Instead of a chopper, we took a ride to the port, then a boat ride to the island. The champagne, far too sweet for my liking, did little to dispel the underlying tension, though Levi seemed to enjoy it, a rare lightness in his eyes as we continued our earlier discussion. We spoke of flour and sugar instead of fury and vengeance, a bizarrely domestic counterpoint to the impending confrontation. He even seemed genuinely intrigued by the idea of channeling his meticulous nature into the precise art of baking, a notion I still found somewhat surreal given the circumstances.

The boat docked with a gentle thud against the weathered pilings of the island's small harbor. As we approached the 'mansion', the grand facade I had perhaps imagined felt… deflated. The once pristine grounds were now overgrown, the paint on the imposing doors peeling. There was an unsettling stillness in the air, an absence of the bustling staff I expected. No liveried servants rushed to greet us, no officious butler stood waiting at the entrance.

A strange lightness seemed to possess Levi as we approached the dilapidated mansion. He intertwined his fingers with mine, and began to walk towards the imposing structure with an almost childlike skip in his step.

Levi rapped sharply on the mansion door. For a moment, there was only silence, the rustling of overgrown vines against the stone walls the only response. Then, with a slow, deliberate creak, the door swung inward, revealing Cybil, his mother, standing in the shadowed entryway.

She was looking so weak, so fragile.

A wave of unexpected pity washed over me in the dim light of the mansion's entryway. The woman before us was a shadow of the imperious figure I remembered from our last encounter months prior. Gone was the haughty tilt of her head, the shimmering bejeweled gown that had radiated disdain. Now, she was frail, almost skeletal. The lines on her face were deep ravines, her cheeks sunken, her deep blue eyes, so like Levi's, now dull and lifeless. Her gaze fixed solely on her son, completely ignoring my presence, a deliberate echo of our first, humiliating meeting. The fall from grace had been brutal.

Cybil’s voice, though weak, still held a sharp edge of disdain as she addressed her son. "How dare you show yourself before me?" she demanded, her gaze unwavering.

In contrast, Levi beamed at his mother, his expression almost boyishly innocent. "Ah, Mother," he replied, his tone light and cheerful. "I simply wished to spend some quality time with you. A little... bonding session for the family."

Cybil’s thin lips curled into a sneer, her dark eyes flashing with a flicker of their former fire as she finally acknowledged my presence with a dismissive glance. "And you brought him?" she spat, the word dripping with contempt. "What fresh indignity is this, Levi?"

Levi's smile remained fixed, unwavering. "Mother," he said, his tone still light, almost teasing. "Raphael is merely here as... moral support. And perhaps to offer a different perspective on our little family gathering." He gently squeezed my hand.

With a grudging sigh and a look of utter distaste, Cybil retreated further into the shadows of the mansion, allowing us entry.

As my eyes adjusted, the truth of her fallen state became even more apparent. The grand foyer was now desolate. Dust lay thick on the ornate but decaying furniture, cobwebs draped across the once-gleaming chandeliers. There was an unnerving stillness, a complete absence of life. No hushed whispers of servants, no distant clatter of dishes – just the heavy silence of an empty tomb. We were utterly alone with Cybil in the decaying grandeur.

Cybil led us through the silent, dust-laden halls to a room that, judging by the faded elegance of its remaining furniture, must have once been a grand tea room. We settled onto opposing couches. Cybil wore a simple, faded dress, its once fine fabric now showing obvious signs of wear. Several times, her gaze flickered towards the doorway with a ghost of expectation, a fleeting reminder of a time when a summons would have been instantly answered by attentive servants.

Cybil’s voice, though softer than before, was laced with a bitter resentment as she finally addressed Levi directly. "Why, Levi? Why did you orchestrate all of this? How could you do this to your own mother? After everything I endured, everything I suffered... for you!" Her gaze flickered towards me, sharp with undisguised disdain. "And you even brought your pet with you."

Ouch.

Levi leaned back on the couch, a cool smile playing on his lips as he addressed his mother. "I rather thought you would appreciate the exquisite irony of it all, Mother," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I always did admire your sharp intellect. The boy you so carefully cultivated, the one you adorned with jewels and envisioned as the restorer of your family's glory, the one destined to bring prosperity back to this land... well, he was the one who ultimately brought it all crashing down."

Cybil's gaze snapped to me, her eyes filled with a raw fury. "He has poisoned you against me!" she spat, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. "This... this creature has turned my own son into my tormentor."

I clapped my hands together, the sharp sound echoing in the heavy silence. "Okay," I said, my voice deliberately bright. "First of all, I didn't do shit, okay? Your precious son was perfectly capable of orchestrating your downfall all by himself. My contribution was limited to, shall we say, providing a delightful distraction that may have even delayed your inevitable reckoning, if you catch my drift." I punctuated my words with a deliberate, exaggerated wink. "Also, Mother," I added, mimicking her earlier disdain, "for your information, I'm not even one of your precious Ascarians. Your little noble drama? Couldn't care less."

Cybil’s face twisted in a mask of pure revulsion in the decaying tea room of the mansion. "A commoner," she spat, her gaze fixed on me with undisguised disgust. "Flaunting his vulgarity in my presence. This is the depths to which you have sunk, Levi. Truly pathetic."

Levi leaned forward slightly, his dark blue eyes, so like hers, now gleaming with a cold triumph. "Ah, Mother," he said, his tone laced with a sardonic admiration. "My beautiful, intelligent, sharp-tongued mother. I spent my formative years witnessing your masterful take downs of those exquisitely dressed noblewomen, dissecting their reputations with a single, perfectly placed word at those oh-so-refined tea parties. I truly believed you would appreciate my... resolve."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "After all, Mother, you made me. I wasn't some feral creature dragged in from the streets. You meticulously crafted me. You taught me how to identify a target, how to stalk my prey, how to deliver the final, decisive blow. You were my instructor. So, instead of wasting my time on 'commoners'," he flickered a brief, dismissive glance at me, "I heeded your implicit lessons. I aimed higher, Mother. Much, much higher."

"So, in the end," she said, her voice brittle, her gaze fixed on Levi, "my greatest creation became my destroyer. The irony, as you so enjoy pointing out, is not lost on me, Levi."

Levi's cool gaze didn't waver from his mother. A hint of something akin to satisfaction flickered in his blue eyes. "I am so glad you finally understand, Mother," he said, his voice still measured but with an underlying steel. "But our little family reunion is not quite over. There is still the matter of... closure. I did this for Father, for the years of your relentless cruelty towards him. And I did it for my sister, for the bright light you extinguished so carelessly."

Cybil’s frail hand gripped the armrest of the worn armchair, her knuckles white against the fabric. "Your father was a weak man," she declared, her gaze hardening. "He never understood what it truly meant to wield power. He lacked the necessary ruthlessness, the vision to secure our legacy."

Levi's voice, though still controlled, now vibrated with a raw, undisguised fury. "Then be glad, Mother," he said, his tone dangerously low. "Because I understand power. But unlike you, I recognize that true strength lies not in cruelty, but in loyalty. Father was not weak. He was kind, gentle... like my sister." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "And what did you do to them? You discarded them like unwanted trinkets, you starved them of affection, you neglected them until..." His voice trailed off. "I will never forgive you for what you did to them."

"You dare to judge me?" she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You, who have orchestrated this... this humiliation? You know nothing of the burdens I carried, the sacrifices I made to keep this family afloat."

"Indeed, Mother," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Your burdens, the heavy weight of your noble status and its attendant responsibilities, will now cease to trouble any woman. The playing field, as it were, has been leveled. Now, Mother," he emphasized the word with a chilling finality, "everyone is equal."

A hollow laugh escaped Cybil's lips in the heavy silence. "Equality," she echoed, the word dripping with sarcasm. "You think this... this destruction brings equality? You fool. You've simply dragged us all down to the same level of ruin." Her gaze swept around the desolate room, encompassing the faded grandeur. "There is no triumph in this, Levi. Only ashes."

My own patience, stretched thin by Cybil’s continued venom, finally snapped. "Enough," I declared, my voice sharp and cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "From the ashes, a phoenix rises. You've had your reign, you've reaped what you sowed. Now stop wallowing in self-pity and being an entitled bitch, and apologize to your son for the years of cruelty and neglect."

Her expression was a mixture of shock and utter disdain, her eyes raking over me as if I were a particularly unpleasant insect that had just crawled out from under a rock.

"Stop looking at me like that," I said, meeting her icy gaze head-on. "What? Do you honestly believe you're the first entitled, self-serving individual I've ever encountered? Trust me, mother, you're hardly breaking new ground." I leaned forward slightly, a hint of a smirk playing on my lips. "Also, I've spent months intimately acquainted with your son. There isn't a glare in your arsenal that could possibly intimidate me."

"To think," she murmured, her voice laced with weary disdain, as if addressing some unseen entity, "that this insect would dare to utter such vulgar words in my presence. The depths to which this family has fallen." She waved her hand dismissively.

"'Insect'," I echoed, a knowing smile playing on my lips. "Ah, yes. Funny enough, Levi particularly enjoys using that very word when he reminisces about your oh-so-esteemed noble acquaintances. Seems the sentiment might just be... mutual."

Levi's gaze, sharp and unwavering, settled back on his mother. A chillingly polite smile touched his lips. "You see, dear Raphael?" he murmured, a hint of dark amusement in his voice. "She is the original darkness, the black void from whence I sprang." He then addressed Cybil directly, his tone hardening. "Mother, you know I am merciful. After your little theatrical performance involving the near demise of my husband, I merely saw fit to incinerate a particularly gaudy noble estate."

He gestured languidly around the dusty, servantless room. "As you have so effectively divested yourself of any means of support staff, I find myself pondering a rather intriguing question. What, precisely, are we to do with you now, Mother? The culinary arts are beyond your current capabilities, the cleaning appears to be a foreign concept, and any form of manual labor seems... unlikely. Do enlighten me, Mother. I am genuinely curious to hear your suggestions."

Her gaze flickered at me. "Perhaps your little pet can fetch and carry. That seems to be his forte." she said.

Ah, this bitch.

The familiar sharpness of her tongue was undeniable; she was indeed Levi’s mother.

"Oh, Levi," I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness. "You know what I think? This place has such... character. We should absolutely move in. A cozy little family unit: Mother and her two devoted gay sons. Wouldn't that be just… perfect, Mother?" I directed the last word at Cybil, my smile widening into something that I hoped looked more menacing than inviting.

A slow smile spread on Levi’s lips. "An intriguing proposition, my dearest. The poetic justice of it all... Mother, what are your thoughts on our little domestic arrangement?"

Cybil let out a choked, hysterical laugh. "Poetic justice?" she gasped, her voice laced with disbelief and a hint of madness. "You think this squalor, this utter humiliation, is justice? You've both lost your minds!"

My own fury, simmering beneath the surface for so long, finally erupted.

"Shut up!" I snarled at Cybil, my voice cutting through her hysterical laughter. "Apologize to Levi. You either apologize to him right now, you vile excuse for a parent, or you will be the one fetching my orange juice every morning from now on, you narcissistic hag!"

A brittle laugh escaped Cybil's lips. It was a sound devoid of humor, laced instead with a raw, almost desperate edge. "Threaten me?" she repeated, her gaze sweeping around the desolate room. "What more can you possibly do? Take what little I have left? You've already won."

I rose from the threadbare couch, my shadow falling over Cybil as I looked down at her. "No, you idiot," I said, my voice cold and hard. "There is one thing he hasn't taken from you. I've often wondered why Levi didn't simply end your life. But I understand now." I paused, letting my words sink in. "This. For you to exist as a hollowed-out specter of your former self, trapped on this desolate island, surrounded by nothing but the ghosts of your past. Repent for the rest of your miserable existence. Only God can offer you any semblance of forgiveness now."

"Is that what he wants? For me to suffer like this?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, a single tracking down her cheeks.

"Is that all you can muster? That pathetic little whimper? A single, solitary crocodile tear? Please. His 'unusual companion' happens to be an actor. And your performance? Unconvincing." I gestured dismissively. "Try again. With feeling this time. Or perhaps just save us both the agony."

Cybil looked utterly lost and confused. Her brow furrowed, and her gaze flickered between me and Levi, a desperate plea for understanding in her eyes. "Actor?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you talking about? Levi... what is he saying?"

The weight of the situation seemed to be finally overwhelming her.

“Oh, shit? You didn’t know? Really?” A dry chuckle escaped my lips. I exchanged a knowing glance with Levi, who was indeed watching the unfolding scene with a rather amused expression, a subtle smile playing on his lips as his mother's confusion deepened.

"An actor?" she repeated slowly, her voice filled with bewilderment. "You mean... you pretend for a living? What does that possibly have to do with any of this?"

"Oh, Mother," I said, my voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness. I leaned back on the couch, crossing my legs with a casual air. "Quid pro quo. You want to know what I do? Go fetch us some tea. Then, perhaps, we can have a nice little family chat about how your beloved son meticulously plotted your downfall... with the invaluable assistance of a rather talented gay actor." I gestured expansively, taking in the dusty room. "After all, communication is key to any healthy family dynamic, wouldn't you agree?"

With a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years and defeat, Cybil slowly rose from the worn armchair. A flicker of her old habit of command seemed to briefly surface as she moved with a reluctant, almost ghostly grace towards what I presumed was the adjoining pantry or kitchen.

“What a bizarre tea party, Levi. I guess was expecting a stand off between a final villain or something. Like in the movies.”

Levi chuckled softly. "Indeed, my dear Raphael," he murmured, watching the doorway through which his mother had disappeared. "Our little family gathering has taken a rather... unconventional turn, hasn't it? I suppose the dramatic showdowns of the silver screen have spoiled our expectations for real-life villainy. Though, I assure you, my mother possesses a certain talent for theatricality, albeit one often directed inward." He leaned back on the threadbare couch, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Cybil re-entered the tea room, carrying a dusty silver tray laden with a mismatched tea service. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her gaze fixed on the porcelain cups as she placed them carefully on a small, worn table between our couches. The clinking of china seemed strangely loud in the heavy silence. She avoided our eyes, her expression unreadable as she poured the tea.

The tea was barely steeped and frankly tasted like mop water.

Yet, both Levi and Cybil held their chipped porcelain cups with identical, refined grace. Their little fingers were slightly extended, their sips delicate and silent.

Setting the cup down gently, I turned to Cybil. "Now, Mother," I said, my voice calm but with an underlying steel. "The tea was disgusting. But you prepared it, fulfilling your part of our little exchange. Quid pro quo. It's your turn. Ask your question."

Cybil's gaze remained fixed on Levi, a silent plea for understanding in her eyes. "The actor..." she repeated, her voice barely a whisper, tinged with confusion and a hint of desperation. "What role did he play in all of this?"

I interjected, drawing her attention back to me with a theatrical flourish, pointing to my eyes with my pointer and middle finger. "Eyes up here, Mother," I said, my tone light but with an underlying edge of triumph. "As for your question, I was simply the angelic, comforting face in the narrative. Helping him cultivate the image of the Saint of Ascaria. You see, when the time finally came for your little reign to end, the people were already primed to embrace his ideology. Who wouldn't trust a Saint, especially one with such a charming... companion?" I offered her a wide, perhaps a little too wide, smile.

She shook her head slowly, as if trying to process the enormity of the deception. "I don't understand... why all this elaborate charade? Why not just... confront me?"

Then Levi elegantly put his teacup on the table. A genuine, almost boyish chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that seemed jarringly out of place in the tense atmosphere. "But Mother," he said, a playful glint in his dark blue eyes, "where would be the fun in that?"

Cybil's lips stretched into a thin, almost predatory smile. "Yes, my boy," she said, her voice regaining a hint of its former sharpness. "It wouldn't be fun at all."

The casual cruelty, the shared amusement at the prospect of her downfall... the resemblance wasn't just in their dark blue eyes or the sharp angles of their faces. Oh shit. They weren't just mother and son; they were two sides of the same coin.

"Is that... bonding? Are you guys bonding right now?" I asked, my voice laced with a nervous incredulity as I looked from Cybil to Levi.

Levi offered a slow, unsettling smile. "Presumably, yes, my dear Raphael," he said, his gaze meeting mine with a disturbing calmness. "Bonding over a shared understanding of... our capabilities. It only took three decades of existence, and admittedly, a significant portion of that time was dedicated to orchestrating her demise. But yes," he concluded, his eyes flicking back to his mother, "I believe we are finally... bonding."

"This boy always has been dramatic," she said, a hint of her old dismissiveness returning. "Three decades of existence? Please. I lived under the thumb of the real monster, the one you called your grandfather."

Levi's eyes gleamed with a morbid curiosity. "Ah, yes," he murmured, leaning forward slightly. "The Creator of our delightful family dynamic. Tell me, Mother, is he still alive and... well?"

Stolen story; please report.

A shadow crossed Cybil's face, and she replied with a clipped tone, "Unfortunately. Yes, the old tyrant still breathes."

Levi mentioned him once, when we first met. He said we would be lucky if we never meet him.

"The Creator?" I echoed, my curiosity piqued.

“It is better we never utter his name.” Cybil stated while looking at a distance.

Levi's dark smile deepened as he met my gaze. "Concerned? My dear Raphael, you have no idea," he echoed, his tone laced with a chilling amusement. "Let's just say my mother's... tendencies... are but a pale imitation of his artistry in cruelty. She is a mere apprentice in comparison to the master."

"How?" I pressed, looking from Cybil's fearful gaze to Levi's unsettling smile. "How can even you, Levi, be wary of someone? And even Cybil seems genuinely afraid. Who is this guy?"

"Conqueror," Levi said the name with a hint of grim acknowledgement. "That's what they used to call him. And he was... terrifying. Stripped of the title now, yes, but knowing him, that probably only stoked the fires of his ambition." A thoughtful frown creased his brow. "You're fortunate you haven't crossed his path, Raphael. He's a different breed of monster altogether."

"So, we've gone from dealing with a toxic mother to the potential return of a legendary tyrant," I said, a wry humor lacing my voice despite the underlying unease. "This charming little family gathering just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

Cybil's voice trembled, visible shivers running through her frail frame.

"That monster... he loved you, my boy," she whispered, her gaze fixed on Levi with a mixture of fear and a strange sort of twisted understanding.

Levi met her gaze, a cold, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Yes, Mother," he replied, his tone devoid of warmth. "Birds of a feather flock together."

What the fuck even is this family?

Levi's father and sister, the supposed "normal" ones, were gone, leaving behind this bizarre trio: the manipulative mother, the vengeful son, and the ominously named "Conqueror."

Conqueror. What did they even mean by that? It painted a picture far more sinister than just a difficult grandfather.

“You guys need to talk about him. You can’t just say his moniker is Conqueror and leave me on the shadow.” I insisted.

"I need a drink for that," Cybil murmured, a tremor in her voice, echoing my own need for something to cut through the oppressive atmosphere.

"I agree," Levi seconded, rising with a newfound energy. "This tale is best served with something stronger than lukewarm mop water."

What the hell? The shift in the room was palpable. The animosity between mother and son hadn't vanished entirely, but it had been momentarily eclipsed by a shared dread, a common enemy so formidable that it could unite them in their need for fortification. They were bonding. Over the specter of "Conqueror."

Levi called someone terrifying. The implications of that single thought were staggering. The fact that even Cybil, a woman hardened by what I could only imagine were brutal experiences, seemed to share this dread only amplified my unease. It felt like we were tiptoeing around a sleeping giant, one whose awakening could have unimaginable consequences.

A nervous laughed escaped my lips. “You guys are… really weird.” I stated, the understatement of the century hanging in the air.

"We've had generations to perfect our brand of weirdness," she said, her voice tinged with a dark irony.

I couldn't help but inject a bit of levity into the increasingly bizarre family dynamic. "Aw, Mother," I said, a playful lilt in my voice, "are you bonding with me too? It's like a twisted family therapy session. Well, you see," I continued, turning to Levi with a teasing smile, "your son clearly has excellent taste in companions. A little sunshine to cut through all this delightful... weirdness." I gestured around the dusty room, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

"He always did have a penchant for the... dramatic," she murmured, a hint of something akin to a weary fondness coloring her voice. It was a fleeting moment, a brief glimpse into the complex history between mother and son, before the shadows of their shared past seemed to reclaim her expression.

I clapped my hands. "Okay!" I announced with forced cheerfulness. "You both seem a little more relaxed, so how about I go grab a bottle of champagne from the boat? You two can have a nice little chat while I'm gone, hm?"

Cybil's gaze remained fixed on some distant point. "Talk..." she murmured, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "There's been enough talk for a lifetime. But go. Bring the champagne."

Look at this hag still ordering me around, I thought with a flash of annoyance as I stepped out of the decaying mansion. But despite the resentment, a sliver of empathy, unwanted and unwelcome, tugged at me. Damn my inconveniently compassionate nature.

I paused outside, taking in the desolate surroundings. Dust motes danced in the faint moonlight, clinging to the cobweb-draped windows and the patches of mold creeping up the crumbling walls. A shiver that had nothing to do with the night air ran down my spine as I started walking towards the boat. This was my break, a necessary escape. Because beneath the bravado and the witty banter, I could feel it now – the cold tendrils of fear, finally beginning to snake their way into my consciousness. This family, this place... it was all deeply, profoundly wrong.

Before reaching for the champagne cooler, I fumbled for my cigarettes, my hands betraying the tremor that had begun to creep through me. Lighting one, I inhaled deeply, the nicotine a temporary anchor in the swirling unease.

Pulla. That's what I felt like – a creature on edge, ready to bolt at the slightest sound. The idea that I had barely managed an hour inside...

The orange glow of the cigarette tip illuminated the nervous tremor in my hand as I took another drag, the salty air doing little to dispel the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.

I finally reached into the cooler, the cold glass of the champagne bottle. Was I trying to normalize the abnormal? Or was it simply a way to arm myself for the inevitable return to that suffocating atmosphere?

Taking one last, lingering puff, I flicked the cigarette butt into the dark water. The small hiss as it extinguished seemed to punctuate my apprehension. Pulla, the skittish rabbit, needed to gather some courage. With the champagne bottle in hand, feeling cold and heavy, I turned back towards the looming silhouette of the mansion, its darkened windows like vacant eyes staring out into the night.

The heavy oak door creaked shut behind me, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the mansion's entrance hall. I could hear the murmur of voices coming from the tea room.

Levi was seated on the edge of the couch, his posture tense. Cybil sat opposite him, her usual guarded expression softened by a strange mix of sadness and something that almost resembled regret.

"...and that's why I always detested the gardens," Levi was saying, his voice low and strained. He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to the champagne bottle in my hand. Cybil's eyes, too, rested on the bottle.

Levi finally broke the silence, a forced lightness in his tone. "Ah, Raphael, you return bearing gifts. Just what this somber occasion needed." He gestured vaguely towards the dusty table. "Pour us a glass, won't you? Perhaps it will help us... unearth some more delightful family anecdotes."

Cybil watched me as I began to open the champagne, her expression unreadable.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I had walked back into the middle of a raw and painful moment.

Do something, Raphael. Do something to ease this moment. It is possible these two people will never share a glass of drinks again.

I poured three flutes of the champagne. Levi’s eyes were a little brighter, but Cybil scrunched her nose the moment she smelt the champagne.

"Yeah, I know that feeling," I said, echoing Cybil's unspoken distaste for the overly sweet champagne. Offering her a commiserating smile, I held up my own glass. "It's so sweet, right? Almost cloying." I made a face, hoping to create a shared moment of mild discomfort that might break the heavier tension between her and Levi. "Definitely not the driest vintage."

Cybil's expression softened ever so slightly, a small, almost imperceptible downturn of her lips mirroring my own distaste. For the first time since my return with the champagne, her gaze met mine directly.

"It is not my fault if your palates cannot appreciate the beauty of glucose," Levi declared with a theatrical sigh, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he observed our less-than-enthusiastic reactions. He took a slow, deliberate sip.

"Your tastes have always been... predictable, my boy."

This bitch did it again.

C’mon Raphael. Use your rage induced, horny brain. How do you elevate this room’s mood? Is it even possible? What do you discuss with a fallen duchess, who is also your mother-in-law?

Which is scarier, fallen duchess, or mother-in-law?

Fallen duchess is obviously a raw wound, no need press salt. What about the mother-in-law aspect? It is not like this woman has capacity for maternal love. What fuck do I do?

Yeah, be embarrassing.

"You know, my own mother was a piece of work, too. A proud Cyrusian woman."

Cybil's reaction was immediate and explosive. "You ARE Cyrusian?" she roared, her earlier weariness vanishing, replaced by a sudden intensity that made me jump.

Oh shit. Had I miscalculated?

No, wait. This might actually work. Leaning back, I met her fierce gaze. "Yeah?" I said, feigning nonchalance. "Look at my hair color, my eye color. Of course, I'm Cyrusian."

She began to assess me with a critical eye, her gaze sweeping from my head to my toes. "But you are so small compared to a Cyrusian," she finally stated, her tone still sharp but with a hint of something else... curiosity?

Ouch, Mother. Low blow. Despite the sting of her remark, I sensed a shift in the atmosphere.

“Yeah, I am a little average for a Cyrusian. How do you know about Cyrusians though?”

"So my son married... an actor, an outsider, an average Cyrusian," Cybil muttered, a hint of disdain coloring her tone. Then, her gaze sharpened. "I was a duchess, of course I know about Cyrusians. Strength, pride, tradition, a certain ruthlessness. Qualities of a befitting nation."

"Speaking of befitting qualities, Mother, Raphael has certainly brought a certain... vibrancy to our rather monochrome existence, wouldn't you agree?" Levi interjected smoothly.

Cybil swirled her glass. "I admit he is pretty well trained for a pet," she stated, her tone cool and appraising. "A little fierce, prone to barking. Charming, in his own... domesticated way." Her words, while laced with a backhanded compliment, still carried the sting of dismissal.

This bitch… Still calling me pet.

“Why are you still acting like block of ice? We're having champagne – admittedly, sweet champagne – and I'm naively trying to foster some semblance of... bonding. A little gratitude wouldn't go amiss, you know."

"Naive, you say?" she echoed, her gaze still cool but with a hint of something else – perhaps a flicker of amusement, or maybe just weary resignation. "Perhaps that's your most... endearing quality."

Oh my god. She is exactly as Levi.

"Mother, you are clearly enjoying yourself," Levi drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice that mirrored Cybil's own sardonic tone. "Allow me to change the air. That is not his only... endearing quality." He paused, then added, a playful threat underlying his words, "Also, if you call him 'pet' again, I will buy you a cat."

Cat

?

Was it a genuine threat? A bizarre attempt at humor?

"Oh? So I choke to death, my boy?" she retorted, her voice laced with a familiar sharpness. "He's turned you into a sentimental fool, too, hasn't he?" Her gaze flickered between Levi and me, a mixture of disdain and something that might have been grudging recognition in her expression.

Oh, she is allergic to cats. Levi's seemingly random threat now made a twisted kind of sense.

This fucking family. They are all trying to get to each other. It wasn't just a strained dynamic; it was a constant, low-grade war of attrition. Every word, every glance, every seemingly offhand remark was a carefully aimed barb, designed to prick, to provoke, to gain some kind of twisted upper hand. Levi and Cybil weren't just disagreeing; they were engaging in a lifelong battle of wills.

"Okay. Okay..." I said, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. "It is very clear you guys are both still angry or... something. Honestly, it's nearly impossible to understand your thought process half the time." I took a deep breath. "So, the offer still stands. Try to be... nice to each other, yeah? Or we just move on to discussing the logistics of living on this charmingly dilapidated island." I then directed a pointed, slightly suggestive look at Cybil. "Also, Levi and I just got back together, so... hormones are in order, if you will, Mother?"

Levi chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his dark blue eyes. "Oh, Mother has a soft spot for... well, something. Though I'm not entirely sure what it is."

"Levi, you stop being a bitch, too, okay?" I said, my tone a mixture of exasperation and genuine fatigue. "Or don't. Honestly, my moral compass is running around in all directions right now. I'm not sure about anything anymore."

"Ah, dearest," he murmured, a conspiratorial air about him, "let me show you something that will utterly shatter this duchess." He leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on my cheek, his lips cool against my skin.

Cybil's reaction was immediate and sharp, her voice laced with icy disapproval, the muscle in her jaw twitching betrayingly. "Has your education taught you nothing, Levi? Such open vulgarity in front of your mother."

It was just a peck, what?

Levi's deep blue eyes flashed with a rebellious spark. "Perhaps a demonstration of true vulgarity would be more to your liking, Mother?" he retorted, his tone laced with a deliberate defiance. He took my hand and Cybil visibly flinched. It was a small, involuntary movement – a tightening of her shoulders, a brief closing of her eyes – but it spoke volumes.

What the fuck?

"Ah, my dearest seems to be a little lost in our peculiar customs," Levi explained smoothly, his fingers still entwined with mine. "It is not homophobia, not truly. Half the mistresses the nobility kept were men, after all. No, it is merely frowned upon to hold hands, a little peck on the cheek is unacceptable. Such are considered 'vulgar'."

"Why? It just a kiss."

Levi shrugged dismissively with his free hand, his fingers still holding mine. "I do not know, dearest. Traditions, apparently. Some things are simply done, and others are not, without any real rhyme or reason."

"Sentimentality is a disease of the common folk. Restraint denotes power." she said as her eyes flickered pointedly at our joined hands.

Restraint.

"Smoke if you must. But do try to refrain from setting the already precarious state of this house ablaze."

I fumbled to reach my pocket to retrieve my pack and my lighter. I immediately lit it up. Ah, nicotine. Fuck this family. Everything is wrong, deeply wrong with them. Years of war were under this rubble of a mansion. This was an archaeological dig through the ruins of generations of conflict.

"And I thought my family sucked," I exhaled, the smoke curling towards the dusty ceiling. "They still suck. But not... not this much."

Levi chuckled softly, a hint of something that might have been genuine amusement in his dark blue eyes as he watched the smoke curl from my cigarette. "Welcome to the family, dearest. We aim to exceed expectations... in all the wrong ways, of course." He took a slow sip of his overly sweet champagne, a familiar sardonic glint returning to his gaze. Cybil remained impassive, though her eyes followed the drifting smoke with a detached air of disapproval.

Levi finally broke the silence, his voice low and almost conversational. "So, Raphael," he began, his gaze flicking from me to Cybil and back again. "Now that you've had a taste of our... unique family dynamic, what are your thoughts on this charming island we've inherited?"

"Yeah, the island," I echoed, taking another drag of my cigarette. "Back garden stroll to the ancient noble cemetery. It is so you, Levi. Really." I let out a small, humorless chuckle. "But I must say, when we first came here four months ago, and you told me you would make sure no noble would ever be buried here, I clearly didn't understand what you meant. But you still did it. Salute, I guess."

Levi’s lips twitched, a flicker of a genuine, albeit dark, smile gracing his features in the dimly lit tea room. "One must find one's small victories where one can, dearest," he murmured, his gaze drifting towards the unseen expanse of the island beyond the crumbling walls. "Generations of pompous ancestors lording over this land, even in death? Unacceptable. Let the weeds and the wild things reclaim their territory." He took another sip of his champagne.

Cybil broke the silence, her voice low and laced with a familiar iciness. "You find such... petty acts of rebellion fulfilling, do you, Levi?" she asked, her tone dripping with disdain. "To defile the resting places of your forebears? It is the act of a child throwing a tantrum."

"Downplaying fifteen years of meticulous planning as a 'tantrum'? Ah, Mother. Please." His voice, though still low, held a sharp edge of victory. "It seems you still haven't grasped the full scope of things I did. Those noble ladies you considered your allies, the ones you so carefully cultivated? They were all my informants. I ended the monarch bloodline... with tea, Mother."

Cybil's composure finally cracked, a visible tremor running through her slender frame. Her eyes, usually so cold and controlled, widened with a flicker of disbelief and dawning horror. A strangled gasp escaped her lips. The carefully constructed mask of aristocratic indifference shattered, revealing a raw vulnerability that I hadn't thought possible. For the first time since I'd met her, Cybil looked genuinely shaken, the weight of Levi's confession hitting her with brutal force.

Cybil recoiled on the couch. Her eyes, still wide with shock, darted between Levi and me, a dawning horror mixing with a profound sense of betrayal. "Fifteen years...?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "All this time... you were plotting this...?"

Levi's dark blue eyes gleamed with a chilling triumph in the flickering candlelight of the decaying mansion. "Ah, finally," he purred, a cruel satisfaction lacing his voice. "Finally, something resembling enlightenment has reached those glacial eyes of yours. This, Mother, is my favorite part. Allow me to recount the tale." He leaned forward, his gaze intense. "When you so strategically wed me to Julia, you committed your most profound error. For you see, my dear Mother, she despised your precious nobility with a fervor that matched my own. In the five years of our marriage, she became my most invaluable ally, the first of your esteemed circle to truly grasp my ideals. Together, we planned, we gathered, we meticulously exchanged the sordid details of your noble machinations."

He paused, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "The King, that oafish swine you so revered? A mere six months of carefully dosed tea rendered him sterile, thanks to a subtle compound I synthesized within the hallowed halls of the Royal Academia. You see, Mother, I knew of your aspirations for me to one day wear that ridiculous crown. So, with a delicate touch, I ended the monarchy entirely." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Do you have any comprehension, Mother, of the sheer number of pregnancies I discreetly terminated for your precious noblewomen? Can you even fathom the countless arranged marriages I gleefully dismantled? You clung so desperately to your antiquated titles while those around you, surprisingly, possessed the foresight to understand the shifting tides and take the necessary steps. And do not for a moment imagine I bribed them with coin or trinkets. No, Mother. There was one singular, potent currency they all craved. Freedom. And I, with a certain degree of artistry, delivered it. Take a good look around this crumbling monument to your past, Mother. Not one noblewoman you once lorded over isn't now breathing easier, healthier, and... free. Other than you, of course."

The silence in the decaying mansion, was thick enough to choke on. The flickering candlelight casted grotesque shadows that danced like the ghosts of his victims. Cybil remained frozen, her face a mask of disbelief and horror. Her breath hitched in her throat, a strangled sound that was the only indication of the storm raging within her. The triumphant gleam in Levi's eyes seemed to bore into her, each word a fresh wound.

Time seemed to warp and distort. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of waves against the island's shore and the ragged breaths escaping Cybil's lips. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, remained fixed on Levi, as if trying to reconcile the charming boy she had raised with the monstrous architect of her downfall who stood before her. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a lonely path through the dust on her cheek. Levi watched her, his expression a complex mixture of triumph and a chillingly detached curiosity, as if observing a fascinating, yet ultimately insignificant, specimen.

"You see, Mother? If you had simply held my hand... shown a sliver of understanding... you could have been free. Even from the Conqueror's shadow that still haunts this land. But you chose to be selfish, to cling to your pride, to your antiquated notions of power. And now," he gestured around the crumbling room with a sweep of his hand, "you are here. Surrounded by the ruins of your own making."

Cybil remained silent, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the dusty air. The single tear that had escaped earlier now had company, tracing faint, shimmering paths down her pale cheeks. I stood there, caught in the crossfire of their devastating familial war, the sweet scent of champagne now tasting like ash in my mouth.

"I am sorry."

Cybil's voice was barely a whisper, raw with an emotion I hadn't witnessed from her before. It wasn't the clipped, regal tone I had come to expect, but something fragile, broken. Her gaze, still wet with unshed tears, finally met Levi's, a plea for something – understanding, forgiveness? – etched in their depths. The admission, so stark and unexpected, seemed to momentarily still the toxic energy in the room, leaving a fragile space for something new, or perhaps just the quiet acceptance of irreversible damage.

"It only took ending an ancient bloodline to finally hear those words," he murmured, his gaze fixed on his mother's tear-streaked face. "You are truly spectacular, Mother. In your own uniquely... destructive way."

I stood there, feeling like an unwilling observer in a deeply personal and profoundly unsettling drama, the cigarette in my hand long since extinguished.

***

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