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horrorstreet · 8 months

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Bloodlust: Chapter 1 - Dracopia x Fem!Reader

Summary: With the news of a masquerade ball being hosted in your city, your friend invites you to go with her. Despite not being a fan of this type of event, you decide to give it a chance, unaware of the subsequent events that would unfold.

Words: 7.521

Warnings: None for now, this chapter is an introduction to the forthcoming events that will gradually unfold throughout the subsequent chapters.

A/N: This is about Dracopia, so be aware that Copia is a Vampire on this story. And, that his visual is the Cardinal look during 2019.

Available on AO3

As the week went by, another invitation from your friend, urging you to attend the grand masquerade ball that was about to happen in your city came. While the idea of such an event seemed both enticing and cumbersome, you couldn't shake off the feeling that it was a bit too antiquated for your taste. The thought of wearing a dress, adorning a mask, and dancing the night away felt like something that wasn't particularly aligned with you, especially on a weekend.

Nonetheless, it became increasingly difficult to decline your friend's insistence to join. You pondered over the idea, contemplating whether you could bring yourself to attend such a traditional event as the internal struggle continued and you weighed the pros and cons of going to this masquerade ball. After all, it was just for one night.

And now, here you were, standing before the grand doors of the old classic European building, wearing a borrowed dress from your friend. At least, the dress was a stunning masterpiece, its crimson hue setting you apart in the crowd even before you stepped inside. The off-the-shoulder style exuded both elegance and a touch of allure, while the voluminous skirt added an air of grandeur to your ensemble. The velvet material felt luxurious against your skin, the fitted bodice showcased your figure in a way that made you feel beautiful.

"Please, it's just one night," your friend said.

"I know it's just one night, but I still can't understand why you were so insistent on this," you replied.

"It's finally a big event in the city, and waiting until next year is just too long for me," she explained. "I promise I won't ask you for anything for the next... week." She broke into a giggle, trying to sweeten the deal.

"Alright," you sighed, giving in.

Her face lit up with a huge smile, and she practically bolted towards you, squeezing you in a tight hug that bordered on suffocating. You managed a small smile as you looked at her, reminding yourself that at the very least, her happiness was worth the discomfort of attending the event.

"Thank you for coming with me. You're simply the best," she exclaimed, releasing her hold on you.

"I wouldn't say the best, but I think we can manage to have some fun," you replied.

"Well, the important thing is that we're here together!" she said with enthusiasm.

"Yeah..." you replied, your enthusiasm not quite matching hers.

Adjusting the mask in your face, you took a deep breath, before your friend grasped your hand and guided you towards the entrance of the old building. The grandeur of the structure was undeniable – its vintage architecture; richly decorated walls and shimmering ornaments, with the soft glow of chandeliers spilled out from the entrance.

As you stepped in the ballroom, you were immediately greeted by the sounds of music that filled the air. The ballroom itself was a sight to behold, with couples twirling gracefully on the dance floor and guests mingling throughout the space.

Your friend's grip on your hand tightened as she led you further into the ballroom. "Isn't it amazing?" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder.

You couldn't help but smile in response. "It's certainly something."

Your friend's excitement was contagious; you were well aware of how much she loved attending such events. While you were enjoying yourself to some extent, it wasn't exactly your first choice for a weekend activity. But, it was fine, you decided to have a great night with your friend no matter what.

"I think we should get something to drink, what do you think?" she inquired.

"I think is a great idea to start the night," you replied, offering her a warm smile.

She led you towards the bar, where the two of you found a cozy spot on the balcony, overlooking the grand ballroom below. The soft glow of the chandeliers illuminated the dance floor, casting a magical ambiance over the scene. Placing your drink orders, you leaned against the balcony railing, your eyes drifting over the lively crowd below. The hum of conversations and the strains of music created a nostalgic and vibrant atmosphere. It wasn't long before the bartender returned with your drinks, and you reached out to take your glass, feeling the cool condensation against your fingers.

"Cheers," your friend said, raising her glass.

"Cheers," you echoed, clinking your glass against hers before taking a sip of the refreshing drink.

As you sipped on your drink and looked out at the crowd, your gaze came to rest on a figure who stood out from the rest. He exuded an air aristocratic and sophisticated, his presence commanding attention without any effort with his graceful posture and controlled movements. His attire was impeccable. The classic cuts of his dark elegant clothing, with the high collar that hugged his neck added a touch of drama to his ensemble. The cape draped over his shoulders lent him a slightly theatrical, gothic aura, setting him apart from the others.

His mask, a half-face creation, concealed part of his features while revealing one of his eyes. The uncovered eye allowed you a glimpse of his age, he was certainly older than you. Still, your curiosity piqued, and you found your eyes inexplicably drawn to him. You observed from a distance, taking in the subtle gestures, the occasional smiles, and the way he interacted with those around him.

Your friend nudged you, breaking your reverie. "See someone interesting?"

You glanced at her and then back at the figure. "Not at all, I was just looking around and got distracted."

You averted your eyes from him, focusing on the drink you held in your hand, taking a sip through the straw. Despite your attempt to divert your attention, your gaze sliding over to him from the corner of your eye. To your surprise, he had his eyes fixed on you now and it felt as if he were studying every nuance of your being. The way his eyes roamed over you, from head to toe, sent a shiver down your spine. As his eye locked with yours, you quickly averted your gaze to the drink on your hand. You took another sip of your drink, feeling the cool liquid glide down your throat, trying to ignore the fluttery sensation in your stomach.

His unwavering gaze was captivating, and the intensity with which he studied you seemed to tighten that grip on your stomach even more. You fought the urge to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself to maintain composure.

"It appears you've attracted an admirer," your friend playfully remarked, a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes.

"Really? Who?" you feigned innocence, as if unaware of the person she was referring to.

"That man over there, he can't seem to take his eyes off you."

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you attempted to downplay the significance of the situation. "Oh, come on. It's a busy event, people are naturally scanning the surroundings."

Your friend's nod was accompanied by a suspicious expression on her face, and you responded with a gentle yet nervous smile, hoping to convey your innocence. She returned the smile, seemingly convinced. Feeling relieved, you finished your drink, grateful that she seemed to have bought your explanation. As the two of you moved away from the bar, you couldn't shake the feeling that his eyes were still fixed on you, a sensation that accompanied you as you walked towards a table.

As you settled into your chair, a sense of relief washed over you, and you let out a contented sigh. Just as your friend was about to join you, a woman appeared by her side, extending her hand in a friendly gesture.

"Care to dance?" the woman asked.

Your friend's cheeks immediately flushed with a deep shade of red, the color almost matching the crimson of your dress. Your friend hesitated for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected invitation. She looked at you, seeking some kind of reassurance.

"Go for it," you whispered, giving her a playful nudge.

With a nervous laugh, your friend accepted the woman's hand, allowing herself to be led to the dance floor.

Left alone at the table, you took the opportunity to observe the room once more. Your gaze inevitably found its way to the mysterious man. This time, however, he wasn't alone. He was engaged in a conversation with a woman, prompting you to consider that he might didn't come alone to the ball.

As you watched them, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. It seemed that your friend were wrong; he wasn't looking at you, you didn't caught his attention. Perhaps he was simply enjoying the night, socializing with other guests, and his occasional glances were purely coincidental.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost didn't notice when someone approached your table. Startled, you looked up to find a man standing there.

"May I join you?" he asked, his voice smooth and deep.

You blinked in surprise before nodding politely. "Of course."

He pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down, his lips curving into a charming smile. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you lowered your gaze slightly. "Oh? Really?"

"Yes," he nodded. "By the way, I'm Benjamin," he introduced himself, extending a gloved hand towards you.

"Nice to meet you, Benjamin," you replied, shaking his hand gently.

Little did you know that from the moment Benjamin approached your table, the mysterious man had discreetly glanced your way again. His gaze lingered on you, his expression pensive and contemplative. The woman he had been conversing with seemed to fade into the background as his attention became solely focused on you and the conversation you were having with the man across from you.

"Did you come alone?" he inquired.

"No, actually, I'm here with a friend of mine. She's dancing at the moment," you explained with a chuckle.

"Well, that's good, because I've been hoping to ask if you'd like to dance," he replied, his hand extended toward you.

Before you could respond to his invitation, the man who had been observing you, approached your table but ultimately chose a different table, settling into a seat where he could continue to watch you from afar. You sighed in disappointment glancing in the direction of him. You turned your attention back to the man before you, grabbing his extended hand.

"I would love to dance, but I'm definitely not a good dancer," you admitted with a sheepish smile, allowing him to guide you onto the dance floor.

He chuckled softly. "Not a problem at all."

You and Benjamin stepped onto the dance floor, but, a shiver ran down your spine as you couldn't shake the feeling of his intense gaze fixed upon your back, leaving a sense of unease settled over you, as if you were being closely observed from afar.

As the music swelled around you, he took your hand and placed the other on your waist, his touch firm but gentle as he led you through the steps of the dance. You couldn't help but steal occasional glances at the man who had shifted his position. He still had his eyes fixed on you, but now, there was a hint of annoyance on his gaze. His annoyed look seemed to follow your every move, and you couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind.

The music changed to a slower, more intimate melody, and Benjamin pulled you a little closer, causing you to look at him. As you moved to the rhythm of the music, your attention was involuntarily drawn back to the mysterious man, whose fingers now clutched the fabric covering the top of the table with a visible tightness. His expression seemed to have shifted from mere curiosity to something more intense, his focus solely on you and your interaction with Benjamin.

"Do you know him?" Benjamin inquired, tracing the direction of your stare.

"Who?" You replied, redirecting your gaze back to Benjamin.

"The man you've been looking at."

You shook your head. "No, I've never seen him before."

Benjamin let out a soft laugh. "It seemed like you two knew each other, given the way you two have been exchanging glances."

Before you could respond, the music came to an end, and Benjamin guided you back to your table. Expressing your gratitude for the dance, your attention was momentarily diverted. However, your curiosity pulled you to steal another glance at the enigmatic man. Why was he so captivated by you? What was the purpose behind this peculiar staring exchange? And, perhaps more importantly, why were you playing this staring game?

Just as you were contemplating these thoughts, your friend reappeared at the table. You swiftly shifted your focus to her, a warm smile gracing your lips.

"So, how was your dance?" you asked, trying to sound casual.

She beamed, still catching her breath. "It was amazing! She's a great dancer. And she's actually really sweet too."

"That's great to hear!" you exclaimed.

"Now, what about yours? I definitely caught you out on the dance floor."

You hesitated for a moment, glancing briefly at the mysterious man. "It was... quite an experience."

You refocused your attention on your friend, yet the enigmatic man's actions lingered in your thoughts. His behavior was growing more peculiar by the moment – from his intense stares to what felt like a deliberate following of your movements around the ballroom. Why he hadn't taken the straightforward route of initiating a conversation left you intrigued and frustrated. As you sighed softly, the notion that your fascination might not be reciprocated by him crossed your mind, introducing a touch of uncertainty to the situation.

"What was that?" she inquired, catching onto your sigh.

"Oh, it's nothing," you replied, offering a small smile. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit tiren from all the dancing, or maybe I've been overthinking things."

"I've got an idea that might lighten your mood," she began. "How about we grab another drink?"

Her suggestion drew a chuckle from you, and you nodded appreciatively. "Another drink does sound like a good plan."

With that, the two of you made your way back to the bar, where you placed your orders and leaned against the counter. The music of the event filled the air around you as you waited for your drinks. Lost in the ambiance of the ball, you found yourself watching people on the dance floor. The clinking of glasses and the sound of liquid being poured drew your attention back to the bar. You reached out to claim your drink, and then the two of you returned to your table.

"Oh!" your friend exclaimed. "I forgot to ask for a straw. Do you need one?"

"No, I'm fine," you replied with a slight shake of your head.

She rose from her seat and headed back to the bar. Suddenly, the man rose from his seat, adjusting his clothing, and began making his way towards you. Your heart raced, anticipation building. However, he came to a halt as your friend made her way back to the table, his uncertainty palpable as he seemed to grapple with the decision of whether to approach your table or remain where he was.

"Is there something on your mind?" your friend asked, noticing your distracted demeanor.

You sighed, taking a sip of your drink. "It's just... that man over there," you said, nodding subtly in his direction.

"Which man?" She looked around, scanning the crowd.

You leaned in, speaking softly. "The one behind you at that table, the one who's been staring at me."

She followed your gaze and let out a laugh. "Oh, you mean the spooky, mysterious type? He's been looking at you all night."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's not exactly flattering, it's kind of unnerving."

"Well, if he's been staring like that, maybe he's just too shy to come over and talk," she suggested.

"Shy or not, he's definitely making me uncomfortable," you admitted.

“He’s definitely intrigued by you,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Or maybe he’s just wondering why I keep looking in his direction.”

She chuckled. "Well, a little conversation never hurt anyone, right? Why don't you go over there and find out what's his problem?"

"If he's interested in talking, he can make the first move."

With a hint of annoyance, you crossed your arms and cast a pointed glare in his direction. However, he stood there, seemingly undeterred. Letting out an exasperated huff, you doubted he could hear your frustration, yet the intensity of his unbroken stare conveyed that the silent exchange might finally be reaching its conclusion. The man redirected his path, and you seized the moment to take another sip of your drink.

"You know what?" your friend interjected, her gaze fixed on the dance floor. "I think we should hit the dance floor again, I really want to dance again."

"Dance again? We just finished one, and I—"

Before you could finish your sentence, your friend grabbed your arm and pulled you up from your seat. You nearly stumbled and had to steady yourself by holding onto her shoulder. Both of you shared a laugh at the unexpected moment, and then she led you towards the dance floor where two lines were forming, with people on one side and another ones on the other, waiting for the next song to start so they could dance together. Your eyes traced the row of people in front of you, and at the farthest end stood he. For some reason, you found yourself yearning to be the one standing before him.

Your gaze shifted to the random partner who awaited you. With a small smile, you exchanged a brief, anticipatory glance. As the melody of the song swelled, your partner stepped forward, and you mirrored their movement with a graceful bow. They reached you, their hand found yours with a gentle grasp. Their other hand found its place on your waist, and together, you two began to move in sync with the rhythm of the music.

With each spin, perfectly synchronized to the music's rhythm, your partner changes seamlessly, whisking you away in a series of enchanting twirls.

The dance continued and the sensation of his gaze tracing your every movement intensified. With each twirl, you found yourself turning your head to catch his eyes, only to discover them unwaveringly focused on you. Twirl after twirl, his stare remained locked onto you, drawing closer with every rotation. Yet, just as you expected to find him in the next instant, he vanished from your line of sight.

Frantically scanning the surroundings, your eyes darted in every direction until the music reached its crescendo – and there he materialized, stepping in as your final dance partner just as you completed your last spin.

"Mi hai chiesto di venire e eccomi qui," the man said with a grin on his lips.

You looked at him in confusion, not understanding his words. However, before you could inquire further, he pulled you into a close embrace as a new song started. His gloved hands reached for your lower back and for your hand, holding you closed to him, almost pressing your bodies together.

The atmosphere shifts, and it's as if the world fades away, leaving only you and him on the dance floor. His strong yet gentle guidance leads you in a seamless dance, your steps effortlessly synchronized with the haunting melody. His gaze remained unwavering, focused solely on you, and his grip remained firm as he held you close. Despite the masked half of his face that concealed his eye, you found yourself unable to divert your gaze from his captivating green eyes.

He led you in perfect harmony with the music, twirling you and then drawing you in closely as the song played on. The finesse of his lead was such that you felt as if you were dissolving into his embrace. Your grip on his shoulder tightened, and you surrendered to the sensation, closing your eyes, letting him to steer you through the dance.

You surrendered to the comfort of his embrace, allowing your back to gently curve against his arm. Your neck arched back, baring its elegant curve, fully immersed in the moment as though you were ensnared in a spell within his arms. All you desired was to be completely enveloped in his presence, feeling his unwavering support in this instant, as if he would hold you regardless of anything else.

With the final note echoing in the air, you felt him guiding you toward the open space of the dance floor, his hold resolute. As you slowly opened your eyes, you met his gaze, his figure hovering above yours, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

With a practiced motion, he brought you back closer, his grasp secure around your lower back. Taking a deep breath, you tried to shake off the enchantment that had taken hold. Your head gave a subtle, almost instinctive, shake as if to break the spell that had woven itself around you. His hand found yours, and he delicately raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your skin.

As the new melody filled the air, his hand gently found its way to your face. Anticipating another dance, you readied yourself, but instead, with a delicate motion, he shifted your hair, unveiling the vulnerable nape of your neck. Inclining toward you, he bestowed a lingering kiss upon your skin. The sensation of his pointed nose and the softness of his lips, accentuated by a mustache gracing the top of his upper lip, brushed against you, creating an impression of savoring your very essence.

"May I have a moment of your time, carissima?" he inquired, his voice a soft whisper close to your ear.

"Y-Yes," you managed to stammer in response.

He wasted no time in guiding you off the dance floor, leading you toward a discreet exit of the saloon. With confident steps, he ushered you to an empty balcony at the rear of the weathered building. The music's distant melodies faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in a secluded haven.

He turned to face you, his gaze intense. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation as the night breeze rustled through your hair. His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he held it gently yet firmly.

"I must admit," he began, his tone smooth yet tinged with a playful glint in his eye, "I've been wanting to talk to you since the moment you walked into the ballroom." He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"Is that so?" you inquired, arching a brow in disbelief.

He nodded, his lips curving into a half-smile. "Infatti. I had quite a speech planned out, ma ore that we're here, it seems to have escaped my memory."

The confession caught you off guard, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in your eyes. "Really? And why is that?"

He leaned in closer, his voice a velvety whisper. "Perhaps it's your captivating presence or this vestito cremisi of yours. Or maybe it's the simple fact that I haven't been able to take my eyes off you."

You felt a subtle warmth spreading across your cheeks at his candid words, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "Well, I appreciate your honesty."

A sly smile curved his lips. "Ah, but I haven't just been admiring you from afar, I've been devising ways to approach you, hoping to catch your attention." His grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Perhaps you can help me fill in the gaps, carissima."

You raised an eyebrow playfully, appreciating his direct approach. "Are you asking for assistance in charming me?"

His eyes twinkled with uncertainty. "Is it working?"

You couldn't help but grin, with a playful chuckle on your lips. "Maybe a little."

"Ah, progress," he said, as if celebrating a small victory. "I've been practicing my 'smoldering gaze' for occasions like these, cara."

"Well, I must say, you're doing a fine job." You laughed, charmed by his candid confession.

He leaned a bit too eagerly and accidentally knocked into a nearby potted plant, causing it to wobble precariously until it fall from the top rail. "Eh!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he looked down at the broken potted plant on the ground. "It seems I'm not just a master of the 'smoldering gaze,' but also a true artist of goffaggine."

You looked down at the broken potted plant, as his self-deprecating humor made you laugh even harder. "A true renaissance man."

He grinned, scratching his head sheepishly. "A renaissance man that sometimes includes unintentional plant rearrangement, sì?"

"It's all part of your... allure," you chuckled, gesturing with your hands.

He let out a laugh, his eyes sparkling as he met yours. "Eh, sono contento di sentirlo. I must say, though, that breaking potted plants was not part of my grand seduction plan."

"Perhaps it's a new approach," you teased, "capturing hearts through horticultural mishaps."

He pretended to ponder this with an exaggerated expression, then shook his head with mock seriousness. "I might need to reconsider my strategy, sì?."

As he held your gaze, a comfortable silence settled between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air. The soft glow of the moon highlighted his features, and you found yourself captivated by him.

"So," you began, breaking the lighthearted atmosphere, "can I ask your name?"

"Ah, of course, cara!" he responded with enthusiasm. "My name is Copia."

"Copia?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side as you looked at him. "I've never heard a name like that before."

He chuckled softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Well, I like to think I'm as unique as my name."

"It suits you," you replied with a gentle smile.

He bowed slightly in response, his manner almost theatrical. "Grazie, carissima. And may I have the honor of knowing the name that accompanies such a lovely smile?"

You introduced yourself, and a warm smile formed on his lips. As he took another step closer, your heart raced in your chest, the proximity making you feel a kind of excitement and nervousness. The heat rose to your cheeks as you met his gaze, feeling a bit flustered in his presence.

"A name as beautiful as its bearer," he echoed, his voice soft yet filled with a genuine warmth that seemed to envelop you.

His hand, still gently holding yours, radiated a comforting warmth that traveled through your veins, soothing the jitters that had taken residence in your stomach.

"I must admit, cara, meeting you has been the most enchanting part of this evening," he confessed, his voice a velvety murmur.

He got his face close to your neck, and a soft purr escaped your lips as you felt his warm breath against your skin. His lips hovered near your neck, but he hesitated, his intense gaze meeting yours. The vulnerability in his eyes was evident as he pulled back slightly, a hint of flustered surprise crossing his features. The soft sound you had emitted seemed to have caught him off guard.

"Mi... Mi dispiace," he stammered, a touch of uncertainty in his tone. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I got carried away."

You smiled, a reassuring light in your eyes as you reached out, placing your hand gently on his. "It's alright, Copia. It's okay. You can do it."

He looked at you, uncertainty and vulnerability mingling in his expression. "Can I?"

Your smile grew warmer, and you nodded gently. "Yes, you can... you can kiss my neck."

Copia's hesitation was palpable as he stared down at your neck. Sensing the uncertainty that gripped him, you took a subtle step closer, getting onto your tiptoes. Gently cupping his face with one hand, you guided his gaze upward until his eyes met yours, the distance between your faces now mere inches.

"Or... you could kiss me," you added in a whisper that seemed to echo the soft rustle of the night breeze. "If you want to, that is. I mean, it’s entirely up to you — we don’t have to, of course."

Copia's gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips, his desire and vulnerability palpable in the intensity of his stare. His hand found its way to your hips with a gentle, yet possessive touch. His other hand ventured upwards, fingers tracing the delicate curve of your neck. Slowly and tenderly, his fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, until his hand settled at the back of your neck.

With a soft sigh, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the moment, as the warmth of his breath mingled with yours. The space between you dwindled, and his face drew closer, your heartbeats resonating in rhythm.

But before he could close the remaining distance between you two, the sound of your name being called reached your ears, a distant yet distinct interruption that caused Copia to step back from you. Your eyes fluttered open, the spell of the moment broken as you turned your gaze from him to the direction from which the voice emanated.

"There you are!" your friend's voice called out, accompanied by the soft patter of footsteps approaching.

You turned your attention toward her, leaving the balcony before she could catch you there with Copia. Is not that she couldn't see him, but you knew she would tease you about it later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" she exclaimed, concern evident in her eyes.

You chuckled, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sorry for disappearing."

She nudged you playfully. "Oh, come on, spill the beans! What were you up to out here?"

You shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just enjoying the fresh air."

She gave you a knowing look, but thankfully, didn't push further. Instead, she held your hands in a tight grip and gave you a big smile.

"Guess what!" your friend exclaimed, her tone brimming with excitement.

"What?" you responded, intrigued by her enthusiasm.

"Ok, but before I tell you, you have to promise me you won't say a thing about it."

You chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. "Of course I won't. Now tell me, what is it?"

"So," she began, "Freyja – you know, the one who whisked me away to dance as soon as we arrived – well, she asked me if I want to... go with her to another place, and I said yes, so..."

Your eyebrows lifted, your curiosity piqued. "So...? Don't keep me in suspense!"

"So I won't be able to go back with you. Is it okay?" she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

You smiled reassuringly. "Of course! You have to go with her! This sounds like an amazing chance, and I can find my way back."

Her relief was evident in her expression as she hugged you excitedly. "You're the best! I knew you'd understand!"

She pulled away, a big smile lighting up her lips, before turning back to face the ballroom and waving in your direction. You watched her until she disappeared into the crowd. Taking a deep breath, you turned and walked back to the balcony.

"Copia, I'm so sorry for it," you began, your voice soft as you spoke aloud to the empty balcony. "It was just my friend, and she had some exciting news..."

Your voice trailed off as you arrived at the balcony, only to find that Copia was no longer there. The place where he stood was empty, it was as if he had dissolved into the shadows and you couldn't help but wonder where he had disappeared to.

You reached out, your fingers grazing the cold stone of the balustrade as you looked down. The empty balcony stretched before you, and the only thing there was the broken potted plant on the ground.

With a sigh, you leaned against the balustrade, your gaze fixed on the broken plant. The memory of his warm breath against your skin and the softness of his touch remained imprinted in your mind. The absence of Copia left you feeling a blend of disappointment and a lingering sense of wonder.

You shook your head and decided to return to the ballroom. Stepping away from the balcony, you navigated your way back through the bustling crowd, making your way to the door you had initially used to access the balcony. As you re-entered the ballroom, you scanned the area, your eyes searching for any sign of Copia.

However, it seemed that he had truly vanished. The ballroom buzzed with activity, created a joyful ambience. Yet, amidst the joyous ambiance, you couldn't shake the feeling that he had slipped away into the shadows of the night.

Resigned to the situation, you made your way towards the main entrance. As you reached the main entrance, you stepped out into the cool night air.

Before you could start your journey back home, a familiar voice called out from behind you – it was Benjamin.

"Hey! Wait!" he exclaimed, wavering in your direction. "You got missed, I was looking for you."

Turning around, you greeted him with a smile. "Oh, I left after the last dance to get some fresh air, and now I've decided to head home."

His expression turned concerned. "And you're going alone?"

You nodded. "Yes, my friend left the party with a partner, and here I am."

His concern deepened. "Please, I can't let you go alone at this hour to your home. Wait here, I'll go back inside to grab my coat. If you allow me, I'd like to accompany you."

You hesitated, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. "Ah... I'm not sure, but yes, I guess?"

"Alright, stay right here," he said before quickly making his way back to the main entrance.

You took a deep breath, watching as Benjamin disappeared through the main entrance. The cool night breeze seemed to whisper in your ear, urging you to avert your gaze in another direction. Your eyes turned to the balcony, a place where the evening had taken an unexpected turn with Copia. As you looked up, there he was, looking down at you from the balcony.

Your heart raced, and a mixture of emotions surged within you. Copia's mask was gone, revealing a face that seemed to shine in the moonlight. His eye glistened like a radiant moonbeam, captivating your gaze. You blinked rapidly, almost not believing your eyes, but it was undeniably him. Your lips parted in surprise, and your foot took a small step as if drawn by an invisible force. You were on the verge of calling out to him when the sound of footsteps approached you.

"Hey, I'm back," Benjamin said, walking towards you.

Your attention snapped away from the balcony, and your heart sank at the interruption. Copia's figure had vanished, leaving you with a whirlwind of emotions and questions. You offered Benjamin a smile, trying to push away the thoughts that had suddenly consumed you.

"Thanks for offering to walk me home," you said to Benjamin, masking the wistful note in your voice. "I appreciate it."

"Is my pleasure," he said with a warm smile. "Should we go now?"

You nodded, pushing aside your thoughts. "Yes, let's go."

Walking beside Benjamin, you turned your back to the old building. As you headed towards your home, you couldn't help but steal a glance back at the balcony, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of Copia once more. But he wasn't there anymore, and the only thing that accompanied you was the sound of your footsteps against the pavement, and the gentle company of Benjamin who had offered to walk with you. With a sigh, you refocused your attention on the path ahead, the sound of your footsteps mingling with Benjamin's as he walked beside you.

The walk back to your home was accompanied by an awkward silence that hung between you and Benjamin. Despite the reassurance of having someone to accompany you, the absence of meaningful conversation left a lingering discomfort. You were grateful for the company, yet your mind kept drifting back to Copia.

You couldn't help but wonder why your thoughts were so fixated on a stranger. Why did you feel an unexplainable longing for his presence, even though you barely knew anything about him? The memory of his strong yet gentle touch, the intensity of his gaze, and even his moments of clumsiness replayed in your mind like an unending loop.

But it was the almost-kiss that lingered most vividly in your thoughts. The closeness, the anticipation, and the way time seemed to stand still in that fleeting moment – it had etched itself into your memory.

After a few minutes of walking, you finally arrived at the door of your house. You retrieved your key from your small purse, your fingers gripping it as you turned to face Benjamin.

"Thank you for coming with me, Benjamin," you said, offering him a grateful smile.

He returned your smile, his eyes warm. "Of course, anytime. It was my pleasure to make sure you got home safely."

You nodded, a sense of gratitude and relief washing over you. "Well, have a good night, then."

"Are you not going to invite me to enter?" Benjamin's voice broke through your contemplations.

You turned to face him, a faint smile touching your lips. "Why would I?"

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Fair point. Maybe another time then."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. "Definitely. Thank you for walking me home, Benjamin. It means a lot."

"Anytime," he replied with a warm smile. "Have a good night."

"Good night," you echoed, watching as he turned and walked away.

You entered your home, and closed the door behind you with a deep sigh. You slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room. With a sense of relief, you unzipped your dress, letting it cascade down to the floor. The fabric pooled around your feet, and as you stood there, you allowed yourself a moment of solitude, the quiet of your home enveloping you.

You made your way to your bedroom, reaching for your bra to remove it. The sensation of being free from the constraints of formal attire was like a weight lifting off your shoulders. With a sigh, you unclasped the bra and let it slide off your shoulders, your back arching slightly as you stretched.

You were on the brink of crawling into your bed, ready to let the day's events settle into the background of your mind. Just as you reached your bed, you were startled by the sound of your doorbell echoing through your home. Your footsteps echoed as you made your way towards the door, a robe quickly found its way around you, and you prayed that it wasn't Benjamin again.

"Look, I appreciate what you did for me but now is not the best moment," you said, with a hint of annoyance on your voice.

As you opened the door, your heart racing. Your initial assumption that it might be Benjamin was quickly shattered as your eyes widened in astonishment.

A grin formed on his lips, and his voice was smooth as he spoke, "Oh, mi dispiace, cara. Were you expecting someone else?"

Before you stood Copia. Did he follow you to your house? The thought tumbled through your thoughts, leaving you bewildered and a touch anxious. You couldn't help but wonder if he had walked behind you and Benjamin the entire way. If he did, why? What was his motivation? Your heart raced as you tried to gather your thoughts.

The silence lingered between you for a moment, a thousand questions dancing on the tip of your tongue. As you met his gaze, you noticed he e wasn't wearing his mask by then, allowing you to finally glimpse his complete face. Bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, his green eye shimmered, but it paled in comparison to the radiance of his white one, a sight unlike anything you had ever seen before.

"I... I didn't expect to see you here," you finally managed to say.

A playful glint sparkled in his eye as he regarded you. "Ah, I suppose I have a knack for surprises, sì?"

"I... um, what brings you here?" you asked, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he said with a half-smile.

"No, you're not intruding," you replied, your curiosity getting the better of you. "But... how did you know where I live?"

Copia's smile widened slightly, and he tilted his head in a manner that seemed almost conspiratorial. "Let's just say I have my ways."

"And by ways, you mean... follow me?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow in playful skepticism.

A playful glint danced in Copia's eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, his demeanor a blend of confidence and charm. "Perhaps not in the most conventional sense, but I wanted to make sure you got home safely, cara."

"Well," you looked around your living room and let out a light chuckle. "I guess I'm... safe?"

Copia's laughter joined yours, a warm and inviting sound that echoed in your ears. "Safe is a relative term, sì?"

As you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at his cryptic comment. "Is it, now? What do you mean by that?"

He met your gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "Safety can take on many forms, cara. Sometimes, the most dangerous things are the most tempting."

You couldn't deny the underlying tension that had woven itself into the atmosphere. Copia's eyes held a depth that was both alluring and mysterious, and you found yourself drawn further into him.

"Are you implying that I should be cautious around you?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of playfulness.

A spark of amusement danced in Copia's eyes as he stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until it was almost nonexistent. "Beh, cara, I'll leave that for you to decide."

You nodded, your gaze locked onto his eyes. Just as you were about to reply, Copia interjected with a soft chuckle. He gracefully moved away from the doorframe, giving you a gentle smile that held a touch of reassurance.

"I'm just kidding, cara," he said, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to fill the room. "I promise not to bring any kind of danger into your world."

"Yeah, you're a danger only to potted plants after all," you teased him, giggling.

Copia's laughter joined yours, the tension of the moment giving way to a lighthearted exchange. "Eh, sì, my eternal struggle against potted plants," he replied with a mock sigh. "It's a battle I fear I'll never win."

You couldn't help but chuckle, but a soft blush as Copia's hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch both unexpected and intimate. The warmth of his hand against your skin sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine, and you found yourself drawn into his gaze once again.

"I must repeat," Copia began, his gaze turning thoughtful, "it's not every night that I find myself in such charming company."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a genuine smile touching your lips. "Well, it's not every night that a mysterious stranger decides to follow me home and confesses to being a potted plant menace."

Copia's eyes danced with amusement. "Giusto, cara! But, I hope you know that my intention is to ensure your safety."

"I appreciate that," you replied softly. "But I assure you, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," he said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I know you can take care of yourself, cara," he removed his hand from your face, taking a step back. "I should be on my way," he said, his voice carrying a note of reluctance. "You are safe here, and it's time for me to leave."

"Thank you for your company and for making sure I'm safe."

Copia's gaze held yours for a lingering moment. "Until we meet again, cara."

With those parting words, he turned and walked toward the door, his presence fading into the night as quickly as he had appeared. As you closed the door behind him, you found yourself leaning against it, your heart racing and your mind swirling. The encounter with Copia had been both exhilarating and surreal, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, allowing the stillness of the moment to wash over you. The memory of his touch, his voice, and his piercing gaze lingered, leaving an indelible imprint on your thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder if you and the mysterious man named Copia would really meet again.

⸻ Grammar

Carissima: Dearest

Cara: Dear

Mi hai chiesto di venire e eccomi qui: You asked me to come and here I am

Infatti: Indeed

Ma ore: But now

Vestito cremisi: Crimson dress

Goffaggine: Clumsiness

Sì: Yes

Sono contento di sentirlo: I'm glad to hear it

Grazie: Thank you

Sorriso incantevole: Lovely smile

Mi dispiace: I'm sorry

Beh, cara: Well, dear

Giusto, cara: Right, dear

212 notes · View notes

horrorstreet · 8 months

Text

Camellia: Popia x f!reader - Chapter 1

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You are a translator for the Ministry. You receive a letter summoning you to the Abbey for a project involving an ancient diary with a mysterious author, but you find yourself wishing you were back home. That is, until you meet the charming Papa Emeritus the Fourth.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Hi all!! This is the first long-form fic I've ever written and decided to publish, so I hope you all enjoy!! The first chapter is mostly setup and scene building, so not a lot of interaction with our beloved Copia. But there will be more, I promise!!

Warnings: none for now but there will be some in later chapters.

AO3 Link

Prologue

“Will you help me move this box?” the Brother of Sin says.

Wordlessly, the Sister of Sin stops what she’s doing and maneuvers through the crowded, dusty basement room to help the Brother. The two crouch down, bracing their hands against the box of books. It leaves behind a path carved into the layers of dust as it slides across the wooden floor.

Once the box is pushed a few feet out of the way, the Sister lets go and, losing her balance, falls to her hands and knees from the crouching position. She cries out in surprise when her hand sinks through the floorboards as one of the slats gives way. The hole is only a few inches deep and filled with dirt and cobwebs, but the Sister’s hand falls onto something softer than wood.

She lifts her hand to find that there’s a small leather-bound volume hidden face-down in the small crevice. The Sister can hardly imagine how long it has been there, with how thick the grime lies on the back cover.

This room of the Abbey’s basement had been long forgotten, until Sister Imperator tasked these Siblings of Sin to clear out the room to make way for new storage. They had half expected to find a ruby-encrusted sarcophagus in the room, with how ancient and opulent the Abbey is. So far the only things of interest they have found are books—it seems that the only items stored in the room are books.

The Sister gently removes the book from the hole in the floor and replaces the wooden slat. Even through her gloves she can tell that it is close to disintegrating. The distinct orange of rotten leather lines the edges of its binding and a few corners of pages fall to the ground.

“What’s that?” The Brother asks.

The Sister carefully turns the volume over so that she can read the front cover. It, too, is covered in dust, so she gently brushes it with her hand in order to read the embossed leather cover. Having been face-down in the crevice, the gold leaf illuminating the embossment is preserved and it shines in the low light of the basement.

“It says…” the Sister squints to read the small letters, “...Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth? Who’s Elizabeth?”

The Sister turns over the book once more. “I don’t know, just… Elizabeth.”

Chapter 1

The ride from the airport to the Abbey is a long one. The car you had been picked up in took you through the city and the suburbs, to the rural outskirts of civilization where the coniferous trees block much of the sunlight. The winding roads, dotted in late-afternoon sunbeams, feel endless as the car climbs into the hills. It’s been a silent ride, and rather awkward (at least, you feel that it’s been awkward) because the helmeted ghoul who drives the sleek black sedan has not said a word.

You knew that the Abbey has ghouls. A few abbeys do, as they are big enough to warrant summoning help, but your home chapter is not. This is the first time you’ve met one.

You wonder if they’re all so stoic, or if the driver simply doesn’t have anything to say. He isn’t impolite, but you wish he would say something, anything to make the drive a little more bearable. You want to ask him about the Abbey–what the Siblings are like, what Papa is like. How many Siblings live there full time? How big is the library? You’ve heard that the ghost of a former Papa haunts the corridors, is that true? Hundreds of questions brew in your mind, but the ghoul remains silent and you’re left feeling like an unwelcome guest in a strange country.

You already miss home.

The Marseille abbey, your home for the better part of your adult life, is a medieval stone structure built on a hilltop south of the Marseille city proper. The ornate, stained-glass windows of its chapel face west over the Mediterranean so that the sunset streams into the room during Black Mass. The walls are old and drafty, and keep faded tapestries in a constant state of fluttering. The linens line the walls of the refectory in between tall, narrow windows which also overlook the sea. If it were not for the inverted crosses and scenes of the unjust fall of Lucifer, one might think the atmosphere in the chapel—and the rest of the small abbey—is almost holy.

The windows in the Sibling dormitories are small and south-facing, with deep stone sills and wood frames that have somehow managed to survive the ages (although they hardly open without a fight.) Your own dormitory windowsill is lined with personal prayer books. Each has about a hundred loose papers sticking out. They are your translation practice, your way of staying versed in every language you know, because you know the prayers by heart at this point. The papers are experiments: which language makes the prayer sound better, sound prettier? Which language makes the most sense? Which language makes the prayers the shortest, the longest?

No matter which language you use, to you the prayers sound the most beautiful in your mother tongue. That is how you’d memorized them, after all. Yet… you wish there had been room in your single suitcase to take your prayer books with you.

“We’re almost there,” the ghoul says, snapping you out of your homesick reverie. His voice is deep and softer than you’d expected. There’s no spurt of hellfire from his mouth as you’d half-thought there would be, and no low rumble in his words that might signify he’s more beast than man. The ghoul, despite his bug-eyed mask, seems shockingly human.

He steers the car through tall wrought-iron gates which seem to open automatically. You can see the tall peak of the Abbey’s bell tower peeking through the trees, and suddenly the reality that you’re very, very far from home hits you.

You unfold the crinkled envelope in your hands and reread the letter for the hundredth time that day.

Dear Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well.

We at the Abbey have recently uncovered a very important document which we require your expertise to translate. However, this document is extremely fragile and cannot be transported in the post. Papa Emeritus IV and the rest of the Clergy request your presence at the Abbey as soon as possible.

We expect this project to take several months. Enclosed is a one-way ticket for you to travel to the airport closest to us, from which a car will transport you to the Abbey. We will discuss plans for your return to Marseille when you are nearing the end of your work here.

We anxiously await your arrival.

Sincerely,

Sister Imperator

The letter itself is quite presumptuous. Sister Imperator had assumed you were not busy, and assumed that you would be able to drop everything and travel halfway across the world for a months-long project. And then to use Papa’s name to exaggerate the importance of this mysterious document which she hadn’t even disclosed the nature of?

Well… you can’t exactly say no to the woman who practically runs the Ministry’s affairs.

The car takes a bend in the Abbey’s endless driveway and emerges into a clearing. Sitting far back on a sprawling lawn is a massive, imposing stone structure. The rows of trimmed hedges and flower bushes do little to soften the gothic hardness of it. Two pointed bell towers loom over the steep roof of what must be the chapel, with stained glass windows stretching up at least two storeys. The central image is of Baphomet, in his iconographic pose. The setting sun glints off of his golden halo. Sweet Satan, you think, your eyes tracking the window as the car rounds the drive. Baphomet alone must be taller than the entire height of Marseille.

The ghoul pulls the car to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to wooden double doors. A woman stands there, her hands clasped in front of her and her back straight, like the matron of this grand palace. You suppose she is–the severity of her expression alone leads you to believe that it’s Sister Imperator who waits for you.

You step out into the chilly air and shut the car door behind yourself. The ghoul already has your suitcase in hand and gestures for you to walk up the stairs before him. You wish he’d let you carry your own suitcase, if only to give your hands something to do, but you are far too stunned to ask. Climbing the shallow stone steps feels like stepping into another world. A world in which you feel far too plain to exist.

“Sister,” The woman greets with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which squint at you beneath slightly furrowed, well-groomed brows. She strikes you as someone who is all business, all the time. “How was your journey?”

You return her smile as best you can. She speaks to you like you don’t understand English. “It went well, your dark eminence.”

She seems a little surprised that you respond so fluently, but she quickly fixes her face into another warm grin. “I am glad to hear it,” she says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you must understand that this document is very important, and quite fragile. We would not risk losing it in the post.” “Of course,” you nod. “If I may ask, Sister Imperator, what is this document? You did not disclose it in your letter.” You gesture to the envelope safely stored in your jacket pocket.

Sister Imperator turns to step inside the slightly ajar wooden door and you assume she wants you to follow. The ghoul accompanies you over the threshold, but at the wave of a hand from Sister Imperator, he turns down a narrow corridor with your suitcase and disappears around a corner.

You are still a bit too overwhelmed to thank him. Instead, you look at the woman beside you. “The ghoul will bring your luggage to a room we have prepared for your stay,” she explains at your silent question.

She continues down the main hall, deeper into the Abbey. Your footsteps echo through the atrium, bouncing up to the high, painted ceilings and off the stone walls. There are a few wooden benches pushed back against the wall, with pots of surprisingly lush houseplants on either side. Framed oil paintings line the walls: some depicting biblical scenes, some of landscapes, and a few large, dignified portraits. You can tell by the distinct Papal paints in each portrait that the subject is a Papa, and you wonder which one depicts Papa Emeritus IV. You’ve never seen an image of His Unholiness before.

After a few moments of silence, Sister Imperator speaks again. “We found the document last month, in one of the storage rooms in the Abbey’s basement.” She likes to use the royal ‘we’ a lot, you think.

She continues. “One of our archivists believes that it is at least five hundred years old. It is very fragile, you see, and so we ask that you handle it with the utmost care as you work with it. We would prefer it if you used gloves. And frankly, Sister, I believe that you would want to. The leather is fairly rotten.” You stay silent as you follow slightly behind her. You’ve worked with old, rotten books before. The pages nearly crumble apart in your hands and the leather splits easily, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“We believe it is a journal—a diary, rather, of someone very important in the Ministry’s history.” You find it strange that she doesn’t immediately disclose whose diary it might be. “Who, if I may ask?” “Elizabeth.” Sister Imperator’s voice is clipped as she answers you. She gives no further explanation. Just Elizabeth.

There are millions of women named Elizabeth in the world. It is very likely that there is more than one important Elizabeth in the Ministry’s history as well. It’s a fairly common name, especially five hundred years ago (if the archivist is correct). For all you know, this document could be some random Sister’s sexual logbook, and documenting her sinful indulgences was her way of praying to the Lord Below.

You break out of your ponderance over possibilities when Sister Imperator turns a corner to walk down another, slightly narrower (but still wide) corridor. She speaks again. “The book is to be kept in a lockbox at all times when you are not working with it. Under no circumstances is it to be removed from the Abbey library without my express permission, or the permission of Papa. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sister,” you answer hastily. Her tone of voice as she lays down the law makes you feel as though you’ve already made a mistake.

“Now. The reason we need you, Sister, is because none of our own archivists or translators can figure out what language the journal is written in.”

This piques your interest, and also slightly flatters you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

She releases a long-suffering sigh. “The writing is jumbled. It is a mess of letters and sometimes numbers, with no spaces whatsoever.”

The possibilities immediately start to stack in your mind. Latin from the Roman era tended not to use spaces, a practice called ‘scriptio continua’. Ancient Greek also did this… but wouldn’t the in-house translators be able to read it?

“I cannot explain it well enough,” Sister Imperator says. “You will have to see, Sister.”

The two of you come to another set of large double doors. Sister Imperator pushes one open and steps inside, holding it open for you. You slip past her into a huge, bright room, filled with hundreds and hundreds of bookshelves. Immediately you are hit with the scent of old books and parchment paper, and the gentle sounds of turning pages. To your left sits an ornate wooden desk with one Sibling standing behind it. They are sorting books onto a three-tiered cart, presumably to put them away in the correct order. You accidentally make eye contact, but they smile politely and you respond in kind with a little wave.

You avert your gaze upward towards the open second floor, which wraps around the large atrium and is protected by a dark oak bannister. A few Siblings linger on the catwalk, carrying books or making their way towards the wide staircase that opens to your right. The bottom floor of the atrium houses several wooden tables where another smattering of Siblings sit. Most other tables are empty save for an abandoned book or two.

The late evening glow shines down into the room from a large, circular skylight in the middle of the ceiling. There are desk lamps and overhead lights scattered about but none have been turned on yet.

It reminds you of the University library.

“Come,” Sister Imperator says after allowing you to gaze around the massive library for a moment. “The lockbox is in the restricted section. You will receive your own key while you are here but you are required to return it, directly to myself or the Head Librarian, before you leave.”

She leads you up the carpeted staircase and deep into the bowels of the second floor. Towards the back corner, where the shelves are labeled ‘Fiction - Romance’, there is a wooden door tucked against the wall. A sign beneath its small glass window reads ‘RESTRICTED’. Sister Imperator fishes a rather noisy set of keys from her pocket and finds the correct one to unlock the door. She pushes it open with a squeak that feels loud in the quiet of the library. When both of you are in the room and the door is shut behind you, she removes an identical key from her keyring and hands it to you. “Your copy,” she says. “Do not lose it.”

The room isn’t cramped, but it is small compared to the atrium. A few single-person desks sit along the back wall, while the walls on either side of you are lined with glass boxes. Each box is shaped similarly to a narrow cubby, and houses a single book. Printed labels on the front face of each box display a box number and the name of the volume stored inside.

“Your key allows you to access any of these boxes,” Sister Imperator explains to you, “but I do not expect you to require any of them, except for the diary you’ll be working with. It is kept in box number seven, which is here,” she points to a box about halfway up the rightmost column of cubbies. Using her key (still attached to the incredibly jingly keyring), she gently unlocks the box and it glides out like a drawer.

You step beside her to look down into the glass drawer. The diary is wrapped in white linen, but you can see the faint brown color of the leather through the cloth. “The archivist requests that you keep the white cloth under the book at all times,” Sister Imperator says. She reaches down into the box and gently retrieves the diary, careful not to jostle the cloth too much. “It will protect the leather from further decay.” You don’t need her to explain how preservation works, but you appreciate it anyway. It saves you from having to ask, or endure another awkward silence.

She places the book down on a nearby table and slowly unwraps the cloth. Already you can see small flecks of brown and orange sticking to it where the leather has rotted, but it seems to be fairly well preserved in light of its age. On the front cover in small, embossed gold letters is the name Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth,” you say, understanding.

“Elizabeth,” Sister Imperator replies. “That is the only word we have managed to decipher. Hopefully you will be able to help us with the rest.”

You nod. “I believe I can.”

She wraps the cloth loosely around the book once more, and returns it to its box. “I do not expect you to start tonight, Sister. We will give you time to settle, and have something to eat. But from tomorrow morning until you are done, this is your sole responsibility. Do you understand?”

Her sudden, almost intimidating tone surprises you. You bite the inside of your cheek–a nasty habit you’ve had since you were a child. “I understand, your Dark Eminence,” you say with another nod.

Her face softens, as does her stare. “Please, just Sister is fine,” she says. You follow her again as she begins to lead you out of the Restricted room. “I believe the dinner hour is to start soon. I will show you to your dormitory, and then leave you to get settled.”

She brings you back through the library and the main hall towards where you’d seen the ghoul disappear with your luggage. The dormitory hall is a long, narrow corridor with windows on one side and doors on the other. Each door is marked with a number and a nameplate, and in between each door are wall sconces lit by incandescent bulbs. Halfway down the hall there is an opening to a stairwell which, you assume, leads up to the second floor of the dormitories. You walk past many, many doors, some of which have two nameplates, until you reach the very end of the hall where there are unmarked doors. Sister finds her keyring again and unlocks one, then removes the key and hands it to you.

“These rooms here are the guest quarters. They are typically not suited for long-term stays but we have prepared yours to have everything you will need. If you need anything, ask Sibling Superior and they will make sure that you receive it.”

Sister Imperator turns to leave, but then turns around. “You know, Sister,” she says, with a curious look. “For someone of your expertise, I thought you would have been… older.” You can’t tell if it’s praise or suspicion in her voice. “Yes, well,” you stall. How are you supposed to explain that language just comes naturally to you and that it’s not your fault you’re not old and wrinkly? “I suppose once you learn one language, all the rest come easy. Especially romance languages.”

“Hm,” Sister Imperator hums, sizing you up for a moment. “Find me at the end of the week and we will talk about your progress. I’m sure you will know your way around by then.”

It seems her well of kindness has run dry.

~~~

If the loud ringing of the bell didn’t tell you that the dinner hour had started, then the steadily rising sounds of a crowd did. You can hear the murmurs of conversation even through your closed door. A few Siblings emerge from the dormitory next to yours, their chatting and laughing growing quieter as they walk down the corridor towards the refectory. The old wood floorboards creak above you from the movement of Siblings who occupy the second floor. All around you there is an excited bustle, and yet you don’t feel like joining it.

You have never liked crowds. Especially crowds of strangers. And these strangers all seem to know each other, if the echoes of loud conversations tell you anything.

But your stomach does rumble, and you feel rather weak from a day of travel, so you decide that it’s best to eat something before you go to bed. Once the corridor seems clear again, you quietly slip out your door (patting your pocket to make sure you remembered your key) and make your way to the refectory. Sister Imperator hadn’t shown it to you but you can make an educated guess as to where it is.

When you emerge into the main hall, you see a few Siblings occupying the wood benches that had been previously empty. They all hold trays or to-go boxes on their laps. Some speak animatedly, enthralling their friends with stories from their eventful day, while others sit quietly beside each other and eat. You think that it might be nice to sit somewhere to eat so that you feel a bit more connected to the Abbey, but all of the benches are occupied. The ever-growing roar from the refectory does not seem too appealing, either.

The large room is across the main hall from the library. When you turn the corner you see that it’s not as grand as the atrium, and that it only occupies one level. There are sheer curtains hung over the windows, which allow the sunlight to illuminate the room but keeps it from growing too warm. Siblings, Clergy members, and ghouls alike sit at long wooden tables not unlike those of your home Abbey. But these tables alone are longer than the entire length of the Marseille refectory, and once again you’re reminded that you’re quite far from home.

No, you can’t eat here. Not tonight.

There is a long counter stretching nearly wall-to-wall to the left of the door, where a dwindling line of Siblings make their dinner selections. Whatever meal the kitchens had prepared smells delicious but you find that you don’t have the appetite for it. However, close to where you stand in the doorway and nestled in the space between the wall and the counter, are a few baskets of fruit arranged on a small table. The baskets are nearly empty, with the only indication of their contents being the small pops of color peeking through gaps in the woven pattern.

Despite not wanting a hot meal, you are hungry, and so you enter the refectory and move towards the baskets. You opt for two good-sized oranges–although the bananas do look perfectly ripe–and turn to leave as quickly as you came. Your eyes briefly sweep over the crowd and land on a long table, perpendicular to all the others, situated on a platform at the opposite end of the refectory. The platform isn’t tall, but it is just enough to raise the table’s occupants slightly above the Siblings. The table is entirely composed of men, save for Sister Imperator, who seems to be talking to an older man with Papal paints and long blonde hair–is that Papa?

You look at the others occupying the table, and find that no less than three are also wearing Papal paints.

Marseille is a tiny Abbey. At any given time, only about ten Siblings reside there at once. And so there is no need for an upper Clergyman to be stationed there. Instead, the Chapter is run by Bishop Beaumont, who (until now) is the highest ranking member of the Satanic Ministry you have ever met, let alone seen.

So, to be faced with not one, but four Papas, all in the same room, makes your heart thump with nerves. You recognize them all from the portraits in the main hall, but in person they are all so much more… just more. And yet you still don’t know who is who.

Of course, you know that all four of the most recent reigning Papas are brothers, the order of which was determined by age. The man who Sister Imperator is talking to must be Papa Emeritus I, or Papa Primo, as you’ve heard him called by Bishop Beaumont. The other three look relatively close in age, and so you truly have no idea which man currently holds the helm and steers the ship.

You realize you’re staring when you make eye contact with one of the Papas. You nearly gasp in surprise, as if you shouldn’t even be on the same plane of existence as him… and yet your eyes met. Of course one of them would have caught you eventually, you think. You were practically ogling them from across the room.

Hastily, you turn and make your way back out of the refectory and into the main hall. Your eyes fall on the nearest portrait. The Papal paints of the subject match the ones of the man you’d just been caught staring at. You blush as if his portrait could think, and had just caught you a second time. Your eyes flick down to the gold plate affixed to the frame, and read the words.

PAPA EMERITUS IV.

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