Lady Matiya and Lady Gretel were asleep. The visitor was safe in one of the upper rooms, where, if needed be, they could lock his door and keep him safely hidden. The window opened only a crack, and anyways he would fall to his death; it was much too sheer to climb. This was by Lady Matiya’s orders. Tiene herself could not have thought of something like that. Not out of a lack of cleverness, but from a foolish surplus of trust. His face was plain, open, honest; and so Tiene had thought for sure he must be, as well. Lady Matiya did not agree.

But they were not locking in the visitor. No need to, yet, said Lady Matiya. Gretel, who slept all night and, it seemed, half of the day, had no comment on the matter; the wine had lulled her to unconsciousness.

His name was Megel, Tiene remembered. She’d overheard that. Lady Matiya had muttered it under her breath, as she often did with names. Tiene had already rifled through the pockets in his coat, but she’d found nothing except a few crumbs and pieces of paper she of course could not read. And maps. She could not read those either but at least they were lovely things, the ink lines frayed, the paper crinkling under her fingertips. She’d stolen one and hidden it behind a cabinet that only she ever cleaned, just so she had a memento of the outside world.

She did not know why she was going to his room now, but Tiene kept moving towards it, creeping like a fox through the halls she’d always roamed. Her feet were slipper-clad, her hair tied up beneath a dark-colored cloth, her dress black - she was a shadow now, just the hint of a person, nothing more.

Finally she was at his door, and she pressed her body against it, breathing in deeply. There was the familiar smoky smell of the candles, the scent of the wood, but something else too, some real or imagined aroma - foreign perfumes, sweat, plants she didn’t know the name of. That was the smell she imagined him having, the exotic smell of a traveler.

It was so late that even Tiene, practically nocturnal herself, was beginning to tire; but in the all-around darkness she caught something faint, a hint of gold light from beneath the door. Candlelight, it seemed. For a full minute she stood in the hallway, debating, at first taking a step away, then another step towards. In the end she decided to knock. Certainly he wouldn’t mind, and Lady Matiya still would have nothing to punish her for.

It took her three knocks to be loud enough for him to hear, and then there was a great shuffling of papers before the door was opened. And there stood he, in his traveling clothes still - Tiene realized he probably had no others - and barefoot. His bed was covered by papers, and a bottle of ink sat on a table alongside.

“Oh, hello.” He frowned down at her, his eyes red. “You’re… you’re that girl. The servant.”

“Yes, sir.” She could not bear to introduce her name, not when he was looking at her so intently, so she bowed deeply, staring at the floor. He made a noise - it sounded to Tiene like a snort - and stepped away, allowing her into the room with him. There was no room for a second person on the bed because of all the papers spread out on top of it, however, so she sat on the floor, her arms and legs curled tightly to her body.

“I’m writing,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m writing. I can’t fall asleep.” He sighed and rested his head in his hands, the heels digging into his eyes. “I came here to find Gretel. And I found her.”

“Lady Gretel is not going to leave, sir,” Tiene said, then, realizing how forward that sounded, added, “I don’t think.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Megel said. “Doesn’t matter now. She can stay. I’m not going to drag her away.” Then he met Tiene’s eyes, and with a shock she looked away, down into her lap again. Ignoring that she’d flinched, he said, “Do you think she’s happy here?”

“I couldn’t say, sir. I don’t know what her happiness looks like.” She’d gotten that phrase from Lady Matiya, overheard it from muttered breaths and not-so-inner monologs.

“That’s… that’s smart.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know your name. I don’t even know your name, and look at me. I’m just blathering on to you like I’m some sort of idiot. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t know anymore. I just wanted the money… But hey, vampires. Are vampires as evil as they say?”

It wasn’t, Tiene thought, a real question; he exhaled once more, shut his eyes, and fell backwards onto the bed, landing on the papers. Tiene stood there a full minute, completely silent, just watching his chest go in and out. His breathing was completely even and he did not move. She approached him, smelling now the wine on his breath, and tapped his shoulder, at first lightly, then with more force. He did not even stir.

Quickly, Tiene went to his bag, opening it and digging through. Some cheap tin cups and a plate: boring. Matching silverware, also nothing special. More maps, more papers. A pair of thick winter gloves, some food, a hat.

Hesitating a moment, she took one of the gloves, after smelling it first and smiling. It was leather on the outside and had a woolly liner, and she slipped it easily onto her left hand, moving her fingers with some effort.

Tiene slid it into her pocket, laughing at how it made her hip bulge, and slinked off. He’d never notice: it was far too warm to wear the gloves. And if he did, he wouldn’t know that she’d taken it. He might not even remember her being there at all.

In the doorway, she paused, watching him sleep for another moment. He looked so troubled, although his breathing was even; he looked as if he was not having good dreams. Tiene gazed down at him, wondering why he was here, and exactly what he thought of the place; but then it struck her that if he opened her eyes all of a sudden, things could go bad quickly.

But still - she could not help thinking he looked innocent, this young man, innocent and lovely and unscarred.

She took one of the pieces of paper he‘d written on, just for good measure, and ran out of the room snickering.