Gaston (Disney SI)

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No one's slick as Gaston.
No one's quick as Gaston.
No one's neck's as incredibly thick as Gaston
For there's no man in town half as manly!
(perfect, a pure paragon)
Ask any Tom, Dick or Stanley,
and they'll tell you whose team they prefer to be on!
Who plays darts like Gaston?
Who breaks hearts like Gaston?
Who's much more than the sum of his parts like Gaston?
As a specimen, yes, he's intimidating;
my, what a guy, that Gaston!

He doesn't need encouragement,
you boneheaded fools.
The only ones who need encouragement is you!
(Was that too much? I say no.)

No one fights like Gaston,
douses lights like Gaston.
In a wrestling match nobody bites like Gaston!
When he hunts, he sneaks up with his quiver –
beasts of the field say a prayer!
First he carefully aims for the liver…
then he shoots from behind!
Is that fair?
He doesn't care.

No one hits like Gaston,
matches wits like Gaston.
In a spitting match nobody spits like Gaston.
(He's especially good at expectorating!)
Ten points for Gaston!

When he was a lad he ate four dozen eggs
every morning to help him get large.
And now that he's grown he eats five dozen eggs,
so he's roughly the size of a barge!

Who has brains?
Entertains?
Who can make up these endless refrains like Gaston?
(He uses antlers in all of his decorating!)

Say it again:
Who's a man amongst men?
Who's a super success?
Don't you know?
Can't you guess?
Ask his fans and his end(less) hangers-on!
There's just one guy in town who's got all of it down!
And his name's G-A-S-T-O-N

GASTON!
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Chapter 1
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    The Kingdom of France: 1364 A.D.

    Since 1346 A.D., Europe had been caught in the grip of a terrible plague. Europe's population was scourged. Many wondered: was this a punishment from God? Indeed, it was as if the grim reaper itself had descended to walk amongst men. Young, old, commoner or noble – all were reaped equally.

    That is, until a mysterious doctor, wearing a mask like the head of a crow, had arrived at Pope Clement VI's court. He shared many obscure and unknowable medical insights with the church, calling himself a messenger from God. He informed them that the black plague came from the devil's vermin: rats, mice, fleas and ticks. These things had to be killed on sight, and their corpses burned.

    He also told them of preventative measures that any man could do: avoiding the sick, practicing proper hygiene and so on. The black plague had been brought to heel… or so they thought. Unfortunately, these instructions were only followed by the nobility. Masses of peasants still continued to die excruciating deaths.

    More than a decade had passed with the disease showing no signs of stopping. The monarchies were being ground to a halt under the devastating effects of the illness. Fanatical doom preachers stood on every street corner, heralding the end times. People rioted in the streets, worsening the spread and hanging anyone who dare oppose them. Small skirmishes constantly broke out between countries, keeping the military preoccupied.

    Still, there were many isolated villages which were mostly spared from the having to watch the world burn down around them. Villeneuve was such a village. It sat hidden within one of Europe's endless forests.

    Currently, the village was struck by a mighty storm. Overwhelming bursts of thunder and lightning struck the tallest trees in the nearby woods, charring them black and setting them on fire. Some thinner examples burst outright when touched by the searing, heavenly power.

    Gale-force winds blasted through the empty town streets, ripping any unbolted door or shutter from its frame. Hail pelted the town. Some less robust roofs cracked and shattered under the unrelenting storm of ice. Yet, if one were to look around, it would become clear that most of these houses were abandoned.

    The only visible light flickered behind the thick, frosted glass windows of the local church. From outside, a loud murmuring of many voices could be heard. The population had all decided to take shelter in the church, depending on the thick, brick walls and black stone rooftiles to protect them from the furious weather.

    Inside, many families huddled quietly in God's house as they waited for the storm to pass. It was much less… manic than one would have expected. Indeed, they had grown use to the wicked weather. Some of the older folk swore that this land had once been a temperate paradise, but that had changed almost two decades ago with the coming of the black plague. Now, it was as if the devil himself walked the earth - the land and skies themselves had become hostile to mankind.

    The only hustle-and-bustle in the church could be attributed to one man, and the handful women that surrounded him. The man himself was tall and handsome. His features were noble, and his head was covered in neatly cropped blonde hair.

    "No, I must leave this instant! Now more than ever, her ladyship needs the power of God Almighty." The man was desperately trying to leave the church. Unfortunately, a pretty young woman was desperately clutching onto the hem of his black vestments.

    "Please reconsider, father Fredo! It is not safe for you to be travelling at this time!" She practically started crying as she futilely tried to restrain the local priest from advancing any futher. The rest of the surrounding women all nodded their heads emphatically, desperately begging father Fredo to remain, for his own safety.

    The man sighed, turning around. "Maid Eloise, I appreciate your concern, but I would be no man of God if I were to abandon a mother and her child!" Having said his piece, the man rushed to the great wooden doors of the church while throwing on a large hat as well as a leather coat. He slipped out carefully, ensuring that the doors didn't get blown open by the hurricane winds.

    The maidens watched him go with concern, their lips tightly sealed together.

    "How brave…" Muttered the curly, brown-haired Eloise, raising her cold hands to her warm, flushing cheeks in order to cool them down.



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    On the village's outskirts, an elderly man stood in the window of a large stone house. Compared to the rest of the shabby town, it was practically a mansion.

    The old groundskeeper stared out into the endless grey expanse of fog, rain and hail with despair. There was no way anyone would be able to make it to them in this weather. Not for the first time, he cursed his old, late master's decision to construct this place so far from Villeneuve.

    Suddenly, he spotted the figure of a man. It was approaching at a slow pace, buffeted by the unrelenting storm. The old man rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Confirming that the man was definitely there, he quickly hurried towards the servant's door with excitement.

    He flung the door open, running outside while screaming with abandon. "Fredorichi! Fredorichi!"

    The form of father Fredo slipped, landing harshly on the road that had become a slush of mud and gravel. He desperately oriented himself not to fall on the oiled leather satchel he carried with himself. Scrambling to his feet, he eventually managed to stand straight with the help of the old groundskeeper.

    "Senior Gilette, take me to the Madam's side immediately!" father Fredo shouted, trying his best to make himself heard over the sounds of the storm.

    The old man did not reply, instead choosing to focus all his strength on half-carrying the exhausted priest into the mansion. Once they were inside, father Fredo wasted no time. He hurriedly stormed up the stairs after old Gilette.

    They arrived outside a large, luxurious wooden door. "The lady is inside. Please, Fredo…!" Spoke the old man, tightly wringing his hands together.

    Fredorichi nodded, opening the door and heading inside. Immediately, he noticed the pained sounds of a woman as well as the smell of blood. In the center of the grand room was a large bed. In it lay a woman, clearly in the process of giving birth. One of her hands held tightly onto that of an enormous bearded man with salt and pepper hair.

    He looked up at Fredo's enterance. "Priest…! It is truly God's providence that allowed you to arrive today. Please, aid my wife!" Both of his bulky hands tightly gripped at the lady's frail, feminine fingers.

    Fredo hurried to her side, practically emptying a whole apothecary of vials, potions and concoctions from his satchel. He was not only the village priest, but their doctor as well.

    Seeing the amount of blood staining the bedsheets, the priest looked up at the lord of the house. "How long has she been in labor?"

    The big man shook his head with a bitter expression. "It's been more than eight hours."

    Fredo's expression became serious as he started administering to his patient. These two men had no idea how to deal with a pregnant woman. However, Fredo knew that they were not without a midwife by choice. The situation in Villeneuve was not good…

    His hands were a blur as he dabbed, poured, cut and wiped.

    The gray-haired Gilette had retreated from the room, shutting the door behind him. The only ones left were the priest, the lord and his lady.

    Fredorichi spoke. "Lord La Fayette, please help me raise the lady. The process becomes more difficult when she's flat on her back." The giant nodded, grabbing a lot of embroidered pillows in one arm. He lifted his wife easily with the other and stuffed the pillows behind her back.

    "Her waist must be raised as well."

    The baron hurried to comply.

    After taking a few minutes to perfect the lady's positioning, they finally managed to arrange her laying-position to achieve a gradual incline. The beautiful woman's face relaxed, her pain seemingly easing somewhat.

    For the first time, she was able to speak. "Fredorichi, thank you… Do not worry about me, please just save the child."

    Lord La Fayette's face crumpled at her words. "Jeanne, do not be ridiculous!"

    Fredo shook his head. "There is no need to worry. Things are not so dire – both madam and child will certainly survive the ordeal."

    Both of the other individuals seemed to relax at his words.

    The priest nodded his head in satisfaction at their reactions. "Here, drink some of this." He handed a vial of strong-smelling spirits to lady Jeanne.

    She looked at it incredulously.

    Noticing her expression, Fredo spoke. "It will help relax your ladyship, as well as dull the pain."

    She looked at the priest a little doubtfully, before deciding to trust his advice. However, she was too weak to drink the alcohol herself.

    "Claude, please raise the flask to my lips."

    Her husband rushed to comply. Jeanne forced herself to take three sips, before she could no longer continue. The liquid was terribly strong and bitter!

    "That is enough."

    Claude La Fayette removed the drink from his wife's mouth, before looking at it with consideration. He decided to take a few swigs himself before placing it on the bedside table.

    "I will compensate you for this, Fredorichi."

    The priest did not reply, instead immersing himself in his role as 'midwife'.

    After a few minutes, Jeanne visibly started becoming more relaxed. At that time, the most nervous individual was none other than the baron himself. He knew better than anyone how vital this moment was. Jeanne had already suffered through no less than three excruciating stillbirths.

    After the second, he'd pleaded with her to cease their attempts at having a child. However, she refused. Jeanne was determined to become a mother. This time, they needed to succeed. If this child perished as well, he knew with certainty that his wife would die, even if her body survived the birth.

    He clenched his jaw so tightly that blood started seeping from his gums. Of course, he knew the reason for their struggles. The source was none other than his own sins. God had every right to punish him, but his wife had no part in it! She was innocent!

    After the third stillbirth, Claude had departed from God. Jeanne had almost died that day. He could feel his faith shattering as he watched his wife scream in pain, black blood pouring from between her legs.

    He desperately tried to persuade her to forgo a fourth pregnancy. Unfortunately, she was iron-willed.

    "Claude… I want nothing more than to hold our precious child in my arms. After everything that we've persevered through, everything we've lost, this is the only hope that remains in my life. If you are unwilling to help me conceive a child… then I will not continue living any longer"

    He'd begged, crying like a toddler, that she not go through with this – out of consideration for him, if nothing else. However, he could tell from the look in her eyes that she would not bend. Her icy gaze was that of a madwoman.

    During one drunken night spent confessing his dissolving faith and his wife's suicidal resolve to priest Fredorichi, he'd learned of something… unspeakable.

    Fredorichi, who at that time was equally drunk, had let a hair-raising piece of information slip. He knew of a way to guarantee a successful pregnancy… although he hadn't phrased it exactly like that.

    In the priest's inebriated state, he'd told Claude of an eldritch ritual used by a cult of satan-worshipping madmen. He'd expressly told Claude that, no matter what, he must never attempt such a thing. It was not worth risking his eternal soul for the matters of the physical world, no matter how tragic his situation was.

    Claude La Fayette had made sure to enthusiastically agree. He would never do such a thing! Yet, as the night continued and the two became more inebriated, he managed to draw more of the ritual's details from Fredo's loosened lips. Truly, it was something which would surely damn any man's soul to the never-ending fires of the abyss.

    As for the authenticity of the information? It was not strange for Fredo to know of something like this, as he'd been a fanatical member of the catholic inquisition during his youth. Claude had once been shown both his emblem and his sword, which he'd kept to this day.

    Claude La Fayette resolutely made his decision. He was already doomed, and not a single life on the face of this world could compare to that of his wife… and his child. The night of Jeanne's conception, he'd proceeded with the ritual.

    He had six infants were captured from the surrounding villages, in order to avoid suspicion. Their limbs bounded and their mouths stuffed, they were brought to Villeneuve in secret. Claude still retained his connections from when… well, it was better to not mention that.

    That night, after laying with his wife and drugging her unconscious, he… slew the babes where they ley captive in the cellar. He took that innocent, bright red blood, and mixed it with other unspeakable ingredients into an unholy, black liquid. His face was stone cold and resolved. There was one small mercy – they'd been born to impoverished, helpless commoners, and were likely destined to live a life of suffering.

    He took that tincture up to where Jeanne lay, sleeping peacefully. Using a thin horsetail brush, he drew the required occult symbols on her flawless, marble skin. He set up that satanic ritual, his eyes mad and desperate. Surely God would not condemn her for something she had no part in…

    'God, if you judge her for this… I will become a scourge on this earth, even if I have to return from the dead. I will kill every last one of your believers. By the devil, you will weep when you see what I've done to them!'

    He proceeded with the ritual, his mouth uttering esoteric syllables that would make the hairs on the back of any listener's necks stand up. After a time, a black wind sprung forth in the sealed room. The floors, windows, walls and ceiling started to groan as if something was trying to force its way in.

    For the first time since he'd decided on this course of action, Claude felt fear. He considered giving up.

    'No! I must do this! Whatever comes, I will protect Jeanne… And if we perish here today, she will surely be saved. She's been a God-fearing woman her whole life.'

    Claude tried to calm himself without success. He'd started seeing… things at the corners of his vision. They were… smiling at him.

    His whole body became numb and cold with fear. It was as he was transported to a different place. He could no longer speak, yet his mouth kept moving, muttering the god-forsaken words against his will. He did not even know what he was saying anymore – the priest certainly hadn't told him any of this.

    What was supposed to be a simple ritual was becoming something much… more.

    He was no longer in a room, and Jeanne was no longer on a bed. Instead, they were in an unnatural forest, with her laying on an old, engraved stone tablet in a little clearing. The trees cast pitch black shadows beneath their barren bows. Yet, he could see them... the creatures. They were there, calling out to him. No, to Jeanne, their eyes fixed on her abdomen… towards the unborn child!

    'Save us, save us, save us, save us, save us.'

    Tears started running down Claude's cheeks from the sheer wrongness of the situation. He wanted to scream at them to get away from his wife, from his child. However, the endless stream of cursed sounds kept exiting his mouth against his will.

    As the tempo started picking up, he saw the dark lines on his wife's body start wriggling like serpents. The serpents morphed, turning into a writhing mass of devils. They started dancing, their many spiked appendages swaying deliriously across Jeanne's white skin. Their mouths were open, smiling, as their empty black eyes shone with mad joy.

    As the chant increased in tempo, their dancing took on a pulsating quality, as if they were veins. Claude watched with despair and hopelessness as the beings were drawn towards Jeanne's abdomen where their pattern converged. The things in the forest were becoming more and more insistent, their mouths moving to voice a clear demand:

    'Save us! Save us! Save us! Save us! SAVE US!'

    Eventually Claude was forced to look away. He felt as if he were one moment away from his heart bursting in his chest, from his mind turning into liquid and running out his ears.

    Their chanting reached a crescendo, harmonizing with a chilling sound that emanated from the swirling markings on Jeanne's abdomen:

    The wet, cold sound of a beating heart.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Claude! CLAUDE!"

    Hearing a voice calling for him, the baron snapped out of his stupor. He looked dumbly over to where his wife lay, swaddling something in her arms that was completely covered in blankets.

    Seeing him regain his senses, his wife chuckled weakly. "Its alright. I am safe, as is the child. You can stop worrying now. Come, say hello to your son."

    Claude walked over to his Jeanne's prone form with trepidation. He gingerly took the baby from her arms, pulling back the blanket covering its face to reveal… a perfectly normal human baby.

    Claude sighed in relief. In truth, he thought of that hellish experience as something his anxious, over-worried mind had conjured up. He couldn't remember anything else after that horrible climax until he found himself standing over his wife in their perfectly not-supernatural bedroom.

    He looked down at their child as the worry left him. He even started smiling a little as he watched the baby sleeping peacefully.

    "Well? I doubt you haven't already decided on a name long in advance." He said to his wife with an indulgent look on his face.

    Jeanne's rolled her eyes, the expression somehow conveying a sense of exhaustion. "Hush. I'm sure you'll like it."

    Claude gently sat on the bed, placing their son back in his wife's open arms.

    She took the baby, gently nuzzling her nose against its cheek. "I want to name him Gaston, after my father."

    Claude nodded his head. He'd expected this – his late father-in-law had been a remarkable man. He was one of those larger-than-life fellows that one so rarely saw.

    "A wonderful name. I'm sure your father would have been overjoyed, had he still been here with us." Claude grinned as he carefully held his son's little hand.

    Jeanne giggled. "He would have taken Gaston junior hunting as soon as he could draw a bow."

    Claude snorted. That was very likely. Suddenly, he noticed father Fredorichi's absence. He stood up a little urgently, almost dislodging Jeanne where she lay.

    "Has the priest already left?"

    Jeanne readjusted Gaston in her arms. "No, I believe he said he was too tired to travel back through the storm."

    With a 'I'll be back soon' Claude exited the room, wanting to thank the man from the bottom of his heart. He may no longer see eye-to-eye with God, but he still retained his principles towards his fellow man.

    A little while later, he found Fredo sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a bowl of thick gruel.

    Seeing his baron enter, the holy man stood from his seat. He almost toppled over as the lord grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into a hug.

    "Words are not enough. Regardless, thank you. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Even if you ask for my house, or my land, I will gladly give it." Claude pulled back a little, looking him in the eyes as he said with sincerity.

    The priest humbly shook his head. "It is my duty, and my great pleasure to do the work of God. A night's rest and a few rations are all I ask for."

    Claude laughed a deep belly laugh, patting the handsome Fredo's shoulder. "That is the least I could do.'

    Fredo rocked a little from the blow. He'd already polished the last of his meal, and was feeling rather tired.

    Claude took notice of the Father's state. "I see you are tired. Let me show you to your room."

    The priest shook his head emphatically, looking mortified. "For your lordship to guide me personally, I could never…!"

    Lord La Fayette took no notice of his protests, grabbing him by the arm and dragging Fredorichi towards their most esteemed guest suite.

    Fredo's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when he saw the luxurious accommodations. Before he could protest, Claude had already dragged him into the room, showing him where the firewood and the extra bedding was stored. There was even a filled cupboard so their guests would need to make a midnight trip to the kitchen.

    "I'm very thankful, your lordship. Please don't hesitate to call me if my services are needed tonight." Said Fredo.

    "Well, I won't keep you any longer." Claude said while nodding, stepping out of the room. He wanted to get back to his wife and child as soon as possible.

    Fredorichi watched the giant of a man exit the room with a demure smile. As soon the baron had left the room, the sycophantic expression left his face.

    Without moving his head, his eyes slid to look slightly upwards in the direction of the master bedroom, his mouth curving into a different kind of smile.



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    • Chapter 2
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    Villeneuve forest, The Kingdom of France: 1371 A.D.

    A pair of carriages were travelling down a long and lonesome road, one behind the other. They were dusty and damaged but, underneath all the dirt, beautiful engravings could be seen. An appraiser with a keen eye would be able to tell that these carriages had likely belonged to a noble or very wealthy family.

    Their speed was slow, as the roads were not well-kept in the least. They could hardly afford to break an axle or wheel – who would be able to repair it all the way out here?

    Perhaps it was because of the tragic speed that the carriages' occupants were in such an agitated state.

    The rear carriage's 'coachman' was a thin middle-aged woman with a pinched face. As the scuffling and shouting in the carriage became louder, she eventually couldn't handle it anymore and shouted: "Bertrand! Discipline your brothers!"

    "Yes, Ms Margaret!" Shouted a youthful voice. After that exclamation, a few whacking sounds could be heard. Affronted gasps and pained shouts rang out from within the carriage, as well as a muttered: "I warned you lot, didn't I?"

    The woman shook her head with an exasperated expression. She supposed she couldn't expect better behaviour from a carriage filled with six boys. She smiled a little, before speaking over her shoulder at the boisterous lads behind her. "If you children behave, I will prepare some custard as soon as we arrive."

    The carriage went silent for a moment before a squeaky voice replied. "Really…?" Before she could answer, a different voice cut in. "I want two servings!" The carriage quickly devolved into further squabbling, as the children started arguing between themselves about who should get more custard.

    Margaret took a few calming breaths to fight off an incoming headache. This was going to be a long trip.

    The head, much quieter, carriage was being steered by an older man somewhere in his forties. His hands held the reins loosely as he sat there, a morose expression on his face.

    His name was Maurice Le Marquand. A few years ago, many noble members of the clergy and the French courts would have spoken the name with respect. Now, the Le Marquand name had become synonymous with failure, and with the price paid for wasteful extravagance.

    The past five years, his family had lost everything. Their grand estate had fallen to ruins, with all of the wealth and possessions it held. Their fertile lands were despoiled by plague and vermin. All their wonderful ships had gone lost at sea; whether it was by pirate, by storm or by something else...

    His most trusted advisors and collaborators had colluded against him and betrayed him. And then, if that wasn't enough, his wonderful wife with whom he'd shared his twelve precious children with had passed away. It was as if Maurice had become the Job of the fourteenth century.

    He'd requested aid from every last one of his friends and his extended family members. None had responded in his time of need. In desperation, he'd dug up the names of every last person that owed him a favour. Every single one of them had some sort of excuse, some reason that made it impossible for them to offer him any assistance.

    It was then that he knew the truth: some power high up in the courts or the church had plotted against the Le Marquand family. He didn't know the reason for certain, but he had his suspicious… The crown had been devastated under the effects of sickness and war – their financial situation was critical. His family, which had weathered these hardships and emerged even stronger and wealthier, became the perfect target.

    Maurice came to know the difference between merchants and the nobility. The nobility had their own private soldiers who were raised from childhood to be loyal only to them – the merchants had only greedy, easily-swayed mercenaries. When the time came for his family to resist oppression, he found that he had none who were willing to die for the cause.

    The Le Marquand family had capitulated without a fight.

    It was in his darkest hour, fearing for his life and the life of his children, that he discovered an old beneficiary of his: Claude La Fayette.

    During Maurice's earlier years, when he'd just started as a merchant, he became involved in some… questionable transactions. He'd done a service for Claude, one which he'd been severely undercompensated for when he became aware of its true nature.

    It had been a complete shot in the dark, asking Claude La Fayette for help. What was the chance that someone of such questionable identity and intentions would have any consideration for a debt, or for his fellow man?

    To the merchant's great surprise, he received an answer. Not only was Claude willing to aid them, but he was willing to provide them with a residence in his barony. The barony admittedly only consisted of a single backwards town and an endless expanse of forest, but to the desperate Maurice it was like receiving mana from the heavens.

    If this was some scheme, then Maurice wasn't able to see the purpose of it. He had nothing left aside from his children, and certainly nothing worth stealing. He was grasping at straws, but it was better than grasping at nothing.

    They had packed the few things they still had and set off towards the wayward little town of Villeneuve. Only a single servant had been willing to accompany them: the old nursemaid of their children who'd been hired by his late wife. Maurice was eternally grateful for her support – she was a very competent woman.

    His children had been very upset, leaving their spoiled lifestyle behind. However, over the past year it had become very clear, even to the children, that it was not safe for them to remain near Paris any longer. The boys had taken things rather well, seeing their relocation as a grand adventure of some sort.

    The girls were less… amenable. His eldest daughter had taken it especially harshly. She was in her early teen years, and had taken a fancy to the son of a local nobleman. He knew that both her and his late wife had wished for a marriage to happen between the two children. Even he, as a father, had to admit that the young lad was rather admirable.

    Unfortunately, when disaster struck, that family had turned away from the Le Marquands the same as the rest. Any hopes of a marriage between the two families had turned to ashes. His daughter had barely spoken to him since.

    Maurice fiddled with the reins in his hands before looking over his shoulder through the carriage's open compartment. "I trust you are still well, girls?" He asked, addressing his six daughters.

    Most of them nodded or responded to his words with a 'Hm'. He had to stop himself from sighing. He was sure most of them did not take much issue with the situation, they were just copying the behaviour of their oldest sister.

    Maurice specifically turned to look at the teen in question. "Anastasia…" His mouth moved, struggling to come up with the right words. "Just… give Villeneuve a chance, all right? Once things have calmed down… we can visit Paris. If both you and Louis still feel the same way, then we'll take things from there."

    He could see his daughter's shoulders, which were scrunched up against her neck, relax a little.

    Truthfully, he felt that there was no hope for her and that boy to ever reunite. Maurice just hoped her feelings would fade over time. He felt miserable whenever he thought about Anastasia's marriage. There was no way she would ever be willing to settle for a village boy.

    Anastasia was simply too good for any of them, and she knew it too. She was the type of girl that made poets commit suicide out inadequacy – the beauty of their words would never be able to measure up to her. In many ways, she looked the most like his wife out of all his daughters. While his wife had been a very attractive woman, she had her imperfections. Maurice loved her even more because of them.

    However, Anastasia was different.

    She was the person her mother would have been if God himself had taken up his knife and chisel to hand-carve her. Her long blonde hair fell in golden waves. Her smooth skin was pale-perfect. Her exquisitely fine hands were adorned with jewel-like nails, and her eyes were vibrant green like the endless forests. She was as close to an angel as any human woman could possibly get.

    She was almost perfect.

    The thing about Anastasia is that she had a rather… difficult personality. Those who were more tactful would describe her as a true noble's daughter. In contrast, those who were less charitable would describe her as an arrogant narcissist who worshipped material wealth and cared only about herself.

    Maurice could see the truth in the latter description. Yet, what could he do? She was his firstborn, and his beloved child. No matter how terribly behaved and entitled she was, he didn't love her any less.

    Not for the first time, he wished his wife was still here. Anastasia had always loved her mother more than him. Rather than feeling bitter about the fact, he was simply glad that his wife was able to rein in the difficult girl.

    'Henrietta…'

    Before he could become consumed by his grief, he felt a small hand pat his back. He turned around to see his youngest daughter, Belle, clambering up the carriage seat to reach towards him.

    "How far are we, daddy?" Asked the little girl, speaking astoundingly well for a child her age.

    He smiled at his youngest, taking her by the armpits while holding the rains in his mouth. After shuffling around a little bit, he eventually got into a comfortable position with Belle in his lap.

    "See that mountain?" Mourice asked, pointing towards a rocky peak that rose out of the dense forest.

    The little girl nodded her head. "Yes!"

    "Villeneuve is on the other side." He said, circling his arm around the girl's waist as the carriage suddenly jolted.

    The girl looked up at her father's face with her big, brown eyes. "Will we be there before tonight, Dad?"

    Maurice looked a little thoughtful. "Today… I'm not sure. But I'm sure we'll be there tomorrow at the latest."

    The little girl didn't seem too happy about having to sleep outside for another night.

    Suddenly, Mourice thought of something that would surely help lift his daughter's mood. "Would you like to hear a story, Belle?"

    His daughter practically leapt out of his lap with excitement. "Yes! I want to hear the one about the princess and the witch!"

    Maurice chuckled. He wished his other children were as easy to please.

    "All right. A long time ago in a kingdom far, far away…"

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    Two people, one large and one small, travelled from the direction of Villeneuve on horseback. They rode silently, both individuals too consumed in their thoughts for conversation. Well, that was the case for the tallest one, at least.

    The smaller one, a boy around seven years old, was laying down on his horse's back. He'd pulled a leather cap over his eyes to block out the summer sun. Currently, he was staring up at the white clouds from underneath the cap, watching as they slowly made their journey across the sky. How the horse was able to travel in the correct direction, essentially without any guidance from its rider, was anyone's guess.

    The other individual was a large man with greying, black hair and a voluminous beard. He was on the verge of nodding off as well. The jostling of the horse and the cool summer breeze made him wish that he was back home, basking in the sun with a drink in his hand.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at his son 'riding' next to him.

    Gaston had grown up splendidly in the past seven years. He was a strappingly handsome lad with curly locks of black hair that fell to his shoulders. If his eyes were revealed, any observer would marvel at their honey brown colour that bordered on golden.

    Aside from his looks, and his larger-than-average frame, Gaston had proven to be an incredibly intelligent and mature child. His mother, the priest and old Gilette were full of praise for the boy.

    However, Claude himself felt a little… unsettled. The nightmarish events of that night were still fresh in his mind. One midnight, he'd gone to dig up the infant corpses buried out in the woods. He wished to confirm for himself if the things that night really happened. However, when he made it to the bottom of the sloppy grave, he found… nothing.

    There were no corpses.

    He strictly remembered burying them there. Wild animals digging them up were a possibility. However, Claude had stacked rocks at the spot and made distinctive markings on each one of them. Those were gone as well. Had someone found the remains, or… had none of it ever happened in the first place?

    Over time, he came to realize there was no use dwelling on it. He would drive himself mad before long.

    Still, some of these thoughts would come to the forefront of his mind during times of silence. The thing that helped Claude get his mind off the morbid topic was ironically none other than Gaston himself. Aside from his abnormal competency, the boy was normal in all other aspects. If there was one thing, it was that he seemed a bit quiet for a lad his age.

    Well, that wasn't too strange, Claude thought. After all, Gaston wasn't able to interact with the other village children. Claude felt guilty towards the boy. It was none other than he who was responsible for the La Fayette family's pariah status in Villeneuve.

    Suddenly finding the silence a bit suffocating, Claude decided to speak to his son. "Thinking about meeting the girls?"

    Gaston shifted the stalk of grass he'd been chewing on to the corner of his mouth before replying. "Why would I? I'm not even eight years old yet."

    Claude shook his head with a serious expression. "Noble children your age would already have gotten engaged."

    Gaston didn't deign to grace his father with a reply, instead reaching into the satchel that hung from the side of his horse. He pulled out a piece of dried meat and a cube of hard, white cheese before taking bites out of each in turn.

    Claude thought, not for the first time, that the boy really had a voracious appetite. It really was for the best that they lived out here in the wilderness. If they'd been in a city, Claude wouldn't have been able to provide enough meat for his son.

    "You know your mother wants grandchildren as soon as possible." Claude said, his smile teasing.

    "I'm not sure I'm the 'fatherly' type." Gaston said, speaking through mouthfuls of food.

    Claude snorted. "And I am?" Suddenly feeling a bit peckish himself, he took out some of his own rations. He bit off a piece of hardtack with the side of his mouth. The cracking sounds were so loud that it actually startled a few birds from the nearby tree branches.

    "Mourice tells me that his eldest daughter is particularly fair, although she has a rather fiery personality. You'll have to tame her."

    Gaston's expression turned thoughtful, the one corner of his mouth curving upwards a little.

    Claude grinned when he saw this. "Hah! So you like a challenge, do you?" He chewed and swallowed the last bits of bread in his mouth before continuing. "Once you're old enough, and you decided you like her, get her with child. A few glasses of the stuff father Fredo keeps in his cellar should do the trick. Your mother and I will take care of the consequences."

    Gaston, who was about to swallow, suddenly let out a choking cough, spraying bits of food all over the surrounding brush. He lost his balance, almost falling off his horse before he managed to sling a leg into one stirrup. Righting himself, he looked at his father with a strange expression.

    Claude slapped his thigh as he let out a loud belly-laugh. Teasing his stoic son had become one of his favourite pastimes. Once he managed to calm down, he turned to Gaston with a serious expression on his face. "Your mother was the one who suggested this, so if you ever feel the urge, go right ahead."

    Gaston shook his head speechlessly.

    After the boy composed himself, he spoke. "It's not like sir Le Marquand is going to call his daughter ugly. Who knows what she really looks like?" Gaston said, brushing crumbs of cheese from his leather vest.

    Claude opened his mouth, intending to tell his son of the time he'd met Maurice's wife, Henrietta. If the girl was anything like her mother, then Gaston certainly wouldn't find her appearance lacking.

    Before he could speak, he heard the noise of rolling carriages off in the distance. Gaston had become similarly silent, turning his head to listen to the faint sound.

    "Sounds like they're nearby." Said Claude, straining his eyes to check for anything resembling a carriage.

    Gaston tried to hide it, but it was clear he was excited to meet the Le Marquands.

    Claude gave up trying to spot it. What they were hearing was likely just an echo, the carriages themselves still being some distance away. He turned and spoke to Gaston.

    "Let's pick up the pace, If you're sure of your riding skills."

    Gaston looked at his father and nodded with a confident look on his face.

    The two of them flicked their reins, urging the horses to increase their speed. The terrain was treacherous, but their mounts had lived all their lives in these woods. They were used to it.

    The sun continued its journey westwards as the two travelled, causing the trees' shadows to stretch towards them like a legion of clawing hands.

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    Maurice Le Marquand covered his eyes with one hand as he looked up at the sun. They had around four hours until twilight. He looked the rocky landmark ahead of them, sighing as he did so. He didn't wish to stay another night in the forest, but it didn't seem like they would have a choice. It would take some time for them to set camp for the night, and to make a fire.

    He shook the little girl awake who'd fallen asleep in his lap. "Wake up, princess."

    Her light-brown eyelashes fluttered cutely as she returned to consciousness. "Dad…?"

    "We're stopping for the night, Margaret!" Maurice turned to look over his shoulder, shouting towards the carriage behind them. Protesting sounds could quickly be heard from both carriages. The children were even less eager to spend one more night huddled around a campfire in the dark woods.

    "Were almost there, can't we keep going?" Nagged a boyish voice from behind. Agreeing shouts could be heard from many of the other children, especially the boys. They wanted their custard, and they wanted it now!

    "I'm afraid not. We'll be in real trouble if it gets dark and we still haven't reached the town." Mourice said with a firm voice while shaking his head.

    "The monsters come out when it gets dark!" Belle shouted from her father's lap, her shrill little voice rising above the cacophony of her siblings' quarreling.

    The second eldest daughter, a redhead, scoffed at her little sister. "Monsters? How childish." She sent a glance at Anastasia sitting next to her, looking for her approval.

    The blonde maiden in question ignored this, instead moving to get out of the carriage. "I am tired. We will travel no further today." The other girls immediately clammed up, deferring to her decision. It wasn't wise to get on Anastasia's bad side. Even the boys only grumbled a little in dissatisfaction, but not loudly enough to single themselves out.

    Maurice watched this with a bitter expression. He felt his position as head of the family being threatened, and by his own daughter no less. Well, he supposed that her bossiness was somewhat helpful in this case.

    "Be careful, darling. Wait for the horses to halt first." Maurice said, wary of having her get out while the carriage was still moving.

    The angelic girl ignored his, opening the door and getting out with a light hop. They were travelling so slowly that it was impossible for her to even so much as stumble from her landing. She started patting her thin legs over her white dress. They were sore from sitting for such a prolonged period of time.

    Maurice sighed as they stopped moving. His children were becoming more and more disobedient because of her example. However, scolding them was of no use. They only became sullen and more unruly.

    His oldest daughter made no move to help them as they tied up the horses, unpacked their belongings and started setting their camp. Instead, she waited for one of her sisters to set a blanket for her on the ground before folding her legs beneath her and taking a seat in a patch of sunlight.

    This area was rather heavily forested, with large trees reaching into the sky high above their heads. The road itself was almost overgrown, and it was difficult for them to clear a suitably large space for a camp. Consequently, it was no surprise that they took so long to notice the two approaching riders.

    Maurice jumped to his feet from where he'd been hammering a wooden stake into the ground. He prayed to God that the arrivals weren't bandits. The children stopped what they were doing as well and started whispering amongst each other, pointing towards the direction of the sound.

    His oldest son, Bertrand, ran over to Anastasia's side with a large stick clasped tightly in his hands.

    "Don't worry Anna, I'll protect you!" He said, his gaze firm. The girl rolled her eyes at her younger brother's antics.

    Two horses burst through the underbrush, only to come to a halt somewhere down the overgrown trail, snapping branches and scattering leaves in the air.

    The group of children froze as they looked at the large figure in front. The man was ridiculously big, with a scarred face and a braided, greying beard. He sat on top of a massive brown horse, his thick, gnarled fingers holding tightly onto the leather reins.

    They watched with dry throats as he trotted over to their father, Maurice. If this man wasn't there very image of a scoundrel, then they didn't know who was.

    Bertrand's knees started shaking when the giant dismounted, hitting the ground with such force that the dry earth cracked under his feet. The axe at his waist jangled, hitting against the buckles of his leather vest. The thing was big enough that even the most experienced woodsman would need to wield it with two hands, yet he wore it at his side like a shortsword.

    The stick dropped from his numb hands as the man advanced, coming to a stop some distance away from his father.

    Maurice looked at Margaret, who was currently standing protectively in front of the children. One hand had gone to her side where she clutched at something hidden in her clothes. Her stance was remarkably disciplined for a simple maid.

    Maurice motioned her to stand down before turning back to the man. Of course, he'd recognized Claude the moment he laid eyes on him. The man's powerful features, and the jagged scar running across his cheek, were hard to forget.

    "Maurice Le Maruand, please accept my greetings." Claude's face was serious as he leaned forward to grip the smaller man's hand while speaking in a booming voice.

    Maurice took his hat off, clasping the other man's hand in a firm handshake. His palm was practically swallowed in Claude's bear-like paw.

    "Lord La Fayette, it is my great pleasure. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I find myself incapable of offering you proper hospitality out here." Maurice said, surprised by the baron's arrival and ashamed at his own destitute state.

    Claude patted his shoulder in understanding. "There is no need for that. In any case, I barely qualify as a noble. Feel free to address me comfortably."

    Maurice shook his head. "I am a common merchant with no title, and am at your mercy today. Any less would be disrespectful."

    Claude showed an understanding expression. When a man was at his lowest, he would cling even more desperately to his pride. "As you will."

    He turned his head to Gaston, who had gone largely unnoticed do to his father's powerful presence. "This is my son, Gaston. He and I will be staying with you and your family tonight." Claude said, introducing the boy who looked a little ridiculous on his monster of a horse.

    Gears started turning in Maurice's head as he looked at the strappingly handsome young lad with a pleasantly surprised expression.

    "It is impolite to remain mounted while the other party is on foot, Gaston." Claude said, speaking over his shoulder at his son.

    Gaston nodded, removing his feet from his stirrups and sliding down from the horse's back in an agile motion. Maurice raised his eyebrows, impressed at the child's skill. He certainly wasn't any older than ten, yet he seemed perfectly comfortable riding a horse that was taller than a grown man at the shoulder. In fact, the beast was so large that he worried for the boy when he fell down - the height was so significant that his journey to the ground could no longer be described as 'jumping'.

    Gaston bent his knees upon impact with the ground for a graceful landing. He stood up straight, perfectly fine, and went to exchange polite greetings with the merchant.

    The other children, seeing that the barbarian-looking man was in fact their benefactor, drew closer. A boy with sandy blonde hair, looking around ten years old, looked at the horse with awe and envy.

    He moved over to tug at his father's sleeve. "Dad, I want a horse too." He said, whispering so his brothers wouldn't hear.

    Maurice ignored his son's request, instead turning to speak to his children. "Children, greet baron La Fayette. His lordship is the one who so graciously offered his aid during our time of need."

    The boys and girls lined up next to each other at Margaret's behest. They curtsied and bowed, displaying some of the etiquette they'd been made to learn for interacting with nobility.

    Maurice stroked his moustache as he watched the lot of them. He was pleased to note that Anastasia hadn't been obstinate about this. At least she had the sense to show some manners in front of other people.

    Claude nodded at the lot of them, before turning to Maurice. "You have many children. My wife will be envious."

    Maurice's expression suddenly became somewhat sorrowful. "Becoming a mother was my wife's greatest joy. She loved every last one of her children dearly."

    Claude became silent for a moment, out of respect for the other man's grief. Aside from Gaston, there was nobody who he loved more than his wife. He didn't know what he would've done had he lost her.

    Eventually, Maurice managed to return from his stupor. "I am mortified that you travelled all this way for our sakes, lord La Fayette. Yet, I am also extremely grateful for it; your presence will set my mind at ease tonight."

    Claude nodded before leaning forward to whisper the next sentence to Maurice so the children wouldn't hear. "While Gaston and I were eager to meet your Le Marquand family, the true reason for our arrival is more… serious."

    Claude fixed Maurice with a somber gaze. "There have been reports of beasts roaming this area."

    Maurice's eyes widened. "What manner of beasts are they? Wolves? Bears?"

    Claude nodded, but his expression seemed uncertain. "One of those, most likely. I am well used to dealing with wild animals, so there is no need for concern.

    Maurice looked unsettled, but he took Claude at his word. "Please continue with tonight's preparations." Mourice said, turning to Margaret.

    The woman nodded. "'Yer lordship." She said, cutseying to Claude as she walked past.

    Claude nodded politely to the woman before turning to speak to Gaston. "Why don't you go introduce yourself to the other children? You'll be seeing a lot of each other in the years to come."

    Gaston didn't seem overly enthused at the idea.

    Claude huffed. His son was too anti-social.

    He nudged the boy with his elbow, surreptitiously motioning him towards the peerlessly beautiful fairy in their midst.

    Gaston rolled his eyes, but did as his father bade him.

    Maurice noticed the exchange. He ran his fingers over the hat in his hand thoughtfully. If any individual from Villeneuve had a chance at stealing Anastasia's affection away from Louis, then it would be this boy. She would never so much as glance at a commoner. Gaston was a little young for her, but Maurice wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to suitable suitors.

    The old merchant grabbed the boy's upper-arm before whispering in his ear. "That is my oldest daughter, Anastasia. If you wish to pursue her, then I won't stop you. However, be aware that she's had no shortage of attention from boys, so she's rather prideful."

    Gaston glanced up at the old man, his bronze eyes twinkling. Smirking, he nodded.

    'Hmph, at least he has confidence.' Maurice noted, as he looked at the boy's departing back. 'He'll need it.'

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    Gaston strode into the midst of the children, most of whom were currently busy helping with preparations for the night.

    Eleven pairs of eyes turned to him at his arrival. Some stared openly, while others were more shy.

    The person in question came to a halt in the middle of the twelve individuals, his posture casual. His eyes swept through the camp, glancing at every boy and every girl in turn. Finally, his gaze stopped on a picturesque girl wearing a simple, snow-white dress.

    Anastasia paid no attention to the intruder. Getting leered at was a daily occurrence for her.

    Gaston's gaze roamed from her exposed ankles, to her snow-white arms and then to her slender neck. He was so blatant that some of the others started getting embarrassed just from watching him.

    The oldest son, Bertrand, silently fumed as he watched this invader ogle his sister. He'd been getting into fights with other boys constantly ever since he could remember for this exact reason.

    Unable to restrain himself, he advanced on the fellow who was still silently staring at his beautiful sibling.

    "Will you not introduce yourself?" He said, practically shoving his face into Gaston's.

    Gaston finally drew his gaze away from Anastasia to look at Bertrand standing in front of him. He smiled charmingly, running his hand through his long, curly hair.

    "Who else could I be, other than Gaston himself?" The boy clasped his leather vest, pulling it downwards in a sharp adjusting motion.

    Bertrand looked at the kid in front of him with a slightly confused expression on his face. He wasn't sure how to handle that introduction.

    "Well… I am Bertrand. I don't think your manner of staring was very polite." He said, regaining his composure towards the end.

    "If your sister was displeased, then surely she would have said something." Gaston said, fiddling in his pocket as if he were looking for something. His eyes brightened as he found it - a small ferrous rock with golden crystals growing out of it.

    He promptly ignored Bertrand and started walking to Anastasia who reclined comfortably on the grass. She was busy digging through the jewellery box she'd inherited from her mother.

    Bertrand's face turned red from being ignored. He stormed after Gaston, using every bit of willpower to keep himself from strangling the other boy. If it wasn't for the fact that Sir Claude was their benefactor, he'd surely done it.

    Arriving in front of the golden-haired teen, he buffed the rock against his linen pants before handing it to her. "A golden bauble to match your hair, maiden Anastasia."

    The girl glanced at the rock without looking at Gaston. After considering for a moment, she reached forward to take it from his hands. She took a golden ring from the jewellery box, holding it next to the rock. She turned them this way and that, analysing and comparing the gift.

    "It isn't gold." She said decisively before flinging the rock over her shoulder into the woods, never to be found again.

    The surrounding kids looked in the direction of where the golden rock had disappeared. If she didn't want it, then surely she could have given it to one of them?

    Gaston's brow twitched a little, his face a mix between irritation and intrigue. "Indeed. It isn't real gold, it's fool's gold."

    Anastasia flicked her hair over her shoulder, unimpressed. "I know what fool's gold is. I'm a merchant's daughter."

    Gaston opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a red-haired girl.

    "Anna's already rejected you. You don't need to say any more" Her freckled face looked cross as she stood in front of her sister like a bodyguard, arms crossed in front of her chest.

    Bertrand naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity. "Instead of bothering Anastasia, you should help us gather some dry wood for tonight's fire." He spoke authoritatively, like someone who was used to having their commands obeyed.

    Gaston didn't take any heed of his words. "I believe I'll go for a hunt instead. I'm sure lady Anastasia has become tired of road-rations." He turned on his heel, heading towards where his horse stood tied to a tree.

    Bertrand's face was cross, but inwardly he sneered. This kid was going to make a fool of himself. There were perhaps two hours left until twilight – how was he planning to hunt in that little time?

    "The fire is important for all our safety, Gaston. I'm sure Anastasia appreciates your intentions, but it would be better if you assisted us instead." Bertrand said in a reasonable tone. However, his thoughts on the inside were venomous.

    'Go ahead, you pretentious brat. Show Anastasia your incompetence.'

    Gaston took a shortbow and a bundle of arrows from where they were stashed near the magnificent beast before heading in the direction of the forest.

    However, before he could leave the little clearing, he was cornered by a boy around six years old.

    "Does your horse have a name?" The child asked, a little shyly.

    Gaston looked down at him. Despite being only a year younger than him, the boy was much smaller. Though, rather than the boy being short, Gaston was just freakishly tall. He was almost on eye-level with Bertrand, who happened to be five years older than him.

    "His name is Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX." Gaston said, staring the younger boy in the eyes with seriousness.

    Everyone listening froze at that declaration, unsure of how to react.

    The boy in front of Gaston furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why is his name so long?"

    "He likes it that way." Gaston said, slinging his quiver over his shoulder.

    Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX made a neighing sound in affirmation.

    The other kids were a little stunned. They didn't know whether they should be scoffing or laughing at the crazy situation.

    Claude looked up from where he was speaking softly to Mourice. "You are going hunting?"

    Gaston nodded. "I wish to bag a few birds for tonight's pot."

    "Be back before sundown." Claude said, providing his son with unspoken permission.

    Maurice's gaze followed the lad as he disappeared into the forest. "You have much confidence in your son." He said, levelling Claude with a serious gaze.

    "Gaston grew up in these forests. He spends more time in there than in town, or even at his own home." Claude's gaze grew a little conflicted as he said this.

    It sounded to Maurice that there was a story there somewhere.

    "Regardless, I was asking you about the roads." Claude said, emerging from his thoughts.

    Maurice's expression grew morose. "The road itself was safe, as you guaranteed. We encountered no banditry or anything of the sort, it's just that…" Maurice hesitated, his expression growing a little ill.

    Claude looked at the man questioningly.

    "France seems to be falling apart. The people in some of the towns we passed… God! I worry that the world may be coming to an end." Maurice raised both hands to rub at his face as he said this.

    Claude remained silent. He had his ways of gathering information, so he knew much of what was going on. "You kept the children in the carriages?" He asked, looking at Maurice out of the corner of his eye.

    "Dear Lord, yes! I would never subject them to such a thing. I naturally closed and locked the shutters as well. We needed to resupply; fortunately, Margaret was capable of handling the task by herself. The rest of us didn't come close to… that." Maurice shook his head morbidly once he finished talking.

    "I wonder how I will raise my children in a world like this…" He took out a locket from his coat pocket as he spoke, opening it to reveal a drawing of his late wife. He turned to look at Claude with moistening eyes. "No place is safe, aside from a few select noble estates. For your aid… I will be eternally grateful. For saving me, for saving my children…" Mourice rubbed the tears from his eyes with a sleeve, careful not to let his children see his state.

    He looked Claude with resolve in his gaze. "I am at the La Fayette family's service. Whenever you give the order, I will be ready."

    Claude reached over to pat the merchant on his shoulder. "Jeanne and I want nothing more than for Gaston to be hale and happy. My wife in particular is set on finding a wife for him to marry. If one of your daughters would be willing, I think that would be enough."

    Maurice smiled. "He is a handsome lad. Out of my six daughters, I'm sure at least one would be honoured to wed him."

    However, the happiness didn't last. A depressed mood soon fell over the two men. They looked at the children who chatted happily amongst themselves as they tended to the camp. In their hearts, they knew scenes like this would be scarce in the future.

    The world was changing, and not for the better.

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    • Chapter 4
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    Orange sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy that sheltered the little camp of three adults and twelve children. A large pot had been set over the roaring fire and a pleasant meaty smell filled the air. The cook, Margaret, had tossed their hard, dry leftovers into some water along with any wild vegetables and herbs they'd managed to gather during their journey. Fortunately, they still had some dried meats to provide the pot with some substance.

    A certain pimply boy was currently stirring the fire with his stick. It hadn't needed to serve as a weapon today, so he thought to use it as a fire-poker. Their duties were finished, so Bertrand sat with his brothers around the fire, enjoying his rest after a long day of travelling and labor.

    His thoughts were pleasant as he contemplated Gaston's return: he thought of how the younger boy would enter the camp with hands empty of any prey and with a sheepish expression on his face. Bertrand had seen it all before; how other boys would try to pull some stunt to impress Anastasia. They had made fools of themselves every time.

    His brow furrowed a little in distaste as he thought of the exception. Louis had been disturbingly competent at wooing the Marquand princess. If there was one good thing that came out of this whole mess, it would be the fact that the pretty-boy noble was no longer able to interact with Anna.

    Bertrand's thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from his father: "Ah, Gaston! That's quite the catch you have there. It seems your father wasn't exaggerating about your skill with the bow."

    The twelve-year-old leap to his feet, his eyes staring unbelievingly at Gaston who'd quietly entered the clearing without him noticing. Every part of Gaston's body had some type of bird tied to it - it looked like he'd tried to disguise himself as a pile of fowl corpses.

    Margaret walked over to help him as he started untying the knots, dropping kill after kill on a vacant spot of grass. She looked at the boy with consideration before speaking: "You've brought us quite a bounty for tonight's dinner. I'll admit, I thought you were full of bluster, but it seems you were just confident in your own skill."

    She took a handful of birds and carried them over to a pot of boiling water they'd prepared for their other needs. "Come girls, I'll be needing some help with the plucking. Be careful not to scald yourselves."

    Some of the younger girls went, but Margaret sent them away. This duty was for the older sisters. "You too, Anastasia. I would be happy to care for all, but I am only one servant." She took a smaller pigeon, setting it aside for the older girl to prepare. "It will be over quickly. Many hands make for light work, after all."

    Margaret had known every one of the children since the day they were born, and she'd cared for them like her own. Even Anastasia had a measure of respect for her.

    However, the blonde goddess didn't look up from where she was sitting. She daintily took a sip from the brothy appetizer in her hands before addressing Bertrand: "Bertrand, go pluck that bird."

    The boy in question showed a confused expression. Why was he being singled out? He looked at his sister with a wronged expression. "Why are you asking me?"

    Anastasia looked at him with a regal expression before straightening her legs, smoothing her pretty dress with one hand as she did so. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Her free hand went to the hem of her dress, adjusting it.

    Bertrand felt a chill on the back of his neck. Whenever Anna took this kind of attitude, it usually meant that she had some kind of leverage over one of them. Given how pointedly she was playing with her dress, it could only mean one thing… she knew.

    Bertrand waved his hands back and forth with and awkward laugh. "No, I want to!"

    He had a smile on his face as he walked over to the pigeon, but inwardly he was clenching his teeth.

    The boys had started helping with the laundry sometime during their journey. Margaret had insisted that it was a woman's duty and that she and the girls were more than capable of handling the chore, but his father had insisted the boys provide help. Apparently, they needed to 'get used to working', or something like that.

    Of course, they were only responsible for dealing with their own clothes. It wasn't proper for a man to touch a woman's clothes, even if they belonged to one's own sisters. However, out of curiosity, Bertrand had touched one of Anna's blue dresses when everyone was taking an afternoon nap. He didn't know why he did what he did, but he'd raised it to his nose and taken a deep breath. It had smelled incredibly good. He was mortified by his own behavior, but at least no one had been awake to see it.

    Anastasia had never worn that blue dress again. Bertrand had persuaded himself that the piece of clothing simply wasn't fit for travel since his eldest sister had never even so much as hinted at knowing about the incident.

    However, she had noticed, and now she was blackmailing him.

    He was beyond embarrassed. He had no idea how her opinion of him had changed. He'd always been the one in her corner since they were children, so surely she would forgive him?

    He started plucking the bird's feathers as if they were the teeth of his most mortal enemy. His expression was placid, but his pupils fixed themselves on Gaston murderously. The other boy had nothing to do with the situation, but he was nearby and a convenient outlet for Bertrand's anger.

    'So what if you shot a couple of pigeons? It's not like we would have gone hungry tonight anyway.'

    The younger children, both boys and girls, gathered around Gaston as he regaled them with the tale of hunting his first stag. He stood straight, with his arms raised in the motion of drawing a bow. "…carefully aimed for the liver. Then, I shot it from behind! The beast immediately collapsed, and I was able to end its life with my knife." Gaston released an imaginary bowstring before miming the action of drawing a dagger from his waist and slicing at a carotid artery.

    The little children inhaled in unison; their gazes were both frightened and intrigued. "Why did you shoot it in the liver?" A younger girl asked, her eyes wide.

    "A critical liver shot is enough to incapacitate any beast." Gaston explained, wagging one finger in the air with a scholarly expression.

    The little girl nodded knowingly before turning to her older brother, whispering a question: "What's a liver?"

    "I think it's the neck part of an animal, Mirabelle." The boy whispered back quietly, one finger stroking his lower lip in thought.

    After finishing with his story, Gaston went back to plucking a few birds he'd kept for himself. He wasn't too fond of having his meat boiled, so he planned to roast them over the fire separately.

    Bertrand saw an opportunity. He wanted to smear Gaston by pointing out his selfishness at keeping some of the meat for himself, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. After all, didn't he hunt everything himself? Even Bertrand could see that avenue of attack was a stupid idea.

    Fortunately, he was saved when his twin sister, Celia stepped in. "Aren't you being a little selfish, Gaston? I don't mind, but my little brothers and sisters haven't gotten much opportunity to eat roast meat recently."

    'Bless your empty little head, Celia.' Bertrand thought.

    They were indeed twins, as evidenced by their freckled faces and red hair, but Celia lacked his brains and social tact. He was grateful for that fact. It meant she was stupid enough to attract the negative attention to herself, allowing him to put himself in a favourable position.

    "Don't be like that, Celia." Bertrand said, stepping in. "I'm sure our siblings don't mind stew. Isn't that right?" He asked, looking on as the little kids stared longingly at the golden fat that dripped from Gaston's roast.

    The young hunter was busy spit-roasting the fowls on wooden stakes he'd fashioned from a few straight-ish sticks. He said nothing, instead taking a few dried herbs from a small leather pouch and sprinkling them over the meat. They crackled and popped from the fire, emitting a mouth-watering scent.

    The kids' expressions were conflicted as they looked on. They felt it was the right thing to agree with what Bertrand said, yet at the same time they couldn't deny how delicious the cooking birds looked.

    Unfortunately for them, and for Bertrand's scheme, Gaston paid them no attention. He continued carefully cooking his dinner, taking small nibbling bites from the roasting skin as he did so.

    Celia's face scrunched up from being ignored. "How rude." She took two of her siblings by their hands while nudging the rest with her leg. "Let's leave this glutton to his dinner. Margaret's soup would taste better, in any case."

    She led the children over to where Margaret had started scooping the soupy stew into wooden bowls with a large ladle. A few dry pieces of bread were placed on a table nearby for everyone to eat from as they wished.

    Gaston cooked his meat close to the fire – he was simply too hungry to wait much longer. Finally, it was done. He took a bird from the fire and chomped down on the scalding-hot meat, causing drops of grease and meat juices to flow down his chin.

    A few pairs of eyes fixed themselves incredulously on the boy as he voraciously devoured his dinned. His own body seemed too small to be able to accommodate such a large quantity of food.

    In a less crowded part of the little clearing, Maurice went to wipe his spectacles on reflex as he watched, only to find that he wasn't wearing them. He turned to look at Claude's large form which loomed silently outside the circle of firelight. The man in question was currently staring into the bowls of the forest with an unreadable expression.

    "Your boy sure can eat, can't he?" Maurice said, attempting to bring some levity to the serious atmosphere. They'd been discussing the current happenings in France, as well as Maurice's suspicions of the crown's involvement in his family's downfall.

    Eventually, the conversation had died down. Claude had been staring into the darkening woods with the same expression for what felt like hours, barely even paying attention to Gaston's return.

    Claude's face was hidden in shadow, but Maurice could hear the smile in his tone. "Indeed, no-one eats like Gaston."

    Maurice nodded dumbly. He himself would perhaps have been able to make it through two birds at most, yet Gaston had already swallowed five and was now leisurely considering the sixth as he held it by its stake. It was incredible.

    Before Gaston could sink his teeth into his final portion, a melodious voice sounded from the other side of the fire: "I would like that one."

    Gaston turned to look at Anastasia. She was sitting on a pile of pillows with a blanket spread underneath them. Her lady-like legs were gracefully folded underneath her with an empty wooden bowl placed next to them. She stretched out one hand, making no effort to stand up.

    Gaston looked at her with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on the neckline of her dress, which had slipped down enough to expose one collarbone due to her reclining posture.

    He looked down, considering the piece of meat in his hands thoughtfully. "I would, but I'm not sure if you will toss it over your shoulder also."

    The lovely girl raised her perfect eyebrows at him. "It would attract animals. I am not daft."

    Nodding in satisfaction, Gaston stood and walked over to her. He impaled the meat on his knife, allowing her to grasp the wooden stick that protruded from it.

    Anastasia took it carefully, leaning forward so as not to drip anything on her clothes or the bedding. She looked at it for a moment, as if unsure how to eat it without cutlery.

    Seeing her predicament, a brown-haired sister at her side handed over a flat wooden board as well as a dull knife. "Here, Anna. It should be easier to eat with these." Anastasia nodded in thanks and started cutting the meat against the wooden plate, her fingers daintily holding on to the stick as leverage.

    Gaston stood watchfully over her as she ate. After seeing that she wasn't planning on tossing the food into the woods, he relaxed and sat down again.

    The charming girl ate about half of the fowl before she was satisfied. She handed to wooden board back to her sister while speaking: "Here Lancy, why don't you have the rest."

    The girl took it gratefully with a smile on her face. "Thanks Anna!" She said, digging into the remaining half.

    Anastasia wetted a handkerchief in a bowl of warm, scented water to wipe her mouth with before soaking her hands in it as well. She looked over at Gaston. "I would enjoy sharing more of your catch in the future." She stated, her full lips curving into a mesmerizing smile.

    Gaston looked at her with a pensive expression, his eyes glowing like two orange coals in the light of the fire. Finally, his mouth curled into a little smirk as he nodded his head.

    Bertrand couldn't help sneering as he watched this.

    'You've just turned yourself into her personal cook, fool. You've accomplished nothing!'

    Meanwhile, Margaret's face showed a concerned look as she stared at her employer. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the pot and a pile of inconspicuous leaves she'd been made to add at his behest. Maurice nodded to her, motioning with his hand for her not to worry.

    However, he himself felt this was rather strange. He looked over at Claude with an uncomfortable look. "I don't understand the purpose of this, but I will concede to your requests. If you wished to harm us, you wouldn't need to take such a roundabout manner."

    Claude's hand went to rub at his brow. "The herb is called 'Henbane'. It will cause the children to fall into a deep sleep. It is no poison."

    Maurice frowned. "I don't understand. If some threat did happen upon us tonight, wouldn't it be better if everyone were awake? What if we have to flee?"

    Claude shook his head. "They are only children. If they panic, things will only become worse. It will be easier for me to protect them if they are all asleep close together."

    Now Maurice was really getting worried. He raised his hands to bite at his nails, only to catch himself and fold them in his lap instead. "Far be it from me to question you, but if things are so drastic then, why…?"

    Claude smiled bitterly. "Why did I not bring any men with me from the village?" He questioned, finishing Mourice's sentence for him. "They would not come if I asked, and if they did, I'm unsure if they would be of any help." Claude shook his head. Naturally, he'd considered the option.

    Maurice was confused. Why on earth would the village's men refuse the request of baron La Fayette? He didn't seem like the tyrannical type in the least. The opposite, in fact – he was rather likeable for a noble and without any pretentiousness.

    After the pot had been cleaned, towards which Gaston contributed significantly despite already having swallowed half-a-dozen birds, the children set to washing the dishware under Margaret's direction.

    After they finished up for the night, they placed down their bedrolls on the cleared-out ground. The carriages, which had been drawn around the little camp in a protective semi-circle, were too small to serve as sleeping accommodations.

    The camp was quiet as Gaston and Claude circled the perimeter, double-checking the traps they'd set up. If anything large tried to approach them at night, they would be warned.

    Things were unusually quiet. Ordinarily, the children would have whispered to each other before falling asleep. Things were different tonight. They fell asleep practically as soon as their heads hit their pillows. They were packed tightly around the fire, boys on one side and girls on the other.

    Gaston did not sleep with the other children. He leaned comfortable against a tree close by, already dead asleep as soon as he rested his head. He'd gotten the largest dose of Hensbane out of everyone, with how much he'd eaten.

    After thirty minutes, everyone except for the three adults were asleep. They'd forgone eating from the pot, instead partaking from the remaining road-rations.

    "Sir Claude, I wonder if you can tell us your purpose, now that the children can't hear." Margaret said skeptically as she watched the giant of a man.

    Claude raised his open pals towards the other two people. "I don't have a specific purpose. I'm just acting according to my instincts."

    Margaret wasn't buying it. "Sit Claude, are instincts really…?" She started, intending to probe a bit more.

    "I trust Claude's… instincts, Margaret." Maurice spoke, interrupting his servant. "He is most qualified to deal with this kind of thing out of all of us." With those words said, he looked pointedly at Margaret. Maurice thought back to that 'request' he'd done for Claude, all those years ago.

    He looked at Claude. "Are you anticipating something like that?"

    Claude's mouth turned into a frown. "No, I've dealt with the issue long ago. Besides, I wouldn't have invited you if that sword of Damocles were still hanging over my head."

    Maurice rubbed his temples with his palms frustratedly. If 'that' wasn't the problem, then he didn't understand what in God's great name had this strong man so worked up.

    Claude himself seemed to have some trouble expressing his thoughts. "Look, Maurice. Let's not concern ourselves too much with this issue. With everything that's been going on, my imagination may be getting the best of me. Why don't you go tend to the fire while Margaret and I take watch?" Claude glanced at the wiry woman, his eyes resting on her scarred forearms.

    After a moment, the woman nodded. She went to the opposite side of the fire and sat down. She took a blade from somewhere beneath her skirts, somewhere between a sword and a dagger in length. This whole business felt ridiculous to her, but she seen some things and she knew the value of 'better safe than sorry'.

    The three of them settled down.

    Hopefully, this would just be another night spent underneath the stars.

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    • Chapter 5
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    It had been hours since the sun set. The three individuals sat in comfortable silence, barely speaking amongst themselves. They had resolved themselves to remain awake through the night. The journey to the town of Villeneuve would take little more than half a day. Tomorrow, they'd be able to rest us much as they wanted after they'd arrived.

    Margaret in particular had recovered a lot of her earlier ease. If it where up to her, she'd have called off this stakeout. The weather wasn't even suitable for an ambush, it was simply too clear outside. She was currently staring up at the moon, which had journeyed halfway through the night sky. The stars flickered brightly, lighting the space above their heads like God's great chandelier.

    Maurice and Claude were talking softly amongst themselves. Margaret was a little interested, but it wouldn't be professional of her to eavesdrop. Instead, she occupied herself by softly stroking the nearby sleeping children's heads one by one.

    When she'd first been hired over thirteen years ago, she'd not been too enthused about the idea of being a nanny. They had grown on her. So much, in fact, that she couldn't bear to part with them even when it became extremely disadvantageous for her to stick with the Le Marquand family.

    Now, here she was, a trained professional acting as a maid for children. She'd thought about returning to her previous manner of employment, but it held no appeal for her. She enjoyed this more. She was content.

    She looked over at where the baron's young son was sleeping. He had an interesting personality. Margaret disliked the fact that she'd gotten used to using Anastasia as a way of measuring a boy's worth, but what could she say? The method worked. While Gaston was clearly lusting after the girl, he kept his composure while doing so. That alone was a tick in his favor.

    Margaret returned her gaze to the shadowy forest. An amateur would have been spooked by the slowly swaying branches and the snapping of twigs, but she knew these to be nothing more than the normal sounds of nature.

    "It will get misty soon." Claude suddenly said, his deep voice easily reaching her ears where she sat some distance away, despite how softly he said it.

    Margaret furrowed her brows. "I don't see any mist."

    Claude glanced over at her while tapping his nose. "I can smell it. Old woodsman's nose."

    Margaret softly inhaled through her nose. Now that he mentioned it, she could detect a hint of moisture in the air. "Is there a lake nearby?"

    Claude shook his head.

    Margaret thought that was strange. Mist didn't usually just appear on a clear night like this.

    Claude spoke as he looked up at the night sky: "Midnight has passed."

    Margaret rolled her eyes. She wasn't a superstitious person. She'd been all over the world, and had never seen anything that could be interpreted as supernatural. The time between midnight and early morning held no special meaning to her.

    She continued to stare into the forest, keeping an eye out for any mist. And indeed, as time passed, she could see a thin layer of vapor emerge outside the circle of firelight.

    She heard a scraping sound. She looked over her shoulder to see Claude picking up his large axe from where it leaned against his leg to place it on his lap. She opened her mouth to say something, only to close it again. She eyed the blade near her before picking it up and placing it in her lap as well.

    They sat in silence as they watched the rising fog. It drifted slowly between the tree trunks and brush leaves, the individual particles of moisture shining silvery in the starlight.

    Margaret felt a soft breeze against her cheeks, the vapor carried within wetting her face. The fog kept building, almost sneakily. If she stared at a single spot for a long time, she wouldn't notice much change. However, if she turned her head, she'd notice how the areas at her periphery had become opaque much more rapidly than expected. Every time she returned her gaze to a previous spot after looking somewhere else, it would suddenly be covered in mist.

    Her tired mind was playing tricks on her. She'd been travelling and working the whole day, and the idea of sleep was becoming more and more appealing. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.

    When she came to, it was because of a sharp sensation against her neck. She opened her eyes to see Claude holding her own knife against her throat. Blood rushed to her face in outrage. She opened her mouth to say something.

    However, before she could speak, she was interrupted by Maurice's concerned voice: "Margaret, what… are you doing?"

    Her face showed her confusion. "Sir, what do you mean?" She turned her head carefully to look at him, making sure not to cut herself on the blade at her neck.

    Maurice's white-faced expression became even more disconcerted at her question. "Margaret, where were you planning on taking Mirabelle?" His eyes travelled downwards to look at her arms.

    Margaret's gaze followed him only to find she was cradling the sleeping girl in her bosom. She looked around, her face contorting into bafflement and a hint of fright as she noticed her position. She was standing at the edge of their camp, a hair's breath away from walking into the mist.

    She shook her head dumbly, unable to comprehend her situation.

    "Give me the child, Margaret." Maurice said placatingly, in the same tone of voice one would use on a spooked animal.

    She did as he asked her, uncaring of the weapon placed against her neck. Her veins were ice cold and her entire body buzzed with a numb sensation as she stepped forward to carefully deposit the sleeping girl in her father's arms.

    Seeing that she'd returned to her senses, Claude removed the knife from her neck.

    "What were you thinking, Margaret?" Maurice asked in a loud whisper. He found her behavior tonight incredibly disturbing. She'd not responded to their pleas at all, and had only snapped out of it when Claude wrested the blade from her grip and set it to her own neck.

    Margaret was still shaking her head slowly from side to side incredulously. She hadn't thought of doing anything like this! She'd just dozed off for a moment.

    Claude kept his gaze on her as he removed a pouch of something from his vest. He opened it while handing it to her. "Take a whiff of that. It should wake your right up."

    Margaret brought it to her nose only to be assaulted by the strong smell of ammonia. Her face scrunched up in distaste.

    Claude's mouth twitched a little before he once again became dead serious. "Give it a good smell. Trust me, it's not piss."

    Margaret only contemplated it for a moment before she did as he bade her. She didn't want a repeat of… whatever it was that happened tonight. Immediately, she felt as if someone had shoved a pick of ice into her brain. She recoiled from the pouch in shock as blood started seeping from her nose.

    Claude snatched his smelling-salts from her before she could drop it, putting it back in his vest. "If you feel like you might doze off again, just tell me."

    The woman carefully nodded her head as she wiped at her bloody nose. She'd never felt this awake in her entire life!

    They took their seats again, but closer to the fire this time. Maurice had laid Belle down on her bed. The herb was proving to be very effective, as none of the children had even so much as stirred despite the commotion.

    The mist had become so thick in the meantime that it was no longer possible to see much of anything beyond the camp perimeter. Only the heat of the fire was keeping the mist at bay.

    "Don't let the fire go out." Claude said, his voice grave. The bad feeling from earlier was getting stronger. "I'll keep an eye on our surroundings. And don't fall asleep."

    Maurice and Margaret looked at each other, nodding.

    For a long time, no one said anything. At this point they were just desperately praying for the night to pass as soon as possible.

    The fog grew thicker and thicker until neither the moon nor stars were visible any longer. The trees had become no more than a gathering of dancing shadows, hiding and being revealed as the mist moved and the firelight flickered over them.

    Claude gripped the handle of his axe more tightly. Something suddenly felt off to him. "Does anyone else feel that?" He asked, his voice quiet.

    Maurice and Margaret stilled at his question, trying to sense whatever it was he was talking about. Margaret in particular was paying rapt attention, having left her skepticism behind.

    She was still not a superstitious person, but that didn't mean that she couldn't see the strangeness in what had happened to her earlier. She almost hoped that she'd accidentally eaten a dangerous mushroom or herb earlier in the day. It was preferrable to the… alternative.

    "Yes, I do feel something…" Maurice said, his voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible.

    Suddenly, Margaret noticed the problem. "It's too quiet." The forest's nighttime sounds had all but disappeared. No branches creaked, no twigs snapped and no leaves rustled. It had become as still as a graveyard.

    Claude nodded. Still, there was something else bothering him. He looked over to where Gaston was, suddenly feeling that the boy was situated too far away. He went over, easily picking him up with one arm and laying him down closer to the fire. Satisfied, he returned to his post.

    The more Claude stared into the mist, the stronger the disconcerting feeling became. His brows furrowed as he tried to think of what it could be. A twig scraped against the back of his neck. He absentmindedly brushed it away before freezing.

    He'd noticed the problem.

    There was something wrong with the forest. It was hard to notice due to the thickness of the fog, but it had become clear to him now. A cold sweat broke out over his entire body.

    He needed to confirm whether what he was seeing was real or not.

    "Maurice, was there a stump in that spot when you arrived?" Claude asked the old merchant, pointing towards a dark, squat shape outlined by the mist.

    Maurice's brows furrowed in thought. "I-I don't remember." He said, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

    In fact, he did remember. That was where he'd sat with Claude earlier in the day. There was no stump there.

    Claude's head stilled as his eyes flicked furtively back and forth. "How about that brush? Was it there earlier?" Claude asked, his voice so soft that Maurice had to strain his ears to catch the words.

    Maurice followed Claude's gaze over towards a leafless, dry shrub that rose from the ground. He shook his head, his mouth gaping open speechlessly. That was where Anastasia had rested when they'd just stopped for the day. There had been no such bush there.

    Claud nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. "One last thing. Margaret, Maurice… where are the horses?"

    The two individuals' eyes went as wide as saucers. Their heads practically snapped from their necks as they looked to find that, not only were the horses gone, but the tree they'd been tied to had disappeared as well!

    It was as if they were deep underwater, with the pressure coming down so strongly on their chests that they couldn't breathe.

    Not one of them knew what to do. They were terrified.

    Suddenly, a noise could be heard just outside the ring of firelight. It sounded like… the dying wheeze of an old man. One final breath to send him on his way to heaven… or hell.

    They all froze.

    Claude's grip on his axe became so tight that the wooden handle started creaking under the strain.

    They stood silently like that, unwilling or unable to tear their gazes from the direction of the sound.

    Ten seconds passed.

    Twenty seconds.

    Thirty seconds.

    Finally, a full minute passed.

    Margaret was the first to break free of her terrified stupor. "W-What was th-…"

    Before she could finish, Claude suddenly swung his axe!

    His spin was so powerful that it disturbed the air around him, causing the fire to flicker and dance with the force of the gust. Sparks flew as the coals where buffeted by the displaced air. Margaret shut her eyes on reflex as most of the sparks were sent into her face.

    Maurice opened his mouth to yell, but not even that movement wasn't fast enough to keep up with the speed of the axe. The hunk of sharpened metal sliced through the air, making a sound somewhere between a whistle and a whir.

    Maurice's eyes tracked its path with horror. Claude seemed about to cut through his second-youngest son's neck!

    He wanted to tell him to stop, to say something, but his body was too slow to keep up with his overstimulated mind.

    Yet, Claude's axe didn't strike the boy, but something beyond it. When Claude struck the thing, a pained scream rung loudly in the air.

    That voice belonged to none other than Claude himself.

    Maurice could practically see Claude's bones bend from the rebound of his own strike. His blow seemed to hang in the air for an indeterminate amount of time before whatever was under his axe finally gave way with a crack.

    A shadow disappeared back into the forest as silently as it arrived.

    Claude dropped the axe to the ground, grunting in pain as he clutched at his sprained wrist. Maurice was shocked to note that the thick, robust axe handle had cracked and the solid hunk of black-iron that constituted the blade now had a large chip taken out of it.

    Whatever Claude had struck had been impossibly tough.

    "Maurice… look at… your son." Claude said, managing to huff out a sentence through his teeth, clenched as they were because of the pain.

    Maurice and Margaret both turned to the sleeping boy, only to notice something… disturbing.

    He, and the bedroll he'd been sleeping on, had been dragged some distance away from the fire. The fact that they hadn't noticed it at all could only mean one thing: whatever had dragged him had done it so slowly and carefully that the movement didn't even register in their peripheral vision.

    Margaret raised her hand to her mouth in realization. The child had almost been stolen from right under their noses. Tears welled in her eyes: she felt both overwhelmed and numb at the same time.

    She grabbed Claude with both hands, hard enough for her nails to dig into his skin. "To what damned place have you led us, you evil man?"

    Surprisingly, it was the harmless looking merchant that seemed most able to retain his calm. He grabbed Margaret by her upper-arm, dragging her away from Claude. "Now is not the time to panic, Margaret. We must remain calm if we wish to protect the children. Anything else can be discussed after the night is over."

    With that, the three of them managed to rally their spirits, though not without the liberal application of Claude's smelling salts. Their eyes were peeled wide as they retook their positions. With Claude out of action, and with Margaret practically incapacitated by fear, things didn't look good for the three of them.

    They old saying did indeed prove to be true: only in the most trying of times would man reveal his true nature. Maurice, who looked to be the most incapable of all of them, had a fearless expression on his face as he clutched the battered axe in his hands.

    Fortunately for them, the witching hour soon passed. The mist retreated and the forest returned to normalcy once more. As soon as the bright, shining stars were revealed in the sky, seemingly twinkling with joy at seeing them again, Margaret broke down and started sobbing. Tears ran down her cheeks as she cried silently. The traumatic experience had proven to be too much for her.

    Whatever evil had stalked the forest was now departed.

    Maurice dropped into a sitting position, the beat-up weapon falling from his hands to thump against the ground. He turned his eyes to look at Claude. They met each other's gazes, finding relief there, and… questions.

    "I take it you have no idea what we encountered tonight?" Maurice asked quietly.

    Claude shook his head. "I understand if you have doubts, given the way I spoke, but I'm just as clueless as you are." Claude tenderly held his wrist, which had now swollen and was in the process of turning blue.

    The two men sat quietly, each deeply immersed in their own thoughts. They didn't discuss the auspicious timing of the fog's appearance, nor its departure. It was as if there were some unspoken agreement between them.

    Maurice watched tiredly as the Le Marquands' servant finally stopped sobbing. She now sat with her arms folded around herself, staring listlessly into the fire. He desperately hoped she would be able to regain her composure by the time the children awoke…

    Suddenly, a rustling noise could be heard from the forest.

    Maurice immediately leapt to his feet, fumbling with the axe as he did so. Claude still had Margaret's blade, which he held with his good hand. The woman in question buried her head deep between her knees, too frightened to do much else.

    However, what emerged from the dark bowls of the forest was not the monster they were expecting.

    They watched as a large black stallion entered the clearing, followed by five other horses.

    The horse at the front bobbed its head up and down while pawing at the ground with one of its front hooves, almost as if it were trying to tell them something

    The two men snapped out of their stupor, hurrying to quickly tie down the beasts to prevent them from disappearing again. In their relief, they'd almost forgotten about their problematic lack of horsepower.

    It would truly have been too cruel, for them to have to spend another night in these accursed woods with no means of transporting the children or their luggage to Villeneuve.

    Claude looked at the leading horse with a strange expression. He shook his head. With everything that had happened tonight, this was perhaps the least strange of all of them.

    "Good job, Charbon." Claude said, stroking the horse's powerful neck.

    The beast turned its head aside in displeasure.

    Claude huffed in amusement. "Good job, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX."

    In response, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX neighed happily.

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    • Chapter 6
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    • The next morning, the lot of children woke up to three very weary-looking adults.

    Maurice and Claude simply looked tired, but Margaret in particular truly looked as if she was a walking corpse. Her eyes were the most noticeable – beyond simply having dark circles underneath, they were opened a little too wide like a startled animal. She attended to her morning duties unblinkingly, disturbing the children as she went about her business.

    "What's wrong with her, dad?" Mirabelle asked as she tugged on an exhausted-looking Maurice's sleeve.

    The old merchant was currently doing his best not to look tired by wiping his face down with a cold rag.

    "She didn't sleep very well." He turned to look at the other children before speaking a little more loudly. "According to lord Claude, we are only a couple of hours away from reaching Villeneuve. We'll all be able to get some proper rest then." His eyes went to Anastasia who looked similarly exhausted. Her skin somehow seemed even paler – almost translucent as the veins beneath could be seen.


    Maurice looked at her with concern. For a moment he felt terrified, thinking that she'd been awake for the events of last night, but her facial expression didn't look particularly perturbed. She just looked tired. He sighed in relief.

    "Why don't you go help your big sister, Belle?" Maurice spoke to his youngest, motioning with his chin over to where Anastasia was folding her clothes with an absentminded expression. In her tiredness, she'd refolded the same garment twice. The other children were busy taking care of their own business or assisting Margaret.

    The two La Fayettes watched the morning hustle and bustle with detached expressions. They had made to assist for propriety's sake, but had naturally been refused by Maurice. They had travelled so lightly they barely had anything to prepare.

    Gaston had naturally slept in, as was his habit. Claude felt somewhat ashamed of how early the other children had woken compared to his own. Not even the early morning clamor had caused him to wake. Eventually, Claude had to shake him where he lay, still wrapped in a stiff animal hide. Claude had no idea how he slept, wrapped in that prickly thing. Personally, he preferred to just dress warmly and sleep in his clothes.

    The boy in question was leisurely feeding Char-… Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX some roots he'd brought along as animal feed. The horse was rather picky, only accepting the softest and most tender of the vegetables. The others, perfectly fine starches that any peasant would be happy to have, were discarded on the ground after a single sampling bite judged them to be… unsatisfactory.

    Claude felt a little uncomfortable by how Gaston had pointedly not asked him about the terrible states of the three adults. Claude had done his best to make himself presentable, but Gaston was nothing if not observant.

    There was also the fact that Claude's axe, which had been extremely robust, was now practically scrapped. What was he supposed to tell the boy? 'I cracked the blade when I struck a wild animal last night' was hardly believable. He wanted Gaston to just ask so some of the tension could be relieved, even if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer.

    "I'll go look for some fresh shoots." Gaston spoke, throwing the last dry root into the woods. He started walking off in to the forest, likely planning to occupy himself until the time of departure.

    "Wait."

    Claude stopped his son. He didn't want him going into the forest, no matter if it was daytime or not. However, when Gaston sent him a questioning look, he wasn't sure how to explain himself.

    "I think it's better if you wait until we depart."

    'Am I not his father?' Claude thought to himself. I don't need to explain everything to him. As long as he listens, all will be well. His hand unconsciously went to grip at his cracked axe handle. It was a nervous tick he'd developed back when he was still involved in… more unsavoury things.

    Gaston's eyes went from where Claude's hand gripped the handle to his stoic face. "What's the matter, Father? You look like you've seen… a ghost." Gaston asked, his eyebrows raising slightly in interest as he played with his shirt with one hand.

    Slap!

    The camp stilled, their heads turning to see Gaston toppling over. Before he lost his balance, he managed to grab a branch to steady himself with. His free hand went up to his lip, lightly dabbing his ring finger there. He looked dumbly at the spot of red that colored it.

    Everyone was quiet as they looked at Claude who stood with one hand raised. It was clear what happened: he'd been hit by his father.

    Claude looked at his own hand with incomprehension. He couldn't believe it – he had never hit Gaston once in his whole life. Something in the moment had caused his hand to move, almost by its own. The fear of last night and his own feelings of helplessness had been building beneath the surface. Gaston's clever tongue had been the spark to set him off and his own tiredness had not allowed him to exercise self-control. It was unreasonable, and he regretted it the second his hand moved.

    He watched as Gaston raised his head a little to look at him out of the corner of his eye. A normal seven-year-old child would undoubtedly have started crying or, at the very least, would be cowering in fear. The boy calmly wiped his bleeding lip. The honey-brown color of his had eyes turned a shade darker due to the shadow cast by his curtain of hair.

    Claude did not apologize. He wanted to, but his pride as a father prevented him from doing so while in the company of others. He would to do so once they were alone back home. He extended his hand to Gaston. The boy looked at it for a moment, his lip twitching downwards as if he wanted to frown. He almost looked like he would refuse, but noticing the tense surroundings, he took Claude's hand and let himself be pulled up,

    "I apologize, father." Gaston stated despite knowing he did nothing wrong. The apology was for the audience's benefit alone. After that, he wandered off into the woods, completely ignoring Claude's earlier request.

    The giant of a man clenched his teeth as he watched the boy leave, half in anger and half in worry. He didn't say anything, as he didn't want to disturb the atmosphere which had started settling down.

    Anastasia surreptitiously watched Gaston leave. She took in a slow, silent breath through her nose.

    'Was last night a dream, or… a nightmare?'

    She'd always had a keen eye for things, one which she'd further developed in her dealings with people. She'd noticed when Margaret slipped something strange into last night's dinner. She also noticed the silent conversation between the maid, her father and Lord Claude. She doubted that her father would allow anything dangerous to be fed to them, but at the same time she wasn't too fond of the idea of ingesting something unknown. That was why she'd requested some of the La Fayette heir's catch – so she could have something else to eat besides the soup. She'd had someone scoop a bowl for her, but had given it away when none of the adults were paying attention.

    When everyone, including the blabbermouth Celia, had quickly fallen asleep Anastasia guessed the purpose of the mysterious ingredient – to induce sleep. It wasn't too hard for her to pretend, since she frequently eavesdropped on others' conversations using this same method. One would be surprised how easily people dropped their guard when in the presence of a 'sleeping' maiden.

    She rolled her eyes inwardly as she lay on her cushy bedroll, keeping her breathing steady as a sleeping person would. She'd once seen Louis bring back three wolf pelts when he returned from a solo hunt. These next few years would be a complete waste of her time. She was meant for better things than to spend her adolescent years with a bunch of dolts who treated a few wild wolves with this level of superstition.

    Such were her thoughts as she lay near the fire, listening to the quiet conversation happening near her as well as the sounds of the nighttime forest. She had almost decided to drift off to sleep, as hours had passed without anything like an attack happening.

    However, that was when the fog arrived.

    Anastasia immediately felt something in the air change. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up. She felt a strange sensation bubbling within her chest.

    A mania welled up from inside her. It flowed through her veins and into the tips of her fingers, causing a buzzing, pins-and-needles sensation. It was both foreign and familiar, like remembered fragments of a dream she'd had a long time ago. In this trance-like state, she'd barely noticed the passage of time.

    She realized too late that she'd lost control of her body. She'd straightened into a ramrod-straight posture on her side and her eyes were wide open. She was laying with her back to the campfire, looking off in the direction of the mist. The three adults where behind her; if they noticed her situation then they didn't comment on it.

    Before she could close her eyes to pretend at sleep and to try and control this overwhelming, mysterious sensation, she spotted something in the fog. The… shape was slowly, very slowly, drawing closer. Something about it reminded her of an old man. Its posture was hunched over, its hands almost touching the ground as it noiselessly sailed over the misty ground.

    She couldn't make out any details, concealed as it was by the mist and the darkness of the night.

    Then, part of it was revealed.

    A grotesque hand crawled out of the darkness. The first thing one would notice was just how long the nails were. Indeed, they were nails – not claws like an animal. Long, yellow human nails that started curling inwards due to their unkempt state.

    Next, the fingers showed themselves: the were bony, gnarled and bent in the wrong directions, like a very elderly person suffering from a terrible case of arthritis. The palm they were attached to wasn't much better – it was wrinkled and papery with grey, mottled skin. Thick sinews ran underneath, hinting at the wiry strength the hand possessed.

    It continued creeping forward, showing first its forearm, then upper arm and finally its torso and head. It was dreadfully quiet the entire time.

    The rest of its body was the same corpse-like gray color, although some areas were darker than others. Its anatomy wasn't outlandish, but in fact very much that of a human. Still, there was something… other about it. No body part made that clearer than the things head, which fixed Anastasia with a glassy eyed stare.

    Nothing was covering its teeth – it had no lips or cheeks. There was nothing but jaw and blackened denticles to be seen. It also had no nose. The spot was simply empty of anything except two black slits. Its vacant gaze, milky and pupil-less, stared towards Anastasia.

    The girl uncomprehendingly watched the thing in a state of utter shock. It held the position for a while, simply looking at her through its tangled, matted and thin hair that fell over its face like rotting seaweed.

    Its unblinking 'gaze', finally roused some emotion within Anastasia: a sensation of mind-numbing, all-consuming terror. She couldn't even scream as it slid over the soil on its endlessly long ribcage, crawling over the dirt and rocks with its corpse-like digits. It drew closer towards her – no, towards one of her little brothers.

    All she could do was stare at this nightmare-come-to-life as an insurmountable sense of fear gripped her body like a vice.

    As she watched its long, dirty nails gently grip the peacefully sleeping little boy's bedroll, Anastasia felt something… else inside her. It was a dark and evil feeling that sprouted within the overwhelming fear like a cancer, turning it into something completely unexpected: a sense of horrid fascination.

    She wanted to know more about whatever the thing was. She wanted to see what it planned to do with her brother. She wanted something... dark.

    Her face showed an expression of wonder as these new feelings washed over her. She didn't understand it: it was wrong, wicked, vile, evil; yet… she couldn't deny the truth of what she was feeling right now. It was a transformative moment like nothing else she'd ever experienced. Her whole word was shifting around her and hanging on for dear life was all she could do.

    Finally, like a membrane snapping, something gave way inside her feet and she fell into herself, into an unfathomably deep pit that she didn't even know was there.

    She hit the bottom with a splash.

    Her first instinct was to draw a breath – but that was a mistake. The watery-black substance all around her flowed into her mouth almost as if it had a life of its own. In fact, it wriggled and pressed against every orifice of hers: her ears, her nose and even her tightly closed eyelids.

    She couldn't stop it.

    She wailed inwardly as she felt the liquid gush madly up into her head. She thrashed and struggled, but no matter what she did, she couldn't reach the surface. Instead, it felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness.

    Her veins pulsed and pounded in her skull as if her very blood was being replaced by the thick, cloying and dark substance that filled the bottom of that ancient well.

    Yet, there was no pain.

    Instead, she felt herself growing, transforming, changing into something foreign, something alien, something… other. She was sure that this premonition was true.

    At the pinnacle, the climax of that metamorphosis, Anastasia suddenly became hyper-aware of a pair of eyes in the corner of her vision that glowed with a fiery light.

    She turned towards them.

    Her own eyes, which had completely turned inky-black, froze in their sockets. The moment she met that gaze, she experienced a powerful sucking sensation as if the orbs had become two twisting, glowing vortices. Her arms flailed madly as she fell upwards, out of the deep darkness.

    Those two slitted eyes, burning with an unholy yellow fire continued to stare at her. They had expanded to fill her vision until it was as if they had consumed all of existence.

    The black blood which had flowed within her ceased and, at once, disappeared. It was as if a blade had been placed against her neck – no, it was as if the tip of a dagger was being held against her heart: so closely that she could practically feel the pain of that deadly, phantom stab.

    Every moment that oppressive, lethal pressure grew. For the first time in her privileged life, Anastasia felt death. That was the feeling she was experiencing: pure, concentrated mortal danger.

    Under that executioner's gaze, the dark water drained from her body, seeping back into that well which soon became sealed and hidden once more. A few moments later, it was as if it had never been there in the first place.

    Neither she nor the pair of eyes paid any attention to the creature or to the commotion it caused.

    The moment both that feeling of 'change' induced by the mysterious well, as well as the… bladed intent of those peering coals disappeared, Anastasia snapped out of her frozen state to look at the owner of those unfathomable eyes.

    The young Gaston stared quietly at her in the darkness. Those demonic apertures had disappeared as if they were never there, replaced by two honey-brown, perfectly normal human eyes.

    Her eyes whirled in their sockets as she remembered the creature from earlier and tried to catch a glimpse of it, but it was gone.

    "Maurice… look at… your son."

    Hearing these words, Anastasia quickly snapped her eyes shut, not wanting to be discovered now of all moments. She felt so utterly confused with everything that had happened this night – the last thing she needed now was the pestering attentions of the rest of the camp.

    Her fake sleep quickly turned into the real thing, exhausted by the events and emotions of the past few witching hours as she was. Her thoughts where conflicted as she considered the corrupting mutation that would have completed were not for the… devilish interference. Yet, she could sense that its… inhuman influence still clung resiliently to her psyche.

    She was… changed.

    Anastasia had moved a little away from the hustle-and-bustle of the Le Marquands and their entourage. She'd left the four-year-old Belle to attend to her things along with Celia. The red-haired twin wasn't really fond of the youngest daughter, something she'd mimicked from Anna's own behaviour.

    Her siblings weren't the smartest lot. It's not that she hated them, they simply weren't that interesting to her. Celia and Bertrand were not so childish as the rest due to their age, but they were still not the type of people she'd prefer to interact with.

    The twins were too… sycophantic. They did have their uses, but they weren't the type of people she could respect.

    Anastasia had wandered off a little to the side. She had a slight headache, and the noisy lot over there certainly weren't making it any better.

    Suddenly, she heard a soft voice some distance away from her.

    "If it isn't the fetching Miss Anastasia Le Marquand."

    She looked over in that direction to see Gaston sitting up in an old tree.

    He smiled at her, looking boyishly handsome with his messy long hair tied and stuffed under a leather cap.

    "Perfect timing: I have another gift for you."

    He dropped down from the tree while reaching around to fetch something stored in his woven pouch.

    "Another bauble? I'm not interested." She tossed her long hair over her shoulder casually as she watched the approaching boy. He was acting very naturally, as if nothing extraordinary had happened between them.

    Had Anastasia been a different person, she would have thought of those events as a nightmare or the figments of an over active imagination. However, there was nothing she had more faith in than the soundness of her own mind – not even God, even if she would never say it out loud.

    All of it had happened. She was completely sure about that fact. If nothing else, Margaret's state today was proof that she'd laid eyes on that same creature. She was planning on dragging the truth out of the boy in front of her, one way or another.

    "Close your eyes." Gaston said as he gripped the thing behind his back so she couldn't see it.

    Anastasia played with the plain golden bracelet on her wrist with an unamused expression. "You can just give it to me. I don't like surprises."

    Gaston rolled his eyes with a smile. "Boring. But have it your way." He looked at her with a mischievous expression. "Regardless, I'm sure you'll like it."

    In a smooth motion, he stepped close to her and held one of her wrists.

    Before she could say something, she felt something dry and leathery being shoved into her palm.

    She looked down, only to recoil in shock at what he gave her, dropping it in the process. Gaston watched with keen interest as her gaze became nailed to that mysterious object:

    On the ground, covered by dirt and leaves, was a gnarled, dry and greying hand.

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