Giselle awoke with the sunlight streaming onto her face, and for the longest while, she found herself staring at the ceiling overhead. Wooden beams crisscross gracefully, supporting the vaulted expanse like the ribs of a grand dragon that once roamed the ancient world. Faded frescoes, time-worn but not forgotten, adorn the spaces between the beams, each telling a unique tale of valour, romance, and mythical wonders.

It was a stark difference from what she usually saw when she opened her eyes in the morning. And the bed, oh, had her bed always been this soft?

         For a moment, Giselle shut her eyes and allowed herself to sink into the soft mattress, seemingly with the intention of going back to sleep. Gone were the scratchy cotton sheets and damp scent that seemed to haunt those who lived on the lower floors, and if this was truly a dream, then Giselle wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.

  Unfortunately, it was not.

As soon as she heard the sound of a man clearing his throat, followed by light footsteps on the floorboards, Giselle jolted awake, and as she did, a searing pain surged from her neck down to her right arm.

     "Careful," she heard a voice say. "Your wound has yet to heal."

Giselle looked up to see Icarus, standing inches away from the bed, a copy of Voltaire's Candide tucked between his long fingers.

      "Your Grace," she stammered, her eyes wide with surprise. "Is this your room? Why am I in your room?"

Icarus frowned. "Do you not remember what happened last night?"

      "What happened last night? I only remember having a peculiar dream--"

      "Giselle, last night, you were attacked by Alain de Beauchamp. And in turn, you killed him. I need you to tell me all that's happened, Giselle. From the beginning to the very end."

      "I did? I killed him?" Giselle murmured under her breath. At the thought of Alain de Beauchamp, the wound on her neck started to sting once more, making her wince slightly. The words he uttered to her echoed in her head like a haunting mantra,  repeating over and over until her ears began to ring.

       "Giselle-"

       "I remember now. I did kill him. But I had no choice. It is either I kill him, or he drains me dry. That man, no, that monster, he played the role of a gentleman so well, to the point where I truly believed that he was one. But last night, he was anything but a gentleman. His words... his actions..."

Her hands fidgeted about, twisting the ends of her sleeves anxiously, as she continued to speak. "It was not just my blood that he planned to take. I had no choice. If it weren't for the dagger I carried, I would be a mangled pile of limbs in the forest somewhere. He said that he would make sure of that."

Icarus sighed deeply, placing the book on the table beside his bed. Giselle did not take his silence well, so she added, "Well, what will happen to me now, Your Grace? I have killed one of your kind, one of your esteemed guests. Surely, you will not spare me from punishment, will you? There is no reason for you to not punish me."

     "Giselle-"

     "And how do vampires punish wrongdoers anyway? Will I be drowned in a barrel of wine?  Will you burn me at the stake?"

      "Giselle! That is enough!"

Silence fell across the room, save for the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, and the crackling fire. He sighed again.

      "You will not be punished, Giselle. You have done nothing wrong, and no court in this world would punish you for taking the life of your attacker. And... I beg for your forgiveness, Giselle.."

Giselle furrowed her brows, confused at the sudden change of tone. "Forgiveness for what, Your Grace?"

     "For putting you in his way. If it weren't for me, he would have never known about your presence."

     "I... I don't understand."

     "Giselle, these 'guests', they are no friends of mine. They are either newborn vampires, or vampires who had been living in the mainland and wish to relocate to England. I keep them here, so I can see whether or not they pose a threat to the people. If not, I shall let them leave, but if they do, I shall eliminate them. And your arrival here has been very, very convenient."

     "You were using me as bait."

    "Yes.. yes I was. I was using you to test them; to see if they could withstand your blood, your scent, and their hunger." He paused as he leaned against the wall, his expression turning grim. "I did not know what I was thinking. What did I even expect to happen? I had been such a fool, and my foolishness has brought harm to you as well."

There was a short pause.

     "Forgive me, Giselle," he said. "Please. Allow me to make it up to you."

     "How?"

     "I shall pay you, however much you want. You will not have to lift a finger ever again, and if you do ever decide to leave this place, you shall forever have my trust and protection."

It was a very agreeable, albeit shallow compensation, though Giselle could not think of a single person who would reject it. In fact, only someone with an ulterior motive would reject it. And for that reason, Giselle pretended to consider the option, pressing her thumb against her lower lip as she closed her eyes in deep thought, as if she were mulling over Icarus's words. Of course, it was all an act, as she had planned to reject it from the very beginning. Not that she had a choice, anyways.

     "I appreciate your offer, but I would rather stay here and continue working, Your Grace. It is a mundane life, but I genuinely like it," she said, and as soon as the final words left her lips, she felt like groaning.

I would rather stay here and work than be loaded and travel the world, said no one in the history of mankind. She might as well have written the words 'I have an ulterior motive' on her forehead with bright red paint. And so, she decided that it was time to sprinkle a bit of tragedy.

    "My uncle.. I'm certain that he will find me this time around. And when he does, he'll lock me away in a convent, and I'll never see the light of day ever again. I believe that it is best that I remain here, where he will never find me."

Icarus stared down at Giselle for a long minute, his scarlet eyes boring into her dark ones.  A frown appeared on his face as he asked, "Giselle, what is your uncle's name?"

Giselle went pale. "Why do you ask?"

     "Such a despicable, scheming man, the world would be better off without him," he remarked coldly. "Tell me, Giselle. Where does your uncle live? What else has he done? Is he somehow involved in your father's death?"

A shiver ran down Giselle's spine as Icarus hit her with a barrage of questions about her nonexistent uncle. If she did not answer quickly and accurately, this would be the end of everything.

     "Your Grace, are you planning to..." She did not finish the sentence, and she pretended to blink away imaginary tears. "I know that he has not been treating me well, but I do not want my little cousins to become orphans as well. Little Chrissy and Timmy do not deserve to lose their father.."

She saw a slight twitch in the corner of Icarus's mouth as he listened to her words, almost as if he was fighting back a smile. Or had he caught up with her lies? Giselle could not tell.

    "Very well," he agreed after what seemed like forever. "You may stay here, if that is what you want. But after the recent events, I will need to reassign you."

Giselle nodded her head solemnly. "I see. Where will it be then, Your Grace? The laundry room? The kitchens? Or shall I sweep the courtyard?"

Icarus's face finally broke out into a small smile as he shook his head. "None of that. You will be staying with me, as my  personal maid."

Dear Atticus,

I have not been writing to you as much as I should have in these recent times, and for that, I apologize. The past few days have been dreadful, I must confess.

To begin, other than Icarus and his friend Aldous, there are several other vampires living here in the palace. Their names are Casper Finnegan, Lilith Spence-Faire, Hester Ashbrook, and Alain de Beauchamp. Initially, he said that they are here as guests, but he later said that he keeps them here to monitor whether or not they pose a threat to humans. If yes, then they are killed off. Oh yes, Icarus also has a posse of vampire servants whose thoughts have been wiped out of their heads, and the servants who still have not lost their minds call them 'The Damned Ones'. I almost forgot to mention that.

Anyways, I digress. Last night, one of his 'guests', Alain de Beauchamp, attacked me, and thanks to the training you have given me and a small silver dagger I tucked into my shoe, I live to tell the tale. Unfortunately for Sir de Beauchamp, he would end up losing his head.
      Unfortunate for him indeed, but it appears that more and more fortunes are coming in our way. Following the attack, Icarus decided to take me in as his own personal maid. A bit out of the blue, yes, but you must agree that this is incredibly beneficial to us and our cause.

Until I receive your order, I shall remain here, quietly and obediently, and whatever word, whatever information I have heard,  I shall pass on to you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours, Giselle

Giselle's handwriting was slanted to the right, with delicately looped g's and j's, neither too flowery nor too stoic. She folded up the letter neatly, then slid it inside an envelope, with Jasper Arvell as the adressee.

One thing that she liked about her new position was that she enjoyed a particular kind of freedom that she never had before. Gone were the days of Missus Harris breathing down her neck, telling her what to do or what not to do, nor Icarus's guests waving at her, asking her to return with more liquor.

Most of the days, it was just her and Icarus in that old dusty library, where rows of ancient tomes stood tall, bearing the marks of countless readers, where the scent of aged parchment and leather permeated the air, save for the days when either Theophilus or Aldous decided to pay a visit.

       Lonesome it was, Giselle would admit, and additionally rather mundane, but it was peaceful, a kind of peace that she had never felt before in her life. Other than having to occasionally deal with Atticus's nagging letters, her days almost felt perfect, and Giselle truly relished it.

That cold early autumn night was no different. In the quiet sanctum of the library, Icarus sat at his ornate writing desk, a large scroll stretched all across the polished wooden surface. With his left hand, he skimmed through the words, while his other hand absently played with a quill, rolling it between his fingers, seemingly lost in the dance of thoughts.

        Giselle, who had been polishing a rococo-styled vase for the past hour, sighed as she dropped the wet rag into the basin of greying water.

    "Where do you keep finding these old things anyways, Your Grace?" she groaned. "It is on the verge of crumbling apart, and my god, it is so difficult to clean!"

     "France. I recall that these fancy, flowery motifs were all the craze before the revolution," Icarus answered, hardly looking up from his work. "Oh, and please be careful. That vase is likely worth more than your entire family's wealth."

Giselle pursed her lips tightly together in annoyance as she fished out the sloppy, wet rag. "Of course, Your Grace."

        The more she polished it, the more its elegance and grace began to shine through. Its curvaceous form, delicately adorned with intricate floral motifs, told the story of an era when beauty was celebrated and sought in every detail. Once upon a time, this vase must have stood proudly on a gilded pedestal, where it was flaunted by its owner and admired by the onlookers.

Now, however, the passage of time had clearly left its marks on the vase, etching a tale of faded grandeur. The once vivid hues had softened into muted tones, the brilliance of gold leaf had tarnished, and the sculpted details had weathered, bearing the burden of years gone by.

     "The revolution, hm?" Giselle murmured under her breath. "You speak of it as if it occurred only a few years ago."

Icarus laughed. "To be fair, a little over eighty years does not feel too long ago. I still remember it vividly."

      "Ah, you are not just old, you are ancient. Were you present during the fall of Rome, or when they assassinated Julius Caesar?" Giselle said jokingly.

     "I wish. It would have been something so remarkable to witness."

     "Well, since you have been around for so long, what have you witnessed? I'm certain that there must've been many, hm?"

This time, Icarus looked up from his work and glanced at Giselle, his lips curled in an amused grin. "Well, there is the Renaissance. The Age of Enlightenment. A most profound period in history. I remember taking a trip to Florence back then-"

     "My god, you really are an old man," Giselle interrupted, laughing.

Icarus let out a heavy sigh as he crossed his arms. "Do not call me that."

     "But you are an old man. I can't call you 'young man', can I? My god, I sound like a witch! Come with me, young man. I have just the thing that will make your lady fall in love with you."

      "Just.. Just call me as you did before."

Giselle raised a brow. "Well, what will you do if I keep calling you an old man?"

Icarus' lips twitched into a sly smile as he leaned closer to Giselle. "I am capable of many things, Giselle. Keep up this act, and you will find out."

       "Ah, does your extensive array of skills encompass murder and the discreet disposal of body parts?" she said mockingly, though fear seeped into her words as she spoke.

       "Why, that is up for you to discover,"  Icarus replied smugly, leaning back in his chair.

A nervous laugh escaped Giselle's throat. "It is too bad that I am not much of a discoverer. Seems that we will never find out, Your Grace. Say, can vampires read minds?"

Icarus raised a brow at her question. "Unfortunately, no."

     "Ah, so if I only call you an old man in my head, you will never find out, correct?" Giselle mused aloud.

Icarus closed his eyes, seemingly tired of her antics. "Yes, now stop bothering me with pointless chatter."

      "Understood," Giselle replied before going abruptly silent, yet her eyes were still on Icarus, an ever-growing smile etched on her lips.

Icarus is an old man.

Curious, Icarus glanced over at her. "There! You must've thought of it, haven't you?"

      "No, I didn't."

      "I know you did!"

      "I didn't," Giselle replied in a singsong voice as she sat down on the warm leather couch. "Well, I think I'm going to lie down for a while. Do wake me up if you need anything, Your Grace."

And with that, Giselle shut her eyes, snuggling deeper into the comfortable armchair. As usual, she slept like the dead, oblivious to the world surrounding her.

   And as she slept, it was as if the whole world had gone silent, which Icarus gladly welcomed. But after a while, it did become deathly boring without someone to talk to, and the thought of skimming through those reports became unbearable to Icarus.

He glanced at Giselle. There she was, fast asleep and without a care in the world. Her features appeared so calm, so innocent, and her decision to sleep in the presence of him, a creature infamous for preying upon humans, struck Icarus as purely naïve and rather foolish.

He stood up from his chair, walked over to the fireplace, and threw several logs onto the dying fire,  where they were licked by the red and blue flames. The fire cast a warm glow upon his face, illuminating it softly. He had no need for the fire's warmth, since he, a vampire, was susceptible to the cold. Giselle, however, was a living and breathing human, and the chilly autumn wind would do her no good.

  Icarus made his way towards her, his boots making soft clicking sounds against the marble flooring of the library.

      "Do you truly trust me that much, Giselle?" he whispered as he loomed over her sleeping form. "I could do anything to you, and yet here you are."

He sat down on the couch beside her, his long cloak in hand. Silently, he unfolded the cloak and draped it over her, careful not to rouse her.

     "But you are correct, I could never harm you. Sleep well, Giselle."