The argent light of Pir was touched with a purple tinge as its twin, Zendine, revealed its first sliver. Together, the two moons illuminated the path alongside the chateau, offering their guidance to Gilles on his way to the villa’s stable. Crickets chirped in uninterrupted unity, and their song enveloped the motionless air—Yet they were not quite loud enough to overpower the racing thoughts, the pangs of doubt, which plagued the mind of the old butler.

Gilles had packed lightly for his journey, intent on taking only what would fit into a modest pair of saddlebags. As he prepared to tuck away the last item—A small, wooden toy horse—He paused to take a closer look at it, which he hadn’t done in quite some time. Fond memories flooded his mind, casting away his worries as he gazed into the poor creature’s face, still stained with sloppy makeup from Jessa’s childhood antics. He chuckled, recalling vividly the day that her mother had given her the toy for her fifth birthday, with a life-size pony to match.

A sigh trickled through his pursed lips. This sudden flood of sentiment sparked a change of heart, and he chose to tuck the horse back into his pocket. With his belongings packed and his departure set for the next morning, Gilles concluded that he was ready to turn in for the evening.

There remained one more thing he wished to do, however, one more person with whom he wished to speak. Although the two moons shed enough light to guide him along the path, he took a torch with him as he left the stable. The cover of leaves and flowers would leave him with very little light once he reached his destination.

The sweet fragrance of flowers grew thicker as he neared the garden, which was situated behind the chateau. Torchlight illuminated the violet of the lilacs, the red of rose petals, and the subtle warm white of climbing hydrangeas, cascading along the trellises. Maples with red leaves and willows with lush branchlets offered their shade and protection while birches dotted the way with their striking white trunks.

At the center of the garden stood a fountain, with a statue of a woman in loose, flowing robes standing in the basin. She held a jug of shimmering water which trickled through an endless cycle. At the edges of the basin, star jasmines bloomed across a web of vines.

Gilles took a seat on a carved stone bench facing the display. Another sigh escaped him as he thumbed the toy horse in his pocket. He closed his eyes, revisiting countless days of joy and levity that had taken place in the very same garden.

“Jeanne.” He spoke softly, slowly. “This is the last time we’ll be able to meet here.”

A gentle breeze blew past, as if in response.

“Your daughter is all grown up now. Though she stumbles, I believe that when she makes her final leap from the nest, she will soar. I hope you can understand that I did everything I could, and that upholding my promise to protect this family means I must leave.” He shut his eyes, damming up tears.

“I’m sorry that I must leave you as well. Though I never had a daughter of my own, you were by far the closest thing. I can only hold hope that you are still alive somewhere. But I know that you are listening here.”

A breeze, stronger than the last, rustled leaves and hedges as it swept by. Gilles took comfort in pretending—Or perhaps knowing—that the one he missed so dearly would command the wind to soothe his woes. The breeze stayed strong and, after a few seconds, began to carry with it a powdery cloud of white. Gilles stared in awe and puzzlement; The occasional snow flurry was not unheard of for early springtime in Oakenhaven, but it glimmered in a more dazzling way than he had ever seen before.

Gilles smiled to himself as a sudden drowsiness overcame him. It was a familiar, soothing exhaustion, the first breath of fresh air after sudden release from anxiety. He took a moment to bask in the momentary respite from his worries, entertaining the thought to sleep among the comforts of the garden. More apt to seek the comfort of his bed amidst the frigid night, however, he tried to stand, but could not find the strength. He tried to shake the fog from his head, but it only grew thicker. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they fluttered in protest.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

In the last moments of fighting his eyelids that desperately wanted to stay shut, Gilles thought he saw two slender female figures silhouetted among the rustling hedges. Having fallen still once again, the air carried hushed, indistinct whispers to his ears. Not long after did he find himself hanging onto his final thread of wakefulness. As he drifted off, his every thought was muffled by gentle metallic jingles in the distance, which sounded in rhythm with a chorus of soft, soothing giggles.

Seconds, minutes, or hours later, Gilles awoke. A viscous, stinging film coated his vision. While focused on trying to blink it away, his instinct to rub his eyes sparked awareness of another, much more disquieting sensation: Vines wrapped around his wrists and calves, restraining him as he lay upon a thin web of leaves. Eyes darting in every direction, he oriented himself among the flowers and hedges—still in the garden, but far from its comforts.

Two sets of footsteps rustled and snapped the dewy grass, one light, the other plodding. The metallic ring of a thin blade scraped through the dirt behind the first, and with the second a dull, repeated thump made the ground quiver. Slowly, they drew nearer to Gilles. He tried to pull his torso up to see who approached, but only found his restraints climbing further, tightening their grip until his limbs pulsed with aching pressure. He could not speak; all he could muster was a strained whistle from his vocal cords as adrenaline surged through his stomach.

The web of vines twisted and coiled, lowering his body to eye level with the two figures who approached. Two identical faces of ethereal beauty loomed over him on either side, one with a warm smile and the other with a serene, impassive expression. Each wore a single braid to tame their fiery hair. Honey-colored eyes stared down at his face, an eagerness stirring within them.

The smiling one held a scythe by a protruding grip. She twirled it upright, her dexterity impressive against its hefty weight, and caught it by its snath, which was painted black and decorated with carvings of necromantic idols. Moonlight gleamed against its polished blade. Gilles’ bloodshot eyes widened, his mouth agape.

The other twin wielded a crude Orcish battle axe nearly three-quarters her own height. Both continued staring down at the old man, their weapons now looming as well. Shallow, trembling breaths overcame him as he struggled against the tightening restraints. He tried to call out again, squeezing his eyes shut and straining until he thought blood vessels might pop in his head, but not even a whistle came forth. Cold aches swelled within his purpling, throbbing limbs. His fingers were stiff and numb.

“Go back to sleep,” said Aveline, still smiling as she unbuttoned his shirt. She reached out and dragged a fingernail lightly across his cheek. Her voice rang with a soothing reassurance; Gilles sighed as it resounded in his ears. His furrowed brow relaxed, his jaw slackened, and his writhing struggle diminished to a quaking shiver. Tingling numbness had crawled up from his fingers to his forearms. Vines continued to burgeon from their roots and take hold of his arms and legs, sprouting tendrils and wrapping tighter with each coil.

The old man’s eyelids fluttered as the pain sunk deeper into his flesh. With each blink he caught a glimpse of Aveline’s smile growing, and the hunger burning in Mirelle’s eyes against her inert facial expression. Muffled pops filled the air as his bones snapped under constriction. His jaw tightened and his face twisted. A weak, raspy cry strained through a sharp exhale, pushing forth tears and spit.

Aveline pressed the sharpened point of her scythe against his bare stomach. Blood oozed down as it cut into skin. Warmth swelled in the Fenvar’s chest as she pushed the blade deeper; lost in the gleaming red gush and the agonized convulsing, she took pause and savored the bliss. A nudge from her sister thrust her back to reality, and with a swift, graceful movement, she dragged the blade down the length of his torso, freeing a crimson spray that was eager to escape. Her face and clothes spattered, she closed her eyes and surrendered to a lip-biting grin.

Mirelle pushed Aveline aside in the midst of her reverie, athirst for her share. Her hands kept a sure grip on her axe. She wasted no time before lifting it over her shoulder and swinging down with all her strength into the open cavity. Another spray burst forth, but heavier, like raindrops. With a second swing, ribs splayed out and organs spilled. The third, fourth, and fifth left the body an unrecognizable mass of flesh and fluids.

Breathless and wiping bloody sweat from her brow, Mirelle turned to her sister.

“It's been a while,” she said, using her apron to clean the dripping head of her axe. "Let's go write Maestus a letter."

Aveline shook the daze from her head, and the two departed from the garden together.

The bed of vines reformed to cocoon the body and carried it away behind them. Deep red stains which had soaked into the grass and dirt faded as the moving plant absorbed every trace. Beams of purplish silver moonlight glistened on dew-kissed leaves and petals, revealing nary a hint of what had transpired.

The woman in the fountain stood unshaken, her infinite vessel of shimmering water continuing to pour. A streak of red trickled down her cheek, and she wept.