The climb up from the cellar was always the worst. Every last inch of him ached, from teeth to toenails, such that he made it only partway up the creaking wooden stairs before he had to pause and take a break. Even holding onto the wall hurt— his fingernails felt raw, and in the dim light filtering down through the cracks in the cellar doors, he could see the faint edges of dried blood around each one.
Slowly, he worked his way up two more steps, and then two more, and then two more. It was hell in motion, but he knew keeping the cellar this deep was for the best. It was also the reason he kept his cellar so far from the house proper— rather than being beneath his kitchen for ease of access, he had set it away, at the far end of his property and so deep so he would fear neither escape nor prying, curious, tiny eyes.
Lily was getting to be that age where she wanted to know everything— why was the sky blue, why was winter cold, why did some flowers make her sneeze, why couldn't she go near the cellar, and why did he spend the night there sometimes? It was a series of questions he would eventually have to answer, but for the moment Lucien just wanted to keep things as they were. Just for a little while longer. Just a few years more of peace, and then he could let her know the truth, the whole truth, and take his punishment accordingly.
Ansgar have mercy on his soul for what he'd done— if Lily chose to abandon her father afterwards, it'd be what he deserved. But for now, for now he could be selfish, for now he could keep his secrets, and for now he could reach into his pockets and begin the slow, arthritic task of undoing the series of locks and chains that held his cellar doors shut.
It was only when he opened the cellar doors that he realized the pale light he'd seen hadn't been the sun, but rather it was the moon. Lucien flinched despite himself, despite knowing that it wasn't seeing the moon that did it— but the association was there, and it was only with a careful second look that he saw the slight sliver gone from the edge. The moon was already waning. He was free, for a time. Until next month, when it happened all over again.
Sighing, Lucien rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, easing some of the tension there but also agitating every single other ache and pain he possessed. What he really needed, what he desperately needed, was a scalding hot bath, and at least four cups of ale. Five, maybe, if he had the stores left. He rolled up the chains, sliding them through the outer handles of the cellar doors, locking them in place once more until he'd need the space again.
Bath. Lily. Ale. The mantra kept him going, his lips moving silently as if the facsimile of the words would somehow make them more powerful and keep his knees from giving out beneath him. At least until some sharp sound caught his attention, over the wall that separated his property from that of the churchyard. He didn't see anything, not even with the help of the near-full moon, but he knew he'd heard it— a yelp, and then more pressingly, a solid thud.
His stomach turned to ice water, and Lucien vaulted over the stone wall as if his aches and pains weren't even there. Had Lily followed him out? He'd warned her against such things, telling her it wasn't safe for her to go wandering at night, not when he couldn't be there with her. She knew better, she knew she was to remain inside until he came home, but she was getting older, full of questions and imagination, and plenty of time out in the yard while her father worked had made her unafraid of the graves. He remembered, distantly, how she had been working on a series of flower chains, hardy blue flowers woven into a ring as a gift for the dead— had she finished, and had she thought to make a quick journey out to give her gift?
Rushing across the yard, his heart in his ears, Lucien made his way to where he thought he heard the yelp, to the one open grave he had left as such before sequestering himself for the moon. There was groaning coming from the opening, but even as he approached he noted it was deeper, much deeper than a young girl was capable of making, and it was with no small amount of relief that he looked down six feet to spy a full grown woman collapsed at the bottom instead.
Relief turned quickly to agitation, Lucien rather resenting the sheer panic that had gripped him, and he crouched down to level a glower at the dim form in the grave.
"I recommend not taking nighttime walks in the churchyard, miss. Is anything broken?"
