---

---

---

---

Virginia found Thalken's apology to be lacking, one that she would have expected from James a year or so prior. It wasn't as she wished, but it seemed par for the course that most of the ton had the maturity of a four year old. Though she did suppose that it was some feat for Thalken to provide an apology at all. Virginia heard Mary's firearm as it was slid back into the holster, along with Mary's quiet comment that accompanied the action.

Virginia couldn't help but wonder what sort of church would have a man like Thalken within its ranks, though she imagined that it was likely that if pressed, his family would swear that they attended church regularly. It was rather peculiar and odd for an individual to have no religious affiliation. For the Crypts, they never had much of an attachment to any branch of the church. Virginia's mother, Lady Dywell, had come from a family of protestants. And Virginia could not think of any denomination or belief system to which her father belonged. She supposed that for herself, if there were any matters that required a religious authority, she'd likely defer to Mary.

"Yes, I fear that too much time has been spent already," Virginia admitted, as she tightened her grip around Mosi and lifted from her end, ensuring to lift with her legs and not with her back. She held onto her dear friend's departed form as they journeyed back to the chamber where the Grand Duchess watched over the body of the Arch Graveolase. A tear slid down Virginia's face and landed on Mosi's cheek as she set down her friend's last form and she took a moment to compose herself before looking towards Mary.

"Dame Hale, I must thank you once more for your help with dear Mosi. Consider me to be at your aid for any others that you may need to attend to, included the Soulless." It was the very least she could do, after all. Mary had helped her--she could and would return the favor by any means within her power.

Gerard never left his hand on hers, even after his futile attempts to make contact with the woman. He would resist the urge of prodding her further as he feels it would not even matter anymore at this point. He was internally grieving, watching her like this. As if Milli was not even there. When he looks in her eyes all he could see was voidness, he also wonders if that blankness in her expression was the effect of those awful things that she had experienced, and the fact that she just had to prevent a quickening could have been too much to bear for her, Gerard was greatly troubled by this. Still Ghe never left her, and only wished he could truly do something to help her.

" I... saw your sketches." He attempted to speak just for the sake of it. The silence wasn't helping much either. He glanced once at Abby when she came in the room to drain Milli's bath, he is hoping that his small efforts is somehow enough to distract her from whatever horrors she has going on in her mind, even though in her current state it would seem pointless. None the less there's nothing wrong in clinging to a hopeful thought.

" They look as lovely as always. I have never seen most of it before." He glanced to the area where her sketches were; of Everett, Abby, and her mother Catherine. He laid eyes on Millie's sketch of Gerard on the easel and was reminded of what Abby had said about it.

"Maybe one day I could escort you around city. The countryside maybe, and look around for some lovely views you could sketch. That would be a grand idea, yeah?" He smiled softly, in sorrow still, as he let his hand stay on Millie's. That time Gerard heard a carriage pulling over outside the the house, he didn't bother to look up and check as he would rather stay by Millie's side, if possible for the rest of the night.

---

---

---

---

Fyror's slow, cautious steps towards the Grand Duchess Elizaveta were put to a halt as the large tiger's attention turned to him. His muscles tensed and his heart just about leapt out of his chest as it growled at him and angrily bared its teeth. He looked slightly off to the side of it, not wanting to make direct eye contact with it but still wanting to keep it in his peripheral vision. He was impressed at how calm Elizaveta was in the presence of such a powerful creature, a beast that could easily turn on her if it so desired. It was clear that she had some sort of profound connection with it, but that still did not put him entirely at ease or give him a valid reason to let his guard down. No, he would always strive to protect those around him with every ounce of strength he had and with every fiber of his being. That's just who he is, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

When the tiger turned its head and looked as if it was about to snap Elizaveta's hand, his jaw clenched and he quickly and determinedly resumed his steps towards them. And just as he started to slide his blade out of its sheathe, the tiger flicked its tongue out, licking the Grand Duchess instead of biting her. The air whooshed out of him in relief, and he stopped once more. He shook his head. He really needed to get a grip. He pushed his blade back into its sheathe with a resigned sigh. His gaze finally left the tiger as another man addressed him. He turned towards Vladimir, ignoring the slight amusement on his brother Leon's face. His brows furrowed slightly at the man's strange words, but Fyror got the gist of it. All the bodies needed to be brought to Elizaveta so that they could be properly dealt with. The last thing they needed was for the deceased to rise again as Soulless. “Certainly," he stated, nodding his head. He then motioned for Leon to come help him.

Just as they started to head out of the room, the Virginia and Mary entered the room carrying a body. Fyror stopped and looked the two women over, checking them for any apparent injuries, before glancing at the victim. And when his gaze finally landed on the lifeless face of Jeanette, he felt his blood run cold. “No," he choked out. He stood there for a moment, his hands shaking at his sides and his eyes filled with such horror and such pain. His feet felt like blocks of cement as he walked over to Jeanette's lifeless form. He feel to his knees beside her and stared down at her with sorrow filled eyes. “No," he cried, tears starting to form in his eyes. He gingerly reached out and his fingers lightly grazed Jeanette's cheek, her skin already cool to the touch. The feeling of great sorrow threatened to swallow him whole. Ms. Crane had been one of the first new friends he had made in quite sometime and the first woman to look at him as anything other than damaged or monstrous. “I-I fear that I have failed you. P-please forgive me," he cried softly.

Fyror took in a shuttering breath and pried his gaze away from her. He couldn't remember Jeanette like this, completely lifeless when she had been anything but. He slowly stood up and turned to Virginia and Mary. “What happened?" he inquired sadly.

---

---

---

---

---

---

Thalken walked with purposeful strides out of the Musician's Gallery. While he had physically left behind Lady Crypt and Mary Hale, they were not completely out of mind. His thoughts lingered on what had transpired there. Why was it so hard for him to be a decent human being? He let out a sigh, deciding to bypass the Octagon Antichamber and instead go straight into the ballroom via the Musician's Gallery. From there he would retrace his steps back to the balcony where the Ryne Catherine's decapitated body still laid alongside the body of Jane. "There you are!" he heard his twin sister Thalcona's familiar voice. She had to jog to catch up to him as he walked swiftly. "You haven't gotten into too much trouble, I hope?" she added, looking him over. Thalken just glanced over at her with a look that said 'seriously?'

"So, I guess you have," Thalcona replied with a smirk on her face, causing Thalken to let out a grunt of frustration. His sister seemed to find too much fun in irking him.

With so few people occupying the ballroom, it did not take long to get to the balcony located on the opposite side of the room. "Woah!" Thalcona exclaimed, eyes widening, as the bloody scene that lay there came into view. Blood covered the floor in large pools of crimson red. Jane's body lay there surrounded by a pool of her own blood that had spilt from her ravaged throat. The perpetrator, the Ryne Catherine, lay nearby with its head no longer attached to its body thanks to Thalken's handy work. "Is that the Ryne you beheaded?" Thalcona asked her brother as they walked up to the lifeless bodies.

“Yes. Now quit gawking and grab the head. Watch out for the fangs though. I will get the body," Thalken responded curtly.

Thalcona let out a snort. "Well, don't you know the way to a girl's heart," she stated sarcastically. Regardless, she did what her brother commanded of her, grabbing the decapitated head by the hair. It was heavier than she had expected, but she would manage carrying it just fine. She held it where the face, more particularly the fangs, were pointing outwards. Meanwhile, Thalken hoisted Catherine's headless body onto his shoulder with relative ease. He motioned for Thalcona to follow him. They went back into and through the ballroom to get to the Octagon Antichamber located on the other side. They were a rather disturbing sight to behold, to say the least.

Thalken barely paid the others notice as he entered the Octagon Antichamber with the headless body on his shoulder. He unceremoniously laid the body alongside Jeanette's, and Thalcona, in a similar manner, dropped the decapitated head beside its body.

---

---

'But if they vere led into the city...' He thought, making a dark grimace. That meant someone in the city was doing something equal to a mass murder. Excluding the possibilities of soulless sneaking in, this had a lot of implications. What could have been the end goal with sneaking soulless into the walls though?' Is someone going to use them to expand their power? Kill off the competition?' He thought, tilting his head to the side.

Now that was a classing power struggle and schemes plot that would actually make sense. Soulless... were a force to be reckoned with because they weren't mindless.' It's possible for them to make a deal...?' He wondered. Yeah after all... they weren't stupid and there were men with wicked hearts out there.' Vhat would stop the soulless from turning onto their partner though?' Constantin wondered, his fingers drumming along the handle of his sabre. This was a curious subject to discuss. Maybe he could get Elizaveta to talk about this with.

Looking up from her prayer the Grand Duchess let slip a scowl as she looked around. This could not be the only ones that perished that evening and yet people were standing around talking still. Asking questions when there were souls to save. She understood people wanting to know what happened but this was dragging on far too long, putting others in danger. Though had she known that the question being asked by Fyror was about a woman he had spent so little time with over the course of a single day she might not even have felt that. Rising from her place she smoothed out the folds of her gown and decided she had waited long enough.

"Dame Hale, please escort everyone remaining that is not yourself or the circus from the building. I will be getting to vork nov and I do no vish to be disturbed anymore this evening as there is vork to do and I do not believe anyone here can be of further assistance and vill in fact be a hindrance. Bodies will be sent to their families home once I am finished," she said in a firm voice. "Goodnight to all of you, nov leave." It was more than obvious that Elizaveta was more than an a tad vexed at this point. "Could you have Constantin retrieve my bag from my carriage vhile you are escorting them out? I vill require my relic."She had waited, and waited, and waited for this to be tended to and yet people still felt the need to drag their feet. The larger threat was not the Soulless that had attacked right then but the ones that could be birthed that evening. If she hadn't felt it was her duty to god to keep more souls from being lost she would have left them, teach them a lesson for their slothful ways.

"дядя Vlad, Если они откажутся уйти, убейте их." Turning on her heels, she walked out of the room and began her own search. Myska rising from his resting position, growling slightly before he padded off after her. Elizaveta knew she alone could not move a body from one room to another without wearing herself out too far to perform any more help but she could at least pile them on Myska's back and bring them back to the other dearly departed. Sometimes you just had to do things yourself because others couldn't be trusted to help. Emotions, lack of focus, or ego got in the way. Right then she felt it was a combination of all three with the group in general and it left a bad taste in her mouth. Though she pushed the thought out of her mind, she had work to do. Finding the first body, in the middle of the ballroom she removed her cloak and placed it along Myska's back before she took a deep breath and in her finest ballgown lifted with all her might, staining the dress in blood as she worked to place the body over Myska's back.



"Miss Emma, she is no condition to travel," Abigail said as the door to Millicent's room was pushed open and Emma came inside. "She has been through so much this evening. Please, let her rest," she pleaded.

Millicent still hadn't said a thing or even moved. She could blink from time to time but that was the only movement she gave. A completely involuntary action. "Oh posh. Your mind is running wild. There was an attack, Millicent fought. She failed to save my sister and my mother was nearly killed as well. A few bruises will not get her out of her duties to this family," Emma stated as she walked in front of Millicent and took her hands quickly, eying Gerard for a moment before basically yanking Millicent to her feet.

The girl stood under her own power but she had still yet to say a word and her expression was still blank. She looked like a puppet right then, being controlled by the movements of her step sister as she wrapped an arm around her and lead her out of the room. "Miss Emma, look at her! She's traumatized!" Abigail said, trying to move in front of them but being unable to get there before Emma had moved Millicent through the doorway and into the hall.

"You will bite your tongue! Stop spreading these rumors and keep quiet or you will be removed from service in this household and left on the streets!" Emma spat as she shot daggers with her eyes towards Abigail. Abigail's mouth snapped shut. She wasn't worried about losing her job but if she was sent away how could she be there for Miss Milli? Stopping her in tracks she lowered her head and nodded. "Good, now you and whoever else is up is to start closing the house up for the Season. Do you understand me?"

"Um, yes Miss," she said before Emma gave her a curt nod and moved Millicent down the stairs and towards the door. Once they were out of ear shot Abigail let out a slew of curses that could have made a sailor blush as she wrung her fingers. Looking over to Gerard she sighed deeply. "I'd like to stick a bee in her bonnet and lets it sting her face I would!"

Gerard heard the steps coming, and saw Emma came in the bedroom. She seemed to be arguing with Abby who came in after, Gerard returned her step sister's stare. He could feel a cold chill when he looked at her, Emma turned to Millicent and yanked her up from her seat. Gerard bolted up as she did so, Milli's body just languidly went with her sister's force.

Gerard tried to walk between them as Abby tried to reason with her, but as soon as Emma spat out on her he decided to remain on Abby's side. Yet all this time his eyes were on Millie's, without saying a word he let her go with Emma. It wasnt right, Millie was not in the right state for anything at that moment. What she needs now more than ever is some form of help but even that they could not figure out how. Gerard just helplessly stood there, he would have reasoned with Emma but thought that the last thing Millie needs is an argument between the three of them in there. He fought his inner impulse to snatch her from Emma. And Gerard would not want the risk being dismissed from the household, which means he would had to leave Millie in this terrible time.

He turned his head to Abby as she slew a wave of curses, Gerard swore she turned a bit red right that very moment. Under a different circumstance, Gerard would have chuckled at the sight. "I understand but, we can't risk you getting thrown out Abigail. Ms. Milli needs you now more than ever." He replied. "Should we at least keep an eye on her? I couldn't ease my worry."

---

---

---

---

The man with the damaged eye that Mary had been introduced to earlier in the evening certainly seemed interested in the fate of the lady that she and Virginia carried. But there was really no time for further discussion. The clock was counting down on the possible time for further tragedy to ensue, and she would not be a party to it because of idleness, regardless of the emotions at play. Her more businesslike mindset had returned, and just in time. Elizaveta had given her a task to perform. Interim Arch Graveolase or no, Mary was the entourage of the Grand Duchess of the Russian Empire, a lady who was set on a task that Mary herself would gladly be performing if she had the ability to do so.

"Captain Kildragon?" she began, her voice steady and professional, "I will give you what detail I can at a later time. You may inquire for me at St. Etheldreda's, of the Ely Palace on the morrow. For now, would you please help set a positive example by gathering your lovely family and exiting the Assembly Rooms? We have urgent matters that require our immediate attention, Sir. Attempts to assist would merely be a hindrance, you understand."

The young Apostolic carefully lay her side of the fallen Mosi upon the center of the floor as respectfully as she was able, then immediately went to retrieve her halberd. She bowed her head before taking up the blessed weapon, somehow appearing as more the paladin because of it. Maybe it was a psychological effect or confidence booster, but the air of the woman seemed more aloof yet approachable, proper and militant all at the same time. She was a Lady Knight of the Papacy, clad in a laurel-gilt black cassock and carrying the signature weapon of the world famous Swiss Guard. Her eyes were fierce and righteous, and she was given her orders by the highly important woman to whom she had attached herself for the evening. With discipline and seraphic grace, she began to carry out those very orders.

Mary swiftly glided from group of people to group of people, individual to individual, giving word to each person and/or group depending upon what tone and phrasing was most appropriate. It ranged from simple, "I'm sorry, we need you to exit the building. It's not safe yet." to "The Graveolase has it from here. Please leave it to us." to "I cannot guarantee your safety, nor will we take the risk. It is time to leave." Not just mere words, but there was the gentle press of her presence, ushering people toward the doors. Her idea of crowd control was not finesse work, but generally it was effective.

"Please be at peace. Their earthly remains will be returned to you, but for now we must ensure that the taint of the Soulless cannot take them." This to a grieving family member who was hesitant to move at first. It was amazing, the power of mentioning continued threat just after an overt attack. Makes people cautious. This one Lady of the Ton she had to personally escort from to the doors, such was her reluctance to leave the corpse of a dead relative. Mary understood the situation, and knew that the woman could not personally understand Mary's situation. Still, there was kindness in her voice. Coming back from her escort, she noticed a slender man mumbling in Russian. That had to be Constantin.

She called his name tentatively, "Constantin? Constantin, greetings." Indeed, this was the man that she had met very briefly, just earlier. "If I may impose upon you, sir? The Grand Duchess requests that you locate her bag from the carriage, and return to her with it. Specifically, she requires her "Relic" I believe. Thank you. If you will excuse me?" It was a little terse, but time was a factor. Perhaps she would extend a courtesy later as a means of mild apology. Mary returned to her task, entering the Octagon and searching for anyone else lingering in the area.

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

With luck, Elizaveta could finish her work and they could rejoin their brothers and sisters back at the Tent City constructed just outside of London proper, the present home to the gypsies, vagabonds, sinners and saints, common and royal persons of the Sem'ya and Circus; Russia's ambassadors to the United Kingdom and the Graveolase. It was a curious assignment for the Circus, to be certain. But a great concentration of Rusyn Trained people could be found among their number, hiding in plain sight, using their talents to impress and entertain.

Naturally, they were also called upon to handle the problems of Russian Soulless, openly or discreetly. It simply made sense. They were not the only ones to do so, but their fame/infamy in this regard among people in the know made them the logical choice. Also, it seemed, the logical choice to represent the Empire here in London, aside from the obvious reason of Elizaveta's presence.

It did not seem that luck was with them, however. Delay after delay, people staying around and not contributing to the task at hand. His little Veta was getting more and more annoyed at the situation, and so was Vladimir. Not exactly for the same reasons; the reigning Great Bazhooli had hoped that this would be one of those fancy aristocratic parties with stuffed quail and curious finger foods from exotic and local sources, possibly dancing and the general carousing that one assumes the upper crust does when they don't think the lower classes are watching. He could have done with a quick, hot meal and several invitations to meet with moderately ranked noblewomen in potentially compromising positions, paid for with his singular wit and passionate intensity. As it turned out, all he got was drama - and not the good kind.

When Virginia and Mary entered the room, carrying a third, quite dead person, Vladimir heard Veta's voice immediately call those loyal to her into action. The scary Catholic lady was enlisted into service as something of an aristocratic pub bouncer, clearing the room of everyone not of the Circus. Or herself, apparently. Then the most curious thing happened. The Grand Duchess actually gave The Great Bazhooli an order. An Order. While not usual, it was something that he was honorbound to follow to the best of his ability, but the nature of his instructions...

Vladimir recovered four knives from about his person. Holding three in one hand, he began twirling the fourth between his fingers in his other hand, back and forth, up and down. It demonstrated a masterful proficiency and knack for manual dexterity. He paused briefly to adjust the tall top hat perched upon his very dignified head, twirl the oiled corner of his moustache, and sigh. Then the little dance that sharp things do when in his possession continued as if it had never ceased.

Mary seemed to be doing an adequate job clearing out the stragglers, but a surprise hit him in the form of the twins, Thalken and Thalcona, depositing a headless corpse with matching neck accessory onto the floor nearby. Mary hadn't quite noted their entrance yet, and they were most definitely not Circus, just as much neither of them were Sister Mary. Vladimir decided to handle this diplomatically. "Dа! Dа, Lady. This must be brother, верный? Very please to meet, and thank you so much for getting dead person. Her Grace vould thank too, but is busy, very busy. Must ask you go, da? Place must be cleansed, and very, very soon. Cannot be done vhile you are here."

Master Alexandrov leaned his head to one side, causing the vertebrae of his neck to pop audibly. He finished his request of the pair with an informal invitation, of sorts. "My Lady?" he intoned, his bright eyes focused on Thalcona, "Iv please you, come to see show. Maybe share drink from Bazhooli homeland, ve talk more. But for now! Good evenings, the both ov you." Knives still spinning, the talented Russian bowed to the siblings and motioned to the front exit.

---

---

---

---

Virginia was quite thankful that Dame Hale responded to Sir Kildragon. Had she been pressed to answer Fyror's questions, she would not have been surprised if an onslaught of tears similar to her earlier meltdown would have come to be. For Virginia carried the weight of surviving an encounter that her dear friend had not been fortunate enough to do so as well. Dear Mosi had given her life for Virginia's defense, as she had been crippled by an injury that only her feast on the melancholy and the morose had allowed her to push through. She drew strength from the macabre, yet that strength had failed her friend.

She tore her thoughts away from Mosi's corpse once more as Elizaveta gave instructions to Dame Hale. And while Lady Crypt was perhaps stubborn by nature, arguing that she might perhaps still be of use was not a battle she wished to fight. She had taken care of Mosi's mortal form and felt no personal attachments to the other fallen, aside from perhaps Millicent's sister. Yet Virginia knew that Mrs. Wyndham, and perhaps Jane and Emma as well, would likely much prefer it if a Crypt did not touch their bodies. Virginia was well aware of the distaste Mrs. Wyndham held for her and her family.

With the swift exit of the Grand Duchess and the tiger, as well as the Great Bazhooli twirling knives after a few words spoken to him in what she assumed to be Russian, Virginia nodded her farewell to Mary. If time allowed, she would attempt to call on her tomorrow, yet she first had to investigate the needs of Millicent. Virginia left the chamber and went outside of Almack's, her thoughts with Millicent. Yes, she would be her first to see tomorrow, if Millicent allowed herself to take visitors. She did not understand why Millicent would engage herself to Lord Rutherford, but she imagined that her dear friend would be mourning more for her sisters and perhaps would benefit from some companionship.

As Virginia stood out in the night air, she took a moment to simply breathe. She would need to attempt to call upon Mosi's family as well. And of course, she would need to begin arrangements for James to be trained. The attack on Almack's only introduced more urgency to the matter. It was not merely a title that dear James would need to escape, but the loss of his atman as well. She would have much to discuss with Alfred that evening, it would seem, as she searched for her carriage and her driver.

---

---

'What if it's the soulless that are making use of the humans instead?' He's train of thought continued as he waited. Now that was a fine assumption because even if one made a deal with soulless he was going to get soullessed...' No... never repeat that abomination.' The one who made a deal would be killed and turned eventually. Once you let them in, you are screwed over no other way about it.

Constantin's continues dark, grim and interesting mental deduction chain was ongoing, him making a questioning expression all the way until a female voice pulled him out of it as he turned to look at the source. It was that woman he saw earlier. He was about to ask what was going on when she spoke.

“Of course. Stay safe.” He replied with a slight respectful bow of his head as the woman excused herself. She was busy indeed, judging by her garbs of occupation. Well hers was not a problem of his, but Veta's dealings were. The holy relic eh?

“Ohh vell...” He mumbled, sheathing his sabre and hopping down from the carriage quickly, heading to locate her Relic which should be in her own carriage. Sure enough he located it along with the guards who were there. It didn't take much to explain what he was doing there and his task.” Could one of you vatch our carriage vhile I go deliver this? Good. Ve vouldn't vant to valk Myshka on the streets.” She said with a smirk, quickly heading back inside to deliver the object.

---

---

---

---

No sooner had the question regarding Ms. Crane's death left his lips did he feel the desire to retract it. Part of him wanted to know what had happened, what force could possibly snuff out a spirit such as hers. And yet, the other part of him could not bear the thought of her suffering and dying. What if she had died in some horrific manner, one that made even death seem like a blessing? He shuttered as the mere thought dredged up painful memories of the grievous injury that had blinded him in his left eye. Though it had occurred more than a decade ago, he could remember it like it was yesterday. The overwhelming pain. Feeling like he was going to drown in his own blood. And then the darkness of unconsciousness. Suffice to say, he had experience enough suffering in that one moment to never wish suffering upon another person.

His question was left unanswered, out in the open, as Elizaveta's voice suddenly rang out above the din. It drew his attention and the attention of many of those around him. His brows furrowed slightly at her words. They cut into him and made him feel a bit guilty for getting distracted from the task at hand. But he couldn't help that after everything that had happened with Millicent, he still wore his heart on his sleeve. Jeanette's death was then one more deliberating blow to his soft, vulnerable heart. His attention went back to Mary as she addressed his question and stood by the Grand Duchess's command. He let out a resigned sigh and nodded his head. “I will inquire for you at a less pressing time. If the Grand Duchess thinks its best for me to leave, then I will oblige. I do not wish to be anymore of a hindrance," he replied. He then bid his farewell and went to find the rest of his family so they could depart from the bloody battlefield that was Almack's.

---

---

---

---

---

---

Thalken's head swung to the side when a man approached and spoke to him and his twin sister Thalcona. The man spoke as if he was familiar to her, which she was--sort of. But Thalken had not been privy to the conversation and soul reading that had gone on between Thalcona and Vladimir. As far as he saw it, this was some stranger who had the gall to talk them, but more specifically his sister. Thalken was a bit protective of his sister, who would have thought? He glanced over at his sister and then back to the man. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his jaw clenched. Who the hell is this man, and why the hell is he talking to my sister?! he thought angrily. When the man invited Thalcona over for a drink, Thalken nearly let out a growl and a few choice words. Thalcona suddenly elbowed him harshly in the ribs, causing him to let out a grunt. Apparently she had taken notice of his quickly darkening mood. She was always well tuned to his mood swings, like some kind of twin telepathy. "I will consider it. Thalken and I need to first figure out where our father went off to and then we will be out of your hair," Thalcona then replied to Vladimir. She spoke with an ease that Thalken most certainly lacked.

"Assuming he isn't already dead. Let's just leave him," Thalken interjected tersely. Quite frankly, he would not be upset if his father was dead. It would be a relief actually. One less monster to roam this earth. Thalcona did not seem to appreciate his brazen words. After all, they weren't exactly in private. Her head jerked around to give her brother a withering glare to shut him up before returning her attention to Vladimir. She nodded her head and then ushered, or rather shoved, her brother in the direction of the nearest door. After some searching, they would eventually find their father outside of Almack's, in the shadows behind the building, where he was finishing up some kind of business transaction. Go figure.

Once everyone had left the building that was supposed to Elizaveta made her way back to the main area where the bodies at had been laid out. Myska was following close behind her and on his back where the remaining bodies. The grand duchess was covered with blood from hoisting the bodies up and sighed as she pulled her once white gloves off. Tossing them to the ground as she spotted Constantin and smiling slightly towards him as she reached out and took the small pouch which held the relic she had asked for. "Dank you," she said in gratitude before she continued.

Could you three please close all the doors leading to this room and seal them off? I do no vant any disruptions with the ceremony," she explained. It was one that Vlad and Constantin had seen her perform many times over the years. It was her duty with the circus to ensure that none of their people fell and became Soulless. Mary too had seen this very ceremony only earlier that very day. She was glad to have only them around now. There was nothing she needed to explain now, no one to tell don't get in the way, no one to warm of what they were about to see. They all three had been through this before, all three she knew were capable fighters that could protect her during the ceremony if someone or something decided to come into the room. That, and she had Myska.

Myska took his place beside Elizaveta as she knelt down and removed the decorative egg from it's pouch and laid it down on the ground. It was time to start and it was going to be a long next several hours in prayer and in skill to try to save as many as she could. She could do nothing for Catherine, she had already changed but her true death could be tended to after the ceremony, as well as the other fallen Soulless. They had time with that. Right then, the pure as Elizaveta called them needed to be tended to.

The hours passed slowly and by the time Elizaveta was done she was beyond tired. Nearly fumbling her relic as she placed it back into its pouch. It was very unlike the Grand Duchess to be clumsy with anything but it was obvious she had spent more of her energy than she would have liked. There were many she had had to severe their souls and a couple of them nearly turned in the middle of it. Yet she had prevailed and now sat slumped, looking weary and worn. "Ve must finish the Soulless truth deaths and then Ve can send these bodies to their homes to be put to rest," she said as Myska curled up behind her and gave her a place to lean back against. The sooner they got back to the circus the better in her mind.

It was another hour before everything was taken care of and carriages were sent off to each persons respective home. Now that that was done, it was time to go. It would be a quiet carriage ride back to the circus for Elizaveta. Taking the Carriage with Myska and having the other follow behind them. The young heir to the throne of Russia fell asleep still covered in her blood stained gown during the trip, curled up on Myska as the tiger stayed vigilant protecting the sleeping woman. Tomorrow was another day and Elizaveta needed her rest. She had asked Mary to meet her for lunch at the circus the next day to meet the rest of her family. The evening would mean the swearing in of the new A.G. and Elizaveta wished to be there for it.



"If onlys we could but ifs we don'ts get to work on closing the house ups, Miss Emma might dismiss boths of us and Miss Milli needs up likes yous said," Abigail said before sighing deeply. "Maybes this is good? Wes gets the house closed up wes can get back to our homes outs in the country. Be goods for Miss Milli. Being aways from the city, outs in the garden. She loves it there. Gets her away from the horrors here," Abigail added before shaking her head slightly and rubbing her face.

Outside, Emma stood at the carriage for a few minutes as she got Millicent into the carriage. It seemed she was speaking a bit before the door closed and the carriage went on its way. Emma turned and headed back into the house, the door closing heavily behind her. "Come on, get this house cleaned and ready for closing up. We will be leaving within the next two days," she shouted with all the nerve racking shrill of her dear mother.

Abigail narrowed her eyes but let out a calming breath. "She is her mothers child that is fer sures," she spat before storming off to get started. She didn't like the idea of Millicent being off but perhaps Millicent could get some help at the hospital and if anything the sooner they got the house in London cleared up the better. She knew in her heart of hearts that Millicent would be far better off back at home than in this house in London. The country side was where Millicent loved to be and seemed the happiest. Perhaps that would bring her out of this comatose she was in.

Emma placed her hand on the rail and climbed the stairs. "I need hot water for a bath! Now!" Emma bellowed. Abigail was more than happy that she was not Emma's handmaid. She would have quit for sure if that was the case. Granted most of Emma's handmaids had been fired because they did not live up to what Emma thought of as standards, those that weren't fired ended up quitting. Her newest one was a shy timid girl by the name of Lily who couldn't have been more than fourteen. She had only started two days before and had already been driven to tears numerous times. Abigail ran into the girl in the kitchen and helped her fill water pails to be boiled. Being woken up in the middle of the night was never the way to spend the evening but at least she could lend a hand.

By the time Emma had settled in for the night it was beyond late. Abigail was rubbing her own eyes from dusting and covering furniture. Millicent still hadn't returned from the hospital and right then a body was being sent away from the house and to the families church to be prepared for burial. The carriage carrying Janes body had arrived a short time ago. Cook was kind enough to deal with it instead of waking Emma. No one wanted to deal with her right then. Now that the one tyrant that was left in the house was asleep Abigail rested her head down on her own bed and decided to try to get a couple of hours of sleep. At least Emma wouldn't wake until late in the morning, though Abigail hoped Millicent would return soon and Emma could go back to the hospital.

---

---

---

---

The carriage ride passed in relative silence, as Virginia was lost in her own thoughts and the driver certainly was not going to make any attempts at conversation, as he was incredibly tired due to the lateness of the hour. Her thoughts flickered back and forth between Millicent and Mosi, the one who had lost and the one who was lost. And while Virginia was normally one to draw strength from the melancholy, the night's events brought no smile to her face. Perhaps if it had been strangers or mere acquaintances, yet it had been her dear friends who suffered. They were not fit to walk in the shadows as Crypts could.

"Welcome home, my lady," Alfred greeted, opening the door to the troubled household just mere moments after Virginia's carriage arrived. "I surmise you have had a most eventful evening?" Alfred observed, eyeing the tattered state of Virginia's once fine gown as she exited the carriage and entered the townhouse.

"Yes, there was a tragedy at Almack's as was expected," Virginia explained as the door closed softly behind her. "How is the little Viscount, Alfred? I hope he caused you trouble." There was a morose smile on her lips as she stated mannerism common in her family. While other homes perhaps wished that their children behaved as angels would, that was not seen as desirable to the Crypts. And Virginia had no intention of raising James to be normal. It was his birthright to delight in the macabre.

"He entertained himself with your scientific instruments, my lady," Alfred responded, a hint of weariness in his eyes. James was quite a handful, just as his elder sister had been at that age. Yet Alfred loved them as if they were his own children, despite the chaos Crypts tended to unleash at a young age.

"I'm glad to hear of it," Virginia replied, slipping off her shoes. She always did enjoy to feel the coolness of the ground through her feet. It was quite centering. She headed for the staircase, motioning for Alfred to follow her. She would need to divulge to him the night's events and seek his counsel on what actions to take. In her eyes, he was as old and wise as she was young and foolish.

"Alfred," Virginia then began with a pause, once they had reached the second floor of the house. "Millicent Wyndham is engaged to a ghastly man as of this evening. One of her sisters has been killed." She then turned away, in order to hide any hint of shame from her face. "Mosi Crane's life was claimed as well." Virginia's fists were clenched yet her hands still trembled as those words fell from her lips. "I fear that Mosi's blood has stained my hands, Alfred."

Alfred's countenance fell. The tattered state of Virginia's dress and her sorrowful state fell into context. The news that Miss Wyndham had become engaged was no great surprise to Alfred. She may have been a year Virginia's junior, yet it was the age of weddings for the pair of them. It was the proper age for Mosi Crane, as well. And of course, Virginia's friend Mary Hale had already been wed to Christ. No, it was the deaths that troubled Alfred.

"Then we will mourn for them, my lady," Alfred finally replied. He assumed that Virginia's distaste for Millicent Wyndham's engagement was likely unfounded. He had much experience with the various moods of the Crypts, finding that at their core they were hardly any different than any other human being when it came to matters of the heart. "And if I knew anything of Miss Crane's character from your recollections, my lady, she would not wish for you to blame yourself."

"...I know that you are right, dear Alfred, but...but what am I to do for Millicent?" Virginia asked quietly, turning her head to face him once more. "She has lost so much this night--loss that perhaps could have been prevented."

"You cannot make choices for others, my lady. You can support Millicent in her endeavors and you can be a friend to her," Alfred responded, looking at his almost daughter with compassion. "I know you have no desire to save this world, yet you instead yearn to save your friends. But you must make peace with the fact, my lady, that their battles are theirs to be fought, whether they conquer or are conquered. All you can do is support them until they call upon you for more, my lady."

Virginia nodded, smiling through the pain. "Thank you for your counsel, dear Alfred," she replied, bowing her head slightly. His words echoed in her mind the rest of the night. They remained with her as she attended to James and ensured his safety for the night, and as she returned to her own chamber and dressed for bed. Only once her eyes closed and sleep claimed her did the words cease their repetition in her mind.

---

---

---

---

---

With a sense of heavy duty, Mary closed the doors nearest her and moved to take on a guard position around Elizaveta. Like last time, she remembered not to act in a manner that could be construed as fear or aggression when the purifying, angelic-reaper force of the Grand Duchess manifested and went about its duties. The skill was obviously taxing, looking at Elizaveta's state after the ceremony was completed, but that would be an incredible tool to add to her repertoire of Soulless Hunting abilities. Of course, Mary was more of an Agent of the Faith; such a long onset ability would have to be attempted in a safe place and under guard. If she were to learn this ability, she would require the support of a dedicated team or like-indoctrinated organization to utilize it properly. Drawbacks aside, it would be a potent weapon in her arsenal against the Soulless. The militant Apostolic wondered what else the officiants of Rusyn Training could teach, and how it could compliment the Vatican's existing roster of skills.

Following the application of the Ostanavlivat'sya, Mary went to work. The Grand Duchess's abilities would prevent the Soulled from corruption by the Soulless, but it did not do anything to those already claimed by the darkness. This labor was more suited to Mary's training; brutal yet necessary. Hraew and Ryne were the remaining Soulless du jour - the means of their True Death were grisly, but well known. The removal and alternate reinsertion of fangs, then the extraction and immolation of undead cerebral matter was called for, respective to the appropriate Soulless. Mary drew her short swords, items forged and blessed for the purpose of stilling those which prey upon humanity, and began her duties as a Dame of St. Sylvester. Veta had done enough for one night. It was time for Mary to get her hands a little dirtier.

Following the elective autopsies, Mary began to feel the fatigue of the evening. She could only imagine how Elizaveta felt, exhausted from the rigors of the day plus delving into her more strenuous abilities, twice. She held no desire within her heart to remain at Almack's for another hour, and from the looks of things, Veta could not remain awake for that long, either. When she sleepily asked Mary to join her for lunch at the Circus tomorrow, Mary nodded in agreement. Understandably, neither of them were in a frame of mind to continue a lengthy professional conversation, and the Apostolic had yet more to accomplish before the night was over.

Her plans involved passing considerable aggravation along to the Bishop.

The people of the Circus appeared to be gathering themselves for a hasty departure, echoing Mary's feelings on the subject. She was preparing to depart when she realized that she had actually gotten a ride in with Elizaveta. Her warhorse, Cassius, was still at St. Etheldreda's. And now that she was thinking about it, Mary still had a bag in the Imperial Carriage. Her new acquaintance and Elizaveta's protector, Vladimir, was helping her outside and into a different carriage, presumably the one that he had arrived in this evening. The tiger leapt into this carriage, and Vlad lay the semi-conscious form of the Grand Duchess in alongside. Not wishing to spend the greater part of the night walking back to her cathedral, Mary spoke up.

"Ah, Master Alexandrov?" She thought that was his name, upon earlier introduction, though she believed that he also mentioned that his name was Bazhooli. "Master Alexandrov, wherever would I locate Her Grace's, ah, other carriage? I arrived at this place with her, as her entourage, and must at least collect my belongings from it." It was a shameless and transparent attempt at being demure, a thing to which she had not received much practice. The somewhat older man gave her a broad grin and put a finger to his lips, gesturing at the sleeping Veta behind the closed door of her carriage. "Da! You come, you come. I know she has rooms at E-th-el-dred-a." He had to sound the word out, but promised increased proficiency with more use. "But she is coming back to Circus for tonight. Talking vith Sem'ya early, about vhat has happened tonight. I vill talk vith Baron tonight. You? You are friend to Elizaveta in small time, I see this. Are velcome to enjoy safety and hospitality of Sem'ya tonight. Much nicer than our Nun, gorazdo priyatneye."

Mary gave the eccentric man a polite smile, declining his offer. "Regretfully, Master Alexandrov, I cannot. I have my own people to whom I must report this evening and tomorrow, early. I ju - "

She was cut off by the over-exuberance of the man. "Dostatochno! Enough, Lady-Knight. I require no explanation from you, and I remain (as said earlier) faithful servant to you. Da? Da. I vill take longer road back to Circus, take back to Church. Is good?"

Mary nodded her head, performing a shallow curtsy. She smiled a little, "Is good. Thank you, Master Alexandrov."

"Constantin!" he bellowed, "Please take Grand Duchess back to Circus in her Tiger Carriage; I must fulfill obligation to Lady of Catholic Church. Vill catch up soon, ve have drinks. Khorosho? Okay then."



Some time later, Mary found herself in front of the doors of her home in London, the Ely Palace; a place built as both a fortress and cathedral, centuries ago. The Catholic stronghold from the Middle Ages, updated as time went by for purposes of defense and comfort, it served as one of two major Papal holdings in the entirety of England. And as a fitting place for the resident Dame of the London Diocese. It included the Church of St. Etheldreda, the House of Ely, internationally known Gardens, and (oddly) a Pub located on grounds.

Mary graciously thanked The Great Bazhooli for his offer, recovered her saddlebags and halberd from the carriage, and entered her home. She jogged immediately to the nearest study attached to the Church, lit several candles, and composed two letters for submission to her superiors - one for the Grand Cross of her Order, and one for the Papal Court. She did not intend for them to be delivered as one would carry a message generally, but by the Bishop. He was a retired Venator and served as her liaison with the Vatican, in no small part because of his ability to utilize the Vatican Training of Pudanti, or the ability to use a basin of holy water to send messages across great distances to others with like ability. Ever the seat of organization, the Church made liberal use of this piece of Training. The events of the evening most assuredly qualified as an emergency, permissible without fault at even this late hour.

The flowery opening paragraph and supplications to her superiors, complete with full, elaborate titles, could be inserted by the Bishop. She was more interested with the meat of the situation.





Letters in hand, Mary tread as quietly as her level of urgency allowed back out of the Chapel proper, past the rectory, and over to the private rooms of Elijah Mansfield, Bishop of the London Diocese and Officiant of the Ely House. A Lady of Propriety would have waited until morning to add duties to such an important (if recently indifferent) man, but this was not an occasion for propriety. Nonetheless, Mary began by quietly pulling the bellcord at the main door to his private quarters. When that didn't work, she pulled it with remarkably more vigor. And when that didn't work, she began to bang on the door with fists trained to push against stone and withstand the impact of mortal combat.

When a surly and half-asleep Bishop Mansfield jerked open the door with bleary irritation, the good Sister knew that her efforts were not in vain. "I am so incredibly sorry for disturbing you at such a late hour, Your Excellency, but this is a matter of the utmost urgency. There has been an open attack of Soulless at Almack's. Please, please read these letters. They explain everything. And they must be communicated by means of Pudanti immediately. Just read. I must see to my Ward and rest however I am able, Your Excellency. I fear what tomorrow may bring."

Grumbling, Bishop Mansfield took the letters from Mary, scowling at her all the while. The door closed, leaving Mary in the corridor by herself in the relative dark. She sighed, waiting for a few seconds before turning and walking back toward the Rectory. About halfway there, the sound of a now raptly alert Bishop bellowed a single, morbid inquiry into the night:

"He appointed you as WHAT?!"

The barest smile crossed Sister Mary's lips as she continued back into her section of the Church. She had a child to check on an sleep to procure. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day.

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

Meanwhile, The Great Bazhooli busied himself trying to catch up to the carriage in front of him; the one carrying his Little Veta and her massive Siberian Tiger. His version of "Catching Up" mainly involved yelling at the driver in optimistic sounding Russian, a language that extremely few people in this country tended to speak. For all the public knew (most of whom were probably trying to sleep at the moment), Vladimir could have been either initiating a call to arms or giving a loud, rambling critique on the absinthe he was in the middle of vomiting upon the streets of London. Not that he was actually regurgitating strange, green, alcoholic liquid upon the ground, just that one would be hard pressed to tell the difference by merely keeping an ear out.

He clutched a package to him, careful to prevent it from getting jostled too much. It was a parting gift from the young woman who he had referred to twice that evening as "scary Catholic girl". He probably owed her another apology. Risking a peek inside, he wished to see exactly what an English-style Strawberry Rhubarb Pie looked like. From the outside it appeared rather dull, like most of the traditional food of his homeland. But the smell wafting from the package - it was inspiring.

Eventually, Vladimir caught sight of Veta's carriage ahead of them in the street. They were nearing the turnoff to the Circus Grounds, or the best, most accessible land they were able to lease for the duration of the Season, just outside of London Proper. The majority of the lights were out for the evening as they were no longer selling tickets nor performing shows until the next day, but the right fires were lit out-of-doors, giving adequate illumination for horses and men alike to navigate their way into the grounds. For those who were part of the Russian Grand Circus, the lights showed them the way back to where they worked and played, practiced and laughed and lived their lives, close to one another; the Tent City.

Vladimir wasted no time seeing to Veta's needs. He picked her sleeping form up and carried her to her own, quite opulent tent, one for which no expense was spared. He laid her in bed and covered her lightly, intoning a quick goodnight of, "Хорошо спать, маленький", and exited into the firelit campgrounds. As he began to cross the winding down of the Tent City, he paused only long enough to issue a quick, "Go! Go sleep now, Myshka!" at the massive, white Cat.

He found himself coming upon the open flaps of a great, imposing looking tent. Probably the only one in the Circus with the audacity and/or raw nerve to approach this particular tent without order or invitation, Vladimir stepped inside and cleared his throat loudly to announce his presence, and began speaking to yet another imposing feature of the tent. "Apologies, Baron Ale... Father. Regrettable, I am avare, to visit at late hour. Much has happened vhile out for evening, important, dangerous. Ve must speak immediately."

He did not leave the tent until much later. When he did, he felt lucky to have a bottle of wine and Sister Mary's amazing Strawberry Rhubarb pie.

---

---

“You're velcome.” He quickly replied with a smile and then quickly took to complying with her request to close the doors of the place. This was going to be a long night, Constantin realized and sight quietly in his mind. He was concerned about Veta's well being and this was going to exhaust her that was for sure. No choice though, they simply had to support her in the way then can when she needs it.

Time certainly had passed as he had suspected, but in the end they were finally headed back towards the circus. The Duchess had gotten into the carriage with Myshka so Constantin took great care in driving it back home. He was careful and alert the entire way. The Great Bazhooli had entrusted him with this task and he was not going to do it with half hearted efforts. What's more Veta was a close friend.

Bazhooli caught up to them just in time too so by the moment they arrived, he was ready to carry Veta to her tent. Constatin himself was happy with the result so he just brought the carriage where it usually was kept and after that simply walked to the tent his family used. He greeted his parents and simply threw himself on the bed.”Дяволите да ги вземат...“ He cursed in his mind, having the bad feeling someone was well responsible for this and it wasn't just the soulless only. While there was no evidence in his suspicions for human collaborators, there wasn't any proof against it either. That said he did get to see something interesting at least. A Ryne staked and burned...

Aye, that's right. Miss Millie would need that." Gerard nodded, he believes it would be good to keep Millie away from all this for a while. It would be best to give her a time to heal herself and it wouldnt do any good if she's cooped up here in the manor, only to be reminded of the terrible things that happened. What better place could be for one to find the solace than in the home grew up in. He would know, every once in a while Gerard wished to come home to his mother. He had missed the smell of the country, the rhythmic breeze made by the trees, his mother's cooking. He would have to one day, if he had the courage to face them after his brothers' death.

By the time the carriage who was carrying Millicent went off, and by Emma's grating demand Gerard helped the rest of the servants to end the night. Emma was very much like her mother, still he could see that Millie cares for her as she would with Jane. He would understand that she herself could be dealing with a lot of stress right now. By what little he had heard from Almacks, anyone could at least be left in a tensed state. After all she had lost a sister, her mother almost. He has no love for Madam Elizabeth but his prayers are with her. And to the rest of the family.

As he was almost off to his quarters, a carriage arrived to finally have Jane's body be sent away from the house. Gerard just watched from afar the stables. This day had been terrible indeed. A lot of things had happened in just a span of a day, nobody had expected something like this to happen. It would be a difficult night for Gerard to get some proper sleep no matter how exhausted he is. His mind will keep him awake on thoughts of Millie, only finding the comfort of seeing her again in the morning.

Night, it can seem never ending when caught between what was and what will be. Just a few scant movements on the calendar the days and nights went by as they always had. You rose, you lived, you slept. Yet now, things have changed. Over the last day everything changed. You knew they were still out there. Hiding, hunting, feeding. They were not on the forefront of your mind though, relics of a former era that were surely being snuffed out of existence with each passing minute.

You could sleep in peace, that was until the dreams came. No the nightmares. They came, and then they claimed one.. Filling the heart and mind with dread and rendering it stone cold and frozen. Away from the light of the day. Perhaps it is a good thing that the mind can break, at least temporarily. For if she continued, feeling each pain, would she not seek solace from the pain? An escape that could damn her soul beyond far worse than her mothers was? Tis only the beginning.



Rising sun, and dreams of yesterday are nearly forgotten. What paths shall come today as the horizon bursts alive with the color of fire? Breath being held causes a chill to run through the bones as the cells die but not today. Crimson boils to new levels for whatever pains were felt yesterday they are nothing compared to trials and piercing that await you on this day.

However frightening your dreams were the night before, you crave them come this morning. They were at least something. Last night, there was nothing. As you fell to sleep an emptiness filled you and a darkness surrounded you. Could you fight it? No, you lay there as death, unmoving through the hours even though minutes and hours ticked by until the sun rose. Were you even alive or had you finally tasted what death was truly like? Was there nothing out there come the stilling of your heart and vanquishing of your breath? It matters not...



Dawn rose and the sun is shining now. There are choices to make but does it truly matter the path you take today? Will they all just lead to more death? Chose carefully for each step you take today will mean the difference between life and death for at least one of you. Death is coming, death has come. It has claimed another of the souls whose breath was steady the day before. Another body to be laid to rest as the death count continues to climb and the bell continues to toll.

Breathe, you must breathe! slowly and steady, sharp and short. It matters not, just keep breathing, just keep moving. The bells clang from the tower of London and echo out through the city; just as they do through other cities and towns dotting the island. Church bells ringing... Hearts dying... Minds breaking... Blood pouring... Something wicked this way is coming. You are not ready...



Of course you are not ready. Hold up in your homes, safe in your bed. Have you forgotten the shadows which ran through the city the night before last? I warned you but you did not heed my warnings. Have you forgotten me? Do you not remember the screams? Whatever pain befalls you today, you brought it on yourself! Open your eyes, listen with your ears! There is still time but the sands in the hour glass are slipping through and they will not stop. When the last one falls, it will be too late.

It can't be too late. I can still hear you breathing. I know you still are among the living. Help me! They are coming. Do not let them take me again! Can you hear me or is it only my mind screaming now? I feel the sting of the needle, it is piercing my flesh. A draw of string through my skin, I shudder and weep. Will I ever be heard again? Help me!!!



The darkness released you finally, but before it let you rise completely this morning you heard the scream. Blood curdling and anguished. The voice of a child muffled and hard to grasp but the torturous bellowing from behind sealed lips was unmistakable. You cannot make out what the child said but you know the cries of a child, they are all too common in this day an age. Was it a boy or a girl? Does it matter? I think not.

The cries fill your mind, in the space between the day and the night. That half slumber where you seek and fight, controlling and losing control. Finally the scream breaks and the day has begun for you and the hours move quickly... Before you realize it, the clock tolls ten in the morning... God, if you are out there, help us...



Teriny Inn: The Parson rose early that morning, seemingly unaffected by the haunting darkness and screams in the night. Did he not hear them? The inn is quiet even though the day has long begun. How long have you been awake? You cannot tell but it could not have been long could it? It matters not - between the time you wake and the time you step out of the door into the tavern it could have been an hour or three - yet something kept you behind that door until the stroke of ten... Nigel and his wife are making the rounds, cleaning out the rooms of those that checked out this morning and serving breakfast to those that remain and will be leaving. A note is there for Miss Brennan, one that Nigel will hand over when he first sees her this morning. - "Miss Brennan, I have gone to fetch provisions and secure the carriage. I shall be back promtly at eleven." - Signed - Parson Cumming.



The Glimmeric: For such an establishment the place is quiet as a church mouse this morning. The last patrons did not leave until nearly dawn. Many coming in and hiding from the gossip and horrors that occurred at Almack's that evening. Oh the words spread like wild fire. Talk of murder and death and Soulless. Many a men came in after leaving their families at home, sneaking out under the cloak of darkness to seek solace in a warm bed and a deep drink. What little sleep you had was torn away with the scream. For some reason you refuse to step out of the building, and the girls will not leave or answer their doors until the stroke of ten. Once the stroke occurs though, everything seems as it should be. At least for them. For you though, there is a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. It is only reinforced when you hear a living scream coming from two doors down from your establishment.

Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park): Three rings, they were set for another performance come the evening but that morning the tent city lay quiet. Quieter than normal. The smells and sounds that usually filled the senses even when there were none to pay and watch were still evident, yet not this morning. A heavy fog rolled in over the tent city and sprawled out over the north of London. Odd that it did not seem to touch London proper but one could not tell this morning. Slumber to later hours was common in the circus for the performances and nights ran very late. It was none too surprising that all remained in their tents until the distance chimes of the bells from London rang out at ten that morning. Everything was normal, save one thing... Sister Sophia was rushing from tent to tent, frantic... She could not find the Grand Duchess.

The London Docks: The docks, it didn't matter the hour of the day they are always busy but over the course of night to day break, they have laid quiet. People still moving this way and that as they unload and reload the ships anchored there but there was a general feeling of silence that was deafening. Bodies that were normally being cleared out by the local constables in the morning because of business deals gone wrong in the shadowy areas... well there were none this morning. This could be thought of as a good thing but then again, when something that drastic changes over night it leaves a foreboding feeling in the pit of ones stomach. Yet at the stroke of ten, life seemed to breath its way back into the docks, or perhaps it was death. Suddenly what ever bodies had not been found or thought to be there were discovered in droves. Over a dozen but not spread out as per usual. Twelve bodies, systematically laid out, in the oddest of patterns. They seemed to dot a location but the way they were positioned made them point from one body to the next, like some demented connect the dots. All of them except for 4, which were piled on top of each other.

Wyndham Manor: Dawn came and Emma slept still. The house was quiet and even cook did not venture out of her room until the clock stuck ten. Yet as soon as it did the house was alive. Abigail rushing to try to catch up with chores that should have been done hours ago and Cook rushing to fix a breakfast before Emma decided to call for her meal. The only good thing about Miss Emma was that she tended to sleep late, very late. Especially if her mother was not present to wake her. Abigail looked worried as she exited Millicent's room. It looked unslept in, yet that was not entirely uncommon. Millicent had a tendency to make her own bed some mornings and sneak out to the stables for a bit of alone time before the day started. Maybe she was out there or in the garden? After everything that had happened the night before, Abigail could not blame her if she had sought refuge outside of the home. Yet as Abigail walked the garden, she found no signs of Miss Milli.

St. Etheldreda's: A cloister of nuns not rising at the break of dawn or even before it to begin the day? Was this the first seal to break in the upcoming apocalypse? No. They rose, and they did exit their rooms but they said not a word, and words spoken to them seemed to fall on deaf ears. they mulled about doing their normal duties and their prayers but as if under a spell or a fog. Yet there was no proper fog in the city itself, just the one sitting heavily to the north. Then just as odd as it was to start the day, as the bell tolled, the area came alive and those within the wall went about their daily ways as if nothing had happened. The young boy from the night before had left his bed it seemed like hours ago and was standing in the strawberry garden, unmoving, and staring blankly as Elizaveta had the night before.

Crypt Manor: Within the home for the morose, things hardly seem off at all. James rose at his normal time, as did Alfred. They both went about their daily toils. Save for anything involving Virginia. It was as if they were living and she was gone, elsewhere. That was until the bell tolled ten. At that time there was wonder to why Virginia had not exited her room as of yet. Outside of the manor, the Crypt's caretaker for the yard seemed rather ill... Such beautiful ivy that once climbed the walls of the manor were dried and dead as if it were the middle of winter. In the center garden, everything else had wilted away as well. All but a single Globe Thistle. This was not a flower that was planted in the garden normally and it perplexed the gardener as he scratched the back of his neck. Where had it come from and why was it blooming there when everything else was dying around it. This had to be a bad omen.

Hyde Park Inn: Like with everywhere else that seemed touched by darkness as of late - the Inn is quiet, just as it is in Scotland until the stroke of ten. Not wanting to leave your room until that time. And when ten strikes, a feeling to get out of the room is flooding. As with Scotland a message is waiting, this time for Sir Fyror Kildragon from Dr. Graham. Sir Kildragon, I shall not be able to meet at my office this day. I am currently tied up at Westminster Hospital. If you would like to still meet, please send word and I will find time in my schedule if you can come to me. Sincerely, Dr. Graham. - The message would be delivered by the inn keeper as soon as Fyror stepped into the main area of the inn.

---

Hardly any movement had come from Miss Wyndham since she entered the carriage and what movement had come from her was nothing more than gentle sway of her body as the wheels of the carriage turned. Horses pulled the carriage as she sat there, staring out blankly to a singular place across from her. There was nothing outside of the windows to draw her attention for the curtains were closed. Had they been drawn back, there was little chance that her eyes would have sought out the passing scenery. Shock still had a strong grasp on the gentry woman and the occasional reflexive blink of her dark eyes seemed to be the only sign that she was still among the living.

It had been a long night and the minutes ticked by slowly. What sleep she had gotten was blank, except for the scream as she woke. In her despair though one could not tell if it even effected her. Had it? Perhaps on some level but it showed not. Though there was none near her that would have cared if it had. Caring family was all but gone in her mind and soul considering she had lost Jane the night before; her father long gone. Her mother... Catherine, should have remained gone.

The sound of cobblestone echoed beneath the carriage as it moved down the roads. A simple neigh of a horse as its reigns were pulled back by the driver could be heard through the thick curtains. Slowly the carriage came to a halt but Millicent still did not move. Her back rail straight with her hands resting in her lap as the door swung open. A masculine hand reaching in and for a moment it looked as if it was waiting for her to reach out for aid to exit but there was no patience in this palm. Turning over it quickly snatched her hands and pulled her roughly from the carriage.

Stumbling forward, Millicent nearly fell out of the carriage but was held up right as a cruel mouth twisted into a devious smile in the sunlight as the bells tolled ten. Lord Rutherford eyed his prize sadistically but Millicent just stood there as she was straightened.

"That is a good girl," he said in a cool voice. "Just a stop before we continue," he continued as he held her close with one arm and the other gestured about them. Millicent did not know where they were but whatever confusion might be going through her mind showed not; nor did any protest leave her lips. Was it a lesson harshly learned not to cross her fiance or was it just the shock? Once could not tell and it was obvious that the Lord Rutherford did not care. She was passive now, quiet, and did whatever he directed her to.



What a horrible way to awaken for the Grand Duchess. Such darkness only to be broken by the screams of a child. What could it have all meant? She did not know but something ate at the back of her mind it had to have something to do with everything else that had been occurring recently. A shallow breath left her lips as she sat up from her bed within her private tent. Myska looked over to her, nuzzling her softly out of what could be taken as concern from the large man eating mammal.

"странный," she whispered softly to herself as her feet touched the thickly carpeted ground. Dense and plush throw rugs covered the bottom of her tent and kept her delicate feet from touching the dirt and gravel below them. The hour was still early and while there was a dread feeling not to leave the city of tents, nothing held her within her own private tent. Perhaps it was because it was not a permanent structure? Perhaps there was another reason for when she pushed back the cloth of her tent door others did not seem to be venturing out into the fog that surrounded them.

Following close behind her Myska kept pace with Elizaveta as she moved like a dream through the fog. Her thoughts on the scream, on the death she had seen, on the souls from the night before. It all swam through her mind as the light folds of her skirt seemed to be caught up on the fog and moved as if in a wind about her legs and behind her.

As opposed to the night before where she was adorned in the finest gown and trimmed in silver and gold, today she wore more of what one might think a gypsy would. Silk and sheer fabric made her skirt, a simple roll of cloth bound her chest. Bare feet moved and the soft jingle of an anklet could be heard with each step she took.

Further she moved into the fog and while the tents started to become a distant memory and far from sight she was still within what was known as the bounds of the tent city. Or was she? She could not tell, it was like a dream and the hour had not yet struck ten. By the time it did she was sitting, perched on a rock with her feet dipped into dark waters. A tiger sitting by her side as the bell tolled ten.

"Где я?"

---

---

Constantin nearly jumped from his bed into sitting position. “ Проклети дяволи...“ He mumbled cursing something... an idea per chance. Yes The devils... what was a devil? Who really knew in the end, but his mother always blamed them for everything so it seemed appropriate he picked it up. Well he viewed the concept as something evil and by whatever almighty power may be lurking out there, soulless were an evil existence. Maybe not by choice of their own always... He ran a hand across his face, recalling the nightmares and starting to curse once more... then a small smile ran across his face as he remembered the amusing aftermath of a burning Ryne. A hand right away reached to put the sabre in his belt. The small bucket of water was nearby as usual his mother always kept one to wash your face in the morning. Something about her upbringing made it so she was very good housekeeper.

Given the night he just woke up from... he needed more than just washing his face, but couldn't exactly get that right away. Maybe tonight yeah...

A commotion was at foot for him when he learned that Veta wasn't to be found!' Damn girl!!! Why are you always causing troubles!!!' He shouted in his mind, grabbing his coat right away to join the search, but froze in place.” Vhy be there mist nov of all times!” He growled in irritation. This would make finding her even more difficult. Then he remembered something they needed to cause very loud noise to attract her attention. Maybe a gun? Bazhooli!” ДА!“ He exclaimed to himself, heading in run towards The Great Bazhooli's tent. Be her still somewhere in the tent city or having wandered outside, he hoped she'd show up to see why there was a gunshot... if he could convince Bazhooli about it that is.

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

"GAAAAAH!"

The bellow could be heard across the here and yon of the Tent City, a wordless exclamation shouted in pronounced Russian accent. It was the noise birthed of a violent and unexpected waking, this from the Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya as he exploded from his gentle slumber with the force of a barely restrained gale. Bedclothes flew into the air, propelled away from a central point by a force greater than mere telekinesis. Nay, twas concentrated, refined awesomeness that collapsed upon itself and was sent exploding back into creation like the birth of a new star.

The tangle of muscled, contoured limbs extended, slinging the Noble Artist of Hurled Impalement out of his fine bed and into the waking world. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but something was horribly wrong upon this day. The nature of his dreams were fading in detail, replaced with a very real and waking concern. He barely remembered the sound of a child screaming, but it was present in his thoughts - not quite pushed out by the audible goings on of the Circus, just coming to life.

The Great Bazhooli felt that something was intrinsically darker on this morning. Couldn't quite out a finger on it, but it seemed dire, if his dreams were any indication something was off. Coming from a people that were trained to receive and interpret visions, possessing histories of omen reading and various voyances of differing executions, he did not take this lightly. Heart still pounding from his unconscious visions, he grabbed his very tall hat and a selection of knives, then threw open the flaps of his tent to bound out into the day.

There was fog here, thick and white like atomized ivory, putting a slightly more ominous note to the London morning. He could make out the silhouette of Sister Sophia as she darted to and fro, apparently visiting as many tents as she could, frantically searching for something or someone. His nerves were already tuned to a fight (or a flight, whatever the day called for) as he set his hat upon his head and stepped out into the translucent morning air. A step or two brought him onto the grass of Regent Park, he noticed underneath his bare feet, where could better hear the words of Sophia. Slowly at first, the concept implied by the Sister's words of "Elizaveta" and "Missing" gelled, and his own piece of frantic took hold of him.

Vladimir could barely see Constantin approaching his tent, but when he could make out the young Firewalker's features, he shouted to him, loudly enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, "Constantin! Veta missing! Get everyone - look, look!" He broadened his address to include everyone within earshot, "Everybody, off of asses, now!" Noting a distinct lack dress of his part, Vladimir paused only enough to throw on pants, boots, and one of his red vests before sprinting back outside. Figuring that the tents were probably a bit of a long shot, he instead opted to look for Myshka - barring his lack of presence inside of the camp, he worked with the intent of searching along the exterior of the campground, hoping to pick up a trail utilizing his more mundane skills as a hunter. Every so often, he paused to call Veta's name in his search.

---

---

---

---

---

Per usual, Mary awoke early in the day. It was not quite as early as she would have liked, but to her credit it was a very eventful evening. Lucky for her, the earliest confirmed demand on her time was a lunch with Elizaveta at the Circus, not that she really knew what that would entail given the circumstances. If a Grand Duchess invites you for a light meal, however, you go to it. Plus, she was becoming a good friend, even if she had only known her for a day. There was a certain feeling of kinship there, despite Mary's own vastly lower status in comparison to her.

Oddly, even having risen early, Mary felt compelled to take her morning exercise in her rooms. She couldn't quite explain why; it just felt that leaving her quarters was the absolute wrong thing to do just then. She had no direct duties to the Church, persay, so she would not be missed, so she spent an extra amount of time pushing herself physically, then freshening up afterwards with a basin of cool water. Then the clocks rang ten, and oddly, the compulsion to stay in her room was replaced with her usual desire to hit her day with vigor and industry. Dressed, armed, and ever prepared, Mary began her day.

Foremost on her mind was getting back in touch with Bishop Mansfield. She had sent very important messages out the previous evening, and should have gotten a response, considering the important nature of her communication. However, she had a child to check on first. Moving opposite the direction necessary to reach the Bishop, Mary strode quickly to the area of the Infirmary. Along the way, she chanced a look outside of an interior window, to see an odd sight: Her charge, the little boy - standing in the gardens, unmoving and unspeaking, looking blankly ahead. She changed direction immediately.

Two minutes, less maybe, had Mary in the gardens with the child. She approached carefully, keeping her eyes on the boy, intent on figuring out what was wrong. "Child? Child, you are a guest of St. Etheldreda's Church. You were brought here following a Ryne attack; you are out of danger from the Ryne, I assure you. This is a safe place." She eyed the boy with caution. "My name is Mary. What is you name, child?"

Gerard awoke with a sharp gasp, as if he had just surfaced the sea and had saved himself from drowning. What a way to be awakened. He only remembered a frightening blackness trapping him, feeling no physical perception of any form, anything to keep in touch of reality or the living, other than an odd feeling of comfort and serenity. The scream had cut him off that stupor, and once again he was back in the real world, the weight started stacking on his shoulders. The last time he felt like this he drowned himself senseless with a bottle of rum.

He lifted himself slowly, half upright in his bed as he tried to catch his breathing, the fabrics of his clothing soaked in sweat. Wendy was at his side, as always there to help him recollect after a night of awful dreams. Only this time, there was no dream. As he gathered himself, he shortly realized the sun has fully risen. It's not common for him to wake up this late, usually beginning his day at dawn. Yet the events the night before had kept him from any proper rest, the tossing and turning, the worry. He stepped out of the stables, looked out to where Artemus is and was half expecting to see Millicent, a book in hand and greeting him with a somber smile. But she wasn't there.

He was feeling lethargic yet the day had to go on in the manor as per usual. As he prepared himself to work, Gerard caught the sight of Abigail walking around the gardens. Walking towards her he tried his best to give her a sincere smile. " Abigail, good morning. " Although there was nothing particularly good about this morning, with what had happened the night before. Gerard thought he could walk with Abby for a few minutes, it would do him good before completely starting the day with a clear head.

---

Most days it was a privilege for Frances to even have complete night of sleep. From dusk to early dawn the watchful madame would monitor over her establishment like a hawk, she was never one to lock herself up in her boudoir and let everything flow as is. No, she was careful and meticulous with all the happenings inside her brothel. Her gaze would never miss a table, a nook or corner. But that evening she was more so invested in the gossips of Almacks. That fateful tragedy was the talk of the whole evening. If the soulless are truly running rampant in the streets from what she had heard, it wouldn't be a surprise if it were to happen again. Even within the confines of Jericho's wall no one is truly safe.

That evening, Frances had barely any sleep. A few hours into deep darkness and she was suddenly awakened by a ringing scream. Her heart didn't ease so suddenly after bolting herself upright, in heavy focused breaths. She felt her soul left her body for a moment there. And of course her first impulse was to head towards her desk and grab a goblet and a bottle of Reserva she had been drinking during the nights when sleep never visits. She sat on her chair, slumped and tired despite the few hours of rest.

At this hour she would have been out and about, doing the necessary duties like a responsible madame yet the comfort of her red leather chair had kept her glued there for the next few minutes. For some strange reason there was a gnawing feeling inside her, which she herself could not exactly explain why. It was very odd and random. Normally she would just dismiss such baseless, pointless conclusions yet the feeling still made her uneasy. While in the midst of her deep trancing, she was cut off by a sudden barging on her door. It took her a few moments to realize it was Ruby, who was just about to check on her, eyes suddenly darting on the slumped woman, and on the goblet her fingers now absently fiddling with.

"Aint a bit too early for that Frankie?" Ruby shot her a curious look. Frances hated the silly nickname, but this was Ruby. If it were any other person they'd find themselves bound at knifepoint. Her frisky mood turned into an inch of worry, upon seeing the madame in her haggard state. "Ya alright?"

"Yes." she replied calmly, yet Ruby shot her a look at her obvious lie. Frances knew there was no point in keeping things from her, as the woman has a natural talent for detecting her every fib. "I awoke earlier than usual." Frances finally sighed in defeat."From a strange...dream? Although it wasn't. I could not honestly tell. Though it's really nothing to worry about." she finally stood up from her seat, cueing to prepare herself for the day. Ruby was now leaning herself on the wall, arms crossing to her chest. "Hmm, sounds like it is. S'that why you weren't up and about when I was and instead suckling early at this hour?" her tone remained concerned, "That only means it's something you'd like talk about yeah?"

Ruby insisted, but Frances thought it was merely nothing although it was unexplainably bothering her. She paused for a moment to consider this, after all Ruby is the only person whom she tells everything to, and the woman never fails to give the soundest advice in any given situation. Whilst she finished putting on the last piece of her dress behind her dressing screen, she told her of the strange experience. It was, however, abruptly cut short when a startling scream alerted them both. It sounded not very far from the brothel.

"What in the hells was that? " Ruby turned her head to the door. Worried it could have came from one of her girls, Frances immediately left the room, her companion followed, and paced towards the brothel's double doors. Whatever it was, it did not sound good.

---

---

---

---

Virginia could not remember consuming any draughts the previous evening. Yet had she done so, Virginia fancied she would have deemed it the Draught of Living Death. Juxtaposing with her night terrors from before, her worries and fears for dear James' safety, there was only nothingness. A darkness complete and absolute enveloped her, causing any trace of existence and life to slip through her fingers. It was how she would imagine drowning to be, yet she could still draw breath. There was no weight crushing her lungs, just an endless night that seemed to smother her.

By the time the child's screams began, Virginia wondered if she had died and this was what awaited her. She did not fear death, though she was certainly curious about it. She only had two hypotheses that seemed to be valid: there was either nothingness or there was something. Regardless of which turned out to be the case, it would be an adventure she would gladly undergo--yet not soon, if she could help it. She had a duty to her brother, a duty to her family.

Yet it was not death, Virginia realized, as she rose from her bed. She had little notion of the time as she crept over to the window, glancing outwards. When she was small, she always fancied she could see Scotland Yard from that very window and her parents had humored that thought. They couldn't have been more proud to have a dreamy child interested in homicides and mental irregularities. But of course, they held just as much pride in James as well, the little budding arsonist. Virginia believed strongly that her parents would have loved to see the strides James had made in their absence.

"Beautiful..." Virginia murmured, looking at the dead ivy on the walls of the manor. Even the garden appeared to have suffered some shape or form of devastation, with only one flower remaining. The globe thistle, from this distance at least, brought a bit of a smile to Virginia's face. She adored its color, a pale purple. She would need to send her compliments to the gardener for such fine work. It was a devastatingly enchanting display, just what she needed to lift her spirits after the events of the previous day.

She had no knowledge of how long she remained in her room that morning, and despite dressing for the day, she remained inside. Perhaps, she wondered, it was a manifestation of her grief for Mosi. Only once the bell tolled ten did she feel no longer obligated to remain inside of her room. The insistence on that time did strike Virginia as peculiar--she could not think of any particular association she held between Mosi and the number ten. But no matter. She could think on it later.

"Ah, my lady! I was wondering when you may emerge this morning. Are you quite alright?" Alfred asked, carrying a tray with various breakfast items and tea towards Virginia's room. He had assumed that perhaps due to the events she had shared with him yesterday evening, she would not be joining them for breakfast. It would have been irregular for a Crypt, yet he made no judgments.

"I was surrounded by darkness and made its captive, until the screams of a child liberated me," Virginia said matter of factly.

Had Alfred not been working for the Crypt family for years, her answer would have perhaps left him stunned. "Perfectly reasonable, my lady. The young viscount would be delighted to take breakfast with you, if you are so obliged." It wasn't the weirdest thing that had been said to him by a Crypt before, after all. He had heard far stranger explanations.

---

---

---

---

The sugar inspired dream of being crushed by the parson might have been strange, but it was far better than what occurred after it. Once Maeve had fallen back to sleep, a darkness like death had claimed her, keeping her its hostage. There was nothing she could do to combat the emptiness, not until childlike screams ran through her mind. At first, she thought they were Roisin's screams, but the girl was safely in Ireland in Brennan territory. It could not be her, though Maeve was still tense and fretful.

Perhaps it was that fear that kept her in her room until the stroke of ten. She had changed and seen to her things, and with that done, sat on the bed quite uselessly, waiting for something she could not understand. Something kept her from leaving the room, ensuring that she stayed behind that door. Could it have been the devil, warning Maeve of the errors of her ways? She had committed a great deal of sins in her lifetime, that was true, yet she was still a Catholic. She still believed.

Eventually, the force keeping her inside the room seemed to vanish, allowing Maeve to notice the quietness of the inn. She had no notion of how long she had been awake. Leaving her room, she spotted Nigel and his wife moving about, handling the other guests of the inn. Thanking Nigel for the note, she read it quickly, a bit irritated with the parson. What was the point of using a false name if he would use her real one anyways?

Though she doubted she would see the parson at eleven. Securing the carriage might not have been too difficult for ordinary individuals, but Maeve was quite certain that the parson would find some way to get into an accident before he returned.