A/N: I am sorry for the lack of updates. Life is craaazy. Again, this is another chapter that I feel isn't 100 percent where it needs to be, but it's good enough to go on. Anyway, it wouldn't be good to give you the final version anyway, since I'll be publishing the whole shebang probably as an ebook. And on that note, I will likely only post one more chapter after this. Then I will go into the self-publishing mode! :)

Part VI.

There was blackness and the sound of ocean swell. Suddenly I was awake again. It was dusk, and I was still dazed from the lotus wine. Its sweet taste lingered in my mouth, and I felt angry. I could not describe what had happened, but somewhere in the midst of its consumption, the lotus wine had whittled my beautiful day away to nothing. I had not even made it to the ends of the garden. Greta had deceived me—but I had trusted too easily, enchanted by her mystique and bewitching voice.

She led me to believe that her relationship with M was nothing. But from the things I had seen, it had to have been something. So what was she not telling me? And what was that bare wisp of a message about a witch?

It took a few minutes for me to stand, and I was shaky when I did. My head throbbed a bit. Instead of venturing back to the house, I decided to continue along the garden path. This decision was likely incensed by my distorted thoughts. Stumbling, the dark colors of sunset gave the garden a different appearance. It was more mysterious and romantic-but dangerous, too. Each leaf seemed to hide a new secret, which scattered at my touch. The plants became less magnificent as I went along, until I had entered a simple cottage garden. There was a low stone wall and a wooden gate. When I came to them, I stared down a darker path which led toward the sea.

There, the wind whipped my hair back as though it forbid me to proceed. Certainly, M's voice seemed to be on the wind-but it neither bade me leave or stay. True, there was no other direction to travel except downward, or backward- the latter not really seeming an option. The gate opened with ease and I had the sense that I was walking upon the brink of dreams and reality. Perhaps it was the effect of the approaching night; the residue of the wine; or the fear of what inhabited the house I had to return to. I breathed in the salty air as I descended the path. The shadows became plain as I neared the seawall. Soon, I stood upon it—a crude gathering of hard clay, rock and sand—gazing down into the moving sea.

The water was black as death itself; black like the water from my dream that morning. It made me think of M's eyes. The chill made me think of his hands, and the wind gripped at me as a reminder—embracing like an unwanted lover. But M was no longer the only one to fear. I clutched my shoulders and shivered. This was as far as I could go without leaping into the sea. There was a hope within me which I had thought smothered—a hope that this could all turn out all right. The more I discovered, the more that hope was dashed.

"Does the view please you?"

The voice was so startling that I stumbled forward. All I saw were swirling waters and I did not have the time to scream. There was a flash in my mind of something-a quick movement, a glimpse of fear, a glint-I would have fallen down the seawall if the owner of the voice did not grab my arm to pull me back. I gasped, looking up wide-eyed to see that it was Blake.

"Sorry. I did not mean to startle you." He was sincere. Still, I stepped away from him, recalling his over-eagerness to be close to me.

"I—you—" I took a breath. "Thank you," I finally managed, feeling foolish for having stood so close to the edge in the first place.

"Are you all right?"

"Mhm," I nodded, brushing off my arm and nonchalantly putting more space between us. I looked back at the ocean, but felt his eyes upon me still. The effects of the lotus wine fell away from me like a shredded veil then as my heart pounded in my ears. It seemed I was surrounded by death. I turned back to Blake's piercing gaze and could have sworn that a smug smile was hiding behind his lips. I took comfort in the fact that his "master" had more or less deemed me property, which made me untouchable to the others.

"I owe you an apology," He said evenly, "For my behavior last night. It was—graceless of me. I hope you can forgive."

I did not know what to say. I had not received an apology for anything in weeks despite the various ways in which I had been wronged, and in light of M's behavior, Blake's little mishap seemed practically inconsequential.

"I—uh—thank you?" I answered blankly.

"The Master has spoken of you many times. I do not think any of us imagined you would be as appealing as you are. I was not prepared for the temptation."

I just blinked at him then. What temptation? I was not entirely certain what he was trying to say. Was it a compliment? Was it meant to ease my discomfort? Looking at him, I did not think even he knew what he was trying to do, but he disguised his fumbling with charming ease.

"Can I escort you back to the house? Perhaps later, we can—"

"Yes—you may escort me," I said, still eyeing him with distrust. The less he said, the better. I wanted it to be clear that I was not taking suggestions or proposals. Everything would be from a distance.

He seemed offended that I had cut him off, but nevertheless, he offered his arm. Another black splotch made an ugly swipe at my mind, but I did not falter. I assumed it must have been a side effect of the wine. As we left the sea behind us and made our way through the garden, he opted to change the subject of discussion, and not very seamlessly.

"Eliza believes we should hold a ball when the master returns. Do you dance?"

"On rare occasions."

"Allow me to rephrase: Do you like to dance?" He stopped us in the middle of the garden to make eye contact once again. I wanted to be away from him.

"When I've had enough to drink, I will like almost anything." My answer was humorless, though I imagine coming from anyone else, it may have been amusing.

Blake managed a smile. "A sense of humor; Still within you-"

I could have commented, but I chose to simply look at him; and whether he had caught the air of disapproval from me, or he had simply thought better of it, he abandoned the idea of senseless flirting. Were he a man, and not a monster, the moment could have proven romantic. But I was too aware of his true nature to abandon my senses like that. He cleared his throat and turned his eyes back to the garden path.

"The master has not been one for dancing in years. I told Eliza that there were better things we could welcome him home with, but she insists." This small talk was dull, though Blake seemed to be letting on a bit too much about M's history. I prodded for more despite the overwhelming sense that I should not, wondering if he might let anything slip.

"I am surprised he ever liked dancing. During my time with him, he was—cold, at best."

"Well, certainly, he has been bloodless ever since—" He stopped. I raised a brow, looking at him expectantly, suspecting this was the end of insights regarding M. He simply shook his head. "In time. In time you will know and understand. And in time, perhaps you can bring him back to life."

"I hardly think that's possible, given that his existence depends on his not-being alive." It was snide; maybe even playful of me to make such comment. I knew what he had meant.

"Figuratively, of course." He pursed his thin lips.

We began ascending the path to the house. There were more black splotches behind my eyes - had the wine this powerful of a residual effect? When we reached the door, Blake stopped again, putting out his arm to prevent me from going in. I looked into his eyes, which seemed to be burning for me. It was an unusual feeling—and not as unwelcome as it should have been. But he did not know what I had gone through up to this point. Perhaps he never would.

"You do not like me, even after I have apologized. Why?"

"This is a selfish question to ask, wouldn't you say?" I narrowed my eyes, the audacity of his question rekindling a fire within me which I had thought smothered. Perhaps I had had enough of the small talk. Perhaps it was something else.

"—Huh?"

"To assume that the problem is with yourself, and not your condition? And to be more concerned with the answer than what might be more pertinent ailments? It is the very mark of selfishness."

"My condition? I am sorry—I did not mean to offend—"

I do not know what came over me then, but I felt the inclination to speak my mind. And my mind was bitter. "I am sure you have 'not meant' to do many-a-thing, playing off a nonexistent innocence which you cling to like a shield. I cannot be drawn into your reckless affections, nor can I be made to feel the need to reciprocate. I have just come from a very trying time—a time which you may never see, hear of, or even understand. Do not waste my precious moments away with your trivial inquiries."

It was stupid—taking on a man twice my size. But for me to say such things would take him by surprise. He was not likely to expect such words. I'm sure the only other one to wage a words-war with him must have been M, or possibly Eliza.

Blake seemed to be at a loss for words, but tried to cover his mistake with a smile. "Forgive me—my ignorance. It has been long indeed since I have spoken with a woman such as you," He took my hand and kissed it. "I am sorry for your hardships. If I can be of any service—"

"You can be of service by 'escorting' me into the house and leaving me." Another moment with him, and I feared I might let my guard down. I tired of vampires and their unfeeling ways, yet Blake seemed different in this respect. Looking in his eyes, I saw that ignorance which I accused him of hiding behind; his passions were too unbridled and wild to control; he did not know where to focus his energies. Instead, his thoughts and desires manifested in words without center—meaningless blunder. Maybe he really was just lonely—with no proper means to communicate it. Did monsters experience loneliness?

Without another word, he opened the door, letting me into the kitchen. Various pots, pans and platters seemed to be in use, but the mysterious gypsy woman was nowhere to be seen. I furrowed my brow. No one appeared to be in charge at present in this household. Everyone was too afraid to be confrontational; submissive to a fault. Was this the result of M's influence? Had he drained them of all sense of authority?

I continued walking through the kitchen, with slight hesitation, as I had wished to have words with Greta. Warren was in the sitting room, reading a book. He only looked up from the pages enough to utter a faint greeting, before returning to whatever savage tale he was engrossed in. When Blake and I reached the foyer, I noticed that he was lingering far behind me. There was a look of cautioned distress on his face, almost as if he had seen a ghost.

I was about to question him, but heard the swish of skirts on the landing.

"Blake! Blake? Have you brought her back?" Eliza appeared at the top of the stairs, but Blake did not reply. When I turned to look for him, he was gone. "Oh, Amelia!" She smiled as warmly as she could in all likelihood manage. "I was worried!"

I was so disgruntled and confused by my situation that I half considered returning to my quarters, to keep scarce until sunrise. And I was torn between a sense of necessary and renewed authority, and the fear of other powers that lay beyond my control-the powers of M. It seemed that Eliza was doing her best to be cordial, however, and I suspected it would have been best that I did the same-no matter how much I questioned why she was bothering with all of the formalities. I'm sure each and every vampire in this house had thought of attacking me at least once since my arrival. Except maybe Leland, who I had yet to meet. But I was so tired of vampires, that I did not particularly care for the idea. I gripped my head and squinted, feeling suddenly hazy-an outer-darkness gnawing at my thoughts like a great beast. It even snarled. But I knew that snarl. I had experienced this presence in the labyrinth, and it filled me with great fear.

"Greta got to me with a rather bewitching brew," I explained, "It did me in for the better half of the day. I am still out of sorts." But I knew now, that I was only making excuses. Even with his absence, M had a foothold within me.

"Oh, the lotus wine. I might have known! But come, Amelia—you are wearing the same thing you were wearing yesterday!" She took my arm, and it barely registered with me that she was clothed in deep purple velvet, still as diamond-clad as the night before. I found that I was more preoccupied with a dismal thought concerning Blake's bizarre behavior-but it did not seem to be my thought anymore, rather, it seemed to be M's. Was his mind within mine? Was that possible?

Eliza led me up the stairs to her room. An exotic incense was wafting through her doors as she flung them open without a care. Her room décor seemed to indicate she traveled often, for there were tapestries from abroad and ornaments abound; a cabinet of Arabian descent, a rug from the orient, furs from the reaches of Siberia, and a bed which looked to be from the East of Europe. The incense floated on the air as a thin haze, its perfume swirling through me as intoxicating as a summer night. Eliza moved like a Turkish dancer across the soft floor to a large wardrobe closet which seemed to be another room entirely.

I felt another memory coming on. It was a distinct sensation, for the edges of my vision began to turn hazy and then the room changed. This time, it was a lush, foreign suite. Through the Persian windows, the nightfall was a gorgeous, hazy purple. There was a small assembly of what appeared to be royals. The year was not apparent, but there before me was Eliza in colorful dance ensemble. A strange collection of instruments played a bizarre song to which she danced, so vibrant and graceful. I had the keen sense of deep lust; another emotion which I could only assume was M's. But this was a different M. He was still of his present nature, but his heart was not empty. I watched Eliza dance with interest, completely lost in the experience of two separate being's emotions. When she finished, she looked at me with her dark eyes. My heart pounded-but so did hers.

I was thrust again into the present. This time, I did not have any onlookers, for Eliza was busy searching the closet. I found myself wondering again at whether or not M knew I was looking into his private memories like this-or whether he was making it so.

From the wardrobe, she produced a most beautiful blood-red gown, trimmed in antique gold. It was older in style, by maybe 75 years if I guessed correctly. The bodice was fitted and low; the upper sleeve tight, with the lower sleeve exploding in dark lace and ruffles; the skirt filled with yards of fabric, and too many trimmings to count. Between the sight of the gown, the room, and the overwhelming scent, I felt as though I must be dreaming.

"Let me help you," Eliza's voice sounded almost sultry.

I blinked away the atmosphere to find her carefully peeling the black gown from me. I stepped out of it, straightening out my shift carefully. I looked at Eliza to find that she was staring at me. Embarrassed, I took the red gown from her and started to dress, realizing that she probably had not seen a real, breathing, living woman in years. I smiled at her then, and she seemed to understand my discomfort. She resumed helping me get into the dress.

"I hope you like it. I know it is not current fashion, but we like old things around here, as you might imagine. And the Master's favorite color has always been red."

I Imagined that most vampires preferred the color red.

"It is beautiful."

"I have also some jewelry for you to wear," she went to a dresser and pulled out a ruby collar. It was exquisite, and something which I had never before had the luxury of sporting. Eliza hooked it around my neck and then stood back to admire me. "There," she smiled, "Now, you are as a queen!"

I laughed a little. She smiled—bitterly, I thought.

"Let me fix your hair, and then we will go downstairs."

I was not certain I wanted to return to the lower regions of the house, but I figured I had best be polite. Eliza's eyes were prying, and I had no idea what activities this household engaged in for entertainment. I allowed Eliza to fix my hair and we descended the staircase. In a mirror we passed, I thought I looked very like the woman who was featured in the portrait in my room; and suspected that was no coincidence.

When we passed Warren, he looked up from his reading for a lengthier moment, an indiscernible expression on his face. In the dining room, the table was set for two. Eliza motioned for me to take a seat, and I did. On each plate was a cut of meat, though Eliza's was practically rare.

"You can eat." I remarked, relating back to my conversation with Greta.

Eliza smiled. "Yes, of course. As long as my other needs are met in addition."

"Right." Needs? I knew the one, but were there others? And she referred to them so demurely. How unsettling.

"Eat!"

"Yes, of course." I ate rather begrudgingly, though the food was delicious. I sat with an air of indifference; I would give no one the satisfaction of knowing I enjoyed something. I noticed Eliza sipping a dark red liquid from her goblet, and suspected it was not wine. My goblet was filled with a dark red wine, which was quite good. We dined in silence. I could not think of anything which might have served as pleasant dinner conversation. I wanted to ask her many questions, but I knew she would not answer them, or that they were much too awkward to ask in the first place. Plus, I was still contending with M's possible presence in my mind; yet it seemed he may have been unaware. And much of it could have been my already damaged mind's doing.

Almost immediately after our silent dinner, I heard the front door open. A few words were exchanged with Warren, then light, commanding steps crossed the floor.

An older gent entered the room. His facial hair was gray and trimmed, and his hair was swept back from his face, tied at the back of his neck. His eyes were an expressive shade of blue, filled with a sharp intuition. He was very tall and broad, sporting dark brown travel clothes with a beat-up duster. He was surrounded with an air of secrecy.

"Good evening, Eliza." His voice was deep and soothing; something about his tone sent a shiver down my spine.

"Leland!" Eliza rose immediately to offer her hand, "It is so good to see you've made it home safely. This is Amelia; she has arrived early." She waved her hand toward me.

Leland paused, looking over me with those intuitive eyes. "Amelia," he breathed my name in a familiar way, before pushing past Eliza. He took my hand and kissed it. There was something off about him; stranger than Amelia or Blake. It was not the sort of thing I could put my finger on, but I did sense it. I did not get strange black spots contorting threateningly behind my eyes, either. In fact, his presence seemed to clear the mind-poison, whatever it was.

"Pleased to meet you," I offered out of habit, wondering if he realized I was not actually pleased.

"The pleasure," he smiled, as if he knew, "Is all mine, Miss Amelia."

I found myself wondering if all vampires radiated this strange ambiance which caused me to be uncomfortable. An eagerness was rising in Eliza's face as she looked to Leland with her bright eyes. It seemed as if tension was building in the room-though I was not sure why.

"Have you brought anything from your travels, Leland?" Asked Eliza.

Her question was a bit too anxious, it seemed, for a hint of annoyance passed through Leland's eyes, and his voice lowered to a growl. "Not now, Eliza. Later."

Eliza pouted and cast her gaze downwards. For a moment, I thought her child-like. With this small change in Leland's disposition, I felt an immediate distrust, if I had not felt one already. By the flicker in his eyes, I knew he noticed my discomfort.

"Now, if you please, leave me to speak with our guest for a while." Leland attempted to turn the ambiance by skirting around Eliza's request.

Eliza did not seem to entirely like this idea (or Leland's seemingly diplomatic change of topic), and neither did I; though I did not dare voice my opinion on the matter. A lingering suspicion began to take hold that Leland was changeable to the point of being disagreeable. He seemed older than M - but I knew that to only be in appearance. Eliza had no further actions on the matter, for she simply nodded, and left the room in a hurry. After she was out of sight, Leland sighed, offering a smile.

"I do apologize if you are alarmed by my words to Eliza. She is so young and eager, and spoiled; though I do in part blame myself for this."

I stared at him, confused by the sudden change of tone. My distrust grew, because I did not know his true form, so to speak. Or maybe he did not have one, which made him more dangerous. At least M never tried to make me think he was anything but a monster. Leland was attempting to be civilized, and perhaps he was to a point. I wanted to trust him—but there was little reason to. I think he might have known what was going through my head, because there was that flicker of intuition in his eyes again. My distrust did not cause him to back down from his initial intent.

"Will you join me in the library then?"

His right hand was outstretched in my direction, as if I did have an actual choice in the matter. I understood that, in reality, I did not have a choice—it was another attempt at being civilized. So, I nodded, accepting his hand, trying to keep my fears in check. I wondered what we could possibly have to talk about, if talking was even the purpose of this meeting. Leland seemed more mysterious than anyone else in the mansion—and they had all equally failed in providing information which would prove useful. We walked back toward the stairs, going through the foyer that was on the other side. There were a great number of other hallways and closed doors, but we walked straight to the end. There, a solid mahogany door stood cracked open.

"I don't suppose you have ventured this way during your stay, yet?"

"No, I have not."

"Eliza has never been one for books, and Blake—well, I imagine he has not been thinking much with his head since you have arrived."

I blushed at the mention of Blake, opting to not comment on him. "I have not been here long." Though it certainly seemed otherwise.

"Ah." Leland swung the door in, revealing a rather extensive library. It was well-lit, too, for three massive chandeliers were strung up to the ceiling, and the library itself was about three stories of shelves, plus rows upon rows on the first level. It was circular, and at the center was a cozy sitting area with a desk, some cabinets, several plush chairs, and a loveseat. At the far side, a roaring fire was in the fireplace. There were windows in the ceiling, but it seemed that they were blacked out—a subtle reminder of what I was surrounded by. The thing that struck me most, however, was not the expansiveness of the place, or the grandeur, or even the blacked out windows, but the large amount of candles that seemed to be everywhere. Who lit them all, and if this place was not commonly used as Leland seemed to suggest, why was it lit at all?

"You are very quiet, you know."

"I am sorry—"

"Oh don't be. It is just an observation. But if I could hear your thoughts, I'm certain I'd be hearing much more from you right now."

"Some things are better left unsaid."

Leland smiled as if to say 'yes, child, and those unspoken words shall be drawn from you as gold is from a mine.' I saw his abnormally large canines and looked away.

"So, this is the library." I continued looking up and down, wondering if there was any helpful information in here. But why would there be? "Quite the collection."

"One builds up a wealth of possessions over several hundred years. The Master enjoys literature above all the arts nowadays."

"I wonder why that is." It was rhetorical, but it did not stop Leland from answering.

"Because it is art that can be experienced in solitude, and requires little to no emotional involvement."

I arched my brow at him.

"You have probably noticed he is not particularly emotionally invested in anything or anyone."

"Not in a positive sense, leastways," I breathed with a sigh, wondering why our conversation was starting this way.

"Once, he read for the enchantment—to be whisked away to his boy-like dreams. But he stopped reading the romances, long ago." This was all silly small talk, albeit somewhat interesting if true; I suspected it was irrelevant to whatever Leland really wanted to talk about.

"Why do you want to talk with me? I am certain it is not to speak of your Master's reading habits."

"To the point, I see. Why don't you get comfortable first?" Leland gestured to the chairs.

"I'll stand, thank you." Better option for quick escapes.

"Suit yourself," he took a seat, "You probably have a lot of questions."

"Yes," I regarded him with suspicion, "But why bring it to attention? I have been refused answers since I was abducted." I wondered if he was playing with me, or if he did in fact know something of what was going on with M. Everyone in the house seemed to reluctant to even talk about him—and I understood that much.

"To tell you would be my death, you understand." He opened a cabinet next to his seat and pulled out a bottle and a glass. "Wine?"

"No, thank you." I crossed my arms and remained aloof.

"Suit yourself. Again." He opened the bottle and poured a glass, returning the bottle and sipping before his next comment. "You're awfully stubborn, Amelia. Do you always make it so difficult for others to help you?"

"Unless you intend to smuggle me out of here in a carriage, I sincerely doubt that you are helping me at all, sir."

He chuckled. "Stubborn and spirited. Like your mother, I imagine. I'm sure he didn't realize quite what he was getting into, though he ought to have known."

"What about my mother?"

He was looking at me with an intense expression, as though he was trying to delve into my soul with those eyes of his. I was merely trying to figure out why he was speaking so candidly with me, and why he had brought up this topic. It seemed like everyone was trying to keep a secret in this house—not expel them as he appeared to be doing.

"That does not matter, Amelia. What matters is that you are not what was expected."

"I do not understand you."

"What is there to understand? I want you to know, Amelia, that I am your one true friend in this place. I am nearly free of my ties to the Master—I am the only one who is allowed to roam off-grounds. I know your plight, your past, your roots; more-so than you might imagine. I know what your future in this place is, and I am telling you that escape is possible, because of a simple miscalculation on the Master's behalf."

"You don't know me." I crossed my arms. "And I don't know you; therefore, you are not my friend. No one in this place is—not Warren, not Greta, not Eliza, not Blake, and especially not you. And escape—impossible."

"Harsh words, harsh words," Leland smiled a bit and swirled his wine glass a bit. "I can understand the origin of your distrust, and I will not try to convince you of its misplacement. I can tell you that your arrival in this place was not planned for at least another few years. Since you are here now, I know that something went wrong—or in your case, something went right. You must have boggled him in some way.

"I do know you, Amelia. You have been watched for years. I know your eyes, your smile, your desires; I can predict your actions and I know the consequences. And I know you are scared—of me, of him, of this place. Do not be foolish and cast my friendship aside. I am the only ally you have in this place."

"You don't understand what I have been through. I cannot trust anyone." Not even you.

Leland set his glass aside and leaned, the intensity in his eyes increasing. "I know my appearance is sudden; my offer of friendship, even more-so. I am willing to do everything in my power to prove that you can trust me. I have simple advice: be shrewd and play his game. He is easier to trick than you might imagine. He can be outwitted, and I am proof of this."

"But at what price? You are what he is." To say I was not intrigued would be to lie—he made compelling comments, but how could I possibly trust him? To even hint that I was considering escape still could have been a danger.

"I understand that this," He sighed, "This condition which we all suffer from scares you. Rightfully so, for it is a frightful way to live one's life from the first. But you adjust to it; you learn that it is just another way of experiencing the world. There are endless possibilities and there is still beauty to be found, despite the long nights of bloodlust—"

"You fail to make it sound any better." In fact it sounded even more terrifying than I originally thought. And lonely. Perhaps monsters experienced loneliness after all.

"I digress actually." He smiled a little. "This 'condition' is not meant for you, Amelia. You know this. He knows this. You can escape, alive and well."

"I still do not understand why you are trying to help me."

"I know why you are here, and it does not resonate as morally sound. Thus do I feel obligated to help you. A girl of your stature and intelligence should not be subject to this evil game of ruin. It isn't right. Why, if my daughter, long-dead now, had ever been in your place, I would have done everything in my power to destroy the bastard who was responsible for it."

It was difficult to believe that there was any truth to his words—but there was a twinge of passion in his voice that would have been difficult to fake. I pursed my lips.

"Your reason seems sound," I said, keeping my eyes on his face. This entire conversation was still strange to me. It had come from nowhere, and almost as if he had prepared it. Perhaps he had. After all, they had all anticipated my arrival at some point, despite my being early. "But I still do not trust you."

"In time, you will. I will see to it that you have good reason to."

"Mm." I leveled my gaze with him. He shifted in his seat and smiled briefly.

"Just remember, when he returns, I must maintain my rapport; as far as anyone else is concerned, this conversation never happened."

A secret of my own? I thought it an easy one to keep, especially since I contemplated escape almost every moment of the day. There was a burning hope in my heart that something would go right soon. I nodded.

"I know you do not trust me. You will, in time, come to know that I am genuine. What can I say to put your mind at ease, if only temporarily?"

I hesitated, but decided to speak what was on my mind. "Everyone seems so secretive about their origins. It is as though they do not wish to remember where they came from, or as though it is not something I am worthy of knowing—"

"You wish to know my history?"

"Well—" I fumbled a bit, feeling flushed, "—Yes."

"Very well." He smiled as warmly as he could. "This is the best version I can offer you, for it was long ago, in 1315. I was thirty and eight years old. I remember it rained all throughout the spring and summer of that year. The annals of history will tell you that this time was the beginning the Great Famine; all we knew at the time was that hard times were upon us. My family was not yet suffering, but our time for trouble was fast approaching. I had a wife, Rosaleen; she had the most beautiful green eyes and dark hair, but her smile—ah, it is the very warmth of that smile which haunts me the most—a daughter, Myrna, just 14 years old, who very much resembled her mother's loveliness; and two sons, Aiden and Braeden, respectively 6 and 9 years of age, also taking after their mother in that they inherited her eyes. It was the most beautiful family a man could have wanted— it is their love which I miss the most.

"One of those many rainy nights, I met a strange man at the tavern who spoke of treasures of the East. Intrigued, I met with him over the course of five days. He offered me employment in imports—with the promise of travel and monetary advances. After discussing it with Rosaleen, we decided that it would be in our family's best interest that I take whatever extra income I could—not an easy decision. We knew merchant families that suffered from the father's absence; increased vulnerability, and what have you—and Rosaleen worried about this—but times were growing so hard, that it seemed best to follow any sort of alternative compensation we could obtain. On the sixth night I was taken away in a black carriage, and never allowed to return. I was held captive for weeks; abused and toyed with until I begged for mercy, dying on the brink of madness in the captivity of a madman. One night, death was finally beginning to darken my weary eyes, and the Master offered me eternal life. Hoping that it would allow me to see my beautiful family again, I took it. But I soon learned that the changes were too great for my family to ever meet me again—it was best that I allowed them to move on without the husband, the father, the eternal monster. It would have ruined Rosaleen, if she knew what I had done—what I had to do nightly—just to exist—

"Ever since then, I worked to earn the Master's trust. I became his chief consultant in imports and exports. Now I travel all of the time, bringing home what I find, and bringing things from home to foreign lands. I think of Rosaleen, and Myrna, and Aiden, and Braeden every evening—they are the ghosts of my past that plague me; and they will continue to do so until I meet true death."

"Do you know what happened to them?" I did not feel comforted knowing his story. The start of his troubles sounded so similar to mine. He shook his head, and I noticed that he did look a bit distraught after this tale, as rehearsed as it had seemed. He had probably opened some very old wounds by revisiting his past, and now, I thought I might understand why the others guarded their past, or pretended that there was no life before the undeath.

"I wish I could have gone back. I can only hope that their deaths were peaceful ones, and that Rosaleen did not grieve too much. But after I became what I am, I could not return to them, you see. Once you become what we are, you have to leave all traces of your old life behind." There was a calm in his eyes. It was not the sort of calm that suggested indifference, but rather acceptance; Leland had accepted his fate. "See, we do not speak of our origins, because it is painful to remember. But when you accept that this is and was the way of things, you realize, it will always live with you, but to everyone else, it is a small portion of an ever-unfolding history. These are things I have learned; the Master's advice was only ever cruel. Only once did I see him as anything but a monster; he fell in love, I think, but it tore him apart in the end—it caused him to fall deeper into heartlessness, and I do not believe there is anything left there except a dark hole which can never be filled."

A sadness was building inside of me for him now, and I sat, feeling heavy with the weight of it. He suddenly seemed real. I did not look at him; there were tears in my eyes. I thought of my own family, still so far away with no idea as to where I was. I thought of Leland's wife crying herself to sleep for endless nights after his inexplicable disappearance. She must have thought of all possibilities; that he had left her of his own accord, that he had been taken, that he had been killed—and then there was the villain in all of this, this elusive "Master" whom everyone seemed to fear. He tore lives apart, because he was a monster. I did not feel sorry for him. But these, his children, Leland, Eliza, Blake... There were as I, torn from an existence and brought into a wretched death. This was the road I was on, and it terrified me to think of it.

"Amelia, look at me, please."

I looked at him. "It's awful," I whispered, "This whole thing is awful."

He smiled. How could he smile? "Do not cry for your loved ones—or mine. That is my burden to bear and mine alone. What good does it do them? You must be strong if you want to see them again. It is too late for me, but it is not too late for you."

He made good points, though I wondered if it might be too late for me after all. If I decided to trust Leland, was it wise? Had he just played me for pity? Regardless, I needed something, or someone to believe in. Whether or not this was true, it just gave further fuel to my hate of M, planting in my head even more reason to escape.

"He saved me, you know," I said quietly, "I was terribly ill—he gave me a bizarre concoction; I think it contained his blood."

"I knew you were under his influence. It has taken me decades to learn the art of shielding his presence from our thoughts. Even now, he is trying to see me through your eyes. But worry not-he can see only darkness. What did you do, when you discovered the nature of his healing draught?" He swilled the last of his wine.

I looked at him, feeling empowered by the mere sentence I was about to speak. "I expelled it from my body."

"You still feel drawn to him, though, don't you," he was watching me steadily.

"Yes. Even though I hate him to my very core."

"The blood of our kind—" Leland sighed, looking at the floor, then back to me, "Causes inexplicable infatuation with the giver of the blood. The infatuation is always subject to the will of the giver; if he wanted you to love him, you would, despite your own hatred. The blood invades your mind—clouds your judgment—makes you see what he wants you to see. It is amazing that you were able to expel it from yourself—moreover, that he allowed you to live after you had expressed such a volatile disdain."

"It was all I could do. Besides, he did not have time to react since the townspeople arrived shortly after the incident."

"Townspeople?"

"I escaped early on. I made it to the village; I asked for help, but he came and found me before I could leave the village. I can only guess that the man I spoke with, Earl, organized the village, and brought them upon the estate. I think that they burned it to the ground; or at least tried."

Leland seemed rather put-off by this information—perturbed, even. I wondered if I had just given too much information to him. Was he worried that his "Master" might be dead? Or was it something else? He was quiet. His eyes became hazy, shielding my perception. He would not look at me.

"We will discuss this later; I best not keep Eliza waiting too long. I think I might have something in my bags of treasures for you as well." He stood stiffly, returning his glass and offering his hand.

I took it, though I wanted to ask him a few more questions to see what he would tell—whether intentionally or not. But I had just revealed something big—his perplexed eyebrows said so. For now, I left it alone, though I ached to know his thoughts on the matter. I had a brief vision of revealing to the entire household that I had murdered their Master—but I suspected this was not even the case. M had stayed behind to massacre those people, or to protect what was his—maybe both. I tried not to think of his killing all those innocent people. If such a thing had happened, their blood would have been on my hands.

Departing from the library, we returned to the foyer where Leland called out for Warren. Warren came out into the foyer obediently, folding a paper into his waistcoat. Leland smiled in slight.

"Wait here, Amelia."

The two strolled out the front door into the night, and as it shut behind them, Eliza came fluttering down the stairs excitedly.

"Have they gone out?" She asked, breathlessly.

"Yes," I answered, looking at her in her diamonds and purple raiment. I was fascinated by her; she seemed to be eternally a child, playing dress-up in a grand old mansion. She did not know better—she did not know what lay outside the walls of her pretty castle and the folds of her dazzling gowns. Part of me pitied her—part of me envied.

"Oh, the things Leland brings back from his travels! They are glorious and lovely, Amelia, you will be so impressed!" She bubbled, nearly bouncing in her excitement.

I wondered whether or not 'impressed' was the right term—I'm sure exotic items would be interesting to see, but I was more of a practical person. If I could not get ample use out of it, it was worthless to me.

As we waited in the foyer, Blake entered, though he was very quiet and stood apart from us. Eliza gave him many quizzical expressions, but did not voice whether or not she was concerned. Her mind was preoccupied with dreams of oriental exports I imagined.

The door was flung open as Leland and Warren hauled in a massive trunk. They dropped it and backtracked, presumably to retrieve more goods. Eliza was jittery. They brought in several more trunks before their task was complete. Then Leland paused to wipe the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief—which was surprising, as M left me with the impression that vampires possessed some sort of supernatural strength, thereby negating the necessity to sweat. Perhaps this was a trait exclusive to M's condition.

"Nothing particularly exciting this round, I'm afraid—but a good deal of new fashions and jewelry that you ladies might fancy; some fabrics too."

Leland flipped open two of the trunks to reveal a glittering array of fabrics and gems. Eliza promptly dove in. I did not, but I watched her rip through the cases like a hungry fox. Leland moved to another chest.

"Blake," he motioned and opened the chest, revealing items emitting a different shine—weapons. Leland pulled out an old-looking knife and offered it to Blake.

All at once, Blake seemed stunned. He quaked a bit as he took it. "Is this—?"

"Believe me, Blake, it was no easy find. But you request so little that I put in a few favors. A Zen Master possessing a dagger, is, as you know, quite taboo. So here you are—a piece of the 13th century. Your requests are bizarre, as usual."

Blake touched the dagger as though he feared it would splinter and fall away, before quickly securing it in a pouch. "I've a fascination with the paradoxical—you know that, Leland."

Leland simply nodded.

"Leland, you outdo yourself every time," cooed Eliza as she cradled a purple silk gown (this led me to believe that purple was in fact her favorite color.)

"Perhaps you are just easily pleased, Miss Eliza," Said Leland with a smile.

"Most likely," Blake muttered, bending down to occupy himself with the chest of weapons.

"Amelia," Leland motioned and opened yet another chest. I slowly approached, and saw that the chest was filled with books. He pulled out a rather thick one with leather binding. It was tied shut. As he placed it in my hands, I thought the weight of it peculiar—it felt almost hollow. Fingering the cover, I noticed that the faded letters were "B-L-O-O-D."

I would have dropped it—but instead shock had me clutching the item. It had been in my nightmares; did he know? As I lifted my gaze to Leland's, he simply nodded, tight-lipped. His eyes seemed to urge silence on the matter, so I thanked him for the gift and tucked it under my arm, still not entirely sure what it meant. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. Blake was testing out the weight of an odd-looking bow; Eliza was perusing a box of jewelry; Warren was standing by looking bored as ever.

"Warren!" Leland motioned to the chest of books, and Warren's bored expression quickly gave way to excitement. Trying to remain stoic, he approached the case and knelt, carefully lifting books and reading the titles, his eyes sparkling with interest.

"I also think I have something else that might suit you," Leland said to me, going to another chest and rummaging through what appeared to be leather goods.

From it, he produced a brown riding coat with beautiful buttons and tooling. I had never seen a ladies' riding coat in leather, and was elated to see such an item. I touched the collar—it was buttery to the skin. The lining gleamed with a satin-finish. Though it was doubtful I would ever have the liberty of riding during my captivity with these creatures, I had always enjoyed riding in London. It was a freedom I had taken for granted. The coat was exquisite, indeed, and I suspected it had originally been intended for Eliza's possession. I had been so busy admiring it that I did not notice Leland was holding it up for me to try on. When I did notice, I set down the book gently and slipped my arms into the sleeves. The weight of it was just splendid.

"Yes. Very suitable to you." Leland smiled.

I did not smile, but I felt an inclination to. Sensing prying eyes, I turned to see Eliza, frozen over one of the chests. The purple dress was clutched in her left hand, but she was staring at me with an expression I could not comprehend. It could have been the violent glow of jealousy, but I'm not certain she had ever felt envy in this house.

She dropped the dress and approached, running her finger over the tooled leather of the coat. I could have sworn that I heard her smelling it. The foyer was silent. Even Warren had turned from the books and was looking, as though he expected a volcano to erupt. Blake had a crossbow in his hands, but he was giving a similar look in our direction. As I looked at Leland, I saw that his brows were pulled forward. He looked agitated.

"Eliza—"

"Leland," Eliza stood, and looked me in the eyes with what I could definitely describe as jealousy, "Have you brought two, then?"

"Why should I have?" Leland dropped his chin, his eyes filled with warning.

"It was for me, was it not? The coat." Eliza almost sneered, which was very unbecoming to her beautiful face.

This was the wrong thing to say. Leland's face shifted from agitated to angry. He growled back at her.

"I have brought you enough, child! You exhaust me with your demands!"

"But Leland—you said you would bring me a coat—a beautiful coat, a splendid coat—and this is the most beautiful I have seen!" She was just between whining and yelling.

"Stop! Stop this nonsense, Eliza! Amelia is a guest in this house, and I'll not tolerate this attitude with her presence."

"Quit quibbling," I interrupted and began to remove the coat. Leland's hand prevented me from continuing. I looked up at him, "She can have it. What use do I have for it?"

"Plenty," he said through gritted teeth, before turning his eyes back to Eliza, "And Miss Eliza needs to learn how to share gifts. Why, I bring you boundless presents, and this is the gratitude I get? I gift you, I care for you—"

"You're not my father." Eliza sounded smaller; I had averted my eyes to the ground for the time. There was more to this argument that I was not privy to—these two had had words before.

Leland seemed put-off by this comment. But he did not let it interrupt the lesson he was attempting to give. "You're right. Which means you are not entitled to any of these gifts. So shall I take them back, Eliza, shall I? Because I will."

"No! No. I am sorry. I did not mean to. There is no excuse." Her voice dropped off. "I am sorry."

Leland paused before brushing past me to her. I continued to look away, feeling a bit numb. I leaned over and picked the book back up, running my hand over the cover and considering it.

"I'm sorry for yelling, Eliza. It's just that you are very difficult sometimes, you know—"

"Bet you feel like an outsider right now," a voice whispered next to me. I jerked my head up to see Blake's sparkling eyes. He had slung the crossbow over his massive shoulder.

"You are mistaken," I replied, "I have felt as such since the moment I arrived."

Conversation was continuing between Leland and Eliza, but I couldn't hear it past my breath. Something in Blake's eyes was too scared to speak, but he was bold enough to fight it.

"Let's go for a walk," he whispered, "Just you and I."

"What did I tell you earlier?"

"That you could not be drawn into my 'reckless affections.' But this has nothing to do with such things. I wish to speak with you."

"Then speak to me now."

"In private," he murmured, "Please."

I considered accepting his proposal, but Leland clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. From his posture and the cheered-up expression on Eliza's face, I assumed they had rectified their current situation. "We must dine," he said, "Amelia, I humbly suggest you retire to your room for a short while."

I hesitated considering the connotation of what he was saying: dining-blood-death. Blake clasped my hand, practically nose-to-nose with me.

"Think about it," he whispered, before releasing and backing away.

I noticed that Warren had left the room. I moved for the stairs as I heard muffled screaming outside. I froze at the foot of the stairs, looking back over my shoulder as Warren came from the shadows of the night with a young Japanese girl—maybe fifteen-years-old. Her hands were bound and she was barefoot. Warren shut the door and released her in the foyer, where she stumbled and fell, screaming and crying out. This all hit me much like a giant tidal wave, washing over and causing an all-too-familiar sickness to rise in the pit of my stomach. It was the sickness of disdain which I had for these creatures, and now, here was a sudden reminder of my hate. I looked at the girl—at her watery black eyes tinted with red. It was an immediate sort of understanding. I wanted to help—but how could I?

"Oh Leland—you picked well—" Eliza said, moving in on the girl.

I moved to interject, but Leland gave me a stern glance.

Eliza looked up at me with a snarl, and I saw that she was changed—changed into a hideous, greedy, wolf-like little monster. I stepped back with a gasp, clutching the book. Eliza then turned her attentions to the girl, who she cradled in her arms, smoothing the hair back from her face. The girl was mortified, trembling.

"She's just a girl—" I whispered, "You can't do this—"

"Amelia," Leland said, laying a hand on my shoulder, which I quickly threw from me, "Linger no longer—please go upstairs—" My heart broke with his words and actions. This was a man whom I had been considering a trustworthy consort—a man of plausible and good moral aptitude. He was going to stand by—or worse, participate in this unholy ritual? Seeing M destroy an old man for sport in front of my eyes had been horrifying. And I had known full-well that his children must partake of the same habits, but being privy to it was much different than merely considering-

Blake looked at me, as though he was reading my thoughts. I imagined him standing there, shackled to this darkness. All three were prisoners to M's condition. And Warren—he just did not care anymore.

"You're monsters!" I fought back a new round of tears, "The lot of you! Monsters!" I could think of nothing else to say. My passion to fight was overtaking me.

Eliza was hunched over, clearly ready to feast. Leland was fighting an animalistic gleam in his eye. Blake looked more regretful and hurt than anything, but he was breathing heavy as though he couldn't fight his instincts, blinking back a change in his eyes.

Leland gave me one last pitiful glance as I turned on my heel. "I will never trust you," I whispered. Leland looked sad when I said this, but he refused to relegate to our earlier conversation.

I did not want to leave the girl to die—but I had no choice. I might have sacrificed myself for her, but they were under strict orders to not harm me, or so I believed. I fled up the stairs while she screamed below. I imagined her tiny little heart giving out in fear. She had probably been ripped from her home as well—and by Leland, the one who I was supposed to trust. I pushed into the "Sunset suite" and slammed the doors, locking them and falling against them, weeping. I imagined M laughing at the whole thing—my horror, the death, the defeat—this is what he loved: brokenness.

The screaming in the foyer intensified, echoing through the large house. I heard the sounds of a struggle—things falling to the floor. There was a shrill, and then a cold silence. Who was I to pity more? The girl, or the monsters who could not help the condition which they had no doubt been forced into? My whirlwinded emotions would not let me see the situation clearly, but I knew that destroying the young and innocent was not right—no matter what circumstance. I knew the one to blame for all of this, and my hate continued to fester for him, even in his absence.

Minutes drew on, and though I was still distraught, I forced myself to forget the horror, trying to be happy that I was still alive, even though it seemed that the bell would soon be tolling for me. 'Uncontrollable bloodlust.' Yes, it was only a matter of time. I touched the book Leland had given to me, and undid the strap. "Blood." The pages were fragile, old, and yellowed. This was an old book, as was also evidenced by the archaic binding-style. The introductory page was in a foreign language. There were many unfamiliar accents resembling crescents. I tried to identify the language, but it was not one I had seen before. Frustrated, I flipped through the pages in search of illustrations. There were a few crude and rather grotesque figures of what appeared to be blood-draining rituals. Was this, perhaps, a book about vampires? Were their weaknesses listed within? Their history? Their origin? Where had the book come from, and why had Leland given it to me? And did I even wish to inquire about it at this point? But there was something else about it. The back cover was thicker than it should have been, and the paper glued to it bulged as if an object was wedged into it.

My curiosity overtook my silent horrors. I ran my finger over the obtrusion, and carefully tore at the paper. When I was finished, a small, tarnished silver key fell into my palm. A key, hidden in a book about vampires, given to me by a vampire... What could it possibly open? I puzzled over it for several minutes, and not being able to determine it based on the size and age of the key, I wedged it back into the book, and could think no longer on it.

I placed it in the nightstand. I went to the window and looked out at the night sky and the sea. It was getting late for me, but I knew it to be early for the others. I thought about the girl again and felt my heart breaking all over. I knew that I had to leave—somehow. But for now I stood in the room, imprisoned by the horrors I should have been accustomed to, until a deathly silence pervaded the darkness. Would M have ever done such a thing? The only time I had seen him dine was to prove a very poignant fact about his true self. Otherwise, I might not have known what he was. Looking back on that very night—the death of the old graveyard-keeper—and the carriage ride back to M's house of torment—I had failed to notice the remote shame and tiredness in his eyes. It had been a trace of humanity—a shadow I had not wanted to see because of my zealous judgment of him.

He made it easy to accuse him of being a monster. That was the difference between him and his "children." They spent their nights trying to be civilized; trying to make their night-world a flawless reflection of romantic dreams and beauty. They tried to hide behind their human shadows. M had overcome his human shadow, but every so often, he peered through the ghastly apparition. From what I knew, this frustrated M. I supposed that if one was human, once upon a time, one could not altogether dispose of that nature. M tried to make things simple by being the monster, but it only deepened his predicament. Leland said he had fallen in love once, and it had broken him. M probably had everything to offer—maybe he was even happy, once—how could anyone have expected him to know how one deals with the trials of the heart? Because love had abandoned him, he turned to hate, letting it consume from the outside in, until his heart was no longer a factor. But what would any of this have had to do with me, if true? Maybe nothing—maybe there was some other reason—but everyone's cryptic comments led me to believe it was something to do with this.

There was a knock.

"Go away," I said to the knocker, not letting my eyes leave the night sky, "Leave me be."

Silence, from whom I could only assume was Blake; or maybe Leland, but that seemed unlikely. Leland would have known to wait longer. Blake was impatient and persistent. Whomever it was did not 'go away' as requested. I glanced at the door and could see a shadow in the door crack. Perhaps he was contemplating a different pursuit of me—an unorthodox method of breaking down the door.

"Go away," I repeated, more loudly.

"Amelia—" Definitely Blake. The door creaked as if he were leaning on it, whispering into the tiny gap between the double doors. "Open the door."

"No." I was tired of more elaborate answers—this was simple. There was no bargaining to be had.

"I can't help what I am," he tried to explain, "None of us can."

I considered ways he might be able to "help" his condition. He could have refused the dark "gift." From the way Leland spoke of it, it was a decision to be made. It might be forcibly presented, but it could still be refused. I wondered what Blake's story was. Regardless, commenting would have been a conversation trap. I knew M would have never made excuses for himself like this. He would have laughed and told me to deal with it, in his own elegantly twisted fashion. It was not that I wanted Blake to follow suit—he seemed to be ever-fighting the monster. But he needed to make up his mind—not to impress me or anyone else, but for himself. At least M knew who he was, what he wanted, what to say. In his own barmy way, he was more put-together than young Blake.

"Amelia, what can I do to convince you that I am not the monster you seem to think I am?" He asked.

"Nothing." I already knew what he was underneath the warm, flirty exterior. He was the same as M—he just tried to hide it. They all did. And that was worse.

"Amelia, I swear to you—" His fist thudded against the door in distress.

"Blake?"

"Eliza, I—"

"What are you doing, Blake?" Her voice no longer resembled a demonic entity trying to escape.

"Trying to reassure her—"

"Well, pounding upon the door won't get you very far. This is a delicate matter. Let me try." She knocked. "Amelia?" Her voice was sweet and exotic again.

"Go away," I repeated.

"You can't hide in there forever, so why don't you come out? I am sorry for my outburst earlier. It will not happen again."

"I'm staying in here," I replied, fingering the leather of my new coat. Why were they even trying?

"But Amelia, we've hired such marvelous entertainment for the evening—"

Entertainment? I had no desire to know what that might have entailed. Words were becoming the only way. I walked to the door and spoke directly into it, imagining that the sudden sound of my voice would cause them to step back in surprise.

"Now you hear me, the both of you: I am not about to sit around and wait for you to suddenly turn on me like the animals you are. So, if you do not mind, I am going to spend the rest of my evening in here—sleeping, like a normal human does. I will come out when it is daylight outside. Then at dusk, I will return to my quarters, and you shall all leave me be. After this moment, I will not speak to you—I will have nothing to do with you."

"Amelia, this is asinine!" Blake actually managed to sound angry, "The only thing keeping me out is my desire to pay you the common courtesy of privacy! I can very easily break these doors down, and then there would be nothing you could do to stop me!"

"Stop you from what? What are you going to do? Tear me to pieces? I am certain your Master would be pleased with that—I do not understand why he has not done it already, as I seem to have made his life more of a living hell than it was from the start!" I gripped my head and gasped. That creature in my mind suddenly jumped from the abyss and tried to take hold. I shook it off. And I just knew that M drew closer by the minute.

Blake and Eliza began to bicker.

"Let me do it—"

"No, Blake, no, you can't!"

"I'll show her!"

"It is not the way! You are being a child!"

"She should not be allowed to tell us what to do—this is our home!"

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

"Eliza!"

"You are out of your mind—if he knew! If he knew how you were acting right now!"

"But he doesn't. He's not here, now. Is he?" The question was rhetorical—sarcastic even. I could only imagine what would be happening right now if "he" were here. And he would be, sooner than they knew. I could sense it-I hated it, but I could sense his approach.

"You are not making your case any better. She is already scared of us—"

"She is still listening," I reminded from the other side of the closed doors.

"She had best quit this nonsense!" Blake yelled, pushing against the door. I stepped back a bit when he did, just in case it gave way.

"Or what? Go on, Blake. Break down the door. I will be certain to tell your Master everything about it, if he managed to survive the fire." I was bluffing, but they would not know.

"What fire?" Eliza chimed in. The door creaked ever-so-slightly and I imagined she was leaning upon it in interest.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" I huffed. But a cruel smile tugged at my lips. Chaos. Chaos that M could not control at this moment, and I held the reins.

"She is playing us, Eliza. She has been since she arrived. She probably wrote that note herself. Maybe she's not even Amelia—"

"Oh, and how would you propose a stranger to know anything about who Amelia is?"

"It's all true," came Leland's voice.

"What?" Blake's anger turned to intrigue.

"I just received courier confirmation. The Gargrave Manor was destroyed."

As the three outside my room engaged in a rather uproarious reaction, a twisted kind of elation filled my soul. I had done it—I had destroyed the prison. I had to remind myself that it wasn't me who had done it, however—it was the townspeople. But had the townspeople survived? Moreover, had M survived? I leaned against the door and listened.

"Quiet, quiet!" Leland was saying, as Blake was attempting to argue, and Eliza was nearly wailing. "The Master is on his way. He managed to salvage most of his prized possessions. He should arrive just before dawn, if not sooner."

"Before dawn! Well! I hardly have any time at all!" Fluttered Eliza. My heart was quickly sinking. I had known he would arrive soon; but was hoping it would not quite be that soon. "I must prepare—we must get ready for his arrival!" Priorities were very strange with Eliza.

"This is her fault," Blake growled, "She'd never be here if she hadn't—"

"Blake, it's not her fault," Leland snapped, "It's Gargrave's fault." I suddenly wished that I could see their faces, so that I knew more of this exchange—I could not interpret from the voices alone.

"Indeed."

"I must get ready!" Eliza had a narrow mind, it seemed. I heard her gently float across the hall to her room, floor creaking with a bizarre delicacy, where she presently shut the door. Was she in love with the Master? I suppose she may have simply been passionately devoted. Moreover, what concern should I have had over such a thing? I hated him. In fact, I prayed that something awful happened to him on the way here, preventing his arrival.

Something else was muttered in the hall—something I could not discern.

"It's being taken care of," was Leland's response.

What was being taken care of? What had Blake asked about? I heard footsteps saunter off, and then the hall was quiet. I knew someone was still there.

"I know it's difficult—and I understand your need to react," said Leland, "But should you see the need for another outburst such as this one, you may not be so lucky. Remember, Amelia," His voice grew low—almost to a whisper, "Play the game."

Then, the hall was quiet again, and I could only assume he had wandered off as well. He was much lighter on his feet than the others. For now, the creature that haunted the recesses of my mind lay sleeping. How long before I experienced his rage once more? How long before my newfound hotheaded authority was crushed with his devil's smile?

Perhaps it was not mercy to have been saved from plunging to the depths of the sea by Blake. Perhaps it would have been better to die.