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After a length of travel, the carriage finally pulled to a stop. In an instant Hans opened the carriage door and Sir beckoned for her to come out, his hand taking hers as he helped her down the step. They walked up to the large wooden doors as Hans took the carriage away, her hands shaking slightly as he lead her inside.

"Nimbe! We have a guest!" He announced, placing his hat and cane upon a tall rack. White marble floors and timid blue walls contrasted violently with his black attire and cloth mask, but she was too distracted to notice that. What she noticed was that he called her an unexpected word: a guest- that she was in his home, and not in some cellar or basement. That fire bubbled in her throat again before it vanished, the emptiness within her now more gaping. Her throat dried as she blinked rapidly, attempting to discern if this emptiness was physically painful, but it wasn't. It was nothing like pain; it was some distant, unknown stranger.

A short woman walked in from one of the large adjourning rooms, her silver-tinted blonde hair in a laced cap and her grey dress guarded by a white apron.

"We do, Sir?" She answered, her voice aged and rooted. Nimbe's gentle eyes glanced at her and a small smile broke across her lips.

"How may I help?"

He walked across the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from a serving table, his gloved hand holding it awkwardly as he walked towards the wide stairway.

"Get her bathed and dressed for sleeping, then I'll show her to her room. I'll be in the study Nimbe." He briskly walked past the staircase and into a large room before walking deeper still into the unknown spaces of the house, his footsteps fading away.

Nimbe turned towards her and smiled.

"This way Miss, welcome to Bingsby. We'll get you all cleaned up." Though she didn't return the smile, Nimbe took no offense as they walked through the lavish rooms of the house and through the back rooms until they came into the bathing room. A large white clawed tub sat against the tiled wall near a shiny metal nob and hose. The floor was set with smaller, blue glass tiles that spanned out from the little drain in a circular design. Nimbe set to filling a boiler with water and heating it on the range before pouring it into the tub. Once it was filled, she gathered soap and a towel and set it on a small table by the tub, before brushing her hands softly.

"There you go Miss, will you need help undressing?"

She nodded no, her movements few and pointed.

"Okay then. When you are done, knock on the door and I'll hand you your nightgown and robe." After another silent nod, Nimbe left the room and shut the door behind her, her footsteps growing faint as she went to retrieve the clothing.

After observing the small room, she began to pull off her veil and cap, her head aching dully from having it in a bun. She walked towards a table on the opposite end of the room and peeled away her gloves and carefully undid everything she had seen Hans do when he was dressing her. Once everything was set on the table, she placed her hand upon the surface of the water like it was glass. The warm water felt kind- alive in some unspoken way. Each movement into the water felt like returning home after a long and harsh voyage, and perhaps it was. Perhaps this place was 'home' now.

That voice murmured in her stomach again, but somehow those cravings felt contented. The power of being someplace other than a cellar made her muscles clench tightly. There were so many things she could easily do, but doing them at a time like this felt wrong. And besides, she hummed to herself, it would be a waste to pass up a warm bath. The voice within her muted, the tenseness fading. In that moment, more emptiness stretched to the place the voice had once harbored.

The thick dirt and grime of the ship seemed to seep from deep within her bones as she set to moving the soap across her numb skin. Her fingers gave no serious attempt at untangling her hair, because after all- what was the use of having it anyways? Once finished, she dried herself completely before rolling her knuckles on the door, which Nimbe creaked open handing her the nightgown and robe. Following the example of Hans, she pulled the gown over her head and put on the robe before securing it with a tactical knot.

Slowly opening the door, she was greeted by Nimbe with slippers and another towel.

"Before I take you up, the master wanted me to cut your hair free of the knots."

Nimbe gently pushed her into a seat and pulled out a pair of scissors. Placing the towel under her hair, she quickly cut the hair just above her shoulders, the thick mats tidily collected in the towel. Once the slippers were on, they set back through the rooms of the house, across the large foyer, and through more rooms before they came to a set of mahogany doors. Nimbe knocked, and after that, she left and wordlessly went to another room in the house.

Heavy footsteps walked forward and opened the door revealing Sir- still masked and still gloved. He exited the room and signed for her to follow him. They returned to the foyer and up the wide staircase that opened to a long shaded hallway. The walls were adorned with large paintings that swallowed more light as they walked, like the darkness of the sea the deeper you sank. He stopped at one of the doors and opened it, backing up and stepping aside for her to look inside.

"Is everything to your liking?" As her eyes scanned the room, her face paled and her throat tensed. He followed her line of sight to the large mirror and looked back at her, the ignorant side of him scoffing that she would pale at mirrors, but the older, wiser part of him saying he knew exactly how she felt.

"I'll get rid of it if you ask me," He said softly. He hadn't realized it until now, but she hadn't said a single word since being with him. She looked at him and glanced at his hands, her eyes wincing before a hoary voice broke through her throat.

"Will you please rid it Sir?" The toneless sound of her words made him think of stones carving into cave walls, her lips the petroglyphs that enclosed their bent meanings. Knowing she could speak gave him a grain of assurance he had been seeking.

"Of course." His smooth voice answered as he walked into the room. He lifted the mirror and put it in the hallway before turning back to her.

"Better?" He asked.

She simply nodded 'yes'.

"Nimbe will wake you up in the morning and help you get dressed for breakfast. My room is at the end of the hall. Don't ever go in my room, but knock if you need something."

She nodded once more, her clenched jaw relaxing slightly.

"Good night Sir." She tried, her thin frame timidly slipping into the room and slowly shutting the door.

"Good night." He echoed.

She turned to look at her room- a window facing the east, the Persian blue of the night bathing the floor in soft hues. The bed looked like it was a cloud with its pearl white blankets and feather pillows. Nearing the bed, her fingers danced across the fabric before retracting them, a pit growing in her stomach. Everything about this room felt like it was some cruel apparition, some torturous fever dream. The freezing wood of the floor somehow felt more comforting than the strange instrument of the bed, and so she laid down on the ground. She imagined the fire under her skin was hissing against the frigid floor and that one day, she'd wake up and it wouldn't be there. Her tired eyes peeked at the bottom of the white door, the scene causing a stiffness to swim up her chest to her jaw.

She hated this feeling- this acquaintance of an emotion she had learned to hate. Bitter blood, thawing flesh- nothing compared to this. Harshly closing her eyes and digging her nails into her rips, she struggled against the preeminent sea of sleep, the only place she couldn't escape.

In the morning, as promised, Nimbe gave a gentle knock to the door and welcomed herself inside. She made no comment of seeing her sleeping on the ground but felt her heart sink in her chest. She directed the Miss to the vanity and wordlessly positioned her on a chair, helping comb her now silky hair before instructing her on how to get dressed. No matter how hard she attempted to mask her saddened gaze at the sight of how skinny and malnourished she was, her eyes kept finding themselves glued to the scars and brands on her back. She busied herself instructing her on what things she should do every night before bed, though she couldn't shake the sight from her mind.

"I don't think you're in need of a corset," Nimbe chuckled. "Lord knows that unless you're an old maid like me you shouldn't have to bear that injustice."

She nodded seriously, though had no bearing that Nimbe was making a light-hearted joke. Nimbe finished showing her how to dress and led her back down the stairs into the large dining room. The ivory table stretched from one end of the room to the other, but only two places were set for breakfast at the far end. Tall windows lined the left wall, and through them you could see the winding drive and vast green fields of Bingsby. Flowers and shrubs delicately lined the groomed trees and the trimmed footpath that led past the windows and presumably around the entire house. Nimbe silently left her in the room to attend other business, leaving her to wander further into the room and look out the windows.

The sky was a tired grey, and the grass stirred slightly from an unseen breeze. As she looked out, she could see the shadows of clouds dance across the vast grass hills and the wind snake silver paths through the meadow. She could imagine the smell of rain that would be carried by the wind, and the earthy tones of the trees and flowers. It felt like it had been forever since she had seen the world- not the crowded cities, not the retched ocean- no, this world. The calm, simple kind. The only sounds that of the bird or the beetle. She closed her eyes and listened to the quietness here, of the house and the soft thrum of the wind kissing the window. A quiet exhale poured through her lips as her eye fluttered open. Perhaps a place like this deserved the title of 'beauty'; the pure and unwavering kind.

At that word she felt her face twitch slightly as her mind sparked into hellfire, dense lightening quaking through her muscles and bones. Her teeth bitterly roped in her thoughts as distant faces and feelings stung against her skin and swam behind her eyes. Why was it that beautiful things also remind us of the most ugly? Why do the most quiet of times remind us of the most quaking?

She wrung her hands and winced as that familiar stiffness swam from her stomach, something in her chest attempting to violently drown itself in the putrid estuary that now replaced her body. A constriction tainted her lungs like she was suffocating, her mouth gulping in deep breaths as she placed her thumb and middle finger upon her temples, her hand creating a semblance of a shield.

She held her breath and folded her arms, the thoughts slowly melting away with the air from her lungs. Flames whispered against the corrupted tissues of her throat, but this time, it didn't go away.

"Are you going to sit down for breakfast?" At the sound of his voice she dragged herself away from the window and sat to his left. She hummed in response and traced the soft napkin with her finger before tenderly placing it on her lap. Her eyes lifted back to the window as the wind whistled slightly, the sky darkening as though, someplace, the sky was burning, and here there was only smoke.

"Good morning," Sir hummed, her eyes instantly flickering back to him- his face still masked and his hands still gloved.

"Yes, good morning Sir." She sat back as Hans set a hot bowl in front of her, muttering a small 'thank you' for everything he did. She waited patiently as everything was served, her eyes appraising each dish. She flickered her gaze to him and wondered if he was going to eat with her, and as if he could read her mind, he answered her question.

"I already ate, please- enjoy." She nodded and carefully picked up the fork as she tasted each dish before settling on the plain oatmeal with fruit and honey. She paused often to stare out the window, each sound causing her to stiffen slightly, as if she was expecting something worse. Rain began to gently fall from the sky and drip down the windows, her food abandoned as she sipped her tea and simply observed the grounds.

"It's very pretty," She hummed, her eyes falling back down to the her food as she set her remaining oatmeal aside. He nodded and looked out the window himself.

"Yes, it is. Quite calming I think." Nothing, no negative reaction. The emptiness she felt the first time she arrived here at this moment stunned her. Was this how those people felt? The people walking down the streets and into parlors; those ant-like people; easy to crush under a faintest touch. As the trees shifted outside the window and the raindrops gracefully danced down the windowpanes, she realized that maybe to be in places like this, it was better to be an ant.

She nodded in agreement, her brow tensing slightly as she dared herself to speak more.

"I wish the entire world was like this." She flicked her eyes to his face as if waiting for him to reprimand her, but when she got a silent nod in return, found herself conflicted. Another sip of her tea made her thoughts calm, the hot vapors cupping her face in its gentle hands.

"Have you ever been anywhere more pretty than this?" Her stomach churned as the words slipped from her mouth, her mind already cursing herself for opening it. The words felt like clumsy and weak animations.

"I don't think I have," He responded, his face turning to meet hers. "Have you?"

With his eyes on her- or rather, the feeling of his eyes on her- the prospect of speaking was suddenly much more difficult.

"Yes, only once." Turning her head back towards the window, she cupped her tea in her numb hands. Despite how badly her fingers wanted to twitch in anxiousness or her foot wanted to tap out the fast rhythm of her heart, she blinked and felt that familiar lifeless visage take over once more. Control or be controlled- it was a simple philosophy.

"It's more quiet than this." Her voice smoothed and her movements slowed. "There aren't any birds there, or trees, or grass. It's the most silent place I have ever been."

It was as if the room cooled- the flimsy speech and mannerisms gone. He looked to the window to see if a draft wind had seeped in, but he knew it was a self-diluted thought. In the tall grass outside, he imagined that there was a lion creeping up towards him slowly, though his gaze would never be meticulous enough to spot it until it was too late.

"You must value silence." She tore her gaze from the window and looked at him.

"And you don't?"

Tick- He could feel a faith in him wavering, but he steadied himself. If he knew anything, it was that he shouldn't form his opinions on baseless presumptions. Despite that, he found an ancient part of himself murmuring quietly, its faint words etched in the print of his skin. Would it be strange to say that sometimes you just felt things? Things that couldn't be wholly described or articulated, but had meaning nonetheless?

"I used to."

Short, but dense. Used to- she let the words ring in her head. The tenseness of her jaw slacked as her stone fingers reanimated and the room hummed once more.

"Your voice has healed rather quickly. Your words are less strained." He commented. "I'm glad."

The corner of her mouth tipped down ever so slightly, a faint motion of her neck rendering itself the sheet to some primordial song.

"Healing has always been a gift of mine."

"I must say I envy you then. There must be a thousand others who would." Another turn of her mouth, a flash of peach.

"Envy is a word suited for shallow children."

Bitter, but he understood why. His skin felt frigid against the cool leather of his gloves, his breath fanned through the cloth of his mask. Envy was a very familiar word for him.

"Everything is better for shallow children." He retorted. "Even the things that shouldn't be."

At that her bitterness faded, her grey eyes tendering as she placed a mechanical hand on the table- poised yet somehow tensed to the fullest capacity. Silence returned to the room, but not in awkwardness. Not in complete understanding, but it was a realization of equality. Words could flow freely here, opinions could clash and control wasn't some scarce entity.

Control or be controlled.

It suddenly didn't seem that simple.