"Oh, my children, I am afraid I have not the best news..."

The defeated voice at the door woke Evelyn from sleep, and she sat up with dread running through her veins. Covered in frost and flakes of snow was Father, looking worn and gaunt and carrying only one satchel of goods.

"Whatever happened?" Evelyn inquired, hoping that the news was not so dire. Winter had been hard on everyone in Beaumont, and the arrival of Father three months past the date he was supposed to return did not bode well. She did not think she could stomach more debts or problems.

Moving from her seat by the unlit fireplace, she led Father in, took his coat off and shook it, and dragged the big cloth bag to the table. It was heavy, which at least meant some good news. At least, she hoped it was a bit of the fortune promised to them in the letter, and not a severed head or some other such thing. Yes, perhaps she had been thinking quite morbid thoughts and reading too much fantasy, but nothing could really surprise her these days.

"Father! You have come back? Brought anything?" Darcia enquired, having heard the arrival of Father and eager to receive her bobbles and silks.

"Yes, but it is quite a long tale... I have only in me to say it once, so be sure to relay it to James and Devon and Edwar when they come. Alright?"

"Of course, Father," Evelyn said in a composed voice, urging him with her thoughts to tell his story. Darcia was eager to hear as well, but Evelyn had a different reason for wanting to hear the tale of 'not the best news' than her sister. Namely, if and when they had to run. Again.

"So here goes...

The journey was long, and tiring, and the borders between France and England were fraught with tension, for a reason I could not discern. I made good time to Whiling, however, though along the way I fell off the horse. I was found and tended by a merchant of the lower class, which though it saved my life, detained me from reaching our old town for quite a few weeks. There, I met up with the one who had sent the letter, and immediately went to the docks.

There, I was glared at by the young troublemaker rakes that hang around there – you may know them, Evelyn – and saw our majestic fortune being returned. Though all but one crewman had been killed, or thrown overboard for reasons unknown to us, the cargo was still in one piece. The rich, plentiful cargo that allowed me to pay off our debts, and to salvage and purchase enough to meet all our needs. I had a great carriage to take me and all our goods back to Beaumont, but I suppose it was too gaudy. I was ambushed, by highwaymen, by robbers, who took all but this sack. There are many things in this sack, enough to raise us back to a higher status, but not enough to bring us back to Whiling just yet.

Here, Darcia, are your silks and jewels – but no maid, for she was untruthful and stole away the night before the journey back to here. As for you, Evelyn, I am afraid there is no trip to Whiling in our future..."

Shocked, Evelyn took a few seconds to absorb this news. Well, at least there were no more debts and people running after them, and no severed head in the satchel. And, they would not be going back to a society, once already foreign and harsh, that now would never be suited to her.

Darcia, of course, threw a tantrum there and then, and when that had subsided she set upon the goods Father had brought. And so life continued.

For days after his return, Father lost that boyish energy that had possessed him since reading that letter, and sat in his usual chair, with his usual blank face. Darcia was gone more than ever from the cottage, taking solace in the few pretty dresses and jewels Father had been able to bring back. James and Devon had only a few things apiece, and took the news of not returning to society rather hard. Only Ed looked like he had expected this to happen, and he out of all the siblings was the one to not complain.

Just as things were settling in, and Evelyn used to the new rhythm of things, another letter came from Father. From the same man who had sent the first letter, about the same subject – riches. This time, Father explained to her as she set the dining table, it was not about their lost fortune. It was about a new venture, and it could possibly bring him enough to purchase more goods.

The light of adventure crept back into his eyes, and he set off at first light. It took weeks for him to come back, and all the while Ed grew worse, throwing things around and glaring whenever he was at the cottage. When Father came back, it was the same thing once more. No robbery, but no full goods. Not enough to bring them back to Whiling.

The pattern continued on and on. Father would get a letter, and he would go to that odious – in Evelyn's humble opinion – man, make some substantial riches, and lose most of it along the way back to Beaumont.

Another year passed, and then another, and soon – too soon for Evelyn's taste – they were in the new century. The 20th century. To Evelyn's mind, it wasn't a good new century.

"Has Father arrived yet?" Ed asked her as she wrung out some dishcloths. His voice was painfully polite, and distanced. All of the anger at Father and their loss of fortune and the ruin of Darcia and Devon and James had hit him hard, and he bottled it up inside until it had to come out. So when interacting with others, especially her, he would be reserved and polite to the point of painfulness – especially if the topic was Father.

"No, but I do believe he will return home soon. He's due back any day now."

"Alright. Thank you." With that, Ed left like a silent phantom.

Evelyn hated these trips and ventures even more than Ed did. Every time Father would return and stand by the cottage's door, she would hold her breath and brace herself for the worst. She kept on waiting for the news that Father had gone too far, that something terrible or irreparable had taken place. So far, nothing of that sort had been announced, but such a thing could happen at any time. And when it inevitably would, all hell would break loose. Of that Evelyn was certain.

Her premonition came true when they had been in Beaumont for about four years.

"Get down to the marketplace now! There is a letter-bearer, and I fear it is grave news! He refuses to tell until you are present!"

That was Ed, white-faced and hands trembling. Whatever this was, it was not good.

"Coming!" Evelyn rushed to the door, mind whirling with terrible scenarios.

They both ran to the marketplace, feet and hearts pounding with fear and uncertainty. The last time a messenger had come, they had been chased by bounty hunters. What fresh horrors would this letter bring them? Had they not suffered enough? As she would soon learn, no. They apparently had not suffered enough.

"You again!" she cried, as they halted in the middle of stalls heaped with goods. In the center stood a messenger from the olden days – the same one as before, the one who had given them a night to save themselves.

"Hello, clever girl. We meet again – and this time, the news isn't something you can run away from. Here."

Fighting to keep her hands steady, Evelyn attempted a smile for the messenger, who truly looked empathetic to whatever their plight now was, and took the letter. She did not even read every word. She saw grave condition, frail, unable to be moved, terrible accident, and ransom. That was all she needed.

"Take me to him," she all but pleaded to the messenger. Once again he showed kindness to her, offering to take her to Father on his horse at once. Ed followed, rallying Devon and James who had also been present to the scene. Her brothers, though not knowing what was in the letter, only knew that it was enough to hustle Evelyn, and that it was bad.

They rode hard for three days and three nights, deep into the dark forest that distantly ringed Beaumont. Their destination was a small village nestled in a corner of the Forêt d'âmes perdus, which was the fancy French way of saying the 'Forest of Lost Souls.' Barely stopping, they made good time, but even so it was too late.

The messenger led them all into a tiny, cramped room in the village inn, where Father fretted and turned. His face was flushed red with fever, and his pupils were wide, and hands were trembling. When he caught sign of Evelyn, he flew into an even greater fit, shouting things that made clear his rotted mind. He thought her a phantom, come to haunt him to death.

The innkeeper's wife, who was tending him, finally managed to calm him down, and assure him that Evelyn was truly alive, and truly here to visit him.

"No, no, no!" he moaned, once realizing that the apparition of his youngest daughter was not a figment of his imagination. "You must...away! Not...safe..."

"What, Father, what? What is the danger? Why should I not be by your side?" Evelyn enquired, keeping her tone calm and controlled like she had heard others do when dealing with frenzied loved ones.

"It was all because of me..."

Oh, no. What, what did you do, Father? What has befallen you, and by default, us?

"On my way back from England, I...got lost in this cursed...forest. There was a castle...an invisible host... He gave me chests of treasures, but they were dragged off by wild creatures of fantasy... I-I picked a rose from the garden, before...heading home. That was...when I cursed...you...all. My...fault... Evelyn," he rasped intently, "listen."

"Of course, Father. I am listening, and I am hearing."

"The rose...was for you. Here...it is..." With that, the innkeeper's wife handed over a magnificent red rose that gave off the most intoxicating scent. The very sight of it made Evelyn sick to her stomach.

"The master...of the castle...was furious. I had...betrayed...the rules of h-hospitality. He said...death and destruction would...follow."

"Oh, no! Why, Father, why?" Now she was kneeling beside Father, clutching his white, shaking hand, not even bothering to regulate the whirling emotions in her voice.

"Wanted...to get...something for...you. Never...ask...for...anything. No...jewels, garments...nothing. Saw a pretty...rose, and...thought of you."

"Oh, Father..." Why? Why, the one time that her father thought of her, and wanted to give her something, did he have to steal a rose from a demented man's estate? Why not a legally bought bauble, a jewel meant for Darcia, or even nothing? Why?

"Thank you," she whispered, holding the rose close to her bosom. The thorns curling around the long green stem pierced her hand, but she ignored the pain, ignored the droplets of blood staining her worn shift.

"We will figure something out. We always do."

But this time it was not to be. Suddenly, as if like a ghost, something materialized outside of the room. A monster – a beast of shadows, with red eyes glowing with vengeance – bounded in, snarling, roaring. It veered straight for Father, ignoring all the other shocked, petrified persons. Along its maned neck, a collar of thick black roses edged in gold gilt glimmered, mocking the rose 'stolen' by Father.

Before anyone could mounter an offense, or shout or speak or stand up, it rammed its claws into Father's chest. Crimson blood spurted everywhere, and he gasped his final breaths with shock and disbelief etched into his face. Within seconds, Brent Villiers was no more.

"No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

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So! Another update! What do you think? It's finally happening! Beauty will be meeting her Beast very, very soon!

As always, vote and comment! :)

Have a wonderful Friday. And a shout-out to @Jojo_the_Rad_Penguin!