A House Filled With Night
Learning to Live in the Night

For many nights to come, Runa would lie awake in her bed trying to convince herself that she had a perfectly valid reason not to run away this time. One evening, it was because she was too tired. The next, because she had eaten too much cake and felt a little ill. Another time, she couldn’t leave because she promised Fiske a game of checkers the next day. Then she promised Sylvain she’d teach him how to bake fancy cookies, promised Casimir she would listen to his newest compositions on the violin, promised Niko she would not cause any trouble, and promised Torin...well, she never really promised Torin anything. In fact, ever since their meeting in the garden, he had hardly spoken to her at all. She wasn’t quite sure if this was because of anger, fear, discomfort, or some combination of everything. But somehow, Runa felt she had promised him more than any of his brothers.

As time went on, she thought less and less of the ring lying on the garden floor, the gate standing at the end of the wall, and the world waiting for her return. She began to look at her relationship with the Sons of Midnight in the same way one would look at the task of sewing a large quilt. Because it was complex and colorful, because it had a lot of tiny pieces needing to be stitched together, and because it took forever to make any progress. Little by little, her quilt developed into something almost nice. She grew accustomed to the brothers, and they grew accustomed to her. Even Niko seemed to tolerate her.

Every day after breakfast, she would be ushered out of the dining room as Sylvain took out those mysterious cups. Twice more, Casimir would take Torin away from everyone else without a word of explanation except, “It’s time.” Torin always had an especially large smile for Runa whenever this happened, but it just made her heart hurt more, seeing how hard he tried to conceal his sadness.

Many evenings, the Sons of Midnight would disappear all night long for parties, balls, and heaven knows what else. After her first escape attempt, Niko had suggested locking Runa up somewhere, but his brothers quickly dismissed the idea. Indeed, it was as if most of the brothers chose to forget the night she ran away. They never scolded her, never spoke of it, never even acted differently because of it. She marveled that they ever trusted her alone again, but perhaps this was because none of them had noticed the missing ring yet.

It was on those nights, while the Sons of Midnight were out of the House, that Runa struggled most of all to justify her decision to stay. They would be gone until dawn, and there was plenty of time for escape. But somehow, after hours of mental anguish, she would always end up falling asleep before she could make up her mind. On a couple of occasions, the brothers returned to replace Runa fast asleep on a random sofa or chair, and Torin had to carry her to bed.

That night, as the brothers gathered by themselves in Sylvain’s room to prepare for another night of revelry, Fiske suggested they bring Runa with them.

“Bad idea,” Sylvain said immediately.

“Come on,” whined Fiske. “Runa has been here for a while now, and she’s been nothing but nice.”

“Except that time she ran away,” Niko said flatly.

Fiske glowered.

“We should take her,” agreed Casimir. “All we do is feed her and leave her to sit around the House. No matter what Fiske says, she’s not a dog like Lala—”

“Good grief, when will all of you let go of that? I didn’t mean it that way!”

“—And it’s not fair that we keep her trapped here all the time, as if she’s not a person like us.”

“She isn’t a person like us,” Niko pointed out.

Casimir just rolled his eyes and said nothing in response.

“Regardless, it’s unwise,” insisted Sylvain. “Anything could go wrong. We’ve never brought someone with us. We don’t know what people will do, we can’t ensure her safety, and we can’t predict what trouble we may encounter as a result.”

“I trust her,” said Fiske. “She would never do anything wrong. I don’t even think she wants to run away anymore. And even if she did, it wouldn’t matter, right? So long as she’s wearing the ring, she can’t wander too far from any of us.”

Sylvain chuckled. “What, then none of you have realized?”

“Huh?”

“Realized what?”

“What are you talking about?”

Sylvain looked up at Torin, who was almost visibly sweating. When he remained silent, Sylvain explained, “She’s not wearing the ring anymore. In fact, she hasn’t been wearing it for a long time now.”

There was a long stretch of confused silence before one of the brothers finally spoke up again.

“You know, I think you’re right,” said Fiske. “I haven’t noticed it in a while either!”

Casimir scratched his head. “Huh, I guess I haven’t seen it either. Odd. But how could she take it off? That would have to mean—”

Casimir’s eyes flitted across the faces of his brothers, settling over Torin’s for barely a second longer. He cleared his throat. “That would mean, the old thing must have grown defective and slipped off somehow. And if that case, it would seem to suggest we have even less reason to doubt the girl, wouldn’t it?”

“She took it off without telling us,” muttered Niko.

“Yeah, well she didn’t leave, did she?” snapped Fiske.

“She was probably just waiting for just the right time. Who knows what she could’ve done if we had never noticed?”

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so mean?”

“Why are you so stupid?”

“How—how dare you disrespect your older brother like that!”

“Who’s older? I’ve never been so sure about that.”

“You little—!”

Torin’s firm voice finally cut through their bickering. “Let’s not take her.”

All of the others turned to look at him, surprised.

His jaw was set. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Casimir scratched his chin. “I understand where you’re coming from. But think about it: by now, she would probably prefer to get into all sorts of trouble rather than stay alone in this house for one more night.”

Torin’s shoulders slumped. “I know. You’re right. I’m sure she’d rather not have to spend any nights in this House at all.”

There was a long pause before Sylvain sighed heavily. “Fine. We’ll take her. But we need to establish some rules, so things don’t get out of hand—”

“Yes! Runaaaaa—!” Fiske was already running down the hallway to replace her.

“This is such a bad idea,” groaned Sylvain, rubbing his forehead irritably.

Casimir patted his back. “It’s okay. You were going to lose in this scenario one way or another.”

—

Runa stood in an old bedroom, surrounded by the Sons of Midnight and an arsenal of gowns strewn across every available piece of furniture. An overly enthusiastic Fiske hovered just over her shoulder, insisting on how she should dress for the ball that night. Sylvain and Casimir stood by at a safe distance, offering suggestions here and there. Niko was being a shadow in the corner. Torin was trying to keep his blush down.

The brothers had procured a substantial wardrobe of elegant ballgowns for her to choose from. The existence of these gowns was of some interest. Earlier, she began to ask where they came from, until she realized they had probably belonged to their mother in the past. That, apparently, was a very touchy subject.

“I say red—”

“Don’t you think white would look a little nicer?”

“That one’s too fluffy. We don’t want Runa to look like a rabbit.”

“Well, that one just looks ridiculous.”

“I actually like it.”

“I think we need to go for pastels—”

Torin finally spoke up. “Are any of you going to ask Runa what she wants to wear?”

All eyes turned to her.

“What do you think?” asked Fiske, looking genuinely curious. “Is there one that you like?”

Runa slowly approached the bed, laden with piles of dresses. She touched the fabric of each one, wondering if they had really been worn by their mother once, and what she had felt when she wore them. Her fingers settled over one in particular. It was a dark indigo that shimmered with bright violet hues in the light. Hundreds of tiny flowers had been embroidered onto the skirt, arranged in such a way that it appeared someone had tossed pale periwinkle and lilac blossoms across it, and they were forever floating to the bottom toward the hem.

“Do you like it?”

Torin was suddenly beside her. She looked up at him, surprised that he had spoken to her.

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Try it on, then. If you like it, you should wear it.”

She looked away. Standing next to them, all tall, elegant, and handsome, she suspected she may not feel very beautiful in the dress.

“I don’t know...”

Fiske clasped her by the shoulders. “What do you mean, you don’t know? It’s perfect for you! Wear it!”

“I’ll—I’ll try it.”

“Maybe we should leave now. You know, so she can try it on,” said Sylvain.

The others seemed to have forgotten about that important detail, and all muttered various awkward versions of “oh, right,” before shuffling out of the room.

Alone, Runa stared at the ballgown before her, as if challenging it with her eyes. She had never worn anything like it in her life, and part of her just knew it wouldn’t suit her—like a diamond collar on a stray cat. Nevertheless, there was another part of her that wanted the dress to suit her. A part of her that wanted to believe she had grown into something more; that she wasn’t the same poor, fearful girl she had been only a month before.

Runa ripped off the simple garment she had been wearing and threw it to the side. It took some effort to climb into the heavy silk without any assistance. After half succeeding in tightening the laces at the back, she went on to struggle with tying them behind her neck. That was when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

There was a knock at the door that she didn’t hear.

“Runa?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Can we come in now?”

Finally, her voice came through, so quietly that the brothers had to press against the door to catch what she was saying.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Cautiously, they trickled back in, one by one. Torin couldn’t help but smile when he saw the way Runa was staring at herself.

“Perfect,” Sylvain said. “You see it now, don’t you?”

She turned toward him, face blank.

“How lovely you are,” finished Sylvain.

She tried not to let this comment affect her, but she couldn’t fight the blush in her cheeks, or the cozy, comfortable feeling that curled up in her stomach and settled down. When she finally gathered up the courage to glance at Torin, she found that he was staring so intensely at her, she had to immediately look away again. It made every inch of her skin burn.

“Very well,” said Casimir. “Let’s get on with this, why don’t we? We’re going to miss the hours while the musicians are still sober.”

“Before anyone goes anywhere,” said Sylvain, “We need to set down a couple of ground rules.”

Fiske groaned.

“First of all, tell no one about us, who we are, where we live, or anything of the like. If people ask questions, don’t answer them.”

Runa nodded.

“Secondly, stay close to at least one of us at all times. This wouldn’t be a problem in the first place if you still had the ring, but clearly, that’s no longer the case. Speaking of which, where did that ring go? I’m not angry, I just want to know.”

“Oh, um...the—the ring?”

“Yes. The ring. Where did it go?”

It took everything in her power not to look at Torin. She couldn’t give him away, not after all that he had risked on her behalf. “I must have lost it, somehow.”

“Lost it? You can’t even take it off.”

She didn’t know what it was, whether it was the glint in his eye or the slight quirk of his eyebrow, but something told Runa that Sylvain already knew the answers to his own questions. So why did he even bother asking?

“Then I’m not sure what could’ve happened to it,” she said as firmly as she could manage.

Sylvain nodded, as if this somehow satisfied him.

“Well. I suppose it’s of no matter now. My final rule for you: stay away from any and all trouble, if you can help it.”

“And most importantly,” Fiske said gravely, “Make sure not to dance with any strange men, because you’re Torin’s woman.”

As those last few words left his mouth, his solemn expression broke, and he melted into a fit of hysterical laughter.

Torin punched Fiske in the shoulder, hard.

“Leave her alone, won’t you?” He peeked at Runa and muttered not a little begrudgingly, “You can...dance with whomever you want.”

“Wonderful. Now we can leave,” said Casimir, impatiently.

“Yeah, let’s go!”

Sylvain shook his head. “Did I already mention that this is a bad idea? This is such a bad idea.”

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~ A/N ~

No Sylvain, I don’t think you mentioned that. Please tell us why, because frankly, I’m pretty sure this is a GREAT idea!

Thank you so much to @PoojaPathak and @Abney_Smiley for the reviews! You are much appreciated.

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