You nervously walk down the aisle. The feeling of your guests’ eyes upon you as they titter excitedly fills you not with joy, but a curious dread that grows with their every blink. You keep your head down, focusing only on your feet clack clack clacking along the cold marble floor.
An uncomfortable silence falls as you reach the altar. All eyes remain fixed on you as you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You take one more. And another. You must be doing it wrong because you’re hyperventilating by the time the doors begin to creak open once again.
A hand places itself on your shoulder and you shriek, but there is no sound. Footsteps ring out behind you and your gaze slowly trails from the hand to the face of the man before you. Clack, clack, clack. Rat-like features greet your eyes with a reassuring smile. Clack, clack. The rat man nods and you find yourself turning to your left. Clack.
You recognise the figure in front of you. Unclear words spill out of a nearby mouth as your head swims.
Your eyes flicker to the guests in a silent plea for help. There is no one there.
”..yd…ing… take… be…”
A monkey’s face contorts into a malevolent smile, inches from your own.
“Dwarven vow 666: I do.”
You scream audibly this time as burning hot metal slides onto your finger. The agony soon becomes a wonderful calm just in time for the words you find you have always longed to hear:
“…to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Your lips move on their own.
Please abandon your hipster duties for a second and take the time to click this link. THANK YOU.
You’re suddenly not so sure if you can go through with this. Yes, if you willingly accept the horrors Hugo has planned, he’ll probably leave you alone for a while afterwards, but is it worth it?
Perhaps Chal was right. Perhaps you should run away like the sissy little girl your father thinks you are. But what about Marian? You can’t just leave her there!!
Maybe you should find Stan and the others and ask for hel—no, that’s a stupid idea. The worst idea you’ve ever had. Ugh. You’d rather be badtouched.
…Not really, but you’re not sure if your pride will allow you to stoop so low as to beg some hick to save you from your demented daddy. Perhaps you should make a stand and give that psycho what for. You did just abandon Chal, though, so you don’t like your chances. Oops.
Either way, you need a plan. And fast.
Well, here you are, outside the Gilchrist asylum. Er, you’re sorry, mansion. This is where you were born sixteen long, torturous years ago, and probably where you’ll die too at this rate. You’re almost impressed at how much childhood trauma Hugo has managed to inflict on you. Tea parties, slumber parties under the dining room table, happy fun bath time, maid day… the list goes on. You are a psychologist’s wet dream.
UR 1 TRU LUV a servant you suppose you’re quite close to, says you should try to appreciate the positives of living here, but you can’t even bring yourself to try for her sake anymore. Not after reading the ad your father printed in his company’s property guide just to gloat. The emphasis he put on the mansion being situated in a rather secluded part of town was too disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the fact that someone actually answered the ad and Hugo agreed to show them around the house for fun. They stayed in your room the longest. To this day you have no clue what they were doing in there.
Farewell, Pierre de Chaltier. May you find happiness on the dirty streets of Darilsheid.
You’re not going to regret this at all. Nope. Time to head home.
Chaltier: This father is too crazy!
Chaltier: This guy is too friendly!
Lion: Chal would you please shut up for—
Chaltier: But Marian is juuuuuuuuuuuuuust right!!!
Chaltier: Oh wait, I forgot the commandant! I’m so sorry, young master, I messed that analogy up terribly.
That’s it. Only friend in the world or not, you have had enough of all this jealousy.
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Chaltier: Young master, perhaps we should just sneak out of town. You know, maybe find us a place of our own, settle down, and—
Lion: Do you really think Hugo won’t hunt us down?! Besides, I am not going anywhere without Marian and that’s final.
Chaltier: Wow, ok. You know who you remind me of, young master? Goldilocks.
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…He’s a carefree, impudent, over-familiar moron and his hand was sweaty when you were forced to shake it. It was disgusting. Your hand will never feel clean again. And if that wasn’t bad enough, your vaguely reliable sources say (actually you just listened in on the Swordians gossiping one night) that he wants to knock up your sister, who you also don’t give a damn about. Not even half a damn. Not even a miniscule fraction of a damn WHATSOEVER.
Alas, dwelling on that pleb’s never ending stupidity isn’t going to do you any good right now. You’ll save it as a distraction from the inevitably traumatic time that awaits you at home.
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You suppose it was inevitable. It was stupid to hope that he’d die on his shady business trip—perhaps asphyxiate himself with his own maniacal laughter—especially since it was probably just a coverup for something completely asinine like buying tea. That man is even more of an idiot than Stan.
Have you mentioned Stan yet? No? Good, you wouldn’t want to waste your breath talking about that waste of space.
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