Chapter Text
Shame burned deep in your guts. You were a mess. They wouldn't want you, no one would. You would fail. Though we are doomed, we must stride forwards, into the embrace of evil.
The dress you were supposed to wear to the ceremony was hideous, dull and nothing you could use to help your father with. You thought about all the other young women, bright as stars on the night sky, beaming smiles and ivory skin. You were ordinary, not something worth to look at. How were you supposed to find someone who would spare more than a glance?
It was may, the month of marriage. Every year, fathers would present their daughters to the sons of nobles, trying to win them over. They would pay grant sums of gold for the most beautiful lady, their wife-to-be. And if there was anyone who could use gold more than anything, it was your family.
You were born in the middle class, living a decent life. Your father had worked as a servant for one of the richest nobles in the entire country, earning a sufficient wage to feed his family. Your mother kept the small house you called your home tidy and neat, always waiting for her husband to return. She was a good cook, and a loving mother. But she lacked bravery, the courage to stand up for herself. You had heard her crying a thousand times in the kitchen, trapped between the stove and her dreams.
Women were not allowed to work, let alone study the higher arts and sciences. It was a shame for a woman who aspired to become a teacher, craving the passion of lecturing, spreading knowledge and intellectual power, especially to young women. As much as you loved your father, you found him to be a coward, to forbid your mother the tiniest insight in a whole other world, waiting for her, somewhere over the mountains.
But a mother's dream became her daughter's duty. You would visit the market ever so often with your mother, being introduced to the tasks of a young woman that would eventually be a wife, ought to care for her husband. Your closest friend from childhood days, a boyish man with straw-blonde hair, ran a market stall with his uncle, selling books and useful stationary for the nobles. The petite bourgeoisie, and everyone who would follow under, was not allowed to read, let alone able to do so.
Yet a friend who knew you from the inside out, who could study your dreams and desires with his eyes closed, proved to be a good merchant in desperate times. A home-cooked meal for a packet full of stories and knowledge. Quite the fair deal in your unfair world.
So you would show up with a can of soup, a loaf of fresh bread or some cooked potatoes. And whilst your mother was chatting with his uncle, you would take the books from Leon's warm hands, a knowing smile on his lips. You were glad your mother had taken a secret liking to the man called Krauser, his short hair as blonde as his nephew's. It was something you were happy to keep quiet about as it provided you with your own sin.
Over the years, since the proud age of twelve, you had found your peace between the pages. It was science that had ignited your interest, the chemical formulas your passion, bone structures your night time story. Leon had been kind enough to teach you how to read, him being a part of the higher class, just an ounce lower than the nobles.
You had started sleeping on your books, the treasures of words hidden under your mattress. No one was allowed to see what you were doing, what you were dreaming of. Dreams were a poison that would slowly drain you, you knew all too well with a look to your mother. Nonetheless, it was yours, a secret that nourished you and your heart.
The life you had been living was enough for you. As long as your family was healthy and happy, you could live with almost everything. But sometimes, fate threw stones in front of your feet, laughing at the miserable tears painting your cheeks when you were laying face-down in the dirt, hands and knees bloody.
You had said too much. A few words, words that couldn't be your own, slipping free from your foolish lips. Father had noticed, he knew how nobles, well-educated folks, spoke. When he had accused you of sleeping with an aristocrat's son, you had snapped, yelling how much knowledge you had gained without the doing of a man of higher standings. You were not afraid to stand up for yourself, unlike your mother who had watched with terror in her eyes. Silence had followed your words, the certainty that you would never be able to take back what you had said.
He had forced you to admit what you had done, ripping your mattress from its crooked frame, rummaging through the countless spines and pages, destroying your treasure. You had stood in the corner of your room, shame falling as tears from your eyes. Father had refused to speak with you for the rest of the night, leaving for work early in the next morning.
You supposed he hadn't slept a lot, rethinking your stupid mistakes, your ungrateful behavior, your damned secrets. He must have been tired as he started his duty, tasks overflowing as the day went by. So he must have overseen the obstacle in his way, tripping and falling right into a collection of the finest porcelain you would ever lay eyes on. His lord was a shiesty, sleazy little rat, delighting himself with the mistakes of other people, feeding on their misery. It had only been the money that kept your father in his services.
Yet after the incident, it was certain your father would never see the sunlight ever again. He had begged on his knees, tears and snot running down his face, his desire to see his family once more stronger than his pride. Oh, and how his lord had enjoyed the little show his servant had put on, amusing him to the fullest. He loved nothing more than seeing people plead for the slightest faint of mercy from his brutal hand.
He had pretended to send him off to the dungeon, to let him rot inside three moldy walls and prison bars until his bones were gnawed clean by the animals lurking in the shadows. Your father had kissed his feet, wailing for a bit of mercy, for one of his most loyal servants.
It was his way of playing with his victims, demonstrating his heroism to the people. Oh, how kind he is, how generous to let him live after everything he had done! That's why the noble lord Spencer had made him an offer; a bargain for his life.
The modest sum of 50.000 golden coins for him to pay off his debts. One month to fulfill his side, no payment in the mean time, those were the rules.
Your father had returned home this evening, his hopes shattered to pieces. The inevitable had merely been postponed, by the end of the month he would be dangling from the gallows, his body a sad sack twirling in the wind. The residents would pick him apart piece by piece, not tolerating a fool among their ranks.
He had barely been able to speak about what happened. Your mother had screamed, cried, smashing plates. But you, you had sat at the dinner table, fear rattling in your guts, bile rising up to your throat. It had been your fault, everything was your fault. You, and only you had put your father into this misery, your hunger for knowledge his death penalty.
As you had laid in bed, unable to sleep or rest your tired eyes, red and swollen after silently weeping into your pillow, you had formed a plan in your mind. You would earn the money for his freedom as you felt more than responsible for his mistake. Everyone knew that spring had come and the women would be the blooming flowers in the men's eyes. You would do anything to achieve a place in one of their gardens, earning enough to pay your father's ransom.
But as you were looking at yourself in the mirror, you were near the brink of tears, all hope lost in your reflection. Your parents had sold so much, sold your books even, back to Krauser to gain just the slightest amount of gold. So much that so little remained. You had tried to garnish your dress with little embroideries, trying to raise its value but in the end, you remained the same miserable, ordinary girl with chestnut hair.
It didn't help how your shoulders slumped under the invisible weight you were carrying as you accompanied your parents to the large market place where the contest would be held. With a desperate look, your father hugged you goodbye for now, your mother too ashamed to look you in the eye. She couldn't believe how foolish you had been, risking your whole family's future for a few pages of words.
Heart in your mouth and fingers trembling, you took your place next to the other contestants, each one prettier than the other. Enviously, you tried to avoid staring too much, needing to keep up your confidence. So you put on your brightest smile, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress and straightening your back.
You watched the men on the stage, arrogance and wealth radiating from them. You tried your best not to turn away in disgust. You didn't want to be married off to one of those pricks. Your life was slipping away in front of your eyes as you were looking at them. But you were hopeful, at last.
Leon had offered you a true gift after he had heard of what happened. He was now old enough to participate in the annual contest and pick out a wife. He had sworn to you to choose you if the richer men would turn you down. Even though you didn't want such a life, you wouldn't reject an aristocrat's offer with the most money at hand. Secretly, you prayed for him to take you, to pay off your father's debt and to live a decent life with you. You would only ever see him as a friend, the closest one you'd ever have but no one would have to know.
As he entered the stage, his eyes searched for you immediately, finding yours in an instant. He would always know where to look for you, and he would find you in every lifetime. Leon didn't had to be convinced to pick you, he would have done so without hesitation. The small smile you were giving him in this moment made warmth and love stir in his chest. He would save you and be your hero in shining armor.
You clasped your hands together as the ''hunt'' began (something the nobles found fitting to name their contest, seeing women as mere pieces of meat). Everything would be okay. You had a plan B. Lord Spencer would lose against your family, would lose against you.
One by one, the flowers were picked, changing their owners as they stumbled into the arms of their newfound lovers. Soon, the richest of the rich had their women, possessing smiles on their handsome faces. Your heart beat frantically in your chest. Well, plan B it was. In a moment, it would be Leon's turn to choose.
His name was called and he smiled at you, beginning to speak to pick you. But before he could finish your name, he was interrupted by his uncle, face unreadable, whispering something into his ear. His eyes widened, and he shook his head, trying to persuade Krauser. It appeared like he had no choice than to oblige to whatever he had commanded, eyes focused on the ground as the name of a different girl left his mouth.
The chosen one squealed excitedly as she jumped onto the stage, running up to her soon-to-be-husband, immediately clinging onto his arm. Disappointment and panic spread in your chest. This couldn't be. Why didn't he choose you? What did Krauser say to him?
You hadn't quite realized what this meant for you until the last man had wrapped his arm around a pale, blonde girl. They had all chosen their women, every man satisfied with his choice of prize. The richest got the prettiest, the smartest the kindest. Fathers with bags of golden coins in their greedy hands, mothers with tears and secret relief in their eyes.
It was over. And you hadn't been chosen. Your father would die. A gasp slipped past your lips as your mind circled around the thought in disbelief. You didn't notice Leon getting dragged away with his woman, Krauser's hand having a firm grip on his arm. He tried shouting after you, calling out your name but you couldn't hear, couldn't see. All you did was feel emptiness.
''It seemed like we have missed a gentleman! Ladies, gather again for the last pick of the year!''
Shuffling around you, nervous chatter from the women who hadn't been chosen as well. You lifted your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger who had appeared on the stage. You made your way through the hordes of girls, pushing forward. Stumbling over your feet, you caught yourself before falling to the ground. As you looked up, you wished you would have simply fell to the dirt, not attracting any attention to you.
The saliva in your mouth burned like acid as you felt his gaze on you. It bore holes into your chest, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes were two glooming circles beneath the hood of his coat, captivating you. You had only heard stories, tales of horror about the man above you.
Dr. Victor Gideon, a man of medicine, a mad scientist. Rumors told he liked to experiment on humans, his victims mutilated and unrecognizable when he was done with them. Suddenly, it was very cold, and you wrapped your arms around your torso, trying to keep the warmth in your body. It seemed like spring had abruptly turned back into winter the moment he had laid eyes on you.
He was one of the richest aristocrats in the country, residing in a castle far away from the town. Apparently, the ruins had been haunted before he had them rebuilt for his purpose, countless dungeons and mazes hidden in the depths of his castle. But everyone knew you wouldn't return as soon as you set foot on his property.
The way his head tilted, just the slightest bit to the side. His scars barely visible in the pale morning light. His stature towering over anyone present. You knew before he raised his voice, words contaminated with silk, barely a whisper over the crowds chattering. But you heard him, clearly and loudly.
''I want this one.'', he hissed quietly, finger pointing at you.