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Boots squelch against mud. Thunder rumbles, lightning cracks, and Marcus shields a very precious bookcase in her coat from the torrenting rain. In her other hand holds a lantern serving as her only guiding light in this grim, unfortunate night.
“It’s leading me in this direction…I hope it’s not much farther—There!”
The faint silhouette of a towering manor emerges beyond the monotony of gangly trees. Marcus picks up her feet, spurred by the hope of shelter, and maybe even a warm fire. Careful not to trip on the disrepaired cobblestone stairway, Marcus finally makes it to the manor doors. She sets her lantern at her feet and grasps the rusted knocker affixed to one of the wide, grand doors. The sound as it strikes is low, hollow, and ominous.
“H-Hello!? Is anybody there? I, um, got caught in the storm outside and need a place to stay until it passes!”
A desperate and weary Marcus pleads loudly over the deluge to whomever resides on the other side of the doors, if any such person even exists. She waits for a moment, still exercising her patience, until a chill forces her to shudder underneath her coat. Marcus strikes the door again.
“Hello—!”
On the third strike, the door gives way just an inch.
“It’s not locked…?” Marcus eyes the dark gap beyond the small crack in the door, but quickly collects her lantern and pushes the door further. Its hinges groan and squeal uncomfortably. “Um, pardon the intrusion!"
Marcus doesn’t hesitate to shut the heavy, leaden doors behind her once she enters. She wonders how any normal person is meant to open and close these doors on a regular basis, or if it was just her weariness sapping her strength as she presses her shoulder against the door to shut it fully. It collides with a deep, booming thud that echoes throughout the manor.
Finally out of the chaos of the storm raging outside, Marcus throws her back against the doors and musters her full breath. Being in shelter reduces the storm to just harmless noise in the background—perfect to tuck in, read a book, and fall asleep to.
Once collecting herself, Marcus takes her lantern and reaches it out into the air. The manor was completely devoid of light, save for the one in her hands, and the erratic white flash from the windows. The traveler takes careful stock of what her light can touch.
Collapsed frames hang against cracking walls with faded paint. Marcus assumes they once held precious pieces of artwork, but have since been “salvaged” by the traveling opportunist. Similarly, finely crafted wooden furniture and their drawers are still left open and emptied of their contents. The tiled floor (that Marcus takes care not to slip on from her own runoff), on closer investigation, is checkered underneath the dust and grime. A grand split staircase winds up to the second story of the manor, though the guardrails have fallen into pieces scattered on the floor underneath. The element that attracts Marcus’s attention the most, however, is the purple carpeted rug was strewn across the foyer.
“Was whoever lived here royalty? Or connected to royalty?” The cogs in Marcus’s head start to spin. “The locals from the town nearby told me to stay away from here, but they all seemed too scared to say anything more—“
Marcus’s keen eyes catch something even more interesting. She bends a knee to investigate.
“These are…” Her gloved hands run over the four uniform gashes slashed into the rug. “Claw marks? But they’re huge…Don’t tell me a bear lives here or something,” Marcus playfully mutters to herself. “Or maybe a werewolf, or maybe a cursed beastman—“ She snickers. Out of all the adventures and stories she’s experienced to date, that would certainly be the most cliché.
Shivers running down her spine reminds Marcus of her current condition: Sopping wet. She rises back on her feet, setting her next course of action in search of a warm hearth to curl up next to and dry her clothes.
Then, a shadow among shadows shifts. Marcus, ever the observer, reaches out her lantern.
“Hello? Is someone there?” She calls out. Ideally, she would hide her presence in favor of assessing the situation, but she figures her lantern gives her away anyway. “I’m sorry I barged in. I happened to get caught in the storm outside. I promise I’ll leave once it tides over—“
A pair of sharp, feral eyes blink at her from the second floor.
Marcus doesn’t have time to react.
The stinging cry of a beast pierces through the air, and Marcus gets slammed to the floor like prey. Wind escapes her lungs as her lantern clatters somewhere far off, plunging the room in pitch black darkness as it goes out. Marcus winces and pushes out her arms, hoping to fend off a maw full of fangs from, at the very least, eating her face off for a few seconds.
“Don’t eat me!! I don’t taste good, I promise!!!”
The taut muscles against her hands still push against her strength, but strangely, Marcus doesn’t feel as though it were the same strength of a beast hungry for its next meal. It was more like it was…curious?
Marcus warily opens her eyes, seeing the glowing vermillion eyes of a feline mere inches away from hers. Against all other voices in her head, she relaxes, letting the snout of the beast get closer—close enough to press against her hair.
It takes a deep, guttural breath—then quickly huffs, as if it thought she smelled something unpleasant . The feline releases Marcus from its heavy paw, slinking back into the shadows whence it came.
“W-wait!” Marcus scrambles up to her feet, feeling for her lantern and striking it back to light to see, but the beast had vanished completely. Maybe that meant she could stay? Deciding to accept the silent invitation, Marcus trots up the stairs.
In between the split of the stairs, Marcus’s light illuminates a portrait that spans the size of the wall itself. It was a family portrait, judging by the number of shoes painted at the bottom, but the upper portions of the individuals, faces included, had been burned and marred beyond recognition.
After a moment of deliberation, Marcus takes the path winding right (the path opposite the feline had emerged from). Her footsteps quietly pad against matted carpet down a long hallway as she peeks her head into various rooms. Finding a bedroom was simple enough, but Marcus’s curiosity wasn’t going to leave the rest of the wing unexplored so easily. She stumbles upon the Maid’s room, a theater, bathrooms, and what seemed to be a conservatory, before finally encountering what she’d secretly been hoping for: A library. It spans up into two whole floors, lined with shelves along the walls and in parallel rows protected with fine linen sheets.
“It’s a good thing thieves don’t ever steal the real treasure in these types of manors. Here we go—“
Marcus sets down her luggage and approaches one of the shelves covered in white cloth. She eagerly yanks it off, which, in the bookworm’s excitement, hadn’t prepared for the ensuing cloud of dust now assaulting her eyes and throat. After flailing her arms to clear the dust, Marcus reads off the spines of books packed into the shelves.
“These are historical records,” Marcus murmurs to herself as she plucks a book and thumbs through the pages. “Some even covering events that were mandated to be destroyed by the region’s monarchy from the previous century…just how long has this manor been standing?” Marcus closes the book gingerly in respect to its brittle pages, then stacks it together with a few more select tomes pulled from the shelf. Careful not to let the paper touch her clothes, Marcus lugs the stack and her bookcase over to a low table sitting next to a fireplace tucked into an alcove. She rummages in her bookcase for the spells she’d bought from the witch in the previous town, finally finding the one she needed and places the rolled up scroll over the logs. Marcus undoes the wax seal, prompting the scroll to spark and flare into a bright, healthy flame.
The traveler lets out a sigh as warmth spreads through her body. She peels off her damp outer coat, shoes, gloves and hat, and sets them to dry by the fire. She digs through her bookcase again, this time pulling out a sizable and well-used typewriter from its contents. With a few swift motions, Marcus preps the typewriter for use, then splays one of the books open at her side and begins typing underneath the flame’s orange glow.
As the rhythmic ticks and tacks of her typewriter goes off, a watchful pair of eyes quietly spies on her.
Marcus wakes to a number of aches in her hip and back from her less than ideal sleeping posture on the hard floor. The fire had already died down sometime during the night, now nothing but a pile of cinders. A blanket that had somehow found its way over her shoulders falls to the floor as she sits up to stretch out her back. Seeing her typewriter and remembering her task from the previous night, Marcus fumbles around in the nearby book to find her last spot. The pale light of dawn filtering in through the windows makes it easier to see—not just the words on pages, but also the faint shadow that shifts on the floor.
Marcus snaps around. The same beast from before sits silently at the entry of the alcove. Now with the light, Marcus can see fully what form the beast takes: A spotted panther with a pure black velvet coat, and wings of a demon sprouting from its back.
The panther doesn’t move, perhaps waiting for Marcus to make hers first.
“Um, h-hello,” Marcus politely nods her head to the beast. It remains unmoving, but its tail swishes in recognition. “Thank you for letting me stay the night. I, uh, found some rare books in the library and wanted to transcribe them—I hope you don’t mind.”
The panther rises from its haunches and pads its way towards Marcus. Her heart pounds faster in her chest, unsure whether or not the beast decided that it's hungry now and she’s about to be eaten for real this time.
“Oh, I’m from the Literature and Historian’s Guild, you see! It’s our job to travel the world and make records of the stories and events from different regions—“ Marcus searches for the guild badge within her bookcase and presents it to the approaching feline. It blinks at it, then glances at the typewriter and books nearby. “Um, have you been staying here long? Do you know anything about the original owners?”
Marcus starts to wonder if the beast even knows what she’s saying. She would feel silly if she’s been talking to a simple familiar this entire time, but it seems to be intelligent on some level, given that it’s uninterested in Marcus as its next meal. As the panther observes Marcus’s makeshift station, she can’t help but think how soft its fur must be and reaches out a hand—only to pout when the panther suddenly turns and leaves. Though, Marcus supposes that it was permission for her to continue doing her job.
“I’ll put everything back when I’m done!”
The panther continues padding away, lazily swinging its tail in the air in response.
Now with her clothes and shoes dried, Marcus collects her things and moves over to a more well-lit area of the library, complete with an actual chair and desk for her to sit at instead of the floor. She hones in on completing her manuscripts as the hours pass, well into high noon where sunbeams bathe the library in golden light. Halfway into her next book, the beast re-enters the library. Marcus pauses her typing and greets it again. It paces around, finding a place untouched by the sun to leap up on and settle in, keeping Marcus in its line of sight. Seeing that it wanted to keep watch over her activities, Marcus turns back to her typewriter and continues her rhythmic tapping.
As the hours pass, the panther tucks into different places throughout the library—all notably away from the sunlight. In her fervor, Marcus realizes she’d had nothing to eat for the entire day, as protested as such by her stomach. She looks up to the last spot where the panther had settled, suddenly finding it to have left the library entirely sometime in the last hour.
“I stocked up when I was in town yesterday, so I’d just need to find the kitchen—“ As Marcus dives into her bookcase, a mouthwatering scent of spiced meat suddenly permeates the air. She looks up to find the panther at the doorway, a parcel dangling from its maw. It trots over, standing on its hind legs to drop it on the table besides Marcus’s bookcase.
“This is…” Marcus unties the parcel, revealing a handful of glazed skewers with roasted meat and vegetables. “I remember these! That nice lady from town was selling these when I was there. But how…?” Marcus takes one of the skewers, eyeing back and forth between it and the panther. “You didn’t…steal them, did you?”
The panther huffs, then moves as if to take the parcel away.
“W-wait! I’m sorry! I’ll eat them!”
The beast retracts, and Marcus sinks her teeth into a piece of meat. As delicious as it is, Marcus is still left wondering how it traveled to town and back so quickly. Granted, the beast did have wings, but even so, the distance was great enough that it should have at least taken an hour both ways.
Finding it awkward for the panther to be staring at her while she ate, Marcus nudges the parcel towards it.
“Want to share?”
The panther blinks at her, then clasps two skewers in its mouth before trotting off into another dark corner of the library.
Over the next few days, Marcus and the beast continue the mundane routine with each other. When Marcus needed a break to rest her eyes and wrists, she would explore a little more of the manor, trying to piece together the story of the original owners while the panther followed behind her—presumably to keep her out of the places it felt territorial over. Marcus alternated the genre of books she transcribed as well to break up the monotony, ranging from historical accounts, niche minor studies of sorcery by local amateur witches (that often contained somewhat unconventional spell formulas), to fantastical novels that featured themes that were considered taboo for the region, or criticism of the monarchy. There were more than a few times that Marcus had lost herself in a good story, and thus had to backtrack twenty or so pages to continue the transcription where she left off. Eventually, Marcus finally reaches the end of her surplus of paper to write on.
“Looks like I’m out of blanks,” she sighs after fully making a mess of her bookcase in a futile search. She checks her watch for the time, carefully calculating if she could make it there and back before nightfall. If she leaves now, she could likely make it back just in time. Marcus quickly slips on her coat, drags her bookcase off the table, then makes for the door—something that seems to alarm the panther on the upper floor.
“Oh, um, I have to run to town for some supplies, but I’ll be back—if that’s alright?”
Though the beast didn’t seem impatient for her to leave, Marcus wanted to be careful not to overstay her welcome as a guest. The beast leaps from the second floor and lands at Marcus’s side in an eerily silent fashion despite its size. It saunters out the door, then looks back at her as if prompting her to follow.
Marcus, ever curious, tails behind the beast as it navigates through the manor halls. Maybe it’ll take her there? It would certainly be awfully generous of it to let her hitch a ride on its back and fly through the open skies with its majestic wings, and it would certainly make for a thrilling new entry in her journal!
Unfortunately, Marcus’s imaginative fantasy is shattered when the panther ushers her into an atelier. Empty white canvases lay stacked in one of corners, with some half-finished and discarded pieces in another. Hanging upon one of the walls are a set of completed paintings, seemingly untouched and looking as pristine as if they were just painted. They all seemed to be of distinct places, but one of them clearly featured the local town and its sculpted fountain in the market.
“That’s interesting. Why would there be a painting of the town here?” Marcus nears closer to the painting to investigate. “Maybe one of the family members was an artist and really liked it…but if they were from the previous century, wouldn’t it look much different than—Woah!”
In the middle of her ponderings, the beast shoves Marcus forward with its helm. She falls forward, past the painting, past the wall, and tumbles like a rolling bug onto the floor.
“Ow…” Marcus sits up, massages her head, then realizes she was no longer in the atelier. Instead, she was inside a warehouse or storage unit that had clearly fallen out of use, but a painting leaned against the wall caught her attention. On its surface was painted a scene of the atelier she had just come from.
“I see!” Marcus perks up. “I’d heard of these before in stories from the guild, but I’ve never seen them in real life. I guess it makes sense a wealthy family would have a painted portal…it’d be tedious to make the trek into town from such a distance, and they would have the money to commission one too.”
Marcus sticks her face into the painting. Indeed, the atelier is on the other side—though the beast already seems to have left.
“Alright, I guess I can take my time then.”
Marcus collects her bookcase and exits the warehouse into an abandoned alleyway. She follows the sound of chatter and light, right into the bustling center of town.
“So many people,” Marcus groans, already missing the quiet manor library. “Let’s quickly get to the bookstore.”
Expertly weaving through the crowd, Marcus finds her way back to the bookshop she had already visited just a mere few days ago. She opens the door, her presence announced by a lilty jingle of a bell as she does.
“Welcome! Oh, it’s you! Ma…Mar—“ The middle aged lady at the counter struggles to recall her name. “Marnie?”
“Marcus,” she corrects.
“Right, Marcus! I thought you’d be long gone by now, little missy. What brought you back?”
“I ran out of blanks for my typewriter,” Marcus explains. “So I came to buy some more from you, if you have any in stock.”
“Sure I do! Just restocked, in fact—But you ran out so quickly?”
“Um, it’s a long story,” Marcus laughs awkwardly before pulling her coin pouch from her pocket, carefully counting what she has left. “I think I have enough for 4 stacks right now, but I have some manuscripts that I need sent to my guild. They’ll probably give me some extra allowance once they get them—“
“I’m sorry, Marcus—“ The woman pushes back the stack of manuscripts that Marcus lays on the counter. She lowers herself and her voice close to her customer’s ear, then whispers, “The Queen’s constables are here on patrol this week. There’s a chance they’ll confiscate your manuscripts if they look into my shipments. That being said, you ought to keep your head low while you’re out there.” She points her chin at the windowed door behind her, gesturing towards a pair of uniformed men mingling in the crowd. “If they find out you’re from the guild, they’ll for sure give you more trouble than you need.”
“I see…Thank you, miss. I’ll just have the blanks for now, then.”
“Sure thing, kiddo. Stay safe out there, you hear?”
“I will!”
After stuffing her new paper stacks into her case, Marcus closes it up and exits the bookshop. She quickly tightens her cap over her eyes, then takes the less crowded route back to the warehouse, hoping to avoid crossing paths with any nosy lawmen along the way.
Unfortunately, it was, of course, a pair of lawmen in the middle of not doing their job and instead taking a smoke in one of the alleyways that spot Marcus and her inconspicuous bookcase cantering down the path. While she pretended not to see them, they certainly saw her.
“Stop right there,” one of them calls out. Marcus has no choice but to do just so. She slowly turns around to face the approaching duo. “Where you going, little girl?”
“Just heading back to the inn,” Marcus responds.
“Inn’s back that way,” The smoking constable drops his cigar on the floor and snuffs it with his boot. “Your accent—you’re not from here, are you? Where you from?”
This is bad. Worst case scenario, Marcus gets arrested and her bookcase gets confiscated. While she’s certain the contents would at least remain safe from the enchantments, it would be a hassle to get it back. She could likely outrun them—Marcus has done her fair share of evading law enforcement in similar regions, but they would certainly set a bounty for her later on.
“I’m just a traveler, officers,” she answers vaguely. “I’ve come from many different countries.”
“That bookcase—kinda looks like the ones they give to those nerds at that one guild. What’s it called again? Bah, I don’t care. Just let us have a quick look and we’ll let you be on your way.”
The lawman takes a step forward, and Marcus takes a step back. He narrows his eyes at her.
“Got something to hide, little girl?”
“I’m afraid you don’t have enough probable cause that warrants a search, sir.” Marcus knows exercising “rights” in this scenario or region has no chance of working, but she’s not left with many other options.
“Well, we’re the law, and you’re lookin’ awfully suspicious. That’s probable cause enough for me—“
“Is there a problem here, officers?”
A smooth, mellow voice calls out from behind Marcus, and a taller woman clad in a dark cloak and hat steps in between the two parties. Marcus isn’t quite sure what’s going on, but she’s grateful for the intervention to at least buy her some time to think of something.
“Where did you come from?”
“We’re conducting official business here—if you’re not related to her then scram, unless you want to be detained for obstructing justice.”
“That would be alright for me, except I’m not seeing any justice here—just two grown men trying to bully a lady into submission.”
“Hey, I’m not gonna tell you another time—get outta the way or—!”
“No, thank you—why don’t you two get out of our way?”
Just as the woman utters her sentence, the demeanor of the two lawmen changes drastically.
“You’re right. Sorry to bother you, ladies. Come on, let’s get back on patrol.”
The two officers turn their backs and march out of the alleyway back into the town center. Marcus peeks her head out from behind the cloaked woman, making sure the two were completely gone before speaking up.
“That was amazing! Thank you so much for helping me. How did you do that?”
“Just a little trick of mine. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but good thing it did, in the end.” As the woman turns around to face Marcus, her coffee colored hair flutters over her shoulder. Marcus notes that her vermillion eyes look strikingly familiar. “Well then, shouldn’t you be on your way? I can’t guarantee I can help you out of that situation a second time.”
“Oh, you’re right! Thanks again!” Marcus turns to dash out of the alleyway, but quickly doubles back. “Wait, what’s your—“
The woman that had just been standing there completely vanished.
“—name?”
Marcus sinks into a cushy armchair when she finally returns to the library, fully welcoming the solitude and silence it offers. She gives full understanding to the beast for taking up residence here, where one could be unbothered and away from prying eyes. Speaking of the feline, Marcus notes its absence in the library, though it likely saw no purpose in being there to keep since Marcus had left. The writer had grown comfortable with it always being somewhere in the room over time, as though it were her own guardian in the dark and eerie manor. She does wish she could at least pet its fur at least once…
No, that would be rude. It’s obviously not just some pet—though Marcus can’t really figure what exactly it is. There wasn’t a witch nearby, ruling out the familiar option. Beastmen often lived in packs and avoided humans, so it wouldn’t make sense for it to be here on its own unless it was exiled—not to mention Marcus has never seen a beastman of this nature before, nor has it ever spoken to her nonetheless.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the panther casually enters the library and paces towards her.
“Oh, hello. I was wondering where you went.” Marcus sits up on her chair. She locks eyes with the beast, then remembers why the woman from earlier seemed familiar. “You know, I met a nice lady in town earlier. For some reason, you remind me of her. Or, she reminded me of you?” Marcus tilts her head in thought. Then, in the corner of her eye, she sees something strange.
Did the beast…smile?
Marcus suddenly becomes alert, only to see an unflappable feline as usual, blinking at her with unreadable intentions. The panther gets up and leaves Marcus be, stretching and yawning on a couch before settling in for a nap.
She must be delusional on the adrenaline of what happened earlier. Marcus hasn’t had much in the way of rest either, with how focused she’s been going through the library’s inventory. She decides to take a leaf out of the feline’s book, and take the chance to catch up on some much needed sleep. Marcus finds another couch to curl up on—probably the nicest surface she’s slept on since arriving at the manor, since it wasn’t the floor or face-down on a desk.
Realizing she had been a lot more tired than she expected, Marcus easily drifts off to sleep.
It was an uneasy rest, at first. There were haunting, fragmented dreams of rare books flooded in a storm and constables chasing her down an unending alleyway, but an army of little black cats came to her rescue. Then she arrives at her guild, trying to explain the impossible sequence of events to Sonetto, Recoletta, and Madam Hofmann while one of the black cats lingers on her shoulder like a scarf.
“Soft…hehehe—“
The silky fur on her skin felt so real. Almost too real. Marcus blearily opens her eyes, finding not a little cat, but a very large one clasped in between her arms. Noticing that she was awake, the feline glares at Marcus expectantly.
“S-s-s-sorry!!”
Marcus scrambles and nearly tumbles off the couch, but manages to maintain her balance on her feet. The beast huffs at her as if amused, before leaping off the couch walking off.
“It’s not mad, at least…Did I sleepwalk or something?” Noticing the silver moon hanging in the sky through the window, Marcus hastily checks her watch and quickly realizes she’s severely overslept.
As Marcus settles back at her typewriter, she glances over her shoulder in search of the beast, finding it peering down at her from the upper floor as usual. Satisfied, the writer returns to her duties.
It couldn’t have been more than a half hour when the panther leaps down from its perch and trots out of the library, seemingly with some sense of urgency. The gust of wind as it lands flicks through the pages of Marcus’s open book, effectively making her lose her place.
“…Bathroom break?”
Shrugging, Marcus skims through her book to find her last spot. She taps at the keys of her typewriter, but as the next half hour passes, Marcus’s work is gradually slowed by her thoughts of the panther. It wasn’t rare for it to weave in and out as it pleased, but the sense of urgency Marcus felt as it left earlier didn’t sit right with her.
“Did something happen—?”
“W-what in the devil’s name is that thing!?”
“Just fucking shoot it!”
The muffled shouting of men, several rifleshots, and a familiar bone-chilling howl spurs Marcus into swift action. She sprints for the nearest front-facing bedroom, bursting through the balcony doors in time to witness the bloody scene occurring outside the manor doors.
The beast fights to fend off four lawmen—or rather, four lawmen (one of whom lays motionless on the ground now) fight to fend off the beast that easily overpowers all them in pure strength. Its claws rend through flesh and fangs pierce through iron as if it was mere parchment. Marcus dashes back inside the manor, leaping down the stairs two steps at a time and making for the gates, only to realize it’s been barred shut as she tries to push it open. Marcus heaves away the wooden bar locking the gate, then finally pushes it open with one strong shove. The hinges groan and squeal, just like that first stormy night she had arrived.
It was done. The beast had already taken care of everything. Three lawmen lie dead—bloodied and unmoving in their own viscera upon the dirt. The fourth, Marcus can only assume the beast had purposely left alive to tell the tale.
“A-are you alright? I heard gunshots—“
The feline calmly pads towards Marcus. It limps on one of its paws.
“Y-you’re bleeding!”
Despite Marcus’s frantic fussing, the panther slinks past her and through the doors. Marcus glances back and forth between the death beyond the door and the beast behind it, opting to catch up with the beast to maybe help tend to its wounds.
“I’m so sorry, it’s my fault that they came here. I can—“
The beast falls to the floor, panting. Then, something strange happens. Its silhouette writhes and shifts, like shadows squirming in the dark. Confused, Marcus races to its side—but the beast was no longer a beast.
A woman cloaked in black lies bleeding out on the tiled floor from her shoulder. Marcus eyes widen, immediately recognizing her vermillion eyes and coffee colored hair.
“You—!”
“Greetings,” the woman laughs and winces as she presses a hand against her wound. “It’s Semmelweis, to answer your question. Nice to finally meet you in person, Marcus.”