It felt strange to call my host by a proper name. Never in my life would I have known a bird-woman could be named something as innocuous as Faustine. But here I was. I knew this would be something that, if I ever left this place, could be counted as an extraordinary moment in my life.

When I came to breakfast the following night, Faustine was standing by her chair. Did she get tired of sitting? I thought. I didn’t take as long to come to the dining room this time.

“Good evening, Faustine.” I greeted her.

“Good evening to you, Marius.” She greeted back.

I looked at her, then at the table. “Any reason why you’re standing?”

“I figured it would be more polite if I waited for you to be here before sitting down. I realized I didn’t do that before and felt that it was improper.” She answered, nervously tapping the top of her chair. “If you could forgive my early rudeness—”

“It’s alright, there’s no problem. I didn’t mind either way. It’s nice that you were considering it.” I gave a reassuring smile.

“You don’t mind.” Faustine rubbed her feathered temple. “There I go again. Stupid—” She lightly tapped her forehead.

“You’re not stupid. I just don’t mind is all.” I pulled out my chair and sat down. “Your heart was in the right place. That’s enough.”

“Oh,” A wave of relief seemed to wash over Faustine. She took a breath and sat down. “Good, then.”

“Then what’s for breakfast?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Chef!” She snapped her fingers into the air.

There was a rush of air and a clatter of dishes. Then, two bowls of oatmeal with a side of fruit and toast sat before me and Faustine. I smelled the slightest hint of cinnamon coming from the bowl. How could this place make oatmeal so irresistible?

As I began to eat, I heard sharp pecking noises. I looked up to see Faustine quickly snapping into the bowl. She resembled a bird picking at bread. Flecks of oatmeal splattered onto the table and her beak.

I stopped eating and watched her for a while. I was partially amused, confused, and curious all at once. What could one make of such an odd sight?

Faustine soon noticed me watching and set down her bowl. She patted down her beak in embarrassment. “Forgive me… I have this terrible instinct to eat that way. It seemed natural in the moment.”

“You were doing fine when I first got here.”

“I was restraining myself. I normally peck.”

I nodded. “Then would a spoon work better? It’s less messy.”

“That sounds like a better option.” Faustine conceded.

Breakfast was finished with a minimal amount of pecking, though Faustine did sneak in a few before we were finished. I didn’t mind those as much. I think it was due to the initial shock having worn off.

“Is there anything you wish to do?” Faustine asked as we stood.

“Can you show me around? I think I’d feel a little more comfortable if you gave a tour.”

She nodded. “As you wish.”

With that, we strode through the halls of the manor by the dancing ghost-lights. I kept pace with Faustine’s slight hobbling gait. She moved with ease despite her limp. No doubt she’d had it for many years and gotten used to it. I thought back to when I asked her about it. Was she indeed in pain? She was very good at hiding it.

“I know you’ve seen the library already,” Faustine said as we strode inside. “I haven’t counted how many are here. I can only assume they number in the thousands.”

I gazed at the rows and high stacks of books everywhere. “That sounds about right. Have you read all of them?”

“Not even close. And that’s considering the books that stay.”

“What, do some of the books wander off otherwise?”

“In a sense.” Faustine walked her fingers along a shelf and removed a book. “Ah. Here we are. Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. I just finished this one. Very moving.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Faustine chuckled. “Well, that’s because he hasn’t been born yet.”

My eyes widened in shock. “What?”

Faustine flipped to a page and pointed to the edition date. It read 1862. That was over a hundred years from now.

“Impossible.” I took the book from her.

“Quite the opposite. Some come from the past. Others from the future. It can be very random what appears on the shelves. I’m not entirely sure how it works. But I find something interesting regardless. I will never know these people personally, but their works pass through here to serve as a reminder that they existed. People die, Marius, but their art lives forever in print and in the hearts of those who read it.” Faustine mused. She took the book from me and gently reinserted it onto the shelf.

“You ought to be a writer or a poet, considering the way you phrased that.”

“I expressed myself in different ways than words. I prefer reading them to writing.”

Next on the tour was the ballroom. “This was the space where the magic happened, so to speak. All our concerts and parties were held here. Those days are long gone, unfortunately.” Faustine explained, motioning to the empty room. “This place is best used for collecting dead air now.”

My attention was drawn instead to the stained glass. “What do the ravens mean?”

“It is our ancestral animal. The raven is a messenger in many ancient traditions. It can bring omens or inspiration.”

“And the roses?’

“Heirlooms of a sort. Special flowers that need very specific conditions to grow.”

“Like what?”

“Dreams.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Come now, this shouldn’t be surprising to you by now.” Faustine rolled her eyes.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I just wasn’t expecting that answer.”

Faustine cleared her throat. “There’s a story that my family has told for centuries. The Moon once heard a song from a sleeper’s dream that was so beautiful that it shed a tear. Where that tear landed, a blue rose shot up from the ground. A pure mote of dreaming essence from the Moon herself. For this reason, they are called Moonlit Tears.” Faustine stood in the light cast by the windows, appearing like a ghost. “This manor had fields of these roses. They were quite a sight.”

“What was so special about these roses?”

“Wherever the roses grew, so did dreams and all the things that accompany them: inspiration, love, things like that. All the things that make life worth living were in those roses.”

“But how can dreams make flowers grow?”

“Every action and desire started as a dream. Without dreams, we wouldn’t exist.”

“What happened to them, then?”

Faustine turned to me with a grave look. “There are good dreams and there are bad dreams, Marius. Sometimes the bad dreams become so awful they pollute everything around them. The loss of those roses is the greatest tragedy that has befallen this place.” She hung her head. “I don’t wish to dwell on such matters.”

As we walked by each room, Faustine explained the contents and history therein: Her great grandfather’s collection of armor from around the world; the many lounges with way too many pillows that her mother insisted on keeping anyway; the chandelier in the foyer which fell at one point in the past and caused as a small fire. They kept the chandelier, but that incident was when the family chose instead to use the ghost-lights for illumination. They were a gift from a fellow magician. She explained they were little captured points of light that would cause no mess or a fire.

“Do all magicians know each other?” I asked.

“Loosely. A friend of a friend of a friend, things of that nature. It’s not something we like to advertise. Not all people are as accepting of the existence of the arcane as you seem to be.”

“It’s hard, but I’m coming around.” I shrugged. “Have any come to visit lately?”

“No.”

We passed the painter’s studio. I stopped and lingered in the doorway, gazing longingly inside.

“That was my—” Faustine’s voice dropped suddenly. “—a family member’s studio.” She looked me over curiously. “An interest of yours?”

“I was training to be a painter. When my family lost all our money, I chose to give it up. We couldn’t afford to continue my classes or afford painting materials for that matter.”

“Did you love it?”

“I loved it with all my heart.” I said sadly.

“That must be difficult, giving up a piece of yourself,” Faustine said. “I understand how you feel.”

“It was, very much so.”

I felt something touch me. Warmth spread through my body. I looked over to see a taloned hand resting on my shoulder. My eyes darted to Faustine standing beside me.

“Oh!” The feathers on Faustine’s neck stood up. She retracted her hand. “I’m sorry, it seemed like the natural thing to do… I didn’t mean to offend if I did offend—” She backed away.

“You did nothing wrong.” I gave her a gentle smile. “That was very kind of you.”

“Oh.” Faustine sighed in relief. “Good.” She smoothed out her feathers. “Then let’s delay. There’s more to see.” She strode down the hall.

I remained in the studio for a little while before rejoining her down the hall.

“And finally, the garden.” Faustine motioned to the quiet stretch of statues of hedges. “I think it explains itself.”

We walked side by side down the paths. I gazed in awe at the massive statues looming overhead. I brushed a hand over a statue made of shining black stone, wiping bits of snow away. “These are incredible.”

“The black stone ones are the oldest. They’re family heirlooms. The regular stone ones are my mother’s. She was a master sculptor. She had the unique ability to bring her creations to life.”

“It was your mother who made the horse.” I deduced.

She nodded. “She called it her masterpiece. I’m certainly getting good use out of it.”

“Your family seemed like a very gifted bunch.”

“And what of your family? Were they artists?”

“No, just me. I always considered myself the black sheep. My mother was a merchant, and my brothers were a carpenter and an accountant. Even my father was a merchant. That’s how my parents met.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died when I was three. He went out on a sailing expedition and never came back.”

I remembered a little picture Mother had of him on her bedside table. She brought it to Amersot. Sometimes late at night, I saw her holding it to her chest and quietly weeping to herself.

“And where is your family, Faustine?”

“They’re all dead to me.” Faustine stared out into the garden. “It’s such a pitiful word. A group of people united by nothing other than the random accident of parentage with nothing else in common. The people who are supposed to care for you above all else are also the ones who wound you the deepest.” She turned to me with mournful eyes. “Just when you think they’ll stay by your side, they leave you to rot. That is what family is to me.”

My heart stung with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I deserve no sympathy from anyone. They were right to leave me. I am a disappointment to my family’s name.”

“You’re not disappointing me.”

Faustine shook her head. “I’m sure I’ll surprise you.”

“It’s only been a few days and you’re a better host than I initially thought.” I approached her. “First impressions being what they were and all.”

“I will let you down eventually.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job otherwise.”

Faustine laughed drily. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

The tour finished, we had dinner and I retired to my room. I decided to take a hot bath to unwind before bed.

As I sat under the warm water, I began to ponder things. More and more my host was surprising me. I knew this story. Any minute she was going to drop the façade and become a monster again. She’d turn around and reveal an ugliness to her that would repulse me yet again, and I would have to defend my honor until she did something to win my trust again. I remembered reading that in some throwaway novel when I was a child. It was dreadful from what I could recall. Instead, she was… kind. Even shy? I struggled to understand what it all could mean. Was this secretly a trick? Or was I seeing another side, possibly the real side of her?

I sank deeper into the water until I submerged. I wondered if I was going to enjoy my time here. The thought both intrigued and frightened me.

I got dressed and climbed into bed. I looked around the room instinctively, looking for the slightest hint of a little ball of fur hiding in the dark. Alas, there was nothing. I sighed, climbed into bed, and pulled the blankets over me. I lay down and shut my eyes.

A shrill cry echoed through the halls. It sounded like something between a bird and a human.

I jumped out of bed and ran into the hall. The scream came again. I followed it through the halls. It seemed to be coming from past the library.

I turned a corner. The scream sounded again. Now I could see where it originated: behind a single door at the end of the hall. I ran to it and opened the door.

The bedroom was an absolute mess. Clothes, fabric, and other bits of debris were strewn all over the floor. Deep gouges marked the walls and curtains. A gilded picture frame hung on the wall, the picture having been torn to ribbons and the canvas paper hanging like flayed skin. The place looked like it hadn’t been properly cleaned in years.

“EEEK!” Faustine shrieked from the bed. She sat in the middle of a mess of blankets roughly arranged in the shape of a nest. Her bright eyes were wild with panic.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I asked breathlessly.

“It’s over there!” She pointed a shaking talon at a corner of the room.

“What’s going on?” Finley entered the room along with Etienne and another servant.

“There’s something in her room.” I quickly explained.

“Please young sir, go back to your room. We can handle it.” Finley pleaded.

I ignored him as I went into the corner of the room. I pushed aside a chair and chest and searched for anything out of the ordinary.

Something white and furry was crouched in the corner. It looked up at me with beady eyes and squeaked happily.

“Doux!” I gasped as I collected the rat and cuddled him to my cheek. Doux sniffed and stood to hug me in turn, his little whiskers tickling my face. I felt like I could cry. I thought he was gone, but here he was.

“You’re—You’re friends with it?” Faustine cried.

“Yes. He came with me from our cabin.” I presented him to Faustine and the servants with open hands. The rat curled tightly into my palm.

“Ah, I was wondering where he came from,” Finley said, tapping his chin. “We’d been trying to catch him for the last few nights. Sneaky little bugger, that one.”

“You knew it was here and you didn’t tell me?” Faustine shrilled.

“We didn’t want to upset you, Mistress.” Finley tried to explain.

“If I knew there was a-a vermin in my house I would’ve—” Faustine recoiled at the sight of the creature. “Get it out of my room!”

“It’s okay, he’s not going to hurt you.” I stroked Doux’s back.

“I don’t care. Get it away from me!” Faustine pointed to the door.

I obeyed and walked out of the room. The servants followed suit, disappearing with a rush of air.

“Are you going to kill him, then?” I asked through the open door.

“No. Just—Just keep it away from him.” Faustine replied, curling herself tighter in her nest.

“He’s not a thing.” I reminded her.

“Fine. Just keep him away.”

I nodded. “As you wish.”

“Marius?” She turned to me. “Thank you.”

I nodded. “Of course.” And with that, I returned to my room with my friend.