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The boy is seven and already the pride of the family.
He masters the piano in less than a year, unlike his siblings who, after years of struggle from both themselves and different renowned teachers, still lack the ability to play even the simplest of symphonies. His form is still far from perfect and his short pinkies hardly even hit the keys, yet his mother smiles and claps excitedly, and his siblings do too.
His father sits in the back of the room, as he always does, and emanates sobriety and disapproval. Elliot finds his father’s presence intimidating and doesn’t understand what it was that he did so wrong that he couldn’t even deserve a ‘bravo’ from him. But Elliot is still too young to fathom the fact that Bernard Nightray is a difficult man to please and, unlike his younger wife, finds no joy in music.
“Elliot must play at the party, don’t you think so, darling?” Bernice Nightray turns to her husband, clapping her hands together in excitement.
Lord Nigtray turns his eyes away from the window to look at his wife. “You’re in charge of the organizational details. I put my trust in your fine taste.” It’s a vague response, and Elliot doesn’t understand how that even counts as an answer, but it seems more than enough to his mother, because the next second she starts planning Elliot’s outfit for the night with Vanessa.
“Well,” his brother, Ernest says, “we’ll be going then.” He pats Elliot on the shoulder twice and when he looks up, Ernest smiles at him one of his bright, charming smiles. “You keep doing a great job, alright, little one?”
Elliot likes his brother Ernest the most, because he always sneaks him sweets when his mother isn’t looking and encourages him when he feels like giving up. “Alright!”
Claude follows Ernest out of the room and then Lord Nightray leaves too, but not before he tells Elliot to “keep working hard”. Elliot nods, but can’t muster up a decent reply so he falls silent.
When he realises he’s all alone with his mother and sister, Elliot finally sits up. His legs have fallen asleep after all the sitting he’s had to do for the past hour or so. He takes his wooden sword from the corner and waits patiently for his mother to finish her conversation.
It is a beautiful summer day outside, with the wind softly brushing through the leaves. Today he plans to go by the lake and practice his sword skills on the old oak tree. Maybe he’ll ask that person to come with him, though he isn’t sure if he’d agree.
“Elliot?” He turns around to face his mother, who is smiling at him. It is probably her best feature, her smile, and Elliot thinks it suits her well. “You may go play outside, if you want. Just don’t stray off too far.”
Elliot doesn’t need to hear more, because the next second he is rushing out of the room, down the corridor. Wooden sword in hand, he runs around the empty house until he reaches the west wing. It is so far away from his own room – or anyone else’s room, for that matter – and Elliot can’t help but wonder if Vincent doesn’t feel alone in this part of the mansion.
His room is the last on the left. There’s no need to knock, because the door is already half-open. Elliot barges in and points his sword at Vincent, still in his nightgown, is sitting on the floor with a book in his lap. “Will you play with me?” Vincent raises his eyes as if he just noticed his presence and shakes his head no.
He’d knew it’d be like this, but he still feels a little disappointed. Vincent is the only child of the Nightray family closer to his age, yet he never agrees to play with him. “You’re no fun!” He declares, pouting.
Vincent watches him as he walks back to the door, and then returns to his book. “That was a nice tune you played,” he says without looking up.
Elliot turns so fast around he almost knocks down a pile of books. “You heard me playing!” His face brightens at the thought. “And you liked it!”
Vincent turns the page and remains silent, but that doesn’t kill Elliot’s mood. Rather, his excitement grows. “Did you really like it?!”
“You missed some keynotes,” Vincent says.
“But you liked it!” He curls his fingers into little fists and radiates of happiness. “You know I picked up the tune myself and mother even said I can play at father’s birthday party!” Again he is met with silence. “Thank you, brother Vincent!” Elliot turns around on his heels and heads out before he can see Vincent’s lips curl up in a faint smile.
::
At the party Lord Nightray announces the adoption of Vincent’s biological brother, and it makes Elliot a little jealous. Not that he spent a lot of time with his adoptive brother, but he just learned how to play a new tune and he is sure Vincent would love it. Now with the new boy coming to live with them – his name is Gilbert, Elliot reminds himself – Vincent won’t be interested in his tune anymore.
He spends the rest of the night pouting and sulking around, until he spots Vincent. The boy is unnaturally thin for his age -- which Elliot suspects is because he barely leaves his room – and the suit hangs loosely around his underarms. But there’s something different about him, Elliot notices. For the first time since he started living with them, Vincent looks remotely happy. It’s not like he smiles, because he doesn’t really, but his eyes shine in excitement, and it makes him wonder just how much Vincent missed his brother.
He was probably really lonely without his brother.
Well, then, maybe I’ll convince Gilbert to listen to my tune too.
::
The first night spent in this new house is a nightmare.
The room seems too big and the bed sheets feel bristly and smell unfamiliar. Everything about this house is unfamiliar. But the biggest shock of all was Vincent. It’s true his memories of his life before he was found in the garden of the Vessaliuses are still a muddle, but Vincent he remembers.
There’s a visible dissonance between the Vincent he remembers and the one sleeping next to him. Even in his sleep he is agitated and desperately grips at Gilbert’s arm as if begging for help.
The wind outside howls, making the windows shake. He turns on his other side, careful not to disturb his brother, and feels like crying. This is nothing like the warmth of the Vessalius household and he is mortified at the thought of having to spend the next years in this place.
::
Gilbert is nothing like he imagined.
He’s a lanky boy of fifteen, dressed up in sombre clothes and his hair is a tousled mass of black curls. He’s only a little taller than his younger brother, and his eyes, golden just like Vincent’s left eye, look curiously around as he is introduced to the family. Well, in reality, Gilbert’s arrived four days ago at the manor, but he is only being introduced now, when everyone else is present.
Ernest, Claude and Vanessa dismiss him from the very start, just how they dismissed Vincent. They furrow their eyebrows at the newcomer and their expressions practically scream of, “He’s not one of us!”, “What is father thinking, bringing such trash into our house, associating them with our name!” But no matter how vulgar they might find the two boys, they can’t question Lord Nightray’s decisions, at least not aloud and not in his presence, so they keep quiet and act as they should.
For the most part, Gilbert is silent. He bows when he is introduced to his adoptive siblings and says things such as, “It is a pleasure making your acquaintance” and cracks up a smile just to be polite. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the coldness he is met with from all the family members, including Lady Nightray.
The introductions are brief and awkward, and Elliot is thankful when he is finally allowed to leave the room. There is one thing that truly bothers him about Gilbert and it’s the fact that his manners and way of speaking are too polite for someone who is now a member of the family, and Elliot doesn’t hesitate to tell him so.
On his way out, he takes the long route on purpose and stops in front of Vincent’s room -- Gilbert now vacates the room next door. He knocks once, but is met with silence so he walks in without any shame. The two boys sit on the floor, an old chessboard between them. Gilbert looks up at the newcomer, but Vincent seems completely absorbed in the game.
“I just wanted to tell you,” Elliot says, looking completely serious, with his eyebrows furrowed and his little hands on his hips, “that you sound like an old man! I want you to drop that old-man attitude and be more familiar. Understood?”
Gilbert’s features soften. “I’ll work on it, uhm… Elliot, was it?”
He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “It’s brother Elliot to you!”
This makes Gilbert smile, and Elliot finds he looks nicer when he smiles. He makes a mental note to make sure to make his new brother smile as often as possible.
“Checkmate!” Vincent declares, as he finally makes his move. Gilbert turns around to look at the chessboard.
“Vince, it’s rude to beat him already! He only just arrived.”
::
Gilbert is much like Vincent, Elliot realises. He’s quiet and keeps everything to himself, and hardly gets along with anyone else other than his brother. It’s not like Elliot can blame him, his own siblings are anything but friendly towards him and Vincent, and he just doesn’t understand why. Maybe it’s one of those “adult things” that he’s supposed to comprehend much later, when he’s an adult himself. But to him the two brothers look harmless and for the most part, lonely.
So he decides to cure their loneliness in his own way.
It’s easy to force Gilbert to play with him and Vincent joins too because he is always by his brother’s side. One time Elliot tries to teach Gilbert the art of sword fighting but learns that he has a phobia of swords, so he never brings it up again.
Most of the time though, Gilbert just reads to them. It doesn’t really matter what, both Vincent and Elliot like to hear him read. Sometimes Elliot cuts him down, because he wants to discuss a scene with the other two or simply because he doesn’t like the way Gilbert pronounces something.
“You lack pathos,” he declares once, while Gilbert is reading them the newest Holy Knight volume. It’s a new word he’s learned from his teacher and he likes to use it as often as he can.
Vincent rolls his eyes. “It’s only because Edgar’s scenes are so boring!”
“No, they’re not!” Gilbert looks ready to defend his favourite character, but Elliot cuts him off.
“Please, he’s such an unrealistic character. No wonder your tone sounded so emotionless when you were reading, he’s a really lame character. Why even would you care about that trash, Gil?”
“He’s not…”
Gilbert looks at Vincent for support, but he shakes his head, chuckling. “Sorry, big brother, but I’m with Elliot on this. He’s a really predictable character. His devotion to his master is almost… suicide.”
“But…”
Elliot rolls his eyes and is about to continue his rant, but Vincent speaks up first. “Can you continue reading, please?”
Gilbert looks slightly hurt and for a brief moment Elliot wonders if he’s gone too far with his rushed comments, but then Gilbert pats his head. “You thought I was affected by your opinion?”
He can feel his cheeks turning all red, so he turns around, folding his hands over his chest. “As if! I was just stating the obvious!”
Gilbert starts laughing so copiously, Elliot has to turn back around and face him. It’s always so rare to hear him laugh, but it’s a nice change from the usual, grim Gilbert. He wonders if he said something really funny, or perhaps was he laughing at him?
“Hey, don’t you dare laugh at me, Gilbert!” Finger pointed at him, Elliot threatens to fight him if he has to. He will not be laughed at.
Vincent pushes him aside with his right hand. “Who would take your fight threats seriously, you midget?”
“I’m not a midget!” This time, Elliot sits up on the sofa and before anyone can react he’s already jumped at them both and threatens to bite Vincent. It’s hard to discern anything through Elliot’s storm of threats, but Gilbert is quite sure he’s heard Vincent whisper “cannibal midget”, which makes the situation all the more funny.
Fifteen minutes and three bites later, Gilbert manages to separate his brothers, who look confused and dishevelled, and refuse to apologise to one another. Still, Gilbert still can’t stop himself from laughing.
::
Three boys stay hidden underneath a fort of blankets and pillows on a very stormy night. The room is drenched in the warm light of a single candle, placed on a solitary table by the window. Next to it is a board of chess, the pieces placed neatly in their places, except for the black queen, which is missing.
The younger of the boys shifts around in his sleep, while the other two nibble at some cookies they nicked earlier from the kitchens.
“Say, Vince…” Gilbert’s voice is almost a whisper and he doesn’t look up from his plate; there’s no need for him to look up to know his brother’s eyes are fixed on him. “That last game before Elliot fell asleep… did you lose or did you lose?”
Vincent smiles while he crushes one of his cookies to crumbles. “A win is a win. After all those losses, it’s only natural Elliot will start to grow as a player and strategist.”
The thunder outside makes the walls shake, but little Elliot sleeps soundlessly. Gilbert cracks a smile as he wraps himself in a blanket. “It was nice of you,” it’s all he says, but Vincent doesn’t reply; he is still busy with his cookie crumbles.
Lightning strikes twice and soaks the entire room in a cold light. Vincent gets up to blow out the candle and when he returns to their pillow fort, Gilbert throws a blanket at him to cover himself with.
“Vince?” Gilbert shifts around to face his brother.
“Hm?” It takes his eyes a while to adjust to the darkness, but he can make out Vincent’s pale face now.
“I was just wondering… do you believe in God?”
Vincent chuckles. “Getting personal tonight, are we?”
He wishes he could see Vincent’s expression right now. Is he shocked or just amused? Does he find the question silly? Not knowing the answer, he feels a bit awkward when he says, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
A sigh. There’s something cold in Vincent’s tone when he finally answers. “Assuming there’s a higher power controlling us all… I think we’re just mere puppets to Him. And I think He’s toying with us to his own liking. We’re like entertainment to him, petty acrobats taking part in a silly circus show, all dancing and prancing just to make Him happy.”
“That’s kind of cruel.”
Something rustles and Gilbert can only assume it is the sound of Vincent’s bony shoulders against the blanket as he shrugs. “If you had all that power, wouldn’t you be cruel too?”
Would I? Gilbert had never imagined himself holding such a great power and it leaves him thinking. If he had the power of a God, what kind of God would he be?
“Not you personally,” Vincent adds, as if reading his brother’s mind. “I mean in general. You wouldn’t be so cruel to anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Again, the rustle, only this time it’s Elliot shifting in his sleep.
“What about you,” Vincent asks instead, avoiding to answer the question. “What do you believe in?”
Master Oz, he thinks, but it’s not an appropriate answer and he knows it. “I… don’t really know.”
“Is this because of Raven?”
It’s been months since his first meeting with Raven, but the creature has been on his mind ever since. Recently, he’s been dreaming of the darkness and Raven, with its big talons and piercing eyes, staring at him from up above. Sometimes Raven speaks, though Gilbert doesn’t remember the Chain’s words when he wakes up in the morning. All he remembers is its croaky voice, which sends shivers down his spine.
“Maybe,” Gilbert says. Vincent had told him, that if he were to form a contract with Raven he could create a path to the Abyss and save Oz. That man said so too.
“You’re going to form a contract with it,” Vincent says with confidence.
“But I’m an adopted child of the Nightray Household.”
Lightning strikes twice and for a brief moment Gilbert can see his brother’s face. He lies on his left side, with his eyes closed and rolls a piece of chess in his hand; the missing black queen. “It has nothing to do with lineage. It’s about whether Raven deems you worthy of a contract or not. And you are, big brother.”
Gilbert sighs and closes his eyes. “If you say so, then I’ll have to trust you.”
::
The truth is he remembers and he doesn’t.
The truth is he remembers fragments, like photographs.
A city coated in white, Vincent curled up in a bundle by his side, shaking. The same white city, only this time there’s golden lights everywhere. A faceless man radiating of kindness holds out his hand to him. A huge garden bathed in sunlight. A piano playing in the distance. A younger Vincent, cheeks still chubby and red with colour. He is draped in clothes that don’t fit him quite right, hanging loose around the shoulders and arms, but this doesn’t seem to bother Vincent; instead he holds onto his brother’s hand and smiles. It’s a smile he doesn’t see Vincent wear anymore. Sure, he smiles, but it lacks… sentiment. Vincent’s smile is almost like a mask now, and deep within him Gilbert is plagued with guilt.
What happened to you, brother? Was this my fault too?
Did you mean to be this way, Vince?
The truth is he could remember if he wanted to, but he doesn’t.
I’m sorry, Vince.
::
It takes Gilbert a long time to manage his shooting. It’s dirty at first and he keeps missing, but after months of practice he can not only shoot straight, but also hit moving targets. Vincent usually joins him, but prefers to sit on a bench under a tree, flipping through some new book he found. Sometimes he looks up from the volume he’s so engrossed in and praises Gilbert, commending him for his hard work.
It is only a long time later, when the sky is grey with threats of rain, that Vincent leaves his usual place under the tree and asks if Gilbert could show him how to shoot. Since he has no motive to turn him down, Gilbert nods.
Vincent’s hair is almost reaching his shoulders now and he keeps it tied at the back with a ribbon. He’s grown too, almost as tall as his brother, though they are still just as lanky. Gilbert explains him the basics as he hands him the gun. There’s no real need for too many instructions, because Vincent gets the hang of it from the very start.
There’s something graceful to Vincent’s form as he shoots, though it’s far from perfect. But his precision is outstanding and Gilbert can’t help but be amazed. He gives his brother a little advice regarding his posture and the intensity with which he pulls the trigger, but that’s about it. Vincent is a fast learner, he’s always been ahead of him in classes and proven great academic potential, which made him admirable in Gilbert’s eyes.
The following days they have to pull up more targets in order to practice together. Some mere weeks later, Vincent already surpasses him. He shoots with elegance and precision, whereas Gilbert still fidgets sometimes and misses his target.
“That was amazing, Vince,” Gilbert says earnestly, as they lie down on the grass, after an entire afternoon of shooting around.
Vincent sits with his hands knotted together on his chest and keeps his eyes closed. A stray butterfly is resting on his knuckles. “What are you saying? I only did what you taught me.” And that’s about all they discuss on the matter.
::
When he shoots, Vincent Nightray imagines himself at the other end of the gun. It’s easier this way. It’s easier and it numbs the pain inside him. It’s almost… therapeutic. It’s easier to pull the trigger this way, easier to keep shooting again and again. He hits the target right in the middle, where his heart should be, but he doesn’t bleed. Why doesn’t he bleed? So he pulls the trigger again, hoping this time he’ll bleed, crumble to his feet and fall to his death.
But he doesn’t; it’s only Gilbert’s voice that brings him back to reality. “Well done,” he says, and when Vincent looks at the target, it’s only a white circle with a red dot in the middle.
::
There’s a fire once; half the library burns. It is a silly mistake, a maid forgets a candle next to a bookshelf and the flame feasts on the nearby books with such quickness, that by the time someone notices half the library is on fire already.
Vincent is led to the library by the stench of flame and ash. When he sees the damage and feels the heat of the flame so very near his face he is incapable of doing anything. He stands in the doorway, eyes agape in horror, and he is shaking.
It is Ernest that finds him, pushes him aside, then shakes him, but Vincent doesn’t react. They extinguish the fire, somehow, but everything is a daze in Vincent’s memory. He remembers voices screaming, and in that instant something in him snaps. He crouches to his feet and stares in shock at the floor. Nightmares flash before his eyes, nightmares painted red in flame and blood and echoing of cries and hopeless screams. He closes his eyes in the hope that the nightmare will vanish and he’ll return to reality, but it doesn’t help.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” It’s probably Ernest talking, it has to be him. He’s always so loud, Vincent hates it.
“Shut up,” is all he manages to say.
Someone takes him to his room. Someone had to have taken him to his room, because somehow he is lying on his bed now, staring at the ceiling. He can’t remember walking himself back to his room, though that might be a possibility as well.
He is drenched in sweat, his heart thrown into a frantic panic and there are tears staining his cheeks. The smell of smoke is ingrained in the fabric of his clothes and he tears them off terror-stricken, as if they could catch flame any moment and burn him alive.
For three days he doesn’t allow anyone in his room, not even Gilbert. After three days of knocking and begging him to unlock the door, Gilbert gives up too. The maids don’t even bother to check on him anymore, they just leave the food by his door, and find it in the morning where they left it, untouched.
For three days he sits with the curtains drawn, wrapped in a blanket and doesn’t leave his bed. Not once in those three days does he sleep; he’s too terrified of the nightmares, of reaching that state of panic once again.
On the fourth day, after so many days of growling, his stomach finally resigns and goes quiet. There are dark circles underneath his eyes and his cheeks have begun to swollen, but he remains cocooned in his blanket and doesn’t move.
It is on the fifth day that he finally hears familiar voices again. One familiar voice in particular, noisier and angrier than any other. He knows it’s Elliot and he knows he’ll yell at him to open the door and threaten to unhinge the door. He doesn’t yell though, not at first. But there’s the sound of the door unlocking and when he turns around, Elliot is barging in, a plate in hand.
He looks angrier than Vincent’s ever seen him when he places – slams, actually – the plate on the night table. “Eat.” Gilbert walks after him, hands in pockets, his hair a disarray. He leans against the doorframe and doesn’t say anything.
“I said, eat,” Elliot repeats himself, after Vincent doesn’t comply. “Eat or I’ll make you eat, you idiot brother!”
“Vince, please.” Gilbert’s voice sounds toneless.
“We’re not leaving until you lick that plate!” Elliot seems most serious with his threats. He takes the plate and places on the bed, in front of Vincent. Eventually, Vincent takes the fork and dully stabs a sausage.
True to his word, Elliot doesn’t leave until Vincent is finished, and nor does Gilbert. They both perch himself on the bed and sometimes Elliot urges him to eat faster, because the day is short and he has other matters to attend to too.
“Don’t ever do this again,” Elliot warns him, after he takes the last bite.
“Were you worried?” Vincent asks, smiling faintly.
Elliot’s face flushes with embarrassment. “What nonsense! It was Gil who was worried day and night. Hmpf, as if I’d worry for the likes of you!”
Gilbert gives a weak smile, but remains quiet. He doesn’t ask about the incident, none of them do, which Vincent is grateful for. They just sit in silence for a longer while, until Elliot announces he has homework to do and drags Gilbert after him. “Don’t lock the door again,” he warns, “or we’ll really unhinge it.”
::
It is Vincent’s eighteenth birthday, a warm September day, bathed in golden sunlight. Coloured leafs fall at his feet, as he sits on the veranda, unwrapping his present. A note lies on the table, written in Gilbert’s elegant handwriting; he excuses his absence and wishes his little brother the happiest of birthdays.
Inside the package is a folding chess set, made of marble, with pieces painted in red and gold. Vincent can’t help but laugh at the irony, however unintentional it must have been. It’s the finest chess set Vincent’s ever seen and he immediately proceeds to play a game with himself.
After that day, he carries the chess set wherever he goes and considers it his most valuable belonging.
::
These days, Elliot’s taken to composing. He finds it relaxing and the fulfilment that comes after playing his own tune for the first time, feels like nothing else. On rainy autumn days he likes to isolate himself in the study where the piano is and compose. Oftentimes, Vincent sits with him.
The truth is, Elliot likes to play to Vincent most. There’s something very peaceful about the way Vincent listens to him play. He sits quietly in the back of the room, perched on the sofa next to the window, with his eyes closed and hands folded in his lap over a book he’s reading. After he is finished playing, Vincent likes to comment or give him advice on what changes he should make. He used to be bothered by any form of criticism, but Vincent’s judgement has proved to be oftentimes useful, so Elliot listens quietly and even takes notes sometimes.
Sometimes Gilbert joins too, but unlike his younger brother, and completely unintentional, he makes a lot of noise. He shifts around and moves a lot, which Elliot finds is really distracting. It’s a major difference between the two brothers, Elliot’s observed. In all his elegance, Gilbert is awkward and stiff and often at a loss of words. Vincent, on the other hand, is much more relaxed; he makes his way out of awkward situations smoothly and smiles compliantly. It’s something Elliot has always admired in him.
However, the reason why he likes playing to Vincent most is because his brother seems profoundly touched by his music, as if his music could somehow reach his heart. It makes Elliot happy, though he never tells anyone about it – how could he ever spew such embarrassing things? In a way he feels closer to his brother when he plays, as if he somehow manages to overcome all those layers of indifference Vincent has cloaked himself with, and finally meets his real self.
For his eighteenth birthday Elliot composes him a piece called “Yearning”. Vincent sits where he always sits, a new chess set by his side, and stares out the window. Elliot’s fingers glide over the keynotes in a most elegant manner. The room echoes with music and outside the September wind softly brushes through the fallen leafs.
When he is finished, Vincent opens his eyes and for a brief moment glint in the autumn light. “Thank you, Elliot” he says, his voice resounding with emotion. Elliot waits for a comment, any form of criticism, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Vincent closes his eyes again. “Play it again, will you?”
Elliot is asked to replay the piece until nightfall, and he complies every time, because he loves playing the piano for Vincent most of all.
::
A few weeks before Gilbert makes his contract with Raven, Vincent starts coming home at unusually late hours. It is not as if Gilbert is concerned for his brother’s safety, he knows Vincent is more than capable of defending himself, but it bothers him, just a bit.
When he confronts him about it one night after dinner, Vincent smiles sheepishly.
“I just don’t understand what you could be doing at such hours,” Gilbert says, finally making his move. It turns out to be a wrong move, because Vincent takes his golden knight with his red bishop.
“What I’m doing?” Vincent asks, bored. “I gamble, of course.”
Gilbert rolls his golden eyes. “Of course,” he repeats, his tone resounding of sarcasm and doubt. He doesn’t even pay attention to the game anymore and moves a random pawn, leaving his queen exposed.
Vincent doesn’t miss the opportunity to capture the golden queen. “You’re full of openings, brother.”
“Hey, just make sure Lord Nightray doesn’t find out you gamble with his money.”
Vincent’s chuckle is quiet, even sad somehow. “Don’t worry, brother,” he says as he checkmates Gilbert, “I am gambling at a much greater scale.”
Gilbert raises his eyebrows, obviously shocked by such an answer. But he doesn’t receive the expected answer and doesn’t bother asking either. Vincent looks pensive as he folds the chess set together and arranges all pieces back into place.
That’s right, Vincent thinks, I am… gambling with my own life.
::
Everything is a daze after Gilbert contracts Raven. Elliot doesn’t understand what is happening, why Gilbert insists on leaving, why Vincent doesn’t stop him, why his siblings channel all their hatred at Gilbert. He tries to understand, tries to talk with each of them about it, but they don’t listen. It’s like they all went deaf.
Ernest screams and shouts about “bringing such trash in our family, and now he’s taking our propriety”. His father doesn’t say much, sits with his hands clapped together over his chest, and looks distraught.
Vincent says things Elliot doesn’t understand. He speaks of contracts and how Gilbert earned his merit to contract Raven a long time ago, and Elliot just doesn’t understand it.
It’s impossible to keep this information away from the public, and when it leaks, chaos ensues in the Nightray Household. It had never been a warm, welcoming home in the first place, but now Elliot finds it even less familiar.
::
Three boys sit in a room drenched in the warm light of the afternoon soon, at the end of a very long day. It is the last time they will sit in this room together, though none of them know it yet.
They sit on the same sofa they used to sit on all those days back when they were much younger and Gilbert used to read them. There’s a book in his lap – the latest volume of Holy Knight. It was Gilbert’s idea to read Holy Knight, because, he said, they haven’t gone through this volume yet.
Elliot insisted it’d be Gilbert the one reading and when asked why, he just rolled his blue eyes and said, “You just have a reading voice, you know?”
Vincent is nestled by his side, his head resting on his shoulder and stares somewhere in the distance. He’s been silent the entire time, which is very unlike him, because he used to feel the need to express his dislike of a scene or character every now and then.
On his left is Elliot, his chin resting on the huge pillow he holds in his arms. He looks pensive at the book in Gilbert’s hand and sometimes sighs. “I thought I told you to skip Edgar’s scenes,” he finally says when Gilbert reaches the end of the chapter, but his voice lacks its usual energy.
Gilbert smiles faintly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, but they all know he hasn’t been paying attention.
After that, Gilbert rarely comes home anymore and Vincent grows distant. It’s only schoolwork and his piano classes that keep Elliot busy these days. And for a long time he refuses to pick up Holy Knight too, because unwillingly he always associates it with his brothers.