𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈 : 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

"I know you're upset with me," he mumbled.

Your eyesight flicked to his empty glass. Until sleep took Niccolo, you would suffer the consequences of both your actions, bearing his guilt and your own. It was a light punishment, but a light punishment did not make the weight less heavy.

"I understand it. I do, honestly. The last thing I wanted to do was keep you in bed, but I don't know what else to do. I need to protect you. I swore to protect you. I am only... only doing what I believe is best. To keep you safe."

Niccolo's haunted brown eyes glazed over as his lids dragged down. You were doing Niccolo a kindness in the end: giving him the sleep his body so obviously craved but his soul couldn't find. He would dream of sweet, little nothings while you went about being a deviant in the night.

Niccolo would never learn your trespasses against him. He would be better for it.

"I know you don't see me as a father, but you're the closest Sasha and I will ever have to a child. If something happened to you, what good am I? Stumbling alone on this earth until I expire. How would I pass the time?" Niccolo droned.

Sleep stole Niccolo away as he bemoaned so dolefully. He barely kept his eyes open, so you reached across the table to steal the candle in its dish and stood to offer an arm. Exhaustion must have fried Niccolo's mind because he allowed you to shoulder his weight upstairs and into his room. You went so far as to tuck him in and run a thumb over his cheek for added comfort despite the pain radiating from inside your bones.

"You are too kind for this world," Niccolo whispered as he sank deeper into his pillowy mattress.

You moved to leave, but Niccolo's hand grabbed yours before you could slip away.

"I want you to know something," Niccolo called to you. You stood still. "You are still you. Don't let this change your heart. No matter what has happened and no matter what you do. I don't know why, but... I need you to know that."

His voice faded to nothing, and his hand slipped onto the sheets.

Would he still think that if he knew you had done? That you had drugged him and intended to sneak into town to piece together your shotty memory and ruin the life of whoever turned you into a beast? That you were far from the kind and diligent child he had painted you as only a few weeks ago? That the version of you he clung on to was dead and gone, buried under crimson fabric and rotting in the sewing room?

You would be back in bed before Niccolo awoke, so there would be no way of knowing. He couldn't learn what you intended. He could never know. He had to believe you were meek and feeble as you always were. It would serve as your greatest alibi should your plans go awry and the authorities come knocking at your door.

You shuffled to your room once Niccolo's breaths leveled into a smooth rhythm. Lowering yourself under your bed, you reached far and gripped into Mr. Ackerman's bag. You redressed in men's clothes, buttoned the shirt to the highest height, and added a sheer tie around your bruised neck to hide it from view. You fastened your hair tight to your scalp and went downstairs, searching for a hat large enough to cover the pins. The eyepatch Mr. Ackerman had left would rest on your brown until you were close enough to town where your vision was less necessary.

You even slipped your hand into the cold oven, covered your fingers in soot, and smeared the residue onto your chin to fake some shadowed beard. It was half-assed, but it would have to do.

You didn't bring a lantern to light your path as you walked to town alone under the gloomy sky. The moon disappeared from the world behind its own shadow, so only stars illuminated the ground. Sheer willpower brought you to the town square, as your muscles had weakened from unemployment. The patch finally slid down over your blooded eye.