Chapter 5: Bewitched

That morning dawned finally, the sky its usual pale colours. It was quite pleasant with the fires crackling happily, heat brimming the house as a toastful welcome to the Master's return. Miss Hange sat by the window thanking Mina for the tea that had been laid out on to the coffee table for them. As the young maid left, Miss Hange quickly poured out four cups full. Across from the window, where the two, big hooked arm chairs sat at either side of the fireplace, Mr Ackerman rested comfortably, despite the grumpy expression he wore. His head cocked to the right ever so slightly, resting upon his pale knuckles as he watched his niece sit gracefully on the rug beneath them, warming her hands and stroking Hewie.

Soon enough, they were blessed with Petra's presence. Her small hands gripping the fabrics of her dress nervously. Mr Ackerman watched with scornful eyes, following her movement over to the window, without moving a muscle himself. He blinked when she sat next to Miss Hange on the double seated sofa, her amber eyes flicking a friendly acknowledgement over to Mikasa.

"Mikasa," Miss Hange perked as she handed Petra her cup of tea, cloudy with milk and sugar. "Did you ask your Uncle if he brought you any presents?"

Mikasa looked up curiously from the animal she was petting, a little emotionless with the dry silence of the drawing room. Her pupils diluted at the mention of presents and she turned to look up at her blood relation expectingly. He only rolled his eyes at his housekeeper, looking down at his heir with veiled lids.

"A present, Uncle?" She teased.

He repressed the urge to call her a little shit, instead sighing and reaching to his left where a rectangular box sat atop the side table to his chair. Mikasa was more than happy to take it from him, though kept her exterior calm, hands skilfully pulling back the white cardboard folds to reveal something blood red. The texture resembling Hewie's fur, Mikasa inwardly revelled, pulling the item out slowly and wrapping the long piece of clothing proficiently around her porcelain neck. She turned to him with the ghost of a thankful smile.

"Don't you have a present for Miss Ral?" Miss Hange piped in.

His jaw rose at the mention of their governess, cluelessly sitting with her teacup in hand. She looked as though she was about to protest against the question, nose reddening as the spotlight fell on her.

"Do you expect a present, Miss Ral?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Hm," his head turned to face the fire, a soft expression blessing his features. "Perhaps you deserve a present. I hear you're quite liked with this one," a slender thumb jabbed in Mikasa's direction, to which she half-smirked underneath her scarf.

"It's my duty to-"

"Forget the modesty, I'm not interested." A hefty sigh was released from his lungs, face finally turning back to the governess and housekeeper as they sipped their tea. "She hasn't articulated quite so brightly before, clearly you've displayed some kind of sorcery."

Petra smiled, which triggered confusion from the other two in the room - Mr Ackerman's spiteful voice and questioning choice of words were not something to walk over and brush off with ease. "Thank you for acknowledging my pupil's progress."

"Oi, Hange," he ordered, blanking the governess. They seemed a little shocked at his sudden change in formalities, something Petra was most definitely not used to just yet. His hand waved back and forth. "Take yourself and these two below me out to town. I wish to speak with Miss Ral alone."

"Yes, yes!"

Miss Hange put the teacup down, shuffling over to the little girl and dog. Mikasa, although not understanding much of what was said, assumed it was time to leave as she allowed the tanned woman to take her arm and exit the room, Hewie following close behind, his white tail wagging in every direction. Petra watched as the doors to the drawing room were gently shut, a bit confused at the suddenness. There was silence once again, albeit the noisy crackles of fire and wood. Her head turned toward her benefactor who was - much to her dismay - staring those cold grey eyes into her, his leg crossed primly. At once, she undertook the opportunity to rise and re-seat herself in front of him, instantly enjoying the great heat from the fireplace.

"Miss Ral," he addressed in a strait-laced tone. "You knew my father, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I had no idea,"

"I know. Shitty glasses back there thought it'd be charitable to pick a lady from my father's school." He rolled his eyes. "I was hesitant at first, but you don't come across as the bible bashing bitch I'd expected."

"I don't appreciate your language."

"I don't appreciate your presence."

"Then I'll leave,"

"No, do stay. I haven't finished my interrogation."

Her eyes widened at this, appalled by everything that spilled out of those thin lips.

He didn't seem to crack, no emotion on show. "You bewitched my horse and caused this." His eyes flickered down, his sprained ankle rested lightly over the knee of his good leg. "Do you read, Miss Ral?"

"I do enjoy reading."

"Read a lot of books?"

"Not the bible, if you're wondering."

Was that a smirk or did his upper lip curl out of snark?

"You girls probably worshipped my father," he chuckled, though still no blatant smile.

"On the contrary, Mr Ackerman, and I mean no offence-" her teeth baring a grin. "-but we absolutely despised your father."

Oh, that twitch on his lips again...

"And here I was thinking you had lived the life of a nun, but you're a hex, aren't you?" He began to shake his ankle, bubbling up a bit at their conversation. His eyes darted toward the grand piano, dusty and untouched in the corner of the room. "You play?"

"I know a few songs."

"Play for me one day." It sounded more like an order than a request. "Mikasa showed me some sketches last night. She said they were yours."

"Oh? I didn't realise I had left them out,"

"You must have been taught by a professional."

"No, I always took a liking to art. I taught myself."

Mr Ackerman let out a 'tch' with a cluck of his tongue and teeth, a scoff that somehow offended her on a personal level, and reminded Petra of Miss Hange's words concerning their benefactor: was he earnest or mocking me?

"Ah," his eyes scanning her carefully. "I noticed that you like to add detail to flowers specifically. With portraits there is a lack of definition. Do you feel akin to plants over humans?"

Though he was joking, she couldn't help but smile stupidly. "You're a very fastidious man, Mr Ackerman."

"What is your name?"

Her smile faltered, then fell. She looked up at him, head rising slowly and eyebrow knitted in confusion. "Sir?"

"Did I stutter?"

"...Petra Ral," her voice wavering in puzzlement. "But-"

"-I didn't get your Christian name... Petra."

That made sense!

"That is strange. I would have thought your housekeeper would tell you my name."

"As did I, but she addressed you solely as Miss Ral."

It fell upon her that, she too, did not know the Master's first name. It was only polite to address him as Mr Ackerman after hisfather and perhaps it was rude to ask such a thing to a highly respected man, whom had much more money and socialite than she. Miss Hange clearly had not thought of this between the two. She looked at him head-on for a second, enchanted by the warmth of the fire and how the orange glow marvelled against his chiselled cheekbones. Quickly, she snapped herself out of that childish daze and perked her confidence back up.

"What is your name, Mr Ackerman?"

Silence once again took up the confinements of the drawing room, Mr Ackerman's gaze averted elsewhere. She huffed. For her favourite room in the castle it definitely was a shell of a conversation. The pulse that ran through the governess' fiery veins accelerated, the man in front of her standing suddenly, his underarm gripping the wooden crutch painfully. Had that been a rude thing to ask? It didn't seem as such, but clearly he was offended as he turned to leave the red haired girl. It was her initial reaction to apologise immediately and explain herself, but he beat her to it.

"Levi."

...

With that, he was gone.

Petra could not help but repeat the name in her head over and over.

Levi... Levi Ackerman. Mr. Levi Ackerman. Sir Levi Ackerman. Master Levi Ackerman!

She felt embarrassed at her own thoughts, swatting them away like pesky flies. Oh, how did such an interesting, rogue man come from the rib of a brute and a toe-rag like Kenny Ackerman?

A change in attitude dawned the next few days and that was when Petra decided to cast her benefactor as a capricious and fickle gentleman with elements of sincerity. The other night it was as though she were the villain and he was innocent under her evil spells. Although he had been gone on duties the last two days, today he road in on his black stallion with a mighty person unto himself, despite his still-short stature. Her little house slippers were quickly slipped on as she rushed down the staircases to meet with him at once. At the foot of the spiral, she stood, hands clasped together sweetly and a smile upon her lips.

"Good morning, Mr Ackerman," she smiled.

"It's Levi," his voice oddly up-beat. "Good morning, Petra. I trust you slept well."

"Yes, the castle is so homely,"

"I'm rarely here. However," he dusted one gloved finger along the wooden banister, a face of disgust as the black cloth picked up specks of dust. "I'm the only one who cleans the fucking filth."

She flinched again at his language - still new to her. It was apparent that either she would have to wash his mouth out with soap - which he wouldn't seem to mind - or the governess would have to accustom herself to his profanities. Shaking off any awkwardness she may have caused, her voice returned to its cheery self.

"How was your ride? Where did you go?"

"You sound like a child on Christmas morning." His reply was put bluntly. "More excited to see me than my own family."

Her lips thinned. "I am not excited to see you. I asked about your travel,"

"Right," he drawled.

She pushed. "So...?"

"...Not bad."

And here I was thinking this was a man of words, somehow.

"Why do you travel so often?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Because I know little of the world and I yearn for adventure. If I can't go out on horseback and shake hands with noblemen like you then I should like to hear of it."

His eyes glimmered for a second. "One day I'll tell you all about my travels."

"While I play you a song on the piano?"

Oh, was that a smile finally!?

Alas, he did not smile, but it was the closest Petra felt that she would get. For his naturally unhappy face had taken a lift in colour, veiled eyes widened a fraction, though he still avoided her gaze, steel greys looking off to the side awkwardly. It was a humorous thing to see a grown man, who brought a cape of terror into the room with him, become uncomfortable under the brave glow of a young woman. He took his assertiveness back in, head rising and eyes piercing - that low, grumpy brow re-appearing to shadow the dark circles that blushed his lower lids. Swiftly, he pulled off his black riding gloves.

"Excuse me," he muttered. "You're in my way."

She frowned, murmuring an apology as she speedily shuffled out of his way, watching after him a little longingly as he climbed the staircase. It bothered her to no end on how inconsistent he was, and the frequent change in behaviour wrecked her with anxiety for most of their conversations. Still, if she were to befriend her benefactor it was only natural to act with kindness and tolerance, which she could spare lovingly (in small doses). Fortunately for Petra, she had learnt to stand strong before an Ackerman.

While assorting her belongings and stationery for Mikasa's next lesson, Mina trotted her way in to the room with a smiley expression, though she looked out of breath from venturing back and forth over the castle. In her hands were piles of white sheets folded neatly, which she placed on a stool in the corner of the room. Her back stood straight and right wrist coming up to push some of the coal black locks from her forehead.

"Hello, Mina," Petra greeted.

Mina squeaked, a hand covering her mouth. Obviously she had not seen anyone else in the room. "Good afternoon, Miss Ral! I'm so sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here!"

"There's no need to apologise, I'm sure you must be tired."

Mina laughed dismissively. "Everything is fine, there is a lot of work to be done today."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she smiled, which then fell to hesitance. "I couldn't help but notice Mr Ackerman and you speaking earlier."

Petra internally questioned her semi-frown, but set it down to Mina feeling out of her place pointing out the Master's business. Petra let out a giggle. "He seemed to be in a good mood this morning."

"Yes, though he is equally as busy as the rest of us today. Most likely for the visit of the honourable Lady Brzenska. All the way from Poland,"

"Hm?"

"You have not heard of Miss Rico Brzenska?"

"No, I haven't,"

"Oh," her face dropped, as though she should not have mentioned anything. Quickly she scurried to the door. "Well... you will." And she left.

Lady Brzenska?

That evening, Mr Ackerman called for the governess to sit with him in the drawing room again. She approached him cautiously, sat in the same seat he always did in front of the fireplace. He did not acknowledge her, or it was deliberate ignorance, but she felt out of place, sitting across from him with hesitation.

"Petra," he said once she made herself comfortable.

She noted how his eyes continued to ward off her own, staring without emotion into the orange warmth by their side. It was a pleasure to look at his face in such an angle: her chest clenching abnormally tight at the square of his jaw and the bruises of purple and grey that darkened his eyes sleepily. For a pale man he was clearly in good health and well-built underneath his black suit. He covered up an awful lot even when he sat by the roasting fire, the cravat around his neck tightened prim and proper. As though, if she were to lay a finger on him, he would scoff and shoo her away like some sort of peasant girl. It hadn't dawned upon her that she was staring at him until his neck snapped around, judging her.

"You're staring, Miss Ral," his voice low, switching back to formalities. "Do you find me attractive?"

She stuttered for words, embarrassed. "No!" And then realised how rude she sounded.

Much to her surprise, his mouth twitched again and what could be identified as a low chuckle escaped his throat, eyes squinting through the heat to further judge her. "Not a very quaint girl at all, are you? I was so sure you were a nun and here you are insulting me."

"Sir, forgive me," she shook her head. "'Twas a blunder."

"What faults do you find with my face? Do tell."

"Mr Ackerman, I in no way intended any wordplay or banter. I apologise."

"Good."

"Are you judging me for my slip-up?"

He sighed with annoyance, his voice stern as though scolding a child. "No, young lady, I am not judging you."

The governess took his reaction with a light heart, a thoughtful expression fallen over her face. He studied her for a second through contemptuous eyes, screwed with scrutiny which appeared to trigger the crows' feet that wrinkled above his cheekbones.

"When I was a young boy," he continued. "My mother passed away. Mr Ackerman was so filled with anguish he depressed all of his hatred for the world into my sister and I.
"He hated women after that. Why he started that wretched school I'll never understand, other than an excuse to reprimand little females. My sister got the blunt force of it; he never loved her," his eyes flitted to Petra's, then looked away. "She ran away to Germany and met her husband. Finally, a man who loved her."

"And that was the birth of Mikasa," Petra finished whole-heartedly, listening closely to the Master's story.

Levi nodded dryly. "My own childhood took place differently. Mr Ackerman expected me to follow in his footsteps. If I refused anything, my punishment would be traumatic." He stopped speaking then, a worry line appearing between his brows. "Inheriting his fortune is all the good he'll ever do me. I know that look, Petra, you think I am metallic and grating, but I can guarantee you, little woman, that I..." he stalled, gawking into her amber hues as they reflected many types of fire. "...I... that I..." still staring into her. "...I refuse to drown in rivers and streams when I am suffocating; weathered down by my selfish needs when there is a pixie in front of me."

"I feel that is not what you intended to say,"

"And what did I intend to say, braggart!?" He snapped.

"It was an assumption," she defended. "I believe you intended to preserve your heart's true intentions. Mr Ackerman-"

"Levi,"

"-Levi... I believe you are truly kind. I am not mistaken."

His body cooled, worry line apparent as he took in a large breath and held it for a moment before sighing - eyes closed, as though he were in pain. Petra hardly knew the man and here she sat terrified for his well-being and mental capacity. Suffering a childhood of neglect and abuse herself, she related all-too well with him. She felt crestfallen and useless at his hardship, but internally revelled as he became livelier, though still flagrant in his exterior.

"Miss Ral," stone-like and forbidding he hissed. Petra felt like she was about to lose her mind: back to formalities and strict conduct. "Regarding earlier, you are no more pretty than I am handsome."

She blinked, taken back by such a comment. How rude... or was it a compliment? She had not given him a truthful opinion on his looks, but he had assumed she thought him grotesque. In conclusion, Levi found her un-pretty. Her head lowered - not out of sadness. An irritable feeling punching through her gut and a string of foul thoughts laced down her throat. It was a battle to keep everything down with a mere bite of her lip. She refused to look at him even when he called out her name again, urging for a response.

"Stubborn, are you? What else... annoyed?"

Still no response.

"I envy you. You're stainless. You're like some sort of fairy."

"What were you like at my age?" She whispered, head kept low.

"Your equal."

"A conscience so clean?"

"Quite. I was a good man, you see, but now... I am not."

"Why are your misfortunes my fault?"

"You call them misfortunes like the spillage of my heart meant nothing to you," he rose, startling the governess. His ankle had healed fairly well, though he still hobbled slightly on two feet. All at once, she had heard the words "perhaps I was wrong" uttered and then he was gone and she was left alone... once again.