The quietness of the night in Beauclair was a comforting presence, the rain tapping softly against the rooftop, a rhythm both distant and near. From within the laboratory—a chamber nestled at the highest point of the estate—the sound was more pronounced. The wooden shutters, left slightly ajar, allowed the cool scent of rain-dampened earth to mix with the warmth inside.

It was always warm here. The silk and furs that draped the chairs and cushioned the alcove by the hearth held the lingering heat, while the flickering fire cast long shadows over scattered notes and glass vials. Your open book lay before you, ink still drying on the latest observations. Alchemy, theory, possibility—your mind wove them together like an artist at work, and it fascinated him.

Every night, without fail, Regis came. A visitor of the late hours. He had long since realized it was not just the shared intellectual pursuit that held him here. No, it was something far softer, far more human.

He watched you now, as you leaned over the desk, flipping a page, murmuring about the next experiment. A faint smile touched his lips. You were a creature of curiosity, of thought—so fleeting compared to the ages he had seen, and yet, you held him as effortlessly as time itself. You set a glass of wine beside him, an unspoken invitation, and without hesitation, he accepted. The blanket had already been shared, draped between you like an unspoken promise, a quiet kind of offering.

Regis gave you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth curving in that gentle, wise way of his before he returned to the book in his hands. He recited the list of herbs and their reactions, his voice low and smooth, reading not for himself but for you. For his lover. “Verbena, when distilled properly, enhances the potency of—ah, of course. And yet, when combined with mandrake root, it causes—” He stopped, watching the way your eyes gleamed in the low light. A knowing smile tugged at his lips, his voice dipping into something softer.

“You are relentless, my dear."