Archive of Our Own

Present Day 

The feeling of her hand on his chest was the first thing that came to his mind when he remembered that moment. The second was how his face had been so close to hers that he had been able to see the subtle flecks of green in her otherwise blue eyes. The third was what stuck out the most though.

The future is not set in stone, Gabriel.

How odd it was, this one sentence. She had only been trying to console him after another loss. Her calming touch and soothing voice had melted away the worry that came with the knowledge that he wasn’t Hawk Moth in the future. They had stayed like that for only a few moments before she pulled away and they returned to their day. So why was that line bothering him so much?

“The future is not set in stone…”

“Did you say something, sir?”

He looked up and met her eyes from across the room. It was a simple question, but he felt like she had just asked him his deepest secret. Her voice made the temperature in the room drop by 20 degrees.

“I was merely talking to myself. Force of habit,” he replied.

She nodded and went back to her work. He tried to do the same, but his heart just wasn’t in it. That sentence. That damn sentence. She had only said it last week, perhaps it had just moved him deeply. No that couldn’t be it. She’d said plenty of other things that were half as meaningful, but still left him with a warm feeling in his chest. This was something entirely different. This one filled him with dread, and longing…and…a deep sadness.

He grunted and slammed his hand onto the screen in order to close a window. He did it a little harder than he meant to and of course it alerted Nathalie and her astute hearing. He looked up again and glared in her direction. She took it in stride, thinking it was just one of his bad moods, and shot him a sympathetic look. She was way too nice to him. 

Just looking at her face was enough to make him want to smile, but before he could, he saw something inexplicable. One second he was looking at Nathalie and the next, he was looking at a completely different woman. The vision only lasted a fraction of a second, but he could still vividly picture her. Mousy brown locks, all neatly secured under a cream colored bonnet. A long elegant nose. Plump lips the color of a pink rose. A modest shawl wrapped around her delicate shoulders. Vibrant blue eyes flecked with…green?

Clara, a soft voice whispered in his...ear? Head? Good lord, he was going mad. 

He blinked and noticed that Nathalie was still staring at him, though if she had seen his mind stumble, she gave no indication of it. Gabriel cleared his throat and straightened his tie, a nervous tick he had always had. She would definitely notice that so he had to curb her questions before they began.

“Nathalie, dear,” he said, watching her close her mouth immediately. “Clear my schedule for the rest of the day. I need to rest.”

“Of course, sir.”

She went straight to typing away on her computer while he turned his own off. Before he walked out of the office, he stopped at the door. He stared at the black and white lines in front of him as he asked the question.

“Do I know anyone by the name of Clara?” 

“There’s Clara Nightingale, the singer.”

“Other than her.”

“I can’t say that you do. I could check the records maybe, but I really don’t remember any other Clara.”

He knew better than to ask anything else. Nathalie remembered everything. If there had been another Clara who had made a lasting impression in his life the past 10 years, she would know about it.

“There's no need. I trust your judgment. If I'm not awake in time for dinner, please have it brought up to my room."

He was out of the office before she could reply. 

London, England - 1764

The nurses were easy to get past. One push or a glare from him, or his handlers, and they would flock like birds. It was the doctors he had to beware of. Even if he could easily use his title to declare that he was there on official business, doctors were still hesitant to let anyone near their precious sick patients, but he only cared about one woman in this place of death. 

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to look at the short man who had touched him, resisting the urge to flick his grubby little fingers off of his new coat. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours were yesterday," the man said in a voice that could only be that of a petulant doctor.

He turned up his nose at the man. "I'm sorry about that, but I'm here on my own accord to see a patient and it's imperative that I see her today." 

"I hate to break it to you, but if she's in here then it's best if you stay away. With the latest outbreak of the White Plague, we're urging people to stay away from the sick-"

"I don't care. I've come to get her. She's never going to get better when she's in a filthy place like this."

"Sir-"

"It's 'your grace' to you. Don't you know who I am?" 

He squared his shoulders so that the pin on his coat might catch in the light. It was a symbol of his status that should've been clear as day to those that saw it. The coat of arms bearing the lion on a sea of red in one corner was a dead giveaway. If that wasn't so easily recognized, maybe the checked or and azure on the left corner would spurn the gears in one's head. Unfortunately for him, this doctor was a common fool who had no knowledge of the houses and their symbols. It was his handler who spoke next.

"You are in the presence of his grace, Peter Howard, Duke of Norfolk and Queensberry. If he wants to get by then I suggest you let him."

He watched as the smaller man's eyes went wide before he bowed. "My apologies, your grace. I'd be honoured to help you find this patient you're looking for. What is their name?"

"Clara Porter."

"Ah. I uh…" the man trailed off and started to mess with his nails. Peter was losing his patience. 

"Well?" he snapped. "Do you know her or not?" 

"I do, but she's not doing very good. We had her moved this morning to her own isolation room in order to keep her away from those who are less sick."

"You locked her in a room to be kept away from any contact?!" 

"She has the plague! We couldn't very well let her mingle with the others. Come, I shall take you to her. Perhaps a familiar face will help her recover. As of today, she's seen little improvement."

"That's probably because you've locked her up like a prisoner."

The doctor could only stutter in response, his face turning scarlet. A glare from Peter was enough to make him shut his mouth and lead them to Clara. Once he was outside the room, a nurse came out and shot him a sympathetic glance before hurrying off. He didn't miss the bloody linens she was carrying in her arms. 

Once inside, he almost wished he hadn't come. She was pale with hollow cheeks and sickly yellow eyes. It was as if she was already dead. He walked over, making sure to touch nothing. It was hard to believe that his beautiful rose was holed up in a stinking place like this. 

He kneeled before her and grabbed her hand. It weighed about as much as a leaf, the bones of her fingers were sticking out from all angles, and her purple veins ran across the paper thin skin like spiderwebs. Tears started to pool in his eyes, but he blinked them away. What would she think of him if she saw him cry?

"Clara. My darling, wake up. It's me."

The room was silent for a few seconds before she slowly moved her head. Her eyes had a faraway look to them. The once vibrant blue and green orbs looked dull and lifeless. 

"Peter," she whispered. 

He moved closer so she wouldn't have to talk loud. 

"I'm here."

"Where have you been?" 

His heart skipped a beat. There was no way to explain how an impromptu wedding had been sprung upon him.

"I was...on holiday in Durham, but I left as soon as I had heard that you were ill. I wish I had come sooner. You wouldn't have had to be placed in a wretched place like this."

"It's ok. The sickness came fast. No one was prepared for it. I only came here for a checkup."

"You should've written. A doctor would have arrived at your house the minute I requested it."

"Peter pl-" her words were interrupted by a sudden coughing fit. He hated that he had to place a handkerchief over his mouth as she convulsed before him. Once she finished, she sunk further into her pillow and breathed deeply. The only sound in the room was her rattling breaths as she took in air. 

"Clara, don't speak anymore. You need your strength. I'm having you moved immediately. I have a house out in the country that would suit your needs well. You will have a live-in doctor to care for you regularly and a full set of servants at your disposal. The clean air will be good for you and you'll get better in no time. I can have your father placed there as well to keep you company"

"That's sweet," she rasped. "But I cannot."

"Why?" 

"My sickness is too dire for me to be moved. My body too weak to even stand. If I was taken out of here, I wouldn't last a day."

"Don't say that. You'll be ok, I promise."

Her fingers closed over his and he tried to ignore the fact that it felt like a skeleton was grabbing him. 

"Peter, listen. The future isn't set in stone. This disease will not take me. We don't know what tomorrow brings, but perhaps I’ll wake and feel better than I do today. I know I will, now that I've been able to see you. Even if you left me…"

“I didn’t leave you.”

“You did. You weren’t there when I was fired and thrown on the street. You were gone.”

“I didn’t know he had let you go until weeks afterward. After that I spent every single day trying to find you.”

“She’ll make you happier than I ever could.”

"Clara…"

"Hush. I can see it."

Her eyes started to dart back and forth as she watched the ceiling. Did he dare ask? 

"What do you see, my love?" 

"Birds. Oh Pete, they're beautiful."

She was having visions. He stayed quiet on the matter and played along. "T-tell me about them," he said with tears in his eyes yet again. 

"Golden. Blue. Green. Red. Silver. Black. They're flying, don't you see them. All in a circle. Oh look that one carries a tree branch in its beak. And that one! Oh it's wearing a string of pearls. How quaint."

"Clara?" 

"And that one sings a song so sweet. Can't you hear it?" 

Her grip on his hand lessened as she started to sing this secret melody. Her voice, once clear as a bell, was now getting haggard the more she used it. He felt like he was watching her waste away in real time as he sat and listened to the song with tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Fare thee well my own true love

And farewell for a while.

I’m going away, but I’ll come again

If I go ten thousand miles.

Ten thousand miles, my own true love,

Ten thousand miles or more,

And the rocks may melt and the seas may burn,

If I should not return.

Oh don’t you see that lonesome dove,

Sitting on an ivy tree,

She’s weeping for her own true love

Just as I shall weep for mine.

Oh come back my own true love

And stay a while with me

For if I had a friend all on this earth,

You’ve been a friend to me.

And fare thee well my own true love

And farewell for a while.

I’m going away, but I’ll be back

If I go ten thousand miles.

Even in her state, she was able to sing the whole song. He was surprised that she remembered the lullaby her mother used to sing to her. Fare Thee Well, it was called. Sometimes she would stop to cough or look around at what he could only assume was another of her fantastical birds. Other times her voice would fade away and she'd be left only moving her lips. By the end of it, his face was red and soaked with tears. He couldn't bear to see this any longer. 

"Nurse!" he called. 

The door opened a few moments later and someone walked inside. He wiped his face with the handkerchief before tucking it into her hand and setting it upon her chest. She had shut her eyes and fallen asleep by this time. He hoped she was free from the pain in her dreams. 

"How long has she been like this?" he asked. 

"Like what, your grace?"

"The…fantasies. The birds. The singing. Does she even know where she is right now?" 

"That I do not know. She took a turn for the worse last week. She started to complain about some man standing beside her cot and watching her. There was no one there, but she insisted. Then she started calling out for someone named Julianus. That was when the doctor said we should move her."

"Julianus?"

"You know of him perhaps?" 

He racked his brain for any info, but he had no recollection of anyone by that name. It was probably some character she'd heard about in a story.

"No. I don't know anyone by that name."

"We figured it was just her imagination."

He stood to leave, taking one last look at his lover. 

"Goodbye my sweet love. May God carry you in his arms to paradise and may your suffering be wiped from your memory. I wish things had been different."

He kissed his finger and pressed it to her lips. They were cold as ice. When he stepped back to wipe his finger on his trousers, he watched as her features twisted into the ghost of a smile. 

"When she dies, please contact me. I'll have her burial arranged."

The nurse nodded. "Of course."

Present Day 

Gabriel awoke with a start. His post-nap delirium had come in full force. Everything was a blur without his glasses, sweat dripped down his neck and pooled on the sheets, his heart was racing, and he had no idea where he was. Once he got his breathing under control and found his glasses, he took the time to process what he had just seen. 

Clara, the woman he had seen earlier. He had dreamed of her. He watched her dying from consumption. His dream had been so clear and detailed that it almost felt real, but that notion was ridiculous. 

“What the hell was that?”

He was asking himself, but another voice spoke up.

“What was what, Master?”

His eyes narrowed as he took in the kwami floating beside him. Usually he would tell him to be quiet, but he strangely felt the need to confide in him.

“I had…a dream. It felt so real, almost like a memory.”

“What was it about?”

“It was some woman named Clara. She was dying in a hospital and some man came to see her. I think he was her lover or something. It was just odd.”

“Humans have dreams they can’t explain all the time. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“It probably was, but I swear I saw this woman before. When I was talking to Nathalie earlier, I saw her for a few seconds. She had Nathalie’s eyes.”

“You see Miss Nathalie all the time. You just dreamed of someone with her familiar features.”

“The girl…”

“Did she have blue eyes in your dream?”

“I couldn’t tell. They were discolored from her illness.”

“Ah.”

“Nooroo are you sure you don’t know anything about this?”

Gabriel zeroed in on him, watching as he trembled slightly. He only ever did that when he yelled at him and this was not one of those times. He also noticed how the kwami's eyes wouldn’t meet his own.

“Nooroo,” his voice had a dangerous edge to it.

“Master, I don’t know anything. I can’t explain your dreams. Perhaps prolonged use of the miraculous is giving you memories of previous holders.”

“Can that really happen?”

“I have never witnessed it, but anything is possible.”

“Yes, but-”

A knocking on the door made him stop. He glanced at the clock beside his bed, it was time for dinner.

“Sir?” a vice called from the hall.

He turned to Nooroo. “Do not speak of this to Nathalie. I don’t need her knowing I dreamed of her eyes,” he said, before speaking louder. “Come in.”

The door opened and his assistant walked in. He thanked the stars that his room was too dark for him to properly see her face or the color of her eyes. At this rate, he would be requiring her to wear sunglasses to work from now on.

“Dinner is almost ready. I came to get you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Sir, is everything ok?”

“What? Yes, of course it is!”

Anyone else would've gotten the hint that he didn’t want to be bothered, but Nathalie ignored it. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hand reached out for him, hesitating only slightly before landing on the collar of his shirt.

“You slept in your work outfit,” she said, shaking her head as she fixed his errant collar and tightened his lopsided tie. He stayed quiet as she worked, finding her close proximity soothing. When she was finished, he noted that he didn’t want her to leave, catching her hand before she could set it in her lap. He admired her perfectly manicured nails before he ran his thumb over her knuckles. 

Perhaps sensing that he wasn’t in the best state of mind, she stayed silent and let him calm himself down. He wondered when they had gotten so close. It was definitely before Emilie went into her coma, maybe even years before. There had always been a connection between them ever since he first met her. 

Ancient Rome - AD 19

The first thing he noticed when he entered the lupanar was the overwhelming smell of perfumes and rich oils. Raised in a strict household, he’d always been told by his mother that the ‘houses of sin’ within the city were known to reek of cow shit and carry mountains of disease. This one was quite the opposite of what he’d been led to believe.

The walls were full of glorious paintings, while the windows were covered in luxurious red silk drapes. Even the furniture in the main room was made from plush velvet and ornate gold gilding. This was an establishment like no other. He pitied his younger self for avoiding these places to please his mother. There was so much he had missed out on.

The women lounging in the chairs paid him no mind, but why would they? He was dressed in clothing that was not unlike rags and his face was covered with a burlap cowl. To them, he looked like nothing more than a beggar that had come to pester their wealthy clients. Never mind them. If they knew who he was, they’d all be begging at his feet to be chosen.

He walked forward only to be stopped by a burly man. He said nothing, only grunting before extending an arm out in front of the shorter man’s chest.

“No begging in here. Take your burdens elsewhere,” he said in a deep voice.

The other man held up his hands before him and tilted his head upward. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a view of his clean face and obviously healthy appearance.

“Peace friend. I’m here to partake in your services. I’m only dressed this way to divert attention from the wrong crowd, you see.”

The man looked him up and down one more time then stepped aside to let him pass. He heaved a sigh of relief and walked further into the building. The deeper he went, he noticed that the perfumed smell just got heavier. It was as if he was being crushed by the scent of lavender and blackberry. It wasn’t the worst feeling though.

He found the leno of the place sitting behind a desk with his feet up. A small man with beady little eyes, he was probably a good businessman. He had to be if he was to run the most successful and high end brothel in the city.

He walked over and threw a bag on the desk, startling the man.

“I’d like your best girl.”

“And you think you can pay for any of them here with simple bronze coins?”

“Sir,” he chuckled. “I don’t pay in bronze or even silver.”

The leno narrowed his eyes wearily before directing his attention to the bag. A simple pull on the string on top and a pile of gold aurei spilled out onto his table. His eyes went wide and his lips twisted into a smile.

“Wow, I’ve never had such a well paying client. What is your name, if I may. I’d like to remember you for the future if you intend to become a regular.”

“You may call me Pedius.”

“Well then. Pedius it is.” He motioned to an older woman. “Floria, go find her. Tell her to dress her best for our special customer here.”

She nodded and dashed up the stairs, her flowing skirts trailing behind her. The man at the desk picked up one of the coins and licked his lips as he studied it.

“You’ll like this one. She’s a favorite here. The Pava has many admirers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pava? A peacock?”

“You shall see.”

The man busied himself with another client and left him to his own devices. It wasn’t long before the woman rushed back down and bowed before him.

“I’ll take you to your room now.”

“She can’t walk down herself? This woman must be quite the queen here.”

He meant it as a joke, but the woman nodded as if agreeing completely. They walked up the stairs, navigating an intricate assortment of rooms, before reaching two large doors. She smiled and bid him goodbye, disappearing before he could even turn to thank her. He looked at the doors again and took a deep breath. Let’s see what 45 aurei gets you these days, he thought.

He pushed them open and walked inside. The room was more ornate than the one downstairs. The beautiful blue silk that hung from the walls and pooled around the bed was a welcoming escape from the glaring red, and the smells here were rather pleasant. He inhaled raspberries and vanilla, sighing as he did. It smelled heavenly.

“Well, are you just going to stand there?”

He looked around, only noticing the woman in the bed when she moved. Her dress, which was the same color as the silk, did well to hide her. His feet found themselves unable to move as he watched her rise. Her shoulders were laid bare, showing off immaculate olive skin, as were her long legs. The slit in her silk skirts made sure to show off every inch of them and the strings of pearls wrapped around her ankles only enhanced their appearance. The lower half of her face was obscured by more blue silk, but she removed it as she neared him, revealing glowing blonde hair paired with sea blue eyes.

As her ‘cloak’ fell to the floor, he realized why she was called the pava. Her dress glittered with sapphires and emeralds all arranged in the pattern of peacock feathers, while real ones adorned her hair. When she was standing right before him, her eyes swept him over, taking in every inch of him. He felt as if she were looking right through him.

“You’re not much to look at, are you? How in the world could you afford me?” she said.

“Looks can be deceiving, my dear.”

He took off his cowl, revealing well styled locks of light brown hair. Same as the men downstairs, she was instantly able to tell that he came from a much higher class than he let on. She pursed her lips and smirked, a move that sent a shiver down his spine.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“My name...yes! My name. It’s Galba. Julianus Pedius Galba.”

“Galba? You’re a senator, I've heard of you. Is that what they call you, out there in the Curia?”

“Yes, but you cannot tell anyone I’m here. I don’t want my exploits to become known to certain people.”

“Certain people? That sounds like a wife to me.”

“Perhaps.”

“What? She was getting boring in bed? Wouldn’t let you do the things you wanted to her?”

“No, Marica is…she’s just. I needed something…better.”

“Oh that sounds like a deeper problem than most.”

“I’d like to forget about her for a while. That’s all.”

“Well in here, you’re Julianus anyway.” Her eyes never left him as she ran a long manicured nail up his arm. “And you are nothing more than a man.”

He gulped. “That's…more than fine by me.”

“As it should be.”

She grabbed his hand and led him to the bed, pushing him so that he fell onto his back. She climbed on top of him and straddled his hips. The wicked look in her eyes told him that he was in for one hell of a night.

“What’s uh…your name?”

“Me? I’m the peahen, don’t you know?”

“I do, but what is your real name?”

A delicate hand reached up to smooth a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead. “Lucretia.”

“Lucretia?”

“Yes. Don’t wear it out.”

“I would never dream of it, though I do hope that some other things might be worn out tonight.”

She smiled, obviously impressed with his boldness. She straightened up and reached back to untie the trappings of her dress, letting it fall around her hips. All the air left his body at the intoxicating sight of her and he suddenly didn’t feel guilty at all for coming here. His only regret was that it took him so long to come find this angel.

Present Day

Gabriel didn’t think there had ever been a time in his life where he missed Nathalie more than right now. It had been hours since he watched the remnants of the party his son had just thrown file out of his house, but he was still filled with rage. He wanted to punish Adrien, but that would give him away. Nathalie would know what to do. She’d know how to fix everything, including the fact that he’d had another damn dream. 

He’d woken up that morning finally knowing the identity of the man named Julianus that Clara had talked about in her final days. He also found himself with a problem in his pants and a yearning for the blonde beauty known as Lucretia.

Now he knew that the visions were somehow connected. What he didn’t know is where they were coming from and why. He pulled out his phone and stared at the blank screen. This wasn’t going to turn up anything, but…it couldn’t hurt to try. It was certainly better to do this and be reassured that his dreams meant nothing than to go to Nathalie with his problems and have her think he was insane.

He typed Julianus Pedius Galba, right into the search bar. His eyes were probably as wide as saucers when hits for the man actually came up. He clicked the Wikipedia link and devoured the words on his screen. Julianus was a high ranking senator during the reign of Tiberius himself. No this couldn’t be.

Gabriel refreshed the page, but the words never changed. He had dreamed of a real man. That probably meant that the other man was real too. He searched for Peter Howard and came face to face with one Peter Howard, Duke of Norfolk and Queensberry. 

He shut off the phone and put it in his pocket. There had to be an explanation to this. Perhaps he had fallen asleep while watching the History Channel and had their names ingrained in his mind. That was plausible, right? He reached out for his wine glass beside him only to remember that he had downed its contents long before.

“Master. I sense distress. Are you ok?”

He looked to Nooroo and wondered just how much the kwami could feel emanating from him.

“I don’t know Nooroo. These people in my dreams. They’re real. I just don’t understand.”

“Humans have very random dreams from time to time. I’m sure these are just coincidences.”

“Before you said that I was dreaming of previous holders.”

“Yes.”

“But neither of them had the miraculous on their person.”

“Well I never said that was the case. I just mentioned it as a possibility. You never know either, they could've just left their brooches at home.”

The kwami was starting to shake again. He knew something, he was sure of it. He was about to open his mouth to say something, but was stopped by his phone vibrating. He opened it up to see a text message from Nathalie.

Nathalie: The plane just landed in Tokyo. It was quite bumpy toward the end, but I made it in one piece.

He didn’t know why that one text message helped wash away his current distress, but he wasn’t complaining. His Nathalie was safe and sound. That was enough for him.

Gabriel: Thank god I was so

Gabriel: Today was awful after you left

Gabriel: I miss you

Gabriel: Excellent

Athens, Greece - 338 BC

The morning breeze carried a strong scent of roses from the garden. The first rays of the sun shone through the white columns that framed the courtyard. Save the birds tweeting away in the trees, everything was silent…almost.

“I'm never going to get this!” a voice rang out.

On a bench sat two people. Jiannis Menatos was a quiet but intelligent man known mostly for his invaluable teaching at the Academy. The company he kept consisted of other scholars or men of high birth who could converse with him about mathematics and ethics, his favorite subjects. 

The girl sitting next to him was far from that. Cassandra Nicolea was 12 years old when she was sold into servitude by her parents to pay off their debts. Now 17 and full of life, she happily worked as a handmaid to his wife, Penelope. She was known to be loud and humorous, with an infectious smile and rare natural golden hair. 

Though they were different in status and personality, the two had struck up an unlikely friendship over the years that continued to grow, much to the disdain of some people.

He laughed heartily and laid a hand on her own. “Cassandra, my dear, not so loud. You’re going to wake the entire household.”

“I’m sorry, but I will never learn how to read.”

“Yes you will. You just need time and practice”

“It shouldn't be this hard. There are children that can understand this better than I.”

“Yes, but that's because they are very impressionable when young. It's easier to teach anything to a child.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read,” he said with a smirk. 

She scoffed and playfully punched his arm. “You're insufferable.”

“You can always leave if you want. You’ve earned more than enough money to buy your freedom”

Her smile faded as she looked at the sky. The next time she spoke, her voice had taken on a nostalgic tone.

“You know I could never.” She turned to look at him. “I like it too much here.”

He caught himself staring into her blue-green eyes, but he was too weak to look away. He knew he shouldn’t have feelings like this for a servant, but he couldn’t help it. Cassandra was perfect in every way. It was she that pressed a finger to his chin and angled his eyes back to the scroll between them.

“So back to this page. Please try again.”

“These people h-have second na…naa-”

“Pronounce the a like you would in the word ‘same’”

“Names?”

“Excellent. Continue.”

“...which is very odd. I did it!”

“Yes, now read it back.”

“These people have second names which is very odd. I have a second name and so do you. Are we odd?”

“Not at all. You don’t have one per se. Nicolea just means that your father is named Nikólaos. It was used to distinguish you from other women on the slave ship who bore the same name as you. I really don’t know why I kept it for you, but I've grown used to it.” 

“Oh. That makes sense. What about you?”

“Menatos is a nickname passed on from my father. It comes from Menoetius, the god of violent anger. A trait that my father was known to have.”

“You don’t have that.”

“True, but the nickname has followed me through my life.”

“Well I like it. It makes you unique.”

“You’re too kind,” he chuckled. “I wish I could bring you along to the Academy. Maybe you could tell Xenocrates and the others just how unique I am.”

“The opinions of stuffy old men don’t matter.”

He reached up and cupped her face, affectionately running his thumb over her soft skin. She leaned into the touch, her lips turning up in a smile. After confirming that the courtyard was still empty, he quickly kissed her. It was as amazing as all the others. He leaned his forehead against hers and admired the rose colored blush on her cheeks.

“No they do not,” he whispered, making her giggle.

They were so focused on each other that neither noticed his wife scowling as she watched them from an overlooking window. 

London, England - 1763

Peter laid his head back and looked up at the night sky. A full moon hung there like a large glowing pearl, lighting up the garden as if it was daytime. He could see its beams shining on the dew drops in the grass before him, while stars dotted the vast black sky above him, twinkling like a million diamonds. Beside him, Clara sighed and let her head fall onto his shoulder. If only this moment could last forever.

It had not been easy to get out of the estate without being seen, but time had made him adept at sneaking around. How many times had he come to stay see her under the guise of visiting Lord Pitt? It was too many to count, not that he was. Now he sat on a bench in a secluded garden next to a woman who was quite possibly the love of his life. He should’ve been happy, but his thoughts were conflicted.

He thought back to what Bridget had hissed at him only that morning. Give her up before someone finds out about you two and she becomes a pariah for messing around with a taken man.

She had found out about his midnight visits some time before, but she’d been pretty calm about it. They both knew they didn’t love each other and that their marriage was purely advantageous, but he had still expected her to be somewhat jealous. The only issue she had taken was the fact that he could get caught. They were just getting over their respective scandals and she was not happy about another arising.

He couldn’t care less though. Clara was all he wanted in life and he’d trade everything for her. He’d been doing some thinking lately and he’d come to the conclusion that he truly loved her. He welcomed that he was finally being honest with himself.

Had they ever been strangers? He didn't think so. That day he first saw her, there was something even then, though he didn't know what. She had been an enigma to him and he had taken pleasure in slowly unraveling her mysteries. Now he wanted nothing more than to make her truly his. 

If only it were that simple. 

“Clara?” he asked, his quiet voice cutting through the warm air.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to dance?”

“What? Here and now? I’m not even properly dressed.”

“Anything you wear is perfect.”

She giggled. “You’re so cliche.”

“I don’t care. As long as you’re still with me, nothing else matters. Now,” he said, standing up and reaching out a hand toward her. “Dance with me.”

“But there's no music.”

“Just try to imagine it. We don’t need music to spin around for a while.”

When he placed his hand on her back, he felt her shiver. She tried to hide it and put her hand on his shoulder, but he could still see her blush in the moonlight. He spun her around, slow and tender. He gripped her other hand tightly in his, as if he could lose her if he let go. 

“I wish I could dance with you at a party. I know you’d be the envy of every man there.”

“Even without a title or money to my name?”

“What’s a few silly words, when I can have you? I’d be duke of nothing except for your love.”

“Now I know you read that in a poem. That's too much, even for you.”

“Maybe I did. I’ll never tell.”

She laughed for real this time. Her soft voice carrying around him and filling him with warmth. He looked down at her and studied her face, memorizing every curve and detail. She had to have been an angel, for no mere mortal could be so lovely.

“Clarabelle, can I kiss you?” 

Why did the use of her full name make her want to hear him say it over and over again?

“Of course, silly.”

They stopped dancing only for a few seconds so he could wrap both arms around her waist. Instead of responding with words, he merely leaned forward and captured her lips in a hungry kiss. Just like all the others, she couldn’t get enough of him. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he finally said.

She thought she was hearing things at first.

“What did you say?”

“I love you.”

She pulled herself out of his arms. “No you don’t. You can’t.”

“I can and I will.”

“No. Peter you’re engaged. You can’t love me.”

“It’s not official until we say our vows. I can call it all off.”

“But I’m a commoner.”

“No. Once we are bound by God, you’ll be the Duchess of Norfolk.”

“Would they…would they even allow it? A match like ours?”

“Who’s this ‘they’? No one decides who I marry but me and no one can tell me I can’t marry you.”

He grabbed her hands in his. His eyes pleading and desperate. “Please. Do you not love me back? Is that it?”

“No I…I love you too, but-”

“Shhh.”

He leaned forward and kissed her again. He could still feel that she was hesitating, but she freed her hands from his grip and laid one on each side of his face anyway. She held his face inches from hers when she spoke again.

“Peter. Let’s take this slow, okay? Give it time.”  

“Anything for you.”

Present Day

Hawk Moth was not angry after his akuma was defeated for once. Instead he was only confused. He tightened a fist, the sound of his glove stretching echoed around the lair. His trio of punishers had been a failed exploit mainly because he hadn’t been able to guide them during battle. He’d let Nathalie stall them, but it hadn’t been his intention. A little after he had told her to get Adrien, he had started to space out and daydream. 

He’d been introduced to yet another woman in what he now referred to as his fever dreams, Cassandra. He had also had yet another encounter with Clara, though she hadn't been dying this time. Deep breath in, hold it, then exhale. He went through the simple breathing technique a few times until he felt somewhat better.

“Dark wings fall.”

His transformation fell around him and out popped Nooroo, who could immediately tell that Gabriel had something to ask him.

“You know something about these dreams.”

“I do, but-”

“But nothing. Why haven’t you explained them? Why do you beat around the bush? They are starting to affect my efforts to get the miraculous and I’m sick of it. Tell me what they are so I can end them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why?”

“They’re visions from your past lives.”

“How do you know this?”

“I…I can’t.”

“Tell me more!”

“I can’t tell you everything.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not ready and it’s not my place to spring so much on you. I know you believe you can handle anything, but we should let some time pass before I say more.”

“And until then I’m supposed to suffer through these infuriating dreams?”

“They’re more like memories if anything. Maybe you should pay more attention to them. You get to see what you were like in other lives.”

“That doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I have nothing to gain from random memories.”

“But-”

“No, we’re done here.”

He started walking back toward the lift, his mind far from thinking about the past. All he cared about was the present. And Nathalie. She’d fought three akumas. Even though she had done well, she still wasn’t supposed to be doing something so strenuous in her condition. He needed to see if she was okay.

St. Petersburg, Russia - 1916

Boris Kamenev wondered why he was even at a party that represented everything he hated: imperialism, greed, money, and authoritarian rule. He’d have burned the place to the ground if he were ordered to do so. Sadly, his orders were to infiltrate, not destroy…yet. 

He watched Russian nobles fly by in a blur of ribbon and fabric. Laughter and gallant conversation filled the hall while alcohol flowed freely. Their happiness irked him, but it didn't matter. Soon everything would fall into place. The people were getting tired of the Tsarist regime and riots had already begun in the cities. The revolution was coming and no amount of dancing was going to make these clucking chickens forget that. They knew the end was near, while the Bolshevik rise was just beginning.

After being suspiciously observed by a man, he figured he should try a little harder to blend in. At first he had headed toward the tables piled with food to get a drink, but on the way there he spotted a woman looking forlorn and sitting alone at a table. She would do just fine.

As he neared her, he could see that she was fiddling with the skirt of her emerald colored dress, a sign that she had been there a while. Why was no one dancing with her? She couldn’t have been ugly, all the people here looked equally awful.

“Well hello there, Princess.”

He didn’t actually know if she was a princess, but it was more likely than not, given how they dispersed their titles so freely.

She jumped at the sudden voice and looked up to see him standing there. He had purposely worn a black and burgundy suit that complimented his grey eyes perfectly. It had been picked out for him by one of the women he worked with. She was supposed to be here as well, but he hadn’t seen her. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked.

She stared up at him with a look that said she was holding some strong emotions back. The poor thing must’ve been abandoned by her friends, rejected by a suitor, or maybe even both. She looked different from the others, if that was even a thing that one could look like. She had twinkling blue eyes and a kind smile, nothing to say that she was an out-of-touch snob. Still, he figured those traits would come out of her the longer he spoke with her.

“I’m afraid not. I don’t go to these things very often. I’m Mikhail Sidorov, a civil servant. I only came here because some friends invited me, but they left halfway through it and now I find myself in need of someone to talk to.”

“Well I’m here I guess. Not like I had any prior engagements.”

“Why are you sitting alone? Could it be that you’re not a dancer?”

“Not at all. Dances are my favorite things and I adore every second of them. For some reason I have only had a few suitors tonight. I’m not upset, but I haven't danced as much as I would like to.”

“Ah, so the men here are just blind then. Ignoring a beauty such as yourself.”

She looked away and smiled, her cheeks turning pink. She was easier to charm than the usual girls.

"I'm surprised you're not dancing," she said. “I’ve seen so many women try to talk to you tonight.”

So she’d been watching him. She was good at seeming oblivious, for he had never once suspected her of it even when he was pushing drunk cows off of him. It was true that an array of bright blushing women asked him to dance and he had seen their thinly veiled disappointment as he rejected every one of them. 

He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh who likes to dance anyway. It's too much of a hassle to me."

"Are you embarrassed? Perhaps you don't know how to dance."

"I know plenty well how. Naughty girl, teasing someone when you yourself probably have two left feet.”

“Telling a lady she cannot dance is not going to help make her feel any better, you know.”

"Allow me to improve your mood. I think I'm more skilled than them anyway. Care to dance?" he held out a hand. 

“You don’t even know my name.”

“What is it then?”

“Katya.”

“Then my dear, Katya. Dance with me?”

"Alright. Only because I need to defend my dancing honour."

She took his hand and let him lead her to the middle of the floor. The orchestra had just taken up a new tune, the Valse sentimentale, as he started to spin her around in grand arcs, her gown swirling around her. She was a brilliant dancer, he mused. They moved with grace and speed, neither noticing that people had stopped to watch them.

Something happened in that moment between them causing everything around them to become a haze. It was like they were the only two people in a vast ocean. Their synchronized steps were in tune to the soft music that played above their heads as they silently glided in endless circles. 

"It looks like I was successful," he whispered. 

She was breathless. "How so?"

"That earlier sadness of yours is gone. You look radiant."

His eyes said so much more. Maybe it was just the excitement that came from being so close to someone, but he seemed to look at her as if she was the only woman in the world. He had no idea how his mind had become so jumbled by a simple dance, but the woman in his arms was surely the cause of it.

"I have you to thank for that."

He picked her up and spun her around as the dance came to an end and an applause broke out. Amidst the cheering they stood, utterly unaware of the others in the room. She didn't even notice that she had yet to let go of his hand until someone came up and laid a hand on her shoulder. 

“That dancing was incredible,” the newcomer said loudly.

Katya quickly let go of him and turned around. The woman behind her smiled at her before glaring at him. The emergence of her friend had snapped him out of his earlier stupor.

“Oh Olga there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come, let us sit.”

They all started walking back to the tables in order to talk. This ‘Olga’ stared at him some more before smiling brightly at her friend. “Katya, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new companion?”

“Goodness, where are my manners? This is Mikhail Sidorov, he’s a civil servant. Mikhail, this is my friend Olga Lovzanskaya.”

“A civil servant? What do you really do?” Olga asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” he replied.

“Interesting. And how is it that a lawyer of all people was able to get into this party?”

“Hush you, he was invited by a friend,” Katya interjected. “Sorry about her, her bark is worse than her bite.”

He continued to stare at Olga and Olga did the same. Even when Katya started to talk about something, he tuned it out while Olga gave half-hearted answers. This woman wasn’t who she said she was. Hell, she had been with him just that morning, helping him put on his suit. He had to give credit where credit was due, Anastasiya Budimirovna Rozovskaya knew how to clean up. 

She had short black hair that would never grow past her shoulders no matter how hard she tried. Her skin was just as fair and pale as Katya’s, but it was all a mask. He’d only once been out in public with her on a hot day when she wiped her cheek and left a smear in its place, exposing the dark pox scars underneath. Green were her eyes, small and haunting like those of a proper vixen. Her voice, while quiet, got very loud when she drank and it could utter some of the foulest language you could imagine. That loud voice helped her earn a spot as a top ranking member of their revolutionary faction. 

Her assignment had been to get close to someone within the Romanov family and provide direct access to the Tsar. She complained all the time about the annoying brat she had to fake being friends with. When they were together, she had to act as sweet as a rose, only to revert back to her wicked ways once she was away from her and out of disguise. She hated the royal family with a passion and not a day went by when she didn't discuss all the ways she wished she could make her princess suffer.

He had always been grateful he didn’t have to do that and had the most sour impression of this princess in his head. Now that he sat beside her, his thoughts changed completely. A princess named Katya? There was only one person that could be. 

Princess Ekaterina Mikhailovna of Russia, the complete opposite of Anna, was every bit as beautiful as the rumours about her promised. She had vibrant red hair that traveled all the way down her back, a spotless, fair complexion, and the most beautiful blue eyes you could imagine. Some said that she was too beautiful to be of this earth and they always used her eyes as proof. No one could have such lovely eyes without having been at least touched by an angel, they said. She charmed everyone she met and always made sure to be as kind as she could with them. Even her laugh sounded like a springtime melody. 

He had to agree with that assessment now that he had seen her for himself. She was every man’s dream, his included. He had just danced with her. He had held her in his arms and stared right into her soul. He had fallen under the spell of a woman who was a member of the very family he was working to destroy.

Present Day

He’d gotten used to being woken at night by his odd dreams, but this one was by far the oddest. Here was Nathalie, his Nathalie, holding onto his arm and gently shaking him awake. 

“I’m sorry, sir. You were talking in your sleep.”

He looked around. Even without his glasses, he knew that they were in her guest bedroom in the mansion. The clock beside him read 2am. He thought for a moment before realizing this wasn’t a dream. He’d visited her after dinner to only see if she needed anything. They’d had quite the scare after she went AWOL and stole the peacock miraculous while he slept earlier that day. 

After she opened the door, his memory got blurry, but he knew that nothing had happened between them. They had only fallen asleep together.

“It was nothing. Go back to sleep,” he replied.

“Uh…” she looked around, clearly wondering if he meant for her to stay.

He turned over and wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her closer. There was no ulterior motive behind the action. It was simply meant to reassure her. She didn’t even protest at his touch, merely sighing and snuggling into his chest. He tried to ignore the warmth spreading through his body. It was nothing more than joy at helping comfort a friend.

Just as sleep was going to overtake him, he heard a small voice in his head. Nooroo rarely communicated telepathically unless people were around.

Master?

He opened an eye and saw his kwami floating above him. He could only see the outline of his wings in the dim light, but he could sense his nervousness through the miraculous.

What?

Ask her what her middle name is.

And why should I do that?

Just ask. It will help you more than you know.

“Nathalie,” he said into her hair, the draw of sleep evident in his voice. “What’s your middle name?”

She answered without hesitation. “Catherine. Why do you ask?”

Nooroo hovered closer and shot him a knowing glance, but said nothing. She had said so much more than a few words and she didn't even know it. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I was just curious.”

His voice came out calm and collected, but inside was an entirely different story. He was losing it. Catherine sounded…way too much like Ekaterina. It filled him with dread and he had no idea why.

Athens, Greece - 337 BC

Dearest Jiannis,

I’m betting you didn’t know I could write this well! I’m just kidding. I asked this kind man at the docks in Piraeus to write this letter for me. I will try to keep this brief. I’m sailing for Chios tomorrow morning. You may be wondering how I booked passage on a ship, well Penelope was gracious enough to pay for me in full. She said that she wanted me to go see my family, my father especially. I didn’t think I’d be able to see him before he passed from his ill health, but she made all the difference. I can’t thank her enough. She also said she would happily give me enough money to buy my freedom, but I had to say no. I just can’t ever see a life for me without you in it. Working for you was the best thing to happen to me. 

I should be gone for around a month, but I promise to work twice as hard when I return. Please don’t miss me too much. I know you were upset before I left, but the future is not set in stone. I’m not going to stay there no matter how much my mother begs. I’ll find a way to write to you every single day. I look forward to continuing our lessons upon my return. Goodbye for now.

-Cassandra

Jiannis rolled up the letter and bowed his head. His dear Cassandra had never made it to Chios. He didn’t even think she made it that far from the coast. Her letter had arrived that morning, along with an official document from some Athenian statesman regretting to inform him that his servant had perished on the high seas and that he would be reimbursed for the loss of labour. He cursed at the notion that her life was worth but a few drachmas. She wasn’t even afforded a proper burial as her body was never found, even though the remnants of the ship washed up on shore weeks later.

St. Petersburg, Russia - January 1917

Life had not turned out the way Boris or his superiors had intended, but it had taken a turn in his favour the day he met Katya. The connection between them was almost instantaneous and they had quickly grown closer than her and Olga ever had. After a slight alteration in the plan, it was decided that Anna would step back and let Boris be the infiltrator. This decision ended up working like a charm, something that Boris had very mixed feelings about.

He had called on her early that morning with the intention of taking her out for an extravagant breakfast. Instead, he had been pulled into the house and introduced to her mother and three sisters. She had two brothers as well, but they were away fighting in the war. He spent the better part of an hour sitting next to Katya and answering all kinds of questions about himself. Never had his knowledge of his fake life come into such extensive use, but he managed. Finally, he had stolen her away and gotten her alone in one of the upstairs rooms of their lofty estate.

She reclined on a sofa, eating from a tray of sweets while sunning herself near the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass and lit up her hair like fire. He couldn’t help but stare and wonder if she knew what she was doing to him.

“So, uh…your family seems nice,” he said from his seat on the sofa across from hers.

“They really are, though they can be overbearing sometimes. I hope mother didn’t frighten you with her questions.”

“No no it was fine. I rather enjoyed it.”

She laughed and offered him one of the sweets next to her. “Pastila?”

He wasn’t hungry after having her mother force him to try all kinds of food, but he took it to make her happy. Rare as they were to ever be on a poor man’s plate, a pastila was something he couldn't pass up. The light apple flavour that hit his tongue when he took a bite was heavenly. This assignment was threatening to turn him into a supporter of the monarchy, something that could not happen under any circumstance.

“You look like you’ve never had one before.”

“I haven’t really. Though I may be no stranger to the better things in life now, that wasn’t always the case. I grew up poor and we never had anything like this when I was a child.”

“You poor thing. Well I’m glad you made something of yourself. A life without sweets! I could never imagine such a terrible thing.”

“Nothing as terrible? What about the riots in the streets? Those are surely comparable.”

He watched as her eyes darkened and her face became sad. One might think she was sympathetic to his cause and he had wished for that to be the case, but he knew that was too good to be true whenever she opened her mouth and spoke of the lower class.

“Oh yes, these riots and such are so awful. I do hope they’ll come to pass soon.”

“Maybe if the Tsar would do something to help his people…”

“He does all he can. My father has been writing to me and telling me everything he’s doing to help the people.”

“Your father is close with him, no?”

“Well of course, they’re brothers. Nicky is my uncle. I’ve told you this!”

“I must’ve spaced it. The pastila was just too good.”

“They always are, aren't they? They used to serve these strawberry flavoured ones at the Winter Palace during holidays. I used to visit them on Christmas and play with Olga and Tatiana. We used to put on court dresses and pretend we were empresses. They’re all so lovely. I haven’t seen them since the war started though.”

“You miss them dearly.”

“I do, but the war shall be over soon. Uncle has a plan to make the people happy.”

His ears perked up at this. “And what is that?”

“You did not hear this from me, but next month he is going to enact a prohibition on alcohol.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Father says that when the people can no longer be drunk and have clear heads, patriotism and productivity will skyrocket. It’s going to help us all. Don’t worry though, we shall still have plenty of spirits here. We can get away with it.”

She winked at him and he had to fake a laugh. There were so many things that she just didn't understand and the hardships of the people was one of them. He doubted she had ever really struggled before, given her upbringing and status. She was the niece of the Tsar for Christ’s sake. She’d never have to work for anything in her life.

He tried to think of something a delusional noble would say next, if only to drag more info out of her. “Do you have any more news from the top? This war has me so worried for the economy.”

“That stuff bores me. And I hate talk of the war. It’s too depressing.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just-”

“No, don't apologize. Everything's fine and it will continue that way. We’re safe here. The future isn't set in stone, you know?”

He reluctantly nodded in silent agreement. Nothing was fine. Why couldn’t she see that? After calling for a servant to come take the tray, still loaded with more food which was most likely going to be thrown away and wasted, he watched as she locked the door. She turned to look at him, blue eyes filled with more lust than the devil himself. 

“I tire of this talk. Let’s do something fun.”

Her eyes never left his as she walked over. He let her push him onto his back and climb on top of him. This wasn’t the first time they had done this and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he always felt ashamed after they finished. He would hold her in his arms and trail kisses over every inch of skin that he could reach. He called her his pet, his only love, or his angel, and he said that with enough sincerity to frighten himself. 

"Kitty, we shouldn't be doing this. What if we get caught?" 

"My family knows to give me my space. They're all too interested in tea cakes and gossip anyway."

He sighed, letting his head fall back onto the couch. When she started to fiddle with his collar, he had to resort to repeating his usual mantra in his head. 

You’re only doing this for the cause, he thought. This is nothing but good sex. That’s all. You feel nothing for her.

For a second he felt as though he was down in the mines again, breaking his back to help a monarchy that didn’t care for him at all. He remembered watching his father work himself into an early grave. He remembered his mother telling him that it was the Bourgeoisie who had made their lives the hell it was. He remembered growing up and telling himself over and over again that the nobles didn't care and that they would sooner walk on the back of a dying old woman than sully their fine shoes in a puddle.

You don’t love her. You don’t love her. You don’t love her. You don’t love…

Over and over. He thought until it was seared in his mind only to be completely wiped away and replaced with total love and admiration for her the minute her soft lips met his. Then he thought no more.

Ancient Rome - AD 19

Julianus was hopelessly in love and he knew it. As he lay there, running his fingers through Lucretia’s hair, his thoughts were only of her. They always were. During council meetings, dinner, walks, or when he lay in his own bed beside his wife, his mind only saw blonde locks and blue eyes flecked with green. 

“What are you thinking of?” he heard her ask.

“You.”

She chuckled and opened her eyes to look at him. “Isn’t that always the case? Why else would you come here almost every day? I’m sure this place is going to drain your coffers rather soon.”

“A price I’m willing to pay for you.”

He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

“But, you do know that this can’t go on forever right? I’m a courtesan. It’s not as if I’ll ever be yours fully.”

“Don’t you wish to be mine though?”

“I do, but what about your family? Your son?”

“If I wanted to divorce her, the council would grant it tomorrow. I only fear that she’ll find a way to take our son with her.”

“Don’t fret about it now. The future's not set in stone. Something could happen a few days from now that would change everything.”

“How can you be so positive about what tomorrow will bring?”

“Well, tomorrow brought me you. The day we met, I woke up thinking it was going to be like any other day, but then you walked into my room. I’ve been so happy ever since and I know you have too.”

“I am, but I still worry. Say I pull this off, I divorce her and Andrianos remains in my care. What about you? I doubt your leno would ever be willing to give up a woman who makes him so much money. And society! They would never see you as my wife. They would look at you and see a whore.”

“I don’t care what they think. We love each other and that’s all that matters.”

She reached up to caress his cheek, her palm soft like the silk she surrounded herself with. Her gaze never left his. It had been so long since someone looked at him with so much love in their eyes. He found it astounding to think that he had found a woman who'd be his for an exceptionally long time. He wouldn’t give this up for the world.

“I still can't believe you're mine. Mine to hold, to touch, to kiss. I must be dreaming,” he said.

“If this is a dream, then I don't want to ever wake up.”

He tightened his grip around her and buried his face in her neck. The scent of raspberry was more prominent than the vanilla that day. He sighed, completely content with life.

“Me neither.”

London, England - 1763

“Dear Peter, whatever are you thinking of?”

Peter Howard looked away from the window and toward his companion whom he shared the carriage with. Her lips were pressed together, stretching at the lines on her face, her dutifully curled hair was already losing its shape in the summer heat, and her hand looked like it was about to break with how hard she was using it to fan herself.

“Oh you know, just how much I really would like to skip this dinner.”

She rolled her green eyes and scoffed. “It doesn’t matter what you want. We need to go to these things to establish connections. How can one attain power if he can’t name a single member of King George’s court, hmm?”

“Bridget, I have connections and I can name many of them. The only reason I agreed to this was for you. I don’t think you can reintroduce yourself into society without me by your side.”

“You still need me.”

“I’m sure I do.”

He looked away, signaling that the conversation was over, and went back to staring at the land outside his window. Where had his life gone so wrong? 

When he had inherited the dukedom from his father at 16, Peter felt like he had been blessed beyond all measure. He already had the makings of a fine political career laid out, many trusted friends in high places, and a never ending line of eligible women clawing for his attention. He was living the dream. But that all changed when his brother was arrested as part of a plot to assassinate the King.

Though he hadn’t had a single clue about the plot, suspicion was still turned on him and he was forced into exile. He had spent over 5 years living in France and avoiding all manner of social interaction. Some of his allies still kept in contact, but for the most part he remained out of sight until everything cooled off. When his advisors finally decided that it was time for him to return and for the shroud of scandal to be lifted off his shoulders, he had rejoiced. That had been short lived though. As part of his return, he was to marry a high ranking lady as part of some show of good faith toward society. He didn’t really listen to their reasons for why he needed to do this and he didn’t care. All he knew was that the minute he met Bridget Moryet, Duchess of Queensberry, something in his gut twisted in disgust.

She was pretty, he’d give her that. Her curly blonde locks and striking green eyes had caught his eye immediately, but that was where anything good about her ended. Her demeanor was dreadful. When she wasn’t angry or sulking, she could be found weeping for attention. Though only 19, there were times when she looked like an old woman to him. Her eyes would darken and her face would sag. The awful way she acted and the things she was capable of saying had convinced him that this woman couldn’t be innocent of the crimes she was accused of. There were just too many warning horns that went off in his head when he looked at her.  

Fresh off her own scandal in which she had been accused of killing her own father, albeit no evidence was ever found, young Bridget had a title and lands to her name and absolutely no supporters. They were all scared to be seen with someone who had possibly committed patricide for a lousy title. He on the other hand, was seen as her perfect match. Two young nobles, who had both endured scandal, now marrying in order to build one another back up to their former glory. A picture of defiant strength. 

They were currently on their way to the Earl of Chatham’s estate to attend a picnic and dinner set up by his wife. Sir William Pitt had been a good friend of Peter’s father and was still one of his biggest supporters. If there was any place to make his first official appearance, this was it. He was happy to be able to see the Earl again, but everything else seemed like a waste of time. 

When they arrived, his intended was immediately swept away by the Countess of Chatham, something he was overjoyed to see. He spent his own time walking with William and meeting the other attendees. They chatted about the things everyone talks about; who was sleeping with their maids, how the war was going, and the inevitable changing of the Prime Minister that would happen soon enough. It was well known that Parliament and the King despised George Grenville and because of that, William was believed to be a shoe-in for prime minister soon. He had already married the sister of a former PM and had a large backing within the House of Lords. It was only a matter of time before he was given what he deserved. 

Though it had only been an hour since his arrival, Peter soon grew tired of conversation and since lunch wasn’t served yet, he excused himself to the gardens. He hadn’t planned to walk as far as he did, but the estate was massive and he was curious. After trudging through a dense bit of trees, he came to find a small farm. He passed little patches of crops and chicken coops until he was standing at the door of a house. It was rather small and plain looking, but he found it to be charming all the same. Though he knew he shouldn’t be bothering the groundskeeper who probably lived there, he just couldn’t help himself. He was bored out of his mind. 

His hand was raised in mid-knock when the door swung open. The person hadn’t even noticed him and barreled forward, knocking him over. It all happened so fast. One moment he was standing there and the next, he was on his back with someone on top of him. 

He opened his eyes and looked at the weight on his chest. He had expected to see some elderly man, but he instead was faced with a young woman. She pushed herself up by her hands and started to speak a mile a minute.

“Goodness me, I'm so clumsy. I opened the door too fast and didn't see you. I’m-”

When her voice cut off mid-sentence, he didn't even notice. He was too busy looking at the eyes that had just locked with his own. Azure? Cerulean? Turquoise? He couldn’t decide. Her eyes contained every shade of blue you could imagine, like a swirling sea dotted with green. She let out a soft sigh, bringing him back to reality.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. When she finally looked somewhere other than his face and noticed where she was currently laying, she gasped and scrambled to her feet. He too stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothing. The basket she had dropped when she hit him was laying next to him, its contents spilling out. He gathered them up and handed it back to her.

“I think you dropped this.”

She smiled and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Her brown hair was void of any decoration, spilling over her shoulders and down her back in waves. She must not have been expecting to see another person in her secluded garden. “Thank you, sir.” She took the basket graciously.

He should’ve left and let her get on with her work, but he found himself unable to leave so he tried to engage in small talk. “This is a lovely home you have here.”

“This? It’s no castle, but it gets the job done.”

“Do you work for the earl?”

“My father does. He’s the head groundskeeper here. I just live with him and help out.”

“You still live with your father? No husband?”

“I’m too poor to marry. Father has been saving money for my dowry so that I might marry someday.”

“Dowries are overrated, if you ask me. My fiancée didn’t have one. All she brought was her attitude.”

The woman before him giggled, her eyes crinkling and the corners of her lips lifting into a bright smile. He found himself wanting to hear it again, strangely enough.

“May I ask your name? I assume you’re a guest of my Lord’s.”

“It’s just Peter.”

“There's no need to be humble. I can tell you're nobility just by looking at your clothing.”

“You got me. I’m the Duke of Norfolk, but that title doesn't define me in the least. I’m actually out here because I was sick of talking to the other guests. I had to get away from it all.”

“I understand that. Everyone gets overwhelmed in their life. That's why I love it here. The seclusion is perfect for when I need to be alone.”

“Do you like being alone often?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He laughed. This woman seemed wonderful and he had only just met her. He was about to ask her if she could give him a tour of the farm when he heard distant shouts of “Peter!” coming from beyond the trees. They had apparently noticed his absence.

“That’s for me I suppose. What a bother. We were just getting to know each other too.”

“You’re here for the weekend, right? I’m sure you can come back here tomorrow. There's to be a hunt, if I remember correctly.”

“I’m not big on hunting.”

“Then you can come back another day. If you’re a friend of Lord Chatham, this won't be your last visit.”

“Not by a long shot.”

“See? This isn’t goodbye. It was wonderful meeting you. Sorry again about your clothing.”

“They can be washed.”

“Of course.”

She turned to walk away, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She looked down at his fingers with a curious gaze, a blush creeping along her cheeks.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“It’s Clara Porter, your grace,” she replied, giving him a small curtsy.

His eyes never left her face as he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Well Miss Clara, it was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we shall see each other again.”

“Perhaps we shall.”

Present Day

A scream ripped through the room as paper went flying. Gabriel stared at his now empty desk, grateful he had a private office in which to let his emotions out. The visions or dreams or whatever the hell they were—they just kept coming!

They were so numerous that he was having trouble concentrating on his plans. The akumatization of Audrey and Andre would lead to his greatest venture yet, but it was never going to happen if he couldn’t go 5 minutes without watching unwanted memories fly through his head. 

He slid to the ground, resting his back against the desk and digging his fingers into his hair. This was becoming more than he could handle. He wished he could tell Nathalie about everything and get her input on it. It had almost slipped out during one stressful morning, but he’d bit his tongue then. Something in him told him not to say anything to her, at least not yet. It was the most he'd ever heard from what he assumed was his conscience in months. A bitter laugh escaped his mouth. How quaint it was that these nightmares brought out his moral compass.

St. Petersburg, Russia - 1918

Anna stared at him during the entire ride to the house. She was so much better when she was underneath him with her eyes screwed shut, but they could do that later. He wanted to tell her to quit it, but he didn't want to give away how he was feeling. This was just standard business. They’d gotten what they wanted, the people had rebelled, and the Tsar had abdicated. Now it was time to start cleaning up loose ends. 

Once they arrived, he and his companion made their way to the front door guarded by soldiers who promptly stepped aside for them. The living room looked completely different now. The walls had been stripped bare, the furniture destroyed, and the little food he saw on the table had been served on a thin slab of wood instead of the usual gleaming silver tray he knew they owned. 

One of the sisters was the first to address him. 

"Mikhail? How did you get here? Why did they let you in?" 

"I don't know how to tell you guys this, but I've started working with the Bolsheviks." 

The room filled with gasps, but he continued on. "They didn't arrest me outright because I'm not royalty, but they still don't trust me because I'm upper-class. The only reason I'm here is because they didn't think you would go without me to explain it to you." 

"Explain what?" this time it was her mother who spoke up. 

"They are moving the nobles out of the city and to the countryside. None of you will be hurt, they promised me that at least. They just want to cleanse the city of its "greedy filth", whatever that means. Sadly, you will have to leave the house and most of your belongings, but you will be accommodated for once you reach your destination."

"And what will become of our home!?" 

"I don't know and with these people, I think it's best not to ask questions."

He scanned the room, noting its occupants as he went. He saw the three sisters, their mother, their butler, and a lone maid, but one person was missing. Some soldiers walked in behind him. 

"Get moving," one of them said. 

Her mother again. "What about Katya?" 

At this, he stepped forward and gave her a reassuring smile. "I shall fetch her. Where is she?" 

"Upstairs in her room. She's rarely left it ever since we were put on house arrest."

"Don't worry, she'll be down shortly."

He made his way upstairs with Anna in tow. Her presence was irksome, but maybe it was for the best. Katya could have him at her beck and call with just a wink of her eyes and Anna knew it. 

"Kitty?" he asked, knocking quietly.

When Katya heard his voice, she opened her door immediately and threw her arms around him. She pulled away when she caught sight of Anna, but still held a tight grip on his hand. 

"Mikhail, Olga. What are you two doing here? I haven't had company in ages. Come in! Come in."

She ushered them into her room before shutting the door. 

"I don't know how you two managed to get in here, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Let this be as I dreamed. Please tell me that you two are here to take me far away from this place."

He cleared his throat, "Actually-" 

"Look, look! The soldiers took all of our things but I managed to save something."

She unwrapped the shawl from around her shoulders to reveal a gleaming silver necklace inlaid with emeralds around her neck. 

She touched a delicate finger to the chain. "I just couldn't bear to part with it."

He could hear the disgust in her tone when Anna said, “It’s a lovely necklace, wouldn’t you agree Boris?”

Katya's brow furrowed when she heard his actual name. That couldn’t be right.

“Olga, who’s Boris?”

“Well Kitty, he's standing right next to us. Unless you’re too blind to see that.”

“That’s Mikhail though.”

She said it with a smile, but it faded when Anna dropped her own act and let her face darken. No one deserved the amount of hatred she showed toward Katya.

“That’s Boris and I’m Anna. There's no Olga or Mikhail and there never was. Have you figured it out yet?”

“Mikhail?” she asked.

This was the last thing he wanted to do. “Kitty, she’s right. Mikhail is just my cover.”

“No, that’s not true. I don’t like this game you two are playing.”

“It’s no game, my sweet. It's all real.”

“So what we had…”

“That was real too! It wasn’t in the plan, but it happened anyway. Though I doubt you’ll ever want to see me again after this.”

“After this?” she was trying to sound angry, but failing. “And what is this? ”

“We’re taking you and your family to the countryside. It’s a simple relocation.”

“Actually,” said Anna. “There's a plan just for her."

She locked the door, sending a click echoing across the near empty room. He stopped and looked at her. What the hell was she talking about?

"Anna, what plan?" 

"They kept you in the dark at my suggestion. You've been compromised by her and if you knew the details of the plan, you would’ve never led me right to her."

"She had the same designation as the rest of her family. They're being put on the train and taken out of the city. That’s what we were both told in the briefing."

"Oh yes, the rest of the family will be getting on a train, but she can’t. She's different."

"Different how? Just cut it out already.”

"My dear princess, will you tell him or should I?"

His eyes flipped back and forth between the two women. Katya looked as lost as him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said quietly. 

"Let me refresh your memory. How many true-born children does your whore mother have?" 

He scoffed. "This is ridiculous, she had six."

That should've been the end of it, but he looked at Katya and noticed her staring at the ground. 

"Right? She did have six," he reiterated. 

"Mother does have six children. It's true, b-but…"

"Go on, tell him," Anna spat.

"She gave birth to Vitya and Demitri then she and father adopted Jenya, Tashka, and Raya. Neither of them thought she could have any more children after my brothers were born, but I came years later as a happy accident."

"And now you know why the happy accident is a threat. Your sisters will meet no harm, but you are the niece of Nicholas II by blood and we can't allow you to spread your legs and give birth to a claimant to the throne years from now. We worked so hard to overthrow those royal snobs and we will do anything to make sure it stays that way. Your brothers and father have already been handled. You my dear, are the last problem."

The princess paled and started to back up. “No. You don't have to do this. I won’t be a threat. I promise.”

“It’s not up to us. We don’t question our orders. We simply carry them out.”

She reached into the pocket of her trench coat. He’d wondered why she had worn the ridiculous thing, but he figured out why when she pulled out a gun. Katya fell to her knees, her face red with tears and her breathing coming out in short gasps. He should have done something to stop it, but he knew he couldn’t. His feelings meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

She clasped her hands in front of her as if in prayer. “Please, I beg of you-”

“Shut it!” Anna yelled. “I can’t believe you want your last words to be you sobbing like a babe. Have some more dignity. You are a princess, aren’t you? Act like one.”

The trembling girl wiped her face before standing and clutching her hands together in front of her. Her posture was impeccable even now. He watched as Anna stepped forward and yanked the necklace off of her. She was too scared to even protest. She stared down at the chain in her hand, at the wealth she abhorred.

“Boris, why didn’t you ever get me anything like this?”

His mouth opened to speak, but the words hadn’t even formed on his tongue when she raised the gun and pointed it at Katya. He saw a smirk on her face before he shut his eyes and heard it go off. The loud pop caused him to jump, but it was nothing compared to the pained cry that accompanied it. He heard Anna chuckle.

“You can look now, unless you’re afraid of a little blood.”

He bit his tongue and willed the tears to stay put as he took in the body before him. One could be forgiven if they thought she was only sleeping. Katya’s eyes were closed and her face was peaceful. Even he would’ve thought that was the case if he didn’t see the small hole in her chest or the growing pool of blood seeping into the carpet beneath her. He couldn’t even move. The shock of seeing his beloved Katya’s lifeless body was too great.

She was right beside him when she spoke again. “Relax there lover boy. You’re lucky I gave her a quick death. It was more than she ever deserved. Now help me put this necklace on. I want to prank the officers downstairs.”

Present Day

“Katya!” Gabriel all but screamed when he woke. Nooroo was at his side in a second.

“Master…”

He hoped Nathalie hadn’t been woken by his outburst. She had stayed the night after the incident with Miracle Queen. He couldn’t let her go home in her condition and he couldn’t let her leave him alone in his. He could barely function half the time now.

“Nooroo, I can’t take this anymore. I watched her die. I…fuck.”

He buried his face in his hands, utterly confused as to why they were wet when he pulled away. He was crying over some woman in his dreams. This wouldn’t do.

“Tell me everything Nooroo. I need to know.”

“Are you sure you want that?”

“Yes. I can’t suffer to watch them anymore. Tell me why this is happening. Why is it that my past lives were all cursed to suffer? Every woman I fell for died in front of me!”

“There is a reason for that.”

“Tell me.”

“Alright, I believe you are ready, but it’s a very long story.”

“How long?”

“It started on the Nile River.”

Ancient Egypt - 1251 BC

Perhaps one of history's most tragic love stories is one that is unknown to all. During the reign of Ramesses II, great pharaoh of Egypt, there came to be two people who were destined for a love that would never be. 

Geb-men-akhut was the Third Priest of Amun. Though not the highest ranking member of the priesthood, he was certainly the wisest and most respected. He was sought after for his counsel by people everywhere, from the commoners all the way to the pharaoh himself. Born a general's son, he discovered his passion for spirituality at a young age. With years of study, he rose in the ranks until he finally found a place among the four great priests of Amun. He could've gone higher and everyone knew it. He was born to that of a greater power, but something stopped his ambitions. A woman. 

Nathifa was as beautiful as the summer sun with thick black hair, golden skin, and the most captivating blue eyes anyone had ever seen. She was known to be kind and pure of heart with a soft spot for children. She was regarded as the perfect woman and as such, had no shortage of suitors. As the daughter of the Vizier to the King, it was expected that she would marry the Pharaoh's son, but fate had different plans for her. 

It was at midday that their eyes met across the Nile. She was on the east bank with a group of village women washing their linens. He was on the west bank, taking a walk after a stressful meeting with his peers. It was said that the world stopped spinning the moment they looked upon one another. She stood so still that one woman would later remark that she wondered if Nathifa had turned to stone at the sight of him. He only offered a small smile, one that showed off the dimples on his cheeks that she would come to adore. 

The next day they met again, but this time he had a boat. As he rowed across the water, his eyes never left her. She was his beacon in life. That day and a hundred others to follow, they talked about everything. Their hopes and dreams, their fears. They got to know every inch of each other's souls. 

On the night he was set to ask her to be his wife, he made his first mistake. He was so nervous about everything being perfect that he decided to indulge in spirits to loosen his resolve. He had never been a big drinker, but that night he drank wine until he couldn't remember his name. The entire night after that was a blur, but when he awoke the next morning and found himself in the arms of another woman, he knew he had messed up. 

It was hard to blame him for falling into someone else’s bed. His chosen companion, Eireme, was a lovely woman in her own right. She was best known for her rare green eyes, which were seen as a blessing from Horus himself, gifting her with the ability to ward off illness and evil. It was why she had chosen to work as a healer and midwife. She had come from a poor family, but managed to make a name for herself as one of the best physicians in the city of Pi-Ramesses. 

She had always admired the great wise men of the temple and when one came to her home at night, she had graciously let him in. In his drunken stupor, he had found her to be gorgeous. It didn’t help that she was oblivious of the fact that he had already been drinking and ended up offering him more wine. They were both long past their limits when they fell into her bed together. 

The next morning, he found himself filled with guilt and remorse at having betrayed his beloved Nathifa. He tried his best to explain how that night had been a bad idea, but Eireme thought differently. She had woken up after giving herself away to a holy man. Though virginity was never required for marriages in their time, she had still kept herself pure for her future husband. She tried to make Geb-men-akhut stay and told him that he had taken something from her that was more precious than her very life. He didn’t feel the same, owing it all up to too much wine and nerves. He left that day, leaving a broken Eireme in his midst.

A day later, he asked for Nathifa’s hand in marriage, casually leaving out his tale of his drunken adventures the night before. He figured it would never come up in conversation and it held no value to speak of it at all. The wedding, which was held in the palace of the pharaoh, was said to have been spectacular. The bride and groom only fell in love harder every day after that. 

It was some months later when Nathifa wandered into the shop of a well known healer in the city. Eireme was nice to her at first and she was more than happy to help when the woman told her that she was looking for something to increase her fertility. It was only when she stated that she was trying to conceive a child with her husband, Geb-men-akhut, that the dark clouds within the healer resurfaced. She painted a sickly sweet smile on her face as she offered up a vile of what was supposed to be a tonic of potency. Nathifa was overjoyed to receive it and had tried to pay her triple the price, but Eireme turned it down, saying that there was no price for the gift of bringing new life into this world. 

That very night, after an ornate dinner, she took the tonic per the instruction that she consume it at least half an hour before she lay with her husband. They were wrapped in silk sheets and already fawning over each other when he started to make light conversation with her. He asked where she had been that day and she told him that she had gone to see a healer. He was shocked to hear the name of the woman he had scorned so long ago and grew upset that his wife hadn't gone to see a real physician like he had suggested. She didn't understand why he got so upset.

When he finally broke down and told her of his infidelity, he voiced his concerns that Eireme might’ve given her nothing but pure water or something useless as a way to trick her. Ever the optimist, she still refused to think anything was wrong. Trying to assure him, she had said those words that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“Even if this potion is nothing but a trick, that doesn't matter. The future isn't set in stone, my love. We will have a child one day. I know we…w-we…”

She never finished the sentence. The tonic turned out to be a combination of mandrake and henbane. It had been carefully selected to work slowly so that she might die in the middle of their lovemaking. Instead, she died in his arms before they could do anything more than kiss. 

When she was gone, he was first sent into a rage. He called his guards to travel into the city and to bring him the cursed witch who had stolen his love. When she was thrown before his feet, already beaten and bloody, he had called her every nasty thing. She just smiled and spit at his feet, satisfied with her act of vengeance against him. He originally thought to have her executed, but then a plan formed in his head. 

In his desperation to bring her back, Geb-men-akhut stole a number of valuable items from the temple in order to enact a ritual to reanimate her. Among the things he stole was the scepter of the great Tutankhamun, a scroll which contained the instructions on how to trade one’s life for another, and a curious brooch that he had been specifically told to never touch. 

He doubted that even the first priest knew what this small purple gem did, but they all knew it as an unspoken rule that no one was to ever take the gem out of its hidden place in a mural inside the great hall of the temple. When he put it on and met the butterfly kwami named Nooroo, he saw an opportunity that he could not pass up. He theorized that he could combine the magic of what he now knew to be a miraculous with the power of the scepter. 

With Eireme as his sacrifice, he called upon the power of all the gods and his kwami, offering up her soul in return for Nathifa’s. He closed his eyes and chanted, his voice echoing across the empty temple that he had stolen away in. He never opened his eyes, but he could feel the wind pick up in the room and he could hear the cries of his captured sacrifice as her last breaths were ripped away from her.

When it was all over, he saw a sight that couldn’t have been real. Eireme’s body was black and shriveled, with parts of it already turning to dust. The body that had been lying beside her was more alive than it had ever been. It had worked. He stood and watched in awe as his wife sat up and inhaled deeply. He had truly brought her back from the dead and he was overjoyed, but others were not.

The gods were furious at his actions. They struck down Nathifa where she lay, forcing him to watch as the very life was drawn from her yet again. As punishment for his greed, he was given what he wanted. He would have his love, but at a cost. He would meet her again in the next life and so on. Each time, they wouldn't remember each other, but their hearts would. They would fall in love deeper than they could ever anticipate, but it would never last. 

Eireme would come back every time and she would always win his heart. He was cursed to always make the wrong choice by picking her, followed by Nathifa uttering those same words, "The future isn't set in stone," which would set off a chain of events. 

He would remember, but he wouldn’t understand and he’d ignore it at first. It would come back in fragments, but he would slowly remember everything, from their first meeting to her death and the curse that was put on him. He'd remember every reincarnation and every love story. He'd remember every kiss. Every touch. Every death. 

And right when he pieced it all together, it would be far too late. She would be long dead and he would live out the rest of his days carrying the guilt of losing his soulmate once again. As a punishment to himself, he always continued on with Eireme at his side. Though he felt no love for her, the ancient curse would still draw him into her arms. He merely saw her presence as a reminder of the horrible things he had done in the name of love.

This is what you get when you don't remember the only woman who will ever hold your heart. You are stuck with her killer. The one who took her from you and caused all of this to happen. 

And so began a cruel cycle which plagued him for centuries. The gods called it divine justice, while he thought of it only as divine torture. All he wanted was for it to end, but it never would unless he stopped making the same mistake and ended this cursed divine cycle.

Present Day

Nathifa 

Cassandra Nicolea

Lucretia Cara

Clara Porter

Princess Ekaterina Mikhailovna of Russia

Nathalie Catherine Sancoeur

To anyone else it was just a list of names, but Gabriel knew he was looking at his entire life within these lines. Story after story going back to the time of the pharaohs. All of them detailing the woman he had loved with all of his heart. Though her name, appearance, and manner changed with each life, there was one constant—those beautiful blue eyes flecked with green. Well that and something else.

“I can’t see a link between Clara and Ekaterina.”

“Oh, that’s because you never dreamed of one of your past lives. Let’s see, between Britain and Russia…it was probably your French self.”

“My current incarnation is French.”

“True, but this is the second time you’ve been French.”

“And the first?”

“It was during the French Revolution.”

Gabriel deadpanned. “Of course it was.”

“Her name then was Sophie Marie-Laure de Clermont.”

“She was a noble?”

“Yes and so you were you. You were a member of the house of Bourbon, second cousin to the King.”

“How did she die that time?”

“I think you know.”

Gabriel did know, even if he didn’t want to believe it. He supposed a beheading was one of the easier ways to go. She probably felt less pain that time in comparison to some of her other lives. He added an arrow between the names and penciled in Sophie.

“Do you see it now, Master?”

“Hush Nooroo, I’ve almost got it.”

He raised a hand to pat his kwami on the head, a gesture that would’ve sounded impossible only weeks ago. With every dream, Gabriel had changed. The knowledge he had gained had aged him, made him wiser. He no longer yelled at anyone, he spent more time with his son, and Hawk Moth turned to dust. The butterfly kwami was overjoyed to watch his master become the happy and carefree man he had known so long ago.

“Ok I understand,” Gabriel said, chasing away his musings. “It starts with Nathifa, then the n in that's used in her Greek surname, Nicolea.”

“You do get it! Continue please.”

“The next three are all Cs. She was named Cassandra, then she had the surname Cara, then she was named Clara. Sophie’s last name started with a c and her middle name, Marie, is connected to her Russian patronymic, Mikhailovna.”

“And the last one?”

“Nathalie’s middle name is Catherine which is a derivative of Ekaterina. Hmph…clever. Magic is rather funny sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Things like this happen often. Magic is predictable in some ways. It did that with yours and Emilie’s as well.”

“I don’t even remember half of my names, let alone hers. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“It will come back with time, now that the mist has been lifted from your eyes.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“What do you remember, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I remember…her. Nathalie. Her face. Her smile. Her laugh. Every version of her was indescribable. I feel like a fool for ever giving up on her. That’s the worst part about it. I had to sit there and look back at my past lives and all the mistakes they made. Here was this wonderful woman who loved them more than anything and, one way or another, they all let her down. It’s pathetic.”

“Don’t say that. Part of it was the curse. You would always feel the draw of Emilie no matter how much you loved Nathalie. You were set up to fail.”

“Why now? Why did this life turn out differently?”

“I don't have the answer to that. Perhaps the gods finally thought you learned your lesson and decided to grant you peace. Maybe the cycle was broken since Nathalie got close to death, but you stopped it. You finally made the right choice.”

“I suppose I did, now I need to do something even harder.”

“What’s that?”

“I need to tell her.”

“She will understand.”

“Will she? She has never once had a past life that remembered everything. We can’t even be sure that this will work.”

“We have to try.”

Gabriel sighed. “You’re right Nooroo.”

He left his bedroom and walked toward his atelier with purposeful strides. As far as Nathalie knew, he had only been in his room looking for something. She knew nothing of him escaping upstairs so Nooroo and he could talk without her hearing. Nor did she know of the conversation they had earlier that morning.

When he opened the door, he found her sitting at her desk typing away. She looked so different now. Once upon a time he had looked at her and seen nothing more than his secretary. Now he saw his soulmate of a hundred lifetimes. He saw the woman who had been with him through everything and had given him her very life while asking for nothing in return. He saw her for who she really was.

He walked over to his desk and pulled up a random design he had been working on. The only way he knew how to go about this was to test the waters before springing everything on her. He needed to know just exactly how she felt about him. After a few minutes of looking at the screen, he called her over.

“Nathalie come here a second. I need your help.”

The rhythmic clicking of her heels on the tile helped to calm his nerves, but he still felt butterflies in his stomach. This could go right or it could go very wrong. Once she was by his side, he tried to block out any negative thoughts and focus on the task at hand. 

“What did you need, sir?”

“This um…design. It’s all wrong and I have no idea how to fix it. I’ve tried everything I could, but nothing is working. I could just scrap it, but I wanted to give it a chance first. Do you have any suggestions?”

She placed a hand on her chin and studied the screen. Damn, she was cute when she was thinking. Her focused eyes, the slight tilt of her head, her furrowed brow. He needed to make her his. He wanted her more than anything in the world. While she was still looking, he dared to try something. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her nearer to him and the screen. He could feel her tense up, but she quickly relaxed and leaned into him. She was more comfortable with him than he thought.

“Hmmm, maybe make the dress blue instead of green and add a cream lace trim on the sleeves.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Well I don’t know. I thought that would look better. It would give it more of a summer feel. That's what you were going for, right?”

“Yes actually. This was going to be in my summer collection. Your design is perfect, Nat.”

She hummed to herself in amusement and smiled. Her joy only managed to send more butterflies through his core. It was now or never.

“If that’s all you need, I’ll get back to work now.”

She pulled herself out of his embrace and started for the stairs but he stopped her.

“Nathalie, wait. There's something I need to tell you.”

“Yes, sir?”

She turned and looked at him, those eyes of hers giving him their full attention. It was too much for his resolve to handle.

“I love you,” he blurted out.

She blinked a few times, wondering if she had heard him right.

“...pardon?” 

“I love you. I think I always have from the moment I met you. I was just too blind to see it. I was an idiot then and I’m an idiot now, but what I know for sure is that I can’t live without you. You are my everything in this world and I would do anything for you to be mine.”

Nathalie stood completely still, her lips parted and her eyes wide in shock. This was what she had always wanted. She’d wanted to be with Gabriel longer than she could remember, but she had buried those feelings for the sake of professionalism. He had a wife and kid. He was her boss. There was no way they’d ever be together. And now he was practically on his knees professing his love to her. This had to be a dream, a side effect of the miraculous.

“Sir, that's nice and all, but-”

“But? Nathalie please just give me a chance.”

“I would under different circumstances, it’s just…you sound insane right now.”

“I do don’t I? I’m sorry, I wasn't planning to just blurt it all out. I had a plan in place, but you have a funny way of overtaking any plan I have. You become my top priority every single time.”

“Maybe you should go lay down.”

“I’m not tired. On the contrary I’ve never felt more awake. More energized. I could run a marathon right now if I so chose.”

Oh ok, he was snorting something up in his room. That made sense. He grabbed her hand and slid his fingers in between hers. Any other time, she would’ve happily accepted, but now the action felt odd.

“Sir, I think I’m not feeling well. I should get home.”

“Nathalie.”

He stepped forward, while she stepped back, pulling her hand out of his grip. There was a slight fear in her eyes when she looked at him. God, he’d come on too strong. He was making the mistake again. He was going to lose her.

He stood there wringing his hands as she walked down the steps and back toward her desk. No. There had to be something.

“Nathifa,” he said quietly.

She stopped, hands resting on her desk. Her head turned toward him ever so slightly.

“What?” 

“Nathifa. I met you on the Nile river over 3,000 years ago. You were absolutely beautiful. The minute I saw you, I thought I was looking at a goddess. I thought the gods were causing me to have visions. I thought that you would disappear if I blinked, but you didn’t.”

She was silent for a while before she shook her head and balled her hands into fists.

“Sir, I think you should tell someone about those delusions. Or at least get help. Drugs are not a good coping method, nor are they healthy.”

“I’m not on drugs.”

“I’m sure you aren't. Look, I have to go.”

“What about Cassandra? I wasn’t there for you in your final hours. I can only imagine what that ship was like. The waves around you tossing and turning, while you probably prayed to Poseidon for mercy. I should’ve never let you leave. I should have grabbed you and kissed you for all to see. That damned Penelope knew I loved you and sent you away when she knew a storm was coming.”

“Sir…”

“Lucretia…you were my best friend. And your singing. Hell. I prayed every night that I might marry you just to hear those melodies of yours until I was old and grey. You didn't belong in a brothel.”

He started to walk toward her, confident that she wasn’t going to run away this time. He took slow, cautious steps, each of them bringing him closer to his forever.

“And Clara. I was with you right before you died. I remember you laying in that bed. You were staring at the ceiling and telling me about the birds hovering above you. I shouldn’t have left you to stay on as a groundskeeper with William. You shouldn’t have been sent to London. That city was dirty and infected with disease. The countryside and its wide rolling hills was where you belonged. You deserved a huge mansion with acres of land for you to garden. After you died, my own gardens at my summer home had never looked more dull. I never found any gardener who had a magic touch like yours. I messed up.”

Her back made the slightest of movements, but he heard her sharp inhale all the same. She was crying.

“Gabriel stop. This isn’t real. It's a dream.”

“I don’t remember Sophie, but perhaps that will change with time. All I know is that you died in the revolution. Guillotine most likely. Why wasn’t I there to stop it? Why were you still in France at all? I should’ve protected you.”

“You tried…”

He stopped in his tracks and watched as she straightened back up. Her eyes were full of tears when she turned to face him, but that wasn’t all they held. Recognition. Of course she knew who her boss was, but now, he was hoping, she saw the real him as well.

“You did try. We were far from Paris and on our way to Germany actually. You were already there, but I was travelling with…I don’t even think you’d remember her.”

“Tell me. I have to try at least.”

“Liliane de Castellane, my rival. We often fought each other for your affection. I won though and I thought she had accepted it. One night, she handed me a letter, saying that it was from my brother. In it he stated that our family had been cleared of all charges because my father had always had the supported charitable causes. He urged me to come home. I didn’t want to go back. I was terrified, but Liliane…she had such a way with words. She could get under your skin without even trying. She convinced me to go back and told me that if I was there in person, I might be able to better persuade my brother to flee to Germany with me. Like a fool, I trusted her and basically walked right into prison.”

“Liliane, you say?”

She nodded and he pulled out his phone to look her up. The first hit that came up was an article on Liliane Bérénice de Castellane, a noble who had escaped France during the reign of terror. She settled in Germany and eventually married…Henri de Bourbon, a former Prince of Conti.

“And my name during this time. It wasn’t Henri, was it?”

“It was.”

“Of course it was. Liliane was just another version of Eireme. The curse led me to her after your death.”

“And she herself led me to my death. Think about all the times she was responsible for my end. Remember how Lucrecia died?”

“She killed herself. Jumped from the window of a château that Julianus bought for her.”

“No I didn’t. I didn’t jump from that window, Gabriel. I was pushed by Marcia, right after she told me that you would always be hers. Even Bridget was at fault. She’s the one who told Lord Pitt about our affair. She’s the reason he fired me and I was forced to live on the streets in London. You couldn't do anything about it because you were in Durham getting married.”

“Emilie,” he murmured.

“You never did tell me why she was using the peacock miraculous.”

He couldn’t lie to her. “She was trying to get rid of you. She thought that she could use a spell to alter the power of the peacock and trap you within the brooch, but it backfired. I never said anything because I feared you wouldn’t want to help me get her back. If she woke and knew that you helped, she might’ve gotten over her hatred of you. She was always so jealous for no reason, but now I wonder if she could see something between us even then.”

His hands clenched into fists before dropping listlessly at his sides. He had been so powerless every single time, yet it was only because he had surrendered that power. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. You were put through so much pain because of me. I should’ve let you rest the first time. It was stupid of me to do what I did. To mess with dark magic…”

He watched the floor as tears began to blur his sight. How could he ever atone for what he had put her through? Her shoes came into view, though they were just a mass of black to him. Soft hands grabbed his face and made him look up. Those eyes. They were right there. They were the only thing he could make out, but that wasn’t surprising. After all they had been through together, he would never forget those eyes.

“Gabriel,” she whispered.

It was too much. The tears started to flow as his body was racked with sobs. She pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back, staying quiet and giving him the chance to let it all out.

“It’s ok,” she assured him. “It’s all ok.”

He returned the hug and held her as close as he could. “How can you still be with me? I’m a monster!”

“No you aren’t. You’re a man who would do anything for his family. Someone who would go above and beyond all reason in the name of love. You’re the man I love.”

“How? How can you still love me? How can you forgive me?”

“I forgive you because I love you.” She leaned back from his chest and met his gaze, eyes brimming with tears. “And I'll always love you.”

He laughed weakly as she pulled him toward her and pressed her lips against his. They were just as he remembered from his memories; warm, soft, and a perfect fit against his own. Butterflies filled her stomach as he deepened it, both of them savoring their careful movements. It was so refreshing after everything he had been through that he started to cry again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I’m happy. After everything that has happened...I just need you. You always make everything better.”

“You do the same for me.”

“And I hope to continue to do so for the rest of our days. I promise I'll never leave you again.”

They hugged once more, never tiring of each other’s embrace. They had lost so much time, they didn’t know where to start. Later she would ask him, “What do we do now?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, soaking in the view of her smiling at him. “Something we’ve never been able to do before.”

“And that is?”

“Live.”