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[Author's Note]:This is an exceptionally long chapter and another I'm not entirely happy with simply because my dramatic Intro suggested War and Violence and epic stuff. Also the lack of proofing and rewriting is starting to show. But I don't want to leave you all in suspense so here is the next part of Act 1. And just for your delight, it's got some nice juicy bits. Also please note that I'll bee busy over the next few days so the rate of submissions is going to drop off slightly until next week.

Just a few more to go before things get really interesting, so strap in and get ready for the ride. Hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 6: The Damage Unseen

Vayren was always a very energetic and unashamedly curious child. I spent far more time where we were young holding him back from doing something stupidly dangerous, like the owner of a dog comically tugging on its leash as he tries to stop it chasing a cat into the road, than I ever did protecting him from external threats. I never shared his ferocious hunger for knowledge and adventure. I just wanted to avoid attracting attention and feared the wrath of Mr. Gatson or Vayren's parents, as stupid as that may sound now. But the time I spent watching over him when he was released from the overprotective arms of his carers and parents were the highlight of my time serving in the Telequinn household. There was no pressure on me to understand and no judgement on my shortcomings. It was the time spent away from him that was the true challenge. The world was far more complicated than I had realised and I made many mistakes that didn't win me many friends, some almost catastrophic.

At first I was thrilled to be officially owned by the Telequinn. I had been accepted, by whatever slim margin in their minds it didn't matter, as the lifetime attendant. It took a few months for the realisation to settle on my mind that, perhaps, all I had done was seal my own doom or, worse, dishonour. And those first two years were hard, both physically and emotionally.

The first was quite possibly the most serious. I was nine months into my time at the Telequinn manor and I was behind in my etiquette and my swordsmanship. Servants and staff were starting to whisper about what the Lord and Lady might have done with me. So far though, nothing had come of it. It was just wild speculation. I was more worried about when the news of the incident with my seal would finally get around. I know for a fact that there were some other servants milling about around the time I lost consciousness and, much to my shock as well as my discomfort, it was Miss Darcia who was sitting at my bedside when I came to a few hours later. Yet, almost eight months on, still not a word. I don't know whether the fact something so juicy hadn't made its appearance in the rumour-mill relieved or worried me.

But I had had other, more pressing things to worry about in that time, namely the numerous events on the Telequinn's social calendar. Private galas, gallery openings, annual festivals. At first they'd been weary of bringing me along, which meant they couldn't take Master Vayren either as he would have looked out of place at his age without a guardian. But with Severath, Vayren's older brother, still studying at Ferros's most prolific and expensive academy in Mermeer, they needed Vayren in attendance to satisfy the seemingly all-important measure of whether a Panthren was capable of holding a position of office, the 'happy family' barometer. Besides, the word had already spread far and wide that Vayren had some peculiar guardian. When it actually came to my first few appearances, people were as much in awe as they were astonished and, in the case of the die-hard old guard, appalled. I did, however, stick my foot in it at a movie premiere that we attended. Whilst Vayren was off being accosted by the daughter of the director, a group of boys came up and asked me why I hadn't been able to speak until I was ten. I said I didn't know what they were talking about, only to discover later that Lord Telequinn had been telling attendants exactly that and how generous he had been in paying for tutors, voice trainers and psychologists to help me be integrated into society. I got a fierce telling off from Mr. Gatson the next morning for embarrassing and making a fool of the lord of the house.

It was the morning after one such occasion, thankfully a far less eventful evening. I rose to the emotionless, mechanical chirping of the pre-set alarm network fitted into everyone's quarters in the house. The whole system was rigged so each alarm could only be set from the private terminals of Mr. Gatson and the on-duty head of security - allowing the former to facilitate the seamless, well-organised running of the house and the latter to inform or evacuate the occupants of the house in the case of an emergence. I rolled over and opened an eye to peer at the directions scrolling across the digital display, wondering why I ever bothered considering the message was the same as it had been every single morning I had been there:

REPORT...TO...MR...GATSON...

I don't know whether it was a fear of being made redundant by technological innovation, a matter of professional pride and hands-on control, or simply just to get the day off to a good start by condescending to everyone's least favourite, shade challenged Panthren, but everyday Mr. Gatson would have me report to him down in the communal area after he was done delivering the daily news and itinerary to the morning staff.

I rose, washed my face and attempted once again to master the new and intricate art of teeth brushing. The one thing Lord Telequinn had not lied about to his guests and acquaintances was the need to defang me and replace or repair most of my teeth with veneers. Ten years of zero dental hygiene had taken its toll. Then I brushed the tuft of hair that was beginning to grow unchecked between my ears. The plan was to let it reach a reasonable length, then cut and trim it into a respectable gentleman's fashion. However, it was quickly get unruly. Then it was off through the maze of corridors and staircases to receiving my daily schedule and a healthy grilling over something I had or hadn't done. I arrived just as he was rounding up and did my best not to disturb him, standing half-hidden behind the doorframe quietly.

"Now these matters must be dealt with quickly and with..." I heard him say before he paused, catching the momentary flicker of other servants' gazes from his face to mine. He looked over his shoulder, his yellow eyes catching mine with their cold, dull stare.

"Ah, Master Kyren. I will deal with you in a moment," he said, every word chosen carefully and deliberately.

It wasn't often I had to directly associate and co-operate with the others servant of the manor and therefore chance meetings like this were often uneasy whilst deliberate interactions were cold or awkward. I frequently found myself in a subtle game of verbal sparring. And as time had passed, I'd noticed a marked rise in the negativity projected at me. It was hard to counter too. I only knew some of the servants' names by heart and one of their favourite games was the 'Point to the wrong person game.' It got really old, really fast.

"As I was saying," Mr. Gatson continued, "I expect diligence as well as expedience. We cannot afford another incident mirroring the events of the third. And please do not make me repeat myself, Master Milo, about matters pertaining to priceless family heirlooms and the indiscriminate force of gravity." A few of the younger maids and kitchen hands giggled at the strapping, brown furred boy wearing a dusty brown apron over his slightly ruddy shirt and trousers. He looked around and chuckled, embarrassed, along with the others. I half-chuckled due to the happy, carefree atmosphere in the room. But Milo heard me and, turning and catching a smile on my face, immediately glowered and emitted a low growl, flashing his incisors. The others also locked their gazes on me and in an instant, the mood had soured. I lowered my gaze and, rubbing my arm, took a step away from the door.

"Now, I know you'll all conduct yourselves in the manner that is expected and demanded of the Telequinn house, as is always the case," Mr. Gatson piped up, letting the incident run its course. "So onto your duties, all of you," he concluded in his calm, groomed, well-spoken voice. Then he turned and looked down at me, now standing with my back against the far wall as not to obstruct anyone trying to leave via that door. Every person who did fixed me with an awkward stare before moving away.

Mr. Gatson then took me to the side and talked me through my responsibilities for the day. Master Vayren would be with his tutor before lunch and then with his vocal trainer, getting in some late minute practice before his debut performance at the Grand Amphitheatre in Ushelin two nights hence.

"Your tutor is unavailable today and as such, there will be no early morning practice. Instead, I want you helping down here with moving stock from the outhouses into the cellar. There's been some thefts lately and we need to keep it secure until the new security system is installed in the outdoor stores." He seemed mellower today. Whether there was something occupying his mind, I will never know, but there wasn't the usual bite in his words. "We're currently understaffed and we need whatever extra paws we can get."

"I won't let you down, Mr Gatson," I said attentively.

"See to it that you don't. Now report to Miss Colbridge. She'll decide what she wants done with you."

I immediately went up to the front of the house, where a large gathering was standing around two open flatbed trucks. They were not best pleased to see me, but I explained the situation to Miss Coleridge, the orange Panthress with a bony face and paws, and she tasked me with carrying the milk pails down into the refrigerated rooms tucked away in a sub-level of the underground cellar. The trucks pulled around the back of the house and we began hoisting crates, large haunches of packaged sealed meat, barrels, buckets and, indeed, pails of milk. We carried them from the multitude of trucks that came, offloaded their contents and went down a flight of stone stairs from the house's original construction into what would have once been simply dry, cold stone chambers, but were now huge, stainless steel refrigeration rooms that came off a long corridor running half the length of the house. There was enough room down there to store food for several months of consumption, but most of the space was taken up by items the Telequinn family had bought personally during their times on other, exotic worlds or delights they had stocked up on as delights or for their annual summer jubilee. These rooms we never entered. They were sealed away under careful lock and code. What we were bringing in was the run-of-the-mill produce set to be sold and shipped off world or consumed by the servants and staff and, as such, were more mundane and in far less variety.

It was backbreaking work lifting those heavy tankards and, by all rights, the task should have been delegated to someone older and with greater upper body strength. But, as I had been told, many of the staff had been confined to quarters with cases of Turp-Lung, that horribly, sickly feeling that accompanies severe clogging of the throat and dizzy, groggy symptoms. Two of the kitchen best staff, Master Leyland and Miss Grace, had come down with it just that morning. The only time anyone talked to me was to give instructions on how to properly carry the pails or where I should place them in the store rooms. But I didn't mind. It was nice to just be able to get away from books and priceless family heirlooms and prove I could do something for a change. That was until I was standing, waiting at the top of the cellar steps for enough room to pass when I felt something cold and sharp stab into my back. I yelped and jumped, letting go of the pail and it crashed to the floor, the lid flying off and a gallon or so of milk flooding across the floor and down the steps before I had chance to right it. I looked back at the astonished face of the boy behind me, his paw still outstretched from tapping me on the shoulder.

He insisted he only tapped me on the shoulder, but it had felt far more like a scratch. Miss Coleridge came flying in, squawking at me for my carelessness, her quiet sensibilities and patience now worth through.

She had wanted me to go and find Mr Gatson anyway, to ask him about preparations for supper. No one knew, as of yet, whether Master Severath was returning that night or the next morning. Now she sent me on the way simply to have me out of sight, demanding someone find the nearest mop and bucket and clean up my mess. I searched the corridors of the house high and low, not knowing where Mr. Gatson had disappeared to. I asked and someone said they thought they'd seen him head down to the west wing, near the library. I hastened to find him and, after about ten minutes of searching, wondered whether or not another member of staff had been having me on by sending me on a wild goose chase. The Telequinn manor was so ludicrously large on the inside. I can recall asking Master Vayren once whether more of his family lived or had lived there from time to time. He simply giggled and said that this was it, save Master Severath. The west wing was almost abandoned most days, the library there mainly used for storing old books and gathering dust as the literature on politics and history was moved to the private cabinets of the residents up stairs.

I was walking down the last corridor, furious at my inability to do a simple task. That's when I heard it. A quiet, rhythmic sound. It sounded a little like sobbing first of all, as I turned the corner and realised I was coming up on the private rooms of the late Lord of the house, Lord Telequinn's father. There was some unspoken issue surrounding Lord Telequinn's father and their relationship at the time of the elderly man's death. Therefore, these rooms had gone unattended and unused for many years also. That's why I felt compelled to investigate. I pressed myself lightly against the wall, mindful of leaning hard enough to cause a creak and watching I didn't tip any of the dusty vases or statuettes lining the length of the corridor.

Could it be Lord Telequinn? Would he have returned here in secret? Is that what sons do for fathers they know? I wondered. I had no point of comparison, no means of logically determining what I would find. I crept closer and closer and realised that it was coming from the study. I tip-toed closer to see the door was slightly ajar. The sound was not muffled now and it wasn't crying. It sounded like someone in pain but, not wanting to barge straight in on what may have been a delicate moment of Telequinn pride and honour, I snuck up to the crack in the door and nudged it silently open. Then I saw something shocking and appalling.

It was Leyland and Grace, the two kitchen staff who were supposed to be ill. Grace was standing over the dusty desk, leaning over it with her apron torn off and the body of her maid's dress around her elbows and waist. Behind her stood the tall figure of Leyland, his silver body thrust up tightly behind her, under her dress. He was grimacing as he slammed his hips against her, soliciting short, sharp moans from her lips with every thrust. He had her gripped by her thighs, his claws brandished, exposing his sharp incisors as he grunted and snarled. Grace's small, supple, violet coloured breasts swayed with the force of their bodies connecting. Her maw was open and her eyes were tightly closed. The sound of her groaning was accompanied by the solid thwacking and creaking of her legs against the chair under the desk. Leyland then took the paw closest to me off her leg and grabbed her bob of hair, forcing her down. Her breasts pressed against the desk and swelled as she was forced cheek down, face towards me on the tabletop. Her paws had been on the edge of the desk, but now they stretched out and scratched at the wall, leaving thin lines in the plaster, as though she was searching for help. All the while, Leyland grunted and snorted as he slammed his hips into her. Grace's groans went higher pitched, like the sound of a wounded animal. My eyes snapped momentarily to Leyland as he leaned forwards, pressing his chest against her back and taking her by both thighs again. Around the room were scattered garments of their clothing, like there had been a furious attempt to rip them off.

"Take it. Take it," he grunted. Then he pulled back and I saw the full length of his manhood, swelling and throbbing in his hand. That sight sickened me most of all, because it brought back horrid sensations that I had long since tried to bury. Something I hoped I'd never feel again in my life.

"Get that ass down," he growled, pushing down on her back. Then he stood on his toes and forced himself into her again, this time forcing her to inhale painfully, grimacing. Leyland leaned back his head, letting out a familiar sound moan and, as her brought his gaze back down and the sun in the window behind flickered off his watery eyes, in my paralyzed shock and confusion, I swear I caught a glimpse of lavender.

I drew back, feeling sick and angry at the same moment. I could only stand to see a few seconds of it. I had seen this before, felt it before. But what could I do? If he could hurt her, then surely he could hurt me too. There was nothing I could do to stop him, nothing I could do to help.

But it's Grace. I can't let this happen to her. And she the girl Severath has given his heart to. My duty, no... My honour demands I do something. I need to get help. I need to stop this I thought. I can't let this happen to someone else. I crept away from the door and then broke into a run down the carpeted floor. As I ran, I tried to think who I could inform. None of the staff down in the kitchen, and certainly none of the servants, had the power to do anything. Maybe none of them would even understand.

How many people has this happened to? How many even know about this? I ran and ran, still trying desperately to think who might be able to help me. I couldn't find Mr. Gatson anywhere. I wasn't allowed into the Telequinns' private quarters or study or sitting room. Any interaction with them had to be done through Mr. Gaston. That left only one option...

I knocked frantically on the door and then twiddled with the handle until the door creaked open.

"Excuse me," came the harsh, angry voice of a spectacled gentleman sitting in a wooden chair near the coffee table. "We're in the middle of a session. How dare you be-"

"Apologies. My apologies, sir," I blurted out. "But I must- Master Vayren is needed urgently." Vayren looked up from the book he was holding.

"Huh?" he said, bewildered.

"And what, pray tell, is so urgent?" the man snapped. I hesitated.

"Mu- Mister Gatson said there was no time. He's needed right away." The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment, then turned.

"Very well. Go on, do as he says." Vayren put the book down on the large stack before him, then stood and paced eagerly to my side. I motioned for him to follow and exited.

"Hi Kyren. What's the problem?"

"Shhh," I whispered, motioning for him to follow me into a nearby alcove and out of sight. He tilted his head slightly, confused. When he didn't immediately follow, I grabbed him by the wrist and tugged at his sleeve, my arm shivering.

What's wrong?" he whispered when we were tucked away in the shadows.

"Something terrible is happening and I didn't know who else to turn to."

"Huh? What? Is someone hurt."

"Yes.... And someone's hurting them."

"Who?"

Master Leyland. He's... He's... He's hurting Miss Grace," I stammered. I didn't know how to describe what was happening. "I think he's trying to give her a baby..."

"What's that mean?" Master Vayren asked, confused.

"Please, you have to find your mother or father. Please, I can't find Mr. Gatson. Tell someone what's happening right away, before he hurts her anymore." Vayren looked at me and could tell I was serious.

"O-Okay," he said. "I'll go look for them. Wait here." He tapped me on the side of the arm and took off, I barely noting his touch with all the worry circling in my mind.

I hope we're not too late.

The response was almost instant. Mr. Gatson was immediately called to the Telequinn's private sitting room on the third floor, passing by me in the alcove without noticing. Then he came back down the stairs, followed by a couple of men in security uniforms who had joined him from the guard's quarters in the North-East bloc.

"Master Kyren, come out this instant," he said. I sheepishly stepped out of the shadows. He immediately saw me. "Take me to them, immediately," he said without any further explanation.

"They're in the west wing. In the study," I said as I began walking in that direction. The three men started pacing quickly, the boots of the guards thudding against the creaky wooden beams even through the carpets. I had to jog just to keep up. When we reached the corridor, Mr. Gatson turned and pointed to a spot next to a vase.

"Stand there and don't move," he said sternly. Then he walked up to the study door and, without a word, thrust it open. There were gasps and scuffling.

"Mr. Gatson! W-we... We w-were just-" came Grace's voice.

"I know exactly what you two were doing. And in the late Lord Theredin's study no less. Have you no shame!" His regular, chastising and snippy tone had become pure anger, something I had never heard him use before.

"We're sorry. We won't ever do it again." That was a male voice.

"You're damn right you won't," Gatson yelled, stamping his foot to the ground, his arms rigid at his sides, paws clenched. "You're done Mister Leyland. This was the last straw. You've insulted this house and dishonoured yourself in the process. Pack your belongings because you are gone. You hear me! And you Grace. I would have thought better of you. Master Severath will be most displeased when he arrives back tomorrow."

What? That didn't make any sense. I was helping Miss Grace, saving her... wasn't I?

"We'll just have to see what he has to say before we decide your fate. Now make yourselves decent, for Aquila's sake." He backed away from the door.

"Mr. Gatson, please. Where's your heart?" cried Grace, but he was not interested. He leaned in towards one of the guards.

"When they're decent, take them back to their quarters and keep them there. I'm sure the Lord and Lady will want words in private. Then he glared down at me, the fury dwindling from his eyes. "You, get back to Miss Coleridge immediately and not a word more on this. Your hear me?"

It was nearing evening. I had made to stand at the foot of the stairs leading up to the Telequinns' private rooms. The souls of my feet hurt and my legs ached by the time Mr. Gatson came back down from speaking with the Lord of the house, after everything was said and done.

"I just came from speaking with Lord and Lady Telequinn," he said in a tone that made me instantly realise that all was not well. "And they are not happy." He approached and stood over me, one paw on his hips and the other hanging before him, elbow to hip. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused?" he asked, making a flourish with the extended index finger of his paw.

"But- But I thought-"

"Do you?" he asked sternly, raising his voice. I shrunk and began fidgeting with my tail.

"No, sir," I whimpered.

"What were you thinking going to Master Kyren like that?"

"But I couldn't find you-"

"Don't answer me back," he snarled, his whiskers bristling and his tail quivering with barely contained rage. "Interrupting a tutoring session, lying, sneaking around, telling Master Kyren such vulgar, vulgar things, the list goes on."

"But Master Leyland was hurting Miss Grace," I sniffled, eyes welling up with tears. "And I couldn't find anyone. I'm not allowed upstairs."

"What Master Leyland and Miss Grace were doing is not the issue here. The issue is that the Lord and Lady of the house have been forced to answer some complicated and sensitive questions because of your actions." I began to cry. "Stop sobbing. Have some honour for the Gods' sakes. Master Vayren's performance is only a few nights away and he can't afford anymore distractions." This time I could tell I had really done something wrong. Gatson sighed and placed a paw on his white curly wig, looking away for a moment. Then his angry glare was back on me. "Every time I begin to think I can trust you, you do something like this. I knew Lord Davien was wrong to bring you into this house." He knelt down beside me. "Look at me... Look at me!" he demanded as I wiped tears from my eyes. "If something like this happens one more time, you'll be gone and then nothing in this galaxy will protect you. And you are not to say another untoward thing to Master Vayren, Nothing, not a peep. Do you understand." I rubbed two balled paws in my eyes and nodded. "Say it," he hissed.

"I understand Mister Gatson," I blubbered.

"Now go to your room and get to bed. We'll just have to hope this blows over without further incident.

I barely slept at all that night, even less than usual. I couldn't get used to sleeping on something so soft and springy after so much practice passing out on dirt, gravel, concrete or stone. But that was not what kept me up that night. It was the fear that, by morning, I might be thrown out of the grounds all alone with not even the shirt on my back or, worse, sent back to the centre, fit and ready to be taking to the refuse heap and shot.

But when morning came, my alarm system blared early and I was met with the same, familiar words:

REPORT...TO...MR...GATSON...

When I first met Severath, he had no power or honorary titles. He was simply Master Severath. I was standing just behind the left side of Master Vayren in the main lobby of the house, his mother to his right and servants waiting all around as the automobile pulled up on the gravel path. This was the vehicle he had taken away with him to the academy and was one of the new generations of All Terrain Consumer Motor-vehicles (ATCM or hover car to you or me) and it made a strange, whooshing banshee cry as it arrived. Lord Telequinn was outside to meet the young man as he returned home from another year of study. It was a couple of minutes before two servants held open the doors and I saw three figures enter, silhouetted against the early morning light. As they resolved and the doors closed, Lord Telequinn stepped aside to reveal Severath and his own guardian, Master Ulrich. Ulrich was a bear of a Panthren, with a square jaw and thick cheekbones. His head sat on a pair of shoulders twice my girth and he towered over even Lord Telequinn. He was carrying two black holdall bags and had a rucksack with what looked like rolled up scrolls sticking out slung across his back. The other eighteen year old Panthren would have looked far less conspicuous - with his burgundy coloured fur, dark brown eyes and a thin, more sophisticatedly proportioned body - if it had not been for the whiskers on the right of his face being shorter than his left and the deep, newly healed scar running from cheekbone to chin behind. He was carrying another holdall and rucksack in each hand. The pair was wearing no more than T-shirts and dark blue jeans, Severath also wearing a short, fitted blue shirt with short sleeves over the top of the other, unbuttoned at the front.

"Here they are. Our two learned scholars," Lord Telequinn said, placing a paw on Severath's shoulder.

"Looking far more the part of students to me. Welcome home, son," Lady Telequinn said, stepping forwards. "Let's see that scar of yours." She placed both her paws on his cheeks and examined his face.

"Mother, please," Severath said in irritation in a smooth, silky, charismatic voice.

"Oh, it's healing nicely. It looked so much worse when they sent us the digital scans. And how are you Ulrich," she said, turning to him and putting a hand on his chest. "I hope he's not been giving you too much trouble."

"None at all ma'am," he answered in a deep, strong voice that had clearly been retrained in the manner that I had been. Then Vayren stepped forwards and had his chance to speak in this very well practiced, regulated reception.

"It's good to have you home, Severath."

"It's good to be home, Vay," he replied, dropping his bags and ruffling his brother's neatly cropped hair. Then he got down on one knee and rummaged in his carry all. "I..." he said, extending the syllable, "got you this." He removed a small, hinged black box about the size of small chocolate box and flicked it open. "It's a genuine, vintage Leviathos set, like those the explorers used back in the early days of exploration on the homeworld." At that, Vayren's face immediately lit up. He took it in his hands, then hugged his brother again.

"Oh thank you. Thank you." Severath rustled his hair again with a smile, then looked up and straight across at me. I immediately lowered my gaze, embarrassed, unsure whether I was even supposed to make eye-contact. Severath stood up and strode over, pulling something from his bag as he did so.

"And you must be Kyren," he said, looking down at me. Without looking up, rubbing my arm nervously above the elbow I replied "Yes Master Severath, sir."

"Hmm I'd heard Vayren had finally found himself a guardian he liked, one a bit unorthodox." I didn't know what that meant, but I could guess at his meaning. "But Vayren has always been a like... unique himself," he said, turning and looking back at his brother, who smiled and chuckled happily. Then Severath did something unexpected. He kneeled down before me and looked me in the face. "Well I suppose I should be thanking you. You've saved me a lot of misery in the long run with that incident yesterday. You're quite capable for a bl- Uh... A pale furred individual," he corrected himself. He leaned forwards and went to tussle his fingers in my hair, but paused and reconsidered when Lady Telequinn let out a small, stifled cough. "Oh yes. But I do have something for you." He removed his other paw from behind his back and presented me with a small box, about as tall and twice as long as that a ring would come in. "I bought this as a welcoming present, but I suppose it would be more appropriate as a thank you present now." I took it from him and examined it. "Well go on, open it," he said with a small smile. I did so and was graced with something that glinted back at me from the light of the window. It was a small, carved glass Panthren on a glass base. He stood with his legs agape, resting his hands on the pommel of a sword that stood point down in the glass base. I thought its shoulders were hunched, until I realised the figure had been carved with exquisite armour, plate mail, a knight's.

"Th-thank you Master Severath. Thank you very much. It is very beautiful," I said nervously, holding the box with both paws for fear of dropping it.

"I thought a chivalrous, honourable warrior was the appropriate gift to buy my little brother's guardian," he smiled awkwardly. It was an extraordinary gift to give someone you had never met and, for a long time, it was the only possession I ever owned.

With that Severath and Ulrich took their things to their rooms and settled themselves back in. Things returned to normal for the most part. I was sent to collect some books from the library for Master Vayren and was on my way back cross the second floor corridor at the front of the house when I noticed a group of servants huddled around the windows. I paced over.

"What's going on?" I asked. The servant girls nearest to me jumped and looked at me with fright.

"Keep away from it," one of them whispered and they retreated to another window. I stood there a few moments, head cocked, confused. Then I looked outside to see what they had been watching, just in time to witness Leyland being led away from the house by two security personnel, a tiny satchel containing his only worldly belongings. He was then forced into the back of a waiting vehicle with flashing strip lights across the roof and around the flanks of the doors and a reflective paint job. From the side, I could hear hushed discussion and just the occasional sob. Then another group of voices approached from the left and a trio of servant boys from the east quarter rounded the corner. They immediately stopped and scowled.

"What the hell is, is that doing here?" the lead boy snarled. The others who had not previously seen me to my right turned and hissed.

"This is his fault," one said.

"Wha- What did I do wrong?" I asked.

"Where is it?" came a cry from within the group and within moments, Miss Grace had forced her way through the pack. "You... How could you?" she snarled, thrashing her arms as her peers tried to hold her back. "He was the only thing that made working here bearable. And you went and fucked that up!"

"But- But," I stammered. "But he was holding you down. He was hurting you. I thought I was helping." I reared back as she strode towards me, a fierce look in her eyes.

"You stupid... fucking bleached!" she screamed before she smacked me across the face with her palm, knocking the books out of my hands as I collapsed to the floor. Immediately her friends were on her, hauling her back. "Let me go," she screamed.

"Quickly, get her out of here, before he has chance to tell on her," one of the boys called out.

"I... thought... I... was... helping," I whimpered, clutching my burning face.

"No. They were the only thing each other had," one of the other servant girls said. "And now she's got to go back to that dreadful Severath and beg for his forgiveness if she doesn't want to end up on the streets like Leyland."

"You stupid thing, don't you get it? They were in love," one of the boys hissed.

"No... I don't know what that is," I sobbed as the small groups began to disperse.

"No," said another of the girls. "And you never will, bleached." She practically spat the word. "Just keep away. Keep away from all of us."

I sat crying for some time on the floor of the corridor, not fully understanding what I'd done. I didn't understand why two people would do that to each other. It was humiliating. It was painful... wasn't it? Eventually Miss Rowan found me blubbering on the floor and gave me a right scolding on behalf of Mr. Gatson for not being where I was supposed to be doing as I was told again.

From then on the others weren't just uncivil, they were outwardly hostile towards me. I had always known I didn't understand everything about how the galaxy worked, but that day I discovered that I didn't know anything, that I was wrong, defective somehow, less than a person. All I did every time I opened my mouth was hurt the people around me, ruining what people had tried to so hard to build before I came along.

With that realisation, something broke inside and I vowed I would keep my mouth forever shut and never speak out again...