Haunted by a Broken Promise

The strings of a violin hummed a melodic tune, played by a fair man with long, silky white hair tied in a low ponytail, his eyes closed, his expression serene yet strained with absolute exhaustion.

Slumbering peacefully before him were three children, their shoulders leaning against each other as they snuggled on the couch, their hands dangling toys. The fourth child sat straight up, his green eyes staring in awe.

The Chief Butler stopped and opened his eyes, his deep blue gaze meeting the boy’s glittering attention. “Clover? You’re still awake?”

The child nodded, smiling. “There’s no way I’m gonna sleep and miss out on your songs!”

Horace stretched a tired frown. “But that’s the whole point of me playing for you brats,” he wearily murmured. “I can’t believe you’re still fully awake even after listening for three whole hours…”

“That’s because your music is so cool,” he said excitedly. “I never knew you could play the…uh…the…”

“It’s called a violin.” He glanced at his instrument, his gaze calm. “Playing it is a lot harder than it looks. It took me years to come up with songs on the go.”

“Oooh, really? Can you teach me?”

“No.”

“Aww.” Clover slumped his shoulders. “Why not?”

He trailed his eyes back to the violin, his gaze calm. “This is but an old hobby of mine,” he murmured. “I only played it for your mother in the past, but not anymore.”

“What? You played music for Mama too?”

“I used to.” He set aside the instrument on a circular table. “Until Solomon…” He inhaled and crossed his arms. “Forget it. Just find someone else.”

Clover pouted and twiddled his thumbs. “But I want it to be you.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you’re our Chief Butler! And also Mama’s best friend! She would be even more happy if you spent more time with us, right? And you’re super fun to be around too!”

He lowered his head, his face contorted. “Is that so,” he muttered.

“So can we?”

The butler kept staring at the instrument, lost in thought. That was until he yawned and slumped his shoulders. “Some other time.”

“So does that mean a yes?”

“Don’t get too excited. I’ll only teach you the basics.”

“Yay!” He jumped on the couch.

A sleeping toddler with black hair furrowed his brows, grunted, and kicked at Clover’s legs.

“Ow!” He shot a glare at his brother.

“Keep it down. Your siblings are sleeping.”

Clover covered his mouth and stayed quiet, letting little Theodore fall back into deep slumber and drooling away.

The butler rubbed his forehead and stepped towards a chair, only to wobble and collapse to his knees.

Just like that, he fell face flat against the carpet without even making a sound.

“Huh? Horace?” Clover climbed down the couch and approached him. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m feeling absolutely splendid,” he grumbled in a guttural, exhausted tone.

“You don’t sound okay…” He drooped his head and twiddled his thumbs. “Do you hate Mama?”

Horace turned to him, his deep blue eyes meeting directly into his eyes. “If I did, I wouldn’t be babysitting you brats nor would I entertain you in your little fantasy adventure roleplays the entire day.”

Clover titled his head. “Sooo, do you love Mama?”

He looked away, staring into space and tightening his brows. “More than Solomon. More than anyone else,” he murmured, his eyes groggy.

“Horace?” He nudged his shoulders, barely budging him. “Wait, are you going to sleep right on the floor?!”

Horace’s eyelids grew heavy. “Clover, how much do you want to learn from me?”

“What?”

“Just answer.”

“Uhmm.” He tapped his chin. “Everything! I wanna play the violin as cool as you one day!”

Horace turned over and rested on his back, staring at the unlit chandelier. “I see,” he mumbled. “Then I want you to promise me one thing.”

“Oh, what is it?”

Horace fluttered his eyes, his vision blurred with pain and longing. “Whenever I’m not around, please… watch over your mother for me.”

✦☆✦

Somewhere in an inn establishment, two siblings continued to bicker in a private room.

“Clover, bring my memories back,” said Dorothy.

“No,” said her brother.

She slammed the table. “Then how am I supposed to understand you then?! You killed our mother because of the alcohol frenzy and blamed our real father ever since, but there has to be more than that, right? Why else would you erase all of our memories too?!”

“It’s to save your life!” he said, raising his voice.

She winced. For a moment, silence swept across the room.

For the past few days since they returned to Loumont, Dorothy insisted that their options were to either discuss their family affairs or take her on a shopping trip all around the capital, much to Clover’s dismay. To avoid any suspicions from the patrolling Chevolaires, Clover delivered a message to Horace with a vague excuse as the two continued to settle their dispute.

How long had it been already? Three days? Four days? He forgot to keep track of the calendar ever since they arrived. Well, on whatever day they were on, Clover finally reached the limit of his patience.

He inhaled and shook his head. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he murmured. “Dorothy, you don’t remember it, but I do. Years ago, you committed something so horrendous that you almost literally broke your own heart with so much guilt, and it took more than a decade for you to move on, but...” Clover squeezed his fists. “After… after Mother’s death… it reminded you of your trauma. You were suffering… because of me…”

She stammered, barely finding her words. “Huh? Wh-What…? What did I do?”

Clover bit his lip and broke his gaze.

Dorothy stood up and leaned on the table, staring at Clover’s hesitant face. “Brother, look at me. What did I do?”

“You can demand as much as you want, but I won’t tell you.”

“Why—”

“But if you want to know so badly, then fine.” He pressed two fingers at her masked temple. “I will unseal a few seconds of your memories. You tell me when to stop.”

“Huh?”

Red static surged around his fingertips and shocked her mask.

Dorothy flinched and jerked her shoulders as a crimson-stained scene flashed before her eyes.

Three adults—her parents and Horace—were arguing over… something, their words muffled. Even so, the rage in Horace’s voice was loud and clear.

She was there, listening outside as she leaned beneath the window, weeping quietly. With each word, her heart ached with guilt, and she couldn’t stop the tears staining her face.

It… hurt. It hurt seeing them fight.

This was all her fault. They were fighting because of her.

It hurt so much. Her heart began to burn with grief and guilt.

Dorothy whimpered and clutched her head. “S-Stop…”

Clover moved his fingers away, and she jolted with a gasp, sweat trailing down her neck. She whined and shook her head, still in a daze.

Her brother patted her shoulder. “See? You can’t handle it.”

She curled her fists. “But… but replacing our memories with Horace is still wrong.”

He tilted his head. “Replace? What do you mean? I’m not twisted enough to shuffle memories. I only ever sealed our bad memories with Solomon.”

“Eh? What about all those fatherly moments I still remember? Wasn’t it with our real father?”

“No? I didn’t block any memories we had with Horace.”

“Huh? Then… the bedtime stories, the games, the teachings, and the shopping trips we had with him…” Dorothy reached for her sunflower hairpins. “They… were all real?”

“Of course they're real. We happened to have enough memories of him to consider him a father figure.”

Dorothy stayed silent, only brushing her fingers across her hairpins in response.

Clover readjusted his trench coat and turned toward the door, yet before he touched the doorknob, Dorothy caught up to him and snatched his sleeve.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t tell him.”

Clover scowled. “Even now, you still won’t let me?”

Dorothy squeezed her grip. “I… don’t want anyone to hurt each other. Our real father doesn’t deserve this.”

“...Let go.”

“No.”

Clover clicked his tongue and turned back around, ready to give another round of lectures until his gaze landed on the eavesdropper floating outside the window. Dorothy glimpsed at his distracted gaze before trailing her eye sockets toward the window next.

“Oh, no. Don’t mind me,” said Ren, stroking his mustache. “I can wait until you’re done.”

The siblings merely stared at him in silence.

“Haaah, okay, okay.” Ren vanished into a mist before popping inside a second later with a tip of his hat. “Howdy, kiddos! It’s a nice evening tonight, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” asked Clover.

“Straight to business. How very Co-leader of you.” Ren grinned and playfully twirled his cane. “Well, Horace wants to see you.”

Dorothy gripped her brother’s wrist.

“Oh, perfect timing,” said Clover. “I was planning to meet him anyway.”

Dorothy shook her head. “If Clover has to go, then take me with you!”

“What? No, you can’t. It’s too—”

“Dangerous. I know.” Dorothy elbowed him. “Do you think I’m that weak?”

“No, of course not. It’s just… I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“As long as I’m with the Co-leader, I’ll be fine, right?”

Ren nodded and stroked his mustache. “She has a point, you know. Are you really gonna leave her all alone in this vast and dangerous city?”

“Ren, whose side are you on?” asked Clover.

“Good question. I’m on my own side,” he said with a wink.

Clover contorted his face and shuddered. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s go.”

“You better not say a word about our situation!” Dorothy huffed, shaking his arm.

“Fine. I won’t.” Clover gave Ren a nod. “Send us away.”

With another tip of his hat, Ren twirled his cane and slammed it on the floor, teleporting all three away from the scene.