[ P ] Secrets Kept

Senua

As she sat by her father's bed, her heart hammered in her chest. She even held her breath, though she hadn't noticed she'd been doing that, for she was waiting on his final word. She'd sent everyone else out so that she could have a moment alone with him but she didn't realize this moment would be their last. Senua blinked, her ears a little bleary from the tears that streamed down her face as his rattling breaths echoed around the room.

"Senua, my darling, I know this is not what you want to hear... but I would name Archie heir..." he wheezed, his gaze glazing over as he looked up at her from his bed.

"I'm sorry, what?" she clipped, as ifs he had not heard him correctly. No, certainly not. What a preposterous idea he was posing and it was the illness that was just messing with his head. He was not sitting here, dying, telling her that Archie was to inherit everything and become the head of the household when it was she who deserved it. Suddenly her tears dried up and a stern look replaced that facade of worry and sadness.

"He... he is to be the next..." he rasped, nodding his head and then laying it on his paws. "It is my dying wish." he added before his chest stopped moving and his eyes closed for good. Senua could feel the rage boiling in her gut as she scoffed at him, though he could not longer hear her frustration. She wanted to scream and rip out her hair -- this was not fair!! No... regardless of his wish, she knew what needed to be done. Senua glanced around the room, finding there was still nobody here, and then she drew in a breath and forced herself to resume the waterworks. It was all a show, of course, but she had to put on a good one.

The pale lavender woman slipped from her father's bedside and stepped out into the hallway where the others waited. She blinked away the tears that had formed in her eyes and shook her head. "He's gone." she said sadly. A shaky breath escaped her, though it was from her anger more than her sorrow. "He's named me the next house head, I am to finalize everything later today." she explained, lying through her teeth as she looked upon the faces of those she knew all too well. Would they hear her lie or would they think her words rang true?

Archibald Helebourne stood in the shadows of the hallway, doing his best to blend in. His eyes were damp with unshed tears, and his head hung despairingly. He was awaiting word from his cousin, as were Nero and Lysander, regarding the death of his uncle. But he was more than an uncle, was he not? He had become a surrogate father in Archie's mind, having stepped in after Archie's own parents had perished. So now, he was staring down the barrel of a third lost parental figure, and that knowledge was searing. He sniffled slightly, not making much eye contact with anyone. He felt like he was dying a little, too.

Then, suddenly, Senua reappeared. Archie's heart clenched, and his body visibly jerked. He stood up, moving nearer to her, but cringing away from the smell of illness radiating from the open door behind her. His eyes searched his cousin's face imploringly, but his hopes were in vain. "He's gone." Archie let the words settle over him and took a deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then nodded once, trying to keep the pain from crippling him. He did not want to appear weak, even now, to his cousin or to the Lothlóriens. He always worried about that, but the thought struck him suddenly that now was the most important time, perhaps ever. Now, because there was the matter of succession, of the money, of the titles, of everything.

An icy feeling spread through him. It was no secret that he and Senua were the only options for that role, which had been traditionally passed down from generation to generation for the entirety of the Helebourne family's existence. It was no secret that Senua had been primed for it, until his untimely birth threw a small wrench in those plans. When his parents died, the only one left to choose was his uncle. That choice had to have been made now. Senua surely -- "He's named me the next house head, I am to finalize everything later today." Their eyes locked briefly, before Archie's darted away a moment later. The reality washed over him, and a conflicting tsunami of feelings occurred thereafter. He couldn't process it. What had he wanted, anyway? He didn't know. He'd never known.

"I..." he said softly, his voice hoarse. He looked up again, past Senua, to the room where his dead father-uncle lay. "Of course we will honor his wishes." It was perhaps a stupid thing to say, because that was the only thing they were left to do: honor the wishes of the dead. He had tried to inject some flippancy to his tone to show that he was not affected by the choice, but his words just came out oddly stilted instead. He cleared his throat once and then blinked his own tears away, as Senua did. "I'm sorry you had to be in there for...for it." The death.

Three sets of breath fogged the room while another squeezed out its final contribution in the adjoining suite. The stench of death had pervaded the manor all too heavily of late, and came to fruition in these penultimate moments of their master's passing. Tension rode the air like it was a back alley whore - obvious and without shame. Nero would have liked nothing better than to cast the trollop down upon the polished marble floor, to shatter it and use the jagged pieces to carve excitement into the monotony of the hour's egress. What use the trappings and finery of dress, when the wanton reality of the body lay bare to the elements beyond?

At the very least, he should like to conduct a thorough autopsy - though of course, it would not do to be too obvious about the desire. Societal norms were the bane of scientific advancement, and he did so disdain causing a fuss. Lies. He lived to murder the mundane. Perhaps he would play after the mourners were safely to bed.

In the meantime, Nero leaned irreverently against the wall, uncovered eye glancing up from beneath lowered lashes to drift between the males who shared his space. One borne of his own sterling and alabaster - the other, a more noble rose. The last link, ensconced within yon chamber, clothed in highborn lilac - and the dying, in austere amethyst. The class divide was clear for all to see - or, as his father used to say, 'Blood will out.' Granted, his sire had been reminding him - again - that he would always be lesser, that he was base, and forever fundamentally different than the rest of them...but still. It was such a pretty sentiment, for such an ugly bias.

All blood looked the same when it dripped across the marble floor.

The consultant was abruptly distracted from his musings. The salty tang of tears touched his nose just before Lady Senua emerged from the dark chamber beyond. He remained silent, serpentine gaze sharpened, as the Lady spoke, and announced both mortality and morality in turn. Something in her words, in the tone, in the break of her tears as they wet the fur beneath her eyes...something caught Nero's attention. He could not quite put his finger on what. But the prospect of duplicity whet his appetite for more, made him hungry for the truth, as he was hungry for all things.

The spare was the first to speak up, offering acknowledgement and condolences in turn. Nero hummed under his breath, a short, succinct tone of agreement. "'Tis a tragedy, for sooth and certain." His voice was pitched low, softly musical, enacting sympathy. Simultaneously, he pushed himself forward, standing upright, and offered a step towards Archibald -a casual brush of contact, a wordless gesture of support and comfort. False, of course. But the foundations must be laid. The web was but half spun, and he was loathe to leave a thing unfinished. What a poor spider he would be, to leave a fly unattended - even when the meal walked itself directly into his parlour. "Wouldst thou have me, or perchance my eager brother, proffer aid in aught? Thou should know we stand firm with thy house, in this matter and in all things beside."

table by ferus, image by cassdoodles, bg from unsplash

Her knight stood in silent vigil outside of the room where the scent of death and sickness grew heavy in the air. Lysander knew the weight of grief, had silently accepted the passing of both parents without letting it interfere with his duties. The unhealthy obsession with being the perfect knight was all consuming. There were times he would dream of his parents and the unresolved grief would shake his subconscious and disturb his rest. The few regimented hours he did allow himself were few and far between, enough to keep him from feeling groggy, but never long enough to keep him away from Lady Senua.

Lysander's pale features stiffened as he listened to the news of the lord of the house’s demise. What words could soothe the loss of a parent? Nothing. His scarred lips tugged at the corners, a nervous tic when he was at a loss for words. The knight lingered on the periphery, letting the Hellebore family have a moment together before he approached.

His heart panged with cruel desire, wanting to brush those tears from her cheeks with his unworthy calloused paws. No matter how disciplined he acted beneath the self righteous superiority was a sin that he dared not give a name to.

Nero was quick to step forwards to offer his own and Lysander's aid in dealing with matters. Not without a dig at Lysander's attentiveness to Lady Senua, of course. "Lady Senua. Young Master Archibald. I offer to thee mine sincerest condolences for thy loss," he finally spoke, bowing his head to each of them. "Shouldst there be aught I can do thou needst but request. I believe mine own services wouldst be sufficient, unless thou doth favour mine brother's humble offerings,” he suggested, giving his half-brother a skeptical glance. He did not like the idea of Nero helping Lady Senua at all. It was like playing with a sword and expecting the blade not to pierce flesh. Nero was unruly and Lysander was determined to bring him to heel.

Senua

To her relief, nobody questioned her. They all seemed to take her words at face value (or they at least pretended to). While she was saddened by the death of her father, she was still upset that he would try to pass everything onto Archie and not her in his final moments. His words rang in her head over and over as she stared at the others, her lilac eye glazing over as she nearly missed their words entirely. First, she looked to Archie and had to restrain herself from shrugging at his words dismissively. "Thank you, and it's okay. I'm glad I was there to be with him while he went, I hope he found comfort in my presence." she said softly in return, finding that more appropriate than her true reaction wished to be. Gaze drifted to Nero next, then Lysander. They offered their condolences and help in any way they could. She smiled gently at them both, finding comfort in their words and the fact that they still both stood with her and her house. They were loyal, if anything, and that was good. She'd need loyal wolves helping her through this.

She cleared her throat, as if to remove the wobble from her words, then shook her head as she paced closer to Lysander. She found herself wanting to reach out a paw and place it on his shoulder, but she refrained with everyone else watching it felt... like she shouldn't do that. "I think I'm okay for now, thank you both." she said with a small, weak-looking smile on her lips. She played the sad daughter card all too well, and would likely do so in the days to come in order to get things the way she wanted them but it was exhausting already. Her lip twitched slightly from the strain of faking her expressions, but one might mistake that for nerves or sadness all the same or so she hoped.

"Thank you, and it's okay. I'm glad I was there to be with him while he went, I hope he found comfort in my presence." Archie nodded, eyes drifting away from his cousin and through the open door where the body of his departed uncle-father lay. It all felt...so sudden. So unfair. The cacophony of emotions raging inside him were deafening. He felt he should say something more, but what was there to do? The longer he stood there, the more foolish he felt. He glanced from Senua to their other companions, and he felt all at once like he was the lesser sum of something very great indeed. They had gravitas. They had weight. He felt thin, fragile, unbalanced.

"'Tis a tragedy, for sooth and certain." Archie's tear-blurred gaze fell upon Nero's face as the man moved closer, brushing against him in what was a comforting gesture. "Wouldst thou have me, or perchance my eager brother, proffer aid in aught? Thou should know we stand firm with thy house, in this matter and in all things beside." Archie sniffled. He knew, from instinct, that Nero was not really talking to him, so he stayed silent as Lysander, too, stepped forward. "Lady Senua. Young Master Archibald. I offer to thee mine sincerest condolences for thy loss." Archie winced somewhat at the bow, which made him feel even stupider for having thought he had any chance at all at being important. Right now, he felt like nothing at all. "Shouldst there be aught I can do thou needst but request. I believe mine own services wouldst be sufficient, unless thou doth favour mine brother's humble offerings.” Had he been less distraught, he might have picked up on the subtle battle of wits between brothers before him. As it were, Archie had never been much for subtleties.

Senua declined their offers. Even though Lysander had spoken to Archie directly, he did not really think that either statement was truly meant for him. He was just...there. He lowered his eyes to the floor and wondered what it would be like to disappear into it. He felt like grief, and the heavy weight of the atmosphere around them, had made his throat thick. Senua was to direct them now. Hers was the word they were to follow. Still, he murmured, "Thank you." A pause, somewhat awkward. He felt like he needed a drink. A strong one. Beyond that... "Can I...see him?" he asked Senua.

The interplay of grief and artifice wrapped wryly around each word as it was brought into being. Nero lived for such vaunted games, thrived on the undercurrent of mortal deception that lined each tender tongue; his lipid pools of angry acid gleamed in the candlelit shadows of the manor, even as his expression was forcibly contorted into somber sorrow. His attention drifted between each of his fellows in turn, knowing that each of them played a different game - that each of them skirted around a set of rules only barely given voice. Though they each might hear the same music, their steps of the dance were all out of synch.

Except, perhaps, for Archibald, whose sincere grief and suffering of tragedy seemed relatively forthright in comparison.

Perhaps, though, that was simply his own bias talking. Lysander was also certainly honest enough in his genuine, oh-so-saintly dedication to the Helebourne name - and to Senua, in particular. Nero was almost disappointed that the old man had named Senua his heir - if he had, hah - if only because he would have enjoyed watching the conflict cross his kin's face in light of the necessary shift in priority. But no. Senua was adamant in her portrayal of grief, and Lys was happy to lick it up like the good little lapdog he was.

And so thus Nero sent a shark-toothed smile in his brother's direction when the larger male returned his verbal jab - and although part of him longed to continue their repartee, decorum demanded he be circumspect. He would bottle up his poison to use another day. He did possess such a grand collection now.

And indeed, as he suspected, Senua spoke and waved aside their offer of aid. 'Thank you, and it's okay. I'm glad I was there to be with him while he went, I hope he found comfort in my presence.' Nero blinked, peering into and behind the mask that Senua so expertly donned. More evidence would be required before he acted upon his suspicions, but doubt slithered through his thoughts like a viper, tainting vein and vernacular. 'I doubt not thy visage didst bring him solace in his final hour," he crooned. The serpent flicked his tongue towards the rose-worn figure of Archibald, but his attention remained pointedly upon Senua. He pointedly offered the Lady a deep bow, in mirror of the gesture Lysander had proffered. "Long Live Lady Helebourne,"

Nero then stepped to the side as Archie inquired if he could pay his respects to the deceased - and though he possessed a scientific curiosity himself, the tutor donned a more morose mask. "In the meanwhile, I shall - humbly - fetch the wine. Verily if e'er a cause doth warrant a draught of potent liquor, 'tis surely this." With a deep nod towards both Senua and Archie, Nero sauntered out the door, his mind working to catalogue each minute shift of scene and cadence he'd so recently observed. He was, at the very least, eager to abandon the pretense of sympathy, and equally as enthusiastic to leave the miasma of emotive grief behind.

[Exit Nero]

table by ferus, image by cassdoodles, bg from unsplash