Eclair touches her gauntleted hand to the mural, which is now large enough to cover several of the little prints dotting the edges of the happy painting. She slides her fingers along the wall with a strange look on her face. Rubs her fingers together and peers at the tips to monitor how much dust has accrued. Not so much that it upsets her, but she pulls a cloth out of nowhere anyway and proceeds to wipe down the entire room. 

Of Mrs. Shark she finds no sign. Neither does she find Ser Kensington, or even Uni the Rainbow Unicorn, who had been a popular mainstay among far more children than just her. There are toys aplenty in the adjoining closet just begging to be organized and put away properly (for once), but none of them belong to her childhood. Many possible explanations for that. They may have been retired after being on the receiving end of too much love; Mrs. Shark in particular had needed three different stitching sessions in Eclair's last year here alone. They may have gone away as graduation presents to children who were less ashamed of their childishness than she had been, and who had earned the privilege by dint of not running away in the middle of the night. They could all be in another room. It's not as though Eclair has infinite time to search for fleeting hits of nostalgia. Or perhaps they, like her, had simply gone off on an adventure and had not seen their way back to visit yet. 

Eclair takes a seat at the long table. It is not the seat she preferred as a little girl (she cannot remember which that was). It is the seat the caretaker always took, at the head of the table. The better to oversee dinner and keep a tangle of assorted hungry and sometimes miserable children under control. She glances around the room. Bright and happy colors, bright and happy decorations, bright and happy toys. All cleaned, thanks to her, and... [i]reasonably[/i] well maintained if one accounts for the state of things in Vespergift. She turns her attention down again, to the table, to the tablet she's left there, to the message she has done everything in her power to avoid thinking about because she cannot admit to herself she doesn't know how to respond to it.

She plants her elbows on the table and locks her fingers in place in front of her. Her chin rests upon her knuckles, and she furrows her brow in thought. She wiggles her ears too, also in thought.

"Is this sentimentality brought on me by drink? Or by contact with an old friend? Or... is it, more simply, that my perspective was wrong? It is a certainty I was unhappy here. That I was hungry. Neglected. Physically struck. And yet I look around here and I see... love? That idea is repulsive to me but I cannot come to another conclusion."

[i]A picture of Timtam. Allegedly. It has been certain for some time she has had accomplices, but this latest missive begs the question of if she is even physically active on the board to begin with. Disturbing notion. Well, if it is deception all the way down that too is information. I will not walk back my assertions to the handmaiden of Heron so soon. What is confidently correct here in any case is that the speed of this correspondence and the specificity of knowledge is such that there are only two possible hypothesis. Either: I am currently speaking to the mastermind behind a world scaling threat that has manipulated even the Rot Star itself. Or. She has an information network inside the Chrysanthemum that dwarfs anything I could possibly have anticipated. Terrifying. And yet, not infallible? If her information is so perfect, why did she not taunt me over my inebriation?[/i]

"I see love. To those children and adults who leave this place and do not return... I agree with your decision. And to those who return, if I have done my job well enough to see that you can... I agree with you as well. One small city is not enough to hold the dreams of an entire people. One orphanage is not enough to raise all the children who lack for parents. I no longer... believe it is just. To hate a place or its people for failing to do the impossible. The hurt is still real. But so was the effort."

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>It is with my sincerest apologies that I ask you not to think ill of me for going against your expectations. You may take it as a sign that I have no higher pleasure at the moment than our little game. Though I assure you, in the end I will emerge victorious. Inadvertently or otherwise, you have stepped into a world that I have trained to be the master of since before our fateful meeting was even a glimmer of possibility. Against a mind I rate as three times sharper than yours.
>However, I must ask. Is this intended to be a form of flirtation? Admittedly I have not been able to get the question off of my mind since the possibility was brought up to me. My apologies once again if I have misinterpreted your intent. But if your aims for me include amorous ambitions I would ask that you kindly show more patience. To both win your heart and unravel your schemes in the same grasp will require rather more effort on my part.
>In either event, I believe it is time for us to speak face to face. I, Eclair Espoir, evidently the assassin who attempted to kill the Goddess Civelia, am inviting you to afternoon tea. You have my assurances on my honor and on every form of oath known to me that no attempt to apprehend you will be made until such time as I have fully pierced every veil you have wrapped yourself in. I am aware of the innuendo but I hasten to add I do not mean my words in that capacity. Today. Feel free to select the location of your liking.
>Cordially awaiting your reply,
>Eclair Espoir, Investigative Knight of the Aurora

"Well. That is enough of a break for one day."