Eleven moaned softly as she woke up. The bright light in the room had her eyes shut for a moment before she opened them and adjusted to the light. It took her a while to realize she was in a room, the walls adorned with delicate floral patterns that seemed to whisper of forgotten tales. She looked to her side at the pup lying there, blinking its blue eyes at her. The little creature came closer and began licking her face, which made Eleven giggle.
"You're up, little girl?" Zeiss entered the room, his tousled white hair catching the light like spun silver. It was not the kind of white that suggested aging; rather, it gleamed with an otherworldly sheen, making him appear less human and more like an ethereal being descended from a dream.
Eleven narrowed her eyes before she remembered the man—the one who had saved her from near death. "Mm," she squeaked, and he chuckled as he sat on the edge of her bed. He touched her forehead with his finger and noted how hot she was. "When did your parents die?" Zeiss asked gently, his tone markedly different from that which he had used with the other men who had ended up in flames.
Eleven blinked. Her little girl mind struggled to comprehend that he knew about her parents' death. "Three days ago," she answered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, but she held them back as Zeiss smiled softly.
"Did you have anything to eat in those days?" he asked softly, and she shook her head.
To Eleven's innocent perception, he appeared to be in his twenties—young and full of life—though the truth was that he was neither as youthful nor as vibrant as she imagined.
"Let's get you cleaned up and fed," he suggested, lifting her gently from the bed to the floor. He opened the door and called in the maids who were likely standing outside, waiting for his command. "Lincoln brought in some clothes; wash her up." He winked at Eleven, who waved goodbye at him before he left and closed the door, a smile fading from his lips.
"Master Zeiss. Your father is questioning what you did to his men; he asks for your presence in the castle," said Lincoln, an older-looking man with a stern demeanor.
"First, I'm not going to the castle. Second, what are you talking about that I did?" Zeiss stopped and narrowed his eyes.
"The fire close to the forest where you found the little girl—she's the one, Master Zeiss, the one everyone is looking for."
"Of course I know that much, Lincoln. If I didn't, I wouldn't be where I am today." He continued down the staircase, hearing Lincoln's footfalls closely behind him.
"But Master Zeiss, is there a reason you're keeping her? Or is it for the same reason as everyone else?" Lincoln pressed.
"Tut-tut, Lincoln. Don't ask your master questions." Zeiss chuckled lightly. "Do I look that much of a monster in your eyes? I wouldn't do what those people did to my mother." He opened the door to the dining room where breakfast awaited them—a feast fit for royalty. "Join me for breakfast, Lincoln." Lincoln bowed and took a seat after his master.
A few minutes later, little Eleven was brought into the dining room by a maid with striking red eyes. She sat on the right side of Zeiss's table—closest to him. "She's a vampire," Eleven noted aloud as the woman who led her in laughed softly before bowing and exiting.
"I wonder how you have so much energy to speak when you haven't eaten for three days," Zeiss remarked playfully as he placed bread and a steaming bowl of soup before her.
The aroma of the meal filled Eleven's stomach with warmth as she began devouring it eagerly. Zeiss smiled at the sight while Lincoln narrowed his eyes at him; his master wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, so this smile seemed out of place.
"They didn't let me bring Nita," Eleven's voice emerged muffled through mouthfuls of bread. She washed it down with a spoonful of soup.
"Nita? That's what you named her." It wasn't quite a question; nonetheless, Eleven nodded earnestly. "Gianna would feed her. Table manners, little girl, don't talk while eating." Zeiss continued with his own meal, ignoring Lincoln's scrutinizing gaze upon him. "If you keep looking at me like that, Lincoln, I'm going to think you've fallen in love with me." Zeiss teased lightly, causing Lincoln to almost choke on his bread.
"There there; we don't want you dying before a little child now, do we?" He passed Lincoln a glass of water which he gulped down gratefully. Meanwhile, Eleven remained blissfully unaware of their banter.
Once she finished her meal in silence—heeding Zeiss's advice—she looked up at him with curiosity sparkling in her purple eyes. "Uncle, what's your name?"
Zeiss pinched her cheek playfully; she winced slightly at the gesture. "Don't call me uncle; I'm not an uncle. Call me Zeiss," he instructed gently. She blinked up at him innocently; to him, she appeared utterly adorable with her long silver hair cascading like moonlight around her shoulders.
"Zeiss," she repeated thoughtfully; it rolled off her tongue easily and sent ripples of amusement through him. "My name is Eleven, but you can call me El—that's what my friends called me." Her smile faltered slightly then.
"Okay El, I'll be your friend too, hmm?" Zeiss noticed how quickly her smile dimmed and felt a pang of concern; he knew all too well that her so-called friends might have perished in the village massacre. How she had survived it—and even made it to that lake—was something worth pondering deeply. He understood that they sought her out during that horrific event, though their negligence could have cost her life.
"Promise? Best friends forever?" She asked brightly again as hope danced back into her expression; she raised her right hand and clenched all but her pinky finger. "Pinky swear!" The innocence in her voice made amusement dance in his eyes.
"Pinky swear." He linked his pinky finger with hers; she squealed in delight.
"Do you have a library, Zeiss? I like reading," she asked earnestly.
"I do." For someone so small and fragile-looking, she exhibited remarkable intelligence; he could tell from how articulately she spoke that she must have attended school before everything changed for her. What astounded him most was how fast she seemed to have processed such loss of her parents.