𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

第三 | THREE

PAST

July Seventeenth was the catalyst of your downfall. It was an early demise—a foreshadowing of a wicked death that both him and you did not see coming. But still the image of you so beautiful and damned was engraved in his mind.

After you had died, Claude had placed you into a casket.

You were so beautiful.

Were. He hated using that term. You were still breathing, as far as he was concerned. You were still—

You were dead.

Claude stopped. His fingers hovered over your corpse—preserved, yet it captured your face in death, with blood all over your clothes, your face. Lashes upon your face; eyes that shone when you were happy. You were so beautiful.

Tears fell on your face. It was his, yet it made you seem alive—with liquid streaking your cheeks it was like you were the one crying; mourning. He would have liked to think that perhaps if he had died (oh, gods, he should have, then you two would be reunited in the afterlife) you would have mourned him too. Would have placed his favorite flower next to his corpse and sobbed.

Or perhaps he simply loved you so much—that he would spend every moment of his life grieving.

.

.

"Claude. This is pretty, isn't it?" Your face was radiant like the sun, and in it was a smile filled with unbridled glee.

"It's alright." Claude had replied shortly, before he had turned his back on you.

You gave a small sigh, brushing his hair away from his face. Your touch was something he had taken for granted; the way your skin brushed with his: and in hindsight, perhaps the strange feelings he had felt had been affection. It was new to him, and he labeled it as annoyance.

What a foolish person he had been.

"You work too hard," you chided gently.

"I must. I will reclaim what's mine." His voice had been harsh, annoyed at being disturbed. Yet you only laughed and gave a small chuckle. Every movement of yours was so effortlessly graceful, so gentle and sweet—

"I will. I will aid you. That is what I have promised you. That is what the earlier generations of my family have dedicated their lives towards—and so will I. My life is in your hands, Your Grace."

Claude did not reply. Yet the smallest of smiles had graced his features.

And somehow he didn't seem too lonely.

.

.

PRESENT

"Are you ready?"

You turned your head to the side at the question, adjusting your blouse collar. The clothes were stuffy: noble clothes often were, much to your chagrin.

"Yes I am, Your..." You trailed off, "...Grace."

Claude Valeria was an absolute sight to behold. Unlike the usual times where he would dress in complete red, this time he dressed in white; and were you overthinking, or did his attire match yours? Still; he was a sight that noble ladies would faint at. He was absolutely beautiful.

You caught yourself staring and opened your mouth.

"Not red today?" You teased him. It was his signature color. But not even his accessories showed the slightest crimson color.