lips to the composer's in a frenzy, nipping fangs on lips in a tease, while fingers teased under his sleeves and Orpheus whispered Frederick's name.

I don't crave anyone else's blood but Yours to begin with.

Chapter Text

When Frederick woke the next morning, held in Orpheus's arms from their slumber, a fact he would have to come to terms with, the sun was barely rising in the sky and the air was cool. Despite that, it was warm under the duvet, pressed up against Orpheus's body. The man himself still snoozing away without a care in the world, holding onto Frederick tight and snug. 

As comfortable as it was for his touch starved soul, he extracted himself from the embrace to step out of bed. He took a moment sat at the edge of the bed to simply process everything before he began to stand to change and begin packing their clothes. His movement is halted, however, by an arm around his waist pulling him back into the bed and trapping him under another body. Orpheus stared down at him, face somber and body lucid, holding down Frederick's hands in his own above the composer's head. 

"Where are you going in your lonesome?" Orpheus asks, and Frederick can see a glint of purple deep in the novelist's pupil. Whoever this is wasn't the Orpheus he knew, "You don't have to trek alone, little Nightingale."

"Let me go, Orpheus."

Orpheus didn't. Instead, he removed a hand to gently trace the shape of Frederick cheek, touch light and worshipful, as if Frederick was something delicate. Despite the emptiness in his eyes, his smile was warm and his touch remained gentle, with the sole exception being the hand holding down his own. 

"I...we, can never let you go, Frederick. You are our mate. Eternal and proud," Orpheus said, planting a soft kiss to Frederick's forehead before he nuzzled into the composer's neck, warming the skin of Frederick's neck with his breath, "Though a punishment is in order for running away."

Before Frederick could say anything to refute, Orpheus bit down into the composer's neck, not too hard but definitely enough to leave Frederick gasping.

"Orpheus! The deal-!" 

Ignoring him, Orpheus removed his mouth from the composer's neck to lower himself to Frederick's collar, biting down on the flesh just below the clavicle. This one hurt slightly more, causing Frederick to pant out in slight pain. Orpheus only lingered for a few moments, taking down two gulps of blood before pulling back. He moved without reason, biting wherever he felt best; Frederick's arms, his wrists, hiking up his sleep shirt to bite at the flesh on the composer's hips, down to his thighs and calves. Whatever was in his bite put Frederick into a paralysis, body light but weak. He could only follow Orpheus with his eyes, watching as the novelist lifted up one of his svelte legs to kiss at the composer's ankle. 

"We will be denied your blood per your demand. This punishment, now, is because we are aware you would not willingly comply," was all he said, scooping up Frederick into his arms. As bloody stained as Frederick was, Orpheus held him close and tight, lowering down his own shirt collar to tuck Frederick in, the newborn absolutely starved from the removal of his own blood.

"Rely on only us, and trust you are loved. We have no intentions of hurting you, not now, nor ever." 

As Frederick bit down to reclaim the blood taken from him, he could hear the smile as Orpheus all but melted into the bite.

"My dearest, you are loved."

When Frederick woke again, the sunlight was streaming in from the window. A fresh set of clothes was set on the nearby bedside table, along with a glass of what Frederick assumed was Orpheus's blood. He felt at his neck and clavicle to assess how tender the area was, only to find it barren and uninjured. Confused, he sat up in bed just as Orpheus entered the room, dressed in a simple attire and carrying a plate of croissants. When he saw that Frederick was awake, his lips formed a smile as he set aside the plate. 

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked first, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Frederick's covered knee. 

Frederick stared at him for a moment before responding, "I slept well enough. Are we not going to talk about this morning?" At Orpheus's confused look, Frederick's frown deepened as he elaborated, "You drank from me, claiming it was a 'punishment', remember?" 

"Frederick, I don't remember any of that. Are you sure it wasn't a dream?" 

Frederick wanted to argue, but he paused at the genuine confusion on Orpheus's face. He blinked for a moment before gritting his teeth. 

"You were going on about how I'm your mate, yet you used "Our" instead of "My". Like you were talking about a collective." 

At the confession of his grammar, Orpheus's eyes widened before darkening as he looked away. Frederick was confused opening his mouth to ask why when Orpheus stood suddenly to retrieve the plate of croissants and bring them to Frederick's side. 

"I'll explain the rest to you once we return to Oletus. Can you trust me in that?" 

He didn't want to, but Frederick relented, making sure Orpheus knew with his eyes. Once his small breakfast was finished and clean up, he stood and began to dress himself for the long train ride ahead of them, Orpheus similarly changing. Once dressed and their luggage collected, they hailed a carriage to the train station, slow and unhurried. Instead, Frederick could admire the passing tree line and buildings, soaking up the last views of France before he would not be allowed to return.

By the time they returned to Oletus, the train ride had been uneventful, with Frederick falling asleep again once more. Before their timely departure, Luchino Diruse had met them at the station, handing over a small booklet to the newborn and explaining in a more modern retelling of the information Joseph had told him the day before. Luchino had wished them a farewell before departing on his own train back to Vienna. For the beginning of their train ride, Frederick had read through the booklet before becoming bored, letting Orpheus read it in his stead. 

Stepping into the foyer of Oletus once more, Frederick dropped his trunk to the ground to take in the interior once more. Despite spending a week here, he was only awake for 2 days after it, the layout unfamiliar and strange. Orpheus gathered their belongings before taking them upstairs, leaving Frederick alone in the foyer. He sat down on one of the steps instead, listening to the sounds of staff and servants milling around the manor; giggles in the hallways, rustling of sheets and clothes, conversations in English he couldn't translate. But he didn't...sense Alice inside the manor at all, not Melly, making him believe it was currently only him and Orpheus within the manor.

He glanced down at the small booklet in his hands, recounting the information he had since learned. Of the history between humans and vampires, just how much they were in society and he never knew-

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Orpheus asked from behind him, so sudden it made Frederick jump and whip his head around. The novelist had shrugged off his coat, left in only his vest and blouse. 

Frederick shook his head at both, gently massaging at his throat. His thirst wasn't as potent, only a minor itch that was easy enough to ignore if he didn't think about it. Orpheus assented to his decision, before making his way down the stairs. Frederick stood and remove his own coat, letting a servant passing by take it from him. Orpheus gently took ahold of his hand afterword's and let them down a hallway he hadn't visited before. With large windows and statues of the Muses, Orpheus led them down the way until they made a turn and came upon an unused office. Here, Orpheus separated and rounded the desk to open a drawer. 

"I promised to tell you what happened this morning. Part of it means...revealing my own past." 

As Frederick sat down in one of the armchairs, Orpheus handed him the small box he had taken from the drawer, letting Frederick hold it before opening it. Laying inside was a single, white piccolo. 

*

"My turning was different than Alice and your own. I was...not intended to become a vampire, you see," Orpheus began, leaning against the desk and removing his monocle. "I won't go into the full history unless you truly want to know, but...for a time, Alice and I were held captive by a powerful Coven. They separated us and kept Alice hidden, intending to groom her into a bride for a young vampire lord, while they kept me as...as a 'pet', for their sick pleasures." 

"A pet...?" Frederick asked slowly, concern fitting onto his brow. Orpheus looked uncomfortable but nodded, making a vague hand gesture, "Yes, you know...for-" a brief, tense pause before Orpheus tried again, "-For urges and needs. Of all forms." 

*

"Oh, Orpheus..." Frederick said softly, quickly gathering the connection to what Orpheus was saying.

The novelist nodded, took a breath, then continued, "When I became older, I was able to figure out what they intended for us, and I quickly learned how to weaken them. Once I did, I used that same piccolo to sneak into a locked vault, where Alice and other girls were being kept. Guards were alerted, and Alice was one of the few girls taken away once again. I was angry, head strong, and I knew I couldn't leave her alone with them. So, I did the next best thing I could think of." 

At this, Orpheus rolled up his sleeves and used a nail to gently carve a thin line on his palm, reflecting the very same sprawled against the back of it.

"I drank the blood of a dying vampire, while I was still a beating, breathing human. Vampire turning implores the recipient to be near death, as it allows complete assimilation to occur. A full abled human is risky, and there is a much higher chance of the vampire blood becoming toxic. But I was stubborn, and even though the blood I drank was rancid and sour, boiling me from the inside out and twisting my organs into something new, I fought against it. In that rare chance, the war between my survival instincts and my Logos split, and became someone new in the aftermath. An...alternate 'me', if you will, with it's own consciousness and thoughts. 

"Despite this, it's as if we're simply sharing my body and mind, constantly at war. We are cut of the same cloth, but we could not be further divided and different."

Frederick soaked up the information, rolling over the piccolo in his hand. The material was strange, not wood, but something sturdier. Bone, perhaps, like blacksmiths temper with? After a moment of silence, Frederick looked back up to see Orpheus's tired eyes. 

"This...other you. Does it have a name?" 

Orpheus shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. Frederick could see a few purple flecks glowing in the brown before they faded, further proving on that Orpheus wasn't lying. If his lack of memory of that morning was also to be true, then Frederick was left with no choice but to accept the reality. 

"No, it does not," he said, "But after I turned, I realized I wasn't truly complete. I wasn't a Dhampir like Professor Diruse, nor was I simply an enhanced human like the hunters. For awhile, I was stuck in a semi-half turned state, unable to die, but unable to mutate. But...It took the reigns on my body, and by the time the human in me died, Alice had been rescued and the coven was wiped out. All done by...our hands." 

"That would explain why Joseph is so hostile to you." 

Orpheus chuckled at that, eyes fond as he looked at Frederick, "Yes, that might do it." 

Frederick smiled just a bit, no more than a twitch of his lips, before he set the piccolo back into the box and shut the lid. For awhile, they sat in silence, only broken by a faint rustle of their clothes. When Frederick moved, the first thing he did was hand back the box to the novelist, waiting until it had been stored away again before he spoke.

"Thank you for explaining this to me." 

Orpheus looked over to him. He smiled and nodded after a moment of staring.

"Of course. Anything for you."

"Now, for your actual punishment," Orpheus began, standing beside Frederick, "You will have to clean up the mess you made to our beloved piano." 

The two stood before the wreckage of the piano, left untouched and unbothered since Frederick's outburst. The composer himself completely unprepared for how to even dismantle and clear away the pieces, but Orpheus did no more than leave some linen bags to put the pieces in and a broom and dust pan. With a brief kiss to Frederick's cheek, Orpheus wished him luck and retreated elsewhere to the house, leaving the composer alone. 

He glanced warily at the wreckage before shuffling over, kneeling down to pick up a lost ivory key. He turned back to the linen bags behind him, debating on skimping out, but ultimately rejected the idea. This was his permanent home now, he'd have to clean it sooner or later. He was sure Orpheus would demand the servants leave it be until Frederick himself cleaned it. With that in mind, he pulled forward one of the bags before tossing the ivory key into it, and beginning to pick out broken pieces. Piece by piece, he moved methodically, unsure but steady as he rummaged for each key. 

By the time the first bag had been filled, more than two hours passed, and Frederick lamented that the piano looked worse than when he started. Sighing, he sat back on is knees and stared up at the ceiling, debating whether Orpheus would be willingly to guide him. 

One of the passing servants peeked his head in, before saying "You'll need to take the bag out" in lackluster French. Frederick glanced at him, then the bag, before sighing louder and standing to do just that. Despite the fill, to the newborn it was as weightless as paper, making it easier to take outside. He followed the path he had seen cleaning maids take until he was at the back of the manor, where a small incinerator was locked behind fencing. The heat was strong, the coals hot, and Frederick was careful as he opened the small gate than the mouth of the incinerator, picking out pieces of the piano to toss into them.

He didn't know if this was the correct action, but he continued anyway, until an hour later the bag was empty and he was positively red from heat, pulling back and forth at his shirt to try and cool himself down. He sat down on the steps leading up to the back door, sniffing at the air. Past the smoke of the fire, he could smell the faint hint of rain coming from the east. The wind had begun to pick up, the air also began to cool, and there was a faint meow from behind some old crates-

Wait. A meow?

Curious, Frederick stood and rounded the set of crates pressed against the wall, peeking down through the cracks from above. There, hidden between the gap of wood and stone, was a little orange ball of fuzzy fur, squeaking out meows. 

"Oh, little one," Frederick cooed, leaning down to scoop up the little thing. It mewed at him as he snuggled the kitten to his chest, petting gently on it's little head. It was at least a few months old, rather tiny, but not premature, clearly weaned from it's mother milk. He wondered where...it's mother was, but a small clap of thunder in the distance made him quickly look around. The kitten mewled as he moved, but he was unable to find anymore kittens hidden, nor could he hear anymore. 

"Let's get you inside and find you some food." Frederick told it, picking up the linen bag on his way before making his way inside.

The servants ignored him as he brought the kitten into the kitchen, side stepped the icebox to check the dry aging cabinet for any type of meat he could give to the little one. A piece of still soft lamb was what he found, using only his raw strength to careful pinch and pull off a thin slice. He set the piece down on the floor before putting the kitten down too, gently guiding it to sniff at the meat. Slowly, the kitten ate it, making rather adorable chewing sounds as it munched on the slice of meat. Frederick crouched down to gently pet the soft, fuzzy fur, smiling to himself at it's adorableness. 

"What if I call you 'Tempo'? Would you mind that name?" he asked it. Of course, it didn't respond, but it began to purr after Frederick pulled more meat for it to eat. 

For a couple more minutes they repeated this process until the kitten turned away from the next piece, intent of instead exploring the room. Frederick watched it move, before gently picking it back up and cuddling the little one to his chest. 

"I'll take care of you. You can trust me little one."

The cat mewled at him, purring loud enough it vibrated Frederick's hand, causing him to giggle. He stepped out of the room and began to make his way to the library, following the rustle of pages and the smell of leather. In here, with it's cramp but cozy wooden shelves, filled to the brim with all manner of novels and books, he found Orpheus sprawled on one of the loveseats, an arm over his head as he read intently to a page and had a leg hanging over the side. He didn't hear Frederick enter until the composer clear his throat a good foot away, surprising the novelist and snapping him out of his trance.

"Oh, Frederick! How goes the- what is that?"

Frederick grinned before holding out the squirm fluff ball, making Orpheus go crossed eyed as he tried to look at the face of the kitten practically touching his nose. 

"This is Tempo. My new cat." 

Orpheus blinked at him, clearly confused, but Frederick's genuine grin made him relax and smile himself. He set aside the, still open book to gently pet at the small head, before glancing up to Frederick.

"Just because you have a pet cat doesn't mean you're skipping out on your punishment. I hope you're aware of this," Orpheus teased, sitting up straight to gently take the offered cat. Frederick huffed at his words, making Orpheus laugh, "I'll watch Tempo while you finish up, alright? I promise, I'll take good care of them." 

Frederick nodded, giving one last pet to the small head, before making his way back into the living room, linen bag in hand. The daunting task of cleaning such a large piece of furniture still intimidated Frederick, but he reasoned with himself and began to work.

Over the course of the week, between cleaning up the piano, taking care of Tempo, that they learned was a little boy cat, and gradually practicing his English language better with Orpheus, Frederick came down the steps to the living room to find a brand new piano in place of the old one. The debris and dirt from the old one long cleared and cleaned up, leaving only a reapply of paint to the wall from the initial impact. Curious, Frederick sat down at the old seat and gently touched his fingers on the, surprisingly tuned, keys. As if he were a child on Christmas, filled with excitement, he began to play one of his younger compositions, weaving an imaginary tale while he played. The gentle beginning, new, bright adventures, before dark truths became revealed and the happy, bright adventures soon turned into tumulus, bitter nightmares, before mellowing out into a fiction of reality.

Ashes of Memory he called it, when he was younger, one of the few pieces of his that turned out decent, but was boring by the standards of Kreiburg. 

A knock on the door broke him of his reverie, turning his head to face the novelist now stood in the doorway, dressed light in white clothes to beat the heat outside. In his hands, Orpheus held a small, rather ornately carved box, gold frill and a silver glinting clasp. 

"What's that?" Frederick asked, as Orpheus approached and held it out to the composer, "A gift, for you. From Joseph."

Curious, Frederick set it down in his lap before opening the clasp and lifting the lid. Inside was a bracelet, silver in a thin band with a few little silver vines wrapped around to giving it a botanical look. A few sapphires were embedded within the band, and when he lifted it out, the metal was ice cold in his hand and a faint feeling of being watched crawled up his skin. Below the bracelet was a small, folded parchment paper, which opened to read-

Welcome to Vampire Society. 

A gift, for our newborn, and a promise of Truth. 

Kind Regards,

Majesty Joseph DeSaulnier's

"Not even Alice, nor I received a welcome gift..." Orpheus muttered, examining the bracelet still held in Frederick's hands, "I don't know what his intention is with this, but I don't trust it. It's very unbecoming of him to personally send welcome gifts." 

Frederick nodded, setting the band back into the box, along with the note, snapping the lid shut, "I remember him saying he was a fan of my work, but even this seems like far too much to simply be an appreciation gift."

The faint jingle of a cat bell reached their ears, just as Tempo came skittering into the room, hopping up to the piano chair and onto the top of the musical instrument, looking down at them with a childish, wild energy in his little eyes. Frederick smiled and picked up the fur ball, cuddling him close as Tempo began to purr. Such a tiny life, so innocent and pure.

So unlike the innocence Frederick killed within himself, shedding tears as that childish him was strangled and snuffed out, a piece of his past left behind when he moved. 

Perhaps this little cat, this little Tempo, was a sign that he could heal, could improve and be better. Orpheus had said this new life of his was for him to explore and learn. 

A voice in his head startled him, unable to pinpoint the owner, but knowing it was not his own.

Your Authority will change the course of us all. Do not hide it, Frederick Kreiburg; embrace your gift and become the perfect Eve.

Chapter Text

Before Frederick had even noticed, three months had blinked past him. He hadn't focused on the date and time of the days, too preoccupied with fighting the boredom of being locked within Oletus, only allowed to be outside in the gardens with a flock of ravens following him. He learned eventually that they were some part of Orpheus, or of that second half he despised, made from a mixture of blood and the black tar Frederick had nearly swallowed so long ago. His only sense of time was truly noticed with Tempo's growth, gradually entering the lanky and awkward phase of his growth. 

His day and night cycles became one in the same, as being immortal and sustaining off blood meant he truly didn't need to sleep. And with Tempo's long nap hours, it further made him unaware of the time. Orpheus remained within the manor for the most part, only stepping out when he had to for his work, while Alice was out more frequently for her journalism. Melly made a rare appearance every so often, bringing gifts for Alice, which initially confused Frederick until Orpheus informed him they were in courtship. 

"It's been over 5 decades since they started this. Melly likes to take it slow."

"I can see why you two don't get alone."

Orpheus had scoffed at him from that, at that time. But the point remained. 

Frederick had only noticed the time had passed when, one morning, after barely eating a meal he truly didn't need to eat nor want, Orpheus had stepped out of the dining room to help one of the maids, leaving his newspaper behind. As Frederick had begun to make his way out, he happened to glance at the front page. While the header caught his attention first, something about a murder mystery solved by none other than Alice herself, when he noticed the date, he was momentarily stunned. 

September 17th, 1841

3 months since he was turned. 3 months since-

Frederick shook his head, fighting off the bit of an embarrassed blush as he remembered the fact that he and Orpheus were essentially married. Or bonded, in the vampiric terms. As much as he refused to accept it, he glanced at the ring still remained on his finger, and couldn't help but feel the slightest bit comforted at the knowledge he wouldn't be alone permanently. Even if Orpheus was the last person he wished to be married or bonded to, presently. 

As if merely thinking of him summoned him, Orpheus stepped back into the room, fixing up his cuff links, when he noticed Frederick stood by his seat, idly thumbing the silver band on his finger. While Orpheus hoped it was fond fidgeting, he didn't comment on it as he cleared his thought, catching the composer's attention as the blond turned his head to him.

"Everything alright, Frederick?" 

"Yes. I just...hadn't realized how long it's been since I came here." 

Orpheus nodded, coming to stand beside Frederick as he picked up his forgotten newspaper.

"Indeed. Of course, vampires having much longer lifespans than humans means our sense of time is also flawed. How long did you believe it to be since your arrival here?" 

Frederick paused at that, rereading the same sentence one, two more times before responding, "Roughly 3 weeks, I suppose."

"That would make sense. You also neglect to sleep regularly, so your body is not set to a night cycle." 

"This case," Frederick redirected, quick to close the subject on his lack of time, "What are the details of it?"

Orpheus looked over the paper once before handing it to the composer, saying, "A mad man who kidnapped women that looked similar to his wife. When he realized they weren't his late wife, he killed them." 

Frederick frowned at that, reading over the details. Richard Haraway, 37 years, a factory worker from Limehouse street. Previously married, but no kids, suspected to have a mental case. Violent and erratic behavior. A real piece of work, Frederick mused, turning a page to read the details of the his victims. Mostly women in their 30s, either unmarried, widowed, or married.

"What the paper doesn't say is that Richard was a vampire. And he was bonded to his wife. Upon her death, he went mad." 

Frederick looked up at that, noting how Orpheus looked...distant. Melancholy. 

"What does being bonded have to do with his madness?"

Orpheus looked up at that, before taking Frederick's hand- the one with the wedding ring. 

"Bonded pairs between vampires are rare and few, but so unique and strong once formed. It is not just merely blood; it is the soul, the mind and emotions. Sharing a part of yourself to your beloved, becoming one in a more spiritual sense. It's the unbreakable vow of love and companionship, and it is no longer just living for yourself- it's living for them," as this, Orpheus took a breath before continuing, "That is why, if one pair of the bond dies, the other will feel that death. Their very soul will crack and break, and their mind with it. Their one and only, beloved and adored, gone from this world. That remaining pair cannot bear the loss, and experiences not only heartbreak, but a fracture of the mind. Whether they kill themselves in their grief or go mad, it is a complete chance of fate." 

"....You and I," Frederick said slowly, looking down at their held hands, "We're bonded, aren't we? You said so."

Orpheus's smile was fond, yet sad, as he stepped closer to cup the composer's cheek in his other hand, thumbing gently at Frederick's cheekbone. 

"Technically, I am bonded to you. You have not sealed it by bonding with me." 

Swallowing, the composer licked his lips. 

"Then...if you were to die, I would go quite mad?" 

"Potentially. If you still hold love for me, you might." 

"But if I were to die, you would remain fine?" 

A darkness cast over Orpheus's eyes at that, pressing his forehead to Frederick's. Despite the gap between them that prevented 'Lovers', Frederick still felt a twinge of affection in his chest, before promptly squashing it down.

"Technically, yes, I wouldn't experience heartbreak or madness. But I would go down either path even if we were not bonded, Frederick. I am in love with you, whole heartedly, unendingly. This you know. If you were to disappear from this world...I shudder to think about such a fate."

Frederick blinked slowly, noting the slightly furrow of pain in Orpheus's brow. Unconsciously, his free hand went to pet back the few strands of fallen hair away from the novelist's face.

"Everything concerning you is deliberate." 

They stared at each other, noses touching, sharing slow and unneeded breaths. Orpheus's eyes flicked down to Frederick's lips, and Frederick closed his eyes as he could feel Orpheus lean in. Then, a hand pressed against Orpheus's mouth, gently pushing him away, and allowing Frederick to step out of the novelist's embrace. 

"You were heading into the office today, correct? You should be on your way soon." 

Orpheus looked like he would rather deny his job, but he assented and stepped back, fixing up his jabot and making sure his monocle was secured properly. With a final farewell, Frederick lead Orpheus to the foyer before seeing him off. As he shut the door back, he thumped his head against the wood and put his fingers to his lips. 

He curled those same fingers into a fist and counted to 10, before breathing through his stomach and heading to the living room.

It was a slow, cloudy morning when Alice found Orpheus in the library, reading over reports sent to him from Professor Diruse. The novelist had been holed up reading over the documents, originally meant to be confidential for only Joseph and his inner council, Luchino included. But given the topic was about Frederick's history, the professor had taken it upon himself to record the conversation and mail it to Orpheus, who now read over it.

The common knowledge they were able to collect was of Frederick's paternal lineage. Of his Father and Grandfathers achievement, the life they came from before aristocracy, the cousins and in-laws. And of course, nearly every detail of Frederick's life up to his turning. A standard investigation to notable newborns, even such as infamous as Frederick, yet even Orpheus was surprised they had no further information on his maternal lineage. The only knowledge was of Amalia, the finishing school she graduated from and then her marriage to Lord Kreiburg. The history of her family was unfound, as if she had simply just appeared.

Orpheus had intended to write back to Luchino and ask him for any other information, when Alice had called for him. Turning to her, the young woman's face was twisted in worry, shifting on her feet as she stood in the doorway.

"It's Frederick." was all she said, kicking Orpheus into moving. 

The novelist practically flew out of the office, Alice on his heel, to where Frederick's scent was strongest and stationary. Nearing the living room, he slowed down his steps to peek inside, where Frederick was nestled within, sat before the piano. Only faint candles lit around the room illuminated his features. Alice came up beside him after a moment, wringing her skirt in her hand before she spoke.

"He's already experiencing emotional atrophy,. Not even you, nor I, experienced that until we were at least 5 years in. Yet, it's only been a few months for him and..."

Orpheus looked over to Frederick, sat tapping idly at the piano. The notes were static, singular, as if merely a subconscious action that his body saw as a soothing repetition. Perhaps, rather than atrophy, it's merely anhedonia? Orpheus could understand it; it would not be the first time he's witnessed Frederick merely...exist, as if a statue. 

"I know before he arrived here that he'd have days where it appeared as if he was in a daze. This might not be a new development for him, then," Orpheus parroted, looking back over to Alice's concerned face, "Leave it to me. Would you be able to bring some tea for him to drink though?" 

Alice nodded before turning away to head to the kitchen, leaving Orpheus at the doorway. Frederick either ignored them or was too dazed to notice them. Orpheus knocked on the wood of the door, causing Frederick's head to twitch and turn towards him. 

"Orpheus," was all he said, voice hoarse from disuse, making the novelist wonder just how long he'd spent sitting in silence.

Smiling, the novelist stepped forward, one after another, until he was stood beside the stool Frederick sat on. His fingers remained on the keys, relaxed and patient. Orpheus nodded his head to the open space of the stool, waiting until Frederick blinked down at it then nodding, scooting over a bit so Orpheus could sit more comfortably. 

"Anything new you're playing, love?" 

Frederick blinked at him once again, making Orpheus's brow furrow. Just how dissociated was Frederick right now? 

"No...just- playing." 

"Then," at this, Orpheus set one of his hands on the keys and tapped idly, "Would you be willing to teach me a song?" 

Frederick's face scrunched a bit, causing Orpheus to smile at the slight shift of emotion. It was a step out of the dissociation, albeit a small one. But Frederick nodded before beginning to play a few notes, instructing Orpheus to repeat them. Once the novelist did, Frederick went to new notes and Orpheus repeated them. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, they did this until Orpheus played it all on his own. 

"Twinkle Star is not a difficult piece, Frederick. Give me something more complex." 

Frederick raised a brow at him but playing a few notes that Orpheus couldn't catch in time. But Frederick continued on, oblivious to the novelist's plight, so he opted to play random notes that he assumed would fit with what Frederick was playing. If the glare the composer gave him was anything, it wasn't working. 

"No, stop that. You aren't following. Try again."

He repeated the notes, and Orpheus was only able to catch a few before he stopped. A mischievous grin graced his features before he played a few notes that were so jarring to what Fredrick did. As suspected, Frederick's glare grew, creasing his brow and causing him to smack Orpheus's hands off the keys, even as the man laughed. 

"You're unteachable!" Frederick cried, aghast as Orpheus laughed hard enough he had tears, "You-!"

"I'm sorry- Sorry, it's just- it's too much fun to tease you!" 

That's how Alice found them a few minutes later, with Frederick whispering to Orpheus, voice laced in seething, while the novelist was grinning like a mad man. The siblings could tell that despite the Austrian's anger, he was grounded back in his normalcy. Alice couldn't help but smile a bit at them, clearing her throat at the door and fixing the tray in her hands. Two heads turned to her, surprised, before she set down the tray on the nearby coffee table and picked up the kettle of tea. 

"Come sit, some tea will help you relax." 

The two men shared a look before standing and heading over to the loveseats, waiting until Alice had finished pouring them out their own individual cups of tea. For awhile, they simply sat sipping on the hot drink, letting the herbal aroma soothe their nerves and mind. A jingle of a cat bell reached their ears, all heads turning to Tempo who was practically skipping into the room. The little squirt slowed down into a trot before brushing up against Frederick's legs, tail twitching happily. The composer grinned and leaned down to gently scratch behind the kitten's ear, giggling when Tempo merely purred rather loud. 

"He seems to really like you," Alice said, watching as Frederick set down his cup to pick up the little guy and cuddle him close. Tempo merely kneaded at the composer's arm, continuing to purr, "I never took you for a cat person."

"I've never really had any pets except for a Cocker Spaniel. My mother had gotten him for me as a birthday present. He passed away when I was around 15." 

Orpheus watched the composer for a moment, before taking the final sip of his tea and setting down his cup. 

"What was your mother like, when you were a kid? Does she have any siblings with children that you could've played with?" 

Frederick looked over to him, curious and clearly weary, but shook his head before directing his gaze to Tempo, "No, she never talked about her family. But as a mother, she was very loving and gentle with me. She was an amazing mother- is, an amazing mother." 

Orpheus could see the guilt and regret hanging off Frederick's shoulders, and decided to not pursue his objective further. In his mind though, as Alice and Frederick talked together, he tried to figure out a plan to learn more about Amalia and her past. He had a strange feeling that there was something important in her family relating to Frederick's anhedonia, though he couldn't understand why. Only a feeling he had, the moment he had seen her at the birthday party, how she held herself and how she wasn't intimidated by her husband's anger. 

She was mystery, much like Frederick himself. And like he felt with both of them upon his first meeting, there was a certain allure they carried that intrigued him. 

There was also the matter of Frederick's authority, and the strength of it. Orpheus had read enough of Vampire History to understand such strength wasn't an existence, but an incredibly rare one for vampires to have, especially turned. The last known recipient was Joseph's late brother, but even Orpheus knew it was not nearly as strong as Frederick's was. As much as he wished to steer clear of the Patriarch, the novelist worried about eventually having to ask Joseph if he knew anymore information. 

In the meantime, however...

"Say, Alice?" Orpheus called, grabbing his sister's attention after a moment, "Is Melly available this weekend?" 

The blonde put a hand to her chin as she thought over what she knew, before nodding, "Yes, I think she mentioned having a lunch Sunday, but nothing else to attend on Saturday. Why do you ask?"

At this, Orpheus stood and stretched out his back, smiling as he looked over to Frederick. 

"I think it's about time we teach Frederick about the core of vampirism and our powers. It will at least give him something more to do than sit around all day, right?" 

Alice seemed to agree, nodding along, while Frederick shot him a confused look, still petting Tempo. A twang of jealous hit Orpheus's chest as he witnessed the affection the kitten received, but he ignored it in favor of admiring Frederick. 

After all, Frederick was beautiful, in soul and body.

Chapter Text

The rocking of the carriage was methodic, habitual even, as Melly read over a recent letter delivered from His Majesty to the nearby Covens. A report of a Coven going feral, seemingly for no reason, and attacking a small farming house. Melly had been the closest at that time, and had dispatched them quickly, reporting the endeavor to some slow running lackeys. The report, here, detailing Joseph's orders for such attacks if they were to happen again, and that any Coven nearby that could eradicate them were to do so promptly. 

It wasn't as if rouge Coven's going mad was anything new, but the damage after...That was concerning. 

Melly folded back the letter and tucked it into her satchel, making a mental note to pull the De'Ross's aside later to discuss the next course of action. As the carriage came to a stop and she stepped out, two maids were waiting at the door to greet her, bowing politely. She nodded back to them, letting the maids lead her inside and into the foyer. The moment Melly stepped foot onto the carpet covered marble, a voice called out to her from the top of the stairs.

"Melly! You made it!" Alice yelled, vaulting over the railing in glee. In a blur, Melly had rushed below the other woman and caught her in her arms, enjoying the tight hug they shared once she set the journalist on her feet, "I'm so glad you could make it! I've missed you."

"Alice, dear, you should be more careful. What if you sprained something?" Melly chided gently, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind Alice's ear, "Your brother would be fretting over you like a moth to a flame if you got hurt."

Alice rolled her eyes at that, folding her hands behind the other woman's nape and leaning back to swing gently, back and forth, while Melly kept her steady effortlessly. 

"Oh please, Orpheus is too busy fawning over Frederick. And besides, you'd always catch me before I could truly be hurt." 

It was true, Melly thought, tugging Alice back up to strand strait so she could press a kiss to her lips. They were warm, with a faint mint taste from a balm, and Melly couldn't stop her smile from forming as Alice smiled into the kiss. When they pulled back, Melly let go to fix her hat and satchel, looking around the foyer as the faint sound of music finally reached her ears.

"How is he doing? Frederick, I mean. Has he acclimated to vampirism yet?" 

Alice began to lead them towards the living room, where the sound of a piano grew louder as they approached, "I think so. Orpheus says he's been suffering anhedonia, but that it's normal for him. As you can hear, he still plays the piano everyday, but I think for the most part he's ignoring his vampirism. Tempo definitely helps him."

"Tempo?" Melly asked, stopping before the closed door. 

"His pet cat! Frederick adopted a little orange kitten a few months ago." Alice answered, turning the knob of the door open and leading them inside.

Orpheus was sat in one of the large, cushioned chairs, book open in his lap but being left unread, much too distracted with Frederick at the piano, weaving a melody in a way only he could. Melly noticed how he was dressed light, only in a vest and a blouse, with high waisted trousers. His hair, unlike what Melly usually assumed he kept it in, was instead tied back with a black ribbon, low near his nape, giving his curls more notice, though she saw his bangs remains swept and unchanged. 

The song came to an abrupt end when the girls entered the room, Orpheus standing to greet them while Frederick remained seated at the piano, hands in his lap now. 

"Mrs. Plinius. Thank you for making time to come visit," Orpheus said first, twisting his face in a friendly smile. Melly ignored him, turning to Frederick at the piano, who merely nodded his head at her, "Ms. Plinius." 

The woman stepped up near Frederick before taking a small breath and lowering her head. 

"I owe you an apology. I spoke harshly and conceitedly the last time we conversed properly. My sincere apology." 

Frederick looked perplexed at first, admittedly surprised at her use of French, before he merely looked over back to the keys and began to tap a few of them, "Thank you for you apology. I've moved past it now." 

Straightening herself, Melly turned to Orpheus next, digging through her satchel to produce the letter from earlier. Orpheus's gaze locked to it the minute Melly revealed it, Alice also stepping closer as her brother took the letter and opened it to see the contents. While the two siblings read over it, Melly glanced over to Frederick, who had begun to play a small melody, relaxed and comfortable, before she leaned in to speak with them in whispers. 

"Joseph has issued orders for us to dispatch the rouge vampires and any connected covens if they begin to attack human settlements. Any human survivors are to have their memories warped or erased in compensate, but he's far too worried about those who sneak away and still have the memory. I suspect he will hold a meeting soon about it."

"Do you think the hunters will begin to take arms again?" Alice asked, reading over the letter as Orpheus leaned it towards her.

"As if they've ever stopped," the man said, glancing over to Frederick again before lowering his voice, "I know you three already give me grief, but I fear they've become more vigilant since Frederick's turning. When I've gone out to mingle and be there in person for writing, I've smelt the iron from their blades passing through the streets." 

Melly took the letter back, just as Frederick finished his melody and closed the lid of the piano, turning to look to them, "What are you whispering about there?" 

"About how best to teach you about your powers," Orpheus lied smoothly, subtly handing the letter over to Alice and making his way over to Frederick, "After all, spending all day cooped up just playing the piano is surely boring, right?"

Frederick didn't say anything, taking Orpheus's outstretched hand as he was lifted from the stool and brought over to the others. Melly noticed how Frederick kept his and Orpheus's hands held for a moment more after they returned to the small circle, only dropping it when the novelist raised his hands as he spoke. She didn't comment on it though, following the rest as they made their way outside to the patio. The cool, autumn air greeted them, as she took in the smell of fresh soil and the faint buzz of working bees. 

"The fresh air could help you focus, Frederick," Orpheus said first, stepping back a bit, "Or at the very least the scenery is lovelier."

"We're all out here to teach me about my abilities, not admire the hydrangeas."   

Melly chuffed a faint chuckle from her mouth, hiding it with a cough. But the knowing, playful glare Alice sent her said enough that she wasn't sneaky about it. Instead, Melly slid off one of her gloves before holding out her hand, palm up, for Frederick to look at.

"One of our useful abilities relies within our blood. We can use the plasma and iron to create familiars to aid us. I tend to create bees." 

To demonstrate, she closed her fist until her nails cut through her skin, feeling the well up of blood pool into her palm. Frederick watched, rapt but rather bored, as she turned her hand over to let the drops of blood drip. Before they could touch the stone, they formed into small, flutter bees on the way down, until a small colony swarmed around her hand. Frederick's eyes widened a bit as they buzzed around him, going through his ponytail before going back to Melly's palm, where they landed and dissolved back into drips of blood that seemed to melt back into the skin of her hand. 

"Orpheus creates ravens, and Alice creates nightingale birds. Our job here is to teach you to create them, and figure out what you want your familiar to be."

Orpheus repeated what Melly did, as did Alice. Cut their skin to well up blood, let it drip until they congealed and formed a raven and three birds, respectively. Frederick watched them, until the newly formed raven flapped up to land on his shoulder, looking at the others from its perch on the composer. Alice smiled softly while Orpheus gave his familiar a small glare, swatting away the corvid into the tree line. 

"Don't you need to recall it?" Frederick asked, taking hold of Orpheus's bloodied hand to lick up the excess, letting the novelist respond, "Technically, yes. But I allow them to roam a bit once formed." 

"The best way to summon them is to try and feel your blood being formed into something. Animals are the safest to form, big or small, as they blend in better, but anything can generally do if you have the blood to spare," Melly explained slowly, waiting until Frederick pulled away from Orpheus's hand to look at her, "But do be warned, once your mind as created it's first familiar, it will default to whatever you've chosen, even if you wish for something different later." 

The composer nodded and stepped back, looking down to his bare palms before making a small cut into one of them. At the first few beads of blood, Melly watched as he closed his eyes in thought, taking a slow breath through his stomach before repeating their action and letting the blood drip. A few drops landed on the stone, before more began to take shape, wobbly and uncoordinated, a mass of congealing blood. Then, as if settling, the mass took shape, sprouting feline legs, until what emerged a small, but fluffy cat. It stood still, as if waiting, while Frederick opened his eyes to look at the small thing.

"Give it a command. Verbal or non verbal, it will hear you." Alice guided, nodding to the composer. 

Frederick pondered for a moment before squinting his eyes and watching as the cat flopped onto it's side and rolled over to the other. Frederick's face twisted into surprise, watching as the cat stood and began to run around them. Soft laughter was made from three of them, while Melly merely nodded as the cat slinked between her legs. 

Orpheus spoke up a moment later, lifting his hand up, "If you want to recall, you merely need to tell them to return." He said, just as the raven from before flew onto his palm and began to dissolve back into liquid, melting into his palm. Frederick watched before holding out his palm, and the cat made a single jump before merging back into Frederick's body. The composer flexed his hand a few times before nodding.

"You learn fast," Alice said, coming forward to pat Frederick's shoulder, "You're a natural!" 

"My father taught us to learn fast, and do better quicker. It's second nature at this point."

Melly clapped her hands to gather the attention, before turning to the garden.

"We should move on to the next part, shall we?"

The next few hours were spent on teaching Frederick about his strength and speed, a fact they found rather curious. While his strength was standard, his speed was faster than the others, faster than any of them had seen in a long while. With a quick race around the manor, what would've been 6 seconds for the rest was only 3 for the newborn. It was clear he was not used to the speed, barreling into Orpheus several times to stop his momentum; something they agreed to work on later on. 

When they returned into the manor for lunch, Frederick didn't eat the food laid before him, only sipping the fresh pomegranate juice set in front of his meal. After lunch, another hour later after talking trivia and nonsense, the three elders moved into Orpheus's office, going over the letter written from Joseph and the records sent by Luchino on Frederick. 

"His speed, his authority- he's unique for a newborn." 

That was the first thing Melly said, looking over the information gathered by Joseph and his court. Alice stood beside her, analyzing the details to the utmost scrutiny, something which both endeared Melly and rather scared her.

Meanwhile, Orpheus was lingering on the letter, his face a mix of apprehension and boredom, "I have a suspicion I caused this somehow." 

"You don't think Frederick's turning was the cause, do you?" Alice asked, looking up to her brother, "You did do it in secrecy, right?" 

Orpheus averted his gaze out to the window, where a few bugs buzzed outside of.

"I had the help of a few lower class vampires to get some minor preparation done. But they were nomadic, and I promised them sanctum as our service after they helped. Those who've helped should be loyal to us, not feral."

Melly noticed the lack of information on Amalia at the same moment Alice did, both of them looking to Orpheus for answers, which the novelist could not provide. After a moment of silence, Alice spoke up.

"Joseph will likely call a meeting of the nearby powers and covens to address this. If the attacks are growing in severity and frequency, he won't just let it slide." 

Orpheus set down the letter and stood from the desk he had been leaned on, crossing his arms, "His efficiency is admirable, but his methods are questionable. He has power in his court that reaches out as far as the nomadic, such as Siberia. But he's sending out orders to small covens to deal with them?" 

"Expanding his troops like this to take care of small rouge covens would be too costly of them. Mind you, Vampires are a hidden society from humans. Revealing ourselves just because we need to deal with a few rouge is not the optimal solution."

As Melly's explanation, Alice spoke up a moment later once more to add, "Not to mention, if he were to send out the court guards, that would be less defense on the stronghold and gives the hunters a larger opening to attack if they found out." 

The reasoning was sound, though there was no direct confirmation the hunters were setting up arms. They knew this, but the risk of them still remained. Sending in small houses, nobles and weaker facilities, than the royal guards and court, was the safer move. If their Monarch died, there was no heir set in place. Who would rule, and what pandemonium would arise if several benefactors were fighting for the throne? 

"We should send a letter to nearby Covens and see if we could form a partnership. As...notorious as we are viewed, it would keep diplomacy and order better by having a unionized group," Alice suggested, lingering the question in the air. While Orpheus was against it at first, he agreed soon after, leading the ladies out his office and towards the foyer, where he kept the formal letters. 

As the siblings discussed their plan of action while they walked, Melly turned her head out to the patio, where Frederick stood amid a small flock of ravens. Two perched on his head and shoulder, another on the railing accepting pets to its head by his finger. Like this, framed in the faint rays of sun, she could understand what Orpheus meant by the sunlight suiting him. She stepped away from the other two and made her way outside, steps light as she took in the faint breeze that swayed her veil. Frederick didn't address her right away, but his finger stopped for a moment before continuing to pet the cooing raven.

"Ms. Plinius. Thank you for today's help." 

"It was nothing. Something I should've done much earlier with you all."

They stood there together for a minute more, simply taking in the wind and the faint trail of rain. The ravens continued to swarm Frederick, adamant and desperate for his affection, peering up to him with beading eyes. He was all to willing to offer them what they sought, petting their heads and cooing to them. For a little while more they stood there together, until Melly began to move away.

"Did you know, Ms. Plinius," Frederick said suddenly, stroking up the bottom of a raven's beak, "There was one night, perhaps Monday, Orpheus came to me with a dish of Crème Brûlée? It was undercooked, the sugar wasn't caramelized, and it was overly sweet. But Orpheus made it from scratch- some, old, grandma recipe he went all the way to France for, just to make that for me?" 

Melly looked back to him, noting the fondness lingering in Frederick's eyes. Within the sunlight, they almost looked crystalized. 

"The man who doesn't know any more cooking past roasting a slab of meat, even less of baking. Taking the time to prepare my favorite dessert, just because he wanted to. All for me," Frederick paused after that, chuckling a bit as one of the ravens flew off with a discordant caw, as if offended, "I ate that entire, overly sweet, inedible dish. Every little bite I could. And you know what he was like during that?"

When Melly shook her head, Frederick looked over to her with a faint, private smile. As if he truly was fond.

"He was practically shaking out of his shoes, anxious if I would reject it. I told him his faults of course, but- I think, perhaps, that was the tastiest thing I've eaten since being turned."

Melly remained silent for a moment, merely letting the confession linger between them. Frederick did not say more, content to leave the conversation at that and focus his attention back to the flock of ravens around him. Slowly, thoughtfully, Melly places her hands on the railing, just as the first few drops of rain began to hit the stone. 

"I've known Orpheus for years now, thanks to Alice. Not that I regret meeting her- loving her," Melly started, looking down to the garden below them, "I knew him when he was freshly turned, suffering from the strain. I knew him when he was coming into a writer. I knew him when he went on trial after killing the previous coven that owned his manor. But only after he met you did he seem...livelier." 

Frederick looked to her with a perfectly made mask, waiting in silence as a prompt for any continuation. 

"He loves Alice, dearly. He became a vampire in the most horrific way just to protect her. But...even with her, he always held an air of emptiness to him. That he was merely living in a shell, filling in the gap with the small things. Writing, piccolo, anything Alice did as she began journalism. He always seemed...depressed. Quiet. Melancholy," at this, she turned to Frederick with her body, pining him down with her covered gaze.

"With you, he smiles. I think you've done good to him, even if he has wronged you. Not that I am saying this to push you to forgive him, I'd rather say you never should. But I do believe in his affection for you." 

The composer remained quiet, casting aside his gaze back to the railing. But Melly gave a brief bow before stepping away, letting Frederick sit with the statement. What was between him and Orpheus was their own business, not Melly's. But the honesty and truth she held watching and observing them was a necessary step for them understanding each other better. 

As she stepped back into the foyer moments later, squinting at the radiant smile Alice gave her, she couldn't help her own smile from forming on her face. 

Love was different for everyone, she supposed.

Chapter Text

The sound of rain hitting glass panes is what roused Orpheus from his slumber, feeling the oncoming headache already throbbing in the frontal lobe of his head. The room was dim, but not dark, and the crack of thunder that came from a few yards away said this was a thunderstorm. Rolling onto his side, careful of Tempo curled up nearby and still snoozing, he took a moment to admire Frederick still asleep across from him. 

The composer slept soundly, hair loose and slightly tangled from sleep, but relaxed and warm. His eyelashes fluttered minutely over his cheeks, long and as bright as his hair, and his fingers twitched as if playing on his beloved piano. Perhaps in his dreams he was. Orpheus couldn't see or hear Frederick's dream, no matter how much he wished it. 

But that was fine, he supposed, standing from the bed as quietly and carefully as he could to begin dressing for the day. As long as Frederick was by his side, he would be content. 

That's not enough, though, is it?

Orpheus ignored It in favor of stripping out of his sleep clothes and dressing into his everyday wear.

We share a mind; a body. Why do you resist?

"Because it's not what he'd want," Orpheus whispered, tucking his blouse into his pants. It spoke no longer, retreating from where it came, leaving Orpheus's silence peaceful once more.

Frederick didn't wake until after breakfast, coming down the stairs with Tempo on his heels. Orpheus greeted him once the composer stepped into the dining room, noting the lack of plates and only small cups of coffee. Strangely, given Frederick's apparent lack of consumption to food, he sat down and accepted a cup of coffee, sipping slow as he blinked out the drowsiness from his eyes. 

"Where are the girls?" 

Orpheus set down his cup after another sip, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of the drink before answering, "They went out for a bit to go shopping for flowers and silks. Alice wants to make a bouquet she saw from a gardening pamphlet." 

Frederick didn't say anything in response. Orpheus let him, content to simply share the quiet morning with the composer, reading over a biography of someone he held no interest for, but enjoying the word play. Tempo came into the room soon after, climbing onto Frederick's lap and curling up there for affection, which the man provided. It was how the girls found them, an empty pot of coffee and a partially asleep Frederick, when they returned an hour later. The creak of the door and Alice's laughter was what woke Frederick, as Orpheus stood to hug Alice in greeting. Melly remained behind, carrying the luggage of their shopping, giving a slight nod to the men who looked over to them. 

"How was your shopping?" Orpheus asked, guiding Alice to the seat next to Frederick. As Alice sat down, she reached a hand over to pet the top of Tempo's head, giggling as the fuzzy kitten purred.

"It went well," she said, "We were able to find the flowers I want, but in blue instead of white. The silks were only available in two shades, so we went with the navy."

"I'm sure those will turn out lovely once they are completed." 

Melly stepped forward a moment later, holding out a pair of wax sealed letters to Orpheus. One was already cut into, so the novelist took the uncut one and retrieved a letter knife to open it. Melly set down their shopping bags next to Alice, who talked amicably with Frederick until Orpheus returned to the room to read the letter out loud. 

"Oletus Residence, I hope this letter finds you swiftly. This coming eve, on the 16th, I am holding a summons at the Capital Hall. I am requesting your appearance at this summons to discuss the recent rise of attacks and defection. I 'implore you'," Orpheus scoffed at this but continued on, "To show up within a timely matter and highly recommend not avoiding this meeting. You will not be the only hall in attendance. Kind regards, Joseph Desaulniers." 

Just as Orpheus lowered the letter, a small piece slipped from his hold, falling to the ground. Close enough to him he could lean over, Frederick did so and lifted it back up, feeling that familiar whisp as his hands held the parchment. 

"For Mr. Kreiburg, after the conference, I would like to discuss more details for a private concert with you as the maestro. Signed Joseph Desaulniers," the composer read aloud, barely managing to finish reading it before Orpheus snatched it out of his hands and crumpled it up. 

"Orpheus," Melly said, being ignored as the former tossed the letters on the table with a huff, distaste obvious on his frame. Alice looked over to her companion, while Frederick merely watched Orpheus bite on one of his nails in thought, "Orpheus, this is a summons. We cannot avoid it."

"I understand why he's calling for one. But so suddenly, when this is essentially the same happening as the last century? No, something else is at play here," at this, Orpheus looked over to Frederick, the unspoken words clear enough as if said aloud anyway, "And I don't want to risk becoming an aid in whatever scheme he's planning now. Especially if Frederick is going to be within arms reach." 

Alice stood up, picking up the flowers and silk from their shopping bags, "But we have no authority to refuse. If the Majesty calls for a Coven, they must respond. That's the 7th Law." 

"The laws?" Frederick asked, looking to the woman for an answer. Alice nodded at him, before motioning him to follow her. 

Together, leaving the brunettes to talk, Alice lead Frederick to the library, Tempo following their heels. Inside, the girl put down the flowers and silk on one of the nearby tables before heading over to a small stack of books leftover by Orpheus. Near the bottom, after a quick topple, Alice pulled free a thin booklet before passing it to Frederick. He took it slowly, examining the cover that merely said Vampire Law circa 1620 in gold writing. Opening it up, the spine creaked and the pages were slightly yellowed from age, a few rips in the corners and edges from constant use. 

"Page 4. It has the laws there." 

The composer flipped to the page, before using his finger to follow the list of laws as he went down;

   1. No vampire is to reveal their true nature to humans unless certain the human will be turned or killed afterwards.

   2. Vampires cannot remain in human society longer than 12 years, for risk of revealing society to humanity. Leaving human society and returning is allowed, but only after an appropriate amount of time has passed. (Recommended 30 to 40 years)

   3. Covens must require at least two people to be considered official. 

   4. Bonded and/or fated mates must receive a blessing from the Majesty before they can be considered official. Marriage sanctified in a Church will be accepted as an alternative. 

   5. Newborn vampires must be home-bound for at least two months until bloodlust has been tamed. This is the same for natural vampires first coming into thirst.

   6. No Coven is allowed to hold blood servants or concubines under 20. If a Coven is found to hold such under 20, punishment will be delivered. 

   7. If a Coven is summoned by the Majesty, they MUST respond to the summons. Failure to do so will result in punishment, not limited to complete dismantle of the Coven.

   8. Expecting Mothers are to be home-bound during pregnancy, though she is allowed visitors and wet nurses.

   9. Intentional turning of humans to vampires for merely power abuse or to create a fake coven will be punished accordingly. Children under 18 are also to NEVER be turned into a vampire. 

   10. Any Coven found guilty of breaking these laws will be dealt with accordingly, not limited to death.

Frederick's lips pursed, finger tapping over the fifth law, remembering all too easily how quickly Joseph acted to kill him and Orpheus. If Alice also realized, she didn't say anything, looking over the laws herself before stepping back and picking up the flowers and silks. Frederick closed the book but kept it with him as they made their way back into the dining room, where Melly and Orpheus were arguing in English. Frederick's English wasn't good enough he could try to translate them, so he didn't bother, stepping around them to pick up the letter addressed to him. 

The faint whispers in his ears sang, and as he stared at the letter, he could hear his heartbeat beating in tandem with his breaths. The shadows creeped up, poking at the letter, and he shook them away as he examined each fine line, each fine accent on the letters.

Don't hide. 

Flinching, Frederick stepped back as the letter suddenly caught flame, Orpheus pulling him further back. The letter burned yellow, then into a rich, deep blue, before all that lay before them was ash and silver bled ink. 

"'Don't hide'," Frederick whispered, leaning back into Orpheus's frame as his heart settled down, "I heard something say 'Don't hide' just before it burned."

"It's alright. You're safe," Orpheus whispered back into his ear, hugging the composer close.

For awhile longer they all remained in quietness, until Frederick, having calmed down, separated from Orpheus and fixed his collar, "This eve...two days from now right? And I assume the Capital hall is in Paris?" 

At Melly's nod, Frederick glanced back to the pile of ash, decision made in his mind before he could think further off of it.

"Then let's get ready. We best not keep him waiting."

Their arrival back into Paris came with a sense of belonging and nostalgia to Frederick. The old cobble streets, the Persian perfumes that assaulted his nose, the few musicians busking on the street; the familiar atmosphere of the last decade of his life was here. He hadn't even believed that only three months of his life in the English countryside would make him miss home this much but...

He looked behind him to his companions, Alice and Melly standing side by side while Orpheus lugged both his and Frederick's luggage. The brunet looked unbothered with the heavy trunks, making good conversation with his sister. The fact that he and Orpheus were, technically, married still made his head spin. Marriage and a partner were the last things on his list, yet...

"Where is the Capital Hall located? The same place as before?" 

"Closer to the Notre Dame," Melly said, pulling out her letter from Joseph, "We'll need to hand these over once we get in, since this location also blends into human society to not rouse suspicion." 

Nodding, Frederick looked around the train station for the carriage call booth before making his way over. Alice followed with him to give them the address, while the brunette's followed shortly after. And after payment and liability, they were loaded onto a carriage, luggage secured on the back and between them on the floor, trying to keep steady amidst the rocking. Frederick occupied his time staring out the window to the familiar buildings and people, feeling more relaxed than he has been in awhile. But as they approached a storied building, a blend of limestone and what he could assume as concrete, they all stepped out and were greeted by a few other people stepping out of their own carriages. 

A few staff and trolly boys came out of the double doors, collecting trunks and coats as each group entered. As Orpheus lead them, a butler greeted them before offering to guide them to their overnight room. 

"The girls will be staying together, while myself and Mr. Kreiburg will be sharing a room," Orpheus explained to the butler, turning his head back to the two ladies, "That should work for you two, right?" 

At Alice's enthusiastic nod and Melly's more reserved one, Orpheus turned to his mate, waiting for any disagreement. Frederick merely stared back, before nodding once as well, letting himself be lead upstairs. Three stories in total, with a large banquet hall on the second floor, hidden behind a small set of French doors within a seating foyer. The top most floor housed bedrooms for each guest. While Alice and Melly were given a room near the stairwell, Orpheus and Frederick were lead to a corner room, fitted with a balcony. The interior was simple, but classically Parisian in it's style. 

As Orpheus opened the balcony doors, a knock on their room door caught their attention, prompting Frederick to open it. Standing outside, dressed in an all black evening suit, was Luchino Diruse, that familiar, rougish smile and a small glass of gin-tonic. 

"Mr. Kreiburg! Mr. De'Ross! Good to see you two!" 

"Professor Diruse, I didn't know you were here," Orpheus said, stepping aside so the professor could enter, "I knew, of course, that you'd be attending for your duty. How did you know this was our room though?" 

Luchino chuckled and set down the glass nearby before stuffing his hands in his pocket, catching the candlelight in a partial glow of his face, "I smelled your mate, 's all." 

Orpheus's eyes narrowed, while Frederick discreetly sniffed at his own collar. At Luchino's laughter, the man sauntered over and raised a hand to press down on the nook of Frederick's neck, despite Orpheus's growl.

"You're still a newborn. Humanity remains in your blood, paired with the blood bond you have with Orpheus here. It's a territorial smell at best, an identity marker at worst. The moment you stepped into the building, every vampire here could smell you," at this, Luchino's cherry demeanor dropped, and he lowered his voice into a fraction of a whisper, just enough for the two other men to hear, "Steel your mind, Frederick. You will be put on the spot, made to be an object of attraction for the curious and savage. You mustn't let them get to you, no matter what His Majesty or any of the others say." 

Frederick could feel the beginning of anxiety clawing up his throat and running down his back, looking between Orpheus and Luchino, silent conversations between the lovers in a language only they knew. Orpheus stepped away a moment later, leaving the room with a lingering squeeze on Frederick's shoulder. The blond touched gently at the faint warmth, turning back to Luchino who had stepped onto the balcony with his drink, overlooking the night lights of the city. As Frederick joined him, Luchino offered the glass to the composer, allowing him to take a small sip before passing it back. 

They stood, in silence, as the people milled below. Humans, a few vampires, sensing the presence of their superior. Lingering at the doors for any peek of class and nobility.

"The point of this meeting isn't just about the rise of attacks on humans, is it," Frederick said suddenly, prompting Luchino to look over to him, signature smug smile back on his face, "I had the feeling it wasn't. Joseph left a single note addressed to me in the letter to Orpheus." 

"Joseph has his own plans. His own intentions. I'm not one to assume what they may be." 

Frederick paused at this, glancing down to a lady in red, on the arm of a man dressed in a white suit. Just a couple of months ago, he and Orpheus were like that- carefree, happy. In love. 

Not that you have fallen out of it.

"I broke a law. Joseph is going to make that known among everyone, isn't he?" Frederick said, turning to the man beside him. 

Luchino's smile took to one corner, parting as he finished his glass before tossing it to the ground below. As the glass shattered, he turned his gaze to Frederick. 

"You are a newborn vampire that came from a family of renowned musical pedigree. Not just the breaking of the Laws, you are a marvel of a newborn. You show high resistance to thirst, incredible endurance, and your authority is more powerful than what's been seen in a century or more. A perfect form of vampiric evolution, if I had to describe you." 

"Kind words," Frederick said, looking back down to the world below, "But saying I am a perfect form of evolution feels rather intimidating."

"I'm a baseline of evolution myself, aren't I?" Luchino countered, patting the composer's shoulder good naturally.

"If you say so Mr. Diruse."

"Come now, no need to be so formal. We toured Vienna together, didn't we? Just call me Luchino." 

A knock on the door stopped their conversation, both men turning to it as Orpheus stepped in, two small sheets of paper in his hand.

"It's time," Was all he said, waiting at the door for the other two. With a breath through his stomach, Frederick followed behind the brunet's, being escorted back downstairs and to the waiting foyer. 

Here, in the rich dark wood, red painted walls and silver accents, he took a glance around the room. A few separate groups of people, mingling and talking among themselves. A man and a woman, who looked similar in appearance, likely to be siblings, were talking with a rather large woman dressed in a warm orange sundown dress. The man had black spectacles, a gold chain behind his head connecting them to ensure they weren't lost, while his sister was wearing a cornflower blue gown, to match his own similarly colored suit. Sat at a loveseat was a rather frail looking nun, a man with slightly messy brown hair and a three piece evening suit sat next to her.

Near the doors, but out of the way, was Alice and Melly, stood beside another couple, matching in their brown hair and black clothes. From the angle Frederick had, it looked almost like the man was nervous and hiding behind the woman, and he spotted a silver ring on each of their joined hands. Various other people stood together, dressed in dark garbs or the rare light colors. 

But that was the last thing on Frederick's mind, feeling dread spread itself in his chest when all eyes immediately turned to him. He could feel each of their stares, analyzing his every detail, every miniscule action. He was dressed from head to toe, but he had never felt so naked as he did now. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is ready. Please enter in the order called. Starting with..."

One by one, the groups of people entered the banquet hall, pairs and trios being led to seats. Frederick looked to Orpheus, talking quietly about the dinner, while Orpheus explained that it's a fancier way to keep everyone present. Until finally they were called, and led into the banquet hall. The chandeliers overhead were burning low, and the windows were uncovered; velvet and heavy curtain tied to let in the moonlight. The four guest's were led to seats near the middle, where Frederick was sat between Alice and Orpheus and across from the lady in the cornflower blue gown. 

Whispers came among the crowd, until finally the doors opened once more, and Joseph stepped inside. Dressed in a dark blue suit, with accented frills and a single shoulder cape that flowed behind him as he walked. His hair was done up by a single black ribbon, put over the shoulder not with the cape. Behind him were two maids, dressed neat and tidy, and everyone watched as the man raised his arms in greeting. 

"Thank you, all, for attending. As usual, there will be four courses, including a dessert. Substitutions can be made if the main dish is not to your palate, where you can request the alternative on that slip paper each of you were given. Enjoy your appetizer, converse among your brethren, and we will discuss the issues at present during the first course." Joseph said, walking slowly as he explained the evening prix fixe. Frederick watched him critically, remembering Luchino's warnings, going as far as to spare a glance to the man seated two away from the center chair, where Joseph sat down. 

Then, like clock work, the appetizers were brought out, individual maids coming forth to place down plates of hors d'œuvre's, a mix of oysters with lemon and a small collection of roasted vegetables. A small plate with two bread rolls and a small place for butter were set near his glass of wine, that was filled up the minute he had originally sat down. Everyone began to eat, talking quietly amongst themselves in various tongues, while Frederick stared down at the food before him. It smelled appetizing, and looked delicious, but no matter how much he might have wanted to eat, he couldn't. The thought of eating, chewing, digesting the food before him; it sickened him. 

"Are you okay?" Orpheus asked him suddenly, getting the composer's attention. After a quick look back, Frederick leaned closer, keeping his voice low, "I don't have an appetite. I don't want to eat this."

Orpheus looked around before lifting Frederick's paper slip and taking a pen out of his breast pocket. He handed both to the other man, letting him take it as he looked over the substitution options. Cream of mushroom soup or a simple salad. While neither seemed particularly exciting, a part of him didn't squirm in disgust at the soup, so he marked it down and waved over a maid to swap out the meal. 

'Human food is not your palate I take it?'

Startled, Frederick glanced around, looking for anyone who was staring at him, or might've spoke to him. When he glanced over to Luchino, the man was too busy eating his food. When he looked to Joseph, the man was watching his wine swirl in the glass, looking rather bored and without a plate of food in front of him. 

'I can't blame you.'

"Orpheus, is that you?" Frederick whispered to the man suddenly, turning to the novelist who glanced at him and swallowed his bite of food. At his confused look, Frederick elaborated, "The- voice. In my head? Is that you?" 

'What a fascinating head you have, Mr. Kreiburg.'

"A voice in your head?" Orpheus whispered back, a slight darkness falling over his eyes. Frederick leaned back as the bowl of soup was laid before him, and the maid stepped away. Trying to remain stoic and unbothered, he took slow spoonful's of the soup, letting the hot blend of spices dance on his tongue, scoping around for anyone. But everyone was either eating or talking, not paying any attention to him. 

'Attention seeking is-'

Enough.

Like a drum in his mind, he winced and laid a hand to his head, the throbbing ache spreading through his cranium until it subsided. The voices stopped, the chatter dimmed, and he blinked open his eyes a bit to take a quick peek, where a few nearby guests had turned to his sound of pain. A faint chuckle from his right prompted heads to turn, looking to where Joseph was chuckling into his hand, while Luchino laughed with him. 

"My apologies, Professor Diruse, I don't mean to laugh." 

"Not at all a problem, Majesty," Luchino said, taking a sip of his own wine, "It is rather amusing the sciences behind evolution." 

Joseph took a sip of his wine before setting it down, looking around at the guests before him.

"Let's begin discussion, shall we? As our first course arrive," at this, the man stood, shaking his head just enough to settle his hair, "However, there is one thing we must address before we begin, as I'm sure many of you have noticed." 

Frederick didn't look to Orpheus, even as he felt the man squeeze his own hand under the table, at the same time Joseph turned to them and lifted a hand in his direction.

"Oletus Manor, occupied by Coven De'Ross, has received a new member. If you would stand, please." 

Despite every part of him screaming not to, Frederick stood slowly, separating his hand with Orpheus and straightening his back. He stared back at Joseph, as the man held a wicked small smile.

"A human turned vampire. The newborn mate to Orpheus De'Ross. The pariah of the musically acclaimed Kreiburg family, none other than Frederick Kreiburg, has joined our society of the shadows."

Whispers rose, each of them talking separately, but Frederick paid them no mind. Luchino's warning from earlier was the only thing keeping him stable, even as he could feel the judgement and surprise in the guest's voices. What were they truly saying, he wondered. Why Orpheus picked him over anyone else? Unwanted attention on him was not new, but he felt more grounded knowing that he had Orpheus besides him, even as he sat back down and kept his head low. Joseph continued on, asking about a missing person usually with the nun and the man in the three-piece suit, learning their missing companion was expecting a child. How the couple was doing, the Mesmer's, how the sibling's study in psychology was going. Asking about the small details of each important member at the table.

The first course arrived, the food was eaten with light conversation, though Frederick substituted another soup dish instead of the original meal. When the food was finished, and the plates cleared away, Joseph went on.

"As you know, there has been a greater rise in human attacks by feral and mongrel vampires. Thankfully, these have been on small villages or farming plots, away from cities or towns, which has limited the risk of more humans being made aware of our kind," as he spoke, Joseph lifted his glass of wine, twirling it slowly, "However, with this rise, a few of my court has reported seeing the hunters prowling through towns and the city more. You can smell their iron, their temper. To avoid raising their suspicions more, I have discussed with my court a new course of action."

As the maids moved to set down the second course, Joseph tipped the wine glass just enough to let a few drops extinguish a flame on the candelabra before him.

"I will set up guard points near each of your covens and have you keep direct contact with them. If an attack happens nearby, they, along with your support, will quickly dispatch the vampires that run amok, and work to hide any bodies or erase the memories of the survivors."

A few murmurs that said 'disagreement' were heard, but Joseph sat back down and waved away the plate of food he was offered. 

Dinner passed by without anymore discussion of this new plan, and Frederick stuck to his wine as his meal, letting Alice  and Orpheus pick at his meal instead, until desserts were wheeled in after half an hour. Cakes, macarons, souffle's; plated and set before each guest. Frederick glanced over to the maid who set before him a plate of crème brûlée, a single outlier than the other meals around him. Orpheus's hand found his again, and he turned his head to look at the brunet. 

"I made a reservation in advance. For you." 

Swallowing against the flutter in his chest, a warmth from the consideration, Frederick blinked away grateful tears he didn't realize were forming, and picked up his spoon to begin eating. The only solid food he felt comfortable eating, perfectly made by recipe, though lacking a sweetness he knew was only found in Orpheus's homemade attempt from before. Smiling just the slightest bit, he leaned in again to whisper to Orpheus, "You should take notes on this one before you undercook the next." 

Orpheus chuckled at that, reddish brown eyes meeting Frederick's grey. In that small moment, Frederick almost believed they were back to his human time, eating together at a small bakery, flirting between bites, loving as newly weds. It was the memory of those that led Frederick to press a gentle, light kiss to Orpheus's lips, pulling back after half a second to continue his meal. He ignored the lovestruck awe in the novelist's eyes, but he could feel the lovesick stare at his cheeks. Alice's warm giggle to his right also relaxed him more, not able to find even a joking spite of her laughter. 

Laughter suits you.

He paused for a moment, licking at the sticky sugar on the spoon. Unlike the voice at the beginning of the dinner, this one rumbled pleasantly in his head. Didn't pierce his mind like a knife, nor string along his anxiety. It was...familiar, even.

Just before midnight, Frederick knocked on one of the heavy doors, dressed down from dinner into his sleep wear and a complimentary robe. He waited until a voice spoke before entering, closing the door behind him. A small smoke room with the doors open to a private veranda overlooking the Notre Dame. Joseph stood outside, dressed down to only the undershirt and his pants, hair falling down his back. He looked back to Frederick with a lethargic smile, looking a bit paler than usual. 

"Mr. Kreiburg. Thank you for meeting me so late." 

Frederick stepped onto the veranda, letting the wind blow past him and play with his hair, similarly down out of its usual hold. They stood in silence for a moment, taking in the autumn air, before Joseph took a breath and held out a small envelope to Frederick. The composer looked at it for a moment before opening it up and pulling out two tickets to an opera show for the following night. 

"I'd like you to accompany me tomorrow night to this show." 

Frederick looked up to him, confused, as Joseph went on, "Despite the media and the humans belief, I've heard some of your songs when you played at bigger venue's on your father's purview. I found your music enchanting, hypnotic in fact. You play with ferocity and prestige, and even if the mortals believe you be uncreative, I disagree. Frederick, you play for the darkness, not for the light." 

Before the composer could say anything, Joseph had moved closer, within a blink of Frederick's eye. This close, Frederick could see the fine cracks under Joseph's eyes, jumping when the man took one of his bare wrists, freed from the fluffy arm of his robe.

"Darkness has clung to you since birth. The marks on your skin, that your family foolishly believed as sin. They are but proof that you are blessed by someone other than their beloved Euterpe. You have a musical genius, a wonderful gift, one only able to be understood by those not within the light." 

"I don't follow." Frederick said, stepping back a bit as his heart raced. Joseph's smile sharpened, and his grip on Frederick's wrist tightened, preventing him from escaping further. 

"You play for the Devil and his followers, Frederick. Not for God or his followers," Joseph all but declared, moving with purposeful strides into Frederick's space, pressing his lips to the composer's pierced ear, "You were abandoned by God, and your music scorns his repulsion. You don't play for humans, you play for demons."

Frederick shoved the man away, releasing the tickets from his grip and letting them be taken by the wind, as he all but stormed out of the room, leaving Joseph behind with a stain of red on his lips. The composer ran back to his room, slowing down once he reached the handle and twisted it with shaking hands. Orpheus was in front of him the minute he stepped in, cupping Frederick's face in his hands and checking the composer over, growling when he noticed the slight cut on Frederick's ear.

"That bastard." 

Frederick focused on Orpheus, trying to calm down his racing heart. The voices were scratching at his ears, shrill and shrieking, digging their claws into his insecurity. Orpheus held him close, and Frederick listened to the slow beat of Orpheus's heart, breathing in time with each thump, until he could hear both of their hearts in sync. It was cathartic, soothing, like a balm on his soul. He tucked his head into the novelist's neck, clinging to his evening shirt and breathing in the smell of old books and ink. 

"I should have never brought you here." 

Frederick pulled back, meeting Orpheus's worried gaze. The fear of his inadequacy seemed so insignificant with Orpheus's adoration. 

"He said I play for the Devil," Was all Frederick could say, letting the tears leak from his eyes, falling to his knees with Orpheus to support him. Orpheus said nothing as he let Frederick cry, holding the composer close, "That...that I play for darkness. For- for sin." 

"He doesn't know what he's saying. How can you trust a tyrant to understand beauty?"

Frederick laughed at that, a humorless sound, more of a scoff than amusement. He buried his face into Orpheus's collar, taking shaky breaths as he waited for the voices to stop their screaming. Orpheus held him close, let Frederick hear his heart beat steady until they beat in union once more. 

The candles flame burnt out by the time they had settled into bed, tangled in limbs. Orpheus hummed a lullaby, one Frederick didn't have the energy to pin point, letting himself he lulled into a dreamless sleep. Orpheus remained awake for a short moment more, placing a kiss to Frederick's head before tucking the composer closer as he fell into his own rest. 

In the morning, they'd leave back home.

In the morning, Joseph would be handed a letter, addressed from Frederick, declining his invitation to the opera and a future play.

In the morning, Frederick would say goodbye to Paris one last time before joining Orpheus onto the train back to England.

Chapter Text

A year after Frederick's turning, on the anniversary, Orpheus took Frederick out of the house and to a private theatre performance. The story followed the tale of a young Knight falling in love with a poor commoner, much to the dismay of the King. With a twist of that commoner being the abandoned heir of the King and reclaim their rightful throne, Frederick still enjoyed the music that played, and the actors performance.

Two years after Frederick's turning, on the anniversary, Alice published an article about a string of murders that had occurred on Limehouse street, finding the culprit after a long and arduous journey. The man was a former noble who was laundered out of money, and in a fit of rage, murdered former servants in the belief they were the ones who ruined his life. On chance, the man happened to be a distant relative of the Kreiburg family, and Frederick could only laugh when he read the paper about the man "having high connections" and that he deserved better as a Kreiburg. His wife, of course, divorced him soon after, therein renouncing the Kreiburg name from his back.

Five years after Frederick's turning, on the anniversary, Melly took Frederick out to a garden dinner, filled with fireflies and butterflies, a magical and mystical dinner filled with roses and chrysanthemums. She taught him a few tricks how his powers, how vampire blood, while healing, was not to be given in great quantities to healthy humans, lest they become sick and decease. But she taught him how to use his blood familiar properly, to see through their eyes if needed. Although Frederick ate little of the food besides the soup, he still thanked Melly for her consideration, and the well aged wine they dined with. 

Seven years after Frederick's turning, on the anniversary, the composer woke with a scream, thrashing in his bed as nightmares plagued his mind. The voices of his father, his mother, his family's vitriol and despair; the pity of the cousins and aunts; the honey, lust-laden voices of the ladies who sought out his body and sex, to the men who called him the insults of a whore during sex. Of the pain he endured and ignored, of the failure he was seen as to everyone. Of his turning, how his body burned alive through the transformation, bones snapping and repairing themselves stronger, blood clotting and un-clotting as his human blood was devoured by the vampire blood. When Orpheus shook him awake from it, Frederick shoved him across the room and into the wall, only to apologize profusely when the novelist struggled to stand. The rest of that night was spent huddled close under blankets, with Orpheus doing his best to calm down the frightened composer. 

10 years after Frederick's turning, on the anniversary, Orpheus sat in his writing office within London, reading over manuscripts for his latest novel. A completed, but unpublished work, about a lady with the features of the aquatic bringing blessings to a town, only to be sacrificed by the same villagers when her powers ran dry, coming back to get revenge on the village after she was blessed. It wasn't his most creative work by any means, but he knew it would still be one readers would eat up regardless. 

Bored, he set aside the manuscript to pick up a stack of papers, an array of smaller parts of the story he had debated adding. His mind wandered elsewhere, to the gift he should give Frederick and what he could offer the composer on this day. Flowers were cliche, but he knew Frederick always accepted and cared for them dutifully after he received them. Perhaps he could get a bouquet and take him out to a midnight walk, followed by a water side dinner. Something romantic, sweet. 

He couldn't stop the smile from coming his face as he thought about the Austrian. Of his still, perfect beauty and the strength he carried in his body, growing stronger each day. Of his music, both good and bad, developing a new style that wasn't close to Kreiburg standard. Something Orpheus was grateful for, in actuality. He feared that Frederick clung too much to his ancestry, and that his unwillingness to part from them was a reason he was unable to accept his vampiric lifestyle. 

But he's had a decade to come to terms with his new life. Orpheus hoped it was good sign that Frederick's music changing was his moving forward. 

"Mr. De'Ross?" a voice asked, prompting him to pick up his head. An intern stood at the slightly opened door, folders in their arms, "It's past 5. You can head home for the day, sir." 

Orpheus glanced over to the clock in the corner of his room, noticing it was indeed past his time. Thanking the intern, he gathered up his things, taking his sweet time to pack away everything neatly, humming one of Frederick's songs as he moved. Once organized and packed, he clocked his ticket out and made his way outside, shivering at the sudden blast of cold wind. He couldn't truly feel it, of course, but the shock still remained. 

The sky was cloudy, but not raining, letting him walk comfortably without overheating from the sun. He could call for a carriage, he knew, but he walked the sides of the London street with the swirling masses, keeping his nose sharp for the smell of Hunter iron. Thankfully, all he could smell was general stench of London and her people, familiar and as revolting as it was. He passed by a few shops, before coming to a crossing, staring over the dividing barriers to the beginnings of a steel bridge. 

"Quite the marvel, ain't it?" a man said next to him, smoking a pipe. His gloves were worn and fraying, and he looked scruffy. Orpheus looked back from him to the skeleton of the bridge, shrugging a shoulder as a response, "I can't wait to see what it'll look like when it'd done." 

The man gave a wheezy laugh, slapping a hand rather harshly on Orpheus's shoulder, much to the novelist's discomfort. Disgruntled, he turned to the man with a sneer, only to find the beggar chuckling to himself as he took another puff. 

"That ain't bein' done till I'm in the grave and you're as wrinkly as me, boy. Plans say it'll take another 40 years to complete at most, pah." 

Orpheus couldn't help but snort a bit, finding it rather ironic given their nature. The old man only took it as joining laughter, walking away a moment later. Orpheus watched him leave before looking to the bridge once more. 

Perhaps when it was done he could take Frederick to see it. 

Pulling up the coat collar more, he continued his way down the streets, walking a bit faster as he saw a flower shop on the corner. He stopped outside the window displays, looking at the array of colorful buds and arranges, unsure about which would please Frederick more. Perhaps something autumn themed, warm colors with reds and oranges. Then, for those-

"Cornflowers are the symbol of the Kreiburg family, but we do not enjoy receiving them. Frederick rather enjoys green Lilies and white anemone flowers. If you want a clashing color, forget-me-nots were his childhood favorite." 

Startled, Orpheus snapped his head to his left, where a lady stood beside him. A pale orange dress, hidden underneath a cream long coat with white fur trim. Her hair was done up into a braid and the small cap on her head was fastened by fabric under her chin. When she looked up to him, Orpheus almost assumed the woman was actually Frederick dressed up. A silver cornflower pin on her breast pocket furthered aided him to connecting the identity. 

"Lady Kreiburg," Orpheus started, surprised and off guard, but nodding his head politely to Amalia, "Forgive me, I was not expecting to see you here in London." 

Amalia nodded her head in understanding, looking back to the display of flowers, "I'm here visiting some friends from finishing school. I'm here for the week and decided to take this free day to wander." 

Awkwardly, Orpheus opened his mouth then closed it, lost for words. 

"I'm sorry, about Frederick. Going missing," the novelist said, clenching and unclenching his hands, "I wish I could've done more to help..." 

"He sent us a letter, asking to meet somewhere that wasn't the estate. I guess he told you to go ahead of him?" 

Orpheus nodded slowly, turning to the flowers as well. Their reflections stared back at them, Orpheus's unchanged youth and Amalia's age just coming in. For a woman near her late sixties, she was remarkably young in appearance, only looking to be within her late forties.

"...Mr. Orpheus," Amalia started, tilting her head slightly in his direction, "Answer me this, will you?" 

Orpheus looked to her with a nod, watching as she took a slow breath before turning to him. That familiar feeling when he looked at Frederick returned, and it was obvious he took after his mother over his father. Her eyes, a similar color to Frederick's own, held his attention firm, even more so than when Frederick used his Authority unconsciously. 

"Does he still play the piano? Does he still compose songs?" 

Orpheus could feel a small fraction of weariness creep up his spine, but he gave his best confused face before shaking his head, "I'm not sure what you're asking, Lady Kreiburg." 

"My son. He lives with you, does he not?" 

The sound of the people around them cut out, as if the world had come to stand-still. Alarm rang in his ears, frozen in place as if a statue. The question and demand completely disarmed him, only able to open and close his mouth as reflex. Amalia simply watched him, those familiar eyes pinning him down like an prey in the maw of a predator. 

"...He plays everyday," Orpheus finally got out, dumbly licking his lips and willing his body to move. The cacophony around them gradually returned, as the smell of sunlight and peach reach his nose. He realized why when Amalia fixed a stray hair, bumping the high collar of her shirt to reveal a bit of flesh, "Our home is always filled with music, nearly every hour of the day." 

Amalia smiled, and seemed to relax greatly, letting out a slow breath that Orpheus hadn't noticed she had been holding. When her eyes lowered, the novelist shook his head to clear away the invisible grip that was on his mind. 

What- It began, before Amalia's voices was heard again. 

"I'm glad, then. That he can still enjoy music and composing, even with his new life." 

Amalia knew of Vampires. 

"Today is the same day he went missing, ten years ago. The day you took my son from me," she said slowly, looking back up to Orpheus. That stern hold that was in her eyes previously was gone, only replaced with...sorrow. And longing. And anger, "Tell me, did he struggle? Did he scream his voice hoarse through the transformation? How much pain did you put him through?!" 

Orpheus couldn't refute her, lost for words at a mothers anger for her child. He didn't want to be honest, but he didn't know how best to answer the question. The fires of anger that filled her eyes simmered down, facing going from sorrowful anger to almost resignation. Orpheus blinked at her dumbly, unable to gather his thoughts for even one word. 

"I won't reveal your nature, if you will do me one favor." Amalia said suddenly, pinning Orpheus down with her eyes once more. It was beginning to become clearer more of Frederick's mystery, Orpheus thought, nodding his head without conscious thought behind the action. The smell of Hunter iron brushed under his nose as Amalia stepped closer to him.

Amalia took a moment before finally speaking, "Take me to see my son."

'We could kill her now. Dump her body somewhere no one could find her.'

"No," Orpheus said, within his mind, pushing down It that spoke up in his mind, "We cannot kill her. She's his mother."

'He doesn't need to know', It argued, applying pressure in his head to make it's point known, 'It could be so easy.'

Orpheus pushed It back down, glancing over to Amalia across from him in the carriage. She appeared relaxed, not at all worried about the vampire across from her, taking in the passing sights of the greenery around them. A small, private smile on her lips, she said nothing as the carriage rocked over the worn gravel, tapping her hand on her lap to the tempo of a song he didn't know. 

"I've always wanted to spend a holiday in London. The suburbs are rather lovely." 

"Why haven't you, then?" 

Amalia turned to him to speak, using her hands as she talked, "I'm a housewife. I had duties at home, children to raise, a husband to keep in check. I didn't have time to take holiday's over months with all of that going on."

Orpheus narrowed his eyes a bit at her, "That didn't stop you from keeping spies on Frederick after he left." 

"That it did not," the lady admitted, lowering her eyes in shame and folding her hands together over her lap, "I wanted to keep him safe, even if he was back in Paris. But...I didn't want him to get entangled with my family. Or vampires," at this she paused before scoffing to herself, "I see that backfired spectacularly." 

A particularly hard bump rocked the carriage violently, causing both people to stabilize themselves against the seats. The driver yelled a faint "Apologies!" to them, but Orpheus ignored them to look over to Amalia, who appeared unbothered by the sudden change. 

"Why did you want to keep him sheltered?" The novelist pushed, leaning over on the next rock to hover over Amalia, bracing himself on the seat and the wall of the carriage. She merely blinked up at him before she spoke.

"Est-ce que ça a de l'importance? Il est à toi maintenant."*

As if pulled by an invisible force, Orpheus suddenly leaned back until he all but crashed back into the seat, monocle falling off as his eyes widened, staring over to Amalia who looked equally surprised. Neither of them had a chance to acknowledge it before the carriage came to stop at the front of the manor. A few maids, sensing their master approaching, had made themselves known, waiting on the doorstep to greet them. Orpheus paused for a moment, processing what happened before fixing his monocle back in place and opening the door. He stepped down first, nodding to the maids who greeted him before offering a hand to Amalia, waiting until she took it and stepped out after. 

The maids gasped in alarm, but Orpheus shot them a glare, causing them to freeze up and quiet down. 

"You will not report this to His Majesty. This is to remain a secret away from him, understood?" 

After they all nodded, Orpheus instead led Amalia inside the manor, feeling his body relax naturally to the sound of music floating through the halls. The maids scurried behind them, leaving to take care of their chores, while Amalia looked around the foyer, looking bewondered at the sights and the music. 

"Is that him playing?" 

Orpheus nodded to her, guiding her further into the manor with a light hand on her back. Down the familiar halls to the living room, where the music became louder and louder. They waited a moment outside before the song reached it's end, and Orpheus stepped in first, a small smile on his face as he met Frederick's eyes. 

"A lovely piece as usual. I noticed a bit of inspiration from Bach in there this time around, correct?" was the first thing Orpheus said, tilting his head as Frederick closed the lid over the keys, watching the blond nod and stand, "You would be correct." 

They stood in silence for a moment more, as Orpheus removed his coat and hung it up nearby on an unused and empty candelabra. Frederick stared at him, knowing that there was more that Orpheus wasn't outright saying. Or showing. 

"I have someone for you. Requested to see you, in fact." 

Frederick sighed at that, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. With his eyes turned away, Orpheus peeked around the door and motioned for Amalia to enter, just as Frederick began to complain, "If it's Professor Diruse, can you please tell him I'm not interested in hearing about-" 

Amalia stood beside Orpheus, hands folded prim in front of her, just as Frederick turned his head back to them. The shock halted his sentence before it's completion, and Orpheus resisted fidgeting as Frederick's shock wrote itself on his face. Amalia looked over her son, taking a shuddering breath before taking a step close. Frederick remained still, but he seemed to have gotten over the shock, trying to move his mouth into words. Amalia opened hers as if to do the same, but pulled back, wringing her hands together before bringing them to her chest. 

"I know, this may be selfish of me, but...If it isn't too much, would you let me hug you-" the lady began, unable to finish the sentence as Frederick, in a blur, had sprinted to hug the woman close, mindful of his speed to not knock her down. After a moment to register the sudden change in distance, Amalia returned the hug, letting held back tears finally fall as she held her son in her arms again. Orpheus stepped outside as they both let tears fall, whispering to the lingering maids to return to work and leave them be. Once finally alone, Amalia pulled back just enough to cup Frederick's face in her hands, gazing upon the frozen features, untouched and unchanged from time. One of her hands pet gently at his cheek, smiling sadly when he leaned into the touch. 

"You've been cursed to the night, haven't you?" 

Frederick looked at her, confused, but nodded still. Amalia only smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his pierced ear, before pulling him back into a welcomed hug.

An hour after her arrival, Frederick led Amalia outside to the patio, where a table had been made up for them, a fresh pot of tea in its center. Two chairs were set on either side of the table, which were soon filled by the Kreiburgs. Before Frederick could offer to pour tea, Amalia looked back at the doorway with a hand on her chin.

"Would you be able to call for Mr. De'Ross? I feel it's only fair he hear this as well." 

Frederick listened carefully for a moment, until he heard the caw of a raven somewhere in the distance, and let himself have a small private smile. 

"We needn't worry. Even if he isn't here in person, he is listening." 

Amalia looked as if she wanted to argue, but ultimately nodded in the end before accepting the tea poured out for her. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping tea and enjoying each others presence, before the refills came around again and both of them lingered in an uncomfortable pause. 

It was Frederick who started first, tapping his nails against the ceramic, "Father's party...I'm sorry I ran away. I thought, with Orpheus, I could manage it and yet-"

"No, don't apologize, Frederick. It was a misjudgment on my part," Amalia said quickly, lowering her cup back onto the plate, a poignant air suddenly surrounding her, "I...Your Father's health has been on a decline. Consumption, the doctors have said, and I wanted to try and see if you two could work things out together. It was selfish of me to do, and I regret making you feel obligated to attend." 

"Mother..." 

Amalia took a shuddering breath before looking out to the garden before them. 

"You must be wondering how I knew you were a vampire, yes? Rest assured, only I knew you were alive, thanks to your letter ten years ago," she said, turning back to him, "I ensured your father would not see that letter. And...only now do I have the means to see you again. Talk with you, one last time." 

Frederick nodded, watching as Amalia took his hands into her own. The fine, well aged wrinkles just forming on her hands were stark against Frederick's calloused ones. For a moment, it even reminded him of Orpheus's hands, especially the one scarred by something he never told Frederick about. Amalia sat for a moment, likely figuring out how to explain everything, before finally taking a slow breath and meeting her eyes to Fredericks. 

"My family came from a long line of Vampire Hunters. I'm assuming you've been told what they are, given the severity of risks they now present to you. As a child, I was raised as a hunter before a wife, and taught about how to identify and kill vampires. Old scriptures, teachings, and nearly forgotten knowledge were passed down through my family and taught to us as children. Despite this teaching, I decided to pursue a different life, and after finishing school, I decided to go into music. It was through this path I met your father." 

Midway through her story, a raven had perched itself near Frederick's foot, peering up at them with a small croak. Amalia looked down to the corvid, before offering her hand and a finger to pet the familiar, smiling softly when it leaned into the small scritches Amalia gave it. 

"I knew once I was official with Henry that I couldn't reveal the existence of vampires to him. And in turn, I couldn't reveal the existence of vampires to our children. So, as part of the dowry, he was sworn to not ask about my family, nor was any information of my family made to be public knowledge. To protect my family, to protect you, I had to completely erase my heritage. I thought that if I did this, your future would be safer, and away from vampires. Yet...," at this she paused, mulling over her past mistakes, "...perhaps it would've been better to inform you, given what's happened..."

Frederick shook his head, trying to form thoughts from the revelation. But one thing was for certain for him.

"You had no idea I would be turned. I didn't even get a choice to be turned, Mother. There was no way we could've known this was how everything would turn out." 

"I neglected taking into account the risks of my heritage, and what you would be burdened with. Even if you say we had no way of knowing, I still can't stop the regret," Amalia argued, blinking tears from her eyes and using a nearby handkerchief to wipe her eyes, "Besides the knowledge of how to slay vampires and create weapons capable of doing so, like other Hunter lineage's, ours was no exception to experimentation." 

At this, Amalia stood up slowly, taking a breath before moving to stand near the guard rail of the patio, bringing the small cloth with her to dap at her eyes. The raven followed her, hopping behind her heels and made a quick fly up to the railing. Frederick watched from his seat at the table, as the wind blew through the brush and played with their hair. 

"As a precaution to protect humans without the ability to fight, Hunters experimented with vampire blood and vampire science to find ways of improving our endurance and strength. As such, part of this endurance was a change in our blood and some of our genetics through the vampire metamorphosis. While faster and stronger than human, we decay quicker, and our natural scents are genetically designed to attract vampires, including our blood," at this, she turned back to Frederick, with a regretful and apologetic look in her silver eyes, "I doomed you the day you were born. To become an infatuation to vampires. I neglected to acknowledge this fatal flaw, and I will forever be sorry over that." 

Before Frederick could respond, a sudden intake of air lead Amalia into a coughing fit, leaving her to lean heavily against the guardrail. In a rush, Frederick was already next to her and supporting her as she coughed into her gloved hand, pulling that same hand away with flecks of blood now on the palm. Frederick's face paled, while Amalia only huffed with ironic amusement. 

"The greatest genetically enhanced humans...doomed to live short and fleeting lives..."

Carefully, she was guided back into her seat. Once sat back down, Frederick looked over her dirtied hand, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles as she sighed and sipped the now cooled tea. Once the cup was set back down, she looked at Frederick, warm and comforting, before raising her other hand to gently pet his cheek. 

"Perhaps it was rather a blessing you were turned. I feel it suits you." Amalia said, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss to the composers forehead. Frederick remained still, unable to properly turn the statement over in his head, only able to stare as Amalia pulled back to look at him. They remained that way for some time, talking idly about their new lives. 

"Does Orpheus treat you well, my dear?" Amalia asked later, once she had convinced Frederick to return to his seat. 

Frederick paused to consider the question before nodding slowly, "He doesn't force me to do anything I don't want to. He listens to me and sees me as an equal." 

The lady nodded sagely, swirling her tea slowly in her cup. Frederick tapped the edges of his cup as he enjoyed the wind and the natural air. Amalia joined him, before suddenly speaking.

"Why did you have to go into hiding?" 

"Vampire law says that newborns need to be homebound until their thirst is tamed. Which takes around two months at most, according to the records." 

"Then," at this, she paused for a moment before continuing, "If you only needed to be homebound for two months, why did you need to be hidden for over a year and more? Couldn't he have simply said you were sick and bedridden?" 

Frederick opened his mouth first, but then closed it. He hadn't really considered whether that was applicable or not; he had been thrust into a new life and locked away in a too big manor. Now that Amalia said it out loud, he realized that Orpheus could've done just that. Frederick was only 32, he still had a couple years before he would need to hide away. He elected to discuss it more with Orpheus, but as the sun set in the horizon, Amalia was lead back out by her son to the carriage waiting for her. They both paused just outside, with Amalia staring at it for a moment before turning to Frederick and gently taking his hands. 

"You've been omitted from your Father's will. As far as he knows, you're either dead or disowned, or both. I've written up a secret will, that denotes that Orpheus will receive all of my assets not included in the will connected to your Father. These assets are the knowledge of Hunters, that I am giving to you as a parting gift. So you can be prepared, and understand more about this new, secret life you are in." 

Frederick nodded slowly, less than surprised at his removal, knowing his Father well. Amalia brushed back some of his bangs, before gently pulling his head down so she could lean up to kiss his cheeks, pulling him into a tight hug after. 

"I won't see you again, will I?" Frederick asked after the silence, feeling the small nod Amalia gave. 

"I've not long left on my clock, my dear. But, I will make sure a letter is delivered here in secret on my funeral." 

As they separated, Frederick clung to their hug longer than he originally intended, until Amalia's teary smile gently pushed him back towards the manor. She looked over her son's frame once more, lingering on the ring now on his finger. She smiled at that, before glancing back to the doors of the manor. 

"We can consider this your walk down the aisle. I'm entrusting you to Orpheus now." 

A raven cawed from the top of the carriage, tilting its head down at the Kreiburgs. Frederick looked at it in surprise while Amalia smiled at it, a small bit of mirth in her eyes. 

"If you hurt him, I'll haunt you from the grave Mr. De'Ross," then, she turned to Frederick one last time, "Remember this, Frederick. I have loved you most in this world, and even when I'm gone you will still be my most adored."

And with those words, and a parting wave, Amalia stepped into the carriage and shut the door behind her. Frederick remained there, watching it roll down the paved way and through the gates, until he could no longer hear the rattle of the wheels against the gravel. He remained there, still, even as night set and the ravens disappeared. Only once he felt the first few drops of rain did he turn and head back inside, leaning against the door as it thudded shut and echoed through the foyer. He looked down at his shoes, only looking up when he heard a pair coming down over the carpeted marble. Orpheus stood there, dressed in all black, like a mourner, simply staring at Frederick. Time seemed to slow between them, hidden words passing between them in the silence. 

"Did you enjoy your talk?" Orpheus said in a near whisper.

Like the final tip of a scale, Frederick finally let himself cry, sliding down the door to hug his knees and sob into them. A few moments later, he felt Orpheus's arms hug him, gently pulling him into a careful embrace as the composer cried.

Snow fell around the masses, for moments clashing with the black worn by the mourners. The early winter chill slung to them, shanking their sharp, frigid claws into the people. But still, they remained, as the casket was carried into the mausoleum, a commemorative of the Kreiburg lineage. Lord Kreiburg led the way, setting down the mine, lacquered casket onto the marble, stepping back as the priest stepped forward to bless the wood, and it's occupants soul. One by one, people came to lay flowers on the edge of the altar, some leaving a touch on the wood as their farewell. The few children in the crowd waved to the casket, unable to understand the somber air that fell among the crowd. 

"Is that everyone?" the priest asked after some time, looking over the crowd. Before Lord Kreiburg could confirm, the crowd parted, letting the passerby break through and step forward.

Whispers emerged from the crowd, accusatory, surprised, confused; Lord Kreiburg curled his fists tight as Frederick stepped forward, hair pulled back in an elegant style, a mimic of the one Amalia adored to wear. Unlike the other occupants, he wore no over coat, only a single flowing cape over his shoulder, matching the complete black like the other guests. In his arms, a bouquet of forget-me-nots, white lilies, and ferns, wrapped tight in white crinkly paper. 

"Father." Frederick greeted, kneeling down to set the bouquet at the foot of the casket, a stark difference away from the piles on either side where the top was. 

"Frederick." 

The composer stood, hands folded in front of him, even as the wind picked up and blew around the room. The chill burrowed into bones, causing both humans to shiver, while Frederick remained still as a statue. Lord Kreiburg looked at his son, of his unchanged face, like a perfect statue, immune to the weariness of passing time. 

"You have some nerve-" Lord Kreiburg began, only to be cut off swiftly by Frederick, "Mother had a letter prepared for me ahead of time. It was her who invited me personally. And...this is her funeral. It would be dishonorable to fight in front of her final rest like this." 

One point that could not be argued or disagreed upon, but Lord Kreiburg still huffed, keeping his glare on the impassivity Frederick returned to him.

"You could have at least come earlier to make a speech. Will you attend for the wake?" 

Frederick shook his head slow at that, stepping aside as the priest left the small space, gently pushing back the nosey guests. Lord Kreiburg shook his head at the answer, crossing his arms and giving a once over to Frederick's person. 

"...you disappear for a decade. You've barely aged," the man said, switching to French so the onlookers couldn't hear the private conversation, "You made a deal with the devil, didn't you?" 

Frederick chuckled at that, pulling off his left glove slowly and laying his hand in mock daintiness over his chest, proudly displaying the wedding ring on his finger. The rage swirled with disgust in Lord Kreiburg's eyes as he noticed, while Frederick answered, "I simply have wed." 

"That English novelist, right? He talked about wanting to marry you," Lord Kreiburg said with a sneer, hugging himself tighter against the cold, "How fitting for you two, to be damned. For laying with sin, and going against nature. What's stopping me from reporting you to a sanatorium?" 

Frederick looked down at the casket, before giving a curt nod. 

"My mother. Your wife. And my husband." 

The sneer revealed more teeth at the admission, but Frederick held firm, keeping his gaze on Lord Kreiburg. Like a vice grip on his mind, the man couldn't look away. 

"I am renouncing Kreiburg under your ancestry. I will treasure Kreiburg in the name of my mother, whom loved me despite my changes. I take the name De'Ross now." 

With that final statement, Frederick raised his hand to kiss the pads of his fingers, before pressing them down onto the wood. With a faint, "I love you", Frederick rose and turned away from his Father's rage, weaving through the parting crowd as they split before him. The priest fumbled once Frederick caught his gaze, but quickly understood that they could move onto the wake. Frederick continued on, circling around the eastern walls of the ancestral church, until he could see Orpheus standing beside the carriage, looking up to the snow falling from the sky and a pipe held in his hand. Smoke wafted from the top, but Orpheus didn't partake, offering it to the composer instead, who took it with trembling hands. 

"I know you gave it up. But...I had a feeling you might have wanted it today." 

Frederick blew out the smoke he had taken, blinking slow as the familiar curl of tobacco swirled in his lungs. 

"I said what I needed to. I don't have anymore regrets." 

"When is the will to be read?" 

Frederick pulled out the folded letter, reading it over once unfolded, "Three days after her funeral, in private. You'll need to attend as the recipient."

Orpheus looked over to the side, where a few snow bunnies hopped about, listening halfheartedly to the curses Lord Kreiburg was spewing from the other side of the church. 

"We'll remain here for three days then. Are you okay with that?" 

Frederick took another pull, holding it for a moment before letting it go, watching the whisps of smoke tease the falling flakes. 

"Yes. With you, I am."

The snow continued to fall around the manor. The servants were allowed time to gather in the living room to enjoy the fireplace, or any other part of the manor with one installed. The aroma of ginger and almond coated the kitchen walls, from the continuous brew of hot tea to keep warm. The nights fell, the servants worked and lounged when the chores were done, and Alice worked long hours compiling information on her most recent case. Orpheus assisted her for most of it, taking turns connecting clues and identifying suspects, and feeding fresh meat to Tempo when he became hungry. When the weather was kinder, Melly would make an appearance to the manor, spending nights curled up under wool blankets with Alice by the fire, talking about nothing and everything at once. 

Frederick lay in bed, shrouded in the darkness, as the grief of losing a loved one plagued his waking mind. 

He was wholly unprepared for Amalia's passing. The words left behind for him, the knowledge and unconditional love she held for him taking root in his heart and pulling on the strings. He spent the first week after her funeral reading over the new information he had now inherited. By the second week, the reality of her passing hit him, and it took much effort to take him out of his suicidal spiral, spurred by the guilt of a failed son. Orpheus had to restrain him on one instance, when he had become violent at the remembrance of her casket, and insisted he needed to dig her up and join her. The third week, he rejected everyone, locking himself in his room to smash mirrors and beg for one more chance of talking with her, of seeing her again. When his screaming became too much, Orpheus broke down the door and brought him to the comfort of bed, holding the composer with a panicked urgency at Frederick's screaming, cursing Orpheus out for his involvement. 

Four weeks after her funeral, a month of time, Frederick now hid in bed, petting over the long healed invisible scars of his harm. Tempo joined him often, laying on him and purring, or curling up beside him as Frederick pet him to ground himself. This night, Tempo was absent, taking the role as Alice's assistant in her case, leaving Frederick alone in the rather cold room. He barely acknowledged when Orpheus came in, timber in his arms for the fireplace, and a small bit of starting fuel. He worked in silence to light and get the fire going, only standing and dusting off his clothes after that to approach the bed. He sat at the edge and laid a gentle hand to Frederick's shoulder, rubbing his thumb in a soothing gesture. 

"Are you thirsty? You haven't drank much since..." 

Frederick shook his head only slightly, sluggish and shuddering as he fought back another wave of tears. He'd cried too much already, after all. 

"Talk with me? Please?" Orpheus asked, scooting closer to reach over and take Frederick's chilly hand in his own. 

The composer didn't respond right away, curling stiff fingers into the warmer hand holding his own, trying to make sense of his screeching thoughts. Gradually, he turned over, looking up to Orpheus's shadowed face, only being brightened by the growing firelight. The care Orpheus was giving him shook him, as his face twisted into a grimace and he put his other arm over his eyes as the tears fell. 

"I don't know. I know I should've been prepared, but- I wasn't. I just wasn't. And now, I just- I feel like there was so much more I could've done, so much more time to see her, and I can't get it out of my mind that if I had just been better than she wouldn't have- have-" 

Unable to finish, Frederick sobbed into his arm, face blotchy and eyes red. Orpheus remained like a pillar for him, rubbing his knuckles gently with a thumb, letting Frederick try to form his thoughts into something clearer. 

"There is a gaping hole in my chest, Orpheus. It widens everyday, I don't feel like myself, as if part of me has been ripped from me unwillingly. It's agony, it's hollow, I can't think straight, and I can't feel my heart as firm anymore." 

Orpheus gently pulled him up, tucking the composer into his side as he pet gently at the tangled mess of hair. Frederick continued to blubber out incomprehensible words, clinging to Orpheus as the sorrow weighed down on his shoulders, ever heavier with time. They remained like that for awhile, until Frederick finally calmed down enough to speak hoarsely. 

"You love me, right...?" 

"With all that I have, and all I will ever be." 

Frederick pulled back enough to cup Orpheus's face in his hands, rising to his knees so he could look down at the novelist. How he looked at Frederick with remorse, slightly under dressed, hair fluffy and loose. His monocle was also forgone today, the faint indents of constant use still lingering around his right eye. Frederick traced them gently, before finally meeting Orpheus's eyes. 

"Then show me. Make love to me, like you did after the Opera. Hold me close like you did before," Frederick said, looping his arms around Orpheus's neck so their foreheads could touch, "Please. I beg of you, fill this emptiness inside me, for just a little while. I have no one else but you." 

~*~

Orpheus's brow furrowed, wanting to decline, wanting to tell Frederick sex was not a coping mechanism, but the composer only stared at him, pleading silently with his arms and his trembling frame. And Orpheus knew he had lost, hidden and dormant desires reminding him of the ecstasy and bless of sex, and how many years had passed since he could last hold the composer like proper lovers. 

"...Tell me if you change your mind." Orpheus said, pulling Frederick closer so he could tease a hand up the covered thigh and under Frederick's nightshirt. The composer nodded, tucking his head against Orpheus's shoulder to kiss at his neck, "I won't. I...need you, Orpheus." 

Orpheus laid kisses in return to Frederick's collar, gently pulling the nightshirt free of Frederick's frame, leaving the composer bare and naked for Orpheus's eyes. The former's hands trailing down the stitching to undo buttons, pulling open the buttoned blouse once it was free from where it was tucked into Orpheus's pants. All the while Orpheus laid lingering open mouth kisses to the composer's neck, scraping fangs every so often on the unmarked skin. With Orpheus's own flesh becoming bare, Frederick's staved off thirst rose once more, leering down at the slope of Orpheus's bare back, digging his nails in just a little hard to see the marks bloom. The novelist's own brushed like a feather down his sides and over his thighs, waking goosebumps on his flesh and leaving him sighing. Frederick trembled at the touches, sensitive to them when they used to be familiar, gone unfamiliar after years of absence. 

"We'll need oil." Orpheus murmured into the warming flesh, gripping firmer to Frederick's rear, pulling him closer still. The sway of motion forced Frederick to cling, nipping at Orpheus's ear as his hand went to undo the novelist's trousers, "The nightstand..." 

Orpheus pulled back to glance at the nightstand, rather far from him. Instead, he bit down on his hand and summoned a small familiar, guiding it to open the sliding drawer and pull the glass container with the oil inside. As he set it aside, away from the edge of the bed, he laid Frederick down onto the sheets to take off his trousers, feeling the weight of Frederick's stare as he became similarly nude. They met eyes for a moment, simply taking in the other, one with longing that had buried, and the other with an almost frenzy desire from it's absence. 

"Can I kiss you?" Frederick asked softly, reaching out a hand to Orpheus's own. 

The novelist leaned in to seal their lips, kissing slow and gentle, unable to stop the groan that came from his throat after years of yearning being fulfilled. Frederick held his head close, clinging to the kiss like a lifeline, spreading his legs as Orpheus traces his fingers over the lines of muscle down Frederick's legs. The libido was slow to come, anticipation heavy between them, while Orpheus took his time relearning Frederick's body, as the composer did the same. Pulling back from the kiss, but not going far, Frederick trailed kisses to Orpheus's neck, sucking a bruise onto the skin before biting down, savoring the groan Orpheus gave him as his fingers tightened where they were curled around the flesh of Frederick's thighs. Frederick drank greedily, moaning into the bite as the taste of Orpheus's blood flowed down his throat. A little thicker than normal, but no less heavenly, lighting the embers of lust that steadily grew stronger in his core. 

When Frederick pulled away, Orpheus pulled back as well to grab the oil, sitting up so he could see easier. Frederick trailed his eyes down Orpheus's body, admiring the slim but slightly toned form, finally stopping at the half hard member between his thighs. Pulled by a sudden urge, Frederick sat up and gently pushed Orpheus back onto his own back, who followed all too willingly. The bottle of oil lay partially opened in Orpheus's hand, limp at his side as Frederick began to kiss at the warm cock beside him, using a hand to add some extra friction. Orpheus's breath hitched, blood flowing naturally, becoming hard enough that Frederick could suck the head into his mouth, slow and thoughtful. 

"Frederick, you don't-" 

The composer pulled off to cast a glare at the novelist, effectively quieting him, before returning to his previous task, hollowing his cheeks more to take Orpheus deeper. The novelist could only sigh at the warm, wet heat around him, using all his willpower to keep his hips still as Frederick worked diligently. Inexperienced clearly, but calling upon techniques likely used on him, Frederick used his tongue to lave at the underside, swirling a bit at the head before swallowing down again. Orpheus could feel himself tipping, and clearly urged Frederick off. Despite the displeased glare he got, Orpheus pulled Frederick up to him and sat up, returning the composer to his lap as they had started. 

"I want to come while we are one." 

Frederick's eye lowered, lashes fanning out and tickling Orpheus's cheeks from where the composer had tucked himself. Seemingly turning Frederick docile, Orpheus opened the small jar of oil before pouring some onto his fingers, and setting it aside. Carefully, the traced down the line of Frederick's back, over the curve of his ass, to where they stopped to rub at the composer's hole. 

"This might hurt a bit," Orpheus warned, waiting until he could feel Frederick relax more, before slowly sliding in the first finger. As expected, the composer flinched a bit, biting his lip at the sudden stretch. Orpheus remained still, pulling out that single finger before pushing in again, gently working the tight ring of muscle loose. 

It was like this that one became two, and two became three, the time stretching on as Frederick sank into the familiar sensation. Once the pain had passed, he let himself indulge in the pleasure, sighing softly as Orpheus worked him open with the weight and urgency of lust beckoning him. Orpheus added a fourth for good measure, curling his fingers to press into the spot inside that made Frederick moan louder, speeding up his fingers to deliver more. It was Frederick who reached a hand down to tug slightly at Orpheus's length, making the novelist hiss, before quickly pulled his hand away as Frederick lined them up and lowered himself down. The friction, painless from Orpheus's thoroughness, combined with the heat as Frederick sat until pressed skin to skin, moaning at the familiar fullness his body had craved in dormancy. They sat like that, taking in the sensation, sharing the same breath and locking eyes, unable to part. 

Orpheus rocked in slowly, using his hands on Frederick's waist to guide him, leading them in a rock that tested the water, slipping sighs and gasps from lips that brushed against another. Finding the old rhythm that worked for them took time, focusing less on the pleasure and more of the sensation. Orpheus pulled aside Frederick's hair and tilted his head back, exposing the slightly flushed skin of the composer's neck. When Orpheus bit down, Frederick clenched around him, moaning at the sudden blend of pain and pleasure. He dug his nails into the skin of Orpheus's back, biting down again on the novelist's own neck. A calling he had ignored spoke once more, but he listened this time, drinking deeply of Orpheus's blood, as the novelist did the same. 

Each gulp of blood warmed Frederick, heady like a drug, until it became difficult to tell where he began and Orpheus ended, and vice versa. Their hearts beat in unison, thumping against their chests with each rock of their hips, an invisible cord tying around them and tightening with each gulp. It became to much for Frederick, pulling off with a gasp as Orpheus thrust in roughly suddenly, before the composer's weight led them to Orpheus laying on his back once more. Mid-fall, the novelist pulled free from Frederick's neck, sitting back as the composer rocked his hips, beginning a slow ride. Each movement made was felt in return, bouncing back like a mirror; where Frederick touched, the composer felt the phantom sensation on himself. As if their very beings had begun to merge. 

When Frederick looked up to Orpheus's face, intent on asking a question, he was instead greeted for a brief moment himself, sat atop Orpheus's hips, with the firelight casting a warm orange glow on his frame. Orpheus's scarred hand came up to cup the aligning cheek, thumb smearing at the blood stained to rosy pink lips, and looking down at the patches smear from the bite. At this angle, Frederick's hair glowed like the sun, his skin flushed pink down to his shoulders, and his eyes sparkling like diamonds. 

"Ethereal..." Orpheus murmured, seemingly unconsciously, looking up at Frederick as if he were a God to be revered. 

The composer shuddered, stopping his movements as he kissed the palm of Orpheus's hand, overcome with a wave of emotion. Shock, sorrow, self hate, love; spinning wildly in his heart and mind from their connection. 

"The loneliness is not too bad when you are with me..." Frederick whispered, blinking back tears that threatened to fall, "I'm glad I met you, Orpheus." 

The novelist's breath hitched at the confession, going still for a moment before sitting up to kiss Frederick, turning their positions so Orpheus was above. They stayed connected, kissing with fervor as Orpheus thrust inside, gripping hard enough to bruise at the points of contact. He swallowed each sound the composer let out, each moan and sigh, each whimper and plea. The bed creaked with their movement, and Orpheus had to pull back to focus on his thrusts, leaving Frederick to only lie back and take. Despite the short distance, Frederick clung to the novelist's shoulders, going as far as to lock his ankles behind Orpheus's back, moving easily when Orpheus changed the angle to fuck deeper, leaving more slapping of skin between each rock. Frederick cried out at a particular thrust, clenching down on the novelist, who in turn leaned in to bite down at the other side of Frederick's neck, drinking a gulp with each thrust. 

"Mine," Orpheus said once he pulled back, sitting up to look down at the composer, who blinked up at the novelist through lust hazed eyes, "You are mine, Frederick. My mate. My companion, eternal." 

"Yours," Frederick practically wheezed, tossing his head back when a rougher thrust smacked the headboard against the wall. Orpheus moved one of his hands to grip onto the headboard for leverage as his thrusts turned rough, knocking the breath out Frederick's lungs, "Yours, all yours!" 

"I love you. I love you, Frederick." 

Frederick sobbed, coming without warning, arching off the duvet and singing Orpheus's name. The novelist growled praises above him, putting his other hand on the headboard as his thrusts became near violent, the burn of overstimulation beginning to settle in Frederick. He sobbed with each thrust, twisting away from it, but still using his hands to guide Orpheus's hips in his urgency, until finally the novelist cried out with one last harsh thrust and came, filling the composer with a heat that settled in Frederick's soul. 

As they settled and the last embers of lust extinguished, Orpheus pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip out of the abused hole, only to have Frederick's legs suddenly block his views. When he blinked up to the composer, Frederick was giving him a glare that look more like a pout. 

"Don't stare, you brute." 

~*~

Orpheus chuckled but assented, falling next to the composer and pulling him close again. They laid there for awhile, letting drowsiness settle on them and the warmth of the fire blanket them. They said nothing in this silence, petting exploratory touched on bare skin, basking in the closeness that was withheld and sheltered for a decade. 

Frederick leaned into the scratches Orpheus gave his scalp, fixing his head more comfortably on the novelist's arm, before finally speaking, "...Thank you. I...It's still here. That emptiness." 

"It won't go away so easily," the novelist explained, rubbing a hand up and down Frederick's back, "Loss...it doesn't ever truly go away. Those important to you take a part of you with them. It's part of bonding. Understanding one another." 

Frederick nodded, deciding not to try and argue against it. It held truth, an undeniable one at that. A fact of life he neglected to truly appreciate in his self imposed isolation. How funny, the composer thought, that Orpheus was teaching him more life lessons. But that was standard, he supposed. 

"I told my Father you were my husband, you know. That we were married. That I renounced Kreiburg, and took on your surname," Frederick started, looking up at Orpheus from his spot on the mans arm, "And I'm not sure I'll ever truly live up to expectations as a De'Ross, but...my mother approved of you. She said she was entrusting me to you, remember?" 

Orpheus twirled a stray hair of the composers', before kissing the strands with as much love as he could convey. 

"I plan to do all I can to make you happy. In sickness, in health, in the parts of our lives where everything is too much. Through pain and sorrow." 

Frederick laughed a bit, smacking playfully at Orpheus's shoulder.

"Save the vows for when we actually get married, thank you very much." 

Orpheus's eyes widened, sitting up a bit to look down at Frederick's playful smile. The gears in his head turned slowly, the realization of what Frederick said dawning on him. 

"You said-" 

"Oh for God's sake," Frederick said dramatically, tugging Orpheus back down into their cuddle, "Don't let it get your head, you lunatic." 

Despite his harsh words, Frederick was smiling for the first time in awhile, looking at Orpheus like someone to love and not someone to tolerate. The novelist grinned until his cheeks hurt, tucking his face into Frederick's with laughter. 

The loss of Amalia still clung to Frederick's mind, still twisted his heart and wrung him dry through the sorrow. But that emptiness, the yawning apathy from the loss, was slowly beginning to fill up again with little Orpheus shaped pieces.

Chapter Text

That forest. The smell of wet soil, of humid air. His skin sticky where his hair clung.

The pound of his heart and his lungs as he ran, while the snarling and drooling beasts hunted him.

The radiance that followed the apex with white, killing the beasts without senselessness, efficient and brutal.

The kindness in the hand given to him, and the cornflower etched in the silver watch.

The smell of oranges. Of warmth.

A slow breath, in and out, letting the mist of it melt into the air. He remained crouched in the darkness, keeping an eye out to any wandering policemen that did the night patrols. The wind picked up, but he pressed closer behind the crate he was poised behind to avoid it, conserving the heat he could. The wood cutter ax by his feet was kept within reach, in case anyone came through. He wouldn't kill them, but it would be easier to incapacitate them with the ax. 

After a few more minutes, he finally saw a carriage pull forward, stopping just before the town house he was camping outside of. The carriage was standard, nothing flashy, and out stepped a man, dressed in warm browns and a pipe in his mouth. He held his hand out to the boy that stepped out behind him, swallowed in the heavy coat on his frame. The boy smiled up at the man, though he could see the apprehension in the boy's eyes. Barely at puberty, cheeks and nose pink from the cold. The man said something he couldn't hear before he led the boy inside, and waited until the lingering coachmen rolled off. 

Emerging from the alleyway, he covered his cough behind his gloved hand, fixing his grip on the ax as he peered up to the townhouse.

"Mr. Lark always feeds the boys first," Christoph told him, huddled under his arm to keep warm in the night, whispering low to not wake the other kids asleep around them, "Then he takes them up for a bath. The rest, well. You already know. He stuffs some coin in their pockets then sends them away in the morning. Doesn't see them out."

"Guards?" 

"Not when he brings a new boy. Likes to keep 'em alone." 

A disgusted sneer crossed his lips, spitting to the ground before making his way around back. He knew of the servants pathways, and used what little coin he had to bribe a servant to leave the door unlocked. At the door, he tugged on the handle once, hearing the soft click, and let out a breath of relief. The quieter this was, the easier it was. 

"The floorboards creak at these points," That servant told him, showing a map out of the floorplan and where charcoal circles were, "If you avoid stepping on them, you shouldn't give much alert. He'll likely think it just the house being old. The dining room is down here."

Once inside the doorway and the door itself shut, he slid off his shoes, padding worn, socked feet over the wood, carefully stepping around the points of noticeable creaking. The inside of the house was warm, no thanks to the fireplaces roaring around the house, with the smell of cooked turkey and plum permeating the house. Thankful Mr. Lark sent away the servants for these nights, he made his way to the dining room, following the glowing light of candle  that bled through the doorway. As he approached, he heard silverware clinking on glass, and voices talking. 

"This food is really delicious, Mr. Lark! I haven't had a meal like this ever!" 

A bemused chuckle, before Mr. Lark responded, "I'm happy to share this gift with you, young lad. Of course, I do have more to offer you later, after a nice bath..."

Despite the positive response, he ground his teeth together to resist snarling. A nearby grandfather clock ticked 9pm, echoing the chimes of the hour. He stepped around the doorway carefully, keeping in step with the gongs, approaching the back of Mr. Lark's chair. The boy looked up to him from over Mr. Lark's head, but he put a finger to his lips and then used the same hand to motion to the boy to close his eyes. The boy did so quickly, slapping his hands over his eyes, much to Mr. Lark's confusion. Before he could ask, a resounding squelching thud rang around the room, followed by the splatter of grey matter and blood. The ax remained in what used to be Mr. Lark's head as he rounded the table, carefully turning the boy to face him and gently pulling back the small hands. 

"Be quiet, gather what you want to take back with you, leave it in a bag by the front door. Don't look at Mr. Lark, but take what you want. Once you've gotten everything, wait 'till I come back for my next instructions." 

The boy nodded, hopping out of the chair to take the empty potato sack held out to him and scurrying out of the dining hall towards the living room. The man stood once the boy was gone, picking up one of the opened bottles of wine before pouring it out around the dining room. He did this with the two others, connecting the trails before weaving them out of the dining and into the halls. He could hear the boy running around, the rapid gentle thuds of his shoes as he pickpocketed what he could. The man himself picked off the rings from Mr. Lark's fingers, pocketing them and then stepping back to retrieve the matchbox he spotted earlier. 

The boy ran into the room, sack full and dragging behind him, toothy grin on his face as he held it up as best his little body could. The man made sure to be blocking the gore from the kid, so he didn't get more upset than he might've been. 

"Good boy," he said, taking the sack and lugging it over a shoulder, "Now, I want you to run out of the front door and scream about a murder. Get yourself as teary eyed as you can, and once your ready, leave. You hear? If anyone asks you what happened, you say you went to pee and when you came back, he was dead, 'ight?" 

The boy nodded, making his way to the front. Satisfied, the man struck a match and stepped towards the back. Once out of the way, he dropped the lit match onto the wine spill, watching it catch and spread to it's connection, all the way to Mr. Lark's body. As the fire grew, he heard the boy scream through the front door, before he made his way out as quickly as he could. 

Shoes on, sack secured, he shuffled his way back outside and towards the sewer ways, hugging the walls and shadows when he heard the policemen patrolling. Once he reached the blind spot, he spotted one of the older kids already waiting by an open grate. Together, they stepped in, tugging the grate back into place before shuffling down the dank sewer, blocking their noses from the stench and making sure to keep the bag of goods clean. It was a long journey, with the wheel of paddywagon's going overhead and the faint trail of smoke following as they made familiar turns. 

"This way! I hear them!" a shout said from behind them, prompting the two men to pause and check behind. A faint light of a torch light reflected off the murky water, and they both cursed before making a detour, shuffling louder in their rush. The shuffling off officers following behind were just as loud. 

An opening at the end of the sewer dropped them down onto a rocky doc side, farther than their original destination, but they made into a sprint, trying to keep stable as best as possible with the sack on his back. The shouts of officers were distant, but not off them, prompting them to hop towards the boat docks and weave into an old store house. Cans and old boxes were knocked down in their haste, but it provided blockage for them to get more distance, coming out of the opposite side of the storehouse a few minutes more. 

"This way!" the boy said, rounding them through a narrower alley and into a back area of the slums. 

The policemen's whistles and shouts were long gone by the time they caught their breath, the man heaving worse and taking much longer to recover. 

"Angus? He's fine?" 

After a couple more moments of heaving, he turned to Christoph and nodded.

"Told 'im the lines, what to do. Shouldn't be too difficult, but I'd send your Ma out to fetch him. Keep low." 

Christoph heaved a sigh of relief before taking the sack from his hands.

"Thank you for always helping us lower folk, Mr. Campbell. We'd be dead without your brains."

Norton merely nodded, wiping his face clean and turning towards where smoke peeked from the edge of the old decrepit building they were behind. This plan was newer, bolder; he's never resorted to murder to get the goods, but Mr. Lark was a fucker who deserved it. A pedophile who sweetened his coin to the boys.

"Good riddance," Christoph spat, beginning to head to the brothel where they lived temporarily, "Piece of shit had it comin'." 

"You're tellin' me." Norton responded, ruffling out his hair. His clothes would need a good wash; both of them, their bodies and clothes. 

If he had to lug water from the well to fill up the basin for a scrub, so be it.

Morning came with a cacophony of yells. 

Norton slowly blinked his eyes open, carefully turning his head back to peek over his shoulder. The door to the main area of the brothel was still shut, the kids and boys sharing cots and mattresses still sleeping peacefully. He, himself, sharing a bed with Christoph, like usual. Carefully, he pulled himself out of the cot, tucking the thin blanket more firm over Christoph's frame before making his way to the door, carefully stepping over stray limbs.

After making sure the door shut properly, he walked into the main area of the brothel, noticing a few of the mistresses pacing around and gathering at one of the tables. As he approached, the head lady lifted her gaze to him before standing.

"Mr. Campbell. Good of you to join us," she said, with a note of a sneer, before finally holding out one of the stolen goods from Mr. Lark's; a gold plated pitcher likely taken from a bathroom. On the table was the other scattered silver and gold trinkets Angus had smuggled, "Care to explain this?" 

"'s money, ain't it? Who cares how I got it, we have it and we can pawn it. Mr. Douglas' been good about that," he argued, snatching the pitcher from her hand, "And I killed any of my tracks. Bribed a few maids, but eh. Got the job done."

Miss Tulip, a seasoned but gentle woman, spoke up from where she sat, "You mean to say you were the one who burned down Mr. Lark's residence?" 

Biting his tongue, Norton nodded instead. The gasps that followed, including the head lady, made him huff and put the pitcher back into the pile. A few concerned murmurs came, before the front door's opened and in stepped a young woman, Angus behind her skirt. 

"Hi Mr. Campbell!" Angus said, all too merry, running up to hug the prospector's legs. He patted the boys head, nudging him towards the back, before turning to the other ladies. 

The head lady, as expected, was the first to speak, "You brought a child into this...conquest?! Are you insane?!"

"Mr. Lark was a bastard! Fucker had it comin', you know how he was! I know you run a whore house, but really?! Letting the kids spend nights with that piece of shit?!" 

"Angus could've been hurt, Campbell! Watch your tone, or did you forget who's hospitality you were staying on?" 

At that, Norton raised his hands in disbelief before shouting, "Angus would've been more hurt spending a night with a man who whores out kids, Katrina! Surely you weren't that blind to see that he was raping them!"

The silence that followed also sucked out the fight from Norton. Katrina, for her part, did look guilty, biting her tongue and wringing her hands together in front of her. The other ladies, too, looked down in shame and guilt. And Norton, despite his anger, knew they had no control on that part. The brothel was barely surviving, the men were rough and with shallow pockets, and Mr. Lark was one of the wealthier patrons who came by. But even he knew the illegal behavior of the brothel, and held them on blackmail more often than not if they didn't comply. 

The fuckin' rich who can do whatever shit they want and get away scot-free, Norton thought. 

Angus's mother spoke up after a beat, glancing around timidly, "The police are investigating the burning. And his murder. They found the remains of an ax in his head." 

Katrina glanced at him, but didn't speak, turning to the woman instead.

"Did they say if they have suspects?" 

After a head shake, she licked her lips and continued.

"The policemen who took the chase said it was too dark to make out features. Tall, sturdy build and a smaller fellow is what they said. Angus got out without questioning and they don't know he's involved." 

A collective sigh resounded the table. For a couple moments more, everyone sat in silence, before Katrina bundled up the stolen goods and lugged them towards the back. After she set them down, she brushed her skirt clean and then turned to the others.

"Freshen up, get some rest. Eat a biscuit, have some tea, and we continue as we always do. Norton, lay low for a little bit just in case and help out around here with repairs." 

The raven haired man nodded, scratching the back of his neck as he yawned. Slowly, the rest of them trickled back towards their rooms or the kitchen, leaving Norton and Katrina alone in the main area. They spoke no words, but Katrina leveled him with a gaze that said 'Be careful' before making her leave. In the absence, Norton tipped his head back and let out a soft curse. 

"Fuck me."

Despite his instructions, when everyone returned to sleep for midday naps, Norton made his way back towards the waterside, where Mr. Lark's house was supposed to be. He smeared mud on his face and bundled under an old sheet, hiding his face under a makeshift hood. The tattered, worn sheet gave the impression of a beggar, and worked well enough to disguise him as he turned the corner to see the damage.

The main house was collapsed, charred and soot caked, with some nearby houses also bearing some burn's to the wood. An unfortunate happenstance that the older houses here weren't renovated in stone, but it made the work easier regardless. Old houses bought by deep pockets with no other purpose than being privately owned homes. 

Fuckin' rich people.

As he scanned the crowd, he saw a few investigators examining the ruins, picking at charred wood, talking amongst themselves. One lady, dressed in the 'Press' badge, held up a boxy device at certain angles, walking the perimeter. A few onlookers watched, curious, past the dividing barriers, while a few policemen directed people to step back. Norton weaved near the back of the crowd, briefly brushing shoulders with other pedestrians. The nth one he bumped into, a tall man with a hooded hat, gave a brief 'Pardon' as he passed. 

That accent...

Distinctly German. With a hint of French inflection. 

But the scent is what froze him in place, suddenly thrusted back to what he continued to believe was a fever dream.

Sweet orange, and the smell of warmth. Like fresh-dried clothes off the line. Of the sun.

He whirred around quickly, frantic and manic, searching for the hooded hat amongst the sea of bowlers and sunhats. But he spotted it, making a turn towards the back of the house from the side, and Norton followed quickly, bumping past onlookers. He was being stupid, he knew, running off irrational instincts, but the desperation to know-

The man stopped, glancing to the edge of the waterside before turning his attention to the back of the burnt houses. Norton remained in the shadows, peeking over some debris, and he watched like a hawk as the man lifted his hood to look easier. A few spills of ivory hair fell onto his face, but Norton would recognize the eyes of his childhood savior in a heartbeat. 

"Well, I just saved your life, did I not?...I'm Frederick Kreiburg. What's your name?"

Kreiburg. The family of music. Frederick, the name of the only son and former heir to Lord Kreiburg.

The Frederick Kreiburg that was reported missing -and likely dead- 20 years ago.

The impossible beauty of unchanging age, untouched by the wheel of time. The beautiful monster that saved him as a boy, that tore into men's throats like it was butter, without remorse and without mercy. 

Frederick lowered the hood once more, subtly tucking what must've been his bangs underneath the fabric, before making his way around the other side. Norton followed him from a distance, keeping his footsteps as light as possible, while the revelation still processed in his mind. Running miles in his head, memories bubbling to the surface. A melody, hummed while they rode on horseback, with a thump of a leather trunk bouncing on the horse's rear.

"Are you a musician? You seem like you know what yer singin'."

"I'm a Composer," he explained, resetting his arm around the boy to ensure he wouldn't fall off, "I write music and play the piano. Though I know various other music forms, piano is the one I know best."

The Frederick Kreiburg who went missing was a composer. A great talent, but apparently disappointing to the people. The old papers he read back then, detailing that he wasn't "Kreiburg", that his music was odd and different. The shock he felt knowing he had met the missing man and was sworn to secrecy. That cornflower emblemed pocket watch, still kept secure in a lockbox under his cot, with the key suddenly weighing on his chest under his top. As Frederick turned the corner, Norton followed, only to stop.

He couldn't see any sight of Frederick Kreiburg. Not the hooded hat, not his brown coat. Disappeared, like a phantom. 

Am I hallucinating?

Surely he wasn't. The scent was too strong, too obvious; the accent too recognizable. He would not make a mistake like that, not when it came to him. But, as reality showed before him, perhaps it merely was just a phantom moving past. A headache, steady from a lack of sleep, pounded harder in his head. With a last glance to the ruins of Mr. Lark's home, he finally headed back towards the slums.

When night came around, and the men started filling in, Norton paced the perimeter of the main area. Despite being told to help repairs, Katrina had asked him to be a bodyguard, given his recent arsonist activities. Meanwhile, Angus's mom had taken to staying in the backroom with the kids to distract them from the possible noise. The older kids, the ones who knew of sex and pain, were put to staff work, but were told to avoid the occupied rooms. So far, the men had been like usual; drunk, loud, horny and touchy. A few men looked merely sad, leaving with red eyes from tears. As Norton leaned against one of the walls, overlooking the gambling tables, he couldn't help but let his mind wander to Frederick.

Why now of all times does he remember him? Why now of all times does the scent of orange linger, like an incense burned at one of the opium dens. Thick, clogging in his throat from the sheer intensity. Not unpleasant by any means, but bizarre. 

Maybe he really was losing it.

"I said don't touch me!" a sudden cry broke out, Norton lifting his head to see where. In the far corner of the room, a man was flat on his ass, face red in inebriation and anger, while one of the ladies was hugging her torn top to preserve her modesty, "I told you I won't go with you!"

"Whas' a whore like you to tell me no?! All I needa do is stuff some coin in your pocket, and I get what I want, ain't that right?!" the man argued, stumbling up and balancing himself on the table.

In quick strides, Norton grabbed the mans arm, grip solid and bruising, before beginning to drag the man out without a word. As expected, the man yelled, stumbling to gather his bearings. 

"Let go of me!" 

Suddenly, a throbbing smash on the back of his skull made him stumble, letting go of the man to cradle his head. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, a kick was made to his hips, and he realized quickly that the man was hitting him. Invigorated, he stood despite the throb, and turned back to the man. He was stumbling, still, but he had a fist up like he was going to swing again. Instead, Norton rushed ahead to deliver a swing to the man's liver, and then another to his jaw. The man groaned and stumbled back, cursing while he writhed. For good measure, he laid another kick to the man's side, before stepping back and spitting the build of saliva onto the man's pant leg. The crowd around them murmured, some of the ladies impassive, while Katrina made her way in to asses the noise.

"Take him out, please, Mr. Campbell," she said, turning to the woman who had lost her top, guiding her towards the kitchen, and where the linen closet was kept.

Norton stared down at the man before finally pulling him up by the collar, and all but dragging him towards the front door. As he chucked it open and lugged the man to the front porch, he looked up to see the young woman from earlier staring at the brothel house. He straightened himself and cleared his throat, bringing her attention. 

Sunflower blonde hair done up in a braid behind her head, dressed in a thick evening dress with a matching coat with fur trimmed sleeves. She seemed surprised, but stepped forward still. 

"Good evening. Sorry for coming here so late, but I was told this establishment is only open at the late hours of the night." 

Norton eyed her for a moment before grunting, closing the front door despite the chill, "Yeah, that's how this business runs. What's it matter to you?" 

She fiddled with the cuff links on her coat before meeting his stare, determined and proud.

"I was hoping that I could ask if anyone here knows about the burning of Mr. Henry Lark's home. This is one of the last places I've yet to interview within the area."

This was likely a mistaken. A huge, explosive mistake. 

Yet they were here, so he had to lay in the bed he made.

Across from him, Alice, as she had introduced herself as, was sat at one of the smaller tables reserved for drinking. A glass of water was put in front of her, curtesy of Norton, though she ignored it in favor of flipping open a small notebook and taking out a small ink pen. Norton, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, fingers rapping against the wood in slight impatience. 

"Please believe me when I say that I do not suspect you or anyone here as the arsonist. This is simply routine questioning." 

"Whatever."

Unbothered, Alice looked back down to her notebook before going down the list. Where he was the night of the burning, and murder, can anyone verify his alibi, if he has any connection or relationship to the deceased, anyone who could've done it. He answered each with anything negative to his trail. 

"Mr. Lark had some...crass rumors about him. Do you believe in any of them?" 

At this, Norton snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"He's got a lot on him. You needa be specific here, sunshine." 

Lips pursing for a moment, Alice glanced at him before looking down to her pen, "A few rumors that he was a regular here. That he paid well, but was not the most...behaved client. And that...he-"

"He paid kids to sleep with him?" 

Despite the blunt statement, Alice nodded, looking rather...angry. Upset. Disgusted, even. Though she was clearly rich, if the nice dress and the fur trimmed coat were any indication, she must've been one of the few who had a distaste for children in such a manner. His respect for her raised marginally, but he still nodded at the indirect question.

"Ain't just a rumor. The kids here can confirm it if you'd ask them." 

The admission of his perverted acts seemed to piss her off, pen snapping in her hands. The smear of the ink stained her fingers, prompting him to stand to collect a rag before soaking it into the undrunk water. As she calmed down and took it to wipe her hand clean, he sat back down again, resting his elbows on the table instead. 

"Sorry for my outburst. My...my brother, he was a victim of that. I can't stand people like that. Who just- take advantage of innocent kids like that," she spat, clear disgust in her voice as her hands waved around. It seemed as if she had forgotten it was an interrogation, going off on a tangent about Mr. Lark's death seeming deserved, "Honestly, I want to thank whoever did that too him. I don't know why we're trying to investigate this."

"Likely just how paperwork goes. Not my business," he said, leaning back in the chair, "Is there anything else you need from us?" 

She looked up to him, brown eyes curious before shaking her head, pocketing her notebook in her coat and fiddling with the ink stained cloth. She folded it neatly before setting it down between them, and taking a glance around the room. Her eyes were...sad. Pitiful. It made something in Norton stir, some defensive feeling flaring. They didn't need her pity.

"The kids work here...?" she asked softly, refusing to meet his eye. He huffed and leaned forward, lowering his voice, "The older kids do clean up and chores. Some of the women watch and distract the younger kids. It's the only place they can be right now." 

Alice turned to him, surprised, but nodded anyway, looking down at her lap. Finally, she stood, brushing her skirt clean and tucking the chair back under the table.

"Thank you for your time, Mr...?" 

He rolled his tongue in his mouth for a moment before shrugging his shoulder, "Campbell." 

"Mr. Campbell then," she tried, "Thank you for your time and your answers. Have a good rest of your night." 

He led her back towards the front door, blocking her from the leering eyes of patron men who might've mistaken her. Once outside, he shivered at the cold air, surprised when she merely shrugged her coat tighter.

"Keep yourself safe, Miss Journalist," he told her, staring as she gave a slight nod and made her way back towards the gate side. He waited until she was out of his sight before turning back inside.

Eventually, a week passed by with no further investigation in the slums. By then, the burning and murder were forgotten, and the old debris was cleaned away and zoned for future use. Nearby houses were rebuilt from the damage, and the resident's eventually stopped talking about it. With the tension of it gone, Norton and Christoph finally made their way to Mr. Douglas's pawn shop, right at the edge of the middle class district. The small bell dinged as they stepped inside, for once lacking customers. Mr. Douglas himself was sitting behind the counter with a pipe, flipping through a paper when they stepped in. At their faces, he stood, welcoming them with a smile.

"What can I do you for, Mr. Campbell? More scrap to pawn?" 

Norton said nothing, motioning to Christoph to watch the sidewalk, while he opened up the sack and deposited the stolen goods from Mr. Lark's onto the counter. Mr. Douglas's eyes widened, mouth agape, while Norton set down the sack and leveled his hands onto the counter. 

"What can you pawn out of this?" 

Mr. Douglas stuttered for a moment, eyes roving over the spill. He was slow to pick up the silver and gold pieces, examining them with near awe. After a couple long minutes of perusal, Mr. Douglas set down a candelabra before fixing his glasses. 

"Well, out of the money I have, I'd say only a few of the silver plates. If you want more coin, you need to go to the high society pawn shops." 

"You know I can't do that," the prospector argued, picking up one of the gold pitchers and raising it to their eye level, "Some of these are very clearly distinct. I can't go up to to the peacocks and bring them this. It needs to be done here, in backwaters." 

"You're a loyal patron and a great friend Mr. Campbell, but I can't do much more than this. Even my trade has been producing less coin as of late, not while these mechanical machines are starting to be built more centrally." 

Norton tsked, setting down the pitcher and looking over the spread. He could potentially send in one of the ladies up there, have them use some charm, dress them up as best as they could. In the meantime, he pawned what he could, packing up the rest. He left a silver pocket watch as a tip for Mr. Douglas, before he and Christoph left the small shop. The clouds were thick, but not gray, shading them from the sun. The sack was slightly lighter, but not nearly enough that they had wanted. 

"What do we do now?" Christoph asked, biting on his nails. Norton gently smacked the hand down, while Christoph continued, "Maybe we could try to send the kids to the docks? Hauling fish, loading sacks or barrels?" 

"Too dangerous. They're thin enough as is, we don't need them to be only skin and bone." 

"But how else are we gonna make coin?! We can't sell topside and we can't sell down here! We need to make the coin somehow." 

As they entered the slums, Norton looked up at a small gathering of kids, stopping Christoph momentarily. The boy looked up as well, surprised, before Norton lead them towards the crowd. A few of the kids parted way as he weaved through, until he saw a familiar face kneeling in the dirt around them.

"Miss Journalist?" 

Alice looked up at him with a smile, waving at him. A small wagon cart was behind her, stacked with a closed pot and some thick blankets. A few wooden bowls were stacked on the edges, many of which were already in the hands of kids who ate down what was stew. Some of them with blankets over their shoulders. The man behind her was ladling stew into the wooden bowls, passing them to kids, while Alice wrapped them in blankets. The man was dressed equally well as the woman, hair a deep brown and slicked back, a gold rimmed monocle on his right eye. 

"Mr. Campbell! Good afternoon!" Alice chirped, standing and dusting off her skirt, despite the stain. She approached them, blanket in hand, before wrapping it around Christoph's frame. Once snug, she gently led him to the middle, where the man handed him a bowl of stew and a spoon. Dumbfounded, Norton took a stock of the kids around him. Cheeks warm, toothy smiles, some messy faces. But...happy. Warm. Fed. 

Distantly, a faint trail of orange teased his senses, but he still opened his mouth to ask, "What...is this?" 

Alice picked up another blanket, wrapping it around a smaller girl, before answering.

"I thought about our interrogation. What you told me. I felt like...well, I wanted to do something good. Something to help the kids." 

Another man, wearing a hooded hat, approached the group, carrying a wicker basket with dirty bowls inside. He said something in what Norton assumed was French to the pair, where Alice answered for him. The man behind her seemed to only be staring at the man with an...what was that? Lovesick gaze? Like a puppy. But what startled Norton was the scent, all too familiar as it brushed his nose once more. His heart began to beat rapidly, fight or flight kicking in, as he realized no- he hadn't hallucinated. 

Frederick Kreiburg was there that day. He was here now.

In a trance, he dropped the sack on the ground beside him, grabbing onto the man's - no, Frederick's- arm and swiftly tugging him towards one of the abandoned shops. There was faint yell from the other man, and an almost hilariously scandalized gasp from Frederick. Ignore it all, Norton shoved open the door before tugging the composer inside and slamming the door shut. 

"Excuse me?!" he said, offended, arms open in offense as Norton turned to him. A brief lock to the door, before Norton made himself a blockade, "What is your problem?!"

"20 years ago," Norton began, whole body shaking, clenching his fists behind his back to stop it, blood pumping rapidly, "You were in a forest. There was a boy, 8 years old. Two men chased after him with the intent to rape and kill him." 

Slowly, Frederick's arms lowered, stance changing to something more guarding. He remained silent, but Norton could see one of the composer's hands clenching at his side.

"You killed those men and brought that boy back to the mining town. You gave him a pocket watch with a cornflower insignia and swore him to secrecy." 

"How do you know about that?" 

It was less a question, more of a demand, with a faint growl in his words. Inhuman, like an animal's snarl, sending a shiver of terror up his spine. It was clear English wasn't a fluent language for him, though it was clear enough to make out. He remained resolute despite his fear, swallowing the saliva build up before he continued, voice trembling.

"He said his name was Norton Campbell." 

Before he could blink, there was a hand on his throat, slamming him into the old door, making the whole structure rattle with the force. The hood of the hat was closer now, enough that he could see the fine lace, and a faint glow of red brushed underneath. Like a stain. The hand closed down on his windpipe, making him cough, while Frederick leaned in.

"Who the hell are you? How do you know about me, and about that day?" 

Strangled, the prospector raised a shaking hand to the wrist keeping him held, wheezing out a few words. 

"Cause- that kid- is me." 

Shocked, the hand let him go, prompting him to slump to the floor as he wheezed for air. His blood began to pump back into his body, rewarming him with a steady beat. Frederick, for his part, seemed guilty, hands flexing in the air where he held them, before he lifted them to remove the hat. 

He was still as enchanting as he was 20 years ago. 

Slightly curly hair, falling onto his face from the stray bangs, while the rest was hell tight in a bun behind his head. But his eyes were that familiar silvery blue, sparkling like gemstones in the faint sunlight that peeked from the gaps in the wood. Cheeks a healthy pink, narrow nose. An inhuman beauty he remembered clearly from his childhood. 

"You've...barely changed. In 20 years," Norton said lamely, leaning back against the door as the pins and needles walked up his calves, "No, you haven't changed at all." 

Frederick pursed his lips for a moment before tucking the hat under his arm, "You've grown into a fine gentleman. A handsome one, too." 

The prospector snorted at that, tipping his head back with a sigh.

"Don't flatter me." 

They sat in silence for a little while, simply taking in the reveal. How Norton had grown, filled out into a sturdy build. Tall, handsome in a roughish way, hair unkempt but natural. Suitable for him.

"I still have that pocket watch," Norton confessed suddenly, wringing his gloved hands together between his legs, "It doesn't run anymore. Can't afford to tune it. Keep it locked in a box so the kids can't get it." 

"You didn't pawn it?" 

"Nah. Couldn't bring myself to. Felt like it would be a disservice to you or somethin'." 

Frederick leaned against one of the rickety tables, kicking up some dust and making him scrunch his face at the cotton bunnies that floated up. He settled down rather quickly, setting the hat beside his hip. 

"...how have you been these last two decades?" the composer asked after a beat.

Norton thought for a moment, fitting his eyes around the small space before ducking his head between his knees and covering the back of his neck.

"Too many kids, too little resources. No money, no clothes, scarce food. We're being bled dry, and we can't send kids to the docks cause they're too skinny. Too fragile. They wouldn't survive, and then I'd have to tell their mums that their babies died trying to make a single coin. Can't do that to 'em." 

"I had no idea it was so difficult." 

Despite the happy reunion, Norton chuffed, lifting his head to the composer, suddenly irritated, "Of course not. You live topside, with warm beds and food. No worry for where your next meal will be. Coin in your pocket, stuffing them full till they sag," rising to his feet, he made his way over to Frederick, leaning into his space and trapping him against the table, "You don't have the faintest clue how rough we have it out here. All you rich peacocks are only concerned with lining your own pockets, even though it's blood money from our wrists." 

For his part, Frederick did look bashful, avoiding Norton's eyes. The smell of orange was so overwhelming at this distance, thick like the coal dust from the mines. He didn't feel it'd infect his lungs like the coal would, but it made him heady, blinking a bit to get the haze out of his mind. Frederick didn't seem to notice it at all. But they were stood there for a pregnant pause, until Norton finally backed up and stepped out of the composer's space. He glanced at the window, spotting the kids still surrounding Alice, noticing how the man kept looking to the shop window despite his ladling. 

"You know them?" he asked instead, using his head to motion outside. Frederick looked over, before nodding, a faint smile creeping onto his face, "My sister-in-law. And my husband." 

Norton raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning against the door, "Husband, huh? How'd your family take it?"

The fit of apprehension Frederick originally held seemed to wither away as he chuckled and shook his head. That made Norton crack a smirk, before he looked back outside to the kids. The smirk fell as he watched them, rubbing at the headache coming between his brow. 

"The kids will be grateful for this. On their behalf...thank you." 

Frederick stared at him for a moment before looking down at his gloved hands, thumbing idly at his left ring finger.

"Is there...anything I can do to help? Anything more?" 

The prospector looked over before shaking his head slightly, looking down to the decaying floorboards, "We need money. We need somewhere better to keep the kids. New clothes to get them through the cold, more food to feed them. Books to read. We need far too much that you could ever supply us with." 

The composer nodded slowly, fitting his eyes around in thought before picking up his hat and settling it on his head better. 

"I'll figure something out. Alice is already trying to get more food to the kids, and my husband is willing to fund her. You could ask her to coordinate for more." 

"Somethin' will be figured out," Norton said, stepping aside to unlock the door and crack it open, "She's already doing more than what anyone else would do." 

As they both stepped out, the crowd of kids had dwindled down, and Christoph was waiting beside Alice, sack in hand. A sudden idea reached his mind, walking over to pick up the sack and bring it over to Frederick. The composer looked confused for a moment, until Norton huffed and shoved it into the other's hands. Fumbling for a moment, Norton leaned in slightly to speak.

"You asked what you can do to help. Pawn these, and bring back whatever you can make from them. That will help us." 

The blond nodded, tightening his grip on the sack, stepping back as the other man -his husband- came around and laid a possessive hand on Frederick's waist. Norton glanced at him, eyeing his tailored suit and soft hands before scoffing and turning back towards Christoph. Alice watched them, a faint smile on her face, tugging the handle of the cart as she passed a blanket to Norton. The trio left soon after, while Norton and Christoph headed back towards the brothel, blankets in hand and weird sense of happiness in Norton's chest.

Several days later, while Norton was lugging some sacks of wheat to a bakery near the pawn shop, Alice intercepted him with a smile and a small but hefty pouch in her hands. It was dropped into his hands without an explanation, but he realized quickly what it was.

"Seems like Frederick was quite successful."

He peeked into it, trying to figure out how much was actually in it, until Alice chirped, "Says there should be about 50 pounds in there." 

"50?!" he whisper-shouted, looking around rapidly before tucking it into his shirt, "All of that was 50 pounds?!" 

Alice nodded gleefully, fixing the strange box around her neck. Norton stared at her for a moment, brushing back his bangs as he thought on the use. Enough to get warmer clothes, to get a few books and do some proper repairs on the brothel. And some left over to spare. 

"Holy shit."

Alice giggled at him before glancing to the sacks of wheat still left on the cart, then at the open door of the bakery. She gave a sheepish smile to him, "Sorry. I'm distracting you." 

"No, no, it's- it's fine," he stammered, still reeling at the coin. It sat heavy in his shirt pocket, right against his beating heart, "I'm just- oh my god." 

A patient, understanding smile rose to her face, cheeks a healthy pink. One of her gloved hands set itself on his shoulder, squeezing gently in support. He stared back, feeling weightless and so...free. She left him alone, promising to bring more stew for the kids, and leaving him to continue his work. When he returned to the brothel, later that night, plopping it down on the desk in front of Katrina, she looked up at him in shock. But there was hope in her eyes, a wet sheen to them as she counted the money. 

"50 pounds exact...Norton, this could-" 

"We can get the kids warmer clothes. Afford better food for them. Repair this place." 

"And we'd still have plenty to spare..." she whispered, wiping a tear from her eye, "My god..."

Norton felt himself grinning, a charged energy in his chest. The same he got when he led the miners on a riot against the director, when he set them free. The buzz of it all. Of community. They could change everything now. Katrina, for her part, seemed to come to the same realization, standing to hug Norton. He faltered for a moment before returning it, sighing against her shoulder. The candle flickered with their breaths, until Katrina pulled back and put away the coins. 

"First thing tomorrow. We take the kids to the shops." 

Norton couldn't agree more.

That morning, the ladies took the kids out, coin in hand. 

Norton remained alone. 

Dressed down in his old clothes, tattered and fraying, he examined the silver pocket watch in his hand. Out of it's lock box. Thumbing over the cornflower insignia. 

His thoughts returned to Frederick. The silver-blue of his eyes, the captivity they incurred. Norton couldn't look away from him in their interaction in the shop. How effortlessly he carried attention, how well he captivated those around him. The ivory hair that he remembers glowing in the sun. The scent of orange that lingered on him, seemingly natural. It was a strange scent for someone to have. 

But...Frederick clearly wasn't human. And he guessed from what he had said about his companion, neither were they. 

Blood drinkers. Some old books called them vampires. That must've been what they were. There was no other answer for that. 

The prospector flicked open the lid, staring down at the frozen hands stuck to 4:02. He remembers it just...stopping. Gears no longer turning. He had wanted to tune it, but didn't trust himself. And the nearest repair for it asked 5 pounds. 5 pounds he didn't have, then. He could, now; after the kids, and the repairs, he could use it to tune the watch back. But now there was sentimentality to it. Leaving it frozen as is, unchanged. A fitting display to match it's original owner. 

"Is there...anything I can do to help? Anything more?" 

He leaned back into the cot, heaving a sigh and covering his eyes with his arm. He...

How is he supposed to feel? Rich bastards who take from them, bleed them dry and drink on their tears. Bribe the kids to be whores and take advantage of their pubescence. Disgusting, greedy pigs who couldn't give two shits about the slums. The poor who worked for little pay and starved, while the happy bastards drank champagne and ate hot food. The same rich bastards who pawned his contraband and gave stew to the kids. The same rich bastards who were keeping the kids warm. He's supposed to protect these kids, and he's struggling. 

How ironic. The very people he's trying to protect them from are the same people who are helping them now. 

"Damn it all..."

When everyone had returned, he hadn't realized he had fallen asleep. He was rudely woken from his slumber by the squeals of the younger kids, and he sat up slowly as a few of them ran to him, showing off new coats, gloves, pants and even shoes. The older kids showed off new shoes and coats, all crowding around him to show off. He smiled, complimenting each one presented to him, ruffling the hair on several kids. Christoph approached him last, handing him a folded stack of clothes. Curious, he unfolded them, examining it. A new, crisp, olive shirt, matching suspenders to go with it and a pair of new pants. 

He looked up to see Christoph smiling at him, crooked in all, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

"You didn't say if you wanted anythin', so I figured I'd go ahead and get ya' something. You're always putting us first, after all." 

Momentarily stunned, Norton could only gape at the boy before looking back down to the clothes. 

"I...thank you. Really." 

Christoph smiled, turning back to one of the kids who called for him, leaving Norton alone in his cot. The clothes were fresh, looking perhaps even big on his frame. He likely wouldn't wear them today, but perhaps sometime soon he could go out in them. For the moment, he tucked them under his cot before standing, hefting up a smaller kid to his shoulders and joining them for playtime. Once dinner came around, a fresh new feast of ham and rolls were wheeled into the hall, portioned out for everyone equally. For the first time that night, tucked under thick blankets, the kids slept with full, warm bellies, and fresh new clothes to keep them warmer. 

Norton looked at the sleeping figures, and smiled.

As the weeks went by, Alice came around frequent enough the kids knew her by name. Bringing new toys, books, topside sweets the kids had never had before. The repairs to the brothel were steady, even if the business had to be closed for a few nights. Alice herself came around several times with her brother, the unnamed husband to Frederick, if Norton remembered properly. The two of them helped repair some damages, even extending the backroom to provide more space and privacy for the children. The construction took multiple days, but Alice's steadfast charity and drive helped keep it moving without pause. 

Like a well oiled machine. 

Yet, even that didn't stop trouble from knocking on their door. Quite literally.

One night, long after the children were set to bed and the adults went over their savings, a pounding knock on the door alerted them. Katrina was quick to hide the coin, as the other ladies spread out to look less suspicious, leaving Norton to crack open the door as a barrier. 

"The fuck you want?" 

On the other side stood a man in a trench coat, policeman badge on his breast pocket. Norton silently cursed as the man cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. 

"Are you Norton Campbell?" he asked first. At the prospector's slow nod, he reached into his coat pocket before passing over a folded sheet of paper. Cautiously, Norton opened it and began to read it, eyebrows raising in alarm, "I'll need to take you into questioning for the time being. Otherwise, please allow my men to inspect this property." 

A warrant for search and seizure.

He glanced up at the officer, noticing three more uniformed men approaching from behind the first man. In a haste, he slammed the door closed and bolted it shut, blocking the way with his body as he felt banging on the door. The policeman was shouting something, while Norton yelled behind him.

"Get the kids out of here!"

Katrina was the first to begin moving, followed by Miss Tulip, then the rest. They all scrambled to their rooms to collect what they could, while Miss Tulip ran to the back. A few cries broke out from the hall, but Norton braced harder on the door as the force increased. A sudden weight on the door caused Norton to turn his head, seeing Christoph bracing against the door.

"Go! Get your things!" he shouted. 

The prospector hesitated before nodding, rushing to the back. A few small satchels were filled with the few things each kid owned, a couple sacks of collective. Norton kneeled down to his cot to pull out the lock box and his clothes before shoving them both into a worn satchel. He passed it over to one of the younger kids, before joining Miss Tulip in leading them out of the back.

"Ah!"

Alarmed, Norton turned back to see the door finally broken down, and a Molotov smashing through a window only to catch on the wood floors. There was a cry from outside, angry and wild, but Norton ignore it in favor of tackling the first officer who tried to cuff Christoph. He delivered punch after punch before he was ripped off and held by one of the other officers. The one on the ground remained unmoving, but he had no chance to look further before a haymaker was sent directly to his gut, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to heave. Christoph's yell behind him alarmed him, but he couldn't move, braced on the ground as he tried to get oxygen back in his lungs. 

"Arrest them! They're the ones who killed my son!"

Norton looked up from where he was hunched on the ground, watching another Molotov chucked into the house. An elderly woman stood outside the door, cane shaking in her hands as younger boys cheered behind her. He grit his teeth, and with a roar, brought himself up to round onto the nearest officer. The fire around him meant nothing, not while he tackled the officer who punched him to the ground and rained down hits to his face. A few cries broke out above him, pausing his rampage to see a few of the ladies trapped by the stairs, where the fire had blocked their paths. Without thinking, he stood on shaking legs to run to them, ignoring the fire licking at his pants and skin. He tugged them down, screaming incoherently as the fire grew and grew. The thick smoke got caught in his lungs, but he pushed the women towards the back. 

When he looked back for Christoph, he froze. 

Lying there, head twisted sickeningly, lay Christoph, eyes frozen wide in shock. Neck snapped. 

"No..." he muttered, falling to his knees as he crawled over to the body, "No, no, Cris- no-!" 

He cradled the body in his arms, shaking his head as tears began to fall, reaching a trembling hand to the still wide eyes. A scatter of coughs reached his ears, even as he blinked past the tears. When he looked up, past the fire burning his lashes, he saw the elderly woman's screaming face, filled with so much rage. The two boys behind her cheering on the policemen who began stumbling out of the burning building. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he watched the first policemen pull out a red, tube shaped item.

Dynamite.

He tossed it into the building, uncaring of Norton still inside, and he could only watch as it tumbled into the flames, quickly igniting. 

The last thing he saw was blinding white.

The fire burned on, catching the nearby buildings and setting them ablaze. Families ran out from them, women and children, while a fire brigade made their way to the main source. 

Frederick watched on from a distance, heaving his breaths, the basket of fresh fruit rolling into the mud. 

He saw the kids Norton fawned over crying near the back, one of them hanging tight to another woman. Two of the women looked burned, dresses charred and skin red from burns. The rest of the building was collapsing in itself, even as the kids screamed for Norton. He listened hard, where the heartbeats were, and heard only a single one still inside the wreckage. Before he could even begin to move in, a figure stumbled down, half on fire, screaming his throat hoarse as he stumbled out. A clatter of wood splintering and splitting followed behind him, until the structure collapsed further into itself, only fueling the inferno. 

Uncaring of the potential spectators, he rushed forward until he could catch Norton, shrugging off his coat to throw over the burning skin and pat it down. Norton wheezed, coughing with every breath, spilling clotted blood onto Frederick's blouse. He paid it no mind, laying Norton onto his back, away from the tongues of the fire. 

"Just hold on! I'll get you to a hospital!" 

Norton wheezed, raising a half melted hand up. Frederick took it in one of his own, watching with a frenzy as the prospector coughed hard, spitting up more blood. 

"You...can survive....this-" he started, coughing hard on his words. Despite Frederick's insistence he stop talking, he continued, "Strong...you live immortal..." 

Frederick shook his head, picking Norton up with a surprising strength to anyone who didn't know. He brought the man away from the fire, near a back alley where it was cooler, quieter. He laid Norton back down on his own coat, examining the burns. Extensive, charring the skin and showing his tendons. 

He wouldn't survive this.

"Norton, just hold on. I'll get you to a hospital soon, we just need to wait for the fire brigade-" 

"Frederick."

The composer stopped his rambling, looking back down to the partially melted face of Norton. He looked to already be on his way out, body going colder, heart seizing. His body catching up with his injuries far faster than he anticipated. He shook his head, taking the half melted hand in his own.

"...you...make me...you." 

"What?" 

Norton wheezed, tipping his chin up. Frederick leaned in to hear better, as Norton took a shuddering breath.

"Make me...into what...you are."

The composer froze, stock still, as Norton coughed wetly. The smell of burnt flesh, blood, smoke- all stuck like a fog over Norton's frame. So hot from the burns, from the firing nerves. Frederick shook his head, trembling as he tried to get his bearings.

"I- I don't know how, Norton. I've never-"

Norton's good eye trained onto him, desperation in his eye that all but pleaded for Frederick's aid. 

"Please..." 

Frederick looked around, at the fire lit street, listened to the shouts of firemen and cries of children, all begging for Norton. He thought of his own turning, the sensation he felt. The cool warmth as his blood drained, only for the exquisite taste of blood to follow. He looked back at Norton, who's eye had closed, breaths stuttering and his grip going limper.

He was a dead man either way, wasn't he? 

"I'm sorry..." Frederick whispered, tucking a hand under Norton's head to lift his throat, feeling his fangs peek out, "I'm sorry."

Norton Campbell died that night.

And he was reborn the next morning. 

Chapter Text

One slow afternoon, Orpheus locked himself in the library. 

Well, locked was a strong word. Holed up would be more fitting. Going in the morning prior and not leaving for over a day, having servants bring him dinner and coffee. He was unbothered here, Alice knowing to give him space and Frederick taking advantage of Orpheus's solitude for his own. The novelist, in a sudden dazed fit, decided he must peruse the old journals and tomes, barreling into the room and closing the doors. 

Inside, he was quick to grab worn journals, leather bound books, hard back tomes. Pouring his attention over them, focusing on specific details. The first, from a record log, scrawled in scratchy ink.

Dismantle of Coven sectioned in Oletus Manor. Rebuild efforts to begin in March. January 7th, 1720.

The second, a journal entry by a timid hand.

The coven patriarch took Alice and the others with them. She can't talk to me. I don't know where she went. I'm scared.

A tome listing the highest figures in the old Coven, lines crossed out of names of the damned and dead. A letter of admission from Joseph, allowing Orpheus ownership of the manor, signed 1722. 

History. Memories. 

"We need to leave here! Now!"

"The others-!"

"We can't go back for them Alice, we need to GO!"

He shook his head, wringing his hands through his hair as he laid back onto the pile of blankets below him. Books scattered around him, pages yellow and moth bitten. A few pages ripped out of journals, with a menacing scrawl, scratched over or smeared with ink. Memories he didn't remember writing, entries he never wrote. Yet each were signed with his name.

Each of them were his. But also not.

The candle wax dripped onto the ripped papers, halting them from touching the wood floors. Night had fallen long ago, the new moon removing any light to peek through the curtains. The room was filled with the smell of old paper and leather, a faint note of the dark brew he had been drinking. There was a buzz in his head, like a swarm of Melly's bees buzzing directly in his head. Like a solid inflated pressure that pushed on his eyes and temples. No amount of massaging at his forehead dissipated it, and he groaned into his hands as he rolled onto his stomach. He was pressing his head into the blanket-covered floor when the library doors opened. A happy, chirpy trill followed, then the patter of paws, over to where Orpheus was laying. He reached out a hand to pet the small head of Tempo, scratching gently behind his ears as the old cat nuzzled into his palm. 

Familiar footsteps followed with the door shutting, as Frederick made his way over with a fresh mug of coffee. He glanced at Orpheus before kneeling down to set the fresh mug down, pausing to examine his mate.

"You should go outside for a bit. Clear your head," he suggested, picking up Tempo as Orpheus rolled onto his back again, closer towards Frederick, "Or just have our son lay on you for a bit. Let his purrs soothe you." 

Orpheus gave a slight smile at that, peeking up at Frederick from under his arm. He held out that same arm in offering, waiting until Frederick set down the cat before taking his hand. Once secured, the novelist tugged the composer forward, causing him to stumble and land over Orpheus's frame. With an arm over the lithe waist, Orpheus rolled them back until it was Frederick on his back, covered by the blanket and Orpheus himself. The brunet tucked his cheek against Frederick's chest, ear to where his heart beat steady. Once he was less disoriented, Frederick gently put his hands to Orpheus's hair, petting at the strands and massaging at his scalp.

"Headache?" 

Orpheus made a sound, mimicking their cat as he pushed his head further into Frederick's fingers. The blond huffed, fond, but dug his fingers in a little harder to give a slight scratch. That seemed to melt Orpheus, sagging more of his weight over the composer's body.

Trapped for the moment, Frederick instead decided to look over his mate. His tousled, day over worn clothes, messy and wrinkled. He hadn't brushed or slicked his hair back, letting the somewhat natural waves start to fill, curling at the tips. In fact, the hairs at his nape had grown out, falling down the skin of his neck. Frederick twirled a few curls around his fingers, scratching lightly as Orpheus began to give a faint snore. 

"You've let it grow out, you know?" 

Orpheus made a sound, lifting his head slightly to speak clearer, "Do you want me to grow it out more?" 

Frederick pondered on it for a moment, securing his free arm over the novelist's shoulders more firmly.

"I'm not sure. I've never imagined you to ever have long hair." 

He felt more than saw Orpheus's smile.

"I can't imagine you with shorter hair," he said, getting a fond huff in return. 

A little tug on a curl, following by soft chuckles, was what bled into them simply laying in silence together. Frederick glanced at the books around him, torn pages and old leather journals. The closest one to him he reached for, ignoring Orpheus's confused sound at a loss of contact, before he opened the journal to a random page.

There was talk about a new coven coming in. The enforcers are worried, and they talked about sending out more teams to collect more feeders. 

No idea as to why. They have so many already, don't they? 

How greedy are these monsters? Haven't they taken enough from us already?

"It's mine. From Targovishte. When we were held captive under the leading coven there." 

Frederick looked up, watching as Orpheus lifted himself up to pick the journal out of the composer hands. Monocle forgone, hair tussled from a lack of care and Frederick's petting, buttons undoing themselves from the shifting. If the topic didn't seem as serious, the composer would've assumed they were headed to a more sensual conversation. But instead, Orpheus tossed aside the journal and sat to the composer's side, hiding himself partially within the blanket. Frederick lifted himself slowly. 

"The coven at that time was the ruling one. Like how Joseph is the patriarch. But they were independent. They didn't listen to his laws, had more thrall's at their command than Joseph, so he was forced to give them independence," the novelist began, lifting a knee to rest his head on it as he talked, "I've told you how Alice and I were kidnapped. What happened to us." 

At the composer's nod, Orpheus took a breath before continuing.

"Several years after we were first kidnapped, just before they would've begun to make Alice into a...mistress, the coven that was beginning to push back on them made a move. They attacked the main residence, burned some of the guards. We made a break for it with other kids while they were distracted. Then..."

Then there was the coven attacking them. Slaughtering the kids and adults who were trying to flee, ripping out throats. One of them pouncing on him and Alice, taking her away while he screamed his voice hoarse-

There was a gentle shush by his ear, hands petting at his back and hair again as Orpheus was pulled into Frederick's arms. He clung to the man, hiding his face within his collar, listening to his heartbeat. Drinking in his presence and his scent. So firm, so unmoving. A balm to his ache, an anchor in his waters. He looked back to his life before Frederick and wondered how he stayed afloat for long as he did. Even with Alice, he couldn't lean on her like he could Frederick. Couldn't be as vulnerable with Alice as he could Frederick. A certain connection that could only be formed by a lover. 

"You don't need to talk about it right now. I'm not going to pry." 

Orpheus nodded, taking a slow breath to calm his racing heart. Frederick lowered his head to press his forehead to Orpheus's, nuzzling them together. The brunet leaned further into Frederick, tipping them back towards the nest of blankets and hiding them under the one he was wrapped around. Frederick shifted around until he could fit better against Orpheus, looking at him in the darkness. Orpheus squeezed him close, gently, before letting out a slight sigh.

"I'm sorry." 

"What for?" 

"Your coffee you brought me. It's going to go cold, undrunk." 

"I don't mind," the composer said, tucking a stray bang behind Orpheus's ear, "I'd rather be here with you." 

It truly was a wonder how Frederick learned to accept Orpheus. Despite their rocky beginning, the turmoil between them at the beginning, the hate and the deceit. He vowed, once more, to do everything in his power to keep Frederick happy, for as long as they remained in eternity. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to Frederick's lips, smiling at the return kiss, before settling down to rest within his soulmate's arms.

The last wick of the candle burned out, blanketing them in starlit darkness. 

Chapter Text

In the late hours of the morning, crowds weaved past each other to go about their day to day. Father's heading to work, Mother's heading to markets, children running through the legs of adults in imagination. 

Alice stepped into a small boarding house, nodding to Miss Tulip who was sat in the immediate room cross-stitching. The house had been bought out by Alice herself, a private, safe place for the children and women in the fire. The journalist could hear a few of the kids talking, some of them to the ladies who had received a few burns. She heard one particular child sobbing, being shushed gently by another woman. As Alice moved further in, setting down a wrapped parcel to the entry table, towards the kitchen, she saw Katrina sat at the sun table, head in her hands and an empty glass in front of her. 

"Ms. Katrina," Alice greeted, sitting down across from her, "You haven't rest well, I take it?" 

The "older" woman huffed without mirth, leaning back to hug herself and look out the window. Just another row of busy streets. 

"How can I? Angus lost his older brother, we've....we might lose Norton, our home. Everything we worked towards, just- gone. And I-," she paused, taking a shuddering breath with a half mad laugh, "It was his damn fault, but I still weep for him. He loved these kids, he protected us, even though he was the reason they no longer have a stable home. How am I supposed to feel?!" 

The journalist looked down at her hands, wringing them together. She could relate, truly; to care about someone so deeply even if they were the cause of a disaster. It reminded her of her past with Orpheus, the lengths he went to, to ensure they could survive. She passed over a few papers held together over to the other woman, opening her mouth for a moment before speaking.

"These papers are for legal questioning. If, for some reason, there's question on you and everyone living here, these documents say that everyone is a legal resident. The children included. I signed it under Oletus Manor, and my brother is working to finalizing the purchase of this townhouse itself for you all." 

Katrina looked down at the papers, then up to Alice, fixing her gaze onto the journalist. Looking for something, examining her. But Alice remained open, gaze unaverred in the truth. 

"Miss De'Ross," Katrina began, picking up the papers to look over them briefly before lowering them, "You needn't do all this for us. You were not apart of what happened to us. Norton...he and I share the same disdain for the wealthy." 

Deflating, Alice looked away, trying to find her words before Katrina continued, "Your generosity is admirable, and I have respect to you for going through all this just for us. But...I'm not sure I, nor the others, can truly accept this."

"I'm...I know your lives have been difficult. I can't even blame you for despising...us," Alice said slowly, looking up to Katrina, "But I've spent the last few weeks helping these kids, the sick in the slums. I don't want to lie and say I'm not ignorant to the struggles here, but...Norton did so much just to make life easier for these kids. I want to do good by him, to carry on his vision," at this, Alice stood, coming around to gently take Katrina's hands in her own, "Please, let me do this one last thing. For him." 

Katrina stared at their hands for a moment, swallowing as her lashes fluttered over her cheeks. In the end, she nodded, sitting back down with Alice's guiding hand as a few sniffles escaped her. Alice gave a gentle squeeze to the woman's arm before heading towards the stairs and making her way up. The first few rooms had their doors open, where Alice could spot a few kids playing with wooden toys. The two ladies with the minor burns were sat in chairs overlooking the children, bandages with burn cream on their legs. The next door was empty, but a clutter of clothes were strewn about. The next floor was where she heard the sobbing from, knocking gently on the door. 

"Come in."

Inside, the blonde spotted Angus curled up in his mother's lap, hugging two satchels in his arms. His mother smiled tiredly at Alice, opening her hand to guide the blonde over. Alice kneeled down gently, brushing a few bangs from the boys eyes. 

"How are you?" she asked him, not at all surprised when he tucked his face into his mother's chest. Eyes rimmed red, sniffling, and looking so tired. Alice's heart hurt to see the kids in so much pain, with no real way to comfort them from it, "I brought some lemon cake from the bakery down at Kimberly Square. Do you want some?" 

Angus peeked up at her, blinking at her owlishly before nodding and leaving the comfort of his mother's lap, still clinging to the satchels. Alice smiled, returning the thankful nod his mother gave her, guiding the boy out and downstairs to the front room. They passed by the other children on their way down, and Alice picked up the parcel to unwrap it. Angus's eyes watched as she set down the unwrapped cake before heading to the kitchen for a fork. With her return, fork in hand, she handed it to the boy, who took it to begin picking small bites from the cake. Miss Tulip glanced at them with a sad, tired smile before continuing her stitching. 

"...how is Norton?" Angus asked suddenly, speaking around the tongs of his fork. Alice gently lowered it from his mouth, while he went on, "Is he...he's still alive right...?" 

Right. The lie.

Alice knew the truth. But, for the comfort of the children, she and Frederick had given them a lie. That Norton was carried off early into extensive care at a private hospital, and part of this healing meant he couldn't take visitors. Something about keeping the area clean and sanitary for his healing, to avoid infection. 

The truth was not that far off, only that he wasn't in a hospital, but within a guest room in Oletus. 

"He's still alive, but he's in a coma now. The doctor's think it's his body response to the injuries." Alice said gently, petting back some baby hairs. 

Angus's bottom lip quivered before he asked, so softly, "And my brother?" 

The blonde's heart broke, moving to gently hug the boy.

"I'm so sorry." 

As expected, Angus began to cry, sobbing into her collar, lemon cake forgone. He clung tight as Alice soothed him, squeezing him just that bit tighter when he let out a little wail. Miss Tulip looked on with pity, and grief, hands folded on her lap. For awhile they remained there, until some smaller kids came downstairs to the crying and begun to comfort Angus. 

"Can I have Norton's satchel? I'm sure when he wakes, he'll be wondering where his treasures will be," the journalist asked softly, after the children had finished off the lemon cake.

Angus looked down at the satchels still in his grip before slowly removing the bigger one and hold it out to Alice. She took it with a kind smile, leaning to press a gentle kiss onto the boy's forehead. Katrina came around the corner, refreshed from her cry, papers in hand. She nodded to Alice, glancing at the kids around the floor. 

"Thank you, again, Miss De'Ross. For your kindness and generosity." 

"Of course," she replied, clenching the satchel in her hands tighter, "I'll let you know when Norton is awake." 

With a final nod, and a crowd of goodbye's, Alice stepped out of the town house with a heavy sigh. She stopped for a moment outside the door to fix the satchel across her shoulder better before heading down the walkway. As much as logic said to return to Oletus, she made a common detour, heading up towards the suburbs area of where Melly lived. Expectedly, when she knocked on the door, a maid smiled and welcomed her in without argue. The sound of a cello echoing from the sunroom guided Alice's steps to follow, unsurprised to see Melly, face uncovered, sat in one of the loveseats with the cello between her legs. Her fingers moved precise over the strings, as she followed the music sheet on the stand before her. A maid was stood beside it to flip the pages, though she stepped back as Alice came over instead.

"Schubert today?" 

Melly looked up at her with a smile, playing unbothered. The scar of chemical burns over her cheek shifted with her smile, but it did nothing to distract from her beauty. 

"Serenade. Juliana wanted me to play for her at her reception in the coming days." 

Juliana was a kind old lady who had worked with Melly for several years. She was one of the few humans who knew of vampires locally and was protected to not spread the word. In her retirement, she decided to host small dinners among her friends, and frequently asked Melly to play during these. Alice nodded, flipping the page on Melly's word, listening to the treble of the cello. How the deep sound vibrated in her chest, and the vibrato brought goosebumps to her flesh. 

"Have you considered playing a duet with Frederick sometime?" Alice asked once Melly finished the music, coming to sit beside the other woman on the loveseat. Melly was slow to gently set down the Cello, turning to put an arm over the back of the loveseat to better see Alice, "You both could have some, even do a concert for the servants." 

"Frederick's playing is certainly wonderful, but I'm certain we'd have a clash in our playing," the entomologist replied, twirling a loose strand of hair beside Alice's cheek, "But you aren't here to ask me to duet with Frederick. What's wrong?" 

Alice chuckled, leaning in to rest her head against Melly's shoulder, "Nothing gets past you, huh?" 

"Not when it comes to you." 

For how much they argued, Orpheus and Melly were quite alike in Alice's opinion. But she moved on from the thought, settling better into the embrace Melly now put her in.

"The kids...that Norton took care of. One of them lost his brother in that fire. All of them are in mourning, but Katrina, the head-woman. She told me that she both hates Norton and is worried for him," a slight turn to lay more across Melly's frame, "And I just wonder if this the right thing to be doing. I know Frederick said Norton begged him, but I- I can't help but wonder if we should've just did what we did with Frederick. Not give these kids this hope or idea Norton can come back. Not turn him, despite his begging." 

Melly listened patiently, squeezing her hand with Alice's. Her eyes were unfocused, gathering her thoughts, while Alice stared up at the ceiling.

"Frederick was a unique case. Unlike Norton, he had connections, history, fame- we had to say he was missing. There would be too much publicity on Frederick if we let him return after his transformation. Too much risk. What you're doing now...as unfair as it may seem, especially for those kids...it's a fine choice."

She was tactful about it, not addressing the fact that Norton was a poor commoner with no risk, compared to Frederick, who hailed from a revered family. 

"I think it would've been wise to let him pass naturally, yes. An unpromoted transformation, while less dramatic than Frederick, is still sure to bring suspicion. But Frederick has already committed to this, so the best we can do is wait until Norton wakes and ask his opinion after. Whether he wants to let them linger, or he wants them to move on." 

"Orpheus is pissed." 

Melly snorted, unladylike certainly, but Alice smiled up at her in response, so the brunette didn't mind. 

"When is he not pissed off? He's always grumpy." 

"Oh he is not. He's only like that with you. For some reason you two can never get along," Alice teased, pressing a kiss to Melly's palm from where their hands were joined, "He's so sweet around Frederick. And with me, but he isn't grumpy. He's just a loner who likes to read." 

"A dilettante." 

"No, just a bookworm." 

The two laid there in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence. A few birds chirped outside the glass, sunflowers swaying in the faint breeze. Alice stared at them, admiring their growth. Always facing towards the sun. Always craving the warmth. Melly's other hand gently cupped the journalist's cheek, directing her eyes back. Brown met hazel, as Melly gently pet over the tear tracks. The blonde hadn't noticed she had begun crying, but the brunette said nothing as Alice tucked her face into the skirt of Melly's dress. She didn't openly sob, just breathed deeply and let the tears fall. 

"You have a very kind heart, Alice," Melly murmured, petting a few strands of blonde hair, "Never lose it."

Several hours later, after a much deserved nap and cuddle session, Alice stepped into Oletus with Melly in tow. The manor was abuzz faintly, a few servants skittering around in a rushed daze. Alice could hear Orpheus and Frederick arguing further upstairs, letting out a slow sigh before making her way up. Melly followed behind with a hand held in Alice's own, keeping close as they got closer to the voices.

"-connection to him, Frederick! You could've just let him die, like we're supposed to do!" 

"I couldn't just leave him there, Orpheus!" 

Alice opened the door slowly, glancing at the two men. She looked past them towards the bed, where Norton's half bandaged body laid. Motionless, eyes fluttering rapidly in some dream state. The parts of his body that were bandaged had a faint smell of fish, likely from the skins pressed to the healing burns. As horrible as they were, she's never seen how a transformation could effect someone with deep injuries such as burns. 

"He's a human from the slums, Frederick! You and Alice helped him and his kids, yes, but that doesn't mean you two are friends! And there were witnesses around you! How many people do you think saw you turn him?!" 

"I took him to an alleyway!" Frederick argued, returning to German in his anger, eyes a vibrant ruby red. Orpheus's, similarly yet contrastingly, a vibrant purple, "I made sure that his burns were out and that we were out of human's way! I wasn't just turning him in the street!" 

"The fact you were there at all is already suspicious! And carrying him away from the fire, half burnt, twice your size and weight, and no one wonders how you lifted him?!" 

"So you were stalking me." 

Melly stepped in behind Alice amid the arguing, moving around the two to look down at the half-turned corpse in the bed. Alice, meanwhile, set down the satchel on the dresser and pulled out the few items within. The new clothes that he had received, a small coin pouch, and the pocket watch. Alice examined it for a moment before turning to the two men and holding up the silver watch.

"Isn't this your family crest, Frederick?"

Both pairs of eyes turned to the watch, with the red in Frederick's eyes bleeding back to silver, while Orpheus's only glowed brighter. The novelist's head snapped almost violently back to Frederick, who at this point cowed the slightest bit. 

"Explain." Orpheus demanded, keeping his eyes on the composer.

After a tense moment, where Frederick's eyes fitted around, he finally sighed and stepped back towards Norton. 

"When I ran away, after my turning...I ran into this child in the woods. He had been kidnapped and was going to be raped and killed by these men. My hunger led me to kill them. I took the boy back to his mining town, and gave him that watch so he could pawn it and get some coin." 

Orpheus connected the dots quickly, eyes widening before he let out a curse. Frederick flinched slightly from the volume, as did Alice, though Orpheus stepped out of the room, shouting various curses. None of them directly towards Frederick, but the sentiment at Frederick's post-turning naivety was heard well enough. Alice glanced over to the blond, setting down the watch with a slightly guilty hand.

"Sorry..." 

"It's fine," Frederick said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He turned back towards Norton, who had begun convulsing, rolling up his already opened cuff sleeve to cut open his wrist. Melly stepped back as Frederick brought his wrist over Norton's mouth, using his other hand to gently urge the jaw to open. 

"Did Orpheus teach you?" Melly asked.

The composer shook his head, focusing on keeping the blood in and down Norton's mouth. Gradually the convulsing stopped, and his body relaxed, enough that Frederick pulled back. Though his complexion was more white from the anemia, he looked back to Melly to answer properly.

"The journals from my mother. They documented vampire turning and the process the human goes through." 

"Your mother was a vampire hunter, right?" Melly asked, folding her skirt behind her as she took a seat at the desk chair, "Her family was, at least. She didn't practice the profession herself." 

Frederick nodded, tilting his head back as he breathed slowly. Alice felt pity for him, understanding well the toll it took to follow a vampire transformation. She remembered her own turning, how weak and tired Orpheus was afterwards, when it was just them together. Before Melly came into her life. How hard it was for both her and Orpheus, post-escape, and with only the clothes on their backs and what they could loot from ash buried clothes. 

"I'll look after him," Alice said suddenly, putting a hand on Frederick's shoulder, "Go rest up, feed, and leave him to me. I'll have Melly here if I need the help."

The composer looked up at her before nodding, standing slowly as the dizziness set in. He left soon after, using the wall as an aid, while Alice turned back to Norton. Melly held out a hand to her, which the journalist took, taking a slow breath. 

"We should change his bandages first."

"Rotten brat! Get back here!"

Norton turned his head at the noise, watching a scrawny kid weave his way past pedestrians, a small sack of bread in his arms. Greasy hair, equally greasy face, and tattered clothes. Norton followed him from a distance, always keeping an eye on him. He wasn't going to help him escape, nor was he going to help them catch him. He was merely intrigued. 

The kid snuck into a narrow alley, easily able to squeeze through from his thin frame, laughing gleefully all the while. Christoph, he later learned.

Norton tried to follow from the wider avenue, only to turn the corner and see fire. Blazing bright fire. A crowd of men in mining hats, pickaxe's waving in the arm, stood in front of a small burning hut, shouting something in a united voice. 

The Golden Cave riot.

The riot he had led, after too many of their men had died and their lungs had begun to grow weaker. When the mining director was too busy fattening himself up on poultry and not paying them the coin they worked so hard for. When a freak blast caved in some miners and fueled the fire. A riot he led. A riot he fueled.

If they knew the truth, they would've certainly killed him too. 

I put them in there. 

Intentional, yes. They were as bad as the director, throwing their weight around, stealing from the weaker miners just because they had more bulk. It was all to easy to use their greed and lead them astray, setting off the dynamite that led to their deaths. He didn't regret it, no, but his panic led to him becoming the beacon of their riot, saying it the lack of proper planning from the director that caused it. 

The truth is that I killed them deliberately. As I did later, too.

Blood on his hands wasn't new. Death wasn't scary to him. His mother dying in childbirth, his father dying to overdoes. Uncle Benny, his only guardian, that he betrayed later. 

"Dammit, Norton! You hypocrite!"

There was nothing for him in that old town. Remote and off any transit lines with proper stops. Does he regret leaving Uncle Benny alone like that? With nothing, no aid, in his ailing age? Yes, deep down he does. Wishes he could've gone back and done something more before departing. 

As he takes a step forward towards the crowd, a splash reaches his ear. When he looked down, suddenly bare of his clothes, his foot had stepped into a pool of dark liquid. Rather, the entire area was nothing but a slow swaying sea of darkness, glinting red on the rise. He looked around, calling out to anyone, lacking an actual voice. It was silent, suffocating, a pressure in his ears about to ring out and implode him. Something instinctual warned him of danger, to be prepared, that there was a predator lurking. The water bubbled below him as he stepped back in fear.

"I'm sorry..." a familiar voice said, echoing in the limbo space, before the pool below him suddenly gave and sunk him into the depths.

The first sensation was shock, then fear, then all consuming searing burn. Like every nerve in his body was alight, flesh crawling and peeling only to heal over. And he could feel the skin stitching itself, every little itchy strand connecting and regrowing. He felt his bones push and splinter and then get pushed back into something of a mockery of how it was before. His body felt alight, frigid cold lighting up in his body, in his organs- 

He let out a screech through the pain, limbs seizing, heart beating so hard he thought it would burst. His teeth hurt, his gums burned and there was a dryness to this throat as if it was shredded-

And he was so thirsty.

"-waking up."

"Mr. Campbell? Can you hear me?"

The first sensation he felt was grogginess. Then a strange tightness in his skin, causing him to flex the muscles under where it felt tightest. It loosened, just a fraction, but it was enough of a push to open his eyes. The room was dark, not pitch black, but clearly still daytime with the blind closed. The ceiling was a warm brown, designed well like a checkerboard, but what took his attention the most was the smell.

Orange and sunlight. A distinct smell that was different when he was-

What was he before?

"Mr. Campbell, are you okay? Can you talk?" a soft voice asked from his left, prompting him to turn his head.

A young woman, blonde hair in a low braid over her shoulder, wearing what looked like a nightgown. Warm brown eyes and fair hands that reached for something on his forehead. But what his eyes focused on was the sliver of skin peeking out from the sleeve and the top of the gown.

A heartbeat, steady, pumped through both.

All at once, this throat screeched at him, causing him to cough harshly, turning over to his side. Every breath made it worse, and he distantly felt hands guide a glass of water to his mouth. He drank it gratefully, soothing the shredding sensation for a moment. The scent of orange and sunlight was stronger, so achingly familiar, as a hand rubbed up and down between his shoulder blades soothingly. 

"You're okay. You aren't in danger." 

He turned his head up to the voice, meeting silver eyes and ivory hair, spilling over a clothed shoulder and curling at the tips. Silver eyes that held his own so strongly it felt unfathomable to look away. But the rest of what the man was saying was muffled by the pulse of his heart, where Norton could see the veins pumping underneath the skin of his neck. 

His gums ached. Something sharp pricked his lip.

"Frederick-!" 

In a rush, he lunged onto the body, knocking them both back onto the floor. His fangs buried themselves into the warm flesh below him, twin cries of alarm reaching his ears as he swallowed down his first mouthful of blood. Only-

He pulled back suddenly, spitting out the mouthful of blood to the ground, panting wildly. Something about that blood- something wasn't right. It tasted- wrong, spoiled like a bad fruit, ashy in it's leftover. A motion to his side startled him, seeing a delicate wrist come into his view, and prompting his next lunge to latch onto it. 

This blood, by comparison, was heavenly, a note of sweet fruit and wine. It soothed his throat, each gulp making him moan in the warm feeling, oblivious to the sounds around him. A series of shouts, and then a hand on the back of his neck ripped him away from the wrist he was drinking of, straight into another wall. 

"Orpheus!"

When Norton could gather his bearings, mostly clear headed, he looked up to the people around. The lady -Alice, his mind supplied him with- was being held in another woman's arm, examining the bite on Alice's wrist. The girl herself looked worried, but not scared. In front of them, he saw Frederick on the floor, neck checked over by another man. He looked familiar, but without a monocle he believed the man was customary with. 

"I'm fine, Orpheus! I'm not hurt." 

"Like hell you aren't..." Orpheus murmured, voice low but still somehow loud enough Norton could hear. Now that he though about it, he could hear- several sounds. 

Footsteps downstairs, running water, birds tweeting outside. The dull but present chatter of staff. 

Woah.

Heavy footsteps approached where he was still slumped against the wall, before a hand shot out and choked him. With a wet hack, he was lifted up, and vibrant purple eyes were trained onto him, angry and violent. There was a shadow over his forehead, making them stand out even more. 

"You have some nerve hurting my mate like that, brat."

Norton wheezed, clutching onto the wrist holding him, even as he saw Frederick coming up from behind to gently tug Orpheus away. The brunet did so after a digging squeeze, dropping the prospector to the ground and instead choosing to hug Frederick close. Behind them, Norton could see the two ladies making a quiet exit out of the room, a linger of guilt and sympathy in Alice's eyes before she was out the door. 

"Forgive him," Frederick said, looking over to Norton, even as he was essentially being hidden behind Orpheus's torso, "He's just- protective." 

Norton opened his mouth, licking his lips before finding his words, "That's an understatement." 

He watched as Frederick tested the word in his mouth, even as Orpheus shifted suddenly and buried his face into Frederick's neck. There was a flinch from the blond, followed by the fresh trail of blood, and Norton had to swallow against the rising saliva in his mouth at the scent. 

Possessive. 

"Orpheus, enough!" Frederick said suddenly, pushing the other man away with a panting breath, though the brunet looked unphased. He was practically preening, looking over to Norton in the corner of his eye as he licked his lips clean of Frederick's blood. The posturing was- odd. Given the fact that they were married. 

Did- did Orpheus think Norton was flirting with Frederick? 

The prospector stood on shaky legs, glancing around the room. A guest room, he assumed, with the blinds pulled shut as he expected. When his eyes finally went back to the pair, Frederick had a hand over his bloody neck, likely in some form of modesty, while Orpheus was staring at Norton with scrutiny. 

"And how do you feel now, after you practically mauled my sister's wrist?" 

A smack on his arm, a wince, before Norton responded.

"It- I didn't intend to maul her, I just. I was...not myself. Thirsty. Like a ravaging beast." 

The novelist opened his mouth, but then closed it at Frederick's free hand. The composer shook his head before turning back to Norton.

"That's normal for newborns. I experienced the same. You'll get used to it in time, but don't be alarmed by it." 

It made sense, he supposed. Eventually, after a stifling silence, Frederick cleared his throat, grabbing Orpheus's hand before guiding them both out of the room. After he pushed Orpheus free first, he turned back to Norton.

"I'll let you be for a moment. When your ready, just come down the hall and take a left. There are fresh clothes in that top dresser, including your things. We'll talk after." 

With that, he left, leaving Norton alone in the room.

The first thing Norton did once alone was stripping down and looking at himself in the mirror. 

He looked slowly over his nude frame, taking in the...changes. The most prominent being the burn scars across half of his body. The tightness explained that, the skin rough and still warm, but he couldn't truly feel the sensations as he pet his fingers over the skin. Like it was dulled. Half of his calf leg, some of his thigh and hip, spanning up to his ribs and back, to his shoulder and most of his arm. It licked up his neck, and then to part of his face. The skin around his eye was pinched, slightly obscuring some of his vision from the shrinkage, but otherwise still able to see mostly clear. 

He remembered clearly the fire. The dynamite exploding on him as he had tried to run, managing to escape the flaming wreckage in an amalgamation of skin and flames. He doesn't remember anything after his escape, just a searing pain as his skin burned. He remembers screams, and crying, but the overwhelming feeling of despair. He had just wanted the pain to end.

Christoph. 

Flashes of his broken body bombarded his mind, replaying the events of the fire. Of their past, how he became the big brother Christoph had never had. He loved that kid like his own. And he...

Tears welled up in his eyes as the reality slammed suddenly into him, causing him to heave and lean against the mirror as the guilt ate through his chest. His actions, his murder caused the girls to lose their homes. Cost Christoph his life, and Angus without his older brother. Unlike the miners he buried, those kids were innocent; they didn't steal from the weak, didn't parade their strength. They were small, helpless, frail. And he ruined it for them, cause their home to be burned and their big brother his death.

It's all your fault, you know, Uncle Benny's voice whispered to him. He slapped his hands over his ears to block out the voice, but it kept going, Always saying your doing it for the others, when it's your own selfish greed your feeding.

"Shut up!" 

You've always acted for yourself. A hypocrite through and through.

"I said shut up!"

A sudden shatter of glass startled him, looking up to see his fist within what remained of the mirror. Shards digging into his skin, on the wood below him. Some slipped off with movement as he pulled his hand back, picking out the glass with a detachment from his body. He watched, in this detachment, as the skin healed back over and the blood dried onto his knuckles. Right...he wasn't a human anymore. 

"...a vampire," He whispered, quiet in that shade, glancing over to the pocket watch on the dresser. A faint tick came from it, guiding him to pick it up and open the lid. 

Steady as if it was new, the hands on the dial clicked, moving with the time.

Chapter Text

When Norton finally dressed himself, adoring the green shirt he was gifted from Christoph, he made his way out of his bedroom and into one of the halls. His senses battled against each other for a moment, wincing at the almost blinding sunlight and the heat it radiated from the window that illuminated the whole hallway. His ears rang with the buzz of insects and the constant chatter that echoed through the halls, and it took him several long moments of heavy breathing to settle down. 

When he was finally calm, he lowered his hand slowly, eyes adjusted to the light. Still vividly bright, causing the warm color tables and features to glow honey, but it was...manageable. Adjusted. The sounds of people chattering still lingered, but he was able to tune them out a bit more as he opened the hall door and entered the upper half of the foyer. Maids milled about, butler's tending to plants, and Norton. The poor man. 

The difference of his birth and where he currently was gave him slight whiplash.

As he made his way downstairs, he followed the sounds of voices towards a room off to the right of the stairs. A passing butler opened the door for him at his approach, though he ignored him to push it open himself, coming into the dining room. Cups of coffee and tea were set out at certain seats, most of which were already occupied. Alice and the other woman on one side and Frederick and his husband on the other. Both the blonde's were still dressed in sleepwear, though Frederick had put his hair up and out of the way. A low ponytail tied by a black ribbon. The blood that was previous on his neck was cleaned and the puncture marks were healed over. 

"Sorry about earlier, Norton," Alice said once he walked in, standing to guide a hand to the seat on Frederick's right, "Orpheus can be a little overbearing sometimes."

The man in question huffed, electing to take a sip from his coffee while Norton took his seat. The cushion on the chair was far softer than the cot he used to share, and the smell of the coffee in front of him was rich. Clearly a more expensive brand. 

It did little to distract him from how much of an outsider he was here. 

How strongly he detested the wealthy.

"It's...whatever." Norton said instead, taking a sip of the coffee. Earthy, rich as he suspected, a faint taste of sugar in there too. Despite it, everything felt...a little dull?

The woman across from him, face covered by a laced cloth and tied behind her head, spoke up, as if reading his mind, "It's normal for your tastebuds to be different. They do return to your human taste once the newborn bloodlust has abated." 

Norton set down the cup, pushing it away. He glanced up at the woman, noting how despite her insistence on secrecy, she carried herself confidently. 

"You were a worker before, weren't you?" Norton asked her, less of a question in it's truth. The woman paused before smiling just a fraction, setting down her cup onto the accompanying plate, "I was. A long time ago, I worked as a maid. I met my late husband that way." 

"How did you figure that out?" Alice asked a moment later, looking curious. There was a steadiness in her eyes, however, a focus that would not be deterred. 

Norton drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before responding, "She speaks like a noble woman. But her hands, the way she carries herself, it's not from nobility. It came from having to prove herself, to never wavering even when it would've been the easiest choice. You, too, Miss Alice, your intuition and hyper-focus are results of your trauma. I don't know all the details, but I assume you were forced to learn quick and adapt faster."

The blonde looked startled after he spoke, an expression mirrored by nearly everyone else. All but Orpheus, who's glare could've killed.

"Astute observation, Mr. Campbell," the novelist said, setting down his cup with a firm Clink! before he folded his hands in front of him, "What can you say about me? About my mate?" 

The prospector looked back at the man, unwavering, taking a slight look over his frame. 

"You hide your true yourself behind appearances. You had to endure hardships that damaged you in your youth, and to cope, you mimic others as a result to protect yourself from a repeat." 

As coal black eyes moved from the novelist onto the composer, the former looked ready to kill, hands shaking from where he had them clasped.

"As for Frederick, it's obvious you grew up with immense wealth and expectations. However, they put you into an unachievable perfectionism, and it haunts you to this day. Like...you always have to prove yourself for that expectation. Even if no one is asking for it." 

The room was left in silence so stifling you could hear a pin drop. Breaths were slow, various eyes unfocused as they processed the words. Eventually, it was Frederick saying something in French to himself that prompted more movement, and it was Melly who broke the silence officially.

"You're observation skills are quite impressive Mr. Campbell."

Norton lifted up the coffee again, taking a bigger gulp as it had cooled over time. As he set it down, he spun it slightly on the tea plate it sat on.

"You grow up in slums, where everyone lies and you have only yourself to rely on, you kinda hafta' know how to read people's intentions. Look for the little things. It's the only way you can survive," as he explained, he sat forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table, "No matter how much you try to fake it, there is always something to give away your true self. There's always goin' to be something to take advantage of, no matter how big or how insignificant it is."

The room went into silence after that, and Norton distracted himself by finishing his coffee. Without his prompting, another maid came over with the intention to fill it, pot in hand, but he took it from her before she could pour and waved her away as he poured it himself. When the maid took it back, stopping his set down, it reminded him too much of Katrina, how she would coddle the younger kids pouring their tea.

The kids.

"Wait, Katrina. The kids, everyone, are they-?" Norton asked suddenly, panic rising his frame. If they were hurt, if someone had hurt them-

Alice raised a hand to him, gently motioning for him to relax and take a breath. Despite the previous energy in the room from his observations, she was patient and kind with calming him down, "I've rented out a lodging house for them near the safer area of the city edge. It's warrant is under Oletus Manor and details that each individual within there is legal and a formal resident. The precinct and the firehouse are only a few roads down, so any accidents will be managed quickly."

The prospector sagged, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He set his forehead against his knuckles and let out a prayer in his mind out of thanks. But, that left only one more question to get an answer to.

"Do they...I mean, are they aware that I'm...?" he gestured pensively, trying to keep his words vague. Saying 'Vampire' out loud still felt weird to him, the vowels rolled strange on his tongue. "Or do they assume I'm dead?"

It's Frederick who answers him, talking slow to gather the right structure as he set down his own coffee.

"We told them you are in a coma. Kept in a private ward, within a private hospital, to keep your injuries clean. You are in critical condition, as far as they are aware."

"You didn't tell them I was dead?" The raven asked, dropping his hands down to look over to the blond, "Wouldn't that have been easier?"

"We...wanted to give you a chance to try and spend some more time with them. Like Frederick, your turning was- abrupt. Unplanned," Alice explained, wringing her hands in front of her, "But unlike the mistake we made with him, we didn't want to immediately isolate you. Not to mention your reputation is vastly different from Frederick, so there is less risk in revealing you." 

Frederick, for his part, remained quiet, nodding along to Alice's explanation. He offered no input, only a few sounds, while Norton took in the information. He stared down at the cup of coffee in front of him, watching his reflection sway in the dark brown liquid. The burns on his face, the unevenness of his hairline because of it. He knows the consequence of his actions. Of the only sanctuary the kids had, the memories there. Despite it's overall use and the downright horrible people it tended to attract, those kids cherished that place. He adored it, faults and all, and the- 

His family. He hurt his family in his vigilantism.

"...I need to think. Give it time," he said finally, the only coherent thing he could organize in his mind. Like a storm brewing, so many emotions were converging on him; it made him want to scream. Scream his voice hoarse, at the weight of it all. He picked up his coffee and took a gulp instead to fight back from screaming. When he set it down again, Alice gave a nod of assent, a motion that was mimicked by everyone except Orpheus, who grunted in a response.

"In the meantime, Norton, perhaps you can help me figure out this case I'm working on?" Alice spoke up after some time, voice strangely hopeful. 

The prospector lifted his head up to her, where she was staring back with a small smile. Her eyes were vibrant and warm, keeping her body and gaze straight to the other man. He could feel the others' gaze on him as he took a moment to respond, mulling the idea in his head amidst the storm raging within it.

"Yeah...why not." 

Alice made a happy little cheer, clapping her hands excitedly as she stood from the table, practically skipping back towards the door into the foyer.

"Let me get my office cleaned up!" she said, while Melly gave a slight shout of concern. Orpheus chuckled good naturally at his sister's antics, while Frederick watched impassively. Norton, for no reason he could pinpoint, was too focused on Frederick's frame, feeling a strange captivity as the man turned his head towards the door. With his hair up, his neck was free, uncovered and bare, painted by the golden sunrise.

Hunger.

A hand slapped over his mouth as he turned away and coughed, dry and scratchy, heaving as his gums ached and an unbearable dryness sunk itself into his throat. The others around him turned in alarm, and even Alice stopped her sprint out the door, turning back to Norton as he swallowed around nothing and heaved.

"Frederick, your offspring is starving," Melly said, voice dulled in his ears, muffled behind the ringing. Underneath that, he could hear multiple heart beats, one beating louder than the others. It got louder and louder and louder, until a hand was on his own and pulling it away from his mouth. When his eyes refocused, he realized the heartbeat was Frederick's, the man now looking down at him with an almost curious gaze.

"Come," was all he said, pulling Norton up from the chair. 

A screech of a chair behind them, followed by Orpheus's voice ringing out a warning, "Where are you going?" The pair ignored him as Frederick led them behind a partition. Norton could only stare as the composer pulled the collar of his nightgown down, tilting his head aside to display his throat better.

"Go ahead. I had to do the same with Orpheus after he turned me. This is normal." 

Despite the comfort, the previous taste of Frederick's blood paused Norton's movement, only long enough until the call of blood moved him, leaning in to bite down. Frederick made a slight wince, leaning back slightly. Norton, instinctually, sent his hands to the composer's waist to steady him, swallowing down a mouthful of blood. 

Compared to his first drink, the second was not any better, but manageable, and the third was less bitter, less ashy. By the time he was swallowing his fourth, the blood had sweetened up, as if it was just some char on a slab of meat, hiding the better taste underneath. Still retaining some of that unpleasant undertone, but easier to swallow down. Frederick breathed slowed through it, the movement of his breaths making the blood flow just a little faster, and a satisfied groan came from Norton's throat as that burning was soothed.

It should likely startle him; how quickly he was adapting to the vampire life. Despite it, he couldn't help but feel whole. For the first time in his life. Unburdened by weak lungs, aching limbs or the persistent spasms in his hands. 

Liberating. Fulfilling. Strange as all hell.

"Norton?" Frederick asked, voice breaking him out of his daze. He realized quickly that he had stopped drinking, merely kept his fangs buried in the warm flesh below them. He pulled them free, giving a mumbled apology as he stepped back and wiped his mouth clean. The composer shook his head, lifting a free hand as if to touch where the bite was, bloodied and smeared from saliva. "That is a little gross..."

"'M sorry." 

As if sensing that they were done, Orpheus, to no one's surprise, rounded the partition, wet towel in hand. He ignored Norton completely to instead wipe away the blood and saliva left over the bite on Frederick's neck, hands gentle as they moved the blond's chin to get better vantage. Once clean, the novelist dropped it in favor of cupping Frederick's cheeks and speaking to him lowly in French. Norton couldn't make out the conversation, but he watched as Orpheus loosened his tie and collar and tucked Frederick's head into his neck. 

It felt too intimate, and Norton cleared his throat as he side stepped them, ignoring the smell of blood that rose from the bite. He made his way back towards the table, noting the absence of Melly and Alice, and elected to wander the manor instead while the other two spent their time together.

A knock on the door reached Orpheus's ears sometime later.

"I'm busy," he calls out, rubbing fingers onto his temple while documents of the Lark House Fire are in his hands, smuggling in by private hands straight from the Scotland Yard, "What is it?"

A maid's voice speaks past the wood, soft and patient, "A visitor. From the Court of his Majesty." 

The novelist groaned, tipping back in the leather chair to rub between his eyes before setting down the paper and inviting the guests inside. The door opened quietly, the maid with her head down stepping aside so the guest could enter. A familiar, lazy smile greeted Orpheus, paired with a deep blue vest.

"Professor Diruse. What brings you here?" 

Luchino shrugged, nodding in thanks to the maid before taking a seat in the free armchair across the way. As he sat, he pulled out two envelope from his inner breast pocket, "Fresh orders from Joseph. Took it upon myself to bring the news personally. And to catch up with my closest friend."

As Orpheus took the offered letters, setting one addressed to Melly, he glanced up to the professor as he cut open the wax seal, "I don't think Frederick views you as closely of a friend as you do him."

"Perhaps," Luchino said, as Orpheus began to read. 

To Oletus Manor, 

As per the new elective voted by the Court, a customary acknowledgement of Oath has been issued out. Inside, you will find a ring that is to be worn by the Head/Lord of the Coven you reside in. This will showcase to other Vampires that you are a Loyal and Trusted Coven, and will help isolate the renegade and wandering Covens.

If you would like matching jewelry for the rest of your coven to further show your loyalty, you may request the necessary amount to be made and tailored. They will delivered when they are ready to your residence(s).

Well Regard,

Joseph Desaulniers.

Just as he finished reading the letter itself, a small ring spilled out of the envelope a moment later as Luchino's shaking. He offered it over to Orpheus, lazy smile as usual, while the novelist took it carefully in his fingers. A simple silver band, with a slightly inflated flat top, where a muse mark sat chiseled in the metal. A whisper touched his mind, voices growing, before swiftly stopping as if snuffed out. He put the ring down instead to lean back in his chair, glancing over to Luchino. Silently, and expertly, the professor understood the hidden question, folding his hands over his stomach as he slouched in the leather.

"According to patrol reports, there's been some...ah, let's say rebellion within the lower houses. New covens, new generations, the usual. The difference, however, is this one connecting factor that is present in each rally." 

"And that being?" 

"Each of them talked about this 'True King' usurping the throne, and that Joseph himself is unfit to rule. They call this king of theirs Morningstar."

The novelist's brow creased, sitting straighter in his chair. Wordlessly, the professor followed, pulling out a small folded parchment from on his other pockets and held it out to the other. Once Orpheus took it, Luchino spoke up.

"They want the King Authority." 

The parchment was small, worn and clearly ripped from another sheet, with Luchino's usual scrawl. But the little bit of writing on it made Orpheus's blood run cold.

Joseph intends to steal the authority for himself.

He will take it, no matter the cost.

Luchino made his way into the library, fixing on his usual smile. He delegated to leave the meeting with Orpheus a secret from the rest, something private between them. Better for the residents, for the people Orpheus loved. Better overall to pass the message in writing, away from the pipevine swallowtails that fluttered outside the windows. From the invisible hand that held his leash tight. He'd rather not think on it to hard for now, choosing instead to inspect the room.

Books laid a strew, a few blankets on one of the loveseats by a window, and two bodies huddled within that area. Frederick, who was laid on the loveseat with one of his Mother's journal's in his lap, looked up at the sound, "Ah, Professor Diruse. I wasn't expecting you."

"I'm here on business, but I still wanted to catch up. Thought you'd like to know Enola had a new clutch of these beautiful spotted babies." 

The composer rolled his eyes, though there was underline fondness in there. The connection of old friend reacquainting. Luchino finally looked down to the other body sitting on the floor, another journal in hand that he was struggling to read, though he did look up when Luchino stood before him. The scent of orange was faint on him, much like the petrichor on Frederick. 

"You must be Frederick's newborn. Norton, right?" 

The prospector eyed him warily, but nodded in the end, slow and calculated. The professor smiled, picking up one of the journal's left behind on the floor.

"Teaching your offspring how to kill us?" he joked, flashing his teeth to the composer. The latter shook his head, taking the book back to close and dust it off, "Or is this essentially a 'Vampire 101' class?"

"Basic knowledge he should come to learn. Turning as a whole, the after effects and the gap in between. Necessary things that we were likely never taught directly," Frederick explained, leaning into the German over the English, "A few other things about our inner workings and our reaction to the world. How we utilize our strengths." 

"Vampire 101 class it is then," Luchino answered, English, glancing down to Norton who looked to be struggling to keep up with the conversation, "Though you might want to teach him some language instead, especially if you're still going to default back to German or French."

"Isn't that your job, Professor?" Frederick teased, French just to rub it in, causing a chuckle to come from both of them. Norton, as expected, remain confused but kept trying to following along anyway.

The two talked for awhile longer, until Alice burst into the room, slightly askew in her hair and clothing. Her excite was startling, tugging Norton up and out of the library, which left the other two alone. For a moment, there was only quiet, broken by the chirps of birds outside, until Frederick lowered his legs and offered a journal to the other man.

"Tell me about this new clutch."

The streets were crowded, a clamor of workers and the poor outside the smaller, local Yard. Pitchfork, torches, and shouting greeted the duo. Alice took it all in, snapping a private photo in secrecy as she looked on. For Norton, it looked similarly to the riot outside the mines, familiar down to the smells. 

"And we are out here because...?" he asked again, turning to the woman. She was dressed in a blue coat with a matching old skirt, outdated but well-kept. Norton, meanwhile, was dressed within an old trench coat that surely came from a second-hand's store, with an old flap cap over his head. It was dark enough to hide his face, and with his new burn scars, even less likely to be recongized.

"They wouldn't look for a dead man within a crowd, right? And we can stop by the lodging house on the way." She had explained, as if he was so simple.

Maybe it was?

"After your arsonist attack, and the confession that came from some of the kids, it made it's round through the mill. Now, workers are demanding the police to do something more about it, and to properly fine the rich for their actions." 

"It was never hidden," Norton argued, surveying the masses, "They knew full well. But why now is there suddenly an uproar? Surely it's not just because of the brothel burning." 

"Apparently, the dowager of Mr. Lark said it was justice served. The brothel burning. For the 'transgression' against her son." 

Norton blinked down at her, who mirrored his gaze.

"Sorry, but that is a load of horseshit."

"No, I agree," the journalist murmured, guiding them towards the backroads. Near the shops and the alleyways littered with the sick and poor, "He deserved what he got. But clearly she doesn't think that way either."

As Alice kept on, weaving through the crowd of people, Norton strayed behind. Down the alleyway, he spotted two familiar bodies, raining down kicks to a poor man who was curled into himself. The cacophony of voices dulled any conversation he could pick up from them, but he knew that whatever they were saying was not good. And as he made his way through the wave of bodies, parting the waters as it were, an animal instinct in him crawled out from under a rock. Something that demanded he maul, give retribution to the sinful, deliver them their due justice.

Give them a front row meeting with God.

The first punch landed squarely to the closest officer -Warrant for arrest and seizure-, knocking him back with a sickeningly wet sound. The other officer spun on his heel, shouting in alarm as Norton landed another punch to the first one, right to the liver. The man heaved, and Norton turned his gaze to the second. The man stood confused, hand hovering over his baton, while the poor man he was kicking scrambled up and out of the alley.

"I remember you. Blasted me with dynamite." 

Officer #2's brow creased, clearly confused by the statement, glancing to his partner who was leaning up against the nearby wall. Assured in his partner's steadiness, he picked up the baton from his hip and held it before him.

"We don't need to be causing more trouble here, now. Run along." 

Norton huffed, stalking slowly towards Officer #2, steps falling in time with his heart. The animal voice screamed in his head, laughing madly as the fear set into the officer, some sick demon guiding him to lunge.

Sleep in the casket you made.

Officer #2 choked, struggling to gather his breath as Norton squeezed down on his windpipe. Why was he ever so scared? Of these cowards? What a fucking idiot he was. 

"You know, I've used dynamite before. Lots of it. To kill fuckers like you with too big heads on too small shoulders. Caved them in and suffocated them."

"Y-you're-" Officer #1 wheezed, gathering his bearings as his own baton was clutched tight, "You're the lunatic that started the Golden Cave riot!" 

Norton glanced back at him, dropping his partner as he turned to the other. Feet apart, fists down and ready, eyes narrowed out of boredom than intimidation.

"You ever catch the name?" 

Rather than answering, Officer #1 charged, shouting as he swung down the baton. Norton dodged easily, side stepping the man as he rounded back to try and punch the prospector. His movements were slow, sluggish, as if he was moving through molasse, until Norton realized it. 

He was moving faster than them.

He couldn't stop the grin from coming to his face, side stepping another swipe of the baton, only to kick out and knock Officer #1 into an old barrel. It splintered and broke, and Norton was on the man faster than he could react, lifting his head by his hair and cracking another punch to the mans nose. He rained down punches, snarling as he nearly ripped the head clean off. He bared his fangs, tearing into the man's throat as he wailed. Blood spurted from the artery, staining his chin and collar, and while the taste wasn't special, it was refreshing.

Then there was a bang, followed by burning white pain directly into his shoulder.

He pulled back with a cry, gripping his injured shoulder as he turned back. Officer #2 had his hands raised, pulling down the trigger on a firearm, the bullet whizzing past Norton's cheek. He moved quickly, lunging forward with a shout as he all but punched his hand through the man's gut. The third bullet never fired, but the man choked on his own blood as Norton leaned in close to whisper into the officer's ear.

"Norton Campbell, you motherfucker."

With a squelching sound, he ripped his fist free from the man's gut, watching him all but fall with a twitch of his limbs. Innards spilled from him, sinew sticking to the muscles spilling out. Norton stared at the scene, breathing hard, blood soaking his face and mouth. 

The satisfaction was beautiful. The nausea drowned it soon after.

He retched, kneeling over as bile rose from his stomach up his throat, until it was coughed onto mud soaked grounds. He coughed wetly for a moment before, raising a trembling, clean hand to his mouth to wipe it clean. As if all of the murders before this were suddenly latching onto his lungs, guilt clung to his frame, followed by shame. No matter how deserved it was for them, the realization that he was a murderer suddenly hit him like a boat. 

Unwilling to reconcile with this new revelation, he leaned down to pick up the firearm, strangely confident in it being something Frederick of all people would enjoy. The prospector glanced around the space, taking in the scene, before moving to gather some mud onto his fingers and turning to one of the brick walls. 

When he finally left the alley, hiding his bloody hand under his armpit, the walls were drying of the caked mud.

Norton Campbell Lives.

Alice, expectedly, finds him before he finds her. And laughably, scaring the ever living hell out of him when she dropped down in front of him. When she stood, he was looking over his frame, noticing the stentch of blood and mud that clung to him.

"What happened?!" she nearly shrieked, fretting over him as she did a lap around his body, "You're- there's so much-!"

"Just some officers picking on this poor man. Beat 'em up a lil', 's nuthin'."

Clearly not convinced, the blonde stepped back to regard him for a moment. At the lack of waver in his eyes at his lie, she relented and gently guided him out towards the now empty streets. Evidently, the crowd from before was moving, making their way towards the more populated lanes. Which worked fine for them, as Alice detoured and began to guide him towards the lodging house.

"The officers who burned the brothel. Killed Christoph. I took care of 'em." 

"...you killed them?"

"Yeah," Norton nearly growled, eyes narrowed as he scratched off his mental hit list, "Now the mother..."

Alice paused, pulling on Norton's sleeve to grab his attention.

"No. You can't just- go on this spree. You can't play vigilante, not like this." 

The prospector grunted, continuing on his way, even as Alice's pace slowed down, "Been doing it for a long time, hun. Ain't nothin' new." 

"I get your anger, truly, but you can't just go killing every noble who wrongs you! Mr. Lark was a bad man, yes, and his mother is no better, but you don't need to kill them-!"

Norton whirled to her, stopping them in their tracks, "Don't you get it?! So long as those blue-bloods have money, they'll continue to feed on the greediest things! Why not ask Frederick? His bloods' blue, ain't it? And you've seen how beautiful he is, you don't seriously think he wasn't sought after in his youth by the men his father kept around him?! Hell, maybe his old man was the same in secret!"

It stung, an assumption with no real basis but expectation. True, it could very well have had happened to Frederick, but they would not know unless they asked. And the thought of it actually happening to the composer was a horrible one. Alice knew full well what it felt like to be groomed by the powerful. Knew how Orpheus, to this day, still struggled to move on from the scarring. They were both silent for a moment, while voices clamored distance away.

"Face it, Alice. Every rich fucker who has the means to do what they want will do it. Whether it be eating good food or forcing kids into prostitution, there are too many things they can get away with and not enough set backs to prevent it. You can't be that ignorant to that truth."

There was a pregnant pause, where they merely stared at each other before Alice blinked a few times and turned the cheek. With a slow breath, the prospector spoke again.

"Ah, no. You know it to be the truth. But you're struggling to accept it...or, rather, you don't want to believe it?" Norton commented, staring down at Alice, who's fists were clenched and her face turned away. 

Her expression was taunt, pulled in the corners, and there was truth to Norton's observation. 

"I am. Struggling. You're right. I tend to consider the better before the worst," the blonde started, looking up at the taller man, eyes steady as steel, "But I don't mind it. I'd rather live a life of optimism than of cynicism. Orpheus lives that way, and I've seen- I see how he lives like it. I don't want to live that way. And...you are right. There's too much the rich can get away with. But that's why I took this case. Why I'm getting these photos to show that change can be made without more bloodshed. We can be better than them."

Norton regarded her a moment before smirking, lowering his hackles as it were. A huff left his mouth as he fixed the cuff of his trench coat, glancing to the woman with an almost wonder to his eyes. 

"I'm glad that you're unwavering. Strength and courage are the best things you can have, in my opinion." 

The prospector began to walk back towards the crowd, hiding his face under the flap cap. Alice stayed behind for a moment before beginning to follow, their footsteps muffled in the mud. Just before they made the corner, where orange light spilled onto the rest of the street, Alice spoke up.

"I've made an observation about you, Mr. Campbell." 

The man paused, turning back to her. She stood still, solid like a statue, keeping his eyes locked with his own.

"I know what it's like to live a life thinking you can only rely on yourself. How scared you can be from it. But I know it helped make me the way I am today because of it," she explained, voice carried in the wind. If Norton was human, he likely wouldn't have heard it, "You know it, too. But you also assume that because some of us had more money, we don't know the struggle of those with less than us. Which is an objective idea, in all honesty. Everyone struggles. Some struggle harder than others, but no one lives in complete comfort without some sacrifice."

Norton stared on, face unreadable. The voices were going on, and the wind was picking up, and Alice was stood in front of him. Steady, assured, unwavering in the face of fear. A beacon within an endless darkness. It was everything Norton wished he could be, what he tried to be. 

The corner of his lip curled up, followed by a fond chuckle and a shake of his head. When he looked back over to her, she was smiling in return, finally coming up to match pace with him. One of her hands held the camera steady as they walked on. 

"You're right. I do assume," Norton said sometime later, as they were approaching the waiting carriage they had come in earlier, "I've never really had an ally I could depend on. No one I could truly trust to not slit my throat while I slept." 

He thought of Christoph, then, and how much life he could've lived. 

"It's caused me too much hubris. Too much ego. I recognize that."

Alice said nothing, stepping into the carriage before Norton. As they began to roll forward, she watched the prospector, waiting for the rest of his statement. It took a few more minutes, before he finally sighed and looked over to her.

"I don't know how I'm going to live like- this," he gestured, waving his hand over Alice's frame. She picked up the hidden words easy enough, nodding as a prompt to continue, "But...for those kids. I owe it to them. To try to be better. Use this new resource that I have for the better. And I will fail, and stumble, and likely blow a hefty sum of your brother's pocket." 

"He does well with his novels." 

"Even so-" Norton continued, moving his eyes out to the window, "I can't just sit and be patient while things go to shit. I'll try to behave, but I am telling you now, I won't comply with everything that is going to expected from me. That's not the life I live. Never was."

Alice nodded slowly, taking in the man's form. It wasn't hard to see what he meant, after all.

"But...what you said before. About being better...I want to be that. Someone better."

The blonde smiled and took his hand. Even though the words were not spoken, Norton understood the support all the same.

The next morning came with damage control. 

Of course, letters were sent to Oletus to Alice about a sudden murder of officers, of the mud scrawl 'Norton Campbell Lives', and of the unknown witness who said he wouldn't tell a word. Alice hid it from Orpheus, though it was inevitable he found out, further proved when Norton strolled right into Orpheus's office to drop the firearm on the desk.

Frederick, who had been sat in one of the leather seats, reading over one of Orpheus's manuscripts, looking at the gun with a curiosity Norton had never seen from the man. The novelist, in turn, scowled as the prospector.

"And what is this supposed to be? Evidence?"

"Intel. A warning, maybe. However you wanna take it," he said, sliding the gun towards Orpheus, "I don't know too much about guns, but I've heard from some retired navy men that the localization of guns was growing. If the police are arming themselves with these, that will cause a problem. Not just for us, but for humans, too."

The risk of hunters utilizing firearms was creeping upon them, was left unsaid, but thought by the lovers seperately. 

The composer, attention now shifted, picked up the gun and looking it over. After a moment, he pressed down on a latch by the handle, and snapped the barrel down. 6 cylinders, where four bullets popped out of, landing on the desk with some clinks.

"Webley Longspur," Frederick murmured, picking up the bullets to refill them back into the cylinders. Once filled, he snapped the barrel up, letting out a faint click, and then used his thumb to pull back the hammer, "I've never seen one up close..."

"What?"

At the twin question, Frederick snapped out of his musing, glancing at the two men now staring at him with equal parts of confusion. Only Orpheus had a tinge of affection, thought that was constant no matter his emotion when it came to Frederick.

"Ah...well. My father, when I was young. He took me rifle shooting. Over the years, I've kept up to date with the latest in firearms. Never considered buying one for myself, but I was always interested in them." 

"You know how to shoot guns?" 

Frederick blinked at Orpheus's question, tilting his head at the novelist.

"Well, yes. Don't you?" 

For once, the other two men looked at each other, and came to a mutual conclusion. 

Frederick was definitely strange.

Chapter Text

The first thing Melly was expecting upon entering Orpheus's office was the novelist scribbling away at something. Desk slightly array but organized in his own way. What she did not expect was him to have his head thrown back in his chair, slouched down in it as if resigned to an unwilling fate. He did not look up at her entrance, but she spotted the envelope with her name on it instead.

"From Joseph?"

"Mhm," the brunet hummed, sitting up in his chair to place his elbows on his desk and his chin behind his folded hands, "Some new fashion trend." 

As the other brunette took in a seat in one of the armchairs, she opened the letter with quick efficiency, reading over the contents much in the same way Orpheus did.

"I see what you mean by 'fashion trend'," she commented, picking up the small ring with a honeycomb pattern on the base, along with a thin little M.P. on top of the honeycomb, "I do not see his reason for this so suddenly?"

The novelist rubbed at his eyes, slouching onto the table as he explained, "I assume from what Professor Diruse explained to me, this rise of a new threat they call Morningstar has Joseph on edge. This is his next best way of finding his true 'allies', by forcing people to publicly display their loyalty."

"That is rather authoritarian of him." 

"Cowardly, too. Desperate. He knows his control is slipping and he's scrambling to gain it back," Orpheus said, "There was also...another part of it. Something that relates to a favor I want to ask you for." 

Melly looked up to him then, taking in his disheveled appearance. The weariness to his shoulders and the muse of his hair, monocle forgone in his fidgeting. And Orpheus rarely looked...frightened.

"What is it?" 

The novelist pulled out the small note from Luchino before passing it to the entomologist. Obtained, she read the few lines written, while Orpheus continued to explain, "It's not only Joseph. This Morningstar also wants the Authority." 

"And that means they'll come for Frederick." 

The truth that Orpheus didn't want to voice, in the fear of it being true. But it was unavoidable, not since that first night in Vienna, when he has pulled Joseph away from Orpheus. It was an inevitability, then, and one that the novelist had hoped would be forgotten entirely. It seemed, however, that would never be the case.

Not until Frederick was bled dry. 

"This favor...now...I want to ask you to request another piece of jewelry and gift it to Alice under your Coven," Orpheus explained, glancing up to the brunette across from him, "I'll be busy trying to protect Frederick, and I- I don't think I could protect Alice as securely. And there is no one else but you I trust to keep her safe as well as I could."

Melly stared at him, despite the fabric blocking her eyes, rolling the ring around her own fingers as she debated the ask. It was sound, and, despite how often they quarreled, it was not secret that both of them loved and cared for Alice dearly. 

"...You do not need to ask me to protect my mate, Orpheus. But I appreciate it all the same," the entomologist answered, pocketing the ring into her breast pocket, "Do you want to have her live with me as well?" 

The novelist rubbed at his eyes for a moment, thoughtful, before rocking his head back and forth with a grimace, "I don't want to do anything more that she doesn't want to, but I'd prefer if she at least  stayed overnight at your residence more than she did here. If...this Morningstar or Joseph become more active, I fear the security of Oletus wouldn't be able to hold. And, this way, too, if Alice is associated with your Coven, she'll be excused from any trial they might put Oletus on if I must resort to extremes." 

"Let's hope you needn't repeat Targovishte," Melly commented, pausing in her rise from the seat to ask, "What will you do about Norton?"

"He's Frederick's offspring. He has loyalty he won't be able to break. For now, he'll act as another bodyguard." 

The entomologist nodded, picking up the few papers addressed to her before moving towards the door. Just as she reached the handle and began to pull it open, Orpheus spoke up once more.

"Thank you, for this. For loving her as much as I do."

Melly merely nodded before stepping out into the hall.

It took a century for them to actually find love.

Affection.

Endearment.

On their first meeting, when the siblings had accidentally broken into her house, not aware that Melly was hibernating within the locked coffin in the basement, it had not been a welcome greeting. It had been shouting, growls, the stench of blood in the air. The siblings had been stained in it; skin, clothes, hair. There was a constant glow to Orpheus's eyes, unnaturally purple for a vampire that Melly would later learn the reason of. Alice, in turn, was timid and reserved, clinging onto her brother's arm with unguarded fear. Every sudden movement made her flinch, and every loud bang made her shriek in that same fear. 

Eventually, though, when they had calmed down, Melly had given them shelter. Brought back some hunted animals for them to feed from, and then guided them to the small lake just down the way. In the moonlight of that night, Melly pretended not to notice the wounds on their bodies, the bruises that hadn't yet healed, despite the newborn healing in them. But it made sense, from what they told her.

They only had each other to sustain themselves. 

Their old clothes were tattered and ripped. Parts of Orpheus's were burned, and the cloak that had been wrapped around Alice was bloodied and weather worn. Despite both of them into young adulthood, there was a childish lit to their interactions; to the petulant pouting Orpheus would do or the soft doe eyes Alice would have when Melly offered her an old dress that no longer fit. 

Then the reports came in.

A Coven in Targovishte, the one that controlled the City, was dismantled. Survivors, children that were forced into roles, were retrieved and in the process of returning to families to heal. Vampires were slain, some were arrested in a blood-craze fervor, and then Joseph stepped in to execute the rest of them. 

Made an example of them. 

The city took heavy damage, lost several casualties, and the Coven that attacked them was one in a truce with a large scale Hunter collective. A promise of death by their hands if they aided the hunters in dismantling the Coven. And it worked somehow. 

"You two were kidnapped children, weren't you?" Melly asked them one morning, as they all ate a bland oatmeal dish that they pretended to need, "I'm assuming your sister was a Bride Child and you were a Servant Child, right?"

Orpheus glared at her, a linger glow of purple in his eyes. Routine feedings, proper rest when he needed it, and some of Melly's blood when the bloodlust became too much finally calmed down the beast in him. She wanted to press for his transformation at first, until Alice explained it to her one night when the boy slept. It all made sense then. 

"Yes..." Alice had answered for them, looking down into her oatmeal, "It was...scary. Orpheus found me, later, but we were...we were-" 

As the girl broke down, Orpheus immediately went to her comfort, standing from is seat to stand and pull her into a tight hug, one that she turned into. Melly remained quiet, silently getting up to clean their bowls. She left them be for the next few minutes, until Orpheus stepped into the kitchen, blocking the doorway from Melly's exit. 

"We are safe here, right? No one is going to come after us?" 

Melly looked at him then, taking in the guard of his frame. A young boy forced to grow quickly, weathered by an unrelenting force.

The brunette set down the bowl to dry, finally speaking, "This house is remote. Unless there have been people tracking you, you both should be safe. There is too much to be reported and repaired in Targovishte now anyway. They wouldn't try to look for survivors...especially not after transformation."

The fledgling nodded at that, returning to the dining room to comfort his sister. Melly remained in the kitchen, silently debating why she took them in they way she did. 

But fate is not kind.

A month later, missives under Joseph's commands came to Melly's home. The siblings, finally relaxing into their new life, were whisked away forcefully alongside Melly. Dragged through the city, and towards the court house, the trio was pushed into the court room. The stand in the middle was open, and Melly was dragged into it, hands cuffed before her and connecting to the one on her neck. At the Judge's seat, Joseph sat, glaring down at them.

"Melly Plinius," he started, "You are on trial for housing suspected criminals relating to the Targovishte attack."

A pair of steps treaded down an old dirt path, following the scroungy map of an estate layout. Heels scuffed against rocks, dress tails swished with the swing of hips, and a faint buzz of insects trailed behind the pair as they moved. 

"According to what Maxwell and the others could gather, this estate once belonged a trade salesman, specializing in cattle trade, but suddenly went bankrupt and was forced to foreclose his factories and home to flee. But there have reports of carriages coming through," Alice explained, stopped before the iron wrought gate that would lead them further into the estate's front lawn, "And Maxwell said they reeked of blood and Hunter metal." 

Beside her, dressed in a dress similar to a drooping datura flower, Melly walked beside her mate, listening to her words. In her hands was a specialized insect net, also mimicking a wilted flower. It was a new commission she had finally received, made specially for instance like these where she was forced into recon.

Or asked politely by her mate, of course.

The two hoped over the fence, landing silently as they made their way further up. While Melly was dressed in a way that allowed more movement, Alice wore a warm yellow gown, fitted with a soft fur collar that trailed down with her, and a cane strapped behind her back. Both of them dressed with a hat, Melly's covered in her signature style over her eyes. 

"So, do we assume this is a Hunter hide out?" Melly asked as they walked along the shade of overhead trees, "There haven't been many reports by the outposts on Hunter activity." 

Alice hummed thoughtfully, stopping outside the western wing, "It's possible they've been working more discreetly. We don't know for certain." 

"Then we must also be discreet." 

The insects buzzing around them flew up, scattering along the perimeter of the estate before eventually returning to Melly's palm, where they fused back into her flesh.

"There's a servant door behind the morning room, or two windows with broken locks on the upper floor near the eastern wing." 

Alice lead them up to the window instead, circling the back yard as quietly as possible. Fallen branches littered the ground they walked over, until they were able to get below the window. Here, Melly released her insects once more as they clumped together to cause enough strength to push up the window pane. The two ladies leaped up, pushing the rest of the way before stepping in carefully, shutting it back once inside. 

The air was stale, but pungent with an irony tang. Clearly from blood. And it was dead quiet, white sheets over furniture and candles long since burned out. At the very least, this room and likely wing were not in current use, left to remain abandoned under white. 

"We should check downstairs," Melly offered, leading the two of them out of the room. The immediate hallway was dark, on a side not catching the moonlight, and they had to step carefully even over an old rug so their heels would not click and alert anyone inside. 

A cracked door piqued Alice's curiosity, stepping forward to push it open slightly further as she peeked in. The room was dark, blinds drawn, but a row of coffins on the floor alerted her. The scent of Pack reached her nose like a tease, and she stepped back quietly to alert her partner. Melly looked inside, taking in the same scene, before nodding to the blonde and gently guiding them away.

A nest of vampires, asleep. This house was overrun with them. 

"Are they hibernating?" 

"I doubt it," Melly answered, glancing down a hall to a stairwell, gently nudging Alice in the direction, "But if they are sleeping in coffins, then they are weak."

While vampires could sleep in beds, coffins were still an old preferred. Closed, quiet, perfect to rest long term in. It was preferred rest for those wishing to hibernate, or for those whose were weak of blood and strength. It allowed solitude to recover, slowing the vampiric metabolism and inducing a more steady paralysis. 

The first floor was much more lived out, with old sacks and chains scattered in the front hall. The smell of fresh blood, human in nature alerted the two, following the scent as it lead into a lower cellar hidden behind a case holding fine China. They both shared a look, before Alice stepped down the winding stairwell. Melly remained above as a guard, keeping an ear out for the blonde. As Alice descended further, the smell of human grew stronger, along with the stench of rotting and old fabric. She would hear a few whimpers the further she went down the hall, until she reached a heavy wooden door. The sounds of whimpers and soft crying grew from behind it, and she pushed it open with a loud groan. 

A few shocked gasps, followed by loud flinching reached her ears as she stepped in, taking a look around. 

Cages. Full of humans. 

One side held girls, varying from roughly 11 to teenagers, while the other held boys within the same age. Chains were connected to each of their ankles, all of them, that eventually connected to a wall. A few of the older teenagers moved themselves in front of the younger at her approach, while some others clung to each other in terror and cried softly. Several of them pleaded, hitched breathy "Please" and "Spare us" left several of their mouths. When she looked into a cell with two teenaged girls and three younger girls, she could see the bite marks on their skin, and the way the younger girls hid and made themselves small. 

Horror dawned on Alice, as she looked closer to them. 

Chains with numbers. Two initials, B.C. 

Bride Child. 

All at once, she was no longer in that hallway. Instead, she was back in her 'dorm' cell, huddled under thin sheets and trembling.

No, no, no, no-

She covered her ears, listening to the cries of the younger kids, stumbling back as her back hit the wall by the door. Her breathing was harsh, chest constricting, panic settling. The weight of those chains suddenly made themselves known, and she looked down her skirt- 

~*~

Ripped skirt with a pair of chains on her ankles. Locking her to the post of her stiff cot, while other girls within the dorm tried fruitlessly to tug them off, sobbing for their parents. For anybody.

"Stop it..." she whimpered, sliding down as she hunched into herself. Everything was ringing, she couldn't see, it reeked of blood, of pain, "I don't want this...!" 

Voices surrounding her, lining her up alongside other girls. A young boy, 'Prince' as they called him, looking them over like slabs of meat. Told them they were going to be taught well, to understand their place as his future concubine. 

The lessons that drilled in filth, the fangs that punctured her neck when it was her turn in rotation to meet with the 'Prince'. The harsh grips and slaps when she fell out of line. When she dared defy them.

"You're only job is to carry the Prince's young and bow your head, insolent girl." 

"No..." she whimpered, scrunching into herself as the voices grew louder, louder, seething-

Harsh arms tugging her forward, putting her to her knees as she was forced to watch on. Other girls were forced into the same position as her, forced to watch as one of the younger girls was chained to a pole in the middle of the courtyard. 

"...lice! Alice!"

"I'm sorry!" she sobbed, trying to break free of the hands holding her, only to cry out as sharp nails dug into her nape, "Please, let her go!" 

"Alice! It's okay, you're okay." 

She wasn't. She couldn't be. Mistress wouldn't let her be. She couldn't be okay if she was forced to watch her friend struggling to break free of her chains, pleading for anyone as vampires stalked towards her. She could only watch as they lurched forward, grabbing at her friend who screamed. Fangs bit down, skin was ripped, laughter was echoed in the courtyard as the screams puttered off with a wet squelch. She could only watch as the vampires stepped away, leaving a mauled body of flesh that was once her friend. 

...it was her fault...

"Let this be a lesson," the 'Prince' said to them all, holding up the now free cuff from the chained victim, "To those who dare to defy my rule. Let this remind you of your place, and our generosity we've given you."

...it was her fault....

"You are all set to be wonderful brides. I'd hate to lose anymore," he said, grinning with a bloody, fanged face, catching each of their eyes.

It was her fault-

~*~

"You're free of those chains now, Alice," a warm voice said. Equally warm hands gently took hers, guiding them to a steady, beating thrum. Warm, soft- skin? It was skin? "They can't control you anymore. You're free." 

A familiar voice. The smell of lavender, and of dew. The scent of the earth, and the fresh fallen rain. Familiar hands that gently pet at the back of her knuckles, a presence that she could recognize anywhere.

Slowly, the blonde opened her eyes, hazy and wet with fat tears. When she blinked them away and looked up, Melly's face came into focus, hat turned to allow part of her face show. A private, gently smile, and her open brown eyes, full of affection. 

"There you are. Breathe with me," Melly said gently, taking a slow breath in. Alice tried to mimic it, hiccupping when she inhaled too fast, but exhaling when Melly did as well, "Good, you're doing good. One more time, with me."

They kept it up a few more times, until the panic no longer locked up Alice's frame. Until the terror rolled off her shoulders, replaced by a weary fatigue she hadn't experienced in years. And by her side, solid and unmoving, a beacon of light in the storm, remained Melly. 

Eventually, Alice took one last breath before smiling, leaning into the brunette's side as she was embraced carefully. 

"...thank you, Mel," Alice whispered, returning the embrace slowly, practically sagging into the other woman's hold, "I'm okay now." 

"I've got you." 

The two stood some time later, a renewed anger that Alice had felt during her investigation into Mr. Lark. After Norton revealed Mr. Lark's misdeeds to her. 

The desire to dismantle, and to destroy.

"These humans..." Melly commented suddenly, taking a look around at them. Many of them, likely having seen Alice's entire breakdown, and subsequent support, no longer appeared as guarded as before. They remained weary, careful, a hostility in their eyes that Alice could not blame them for, "They are..."

"Bride Children and Servant Children." 

The brunette squeezed the other woman's hand, before they both turned to examine the cells. A few cots, some hay, but otherwise leaving the humans no better than livestock. A view some vampires likely only saw them as. Cautiously, Alice stepped towards one of the boys, kneeling down a fair distance from the cell and keeping her hands open to them as she smiled gently at one of them who remained in front. 

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to get you out of here. All of you. But I need your help," she explained, turning towards the girls' side, "I need you to tell me how many vampires are up above, and if there is any other entrance we can go through."

It was silent for awhile, and Alice let them be. Melly stood beside her, waiting as patiently as the blonde did, until one of the younger boys shuffled forward. Thin frame, greasy brown hair that fell over his eyes, he looked no older than 12. 

"Uhm, we don't know how many...more than 5. A-and we only know of the door you came in from..." 

The blonde pondered it for a moment, breathing deep as she recalled her own memories.

Likely, they were blindfolded, or bagged, and then guided into their cells. Or they were drugged into unconsciousness, and forced to wake up later. That was the avenue she was forced onto to, but the former seemed more likely based on the sacks in the foyer. And if there were at least 5, then that meant there was a steady rotation of staff. And with the fact this was a Pack Coven, it was very likely there were a dozen or more in the estate alone. 

Melly seemed to have gathered the same idea, nodding to Alice as the blonde stood up, dusting off her skirt. The humans watched them both warily, stepping back in fear when Alice approached one of the cells. A padlock, thick and sturdy, held the door closed. Not too different from the lock on her own door back in the dorm.

But no longer caged she was. 

With little more than a tug, the padlock snapped and dropped to the floor. The door creaked open, before she moved onto the next. Behind her, Melly followed suit, until each cell was open. A few braver teenagers stepped out, looking down the halls before settling onto the two women. Their chains clinked as they moved as much as they could, and Alice made a mental note to make sure to break those, too.

"There's a foyer upstairs we can go through. Based on what we know, and taking this as an educated guess, the vampires are likely asleep upstairs," she explained, addressing them all while they could hear, "So, we'll lead everyone out in groups based on each cell. One of us will go ahead in front and the other will follow behind. The rest of you just need to be as quiet as possible until your past the estate gates." 

A wave of murmurs came from the crowd, but the teenagers nodded at her words.

That was all they needed.

The trial was loud.

Melly stood on the stand, winded from her defense, while various voices argued around her. The siblings behind her remained quiet, timid in Alice's case and quietly seething for Orpheus. 

"Problematic woman...no wonder she got divorced."

"Look at them, what utter wastes of blood."

"Something is wrong with that boy...look at his eyes." 

"The girl is too frail to even become a maid." 

Voices, voices, voices; egotistical voices that knew nothing of the siblings suffering. Assumptions with no facts, unwilling to be changed. 

"Quiet!" Joseph's voice boomed. A hush fell among the crowd, listening intently to their sire, "Now, if we may continue. According to your case, Mrs. Plinius, you have no prior involvement with the accused?" 

"That is correct," the brunette said, glancing to them faintly before returning back to Joseph's judgement, "They broke into my house seeking asylum. I had no idea of their...crimes, as you put it. I only knew they were survivors of the Children Trafficking done by the Targovishte Coven."

"Be that as it may, that does not excuse their crimes...or, shall I say, the boy's crime." 

At a wave of Joseph's hand, Melly was pulled off, forced to be swapped with Orpheus, who harshly shrugged off the guard's hands that pushed him forward. Alice cried out in alarm, unable to do anything but watch as Orpheus took the stand. His eyes were steady red-brown, not purple, but Melly knew it was only a matter of time before his temper consumed him. 

"What is your name, boy?" 

Orpheus remained quiet, not answering, until Joseph waved a hand. A few guards tugged harder on Alice's arm, pulling them harshly from the chains and making her cry in pain. Orpheus growled to them, whirling to Joseph who's gaze remained unchanged.

"It's Orpheus! Now tell them to stop!"

Joseph waved his hand again, and the guards pulled back. Melly watched as Orpheus's shoulders heaved, gritting his teeth as the purple haze began to wave in his pupils. 

"I'll kill you," he said, eyes steadily returning violet, murmurs picking up in the crowd as inky black feathers spread from his cheeks and bare skin, "If you dare think of threatening her again."

The first few groups of survivors went through without a hitch. The teenagers carried some of the younger kids on their backs or in their arms, soothing them when the children began to whimper. The last few groups, however, began the turmoil.

Daybreak was beginning to rise, and with it, the faint chitter of insects and birds following the rise of the sun. The time got thinner.

Over 30 children retrieved and guided out, with only a handful left to be guided out. But as Melly stepped out of the storage room, she brought up the net as a clawed hand lunged at her covered face. 

"Wench! What are you doing with our food?!" the vampire growled, leaping back when Melly pushed. Behind her, the remaining children screamed, and Alice stepped forward to stand in front of them. 

Melly launched after the other vampire, swinging the net down as the sharp tips from the flowers caught on ragged clothes.

"Get them out of here! Through the back!" 

Alice nodded and turned, gently leading the children towards the other side of the storage room. It opened out to the kitchen, and subsequent dining room, leaving Alice to guess what direction will help them best. A few vampires followed her, signs given from their footfalls, and Alice had to guide the children to weave between rooms. The windows were too dangerous, and the foyer was connected to the main staircase, where more vampires would likely funnel out too. But the morning room from the servant's side was on the other side, unable to be reached from the kitchen. 

"Miss, look out!" a kid cried, snapping Alice's attention in front of her. 

A vampire leaped at her, mouth open, fangs bared, and she reached back for the cane-

Until a clean slice went through him, head to toe. 

His body split in two, bursting into ash a moment later, scattering a few flecks onto her face. Behind the fluttering remains stood Melly, her net no long simply the web and flower. The web of the net was strung down, pressed tight, as a blade protruded from the base of it. The scent of blood was pungent, enough to tell Alice that the brunette had turned her net into a scythe from her blood.

"I never knew you could do that!" Alice said instead, smiling in glee as Melly blushed under the veil, "That's so amazing, Mel!" 

"Y-yes, well," the entomologist stuttered, turning back towards the rest of the hallway, "We should keep them moving." 

Together, they moved forward, with Melly intercepting the vampires who rushed at them, cutting them seamlessly in half in a flurry of sharp turns and fluttering fabric. Truly a beauty to behold, Alice thought. But Alice could see the lack of blood was weakening the brunette, growing slower the more she fought.

Another burst of ash, and then the children were being lead out of the doors of the front, into the rising morning sun. A few of the children ran ahead, little legs pushing with all their strength, while some walked slower, guarded and weary. Alice looked back after they were gone to check on Melly, only to stop as a vampire they hadn't seen ran towards the morning room, intending to escape.

"Hey, wait!" she cried, rushing after him, even as Melly called for her. She couldn't let word get out, couldn't risk those kids getting captured, or worse. "Come back here!"

The vampire slammed into walls and accent tables, scrambling in a weak haze. Alice followed, struggling to keep up at his own speed, even as he turned towards the back door from the laundry hall. 

"Long live the Morningstar-" he began to cry, only to halt as his head was pierced. 

The clap of a gunshot echoed seconds after as the body dropped into a heap. Alice caught up a few moments later, panting hard before looking up to the newcomer. A brown trench coat, ivory hair tied up in a familiar ponytail, and downturned eyes to pair with silver-blue irises. 

"Frederick! What are you doing here?" 

The composer nudged the toe of his shoe against the still head of the vampire, looking up to Alice afterwards, "Norton said something about you investigating a tip given in regards to some Hunter activity. I needed an excuse to get out of the manor for more than 5 minutes without Orpheus whining at my heel." 

Alice couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head fondly, "That sounds about right for big brother." 

They looked down at the still body of the vampire, paralyzed with his face stuck in a manic smile.

"Do we bring him back for questioning?" Frederick asked, nudging at the body again, "Or do we just...leave him to rot?" 

"We can't bring him back to Oletus...too much risk...ugh, I don't know." 

Frederick looked at her briefly, taking in her appearance before stepping over the body to reach behind her back. She pouted as he took back his cane, twisting the handle until the hidden blade revealed itself. With a final glance at her, questioning, and waiting for her nod, he stabbed the end into the vampire's heart. They watched as it twitched before it burst into ash, staining the blade.

"I had no idea it was a hunter blade," Alice commented, watching Frederick return it back into it's clever sheath, "I just thought it was strong enough to defend myself with." 

The composer looked down at the cane before settling it comfortably in his hand, while his other pocketed the Webley into the large coat pocket.

"It was a gift from my mother initially. It's likely she crafted it herself. Or wrote to her family to have it custom made."

They made their way back towards the foyer, remembering the brunette accidentally left behind, only to find her missing from Alice last saw her. The scent of her mate guided her instead, back up the stairs into an old study, where Melly had taken to sitting into one of the worn chairs. Seeing that each other came out unscathed, the girls smiled to each other before Alice took a glance to the papers and folders scattered over the desk. As she picked up a few, she couldn't help but notice a reoccurring pattern on each of them.

A small stamp of a bright star, eclipsing over a sun.

The courtroom descending into chaos. 

Voices crying in alarm, guards pointing their spears at the brunet on the stand, and Joseph standing in his own alarm as tar slinked up from under the collar of Orpheus's shirt. The air was thick with something terrible; something frightening. A warning, a threat.

A promise.

"Orphy..." Alice's voice broke through, slicing through the overwhelming tension that literally darkened the room in it's unease, "Don't..."

At the plea of his sister, Orpheus relaxed, breathing hard. The feathers pushed back into his skin, the tar slinked back down, and the oppressive haze over the room dissipated. The lingering tension clung to the room, murmurs erupting once more.

Joseph, high above, stared on with vitriol at the brunet. 

Orpheus, down below, stared back with an impassive disgust.

A note in the margin caught brown eyes as they parsed over the report.

The Morningstar is the one true king.

Chapter Text

A candle burns steady in the corner, the only light casting its blaze in the room.

A small body pressed his ear against the edge of the doorway, glancing into the old storeroom. A woman stands, besides two other men, with a tome and a blade in their hands. They speak lowly, something ancient in their tone, syllables long lost to time. 

The waft of sunlight pours into the room when the woman cuts her finger on the blade, unconcerned by the pain. The two men nod to her, pass over the items, and then-

Three pairs of eyes snap to the boys. They glow inhuman in the shadows of candlelight.

"Go to sleep, sweet child."

The trio made their way back outside slowly, acting as human crutches for Melly's weakened body. Stuffed deep in Frederick's coat pockets sat documents, bills, and reports, all nearly bulged from the fabric. The information was racing through Alice's head, spinning round in tandem with her own steady panic. 

Correspondences made between some 'King' and the vampires within the Coven. Bills for supplies used to kidnap the children. Strangely, reports directly focused on Joseph and the crown, along with his closets houses. Oletus among them, though not for their loyalty.

"There's been some downwind from the upper crust about them hiding some all powerful vampire in there. But they're so recluse, it's difficult to find any info." One telegram had said, with a response left unsent but written down in fresh ink, "Then focus on getting someone inside. Hide among the staff, sneak in during the night. We at least know they're day-walkers-" 

Melly nor Frederick commented on it, but all of them collectively understood what- or who- they were referring to. 

"Those kids," Melly started, breaking Alice out of her down spiral. Judging by the gentle tone, she had likely noticed the blonde's spiraling, "What are we to do with them?"

"I told them to wait at the end of the road by the carriage for now. They were afraid of me at first, until I told them about you two," Frederick said, nodding ahead to where the children were sat down, "Some of the older kids wanted to go back in to help, but I was able to convince them to stay with the younger ones."

"If only we had Norton here," Alice said softly, garnering a chuckle from the other two. 

As they neared, a few of the older kids stood up to meet them halfway, stopping just before the trio. A few of the smaller kids watched on behind them, clinging to bigger frames with trepidation. Before them, the older kids shifted on their feet, opening their mouths before closing them. Eventually, a young boy with messy dirty blonde hair, stood tall and looked them in the eyes.

"Thank you," he said firstly, glancing to the few others besides him, "for saving us. All of us. We don't know how to repay you."

Alice nodded, gently helping Melly sit down in the grass. The woman was breathing heavily, winded and anemic, rubbing at her face with a gloved hand. Frederick looked over to the kids, before sighing and looking down to the two of them, "There's 34 in total. The carriage could maybe hold 9 of them if we maximized their safety and capacity. 13 if we ignored caution." 

"We need to wipe their memory." 

The blonde's looked to the entomologist, who was staring ahead beneath the veil. Her hands were trembling in her lap.

"But you don't have enough strength for that, Mel," Alice said gently, sitting besides the older woman to take one hand in her own, "And even then, you've never done this many." 

"I know," the brunette responded, looking up to Frederick, "And he doesn't have enough control on his Authority to do it either." 

The composer's brows furrowed, crossing his arms over his chest, "I thought only natural born vampire had the ability to erase memories." 

"It's more common in them. But if a vampire has a high enough Authority, there is a possibility in it. But, yours Frederick, has only broken windows and stone. It would take several years to train you on memory manipulation." 

Before the man could argue, one of the younger children spoke up, shrill and flighty.

"We don't wanna forget!" 

The trio turned to them, noticing that the children had stood and come closer, listening into the conversation. A small girl with greasy brown hair stepped between the legs of two older boys, wringing her chubby hands into her tattered dress.

"We don't...wanna forget this. As scary as it w-was, we don't wanna forget..." she said, hiccupping slightly. One of the boys beside her pet gently at her hair, soothingly, before he spoke as well, "We know how bad you guys can be. But we don't want to forget the good ones like you folks', who helped us survive and see the sun again." 

"I understand the sentiment, but if word gets out about us, it will be catastrophic for both vampires and humans," Alice said, standing only to be heard better, "We do this for not only our own protection, but for yours as well."

The kids faltered for a moment, sharing glances amongst each other. Melly's breathing was controlled beside Alice, fighting against the bloodlust no doubt rising to the back of her throat. Itching like dust caked to the wall. Frederick was quiet, fingers tapping over his lips as he looked away in thought. It left Alice to face the weariness of the children, alone and unpredictable. Children always were. 

"We could always send a private invoice for Luchino. Get some of the Court vampires down here. We could ask him to scrape the legers, bribe the others out with coin," Alice suggested, glancing at the other two. Melly made a noncommittal sound while Frederick only peeked at her from the corner of his eye, "It might be our only option at the moment."

Melly let out a slow breath before tipping her head up to Alice's, "The only flaw is that each telegram is read by someone else. Not to mention, the court vampires are purchased on loyalty to his Majesty. We can't bribe them with money."

Alice's hope faltered, crumpling like paper, biting on her lip as she looked out to the kids. At least 11 older kids, just coming into teenage years, and the rest younger than 12. Too many, still, that wouldn't just forget over the passage of time. 

"What if we don't erase their memories?" 

The girls looked over to Frederick, who was instead looking out somewhere to the side. His fingers were stilled on his lips, eyes flighty as they collected jumbled thoughts.

"What do you mean?" Melly asked.

Frederick glanced at her before moving to the kids, "We can house them in Oletus. We wouldn't need to erase their memories. And instead...we train them as Hunters. Vampire Hunters." 

The kids, as expected, were confused, while both Alice and Melly jolted and began to argue. 

"Are you out of your mind?!" Melly nearly yelled, while Alice followed up with, "We can't do that. There is far too much risk." 

"I understand the risk we would be taking," Frederick said, looking them both in the eye before he continued, "But think about it realistically. Melly has no energy to erase 34 individual memories, and even if she did, how do we explain to them how they ended up in our manor? What do we know of their past before then? Are there parents alive who would seek them? Are they orphans? We have no way of knowing," as he spoke, he ticked off each question with a finger, holding them up to the girls. "'We ask them', you'll say, but what if they are orphans? Would any orphanage take 34 more kids into their care? Would we have to split some of them up? How many are siblings? Do we want to separate them?

"If we keep the kids in our care, they would have shelter. They have warm food, warm clothes, and our own protection. And in the end, we train them as Vampire Hunters. Yes, that is a risk we are taking. Teaching our enemies directly how to kill us. Inviting them to our home," at this, Frederick glanced at the kids, before switching to French, just so the three of them could understand, "And if we train them, we can leave them in nearby farmhouses with some of the farm hands. Keep them away from the manor. That way, if our lands are attacked, they will go out to meet our attackers first. And if the manor itself is targeted, then they are close enough to help us. Our own private army, with the knowledge of my Mother. They are indebted to us."

Alice mulled over the information in her head. Compartmentalized each facet, pulled the logic and the illogical out of each part. It was lengthy, would take awhile to complete, but...it sounded doable. When she glanced down to Melly, the brunette was already looking at Alice. A mutual conclusion. 

It was Melly, then, who spoke, "Say we do follow your plan," she said, English again, "We take them in. Clothe them. Feed them. Share our knowledge with them. Who would teach them how to fight? Yes, they can read the scriptures, or we can teach them, but if they are going to be fighting for us, they need to know how." 

"That's why we'll implore Norton's help," Frederick said matter of fact, glancing up to Alice, "We've seen his old life. The place he came from. We know how good he is with kids. He's the toughest out of all of us, and if anyone is going to be able to help kids learn to defend, it will be him."

Alice looked back over the kids. The older ones trying to follow along, eyes squinting, while the younger kids had began to talk amongst themselves or pull up grass. Children, meant to be playing with other kids. Eating sweets that make them sick. Not enduring trafficking by vampires. Not being made into weapons. 

"We'd be taking away their freedom. Their childhood." 

The others looked over to Alice, hands limp at her sides. Tears peaked at the corners, mouth parted as she tried to speak. 

"These kids have endured so much already. If we train them to be Hunters...they won't enjoy their childhood anymore. I don't..." 

Melly reached up a hand, taking one of Alice's limp ones in her own. She gave a gentle squeeze, to show she understood, looking out among the children before settling back on Frederick. A silent question passed between the two, a confirmation to Alice's fears.

"We would still be giving them a childhood. Their whole lives aren't only going to be sleeping, training, eating and repeat. We'll teach them how to read, how to write. You and Melly can assist the older girls, while Orpheus, myself and Norton can assist the older boys. We'd be training them to be hunters, not soldiers. We'd be giving them farms to help out in, acres to run and play in. A parental figure or two to help guide them." 

"Orpheus will complain about this," Melly said, bait to lighten the mood, "Norton, I think, would not be opposed. He seems to like kids well enough." 

Frederick huffed, the corner of his mouth curling upwards, "I'll handle Orpheus. He's rather amenable when I'm concerned."

Silenced filled the space after that, filled with the cricket and buzz of insects. The chatter of the children was quiet, animated still, as they listened to the adults speak among themselves. They watched, breaths still in the silence, for something to listen to. Alice looked out over them all, counting each little head. Her fingers trembled at her sides before she balled them into a fist and took a comforting breath. 

"Let's...try your idea then, Frederick. It's the only one we've got right now." 

The man watched her a moment more, before finally nodding and stepping towards the kids.

"I'll figure out transport. Watch Mrs. Plinius." 

A rhythmic tapping, set at 208 beats. Lacking a metronome. 

The room was dark, the blinds drawn. The room itself was small. Cramped. Filled with clutter and covered trinkets that had been lost to time. 

Orpheus sat in one of the uncovered chairs. An old armrest that creaked when under too much weight and bitten down by moths. Scattered around his shoes were papers, all of them inked and signed by members of this new organization. The followers of this Morningstar. Each one sent by Luchino, directly from a small stockpile Joseph had apparently been investigating. 

Each one, distinctly, mentioned Frederick in some way.

We should have sheltered him. 

Orpheus closed his eyes and rubbed between them, gripping the armrest in a white knuckles hold, "And what would that accomplish? We were not given a choice by Joseph."

The mirror, partially hidden and directly facing him shifted, presence warping the reflection into something dark with a purple glow.

We could have left him lethargic. I could've weakened him to basic instinctual application.

"And what would that accomplish?" The novelist asked, sitting upright as the sheet fell with an invisible tug, "He'd still despise us regardless. Joseph would still drink of him and learn his power anyway. And there was no way to know he would have King until that night in Vienna." 

But we had an inkling, It said, creeping at the edge of Orpheus's vision. An invisible talon poked under his throat, When he was human. How he carried himself, how he called upon attention, despite his short comings. His misgivings and misfortune. 

"That doesn't excuse the fact we did not know." 

There was silence for a moment, only a creeping warmth on his nape. The figure in the mirror swayed, warped back into Orpheus himself, as the darkness in his periphery reeled back.

Our mate returns. 

Orpheus took one last inhale, glancing at the scattered papers, before standing slowly. His body felt heavy, sluggish and stretched thin. He hadn't realized just how much It has begun to form over him. He ignored the fatigue, making his way out of the room and towards the foyer. The sound of hooves and wheels creaking reach his ears past the open door, where Norton was leaned against it to hold it open. His arms were crossed, the shade of the overhead casting his eyes in shadows.

"Congratulations, Orpheus. You're a dad now." 

Confused and slightly annoyed, the novelist walked past him to see what the prospector meant. Rolling forward up the hill, he spotted the manor carriage rolling ahead of a farmer's haycart, where Frederick and Alice were sat in. Along with at least a dozen or more kids around them both. And from what he could hear of the carriage, an additional handful.

"What on earth...?" 

"Didn't think we were an orphanage," Norton joked, standing tall as they both went down the steps to greet them, "Or maybe Frederick is just ready for parenthood." 

Orpheus refused to respond, dashing up to the composer's side as they slowed to a stop. The composer leaned down just as Orpheus hauled himself up the side, crawling inside to wind his arms around the blond's waist. 

"Hello, mon amor." 

"Hello, sweetheart," the novelist said, pecking a quick kiss to Frederick's lips before pulling back to look at the kids fake gagging behind the pair, "Care to explain all of this?" 

Alice spoke up instead, gently helping down smaller kids from the cart, "They're all children we rescued. Children that were...like us," she said, sharing a knowing look to Orpheus that he understood too well. Scars still not quite healed, "And we didn't think any orphanage would take over two dozen children so..." 

"We're going to train them as Hunters and have them live with the farmers," Frederick finished, wiggling out of Orpheus's arms to hop over the rail of the cart. A smaller kid, standing nearby rubbing her eyes, reached up to Frederick when he got near. He hesitated for a moment before carefully lifting her into his arms. She settled quickly, clinging to the lapels of his coat, "It was our only option at the moment. And before you freak out, yes, we wanted to erase their memories. But they didn't want that, and this way, even if Joseph comes looking, then we can simply say they were runaways who came to our door looking for shelter." 

Orpheus closed his mouth slowly, the retort dying in his throat. He watched for a moment as the cart emptied and the children milled around the small courtyard. Norton had already begun to be swarmed by a few of the older boys and had taken to ruffling their hair as they looked up at him. Alice had stepped over to the carriage to help guide Melly out, murmuring encouraging words to the brunette as they walked up the stairs.

"And you're certain of this plan?" the novelist asked, hopping out of the now empty hay wagon. The farmer in the drivers seat snapped the reigns and the horse began to pull the wagon away, "Over two dozen children, all of which were meant to be Children Slaves. They likely have markers on their bodies that Joseph or his people could sniff out."

That gave Frederick a pause, lowering his voice and swapping into French, "Markers? You mean like...branding?" 

Orpheus stepped up, pulling up the back of the little girl's hair. There, just under the scalp, were little black numbers. 0-5-2. When Frederick spotted it at Orpheus's guidance, he looked over to the other kids, now trying to find similar tattoos.

"They do it to every child...even Alice and I," Orpheus explained, turning around to gently lift up the baby hair's that hid his own. 1-7-2 his read, "Alice has one as well. We can't remove them, unfortunately. Their inking methods are sealed in blood and ordered to remain until we are ash."

"Ordered?" 

"Authority, to be precise. By the one who inked them." 

The composer's brows furrowed, putting down the little girl as she wiggled to be let free. She ran to join her siblings crowding around Norton, who had begun to pick up various smaller kids and toss them about gently. The couple looked on for a bit, before twitching at the scent of blood swimming in the air. When they glanced over, one of the smaller kids was crying, a scraped knee up by their chin and bleeding faintly. Orpheus covered his mouth, feeling the pang of hunger stronger than usual. It was then that he remembered it'd been some days since he last fed after all, and he only had Frederick to feed from. 

Speaking of.

The composer had already walked over, gently soothing the child as he examined the injury. He rubbed their calf gently as he cooed to them, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at their cuts and gather most of the blood. Once done, he looked over to Norton, who had been watching with a critical eye.

"Let's get them inside. They must be hungry and tired."

"Where did Frederick go?"

Orpheus looked up to where Norton was walking onto the patio, his hands buried in his pockets. In his classic green linen shirt, barely hiding the burn scars along his forearms, and his suspenders lowered around his waist.

"He went to Vienna. His mother's birthday is in two days and he's visiting her grave. Why do you ask?"

Norton leaned against the pillar, looking out to where some of the kids were kicking an old ball around, "Some of the older kids were askin' for him. Wanted to listen to him play. Few of 'em wanted him to each 'em."

"He won't be returning for at least 4 days. He usually spends that long there," Orpheus said, tapping his fingers on the railing. 

"Is that safe for him? Going out I mean."

The novelist looked over for a moment before turning his gaze back to the kids, "He's cautious. And most people there have likely forgotten about him. At least, his most immediate family is no longer within that estate. And her grave is somewhere private for only their family. He'll be fine."

They stood in silence for some time then. Listening to the joy of the children, their laughter. The easiness of how they simply lived and basked in the sunlight. Happy and free, with freckles on their cheeks and nose. It had taken  a long while to get them all situated, to find open spaces in the nearby farmhands. In the end, for now, the children shared the largest beds of the guest rooms and some of Norton's bed, who was used to sharing with younger kids. It was working good for now, until they could find alternative living.

"You don't like Frederick being away do you?" The taller man asked suddenly, sparing a glance towards the brunet, "You prefer to have him within arms reach. You trust him, but you're terrified of losing him, aren't you?" 

Orpheus didn't respond at first, looking out towards the edge of the forest line.

"There are people out there who want to use him. Covet him for themselves. He has...something unique. Something rare with him, and the greed of those who want it will not care who it comes from or who has to die for them to have it."

"It's not just that he's from a Hunter bloodline, is it? Somethin' about this Authority shit you all keep talkin' about." 

"Yes," the novelist said, turning to the other man, "His Authority is powerful, but untapped. Untrained. He does not know how to wield it properly, and I- I admit I've withheld training him more on it. In the hopes he never has to consciously use it. In the hopes that, perhaps, people will just think it's much weaker than it is."

Norton looked out over the kids again, letting the words settle between them. He blinked a few times against the wind before finally responding.

"You can't shelter him. That's not gonna protect him. It's gonna make him ignorant, and he's not gonna be able to fight off malefactors who want to bleed him."

"I know," Orpheus snapped, shoulders hunching up his ears just the tiniest bit, "But I don't have anyone I can use as a study point. No one else has even a fraction as powerful as his. I can't teach him to control it without knowing it's limit and I can't just ask him to conceal it without knowing its capacity. Ms. Plinius might be the only who can and she's only a Bishop."

The prospectors brows furrowed, "Bishop?" 

"Each level, so to speak, was decided to be arranged like chess pieces. I did not agree to it. It was made before I was turned." 

The taller man huffed, shaking his head as he turned his stare away. A few of the kids tackled each other, picking up fallen leaves and loose grass. No doubt staining their clothes permanently. 

"We need to get them new clothes. Something good quality but durable. Need to ration out our funds properly," Norton said suddenly, watching as a few of the clothes gathered mud and dirt on the hems and knees.

"We don't need to ration," Orpheus argued, looking over to the other, "We have enough money for everything." 

"Just because you do, doesn't mean you need to spend it. I get it, you're rich, you don't stop to think about how much you spend. But it never hurts to save and budget. Just because you have the wealth of leisure doesn't mean you need to constantly swim in it." 

The novelist took pause, considering the words carefully in his mind before looking away. Norton had a point, he could admit. Even if his royalties and Alice's commissions were making them decent money, it could just...halt, at any time. A fact he's neglected in his lavish ignorance.

"You're right, Campbell."

"I tend to be."

"Still," Orpheus continued, "We can spend a bit extra to get them some high quality clothes. Good shoes, good hats. Things that will last long term, even if hand-me-downs." 

Norton opened his mouth to argue, before Melly suddenly stepped outside, glancing at the two of them, "Come in for a moment. Alice and I are figuring out some plans."

The two men nodded, stepping inside after a last look to the children. They followed Melly down the hall towards the dining room, where Alice was stood over some papers and a blueprint of the manor. They crowded around it as Alice began to explain, pointing out some empty spaces for potential beds or rooms, and the cost needed for such renovations. 

"Bunkhouses would fit best," Norton said suddenly, still looking over the half baked floor plan, "It's what we did back at the mine. Had the boys all together in one buildin', stacked beds on bunks to make space. Small kitchen, small sitting area, the wash rooms were outside though. Worked overall for the cheap labor we were endurin'."

Melly nodded from where she was stood, thinking over the logic of it, "We'd need to account for labor cost. As well as the cost of materials." 

"I'm good with numbers. I can run them." 

Alice smiled a bit, glancing over at Orpheus, "And big brother here just needs to keep his check-book open." 

The novelist huffed, reaching over to poke Alice in her side and cause her to giggle. She playfully slapped his hand away before picking up a few of the papers with the rough drafts of blueprints. Melly looked back out the window to where the servants were playing with the kids, dirty and smiling.

"We should have some of the staff in there. A few of them to keep an eye on them, like a governess." 

Orpheus nodded, packing away the papers into the neat envelope set aside, "We can have some of the maids stationed with the girls and a few butlers with the boys. The chefs here can teach the kids how to cook if necessary, and each of the staff can help teach them basic household chores."

"As for their education, we can provide that ourselves, or hire tutors to each them," Melly said, looking over a few of the papers not packed away yet, "All of this, however, is going to be costly. Building an entirely new building, paying the workers to build it, the tutors, expenses and their clothes. We may not have enough for everything." 

"I'll run the numbers," Norton said again, looking over to Orpheus, "I'll run them by you before we just have you write them. We can figure out how much it would cost in an estimate and then go from there." 

The brunet nodded at that, looking outside to the kids for a moment, "Frederick had some things from his inheritance. From his mother. We might be able to use some of those things." 

"I thought it was just books and tomes of Hunter knowledge?" 

Orpheus shook his head, looking back over to the trio. 

"His mother had a private fund set aside from her dowry. It was under her father's name, and it was then changed to Frederick's. He also has an old home that belonged to her family that's kept empty."

Melly shifted on her feet, leaning closer to Alice, "And where is this home?" 

"In the countryside of France. I don't remember the exact village it's close to, but it's remote." 

A cry outside alerted them, causing them to turn their heads outside. Instead of potentially something bad, one of the kids had simply been kicked up by one of the staff and was laughing at their predicament. Norton left out a long sigh, not unlike a tired dad, before chuckling a bit at himself.

"It's only a concern when they're quiet..." he muttered.

He had been having dreams, recently. Vivid, wild, imaginative things. No coherence, no script. It always started in a warm, fireplace warmed cottage. A woman with brown hair cradling a babe to her breast. It always ended in a forest thick with mist, and a scream ringing in the air. That same woman, always, was standing ahead, bloody and eyeless, crying for something he couldn't understand. 

There was always this voice. A chant, pounding behind his eyes and splitting into his skull. A promise and a curse.

Thank the Gods you were not born a twin.

He always shocked awake, choking on air, feeling as if that mist had clogged up his lungs. It became worse, recently. Unpredictable. And he was remembering that rainy night, so long ago. The unknown men, the woman talking with them. He suspects that it was his mother. But...

She smelled like the rain. And of ash.

Was it his memory? Was it....their dream? Or was he seeing visions, properly losing his mind now?

It felt too real to be just visions, but too confusing to be a memory. The only constant he knew was that-

He wasn't born a twin.

The graveyard was quiet. 

Empty. Cold. 

Vienna at this time of year was cold. If only he could feel it as strongly as the rest of the people. Still, he looked the part; thick coat, warm gloves, and a veil covered hat in all black of a true mourner. He wouldn't be questioned this way. Would be allowed privacy to mourn. 

The coffin in front of him was well maintained by private cleaning staff, a bundle of flowers set at the end of it. Cornflowers, of course. The symbol of Kreiburg. The windows that let in the natural sunlight freshly polished, only showing the faint flecks of dust floating across the sun rays. The plaque at the end still shined in a pretty gold.

Amalia Kreiburg

1787 - 1851

A loving wife. A wonderful mother. A generous friend.

A beautiful woman who did her all to give Frederick a peaceful life. A life she couldn't have herself. And as much as Frederick may feel irritation at her hovering, he understood her reasoning. Her guilt. The legacy she left for him, and the consequences of keeping him ignorant of it. 

'The night suits you', she had told him, gazing at him so kindly in only the way a mother could. How she brushed his hair on that last meeting, how she held him close on their departure. Frederick remembers, clearly, when Orpheus came back with the inheritance. A trunk of journals and tomes of the family. A few weapons gifted from that same family. The papers and deeds to private collections unknown to his father, secured by her family.

Her engagement ring. Left for Frederick to wear at his and Orpheus's official union. 

A pair of gloves too small for his hands, but sewn with the intent of him wearing them. A small little locket bottle of his baby hairs she kept close with her. 

The only, and last portrait painting, of himself. Before he was disowned. Taken with great care. 

'I have loved you most in this world, and even when I'm gone you will still be my most adored.'

The blond took a shuddering breath at the memory, taking a few slow steps to the side of the stone coffin. Slowly, as if to not disturb the peace, he knelt down on the slightly raised step to lay himself over the lid. He could smell the earth, the stale rot of decomposition, and the faint trace of sunlight he knew came from his bloodline. Permanent in the bones, even. 

The tears fell one by one, dripping onto the cold stone. Each drop darkened the stone, until a small puddle was formed under his cheek. How he wished he could hold her one more time. Listen to her humming, and feel her gentle touch. Hear her laugh, and tuck himself under her chin as if he were a little boy again.

He wished she was still here.

"I miss you a lot, maman..." Frederick whispered, hunching into himself as he sobbed, "I miss you so much..."

His sobs were quiet. Muffled, in that small mausoleum. Only to be heard by himself, and the soul of the dearly departed within.

"How are you feeling?" Alice asked, hovering over Melly's supine form. 

The brunette was tucked under a thin blanket, dressed in an olive green nightgown. Her hair was braided, gently set to the side to avoid tangling. She looked up at the blonde, smiling a bit at her fretting.

"I'm alright, my honeybee. I just need some rest." 

Alice flushed at the nickname, even after several years of it, letting out a long sigh before flopping down next to the woman. Sunset was breaking through the gap of the curtains, painting a faint golden line across Alice's cheeks. When she opened her eyes, warm and golden, to stare back at Melly, the light touched at the corner of her eyes. 

She was stunning. A golden beauty.

"Do you need anymore blood?" she offered suddenly, sitting up a bit to begin unbuttoning her nightgown.

One of Melly's hands came up and gently halted the movement, shaking her head at Alice's enthusiasm. Instead, she pulled the blonde closer to her side, allowing them to cuddle close.

"This is much better." 

Alice smiled and settled in better, tucking herself close. Warm and gentle.

Sweet like honey.