Whatever moment of connection had happened between them before, now something else seemed to have invaded it.

Lady Rosemary had not blinked since their last conversation. She had not spoken either. She had smiled, a soft and strange thing, and stared out into the library. Agnes had, feeling oddly responsible, made her drink the remainder of the bottle. And yet the strange state she had reached after Agnes had yelled at her remained. It was like a trance.

Rosemary stared blankly ahead, her face enveloped in softness. She had been doing this for about an hour, pressing a hand to her chest. Even when Agnes had begun to coax her to her bedroom, to as least get her rest, the vampire had not spoken, gliding merrily along like a ballerina across a stage.

They had just reached the cloister, its moon-touched flowers shimmering in the dark, when Rosemary paused. Perhaps, Agnes thought, she had finally come to her senses. Perhaps she was going to yell now, or tap into some ancient, vampiric rage.

Instead, her smile remained, as eerie as an empty city street in the night. 

Agnes shook off her malaise as best she could. “What is it? How are you so happy?”

“You hurt me,” Rosemary repeated. 

“I don’t understand,” Agnes said. “You ought to be angry. And I was... out of line, for a servant.”

She might have jeopardized the whole mission, alienating Rosemary with her true thoughts. Even as she already had come so close to learning so much.

“You spoke to me,” Rosemary said, in that odd, soft tone. “You were not kind. You know nothing about me, and yet you told me exactly who I was. And... you held me.”

Agnes glanced down at her palm. Rosemary had been colder than frost. Had contact really meant so much?

“I only did what a servant ought to.”

Here, Rosemary’s thick brows furrowed. “No. No you did not. A servant would not yell. A servant would do what I ask.”

“And because I... overstepped, it made you happy?”

“I suppose, that must be the case. Though I am not yet certain what happiness feels like. I will let you know when I figure it out.” And her she smiled again, and the red of her eyes was as warm as a hearth. “But for now, I have felt something at all. It makes me feel... it makes me feel like I must move. Or speak. Like there is something within me that must escape. Agnes, I want to dance. Won’t you dance with me?”

Rosemary lifted a pale hand. Agnes stared down at it. 

It seemed that Rosemary... liked it, when Agnes pushed her, and when Agnes was close. Here, outstretched, was an easy path to gaining her trust. Was Lady Rosemary truly such a lonely creature, that she would reach out to the peasant meant to follow her around? To dress her in clothing? To style her hair? 

Agnes took the open hand. Here, she thought with a sense of finality and calm, was the key to saving her home. Yet something in her own heart sped at the touch of cool, smooth skin.

They laced their fingers together. Agnes remembered with a start the proper positioning she had once learned for the waltz, and draped her free hand across Rosemary’s waist. 

The shorter woman, her gaze open and bright, drew Agnes out from under the porch and into the cloister garden. Glowing flowers tickled the edge of her dress and apron. The dirt was soft beneath their feet.

There, without any music playing at all, they began to dance.

Or rather, Rosemary did. 

Whatever Agnes had expected, the most ancient vampire clearly had never been taught. She simply began to drag Agnes with her, spinning around the flowers, her soft fingers and sharp claws pressing into Agnes’ skin. 

There was no rhyme, nor reason to it. Agnes wondered at first if this was perhaps some older, practiced dance, something that would one day become her modern waltz. But it was too erratic.

The moon itself beat harsh upon them like the sun. It crawled down Agnes’ spine. It settled in the back of her mind, trilling like chimes in the wind. The feeling was cold, and warm. For a moment, Agnes felt like a puppet, noticing its strings for the first time. 

Rosemary spun them over the flowers; silvery petals fluttered through the night sky, kicked up from their dancing. Agnes just barely followed along, baffled at the strange steps that Rosemary took to draw the two of them through the dirt. They spun and spun and spun, and Agnes could make out an odd, rosy color on her Lady’s cheeks. There was an opalescent sheen to her claws, an iridescence to her tresses of hair. In the moonlight, she looked strange and beautiful; far too beautiful.

Agnes remembered herself. 

Her fingers slipped away from Rosemary’s waist, and her grasped hand jerked out in front of her, pulled by the strength of Rosemary’s fervor until their fingers tore apart. Rosemary swerved across the garden and spun to its center. For a moment, her eyes were wide, her gaze strange. Then, it curved upward to the moon, shining silver above. 

Without a dance partner, her hands reached towards the sky, contorting like a raptor’s claws, grasping for something unable to return her touch. She spun and spun and spun, humming an odd little tune.

There seemed to be a silvery glint to her eyes. Suddenly, Agnes couldn’t watch anymore. She stepped back, further and further into the shadows, while Rosemary spun in a shaky parabola.

There was the slight squeak of the door.

“Ah,” said Aster, “she’s doing this.”

His sharp, pale face bothered Agnes more than anything she had ever seen in her life. “Oh. Finally checking on your mistress?”

“I believe it’s your job to take care of her. She made it clear long ago that my presence was no longer welcome after Nyx’s sessions.”

“And how long ago was that,” Agnes bit.

Before them, Rosemary stopped in the center of the garden, brought her hands to her heart, and curtsied. Her eyes never left the moon.

“Centuries ago, Agnes. Perhaps when you get older, you’ll understand why we act this way.”

Agnes bared her teeth.

It was none of her business how anyone treated Rosemary. In fact, she hated Rosemary, who was a vampire, causing troubles across Cordis.

And yet.

Rosemary had been so cold, so frail in her arms. Obviously hurt. How long had this been her routine? How long had she gone... alone?

Before her, Rosemary had stretched back to her full hight. Her gaze poured into the shadows, pale brows furrowed, eyes glowing red.

“And how is the moon tonight?” Aster asked, apparently used to whatever this was.

“She is warm,” Rosemary said. Her voice had gone soft, yet there was a rasp to it, like a rose petal that had been painted with frost. “I am cold.”

Aster huffed. “You’re always cold.”

Rosemary was a goddess before him. “Whose fault is that?”

Aster cocked his head. “Yours, I recall. You told me to go. I’ve been carrying out your orders, all this time.”

“You could have ignored them,” said Rosemary. Her gaze was... as sharp as a wolf on the prowl. Crowned in the white halo of the moon, the black silk of her dress gleamed. Was this not proof of her terrible status as queen of the vampires? Her blood, holy to those who drank it, given freely to them. Distributed to make monsters of the people of Cordis.

Agnes bit her lip enough to draw blood.

She hated Rosemary.

“You know I couldn’t have,” Aster argued, stepping forward into the moonlight. “You know just what you are. You know just what you can do.”

“But you do not know what I will do, now do you?”

Something passed, electric, between them.

Agnes stepped back into the moonlight. Rosemary looked to her, and her gaze softened. “There you are, my sweet servant. We wondered why you had gone.”

Agnes coughed. “You’re simply... too beautiful. I was overwhelmed.”

Rosemary’s pink lips curved downward.

What if she wore a crown of those moon-touched flowers, Agnes wondered. How would she look then?

“I was overwhelmed too,” Rosemary said. “And still I pulled you closer, did I not? Do you understand how difficult that is for me? I have not... touched... in centuries. But I brought you to my side in this sacred place.”

“I did not ask to come here,” Agnes said. “I don’t know what’s happened. Didn’t you say I shouldn’t try to understand the moon? Why drag me beneath it, then?”

Rosemary blinked. Her expression softened. Then she looked once more at the cold circle of the moon in the sky. “Even now, you wound me, lady.” 

Stepping away from the moonlight, Rosemary stumbled into the shadows. Her slippered foot caught on the edge of the porch, and she tumbled once more into Agnes’ arms. Her eyes fluttered shut. 

Aster clicked his tongue. “She’s strange like this, when moon-drunk.”

“Moon drunk?” Agnes pulled the lady better into her arms.

“Like now. Though I tend to avoid her in this state. Seems she pulled you right in. Why?”

Agnes blinked. Rosemary’s was soft beneath her, no longer a fearsome thing but a gentle creature, caught in repose. “She was... happy. Warm? Hurt.”

“Perhaps she wanted you there,” Aster sighed. “She used to bring Nyx to dance like that, you know. That was the first thing to stop, and I’ve no sense why.”

“Why does she dance?” Agnes asked. She remembered, for just a moment, the odd fingers of moonlight, digging into her bones.

“She simply does,” Aster said. “But you must understand, Miss Agnes. Lady Rosemary is special. If vampirekind is to reach its full potential, she must never die. And so we keep her alive here. Perhaps things would be easier, if she chose simply to sleep. We would take blood when we needed, and she would not have to suffer.”

“And why?” Agnes asked. “Why is she so special?”

Here, Aster smiled. “She is the only being alive so touched by the moon.” One of his gloved fingers slid through a lock of her hair. “She is also the only creature who understands it. If we are to truly ascend, then her blood is the key.”

Ascend?

Agnes glanced up at the sky. The moon watched back. With apathy or care, Agnes did not know.

But apparently, Rosesmary did.