[[Thanks to a certain someone I had the urge to write a Descole/Brenda-ish oneshot. I know Descole apologising to anyone may seem OOC, but if you've seen Azran Legacy spoilers you may understand a bit more. This takes place a while after Last Spectre, so obviously spoilers for that game.]]

Forgive and Forget

The nightmares still plague me whenever I close my eyes.

Visions of a man who had looked, sounded and acted exactly like Doland. Except this wasn't my family's faithful butler. If you listened closely, as I had, you could hear the cold edge beneath his voice. By delving deeper one could even detect the cunning glint in his gaze; realize there was a reason for his every subtle action. He couldn't always conceal the rare show of temper from me.

The imposter immediately knew when I knew his secret. One step ahead, he dealt with me before I could inform Clark or anyone else of my concerns.

At first, Clark thought I had left Misthallery. True, I enjoyed travelling, and the relationship between Clark and I had been quite... strained during those stressful times with the spectre attacks. But I would never abandon him or Luke if my life depended on it.

I was locked in the cellar, and to my relief that was where he'd placed the real Doland, restrained but unharmed. Although we were unable to talk it was a minor comfort not being alone in the darkness.

Oh! How I hate to remember the smothering darkness. And the chill. My clothes, soiled and worn from months of captivity, were hardly suitable for the cold. We were fed the tiniest morsels; enough so that our bodies remained weak, but barely keeping us alive. How long would this go on till our captor decided to let us starve to death? Or perhaps he would find a quicker way to dispose of us.

Do you know what it's like to be a prisoner within your own home, powerless as the monster prowls amongst the people you love? I knew Clark would suspect something eventually, but Luke was completely unaware. Horrible images haunted me; my ten year old son lying helpless in bed as the monster approached him, lethal weapon in hand... Clark caught in a surprise attack while working in his study... All the not-Doland had to do was slip something fatal into my darlings' food, and it would be the end.

Thank goodness Luke wrote that letter to Hershel. If our old friend hadn't come to Misthallery sooner... I can't bear to wonder what that villain would have done—

CRASH!

I awake from my most recent nightmare with a startled yelp. I'm not in the cellar; it's been months since that terrifying ordeal. I'm actually sitting up in bed, quivering and drenched with perspiration. Clark is beside me, alert and murmuring:

"That sounded like one of the windows. It might be a burglar. Stay here, Brenda. I'm going down to help Doland investigate."

I have the wild instinct to check on Luke, but I instantly remember that he is with Hershel right now.

"Be careful, Clark," I whisper. He nods, embraces me quickly, and hurries downstairs.

Wrapping the covers tightly around me, I wait as minutes tick by. What is taking them so long? I doubt it really is a burglar; things have been so peaceful here recently...

There is yelling— first from Doland and then from Clark. This is followed by a series of coughing.

"C-Clark? Doland...?" I call in alarm. Silence is my only reply.

Before I can rush downstairs to find out what's happened to them, the door opens. My eyes widen, distinguishing the tall silhouette that slips through the darkness like a phantom of the night. A frightened breath escapes my lips, despite the fierce urge to remain inconspicuous. But it doesn't matter— the intruder already knows I am here (he has been searching for me).

The figure turns to me; however, I cannot see the eyes as they are concealed by a... a white mask. I grip the bed sheets and start shaking again. Clark had described the masked man who tried to destroy Misthallery after Hershel exposed his disguise. This villain has returned to extract his revenge upon us. Once again, I'm extremely relieved that Luke isn't in the house at the moment.

"Ah, there you are."

That voice. The familiar icy tone sends shivers shooting down my spine, paralysing me as he stalks towards the bed.

"W-what have you done to Clark and Doland?" I manage to stammer.

He is close enough now that I can see his mouth curl into a smirk. "I simply activated a smoke bomb that left them unconscious. They shouldn't interrupt us."

Clark and Doland (please let them be alright) can't help me now. I look around the room for something to defend myself. Almost every surface is covered with souvenirs I've collected over the years. Clark has never entirely understood my obsession with gathering charming treasures from the places we've visited, but perhaps they can save me now...

To my great surprise, the villain pulls something out of his cape and drops it into my hand. My fingers clutch... an envelope?

"What's this...?" I inquire suspiciously.

"It's a letter of course."

"About what?"

"My, you ask far too many questions. It is a letter...of apology," he struggles to say that word. His tone softens ever so slightly. "Hopefully you won't have trouble reading it. Admittedly, my handwriting is not the most legible. "

I peer up at him in shock. "But why are you giving this to me?"

The venom returns to his voice. "Well, I couldn't leave it lying around the house where your nitwit husband would find it."

"Don't talk about Clark that way," I snap, sitting up straighter to glare at him. "If it's so important, why couldn't you just use another disguise and hand the letter to me?"

He growls in frustration and mutters something under his breath.

"Why?" I repeat. "Can't you tell me?"

"Because, you intrusive, irritating woman," he snarls. "I WANTED TO GVE IT TO YOU IN PERSON!"

My jaw drops open as he whirls around in a furious huff to make his exit.

"If you truly regret what you've done, look me dead in the eyes and say you're sorry."

He stops, stunned by my commanding tone, and faces me once more. Then, he slowly raises his hand; his fingers feather the edge of his white mask.

"No..." he says eventually, smiling a little. He lowers his hand. "I will not give you the pleasure of witnessing my true face."

The fact that he even hesitated to consider the notion is enough proof for me that he has changed since our last encounter, even slightly.

"Fine," I sigh. "Just leave."

"Will you ever forgive me?" Beneath that cold, cruel exterior I sense something else in his voice. Could it really be the desire to redeem and move on from his mistakes...? Or maybe it's just me, searching for humanity that doesn't exist in this monster's black heart.

"I— I don't know," I answer. "Perhaps I'll be able to... one day."

"Only the weak can never forgive," he proclaims. "And you are certainly not weak." With that, he leaves me alone.

Hours later, Clark and Doland stagger upstairs; they are both fine, if a bit shaken. After fretting over me, Clark explains that when they went to investigate the broken window, a small explosion went off. However, nothing was stolen while the two of them were knocked out. Exhausted, he decides to check the window again properly in the morning, and goes to sleep.

I don't show Clark the letter. It remains unopened safely in the drawer at my bedside. I'm not ready to read it yet.

With time, I know that I can forgive the masked man... but I will never forget what he has done to me, my family and Misthallery.