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#because I’m facing down a visceral revulsion at what’s for dinner
wanderingnork · 3 years
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I feel like some of my feelings of alienation and shame about frequently having limited food options (thanks neurodivergent brain) might come from growing up in a family where a huge point of pride was that “none of our kids are picky eaters.”
Except...I am, actually, incredibly picky. When I was small and allowed to read at the table, I’d eat anything. Was disallowed from reading during meals bc mindful eating (valid!) and suddenly I discovered a host of things I didn’t like. Spent years picking nuts and mushrooms out of my food and gritting my teeth through meals that felt like they were choking me, and almost crying at school when I was forcing myself to eat food I couldn’t identify why I hated, and drowning baked potatoes in sour cream and cheese because the texture made me sick. And because I didn’t complain or ever say I didn’t like things (because you’re not one of those picky kids, are you?) I was a point of pride. She’ll eat anything.
And like...it’s great now that I’m an adult who’s able to make their own choices about meals. My family actively encourages me to eat what works for me. But it’s really fucking hard to get rid of that mental block of “it’s bad to be ‘picky.’”
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actual-cat-human · 4 years
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Corpse Groom Ch 1 (Male reader x Beetlejuice Corpse Bride Au)
So I’m gonna try and get these out within a few days of the fem reader ones! Different take than the fem reader because of the time period! The plot will generally follow the same arc, but shooould be different enough to merit its own read. Hope you enjoy it just as much! (Any homophobic or internalized homophobic things are a representation of the time period- and most certainly not my opinions!!!!) if you want to only be tagged for the just the fem or just the male reader version let me know.
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The sun still hadn’t graced the horizon yet- but here you were, up many hours too early to be reasonable. You didn’t need to be up and ready for at least a few hours but sleep was too fickle so you just got out of bed anyways. “Why her?” You asked mournfully into the empty room. Deciding it was better to do something than sit listlessly, you began dressing. Mother had demanded you wear your best suit today as you and your parents were going to call upon your betrothed.
Your family was almost out of funds completely. Scraping by on an almost meaningless title and reputation alone was what got you to the point of needing a marriage arranged in the first place- and you were painfully unhappy about it.
She was a wealthy woman, uncommon for the era. Unfortunately, Countess Amelia Dorcell was equally known for her abhorrent personality as she was for her wealth. A recent widow, for the second time, fifteen years (perhaps more) your senior, she was well known for being a rude, vain and selfish woman- and there had been whispers in town that her husbands had both died under suspicious, perhaps murderous circumstances. Your parents couldn’t care less about the town gossip- or the undeniable fact that she was so unanimously disliked and distrusted. You were young and handsome and had caught the Countess Dorcell’s attention only a few weeks after her most recent husband’s passing. She offered an exorbitant dowry- an unusual practice to be certain- as well as monthly allowance to your family estate in exchange for your proposal and marriage to her. Today was to be the first of only a small handful of arranged, chaperoned meetings with the woman before you were to be wed. You felt ill.
There was a myriad of reasons you could barely stomach the impending marriage.
If she were less intolerable- maybe. Maybe.
The issue with her was one thing- but the issue with her sex was one you’d quietly suffered your whole life as a young man. You examined yourself in the mirror as you buttoned your undershirt. Your eyes were sad, almost dead looking. You’d scarcely slept the night before, and it showed on your face. The dark circles under your eyes would be chalked up to nerves if they were even addressed at all.
You were in no hurry to get dressed, but your moping and dawdling passed the time quickly. You glanced out the window at the sun now peeking over the forest, a knock sounded against your door. One of the butlers poked a head in and before he could speak you quickly said, “I won’t be coming down for dinner- and I need no help getting dressed this morning, thank you.” He nodded and shut the door quietly.
You groaned, tossing a glance toward the clock,
Lovely, that gives mother and father an hour to lecture and berate me before we leave.
You finished with your suit- frowning at yourself in the mirror. It was a very nice suit, but you found it boring and contrived. Fixing a stray lock of hair you straightened your cravat and headed downstairs.
The moment you stepped into the parlor, your parents descended on you like vultures upon a carcass. The responses and nods flowed from you in practiced bored confirmation. Your mind was elsewhere as they coached and lectured- in your mind’s eye you were walking through the forest, fingertips brushing the rough bark on the trees, lungs full of the crisp fresh air.
Your illusion was shattered at your mothers shrill voice,
“We need to leave! Do not mess this up.” The three of you headed out to the carriage and you had the privilege of another hour of lecturing during the bumpy ride to the Countess’s manor. Upon arrival, your mother yanked on your coat roughly to straighten it and adjusted your cravat- making it sit too tight and awkwardly against your throat. You moved to fix it and she slapped your hand away. A butler guided you into a stuffy, gaudily decorated parlor. It was hideous. The only thing more startling was the countess herself.
She’s even more off-putting in person.
Was the only thing you could think as she began conversing with- kissing the ass of- your parents. It took several moments before she finally turned her attention to you.
“I am overjoyed to finally lay eyes on my stunning husband to be.” Countess Dorcell crooned as she offered her gloved hand, which you kissed the back of as your mother had coached. She let out a chittering giggle as if flustered and you barely were able to suppress the visceral grimace from coloring your features. Your mother elbowed your side sharply to remind you of the ring, and you pulled it out of your pocket quickly. Before you could even get on one knee, the countess had already snatched the box from you and put the ring on herself. That was a relief to you- not having to formally propose. Somewhere in the back of your mind you smiled that you still may one day propose to someone you actually loved. The Countess and your mother were tittering about the ring, but you were too busy noticing that the Countess had never bothered to meet your eyes. She instead had only examined your clothes, your shoes, your hair- inspecting it for quality and price.
I’m nothing more than a dress-up doll to her I suppose.
A bitter voice in your mind spat.
There was a sadness eating at your mind as you overheard the words like ‘wife’ and ‘bride’ repeated so many times- it felt like being mocked. Of course- it wasn’t possible, the alternative. What you actually wanted. Hell, you could be jailed or worse. You just tried to tune out the conversation, finally just counting the tiles on the fireplace.
You were forced to sit through several hours of your ‘wife’ discussing things with your parents. You excused yourself for a moment when they had the audacity to discuss your family history of ‘bearing strong children’- and Dorcell commented that she ‘awaited anxiously the day that she could be heavy with your heir’. The mere notion of that made you grateful you hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, but you escaped to the restroom nonetheless. You’d had friends who’d gone on and on about their ‘experience’ and ‘prowess’ with women but the idea still made your stomach turn. Your mind started to spiral into panic and revulsion, but you collected yourself as best as possible to finish the morning.
The relief you felt when you finally left was unparalleled- but it was tempered in the dread that it would only be a few days until you had to endure her presence again. After that? Well you couldn’t even begin to process the idea of being with her forever. Now that you’d left, your parents ignored you entirely in lieu of planning the wedding. The only time your parents spoke to you was to give you the wedding bands that the Countess had provided- along with a short lecture and the threat of death should you misplace them. The carriage ride back was peaceful enough after that at least.
Once you returned home, you took the chance to slip upstairs and change out of the cumbersome and expensive suit (and take off your cravat immediately). Now clad in a much more reasonable trousers and jacket, you snuck out the back of the house. It wasn’t as though anyone cared about your whereabouts anyways. Your feet carried you to the forest for some peace.
It was as serene as you’d hoped. Quiet save for the rustle of the leaves and the sound of squirrels and other small animals in the trees. You chose a different path than normal- some part of you hoping to escape, or perhaps get lost and swallowed by the woods. The dense branches nearly blotted out the weak autumn sun, leaving you wandering in what felt like a living cocoon. You stopped walking in a heavily shadowed clearing. Far enough from home you spoke aloud, “Why does this have to be the way of the world. She’s awful.” You let out an exasperated sigh. “Is there some miracle out here? A fae prince or something to whisk me away from...” you shuddered in disgust at the thought of the Countess. Looking down you pulled out the small box containing the rings. You pulled one out and examined it with a sad expression before snorting out a bitter, sardonic laugh
“Dearly beloved!” You announced in a deep mocking voice to the empty forest around you, with a grand flourish,
“We have gathered here today to witness the marriage of the Y/n Y/l/n to the great and benevolent Countess Black Widow- a woman who for some reason has decided to purchase herself a husband! If there be any objections: keep them to yourself as this piteous man shan’t be saved!” Your voice was bitter but you were stuttering with laughter.
“Now, your vows. Countess, you first.” You put on a mockery of her expression and mocked her voice. “You belong to me as your parents have sold you. I look forward ruining your life and depriving you of love forever- as I am sure to cut it short when I’m done with you!” You were crying weakly now.
“And Y/n, your vows.” You continued narrating.
“I vow to be strong, to not bend or buckle under the sorrows and burdens placed on me. I vow to show myself the love I will never be allowed to find. I vow to hide or burry the ‘unholy’ desires I have- despite the fact that it comes from love and not carnal lust.” The forest seemed so quiet around you now, your voice coming out small- swallowed by the darkness and the trees. You continued, no longer imagining the Countess, but perhaps some fae prince as you’d joked- or truly any man that may actually show love and kindness, though you feared that no man could exist that would be willing to be with another man. “I vow to accept your flaws, as you do mine. I vow to bring you warmth in this cold, cold world. I vow to show you love and loyalty and joy so long as you reciprocate in equal measure. I vow to steal you away from anyone who dare say that our love is vile or wrong. I vow to tell you how handsome you are every day just to make sure you never forget. I vow all of this and so so more-“ your voice cracked as you fell to your knees. “if you just save me from her.” With shaky hands you put the ring on a twig that stuck up from the ground in front of you. You sniffled weakly, a sad little laugh escaping you. “I do.”
The ground in front of you shifted suddenly. Vibrant green eyes meeting yours as a... man? sat up from the dirt- the twig apparently being one of his fingers. His voice was deep and gravely,
“I do.”
💕💕💕hope you like this version as much as the other!
Love and bugs, H
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@amethystmoonprincess @tired--enby @trashspecter @insomni-snacc @do-ya-hear-that-sound @vampyrefay @beebeyjuice @thethotthatbreathes @imsuchahobbit @ccselfships @danish-fay @imma-fucking-nerd @pastelnacht @cowboybugman @justamythicaldream @a-okay-rj @ccidk @causeifeelblue @waymorecake4me @go-commander-kim @cursed-leader @beetlebitchh @rallsa
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Hurt 4
A/N:  This is chapter 4 of a finished fic, the links for which can be found on my mistresslist.
Monsieur Kim crouched next to you, as you wordlessly looked up at him, eyes filled with distressed censure.  
“I had to,” he said simply.  “Despite the past…I’d not consign you to this shadowed half-existence, if I had the power to avert it.”
Monsieur Boudreaux moved quickly, coming to stand between you, and your attacker.
Closing your eyes, you collapsed flat against the ground, too exhausted and pained to do more than concentrate on breathing.  You brought a trembling hand once more to the stake but, seeing your movement out of the corner of his eye, Monsieur Boudreaux half turned his face to you, saying, “Leave it in, chère fille. If you take it out now, without feeding, you will bleed to death.”
With a conciliatory air, he turned back to the stranger, who had made no attempts to leave, saying, “I apologize for my ward’s impertinence, monsieur; you can assign her lack of manners to my charge.”
“She robbed me of my gustation, sir.”
“What were you eating?”
The stranger shrugged.  “Just some girl.”
Monsieur Boudreaux nodded, and spread his hands apologetically.  “Eh, bien, you see, she’s rather sensitive to that sort of thing.”  He looked around, consideringly.  “However…the night is young.  I’m sure that you’ll quickly be able to find something to eat, if you leave now.”
The man smiled. “Just so.  However, I’m not inclined to let this discourtesy stand.  My grievance is with her, not you.  Give her to me, and I’ll be on my way.”
Monsieur Boudreaux shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting about his mouth.  “I’ve already named her my ward…therefore you are fully aware that I cannot do that.”
Smiling again, the stranger answered, “Perhaps, sir.  But now my blood is up, and your little ward didn’t provide me with enough of a fight to cool my ire.”
Nodding again, Monsieur Boudreaux looked at the ground.  With a powerful spring, he was suddenly upon the man, his large hand wrapped around the shorter man’s throat.  Eyes wide, he asked, in an eerily calm voice, “Is this enough fight for you, monsieur” before digging his claws into the man’s neck, and ripping out part of his spine, through his throat.
The man’s blood pattered in an arc across the square, across your face, and you started in dreadful revulsion, but couldn’t draw in enough breath to scream.  This was so much more brutal, so much more visceral than your way.
Monsieur Kim was still crouched next to you, his expression grim, as you both watched Monsieur Boudreaux calmly drag the stranger’s body, by his ruined neck, over to you.  As he approached, you saw in mounting horror that the man was still alive, his head flopping grotesquely, his jaw working as if he were trying to speak.
You tried to drag yourself away, but your arms merely skittered across the cobblestones.  
Monsieur Kim rose suddenly, putting his body between you, and the approaching Monsieur Boudreaux.  “What is the meaning of this, sir?”
“Step aside, or I will walk right through you, miserable spectre,” Monsieur Boudreaux pronounced, his tone dismissive.  
Monsieur Kim set his jaw.  “Stop!  Can you not see that you’re terrifying her?”
“This, fantôme, is the only way to save her!”
After taking a moment to search Monsieur Boudreaux’s eyes, Monsieur Kim stepped aside.  
Monsieur Boudreaux crouched in front of you, wrapping his other hand around the stake, and abruptly pulling it out and throwing it away.
Your body jerked at its removal, and blood started to spurt from the wound in earnest, pouring down your shoulders to pool beneath you on the ground. Fiery pain roared through your breast, and your vision began to darken.  
Monsieur Boudreaux took the man, and unceremoniously shoved his throat into your mouth.  Convulsively, you swallowed, but then tried to turn your head.  Monsieur Boudreaux stroked your hair, crooning, “Non, non, ma petite, this is what you need to become well.  A human would be better, but this will have to do.”
You closed your mouth, refusing to drink, turning your head from the ruin of the man who had attacked you.  
Tutting, Monsieur Boudreaux remonstrated, “Ma chère, I’ve no desire to force you, but I will.”  
Looking up, you caught Monsieur Kim’s eye.  He nodded once, grimly.  You shook your head.  
“Do it,” he said, his voice low.  
You closed your eyes, and clenched your teeth, fighting against the almost overwhelming desire to grab the man by the hair, bury your face into his neck, and drink until he was no more than dry bones.  Then you heard it.  
“Please.  Please, mademoiselle.  Please drink.  Please.  Don’t leave me.”
Opening your eyes, your gaze met Monsieur Kim’s, and he was on his knees beside you, his expression stricken.  
Closing your eyes from the gruesome sight before you, you turned, opened your mouth, and drank.
***
You opened your eyes to an unfamiliar room.  Sitting up, you looked around to see Monsieur Kim sitting in a chair in the corner.  
His attention snapped to you as soon as you sat up, and he stood and walked over, sitting beside you and reaching for your hands, before realization came over his face, and he subsided.
“Where am I?” you queried.
He grimaced.  “You’re in Monsieur Boudreaux’s home.  He carried you here, after…the incident.”
Eyes widening in shock, you threw back the covers, and stood, only to waver, and fall back to the bed.  A familiar pain that you hadn’t felt in months clawed its way up your stomach, and seized your throat, and you groaned.
“Mademoiselle!” Monsieur Kim exclaimed.  “Are you still unwell?  Please, sit still for a moment, and compose yourself.”
“Monsieur Kim,” you panted, eyes glazed with pain as you looked up at him.  “Do you hate me this much?  Why didn’t you let this wretched existence end when there was a chance?”
His face paled, and his expression was nothing short of horrified. He shook his head, eyes never leaving yours, as his face became stern, almost angry.  “Mademoiselle, you will not say anything like that ever again, do you hear?  I forbid it!”
“Forbid?” You laughed mirthlessly.  “I detest what I am!  You detest what I am. You asked me not to leave you alone, but what else is keeping you here?  It only makes sense that upon my demise, you will be set free!”
“I refuse to hear any more of this nonsense!”
You turned away.  “Then leave.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because you’re still hurt.”
“I’ll be fine!” you growled bitterly.  “That’s just it.  No matter what happens, I’m always fine!  So, go!”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I wish to be alone.”
“I care not.”
“Why won’t you leave me to be miserable in peace?!”
“Because I still love you!”
You stopped breathing, your eyes wide, as you stared at each other.
The door opened, and in strode Monsieur Boudreaux.  “Finally, you’re awake!”
“Finally?!” you echoed, still dumbfounded over Monsieur Kim’s confession.  Dazedly, you inquired, “How long have I been here?”
“A number of days,” Monsieur Kim answered.  
Face blanching, you struggled once more to rise.  “My parents! How can I ever explain?  I–”
“Calm yourself, chérie,” Monsieur Boudreaux crooned.  “I spoke to that lady’s maid of yours, and she has concocted a story about your being sick in your room, all this time, with the congestive fever.  She has remained in your room, to ostensibly tend to you.”
“You spoke to Cosette?”
“I told him that she knows,” Monsieur Kim said.
“A jewel, that one,” Monsieur Boudreaux mused.  
A sudden cramping in your gut doubled you over, and you cried out, clawing at the coverlet.  It was growing difficult to think, much less speak.
Monsieur Boudreaux tsked.  “This is why finding a human would have been better.  Alas, we did not have the time.  It has been a number of days since you have been able to eat, however, and if you don’t do it soon, your body will do it for you.”
Monsieur Kim looked up in alarm.
Laughing softly at his expression, Monsieur Boudreaux nodded.  “That is the way of it.  If we do not feed while we can, the mind shuts down, we become no better than beasts, and we eat the first thing we come across. However, no one should know that better than you, hein, mon ami?”
Monsieur Kim’s face reddened, and he growled, “You are altogether vile, Boudreaux!”
“Yet, I am here, and you are not,” Monsieur Boudreaux taunted.  “At least…not in any way that truly matters.”
Panting, shaking, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin, you tried to rise. “Be silent, monsieur!” you grated as you pushed yourself once more off of the bed.
“Do not overtax yourself,” he crooned.  “I have something for you.”
A sigh of relief ghosted past your lips, and you sank back bonelessly to the bed.  
He left the room, but was back in a moment, with something in his arms. When he drew closer, and you saw what it was, both you and Monsieur Kim leapt back, unadulterated horror on your faces.  You pushed yourself into the furthest corner of the room, digging your claws into the plaster, in an effort to lock yourself in place.  “Monsieur,” you started, your voice hollow and breathless.  Unable to finish, for the combined abhorrence and pain that clogged your throat, you just wordlessly shook your head, in desperation.
“You are no gentleman!” Monsieur Kim thundered, placing his body in front of yours, so that you would not have to see what Boudreaux held in his arms. “You, sir, are a villain! Nothing more than a depraved fiend!”
You closed your eyes, trying to shut out the world.  The hunger, the yelling, the horror, the tempting scent.  For what Boudreaux held in his arms.  What he gently placed on the bed–
–was your precious little Angeline.
The noxious odour of the same chemical that had been used on you, all those months ago, rose up, choking you with its panic-inducing scent.  
“What have you done?” you whimpered, heart pounding against your ribs.  
“I?  I’ve merely brought you your much needed dinner.  Now, be a good dear, and have something to eat.” Boudreaux replied.
“Non.  Non.  Non, non, non, non, non!” you shrieked, your voice escalating in panic.  “Take her away!  Take her back!”
“I understand that you have developed a penchant for the child, but the fact remains that if you do not eat soon, you will go, forgive the lack of a better term, quite rabid.”
“That child is her charge!” Monsieur Kim shouted, his strong voice the only thing currently anchoring you to your sanity.  “How dare you suggest she commit such a revolting abomination!”
“This child is what is standing between her, and good health.  She is unconscious; she will feel no pain.” Boudreaux’s voice was dismissive.  
“Take her back!” you rasped, having even lost the energy to scream.
Boudreaux’s eyes narrowed.  “I will not!  You are so stubborn! Just like your arrière grand-mère!”
You shook your head at the non sequitur.
Monsieur Kim took over for you.  “What the devil are you talking about, Boudreaux?”
“You knew…my…” you coughed, the sweet scent of Angeline’s blood flowing in her veins, making you swallow convulsively.
“Knew her?” he asked, his voice quiet.  “I loved her!”
Your eyes shot to his.  
His face was red, and his breathing was elevated. Running a finger under his collar, he turned, and raked his hands through his hair, making it stand on end.  
The distraction of his distress gave you a precious modicum of control, and you rose with effort.  
Monsieur Kim came to stand beside you, and though you couldn’t lean on him, you were grateful for the comfort of his mere presence.  “Explain this!” you demanded.
Boudreaux was quiet for a moment.  When he turned to you, his eyes were sad as he looked between you, and Monsieur Kim. “Oui, I knew her.”
“Did you own her?” Your voice was biting.
A sharp crack reverberated around the room, and your cheek stung.  You hadn’t even seen him approach.  Turning slowly, you met Boudreaux’s eyes, but his intense gaze didn’t falter under your own.  
Monsieur Kim stepped between you, and shoved.  Boudreaux’s body went flying across the room, and you gasped in surprise.  “Jonginah!”  He turned to you, his eyes dark, as he brought his hand to your reddened cheek.  When he went to touch it, however, it passed through, and he looked infinitely sad.  
Boudreaux lay in a crumpled heap in the corner, staring up at the ceiling, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. Sighing, he shook his head.  “Own her?” He laughed ruefully. “Geneviève was une femme de couleur librée, as you well know.”
You looked past Jongin to where Boudreaux was still lying.  “I know she died early.  Did you…?”
His smile was bitter.  “After her husband, your arrière grand-père, died, I became her protecteur and, whatever you may think, we loved each other.  I wanted to spirit her away from this accursed place–with its unholy, abominable laws–take her North.  I wanted,” his jaw worked as he cried soundlessly.  “I wanted to marry her! I loved her, ma foi, how I did love her!  Mais, alas!”  He shook his head.  “One day, I was out riding, and my horse spooked and threw me.  I fell, and hit my head, and by the time they were able to bring me home, I was already dying.  Unbeknownst to me, my grandfather was…one of us.  We just always thought that he was possessed of a particularly hale constitution.  Of course, he couldn’t bear the thought of the death of his grandson, and so…” Boudreaux languidly waved a hand, then fell silent.
“And so?” Jongin prompted, turning his head slightly to Boudreaux, though his eyes never left your face.
Boudreaux sighed.  “And so.  He had never approved of plaçage, and so he left me to wake up…with Geneviève.”
You gasped, and Jongin turned back to you.  
“You know, ma chère.  You know what it’s like to awaken.  You know nothing except hunger.  You are nothing but hunger.  And so…”
“You killed her,” you whispered.
“‘You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’ ” Boudreaux finally turned to you, a mirthless smile grotesquely stretching his face, as tears ran down his cheeks.  “Eh, bien, you know what that’s like, n’est-ce pas?”
Jongin’s eyes were tragic, as they ran over your face.  
Overwhelmed, you shook your head.  Rushing forward, you snatched up Angeline into your arms, and then ran down the stairs, and out of that accursed house.
***
Upon reaching your home, and climbing the stairs, you collapsed against your door.  Cosette opened it,  gasping upon seeing you with Angeline in your arms.  “Mademoiselle!  Mademoiselle! She whispered, shaking you.
You didn’t have the strength to respond.  
Cosette dragged you both into the room, but before she could close the door, Jongin was there.  She covered her mouth just in time to muffle her scream.
“Cosette!  It is imperative that you listen to everything that I have to say!” he said.
She nodded, her eyes wide, as she tried not to panic.  
Jongin explained everything, and by the time he was done, Cosette had fallen to her knees beside you, gently trying to wrest Angeline from your arms.  
You growled, and she shrank back.  
Then, swallowing, and summoning her courage, she crawled forward once more, crooning, “Mademoiselle, it is your own Cosette.  Sweet mademoiselle, give Cosette le bébé, hein?”  She stroked your shoulder, and slowly, slowly pulled Angeline from your arms.  Lifting her, she left the room.
She returned shortly, walking around Jongin to crouch next to you.  
“Why are you back so soon?” Jongin asked her.  “I’ve already told you that she needs something to eat!”
“I understood, m’sieur,” she said distantly.
You could hear them talking, but the sound came from far away.  You stared listlessly.
“Well then, go and fetch your mistress something before falls into an even worse state!”
“M’sieur… Leave, s’il vous plâit.”
“What?!  Why would I–?  Oh, no!  No!  Absolutely not!  Do you even know what you’re suggesting?! She can’t control herself when she’s like this!”
Cosette stood, raising determined eyes up to his.  “She is my mistress, and I am, and will ever be, her loyal Cosette.”  She advanced upon him, and he retreated instinctively.  With one last look up into his eyes, Cosette set her jaw, and closed the door.
***
You were walking through your house, but no one was home.  Every door was open, and late afternoon sunlight shone through all the windows, making the house glow with a golden light.  Wandering from room to room, you looked for someone, but you weren’t sure whom.  Upon reaching your room, you found a young woman sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, slowly rocking, and crocheting.  When you drew closer, you saw that what she was creating what appeared to be the blanket that you normally kept over your bed.
She looked up at you and, despite her countenance, you felt no surprise, only calm.  She had your face.  Her skin was darker, the rich colour of warm honey, and the curls that tumbled over her shoulders, and down her back were tighter, but other than that, she could have been you.
Tilting her head, she smiled. Mon bébé.  Do you like your coverlet?  She didn’t speak, but you knew her words, all the same.
You nodded.  
Come have a seat by me, ma chère.
Sitting beside her on the floor, you rested your head upon her lap, your cheek against the familiar soft cotton of your blanket.  
I’m glad that you can finally hear me, chère.  I’ve been calling you pour un longtemps.  She began to lovingly stroke your hair.  I can’t stay long, mon coeur.  
You nodded again, sadly.  I know.
Understand, you mustn’t be too cross with Bastien.  He wasn’t always as you know him.  When we were young, he was…beautiful.  So gentle…kind…unfailingly courteous, to everyone–slave and free.  He never even raised his voice to his horse, much less a person.  Her face was infinitely sad.  He used to recite poetry.  He would spend entire afternoons reading stories of love to me.  However, years alone have twisted him, made him into something he was never meant to be.  You’ll have to free him, mon ange.  
Raising your head, you looked at her askance.  
She reached out to gently caress your curls. Listen.  Remember.  A sire’s blood can heal the first victim of his ward.  
Then, why didn’t he do that for you?
Her eyes were sad.  He didn’t know.  And even if he had, he wasn’t a murderer, much less of his own dear grand-père.  Even if he had known, I never would have asked it of him.  
Why do you tell me this?
Find your Jongin.
Jonginah is dead.  I killed him.  You were bitter.  
Not dead, chère.  
He sleeps.
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