Diabolical [DC Comics/Harry Potter SI]

f0Ri5 · Dec 2, 2022

AN: This one is very much a slow burn.

"…was right about you, Benjamin! God, I was such a fool for not listening to him!"

A twenty-six-year-old woman, pretty and with chestnut brown hair, desperately bit on her lower lip. With her elbows resting on a shoddy wooden table, she held one hand over her eyes. Her face was white as a sheet and her cheeks were wet.

Benjamin's hands thumped against the rickety table. His visage was one guilt and of grim determination. "Damn it, Jane, listen to me! You don't understand…!" He started, yelling at her.

The woman furiously shot up from her seat, sending the three-legged stool clattering to the ground. Her eyes were wild and mad, and she held a kitchen knife in one hand. "…don't understand? How dare you!" She shouted.

Jane rounded the small table murderously. Seeing her advance, Benjamin hurriedly retreated until he was standing in the doorway. His pupils turned into pinpricks when the knife suddenly shot towards him. Ducking under the throw, he managed to preserve his life, but he still felt a burning line being drawn across his shoulder.

"You fucking bitch…!" He said, in a voice filled with pain and humiliation. Something warm and wet dripped down his back. He touched it and, lifting his hand to his eyes, saw that his entire palm was covered in blood.

His building rage quickly dispersed when other objects started coming his way. Jane was screaming and with these thin walls, it was a given that their neighbours were already well aware of their troubles. Benjamin briefly considered attempting to restrain his wife, but when a cup exploded near his head, sending shards into his eyes, he said the only thing he knew could stop her:

"Arthur will be home soon! Do you want him to come back to this?" He shouted, ducking behind the doorframe while rubbing his eyes. The barrage of miscellaneous objects came to an abrupt halt, just as he'd predicted.

"…get out."

Jane's voice was as deathly as the grave. Beneath that still surface, he could sense a bubbling murderousness.

"I'll fix this, I swear!" Benjamin said, gritting his teeth. His back was against the wall, and he didn't dare to even look around the corner. A shard had cut open his forehead and blood mixed with sweat dripped into his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

A dark silence stretched between the two of them. He waited for a dreadfully long moment before he finally heard her reply.

"You've done enough, Benjamin. You've humiliated me, your son and yourself. This family will be better off without you. If you feel any guilt about what you've done and want to make things right, then leave."

Benjamin could hear the exhaustion in her tone. He felt something sour pool in his stomach. Clenching his jaw, his head sagged until his chin thumped against his chest. His eyes were hot and itchy.

"Jane, please give me another chance! There's no way you two can live on your own! Let me help!"

The words slipped from between his pale, bloodless lips. He still loved her and his son, despite everything! Life without them wasn't something he'd be able to bear. He had to persuade her.

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

Her response was an empty, forlorn laugh. He listened from the other room as she righted the stool and sat down. Something clinked, then he heard the sound of rushing liquid. She'd poured herself some water – they didn't have anything else in the house. He heard the cup being lifted and put down.

"No, Benjamin, we don't need you. I'm going to do what I should've done long ago – I'm returning to my parents and I'm taking Arthur with me." She said, after she'd gathered her thoughts. Her voice was soft but there was steel in it.

Benjamin's face turned pale as a sheet. That couldn't happen! He knew it in his gut – those two old ghosts would never let him see Arthur, as long as he lived. They'd only met once, but the condescension and disdain he'd seen in their eyes stuck with him to this day.

"They've disowned you both! Do you really think they'll take you two in, Jane, after what happened? They wouldn't piss on us if we were on fire, you know it as well as I do!" He shouted, biting hard on the tip of his tongue. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

He heard her taking a deep, long breath.

"I'll bow and scrape and plead until they do." She said hoarsely. It stung, having to admit she was wrong. She'd wasted so many years trying to make it work and for what, to be betrayed? And Arthur – she'd let him suffer, all because of her own foolishness. He had to do without, and it was her fault. If only she hadn't been such a stubborn, love-stricken fool.

"I'm their only daughter and he their only grandson. They have no choice but to take him in." She said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Benjamin thumped his head against the wall, his helplessness and frustration only growing. "You're a fool. If you really think it'll be that easy-…" He started, only for a sudden outburst from Jane to interrupt him.

"No, you don't understand, Benjamin!" She yelled, only to deflate a moment later. She sniffed before continuing in a thin, weak voice. "…if the man I fell in love with ten years ago was here, he'd understand."

Choking on her tears, she delivered her final statement. "…I'll sell everything. The two of us will leave. You can say your goodbyes, but after that I want you gone."

As she spoke, Benjamin had sunk down until he was sitting on the floor. He started weeping silently with his head in his hands.

"…w-will I see you a-again?" He stuttered, doing his best to speak through the tears.

It took a while for Jane to reply.

"If Arthur wants to see you after he's grown, then I won't deprive him of it. But you and me, we're over." she said. The words conveyed a sense of fatalism, like the shutting of a crypt door. "If you have any decency left, you'll let us leave."

Benjamin gave a choked sob. "Jesus, what do think of me? You think I'd harm my family?"

The response he received was merciless. A round, silver object was tossed through the doorway. He watched as its rolling came to a stop, clinking against the stone floor. It was the ring he'd given her when he proposed.

"We're not family anymore, Benjamin. You saw to that yourself."

He heard Jane standing up, followed by the sound of footsteps. A few moments later, a door slammed closed. She'd locked herself in their bedroom.

It took a long while until Benjamin had regained strength enough to stand. Like a member of the walking dead, he dragged his feet over to where it lay – the once-symbol of their love. He took it in trembling fingers and slipped it into his pocket. He drew an unstable breath and looked toward the front door. He'd return to them, some day; when he'd fixed himself, when he had money, when he…

Some time later, the front door opened and closed.

It was around five-o-clock when the soot-stained apartment finally saw its third inhabitant. Arthur stilled when he came through the entrance, seeing the enormous mess on the inside. Debris was scattered all over the floor and the small living-room's wall was indented. More than anything else, it was the smears of red covering the white paint that drew his attention.

The papers he'd been carrying hit the floor, sending sheets flying in all directions. He rushed into the kitchen, but there was no-one there. With growing panic, he crossed the distance to his parents' room and started banging on the door. He'd rattled the doorknob, but it wouldn't open!

"Mom, are you in there? Mom! Mom?!"

Relief washed over him when he heard her voice coming from inside.

"Arthur? Hold on, I'll be right there." She said, sounding groggy.

He heard the lock turning before the door was pulled open. Jane stood in the doorway, looking like she'd seen better days. Her hair was a bird's nest and her eyes were red and puffy. It was clear she'd been crying.

Arthur stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. He stood on his tip-toes and scanned her from top to bottom, looking for any injuries. He didn't see any.

"What happened-…?" He started, wanting to get to the bottom of what exactly was going on here. Before he could say anything else, Jane stretched out a hand and pinched his lips together.

"Hush."

When he did, she took a deep breath before letting it out. She took her son by the arm and guided him into their little kitchen before sitting down. She motioned for him to do the same. When he'd sat, she steepled her fingers, pressing her thumbs into her forehead.

"How was your day?" She asked, unsure of how to broach the topic. A feeling of resentment welled in her heart --- ten-year-old boy shouldn't have to deal with any of this.

Arthur sat with his hands on his knees, looking shellshocked. "Huh? It was alright, I guess."

Jane gave him a weak smile. "I'm glad. Have you-…?" She started, only to stop when she saw something sticking out of his pocket. The table was small enough that she could reach over and snatch it, so she did. She opened the drawstring pouch – there was money inside: some coins and a few notes. Her lower lip trembled. She looked like she was about to start crying again.

"For god's sake, Arthur, I told you to stop working!" She sniffed and grabbed his hand before stuffing the pouch back into his palm. "Since you earned it, it's yours. Buy some sweets and toys with it."

He put his small hand on top of hers in a comforting manner. "I was going to." He said, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Jane didn't believe him. She wouldn't take money from him and never had, but it didn't matter. Arthur had always done what he wanted. Whenever things appeared in their house that neither her nor… that man had bought, she knew where it'd come from.

She'd muscled a confession out of him some time ago, worried about where he was getting the money; it turned out he'd been running errands for his teachers. She'd told him to stop. She wanted him to play, to skip classes, to make friends – to just be a child. He clearly hadn't listened.

She ran her hands through her hair, feeling her eyes becoming wet. As his mother, she'd utterly failed him. What kind of parent required their child to care for them? It was shameful.

She couldn't let this state of affairs continue. She had to swallow her pride and return home. The maids and butlers she'd known during her youth, the ones raised alongside her, had better childhoods than her own son – the knowledge galled her, no, it made her want to vomit.

"…we're leaving, Arthur." She said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

The boy frowned. She still hadn't told him what'd happened, but he had his suspicions. "What do you mean, mom…?"

Jane gathered her son's hands and held them in hers. She stared imploringly at him over the little table. "We're going to England." she said.

Arthur opened and closed his mouth. He didn't know how to react to that sudden revelation. "We're going to… England?"

Jane nodded. "Your grandparents live there, my… parents. They… over there…" She started and restarted her sentence before halting. She didn't want to lie to him – it wasn't guaranteed that they'd be taken in, but now that Benjamin had spent the last of their savings and they were without income, it was their only option.

She swallowed. "We can have a better life." she said, squeezing his small hands in hers.

Arthur returned her squeeze. "Mom, I don't mind-…" he started before feeling his palms being pinched painfully. He quickly shut his mouth.

"Arthur, don't even…" Jane said, her eyes gaining a dangerous glint. "It's good to be humble, but a man needs to have ambition. You can't while away the rest of your life here – I know you don't care, but as your mother, I worry about your future." she sighed and started stroking his thumbs. "Besides, we won't be able to find you a nice girl among these people."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but inwardly he couldn't help but smile. The obsession with marriage was foreign to him, but to his mother it was a topic of utmost seriousness.

Jane eyed her son. Despite his outward irritation, she could sense his amusement. She reached across the table and dug her fingers into his ribs.

Unable to hold it in, Arthur burst into laughter. He tried to pull her hands away, but it was futile; his childish body didn't have the strength to resist. A dozen-or-so seconds later, she finally let him go and he sagged in his seat, sore and tired from all the tickling.

Silence stretched between the two of them as Arthur struggled to catch his breath. When he did, his face became serious and he looked at his mother. "Dad did something, didn't he?" He asked. His tone was dry and slightly hoarse.

Sighing, Jane stretched out a hand and twirled her son's blonde, curly hair around her fingers. "It isn't something you need to worry about. I'll take care of everything – you just need to be ready to leave."

He sat obediently under her ministrations while collecting his thoughts. He didn't have any attachments to this city; he'd casually made a few friends at school, but only for the purpose of fitting in. He'd be happy to leave without saying goodbye – in fact, he'd prefer it. Exchanging farewells, pretending to be sad, promising to meet again… it sounded like a lot of work.

"They've been clamoring to knock down these houses – it shouldn't be hard for us to make a deal with the municipality. And I know Margaret has been eying my crockery, what's left of it, at least…" Jane said under her breath, rambling in the way of someone talking to themselves. "It'll be enough to pay for our tickets, and to tide us over for a while."

It was unfortunate, but the house itself wasn't worth much. Property had plummeted in value during the depression; they'd bought it when times were better and their purse-strings hadn't been so tight. Jane's countenance became downcast, and she rubbed her sore eyes. "…and I'll have to send a letter in advance, to let them know we're coming."

Arthur felt a bit of curiosity. He'd not heard anything about his mother's family – she'd never talked about them. He decided to ask her. "Will they be able to care for the two of us? Wouldn't we be adding to their burden?"

Jane hesitated. "…your grandfather he's, well..." She sighed, unsure what exactly it was that was giving her so much trouble; perhaps it was the fact that they'd parted on bad terms, or perhaps it was that old fear of her father that was rearing its head. After she'd gathered her wits, she continued.

"...Grimm, Schafer & Sons is an old company – after the Anglo-Boer war and the great war after that, the Shafer's last few heirs passed away. Now that everything belongs to the Grimms…" Jane said, her eyes foggy as she recalled memories from days past "…they have enough and to spare."

Arthur chewed on her words. From the sound of it, it seemed these relatives of his were rather wealthy. "Grimm – is that your maiden name, mom?" He asked curiously. To his knowledge, it was German in origin.

Jane confirmed it with a nod. "That's right."

He stared thoughtfully into his mother's eyes. He could tell there was a story there – it seemed there was some bad blood between her and his grandparents. Well, it wouldn't do to pry. She'd tell him on her own if she wanted to.

He put his chin on his palm and gazed at the ceiling. It was grey, worn out and covered in stains. He remembered his mother trying to scrub them out when they'd just gotten the place, but she hadn't succeeded.

He looked at her. "Is it really that bad? Is there no way you can fix things with dad?" he asked. While his father had his shortcomings, he'd always done right by him – to his knowledge, at least.

Jane's face was stony. "Arthur, there are some things a woman should never tolerate. He's trampled over my dignity for the last time. I would rather die than continue this charade…" she ranted. Towards the end, she seemed to realize that she'd said some unsettling things in front of her son. She couldn't help it; sometimes, talking to Arthur was like talking to another adult.

That told the boy almost everything he needed to know. It seemed his father had been engaged in certain 'activities' without his mother's consent. He sighed before standing up and walking around the table. Wrapping his arms around his mother's back, he put his head on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, mom." He said, whispering close to her ear. Ever since he could remember, she'd done her best for him. He couldn't help but be touched.

Jane returned his hug with ferocity. "Don't be sorry and don't worry -- I'll take care of everything. Say your goodbyes tomorrow. I want us to be out of this city before the end of the week." She said, stroking his shoulders in a comforting fashion.

Arthur murmured his agreement; it seemed his life was about to undergo a drastic change. He'd thought he was satisfied with what he had. Now that it'd come to this, he didn't know how to feel.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 4, 2022

The day was overcast and blue-grey clouds drifted across the sky. A chilly wind rustled the trees near the bay; the occasional strong gust was enough to make pedestrians cling tightly to their hats. The odd paper could be seen, bouncing off the cobblestones like an urban tumbleweed. The season was fall and the temperature was dropping. Not a single person braved the outside, not without a coat, at least.

The scent of rain was in the air, accompanied by the salty smell of seawater --- it warned of the coming weather. Despite it all and the late hour --- it was almost six-o-clock --- the ferries were still running.

A large vessel moored in the harbor: in the dim light, its name could be seen, written in large, dark letters --- 'The Bark of Bullen'. It was a stout one, suitable for sailing rougher waters; a different class of vehicle, catering to more well-off clientele. As such, it was not concerned with speed, but with comfort --- many small, but cozy rooms were nested in its bulk. It would only be departing for Liverpool on the morrow, but many of its guests slept overnight; those in particular who'd only a day's business in Dublin.

A ramp stretched from the large, concrete moor to its deck. The storm hadn't struck yet, so it was stable. Figures could be seen, scurrying up and down; they didn't want to be caught out in the open when the rising winds reached their crescendo. Two were of particular interest --- they were a woman and a boy, standing at the base of the ramp.

Arthur's light-brown eyes roamed the surroundings --- it was a fascinating sight. The him from before had lived most their life by the sea, but there was something about the atmosphere that enchanted him; the vintage time period held a sort of charm that was difficult to put into words.

"Is this going to be all right?" he asked, giving voice to the question that had been on his lips for a while.

Jane draped an arm over her son's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I told you not to worry about it." She said, her tone brooking no argument.

Arthur frowned. The serious expression looked a bit comical on his young face. "But it looks expensive. We should-…" He started.

Jane wasn't having any of it. She released his shoulder before giving his back a solid thump. "Come on." She said, stepping forward. "I've already paid, and they don't do refunds."

The youth closed his eyes in resignation. He wished she'd consult him about these things, but he supposed that, as a ten-year-old, that was a bit much to ask. Shouldering his meagre luggage, he started for the board.

It was a familiar voice, shouting his name from behind, that halted him in his tracks. "Arthur!" The voice yelled, in a desperate tone. He turned to face in its direction. Indeed, it was none other than Benjamin, showing up at the last moment. Arthur felt complicated in his heart, and unsure of how he should face this cheap father of his.

The thirty-one-year-old man was in quite a state by the looks of it. His whole person was disheveled, but, in particular, it was the lack of shoes that gave him the appearance of a deranged person. Arthur hadn't seen him all week --- it was something that made him more disappointed than sad. 'At least he could say goodbye before we leave.'He'd thought. Yet, now that Benjamin had appeared, he had no idea what to do.

The man jogged toward the two of them with a bundle in his hands. They couldn't quite make out what it was but, seeing how he cradled it, it had to be important. As he drew near, it became clear that Benjamin only had eyes for his son --- he didn't even look at Jane. If it was because he didn't care for her, well, who knew?

"I'm so glad I caught you before you left. I had one hell of a time finding out what boat you two were taking. Luckily, I'd been hanging around --- I almost didn't spot you in this grey weather!" He huffed, coming to a standstill a few yards away.

Arthur swallowed. "Dad, I-…" He said, but Benjamin didn't let him finish.

"It's all right, son. You don't have to say anything." He consoled, drawing close enough to lay a hand on the lad's shoulder. "Here, take this. It wouldn't do for you to meet your grandparents looking like an urchin. Wouldn't want them to think you poorly of you, right?" He gave a chuckle, but it was clearly forced.

Arthur looked at his father's face. Exhaustion was written all-over his features. 'How long has he been out here?' He thought, biting on his lower lip. No longer hesitating, he stepped forward and threw his arms around his father's waist. "I'll see you again someday, I promise!" He whispered, meaning every word. He'd done Jane wrong, but Arthur knew Benjamin's love for him had always been genuine.

The father hurriedly lifted the parcel out of his son's way --- he didn't want it to be crushed between them. "You fool of a…!" He started, but his voice quickly softened when he felt two little arms squeezing him. Unable to hold it in, tears started flowing down his cheeks. It was raining now, so he was saved some embarrassment, at least.

He cleared his throat. "Don't dawdle, now. You best be on board before the weather gets any worse..." He said, taking Arthur by the shoulders and pushing him away. "…I'll be leaving right away, since I've given you your present." He winked cheekily. "Consider it an early Christmas present from your 'ol dad."

Before Arthur could even thank him, Benjamin gave a fierce nod, turned on his heel and walked off. The mother and son watched him leave, his bare feet slapping against the wet concrete. The youth looked over his shoulder at Jane; at some point, the parcel had been transferred from Benjamin to her. For a brief moment, Arthur saw tenderness in her eyes before it was replaced by stony determination.

"Let's go, Arthur." Jane said. She took her son by the elbow, clutching the parcel in her other hand, and steered them forwards.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, but Benjamin's figure had already become small, and obstructed by all the traffic. He didn't look back. The boy's visage was strange. While letting himself be dragged off, he lifted a hand to his eyes and looked at it; there'd been a tingling sensation in his arms when he hugged his father --- almost like something had travelled along his nerves, to the tips of his fingers and out his body. He'd never felt anything like it. 'Did I imagine it?' He thought, but no, there was still a numbness in his hands. He flicked his fingers like he was trying to get rid of water, but it didn't help.

Suddenly, something drew his attention: in the corner of his vision, an abject floated. Although it was small, Arthur was able to notice it immediately. It was dark and slowly rotating, with a glossy surface. When he focused his eyes on it, it enlarged, like a growing salt crystal. Many white veins swirled inside its black body --- it took less than a second for its transformation to complete.

Arthur stared dumbfoundedly at the thing in front of him – it was a rectangular shape, having the same gloss and dark coloring. It looked like an obsidian slate. On its surface there were white symbols, chiseled in gothic likeness. He read its inscription with eyes as round as dinnerplates.

"What are you looking at?" Jane asked, having noticed her son's abnormality. She peered curiously in the same direction, but she saw nothing. During their ascent, she'd been thinking her own thoughts, but now that they were on the deck, it was time to find their room.

The instant Arthur's attention lapsed, it shrunk away from his field of view. It became a small black square, sitting in the bottom-right of his vision. He looked at his mother, having managed to school his expression into normalcy. "I was just thinking." he said. "We should go in. It's starting to pour now."

Jane nodded. Whatever suspicions she had were quickly shoved aside --- she didn't want Arthur's gift to suffer in the rain, despite where it'd come from. Removing her hand from his arm, she started feeling around in her purse for their key. She already knew what room it belonged to, but she was nervous and checked it just-in-case. "It's room A21." She said, reading the lettering. Moving her hand from her purse, she took her son by the shoulder, and they went.

After dinner, eaten in their room, the mother and son sat and talked. Arthur was telling her about his parting at school.

"…suddenly broke out into tears and ran out of the classroom. It was strange; I'd not spoken a word to her since I attended. Even now, I can't even remember her name, to be honest." He said, wearing a blank face.

Jane held her hand over her mouth to cover her smile. She felt she shouldn't laugh at the poor girl's predicament. "How cruel! You don't know a maiden's heart, Arthur." She said, mock-admonishing her boy.

Arthur idly fiddled with one of his shirt-buttons. "I'm not sure I want to." He sighed, sounding like he'd been wronged.

The mother was no longer able to hide her amusement. "You're terrible, really." She chirped, giving his arm a smack.

Arthur sent her a dry look. "I'm not the one who's laughing." He said, wrinkling his nose at Jane. It appeared that he felt some disdain for her hypocrisy; the impression was somewhat ruined by his upward-curling lips.

Jane shook her head at him before sighing. Her countenance lost some of its mirth. "Won't you miss your friends, Arthur? It can be hard --- starting over." She said guiltily.

Arthur's fingers curled around her wrists, squeezing gently. "I really won't, mom. I'm looking forward to England." He said. He was telling the truth. It was only three days ago that he'd heard of his mysterious grandparents, but he was eager to find out more. If someone else'd been in his situation, they'd be curious as well.

Jane stared into her son's eyes, trying to see if he was telling the truth. When his expression didn't waver, she frowned. She didn't exactly like the idea that he was so unattached.

Arthur was able to somewhat sense her mood. He didn't want to deal with a cross-examination, so he decided to change the topic. "I'm going to open dad's gift." He said. It was something they'd avoided talking about until now, but it couldn't be put off forever. He stood and took the tied bag from where it hung. It was brown and a little damp from the rain.

Jane sighed. "Let me." Hearing him agree, she took it from his hands and started working the knot. After fiddling with it for a few seconds, she was able to get it open. When she saw what was inside, she stilled.

Arthur noticed some tension in her shoulders. She was sitting on their bed with her back facing to him and the parcel spread over her lap. The room was so small that he had to get on his knees behind her to see. Looking over her shoulder, he saw a light-brown tweed suit, complete with a cap, tie, shirt and shoes. It was well-made. 'It couldn't have been cheap.' He thought.

All his clothes were used --- given their destitute state, there was no way his parents could afford to buy new every time he outgrew his garments. 'It doesn't look like it's ever been worn.' He noted.

He reached out a hand and took the cap. It matched the suit perfectly in terms of texturing and color. He lifted it to his nose and took a sniff. 'So that's what new smells like. It's different from what I remember.' Turning it over in his hands, he decided that he liked it. There was something about tweed suits that made them seem like something you could wear casually.

He would have to bring a present with him the next time he returned, to repay his father. 'If I can…' He considered. He couldn't remember the date, but he knew the… well, the war wasn't far away. He wasn't too worried, since he knew Ireland had remained neutral. It was something he remembered from his previous studies.

'Dad should be safe, as long as he doesn't get involved.' He sighed. The only problem was that he'd hardly be able to come and go as he pleased. If their relationship was as bad as it sounded, he doubted his grandparents would just let him visit.

He looked up at his mother's face from where he now sat --- cross-legged at the end of the bed. Her pupils were large and some moisture had gathered at the corners of her eyes. He patted her hand consolingly. "I promised dad I'd visit him one day --- I'll send him a letter as soon as we land in Liverpool." He said, doing his best to calm her.

She sighed and nodded. Sticking out her hand, she took the cap from him. "Let's not wrinkle anything. You can put it on once we're in Northumberland." She said. Arthur watched as she took his little suitcase from the floor and unpacked everything. Once she did, she neatly folded the suit and put it inside. The other clothes were stuffed in the bag, along with the suitcase. "There, now it'll keep tidy." She said, putting the whole thing under their bed.

Arthur considered her words. "Northumberland --- is that where your family lives?" He asked.

Jane raised an eyebrow. "They're your family too, mister." She said, leaning over and pinching his nose. "We'll take the train to Newcastle --- they'll send someone to pick us up at the station. I've sent them a letter with our timetable."

'That is, if they're willing to take us in.' She added inwardly. If they didn't, she'd organize a carriage to the manor. Even if she had to beg at their front door, she was willing to do it. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary, but only time would tell.

She circled and arm around Arthur and pulled him to her chest. "If there's anything else you want to know, you'll have to ask your mom tomorrow." She said, yawning widely. So much had happened in such a short period of time; the events of this week was a result of the tension that'd been building since she and Benjamin had gotten married. She didn't regret it --- if they hadn't, she'd not have her son. Even though it was worth her suffering, she still wished it'd never come to this.

Arthur murmured his agreement. His face was squished against her breast, but he didn't feel awkward. It was during moments like these that he felt thankful for his childish body.

Lifting his head, he glanced at her face. Her features were pretty, if a bit hollow. He recognized it in the same way one would the beauty of a flower. 'She's too skinny, but hopefully that'll change in the future.' He thought.

Jane noticed his stare. "What are you thinking of?" She asked, stroking his hair with one hand.

"You look as tired as I feel." He answered, mirroring her yawn. "Is it all right if we turn out the light?"

In reply, Jane reached for the lantern sitting on a narrow wooden shelf, sticking out from the wall. There was a candle inside it, enclosed for the purpose of fire-prevention. She opened its little compartment and blew out the flickering flame. The room darkened immediately. The only light was a weak orange glow underneath their door --- the lanterns in the hallway were still lit.

After she'd put the lantern back on the shelf, Jane moved her arm down, wrapping it around Arthur's waist. After a bit of wriggling, they managed to shift into a comfortable position on their small bed. "Good night." She said.

Arthur clutched their wool blanket in one fist and closed his eyes. "Sleep well, mom." He replied.

It wasn't long before both had drifted off to dreamland.

'Of course, there's no way I can sleep!' Arthur thought. He'd only pretended to --- what he really wanted was to examine the mysterious tablet that'd appeared to him earlier; he'd just been waiting for Jane to fall asleep. It would be bad if she noticed anything strange.

Even though his eyes were closed, he could still see the little square in the corner of his vision. A silver border was drawn around the black shape, and his attention was quickly drawn towards it. Just as it had today, it enlarged into the same black slab with silvery symbols. His mind frantically scanned it from top to bottom: there wasn't much written on it, only six lines of sparse text with numerals:

Potentia ( 0,1 )

Particularia

Physica ( 0,2 )

Mystica ( 0,3 )

Proficiendi

Spontanea Evocatio ( 0,1 )

Arthur's heart was beating rapidly. Ideas were swirling in his mind --- he had a solid guess as to what exactly the tablet represented, even though he wasn't able to understand all the words. Regarding the first line in particular, he was clueless.

''Mystica', that's basically magic, isn't it?" He wondered, although he was rather sure of it. His mind wandered to when he'd hugged his father. 'Did I use magic on him? But how, and what did I do, exactly?' The only thing noteworthy about that interaction that seemed relevant was that he'd been emotional, more so than was usual for him. 'Did that 'magic' trigger the appearance of this tablet?' He questioned. 'It had to be --- there isn't anything else that would make sense.'

He was dreadfully eager to start messing with it, but he was worried about the consequences. If something happened that he hadn't anticipated, he wouldn't know how to explain it to his mother. It was only through sheer willpower that he managed to close the tablet, but only after giving it one last look. 'I need to be somewhere private, somewhere nobody will notice me.' He reasoned. This cramped ship certainly wasn't the place to be experimenting, neither would a train be suitable. 'I can only hope I'll be able to get some privacy in the future.'

With how his mind was racing, he wasn't able to fall asleep until much time had passed. There were too many questions in his head, and too many plans. It was both exciting and frightening. He didn't know what the future held for him, but he had a feeling that it might be more than he'd bargained for.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 6, 2022

The next day, 'The Bark of Bullen' set sail for Liverpool. The storm had worn itself out during the night, and the day's weather was fair --- the sky remained gray, and a light drizzle persisted, but there was hardly any wind; not more than was usual for the coast.

Arthur didn't wake until late-morning, when Jane arrived with their breakfast. It was the sound of the door opening and closing, and the noise of hustle-and-bustle, that roused him. Wiping his eyes groggily, he sat up and greeted her. "Good morning, mother." He said, tugging at the hem of his shirt, which had rode-up during the night.

After closing the door, Jane smiled at him and sat down at the foot of the bed. "How formal! Are you practicing for when you meet your grandparents?" She asked, unfurling the paper she was carrying in her hands. She'd brought a few pieces of buttered toast and boiled eggs. She started shelling them over a basket.

Arthur sighed. "Maybe." He said, sounding a bit depressed. He realized that'd he'd overslept and had missed the chance to wave goodbye to his father. "Were you on deck when the boat left, mom?" He asked, taking one of the eggs she offered him.

Jane looked at him. She seemed to know what he was thinking. "I was." She confirmed, but didn't say anything else.

Arthur felt some relief. He doubted that there'd been a heartfelt parting between them, but it was better than nothing. "That's good." He said, taking a bite out of his breakfast. There wasn't any salt or pepper; fortunately, the egg was cooked as he liked it, with a center that was sticky but not runny, and it was still hot. He gratefully accepted a second, after he'd finished the first.

They continued to chat while eating. When their little breakfast had concluded, Jane wiped her hands and stood. "Would you like to see the ocean?" She asked. Arthur was very young when they'd left for Ireland, so she doubted he could remember the trip.

The youth nodded. "Yes." He said, reaching for his day-clothes. He could hardly go up in his pajamas, could he? When he'd dressed, they left the room, locking the door behind them. They took the stairs that led to the deck, where they spent most of their day, watching the drifting clouds and the rolling waves.

The trip took around ten hours in-all. There was a brief stop during midday, at the Isle of Man. The two had gotten off and bought some fish-and-chips by the harbor. After they had their lunch, they boarded --- their ship had only stopped to pick up and drop off passengers, and was soon on its way.

They arrived in Liverpool around five-o-clock. Unfortunately, the post office had closed, but the train station was running. They didn't usually run at night, but the two of them were lucky: a sleeper train was stopping by, and was departing for Aberdeen at nine-o-clock. There was still time left until then, so they waited at a café inside the station. Jane bought a pack of cards from a little shop, which they used to occupy their time.

Arthur didn't find it tedious --- Jane was pleasant company, and he enjoyed cards. They had some tea while they waited, and the three-something hours passed easily. The train was a tad late, which was unusual --- that was what he'd gathered from the surrounding conversation. Ten-past-nine, the ticket vendor stepped forward and apologized to the few passengers; it was inconceivable to him, who was used to public transportation of the lowest order, and service to match.

When the train came, they went on and ate their dinner in the cafeteria (they'd only had tea at the station). After they were done, they headed to their room and had a rest. It was early morning when they arrived at Newcastle.

Jane stepped into the station, clutching Arthur by the elbow. There wasn't a crowd exactly, but the whole situation had her nervous, so her grip was rather tight. They had arrived earlier than expected --- in retrospect, she should've taken a later train. It was her memories of her father that had spurred her on; beatings she'd received for tardiness. She clenched one hand, feeling the phantom sting of a crop across her palm.

She pulled on her son, intending to make a quick visit to the post office. She would notify them, and Arthur could write to his father, since he hadn't the opportunity before. "We're early. I was expecting us to arrive around midday or evening. I'll have to send a letter." She said, looking at him. He'd put on his suit and had been quiet since the morning. 'He must be nervous.' She thought.

He didn't reply. Instead, he tugged on her dress and pointed in a direction.

Jane followed his line-of-sight. "What, is there a-…?" She started, intending to ask if he'd spotted a post office, only for her words to stick in her throat when she saw a very unexpected sight.

Newcastle had a small population, without much business to speak of. There was little here that attracted visitors and the station was nearly empty. For that reason, it was easy to spot the figure of a man, stood close to a wall and holding a small blackboard in one hand. In white chalk, two familiar names were written on its surface: 'Mary Jane Webb' and 'Arthur Johannes Webb'.

Jane was so stunned that she hardly noticed when Arthur stood on his tiptoes and whispered 'I didn't know Jane was your middle-name, mom.' into her ear. Instead, she stared at the man's familiar face, one so well preserved in her memories. Like someone possessed, she drifted toward him, dragging her son behind her.

The man was solidly built and had a respectable jawline. He was clean shaven, with slicked, graying hair, parted to one side. A pair of glasses rested on the tip of his nose and he was sharply dressed, in a dark suit. He wore pointy, black leather shoes and his hands were gloved.

When they drew near, he tucked the blackboard under his armpit. "Good morning, miss." He said, inclining his head and giving Jane a thin smile.

The woman put a hand over her mouth as she looked him up and down. She seemed unable to believe it. "Why, Mr. Fetcher…! I…we… How did you…?" She started, only to stop as she found she didn't know what to say.

Mr. Fetcher eyed her over the rim of his glasses. "Never mind that, my girl! Your letter arrived, and I came to get you." He said, lowering his head to take a look at Arthur. "Both of you, that is."

Seeing that he'd been noticed, the boy stuck out a hand. "Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you." He said, staring curiously at the tall fellow. Judging by how his mother had addressed him, he doubted this man was his mysterious grandfather.

Mr. Fetcher took his hand in his own and gave it a brisk shake. "Likewise." He stated before turning once more to Jane. "Now that you're here, we must be off. We've taken on new staff recently, and they'll make a mess of things in my absence."

Jane hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry for it, but why didn't they send a driver instead?" She asked. Mr. Fetcher had been the Grimms' head butler ever since she'd been a little girl, and he usually didn't deal with chores like these.

After adjusting his glasses, the butler gave a long sigh. "Graham passed away only last month, and we haven't been able to find another with the right record." He said, putting a hand on Jane's shoulder. "Come along, we can't afford to dally."

Jane gasped --- it was another familiar name from her childhood. "Shame!" She said, letting herself be led away. She still had Arthur by the arm, so she wouldn't accidentally leave him behind.

Mr. Fetcher Concurred. "Shame indeed! Although I do wish he hadn't developed such a fondness for motorcars before his passing. Awful things --- noisy beyond belief, and troublesome to keep running." He said, sounding like it was something he much lamented. "When I went to draw a carriage, I found that it wouldn't roll --- neglect from disuse on his part, and I shan't excuse him. Why if he'd still been with us, I would have-…"

Arthur trailed behind Jane and Mr. Fetcher, listening on absentmindedly as the late driver was badmouthed. His mother tried to intercede on the poor man's behalf, but it was to no avail. The boy's face was carefully blank. He wondered if he should ask about his letter; at this rate, it didn't seem he'd get the chance to post it. In the end, he decided against it --- Mr. Fetcher had made it clear he was in a hurry, so he didn't want to make a nuisance of himself.

'If all goes well, I should be able to check it today.' He thought. As time passed, his desire to interact with the tablet only grew. His curiosity had become so intense that he worried he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he didn't find some privacy, soon.

The motorcar was outside the station, opposite its entrance. Arthur eyed the vehicle with appreciation. It had a certain look, with shining chrome and gleaming black paint that reeked of wealth. He could see its interior through the clear windows --- genuine, polished leather, from the seats to the steering-wheel and the dashboard, with many shiny dials and knobs.

Despite his earlier complaints, Mr. Fetcher seemed to have no trouble starting the thing. Arthur had taken a seat in the back, next to Jane. He couldn't quite see how it was done, but he didn't hear the turning of a key, so he thought that it must have some other mechanism --- a lever, or a button. It rolled onto the road, which was nearly abandoned at this time of the morning. It was a bit foggy, so Mr. Fetcher turned on the headlights. Arthur saw Newcastle for the first time --- there were a few stately buildings, but, as a whole, it didn't seem very prosperous. 'It's a bit strange that a wealthy family would live here.' He thought. He'd expected them closer to the capital, and to the center of business.

They'd sat in silence for a minute or two when Mr. Fetcher starting speaking. "I've some bad news, I'm afraid. He started, sounding grave. "It's… well, it's the master."

Jane swallowed thickly. "What do you mean, Mr. Fetcher? Has something happened to my father?" She asked, her voice concerned. Their relationship was troubled, but he was still the man that'd raised her. She couldn't help but worry.

The butler sighed. "I believe it was three years ago when Sir caught a mysterious illness. It was only a weakening, at first, but as time passed, he became more infirm until he could no longer walk. After a year, he was completely bedridden and dependent. If only that had been it, if you pardon my saying so. Last winter, he had a terrible fit and fell unconscious. He hasn't woken since. The madam sent for doctors from all over the country, but none were able to relieve his symptoms." He stated, sounding exhausted.

Jane grew more distressed as she listened. At the end of it, she had put both hands over her mouth and looked about ready to cry. "I-I… how can that be…?" She asked, struggling to come to terms with the sudden revelation. Her father had been the personification of physical imposition; her last memories of him were of a man so vigorous and strong that it seemed he would never die.

Arthur put a hand on his mother's thigh --- he could sense her shock. He had never known his grandfather, so it was impossible for him to feel much of anything, but he would comfort her, if he could.

Jane absentmindedly gripped his hand, giving it a squeeze. Ideas were swirling in her mind. 'I… that explains some of it, I suppose.' She thought to herself. It had been very strange, the treatment they'd received. To send Mr. Fetcher of all people --- she hadn't been able to understand it. Now, it made more sense. With her father in such a state, and her mother too old to remarry, Arthur had become vital. She had been disowned, so, if here parents were to pass, the Grimm family would be without an heir.

The drive was mostly a silent one, from then on. Arthur stared out of the window, watching as the town passed them by. It soon became clear that the Grimm manor was located elsewhere --- the scenery changed from urban to countryside. Now and then, a farmhouse could be seen, sitting squat against the land. The ride was relatively comfortable, which meant that the road was well kept.

'It's been an hour, at least.' He thought. He was becoming more curious as time went on. He wanted to ask his mother where exactly his grandparents lived, but when he looked at her, she'd nodded off, with her chin on her chest. He decided not to disturb her, and to wait patiently.

The grassy, rolling hills gave way to sparse woodlands that grew denser the further they travelled. Arthur was able to catch a glimpse of a sign, stuck next to the road. 'Rothbury Forest' was carved onto its surface, in big, round letters.

'It's located all the way out here, inside the woods?' He wondered. However, he hadn't gotten the impression that his mother was hiding something, and the butler seemed normal enough. 'They must be a bit eccentric.' He speculated --- these were different times, after all, and, in the first place, he'd never understood rich people.

Twenty minutes in, the forest had become thick enough that he couldn't see more than ten feet into it. Mr. Fetcher had understandably slowed down --- the mist clung tightly to the road, and with the thickness of the canopy, there was little light. If something were ahead of them, given the speed they'd been travelling at, an accident would be unavoidable.

Arthur was starting to become uneasy. 'We've been driving for a good few hours, now. The train arrived in Newcastle at five-o-clock this morning. When exactly did this fellow get up, to be waiting for us when we arrived?' He wondered. He looked at the side of Mr. Fetcher's face, and the butler must have sensed him, for he turned and looked at him in return. A shadow was cast over him, with only his glasses reflecting a bit of light. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the road, without saying a word.

Arthur had to fight to keep his face blank. 'Am I thinking too much, or is there really something fishy going on here?' He thought. He was feeling a bit of a chill on the back of his neck, but he wasn't sure if he was imagining it. 'Well, there's nothing I can do about it.' He decided. It's hardly as if he could ask Mr. Fetcher to stop the car so he could let himself out.

It was another twenty minutes before they finally came to a halt. Mr. Fetcher took a lantern from underneath the passenger-side front seat, lit it, and got out of the car. Arthur watched curiously as he walked into the fog. A dozen-or-so seconds later, when only a soft, orange glow was visible, Arthur heard a deep sort of creaking noise, like a big hinge turning. 'Gates…?' He questioned. 'Are they really worried about trespassers, all the way out here? There isn't anybody for miles!'

The butler came back, hung the lantern from the side of the car, and got back in. He drove for a bit, then got back out and closed the gate.

Arthur got a glimpse of the contraption when they drove past. It was as tall as three people, and made of a dark iron. He imagined he could see a bronze plaque near the middle, but he couldn't quite make out the writing. It was connected to a high wall that went into the forest, and he couldn't see the top of it. About three yards of space had been cleared, around the stone surface. 'I suppose they don't want people climbing over, but who on earth is maintaining it?' He wondered.

The drive continued, and it started raining. Arthur leaned past the passenger front-seat so he could see the road --- in the fog, the trees encroached around the path, looking like they wanted to reach out and grab them. Suddenly, they gave way to a hedge, which was well maintained from his observation. An enormous, dark shape loomed in the distance, obscured by the dim weather. The hedge forked, and the car turned right, so he wasn't able to see what it was, but he imagined it must be the manor. 'Who puts a hedge-maze at the entrance of their property?' He asked himself.

He was no longer able to bear this strangeness, at least not alone. He stuck out a hand and tugged at his mother's dress. "Mom. Mom! Wake up, we're here." He whispered. Her head sagged limply to one side, but she didn't wake up. Feeling a bit frantic now, he tugged again.

A big, gloved hand clamped onto his shoulder. "The trip must've tired her. I'll send for the head maid --- she makes a particularly rousing brew. Why don't you come with me?" Mr. Fetcher asked, although it sounded more like a statement than a question. His stared at Arthur with large, dark eyes.

The youth's gaze flicked from side to side. He didn't know when it happened, but they were parked inside a room with a solid floor and a high ceiling. Around them were other vehicles --- cars, carriages, carts: all luxuriously lacquered or polished. It was dark inside, but the lantern was still hanging from the side of the car, casting a circle of orange light.

Arthur's throat was dry. He felt himself wishing he was back in Dublin, sitting at his cramped little desk in his shoddy room --- it wasn't much, but at least it was normal!

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f0Ri5 · Dec 10, 2022

Without waiting for his answer, the butler stepped out, walked to the opposite side of the motorcar, and opened Arthur's door. He reached out a hand and took the boy by the back of his neck.

While this was happening, the youth couldn't twitch so much as a finger. All of a sudden, Mr. Fetcher was giving off the aura of a terrible predator --- the personable, middle-aged butler had vanished to somewhere unknown and a black shadow, in the shape of a man, had taken his place.

Arthur felt his numb legs straightening underneath him as he was picked up and put down --- it was a wonder they didn't immediately fold, like wet cardboard. There was a faint buzz underneath his skin, like countless ants, and he felt lightheaded.

A hand was pressed lightly but firmly against his back, and when he blinked, he found himself standing outside, in the misty drizzle. He looked, glassy eyed, at the cobblestone path that snaked into the fog --- tall, manicured rose-bushes (dotted with white flowers) grew on either side, and he couldn't see over them.

He walked along the path, like someone possessed, until he found himself staring up at the manor; the structure was so large that it faded into the mist, and he had a feeling that what he'd seen was only a glimpse of the entire thing --- it was a multi-storied, gothic structure, with dark-tiled roofs and slanting eaves. Carved figures were perched there, and he could vaguely see their devilish, twisted faces.

A tall pair of wooden doors were half open, but there was no light coming from inside. He felt the attraction of that passage --- it drew him in like a vortex, and he felt his feet moving. It only took a moment for him grasp the doors in his hands; they felt cool and solid in his grip, and there were many thin, spiraling lines under his fingertips. He went in.

The inside was very dim; he could make out some of the portal's interior --- there was a rug under his feet and a table against the wall. On it, a few objects rested --- vases that gleamed with a dull copper hue, and with flowers inside them: they were oxblood roses, so deeply colored that they looked black. Next to the table, a rack stood, with many sharp, hook-like pegs. Arthur took off his cap and blazer and hung them up.

He walked until he came to the atrium --- it was so large that it reminded him of a ballroom he'd once visited (he was attending a function at the time). Many, many things hung from the walls: portraits, landscapes, tapestries, old weapons, regalia and paraphernalia. He couldn't quite make out the details in the gloom, but they gave him an antique impression, like they belonged in a museum.

There was a marble staircase at the far end, following along the wall in a clockwise fashion. It disappeared somewhere above his head, and he couldn't see the end, even if he strained his neck.

His eyes flicked from left to right and he saw two hallways --- the one on the left was completely black, with only a white, gauzey curtain fluttering there. He couldn't see the other side even if he squinted. The other was lit, with a lantern hanging near the middle. He could see the far end ---- it opened into another room, which was lit also. Only a sliver was visible but, judging from the way shadows were cast against the wall, it must've had a fireplace. He took the path on the right without hesitation.

He heard the sound of his footsteps against the carpeted floor. He knew there was wood underneath --- it didn't creak, but he felt a hollowness under his feet. His walking didn't echo; it was muffled in a way that made him feel as if he had cotton stuffed in his ears --- neither was anyone walking behind him. What had become of the butler, he had no idea.

When Arthur had passed the midpoint, and the lantern was behind him, it suddenly went out. The corners of his vision dimmed, and he felt a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach. He hurriedly increased his pace; the sound of his feet landing on the carpet was unbearably loud. He could feel his heart beating in his throat as he made for the end of the hallway.

When he finally stumbled into the room, he realized he'd been holding his breath. He inhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the cold air rushing into his lungs. He immediately stepped to the side --- he didn't want that gaping tunnel at his back.

He looked around. The spacious room had two doors, which were both closed. A large, stone fireplace was embedded into the wall --- inside it, a small flame was flickering, feeding on something that looked like charcoal.

He noted three upholstered couches --- patterned fabric had been drawn over their polished, wooden frames and they had many small, stuffed pillows with shining buttons.

A low table was positioned in the middle of the room and few gilded teacups sat on top of a luxurious tablecloth, which had been draped over the flat, wooden surface; there was a matching teapot, also.

Arthur had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, like he'd missed something. He looked again, and, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention. Near one of the doors, there stood a large grandfather clock. Its pendulum was slowly swaying, and there were spirals drawn on its surface.

The closer he looked, the more complicated the pattern seemed, and the more it drew him in. It was only a sense of wrongness in his chest that prevented his spirit from leaving his body, and being sucked into that infinite spiral, or so he felt.

His eyes slowly moved away from the mechanism, seeing, for the first time, what he'd thought to be a curtain, cascading to the ground ---- but, in fact, it was no curtain, it was a woman in a dress, standing next to the clock! If Arthur's veins hadn't been frozen solid, he'd surely have jumped out of his skin.

His pupils were wide and dark in his skull as he stared, petrified, at her face --- it was impossible to tell her age; she could've been anywhere from fifty to seventy years old. The reason he hadn't noticed her until now was because she seemed completely and utterly lifeless --- it was as if she was an embalmed corpse, a human who had been stuffed and made into a doll to be part of some morbid collection.

When she moved, he felt the vitality draining from his body --- he had become a husk, empty of life, just like the woman. She drifted over the floor until she had a couch behind her, then she descended noiselessly onto it.

"Close the door." She said, in a voice that had a strange thin, unpleasant quality. Her accent was British, but with a foreign undertone.

Arthur stuck out a hand like an automaton and closed off the hallway. 'German.' He noted, in some far-off corner of his mind.

The woman extended a pale, bloodless hand and poured herself a cup of tea. She added milk and sugar before bringing the steaming cup to her face. Her faded, rust-brown eyes stared at Arthur over its rim.

This gesture of 'normalcy' did nothing for the youth's nerves. There was something seriously off about her person; he'd not been convinced that she even was one. She gave him a feeling of emptiness, like she was only a shell of chemically treated human skin and hair.

"Sit." She commanded, when it became clear he wouldn't be moving from his position without input.

Arthur took a seat across from her. He found that he couldn't disobey her, nor could he look away from her eyes. It didn't particularly disturb him --- at some point, his emotions had reached a sort of impassable threshold, like the mercury inside a thermometer.

He heard "Have some tea." so he did. He poured a cup of the strong-smelling, black liquid for himself and added a dash of milk. He took a sip, tasting the bitterness of the brew.

The woman sat there silently, maintaining eye-contact and watching him. He didn't get the impression that she was waiting for him to say something; rather than that, he felt like he was being quietly analysed.

He observed her through his peripheral vision --- she was beautiful, in an artificial sort of way, and without wrinkles. However, her skin seemed very thin and tightly drawn over her bones, like parchment that had been scraped clean too many times --- it simultaneously revealed and masked her age. Her hair was a pale blonde that looked washed out; on the verge of grey.

When he realized he could move his mouth, he greeted her on auto-pilot. "I'm Arthur Webb. It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am." He said softly. His throat was completely dry, despite the tea.

It took a long time for her to reply. By the time she did, Arthur was already halfway done with his tea. "You are Arthur Webb no longer. From now on, you are a Grimm." She said. Something about her accent made it seem as if they were partaking in an ancient ritual, one that'd been passed down through the ages.

Arthur suddenly had the thought of refusing, but he found that it was impossible. "…alright." He said simply, his own voice betraying him.

The woman didn't nod or give any sort of reaction. She continued drinking her tea, staring at him with emotionless eyes that wouldn't have looked out of place in a mortuary or a taxidermy boutique. When they'd both finished their beverages, she spoke at last. "Fetcher." She called, raising her voice by only the slightest amount.

They sat in continued silence, waiting for the butler to show up. It was a minute-and-a-half later when one of the doors opened (the same one Arthur had entered through), and for the figure of Mr. Fetcher to be revealed. He looked the same as when Arthur had last seen him, like a shadow wearing a person's skin --- which, now that he thought about it, couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes ago, but felt to him like a dreadfully long period of time.

"You called, Madam?" The butler asked, inclining his head toward the woman on the couch.

The old ghost put down her cup and rose to her feet. "We have finished with our tea. You may take him to his room." She commanded, not waiting for him to reply before she turned and drifted out of the open door. It only took a moment for her to vanish down the dark hallway.

The scene gave Arthur goosebumps. From beginning to end, she hadn't made so much as a single sound --- he hadn't heard footsteps, nor even the rustling of her dress.

Mr. Fetcher looked to where she'd disappeared before taking a step forward and putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Like a step-child who'd suffered abuse for many years, the youth was beyond the point of resistance. He let himself be guided out of the room and into the long hallway, like a puppet under Mr. Fetcher's control.

The serious, but pleasant fellow who'd chatted with his mother at the station and during the car ride was nowhere to be seen --- Arthur wondered if he'd ever existed in the first place. The butler walked a step behind him, so he couldn't see him without turning his head. The only visible part of him was his gloved hand, which laid on his shoulder like a burning shackle.

The only sound that the boy could hear was his own footsteps --- a terrible thought appeared in his mind: 'What if he'd been behind me all the while, but I just hadn't realized it?' He wondered, thinking back to when he'd first entered the manor. He had been under some sort of spell, and hadn't even considered looking over his shoulder. The idea of that devil looming over him the entire time was enough to stop his heart.

When they re-entered the atrium, Arthur felt the pressure on his shoulder change, guiding him toward the marble staircase. He numbly observed the room as he walked --- there were many things he'd missed; the glass cabinets, for one. It really was very dim in here, so it was no wonder there were things he hadn't seen. The cases were full of shadowy shapes, items that were difficult to identify. He imagined seeing something that looked like a broken part of an old machine --- he had no clue what it'd once been or what its purpose was.

A different compartment, made from a dark, opaque type of glass (like a chemist's bottle), contained something more recognizable: it was a sculpted human arm from the elbow down, resting on a pedestal. The surface was dull, like it was made out of clay, but he couldn't be sure. There was something strange about it, though --- it had six fingers; a second thumb, on the opposite side of its palm.

They were at the staircase now, so he couldn't continue his scrutinizing of the room's miscellanea. 'The floor is carpeted, but this isn't.' He thought as he put his foot onto the first step. When his heel made a solid 'click' against its smooth surface, he felt sudden dread pooling in his stomach. However, he couldn't stop --- his body wasn't his to control. His other foot went to the second step --- he started climbing the staircase.

When he came to the fifth step, his hopes were completely and utterly dashed. Without turning his neck, his eyes flicked to the glove that had been resting on his shoulder all the while. If there'd been a second pair of footsteps behind him, then he'd have heard them by now!

A wave of fear struck him, and he felt his consciousness blurring --- his vision turned completely black. For an indeterminate amount of time, he drifted in a state of limbo. When he came to, he found himself halfway up the staircase. 'I blacked out.' He realized. It was all too much for him, yet, somehow, he didn't panic, not outwardly, at least. He couldn't burst into tears, not could he hyperventilate, not even if he tried. The part that was 'him' was under too much pressure, like he'd been submerged at the bottom of the ocean. He had become a tiny, curled up ball, somewhere inside his own body.

When his existential crisis had neared its end, he found himself at the top of the staircase, standing in the middle of another hallway. It was wide enough that two people could walk side-by-side without their shoulders touching. There were long windows on the opposite wall --- they were rectangular, ending in a half-crescent shape toward the top. Gray light filtered through the thin curtains covering them --- it was terribly bleak, but it was enough for him to see by.

When the glove applied pressure, steering him toward the right, he started moving again. He lost count of how many closed doors they passed (not because there were too many to count, but because his mind couldn't manage to keep hold of the number). When he felt five fingertips digging into his shoulder, he halted and turned. In front of him was a door so sinister in appearance that it seemed to have been carved by Mephistopheles himself. There was a seductive aura about it, like it couldn't wait to be opened.

A voice 'spoke' from behind him. "This will be your room. Make yourself at home --- I will return for you, come dinnertime. Until then, you are to remain inside your quarters." It said.

Arthur didn't know what it sounded like, other than that it didn't sound very much at all like Mr. Fetcher. 'He's not even hiding it anymore.' A small, quiet voice said, somewhere in the corner of his mind.

Abruptly, the door swung open on its own, without so much as a single creak. Arthur didn't even wonder how such a thing was possible --- however, during his brief examination, he had detected an anomaly: it was without a doorknob, nor did it have any other visible method of unfastening.

The hand gently detached itself from his shoulder, one finger at a time. The thumb lingered against his collarbone for a long moment, until it too was gone.

Arthur faintly saw something through the crack in the door --- it was a tweed cap and blazer, partially obscured by the darkness inside the room; the very same ones he'd hung in the portal earlier. The door, which had stalled, opened further. It seemed to be inviting him in.

At some point, the vice-like force encasing his body had disappeared, and he realized he was free. He turned his head to where he'd come from, and saw a long hallway stretching behind him. It was empty.

He swallowed. The time had come to make a choice --- he could either face the mansion, or the room.

It only took a second for him to decide. With eyes downcast, he stepped forward --- he didn't want his gaze to linger on the effigy carved on the door.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 12, 2022

His reasoning was elementary --- the manor was too large, and too mysterious. Its network of passageways was labyrinthine; the thought of mislaying himself in these blackened, sinister hallways made his brain tremble in his skull. Even now, he could feel it --- a frozen fog of peril hung in the air, and countless thin, sharp shards were perpetually scraping across his skin, like ghostly fingertips.

When he heard a door creaking somewhere in the distance, he no longer dallied. A profound sense of danger arose in his heart --- he had a feeling that, if he hung around here for much longer, the choice would no longer be his to make. He stepped into the room and, when he did, the fiendish barrier directly closed behind him.

Arthur took a moment to survey his surroundings --- the interior was innocuous enough, at first glance. The accommodations were extensive; lavish furnishings decorated the floor and walls, and an antiquated bedstead sat at one end of the room. Its long, effulgent posts reached toward the ceiling, and opulent curtains stretched between them. A curved bench had been placed at the foot of the bed --- its cushions were made from red satin, and gave an impression of languidity.

In the middle of the floor, there were three lounges and a table. Around them, there were cabinets, drawers and dressers aplenty, to the extent that it seemed out-of-place. It would've made more sense if for some sort of repository, but not for a bedchamber. It was all the same type of wood: a glum, oiled sort, with the fabrics sharing the same rusty, brown coloring.

It wasn't the gloomy motif that frayed his nerves --- the malefic taint that pervaded the interior had a different source, one that he noticed almost immediately, despite his (situational) predilection for nescience.

Arthur's face turned pale. Thin, blue veins could be seen, running beneath his skin. 'It's those damnable symbols, again!' He thought. Every last inch of his confines was crawling with them --- the ones on the golden sphere and on the pendulum were hazardous indeed, exuding a pull that seemed ready to swallow him whole, if only he stared deeply enough.

'But these… are different!' He realized. The others were dormant, but these were wriggling, worming against his consciousness in an effort to penetrate his mind. He could feel them reaching out, writhing into his eyeballs and into his brain.

He felt something warm and wet on his upper-lip and, after reaching for it with a trembling hand, he retrieved his fingers and saw that they were covered in blood! Suddenly, the little black square that had been sitting peacefully in the bottom-right-corner of his field-of-view expanded, enlarging until the black slate abided once more. A single, underlined word was written on it:

'PERICULO!'

Arthur couldn't understand it, but he could sense its warning, like a prickling heat, pressing against his mind. But what could he do? If his Mystica could somehow be used to resolve this encounter, then he didn't have a clue how to go about it! Abruptly, the slate cleared and a new word appeared:

'IMPEDIENS!'

He muttered the word a few times, trying it in-case it was some kind of spell, but it had no effect. His head was throbbing dreadfully now, and the trickle of viscous, red fluid down his nose had turned into a flood. He threw his head back and pinched it, but it was getting worse.

That was when it happened: the carved lettering lit up, like molten iron had been poured into it, and he heard a noise inside his head, like a massive steel beam being twisted and pulled. There was an explosion inside his mind, and an enormous force descended, with the strength to crush his bones to dust and squeeze his flesh to paste.

His viscera rang hollowly as it undulated within him. The objects in his vision doubled, tripled, quadrupled…! He swayed where he stood, feeling like he might spontaneously collapse into a puddle of goo. After a dozen-or-so seconds, his sensibilities returned to him, and he thickly swallowed the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He realized with joy that the unremittent squirming inside his mind had been pacified!

Whatever the tablet had done had worked --- the parasitic symbology was prevented from invading any further than it already had. However, he could still feel it inside him: thin, frozen hairs that pervaded every corner of his flesh, like fiberglass splinters.

He closed his eyes; anemic and nauseous. With shaking hands, he managed to find the papered wall with his fingertips. Putting his back to it, he sunk down until he was sitting on his haunches. In the crimson dark beneath his eyelids, the tablet hovered. The 'word' on it had cooled, with the white-hot slant of its lettering now having shifted to a dull red. While he was studying it, it directly rotated until the back was facing towards him. As it disappeared, he saw those familiar etchings again. However, he immediately noticed that the first line was different:

'Potentia [ 0.1 ] -> [ 0.0 ]'

Arthur felt a pit forming somewhere in his gut; it seemed that salvation didn't come for free --- he was still in the dark regarding the exact nature of the word Potentia, but its reduction didn't bode well. Now that it had been depleted, didn't it mean that, if a crisis broke out again, the tablet wouldn't be able to prevent it?

He felt like bursting into tears --- the only thing keeping him halfway sane was (having already experienced it) his muted fear towards death, and his state of emotional exhaustion. 'But, in this place, death is the least of my worries...' He thought, with grave surety.

Reopening his eyes was an astronomical task. It was only through fearful desperation that he accomplished it --- if he wanted to prevent a catastrophy then he needed to act. He dreaded what he would find inside the very bowls of the thing that endeavored toward his demise. 'It's pointless.' He thought, already despairing the outcome, yet he steeled himself as best he could and rose to his feet.

He looked at his wrists, which he'd unknowingly scratched until droplets of red blotted underneath his pale skin. 'This numb itching is unbearable!' He decried with horror. He could still feel the cursed malevolents under his dermis --- their hibernation did little to relieve the disgust he felt from their presence. After repressing his revulsion, he looked around.

The room was as it had been --- the only difference was the patterning, which stood out starkly to him; it waxed and waned, pulsing inorganically in a manner that defied description. Arthur drew his eyes into slits and half-covered them with one hand. It helped a little.

However, underneath the dread, he experienced a faint sensation of excitement! There was knowledge here --- extremely dangerous and explicitly despicable, but knowledge nonetheless.

Arthur's pupils widened. He was having an epiphany! 'I'm sure of my guess – these symbols are part of some kind of occult study.' He elated, feeling a sense of satisfaction in his heart.

Suddenly, the tablet tumesced. Arthur watched, fascinated, as it underwent another change --- in the bottom section, underneath Spontanea Evocatio, another line of text appeared, chiseled into its surface in demented lettering. He recognized the style immediately --- it was the same as the diabolical somesthesia that'd infiltrated him earlier. It simply read:

'Maleficia [ 0.0 ]'

He stared at it, dumbfounded. 'I was right!' He thought. The tablet had directly confirmed his guess! 'When I accidently used 'magic' on my father, the tablet appeared. Perhaps it wasn't 'Mystica' that triggered it, but 'Spontanea Evocatio'…? And now 'Maleficia' has manifested on the slate, as well!' He realized. 'When the sorcery was used on me, the tablet must've identified it!'

'If those two things are skills, then 'Physica' and 'Mystica' must be my attributes!' He concluded. 'I wish it were written in plain English, but… Spontanea, that's just spontaneous, isn't it? And Evocatio --- that one is a bit difficult, but if we're talking about magic, then couldn't it be evocation?' He wondered, but, in fact, he was already sure in his heart. 'Spontaneous Evocation --- it sounds an awful lot like 'using magic by accident', but why would there be a skill for that?'

Arthur decided to shelve his questions, for the time being. He didn't trust the shards inside his flesh --- the fact that they hadn't been destroyed presented a troubling possibility. 'They may be frozen now, but they could thaw at any moment, and I would have no way to return them to a petrified state.' He deliberated anxiously.

He took a step forward. He still wore his shoes, so he couldn't be sure, but he imagined that the rich carpet would've been incredibly comfortable to walk on. 'I'll ignore the furnishings, for now'. He decided. Not only had their motifs proven to be extremely dangerous, but if there was something worth finding here, then he was sure it would be stored in one of the closets.

A peculiar wardrobe drew his attention. It was positioned near the edge of the room, and was about as tall as a person. It had one door, and it had a polished, bronze mirror fastened to it. 'I'll start there. It's as good a place as any.' He thought. He carefully creeped towards it, with one hand still half-covering his eyes, taking care not to expose himself to anything particularly anomalous. When his gaze landed on a gilded vanity, he hurriedly averted his eyes. The crystal mirror sitting on top of it gave him a chilly feeling.

A shiver went down his spine. 'Damn it, it seems the symbology isn't the only hazard in here!' He lamented. Giving the thing a wide berth, he circled around until he finally arrived in front of the door with the bronze mirror. He noticed its handle --- the frame was a black, gleaming metal with a soft, ivory grip. His senses had quieted, so he deemed it safe --- as safe as anything in here could be, that is. He extended his other hand, noticing how it was covered in drying blood, and grasped the handle.

Pulling on it as carefully as he could, he drew his neck backwards like an ostrich and peered over the edge with a single eye. He didn't look into the bronze mirror at all --- all sorts of terrible stories involving mirrors had suddenly appeared at the forefront of his mind, and he didn't want to take any chances.

Inch by inch, he widened the gap, until the darkness gave way to something that both stimulated and worried him --- there was another room on the other side of the door, one that appeared very different to this one. It was a passage, and its floor and walls had been tiled with something like black glass, and it had an arched roof that was a dark grey color, like granite. It was about six feet in length and ten feet in height, and led to a larger room.

The part of it that he could see looked as the passage did --- gleaming, all in black. 'Is that a… towel rack?' Arthur pondered, seeing a pair of bent, ebony arms with a rod of the same mercurial substance connecting them. He didn't know what else it could be.

Carefully, he set one foot into the hallway. When his soles produced a 'click', he felt his neck shrivelling like a retracting jack-in-the-box. 'So loud…!' He thought. In the deathly silence of the room, the sound was like nails on a chalkboard. As quietly as he could, he took off his shoes and put them down on the carpet. After he did, he took one step into the passage, then a second and a third.

Suddenly, he had a premonition. 'I should close the door behind me. Wouldn't want any nasty surprises while I'm exploring the place.' He thought. He turned around, and when he did, something caught his eye immediately. Though the gap between the door and the wall, he saw the vanity from earlier. There was an oddity regarding it --- the crystal mirror, stood on its surface, had turned and was now facing towards him!

'Fuck…!' He exclaimed inwardly. Not wasting any more time, he reached out and grabbed the door handle. It didn't have a key or a lock, but a sort-of curved bar that would connect with a latch in the wall. He closed the door quietly, and directly latched it. While leaning his back against the glass, he let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

When he'd regained a measure of tranquillity, he advanced. 'I hope there isn't anything waiting for me in here…' He thought. Quiescence abided, but there was a definite unusualness to the spatiality --- earlier, he had described the interior as 'tiled', only because he didn't have a better word for it. Admittedly, that portrayal didn't paint an accurate picture --- there were no seams, junctures, corrugations or anything similar. As a whole, it was a solid expanse of black glass, floor and walls in-all.

When he looked down at his feet, a sensation of vertigo befell him --- it was like he was standing on the surface of a dark, bottomless ocean. He hurriedly lifted his gaze.

Unfortunately, the change of scenery didn't alleviate the disturbance --- the dome above his head become discorporate, as if it was floating in a vacuous space. He laid one hand against the halcyon wall in an effort to stabilize himself --- it had some effect. 'Not even the bathroom is normal!' He bemoaned.

By now, he had made it to the end of the passage, and he was able to see the space in its entirety. He was growing accustomed to the chateau's penchant for grandeur --- it was far too big, about the size of what he'd seen of the bedchambers as of now.

There was a slanting pool at one end. Its substance was the same as that of the towel-rack, and the door handle --- it looked like solid mercury. It rose out of the floor like some kind of organic, metal structure --- the gleaming, silvery surface drank in the surrounding darkness like a mirror, giving it a sinister appearance. It looked more like it was some sort of cultic idol.

He swallowed and crept closer, putting one socked foot in front of the other. The first object that came within his reach was a basin --- a graceful faucet, flowing like a swan's neck, grew out of the wall. The metal was so dark at its base that he couldn't see where it joined with the glass.

Hypnotized, he extended a hand and turned its valve. The scent of cool, fresh water tickled his nose. Uncaring, or perhaps unable to care, he cupped his hands and brought it to his mouth. It tasted incredible, carrying with it a mineral aroma that made him salivate, and elucidated its subterraneous origins.

When he'd slaked his thirst, he doused his face a few times, washing away the mucus and blood that had accumulated. Feeling a lump of something in his throat, he hacked it up and spat it onto the argentiferous surface --- it was a globule of red plasma. It was thick and viscous, and, through hazy eyes, blurred from washing, he thought he could see many thin, translucent things wriggling inside it. He blinked a few times and looked again. They were gone.

When the pinkish goo had been swept away by water, he closed the valve. Suddenly, an intense wave of exhaustion suffused his system. It was like a syringe full of sedatives had been injected directly into his veins --- he was so tired that he was unable to even produce a yawn. He felt that, if he didn't find somewhere to sit down, he'd collapse right where he stood.

His eyes flicked towards his feet, and towards the deepness beneath them. 'Not here!' He thought. His sixth-sense was warning him --- the barrier that separated him from that void had abruptly thinned, to the extent that it might break any moment, plunging him into the infinite abyss.

At once, he saw the pool. Like an apparition, he drifted towards it. It perched on a meandering platform of glass, upraised by two staggered, elevated layers of obsidian. Coming to a standstill at the foot of the structure, he placed his hands on the silvervined edge and peered into it. It wasn't round or oval --- it had a natural slope, like a hypogenous reservoir that had been carved by time's private chisel.

Arthur raised a leg over the rounded border before lowering himself into the quicksilver cavity. He found it to be exceedingly comfortable --- the smooth metal seemed to have been sculpted to accommodate him. Perhaps the curves were a bit generous for his small size, but, all-in-all, the experience was luxuriating.

Now on the verge of slumber, while unconsciously stretching himself, he found something underneath his hand --- it was flat, elongated shape, almost like a handle. When he gripped it, it turned by itself, and he suddenly felt icy cold water dousing him.

Rather than jolting him into wakefulness, it had the opposite effect --- the freezing chill burned his skin like a medicinal balm. It reminded him of his schoolboy days, when his attractive female tennis coach would, after a bit of prompting, be persuaded to salve his stiff, sore muscles.

His lips unconsciously curved into a smile. 'Ah, those were the days…!' He fantasized, dreaming of times long past. The tingling frigidity of running water was like a lullaby, and, within a span of seconds, slumber had him firmly in its grip.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 14, 2022

It was a sound, somewhere on the edge of his hearing, that roused him. Arthur came to blearily, unaware of his situation. When he opened his eyes, he was disoriented. His surroundings were pitch black --- the only thing he could see was a thin, glimmering film, reflecting a hint of light.

'I'm drifting on the surface of a lake...?' He thought. His brain was sluggishly trying to process this state of affairs --- the thing that struck him immediately was the intense cold. But it was uncanny --- he had fallen asleep in this icy water, yet he felt fine. No, better than fine --- he felt, well… it was difficult to describe, but he felt as if all the fluid inside him had been replaced by a cool, flowing current --- like the liquid had been transfused directly into his veins. It was invigorating, yet soothing.

As a matter of fact, he wanted nothing more than to become one with the substance, to return to that blissful, black void, free of all worry and concern. There was a tickling feeling at the back of his mind, keeping him awake, like he'd forgotten something, but he didn't want to think about it.

*Knock, knock!*

This time, he heard it clearly --- there was someone at the door! His memory returned to him, like a wave crashing down onto the shoreline. He could feel goosebumps breaking out all over his skin, and the tiny hairs all over his body stiffening.

Even so, at that moment, the bottomless abyss he'd found himself in was the least of his worries --- his thoughts immediately returned to that crystal mirror he'd seen, sitting on the vanity; when it'd pointed towards him, he'd experienced an extremely uncomfortable sensation, like he was being watched.

'Since I've remained in the bathroom, they must've decided to come grab me directly!' He thought. He straightaway resolved not to put one foot outside the pool. If it came to it, he could drown himself in here --- all he had to do was submerge his head and start breathing. Once his lungs were filled, he'd suffocate in short order. It was a preferable outcome to whatever the thing outside the door had in store for him, of that he had no doubt.

Arthur's prone form was like a serpent in hiding --- only his nose, eyes and forehead were above the surface. When the knocking repeated, he remained still as a statue --- if a leaf had been perched on the tip of his nose, it wouldn't even have trembled.

Silence reigned inside the prison of black glass, and he was sure he would've remained concealed if it wasn't for the emergence of a soft, tinkling noise; one he'd not produced, nor had any control over --- it was the auditory sensation of a water droplet hitting a metallic surface. Perhaps, having been prompted by it, or having had enough of this cat-and-mouse game, the thing outside the door spoke. When Arthur heard its voice, his emotions were exceedingly complicated.

"Are you in there, young master? It is dinnertime, so I came to fetch you." The familiar voice said. Its tone was dry, and without emotion.

Arthur felt like a child who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He didn't know what to do --- on one hand, he didn't trust the damn butler any further than he could throw him; which was not far, given how short and weak his arms were. On the other hand, if this was an opportunity for salvation, then he wanted to take it. Committing suicide was fine and well in theory, but he expected the execution of it to be an awful lot more unpleasant.

He decided to speak up. "Mr. Fetcher…? I'm sorry, but I fell asleep in the bath, and now I don't have a towel with me, or a change of clothes." He said, not having to fake the embarrassment in his voice.

The butler was quick to reply. "It is fortunate, then, that I have arrived with both your towelettes and your apparel." He said, sounding slightly bored. "I will hang them from the door handle, and wait outside the room. Although, it's gotten a bit dark --- will you be all right?" He queried.

Arthur wasn't sure if he would be, but what was he supposed to do; invite the butler inside, to help him change? There was no way he'd do that. "I'll manage, thank you." He said, lifting himself up and out of the bath.

When he'd put one foot onto the slippery, smooth floor, he abruptly experienced a sense of lightheadedness, like he was falling inside a dream. He closed his eyes on reflex, and he proverbially jerked awake, as if he'd rebounded on top of a trampoline. It almost made him open his eyes again, but he hurriedly put his free hand over his face.

'I really almost fell through the floor!' He thought, having momentarily forgotten the feeling of danger the room had given him earlier. He hesitated, unsure of whether he should take his other foot out of the pool. 'My one hand is still on the rim, so I can just jump back in if something happens…' He considered. Carefully, he lifted his other leg over the edge before straightening it.

Arthur uneasily let go of the border, one finger at a time. When he'd removed his whole hand, he waited for a second, tensed and worried. Nothing happened, and he quietly sighed in relief. He started walking slowly towards the exit --- he could remember where it was; to the northwest. As long as he kept going, he'd hit a wall eventually, and he'd just have to hug it until he found the passage.

Regrettably, it seemed an uneventful journey wasn't in the cards. As he continued, he found himself becoming more disoriented and unsteady on his feet. The darkness was exuding an invisible pressure, coming at him from all sides. He was deep beneath the earth's crust, crawling in a tunnel somewhere --- it was so tight he could barely move; he was being squeezed, and his arm was stuck, and he couldn't move forward without exhaling until his lungs were empty.

He started panicking. 'What is happening to me?' He thought. He felt his heart thumping in his chest --- it's tempo didn't increase, the pressure was too much for that, but he felt every beat increasing in strength until his whole body was throbbing alongside it. Suddenly, he was falling again --- the floor was gone; vanished into nothingness! An involuntary scream slipped from his throat.

"Are you all right, young master?"

Unexpectedly, the butler's words caused Arthur's illusion to vanish, like a pricked soap bubble. He found himself laying prone on the floor, with one cheek pressed tightly against the featureless surface. "Ouch!" He said, reaching reflexively for his sore head.

"Shall I come in?" Fetcher asked, in a voice as placid as ever.

Arthur seriously considered it, but, in the end, he refused. When things were at their worst, a man would cling even more desperately to his pride --- he was no different. "No, it's… I just slipped and fell, that's all. I'll be there in a moment." He said, getting to his feet and briskly walking in the direction of the butler's voice.

He almost ran headfirst into the door --- he'd crossed the distance in such a hurry that he'd already reached it, before any nasty thoughts could creep up on him. There was a thin beam of light shining from underneath it, but it was so dim he didn't notice it until the last moment.

Mr. Fetcher had evidently heard him thumping on the other side of the door. "I'll be waiting for you in the hallway outside." he said.

Arthur kept his ear close to the door, trying to hear him leaving, but it was futile. 'Damn ghost bastard…!' He cursed inwardly. While fumbling with the latch in the darkness, he had a sudden revelation. 'Wait… how was he going to come in when the door was locked?' He wondered. However, he didn't dare linger on the question for too long --- it made him feel lightheaded and bloodless, and he didn't want to pass out in here.

When he'd managed to unlatch the blasted thing, he slowly opened the door; he didn't see Fetcher through the gap. Edging carefully forwards, he kept an eye out for the vanity --- he'd not let whatever was on the other side of that mirror catch a glimpse of his twig-and-berries!

The top of that forsakened piece of furniture entered his field-of-view; the light source had been placed on top of it --- a candle, enclosed within a lantern. He immediately looked for the crystal mirror; fortunately, it was facing away from him. Not only that, but an embroidered square of cloth had been draped over it. 'Was it the butler?' He wondered. It seemed the most likely explanation.

After he'd stuck his head out the door and looked both ways (taking care not to look too hard, lest he see something unsettling), he cautiously stepped into the bedchamber while closing the door behind him. He'd rather not dress in the disturbing bathroom, thank you very much --- partially because he couldn't see a thing in the darkness, and partially because it was just too scary in there.

'I wish it was possible to lock the door from the outside.' He thought. He didn't like that nothing was stopping it from being opened.

The whole ensemble (towel included) hung from a wooden, many-ringed hanger --- it had a hook at the top, like a normal one, but it had many sections (almost like a scrubbing board), enough for a whole wardrobe.

He took the towel first and wiped himself dry --- it felt very soft and comfortable against his skin. After that, he looked at the clothing --- it was, well… 'old fashioned', like something out of a play. He wasn't even sure if he knew how to wear it.

After much struggling, he managed to get it on. However, he was left with something that seemed like a doublet with a tie --- it had a lot of buttons, off to one side, and the neck part was very… puffy. 'How the hell do I put this on?' He wondered. In the end, he decided to call for reinforcements.

He looked towards the bedroom door --- he could hardly see it; the single lantern didn't provide much light. And, while the darkness did frighten him, it also aided him in an unforeseen way --- he couldn't make out the symbols on the furnishings, and on the furniture.

"Uhm… Mr. Fetcher…? I'm not sure how to wear this… 'coat'?" He asked towards the door, raising his voice a bit. The noise was unpleasant to his ears --- it sounded like it was coming through many layers of cotton.

He was relieved when the butler replied immediately. "I could assist you. Let me know when you're decent, young master." He said, speaking through the slightly-opened bedroom door. When Arthur had said that he was, Fetcher stepped into the room.

With some discomfort, the youth noted his appearance: he wore a cloak over his shoulders --- it came down to his feet as a solid, black shape, making him look like a reaper. His eyes reflected the thin candlelight in an unpleasant way --- they flickered like two will-o-the-wisps, hungry to ensnare their prey within the realm of the dead.

While he was standing there, feeling frightened, the butler drifted over to him and took the piece of clothing out of his hands. He loosened it in a brisk, familiar manner before fastening it to Arthur's torso. The boy didn't even know when his arms had been shoved into the sleeves --- suddenly he was standing there, feeling like he was on his way to have dinner with the king.

The butler took a wooden comb from somewhere and fixed his messy, damp hair --- Arthur stood like a statue during the entire process. He felt like there was some kind of poisonous creature on top of his head --- if he so much as twitched a muscle, he'd find himself bitten and on his deathbed within moments.

After Mr. Fetcher had finished, he pointedly put the wooden comb down onto the surface of the vanity. He took the lantern and gave it to Arthur. "We are already late. Take this --- I will guide you, but you must remember to pay attention. In the future, you will be expected to navigate the manor by yourself." He said coolly.

The very thought alone was enough to send a chill down the lad's spine. "…yes, sir." He replied dumbly. He watched as the butler extended an arm, motioning for him to take the lead. When he'd taken a few steps forward (clutching the lantern in one hand), he felt a glove settling on his shoulder.

After they made it out into the hallway, Arthur was immediately filled with dread. He didn't know how to describe it, but the place seemed different from what he remembered! For starters, the hallway was wider --- his paltry light barely reached the other side. He could hardly see a single one of the pillars, embedded into the wall; never mind the ceiling --- his candle wasn't able to illuminate it at all!

When he stilled, the glove on his shoulder exerted an irresistible pressure --- he had to move. His eyes involuntarily swept the surroundings --- he preferred 'not' to look, but, if he was going to find his way back to his room, he had no choice.

A deathly aura hung in the air, like a mausoleum, and the darkness was impregnable --- Arthur felt as if it was actively resisting the thin light, cast by his lantern.

They weren't covering distance very quickly --- the hallway seemed to never end, and Arthur's legs were short, in the first place. To make matters worse, everything seemed the same to him --- they had passed twelve rooms already, but most of them looked identical; the only 'saving grace' was that he'd be able to recognize his room's door at first glance.

They didn't pass the staircase --- they had taken a left upon exiting, and the staircase would've been to the right. Eventually, they found a passage --- it was much narrower than their current one. What did surprise him was that it seemed to have the same long, curtained windows, despite the fact that it seemed to be leading into the mansion's interior.

He really did try to keep track, but eventually he became lost --- the place was simply too large! And, to make matters worse, the layout was absolutely incomprehensible. Multiple times now, they'd detoured through rooms, most of which he couldn't guess the purpose of. The darkness certainly didn't help, but it wasn't just that --- he'd seen things that he simply couldn't understand!

One time, they went through a short door, only to arrive in a small, cramped space with nothing but a poor little fireplace and a few stacks of books laying around. Fetcher had commanded him to pull on a sconce, and suddenly a section of the low, wooden ceiling detached itself, transforming into a staircase! They'd then made their way up, only to arrive inside a closet. Opening the door, he was greeted with the sight of an enormous, multi-storied library! He barely had time to catch a glimpse before they were behind a tremendous bookshelf, which completely blocked his sight.

'Bloody hell! Not even Indiana Jones would be able to find his way, in here!' He exclaimed inwardly. He exclaimed inwardly, feeling afraid and uncertain.

It was behind the enormous shelf that they found another door --- it looked like it was made out of stone, and it was completely flush with the wall. There was a strange metal bar, made out of a dark, unknown material running across its surface --- in the feeble, orange light, he managed to notice a large keyhole, drilled into it.

Mr. Fetcher spoke from behind him. "Go ahead and open it --- the key is in your pocket." He said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but Arthur didn't dare think too hard about it.

The boy numbly patted his doublet, and immediately he felt something heavy and large underneath his hand. Like a zombie, he withdrew it and placed it in the keyhole. He expected to struggle, but it turned easily, and the door swung open. The sound of it wasn't very loud --- the only thing he could hear was a soft, grating noise, like an oiled whetstone being slid across the surface of a blade.

He carefully peered through the opening --- there was another hallway on the other side, but this one was different; it was completely made out of stone, and mostly bare. The only decoration he noticed was a sloping cornice where the walls met with the floor.

The gloved hand steered him into it, and he heard the same soft grating as the door closed behind him. After they'd walked a dozen-or-so yards (naturally, only Arthur's footsteps sounded against the solid floor, but he was somewhat used to it by now), the boy both heard and saw something that struck him dumb --- there was a large pair of mahogany doors at the end of the passage.

What made it so extraordinary was the light shining from underneath it, and the muted sound of voices, coming from the other side. To be clear, he'd not seen so much as a single light source on his way here, never mind hearing voices! The place was as dead as it got --- Arthur would've been willing to bet good money that the fucking pyramids of Giza were more lively than this godforsaken manor!

"The dining room is ahead --- there's something I need to attend to, so I'll be on my way now, young master. Enjoy your dinner." Mr. Fetcher said, lifting his hand from Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur thanked him reflexively. "Thank you, and I apologize for troubling you." He croaked, feeling like he hadn't spoken in years.

"It's quite all-right." The butler said.

To Arthur, the words sounded like a whisper, carried on the wind. He couldn't resist looking over his shoulder --- the emptiness behind him was unsurprising, but no less terrifying because of it.

He didn't dare loiter --- he hurriedly walked towards the dining-room-doors and, after setting the lantern on the floor, he gripped the handles. When he'd taken a breath to steady himself, he opened them.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 16, 2022

As he was opening them, Arthur gazed through the gap between the doors. The sight was enough to strike him dumb. The first thing he noticed was the sheer size of the room. It was beyond big. He wanted to compare it to a throne room, but that simply wouldn't have been adequate. No, it was more like the inside of a cathedral.

There were a few other 'oddities' --- he noticed numeral marble balconies protruding from the high, sloping walls; it made him think of an opera house. And there were many chandeliers, casting their light downwards onto one very, extremely, ridiculously long table. He didn't even want to call it a table, the word just didn't fit --- it was in its own category entirely.

"…Arthur? Arthur!"

A familiar voice roused him from his torpor; he found that he'd taken a few steps into the 'room' without even noticing. Looking numbly towards it, he saw that it was none other than Jane! She had been seated somewhere nearby, but had gotten up when she noticed him. She was walking towards him, and someone was trailing behind her.

Arthur was utterly shellshocked --- to be completely honest, his mind had been so preoccupied since their arrival that he hadn't even thought of her once. It frightened him --- he wondered, if she hadn't appeared, or if something external hadn't popped up to remind him of her, would he have forgotten her completely?

He felt as if he was looking at her through a layer of frosted glass --- his mind was thick and slow, and he couldn't let out so much as a peep. He noted her expression; she seemed a little embarrassed, but, other than that, she looked fine! There was no fear, no terror… she just looked like herself!

Arthur felt that, if she'd shown some discomfort, some worry, some unease, it would've been reasonable, but there was none! It made him feel lightheaded and weak, like he might suddenly topple over onto the floor, dead as a doornail!

She arrived in front of him with a little smile on her face, looking beautiful with her done-up hair and burgundy dress. Arthur felt her hands around his wrists, then she leaned in close to him and said something in a quiet voice. "I told you your grandparents were well-off." She said with a hint of teasing.

Her words were like a cast-iron frying pan, hitting Arthur over the head. 'What is she talking about…? 'Well-off'…? Wealth. Is. Not. The. Issue. Here!! This place is FUCKING H-A-U-N-T-E-D!!! IT'S EVIL, FOUL, BEDEVILED, CURSED, ILL-FATED, BLASPHEMOUS, PARANORMAL…!!!!"

Maybe he'd already lost his mind and this was some kind of mad fever dream. That must be it; he was on his deathbed still, delusional with pain and from drugs. There was no way this was real.

However, his mad ravings didn't make it past his lips. "…yes, you did." He said uselessly.

There was a hint of concern in Jane's eyes, and she reached out one hand to cup Arthur's cheek. When she did, her eyes widened in shock. "You're cold as a block of ice…!" She exclaimed, growing frantic as she presumably started looking for something like a coat or blanket.

Arthur found himself taking her by the arms before turning her towards him. He looked into her eyes, mustered up his courage, and did his best to instil his expression with as much severity as he could. 'I have to tell her. I have to convince her! We can't stay here, we need to go back…!' He thought.

However, the words that left his lips were not a plea nor a warning of any sort. "…can't we just eat? I'm starving." He said.

Biting on her lower lip, Jane turned to the person who'd been behind her the entire time. "I'm sorry, Ms. Squint, but could we have our dinner by the hearth? It's not proper, but I'm worried for Arthur." She implored.

The lad had been so frazzled that he hadn't taken notice of Jane's entourage. His pale, blue eyes flicked to the woman behind her --- the moment he caught a glimpse of her, he despaired. 'Oh Lord, have mercy on me…!' He thought.

She was not human --- he was as sure of it as he'd ever been of anything in his entire life. He hadn't been sure about the old bat he'd run into earlier today, but this one was standing next to Jane, who was a real person; the contrast was so great that his doubt was promptly murdered and shoved under the floorboards.

She was dressed in all-black; a long gown that covered her from her wrists to her feet. It was wrapped tightly around her body like a shroud, yet he didn't see any creases. Then, there was her face --- it was as if a mortician had been contracted by the devil to craft him the perfect wife. Arthur found that his words were failing him. Blank, white eyes, without even a hint of an iris or a pupil, regarded Jane. Eventually, Mrs. Squint spoke. "…very well." She said.

Arthur watched, fearful for his mother's safety, as the foul woman turned and headed for the incomprehensibly long dinner table. Her words still echoed unpleasantly in his ears, like multiple voices overlapping.

While he was standing there, dizzy with dread, Jane took him by the arm. "Ms. Squint is blind, yet she knows the mansion like the back of her hand. Incredible, isn't it?" She asked rhetorically, leading Arthur away.

The sheer disbelief he felt jostled him out of his nightmarish thoughts. 'Does she… actually believe that? That is not a person at all…! It's a D-E-M-O-N!!!' He felt as if he might go into a frenzy at any moment (and he was so disturbed that he didn't even notice the irony of a 'blind' maid having a name like Ms. Squint).

There was a hearth nearby --- it had been cordoned off from the rest of the room by a few pieces of furniture; they sat on a half-moon carpet, made from a velvety, red fabric. He considered it briefly when, in reality, it was anything but brief --- it was so large (with so many chairs and sofas) that it would've served excellently as a common room in a golf- or men's club.

Jane seated the two of them near the fireplace. It wasn't lit, but wood had already been stacked inside. "There should be a flint here, somewhere…" Jane said, walking over to the hearth before running her hands across the mantlepiece. She scrounged around for a while, but was unable to find anything.

"…please, stand aside, miss."

The words, spoken in a voice displeasing to the ear, were produced by none other than Ms. Squint. Arthur surreptitiously glanced in her direction --- her maneuvering had the same spectral quality as Mr. Fetcher's. The fact that he hadn't heard her coming was all the more extraordinary, given the trolly she'd brought with her. It was… the size of a small table, with multiple sections stacked vertically --- they were packed to the brim with different dishes.

Once again, the bizarreness of the circumstances became clear to him. He felt as if he was in a lucid dream, with curiosities popping up one after the other, like mushrooms after the rain. He briefly noted the… 'maid's' expression --- despite her dollish face, he could detect a simmering murderousness. 'Well, if I was a creature from the abyss, I'd probably be unhappy working as a maid.' He thought.

He was calmer now, he realized --- it probably had something to do with the fact that the evil woman had just picked up a tray with the world's most perfect looking roast chicken on top of it. It even had the two little white things dangling off the end, the ones that looked like mini chef's hats.

Jane turned her head towards the maid. "I'm such a bother, aren't I?" She asked, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Ms. Squint didn't answer. Instead, she walked towards the fireplace (Jane hurriedly got out of her way) before she took something out of her pocket, knelt down, and fiddled with it. A few moments later, a little flame had sprung up and was flickering merrily.

Arthur barely even registered it --- he only had eyes for their dinner. He hadn't immediately registered the mouthwatering scent (his thoughts had been preoccupied), but, when he did, he found himself enraptured.

Seeing his expression, Jane smiled. "I'm glad you're hungry --- Ms. Squint and I prepared them together." She said, having returned to her seat, across from Arthur. They had occupied two very lavish (and very comfortable) armchairs, with a low table between them --- the two closest to the fire.

The mental image of the women sharing a kitchen, passing ingredients back and forth between themselves, made Arthur feel strange.

Maybe Jane had finally caught onto the reason for his unease, because she leaned over the table (after she'd checked for Ms. Squint, who was busying herself near the trolly) and whispered something to him. "She may look intimidating, but she's a sweetheart --- Ms. Squint practically raised me on her own." She said, with genuine fondness.

Arthur had to fight to keep his disbelief hidden. It was like going to somebody's house for the first time and finding a six-meter-long saltwater crocodile inside; then, having them tell you not to worry, because they'd had it since they were a child, and that it was a good boy who looked after the place. Rather than being comforted or impressed, you'd think there was something seriously wrong with their head.

The maid returned, carrying some sort of mushroom & potato dish in one hand, and two large, oval ceramics in the other. After setting them down, she produced a few pieces of cutlery from somewhere, like a magician performing slight-of-hand.

Arthur found himself thanking her automatically. "Thank you very much, Ms. Squint." He said. Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he hoped the gesture of appreciation would extend his lifespan, at least.

"…it is my pleasure." The maid replied, in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear it wasn't her pleasure in the least.

Jane seemed unbothered by it all --- that or she just didn't hear because she was too busy serving up Arthur's dinner.

The boy was salivating like a dog when she placed in front of him. The chicken smelled of lemon and garlic, and a tangy, spicy scent that he couldn't identify. And the potato bake looked delicious --- it was practically swimming in cream and melted cheese; he felt he was gaining weight just from looking at it. He'd never eaten anything this grand, not in this life, at least. Just the sight of it was therapeutic, and was making him emotional. He realized that, if he wasn't careful, he might spontaneously burst into tears.

Extending an arm, Jane affectionately stroked his hair. "You've had to do without, Arthur. I'll do my best to make up for it, I promise." She said. Towards the end, her voice trembled a little.

Arthur was dumbstruck. The grudge, which had started forming somewhere in his heart, was swept away in an instant. 'Damn it all, she really doesn't know!' He thought bitterly. 'It doesn't matter --- I'll find a way to live, somehow. If I die in here… I don't even want to imagine her face when she finds out." He reflected, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

Jane had started eating as well, but, as their meal continued, she took to staring at her son, who'd just finished his second plate of food. She watched, feeling both guilty and astonished, as he went for thirds.

Once Arthur had started eating, he couldn't stop. There was a hole inside him, a cavity that wouldn't be filled. That first morsel had ignited a hunger within him that felt endless. Not only was he not slowing down, but he actually noticed himself speeding up as he devoured what remained of the chicken, and vacuumed up the potato bake. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd turned to Ms. Squint. "I'm sorry, but is there anything else?" He asked.

The maid regarded him coolly with her blank, featureless eyes. "…there is." She said. She went over to the trolly before returning with a sliced ham and some kind of jelly-mustard construct.

Arthur found himself uncaring of what it even was --- he realized he was willing to eat anything, as long as it qualified as 'food'. When the ham had been consumed, with only a spoon-or-two of the jelly-mustard remaining, he felt something hot well up inside him --- it started somewhere between his chest and his abdomen. 'Am I going to puke?' He thought, but, no, he wasn't nauseous.

Suddenly, the little black square expanded, growing until the obsidian tablet occupied his field-of-view. There was a scratching sound, like something being carved into rock, and the first line of text underwent an abrupt change.

'Potentia [ 0.0 ] -> [ 0.1 ]'

Athur's eyes were as round as the mustard jello dish he'd just consumed. 'Did it use the food to replenish itself...?' He wondered. 'That has to be it --- otherwise, there's no way a ten-year-old's body would be able to hold everything I'd just eaten!' He realized. He had no idea how he was going to survive the night, but if he was able to restore the tablet, then there was hope!

His head swiveled towards Ms. Squint. "Is there anything left?" He asked, sounding a bit frantic.

Her expressionless face had gained a hint of curiosity, like she'd just seen a dog do a backflip. "…there are three dishes remaining. Shall I bring them all?" She asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yes plea-…" He started, only for Jane to interrupt him.

Reaching over the table, she grabbed one of his wrists. "Arthur, you're going to be sick! There's no way you can eat that much!" She stated, wearing a look of worry.

The boy gave her his best puppy-dog expression --- he was on the cute side, so he was confident it would work. "Please, mom? If I start feeling ill, I promise I'll stop." He said.

Jane's expression crumpled. "…all-right." She said, looking like she dreaded what was about to come.

Needless to say, Arthur ingested every last scrap of flesh, every last crumb of bread, and every last drop of oil until the trays were so clean that he could see his face in them. He watched his 'Potentia' rise from '[ 0.1 ]' to '[ 0.2 ]' with satisfaction. 'Now, it should be able to protect me if I suffer another mental attack.' He thought. He wondered if its defenses were more robust than that --- he expected he was going to find out, sooner rather than later.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 19, 2022

After their dinner concluded, the mother and son made small-talk while Ms. Squint loomed over them like a demonic statue. Arthur pointedly avoided talking about anything related to the supernatural --- he didn't know how the maid would react, and there wasn't anything Jane could do about it anyway.

"…your grandfather's room when he was a boy." She said, bringing a porcelain teacup to her lips before taking a sip.

Arthur's hands, which he'd been wringing over the fire, stilled. "Oh." He said calmly, but inwardly he was more unsettled. 'Fuck, if the old man lived in there, then could he be responsible for the inscriptions?' He wondered. If the geezer had indeed been some kind of occult researcher, then it would explain why the mansion was so damn haunted.

Jane nodded, staring absentmindedly into her tea. "I asked your grandmother if it was possible for us to room closer to each other, but she refused. Before his condition worsened, Father had stipulated that, if you wanted to become the heir, you'd have to complete his right-of-passage; that's what she told me, in any case." She said, sounding confused.

Arthur carefully took his teacup and raised it to his lips. One of his fingers twitched. 'That fucking old fossil --- the fit should've killed him on the spot! Now he's trying to drag me into this confounded mess!' He ranted, feeling bitterly angry, but what could he do? He was sure that, if he were to suddenly say 'in that case, I won't become the heir', their response wouldn't be very pleasant.

However, it did confirm one of his suspicions --- there was more to his situation than met the eye. After all, if the manor's residents had wanted him dead, they could've just directly murdered him. There was no need for all these accursed scare-tactics. 'Are they just trying to frighten me, though?' He questioned. He doubted that was the case.

Arthur slowly drank his tea. Maybe if it was someone else, they'd be curious, but he didn't give a crap; he wasn't going to investigate anything! What if he discovered something he wasn't supposed to? No, it was best if he just minded his own business while steadily accumulating more Potentia.

He'd long ago thought of trying to invest it in his Particularia or Proficiendi, but the time hadn't been right --- more importantly, in his current situation, he couldn't spend it even if it was possible to do so, because he'd be defenseless. He would have to wait, letting his Potentia grow until he was certain he had a surplus.

Jane was similarly immersed in her own thoughts. For a minute-or-two, neither of them said anything. In the end, it was Ms. Squint who broke the silence. "The hour is late; perhaps it's time to retire the day?" She asked, although her tone made it clear it was less a suggestion and more a demand.

The mother snapped out of her daze, suddenly feeling guilty. She knew that, after escorting her to her bedroom, Ms. Squint would still have to tidy the dining room.

"Yes, it's getting late." She said, glancing at the maid, who stood behind her. "However, I don't think Arthur is familiar with the East Wing yet. Goodness, I remember getting lost in there myself --- if you hadn't fetched me that time, I'd still be wandering those hallways." She remarked, smiling at the maid.

Ms. Squint's didn't move her head, but Arthur was sure she was looking at him. "…Fetcher will escort him." She said calmly.

Jane looked around for the butler, trying to see if he'd arrived in the meantime, but the enormous hall was empty. "Well, he isn't here yet." She said. "Wouldn't it be alright if Arthur stayed in my room tonight? Surely, once wouldn't hurt!" She asked pleadingly.

Arthur felt like his heart was going to melt. 'She's an angel…!' He thought. That room of his was foredoomed --- he didn't want to spend any more time in there than was absolutely necessary! However, he was worried for Jane; he didn't want her to get into trouble because of him.

He tried to open his mouth. 'It's all right, I'll find my way back!' He wanted to say, but nothing came out. The thought of wading through the darkness, with nothing but a paltry lantern to illuminate his way, frightened him into silence.

'…or maybe the maid could take me?' He wondered. It only took a moment for him to scrap that idea. 'I won't let Jane return by herself, nor should she remain here, alone. She can't come with us to the East Wing either!' He decided. If Jane had told the truth, then Ms. Squint had been looking after her --- he wouldn't separate them.

The phantasmal woman was silent. Eventually, she opened her mouth. "…I suppose an exception-…" She started, only to be interrupted by the sound of a large door, slowly being slid open.

The three of them turned their heads, seeing none other than Mr. Fetcher standing there --- he had come through the same doorway Arthur had; it was close to the lounge.

The boy felt a sense of frustration well in his chest. He could tell that the maid was just about to give her approval. The shitty butler was taking him for a ride --- there was no way this timing was accidental!

Mr. Fetcher silently closed the doors before drifting over to them. "Good evening, miss. I've come to escort Arthur to his room, if you've concluded your dinner." He said, looking at Jane.

The woman glanced at her son hesitatingly. "…oh. Well, in that case…" She started, sounding a bit disappointed.

Arthur noticed the question in her eyes --- her offer still stood. "Since Mr. Fetcher is here, I'll be returning to my room. Thank you again, Ms. Squint; for the dinner and tea." He said, doing his best to keep the depression out of his voice. In the end, he decided not to start a quarrel --- he didn't doubt that Jane's proposal would face a lot of push-back, now that the butler had arrived.

He stood and walked around the table. After he'd given his mother a farewell hug, he went to Mr. Fetcher's side.

Jane smiled at him. "Sleep well, Arthur. I'll see you tomorrow, for breakfast --- your grandmother should be joining us, as well. She has your schedule, I believe." She said, giving him a small wave.

After they'd exchanged partings, he felt that familiar gloved hand settle on his shoulder. Before he knew it, he was back in that stone hall, retracing the route. His expression was neutral, but inwardly he was irritated.

There was no reason for them to zig-zag like this, visiting every single damn location. 'Even if this asshole told me this was the quickest way, I wouldn't believe him!' He thought. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was an attempt to confuse him --- the butler was trying to prevent him from learning the layout of the mansion.

But, more than that, it was something else that pissed him off. '…and that villainous bedroom --- it almost killed me!' He thought. Mr. Fetcher had intentionally put him in a deadly situation; whether or not he'd only been following orders was irrelevant. The grudge between the two of them was irreconcilable --- if he was ever in a situation where he'd gained the upper hand, then the butler better not expect him to be merciful!

Jane and Ms. Squint walked next to each other. They were headed for the North Wing, where Jane's room was located; it was the same one from her childhood. She'd have been able to find her way on her own, but it was customary for her to be escorted.

Silence stretched between them --- the maid was as expressionless as ever, but Jane wore a look of contemplation. Eventually, she spoke. "Where is everyone, and why is it so quiet? I haven't seen a single maid or manservant, aside from you and Mr. Fetcher." She remarked confusedly.

The manor from her youth had been a very lively place, teeming with activity even at night. Yes, it had always been dark --- neither her father or her mother had ever tolerated unsupervised flames; the risk of fire was something that worried them greatly --- but it had never been so… dead.

The maid stopped walking, prompting Jane to do the same. After a few moments of quiet staring, she replied. "Perhaps you should ask the madam." She stated coolly.

Jane drew her brows together, but, before she could say anything, Ms. Squint continued. "Why did you not bring it with you?" She asked, looking down at Jane's arms.

The twenty-six-year-old woman was momentarily confused before she suddenly realized what the maid was talking about. In the light of the lantern they shared between them, Jane's cheeks gained a red tint.

After covering her eyes with one hand, she spoke --- her face was the picture of embarrassment. "Goodness, I'm not a little girl anymore! I can't be carrying around dolls at my age!" She said, spluttering underneath her breath.

For the first time, Ms. Squint's face gained a hint of emotion. "I. Sewed. It. For. You. Miss." She said, enunciating every word.

Jane covered her face with both hands. "I've put it on my pillow, haven't I?" She asked, sounding like she was about to die of shame.

The maid extended her arms and took Jane by the shoulders. "I want you to keep it with you, always." She said. Her featureless eyes, as perfectly white as porcelain, were wide open.

It would've been disturbing to anyone else, but Ms. Squint had been with Jane ever since she could remember --- not only was she a mother figure to her, but she was also her best friend.

Needless to say, the young woman's resolve crumpled in front of the maid's uncharacteristic emotion. "…all-right, all-right! I'll carry it with me to tomorrow's breakfast!" She said, sounding vaguely resentful.

Ms. Squint shook her head gently. "Not good enough." She said, extending a finger and prodding Jane's nose. "I never want to see you without it, understood?" The maid demanded, looking like she was about to pull the girl over her lap and deliver a spanking if she refused.

Jane capitulated. "Fine, I'll do as you say!" She said exhaustedly.

Ms. Squint didn't express her approval in any way, but Jane could sense that she'd been mollified. 'I don't know why she projects such a cold persona.' Jane thought. Ms. Squint was one of the kindest people she knew --- the thought of the head maid staying up late, sewing a doll for her as a present, made her chest feel warm.

Not for the first time, she recalled the moment she decided to run away with Benjamin --- it was something she couldn't help but regret. "I'm sorry." She said with genuine sadness. "I ran off without even saying goodbye."

Jane didn't know what she'd been thinking --- she could only blame it on youthful stupidity, and on a 'the grass is always greener on the other side' mentality. She'd wanted to escape her strict upbringing, but where had she escaped to? A man who had no respect for her, and a life of poverty and insignificance --- that's where.

She'd never been able to shake the feeling that ten years of her life had been wasted. Sometimes, although she'd never admit it to herself, she'd felt a faint resentment towards Arthur --- if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have been bound so tightly to Benjamin. He was the perfect child, there was no doubt about that. Still, his excellent behavior wouldn't return her best years to her.

'Annabel, Jolene, Marcy and Fiona --- I wonder what they're doing, now?' She thought. They were the girls she'd grown up with --- children from families as esteemed as hers. 'We used to write letters to each other…' She remembered. They'd lived far apart, only meeting in person a handful of times every year.

Ms. Squint was watching Jane carefully, observing her changing expressions. Finally, she spoke. "There's no need to apologize to me, miss." She said stoically.

Jane snapped out of her thoughts. She'd drifted off to the extent that she'd forgotten she was in a conversation.

With a look of uncertainty, she glanced at the maid. "What did you think of him?" She asked with sudden desperation. It could be said that there was nobody who's opinion she valued more than Ms. Squint's. She dreaded her response, yet she had to know.

Of course, the head maid immediately knew who she was talking about. After a moment of deliberation, she answered. "He is very polite. You've raised him well." She said simply. However, the look on her face was indecipherable.

Jane didn't notice her oddness. Instead, she immediately felt relief wash over her. Given who it was coming from, it was a substantial compliment. "I'm glad." She said, giving a small laugh. "Although, I have to say, I had no idea Arthur could eat that much --- I hope he'll be alright."

After she'd regained her composure, the maid answered. "He's a growing boy." She stated, as if that was supposed to explain how he'd eaten enough to food for five grown men.

Jane shook her head. "No, it's odd, no matter how you look at it…" She started.

The two women continued their conversation like that, chatting amicably on their way to the North Wing.

"…prepared your sleepwear. I've hung them from the dresser." Mr. Fetcher said, having escorted Arthur to his room. He indicated towards the clothing in question.

The ten-year-old boy gave a thankful nod. "They look very comfortable." He said candidly.

His visage was calm, but inwardly he was fuming. 'It was a different route, this time!' He thought. He wasn't so dumb as to not have noticed! The major landmarks he'd noted were there, but there had been changes, without a doubt! In particular, they'd passed an enormous painting, as tall as two people, that depicted a strange, distorted landscape. He certainly would have remembered something like that!

The butler was trying to do him in, no two ways about it. 'But why? Does he want me to remain dependent on him? Or is there something he doesn't want me to find?' He wondered. In the end, he could only guess the reason --- he'd not even been here a day; there was no way he'd be able to figure out the dastardly servant's motivations that quickly.

'Never mind, it doesn't matter.' He thought. Whatever their schemes were, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. On the contrary, if he did something to arouse their suspicions, it would only be counterproductive. The tablet was his only hope to turn the tables on them.

After the manservant had helped him get ready for the night, he walked over to the door. However, before he left, he glanced at Arthur over his shoulder. One second turned into ten and, before the boy knew it, he'd been stared at for half a minute.

Eventually, he could no longer bear it, so he broke the silence. "Is something wrong, Mr. Fetcher?" He asked, grinding his teeth inwardly. He didn't care what kind of creature the man was --- he was sure the fucker was just trying to creep him out!

Suddenly, Arthur felt a bout of dizziness beset him. He unconsciously stuck out an arm and gripped the bedpost, trying to steady himself. Without warning, the tablet sprung up and a new line of words were inscribed on its surface!

'IRRUMATIO DETECTA! IMPEDIENS!'

The words heated up until they were glowing red --- it was intense, but not to the level of the symbology from earlier today. Arthur felt his heart dropping into his stomach; he'd just increased his 'Potentia', now it was already being drained!

However, just as abruptly as it appeared, the pressure suddenly vanished. The return to clarity was like a bucket of icy water being dumped over his head, and he automatically dropped onto the bed.

"Are you unwell, young master…? I thought you looked pale." The butler asked 'kindly'.

The 'genuine' concern in his voice made Arthur want to vomit. He hurriedly refuted the statement. "No, I'm just tired, that's all." He said. He didn't dare to question Mr. Fetcher's behavior any further. What he wanted most right now was for the damn creature to get the hell out of here!

The manservant raised a hand to his mouth in 'realization'. "In that case, I won't disturb you. Please rest well." He said 'apologetically'.

Arthur watched as the door opened and closed silently. Mr. Fetcher had never so much as touched it --- what could it be, aside from some kind of sorcery? He felt an intense conflict within himself; there were so many questions left unanswered.

'He's intentionally exposing me to the supernatural, yet he doesn't mention it at all.' He thought. It was all so incomprehensible --- if this was some kind of training, then there was no reason for them to be so secretive about it. After all, it was impossible to be taught a subject if your teacher refused to talk about it.

'Unless I have to self-study? Maybe that's part of the 'rite-of-passage'.' He thought. In the end, he had no choice but to put the matter to rest. There was just no way to confirm or rule out any of his guesses.

He considered just getting into his bed and going to sleep --- the silk sheets seemed incredibly comfortable. However, he took the lantern Mr. Fetcher had left behind and stood. It barely even qualified as a light source. 'A single fucking firefly would've been worth more than this shitty candle.' He thought.

He carefully walked into the lounge area, feeling the soft carpet underneath his toes. There was something he still had to investigate, or else he'd never be able to go to sleep. Like a burglar, he crept deeper into the darkness.

When he approached the vanity, he made sure to check if it was still covered. It was, so he continued. The place was really, really big --- it was closer to being a small house, just with the walls taken out.

Eventually he made it to the other side; rather than a wall, there was a hole there. It actually continued! He'd noticed it earlier today --- the whole space was basically a square, with the bedroom being an 'L' shape, wrapping around the bathroom. He still hadn't checked what was around the corner!

He quietly drew a breath before continuing.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 21, 2022

Arthur carefully approached the corner. As he drew closer, the light, cast by his lantern, illuminated the floor. The dark, rust-colored carpet reached its end, giving way to a lacquered wooden surface. It had an interesting look --- there weren't any identifiable boards or planks; it was all one solid thing, like it had been cut from the world's thickest tree. It was so perfect, and the grain so smooth, that he couldn't help but bend over and touch it. It felt oily underneath his fingertips, but when he rubbed them together, they were dry. He straightened his back before continuing.

As he journeyed into the bowls of the room, he saw something strange --- various pieces of furniture were littered around the place; that's what he deduced from their shapes, at least. The reason he wasn't completely sure was because they'd all been covered --- sections of white cloth, cut into varying sizes, had been draped over everything. There were chairs, sofas, tables, desks --- even something that looked like a globe-stand.

He suddenly got the feeling that he shouldn't be in here. The place felt like a storage room for valuables and for things that were no longer being used. '…or shouldn't be used.' He thought. His gut was telling him to leave it be, yet he couldn't help himself. His feet continued onward, and as they did, the stuff around him started getting more and more unfathomable. At first, they were normal things --- he saw a few books, a brass vase, an inkwell, a stack of paper…

However, when he saw a huge shape, loosely covered by something that looked like an enormous, stitched piece of leather, he couldn't help but scrunch his brows. Where it came into contact with the floor, he could see something gleaming --- it was a dull, metallic color. More than that, it was the many copper pipes, growing out from underneath the leather before sinking into the wall, that furiously stoked his curiosity.

He didn't know when it happened, but he found himself standing in front of it, holding a part of the cover. It had already been lifted up by him, exposing a very peculiar contraption: it seemed like a type of distillatory vessel, with countless dials, valves and switches. Truthfully, he had no idea if his guess was correct, but it did seem like its function was related to fluids or gasses.

'What is this thing, but, more than that, how did it get up here? Some of these parts are too large to fit through the door!' He wondered. He could only shake his head inwardly before releasing the corner, letting it drop to the floor. He'd so many unanswered questions already, most of which were more confounding. This was simply another one to add to the ever-growing pile.

He was feeling pressured for some reason, so he hastened his search. At the very least, he wanted to get to the end before he could be completely satisfied. He encountered more curiosities --- there were chemical, or alchemical beakers of all shapes and sizes, littered all over the place. He noticed them because some of the cloths had slipped down; likely because of their smooth surfaces. There were more copper pipes, also. These weren't attached to anything --- they were simply lying loosely, unscrewed from each other. Likewise, they came in different shapes, lengths and diameters.

It became more cluttered the further he went, and more difficult to traverse. The floor was densely covered in miscellanea, and he had to carefully scoot around it all --- he didn't want to accidentally knock something over.

Finally, he reached the end; it was tidier than everything up to that point. It was spacious and free of detritus, and there was a single desk there. It called to him in a way he couldn't explain --- he hurriedly made his way over to it, and pulled away the cloth.

It was the most incredible desk he'd ever seen --- it seemed like the kind of thing that costed more money than the average person saw in their lifetime. He wanted to examine it more closely, but, he felt that, if he were to set the old lantern down on its polished surface, craftsmen all over the world would spontaneously die from indignation.

He extended one hand and carefully ran it over the wooden surface. 'I could spend my whole life looking at this thing.' He thought. It was so incredibly detailed that he was sure he'd notice something new about it, every time he reexamined it. His investigation drew him in and, before he knew it, he was rubbing his sore lower-back and yawning, having become aware of the passage of time.

He straightened his hunched posture. 'This desk has to be hiding some secret, but I need to get some sleep. I can't afford to be witless from exhaustion, come tomorrow.' He thought. However, before he could return, something caught his eye. It was a familiar swirling pattern, one that immediately provoked his sense of concern. Fortunately, it seemed less aggressive --- more in line with what he'd seen outside his bedchambers.

Again, he experienced a sensation on being 'drawn in', but he was able to keep a hold of his senses. Keeping one of his eyes closed, he followed the wriggling lines --- they seemed to be going somewhere, twisting around an unknown point like water around a whirlpool. Tracing his fingers over its surface, he followed it until he came to the origin. It was a small oval shape, about the size of a thumb.

The moment his finger reached it, he suddenly heard a soft hissing sound before something thin and sharp pierced his flesh. "Ow!" He exclaimed. He hurriedly brought his hand to his face and saw a drop of blood, beading on his skin.

Then, there was a soft, drawn-out sound, like a fishing-reel being unwound. Abruptly, a section of the desk slid open. Arthur froze --- there had been nothing to suggest a compartment; he knew, because he'd checked for one.

He silently crept over to it and looked inside --- it was about as long as his forearm, and half as wide. Within it, a book laid. It had a brown, leather cover, and it wasn't very thick; about the width of two fingers, by his estimation. There were two words written on its surface.

'Libre Maleficia.'

Arthur felt as if he'd been struck by a hammer. He immediately recognized the second word. 'It's the same as the tablet!' He thought. He quickly brought it up, and confirmed his guess. 'This must've belonged to the old man!' He realized. This had been his room, after all.

He thought back to the promise he'd made to himself --- that he wouldn't stick his nose into anything that could prove to be troublesome, but this was different! Those inscriptions had done something to him; he could still feel the after effects. If this book contained the solution, then he needed to read it!

He carefully reached into the small drawer with one hand and touched the book. The moment he did, something incredible happened! Not only did a new line of text appear on the tablet, but the book's pages rapidly fluttered, from the first page to the last. He felt a massive quantity of information enter his brain through his eyeballs.

'SCIENTA ASSIMILATUM!'

He rapidly blinked, feeling a burning sensation travelling from his optical nerves into his brain. Once it reached the center of his mind, it ballooned outwards until it occupied his entire skull. Arthur gripped his head; the pain was getting worse by the second --- it was as if someone had connected a bicycle pump to his head, and was trying furiously to inflate it.

His knees touched the ground, and he felt a warm liquid dripping out of his eyes, nose and ears. There was a tinny noise in his ears, like his brainwaves hadn't been calibrated properly. It kept getting louder to the point where it became disorienting.

He reached out a hand in an effort to steady himself, but he missed and toppled over onto the floor. Different patterns and colors swam in his vision, and he felt like he was about to vomit. As the seconds ticked by, his condition escalated to the point where he felt like he could pass out at any moment.

A sudden pulsating ache, more powerful than the rest, smashed into him like a bowling ball, and he felt parts of himself scattering into different directions. Before he lost consciousness, he saw the tablet change again.

'Maleficia [ 0.0 ] -> [ 0.3 ]'

"…rested well, young master?" The butler directed the question at Arthur, who was in the process of dressing for breakfast.

The youth smiled thinly. "I did. Thank you, Mr. Fetcher." He said, slipping on his black leather shoes before tying their laces. After he'd finished, he took the vest the butler offered him and put it on. When he was done, he followed the manservant out into the hallway. Naturally, he was keeping the events of last night to himself.

His mouth moved as he made small talk with Mr. Fetcher, but inwardly he was thinking his own thoughts. 'Fortunately, this place is a bit less scary during daytime.' He remarked to himself. This time, the butler wasn't guiding him from behind --- they were walking side by side. He didn't ask why, but he had a feeling that, last night, the butler had been 'bringing up the rear', so to speak.

Thoughts were swirling behind Arthur's eyes. 'It seems there are things he'll protect me from, and others he won't.' He realized. It was troublesome --- if he knew more, he'd be able to use the knowledge to his advantage. However, given that he didn't know the rules, he couldn't take any chances.

It was the manual from last night that had provoked a desire within him --- its contents were… useful. If there were more like it, then he wanted to find them. It was the library he'd seen yesterday that immediately came to mind.

Their conversation had lulled, so Arthur was able to contemplate in silence. 'Regarding the symbols, it was educational indeed!' He thought. He could perfectly recall the book's contents, from the first page to the last --- not only that, but he understood it; as well as anything he'd ever studied.

First, he was appalled --- disturbed, even. Truthfully, he still was, but… he couldn't deny the allure of those yellowing pages. More than anything else, it provided a way forward --- a method through which he could triumph over his perilous situation.

When his disgust had transformed into exaltation, he'd needed to calm himself. 'This strength is not an absolute advantage, because it isn't mine alone.' He realized. After all, his mysterious grandfather had been the previous owner --- there was even a possibility he was the author.

That surely meant the old devil was more accomplished that he was. Arthur very much doubted that his own understanding of the contents were superior; he didn't actually have any practical experience either.

He idly fiddled with the collar of his dress-shirt. 'It's dangerous, but I'll have to try it out. I simply have no other method of getting stronger.' He thought. There was 'Spontanea Evocatio', but it was a complete unknown to him. Maleficia was dangerous, but he understood the way forward, and what he would gain. He would never have considered something that could cause him to self-destruct; not normally, at least. It was the existence of the tablet that gave him the confidence to try.

His eyes lazily scanned the surroundings, but, in reality, he was trying to map the hallways. 'I must find the library!' He resolved. If he did manage it, then he would go there as soon as possible. However, it had to be during the day, when the mansion was safer.

Breakfast was to be had around the dinner table. There were three participants --- Arthur, Jane and the old woman from yesterday; it went without saying that she was his grandmother. The boy still didn't know her name, nor that of his grandfather. He found that he didn't care.

He raised a spoonful of delicious, maze porridge to his lips and blew on it softly. Butter, brown-sugar and full-cream milk --- the three ingredients transformed the plain cereal into something sinfully scrumptious. 'It's quiet.' He noted. After the three of them had exchanged their greetings, nobody had said anything. The atmosphere was tense --- the old biddy was responsible for it.

He took the time to contemplate the Libre Maleficia's contents --- from what he understood of the, the author's studies were incomplete. Observing something that wasn't materialistic in any way was predictably difficult; it was only through 'Thaumaturgy' that the author had managed to investigate it.

'It's possible that the splinters in my flesh is purely a thaumaturgical phenomenon, but I have a feeling that isn't the case.' He speculated. The fact that he could feel them made him doubt that claim. 'According to the author, that perception is simply an illusion, produced by the interaction with the 'Anima' overlay-network. Still, I'm not convinced…' He pondered the issue while continuing with his breakfast.

A clinking sound roused him from his thoughts. He looked up from his fourth bowl of porridge to see his grandmother, holding her teacup in the air with her spoon next to it. "After you have finished your breakfast, Fetcher will present your schedule. That is all." She said, abruptly standing and turning before she floated out of the dining room.

Arthur watched silently as she left. He'd noted her plate --- a fancy looking dish rested on top of it; the type of meagre, overpriced item that wouldn't satisfy anyone's hunger. It was practically untouched.

When she was gone, Jane spoke up. "Apparently, she's hired someone to homeschool you. I would've preferred differently, but, well…" She started, only to close her mouth halfway through. After giving her head an imperceptible shake, she sighed and returned to her breakfast.

Arthur could guess what she'd left unsaid --- his grandmother wouldn't have been willing to send him to a boarding school. 'Keeping me on a tight leash, aren't they…?' He summarized. It only served to reinforce his convictions --- he wasn't willing to have them dictate his life.

'It's not impossible that this is all part of their grooming-plan; trying to make me the perfect successor…' He thought. However, not only did he doubt it, but it wasn't a safe assumption to make. It was better to believe their intentions were nefarious; that way, if he was wrong, the only consequence would be pleasant surprise on his part.

Naturally, he was stuffing himself as much as he could. And, now that the foul woman was gone, he felt less of a need to restrain himself. The butler wasn't here either; Jane and Ms. Squint already knew how ferocious his appetite was. He'd already devoured all the porridge, and was now generously slathering butter over a piece of toasted white-bread.

Jane watched him from across the table, looking vaguely horrified.

The boy hardly even noticed her --- his mind and body were preoccupied. In particular, he was considering what his mother had just told him --- naturally, this 'tutor' of his wasn't going to be normal either. 'I'm so outnumbered it isn't even funny.' He realized. He didn't even really know what any of these 'people' were capable of --- not knowing his enemy was something that troubled him extremely.

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f0Ri5 · Dec 23, 2022

Their breakfast had concluded, and Arthur was now on his way to meet his tutor. 'I wonder what they're going to teach me…?' He thought. He was sure the lessons weren't going to provide him with valuable information --- that would be counterproductive.

He'd realized how much his ignorance was hampering him, and had drawn a conclusion --- the mansion's inhabitants were keeping him in the dark because they knew, if he didn't understand anything, he'd be unable to come up with countermeasures. Also, it made him even more sure that he wasn't being groomed to inherit the household --- if he was, then he would have needed to know the truth.

Arthur's lips curled into a small frown. 'Whatever they have in store for me, it seems they can't put their plans into action just yet. I'm sure they're either waiting or preparing for something.' He thought.

It was the presence of the Vermes (the true name for the thaumaturgical splinters, written in the Libre Maleficia) that substantiated his guess --- it'd been purposefully injected into his Anima. From what he'd read in the book, Anima was the essence, spirit or soul, through which an occultist manipulated the physical word --- his Mystica was a possible representation of the same.

Whatever the reason, he was sure it was part of their preparations. 'Nothing in the book provided me with clues as to why they'd done it. If I look at the tablet, my value for Maleficia is only [ 0.3 ]. I already knew it, but that is definite proof that the tome wasn't complete.' He summarized.

It was a nasty guess on his part that unveiled the truth. 'The 'Libre Maleficia' doesn't mention it outright, but the 'Vermes' give me the impression of being some sort of codependent, thaumaturgic organism --- it reinforces the host's 'Anima' in return for… shelter? Sustenance? I don't know…' He wondered, letting his thoughts flow freely.

Abrutply, he heard a sound in his mind, like chalk scratching on a blackboard. Suddenly, 'Maleficia' underwent a change --- it's value increased from [ 0.3 ] to [ 0.35 ], representing his growing understanding of the skill.

Arthur was so shocked that he stopped in his tracks. His pupils widened and dread pooled in his stomach. It'd just been idle speculation --- he hadn't expected to be right! 'You can't be serious…!!' He thought. Knowing that he really was stuffed full of magical parasites was enough to send him into a panic.

The butler, who'd been escorting Arthur to his destination, noticed his oddity. "Is something wrong, young master?" He asked, turning his head to look at the ten-year-old boy standing behind him.

Arthur was as pale as a sheet, but outwardly his expression remained unchanged. His fight-or-flight response tended to default to 'freeze' --- it was a helpful instinct, since it served to conceal his distress.

'That's why the tablet reacted that way…!!!' He realized. If it had just been another skill like 'Spontanea Evocatio', then it wouldn't have needed to defend him. However, since it was some kind of invasive entity, the reaction made sense. '…but how? How on earth did those inscriptions do that…?!' He thought. It made no sense --- there was a big difference between an actual organism and a few scratched, squiggly lines!

Fortunately, he was able to calm down quickly. 'At least I can rely on the tablet to suppress the outbreak --- my 'Potentia' has grown from [ 0.2] to [ 0.3 ]. The defenses only consumed [ 0.1 ] last time --- my reserves should be more than enough.' He deliberated.

After he'd collected himself, he reassured the manservant. "I was just lost in thought for a moment, Mr. Fetcher. We can continue." He said with overt calm.

The butler nodded, looking like he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. "We wouldn't want to be late. It was the madam who organized it for you --- it wouldn't do to disappoint her." He said placidly.

Arthur could read between the lines --- he was being told to stop dilly-dallying and to get on with it. "Yes." He said simply, falling into step behind the butler.

A thirty-something man with curly, black hair and a luxurious moustache quietly waited in an empty room. He was sitting in a comfortable chair, casually sipping a cup of coffee. He had a serene, erudite look about him.

He casually paged through a history book. 'It seems I've successfully infiltrated the household!' He thought. The more he saw of the place, the more convinced he became that his suspicions weren't unfounded.

About two years ago, he'd been visiting a friend of his in Britain. He himself was an archaeologist and a historian, and often attended meetings with colleagues to discuss new theories or discoveries.

He hadn't intended to get involved with the magical world at that time --- he desired normalcy, now and then (goodness knows, he got precious little of it, as it were). However, during that visit, he'd detected a worrisome anomaly; a mystical signature that was extremely familiar to his companion.

Suddenly, while he was in the middle of his inner monologue, a voice spoke inside his mind. 'BE ON YOUR GUARD. THE FORCES OF EVIL DO NOT REST.' It said; its tone had a metallic tinge to it, like its vocal chords were cast out of bronze.

Kent Nelson, wasn't startled --- the entity had been by his side since he was fourteen, and he was used to it by now. 'The forces of evil my not rest, but I do. In fact, I require it.' He said plainly.

The voice ignored him and continued. 'NOW THAT I HAVE DISARMED THE WARDS, I AM SURE OF IT --- DARKNESS SLUMBERS HERE. YOU MUST MAINTAIN CAUTION!' It said, like a father reminding their child not to take their hands off the steering wheel.

Kent was alarmed. 'You disarmed the wards…?!' He said, feeling like he was about to start a rant. However, before he could finish his tirade, the voice interrupted him.

'CALM YOURSELF, NELSON, AND DO NOT PROJECT YOUR IGNORANCE ONTO ME. MY UNDERSTANDING OF THE ARTS FAR EXCEEDS YOUR OWN.' The voice said derisively.

The archaeologist sighed and rubbed his temples --- dealing with Nabu always gave him a headache. 'That's not what I mean and you know it! I just don't understand why you don't warn me before you do these kinds of things!' He said internally. It was an argument they've had many times, but it never went anywhere.

Nabu was unimpressed. 'NATURALLY, I HAVE MY OWN DESIGNS. IT IS ENOUGH FOR YOU TO KNOW THAT, WHEN THE TIME COMES, I WILL APPEAR AND EXTERMINATE THIS INFESTATION.' The entity said, giving little consideration to its host.

Kent pinched in nose in frustration. 'The evil you detected --- is it a servant of chaos?' He asked, brushing aside their quarrel for the time being. One of them had to be the bigger man, proverbially speaking, or they wouldn't get anywhere.

The presence inside the helm (which he'd worn for this excursion; it would be too unsafe otherwise) was quiet for a moment before it spoke. '…I AM UNCERTAIN. FURTHER INVESTIGATION IS REQUIRED.' It said.

The scholar nodded inwardly. 'It's a lucky thing --- I almost didn't get this post; their requirements were very exacting.' He said to Nabu, feeling more nervous as time passed and his new 'student' remained absent. He'd been here since last night --- given how out-of-the-way the property was, room-and-board was provided. He'd received a private, detached cottage, located near the edge of the woods.

He thought back to his arrival yesterday --- the manservant had picked him up from the station. They'd insisted; in any other context, it would've been a considerate gesture, but, now that he was here, he felt they wanted him to be as dependent as possible.

His rest had been pleasant enough. Not only that, but dinner had been brought to him. He hadn't stepped foot in the mansion until today. The first thing that'd struck him upon entering was how dark it was --- he'd mentioned it to madam, and she'd informed him that they didn't have electricity, and that they were worried about fire, so they didn't keep the lanterns lit.

It seemed reasonable enough, given how abundantly lavish their property was, but Nabu had immediately detected a few abnormalities. 'THIS WOMAN IS A SOUL PUPPET.' It had said, after the conversation with the 'woman' had concluded. It was good that he did, because Kent would have jumped out of his skin if he'd said it in the moment. She looked so real!

Abruptly, there was a knock on the door. He quickly snapped out of it and directed his attention to the portal. When it opened, two figures were revealed --- it was the butler with a young boy by his side.

Kent quickly stood and greeted the two of them. "How do you do? I am Kent Nelson --- I will be tutoring you from today onwards." He said, sticking out his hand towards the lad. He may have jumped the gun a bit, but it was out of nervousness.

Kent gave the boy a brief once-over. He wasn't particularly short or tall for his age, but he was on the thin side, from what the archaeologist could see of his face. His hair was dirty-blonde and his eyes were a light-brown colour. He was pale, but it wasn't out of the ordinary --- Britain wasn't the sunniest place in the world.

The lad returned his greeting. "I'm Arthur. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir." He said, taking the offered hand.

The moment their fingers touched, Kent detected an almost imperceptible change in the youth. He could sense the tension draining out of him; his handshake, which had been limp and cautious, became firm and enthusiastic. It was a strange thing to witness.

Arthur's felt the stiffness retreat from his neck and shoulders, and his lips involuntarily turned upwards. 'Thank goodness! This is an actual human being, at least.' He thought, feeling relieved. He'd expected some kind of poorly-disguised creature for a tutor.

For a handful of seconds, the two individuals silently analysed each other. Their facades were both genial and unoffensive, but neither truly knew what the other was thinking.

It was Mr. Fetcher who broke the silence. "I must take my leave, I'm afraid. I'll return once the lessons are finished --- the miss would like you to join her in the garden, this afternoon." He said, directing the statement at Arthur.

The boy nodded. He was looking forward to spending more time with his mother; since their arrival, they hadn't met outside the dining room. "Yes, thank you." He said.

When the butler exited the room and the door closed behind him, Kent spoke. "I thought we'd start off with French --- it's always good to know the language of those you'll be having dealings with." He said, walking over to the podium.

Arthur had already surveyed the room; it was a lecture hall, as well equipped as any he'd ever seen. Rows of desks lined the floor --- enough to seat thirty-odd people, by his estimation. Filled bookshelves covered the walls --- the manuals' covers were sleek and beautiful.

In his previous life, he'd a wealthy uncle who owned a collection of the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica'. These gave him a similar impression, although there were far more volumes. He supposed this much shouldn't surprise him, given what he'd already seen, but he couldn't help it.

He looked toward his lecturer, who stood with his back to a smooth, shiny blackboard. The dark surface was spotless --- it seemed like it'd never been used. "The English have dealings with the French?" He asked jokingly.

Kent smiled genially. "You'd be surprised how quickly historical disagreements are forgotten when there's money to be made." He said, paging through a book before turning and writing a sentence on the blackboard.

"I've been told that you've no experience with the language, but that's all-right. The purpose of this course is basic proficiency only --- once you're able to speak and read simple sentences, I will consider it as mission accomplished." He said.

When he'd finished writing, he abruptly turned. "Ah, but if you have any questions about me before we start, feel free to ask." He said, adjusting the round spectacles on his nose.

Arthur's eyebrows rose. He was becoming more sure of the fact that this guy was a recent hire --- if he'd been a part of the estate's staff, he wouldn't have been so open. 'What did they tell you when they hired you?' was what he wanted to ask, but he thought that would sound too strange. "Are you a lecturer by profession?" He asked instead.

Kent fiddled with his tie before speaking. "I am a researcher, mainly. However, I regularly present to undergraduates." He said, clarifying his position.

Arthur's confusion returned. 'This guy seems like the real deal. Again, I don't understand why the old woman is doing this... Is it just a scheme to keep me occupied?' He thought. 'I guess even animals raised for slaughter are let out of the barn, now and then.' He concluded, deciding that his guess was probably not far from the truth.

If that were the case, it would put him at ease. At the very least, it meant that whatever they were waiting or preparing for wouldn't arrive soon --- that they were putting effort into pacifying him suggested a long-term plan. What he wanted most was to seclude himself in his room and develop his Thaumaturgy, not participate in useless lessons that didn't help his situation. Their assumptions about what he desired were completely incorrect --- it was almost funny, in a way. They could've saved themselves the effort.

Kent rapped his knuckles on the podium, rousing Arthur from his thoughts. "If there's anything else, you needn't keep it to yourself." He said good-naturedly.

The youth realized he'd been staring into space for an unknown amount of time --- it was an act that he found himself repeating, recently. There were so many things on his mind that he just couldn't help himself. "Uhm, to be honest, I was wondering why you applied for this…?" He asked. Newcastle was hardly an exciting place and, on top of that, the Grimm estate was located in the middle of nowhere. There would be no social life here, and no entertainment.

The tutor thoughtfully stroked his moustache before answering. "…the pay is very good." He said simply, giving Arthur a guileless smile.

The boy snorted involuntarily. "Are you sure you don't want to give a different answer? 'Why, I simply felt called to teach. Youths like yourself are the future, you know' --- something like that would've sounded much nobler." He said, waving his hand mock-pretentiously.

Kent raised an eyebrow. "…you're very mature for your age." He remarked dryly.

Arthur thanked him with a flourish. "I appreciate it." He said, giving a half-bow. He usually wasn't this energetic, but he hadn't been able to have a proper conversation since his arrival; whether it was the maid, the butler or his grandmother --- he wasn't able to relax while they were around.

The archaeologist hummed to himself. "…I'm not sure it was a compliment. Growing up quickly isn't always a good thing…" He remarked. The way he'd said it made it seem like he was speaking from experience. He stood still for a moment, as if he were reliving old memories. Eventually, he returned to the present. "Alright then, since it seems you're out of questions, I'll start the lesson." He said, indicating to the sentence he'd written in French.

As was the case when one was busy, time passed quickly. Despite himself, Arthur became immersed. Learning a new language wasn't necessarily an exciting prospect --- rather than that, it was studying itself, like slipping on an old, familiar glove, that comforted him and provided a sense of normalcy.

It went without saying, but Kent didn't really have an interest in teaching Arthur --- his reason for taking the job was far more serious. However, as time passed, he found himself developing a sense of respect for the boy. It wasn't anything he did; rather than that, it was what he didn't do: his attention never wavered, nor did he grow restless. He engaged with the lecture until it concluded, about four hours later. It was impressive, given his age.

"That'll be it for today." Said he, closing his manual before clearing away the writing on the board. "From tomorrow onwards, you and I will speak only French. Of course, if you don't understand something, I'll help you translate it." He stated, tucking the book under his arm and walking over to Arthur.

The boy nodded in acceptance. "Thank you for the lesson, Sir. Although, I think we finished early --- Mr. Fetcher isn't here yet." He said politely.

Kent rubbed his chin, apparently thinking about something. 'I won't get anywhere by being passive --- this could be an opportunity for me.' He thought. Having decided on a course of action, he spoke. "Why don't you and I head for the garden? I'm sure we'll run into the butler on our way there --- if you don't mind me joining you, that is." He said with a smile. Now was as good a time as any to get a lay of the land, or so he thought.

His offer both worried Arthur and made him feel embarrassed. "Ehm, actually I only arrived yesterday. I don't know where the garden is." He said, trying to dissuade the man from doing something reckless. He'd no idea what lurked in the bowls of this mansion, and he didn't want to find out!

Kent almost couldn't keep the excitement off his face. 'That's perfect! That way, if they find us wandering around, we'll have a good excuse!' He realized. "Oh, don't worry --- I'm sure we'll find our way. Besides, a young fellow like yourself should have a sense of adventure! Why, when I was your age, I got into all kinds of trouble!" He said enthusiastically.

The scholar's words were horrifying to Arthur's ears. However, before he could offer further protest, an arm was suddenly slung over his shoulder and he was lead out of the room.

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Diabolical [DC Comics/Harry Potter SI]

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