The gentle whir of machinery droned through the air, occasionally struck through by the sound of ticking. A young man sat in front of his sewing machine, pushing a pair of dungarees along it to sew in patch upon patch.  Every part of this room was a calming larghetto: the gradual pitter-patter of the rain, the creaking of the walls in the wind, and his humming of a lullaby. Following that rhythm, he continued to feed in bits of fabric into the machine. He did it all with deft precision; after all, he’d done so many times before. 

With each tick and pull of the pre-threaded needle, the click of stitching resounded, followed by the sshk of pulling thread before he turned the cloth again. 

This work carried on for almost two hours, seemingly endless... but after time and patience, he finished patching all that wear and tear. With a gentle smile, he steadily dragged the cloth away.

LUCIEN

There we go… 

He held up the dungarees to the dim light of the window, smiling to himself as he looked at the neat lines within the legs.

LUCIEN

It looks like I did a good job!

He then turned, looking at a life-sized wooden doll with a cloth over its body. It was sat upon a wicker chair, propped up against the back, its ever-present smile matching the lively azure of its eyes.

The young man gave it a fond glance, the type one would give their closest friend. He then stood up, tucking a strand of his hemlock-colored hair behind a sharp ear.

LUCIEN

Hope you enjoy the touch-ups I did, Calon. I even remolded the bits of silver.

As if in response, the doll slumped over, and the man simply chuckled as he would in any other conversation. Before he could put the newly made dungarees on his wooden friend, there came a knock at his bedroom door.

LUCIEN

Ah - !

He sprung up, hissing as his chair toppled over off the incline of his study. He kicked his leg out, catching it before it hit the ground, before scrambling to reset it through his words.

LUCIEN

A minute! 

With a spin, he smacked his hands on the desk, feeling around blindly for his cravat. The man yanked it on with one hand.

LUCIEN

I-I’ll just be a minute!

He began to sweep his sewing kit, journals, and books into an open drawer, muttering curses and expletives all the while.

LUCIEN

Please --

His eyes widened as they caught on a ripped open letter. A royal green wax seal was decimated within the crumpled paper, but still stand-out among the gold leafing along its edges.

He grabbed it in a fist, shoving it haphazardly into a non-descript drawer. His head turned back slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

LUCIEN

-- don’t come in just yet! I still haven’t dressed…!

CAMELLIA

Lucien, it’s just me. You really don’t have to worry.

Pausing, he turned fully to the door. With a hesitant laugh, he re-sets his overly loose cravat around his collar.

LUCIEN

O-Oh! That’s… good - I mean, I knew that!

With a sheepish glance back to the doll, he throws the sheet over it once more, before immediately tumbling his way over to the door.

LUCIEN

It’s just you, though? Father isn’t there?

CAMELLIA

Why on Holidor would I be with him?

LUCIEN

Haha, that’s right, I guess… It was a silly question.

He opened the door just a crack, looking out with shifty eyes, before opening it up completely. His gaze traveled downward, meeting his sister’s.

Camellia was looking up at him with concern (as she usually did nowadays). Her hands were on her hips, and eyebrows were furrowed in a worried frown.

He averted his eyes with a stammer.

LUCIEN

Um… Is there anything you wanted?

CAMELLIA

I… 

… need your help giving mum her medicine.

Lucien twiddled his thumbs, before tugging at his fingernails. Pursing his lips, he looked back to her.

LUCIEN

Shouldn’t… Michaela help with that…?

CAMELLIA

She’s working on the next batch, so… she’s busy.

LUCIEN

Oh. I guess I can help then, but…

The corners of his lips pulled into a sad, nervous smile. He stopped tugging at his nails, instead planting them into his arms as he shrunk in the doorway.

LUCIEN

C-Can we go there together? If that’s alright, I mean.

CAMELLIA

Of course it is. <laugh> You’re my brother.

LUCIEN, hesitantly

Yeah, I -- 

His ears drooped as he stumbled over his words.

I know.

CAMELLIA

C’mon. She’d want to see us both together anyhow.

The two of them walked down the hallway, Lucien lingering in his half-sister’s shadow. At first, he stared to her back, taking in the bright green of her vest, before his gaze traveled to his untied laces. He only managed to bite his lip, unsure of what words to share in the silence.

She turned her head back towards Lucien, taking in his posture.

CAMELLIA

Keep your chin up, Luca. 

She’ll be better before we know it.

LUCIEN

You should be more worried for yourself… She’s  your mother -

CAMELLIA

Our mother, Lucien. She is our… mother.

I… thought you’d remember that by now.

A lump of shame corked his words, and he could only look to the wall of photographs to their right. The family pictures stood out in their monochromatic hue compared to the floral wallpaper. That didn’t make them any less warm. Smiles were contained more than frowns within the frames, and all of them provided a picturesque look to a brighter past.

His eyes settled on a photo of Camellia, her mother, and him when he was younger. He and Camellia were beaming, Marigold smiling with motherly pride as she gathered them both on her lap. Eyes traveling up to the dark sepia above his head, he chuckled as he traced the outline of the bunny ear gesture behind it from Camellia.

But then the moment of joy faded as he found himself staring at Marigold’s face. She looked so different, then. Her skin was clear, hair gathered into a frizzy puff above her head, and most noticeable… her eyes were open.

Lucien felt his guts churning.

CAMELLIA

Luca, are you coming?

LUCIEN

Yeah, I…

I am.

The two of them now stood in front of their mother’s room. Despite the fact it’d been months since she’d lifted herself from bed, the entryway seemed as warm and inviting as always. The un-varnished mahogany of the door was covered head to toe in peeling oil paintings. They depicted warm wildflowers, sunflowers, marigolds like her namesake… Looking down at it, Lucien’s brows knit into a furrow as Camellia reached for the brass doorknob.

He looked back to her face, eyes shining with hope.

LUCIEN

Has she gotten better at all?

He stood there, waiting for her reply, to maybe get some good news for once… But instead of answering, Camellia simply gripped the doorknob, fingers tightening against the cool metal. Lucien’s smile lowered and he turned his attention back down to his shoes.

LUCIEN

Oh.

CAMELLIA

She’ll be better one day, but…

She seemed to stop herself, before swallowing down a sigh.

CAMELLIA

I wouldn’t expect any progress this day. We’re still not sure what’s wrong, either…

I’m sorry --

LUCIEN

It’s alright, I-I shouldn’t have asked. 

Let’s… just go in.

Camellia nodded, then slowly opened the door.

The light of the hall seeped in through the doorway. The room itself was rather dim, though the sun flooded in from an open window, the only thing offering shade from the spring light being the sheer white drapery. Once upon a time, the room was calming, with its natural colors, light beechwood flooring, and simple furnishings. But now, it just seemed barren, the once soft smell of paint and sawdust stagnant in the air.

Paintings from their mother used to decorate the walls, but were now stored away in a wooden box that he saw was abandoned in the corner. An easel covered in a dust sheet stood near the window, light shining on it like a beacon. The sun also lit up the dust motes within the air, pointing out neglect without sugarcoating.

After a mental prayer, Lucien finally looked to his mother.

Marigold was laid down on the bed, tucked in tight with quilts and sheets and throw blankets. Her previously ebony skin was now a sallow hue, and her brown eyes stared off into the corner of the room to her unfinished paintings, though he could tell she held no recognition to them. Both her hands held onto her quilt with a limp wrist. The body once called “mother” did not react to Lucien or Camellia entering the room, her chest only rising and falling with shallow depth.

Lucien’s hand lifted to his mouth, lip trembling underneath as if to break. Camellia simply stared on. He knew she must be used to seeing her mother in this state. Instead, she walked over to an art stool thrown down to the floor, righting it to sit by a wicker chair next to the night table.

She then motioned toward the chair, a smile on her lips despite the pain in her eyes.

CAMELLIA

Sit. 

He looked on to the wicker chair, his body not responding at first. Then, he walked over, sitting down. Lucien turned his attention back to his mother, his hand lingering on the edge of his knee.

CAMELLIA

You can even hold her hand, if you want... 

I know she’d want it.

Lucien lifted his arm, hand limply landing on his mother's now-wizened fingers. It wasn’t hard to grab her palm, feel the cold texture of her skin, the veins crawling up her wrist… They were an inky black and purple. The lump that had dissolved came back, and he had to choke back a sob. The only thing stalling his grief was Camellia’s hand on his shoulder.

CAMELLIA

It’s okay, Luca. It’s okay.

LUCIEN

No, it’s not. It’s… It’s not.

The sound of rapid footsteps was audible down the hallway. The siblings shot up, sitting up straight in their seats. Camellia’s hand remained on Lucien’s shoulder while he looked toward the door with wide eyes. Then, finally, the door swung open. 

At the entrance, a tall, waif-like woman with wispy rye-blonde hair panted, her chest heaving with each gasp. The crisp starch of her rumpled maid's uniform crackled faintly as she bent over, trying to calm her breath.

CAMELLIA

Michaela, what’s wrong-?

Michaela's sharp glance silenced Camellia. As if reading her mind, Camellia’s look of concern shifted into fury. Her fingers dug into her brother's shoulder with a fierce, protective grip.

Are you kidding me?

MICHAELA

Unfortunately, I’m not. I saw him at the front door just now.

CAMELLIA

What does he want?!

MICHAELA

I have no clue, but whatever it is, I don’t think either of us will like it.

Camellia frowned and turned to Lucien, who looked bewildered, his gaze flickering between them. She attempted a comforting pat, but this only heightened his anxiety.

CAMELLIA

Don’t worry, Luca… 

I’ll take care of it.

Camellia then brought out a bottle of tonic from her jacket pocket. 

CAMELLIA

Remember to give her this.

Lucien gave a mechanical nod before taking the tonic with a shaking hand. At the doorway, Michaela stood at attention. Lucien inhaled deeply, forcing his nerves to calm before uncorking the tonic and bringing it to his mother's lips. 

Gingerly taking her chin, he opened her mouth and then tipped the liquid into it. Slowly, she swallowed.

Not a second after, Michaela stood up straight, glare turning into a forced smile. Camellia stood up straight as well, though her steely expression didn’t change.

MICHAELA

Mr. Di Perenne! It’s wonderful to see you again --

She shuffled away, snatching her hand back as soon Mephisto leaned in to kiss it.

You seem to be in good spirits.

MEPHISTO

Oh, I am! After all, it’s always delightful to see you, darling --

Hearing Camellia, Mephisto poked his head in with a grin.

MEPHISTO

Asta! My dear daughter! How have you been in my absence?

CAMELLIA

Well, not constantly being called Asta was certainly an improvement --

MEPHISTO, interrupting

I’m sure you were utterly beside yourself, as was your brother; speaking of… where is he?

At the sound of his father’s voice, Lucien sunk further into the wicker chair. Yet he still called out in response.

LUCIEN

I… I’m over here…

MEPHISTO

Ah, my son! For a second, I feared you were hiding in your room. 

He tried to walk closer, each footfall echoing on the wooden floorboards beneath his heels. Michaela's glare was hot on his back as she trailed in behind him like a watchdog.

MEPHISTO

I’m glad to see you out and about, checking in on your poor mother.

Camellia squeezed between her father and Lucien, sliding off the stool and crossing her arms.

CAMELLIA

First, your son has a name. Second, don’t pretend that you care! I bet you only bothered to show up because you wanted something.

MEPHISTO

No, I ‘bothered’ because I wished to check on MY WIFE’S condition. Not to mention…

He shot a smirk at Lucien, who was trying his best to appear small.

MEPHISTO

… Lucien asked me to come over. Did he not tell you?

Camellia's eyes flashed, a simmering rage visible as she jabbed a finger  toward her father. Lucien's chair scraped back against the dusty floor, cutting through the tension, as he put his hand on her shoulder.

LUCIEN

It’s okay, Camellia… He’s telling the truth.

He averted his eyes, his lips pulling back in a thin frown.

LUCIEN

I wanted him to help me with something again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.

Camellia frowned, but the answer seemed to relax her. Still, she stared at their father, daring him to make a wrong move. Mephisto, however, merely grinned with satisfaction before traipsing to the head of the bed to look down at his wife with interest.

MEPHISTO

I’m presuming your mother is… unresponsive to your healing?

The white-clad man looked up at Camellia, eyebrows raised slightly as he continued to pry.

MEPHISTO

What about medicine?

CAMELLIA

My abilities don’t work. 

She sat back down on the stool with a huff, crossing her arms.

Trust me. I’ve tried.

MEPHISTO

And what of the next question I asked?

Camellia shot him another glare, but Michaela spoke up in her stead.

MICHAELA

We’re working on it. It’s hard work, though.

MEPHISTO

If it’s such hard work, then why not ask for help?

CAMELLIA

We don’t need your help!

MEPHISTO

My help? Oh, no no no! I’m simply too busy with my consecrations and whatnot to suggest that.

However, Lucien… He knows quite a lot about medicine, tonics, antidotes --

MICHAELA

Sir, if you don’t stop with the nonsense, I will escort you off the estate personally.

MEPHISTO

Oh! Well, that works out for me… After all, I’ve wished to have some alone time with you, my sweet little --

Camellia’s face flushed red, shooting up from her seat with rage as she pointed to the doorway.

CAMELLIA

Leave. NOW. And you get two hours with Lucien, max!

Mephisto chuckled, then turned back toward Lucien with an outstretched hand

MEPHISTO

You heard the girl. You don’t wish to waste our time, do you?

Lucien's nod was stiff, a jerky movement as he pushed away from the worn wicker chair. He met his mother's vacant gaze; the cold, unseeing brown reflected the nauseating mirror image of his face. His stomach churned. 

He turned, the stale air heavy with words unspoken, abandoning his sister, mother, and friend to the shadowy gloom as his father’s firm grip guided him away.