A sliver of moonlight was drawn through the branches of the trees above. It barely illuminated my path as I walked again and again through the vineyard, stumbling my way through the dark with just a dim-lit lamp. All I could see were my dirty Doc martens hitting against the dirt ground while I made my way through the dense, tree-littered area without a thought running through my head.

This was the second time that I had visited the vineyard. As wide and open as it was in the day time, it seemed to be more free during the night. No one was here to watch over the trees as they swayed in the wind; to sit under their shade on a warm day in the high summer. No one was here to pick the fruit of the vines, to empty them of the only thing that made them useful.

I only came here once before because of the same reason that I had come back. Abandoning something that I had once held close was easy to me. I had done it many times before—after all, running away from my problems was the simplest solution to fix what I had broken. But in the vineyard, my problems seemed to chase me. They hunted me down like a hunter did a deer. Like a needle did a thread.

My short blonde hair hit my face as I pounded through the grass, feeling every second tick by like my brain ran on a stopwatch. It was only then that I noticed a slim outline of a figure, illuminated by the glaring lights of a red pickup truck. They were hunched over the open hood, sifting through the inside of the truck with an eerie preciseness that made me question why I had never seen anyone here before. I had simply thought that the vineyard was deserted, left to the birds of prey who picked at any meal they could find. The vineyard was big enough that you could get lost in it; I must have not seen any people the first time I had come to take a walk through the orchard.

I stopped walking when the figure turned his head to face towards me. The blaring lights of the truck and the distance between us allowed me to make out the features of his face—wild brown hair that came down to his shoulders and piercing blue eyes that looked electric against the harsh glow. He was slim and partly malnourished; not usually the first person you would expect to be working on a truck in the middle of the night.

I couldn’t tell if the man owned the vineyard or not. He had an aura that expelled a wavering uncertainty, making me question if he was in here for the same reason that I was. It wasn’t common that you would find someone wandering the vineyard at one of the final hours of twilight, as usually the people who worked there had gone in for the night.

Before I could turn away, I heard the man’s voice echo around the deserted fields. “What are you doing here, boy?” he asked, his southern accent strangely apparent when he spoke. It surprised me slightly—he barely looked old enough to own his own vineyard, let alone possess a gruff country-like tone of voice that sounded like it had been built up by years of hard work.

“I don’t intend to cause any trouble—“ I started to reply, but the man just interrupted me with a laugh that pierced the veil of silence hanging over the vineyard.

“Don’t worry, kid. I don’t bite.” He chuckled at himself, adjusting the cigarette resting between his pale lips that was now visible under the moonlight. “I was only joking.” When I heard his words I heaved an empty sigh of relief, feeling a weight being lifted off my chest.

“I hope you know that I wasn’t out here to steal anything—I just came by to take a walk. Usually, this place is deserted during the nighttime,” I assured him.

“So you’ve came here before?” the man asked. He released himself from a crouch, turning to face towards me as he dropped his tools on the dirt below.

“Once,” I said, not seeing the point in lying my way out of the situation. I was already in too deep—at this point, there was no hope in escape. “I’ve been here once before. I didn’t steal anything—I promise.”

The man just laughed again, his voice still sounding strained and built upon by his accent. For just a second, I watched his gaze shift from me to the truck he was working on. It was quick, almost looking like a simple trick of the light. But I saw it as clear as day.

I looked to where he had glimpsed, feeling my blood run cold as I immediately regretted my descision. Again, it could be my mind playing tricks on me. After all, it had done that multiple times before. But I could swear that I saw something; a pair of bloodshot eyes staring directly at me.

There was someone else in that truck.

The golden rays of sunlight spilled through the open window, casting shadows of figures hunched over their food in silence. They were all dressed their best—some wearing garments adorned with jewels and luxurious fabrics, others simply putting on their shirts that they would usually wear on a Sunday. Saturdays like these were times to relax; days wear the pressure of work could be taken off your shoulders for just a moment. But on this Saturday, none of the people sitting down at a small dining room table would have expected to be invited to a tea party with a room full of strangers.

They all sat around a table flourished with foods and drinks that they had only imagined to be a luxury once before. Each of them had received a letter that morning; an invite to a party in the high kingdom where royals and rich property owners usually dwelled. While they were each suspicious of the request, they obliged, searching for answers as to why they of all people would be invited to something prestigious as an offer to dine in a hall of riches. The ones invited to dine came from different backgrounds and levels of status—but they were all similar in one way.

Couteroy Blanke was a praised comedian, often used to the odd glances he got from others around his town. The strange way he dressed, his malnourished figure, and his awfully pale skin were some of the things that got him noticed while he was simply walking the streets. He covered his insecurities with stage makeup, very rarely taking it off as if it were a mask he could hide behind.

Lady Johnson was a woman who could only be described as submissive. While she was a very complicated character, most of her personality stemmed from her awful husband: the Duke. He attempted to control her, forcing her to spend time at home with their two year old child while he went off to work every day. Despite their obvious torn marriage, they still managed to keep their relationship in tact for many years before the Duke divorced her and unfairly took all of her belongings. She still kept her ex-husband’s last name, not bothering to mourn over her future and instead focus on the memories of the past.

The Emberly triplets sat apart from the rest, nervously picking at their food and not bothering to utter a word. Although they all looked exactly the same, it was clear how hard they strived to be different from each other. Mary Anne Emberly played with her hair that had been forced into long brunette coils the night before. As beautiful as they were, it was clear that she had wanted her hair to be different from her sisters’ naturally pin-straight locks. Morticia Emberly on the other hand had put up her hair into a simple ponytail that trailed down to the start of her shoulder blades. She wore a majestic dark red dress that stood out among her other sisters’ clothing. Paired with lacey white gloves and a glass of wine, she almost looked older than the rest of her family.

I hungrily scarfed down my meal, not bothering to make useless small talk like the rest of the people sitting around the table. I had already concluded their personalities just based on their looks, figuring out almost everything about each and every one of them. For some of them, it was obvious how they acted just by their attempts to start an awkward conversation or the way they slouched against their chairs. Some of them scraped their eggs and bacon around on their plates with their forks, others devoured their food as if they hadn’t eaten in ages. But really, their personalities didn’t make it easier to figure out their desires—it was perfectly obvious that we were all waiting for the host of the meal to make his way through the door. To explain why we were all here.

Only I knew what was really going on. In their eyes, I could see that none of them were suspecting it. They were focused on avoiding an increasingly awkward situation, not finding out why this meal brought them all together. Only I was the one who knew the host’s true malicious intentions.

After all, who would believe that an innocent little tea party in the richest part of the kingdom would reveal where the third Emberly triplet went?