🥀Love Is A Dagger 🗡

~Chapter 10~

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~France, 1899~
~December 26~
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The morning of December 26 was as dreary as the weather outdoors. Sprite stood on the doorstep of their home still clad in her ivory nightgown, waving to her companions as the carriages rounded the corner. She closed the door, bolted it like her parents always instructed and went up to her room with a resigned sigh. In her bedroom, Sprite peered under her bed, and slid out the box from underneath. She tossed the top of it aside, revealing a corset the same color as her nightwear. She'd never worn it before. Her father had forbade her from ever wearing one. "Whyever shan't I don one?" "There is no urgent necessity for it. It's another burden to add," Loki had simply told her. So when She'd revealed to him she wished to attempt it once, he looked at her with a message of silent disapproval written on his face, but said nothing. Now, after summoning Annabelle, she leaned against one wall of her bedroom as Annabelle took upon herself the task of lacing her mistresses' garment. She was incredibly gentle yet swift with it, her eyes fixed on the task. A soft knock sounded at the door, and it opened, revealing a rather cross Loki. "The kitchen needs you, Annabelle." The young housemaid bowed her head. "Yes, sir," was all she said before scurrying out of the room like a mouse. She closed the door behind her, leaving the pair alone. Wordlessly, Loki gestured with his finger for her to turn around. She obeyed, refusing to wince as he finished lacing the garment. He was much quicker than the young maid, and much more stern with it as if it were an insolent child. "Is there anything you want to tell me about last night?" He inquired in an icy tone. Sprite sighed. "Your voice is enough to sink ships." Loki grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her against the wall with such a shuddering force that she was forced to keep eye contact with him. "This isn't a jest. You know how dangerous your wild stories are." "Of course I'm aware- you remind me everyday of how absurd they seem." "Don't embarrass us, Sprite. You know others will simply turn away from you while others could place you in an institution." "That's all right. I've always wanted to learn." A sharp stinging pain and her cupping her cheek was all she could remember. "You could embarrass the family of your friends! Is that truly what you wish?" "I'm an embarrassment, I understand! But know this: I am no liar in my testimony, and by the gods I know what I saw last night.  Now, if you're here to shame me, then leave! I have no desire to see you!" He turned on his heel, and immediately exited, revealing a timid Annabelle. "That damn thing makes you look like a doll," he simply said, and departed. Annabelle looked towards the young girl, and she shook her head. "It's fine. Could you please fetch me some tea?" She nodded and darted away. Sprite finished dressing with the energy of a person who knew they had nowhere better to reside. Once she did, she sat on her bed, and observed everything in the room. And began to laugh to herself quietly. The laughter just as soon turned into tears. She found herself kneeling by the bed, and sobbing into the covers. Loki had heard from the end of the hallway, and slowly returned, and kneeled by her. "Forgive me, Spritey. I did not mean to be cross with you." He kissed her head. "You are anything but an embarrassment, I assure you." Sprite sank into her father's soothing touch. "I can't breathe," she simply stated. Loki pressed his head to hers, and kissed her hair. "I told you you didn't need it."
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That following evening, the house was drawn into a stunned silence as they went about preparing for bed. The families had left that early morning before the storm could grow worse. With them left the serenity. Not even the servants spoke as they cleaned. Annabelle locked all the windows and doors in the house, ensuring that they were all tightly closed. Twice. Once everyone finished what they needed to do, the family met in the living area, which they seldom did. But tonight, Loki greeted them with somber news. And by the look on his face, Sprite knew enough. "Who is it?" Loki sighed, seating himself in a chair next to his husband and across from his daughter. "The Penshallows were found in their beds this morning. Annabelle delivered the papers to me." Sprite imagined she was as pale as the snow outside. Jane Penshallow was a close playmate of hers when she was younger. Her 16th birthday was approaching in 2 days. "The Penshallows? But why?" "I spent half the day trying to figure that out," Loki told her, burying his face in his hands. Sprite recalled that she had seen her father open a parcel of what looked to be papers with a butter knife. He looked as if he'd been struck across the face, and simply excused himself from the room. "I've noticed a pattern between the murders; they're targeting the very rich or unusual." Sprite swallowed. "Like us?" "Like us." "Do you think we're next?" Loki's mouth tapered down into a frown. "No. I hope not. But we must be ready if we are." "What happened to the Penshallows?" Now, Loki looked uncomfortable, but he went on. "All of them were found with the covers thrown over their heads. But... the problem was, all their heads were missing. And we know not where they are." Mobius cursed under his breath, and rubbed his head. "What shall we do if they do come?" Loki looked into the fire. He didn't answer. It wasn't very reassuring. But his face said enough.
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When they eventually went upstairs to their rooms, Sprite pretended to close her door. When she was certain that her parents wouldn't hear her, she tiptoed out of her room, holding her breath as she avoided the creaking floorboards. She laid one hand against the wall, feeling for it in the darkness so she knew she was in the hall and not falling down a void. She felt the frame that surrounded their family portrait scratch her palm slightly. She waited with bated breath for one of her parents to speak, and watched through their slightly open door as Loki stood near the fire. "Come to bed, Loki." "Not yet." She heard a creak, and saw her father cross the room to take her father's hands in his. "We have to think lucky thoughts," he told him. Loki looked as if he wanted to say something, then closed his mouth. "I can't think lucky. We have a daughter, Mobius. We have to protect her." "We will." "And what if we can't? Who are we if we can't protect our child?" "We'll make sure she's safe. Remember how many times she was severely ill? With cholera? With the flu? We've saved her life then." "The last time you said that... it cost us our second." Mobius sighed, dropping his head to his chest. "I can't change what happened to Tommy... but we can change what happens to her. And we will." He kissed his husband's cheek. As Sprite watched, she saw the glimmer of a tear falling down Loki's cheek.
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The bare tree branches thrashed wildly outside, hitting the windowpane. They formed eerie shadows on the wall with the light of the moon and the weak light of a candle on Sprite's bedside table. They took the form of gnarly, worn hands, the skin wrinkled like the pages of an old book. Like the witches and ghouls in the horrifying stories she and Olivia would read every now and then. Sprite disregarded that thought, picking at the skin around her fingernails, and twisting the band of one of the rings she wore on her fingers. She had awoke from another dream. She remembered pushing the door of Thomas's room open, and seeing the doctor with his head bowed, Loki kneeling over him, refusing to release him, inhuman sobs torn out of him. Mobius was beside him, rubbing his shoulders, shushing him. She recalled standing in the doorway, feeling utterly lost and helpless as she stared at her brother's motionless body. He can't be gone- he took his first steps yesterday. He had yet to say our names. Or his own. She reflected mournfully on the one year she'd gotten to know him, and decided it was not enough. His birth was complicated to say the least. It had taken three days and nights. Sprite had sat downstairs, clutching her handkerchief, beside herself that she couldn't be with her mother and father. Olivia had come to stay with her, a firm grip on her shoulder to keep her from dashing upstairs everytime Loki cried out. She had entered the room shortly after he was born. Loki's eyes were shining with laughter, her hair damp from labor. Mobius looked haggard, his shoulders hanging with exhaustion. But joy was evident in both parent's eyes. So many daisies adorned the mantel that week. Sprite had despised it. He was so small, so fragile. When Loki first revealed the pregnancy, Mobius had cried with joy, taking him into his arms, and Sprite would lay a hand on the growing swell, always amused at the prospect that she was to be an older sibling. Mobius didn't allow Loki to lift a finger in the 7th month. He would fetch her many things, things she hadn't asked for, ensuring she was comfortable and warm. How exciting those times were.
Now, she looked mournfully at the crib beside her bed, and turned away from it disdainfully. She swung her feet over her bed, and slipped her slippers on. Despite the thick material, the cold floors still assaulted the bottom of her feet. Before she left, a giggle sounded from outside her door. Silence. Then footsteps, along with more chatter. She walked across the hall to her father's bedroom. They were, as expected, in bed under the blankets. The moon cast a pale glow over them, making them look waxy and pale. Usually, people would appear content when they finally have a chance to rest after a long day. Both men looked anything but content. Loki had puffy circles under his eyes, showing that he'd been crying. Mobius too, had the same circles. They looked frail and brittle, as if they might dissolve when touched slightly. Loki let out a small moan in his sleep, turning over. And she immediately knew a dream was disturbing her father, plaguing his sleep. She drew in a breath, and placed a hand on his head. Her fingertips glowed a bright green as she probed the dream, and slowly dissolved it, pulling it away, storing it into her mind so she could see what it was. His face relaxed, and a serene expression came over his face. She kissed the top of his soaked hair, and left them be, retreating to the safety of her room, all memory of the footsteps and laughter erased.