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“Is it really that late already?” exclaimed the young man. He stood and gave a loving glance to the parlor door. He was trapped where he stood in the iron gaze of two women—the mother, daring him to attempt an escape, and the daughter, inspiring just enough fear to prompt him to try. The aging woman was short and broad, with a thick neck strengthened from years of supporting her many jewels and barking orders at servants. The young woman, the object of today’s gathering, had a disquieting manner, and wore a coat buttoned up to her neck even in the stuffy parlor. She rarely blinked, and often stuck her entire tongue out to lick her lips.
“We should arrange for you and Gisa to meet again soon,” said Geralf the Second. His daughter’s (soon-to-be-former) suitor wondered how such a kind man could stand being in a house with these women. Their daughter was a dark parody of a girl, with dead eyes and greasy hair. He’d learned more about catching rats in the past two hours than anyone who isn't a cat should know, and on top of everything, Gisa smelled like mold. With a brief shudder, he imagined a similar future to the old cathar, bound forever to a terrifying wife. He bolted for the door without another word.
With the boy gone, Gisa threw back her head and laughed. “Why didn't he like me?” she mused.
“Gisa, you aren’t taking this seriously! You frightened him!” hissed Cordula. She released her grip on Gisa’s hand, leaving a pink mark where she had been squeezing it during tea. She rose and dragged Gisa from the parlor by her sleeve.
“Of course I scared him. He looked like one of the rats from the kitchen, with those tiny eyes,” said Gisa.
“You’re lucky we found someone nearly blind. Otherwise he might have gotten a good look at you. You're lucky your father didn't hear you talk about…ugh...rats!” said Cordula.
Gisa twisted out of her mother’s grasp. At eighteen years old, her long, spidery limbs were as long as her father's. “He wouldn’t know what to make of it,” she said, intentionally looking down at the old woman, “Father is probably still in the parlor, smiling as if that quivering little cretin were still there.”
Leaving her mother fuming in the hall, she crept away to her room. It was windowless, and painted a horrible blue, with flowers dancing from the floor to the yellowing ceiling. Gisa sat in the chair in front of the vanity and twisted her curls into a bun with one hand, while the other picked up a piece of mail left for her by a servant. Whoever it was had been wise not to bring it to her parents first, as the last servant who did so woke up with spiders in her bed. She liked to read her mail alone, without her parents asking questions.
Dear Horrid Sister,
My “in one ear, out the other” experiment is nearly complete. If you could find for me one more tail of a white rat, I’ll stop pestering you about it. I can’t seem to find any here, due to the cats, but I’m fond of those cats and need them for a greater purpose than catching rodents (besides, I have a you for that): I’ve trained them to hunt bigger prey. These elegant creatures lure students down into the basement for me with their cute charms, which is much easier than knocking people out myself.
Recently, the monks have begun to question me about the most ridiculous things. As if that girl will miss her ear—her other one is completely fine! Unfortunately, father donated a great sum of money to the monastery this year, so this ceaseless inquisition will remain just an annoyance. It looks like I won’t be sent home this year. Pity.
I’ve enclosed several copies of texts I found recently. You’re better at demonic script—I assume because you don’t spend your every day tirelessly working, as I do—and you might find them interesting.
Lovingly yours,
Geralf
Rodent-Boy Geralf,
I don’t care about your stupid rats. Do you learn anything at school? Those “texts” weren’t in demonic, they were in old Avacynian, so you’ll have better luck taking them to a church. You’d probably be smote on the spot for being such a boring little prick, though. Thraben is as gross and terrible as always, so stop trying to come back here. Mother still insists on forcing me to go out with poor unfortunate men but I have a plan to make her stop, and no, I’m not telling you, plus it involves skeletons.
Gisa