NARRATIVE POINT OF VIEW
“I have done the task you asked Viscount, have you got any more request?” Agatha asked, bowing before him in courtesy. Her lethargy was clear, it showed with the shriveling of her lips emulating dried persimmons.
He remained seated holding the book he’s reading then eyeing her. The glow of the reading glasses he's wearing made her pensive. He clearly had something in mind by the way he’s staring. Agatha ran her hands across her dress, she clenched it lightly, scratching the stained fabric.
He sat up straight with a frown. His obvious repulsion showed as he ran his eyes to scan her being. “Odious,” he blurted out holding the hinge of his reading glasses. “Do me a favor and have a douse, you reek of filth” he said, pointing his lips towards the stairs. Signalling her to change.
Agatha smiled awkwardly, she held her nape out of embarrassment. She sniffed and the aftermath of her week-old clothes hit her sniffer. It was unpleasant as the last time she took a bath might’ve been a week ago.
“Understood” she responded, but didn’t move a muscle. The Viscount remained looking “what?!” he asked as she obviously have something to say.
“w-where may I take one? And d-do you have anything I can wear? Viscount…”
He clicked his tongue, closed the book and walked upstairs “follow me” he said.
They came back to his room, the one where she woke up in earlier. She stood behind him, hands at her back, holding each other gently.
“this” he tossed her a white dress, it was made of silk and the soft pink bustles was a clear ign that such clothes are only to be worn by those of noble blood. Agatha held it gently, gaping lightly at the stitching around the hem. She has never worn one before, these types of dresses are strictly worn for Symposiums and it's a lot heavier than the simple dresses she wears. She gazed back at him, and he had his brows raised. “what?!”
She shook her head, complaining will get her nowhere, it’s better to put up with it. No matter how uncomfortable wearing one might be.
Viscount Claude pointed towards the other side of the room, “there’s the lavatory, make it quick. I’ll wait” he stated in a threatening way to convey that he have the upper hand, by no means is she allowed to escape.
“U-understood” Agatha replied.
Grazing the frigid flow of the water damping her skin, Agatha couldn’t help but to whimper. He can hear her continuous gasp from where he's standing. He’s extremely baffled, thinking of what she’s doing inside. But he’s clearly mistaken. It was the mere touch of clarity that brought her in such a state. Taking a bath for the longest time after the maddening occurrence she experienced brought her in a euphoric state. She cannot help but to gracefully nudge her body with the Castile soap, ridding of all impurities she collected this past week.
The trickling of the water below ringed her mind, it’s relaxing enough that she forgot where she was for a moment. “Can you get any slower than that?” his voice made it past the hard knock wooden door. She flinched, “I-I’ll be done in a minute, Sire” she frantically said, as she stepped out of the pod to dry herself out.
He sat on the edge of the bed, just across the door of the lavatory. He’s being observant for a reason, he’s testing her out to see of what she’ll become. He crossed his legs, unmoving. Knowing the policies of Bridgeton, they are definitely looking for her. It wouldn’t matter how many years it has been. The heir to the throne must come home.
He chuckled, “I’m not going to let that happen” he said at the back of his mind. Keeping Agatha by his side will satisfy his thirst for her blood and his decade-long demise accustoming the royals of that. He might be weak because of all the hurdle he experienced, but keeping a young woman is an easy job, especially for a charismatic monster like him.
He was in deep thought when the door opened, Agatha appeared before his eyes. He sat frozen, widening his eyes as the memories of his past acquaintance came rushing in. “I’m sorry it took me long” she said apologetically.
'By no means, I’d get enamored by a mere human once more' is a phrase he's been living by for the longest time. But seeing her standing neatly wearing that elegant dress similar to the woman from his past brought him solemnity. He felt giddy, as if he wanted to throw up and he’s not even hungry. He avoided eye contact, trying to ignore the loud beating on his chest. For the first time, he felt alive. A feeling he hasn't felt for the longest time, therefore dousing him in disdain.
He never thought that clothes can make a difference in image, but Agatha was a strong representation of that. Her royal aura flaunts easily, she didn’t even need to try that hard. Her green eyes glimmered, a sign of her bloodline.
'I can not let anyone see her like this' he said to himself. His rationality left him for a moment despite the truth that he knows that it's impossible for someone to know her here, Irvine and Bridgeton are oceans apart, and by no means will they recognize her but for some reasons, he got extremely worried. He stood up and headed towards a cabinet. He rummaged around until he found something that will lessen her exposure. Not just to the public, but to himself.
A grey dress with small bustle caught his attention, he thought it was perfect and so he threw it across the room. “wear that instead, it’s insulting to see you wear something of my class” he uttered angrily. He stepped towards the door but before he got out, he gazed at her. The loud pounding in his chest never left. Her baffled look made him remember his past romance, and it irks him deeply.
“clean the house!” he yelled with obvious annoyance before slamming the door shut. “That wench is dead, but she’s still haunting me eh?” he murmured sickly. Running his hands across his face.
Agatha clicked her tongue. She doesn’t get this mad usually but he just have something in him that enrages her for no reason. She gazed at the dress she’s wearing “I look good in this dress though!” she sighed as she began stripping.
After changing, she plodded out of the room wearing her fraudulent enthusiasm. She walked downstairs, and there he was back to reading. “I’ll start here Viscount” she stated cheerfully despite getting ignored.
She started cleaning, humming to herself quietly as to not disturb him. They were both occupied with their means but at the same time, they remained wary of each other. Occasionally sliding their eyes to their peripheral vision watching the other sneakily. Agatha was the first one to notice, but she tried her best to remain calm. She’s human and he's not, and they both know she doesn’t have a card she can use against him except herself. She took a deep breath, ridding herself of the fear she had. If this works, her question will be answered and she might find a way out. But if it doesn’t, she’ll die instantly. The only hope she has is her belief, belief that he can control himself in the face of her inviting blood.
Never had she ever felt extremely attractive, but as the saying goes, confidence is key. She went down on her knees, right in front of him. An erotic whimper blared out of her mouth as she purposely bruised her finger using a loose steel hanging by the end of the besom.
He straightened his back as he smells the riveting scent of her blood, his eyes drawn red as he began to feel himself change. “Viscount…I got cut...”