"Are you alright?"

The worried voice, along with the gentle hand on his back, startled Dom.

Caught off guard, he nearly fell off the bed for the second time since arriving at the castle. This time, the only reason he didn't was because he was still tangled up in the blankets.

Embarrassed at having been caught in the same state as the previous morning—having rushed to bed in a panic and hiding under the covers as if they could act as some kind of protective shield, Dom tried to calm himself enough to sit up, disentangle from the sheets, and glare at Raffaele.

"I'm perfectly fine," Dom said pointedly, though he wasn't fooling anyone. Not even someone as naïve as Raffaele.

"And that?" Raffaele asked, pointing to the half-empty bottle of Bordeaux resting on the nightstand.

"What? Can't a person get thirsty in the middle of the night and go for a bottle?"

Dom knew he was being childish, but he couldn't help it. He was still ashamed of having run away the moment he heard those terrible roars. And now that Raffaele had pointed out the wine bottle, he couldn't avoid remembering how he'd even paused mid-flight to grab the damn thing before returning to his room.

Scared, yes, but with his priorities straight.

"Oh, no problem at all," said Raffaele, and it didn't even sound like a polite brush-off; he actually meant it. "It's just that if you'd told me, I would've brought you a glass."

A wave of guilt washed over Dom instantly. Not only had he nicked the bottle, but he'd also gone down into the cellar without asking. And what did Raffaele do? Everything but scold him, like the absolute sweetheart he was.

"Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me this morning," Dom muttered, rubbing his eyes in a half-hearted attempt to wake up properly. "Seems like I'm more irritable than usual."

"Didn't sleep well?"

"Not at all. I had a hard time falling asleep."

"That's awful. Maybe you're just having trouble adjusting? Although the first night went fine, didn't it?"

"What do you keep in the cellar?"

The question came so abruptly that Raffaele—who had been gently patting Dom's back until that moment—froze mid-motion.

"I... uh... I-I have no idea what you're talking about. Why?"

"I went down to have a look, just to make sure there wasn't anything sketchy lurking around, ready to sneak into the rest of the fortress. And let me tell you, I didn't see anything, but I thought I heard..." Dom trailed off—how could he explain something so creepy? "Do you know if there are lions in this region?"

"Ah... Not that I know of."

"Could've been a tiger. Or a puma. Or some kind of beast with a similar growl! Whatever it was, at least I confirmed that you don't need to worry about hanging limbs."

"Hanging limbs?"

"That legend you told me, about the corpses hung up like hams—I figure if there was some predator down there, it's already made a meal of them."

"You sound awfully sure there's a large feline in the cellar," Raffaele said with a smile that came dangerously close to... condescension?

Oh, the irony! And indeed, Dom could tell that his host's nerves had been slowly easing the more details he gave about his descent into the catacombs.

"If I asked the villagers, I bet they'd say you've got a dragon down there. But I'm not about to fall for that kind of nonsense. My theory makes way more sense."

"I don't know... I doubt there are creatures like that in these woods. And I can assure you, I don't keep a menagerie."

"No, I didn't think you did," Dom admitted. It was hard to imagine Raffaele as the type to keep a private zoo of exotic animals—he just wasn't that kind of person.

"Could it be that you imagined it? I'm not saying you made up the roar, but... down there, in the dark... It's the kind of place that overwhelms the senses. Any tiny sound could seem enormous."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you. You, of all people, should believe me!" Dom insisted,  though the moment he said it, he realized he didn't want to press his point too hard and seem like a complete madman. "A-anyway," he continued, finally noticing something he should have noticed ages ago, "what are you doing here again?"

"What do you mean by...? Oh! Just like always, I knocked."

Dom still didn't quite buy it, but he had no plans to get caught in another endless loop. So, he threw off the covers and got out of bed with complete ease, not a hint of the embarrassment he'd felt the morning before.

Raffaele, for his part, took a step or two back to give him space.

"So what's the plan today? Still hoping to find villagers willing to thrill us with their tall tales?"

"It's Sunday."

That realization nearly made Dom lose his balance as he tried to pull on his pants. He only avoided toppling over by grabbing the edge of the bed.

"No..." he murmured, slightly horrified.

Not that he was exactly looking forward to going back down into the cellar to confront whatever beast might be hiding there, but he was close!

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that. I thought you'd be happy to go to Mass with the rest of the villagers," Raffaele said with a smile free of even a trace of sarcasm. He truly seemed to think someone could find joy in singing hymns to the Virgin and pretending to understand whatever the priest was rambling about. "Didn't you tell me you studied in a monastery?"

"Exactly. Which is why I can say I've attended enough Masses to last me a lifetime."

"I never imagined someone with a religious education could be so... skeptical. Not about faith itself, I mean."

"That's probably because I didn't choose to go to the monastery."

"What do you mean?"

"My parents took me there when I was six or seven, along with my younger brother. Hoped we'd learn the trade and, more importantly, that they'd have two fewer mouths to feed at the dinner table," Dom explained with the detached coldness of someone long since stripped of any emotion for the story. "The usual situation, I suppose, when you're farming, have seven small kids to care for, and the harvest barely covers the taxes."

"What a... heartbreaking situation," Raffaele said, his voice low with sympathy. Though clearly an aristocrat who'd never known such hardship, he seemed to genuinely empathize.

"I wouldn't say it was all bad. The monastery, I mean. I got to learn how to read and write, skills I never would've had access to if I'd stayed on the farm," Dom reflected. "The prayers and strict monastic rules were a drag, sure, but I knew my way around. I knew how to slip away now and then."

Slip away—and raid the pantry. Back in the day, Dom and a few friends had figured out how to force open a trapdoor that led into the stores, giving them access to food—and especially drink—that would've otherwise been completely off-limits.

So no, Dom's path had never led him to become a devout believer.

He could've left a little earlier, without waiting to begin the novitiate. But no—Dom didn't have a habit of making things easy for himself. By the time he finally accepted that the life of faith wasn't for him, there was no other option but escape.

"You never went back home after leaving the monastery?"

"What home?" Dom replied. "My parents' house stopped being mine the moment they left me with the monks." Raffaele flinched at that, and Dom instantly regretted sounding so bitter. He quickly softened his tone. "That was the deal. They'd be free of responsibility, and in exchange, we'd become men of God—useful to the monastery. After they dropped us off, they never visited again."

"And your brother? Do you still keep in touch?"

"Oh, he stayed. Our parents would be pleased to know that at least one of us took to the clerical path. I wanted to keep in touch... and I did, for a little while, when I was about to enlist. But it couldn't last."

"They were looking for you," Raffaele guessed. "You couldn't risk anyone knowing where you were."

It wasn't easy leaving a monastery after taking your first vows. If you did, they might brand you an apostate and hunt you down for it.

Dom had only managed to get away with it because, even back then, he'd already been honing his forgery skills. He'd drafted a letter from a supposedly well-meaning clergyman—an alleged friend of the family—who claimed Dom's presence was urgently needed elsewhere for priestly duties. It was a flimsy excuse, especially given how disinterested Dom had been in church affairs over the preceding months, but it was enough to get him out.

By the time the monks caught on to the deception, Dom had already settled comfortably into his new line of work... though that, too, wouldn't last long.

"Maybe I was just lucky, or maybe they simply weren't too bothered about finding me," Dom said with a shrug, downplaying the matter. He wouldn't dare set foot in that monastery again, but at least he could take some comfort in knowing he wasn't officially considered a fugitive—at least not for that particular misdeed. "Anyway, I've got nothing against going to mass," he added, steering the conversation back to its original track. "Just because I don't relish the idea of spending an hour of my life there doesn't mean I'm going to drop dead at the altar. Besides... it might help us keep investigating."

"That's what I was thinking, too," said Raffaele, smiling warmly. "Even if we don't come across any new information, it would still give us a chance to socialize with the locals. That's never a waste." Then he stepped a little closer, gently taking Dom by the wrist as he added, "But if you're really not comfortable sitting through an entire service, that's fine. We don't have to go today. I've never exactly been devout myself, and if I'm being honest, the main reason I attend mass at all is just to have an excuse to visit the village."

Was he hearing this right? The supposed vampire of San Cipriano was trying to comfort him about setting foot on consecrated ground? The irony of the moment would've made Dom laugh under different circumstances. Now, however, he could only stare in silence at that unexpected point of contact as a warm flush rose steadily to his cheeks.

"I'll be fine, really," he said after a beat, placing his other hand over Raffaele's but still not moving to pull away. "It just caught me off guard. I forgot it was Sunday."

"Well then, I won't worry anymore," Raffaele said, releasing a satisfied sigh before finally letting go of Dom's hand. Still, the feeling of that touch lingered for a while longer—on both ends. "In any case, remember we can leave whenever you like, and... wait, are you going like that?"

"Like what? These are my clothes."

Raffaele had never criticized his outfit before, and Dom didn't think he was about to start now, regardless of how much he might disapprove.

His instincts proved right when Raffaele, as politely as he could manage, remarked, "It is mass day. Don't you have anything else?"

"This is my best shirt," Dom admitted. He understood why it might not look that way, it was visibly worn from years of use. "I've worn it on every trip I've taken in the last five years."

"I can tell."

Raffaele wasn't overtly critical, but he did have that particular kind of disapproving gaze that Dom imagined all valets must have when their lords suggested something absurd, like wearing stockings as gloves or rolling up their sleeves like fieldhands.

"I think my finest garment might be my spare underwear," Dom added with a wry grin. "Though I don't imagine it'll get much attention in church." Then, noticing the way Raffaele looked at him, somewhere between surprised and faintly flustered, likely picturing something he shouldn't, Dom chuckled. "I can change into them, if you like."

"Ah—n-no! That won't be necessary," Raffaele stammered. "Don't trouble yourself on my account."

"It's no trouble. One should look presentable before the Lord. That's what the Abbot always used to say. And his word was law."

Well—except when it wasn't. Dom had always followed his superiors' orders selectively, and only when it suited him. Just like now, when he was deliberately trying to fluster Raffaele again, just to see that cute look he'd worn half a minute ago.

"You know what? I have a better idea, an addition, if you prefer!" Raffaele suddenly declared. Looking visibly nervous, he seemed to remember that there was a door in the room, and without taking his eyes off Dom, he began backing toward it. "I'll lend you something of mine!"

"What? That's not necessary!" Dom's smile faltered. "I really appreciate the offer, truly, but don't you think it'd look a bit suspicious if I showed up wearing your clothes?"

"Nonsense! You're my guest, and as such, it's perfectly normal for me to be concerned about your presentation at mass and to pamper you with the best treatment. So that's settled!" Raffaele, still walking backward, finally bumped into the door, turned the handle, and slipped out. "Just wait here. I'll bring you a few options. Nothing too extravagant, don't worry!"

Dom opened his mouth to protest again, to explain that he'd attended plenty of masses in various towns since fleeing the monastery, and not once had anyone complained about his attire. But by then, Raffaele was already gone.