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Why where they there? The Soulless, why had they chosen this venue on this evening for this attack? Why were they acting together? It went against so much that we thought we knew. Each Soulless kind kept to themselves, they wanted to fly under the radar. Even those that were the same kind avoided the other like a plague. There was not safety in numbers, it drew attention. Unwanted attention of those that wanted to eradicate them. It was safer to be alone. Yet there they were, at lest two that were different coming to the same location, together, in a group. One had already fallen from a direct result of the attacks, others were dying because of panic.
Their reason for being there was not clear... Yet. Another soul was falling at that moment, but we will get to that in a minute. There are some other matters going on that I am sure you want to know about first right? I mean a death is interesting but what about beauty? Freedom? Truth? Love? Oh, sorry slipped into the Moulin Rouge for a moment. Where were we? Oh yes, something other than death. Death can wait. No, no trust me. Death doesn't have a problem waiting, he took a number and is having an espresso with some biscotti right now. He's good. Let's get back to the scene at Almack's. Behind curtain number one, we have our dear traumatized Millicent. Let's see how she is holding up.
The world was white noise for the daughter of Benedict Wyndham, everything seemed blurred and muted around her as her eyes stung with tears she was trying to fight back as she watched her beloved mothers eyes close. So many questioning running through her mind but not one registering. The face of the woman that had brought her into the world lay there unceremoniously removed from its shoulders. The monstrous visage that had tried to rip her throat out was not seen in the eyes of her daughter. Just those soft features that used to smile at her, sing to her, look at her with pride. The memories of a child were strong, so much so she could almost hear dear Catherine's voice in her mind telling her how much she loved her. Those kind words that kept her going when Elizabeth would ridicule her and put her down.
Millicent's body trembled and her hands shook as she stared horrified at the vision before her. Was her heart racing in fear or stilled from heartbreak? She didn't know. The blood that clung to her was a mixture of her own and her dearly departed mothers. It was hard to tell which crimson belonged to who. They only tell tale features was the blood that continued to trickle from the gashes in her arms. The slit of her dress falling to the side, half to the cold concrete in which she knelt on, the other between her thighs. The once pale soft flesh of her thigh now marred with the slice of the dagger that lay on the ground a few feet from her. The cut was not long, only half a dozen centimeters. Was it deep? One could not tell at first glance but the blood flowed freely from it, creating sticky sanguine rivulets of liquid which ran down her thigh and stained her silk.
It took the scream from Fyror to cause Millicent to blink. At first, all she could say as he came before her was, "Pardon?" What had he said? Did he say something or was she just hearing things? Please, let it be a dream. Let this be a nightmare. Yet it was not and as the the sobs of her sister Emma came to her ears she knew this was nothing she could simply wake up from. "Fyror..." her voice said as her lips barely moved. The first time she had ever uttered just his name. No Sir Kildragon. Just Fyror. Perhaps it would have sounded sweet if it were not for the glossy appearance of her eyes from pain and shock and loss. Looking gradually over towards Fyror, it slowly dawned on her that he was concerned about her. That was what he said, he asked. Was she alright? She blinked a few times before she said anything.
"N...No, I am not hurt," she said. Was it a lie? She was bleeding, the sweat from the fight causing the make up to run and for the first time the bruise on her face was obvious in it's full horror. Her skin had been split, the imprint of Elizabeth's ring on the apple of her cheek. The bruise was dark, bloodied; purple and blue and black. It run out from that spot and covered her cheek, fading to sickening greens and yellows. A strike such as that must have left her cheek bone cracked. Yet she said she was not hurt. Millicent spoke truth, always. She must have not have thought she was hurt or perhaps her mind refused to acknowledge the pain? A safe guard to keep her from going mad? What poor child wouldn't have under the circumstances?
Swallowing the dry lump in her throat she slowly rose to her feet. A cold facade coming over her features. Had death touched her heart or madness touched her mind? One would not tell, yet legs that were gelatin locked and held her strong. The sound of folded steel dragging across the concrete as her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword. She gave Thalken a blank look, was she grateful for his aide or did she wish to decapitate him the way he had her mother? Nothing gave away her thoughts right then.
Elizabeth screamed in pain as Emma tried to push down on the area around the wound, not knowing what to do. "Help me," she said, her voice monotoned as she turned. Three long steps and she was by her step mother's side, setting the sword down next to her. Reaching under her dress, between the blood stained slit and grasping the delicate ivory fabric beneath. The sound of ripping cotton echoing out as she pulled the slip and tore it away. Tossing it towards Emma and hitting her in the face. "Hold that." Her voice was flat before she knelt down at Elizabeth's feet and grabbed them. Looking over to Fyror she gave a single request, or was it a demand? Perhaps an order? One couldn't tell from the flatness and lack of eye contact as the words came from her lips. "Lift her off the leg."
But what of the Soulless? They were there on the balcony yet they avoided the area where Millicent was, opting instead of crossing claws and swords with those that had just lead to the death of on and instead heading towards the many doors which lead to the ballroom. Other upstairs were pushing their way to the stairs to come down. The wide stairs only holding a few people who were running down and passed Virginia and Mosi in terror. There was the battle field. Two Soulless were now at the top of the stairs and eying the women with their axes. One with a face partially rotted away, another with fangs bared. They lunged.
In the Tea Room, more were working their way in from the other side of the gardens, the front door one couldn't tell. What about the rest of Almack's? Our valiant fighters did not know yet. What of the corridor? I can tell you more about that and now we can speak of death for where our Holy persons stand, one is about to fall. From the far right hallway between the corridor and the card room someone bolted. Running for his life and into the corridor. Fleeing for his life from the chaos that was unfolding in Almack's. The Arch Graveolase Buckingham.
His wild eyes falling on Elizaveta and Mary. "Protect me!" he bellowed. The man had once been the pinnacle of the trained, of those that fought the Soulless but being in a position of power had made him lazy and fat. It was clear by the look in Elizaveta's eyes he was the one that she was trying to get to. He was the head of the Graveolase, their appointed leader. The holy seventh in the council where all laws were ordained from. Laws the churches, the training centers, even the very crowns followed without question. Laws put into place by the Arch Graveolase held truer than the word of kings or God. He was the protector of the Soulled.
Yet, as Elizaveta gripped her sword the room got cold. From beneath his feet a chill ran up his spine and a scream of pure fear ripped from his vocals. A fog rolled about it and his eyes went white. "God protect us," Elizaveta whispered as the static charge caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. Buckingham locked eyes with Mary.
"Defendat animabus illorum, Curatrix" his lips said before the life left his eyes and his bulbous body fell to the cold marbled floor. His words, the last line of the councils words to each Arch Graveolase when they were chosen. Protect their souls, Guardian. Why would he utter such words? Because, it was simple. When an Arch Graveolase died a new one would have to be appointed by the council. Until that time, an interim Arch Graveolase must take the seventh seat on the council. One not already a member of the council. One with training in one of the six seats of the council that was not retired. One of proper birth, with title. The highest ordained in the city of the Graveolase seat at the time. That could not pass to Millicent or Mosi or Thalken, they were gentry folk. It could not go to Virginia, for while she was the daughter of an Earl, it was a title she would never hold. Fyror was the son of a Baron, a Sir of the realm. Yet it would not pass to him. Elizaveta was of noble birth, a Grand Duchess of her Empire. Yet the Russians were not on the council, they were petitioning for acceptance. That was why Elizaveta was there, to try where others before her had failed. So it could not pass to her. So why Mary? Her family was of the realm, knights: a rare holding for a female. The church had granted her the title of Dame - which within it's laws placed her in a realm all of her own, sitting equal to the Earls of Kingdoms. At that moment, in the city of London where the Graveolase were seated, Dame Mary Hale had just inherited the title of Arch Graveolase, for now.
Elizaveta turned and looked at the young woman, sadness in her eyes and yet a fierce determination. "And I shall protect you."
Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn
"It must be lass, the lord protects him, from himself mostly," Nigel laughed as the woman he had motioned to earlier brought over two large bowls filled to the brim with a robust lamb stew. It smelled heavenly. Thick root vegetables, soft pieces of seared meat, thick broth. On the plate where the bowls rested was a large chunk of Soda bread and slices of aged cheese. Nigel set a pot of tea next to the parson's plate and a pint of dark beer with a thick head on it next to Maeve's.
Calum looked over quizzically towards her, raising a brow. "Mary was a virgin, so even if we were you would be safe my dear lady," he said quickly before turning his attention to his tea. Nigel rolled his eyes and told his wife to go fetch a blanket and a pillow for Calum.
"You two eat up, there is plenty more of that were it came from. Or perhaps you would like to try one of my wife's braides? We were lucky enough to get some fresh raspberries in not long ago. The pastry is like sugared air, filled with almond's and topped with raspberries. A true treat. I normally save them just for me but my belt will need to let out if I eat anymore," he said patting his portly belly and chuckling.
"Oh sweets? Yes, yes, please! Her pastry's are divine, you must have one." Calum looked rather excited but he did have a sweet tooth and it was his one vice. He knew he shouldn't indulge but he could not refuse the offer. The last sweet treat he had had from Nigel's wife had been six months earlier, an apple tart that he swore would have tempted Jesus.
Wyndham Manor, London
Everett gave up arguing and went to his room, Cook nodding and going to fix tea and water for the constable and Gerard. Smith looked down at the flowers and then nodded. "You should put those in water before they loose more petals," he said before stepping back towards the house and into the back door that lead to the kitchen.
Looking around as Cook fixed tea and plated some scones. "You say nothing was taken?" he asked again but it was more that he was going through his head to check off questions he had already asked. "The intruder came in through the upstairs window? The study was ransacked? The room upstairs was the entry point?" he said to himself as Cook continued but did not look over to him. Figuring that Gerard had things covered.
Looking down at his notes. "Everett did not get a look at his attacker, the attacker left through the front door." More statements that could be taken as questions. Tucking his notes away he looked back over at Gerard. "Yes, the room please. Can you show it to me now?" he finally said after a few moments reflection. Looking over towards Gerard and motioning for him to lead the way. He would follow him as needed up to Millicent's room. He needed to look at the study as well but first he wanted to see the main point of entry for this break in. Why would someone come to a home and not take anything? Or perhaps they were looking for something they could not find.
