What Does It Take to be Human?

A little child continued to hide behind a bush and stare at the butler while he crossed a gravel path through the garden. She ducked her head and looked away when he glanced in her direction.

The butler approached the little spy, peering down at her. “Dorothy? What are you doing?” he asked.

“N-Nothing,” she mumbled.

Horace looked around, hands on his hips. “Have you seen your father around?” he asked.

“He’s… in his lab…”

“Ugh, what kind of man is he to lock himself away…”

“Wait, no! Don’t bother him!” She hurriedly rushed over and tugged on his tailcoat. “His work is important!”

“What work?”

“He… he said he’s trying to find a cure for us…”

Horace frowned as he locked gazes with her, but the child shyly looked away, only to glance at his bandaged arm next. She let go and stepped back.

“I… I’m sorry… for biting your arm…”

Horace looked down at his bandages and back at the child, wearing a conflicted expression. It wouldn’t do to leave a troubled child by herself. He’d be no different than his parents if he ignored her. In fact, he originally planned to lecture Solomon again for continuing to neglect them. He even planned to discuss it with Lady Maribel, but understandably, she left the mansion to deal with the legal consequences for everyone’s sake.

If neither parent could look after their children at such a crucial time, then… all they had left was Horace.

The butler looked past her and spotted a few flowerbeds, and a lightbulb sparked in his head. “Dorothy, do you mind if I pick some flowers?”

“Huh? Uh, I don’t mind…”

Horace nodded and hopped over the fence, stepping toward the flowers and kneeling before it. He picked a few and began to weave the stems together. The girl slowly followed in his trail and curiously watched him at a distance.

“Did you know? Your mother used to make flower crowns when she was about your age.”

“Really?”

“They’re lovely, aren’t they? They smell wonderful, and they’re fun to make. She loved it so much she even taught me how to make them on a whim.” As he tied the last knot, he offered her a colorful flower crown made of daisies and tulips. “Here, for you.”

Dorothy gaped her eyes at the gift. “Huh? M-Me?” She stepped back with shaky arms. “Why?”

He observed her guilty gaze and shifted his body to face her. “Let me guess: you still feel really sorry, right?”

The child lowered her chin and nodded.

Horace sighed and kneeled before her. He gently crowned her with his gift and ruffled her hair with his bandaged arm. “Listen, I know you weren’t yourself. We all know it wasn’t you.”

“Then why was I so bloody that day? Why did everyone look at me like I was a monster?”

“No, that wasn’t you.” He extended a hand toward her. “Here, give me your hand.”

The child briefly hesitated before complying.

“Now shake my hand.”

She meekly did what she was told.

“Now, tell me: you were aware you did that, right?”

She nodded.

“Were you aware that you were also blinking?”

“Huh? But that’s natural, isn’t it?”

“But you didn’t know you did that, right?”

She nodded again.

“Then it’s the same as that accident. You couldn’t control yourself and weren’t aware of it. We already know who you are as a person, Dorothy. You never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as her cheeks flushed pink. She bit her lip and squeezed on her skirt.

“Dorothy, look at me.”

The girl timidly met his calm, reassuring gaze.

“I want you to remember something very important. Will you listen?”

She nodded.

“Whatever you do, don't hate yourself. Don't hate that strength you have. You're a kind girl, Dorothy. I'm sure that one day, your strength can help someone. Maybe you can even save a life.”

She blinked and stared at her palms, eyes gleaming with a new light. “Really?” she whispered. “I can do that?”

Horace dryly chuckled as he lowered his head. “Of course,” he murmured. “It’s the same power that brought your parents together after all...”

“What was that? I didn’t hear.”

“Nothing.” He pulled out another ring of flowers. “Here, I made a bracelet as well.”

“Wooaah, you can make bracelets too?”

“Haha, would you like me to teach you?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright. Watch closely.”

✦☆✦

The Chevolaires spent the rest of the morning cleaning up the mess, tending to the injured, rounding all the raiders, and sending them to King Carmin’s high-security prison tower. Unfortunately, a small number did perish from the Chevolaires’ side, the raiders’ side, and even innocent guests during the battle, but there was nothing they could do but offer them their funerals.

Since Horace mysteriously went missing, the Co-leader stepped up to take charge and voiced the announcements instead. While the Chevolaires continued their service to the community as intended, they would wait until King Carmin’s informants returned with answers after interrogation. For now, work should normally resume, but with the headquarters still suffering some damages, commission delays should be expected.

After Clover issued the last orders to the remaining Chevolaires, he left the main headquarters and walked downstairs to the restaurant floor, where the common citizens Horace hired would work and interact with the public the most. Unsurprisingly, the restaurant had to close to clean up the burnt walls, broken windows, and shattered tables and chairs.

So much for having breakfast.

Clover approached his sister as she walked by, carrying a massive pile of wood scraps on her shoulder. With a grunt, she tossed them onto the pile of collected debris and dusted her hands.

“Alright, all done!” said Dorothy, massaging her shoulders.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” said Clover, folding his arms.

“Hehe, it feels good helping people,” she said, beaming away.

“So, you overcame your regret, huh?”

“It’s thanks to everyone here, really.” She giggled and swayed her shoulders. “They made me remember what Horace told me when I was little. His words and theirs cheered me on, and I ended up realizing that I have the choice to improve myself for the better!”

“...Is that so?”

Dorothy clasped her hands behind her back and peered up at her brother, whose eyes remained clouded. “Don’t get me wrong, Clover. I’m still not completely over it. I just need to keep this up and save more people! I won’t let another tragedy like before ever happen again. You have the same idea, right? That’s why you’ve been working so hard!”

Clover looked away with a frown, still holding his tongue as conflict stirred inside him.

He had to admit, she wasn’t wrong.

Horace advised him the same thing on the day he confessed his murder to him. He suggested that rather than condemning his power, he should use it for the better. After all, Crimoire was more than just an ability—it could create miracles into reality, something he ought not to forget.

Dorothy tilted her head. “Say, I’ve been wondering about something,” she said. “Ever since you started this job, have you killed someone?”

“Hmph, what do you think? We’re licensed executioners. Our duty is to eliminate threats on sight.”

“In other words, you’ve killed vampires, right?”

“So what if I did?”

“Were they good or bad vampires?”

“What do you mean?”

“Logically speaking, if your job is to kill all vampires, our other siblings and myself should be included. Cherry and Charlie too.”

“What? That’d never happen!”

“That’s why I asked. What kinds of vampires did you kill?”

“...Serial killers, human traffickers, violent gang members—you know, vampires taking advantage of their Crimoire. The sort that the regular watchmen can’t handle.”

She stretched a smile. “In other words, you’ve only killed the bad kinds?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Hehe, I just wanted to make sure you’re still you. The kind, caring brother I know wouldn’t hurt anyone innocent.”

“The hell are you talking about? I still killed—”

“Criminals. The sort of people who would spread tragedies.” She elbowed him. “I can read your face, you know. I can tell you’d still feel bad for killing someone. Clover, you’re still a huge softie.”

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Clover, I know you’re not dumb, so what’s stopping you from forgiving our father?”

Clover chewed his lip as the waves of conflict crashed harder inside his chest.

Their father was a cursed vampire, but at the same time, Clover couldn’t ignore how hard he worked for his family. And yet, were it not for his curse, they wouldn’t have to suffer so much. 

And yet, were it not for his unconditional support, everyone still grew up together like a normal family.

And now, seeing Dorothy back to her happy, cheerful self—prideful of her abilities—it finally convinced his heart to open itself up for second thoughts.

He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that it was never his father’s fault. If Clover blamed only himself, the amount of guilt would have completely crushed his sanity. Perhaps deep down, he knew his father would’ve understood his feelings and shared his pain.

In the end, he couldn’t forgive his father because he couldn’t carry the full weight of his own guilt.

Clover’s face contorted as he realized this, and he tried tugging his arm away. Dorothy tightened her grip and grabbed his other arm, forcing him to face her directly.

“Clover, you’re really terrible at hiding your feelings,” she said. “You still can’t forgive yourself, right?”

He tried squirming away. Instead, he found himself getting squeezed into his sister’s embrace.

“Be kinder to yourself, please,” Dorothy mumbled. “Dad, Horace, our siblings, our friends, and I all forgive you, so it’s just you left. I know you can forgive yourself, Clover. You’re always kind to people, so you should treat yourself the same way.”

Clover stared at her head as he took her words in. She forgot to mention one other person on her list: their mother. 

If his mother was here, then she... would’ve said the same thing…

A bloody scene flashed through his eyes—the scene of him mauling his mother to death.

Tears blurred his vision, so he couldn’t even properly see her in the end. As he stared at her, as tears streamed down his face, and as he sobbed, he remembered something warm cupping his face. It felt like a hand, gently caressing his cheek before a soothing whisper snapped him out of his frenzy.

“I’m sorry, son.”

Clover deeply inhaled, wiped the tears leaking in his eyes, and heavily sighed. He patted Dorothy’s back and grumbled, “Fine, I’ll consider it.”

Dorothy faced him, smiling brighter than he expected. “Really?!” she exclaimed, squeezing her hug. “Does that mean you’ll come back home now?!”

“Don’t get so excited. We’re still pretty far from the mansion.”

Dorothy ignored him completely and raised him, spinning him around. “Hooray! You’ve finally grown out of your edgy phase!”

“Hey, what do you mean, ‘edgy phrase?!’ Let me go!”

Dorothy merrily laughed as she put him down, jumping at him and hugging him tightly. “Let’s go home right now!” she chirped.

“Ugh, okay, okay! We have to leave a message to Horace first.”

“Oh, right. Say, where did he and Ren go anyway?”

On perfect cue, a loud clopping of hooves interrupted their talk, and the siblings whipped toward the entrance of the restaurant, where a familiar, shining bronze horse greeted them with a whinny, kicking its legs high in the air.

The siblings gaped at each other and quickly rushed toward Penelope's mechanical horse. A wax-sealed envelope was tucked in its mouth, and once it spotted Clover, it loosened its jaw and let the envelope slide out. Clover snatched it and gawked at it.

In familiar, elegant handwriting, the message on the bottom fold read: ‘To Clover and Dorothy.’

The siblings exchanged curious glances. Clover snapped the wax seal open, pulled out the letter, and unfolded it.

‘Greetings. I hope things are well at the headquarters.

I am writing this to you at the mansion to inform you that I’ve learned everything now. Please return home as soon as possible, and please, don’t fight once you arrive. We will explain everything to you and continue to discuss matters once we’re all finally reunited.

Sincerely,

Horace.’

The swirls, the simplicity, the neatness and elegance of this handwriting and signature—and most of all, the lingering traces of Horace’s scent gave them more than enough proof that this letter wasn’t a hoax.

Clover blinked at the letter and his sister. Dorothy mimicked him and dropped her jaw.

“Huuuuuuuh?!”