Bellavarn tossed his many outfits onto the bed. Dressing himself was a struggle in both lives. His sense of style consisted of whatever was comfortable.

What was formal? What was acceptable? It was only a family dinner; his parents were good people. His father was exceptionally understanding. Bellavarn was looking forward to meeting his mother. Melody confirmed the person he drew in his journal was indeed the Duchess, except Melody stressed how scary the Duchess could be.

I should have asked Melody what's appropriate.

Thinking back on the entire week spent in isolation, Bellavarn had no idea how it happened so fast. The week consisted of frivolities and shoulder bumping, but that was enough to capture his boyish heart.

I should know better.

What bothered him was that it wasn't his first kiss. It was Sallow's. Yet, Bellavarn still treated it as such.

Something's wrong.

A tiny voice seemed to be yelling something. It never reached his ears, though. The cold absence on his lips still burned.

Would he ever feel otherwise? Maybe wrapping Melody in his arms would cure him? His smile slid back into place at the thought.

Clothes, though. He was stuck between a comfortable green outfit or a more respectable and form-fitting navy blue one.

The doors to his room opened. Expecting Melody, he was caught flat-footed by a regal man instead.

"Father! I'm glad to see you. I was just about to come to dinner. I was having trouble picking an outfit. I feel like my first time out in a week deserves some thought."

Braster Sallow was a thin man with close-cropped blond hair and a well-maintained goatee. His eyes were a frozen blue, he wore prim and proper clothes, the correct and only choice for clothing among the nobility.

Braster Sallow strode up to his son silently. Cold blue eyes bearing down.

"See I'm all better now, see. Healthy as a horse."

Bellavarn bounced on his feet and stretched a few times, showing off his flexibility. He stopped when it failed to remove his father's mask.

"What's happened? Is it mother? She never visited, so I've been worried."

Bellavarn felt his blood cool. His father was entirely unreadable. It was beyond nerve-wracking. This wasn't how he imagined meeting his father for the first time. Their muffled conversations through the door had always been light and carefree.

Now alarm bells rang. He was on the verge of panic when Braster spoke.

The words were in a measured tone that brooked no argument or deviation.

"Tell me the truth."

Bellavarn's brows furrowed in confusion. Could the Duke have caught on that Bellavarn was never sick? Did Melody let it slip?

"About what, father?"

He winced as Braster's eyebrow twitched.

"About the girl."

"Melody? What do you- I mean... She has been incredibly helpful this past week. I was hoping we could give her some kind of bonus."

Bellavarn realized he should be answering more simply and firmly, but this was the most unsettling encounter in his short re-life. What truth was his father searching for? Did the budding relationship between his son and a servant concern Braster this much?

"You didn't do anything to her?"

"No. Of course not. I know you want me to find someone, and I... I believe I am starting to like Melody. A lot, actually."

Bellavarn rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. He went on.

"She is very understanding and patient with me. I didn't intend for anything to happen at first, but we became closer this past week. I didn't expect her to be the one to kiss me. It was shocking at first, but looking back, it's quite cute of her-"

"You never laid a finger on her?"

"We might have bumped shoulders once or twice. But no, I never touched her."

Braster's deep blue eyes chilled him. It was like Bellavarn's soul was open for reading.

There was a long silence as his father eyed him but said no words. Bellavarn gulped under pressure but otherwise didn't move or speak. Breaking the silence could summon an earthquake for all he knew.

Braster's gaze softened and he embraced Bellavarn. His father was slightly shorter than him, so the hug was as tight as it was short-lived. Braster pulled away before Bellavarn could shut his open mouth.

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"I am sorry I doubted you, son. I know you wouldn't do such a thing."

"Father, I-"

"We have a problem. Melody went to your mother, and she is inclined to believe the young girl's words. Hell, I half-believe her. I am sorry again, Bellavarn."

He apologized twice. Twice! For a duke to apologize, even to his son, was beyond imagination. Yet, he did so twice.

Cold sweat crawled down Bellavarn's neck.

What the hell happened?

=

Bellavarn followed in his father's steps. He still wore the loose nightshirt from when he was studying, not having time to change before Braster stormed out with a command to follow. They passed a few of the staff as they made their way. They stopped any gossiping and bowed low.

"Father, I don't know what happened, but before we get wherever we are going, I have to confess something."

Braster turned on a heel, halting immediately and causing a near collision. His gaze was so cold it was scorching. Bellavarn inhaled a deep breath but knew that the truth, or at least the closest version of it, would be best going forward.

"I lied. About being sick, that is. The truth is that a week ago, when I woke up and Melody brought me breakfast..."

=

"Amnesia?"

"I couldn't remember who I was. I was terrified of what would happen. It was clear I was of noble birth, so I knew appearances mattered. If someone got wind of it, it could have caused problems for the family. I didn't want to be a burden. I recruited Melody to teach me things and we've spent the last week practicing reading, writing, and etiquette. It was only at the end that I felt anything."

Bellavarn's rambling trailed off, not knowing where else to go. Whatever was happening, whatever was going on, his father accepted and believed his words—a stranger. At least in Bellavarn's eyes.

"Is that everything?"

"As far as I can remember. It was actually an amazing experience meeting you. Again, that is."

Braster gave the smallest of smirks.

"Alright, good. Knowing that will help. Let us hurry to your mother. Things must have escalated in my absence."

=

Father and son arrived at the entrance hall. They stood on the landing of a grand staircase looking over the banister at the assembled group below. The doors to the mansion were wide open, welcoming the freezing weather—guards in armor clustered in the doorway. Servants and staff spread out towards the edges of the room. In the center of it all were two figures.

The first was a regal woman in a heavy fur coat. Her platinum blond hair shone with the reflection of winter snow. Her skin glimmered and her features personified perfection.

Mother.

Her beauty outshone even Sallow's drawings of her. A certain proudness resonated deep within Bellavarn. Still, there was an undertone of danger in the Duchess' posture that prevented him from calling out to her.

The Duchess huddled against the second figure. The shorter girl was wrapped in a wool blanket and shivering uncontrollably. Bellavarn spotted the disheveled hair and the monochrome choker she wore. Melody glanced up and met his blue eyes.

She screamed.

=

"For God's sake, close the door, Oslo! Hush child, you are alright, you are safe."

Bellavarn felt the world turn as he watched Melody crawl backward, screaming in hysteria.

"Melody."

It came out as a whisper. Arm reaching out instinctively, Bellavarn was about to take a step but a firm hand landed on his chest. Bellavarn turned to his father with pleading eyes.

"I know. Remain silent if you are able."

The cold eyes that seemed to pierce his soul earlier now felt solid and comforting. Bellavarn managed to slow his racing heart as he felt Braster's sturdiness. It was a lifeline. And Bellavarn, he clung to it with all his strength.

Braster proceeded down the staircase first.

"Trisha, I've brought him."

"I can see that. It's only made the situation worse. There, come on, look at me. See. You are safe. Just sit tight and stay behind me. Okay? Okay."

Trisha Sallow stood to her full height, facing off against Braster.

"No explanation can excuse this kind of harm."

"Our son is innocent. He had his heart wrenched away, nothing more."

"Innocent? Innocent! Look at her. That girl can't stop trembling from a mere glimpse of Bellavarn. What other evidence is needed? Should I show you the layers of bruises? The cuts and abrasions? You believe she gave herself a black eye?"

Braster kept his attention on his wife, but Bellavarn was drifting in and out of focus.

Melody? Sweet and innocent Melody?

Closer now, he saw one of her eyes was all puffed up. Blood trickled onto the stone floor, her feet cut from stepping on glass. The bruises on her exposed legs.

His blood boiled as his imagination took horrid turns.

"Not satisfied! What about the blood? Not all of it comes from glass."

Bellavarn felt the bubbles popping.

Blood? Huh, Blood? From... NO. No. No one gets away.

He could feel the pot boil over, hot tears running down his face as he looked at the sweet maid who ran away with his healing heart.

A cold room. The chandelier reminded him of a swirling ceiling fan. His mother's scarf looked remarkably like rope.

It was too much. Too much to bear in silence. The fragile ego he built up was dissipating.

"Who?"

He whispered. All that was left was straws.

"Who did this?"

His voice was unnaturally steady for the amount of vehemence coating his words.

"Who harmed her? Who did it? Who dared! Who-"

He tried to move closer, but Melody started screaming again, clawing to get away.

"Enough of that! You've done enough damage."

His mother's fury didn't register as he stood there with his hand outstretched. He stared at Melody's form and wept.

Why was this happening? Why wasn't his pain over? Why was he alive just to experience it all again?

Bellavarn plummeted to his knees, unable to keep control as memories he tried to forget swarmed back in, coiling around him like red-hot irons. Furious and despondent tears streamed down his face.

"Do you see your son? You don't think he's capable of faking that."

"Surely you're not blaming the victim for her own assault?"

They continued arguing with one another. The guards shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. The staff all whispered to one another—each forming their own opinions.

Bellavarn lost contact with it all. His vision was blurry from emotion. Everything lost color and became turned monochrome.

Like Melody's dress...

...The one laying in tatters in the corner.

The pain was too much for him. The days spent together. Laughing at silly things as they talked, accidentally brushing up against one another in their study sessions, both pretending to ignore the contact.

That bright smile that lit up his day.

A blushing face hiding underneath brown bangs.

The warmth of lips on his.

The cold absence.

The longing.

The image before him.

It didn't mesh.

None of it fit.

It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It was fake... Fiction. Fake! His father and mother. The mansion. A new life as a duke's son. He was still hanging from his ceiling fan in his death throes as his life came to an end. Bellavarn was dead. He died that day. He was dead. Should be dead. Dead. Dead. Gone.

Melody.

He collapsed.