Summary: The defender of Hogwarts, a fifth-year student, Morana (â19), doesn't feel the taste of victory, but the pain of responsabilities tied to the ancient magic. After Professor Fig's death, prof. Sharp was supposed to take on the role of her mentor. Not because he wanted to, but because others had refused... Why?
LINK TO THE AUROR & THE DEVIL [here] (FULLY FINISHED)
Summary: Rilla and Aesop Sharp first met when Aesop was just beginning his career. Later their fates crossed second time while Sharp was a 30-year old, talented, ambitious, Auror obedient to the Ministry of Magic... and Rilla was accused of murdering her husband.
LINK TO THE Whispers of the Sea [here] (IN PROGRES)
Rilla' character
Red Dead Redemption/Witcher/Others oriented fiction:
Peculiar stories written by Arthur Morgan. Short, funny tales, mixed AU. What if our cowboy met a Witcher? Ghosts? Aliens? The world he lives in is already full of secrets and sometimes glitches...
LINK TO ARTHUR MORGAN's MOST PECULIAR TALES FROM THE TRAIL [HERE] (IN PROGRESS)
Stand alone:
Those stories can be read without any particular order- mostly funny, cozy fluff.
đ Part 1 The Aelf on the shelf (fluff)
That last day before Christmas, potion master Aesop Sharp becomes the victim of a very tricky potion brewed by Garreth Weasley and... Becomes as small as an elf. Will this Christmas be merry for him this year?
đ Part 2 Count sheep, professor (fluff) in progress
Will there be ONE normal lesson with Garreth? The year had just begun and Mrs Weasley turned the whole class to flock of sheep. Professor Sharp has to find each and every student. It won't be easy. The flock is scattered, happily eating grass across Highlands.
Rating: Mature (graphic violence, psychological trauma, drowning scene, death of a partner, emotional breakdown, body horror elements, intense distress)
Warnings: Death of a close companion (Nick), extreme physical injury, near-drowning, magical combat (Auror-level spells including Avada Kedavra reference), torture implication, emotional collapse, hallucination/delirium, captivity/restraint, selkie violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and suffering
Summary:
Aesop Sharp investigates a coastal smuggling case involving selkie skins and ritualistic sea offerings, uncovering a brutal poaching operation... When Aurors' mission fails, rescued by Rilla, a powerful and dangerous selkie tied to the case, Aesop survives but is left physically and emotionally shattered. Awakening in St Mungoâs, he is forced to confront both the failure of the mission and the devastating personal cost of the investigation, while his uneasy connection with Rilla lingers in the aftermath.
Aesop, now under the guise of a rather likeable old grandfather, cursed under his breath and kicked one of the loose cobblestones paving the main street of Scarborough. Hunching in on himself and shielding his face from the cold wind with the flap of his cloak, he cast a sharp glance, sour as a wasp, at the buildings inhabited by people who were evidently bound by a conspiracy of silence. A curtain in one of the windows shifted. He was being watched. Hardly surprising, considering that a casual conversation with the local witches and wizards, initially very pleasant and friendly, had suddenly veered onto tracks that were clearly a taboo subject around here. From a traveller who had been something of a curiosity, within the span of a few moments he had become an outsider who had been gently advised to leave as soon as possible.
It was the first time he had encountered something like this, some sort of bond, something akin to an Unbreakable Vow... Heh, he had almost completely turned the magical part of the town against himself... The Muggles had not been eager to talk either. He snorted and continued on his way.
All because he had brought up the subject of the "benevolent spirit" that had been haunting this area for some time now... A being bordering on divinity, to whom several local men, as though chosen, secretly offered fish and pearls in exchange for the protection of women and children and safe catches for themselves... Only they knew the truth; the rest of the town merely knew that they went to beseech the sea for good fortune, and nothing more, whereas every few days those men would walk out into the night in silence, carrying armfuls of food and, not infrequently, valuables, through complete darkness, guided by signs carved into the sharp coastal rocks that glimmered in the moonlight... And then they would quite literally vanish into nothingness.
Questions about the purpose of these expeditions were still explained in a fairly matter-of-fact and even friendly manner: that "it's tradition", that "they're making an offering to the Sea Goddess". When asked the next questionâwhy this tradition was only a few weeks oldâthe answers grew noticeably colder; they claimed that it had always existed, only it had been forgotten, and recently "they had remembered it again"... Digging deeper into the matter, and especially delicately suggesting the presence of a selkie, did not end well. The sailors, both Muggles and wizards alike, quite plainly told him, and quote, to "fuck off back to the city and spin your ridiculous tales there and find something useful to do."
He would have had to grab one of them by force and pour Veritaserum down his throat... The problem was that his mission was not about the selkie... Well, not directly. The selkie had most likely come here for the same reason they had. In a shop on Nocturne Alley, the heads of two of her "sisters" had been sold... Not the most valuable prize, though still an extraordinarily valuable one... Nick had managed to find out that it had merely been an advance payment. There could have been more shrunken heads, and, alongside them, the nearly priceless pelts of the Sea Shepherds... One of the rarest magical artefacts in existence; a single lock of their fur could set a merchant up for life.
Aesop cleared his throat and felt a bubbling sensation in his stomach that heralded the imminent end of the Polyjuice Potion's effects. He quickened his pace, ducking into some alleyway so that he could return to his own form. At least being back in his own skin again brought him a small measure of pleasure...
His thoughts returned to the investigation. Nick had been uncertain whether the dealer was acting alone. They already knew where he wasâhidden aboard a miserable, leaking hulk, its bow sunk deep into the water at the grey end of the harbour... At first they had suspected someone entirely different, an old local trader, but now Aesop was certain it was somebody new, someone trying to buy his way into the good graces of the underworld and make a name for himself by offering "something extra". They had only ever seen one person moving around the vessel. They had watched for days and nights. The conclusion, therefore, was simple.
How had the selkies ended up in his hands?
The man flirted with women in taverns; that seemed to be how he cast his net. He slipped Veritaserum into their drinks, and when he did not receive the answer he wantedâthat is, a "yes" to the question of whether they were selkiesâhe lost interest and, erasing the encounter from the victim's memory, went looking for the next one... Recently, he had been running out of options; even the fact that he had managed to catch any at all bordered on a miracle... Perhaps he had met the first one by accident; perhaps she had told him where to find another, and that was how the idea for this enterprise had occurred to him... It seemed he would soon be leaving Scarborough. Lately, he had accelerated his stockpiling of supplies, and according to the local barman, the fellow had said he would be setting sail tonight... The perfect moment to catch him.
Aesop found it strange only that, given it was certain a selkie was operating in the area, he had never crossed paths with her, as though his modus operandi was limited entirely to a familiar pattern... All he would have had to do was use a little potion to extract information from the fishermen about where the bloodthirsty selkie, most likely hunting him, was lurking; he could have had her served up on a platter... Evidently, she was waiting for him to make some move, probably for the same moment the Aurors were waiting forâuntil he sailed out of the harbour and into open waters, where escape would not come easily.
Strange... As though she knew exactly how the poacher operated, and so had wrapped only those men around her finger who could provide her with protection... She was acting cautiously... evidently taught by the mistakes of the past. Certainly.
He frowned and bit his lip as a wave of anger washed over him. So she had not wrapped only him around her finger... She had probably slept with them and told them impossible stories, softening the hearts of pathetic fools... Certainly... Certainly... And then, once she got what she wanted, she would disappear...
"Typical Rilla..." he hissed venomously under his breath, leaning against the wall where he was meant to meet Nick. He had a feeling that this night would not be an easy one. Not only would they have to capture a criminal, but they would also have to deal with a selkie bent on dispensing her own justice. Stubborn. Dangerous. Doing things her own way. "Fucking brilliant," Aesop muttered, before being pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Nick's voice.
Now all they had to do was wait for nightfall.
***
There were two of them.
Twins.
They took turns coming ashore, expecting they were being watched by Aurors. Together, they captured their victims, together they prepared them.
And there were also two gleaming seal skins.
There were perpetrators, there was evidence.
The case solved, by Aesop Sharp.
It did not matter.
He was alone.
Aesop fished that thought out of the boiling tangle that roared in his mind, and tears began to run down his cheeks.
He lay on the planks of the hold, Petrified, facing the wooden ceiling stained with blood, touching the rigid, dead body of Nick lying beside him. Through his clothes he could feel how it slowly grew cold, and how the fabric soaked up the boyâs blood, which seeped from numerous crimson stains on his white shirt, visible only from the corner of his right eye... After a moment it reached him that his left eye saw nothing but darkness. He could do nothing, he breathed shallowly, barely, barely. He could not scream, and yet the scream and pain seemed to fill him from within like air in a balloon, swelling more and more until it was bursting at the seams, unable to bring relief. Adrenaline only seemingly kept him together, and he began to accept the thought that... this was the end.
He began to recall his childhood, his family, even his sister, and that he would do anything to see her again, even though he truly could not stand her. Every second dragged on; he was not sure whether he wanted to desperately grasp the next and the next, prolonging his life, or whether he would rather have it over with and no longer suffer.
The poachers stood nearby, satisfied with their work, and calmly talked about how they now had not only selkie skins and the heads of other creatures, but would also add the shrunken heads of Aurorsâand not just anyone, Aesop Sharp himself. They took his and Nickâs wands like trophies, hiding them inside their coats, then lifted Nickâs stiff body and, drawing a sharp knife, placed it against the boyâs throat... First he was to go as a test, perhaps to humiliate and break Aesop even further.
They looked straight into his terrified face, laughing and mocking him, then raised the sharp tool, aiming for Nickâs throat.
A tremendous force shook the boat and turned it upside down like a childâs toy.
Aesop was dazed as he slammed into the ceiling, and after him came the cargo that had until then been on the floor. Dark artefacts, cursed objects, potions... He was thrown helplessly among shards of glass and objects that struck and cut him, and when he heard âMAELSTROM!!!â torn from the lungs of one of the poachers, he instinctively took a deep breath.
A wave of freezing water hit him, again robbing him of consciousness for a few seconds.
When he opened his good eye, he saw that he was suspended in a black depth lit only by pale beams of the full moon, barely forcing their way through the waterâs surface. A few feet away the wreck slowly sank, surrounded by a cloud of air bubbles, shedding fragments of wood and cargo...
He felt the spell holding him motionless slowly weakening and twitched, trying to move his legs to swim to the surface. A terrible pain tore through his body and, with the last of his strength, he held a small pocket of air in his lungs so it would not escape... He struggled, but the pain slowly began to darken his mind again. He was trapped...
Suddenly he heard a ghostly female voice, mournful like a funeral song... Singing? A squeal? A scream? So loud it felt as if the sound made his stomach and bones vibrate...
Nearby several flashes burst; with difficulty he turned his head toward them, feeling he was losing consciousness.
The poachers were still alive, their heads covered in air bubbles, alarmed they thrashed in the water, firing blindly into the dark.
From the darkness, in a fraction of a second, a silver figure emerged and sank its teeth into one of them, tearing his throat to shreds. The second brother froze, trembling so violently he could not properly aim his wand; no spell could leave his lungs.
Before him hovered Rilla, wrapped in a veil of white hair and scarlet blood mixed with water; her green eyes glowed against her grey, almost graphite-speckled skin. Looking straight at the poacher, she smiled darkly and casually released her brotherâs body from her hands, letting it sink into the black depths, as if saying: âsee how easy that was.â
The man swung his wand.
The woman smoothly drew the harpoon she carried at her belt, holding her sealskin around her waist, and with one swift motion of her muscular arms hurled it toward him.
âAVADAââ
The blade pierced the poacherâs chest with such force that it pinned him to the wreck, sending up a cloud of blood.
The selkie moved toward Aesop, who recoiled in fear.
He saw only her sharp fangs and glowing eyes.
Then there was darkness.
***
He was slowly regaining consciousness, which drifted among thoughts and events, completely lost and tangled. Nothing he saw or heard made senseâfragments of memories, faces, voices, screams... his screams? Possibly, because he felt pain so terrible he was certain the selkie still had her teeth clamped around his leg. He tried to drive her away, he saw her eyes... he was afraid. Someone was holding his arms, they were restrained. Liquids were poured into his mouth, which he immediately vomited. He cried, he begged for death.
Eventually the chaos in his mind subsided. Silence came, even though the pain did not leave him. He breathed with difficulty, gasping for every breath with effort.
Very slowly he opened his right eye; although the light was dimmed it still hurt, and for a moment he could not recognize where he was. His nose told him enough: the smell of clean sheets, medicines, and the distinctive bland soup meant St Mungoâs Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where he had been more than once after being battered by wild beasts.
Sweat ran down his forehead; he was feverish, he did not know what to do to escape the pain. He twitched instinctively and realized he had been tied to the bed. Turning his head, he saw himself wrapped in white bandages from which healing herbs protruded, while blood seeped through them. He quickly assessed that the combination of plants and potions on the table should have completely cut off sensation, including pain... and yet he still felt as if his left leg were being cut to pieces. He grimaced, trying to control it, breathing shallowly, trying ânot to think about it.â He was increasingly panickedâwhy was the pain not disappearing?
He heard rustling, as if someone had shifted under a blanket in the next bed.
âAh, Nick... we botched this job... oh well,â he muttered toward it, trying to sound as roguish as possible, masking his suffering. Out of the corner of his good eye he saw a blurred figure approaching him. âThe soup here gets you back on your feet quickly, trust me... donât worry... Iâll sort myself out too...â
âHeâs dead, Aesop.â
The sad female voice made the hair on his body stand on end. Fear tightened his throat; he did not know whether it was because those words reminded him of what had truly happened, or because Rilla was standing beside his bed.
âIâm sorry.â
Aesop bit his lips, trying not to cry, clenching his teeth with all his strength. It was entirely his fault.
âOnly I knew their secret...â she said quietly, as if she had sensed his thoughts, stepping a little closer. The pale candlelight made her graphite-speckled skin and white hair glow with an eerie light. Her eyes shone with a spooky glow as they examined the bandages on his bleeding leg. âYou never stood a chance...â
Her gaze turned to him.
She no longer resembled the thin, delicate beauty she once was. She was now rather full-figured; her curves emphasized by thick fur worn like a cloak, tightly belted at the waist. The neckline revealed large breasts, and sleeves made of seal flippers exposed strong, muscular arms that would shame many a strongman. Her small hands, ending in sharp black nailsâvery seal-likeâpulled aside the dressing on Aesopâs left cheek. He stiffened in unease, remembering what she had done to the poachers. She grimaced at the wound and, without asking, leaned in to lick it.
âGet away, selkie!â the wizard hissed, but she did not react at all.
âYouâll lose your eye if I donât. You know that,â she said calmly.
It was a fair argument. Aesop was proud, but not enough to sacrifice his sight. He knew that if he still could not see despite the potions, things were bad. A powerful curse must have hit himâhe could not remember anymore. After a moment he nodded, embarrassed, squeezing his eyes shut.
âWhy did you come here?â he hissed, swallowing tears as he felt the warmth of her body close.
She said nothing.
He felt her breath on his skin, fish-like and unpleasant, and a moment later the warm wet tip of her tongue. The touch was soothing, but when she pressed its full length against his woundâcatlike yet rough as a raspâand dragged it across it, Aesop howled in pain. The wound burned like living fire, but after a moment the pain began to fade and he could blink again, slowly regaining his sight. A heavy sleepiness came over him; despite the pain, a pleasant warmth pulled him toward unconsciousness. He fought it, seeing Rilla pull the seal hood over her head, about to leave. Noâhe did not want to be alone.
âDonât go...â he whispered, and lost his strength.
Rating: Teen and Up (emotional themes, recovery from illness, slow-burn romance, sexual tention, strong language)
Warnings: Near-death experience, references to illness, emotional distress, homophobia, Blood, death, violence, mentioned animal violence, sexual tention, intimate moments, non-graphic and emotionally focused.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan / Albert Mason (slow burn)
Characters: Arthur Morgan, Albert Mason, Charles Smith
Summary: Arthur Morgan was supposed to die. Instead, Charles Smith finds him and gives him something far more dangerous than survival -a second life. Hiding in Saint Denis ,Arthur finds unexpected safety with Albert Mason -and feelings he never planned to face. Arthur must decide what this new life is worth, and who he is willing to fight for.
Any Albert Mason's fans here? :-D
Arthur still tired very quickly, each step mercilessly stealing what little strength he had left. Because of that, he moved at a slow, careful pace, stopping now and then to sit on a bench or lean against a low wall. He supported himself with a cane like some feeble old man, which both scorched his pride and filled him with fearâbecause there was no trace left of the strength and hardiness he once had. Those pauses were necessary to calm his rasping, uneven breath and the dizziness that followed it; thankfully, those spells were growing less frequentâŠ
He wiped the sweat from his brow and sank down with relief onto the nearest bench in a small square, where a woman was playing the violin. The melody, though undeniably beautiful, clashed painfully with the swarm of thoughts in his head. Chaos still ruled there. He still didnât understand how it had happenedâhow, just a few weeks ago, he had all but lost the fight for his own life, and now he was in Saint Denis⊠The sun was shining, it was neither too cold nor too warm, people shuffled along the street, and the air buzzed with conversation and the clatter of horse hooves striking cobblestone. He stared at them dully⊠completely detached from reality, unable to grow accustomed to it. Fear still lived in his heart; there were moments when, for no clear reason at all, it would suddenly speed up, pumping adrenaline into his veins, as if ready to flee or fight at the mere sight of someoneâs face that struck him as strangely familiarâŠ
He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt and lit one, casting wary glances at the people around him, as though expecting someone to recognize him and shatter this pleasant dream.
âI followed your trail. I knew youâd need help. Youâre my brotherâŠâ Charlesâs calm voice echoed in his head. âWhen I found you⊠you were barely breathing. You fell into a sleepâhell, you were almost already on the other side. I found shelter so you could wait for death with some dignity, not get eaten by coyotes⊠And thenâŠâ
Arthur lowered his gaze, looking at his trembling hands, bruised and marked with scars, and his mind slowly drifted back into memory:
âYou were born again⊠I donât know how else to put it. Iâve never seen anything like it,â Charles murmured, sitting at a wooden table and carving into a piece of wood. From time to time he set his work aside and let his eyes wander around the dugout where he had hidden himself and the sick Arthur.
âWhat abou Micah, Dutch... It donât change a damn thingâŠâ Arthur rasped from beneath the warm deerskin, tears pooling in his eyes. âNot me. Not my story. Iâm still a bad manâŠâ
âQuite the opposite,â Charles shrugged, continuing to carve. After a moment of silence, he added in a matter-of-fact tone: âArthur Morgan is dead. Leave Micah and Dutch for the living's judgment... We'll handle this.â
He brushed the wood shavings from his knees and showed Arthur his workâa wooden epitaph crowned with his name. Arthur swallowed hard, a shiver running through him at the macabre sight⊠A few moments more, and if not for Charles, it likely would have been the truth.
âTime for me to go. Youâll manage.â Smith stood, slung his bow across his back, picked up the bag lying on the dirt floor, then took a wooden cross and a shovel in hand. âIâll burn your old clothes. Hereâthese are newâŠâ He nodded toward a simple, patched-up set of clothes hanging on a chair, the kind worn by laborers in Saint Denis. With the tip of his boot, he nudged a pair of slightly worn leather riding boots, signaling they were for him too, and continued, âAnyone I meet, Iâll tell them I buried you⊠And truth be toldâitâll be true.â He lowered his eyes, stepped closer to Arthurâs bed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. âI buried my friend deep in my soul, along with the memory of what he did and how he lived. Iâll remember Arthur Morgan forever. And you? Youâre someone else now. Someone reborn. I can see it in your eyes⊠Freedom. Old gang members or our enemies could look you straight in the face and not even recognize you. And⊠donât look for us. Live. Be free. Be well.â
That was when Arthur understood he was seeing Charles for the last time. He thanked him and said goodbye. It was briefâmaybe because everything that was happening was too much for him to fully grasp in that moment.
He still felt a great loss, a longing for his âfamily,â for the gang, for John, Sadie, and the others⊠He knew Charles hadnât abandoned him; he had wanted to keep him safe, believing that far from his old life, heâd be better off. It was hard. Arthur couldnât find his footing. He owned nothing except a few gold nuggets Charles had left in his pocketâjust enough to buy some basic necessities and catch a train to Saint Denis, to start everything anew and recover closer to civilization, if only so food would be easier to come by. He planned to buy a horse soon and move to Deer Cottage⊠And then what?
He could look for Maryâbut did he really want that? Did he want to see her father again and fall once more into the trap of conflict? That would only mean running⊠and then what? Maryâs father wouldnât let it go; sooner or later heâd catch up to themâprobably kill him. It was pointless. Arthur didnât even know whether he had ever truly loved her, or merely the semblance of a normal life heâd had beside her. The love was gone now, faded into a blurred, painfully sharp memory. Love shouldnât be only pain, weight, fear, and endless arguments. He longed for closeness, warmth, understanding⊠He dreamed of tearing himself free from uncertainty and being loved for who he was.
But who he was now?
He let out a deep sigh, adjusted the bag of groceries on his shoulder, stubbed out his cigarette, and was just about to stand when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure seated in a melancholic pose on a bench across the square. The man was staring toward the trees where birds had made their perch, utterly detached from the world around him.
Albert Mason.
A pleasant twinge stirred in Arthurâs stomach at the sight of someone who had always treated him with genuine kindness. Maybe this is a sign, he thought, that itâs time to look for friends not among those I tried to impress, not among those I had to chase afterâbut among people who are gentle, soft-hearted.
He glanced down at himself and brushed the dust from his clothes. He knew he looked only marginally better than a common beggar, but there was no reason to be filthy on top of that. Leaning on his cane, he began to shuffle slowly toward Mr. Mason. With every step, the smile on his face grew wider, for his memories of their previous encounters were among the very few truly optimistic ones in his life.
When he drew close, the man was still wrapped up in his own thoughts and didnât notice Arthur at all. Albertâs large brown eyes were full of sorrow, and that immediately set the cowboy on edge. Something was wrong.
âEverything all right, Mr. Mason?â Arthur asked softly, a hint of shyness in his voiceâhe didnât want to impose.
Albert blinked and looked up at Arthurâs face, failing to recognize him at first.
âM-Mr. Morgan?â he whispered so quietly one might swear his lips barely moved. Then, in a sudden motion, he wiped a tear from his cheek and lunged forward, wrapping Arthur in an embrace so unexpected that Morgan stiffened, unsure how to react. The closeness of another manâs bodyâespecially one who wasnât trying to kill himâfelt strange. He patted Albert uncertainly on the shoulder, silently praying the moment would pass.
Mason finally stepped back and removed his hat, kneading it nervously in his hands.
âHow very good it is to see youâŠâ he murmured in a velvety tone. âPerhaps you would care to visit my studio? For coffee? I have soup, perhaps some tea? There may even be cake⊠Do you have somewhere to sleep in Saint Denis?â
âOh⊠I donât know⊠I donât want to be a botherâŠâ Arthur muttered, stunned by the sheer flood of words and concern.
âThat is quite beyond discussion!â Mason declared. Taking in Arthurâs condition, he set his hat back on his head and, in the blink of an eye, slung Arthurâs arm over his own shoulder to support him. Arthur meant to protest, but quickly realized he was too weakâand even if he tried to pull away, he doubted heâd manage. So he allowed himself to be led, promising himself it would be just this once.
Mason glanced around nervously, as if to be sure no one could overhear, and added in a conspiratorial whisper, âThe Sheriff was at my place today⊠Not that Iâve committed any misdemeanors,â he hurried to explain. The way he said it immediately amused Arthur, and a smile tugged at his lipsâhis heart felt oddly lighter at the thought of this silly photographer. He kept his face serious, though, and listened on.
ââŠHe commissioned photographs⊠He spoke of you, Mr. MorganâŠâ Albert lowered his voice even further. âSaid that your grave had been found, and⊠andâŠâ
âEasy there, Mr. Mason. Iâm quite all right,â Arthur said gently. The sorrow in Albertâs voice and his worried gaze threw him off balance. He cleared his throat and continued, âWell⊠did he say anything else about me?â
Albert lowered his eyes and remained silent until they reached one of the tenement buildings. He unlocked the door and helped the cowboy up to the attic apartment where he lived.
âPlease,â Albert said, gesturing him inside and carefully closing the door behind them. âShould you ever wish to visit and find me absent, the spare key is kept in the flowerpot outsideâŠâ
Arthur looked around and nodded in approval. The attic was beautifully arrangedâtasteful, not excessive. Though he knew little of photography beyond the occasional pictures he himself had once taken, he could tell that most of the photographerâs savings had gone into equipment, which occupied a substantial portion of the sitting room. There was a faint artistic disorder about the place: big piano almost covered by hundreds of books on wild animals, those which had no place in a massive library, photographic chemicals lining the kitchenette shelves where spices ought to be, and the only truly valuable itemâa gilded clockâleaned against a tripod-mounted camera. What fascinated Arthur most were the walls, plastered with photographs, seeming to bow beneath the weight of so many frames.
âWowâŠâ he whispered to himself, admiring images from corners of the world heâd never even dreamed of.
Meanwhile, Mason hung up his hat, smoothed his hair, and went to make tea.
âDo sit down and make yourself at home, Mr. Mor-gaaaan,â he called warmlyâonly to yelp as he scalded himself with boiling water through sheer inattention.
âNeed a hand?â Arthur offered.
He was quickly refused, which was probably for the best. The climb up the stairs had cost him more strength than heâd realized, and dizziness washed over him again. He sat carefully on the very edge of a handsome armchair, mindful not to dirty it.
The apartment was quiet and cozy. Somewhere in the distance, a tram bell rang faintly from a street away, accompanied by the gentle ticking of a clock in a bedroom beyond the wall. The floor creaked beneath Masonâs steps as he moved about the kitchenette. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. Damn, this peace felt goodâif only for a while.
Albert returned with a tray holding a slice of cake, two cups, and a kettle, setting them on the coffee table before Arthur.
âIf you find yourself hungry, do say soâŠâ
âRemarkable photographs,â Arthur said, taking a sip of tea. âAll those exotic places⊠Whatâre they like?â
Albert choked and hastily set his cup down, darting glances around the room.
âW-Well, um⊠I couldnât rightly tell youâŠâ
Arthur blinked, confused, and was about to ask for clarification when Mason preempted him.
âIâŠâ he muttered, searching for the proper words. âI am, in truth, a city man through and throughâsave for my small, relatively safe excursions in pursuit of nature. These⊠these photographs are my twin brotherâs. He fell ill during one of his expeditions, in India. Shortly before his death, he feared his equipment would be lost and sent it to me by post⊠He was in the midst of creating a documentary series. He traveled the world, into zones of conflict⊠The series was meant to conclude here. IâŠâ His voice faltered. âI am no great artist, Mr. Morganâmore a craftsman. My brother encouraged me to take up photography myself, claimed that âthe talent runs in our blood,â but I kept my animal photographs hidden away in drawers, and took commissions for payâsafe income, you see. Portraits, dull things... I assisted Alan mostly on the technical side: repairing equipment, developing the film he sent me. I wonât deny that I envied him⊠And then, when Alan was goneâŠâ He drew a deep breath and lowered his head, falling silent for a moment.
Arthur, his stomach twisted tight with sympathy, gave him time to continue.
âI wished to finish what he began. I know that is what he would have wanted⊠I needed some purpose, at least. I abandoned my old studio and followed what my heart dictated. One might say it was a âcalling.ââ
He touched his chest and looked down.
âIâm real sorry about your brother,â Arthur murmured softly, meeting Albertâs eyes with genuine compassion. âI understandâŠâ
âYou have siblings?â Albert asked.
Arthur smiled faintly.
âYeah. A few brothers and sisters⊠not by blood, but I love âem like we had the same mother. I just want âem to make it out okayâthatâs all I ever wanted.â
âI did not realize gang members were so closely bound,â Albert admitted with childlike honesty. âI had assumed it was merely businessâŠâ
At first, Arthur felt a sting of offenseâbut there was no malice in the photographerâs eyes, only curiosity and sympathy.
âYeah. We are,â he said quietly. âEven though we were outlaws and did awful things⊠we told ourselves the world was rotten, not us. That we were fightinâ for freedom, for somethinâ right⊠Often manipulated,â he added bitterly, thinking of Dutch. Then he softened his tone, looking straight into Masonâs large hazel eyes, filled with a kindly naivety that both charmed and fascinated him. Albert could have made a fortune by telling the world that Arthur Morgan had survivedâbut Arthur trusted he wouldnât.
âMr. Mason⊠you know who I am. And truly, if you ainât comfortable with that, Iâll go. I donât want to bring trouble to your door.â
âNo, I do not judge you,â the photographer stopped him. âAnd I thank you for your candor, though my questions are at times most ill-chosenâI mean you no offense. I must confess, hearing the Sheriffâs words today quite unsettled me. I found myself short of breath⊠You see, I trip over my own feet and possess not a grain of self-preservation. Such traits might pass unnoticed in a sheep from Valentine, but not in a Saint Denis scholar of the Mason name. You are among the few who have ever truly appreciated me, and for that I am profoundly gratefulâŠâ
Arthur offered him a warm smile to show he needed nothing more for now. Feeling emotion tighten his throat, he cleared it and changed the subject.
âSo⊠you still photograph nature?â
âOne might say so, though Iâve taken a hiatus from the truly wild,â Mason laughed. âAt present, it is more⊠domesticated nature. The niche is quite lucrativeâsufficient, at least, until I conceive my next project. I shall show you!â
He led an intrigued Arthur into a darkened room, first gesturing to a staged set with a lit miniature throne against a painted palace backdrop, then to a cage where a small creature slept, a bow tied around its neck.
âSo⊠you take pictures of⊠uh⊠that?â Arthur asked, bewildered, uncertain what exactly was in the cage.
âOf the pets belonging to the local elite,â Mason explained. âDecidedly safer.â Not convinced, Arthur took two steps back. He opened the cage door and reached for the mysterious creature, which resembled a black, wingless bat. âHere boy, come nowâŠâ
âWhat in the hell is that thing?â Arthur grimaced.
âOh! A pedigreed Affenpinscher!â Albert scooped it up and presented it proudly. âThe Sheriffâs dog.â
Arthur retreated another step.
âI ainât holdinâ that thing,â he laughed, staring at it.
âOh, do not be absurdâthis little fellow is far too small to harm anyââ
The pinscher snapped onto Albertâs left hand and dangled there.
Albert screamed. Arthur lunged forward, trying to pry the animal loose.
âBAD DOG, DAMN IT! LET GO!â he roared as they wrestled with the furious beast. The problem was, they couldnât hurt itâand without force, there was no getting it off.
Arthur had a desperate idea. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a piece of venison, waving it in front of the dogâs nose.
The little monster leapt for it and began tearing at it in a frenzy. Arthur grabbed it by the scruff, and Albert shoved it back into the cage and slammed it shut. Both men sagged with relief.
The photographer lifted his bitten hand, staring dully as blood dripped from it, his face turning pale, legs weakening...
âMr. Mason, donât you dare faint!â Arthur shouted. He quickly pulled bandages and herbs from his pocket, staunched the bleeding, and guided the dazed Mason back into the room. They collapsed onto the couch, breathing hard, still shaken.
âMy affection for nature is evidently platonic, Mr. Morgan⊠I am hopeless,â Mason sobbed.
âOh⊠that ainât true,â Arthur said, stifling a laugh so as not to offend him, patting his back. âYour photos turned out real fineâI seen âem in the museum. Ainât no reason to quit if youâre good at it, right? Maybe when Iâm back on my feet, weâll plan somethinâ together. I could use some fresh air and movement. But I get to pick the animals, all right? Ever been fishinâ?â
Masonâs eyes lit up with hope.
Arthur shaked his hand, rose slowly, and thanked him for the hospitality before making his way toward the door.
âMy home is always open to you, should you need anything at allâŠâ
âIâll be stoppinâ by, Mr. Mason. Really⊠it was good seeinâ you again. Iâll be lookinâ for some kind of work soonâsomethinâ to do. Iâd be obliged if you heard of anythinâ. Now that everythingâs changed⊠I need a purpose too.â
âWellâŠâ Mason began shyly, then admitted in a somber, very serious tone, âIt is possible I may have something, for⊠I am ashamed to say I am having some difficulty with a certain individualâŠâ
âSomeone threateninâ you?â Arthur asked, alarmed.
Mason let out a short laugh, though something still gnawed at him.
âOh, you have no ideaâŠâ
âWell then, maybe I could, yâknow⊠have a proper talk with âem.â
âAre you quite certain, Mr. Morgan? It is⊠a rather difficult matter. Like a contest with GoliathâŠâ
Arthur shrugged. Piece of cake.
âSure.â
***
âĂponine! I know youâre in there! OPEN UP!â Arthur bellowed, pounding on the barn door.
Freezing rain mixed with sleet lashed against the thick leather of his coat. It was the middle of one of those darker December nights, when the moonlight was trapped behind a curtain of storm clouds rumbling ominously, and the streetlamps in this deserted, working-class district of Saint Denis were not working. Arthur swore under his breath and, with a hard shove of his shoulder, forced his way inside. He listened carefully.
âI know youâre here! And donât forget, I used to be part of a gangâŠâ he muttered, placing his steps cautiously.
âA gang? Tu es impossible!â came a thin, girlish voice, followed by an ironic laugh.
From behind a barrel standing not far from Arthur, a small head peeked out, almost swallowed by an oversized hat, from beneath which only the very ends of black braids were visible. The girl adjusted the hat and stood up, then straightened her dress, brushing off dust and hay, and walked up to Arthur with her chin pushed forward defiantly. She stopped, crossed her arms, looked at him indulgently, and waved her hand dismissively.
âArthur, I can see youâre starting to run out of ideas on how to frighten me⊠laisse tomber.â
For a year now, Arthur had been unable to understand how such reserves of confidence and stubbornness could fit inside this freckled ten-year-old girl with ebony skin, barely tall enough to reach his waist and missing a few baby teeth. He rolled his eyes.
âHow many times do I gotta tell you not to swear in German,â he said, wagging his finger at her before motioning for her to follow him. âWeâre going. Your uncleâs worried⊠Itâs Christmas. You should be with your family at the table.â
âPremiĂšrement!â Ăponine raised one finger and stamped her foot, making no move to go anywhere. âThatâs French! And secondlyâŠâ She trailed off, lowering her gaze and pointing towards a dark corner. âI wonât leave her on her own.â
âOh noâŠâ Arthur groaned, rubbing his forehead and covering his eyes. And it had been shaping up to be such a nice, quiet evening on his ownâŠ
âLemme guess⊠Another animal. What is it this time? An injured cat, a dog, an alligator?â
âA horse,â she muttered.
âA horse? Where the hell did you get a horse from?â
The girl took Arthurâs hand and began leading him towards a massive grey Shire mare lying on a pile of hay, worn down and exhausted. As they walked, she explained in an agitated tone, tears welling up in her eyes.
âShe was pulling coal. Some idiot hit her⊠then again and again⊠I slipped under the fence, nobody saw me, I unhitched her from the cart⊠andâŠâ
âHa! You stole a horse!â Arthur exclaimed, amused, already picturing little, furious Ăponine riding bareback on a horse the size of a house. He felt a surge of pride, but immediately cleared his throat and corrected himself. âHow could you steal a horse, young lady!?â
âI am a free woman, and I can do as I please in the name of justice!â she hissed proudly.
âMhm.â Arthur shook his head, giving her a sharp look, then bent over the mare and administered the medicine he carried in his new shoulder bag. The horse quickly regained her strength and stood on her powerful hooves. Morgan patted her neck and clicked his tongue in approval. A beautiful animal. It would be a shame to give her back to the owner, really⊠Ăponine ought to learn to ride as well, and Shires, despite their size, were very gentle. Albert surely wouldnât mind⊠He already took both of them fishing, taught them simple things, showed them how to shoot at a target⊠The girl should know how to manage on her own, not just how to brush her hair.
âWell then⊠congratulations, Miss Mason,â he said, nodding with approval. âLooks like this is your first horse. If your uncle doesnât agree to pay for a stable, Iâll take her to Deer Cottage. But donât you ever vanish like that again. Had me trackinâ you like a cougarâfollowinâ seashells fallinâ outta your pockets. Iâm meant to watch you, not chase ghosts.â
âIâm sorry⊠It wonât happen again, Arthur,â she whispered.
âStealing ain't right,â he said sternly.
âAm I a bad person?â she asked seriously, a little frightened.
Arthur lifted her by the waist and settled her onto the horse, looking into her large hazel eyes, so very similar to Albertâsâhonest and sad. He laughed softly, touched by her innocence, and playfully adjusted her hat. He took a deep breath when he saw tears gathering in her eyes. The sight tore at his heart, his throat tightening.
âHey, hey⊠shhh,â he soothed her in a gentle voice, wiping away the first tear sliding down her cheek with his thumb. âYou? Not a chance. You did right. Hard thing to explain⊠and you already know youâre smarter than me. Sometimes you gotta act. Thing is, thereâs always a price. So tomorrow weâll talk to the man, tell him what happened, maybe lieeeeee...uumm⊠negotiate. Weâll pay him for the horse. Thatâs fair.â
He mounted the mare, steadying Ăponine so she wouldnât fall, and wrapped his own coat around her to keep her from getting wet. With a soft click of his tongue, he urged the mare forward, and she began walking slowly towards the Mason's house.
âChristmas without Papa isnât the same,â Ăponine admitted quietly.
âThat why you ran off?â
She shrugged uncertainly.
âI canât stand aunts, grandmother, and uncles⊠I hate them all,â she muttered, resting her head against Arthurâs arm. âThey always make me sit up straight and stay quiet. Theyâre so terribly⊠antiquatedâ
âOofâŠ' antiquatedâ!â Arthur snorted with laughter at such a refined word coming from a childâit was charming. At first glance she didnât resemble Albert much, clearly inheriting her motherâs Indian features, perhaps aside from those large, dreamy eyes. But they shared a talent for getting into trouble and spoke in exactly the same way. Every sentence sounded like a Greek philosopherâs lecture, or at least a university talkâyet never with arrogance. Everything laced with humour, honesty, and distance from themselves.
âAll kids your age talk like that,â Arthur asked wryly, âor is it just Miss Mason?â
âYoung women these days should express themselves in keeping with the nouveau siĂšcle,â she argued.
âDonât swear in Italian.â
âThatâs French, Arthur.â
He knewâbut he liked teasing her and wanted her to feel cleverer than him. Which she was. After a moment of silence, Ăponine confessed:
âUncle Albert invited you to dinner as well⊠He⊠he rather likes you⊠Iâd much prefer it if it were just you and us. I donât want to see anyone else today.â
Arthur felt a strange, pleasant twinge in his chest. He had only planned on dropping off presents⊠He hadnât expected Albert to invite him to the Christmas table. He had never spent Christmas like that. He didnât know how to react.
âThatâs real kind, but⊠I donât know, ĂponineâŠâ
âPlease, Arthur! Uncle Albert knew you wouldnât want to, so he told me to convince you. Please!â she pleaded, her large hazel eyes turning towards the cowboy. Arthur knew he couldnât refuse them. Both she and Albert had a gift for persuasion, and going to dinner sounded less dangerous than being used as bait for an alligator.
âUgh⊠alright. But we ride slow. Make sure everyone elseâs gone.â
âParfaitement!â Ăponine snapped her fingers as if sheâd just struck a very profitable deal. Arthur smiled to himself.
âDonât swear in Spanish.â
âItâs FRENCH!â
***
âGood Lord!â Mason cried out at the sight of Arthur standing in the doorway of the atelier, soaked to the bone, holding Ăponine fast asleep in his arms. He sprang up from his chair and hurried towards them.
âShhh, easy there, Mr Mason. I told you Iâd find her⊠Looks like we missed supper. Iâm real sorry,â Arthur said quietly, careful not to wake the girl, and gently passed her into her uncleâs anxious arms.
âThat doesnât matter. Nothing was missed. What matters is that sheâs safe and unharmedâŠâ Mason carried her to her room and laid her down in bed, tucking the quilt around her. Ăponine stirred for a moment and placed her small hand on Albertâs chin.
âI stole a horse,â she announced proudly in a drowsy voice, flashing her gap-toothed smile. Arthur, leaning against the doorframe, grabbed his head when he heard that. Damn it⊠âI wish Arthur would stay with us foreverâŠâ she whispered as her eyes grew heavy again.
âIâŠâ Albert began uncertainly, glancing at Arthur, then leaned down and murmured, âI love you...â into her ear, kissing the top of her head.
âJust so weâre clear, I had nothing to do with that, and Iâll straighten it out tomorrow, I promise,â Arthur defended himself in a hushed voice.
Albert placed Ăponineâs favourite stuffed buck toy beside her and, as they stepped out of the room, rested a hand on Arthurâs shoulder, meeting his eyes. He drew a deep breath and downed in one gulp a glass of liquor one of the guests had left on the dresser by the door.
âEasy now. Sheâs done worse before⊠She truly adores you... You have a very good influence on her, despite what you think... Thank you, Mr Morgan. We⊠we do seem to have a talent for getting ourselves into trouble...â
Arthur laughed openly. âHard not to notice after moreân a year⊠To be honest- I like kids. had a sonâ
A year and a few months. It struck him how at ease he felt here. Heâd often slept in the small spare room, spent many days with the Masonsâwatching over Ăponine, helping Albert. Heâd never expected their presence to become so dear to him. His longing for closeness seemed to have finally dropped anchor. On days when Albert was away and Arthur had some hunting job to do, time dragged. Heâd find himself thinking of the photographer, wondering what sort of mess he and Ăponine had landed in while he was gone. Together, they were a volatile mix.
He quickly changed out of his wet clothes into something âmore respectable,â sprayed some perfumes, combed his hair and shaved cleanâhe knew Christmas wasnât just any dayâand joined Mason at the table, sitting across from him. Albert had cleared away the familyâs plates, leaving only his own and Arthurâs.
âLifeâd be a whole lot duller without the Masons in it,â Arthur said lightly, drawing a smile and a small bow of the head from Albert, looking and acting like king himself, dressed in a fine perfectly tailored suit. âThank you for inviting me⊠I donât rightly know what to say.â
Even the woman I nearly married never treated me this kindly, he thought, suddenly realising how distant and unreal his old life now felt.
âA great deal has changed these past months,â he went on, while Albert listened closely, setting reheated turkey before him. âWorld feels⊠less awful somehow. Met good people. And the bad ones⊠hell, maybe I just donât draw âem anymore. Iâm glad you trusted me, Mr Mason. I⊠I didnât have much joy in my life. Always lived outside the law, treated like a leper. And you⊠I canât believe weâre sittinâ at the same table. That you wanted me here, on a day like thisâŠâ A tear welled in his eye; he wiped it away quickly. Mason smiled gently and, after a sip of whiskey, spoke in a subdued voice.
âMr Morgan, you are precisely the sort of person I would wish to have at my family table. Perhaps that is selfish of me, but truthfully, aside from Ăponine of course, you are the only person I would want close at such moments. Family, though numerous⊠aunts, cousins, Ăponineâs grandmother⊠ahâŠâ He sighed, resting his chin on his hands, his gaze wandering. âAfter Alanâs death, everything fell apart. Ăponine has no mother. She followed Alan on his travels, when he passed away and she had to live with my cousinâamid a world of rigid, thoroughly antiquated rulesâshe was unbearable. With me as well, for I am, as you know⊠too soft. The family photographs well, I daresay. But are we truly close?â He shook his head. âThey werenât even worried she was missing. Simply ignored itâlikely relieved she hadnât done anything foolish at the Christmas table while they ate in peace, and I was losing my mind. Her own family!⊠and youâŠâ He faltered, wiping a tear from his cheek. âI ramble. I simply donât know how to repay you. I'd give you everythââ He stopped, flushing. âI mean⊠someone like you deserves everything. And I⊠sometimes I wish I were like you. That I werenât such a failure.â
Arthur laughed warmly.
âAlbert,â he said softly. Mason stirred at the sound of his name. âAll my life I thought what I lacked was money. Turns out itâs this.â He gestured to the table. âYou. Ăponine. That matters a hell of a lot more to me.â He added quietly, âDonât worry about repayment. What I get from you is more than enough.â
Arthur lifted his hand, intending to place it over Albertâs to comfort him. He hesitated, surprised at the impulseâwhen Albert suddenly beat him to it, taking his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Arthur froze, heat rushing to his face. Masonâs touch was delicate, warm, his skin soft. It was⊠pleasant. Alarming, too. He shuddered as he realised he was holding another manâs handâand that it wasnât repulsive at all. Quite the opposite. When Albertâs thumb brushed lightly against his skin, Arthurâs face reddened further, sweat prickling along his brow. Mason had always had a habit of unknowingly crossing Arthurâs personal space, but this was different. A hand on the shoulder, an arm grabbed to show him something during a shootâthat was one thing. This was something else entirely. Something tender.
Albertâs eyes shone, still heavy with sadness. Whatever troubled him lingered. He squeezed Arthurâs hand once more, then withdrew and returned to his meal, leaving behind a strange emptiness and fading warmth in Arthurâs open palm. Arthur stared at it, dazed.
âAs for being a failure⊠thatâs not true,â Arthur added, still flushed, unaccustomed to such honest talk. He clenched his fist as though to keep Albert's warmth for longer, then hid his hand, uneasy and shaken by the closeness. âYouâve got uncommon empathy and kindness. Youâre clever, articulate, sensitive. Thatâs what that lil rebel girl needs, too. I can teach Ăponine to ride and shootâbut I canât teach her morals. I lose my way there myself. Youâre a good man, Mason.â
âPerhaps when we look at one another, we see what we fail to recognise in ourselves,â the photographer replied, lifting his wine glass for a small sip. âOr else weâre mad.â
âThat muchâs certain,â Arthur smiled, and returned to his supper.
The conversation drifted to lighter matters. Both had heard the rumours surrounding Charles ChĂątenay and his latest scandals; it turned out theyâd both met him under strange circumstances and somehow become acquaintances. Charles was due to arrive in Saint Denis with a new exhibition, and they planned to attend. Albert hoped to collaborate with him againâpatiently explaining to Arthur what fauvism wasâwhile Arthur hoped thereâd be another good brawl to enjoy. Slightly drunk, they laughed until they ached over their misadventures with the Frenchman.
The plates had long been empty, the candles burned low. It was very late. The artist wished Arthur good night and, swaying slightly, disappeared into his bedroom.
The next thing Arthur remembered was waking suddenly, aware of someone touching him. He must have fallen asleep on the sofa after dinner and clearing the tableâhe was still weak and often drifted off sitting up, especially when he felt warm and safe. Through half-closed eyes, he saw Albertâs silhouette above him, dressed in a nightshirt. The man covered Arthur with a blanket, placed a small parcel by his pillow, and added wood to the fire.
Through the thin fabric, Arthur could make out Albertâs formâstrong legs, solid shoulders, only a slight, pleasantly rounded belly from good food. He was handsome, well kept, unlike Arthur, who disliked his sun-scorched skin, his body worn down by illness and stress, the years adding wrinkles and scars. Albert had noble features, smooth cheeks, carried himself straight, possessed an endearing nonchalance and a faint theatrical grace that disarmed Arthur completely. He was a good, gentle man. Innocent.
Arthurâs heart beat faster. This feelingâso new. Once heâd felt such things for women, but now? He was confused, unmoored.
For the first time, he could simply sink into a comfortable sofa and not think about tomorrow.
Silly artist, he thought. Invited a wild, dangerous animal under his roofâand somehow, without meaning to, went and tamed it.
No one had ever cared for him the way this man did.
The photographer murmured a nearly soundless âsleep wellâ towards Arthur and vanished into his room.
Arthur smiled faintlyâand fell asleep at once.
***
âIâll have to go to France for a while⊠to be with my family. I⊠I recently told my mother some things, and she made it clear Iâm not to show my face here again, and sheâs probably turned the rest of the family against meâŠâ Albert confessed in a grave tone as he, Arthur, and Ăponine sat around the fire on the snow-covered clearing at Deer Cottage. He stood by the edge of the frozen river, keeping an eye on the girl building a snowman nearby.
Arthur looked up from the sketchbook Albert had given him and met his gaze.
Albert drew a shaky breath, sniffling to hold back tears. âNow I understand⊠what you felt. When someone who calls you son suddenly sheds the sheepâs skin and turns out to be exactly the wolf they always warned you aboutâŠâ He glanced away. It was clearly a reference to Dutch, about whom Arthur had told him.
âMr Mason⊠I donât quite followâŠâ Arthur said, frowning, unease building in his chest.
âIn France, I have a father who looks on me kindly⊠Ăponine will join me thereâŠâ Mason continued.
âOhâŠâ Arthur felt his stomach twist with fear at the thought of losing this little patch of peace. âH-How long?â
Albert closed his eyes and pressed his hand to the bridge of his nose. The answer hurt. He drew a deep breath and sat on a stone beside Arthur, avoiding his gaze.
âI donât know, Mr Morgan⊠I donât know. Until⊠things settle down. I thought⊠I hoped⊠maybe you could come with us⊠Please come with us I beg you...â
Arthur felt a cold sweat run down his back.
âIâd⊠Iâd like to, I really would⊠but no⊠I canât. Iâm an outlaw, got no papers⊠theyâd never let me across the border, no matter how badly I wanted toâŠâ he breathed, feeling the ground shift beneath him. âMaybe a change of town? Strawberry, maybe?â
Albert shook his head.
âItâs serious, Mr Morgan⊠Iâve already made my mind. I could run into trouble with my commissions, my exhibitions⊠If I were alone, thereâd be no issue, but Iâm responsible for a child. I wonât put her in hardship. Besides⊠I want to be near family.â
âYouâre very⊠enigmatic, Mr Mason. Doesnât sound good⊠You know Iâd gladly help⊠Some trouble with the law?â
Albert let out a nervous laugh.
âMe.â he said quietly, holding back tears. Then he sprang to his feet. âI have a ticket for you, Mr Morgan... If you changed your mind... Time to get going. Ăponine, weâre heading back for supper!â
***
Never before had a horseback ride between Arthur and Albert been so utterly silent. Both lost in brooding thoughts, they trailed toward Annesburg, where the train awaited.
Albert hadnât brought muchâjust a camera and a single suitcase. Ăponine would join him within the month. Arthur still heard her cries in his head, tearing at his chest. There was nothing he could do; again he felt something slipping away. His past⊠threatening to unravel what he held dear.
Before boarding the train, Albert paused and placed a set of keys in Arthurâs hand.
âThe apartment is yours⊠Spare keys are in the flowerpotâŠâ he said, voice trembling, meeting Arthurâs eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but the conductor whistled, telling everyone to board.
âI'll write soon, ArthurâŠâ he whispered, shaking his hand. Arthur shivered at the touch, his heart hammering. He knew he might be seeing Mason for the last time. He summoned courage.
âAlbert, IâŠâ
Mason was being urged along by some matron, told not to slow the train, everyone in a hurry. The commotion broke Arthur out of his daze. He muttered something under his breath at the woman, but Albertâs hand slipped from his grasp and he stepped into the carriage.
âNoâŠâ Arthur whispered as the train lurched forward, steam billowing into the air. âNo⊠no⊠noâŠâ He ran to the end of the platform, but finally had to let it go.
âAlbert!âŠâ
***
Arthur could still hear the train whistle in the distance, the sound like a knife being driven deeper into his heart. He didnât know what to do next. He had no idea⊠He felt no hunger, no thirst; the world around him had lost all meaning. He drifted into a hollow void.
âGET THE FUCK OUTTA THE ROAD!â someone screamed, charging straight at him.
Arthur snapped out of it and barely managed to keep hold of his horse as a dozen masked men, armed to the teeth, thundered past him, nearly running him down.
A gang⊠Arthur adjusted his hat and spat in their direction.
âEasy now, shhâŠâ he murmured, patting the horse before turning it the other way.
The thunder of an explosion shook the ground, and Arthurâs heart froze.
Gang. Dynamite. Train. Albert.
In a second he spun the mare around and spurred her toward the tracks. When he reached the rise, everything became clearâ
the locomotiveâs nose had plunged into the lake, steam billowing skyward, the wooden structure holding the tracks swallowed by fire. It didnât matter who they wereâMurfree, Lemoyne⊠theyâd surrounded the train and were firing at the guards. Several bullets shattered the windows of the passenger cars.
Arthur pulled out his binoculars, searching desperately for survivors. He saw panic inside, someone lying wounded⊠his heart leapt into his throat.
Gunfire and pounding hooves sounded behind him.
âPlease leave the area, sir!â the sheriffâs men arrived just in time, one grabbing the reins of Arthurâs horse.
âIâm not leaving until I know someone important to me is safe!â Arthur snarled. âAnd theyâve got coverage on the flanksâsnipers. If you rush in, theyâll cut you down like ducks before you reach the train.â
The sheriff eyed him suspiciously, then raised the binoculars.
âIâd wager theyâre thereâon that ridgeâand across the river, over thereâŠâ Arthur said, barely catching his breath, pointing.
The sheriff lowered the binoculars and nodded to his men.
âCheck it. And youâwho the hell are you?â
âI ainât got time for this, damn it!â Arthur barked, loading his pistols and spurring his horse forward, shoving one of the deputies aside.
âHEY! STOP HIM!â they shouted, but had enough sense not to fire and give away their position.
The terrain was awfulâopen ground, right by the river. Arthur counted on the chaos.
He jumped from the saddle, praying Mason had taken the pistol Arthur gave him for self-defence. And that he remembered the ammo.
âShit, shit, shitâŠâ he muttered, slipping between snowdrifts and rocks. He was close now.
âSHERIFF! GET READY!â one of the thugs yelled. âWHY AINâT WE GETTINâ COVER, FUCK!â
So the sheriffâs men had found the snipers. The path was clear. Now.
Arthur slipped into the trainâand immediately saw bodies sprawled in blood. His heart hammered. Ricochets smashed into the windows above his head; outside came shouting, gunfire, screams, cries for help, the moans of the wounded.
Please⊠please donât let that fool try to play hero⊠hide, Albert⊠just hideâŠ
He moved quietly. The whole carriage was dead. A heavy, awful silence hung in the air.
So many innocent people. Children⊠Thank God Ăponine wasnât with him.
âSAY A WORD AND YOUâRE DEAD!â a bandit shouted from the next car. âHAND OVER THE MONEYâNOW!â
Arthur slid into the second carriage.
Two thugsâone holding an open sack clinking with pocket watches and coins, the other aiming a pistol.
âYOUâON YOUR FEET!â one barked at a passenger. âHANDS UP! I SAID HANDS UP!â
Albert was trembling, deathly pale. He rose slowly.
The thug cocked his gun and aimed at Albertâs heart, grabbing him by the coat.
âWhat you hidinâ, pretty boy? HANDS OUTTA YOUR POCKETS AND GIMME THE CASH!â
âTHIS MAN IS MINE.â
Arthurâs low, dark voice filled the carriage like thunder. He stood straight, pistols trained on both robbers.
"Who the fuck are you!?" growled the one with a sack.
"I'm his Guardian Devil... MOVE BACK..."
âHey⊠I know you,â the one near Albert said, squinting. âYeah⊠Blackwater. Hell, weâre set for life. How âbout a trade? We let these poor folk goâyou come with us.â
âAlright,â Arthur said without hesitation.
Albert looked at him, pleading.
âNO TRICKS OR THE PRETTY ONE AND THE REST DIE!â the second thug snarled, reaching for Arthurâs pistols and grabbing his wrist.
âNO!â Albertâs voice ripped through the air.
Gunshots rang out. Passengers screamed. Smoke, chaos, pounding footsteps like drums.
Arthur hit the floor, knocked down by fleeing bodies. His ears rang. He staggered up, leaning against a seat. A burning pain flared in his left shoulderâdistant, unreal.
He froze.
Before him, in an empty compartment, among scattered coins and bills, lay three bodies in a pool of blood.
Albertâchalk-white, soaked in crimsonâwas pinned beneath a banditâs corpse.
âNoânoâNO!â Arthur screamed. He threw the body aside and gathered Albert into his arms, clutching his handâthe small pistol still smoking. âNo⊠no, no⊠AlbertâŠâ
He held him, kissed his hand, sobbing as despair carved into his heart with a blunt blade. There was nothing left.
Albert was goneâhis mind refused to accept it.
âALBERT, YOU STUPID, STUPID MAN!â Arthur choked. âYou killed that bastardâwhy!? YOU COULDâVE RUN, DAMN IT, you idiot!â
âIâI killed him?â a weak, hoarse voice whispered.
Albertâs wide, terrified eyes met Arthurâs, then drifted to the bodies.
âO⊠oh my God⊠is that⊠bloodâŠ?â
He went green, retched, and went limp again.
Arthur stared at him, stunned. He tore open Albertâs blood-stained shirt, shoving his hand beneath the fabric, desperately searching for wounds.
He pulled out a clean hand.
âYou lucky son of a bitch⊠you absolute foolâŠâ Arthur crushed him to his chest, not caring about the blood, the vomit, anything. His head spun, adrenaline roaring through himâhis heart threatening to burst from fear or joy.
âAll clear! Everyone from this carâs gone!â the sheriffâs men rushed in. Outside, it had gone quietâtheyâd regained control.
âWeâre leaving,â Arthur ordered.
He wiped Masonâs face, shook him gently waking him up, slung Albertâs arms around his neck and hauled him up, carrying him out as he whistled for his horse.
Albert, still dazed, rested his head against Arthurâs shoulder and whispered miserably,
âIâm pathetic, Mr Morgan⊠a helpless damsel in distress indeedâŠâ
Arthur laughed softly and pressed his cheek to Albertâs.
âMy favourite one,â he murmured so softly it made Albert shiver, blush blooming across his face as his fingers brushed Arthurâs neckâsending a shudder straight down Arthurâs spine.
Arthur was about to set him in the saddle when Albert spotted the sheriff, slipped free, and hurried over. Arthur watched, confused, as they spoke. The sheriff pulled out a slip of paper, wrote something, and handed it to Albert.
Arthur didnât understandâespecially not the sly, fox-like smile on Albertâs face. Heâd never seen that before.
âYou alright, Albert?â
âYes,â Albert said, tucking the paper into his pocket, then mounting the horse. Arthur climbed up behind him.
âWeâre heading homeâbut first, Green Cottage. I got shot.â
âOh no⊠I hope that isnât my fault,â Albert fretted.
âIf you fainted then fired the gun? Yeah. Pretty damn sure it is,â Arthur said, grinning as he pulled him closer. This silly man saved him, he didn't want to tramatize him, by telling that he indeed killed somebody to spare Morgan's life. He kept it secret.
***
âYou sure you wonât faint?â Arthur asked uneasily as Albert turned green at the sight of the blood soaking Arthurâs sleeve.
âI. Will. Manage,â Albert breathed. Sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, he unbuttoned Arthurâs shirt and slid it aside. His eyes widened at the scars. âOh, dearâŠâ he sighed sadly.
âI know. I look awful. Donât worry âbout it.â
Albert quickly applied herbs and bandaged the fresh wound, easing Arthurâs pain.
âSoâŠâ Arthur said, changing the subject. âLooks like youâll be waitinâ a while for the next train abroad. Tracksâre wrecked. And⊠if youâve got trouble with the law or anything elseâyou can count on me.â
âI know,â Albert whispered, nervously crumpling the leftover bandage. âBut this⊠is something else. Worse.â
âWorse than breakinâ the law? Oof⊠hard to believe. Sounds like youâre makinâ it up, Mr Mason,â Arthur teased.
âArthur, Iâm serious,â Albert snapped, then took a deep breath.
âYou do not look awful. And you are not a brute. You are the strongest, bravest person Iâve ever metâkind, loving, supportive, tender. Talented. IâŠâ He stopped, afraid to continue.
âYouâre too kindâŠâ Arthur murmured, overwhelmed, he gazed down.
âDAMN RIGHT I AM!â Albert barked, pulling cowboy's chin up staring straight into his eyes. âAND IâLL KEEP SAYING IT, BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW YOU ARE THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME!â
He trembled, breath uneven. Then, barely audible:
âI love you, Mr Morgan.â A pause. âI hope youâll look kindly on the confession of a foolish baffoonâand not lose your trust⊠or our friendship. And if⊠if you wishâŠâ he swallowed his tears. âIâll disappear.â
âAlbertâŠâ Arthur wrapped his arms around him, feeling the warmth of his body against his bare chest. At first it was awkwardâuncertainâbut then he caught the scent of Albertâs cologne, felt his frantic heartbeatâŠ
Albert kissed him, pulling a soft groan from Arthurâs throat.
âOof⊠thatâs⊠strange. DifferentâŠâ Arthur whispered. âBeen a long time since I felt somethinâ this good⊠guess I gotta get used to itâŠâ
Albert smiled broadly and they kissed againâthis time Arthur initiated it, slowly exploring the rush of new feelings.
Heat spread beneath Arthurâs skin. He looked into Albertâs wide, tear-bright eyesâso open, so in love, so vulnerableâsaw the desire there, the kind heâd never even seen in women he made love with.
Something unbearably beautiful he could no longer resist.
Arthurâs arm tightened around him; one strong pull and Albert lay back on the bed, Arthur bracing himself over him, forearm pressed to the mattress. His free hand cupped Albertâs cheek, fingers sinking into his thick dark beard.
âI⊠I donât wanna live without you, Albert⊠y-you know?,â he rumbled, lips hovering close. "I won't let you go..."
Albert pulled off his own shirt, resting his hand on Arthurâs stomach, brushing lightlyâArthurâs head swam.
âIâve never done thisâŠâ Arthur panted. âNot with a man⊠but you⊠hell⊠itâs strange⊠Man in my arms... You are so soft, so delicate..."
Their hands grew bolder, exploring necks, thighs, hips. Soft, muffled sounds escaped them as they felt each otherâs desire.
âAlbert⊠pleaseâguide me⊠Hell, take me⊠â
"Oh, my dear Arthur..." Albert gently pushed Arthur on pillows, now he was above, stroking tenderly Morgan's clean-shaven chin.
âIf thatâs a crime,â Arthur muttered, âa damn fool photographer wanting a bigger and dumber worn-out cowboy⊠then hell, this world ainât worth much...â
The last remnants of their clothes fell to the floor, and their naked bodies entwined.
***
Time marched on, relentless as ever. Before long, Arthur would have to find a way to join Albert and the girl in France. For now, he tried not to dwell on it, trusting that he would sort it out somehow â even if it meant bribing a few officials along the way. What mattered was that, for the moment, they were together.
He woke as the first rays of sunlight brushed across him, slipping in through the skylight. It was one of those rare mornings when he felt properly rested. Albert, less fortunate, was tickled awake by a patch of light, sneezed, muttered something displeased, and burrowed back under the blanket. Soon, only his soft snoring could be heard.
Arthur whispered that it was time to get up, but the only reply was a grumble that sounded suspiciously like an offended possum. He chuckled, letting Albert steal a little more sleep, then got up himself, pulling trousers and a shirt over his bare skin. Yawning, he shuffled into the sitting room, where Ăponine was already seated at the table, waiting for breakfast.
Arthur buttered a slice of bread and handed it to her so she wouldnât be hungry before Albert got up to make something proper.
âThe postman came,â she announced, pointing at an envelope while chewing on a crooked slice of bread nearly bigger than her head. âFor you.â
âFor me?â Arthur glanced at her, surprised, and set the coffee aside. âYou sure about that?â
âYesâŠâ came Albertâs shy voice. He had joined them at the table, kissed the top of Ăponineâs head, and accepted the crust she no longer wanted. Without hesitation, he ate it, clearly hungry, leaving Arthur stewing in uncertainty.
âWell⊠when you saved me,â Albert said after swallowing, beginning to braid Ăponineâs hair, âitâs possible I had a small moment of inspiration.â
Arthur leaned against the cupboard, arms crossed over his chest, curiosity sharpening.
ââŠI went to the Sheriff, as you remember, and told him that someone very dear to my heart had their passport â and all their documents â destroyed by bandits. He gave me an address to write to about it.â
He hesitated, then added more softly,
âYou know⊠we wonât be in France for very long. I suspect weâll all start missing the Wild West sooner than we think.â
Arthurâs eyes lit up. He snatched the envelope and tore it open, reading the letter with mounting urgency.
Dear Mr Arthur Morgan,
We have received notice regarding the loss of your documents during the recent incident, for which we offer our apologies. Enclosed, you will find compensation as well as a new set of forms prepared for completion.
Your identity has been confirmed by Mr Albert Mason and certified by a railway ticket issued in your name.
Please return the completed paperwork to the address on the envelope. New documents should be issued within a weekâŠ
***
Arthur stood over the cross with his own name carved into it. In one hand he held his documents; with the other, he laced his fingers together with Albertâs.
The photographer removed his hat, gazing at the epitaph with quiet tenderness, giving Arthur all the time he needed to say his farewell. Epona, smudged with dirt, finished planting the little flowers she had found along the way and came closer to her guardians, who wrapped their arms around her gently.
âItâs time to goâŠâ Arthur nodded, then added one last time as he looked at his name:
âGuess this is where it ends. You were stubborn as hell⊠but you made it. No more fight now."
A routine investigation turns dark when rookie Nick brings Aesop Sharp proof of freshly killed selkies. Smugglers, the Faroe reserve, and a past he thought buried â Sharp is about to be pulled back into the one hunt he swore heâd never face again.
Content Warnings: Violence, mentions of gore, dead magical creatures.
âMr Sharp, the trail ends at Borgin and Burkes, but I managed to find something interestingâŠâ
Aesop flinched at the sound of Nickâs voice â a red-haired, stick-thin boy with the humour and laugh of a troll, somehow entirely at odds with his above-average intelligence and knack for defensive spells. His gap-toothed grin and the spark of excitement in his eyes gave away that something might finally be moving in the investigation, which had lately ground to a halt.
Sharp shifted in the chair in his office and set down a mug that read Happy 15th Work Anniversary, from which, with every movement, tiny illustrated villains heâd caught over the course of his career tumbled and dangled as if fighting gravity. Quite a crowd â condemned to a sort of torture every time he took a sip of coffee. He stroked the mug fondly. Though such a trinket didnât seem to fit his cool, hard-edged nature, it had been a gift from Safia â spot-on, as always. She knew him best and understood that beneath the armour of cynicism lay a gentler nature and a decidedly irreverent sense of humour. Perhaps that was also why he got on with Nick, the rookie under his wing, and could tolerate his terrible jokes.
The boy placed a cardboard box of documents on the desk and pulled out a photograph, which Aesop immediately took in hand, examining it closely.
âI took a few pictures in secret⊠I think the reason everything went quiet is that they were waiting for the rest of the shipment⊠for new goods⊠But⊠these heads are completely⊠fresh⊠They were shrinking them on the spot, they were in a hurryâŠâ
Aesop gave a deep, approving grunt.
âDo you have any close-ups?â
Nick nodded and handed him another photograph.
Aesop froze. Two brutally severed female heads stared back at him â both with grey skin mottled with dark patches, long black hair, razor-sharp teeth, and the murky gaze of wild green eyes in which terror was forever frozen⊠panic, a silent cry for help. His stomach twisted.
âSelkieâŠâ he whispered, his heart skipping a beat. A strange wave of unease washed over him, and a cold shiver crawled down his spine.
âWhat?â Nick snorted in disbelief. âThose beasts have been protected in the reserve for ages â they canât leave it.â
âThe spell that protects them has been in place since they slaughtered the locals⊠thatâs what â two, three decades ago? Relatively recent. Thatâs when the Ministry cut them off from the world.â Aesopâs eyes fell on a cardboard box marked investigation suspended lying near his desk, and he reached for it. âOnce, Selkies lived among people⊠They still do.â
âMerlinâs beard⊠Theyâre dangerous. Why wasnât anyone keeping an eye on them?â
âIâd focus more on the smugglersâŠâ Aesop cut him off sharply, furrowing his brow and absent-mindedly rubbing the sleeve beneath which he kept a scar well hidden. Nick flinched, thinking Sharp was angry with him; in truth, it was the old inner tearing that unsettled him. Heâd been certain heâd never again have to deal with a Selkie⊠Yet here they were again in his thoughts, the pity he felt for the victims tangled with the bitterness he still held toward Rilla⊠Serves them right, whispered a cruel voice from the depths of his wounded heart.
Aesop tapped his fingers on the desk, trying to shake off the heavy net of intrusive thoughts.
âCatching a Selkie isnât easy, and tracking one down is next to impossible⊠I need to establish the victimsâ identities. Iâm flying to the Faroes to learn more about them, and we need to start drawing up a list of possible poachers. Youâread whatâs in this box. Learn everything you can about the properties of their tissues â itâll help you figure out potential markets and likely buyers⊠Leave me a note, Iâll read it when I get back.â He spoke in a flat, detached tone, forcing his emotions deep down, away from the dangerous direction his thoughts were heading.
Because if two Selkies were dead⊠could Rilla have met the same fate?
He slipped the photo into his pocket and swung his coat over his shoulders, ready to leave.
âYou⊠you already know where, donât you?â Nick stammered.
Aesop shrugged.
âNick, when youâve been doing this as long as I have, youâll not only know where the dealers are, but also their shoe size, every allergy, and their favourite tobacco.â He wrapped a scarf around his neck. âIâll be back in the office around eleven tomorrow. By then, I want you to have a specific list of traders, well-argued â youâve been a bit sloppy with that latelyâŠâ He shot him a sharp look, which made the boy flush scarlet. âDo it right, and weâll go there incognito to see whatâs really going on.â
***
âBloody hell, why did she run away, she was innocent for Merlinâs sake!â he growled aloud, when his thoughts could no longer fit into his crowded mind, his head for the thousandth time replaying, like a broken record, Rillaâs escape, her absurd behaviour. All the evidence pointed to her being the victim, that the killing had been in self-defence⊠Aesop knew this perfectly well, but⊠Bureaucracy is bureaucracy. The warrant for her arrest was still in force, there was still a reward for finding her. Murder is murder, she hadnât given any explanation, had injured an Auror, had obstructed questioning⊠She ran.
He couldnât understand her behaviour, doing everything to her own disadvantage⊠All she had to do was talk calmly, wait out the trial⊠That was all. Justice was on her side, for Merlinâs sake! Now, if she surrendered herself to the authorities, her trial wouldnât look nearly so optimistic; she would almost certainly end up in Azkaban, even if only for a month.
âSavage⊠Lunatic⊠Itâs incomprehensible⊠OUTRAGEOUSâŠâ he hissed and kicked a stone, unable to comprehend what she had done, even though Safia had made it clear to her that defying the Aurors would only bring her more troubleâŠ
It had been so many years, yet the blood in him boiled just as it had then. He felt the urge to find her and shake her until she pulled herself together and came to her senses⊠To tell her to her face that she was nothing but a âstupid selkieâ...
He held his breath, frightened by his own thoughts, by a kind of revulsion he felt within himself.
It seemed to him that his words today were coming from the mouth of another man.
âWhat the hell is happening to me!â he hissed to himself, walking along the shore of the stormy sea.
So many years had passed, he was almost fortyâŠ
That chapter of his life was supposed to be closed.
He had moved on.
At the Ministry, as soon as he saw the photograph from Nick, bitterness had begun seeping again through the patched cracks in his soul, poisoning his thoughts with tender emotions. Was it concern for Rilla, or pure curiosity about how her story had unfolded? Compassion for the creatures murdered so brutally, or fear for that womanâs life?...
He had already explained it all to himself.
Loving her had been a mistake, an obsession that she herself had cured him of, showing him that the woman he loved was nothing but an illusion. He had worked through it.
By the sound of the word âselkieâ alone he should feel nothingâjust as with the word âbroomâ.
The box with Rillaâs case files and hundreds of clippings from newspapers and books about selkies, with his attempts to track her downâwork he did in secretâhe considered a âprivate matter of honour,â because officially Safia had removed him from it. It had taken her only a moment to deduce that, since encountering a selkie was about as likely as winning the lottery, and Aesop had done it twice, it couldnât be a coincidence. Sharp, offended at the whole world and humiliated before his mentor, gathered the evidence on his own. Searching, and probably through sheer stubbornness, he had unintentionally become the only wizard on the planet with such extensive knowledge about the Selkie people. It had taken him many years of painstaking work after hours⊠And yet, he still couldnât say what he felt when thinking about them. Much was unknown, many were legends rather than facts⊠Even the reason they had been confined to the island was unclear; the files carefully avoided the question of why they had clashed with the Aurors and the local people⊠The latter were barely mentioned in the files, no concrete names⊠The Ministry had officially declared them dangerous, and the shapeshifting women had been rounded up and placed under âhouse arrest.â And here the inconsistencies began. Selkies were not exclusively womenâit was the name of a âpeople,â so there had to be men as well. What had happened to them? Aesop could find no answer anywhere. Their trail seemed to have vanished, and though in his heart he did not and did not want to harbour any particular sympathy for them, the word âexterminationâ still forced itself to his lips, sending a shiver of unease down his spine.
Once, they had been treated as equals to gods, believed to be the offspring of the Norse god Odin and the Celtic goddess Brighid, links between Celtic and Norse cultures, between those living on land and those in the sea. A few Celtic chroniclersâwhose manuscripts he had traced all the way to Hogwartsâdescribed them as âshepherds of the seaâ⊠It didnât fit the image he knew, the one in every textbook: closer to a succubus, a woman who delighted in toying with menâs feelings, vain and malicious, bringing only heartbreak and miseryâas he himself had experienced⊠Ah⊠Selkies were wild. Like a hippogriff, like a mermaid, like a graphorn. Period.
He had come to the Faroes not to learn something about Rilla, but to establish the identities of the murdered selkies. He certainly hadnât used the opportunity to rekindle his curiosity and find out where the woman was. Certainly not. Right?
He took a deep breath, feeling pathetic, and spotting the crossing point to the Isle of Women, quickened his pace. His guide was already waiting, hauling the rope aboard.
A Muggle. Just an ordinary sailor.
Magic wasnât of much use in this place anyway, bouncing off the strong enchantment surrounding the island like off a wall. After crossing the barrier, Aesop could use his wand only as a toothpickâthat was all it was good for. But he had an ace up his sleeve in the form of potions⊠literally, hidden there for a rainy day.
âJust in time, lad!â the man called out at the sight of Aesop and pushed off from the shore. Sharp jumped aboard, deep in thought, only whispering a quiet âgood morning.â He had never been this close to the place before, never had the chance. Safia had searched it with the Aurors in the hunt for Rilla; he, of course, had not been allowed.
â⊠If I may ask, what business do you have with them?â The sailor eyed Aesop suspiciously. He rowed slowly, and his expression made it clear he wouldnât let the question drop.
âMinistry of Magic business,â he grunted, tapping his badge with his finger. The man was well-informed about the wizarding world and received a decent fee for the crossing⊠His reaction, however, wasnât exactly what Aesop had expected. The sailor snorted in disgust at the sight of the gleaming badge and commented:
âPff, AurorâŠâ the man said, with clearly audible disgust in his voice. âWhat have they ever done to you? Bloody hellâŠâ
Aesop shifted, offended by the Muggleâs attitude. He didnât comment, though, preferring to draw the man out.
âI donât understand?â
âYou wizards treat them like fugitivesâŠâ the sailor spat into the water and fixed Sharp with an icy stare before speaking again, his low, rasping voice mingling with the whistle of the wind. ââŠAnd villains get treated better⊠Theyâre good women, caring, wise⊠Theyâve saved our children from fever more than once, and thatâs just for starters! Youâd best keep away from them, Iâm telling you, no local here will ever let them be harmedâŠâ
âIâm not here to harm anyone, Iâve come only to speak with their MotherâŠâ
The sailor snorted.
âWell, arenât you sure of yourself! Hah!⊠But, well, thatâs you wizards all overâpuffed up and demanding⊠Theyâll decide for themselves whether to speak to you at all⊠They donât come running like dogs when called.â
Aesop clenched his teeth, feeling anger rising, about to reply, but the man cut him off.
âThis place has a few rules: Do not take what is not yours. Do not step on sacred land. Do not cross the borderlines. Do not harm the innocent. Do not hide behind your lies⊠Weâre here.â
The boat scraped against sharp rocks, and Aesop immediately jumped onto the crunching gravel, eager to get back to his work and avoid further conversation with the sailor, who called after him that he should stick to the path and that heâd return in a few hours.
Aesop wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and set off along the white gravel path, vanishing into fog as thick as milk.
He had been walking for some time, and though he knew there was probably open space all around, the claustrophobic atmosphereâthe fact he could see only a white line a few steps ahead and behind, nothing else at all, not even a scrap of sky overhead, only greyness and dampâwas unsettling.
He felt something lurking in the mist, saw shadows, heard rustling, sounds like a dogâs bark but more melodic, echoing⊠giggling⊠They were toying with him, for Merlinâs sake.
He had no idea where to go. To the end of the path? But it didnât end!
Frustrated, he stopped and decided he would not take another stepâit was pointless.
âMy name is Detective Aesop Sharp!â he said loudly enough to be sure someone would hear. âIâve been sent by the Ministry of Magic regarding the murder of two women from your people. I want to establish their identitiesâŠâ He held his wand out before him.
âLumos!⊠Ah, damn it!â he muttered, remembering the spell wouldnât work.
The air whistled. He had time only to let out a sharp puff of breath before a strong arm locked around his neck and held it fast. How many were there? Two, three, a hundred selkies? Probably just oneâbut strong as ten men. The sharp pain he felt in his back at heart level was a good enough reason not to struggle. Without magic, he wouldnât stand a chance against a sharp weaponâa knife, or more likely a harpoonâand the even sharper teeth of the woman holding him, whom he glimpsed from the corner of his eye. Grey, speckled skin, glowing green eyes and black sclera as dark as those of goblins.
The selkie growled a warning in his ear. He grimaced at the stench of her fishy breath, feeling momentarily faint.
From the mist ahead emerged an old woman leaning on a harpoon, wearing a sealâs pelt like a cloak. She threw back the animalâs snout like a hood and stepped closer to Aesop, staring straight into his eyes, her glowing gaze making his hair stand on end. Her shaven head was adorned with a garland of shells and pearls that clinked with each step, the trinkets jingling as she reached out and, without effort, took his wand from his hand. He didnât dare protestâhe wasnât stupid. She had to be the Mother of the Women of the Faroes; he was sure of it.
âWhat brings you here, Mr. Sharp?âŠâ she asked in a raspy voice, in broken English even worse than Rillaâs.
âLet me go and weâll talk normallyâŠâ he replied calmly and firmly, glaring at her, not letting her see that her gaze unnerved him. âYou know I donât stand a chance⊠Are you that afraid of me, or do you just want to prove that here you hold the power and can humiliate me?â
He spat the words defiantly. The selkie holding him growled again, but the Mother smiled faintly and nodded for her to release him.
âMamma?â the younger woman asked, concerned.
âOngar sorgir, dĂłttir mĂn, eg havi alt undir kontrol,â she replied gently, raising a calming hand. The younger selkie reluctantly stepped back from Aesop. Now, finally relaxing a little, he could look at them properlyâboth had black hair shaved almost to the scalp, only a fine stubble remaining, something he hadnât expected from selkies, known for their vanity⊠The younger one whispered something into the Motherâs ear and vanished into the silvery mist, pulling her peltâs hood over her head.
âMy name is Litha,â the older woman introduced herself with a slight bow. Aesop glanced at his wand, still in her bony hands. She stroked it almost fondly, as if she knew that a selkie hair lay in its core. âTo what do I owe this meeting?â
Aesop handed her the photograph and summarised the incident. At the sight of the heads, the Mother turned away and gave the picture back to him, then adjusted her pelt and snuggled into it for comfort, letting out a quiet sob⊠She clutched her head and bent double, weeping.
âMina kĂŠru, hvat hava tey gjĂžrt viĂ° tykkumâŠâ she whispered, voice breaking. âAll of it⊠just to satisfy your whims⊠To turn us into potions and wand coresâŠâ
âŠAh, of course⊠Aesopâs face darkened as he understood the reason the two selkies had died⊠Stupid hair. The selkies of the Faroes apparently shaved their heads to avoid death⊠The thought gripped his throat with pity. What a wretched life.
âIâm so sorryâŠâ he whispered, his voice trembling with compassion. âI wanted to know their names, where they lived⊠It would help me determine where theyâd been, track the poachers⊠Thatâs what I doâŠâ
âWe do not trust AurorsâŠâ the Mother replied sharply, tears running down her cheeks. âBecause of you our families are broken, we are stripped of the last of our dignity, separated like animals, for the safety of wizards⊠But whose heads do you see in that photograph, hm?â she hissed, pointing his wand at him, making him step back. âWe are one with the Sea, salt water runs in our veins, and the only safe place for us right now is land, because beyond it⊠beyond it there is only death. And I thank Odin that you cut us off from yourselves, because Iâd rather my family live⊠than watch them die in poachersâ cages, like those who remain in the sea beyond the island. Any wise selkie shares my view⊠The answer to your question is: those women are none of us. The enchantment keeps us separated from humans; we have no way of leaving here.â
âAurilla escaped, thoughâŠâ he muttered under his breath, the womanâs face twisting at the sound of her name.
âSheâŠâ the Mother snorted and lowered the wand, looking away as she gathered her thoughts. âShe betrayed us. Abandoned us. We donât know how. She was always âdifferent,â cared nothing for our traditions, her own blood, her kin. She chose another lifeâwandering, misery, depending on the mercy of others...â
"You are a Mother, but, I suppose not a biological mother to all of the Selkies here..." Aesop interrupted her, his voice calm and curious. "But, considering your anger... The exeption must be... Aurilla... She is your daughter isn't she?"
The woman hissed and returned Aesopâs wand rappidly, then glanced at his shoulder. âShe marked youâinteresting, and an Auror at thatâŠâ
âI donât understand?â Aesop felt his skin prickle; it didnât sound good.
âFirst she gave you our most precious gift, and then⊠A selkieâs bite never heals⊠Itâs a kind of seal.â Litha smiled wickedly, baring her fangs, her piercing gaze flaring in the surrounding grey. âYou have become the property of the Sea; your fate is in its handsâŠâ
âNonsenseâŠâ Aesop growled, though his voice trembled, betraying fear. He cleared his throat and threw out a tired old phrase: âI am the master of my fate, not the Sea, and certainly not some spoiled selkie, for Merlinâs sake! Iâm wasting my time⊠Good day.â
He turned on his heel and flinched at the sight of the waiting guard, who had silently crept up behind him again.
âEris will see you outâŠâ Litha muttered, then, when he was a few steps away, called after him:
âRememberâif you try to run from the will of the Sea⊠it will break your spine to keep you where you are.â
prof Aesop Sharp x Adult OC
Aurilla of Faroeâ murder suspect, and former lover of Auror Aesop Sharpâvanishes from Ministry custody. She escaped justice. But maybe justice was never on her side to begin with. Tags: #SelkieWifeAU #AesopSharp #magicalcreaturesrights #hurtcomfortmaybe #MinistryFailsAgain #oceanrevenge #sealformviolence #bitethatman #slowburnbutalsonotreally
DISCLAIMER: ANGST, VIOLENCE, BLOOD, DISTURBING DESCRIPTIONS
Few years later
Aesop had just woken up. He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the light filling his bedroom and, turning his head to glance at the clock on the bedside table, noticed a letter leaning against an empty glass.
He furrowed his brows, already knowing its contents.
Heâd come to his cottage very late again last night⊠or was it early this morning? He had returned from the Ministry at sunrise and collapsed into bed fully dressed, falling asleep instantly... The workload kept piling up, the cases never seemed to end. Even if one was closed and the artifact smugglers sent to Azkaban, more always showed up... Smuggling was rampant, there had to be a route enabling itâone that more and more often led to Borgin and Burkes...
He rubbed his shadowed eyes, stung by the sharp midday sunlight, and grabbed the envelope with his name on it, pulling out the letter.
âI thought I meant something to you! Merlin, I was so stupid! You stood me up againâyou live only for your job and that wonât change. I thought youâd become someone different with me, that I could convince you to have children, a family⊠Youâre so STUBBORN, Sharp! I canât stand this anymoreâyour absence, your disappearing without a word⊠I know youâre an Auror, that you canât talk about your work, that your loyalty belongs to the Ministry, butâŠFOR MERLIN'S SAKE I thought it would be different with me.
Goodbye
C.â
Aesop hissed under his breath and went downstairs. He tossed the letter into the fireplace and leaned against it, staring into the flames, trying to make sense of the thoughts swarming in his mind.
What did she expect?
He had told her so many times that he wasnât planning on having a family or children anytime soon. She knew he had to always be ready, that he could be called to duty at any moment, that he wasnât relationship materialâhe had told her that a hundred times... Ugh!
âWhat is wrong with these people?...â he muttered through clenched teeth. âDo they not understand what Iâm saying, for Merlinâs sake!?â
Same thing again. The third time? Sixth? Heâd lost count of how many partners had ended things with him in the same way. It hurt less each time. He cared less and less. He just shrugged, summoned a mug of coffee with a flick of his wand, washed up, changed into fresh clothes, and headed off to work. People were just awful, relationships even worse.
*
âWhat have we got today, Safia?â he asked as they walked side by side past narrow seaside houses, his partner. The older woman shrugged.
âYou tell me. Iâm just decoration these daysâŠâ she grumbled.
Aesop smiled and felt a surge of pride stroking his ego.
âWellâŠâ he muttered with a touch of irony, knowing he could get away with a light, indulgent joke, âI have been saving your skin quite often latelyâŠâ
Safia narrowed her eyes sternly.
âMerlin, I canât wait for you to finally work alone in a few weeks. Iâll finally get a break from youâŠâ she rolled her eyes. âFive years is way too muchâŠâ
âOh, was I really that bad?â
âThe worst,â she replied immediately, and Sharp burst out laughing. âAlways pompous and full of yourselfâŠâ she stopped. âIs this the place?â she asked, changing the subject as she nodded toward an unassuming lime-washed cottage near the beach, where nets and boats were spread out. âAre you sure?â
Aesop nodded.
âThe guy goes by several names, has a few hideouts⊠Took me quite a while to figure him outâthereâs no obvious pattern. At first glance, anyway⊠He follows the lunar calendar, planetary alignmentsâeach change marks a new location and a new name⊠Right now, heâs here as a Scot, Seamus McMillan⊠No oneâs seen him in the village for a day, and he hasnât shown up anywhere else, even though he was due to move again. Itâs unlikely he abandoned a pattern that worked for years, smuggling whatever he could with great successâbut who knows⊠My guess is somethingâs held him up, and considering how dangerous the artifacts heâs been getting his hands on lately are, I fear thatâŠâ
âSince something stopped him, it might be dangerous⊠Good work, SharpâŠâ Safia patted him on the shoulder, and her instincts immediately had her draw her wand. A Disillusionment Charm cloaked their bodies. They peeked through the windows, and the half-eaten meal, now covered in flies on the table, instantly set off their alarm bells. They slipped inside.
âThereâs no knife, thereâs a wandâŠâ Sharp whispered, afraid even the slightest sound might disturb the eerie silence of the house and bring trouble.
âWhat?â
Aesop pointed at the half-cut pork chop swarmed by insects, a fork still stuck in it. A wand lay beside the plate. No one used Diffindo to cut food. Wizards, especially, never parted with their wands...
âSomething caught his attention⊠Pulled him away from the meal⊠But⊠he took the knife, not the wand?â he continued, as quietly as possible. âRevelio!â he murmured, and glowing footprints appeared, leading toward the basement... Only one set. No one else had been here. The man had gone down and stayed there for quite some time⊠Revelio revealed outlinesâshapes, artifacts, all sorts of items hoarded by the suspect... Theyâd have to investigate and neutralize them anyway.
âReady?â Safia asked, raising her wand and moving ahead. âWatch our backs.â
Aesop swallowed hard, adrenaline and fear mixing in his veins, and obediently followed her, diving into a corridor swallowed by darkness, descending many steps into a space that seemed part of an old treasure vaultâmaybe even dug out by pirates centuries ago.
Another Revelio revealed a body lying before them on the ground⊠not far from the door. Nothing stirredâexcept the carnivorous plants...
Lumos, Safia whispered, lighting the inside of the vault.
Seamus lay in a pool of blood, his throat shredded to ribbons...
No knife in sight. Safia and Aesop stood back to back, sensing someone else had to be there. They scanned the room, but the vault was packed with objects that whispered, clicked, and looked menacing... A shiver ran down Aesopâs spine.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of green in the darkest corner.
âWATCH OUT!â Aesop shielded Safia with a protective spell; they heard a clank of chains, a groan, a womanâs scream.
Stunned, choking on clouds of dust, they saw in the dim light a frail figure, covered in soot and filth, pointing a knife in their direction. The Aurors froze in shock.
A Banshee? A ghost?
It was hard to tellâjust a crouching mess of filthy rags and tangled dirty hair, skin so pale and thin it was unclear whether the limbs were human or skeletal. One of her legs was chained to the wallâŠ
The stench was unbearableârot, filth, misery...
All of it drenched in thick, darkened blood. Hers? McMillanâs?
It dripped from the womanâs hair, sticky against her face⊠flowed from a split upper lip where snow-white teeth gleamed. She panted, trembling, letting out soft, frightened whimpers.
Rilla. Aesop mouthed the name silently, not believing his eyes as he stared into familiar eyes, and for a moment, the air locked in his lungs.
Familiar?
His knees buckled.
His chest tightened with a cold, uneasy sensationâfear sparked by the blazing, near-madness in her gaze.
A feral madness burning deep in her eyes.
âRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,â she growled menacingly, a guttural, inhuman, gurgling sound vibrating in Aesopâs stomach, twisting his insides.
He shivered and stepped back. He was afraid. His body instinctively knew it faced a beast, that it needed to be on guard.
Safia said nothingâjust like himâcompletely torn by what they were seeing. They had no idea who they were dealing with. A victim? A murderer? And what if she was both? One glance was enough to tell she had endured hell, yet she had torn out a grown manâs throat, ripping out his windpipe, artery, muscle, as if they were just red ribbons.
Aesop had never seen such brutality.
He saw horror frozen on his face, his blood-streaked mouth desperately gasping for air⊠He hadnât expected an attack. He hadnât even taken his wand.
Sharp didnât understand any of it, completely torn, because memories of Rilla had suddenly returnedâher gentle touch, her softness, her warmth⊠Care, kindness... And again he felt the pain that had always come with loving her, as the facts that screamed she was a murderer clashed with the naive, childlike joy blooming in his chest at the thought that their paths had crossed again. As if love had once more plucked the string of his heart.
He feared her, stepping back to give Safia space, who, having shaken herself from the shock, took over and began to subdue Rilla. He stared at her blankly, wand still extended before him.
He didnât know what to do, urged on by his mentor⊠Lost in thought, unfocused, shaken. This wasnât how their reunion was supposed to happenâthe one he sometimes dreamt about.
He turned his eyes away. He didnât want to look at someone he no longer recognized. At the wreck of a creature not of this world⊠whom he still loved.
*
âWe found this in your lair... What is it?â hissed Sallow.
Rilla remained silent, smiling eerily as, during the interrogation at the Ministry, Safia laid the casket out on the table. Her face was still smeared with bloodâno one had bothered to clean it with a charm, too afraid to even approach her.
âWell? You tried to open it with a knife... Is that why you killed Seamus McMillan?â
Silence.
âWe found the documentsâa marriage certificate signed by you, Aurilla Faroe, and this man. There's a photo of you both. So what were you doing chained to a wall in the basement? That's why you killed your own husband? Did he abuse you?â
Silence.
Safia was starting to lose her patience.
âSpeak up, girl! What the hell is going on!? You're charged with murder and if you donât start saying something that might lessen your sentence, Iâll send you to Azkaban today!â
Rilla remained quiet, watching Safia intently, ignoring Aesop standing in the far corner.
âYou donât want to help yourself?â Sallow growled, confused by her behavior.
âDo you hear that?â Rilla interrupted suddenly, listening. Aesop flinched at the sound of her hoarse voice, the Faroe Islands accent he knew so well. âI hear the whisper of the sea... My life belongs to it, my voice, my freedomânot to any of you. If it chooses to free me... it shall. Neither your magic nor your strength will help you... Drink my blood, break my bones, this grave will fit me better than a landlocked home...â
âWhat the fuck are you saying?â spat Sallow. âIf youâre pretending to be insane, know thisâit wonât matter to the Dementors. Theyâll treat you like any other prisoner... The evidence gathered by Detective Sharp clearly indicates you were held in that cellar for a long timeâuntil you murdered McMillan in cold blood. Thatâs where your story ends. So what part does this casket play in it? Why were you trying to open it instead of breaking your chains? If you had the strength to tear apart a full-grown man, why didnât you escape earlier? McMillan had a wandâyou couldâve used it, but you didnâtâŠâ
Aesop felt a knot in his stomach. The evidence could fit too many scenarios. Everything he uncovered hurt more and more. The scar on Rillaâs face was old, but made with the same knife theyâd found in the cellar. McMillan clearly took personal pleasure in hurting herâhe hadnât used magic. The filth, the rags... Aesop felt nauseous just remembering it. McMillan had treated her like an artifact in his collection. Like a guard dog.
A dog.
He wiped sweat from his brow. He hadnât told anyone he knew Rilla was a selkie. Had he forgotten? Or didnât want them to ask how he knew? Or... didnât want to know himself? Maybe he just didnât want to betray her. Whose side was he even on? He could still see her as she was that night, years ago, when he touched her, when he longed for her... Now he felt nothing but shame. Crushing disappointment.
âYou already know everything." Rilla whispered in a hollow, ghostly voice. "I have nothing to hide. I killed him because I wanted to steal from him. He had something precious. I couldâve started a new life...â
Her, steal? Weak cover, thought Aesop.
Safia scoffed at her wordsâshe didnât buy them either. Something still didnât add up. With a sharp flick of her wand, she unlocked the casket.
âYouâre tangled in your own lies, Rilla. Iâve never met a victim of abuse whose first instinct was to think of valuables. Whatâs more important than escaping hell? Gold? Pearls?â
Aesop flinched and gaspedâbut didnât have time to scream.
THE FUR!
A blinding flash. The Auror was thrown to the floor. Aesop shielded his eyes and just barely managed to fire a spell in timeâ
âARRESTO MOMENTUM!â
Then came the sound of Apparition and the floor vanished beneath his feet. He flipped upside-down, hurled into the air. A blast of suffocating cold struck him as he fell, crashing with a splash into black, icy water.
He surfaced, completely disoriented, gasping, grateful that adrenaline kept his hand clamped around his wand. What had just happened? Was the spell ineffective? Why had he Deapparated?
Then he heard Rillaâs voiceâhaunting, like a sirenâs call. High-pitched, vibrating inside his bones.
âWhere are you, selkie!?â he roared, choking on seawater, spinning wildly in the waves, his voice drowned by the roar of the storm and distant thunder, the sky above flashing steel-gray. âWHERE ARE YOU, MONSTER!?â
Razor-sharp teeth sank into his right forearm and something yanked him down like a rag doll. The pain was so intense his eyes nearly burst from their sockets and he wet himself. No sound escaped his throat before water filled his lungs. He was pulled below the surface, dragged into pitch-black depths. He saw flashes in the sky fading above him.
Stunned, his mind scrambled to regain clarity. He couldnât move his right armâhis wand was clamped between the beastâs teeth. Desperately, he jerked his whole body free. With a flick, he cast a spell that formed a bubble of air around his mouth. He grabbed the wand with his left hand, fingers already numb.
âLUMOS!â
The water around him lit with a silvery glow. The orb drifted toward a dark figure lurking in the gloom.
Before him floated a massive gray seal. Its body suddenly slackened. With its flippers, it reached to its head and pulled it back like a hood, revealing a glinting row of razor teeth and glowing green irises set in black sclera.
The woman swam toward him with a few swift strokes, seized him by the front of his robes, and stared into his eyes. Aesop immediately pressed his wand to the seal-like grey skin of her neck, fearing for his lifeâbracing for the moment sheâd tear out his throat.
But she... looked at him with disappointment. Her eyes welled with tears. Then she glanced at his badge, snorted in disgust, shoved him awayâand dove into the depths.
She escaped.
Furious, he fired a spell after herâbut once again, he Deapparated and, with a loud crash, was slammed back into the interrogation room, smashing through the table where Rilla had just sat. He hacked up seawater, gasping for breath.
âAESOP!â Safia and the other Aurors rushed toward him. âAre you alright, kid?... Oh Merlin...â
She saw his bleeding arm and immediately tore the sleeve of his uniform, dousing the mangled flesh in Wiggenweld potion.
âWhat... What was that? H-How the hell did she Apparate out of the MINISTRY?!â
Aesop was panting, staring at the wounds that wouldnât fully healâugly bite marks left behind.
âS-selkie...â he growled through gritted teeth, clenching his fist.
He looks like he's performing Wednesday's dance, but sitting on a chair. He has bad leg day, but he DANCE DANCE DANCE WITH HIS HANDS HANDS HANDS LIKE JESUS SAIDDDD
Me in 2018: mmm yes I'm in love with this sad mage with a scar on his face who tells me half truths about the world he lost while he paints portraits of the world he knows in order to cling onto something anything at all
Me in 2025: mmm yes I'm in love with this sad wizard man with a scar on his face who tells me half truths about the world he lost while he draws sketches of the world he knows in order to cling onto something anything at all
Youâve lived in the magical world of Casita for a year now, slowly building a deep bond with Bruno Madrigal. As the Madrigal family gathers nervously for a long-awaited moment, Bruno finally finds the courage to reveal the feelings heâs kept hidden for so long.
Its a standalone I made (because why not) while watching the Encanto for the 50K time. Anyone here likes Bruno?
It had already been a year since you moved to Encanto... and only now was it truly sinking in.
Time flew by so fast, you admitted to yourself, walking slowly through the narrow streets of the town, which was gradually settling into sleep, wrapped in a blanket of evening mist and warmed by the last sleepy rays of the sun. You waved goodbye to a few people you passed who wished you buenas noches, pulling you slightly from your thoughts... Everyone was so kind, even though not so long ago, you had been a complete stranger here. It fascinated you that places like this still existed, where kindness lingered. This little corner had worked like bĂĄlsamo on your weary heart.
The heels of your shoes clicked against the cobblestones. You skipped over a few of the wider cracks and avoided the broken ones, feeling a lightness in your step, a childlike joy in your heart that you hadnât felt in so long. You laughed out loud when you almost bumped into a donkey standing by a hay bale, not noticing him at all while concentrating on the stones beneath your feet.
Pleased with yourself, you hopped onto the sidewalk and glanced at the colorful mural of the Madrigal Family, kissed by the last golden rays of the sun.
You smiled warmly at the thought of them, but at the same time, felt a pang of jealousy in your stomach... They were lucky. Born in a beautiful place, in a wonderful home, and they had each other. They had warmth, love, trust, peace... That was more valuable to you than any treasure. Even their gifts seemed to you like just an addition to the uniqueness of that family and this place. Maybe thatâs why they welcomed you so warmly? Because you werenât looking for excitement, but for a place to belong, for peaceâyou were modest and hardworking? Or maybe it didnât matter at all and they wouldâve welcomed you anyway?
Abuela definitely belonged to the first group, and Mirabel to the second. You laughed just thinking about it. They often disagreed, but still tried to find a solution that satisfied them both... After all, Mirabel was slowly starting to take over Abuelaâs duties and would fully do so once she became of age. Abuela, however, still liked to have the final say. Two very strong personalities. You liked almost everyone in the family, you could find common ground with each of them, and if not, you still enjoyed a simple conversation about the weather... Your gaze slipped across the painted facesânames you struggled to remember at first (and whether someone was a cousin or a sibling, that was a whole other story)âand landed on the figure just as a beam of light began to illuminate it.
It shimmered around the face of a man with green eyes and a slightly wild lookâthe only person not smiling.
Your heart fluttered. You lowered your gaze, embarrassed that you had looked a little longer than you should have, your cheeks flushing.
Bruno.
Well, he had caught your eye the moment you arrived in Encanto... Maybe because he tripped over your suitcase, walking with his head in the clouds, just as you stood in the town square staring at your map. Your things spilled everywhere, and Bruno, quickly retrieving one of his flip flops that had flown a few feet from his foot, showered you in apologies, packed everything for you, and even carried your luggage. He was so flustered, even though you assured him it was fine... That mix of superstition, embarrassment, and surprising gentleness had immediately tugged at your heart. He had a bit of crazyness in him, true, but it was something you had grown used toâand even found... endearing. Others often found him exhausting: his excessive gestures, jokes (often regretted right after), difficulty focusing, honesty that could sting, and of course the rats he cared for and wouldnât let anyone harm. But to you, that was just one part of him. He cared about others, was incredibly smart, and usually had the best solutions to problems. You had seen him take the blame for others more than once to keep them out of troubleâlike when someone broke or lost something. He always saved Antonio.
You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach, knowing you were heading toward Casita and there was a good chance youâd run into Bruno. You always "ran into" each otherâlately more often than notâeven when you had errands in town, Bruno would "coincidentally" be headed the same way... The memories of time spent together, how he always treated you like a true gentleman, made a blissful smile spread across your face and you sighed... but then, somewhere deep down, a whisper of doubt crept in. Did Bruno enjoy spending time with you the same way you did with him? Did he... like you? Or were you once again seeing something where there was nothing? What if he was just being nice? Lonely and needing a friend? What if he had no romantic intentions at all?
You furrowed your brows and slowed your pace. A wave of worry pressed down on your love-struck heart. The only thing you could do was ask him.
Your mouth instantly went dry, sweat beading on your forehead... You shook your head. No, no, no, that wasnât a good idea. You decided to delay it as long as possible. The idea of rejection already hurt.
You approached Casita, spotting a ribbon of silvery smoke curling from the chimney against the starry sky, lights twinkling in every window except Antonioâs, who was already asleep at this hour. Brunoâs tower was dark too. That intrigued youâhe was usually home by now, especially on Fridays when everyone gathered for a glass of homemade wine and a chat. You were practically treated like family already.
You were just about to knock when out of the corner of your eye you spotted a familiar figure in an oversized green poncho, and your heart immediately skipped a beat.
"Hola, Bruno!" you called softly and giggled as he jumped like heâd been burned, pulled his hood over his head, and darted around the cornerâtoo late, you had already seen him, and to make it worse, the tail of a rat sleeping on his shoulder was still sticking out.
Casita nudged Bruno back toward you with a window shutter, as if scolding him for being rude. He immediately pulled back his hood, nervously clutching one arm and looked you straight in the eyes.
He froze, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, until Casita gave him another gentle shove with the shutterâa silent "go on".
He blinked, licked his lips nervously, glancing at his sandals.
"G-good evening... y-you look really beautiful tonight... I mean... not just tonight... you looked beautiful yesterday too, but that doesnât mean youâre only beautiful on Thursdays and Fridays and ugly on other days... I mean youâre always beautiful... madre mĂa... Iâm sorry..." he stammered in a flood of words, blushing deeply, twisting his poncho in his handsâand your heart beat faster, your body flooded with warmth.
You too... you thought, but didnât have the courage to say it aloud. He wore his usual clothes, had that same wild, tousled hair heâd had the day you met, dark strands heavily streaked with grayâthe ones youâd longed to run your fingers through. And those big, shadowed eyes... Ay, Bruno... You hadnât even realized you could fall in love at first sightâwith a man so much older than you. But he was special. Extraordinary.
You stepped closer, not even realizing how widely you were smiling. It calmed him. He knew he could stumble, stutter, and ramble around you without judgment. He knew you accepted him. You were the only one who laughed at his not-so-good jokes. Maybe your sense of humor was just as questionable. He reached out a trembling hand to greet you.
Suddenly, Casita "accidentally" knocked down a rose from Isabelaâs window, and it "just happened" to fall into Brunoâs open hand.
"O-oh..." he breathed, gently brushing his thumb over the petals before softly tucking the flower into your hair. For a moment, you were closer than ever before, feeling his nervous breath, the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne... a few grains of sand from his sleeve drifted onto your skin. You didnât care. That moment couldâve lasted foreverâthe touch of his gentle fingers in your hair...
But it was short-lived. He stepped back quickly, afraid he mightâve made you uncomfortable. He laughed nervously. You couldnât stop looking at him, admiring every inch of his face, discovering small imperfections that only made him more real.
"Well... I guess weâre really late..." Bruno said softly. There was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, a deep sadness that tugged at your heart. You knew how much spending time with family meant to him, how he cherished being part of every gathering.
"Bruno, itâs not that late," you reassured him. "We can still join them..."
"No, not at all!" he quickly said, then reconsidered. "Well, yesâbut itâs nothing serious. I mean, itâs serious for me, but not like a broken leg, or... ehh..." He furrowed his brow, frustrated with himself again. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and asked shyly: "Would you maybe want to go for a walk with m-me?"
You nodded, intrigued. Walks together werenât anything new. Practically every evening youâd wander the area, talking late into the night, or just enjoying each otherâs company. You chatted about theatre, which you both loved; watched telenovelas and theorized about the next episode (Bruno was banned from peeking into the futureâbut his guesses were usually spot on); Bruno helped you build the home you had finally earned after working as a literature teacher... You wanted to do it yourself so he patiently showed you how to make spackle and use sand to mark house's shape. You both decided where to put each room. His advices were much appreciated by you... He was always there for you, and you, perhaps the only person in town who truly listened to him, helped him open up and just be himself. You could both be silly like childrenâracing sticks in the river to see whose reached the waterfall first, making up silly songs... You were far more proper in public than he was, but often let go for a bit of fun. You danced together at eventsâand always only with each other.
The thought of it, of being so close to Bruno, of his touch, his gentle gaze... Bruno danced muy bien, even though most people assumed heâd be clumsy and goofy... He changed when he dancedâserious, focused... His hips moved smoothly, mere millimeters from you...
A shiver ran down your spine. Why were you even thinking about this?
*
You were sitting on one of the hills near Casita, looking up at the stars twinkling above you. You had just been telling him about what had been weighing on your heart since the morning, and he listened attentively, stroking a rat sleeping on his shoulder.
"...You know, I've never said this before â not to you, not to anyone â but luck hasn't really been on my side in life. I lost practically everything, and I decided to leave the past behind and start over. Thatâs when the legends started circulating about Encanto, about a town where people are happy, where an extraordinary family looks after others... A perfect place. I packed a suitcase, just the essentials, and set off..."
"I'm so sorry..." Bruno whispered, but you shook your head.
"It was a good decision, because I found what I was looking for â a home. You all." You lowered your gaze and added almost inaudibly, "You."
Bruno shifted slightly, and his eyes sparkled. But then his face darkened again as painful memories returned.
"It hasn't always been like this here... If not for Mirabel, Iâd probably still be living inside the walls of the house..."
"WHAT?" you gasped in disbelief. Bruno gently stroked the rat, which had finally awakened. He sighed and began to speak in a hushed voice.
"I can see the future, and everyone wants to know what's coming. Everyone. At first, it was serious matters â health, marriage... Those who needed guidance came to me. But over the years, that changed. There were lines of people, so many of them, asking about the most trivial things, pushing my abilities to the limit. There were days I created vision after vision from dawn until dusk... And everyone expected me to tell them theyâd find happiness, wealth, that all their dreams would come true. Sure, I saw a lot of happiness, but also a lot of pain. I saw horrible things that still haunt my nightmares... heh... and people... They didnât understand that if a prophecy came true, it wasnât my fault â it was usually theirs. Because they didnât take care of their health, or their pets, or their families, they wasted money on nonsense... It's easier to blame someone else for your misfortune, right? Well, a lot happened, especially eleven years ago. Everyone treated me like some creep who brought bad luck, a bad omen..."
"Thatâs... thatâs awful!... How could they!..." Your voice caught in your throat, a growing rage bubbling up inside you, fists clenched. How could anyone treat him like that? Bruno? The sweetest, gentlest man under the sun!? It was unthinkable!
"Yeah, well. I felt completely helpless, just one person against a crowd. No matter what I did, they took it as some sort of malice. They dissected every word I said, trying to prove I brought misfortune... And the vision I had the night Mirabel didnât receive a gift â Casita falling apart â it broke my heart. I didnât want my niece to suffer. She was so tiny... I destroyed the vision and hid away for many, many years. A whole decade..."
You listened to his words in disbelief, silver tears glimmering in your eyes.
"...Itâs only been a year now that things have gotten better, thanks to Mirabel... Encanto has opened up to outsiders, too â before, it was hard to get in..."
You shook your head in disbelief.
"Why didnât anyone tell me about this?"
Bruno chuckled softly.
"I don't think the Madrigals like to talk about that time... You know, we healed many wounds â except our pride."
You nodded, melting at the sight of Brunoâs smile.
"I wanted you to know that not everything here is so wonderful and perfect, but weâre working on ourselves. Especially me..." he added almost inaudibly, then, after a pause, continued. "I know Iâm weird... I talk nonsense and Iâm a total klutz..."
He sighed and sniffed slightly, looking downcast. Only when the rat licked his cheek did he perk up. He lifted the rat from his shoulder and gently cradled it in his hand, scratching it affectionately behind the ear.
"I used to be disgusted by them as a kid, but then I started noticing how incredibly underrated they are â smart, caring, and more like little sweet puppies with long tails than pests. Each has a different personality, different food preferences... This one in particular got really attached to me."
"Can I pet her?" you asked shyly, pointing to the female rat, who was staring at you and squeaking for attention.
"Of course!" Bruno exclaimed, and carefully placed the animal onto your hand. Once she settled in, he supported your hand from below. His touch sent a pleasant tingle through you. "Her nameâs Antonella, sheâs a bit skittish, but... oh, I think she likes you â thatâs great!"
He beamed as Antonella melted under your shy, gentle touch. Her fur was soft and delicate, and her little face surprisingly sweet, and⊠oh, she suddenly started making weird eye movements, which startled you...
"Oh... donât worry, rats make strange faces when theyâre happy. They're weird like me."
He laughed. Suddenly, the rat picked up a scent and darted into the grass, running off.
"Hey, where are you going?" You looked disappointed, worried you had scared her, but Bruno just shrugged.
"Sheâs got her own business... o-oh..."
You both froze when you realized his hand was still holding yours. You looked at each other questioningly, but neither of you pulled away. On the contrary â you felt his thumb lightly brushing your skin.
"And that important thing you had to do?" you asked with curiosity, drowning in Madrigalâs deep gaze. He snapped out of his thoughts.
"Thing? Ah, right... Well... Well..." You felt his hand start to tremble, the grip tightening slightly, your heart pounding again. "I... Iâve been alone practically my whole life. The son of the Madrigals was a highly desired match in Encanto, and when I came of age, many women wanted to marry into our family for the prestige... Because I... well, you know how I am... Clumsy, talkative, odd... Iâm not like my father... And then, when everything started falling apart and I got labeled the villain, even if I fell in love, heh, no family would give their child to someone who brings misfortune, right?"
"Why are you telling me this?" you asked softly, tears welling in your eyes.
Bruno licked his dry lips, staring deeply into your eyes.
"Because I love you. And you have every right not to feel the same... to tell me ânoâ... Iâll understand..."
"And what if I love you too?"
Bruno let out a nervous laugh.
"Well, uh, I didnât really consider that optiâ"
You silenced him with a kiss.
You couldnât hold back a second longer.
It lasted only a moment, just a peck, but it drew a soft moan of pleasure from Bruno.
When you pulled away, he was still looking at you in disbelief, as if not quite processing what had just happened.
He wiped away the tears of joy running down your cheeks and cupped your face with both hands, gazing at you adoringly.
"Mi amor, hermosa, mi corazĂłn..." he whispered over and over, his lips just a breath away from yours. This time, the kiss he gave you was nothing like the awkward peck⊠His lips eagerly captured yours, and his hands slid from your face down your arms to your waist, pulling you close. You could feel him trembling, craving to hold you â now, immediately â and yet he was still so gentle and unsure. You slid your hands under his poncho, placing them on his chest, where his soft skin peeked from under the loosened collar.
"Ay, amor..." he moaned with pleasure when you slipped your fingers under the fabric and touched his bare skin, goosebumps immediately spreading across it as a shiver ran through him. His lips caught yours again, but this time, as you gasped for breath, heat flooding your body, his tongue slipped passionately into your mouth.
You felt a wave of excitement course through you, making your whole body tingle and, for a moment, go limp.
"Are you okay?" he chuckled softly, seeing you melt, and nibbled your neck, making you giggle. "Iâve never felt so... hmm... how do I say this?"
"Masculine? Attractive? Handsome?"
The air caught in his lungs, and he went pale for a moment, as if those words scared him.
You gently stroked his cheek.
"That's how I see you, you know, Bruno? You know what else? You're my best friend... Mi Bruno... funny, caring, full of love... I... I longed for you to feel the same way I feel about you..."
He melted at the sound of your words and kissed your neck, his scruff tickling you. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small golden ring with a green stone. So he was prepared for you to say yes after all.... Ay, silly Bruno.
It wasnât an emerald or any gemstone, but a piece of his vision glass cut to resemble a diamond. Inside it shimmered a faint shape that resembled a butterfly.
"My whole life, I looked into the futures of others, but before I met you I had finally decided to see my own, to check if happiness awaited me... I saw only this shape: a butterfly... I thought about it for a long time, trying to find meaning, running after all the poor butterflies in the area, hehe, but when I met you... it stopped mattering. I donât want any other happiness â just you by my side... Will you marry me?"
"Bruno, I..." you whispered, and unbuttoned a few buttons of your blouse, revealing part of your chest and a symbol no one had seen before, tattooed over your heart: a butterfly. Bruno instinctively looked away, not wanting to embarrass you, but understood you were letting him look. He gained courage, admiring your cleavage, shapely breasts and glistening skin.
A silence fell between you, stunned.
You took the ring from Brunoâs hand and slid it onto your finger, then took his hand and placed it over the tattoo. He shivered at the softness of your skin between your breasts. His thumb stroke you unleashing a caleidoscope of shivers and tickles burning you with desire underneth your skin...
"My Mariposa" he whispered and you both sunk into each other's arms
The whole family sat nervously around the table, waiting.
âAre you sure Bruno wants to propose? Didnât it seem a bit off to you?â Abuela asked, surprised, and the others quickly shushed her.
âDefinitely...â Mirabel rolled her eyes. âHeâs been planning this for a while... We really have to help him, because heâll never do it himself... Now is the perfect momento! I feel it!â
Peppa and Julieta nodded sadly. Their brother had been bottling up his feelings for too long. The had seen how much you mean for him... If not love, then what?
âCasita, you know what to do, right?â Mirabel muttered, and a quiet creak answered her. She nodded and began listing: âLuisa blocked the door with the piano, just in case â nobody can get in, so theyâll be alone. Weâve got extra flowers everywhere in case Bruno forgets to pick some...â
âOh! Here he is! Shhhh!â Dolores squeaked, then frowned. âUgh, heâs saying she looks pretty on Thursdays and Fridays â what a disaster...â
The family rolled their eyes, Augustin smacked his face with his palm in embarrassment, almost ruining his glasses...
Dolores focused hard to report every detail:
âItâs getting a little better, bravo tĂo ... Gracias for the flowers, Casita, you saved the day... Eh... Iâm scared sheâll want to come inside anyways...â
âWe have to think of something!â muttered Camilo. âLetâs pretend weâre having fun without them!â
âHAHAHA! What a story, AgustĂn, remarkableâ Felix suddenly shouted, and the others started laughing and making fake noise â clinking glasses and cutlery. Dolores covered one ear so the noise wouldnât bother her, and she brightened up.
âIt works! Good job!â she smiled widely, and the group sighed with relief, sinking into their chairs.
âI didnât think this would be so stressful...â muttered Mirabel massaging her temples.
âTheyâre going alone! Eh... Nothing interesting, just talking...â Dolores shrugged and kept listening. âSheâs talking a bit about herself... Now Bruno... Hmm...â she frowned. âHeâs talking about how we treated him... how much we hurt him... Poor tĂo Bruno...â
The family grew somber, wishing they could erase that painful part of their history... They sat silently, lost in their thoughts, especially Abuela... Her own son treated like that...
âWait! This must be it...â Dolores exclaimed, breath quickening. âTheyâre holding hands!â she squealed, barely holding back her excitement. The others urged her on for more!
Dolores strained to hear, barely holding her nerves.
âHe said it, he said he loves her...â she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.
âWhat did she reply!?â Peppa shouted, breaking free from the cloud of stormy emotions above her.
âShe... She... KISSED him!â
The family jumped to their feet, cheering and hugging each other.
âQuiet, itâs not over... He pulled out a ring, said he saw a mariposa in his vision of happiness, searched for it, didnât find it, so he made a ring from a tablet for her... Ay, Dios mĂo!â
âShe has a butterfly tattoo on her cleavage... Theyâre kissing and...â Dolores muttered, blushing hard, firmly plugging her ears so no more sounds could reach her. "That's it, I won't be listening any more na-ah! For my own sanity's sake..."
The others blushed probably knowing far too well what you and Bruno were doing right now...
âWhere exactly is her tattoo!? Is she naked right now? That's Inconceivable!...â Abuela gasped, almost falling off her chair.
"Well ehm not ehm only ehm her...." Felix coghed out and exchanged meaningful, smiling looks with Augustin. "Allright everyone - mission accomplished, time to bed!" And added in quieter tone: "We must rest, because when new babies arrive..."
"FELIX!" Shouted both Julieta and Peppa closing his mouth.
Mirabel blinked, bright red.
âWell... Not quite according to the plan, but it went better than I thought...â she laughed.
