"Giselle!" she heard a woman exclaim, whether in surprise or horror, she could not tell. "Oh, Giselle, what are you doing here?"

      "I followed your carriage," she replied, her chest heaving with fatigue as she wiped off the sweat on her brow. "I do not trust Madame Beckett, I truly don't. First, she took Frances, then Charlotte. They all disappeared into thin air, as if they had never existed. And now, she has brought you to this place, and for what, Lydia?"

Lydia swallowed heavily as she glanced at the thin silk nightgown laid on top of the bed in the centre of the room. "At first, I didn't understand too. But now, I do. Now, I know what happened to Frances and Charlotte."

        "What do you mean by that?" Giselle said with a frown.

        "You are far too young to understand, sweet Giselle," Lydia murmured under her breath as she stroked Giselle's dark hair gently. "Far too innocent."

At fifteen years old, Lydia was far more mature, far more knowing than the ten-year-old Giselle, and upon arriving here in Salisbury Hall, she immediately understood why she was brought here, and where Frances and Charlotte had disappeared to. She only hoped that she would not share their fates.

           "Giselle, you must listen to me now," she whispered as she bent down on her knees. "No matter what, you must never return to the orphanage.

          "Why not?" Giselle asked softly, though her voice was filled with anxiety. "Why, Lydia?"

          "Because if you do, one day, when you are older, he will tell her to bring you here too. And he will hurt you, Giselle. I don't want you to get hurt,"  Lydia pleaded. "Please, promise me that you will not go back to the orphanage again. Promise me that you will never go back to that wretched place."

           "But where will I go?"

Lydia blinked away the tears in her eyes. "Anywhere but there, Giselle. A place where neither he nor Madame Beckett could find you. Somewhere safe."

            "Will you be coming with me?" Giselle asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

           "No. I cannot escape this place, Giselle. He will never let me escape. You must leave alone, and don't let them catch you. Now, Giselle, before Madame Beckett notices that you've gone missing," Lydia said, her tone suddenly urgent.

           "But Lydia, I cannot leave you here alone," Giselle protested. "What will happen to you, then? What will he do to you, Lydia?"

Before Lydia could even open her mouth to answer Giselle's questions, she could hear the sound of heavy footsteps dragging across the carpeted floor, slowly making their way to the chamber they were in.

Lydia's eyes widened with fear and panic, and without a second thought, she rushed towards the closet and flung the door open. Then, she grasped onto Giselle's arm and dragged her to the closet and shoved her inside.

          "Why are you doing this, Lydia?" Giselle cried out. "What is going on?"

Lydia lifted her forefinger to her lips, signifying Giselle to keep quiet. "No matter what happens, do not make a sound. Do not let him know that you are here."

Giselle felt tears prick her eyes, and her lips trembled with fear. But she did as Lydia had asked, and not a single word escaped her mouth. As the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, Lydia gave her a small smile and stroked her hair one last time. "I love you," she mouthed, and then, she shut the closet door, leaving Giselle alone in the darkness.

      Giselle awoke to the dying rays of sunlight streaming through the windows of her bedroom, piercing her eyelids like daggers. As she sat up in her bed, she thought of the dream that she had earlier.

The dreams of her past had become a common thing for her lately, and each night, the faces of her victims would flash in her mind, haunting her to the point where she could barely sleep. But she rarely dreamt of Lydia, no matter how hard she wanted to. All that Giselle wanted was to see Lydia again, happy and healthy, even if it was in a dream.

      Sighing, Giselle rolled out of bed and washed her face clean with the basin of water in the corner of the room. She changed her clothes, and put on her shiny brown shoes, as well as her white stockings that went up to her knees, before tying her long black curls into a tight bun atop her head.

       It was almost dusk by the time she woke up, and as she stared at the setting sun, a sense of foreboding bloomed in her chest. Tonight, she would see him again. Icarus. And she did not know what to do when they did cross paths. The skin on the top of her hand still stung from where his lips had touched her, and whenever she thought of it, she could feel her heart skip a beat.

Certainly, the events of last night were not something that she was keen to include in her letters to Atticus. To be frank, she could not even imagine how Atticus would react upon reading her letter.

        Giselle shook her head, not wanting to think more about what had happened. Instead, she walked to the vanity desk and picked up the powder puff, before spreading the thinnest layer of powder on her nose and cheeks. Then, she reached for the jar of rouge, and with her fingers, she dabbed the rouge on her lips, leaving a pop of colour on her pale lips. Giselle thought that she looked better this way, since without it, she looked no different than those vampires.

   After one final glance at herself, Giselle stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.  Her feet padded lightly over to the staircase leading downstairs and along the corridor to the courtyard, where the fountain bubbled away merrily in the cool summer air.

She lifted her head and looked above. The sun had set, and the sky was dark. Stars glittered brightly through the branches, and the crescent moon hung in the blueish sky above her, its pale light waning with every passing second. She could smell the faint scent of flowers in the gardens, its sweet fragrance wafting from the distance. Roses, bluebells, peonies, oh, and camellias?

         Suddenly, a set of footsteps clattered across the stones of the courtyard, accompanied by a deep humming noise. Surprised, Giselle whirled around. In the midst of the shadows cast by the pale moon stood a man clad in black, his bright golden eyes twinkling in the dark. Alain.

In an instant, the shock and anxiousness in her heart subsided, and she found herself grinning softly as he made his way towards her. In his hands, he carried a bunch of freshly plucked white camellias, still wet with dew.

       "For you," he said softly. "When I woke up, the first thing that I thought of was you. So, I decided to take a stroll in the gardens, just as you had suggested me to."

A smile spread across Giselle's features as she received the flowers,  inhaling the sweet scent that filled the air around her. "Thank you," she said to him. "These are lovely, truly."

      "I am glad that you like them," Alain replied. "They reminded me of you. Delicate, beautiful, and full of life."

Giselle glanced down at the flowers in the crook of her arm, her smile growing wider and wider. "How many women have you said that to? For someone who has lived for over seven hundred years, I reckon that there are countless of them."

       "Not exactly," he chuckled. "In seven hundred years, there has only been one."

       "Of course," Giselle sighed. "I trust you, then."

However, though she was standing so close to Alain, her mind had long wandered elsewhere. Before she could stop it, the words had already flowed out of her mouth.

       "Well, since you've lived for so long, surely you've met His Grace before, haven't you?"

A frown marred Alain's features for a brief moment, and hesitantly, he nodded his head. "I have. But when I met him all those years ago, his blood was still warm, and his heart was still beating."

        "He was still human, then," Giselle murmured under her breath. "What was he like back then? Who is he, truly?"

        "Patience," Alain interjected, chuckling anxiously. "If I had not known better, I would have thought that you were one of two things. Either you are a mole planted by someone, or you are in love with him. So, which one are you, Giselle?"

        "Neither," she retorted. "I am simply one very curious girl. Before this, I would spend every waking hour of my day reading about the life and death of Julius Caesar. But now, His Grace happens to be my greatest interest as of late."

Annoyance flashed in Alain's eyes. "I would not call him that, dearest."

        "Call him what?" Giselle asked.

        "His Grace,"  he grumbled. "He is undeserving of such a title. He is no king, not even a prince. Icarus is nothing more than a bastard, and even his name is given to him as a reminder of his station in life."

As he spoke about Icarus, the look in his eyes was full of resentment, and each word that escaped his lips was dripping with malice. The more he spoke, the less he resembled the sweet, soft-spoken man she had met the night before. Instead, he seemed to morph into someone else, something more sinister.

But this was an opportune time to dig more about Icarus's past, and although being close to Alain unnerved her, she swallowed her fear and persevered.

    "Whose bastard is he, then?" she asked.

    "It does not matter," Alain retorted, now growing more and more irritated. "He fashions himself as the supreme ruler of England, but the throne was never his to begin with. He and his lowly blood should never be allowed to sit on the throne. That is all that you need to know."

    "Then, do you know how he ended up where he is now-"

    "Frankly, I do not care," Alain snapped, but as if he had suddenly realised his wrongs, his features quickly softened, and his voice returned to the warm and sultry tone that he had used before. "Forgive me. It is just that I am not fond of talking about him. Even you have seen how he treats others, right? Instead of talking about him, why don't you tell me more about you instead?"

Perhaps she would have taken him on that offer if this was the night before, but now, Giselle wanted nothing more than to stay away from him. If he was staying at the northern wing of the palace, then she would move to the southernmost part of the palace, as farther away from him as she could.

    "I wish I could," she lied through her teeth. "But I must return inside now. My duty awaits."

    "Must you return now?" Alain sighed. "Surely, they will not notice your absence."

Giselle let out a weak laugh. "Oh, but they will. I am certain of that."

    "I see. Will I see you at dinner, then?"

    "Perhaps," she said, smiling weakly. "I must leave now. I hope to see you soon."

With that, she turned on her heel and rushed back inside the palace walls, away from him. As she leaned against the cold stone walls, she finally let out a sigh of relief.

    How could someone change so much in such a brief period? Last night, he seemed as if he were the sweetest person she had ever met, poised and harmless. She even argued with Icarus to defend him! But now, all she could see in his eyes was hatred. And though she would rather not admit it, he truly unnerved her.

At that moment, Giselle came up with a decision. She was going to tell Missus Harris that she was unwell that night, and that she was unable to serve the guests. It was a temporary measure,  but at least, she would be able to evade him tonight. Tomorrow, she will come up with a different excuse.

She walked along a deserted corridor leading to the kitchen, but before she reached there, she saw a tall, dark figure standing there, obstructing her way. Icarus. Giselle swallowed thickly as she felt the blood rise to her cheeks.

She lowered her head, not wanting him to look at her. And then, she kept on walking, hoping that he would simply ignore her presence, but he would end up doing the exact opposite.

         "Camellias," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Giselle paused in her steps, and reluctantly, she turned around to face him. "Pardon me, Your Grace?"

His scarlet eyes flickered towards her. "I smell camellias."

She looked down at the flowers in the crook of her arm, the white petals now bruised and browning. Only the scent remained, clinging to her skin.

Icarus took a step closer towards her. "They are beautiful, aren't they?"

         "I suppose."

         "So pure, so delicate, so fragrant. But now that you've plucked them, they will shrivel and turn into nothing but dust. Even its fragrance shall vanish. Soon, it will be as if they had never even existed."

There was silence between them as they stood facing each other, looking deeply into one another's eyes. Neither of them spoke; they did not want to. There was something heavy in the air between them, almost tangible; Giselle felt that her heart had become heavier.

       In the end, it was Icarus who broke the silence. "If you see something beautiful, it is best that you leave it alone, rather than pluck it and putting an end to its life."

As Icarus walked away, the weight of the camellias in her arms almost felt unbearable to her. Alain had said that the flowers reminded him of her, and yet, he had plucked them, killing them.