꧁ Dinner is served ꧂

Oswald didn't tell Brooke about his plans, in fact he didn't tell her anything at all, he merely suggested that she stay in her room that day and not go out until evening.

Brooke hated the waiting, the anxiety and the curiosity were eating her alive. Although she did not know Oswald's intentions, it was not so difficult to guess: she saw the thirst for revenge in his eyes, she heard the anger in his voice, she perceived the remorse from his way of doing. There was only one path on which those feelings would have lead him, and she wasn't yet sure if she would have been able to follow him. Could she really be an assassin? Would she ever be able to kill in cold blood? Or even just be an accomplice to murder? Brooke didn't know. What she was absolutely certain of, was that Grace and her two brats deserved whatever Oswald had planned for them.

· ♛ ·

Oswald had been struggling with the stove for a while now, when he felt a presence behind his back.

"Evening," He greeted her.

"Hey," She replied, "Nice hair." She told him, hinting at his new haircut. Now Oswald had his peculiar tuft of black hair shot upward, just like in the newspaper portraits in which she used to see him.

"Thanks," He chuckled, putting the pans in the oven.

"So, in the end you're really making the roast." She continued, observing his movements.

"Yes and no." He replied, as a hint of a smile appeared on his lips.

"Care to elaborate?" She asked in a tone halfway between the curious and the annoyed. She was tired of his secrecy, she had to know.

"I'm not so sure you're ready for this." Oswald answered, sincerely interested in her mental health. Although, receiving in response only her grim look, he sighed, "I killed them. I killed them both." He told her.

"Both? You mean Sasha and Charles?" She asked, her voice calm and inexpressive.

"Yes," He nodded, "And now they're both roasting for good." He concluded.

Brooke stayed quiet for a while, her eyes fixed on the warm oven. She could feel Oswald's anxious gaze on herself, she knew he was waiting for her reaction.
In truth, she didn't even know how to react to that situation, she would probably have to be sad about the death of the two siblings, feel disgust for their murderer, but at that very moment she seemed to be unable to feel absolutely anything, as if she had turned into an empty amphora, devoid of any emotion.
She sighed and turned her gaze to Oswald. In him she saw reflected all her pain, her fury, her search for cold-blooded vengeance. He had become a mirror and was showing her who she really was, her naked soul, her deepest desires. She smiled, now finally awake from a torpor that had lasted too long.

"How did you do it?" She then asked him, giving voice to the first thought that came up in her mind.

Within seconds, Oswald's expression shifted from concerned to surprised: that was the last question he had expected. There was no fear in the woman's eyes, no hint of aversion towards him, no uncertainty. Even though she was perfectly aware of who she was dealing with, Brooke looked at him with sheer curiosity. His lips bent in a small smile at that thought, any doubt that his sister could repudiate him had now disappeared, leaving the place to the certainty that she would always be at his side no matter what.

Oswald then explained everything to her, from how he had lured Sasha and Charles into a trap and, like the two fools that they were, they had fallen for it in full, to how they had ended up on the serving plate intended for Grace.
Brooke listened carefully to every word and, at the end of the story, her feelings had not changed.

"I want to be there," She said in a firm voice, "Tonight. I want to be there. I want to watch her beg for her life."

"Are you sure? You don't have to be..." Oswald started, still worried that a cold-blooded murder in front of her eyes might be a bit too much.

"I'm sure." She reassured him. Then, without adding anything else, she let him finish cooking dinner and went up to her room to change.

· ♛ ·

As every evening, Grace entered the dining room at 7 o'clock on the dot, and found before her the table already elegantly prepared and Oswald waiting for her. Hungry, she sat down, certain that the youngsters would have joined her in a moment.
The man wasted no time, cut a slice of the first joint with precision and put it in her plate, smiling.

"How is it? Not too gamey?" He asked her with interest, as soon as she had tasted a piece.

"Hmm. Overcooked." She answered him harshly.

Oswald took that opportunity to serve her some meat from the other plate. "Try the other joint." He proposed her, "It is much more tender."

Grace tasted that too, and immediately a disgusted grimace formed on her face. "Hmm. It's the same." She replied.

The man nodded, "Mm. Still, beats my slut mother's goulash, no?" He asked her, quoting a criticism she had addressed to him a few nights earlier.

Grace gave him a cold stare, being worried about his new behavior, more confident, almost cheeky. "Where are the children? Ring the bell again." She ruled, confident that, with Charles and Sasha present, she would have been able to regain the little confidence she had lost, so as to put the insolent servant back in line.

"Hmm. I doubt they'll hear it." He replied carelessly, ignoring her tone of voice.

Grace gave him another stare, her discomfort now more evident. "You look different." She told him.

Oswald chuckled, "You notice!" He exclaimed, spreading his arms theatrically. "Yes. I'm doing my hair in a different way." He confirmed.

"Charles! Sasha! Where are they?" She called again. The woman seemed almost afraid of having to be alone with Oswald for a moment longer.

"I found the sherry decanter, Grace." He then told her, the hate and anger were clear in his voice, despite his composure. "The one with poison in it that you used to kill my father."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" She asked him with a calm voice, but eyes full of terror.

"You should've thrown it away. Guess you're a little too mean to waste good poison, huh?" He asked her, leaning slightly toward her. His threatening attitude was back to the way it used to be, and the smile on his lips was much more terrifying than a serious expression would have been.

Grace tried to get out of the chair, but was immediately stopped by the knife that Oswald pointed at her throat.

"Don't go." He told her ironically.

"Charles! Sasha! Brooke! Help!" She called desperately.

Oswald shook his head, "They won't come." He told her.

"Where are they?" She asked in a whisper.

"You thought they tasted the same." He explained her, laughing maniacally. "But Sasha," He said, sticking his finger in the meat of the second joint and then licking it loudly, "Definitely more tender! In my opinion." He exclaimed.

Grace was frantically shaking her head, unable to believe what was happening. It was like she was trapped in a terrible nightmare with no chance of waking up. She hated it. She hated not being in control.

"No, no, no, no!" She cried desperately. "Charles! Sasha! Brooke!" She called once again, as if her voice had the power to bring them back to her.
It took her a moment to realize it, the panic certainly didn't help her, but eventually Grace sensed that maybe she still had a hope of saving herself. "Brooke? Brooke!" She shouted. Oswald couldn't have slaughtered her, he loved her, he must have believed her innocence. "Brooke!"

"She won't help you." Oswald chuckled, incredulous that the woman remembered her stepdaughter only on the verge of death.

"She was innocent," Stammered Grace, "She was innocent, she didn't know, you can't have killed her too!" She cried.

Oswald didn't know what to think, was it guilt what he saw in her eyes? Was it possible that, deep down, she felt at least a little compassion for the girl, after all the misery she put her through? He burst out laughing. "Oh, don't you worry about her, she's fine." He smiled at her maliciously, looking at how a shred of hope shone back in her eyes. "She's more than fine, actually, she's free." He added, nodding to the entrance of the room, where, leaning with a shoulder to the doorjamb, Brooke was looking at the scene with a smile on her face.

"Brooke?" Her stepmother sobbed, "Please, help me! Please!" She begged her.

The woman chuckled, "Did you really think I would help you? After I saw you kill Elijah in cold blood?" She asked her, shaking her head, "After you killed my father?" She added, every hint of smile was gone, as her icy gaze pierced her soul. "You fool." She concluded grimly.

Those were the last words Grace heard before the knife penetrated her flesh, then again and again, depriving her of life.

Oswald continued to stab her furiously and frantically, as if his bloodlust was insatiable. At each stroke he relived a wrong suffered: the harassment of Fish and her henchmen, his attempted murder by Maroni, Gordon? continuous rejections, Butch's betrayal, his mother's death, the torture in Arkham...his father's death. Every blow a revenge, every blow a small step towards peace.