The Death That Started It All

Clover hoarsely coughed, staring helplessly at his ceiling in bed. His head burned as hot as the hearth, his mind shuffling. He took deep breaths and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

There was a knock at the door.

“Sweetie, are you still alive?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Barely,” he joked.

The doorknob twisted open.

Dressed in a casual, mint-green gown, a woman with emerald eyes and long brown hair entered his bedroom with a smile, carrying a paper bag.

Clover blinked at the bag. “Is that..."

“It sure took a while, but I’m finally back with the medicine,” she said.

He sighed and stared back at the ceiling. “Mom, you didn’t have to go that far,” he murmured. “Hybrids are tougher than humans.”

“So why are you sick?”

He bit his lip, defeated in an instant.

His mother narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Not only that, you suddenly got those symptoms right after your father left for work this morning.” She approached him and rested a palm on his forehead, staring at his guilty gaze.

“Clover, have you been practicing Crimoire again?” she asked. “We don’t have blood lying around for you, you know? I ain’t got that much either! If you keep using Crimoire without drinking any, you’ll strain your body and end up like this!”

Clover frowned and looked out the window. “It’s just that... I wanted to try making an orchestra by myself,” he murmured.

“What?”

He squeezed on his bedsheets and kept his gaze on the sunset, his eyes gleaming with aspiration. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if I try to use Crimoire to play more than one instrument? I could conduct a whole concert all by myself just like how Monty Starman did in his performances!”

She twitched her brow, slowly pursing her lips. “Clover, did you forget what I’ve told you about him?” she asked worriedly.

“Of course not. I know we’re supposed to be wary of him.” He crossed his arms. “But I can’t ignore the fact that his creativity is genuinely inspiring.”

She rubbed her chin. “Fair enough. He’s the biggest, most beloved celebrity of Theatreux for a reason after all,” she muttered. “What a pain in the ass.”

“He sure is,” he said, rubbing his nose. “Sorry that I can’t help much with your investigations. His fragrance is way too extreme for my nose to handle.”

“Don’t be. It’s thanks to you sneezing like crazy that we can easily tell that he’s nearby.”

“Please don’t use my allergies as an advantage, Mom.”

“Haha, sorry, sorry.” She pulled a chair over and sat beside his bed. “Well, enough about him. So you wanted to make your own concert, huh? Why can’t you just bring your siblings and friends along? You already have enough people for a whole troupe!”

Clover relaxed his face, his expression calm yet disheartened. “I don’t think everyone would join though.”

“Sure they will. They all loved your music performances.”

“Hah, the bigger problem is that more than half of them never touched an instrument before.”

“Oh, good point.” She tapped her chin. “Then what about Cherry and Theodore? They’re both theater kids, aren’t they?”

He snorted. “I think they prefer to sing and dance than play music.”

She scrunched her face and shuddered. “You just reminded me how crappy Theodore is at singing. I swear to god he’s born tone deaf or something.”

“Pfft—” Clover cracked a grin and snickered. “Probably his price for having such good ears.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” She chuckled as she opened the bag and pulled out a small bottle and a silver spoon. “Well anyway, you should still take some medicine until your father comes home and properly checks up on you.”

He glanced at the paper bag with a tiny bit of concern. “Do I have to?”

“Damn right. I dragged my ass all the way to your dad’s clinic to tell him about your condition! Don’t think too much of it—it’s just simple relief medicine he prescribed for you.”

“Oh, alright.”

The mother opened the bottle and poured a dark orange syrup onto the spoon. She grinned playfully and drew the spoon closer. “Say, ‘Aaah!’”

Clover flushed his cheeks, sat up, and took the spoon. “I’m old enough to do it myself,” he said, taking the medicine in one go.

“Aww.” She shrugged.

A wall clock ticked. A butterfly fluttered by.

Clover gaped his eyes in complete shock and dropped the spoon. He gagged and clutched his throat, gasping for breath.

“Huh?” She stood up, grabbing his shoulders. “Son? What’s the matter?”

“M-Mom—” He choked on his words, foam frothing in his mouth. “Th-That medicine—Wh-Where did you get that medicine from?!”

“What? It came from the pharmacy that we've always been to!” She hurriedly scanned the bottle. “It came from the store that your dad personally trusts!”

Clover’s canines grew sharper, and his sclera and pupils gradually turned red. Aggressive, scarlet veins branched out at his jaw, sweat dripping away as his eyes shook with fear. “Wh-Who was the pharmacist?!”

“Huh? It... it was... the new assistant..." She slowly widened her eyes in realization and clutched her head. “No way, is this what that bastard’s been up to?”

She turned to Clover next, his terrified eyes dulled without any consciousness left in control.

“Clover? Wait—”

A clock ticked. A raven’s croak echoed across the sky.

Clover sank his fangs directly into his mother’s shoulders, his mind blank as he succumbed to a deep frenzy.

✦☆✦

Instead of singing, he issued orders.

Instead of playing a violin, he wielded a blade.

Instead of performing on stage, he led an organization filled with killers to the very brim.

Clover’s dream ended the moment he killed his mother nine months ago. That day, he was convinced that such dreams should forever stay as dreams.

Because for a monster like him, he didn’t deserve such happiness.

For the remainder of his life, he should atone for these sins by preventing such tragedies from ever happening again. As a Chevolaire, he could stop his kind from causing any more pain and suffering as he did. This was the new life Horace gave him.

After all, with these stained hands, he might as well continue this only path.

His resolve solidified when Horace offered to shelter his siblings away from Theatreux’s insanity. Plus, with Ren’s Crimoire training, he could at least give his siblings a human life, even if it was all an illusion.

He didn't want to cover up his lies, but any traces of suspicion and hints of the past would disturb their peaceful minds and prolong the project. He didn't want to wear those masks either, but to let his siblings see their reflections could remind them of their crimes, a risk he shouldn’t take. Plus, Penelope wouldn’t detect his lies either.

This project should've lasted for only one month. After that, they would've returned to their normal lives back in the capital under the Chevolaire's protection.

...To think that after eight months, things would end up like this instead. Who would've known Eloi was the one prolonging it all this time?

Clover groaned and wearily opened his eyes, a hand pressing his head against the cobblestone, his back getting crushed by a pair of slim but powerful knees.

“I will not let you run away again, Brother!” shouted the person he wanted to hear the least. “I’m going to drag you back home if it’s the last thing I’ll do!”

Ugh, why the hell did Ren bring Dorothy along?!

Clover glanced around the empty alleyway, the afternoon sun rays shining at a corner. He peered up at the bronze clockwork door and clicked his tongue.

That bloody bastard left them right at the entrance of their base and vanished, huh? Where the hell did he run off to?

“D-Dorothy,” he croaked. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh!” She let go. “Sorry! Are you—”

She yelped as Clover snatched her wrists and wrapped her arms in red vines. He sat up and flashed a red spark across the two. Her mask activated on the spot, her sockets flickering.

Dorothy grimaced and shook her head, a vein swelling at her neck. She headbutted him, and he grunted as he fell on his back, groaning.

“Is your mask damaged too?” Clover grumbled.

Dorothy raised her fringes, revealing a small crack right at the top. “I smacked it just a moment ago,” she said rather pridefully.

Of course, she and her superhuman strength could do that.

“Clover,” she said, her voice softening. “You ran away because you hate Dad that much, right? Our friends sided with him too, so you thought you were all alone, right?”

Clover looked away, chewing his lip.

Dorothy lowered her chin. “I... still believe that you still care about us though. You’ve been erasing our memories and working alone so that we could live without any suffering, right?”

“What are you getting at?” he grumbled.

She squeezed her skirt. “I’m saying that we should go back home and continue our talk! We all care about you too, Brother! We were all mad at you earlier because you've been keeping important things from us this whole time! We want to share your burdens too, you know!”

He faced her again.

“I... still can’t remember anything about Dad,” she muttered. “But, aside from... you know, his vampire genes, he doesn’t seem that bad to us at all.”

Clover furrowed his brows.

Dorothy tilted her head. “Aren’t you going to argue against that?”

He gritted his teeth and shoved her away. He quickly staggered up, followed by his sister. Clover gripped his fists and lowered his head, glaring at the cold cobblestone.

She was right. He couldn’t argue against it, and it sickened him terribly.

The fact that Solomon was a loving father this whole time made everything worse. Why couldn’t he be a deadbeat? Why couldn’t he be cruel? Why didn’t he give up on them? That way, he could’ve properly hated him. He would’ve kept that constant itch to kill him.

...Was that why his plans got sabotaged so easily? Was it actually his fault?

Clover glimpsed at the clockwork door and trembled his fingers. Something warm yet painfully confusing and conflicting stirred in his chest like ocean waves crashing against each other.

God, he was such a mess.

He angrily swore under his breath and walked away.

“Clover? Where are you going?” Dorothy followed him.

“Let’s talk somewhere else,” he muttered. “We’ll see what happens then.”

Dorothy eased her shoulders as she stared at his back. She sighed in relief and patted her chest. “Okay!” she said gleefully.

With that said, she walked beside him as they steadily approached the sunlight together.