The wooden door to the dungeon swung open so quickly that its impact against the wall threatened to split it into a thousand splinters. In five long strides, I was towering over the maid that my bride had shown so much care for last night.
"Tell me where she is," I demanded. The maid only whimpered in response, so I bent down and hoisted her by the shoulders to make us eye level, and she trembled in my grasp. "The surrounding town will do her no favors as they are nearly all my followers, this storm is dangerous, and Evie is unfamiliar with the area . . . if you care for her safety, you'll tell me something – anything!"
"She just wanted to go home," she cried out.
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. "This is her home," I groaned. "D—did she say anything else? How she planned to procure a flight, or even change her clothing?" Surely, she realized right away that it would be an obstacle, as well as a bright, red beacon.
"There wasn't time," she reasoned.
"Ahh, because she left you," I replied with a smile. "Left you to this fate, all so she could save herself."
"No, that's not—," she began.
I released her, and she fell over. "No, I understand. I'm starting to expect this side of Evie," I said. Honestly, it was perplexing. These instances were starting to paint quite a confusing picture . . . much like Jackson Pollock's work, or standing too close to a Monet. "Well, I'll do you a service since my bride left you behind, and give you an end date for your suffering – or rather, a time." The maid sucked in a breath, scooting away from me with the drag of chains echoing throughout the dungeon. "Tonight, when Evie and I are wed."
Though, of course, I'll have to find her first.
I left the dungeon, not caring about the crying screams of the maid – the expected, desperate pleas for her life – and made my way to my room to change into attire fit for wandering the grounds in a ferocious thunderstorm.
As luck would have it, I only got so far in that task before there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?" I asked.
"It's me," Lucy whispered. I allowed her entry, hoping this would be quick, and continued dressing. "Oh, you are heading the search party for Evie, then?"
"I am," I replied flatly. "As the master, I am in charge of a great many things. If I can't be bothered to bring my own bride home . . .," I trailed off, not completing that thought. "Trust me, I will find her. Did you need something?"
When my younger wife didn't answer immediately, I glanced over to her and observed a peculiar series of nervous expressions – both on her face and in her body language.
"Lucy, my dear, what is it?"
She started and stopped a few times, and although I was frustrated by the delay in looking for Evie, I was also curious about what she struggled to tell me. Finally, she spoke.
"A—are you sure this is a good idea? Even though – um – some of us were surprised to find ourselves being called on," she wringed her hands, "none of us panicked quite in the way Evie did. Maybe you shouldn't go through with the ceremony?"
I furrowed my brow, wondering why she would even suggest such a thing. "This has been determined since long before Evie was born, so she unfortunately doesn't get a say in the matter."
"Shouldn't she? I mean, isn't that what you wanted?"
I turned to her. "And what do you know of what I want, hmm?"
Lucy stammered. "Oh, I didn't mean to speak out of turn. I—I just – um – I'm worried about the ceremony. The dinner last night seemed to be a crossing point, and since everything was revealed to her . . . in that way . . . I feel like Evie's made her decision, whether that is understandable, o—or not."
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Walter de Ville's Advocate
Fanfiction"I'm not the type that [Dickens] writes about; I have zero redeeming qualities." The problematic Walter de Ville is about to eat his words when he meets a Miss Evelyn Jackson Alexander, who has more in common with him than any bride that has come be...