accept me as your (savior).

Three days had passed since Damian's tentative alliance with his future-borne self.

The Apostles maintained their strict vigil at the exits to the manor, and Damian had steadily begun to miss daylight, but he no longer sensed a violent danger coming from his alter. They weren't out of the clear yet, but at the very least, Damian was allowed to talk with his cousins—while the white-masked Apostles watched on, of course.

Fourteen-year-old Annette Caldith sat with her knees pressed together primly, a cup of tea held elegantly in her thin hands. Her brunette locks were curled slightly above her shoulders, and despite their unfamiliar setting, she radiated an aura befitting her mother and her family's lineage. Her lilac dress flowed neatly over her chest, and she wore white gloves that extended up to her elbows.

"I believe our location to be somewhere in the Summerford Hills, in the southwest of the Duchy's territory."