The next few days were uneventful. She recovered from her bouts of illness, and quietly returned to her room downstairs in the maid's quarters. Missus Harris had told her that Icarus did not need her assistance for the time being, and that she should simply rest.

But now, she was already recovered, and yet, Icarus still did not request for her presence. She did go to the library, to try and talk to him, to pretend that nothing had happened, but he would only give her single-word answers, if he felt like being nice. Otherwise, he would act as if she was not there.

It confused her. At times, he blows hot, and then, he blows cold. Giselle did not know what to expect, or what to do. And despite that, she still tried her hardest to get near him, and whenever she managed to convince him to take a break from his incessant reading and paperwork, he would simply walk away, not giving her a chance to say a thing.

Giselle wondered if she had gone too far. If her action of putting her hand against his cheek was too much, to the point where he felt repulsed by her presence.

     This went on for weeks. Tonight was just another of those days. Icarus had just left the study, leaving her alone, perched on the couch. She sighed, burying her face in her arms, and that was when she heard the door click open.

Giselle's eyes lit up-- was it Icarus? But to her dismay, it was not. Instead, it was Hester Ashbrook, one of Icarus' guests.

She had not interacted with Hester that much, apart from her stint as a dining room servant all those months ago, and the night that she was attacked by Alain de Beauchamp. She remembered how horrified Hester was, the way she dramatically collapsed to the ground, screaming her head off. It was almost as if she was the one with her throat torn open.

      "Hello, Miss Hester," she greeted, straightening her posture, and giving the vampiress a curt nod. "His Grace isn't here, if you were wondering."

Hester gave her a thin smile. "I'm not here to see His Grace. I simply wanted a book to read. It can get quite boring here."

      "Is that so?" Giselle beamed as she stood up from the couch. "Well, as the self-proclaimed librarian, I find myself obliged to help you."

       "Really?" Hester chuckled.

       "Mhm."

Giselle was already considered to be above average height for a girl, but beside Hester, she felt like a midget. She had no impression of the vampiress, but she felt drawn to her nonetheless.

Hester Ashbrook was tall and lean, with a messy mop of brown hair that stopped right above her shoulders. Her skin was pale, but with a golden hue, a rarity among the undead, while her eyes were dark orange, not quite the elusive gold, and far from the disarming red. They were like fire. Pale fire.

     "So," Giselle began as they walked through the rows of shelves. "Is there anything in particular that you are interested in?"

      "Books about different continents, preferably illustrated. Atlases, maps.." she murmured softly.

       "Ah... His Grace does not really collect those, but I suppose that there are some lying around."

      "Thank you, Giselle. That would be most helpful."

They continued walking through bookshelves, Hester occasionally picking up a book or two. There was silence between them, but it was a comfortable silence, one that did not unnerve her.

Giselle bent down to pick up a book of illustrations of the Amazon, and that was when Hester broke the silence.

      "This morning... what was it like?"

Giselle froze, and she abruptly turned around. What a peculiar question.

        "I beg your pardon?"

The vampiress frowned lightly, her eyebrows furrowing together. "Will you describe to me what it was like earlier this morning?"

       "Cold, dreary," Giselle laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Typical January weather. Why do you ask?"

Hester smiled thinly. "I've forgotten what mornings are like. It used to be my favourite time of the day."

Silence ensued, and Hester continued strolling around the library, picking up anything that caught her eye while Giselle followed her like a lost puppy.

       "I was told that you are not that old," Giselle awkwardly began. "And by old, I mean His Grace. He's over three hundred years old."

Hester paused in her tracks. "I was twenty-five when I turned into a vampire. That was around fifty years ago, I think."

         "That's around seventy-five years," Giselle murmured. "You would've been a grandmother by now."

Her remark was light-hearted, and Giselle meant no harm, but perhaps she should have directed it to another person. Definitely not to Hester, who looked as if she wished that she would suddenly physically combust and die.

       "A grandmother," she repeatedly coldly. "Sitting on my rocking chair by the fireplace, surrounded by my beautiful grandchildren. How lovely it sounds. But instead, I am trapped in a vessel that does not age. I do not change, no, I cannot change. I cannot see the sun, I cannot love, I cannot do anything."

Giselle swallowed thickly as she lowered her head. "What was it like before you were turned into a vampire?"

Hester turned to face her. Her eyes were dead, but there was a sort of sadness that pooled within them. "No one has ever asked me this."

     "Well, now I have," Giselle said, grinning softly. "But you don't have to tell me if you do not want to."

      "No, I suppose that I should tell someone. I am hardly anyone important, but I do wish that someone remembers me, and the person that I was, should my long existence come to an end."

    "That's ridiculous," Giselle chuckled. "You're immortal. You will long outlive me."

    "I know. But I do not wish to live forever."

They found themselves seated on the library floor, their backs rested against the shelves as they sat opposite each other.

     "My life was an unremarkable one, I think," she began. "My father was a baron, and my family, the Ashbrook, was affluent enough for us to live comfortably, but not enough for us to have any standing in high society.

      But I didn't care. I never liked any of those balls anyway. They were just so.. dreary and awkward, and men looked at you as if you were a prize that they had to win. There were plenty of pretty girls, but they just saw you as competition. A shame."

Hester paused, clearing her throat. "When it became clear that I did not plan to marry anytime soon, my parents began to focus on my younger sister, Josephine, and ensured that she would marry well.
      Josie was beautiful, the most precious creature I've ever seen, and it did not take long for a viscount to fall for her. He was handsome, and very rich, and my sister was so lovely. It was the most perfect couple I have ever seen. My father was ecstatic too-- his chance to ascend higher into society had finally presented itself.

It had been perfect. Josie was to get married in September, and my brother was accepted into the Navy. Rolls of silk and brocade were sent to our home, along with bouquets of flowers on a daily basis. Josie was always smiling from ear to ear."

Hester paused again. This time, it was quite some time before she spoke, and the words seemed to pain her. "And of course, I had to go ahead and ruin everything."

   
         "What did you do?"

         "I invited Josie on a trip to Europe that summer, right before the wedding. I knew that once she was married, it would be far more difficult to see her every day, let alone go on a trip. Josie agreed.

And it was a wonderful trip. We went to Barcelona, Madrid, Rome, Brussels, Naples, and Venice. I loved every second of it. It was just me and Josie. It was perfect.

We stayed in Venice for a week, and there, I developed a fever. I thought that it was nothing at first, probably just feeling a bit under the weather. But it worsened day by day, to the point where I was bedridden.

Josie was so worried. She cried all day and night. She tried everything, bloodletting, herbal baths, witch doctors.. Nothing worked. Until she returned one day with a vial of medicine and forced it down my throat.

That 'medicine' caused me indescribable pain, but after a while, it subsided. The only problem was that I started to feel thirsty, and I did not even know what I thirsted for.

Josie caught on rather quickly. She reads a lot, you see, those books like The Moon Shines Pale Scarlet. And she immediately knew what I needed. So, she lured a young maid to our room at the inn, dosed her with opium, and told me to drink. Once I was done, we would throw the bodies into the canal.

She did this six times without getting caught, but people were beginning to become suspicious. So, we returned to England.

My father was horrified at first, but he knew what he had to do. And so, the cycle repeated. We had around thirty staff, and it took me six months to go through them all. We managed to keep the stories about the servants' disappearances under wraps, but no one really wanted to work for us anymore.

My family, once warm and lively, had become cold, anxious and rigid. Even the viscount was concerned. When he tried to come over, to talk to Josie about their upcoming marriage, she shut him away, and after not long, broke their engagement.

When we had no more servants left, my family turned the knife on themselves. They bled themselves until they eventually dropped dead. First, it was my father, then my mother. Josie was the last to go. My brother was in the military. He had not known. He must have been so confused and horrified when he came home.

Within seven months, my family was dead. The blood of my servants stains my hands. My brother is still alive, even to this day, but I cannot bear to show up in front of him.

I simply exist, just like this, for god knows how long. And I'm tired, Giselle."

        Giselle had never thought what it would be like to live forever. Even though the concept existed, the thought escaped her. Even though those like Icarus and Hester existed in this world, Giselle knew that she would not be one of them. She would remain a human, a creature of flesh and blood, which would inevitably expire when the time came.

Immortality, though intriguing, never enticed her, and in her twenty-four years of life, Giselle had never yearned to live forever.

   After finding the books that she wanted, Hester left the library, leaving her alone in that eerily quiet space, where not even a rat's squeak could be heard. All that could be heard was her soft breathing, her, the only living creature in this vast, dead palace.

She sighed softly as she walked along, pushing the books into place, mindlessly plucking out the stray cobwebs. Truly, there was not much to do, and she had not lived for that long. Hester, who had only been a vampire for about fifty years, yearned for death with every step that she took, but Icarus, who was far older, never as much as uttered anything about dying. Did he genuinely like this life? Or, is he merely existing out of obligation?

Giselle could not tell. Once again, Icarus became an enigma that eluded her, a riddle that she could not solve.

Perhaps it was just a matter of time before something changed. Perhaps, in another hundred years or so, Icarus would grow bored and decide that it was time. Alas, she would be long gone by then. She would not know how the story would end. She would not be there when the last page was being written.

But now, she was still alive, and she could influence the pages that were currently being written. And she could read the previous chapters. Chapters that probably contained the answers to all her questions and curiosities.

    If Icarus's life was a book, it must be a big, thick one, with dusty covers and weathered pages. A tome. Bound in leather and written in pitch-black ink, Giselle thought. Perhaps something like this one.

She picked up the big, heavy book, that heaved down on her arms like a pile of bricks. The cover was far too aged for her to be able to comprehend the words, and when she tried to flip through the pages, a cloud of dust rose in the air, filling the air.

Giselle coughed, squeezing her eyes to prevent the dust from entering them. She dropped the book down on the floor, still coughing until her eyes teared up.

     After a few moments, she managed to calm herself, wiping her eyes. She sunk to the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in her palms. She cleared her throat once more, before looking at the book, still splayed on the floor.

It was a whole lot less dusty now, Giselle noted. As she picked it up, something slipped out, landing soundlessly against the cold hard stone. She sighed as she bent down again to pick it up.

It was a bookmark, tattered and old, but that was no surprise to her. Everything in this palace is old, though not all is tattered. The edges were frayed and yellowed, and the pressed flowers that had been stuck to the back of the bookmark disintegrated immediately once exposed to air.

    There were only two words written on it. A name that Giselle did not recognize.

      "Rosamund FitzAlan," she murmured softly, squinting hard. "Who even is Rosamund FitzAlan?"

A sudden knock upon the door caused her to jump violently to her feet, the bookmark almost slipping out of her hands. "Who is it?" she asked aloud, her voice cracking as she spoke the last word.

      "It is me!" came a familiar, silky voice. Theophilus.

Giselle swallowed the lump in her throat as she quickly placed the book back on the shelf, but the bookmark went into her pocket, where it would stay as she went off to aid Theophilus Fletcher.