~CHAPTER TWO~

TW: themes of abuse

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Having been completely absorbed by a rather humorous book: Lady Moustache had spent most of the afternoon sitting in one of the large bay windows in the study reading. All of a sudden, as if out of nowhere, the front door swung open with a loud-

*SLAM!*

This caused Cherry to jolt. He was just about to open the door to let a rather irate someone in.

“Good afternoon, master.” Cherry said keeping his composure impressively well. He stood tall and held his arms behind him, in a manner only the most seasoned of butlers hold themselves.

Mr. Duchamp grumbled seemingly to himself as he shoved his hat into Cherry’s awaiting grasp. Mr. Duchamp looked up. Lady Moustache prayed that he hadn't yet been targeted by his father’s gaze. He sat still as ever, biting his lip in terrified anticipation. To his surprise, his father walked past the study heading towards one of the rooms past the stairway. His father’s cane hit the marble floor with a menacing clunk, slowly getting quieter and further away.

Lady Moustache exhaled his breath and swiftly removed the clip on earrings he rarely wore. He placed them in his breast pocket and just as, decided he was done reading his book for now.

“Lady Moustache,” Cherry said in a hushed voice that the two men only hoped would stay unheard by his father, who hated the fact that his only children used strange names. Ones that he hadn’t given to them.

Lady Moustache stood up, feeling rather weak and unfortunately, without his cane at the moment.

“Your father would like to speak with you… he decided he didn’t want to see anyone until dinner, but stated he must see you before dinner is served.” Cherry tightened his signature white gloves and held them in a magisterial matter in front of him.

“Do you happen to know… what he wants to see me for…?” Lady Moustache asked rather hesitantly.

He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to find out.

Cherry felt stung, he only wished that he could say for certain. “I’m sorry, young master.” he finally replied, shaking his head with a queerly sorry expression. Cherry wasn’t the type of person to express his feelings in a visible manner.

“Thank you, Cherry… I’ll be in my room. I don’t plan on coming down anytime soon.” They both nodded to each other to agree that that would be wise. Cherry assured him that he will personally call for him when dinner is about to be served, and as Lady Moustache puts it, when his death sentence will also be served.

Lady Moustache made his way up to his room, heavily relying on any wall or railing as he attempted to walk on his own. His legs felt weak, and he felt awfully sick to his stomach.

He wondered if he could skip supper all together and leave for the party now.

(That wouldn’t be wise. Besides, Richie has a lot on his plate, he’s preparing for an absurdly large amount of guests).

In an attempt to keep...