The morning rays broke through the tall windows of Carmilla's castle, peering into the corridors where vampire guards hid in the shadows. And from those very same shadows, skinny rats already scurried out onto the sunlit patches on the floor to warm up, saved from predators by the arrival of dawn.

Hector was on their side. He slipped out of his chambers, warily checking if any flash of red curls might appear - the curls of that beast who had spent the entire night in his room and left only a couple of hours ago. No one. He let out a breath and stepped into the corridor, leaning against the windowsill. The sun was his salvation, the light his guide. But all it took was stepping back into the darkness to descend the spiral staircase…

"Tch!" A passing vampire soldier roughly bumped the man's shoulder, causing Hector to click his tongue and bump his own shoulder lightly against the icy stone wall. He could hardly expect any respect here. He was only just beginning to get his bearings, growing accustomed to the dual role: the new forge master and - so loathed by him - the pet. Even if his appearance had become slightly more presentable: a fresh shirt, trousers, a gray belt with white Styrian patterns. But the wounds in his soul weren't healing as quickly as the scrapes on his body or the red mark on his left hand - right where Lenore had so "graciously" placed the ring a week ago.

She was trying to make amends with him. A miracle that the woman had even noticed his hatred, as for the first few days she had genuinely not understood the reason for his ignoring her and his hatred towards her. Although her attempts at reconciliation were very much in her style. She came to him in the evening with wine, food, brought a new doublet. In short, she brought a sweeter bone for a spoiled pet.

Hector winced at his own memories, rubbing the elbow he had hit - not to brush off the cold of the wall, but to wipe the filth off himself. Filth, because Lenore had gotten her way - that night his body had given in again. This time, absolutely without his emotional desire, solely due to her persistence and her quite firm determination to finally fulfill what she had promised the sisters back when she asked for a larger bed to be placed in his chambers. And his unloved body, his chief betrayer, had reacted as if it wanted it. His throat tightened at that, and his knuckles turned white as his fingers clenched into a fist.

Hector quickened his pace toward the library. He might be a slave, but Lenore was blind - she thought she was spoiling him with her kindness, while in reality, she had given him freedom, untied his hands, and personally handed him the key to his own golden cage. At least, these were the only thoughts comforting him now.

He drew back the first curtain, the second, and the remaining six, freeing the library from shadow and stirring up a little dust. Hector looked out the window. It seemed he was merely surveying the grounds, but in truth, he was studying the location of Carmilla's room. If he was to escape, it would be through her chambers, and for that, he needed to place runes all over the castle, leading precisely to her. And one of those runes was already in his fingers. All that remained was to find a convenient crack or recess in the stones to hide it secretly.

The main thing was that no one interrupt his train of thought.