For Fortune

The Sawtine Manor. Evening. The tail end of a party.

He can still hear the gathering from down the hall, a hundred loud and boisterous voices, gaudy and drunk from a night of spirits and charm. He'd taken a single sip of wine and forced himself not to drink a drop more - it was good. Distractingly so, especially when he knew he needed a clear head for what he planned this evening.

He moves through gilded halls full of riches, now. Paintings by long-dead artists, marble statues carved by masterful hands, tapestries woven with gold, swords with jeweled hilts and engraved steel. He brushes his fingers beneath a handsome statue’s chin, wondering who they resembled, or if they were created in a moment of loneliness, desperation, a sculptor filling a terrible void in their chest. He wonders if the LeClerqs had their own void they could not name, one that they filled with extravagance and ample wealth.

Would they even notice if he stole something for himself?

He passes a number of doors before his rabbits suddenly grow restless against his skin, clinging to a subtle perfume behind one door in particular. They knew this fragrance well. Leveret had ensured they would always pick it out of any crowd. He presses his palm against the heavy wood and pushes the door open into the shadows of Seth LeClerq’s room.

It’s too dark to make out much, and he will not risk lighting a candle that may lure in an observant guard. But from what Leveret can see, the riches did not stop in the hall. He sees the glint of gold, feels well-made carpet underfoot, and the wood is hardy beneath his fingers as they wander along the delicately carved edge of an extravagant desk. He knew he could take a knob from such a desk and live well for an entire year.

Leveret didn't need gold, though. He had not come here in the hope of coin and riches beyond his wildest dreams. He could have found that with anything in the hall, afterall. No, he invaded the young lord's space to steal a piece of him. Something that would remind him how close he was to getting exactly what he has always wanted. Not gold, though surely it would not hurt, but to be... known.

It was twisted, really. Possessive. Sinful to be robbing the man he was courting, and to already claim him as his own. None of which would stop Leveret from pulling the drawer out and opening the hidden box he found there. Morality would not stop him as he lifted a locket out and laid it along his palm, the delicate gold chain hanging loose between his long fingers. Nothing would stop him from wrapping it in silk and slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Nothing - because Leveret fails to see the rotten way in which he views Seth LeClerq. How he longs for him as the sculptor longs to fill the void, filling it not with something real, but merely the image of that reality. A piece upon his board that he might shift and move as he pleased. A pretty locket tucked away, to be kept and hoarded for its beauty and not for the memories it held inside. Seth would be his for the taking because of everything he could give Leveret - and not (yet) for the soft-eyed and endearing man that the lord truly was.

Leveret has stolen the locket because he liked to believe it would be just as easy to steal Seth for himself.

As he closed the door behind him and peered down the hall, realizing he was a thief left alone to explore such a grand home full of a thousand secrets, he knew it would be.