Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a queen in her manor. She lived there with her prince, a handsome young man who, like the queen, was loved by all. The prince was kind and warm to his subjects and showed nothing but love and adoration to the queen.

The Queen, however, was cold and distant from their subjects, and grew jealous of the prince’s attention to the point of obsession; her demeanor only worsened when the prince was called away for the opportunity for education. Her already cold heart began to freeze over without the warmth and love of her prince - she lashed out at her subjects and spent her days pacing her manor, her thoughts confining her to a cell of despair and obsession. She remained a prisoner of the manor for a year until her prince returned.

One winter’s day, eager to see her beloved again, she rushed to meet him in the town he’d be arriving in, but found him among the people: smiling and laughing with them, holding hands and exchanging flowers with other women. Crushed, defeated, and humiliated, the queen raced back to her manor, her heart still and cold. If it could not beat for the prince, it could not beat at all. Unaware of his queen’s change of heart, the prince arrived at the manor with a warm smile and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The queen was repulsed by his appearance and the flowers he held. She sneered at him and turned him away. Confused, the prince picked the single most lovely flower of the bouquet and offered it to her again.

Her still, cold, unbeating heart felt no love for this traitor, she told the prince, and he watched as the woman he loved and missed melted away and was replaced by a looming, shadowy creature. Her hands that once perfectly fit into his grew into long, sharp talons. Her lovely golden hair grew unkempt and unruly. Her eyes, oh, her beautiful eyes which once held such love and affection for him became bitter and distant. The prince tried to apologize and explain his actions, but it was too late. She saw there was no love in his heart, and as punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast, just like her. She placed a powerful spell on the manor, making it and the surrounding land a frozen wasteland, where no light could wander in. The queen promised the prince that whoever entered the manor and did not survive would be his servants - doomed to an eternity of cruelty due to his traitorous actions.

Perhaps it was that he had captivated her so when she was alive, but the queen felt her heart give one final, pathetic beat. As much as she now hated him, she did not wish to see him suffer this punishment for eternity. Before she took her leave, the queen vowed to the prince that if he could learn to love again and have someone love him in return, the spell would be broken. The single most lovely flower from the bouquet he had offered her would serve as his reminder, she decided, and the queen vanished into the ice, never to be seen again.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the prince concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. A prisoner of the barren, snow-laden land, which had once housed beautiful springs and wonderfully warm summers, the prince grew as cold and as distant as his queen left him. He did everything in his power to make the fools who had wandered into his manor stay and live out the rest of their days in the horrible, continuous snowstorm with him. The flower she left him was truly enchanted- it would bloom for many years, despite the harsh environment it grew in. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, more people were snatched from their everyday lives and forced into servitude for the prince. With every soul he collected, he fell deeper into despair and eventually lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

Chapter Text

You hummed softly as you prepared breakfast: two over-easy eggs, three crisp (nearly burnt) pieces of bacon, and four super fluffy pancakes (with a face made out of berries on the top one and basically a bucket of syrup sitting next to it - sheesh), just how your little sister liked it! Speaking of, that little trouble maker was normally up by now. You finished placing everything on the table before walking into her room and began the investigation. The kid had such a huge room that breakfast might get cold before you could even find her. You had a hunch to check in her giant pillow pile, but was stopped short by her familiar giggle coming from...above.

You didn’t have much time to react before 50 pounds of sister came crashing on top of you, giggling and tickling you, much to your chagrin. In no time your troublemaker sister had you gasping for air and trying to push her off, but Hattie was pretty strong, for an eight year old, and continued her assault mercilessly. She hadn’t even had her sugar-packed breakfast - how did she have this much energy?

“Stop,” you cried between laughs, “I can’t breathe!” Your side hurt from the laughter and your face was flushed from the lack of air.

“Hattie, I’m serious, g-get off!” It was hard to sound serious between wheezes, but Hattie relented and stopped her ambush, though you could tell it was obviously very hard for her to give up such a position of power over you. As you finally regained your breath you shot her a look, which caused her to let out another burst of giggles and run from you. You jumped to your feet and raced after her, catching her by her middle before she even reached her bedroom door.

She was still laughing and you smiled with her as she turned to face you, waiting for your next words. You put on a haughty face and said in your best haughty voice, “As sovereign ruler of this land, young lady, I feel it’s my duty to tell you that tickling is a serious offense, and such transgressions should be punished!” Hattie could barely keep a straight face, letting out little snorts during your sovereign ruler act - which is hard to keep up when you’re holding a silly, squirmy, giggly eight year old.

You gave her a little shake. “You think this is funny, young lady?” She shook her head, her smile never wavering, though she covered it with her hands. You let out a big gasp, “How dare you mock the laws of my land! For that….” you shifted your wait so Hattie rested on her left arm and you raised your right hand, as menacing as someone who still hadn’t gotten out of their pajamas could muster and said in your best scary voice, “You shall pay!”

Your right hand came down and began tickling her ruthlessly - right in the spot where it’d be super hard to get out of without being tickled by your other hand. Hattie’s laughter echoed through the room as she wriggled under your grasp. You could barely hear her pleas of mercy through her breathlessness, and, as much as you kept wanting to torture her for her earlier stunt, she came close to kicking your jaw a few times, and breakfast was still waiting on the table. Speaking of…..

“Alright,” you continued as you relented and stopped the tickle-war. “The court has decided that your punishment is completed. However, as payment for your actions, the court believes that I, the sovereign ruler….gets to eat your breakfast!”

A look of shock and playful betrayal crossed Hattie’s cute little face, letting out a (fake) hurt gasp, before she all but sprang from your arms and dashed to the dining room. You chuckled as you followed after her, heading to the kitchen to make you both a mug of hot chocolate (“It’s the best part of breakfast” you had once told Hattie, and you two kept it in your morning routines ever since). She smiled as you sat next to her and watched the people passing in the street on their own morning routes.

As you finished up your mug of hot cocoa (which was delicious, as always), you decided it was a good enough time to start on your chores. You began cleaning up, and Hattie jumped up to help - she was such a good kid, doing her best to help everyone, even helping in this scenario meant she got to lick the extra syrup off the plates before you washed them. You fell into easy conversation.

“So, Hattie,” you began, handing her a dish to dry off, “have any big plans for today? I know Bow and Missy are out of town today, and I have some errands to do. I don’t want to leave you here bored,” she sheepishly chuckled, remembering what happened the last time you left her home alone when she was bored, “so if you're more than welcome to come with me today, if you’ve got nothing else planned.” Hattie nodded in response, and that was that.

Despite the fact that she was eight, Hattie was surprisingly strong and capable of handling herself (that much was evident when she ambushed you this morning). When it was just you two first starting out, you were weary and overprotective of her. You were a permanent wart on her shoulder, watching every move she made to make sure she didn’t get hurt, which, admittedly, was not a healthy way to care for your little sister. In fact, your overprotective behavior is what drove her away the first time: adventures awaited her, and she snuck out every night to experience them. It was only after you had run after her once and she ended up protecting you (with an umbrella, of all things) from a hoard of angry mafia members that lived on the other side of town did you realize she could handle herself.

From then on, you eased up on the protective big sibling act. Hattie did as she pleased, which was mostly helping out people in your little, quiet town. You both did odd jobs around town to help keep food on the table; at first, you insisted she didn’t have to, but found that she enjoyed the work as it kept her busy and it helped you not overburden yourself with tasks to keep you both, you know, living, so it was a win-win. The townsfolk were nice enough to you and your sister, despite the fact that you were both a little odd.

After the dishes were done, you got ready. You didn’t own anything extravagant, you never really had the need for flashy clothes. They’d just get ruined by your chores anyway. You gave Hattie a kiss on the head before you went out (which she beamed at and playfully stuck her tongue out in response) and began your day, unaware of the danger the waited around the corner.

Chapter Text

Fresh air filled your lungs as you took a deep breath of the cold, morning air. The sun had barely begun making its journey across the sky and the marketplace was already packed. With a sigh, you mentally prepared your muscles to push past the townsfolk in the aisle - it was tedious and tiring, but it had to be done if you wanted anything the marketplace had to offer. Plus, you considered it your weekly workout. Bonus!

You pulled out your to-do list and looked it over out of habit. Seeing what you had to do today wasn’t really necessary as it was the same list of chores and errands you ran last week….and the week before that….and the week before that...and so on and so forth. You’d had the same Friday route ever since you first wrote it down. Sometimes, however, your little sister liked to write small notes in the margins of your list. Little things like, ‘You’re doing amazing!’, ‘You’re the best big sibling!’, and ‘I LOVE YOU!!!!’, which was always written in a different color and always had a different amount of exclamation marks. She also scribbled little hearts and smiley faces in the corners, with the occasional portrait of a mafia member with the words “I stink!” in a word bubble next to him.

Hattie’s little notes never failed to put a smile on your face. As you were reading through them today, however, you noticed a special little request she had of you. Once a month, the baker made a special sweet bread that Hattie loved so much, you were sure she’d commit a crime for it, given the opportunity. A loving sigh left your lips as you read over her request.

“Little sneak,” you chuckled to yourself. “Trying to butter me up with cute little hearts so I’d do this for you?” You smiled at her chicken scratch on your list and fondly shook your head. You put aside money every month so you could get her this treat, but you still found it humorous that she went through such great lengths to ensure you did it - you supposed she enjoyed the game as much as you did. “Well, it worked.”

You decided the sweet bread would be first - maybe you could make it back in time to give to Hattie before she went on her adventure. It’s a good thing the baker’s was pretty close. You tucked your list back into your pocket and started on your path, ignoring the looks the other townsfolk gave you, and doing your best to tune out the hushed words they spoke about you.

“They just never really fit in here. They're just kind of...weird.”

“They're too nice. It’s...unnerving. Makes me feel like they're gonna turn on us at any second.”

“They and their sister are both kinda off - when their folks died--”

You forced yourself to stop listening. Take a deep breath, you told yourself, it’s not bad that you're nice. The people of this town had always relied on extortion and bullying and blackmail to get what they want. You and Hattie were just raised differently - you both tried to settle disagreements pleasantly, first, and you tried to put others ahead of yourself. They were just disturbed by your different way of doing things (namely, not being curt or rude to someone who has something you want). Oh well, that was something they’d have to work out themselves. You had exhausted yourself before trying to reason the behaviors of your fellow townsfolk, and you don’t really have the time or want to psychoanalyze them now.

You have to get that sweet bread.

You could hear the baker bustling in the back as you entered her shop. “Good morning, Cat,” you called as you approached the counter.

A ball of ginger hair popped out from behind the kitchen door, followed by bright yellow eyes and a wide, knowing smile. “Good morning, (Y/N)! It’s so good to see you today! I’ll be just a moment!”

“No worries, Cat!” You shouted back. You only came to the bakery twice a month: the first time is at the beginning of the month to get a bunch of loaves for sandwiches and french toast, and the second time is for-

“Sweet Bread!” Cat burst out of the kitchen door holding a tray of said treat that you could only assume literally came straight out of the oven, if the steam rising from the loaves were any indication. “Hattie swooped by yesterday to tell me you’d be coming to get some today!” You rolled your eyes. Of course she did.

You smiled and nodded, “Well, she’d been right!” You watched as Cat dumped the sweet bread into a small basket for you and covered it with a checkered picnic blanket. You laughed lightly as she presented it to you with a flourish. “You spoil us, Cat. What are you gonna do with all this sweet bread if we ever leave?”

Cat narrowed her eyes playfully at you. “You’d better not, else I’d have to start giving out sugar for free, just to keep my inventory in check! Which reminds me…” She all but shoved the basket into your hands as you were still trying to find the exact amount for her. “These are on the house today! Just for you. And the little one.” Cat beamed up at your shocked face as you sputtered out an excuse.

“Really? B-but I can’t just take these! You deserve money for your work,” You managed to stutter out.

“And YOU deserve a thank you for being such a good friend and loyal customer all these years.” Cat cast you a playfully withering look as you opened your mouth again. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You closed your mouth and sighed, before smiling gently at her. “Thank you, Cat. Sincerely! I’ll pay you double next time-”

“That's not what ‘on the house’ means!”

You left the bakery with a basket of (free) sweet bread, a smile on your face, and your head in the clouds. Thoughts on how to repay Cat had occupied your mind so much that you didn’t even look where you were going and subsequently bumped into somebody. A rather small somebody.

“Oh!” You cried. “Oh, I’m sorry! Are you ok?” You finally snapped out of your stupor to look down and see a very welcome sight.

Bow’s familiar smile beamed up at you. “I’m ok, (Y/N). I’m tougher than I look!” Little Bow was part of the Outcast Club as well - her favorite bright green coat and somewhat frivolous attire made her stick out like a sore thumb in a town of dull colors and dresses, but she didn’t seem to mind the attention. She and Hattie were like two peas in a pod. Speaking of….

“What’re you doing in town? I thought you had plans today.” Something concerning some big bad monster that you were sure was just an animal from the forest that encircled your town. Bow loved animals and practically went out searching for a new one each week to drag home and beg her caretaker to let her keep. She shook her head, “Nah, everything’s been taken care of already.”

“The verdict being?”

Bow huffed and kicked the ground. “No. Like always.” She gave a melodramatic sigh.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m sure you’ll find a suitable pet someday. Maybe you should narrow it down to something like a cat? Or a dog? Or literally anything that would fit in your house?”

“You’re no fun.” She playfully stuck her tongue out at you. “Oh! Yeah! Is Hattie with you?” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. You feigned hurt as you put a hand over your chest. “I’m not fun enough to hang out with the amazingly awesome Bow? Oh, right in my pride!” It was your turn to sigh, but you couldn’t keep a straight enough face for long and you and Bow both burst into giggles. Her face scrunched up as a way of saying ‘you know that’s not what I meant’.

You smiled and shook your head, “No, she’s not with me today. Don’t know why’d she’d skip out on such fun adult errands.” You hear Bow snort. “She’s going on an adventure today. I’m sure she’s still getting set up if you wanna go catch her, but, if you do, could you give her these?” You held out the basket of sweet bread. Bow nodded and took the basket. “And one of these?” You ask as you kneel down to her level. She looked at you questioningly before you scooped her into a big hug and placed a big, gross kiss on her forehead.

She squealed and laughed as she wriggled out of your grasp with a weak, “Ok, ok, I will, just let me go!” You laughed and did as she asked, waving her away as she took off towards your house.

You continued about your day, finishing up your other errands, mostly just boring grocery shopping. You did manage to swing by the bookstore and borrow a copy of Hattie’s favorite bedtime story and one of your own, a story with action, damsels in distress, daring sword fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise. Your parents read it to you when you were younger, and it had been one of your favorites ever since. The bookstore owner was nice enough to lend it to you whenever you wanted to read it - it seems virtually no one else in your town wanted to partake in such a novel, but, hey, you weren’t complaining. You looked over your list one last time before concluding you were done for the day. You should really head home and put your groceries away but...it was such a lovely day out!

The sun was still high in the sky and a gentle breeze carried itself to cool you down from the heat every couple of minutes. With a sigh and a smile, you sat at the town well, shaded and cool, and cracked open your book. Despite the fact that you’ve read it so many times that you could quote it by heart, reading the first page always felt like a new adventure. God knew you couldn’t go on one yourself, you didn’t even know the first thing about adventure! Plus, if something happened to you and Hattie was left all alone….you’d never live your afterlife in peace. So you lived vicariously through your adventure books and through Hattie. She knew what she was doing, and she did it well. You got your share of adventure when she would come home and excitedly tell you everything that happened with as much detail as she could. You were happy to hear of her exploits and did everything you could to support her (and not revert to your overbearing and protective ways).

As you began the second chapter of your book, a loud ‘AHEM’ was coughed in front of you- you nearly jumped out of your skin, being as immersed in the book as you were. Flustered, you marked the page quickly and looked up, only to let out a sigh of disappointment upon seeing who it was.

The head honcho of the mafia himself was smirking down at you, twirling his mustache around his finger (seriously, who even does that?). This guy had such an ego that he demanded that everyone call him ‘Boss’, like he ruled everyone in the small town, including you and your sister. You could barely conceal a groan as you stood up and dusted yourself off. Might as well head home if this creep was going to hang out by your favorite reading spot.

“Afternoon, Boss.” You said with your best kind-but-fake smile. “How are you today?” Just because you didn’t like the guy didn’t mean you couldn’t be polite. Maybe it could get you out of here faster.

“Afternoon, (Y/N)! I was just out and about, but your presence has made my day so much better than it had been.” Oh, gag. His tone was so condescending, and while you might have genuinely made his day better, he spoke like he was asking his dog ‘who’s a good boy?’. You forced a smile and tried to push past him, but were stopped short when he slug an arm over your shoulders. Add “take a hot shower” to your list of things to do when you got home.

This was going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

After you left the house, Hattie set about preparing for her next adventure. She set aside the items she usually brought - her hat, of course, her trusty umbrella, and a bag for cool rocks and leaves she found along the way. With her gear ready for her by the door, Hattie set about her other preparations; the most important part of any adventure, a part so crucial that it could make or break the entire expedition…

Snacks!

Being the totally amazing and absolutely stupendulous big sibling you were, you often helped Hattie pack snacks, and when you weren’t able to be there, on days like today, Hattie would dive into the snack reserve you and her both worked very hard on. Considering you were preoccupied today, and Hattie didn’t want to wait around for the sweet bread she knew you’d get her, the young child all but dove into the snack reserve-

- only to find it completely empty. She must have forgotten to tell you the last time they ran out. 

Hattie huffed and continued to pack her things, her mood soured by the thought of a long, fun adventure without anything to eat. The snacks were the best part! Always! No if, ands, or buts! You made the best sardine and peanut butter sandwich (you didn’t like it, but still perfected it for you little sister. Sweet, right?) and, really, that’s what made the whole exploration worth the hiking and the running and the jumping and the little kid energy. 

She’d have to live. Disgustingly delicious sandwich or not, there was a whole world out there for Hattie to explo-

“HATTIE! ARE YOU STILL HOME OR DID YOU ALREADY DIE IN THE FOREST WITHOUT ME?” The front door was virtually blown off its hinges as a voice announced the presence (and, albeit, rough intrusion) of a dear friend.

Despite her now racing heart, Hattie smiled and dashed for the door, practically engulfing her best friend in a bear hug as they tumbled to the floor. Their laughter rang throughout the house and only quieted when Hattie caught the scent of something sweet and familiar.

Bow giggled as she stood, bringing Hattie up with her as well. “Your sibling got something for you, and asked me,” she gestured a grand flourish with her hand before curtseying to her friend, “the best mail-kid this side of the fountain to deliver it to you.”

Hattie scrunched her nose and playfully stuck out her tongue at the remark.

Bow mirrored the expression. “Oh, well, if you don’t want this town’s beloved and famous sweet bread, made by the one and only, world-renowned Chef Cat, then I guess I’ll have to eat it myself!” Bow smirked at her friend. Hattie gasped in horror before tackling her friend again in a fit of giggles. Bow squealed - she gave up a lot easier than (Y/N) did. Perhaps after all these years, they had built up a resistance to their little sister’s antics. 

“Ok, ok! Get off me and take your bread! It isn’t worth this!” Hattie complied and essentially tore into the woven basket Bow had set down. There it was: the golden brown masterpiece she had been waiting a month for, fluffy, soft, perfectly coated just the right amount of cinnamon-sugar, and still warm. 

Ever so carefully, Hattie lifted it out of the basket as if it were the Holy Grail (more like the Holy Grain) and pressed it close to her chest in an attempt to convey the love she held for this bread through a weird, cinnamon-sugar coated hug. She beamed at Bow as her friend began laughing at her oddly touching display of appreciation for the treat.

The PERFECT snack for the adventure she had planned today.

“Oh! (Y/N) told me to give you something else, too!” 

Hattie looked at her friend, excitement lighting her eyes, before she saw the smug look Bow’s face wore.

“You might wanna put down the bread for this,” was the only warning Hattie received before her friend tackled her (hah! Have a taste of your own medicine, Hattie!) and planted that big, wet, disgusting smooch on Hattie’s forehead. Bow couldn’t conceal her boisterous laugh as her friend struggled to free her arm and wipe the wet spot off her skin...and Hattie couldn’t help but join her. 

Bow released her prisoner (it’ll probably be a long time before she ever gets to do that again) and laid down next to Hattie, who was still using her sleeve to rub that spot on her skin clean. 

“Hey, speaking of your sibling,” Bow started, snorting at the wary look Hattie shot her, waving her hand to let her know there were no more kiss attacks scheduled for the day, “they told me you were going on an adventure today. Can I come?”

Hattie shot up, dragged Bow up to eye level, and nodded vigorously. She almost hit Bow a few times with her hat in the process. She grabbed her gear by the door and scooped the basket up with the hook of her umbrella, placing the bread in her bag and her well-loved hat on her head. She held her hand out to Bow, as if asking ‘are you ready to go?’

With a smile, Bow took her hand, and the two left Hattie’s home and set off into the unexplored forest that surrounded their town. 

____________________________________

With a sigh, you pulled your hand out of Boss’ (for what seemed like the 10th time since he dragged you to his restaurant). Your politeness and need for this man to stay 50 feet away from your house and sister had landed you in a booth with the man you wanted to avoid at all costs on any day that ended with a ‘y’.

Boss insisted you spend your lunch with him and had almost dragged you to his home so he could wow you with his cooking. When you had declined his initial “offer,” he assumed you wanted to wow him with your cooking and tried talking you into letting him into your house. 

You had no way of knowing if Hattie was there or not, and as much as you’d like to see her chasing him out of your house like a hunting dog would a rabbit, you didn’t want to mess up her routine for preparing for a trip. Plus, if she wasn’t there, you’d have to let this man into your house, which is something you promised you would do everything in your power to keep from happening. 

So, out of your want to not come off as a total jerk, you let him drag you to his restaurant, which sat at the highest point of town (you’d think it was because he liked looking down on the other townsfolk). 

“And this was just such a perfect location! From the view from my wonderful restaurant, you can look down on the other townsfolk living their measly lives of squalor.”

Go figure. You let out a huff of laughter. Of course he’d need help with something like that, given his height. You almost choked on your beverage trying to hide the snort that released you. You waved your hand as Boss stopped his rave about...himself to ensure that you were fine enough to continue listening to the rest of his tale (which...you’ve heard at least two dozen times by now but, who were you to stop the guy?).

Your mind blanked out as you watched him animatedly tell his story of how he came to your little town. Boss really wasn’t that bad looking - his facial hair was pretty cool and stylish. He was a decent cook. He had nice eyes. And his stature made him, like, the PERFECT hug size (if you ever wanted to give him one). The thing that really turned you off about him was his ego.

You swore Boss could lift the town from the land with how much hot air was filling his head. It was ridiculous how much he bragged about himself! The only other things he seemed to love with nearly half as much passion was his food and….

...you. Unfortunately.  

He had “honored” you and your parents when you had first arrived, about three years ago, and he was immediately taken with your looks and cheery disposition. Your lovely smile outshone the stars, and your eyes were so taking, it was hard to look away. He had told you it was unlike anything he’d witnessed while living there, and, admittedly, he charmed you at first. 

But you saw how he treated his goons. And the other townspeople. So rough and unnecessarily cruel that it’s no wonder that the other townspeople treat each other with such disdain and contempt...

You saw how he treated your sister.

Well, back then she was “that well-tailored street urchin” outsmarting Boss and his henchmen and giving them a run for their money at the young age of 5. 

At least now she was Hattie, well-tailored sister to yours truly. Still outsmarting Boss and his goons, but it’s easier when you’ve got a house and a sibling to look after you.

Wait, back to the present, what did he just say? Your eyes had watched his body move onto the table (and ultimately step on your subpar food), snap at a goon to bring him a bouquet of some really pretty flowers, and kneel before you. Your brain was still processing his actions.

His hands were extended, offering the bouquet towards you.

 You forced yourself back into the present with an awkward smile.

“I’m sorry…..what was that?”

“Ah, speechless by my offer!” No, you weren’t, you literally just asked him to clarify….. “I admit, it must be a shock for a...rustic such as yourself,” Hey! Rude. “to be asked to the upcoming festival by the one and only man that rules this town.” He shoved the bouquet into your arms.

You nearly choked on your own spit and awkwardly coughed into your hand, trying to cover up your embarrassment, laughter, and how ticked you were for being called a rustic. It wasn’t your fault this man basically bought everything gold-plated. 

“Oh, uh, no, no, it isn’t uh, that, Boss.” You had to find a way out of here, like, yesterday . His face was expectant. You took a deep breath and continued. “Look, uh, I’m really flattered and all, and this was a very sweet gesture...and pretty extreme to ask someone to a festival,” you coughed again to clear your throat. “But I’m...just not really interested in going, you know? I-I mean normally I’d go with Hattie, but she’s planning on going with Missy, Bow, and her parents, so I’m just planning on spending the night at home!” You finished with the sweetest smile you could and stood to leave, placing the bouquet on the table. You weren’t lying - you knew Hattie was capable of handling herself, and she’d have Missy and Bow with her, so she’d be fine!

You held your breath as you watched Boss’ face fall before lighting up again. “Well, that’s just perfect! Perhaps I could just visit you on the night of the festival and we c-”

“No! Uh, no, uh, thank you, Boss, though it is very nice of you to...offer, but I wouldn’t want to feel like a burden on such a wonderful night!” You sheepishly smiled at him as you began to make your way toward the door. “You should have fun with everyone else at the festival! I’ll just be doing, you know, boring old house chores, so, uh, you should go have fun! Plus, maybe you’ll meet someone really special there!” You prayed to whatever god existed that he would find someone really special there.

You saw him sigh deeply and caught the last bit of an eye roll before he forced his best charming smile on his face. “Very well, as you wish, my dear.”

“Please, Boss. Just (Y/N).”

“Fine. As you wish, (Y/N). Perhaps I’ll catch you next time you’re in town-”

He was cut short by the bell above the door ringing and the faint resonance of your voice saying something along the lines of, “Yeahnomaybewe’llseebye!”

Chapter Text

You arrived to an empty house - seems Hattie already left, which meant you got the whole house to yourself to do...chores. You took a deep breath as you set your groceries on the counter and rolled up your sleeves. Hattie always had a way of making mundane things like chores feel like an enthralling, heart-stopping adventure. You always loved the way she made things fun, even if it meant you had to clean up the mud tracks the chickens made every now and then (she’d release them in the house and said you had an dastardly fowl army to command and help with chores. That kid…). 

You made a mental list of the chores you had to do today: groceries (check), sweep the house, mop the house, dust the house, feed the chickens, collect the eggs, essentially do a complete clean of Hattie’s room (she managed to mess it up a different time every week)...

You had a lot to do today.

After sufficiently cleaning the house (and subsequently dirtying your clothes), you flopped onto your living room couch with a deep sigh. You may be used to the work, but that didn’t mean it ever got easier. But now you were finished, and you could use this time to relax - dinner didn’t need to be started for another couple of hours, so you took this time to get out your book and pick up where you left off before you were so rudely interrupted by The God Among Men himself. 

You smiled to yourself as you brought the book into your lap, full intent on immersing yourself into the story and-

BANG!

Your head shot up as Bow ran into the room, face flushed and hair a disheveled mess. The light from the windows reflected the wet tears that streamed down her face. Her hands were clenched firmly around a purple and yellow scarf, and you were almost scared that it would be torn in two by how tight she gripped it. You sprang to your feet at the sight and rushed over to her, meeting her halfway as she all but tripped over her feet trying to get to you. You quickly scooped her up and held her close as she sobbed.

“(Y/N)!” She hiccuped. “(Y/N), p-please you h-h-h-have to come! Quickly p-please! Please!” Bow dug her fingers into your arms and held tight to you as she sobbed onto your shoulder, her breathing rapid and unsteady. 

“Whoa, Bow!” You could barely understand a word she said. “Bow, I’m gonna need you to take deep breaths. I can’t understand you.” You placed her down and knelt in front of her. She rubbed at her eyes, looking down at the ground as she cried.

You gently tilted her head up and pulled her hand away. “It’s gonna be ok, ok? Can you breathe with me?” She hiccuped again and nodded as best she could without completely breaking down again. You placed your hands on her shoulders to help steady her and guided her through some deep breathing. It took a total of 5 minutes to get her to calm down completely - you hoped that whatever she came rushing in here for wasn’t an emergency.

“Feeling better?” A nod.

“Up for telling me what’s up?” Another nod, followed by a spring of tears to her eyes, a deep breath, and a nervous wring of the disturbingly familiar purple and yellow scarf she held in her hands.

“Hattie’s gone.”

Hattie had been planning this adventure for months at this point. The forest by itself was kind of treacherous, but Hattie had explored it before and was used to its weirdness. She wasn’t going in to tread the same old paths she had before. No, this time what Hattie longed to investigate was what was rumored in the village to be the most dangerous entity for miles and miles…

The Abandoned Mansion of the Lost Prince.

Nobody in the village dared talk about it - the very thought of it seemed to be taboo among the villagers. Hattie had asked Cat about it once and was nearly thrown out of her shop! All Cat dared to say was that it definitely didn’t exist and Hattie definitely shouldn’t go there (which she found hard to reason if the place didn’t even exist) and Hattie should definitely never, ever, ever mention it again.

That didn’t stop her from asking others about it.

Which didn’t stop others from quickly retreating from her when she did. 

Hattie would have visited the mansion sooner had it been easier to get any kind of information on it, which is why she’s forced to visit in the middle of winter. The village is rather nice in the winter: it doesn’t get terribly cold, and they hardly ever have snow, so the sun still keeps everyone warm throughout the day. The forest, however, was another story. It did whatever it pleased, and apparently what it currently pleased was nearly 4 feet of snow and a bitingly cold wind that tore right through Hattie and Bow as they ventured deep into the woods. 

It’s a good thing Hattie planned for this kind of thing. She and Bow wore matching scarves (her’s being purple with yellow stripes, and Bow’s being green and blue), coats, and gloves, which let them traipse through the woods, undeterred by the weather. 

It didn’t protect them from the other horrors the forest had, however.

They were halfway to the impermissible mansion when they heard the distant howl of a wolf.

They had hardly made progress when the howl sounded much closer…

And it kept getting closer….

And closer...and closer….until the only thought that had made itself home in the children’s minds was the most basic instinct humans had:

Run.

Hattie firmly grasped Bow’s hand and pulled her towards their destination, their feet beating against the ground as the sounds of rough, padded paws with wicked claws pounding against the sow-laden ground grew louder and louder until it was almost unbearable. Their breath came in short, frantic huffs as the snarling of the predators drew closer. Bow cried out as the snap of teeth came too close for comfort and Hattie drew her umbrella with her free hand, just in case things got messy. Just a little longer. Just a little more and we’re-

There. 

She blinked a few times to confirm that what her eyes saw was true: an old, rusty gate, not terribly far away, almost camouflage by the thicket and trees surrounding it. Hattie let out a breathless laugh as adrenaline surged through her. Salvation was in sight! She tugged Bow closer and as they neared the gate, she shot her friend a look. They’d have to climb it, as there was a fairly heavy lock on it, and hopefully the wolves wouldn’t be able to get them if they jumped high enough onto it. 

They drew closer to the gate and the children used their momentum to clamber up high onto the gate, allowing themselves a moment of reprieve as they watched the wolves try (and fail) to jump to their height. Hattie and Bow sighed together and caught their breath as they climbed over the gate to the other side, jumping off and landing in the snow before the vicious teeth of the dogs caught their skin. They laid in the snow together, listening to the retreat of the wolves before looking at the other and sharing a smile.

“We made it.” Bow stated letting her eyes close for a moment before standing up and brushing herself off, Hattie following suit. It was nice to lay in the snow after all that running, but it was still freezing, and they couldn’t wait outside forever.

And the forbidden, long-awaited mansion was waiting right in front of them.

It probably wouldn’t be too terribly warm inside, but Hattie knew how to start a fire  (you didn’t teach her, and it was still a mystery where she learned how to) and they could explore after a well-deserved rest. Hand-in-hand, the children walked towards the mansion, unaware of the two golden eyes that watched their every movement.

Chapter Text

Once inside, the girls shed their heavy, soaked winter wear and looked around. It seemed like the first floor of the mansion wasn’t very expansive; just a parlor that led into a kitchen and a living room, which luckily for them, had a fireplace. Hattie set about starting a fire and Bow hung up their wet clothes so they could dry faster. They sat by the fire to warm up and Hattie broke out the, miraculously still in one piece, sweet bread. Just as they were about to dig in, a group of unfamiliar voices sounded from the kitchen.

“Yer know the master’s rules!”

“I’m not about to let two soaked little children back out into the cold! Really, darling, that’s so heartless! Besides, the master doesn’t have to find out.”

“He probably already knows they’re here!”

“If he didn’t before, he does now, given your squawking.”

Bow and Hattie shared a confused look before setting down their snack and sneaking to the kitchen to spy on...whoever was talking. In the kitchen were two...birds? One was definitely a penguin (who styled a well kept afro and a...bedazzled tail coat?), while the other was…...yellow. And short. And it looked like he had feathers?

“I can’t believe that your time here has made you so cruel! You used to be...NOT so cruel!”

“Shut yer yap, Grooves - I don’t enjoy the prospect of losing my head to the master’s wrath just because you lost yours over an argument.” 

“You know, it’s awfully rude to eavesdrop.” A third, different voice resonated behind them and both girls shrieked and tumbled into the kitchen, causing the birds in the kitchen to also shriek and run into each other in a panic, and they collapsed to the floor next to the girls. 

Standing...er….floating above them was what appeared to be a ghost. Its clothes, which once looked to be elegant and rather expensive, were tattered and shredded. Its skin was blue, and its face had odd, red markings - almost like claw marks running from the bottom of its eyes and mouth to its jaw. Its eyes looked...broken.

It smiled an obviously out-of-practice smile at them, but it seemed like it attempted to be warm. The birds next to them sighed and relaxed.

“Oh, Moonjumper, it’s just you. Thank the stars.” The penguin sighed.

The yellow one, who was patting down his fluffed feathers, stood up with a huff. “Ye didn’t have to scare us like that. We weren’t doing anything bad.” He reached down and started tugging on the penguin to get him up.

“I didn’t mean to.” Moonjumper, apparently, offered a hand to both Hattie and Bow. They took it and were easily brought to their feet. “I didn’t mean to startle you two, either. It’s been a while since we’ve had visitors. I apologize for not being able to give you a proper welcome, and I’m sorry you had to stumble upon these two, first.” He narrowed his odd eyes to the two birds who sheepishly looked down.

“We were...just decided what to do with them,” The yellow one started. “I thought we should just throw them out, and as master of the household, I know you’ll agree with me, Moonjumper.”

“I think we should let them stay the night.” 

The yellow one gawked at the ghost and nearly pulled out his feathers as his companion let out a haughty laugh and a hushed “I told you!”

Moonjumped pulled Hattie and Bow aside, “Though I did just promise to let you stay the night, I think it's owed to us why two children are….trespassing.” His out-of-practice smile returned, obviously trying to appear amiable and friendly, though coming off as….menacing. 

Bow blinked in surprise and scratched the back of her head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry! We thought this place was...well, abandoned. We came to explore it and see if the rumors in our village were true.”

The ghost hummed in response before freezing and turning towards the entryway parlor. He quickly tried pushing the children back into the kitchen with the birds, hissing out a hushed “Hide. Now.”

The birds, understanding the Moonjumper’s sudden behavior was due to one thing, panicked and rushed into the parlor, leaving the girls to their own devices. Bow, deciding to heed the ghost’s advice, hid in a cabinet next to the stove, but Hattie….

Hattie couldn’t help her curiosity. She followed the birds out to the parlor, much to her friend’s chagrin. She peeked around the living room corner to see what the fuss was all about. Moonjumper was as rigid and professional as ever, even with the penguin and the yellow bird freaking out next to him. They stood in a line, facing the stairs and bowing their heads as a shadow emerged. 

“Who dares disturb me while I’m reading? You should all know by now to be QUIET!”

Hattie had to suppress a gasp as the shadow roared and swiped a clawed hand at the three, thankfully missing their heads by a few inches. The shadow moved into the parlor and towered above the three. Its golden eyes were swimming with anger and its glowing smile was fake and empty. 

“Why do you make such a ruckus, oh dear soulless servants?” The shadow’s tone was mocking, and the three tensed at his voice. “What is ever so important that you decided it was a good idea to make such a fuss? Hm?” 

Moonjumper was the first to look up. “Nothing, master. These two,” he shot a pointed look at the birds whose heads were still bowed and their muscles still stiff, “were just having another one of their famous arguments over what...dinner should be tonight.”

The ghost nudge the yellow one, whose head shot up. "R-right! Just us two, uh, bickering! That's! What we do!" The yellow one, in turn, nudged the penguin, who also stood up straight.

"Why, uh, yes! Y-you should have heard it master, you would have thought it was really funny. You see-"

The shadow cut him off with a cackle.

“AHAHAHAHAH! Oh, my stupid, WORTHLESS servants,” the shadow's head snapped to where Hattie was situated, its golden eyes boring into her frightened blue ones. She was frozen in place by its intense gaze and all she could do was whimper in fright. 

“You’ve always been terrible liars.”

Chapter Text

The shadow all but slithered towards Hattie, who sat paralyzed by fear. Her blue eyes darted around quickly, looking for something, anything to help her leave this creature’s terrifying golden gaze. She needed to think of something quick so she could get Bow, get home, and leave this stupid nightmare of a mansion and this stupid frozen tundra to only haunt her in her sleep. She’d happily only visit this place in her dreams if it meant she could get home in one piece (and, more importantly, alive).

As she looked around the parlor, her eyes landed on the three...servants (?) from the kitchen. She felt her face grow hot and her eyes wet as they looked down at her with a near palpable sadness and regret. Moonjumper was the only one who could look her in the eye.

The monster grew closer, engulfing Hattie’s body in shadow and she felt an unfamiliar weight of despair and dread hang over her shoulders at the gleam of its yellow smile. She could practically feel the darkness encircling her, caging her, trapping her free and adventurous spirit. Hattie could feel the figure looming over her and forced herself to take a deep breath and, despite her fear...despite her shaking hands...despite the hot tears trailing down her cheeks and the nigh inescapable feeling of doom….Hattie tilted her head up and looked the monster in its (stupid) golden eyes.

It regarded her, for a moment or two, before throwing its head back and cackling, a loud, boisterous laugh that would have been contagious if not for the situation.

“A-HAHAHA!” its laughter boomed through the mansion before its stupid smiling face was directly in front of hers. “FOOL!” Its voice was nearly enough to destroy her eardrums, and Hattie did her best to suppress a flinch.

“You’ve really done it now, haven’t you? You’ve totally screwed yourself!” It laughed again, its tone jovial, before turning serious. “Unfortunately for you, kid, you’ve stumbled into my mansion, and now I have no choice but to kill you!” It winked at her , “That’s the rules! I’d say sorry, but I am the one who made them!” It laughed...again. Man, this thing was having too much fun with this.

Hattie was already tired of hearing its mocking laughter (honestly, she didn’t know how those three from earlier could stand it, poor things). She took another deep breath, felt its golden gaze pierce her soul, and stood up, looking the monster in the eye again. It scoffed, “Oh, no more cowering? You’re not even gonna give us a terrified whimper? Honestly, this is sort of a subpar performance, but I can’t say I admire your courage kid. Things like courage are kind of pointless when you’re six feet under!”

Having heard the commotion and the strange new voice in the parlor, Bow decided to leave her hiding place and see what the peck could be making so much noise. The first instance of what sounded like laughter nearly shook her out of the cabinet she was hiding in! She cautiously peeked around the corner in the kitchen and stifled a gasp at seeing Hattie cornered, but standing defiantly, in front of a very, very tall shadow monster. She had to think of a way to get Hattie out of there and quickly, hopefully a way out of there.

Bow’s presence went undetected by the monster towering over her friend, but the weird floaty guy (Moonjumper, right?) noticed and subtly motioned for the other two to stay where they were and not turn around.

A well-practiced motion, unlike his smile.

 Bow wondered if they’ve done this before.

Moonjumper silently slid (guess stealth is a perk of floating) over to where she stood, still unnoticed by the shadow-creature. He took a quiet, deep breath and placed a gentle (if not unsure) hand on her shoulder and leaned in close.

“Listen,” he began, his voice, which already sounded like the wind had carried it far away, was soft and low. “I know how to...get you out of here. You need to follow my instructions exactly . I know I can distract him...long enough for you to escape, but if you delay or hesitate in anything….” He looked down.

Bow looked up at him with frightened, yet questioning eyes. The man sighed softly before continuing, “...I can guarantee that what will ensue will not be...merciful…..or pleasant.”

Bow’s already wide eyes grew larger as she could feel tears forming. Her gaze was drawn back to her friend, who was shaking and allowing the tears to fall from her face, most likely unable to scrub them away under the paralyzing gaze of the shadow. Bow looked back to the man before her, her hands flying to her mouth to subdue the sobs that were threatening to escape her throat. The tears that pricked the corners of her eyes began to slowly flow over her cheeks and onto her hands as she forced her breathing to slow. The dawning look of understanding and sorrow that flashed over Moonjumper’s eyes was enough to answer her question. 

Hattie wouldn’t be escaping with her.

…

No.

Of course Hattie would be leaving with her! She had to. She had to! Bow wouldn’t accept a life without her best friend beside her, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow this creep of a shadow thing who hides in a mansion to rid her life of the single, most wonderful person she’s ever had the privilege of knowing.

With a silent huff and a furious wipe of her face to rid it of grieving tears that had to right to fall (because peck and gosh-it, Bow would not grieve her beloved friend when she had a chance to fix things), Bow set off towards the living room through the kitchen, her footsteps quiet and quick. She grabbed her and Hattie’s winter gear, which were now dry and warm, and made her way back to Moonjumper, stuffing herself in her jacket and scarf and stuffing Hattie’s scarf in her pocket to maintain its warmth. 

She looked up at the man with a determined glint in her eyes. “Tell me what to do.” she whispered. 

“What?” He whispered back. His mismatched eyes became frantic, pleading, “I-I can’t, there’s no way you’ll be able to-”

The look in Bow’s eyes was enough to silence his plea to get herself to safety. It seemed these kids weren’t ones to do things the easy way, weren’t ones to save their own skins and live selfishly for another day…

He supposes he could admire that quality. 

With another sigh, Moonjumper explained the way out through the cellar towards the front of the parlor…

Hattie was beginning to break.

Maintaining eye contact with something that didn’t need to blink was hard, and she found more tears falling from her eyes as her will and energy drained. But she had to keep focusing on this beast in front of her, and keep it focused on her.

Of course she noticed Bow peek around the corner of the door - her bright clothes were almost impossible to miss. Of course she’d seen the floaty guy go to her and it took every fiber of her being not to look at them directly, took every ounce of strength not to rush over to her friend when she felt the fear and despair emanating off her. Bow was her best-not-sibling-friend, she could practically feel the pain in Bow’s heart and her tears almost multiplied tenfold upon seeing her friend cry.

Hattie was almost certainly doomed.

But Bow could get out.

Yeah, it would suck, being dead without your best friend or your only family, but if Bow got to leave, then Hattie would consider it a win. She just had to keep this monster’s focus on her…

The monster...has been relatively quiet. It was still talking but it was more...muttering to itself. Hattie could barely catch snippets of what it was saying, but it seemed to be mulling over possible ways to kill her. It was a terrifying experience, having to listen to the ways a shadow beast could torture you, and Hattie held back tears as she shook with pure, unadulterated fear. The last thing she wanted was to let this thing see her cry anymore than it did. Hattie was a brave kid, and this monster didn’t deserve to see anything other than that!

“Hmmm….” mulled the shadow after a few short moments of silence. “What to do, what to do...perhaps it would be best to just eat your soul and throw your corpse into the cold. How does that sound?”

The monster never got a response. Before Hattie could answer (the answer obviously being something so witty and clever that the monster would be so angry at her that all his energy would be focused on her and Bow could escape), the monster jolted forward with a sharp yelp of pain. It quickly turned around and saw Bow, in all her neon green glory, wielding Hattie’s umbrella and scarf. She stuck her tongue out at it before tossing the umbrella to Hattie with a hasty “Let’s go!” and a quick glance at Moonjumper, who stood (floated?) by the kitchen door, mouth open in shock and eyes wide in horror. 

“C’mon, Moonjumper!” Bow cried out to him to snap him out of his trance, and the beast’s gaze immediately fell upon him, his yellow smile twisting into an ugly scowl. 

“So, Moonjumper, you’ve really forgotten what you signed up for? Already?” It let out a mean bark of laughter. “Why, it’s only been 100 years! You can’t really have forgotten that your loyalty and service belongs to ME!” The weight of its angry glare made the kind Moonjumper freeze, and any excuses or apologies that were to be made turned to a bitter taste in his mouth and he remained silent. 

Hattie, still pulling herself together and regaining her strength, made a feeble attempt at knocking the creature back while it was turned from her. If she could manage to just push it to the side, even just a little, she could run past it to Bow and they could leave! 

But Hattie was still weak from forcing herself to stand her ground, and as she pushed herself to move, her footfalls were loud and clumsy. The monster easily avoided her pathetic attempt at an attack and harshly grabbed her arm, shoved her to the ground, pulling a sad, painful cry from her. 

“Hattie!” Bow cried out, and moved to rush towards her but was stopped but the truly wicked yellow smile that was cast her way. 

“Feisty lot of pests, aren’t you? Convincing my servant to betray me, attacking me with that stupid little stick, thinking it and your overwhelming desire for hope and for living another day would be enough to let you slip past me…HAH!” Its laughter bellowed again as it looked at Hattie and cruelly tightened its grip on her arm. “I can’t say I don’t like your spunk, but what the hell did you really think you could do to me? You’re just a couple’a kids, after all, and I’d like nothing more than to squash you like bugs in my hands.” Its smile grew as it looked towards Bow.

“And I think I’ll start with you, little pest.”

At his words, Hattie writhed violently under his arm, pounding the floor with her free hand.

“NO!” Her voice was hoarse from neglect and lack of use, and the shout that had rocked each person in the parlor had felt like one million daggers tearing down her throat, but she did what she had to to stop the stupid shadow monster. The shock from hearing such a shrill and guttural yell caused the beast to drop her and cover its nonexistent (at least non-visible) ears.

Hattie scrambled the stand up and stood in front of her friend, guarding her, despite the pain shooting down her arm. She blinked back tears as she glared at the creature as it lowered its clawed hands from the sides of its head.

Its expression turned curious and its smile turned cruel. “What, you wanna go first? HAH! Kid, your stupidity knows no bounds! It’s hilarious! I’ll tell you what - let’s make a deal.” It held up a clawed hand as Hattie shook her head. “Listen, pest. I’ll spare the other little pest’s life...” both Hattie and Bow’s heads shot up at this.

“...IF you agree to sign a contract that basically dictates your soul as mine and declares you an eternal servant to yours truly!” It chuckled again. “Pretty sweet deal, right? You get to live forever! I can’t say that your friend would get to enjoy such a luxury if you don’t agree, though…” 

With a sweep of its arm, an old fashioned quill and scroll of paper appeared before the girls. Hattie’s eyes flitted over to her friend, who hung anxiously over her shoulder, scanning the document. Hattie could practically see the gears turning in her head, thinking of a way to get them out of this….but to Hattie…

The choice seemed pretty clear.

She grabbed the quill. It felt heavy, which kept her hand sturdy as she signed the contract, even as Bow was screaming and sobbing in her ear, trying to pull her away from the magic paper.

But in the end, her name rested on the dotted line, and she suddenly felt as heavy as the quill she dropped in exhaustion. Bow was shaking her shoulders and sobbing, crying out her names and pleas of leaving with her. Her hands were shaking as she yanked Hattie’s scarf out of her pocket and tried handing it to her, trying to convince her to come home, Y/N is waiting, the festival is coming up, and we’ve still got to egg Boss’ house a-and--

But Hattie smiled, a sad, heavy smile, and pushed Bow’s hands back, along with the scarf. The look in her watery eyes told her to keep it. As a memory of me. For Y/N.  

Hattie’s smile fell when Bow was gently escorted out by the two birds from earlier, her sobs eventually fading into a foreboding and deafening silence…

...before that stupid jerk of a beast had to ruin it. “That settles it! Welcome to your new home, kiddo! Don’t get used to the pleasantries from me. Fellas,” it turned to the birds who just returned from the cold outside, obviously saddened by the situation, though they looked up at the monster, regardless. “Show her the ropes. You should know the drill by now. Moonjumper.” It turned to the man in question, whose eyes looked as exceedingly empty as Hattie felt. “Let’s have a chat.”

They left Hattie and the two birds with a heavy slam of the doors leading up to a set of stairs. A long, laden sigh left the beak of the yellow bird. 

“Ye heard ‘im, lassie.” A hand found itself rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

“Hattie’s gone.”

The words kept echoing, ringing in your ears. Your eyes misted.

“That monster in the mansion took her.”

Your ears and neck burned with anger at Bow’s words as the tears paved their way down your face. 

Your breathing quickened as Bow told the tale of the mansion in the woods and your anger rose every minute. The mansion. The mansion, of course Hattie went to the mansion. She didn't tell you she went to the mansion because you trusted her on her adventures to stay safe, and of course she goes to the one place you asked her never to adventure after you heard the horrible rumors that surrounded it from the villagers. The one place that, once mentioned, would have merchants shooing you away and parents covering their children’s ears. Even though nobody in your little town ever actually told you about it, you learned it was bad news.

You had assumed Hattie had learned the same, considering she had been there every time you asked about it. You assumed she had learned it was dangerous when she asked to explore it a couple years back and you nearly burst into tears while lecturing her about her safety. 

You had said she was too young to go galavanting in such a dangerous place. She must have thought that, since she was older, she was safe to explore it now.

And now she’s-

“Gone.”

Your cry of despair rang throughout the house as your strong facade failed you and you broke down on the floor. Bow, whose own tears were still fresh and visible, quickly dropped to the ground next to you, as you had done for her. She held you as best as she could while you were doubled over yourself, rubbing your back, and sharing your sorrow as she cried with you.

You sat on the floor for the better part of the hour, letting out all your grief and frustration and anger out. Bow, bless her empathetic and caring little soul, had managed to quell her small cries and hiccups long enough to bring you both some blankets (the floor was pretty cold) and some warm tea, to rehydrate you after you both had cried for so long. She settled next to you, leaning on your arm as her sniffles tapered off into normal breathing and her puffy eyes lost most of the puff. You soothingly ran your hand through her hair as your own breathing became normal as well. With a sigh, you thought about the current predicament. 

Hattie’s gone. 

Hattie’s gone, she’s gone, and she can’t come back.

Not from such a horrible place.

Not on her own. 

“Bow,” you started, voice raspy and hoarse, and Bow jumped a little despite your hushed tone. “Listen to me. I’m...I need to go after her.” Bow’s eyes widened and she sat up straight to look at you, new tears forming. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but you shook your head to silence her.

“Bow, I know she’s your best friend, but...she’s my little sister. It’s my job to look after her, and I...I-I failed her.” Your eyes began to wet again as your voice shook. “I need to keep her safe a-and I couldn’t d-do that, so now I have to make sure she gets back.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to steel your resolve. Bow took the opportunity to climb into your lap and tenderly wipe your tears away. The sweet gesture made you smile. She’d be a good big sister if her parents decided to have another kid. Unlike you, who let your little sister wander into the middle of the woods and get snatched up by some no-good, despicable, vile creature who could be doing who knows what to her and her last thoughts could very well be that you just sat by and let this happen--

You took another deep breath and opened your eyes. Now’s not the time or place for self-depreciating mind commentary. Once you get Hattie back, you’ll both be yelling at each other about the unfortunate situation and whose fault it was, etc., etc., which will definitely suck. But you’ll have your little sister back.

Firstly, however, you have to get your little sister back. Your focus drifted back to Bow, who was snuggled safely in your arms. You gently ran your fingers through her hair again.

“Sweetie, is it ok if I ask you about the mansion? I’d like to be as prepared as possible going in.” 

Bow took a deep breath herself and nodded up at you.

Each second you trudged through this stupid winter wasteland, your mind came up with new things to add to the list of what to scold Hattie about. Number one: going out to the mansion in general. Number two: going to the mansion without telling her sole guardian and caretaker. Number three: going out to the mansion in the middle of this stupid magic forest’s WINTER while there were ACTIVE SNOWSTORMS. 

While a part of you said that being held captive in the mansion was probably a good lesson in of itself for Hattie, the other part said that you didn’t teach it to her and this was a SUPER dangerous thing to do. In acting as her big sibling and guardian, not only was it your duty to keep her from danger, but it was also your responsibility to reprimand her - in a healthy way - about the bad decisions she made with the liberty she has.

Given that you already failed the first job as her big sibling, you’d have to make up for it twofold in the second. Plus, it was a good way to get your mind off the impending sense of doom and constant anxiety that weighed down on you...like the maybe-too-many warm layers of clothing you had on - better safe than sorry in this stupid tundra. 

Bow had told you the way to the mansion, and, to your horror, had cautioned you about the wolves that had hunted Bow and Hattie. 

You had made a mental note to talk with her parents about getting the girls some good therapy after this is all done.

After about an hour of miserable walking, you saw the gates Bow described. They were only a short distance away, and you quickly hobbled over. Upon examination of the gates, you let out a frustrated groan.

Bow failed to mention that the gates were kept shut by a couple dozen chains and a padlock, though you really shouldn’t be surprised that the gate was secured.

With a sigh, you began your climb. It was hard enough to grip the metal of the gates through thick gloves, even harder pulling up you AND your heavy winter gear, all while trusting that your boots wouldn’t give way to the slip of the ice beneath them. Finally, after a solid ten minutes, you found yourself swinging a leg over the top and slowly began your descent, testing your luck after an already arduous climb. 

You really shouldn’t have tested your luck like that. 

You supposed it was lucky that you were wearing so many thick winter layers, otherwise the impact from your decidedly ungraceful fall would have hurt a lot more than it did. Your body only ached slightly as you forced yourself to your feet, which you were thankful for, and brushed off the snow with such harsh movements, a bystander might think it did you harm in some way. 

Unfortunately, the snow sticking to your clothes was the least of your concerns right now. 

Ahead of you sat the mansion that so many had warned about in hushed whispers, scornful glares, and rumors that many believed were just to scare children in your little town into behaving, and you’re certain those kids would be model citizens if they were forced to see the real deal. 

The dark walls of the mansion stood out against the harsh white of the snow, and the structure itself looked twisted and decrepit, though suitable enough to brave the elements. 

Take a deep breath. Count to ten. What’s in there might be horrible enough to threaten two children, but it could not possibly be prepared to face you and the fathomless rage that warmed your body in the cold, the anger and animosity that you held that kept you trekking to the mansion. You had a mission. 

You made your way to the front door. Element of surprise and stealth be damned - You’re here to rescue your little sister. 

You failed to notice the two yellow orbs in the highest window of the mansion as you made your way in. 

The inside was… dark and surprisingly warm, contrary to Bow’s description, but you didn’t feel the need to shed your heavy clothes. You’d need them as soon as you got a hold of Hattie and got the peck out of dodge. 

You steeled your nerves as you all but slammed the front door closed behind you. 

“Hello?” You called out. You knew it wasn’t the wisest move but...it was all you could really do besides begin your search for Hattie. “Is anyone there? I’m...here for my sister.” 

You wandered around the expansive room, your eyes still adjusting from the white of the snow outside to the dim light of the parlor. A few rooms led off from the parlor and you peeked in each one, finding a living room with a piano, and a kitchen but...no one was around. You called out again.

“I know she’s here. I know there’s people here! Show yourselves and let’s get this over with!”

Unsatisfied with having no response, you crept towards the largest and farthest doorway in the parlor - it had a set of wide, double doors, and upon opening them, you found that it led to a stairway. However, you wouldn’t be able to discover where the stairway led, as an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand covered your mouth. In shock, you thrashed and did your best to scream profanities at whoever the peck was holding you, but the hand kept you silenced (good thing too - you’d be embarrassed if Hattie was near and heard you talk like that). 

“Please, hush.” A calm, low, and presumably male, voice pleaded in your ear. “I’m here to help but you need to be quiet. Can you be quiet?” 

Though you wanted to bite his hand and loudly proclaim that, no, you wouldn’t be quiet, you’re in this creepy old mansion to get your sister, and you wouldn’t comply if this man talked to you like a child, you figured the only way to safely get out of this was to agree to be silent. You nodded and heard a sigh of relief from the man as he freed you from his hold. He moved to your side and allowed you to get a good look at him. The first thing you noticed is that he was floating, his skin was a pale blue (from the cold? That can’t be healthy…), and his clothes were tattered. Red lines seemed to be carved into his face and his eyes, which were also red, were mismatched and...sad? Wait, Bow told you about this man, this must be-

“Moonjumper?” you asked, ensuring your voice was now hushed. “Are you Moonjumper?”

The man seemed taken aback but smiled, somewhat broken, but you could see he did his best to seem warm and welcoming. 

“Yes, that would be me. I’m...assuming our...most recent...prisoner,” you both flinched when he said that, because you both knew that was the truth, “is your sister? I heard you calling out when you entered.” You nodded in response. “You’re lucky our master didn’t seem to hear it. That was...awfully foolish of you.” 

Your face heated in an embarrassed and angry flush, but didn’t deny his words. “Yeah, I, uh, didn’t really come here with a plan. I just wanted to...uh...beat up your master? And obviously get my sister back.”

Moonjumper’s face cracked a tiny smile at your words. “I think we’d all like to see that, but I’m certain you wouldn’t fair as well as you’d hope to, despite your...um...spunk. You and your sister seem to share that quality.” His smile disappeared. “I imagine it would get you in the same trouble it got her.”

Your heart dropped and your eyes went wide. “Is she ok? Where is she?” You desperately grabbed the lapels of his coat. “Please, please, let me see her. I have to get her home.” 

Moonjumper knew you wouldn’t be able to do that, but decided that letting you see your sister wouldn’t hurt before he broke the horrible news to you. 

With a heavy sigh, he floated towards a set of doors towards the entrance that you hadn’t noticed. He waved you forward, and you felt your heart beat faster as you followed him into the dark basement of the mansion.

Chapter Text

What sort of horrible monster made this kind of filth? More importantly, what kind of horrible monster made a child live in it?

 The basement was flooded with a disgustingly grey liquid that reached a few inches below your knees. Poor Hattie was probably waist deep in this stuff, assuming she hadn’t already drowned in it.

You shook away the bad thoughts as you and your escort travelled deeper into the basement. You can’t be thinking like that. You have to have hope!

The deep sigh that escaped you must have been noticed by your companion. “I, uh...apologize..for the state of the basement. It was the Master’s orders to keep it this way in order to keep...newcomers...in line.” Easy for him to say - he was floating above the disgusting water! At least he had the decency to sound sorry and offer an apologetic smile; one that seemed near hopeful for your escape with Hattie. 

Even if said escape wasn’t realistic.

Moonjumper didn’t want to add to your obviously heavy and stressful load by telling you that Hattie wouldn’t be able to leave. He wanted to give you as much time as you could with her before the inevitable. He may have been locked in this mansion for over 100 years with that monster, but that didn’t make him one. And despite himself, Moonjumper did assume some responsibility for Hattie's fate. He had tried to get the kids out of there, really, it’s just…

The master was a very terrifying man to be around, much more to stand up to. 

Staring into his master’s eyes...feeling the pure hatred that radiated off him.... he found his mind as frozen as his body would be if he were cast out into the everlasting snowstorm. 

After allowing what transpired to happen…

Giving Hattie her big sibling back, even if for a short amount of time, was the least he could do (without being horribly tortured, that is).

You did your best to smile back at his words as the water became substantially thicker than it was at the entrance. You suppressed a shudder at the feeling of semi-liquid waste pulling at your clothes, weighing you down as if the four layers of winter clothing weren’t enough. 

As soon as the sludge had made its way through the fabric of your pants and onto your skin, you decided you were going to burn these clothes as soon as you got home. Rid you of any reminders of this whole ordeal, and live a nice, clean, happy life.

You shrieked as your next step dropped you 2 inches deeper than you were expecting and the floating man next to you flinched, quick to sharply turn towards you and cover you mouth. Again. His eyes were wide with panic, and his hand covered your mouth even after you stopped screaming. 

“You must keep quiet.” He hissed as he released you and you started walking again.

“Why? We’re in the basement!” You hissed back. “I doubt your master can even hear us!”

Before Moonjumper could respond, a splashing sound was heard close by, causing you and your companion to freeze. You began to slowly back up behind Moonjumper, ready to hightail it out of the waste if need be. A shadowy figure began emerging around the corner of a stone pillar, and you were prepared to let out another scream of fear…

Until a purple hat came into view. A soggy, kind-of-worn-down purple hat. It had lost the vibrance and life it once had, but it was a familiar purple hat all the same. Under the brim was brown hair that was only slightly dirty and unkempt, with hairs that poked out of a ponytail like worn, used bristles on a broom. The blue eyes that rested under the brim grew teary at the sight of you. Dirty, sludge-covered you, whose eyes began to tear as well, and whose hasty movements towards the figure nearly had you falling face first into the grimy, thick water. The sounds of wet cloth hitting wet cloth were drowned out by your happy sobs as you embraced your sister like a long lost treasure. 

“You’re okay! Oh peck, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re safe. Oh, Hattie,” You gently took off her hat and ran your fingers through her bangs. “You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.” 

All she did was smile up at you and hug you tighter, and you smiled back and replaced her hat - you’ll have to fix it when you get home. 

When you get home. 

“We’re going home, now, okay?” At this, Hattie froze and looked up at you with teary eyes. Those...weren’t ‘my sibling is here to rescue me’ tears. Those were...sad tears. Those were tears laden with an inexpressible heartache, and you felt your own heart drop at the sight of them. “H...Hattie? Wh-what’s-?” She buried her head into your stomach and held you tight as you shot a questioning look to your ghostly friend, whose eyes were downcast and saddened, as well. 

“What’s going on.” He didn’t look up, but flinched as he heard your voice crack. “Moonjumper, what’s going on? She’s coming home. Right?” Your voice became thick with realization. “Moonjumper, answer me. Please.”

A somber sigh fell from his lips as he met your eyes. His arms felt numb and weak and he had to tell you. “My dear...she can’t leave. Her soul is...bound to the mansion, and to my master. He has taken it from her as payment for letting her friend go.”

Bow had given you a very simplified version of that before you left, but you had assumed that Hattie’s soul was still in her body, just being held with her body in this ridiculous prison-mansion. “So...so what?” Your face grew flush with anger, you were not going to leave empty handed, Hattie had a full life to live and you’d be damned if you stood by and let it get thrown away because some creep decided it was okay to pick on children. 

“So,” he began, floating over to the pair of you and resting a hand on the back of Hattie’s head. “if she leaves the mansion without her soul-”

“She’ll die,” You jumped at the sound of the new voice and held Hattie even closer to you than before. Your head whipped around the dim-lighted room, trying to spot whoever was speaking. By the way Moonjumper shook next to you, however, gave you a sneaky suspicion of who it was. “And she’ll be trapped her way long after I’m gone, which’ll be in...oh, I don’t know, a couple millennia?” The voice laughed a cruel laugh that left your ears ringing. “Our pal Moonjumper learned that the hard way.”

“W-who are you?” You had managed to get the fear that wracked your body with a horrible tremble under control. Control which, as a set of yellow eyes gleamed at you from the darkness and outlined a rather large and formidable form, quickly flew out the window. “Show yourself!”

The figure seemed to hesitate for a moment before chuckling lowly. Into the dim light from the darkness of the entrance of the basement emerged a very very tall shadow. You took a few steps back so you didn’t have to crane your neck to see its face, which consisted only of those oddly yellow eyes and a vacant, cold smile, whose fangs blended in with the rest of him.

Moonjumper’s shaking had stopped as he completely froze in fear.

This had to be the-

“I am the master of this mansion. No need for full introductions; I don’t really care who you are. What I do care about is the fact that you’re trespassing! Just like the little brat behind you did.”  

You flinched at his tone but your blood boiled in anger as you took a step towards him. “I’ve come for my sister. Please, let her go, she’s just a kid!”

“Then she shouldn’t have trespassed here. And now, she’s my prisoner, just like all the other servants in the mansion.” Holy hell, how many people’s souls has he stolen? “I’d invite you to join her in her eternal suffering, but it would be much more fun to send you home, with you knowing that your pathetic little rescue attempt only amounted to more gruelling work for you little sister to do.” He cackled his mean laugh again and you wanted nothing more than to push his stupid face into the gross water.

“Why? Why can’t you let her leave? She has a life to live!” You took another step towards him, your grip on Hattie’s hand firm and unyielding. “She’s a child!” 

“She can’t leave because then I’d be down a servant!” He scoffed, as if it were obvious. “Plus, she signed her soul away on one of my contracts, and she’s not getting that back anytime soon.”

“That can’t be legally binding. Again, she’s a kid!”

“And again, I DON’T CARE!” His already annoying voice resonated throughout the basement. “And unless you’re willing to take her place and sign your soul away, I’m throwing you back out into the cold to suffer a life without your beloved little sister.”  

He had said it with such finality that it seemed like the end of the argument, but as the monster drew near to catch your warm, living body in his cold, dead claws, he was stopped by your cry of “Wait!” and he sighed as he looked down at you.

“What is it, you little fink?”

“What if I was willing to take her place?”

A deathly silence filled the room as the tension grew unbearable. Both Moonjumper and Hattie were frozen, looking between you and the master of the mansion with wide eyes. Hattie clung to your dirty clothes tighter, a silent plea to leave, as the monster had ordered. 

The deafening silence was broken by the master’s booming laughter again. “You! You’d be willing to-to--HAH!” His laughter died down as he met your eyes, cold and steely with resolve. “You would...take her place? Exchange your soul for your sister?” His voice, though still incredibly condescending, had grown softer. Unbelieving. Intrigued. 

“Without a second thought,” was your only reply. It was the only thing you could manage to get out without risking breaking down in front of this monster. You glared at him with a determined glint in your eyes for a few moments of silence.

“HAH! I guess foolishness runs in the family.” With a sweep of his hand, a glowing scroll and quill appeared beside him. “Though I suppose I can’t complain, seeing as I gave you the choice. Go ahead, little fink, sign your soul away.” 

You gulped and bit back a sob as you pried you and your wet clothes out of Hattie’s grip and trudged forward towards the shadow. He watched as you read through all the fine print. He almost found it endearing how you whispered the words out loud as you read them, despite the shakiness of your breath. You only seemed satisfied with the deal when you reached the last line of the contract, which read ‘By signing this, I legally release my sister from her spiritual debt with the master of the mansion, The Snatcher’.

You grabbed the quill, which sank like lead in your hand, and you turned to look at Hattie for what would probably be the last time for...forever. You gave her a watery smile 

“I love you, Hattie. Be good. Take care of Bow, okay?”

You couldn’t bear to look at her as her broken voice echoed through the room as she cried out your name, as her sobs rang out and made your heart plummet. You couldn’t stand to look her in the eye when they were clouded with tears; couldn’t stand to watch as she did her best to run towards you, only to be held back by the gentle hand of Moonjumper. 

You couldn’t look at her as you signed your soul away.

Hattie felt her heart break as the scroll vanished from sight. The words that danced around her ears were muffled, she could barely make out the words “Moonjumper, take care of her,” she could barely process what had happened before Moonjumper’s gentle hands were wrapping her in a long, warm cloak and setting her out in the cold. He shut the door behind him but she ran up, pounding on the door, demanding without words to be let in, before she suddenly felt warm and full as her soul reconnected with its host. The temporary warmth of joining with her soul was not enough to keep her safe from the chill of the icy wind or the sting of aching heartbreak and as much as she wanted to stay and demand the safety of her older sibling, she knew her fighting was futile and it would only result in her freezing to death on the porch of this stupid mansion.

With a heavy heart, Hattie made her way back to her home without the comfort of her sibling.

And with a heavy heart, you watched her go.

Your moment was interrupted by that beast. Or, more accurately, your new boss from Hell. 

“Well, I hate to intrude on your brooding.” You knew he was lying, “But I believe it’s time to get things settled with you. This’ll hurt, but only if you move.” Before you could ask him to clarify, you felt an overwhelming sensation of something tugging somewhere close to your heart and, for a second, you couldn’t breathe, it felt like your lungs were being crushed and your heart had stopped and-

And suddenly you just felt…

Exceedingly empty.

“Welcome to the house, newbie.” As you looked up at the monster who trapped you here, you found him cradling a small, light purple ball of flames. Oh god. Oh god was that-

“Your soul belongs to me now, so now you work for me, got it? You’ll address me as Master or Master Snatcher. Moonjumper will show you around. You get the rest of the night to make yourself as uncomfortable as possible. Welcome home, newbie!”

You saw your soul flicker pathetically before it vanished into the shadows with Snatcher. You had never been without your soul before, and you swayed, almost lifelessly, in one spot, black dotting the corners of your vision before you finally gave into your exhaustion. The last thing you remember was the sensation of weightlessness before leaving the realm of consciousness of drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

You awoke to a knocking too sharp and loud for your sister’s little hands and a groan left your lips as your mind drifted to who the suspect of your rude awakening could possibly be. The back of your head was already throbbing with a dull pain - probably a migraine. If Boss really thinks he can come to your house at however early in the morning and ask you to accompany him to the festival-

Your thoughts ran short as you opened your eyes to a ceiling (that was not your own), hanging above a bed (that was not your own), in a poorly lit and decidedly dreary room (that was definitely not your own). 

The sleepiness in your eyes was replaced by a striking confusion and fear of where you were and your eyes scanned the room for any sign of familiarity, the knocking growing louder and sharper until it became nearly unbearable. A coldness crept up your spine and over your shoulders before settling over your heart, pulling it down as you remembered the events of yesterday.

The woods. The mansion. The servant, the basement, your sister…

Your soul, flickering in a nonexistent breeze, as if reaching out to you before being swallowed by the shadows of The Master.

The Master.

That must be him at the door, waking you up to your new life in this frozen hell. That smarmy, smug bastard would probably be more than thrilled to torture you by waking you up at the ass crack of dawn (you tried looking out the window to confirm that it was, indeed, an unholy hour of the morning, but the relentless blizzard outside blocked out the sun and, subsequently, you ability to tell what time it was). 

The knocking resumed, and left you with little choice but to storm over to the door and yank it open, fully intent on giving your new boss a piece of your mind.

“What do you want, you pretentious, overbearing, sh-” 

You effectively choked on your words as the large, shadowy figure you were expecting to see actually turned out to be the friendly, if not standoffish, ghostly servant that had led you to your sister, who looked taken aback by your sudden appearance and outburst. You cleared your throat sheepishly and he offered you a patient smile.

“Oh! Uh. Sorry, um...good morning? Moonjumper, right?”

He nodded in response. “Good morning, Y/N. Sorry for...disrupting your sleep.” His tone made you self conscious of your probable bedhead. You smoothed it out as best you could as your face heated with embarrassment. “But the Master has already provided me with a list of your duties, and given your...fainting spell last night,” So that’s what happened. No wonder the back of your head hurt. “...you haven’t been given a proper tour of the mansion, and it...wouldn’t be...right...to expect you to adjust to your...new life without allowing you to become familiar with the mansion.” His crooked, unused smile was gentle and understanding.

 You wonder if he had anyone like himself when he came here.

You returned the smile. “Thank you, Moonjumper. I really appreciate that.” 

He bowed his head and floated backwards to give you more space to step out into the hall. “The quicker the tour is done, the quicker we can get onto our...separate duties. The Master doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and…” he sighed. “You’ve...witnessed first-hand his...lack of restraint when it comes to...unfavorable outbursts.”

You have, and you understand the point your new companion is trying to make. 

“I would hate to see you have to endure such behavior on your first day,” he continued with a sympathetic gaze.

“Shall we begin?” You nodded in return and stepped out into the hall beside him. 

It was easy to see Moonjumper’s lack of confidence when it came to anything social between you two. He stood (floated? existed??) rigidly since the moment you stepped into the hall and began your tour. The air that hung around you was thick with tension and cold. 

You made many attempts to lighten the atmosphere by commenting on the interior of the mansion (“What style of architecture is this?”, “How old is this place, anyway?”, “Is that an actual frozen person?”, etc., etc), but your companion didn’t respond in any way that would allow you to keep up the conversation without completely draining yourself. His answers were stiff and to the point (“Early Baroque.”, “Old enough.”, “Yes.”) and left you with more questions than answers. 

During another long period of daunting, heavy silence, you looked over to your fellow servant. “Hey, Moonjumper.” 

Your companion turned his head to look at you with a harsh gaze that you’re sure he didn’t mean to wear, but that didn’t stop you from shuddering under its intensity. “Um...you okay? You’ve been super quiet since we left my room...like, scary quiet. Is...everything alright?” You wanted to laugh at your choice of words because obviously everything was not alright as long as you were trapped in this mansion, but you really couldn’t think of anything else to say that would be comforting.

His gaze softened and he stood straighter (if such a thing were possible). “Oh! I’m...sorry about that. I’ve just...it’s been so long since we’ve had someone new here.”

“Hattie was just here.”

He froze at the mention of your sister. “Y-yes, well, your sister...wasn’t much for conversation either. She even refused a tour on her first day, despite my insistence...which led to her falling behind on her duties, which led to...the Master,” he didn’t need to elaborate, “which led to where she was when...you came.” His voice was...almost sorrowful. “I...wanted to...attempt to amend my short-comings with her and...ensure that you would fare better on your first day. You’ve...been through so much. In such a short time, too.”

He hung his head and refused to look at you. You felt your heartstrings being pulled by his words. His tone was like that of a guardian who had lost the person they were supposed to protect. In a way, you suppose that’s what he’s become, given how gently he spoke of Hattie. While he had no reason to give a damn about the sometimes-reckless child that had wandered into his life, you could sense he did care for her, in the short amount of time she was here. 

Your lips lifted into a small smile. “I appreciate that, Moonjumper. Thank you - that’s pretty thoughtful.” His head rose a little at your words and his downcast eyes flicked up to meet yours. Your smile grew and you playfully nudged his side with your elbow and he jumped in surprise at the contact, facing you fully. “But you oughta know: I’m not as fragile as you think I am.” You shot him a playful wink and nudged him again.

He smiled, chuckling, and you responded in kind. “I never thought you fragile. None of us here do. We all agree what you did was very brave...admirable, even. Why, if I had the nerve to do what you had done…” His smile fell a little. “Truthfully, my dear, you’ve ignited a long lost inspiration in us.” He smiled fully this time and it felt...less broken than before. “We can never thank you enough for that.”

You blushed at the praise and smiled at him. “I’m...glad to hear that, Moonjumper. Thank you.”

The remainder of your tour came and went uneventfully, but you were glad you were able to get Moonjumper to open up a little. He was even cracking a few jokes when you found yourself in the kitchen, the only room you hadn’t seen yet. Granted, they weren’t very good jokes, and none of them really landed (he admitted his sense of humor may have been dulled over the years), but you laughed at them all anyway to encourage him. The way he told his jokes was funnier than the actual jokes themselves.

An indignant SQUAWK from the other side of the kitchen made you nearly jump out of your skin and you whipped around to face whatever the peck made that grating noise. Standing at a solid four feet, bold against the faded purple of the kitchen walls stood a...yellow...thing? Bird? He did squawk, but that didn’t make him a bird, right? But it looked like he had feathers? And he had a beak, from what you could tell by the way his mouth moved. Oh. His mouth is moving. That means he was talking. 

You snapped yourself out of the stupor you were in to pull yourself back to the present, where this bird-thing was talking to you. You had zoned out so bad wondering what he was that you missed half the stuff he was saying.

“...‘n yer bring in the newest resident to me humble work station, when I haven’t had the time to make meself look proper because some blasted PECK NECK,” the insult seemed directed towards the living room area, “left ME to do HIS WORK because he had some ‘oh so important other stuff to do,’ as if that blasted piano needs any more polishing-”

Before he could continue its angry (but admittedly kind of cute) rant you rushed over and stuck out your hand. 

“Hey! Uh, sorry we didn’t get to meet before. Yesterday was…” you sighed, “eventful. I’m Y/N! I’m new here.” Duh. Of course you were new here. “Today’s my first day. Moonjumper was just showing me around.”

He shut his beak long enough to look at your hand before grasping it and giving you a firm, eager handshake, laughing.

“Aye, I know who you are, m’dear. We all do. Moonjumper told us about what happened yesterday.” It frowned a bit. “Sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.” He shook his head and let a smile worm its way onto its face. “Y’can call me the Conductor, ‘n I’m in charge of everything that enters this kitchen.”

Your head tilted in confusion, but before you could ask about his name, he cut you off with another bark of laughter. “Ah! Y’should see yer face. Priceless.” He hopped up on a counter and took a seat. “It’s a long story, so I’ll spare y’the dirty details, but essentially I kind of...uh...signed me name away when I came here, ‘n I’m only called the Conductor ‘cause I’m the only one in this blasted mansion who knows their way around an engine or a gas stove.”

“Ah,” you nodded and smiled, “which is why you’re the one on kitchen duty.”

“Aha, ‘n yer smart, too. I knew I liked ya from the moment Moonjumper told us about yer.” He laughed good naturedly, and you were left with no choice but to join in. As you thought of his words, however, your laughter faded.

“By the way, who is this ‘us’ you keep saying? Is there someone besides you and Moonjumper?” You also wanted to tack on a ‘ And the smarmy ghost who kept you all trapped here ’, but thought it best to keep that bit to yourself. 

“Ah, right. Where are me manners?” Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you could tell he was rolling them. Moonjumper let out an amused puff of air at your new comrade’s antics. “I’ll introduce y’t’Grooves, but I’ll warn y’now t’keep your expectations low.” The Conductor jumped off his seat on the counter and waved you to follow him into the living room that he yelled at earlier. 

“GROOVES!” The short bird called out and as you entered you heard a dramatic gasp and a heavy thunk. “Get your arse off the bench ‘n come meet the newcomer.” The Conductor sighed and turned to you and grumbled. “He may be a bloody pecking wizard when it comes to music, but he’s shite at everythin’ else.”

You stifled a laugh at his language and looked up to see a penguin, sporting a well loved afro and decked out in a (bedazzled) tuxedo, complete with matching bow tie.

“I heard that, you know.” He glared at your smaller companion, who only smirked in response. He then turned his attention to you and stuck out a...flipper, you suppose, which you took into a handshake. “A pleasure to meet you, darling. Call me Grooves. I’m the resident entertainer-”

“While your music skills are admirable, Grooves, you should remember your title as head butler comes first.” Moonjumper, who had quietly been lurking behind you and the Conductor, slid past the two of you into the open area of the living room. You swear you could hear the Conductor snickering under his breath.

The penguin heaved a dramatic sigh and re-shook your hand. “Yes, I’m head butler in a place where my talent goes unappreciated!” 

You could barely make out Moonjumper’s sigh from his spot, now across the room, and you smiled at Grooves. 

“Y/N, but I’m guessing you already know my name, huh?”

The penguin nodded in return, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but a deep rumbling from somewhere in the house made him snap his beak shut. You could practically feel your bones rattling as the room grew dimmer, and you almost fell over onto your new companions as a dark purple figure began to amass in the center of the room. 

The light of his eyes reflected off the polished piano a few feet from him before he rose fully and locked eyes with you. 

“Will somebody tell me,” though his ever present smile never faltered, you could hear his voice strain from a deep rooted annoyance; like a tightly wound rubber band, he was on the verge of snapping. “why all my faithful servants seem to be doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ?” 

The sheer volume of his voice was enough to make you flinch and cover your ears. Beside you, your new bird friends were frozen in fear, heads downcast and eyes shut. You huffed under your breath and stood straight, glaring at The Master . 

“Moonjumper…” You looked at the said head of house, whose mismatched eyes were darting everywhere around the room to come up with a good excuse. Apparently, your tour was not something The Master had planned for you.

“I-”

“Spit it out, newbie. I haven’t got all day.”

The nerve of this ghost! What did he have to do that was so important? Watch dust mites fight? Curse a nearby village? Sit and wait for an opportunity to yell at you? You fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him, lest it get cut off and put in a weird science jar for him to stare at. That seems like something he would do.

“I was saying , that I asked Moonjumper to show me around the mansion before I got started with work. I thought you’d appreciate a worker who could effectively get to where they’d need to go quickly. You know, as to not waste such precious time doing very important work for you, Master Snatcher .” You fought for your face to remain neutral despite the fact that you wanted nothing more than to put on a sickly sweet smile and act condescending towards your boss. 

That would probably only make things worse.

Snatcher’s smile tightened. “I don’t like your tone, newbie.”

You rolled your eyes. “If I may be so bold: what are you going to do about it? It’s not like you can make my life worse.”

Snatcher stared at you for a few moments. “Grooves.” The bird in question straightened up with a timid “Yes, sir?” 

“I suddenly feel like you deserve a vacation, don’t you? You work yourself so hard every day, and…” A calendar appeared in a puff of purple smoke next to him and he put on a show looking it over. “Oh, my! It seems you haven’t had a day off in...well, never! HA! You’ve been working decades restlessly. Get out of my sight and get to your quarters.”

The penguin, though unsure, hurried out the door, casting a nervous glance at the still panicking Moonjumper and a sympathetic look towards you. 

A list, much longer than yours, appeared above you and gracelessly draped itself over you. Your original list of chores floated to rest itself on top of it.

“Since we’re short a staff member today, you’re gonna have to pick up the slack, newbie.” You gawked at his words. 

“You can’t-”

“I DO WHAT I WANT, NEWBIE. You may have forgotten, but this is still MY mansion, and I still have YOUR soul. So if you want to stay alive and hope for a better future, you had better follow my orders. Got it, newbie.”

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. “I have a name.”

“I’ll use it when I think you’ve earned the right to be called by it. Now,” he stooped down to your level, not even a foot away from your face. “are we going to have anymore problems today, newbie?”

Your lip quavered. Your brows furrowed, you wanted nothing more than to kick him in the mouth. You may lose a foot, but it would be worth it.

Instead, you held his gaze evenly and muttered out a, “No.”

“No...what?” 

Peck, was he really going to make you play this game? Whatever, you just wanted this to be over so you could start on your stupid long chores.

“No, Master Snatcher. We won’t have anymore problems.”

“THAT’S what I like to hear.”  He pulled away with a condescending pat on your head. “Best get to work. Those chores aren’t gonna do themselves!” He vanished back into whatever shadow he crawled up from with that annoying cackle.

You took a shaky breath and looked over to your companions, who looked at you with pity. The Conductor stepped forward with an outstretched arm. “Y/N…”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s just cleaning, and trust me, no mess that the Master has can top the messes my sister makes.” you began to look over the list of Grooves’ chores. “You guys should get back to work.”

Moonjumper floated towards you. “Y/N, I-”

You turned back to look at them with a small smile. “Really, guys, I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll let you know if I need anything, okay?”

That seemed to satisfy them well enough, though they both still looked concerned as they left to begin their separate duties for the day. You looked over the list of chores again and, with a deep sigh, set off to begin your own work.

This sucks.

This sucks.

You scrubbed mercilessly at the stains on the floor that refused to leave while you refused to think about what they could possibly be from. You’d been on your knees in this stupid living room for the better part of the hour, trying in vain to clean it top to bottom. Your legs were sore and stiff from kneeling for so long, and your poor hands looked like prunes at this point from the soapy water. 

A part of you suspects you were given this fruitless task to spite you.

The other part of you wouldn’t be surprised.

The emptiness in you that was formerly occupied by your soul was now only filled with an unrelenting anger towards that stupid ghost that had captured your sister, stole her soul , and then booted her out into the wintry wilderness to fend for herself. You tried to will that anger into helping you clean, but the stains were relentless. That now vacant part of you wretched as you could practically hear your new boss’ cruel laughter at your situation.

What you wouldn’t give to mop this disgusting room with his stupid grin. Literally. 

A chuckle almost bubbled up from your throat at the thought: you, handling some probably ancient, possibly demonic being like some everyday household ware, and him, not being able to talk or laugh through the sudsy water as you pushed him around in order to clean up his own dirty mansion. While you suppressed your vocal amusement at the idea, you did allow yourself to smile - a nice reprieve from your near constant frowning. 

You pulled back from your progress-less work with a content smile. Obviously this isn’t what the Master meant when he set you up to while away at some stupid permenant stain for the whole day, but he couldn’t say that you didn’t do your best. Plus, all that fruitless work made you hungry!

As you stood up, an unfortunately familiar rumbling shook the ground beneath you. It really is a wonder this mansion hasn’t been reduced to rubble yet if that’s the only way he gets around.

“Hello, newbie. See the stain is treating you well.” He smiled ruthlessly at the lack of progress you had made.

You bit back an annoyed sigh. “Hello, Master Snatcher. How can I help you?” You began gathering your cleaning supplies, unwilling to look at him right now.

“I see someone’s had time to think about their rather unruly attitude. I can’t say I don’t mind the change in your tone. You sound so...defeated! HA! It’s truly hilarious.” He pantomimed wiping a tear from his eye and though his words frustrated you, you refused to give him a reaction. 

He seemed...taken aback by your lack of response, but only for a second, before he continued, “Anyway, since you’re basically done with your chores,” you were not even close to having them done, “I thought I’d do something nice.” What was he playing at?

“You’re gonna join me for dinner tonight, though I can’t guarantee you food won’t be poisoned. You could call it a...rite of passage here at the mansion.” That didn’t sound...horrible...even if it was poisoned. Today’s work had made you hungry, but...dinner? With Snatcher? You could barely stand the thought of him, there’s no way you could sit through and stomach an entire dinner looking at his face. 

“While I understand it’s a...tradition here, I’m gonna have to decline your offer, so, thanks, but no thanks, Master Snatcher.” Your words were monotone as you picked up the last of your cleaning supplies and dropped them off in the cleaning closet close by.

He was silent for a few moments as you turned to face him before he burst out into that damned pecking laughed that made your ears ring for minutes afterwards. “HA! Newbie, I don’t think you understand.” His eyes narrowed as his smile grew. “You will join me for dinner.”

“I-”

“That’s NOT a request.” 

And then you were falling. You were falling through a shadow and though you tried, you couldn’t scream. Your voice only made itself known as you landed with a bounce on the bed you woke up in that morning, your scream devolving into a mortified squeak, and then into an angry, muffled curse. 

You hate that stupid pecking ghost.

Chapter Text

Snatcher watched your form fall through the shadow, only content when he heard your muffled, undignified screaming from your room. With a satisfied smirk, he slithered to the kitchen where the Conductor was hard at work organizing the pantry. His back was turned towards the ghost, and while Snatcher had wanted to wait for him to turn around to frighten him, the Conductor took his sweet pecking time to make sure everything was in order. While Snatcher could appreciate the bird’s care of making sure every knife was unnervingly sharp, eventually his impatience won out.

“Conductor,” the simple word was enough to make the bird in question nearly jump out of his skin, and he whipped around in such a hurry that his head might have flown off were it not still attached to whatever neck he had. 

The Conductor stood stringent, nearly smacking himself in the face as he brought his hand up quickly in a hasty salute, and barked out a, “Yes, sir!”

Snatcher rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but continued, “Make sure tonight’s dinner is actually edible. The rookie will be eating with me tonight.”

The Conductor’s hand flopped back down to his side as his eyebrows rose in disbelief and concern. The Master had always had dinner alone in his dusty, cold room, and to order having it with the newest member of their ranks? Something didn’t sit right with him...but far be it from him to speak out against The Master, lest he want to lose another part of himself. Losing his name was already extremely difficult, he didn’t know if he could handle the loss of something else…

Anyway.

The Conductor cleared his throat, nodded, and mumbled an, “Aye, sir. I’ll have it ready ‘n sent t’yer chamb-”

“NO!” Snatcher all but hissed at his servant, leaning down to get a good, tight grip on the front of his shirt, pulling him forward to meet him face-to-face. His fangs glinted in the light of the kitchen lamps and his signature smile had twisted its way into a crooked frown. The cold, sharp claws of his hands tore into the Conductor’s freshly pressed shirt and silently threatened to tear into his throat as well as punishment for the words he spoke. Snatcher could practically feel the fear rolling off The Conductor in waves, and while he’d normally revel in the power he felt because of it, he had to make sure this bird understood the severity of the situation. “They are not to be allowed ANYWHERE near my chambers.” The Master’s voice dropped an octave and he growled, “Understand?”

The poor bird managed to give a clear nod through his trembling before he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a dull thud. Satisfied, Snatcher stretched back to his full height and began the journey to his next victim, the ever pathetic and entirely dead Head of the Household. 

He paused at the doorway to turn back to his servant, his smile returning to his face. “Have the dinner ready and the table set by 8. You know the consequences if it’s not to my tastes, don’t you, dear Conductor?” The bird in question feebly nodded and quickly set about prepping his workplace for the meal. 

Snatcher hummed to himself, content with the terror he instilled in the soulless servant. Now to find Moonjumper...who was probably skulking around in the attic...again. Snatcher could feel the sigh build up where his lungs used to be and dragged a clawed hand down his face. The attic...he hated going to the attic. Perhaps even more so than he hated going into the cellar. 

The two places had very different memories, neither of which he was ever willing to relive. The cellar only held the shadow of a cold, distant memory, but...the attic was filled with warm, recent memories that cut too close to the void where his heart once rested. 

Memories of the gentle sunlight flittering in through the clear glass, lighting up the room in a soft glow and warming his cheek. The feeling of resting on her lap and smiling as her blond hair gently caressed his face. Her laughter, open and welcoming as it echoed around the small room. Oh, the things he would do to hear that laugh…

The heart dropping feeling when she didn’t, and only looked back at him with a vacant stare, a sneer if he was lucky…

It’s dimmer...the light of the foyer snapped him back to reality. 

She’s gone. She’s gone and those warm memories were supposed to have left with her. 

Snatcher remained still for a few moments, though he honestly couldn’t admit to himself whether it was due to a sickly warm feeling sinking into his gut and turning cold at the thought of the memories tucked away but never out of reach…

...or the pit that followed when he braced himself to face them.

The sigh that had built up in him left his cold lips as he forced himself to stop contemplating his past life and allowed himself to slip into the shadows of the foyer.

As expected, Moonjumper was in the attic, cleaning up the dust and the cobwebs that had layered themselves over the chests and boxes that littered the room. Snatcher knew that keeping these memories was a horrible idea but...some small part of him, deep inside can’t bear to get rid of it, despite the pain. 

Snatcher does everything to keep that small part of him as deep and as smothered as possible.

“Moonjumper,” his tone was terse and sharp, and he ignored the head of the household’s small jump. As much as Snatcher would love to mock him and lorde it over his head, he’d rather spend as little time as possible in the attic. “Get this done quickly. Our newest member is having dinner with me tonight. Have them and the table ready by 8.” He waved his clawed hand nonchalantly. “Given his stature, I’m certain The Conductor would struggle with the task on top of having dinner done on time.” 

Snatcher slunk around the room, picking up a cobweb off a dresser he refused to think about for too long. “But your main concern is having the newbie ready.” He dropped the cobweb and paid no mind to it as it slowly floated to the floor, as if it were never in his hand in the first place. “Understood?”

Moonjumper’s only reply was a solemn nod and a curt “Yes, Master Snatcher,” and satisfied that tonight would be properly taken care of, the ghost disappeared into the many shadows of the attic. He returned to his chambers, already more at ease in his room - where the wallpaper was faded and messy and bore the mark of his claws, where the most beautiful flower she had rejected sit in its unfeeling glass container, where the pictures of his former self lay in shreds, which served as a reprieve of his past life and heavy, cold reminder of where he is now...

Of who he is now. 

He allowed his mind to be encompassed by the familiar numbness and disregard of his room and settled into his chair with a familiar book. 

And to an outside eye, in the comfortable familiar dark of isolation, Snatcher almost looked....human.

Your feet were starting to hurt, and you’d imagined that if the floor could feel, it would also be in distress from your near constant pacing. When you’d first began you had taken care to stomping, like the ghost who’d trapped you in this room could hear your angry footsteps, knowing that even if he could, he probably wouldn’t care. As time went on however, you had resigned to normal, angry pacing, ranting to yourself about this...this...this whole mess!

At first, during your brief and interrupted period of sorrow, you thought perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here as you’d imagined.

Why would you even think that some creepy ghost who keeps himself holed away in a mansion in the middle of nowhere and takes children’s souls would show even the slightest bit of compassion or kindness?

You supposed it was on you for being even slightly optimistic. But then again, you didn’t really know what you were signing up for.

You let out another angry groan (probably the sixth one you’ve had in the last 3 minutes) and resisted the urge to kick the stupid door that kept you locked in here. It wasn’t the door’s fault you were here. 

Ultimately, you thought, that fault is still yours for not being strict with Hattie and her adventures. 

Ultimately, you thought afterwards, it was that stupid ghost’s fault for being out here in the first place.

You sighed and slumped against the door. While you very much did not understand the reasonings of your ghost-captor, locking you in your room after demanding your presence at dinner was an interesting choice of...whatever this was. Torture? It certainly felt like it, with how long you’ve been in here. How long have you been in here anyway? There was no clock in the room, and though the curtains on the window were drawn back, the ever-raging snowstorm didn’t allow one to see the sun’s position. You huffed and laid your head back against the door.

What did that crummy Snatcher want with your soul anyway? With anyone’s soul?  What could he gain from keeping people trapped here? Fruitlessly keeping this filthy mansion clean?

He could be keeping everyone here in order to eat them later….but that would sort of negate the necessity of your presence at dinner tonight....unless you were on the menu. If so, you would make sure you were extra bitter for him so he wouldn’t enjoy a single bite. You smiled to yourself at the thought, and figured no, you and the other servants probably weren’t some produce kept fresh in this fridge of a land. 

Let’s see...why else would he keep you all here? He...he could…

He could be lonely.

For a split second your heart sank at the thought, before it soared back into your chest with an angry fire, like a hot air balloon trying desperately to stay afloat. What kind of cruel creature would trap people to satisfy its own loneliness? To force this weird dynamic onto others and call it friendship? Maybe he was lonely and needed some play things to quench his boredom. Your nose crinkled at the thought of becoming nothing more than a doll for that Snatcher. 

...What if he was lonely though? You allowed yourself to ponder the concept. Well, if he really was lonely, he was horrible at conveying it. Even if circumstances were different - if you weren’t stuck here, if he hadn’t traumatized the two children that you cared more about than the entire world - it would take a lot of convincing for you to open up to him. He was as cold as the winter outside and his demeanor had just as much bite as the icy wind. 

Though, if you were trapped here for as long as he has (he had mentioned something along the lines of a couple millennia earlier in the cellar), you weren’t sure you’d be able to say that the trials of time and isolation hadn’t changed you.

Who was the man behind the ghostly visage (if he even was a human at all)? What had his life been like before this? Was he always so...him? If not, what had he gone through in this peck awful mansion to make him who he is now?

A gentle knock snapped you out of your thoughts and you shook your head to fully clear them out. Snatcher’s past didn’t matter to you - you’re only forced to deal with him in the present, so you’ll only concern yourself with his present behavior. 

You stood and dusted off your clothes before turning and opening the door. 

“Good evening, my dear.” You smiled as the closest thing you had to a friend here greeted you. 

“Good evening, Moonjumper. What brings you by?” It couldn’t possibly be dinner time already...but then again, you didn’t know how long you had spent in your room. 

Moonjumper gently nodded towards your room, silently asking for permission to enter, which you obliged to by stepping aside. He glided in easily, looking around as if he had heard your earlier tantrum and was expecting some damage to be done, before looking at you. “I am here to prepare you for tonight’s dinner.”

Your smile dropped and you rolled your eyes, walking over to the bed and sitting down on its edge with a huff. “Well you’re gonna be here a while then. I’m not going.”

Moonjumper stiffened and his mismatched eyes stared at you as if you had grown a second head. “Not...going? B-but my dear, you must go, the Master has...ordered it-”

“Listen,” you interrupted. “He may be able to boss me around when it comes to chores and junk, but there’s no way I’m letting the Master order me to dinner. With him, no less!”

Your companion sighed and sat (as well a ghost without legs could) next to you. His energy radiated that of a tired mother, and you almost felt guilty about your attitude.

Almost.

“My dear,” he sighed, “why don’t you want to go to dinner?” It was your turn to stare at him as if he’d grown a second head. You opened your mouth to answer, but you were cut off. “I promise it...won’t be horrible, and when….it’s all done, you can come up here and be...unbothered. You won’t be alone during it either. The Conductor and I will be there so you….shouldn’t worry about being stuck with him.”

You groaned. “I’m not worried about being alone with him, I just...don’t wanna be near him at all!”

Moonjumper petted your head gently. “I can understand that given your...predicament. But...the Master isn’t...all that bad. Once you’ve known him as long as I have you...begin to understand him. Besides, it’s better to get this over and done with then give him another reason to throw another tantrum and...give us another mess to clean up tomorrow.” His faint, wispy laugh was enough to draw a small smile out of you. 

“I guess you have a point. Alright, let’s get this over with.” You stood up from the bed and held your hands out. “Work your magic, Moonjumper.”

He smiled back at you, “That’s the spirit.” and floated off the bed towards the wardrobe in the far corner of your room. “Let’s get started.”

With his back to you, you allowed yourself one sigh, beginning the mental and emotional preparation this dinner’s gonna take. 

This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

A long night it was, indeed. It took long enough to get your smutzy attire on. Moonjumper, bless their heart, had been so patient with you given your stubbornness in your refusal of most outfits offers. It didn’t help that you and Moonjumper didn't exactly see eye-to-eye regarding fashion - anything you liked he rejected, and anything they liked you outright rejected. This was too showy for you, this one was too bland for them, etcetera, etcetera. It was quite the process, to say the least.

Finally, after what felt like hours of your precious time (that you TOTALLY weren’t wasting in an attempt to “miss” dinner with Snatcher, though you’re pretty sure Moonjumper saw through your bullshit pretty easily and quickly on that matter), you and your companion settled on an outfit that…was actually to your liking. 

It consisted of a light purple button-down top with a deep purple, velvet tailcoat to go on top - something you’d need, you’re sure, around your new Master’s icy demeanor. The buttons of the tailcoat were gold, and you avoided touching them altogether in fear of damaging them and being in worse debt with Snatcher, if that were even possible. As if sensing your nervousness at the mere sight of the gold, Moonjumper came to your aid, saying he could help you dress, as well.

A variety of gloves were brought out, as well, all seemingly tailored perfectly for the outfit, all satin and a deep purple to match the tailcoat. They all varied in length, and you ultimately chose the short ones - fancy people with fancy dances to go to might need longer ones to wear under their jackets for whatever reason (you wouldn’t know, you’re nowhere rich enough to attend a ball), but you honestly probably won’t be wearing them throughout the entirety of dinner for fear of ruining them with your food (along with any borrowed clothes, for that matter). It would be much easier to take the ones that reached your wrist off rather than the ones that covered your whole arm. 

The wonderful thing about the outfit was that it came with both a fancy skirt and pants, so you could choose which you felt like wearing. You settled for the most comfortable thing. The bottom of the piece was a nice in-between purple of the shirt and the tailcoat, and the whole thing was brought together by gold embroidery along the bottom. You noted, distantly, that this outfit was probably worth more than your house and everything in it. Maybe if you escaped - when you escape, you could snag a couple clothes on the way out to help with the bills and groceries. 

You had outright refused the heeled boots that came with the outfit. What sort of maniac would want to walk three feet above the ground? You opted, instead, for some more comfortable ankle boots that just so happened to also be purple - can’t be throwing off the immaculate vibes of the outfit with some footwear. Moonjumper had wholeheartedly agreed with your refusal of the boots after he had sheepishly brought them out - it seems he understands the pain of heels, despite not having legs. Both of you confessed - you had no idea how Grooves could stand in his platform boots all day while performing his daily duties. The wonders of determination, you guessed.

Moonjumper had assisted you in dressing, playing their own little game of surprise dress-up by keeping you faced away from the mirror - of course, they let you have the dignity and privacy of putting the undergarments on yourself, but when you began to reach for the clothes laid out on the bed, he was quick to beat you to it, a playful smile on his face.

You’re sure they were just trying to make you feel better. You appreciate the gesture.

He had kept you faced away from the only mirror in the room the entire time, catching you before you could sneak a peek by tutting at you like a mother catching her kid trying to sneak cookies from a jar. It was a fun little distraction for you, seeing how you could possibly avoid him catching you looking. After looking over your shoulder didn’t work, you had tried looking under your arm while he had you hold them out to button the domineering gold buttons of the tailcoat, and once while they were preparing the bottom piece, you had even dared to try ducking and looking between your legs - not only had he caught you and the way down, but he gave you a lecture about indignity. You could only laugh, and he chuckled his airy little chuckle with you. 

Once you were fully dressed, you were allowed to look at yourself. A gasp left your lips.

Hot.

Damn.

You looked amazing! You had never owned such fancy clothes before, let alone wear them! The shirt was a comfortable fit, and the tailcoat complimented your figure perfectly, hugging all your curves in a comfortable embrace instead of a smothering one. The soft purple of the shirt complimented your skin tone, and in the soft light of the manor, you looked like you were glowing. The bottom you chose defined all the places that needed to be defined, in modesty, of course. The satin gloves that adorned your hand fit like they were custom made - you almost forgot you were wearing them at all. The boots did have a slight heel that  The gold accents on the tailcoat and bottom tied the whole piece together. You looked so regal and ethereal, you could hardly believe you were looking at yourself. You…actually kind of felt bad wearing something so…expensive. This was all becoming a little too much. You turned to Moonjumper and began to open your mouth-

Only to see your friend teary-eyed at the sight of you. Their hands were clasped together over their mouth as though in prayer, and the wetness of his eyes reflected the shine of the gold accents back at you. 

Oh, shit, you thought. You rushed forward, quickly slipping off the gloves, spouting apology after apology. You don’t know exactly what triggered your friend’s reaction, but if it’s something to do with the outfit then that could easily be corrected. You didn’t even hesitate as you started unbuttoning the tailcoat, despite the fear of ruining the gold buttons, but your hands are shaking in your hurry to comfort your friend and these damn buttons just won’t—!

You feel a gentle hand on yours that guides your hands away from your attire. You look up at Moonjumper with confusion.

“Moon..? You…uh, okay, or..?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. It’s just…I have not seen…someone wear it in so…long. Someone worthy of it…at least. It looks wonderful on…you, my friend. I find myself in awe of the grace with which you wear it. It suits you.” Your friend smiles at you, talking to you as he gently redoes the buttons and slips your gloves back on. You find yourself watery-eyed at his words, but you shake your head.

“A-are you sure…? I’m, uh…actually not sure I’m fit to even wear this sort of thing. It’s probably worth half a country! My style is, uh, much more… less, y’know?”

Your friend regards you with soft eyes, listening intently. When he doesn’t respond, you begin to doubt yourself more and trip over your words.

“I-I just feel so out of place in this. It’s…not right. It’s not…me.”

“Oh, do you find…yourself uncomfortable? Is the outfit not…to your..liking?”

You frantically wave your wands. “No, no, that’s not it! It’s actually really great and it feels amazing and it's really such a wonderful garment-”

“Then I believe it suits you.” Your friend offers you a warm and understanding smile once again, gently turning you to the mirror to see yourself again. “I understand this can be…overwhelming to one not…adjusted to such a lifestyle. However, please understand that I…say this with my entire…heart: this outfit suits you. It displays and…compliments your inner beauty - you know purple…is considered the color of…royalty. I know we haven’t…been acquainted for long…but I can tell, you’ve a heart…that is kind and just. Things that…every leader should strive to be. These clothes are simply…an enhancement…or perhaps just a…reflection of yourself. It suits you, my friend.”

Well! Now it’s your turn to get teary-eyed. You sniffle at his words, trying to keep it together - by Maker you’re not letting Snatcher see you’ve been crying. Moonjumper offers you their handkerchief and lets you have a moment to dry your eyes, silence, but not judging. You return it, somewhat awkwardly, with a ‘thank you’, and you look at yourself in the mirror again. All those things he said…

“You really think so?” You met his strange, mismatched eyes in the mirror.

“I know so.”

You smile and turn to him. In a lapse of judgment, you give him a hug, though upon noticing his suddenly stiff demeanor, you pull back. 

“Sorry!” You nearly shout, “I should’ve asked, oh fuck, dude, I’m so so-”

You’re cut off with a twinkling chuckle. “You’re fine, my friend. It has just been…a while since I have been hugged like that. It will take some getting used to but I don’t mind such affections.”

You snort. “Dude, don’t word it like that, it makes it sound weird.” 

He reels, flustered, “Oh! My apologies. I did not mean to imply-” 

It's your turn to cut him off this time, laughing and placing a hand on his shoulder (though you do have to stretch to get it there) and giving them a little shake. 

“Just joking, Moonjumper, it’s cool.” He lets out a huge sigh of relief at this and joins your laughter, still a little embarrassed but reassured by your words and actions. 

A bell chimes throughout the manor. 7:30. Your heart sinks and your hand falls back to your side. In all your fun and heartfelt moments, you had forgotten just exactly what you had been dressing up for. The air suddenly feels colder, heavier, and your arms cross over yourself in a feeble attempt to induce some kind of comfort. Moonjumper extends a hand.

“Are you ready, my dear?” He asks politely. As much as you want to scream and shout that no, you’re not ready, you don’t think you could ever BE ready to face Snatcher in such a formal setting with such formal clothes with a fancy dinner as if you’re supposed to pretend like everything that’s happened in the past two days was all just some far-away dream and you’re supposed to sit there and make small talk with the tyrant that captured and enslaved you without getting the opportunity to sock him in his stupid face—!!!

You know that wouldn’t help, and you know this isn’t Moonjumper’s fault - they’re as much a prisoner as you are, and they don’t want to get in trouble either. You take a deep breath and take his hand, putting on a brave but wavering smile. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

He nods to you, and if he understands or sees what you’re mentally going through, he doesn’t mention it. You suppose that’s for the best. 

“Then let us…away. I’m sure…at the very…least, you’ll enjoy…dinner.”

And with that, he led you to your proverbial grave. 

________________________________________________________

Snatcher sat at the head of the table, feast laid out before him, sharp claws tapping incessantly at the wood of the table. 7:50 PM, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his “special guest”, nor had he heard the stomping of their feet or the very obviously scathing complaints and insults that he had assumed he would hear upon them being brought to a dinner with their new master. 

And he was getting impatient.

The books he had in his chamber had bored him, as he had already read them each hundreds - if not thousands - of times. He couldn’t very well bother himself with roaming the manor - the walls and paintings and suits of armor had not changed since he had last seen them two hours ago, and there weren’t many places that revived…violent memories. He didn’t have to deal with the trouble of primping and making himself look nice, being entirely ethereal in composition. He couldn’t care less about how Moonjumper and the greenhorn were getting along with choosing something decent enough for you to wear to the dinner.

What’s a ghost to do?

He could torment the Conductor as he prepared the meal, but he supposed that would be a little too cruel, considering that he had demanded a feast to be ready to eat in 2 hours. The tyrant smirked to himself as he pictured the little…thing running around like a chicken with its head cut off, desperately pulling out every bit of culinary knowledge he knew to deliver to his master’s exact demands. Was comparing him to a bird offensive? Snatcher honestly wasn’t quite sure what the Conductor was…not that it particularly mattered to him, and if comparing him to another type of fowl was offensive, then he’d probably only do so more. 

So the only thing left to do was…wait at the perfectly prepared dining table. So that’s what he did. He sat at the head, watching the Conductor bring out the various dishes he prepared, trying desperately to avoid his master’s gaze, and he waited.

And waited.

…and waited.

… and waited.

Snatcher let out an undignified groan and sank further into the plush velvet of the chair. Maker, who knew doing nothing could be so…boring! He could normally pass his time with a book he hadn’t touched in ages or tormenting his servants, but he had neither time or energy to entertain those options. He dug his grave by choosing to sit at the dining table, now he had to lie in it. Damn his capricious nature! 

The clock ticked ever so slowly, the minute hand drolling and dragging along. The pendulum seemed to mock him, his impatient and bored reflection meeting his eyes every time it swung in the middle. The time read 7:54 PM. He glared at the clock as if his malicious stare would scare it into moving faster. As he watched the clock, Snatcher thought to himself…

He didn’t even know what he was so impatient for.

There was no longing desire in his cold, unbeaten heart to see the newbie again - he hadn’t even taken the time to remember their name with how inconsequential they are to him. He was not eager for the food, as he didn’t require it and only ate when he felt like it. This was just another simple initiation dinner. All his servants attended one just like this…well, the food would be decidedly better than before the Conductor joined his miserable little crew of misfits. Grooves didn’t realize how lucky he was to have come after his yellow-feathered friend. The Conductor himself probably developed food poisoning from his meal, and Snatcher was sure Moonjumper would have too, had it not been for…their specific circumstances. 

Just another initiation dinner, to really break them, to drive the point home that there was no home left for them. That they belonged to the winter wasteland now, that their physical body was forever doomed to perform manual labor as their soul resided in a jar, sad and lonely and pathetically weak without its body. 

Perhaps he was just impatient to see the newbie’s reactions to his insults and cruel jokes and teasing, making light of the fact that they’re trapped in this dingy old mansion forever. Despite being mortal, they had some bite to them, something that even the hot-headed Conductor daren’t have after signing his life and name away. Maybe he just wants to see that flame of resilience be put out once and for all. 

Though…a part of him wanted to see how long they would fight, how long and how brightly that flame would burn. They had no issues speaking back to him, and seemed only to be put in their place when they realized a fight was futile. That didn’t stop them from coming back, just the same, the next time. While he couldn’t care less for the human themself, he was interested by that spark that drove them. He was intrigued by their resilience, and wanted to see more of it. He didn’t want to break them completely too early in their little game - that would ruin the fun. Deep down, however, he felt something else restraining him from lashing out at them.

Maybe it was just because they were human.

Something he hadn’t seen or been in a long time.

He drowned that thought with a snarl. He couldn’t care less that they were human. He definitely did not miss being such a pathetically weak and fragile creature. He didn’t miss the feeling of being alive. He definitely actually hated when the human servant defied him, hated how it made him excited about having something familiar, something human, giving him a fun challenge. He hated how their spark was contagious.

He had no choice but to snuff it out. And he would do so at dinner tonight.

You had so generously graced the dining room with your presence precisely at 7:59 PM. Moonjumper was nothing if not punctual. Your arm was looped in his, and you wore a smile as the two of you joked and chatted. A sneer curled Snatcher’s lips as he watched the scene, but he quickly brushed it off and adopted his signature smile. 

He had to admit, you...cleaned up well. Too bad this is the only time you'll be honored to wear such nice clothes. Not that it matters to him. It was no doubt Moonjumper has chosen your outfit and probably forced you into it. He snickered - that's something he would pay to see. While Snatcher didn't let his eyes wander (something about having a sense of dignity or whatever), he noted how your attire flattered your figure well. And of course it was purple - what a treat, seeing you dressed up fancy in his signature color. Oohhh you must be hating everything about this right now. He reveled in the thought.

“So nice of you to finally join us, newbie. Take a seat and we’ll get started. Now.” 

He watched as you bit the inside of your cheek - most likely to bite back a rude remark - and removed yourself from Moonjumper, who was stuck between showing sympathy to his companion and being punished for doing such a thing in front of his boss. 

His golden eyes met yours as you sat. You both narrowed your eyes at each other, both refusing to look away. 

The Conductor, having just finished placing the last of the food, cleared his throat. The clock rang out. 8:00 PM, on the dot. 

“Er…uh. Ahem. Dinner is er…served.” And with that, he quickly retreated to the sanctity of the kitchen. Neither you nor your tormentor had looked away.

It was going to be a long night, indeed.

Chapter Text

Five minutes into the dinner, and neither of you had touched the food so painstakingly prepared, nor had either of you looked away. Snatcher sat, imposing, overwhelming, pecking huge at the other end of the dining table. The table was long, but there still wasn’t enough distance between you for you to feel comfortable. You sat petulantly in your (admittedly comfy) chair, arms crossed and slouched down the back. Your feet were splayed out in front of you under the table. 

Snatcher, for the last five minutes, had been watching you sink slowly down the chair with a pout on your face, and had he not cared about appearances, he’d have laughed about the stupid, childish look on your face. Instead, he sneered at your form. 

“Sit up, newbie. You look like a child sitting like that.”

You resisted, miraculously, the urge to stick your tongue out at him. That’d probably only result in it getting cut off. He’d probably keep it in a jar and shake it up when he’s bored. Like the creep he is. Instead, you just scrunched up your nose and sunk a little lower in the chair. You should be allowed to be petty, given the EVERYTHING that happened to you recently. Moonjumper seems stressed out by your actions, but is helpless to stop you - he’d never dream of intervening during the Master’s initiation dinner. Your actions make Snatcher’s sneer deepen, and you hope that if he can even get them that you give him stress lines all over his stupid face.

“You’ve got guts testing my patience like that. But I said, sit up. ” His smile returns as he glowers at you, raising a clawed hand in your direction. 

You feel something tugging at your spine, like a string on a puppet. It pulls you up abruptly, nearly flinging you out of your chair. You are able to bite back a scream at the unexpected, involuntary movement of your body, but you do gasp and hiss in pain as your knees promptly collide with the wood under the heavy table, barely bumping the damn thing. You drop back down unceremoniously into your seat. You barely register the low chuckle of Snatcher before it becomes full-blown laughter, booming across the room. It seems to bounce off every surface directly into your ears, and you swear you could feel it scraping against your eardrums. You gape at him, mouth open, and you just know he’s gonna say that your face is– 

“PRICELESS! Oh, you should see the look on your face!” Snatcher does an impression of you, eyes wide in faux shock, and jaw literally hitting the floor. If it wasn’t this prick you were dealing with, you may have actually found it funny how it did then. You snap your mouth closed in irritation - so hard it makes your teeth clack. This seems to only further amuse Snatcher, as another round of booming laughter pierces your ears. 

“You’re lucky you’re so amusing, newbie,” Snatcher started. “If you weren’t so funny, you’d probably already be dead. Buuuuuuuut you probably already knew that, didn’t you. HA! Thanks for the constant entertainment.” If your very life weren’t on the line, and if you physically could, you’d whack him upside the head with this dinner table. You sat in silence, instead, and just glowered at him, sitting up properly this time. 

“There we go. Was that so hard?” Snatcher’s grin was cruel, and you refused to dignify his rhetoric question with a response. He didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. “Anyway, eat up! I can’t eat any of this anyway.” 

A plate full of all the goods laid out on the table manifested before you. You eyed it warily, barely fighting the urge to pull away in distrust. Snatcher laughs again, “Oh, come on now. You’re gonna let this food go to waste? And after The Conductor had worked soooooo hard to prepare it. You’re gonna break his little heart!” Snatcher shot a glance towards the door leading to the kitchen, where indeed there was The Conductor peeking through to see if you enjoyed the food. From the corner of your eye, you could tell he was pretending not to look so eager about your reaction, or impatient for you to hurry up and eat. You let out a huff of a chuckle - if The Conductor made this, then there was a very slim chance that it was poisoned…by The Conductor at least. Snatcher still could have done something to it…but you didn’t want to keep The Conductor waiting too long…but—

“Maker’s sake, it isn’t poisoned or anything. That would be a pretty pathetic way to go when I’m around.” Snatcher scoffed and rolled his eyes at your wariness. “Besides, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. Didn’t we just go over this? Keep up, newbie.” 

Maker, if he was going to act like this he might as well call you by your name. It isn’t like he doesn’t know it - the creep probably kept your stupid contract pinned up on the wall of his bedroom to give him a final laugh before sleep. If he even slept. Maybe he just stayed up all night just staring at his precious little contracts. Like a creep! But you knew better than to respond to his words by this point, and just began eating the mountain of food in front of you.

The food, admittedly, was slightly burnt, but it was still honestly really tasty! You hummed your approval and shot The Conductor a thumbs-up under then table as you took another big bite. His feathers puffed up and his chest puffed out with pride. You chuckled at the sight - he looked two times bigger than normal. With a satisfied smile and a nod, he turned and left back into the kitchen, though you could see he left the door open juuuuuust a crack, probably to keep checking in every so often to make sure the food was to your liking. You huffed out a laugh and hid your small smile behind your food, pretending to just cover your mouth while you chewed. 

Snatcher watched your interaction. He ‘hmph’d, though you didn’t seem to notice. It seems you’re actually making friends in a place that’s supposed to be your, y’know , eternal hell. Well, this just won’t do. He sneered again at how happy you looked when walking in with Moonjumper or when interacting with The Conductor, though several feet away and not directly in contact with him at all. He didn’t know what he hated more: the fact that you were happy with them, or…

He didn’t want to entertain that second option. Instead he “coughed” loudly to get your attention. Unsurprisingly, as soon as you looked up from your food and your mental game of footsies with The Conductor, your smile dropped. You sat back in your chair, trying to keep all emotions off your face. Snatcher didn’t deserve your smile, after all. He rolled his eyes.

“Looks like someone’s getting comfy in their new forever home. Getting cozy with your crewmates, newbie?” He cringes at his own words, making a show of being disgusted with things like friendship . Gross. “This ain’t a luxury cruise, y’know. You’re supposed to be suffering.”

“Don’t worry, I am.” Fuck. It came out before you could even register what you were saying. You quickly shovel another spoonful of mashed potatoes in your mouth. Where the hell did they even get these? It’s forever winter outside. Anyway, back to Not Dying Because You Said Something Stupid To You Extremely Ill-Tempered Boss. You spared a glance at Snatcher, who was just studying you eat. His eyes were slightly narrowed. Yep, you were gonna get your tongue cut out. Better enjoy this dinner while you can. 

“Perfect!” What? “If you find any way I could prolong or worsen your suffering, do let me know. I know you’re here to serve me and all that junk, but torture is right up my alley!” You’re…not sure if he’s actually serious about this, or if this is just a joke to rile you up more. Regardless of what it really is, you decide not to dignify it with an answer. You just keep eating these mashed potatoes. Stars, there’s so much mashed potatoes. It’s like whatever you eat just replenishes itself on your plate. You have to keep your focus on these mystic mashed potatoes and not look at your boss ever in your life. Wow, these mashed potatoes sure are something, huh?

“...What, not gonna talk back? C’mon, newbie, let me know how to make your life a living hell! You don’t have to tell me anything else though. I don’t want your stupid backstory or whatever.” Man, these mashed potatoes are just so interesting!! You just can’t take your eyes or focus off them, and you certainly can’t stop eating them, and it would be rude to talk with your mouth full. You spare Snatcher a glance and shrug, pointing to your plate. 

“Stars, you’re insufferable.” In an instant, your plate of genuinely delicious food is flung across the room, the plate breaking and the food hitting the wall with a sad, wet splosh. You turn to give Snatcher A Look, but find that when you turn, he’s only five inches from your face, give or take. To your credit, you manage not to scream, but you do gasp a very deep gasp, which makes you have a coughing fit as you were in the middle of swallowing. You duck your head away subconsciously to cough - it’s rude to cough in someone’s face, after all - before you realize that he deserves having his face coughed into, but by then you can breathe normally again so it’s not even worth entertaining. 

“C’mon, newbie. I really wanna know. Perhaps I should bring your sister and her little friend back?” In an instant, you’re seeing red, but you know better than to actually dent his stupid face with your fist, despite the fact that you really, really want to. “Oops, looks like I struck a nerve. HAH! It seems like that sweet, deep sense of protection runs in your family. It’s gross. You guys should talk to your doctor about that. No, I don’t want that snot-nosed brat running around the manor. If they really are anything like you, I’d have my hands full trying to wrangle two unruly servants, and I’m a fairly busy ghost, y’know. Like figuring out how to make sure you know your place, greenhorn. Which is where the living hell question comes in. Sure, I could throw things at you left and right and see what sticks, but that’s waaaaay too much effort on an insignificant speck like you. HAH!” Man, he sure loved to hear himself talk. By sheer will, you force your blood pressure to remain at a healthy rate, or you’re sure you would have actually exploded by now, given the limitation of your contract allow that. You’re sure Snatcher couldn’t care less if you spontaneously exploded. He still hasn’t left your personal bubble. He’s actually expecting an answer. You cross your arms and sit back, making sure to still be sitting up properly, lest you be yeeted into the ceiling. 

“I don’t think you’d like torturing me as much as you think.”

“Oh, I very much think I would. C’mon, what’ll it take to get you t’crack? Iron Maiden? Shadows shifting and watching you? The stocks? Give me something to work with, here.”

“I think my living hell would be having to be near you longer than need be.” There you go! Just ripping the bandaid off and sealing your doom! You could see The Conductor from the corner of your eye clutching his feathers, bringing his hat down to his heart, already mentally imagining your epitaph. ‘Here lies (Y/N), they said some real dumb shit’. But hey, at this point, if you’re gonna go, you’re gonna go on your own terms. 

You and Snatcher had silently engaged in another staring contest. You began to get restless, hands tightening around the fabric of your jacket, willing yourself to keep staring, don’t blink, don’t look away—

“HAH! You’re right, that would be torture for me too, and unlike you, my afterlife is meant to be luxurious. I’m not gonna spend it mucking around with peasants like you.” Peasants?? What, like he was an actual prince or something? “Sooo we’ll go with option B: throwing everything at you until something sticks or you finally crack and coming crawling back for mercy. Really, it’s your own fault you’re so stubborn. No skin off of my back about what happens to you.” He leaned in closer, and you shrunk under his gaze, continuing to press yourself back against the chair in an attempt to get away from him. You’re sure it would’ve toppled by now, if it weren’t for his arms pressing down on the arms of the chair. His next words were hushed and hissed, and for a moment, you felt like you were talking to the devil himself with how Snatcher’s presence completely overwhelmed you. For a moment it felt like everything around you was just him. 

“But know this, newbie. You’re gonna be gonna verrrrry tight leash from now on. One misstep, one single mistake, and you won’t even have time to scream before I break your bones to dust, melt your muscles to goo, use your cold, dead body as a pin cushion, and I’ll make sure your soul feels itself being torn to pieces, sinew by sinew, until all that’s left of you is a fast-fading memory and your name on a piece of paper on my wall. Do I make myself clear?” You’d gone stiff in terror. He must’ve used magic or something, because as he spoke, it was like you could feel each threat taking place in your very much put together body. You could see and feel every sensation of dying the way he described it, and later on you would mentally applaud yourself for not screaming or squirming in pain and fear. Though they were brief, the flashes of pain you got with every detail  were enough to immobilize you. 

“I said, ” He grabs your face abruptly and pulls you as close to him as possible without having your faces actually touch, “Do I make. Myself. Clear?” You nod as best as you could with your face still in his massive, clawed hand, managing not to cut yourself on the talons themselves. It’s a miracle you haven’t made a mess of yourself out of fear. 

His malicious grin grew. “Use your words.” 

“Yes, I understand. You make yourself clear.” His presence looming over you was suffocating, and being so close to him was genuinely almost nauseating. It seems he saved the worst of himself for tonight. Though he appeared satisfied with your answer, as he hummed and pulled away, slinking back to his chair at the far end of the table, hands intertwined and smiling as if nothing had happened. 

“Good. Now, eat up.” Another plate, once again full of food, manifested itself in front of you. “You wouldn’t want your food to get cold.” And with that he simply. Vanished. You didn’t even have time to have the mental battle of wondering if asking ‘Where are you going?’ was even worth it. But, indeed, you wouldn’t want this food to go to waste, and you went to pick up your fork…only to find that your hand was shaking. Heh…that’s weird. When did that start happening? You raise your other hand to find it shaking as well, and while you’d like to attribute it to the righteous anger you felt towards your captor, you knew that would be a lie. You knew this tremble was related to a truly new-found fear of your boss. Those visions…those sensations…it feels as if you’re watching a movie as your arms move on their own accord to envelope you in a hug to soothe yourself. 

You see the tear land on the table before you even realize you’re crying. 

You hear the rushing of wind and the patter of feet as Moonjumper and The Conductor quickly rush to your side. Moonjumper lays a single hand on your shoulder, and The Conductor struggles to pull over a chair so he could place a gentle hand on your arm without an issue. You find your whole body shaking in fear, and you duck your head into your hands as you sob. You cry and you cry, this time not for Hattie, or for Bow, but for yourself and this wonderfully horrible situation you got yourself into. You’re tired of being strong for everyone else, you’re tired of fighting…but you’d be damned before you gave yourself into the whims of that monster! You hear Moonjumper say something to The Conductor, and you feel his hand vanish, replaced soon by the flipper of one Grooves, who tries rubbing comforting circles into your back. 

“...Come along, darling. I think it’s time we get you back to your room, hm?” At your shaky nod, Grooves pulls your chair out for you. He helps you stand, and you’re too out of it to register the slamming of objects and muffled screeches coming from above you. Your avian companions notice it, however, and while they’d like to let you take your time getting up and walking around after an event like that (your legs are still shaking a little), they’d much sooner get you to your room then let you be further distressed by…ahem, any additional stimuli. 

You all make it eventually, and they offer to help you settle down, but you decline their offer with a small, watery smile. You’re glad their kindness hadn’t been destroyed, despite being here for who knows how long. You hope you’re able to persevere like them. They leave you to change into your pajamas - borrowed, like everything from your new wardrobe - and return with a gentle knock and a plate full of leftovers from the feast that mostly remained uneaten. 

“Thanks, guys,” You step back and gesture into your room, “care to join me?” They look like they’re about to protest, they wouldn’t want to impose or cause more damage to your currently rattled state, but before they get the chance you cut them off with, “I don’t think I’m ready to be alone quite yet.” 

At this, they’ve no choice but to agree, and settle into your room. Grooves seems just fine claiming a spot on the floor, and The Conductor all but jumps onto your bed. Your laughter cuts off Grooves’ objection about respecting another person’s things, and while still miffed about The Conductor’s lack of manners, is fine shutting his beak if you’re fine with it. You three fall into a comfortable conversation, just about general things - it felt too weird at this time to get into their personal lives before the mansion. You really just sat and ate while they two bickered about everything under the sun and more, and you really couldn’t have asked for a better distraction.

Or better friends in this Maker-forsaken place. 

It was hard to not feel on edge after tonight’s events, but everything soon settled into…a pleasant-enough atmosphere. 

And thankfully your room was far enough away from Snatcher’s that you couldn’t hear the commotion up above. 

___________________________________________________________________

To say he was furious was a gross understatement.  How DARE you speak to him in such a manner?! Like a cat his hackles were raised in outrage. Another bookshelf is toppled over in rage, its contents scattering or breaking upon impact, but he couldn’t care less. 

What he DID care about was why. Why?! Why didn’t he make good on his promise and crush you right there and then?! He didn’t need a reason to, you were by rights his property, his servant! He could dispose of you whenever he pleased - it’s not like he was short on staff or souls to torture. Then WHY?! Why couldn’t he just get rid of this constant growing thorn in his side?! Seeing you squirm and tremble wasn’t enough, he wanted to feel you give up all hope–!

And yet here he was. Destroying an old room that belonged to her that had yet to be destroyed, for whatever god forsaken reason. Probably the same reason he couldn’t find it in himself to smite you right there at the dinner table. Some deep part of him that begged for the feeling of nostalgia, of comfort, of some sense of normalcy, some remnant from his past life, some shred of humanity that pleaded and fought inside him, inside this…this thing he’d become,

Another table overturned, and down clattered a magic mirror, long forgotten by the prince. Another sweet parting gift from his beloved . Something to see the outside world, something to see what joy and love he was missing out on as the years passed and he stayed trapped in the mansion. With a snarl, he snatched it up and all but yelled, “SHOW THEM TO ME.” 

He didn’t need specifics. The inside of the mirror swirled like a gentle fog, before revealing you, Grooves, and The Conductor sitting in your room. You ate while they spoke, laughing and chiming in here and there while they told stories and argued about how said stories really went. He took a few breaths, despite not needing them, as he watched their gentle and playful demeanor with the birds of the mansion. The wisps of his form that stood on end in his anger soon returned to his body as he calmed down. Watching them interact like that…sure, it was infuriating, but something within him stirred with an unwarranted jealousy. He scoffed and gently tossed the mirror to the side where it landed on her bed, untouched and dusty from years of neglect. 

This same feeling was what had stirred inside him at dinner. It wasn’t that you weren’t supposed to be enjoying yourself and your companions, it was that, despite all odds, you were. You had made fast friends with the other servants, and you smiled at them. A human smile that came from a human soul. He recalled how brightly your soul shone in its jar on his shelf. Your resilience, your hope and determination to stay true to yourself…Snatcher scoffed again. Those are the things getting in the way of your breaking point. He shouldn’t be caring about these things - he had sworn he had given up on finding a solution to his situation a long time ago. So why is all of this resurfacing now? Why did he get some unsanctioned feeling of hope when he saw you arrive for dinner? And why did that hope get squashed when he saw you walk arm in arm with Moonjumper?

Why did he further damage that hope within himself? All for some reputation and image that he didn’t need to uphold. He rubbed his temples. Why did any of that even matter? All of that should be inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. He tried to convince himself that no, he did give up on that hope a long time ago. He just…needed to get over himself. Needed to queel that stupid, determined, human part of him that just refused to die like the rest of him. 

With the perfect timing of an omnipotent being with the worst possible sense of humor, Moonjumper knocked on the door. He groaned - while he normally wasn’t in the mood to talk with Moonjumper, he didn’t really have the energy to excuse him either, and Moonjumper had already entered the room when he wasn’t answered with a harsh “GO AWAY.” 

“Master…would you like to…talk about tonight?” 

“Ugh…what is there to talk about?” Snatcher spared a glance to Moonjumper. 

“Well…have you considered…that they might be the one to…—”

“To break the spell? Yes, of course I did. I’m not a fool. Just like I considered the rest of the pathetic lots that are stuck here forever…present company withstanding. No offense.” He propped his head up against his fist.  

“None taken.” Moonjumper tapped his clawed fingers together nervously. “So…can't you just...make it happen? You fall in love…with them, and they fall…in love with you and…before we know it…the spell is bro–” A pot crashes into the wall next to his head. 

“It’s not that easy.” While he was furious at Moonjumper’s bold suggestion, Snatcher just…didn’t have the energy anymore. He knew the rose gifted to him from The Queen was beginning to wilt - he felt it deep in his soul every time another petal dropped. “They’re human and I’m…well, look at me.” He ended with a humorless chuckle. After a few years of being frightened by the thing looking back at him in the mirror, Snatcher had to adapt to his new body. No matter how many times he would find peace and solace and feel human again, look human again….the changes never lasted. He had to learn to embrace his new form…though seeing you….some repressed part of him looked at his clawed hands with disgust and contempt. 

“Master, you must…help them to learn..to see past…all that.” Eloquently put, Moonjumper thought to himself. 

Another dry chuckle left Snatcher, except this time it evolved into a cruel, humorless laugh. At some point, it sounded like it hurt to laugh like that. “Yeah, like with tonight’s dinner? Yeah I’m sure they’ll be swooning over me in no time.” 

“Well…I have often said that with the new…servants…you should learn to control your temper.” Another clay pot broke on the wall on the other side of his head. Maybe it was a bad idea to come up and talk to The Snatcher. “Please, Master, understand….they lost their sister and their…freedom all in…one day.” 

Snatcher scowled, and after a few moments of silence, muttered, “Get out.” 

And Moonjumper didn’t need to be told twice. He took his leave silently, internally kicking himself with legs he no longer had for making matters worse. He went down to join you and your other companions in your room. 

After a few more moments to himself, Snatcher took up the mirror again. “Show them to me.” It was quieter, more resigned. There you were, in the mirror once again, this time accompanied by Moonjumper. The Conductor had fallen asleep on the floor, dragged down by Grooves when he had begun showing signs of sleepiness. You and Moonjumper were talking, and it seemed to be getting pretty heated, judging by the way Grooves moved back from the two of you. “Let me hear them.”

Moonjumper’s raspy voice floated out of the mirror first. “My friend, I know the…master can be temperamental…but underneath all that…shadow…he’s really not so bad….why don’t…you give him a chance.” 

You look affronted by the suggestion, a frigid anger emanating from you - so cold, Snatcher could feel it through the mirror, and he stopped himself from shattering it right then and there. “Why should I give him a chance? Did he give any of you a chance? Did he give Hattie a chance?”

“Well, that’s—” “Well, once you get to know him…” Moonjumper and Grooves spoke at the same time, only to be cut off by your seething glare. 

“I don’t want to get to know him! I don’t want anything to do with him!”

That small, repressed human part of him felt its last remaining hope shatter.  A new slurry of different emotions rose within him, but he didn’t want to deal with them. He couldn’t deal with them. He doesn’t…do emotions anymore, and he’s convinced himself that this is why. He gently set the mirror aside, watching your image swirl into fog and eventually nothingness as the mirror just reflected his own ghostly face back at him. With a resigned sigh, he retired to his own room. He sat in his chair and just…existed. He didn’t need sleep - even if he did, he’d be kept awake by an incessant thought bouncing around his head. 

They’ll never see me as anything more than a monster.

…Well if that’s how it’ll be, then so be it. If they refuse to see him as anything other than a monster, then he’ll just be the monster they want him to be. Every time…every damn time he allowed himself to feel, this is how it ended: with the resolve to be the terror that they shook from, the shadow that lurks around the corner and haunts their nightmares. 

He grabbed a book. He’d need a distraction until the morning. 

__________________________________________________________________

Hattie had exhausted every option. Bow’s parents forbid her to help Hattie after listening to their story, and while they did care for you as another child, they couldn’t risk losing Bow permanently. Bow had tried to refuse their authority and was adamant about helping Hattie, but the latter agreed with her parents and went about looking for help on her own. Cat, unfortunately, was not going to be of help - while her baking prowess was unmatched, she wasn’t one for fights and rescuing, and felt she’d be more of a hindrance than anything else. She had wished Hattie luck, though, and promised to keep an eye and ear out for anything that might help. 

Most other adults around town didn’t favor you or Hattie, often ostracizing you both for not fitting in with their viewpoints or respecting the due leadership of the town. 

Speaking of which…

Out of options and with the small fire of hope fading from her, Hattie found herself scaling the ridiculously tall restaurant in the middle of town. She stood in front of the mafia’s doors, steeled her nerves, and entered the establishment.

It was going to be a long night for Hattie. 

Chapter Text

The first thing Hattie was assaulted with by the restaurant’s atmosphere was the lights, then it was the noise, and finally the smell. All her senses were truly overwhelmed by the restaurant, and if she wasn’t on a very important mission, she might have just collapsed under the staggering weight of the sheer aura of grossness. It was almost tangible (and it probably would’ve felt like curdling, greasy cheese, in Hattie’s humble opinion). Under normal circumstances, you and Hattie would steer as far away from the restaurant as you could, and under slightly different circumstances, Hattie and Bow might trash the outside area with toilet paper (the parts they could reach without climbing to the top, anyway). 

But these were not normal circumstances. Bow was grounded from doing basically anything after she had told her parents what had happened - Hattie knew they would help if their own kid hadn’t brushed so close with danger, they were good people like that - and you…

Well, you were trapped in a haunted mansion that was buried deep within the icy grasp of a never-ending winter, held prisoner by some maniacal 7-foot-something ghost and tasked to do menial housework for the rest of your now eternal life.

When she thinks about it, she can understand why most adults she asked for help thought she was crazy. But Hattie knew it was the truth, and she knew one town idiot might just be stupid enough to ignore the absurdity who might just believe her. And that town idiot was seated at the far end of the restaurant with his silly, too-big hat on his silly, too-little head. Hattie internally sighed. She’ll have to make her way through the sensory hell before her in order to ask for help from the last person she’d ever ask for help with anything.

Boss.

Or as she called him in her mind, Stinky Fartsio. Even if she could speak out loud, she wouldn’t dare call him that to his face. Not out of respect for him, but out of the fear that that might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and she would be the reason her only family would be kicked out of the only town they could afford to be in. Hattie didn’t want to be the reason you became any more stressed than you already are. 

But enough of that - back to the task at hand.

She trudged her way through the Sensory Hell, dodging the glares and mocking laughter of the mafia that infested the place like cockroaches, making her way to the very back. The smells were worse back here - eugh. Hattie had to remind herself that she was doing this for you - you had better be able to feel the love of her sacrifice from that stupid mansion you were trapped in. She hopes that love smothers you like a blanket fort made of weighted blankets. Her eyes look up to the ridiculously tall bar stoll that Boss sat on. 

He was already looking down at her. 

Not that her well-loved hat gave her away among the crowds of similarly dressed mafia members. Did the mafia not encourage individuality? How did Boss keep track of them all, if he even bothered to do so? Hattie supposed she should give credit where credit is due, if he did. 

Boss snaps his fingers in her face, breaking her out of her thoughts. Eugh. She couldn’t believe THIS was the jerk that was head over heels for you. You deserved so much better! 

“Hey, pipsqueak,” like he’s one to talk, “What do you want? You are not even supposed to be here! This section is Mafia only.” He smirked down at her, “If it were not for your connection with the most perfect person in town, you would be kicked flat out on your butt right now - you should be grateful!”

Hattie, blessedly, managed to refrain from grimacing, masking her emotions with a mostly-neutral face. Sure, grateful to be in the dingiest diner on the face of the Earth. What an absolute honor. 

“Come on, pipsqueak - Boss doesn’t have all day.”

It just now occurs to Hattie that she’ll have to actually talk to Boss to relay her predicament. Of course Hattie had the ability to speak, but she rarely used it - her outburst in the manor had broken a record of silence that lasted three years. She was grateful that you never pushed her to talk when she clearly preferred being nonverbal. But obviously such basic manners would not be offered to her in her present company. Hattie managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes as she cleared her throat.

“I need-” her voice was croaking, groaning like an old door well past its last oiling. She coughed and cleared her throat once more, ignoring the face Boss made at her. “- I need…your help. It’s got them - it’s got them locked in a dungeon.” Miraculously, Hattie bit back tears that threatened to spill once you were brought up. Everything was still so fresh, Hattie had barely gotten a wink of sleep, despite the fact that her body sorely needed it. Despite its recent freedom, her soul longed and begged to go back to the mansion to be with you. If it could, she’s certain her soul would physically drag her back to that stupid haunted mansion, despite the danger. 

Boss cocked a brow at her. “Who?”

“(Y/N)” Who else? Both Boss’ eyebrows shot up, though his face was still one of confusion rather than understanding.   “It’s got (Y/N), we hafta go, we gotta hurry-!”

“Whoa, slow down, pipsqueak. Who’s got (Y/N) ‘locked in a dungeon’,’ huh?” His tone was incredulous, borderline mocking. If he wasn’t her last hope and leader of the mafia, Hattie could have estranged him. 

“A beast!” Her voice squeaked. “A horrible, monstrous beast!” 

At this point, the entire diner had quieted down and listened to her (and made sure nothing bad happened to the Boss at the hands of this little girl - you can never be too safe). All eyes were on her. The silence was deafening, the air thick with some kind of tension that Hattie couldn’t describe. Her breathing became ragged as she felt their cold stares shoot ice down her spine. Normally, Hattie wouldn’t be scared of them, but with how wracked her nerves already were…

She jolted as the sound of cruel, gruff laughter echoed around her. Her eyes scanned the room, full of grown men jeering and pointing down at her, their heads tossed back with a mean mirth. Her hands shook as their laughter rang in her ears. Tears bit at the corners of her eyes.

How many times was she going to be laughed at? How many times would her pain be ridiculed? 

Her large, misty eyes finally locked with Boss’, only to find him chuckling along. A goon came up to her, too close for personal comfort. 

“Is it a big beast?”

She nodded, “Huge!”

“With a wide, wicked grin?”

She shook, “Hideously wicked!”

“And sharp, cruel fangs?”

The tears began falling from her eyes as she all but pleaded with the men who made her and her family’s life miserable. “Yes, yes! Please, will you help me?” 

“Alright, pipsqueak. We’ll help you out.”

The laughter had all at once stopped when Boss hopped off his barstool and stood a proud 2 and a half inches taller than Hattie. The goons exchanged looks between each other, shocked at their boss. His voice was so serious…and yet the nod he gave to the two closest goons made each goon’s face give way to a wicked smirk of their own.

Hattie practically lit up, and if she weren’t scared of contracting a disease, she’d have hugged Boss. “You will?! Thank you, thank y-” her hoarse reply was cut short as she was picked up by the neck of her jacket, much like a kitten being held by the scruff of its neck. She squirmed and struggled as she was carried to the entrance, afterwards being rudely dropped outside the door like a pile of garbage. Hattie let out an ‘oof’ as she landed quite abruptly, watching as two goons shut the door to the restaurant. Boss stood right behind the doors, a proud and cruel smirk on his face as he turned his back to her and returned to his seat. Hattie was struck silent and dumbfounded. More fat tears spilled down her face, hitting the pavement below with a pathetic splosh . Her reflection stared back at her from the tinted windows of the restaurant’s door. In her dazed state, Hattie picked herself up off the ground and silently wandered home. Her heart was broken into a million pieces as she trudged through the streets, ignoring the looks cast her way and the warm tears that never seemed to stop. 

She lumbered into her cold and empty home, one heavy footstep after another. The door shut quietly behind her, and she slumped against it, sliding down until she sat curled up against it. She let herself cry freely in the privacy in her home. As she sat in the vacant darkness of her once loud and lively home, all her heart could ponder was,

Will no one help me?

Back at the restaurant, the air had once again been filled with uproarious laughter. Several mafia goons were reenacting the scene, before slapping each other on the back and laughing about it again. Boss allowed himself to laugh along as he returned to his barstool.

“Crazy little hat kid,” one goon barked out a laugh.

“Always good for laugh!” Replied another.

Boss stopped mid-sip as he heard their words. Crazy little hat kid, hm? Boss tilted his head back as he drank, pondering. Crazy little hat kid…

His wicked smirk returned as he finished off his drink. Something wonderfully bad was brewing in his brain as he watched his goons muck about the restaurant. 

Crazy little hat kid, indeed.

After dinner, your night was relatively uneventful. Your companions had backed off of the subject of giving Snatcher a second chance after you snapped, which you were grateful for. You apologized for your outburst shortly after, but they assured you there was nothing to apologize for; that they understood your pain and frustration. The Conductor was awoken by your outburst as well, for which you excessively apologized, but he waved it off as the others did. You all fell into an easy conversation after that, full of smiles and stories, mixed in with squabbling from the birds.

“You know,” you started, “you two really act like an old married couple sometimes.” This had caused two very undignified squawks, followed by several curses (not towards you), and one very mortified “Well, I NEVER!” You and Moonjumper shared a laugh at your avian companion’s expense, and because it got you to smile, they didn’t really mind. You couldn’t help but notice how they never actually denied it though…you tucked that thought away for later.

After about 30 minutes, Moonjumper left to attend to his nightly duties (was Snatcher making him work during his sleep hours? Did Moonjumper need to sleep? Did Snatcher??), leaving you alone with the energetic birds. It seemed like The Conductor’s little power nap did wonders for his energy, and Grooves just seemed to have an unlimited supply. Did…anyone in this mansion actually need sleep? Did not having a soul make sleep irrelevant? You yourself didn’t feel sleepy, but you slept on the first day here? Or, at least, you were knocked unconscious by the sudden lack of soul. Did that count? 

Grooves snaps his flipper in front of your face (somehow - how did he do that without fingers?), snapping you out of your trance. You really need to break out of that habit, especially around here. You blinked your eyes at him and nodded apologetically. “Sorry, kind of zoned out there.”

“Aye, we could tell.” The Conductor was sharply elbowed in the ribs by his companion, who was muttering something about manners. 

“You’re a master with etiquette, darling.” You couldn’t see them, but you swore you could feel The Conductor rolling his eyes. Regardless, you snorted, and that put a smile back on their beaks. 

“Did I miss anything important?”

“Nothing too important, no. We were just offering you a tour around the mansion.” Grooves beamed, his smile as dazzling as his modified waistcoat. A tour of the mansion? But you’ve already had one with Moonjumper…ah, they must not have told the birds before they showed you around. You didn’t want to tell them you were already acquainted with the mansion, though, so you nodded and stood from your bed. 

“Sure! I’d love to have you guys show me around.”

Grooves went to take your arm, but was quickly pulled aside by The Conductor. He hissed at Grooves, speaking in poorly concealed whispers.

“Are you quite sure that’s a good idea? We dinnae want them poking around certain places, Grooves.” 

To which Grooves responded by pushing The Conductor off of him and brushing himself off, as though the smaller bird had dirt on his hands. He was about to answer with a good retort before you stepped in.

“Why don’t you lead the tour then? I’m sure you know all there is to know about the mansion.” You smiled coyly at the small yellow bird, who in turn clammed up. Whatever Grooves’ response was, it was quickly replaced with a smug look. The Conductor looked to you, then to Grooves, then back to you, before puffing his chest out proudly and huffing, “Well, yes, actually, I do,” while futilely trying to hide his faint blush. 

Moments later, you found yourself whisked into the nearest hallway as The Conductor rambled off about the stylings of the architecture. You’ll admit, you hadn’t pegged him to be the one who knew his baroque stylings. You figured that was more up Grooves’ alley, but you’re pleasantly surprised that The Conductor did agree to be the one guiding this tour. You are learning SO MUCH about architecture that you never would have dreamed about learning. 

“If’n ye didnae know, baroque architecture first appeared in Italy durin’ th’seventeeth century, ‘n it uses many-o basic elements from the renaissance architecture.” Wow, he really knew his stuff. You did your best to follow along with his lecture, but many of the words were long and hard to understand with his thick accent, so you just nodded where appropriate and tried to absorb all you could. Grooves didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the actual lecture either. Instead, he was busy admiring the lecturer. You shot him a smug look when The Conductor’s back was turned, to which he quickly looked away. Heh. Nerd. 

They lead you up a staircase to a part of the mansion Moonjumper hadn’t spent much time showing you, instead ushering you along after you had inquired about the apparently actually real frozen person that decorated the hallway. But The Conductor seemed not to mind, leading you past various doors before stopping halfway down the hallway and turning around. 

“Aaaaaand that concludes the in-depth and historical tour. I hope ye were takin’ notes.” He puffed his chest again proudly as he spoke. But you ignored him. You hadn’t paid it much mind before, as you were still stewing in your anger, but now, the end of the hallway drew your curiosity. 

“What’s down there?”

The Conductor froze and chuckled awkwardly. “What? Down there? Oh, heh, nothing, absolutely nothing at all, just the West Wing, gatherin’ dust. Nothin o’ interest!”

“The West Wing? Moonjumper never mentioned a West Wing…” you stepped closer down the hallway. Grooves, this time, rushed in to block your alongside his companion.

“Well, that’s because it’s forbidden!”

Beside him, The Conductor palmed his face in annoyance and groaned. “Nice goin’, idjet.” 

“They deserve to know!”

“What’s hidden up there?” Your voice once again broke their soon-to-be argument. They both snapped their attention back to you (but not before The Conductor could sneak a quick and harsh elbow to Grooves’ ribs). 

“Hiding? Ach, the Master’s not hidin’ anything at all!” The Conductor dismissively waved his hands back towards the entrance of the hallway, silently urging you to stop asking questions and let them all leave without being horribly mangled. 

“Then it wouldn’t be forbidden.” You smirked and took another step towards them. It was now Grooves’ turn to glare at The Conductor, returning his jab to the ribs from earlier. 

“Uh, p-perhaps you’d like to see something else? Perhaps the gardens, o-or the library?” 

You paused and smiled wide. “You have a library?” It’s been a while since you had a new book, and since you’d never be able to finish the one you were working on before everything else happened , you figured having a new book or two would help pass the time when you weren’t busy. 

Both birds perked up at this opportunity to get you out of the accursed hall. “Yes!” squawked Grooves, “A big library!”

“With tons o’ books!” Piped in The Conductor. 

“Gads of books!”

“Mountains!”

“Forests, cascades, and valleys of books!”

“More books than yer could ever read in a lifetime! Or…afterlifetime, I suppose.” You laughed along with him and stepped aside so the two could take the lead towards the library. You followed them for a few steps…before falling back. They seemed not to have noticed, happily turning the corner, still elated and shouting about just how many books that library had. 

No, instead you returned to the hallway, much more lifeless and ominous without the company of your friends. Still, your curiosity was eating at you. What had the Master hidden away in there? Some sort of weapon? A key item to his mysterious, yet probably rotten and bratty backstory? Your souls?

Your heart beat faster at the prospect. You’re not typically one for going back on your word, much less a legally and mortally binding contract, but if there was a chance for you to escape this living hell and return to your sister and Bow and even that damned village and Boss (of all things!), you’d take it in a heartbeat. You snuck down the hallway, the only lighting provided being the candles, which somehow burned a dark purple flame, and the eternal snowstorm outside. In the back of your mind, you felt like this was vaguely reminiscent of a horror movie and that you were going to die any second. 

Yeah, right. Like anything worse could happen to you. Snatcher said it himself - if he wanted you dead, he’d already have done so by now. You’re not sure what else he could do to you after tonight to make your life any worse…though a chill shoots down your spine at the memory of his threat. You’ve no doubt he would actually go through with it if he so desired, but did sneaking into his private, forbidden room really warrant such a reaction?

…you decided not to think about it. 

Instead, you held your breath as you quietly opened the door. The damned thing creaked like a crypt, but didn’t seem to be loud enough to disturb anyone. You gave a quick look around the hallway - checking one more time to make sure no one was there, and after confirming no one was, you pulled open the door…

…and took a step inside.

Chapter Text

The inside of the room was somehow darker and colder than the hallway. You could barely make out what you were seeing, and had it not been for the balcony that overlooked the winter wasteland, you would have been rendered completely blind in the room. You reached your hand out for a wall to guide you. The wallpaper was scratched and faded in multiple areas, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed that a wild animal had been let loose in here. 

You knew what really happened here…probably. You couldn't help but feel a little bad for the room…

And some deep, unchangeable kind part of you also felt…sort of bad for Snatcher. You had an understanding of what he was like towards you and the other servants…but what exactly was he hiding behind that all?

That’s exactly what you’re here to find out. 

You ventured deeper into the room, hand trailing behind you on the old wallpaper, catching flecks of it as it peeled off.  You stopped as your hand caught the edge of a large, wooden frame, and you turned to see what it held. 

In front of you stood a painting that took up three quarters of the wall’s height. It made you feel tiny - you suppose perhaps that’s what it’s supposed to make you feel like. The canvas was fabric, a smooth, light, yet sturdy linen. The only way that you knew this was because the painting had been slashed at, presumably by the same…emotion that caused damage to the rest of the room. You could hardly make out what the painting was, but you could tell a lot of love went into it. 

You studied it as best you could with the dim light and ruined state of the picture. Obviously it was a portrait of someone wealthy - the size and quality of the canvas told you that much. The portrait was from the shoulders up, and you could tell the subject was seated on a comfortable-looking, velvet chair. Their clothes were red with purple accents and lined with gold to accentuate their privileged position. A white, frilly cravat stuck out from their scarlet waistcoat, and you smiled at the little imperfection. It looked like their hair was a light brown , and it fell to their shoulders.

Their face, however, was missing. Marred by an anger that ruined the beautiful painting, three diagonal claw marks scarred the painting’s face, obscuring it beyond recognition. 

It was a shame, you thought. They seemed like they had such a lovely smile. 

You shook yourself out of your trance and continued further into the room. You probably didn’t have much time, and you’ll be damned before you let yourself get caught admiring the decor. Still, as you moved on, your heart weeped for the artist - to spend such a long amount of time and devotion to a beautiful painting, only to have it destroyed. But…why? Why would Snatcher destroy it like that? Did he know that person before? Or was it just destruction born from a temper tantrum, and the portrait just happened to be the closest, destroy-able object? 

Whatever. That more than likely doesn’t concern you, and it’s not like you’d get any answers by waiting around or asking Snatcher himself. He’d probably gut you like a fish the moment he found out you were in here. With that thought in mind, you found yourself quickening your pace. Across the portrait was a standing mirror that had been struck - pieces of it were scattered on the floor, and your reflection looked back at you with multiple eyes, all wide and broken in the remnants of the mirror. Further into the room, you found it bore the same damage as the first part of the room - curtains were torn to shreds, cabinets and bookshelves overturned, pillows and mattress in absolute disarray. The only reason you could recognize them is because you couldn’t think of anything else they could be. 

The only surviving furniture was a large, red, velvet chair and a nightstand situated next to it. A single book sat on the table next to a hand mirror. You hurried over, excited to see something new in this warzone of a room. You gently picked up the mirror and inspected it - although the handle of the mirror was very ornate and embellished with flecks of gold among the silver, the mirror seemed like…a normal mirror. Unlike the standing mirror you saw before, there wasn’t a scratch or fleck of dust on it. Similarly to the mirror, the chair, book, and nightstand were all in perfect condition. These, obviously, for whatever reason, were special. You gently set the mirror down and ran your hand along the arm of the chair. Like you expected, it was very soft and plush - the velvet felt like heaven under your hand, and you could feel how fluffy the material underneath was. It was large, to suit Snatcher’s size, but it was also…admittedly a little underwhelming. It seemed like such a normal chair for someone as pompous as he is. Though, you suppose, there probably aren’t many vendors who sell chairs his size, and if they were, they were definitely far, far away from this wasteland. 

No, this chair simply looked…simple. Homely. You can tell how well-loved it is by the faint fading of the deep red in certain places. The thought made you smile a little before you could catch yourself. It seemed a little silly to picture Snatcher being comfy and cozy in this welcoming little corner in a room trashed beyond repair. Tucked away on a cold snowy day with his book…you pictured him reading like an old lady, hunched over with big, coke-bottle reading glasses, snuggled up in a hand-made blanket. You stifled a snort at the thought. You…also pointedly tucked the fact that his book was called “How to Kill Kids” for fuel for your hatred fire. Not that it really needed any more fuel at this point. You made your way to the back of the chair, honestly surprised that the back remained as untarnished as the front was. However, you’d have to save your musings for later.

Behind the chair was another small table, made of dark steel and glass. On top of the table was a glass dome that housed…a floating flower? 

…Well, you’ve seen weirder things. 

You made your way over, cautiously, like a tiger stalking its prey, afraid that one wrong move and it would disappear entirely. When you reached the table, you gently ran your hand over the glass - it was very cold - and studied the flower.

It was a rose…obviously a magic one, because the whole ‘floating in a glass dome and still alive despite being in a land wrought by the cold’. Mostly alive, at least. It looked like it was fighting for its life in there - it had lost a good majority of its petals, its leaves were starting to wilt, and the stem was beginning to bow. You felt sad for it - it was just another one of Snatcher’s prisoners, though you’re sure Snatcher didn’t yell or threaten it as he did with his living(?) servants. Probably.

Again, though, your musings would have to wait. 

There. Behind the flower’s table, hidden by the ridiculously large armchair sat a bookshelf. There were hardly any books on it, but you didn’t care much for the number of literature pieces Snatcher had. 

There on the bookshelf was your soul. It was placed among two other souls, and it would hardly be discernible at all if it weren’t for the fact that it called to you. You felt it pull at the empty spot in your chest, subconsciously drawing you closer. It flickered with life as you drew closer. It almost seemed like it was on fire. It was beautiful.

You missed it.

And by the way it’s frantically zooming around its little jar, alight with life and vigor, you could tell it missed you too. You wanted nothing more than to grab it, free it of its prison, and hold it tight.

Unfortunately, it was up on a shelf you couldn’t reach - it sat three feet above you. You’re sure that you could easily scramble up there, but that would risk bringing the bookcase down, and while you couldn’t care less about Snatcher’s furniture, you know a crash that loud would attract his attention, and ultimately your demise. You refused to die here. Not when your soul is RIGHT THERE! Snatcher would mock you in your afterlife forever. 

You’ll be damned before you let someone like him mock you eternally after your death. You can hardly stand it right now. You went to look around the room for something to help you reach your soul, but before you could move back around the armchair, you heard the crrreeeeeaaaaak of the door opening, and you froze in panic. 

A low, raspy sigh escaped Snatcher (it wasn’t hard to guess it was him after that) as he entered the room. It was…truly a tired sigh. Not one of his huffy sighs he does to show he’s bored with whatever you were saying. It was heavy and tired and…almost defeated? You shook that thought away - you couldn’t even begin to imagine what in Hell would make Snatcher sound so….Not-Snatcher. 

Maybe he had to deal with someone equally as annoying. Like his reflection.

You stifled another snicker, almost choking yourself with the force needed to keep quiet. You stayed hidden behind the giant armchair, listening to him rustle around with some things in the room before settling down on his chair. Instead of reaching for the frankly disturbing book on the small table next to him, Snatcher used his…ghost magic to float a book off the bookshelf and into his claws. You didn’t get a good look at it, but from what you saw in a glimpse it looked like an old, classic story, one you probably saw gathering dust in your town’s library once. You took a look back at the bookshelf, and when you were actually looking, you saw a wide array of genres - even some romance books and a few…law books? Weird. But interesting. But mostly weird. You couldn't help but peek around the corner of the armchair, risking giving yourself away, but you just…wanted to see what he looked like when he wasn’t angry. He looked…almost…human? 

You heard Snatcher sigh once again as he cracked into his book and you shook yourself out of your trance. Shit. How long were you going to be trapped here? Fuck. What’s he going to do once he inevitably finds you? You doubted he slept, and it’s not like you could wait him out if you did. He’d probably notice you were neglecting your duties with his weird ghost magic and hunt you down, and you couldn’t run fast enough to beat his shadow teleportation powers he had. Crap. You were starting to panic - you couldn’t stay here much longer. You slowly started backing up from the chair, trying to be as quiet as possible while keeping your attention on Snatcher, just in case he happened to know you were here the whole time and was playing another one of his stupid games with you to get you into more sh-

You bumped into the table that housed the rose. Your eyes widened. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. You turned to right the table before it could fall and break the glass on top, but in your haste, you slammed the table back with a little too much force. 

THUD.

Shit. 

He definitely heard that. The gentle rustling of the pages stopped immediately. In horror, you turned back around slowly to see Snatcher’s golden eyes already boring into yours. His expression was…unreadable, but not because he wore his signature wide, wicked smile. There was almost no emotion to his face - which no longer looked human in the slightest. The only thing you could pinpoint was shock. He sat there with wide eyes, studying the scene before him. You, his newest, lowly servant, one hand one the glass of his most precious and hated treasure, the other pressing against the table like it would burn you if you pulled away. 

The silence seemed to last an eternity. Neither of you moved. You felt like you could hardly breathe. The tension coiled around you and squeezed the air out of your lungs. You could feel the cold terror creep down your spine like ice water. It seemed like eons before Snatcher spoke.

“What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. A silent, threat laced between five words and strung around your neck like a noose. There was nothing you could do to explain yourself. 

“I-I’m sorry, I-” You tried to explain yourself, but the ghost was having none of it.

“I’m sure you were explicitly told by one of my useless servants never to come here.” He all but growled out. You wanted to retort that his servants WEREN’T useless, otherwise why would he keep them around, but all you could do was whimper out your response, “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any harm!”

You quickly back away from the table as Snatcher reaches for it and gently pulls it aside. He looked at it wistfully, almost…sadly for a moment. That moment was incredibly short-lived, however, as his attention snaps back to you. The initial shock that graced his features was replaced with a snarling frown, with exposed teeth and bristling hair. 

“Do you realize what you could have done?” In anger, he swept a long arm out, crashing into the bookshelf behind you, knocking loose many items. Books and glass jars fell from above you, landing in scattered piles around your feet. “Please!” You cried out, “Please, stop!”

But he wasn’t listening to you. He was too lost in his emotions to listen. “Get. Out.” 

“But, I-” but you what? You didn’t even know what you were going to say. Some sort of half ass apology? Some snappy, sarcastic retort? You couldn’t find it in yourself to say anything. Whether that was from the utter fear you felt…or the saddened, hurt expression that mixed with Snatcher’s anger as you looked at him…you’d have to think about that another time. As for now, in the present, Snatcher was still trashing about, claws scraping against his velvet armchair, digging into the wood of the shelves that held his books and collection of souls.

The souls.  

You had no idea what would happen if the jars they were in broke. You tried to catch them, but Snatcher’s long arms beat yours to them. He scooped them up as they fell, almost absentmindedly, and tossed them somewhere behind him. They landed several feet across the room, still intact. You felt relief and dread at the same time. You couldn’t feel that way for long, though, as Snatcher got in your face. 

“Get. Out.” He snarled under hushed breath. His golden eyes would have pierced through your soul if you still had it in your body. Feebly, you shook your head, scrambling for something, anything , to say.

“I just-” your words were cut off as Snatcher leaned back and roared . 

“GET OUT!” His words seemed to shake the whole mansion, and now with your escape route in sight, you scrambled to your feet (you don’t remember falling back…) and pushed yourself to run. Just run. Just run! 

As fast as you could, you ran out of the room, Snatcher still thrashing and roaring behind you. You only hear him calm down as you reach the stairs, but that didn’t stop you. You rushed down the stairs, being sure to grab your old jacket from the coatrack in the foyer on your way out. Halfway to the door, your companions stepped into view, shocked by the rumbling of the mansion and your frightened face. No one made a move to stop you as you ran for the door, but you heard DJ Grooves call out to you, “Wh- Darling, where are you going?!” 

“Contract or no contract, I can’t stay here another minute!” Your voice was emotional. All the anger, hatred, sadness, fear, and despair that had been building up since you signed that damned contract released itself from where you kept it bottled up. You heard The Conductor squawk as you opened the door, the cold air nipping at your face and wiping away the tears that were beginning to form.

“Oh no, wait! Please, wait! You’ll die!” 

“I don’t care!” Your words managed to leave them all stunned into silence as you walked out and slammed the door behind you. Despite the elements working against you, you still ran. You ran through the frozen garden, all but barrelled through the rusted gates of the manor, and you continued to run even as you were met with the thick trees of the dense forest. 

You begin to run through the forest, but come to a stop when you hear a low growling echo through the harsh winter air. You  look up and see them. The wolves. Their eyes gleam bright through the winter winds, and a deep hunger is reflected through them. Pointed right at you. You gasp, trying to turn and flee. But where to? Certainly not back to the manor. You could feel your body grow cold and heavy from the snow and lack of soul. Didn’t Snatcher mention something about leaving without your soul? You had been too scared to grab it before, and now you’re stuck out in a frozen desert, surrounded by hungry wolves, slowly dying as you leave your soul further and further behind. Still…You can’t help but fight. You have to try! You’re NOT giving up and dying here.

The wolves are now chasing you, and you’ve gotten so turned around in the forest you have no idea where you are. You just have to keep running! Finally you run out into a clearing, looking around desperately for any sort of landmark to orient yourself, but in your distracted state, you fail to notice that what you really ran out onto was a frozen pond. It begins to crack under your weight. The wolves chase you onto the frozen pond, and their additional weight breaks the ice, but they’re still adamant about catching you, continuing to chase you in the water. Some began to drown, and the ice was beginning to crack around you as well - you took a panicked step forward, and sink your foot into the numbingly cold water below the ice. 

The wolves, or at least, the ones that managed to stay afloat or on the ice, are still after you. Damn them! Just give up on a meal, already! You manage to pull your foot out of the water, ignoring the way the wind bites and numbs it further, and are able to get off the pond before anything serious happens. You watch as the wolves struggle to make their way across the ice, and you allow yourself a moment of reprieve. 

Big mistake.

You’re able to dodge just in time, thanks to the loud growl from behind you. You duck to the side, but another wolf’s teeth catch the fabric of your jacket, almost bringing you down with it. Hastily, you grab a good, thick branch from the ground and start swinging. Your thoughts flash, repeated through your head.

I will not die here. I will not die here!

You’re able to beat a couple wolves back, but one wolf grabs the stick in its mouth and breaks half of it off, leaving you defenseless. Another leaps at you, grabbing the corner of your cloak and successfully dragging you to the ground. You breath catching in your throat. The adrenaline is still coursing through your veins, but your body is heavy without your soul and the cold is starting to get to you. You’re surrounded by ravenous beasts. Time slows, again. You look up and see a wolf about to jump on top of you. It leaps, teeth gleaming, saliva flying from its mouth, and all you can find yourself thinking is I’ll never see Hattie again . 

You close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable. You can’t fight anymore. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself as best you can for the stinging piercing feeling of teeth tearing into flesh…but it never comes. You open your eyes, the wolf only a foot above you, when it is suddenly flung away by a dark force. You sit up and see…

Snatcher. He throws the wolf away and places himself between you and the beasts. They lunge at each other. You can do nothing but watch. The only thing keeping you conscious is the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

One rips a hole in Snatcher’s shoulder, and you can see him snarl as the energy that makes up his ghostly body tears and flutters in the wind. I looks like someone tore through fabric, and his body sways. 

You didn’t know he could be hurt. 

The others focus their attack on that spot. You don’t know what emotion is fueling him right now,  but as soon as they approach, Snatcher picks one up and throws a wolf against a tree, knocking it out. The others turn and run in fear. You sit in the snow, slowly fading, frightened, and you turn to look at Snatcher. You could hardly keep your eyes off him during the fight, but you watched the wolves retreat to make sure they actually left. Snatcher turns back to you and looks at you…despairingly. Tired. Exhausted, even. He seems to fight with himself about reaching out towards you or keeping his pride by keeping to himself. You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity (again), before he summons something and tosses it your way. You catch it and your heart beats with a newfound vitality. 

It’s your soul.

You scramble to your feet, eyeing Snatcher wearily, who looks to be struggling to stand - the wound in his shoulder is bleeding energy, wisps of it floating off him and being taken by the wind. Another wound on his arm is doing the same. 

You can’t focus on that now, though. With trembling hands, you open the jar and feel your soul fly into you, embracing you like a long lost loved one. You’re filled with a warmth that ignites the life in you once again, but it does little to stave off the whipping cold. You look up at Snatcher…

Right as he collapses. 

You, grateful to be alive after everything, turn back to the forest and begin on your way. You have your soul. You have your freedom. You owe nothing to this place…but your conscience takes over. Despite the horrible things he’s done to you you can’t just…leave him out here to die. You stand, frozen, but not because of the winter storm that rages around you. You’re frozen because your soul - your damned, kind, caring soul - compels you to help. Maybe it would have been better if you didn’t get it back. You scoff, and after a moment of thought, you walk back over to the ghost. The true beast. You didn’t know he could be hurt physically. You didn't think he could be hurt at all. 

As you approach his body, you begin to reflect on…everything that just happened. 

You don’t know how, but…you did something to hurt him in his room. And while he’s scared the shit out of you and had taken your only remaining family and freedom in 5 hours, you can’t help but feel bad for hurting him…even if you didn’t know what you did. You’re not the type of person that hurts people. You’ve always been the one to try and help people. It’s why you were working so hard to get you and your sister out of that god-forsaken town. It’s why you sold your soul for Hattie.

It’s why you lean down and hoist the ghost’s arm over your shoulders, the other going around his body to support him. Shit - for a ghost, he’s got some weight on him. Damn your soul for being so kind! Putting your body through some serious shit the moment you got it back! You were just going to return him to the manor and then you were finally going to go home.

You were greeted at the door by Moonjumper, whose surprise was repressed in favor of helping you and their master back into the mansion. He sent for Grooves and The Conductor, who quickly got to work building a fire and making a warm meal, respectively. 

Moonjumper helped you seat Snatcher in another large chair in front of the fire. They hurried to get supplies, and as you turned to leave (for good), they ushered some sort of ancient medicine water in your hands with a pleading face. Moonjumper could only do so much - with his connection to Snatcher, he, himself, was feeling extremely worn out. But he couldn’t tell you that. So he just…silently begged for your help with Snatcher. Youmust have seen the exhaustion on his face - they were barely able to float straight. So, with a resigned sigh, you took the bowl of warm water and the rag, and went back to where Snatcher was starting to wake up.

He woke up with a grumble, like he was only hungover and not injured in a way that would actually kill mortals. You returned to his side to find him…licking at the wound on his arm. He looked at you wearily as you got close, hair bristling at your presence. You willed the anger out of your body and held out your hand for his arm. 

“Here, now,” you grabbed his arm and coaxed it closer to you. “Don’t do that. Just…stay still…” You gently pressed the rag against his arm and nearly tossed the warm medicine-water to the ground as he roared. He yanked his arm away with a hiss.

“That hurts!” 

“It wouldn’t hurt as much if you held still.” You grabbed his arm again.

He still kept it close to his chest, refusing to move it. He sneered down at you. “Well, if you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened!” He looked so pleased and smug with his response. Your face flushed with a mix of emotions.

“If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!”

“Nothing stopped you from doing it before.” He murmured as he narrowed his eyes at you as you patiently waited for him to let you have his arm. The rag was dripping onto your legs and the carpet below you. You stared each other down for a whole minute before he finally retorted, “You shouldn’t have been in the West Wing.” His servants, who were all peeking out from behind the kitchen door, froze. 

“Well you should learn to control your temper!” You bit back, glaring at him. He sneered again, mouth pulling into an ugly frown, before he huffed. He let you take his arm and he rested his head in his other hand, looking away. You nodded, “Now, Hold still. This might sting a little…”

You took this as permission to continue cleaning the wound, making sure to be gentle, though he would still flinch every time. Either this medicine really stung, or he was just a big baby. You cleaned his wound in relative silence, the only sound being the medicine-water moving in the bowl as you dipped the rag in, and the crackling of the fire. You repressed a hiss as you felt your foot slowly come back to life - the cold water had really taken a toll on it. You were too scared to remove it for fear of seeing it purple or possibly even gangrenous. If you lost your foot, Hattie would probably try and build you a robot one, but it would just be a crudely made foot that would hardly look like a foot carved from wood. 

A laugh bubbled up in your chest at the thought, and you were too tired to try and stop it. You set the rag down as you laughed away, covering your mouth with one hand in a poor excuse to hide your smile. You laughed so hard you snorted, and you really couldn’t even find it in yourself to care. You laughed for a whole minute, and tears streamed down your face - whether they were from joy or relief or bottled up emotions, you couldn’t tell. But it felt nice to let yourself cry. You couldn’t bring yourself to care that Snatcher was watching your hysteric breakdown of cry-laughing. After a minute, your laughter eased into giggles, and then finally nothing, but the small smile never left your face. You took a deep breath and began to get to work cleaning Snatcher’s shoulder - easily the nastier of the wounds, but it had already began to…scab(?) up, and you didn’t want to infect the injury on his arm with whatever bacteria was on the wolf’s teeth that bit him. 

He stared at you strangely as you began to work. Like you grew a second head. “What are you laughing at.” It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t spiteful. It was…just a curious question. 

You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” You could tell he wanted to press further, but he just dropped it. You worked in silence for another minute or two before you spoke up.

“...by the way…thank you. For…saving my life.” It was a struggle to get the words out, but you meant them. He fought off the wolves and returned your soul, even with the risk of dying himself. You couldn’t even begin to think of why he would do it - maybe having you die in the wastelands was not in his itinerary. Still, he did save you, and he did return your soul. You allowed yourself to be grateful, even if that gratitude just lasted for now, and push aside thoughts of whatever motives he had. You allowed yourself this moment of peace. 

“...y…you’re welcome.” You hadn’t expected a reply, but fought from showing any sort of surprise. You just nodded at Snatcher with a small smile and finished up your work.  

Meanwhile, Moonjumper, Grooves, and The Conductor stood from the kitchen door, in shock. It wasn’t that their master had completely forgone manners, it’s just that he didn’t often show them the courtesy of using them. Grooves had put a flipper around The Conductor’s beak to silence his surprised squawk, though he wasn’t able to keep his jaw from opening in astonishment. Moonjumper simply smiled warmly at you two, ushered the two birds back to their chambers, and brought out the warm soup that The Conductor had made for you both. You both muttered your thanks (Snatcher only saying it after you did) and ate in silence. If only your first dinner could have been like this.

You found yourself drifting off in front of the fire, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off. It left you completely and utterly exhausted . Your foot still stung with cold, despite the warmth of the room, and your muscles grew heavy from fatigue. You yawned, barely managing to put your bowl on the ground before slumping onto the side of Snatcher’s chair into a deep sleep. 

The last thing you heard was a raspy voice, in a tone so gentle you wouldn’t have guessed who it came from, “Moonjumper, take care of them.”

And then you were gently settled into sleep. 

She sat in front of the small mafia leader before her. Her whiskers and ears twitched. “You know, I don’t usually leave Nyakuza Metro in in the middle of the night," The Empress dragged a claw into the wood of the table, idly making nonsense patterns in the fine wood, "but they said you’d make it worth my while.” She stopped, however, when the short leader tossed a bag of gold coins onto the table. Her ears perked and her pupils dilated, and she laughed a low laugh. “Ah…go on, then.”

Boss set down his beer mug and looked up at the tall catwoman. “It goes like this, see? I’ve got my heart set on marrying (Y/N)...but they need a little…persuasion.”

The Empress leaned forward and rested her head on her interlaced fingers. There was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Alright then. Now, I’m listening.”

Chapter Text

You awoke the next morning exhausted. You were aware of the fiery soul inside you dancing in joy to be back in its rightful body, said body was just heavy. Tired. Depleted. Part of you feels like Snatcher drained your life force in exchange for your soul. The memory of yesterday flashed through your mind as you relived the exhilarating experience. Yeah, that was…probably enough excitement to last a last a lifetime. Or afterlifetime. You weren’t quite sure where you stood in regards to…living. Sure, you had your soul back, and now you only felt the normal amount of emptiness, but did that really mean that you were alive again? For all you know, you really did die in that forest, and now you’re just a reanimated corpse. 

Hattie would think that was fun. She’d coerce you into popping off your arms and making a boomerang out of them like how she reads in those fantastical children’s books of hers. The thought made you smile.

You laid in your bed, staring up at the ceiling of your too-big room. You’re not sure if you could ever get used to being in a room this big. Sucks, cause it looks like that’s what you’re gonna have to do since you’re here for, y’know, a while. 

You’re…you don’t know how to feel about that now. Before, you were angry about your situation, and of course with good reason, too. But now…now you just felt…resigned? No, that’s not right, that would mean you admit defeat to Snatcher, and you’d die before that happened.

…provided that you didn’t already in the forest yesterday. 

Man, what an absolutely insane 48 hours. 

You chuckled dryly to yourself. If someone had told you two days ago that your sister would go exploring, sold her soul to save her friend from a ghost-monster, and that then you would sell YOUR soul to take HER place and have a horrible dinner before being chased out by said ghost-monster for snooping where you shouldn’t and running out with very little protection against the harsh winds of winter and into the eyes of an hungry pack of wolves…yeah, you’d probably laugh in their face. You’d even laugh in your own face if you went back in time to tell yourself. A sigh released you as you willed yourself to snap out of your thoughts and get ready for the day. Your first task was a shower. 

You smelt disgusting.

It’s a miracle Snatcher even let you sit by him last night to take care of his wounds (which is something you’ll wonder about another time - you didn’t even know he could be physically hurt). Your clothes and skin were muddy, dirt falling off in flakes onto the soft bed beneath you. Your hair was matted and stuck in a weird position and your mouth felt like something had crawled in there and died. Bleugh. You went to stand up-

And promptly collapsed to your knees with a yelp of pain. You looked down to see just what the issue was…

Oh…right…your foot. It wasn’t submerged in the water for long, but it was certainly exposed to the cold for enough time for it to effect it. You gave it a once over, wincing and hissing when you barely ran your fingers over it. Ok, good, you can still feel it, so it isn’t gangrenous and you won’t have to cut it off. Still, it was a nasty, dark color - a purple that almost looked close to Snatcher’s…being. There were some areas that were starting to blister. Despite the pain, you flexed your foot just to make sure it still actually worked and sighed in relief when you saw your toes wiggling. It looks like a pretty bad case of frostbite, if you had to guess. Still, there’s a silver lining - you’ll probably be able to keep your foot. Maybe. You weren’t really trained in medicine outside of first aid, though you felt like you were allowed to toot your own horn when it came to homemade remedies for sprained bones. Hattie had a habit of injuring herself in one way or another, and you’ve gotten preeeeeeeetty good at making a splint out of common household items. No way in Hell were you gonna go to the “doctor’s” in MafiaTown. The “doctor” was just another mafia goon they put a lab coat on, and you know from experience that he didn’t know what he was talking about. 

Anyway. Back to the pain in your frostbitten foot. You don’t know how you didn’t feel it when you woke up. Speaking of which, when did you go to bed? After the excitement of yesterday, you started dozing off. You honestly can’t quite remember much after your little spat with Snatcher and genuinely thanking him for saving your life.

Even if saving your life meant returning back here…

Regardless. You were grateful to be…some sort of semblance of a living creature with a consciousness. You huff and move to pull yourself up off of the floor, using the bed for balance. It seems like even the slightest bit of pressure from walking makes your foot feel like it’s burning. Well. Sucks, cause you’re not gonna stay in bed forever, and far be it from you to complain about something that you technically caused. Not that it’s solely your fault, but you won’t deny that you definitely played a part in it, what with sneaking into a room that was expressly off-limits for you. You can’t bring yourself to regret that decision, though. While he was definitely still shrouded in mystery, you did learn a little bit about him, and after yesterday he seemed a little more…human. You couldn’t quite explain why though. Maybe because he was capable of being hurt, emotionally and physically. 

You winced as you slowly made your way to the door to your room. Even though you hold a strong dislike for the guy, you can’t help but feel a little bad about invading his privacy. You really were at war with yourself internally. You hurt someone. Obviously that felt bad. But that someone had done a lot to hurt you first. But that wasn’t an excuse to hurt him in return, especially with something so close to him. But he took your sister away and then forced you to stay away from her by taking your soul! But then he gave you back your soul and fought off wolves for you. In another world, you’d say that fighting off wolves for someone is a pretty extreme form of romance.

Psh. Yeah, right. As if.

You didn’t have the energy to fathom Snatcher’s reasoning for the rescue in the forest yesterday, though. Probably to lord it over your head or something, an extra interest on your eternal debt. You’re not in the business of stealing souls from people and then saving them from wolves, though, so that’s not really your area of expertise.

You had just made it to the door of your room when a friendly voice made itself known.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?...I heard a loud…falling sound and…a sound of pain.” Moonjumper sounded worried, and ever the gentlebeing, had the courtesy to knock before throwing open your door. Which you were leaning on for support. Which caused you to lose your balance and fall flat on your ass. You let out a groan of pain…again. At least this time is was quieter and you didn’t land on your foot. Look at you, being so optimistic and positive! Silver linings everywhere! Moonjumper gasped as they saw you fall. 

“Apologies! I did not know you…were on the other side of the…door! I was not sure if you…required immediate assistance. I-I came as quickly…as I could. Again, my sincerest apolog-”

They were cut off by your laugh. He sounded like such a mother hen. “You’re good, Moonjumper, I’m not hurt. Well. Not anymore hurt than I would be otherwise.” You gestured to your foot and Moonjumper sucked in a harsh breath.

“I apologies for…that also. I am not well…versed in medicine, and we did the…best we could with what little…supplies and magic we have. I did research last…night however, and I…believe it to be frostbite. A very deep frostbite.” He tapped his claws together sheepishly. “My deepest apologies, friend.”

You shook your head, waving them off. You had already suspected that, but it was nice for an extra confirmation. “Again, MJ, it’s not your fault. Don’t sweat it, I’ll live. I think.” Your attempts at humor fell flat on its face as Moonjumper began to panic even more. You could practically see the gears turning in its head as they went through every possible, horrible scenario. You cleared your throat to get his attention again.

“It’s okay, really.” You smiled as he reached down to help you up, mindful to keep you off of your hurt foot as much as possible. “By the way, uh, sorry…is it ok if I call you MJ? As a nickname? It just sorta came out but if your not comfortable with it then do-” It was Moonjumper’s turn to cut you off with a laugh. 

“Don’t worry, my dear, I…take no offense. I have admittedly never…had a nickname before.” They grimaced slightly. “Not a real one anyway…”

“...cool. MJ it is then!” They lit up at their new nickname. You’re glad you can make them happy. “Hey, MJ?”

“Yes?”

“I stink.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Damn!” You snorted. “You didn’t even hesitate!”

“I wasn’t going to…bring it up unless…you did.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you, thank you. Anyway, I point out the obvious because I would very much like a shower.”

“I would hope you would. I would…be concerned if you were…fine with, or even wanted…to stink like this.”

They smirk down at you as you blow a raspberry at them. “Where’d all this sass come from? And after I just said you were a gentleman!”

“Looks can be deceiving, my friend.” He wished his words were more than just playful banter to you, and that you took that as some sort of sign about Snatcher and the curse. It looks like you didn’t, however, as you just blew another raspberry at him, despite the fact that you were leaning on him heavily for support. The audacity. Still, you smiled kindly at them as you asked for assistance to the shower, which he was happy to help you with. 

Apparently, despite being a huge mansion that supposedly used to belong to rich people, there was only one working shower…currently. Despite his mechanical prowess, The Conductor couldn’t work miracles with busted pipes and no supplies to fix them, and there isn’t much they can do about magical ice that can’t be melted. So, the whole mansion has to share one shower. Better than nothing, you suppose. 

You finally made it up the stairs and to the one working shower. Halfway through the trip, Moonjumper elected to basically carry you up, essentially floating you despite your protests - your toes were just sliding across the ground as they carried you. Your argument didn’t really hold much merit when you could hardly stand on your own. Unfortunately, the shower was just a couple of doors down from Snatcher's room - you felt a distinct chill wash over you as you passed it. Moonjumper, having thought ahead like the smarty they are, had shifted you to their side farthest from the door when you passed it. That didn’t stop the chill from shooting down your spine, however. He felt you shiver as he brought you to the bathroom. At least it seems you learned your lesson, however regrettably you had to learn it. 

Moonjumper set you up in the bathroom, showing you where the towels and bathing supplies were, even going so far as to get the shower running for you as you puzzled with how you’d get in and clean without injuring yourself further. Your companion seemed to have the same thought as you, and seemed to offer his help, despite his blushing face (how did he do that if he was dead? You’ve got too many questions regarding the undead) but you shook your head at him before he could even get the words out. 

“Don’t worry about it, MJ,” you fought off a chuckle at their flustered face. “I got this. Thanks for showing me the way - you’re good to go now, though.” He nodded quickly and all but bolted out of the room. You appreciated his respect of privacy. You got ready for your much needed bath, drawing up perfectly hot water and sliding in after disrobing. You left the door unlocked, just in case you needed help because the bathtub happened to be haunted and tried to eat you, or something more realistic like tripping and falling flat on your face without being able to get up. The bath was the perfect temperature, and it was large enough that you could almost swim in it…ok, not really, but it was spacious enough for you to comfortably spread out and stretch your aching muscles. You were already hating the idea of getting out and returning to the cold air that awaited you in the mansion. 

You let yourself relax before you really got to being clean - yesterday’s event really did a number on you, mentally, emotionally, and physically. You basically got whammied by the universe, and you suppose in some regard you sort of deserved it. Your parents didn’t raise you to be a snooper, and you gave yourself a moment to apologize to their spirits. They would be rolling in their grave if they knew you disrespected someone’s privacy, regardless of whether or not that person was your captor. 

Though, you’re sure if your folks were still here, you certainly wouldn’t be taking a bath in a forgotten mansion abandoned in an eternal winter that belonged to a ghost hellbent on capturing souls. A lot of things wouldn’t be the way they were if they were still around. You smiled softly at the thought of them bursting into the mansion and telling Snatcher what for, pulling him down by his nonexistent ear to scold him for such “reproachable actions.” You snickered. Maybe all he really needed was a stern talking to from a parental figure. Well, he’s shit out of luck, because yours are gone and you currently lack in the ‘parental authority of any sorts’ department. If he needed a scolding from an older sibling figure, well, you’d be happy to oblige, but you’re not risking your neck so you can honor your father and mother one last time and give Snatcher a piece of your mind. 

You’ve already done that plenty of times, and look where that’s got you. Sitting in a bathtub that’s not your own, your ankle busted to Heaven and back, washing away grime and the events of yesterday. Your reflection looks back at you through the murky water, and their reflection is just as despondent as your thoughts drift, once again, back to your current situation. You think back on how Snatcher looked out in the snow, wounded. You were…still reeling at the fact that he could be wounded. Maybe like you, the farther he got away from the manor, the weaker he became? That would make sense…you’ve read plenty of stories in which a house or item is haunted and the spirit is cursed to forever roam in an enclosed space, typically a home and whatnot. But this was real life, not those silly fairy tales you read about.

You finished up your long overdue bath, pulling the drain plug and saluting the gross, muddy water as it was gurgled up by the pipes. You’re too tired to care about where it goes and how it gets there if most of the pipes are frozen - that’s an issue for future you. For now, you dried off and put on a fresh set of clothes that Moonjumper must have snuck in while you were bathing. Guess it’s pretty easy to sneak around when you don’t make sound when you walk and can move through doors and walls.

…you GOTTA ask him how he works someday. And if essentially being a ghoul after having your soul taken and then returned gives you any sort of powers too. Maybe you really could take off your limbs and swing them around, barbarian style. You’d never be without a weapon - you’d always be armed and ready. You snicker quietly to yourself at the pun. 

As you finished getting ready, you took a moment to look at your clear, clean reflection. You’d need a brush for your hair - it was matted like crazy - and you should really ask if there’s a toothbrush or something. You don’t like the mouthfeel you’re getting right now. Blegh.

Moonjumper seemed to remember your exact measurements and was able to find you a plain, modest, yet surprisingly comfortable outfit. It consisted of a white, long-sleeve button up, a pair of brown slacks, and a cute, dark brown vest. Not the flashiest, but you’ve never been one for “flashy” anyway, and it was extremely flexible and breathable. Nice - you were glad this place didn’t have only posh, hoity-toity clothes. You wouldn’t survive a day drowning in the ruffles of fabric. 

It was sort of a challenge to get dressed by yourself when you could only stand on one leg - the toilet didn’t have a cover, and it was hard enough to take pants off while sitting down. You’d be wriggling around like a worm on the bathroom floor for an hour trying to pull them up. But! You did it without further injuring yourself (congrats!). However, your injured foot was a little too swollen to comfortably fit in a shoe so you pulled the sock up and called it good. You waddled over to the bathroom door, where you were surprised to not see Moonjumper there. They had the energy of…a mother hen, almost, and you had guessed they’d be right by the door the moment you opened it to help you walk. Not that you needed it anymore - you got to the door all by yourself TWICE now. You’re basically independent and fully healed. 

You began your slow journey across the mansion, painfully, gradually trudging down the stairs, until you made it to the foyer. It looked a little brighter since last night. It was probably your imagination though, paired with the still smoldering embers from last night's fire. You were grateful your friends made sure to keep it warm for you. You tottered over to the fireplace (with MINIMAL HELP from furniture, thank you very much) and tossed another log in. Snatcher wouldn’t mind. And if he did well…you saved his life too, so he can afford an extra log or two. You allowed yourself a few minutes in the small chair by the fireplace, slowly trying to warm up your foot, and after thirty minutes, you hoisted yourself up and got to work. You figured you’d stay here until your foot healed up, and then you’d go home, since you have your soul back and everything. You’d leave as soon as possible, but even you weren’t stubborn enough to brave the stupid decision of heading out into the freezing Hellscape outside with frostbite. You’re not gonna let a silly little injury like a frostbitten foot get in the way of work. Like Hell you’d make your friends pick up your slack when you’re CLEARLY PERFECTLY CAPABLE of doing things. Even your slow walk to the supply closet made you proud. You gathered the broom, mop, bucket and rag, took a deep breath, and got to work. 

You started with the foyer, the closest and easiest place to start - there weren’t any rugs, so there was no big object for you to push aside beside Snatcher’s ridiculously large chair sitting in front of the fireplace. It took a little effort, and you had to take your first break after it, but you got the job done. See, hardest part over! And you didn’t have any help. You got to work sweeping and sweet peck was there a lot of work to do just there. From the cobwebs that loitered in the corners of the long room, you could tell this place probably didn’t get the same TLC the kitchen or the piano room did - you suppose The Conductor and Grooves allotted more time to their favorite areas of the manor than they did with others. That was all well and fine. You were glad they were able to find something they took pride in and take care of here. It probably made the work a little easier. 

Speaking of work, it looks like you’ve certainly got yours cut out for you. With another deep breath, you glared at the dirty, dusty room, and began the long and arduous task ahead of you.

Boss’ eyes flicked to the table where The Empress had drawn in the wood with her claw. He’d have to replace that - too undignified for his dignified restaurant. He watched as The Empress, her attention now away from his furniture and in the gold coin she flipped across her fingers, narrowed her eyes at him. Waiting for him to say something, akin to a wildcat waiting for its prey to move so it can pounce. Boss cleared his throat, “It’s like this. I’ve got my heart set on courting (Y/N),” at this, Empress barked out a sharp, cruel laugh but let Boss finish. “BUT,” he continued, “they need a little…how do you say…persuasion.”

The goon that sat by his side, ever supportive of his boss, chimed in with a helpful, “Turned boss down flat! Like…very flat bread!” They’ll have to work on comparisons sometime soon. And knowing when to NOT butt into conversations.

Boss smacks his goon upside the head, causing him to spill his drink all over himself. The goon looked a little sad, but seemed to understand he made a mistake and just let his clothes get soaked as he set as punishment. Boss huffed and turned back to The Empress. “Everyone knows their family has been…unstable since their parents…left the picture.” That was the kindest way to say their folks died. He may be a mafia boss, but he at least had the courtesy to respect the dead.  “And everyone knows their little sister-” 

“The Hat Brat.” The Empress cut in, nodding for him to continue. 

“..yes. Everyone knows their little sister is a lunatic.” 

“She is crazy! And fearsome! Like a weasel!” the goon chimed in, helpfully. Both Boss and The Empress shared a look and ignored im, letting him think he contributed anything to the conversation. 

“Anyway, she was in here tonight raving about a beast in a mansion deep in the forest…”

The Empress clicked her tongue. “The Hat Brat is harmless. The worst she’s done is pull pranks on your goons, which was rather amusing, if I’m quite honest.” She smirked down at Boss, reveling in the nice, tomato red his face was becoming. 

“The point is,” began Boss again, huffing, “(Y?N) would do anything to keep them from being…taken from them.”

“Yeah,” the goon cut in with a barely concealed snort, “even marry him!”

Boss gives him another threatening look, and he shyly takes a scoot back, embarrassed smile on his face.

The Empress fiddled with the gold coin, rolling it across her fingers with a trained dexterity. She looked Boss up and down, thinking about his offer. “So,” she began,  “you want me to…take the brat into better hands unless they agree to marry you?” They both nod in agreement, the goon taking action after his boss. The Empress chuckled, dark, cruel, and twisted. Her laugh made Boss glad that, at least for the time being, they were on decent terms. “Oh, that is despicable.” Her yellow eyes, sharp and gleaming, crinkled with delight as she stares down the two men in front of her. She flips the coin in the air, catching it without even looking. “I love it!”

Meanwhile, Hattie, unaware of any schemes made against her family, was packing for a long trip. She’d be prepared this time. She knows what’s lurking in that manor, and knowing is half the battle. If no one will help me, then I’ll go back alone, she thought, tossing the final items needed in and doing a third check that she had absolutely everything she could need. She tied the backpack tightly and hefted it onto her back - it was a little bigger than her, but she’s had harder battles. And after this, everything will be worth it. We’ll be safe and good and happy and okay, s he thought, I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find that mansion again and somehow I’ll get them out of there.

And with a final check to make sure their door was locked, Hattie once again began the long journey to the mansion. 

No floor is stronger than your willpower. No floor. You smiled down at your reflection, who smiled up back at you from the freshly mopped tiles. You let out a sigh and wiped the small amount of sweat that had accumulated on your forehead. Normally, this wouldn’t be a challenge for you - Hattie’s made messes that these residents couldn’t even DREAM of making. Kids are actual tornadoes on spaghetti, mud, and questionable substances. You were more concerned about where the spaghetti came from than whatever substances she tracked in. You hardly ever had spaghetti - Hattie was traumatized after she thought she could eat it with her nose. Never again. 

However, when you cleaned Hattie’s messes, you weren’t really mostly on one foot so the one you stupidly accidentally dunked in polar torrent didn't break off of you like an icicle. You took a moment to yourself, happy with your first job and basking with pride. You sat down on the smaller chair by the fireplace and let yourself rest. Your eyelids just fluttered closed naturally, and it seemed so easy to just reach out and drift off…

“(Y/N!)”

You sat up with a surprised yelp and a jolt, nearly tumbling out of your chair. It was almost exceedingly quiet just moments ago. But now, standing in front of you (with reflections dazzling back up at them from the impeccably sparkling floor) were your two bird friends, Grooves and the Conductor. 

…you gotta come up with a nickname for him soon. 

Anyway, they were saying something at you. Yelling, actually. They were yelling something at you, but you were too out of it from the sudden wake up to really listen. The Conductor seemed to be searching frantically everywhere for something while Grooves was caught between fretting over you and admiring his likeness in the tiles below him. “Guys,” you groaned, “guys…dudes…what are you doing?” You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, though you’re not sure if you actually slept at all, or if sitting down made it reaaaaallly easy to get tired again. 

Grooves opened his mouth to speak, but The Conductor cut him off with a sharp squawk. “What’r we doin’? We should be askin’ yer that! What the bloody peck are yer doin’ working while on strict bed rest orders?!” He could practically be flying with the way his arms flapped in frustration. 

Grooves sighed and picked up his loud companion to shut him up - and to stop spreading feathers all over the nice, clean floor. “Sorry, dear,” he started, “But we were told to make sure that you got plenty of rest and food until your foot felt better.” He tilted his head towards your foot, noticing the sock over it. It was very clear he was biting back asking to see it to check on you. 

“Bed rest?” You repeated, groggily, “By who?” 

Grooves opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off, again, by–

“Could you idiots keep it DOWN?” His booming voice made it feel like the manor was shaking. “I told you I’m-” Snatcher cut himself off when he saw you. It took him a minute to survey the whole scene: you, the spotless foyer, the fireplace derived from its mountains of ash, the birds, and the pile of yellow feathers in front of you. And the stupid, sleepy smile on your face. His face looked…like it didn’t know what expression to make, so he just slipped into a neutral face. It was still so weird seeing him without his smile. 

“Greenhorn,” he started, “You’re supposed to be holed up in your room, crying for food and medicine and such while your foot heals from its…frozen state.” He said it so matter-of-factly, even you almost believed it. “So what are you doing down here, working of all things?” 

Your proud smile never faded. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“While infirmed.”

“Yep.”

“...fine, if that’s what you want to do. Just don’t come crying back to me if your foot falls off. I’ll only say ‘I told you so’ and I won’t help you put it back on.” It was…sort of a surprise that he backed down from an argument so easily. He turned his attention to the birds, his neutral face pulling into a small frown. “And you two,” he began, and you quickly opened up your mouth to defend them from whatever insults he had ready for them, but- “I told you to keep it down. If I weren’t already dead, my mostly incorporeal head, which is suffering from the most insane headache currently, would kill me. Probably literally.” He winced, and whether it was out of actual pain or just being dramatic, you’ll never know…but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, knowing now that he can actually experience pain and be hurt. “So I would appreciate it,” he all but hissed out, voiced slinking down to a whisper-yell, “if you kept it down , please. ”

The birds nodded frantically, Grooves saluting him for good measure, and Snatcher slithered away…but not before he shot one last glance your way. You think he thought you hadn’t caught it, because it was very…vulnerable. Open. There was no forced neutrality or upset or frown; it was just…his face, for once. You didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as Snatcher just as quickly turned and returned the shadows up the stairs. When you turned back, The Conductor was already picking up his mess of feathers, flustered and apologizing for yelling. They let you get back to work, assuring you a million times that they were just in the next rooms if you needed them. You were glad to have such caring friends - honestly, you were glad to have any real friends at all. You resumed your work, tackling the windows next - you could only get halfway up them, for now, since you didn’t trust yourself on a ladder. Once you were satisfied, you gathered your cleaning supplies, got fresh water from the kitchen (and of course, said a hello to The Conductor and taste tested his soup while you were still available) and made your way to the next room that needed your attention.

Once you deemed the work that you had done complete, you retired to your bedroom. Admittedly, the room was starting to kind of grow on you - you wouldn't mind calling it your bedroom for a little longer. You fell asleep easily that night, Moonjumper coming to check on you one final time before they retired as well.

It didn’t even occur to you until early the next morning that Snatcher had said, without a hint of irony or malice, the word “please.”

Chapter Text

A few days had passed, and, like always, you woke up and got to work as normal. Your foot wasn’t feeling much better, but it hadn’t fallen off yet, so you were feeling pretty good about the day. You still had to wobble around to get anything done, but you figured that if the last thing you could lose was your dignity, you might as well be ready to lose it. You might as well choose how you lose it, and that was apparently going to be waddling around the manor - you just decided to embrace it and let whatever teasing come your way just wash over you. 

You expected to be out of here in a month or so anyway. You were only staying until your foot felt something other than pain. 

Today, you were going to focus on the kitchen and the piano room - you knew that’s where your bird friends hung around, and you probably wouldn’t be allowed to do much work in the kitchen, but there was no harm in trying. Plus the Conductor seemed like the type to make and give out snacks for his friends, even though he had that “big man” attitude. You saw the little things he did - a warm drink for Grooves, a fresh vase of flowers for Moonjumper (you weren’t sure where he got those or what kind of flowers they were, but you saw him swapping out the old ones for a fresh bundle yesterday), just little things he did that he did to make others happy that he thought went unnoticed. However he’s…not the most discreet bird. You wouldn’t be surprised if the others knew, too, even though he only does it when they’re busy somewhere else. Still, the possible suspects were…limited, and even though the Conductor would deny it every time you asked him about it, you still saw the blush that erupted across his feathers. 

You were looking forward to working with your friends around. Moonjumper seemed to have tasks that required him to be anywhere but in the main section of the mansion (and stars know you weren’t going to try and find out just what kind of work he had in the west wing), so you figured being around Grooves and the Conductor would be a good way to have some sort of social normalcy here before you went actually insane.

Thankfully, they didn’t seem to mind, and although they kept their beaks shut, it was obvious they wanted to tell you to rest up. Such dads. You’re sure that when if they got married, their kids would be the most spoiled little gremlins on the planet…but you kept that thought to yourself with a smile. It was much more fun to tease them when the other wasn’t looking. Like when the Conductor brought out a plate of fresh cookies (you knew he would make you treats!) and his hand (wing?) lingered a little too long over Grooves’ flipper when he handed it off. The smug smile you shot Grooves when the Conductor left made his blue feathers turn red and he all but shoved the cookie plate towards you. You couldn’t help the laugh that left you as you took a bite of the fresh cookie - it was still warm. You…don’t remember the last time someone made you a treat that they weren’t ordered or paid to do. And you love her to bits, but Hattie’s…concoctions don’t count. You appreciated the thought, but the gift had typically exploded before you could see or taste it, leaving you two to basically clean the entire house. You were a little grateful that you wouldn’t have to bear any food made by Hattie though - you had a feeling your sister wasn’t necessarily…culinarily gifted. Your heart sank a little at the thought of Hattie roughing it alone, having to eat her own mysteriously green bread, but you remembered that she was well in the care of Bow’s family, and they would most likely have a strict ban on the kitchen after Hattie tried to use it with Bow a couple years back on your birthday. 

No matter! You’ll be back to her in no time! If only SOME part of you would cooperate. You glared at your foot, and a bolt of pain shot up through your leg in retaliation. Bastard. Bastard foot.

You finished cleaning up the piano room with Grooves, leaving most of the cookies for him with a sly, smug wink, and headed into the kitchen. As you predicted, the Conductor wouldn’t let you lift a finger to help as he methodically disinfected the entire kitchen and rearranged it…three different times. Still, he let you sit on the counter after it was clean (“No one’s gonna care that their food has been sitting where yer clothed bum was - they’ll be too busy digging into it!”) and he expressed that he was glad to have you keep him company as he went through his process of organizing herbs a million times. 

At some point, Moonjumper came in to check on everyone’s daily chores - apparently after finding them slacking around too much, MJ took it upon himself to ensure that the work was being done so that Snatcher didn’t get upset. Speaking of…you hadn’t seen him today, which was sort of odd. Not that you minded, of course! The farther away he stays, the better. You’re still deciding how you feel about him, and having him around would instantly make you hate him again. Probably. It was just…sort of weird to not have seen hide nor hair of him in the past few days. His presence is typically…overbearing, but it’s been…weirdly quiet recently. You chalked it up to him needing to recover from his weird wounds and just generally wanting to avoid you. 

You suppose you wouldn’t do much different if someone did to you what you had done to him. Made him… feel and relive past memories or whatever. Moonjumper never gave you the full rundown, they just told you to…keep your distance, for the time being. The last time you saw him was when he came down to ask the Conductor and Grooves to quiet down, and it had been a couple of days since then.

“Oh!” Moonjumper exclaimed as they entered the kitchen. “I’m glad to…see you are resting, my friend.” His smile, now considerably less broken and unsure as it was when you first met, was playful and, dare you say, even a little mischievous. 

You smiled back with a shrug, “Didn’t have a choice,” and pointed over to the Conductor, who was waist deep in his oven, cleaning out the soot. 

“Damn right, yer not!” His voice echoed out of the oven. “My kitchen, my rules, and ‘s a rule that no one else work in here, ESPECIALLY if they’re injured.” He turned his head to face you from the oven, a teasing smirk on his face. You only shrugged again and he let out a huff of laughter as he turned back to his work. You and Moonjumper shared a laugh as well. 

“Such…is the way of a chef I…suppose.” Moonjumper commented. He turned back to you. “Though, in all honesty, I am…glad to see you…off of your foot. You’re torturing…your body by making it work…while it’s healing.”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, and I’m not gonna let you guys pick up my slack just cause I did something stupid like stick my foot in a river.” 

“We told yer we had a library,” replied the Conductor from inside the oven. “‘N you seemed excited ‘bout it when we did.” He pulled himself out of the oven, covered in soot down to his waist. It fell off him and onto the floor - no wonder he saved the floor for last. He crossed his arms and looked at you. Yeesh. Such a fatherly look. You smiled sheepishly at him. 

“I…uh…didn’t ever find out where it was.” You started. He didn’t respond. “Because of the. Very. Very stupid and rude thing I did.” You still had to apologize for that but you…didn't know how. Did he even want an apology? Would he accept one? You fidgeted with the hem on your shirt - another generous donation from the manor’s many closets. You looked back to the Conductor, and even though you couldn’t see them, you could practically feel his eyes rolling. It almost seemed like he exaggerated the motion specifically for you to catch on. You swung your legs off the counter innocently. “Care to show me now? We both know I won’t run off…again.” It was meant to lighten the mood, but it seemed the room dropped at least 10 degrees when you said it. Guess that’s still a pretty touchy subject for…everyone else. Not that you were over it yourself, you just thought…maybe a little humor would ease up the tension around the manor recently. 

The awkwardness disappeared when the Conductor brushed the soot off him with a short (possibly terse) chuckle and held out his now-mostly-clean hand to you. “If yer certain, I can show yer where it is now.”

You smiled and went to grab his hand…before pulling back and narrowing your eyes at him. “Hey…this isn’t just a ploy to get me to stop working, is it?” He snorted in response, but said nothing else as he took your hand and led you down the winding corridors to the library. Your eyes shone as you entered - they really weren’t exaggerating when they said “more books than you could read in an afterlifetime.” The shelves stretched up to the ceiling, a large fireplace to the left of the room (complete with two very plus, luxury chairs - you were SO excited to sit on those), and an enormous window that took up at least a half of the opposite side of the room. You rushed over as best as you could to see the expanse that laid out below the window - a side garden of the manor that you hadn’t seen before, obviously, as you had never been to this side of the manor. It looked…decent, given the weather conditions, in all honesty. Plus, you now knew where the Conductor got his flowers - it looked like there was a little greenhouse in the corner that was clear of snow and was lit from the inside. You’d have to ask him to take you out there later. But for now, you returned your attention to the insane amount of books in the library - there wasn’t a single shelf that wasn’t full…except for one near the fireplace. You guessed trying to get a library of this stature completely full would be a little difficult, but you had to commend Snatcher for getting it mostly full, anyway. 

“This place is amazing!” You smiled as you began to look around in earnest. There were a plethora of different books, ranging from history to law to romance and even fantasy adventure! But…it looked like this place hadn’t been touched in a long time - the books were arranged sporadically and were dusty as all get out. You picked up a book and blew the dust off of it - The Grimm Brothers’ Complete Collection of Fairy Tales. It had been so long since you read a good old fashioned fairytale, but there was something more pressing on your mind. You poked your head around to find the Conductor, who was still standing by the door, a smug smile on his beak as you reveled in the sheer presence of the room. You briefly stuck your tongue out at him as you wobbled over to ask your question. 

“Looks like no one’s taken care of it in a while, though…” You remarked as you set the Fairy Tale collection aside on an end table. “Why’s that?” 

The Conductor hummed and seemed to think over his answer before telling you that it “wasn’t all that important to the master, and they had other, more pertinent tasks.” You hummed in response and chewed the inside of your cheek. 

“Well,” you began, “seeing as how all of you don’t want me to do ‘any extraneous tasks,’ why don’t I clean up the library? I know you said it’s not important to Snatcher but…I don’t know…I guess I just think it’ll be…nice? To give it a little love?” Your voice trailed off hopefully as your looked at the Conductor, who simply shrugged. 

“‘T’ain’t my responsibility to be givin’ out chores. Thas a question for Moonjumper er the Master of the Manor,” he looked out across the room, swatting away a few duct particles away from his face before he could sneeze. “You probably already know the answer from Moonjumper, though, and I doubt you’d be willin’ to have any semblance of conversation with the Master regardin’ work-” he turned to look back to you, only to find you halfway down the hallway with a determined pep in your step. He squawked and rushed down to walk with you. “Yer dinnae let me finish, yer know.”

“I know. Sorry about leaving mid-conversation, but if I need to ask Snatcher for permission, then that’s who I’ll ask!” The Conductor stopped dead in his tracks at your words, beak hanging open in confusion. You can’t be serious, right?

Wrong! If your coworkers thought they finally got you to take a break, they were sorely mistaken! Plus, you’d more than proven yourself capable of doing chores at this point, but they still didn’t seem to believe you! You’d show them what for - you were now determined to have that library spick and span before you heal, opinions be damned. 

You got to the end of the hallway, ready to continue your march to the Master before you stopped. You…had no idea where he was, and you sure as hell weren’t going up to the West wing to find him. You huffed, but figured it couldn’t be too difficult to get a ghost who was semi-omnipotent in regards to the manor to come to you. 

“Snatcher!” Nothing… “... Master Snatcher? I need to talk to you! Heeeeeeeyyy, Snatcher! I don’t wanna invade your privacy again but I reeeeeeally gotta talk to you!” Still nothing… “....Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaasssssss-”

“Enough already, stars!” He appeared in front of you, seemingly drawing the shadows from the darkness to manifest himself. His arms were crossed and there was a scowl across his face - it didn’t scare you in the slightest. Not anymore. Not after you already saw him at his worst. Your newfound conviction in leaving in a month also gave you courage - you already knew you’d be dead if he wanted you to be, and you hadn’t actually seen him pull off any of his threats…yet. You smiled up at him, softly. He seemed…taken aback, but the only change in his expression was the narrowing of his eyes. “What is it, now, newbie.” Like most things, it was more of a statement rather than a question. 

“Weeeeell,” you began, finger once again fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Just because you weren’t as scared of him anymore didn’t mean you weren’t scared at all. His face from the time spent in his room was still fresh and flashed across your mind in moments of quiet. “I was wondering…since MJ, Grooves, and the Conductor utterly and completely despise me-” you heard another squawk of indignation from behind you down the hall, and you struggled to keep yourself from smiling or laughing at the noise. “I figured maybe I could be of use elsewhere.”

“...like where.” 

The good, light mood you had had with the Conductor plummeted and left you with a feeling of uneasiness as you stood before the behemoth shadow specter. “Like maaaaaybe….the library?” You hadn’t meant for the word ’library’ to come out so meek and small, but it did, and you just had to live with how unsure and pathetic you sounded. 

Snatcher stared at you for a couple moments, his scowl fading into a thin line of neutrality. “...why.” He demanded.

You scratched the back of your neck, awkwardly. You weren’t expecting to have to explain yourself - in all honesty, you just expected him to flat out say ‘no’ and you’d both be on with your day. This is more time than you thought you’d have to be around him. “Well, I…just kind of saw how…sad and run-down it was…like nobody’s been in there for ages. I guess I just…want to see it…not…like that?” What a true master of word and tone. Truly a masterfully said sentence. You were regretting this. 

After another few moments of silence, you decided that perhaps his silence was meant to be answer enough, and now you just had to find a way of gracefully leaving this conversation without making him think you were disrespecting him or something. You never understood noble fancy people norms. “Ah, heh, guess that’s a ‘no’, then, so uh. I guess I’ll just. Head back to the foyer to clean it…again.” Like that place wasn’t already sparkling from your constant upkeep - it was one of the few places your coworkers would “allow” you to work. You sighed and gave Snatcher a small bow - small enough to not be seen as sarcastic, big enough to show that you were, in fact, actually bowing - and began to walk away. 

“No,” rang Snatcher’s voice, and with the pause that followed it, you guessed he wanted you to face him for what he had to say. You suppressed a groan and did so, turning back to face him. He was still where he was moments ago, not moving after you had dismissed yourself. Ah, that was probably it - wasn’t it, like, a thing to be properly dismissed from a person of “higher status”? You looked up to him. “Not ‘why’ as in ‘why do you think I would say ‘yes’’, ‘why’ as in ‘why do you care so much’?” Surprisingly, again, his tone wasn’t malicious - just curious. His gaze wasn’t harsh, just…scrutinizing. It made you feel small, but you didn’t feel any…resentment in it, like you normally did. 

“Oh, uh. I don’t…know?” Smooth. “I-I just thought that it…could use some TLC.”

“...some what? ” 

“Uh, T-L-C? Tender love and care? It just looks like it’s been so…neglected.” Ah, shit. You’ve probably insulted him, again, by saying he doesn’t care enough to keep up his library or something. He was so hard to read, especially with that neutral expression. It looked so…weird and foreign on him! But, of course, you’d never voice that out loud. Whatever sort of reprimanding you thought you would have received for said insult, though, never came. Snatcher only hummed, looking down the long hallway to the opened doors of the library. 

“...sure. It…has been a while since that…place has been touched.” There was a flash of something across his face, but it left before you could really see it. Suddenly, his wicked smile returned. “I’m sure it could use the personal touch of someone of your…status.” 

Your face flared hot. What the hell did that mean? Was that a slight on fancy people for not knowing how to organize books or a slight on commoner folk, like yourself? You’d never know - he had laughed at your reaction, and you figured the only reason he had said it was to get a rise out of you for his entertainment. You huffed - beats being personally berated, you supposed. 

“So…that’s a ‘yes’?” You hated how hopeful your voice sounded - you were just so excited to be able to do something other than wash the same tiles you washed the day before, and it really did feel like a long time since you were able to have a space to yourself. 

Snatcher waved his hand nonchalantly. “Sure, whatever, knock yourself out. Or don’t - I’m sure Moonjumper would be lecturing us both if you did, and I can only stand so many decades of his lectures.” Was…that a joke? Like, an actual joke that wasn’t at your expense? You could easily picture Moonjumper lecturing you both like an elder. You thought back to your thought while in the tub a couple days ago: about Snatcher being dragged by the ear by a parental figure, and Moonjumper seemed to effortlessly slide into the mental image, nagging at Snatcher so boldly one might guess MJ was Snatcher’s actual parent, not his servant. 

You couldn’t stop the snort that left you, nor could you stop the flush that heated your cheeks upon realizing that it was, in fact, you who made that sound. You were so embarrassed that you laughed  at one of Snatcher's stupid jokes that you entirely missed his shocked reaction at hearing you genuinely laugh at something he said. He…

He didn’t like how he was unsure of how he felt. There was something deep, deep, down that flickered to life at the sound of a joyful sound coming from you rather than a sarcastic one. 

Snatcher didn’t like how the heat of that small flicker warmed up his whole ethereal body.

He snuffed it out quickly. He’d already given up hope on that on day one.

He cleared his throat to snap you out of your embarrassment, wearing a faint smirk that said “I totally heard you make that super embarrassing sound,” which had your body immediately backpedaling to get you to cool down and make sure your boss didn’t see you more of an idiot than he probably already did. 

“But, yes, go for it. Though, I’m sure you realize that now I’m expecting something of you and the library.” He lounged on thin air, leaning against nothing as he looked down at you with a smug aura. “So it’d better look better than before, right? Or-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you interrupted, “A thousand years in the stockade with knives in it or something, I get it.” You rolled your eyes - looks like you weren’t safe from his threats even after your weird exchange by the fire the night you tried to escape. 

Snatcher looked unamused. “I was going to say ‘you’ll take over Conductor’s job for a week,’ but then I realized that you might kill me with your cooking, so I thought better of it. How about that, Greenie?” 

You rolled your eyes again. “Like I could poison you even if I wanted to.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think you’d have the guts to poison me. I’m just saying your food might simply be that atrocious.” His smile grew as you floundered at him, mouth open in shock. You gasped, perhaps a little too over-dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart. 

“Well, I never! ” you could hear his teasing tone, but you were more surprised that you…went along with it, and were having fun with this little back and forth banter that didn’t involve threats or souls or contracts or mentions of your escape and the following moments of vulnerability at the fireplace. You couldn’t help the small smile that stayed on your face, though. You’re not sure if you minded it or not. “Guess you’ll never get to taste my culinary genius - do you know how hard it is to make something healthy for kids that they’ll actually eat and like? ”

“Oh, woe is me - I’ll never taste the decadent delicacy of mashed peas served with a glass of milk.” His smile wasn’t all that wicked, anymore, really. It looked sort of…relaxed.

Talking to Snatcher like this was…alarmingly comfortable. Like you were friends.

But you weren’t.

So before you could continue your - admittedly and disconcertingly - enjoyable conversation with Snatcher (which is something you’d never thought you’d say in a million years), you cleared your throat and gave him another small bow. “Thank you for letting me clean the library. I’ll treat every book and shelf with the utmost care.” It was almost unnerving how easily you slipped on a mask of ‘obedient servant’. Snatcher almost cringed, but successfully refrained from doing so, instead letting his easy, genuine smile return to his normally wicked one. He, too, realized the conversation had gotten too…comfortable. 

“Yes, of course - don’t say I never do anything for you, Greenie.” He teasingly pinched your cheek - maybe a little too hard - and sunk into the shadows of the wall. “Try not to burn the place down, okay?” And with that, he was gone. 

You took a deep breath - a lot just happened in a short amount of time, and now your cheek sort of hurt too, the jerk. You composed yourself and spun on your heel to head down the hall and gather the supplies you’d need to clean the library.

Only to see the Conductor still standing there. 

Oh fuck. 

He saw everything . His expression gave nothing away to what he was feeling, though, which was very strange for probably the most expressive character of the group. 

“Uh. Hi.” You could charm the very stars down from the sky. Maybe you could ask MJ for tips on how to actually sound eloquent and not on the verge of exploding every social interaction.

…actually, thinking about it, you should probably ask Grooves, instead. 

“You…heh, saw all of that, huh.”

“Aye.”

“Yeah it was, uh…kind of weird.”

The Conductor chortled. “Thas one way o’ puttin’ it, fer sure.” He turned his back to you and waved an arm. “C’mon - I’ll help yer get the cleanin’ supplies. Supper won’t be fer a while now, anyway.” He began walking away from you, and as you hurried to catch up, the Conductor couldn’t help himself from one, small, hopeful smile. 

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Your first order of business in cleaning the library was to get all the books off of their shelves (somehow) so you could reorganize them (...somehow). You really might have bitten off more than you could chew, but you weren’t going to back down from a little challenge. No, you simply rolled up your sleeves and got to work. You were going to finish this library before you left in a month regardless - you’d already set your mind to it. 

After he had helped you get your cleaning supplies, the Conductor went to find Moonjumper to tell him about what he saw. He couldn’t tell Grooves - that fool was too hopeless a romantic that he’d probably have his heart set on the curse breaking that night. So, Moonjumper it was - it was easy to confide in Moonjumper for…sensitive things, as they weren’t really expressive and were actually able to keep a secret and not ruin things by jumping the gun.  

Unfortunately, he may have been wrong about confiding in Moonjumper about this sensitive matter, specifically. While he didn’t know the nature of Moonjumper’s contract with Snatcher, he did know that they were probably the most eager to have the curse and contracts broken. He should have known that Moonjumper would be in as much of a tizzy as someone like Moonjumper could be upon hearing the story from the Conductor. 

“A smile?” Moonjumper asked, excitement barely contained. Truthfully, no one would even be able to tell he was excited unless they had worked with him for as long as the Conductor had, and upon seeing their odd, twisted smile, he knew he pecked up in telling them. “A certain, genuine smile? From…them both?” Moonjumper pressed on.

“...aye.” It was too late now to retract the story and forget it happened, anyway. Might as well go all in. 

“Oh! How…exciting! What great progress!” 

“Hush! Yer n’ I both know that this doesn’t happen in a single night!”

“I know, that is…why I am so amazed at their…progress. What a wonderful way to stop hating each other and…potentially grow closer as friends.” 

“W-wait, what? That’s why you thought I told you this? Cause I thought they were beginning’ down th’path o’ friendship? ” 

Moonjumper tilted his head. “...why else would you tell me?”

The Conductor ran a hand down his face. “...cause o’ the curse? N’ love n’ whatnot?”

“Oh,” sighed Moonjumper. “Yes, well, while it is nice…ideally…realistically, I doubt that their relationship would…advance to…such a state.” They shook their head, their excited smile fading into a gentle one. “No, I am…simply amazed and happy that the…Master might have an actual chance at having an…actual friend. I do not have…high hopes for the curse, in all honesty. At least, probably not in this century.” The Conductor cringed - yeah, it might have been true but it was still a little harsh . “I simply wish…to see him happy…in the situation that befell him.” 

“What about yer?”

“What about me?”

“Aren’t yer his friend? Been here longer than any o’ us - yer know him better too. He treats yer better n’ doesn’t lash out at yer so much. Y’seem like friends to me.” Replied the Conductor, arms crossed and head cocked to the side. 

“Ah, no. Our relationship is more…complicated.” A shadow fell over Moonjumper’s face. 

“...aye. I understand.”

The Conductor decided to leave it at that and start preparing for supper.

________________________________________________________

Snatcher was alone in his room, once again. Despite living in the manor for centuries, there wasn’t a place he truly felt comfortable in except his room. Everywhere else had…painful memories. Memories of when they danced, of when he would softly play the piano for her as she read or painted. Memories of her smile. Memories of her scowl. Memories of the monster his lack of devotion made her into. 

Memories of the feeling of betrayal and of his heart breaking. Reminders that he didn’t have to deal with that anymore. Can’t break what isn’t there.

Snatcher chuckled ruefully. Truly, what a bitter and poisonous sentiment. He wondered if all love was like that - after all, hers was really the only he had experienced. 

And look at where that love led him. Trapped in a manor in the middle of nowhere with an ever-wilting magic rose and an ever-wilting hope of another chance at life and joy. Of music and dancing and laughter and love. Was that something he even wanted if all love was like hers? Would anyone ever want his? Was his love any different? Had his love poisoned Vanessa the way her love had to him? Wrapping his heart in thorns, squeezing and digging into him so much that it hurt to say ‘I love you’. Sealing his chest in a fortified birdcage, free to look out at the world, but never free to explore it without her say-so. Did he do that to her too? Is that why she cursed him like she did? Was his saving grace, the dying rose, and act of hate or love?

Was all love like that? 

Maybe he’ll never find out. 

...Maybe he’s okay with that. 

......Maybe he can ignore the thing deep, deep down crying out in agony and despair at the sentiment. 

Snatcher chuckled bitterly as he thought to himself, reading the next entry in his poetry book.

“If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs,
"The bark on the tree was as soft as the skies."
While the wolf waits below, hungry and lonely,
Crying to the moon,
"If only, If only.” 

If only, indeed.

Chapter Text

“....so he told you all that, did he?” Snatcher had long since abandoned his hope of a quiet afternoon of reading when Moonjumper burst into the room, spouting some sort of nonsense about the Conductor. Something about the curse, blah, blah, blah, something about you and the curse, snooooooooor-

Wait, you and the curse? Moonjumper had Snatcher’s complete attention now as the servant ghost described, in detail, the Conductor’s thoughts on the exchange between him and the newbie in the hall to the library. He closed his book with a sigh, placing it on the table next to him, and rubbed his temples to soothe whatever sort of headache a ghost might have. 

“Listen, Moonjumper, I don’t care what the Conductor said he saw. I’ve already told you that it’s not going to happen.” Not on account of your temper or personality, per se. No, in all truth, he found you and your feisty spirit rather…well, annoying, but in a charming sort of way. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course. He’d rather die again before saying something so embarrassing. “You three need to give up hope like I did. It’s far better to knowingly suffer than to keep up hope and blindly reach out for something you know isn’t there.” Snatcher’s smile was gone - he tended to let his smile down when he was just with himself or Moonjumper. He wasn’t snarling or scowling. All that sat on his face was the small, thoughtful frown that pulled his mouth ever so slightly downwards. 

But Moonjumper knew better. He was the closest thing Snatcher had to call a friend…if a ghost parading around in your physically dead body could be called a friend. In all honesty, Snatcher hates the sting that shoots through his body every time he sees the turn of the red waistcoat, but with Moonjumper’s face replacing his old one, it wasn’t hard to sever whatever remaining connection he had with his past body. However, because Snatcher allowed Moonjumper to reside in his…eugh…corpse, Moonjumper was privy to many things…many things that Snatcher would have liked to keep secret. 

Moonjumper knew all about Snatcher’s past before his master finally opened up to him after 50 years of service. As Snatcher told the story of his past, Moonjumper could see the memories of the long-forgotten prince flash by in his mind, like a moving picture. The mansion, bright and lively, with people wearing smiles as they worked. The warmth of the sun high in the sky on an early Summer day. The weight of another’s hand in his. 

The burden of another’s stare, cold and void and malicious. Red eyes piercing into his very soul as hot tears ran down his cheeks. A gloved hand reaching out, not to comfort him, like he was used to, but to cast a wicked spell on him, dooming him to a life of solitude for a crime he didn’t commit, pushing his soul out of his body and transforming it into something monstrous and unrecognizable.

In all honesty, Moonjumper supposed that, in a sense, he deserved losing the fight that transpired the night he arrived at the manor. They would probably also react violently if the first person they saw in literal years was their former, now reanimated body. Yes, Moonjumper knew all too well the hardships of his master. While it didn’t excuse his performative cruelness and apathy, it did at least explain in some way why Snatcher was the way he was. It seemed that Snatcher was also aware of the odd bond he shared with his longest servant, and chose to confide in them and them alone. It was an honor, truly, to allow someone who had suffered so much a small piece of comfort. 

However, while Moonjumper could read Snatcher’s body, tone, and facial expressions well (which was honestly a little bit of a challenge at first, given his master’s proclivity to smile), Moonjumper had little to no idea of what Snatcher felt in this new situation. Moonjumper could only draw on the forgotten prince’s fast fading memories for some sign or inclination as to what Snatcher was feeling. Despite what he said, though, Moonjumper couldn’t help but feel that a small, small spark of hope still burned somewhere within the prince. He just hoped that telling him what the Conductor told them about their exchange was the right call. 

Snatcher was silent as he watched Moonjumper’s thoughts race about in their head - he could practically smell the smoke of grinding metal as their gears churned out whatever somewhat decent response they could come up with. He knew it sometimes took Moonjumper longer to respond in conversations - just a little tidbit about him that he picked up over the centuries they’d suffered in each other’s company. 

“...yes.” Moonjumper finally replied, slowly. “He had said that you two looked to be…rather enjoying yourself.” He couldn’t help the teasing grin that wormed its way onto his face as Snatcher hummed and picked his book back up to attempt hiding his embarrassment. “I figured I…should visit you…and get your…thoughts on it.” 

Snatcher rolled his eyes, still hiding behind his book. “The only thought I have is that our dear little Conductor has been spending too much time around Grooves and should keep his beak in his own damn business. Besides, the Conductor is hardly the one to be passing out any…eugh…’relationship advice’. Maybe I’d learn a thing or two if he beaked up and told Grooves he likes him.” His normal smile slithered back onto his face at the prospect of his two little bird servants flailing over each other as they tried to confess their feelings. It would be just like one of the scenes from one of the many romance novels Vanessa so kindly left behind for him. 

“And another thing-”

“So you do like them.”

Snatcher froze at Moonjumper’s interruption, not only because Moonjumper never interrupted anyone - too rude, they say - but because of their-

“-completely and utterly insane accusation!” Snatcher’s face was glowing yellow, and the white pages of the book he was burying his face into only reflected his blush back into the world for Moonjumper to see. Moonjumper chuckled softly. 

“Apologies, my prince-” A sharp glare from Snatcher had him correcting himself, “Apologies, Master. I didn’t know…I would take you so off…guard.” Snatcher glared over his book at the ghost’s shit-eating grin. If they didn’t possess his body, he would throw them out in the snow. “And, if I may, Master-”

“You may not.”

“-you’ve been acting…differently since the night of the incident.” Moonjumper ignored Snatcher’s own interruption. He was used to talking to him like this. It was comfortable for them - probably the only thing in the manor that even came close to being “friendly banter”. When Snatcher looked away and didn’t respond, Moonjumper decided to continue. “I wanted to make…sure they didn’t…hurt you in some way.” He knew they didn’t, of course. They just wanted a reason to tease Snatcher. 

“Piss off. Don’t you have chores to do?” Snatcher buried himself deeper into the book, but he couldn’t concentrate. His golden eyes skimmed over the same paragraph again and again and again and didn’t absorb any of it. And Moonjumper was still there. With an exasperated sigh, Snatcher slammed the book shut and placed it down again. “Just cut to the chase already. What are you up to and what do you want?” 

“Nothing, Master,” Snatcher shot him an unbelieving look. “Truly. I just wish to…see you happy. I think becoming friends…with (Y/N) could be…very good. For both of you.”

“Pft…HA! Yeah, RIGHT! Like they’d ever want to be friends with the way I’ve been…” Snatcher coughed into his fist and waved a hand through the air dismissively. “Or, rather, I should say that it’s not like I want or need any friends, and I don’t care about their opinion of me whatsoever.” Oh, but their laugh really was nice, when it wasn’t derisive, and they’d proven themselves quick-witted since the moment they stepped foot in the mansion. They are undeniably charming, in their own, weird way, and the way they remained true to themselves despite their hardships stung Snatcher in a way he didn’t know was good or bad. They were the kind of person that, if they were both alive centuries ago, he would’ve easily been friends with. He had seen the way they interacted with the other servants. They were easy-going and everyone just seemed drawn to them, likely due to their warm and caring nature. 

If only things were different.

If only he was different. 

If only he didn’t kidnap their pecking sister and steal their soul in exchange for servitude and companionship. That’s what it became, after all. After the first contract with the Conductor, all Snatcher wanted was someone here and living to…well, liven up the mansion. Was it really friendship he sought after all these years? 

…nah, that’s a stupid idea. 

…that was actually true. He really did just want a companion, even if he didn’t act like it. He was constantly at war with himself. One part wants to say “fuck it” and be the beast he was cursed to be, another wants to prove Vanessa wrong, and the last part…doesn’t know what he wants. These are things that he’s kept trapped deep, deep down and used as fuel for his malicious demeanor. True, he had never actually physically hurt his servants (besides taking their soul, but that was something they had signed up for), but he knows that he treats them horribly, anyway. His cruel words are only backed up by the fact that they’ve all seen him in action before - Hattie wasn’t the first trespasser to defy him, after all - and the thought of such deeds being enacted upon them had scared them into eternal obedience. Those feelings of loneliness are the feelings that nourish the anger that has lived within him since Vanessa betrayed him and cause him to lash out…

…but at the end of the day, he didn’t mean any of it. Not that that mattered. It’s not like saying “I’m sorry” could help him out of the hole he dug himself. 

“I’m not so sure…about that…master.” Shit, did he say all that out loud? Snatcher groaned and draped himself over his large chair dramatically. Leave it to Moonjumper to trick someone into accidentally spilling their deepest thoughts and fears. “I think they…might all appreciate an apology…from you.” 

Snatcher scoffed. “Sure. Let me just give them their souls back while I’m at it.” 

“You gave…(Y/N)’s soul back…did you not?”

“THAT’S-!” Snatcher snapped up to glare at Moonjumper again. “That’s…different. They were going to die out there without it. No one is in danger of being eaten by wolves or freezing to death here in the mansion.” 

“...still…you didn’t…have to save them.” 

‘And they didn’t have to save you, either’ hangs in the air, unspoken, but understood.

A tense ten minutes passed by before Snatcher sighed again and spoke up. “Ugh…even if I did consider apologizing, I’d have…no way to go about it.” His last apology was playful in nature, a “sorry I was gone so long, but now I’m back” that didn’t have any negative emotions in it. No malice or hatred or spite or despair. 

That apology had gone horribly , and now he’s stuck with a magic rose and a lifetime of misery as a reminder of how badly he messed it up. He knows deep down that it wasn’t his fault…but she had made it so very clear that it was. Part of him still desperately clung to her, despite what she did to him, still believes that is was his fault and his punishment, though cruel, was fitting. Part of him wished he could go back and make everything right. He can’t even bring himself to hate her - how pathetic. But…how could he hate her for something he did? 

Seeing his Master’s inner spiral and melancholic look, Moonjumper spoke up, “Well, there’s the usual things--flowers, chocolates…promises you don’t intend to keep…” Their voice trailed off, a small smile on their face as Snatcher began to bring himself back up to a sitting position with a bark of laughter. 

“Did you just make a joke?”

“I’ve been…practicing.” 

“It was awful. You should practice more.”

A silence, now comfortable again, settled over them, both with easy smiles on their faces. Moonjumper always knew how to cheer him up best. They did have his old memories and have spent centuries with him, after all. They stayed like that, quiet and in each other’s company for a while before Snatcher spoke up again. 

“...Moonjumper…would you…ah, that is to say, I would—stars this is difficult. I order you to-”

“I would be happy to help you…apologize, Master.”

Snatcher sighed in relief. Thank the stars Moonjumper didn’t make him say it. 

“...but asking nicely is something we’ll have to work on.”

Snatcher groaned, leaning back into his chair, and placed a book over his face to block out Moonjumper’s insidious little cackle. He wished he could say that he had immediately regretted even considering asking for help, let alone apologizing to his servants , but he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset at the notion. 

Instead, the thought made him feel…good. A little hopeful, excited, even. It’s…kind of scary.

It made him feel human.

He’d thought that part of him had been long gone. 

And this time, it wasn’t going to be ignored.

_________________________________________________________

Work in the library was tiring and slow-going - with your ankle only doing slightly better (you’re able to stand now without too much discomfort), you’re still wobbling to and fro with the books. You stubbornly tamp down the notion that this task was more than you can handle because damn it you’re so going to finish this project! It breaks your heart seeing all these beautiful books blanketed by dust and you’re not gonna leave this place to rot. Not while you had something you could do about it!

…something that you could do very, very slowly, it seems. 

No matter! You’ve got your mind set to it so you’re going to see it through. You’ve made decent progress in getting the books down from the shelves - but that’s just the easiest part. You’re having to move them to the center of the room so that you can organize them when they all came down off the shelves. After you set (another) heavy tome of ancient reliquaries down on the shiny floor, you turn to look at the progress you’ve made. 

You’ve cleared out the entire bottom shelves of all the bookshelves on the right side, since that’s all you could reach without a ladder - you wanted to wait until your ankle healed a little more before you tried that. Perhaps you could convince MJ to give you a ride up, but you knew how they were with close physical contact. You know Grooves can’t fly, being a penguin and all, and you doubt the Conductor, despite all his obvious energy and strength, would be able to fly you up there without exhausting himself midway and dropping you. 

Snatcher simply wasn’t an option. 

So you’ll just have to wait. You clap the dust off of your clothes and hands, face scrunching in order to keep the dust from entering your eyes and lungs. You’ve taken at least 150 books down by now, and you tried not to let the overwhelming dread and premature exhaustion at the idea of continuing get you down. Now seemed like as good a time as any to stop, though, because your stomach began grumbling and you’ve been able to smell what the Conductor’s cooking for a half hour and it was sort of driving you crazy. 

You exited the library, gently closing the doors, and headed to the dining room. You still sort of felt like you weren’t contributing as much as you could, so you decided to see if the Conductor needed any help - he’d probably say no, but it couldn’t hurt. You gave Grooves a smile and a wave as you passed, headed to the kitchen, but you froze in your tracks when you heard

“AHAHAHAHA! You can’t be serious!....you’re not serious, right?” Snatcher? What the hell was he doing down here? You didn’t know what he did on a day-to-day basis, but being in the kitchen at any time probably wasn’t on his daily to-dos. Quietly, you poked your head into the open doorway. 

There, standing proudly in the kitchen, was Snatcher. Good to know your ears weren’t playing tricks on you. He was standing in front of The Conductor, who was smirking up at the ghost. When the bird didn’t respond, Snatcher’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his smile twisted into a small, confused frown. “Conductor, please tell me you’re joking.”

The small yellow bird barked out a hearty laugh - one that could even rival Snatcher’s - and shook his head, hopping over to the counter to grab an apron. He tossed it to Snatcher, who caught it with ease, and was still staring bewildered at the Conductor. 

“Ah umnae! I’d never haver ‘bout havin’ some bampot in me kitchen, ‘specially when it come t’makin’ supper.” Snatcher, like you, looked confused. “Am I supposed to be insulted by the things you just said? I didn’t understand any of it.”

Again, the Conductor ignored him. “If’n yer lookin’ to apologize to lil’ ol’ me, yer gonna have t’prove yer serious. Just as serious as I am when it comes to an honor such as this.” Apologize? you thought, Snatcher? Here? What?

The Conductor put on his own apron and gestured for Snatcher to do the same. Snatcher looked up and glared at Moonjumper, who you didn’t notice was floating in the corner adjacent to you. MJ simply smiled and shrugged. . 

“This is not what I had in mind.”

“S’not what I had in mind, either, mind you! I pride meself in me kitchen, ‘n I make sure every meal I make isn’t a load of pure boggin.” Snatcher went to scoff, but was cut short when the Conductor took the apron from his hands and threw it over his neck, where it landed crooked over his body. You slapped a hand over your mouth as you let out a little snort - he looked absolutely ridiculous. The white and pink apron clashed horribly with his faint yellow blush - you’d even almost say he looked cute all flustered like that. 

While Snatcher and the Conductor paid you no mind (too busy arguing like mother and child, and it seemed like the Conductor was having a little too much fun with it), it seems someone did notice your presence. MJ subtly nodded at you before the other two could catch him. He was smiling, naturally, as he watched on. Just what in the cosmos was happening in there?

Ah, that’s it. You must be dreaming. You probably did something stupid in the library like hit your head with one of those ridiculously heavy tomes and fell unconscious (just what Snatcher said NOT to do) and now you’re having a weird dream in which the Conductor is trying to coerce The Snatcher , master of the mansion, into cooking a meal with him while wearing aprons as Moonjumper watched in the corner. 

“Actually, that’s exactly what’s….happening, my friend.”

You nearly screamed as you whipped around to smack whoever was behind you, but thankfully Moonjumper had ducked before your hand collided with his cheek. His smile never faded though - in fact, it seemed to morph into more of a shit-eating grin. You didn’t know Moonjumper was capable of such a look. That means something is going on. It took you a moment to realize what had just happened.

“Wha–...oh. Did I say all that out loud?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. I’m sure their…arguing drowned it out.”

You confusedly pointed to the kitchen and then back to him to confirm. They laughed again.

“Yes, that was…actually the Master with the…Conductor.”

“...making dinner.”

“Yes.”

“...together?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

At this, MJ shrugged. “That isn’t…my place to…say. But, you must admit, it is amusing to…watch.”

Okay, Moonjumper was definitely hiding something. You had a little sister for star’s sake, you could smell a lie a mile away. But you decided to leave it be for now - MJ would tell you when the moment is right. You picked up that he had a sort of appreciation for dramatics. Still, you nodded along with him, a small smile of your own forming.

“Yeah, okay, it is sort of fun to watch. I just hope the mansion doesn’t get burnt down during the fight.”

“It won’t.”

You and Moonjumper settled back into your respective positions: you looking around the open doorway and MJ floating in the corner supervising. By the time your conversation with MJ ended, the Conductor had managed to get the apron onto Snatcher (you could hear him grumbling something about not getting gross mortal food on himself) and was beginning to set up the ingredients for dinner. It looked…fairly simple. Too simple, in fact. The Conductor had set Snatcher up to make…spaghetti. Spaghetti? Really? You could guess that Snatcher had never made his own food before, let alone step foot into a kitchen, but spaghetti just seemed a little…silly for someone of his caliber. 

Though you could understand why the Conductor chose this dish specifically after he had let Snatcher do what he wanted with the uncooked pasta - he even had the water boiling for him to give him a head start. 

You could never imagine pasta going so wrong. You’ll never be able to look at tomatoes the same way again. And how exactly did he do that with the herbs? 

In the end (which took about 5 whole minutes to get to), the kitchen was somehow covered ceiling to floor with undercooked noodles, tomatoes, and raw meat. Some even landed onto poor Moonjumper’s face, though he stayed passively smiling the whole time, even as he wiped a chunk of burnt tomato off his face. You bit down your laughter as best as you could. Shit, even Hattie can make spaghetti without meatballs that are somehow simultaneously burnt and undercooked. You were trembling with effort in the doorway. You couldn’t blow your cover now - you HAD to see what happened.

Snatcher, in his defense, did look at least a little sheepish for the chaos he caused. He gently grabbed a limp noodle off the Conductor’s beak and threw it back somewhere behind him where it landed and stuck to a wall. 

“Eh…aheheheh…s-...” He cleared his throat, shot a quick glare at Moonjumper (who still had that same shit-eating grin as before), and tried again. “Sorry. I, heh, I’ve uh…not stepped into a kitchen for, ah, quite some time now.”

You all waited with baited breath for the Conductor’s response (probably only you, though, as you were the only one who breathed). A pregnant, tense silence hung over you all. The tick from the grandfather clock in the piano room seemed so distant yet so overwhelming and deafening in your ear. You didn’t even know what to expect. Would the Conductor lose his cool? Would he yell at Snatcher, and then in return, Snatcher would do something awful to him? Well, something even more awful than exploding spaghetti in his freshly cleaned kitchen. Oh, man, he only just cleaned that yesterday! That must be so frustrating…

Before you could think any further, however, you heard a soft snort that evolved into a truly uproarious peel of laughter.

“HAH! Ahahaha! Oh, oh stars, if yer could see the look on yer face!” At this, you and Moonjumper both tensed. Of all the things to say to Snatcher - was the Conductor trying to get himself killed?! Snatcher, whose face was flushed yellow with embarrassment (or anger, you couldn’t really tell), kept trying to interject through the Conductor’s laughter, though his words fell on deaf ears as the Conductors guffawing consumed all other sounds in the room. It would be so easy to join in - his laugh was so contagious - but you were more scared for him at this moment. Snatcher had never made good on any of his threats to you , but that didn’t mean the Conductor was in the clear. Snatcher’s face flashed with anger, his yellow blush receding quickly, and he wound up to do something to the Conductor and you braced yourself, ready to run in and jump in between them if need be–!

“Patch! Patch it up, Snatcher, I-I–HAH! I cannae do it anymore! Hold on, augh, I feel boke, that’s t’hardest I laughed in a while. Ach, I feel skelped, hold on.” Snatcher, whose face now bore a look of anger and confusion, waited for the Conductor to catch his second wind. “Hoo-boy. Och, thanks fer that, Master, sir. I needed that.”

Snatcher scoffed in disbelief. “Needed me to ruin your kitchen and waste your food? I know I don’t have to eat, Conductor, but you should really be more concerned about the rations you have for those who do .” Snatcher, who had long since teared off his apron, crossed his arms over his chest. “May I remind you that I came down here to ‘atone for past grievances’, not become some laughing stock for a bird smaller than my arm.” Snatcher all but growled that last part out, anger taking over and threats already bubbling to the surface.

But the Conductor simply shook his head. “Aye, sure, but t’be fair, I dinnae expect yer to actually go through with it.” He picked up a towel and began wiping the splattered food off the counter. “I sort of just expected yer to demand me forgiveness, ‘n then I would, ‘n we’d both choose to ignore the fact that I lied, 'n then you’d float away ‘n I’d be back to makin’ supper. 

“But then you asked how you could apologize. See, that was yer own fault right there.” No one could see his eyes under his shaggy yellow feathers and hat, but you could all discern the distinct feeling that the Conductor winked playfully at Snatcher. “I figured it was jus’ an extra step to the regime and you decided t’mix things up. In my defense, there was no way I could’ve known yer were being serious.” The Conductor cleaned off a small area of the counter for himself to sit and pulled out a pipe from his pocket. Moonjumper instinctively opened the kitchen window a crack. 

“Yer know yer could’ve backed out at any time, and I ken you’ve got yer pride and all that,” he packed his pipe, lit a match under it and started to smoke, “but I guess I am curious. Why didn’t you?”

Again, Snatcher froze. You and MJ just…stood there, watching. The Conductor, though, seemed to give him the grace of thinking about the way he wanted to respond. After Snatcher didn’t respond for a few seconds, the Conductor hopped back off the counter and began to clean again. He got halfway through a piece of meatball that had already caked itself to the floor when Snatcher replied. 

“I…I…don’t know. I just-” He growled again, frustrated with himself. “I just wanted to help! I guess! It wasn’t even my idea, Moonjumper put me up to it! Happy?” He huffed indignantly, glaring at the aforementioned ghost, who was still smiling. 

“Now, wait, did Moonjumper want you to help, or did you want to?” The Conductor replied from the floor, still trying to pry the meat off of the ground.

Snatcher snarled. “Does it matter?” He gestured around him. “I didn’t do anything useful.”

“Nae, y’didn’t.” Harsh, but true. “But yer proved t’me yer were serious about an apology, ‘n while this is probably the worst apology I’ve ever gotten in my life,” Snatcher growled again at that, “it’s also the most honest one I’ve gotten, too.” 

Snatcher’s features softened as he continued to watch the Conductor clean up. He still looked torn and confused. Nothing went right and he had even lashed out at the very person he was trying to apologize to. The Conductor shot him a look over his shoulder. “Iff’n yer wantin’ to make good on that apology, though, I suggest you grab a towel.”

You couldn’t help that smile that broke out on your face as Snatcher, taken aback by a suggestion from a servant, did as he was told. He grabbed a nearby rag and set to work cleaning the ceiling - a place the Conductor needed the tallest ladder to reach. You looked over at Moonjumper, flabbergasted at the turn of events, and MJ in turn shrugged, floating over to you so the two could focus on their cleaning. Snatcher wasn’t an idiot by any means, but he would definitely need some guidance when doing things in accordance with the Conductor’s rules in the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to see whatever arguments may ensue. 

Once you both were well away from the kitchen, you stopped MJ by grabbing their shoulder. “Okay, spill. ‘Apology’? What the hell was all that about!”

Moonjumper just smiled cryptically at you. “You’ll find out in due time, friend.” And he floated away.

That evening, something was beginning to change in the mansion, and everyone, including Snatcher, could feel it. A warmth settled in the pit of your stomach, though you didn’t know what to make of it. It felt like, somehow, things were beginning to change for the better. 

The lights in the mansion glowed a little brighter that night.

Chapter Text

Suffice to say that dinner that night wasn’t…amazing, but the new, somewhat weird atmosphere of the dining room made up for it. The Conductor was seated next to Snatcher - a rare sight, as Snatcher only had his occasional dinner alone in his room with very few exceptions - and they were…laughing. Joking. It was, albeit, somewhat stunted and awkward at times, but they were joking nonetheless. You and Grooves had shared a confused expression, but remained silent for now. You’d have time to ask the Conductor what exactly happened later.

But for now, you and Grooves were forced to watch the two…genuinely enjoy each other's company. You were torn between a lighthearted feeling at seeing them smile and joke together and a deep, gut-twisting sensation that something was horribly wrong. It wasn’t anything new to see the Conductor laughing rambunctiously - his laugh could fill the entire manor with noise - but it was…weird, to say the least, to see Snatcher smiling and laughing with such genuine mirth. It was like that little bit you saw from him in the hallway while you joked was just a preview of how happy he could really be. He seemed to be really enjoying himself - so much so that he would forget you and Grooves were there. You might as well have eaten somewhere else. This is the longest you’ve been in Snatcher’s presence without him cracking a joke about your “pathetic, mortal body” or some morbid joke about death and the afterlife, specifically, yours. It was…a little unnerving, to say the least. Still, you ate your dinner without interrupting whatever sort of moment the Conductor and Snatcher were having…though you couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in Moonjumper’s eye from across the room. They looked like a proud parent, watching their baby take their first steps as they studied your avian companion and the ghost. Your expression softens…maybe this wasn’t as weird as you were making it out to be.

“What?” Snatcher barks out an incredulous laugh. “Now I know you’re lying to me. There’s no way a small thing like yourself took down an entire squadron of those military seals.” Military seals? Like…actual animal seals in the military? Looks like you zoned out for too long.

The Conductor laughs back. “An’ just how would yer know that?” 

Snatcher laughs again, giant, shadowy claw hitting the table with genuine mirth. “You can’t even reach the top shelf of the pantry by yourself. You expect me to believe that you, by your lonesome, armed with a weapon twice your height and weight, fought off an entire crew of seals?”

“Aye, I do, ‘cause it’s the truth!” The Conductor guffawed as he took another bite of his mediocre dinner. 

“Sure,” Snatcher scoffed, in an oddly good natured fashion. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

You and Grooves share another confused look. You finally clear your throat and open your mouth to speak, “I’m sorry…what’s going on here?”

Snatcher’s…hair? Fluff? Bristles a little at the sound of your voice and he flusters, as if just noticing you two were there. A faint yellow tinges his cheeks - it’s almost indiscernible in the candlelight. “I- well, I-”

“‘Twas just regalin’ him with old war stories, nothin’ too exciting.” The Conductor cuts Snatcher off, saving him from the embarrassment of just now realizing that the two of them weren’t alone at the dinner table. Somehow, under all his feathers and his hat, you could tell the Conductor was winking at you - a silent request between friends to let Snatcher be. How weird…

Still, you oblige, shifting the focus from Snatcher’s still slightly flustered face (he looked more…annoyed with himself then anything) to the Conductor. “Really? You never told me you were a veteran.” 

“That’s ‘cause he’s not.” Grooves huffs beside you, causing the Conductor to flush and squawk indignantly. You bite your lip to refrain from laughing.

“An’ what would yer know, yer shiny twit? Jus’ ‘cause I never told yer about it doesn’t mean it didnae happen!” The Conductor fires back.

The two fall into their normal bickering routine, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face. This felt normal. You ate another bite of your food - it really wasn’t all that bad, if you put enough salt on it - and hesitantly turned to Snatcher to gauge his reaction. 

He looked…odd. His face was void of its normal, wicked grin, but he didn’t look upset. His face was just…neutral. He looked like he was thinking…like he was contemplating letting himself enjoy this moment with the rest of you. 

You stared for too long, apparently, because he turned to look at you sharply. He stared at you with his unnerving, neutral gaze. You felt your own smile waver. Not knowing how he was feeling was…a little scary. You internally braced yourself, waiting for him to snap that you weren’t sitting up straight or that your elbows were on the table and that was improper or something like that…but he just continued to stare at you. You nervously chewed on your bottom lip. It was like he was…looking to you for something.

However, Grooves and the Conductor’s bickering snapped you out of your daze. You looked over to them, still fighting across the table, and your smile returned. You looked back at Snatcher and offered him a grin and a shrug before continuing with your meal, the birds’ argument serving as adequate ambiance. This was right. 

After another moment or so, Snatcher followed your lead, turning his attention back to his meal as the birds squabbled. A faint grin of his own made its home on his face as the two of you continued your meal, an odd sense of normalcy blanketing over the group. 

Yeah…this felt right. 

This almost felt like home. 

You stood in the darkness, an icy cold seeping into the marrow of your bones. You didn’t know where you were…but you didn’t need to. There was no panic in your heart, despite the steadily growing sense of dread that crept up your spine. No, you felt…lost. No matter where you turned, there was just more darkness. You walked for what felt like hours - you’d given up calling out for anyone a long time ago, as your voice refused to leave your throat, regardless of how hard you tried. 

Your body never tired, despite how long you had been walking for. You never grew colder, despite the constant nip of the icy wind on your skin. You never cried, despite how much you wanted to. 

Finally, after hours of walking, you saw a light. That looming, growing dread washed over you again as you saw it, but your heart couldn’t help but flutter with hope. Your heart and mind clashed. Fear took hold of your mind - what if it was dangerous? Hope alit in your heart - what if it was salvation? 

You shook aside your internal struggle and continued forward, towards the light. Something about moving towards it felt…right, despite how scary it seemed. As you approached, you saw…

A young man, assumedly. He couldn’t have been much older than you. His light brown hair curled just above his shoulders, and his attire was that of royalty, clothed in a beautiful, deep red. A crown sat beside him in the white nothingness that surrounded him - snow, you realize. Your brows furrow in confusion…he looked familiar but foreign at the same time, and the headache-inducing sensation of your mind being pulled in two different directions caused you to wince, the first time you felt anything but cold in this odd place. You hear the faint sound of sobbing as you approach…the young man’s shoulders shake as he cries in front of you. Your heart aches at the sound. 

“Hello?” Your voice finally manages to leave your throat, and you almost sigh in relief as the being actually reacts to your presence. He sits up a little straighter. “Hello? Are you okay? Who are–” your voice is cut short as he turns to face you. You feel your face drain of its color. 

His face is void of any features, instead bearing only hideous claw marks that mar his pale skin. A dark substance spills from the wounds…but it’s not blood. A deep, shadowy tar oozes from the slash marks. They fall onto the ground beneath him, steaming as they sully the once-pristine snow. Your hand that you didn’t realize you had extended pulls back in fear as the young man reaches out in turn. He can’t speak - how can he, with no mouth? - but he tries to anyway. You wince and cover your ears as the gross, bubbling, squelching sounds escapes his throat, more tar falling from his wounded face in the process. 

You’re frozen, and not by the cold wind that suddenly whips around you. Your mind and heart are once again at war with each other. 

Run! Says your brain. Can’t you see he wants to hurt you? Run, and live! Your legs tremble, ready to spring into action, to carry you far away from here in a moment’s notice. 

Stay! Cries your heart. Can’t you see he’s hurting? Reach out to him! Your arms shake, wanting to lift the poor soul into your arms and comfort him. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the man. This familiar stranger. He doesn’t advance on you, but his hand is still outstretched. Were those claws on his hands, or just residual tar dripping from his fingers? Was that hope that made his hand tremble, or was it an anger that would be brought upon you if you reached out in return? Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps as the light above him begins to dim. 

What do you do? The darkness begins to consume him, but he doesn’t move. 

What do you do?! He seems like he’s accepted his fate. His hand starts to fall - those were claws on his hands. You see the imprint they make in the sullied snow as his hand falls. Was that defeat? The light continues to fade.

What do you do? 

What do you do?! 

What do you-?!

You wake up with a start, the distant sound of a piano drifting into your ears. The sound is so soft, so far away, but it still manages to drown out the pounding of your heart in your ears. You heave ragged breaths, as though you just surfaced after nearly drowning. Your brain whirls in a panic - drowning, water, cold, icy water that threatens to consume you, wolves closing in, a shriek and a howl, your ankle, the darkness, the man, the man, the man—!

The piano continues its distant melody. You snap out of it. You look around the room. Your room. Your bed. Your fireplace. The things you’ve accepted as your temporary safehold. Your wardrobe. Your bedside table. 

The distant piano.  

Your head snaps towards the door. The soft music has been playing far too long for it to be imagined. Your room is well lit. You aren’t in the darkness. You aren’t alone. There’s music playing. You aren’t alone.

You close your eyes and take a few deep, shuddering breaths, forcing yourself to calm down. That dream…whatever it was, it was just a dream, and it’s over now. Still…your stomach turns as you think about the man. 

The man…was he okay?

What did it matter? He wasn’t real. You shake your head and force yourself to calm down. 

In your defense, the dream was…insanely distressing, to say the least. Not only was the matter itself upsetting, but that was the first dream you had since you came here. A week and a half of dreamless nights, and the first thing you see in your sleep falls strikingly remote from anything resembling the comfort you so desperately needed in this place. 

You pray to whatever’s out there that your subconscious brain never seeks out those visions again. You’re not sure if you could take it. 

The piano continues to play.

Well…you’re not getting any more sleep tonight, anyway. With a sigh, you slip out of bed, mindful of your ankle. You welcome the chill of the stone floor as you stand - it’s grounding, in a way. You grab a blanket, wrapping it over your pajamas (graciously lent to you by Moonjumper), and slowly make your way out of your room. You walk quietly, though the distant piano muffles your steps well enough that you don’t really have to worry about waking anyone up. 

The music grows louder as you approach the foyer. Now that you’re not freaking the peck out in your bed, you’re able to truly listen to it. It’s a beautiful melody. It’s light and dreamy…but it carries a deep, deep sorrow and grief. 

You’re not sure what you’re expecting as you step into the room where the piano stays. You’re not sure if you’re surprised, but your body is too drained to react accordingly to whatever you may feel when you see Snatcher on the bench. Whatever you feel - you’re too tired to name it - it causes you to pause as you stand in the doorway, watching Snatcher play his hauntingly beautiful refrain. Your mind is too frazzled to be shocked that Snatcher can play beautiful music, let alone play at all. Instead, you just stand in the doorway, watching him silently. It might be the moonlight that filters in through the window, or your exhausted mind, but in this moment, believing himself to be alone with his music, Snatcher looked almost…

…human. 

There’s no sound of his claws clicking against the ivory. There’s no fangs that are enunciated by the yellow of his mouth. The moonlight shines against an actual, defined face instead of a mass of shadow. You take in a deep breath, quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere he’s made for himself. You’re not sure if he sleeps, but if he’s down here playing the piano, then he must not be able to find rest in whatever form he takes it in. You lean against the doorway, eyes closing as you let the music relax you…

…only to lean too much on the door itself, causing it to creak open softly. 

The music abruptly stops. Your eyes shoot open. The air grows thick with tension. 

Your heart races. Snatcher turns, slowly, to look at you over his shoulder. His claws still against the keys. His fangs poke out from his mouth, drawn into a small, unnatural frown. The face that the moonlight gently traced is overtaken by shadow and it’s Snatcher who looks at you, not the human your brain tricked you into seeing. Though, you always knew it was him. 

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare move. Your brain tears through thought after thought as his golden eyes pierce the soul that now once again rests inside you. 

That night. The room. The silence that overwhelmed the room as gentle rustling of pages stopped immediately.. His expression, unreadable. Wide eyes. Shock. Terror. Fear. The flower in the glass. The silence that seemed to last an eternity. The tension. The apprehension. The all-consuming dread. The single flash of the thought that you would never see your sister again. 

It all came flooding back to you as you and Snatcher watched each other. You gulped. There you stood, once again having disturbed Snatcher’s peace. The dread seeping into every fiber of your being as he saw you with your hand on the glass. The pain and anger and fear that shadowed his expression in that moment. How could you not see the fear in his eyes? How did you—

“You’re up late,” was all he said. There was no anger or reproach in his voice. Just an observation. His claw clicked against the ivory of the keys, which had fallen silent without his guidance. The moonlight framed his back in an almost angelic manner, the soft white light haloing around his shadowy figure. 

“So are you,” you respond. The tremble you thought would be laced in your voice wasn’t there. You spoke in a hushed tone, to match his - you’d never heard him speak so softly before. 

“I don’t sleep,” was his reply as he turned from you slightly. His attention was torn between you and the piano. 

“Hm. That seems like it would suck.” You challenge your body to relax. Your muscles were as stiff as the doorway you leaned on…

The ghost lets out a huff of air - a quick, quiet laugh, much different than his loud, boisterous one. “It’s not so bad. I’ve gotten used to it.” 

You hum in response. Silence falls over the two of you again. The perpetual snowstorm outside cast small, dancing shadows on the ground. You shift your weight. The cold of the stone was starting to get uncomfortable. 

“Can I-”

“Would you-”

You and Snatcher speak at the same time, both of your mouths snapping shut at the other’s words. You motion for Snatcher to speak. 

“You, first.” 

Snatcher shakes his head, the shadows that curl around his head like hair rustling softly at the motion. 

“No, it’s nothing. What do you want?”

You know better than to argue. “I was…gonna ask if I could hang out here with you for a while. I’m…not gonna be able to go back to sleep. But you’re…doing your own thing, so I’ll just. Leave. Sorry.” Your voice, raspy from sleep, cracks a little at the thought of returning to your room, left to be subject to your thoughts, alone. You take a step back out of the doorway, turning to leave.

“Wait.” You pause, immediately. You look at Snatcher, your heart picking up speed again. Did he decide that he was angry with you for interrupting? Did he see this as an opportunity to make you work? You were already up and confessed that you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, after all. You wouldn’t put it past him to assign something to you, seeing as you continue to work despite your injured, yet healing, ankle. You wait for him to say something. You’re too tired to fight and argue. You’ll just…bear whatever it is he asks of you—

“You can stay.”

You blink in surprise. You shift nervously on your feet, the cold of the stone biting into your skin. Was this a test? Was it a trick? Was it—

Snatcher sighs and rolls his eyes. “Stop standing there - you’re gonna freeze to death. Take a seat. The carpet’s comfier than the stone.” He turns away from you again, back to the piano. His claws brush against the keys, but he doesn’t play. 

You take a moment to process his words. They aren’t a demand, but an invitation…in their own weird way. A small smile creeps its way onto your face, despite yourself. You enter the room - the skin and muscles of your feet immediately tingle in gratitude as you step from the cold, hard stone onto the soft, warm carpet. You awkwardly stand there for a few moments, watching Snatcher, before you decide to head to the window parallel to him. You take a seat on the windowsill, turning from him in favor of watching the snow fall. It’s something you’ve gotten used to watching, but it still manages to make your heart skip a beat every time. Your little town doesn’t get snow all that much. You smile as a memory worms its way into your mind. 

Your parents had decided to take your small family up North to a small mountain range during the Winter one year. It was only a day trip - they couldn’t stay for long, having jobs to return to - but it still felt magical. You remember Hattie’s face when she climbed off of your father’s back, taking in the majestic sight of the snow that gently fell around your family. The way her eyes lit up and her cheeks turned red from the cold…the way she flinched away from the gentle snowflakes at first, and the way her face lit up when she mustered up the courage to let one land on her nose. It was her first time seeing snowfall, after all. Your heart warms at the memory. She was probably around five years old, then. How time flies…as she is now, it’s hard to imagine Hattie ever being scared of anything, even things she hadn’t experienced yet. 

You remember laughing at her fear of the snow. 

You remember wishing you could be as brave as her as she grew up. 

Your heart threatens to sink at the thought of your sister, but you close your eyes and will the feeling of sorrow away. You won’t let yourself be swept up in emotions. You’ll see her again soon enough, once you’ve healed. 

Silence fills the room as Snatcher watches you watch the snowfall. 

“...Had a bad dream?” His low, raspy voice doesn’t cut through the silence as much as it gently pushes it aside. His words are almost embraced by the silence with how softly he speaks. You don’t have the energy to be put off by how mellow his tone is. You shift a little in your seat, turning to look at him. 

Did you dare open up to the ghost? Part of you nags at you, claiming he’d only taunt and tease you for daring to be vulnerable around him in confessing your nightmare. The other part, a softer part, a part that caresses your heart instead of harshly pulling on it, flutters. What have you to fear? Scorn? Mockery? It compels you to think instead about what you have to gain. Compassion. Company. Someone to sit with so you weren’t alone with your thoughts, trapped with them in the prison of your mind as they stalk and hunt you like starved beasts. 

You sigh and offer a weak smile to Snatcher. “How’d you know?” 

Snatcher’s lips twitch in the faintest shadow of a smile. “Just a hunch.” 

Silence falls over you two again. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though it is an odd one. Questions scratch at Snatcher’s throat, though he wouldn’t dare ask them. The nightmare sits restlessly at the front of your mind, pushing against your lips to be let out at the possible invitation of being told to someone else, but you stubbornly keep your mouth shut. 

The snow continues to fall. 

A few more minutes of silence pass and you look back over at Snatcher. His eyes are trained on the piano, his claws tapping against the wood of the bench. It’s odd seeing him look so…uncertain. 

“...I didn’t know you played,” it tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it. Snatcher freezes, the shadows around him bristling a little…before they fall into their natural place again. 

“It’s been a while, but yes, I do dabble in music from time to time.” Understatement of his afterlife. He hadn’t touched an instrument since the Conductor signed his contract. That was almost a century ago…

“...It was really nice. I liked it.” You hum, bringing your knees to your chest. You hug them close to your body, your blanket draping over your form like a warm embrace. “What was it from?” 

“What’s it from?” Snatcher repeats. “It’s not from anything.” 

You tilt your head as you watch him. “So…you just…made that song up?” 

“I…yes.” Snatcher turns his head from you. A deep memory toils within him. Her disappointed gaze as he played. Her mocking sentiments, her cold voice telling him how useless music was for someone of his stature. That he had more important things to do. That hobbies were unfit for a prince. Unfit for her fiance. That running the kingdom and being by her side alone should be enough joy to keep him content. 

The wood of the piano bench creaks as his claws dig into it. He hates his past self for letting her deprive his life of joy. 

He forces himself to be calm. Why should it matter if you mock him? Why should he care about your opinion? Why did his gut twist itself into knots at the idea of you staring at him with cold, disapproving eyes—

“Really?” Your voice cuts through his thoughts. There was nothing in your voice to indicate…anything.

Snatcher huff, a sneer twisting his lips. “Yes. Is that so hard to believe?” 

He turns to look at you, seeing your eyes wide with…awe? His own eyes narrow, confused. There wasn’t a trace of disdain in your expression. He opens his mouth to question you, but you beat him to the punch.

“That’s really cool!” Your voice, no longer a whisper, rings out. You flinch back, remembering that it was late and your companions were hopefully still sleeping. “That’s really cool,” you repeat, in a whisper this time. “You can really just make up music on the spot, just like that?”

Snatcher blinks, taken aback. “I…well, yes.” His voice trails off, confused. Where was the disappointment? The disdain? The cruel laughter, taunting him for his childish hobbies? 

There’s no such emotions on your face. Your lips aren’t pulled into an ugly frown, nor do your eyes burn with dissatisfaction. Instead, a smile graces your lips and your eyes alight with…wonder. Snatcher feels something deep inside him curl in on itself as he studies your face. He can’t understand the feeling. Is it curling up for protection? Or do his insides tighten at the unusual feeling of warmth that weakly flickers in him, deep inside? 

Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

…but he doesn’t hate it, either. 

You take his silence for permission to continue. “That’s amazing! I thought for sure you were reading music. I can’t believe you just came up with that on the spot.” The moonlight is no match for the soft glow that radiates from your smile. 

Snatcher fights the deep, warm feeling that if he needed air, his breath would be swiftly seized by the sight. He fights the warmth that threatens to rise to his cheeks. He fights the warm sensation that consumes that deep, deep part of him that longs for something he doesn’t have the strength to admit. The part that’s been sealed away for hundreds of years. 

“...you don’t have to brown-nose, greenhorn.” He chuckles. Heh. Brown-nose, greenhorn. He looks at you, expecting some sort of reaction to his stupid joke…but you’re just staring at him. 

“I’m not. I really liked the song. I thought it was pretty, even if it was a little sad…” You trail off, your tone suggesting an unspoken question… 

Why was it so sad? 

Snatcher looks at you…before turning away with a scoff. “It wasn’t sad .” It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you don’t press it. 

“...you can keep playing, you know. You don’t have to stop ‘cause of me.” 

Snatcher stills again. It’s been so long since he let himself play, let alone let himself play in front of someone else. Her scorn was enough to drive him to pursue his hobbies in private or on the rare occasion where she was away from the mansion. His silence is enough to prompt you to speak again. 

“Or you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. It’s, you know, whatever you want.” You look out the window again, giving him space to breathe a little…metaphorically, of course. 

Snatcher takes a few moments to respond, “...I guess it can’t be helped.” You look at him again, confused. His face takes on its usual smile as he continues, “I guess I have no choice but to continue if you’re gonna sit and mope and pout if I don’t.” 

You sputter, defensively. “I do not mope and pout. ” 

Snatcher snickers, “Coulda fooled me, greenie.” He laughs as you stutter more, crossing your arms over your chest as you sit a little straighter. You hide your smile behind an obviously fake pout. It’s good to see him smiling again, even if it is his normal, sinister smile. It beats looking at his frowning or neutral face - he looks so…unnatural without a smile. 

You cozy up on your chair, wrapping your blanket tighter around you as Snatcher sits up with a flourish. At this point, you’re betting he was a showman in his past life, given his flare for the dramatics. He hams it up, miming sweeping his imaginary coattails off the bench, his face pulled into a “serious” one as his claws gently float down to meet the ivory keys. He clears his throat and does a posh little wiggle - you never knew what a “posh little wiggle” was until he did it, and you just manage to keep yourself from chuckling at his silly display - but as soon as his claws press down onto the keys, the goofiness melts away. Suddenly, he’s just Snatcher in a way you’ve never known him. He isn’t a sarcastic ghost. He isn’t a cruel monster. He’s just…him. 

This is the most honest you’ve ever seen him. 

You keep your thoughts to yourself as Snatcher plays. He picks up where he left off with his previous somber melody…but something about the tune has changed. It’s still laced with grief and sorrow, but there’s something missing from the first time. You close your eyes as you listen intently, thinking about what could be missing from the first time he played. 

The missing element eludes you and you give up thinking about it, focusing on just listening to Snatcher play. The feeling of fear that had sunk its cold claws into you during your nightmare melts away as you listen. He plays softly, so as not to disturb the others in the manor…or to make sure that no one else witnesses him, the great and mighty Snatcher, playing such a beautiful melody. You smile to yourself - who would’ve thought, huh? 

As you listen, your mind replays your nightmare, or at least the pieces you can remember from it. At the climax of the song, the young man flashes into your head again. His clawed hand, reaching out…you realize now that it was never meant to strike you. He was asking for help.

It hits you.

What the song was missing…was the despair that was woven into it the first time, instead replaced by the faintest breath of hope. It was distant, but it was there.

Hope…

Your smile grows as the song begins to fade with the world around you and you drift to sleep in the chair.

Snatcher finishes the song. The human part buried deep inside him that refuses to die thanks him. It thanks you. Not that he’d ever admit it. No, he puts a cap on that stubborn, human part of him again. Not here. Not now. He clears his throat, his sinister smile lifting his lips in a perfect, practiced motion. He turns to your bundled up form.

“So, greenie, what did you—” He stops short at the sight of you sleeping. He watches as you breathe in soft and slow. At peace, despite his presence. Despite everything. He continues to stare for a few more minutes, your form so small compared to him. So…human. That unnamed, unsolicited, but not unwelcome feeling stirs in him again as he watches your chest rise and fall. Full of life - living.

After a few more moments, he looks away with a scoff. “Unbelievable. Asks me to play, then falls asleep…the nerves of some people…” His words hold no bite though as his golden eyes drift to your form again. He huffs out a disbelieving chuckle and closes the piano lid quietly. “I guess I’ll let it slide…this time.” He jokes to himself. He reaches out for you…only to draw back when he remembers his claws.

That feeling in him sinks a little and he gladly lets it. Good. He doesn’t need to be feeling it anyway. Snatcher waves a hand, summoning a shadow beneath you to teleport you to your room, onto your bed. It’s not like the first time he did it, where it felt like you fell 50 feet before roughly landing on your bed. No, this time, the shadows move you like a gentle wave washing upon the shore.

He sighs as he slinks into the shadows himself and reappears in his own room. His insides refuse to stop twisting themselves into knots or rid themselves of the warmth feeling that has comfortably settled in that deep, hidden part of him. He groans and runs a hand down his face. A distant, once-loved voice whispers in the back of his mind. 

Oh, Lukas…what have you gotten yourself into now?

Chapter Text

The next few days went by similarly. That is to say, weirdly. You were able to do more work, but there seemed to be less and less work to do. You had asked the others if they had noticed something similar, and they confessed to you that the ghostly master of the manor himself was helping around with chores. Grooves claims that he made the excuse that, after his fiasco in the kitchen with the Conductor, Snatcher found that doing chores made the day go by faster and that he totally wasn’t doing it to help out. 

Part of you highly doubted that. Most of you highly doubted that. He’d been…weirdly softer since your encounter with him in the parlor. That’s not to say he wasn’t angry or snarky or even downright rude from time to time, but his words didn’t bite as much, and his claws seemed a little less sharp, and whatever poison dripped from his fangs was considerably less toxic. He made markedly less threats, though you could tell that he certainly thought them. His manners, although rough around the edges, were actually present. Even you got a couple “please”s and “thank you”s growled out your way, however grudgingly.

The weirdest part, though, was having him in the library while you worked.

It was unsettling, at first, walking around the corner to see the ghost combing through the books you had already put on the shelves. You didn’t even hear him enter. Perks of being a ghost, you suppose. You didn’t have the fortune of sneaking up on him in return, though, as you alerted him to your presence with a sharp yelp as you’re brought back down to earth by his sudden appearance. He didn’t even react that much to your sudden, loud noise, looking up from his book with a scolding, disinterested look. Like a librarian telling you to be quiet. It hurt more than whatever jeer he could have said. He still teased you anyway. Because of course he did. 

“Keep it down, newbie. This is a library.” He shot you a smug smirk. You resisted the urge to tell him where he could shove his book. That would be very disrespectful to the book, after all.

“How long have you been there?” You asked, walking over to the stacked books. It must have been his doing, as you had sort of just…left them in a pile. An organized-ish pile, to be fair! But you were planning on tackling any sort of actual organization after you had gotten all the books down and dusted off. 

“Long enough.” Why’d he have to be so damn mysterious all the time? He’s probably only been in the library for, like, ten minutes, tops. He could just say that.

“May I ask why you’re here?” You didn’t intend for the question to be malicious or rude, but you were curious. You appreciated the quiet alone time in the library, even if it did get a little too quiet at times (but you just filled those moments with singing - another reason you’d prefer to be alone. Singing time was sacred time!). Plus, with Snatcher helping out around the manor in other places, you’d figured he’d be too busy to visit the library, or perhaps he just preferred the company of the others over yours. Which was fine by you. It made you happy to see your companions slowly but surely open up to him and be able to genuinely smile around him. It didn’t really matter that he didn’t come to see you , cause you were out of here in a few more weeks, anyway.

Speaking of, your ankle was doing much better! It was still tender, but most of the swelling had gone down and you were able to comfortably put pressure on it. You still had to take many breaks, as you could only stand on it for about thirty minutes before the pain became too much, but that’s still progress!

Snatcher regarded you with his usual wicked smile - which, admittedly, was not so wicked anymore - before he turned back to the book he had. Looks like some sort of law book. Gross. 

“Reading,” he said simply. “What else am I supposed to do in a library?” He looked over his book again, and though his smile was covered by the frankly massive text in his hands, you could see his stupid little grin in his eyes. “Jeez, you make it seem like you’ve never even stepped foot in one before, greenie.” 

“Well, duh! Of course I have!” You retort, somewhat indignantly. You tack on an annoyed huff for good measure, too. “But I just-I mean, you’ve got that personal library up in your…um, your room, right?” You cringe a little - it still felt weird and invasive to bring it up again, even though it's been about a week or so now since The Incident. Thankfully, Snatcher doesn’t seem to share your sentiments regarding The Incident, or if he does, he doesn’t express them, as he just watches you with his arrogant gaze over the top of his book. His eyes still reflect his annoying grin.

“Course I could!” He shrugs with a nonchalant, almost cheerful attitude. “But where’s the fun in that? Up there I couldn’t watch you scurry around like a mouse trying to get everything sorted in here.” He hums, momentarily closing his book. He doesn’t dog-ear the page or anything, and the way he sets it aside is rather gentle despite his large, shadowed claws. 

“No, no, greenie.” He chuckles with a shake of his head as he regards you with his usual, sly smirk. “That’d be so boring! This way, I get a little show along with my light reading.” He laughs again as he gestures to you and then back to his law book.

“Light reading,” you scoff. “Sure, if you can consider… ’McGraw-Hill’s Real Estate Law for Paranormal Paralegals’ as light reading.” Your nose scrunches up as you struggle through the title of the book alone. You remember seeing a few other law books in his room before shit hit the fan. He scoffs in return at you.

“What? You’re telling me you haven’t flipped through an intensive law compendium from time to time?” He ‘tsk’s at you, his light and nearly playful tone a far cry from the harsh, mocking tone he used when you first got here. “You’ve gotta be pulling my nonexistent leg, greenie! This stuff is practically for babies!”

You huff and roll your eyes at him again as you get back to work, ignoring his impish laugh as you do so. It’s a little weird and unnerving at first to know he’s in the room with you as you set about your business. More than once you swear you could feel his burning yellow gaze following you around the library, but whenever you look, he’s immersed in his book and isn’t giving you a second thought. It almost makes you feel like you’re the one invading his personal space and alone-time. 

It reminded you of how you felt when you locked eyes in his room. The sudden realization that what you’ve just done is wrong that crawls up your spine and burrows into your skin like a parasite. 

You’ve spent what feels like countless hours every night thinking about that interaction. Normally, you’d never be so…invasive. You typically tried to be polite and respect other people’s space, just as you wanted yours to be respected. For a while, you had justified it as a deserved retribution for stealing your sister’s soul and only letting her go if you, in turn, sold your soul for hers. 

Which…felt reasonable! For a while! But then you started thinking more - with how little your companions let you do, you had a lot of time for reflection - and you came to the conclusion that, whether he hurt you or not, it didn’t feel…right to invade his privacy like that. That’s not something you thought of before The Incident.

Maybe it’s because before it happened, you didn’t realize he could be hurt.

Seeing the pain in someone’s eyes upfront, knowing you’re the cause of it…can seriously mess with your understanding of another’s feelings. Especially when you thought them to be a heartless monster before.

All this to say, you don’t forgive him for what he did to you and Hattie. He’s never properly apologized for it (giving you back your soul doesn’t count as an apology), and it’s hard to believe he would. However, that didn’t make your actions okay. That was…definitely a tough pill to swallow. It’s been difficult seeing him in a more human light, but with each interaction…it’s slowly but surely getting easier.

…it occurs to you that you haven’t spoken for a few minutes. You were lost in thought, staring down at the floor when you came back down to earth. Your eyes snap up to Snatcher again to see the looming shadow-ghost looking down at you with a confused (one might even argue worried) expression. A burst of air fills your lungs as you suddenly remember you do need to breathe, and the sharp sound cuts through the previous silence in the library like a hot knife. 

“...sorry,” is all you can muster to say after another thirty seconds or so. “I, um…zoned out.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Snatcher quips back, his confused-maybe-worried expression melting into an inquisitive one, a mostly-invisible eyebrow arched as he stares down at you. “You, uh…you thinkin’ about something too hard in there?” 

Strange as it was, you had gotten used to Snatcher’s…unique way of asking if you were okay. He slithered or manifested upon you more than once while you struggled through doing the chores that you insisted on doing, and he typically asked if you were okay through a biting, sarcastic comment. His message got through all the same…after the first few times, that is. 

Your head moves on its own, unsure of whether to shake or nod in response. “Yeah. I mean, no. I mean…yeah, I’m good, no, I’m not thinking about anything ‘too hard.’ I just…” You bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes falling to the floor again. A heavy weight has been on your heart since you accepted the fact that what you did to him by ignoring his rule to stay out of his room was wrong. You’ve been meaning to address it for a few days now, but there never seemed to be an opportune moment…

…well, might as well plunge right in, right? You take a deep breath before looking up at Snatcher and continuing. 

“...I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For…yeah.” The air had already become tense between you two the second the word ‘sorry’ slipped out of your mouth. You’re certain if you’d continue you’d just word vomit and make things even more awkward…somehow. So you just…stand there in front of him, waiting for his response. 

The silence drags on between you two. You fidget with your hands as he just stares down at you. Eventually, you have to look away - it was too much to feel his piercing, golden gaze on you as the heavy, stifled atmosphere threatened to break your collarbone. Would he accept your apology? You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Would he throw it back at you sarcastically? Mock you for thinking someone like him needed an apology from someone like you? 

Finally, after what seemed like ages, he speaks up again. He leads with a laugh that, had you not known him as long as you did, you would have naturally assumed it was real. You’ve heard his laugh too many times, however, and you’re able to clock this one is…not as natural as the rest.

“HAH! And what exactly are you apologizing for, newbie?” His tone is off, too. You genuinely couldn’t tell if he was mocking you, or goading you into feeling more guilt than you did, or if he…actually didn’t know why you were apologizing. Maybe…it was something else, altogether? You couldn’t parse what, though, and decided to elaborate…even if that meant facing his mockery again.

“Well, ah…well, for…you know…” You almost expected him to rush you, yell a “spit it out,” at you or…something. But he doesn’t. He just watches you with a tense, awkward twist to his usual smile. You take another breath. “...I’m sorry that I disrespected your privacy and your rules and went into your room. That wasn’t right of me. In fact, it was a real peckhead move of me. So…I’m sorry.”

Another nervous silence stretches over you. You manage to stick it out this time, holding his gaze. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, searching for whatever the best response might be for this, and you truly couldn’t tell what was going on inside his mind. After a suffocating pause, he laughs again, but it’s even more uneasy and strained than before. 

“Oh, THAT?” He says, a little too loudly for it to be natural or for him to seem composed by any measure of the word. “You think I need an apology for THAT? Aha, oh, no, no, you’re much too soft, aren’t ya, greenie? It’s almost cute that you’d be worried about me like that, HAH!” He’s talking much quicker than normal, his eye contact is a little too direct, and his clawed hands have tightened their grip around the book he was reading - though he’s somehow still mindful not to scratch or hurt it. 

“No, I’m totally fine, greenhorn. You don’t need to apologize for that. In fact, let’s say we never bring it up again! Sound good?” You go to respond, but he cuts you off before you even take your first breath. “Good.” And with that, he sticks his face back into his stuffy law book, trying to pretend like you weren’t there…though it wasn’t really effective, since he was holding the book upside down.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at the sudden change of tone and conversation, another bout of mental whiplash jarring your psyche.

“What?” You respond, smartly. You can see he pauses his fake reading as you speak up. “No. I’m sorry, but I really don’t think we should leave it at that.” The hair-like shadows on his neck bristle at your words, much like a cornered, threatened cat’s would. You steel your resolve and take another step towards him. 

“Look, it’s not comfortable for me to talk about either–”

“I never said I was uncomfortable talking about it.” He growls out from over the edge of his still-upside-down-book.

You shoot him A Look. “You didn’t have to.”

He gives you a weak, withering glare over the pages, the tail of his ghostly body setting a slow and steady rhythm of tapping against the floor in an irritated manner. Your eyebrows furrow further in response. He wants to be stubborn, does he? Two can play at that game. You’ve got a head-strong younger sister for peck’s sake - if he thinks he can beat you in a battle of wills, he’s got another thing coming!

“As I said, it’s not comfortable for me to talk about either,” he starts to open his mouth in a snarky response, but you trample over his words before he gets the chance, “ BUT I think this is a very important thing to talk about. I’m not saying you have to forgive me or anything, but you deserve an apology at the very least. I violated your privacy and rules out of pettiness and anger. Whether or not it was justified is irrelevant, because I could tell that it…um…hurt you. Somewhat.” Now it's your turn to awkwardly avoid making eye contact, trying to look anywhere but him. You didn’t know how he would take being accused of feeling things , least of all pain inflicted by some mortal whose soul he took . Yet another awkward silence passes over the two of you, the only sound being the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. 

After a few more moments, you sigh and look up at him. His face is eerily neutral. Not a passive peacefulness like when he was playing the piano, or that empty, distant look he had when he caught you in his room. Just…neutral. It’s off putting. You clear your throat and continue. 

“So I just…wanted to apologize for acting like such a stupid peckhead and hurting you. I’m sorry I did that. Truly.”

He maintains eye contact with you for a few more seconds. Despite the fact that his giant spectral form looms over you, he looks…small. Not physically, of course, but the look in his eyes betrays just how lost he is. Like he was thrown into a labyrinth, unfamiliar twists and turns ahead of him, no end in sight, with walls that stretched beyond imagination. Small. Lost. Alone.

You can’t help but think about your dream visit as you look at him in this moment.

You give him the time he needs to figure out how exactly he would like to respond. It’s interesting, though, seeing him struggle with responding to a sincere apology.

You distantly wonder if he’s ever gotten one. A true apology. The thought makes your heart hurt a little bit - a feeling that’s amplified as you see the corners of his neutral mouth turn downwards ever so slightly. The look in his eyes is distant now. He truly is not mentally here right now. You’re not sure if you should speak up or walk away, so you just…stand there as well. In front of him. Silently. Totally normal behavior here. 

After what feels like actual eons, he sighs and sets aside his book. He doesn’t look sad or hurt, he just looks…tired. Tired and defeated. His golden gaze shines on you again, and his thinking seems to completely change tracks.

“...did Moonjumper put you up to this?” He asks with a dry, humorless chuckle. “Sweet of them to care, but I really don’t need an apology.” 

“No.” You affirm, trying to keep your tone gentle as he continues to try and find any holes in the sincerity of your apology. “Moonjumper hasn’t even spoken to me about that night. Nobody has, really. Just…had a lot of time to think, you know?”

“And you thought that someone like me would need an apology from someone like you?” Theeeeeeeere it was. You just had a feeling he would pull something like this. “You think your little act of rebellion hurt me? That I feel, hah, what, disrespected by someone I know hates me?”

“Hey, wait–”

“I get it newbie.” He chuckles wryly again. “You don’t have to pretend to play nice with little ol’ me. I’m used to being hated. I don’t. Need. An apology.”

You stare at him in pure befuddlement. “Look, I’m not even asking you to accept my apology, but you could at least acknowledge that it’s sincere?” Your hands curl into fists at your side. Why wasn’t he understanding? Why couldn’t he just see that this is a wrong you did against him that you regret? 

Seeing that he doesn’t seem swayed in the slightest despite your words being true, you tack on, “And I don’t hate you!”

He bristles again at that. “Now I know you’re fucking with me. Drop it, greenie. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not fucking with you! I don’t hate you! Why is that hard for you to understand?”

“You certainly don’t like me.”

“Yeah, I don’t!” You reply. He goes quiet, taken aback (and a little confused) by what you said. He starts to respond, but you once again cut him short. “I don’t like you. And you don’t like me. And that’s fine! We don’t have to like each other to be at least…I don’t know, courteous to one another. I don’t have to like you to know that what I did was wrong and it hurt you and it’s not fair that I go around living here, being cared for by the others, and by extension, you , without acknowledging that. I don’t have to like you to be a decent fucking person towards you. You don’t have to be some knight in shining armor to be treated with respect. That was something that was ingrained into me as a kid and I’d practically be spitting in my parent’s faces if I decided to pick and choose when to apply that mentality.”

You end your little rant with a huff. Your hands unclench from your sides. The pressing weight of needing to address this lifts from your chest, and you're able to breathe clearly for the first time in a week. When you open your eyes again (you hadn’t even realized you closed them after your impassioned speech), you see Snatcher still staring at you with that damn neutral expression. Once again, you seem to have rendered him speechless. The silence envelops you for a few more moments…before you’ve had  enough of  it. With another small sigh, you reach forward and extend your hand.

“I get it, it’s not a lot, and again, you don’t have to accept my apology…but do you maybe want  to…start over? I feel like we’ve got some shit to work through, and it would be nice to do so with someone who doesn’t despise me or think I hate their guts in return.” You offer him a small, weak smile. “So…what do you say? Not-enemies?”

His eyes drift from your tired, nervous face to your hand, which shakes slightly as it’s held out to him. 

Your hand. 

Fragile. Warm. Human.  

Held out to him.

Ethereal. Cold. Monstrous.  

He looks back to your eyes, which do display a genuine regret and a gentle understanding. Why? Why were you like this? After everything that's happened, how could you be so…pleasant? How could you offer him a kindness he didn't deserve? How could you think this is a small thing you’re presenting him? An acknowledgement that you had wronged him was huge for him in and of itself, but a genuine apology and a chance to be more civil towards each other, despite past misdeeds?

As you move to draw your hand away, taking his lack of response as a kind, firm, silent ‘no’, he reaches out with speed even he didn’t know he had. That wasn't how you thought he’d react. You don’t react the way he expects you to, either. You don’t pull away from his sharp claws. You don’t shudder at the touch of his frigid, spectral hands. You don’t cower away from his gaze or fangs, silhouetted by the eerie, yellow glowing of his mouth.

Instead, you just accept his hand in yours with that damn gentle smile. You shake hands, and your grip is surprisingly firmer than what he expects. You’re surprising him in a lot of ways, it seems.

…perhaps he should stop assuming so much about you.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as your warm hand gives his a little squeeze. The smile that crawls onto his features is more natural than any you’ve seen from him thus far. 

“Not-enemies,” he repeats with a chuckle - a genuine, humored chuckle. “I like that. Yeah, sure, if it makes you happy, not-enemies is just fine.”

It makes him extremely happy, too. Not that he’d ever admit it. You smile at him, and it makes that warm pit in his chest do flips, way more potent and palpable than what he felt when joking with you in the hallway or seeing you sleep after listening to him play. 

It scared him. 

It excited him. 

It makes him feel alive again.

It’s a weird feeling, like slipping into an outfit you haven’t worn in years and it shows. Coming to terms with the fact that you’ve changed, and the shirt no longer fits as well as it once does or compliments you anymore. That the pants don’t quite cover your ankles and the oversized jacket is now a little snug. But it’s comforting and it smells like home, and you could still make it look and feel great if you had a little work done to it. 

Maybe that’s what he needs to change.

Maybe he needs to change his perspective and relationship with humanity.

After all, he didn’t have very good examples when he was alive. But now he’s met someone that what he felt and experienced while he was alive wasn’t actually living. 

Just how much did Vanessa deprive him of? How much of his life did she take, even before condemning him to this form and an eternity of loneliness? He’s snapped out of his thoughts once again as you speak.

“Not-enemies it is, then.” You say with a smile.

He responds in kind. How odd and familiar it felt to smile so naturally, with kindness. 

“Not-enemies it is.”

You opened your eyes to nothingness once again. The icy wind whipped around you, but like before, you felt nothing but the deep dread that had settled into your heart. The last time you were here, you were afraid of the unknown. 

This time, you know what’s out there.

Your mind and heart fight against each other, arguing over whether or not to seek the man out again. 

We were certain he was hurting, your heart pleads. He reached out to us for help.

He could have been lying, your mind counters. He could have wanted to hurt us instead.

Your heart and mind quarrel, whipping up a storm inside you as ferocious as the one you solemnly trudge through. You  feel numb, inside and out, as you continue to wander through the frozen, wintery hellscape aimlessly. You just wanted to feel warm again. Was that too much to ask? You just wanted to feel anything again. 

The wind howls around you, answering your quiet question with a bitingly cold answer that nips at your nose and the tips of your ears. 

You continue on for what feels like hours, just like last time. 

And just like last time, your heart leaps to your throat when, out of the darkness, a faint light shines. It wasn’t there a moment ago when you closed your eyes for but a second. 

He’s there, too. Still kneeling in the snow, defeated. His sobs are whisked away by the raging winds and they echo around you, overwhelming and suffocatingly close, yet weak and far-away at the same time. Steaming tar still leaks from his face and onto the pristine snow below him. His hands still desperately scramble to cover his face, though you’re not sure if it’s to hide his disfigured features or to keep more of the tar from spilling onto the soft, white nothingness below him. You distantly realize it’s snowing. It wasn’t snowing last time. The pitch black snow, dyed by the thick tar that spills from his face, is slowly, yet surely, covered up by the fresh layer of snow that is beginning to accumulate. You see that the snow was actually up to his knees - had he been here that long, that the snow was piling up around him?

Your only assumption is, yes, he had been there that long, as when he moved to face you, he did so with great difficulty. As if he hadn’t used his body in a while. 

You hope he hadn’t stayed in one spot waiting for you. 

You hope you weren’t his only company in this dreary, wintery abyss. 

You feel bad for hoping that - you didn’t wish it for his sake, after all. You just didn’t want him to be dependent on you. You didn’t want him to seek you out.

What a horrible thing to think, your heart scolds you, and this time, your mind agrees. You feel a sinking sensation inside you as you realize how selfish that was. True, it was always best to make sure your own needs - mental, emotional, and physical - were met before helping others. However, your avoidance wasn’t because your own needs weren’t being met - you hardly had needs in this endless winter. No, you didn’t want him to rely on you because you were scared of him. Because he was different. Because he bled a deep, thick, shadowy tar instead of blood. Because the ends of his hands curled into talons. Because his cries sounded like someone drowning.

How horrible, you realize. How could you shun someone for something they aren’t responsible for? How could you turn away from someone in need just because of how they looked? That wasn’t like you. Something stirs deep within you as you approach him once again.

He’s already facing you when you walk closer, stepping into the single, solitary light in the vast nothingness with him. His face, still marred with the gaping claw marks, now had a mouth, and the beginnings of a nose, though his eyes remained scratched out. The furious snowfall, that had since evolved into a near-blizzard, did little to help you discern any other features.

His breathing was quick and shallow, interrupted every so often by a cough that led to him spilling more tar onto the ground.

“Hello?” Your voice, garbled and distorted and twisted, echoes around you. The sound suspends you, your muscles growing cold as the recognition seeps down to your bones - you hadn’t said anything. 

It takes you a moment to realize it’s him using your voice to beckon to you. The concept in and of itself is enough to send your heart racing and your body once again shifts into fight or flight mode. You want to run, you really do, but it feels almost as if the snow falling around your feet is freezing you in place. There is no sound except the raging storm and the furious beat of your heart as your brain scrambles to understand or take action or just do something…!

“Hello?” He calls out again, voice wavering. His clawed hand reaches out to your general direction. With the horrible injury to his face, he’s rendered blind.

You could leave. He wouldn’t know.

…but you can’t. You can’t find it in yourself to leave him. 

You will yourself to move again, taking a few more steps towards him before kneeling in the snow. You’re still a few feet from him, but it’s much closer than you got last time.

“Hello.” You finally respond, and the man visibly tenses before another bout of tar cascades down his face. You flinch back, only to pause when you hear him…crying. His shoulders shake with each heaving breath he takes as he continues to sob with…relief, you realize. He’s crying tears of relief. You sit with him silently until he’s able to (mostly) compose himself. He takes a moment before reaching his clawed hand out to you again. 

This time, you take it without hesitation.

This time, he smiles - it’s splintered and fractured, worn from the cold and loneliness and pain and sorrow you could never even begin to imagine. 

You can’t help but feel like you’ve seen that smile before.

The light starts to fade around you again, but there’s no panic this time. You know where you’re going. Your heart skips a beat, though, as you realize he’ll still be here, alone in the nothingness. Before you can say anything to him, however, he speaks for both of you.

“Thank you.” His voice - his voice, you realize, not yours - is also oddly familiar.

But you don’t have time to think about it as he and the abyss around him fade to black, the nothingness consuming you both…

…and you awake, once more, in the manor.

A cautious peace drifts over you as you stare at the ceiling. 

…there’s distant piano music.

With a soft smile you didn’t realize was there, you slipped out of bed and headed to the foyer.

You weren’t going to sleep again, anyways.

Chapter Text

The forest wasn’t any better than Hattie remembered it. It wasn’t any easier, either.

She was just prepared this time.

At least, she had thought she was. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts to prepare, Hattie still found herself victim to the whims of the wild; the icy cold beating against her, the wintry winds whipping around her, and the occasional howl that echoed through the brisk forest air that made her blood run as cold as the ever-present snowfall around her and dread seep into her bones. She had to press on, however.

Hattie vows that, when she rescues you and you are finally reunited and that dumb ghost is dead forever, you two will leave this stupid corner of the earth. No more mafia. No more creepy eternally-winter forests. No dumb ghosts and their dumb manor deep within the woods. 

No more chances for Hattie to mess up so royally that it results in the loss of her sibling’s soul.

Tears of frustration stung at her eyes as she trudged onwards. The whole incident had been replaying in her head since she left the mansion. Since she left you. She could never forgive herself for this whole...situation. She had worn herself ragged staying up planning on how to rescue you. She had been neglecting to eat. Not even Bow could get through to her. 

The bags under her eyes were as heavy as the pack that weighed on her back. But none of that mattered. All that mattered to Hattie was getting you back. 

But…she felt more lost than before. She had tried to recreate a map of the forest from memory - all they had to go off of last time during their first expedition was vague directions and an unquenchable sense of adventure. But it’s as if the forest had…changed from her last visit. Either that, or Hattie’s memory didn’t quite remember the exact details of how she and Bow got to the Mansion in the first place. But Hattie’s memory is almost always correct.

…man, this forest was weird. 

The deeper she ventured, the more…unfamiliar it became. The trees she remembers as being twisted and gnarled and sinister were…well, they were still very ominous, but they seemed…softer. Their twists weren’t as jagged and their branches didn’t gnarl or gnash as much. Even the wind seemed quieter here. There wasn’t as much snow.

…she was definitely lost. 

She tried not to let panic overtake her - she really, really did - but it was hard not to when everything just pushed her closer and closer to the edge mentally. She pushed through the grief and guilt - everything would be OK when she got you back. You would be with her, watch her grow up, laugh and play and eat and live together and all of this would just be a bad dream. 

…was that a light?

It was. There, about maybe a hundred yards or so, was a little, flickering light. 

Despite its warm and welcoming appearance, Hattie stared at it warily. She had learned her lesson: don’t trust anything in this forest. Technically speaking, 100% of her experiences here have been thoroughly horrible.

…but there was something about the light that made Hattie doubt herself.

Maybe it was the weariness that weighed on her, or her grief and guilt that burdened her, but something about the light seemed…inviting, despite her apprehension. She was just so…tired. Tired of walking. Tired of hating herself. Tired of missing you. 

Her feet began to take her closer to the light without her even noticing. She only realizes her feet had betrayed her when the light opened up, taking the shape of…a doorway? The warm light silhouetted a figure in the threshold…but their features weren’t discernable. All that there was to them was…darkness. An emptiness, not too unlike the shadows that had comprised the form of her sibling’s captor. The darkness of the being stirred, swirling in a hypnotic pattern around a single light that emanated from it.

It doesn’t matter, though, as the next thing Hattie feels…

…is falling. 

Hattie barely registers the cold of the scant amount of snow soaking into the knees of her pants. She barely feels the impact of her head against the cold, hard forest ground, barely hears the shouting voices that somehow grow louder yet more distant as the darkness consumes her vision. 

“...ey! H…on…!” A voice cries. Weird. There wasn’t anyone around…

“Sta…th…us…!” Another voice rings out. Hattie can hear clamoring and panic around her but the cold and the darkness envelop her. 

Eventually, the little lights that had made themselves home in her vision faded out.

And all was black.

When Hattie awoke, it was still black.

Well, mostly. 

She was in a bed. She could tell that much. It wasn’t hers, however, unless she had a growth spurt in the middle of the night - half her feet and toes dangled off the edge, the tops of her feet were barely covered by the blanket, and the pillow beneath her head barely supported her weight. 

If she was in a bed, then she must be in a room. It was warm. Cozy. Definitely not outside in the freezing forest. 

It was definitely not her room.

It was dim - comfortably so. A fireplace at the far end of the room glowed with a healthy flame that provided the only source of light. Yeah - you would never have allowed Hattie to have a fireplace in her own room. She couldn’t blame you for that decision.

Okay. So. Strange, small bed in a strange, small room. 

Definitely not the worst place she’s woken up in. 

Enough laying about. Hattie had a you to rescue!

With a flourish, Hattie throws the too-small sheets off her and quickly collects her things - her boots sat by the fireplace, and her hat and bag hung by the door. Strange, but oddly hospitable of her…kidnappers? Technically, that would be the proper term for them, since they moved her without her consent…but she might have died out in the cold, so perhaps they were just good, neighborly people…?

…good, neighborly people who lived in a haunted forest where it was eternally winter.

…yeah. Sure. 

With a huff, Hattie prepares her umbrella (it was the only thing she had close to a weapon, after all) and opens the door with a horrible, whining creeeeeeeeeeaaaaaak…

…well…nothing yet. Given her experience with weird houses in the woods, Hattie was certain someone would have popped up b-

“You’re awake!”

Hattie gasps so harshly it hurts her lungs, surprised by the sudden appearance of…a shadow? 

“I’m so glad! We were starting to wonder if you were dead!” The shadow chirps happily. 

What stood before her was a swirling mass of dark purple, much like the form that dumb mansion ghost took, though remarkably less threatening. Where the mansion ghost was all sharp points and edges and fangs, this shadow was smooth and rounded and soft. It didn’t have a face like the mansion ghost, only a light in the center of what Hattie could only assume to be its head. 

It’s too late to apply these findings to logic, however, as Hattie had already begun to swing at the creature. The shadow yelps and puts its hands up to save itself from the harsh blow of her umbrella, but it does little to save it, as her umbrella thwacks into the side of its head (and, yes, it does seem like the light is meant to represent its face, as it scrunches up in pain when struck) and sends the poor shadow flying to the other end of the small room. 

“Who are you?!” Hattie demands, voice cracking and hoarse from disuse. She takes a step forward, umbrella raised threateningly. “Where am I?!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The shadow cries, holding up its hands in defense. “I ain’t gonna hurt you! I’m Lex! I’m just a Subconite who lives here!”

At this, Hattie pauses. She lowers her umbrella - just enough to not be in “attack mode”, but still be able to pull up and use if this…Subconite proved to be dangerous or hostile. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a painful squeak that ekes its way out of her throat.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re lost and confused, but you don’t gotta go beating up on poor Lex about it!” The shadow - Lex - whines as it stands up, rubbing the side of their head where Hattie struck them. Despite having no discernible facial features, Hattie can tell they wince as they rub their head - something about how the light that composes their face flickers and shifts around the ever-swirling darkness that made up their body. “I’ll explain everything to you! Just don’t hit me again, okay?”

In spite of her reluctance, Hattie nods in agreement. She’s lost and confused and scared and missing her older sibling. At this point, she’ll take whatever help she can get. 

Plus, she was way too tired to fight. The cold really depleted her energy.

At her acquiescence, Lex sighs and relaxes a little. They turn and gesture for Hattie to follow them to a table that, much like the bed she woke up in, was barely too short for her. It’s perfectly sized for Lex, she notes, as the mysterious umbral figure sat across from her. 

“Okay, so, for starters, I’m Lex…guess I already said that part, huh? Anyway, I’m a resident of Subcon forest, particularly this little village that you stumbled into. Which, gotta give credit where credit is due: it’s almost impossible for the living to find this place!”

They pause for a moment, chuckling at Hattie’s face at the realization that she might, in fact, actually be dead.

“No, no, don’t worry. You’re alive, alright! You corporeal folks are way heavier than us Subconites - no offense, of course. You’ve just got, like, an actual body and stuff. Us ghosts…sort of do…? But it’s different and irrelevant to what I’m telling you about…which is just basically that my name’s Lex and you’re in a place called Subcon Forest. That’s all there is to it!”

…that’s all there was to it? Really?

“Well, there’s that, but there’s also the mystery of how exactly you could have found this village. Let alone see us!” Lex holds up their hands. “But, I digress. There’s much more important things to discuss. Let’s skip the nitty-gritty: yes, I’m a ghost; yes, ghosts exist; no, we’re not volatile, we’re just ghosts; no-”

“Where’s the manor?” Hattie’s neglected voice finally finds the threads of strength it needs to painfully scrape out a question.

At this, Lex freezes.

“The…manor?” They ask, a sudden apprehension in their suddenly small voice. “Why on Earth would you ever wanna go to the manor?”

Before Hattie could respond in any capacity, Lex sighs.

“...you’ve lost someone there, haven’t you? It…I thought it was hidden by the storm…” Lex sighs again, shuffling out of their chair and into the adjoined kitchen unit, where they turn on the stove and set a kettle over the flame. They turn back to Hattie, the light of their face dimmer than before. “Listen…I can tell you what you want to know…but you should know the history of that place - of this forest, really - as well. And that’s gonna be….a long story. So…what kind of tea do you like?”

The next few minutes are filled with nonsense small talk from Lex. They tried to engage Hattie, but could tell she wasn’t really in the mood to talk, and just began telling her mundane stories about their own life to pass the time as they prepared two cups of chamomile. Once she has the hot, delicious tea securely in her hands, Lex takes their seat across from her again and begins the tale of Subcon Forest.

"It all began nearly hundreds of years ago..."

At the edge of the great forest, there was a village—lively, vibrant, and full of life. At the farthest edge of the village stood the manor of the beloved princess who had a certain charm that captivated all who knew her…

Chapter Text

“You want me to what?” The ghost, pausing his reading to regard his slightly more corporeal companion incredulously. 

“Well,” Moonjumper began, “I figured since your first apology…with our dear Conductor went so well, you should ask…him how to best apologize to our…resident musician.”

At this, Snatcher scoffed.

“Please. If I wanted to make my brain melt from the pure obliviousness of a love-sick fool too blind to see his feelings are requited, I’d rather just read one of those sappy romance novels gathering dust in the library.”

Moonjumper gives him an unimpressed, blank look. The kind where Snatcher just knows what’s going on in his head and it makes him feel too vulnerable. It makes his cold, ghostly cheeks warm slightly, the yellow of his blush reflecting off of the white pages of the book. 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

It’s true. There was a cruel, twisted irony to Snatcher’s words, and he couldn’t hide it from Moonjumper. That damn body-thief knew him too well at this point. 

Despite all odds, it seemed the terrifying soulkeeper of Subcon forest was developing feelings for you.

Platonically, of course.

Yep! Only strictly a platonic crush! That’s it! It couldn’t have been anything more, since he was totally incapable of feeling love. One hundred and ten percent. Besides that, it wasn’t as if you had this magical ability to light up whatever room you walked into, or return his sassy remarks with just as much fire and good humor, or somehow lift the burden of what it meant to be this monster with your little smile and caring personality and the late night talks between the two of you that he had grown rather fond of…

…Moonjumper was still staring at him.

The larger ghost growls and returns his attention back to his book with a grumble. Damn it, why did nearly every conversation with Moonjumper somehow circle back to you?!

He could try all he wanted to get it through to Moonjumper that it was nothing more than the desire for simple companionship (he still cringed at just using the word ‘friendship’), but Moonjumper simply wouldn’t believe him. That ghoul was about as hopeless a romantic as they could get. 

Another thing they TOTALLY DIDN’T inherit from his husk of a body when they stole it. 

Snatcher clears his throat and sets the book down with a sigh. 

“Fine,” the specter concedes, “I’ll talk to him. But if I’m stuck there for hours listening to his incessant romantic drivel without getting anywhere, I…”

…he’ll what? He had never actually enacted physical acts of torture onto his servants. Psychological pain was good enough for him (at least, that’s what he told himself for all these centuries, and it absolutely wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to physically injure any of them). Still, threats used to come easily to him, and now he finds himself puttering. He’ll do… what, exactly?

Moonjumper seems to know this, as he always does when it comes to Snatcher’s inner turmoil. Their smile is just the faintest hint of smug.

Bastard.

“...whatever.” Snatcher growls, dragging a clawed hand down his face in exasperation as he mentally prepares himself to be stuck listening to the Conductor wax poetic in the stupidest way possible over his fellow avian coworker. “See to it that if I’m not out within two hours that the manor burns down or something.”

Moonjumper grins. That small smile looks much more natural on them, now. 

“Of course, master.”

Snatcher groans as he sinks through the shadows of the floor to find one small yellow servant. Moonjumper watches him leave with a small smile and a hum, entirely certain that Snatcher was making too big a fuss over nothing. After all, talking to the Conductor couldn’t be that bad.

The spectre slunk into the shadows, mentally preparing himself for a (hopefully) brief discussion.

When he arrived at the kitchen, however, it wasn’t the Conductor who greeted him. 

There you stood by the window, the cold wintry light a stark contrast to the warm, calm look on your face as you hum, bustling around the sink as you cleaned pots and pans. You looked comfortable. 

You looked happy. 

It was… strange, in a way. Seeing you happy—truly happy. You weren’t smiling, but he could tell in this moment, you were happy. Content, in a way. Like you weren’t trapped in a frozen wasteland with an injured foot (which, as he looked at it, was starting to look worse, actually…) with two ghosts and two birds who were all but recently strangers to you.

It made part of him…jealous. Sure, the others had adapted just fine, but…he knew their stories; knew why the Conductor would have signed his name away along with his soul; why Grooves was perhaps a touch too eager to get his flipper on the pen. He could understand why they got used to their lives here so easily.

But you?

You…weren’t like them. Weren’t like any of them. You had a family to go back to - someone who cared about you, someone you took care of. He can still remember the fire in your eyes the day you came to save Hattie. A fire that burned purely on the need to survive and protect and love. One that refused to be snuffed out, even as the two of you physically grew apart. 

He still sees flickers of it in the brief moments his golden gaze meets yours. It still isn’t dead. It’s what’s driving you every single day. A goal you’ve never lost sight of, even when the darkness of the night crept in and planted seeds of doubt in the fertile soil of your soul.

How on earth could you ever be content here? A place with so little life, so little warmth ? 

And how the hell can he take that for himself?

That little bit of humanity in him shuns him. Such avarice. He hears her voice in his head. So selfish, always wanting more, despite having everything you could want.

He bites back a wry chuckle at his thoughts. Yes, because this is exactly what he wants. Cursed to live in the place where he died, where she killed him - because that’s what she did, isn’t it? - by himself with the only companionship he could secure was taking people’s souls and forcing them to stay with him. Cursed into becoming a monster for a basic human need. 

That’s what she had done. She killed him and then made it impossible for him to ever feel human again. Because killing him wasn’t enough, was it? No, he thinks, of course it’s not. Not for his crime of…of what? Of being human? Of existing outside of her perfect little world?

…why did he ever love her in the first place?

Because he was naive and young and stupid, he tells himself. Because she loved him, and that’s all he ever wanted.

To be loved.

“...-cher?”

And now here he is. Completely alone and hopeless.

He can’t help but actually chuckle dryly out loud at that. 

“...-atcher...?”

Ironic, isn’t it?

The one thing any human ever needs from another, and she’s denied him that with this godforsaken curse. 

And now he’ll–

“Snatcher!”

“What?!” Snatcher hisses, his voice booming in the kitchen, his shadows raised like a scared cat’s hackles as he’s violently pulled from his thoughts by a voice. 

Your voice. 

You’re looking up at him…concerned. Like in the library when you apologized. 

Like you actually cared.

He scoffs to himself and forces himself to calm down and compose himself…but he’s too tired to put on that fake smile. So he doesn’t.

You don’t seem to mind. You’ve seen him without it plenty now. 

“...what.” He repeats, voice significantly quieter and softer as he manages to pull himself together. Stars - he’s going to have to talk to Moonjumper about the increased frequency of these…intrusive thoughts. If one could call them that.

“Just asking if you’re okay.” You reply bluntly as you take a step back - not out of fear, no, you’ve stopped doing that since the first night spent in the foyer. There’s not been a lick of fear in your eyes since then, and he hates to admit how much inner turmoil it’s caused for him. “You just sorta showed up and started laughing and mumbling about something.”

“...it’s nothing.” Bullshit. You both knew it was. But you didn’t press him any further, which he silently appreciated. “Where’s the Conductor? I came here to talk with him.”

“Oh, he’s out…ah…how did he say it, again…? He said he was ‘fair scunnered’ and was ‘hankerin’ for a shneeb’.” You say, a fond smile on your face as you do your best Conductor impression. Which, admittedly, was not very good. Still, it got Snatcher to smile a little bit, too, so you’d count that as a win. 

“Which means he’s…?”

“Hell if I know,” you chuckle and shrug. “All I do know is that he stepped outside maybe five or so minutes ago, and he said he’d be taking fifteen so…maybe check back in ten?”

As you explain, you lean against a counter, your face contorting into a small grimace as you put weight on your once-frostbitten foot. Snatcher’s small smile falls as he glances down at your ankle. You’re not putting much weight on it at all, favoring your other foot heavily. His eyes flit back up to yours, and your sheepish expression tells him all he needs to know.

“You haven’t been taking it easy.” He observes, giving you an unimpressed, scolding look.

Your hands fly out to the sides as you immediately assume defense with an indignant groan. “I can’t help it-!”

“You can.”

“I can’t! ” You insist, despite the fact that he’s obviously not going to take your side in this. “It’s so boring taking it easy! I can work!”

“You’re making it worse.” He notes coolly and logically, even though he knows you probably won’t listen.

He hates how endearing your stubbornness is to him. How it’s just another part of you that he’s growing to lo-appreciate! Appreciate and also hate at the same time, specifically because of moments like this, where you refuse to listen because you’re too headstrong for your own good. 

You pout at his logic and look at the ground. You fidget with your fingers as you try to think of an excuse. 

It’s cute. 

He buries that thought deep within, locking it in a box and throwing away the key. That thought doesn’t need to see the light ever. 

“How, exactly, did you injure that flesh-sack of yours more?” He asks, partly because he’s curious, partly to distract himself from that traitorous thought. 

“I, erm…” you cough into your hand, awkwardly clearing your throat. “I had, um…fallen. From the stepladder in the library. Landed wrong.” 

You wince as you recall the memory. Yeah, that one hurt reaaaaaally bad, especially since you landed on your injured foot, which meant all your weight went onto it. And you had been doing so well, too!

“It wasn’t that bad, but I think it, uh, heh, set my healing back a couple days…” You murmur that last part, still feeling somewhat ashamed of the accident under his scolding gaze. “But I’m fine, see!”

“...stars, you’re hopeless.” He mumbles in response and he floats away, disappearing into the shadows of the kitchen.

You figured that must be that and turn to hobble back to the sink when the shadows shift and move to wrap around you as well and suddenly you’re on the chair in the piano room. Snatcher hovers over you just to mutter a, “Don’t move,” before he’s gone again, leaving you to your thoughts. 

What the hell had gotten into him?

You didn’t have time to think about it for too long before Snatcher returns with the medicine kit kept in the kitchen. Honestly, most of the stuff is probably expired, but it’s better than nothing. 

He shifts to “sit” in front of you, waiting for you to…do something. You just look at him in confusion in return.

“...well?”

“Well…what?”

“Take your shoe off.”

What? “Uh…why?

He gives you another unimpressed look, his already thin patience growing thinner. 

“Because I’m secretly a creep who gets off on shoes that have been passed down at least five times. I’m going to check on your frostbitten foot, fool.” 

The look you gave him must have conveyed your thoughts and increased confusion as he was already frowning before you could reply.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you say, cringing slightly as it sounds a bit too rushed to seem nonchalant. He rolls his eyes and goes to take your shoe off himself, but you reach down and stop him with a nervous smile. He only pauses because the sight of your warm, human hand on his makes his mind stop working for a moment. “Really! It’s fine! I can have Moonjumper check on it later if it’s still hurting.”

His flat look doesn’t change. “Well, it’s hurting now and I can’t find Moonjumper.” He huffs. “Trust me - I checked. Just…shut up and let me do this, okay?”

You blink at him owlishly, eyes wide…and nod, awkwardly shuffling to sit back more in the chair. 

This was definitely weird. For both of you, it seemed - Snatcher’s movements as he went to take off your shoe were jerky and shaky and unsure…so…unlike him. When you offered to take it off yourself, he just shot you a glare that made you sink further into the cushions of the chair. You feel him remove your shoe and peel off your sock and-

“Fucking stars!” He exclaims, making you sit straight up in concern. Before you could ask what was wrong, he shot you another glare, holding your ankle with surprising tenderness. You cringe as you look at your foot, knowing exactly what made him swear like that. 

Your foot had not, in fact, been getting better. Most of the sensation had returned…but it stopped after a certain point, and you were left with this heavy numbness that settled in your foot. Your skin was damaged, pale and mottled and discolored, accentuated by the huge blister that sat on the top of your foot. The areas that weren’t blistered or discolored were cracked and hard and stars did it hurt. Even the simple gesture of Snatcher turning your foot slightly to inspect it better caused a shooting pain to run up from your toes to your knee, and you let out a hiss of pain, reflexively trying to pull away. But Snatcher kept that firm, gentle hold on your ankle, being surprisingly courteous as to not touch any of the discolored parts of your skin. 

You look away, unable to meet his admonishing gaze. You could feel his judgement weighing you down, pushing you further into the chair. How you wished you could just disappear into the shadows like he could right now…

“How long has it been like this?”

“...since it happened.”

“And you’ve been walking around like this? Greenie, this thing’s practically fallen off!”

You cross your arms and huff, “Oh, what, you’re a doctor now, too?”

He scowls at you. “I know enough to know that skin isn’t supposed to look like this.”

“I could have told you that.”

“But you didn’t.” He hisses, and that promptly makes you shut up. “You know that this is more than a simple sprain from falling off the damn ladder, right? You’ve been walking around on it, putting pressure on it, and the rubbing from your sock probably caused the blister to grow. So you’ve actually been doing a really shit job at healing.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Zip it, Greenie.” He looks over your foot some more before gently poking and prodding around it. You wince and hiss at him to get off, but he just gives you another look that makes you grumble and sit back once more. He seems to be taking mental notes as he examines your foot, going through the motions of a physical exam, gently manipulating your foot this way and that to assess your pain.

Part of you think he’s doing it on purpose. Sadist. 

The other part of you is…surprised he’s still here. He could have left you to your own devices the minute the sock came off - Hell, you assumed he would have left you alone in the first place, leaving you to suffer silently. 

But he didn’t.

…for once, you were glad to be wrong about someone. 

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence and examination, you sigh. “What’s the prognosis, Doc?”

“Quit it,”  he warns again before gently setting your foot down with a sigh. He looks up at you, expression grim. 

“...we’re going to have to amputate.”

“What?!” Your blood runs cold, and your body reacts to it the same way it did when your foot slipped into that stupid freezing cold pond in the first place. Yeah, you had joked about it to yourself before, but that was when you were delirious and hysterical after a traumatic event! You didn’t think you’d actually need one! But amputation meant dead tissue. So much time had gone by - how far had the dead tissue spread?! How much would need to be amputated?! Oh, Maker, they didn’t have any sort of anesthesia here, let alone any sort of sterile surgical equipment! Your heart starts to race as anxiety tears at your thoughts and—!

“Kidding!” A smug, playful smile breaks out onto his face and he laughs at your reaction. Like a deep, full-bellied laugh. It would be contagious if you weren’t teetering on the edge of a heart attack. “AHAHA! Oh, Maker, the look on your face! Priceless!”

“Ha-ha.” You huff. “Very funny.”

“Worth it.” He shrugs and opens up the medical kit. “Don’t worry - your stupid stubbornness hasn’t seemed to kill off any tissue. Worst thing you might have is chronic compartment syndrome, but that’ll be an easy fix.”

“Chronic what?”

“Compartment syndrome,” he repeated without further explanation.

“...thanks. Really clears things up for me.” 

He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes. “It’s something Moonjumper told me about from one of his medical books,” Moonjumper read medical books? “Something about how internal pressure from traumatic injury or prolonged strain causes bleeding in the muscle compartment. As if that’s not where the blood is supposed to be.”

He jokes lightly, trying to dispel the stale awkwardness in the air as he grabs a roll of bandages. 

“Could just be talking out of my ass here, and I’ll have him actually check you out when he comes back from…wherever the hell he is right now, but that’s my guess as I’m looking at it. Not like we can do much about it, anyway - that’s one of those conditions that only a change in habits can fix.”

He gives you a pointed look. Wow, would you look at that? The snow outside is suddenly so, so fascinating. You don’t think you’ve ever seen snow like this. It is definitely much more interesting to look at than your spectral companion who keeps staring at you with a reprimanding glint in his eyes. 

“...if there’s nothing we can do to fix it,” you can hear  him roll his eyes at that, “why are you getting the bandages ready?”

He gives you another maniacal grin. 

“For all the blood .”

“Snatcher.”

“Fine! We’re just gonna drain your blister and get some ointment on your foot. Spoilsport.”

You watch his smile drop as he focuses again. You barely feel the prick of the lancet or of the pressure of his ghostly hands as they encourage the fluid out. You do, however, take note of his exaggeratedly disgusted look and stifle a snort. You’d think a ghost who steals souls and has such...imaginative and graphic threats would be fine with a little drainage.

…he cares more than you expected him to. That’s the thing you still find surprising. You don’t voice this, however, knowing it would ruin…whatever this moment is, opting instead to just watch silently as he takes care of you. The ointment stings a little as he applies it, but he follows it up with a quick, muttered apology, and the bandage he applies isn’t too tight or too loose. In fact, his movements almost look…practiced, in a way. Not like his hands at the piano, but a similar sort of familiarity.

“Heh…you sure you weren’t a doctor or a nurse in your past life?”

That gets a small chuckle from him and he shakes his head, his fluff-like shadows swaying with the movement.

“Far from it.”

“You seem familiar with patching people up.”

He stills at that, thinking about your words as they sink in. 

“...I…” He fumbles, looking for something to explain that learned behavior that wasn’t the truth…but he falls short. After a moment or two, he shakes his head again. “It’s just applying a bandage, Greenie. Don’t read too much into it.” 

With that, you watch as he packs up the remaining medical kit supplies (it might honestly be best to just throw it out, at this point) and lets it disappear into the shadows. He goes to leave, too, but you stop him with an outstretched hand. He looks down at you and for a moment…

…he almost looks human. Like he did that first night you saw him playing the piano. 

There’s a faint definition to his jaw that you’ve never seen before, the beginnings of a nose, just barely outlined as if it were something small pushing against a heavy fabric. A look down at his hands shows that they don’t look as long or as sharp or as threatening as before. His claws are still imposing, but they seem less…menacing. 

…you don’t comment on it.

Instead, you look up at his strangely-yet-barely-defined face and lock eyes with him (he flinches a little at that - you tone down your seriousness just a little and tuck that bit of information away).

“I…thank you, Snatcher.” Before he can interrupt with a snarky comment - which you know he will, given the shit-eating grin that’s already forming on his face - you continue, “Really. I…I know I was being stubborn and obstinate and a pain so…I really appreciate you taking the time to…y’know…care.”

He freezes again, and the two of you are enveloped in another silence. After a few moments, right before you start to pull your hand away, his shoots out to hold yours. Just like in the library. Like he’s reaching for even the smallest bit of connection.

You give that to him without complaint. 

It takes him another moment for him to form his words, and you’re patient with him while he does. 

“...you’re welcome.” He rasps out, the words still somewhat foreign and strange in his throat. Still, you give him a small, warm smile, which he returns, before pulling his hand away and clearing his throat like he was above such things like want and connection. 

“But, seriously, you gotta start taking better care of yourself, Greenie,” he chuckles, “I’m not always gonna be around to make your boo-boos all better.” 

This time you laugh with him, unaware that the weird sinking feeling that occurs in your chest at that statement is also felt by him. You both leave it unnamed and untouched. 

“Hah…but…it’s not all better.” You pretend to pout. Concern flashes in his eyes, despite his best efforts to hide it, and he leans in again.

“What? What do you mean? I did what I could.” He starts to argue. “What else could you possibly need from me?”

You smirk and lean back, lifting your leg a little with the help of your arms to bring your foot up slightly.

“You didn’t kiss it better!”

You laugh to yourself as yellow blooms across Snatcher’s face and he scoffs, making a dramatic exit into the shadows…

…but not before you caught the fond smile on his face. 

You fix how you sit, absently staring at the place where he disappeared, your own smile still lingering on your lips. You looked down at your freshly-bandaged foot and hum. Sure, the healing was set back because of your stubbornness, but…if other days went like today…

…maybe staying here a little longer wouldn’t be so bad.