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𝙆𝙉𝙊𝘾𝙆. 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝘾𝙆. 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝘾𝙆.
There was a soft but insistent knocking on the door to the maid quarters. A light but desperate pace was set for the fist that beat against the worn wood. The groaning maids awoke due to the interruption of their slumber, a few of the females peaked at the curtainless windows and announced with obvious irk that the sun had yet to rise. Among the complaining and slowly awakening women laid a silver hair female, though, unlike the other ladies she remained silent. Her dull brown eyes poured tiredly onto the door from where she sat; her place of slumber being pressed up against the opposite wall.
Aurelia bid the last remnants of sleepiness goodbye as she slipped on her sandals, grabbing a light overcoat as she headed out the door, not bothering to change into her uniform; well aware that the person seeking her presence would be much too impatient to wait for that. As she stepped out of the room, greeted by a vacant hallway, she told the other maids that she would take care of the matter at hand and that they could go back to rest. She received a few murmurs of scorn, and a particularly loud "it is your fault anyway", but she was already out the door before she could reply to them.
Now Aurelia stalked across the hallway, this seemingly familiar yet spontaneous routine already memorized. Soon enough, she was at one of the small exits of the Argiche Estate. It was a metal door at the very back of the kitchen, one only used by the staff. Due to its primary users and beneficiaries (and their low class and importance), the faulty door had not been fixed, so, as she stepped out into the chill night, the silver-haired female turned back to the door and clutched onto the handle, pushing the metal piece with all her might.
During her struggle, her caller appeared behind her trembling form, and while she was occupied, muscled arms wrapped around her waist and a face rubbed across her covered back. A reassuring hum was all that she received when Aurelia stilled in fear.
"Master Dion?"
Another absentminded hum was the only response she got. Sighing, the brown-eyed maid slowly and gently slipped out of the smaller male's grasp, mentally steeling her mind for the gruesome sight she knew awaited her.
Dion stood before her with his wispy dark locks dripping with blood, and his pale skin streaked with the dark fluid. His entire body was stained with crimson, it was so pungent and potent that it managed to be somewhat visible on the black apparel that he wore. In contrast to his terrifying appearance, her young master, at age 14, wore a soft smile and looked at her with deceptively sweet eyes.
Aurelia forced her lips to contort into a smile even as her stomach churned at the fearful sight of her master. Dion's grin widened further at her reaction, and Aurelia figured her terror had not seeped into her facial expression. But then, Dion seemed to take note of something that caused his smile to promptly slip off, and Aurelia's fingers dug into the palm of her hand and her figure trembled.
"I'm sorry," Dion said, his voice frail and horse from lack of use. For a second the maid was confused, but then she followed the red eyes that remained pinned to her being and found blood staining her waist, and the back of her light night gown. A bile rose up her throat at the sight, but the relief she felt at knowing her disgust was not obvious, easily overpowered it and her smile remained unwavering.
"It is not a problem, master, but please be careful next time."
Had there been anyone else around, Aurelia would have surely been berated for her method of talking to one of the masters of the Argiche household, but on nights like these she and Dion were alone. The young maid, repulsed by the immoral mindset many tried to hammer into Dion's mind, spent the little time she shared with him trying to reverse it. Aurelia was not delusional enough to think she could transform the cold blooded killer into a saint with a few sugar-coated and soft-worded scoldings. Yet, she had known the boy before he became a murder and part of her yearned to dig him out of the pile of corpses he was buried under.
At times, she could still imagine Dion as the innocent little boy who used to tug on her skirt and ask, in the most timid and polite manner, if she would play with him. It wasn't very hard to do so, the boy still possessed his sparkling doe eyes and meek, unsure persona. However, the sharp features, baritone tone, and frequent showers in blood occasionally detracted from his child-like features.
It was not very rare for those two sides of his personality to clash either, in fact, it was happening presently.
Dion nodded to her resigned nagging dutifully, ducking his head and seeming genuinely ashamed. He was sincerely distraught over his mistake; eyes were still glued to the ruined patch of cheep fabric.
A part of her being, perhaps the part that still longed to rescue the innocent child that had long since been lost, yearned to reassure the young male — it begged her to tell him it was fine, to pull him into a hug and whisper reassuring phrases into his ears. Yet, the larger part of her saw the boy as he was in this situation; a killer.
