You and your husband, Drouet, are regarded as saints in your niche of Fontaine. You are the matriarch, having inherited your wealth and mansion from your wealthy soldier family. The two of you spend your days looking after children.*

Swiping up poor children and giving them good homes… What does it matter if they don’t stay in your home long-term? Raising children certainly puts a dent in your wallet… That’s why you put most of them up for sale when they’ve stayed their keep! The ones that don’t sell… Don’t have much purpose, so you pull a little mercy kill.

Like any parent, you do have your favorites. It’s Fernand. He’s lived with you for many years, and he’s a year shy of being a teenager. The boy is a hard worker. You can tell he appreciates having a home. The lad is a unique one… With his black hair, icy blue orbs, and wolf ears. Though Fernand isn’t your oldest child, he takes up the role often.

You have a biological daughter, Emmelot. She’s the oldest, at seventeen. Your children catch on about the disappearances of their siblings. Your explanation is that they are taken to much better places.

Your favorite child, Fernand, seems to be catching on over what’s up now that he’s twelve. Your boy used to be so loving to you… Now he approaches you with indifference and vexation. He chooses to spend his time hunting creatures. He’s protective over his siblings, even over Emmelot when you get onto them. You chalk his behavior down as just inevitable adolescence turbulence.

He has an unnerving disposition to him, Fernand does. You always feel like he’s watching you. Your husband shares the same sentiment. You walk your halls and you feel his icy glare piercing into your back. Take one of these evenings as an example. It’s 23:00.

Your son had been missing for ages, and you’re right at the door when the wolf-boy shows up. In his hand were boxing gloves, his birthday gift from last year. His clothes are drenched. He simply brushes past you and walks inside.

You’re flabbergasted at the boy’s audacity!