A/N: For the Mystery of the Blue Rose zine! So many memories brought back writing this, including actually finding out there was a sequel series (come on, gimme an ova!).
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Lust
Albert de Blois knew of greed. No, it would be safe to say greed knew of him. It owned him, possessed him, like a curse that only grew bigger with time. Nothing was ever enough, neither the silken suits he donned nor the trophy wife on his arms nor the gold in his vault.
There was always more to be had, more to take. His greed knew no bounds and he coveted what others owned, taking what he desired by hook or by crook. His estate grew bigger, his coppers plush, and still it wasn’t enough. Food tasted like ash, his sleep was fitful, his every waking thought consumed by more.
He did not merely want an estate or two. Even having the king’s ear and controlling policy couldn’t slake his thirst. No, Albert lusted for power, for control, for the world.
And finally, the key for his success was here, in a dim dungeon in the middle of the forest. In an isolated castle that protected his precious cargo from those who would try to take it from him. Albert stood at the door, looking through the bars at the golden-haired girl sitting blankly on the floor. To anyone else, she might have seemed like a normal ten-year-old, if a bit quiet and withdrawn. With her threadbare clothes and dirt-stained face, she looked like a ragamuffin urchin from the streets.
Others would be fools, not seeing the treasure before them.
“My grey wolf,” he whispered. Even the moniker felt like it held power, making the world shudder once it hit the air. Albert smirked as the girl glanced at him, her eyes as empty as her heart.
She would be smarter, wiser, stronger than her kin. Most importantly, she would be obedient, a mere dog instead of a wild wolf.
It had been foretold that he would rule the world if he could get a wolf in his hands. There was one now. The path ahead was set, his years of planning and preparation almost done. It wouldn’t be long before she could walk down it and take him to its destination.
“Soon,” he promised, turning around.
His destiny was so close he could taste it. Maybe then, he’d finally know rest.
Hate
Cordelia Gallo knew of hate. It filled her every waking moment, a dark, black desire that sank into her bones, reminding her of its existence with every step. Her chest constricted with the memories of a cold, blond man, of his leering smile, of his fingers pressing into her skin hard enough to brand. Even now, she was certain she’d find his mark on her, connecting her to him.
But then again, she already had a connection with Albert de Blois that could never be severed: her daughter.
Cordelia shivered. The fire blazed in front of her, flickering merrily as it tried to stave off the chill. It was an uphill battle, considering she was sitting on a log in the middle of the woods. Yet, she was certain it wasn’t the cold breeze nor the dropping temperature that left her freezing to her core.
“You’ll catch a cold like that,” Brian Roscoe murmured as he draped his coat over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body and she pulled the edges closer until it engulfed her.
Not that it was too hard to do; unlike any of her kin, he was tall and broad-shouldered. She felt like a child in his clothes. Cordelia looked up and smiled. “Thanks.”
His twin brother sat down on her left, spreading his coat on her lap. It looked like a blanket on her legs. Quietly, he asked, his voice terse, “You were thinking about her again, weren’t you?”
She didn’t bother to deny it. They always saw through her. After travelling together as long as they had, she would have been surprised if they couldn’t. “Won’t you get cold?”
“Not if we’re like this.” The first Brian sat down on her other side and held his hands to the fire. He smiled softly as he rubbed them. “We should stay in an inn tomorrow. The weather’s only getting colder.”
“We should go somewhere south,” the second Brian countered, annoyance creeping into his voice. He had never liked her plans. “If it weren’t for her—”
Brian snapped, interrupting him. “Brian! Don’t.”
Brian scowled, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I’m wrong.”
It was like hearing her hate battling her love. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised—the Brians had been with her since they were pups. At some point, they had picked up on her feelings, adopting them as their own. Brian’s bitterness was her bitterness. Brian’s optimism was her optimism.
Her doubt, her rage, her fears, all of them played out in the argument in front of her. Cordelia watched, her hands curling into her sides as anger and faith warred on another. For all the pieces of herself she could find in them, she still couldn’t pick up on their genuine emotions. If they still had any that were untouched by her.
Despite all of their time together, Cordelia knew so little about her two companions. Why did they insist on sharing the same name? The same fate? What were their goals? Did they ever dream of the future?
Did they ever want more than this tepid relationship?
It was unfair, what she did to them. Her eyes were always on the horizon, searching for her daughter, but the Brians only looked at her. Maybe she should have pushed them away before their dependency grew too big.
It was too late now. She could never give them the love they wanted. She wasn’t even sure she could give her daughter everything she deserved. Some days, Cordelia was certain her hate for Albert outweighed her love for Victorique.
Today, she wanted love to win for a change. It was cold, the brothers were warm, and Cordelia wanted to do better. For them. For herself. For all that she had lost and gained over the years. Cordelia reached up and gently tousled their hair, ending their argument. “Come closer,” she said, tugging their shirts. “It’s too cold to argue.”
And they did, bodies pressed flush to one another, the Brians watching her with a mixture of hope and concern.
“Is that better?” Brian asked.
The other Brian glanced at the fire. “Should we toss in another log?”
“It’s fine.” She smiled, opening her coat and wrapping her arms around their waists. She pulled them closer, trying to share what little she could of their coats. “I haven’t sung for you in a while. What would you like to hear?”
Envy
Grévil de Blois knew of envy. He faced it every time he looked at his drill-like hairstyle. It was a constant reminder that Jacqueline wasn’t his, would never be his, and the only favour she showed him was that of a fond companion. If he were truly honest, Jacqueline had never looked at him that way, her eyes always flitting somewhere else whenever he awkwardly showed interest.
Still, he didn’t mind envy. It was just another facet of love and for all of its aches, he had never regretted loving Jacqueline. Nor had he regretted his sister’s ridiculous conditions, even if no one could look him in the eye anymore because of his ridiculous hairstyle.
What he did mind, however, was his sister.
Whether she was locked up in his father’s dungeons or cooped up in the school’s library, Victorique only looked at him with blank eyes, her heart empty and devoid of any emotion. Even now, as impatience and irritation laced her voice, her eyes flicking between him and the textbook on her lap, her face was expressionless.
“What have you come for today?” she drawled, flipping a page. As usual, she was surrounded by books, as though she could find the missing parts of her soul in them.
Grévil crossed his arms, more out of habit than anything else. “What else? Another case.”
“I hope you brought me a fun one this time.” Victorique closed her book, finally giving him her undivided attention. Seeing his hairstyle again, she smirked. “I wonder how long you should keep that up?”
“Don’t taunt me,” he snapped, glaring.
He could never figure out just where Victorique had gotten her sharp tongue and even sharper wit. Her expression was sly as she replied, “I’m not taunting. I’m just wondering aloud. Maybe I should leave you with that drill forever.”
“You…” Grévil fisted his hand and took a deep, calming breath. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper over such a silly thing. “That doesn’t matter.”
She shrugged and raised her pipe. “At least your hair is sharp and to the point. Though, even if you got rid of the hair, she still won’t look at you.”
It was like a knife twisting in his gust. “Victorique!”
He had heard those words enough in his head without hearing them from her. There was a callous cruelty in his sister, and perhaps it was better that she didn’t understand just how sharp her words cut, just what sort of feelings they inspired. That he could write off her manipulation to ignorance rather than malice.
She looked away, barely listening. “Hmm?”
“It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t look at me. That’s not the point. You have no idea what lov—” Before Grévil could finish his sentence, the elevator dinged open.
Out walked an exhausted Kujo, his arms wrapped around a cardboard box overfilled with books. His sweaty black hair stuck to his skin as he almost collapsed. “Got…it…”
“We’re not done,” Grévil growled, turning back to her. “You—”
He cut himself off. The girl in front of him little resembled the Victorique he knew. Her eyes were focused, her lips curved into a small smile, and there was a strange tenderness that radiated from her as she approached Kujo.
If Grévil had been anyone else, he would have mistaken her for a lovestruck maiden.
It was impossible. Not her, not this grey wolf that couldn’t so much as comprehend emotion, much less feel them. Yet, as he watched her talk to Kujo, watched her ears redden as her hand brushed his, there really was no other word for it.
Victorique was learning to love.
A bitter part of him wondered, with how tight her prison was, how long it would take that love to turn into envy.
Love
Victorique knew of love. She hadn’t for the longest time. She had only known of four cell walls, cold bricks, moonlight. She had known of a man with a cruel heart and crueler words. She had known of a ‘brother’ who never looked at her for more than a few minutes, as though he would see his own guilt in her.
And then came Kujo, bumbling, kind Kujo. More boy than man when he stumbled through her doors, all gangly limbs and tongue-tied as he tried to keep up with her. He had no wits, was barely able to find his way out of a paper bag let alone a case, and was driven entirely by his heart.
And yet, for some reason, she hadn’t been able to look away when he talked of ideals and fantasies.
And yet, for some reason, she looked forward to his tired steps as he climbed up the long staircase to her abode.
Grévil had once told her that a monster like her couldn’t feel love. To his credit, he had been right for the first time in his life. Victorique couldn’t. Not love, not sorrow, not even hate—for years, not a single emotion touched her heart.
Now, they overwhelmed her. Her mother’s death. Her father’s destructive urges. Her classmates fawning over Kujo. Her separation from him.
Loss. Hate. Envy.
And above it all: love.
It threatened to drown her, yet for some reason she didn’t feel suffocated.
It was strange. She didn’t know enough to explain it. Victorique rubbed her wrist as she turned the emotion over in her mind, trying to process it like she had any other case. All of the evidence was there, all of the clues assembled, but she didn’t have the knowledge to link it all together.
“What are you thinking?” Grévil asked, breaking through her thoughts. She had almost forgotten he was there, standing beside her as he watched a ship pull into the harbour.
For once, she didn’t scowl at his voice. “Nothing.”
He scoffed. “Impossible.” His hair looked like it would pierce the sun when he turned. Green eyes identical to hers studied her. “You’re always thinking.”
“It’s private. Something you—” wouldn’t understand. But his hair told her he would. No, he would understand better than her. Victorique stared at it before looking away. She held out her ticket, a one-way trip to Japan. “Why are you doing this?”
Her brother was obedient to their father to a fault. It hadn’t been that long ago he had dragged her away from Kujo and into Albert’s mechanisms. A change of heart felt out of place.
“I…” He bit his lip, averting his gaze as well. Seagulls cried as the wind blew, bringing with it the salty, musty scent of the sea and its inhabitants. “It’s the right thing to do.”
Victorique couldn’t stop her disbelieving laugh. “When have you ever let that dictate what you do?”
“You—!” Grévil pivoted toward her before deflating. His shoulders sank as he sighed. “No, that’s…not entirely unfair.”
“Not entirely?” Victorique raised a brow. It was strange to see him so humbled.
“Do you have to be this insufferable?” His words lacked their usual bite. Grévil stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s…complicated. I…I want to start now. Changing. Amending. Being better. Either way, consider this me repaying my debt. They won’t find you there.”
Victorique eyed him, but for once it seemed her brother was entirely honest. Was it Jacqueline’s influence? Or something else entirely? It surely couldn’t have been out of sibling love; she doubted either of them saw each other as family.
Still, she could understand the urge to change. To grow. Her past year had been full of it. Victorique looked down at her ticket. Once she reached Japan, she had no intention of returning.
They would never meet again.
Perhaps it was time she also put aside her pride and allowed the past to settle. “Your hair.”
Grévil raised his head. “Even now, you’re—”
“Do whatever you want with it.” Victorique watched as the gangplank to her ship was secured. “I doubt it’ll look any better.”
His lips parted, a soft, “You…” escaping before he laughed. Grévil reached up, messing up his hair, releasing his strands from the prison she’d kept them in for years. As his locks fell over his shoulders, he held out his hand. “Goodbye, Victorique.”
She glanced at his palm before shaking. “Goodbye, Grévil.”
And then she left, disappearing into the crowds as she boarded her ship. Ahead of her, Japan. And beyond that, Kujo. Even with the war, he’d return home alive. He had uncanny luck like that. And when he did, he’d find her there, waiting for him.
Victorique had never been a patient woman, but perhaps that was something love could change too. She looked forward to finding out.
I just finished rewatching Gosick. My opinion on it hasn't changed that much, it's still one of my favourite animes. I remember when I first watched a certain scene in the opening, I thought to myself "I don't know that guy's name, but he looks really cool and interesting!". Years later Brian Roscoe is still my favourite character of Gosick and among my favourite characters from anime in general.
