One peek, that was all he needed, and he would gladly return to guarding his master's Money Pit in dutiful solitude. Never again would he protest.

Night after night, he slept by his master's side, just as he did all those years ago, bathed in the warmth light of Venice. Only this time, he never did rest his head in his master's lap. Never pulled the man's arms around his body, feeling the heat of his breath and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Instead, five inches of solid gold separated them from each other, an impenetrable sarcophagus, meant for the finest of pharaohs. Voldo tapped at the lid with his index finger and wondered if his master could hear him from down, down below.

In fact, Voldo had been wondering about a good many things lately.

How long had his master laid in that glorified box? It felt as though he'd been sleeping for centuries. Regardless of his skepticism, with a kind and loving smile, Voldo pushed the little bowl of candied dates closer to his master's sarcophagus, even though he knew that Vercci never ate. Not anymore.

…At least, not while Voldo was looking.

Every once in a while, he would fall asleep by his master's side, only to find the bowl missing when he awoke. Perhaps it was only the rats, but Voldo liked to think that his master was making progress. That he did, in fact have the energy to eat, every once in a while, and that soon enough, he would burst out of that coffin with that usual spring in his step and start barking out orders left and right, just like he used to. Perhaps he would even take pity on his poor servant and treat him to a nice, long talk. Of course, Voldo never replied, but he always loved the soothing sound of his master's voice, when it was just the two of them, away from the judgmental ears of others. Master always spoke of concepts too advanced for Voldo's understanding- economics, and politics, and foreign tongues. Voldo suspected that his master practiced speaking with him in preparation for future business negotiations. He remembered hearing the man stumble over his words and stutter occasionally at strange pronunciations. Oh, but he loved his master's flaws every bit as much as he loved his perfections. Love still blossomed in his chest at the intimate thought that he was the only one Vercci ever trusted with his weaknesses.

Voldo pressed his cheek against the coffin and playfully inched his fingers closer and closer to the lid. Today, he would finally push it off. One peek. Just one. Oh, he would surely earn himself the punishment of a lifetime for daring to disturb his master's slumber, but in the end, Voldo was a weak man, desperate for affection after all the years of isolation. Even if his master skinned him alive, he wanted to hear his voice. He wanted to breathe in his scent and feel those spindly arms wrap around his body just one more time. He'd almost begun to forget just what his master smelled like. Cloves, sandalwood, and… something else. Something he couldn't quite pinpoint that was inherently "Vercci."

He felt the metal give way as he slowly pushed the lid aside, scraping gold against gold. A cold shiver ran through his spine as odd fragments of memories rushed about in a whirlwind.

Stop. Turn back.

An insistent little voice scratched at the back of his mind, freezing the blood in his veins.

Come now, let Master rest. Don't be so selfish. Seeing him now won't do you any good. Just trust me! Hurry up and turn back while you still can!

With one last push, Voldo shoved the lid aside with a loud crash that echoed through the miles of underground tunnels. An indescribable stench burst forth from the coffin, sending him reeling back in disgust.

…What happened to his master?

His heart sank in his chest as he slowly pulled himself closer, little by little, until his face hovered mere inches above Vercci's. Where was the sandalwood? The cloves and cinnamon? Oh, but Voldo recognized the scent emanating from the sarcophagus below him: death and decay, worms and maggots- along with three little bowls of candied dates, all in various states of decomposition.

Candied dates. …He'd done this before, hadn't he?

Of course he did. Five years ago; that was the last time he felt the need to peek into his master's coffin. The fog lifted and the memories sharpened into focus. He remembered now. His master was dead.

Voldo reached down into the coffin and ran his hands over his Vercci's body, from head to toe. He smiled fondly at the memories, despite the sharp buzzing in his ears and the strange sensation that he was drowning. His master's silly, drooping hat, though worn through with holes, still felt soft to the touch, all velvet and lace. He remembered that his master complained to him once about the growing bald spot on the top of his head.

"I don't want to end up like you," Vercci had shouted as he tugged his hat over his head, hiding his mark of shame. Despite the rather cruel teasing, Voldo could still hear the fondness in his master's voice.

With silent reverence, he wound a loose strand of his master's hair around his index finger.

Though he'd never been a large man, Vercci's ribs now jutted out from beneath his finery. Like a good servant, Voldo adjusted his clothing to hide the protruding bones as best as he could, before moving down to polish the golden buckles on his master's shoes.

As he always did, he picked up the little bowl of candied dates and placed it next to the others- just in case the Lord, merciful as he supposedly was, ever chose to bless them with a miracle.

He didn't want to think about it.

Instead, Voldo crawled into the coffin and rested his head against his master's chest, just like he did all those years ago. He'd give himself five minutes, he decided.

Just five minutes to cry and mourn his master's death, before sealing the coffin and returning to his duties.