Atop a small hill besides a pond bordering the size of a lake, stood an elegant gazebo that offered shade from the bright sun. Three women in light blue and green summer dress were having a conversation over tea and a variety of biscuits, occasionally sharing a restrained laugh.
They noticed the Earl and Alden, as they left the densely planted, wild gardens. One of them invited them over with an enthusiastic but nonetheless refined wave.
The Earl’s daughters and his wife were all ladies of high class, and wore it as such.
“It took you long enough Nestor,” Lady Harrowby said with a slight smile, toying with her husband.
“It was merely a good chat, darling.” The Earl Harrowby said as he took her hand and gave it a kiss to distract from his tardiness.
“You are still as charming as when you were twenty.” She held back a laugh and waved away her husband’s flattery.

Alden simply stood by, his hands resting in the hollow of his back as he waited for the scene to pass. Yet he couldn’t help but share a glance with the daughters, united in having to bear this awkward wait with him. It appeared Lady Harrowby finally caught on.
“Ah, Alden, you have grown up to be such a fine young man from last I saw you.” She smiled, then looked at her daughters. “Sylva and Philemona used to dote on you so much, but I doubt you remember. You were still so young.”
“I’m afraid not.” Alden said with a polite bow and a smile, holding his hand out palm up to introduce himself. “But it is a pleasure to meet you regardless.”
The daughter closest to him, with green dress and curled blonde hair introduced herself first, well-practised and nearly gleeful. She took his hand quick and unafraid.
“Sylva, it’s a pleasure to meet you too Milord.”
“Just Alden will suffice.” He said, his smile widening as he waved the title away with a gesture of his bad hand. It caught her attention for only a moment, but her politeness quickly took over. She nodded and let go again, so he could offer the same introduction to her sister.

Philemona was more timid, and even her attire spoke of that; her light blue dress was more modestly decorated and her hair straight in the dark blonde hue it naturally came. He could tell her first instinct was to hide from him, but after reassuring her with a gentle smile he managed to still get a light and quick touch of her hand. Instead of holding on like he had done confidently with Sylva, he let her hand slip the moment she wanted to do so.
“Philemona, Milord.” She said, her voice soft despite clear effort to speak up.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.” He said, his voice softer as well to match hers, and not complicating the pleasantries any more.
“Please, sit with us.” Lady Harrowby offered, coming to the rescue of her less socially inclined daughter. “You musn’t deny an old woman the opportunity to tell the embarrassing stories she has gathered.”
“Go easy on him darling, he has only just returned. There’s no need to scare him away so soon.” The Earl Harrowby chuckled a low chuckle over his own remark. Alden watched on helplessly, as a footman from the entourage of the Harrowby’s offered to pour his tea. He quickly nodded and took it, fearing that he would have no choice but to sit through several dainty porcelain cups worth of his own history that he didn’t want to know.

“May I ask you something Milord?” Philemona’s soft-spoken question was his saving grace in a moment of silence between stories of his childhood that he at most barely recalled. He smiled and nodded for her to go ahead, before taking a sip of his tea. “Is there a tale to your hand? Father mentioned you were with the Occultists.” Her last sentence was nearly hopeful, as if begging him for a story that did not involve the bumbling of any children.
“ 'Mona, I do not believe that would be a pleasant story to recall.” Lady Harrowby said, slightly taken aback by Philemona’s forwardness.
“Oh it’s no issue,” Alden said as he let go of the small teacup, looking over the remainder of his left hand and pondering over how to tell the story. “It is true I was with the Occultists up until recently. And I am sure you wish to know what horrific creature took my fingers from me?”
Philemona nodded, already enthralled before he’d even begun. Sylva seemed more trepidatious about knowing what caused such things.
“So do I.” Alden said, one corner of his mouth rising into a somewhat dour smirk. “We were sent out on a mission far up North, into inhospitable Scottish lands. There was word of a dark cultus gathering in one of the old castles, praying to ancient things from before the light of God reached there. We went in late at night, under the guise of heavy rain and thunder. But we’d arrived too late, their rituals were already complete, and the cultists laid all dead.”
“A monster?”
Alden shook his head.
“Far worse. There had been in an attempt to gain immortality, but it created a shadow of death itself. We were scattered, picked off one by one in the darkness of the old halls. One moment I was attempting to guide my subordinates out, the next I was eye to eye with something I couldn’t even comprehend. But just as it began to take me piece by piece, the other Occultists had set the castle ablaze. It fled from the fire, but a minute later and I would have been gone.”
“Is it true, do such things truly exist?” Sylva asked, her cheeks having paled slightly.
“Of course not.” Earl Harrowby immediately interjected. “He just enjoys telling grand tales. It was an accident.”
Both Philemona and Sylva looked between Alden and their father, as if unsure which to believe. Until he played along with the Earl's wishes, laying a finger of his good hand on his lips and smiling ever so mysteriously. He took away the dread, but left an unspoken possibility of truth to the tale to retain the thrill.
He knew the truth would leave most unable to sleep in their beds at night  – he certainly hadn’t been able to since.