(Hey, don’t worry too much about the speed of your replies. As long as you get them to me within, like, two days then you’re fine. Besides, it’ll take me a while to write out each bit, and I definitely understand your exam situation. School’s been tiring me out, too; that’s why you might see some grammar mistakes/unfinished sentences in the Part I just sent. I don’t have time to proofread them, sorry, because writing them takes up quite some time.

That being said, I hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Here are your next questions!

1. Who would you rather see more of/learn more about: Nikolai or Pierce?
2. How did you feel about the punishments in this Part? Were they too much, fine, or not enough?
3. Would you like to amp up the drama in the next Part, or would you prefer to keep it on the same level as it already is? I know things happen fast in it sometimes, but it’s hard to make them seem longer sometimes without boring both you and me to death lol
4. How did you like the length of this Part? Did you feel like it should be longer? Shorter?
5. Is there anything in particular you’d like to request for the next Part?)

(Thanks, school really sucks the energy of you not gonna lie, and I'll make sure to make a mental note of the replying in two days' time thing.
And actually, I have no idea what you're talking about because that was perfect- flawless- believe me when I say I have never read such elegant writing like that, it almost makes me jealous of your skill with words ^^ heaven knows I can't write half as good)

1. Nikolai sounds like quite the character actually, very charismatic and everything a girl would want in a man, but uhh I'm gonna have to go with Pierce because he's such a sweetheart and I already love him-
2. The punishments seem appropriate for the situations given so far, I think you've done a pretty good job at balancing it all out, though I do want to strangle the hell out of Cyprus and his sister- like bad
3. Dude, I'm not gonna lie, I loved seeing your skills in action, I couldn't keep my mind off of the fact that your writing is so perfect- I know I'm saying this a lot but it's because I'm s h o o k at how good you are, color me impressed mi amigo
   but then again, some drama wouldn't hurt haha, I love seeing a little spice go into this, give it a little more flavor
4. So, my eyes grew the size of two saucers when I saw the length and I may or may not have let out a string of curses- but not in a bad way! It's just that this piece alone is probably more than anything I'v ever written in my life.
   But, I would like for them to be a little shorter, not because I don't like it, god knows I really do, but for your own sake. It takes a lot of time to whip some up like this and I don't want it stressing you out or anything
5. mmm, nah, it's okay, I don't have anything in mind at the moment, just keep doing what you're doing kid, it's wonderful-

(Ok! I mean obviously if you can reply before two days have passed then that’d be awesome, but I totally get it if not.
Thank you for all of the wonderful compliments you’ve given me, man. If I’m being honest, I haven’t had this much fun writing in a long time. I’m kind of proud of it, actually :’)
I’m eager to get back to writing it right now, so I’m gonna cut this little ramble off here for now. I hope you like the next Part just as much—I aim to write something that’ll be fun for both of us, after all.)

(And you should be! I'd be really proud if this was my writing!
Alrighty, I can't wait to see what you bring to the table next, I don't think I've been this excited to read something in a veerryy long time dude)

Section One, Part Three

A handful of long, hard days passed by at the mansion like a tornado, tearing away whatever tidbits of energy the servants had gained from the successful first night and leaving them all to futilely flounder about like fish out of water in hopes of catching their breath. The only time they hadn a smidgeon of privacy was when they were climbing exhaustedly into their own beds at night. Even then, however, they couldn’t always expect to be entirely unbothered. Cyprus had woken them all up one night with enough fury blazing in his eyes to make it feel with his every glare as if he were burning holes straight through their skin. He’d snapped his whip once at the ground, commanded them to be up and dressed within the next ten minutes, and strode out of there like he was off to partake in an honorable battle. They’d found him in four minutes flat in the entertainment room on the third floor with a cluster of darts in his hand. One by one, he’d lined them up against the wall by a dartboard he’d recently hung up. Alastaros was the closest to it. Luckily for him, his khasta was actually decent at the game. He hadn’t hit a single one of them. When he’d finished with the sport just about an hour later, he’d sent them back off to bed without another word. The next morning, none of them appeared to have gotten any sleep. They were clumsier, slower, shakier, and louder than normal, resulting in complaints from Eleanor. Every time they made a mistake, she’d whack the back of their legs with one of her canes as if to remind them of how they were supposed to act. Smack!—stand up straight—smack!—don’t let any glasses remain unfilled—smack!—offer Nikolai blankets if he even so much as shivered—smack, smack, smack! Their calves had blossomed with so many different shades of blacks and blues that they resembled some of the mansion’s more abstract pieces of artwork in the prize room.

During the middle of the forth day of Nikolai’s visit, Alastaros finally got a temporary reprieve from her frustrated attacks. He was told to go to the garden to pick fragrant buds from one of the bushes to put into the candles that he’d been ordered to make that very same day. Out he went into the freezing, biting cold in a thin black jacket that was about four sizes too big for him. It dangled off of his slender frame like a cape, not a coat, and threatened to fall off with his every step. Funnily enough, he remembered a time in which the loose article of clothing was actually almost too tight. The amount of weight he’d lost working at the mansion was shocking even to him. He didn’t hate it, oddly enough, feeling a guilty sort of pleasure whenever the sleeves slid down his arms. There’d always been guys in his village that had been better than him, whether it’d been physically or mentally, and, as a result, his old body had been much too soft for his liking. Though he knew it was silly, part of him hoped that if he just kept working to erase that softness—kept dropping pounds, kept pushing himself—then he’d manage to impress his khastas and they would cease their painful mockery of his looks. He was tired of the shame that erupted inside of him when they prodded at his stomach or cheeks with their canes or knives, snickering to each other loud enough that any other servants in the room could hear. Of course, he wasn’t the only one they treated in such a way, but he couldn’t help but take their jokes to heart.

His sister had always been gorgeous, his mother transcendent, but him? His
cooking was always the thing that’d set him apart, and even that was something he’d been teased for as a kid.

A deafening gust of wind brought him back to the present. Snow had caught on and weighed down his shoulders during his wallowing. He swiped it off with his bare, trembling fingers, then continued on his way to the bush. If his memory was right, it was in the back behind a row of particularly tall ferns. With the swiftness of a blind, deaf ox with a missing leg, he smushed, slid, and tripped his way around several flowerbeds and hopped a decorative vase. Panting, he stopped and looked around. His sense of direction was terrible, and it wasn’t helping that snowflakes had begun to gather on his eyelashes.

The rhythmic crunching of footsteps in the snow behind him caused him to startle. He spun around, expecting Cyprus to appear, but sighed as a much more welcome figure approached. Pierce smiled at him sincerely. He was in a knee-length black coat and matching pants that stood out against the stark whiteness of their surroundings.

“Hello.”

Alastaros nervously looked back at the mansion. He couldn’t really see it from so far out, but that did nothing to staunch the squeamishness that rose in his stomach.

Pierce followed his gaze. His smile turned grim. “Oh. Don’t worry, they can’t see us. They aren’t looking, anyway. I just set up a card game for them. It’ll keep them busy for a while. Louisa’s keeping watch on it for us.”

“Why’re you out here?”

“To help you.” He laughed, his breath turning to a cloud of mist in the frigid breeze. “I saw you come out earlier, and you didn’t come back in, so, well, I thought you might be lost. You don’t come out here that much—it’s mostly Louisa and I. What’re you looking for?”

“The mismaya bush. I’ve been trying to find it for a while now.”

“We’re not far from it. Want me to walk you there?”

“That sounds great, thanks.”

The two servants walked side-by-side through frozen hedges and over frost-bitten roots. Unlike Alastaros, Pierce had a natural talent for navigating the garden’s twisting corners and archways. He had to stop and wait several times for the other boy to catch up.

“How are your legs?” he asked, clearly trying to make conversation as Alastaros huffed for air.

“They’ve been better. Yours?”

“Mm, they ache. I’d like to ice them, but, well, you know. I don’t have a lot of time for that.”

“Why not do it now? You’re not busy and you’re knee deep in the stuff.” To illustrate his point, he kicked up a cloud of frosty white flakes with the tip of his shoe.

Pierce chuckled. “True, but I don’t have a cloth or anything to wrap it in. I can’t just put raw snow on my leg.”

“Raw?”

“Yeah, you heard me right.” They both laughed. Alastaros was surprised at how good it felt; he hadn’t truly done so in a long time, too long to remember. “Also, we’re here. The mismaya’s in that purple pot.”

Mismaya bushes were breathtaking in the winter. Literally. They were so aromatic that the scent of their leaves alone flooded the lungs like a cloud of smoke. Delightful smoke, nonetheless, but still smoke. Alastaros and Pierce both gasped a little as they neared it. Going from the weak, clean smell of winter to such a blast in the senses was indescribable.

Picking the buds from the bush was a difficult task because of its thorny branches. His slippery fingers managed to pluck a couple without getting pricked, but he couldn’t avoid his fate forever. When he pushed his arm in deeper to pinch and retrieve an elusive light blue bud, he was shivering so hard that he jerked his hand sideways. He hissed out a curse, pulled back his thumb, picked out the thorn, and frowned at the blood that was welling up on the pad.

“You alright?” Pierce, who’d been picking buds on the other side of the plant, came up behind him.

Alastaros stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it. The salty taste of his own blood made his nose crinkle.

“The thorns get you?”

“Mmhm,” he mumbled around his knuckle.

“It’s cause you’re not wearing gloves. Here, I’ve got mine in my coat. You keep your pockets open, and I’ll put the buds in them.”

“Alright.”

They did their job in silence for the first couple of minutes. Whenever Pierce resurfaced from his prompt picking and plucking with a cupped handful of the buds, he’d tug open his coat to pack them away inside of it safely. The petals dripped with thawing ice. Before too long, his side grew unpleasantly damp. He decided to put his mind off the miserable feeling and focus on the young man before him.

“Do you miss it?” he asked.

“Miss what? The smell of fresh air?” Pierce responded, jokingly gagging at the fragrant plant.

“Never mind.”

He lowered himself down from the tips of his toes and shuffled over with three or four of the flowers. “Hey, come on, you can tell me. I’m sorry for messing around.”

“Just… I don’t know. Everything about being,” he gestured towards the closest wall of the garden, “out there.”

“Every single day.” He tried to laugh, but it came out sad. “It’s the little things that get me, you know? Yeah, I miss my family, and I definitely miss my friends, but sometimes I just lie in bed thinking about all of the other things I can’t see or have in here. I used to always go to this one shop and I can’t stop thinking about the curry they make. Sometimes when I’m almost asleep I pretend I’m there. It almost feels like I can taste it.

“And there’s other things too, you know? I miss this river that was by my house. Every spring it’d burst into life with all of these beautiful flowers, and when I was really little I’d go down to its banks and pick a bouquet for my parents. That’s where my friends and I used to hang out. We’d swim, climb trees, and make up all of these games to play. Honestly, I don’t remember a lot of them. There was one where we were warriors defending a castle, I think, and another where we would pretend we were adventurers with these crazy magic powers. We’d have fake fights in the mud, casting ‘spells’ at each other until it was time to go home. When we were older, we mostly just went down there to have a place to talk and relax, but it was still nice. Nothing beat like laying out by the water in the summer. There was always a breeze going, and sometimes it’d rain so hard that we’d take shelter under rocks to avoid getting completely soaked.

“There’s a lot of other junk, but-“ He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. When they opened, they were glistening. “Look at me. I’m about to cry like a baby.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Don’t be sorry. Sometimes that stuff’s the only thing that keeps me going. It’s feels good to say it out loud. Reminds me of what I’m going to get back to when I get out of here someday.”

“You want to go back?”

“Don’t you?”

Alastaros shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to get out of here and see my family more than anything, but… I really don’t know.”

“Yeah? Are you a big traveler?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then why don’t you want to go home?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. It’s weird to wonder what the people I knew would think of me if they saw who I am now.”

“Are you… uh, are you ashamed of yourself?” When he didn’t answer, Pierce’s shoulders slumped. “You are. Why? Nothing that’s happened to you is your fault—you have to know that, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Why not?” interjected a new voice. They both tensed. Fear hotter than a lump of coal settled into Alastaros’s heart. He turned to find himself facing his worst nightmare.

Cyprus was shaking. Not from the cold, no, but from something deep inside, an ailment of the mind; the kind that turned men into monsters ready to unleash upon the world the agony of their heart. His eyes were wide with venomous wrath, his skin was flushed a bright reddish purple, and he appeared to be staggering. When he dragged a hand across his mouth, it came away smeared crimson. Thin rivulets of blood dripped from a cut in his lip onto the rumpled collar of his shirt. In his white-knuckled grip was the hilt of his black whip. Despite how much he was trembling, his hand was terrifyingly steady.

He looked ready to kill.

“Khasta,” Pierce breathed.

“You two seemed to be having an awfully good chat. Why not proceed?”

“You- you were- playing cards, and I thought-“

“Shut up and get on your knees,” he snarled. They immediately followed his command. Although neither looked at each other, they both seemed to realize the same thing. This was no little game, no round of darts in the game room, no playful jab or scathing remark.

“Khasta, it’s not-“ Pierce started slowly, apologetically, and flinched as Cyprus seized him by the jaw.

“You know what?” he growled, voice as low as it was lethal. “I’m sick and tired of my servants thinking they can do or say whatever they please. I did not send you out here, did I, suvam?” That was a Morrim word that Alastaros actually knew. It meant maggot; rotting one; filth; gutless.

“You did not. I’m sorry, khasta, I just-“
his words trailed off in a squeak as Cyprus dug his nails into his cheek. The blood on his knuckles from his lip smeared the skin by his nose.

“Why should I keep you around if you won’t listen to me?”

“I’m really sorry, I-“

“No. No! I want to hear it. Tell me why you should stay.” His words dropped to a whisper. “Beg for your life.”

Pierce’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly several times. He swallowed a panicked breath of air before directing his wide eyes foolishly to the other servant. Cyprus yanked him upwards so fast that Alastaros nearly missed it. His heart began to race.

Cyprus had a knife.

“You’ve been a real pain in my side for the last few weeks, suvam. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught you slacking.”

“I- I-“

“You what? What is it? You want to tell me that you’re sorry? You want to tell me that you’ll never do it again? We both know that’s not true. You haven’t stopped running your mouth since day one.” He leaned in close. “I think it’s time I shut you up for good. I don’t need you—I don’t need any of you. I can get more of you anytime I please, you especially. See, suvam, there’s nothing you could’ve said to change my mind about this. You’ve always been worthless to me. I should’ve realized it earlier, but I figured you’d change. I figured I just had to beat the disobedience out of you. But I tried that, didn’t I? I’ve beaten you over and over again. I’ve cut up your face and twisted your ankle. You haven’t learned.”

“Khasta, this was my mistake,” Alastaros pleaded. “I asked him to show me where the mismaya plant was earlier, so we came out here together. He wouldn’t have if I didn’t ask.”

“You think I believe that?”

His lungs squeezed like they were in a vice as a wave of bile rose into his throat.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget right here, right now, garrhas, for lying to me. And every time you think about misbehaving in the future, you’ll think of this.”

“No!”

The world turned into a blur. He didn’t remember getting to his feet, but there he was, standing tall, yanking and slapping at his khasta’s wrists. Thankfully, the knife had fallen into the snow. Unthankfully, his khasta had never looked so furious in his three years of service.

“You do not touch me!” Cyprus screamed, and then there it was, a horrid slapping sound followed by a stinging, slicing, excruciating pain, the first crack of his weapon of choice. Alastaros choked on his own spit in an attempt to cry out. His vision went blank—no, white, he was face down on the ground—and his body spasmed. Someone started to grab at his jacket. Let it be Pierce, he hoped desperately, knowing that it wasn’t. Pierce didn’t have deathly pale hands. Pierce wasn’t rough.

“Do you know, garrhas, what happens to dogs when they bite their masters? Do you?”

“I’m sorry, please, please-“ his sentence was punctured with a wheeze. Cyprus’s boot was pressing into the back of his neck, hard, so hard that spots danced in his vision. “Don’t! Don’t, please! I’m sorry, I’m so-“

This time, he was cut off with a blood-curdling screech—his own, to be precise. The whip had come down again, this time on his exposed back. It bit into his flesh over and over again, raining down in torrential blows, before he could say or think anything else. He couldn’t tell anymore whether the wetness he was feeling was snow or blood.

“I should just stab you now.” He was rambling. In between every word was another crack of the whip, another mind-numbing pain that shot through his entire body. “I want to—I really, really want to—but I want this first, I-“

“Please, please-“

“-should’ve been doing this all along. It would’ve saved me so, so much trouble-

“Damn it!” Alastaros howled. He dry retched and wheezed roughly afterwards. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die. He needed to run- no, he needed to- he couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t-

The beating halted for a brief moment, and footsteps started in the other direction. Words were said. He couldn’t tell what they were; he could only hear his heartbeat, thready uneven, frighteningly fast.

When the whipping started again, Alastaros couldn’t take it. He went unconscious for a brief, almost pleasant moment, then woke with blurred vision. Cyprus was breathing nearly as hard as him. That made him glad. He hoped he’d run out of air. He hoped he’d die, and that Cyprus would die beside him. He hoped Pierce would get to see his river again.

The pain stopped again. More words were exchanged. Alastaros didn’t care. He drooled onto the ground openly, letting his spit mingle with his tears and blood in the snow.

A hand touched his shoulder—or what was left of it, anyways, it was shredded to bits—and he heard a soft voice buzzing above his head. Not Cyprus’s. Whose was it? Eleanor’s? Surely not. It had to be Pierce’s. That was nice. What was Pierce doing? He was saying a lot of things. He tried to listen.

“—ou’re going to be alright. I’ve got you. Do you think you can get up? I need you to get up.”

“Wha?” Was that his own voice? Why did it sound like that?

“Give me your hands, I’ll pull you up. I’m taking you inside.”

He tried to raise his arms. Instead, he passed out again. When he came to, he was sitting on the edge of a bathtub. Something was being dabbed at his back. It hurt, but he was almost too numb to feel it. He’d been out in the cold for so, so long. Wasn’t that bad? He couldn’t remember.

“Hey there,” Pierce murmured. His eyes swam in the other servant’s vision. Why were they so red? Had he been crying?

“Why’re ‘ou- why’re ‘ou cryin’?” he slurred.

“Shh, I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“But tha’s bad, cryin’. ‘Ou’ll get ‘n trouble.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Save your energy.”

“But- but-“

“Shh, it’s fine. You’re going to be alright.”

“Where’s Cyp- Cyp-“

“Don’t worry about that. You’re safe.”

“Wha?”

“You’ll see in a minute. Just breathe for me, mm?”

“Am I dyin’?”

“I… I hope not.”

The door swung open. They both flinched. Cyprus entered, his clothes still stained red, next to Nikolai, who was blank-faced.

“Are you sure about this? He isn’t in the greatest condition, and he’s prone to acting out,” his khasta said. He still sounded out of breath.

“I’ve thought it over.”

“None other will do? It has to be him?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“His cooking was exquisite. As of right now, I don’t own a single servant that can do what he can. I haven’t eaten such a wonderful meal in years.”

“But surely you can find someone else who can cook,” he protested. Pierce paused whatever he was doing to Alastaros’s back and glanced down. “He’s a pest. Out of all my servants, he’s the least loyal. He’s a badly behaved mutt; I think it’s because of his blood.”

“I could use a challenge, hava. Life has been a bit too easy lately. Too much wine, too many festivities. It’s all gotten repetitive. Surely someone as passionate and hardworking as yourself can understand.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cyprus responded earnestly.

“Then will you agree to the trade? The three first editions for this servant?”

“Of course! Anything for you, Nikolai. I think you’re making a mistake, but you know that I respect you and will therefore respect your decision.”

“Excellent. I will take him home with me in about an hour’s time.”

“You’re leaving tonight? But you haven’t been here a week!”

“I know that it’s unfortunate, but I have just received news today that my presence is requested by the court of my city. I am to be granted an award of some sort, and it does my reputation well to show up.”

“I understand. Suvam!” he yelled, changing both his tone and direction. “Get up and pack up Nikolai’s belongings. You too, garrhas. Tell the others to help.”

“Actually, hava, do you mind if I take a moment to examine my purchase?”

“Oh. Ah, absolutely, do as you wish. I’ll go inform Eleanor of your departure. She’ll be devastated, you know.”

“Tell her I’ll be back in two weeks with the books. That should cheer her up.”

Cyprus and Pierce hastily left the bathroom, each heading their separate ways. Without the support of his friend, the aching servant slumped over partially. In doing so, his eyes met directly with a pair of empty green ones.

The door shut, followed by the small click of a lock. Alastaros, not for the first time that day, froze.

He was alone with Nikolai.

-End of Section One-

(I think I was a little off on my balance this time in terms of description. It’ll be better next Part, I promise—I just had a really busy few days and didn’t have as much time to think things out as clearly.

Question time!

1. You seemed to like Pierce, which is a surprise to me. He originally wasn’t going to be a big character at all. Unfortunately, he’s probably not going to be featured in person again for quite some time (if at all). Would you like to see him again in the future?
2. How are you feeling about the drama? Was that enough? There won’t be as much in the next few Parts, I swear. I know that was a little fast in terms of pacing.
3. Have you liked any developments in this Section as a whole, not just Part, that I’ve made in terms of Alastaros’s character (his body issues, cooking skills, traits, etc.)? Disliked? Be honest :D
4. Would you like to learn more about Cyprus, or are you satisfied with him being a mystery?
5. I know there aren’t many plot twists in this Part, so I can’t exactly ask about them, but were you surprised by how it ended?
6. Once again, is there anything you’d like to see in the next Part?

Brief Side Note: Each Section will have three Parts. I’m not sure how many Sections there will end up being, but I don’t plan to end it anytime soon.

There might be some stuff that’s confusing, by the way, but it’ll all be cleared up in the next Section. Also, as usual, I apologize for any grammar mistakes/sentences I forgot to finish. I’ve been typing all of this in the notes on my phone aha)

1. You: Unfortunately, he’s probably not going to be featured in person again for quite some time (if at all)
   Me:
   
   but yeah I want to see him again! He a v nice boyo! I really like him, he so soff !
2. No, no, it's okay! I'm actually really curious as to where this is going to go now! And yeah, the drama was enough- i almost shit myself when Cyprus showed up- i mean, i knew it was going to happen but i got so absorbed in their conversation that i forgot lmaoo
3. hmmm, that's a tough one, but if I had to say anything about it, it wouldn't be anything I disliked, but more like I feel something is missing but I don't know what that is-
   Like, I love Alastros, I really do, but maybe if you added a little more character to him than just cooking, it would feel a little livelier? I don't know if that's just me though, cause I love action packed stuff, but then again he was kind of restricted in the house by the Khasta's so that may be why, but overall, everything is super cool!!
4. Y'know, I've always had this thing about villains. I know that they are the way they are because of probably some unfortunate events, but I always love to see what makes them tick- what happened for them to get that way? Are they just bitter naturally? Or did something happen? So yeah, I think i would like to see a little more of him
5. Was I surprised? Yes and no. No, because I knew something like that had to happen, and yes, because of the timing of when it happened. I guess I wasn't expecting for it to come that quick haha
6. The next part? hmmmm, maybe get to know more about Nikolai? I'd also love to see how Alastros reacts and what his thoughts are!! I love getting inside the mind of the main character, it makes things more interesting!

(kab'su wn ao;urbrhd8, how daRE- !! You don't need to apologize about anything ! >:(( I love seeing what you bring to the table and it's very entertaining for me, so if anything, I should be thanking you for making this!! It's a work of art dude! But! If you get busy like that again, don't worry about it! Because at the end of the day, we writers have lives too, so it's okay to take a few days off, I don't mind it! I know I have a lot of stuff to do over here on my end too because of school, so I get that kinda thing)
_{also, don't worry about putting trigger warnings, im a very tough boyo and I got this! Well, most of the time anyways, I do cri if I see someone I like die-}

(I’m sorry the pikachu meme really just killed me 10/10 perfect execution
And ok yeah I definitely get what you’re saying about Alastaros’s character. I’ll be sure to consider that when writing! I also understand the villains thing. Villains are pretty rad, and even though their backstories don’t exactly excuse their actions it’s cool to see how they impacted them.
Ok not gonna lie I’ve literally been checking Notebook every 3 minutes to see if you responded not to sound wack but lol I am still so hyped
Unfortunately there isn’t going to be that much direct action in the upcoming Part—I can’t believe we’re already at Section Two, tho!—because it’s going to be more of an exposition type deal, but things will get more intense after that
I’m totally excited to see what you think of Nikolai in the next Section too
anyway it’s time to get back to work!!!)

(Ahahaha sorry bout that, I answered then went straight back to bed cause I was dead tired dude! I stayed up really really late lmao

ahhhhh I'm really excited as to what you've got mi amigo!!! Oof and dang, we really are that far along already!
But its okay if we take a little break from the violence for a bit, tis never hurt anyone!)

Section Two, Part One

For a long, torturous minute, neither Alastaros nor Nikolai spoke. The former did his best to take in his company and if he’d heard right, which was doubtful in his dizzy state, new owner. Collecting his thoughts was as difficult as threading a needle with a frayed string. They continuously popped up and slipped away into the foggy corners of his head before he could give them attention for more than five steady seconds. What he did know for sure was that he was in a dangerous situation and that his best hope of escaping it was to die. He tried for a minute to do so; it was no use. For as close as he was to his end, it eluded his grasp.

The raven-haired young man was the first to make a move. His jade green pants creased as he dropped down to his knees before his servant and tipped his head downwards. He appeared to be mumbling something. Alastaros did his best to comprehend the soft stream of words and caught, “-ease forgive me. I should not have waited for as long as I did. I was foolish—goodness, I was so foolish, wasn’t I? And now if you- there’s no delicate way of saying it, is there? If you die, it’ll be my fault.”

“Wha?” he asked, instantly regretting it. Nikolai looked directly up at him. Alastaros, remembering faintly his manners, fixed his gaze elsewhere.

“Oh, it’s a miracle that you’re still conscious. Pierce put some numbing solution into your wounds, but he couldn’t use too much without overwhelming your system. Um, that being said- how do you feel?”

“Why’re ‘ou whisperin’?”

“This bathroom isn’t that big, and I’m afraid that one of my cousins might hear me. You’re slurring quite a lot. How’s your head?”

“Uh,” Alastaros said in response. He’d already forgotten the question. He shivered at the melting ice that was still dripping down his chest and started to wrap his arms around himself, only to stop at the fierce pain that ripped through him at the movement.

“You must be freezing. I’ll bet you have hypothermia.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nikolai glance to the door and get back to his feet. “I do wish they’d hurry. The sooner I get you home, the sooner I can get you by a fire.”

The whole scene was bizarre, even to one as mentally muddled and mixed up as the servant. He couldn’t understand what game Nikolai was playing. He was putting on a very good front, admittedly, but there was clearly something sinister behind it. There had to be. It was likely that he was trying to manipulate him, possibly so that he’d feel grateful for his assistance. That was it, surely. He’d play the lifesaver card for the years to come until he realized, just as Cyprus did, that he’d be much more useful in the ground as fertilizer than he was as a servant. He just hoped the revelation wouldn’t take as long this time around. Three years was a long time to spend walking around on eggshells.

“Alright, Pierce just gave me word that my luggage is about ready. He’s going to help you down to my carriage. Do you think you can stand?”

He heard the words, but he couldn’t process them. Had his head been filled with cotton? He became very alarmed suddenly that it had, but his arms were too heavy to lift to check. Had they been stuffed with lead? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He was just tired, tired, tired—why was he so tired?

Three years was a long time to spend so worn out.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Could he hear him? His brain registered sounds distantly, like he was hearing somebody speak through a mouthful of water or syrup. Why was he thinking about syrup? Why was his back so wet? Had he spilled syrup on it? That wasn’t good; he’d get in trouble for that. Someone else was getting in trouble for something, weren’t they? Or had they already? Had he? Why was the word crying stuck in his head? Who was crying? Not him. Not the person in front of him, looking oh-so worried. Who were they? He knew their name, he was a thousand percent certain that he did, but he couldn’t recall it at all.

Three years was a long time to spend forgetting the names and faces of his home.

“Are you alright?”

He wasn’t.

Three years was a long time to spend being so, so not alright.

Where was he? Why was he tilting to the side? Why was he falling over?

Who was he?

“Hey- hey! Stay with…”

He passed out again.

Days later, when he woke up in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, he’d recall only small pieces of how he’d gotten there. He remembered Pierce’s arm around his waist and the sound of sobs almost too quiet to hear. He remembered hearing him say, softly, so, so softly, “I wish I could’ve known you. Be happy for me,” before lifting him into the back seat of a carriage and laying his head down gently. He remembered reclining on his stomach with his eyes closed and his cheek pressed against a plush seat that smelled of leather. He remembered hearing a lovely voice ask a question before feeling cold fingers press into his neck to check his pulse. He remembered the snap of a whip, a story of a river, the strong scent of a flower, and a purple pot. He couldn’t remember much else.

The room he was in was painted the color of cream. It took him a moment to realize why he felt such an abhorrence for it. He rolled onto his side to get away from it and whimpered as his back flared up in agony. That explained the whip sounds, then. What had, he wondered, he gotten whipped for, and who had wrapped his torso so nicely in bandages? Not Eleanor or Cyprus. Could it have been Pierce? Why had he looked so sad?

“You’re awake.”

Alastaros jumped. He hadn’t seen Nikolai. The green-eyed cousin of his khasta was sitting in a rocking chair beside the bed.

“How are you feeling? Not well, I’d imagine.”

“I’m…” He was at a loss for words. Why was Nikolai there? Where was he? He needed to answer, he knew, but his mouth didn’t feel like it was connected to his head.

“You look confused.”

He nodded.

“What’re you confused about? Do you, um,” his voice, which had previously been too loud for Alastaros’s weary head, dropped in volume, “remember what happened?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“That’s alright. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to get back to sleep?”

He’d been given a choice. Funny, he hadn’t had a real choice in such a long time. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to make Nikolai mad, after all. Not answering at all was definitely not an option, though, so he managed a simple, “What would you wish me to do?

That seemed to sadden him; his eyebrows scrunched together, and his handsome features fell. “Oh, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“How… hard it is, I guess, to talk to you guys at first. I don’t mean that in a rude way, of course. It isn’t your fault.”

That struck a chord in Alastaros. He could remember someone saying that—who he wasn’t sure, but he’d definitely heard it.

“I know what I should do. Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Nikolai Zayad, and you are?”

“Alastaros Deviari.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

“Why…” Alastaros bit his lip. “Why are we meeting?”

“I bought you from my cousin a few days ago.”

“Oh.” He swallowed. “I understand, khasta. Thank you for your patience.”

“Don’t-” Nikolai dropped his head into his palms, and Alastaros flinched. He didn’t look like he was going to lash out, but he knew better than to let his guard down.

“I’m sorry, khasta, did I do something wrong?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Oh. As you wish. What would you prefer?”

“Nikolai.”

“But that’s-” He cut himself off. Refusing an order was the best way to end himself up in trouble. “Excuse my poor manners, please. I was just confused as to why you would request me to use your name. Would you not prefer a different term? Master, perhaps? Sir?”

“No, my name will do fine. Unless there’s something else you want to call me.”

Alastaros was incredibly frustrated. Talking to him was like performing an elaborate dance without knowing any of the steps. He hadn’t messed up yet, or at least he didn’t think he had, but he was scared that he’d trip at any second. Cyprus and Eleanor had been different. Oddly enough, he almost missed them.

“There is nothing that comes to mind, kh- sorry, I mean Ni- Niko-”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about that now. It’ll take some time getting used to. I know this is probably a lot to handle.”

Finally, they’d reached a spot in the conversation that he was familiar with. He knew exactly how to respond. “It is nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.”

Nikolai looked up and groaned. “This is going poorly, isn’t it? You’ll have to excuse me, I’m really trying my best.”

“Of course you are, and I thank you graciously for it.”

“No, don’t thank me. Please, it’s more than I think I can handle.”

“Oh.” Damn it, Alastaros thought, he’d been wrong once more. “Of… of course, kh- uh.”

“You should hate me.”

That had to be a trap. “I do not. Unless, of course, you wish me to. Would that please you?”

“No, it wouldn’t. Here, let me give this another go. I bought you and brought you here, but I didn’t really buy you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he responded confidently, not understanding in the slightest.

The faintest hint of a smile played across his new khasta’s lips. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He said nothing. Either way, he’d be caught. In the dance of their conversation, he’d basically just stepped on his partner’s foot. Fury was sure to ensue.

“That’s alright, I’m doing a horrible job.”

Or not.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’re free now. Well, sort of. You’re probably wondering where we are. Welcome to Whikhash. It’s decently far from where you were in Morrim—we’re in the mountains now, and we had to go through the forest. Without the snow, the trip takes about half a day. With it, it was about sixteen hours, maybe a little more. That’s besides the point, though. What’s important is that you’re safe now. Out here, forced servitude is frowned upon by most. It’s illegal, actually. I really don’t own you. In fact, I’d let you go back to your house and family, if you’d like… but I kind of can’t. You’re not the only one here. There are several others like you. Three girls and two boys and, well, me. I’m not like you guys, though. Sorry, I’m getting off track. Like I said, I’d let you all go anywhere you please and never see me again, but your markings… the tattoos on your hands mean that if I do, then you’ll probably be caught by bounty hunters. And I won’t be able to get you out again if those bounty hunters bring you back to your original owners. Plus, if anyone found out that I’d been taking and releasing you guys, my reputation with them would be ruined. I wouldn’t be able to help any of you ever again. No one outside of Whikhash would trust me. I could live with their hatred, I could, they’re all monsters, but I can’t live knowing you guys are still out there being treated so poorly. So you’re free, but you have to be free here.” He crossed his arms and frowned a little. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. It’s not always so bad here. I go on trips a lot, and I try and take you guys if I can. If I can, I sneak your families and friends in here to visit, too.”

“Oh.” And that’s all Alastaros could really say. He was still trying his best to figure out Nikolai’s game. Was he trying to lure him into some sort of false sense of security? That was messed up. He seemed so sincere—or, at the very least, his acting was really on point.

“You don’t seem pleased, is something wrong?”

“I don’t… know if I believe you.”

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t believe me, either.” A new look swept over him: curiosity. “How long were you with my cousins, Alastaros?”

Instantly, he said, “Three years, give or take a couple of weeks.”

“Three years? That’s… wow. That’s a long time.”

“It is.”

“Was. You’re not there anymore, and you’ll never be going back.”

“Why?”

Nikolai smoothed a hand through his thick hair, messing it up. Under the pale light of the winter afternoon that drifted in through a window to his side, he looked strange. Inhuman, almost, but not in a scary way. It was like he was staring at one of the artworks Eleanor kept in her part of the prize room. He was a marble sculpture with shards of gems for eyes and a near heartbreaking hopefulness etched into his every feature. When he tilted his head up, the marble warped considerably. He had dark bags under his eyes and bitten lips, lines in his forehead and a strain to him that spoke of stress beyond his years.

“Why what? Why am I doing this, or why are you not there anymore?”

“Why am I here?”

“You really don’t remember it, then. Makes sense. You were going in and out of consciousness. I’m not sure why, but you were out in the garden. Pierce had just set up a game of cards for my cousins and I when he left to go take care of other business, which, as it turned out later, was helping you. Another girl was left in charge of assisting us. After a while, I noticed that Cyprus was becoming agitated. I asked if he wanted to leave the game where it was; he said yes. I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do. Eleanor went back to her room and me to mine. About- well, I don’t know how many minutes later, Pierce came sprinting into my room shouting bloody murder about, uh, bloody murder. I immediately asked him to calm down, of course, but he was a mess. By the time I finally got him to explain what was happening, Cyprus had whipped you into a pulp. I decided to buy you and bring you here in hopes of your recovery.”

“Why’d Pierce come to you?”

“That’s the thing. You have to understand, Pierce is a good kid. He’s strong—much stronger than an eighteen-year-old has any right to be. And he has a big heart. That’s why I… I was originally going to bring him here. I told him about it one night after everyone else had gone to bed. He was ecstatic. When it came down to that day, though, he decided your life was his top priority.”

Both dread and awe flooded Alastaros’s veins. “So you took me instead, just like he asked.”

“I did. I asked him if he was sure about it, but he was dead certain.”

“And now he’s probably just dead,” he whispered. Tears prickled in his eyes. He drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring his aching back, and tried to steady himself. His whole world had been thrown off kilter. Someone he’d barely known—a boy he’d literally met twice—had willingly thrown away his happiness, his sanity, his life, even, to save him.

Pierce’s words—likely the last he’d ever heard—bounced around and around in his head.

‘I wish I could’ve known you. Be happy for me.’

‘Be happy for me.’

‘Be happy-’

Alastaros shattered.

How ironic was it, he bitterly thought, that even miles away from his old mansion he’d still be so thoroughly controlled by it? He was crying tearlessly, soundlessly, into his legs, shaking like there was no tomorrow.

“What is it? Are you seizing?” Nikolai was on the bed in a flash. When Alastaros jerked away, he retracted his hand. “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just- I was going to see if you had a fever, but that’s not it, is it? You’re… I see that I’ve upset you, haven’t I? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ll go, if you’d like.”

“You were right,” he hoarsely said in response.

“I was? About what?

“I do hate you.”

He pursed his lips. “I know.”

“I wish you’d let me die.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Leave me alone.”

“I-”

“Leave me alone!” he screamed, curling his fingers into fists so hard that his knuckles hurt. Nikolai got up in a hurry and stumbled backwards to the door. Fear flashed through his eyes. It was chased away by sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I hope you can learn to like it here, I do.”

“Please just go away,” Alastaros croaked.

“Alright. Shout for me if you need me. And… Alastaros?”

He said nothing, too wrecked by his sobs to bother throwing out an answer

“You’re not the only one, you know. I hate me, too,” he muttered, then let the door shut with a click and walked away.

End of Section Two, Part One

(Before anything is brought into question about the length of this part aha I know, I know. This was a shorter Part not because I was lazy but because the really long description Part comes next and I didn’t want to have two parts of solely description because I know that can be boring.

It’s that time of the day—question time!

1. Would you rather meet the other servants first or take a grand tour of the new mansion? I promise that this is the only other big setting swap that’ll happen anytime soon lol there definitely won’t be like a new mansion every Section that’d get exhausting
2. Did you like the food scene in the first Section, and would you like something similar to that again in this one?
3. Do you like Nikolai’s character more or less so than in the first Section? Were you expecting something similar to this, or did it surprise you a bit?
4. Anything else you wanna add?

Also I haven’t forgotten about Cyprus’s background reveal or any of that it just didn’t feel right to shove it in there so uh that’ll come later

As always thanks for reading and I hope you’re still enjoying it!)

(Oh no, it's all cool with me, I'd say it was still preettyy long, it was fantastic tho cause they got to talk! Alastros thoughts made me sad >:'( but it's okay because that's what i asked for but now i feel so b a d fOR HIM-)

1. OoooOOooOo i would like to see the description for the mansion, you're so good at doing those that i really love it!
   Ahahaha thats true, descriptions can be hard to do sometimes, well, for me anyways lmao
2. bsgxisvd, "hv shskxixgsso I WOULD LOVE ANOTHER FOOD SCENE
3. Bro i love Niko, he's ao sweet and he's really trying his best BUT IM SO WORRIED AND SHOOK BECAUSE OF WHAT PIERCE DID- HE'S GOING TO DIE ISN'T HE
   But i got to say that it did kind of surprise me that Niko was going to take Alastros, i was not expecting that-
4. Yes. You cannot kill my baby Pierce, you caNNOT-

(It's alright haha, and I am!! I can't wait to see what happens next dude, Alastros and Pierce have broken my oh so fragile heart lol I wanna see how Alastros reacts to this new found "freedom")

Section Two, Part Two

The sky in winter in Whikhash was different than the one in Morrim. It, like the skin of a corpse, was a stomach-churning gray tint that would make even the hearts of the bravest soldiers sting. The clouds that hung in it sagged like they were ill, and not a single bird dared to swim in its ghastly murk. For hours upon hours, Alastaros stared at it from his place entangled in the bed’s sheets. He didn’t want to move. There was a whole new world to explore outside the door that Nikolai had left through, but he couldn’t bear to see it. He didn’t deserve to. All he wanted to do was to stay with his head on the all-too-comfortable pillow beneath him until dehydration overwhelmed him and he slipped away. Maybe then Nikolai would have a reason to go fetch Pierce—if he was still alive.

He was so pathetically stupid. Kind-hearted, hopeful Pierce had been just a day or so away from happiness, and he just had to have intervened. He wished he could remember exactly what had happened. Hearing Nikolai explain the events of the day had been like listening to someone read a diary entry about him aloud. None of it was that familiar. If he really focused he could maybe picture what his beating might have looked like, but it was always from the point of view of an outsider, never his own.

His mouth tasted chalky. He licked his lips and shifted onto his stomach to give his back a break. The lacy edge of one of the blankets caught on the side of a bandage as he did so, and a tingle of morbid excitement rushed through him at the pain the tugging of his skin caused. If he tried hard enough, he could rip it off; then, he supposed, letting his arms cross and cradle his head on the pillow, he’d likely bleed out. Nikolai could simply tell Cyprus he’d done so, go buy Pierce, and things would be right. Pierce would appreciate the bed. Pierce would love the sky. Pierce would make friends with the others, definitely, and not outright offend and scare off the person helping him.

He disgusted himself.

Somebody knocked on the door. Merely the thought of his new owner was enough to darken his thoughts. He pushed himself up onto his elbows limply and growled, hoping it would agitate the man, “I already told you to leave me alone.”

There was a spot of quiet before the door clicked open. A stranger with a deep, melodious, and richly accented voice responded with the lilt of someone telling a joke, “No, I don’t think you did.”

Alastaros tried to twist around to get a glimpse of the unfamiliar person, who he had a suspicion was a girl—possibly from somewhere far away judging by the roundness of her vowels—and ended up in excruciating agony. Whoever it was came to his side to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. They hummed to him encouraging whispers until the last of the dots in his vision faded away. Their palm was soft and sweaty. He unconsciously leaned into it, sighing, and caught a hint of a fruity, sugary smell that made his stomach rumble. Up until that moment he really hadn’t been hungry at all, but suddenly all he wanted was to be at home in his old kitchen, stirring up some fruit jam for a tart.

“Lullay, lullay,” the person soothed in their calm, hushed way, “it’s just a little pain, that’s all. You’re alright.”

“Who are you?”

“Would you like to see?” The stranger stopped to wait for a nod, then helped him to sit up. He’d been right in that it was a girl. She had beautiful dark skin and a mane of tight black curls that bounced when she moved. Much to his surprise, she was also pregnant. Heavily so, too. A strip of her round stomach peeked out between the fluffy jacket and matching pajama pants she wore when she moved to push back a strand of hair that’d fallen into his face.

“My name‘s Kalila.”

“Alastaros.”

She had a laugh like honey. “Oh, voja, I know who you are.“

“You do?”

“I do. You’re all Niko’s been talking about for the past few days.”

“Oh.” For an undetectable reason, that made him feel small. He shrunk in on himself and pulled his blankets closer.

“Can I sit?” she asked.

“If you want.”

It took her a couple of seconds to lower herself onto the comforter. In the meantime, Alastaros observed her further. She had a rosiness about her that made her brass-colored eyes and plump cheeks incredibly likable.

“Alastaros is a fascinating name. I’ve never heard it before. Does it mean anything?”

“Not really. Does Kalila?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, actually. My mama always tells me something different whenever I ask. One day it’s ‘radiant beauty’, the next it’s ‘lovely flower’. Between you and me, I think she just made it up.”

“That’s nice.” Frantically, he searched his mind for something to say. The first thing that popped up was, “How, uh, old are you?”

“Seventeen, about to be eighteen. You?”

“Nineteen.” It was bewildering that she was younger than him. So far, she’d been nothing but mature and confident. He would’ve guessed twenty-one if he’d been asked, possibly even twenty-two.

She must’ve caught onto his confusion because she smiled patiently. “I have an idea of you might be thinking. It’s alright, go ahead and say it. I won’t be upset.”

“Isn’t seventeen a bit young to be…” He gestured vaguely to his stomach.

“Yes, it is. If I could’ve, I would’ve waited until I was older. But that wasn’t my choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was assaulted, voja.”

“By-“ he cut himself off, queasy at the thought. Maybe it was better that he’d ended up in such a place instead of Pierce. He was already messed up; the other boy, at least, still had some of his innocence, some of his will to fight. “By Nikolai?”

That caught her off guard. She blinked, slowly mouthing the words, grinned, and then burst out laughing. When she was finished, she emphatically shook her head three or four times.

“No! Niko’s a sweetheart, really. No, it was my old master, the one he took me away from. He was a mean old pervert. Never touched any of the guys, but, well, I’m sure you can imagine what happened to us girls. Made us wear short skirts and heels every hour of the day. Unless he called us to his room, of course, in which case there was no uniform.”

“That’s… disgusting. I’m sorry.”

“Mm, it’s alright. I recently heard that the place burned down with him inside of it, which isn’t surprising. Niko’s actually trying to see if he can track down some of the girls that escaped to bring them here.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Not at all.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that he isn’t exactly interested in that sort of thing.“

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Besides, it’s like I said. He’s too sweet to do anything like that. He’s also far too busy. If he’s not helping out around the house or in the town, he’s up in the attic, working away on his next big project. And before you ask, he fixes up books. That’s his main job. People will bring over their favorite childhood stories or import their expensive, ancient first editions, and he’ll spend hours patching them up. I’ve seen him at it. It’s kind of boring to watch, actually. I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have anything like that you like to do? Any hobbies, I mean?”

“Not many. I like to cook.” Admitting it made him blush. Compared to her, he felt silly and insignificant, like everything he’d been through was such a small deal that he should’ve already forgotten about it.

Her eyes lit up. “Cook? You’re not joking, are you?”

“Uh… no, I’m not. Is that bad?”

“No, it’s amazing! All of us are terrible at it! I mean, not Eko, but he’s usually working when dinner rolls around.” She giggled loudly. “I need to show you the kitchen! You’ll love it!”

“I don’t-“

“And the pantry! We keep getting all of these fancy ingredients as gifts from neighbors, but none of us know how to use them. Niko and Marin usually just put them on toast. That gets kind of old, though.”

“I-“

“Marin’s going to be so excited to meet you. She can be such a handful sometimes around new people. You might have to shake her off your leg! She’ll especially love you if you can cook, she-“

“Stop!”

Rather than jump, she just tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry. Did I say something that upset you, voja?”

“Stop calling me that! I don’t know what it means! I don’t know you! I don’t- don’t-“ His lip quivered. He looked away. “Damn it.”

“You don’t have to act so tough here, you know. I know it’s what you’re used to, and I’m sorry for that, but there’s no use bottling it all up anymore. There’s this thing that my mama used to say when I was really little: bottles break, and you will, too, if you don’t open up.” She reached out to him. “I’m not going to make you talk now if you don’t want to. It’s hard at first, and this is all probably too much, I’m sorry. It’ll be like that for a while. But you’ve just got to start doing things, one step at a time. I promise, it’ll get better. And someday, if you ever do feel like talking to me, then you can.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, once again on the verge of tears, and took her hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

“Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that at once. That was a lot to shove at you—all those names and stuff. So, let’s start slower. What do you want to do right now? We can talk some more, you could take a bath, or I could show you around. You don’t even have to meet the others yet. That can wait until you’re ready.”

He thought about it. While the privacy of a shower would be fantastic, the idea of unwrapping all of the bandages made him want to groan. More alluring to him was the possibility of a fully-stocked pantry to explore and a series of pots and pans to acquaint himself with.

“Kitchen,” he said unsurely.

“There we go, that’s better. Come on, I’ll help you stand, and we’ll put a shirt on you. On the way to the kitchen, I can answer any questions you might have about this place. Does that sound good?”

“Yes.” Even to himself, he sounded small.

They draped one arm each over the other’s shoulders and, with a grunt of effort, both got to their feet. Alastaros winced as he bent the wrong way. Luckily, she didn’t seem to have noticed. She was humming again, this time a part of a song, and it sounded like the chorus to one of his mother’s old lullabies. He hadn’t thought of those in years. The words to one came back to him in a flash, and, despite himself, he found his lips moving instinctively to murmur them. If Kalila thought it weird, she didn’t say anything. She simply fetched him a loose, long-sleeved shirt and helped him slip it on.

Getting out of the room was easy. Climbing down the set of stairs at the end of the hallway, however, was a different beast entirely. He was winded so quickly with his back that he had to catch his breath every five or so steps, and she wasn’t much better off. She told him bashfully that she should probably get a room on the bottom floor to spare her ankles, which were indeed swollen, and he asked her whether or not she’d picked out a name for the baby yet. Like the rest of her responses, she went off on a long tangent between heavy breaths about needing to see the child before coming up with the perfect name to match. They talked about names for the rest of the minute or two they had until they reached the bottom step of the darkly-wooded staircase, finally taking a long break to sink their feet into a plush carpet the color of red wine. Against his bare feet, it felt softer than silk. He braced one of his hand behind him on the silver railing and let his eyes examine the room they’d found themselves in. It was the back section part of a wide, grand hall with floors of smooth, artfully stained wood, multiple ornate rugs, and dozens of paintings of homey scenes like a bakery and an orchard in the autumn on every wall. As they went, the soon-to-be mother joyfully pointed at various artworks and explained the backstories behind them. Some had been painted by Eko, who she claimed he’d meet later, and some were dealt as gifts from those in other regions for Nikolai’s aide or presence. Although Alastaros knew nothing of art, he couldn’t help but admire the stylistic expression of each. Many were realistic; a few were more simple; none were abstract. All, however, were intended to instill a sense of comfiness in the eyes that they greeted.

But the greatest work of art in the house had to be, in the heart of any aspiring cook, the kitchen through a set of double buttercup-colored doors on the left. Smooth, dark red tiles pressed with real flower petals led up to counters of cocoa-colored marble, an unused fire pit, a sink, a basin to wash dishes, and cabinets on the sides stacked full of dish sets with endearing patterns. There was plenty of room to move around the large island in the center, which had artfully been strewn with decorative beads, flowers, and a couple of fake fruits. Two plump plastic pomegranates perched perilously amongst a pile of purple poppies beside an astounding array of azaleas and gorgeous geraniums that would put any professional gardener to shame. They lent a nice touch of freshness to the more deeply hued setting in which they lay. More beautiful still was the pantry. It resembled a walk-in closet in size and had shelves bearing spices both local and exotic, dried roots, breads, baking necessities, jams, herbs, oils and sauces, real fruits, vegetables, edible grasses, and much, much more stored inside the icebox. There was also a whole shelf dedicated to mechanisms and tools to use for cooking, including bowls, spoons, whisks, measuring cups, special dishes, brushes, tweezers, droppers, knives of all sizes, and about a thousand objects unknown to Alastaros. Neglected in the back corner was a case of dusty cookbooks and crinkled recipe sheets that had long since lost the sharpness of their original colors.

Hundreds of ideas for recipes exited his mouth in run-on, tangled, muttered sentences as peeked, perused, and poked his way up and down the ingredients available for his use. He’d never dreamt of having such a luxury almost completely to his own. The fact that there were a large amount of recipe books from all over the world blew his mind. Two or three were in languages he couldn’t read and one was waterlogged so badly that the ink was illegible, but the majority were in mint condition. He chose the five that looked the most interesting to start and carried them out to a counter. Kalila laughed at how eager he was. She’d long since taken a position up on a dining room table chair with a book of her own and a paper fan.

Apple pudding cake. Biscuits. Coriander toast. Dumplings. Egg drop soup. Focaccia. Gingerbread chicken patties. Hearty butternut squash stew. Iced coffee. Jelly roll cake. Kebabs. Lemon salmon. Macaroni spaghetti bakes. Nutmeg cake. Orzo with garlic, cheese, and basil. Pesto grilled cheese. Quinoa tacos. Rice tarts. Shrimp linguine. Turkey kebabs with cherry sauce. Ugali. Vegetarian wraps. Waffles with pecans and syrup. Xacuti masala. Yam casserole. Zucchini pasta. Those were just some of the recipes that stood out. There were thousands more, but his mind couldn’t keep track of all of them. He read and read until his eyes watered and his hands cramped. Some of the recipes were so descriptive that he could almost imagine himself making them.

“Find anything you’d like to make?” Kalila asked, flipping a page.

“What? Oh, definitely. Right now I’m looking at… uh, a couple of things. There’s a recipe for sopapilla cheesecake pie here that looks like it’d taste good. If I made it right, of course. I’ve never made cheesecake before.”

“Well, that’s why you should try to. Even if you mess up, you’ll probably learn something from it, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Do we have the ingredients for it?”

He blinked. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Because you could make it now, if you really wanted to.”

“I- I don’t know about that. I mean, it’s too early for dessert, isn’t it? Won’t Nikolai think that’s kind of weird?”

“Probably not, he’s most likely starving. I don’t think he’s eaten today. Besides, what’s it matter if he thinks it’s weird? I thought you didn’t like him.”

Insecurity hit him like a punch to the face. “You heard that?”

“No, he told me. That’s why I came to see you, not him. He seemed pretty rattled. Went straight up to the attic after telling me that you needed some space from him. I don’t blame you for saying whatever it is that you said—I get it, you’re stressed, this is a lot—but I also don’t know what he could’ve done to deserve it.”

“I don’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Like I said, I don’t blame you.”

“He killed someone.”

He expected a big reaction. Instead, she simply lowered the book, arched one of her eyebrows, and said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why? You don’t think he can kill someone?”

“I know he can’t. He’d be wrecked. I don’t think he’d be able to get out of bed in the morning.”

“But he did. By saving me, he killed someone else. Pierce—this other servant I knew. He told him that he’d take him and he didn’t.”

“Oh, goodness. That’s what he’s been so torn up about. He wouldn’t talk to any of us about it, but I could tell something was wrong.”

“Did he… take it out on you?”

“No. Remember what I said earlier? He’s a good person. He’s not like his cousins.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“No.”
“What do you believe?”

“That he’s… playing some sort of game. He’s got to be. Easing your suspicions so that he can get in your head, get you to do what he wants. Soon, he’ll go further. His niceness is just a front.” Alastaros scowled as he noticed that she was laughing. “What?”

“Sorry. I was just as paranoid as you were when you first came here. But let me tell you a story. When I arrived about seven months ago, I was scared out of my wits. I’d just found out that I was pregnant, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Still, I was afraid that Niko would be upset if I didn’t work, so I did. Or, I tried to. I cleaned three whole bookshelves before I broke down crying. He found me. I expected him to yell… or do worse, but he didn’t. He sat down on the floor a few feet away, curled himself up, and asked if in the softest voice possible how I was doing. I screamed some pretty nasty things at him. If he was going to hurt me, I said that he should just get it over with. Shouted that I wouldn’t be as pretty in a couple of months. And you know what he did? He took a sheathed knife from his coat and slid it over to me. Told me to slit his throat if he ever did so much as lay a hand on me without my consent. I could’ve stabbed him then and there if I wanted to, and I honestly don’t think he would’ve resisted. I still have that knife, but I don’t carry it on me anymore because I know that he wouldn’t ever hurt me. He doesn’t even ask me to work if I don’t want to. I could walk all over him, and he’d still ask me if there’s anything he can do to help the kid and I.

“I know that it’ll take time, Alastaros, to trust him. I don’t expect you to immediately like him, and I understand it if you don’t feel safe yet. I’m sure I can even get you a knife of your own, if you’d like. Just…”

“Just?”

“Try and give him a chance. Even just a little bit of one. He might surprise you.”

He shrugged and pulled a new cookbook over to him. “I think I’ll try something else, not the cheesecake pies. How do you feel about curry buns? I’ve made those once before.”

“That sounds lovely,” she sighed. “But you’re deflecting. I get it. You’re probably afraid to try or think something new at this point, because when you did in the past, it ended up with you getting hurt.” She stood, stretched, and shuffled over to the doors. “Take your time. Cook whatever you want—the curry or the cheesecake things, or whatever we have the ingredients for. Think. I’ll come back later.”

Solitude was a blessing. Alastaros hopped up onto the counter beside the cookbooks, swung his feet, and really gave what she’d said some thought. He wanted to believe her, but every time he started to think about it he couldn’t push away how indifferent he’d seemed around his cousins.

Thinking was complicated. Cooking wasn’t. He peeled open the cookbook with the recipe for the sopapilla cheesecake pies and let the recipe for the curry buns pop up in his head. One or the other, one or the other. The flavor of cream cheese and pastry dough with a touch of cinnamon and honey would properly cheer him up, but he could do wonderful things with curry. He did a quick run through of the pantry again. It had all the necessary ingredients for both.

Curry buns or sopapilla cheesecake pies; sopapilla cheesecake pies or curry buns.

Looking forward or looking back.

Words danced through his head. Kalila’s; Nikolai’s; Eleanor’s; Cyprus’s.

Pierce’s.

He went to the oven and turned it on, then went to the pantry. In his head, he ran through the list of ingredients for what he was about to cook. Cinnamon, vanilla, honey, sugar—

He had some cheesecake pies to make.

End of Section Two, Part Two

(There'll be more of the mansion coming up, although the next Part won't be anywhere near as intense as the ending of the first Section.

Questionsssss!

1. Are you ready to meet the other people in the mansion, or would you rather hold off on that a bit longer?
2. How do you feel about Kalila? Do you want more of her, Nikolai, both, or neither?
3. Would you be interested in an eventual scene in which you watch Nikolai restore books? Be honest lol I know that might sound boring to some, so that's why I thought I'd ask.
4. Would you be interested in me giving you little soundtracks to listen to while you read the Parts?
5. Does Kalila's backstory make you uncomfortable, or would you be alright with eventually learning more about it? Cause I know I gave you some details, but there could always be more if you're interested. No nasty specifics lol just more general things about her
6. Any other comments/ideas/things you want to see can go here

I'm excited for you to eventually meet the gang. I've been giving their creation quite some thought. I really do think you might like them, but I understand if you want to wait 'till the next Section to meet them.

Hope you're having a good day! Also, just as a side note, Pierce is…

lol I'm not gonna reveal it that easily

but he's not havin a time)

(Oof yeah, i logged in and i freaked out lmao but here i am!
But now, for questions!)

1. I would actually love to meet the rest of the gang!! I'm excited to see who they are after you described Kalila so perfectly, she sounds so cute and adorable!
2. B o t h absolutely!! I really love Kalila, she's so gentle and sweet- something i need to work on for my story haha
3. Actually, I've seen some videos and uhhh yawns no thank you lmao they're quite boring for me, sorry-
4. S-sound tracks?! '0' you have some??? Then fuck yeah!!! I would absolutely love to hear them dude! Sometimes I'll read webtoons and they'll have instrumental sound tracks and they'll make the experience so much better!
5. Oh, no! It's alright, really, I'm used to the type of thing, and I would love to get to know more about her, she seems interesting enough :')
6. mmmm more niKOLAI
   I don't know why but i love him a lot lol
   Also,

HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT PIERCE IS SUFFERING- nsbzobwbdidbe, snjxis ebdxk

_{i swear i will get revenge for my bby boi- )}

Me @ the last part:

(OH MY GOODNESS IT'S BEEN SO LONG I'M SORRY
The past week and this upcoming one are the hardest weeks I'll have had in a long time. I swear, swear, SWEAR I'm not bored of this at all–I'd be honest with you if I was. I've been writing every day, but I just can't spend a lot of time on it.
The next Part–which is the final Part of Section Two, can you believe that???–will 100% come out tonight, even if I have to stay up till 6. Be on the lookout for that!)

Possible Songs to Listen to (I won't be disappointed if you don't feel like listening to them though, or if you don't like every song; also they're ranked by order of priority of what I think would match best, but you can pick whatever):
(Beginning to the line "I, uh, wouldn't mind that.")

I don't have a song to recommend for this part because I couldn't find any that fit, but I do like the song Affection by Cigarettes After Sex, so… yeah. Doesn't really work, but it's something to listen to if nothing else.

("I, uh, wouldn't mind that." to "Nikolai didn't look at him.")

• Cherry Wine by Hozier
• Numbers by Pompeii
• Breathe Me by Sia
  ("Nikolai didn't look at him." to the end)
• Two by Sleeping At Last (highly, highly recommend for the end of this Part)

Section Two, Part Three

Before there was a world, there was a vast darkness. And before there was a rack of cooling cheesecake pies, there was a rack of piping hot cheesecake pies. Somewhere in between the two phases, one poor pie had ended up on the floor. Its demise was unfortunate; untimely; undeserving; and if anyone besides its creator had been in the kitchen when it occurred, they would’ve been devastated. The only place such a treat should end up, most would argue strongly, is in the mouth of one deserving. As beautiful as the tiling was, it was not deserving of anything more than being walked on—trampled on, usually, by those of the household that often came to grab snacks with open mouths and hands.

Kalila was not the first to enter the kitchen once Alastaros had finished his masterpieces. The double doors creaked open as he was scrubbing the last of the cream cheese from his heels, and an unfamiliar figure tumbled through. Naturally, the cook’s first instinct was not to offer up a hello. He tensed like an ice cube had been dropped down his shirt, accidentally banged his ankle into a cabinet, yelped, slipped, and tripped his way into a crumpled heap by the sink. Though he hadn’t been trying to be funny, the stranger couldn’t control their laughter. It was unlike anything Alastaros had ever heard before, an amusing cacophony of genuinely delighted cackles that erupted from somewhere in their chest.

“Sorry! Niko always warns me ‘bout knocking ’n stuff, but I’ve got a brain the size of a walnut, I swear.“ His accent was like the soft twanging of a guitar. “I’m Eko. You’ve gotta be the new guy, right? What’s your name again?”

“Uh, Alastaros,” he whispered back, wide-eyed. The stranger—Eko—was a lot to look at. His height bordered on what had to be six foot five, and he had a face that could put a model to shame. Sharp cheekbones rose up just under his dark blue eyes and ran down to his thin jawline. A large, silvery cut had been etched into the skin of his neck and chin, but it didn’t distract from his appearance. It—and his outfit, which consisted of a black shirt under a long black coat with a tremendous amount of spikes—made him seem quite rugged. If he’d been of dark hair and strong figure he’d have been almost overly intimidating, but with his fine features and silky, shoulder-length blonde hair, he was closer to fairylike.

“Lasta-what?”

“Alastaros.”

“Uh-las-tuh-ros,” he pronounced carefully, then smiled proudly. “Got it that time. ‘nyway, I really am sorry for barging in like that. I didn’t know you were up ‘nd moving. I just got back from the town a minute ago, ‘nd I smelled something nice, so I thought, you know, I’d come ‘nd see what was happening. Usually nobody actually cooks if I’m not here, ‘nd it never smells good if they do, so…”

“Yeah.” He awkwardly rolled himself back onto his feet and gestured at the desserts.

“Can I try one?”

“If you’d like.”

Eko lifted one of the rectangular pie bars up to his mouth, licked his lips, and sunk his teeth into its corner. Graham cracker crumbs fell into the wicked collar of his shirt as he took another bite.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, swallowing, “you haven’t been up a day ‘nd you’re putting me to shame.”

Pride swelled in his chest. Although he’d stopped to taste the recipe after several steps, he was still excessively relieved that they had turned out well. If he didn’t have his cooking, he didn’t have anything—or at least not anything impressive. His cleaning skills were lackluster, and though he could make a mean tea, there were always others that had a better instinct for it.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eko craned his head around. “Uh, there ‘nyone else in here with you?“

“No. Is that bad?”

“Nah, not really. Just seems lonely. Unless you wanted to be ‘lone, of course, in which case I’ll leave you be.”

“Oh, it’s alright. You can stay if you want—I’m just going to be cleaning up.”

“Here, let me.”

Alastaros balked at the idea. “I can do it,” he said, taking a step forward to pick up the whisk he’d used. With his other arm, he nudged at the washing basin and turned on its nozzle. Lukewarm water gushed out of it into his palm. He twisted the knob forward until steam started to rise, retracted his hand, and, still feeling rather pleased with himself, shifted his focus back to the other man. His shoulders instantly dropped. The blonde’s brow was creased, and he was wearing a frown of empathy.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right? Niko told you what’s up with this place?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re free ‘nd stuff now, so you don’t have to do everything for yourself. Everyone kinda helps each other out here. ‘Nd since you cooked, I figured I could do the rest.”

“But-“ Something hot coiled in his stomach, sending choking waves of smoke into his throat that prevented him from speaking.

“But what?”

“I don’t know.”

Any hardness or suspicion—which, to be fair, wasn’t much at all—that’d been remaining in Eko’s face melted away. He approached his side, toyed with one of his earrings, and then, after a moment, met his eyes.

“Listen, I… nevermind.” He breathed out deeply. “If you want, you can do the dishes, but at least let me clean the counters ‘nd junk.”

“I guess that’s alright.”

Both of them—not friends, nor complete strangers any longer—went to work. Alastaros found a smooth bottle made of stone that contained dish soap. He pumped three shots of it onto everything he’d used in the past four or so hours and let his senses bask in the aroma of lemon that wafted upwards. Bubbles began to form mountains up to his elbows as he attacked the first set of cups and spoons. They popped satisfyingly whenever the main stream of water splashed into them, making the laborious chore of cleaning dishes more enjoyable. Eko seemed to think so, too. He hummed an old drinking song while sweeping sugar granules into his hand and wiping away stains of vanilla. Each of his ministrations were, despite his seemingly aloof way of talking, precise and delicate. Cheerful, too, although he didn’t notice that until he looked a little closer. His whole being was graced with a refreshing contentment with his situation that would make anybody jealous.

“You met my girl yet?”

Alastaros shook himself out of his thoughts. His shirt was soaking wet; he’d sprayed himself accidentally while daydreaming.

“Kalila?” he responded, tan nose crinkling in confusion.

“Nah. Lila’s nice, but we’re just friends. My girl’s Serafina.”

“I don’t think I have, then.”

“That’s a shame. She’s really-”

For the second time that afternoon, the double doors burst open. A blur of pale yellow and black raced towards Eko. He opened his arms wide and caught the culprit with a loud, surprised laugh, spinning halfway around in the process. The girl he was holding was a sight to see. She was no taller than five feet, and her thick, dark, curly hair was half as long as she. Her face was soft and plump, and, although Alastaros wasn’t really interested, her figure was considerably attractive in its fullness. Part of her cuteness came from her natural glow; the other came from her outfit, a pair of overalls stitched lovingly with patches of fabric that was layered over a flowy yellow top.

“Speak of the beauty!” Eko declared. He bent down to pepper kisses on her exposed collarbone. She giggled and squirmed so that she could snuggle into his neck. His face was flushed when he came back up. “Good-ness! Someone certainly missed me, didn’t they?” She squealed as he paused to sneak in another round of kisses, mumbling, “I swear you get prettier every time I see you, darling,” and, “I missed you too,” until her sepia skin was cherry red. Alastaros, feeling especially strange, turned away to start drying a pan. He hadn’t even used a pan in his baking, but since he’d finished most everything else, he had to resort to keeping himself busy with whatever he could find. That also included scrubbing at a puff of cinnamon that’d colored the bottom of his shirt. Cinnamon and lemon, he had to admit, was a strange combination of strong scents that he could’ve lived his life without having smelled. It soured his stomach and the afterglow of cooking that he’d been wallowing in.

Serafina was the first to break away from the embrace. She twirled herself up into a sitting position on the counter and poked her boyfriend in the shoulder, gesturing to the newest member of their household. He gave her a smile that was closer to a grimace, ran the cloth around the pan again, set it down neatly, and crossed his arms.

“You cook?” she asked through an incredibly strong, unfamiliar accent.

“Yes.”

She swung her legs eagerly and pointed at the sopapilla cheesecakes. “I can have?”

“Uh, sure.”

Her glee was evident as she tore into one of the desserts. Eko neared him in the midst of her snacking, leaned close, and said, “Hey, just so you know, Sera’s nearly deaf. She’s very good ‘t reading lips, but she mostly uses sign language ‘cause she doesn’t really know our language that well.”

“Oh. I couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah. Like I said, she’s real good ‘t it—she’s been this way since she was little—but sometimes she needs some help.”

“You talk about me?” They both jumped as the girl in question came up right behind them with an eyebrow arched quizzically.

Her boyfriend’s smile was sheepish. “Yes, gorgeous. Nothing bad, though.”

“Mmhm. Hello,” she said, addressing Alastaros again, “you are good cook! Better than Eko.”

“Thank you.”

“You were- ah, were-“ She looked at her boyfriend urgently and did something with her hands. He nodded thoughtfully.

“She wants to know if you were with Niko’s cousin. That’s what she says she thought he said when you were still sleeping.”

Physical revolution rushed through him, but he managed a quiet, “Yes, that’s right.”

He glanced again at her frantically moving hands. “She says she’s sorry ‘nd that she hopes you’ll feel safer here.”

“Thank you.”

“She also says that she’d like to hug you, but she’ll understand if you say no.”

“I- uh, I wouldn’t mind that.”

She was so much smaller than him, but the moment her arms were around him he felt like he was three feet tall. It was too much. He was reminded of a night he hadn’t thought about in a long time—a night he’d forced out of his head—of being ordered into Eleanor’s bed. He’d been told to hold her until she’d fallen asleep, a process that took about two hours. Until then, she’d whispered to him about her insecurities like they were lovers; he’d actually felt, in those dark, star-studded moments, as if he was wanted, especially when she’d removed his shirt to trace patterns on his hip. Then morning had rolled around. She’d shoved him off the mattress with teary eyes, fuming that he was disgusting for having taken advantage of her. He’d shivered on the ground as she slapped him with the end of her cane with all the wrath of a crudely-rejected ex. The hitting he could withstand, but her derogatory remarks tore him to shreds. She’d ripped out pieces of his “greasy” hair, beat at his “disfiguring stretch marks”, rapped at his “huge thighs”. Worse still was the synonyms of his least favorite word that she’d flung at him like her brother’s darts. His sides were flabby, calves were fleshy, arms were chunky, and stomach was bloated. He was fat—no, more so, disgustingly so, bordering on morbidly obese.

Surely Serafina was sickened by him. How could she not be, with their bodies pressed so closely together? Did she pity him? Why wasn’t she pulling away? Was she like Eleanor? Was this a trick?

Why was everything so hard?

Saliva filled his mouth. He panicked and roughly pushed her away, clasping a hand over his lips, and raced to the sink. The world around him swayed like he was on a boat. But he wasn’t, not at all, he was stuck in the harsh, certainly judging gazes of two people he didn’t know, acting like he was insane. His elbows dropped onto the edge of the sink to support him. He lowered his head into his hands and rocked back and forth on his heels.

In the end, he threw up. There was no escaping it nor delaying it, not in the state he was in. All that came up, however, was bile, which made sense seeing as he hadn’t done more than lightly taste his food. Goosebumps rose on his arms and legs at the thought. Eating sounded a fate worse than death. He retched, spasmed, and dry heaved again and again as the night with Eleanor replayed in his head.

Cool fingertips brushed against his neck as he finished off his last round. He gave them no mind; there was plenty else to focus on. His tongue was dry and tasted bitter, his eyes burned, and his throat was terribly sore. Each and every breath he drew sent him deeper into his agony. Soft moans came from somewhere inside of him.

He wished he’d peeled off the bandages.

Someone was lowering him to ground. They left him for a good twenty seconds before returning with a damp cloth that they brushed against his clammy forehead. Unintentionally, his eyelids drooped. It wasn’t his fault; whoever it was had put a drop of lavender essence in the cloth as well, and it was successful in taking the erratic edge off his nerves. He leaned into their caresses needily, the rigidity of his stance draining, pulse easing, nausea subsiding. All that remained was the occasional jitter or jolt that racked through him like a nasty cough and the bad taste of his breath that led him to yearn to squeeze the perfumed rag out in his mouth.

Shuffling happened from his right, presumably, he pondered absently, someone sitting down. They didn’t say anything. Alastaros opened his eyes again to find that they’d turned the lights off. By his feet was a lit lantern that cast mellow light on the cabinets around them.

Nikolai didn’t look at him.

Eko and Serafina were nowhere to be seen. He’d probably scared them off. His eyes burned for a different reason. He wiped at them, sniffing, and breathed shakily.

“Do you still feel sick?” Nikolai murmured quietly. Alastaros shook his head no. “Good.”

“I don’t know why- I don’t know why I did that. Is she upset?”

“Who, Sera?” He waited patiently for another small nod. “No, she’s just worried. She said that you scared her. I’ve never seen her run so fast before. I think she probably thought your being sick had something to do with your wounds, but… I think we both know that’s not the case.”

“Mm.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but, um, can I ask something?”

“Mm.”

“Was this because of… them? My cousins?”

“Mm.” He tried for a smile. It wavered. “Eleanor.”

“Goodness. Did- did- did-”

Alastaros looked at him oddly. Nikolai swallowed, still staring at his lap, then started over.

“Did she assault you? Se- goodness, I can barely say the word, isn’t that pathetic? I mean, in the way that Kalila’s old master did. Did she-”

“No, she didn’t. Not- it wasn’t like that, she never- she didn’t-”

“I understand.” He finally let their eyes meet. “I don’t know what she did, then, but I want you to know that I won't do the same. I promise a thousand times over that I’m never going to hurt you, Alastaros.”

“Not physically.”

“Not in any way.”

“I don’t hate you,” Alastaros blurted before he could stop himself.

Surprise flashed across his fair countenance before he could stop it. The corners of his mouth drew upwards slowly.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Soft was his voice, his eyes, the way his hands brushed his black hair to the side. Alastaros had compared him to marble earlier that day, but he realized that was wrong. He was a pearl. Creamy skin, all gentle, curving smiles and glowing sincerity.

Either he was a damn good actor, or he wasn’t lying.

“Would it be wrong to say that I feel that you’re still pretty on edge?”

“No, you’re- that’s right.” Alastaros bit his lip and scratched at his splotchy cheeks.

“Is there anything I could do to help? Make you some tea, perhaps? Peppermint can be good for the stomach.”

He thought back to what Kalila had said earlier. “Do you have a shower?”

“That I do,” he replied, laughing musically. “Many, actually. Would you prefer a bath, though? We have some very nice baths. I’m partial to them. One of my friends is a soapmaker, you see, and she always brings me such splendid things to put into the water. I forget exactly what she calls them, but some of them are rather neat. They can turn the bath gold or make it smell of mint. It’s one of the only indulgences I allow myself.”

“Aren’t you rich?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, spoiled if you ask Kalila, though she’s mostly joking. I just don’t like to waste my money on things I don’t need. Food, books, maintenance of our home, anything that all of you want—those are necessities. But opulent novelties and gaudy baubles? Trinkets, trifles, and treasures? Those are all pointless. I just keep those that my father had in case I need to put on a show for someone visiting from elsewhere—to upkeep my reputation—and occasionally buy something from traveling salesmen. My friends sometimes also provide me with donations. I’m not closely acquainted with anyone that disproves of my life choices, by the way, which means I am closely acquainted with the majority of those around us in Whikhash. Like I said earlier, forced servitude is illegal. And even if it wasn’t, I don’t think any of them would actually wish to keep servants. The lot of them are wonderful people.”

“Cyprus said your father did.”

“Yes, years and years ago, and almost everyone around here him for it. Back then it wasn’t illegal. He’s actually one of the reasons why it is. I’m not very distressed he passed, despite the fact that it wasn’t that long ago. He and I were never close for fairly obvious reasons.”

“Oh.”

“Never mind that. I didn’t mean to derail the conversation. You wished for a shower, correct?”

“Actually,” Alastaros said, “a bath doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“An excellent choice. Would you like me to show you the way to your room and bathroom once more? I wouldn’t blame you if you feel like the layout of the mansion is a bit confusing. Your first day has been long, but it is still just your first day.”

“That sounds good, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem at all. If you take my hand, I can help you up and show you the way. I’ll understand if you don’t want to, though.”

Weirdly enough, Alastaros wasn’t nervous anymore. He wrongly attributed that to the exhaustion of his lapse of sickness, accepted Nikolai’s hand, and let him guide him forward.

-End of Section Two-

(This definitely was not my favorite Part, sorry, and I know it was kind of short–shorter than I intended, at least. It's because of school, like I said. I've been drained. I still love this, though, and would spend a thousand more hours on it if I could. I just don't want to keep you waiting longer than you have been.

Questions!

1. This isn't really much of a question, but did you end up listening to any of the songs? If there were any you didn't listen to, even if it's all of them, please let me know so I can shuffle them back into my collection to recommend again for later Parts.
2. Would you rather Section Three start where it left off in this Part? 'Cause if it does then you get a pretty good chunk of Nikolai in there, but if you'd rather a time skip then I understand that, too.
3. Overall in this Section by itself, was there anything you liked and would enjoy seeing expanded on? I know there were some things I haven't put in there yet, like Cyprus and Eleanor's backstories and more of Kalila, but that will come later. For this question, I mean more like Eko/Serafina's relationship, Alastaros being shook (though him being shook will come more gradually from here on out, but more intense when it does happen), his body issues, house descriptions, the kitchen, Nikolai's troubles with himself, etc.
4. Do you want to learn more about Eko? Serafina doesn't really have a complicated story, Niko pretty much just chose her because she was traded into servitude from far away, doesn't know the language that well, and is deaf, but Eko has a bit more of a story to him.
5. This isn't a question but a gentle reminder that there are two other characters that you haven't met yet so if you were like hey wait the numbers in the mansion don't add up it's because they're more shy
6. Do you want more or less Nikolai? More of this Niko, or would you like to see some
   .
   .
   .
   upset Niko?
7. In this next Section, would you like to see a formal ball scene? It'd probably be in Part Three.
8. Here's where you can put anything you want to see later on, blah, blah, you know the drill by now aha

Alright, cool! Like I said, sorry for the shortness/somewhat low quality.)

Hello! As you can see, I think the person I was doing this whole thing with, @minibar, deleted their account. They didn’t give me any warning before doing so, and I’m hoping desperately that they’re alright, but I unfortunately can’t continue this story without them. That’s why I’m opening it back up—because I wasn’t quite ready to quit writing this.

If you’re interested, I request only that you read what’s been said up to this point and answer the last questions posted :) thank you!

Hey, this is still open!!!! If anyone’s interested, of course! It doesn’t require any writing on your part, just answering the questions at the end of each Part.

Hello! I’m just making sure this doesn’t drown so someone has the chance to see it :)

Last chance for this!!!