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Chapter Text

Chapter I: Ill Met by Moonlight

The Hunter’s Nightmare: The Astral Clocktower

1024 A.P.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire, absonant moans, and the shearing of steel into flesh roused Maria from her disquieted respite. She sat on a decorated chair, adorned with an intricately carved top rail, worn from years of usage—or so the Nightmare had led one to think. She let her head lean to her left side, eyes closed, breathing slowly. The scent of aerosolizing blood sent a tremor through her body. How intoxicating. It had been quite some time since she’d had a visitor—a trespasser in the Astral Clocktower. Most hunters, Maria assumed, were felled by the inhabitants, the patients of the research hall. It was rare for those who were seduced by the lustful call of the blood to enter the Hunter’s Nightmare, let alone the Lumenwood Garden. 

This hunter must be quite dexterous. Thought Maria.

After a long, lurid screech, the sounds of battle within the garden outside the clocktower ceased. A pregnant pause followed, to the point where the Cainhurst warrior briefly wondered if the deathblow on the failed abominations outside had also felled the impinging hunter. However; the quiet clicking of a lock and the creaking of heavy, wooden doors opening dispelled that notion.

Maria did not rouse herself, but her undead heart thrummed to life in anticipation. It had been so long since someone had dared to investigate the truth behind the Healing Church’s experiments; to expose the atrocities committed by those in power who had sworn to protect the diseased and the downtrodden. The utter shame and guilt she held from hearing the sorrowful wails of agony from the patients who dutifully believed that they would be cured—be saved! The greed of the Old Hunter’s thirst for insight in addition to the sadistic torture and desecration of the Great One, Mother Kos, had led to the curse of this neverending Nightmare. In this Nightmare, Maria was duty bound to guard and protect the orphaned child of Mother Kos, hoping to atone for the irremissible crimes she committed in life.

The footsteps that followed the opening of the clocktower door were muffled and quiet, which Maria thought abnormal for someone tainted by the lust of beast blood, but she remained unwaveringly still. Eventually, Maria perceived a faint creaking of wood from a floor panel near her, and she parted her silver eyes slightly, but didn’t move her head. From this position, Maria could see tall, black boots and a dark, tattered cloak. She could make out the shape of a sheathed sword—-a rapier of some sort, but couldn't quite identify the weapon without directly looking at the intruder. 

The sharp intake of breath from her unwanted guest was not a sound she had anticipated hearing.

Maria watched warily as the figure’s right hand gently moved, extending slowly towards her. She noticed that the ungloved hand was trembling madly, and briefly pulled back, as if afraid to touch her. 

Curious…

The Hunter seemed to steel themself, letting out a shaky breath before reaching out to her again…But they wouldn’t get very far.

Maria quickly captured the Hunter’s wrist, pulling them in towards her; inhaling the addictive scent of blood, gunpowder and leather emanating from the Hunter’s neck.

“A corpse…should be left well alone.” Maria gritted out, eager to rip the heart out of the intruder who wished to unveil her unforgivable sins, but when she lifted her head to gaze upon the Hunter’s face, her resolve immediately crumbled, and her heart lurched. Her stomach twisted and the air left her lungs; her words cut and left dying on her tongue. She began to shake as she stared into the Hunter’s eyes, eyes that she’d recognize anywhere: one deep azure with a sunburst of amber around the pupil and the other a warm, honey-colored brown. 

“Catherine?” Maria breathed.

The Cainhurst woman abruptly released the Hunter and recoiled as if burned. She stood abruptly and tried to move away from the Hunter before her, but the Hunter closed in on Maria, roughly taking her forearm in one hand and wrenching her forward towards them. Maria violently collided with the Hunter’s leather bound chest with a deafening thwump , coaxing out an unflattering grunt. The pair struggled, but before Maria could protest and remove herself from the offending Hunter’s grasp, they violently ripped down her blood stained ascot with their free hand, revealing the eternally opened, raw, fetid gash along the column of her throat. Without warning, the Hunter delved their fingers into the wound, drawing out a painful hiss from Maria. Their fingers curled and moved along the length of the laceration, nicking the skin and muscle underneath it. Maria’s knees buckled and her hands clung to the Hunter’s leather clad shoulders for support as her body almost gave way underneath her. It wasn’t until she let out an unbidden whimper that the Hunter flinched and immediately extricated themself from Maria. 

The sudden absence of their presence threw Maria off balance, but she seized hold of the arm of her decorated chair to steady herself. She reached up to protectively cup the wound around her throat, breathing heavily as she stared in disbelief at the Hunter in front of her. A woman who she had thought long forgotten. Said woman was trembling wildly, her mismatched eyes darting between Maria and the blood coating her slender fingers. With a cry, the woman sank to the floor, on one knee, and curled into herself. Her cropped, light brown hair was caked in sweat and blood, and her olive toned skin had a sheen of visible sweat despite the woman’s incessant shivering.

For a moment, only the sound of heaving, ragged breaths echoed along the walls of the infamous clocktower. Maria stared down at the supine figure in disbelief, her mind a tumultuous maelstrom. There was no way that she could be here! How could she be in the Hunter’s Nightmare? And yet this specter was perfectly attuned to that woman’s likeness in every way! The squareness of her shoulders, the way the slope of her neck disappeared behind her trapezius, the faint peeking of tinged ears behind short, thin hair—

The Hunter slowly lifted her head toward the Lady of Cainhurst, the heterochromatic irises searing the woman’s dead, yet beating heart. Maria stiffened, and her silver eyes widened in fear. The visage even beheld an oval shaped mark at the base of the jawline, just below the right earlobe, the one that she…

“L-Lady Maria?” the Hunter whispered pathetically.

Maria’s dead heart ached, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse into the Hunter and place her own shaking hands onto the sides of the woman’s face and comfort her…but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread coiling within her, that something was wrong.

“I didn’t—I couldn’t believe it at first,” the drab clothed woman shakingly replied, before she rose slowly to her feet, “I thought it was a trick…that this Nightmare had thrown your visage to torment and deceive me! So I thought…I had to feel it…”

The woman—Catherine—inched carefully toward Maria, who tensed and curled her gloved fingers viciously around the arm of the chair as the Hunter closed the distance. Catherine, who was a foot shorter or so than Maria, took another tentative step forward.

“I…I needed to put my fingers into your wound, for then I would believe…Maria, I—”

“It’s not possible…” Maria interrupted, her voice wavering and uncertain, “...you shouldn’t be here. You can’t be here, unless…”

Maria froze, realization dawning on her. She stood up straight and clenched her jaw while narrowing her eyes at the Hunter, her right hand slowly drifting toward her Chikage . 

“You became a hunter…”

Catherine stopped and darted her eyes towards Maria’s hand that rested threateningly on her sword’s pommel. The pained expression that crossed her features wounded Maria; disarmed by the sorrow that enveloped the mismatched stare.

“…Yes.” Catherine whispered.

Maria grimaced and tore her gaze from the Hunter as the grip on the pommel tightened.

“Why?” Maria seethed, “Why would you commit yourself to that—to this wretched fate?”

“My Lady—“

“Don’t call me that!”

The dead woman’s outburst seemed to stun the Hunter, who could do nothing except tremble and clench her hands repeatedly in an attempt to ground herself. Maria imagined that Catherine’s  heart, warm and alive, burned in harrowing agony. The noble watched as she lifted her hand to her breast as if to soothe the tight and painful ache that laid within it.

“I was a Knight of Cainhurst…” Catherine said woefully, “…I was pledged to your guard, I swore to follow you…to protect you.” 

Catherine’s voice faltered as her face contorted in agony and tears welled up in her eyes. Maria watched helplessly, tortured by the desire to reach out and embrace the fallen woman before her. Guilt cut through her as she watched the tears fall from Catherine’s eyes. She had always hated seeing the woman like this—in pain, it grieved her; especially when she knew she herself was the source of Catherine’s despair…

“But then you…you—“

“Don’t say it—“

“You died. ” Catherine finished, her voice barely above a whisper. “You went somewhere I could not follow…”

Catherine’s shoulders shook from her silent sobs and she placed her head in her hands before reaching behind her ears to take fistfuls of her blood-matted hair. 

“And I didn’t know until they had brought you back to Cainhurst—until I saw your body…and I saw that you—“

“ Catherine—“ Maria pleaded, hoping to suppress the words that were about to escape the Hunter’s lips. She didn’t want to be reminded, didn’t want to remember .

“You took your own life… and I wasn’t there to stop you.”

The painful truth hung in the air like a thick fog as an uncomfortable silence enveloped the pair of Cainhurst warriors. For a few minutes, Maria watched the other woman sob quietly, unable to bring herself to respond. 

How could she?

How could Catherine possibly understand why she needed to cut her thread of life? The reasoning behind why she had to die.  

How could Maria make her knight understand that it was what she truly deserved after all the wicked malfeasance Maria had committed? The patients she injected with ancient blood—women, children— she watched them all suffer as their skulls swelled from all the eyes that grew between the gyri and sulci of their cerebrum. Watched as they convulsed and thrashed when captured in the violent thrums of a seizure. How could Catherine look at her with any trace of fondness or affection if she knew what Maria had done? How she had blindly followed orders and deposed the unsuccessful experiments with cold, callous hands? Dissecting their rotting flesh in the hope to gain insight, to help the Healing Church fulfill their mission. How could Catherine touch her sullied hands—hands that debased and defiled innocent people? 

The sickening, oppressive weight of Maria’s sins was chained to her link by merciless link, and when she had finally realized the savagery and baseness of her actions, there wasn’t anything she could do to make amends. Deep, harrowing guilt and shame shrouded and strangled Maria. trapping her in an endless cycle of regret and despair. She stopped eating, no longer able to muster up an appetite to assuage her soured stomach. She couldn’t sleep, the children she had slaughtered plaguing her dreams every time she closed her eyes. 

Maria grew weak and weary. The dull ache of her shame gnawed at her incessantly and whispered disparaging expositions into her ear. She was an abomination, an arrant cur, no better than the countless beasts she’d culled. She was a monster, a repulsive, loathsome creature who deserved to burn for her misdeeds—her trespasses. 

Eventually, the guilt completely swallowed Maria whole, the pain became torrential and unceasing, and she wanted it to stop. She couldn’t go on.

She needed it to end.

Catherine’s sobs soon trickled away to occasional sniffling, and Maria shut her eyes before taking a deep, meditative breath through her nose.

“Why have you come here?” 

Catherine smeared the tears and snot on her face over her tattered waistcoat sleeves.

“What?”

“What is your intention here?” Maria rephrased sternly; unable to meet the Hunter’s crestfallen gaze.

Catherine stared at Lady Maria in disbelief, appalled by the apparent disregard for her sorrow.

She straightened her posture and let her right hand, hesitantly, glide onto the pommel of her Reiterpallasch . 

“I seek what lies beyond the clocktower.” Catherine replied.

“To what end?”

“To gain insight on why this Nightmare exists, to find its source—“

“I won’t allow it.”

“Why?!” Catherine growled, her voice rising in anger, “What prompts you to prevent me from pursuing this? You don’t understand—“

“Oh but I do…” Maria said, taking a threatening step forward toward the Hunter, fully gripping the handle of her sword. Catherine stepped backward cautiously, her heart heavy as she too reached her hand around her rapier, placing her index finger under the guard. 

“…I know very well—how the secrets beckon so sweetly.” Maria continued, finally unsheathing her blade. Catherine mirrored the action, and the two began circling each other slowly. Each footfall was precise and measured, keeping their stances wide and grounded in the anticipation of a strike.

“Only an honest death can cure you now.”

Maria regretted that it had come to this, but as much as it pained her, she would stop Catherine from passing through the clocktower, even if it meant killing her…no matter how many times it would take. She would kill her over and over again until she woke from this heinous Nightmare. Maria was determined to prevent this woman from following the same dark path as she had, to brutalize and defile a Great One in the pursuit of knowledge only to be damned for eternity for committing such an unforgivable sin. This was the only way she could atone for her irremissible actions against Mother Kos, her patients, and Catherine.

“Liberate you…from your wild curiosity! ”

Without warning, Maria advanced, lunging forward with perfect execution, the blade of her Chikage aimed directly at the Hunter’s heart. The Hunter barely had time to lift her rapier, palm upward, before the steel of Maria’s sword collided with her own, creating a cacophonous ring that reverberated throughout the clocktower. Catherine quickly disengaged and moved her arm upward in a circular motion, parrying Maria’s initial attack and returning the Reiterpallasch to her front guard. The disgraced knight tried to take a retreating step, but Maria followed, raising her weapon just above her shoulder before slashing downward, which Catherine barely had enough time to sidestep and parry the blow. She lowered herself below Maria’s sword, bending her waist before thrusting her rapier towards Maria, who immediately blocked the attack with her blade, pushing it forward along the Hunter’s sword with a sickening schilng before it caught on the front guard of Maria’s weapon. Before Catherine could contemplate her next move, Maria’s left hand swung upwards armed with a long curved dagger. 

When had she drawn an offhand?

Catherine instantly turned her body, releasing Maria’s sword whilst narrowly avoiding the swing from the dagger. The motion forced Maria forward, which the Hunter took advantage of, raising the rapier and cutting in quick succession, but Maria took both her blades and slashed them upward, blocking Catherine’s oncoming attack. The force of the blow sent a prickling sensation from Catherine’s wrists to her shoulders and she winced from the pain. Maria’s blades moved synchronously in a clockwise motion, pushing away the Hunter’s edge. Almost effortlessly, she followed her parry with a perfectly timed riposte, which found its mark in Catherine’s right shoulder.

Catherine cried out as the blade pierced through the sinews of her muscle with ease. Maria heard, rather than felt the tip of the sword hit the Hunter’s scapula with a low thump , preventing the blade from completely skewering her. Maria withdrew her weapon, the tip now coated in a sanguineous sheen. Blood gushed from Catherine’s shoulder, and she instinctively placed the palm of her opposite hand over the wound before retreating backwards. Sweat pooled over her brow and she panted heavily as she watched Maria slowly trail after her like a predator stalking its prey. Catherine kept her guard up, the rapier lowered just below her shoulder as she backed away towards the wooden shelves that lined the walls of the clocktower. 

Catherine briefly reflected on the past, recounting the sparring matches she and Maria used to have. She recalled how mesmerizing those silver eyes were as they meticulously outlined their plan of attack, how exhilarating it was to watch the elegant flow of her body as she cut and parried with her beloved Rakuyo . Like a dancer, she was perfectly in control of every muscle as she moved, stepping and gliding languidly as she perfectly executed her strikes. When sparring, Maria was truly in her element, and her magnificence transcended all thought or purpose Catherine once held. The Cainhurst royal was absolutely breathtaking like this: sweat glistening off her pale, alabaster skin as the setting sun illuminated her long, ivory hair in a sunburst corona. The way her thin lips curled slightly upward in a knowing smirk and the sound of her soft laughter had always twisted Catherine’s insides and spread a wildfire of heat from her chest to the tips of her ears.

Those cherished memories seemed a lifetime ago, and now Catherine’s stomach was soured with the bitter feeling of betrayal. After all these years in Lady Maria’s absence—the countless nights she spent awake regretting her past decisions, wishing she could have stayed by Maria’s side and wondering if she could have prevented her from severing her soul from the mortal plane—here her Lady was, hardened and cold. Devoid of any affection that she once held and determined to thwart the Hunter’s journey, but Catherine wouldn’t allow anything or anyone getting in the way of learning the secrets of this terrifying realm and dissipating this wicked Nightmare.

Maria’s dead eyes scanned Catherine’s visage, searching for an opening, but her opponent kept her blade raised and guarded perfectly, a testament to her skills as a Cainhurst Knight. Maria advanced slowly, closing in on the Hunter. When the Hunter’s spine reached the old oak of the fading bookshelves, Maria acted, pushing off her front leg in a powerful lunge that was surprisingly blocked by the twist of Catherine’s wrist, which deflected the blade rightward. Before Maria could counter with her offhand dagger, Catherine brought her leg up and kicked her in the stomach, pushing her back with a shuddering force. She grunted in pain as her midsection bent in response of the offending blow, and when she looked back up toward her opponent, she saw the forte of the lifted rapier shift forwards revealing a short, wooden stock and barrel of a flintlock, which Catherine swiftly cocked the hammer back, aimed, and fired.

In hindsight, Maria should have recognized the trick weapon before the duel began; however, revealing the trick now only put Catherine at a disadvantage. To the Hunter’s dismay, Maria pivoted her body sideways while simultaneously lowering herself, effectively dodging the silver bullet that shot out of her Reiterpallasch. Then, before she could recover, Maria closed the gap between them and plunged her sword straight through the woman’s chest, the powerful strike sending both of them crashing into the bookshelves. The force of the blow was so great that it knocked the air from the Hunter’s lungs, who’s next intake of breath was ragged and gurgling as blood began filling her alveoli. She coughed up a staggering amount of blood that continuously splashed down the front of her tattered, black coat in a crimson waterfall. She felt the warm, sticky ooze of her own ichor gush out from her breast and coat the cross guard and handle of Lady Maria’s sword. The Hunter watched in rapturous wonder as her blood tainted the perfect white of Maria’s skin, and marveled briefly on how beautiful it looked. 

As the ache of the cold blade thrummed harshly around Catherine’s flesh, she dropped her rapier and used that free hand to grasp at the sword piercing through her. Her fingers encircled the single edged blade in a vice-like grip, the skin of her knuckles straining from the hold. The blade cut deeply through her palm and added more blood to the sanguineous pool forming beneath her. She watched as her blood dripped mercilessly down her forearm and felt the increasingly wet and heavy sensation of her clothes soaking up the blood. Despite everything that had just occurred, she couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pathetic, wheezing thing, and led her to choking on more blood that continued expectorating from her throat. 

“You missed my heart.” Catherine chortled derisively before she lifted her shaky eyes up to Maria’s face, and instantly felt that the pain afflicted from being gored paled in comparison to the unholy lance of anguish that shot through her when she met Maria’s eyes. There, she saw regret and sorrow captured in those two, heavenly gray pools, which were now filled with tears. Catherine watched as Maria’s lips tightened in a miserable frown and was stunned to notice that the woman was trembling so wildly that she could hear the clanging of her blade collar bouncing within its guard.

“I know.” Maria whispered before she’d raised her ornate dagger to Catherine’s throat and ruthlessly sliced through the soft, pliable flesh. Blood gushed violently from the laceration, spraying onto Maria’s face, hair, and coat. Catherine’s mismatched eyes were wide and she gurgled wretchedly as her vision began to darken. But before death could claim her, she brought up her injured hand to cup Lady Maria’s cheek, and felt tears spilling and mingling with her own ichor. She slowly attempted to wipe away the tears with her thumb, smearing red across the pale cheek. 

Maria’s breath hitched and she dropped her dagger to the floor, which rattled mockingly against the wooden planks. She immediately brought her hand to cover Catherine’s own and held it desperately against her skin. To feel those calloused hands upon her once more, slick with warm, wet blood sent a piercing agony through her and she let out a short, pained cry before pressing her lips against the maimed hand. Soon, Catherine’s body slumped and her arm went still, then with a hiss, her body dispersed in a drab, black and gray cloud and Lady Maria collapsed onto the floor. Her fingers dug violently into the wooden panels beneath her, digging splinters into leather underneath her fingertips. Tremors reverberated throughout her body as she held back her mournful sobs. She clenched her jaw and breathed forcefully through gritted teeth, tightly shutting her eyes and letting her tears fall, unbidden. There she was left alone again in the clocktower, with only remorse, woe, and the taste of her knight’s blood on her tongue.

Chapter Text

Chapter II: If They Had Not Met

Cainhurst Castle 

1004 A.P.

“Nnngh—by The Moon, do you have to make it so damn tight!” 

Another forceful tug of silk laces behind Maria silenced the young noble’s protests. She grunted again as the tightly woven coutil cruelly coiled around her midsection like a ravenous snake. 

“None of that foul language now girl, you need to be the epitome of elegance and grace when you present yourself to the Queen.” 

“Right, ‘twould be untoward to not have my breasts bursting out of this corset for the lecherous eyes of the court—fuck!”

Another, brutal pull from the laces forced Maria to keel forward, sputtering out a noise that was a cross between a cough and a gasp. She braced herself against a nightstand which was adjacent to a lavish bed, a statuesque fixture that was unlike anything the young, twenty-year-old noble had ever slept in. The frame was a baroquely carved, chestnut colored monument that towered mockingly over her. Each post was thick and tall with golden leaves traveling in a sinuous path upward towards a large finial, carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. Silken red canopies were delicately draped over the monument with the edges of the fabric cinched neatly in the middle of each post. Maria mused that the great expanse of the mattress could easily provide for five to six people, barring that they didn’t completely sink into the feathery tomb or were suffocated by the myriad of rotund, plump pillows cascading along the bedframe.

“Language, girl.” Henrietta hissed, “I doubt Her Majesty would tolerate a foul-mouthed brute among her court, particularly when they’re bonded by blood.”

Henrietta Wormwood was a shrewd, vapid woman of four and sixty years of age. She was a well-fed woman, who’s corpulence would have seemed jolly if not for her goblin-like countenance. Her skin was tawny and worn, but not leathery. Her wide forehead was lined with what Maria assumed to be a permanent furrowed crease that was the result of some heinous birth defect that prevented the curmudgeonly woman from expressing any emotion other than contempt. As a child, Maria often tested that hypothesis through the ritualistic torment of her governess, which usually involved the conscription of several rats. Surprisingly, the result was always inconclusive, and commonly led to Maria cleaning out the stables.

“I highly doubt my circumstance of being a fourth cousin to Queen Annalise gives me any modicum of purchase in her response to my request.”

“‘Twould be wise to pray that it does,” the governess scowled, “with your uncle’s unfortunate passing, and the even further unfortunate deliquescing of his lands to pay off his lending debts, you have been left with absolutely zero prospects. And myself, with less than zero.”

Maria smirked at the terse, yet teasing comment. Despite the compounding tragedies that incurred over the past several months, Henrietta’s sarcastic quips helped assuage any discomfort or anxiety that the pair had accrued.

Her uncle, Duke Charles Ravin de Cainhurst, had passed away after an extreme case of pneumonia. It had been quite unexpected, considering the man was only three and fifty years of age, and rigorously maintained a strict training regimen, as expected for a Knight of Cainhurst. Despite his lust for gambling, he was a kind, rather jovial man that often conspiratorially participated in the miserable attacks against Henrietta. Which concurrently led to him bribing the pawky woman with a bonus or slight increase in pay to prolong her stay in his residence.

Charles had not always been the sole owner of the Ravin estate or dukedom. Those titles had originally been held by Maria’s father, Edmund Ravin de Cainhurst who, along with her mother, tragically passed when Maria was no more than five years old. Both had been infected by the Ashen Blood plague that ravaged the lands, and they were quickly put to the sword before succumbing to their inevitable beastly transformation. Their tragic deaths placed the title and the associated land holdings within Charles’ name, as he was the sole remaining male heir of the Ravin line. 

At first, Maria had worried that the tall, hulking man with silver, unkempt hair would send her away, as he himself was not married and had no apparent desire for children. However, the soldier made no mention of her forceful departure and remained content in speaking to her as little as possible. It wasn’t until about a year later that the Cainhurst Knight began taking an interest in her. 

Maria was playing amongst the servant children in the garden when a young boy, roughly three years her senior, had hastily pushed one of the servant girls to the ground. He held her head down, shoving it roughly into the dirt whilst placing his body weight on top of her, preventing her from escaping. Though the young girl struggled helplessly beneath him, she couldn’t free herself from his impounding frame. The boy grabbed a fistful of her long, black hair in one hand and a handful of dirt in the other before cruelly forcing it against the poor girl's mouth, demanding that she swallow its rank contents. Charles, watching this shameful display of barbarism through a window in the study, was about to pry open the glass to chastise the young man when something completely unexpected happened.

The young Maria, a scrawny and lithe little thing, abruptly stood and let out a beastly cry before throwing her right arm back, hand locked in a tight fist, and swinging it forward with all the wrath of a Great One. It collided with the pugnacious boy’s jaw with a lurid and wet thump, and jostled him off his victim. The boy spit out a harsh expletive at Maria, but before he could regain his bearings and retaliate, the young noble swung at him again, this time with a long, thick stick. The improvised weapon crashed into the side of his neck and the boy yelped pathetically before raising his arms to block Maria’s oncoming blows. Her fury was wild and unrelenting: slashing, hitting, and thrusting until the young man was curled up on the ground, cowering and covering his body as best as he could. Maria didn’t relent until a broad hand grasped a hold of the offending armament on one of her backswings. She turned her head and felt all the blood leave her face, seeping down into her stomach as fear and dread settled in. 

Charles stared down at her with an unreadable expression before dismissing the servant children. When they had scurried away, Charles returned his attention to Maria and said nothing, his hand still clasped around the wooden pile. His ashen hair tumbled slightly over his pine-green eyes, which were slightly narrowed as if he were deeply in thought. Maria braced herself for a violent beating or verbal onslaught, her mouth in a tight thin line.

“Your hand placement is wrong.” The soldier muttered, reaching his large free hand down to Maria’s own. He gently moved her hand downward before adjusting her finger placement, three fingers curled around the base with the thumb resting on top of the stick and her pointer finger gingerly encircling the weapon at the same height as her thumb. He released his grip on the branch and took a step back, eyeing the new position.

“Good. Now place your right foot forward…yes that’s it, now push your left foot back just slightly and pivot it outward gently.”

Maria did as he asked and he hummed approvingly, nodding as he began to walk around her to assess her form.

“Lean slightly forward,” he commented, gently pushing her forward, “bend your knees a little and raise your left arm for balance…good, now I want you to try to thrust with that weapon of yours.”

Maria’s heart was thundering in her chest, and she didn’t know what kind of punishment this was supposed to be, but she didn’t dare question her uncle. She recounted what she’d seen her father do once during a duel, how he used his back foot to push forward quickly before gracefully retreating to his previous position in one fluid motion. She raised her weapon until it was in line with her sight, taking a deep breath before lunging forward, the branch acting as an extension of her arm before she easily returned to her starting position. She breathed deeply, waiting for further instruction from Charles, but he remained silent. She didn’t dare turn around, nor lower her weapon from her eye-level, less she incur some unspoken wrath from her uncle.

After a minute or so, Charles let out an airy scoff, of which Maria couldn’t possibly decipher the meaning of. 

“Meet me in the courtyard tomorrow morning at sunrise.” He muttered before turning away. “Oh, and be sure to wear trousers.”

Maria hadn’t known it then, but that was when Charles had decided to train Maria in swordsmanship and combat. She hadn’t expected the man to actually take her under his wing. Quiet, forlorn mornings quickly shifted to chaotic, brusque ones, filled with the sounds of cold steel clashing against one another. The old soldier would run through drills with Maria late into the afternoon, often until her hands bled from popped blisters that grew around the unused fingers and palms. 

“Remember the pain,” Charles would remark, “it reminds you that you’re still alive.”

On days where Maria’s pain and soreness were so severe that she was adamant that she wasn’t alive, Charles, egregiously, forced the young girl to be educated by her newly hired governess: Henrietta. At first, the stern woman had little patience, harshly admonishing the young Maria when she surreptitiously gave inappropriate or explicit responses to questions she most certainly knew the correct answers to. Eventually—after several bribes—Henrietta grew impassive at Maria’s sophomoric behavior, which irritated the young noble when she failed to get a rise out of the governess. 

Thus, Maria had become her uncle’s one and only apprentice. He firstly trained her with a rapier, but once he was confident she knew the basics well enough, he threw a longsword at her. The new weight had been unfamiliar in her hand and she could barely hold it even a quarter inch above the ground.

“That’s a two handed weapon, use both hands on the grip.”

Maria did as Charles suggested and tried lifting the lofty weapon once more. Though her arms shook violently, she was able to lift the weapon high enough to get it into a fourth guard stance. 

“Good,” he stated before patting her shoulder gently in praise, “now we just need to get some muscle on those bones.”

Though the statement was mostly in jest, neither Charles nor Henrietta had expected the svelte and willowy young girl to transmute into the tall, imposing, and undoubtedly fit warrior Maria had become. At an astonishing six feet and 4.8 inches tall—although her uncle had always suggested she rounded it up to an even six-foot-five—Maria cut an impressive figure. Her broad shoulders, accentuated with taut trapezium, were socketed against full, hardy arms with tight, rolling biceps. Her thighs were thick and poised with bulky quadriceps above wide, sturdy gastrocnemii. 

Despite Maria’s physical strength coming from her fathers’ lineage, Maria’s beauty was strictly tied to her mothers’. Her pale skin was like porcelain, unblemished, save for a scar just underneath her chin that was a result from an errant flick of a twin blade during a rigorous training session. She had high cheekbones and a striking jawline; a delicately sloping brow led down to a straight, petite nose. Her mouth was slightly curved upward and her bottom lip was faintly thicker than her upper lip. Maria’s almond-shaped eyes were an expressive silver, surrounded by long curling lashes. Her long, thin hair was a stunning light-ash, practically white color that was almost always tied back in a long ponytail to keep it out of the way during combat.

Maria truly felt indebted to the old man, and often wondered if there was anything she could do to show her infinite gratitude towards him for mentoring her. Raising her as if she were his own and training her as an apprentice had been quite unexpected. While apprenticeships under Cainhurst Knights was not unheard of, having one directly blood related to you was uncommon. Sometimes she would ponder at night in her bedchamber, her muscles torn and screaming from a late afternoon training session, why her uncle had decided to mentor her in the first place. However; everytime she somehow mustered up the courage to inquire him about it, she would falter, and the conversation would quickly diverge…Now she would never know.

“Right then,” Henrietta murmured softly, coaxing Maria out of her reverie, “I believe you’re ready to go.”

“Ah yes, to be served to the court like some exotic aperitif—“

“Oh, hush.”

Maria turned her gaze to a large, full length mirror along the wall opposite of the opulent bed frame. Another grand, vulgar display of wealth that held a gold plated, ornate gothic frame with intricate floral filigree. She stared at the complete stranger reflected back at her through the looking glass and swallowed. She was dressed in a floor length, diaphanous ball gown, constructed from heavy black and crimson silk. The waist was cinched just below her ribcage, tight enough to depress her diaphragm. Black, pleated ruffles cascaded down her underskirt that was overlain by a smooth, red train. The crimson prison was accentuated with delicate, black lace trim and embroidery. The sleeves were long and constricting, before randomly widening into a ruffled, flowing mess at the wrists. The encapsulating sleeves connected to fluffy, padded shoulders that led to a high, lace neckline. Underneath the lurid tent of material, Maria wore tall, black stockings that were paired with ankle high, black leather boots with a modest heel—as if she needed the increased height. 

Her makeup was fair and impeccable, a secret talent Henrietta had apparently been hiding until today. Maria’s pale cheeks were dusted in a light rouge and her lips were painted as if they were slightly bitten, giving them a muted vermillion color. The governess had also taken the liberty to style Maria’s ashen hair into a low braided bun.

Maria had to hold back a groan at the overtly feminine ensemble. While dresses were not completely foreign to her, she preferred shorter skirts and trousers; articles that rarely stifled her movement. The whole costume felt wrong on her skin, increasingly so as the heat blazing between the layers of her chemise, corset, and dress had caused her to perspire at an unflattering rate. The only thing recognizable on her person was her mother’s light green, Lumenflower brooch that she had taken to wearing after her mother had passed. Maria absentmindedly raised a gloved hand to the heirloom and sighed. All of this felt ridiculous, she was a skilled warrior, not a fragile porcelain doll! 

“You look radiant, child,” Henrietta said, placing a comforting hand on Maria’s back, “As long as you keep that swarthy mouth of yours shut, coming out to the court should go rather smoothly.”

Maria scoffed, smiling appreciatively at Henrietta before they both exited the bedchamber and made their way towards the Queen’s Chamber. 

Traversing Cainhurst Castle had been one of the more enjoyable pastimes Maria found herself indulging in during her brief stay. It was an impressive estate, with several prodigious halls with tall, elevated ceilings. Large green marble pillars lined the walls of the limestone foundation and provided excellent support for the architectural marvel. Black marble tiles lined the floors of the castle, often accompanied by long, ruby colored carpets with gold fringe and emblazoned with the Cainhurst Crest. Dozens of chandeliers hung gracefully, with legions of lit candles glittering off their prismatic crystals and casting an ethereal glow throughout the castle. 

As the pair made their way to the top of the grand staircase in the main hall, they were met by a steward who was tasked with escorting them to the Queen’s Chamber. He was a slender man with blonde hair, tarnished with grey throughout, indicative of his old age. He guided them through the banquet hall and up to the ramparts. After several minutes, they reached a long stone staircase that was bound on both sides by statues depicting several famous Cainhurst Knights and their steeds. The steps led into the castle once more and up to a large, mahogany door that had the Cainhurst Crest carved into each of its panels. Beyond the door, Maria could hear the sound of quiet laughter and cordial conversation, but as hard as her ears tried to strain, she couldn’t pick out the voice belonging to Queen Annalise. She swallowed nervously.

“Are you ready to be announced?” The steward asked plaintively. 

Taking one final deep breath, Maria nodded.

“Yes good sir; please announce me as Maria Ravin de Cainhurst—“

“—Fourth cousin to her Majesty, Queen Annalise!” Henrietta interrupted, gently elbowing Maria in the side who glared at her governess in annoyance.

“…Quite right,” Maria responded through clenched teeth, “whenever you are ready, sir.”

The steward nodded before opening the double doors in a curt, swift motion, immediately silencing any errant conversation within. Maria took one last, nervous look at Henrietta, who gave her a reassuring smile. It was a small little thing, barely a curve of the lips, but it provided Maria with just enough confidence to cross the threshold with her head held high. The Queen’s chambers reflected the totality of the elegance and prosperity of Cainhurst. Regal crimson and gold banners cascaded down like sanguinous waterfalls, proudly displaying the Cainhurst sigil. More imposing pillars lined the arches of the long, wide room and another lavish ruby carpet ran through the hall, leading to a set of broad scarlet steps. Tall, gold candelabras were delicately placed on each step on opposite sides of the room and along the back wall. At the apex of the small stairway were two gilded thrones, carved magnificently with ravenous wolves upon the crest rail. Behind the grandiose thrones was a wall that Maria recognized to be entirely constructed from glass, and blanketed by thick, lush curtains that were the same hue as the carpet below.

Maria scanned the room, the eyes of several dozen lords and ladies settling on her in mild fascination as she strode into the room with a confident and courteous air. Errant whispers tutted from both sides of the aisle, but Maria kept her eyes forward, focused on the resplendently dressed Queen who sat on one of the gilded thrones. 

“Announcing the right and honorable Miss Maria Ravin de Cainhurst, Champion of the most recent Cainhurst Duelist Tourney, fourth cousin to Her Majesty Queen Annalise de Cainhurst!” The steward proclaimed, which added more whispers to the motley crowd. Maria stifled a curt wince.

Henrietta must have said something to him. She thought.

It had been little over a fortnight ago when she had been named the sole victor in the annual Cainhurst Duelist Tourney. A battle royal that invited all manner of person—knight, mercenary, or peasant—to participate in duels of hand to hand combat with their weapon of choice. It was one of the more lavish events held annually by the Kingdom of which many participated. Maria’s decision to enter the tourney had been one out of necessity. The victor of the event would be rewarded with a hefty sum of blood echoes, as well as an audience with Queen Annalise herself. And considering the wonderful predicament her uncle had left her in following his death, Maria felt that this was her only chance to escape poverty and ruin.

The first few days of the tournament had been quite facile in nature, as Maria effortlessly extracted victories from a myriad of untrained opponents. Eventually the duels became more challenging when more experienced mercenaries and knights approached her in the ring. Armed with only her father’s cup-hilted rapier and offhand dagger, she bested even the most brutish of two-handed combatants. Her agility and prowess had rendered her almost untouchable, fluently disarming and riposting her adversaries in quick succession. It wasn’t until the last day of the tournament that Maria’s confidence began to crack.

Maria had stepped into the ring once more, unsheathing her weapon and offhand before crossing them over her chest for her rival to observe clearly. Her final opponent, a young woman Maria guessed to be around her own age, stepped forward in tandem, repeating the gesture. The woman’s swept-hilt rapier clinked against her own dagger, a swordbreaker with deep, jagged serrations along the cutting edge of the blade. Despite being about a foot shorter than Maria, the woman was intimidating in her own right. Clad in light chainmail and leather, the olive skinned woman grinned at her roguishly before bowing, her cropped, light brown hair swishing languidly from the motion. Maria bowed in return and the two held their swords in an en garde position, the tips of their blades barely touching. Once the match arbitrator signaled the start of the duel, Maria’s opponent rushed forward with a powerful thrust, which the young noble barely had time to parry before the opposing blade disengaged and cut upward, forcing Maria to jump backward to avoid the strike. Within three moves, Maria knew she was in danger of losing the match, so she put up her guard again and waited for another strike.

The puckish woman extended her arm, pointing her weapon directly at Maria, who beat the blade to the side. The action caused the other woman to smirk and beat the tip of Maria’s blade several times, mockingly, before advancing and engaging the young noble. She lunged forward, but was quickly parried by Maria who responded with a riposte. The opponent turned her body to the left, dodging Maria’s blade and then cut with her offhand, capturing the debole of Maria’s sword within one of its serrations. The noble barely registered the movement before her weapon was powerfully whipped to the side, forcing her to side step. The jarring move rattled Maria who lifted her own dagger to block an oncoming strike from her adversary. Maria could have sworn she heard the opposing woman hum in approval when their blades collided. Maria pushed back the cocky woman and retreated a few steps away to recover.

The duel continued for several minutes, each warrior executing every attack, parry, and riposte with brilliant precision; however, each movement was countered before making contact of any kind. Maria could tell that her opponent was growing frustrated, her smug smile replaced with an irritated grimace. Maria remained impassive, breathing deeply through her nose as she readied her guard once more. Though they had only been fighting for a few short minutes, Maria was quickly familiarizing herself with her opponent’s movements: disengage, thrust, parry, riposte, cut with offhand . It wasn’t as predictable as her brain explained, but it was enough to attempt to codify a strategy. 

Maria raised her blade and extended her arm, parodying her opponent’s previous gesture. The action deepened the scowl on the shorter woman’s face who surged forward, propelling the tip of her rapier towards the noble’s left shoulder. Maria imperceptibly retreated a half a step and parried with her offhand before responding with her own thrust, aimed to halt a few inches away from her adversary. The feigned attack caused the offending woman to instinctively move to block and capture Maria’s weapon within her swordbreaker’s edge. The distance Maria had created with her retreating step was just enough for the warrior’s offhand to completely miss her rapier, and in those few seconds of confusion, Maria ducked low underneath her opponent’s guard and glided her dagger across the woman’s rapier, blocking any other advances as the edge of her own sword abruptly came to press against the column of the shorter woman’s throat.

For a moment, it seemed like the world had gone still and everything in it had fallen away, save for the two warriors. At this distance, Maria could feel the woman’s tired breaths mingling with her own, tickling her lips in warm staccato puffs. Maria peered into two large eyes that darted around her own. It wasn’t until then that Maria registered that the woman had two different colored eyes. One was a deep blue with a sunburst of light brown around the pupil and the other a bright amber. Long lashes surrounded the heterochromatic irises which looked upon Maria with surprise and…awe? The word “beautiful” shot through Maria’s thoughts quickly before sound returned to her ears as the arbitrator had consigned her victory in the duel.

Maria abdicated herself from the shorter woman and sheathed her weapons before bowing to her in respect. The other woman repeated the gesture.

“You almost bested me there,” Maria confessed, her eyes meeting the stranger’s once more, “I admit, I’ve never fought anyone with skill such as yours before, I thank you for the challenge.”

The stranger eyed her with curiosity as her hands took to rest on the pommel of her sword.

“Likewise.”

Thus, Maria was named Champion and bestowed her reward money, and after several days, a missive had arrived to her requesting an official audience with Queen Annalise. It was an opportunity to officially come out to high society as well as request patronage from Her Majesty. As a scholar, Maria had written several articles regarding blood and its properties, some of which garnered critical acclaim…She supposed she had Henrietta to thank for that.

Despite the continuous efforts to unsettle the old harpy, Maria admitted that Henrietta was a fine teacher; a truly intelligent woman who was able to educate the young girl in reading, writing, arithmetic, science, history, philosophy, and anatomy amongst a myriad of other subjects. Among all the subjects Henrietta rigorously ingrained into her young, sponge-like brain, Maria adored the biological sciences, blood in particular. The power held in blood was something unknown to herself and most other scholars. Its ability to strengthen, heal, and transform had baffled scientific minds since the Phnumerians, and its connection to the Great Ones was little understood. 

Blood, everything was always connected to blood…but why? That was something Maria was determined to uncover.

As Maria approached the throne, Queen Annalise peered at her with an impassive, vacant expression. It unnerved the young noble, who stopped at the foot of the steps to kneel while bowing her head lowly, which was rather difficult considering the cumulus nature of her gown, but she’d be damned if she would curtsy like a humble maiden.

Silence enveloped the crowd once more, awaiting a response from their illustrious ruler. Maria kept her head down, resisting the urge to shudder in nervousness while a bead of sweat rolled down her spine. After another terse moment, she heard the Queen hum in a manner she could not place. 

“Lady Maria,” Annalise began, loudly introducing the new title for all the lords to hear, “I congratulate you on your most recent victory, a pity that I had not the privilege to witness your dueling prowess.” Maria kept her head bowed.

“I thank you, Your Majesty. However, I must confess my prowess as a fighter truly pales in comparison to my insight as a scholar.”

“Indeed?” The monarch intoned. Another moment passed and the Queen gave a small wave for the band to continue playing music, a cue for the rest of the crowd to continue their dalliances. “You may rise, Lady Maria.”

Lady Maria.

It was a title she supposed she would need to get used to.

Maria rose, subtly smoothing her gown from any wayward creases. Annalise beckoned the young noble closer, moving an open palm to the left of her throne. Maria obeyed and ascended the stairs with a calm, cool reverence, despite the twisting of nerves writhing in her gut. She positioned herself by Annalise’s side and looked out into the crowd, who suddenly had no interest in her whatsoever. The resplendently dressed lords and ladies who had just espied and monitored her every breath and movement were now returning to their flippant conversations, as if she’d never stepped into the room at all. Maria let out a long sigh.

“Well met, cousin,” Annalise said, causing Maria to flinch at the sudden address, “I trust your accommodations have been most satisfactory.”

“Exemplary, Your Reverence. I’ve not had the pleasure of knowing a more gracious host aside from my uncle.”

“Yes…I had heard about his sudden passing, my apologies.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency. He was…a great man despite his…proclivity for placing on poor wagers.”

The Queen did not respond to the quip and stared out among her guests. Maria did the same, watching the tawdry horde bumble around in their evening dress, sipping on flutes of ichor likely exsanguinated from the most recent sacrifice. For as long as anyone in Cainhurst could recall, partaking in the cannibalistic consumption of blood had been a customary, even encouraged ritual. The power behind its utilization was multifaceted, but poorly understood, hence Maria’s impulse to study it, despite her reservations on partaking in the practice. Despite the allure of the power an individual could possess while gorging on blood or wielding blood weapons, Maria preferred to best her opponents through sheer agility and intellect. 

“What is your intention here tonight? I wonder…” Queen Annalise intoned suddenly, startling the newly appointed Lady.

“I beg your pardon, Your Excellency?”

Annalise turned her head slightly, barely inclining it to the taller woman, whilst her eyes remained focused on her guests.

“Forgive me, but it is not often that a relative, particularly one as removed as yourself, enters a churlish skirmish with the intention to enter my castle and seek an audience with me,” The Queen replied, her admonitioning tone laced with annoyance and derision. The words cut through Maria’s confidence like the severing of puppet strings and the young noble struggled to remain aloft as she felt the metaphorical rug being pulled out from underneath her.

“So it begs the question,” Her Majesty continued, “What could you possibly garner in seeking out my audience?”

Lady Maria swallowed thickly, praying that the nervous tick went unnoticed by the stern royal adjacent to her person. 

“Your Highness,” she began, placing her hands behind her back to obfuscate their obvious trembling, “It is my hope that I can propose an arrangement that I believe would benefit us both.”

Queen Annalise did not reply.

“I believe,” Lady Maria ventured again, “That I may prove myself as a worthy asset to you, and the kingdom, if you were to benevolently provide your patronage to my studies regarding blood, The Old Blood, and its puissant abilities.”

The royal hummed.

“I read your article on the hypothesis of utilizing beast blood as a contraceptive, ‘as the ravenous call of the blood in beasts possesses the propensity to attack the living, should that blood not also respond to the living cells fissioning within the uterus?’”

Maria was stunned by the Queen’s recollection of that writing, as she had published it little over a year ago.

“Do you truly think it is possible? To terminate a pregnancy using a tincture derived from beast blood?”

“Perhaps…” Maria cautiously replied, “I’ve not had the privilege of actually testing on human subjects—“

“What about ensuring a pregnancy? Would it be possible, in a similar vein, to codify a pregnancy to come to full term, without complications to the fetus or the host?”

The hastened way the Queen spoke perturbed Lady Maria, particularly when egregiously referring to the hypothetical expectant mother as a ‘host’, but she mulled the idea in her mind regardless.

“It’s—well, I suppose it’s possible…the ability for blood, particularly that of powerful creatures, enhances one’s stamina and constitution. I don’t see why one couldn’t utilize blood in such a manner…but you would require several test subjects—“

“And if you were provided with everything you require—tools, currency, subjects—you’d be able to develop and prove this theory?”

Maria turned to stare at the Queen in astonishment, but Annalise made no motion to turn her attention away from the lords mingling in the room. Maria was hesitant to answer the question, as no knowledge pertaining to blood and its utilization within pregnancy had been explored before, and with little to no studies to base the hypothesis on, Maria was unsure where she would even begin to construct an experiment to test the theory. After pondering the query another moment, she responded:

“I believe…with an adequate amount of financial support, supplies, and time…I could derive a way to successfully test out your hypothesis, Your Grace.” 

Queen Annalise hummed in acknowledgment before settling into a strained silence. Maria breathed in and out slowly, hoping to calm her rapidly beating heart. She prayed that her response would be convincing enough to persuade her distant cousin to provide her with the opportunity to even attempt such a feat, or at least support the destitute noblewoman. As the silence drew on longer, Maria’s nervousness increased, and sweat began pooling atop her brow. 

“I assume you’ll require a laboratory of sorts, as well as housing? As your uncle’s estate is no longer a viable option for you, I assume?”

Maria let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“If…if Her Majesty permits it.”

“Consider it done. You may continue using the quarters you’ve been residing in. I’ll have my staff prepare a section in the library for you to use for your research, and I’ll provide you a stipend to use as compensation for your work.”

Maria couldn’t believe her ears, her mind was swirling deliriously as euphoria set in. In her felicity, it took every ounce of her willpower not to completely engulf the smaller woman in an indebted embrace. 

“Additionally,” the Queen continued, “You may use the training grounds as you see fit, I’ll arrange to have one of my Cainhurst Knights escort you around the barracks to familiarize yourself with the area. Should you wish to spar with any of the soldiers to keep up with your current regiment, all you need do is ask.”

“Yes—thank you, Your Majesty, I am—I am truly honored.” Maria bowed her head low.

“Given my…exceptional generosity to support you, I expect progress.” Annalise warned, causing Maria to wince, the unspoken threat making her blood run cold.

“I understand…Your Grace. I will ensure that you receive progress.”

“Let us hope so, for both our sakes.”

The rest of the evening had gone rather pleasantly, with Maria gathering all the minutiae of Queen Annalise’s offerings to reiterate to Henrietta once the affair was concluded. Thankfully, the little soirée ended earlier than expected, giving Maria plenty of time to retire to her chambers and discuss the stipulations of her employment to her old governess. 

“Most excellent indeed child,” Henrietta beamed, “There was never a doubt in my mind that you’d secure a promising arrangement with the Queen.”

Maria arched her brow quizzically, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Alright, I admit I was exceptionally nervous that you would tumble over your skirts and let out a scathing expletive, but I still had faith that you would recover gracefully.”

Maria chuckled heartily, which encouraged Henrietta to join in her merriment, giving a mild laugh of her own. 

“Queen Annalise stated that you are welcome to remain here with me as well.” Maria stated pensively, although she already had a feeling of what her governess’s answer would be.

“Nonsense,” Henrietta chided, “A proper Lady has no need for a governess.”

“A proper Lady would have a lady-in-waiting.”

“You think I would be content with catering to your every whim? Pressing your clothes and polishing your boots whilst you are out gallivanting with the rest of high society?”

“No…” Maria admitted, “Although finding someone to mend my trousers as skillfully as you do might prove to be a challenge!”

Henrietta huffed and playfully smacked Maria’s forearm, since she was too short to reach the noblewoman’s shoulders.

“My skills, I’m afraid, would be better suited elsewhere.” Henrietta said plainly.

“Where will you go?”

“Yharnam, My Lady.”

“Your homeland?” 

“Indeed.” Henrietta paused, then moved across the bedchamber towards a small oval window. “My sister, Iosefka, has a clinic there. She tends to those burdened by disease or poverty. Most of her patients are orphans.” 

Maria said nothing, but joined Henrietta at the window and gazed out at the ramparts which were lit with torches. The firelight billowed slightly in the breeze, but did not extinguish.

“The scourge of blood plagues that city more and more with each passing day, claiming the parents of so many children. Children that require guidance and discipline…not unlike someone I know.”

Maria huffed out a small laugh at the quip, turning to face her old governess.

“And unfortunately for me, your skills in that department would be far better suited elsewhere.”

Henrietta smiled sadly at Maria before gently grasping her forearm and encouraging her to bend down. The ashen-haired woman obliged, but Henrietta still had to raise herself up onto her toes to press a motherly kiss against Maria’s brow.

“It has been an absolute privilege to watch you grow into such a striking, intelligent young woman.” Henrietta said gently while slightly squeezing Maria’s arm. “Serving as your governess has given me some of the most happiest moments of my life.”

Henrietta’s tender words had brought tears to Maria’s eyes. For the majority of her life, she had grown up without her mother, but Henrietta had filled that vacant role effortlessly. Dozens of wonderful and regrettable memories instantly played out in her mind. Henrietta had chastised her scornfully, indefatigably pushed her into her studies, and had provided comfort even during her worst nightmares. Despite their quarrels, Maria felt that Henrietta was the closest thing to a mother figure that she had ever known…

And now she was going to leave…

And it was like losing her mother all over again.

“Including the pranks?” Maria asked miserably, her voice cracking slightly. Henrietta smiled sadly and rubbed an errant tear that flowed down Maria’s cheek.”

“Absolutely not.” Henrietta lied as small tears began prickling in her eyes.

Lady Maria chuckled and encircled the old woman in her arms, bringing her into a tight embrace, which the old woman returned.

“I’ll see you off when you’re ready,” Maria informed the small woman, “And you better write to me often.”

“Someone still has to keep you in line,” Henrietta warned, “Even though pen and paper.”

The pair stayed like that for a few more moments before Henrietta extricated herself from the taller woman and dismissed herself for the evening, leaving Maria to ready herself for bed on her own. After changing into nightclothes and using the wash basin, she lifted the duvet cover off the luxurious bed and slipped into it, sinking deeply into the mattress. She huffed in annoyance as pillows began tumbling around her head from the displacement and she grabbed several of them in her fists and tossed them across the room before she was left with just two pillows. 

The only appropriate amount, she thought.

Maria then twisted onto her side to gaze out the window she and Henrietta had peered out of earlier, and she tried to ignore the heaviness in her heart as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Henrietta’s departure the following morning was a relatively simple affair. Queen Annalise had been kind enough to arrange a carriage for the retired governess upon Maria’s request. The carriage was a small, black buggy with gold trimming along the doors and windows, and was pulled by two beautiful friesian mares. The compact size of the carriage was reasonable, given that the old woman didn’t have many belongings save for two large trunks of clothes and shoes, and a smaller parcel of books and other scholastic supplies. Maria watched the coachman secure Henrietta’s luggage, to which she stopped him and gave him instructions on how to tie a more preferable knot.

“You see, if you utilize the bowline knot to secure the luggage, it can provide enough tension on wide turns to adequately accommodate the shifting movement in the heavy load.” 

The coachman harrumphed indignantly, yanking the rope held in Maria’s hands before tying a taut-line hitch.

“Sir, I must protest—“

“Maria,” Henrietta huffed, “Leave the poor man alone, we’re lucky his services are even being provided to someone of my class.”

Maria pouted, but allowed the man to continue his work without further comment. Once everything was secured, he opened the carriage door and motioned Henrietta to step inside. Henrietta turned to Maria, who was dressed in a long black overcoat and brown, leather trousers tucked into knee high boots. Her long, white hair was tied into a low ponytail by a chestnut colored ribbon and her rapier jangled softly in its sheath as she shifted her weight to one side.

“Be sure to wear a corset from time to time,” Henrietta suggested, “It’ll improve your posture.”

“The only reason I would ever choose to wear a corset would be for the pleasure to feel someone rip it off of me!” Maria stated suggestively, smiling widely as the coachman sputtered embarrassingly at the admission. Henrietta sighed deeply.

“Some day, someone will bite that filthy tongue of yours.”

“One can only hope.”

The pair embraced once more before Henrietta was led into the buggy with Maria’s assistance. Maria stepped back to allow the coachman to close and fasten the stagecoach door before taking his position in the driver’s box. The man gathered the reins in his hands and flapped them in an upward-downward motion to slap the leather gently across the horses’ rears, encouraging them to move forward. As the carriage trotted away, Henrietta waved goodbye to Maria through the carriage window. Maria waved back and then stood with her hands on the hilt of her rapier as she watched the carriage move further along the road. She watched the horizon forlornly, trying to maintain her composure as the woman who raised her drew further and further away, until disappearing from view. Maria swallowed and clenched her teeth, willing the tears to remain in her eyes.

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” A voice suddenly inquired, violently startling Maria. Maria whipped around and was greeted by a familiar visage. Cropped, light brown hair framed an oval face with a well defined jawline. Her striking features were complimented by a small, button nose and a pair of full, downward turned lips. Her eyes were just as astounding as the first time Maria had the privilege of studying them: blue and amber. Recognition flickered in the mismatched stare, and soon those full lips curled up into a familiar, puckish grin.

“Fancy seeing you again, My Lady.” The stranger continued, her voice light and jovial. “Although I would enjoy another chance to spar with you, Her Royal Highness has dictated that I should act as your guide among the grounds today.” 

Maria took in the stranger’s appearance. She was tall, but still at least a head shorter than Maria, and dressed in silver armor that looked almost paper-thin. The chainmail cuirass was cloaked by a silver capelet, with a billowing scarlet and charcoal duelist cape strung onto her left shoulder. Layered silver tassets rested on top of a vermillion tabard which trailed to a leather belt that held a gleaming, swept-hilt rapier. Immediately, Lady Maria recognized the garb.

“You’re a Knight of Cainhurst.” 

“Astutely pointed out, My Lady.” The knight teased, to which Maria grimaced in annoyance. “As I mentioned, the Queen has asked me to escort you through the grounds and the library where you will conduct your rigorous research.” She outstretched her right arm cordially, inviting Maria to take it within her own.

Maria stared petulantly at the offered appendage and shook her head once to decline the gesture. The knight gave an almost imperceptible shrug, her smile unwavering.

“Very well, if you would kindly follow me, My Lady, will begin our venture with a tour of the barracks.” The knight turned and motioned Maria to follow her with her shrouded shoulder.

My Lady…My Lady…My Lady!

Maria did not think for a moment she would get used to the title. Maria began to trail a half a step behind the knight, but caught up once they turned a corner in the courtyard. Maria appraised the knight at her side for a moment, marveling at how surprisingly muffled the clinking of the silver armor was as she moved.

“I do not believe I caught your name?” Maria asked monotonously, her silver eyes flicking up to the shorter woman’s face. Even in profile, Maria could still see her roguish grin.

“I never threw it, My Lady.” The knight goaded, slightly turning her head to meet Maria’s gaze. Something in Maria’s intense stare must have startled her, for her smile ebbed away for just a slight moment. The response brought a victorious smile to Maria’s face. 

“Catherine.” The woman supplied, tearing her gaze away from Maria.

“Catherine…” Maria repeated, the name gracefully rolling off her tongue. “No surname?”

“None for an orphan, My Lady.”

Maria winced at the admission.

“I…suppose we have that in common.” 

Catherine paused and turned her head to fully face Maria, her expression impassive and unreadable. Maria also halted her movements and observed the knight more closely, noticing a slight dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose and along her cheekbones. Briefly, Maria’s mind wandered back to their duel, how invigorating and intense the energy had been between them when she had placed her blade along the column of Catherine’s throat. Her mind replayed the memory over again, recalling the hot breath she felt against her lips. That same charge was in the air again now, although Maria couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it meant.

“I am Lady Maria Ravin de Cainhurst,” Maria informed, licking her, now suddenly, dry lips. “Although, Maria is just fine.”

“Lady Maria…” Catherine said softly, causing Maria to shudder. “A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance.” She extended her right hand toward Maria, who then realized just how close they were to one another. Maria took an imperceptible step back before extending her own hand, gingerly taking the smaller woman’s before giving it a brief shake.

“Likewise.”

Chapter Text

Chapter III: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

The Hunter’s Dream

1024 A.P.

Catherine’s eyes opened abruptly, her body vaulting into a sitting position as she gasped air into her heaving lungs. Her right hand immediately curled around her neck in an instinctual attempt to staunch a bleeding wound while the other clutched at the brittle grass below. Her eyes darted around wildly, trying to ascertain her location and attempting to recount the last fragments of her memory prior to losing consciousness. She was in a grass field, filled with white-gray asphodel flowers surrounded by barren, gnarled trees. A faint mist permeated through the foliage, its unmoving white cloud nurturing a sense of unease and dread within the disgraced Cainhurst knight. The anxiety incurred from waking in an unfamiliar area was immediately overturned by a sense of unfettered sorrow when she recalled her last snippets of memory. 

Warm, wet, and heavy blood seeping through her overcoat. Cold steel piercing her breast. Mournful silver eyes. Tears and blood mingling on porcelain skin. The sharp edge of a dagger against her throat…

Catherine whirled her head around, scanning the tree line for any signs of movement, searching for a head of ashen hair. After a few more panicked breaths, she realized the hand placed against her throat was dry and blood wasn’t ruefully spilling between her fingertips. She tore the hand away from her neck and briefly removed her gaze from the foreground to glance at the palm, which was unmarred. Curiously, she returned it to her throat, ghosting her fingers along the expanse of soft skin while her eyes refocused on her surroundings. She gasped when her fingertips glided along a raised, thick line of stretched skin where Maria’s dagger had undoubtedly sliced through. How could that lethal wound knit itself so quickly? 

Catherine stood up while she continued to warily watch the tree line. She stumbled a bit due to a short bout of dizziness from the sudden change of posture, but recovered well enough to save herself from falling ass-over-tea-kettle. Although there was no apparent movement among the foliage, Catherine kept her guard up, reflexively drifting her right hand into the grip of her Reiterpallasch, which, remarkably, was still situated within her baldric. A slight breeze began to rustle through the tall grass, forcing some petals to fall from a few asphodels. Catherine curiously looked about the unfamiliar territory and espied a cobblestone road with several glowing lanterns meticulously placed as if to guide a traveler to their destination. Without removing her hand from her weapon, Catherine removed herself from the field and followed the path along the road. 

Catherine was no stranger to ominous and portentous looking places; however, the eerie and baleful nature of this macabre milieu had all the hairs on her neck standing on end. Large, dilapidated gravestones dotted the drab landscape with candles scattered across their pedestals like glooming ghosts. Their words were worn and illegible; unable to adequately mourn or regard the dead. She tried not to dwell on this disquieting fact as her eyes wandered over to a small, yet imposing building on top of a nearby hill. As she grew closer to the structure, Catherine couldn’t help but compare it to the dozens of churches and cathedrals she had observed throughout her lifetime. It was a stone edifice with towering buttresses and pointed pinnacles that exuded a great sense of consternation and intimidation. 

Catherine continued her journey towards the structure, eventually following up a flight of stone steps that winded gently toward its entrance. When she reached the top, she regarded the building for a brief moment. Its pointed arches and piers were carved plainly and secured a large mahogany double door within its frame. The golden handles were smithed into the shape of a long line with an opened diamond at the bottom, which Catherine recognized as the Hunter’s Sigil. She glanced briefly along the expanse of the door frame before raising her left hand to rap her knuckles along the door. For a brief moment, her tentative knocks went unanswered; however, before she could raise her hand again to knock with a little more force, a soft, grating voice called out from behind the door.

“Enter.”

Catherine removed her hand from her rapier before gently pulling on the two door handles, which whined as they pivoted along tight, rusty hinges. The lurid sound was akin to a fork scraping against fine tableware, and Catherine winced at the offending screech. She cautiously entered the building, returning her right hand to the grip of her sword as her eyes fluttered around the room. The lodging was smaller than what she initially assumed from the outside. It held a single room that extended out from the atrium, lined with a few hutch cabinets filled with books and alchemical ingredients. The room was unkempt and disorderly, with several turned about tables that held waterlogged tomes and melted candles. Dozens of dusty and chipped pots and vases were littered among the floor on top of a forest green carpet which was grotesquely stained by an unknown, brown substance.

Catherine’s grip on her sword tightened as she assessed the shrewd old man who sat in a tall moveable chair with a black backrest lined with round, brass fasteners. The chair looked old and worn, much like the owner who occupied it. The frail man had a bony, hallowed face with prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes. His brittle and thin grey hair was tousled underneath a tattered, moth eaten top hat and the rest of his garb was shredded and muddied, as if he’d repeatedly tumbled down a rocky gulch in the middle of a thunderstorm. Catherine noted that the scratched footrest held one left foot and a prosthetic peg where she presumed was where the right foot used to be. The only thing on his person that seemed pristine and untouched was a burgundy scarf that was gingerly placed around his neck. And although she couldn’t fathom why, the article had seemed familiar to her.

“Ah…” the man intoned, his voice gravelly and wispy, as if he hadn’t used it in quite some time, “…You must be a new hunter.”

“That I am…” Catherine responded prudently, “What is this place?”

“Be at ease, good hunter, I mean you no harm in this place.” He stated, gesturing to her Reiterpallasch, but Catherine didn’t dare move.

“Come now, this place is meant to be a safe haven, a home, if you will, among esteemed hunters, such as yourself.” The strange man eyed her up and down before humming curiously.

“She seems…familiar.” He muttered quietly, low enough that Catherine didn’t quite catch it.

“I beg your pardon?”

His eyes roamed her frame once more, which caused Catherine to shudder in disgust. She didn’t know why, but his eyes on her felt wrong. He lifted a slender hand in her direction, his long fingers curling at her in a beckoning motion. 

“Come, sit and have tea with me, and I’ll explain the utilities of this workshop.” He slowly wheeled himself over to a small table that was covered by a thin, frayed tablecloth that had several charred holes from where a candle or two had errantly fallen onto the fabric. The disgraced knight charily sauntered over to the table, drawing her sword and clicking on the mechanism that shifted the forte of her rapier forwards to reveal the flintlock before wordlessly crossing it over her left arm. The stranger marveled at the weapon as she took her seat across from him, the silver sheen of the barrel poised towards him just enough to discourage any untoward behavior. 

“Fascinating…a fine trick weapon…a Reiterpallasch if I’m not mistaken?”

Catherine stiffened.

“…Yes?” She hesitantly ventured.

“A Cainhurst Knight.” He stated, then linked his fingers together before resting his chin on both his hands. Catherine’s unease only grew as his gaze flicked up and down her visage once more.

“Perhaps…” she responded curtly, reticent to reveal any details on her past. “What is this place? Who are you?”

The old man was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes on the new hunter before he cleared his throat. He reached into his threadbare overcoat to procure a small porcelain bell, which he rang a few times before setting it on the table.

“This place…is called ‘The Hunter’s Dream’. It is a realm that provides adequate shelter for weary hunters to rest away from ravaging beasts. Additionally, the workshop here allows hunters to use blood to strengthen and enhance their weapons…or flesh…”

He drummed the fingers of his right hand on the table, next to the small summoning bell.

“What do you mean by ‘realm’?” 

“Well, you died, didn’t you? Out there on the mortal plane?”

The stranger’s words lanced through Catherine, sending a frigid chill throughout her entire frame. She absentmindedly raised her free hand to drag her fingertips along the scar that marred the column of her throat. Registering the texture of the rough skin fomented a tremor that wound and coiled into the pit of her stomach, twisting violently before bile bubbled and boiled through her esophagus. She thankfully was able to quell the vitriolic bout of nausea, swallowing the acerbic effuse that burned the mucous membrane lining her pharynx. 

“I—” she sputtered timorously, “I d-died?”

The old man eyed her incredulously.

“Of course…else you’d still be out there, amongst beasts…”

“That’s…then how can I possibly be here now if I’m dead? It’s not possible…” Catherine harshly inquired, her voice cracking from the panic scourging through her body.

“Oh? Did no one inform you of the contract you undertook when you became a hunter?”

Memories of the blood minister from Yharnam spilled forth in Catherine’s mind, recalling his insistence on a contract; however, she was in such a drugged state of mind at the time that she couldn’t recount signing any form of legal documentation. Her resounding silence seemed to answer the dilapidated man’s query.

“Well, to become a hunter, and be imbued with the power from blood ministration, an individual forges a contract with a Great One. In exchange for power, strength, and immortality, the individual consigns themselves to inevitably transform into the prey that they once ruthlessly slaughtered.”

The man paused, then reached for the porcelain bell again before giving it another haughty shake, the little timber doing nothing to ease Catherine’s febrile nerves.

The hunter’s grip on the stock of her flintlock tightened until her knuckles bulged underneath her taut skin. She tried to calm herself by taking in deep, measured breaths, but they quickened and ricocheted through her lungs like an errant bullet. Panic began to settle into her every cell as another wave of nausea surged through her. 

How was any of this possible?

Was it true?

Was she to be damned to such a fate? To suffer, as her brother did, and transmute into a blood-lusting beast?

Was this why her Lady had been so vehemently against her joining among their rank?

Maria…

The mere thought of the noblewoman brought tears to Catherine’s eyes. She recalled their last encounter, remembered the torment and anguish behind those illustrious, silver irises as the dagger cleaved through her larynx. She recounted the soft, tear-stained expanse of her Lady’s cheek, and felt the phantom ghosting of shaking breaths on her palm as her fingertips began to tingle. A doleful agony seeped into the crevices of Catherine’s mangled heart, but was quickly replaced by irascible resentment. 

She had to have known…

How dare she!?

How could Maria, her Maria, willingly condemn herself to such a loathsome kismet? To join the Healing Church—the Old Hunters—knowing that she’d end up succumbing to the lascivious call of the blood? 

And for what?

To further her damnable research? To indulge her wild curiosity!?

How ironic.

Catherine clenched her jaw and bared her teeth, holding back a guttural growl. Tears began streaming down her cheeks from an influx of frustration, indignation, and sorrow.

She left her…knowing she may never return.

And that broke her.

Before the strange man could react, Catherine brought the barrel of her pistol up against the right side of her temple in one fluid motion. She slammed her left hand into the end table, violently curling her hand around the ragged cotton tablecloth. She seethed and whined as the cool steel shook in her trembling hand, her pointer finger dancing dangerously along the trigger. Ugly waves of tears careened down her face as she pressed the flintlock further against her skull and she screwed her eyes shut. For a moment, there was only the sound of Catherine’s erratic and heavy breathing. In the darkness behind her eyelids, all she could see was her Lady, and she whimpered pathetically in despair. She clenched and unclenched the fabric in her hand, rubbing the worn cloth between her fingers.

“I’m afraid…those solutions won’t work anymore…” the man sighed, before cautiously reaching his right hand out to gently remove the barrel from Catherine’s temple. She acquiesced, slowly placing the pistol on the table with a trembling hand. Once her hold on the weapon fell, she buried her face into the empty palm, letting out a strangled sob. Thankfully, the decrepit old man remained silent for a few minutes as she continued to weep. Eventually, she rubbed the tears away from her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose

“What is your name, good hunter?” He finally asked, once it seemed that the crying woman had calmed down enough.

She took a deep breath before responding.

“Catherine…”

The man tensed up at the reveal of her name, though she couldn’t fathom why.

“Catherine,” he repeated imperiously, “I am…Gehrman.”

Catherine’s eyes widened at his response. This battered, decaying old sack of flesh was meant to be Gehrman, one of the highest ranking Old Hunters under the guidance of the Healing Church and Lady Maria’s mentor? Although their interactions at Cainhurst Castle had been brief, she hardly recognized the man before her. A once tall, imposing, and domineering warrior, now reduced to little more than shriveled cocoon of skin and bone…She could scarcely believe it.

Truthfully, Catherine held no affection for the Old Hunter. Although she was cordial to him during his time at Cainhurst, at the request of Lady Maria, she was loath to be in his presence for extended periods of time. She always felt ill at ease around the strapping fighter, especially when his eyes lingered a little too long on Maria. Despite informing Maria about her reservations on the man who was old enough to be the noblewoman’s father, Maria brusquely shrugged it off, insisting that the man did not see her in such a lecherous light, and that Catherine’s petty jealousy was adorable.

She wasn’t jealous. She was afraid for her Lady, and although she knew Maria could take care of herself if Gehrman decided to act inappropriately, she couldn’t help but feel…uncomfortable during every minute interaction with the old man.

Even now.

“Gehrman? My apologies, good sir, I—I didn’t recognize you…” She said hastily, gesturing to his person. “Your appearance has…wavered since last we met.”

“So, you are Catherine, the Cainhurst Knight?” Gehrman grumbled, giving another fierce ring of the bell, his eyes focusing on anything else but her.

She found the behavior odd.

“Yes…but what are you doing here?”

“I am the overseer of ‘The Hunter’s Dream’, a caretaker of sorts…”

The disgraced knight waited for the man to continue elaborating, but he remained impassive as his eyes focused intently on an opened door to his right, as if willing something to pass through the threshold. Catherine grimaced.

“What am I meant to do here?”

“I already told you, foolish girl,” Gehrman said curtly, causing Catherine to scowl, taking umbrage at his flippant remark. “You may consider this place a sanctuary…and utilize anything in this workshop, tools and the like, to improve your weaponry…”

Suddenly, he reached for the bell on the table and squeezed it tightly in his palm before hurling it against the wall, the porcelain easily shattering against the wood on a curio cabinet. He seethed in his chair, a low growl escaping his thin, chapped lips. Catherine was perturbed, and almost rose from her seat before he sighed wistfully, his eyes glued to the opened entrance. Catherine soon registered the sound of quiet footsteps and the clinking of glass from just beyond the corridor, but from her position, she couldn’t see who was approaching them.

“We don’t have many tools as we once did, but you’re welcome to use whatever you find lying around…”

As the footsteps got louder, Catherine could see the shadow of a tall figure slide into view on the stained carpet. The figure paused at the threshold of the workshop, and the shadow tilted their head. Catherine could see a faint outline of boots just underneath the opened door frame and furrowed her brow as Gehrman raised a hand in the direction of the new apparition, beckoning the figure to enter. 

“Even the doll …should it please you…” he whispered scornfully.

As the figure entered, the first thing that Catherine registered was the segmented fingers poking out of cardinal colored fingerless gloves that delicately gripped onto the sides of a silver platter that held a large, white porcelain teapot with painted roses curling around the spout. Two matching sets of teacups and saucers accompanied it. The person was dressed in a plain, taupe colored dress with white lace at the edge of the hemline. A medium length, dull brown cloak with gold embroidery shrouded the figure, who’s head turned slightly in Catherine’s direction, acknowledging her presence. As soon as the stranger’s gaze locked with her own, Catherine couldn’t help but let out a pained whimper. 

There, in the doorway, was a tall woman, with a red neckerchief tied neatly around her clothed throat. Her ashen hair was tied back, but several strands fell out from beneath a dainty, chestnut dyed bonnet. Her glassy eyes were fixated on Catherine’s, the familiar silver looking absolutely wrong when framed in the deathly pale face. Tremors began to torrent through Catherine as the woman drew closer, setting down the silver platter onto the small table occupied by her and Gehrman. Catherine’s breath hitched as the woman lifted the teapot, pouring a honey tinged draught into the two separate teacups before placing one in front of Gehrman. Catherine flinched when the woman placed the spare teacup in front of her, but the stranger seemed unfazed by the harsh reaction. Catherine’s eyes darted to and fro across the woman’s countenance, her distress increasingly palpable the longer she bore her gaze into the doppelgänger.

“This is my doll…” Gehrman stated possessively, seizing a hold on one of the Plain Doll’s wrists and wrenching her towards him, “...but I am willing to share.”

He buried his face into her bodice and inhaled deeply, causing a sickening odium to swirl within the new hunter’s gut. His moss colored eyes peered ruefully at Catherine who shivered violently at the vulgar display. 

Catherine’s mind was in shambles as the puppet who looked, in every facet, like her beloved Lady Maria, looked at her, completely devoid of any lingering trace of emotion. The hunter watched, horrified, as Gehrman raised a cruel hand to trace up the doll’s abdomen and sternum, and she couldn’t suppress the gag that emanated from her ragged throat as she saw Gehrman’s emaciated fingers cup around and fondle the doll’s clothed breasts. Catherine’s mouth hung low in disgust and anguish as the Old Hunter continued to molest the dispassionate figurine, moaning quietly. The doll’s lifeless and impassive eyes drifted to Catherine’s mismatched stare, and the Cainhurst warrior felt herself go completely numb.

This wasn’t a dream…

It was a nightmare.

“Use her in any way you’d like.”

Gehrman then roughly shoved the doll towards Catherine, who had to reach her arms out to prevent the puppet from falling or careening into her person. Once the doll’s balance was righted, the young hunter released her, returning her shaking hands to her knees where she gripped the fabric of her trousers so harshly, that her nails began to scrape the dry skin beneath it. The puppet looked at her again and then offered her a small smile. That small curve of lips forced Catherine to shudder in revulsion.

“Well met, Good Hunter.” The doll spoke softly, her voice perfectly emulating Lady Maria’s.

The bilious feeling that enveloped Catherine at the sound of the doll’s voice originated low in her abdominal cavity before twisting in its ascent towards her diaphragm, where she promptly and unceremoniously began to vomit. She gagged and spewed up an undigested, putrid discharge that started to pool around her boots. The young hunter tried to stop retching onto the floor, but found herself incapable of doing so. After another minute or so, she stopped, and her vision began to fade as she was hit with an onslaught of dizziness. She tried to stand, barely lifting herself over her chair before she toppled over, and fainted.

-

When Catherine awoke, she was no longer in the workshop, but outside in the tall grass once more. Asphodels gently caressed her cheeks as a slight breeze buffeted the soft petals. She raised her torso slowly, only to be welcomed by a throbbing headache. She languidly rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the unsolicited agony. She swallowed and winced when her saliva burned down the raw lining of her esophagus, causing her to cough and spit out the remaining traces of acrid effuse. When the young hunter looked down at her waist, she noticed that her rapier was missing and she glanced around wildly at the ground surrounding her to attempt to ascertain its location.

“Good Hunter, you are awake,” Maria’s voice gently called out from behind her, but Catherine knew it wasn’t truly her.

The Hunter fought the impulse to purge her empty stomach once more and gritted her teeth, yet said nothing. There was a prolonged silence before Catherine heard the puppet move closer, her footfalls muffled by the soft grass.

“Stay the fuck away from me. ” Catherine warned, raising herself onto her feet and whirling around to glare at the abhorrent copy of her lost Lady. The Plain Doll halted her movements and simply looked at Catherine, then extended a long arm out towards the hunter, the flintlock of the Reiterpallasch in its grasp. 

Catherine looked briefly at the weapon in the doll’s hand before flicking her gaze back into glassy, steel-grey pools. The sight made her shudder again, and she abruptly snagged the weapon from the doppelgänger. She clicked on the mechanism that modified the trick weapon, returning it to its original form before sheathing it into the baldric at her side. The doll eyed her curiously.

“What do you want with me?” Catherine spat venomously. The Plain Doll tilted her head to the side slightly, regarding the hunter, but otherwise conveyed no emotion.

“I am here in this dream to look after you, she responded, folding her hands together in front of her. “Should you pursue the echoes of blood, I will embolden your sickly spirit and channel them into your strength.”

Every monotonous, placid word that was expectorated from the imposter’s mouth filled the young hunter with unbridled rage, which was further fueled by the memories of Gehrman’s filthy hands groping the puppet.

“And how do you embolden that bastard’s sickly spirit, hmm? You let his disgusting fingers prod and paw all over you?”

If the statement hurt the doll in any way, it wasn’t reflected in her features.

“I was made to serve the desires of all the hunters who visit the dream,” she said plainly, “It’s not my place to protest against them.”

This statement stunned Catherine, who suddenly felt a tug of pity for the poor Doll. The hunter’s brows furrowed and she tore her heterochromatic stare away from the puppet, focusing on a few headstones adjacent to the pair.

“Just—” Catherine sighed, her gaze still lingering on the faded letters across the gravestones, “—just tell me how I can get out of this nightmare.”

The Doll turned her head to the left towards another tall headstone. Catherine’s line of sight followed and settled on a large gravestone that had several candles strewn about as well as a couple of skeletal beings, whose tight, translucent skin showed every bulging vein. These creatures had their toothless mouths open in silent screams and their little hands were clasped together as if they were praying. Catherine silently approached the strange monument, her eyes wandering over the small messengers who looked up at her, almost pleadingly, but she couldn’t know what for. 

“Envision where you want to go in your mind and touch the grave,” the Doll said. “Should you perish out in reality once more, you will return to The Hunter’s Dream, and I will be able to strengthen you against the beasts you hunt.”

“I’m only after one beast,” Catherine informed, closing her eyes and willing the Astral Clocktower to take shape in her mind. A gilded clock face that held the cycles of the moon, ribbed, vaulted ceilings, wooden transverse arches, and creaky wood floors. An ancient throne, and an undead woman resting peacefully—the vision of the clocktower spread behind her eyelids and she reached out to let her fingertips graze the stone. A burst of light emanated from the grave and enveloped the young woman. Heat blossomed throughout her body as a haze began to rise from the ground that she stood on. The doll watched as the woman’s visage flickered and faded until she completely disappeared, transported to her intended destination. 

“Farewell, Good Hunter,” the Plain Doll spoke out loud on deaf ears, her eyes drifting along the tombstone where the hunter once was and feeling a tight and painful twinge behind her breast. She lifted a cautious hand to her chest as if to soothe away the offending sensation.

How curious…

Chapter Text

Chapter IV: Wherefore Are You Gentle, Strong, and Valiant?

Cainhurst Castle: Library

1004 A.P.

Maria narrowed her eyes onto the glass slide resting in front of her, deftly flicking a small vial with her fingertips to pinch a drop of blood onto its surface. The surface tension of the droplet remained intact as it dripped softly onto the glass below. The young noblewoman then set her blood vial aside to quickly pry a small slip from a box next to her. She carefully pressed the thin coverslip over the sample, spreading out the crimson ichor until it reached the edges. When she was satisfied with her sample prep, she gently picked up the slide with the thumb and forefinger on each of her hands, moving towards an engioscope resting on the edge of the desk.

The library in Cainhurst Castle was a marvelous place to set up a small laboratory to conduct her research. When the young Cainhurst Knight, Catherine, had originally presented the wing to her, Maria was utterly dumbfounded by the resplendent grandeur of the athenaeum. It was a two storied chamber with tall, carved mahogany shelves that lined every wall, completely filled with a myriad of different volumes and publications. Long desks and chairs were strategically positioned throughout the massive corridor and step ladders were strewn about various shelves in case one required climbing up to retrieve a coveted tome. The area in which Maria was working was on the second floor of the chamber, in a spacious alcove just across a small bridge. Maria thought that it was absolutely splendid. Not only did she have access to thousands of peer reviewed scientific archives and journals, but it was quiet and devoid of people most of the time, which suited Maria perfectly.

The young royal slipped the thin section onto the stage of her engioscope, delicately lifting each of the metal clips to secure the thin glass. Once the specimen was fastened, she reached for the matchbox in her waistcoat and extricated a single match. She struck the match against the textured edge of the matchbox and lit the candle secured to the engioscope before adjusting the small mounted shading fan and condenser adjacent to the device. Maria then peered into the eyepiece, finely twisting the aperture to center her eye onto the glass slide. She then felt around for a knurled knob on the left side of the machine, which raised the stage towards the lens to focus the specimen.

Maria held her breath as she watched the blood writhe to life beneath the thin section. On the glass was an ovum surrounded by blood harvested from a scourge beast, which began to wriggle and move around the ovum in varying directions. Excitedly, she twisted the focusing knob to inch the stage closer to the objective, hoping to get a closer look. The ovum seemed to be vibrating as the blood curled around the radiata of the cell before penetrating the pellucida and vitelline membrane. The cell then contracted slightly and Maria instinctively increased the focus until the glass beneath it suddenly cracked. The noblewoman panicked and tore herself from the eyepiece, reaching her hand around the stage only to witness the thin glass tumble out of the security clips. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Maria cursed, twisting the focus knob in the opposite direction to move the stage as far away from the aperture as possible. She then sighed and placed a fist on her forehead, reaching towards an opened notebook to the right of the engioscope. She moved it in front of her and picked up the fountain pen nestled in the hinge of the journal before dipping it into the inkwell next to her. She dabbed off the excess before bringing the tip to the paper.

Specimen No. 67: Ovum and Scourge Beast Blood

Time: 15:21

Observations: 

Beast blood from a mature scourge beast (turned for longer than three-years) has a faster and more illicit reaction to a fertilized ovum than that of an unfertilized cell. Blood was able to almost penetrate the ovum fully prior to the experiment failing under preventable causes; will require more fertilized cells to fully comprehend the implications of these findings.

Maria made a noise of disgust before closing the notebook. She brought both her hands to the side of her head to rub her temples in frustration. That was the fourth fertilized egg today! She had been conducting her research for Queen Annalise for little over a month and had barely anything to show for it. Annalise had been very forthcoming and amenable to any requests that Maria uttered pertaining to the research. Her majesty generously provided adequate equipment and space in addition to viable ovum samples, although she was unsure of where they were being harvested from.

She didn’t think it wise to ask.

The origins of the beast blood however, was more transparent. They were collected by the Cainhurst Knights who went out on raids along the outskirts of the city to cull beasts that ventured too close to the gates. Gauging the age of a beast was difficult when one wasn’t there to witness the skirmish, but Maria had settled on receiving detailed testimony from the knights assigned to the attacks. Extracting a coherent and refined description from the knights was often like pulling teeth, thankfully, that one warrior, Catherine, was remarkably informative. On the occasion that she did engage a group of beasts, she was the sole person Maria would seek out to collect a statement from. The young woman was articulate and thorough in her explanations to the point where Maria felt like she had been the one in combat with the licentious beasts…

Listening to the young woman was just…

Intoxicating.

Maria sighed and then cleared her throat.

Perhaps spending some time away from the lab would clear her mind.

The noblewoman moved away from her work desk, meandering from the alcove to head across the bridge, downstairs through the library, and to a small lift abutting the entrance. She entered the small room and shut the gilded gate behind her before reaching out to tug on a lever attached to the far wall of the lift. A quiet whirring heralded the start of the elevator, which slowly descended at a steady pace. When the apparatus came to a gentle stop, Maria pried open the door and exited out into the main hall. A silver clad knight guarding the entrance of the castle saluted her, and she responded with a short bow of her head before crossing the threshold and walking down the limestone steps.

Maria was partial to a small midday stroll to help meditate and relieve the insurmountable stress that seemed to build up with each passing day of little to no success in her experiments. Although she had originally informed Queen Annalise that the entire process would take quite some time, she couldn’t help but feel pressured and obligated to show Her Majesty something of worth.

Maria allowed her feet to trail her along, her mind agog with scores of disparaging thoughts. She briefly thought about Henrietta and how she had responded to a missive she had written about a fortnight ago regarding the lack of progress, the curt woman simply responded:

Great deeds are conducted not through strength, but through perseverance.

If only Maria’s troubled mind could adopt that fanciful attitude. 

Of course Lady Maria was aware that Cainhurst wasn’t built in a day; however, the Queen’s stringent expectations made it feel like there was a pistol prodding into the back of her skull, and the lack of results was the cocking of the flintlock. Maria took a deep breath, trying to push the drab thoughts away. 

She glanced about her surroundings, recognizing that she had wandered over into the eastern courtyard, a vast expanse of shrubbery and blossoms that splayed splendid hues against the achromatic umber of the castle grounds. The late summer had encouraged a prolific flowering among the gardens and Maria couldn’t help but admire the ethereal beauty of the transformed landscape. Her uncle hadn’t been the type of man to cultivate a garden, so having the opportunity to admire the picturesque florets was an unexpected, yet welcomed, joy. The gardenia trees, by far, were the most favored by Maria. Several of them were enclosed near a large, three tiered marble fountain. The soft ivory of the gently curving petals provided a stark contrast against the midnight hue of the stone, like the bursting of a comet against the night sky. 

During Maria’s whimsical musings, the wind picked up and buffeted the snowy sepals toward the northwest. Her gaze followed the foliage as it rippled through the breeze, settling on the training grounds where several knights were sparring. Each warrior was paired off and kept at an appropriate distance away from the other fighters, giving them ample room to move and utilize the terrain to their advantage. They contested with a variety of armaments, which impressed the young warrior, as adaptability during a battle was a skill that she held in high esteem. She regarded one tall, hulking man with long, disheveled auburn hair as he raised a long, silver greatsword, positioning his guard far too close to his chest. She tutted out a soft laugh when the brute lunged forward towards his opponent, who casually contraparried his attack with their own swept hilt rapier. Immediately, Lady Maria identified who the opponent was.

Catherine’s cropped chestnut colored locks swayed gently with each of her elegant movements. Although her odds looked poor at first glance when appraised alongside the towering lout, Maria knew that the sprightly knight was not to be underestimated. Maria instinctively knew that the body beneath the thin silver armour was impressively haled and toned. The noblewoman’s eyes traveled along the length of the knight’s arm as she cut upward with her blade. In her mind, Maria envisioned the movement of the lateral head of Catherine’s tricep as it gracefully glided across taut brachialis. She wondered if the warrior had always possessed that physical prowess, or had she needed to grow into her strength like Maria had? Watching the match unfold in front of her was hypnotic, the fluidity of Catherine’s body as she executed her strikes was spellbinding. The enraptured Maria moved closer, her silver irises roaming across Catherine’s sword arm.

Catherine thrusted the tip of her sword toward her rival’s sternum, but he quickly pulled his sword up into first guard and blocked the attack with his quillion. Before he could counter, she remissed, hurriedly disengaging and lunging forward with another thrust. He barely escaped her offensive attack and growled as he retreated back a few steps. He swung the greatsword behind him at an upright angle and let out a curt cry as he swerved the blade downward towards the shorter woman. Catherine then tossed her rapier into a fifth guard stance, a move that would have appeared foolish due to the risk of the thin steel shattering beneath the powerful overhead blow of the greatsword. However, as the thick steel of the man’s weapon came into contact with Catherine’s, the young woman bent her knees and curved the flexible blade along the length of the greatsword until it was trapped in the cutaway of the guard. Catherine then exploded upward, pushing violently against the sword, wrenching it away from the brutish man’s grasp. It clamored erratically on the inlaid brick lining the courtyard as Catherine stepped forward, pointing the tip of the blade underneath the tall man’s chin.

“Výborně!” Maria beamed, offering a polite clap.

Catherine flinched at the sudden praise and slowly withdrew from her opponent and turned her head slightly to regard Maria. 

In her trance, the ashen-haired royal had inched her way to a few meters behind the pair of soldiers, but was careful to remain outside their sparring ring. Catherine turned around fully and sheathed her rapier into her scabbard with a small flourish. 

“Thank you, My Lady,” she replied, bowing respectfully. The buffoon at the knight’s side seemed to finally register Maria’s presence and he awkwardly threw himself forward into a low bow.

“My Lady…” he mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

“You’re quite the opponent,”  Maria chuckled, gesturing to the man’s egregiously offending stature. “But brute strength will not always prevail in battle.” 

The noblewoman sidled over to the greatsword, her own rapier jangling against her thigh. She wrapped both her hands around the grip and effortlessly lifted up the massive blade. She moved to face the man, who’s green eyes watched her curiously. 

“You were holding your guard far too close to your person,” she informed, extending one leg forward and bending her knees. She rested her weight on her back leg and pulled the rigid blade into an inside left guard stance.

“Treat your weapon as an extension of your body. A greatsword should be used to create distance between you and your opponent,” Maria instructed, nodding her head toward Catherine. She flicked her silver eyes to the swept hilt rapier at the soldier’s side before returning them to the mismatched stare. Catherine responded with an acquiescing hum, unsheathed her weapon, and settled into an en garde position.

“Given the weight of a greatsword, you should try to keep the blade moving and avoid any sudden changes in direction,” Lady Maria swept the weapon upward, and Catherine retreated to avoid the strike. Maria immediately twisted her wrists and spun the blade backwards, keeping it close to her guard. The noblewoman took a quick step forward and turned her wrists again to turn the greatsword as she cut upward again. The long spinning blade forced Catherine out of Maria’s guard as the taller woman repeated the action, taking a half step forward with each rotation.

“Let gravity and momentum do most of the work, thinking too much about how much power to put behind your strikes…” Maria tutted as the greatsword was lifted slightly above her head. To demonstrate, she shifted the direction of the sword, hurling it downward towards Catherine’s scalp. Maria saw the knight smirk, side-step and contraparry the blow, letting gravity push the blade aside and out of Maria’s guard. Catherine rapidly riposted the tip of her sword to Maria’s throat. “…will leave you open to an attack.” Maria finished. 

Maria smiled and her eyes softened, pleased that Catherine was able to read her body language during the demonstration and responded in the exact way she had wanted her to. Maria took an impossible step forward, allowing the point of Catherine’s rapier to prick against her larynx. Catherine’s puckish grin fell away.

“Výborně…” Maria breathed so softly that she didn’t think anyone could have heard it, but she could have sworn she saw the knight shudder.

“My Lady…you’re bleeding.” 

The words seemed to startle Maria, who stepped away from the blade and took off a leather glove to ascertain the extent of the damage. It was nothing more than a slight trickle, like that of a ruptured acne boil pinched by an impatient adolescent. 

“My sincerest apologies, My Lady, I—“ 

“Nonsense…it was an act of folly on my part. No true harm done!” Maria laughed, pressing her fingers onto the knick to stifle the bleeding. Catherine nodded slowly and sheathed her rapier, her eyes never leaving Maria’s. Their gazes lingered for a moment before the lumbering man interjected.

“That was a fine demonstration, Your Ladyship, I’ll see to it that I afford the technique to memory.”

Maria huffed out a small laugh.

Your Ladyship? That’s new. She thought.

“I’m glad I can provide some much needed feedback to you…uhm…?”

“Bohdan, Your Ladyship.”

“Bohdan,” Maria repeated, handing the greasy-haired knight back his greatsword. 

“Forgive my imprudence, My Lady, but I didn’t think a highborn noblewoman such as yourself was privy to performing feats of folly,” Catherine chided with a teasing lilt of her voice. 

Bohdan gaped at the smaller woman’s insolent remark, opening and closing his lips like a fish out of water. His dumbfounded green eyes shot to Catherine, silently asking her if she had a death wish, but the ashen-haired woman smiled and mischievously narrowed her eyes.

“I’m afraid long bouts of staring through the smallest, meager aperture of an engioscope in the darkest corners of the castle, lead to precarious actions and thoughts. Not all of them are unwelcome or unfavorable… ”

The witty repartee was lost on Bohdan. 

“Then perhaps…” Catherine ventured, “…you could continue your pattern of blunder and oversight with our rank this evening at the South Gate?” 

Maria and Bohdan both raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“There is word that a pack of scourge beasts are roaming along the roads of the South Gate, and it’s been hindering the merchant trade within the city,” Catherine explained, shuffling her weight to her left side. “If your studies are succumbing you to an acedia of ennui, then perhaps a more…hands on approach…will alleviate your boredom.”

Maria could not suppress the grin of excitement that came to her lips, but she facetiously feigned impassivity. 

“Well, you know my schedule might not allow it…” the noblewoman said thoughtfully, placing a gloved hand under her chin. “…although, I suppose I could postpone wallowing in self pity and slipping slowly into madness until tomorrow morning…”

Catherine gave Maria a cheeky smirk while Bohdan’s furrowed brow impossibly furrowed even further in confusion.

“Where shall we meet?” Maria eagerly queried.

-

The South Gate was an imposing and domineering marvel of stonework. The barbicans were whorled, with narrow windows carved into the stone. Large Cainhurst banners were draped below the ramparts, tickling the iron portcullis securing the entrance to the city. Several ballista were aligned along the battlements, with over a dozen weapon racks abutting against the stone walls. The South Gate was heavily fortified in order to provide protection to the hundreds of merchants that traversed through the bustling metropolis. Being the most well travelled entryway to the outer bailey of the city often attracted the attention of beasts that were eager to gorge themselves on the raw flesh and ichor of unlucky wanderers. Therefore, it was common for escadrilles of Cainhurst Knights to be assigned to slaughter the encroaching hordes. 

Catherine was leaning against a barbican, watching a couple of her squad mates bicker about some fatuous scenario regarding whether or not the women in the group would rather be alone in the woods with a maneater boar or a man.

“You can’t be serious, you daft or something?” One soldier asked indignantly. The short, stocky woman in front of him nonchalantly moved her dark braided hair behind her.

“Marek, you wouldn’t understand—“

“You’re saying that, if you were lost in the forest, completely defenseless, that you’d really rather take your chances with a boar than an innocent man?”

“Keyword there being ‘innocent ’, Marek.” Another woman quipped, rolling her dark brown eyes. “When was the last time you had an innocent thought when it came to pretty women?” 

Marek sputtered and huffed while emphatically crossing his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you should keep that dribble from pouring out of your gaping skull cave every time you see Ajča waltz out of the latrine!”

Marek flushed and blubbered out nonsensical mutterings, his short circuited brain attempting to restart. Ajča couldn’t help but laugh, which forced the humiliated man to blush further from the bottom of his neck to the tip of his ears.

“Lay off him, Danika,” Catherine chided, pulling away from the stone wall to approach them. “Dig into him any further and I fear he might combust.”

Danika smiled impishly, her dark eyebrows wagging up and down. She was slightly shorter than Catherine, but had a sturdier frame. Her dark hair was shorn close down to her ebony skin, and she had a long, sunken scar that curled down her nose, lips, and jawline.

“And what about you?” Ajča questioned with a slight giggle as Marek continued to shrink into himself. “Who would you feel safer with?”

Catherine seriously pondered the inquiry for a moment, but the sound of trotting hooves on stone severed her train of thought. 

“Lady Maria…” she said softly. She peered behind her comrades and saw the noblewoman proudly riding a black Kladruber draped in an illustrious silver barding. The highborn woman was wearing a long black trench coat over a dark brown brigandine; a duelist cape enshrouding her left shoulder. Catherine couldn’t help but admire how perfectly regal Maria appeared as she approached, ignoring the incredulous stares from her confrères. 

“Topíš se ve jejích očích, že?” Ajča muttered to Catherine with a hand over her mouth. Catherine casted her a peevish glare.

“Hardly…” Catherine grimaced, walking querulously towards the hitching post adjacent to the entryway. Her cohort followed behind wordlessly, untying their horses and adjusting their saddles before hoisting themselves up. Catherine clicked her tongue and tugged the reins towards her chest, encouraging her mare to step backward. She turned the horse’s head to the left and slowly meandered towards Lady Maria, who gave the knight a soft smile.

“I see you’re in full feather,” Catherine goaded, gesturing to Maria’s horse. The noble laughed, soft and gentle as a summer breeze, and Catherine didn’t know why she longed to hear more of it.

“The quartermaster was adamant that I should use every precaution,” Lady Maria replied.

“Did he recommend that you wear that foppish hat as well?”

“No…but he did suggest that I bring an extra bridle…” Maria smirked, playfully narrowing her silver irises.

Catherine paled at the comment and felt the tips of her ears burn, the double entendre not lost on her. 

“Yes, well…” The knight coughed, “...I don’t think you’ll be needing it.”

“A pity…” Maria smugly remarked as Danika trotted close to Catherine.

“Evening your Ladyship,” The soldier greeted, bowing her head slightly. “I do apologize for Catherine’s complete and utter lack of tact, I fear that she may have been dropped on her head as an infant.”

Lady Maria chuckled heartily at the statement as Catherine’s face contorted into a mask of pure ire and contempt. Danika then formally introduced herself to the noblewoman and the other compatriots soon followed suit. After the round of greetings was complete, Catherine outlined the details of the mission.

The scourge beast herd had been last spotted approximately eleven kilometers southwest of the city gate by several patrols and had even attacked and slaughtered a silk merchant a little over a day ago. The plan was relatively simple: track down and execute the beasts, hopefully without any injuries or casualties. Additionally, since Lady Maria was to accompany them, the secondary goal was to acquire blood samples from each of the fallen creatures.

Once everyone in the group was fully informed, Catherine placed her fingers underneath her tongue and blew out a sharp whistle, signaling the guards on the ramparts to raise the portcullis. The iron gate raised slowly, clanking furiously as its lumbering chains were cranked around a massive spool. Once lifted, Catherine spurred her mare forward with a firm squeeze of her heels, leading the party out of Cainhurst. The group moved at a moderate pace, carefully searching the fields for any evidence relating to the scourge beast pack. After about two hours of travel, the sun began to sink below the horizon, dusting the landscape in ethereal orange, yellow, and pink hues. The moon was encroaching towards its zenith in the sky, full and harrowing, but inextricably beautiful. 

“There!” Marek exclaimed, pointing towards eight large wolf-like creatures a little over ninety meters or so away from the hunting party. The ghastly hounds were gnawing on unidentifiable sheaves of meat, the stringy sinew of muscle sliding between their fangs. They were massive, hulking demons with mangy matted fur and long, whetted claws built to shred flesh and tissue. Blood was caked around their maws which gnashed and gritted luridly around stringent bone. As the knights drew closer, bright, glowing white eyes were flung in their direction, and the largest beast in the group raised itself on its hindlegs and let out a savage roar. 

Ajča immediately gripped the longbow attached to her saddle, unwinding the twine holding it in place before reaching into the quiver strapped to her spine. She drew an arrow from the sling, knocking it quickly into the bowstring, aiming, and firing. The arrow met its target, a smaller scourge beast still feasting on their most recent kill. The arrow pierced through its neck and it wailed and writhed pathetically before clawing at the wooden shaft skewering its flesh.

“Danika, Marek, you take the front, Lady Maria and I will flank them!” Catherine barked, kicking her horse a little harder to force the mare into a gallop. Lady Maria mirrored the knight’s actions, forcing her steed to veer around the group of hellhounds while Danika and Marek charged head on into the fray. 

Danika wrapped her hand tightly around the shaft of her ranseur, raising it up just above her line of sight. She swiftly pulled her arm back and shot it forward, launching the polearm with a devastating force that lanced through the eye of one of the beasts, cracking the bone behind it. Blood spewed and sprayed in a torrential downpour onto the grass as the whimpering beast violently shook its head in an attempt to dislodge the weapon. The woman swiftly extricated her feet from the stirrups, deftly rising to crouch on top of her saddle before vaulting onto the thrashing monster and taking the polearm into her grasp, sinking the spear tip further into its skull. 

Marek let out a fierce cry as he too dismounted, removed the halberd from the baldric on his back, and swung the fat, curved battle-axe towards two ravening varmints that turned on Danika. The axe head sliced through their fetid flesh easily, spilling their acrid essence onto the blade’s edge. One of the injured beasts viciously growled at Marek and lunged forward, opening its bloodied mouth to reveal cruel, sharp fangs. Marek expertly whirled the battle-axe around his head before slamming it forward at the attacking creature, splicing its cranium down the middle and whisking out brain matter. 

As Danika and Marek began to fight in tandem, Lady Maria and Catherine rounded behind the wolven pack. Once in position, Catherine removed her feet from the stirrups, swung her leg over the horse's neck and jumped. When her boots made contact with the ground, she sprinted towards the hedonistic churls, withdrawing her sword from its scabbard. Lady Maria was close behind, her gleaming rapier and offhand dagger at the ready. 

The wolfen beast with the arrow in its throat noticed them first and let out a growl that was muffled by the blood bubbling out from its carotid. It ignored its previous injury and rushed towards Catherine. The beast lifted its emaciated arm and swung it at the Cainhurst Knight, but the curved black talons only passed through air as she twisted her frame to the right. The monster abruptly stopped, kicking up grass and dirt from the momentum, and snarled at Catherine. It reached for her again, but the edge of the knight’s blade caught perfectly against its ulnocarpal joint. Catherine could feel the sharpened steel bow along the lunate and scaphoid of the wrist, beautifully severing the clawed hand. 

The creature yowled in agony, the impact sending it to the ground. Catherine quickly retrieved her sword breaker and stabbed the creature at the base of its skull, searing through the brainstem. With the beast dead, Catherine turned her attention towards the noblewoman and was captivated by the sight.

Lady Maria was engaged with a much larger beast than the one Catherine had felled. She was incredibly light on her feet, side-stepping and dodging the beast’s onslaught of strikes. She fought with such focused precision and fluidity that Catherine couldn’t help but compare it to an elegant dance. The noble was impeccably agile and suave when performing her attacks, deftly moving her body in response to her opponent’s every maneuver. Maria’s rapier cut through the monster’s flesh, decorating her alabaster skin with flecks of crimson. Catherine’s mismatched eyes followed the path of an errant blood droplet as it caressed the noblewoman’s cheek, dripping into the corner of her mouth. She then realized the ashen-haired woman was smiling, her mouth open, blood staining the brilliant white teeth. Her silver eyes wide and blown, dancing in excitement. She was enthralled. 

And she was beautiful.

The towering beast lunged at Lady Maria, who dodged and dug the tip of her sword into the earth. She then swiftly reached her now empty hand out to grab the scruff of the creature’s neck and pulled on it mercilessly. Her dagger was then on the monster’s throat, ruthlessly searing through the repugnant flesh. A wet, gurgling sound escaped the beast’s maw before it collapsed forward and Lady Maria retrieved her rapier.

Výborně …Catherine thought.

The word was so close to being uttered, the praise molding around her lips, but Catherine kept silent, and pressed on.

The group continued culling the pack of wolf-like creatures, cleaving, hacking, and piercing rotting flesh until they were all slaughtered. The last beast met their end as one of Ajča’s arrow’s lanced through its eye, piercing through until the broadhead hit the back of its skull. When the battle was over, the panting warriors dutifully eyed their surroundings, ensuring that the area was safe before holstering their weapons. Catherine and Danika went to collect the horses who were nonchalantly munching on grass nearby, unperturbed by the slaughter that just occurred. The pair led them silently back to the rest of the group and Lady Maria went to retrieve a satchel attached to her mount. 

Ajča dismounted her stallion to assist the other soldiers in turning over some of the beasts for Lady Maria to extract blood from using several syringes that she had extricated from her pack. The noble stuck the hypodermic needles into the largest veins she could identify on the dead beasts, extracting several vials of blood. With each vial, Lady Maria etched and scoured sample names using a sharpened metal tool. Once the samples were collected and put away, the royal retrieved a notebook, a pen, and a sealed inkwell from her satchel. Danika impatiently rolled her eyes and Catherine sent her a scathing glare, both completely unnoticed by the scholar, who began to meticulously record her observations pertaining to the encounter. After Lady Maria was satisfied, she gingerly packed away her belongings and the rest of the group mounted their horses once more and made their way back towards the South Gate.

“Splendid work, your Ladyship,” Ajča praised, pushing her horse to ride alongside Maria. “It’s no wonder you bested Catherine during the duelist tourney!”

Catherine watched as the shorter woman glanced briefly in her direction, mockery evident in her features. Catherine’s lips tightened into a thin line.

“You flatter me…” Lady Maria chuckled lightly, “...but I must admit that our duel was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Her prowess on the battlefield is commendable.” She then inclined her head towards Catherine, meeting her heterochromatic gaze. “I was lucky enough to get the upper hand.”

Catherine scoffed, turning her head away from the pair to hide the blush that she felt burning along the tops of her cheeks. 

“You’ve got blood on your face, My Lady,” Catherine grumbled, not turning to regard the noblewoman. She heard her laugh again, deep and velvety, its rumble settling warmly into Catherine’s stomach as the tips of her ears grew hot. 

The rest of their journey back to the city was lax, and the group amicably entered pleasant conversation. When the inevitable maneater boar versus man debate came up, Lady Maria adamantly expressed that she would rather be alone with the maneater boar, much to Marek’s chagrin. When they approached the South Gate once more, the portcullis was raised and they entered.

“Time to celebrate!” Danika chimed excitedly, “I could drink my weight in ale.”

“An unwise decision that, I too, wish to partake in,” Ajča commented.

“The Bloody Barrel?” Marek asked, intent on joining in on the festivities. Ajča nodded enthusiastically before turning to Lady Maria.

“Would you like to accompany us, My Lady?” She entreated, her deep blue eyes imploring and inviting. Catherine grimaced, just what exactly was Ajča playing at?

“I’ve…never been anywhere outside the castle,” Maria admitted, slightly embarrassed. “I believe I would enjoy being cajoled into your merriment this evening.”

“You may regret it,” Catherine teased, acquiescing to come along as well.

-

The Bloody Barrel was a popular pub in Central Cainhurst. It was a common place for citizens and military personnel alike to convene and drink their wages worth of ale and wine. It was a lofty hall constructed from large, grey limestone bricks. It had a massive archway with two large oak doors. A sign hung lowly from the rafters, the name of the establishment emblazoned onto the wood with an illustration of a wine barrel being split open by a bloody axe. Inky maroon pooled out of the barrel in a gory, yet tantalizing fashion. The motley crew dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post out front before making their way towards the brewery door.

Danika was the first of the knights to enter the pub, receiving a few shouts and cheers from the patrons already occupying the alehouse. Marek followed behind and Ajča took Maria by the wrist to urge her further into the pub. Maria tripped slightly and didn’t see the way Catherine’s eyes squinted irritably at Ajča. The long bartop was filled with patrons who swigged down mugs of ale. There were several large oak tables placed throughout the alehouse, with matching wooden chairs. The group took their seats at the back corner of the pub, dusting off some leftover crumbs from the previous guests and clambered into their seats; Ajča and Catherine on one side, Maria and Danika on the other, and Marek on the end. A barmaid soon approached them, stout and haggard in appearance. She memorized their drink orders before hastily retreating away.

“What are you going to do with all that blood anyway?” Ajča asked Maria, who stared at her with a confused expression. The noble cupped a gloved hand behind her ears, indicating that she couldn’t hear the stocky knight. Ajča shouted her question again over the lurid crowd.

“I am currently using the beast blood in experiments for Her Majesty,” Maria replied at the same volume.

“Everyone knows that! I’m asking why and what for!?” 

Maria remained silent for a moment. She didn’t feel comfortable explaining the details behind her research for Queen Annalise, as if mentioning the nature of the experiments would be breaching some kind of unspoken contract. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again.

“Well?!”

“If Lady Maria wishes to keep the circumstances of her research confidential, you should respect her decision, Ajča,” Catherine admonished, staring coldly at the other knight. The dark-haired woman scoffed, tossing her long braid behind her.

“Ah! You’re no fun!”

As the conversation was redirected elsewhere, Lady Maria stole a glance at Catherine, who was watching her pensively. Maria gave the knight a small smile before mouthing thank you to her. Catherine’s mismatched stare followed the slow movement of her lips before returning them to Maria’s eyes, softening ever so slightly. The gentleness of those eyes made Maria feel warm.

Their drinks arrived and they wasted no time in downing them and demanding more. Mug after mug the soldiers drank their fill. They laughed and laughed, recounting tales from their past; admitting secrets that they wouldn’t have dared to utter when sober, much less in front of a noblewoman. Marek even tried pressing a sloppy kiss onto the corner of Ajča’s mouth, but missed and ended up with a mouthful of her hair, which had somehow been released from its braid sometime between the sixth and eighth pint of ale. Danika had then foolishly challenged Maria to an arm wrestling match, to which she lost almost immediately. In the wake of her defeat, Danika rose to her feet unsteadily and began to fall, grabbing onto Marek’s blonde hair for support. This forced Marek backward from his chair and both of the soldiers miserably collapsed to the floor. Danika landed face first, the thud of her skull on the floorboards louder than the clanking of her armor. 

Maria winced.

“Okay…” Catherine said slowly, “I think that’s our cue to leave.”

Marek rubbed the back of his head soothingly as he rose from the floor, but Danika did not stir. Ajča cautiously emerged from her side of the table to help encourage Danika to move, but the woman was completely catatonic. Drunkenly, both Marek and Ajča stumbled as they pulled Danika up from the ground, earning a few hollers from the other patrons who raised their thumbs in approval. They each took one of the unconscious woman’s arms and wound it around their shoulders. They awkwardly shuffled out of the pub and slumped her haphazardly over her horse with Maria’s help. 

They all somehow managed to ride back to the castle without further incident, dropping the horses off at the stables with the quartermaster, who was annoyed to be roused so late in the evening by a group of drunken leeches. Catherine led them all back to the barracks, lighting a lantern as they traveled to a small room around the corridor. The room was sparse, holding only a small bed, a nightstand, and a storage chest. Catherine took the time to light the hearth in the room as Ajča and Marek unceremoniously dropped Danika onto her bed. The fire quickly lit the room with a warm, ethereal glow and the two soldiers bid Catherine and Maria goodnight as they retreated to their own sleeping quarters. Maria watched Catherine shake her head before starting to undo Danika’s boots.

“You’ve got some nice friends there,” Maria said softly, watching Catherine’s fingers gracefully unwind the straps attached to Danika’s greaves, removing them and setting them onto the ground.

“Not really friends,” Catherine mumbled, “Just a bunch of misfits who had the brilliant idea to enter into knighthood.”

Maria’s mind was still swimming with the buzz of alcohol and her mouth went dry as her eyes followed Catherine’s hands when they gently removed Danika’s boots. She wondered what the pads of Catherine’s fingertips would feel like on her skin.

“Why did you decide to become a knight?” She asked thoughtlessly, the words tumbling out of her mouth as Catherine finished removing Danika’s other boot.

The shorter woman stared at Maria, her expression difficult to decipher. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again before turning away from the noblewoman. 

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to offend—”

“You haven’t offended me,” Catherine stated abruptly, as if to reassure her. “It’s just…I haven’t talked about him in a long time.” The knight walked over to the hearth and watched the flames shimmer and flutter around the kindling. 

“Him?”

“My brother,” Catherine supplied as Maria drew closer to the hearth. The highborn woman remained silent, allowing Catherine to decide whether or not she wished to divulge any more information. She watched as the light from the flames danced within the warrior’s irises, making the honey colored portions of her eyes glow in a golden hue. 

“We were orphans,” she eventually replied, crossing her arms as she leaned onto the mantle. “Our parents died when I was about four or five, Niko was barely old enough to walk. We then lived in an orphanage on the eastern side of the city.” 

Maria frowned, she recalled that the most impoverished and diseased part of Cainhurst’s populous lived in the eastern section of the city. Most patrols were placed within and around the sector to cull any poor soul unlucky enough to contract the plague. 

“We were happy,” Catherine smiled sadly, “We were poor and parentless, but we were happy. As we got older, I took on odd jobs, cleaning wild game, catching rats, anything that put some echoes in my pocket.”

Catherine’s eyes grew distant and her brow furrowed.

“And I was so busy that I didn’t even notice…it started with a cough. It was so deep and rattling—terribly congested. I didn’t think much of it until I saw the blood…and…and the ash…I—” She placed a hand over her mouth, and Maria watched helplessly as Catherine’s eyes filled with tears. 

Maria swallowed, remembering how her parents had contracted the same illness, went through the same pain. It hurt to remember. It hurt to see their faces in her mind, gaunt and ragged, their sunken eyes vacant of expression. It hurt so much because she couldn’t do anything to alleviate their suffering.

“I felt so powerless,” Catherine continued, tears falling unbidden. “He was shaking, and wheezing, and coughing up that ghastly shit—losing so much weight. And…I couldn’t do a damn thing but watch.” 

Maria’s chest felt tight as Catherine continued to cry, tears snaking their tortuous path down her olive-toned cheeks. The agony behind her eyes felt so inextricably wrong. It had been agony watching her parents rot away, but seeing the Cainhurst Knight like this was absolute torture. Maria’s fingers itched with the desire to reach out to her, to comfort the grieving woman. She wanted to tear off her gloves, draw Catherine in close to her and wipe away the offending tears with her thumbs…but she remained still, trying to ignore the impulse.

“And I watched him deteriorate until he was practically nothing…then he began to turn and the headmistress had to notify the guards…And I watched…I watched as they slit my poor brother’s throat. I was utterly and completely helpless and powerless to do anything but watch Niko be taken away from me…” she sobbed, rubbing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Catherine took in a few shaky breaths as if to steady herself. “And I never wanted to feel like that again.”

Maria was at a loss for words, she hadn’t expected such tragic circumstances to be the impetus behind Catherine’s recruitment into the knightly regiment. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes at the woman’s somber confession.

“I wanted to become strong…strong and powerful. So I petitioned myself to join the Cainhurst cadre, so that I could become someone strong enough to protect myself from this wretched, miserable world.”

The pair grew silent, the only sounds in the room being Danika’s soft snoring and the crackling of the fire. Maria spoke first.

“I’m so sorry.”

It felt so pathetic to say, but she couldn’t think of any other way to reply. Catherine turned to her and she stiffened when she saw Maria’s tears begin to fall. The knight’s shocked expression morphed into desolation as tears renewed in her mismatched eyes and she let out a plaintive whimper. 

The noise set something off in Maria, who strode towards Catherine and grabbed her forearm. She crashed the soldier’s smaller frame within her own, wrapping her arms tightly around the woman in a crushing embrace. Catherine’s breath hitched, startled by the abrupt contact.

“You’re strong,” Maria whispered vehemently into Catherine’s ear, and the shorter woman shuddered. Maria didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the fire, but her skin tingled where Catherine’s body moulded against her own. She was so warm…so very warm. 

“You’re so strong, Catherine.”

Catherine gasped and choked on a small sob, winding her arms around Maria to return the comforting gesture. The noble tightened her grip, breathing in deeply as Catherine buried her face into Maria’s shoulder and wept.

Chapter Text

Chapter V: 

Nightmare of Mensis: Lecture Building

1024 A.P.

“Damn it!” Catherine cursed, manifesting from a cloud of gray and black smoke. One glance around the large empty classroom informed the disgraced Cainhurst Knight that she, in fact, was nowhere near the Astral Clocktower she had been envisioning so vividly in her mind. She scowled and internally rebuked the wretched doll for her incredibly unhelpful advice.

The grand lecture hall was filled with dozens of empty writing desks that were all turned towards an wooden podium and a wall length chalkboard with hastily scribbled chicken scratch and symbols written along its surface. Dust caked the room and brewed small clouds as the Hunter’s leathers billowed while she walked toward the exit. She minutely recalled the overall layout of the lecture building and sought to tiptoe around the frenzied students that paraded along the long corridors. 

Catherine cautiously made her way to the second floor, careful not to impede on the macabre studies of the young scholars she espied on the first floor, below the railing. She peeked down the hallway, passed the first bridge and silently crept along the far side of the wall when she was confident her pathway was devoid of any enemies. Once she made it across the second floor, she entered a small elevator with an iron gate. She gently shut them and activated the lift by pulling a small lever attached to the wall. The elevator gave an unholy creak as it ascended and Catherine curled her fingers around the grip of her Reiterpallasch, readying herself for whatever foul creature would appear beyond the elevator doors.

No creature, beast, nor scholar greeted the Hunter as the lift settled. Catherine quietly pried open the gate and withdrew herself from the small alcove onto the ramparts of the lecture hall. She narrowly avoided the attention of a couple of carrion crows feasting on a poor, deceased scholar as she crept up a set of stone steps, then walked into a narrow hallway, across a long metal bridge held up by thick iron link chains. She eventually meandered her way through a maze of staircases and corridors, occasionally encountering a dead end as she attempted to recall her previous trek through the building. 

“Ooh, hah hah ha! How majestic!” A gravelly voice chuckled surreptitiously. 

Catherine whirled around, immediately drawing her rapier and pointing it toward a tall man, dressed in muted black and red robes, with an imposing iron cage enclosing his cranium. His skin held a deathly pallor and his dark brown eyes were sunken into an emaciated skull. His hair was greasy and matted, as if he hadn’t taken to grooming it in decades. The man giggled again, but didn’t move from his position as he continued to curiously eye the disgraced knight.

“A hunter is nothing more than a hunter, even in a dream—“

Catherine rushed towards him and cut her rapier towards his abdomen, but he quickly turned heel and began to flee from her. She let out a frustrated growl and began to pursue the strange assailant. He zipped up and down the corridor, barreling into a large room with a grand spiral staircase.

“Ah, ah, ah, not too fast now!” he tutted as he began ascending the steps. “This nightmare swirls and churns…forever unending!”

Catherine dashed after him, soaring up several flights of stairs. He giggled and tittered mockingly at the irritated Hunter, who snarled at him from behind. When she reached the summit of the staircase she vaulted her body through a door, hot on his heels. She watched in abject consternation and confusion when she witnessed the man launch himself off of the balcony of the room that they had just entered. He landed with a harsh thud, but miraculously recovered and darted through another doorway.

“Son of a—“ Catherine seethed, rounding the spot on the balcony where the lunatic had leapt from. She peered at the ground below, judging the distance. It was quite the fall, but not one where you would suffer tremendous damage if you knew what you were doing. She quickly sheathed her rapier, climbing over the balcony and hanging on the ledge before abruptly releasing her grip. She bent her knees slightly during her descent, landing on the balls of her feet. A little stinging pain shot up through her heels and into her femurs, but other than that, she was unharmed. The Hunter withdrew her sword and resumed her pursuit of the man once more. 

Catherine searched around, ducking through hallways and corridors in her attempt to corral the stranger, but she was unable to regain sight of him. She eventually entered a large octagonal shaped room with bookshelves lining the walls. She glanced around the empty room, readying herself for any potential attack. The sound of a faint giggle from above forced the Hunter’s line of sight upward, catching the mad man lounging comfortably on the mezzanine, kicking out his feet like a little schoolboy.

“No need for violence, dear Hunter…” he cooed, holding his hands up defensively. “Let us sit about and speak feverishly, we may chat until the wee hours of the—“

“Quiet!” Catherine threatened, clicking on the mechanism that morphed her trick weapon. The pistol’s barrel surged forward and glinted threateningly at the caged man who’s smile grew further when she cocked the flintlock.

“Hunters…always one to jump to violence. Shoot now, ask questions later,” the man tittered with a hint of displeasure and reprimand. He shook a finger at Catherine, who grew further irritated by the chastisement.

“Who the devil are you and what do you want with me?” Catherine asked, her weapon still drawn and aimed at the robed man. 

“Ah…but it is not what I want…it is what you want.” 

“What are you on about?”

“The grand lake of mud…hidden now, from sight…with no eyes to guide us…oh Kos, or some say Kosm…do you still hear our prayers?”

Catherine watched as the man turned his caged head towards the ceiling, as if longingly searching for something.

“No…no we shall not abandon the dream…” he muttered, as if forgetting that Catherine was in the room.

“You…” the Hunter ventured hesitantly, “…you know about the Nightmare? Do you know what lies beyond the clocktower?”

“Ah yes…the Nightmare…atonement for the wretches…the pungency of Kos, clinging like a mothers devotion…Byrgenwerth…scholars and fiends…”

Catherine stiffened at the mention of Lady Maria’s old place of learning. She knew she needed to remain impassive, needed to sever any remainder of affection for the noblewoman, but the question tumbled passed her lips before her mind could catch up with her heart.

“What happened to the Byrgenwerth scholars?”

The stranger laughed maliciously, which made the hairs of Catherine’s neck stand on end.

“They’re all here,” he revealed, “...bound for eternity…searching…still searching for eyes. They know where to find them, but they never get far. She makes sure of it.”

Catherine swallowed.

“You speak of Lady Maria.”

The motion of the man’s feet halted and he slowly turned his head to glare at Catherine with a fierce expression. His eyes were glued onto the Hunter as his face contorted in a mixture of indignation and curiosity.

“Oh? You know of the Bitch of Byrgenwerth?”

A shot rang out followed by a lurid ping as the silver bullet brushed against the iron cage mounted onto the man’s skull. The bullet just barely grazed his ear and he cried out in pain, reaching his left hand into the cage to dab at the wound.

“You will not refer to her in that manner,” Catherine stated darkly, reloading her pistol and cocking it. “Do you understand?”

The man tsked peevishly, smearing the blood coating his hand along the iron cage as he glowered at the Hunter.

“Always ones to jump to violence,” He repeated. “Micolash never understood why they always jumped to violence…”

The name resonated in Catherine’s mind, bouncing and ricocheting around the sulci of her brain. His name was familiar and yet she was having trouble placing exactly where she had heard it. She thought about it for a brief moment before recalling several letters of correspondence that she had exchanged with her Lady when she was studying at the college. 

“Micolash…” the Hunter winced, reminded of the sardonic descriptions Lady Maria had provided regarding the puerile man. Pestiferous and irksome; always inserting himself into any and all conversation, particularly when it lacked any connection to himself. Catherine recounted Lady Maria likening the nettlesome scholar to a flea, a biting parasite that siphoned the lifeblood from the people around him.

“At your service!” He commented, flurrying his right hand before clasping it to his breast and giving a deep, mocking bow.

Catherine could envision why her Lady was not especially fond of the lanky little man. 

The Hunter lowered her weapon slightly, no longer perceiving the detestable scholar as a threat. Micolash grinned.

“Ah, yes, finally!” He breathed. “We can be civil!”

“You said all the Byrgenwerth scholars were trapped here, that they were searching for eyes…what do you mean by that?”

Micolash hummed and tapped the cage directly in front of his chin.

“Master Willem was on the precipice of discovery… knew the blood made us human, made us more than human…and human no more.”

Catherine recalled Maria’s descriptions of Master Willem during her residency at Byrgenwerth, but said nothing as Micolash continued orating.

“We were thinking on the basest of planes, you see. What we needed was more eyes. Be they round…be they young… we needed more eyes if we were to ascend…” Micolash lifted his head and brought his arms to the ceiling, reaching for something. 

“But Laurence disagreed…he saw the virility of the Old Blood…its potency and salubriousness. He believed that ascension could only be achieved through the communion of the divine ichor.” At this, the scholar took his blood stained hand and inserted his index and middle finger into the opening by his mouth. He placed the fat of his tongue at the base of both his fingers, languidly lapping up the drying crimson. He plunged the phalanges into his mouth, sucking wantonly around the blood stained skin.

Catherine shivered in disgust at the display, perturbed by the rather lewd and vulgar action. He removed the digits with a heavy sigh, and hummed in delight.

“So we all followed, hoping—praying to ascend! Oh, but first we needed mice…couldn’t very well try it on ourselves…no we needed to watch the evolution with our own eyes…” Micolash’s smile suddenly faded and his expression soured. “We only thought about what we could do and never paused to question whether we should… ”

“I’m not sure I follow…” Catherine remarked, desperately trying to decipher the troubled man’s speech.

“She petulantly bears the brunt of the curse!” Micolash cackled, ignoring Catherine’s request for clarity. “Hah! As if defending the clocktower could possibly bring her absolution…”

“What are you saying? What lies beyond the clocktower? Why has the Nightmare come to pass?”

Micolash laughed, the melody odious and mad. He gripped the bars of his cage and kicked his feet sporadically. 

“Why? Why the cosmos of course! And now, no one can catch us! No one can stop us now!”

He continued to laugh hysterically, which put Catherine further on edge. The Hunter sighed, finally admitting that she was getting nowhere with this fool; his answers too vexing and unintelligible. She returned her weapon to its original state and sheathed it, giving the lunatic a polite bow of her head before striding towards an opened doorway.

“She will not abandon the dream…” Micolash commented dryly, causing Catherine to pause. The warrior had so many questions plaguing her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and ask the spiraling madman anything. So she stepped out of the room and resumed the task of returning to the Astral Clocktower. 

-

It had taken longer than Catherine had previously anticipated, but she managed to traverse through the Nightmare and arrive outside the clocktower doors once more. Her heart was thundering wildly in her chest as she tried to maintain controlled, steadied breaths. 

The Hunter had been curious and inquisitive the last time she found herself outside the imposing clocktower. The duality between the beauty of the lumenflower garden and the horror of the giant abominations had captured her interest in a way she hadn’t felt since her time at Cainhurst Castle…

Catherine’s chest tightened. Knowing that her life had become inexplicably altered since Lady Maria’s passing had left a dull ache in her chest. Cainhurst had been a dying city, she knew that, but that notion still couldn’t ameliorate her nostalgia. The Hunter had faced so many atrocities there, in her youth, but it was still her home—a place where she had created wonderful, beautiful memories.

Where she had met her friends…

Where she had met Maria…

Where they…

Catherine clenched her teeth as her mind drifted to all the lovely, intimate moments that she shared with her Lady. She recalled the touch of her long, slender fingers as they glided along her ribs; how her steel-gray eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight when they were tangled in her silk sheets. The warrior had memorized each breath, gasp, and moan that her lovely Lady had uttered beneath her swollen lips. 

And it hurt…

It hurt to remember that she could never have Lady Maria like that again. That she’d never be able to wake up in her arms and gaze upon her tranquil, sleeping face; that they’d never again whisper words of saccharine endearment to each other well into the small hours of the morning.

And it hurt…

It hurt to know that the woman she had sworn her fealty—her entire life to, had willingly and knowingly lied to her. All the mawkish writing of Maria’s letters, detailing her eventual return to Cainhurst—to Catherine—all an impetuous falsehood. How could Lady Maria pen those missives with the conscious foresight that she was proffering a fallacious fantasy to the Cainhurst warrior? What gave that contumelious woman the right to toy with her heart and dare give her hope for their future? Seeing Lady Maria’s lifeless corpse in Cainhurst had cut the poor Hunter’s heart, but the knowledge that her Lady had abandoned her long before her untimely demise had wrenched the pumping muscle out of its mangled cavity…

These dejecting convictions continued cascading through Catherine’s mind until she was struck with the despondent notion that she never truly knew Lady Maria. Her Lady had been benevolent, charitable, intrepid, and doughty—always placing others' needs above her own. 

This woman was calculating, tactless, opportunistic, and selfish—willing to denigrate and disparage anyone in her path of self-proclaimed righteousness. This egotistical viper was nothing like the noblewoman Catherine had conjured up in her mind…

And it hurt…

To know that the woman she had fallen so ardently, and vehemently in love with had never existed to begin with.

-

Lady Maria leaned forward in her decorated chair, her gloves discarded and her head in her hands as she listened to the echoing metronome of the clocktower pendulum. Her mind was a maelstrom of discontent and grief, overwhelmed by the memory of her empyrean Knight. She brought her lips to the palm that had clung to Catherine’s so tightly before the Hunter had dematerialized, timidly brushing the soft skin in the desperate attempt to taste her blood once more. Seeing the disgraced Knight had initially brought upon an inexorable anger after recognizing that she’d had become a hunter, despite the repeated dissent and remonstrances she had outlined in their correspondence. But now…

Now all she felt was empty, and untethered—like she was floating amidst the waves of the sea; captured in the undertow, watching light pulsate through the water as she drowned. Her initial anger had diminished, and in its place was an overwhelming rupture of regret and sorrow. Those eyes…those wonderful, bewitching heterochromatic pools had looked at her with such wretchedness; their very memory sending a disturbing, melancholic tremor throughout the noblewoman. 

Then she heard the faint creaking of the clocktower doors and froze, parting her fingers to peer through the hands still covering her face. Her breath caught in a pathetic, choking wheeze as Catherine warily entered the room, her sword already drawn. The sight of the Reiterpallasch stung, but Maria knew she couldn’t fault the woman for being cautious. As Catherine drew closer, Maria stood up from her chair and straightened her posture, allowing her right hand to rest around the grip of her rapier, yet refraining from drawing it. 

With each meticulous step forward, Catherine’s features became clearer. Her jaw was set, her full lips now thinned by a taut grimace. Her brow was slightly furrowed, crinkling the corners of her eyes. Maria briefly recalled the intimate moments where she would tenderly smooth out those faint creases with her lips, the unabashed memory causing them to tingle. From her visage, it would appear that the young Hunter was furious, but her eyes held such anguish and despondency that it tugged horrifically at Maria’s dead heart. 

“Catherine…” Maria whispered reverently.

The softness in her utterance caused the shorter woman to stiffen, her previous resolve momentarily waning. The noblewoman watched as Catherine’s hands shook, before clenching to reaffirm her composure. 

“My Lady…” she spat, the words dripping with venom. The endearing pet name, now laced with such hatred shot through Maria like a mortar. 

“You’ve…returned….” Maria said haltingly, her silver irises greedily absorbing the Hunter’s form, her mind foggily recounting every soft, sensitive curve of her skin. It had been so long since she had seen her beloved Knight, and she would indulge in prolonging their bitter repartee if it meant she could spend one more second with Catherine.

Before she was utterly and miserably alone again.

“I thought I told you…” Catherine seethed through clenched teeth, “…That I intend to seek the knowledge that lies beyond the clocktower—to somehow put an end to this Nightmare.”

“This Nightmare will never end.” Maria whispered harshly, taking a small step forward, daring to get a closer look at the shorter woman. “I’ll not allow it.”

The familiar retort made Catherine growl.

“Why?! ” 

Maria fell silent, diffidence and self-loathing curling in her chest. Oh, how she wanted to tell her—wanted to profess her reprehensible sins like an adulterer to a priest. But the wickedness of her shame and the fear of Catherine’s revulsion and detestation cemented the stillness of her lips.

Catherine scoffed haughtily.

“Coward.”

The noblewoman simply stared plaintively at the Hunter, giving no response. Maria had no retort, for Catherine was right—she was a coward. A poltron who hid behind a stoic veneer to deflect and conceal her shame to selfishly palliate her fragile ego. 

“Won’t you speak, My Lady? Won’t you speak to your knight?” Catherine hissed, bringing herself dangerously close to the noblewoman. The sword in her hands shook, yet remained at her side and away from Maria as she brought her face closer to the ashen-haired woman. From this distance Maria could feel her hot, angered breath against her lips and it sent a pleasant shiver through her spine.

The pair remained silent; their eyes roaming along every millimeter of exposed skin on the opposite’s face searchingly— longingly. The air felt heavy, burdened by the tension that threatened to snap at any moment.

Gods she was beautiful. Even in her anger, even in her anguish she had always been beautiful. Maria’s silver eyes trailed to the scar below Catherine’s left earlobe. It was roughly oval in shape, but was no longer raised like it used to be almost a decade ago. It was fading. Maria wondered if the Knight’s other scars were fading too—were they even still there? 

A twinge of discontent bubbled in her abdomen at the prospect that Catherine’s lovely scars could have vanished from her skin, and that discomfort only grew as she espied the long, raised scar that rested along the column of the brunette’s throat. Maria’s fingers itched to trail along it, but she kept her hands firmly at her side.

“Tell me...” Catherine whispered, the words vibrating against Maria’s mouth. “Did you know?” 

Maria looked down at the threatening woman. She was close, so close. If the noble simply lowered her head a fraction more…

Maria moved her head back, her face holding a puzzled expression.

“When you became a hunter and took part in the blood ministration…did you know that you were destined to become a beast?”

Catherine’s eyes were flicking two and fro, desperately seeking out an answer in Maria’s own, one that the noblewoman knew she couldn’t give.

“I…I knew the risks…”

Catherine sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit.

“You knew…” she growled, tears welling up in her eyes. “You knew, and you still went through with it!”

“Catherine…” Lady Maria said softly, reaching her left hand up toward the shorter woman, but the Hunter roughly grabbed her wrist and shoved.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” She seethed, her voice cracking.

The words made Lady Maria’s blood run cold. She curled the fingers of her free hand into a fist, desperately trying to hide her trembling.

“You…you don’t understand…” 

“No, I don’t! Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Maria’s lips thinned, and she looked down at the floor, away from those fiery eyes. Catherine laughed derisorily.

“What? Too proud to admit that you lied to me?”

This forced Maria to return her gaze back to Catherine.

“What? What are you talking about?” The ashen-haired woman asked, confusion evident in her features.

“You lied to me—“

“I never have lied to you.” Maria stated defensively, stepping toward the acrimonious woman. Catherine responded with a curt laugh.

“Really? So you were intent on actually returning to Cainhurst after your research with the Healing Church was completed?”

“Catherine…”

“No! You told me that you were coming back! You were going to come back to me . When it was all over you were going to come back and be with me!”

Catherine’s words were tumbling out of her mouth, raw and grief-stricken. Maria dug the fingers of her left hand onto the side of her trousers, attempting to stifle the unholy urge to grab and tug Catherine into her arms. 

“It…it wasn’t that simple…” Lady Maria replied, her tongue heavy and mouth dry.

“No? It wasn’t simple enough to just tell me that you were never going to return—“

“I was planning on returning!”

“Really? So—what? You were going to return to Cainhurst and condemn me to put you to slaughter when the time came!?”

Maria fell silent again, guilt violently coursing through her veins like a caustic opioid. Truthfully, she didn’t know what was to become of her after her service in the Healing Church at the time. She knew that the divine blood within her had the potential to transform her to a mindless, bloodlusting fiend, but she was resolute that she could synthesize some form of treatment to minimize its effects and prolong her life. 

A life that she wanted to spend with Catherine.

If only she was given time.

“You knew how I felt about my brother’s mutation…” Catherine continued, her words sharp and biting. “And you had the audacity to believe that I would be amenable to watching you succumb to the same fate?” 

The Cainhurst Knight shook her head in disbelief.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“And what would you have done if I had informed you?!” Maria demanded, suddenly incensed by the Hunter’s question.

“I—“

“You would have tried to stop me!” The noblewoman interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at the shorter woman. “You would have traveled to Byrgenwerth yourself to prevent me from fulfilling my duty!”

“Your duty!?” Catherine all but screeched.

“Yes, ” Maria stated emphatically, “...I had a duty to the people, to Cainhurst, to Queen Annalise—“

“But not to me.” Catherine bitterly asserted.

Maria opened her mouth to protest, but the Hunter silenced her with a punitive glare.

“No…your damnable research came first! It was always your sole priority.”

The words were searing, leaving a series of desiccating scars onto Maria’s dead heart. An overwhelming feeling of regret and shame coiled around her as those words resonated in her mind. Maria had dedicated her whole life to her research in the hopes that she could better humanity—to provide comfort and healing to the weary and afflicted. She was adamant that her work was going to help people, yet in her blind pursuit of knowledge, she left behind the one person who mattered to her the most. 

“I gave all of myself to you—I swore my very life to you! You were everything to me, my reason to live, my purpose!” 

Maria watched as the brunette clicked a mechanism on the inside of her rapier’s guard, the trick weapon gracefully transmuting into its signature flintlock. Catherine raised the pistol to Maria’s eye level and cocked it.

“And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Lady Maria stepped forward and roughly grabbed the barrel of the gun, leaning it slightly away from her person.

“We’re not finished.” The noblewoman protested.

“I’m done talking.” Catherine vehemently replied, then pushed the pistol against Maria’s hand and fired.

-

The deafening sound of the gunshot echoed off the entombing walls of the clocktower, causing Catherine’s ears to ring. She saw Lady Maria wince as the silver bullet nicked her ear, the blood trickling languidly down her porcelain neck.

Hmm…at least she was two for two on ear shots today.

As Maria released her grip on the pistol to touch the fresh wound, Catherine retreated a few steps, changing the trick weapon’s form once more before lunging towards the noblewoman. Lady Maria’s sword was drawn before Catherine could execute her attack, quickly parrying the brunette’s thrust in a circular motion. She immediately riposted, forcing Catherine to retreat. Lady Maria placed both her hands on the grip of her Chikage and forcefully separated the dagger from the rapier. She vaulted herself at Catherine, who flung up her sword into a fourth guard stance just in time for the steel of both of Maria’s blades to collide with her own. The force of the blow slid the Hunter a few centimeters back and painfully bent her wrist.

“Why can’t you just listen!?” Maria growled, narrowing her eyes at the Hunter.

“I’m done listening!” Catherine snapped, pushing against the noblewoman, “...I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!”

The Hunter disengaged and ducked to the side, causing Lady Maria to stumble. Catherine swung her rapier down at the taller woman’s neck, but Maria propelled herself forward and the blade completely missed its target. The Hunter then placed her sword in sixth guard and readied herself for the noblewoman’s next attack. 

Maria turned and darted toward Catherine, keeping her dagger close to her chest whilst the long edge of her rapier curved behind her. She slashed the blade towards Catherine’s abdomen, but the Hunter twisted her wrist to block the attack. She pushed away Maria’s blade, side stepped, and cut upwards, only to contact the noblewoman’s dagger.

“I…I don’t want to fight you.” Lady Maria admitted, not bothering to hide the tremor in her words.

For a moment, Catherine’s heart lurched at how broken and defeated the ashen-haired woman sounded, but her tempestuous anger smothered any empathy she might have held for her.

“I don’t care.” She hissed, and she watched Maria’s silver irises widen a fraction, before darkening.

Suddenly, Catherine was shoved so violently that it practically threw her several meters away from her opponent. She scrambled to regain her footing as Maria dashed toward her at an alarming speed. Lady Maria’s blades were positioned close to one another, just behind her hips before powerfully cutting upward at an angle. Catherine tossed her head back to avoid the strike, but had no time to react as she was elbowed in the solar plexus. The force of the hit cracked at least two ribs and stole the breath from her lungs. A sharp, blistering pain erupted from her chest at every cough and wheeze she emitted as she struggled for air. 

But Lady Maria gave her no respite.

The noblewoman lunged forward, thrusting both blades towards Catherine’s chest. The shorter woman raised her Reiterpallasch, barely deflecting the deadly strike, which made contact along her collarbone. The cold steel cleanly sliced through her flesh as it glided across her clavicle and into her trapezius muscle, causing the brunette to cry out in pain.

The Hunter moved back, keeping up her guard without bothering to place pressure on the wound that was now spouting blood. She could feel that warm, damp ichor seep into her clothing. It was hot and sticky, clinging the abrasive fabric to her skin. It pooled, and pooled until it dripped over her breast and settled just above her navel; the tepid fluid caressing her abdomen like a forgotten lover.

Catherine watched as Maria’s eyes trailed the blood’s sinful path, as if enthralled by its artistry. 

That imprudent woman had always loved making her bleed.

And Catherine had loved bleeding for her.

The salacious thoughts that had traveled through Lady Maria’s mind seemed to vanish as she furrowed her brow and bared her teeth. She reattached the long, ornate dagger to the end of her rapier. She flipped the twin blade in her hands to point the longer edge at Catherine before propelling her hulking frame toward the Hunter. 

The noblewoman’s strikes were merciless—slashing, cutting, and slicing in a myriad of diverging directions as she twisted and spun the twin blade in her dexterous hands. Catherine could hardly keep up, her wrist painfully contorting at all angles in the attempt to block every relentless blow of Lady Maria’s twin blade. As the Hunter retreated backward, the dagger end of the twin blade landed a deep cut from the corner of her temple, through her left eye, and along the curve of her nose. 

Catherine immediately howled in agony as she was blinded. Blood spurted from the wound and dribbled down her cheeks and mouth. She could taste herself as her essence forcefully entered passed her lips—the sweet, coppery sapor coating her tongue. She spat out a wad of phlegm and blood before harshly biting her tongue to stifle the pain from the injury. 

The Hunter retaliated with several strikes of her own, but her impaired vision was sabotaging her movements. The noblewoman contraparried and thwarted every attack that Catherine attempted, barely putting any effort into her defense. In her frustration, Catherine grew impetuous, darting her sword in unpracticed, erratic motions. At this point, she knew she couldn’t defeat Lady Maria, but she was going to acridly fight with every sinew and cell of her body before she was fiercely casted out of the Nightmare.

Lady Maria flicked her wrist, wrenching the Reiterpallasch from Catherine’s grasp, who had barely any time to register the loss of the weight in her fingers as the dagger end of the twin blade tore through her abdomen, impaling her. The momentum of the piecing blade forced Catherine backward, causing her to collapse onto the wooden planks below. She panted, wheezing and choking pathetically as the cold steel in her abdominal cavity twisted and curled around her intestines. Blood oozed languorously from her wounds, continuing to soak through her leathers; its warm embrace welcoming and calming.

Catherine stared up with her good eye at the ashen-haired woman above her. The moonlight from the clocktower’s face illuminated the noblewoman in a way that made her appear to glow. Her eyes—those mesmerizing grey pools— were greedily raking up Catherine’s mangled body, admiring the beauty in her utterly ruined state. The ethereal visage of Lady Maria, irradiated by the moonlight, looking at Catherine with such hunger, almost made her look like her old self. 

And it made Lady Maria’s next words all the more torturous.

“Beautiful...” she whispered reverently before slowly retrieving an Evelyn from her overcoat, cocking it, and firing a bullet in between Catherine’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter VI: Some Friendship Will It Lend You 'Gainst The Tempest

Cainhurst Castle: Library

1004 A.P.

Lady Maria was meticulously penning out descriptions and observations regarding a few of her blood samples when she heard a set of footsteps quietly enter her section of the library. She didn’t look up from her notebook, but let a smile curl at the corner of her lips, already knowing who had decided to disrupt her oeuvre.

“My Lady,” Catherine called out quietly, “…could you be persuaded to abandon your pedantic antics long enough to accompany our rank in a hunt for silverbeasts?”

Maria didn’t respond right away, finishing her thought before raising her stormy irises to Catherine. The knight was standing tall, her posture impeccable and refined—professional as always, but the mischief in her heterochromatic eyes betrayed her façade of sophistication. 

“Perhaps…” the noblewoman replied, flipping through some empty pages of another journal with ungloved hands. “If my bustling schedule allows it.”

Catherine scoffed and rolled her eyes, but gave the ashen-haired woman a small, almost conspiratorial smile.

“Well, on the account that you are available to deign us humble soldiers with your presence…we will be convening at the West Gate at sunset.”

“Wonderful.”

Catherine gave a small nod of acknowledgement before turning to exit Lady Maria’s alcove.

“Will I be allowed to bring my ‘foppish hat’?” Maria inquired, her words filled with impish satire.

Catherine had to suppress a laugh.

“I wouldn’t dare criticize a Lady’s fashion.”

-

Maria’s accompaniment of the Cainhurst Knights on their routine cullings had become a rather common occurrence, much to the detriment of the noblewoman’s attention to her actual research. She considered the missions as a productive form of procrastination, as it gave her ample opportunities to collect her own blood samples and study the behavior of beasts; however, it had been a little over three months and she had yet to actually utilize her samples in any meaningful way. 

That was not to say that Maria was completely ignoring her research. She had set up several experiments to document the reaction between human ova and blood from various beasts, yet none of them yielded any promising results. Every experiment, regardless of preparation method, had produced the same results. The noblewoman had tried practically everything she could think of to modify her trials; changing the temperature, increasing the amount of blood, mixing various types of blood, using spliced or multiple ova—nothing seemed to alter the outcome of the analyses. 

And that was absolutely aggravating.

So, it was a welcomed relief when Catherine would draw Lady Maria out of her spiraling frustration and vexation to accompany some of the Cainhurst Knights on their missions to slaughter some meddlesome horrors. It was cathartic to cleave and tear through the mangled and mutated flesh of the beasts; however, nothing could compare to the raw delectation of watching Catherine massacre the reprehensible cur. The way her blade would cut and slice through their mottled skin, revealing dark, sanguineous fluid that splattered across her olive skin like paint on a canvas seemed to always place the noblewoman in an ardent state of euphoria. Seeing the ichor drip down the curve of her chin and languidly travel down her throat and disappear beneath her silver cuirass had released a tension in Lady Maria that the ashen-haired woman could not explain. 

Nor was she willing to discuss it with anyone.

A few hours later, Lady Maria had prepared her satchel with several vials, syringes, ink, pens, and paper before retreating from the library to make her way to the stables to retrieve her horse. The stablemaster had been kind enough to saddle the horse in a more reserved way, forgoing the full steel barding after Maria complained that the horse had been uncomfortable maneuvering in the forbearing armor. Now the horse donned a black leather saddle on top of a crimson dyed, sheepskin numnah. Once mounted, Maria urged the midnight stallion forward, and made her way towards the Western Gate.

While the Southern Gate was highly traveled and populated with traders and peddlers auctioning off their wares, the Western Gate was rather sparse. Most denizens who lived within this sector of the Kingdom tended to be wealthy feudal lords who, while not inheriting the honor and station of royal blood, made their fortune through hired labor and land ownership. The residences were much larger and more lavish that that of any other in the city; possessing imposingly tall and marvelous limestone inlaid lodgings with intricately carved roofs that undulated and swirled finely into beautiful architectural designs. The windows were just as opulent, with carefully sculpted lintels depicting various flora and fauna.

The streets were even more well kept, free of the debris and grime usually encountered in other parts of the city. The air even seemed to take on a slightly perfumed odor as Maria trotted past a popular bathhouse. She breathed deeply, taking in the enchanting scents of rose and clove that wafted out through the open windows of the bathhouse. She hummed to herself. The castle had its own private bathing chambers, but it often took over an hour for the servants to prepare a warm bath, which would quickly grow tepid, which was both disappointing and unfulfilling. So, the task of bathing was usually completed out of necessity for the noblewoman rather than relaxation. 

Bathhouses were also supposed to be rather social affairs. Maria imagined friends and family convening in the steaming pools to titter and gossip about salacious rumors and scandals—laughing and jesting about trivial matters. The idea seemed rather pleasant, and Lady Maria wondered if she would be so bold enough to escape the confines of the castle to patronize the sudatorium. She wondered if any of the Cainhurst Knights frequented the bathhouse…Did Catherine?

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like using the bathhouse was such a splendid idea anymore.

As Maria approached the Western Gate, she noticed a group of horses and riders waiting patiently near the closed portcullis. She smiled widely when one of them, who she already identified as Catherine, turned her head towards the highborn noble. At this distance, Maria could admire the Cainhurst warrior freely without experiencing any embarrassing repercussions. She was wearing her signature silver armor with a blood-red cape—looking like a brave paragon out of a fairytale. As the royal drew closer, she unabashedly allowed her eyes to travel along the curve of Catherine’s jaw, her slightly parted lips, the slope of her nose, the faint creases at the corner of her eyes—her eyes. A brilliant sunburst of honey curling around deep azure in one, and a fiery amber scorching the other. Eyes that Maria realized were peering straight into her own and she involuntarily shuddered.

Why did the knight’s haunting gaze affect her so?

Averting her eyes quickly to fiddle with the reins on her kladruper, Maria attempted to still the quickening pace of her heart. When she lifted her head to the group once more, Catherine was no longer glancing her way, but instead had turned her attention to Ajča, evidently incensed by something the shorter woman had said. A small chuckle bubbled from her throat.

“Now now…I do hope that you keep your bickering to a minimum this time,” she called out to the pair as she finally approached the group.

“It isn’t my fault your Ladyship,” Ajča remarked, “…that Catherine is a complete ignoramus and a stick in the mud.”

Catherine glared at the archer with murderous intent, which made the noble laugh.

“Well, those are quite the accusations…” Lady Maria said, a teasing lilt to her voice. “What say you in your defense?”

Catherine turned her attention back to the scholar, and huffed petulantly.

“I say we are burning daylight,” she stated, obviously annoyed, and turned her mare towards the gate.

“Oh, my apologies. I was under the impression that silverbeasts only appear at night!” Ajča replied mockingly.

“Neser, ” muttered Catherine through clenched teeth, which led to an eruption of laughter from the whole group.

Catherine signaled to the soldiers on the ramparts to raise the gate, and one by one, the hunting party exited the threshold of the city.

-

“Would you mind helping me turn this one over Marek?” Lady Maria asked. The man nodded and secured his halbard to his back before approaching the noblewoman, grabbing a hold of the upper arm and torso of one of the defeated silverbeasts while Maria gripped the lower spine and thigh. Despite its rather lanky appearance, the sheer height of the beast, in addition to its massive skull, made the damn thing almost impossible to move without any assistance. On a count of three, the pair heaved and flipped the monster onto its back, revealing its bludgeoned face, with half of its vertical jaw missing.

“Sorry if you needed that,” Marek said sheepishly, having gotten a little carried away after the beast had struck Ajča on the arm.

“No apologies are needed…” she muttered in response, lifting up the cover of her satchel to retrieve her various instruments for sample extraction.

“Yeah, milenec chlapec over here practically severed that beast’s head!” Danika teased as she wrapped linen around Ajča’s left forearm. The blonde immediately flushed and avoided their gaze, suddenly finding great interest in the bile littering the ground.

“Careful,” Maria warned without looking up. “That’s flammable.”

Marek sighed and turned around, muttering something about retrieving the horses. Maria continued to prepare a syringe for her first sample. When she was ready she tried moving the beast’s head so that she could access the carotid artery; however, due to the uneven weight of the bisected skull, the head kept falling back into its original place. The scholar groaned in annoyance.

“Need some assistance, My Lady?” Catherine asked, a smile evident in her voice.

Maria lifted her head to the knight, who was already making her way around the opposite side of the carcass. She watched Catherine’s lips curl into a soft, yet roguish grin. The noblewoman nodded.

“Yes, if you can just—“ the ashen-haired woman gestured to the neck of the creature closer to her side, looking down and carding her left hand through the matted tresses of fur.

“Like this, My Lady?”

Lady Maria stiffened at the sudden contact of Catherine’s fingers brushing against her own, forcing her to quickly look up at the Cainhurst warrior who also froze. Maria almost startled at how close the knight’s face was to her own. She could clearly outline every nuance of Catherine’s features: her constellation of freckles, her faint scars—each a wonderful detail to commit to memory. 

Catherine seemed just as surprised as she was, letting her eyes peer into the noblewoman’s—filled with slight confusion…and something else…

I want you to look at me. Maria suddenly thought.

Catherine swiftly moved her head back.

“My…my apologies, My Lady.” Catherine said softly, her tone light and breathy.

“I-it’s quite alright,” she stammered, noticing that Catherine had not withdrawn her hand. She watched, slightly enraptured at their grazing fingers, feeling a slight warmth despite the layers of leather between them. Maria marveled at Catherine’s hand; it was smaller than her own, yet seemed as if it would fit perfectly in her palm. The noble’s fingers began to tingle and itch with the overwhelming desire to press the knight’s palm into her own, to peel their gloves off and feel the undoubtedly calloused fingertips on her skin. 

Slowly, Catherine gripped the flesh from the carcass below and began to move the head of the beast towards herself, lifting it enough for Lady Maria to perform her sample extraction. Maria dismissed her errant thoughts and carefully plunged the syringe into the monster and withdrew her sample. After the ichor was removed, she placed it into an empty vial, corked it, and went to extract another sample. This process continued for several minutes; sauntering to each decaying body and repeating the same procedures. Eventually, the scholar completed her meticulous tasks and the squadron mounted their steeds once more and began their return to Cainhurst. 

-

When Lady Maria was summoned to Queen Annalise’s private chambers, she had prepared herself for the worst. She tried scrambling through her ledger of notes and observations, but couldn’t provide any conclusive information other than the obvious failures of her experiments. Her blood ran cold as she was escorted to the Queen’s quarters, the footman opening one side of the beautifully carved mahogany door and ushering the young noblewoman inside. 

Lady Maria hesitantly entered the room, trying to distract herself from the swirling nausea swimming through her abdomen by admiring the sheer size and grandeur of the chambers. The golden cornice twisted and curled like thick vines and trailed along the ceiling before descending around large grandiose pillars cut from the same marble as the rest of the castle. Several chaise lounges were positioned adjacent to a large fireplace, who’s mantle was just as elaborately carved as the rest of the architecture. A large writing desk sat at the opposite side of the room, with several bookshelves surrounding it, filled with thick tomes and volumes. Several portraits of past rulers were hung on the walls, some Maria even recognized, given her—albeit distant—relation to the Royal Family. The young scholar noted another set of double doors on the back wall, which she surmised led into the Queen’s bedchambers…a room within another room.

The thought was slightly humorous, but any jovial musings were severed by the pensive look Queen Annalise gave her. Her Majesty was sitting on one of the chaise lounges, closing a book with a little more force than Maria deemed was necessary. She was wearing a plain, unassuming burgundy dress, something more casual than the palatial gowns she donned during soirées or council meetings. The dress had a raised neckline, with pleated trim; the shoulders modest and molded to her flesh. The Queen’s dark grey eyes narrowed at Maria as she slowly lifted herself from the chaise.

Maria immediately prostrated herself before the Queen.

“Your Highness,” she cleared her throat to dispel the slight tremor in her voice, “…you summoned me?”

“Quite right,” the royal responded dryly.

Maria kept her head bowed, not daring to espie the fearsome woman, who undoubtedly requested her presence in order to discuss the progress—or lack thereof—of her research. The silence between the two noblewomen extended longer, painfully so.

“Tell me, how long have you taken up residence in the castle—two months?”

“A little over three, Your Majesty.”

“A little over three,” she repeated, her tone impassive and impossible to decipher. “And in the time I have…graciously extended to you my hospitality, what progress have you achieved during your—rigorous research?”

Queen Annalise’s words were guarded and diplomatic, but Maria could outline the underlying messages that the oligarch was not deliberately communicating.

She knows…of course she knows. Maria thought, a slight panic incensing her rapidly beating heart—a worry for the Cainhurst Knights that she had elected to spend her time with…a worry for Catherine.

Lady Maria licked her dry, slightly chapped lips before moving her head up to face Her Royal Highness head on.

Maria was not going to let anything happen to Catherine.

“Unfortunately,” she began cautiously, “the results have not yielded anything worth of note…”

The Queen grimaced.

“Explain."

Lady Maria began to outline her methodology and observations she had garnered through her failed experiments so far. Emphasizing that there was a significant reaction between the blood of beasts and fertilized human ova; however, as soon as the blood began to penetrate the cell, the ova would shrivel and die. The young noblewoman highlighted that she had extended a tremendous amount of intellect to scrutinize and adjust any and every variable she could conjure that might change the outcome of the experiment, but alas, had made no real progress to overcome this hurdle.

After her rigorous explanation, and hopefully believable excuse, the ashen-haired woman bowed deeply once more.

“I apologize that my experiments have not produced anything worth of note, thus far, Your Highness.”

Queen Annalise hummed in acknowledgement. Another long silence passed between them before the oligarch spoke again.

“I suppose…you did inform me forthright that progress would be…stinted.” The Queen murmured evenly. Maria felt herself relax and raised her head again, but the icy glare that Annalise threw at her drained all the blood from the young noble’s face.

“Although,” Her Majesty continued, “…I do wonder if your…extracurricular activities have hindered your efforts as well.”

Maria’s heart erratically thudded against her ribcage, so loud and cacophonous that she could have sworn that the Queen could hear it too. However, despite the fear that gnawed at her heels like a starving hound, Maria stood tall against the accusation.

“My…participation in the hunting parties has been an essential part of my research,” she retorted, more aggressively than she had intended to. “They provide me with various types and volumes of beast blood that your representatives had been unable to procure for me before.”

Impossibly, the Queen’s eyes narrowed even further.

“Are you suggesting that my subjects are incompetent?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” Maria pushed back, “…I simply have found a solution that allows me to freely—and privately—retrieve the materials I require, in addition to accurately determining its origin.”

Maria watched closely as Annalise reacted to her words, particularly when the young noble had emphasized “privately ” in her defense. The subtle tension in the oligarch’s face released ever so slightly, and her stormy eyes widened at the edges. Maria knew it was a gamble to appeal to the Queen’s desire for discretion, but she played the gambit regardless.

Queen Annalise decided to step forward and approach the young scholar, regal and taciturn as always. Though shorter than Lady Maria, Her Majesty still solicited an imposing and domineering presence. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one willing to turn their harsh gazes away—to admit defeat.

Finally, the Queen sighed.

“I…appreciate your prudence regarding this matter,” Her Majesty said, her mouth thinning slightly. “You don’t realize how imperative your research is to Cainhurst—utilizing the utmost caution is essential to protect our country.”

Maria gave Annalise a querulous look. 

“Has the Healing Church been spreading more rumors?” Maria asked. She was never one for politics, but there was only one institution that threatened the authority of Cainhurst. 

The devout and religious organization of Yharnam’s Healing Church had a contentious history with Cainhurst. The fanatical zealots claimed that they had discovered a Great One’s blood in the ancient labyrinths underneath present day Yharnam. They claimed that this discovery was bestowed onto them by Ebritas, Daughter of the Cosmos, and by Her will, they were meant to cleanse the continent from wickedness, paving way for the final evolution of man. The Healing Church rapidly garnered new followers, encouraging them to partake in the unholy communion of the ‘Old Blood’. Eventually, their numbers grew so large that the organization constructed the city of Yharnam. 

Aside from the economic rivalry between the two metropolises, the Healing Church insisted that Cainhurst and its denizens were hedonistic heathens that required conversion to rectify them of their impurities. However, it was quite clear to the members of Cainhurst’s high society that the Healing Church was simply sowing seeds of malcontent so that they may vie for more land and political power.

Queen Annalise let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment.

“Baseless accusations, but nothing that we haven’t been able to quell before, although…” She trailed off, setting her jaw tightly in discomfort.

“Although…?” Lady Maria prompted.

Queen Annalise turned her focus away from Maria, her eyes downcast, as if internally debating with how much information she was willing to divulge. Lady Maria was not a trusted adviser or general, in fact, she had little to do with the inner machinations of Cainhurstian politics; however, if this research—her research—was vital to the sanctity and prosperity of her country, she needed to know what the oligarch’s intentions were.

“We have received word from some of our agents in Yharnam that the Healing Church claims to be curing ailments through a process they call ‘blood ministration’.” 

“What kind of ailments?” Maria inquired, her interest piqued.

“Leprosy, cholera, consumption—the afflicted have flocked to the shepherding of the Healing Church and claim to have been reborn,” Queen Annalise folded her hands in front of her. “I am worried that these claims may reach the ears of my beloved subjects.”

“And you’re worried that these claims may cause some…unrest within the Kingdom?”

“Indeed,” agreed the oligarch. “We can’t afford extending the Healing Church a foothold within our borders.”

“And my research may provide means to combat their efforts?” The young noble asked incredulously, failing to piece together the connection between the two.

“Yes. However, I am…unwilling to divulge to you exactly why at the moment. Forgive me.”

“No apologies are necessary, Your Highness. I am here to serve under your will.”

“Excellent,” She stated, her expression remaining impassive. 

Maria remained still, waiting for her dismissal, but when she was met back with silence, she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Is…is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, Your Majesty?” 

The Queen’s dark eyes narrowed.

“I understand that your research is something unprecedented, and that I shouldn’t expect meaningful results too quickly. However…” 

She approached the ashen-haired woman once more, allowing a small, yet terrifying grimace spread across her mouth, revealing her impeccably white teeth. 

“You must understand that the stability of our country is at stake. Your research is the key to gaining the upper hand and finally putting those idolatrous heretics in their place. You can’t afford to be pulled into so many…distractions .”

Or I will put an end to them. Maria could hear the unspoken threat.

Sweat began pooling at Lady Maria’s brow, the nervous and erratic pulses of her heart jettisoning through her ribs once more. It was a threat, albeit a veiled one, but a threat nonetheless.  

“Do I make myself clear?” Annalise demanded lowly.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The oligarch stepped back.

“Good. You're dismissed.”

-

Lady Maria began to throw herself into her work, refraining from engaging with Catherine or any of the knights in the regiment. Within two weeks she had become a recluse, save for the council meetings that Queen Annalise recommended she attend now that the empress had imparted the young noble with her political stratagem. The confabs were dull affairs, often discussing trade routes and tariff reform or mediating petty fiefdom squabbles. She loathed listening to the petulant lords and ladies of the council and their attempts to elevate their standing by appealing to Queen Annalise like curs to their master, but she had to admit she was acquiring a great deal of knowledge about the political musings of Cainhurst.

Although little progress had been made in her experiments, Queen Annalise seemed appeased by Maria’s participation in the council proceedings, even going as far as to praise her when she had suggested imposing a paltry tax increase on the wealthy families in the western district to fund public medical treatment. 

“Healthy people make healthy workers. Healthy workers make a healthy profit,” The young noble had argued, which placated most of the unscrupulous landowners.

Yet despite Maria’s success at integrating fully into the Queen’s court, the dreadful failures and impasses of her research had left her feeling quite contrite. Here she was—in one of the most highly educated regions on the continent, armed with state of the art technology, and fully financed by the Queen—and yet she had made little progress in inseminating a simple human ova! 

Well, she supposed she could find solace in the notion that she could still help the people of Cainhurst through political means at least.

-

It was late, and Lady Maria was once more hunched over her desk, peering into the eyepiece of her engioscope and hastily documenting her observations. The young noble had taken to working long into the quiet hours of the morning, often neglecting to eat or drink. Her eyes were dry and heavy as they watched the cells wrinkle underneath her thin section. Her vision was worsening, blurring and crossing as her exhaustion threatened to pull her into a catatonic state. She blinked hard, forcing her gaze to refocus and ignore the stabbing pain behind her eyes that practically begged her to close them—to rest.

Not now, not now, finish the work. The scholar protested. 

She took in a breath, holding it to forcefully dispel her fatigue by depriving herself of oxygen. She could feel the slow cadence of her heartbeat behind her ribs, bound by the damned command of the circadian rhythm, aching to enter a dreamless state. When her lungs began to burn and fight to intake another breath, she relented, huffing out the used air in a deep sigh.

The silverbeast blood had been the most reactive of the samples so far. It danced madly around the glass, curling and twisting in various directions before surrounding the ovum completely like a bacteriophage; however, before the blood could penetrate the ovum, the cell writhed, shriveled, and died.

“Fuck,” Lady Maria whispered as she removed her head from the eyepiece. She brought a hand to her scalp, combing her fingers through the fine hair, which had grown disheveled and greasy within the last few days. She looked a mess, her dress shirt was haphazardly tucked within her trousers, the sleeves of her shirt were rolled up, and her collar was unbuttoned, leaving the pale skin of her neck fully visible. She began rubbing at her eyes.

“No rest for the wicked, My Lady?” A voice softly called out to her, completely startling the young noble.

“Catherine!? Gods…” Maria groaned, standing abruptly at the sound of the knight’s inquiry. “What are you doing out so late?”

“Hmm…I was going to ask you the same thing, My Lady.”

My Lady. My Lady. My Lady.

How could this woman make the title sound so wonderful?

“I’m…working.”

“Obviously,” the soldier replied, stepping further into the alcove, “…but why are you working at this ungodly hour?

“Making up for lost time?”

“My Lady…”

“It’s nothing Catherine—truly,” Maria replied, trying to give the knight a reassuring smile. Catherine’s eyes roamed along the noblewoman, gliding across her waist, her arms, her neck. 

Maria suddenly remembered her sorry state of dress, and quickly moved her hands to button up the top of her shirt; she felt like she was on fire.

“You look like shit,” Catherine admonished. Maria didn’t look up from her fingers, which kept fumbling and missing the buttonholes of the dress shirt.

“Well, I feel like shit,” She admitted, letting out a curse when she realized she had shifted all her buttons up one slot. Catherine laughed, but before Maria could glower at the knight, another pair of hands appeared and began undoing the misaligned buttons. Maria stepped back in surprise, but Catherine followed her movement, completely unperturbed. Maria froze, and held her breath as she watched the knight’s deft fingers easily pry apart the buttons before slotting them into their correct positions. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Catherine asked with a voice as soft and gentle as a caress. Maria swallowed, unable to respond, not that she thought the question was meant to be answered. Maria stole a glance at Catherine, but only met the top of her head as the knight had tilted her head downward to focus on adjusting the dress shirt. Her cropped brown hair was perfectly groomed, and faintly smelled of clove. 

It reminded her of the bathhouse…

She immediately discarded the thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

When Catherine finished, she drew back, and Maria prayed that the flickering candlelight would hide any color that might have decorated her alabaster skin.

“Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing…” 

They both remained quiet for a moment, and Lady Maria took the opportunity to appraise the knight’s appearance. She was dressed in a plain beige tunic with a brown leather waistband that pleasantly hugged her curves. Her breeches were a dark brown and tucked into a pair of leather boots that extended past her ankles. It was a simple and austere outfit, and yet Maria couldn’t help but greedily admire it. It then occurred to her that she had never seen the soldier in anything but her armor. In this new attire, Maria could finally observe the knight’s toned arms, which shifted absentmindedly. 

“How long have you been at it today? Or yesterday—“ Catherine asked, flippantly gesturing with her left hand.

“I…I honestly don’t know. I think I started at dawn.”

“Gods…at least tell me you’ve eaten something?”

Maria offered the knight a sheepish smile and a slight shrug of her shoulders. Catherine narrowed her eyes and strode over to the taller woman once more, fervently grasping her left wrist before tugging her out of the corridor. 

“What are you doing!?” Maria hissed, but allowed herself to be led away from her workshop regardless.

“I’m getting you something to eat and drink before you pass out from dehydration!”

“No one is running the kitchens at this time of night!”

“It’s morning now! And I never said we were heading to the kitchens!”

Maria huffed, but made no attempt to escape. She glanced at the wrist caught within Catherine’s hand. Her skin was warm, but not unpleasantly so—the grip firm, yet loose enough for Maria to pull away if she desired to. However, Maria couldn’t even think about pulling away when she could feel the rough calluses of Catherine’s palms rub against her. It felt…nice.

She tried not to dwell on it.

The two women stealthily exited the library and cautiously meandered through the castle to avoid unnecessary contact with the guards. They entered the eastern courtyard, roaming underneath the gardenia trees before Lady Maria realized where they were going.

“The barracks?” 

“How observant of you,” the soldier replied. Maria scowled at her, but didn’t bite back. They continued their journey until they were just outside the garrison doors. Catherine finally released Maria’s wrist and the noble gently rubbed at it with her right thumb as the knight lifted a lantern hanging adjacent to the door before gently prying it open. 

The door creaked quietly as Catherine peered her head into the doorway and scanned the hallways for any insomniatic footmen. When satisfied they were alone, Catherine motioned for Lady Maria to follow her. They walked through a few hallways, passing several sleeping quarters before arriving at a room Maria assumed belonged to Catherine. The shorter woman opened the door and ushered the noble into the paltry bedchamber.

Paltry would be a gracious word for it. The diminutive space was practically devoid of any decor or furniture, save for a bed placed against the wall in the back corner, a chest near the foot of it, and a writing desk with a few lit candles on top of it along the opposite wall next to a hearth

It didn’t even have a chair to go with it!

After Catherine shut the door behind her, Maria watched her saunter over to the dimming hearth and pluck a few logs from the side wall before kneeling and placing them gingerly onto the muted flame. After a few minutes prodding around the fire with an iron poker, the flame roared to life once more. Catherine then rose to her feet and turned towards Maria.

The knight’s expression was unreadable as she slowly stalked over to Maria, firmly putting a hand onto the taller woman’s shoulder and pushing her towards the bed. Lady Maria’s heart was thrumming as she stared into Catherine’s hypnotic eyes, who gazed back with the same fervor. Her legs hit the back of the bed and she had no choice but to sit down as Catherine continued to press her palm against Maria. From this position, Maria had to look up to maintain eye contact with the brunette. She was now about at the height of Catherine’s chest, but she didn’t dare to remove her irises from those heterochromatic pools.

“Wait here,” Catherine commanded softly. “Try to get comfortable.”

The knight then removed her hand and turned back towards the hearth, retrieving the lantern before exiting the room.

“Gods…” Maria whispered, placing a hand on her chest to quell its incessant beating. She glanced about the room, unsure of what to do while Catherine was away retrieving some form of sustenance. She tried thinking about what the meals in the barracks possibly were. Were they meager stews and crusty bread, or were they lavish racks of lamb and mutton? No doubt they had ale and wine, albeit likely of a poorer quality compared to what they served in the castle. 

During her musings, Maria felt her head loll to the side, her fatigue chiseling away at her consciousness. The noblewoman tried to shake herself awake and await for Catherine’s return, but she was quickly giving into temptation as she leaned on her side and rested her head on the pillow.

Just for a moment—she told herself—I will just rest my eyes for a moment.

The air in the room was warm and inviting—the quiet crackling of the firewood a calming lullaby. Maria sighed and took in a deep breath, a faint scent of clove enveloping her—Catherine’s scent. 

She was too tired to think about why that thought made her chest bloom into a wonderful warmth.

And within moments the young scholar had drifted off into a tranquil slumber.

-

Catherine reentered her quarters quietly, delicately balancing a large plate with utensils in one hand, and the lantern in the other. She used her foot to gently push the door shut before glancing over to her bed. Lady Maria was curled up on her side—boots still on—with one hand tucked underneath the pillow. The noble appeared to be sleeping soundly, as she had not stirred since the knight returned.

Catherine smiled and silently walked over to the bed, placing the dish and lantern on top of her storage chest. She slowly approached Maria and couldn’t help but marvel at how peaceful the noblewoman looked. Her lips were parted, breathing deeply and slowly. Her brow was smooth and devoid of the telltale creases of stress. Catherine’s eyes continued their exploration of the woman’s face, admiring her high cheekbones and a striking jawline. Her eyes traced the gentle curve of her nose before focusing on her long, ethereally white eyelashes.

She was beautiful.

Catherine pushed that thought away.

The knight reached out a hand to move a few ashen strands out from the Lady’s eyes and tuck them behind her ear, but she thought better of it. Instead, she gently nudged the royal on her left shoulder.

“My Lady,” she called out softly, “I have your meal ready.”

Lady Maria grimaced and scrunched up her face, which was exceptionally adorable. She slowly opened her eyes slightly and groaned. 

“Do I have to eat?”

“Yes,” Catherine replied, trying to ignore the warm feeling in her stomach at the deep gravelly sound of Lady Maria’s voice. “And you need to get your boots off of my comforter.” 

This seemed to fully rouse the noble, who abruptly rose and tossed her legs over the side of the bed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m glad you were able to finally rest.”

Lady Maria hummed in response and Catherine went back over to her storage chest to retrieve the plate of food. She presented it to Lady Maria with little fanfare and watched the noblewoman’s eyes go wide as she handed her the dish.

“Svíčková!?” The noblewoman exclaimed excitedly, balancing the plate on her thighs as she began to cut the thick tenderloin in earnest.

“With knedlíky,” Catherine revealed, her smile growing wider as Lady Maria began to devour the meal. She watched the scholar swirl the beef into the creamy sauce before raising to her lips and devouring the succulent meat. As the ashen-haired woman continued her assault on the meal, Catherine lifted the waterskin she had retrieved over her shoulder and handed it to the noble. Said noble grabbed it and began swallowing the water within. Catherine moved to sit on the bed to the left of Lady Maria, who kept her focus on the meal in front of her.

“You haven’t been attending the hunting parties lately,” Catherine stated after a beat; Lady Maria halted her movements.

“I haven’t,” she agreed softly, almost timidly. 

“Why?”

Lady Maria stayed silent for a moment, slicing through the tender meat thoughtfully. She took another bite of her meal.

“The Queen has noticed my lack of progress,” she said finally, “She believes my ‘extracurricular activities’ are a distraction.”

“Do you believe they are?”

“No!” The noble exclaimed, with a little more force than the knight was expecting. “I mean…well, not too distracting. I actually find them quite helpful.”

“Will you be attending any more excursions with us?”

With me?

Lady Maria didn’t respond right away, taking another swig from the water skin. She kept her focus away from Catherine, which sent a twinge of pain to her gut. 

“I…I would like to,” the scholar admitted quietly before meeting Catherine’s eyes. “If you’ll have me that is.”

Catherine swallowed.

“We’d love to have you.”

The noblewoman smiled and it made Catherine feel warm. They remained quiet for a while as Lady Maria returned her focus to her meal. Eventually, Catherine ventured out a query.

“Why do you practically work yourself to death?”

Maria looked askance, and bit her lip, as if struggling with her own thoughts; then she sighed and took a bite out of a bread dumpling. 

“If I can complete my research for Queen Annalise, I’ll finally be able to pursue my own.”

“You have research you wish to conduct on your own?”

“Yes, I…” she trailed off, cutting another slice of a dumpling. 

“If I’ve overstepped—“

“It’s fine—my…my parents died when I was very young. They contracted the ashen blood plague, like your brother.” 

Her heart clenched at the mention of her brother, but she continued to listen to the noble, sympathetic to her trauma.

“It was…horrific, as you’re aware, and I couldn’t fathom why they wouldn’t get better. I had been sick before and gotten better, why couldn’t they? As I grew older, I realized that their affliction was caused by something no one actually understood, and that there was no cure. It rattled me to my core. There were tens of thousands of people, scores of people, who were dying—wasting away in a torment of misery until they transfigured into blood lusting beasts, leaving their families to suffer.”

Catherine swallowed the emotional lump that grew in her throat at the noble’s incensed speech.

“I became obsessed with the blood plague, studying its effects, its history, its extents—who it targeted, what populations were the most vulnerable, and why. When I discovered that little research had been conducted on it, I was appalled. All these decades of suffering and not one scholar had dared to even try to pinpoint the root cause of such a heinous disease? Hanebný!”

Lady Maria took a moment to angrily take another swig from the water skin. And Catherine couldn’t help but chuckle at the noblewoman’s petulant actions. When she finished her drink, she rubbed a few of her fingers against her temple to calm herself down.

“I aimed to find out for myself, so that I could perhaps synthesize a cure for the plague,” Maria said finally, and Catherine’s eyes went wide. “I want to—no need to find a cure. There’s so many people out there suffering…if…if I could provide them with hope—ensure that their loved ones will live another day…I could die with a smile on my face.”

Silence enveloped the pair as Lady Maria continued to eat her meal, but Catherine was just stunned, and stared at the noblewoman in awe. 

“That’s so…”

Compassionate, charitable, benevolent, beautiful—

“…philanthropic.”

Brilliant response, Catherine.

“I suppose,” Lady Maria chuckled.

“I mean it my Lady, it’s remarkable.”

Maria looked at her, her silver eyes sparkling in wonderment.

“Do you truly believe so?”

“Yes,” Catherine breathed, “I—I’ve no doubt that you’ll find a cure someday. You’re…quite brilliant.”

She regretted the compliment as soon as it left her mouth.

“Brilliant you say?” The scholar said smugly, receiving a teasing shove to the shoulder.

After several minutes, the noble took her last bite and Catherine carefully removed the plate and utensils from the highborn’s hands and placed it back onto the storage chest. 

“I trust the meal was to your liking?” Catherine asked, turning her head to meet Lady Maria’s gaze. She felt pinned by those illustrious silver eyes, who looked at her with such reverence. It made her chest tighten.

“It was…perfect,” she responded before averting her eyes.

Look at me. Catherine pleaded in her mind. Don’t look away. Look at me.

“Why…” Lady Maria ventured hesitantly, “Why are you helping me?”

The inquiry made Catherine stiffen. Why indeed. Why was she putting forth so much effort to keep Lady Maria comfortable? Why had she grown so restless when the noble had refused her company over the past several weeks? Why did she fervently desire to be in her presence—to simply look at her? And why did it feel like she would crumble if Lady Maria didn’t look at her back? 

“I—” she paused, trying to grasp her words properly. “I-is that not what friends do for one another?”

“Friends?” Lady Maria repeated, glancing back at the brunette.

“Yes…friends…are we not?” Catherine sputtered feverishly, inwardly chastising herself.

“Hmm…I was under the impression that you did not fancy making friends.”

The cheeky smile on the noblewoman’s face sent a surge of heat through Catherine’s abdomen.

“Only with those who are worthy enough.”

“So you think I’m worthy?”

“Deflate that head of yours, and I might consider it.”

The noble chuckled, rich and velvety, sending a pleasant tingle down Catherine’s spine. Her laugh was beautiful and infectious—and she couldn’t help but respond with her own fit of merriment.

“Friends,” Lady Maria tutted after their laughter dissipated, “I believe I would enjoy that…very much so.”

“I feel the same,” Catherine revealed, giving the noblewoman a small smile. The smile was returned, and it made the knight feel so full—so light. “Our squadron has been assigned to investigate an abandoned village just southwest of Cainhurst. A pair of scouts was sent there a few days ago to follow up on sightings of a large beast in the area, but they haven’t returned. Would you care to accompany us?”

Lady Maria sighed and opened her mouth as if to reject the invitation, but something in Catherine’s eyes must have forced the noble to reconsider, for she closed her mouth, smiled widely, and responded:

“Yes, I would love to.”

“We will leave the day after tomorrow, try to rest for the day. Please?”

The young scholar rolled her eyes, but acquiesced with a nod.

“Excellent. Now, do you think you can manage the energy to retire to your quarters on your own, or do you need me to guide you back?” 

A part of Catherine wanted Lady Maria to accept her help, to guide her back to her bedchamber, with her wrist in Catherine’s palm once more—but she knew it was foolish to hope for something so frivolous and…intimate.

“I believe I can manage,” Lady Maria said indignantly, but kept a smile curled on her lips. She stood up and approached the shorter woman, getting unbearably close to her—

Yet not close enough. 

Catherine’s heart raced as steel-gray eyes looked into her own and she felt the pressure of Lady Maria’s palm on her upper arm. Her hands were slightly cold, but felt like they were burning her as the rough pads of her fingertips brushed over her skin. Lady Maria leaned down, almost pressing her forehead against Catherine’s and Catherine had to suppress a shiver as she felt Maria’s hot breath against her cheek.

“Thank you,” the noblewoman whispered, “thank you for everything.”

“N-no problem,” Catherine stuttered, completely enraptured by Lady Maria’s melodic voice. All too soon, the noble pulled away, and she bowed lightly to Catherine before retrieving the lantern from the storage chest and made her way to the door. She glanced back at Catherine one last time and gave a small wave, which the knight returned before Lady Maria pried open the door and exited the room. After the door was shut and the sound of retreating footsteps died out, Catherine threw herself onto the bed—emotionally and physically exhausted. She rubbed her eyes and sighed, her heart still beating erratically in her chest. She tried to quell the warm, pleasant swirl in her stomach, but failed to do so when she noticed the faint scent of rose on her pillow.

“Gods…” the knight sighed, kicking off her boots and removing her leather belt to get more comfortable as she settled into the mattress, allowing herself to drift off into a pleasant sleep as the sound of the crackling fire and Lady Maria’s lingering scent lulled her into a wistful state.

-

“What kind of beast do you think it is?” Marek asked the group as they waited for their noble compatriot. The cadre was already mounted on their horses by the southern gate, eager to complete the assignment. The atmosphere was tense—they had never been on an assignment that required a potential rescue, even if it was just recovering a body. 

“No idea,” Danika replied, nervously fiddling with the straps of her leather gauntlets. “Maybe a carrion crow, or a maneater boar.”

“Again with the maneater boar!” Marek whined. 

“I think both are too small for what the reports have suggested,” Ajča interjected, applying wax to her bowstring. It had been over a month since her injury and she hadn’t had the chance to pick up her bow in quite some time. “Not to mention the missing scouts.”

Everyone in the group fell silent, all thinking the same thing: would they go missing too?

“We’ll slaughter any beast we come across,” Catherine stated, her voice powerful and reassuring. “And we will bring back the scouts…”

Dead or alive.

Soon enough, Lady Maria reached their group. Catherine had provided the noblewoman with the reports related to the village earlier in the day to familiarize herself with the overall objective—and prepare herself accordingly. The noblewoman had opted for a chainmail cuirass over a dark gray gambeson instead of her usual leather chest piece; however, she still insisted on wearing that ridiculous hat.

“I think it makes me look distinguished,” she said as Marek whistled to the night watch to open the gates.

“It makes you look like a coxcomb,” Catherine retorted with a curt laugh. Marek looked confused.

“It means she looks a bit of an arsehole,” Danika whispered to him loudly, discretion completely lost on her. The quip instigated a series of laughs that lightened the relatively dour mood. When the portcullis finished its ascent, the group urged their horses forward, and headed towards the village.

The group had little knowledge about the villages surrounding the city, save for Lady Maria who had spent her childhood in the north, occasionally accompanying Henrietta when the governess visited the town on the outskirts of the de Ravin estate. The rest were born within the city’s walls and had never ventured too far outside its borders.

Ora Castellum looked unassuming from a distance. Brick and mortar buildings with large, wide naves, flying buttresses, and steep, shingled roofs were aligned in rows along the cobblestone streets, casting imposing shadows as the sun descended. When the squadron arrived at the north end of the village, they took a moment to light a few torches.

“If it’s truly abandoned,” Catherine said as she struck her flint over a pitch dipped torch, “then we will have to light any lanterns or lamp posts that we find.” After a few more strikes of her flint, a small ember began to form on the cotton head of the torch. She blew air on it a few times before a small fire enveloped it and grew into a steady flame. Catherine extended her arm out for Lady Maria, who in turn passed the flame onto Danika until they each had one lit torch. 

As they made their way along the streets of the village, they located and lit several lamp posts that were still standing, warily eyeing the seemingly barren buildings. It was quiet, almost disturbingly so. The signs that hung along the awnings of taverns and shops creaked eerily on their rusted hinges. Up close, Catherine could see how truly dilapidated the village was. Windows were shattered, the foundations were deteriorating, and some homes had even collapsed underneath the crumbling infrastructure. 

The reports indicated that Ora Castellum had suffered a devastating fire about five years ago, and its villagers either relocated into the city proper or they perished in the wake of the destruction. Given how bad the fire was, Catherine was surprised that some structures were still standing.

Eventually, they approached a crossroad, one direction continuing south while the other curved eastward. Catherine took a moment to light a lamp post at the corner where the two roads met. 

“Should we split up?” Danika inquired, wringing her reins in her left hand. “Cover more ground?”

Catherine hummed. She wasn’t fond of the idea of separating the group. The rumors of an unidentifiable and deadly beast stalking the streets of the village at night had her on edge, but sundown was fast approaching, and the best chance they had at finding and recovering the missing scouts was when the beast—or beasts—were inactive.

“Catherine?” Marek asked, looking to her for guidance. 

The knight froze, daunted by the detestable decision. Anxiety curdled through her abdomen and up to her chest. What was the correct choice? What consequences would the group suffer as a result of her judgement? She swallowed and nervously tapped on her thighs with her free hand as her mind raced through dozens of harrowing scenarios, all of them lamentable and pernicious.

What if dividing the party led to the deaths of her comrades? Who was she to sentence them to the headsman’s axe? If any of them perished due to her poor choices and a lack of tactful strategy, she would never forgive herself. 

Catherine’s eyes suddenly shot towards Maria, who was watching her closely. In an instant, a wave of calm enveloped the knight as kind, gentle silver irises peered at her with such compassion and reassurance that it steadied the turbulent maelstrom brewing inside her mind. A small smile tugged at the corners of the noblewoman’s lips, speaking volumes without even uttering a single syllable.

What would I do without you? She wondered.

Catherine took in a deep, steadying breath. She was the unappointed leader of this gaggle of barmy buffoons, and they needed her to make a decision, despite her apprehension and self-doubt.

“We’ll split up. Danika, Ajča—you take the east road, the rest of us will continue southward.”

“Aww,” Ajča wailed histrionically, “I wanted to go with Lady Maria.” 

The archer brushed her tawny kinsky mare along Maria’s kladruber, the sudden movement causing their arms to graze one another. Lady Maria looked down toward the shorter woman and chuckled demurely. Catherine stiffly watched, scowling as Ajča’s impish eyes narrowed knowingly at her. 

It made Catherine’s chest burn.

A tight pang of anguish and resentment resonated in her rib cage at Ajča’s proximity to the noblewoman. She glowered harshly at the archer, attempting to dissuade her from touching the highborn Lady. Ajča remained aloof, ignoring Catherine’s menacing glare.

Catherine huffed.

Why did seeing the two of them that close to one another bother her so much? It shouldn’t bother her, and yet…

“Fine,” the knight acquiesced, “but you’re guarding the rear.”

Ajča groaned, but assented to the terms. Catherine urged her horse toward Danika and Marek, reaching into a satchel secured to her saddle and retrieving a rolled up sheaf of paper. She handed the scroll to Danika, who handed her torch to Marek before briefly unfurling it.

“If you guys find any evidence of life or find either of the scouts, mark it on the map and circle back to us. If you see any threat, beast or otherwise, you immediately turn back. Do not engage. Regroup with us, and we will plan our course of attack then. Got it?”

The two warriors nodded in response. Danika packed the map into her own pouch and recovered her torch from Marek. The pair then wordlessly maneuvered their horses down the eastern path. Catherine gently kicked her chestnut warmblood on the haunches, guiding the mare down the southern road. Lady Maria followed and Ajča took up the rear, as per their agreement.

They continued down the cobblestone road, lighting a few hanging lanterns along the way. Everything appeared deserted, and no evidence or sign of life had been forthcoming. As the sun lowered over the horizon, Catherine’s unease festered like an infected boil. She didn’t like this, she didn’t like this at all.

As night fell, Catherine was thankful that there was a full moon out, increasing the amount of visibility in the darkened village. The three women continued their journey, occasionally pausing to scan the rubble and debris for signs of movement—there was none. It wasn’t long before they reached a structure that was significantly larger than the rest of the buildings in the village. It was tall and formidable—well, would have been formidable if not for the slightly caved in roof. It had several spires above long, vertical buttresses that connected to several piers holding pointed arches. A large rose window was built on the front facing entrance, the stained glass shattered and fragmented. Catherine recognized the building as a church.

“Catherine,” Lady Maria called out, her voice low and serious. The knight turned to look at her and the noble gestured to an area along the right side of the street. “Look.”

Catherine approached and lifted her torch to get a better look at what Lady Maria was referring to. There on the cobblestones was a wide circuitous smear of reddish-brown marks that trailed towards the entrance of the church, accompanied by a large splatter of dried droplets.

“Fuck,” Catherine whispered, before looking up at both Ajča and Lady Maria who nodded at her in understanding. Catherine unsheathed her rapier and Maria drew her own weapon while Ajča kept her hold on her torch. All three then headed towards the entrance of the cathedral, following the dried blood trail. 

The warriors approached the steps of the house of worship, noticing the jagged and stuttered path of the blood leading up the stairs. They slowly ascended the small flight of steps and inched closer to the arched, open doorway which was wide enough for their horses to enter. One by one they walked inside the once resplendent catherdral, carefully searching for the source of the blood trail. 

Scores of pews were charred and overturned, pushed into the corners and along the side walls of the nave. Candelabras were toppled over and underneath rubble and ash while books of prayers and psalms were tattered or blackened by the inferno that had once ravaged the village. Catherine’s eyes followed the blood trail, finally locating a crumpled mass of fabric on the far side of the room. She kicked her horse into a trot to quickly move toward the unrecognizable heap. Once she was close to it, Catherine sheathed her sword, dismounted, and kneeled down toward the bundle.

It was a corpse, that much was obvious, but it was completely formless and indiscernible. The body—or what remained of it—was shorn and sliced with deep gnarly gashes with serrated chunks of flesh hanging on by threads of sinew and tendon. Dried blood was caked into the remains of the figure’s clothing and stained the opulent, white marble tiles set into the floor. The smell stung her nostrils with an acrid and foul scent, causing her to briefly gag as she watched larvae squirm and wriggle within the mottled flesh. She scanned the opposite end of the remains, observing what appeared to be a pelvic bone and realized that she was looking at a torso and head; the legs completely detached from the acetabulum. The arms—if you could even call them that—were bent at disturbing angles with cracked and splintered bones poking out of the fetid flesh. 

Without warning, a lurid, cacophonous screech roared out from above and echoed off the walls of the church. Catherine looked up and barely had time to react as a hulking beast at least three times her size launched off the ramparts and crashed into the floor next to her, cracking the marble and propelling shards of tile into the air. She felt the sharpened pieces scrape and cut along her cheeks, and she winced at the pain; blood dripping down her chin. Her mare immediately raised up its two front legs, spooked by the sudden attack, but before Catherine could move to grab the reins to steady her steed, the monster swiped a massive, clawed hand and sliced through the neck and shoulder of the horse, the sheer force of the blow throwing the animal across the room.

Catherine stared at the chimera in horror. Its towering form was sparsely covered in long, wispy white hair. Thick, gnarled antlers protruded out of a long skull, whose mouth revealed rows of sharp, serrated teeth. Its body was wolf like, yet possessed a hollowed out chest, making the creature appear starved and emaciated. The left arm was significantly larger and longer than the other, but both hands were massive and distorted; with long talons protruding from the fingertips.

“Catherine!” Lady Maria screamed, inexplicable fear evident in her cry. The beast screeched horribly, turning his attention towards the noble.

“Run!” Catherine urged, terror stricken. “Both of you, run! Find Danika and Marek!”

“I won’t leave you!” Lady Maria retorted, practically throwing herself off her horse as she readied her weapons. She smacked her kladruper on its haunches, encouraging the creature to escape.

“Ty zasranej bláho!” Catherine swore, unsheathing her sword and offhand dagger. Thankfully, Ajča wasn’t so foolish.

“Stay alive! I’ll get the others, but Gods damn it all you better fucking stay alive!” The archer demanded, roughly kicking her horse into a gallop as she fled from the cathedral, following after Lady Maria’s horse.

The beast lunged at Lady Maria with its left hand, its clawed fingers pounding into the floor next to her as she sidestepped. She quickly responded with her own attack, cutting downward across the monster’s hand. She successfully landed the blow, severing its pointer finger at the metacarpal. Crimson ichor spurted from the small wound, and the creature howled in agony. It growled balefully at the noble, reaching back with its right arm to swipe at her. The beast’s sheer size stunted its movements, allowing Lady Maria to avoid its oncoming strike by dashing underneath its swing. She cut her blade upward, slicing along its emaciated torso. 

“Watch out!” Catherine cried as the beast reared its damaged arm back to attempt another strike on the noblewoman. In an instant, the knight was upon the beast, thrusting her swept-hilt rapier into its thigh and following through with a cut from her sword breaker. The serrated indents of the dagger tore through the leathery skin, carving out chunks of purple and grey flesh. Another screech emanated from the monster, who turned his attention on Catherine, its glowing yellow eyes narrowing in contempt. 

The titan balled its hands together before hurling them toward the knight, who jumped backward to avoid the powerful blow. More tile cracked and flew up in a mixture of dust and ash, the cloud obfuscating Catherine’s vision for a brief moment. The lapse in visibility was just long enough for the brute to catch the brunette off guard. It swiped at her with its right hand and she narrowly blocked the attack with her sword breaker, capturing its claws in a couple of the serrations. The sheer power of the attack wrenched the dagger from her hands, sliding it along the floor. As a result, her wrist twisted awkwardly, stretching her ligaments far beyond a normal range of motion. The knight gave a curt cry from the injury, but she resolutely dashed away from the creature, keeping her guard up. 

The creature abruptly turned and shrieked at Catherine, yet before it could execute another attack against the Cainhurst warrior, the deafening shot of a flintlock reverberated throughout the building. A burst of blood billowed out suddenly from the beast’s neck as a silver bullet pierced through and lodged itself into tissue and muscle. Catherine glanced at Maria, who was busy tearing the paper of another charge, pouring the gunpowder down the barrel of the pistol, pushing another silver pellet into it, and shoving the ramrod in. The precision and speed in which the ashen-haired woman was reloading the gun would have been commendable, if they were not fighting for their lives.

The monster clawed mercilessly at the floor, roaring in anger and agony. It lunged at Lady Maria, who rushed forward and stepped around the lumbering creature. She swung her blade across the back of the monster’s knee tearing through its posterior cruciate ligament. It buckled for a moment as its femur erratically slid along the lateral meniscus. Blood wept from its wounds, covering the marble floor with its tainted ichor. It cried again and swung its smaller arm at the noblewoman from behind, who scarcely dodged the attack. She retreated several steps before aiming her firearm at the beast once more, pulling the trigger, and firing another round into its chest. It screeched again, using its left arm and hand like a crutch as it barreled toward the young scholar. Lady Maria tried to side step, but lost her footing as she slipped on a pool of blood that had oozed onto the floor. She had little time to recover as the monstrosity lowered itself to pounce on the noble; however, a large slab of tile slammed against the beast’s maw, and it shot its head towards the direction of the offending attack.

Catherine picked up another large shard of marble and launched it at the creature, hitting it in the shoulder. It rattled out another wail and hobbled towards the Cainhurst knight. It lifted its smaller arm, curling its clawed hand into a fist before throwing it down towards Catherine’s skull. She leapt to the left of the beast, avoiding the blow, but realized a moment too late that the monster had swung its left arm back and swiped at her. The claws nicked her arm above her right elbow and silver gauntlet. Its sharp talons easily cut through the padding of her black gambeson, deeply slicing the flesh underneath.

Catherine swore as blood seeped from the fresh wound, coating the sleeve of her undercoat and gauntlet. In response, she let out a pained grunt and riposted, stabbing the beast through the forearm. It yowled as she ripped the blade out of its skewered flesh, blood glistening on her rapier. She then pulled back, retreating from the monster’s range of attack. Blood began dripping madly down her fingertips.

“Catherine!” Lady Maria worriedly called out.

“I’m fine!” The knight assured, ignoring the gnawing pain that thrummed along her arm. “Just focus on not dying!”

“I could say the same thing to you!” The noblewoman retorted, tossing her rapier up into a fourth guard stance. 

The passage of time became muddled as the two warriors fought for their lives. The beast frenziedly slashed and snapped at them, but they adroitly escaped the strikes through a series of well-timed dashes and dodges. Occasionally, one of them would land a blow against the horror; however, the intense exertion was wearing them down. 

Catherine’s joints ached, and her injuries throbbed mercilessly, sending sharp stinging pain along the wounds. Sweat and blood coagulated and seeped into her gambeson, making her feel sticky and hot. Locks of her brown hair clung against the sweat overlaying her face. She was huffing air wildly, her heart pounding incessantly against her sternum as she vaulted her body away from the indefatigable creature’s strikes. Her mind roared.

Where the fuck is Ajča!?

-

Lady Maria wasn’t fairing much better than the knight. Although relatively injury free, save for some superficial cuts and scrapes along her jawline and cheeks, the noble was noticeably exhausted. She took in staccato, ragged breaths, trying to fill her bloodstream with much needed oxygen. Her ridiculous hat had fallen off at some point, forcing some errant strands of hair out of her tie. Sweat pooled at her brow, leaking down her cheeks—her skin red and puffy from the prolonged struggle.

The grotesque chimera let out a gravelly, shrill shriek as it started hobbling toward Lady Maria, tossing itself forward using its thicker arm. The noblewoman prepared herself for an attack, maintaining eye contact with the monstrosity as she went to step back. Without warning, her left foot sunk down between the stone rubble and dressed masonry of the foundation below the ripped up marble tile. The shock of the abrupt shift in movement forced her to stumble backward and collapse. She twisted her frame to fall on her side to prevent a devastating head injury. Her sword clamored as she hit the ground, her pistol accidentally firing a round from the impact, sending the errant bullet flying across the opposite side of the church. 

Lady Maria scrambled to her feet as she tore her boot free from the foundation, but it was too late. The beast had thrown his right arm out, palm outstretched to capture the noble within its honed talons. Her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and shock, knowing she had no time to raise her sword to even attempt to block the oncoming attack. She took in a sharp, gasping breath, feeling the air rush all around her. Her mind went blank, and a disquieting numbing sensation scored along her body—dread sinking into her stomach.

Then she felt herself moving, being pushed by something—no, someone! 

Lady Maria’s mind shifted back to a coherent state and she turned her head to look at Catherine, who had shoved her out of the demon’s path. She watched helplessly as azure and amber eyes bore into her own. Maria watched a myriad of emotions flash through those captivating irises. Fear, despair, terror, but also relief and…something else. Something else she couldn’t identify, but it made her chest ache. 

-

The faintest of smiles crossed Catherine’s lips, satisfied and content. She felt slightly lighter, knowing that she had protected Lady Maria. 

She had no regrets.

Catherine knew that as soon as she saw the woman tumble, she would rush to her side. It was instinctual, letting go of logic and reason to shield the ashen-haired royal. Her legs had brought her there of her own accord, casting aside any trace of self preservation if it meant that the noblewoman would survive. 

Lady Maria had to live, she had to!

There was so much good she could do with her research, so many lives that she could help—could save! Lady Maria was going to find the cure for the ashen-blood plague, she just needed more time! Once she completed her research for Queen Analise and could turn and focus on her crusade to eradicate that blight from the continent. Lady Maria was inspiring, a beacon of hope—the one shining light in this dark and wretched world. She was irreplaceable, she couldn’t die.

I won’t allow it.

So the knight shoved the noblewoman away, chivalrously taking her place, and then she was ensnared—the beast curling its thick, clawed fingers around her torso. The creature lifted Catherine into the air, squeezing the poor woman until its nails dug into her waist and back. She screamed—she tried not to. She tried to remain brave, but the talons tore through her armor and sank into her flesh, and for a moment, everything went black. A surge of agony radiated through her form as blood wept from the lacerations and poured down the beast’s forearm. A heavy pressure pressed against her lungs as the monstrous hand tightened around her. She felt—and heard—her ribs cracking before they punctured her lungs. She tried to cough up the blood that filled the branching bronchi, but could only let out a muffled gurgle. Blood pooled into her mouth before trickling down her chin, and she shut her eyes.

The chimera roared once more, cascading spittle onto Catherine’s face before it ruthlessly launched her across the chamber. She crashed into the charred pews, sending splinters and charcoal into the air. She gasped for air, but cried as sharp, piercing pain passed through her mangled form. The last thing she registered before fading into unconsciousness was Lady Maria wailing her name.

-

“Catherine!” Lady Maria wailed, panic and despair seeping into her voice. Tears welled up in her eyes and her heart lurched. Her chest felt heavy and numb as grief began to settle into every vein and artery of the pumping muscle. 

This wasn’t happening.

This wasn’t happening.

Now satisfied with its victory, the monster let out a triumphant screech. It lowered its arm, which was painted in Catherine’s ichor. The blood dripped languidly onto the white tiles as it stepped towards Lady Maria. She immediately raised her rapier up in an inside left guard position, but a tremor shook through her body as her mind processed the events that occurred. 

Catherine, that foolish and impolitic knight, had just saved her life. That stupid and witless pitomec had pushed her out of the way, taking her place, and was now bleeding out on the other side of the cathedral! Catherine, the only true friend she had made since Henrietta’s departure—since her uncle died—had protected her…

And now she was going to…

No, no! Don’t even think about that! Maria scolded herself.

A boiling, seething rage began building inside her. She bared her teeth and growled ferociously at the creature, the rapier’s guard still holding despite her incessant trembling. 

She won’t die, she won’t die!

As Lady Maria prepared to block another strike from the beast, an arrow struck the side of its skull, settling into its ear canal. It howled in agony as another arrow followed suit, then another, and another! The noble could have sobbed in gratitude as Ajča drew her bow again and sent another arrow flying into the monster’s neck, with Danika and Marek charging forward on their steeds.

Marek reached the beast first, holding his halberd in one hand and swinging it towards the creature’s legs as he galloped past it. It sank into its purple flesh and sliced through the anterior cruciate ligament. With the patella separated from the joint, the leg could no longer support the behemoth’s massive frame and it collapsed to the ground. Danika took advantage of the beast’s position and jumped off her horse to stab it through its neck with her polearm. It gave out a pained roar as blood sprayed from its fresh wounds. 

“Damn this thing is fucking tough!” Danika shouted, stabbing the beast again. It pushed itself up onto its good leg with its massive left arm and lifted its right arm to slam it down on the Cainhurst knight; however, Marek had rounded the chamber with his horse and landed another blow across the beast’s emaciated trunk. 

As the three knights continued their assault on the monstrosity, Lady Maria took the opportunity to sheath her rapier and sprint towards Catherine. Her body was motionless, laying in a pool of her own blood. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no!” She said in quick succession, pushing and throwing debris and furniture out of the way before she sank to her knees behind the knight. She placed one hand under her neck, the other on her lower back, and gently lifted her. “Catherine? Catherine? Can you hear me? Please, please open your eyes. Look at me, look at me!”

A soft puff of air escaped Catherine’s mouth, followed by a labored wheeze. Her eyes slowly opened.

“M-M-My Lady…”

Tears renewed in the noblewoman’s eyes.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, I’m here—we’re all here. And you, you’re going to be okay!” She tried brushing away the blood from the corner of Catherine’s mouth, but it smeared along her soft, olive skin. The knight coughed, and some droplets spattered onto Maria’s face and hair, but she paid it no mind. In the distance she could hear the three knights barking out orders and the mournful howls coming from the beast, but it didn’t matter. The only sound she cared about at that moment was the sound of Catherine’s voice.

“Y-y-y-ou, y-you,” Catherine sputtered, choking on blood.

“Yes?”

“Y-y-ou d-don’t have your f-f-foopish h-hat.”

Maria could have killed her right then.

“Hloupá dívka,” Maria chided, tears falling unbidden, “What am I going to do with you?”

Catherine gave her a lazy, bloodstained smile.

“D-don’t k-know, but m-maybe I w-will know after I-I take a n-nap,” the brunette suggested, her mismatched eyes slowly shutting.

“No, Catherine—please, stay with me! Hold on!” As carefully as she could, she lowered the knight and frantically began to undo the leather straps holding together her armor. She removed the duelist cape first before lifting the chainmail cuirass off. She stifled a whimper as she scanned the tattered, blood soaked gambeson. She delicately unbuckled the straps of the padded armor and pried it away from the warrior. She then lifted up the bottom half of the knight’s undershirt and gasped at the sight.

Several puncture wounds littered the upper torso and hip of Catherine’s body. Her injuries, though horrific to look at, would have been more egregious had she not been wearing her armor. However, they were still deep, and she had at least two or three broken ribs and a punctured lung. And she was quickly losing blood, so much blood.

The noble wasted no time, rapidly releasing the straps of her own armor to get to her chemise. She pulled the offending fabric over her head. She spent a moment to fasten her gambeson before unsheathing her dagger and cutting several long strips of linen from the chemise. She set to wrapping them around Catherine’s torso to put pressure on the bleeding. When Maria finished her wrappings, she tightly tied them off, pulled the undershirt over the bindings, and lifted Catherine once more.

“Catherine?” Maria beseeched, silver eyes flicking around the young knight’s face in search of movement; something that would indicate that she was conscious.

There was none.

“Catherine?” She tried again, her voice cracking into a whimper. Tears continued cascading down her cheeks as she lightly tapped the soldier’s cheek with an opened palm. “Wake up! Gods, please wake up, Catherine—Catherine!”

When the woman did not stir, Maria panicked and tore a leather glove off with her teeth and placed two fingers on Catherine’s neck, underneath her chin. She held her breath and waited, ignoring the sinking feeling that began to creep in the pit of her stomach.

Then she felt it—a pulse—faint—but still there. 

She had lost so much blood.

Maria knew that if she didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.

She had lost so much blood.

Lady Maria stared at the knight and cradled her head in her hands—if she didn’t do something soon, she would lose her.

She had lost so much blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood!

An idea struck her then. She could use blood—her blood—the vileblood, blood of the ancient covenant passed down the Cainhurst royal lineage from generation to generation. The sacred effuse imbued the nobility with incredible strength and power. It was the reason for their impeccable constitution and alleged immortality. It regenerated their cells at an alarming speed, keeping them youthful and limber. It was often used as a weapon, coating armaments to enhance their properties and enchant them for a brief period of time. 

The Cainhurst nobility would often imbibe in the vileblood. Consuming it without restraint, whether it was pure or mixed together with the blood of a commoner. It was described as a transcendent experience; feeling raw, unadulterated power resonating between the blood they devoured and the blood that swam through their veins. 

Maria had never partaken in the practice, preferring to rely on her own skills as a warrior than the crutch of an ancient power she barely understood. She often criticized the arrogance of some of the nobility who abused its sacred power to eviscerate their opponents in a duel; it was dishonorable and disgraceful.

But now was not the time to preserve her morals and dignity.

Maria looked around the nave, searching for her horse. Her pack had syringes—tools to help exsanguinate and inject her blood into the dying soldier; however, the kladruper was nowhere to be found. The stallion had not returned with the group. Panic gripped the young scholar, who was sinking further and further into hysteria. She had to do something! Catherine needed her blood—and fast.

Injection into the bloodstream would be the most reliable and effective method, but without her supplies, that would be impossible. 

The other method, well…

Maria’s heart fluttered. The only other way to utilize her blood to revive Catherine would be to force the knight to feed from her directly. Her skin burned at the prospect. The process was…intimate. She had heard the salacious accounts from the aristocracy, the description of the euphoria that surged through them while draining one another in the throes of passion. While Lady Maria was no stranger to such amatory experiences, she had never taken someone’s lifeblood, and no one had consumed hers.

It didn’t matter.

Maria pushed away the prurient thoughts and deftly maneuvered Catherine to sit up and turn her so that her spine was flush against Maria’s chest. The noblewoman pressed herself against one of the pews for support and then rolled up her sleeve. She drew her dagger from its sheath, bringing the edge of the blade to her wrist. Without hesitation, she sliced through her flesh, wincing as she cut through her cephalic vein. She set down the dagger as blood streamed from the gash, and quickly brought it to Catherine’s lips, using her left hand to gently pry open the knight’s mouth to latch it over the wound.

“Drink,” she implored the soldier. “Drink!”

At first, Catherine did not respond, and Maria had to rub her fingers along the column of the knight’s throat to simulate and encourage drinking. Tears continued to fall from her silver lashes as she placed her head on Catherine’s shoulder, whispering encouraging words and affirmations into the brunette’s ear. Soon, Lady Maria felt Catherine’s lips move, softly gliding over her wrist before they began to suck. 

Maria gasped; surprised—and thankful—that Catherine was alive, but taken aback by the sudden pleasure that ripped through her body. A furious heat scorched a treacherous path along her skin, swirling sinfully at the epicenter of her abdomen. She swallowed, trying to hold back an immodest groan as Catherine’s tongue traced along her veins, greedily lapping at the divine ichor.

“That’s it,” she huffed into Catherine’s ear, digging the fingers of her left hand into the knight’s shoulder. “Keep going.”

Catherine obeyed—sucking, licking, and nipping at Maria’s wrist, desperately searching for more. Maria was burning; she felt the unforgiving heat rise from her chest all the way to the tips of her ears, and she shut her eyes to try and steady her thoughts. She bit her lip, shuddering when she heard a depraved whine escape Catherine’s sullied mouth. The knight shakingly lifted her hand, grasping Maria’s forearm with an astonishing amount of strength before pushing it fervently against her mouth. The flustered noble couldn’t suppress the strangled cry that tore from her throat. 

It shouldn’t have felt this good; she was only offering her wrist, but the way Catherine’s sinful mouth was pressed against her skin, devouring her with such avarice—it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It felt like she was floating—ascending to a higher plane. Her head felt heavy, foggy from the delirium instigated by her pleasure, and she buried her face into Catherine’s neck. She huffed against the sweat soaked skin, breathing in the familiar clove perfume of Catherine’s scent, now infused with the sweet, coppery redolence of blood. It smelled divine. 

“Don’t stop,” Maria whispered against her skin, fighting the urge to press her lips to it. “Don’t stop.”

Catherine growled in response, sending an indecorous shiver down Maria’s spine and straight to her core.

Take it, she thought wantonly, tugging the knight closer to her body.

Take all of me.

The sound of a loud, prolonged death moan immediately pulled Maria out of her trance. The once scalding fire within her was doused and replaced with a cold, gnawing fear as her attention turned to the rest of the platoon, who were retracting their weapons from the felled beast. Ajča was the first to notice them and frantically whipped her reins to urge her mare forward. Lady Maria tried to remove her wrist from Catherine’s mouth, but the knight snarled and harshly bit down. Maria hissed, and reached her free hand up to tangle into the brunette's cropped locks before roughly pulling it back.

“Enough,” she warned, and Catherine whimpered in response. Maria slowly released her and carefully positioned her into a less precarious looking position as Ajča caught up to them. The noblewoman gazed at Catherine’s face, marveling at her disheveled and utterly ruined appearance. Fresh crimson was delightfully painted across her olive skin and it sent a warm flutter through Maria’s chest. She suddenly realized that the knight’s eyes were closed, and for a moment, she panicked; however, when her eyes fell to the wounded woman’s torso, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, she immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

“Catherine!” Ajča called out hysterically, dismounting her horse and quickly approaching them. “Is…is she?”

“She’s alive,” Lady Maria assured, “She took on several devastating injuries, but I’ve been able to stabilize her.” Maria placed her arms underneath the unconscious soldier and cradled her as she stood up on shaking legs. “She requires further medical attention, I fear she may have punctured a lung.”

“Gods,” Ajča responded worryingly, “Here, let me help—“

“No!” Lady Maria dissented, with a little more force than she had intended. “I mean, it’s fine. I’ve got her, I just need my horse.”

Ajča nodded and stepped away to remount her horse. She trotted towards the entrance of the cathedral to try and locate the runaway kladruper. Lady Maria followed, walking slowly to avoid exacerbating Catherine’s injuries. She soon regrouped with Danika and Marek, who fretted over their injured leader. They relaxed slightly after Lady Maria informed them of her stable condition, but chastised the sleeping woman for her impulsiveness and stupidity. 

The archer soon returned, guiding the midnight stallion back to its rider. At this point, Maria accepted Marek and Danika’s assistance as she carefully handed the brunette over to them before mounting her own horse. She reached into her satchel and retrieved some surgical cloth, wrapping it around her bleeding wrist.

“Don’t you want to extract this ugly thing’s blood?” Danika asked the noble as she and Marek assisted in lifting the unconscious knight onto the stallion. “For your research?” 

Lady Maria paused and looked towards the beast. 

Its corpse was mutilated and disfigured, horrid lacerations etching along its purple flesh. Blood splattered everywhere the beast was touching. Its jaw was broken, and a wet, bloody tongue creeped out of its sickening maw. 

She hesitated.

Surely a powerful beast such as this would provide her with an exceptional sample to test. The vigor of this monster might just be what she requires to finally attain some progress. Was it not her duty to the Queen to provide her with such progress?

Lady Maria glanced back at Catherine, who was sleeping soundly, leaning her head back against Maria’s chest. A well of affection blossomed where the knight touched her.

“It’s not important at the moment,” she said, her fingers itching to push some of Catherine’s brown tresses behind her ear. “We need to get her to a physician.”

The others nodded and readied themselves for a swift trip back to the castle. Ajča and Marek offered to ride ahead and summon a doctor to prepare for their arrival, which Lady Maria took in earnest. Danika stayed behind to guard the injured warriors in the event that more beasts came upon them. Lady Maria clutched Catherine tightly as they made their way up the cobblestone streets, out of the village, and toward the castle. 

Chapter Text

Chapter VII: That I Desire to Hear Her Speak Again and Feast Upon Her Eyes?

The Hunter’s Dream

1024 A.P.

Catherine’s ears were still ringing when her eyes shot open, resurrected from her merciless execution. She was surrounded by a white and grey mist once more, feeling a slight, chilling breeze and the prickling of grass at her neck. She groaned, grabbing fistfuls of asphodels and dirt into her gloved hands. 

“Not again,” she hissed, moving to sit up. As she expected, she had returned to the Hunter’s Dream once more. Its weeping, gnarled willow trees were devoid of foliage and twisted in bizarre, disquieting iterations. The Hunter thought it seemed fitting for how unsettling this purgatorial realm was. She looked around, noting the abundance of asphodels within the meadow and frowned. Despite being surrounded by the mournful blossoms, she could only smell the scent of decay—like the wet and dying leaves of autumn. Catherine slowly stood up, trying to recall her last bits of memory prior to her untimely death. 

Sharp, searing pain of a blade twirling around her intestines. Sticky and hot blood seeping into her clothes. The ethereal glow of silver eyes in the moonlight, looking at her with such an insatiable hunger. A woman’s voice, reverent and praising…

‘Beautiful.’

And a gunshot.

“Shit,” she swore, anger resonating within her. She touched a hand to her stomach, where Lady Maria had skewered her. No doubt there was a new scar there, just under her waistcoat.

“Ahh, welcome home Good Hunter,” an all too familiar voice, soft and slightly raspy, called out to her from behind. For a moment, she panicked, but her fear was quickly replaced with contempt as she remembered who—no, what was speaking to her.

“Go away,” Catherine seethed, not daring to turn around at the Plain Doll, who stood several meters behind her.

“If that is what you desire,” the Doll responded, and Catherine heard the ruffle of her skirts and muffled footsteps as she drew away. Catherine balled her hands, indignation and resentment boiling within her.

“Wait,” she beseeched through clenched teeth. The movement behind her immediately ceased, and Catherine slowly turned to look back at the doppelgänger who had twisted halfway around to regard the Hunter. Looking at the Doll sickened her, produced such a profound onslaught of nausea. Every detail of her was perfectly attuned to Lady Maria in every way. The long, winsome locks of ashen-hair, the curve of her jaw, her bewitching smile—her eyes.

It had her fucking eyes.

Those beguiling, prepossessing pools of silver that she had once would have given up everything to see again, now mocked her—plagued her. 

She tore her gaze away from the puppet.

“Nevermind,” she said harshly, putting as much animosity into her words as she could. “Go away.”

“You were hurt,” the Doll replied, ignoring the Hunter’s request. 

Catherine reached a hand to her face, and her fingers flexed along the raised skin that ran across her nose, through her eyelid, and up to her brow. 

Then she remembered how Lady Maria’s twin blade had blinded her.

“Indeed,” she stated dryly.

“A successful hunt, then?”

Was this homunculus being sarcastic?

“No.”

“Hmm,” the Plain Doll hummed, fully turning towards the Hunter, clasping her hands over her skirts. “Then do you perhaps require more strength? I could provide some assistance.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Catherine retorted, storming past the doll to get to the cobblestone road, her Reiterpallasch jangling at her side. “Leave me alone.”

“As you wish, Good Hunter.” The Doll replied, and Catherine didn’t spare the damned thing another glance.

The Hunter continued along the cobblestone path, eventually arriving at the outskirts of the Hunter’s Workshop. She scowled deeply, wishing she could burn the damned place down with her eyes. She had always known Gherman was a lecherous snake, but seeing him paw at even a paltry visage of her Lady had her yearning to eviscerate and disembowel the perverted bastard.

She paused and gritted her teeth.

No, not my Lady anymore.

Catherine didn’t dare place another step towards the workshop. Instead, she turned her attention to the large gravestone surrounded by candles and the small, emaciated, toothless creatures. 

“Hopefully this works this time,” she muttered, approaching the gravestone. She placed her right hand on it, and closed her eyes. In her mind, she envisioned the clocktower once more, and the lumenwood garden, being very careful to not let her mind drift to any other sights in the Nightmare that she could recall. Heat danced along her skin as a haze enveloped her once more. In moments, she felt a rush of cold air, and then her body dematerialized from the dream.

-

“Back so soon?” Lady Maria taunted, stepping forward with her Chikage already drawn. Catherine had wordlessly entered the Astral Clocktower once again, her eyes narrowed in malevolence and derision. She wasted no time with words, instead firing a round with her trick weapon before hastily transforming it back to its original shape and darting forward towards the noblewoman. The fallen noble avoided the bullet easily, lunging to clash her sword into the steel of Catherine’s blade. “Please, you can do better than that, miláček.”

Catherine’s face twisted into a look of such visceral detestation and abhorrence that for a moment, Maria had regretted using the term of endearment. In truth, her dead heart still ached from the pain she had inflicted upon her beloved knight; however, any remorse she briefly held was eradicated when the brunette resolutely spit on her face. 

“You always had such a filthy little mouth on you,” She growled before shoving the smaller woman away. Catherine retaliated, advancing towards Maria and cutting with her rapier in short, flurrying strikes. One of them found its mark across Maria's shoulder, slicing through the brown leather duelist cape and black trench coat. It only grazed her skin, just so, but it was painful enough to make the royal wince. 

“And you never learned to shut yours,” Catherine goaded scornfully, thrusting her blade towards Maria’s abdomen. The noblewoman parried, then quickly stepped back towards the bookshelves as she disengaged, forcing the Hunter to stumble forward from the momentum. 

Lady Maria took the opportunity to shoot out a gloved hand and painfully curl it around the Hunter’s wrist before violently twisting her arm behind her back and pushing her up against a bookcase. Catherine struggled against her, but Maria had her pressed so tightly against the wood that she had barely any room to breathe, much less move. She squirmed and panted in frustration beneath the taller woman and it lit a tempestuous fire low in Maria's stomach. Gods to have Catherine this close again, to touch her, even when she loathed her, it was worth it. 

“You have new, beautiful scars,” Maria breathed into the Hunter’s ear, then brought her mouth over the oval shaped one underneath Catherine’s earlobe, letting her lips brush over it with her next words. “Tell me, have the other scars I’ve given you faded?” She felt the Hunter shudder beneath her, whether in disgust or pleasure, she couldn’t know, but it coiled a tension in her abdomen regardless.

“Yes,” she hissed, “they have.”

Incensed by the admission, Lady Maria punitively sunk her teeth into Catherine’s flesh, renewing the mark as a painful moan tore from the Hunter’s throat. Blood flooded into the noblewoman’s mouth and she couldn’t suppress the full body tremor as the saccharine ichor coated her tongue once more.

Gods, how long had it been?

Maria shamelessly sucked on the wound, coaxing more of Catherine’s tantalizing effuse into her greedy mouth. She became lost, her thoughts consumed with the desperate need to take, to devour, to deplete. Her fingers dug deeper into Catherine’s wrist, resisting the urge to canter her hips forward when the shorter woman groaned in agony.

Suddenly, Catherine swung her head back, connecting the back of her skull with Lady Maria’s nose. Blood began flowing from her nostrils and she instinctively brought up her hand to wipe away the mess, giving Catherine the opportunity to wrench free from her grasp, turn, and punch the noblewoman across her chin. The blow staggered the ashen-haired woman, who quickly recovered in time to block another strike from the Cainhurst warrior.

Lady Maria felt her own blood pour down her nostrils and into her mouth. She hummed softly as the sinful taste of their mixed fluids danced madly along her taste buds. Her eyes were glued to the side of Catherine’s face, watching that delectable crimson cascade down her neck and sink into her overcoat. Memories flooded Maria’s mind unbidden—moments of blissful intimacy. Teeth and tongues marking and bruising her sensitive skin, fingers clawing and curling between her thighs, unrelenting heat and pressure that coiled and tightened in her abdomen before her rapturous, sought out release.

Gods it had been too long.

When Lady Maria turned her gaze back to Catherine’s eyes, she couldn’t suppress the small gasp that escaped her lips. Catherine was looking at her, but not at her eyes, no—just a bit below, watching the slow trickle of vileblood descend into the noble’s mouth. Maria could have imagined it, but she swore she saw the Hunter’s pupils dilate just a fraction. The noble had no time to dwell on it, for Catherine quickly pushed against her sword and darted a few steps to the right.

They continued their dance of death—each cut, riposte, and thrust another beat in their dangerous rhythm. Catherine was breathing heavily, trying to feint several attacks to attempt to catch the noblewoman off-guard with little success. At one point the Hunter thrusted her rapier towards Maria’s chest, but the noblewoman parried the attack with a circular motion of her sword before rushing into the warrior’s guard. She tried to stab the brunette with her offhand dagger, barely missing her mark as the Hunter flung herself away from the strike.

“You’re delaying the inevitable,” Lady Maria said solemnly as she dodged another swing from the Hunter’s blade. 

“Shut up!” Catherine growled, blocking one of Maria’s merciless strikes, contra-parrying with her own. The noble crossed both her blades and trapped the steel of Catherine’s blade between the edges of her own. “I don’t want to hear another word from a monster like you!”

Lady Maria stiffened, the sear of that word branding her like a pig for slaughter. The weight of her sins washed over her like a sweltering tide, shackling her further and further into an undertow of despair. She could still hear the screams of the children she put to the sword, desecrating their small, innocent bodies for the sake of her research. The heavy leaden label marked her for what she truly was—a horror; no better than a beast. Less than human. 

A monster?

Something in Maria’s face must have surprised the warrior, for her eyes widened a fraction. Maria began to shake, feeling tears roll down her cheeks. Her breathing went heavy, deep and ragged. The fingers around her armaments tightened painfully beneath her leather gloves and she ground her teeth together to stifle a miserable sob. The noble shut her eyes and furrowed her brow, allowing that damning curse to condemn her. 

Fine.

Lady Maria’s eyes shot open, viciously baring her blood stained teeth at the Hunter, who’s angered expression faltered into one of fear. Maria violently shoved Catherine back, lunging forward with her dagger. Catherine barely had time to move before the edge of the ornate blade sliced along the left side of her neck. It wasn’t a mortal wound, but it wept blood regardless. 

Then I’ll become a monster.

-

The Hunter tried to retreat, but the noblewoman kneed the poor woman in the stomach. Catherine wheezed out air from the impact. She stumbled, trying desperately not to slip as Lady Maria ruthlessly descended on her. The royal’s face was marked by an unbridled fury that Catherine had never seen in all the years she had known her; her bloodshot eyes still spilling tears as her strikes increased in speed and power. 

Lady Maria was relentless, striking blow after blow, giving little room for the Hunter to breathe. Each cacophonous clash of their swords bent and twisted the joints of Catherine’s wrist. The Hunter had never fought Lady Maria like this before, their previous encounters in the clocktower were nowhere near as savage as this. Lady Maria was on a rampage, one that could only be pacified with the Hunter’s death. 

It didn’t take long.

With a quick thrust of Lady Maria’s rapier, the blade pierced through Catherine’s abdomen, skewering the organs within. She hissed as blood began to soak into her clothes, enveloping her in a warm, wet embrace. She tried to land her own attack on Lady Maria, but the woman deftly blocked it with her dagger, then the noble twirled the ornate blade in her left hand before riotously stabbing it through Catherine’s throat, pinning it against her larynx. 

The muscles in Catherine’s throat involuntarily tried to move against the cold steel of the dagger to cough, with little success. Blood flooded into her mouth and ruptured from her throat, spraying onto the noblewoman’s face, hair, and coat. Catherine’s Reiterpallasch clattered onto the wooden floor and she reached up a hand to desperately wrap it around the noble’s wrist. She weakly tried pushing the offending blade out of her trachea, but it was futile. Blood curdled and bubbled from her mouth, spilling down her chin and throat before coating their hands. 

Catherine looked at Lady Maria, who’s stormy eyes stared into her own with ire and contempt, but also a deep sorrow that she couldn’t trace the roots of. Tears continued to fall from her long, white lashes, the translucent liquid turning pink as it descended through the blood coating her cheeks. Seeing Lady Maria unabashedly display such raw, visceral emotion dreadfully—much to her dismay—tugged at Catherine’s heart. 

As much as Catherine wanted to put Lady Maria out of her mind, to cut out her heart and completely cast out the noblewoman, a part of her still cared. How could she not? Her heart had once sung for Maria, and it still achingly remembered the soft melody. Seeing the traces of desolation within the noble’s grey eyes sent a fluttering sorrow into her chest, despite what her mind had argued. Lady Maria had lied to her—betrayed her—and yet…

What happened to you? She thought mournfully.

What hath wrought such misery in your eyes?

As Catherine’s vision blurred, she felt the dagger and sword being forcibly ripped out of her, blood oozing out of the gaping wounds. Her body collapsed, but she was captured by Lady Maria, who brought her face close to the Hunter’s. She looked straight into Catherine's eyes before muttering something over the warrior’s mouth.

“You don’t understand.”

Catherine’s vision darkened, and she let out one final wheeze before going limp in Lady Maria’s embrace.

“And you never will.”

Then the warrior faded into a grey and black cloud, expelled from the Nightmare once more.

-

How passing strange, the Plain Doll wondered. 

A faint breeze passed over her, tickling the hairs on her neck just below her bonnet. A dull, aching twinge pricked at her chest, just above her breast. It was a gnawing, tender affliction that she had grown accustomed to as of late; although, she hadn’t the faintest idea why, only that it would dissipate periodically only to reinvigorate itself in full just before the Hunter would return to the Dream.

During her entire existence, she had never once encountered a hunter quite like this one. She was stubborn, that much the Plain Doll could ascertain. The warrior resolutely neglected to speak to her, in fact, she had hardly ever looked at the doll when striding past her to reach the gravestone portal. When she did happen to catch the Hunter’s attention, her mismatched eyes would crinkle and her mouth would contort between a frown and a grimace.

How very strange indeed.

Most hunters would simply take what they wanted from the doll, using her to channel their blood echoes into strength and power, regardless of the pain it put her through to do so. Others sought her out for a comforting touch; a gentle embrace here and there, letting their tears soak into her shawl. Seeing the anguish within their forlorn, miserable eyes did not bother her, and yet something in this particular hunter’s distant and tormented expression continuously distressed the Plain Doll in a way that she could not explain. Regardless, she still appreciated that the Hunter didn’t seek her out for…other duties.

She was certain Gherman would be contrite with her if the Hunter did.

No matter.

The warrior had been adamant about keeping her distance, and the Plain Doll had respected her wish to maintain no repartee; however, this too aggrieved the porcelain puppet. She couldn’t fathom why, but something inside her tugged itself toward the shorter woman. It was a deep seated thrum—different from the ache that typically plagued her, but just as unpleasant. The doll had caught her once or twice on the cobblestone path, brushing past her without a second glance. In those moments, when she felt the leather of the Hunter’s overcoat trace the length of her arm, her lips would slightly part and she would be struck with the overwhelming need to utter a single articulation to the warrior…but she held her tongue.

It was what the Hunter desired after all.

Additionally, the Hunter’s insistence on slaughtering this singular beast was…puzzling. Past hunters often tried their hand at an enemy two or three times before turning their attention towards weaker prey. This Hunter, stubborn as she was, would fight—and die. 

Fight—and die. 

Fight—and die.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Each time she returned to the Hunter’s Dream she would don new scars, healed by her consistent resurrection. They were often red, angry gnarled stretches of skin that curled around her neck, shoulders, and chin. From the way the Hunter would often clutch her abdomen upon waking in the Dream, the doll had surmised that a myriad of scars were mottled over the flesh hidden beneath her armor, which oddly didn’t bother her as much as she expected it to.

She supposed she liked them—the scars that is, but that was absurd. She was just a simple doll.

She wasn’t supposed to like anything.

Feel anything.

Right?

No matter.

The Plain Doll still couldn’t conjure up an answer as to why the Hunter was so keen on slaying this particular monster. She could see the Hunter’s growing frustration, irritated by the Sisyphean endeavor to defeat this maleficent enemy, yet she still persisted.

She still died.

That bothered the doll. It shouldn’t—at least, she believed it shouldn’t, but the way her throat constricted—despite its lack of muscles—when the Hunter would vanish and attempt another otiose altercation, was proof enough that it sincerely did upset her. 

She didn’t know why that was.

It didn’t matter.

Did it?

-

Catherine pushed against the heavy wooden doors of the Astral Clocktower once more, readying her trick weapon as she slowly stalked her way inside. Lady Maria was sitting on her derisory excuse of a throne, one hand under her chin with a detached, stultified expression. The noble rose from her chair and unsheathed her own sword, slamming her offhand dagger into the slot within the pommel. 

She said nothing, then moved.

Catherine tossed her blade up to meet the cold steel of Lady Maria’s twin blade, the lurid ping deafening her ears. A spark emanated from where their weapons crossed as Catherine loosened her grip and stepped to the side. The noblewoman followed her with several quick sweeping swipes. The Hunter parried the blows and took the opportunity to riposte on one of Lady Maria’s backswings, but the taller woman jumped back to avoid the hit. 

Instead of advancing, Catherine retreated further away from the ashen-haired woman, keeping her arm straight and pointed towards the opponent warily. Her previous encounters with Lady Maria often ended quickly when she became aggressive in her strikes. Thus, remaining calm and defensive until the right opportunity presented itself was the most efficient strategy, but that was often easier said than done.

Lady Maria remained impassive and quiet—so infuriatingly quiet. The ashen-haired woman had resolutely refused to utter a single word to her after their third confrontation, though Catherine could unravel the thoughts of ire and malevolence that carried through her silver irises. The change in the noble’s disposition had been so sudden that it had practically given Catherine whiplash. The noblewoman had appeared determined to avoid conflict with her, despite the Hunter’s protests. Now the Cainhurst scholar grew frustrated if she didn’t dispose of the Hunter within four moves.

Her vow of silence hadn’t affected Catherine at first, who believed it made dueling the noble easier. Without the noblewoman’s low and husky voice imploring her to seek reason, she thought she could cast aside her painful attachments and memories—memories that would have made her stumble, pause and dare to hope. 

No, she couldn’t afford such infantile fantasies of reconciliation. Catherine wished pertinaciously to dispel this disparaging Nightmare, and the means of doing so was assuredly beyond the Astral Clocktower. With that knowledge in hand, the only way to get past this godsforsaken arena was to deeply plunge steel into Lady Maria’s cold, dead heart. 

Which was growing more and more difficult to envision.

With each new death, each new resurrection, each new battle—she grew wearier and wearier. Worn from the sorrow she could sense behind Lady Maria’s eyes. Oh, how she desiderated to find only disgust and enmity within those storm-colored eyes, but the noble had never been skilled at obfuscating her true emotions. Behind the revulsion and animosity observed within the tempest, Catherine saw something far more perplexing:

Defeat.

It was that sickening hopelessness in those enthralling eyes that tortured the bitter Hunter, making her yearn to hear Lady Maria speak out her grievances. It was a foolish desire, as the disgraced knight was so intent on erasing the royal from her memory. After all, Lady Maria had abandoned her. How could she ever look at the noblewoman the same? Knowing that she had chosen her research over their love—despite all of the highborn’s reassurances in their letters? How could she even bear to look at her, knowing that the noblewoman had preferred taking her own life rather than returning to her homeland—her lover? 

There was no going back, it could not be undone. The sands of time had emptied into fate’s hourglass and set this tragedy in motion. Nothing could be as it was before and Catherine hated it—hated her for turning the page of their story…

Hated her for making her want.

Want to remember all of those cool spring nights—when they would languidly trace their scars so reverently, memorizing every lift and divot of the damaged skin. Want to bury her face into those beautiful ashen tresses and inhale that intoxicating perfume of rose and leather. Want to dive straight into the boundless ocean of Lady Maria’s despair and discover the vile memories that plagued the noblewoman’s mind. 

Gods, she hated her. 

She hated the way her fingers itched to trace along the open, fetid gash along the noblewoman’s throat. Longing to curl her fingertips underneath the perfectly sliced skin and tug at the clenching muscles beneath. She hated imagining her sinful tongue gliding within the folds of her damaged flesh, lapping up that divine ichor that haunted her dreams—her soul. 

She hated her.

Hated the way her body had burned when Lady Maria had supped at her own lifeblood—hated how perfectly her smaller frame had molded against the shape of the noble’s body. Hated the way her hips had fervently—desperately wished to push back and rock against the beautiful temptress. Hated how her neck had instinctively leaned into Maria’s teeth, encouraging, no—begging her to take more. 

Fuck, she hated her.

Hated how much she wanted her.

Hated how much she wanted to be consumed by her.

And hated herself for wanting anything at all.

-

Lady Maria was growing weary of the impotence of these duels. A part of her had hoped that Catherine would have resigned herself from this foolish folly by now; however, it seemed that each death only fortified her impetuous resolve. 

It was quite irksome.

The noblewoman had obdurately decided to remain silent during these asinine assaults. Catherine had clearly outlined her intentions; she could not be reasoned with—it was pointless to even try. Her recalcitrance had once been a quality that Maria admired, but now it was sullied by her desire to end the Nightmare and rejoin the hunt.

Lady Maria’s hands tightened around her twin blade. Visions of Catherine surrendering to the lust of blood, hearing its sultry notes sing inside her skin—her flesh, its licentious whispers stitching into the folds of her brain before she succumbed to its beckoning call and mutated into an abominable beast. It was a horrific ponderance, but it was an inevitable possibility. 

If Catherine somehow managed to defeat her, enter the fishing hamlet outside the walls of the Astral Clocktower, and slaughter the Orphan of Kos—she would assuredly banish this interminable Nightmare and eventually be overwrought by the call of the Old Blood. 

It was a ghastly transformation Maria had seen happen to several hunters during her time in Byrgenwerth. 

Catherine’s bones would break and shift, tearing through her olive skin as they rearranged their geometries. Her eyes would sink into her skull, turning dark, erasing those beautifully mixed shades of azure and amber. Her fingers would elongate and grow long, thick talons as her jaw widened and filled with sharp, extending teeth. She would lose her grip on reality—removing all coherent memory and reason save for one hedonistic thought:

Blood—the need for blood.

The entire torturous imagery was something Lady Maria didn’t wish to entertain. So she continued to fight, to show Catherine how monstrous the Old Blood had truly made the noblewoman—condemned her. Maria would not give her mercy, she would continuously murder the Hunter until she forfeited her damnable aspirations and prevented her from surrendering to the same fate.

While this part of Lady Maria grew frustrated by Catherine’s mulish determination, a part of her relished these brief moments with her. She had hoped her vow of silence would ameliorate the wretched yearning that bedeviled her; however, she was woefully disappointed to discover that it only incensed her longing for the Hunter. Even the anger she desperately clung to couldn’t dispel the burning ache that rippled through her body every time Catherine opened that door.

Maria’s desire to rid herself of the Hunter had rivaled that of the call to claim her. With each death, Catherine would bear a new scar, a new mark that handsomely wove itself into the Hunter’s lovely skin. It was an affirmation of her existence, that even in death she could still brand the flesh that had once been wholly hers. 

Maria knew that these injudicious cravings were an unwelcome distraction, but she couldn’t shelter the indecorous shivers that traveled up her spine every time she saw a new scar appear. Gods, the things she would do just to catch a glimpse of the ones beneath Catherine’s waistcoat—to touch them! How would they feel against her dead fingertips? How would they feel inside her mouth, against her tongue? What sounds would the mortal make as she suckled and nipped at her rapturous skin? How ruined could Maria make her before she became undone?

She shuddered.

An unwelcome distraction indeed.

In the midst of her salacious musings, Lady Maria misstepped, giving the Hunter the opportunity to thrust her blade within the noblewoman’s guard. With no time to parry the attack, the steel pierced through her overcoat, just above her collar bone. It entered her with ease, slicing through dense muscle and tissue. It was cold, but did little to douse the scorching fire that burned from the tips of her ears down to her toes. She let out a depraved groan as Catherine painfully ripped the sword from her flesh, allowing blood to spurt out from the laceration. 

The successive strike seemed to surprise the Hunter, who watched the crimson ichor drip over the black brocade of the noble’s coat, enraptured by the sight. Lady Maria peered into Catherine’s eyes and saw the pupils grow ever so slightly, encompassing the enchanting irises. Sweat pooled at the Hunter’s brow, and her heaving breaths dried the muted taupe of her lips. She darted out her tongue to quickly swipe along her bottom lip to moisten it. She looked wild, enthralled. Could it be that she too…?

Lady Maria shook her head, disregarding the notion that the shorter woman desired anything beyond killing her and returning to the hunt. She separated her two weapons and retaliated with another strike, sweeping the blades behind her before swinging them at the brunette. Catherine took in a deep breath and swiftly raised her sword to deflect the hit. Steel clamored and sang as they collided, the force of the blow tossing droplets of Maria’s blood onto the Hunter’s face. 

The noble woman heinously bared her teeth at the shorter woman, but froze when she saw a blood droplet cascade down Catherine’s scarred cheek and settle at the corner of her mouth. Maria watched the droplet pool into the small divot, threatening to spill down her chin. She curiously observed the way the warrior’s lips quivered, as if they remembered the sinful, sweet taste of the vileblood being offered to her. Catherine didn’t dare to breathe, almost afraid that the droplet would descend at the slightest of movements. Her mismatched eyes darted around fervently, fighting every single impulse that implored her to lap up the seraphic crimson.

Take it, the noble commanded in her mind, growling lowly at the Hunter. She saw the brunette tremble in response, gritting her teeth tightly to control her baser instincts. Take me into your mouth. Show me that your heart still beats for me.

Maria leaned forward, bringing her face dangerously close to the Hunter’s, her own body quivering in anticipation. Her slow, uneven breaths mingled with Catherine’s, and she swallowed the short, quiet whimper that escaped the brunette’s mouth.

“Take it,” She whispered against the Hunter’s lips. 

And she did.

Her tongue instantly gathered up the blood, taking it into her mouth and savor its divine taste and texture as it coated the back of her throat. She shivered and let out a ragged gasp, causing Lady Maria to shudder in response. The noblewoman couldn’t help but grin devilishly at the disgraced knight.

“Have you no shame, pet?”

Catherine snarled and tossed her free arm out and ruffled her hand through Maria’s coat before delving two fingers into the hole she had stabbed through the material. Her fingers mercilessly prodded into the wound, curling and pulling against the muscle and forcing a pained hiss from the noblewoman as her body moved toward the Hunter. 

A sound between a grunt and a moan tore from Maria’s throat as she felt Catherine’s nails scratch along the uneven tissue. The noble dropped her dagger as the slender fingers pushed into her further, tearing through more of the muscle, coaxing out more blood. She reached up and carded her gloved fingers through the Hunter’s hair and roughly pulled at it while pushing the shorter woman until they were up against the far left wall of the clocktower, their blades still crossed.

Catherine gasped as Lady Maria firmly pressed her knee in between her thighs, purposefully guiding it along her sex. Catherine punishingly tugged on the wound in response, forcing the noblewoman closer to her. Maria groaned and dragged the Hunter’s head forward before slamming it against the wall. A pathetic, pained whine graced her ears and she buried her face into Catherine’s neck, inhaling that intoxicating aroma that was so uniquely hers. 

The noblewoman paused, her lips and teeth aching to sink into the Hunter’s flesh, to taste her—to mark her, but she held back, panting heavily into her sweat soaked skin. Her knee halted its rocking motions, earning a displeased groan from the Hunter. She felt the brunette tremble beneath her, her own breath heaving wildly into the noble’s ear, raising goose flesh along her alabaster skin. 

They stayed like that for a moment, the tension so thick and weighty—unspoken questions just barely on their lips. 

Do you want this?

Do you want me?

Maria knew that they shouldn’t do this, that they couldn’t do this, it only made this entire scenario more complicated—more painful than it already was. Gods she wanted her, she always wanted her, but she couldn’t let her attachment to Catherine get in the way of her duty to protect the Orphan of Kos. It didn’t matter that Catherine was burning just as much as she was, she couldn’t let the woman’s ardor cloud her judgment.

And yet she was just so tempting.

Maria let her lips ghost over Catherine’s pulse, who gasped and seemed to give in to her desires, bucking her hips forward to meet the noble’s clothed knee. Lady Maria groaned in response, feeling Catherine’s fingers retreat from her wound before ruthlessly plunging back in.

“You’re insatiable,” she growled, biting down hard on Catherine’s pulse. The Hunter screamed, but continued to canter her hips as her fingers pumped into the mangled flesh of Maria’s wound. The noble was losing her grip on reality, relishing at how warm the warrior’s fingers felt inside of her. She was completely mesmerized by the whimpers and moans from the shorter woman as she rocked herself back and forth over her knee, chasing her pleasure. 

In truth, Maria could feel her own arousal pooling between her thighs, and she tried squeezing them together to attain some type of friction. She continued to suck and bite along the Hunter’s neck before she reached the collar of her coat. Annoyed by the barrier, she let go of Catherine’s tresses and curled her fingers around the Hunter’s leather waistcoat and ripped it open, sending several buttons flying off the offending fabric. She pushed her hand in between the opening of Catherine’s undershirt and was delighted to find that she was bare underneath it. 

The noble cursed herself for still having her gloves on, but preened at the delightful mewl that Catherine made when she roughly cupped and began massaging her left breast.

“Gods…” Catherine breathed, pushing herself even further against Lady Maria’s leg as the noblewoman twisted a nipple between her fingers. 

“You were always so sensitive,” Maria cooed, tenderly kissing underneath Catherine’s earlobe before taking it between her teeth. 

“F-fuck!”

“Such a filthy little mouth.”

Maria pulled back, admiring the blush that was darkening the Hunter’s supple skin, trailing from her chest to the tips of her ears. Her eyes were tightly shut, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, biting down hard enough to bleed. She was a vision.

“Look at me,” Maria commanded and Catherine huffed, shaking her head. The noble tutted admonishingly, reaching her hand around the Hunter’s throat before placing a slight pressure on her windpipe. “I said: look at me.”

Catherine acquiesced, fluttering her eyelids open and allowing Maria to see how dark her eyes had gotten—clouded with undeniable lust. 

“There you are,” the noble husked, removing her hand from the Hunter’s throat to wrap it around Catherine’s pumping wrist. She winced as she removed the fingers from her wound, bringing Catherine’s hand up to her eye level to inspect the offending appendage. It was completely soaked in blood, trickling from the fingertips and over the palm. Maria smiled darkly.

The noble’s eyes never left Catherine’s as she brought the fat of her tongue underneath the Hunter’s wrist before slowly tracing it up her palm and over her pointer finger before gently taking the tip of it into her mouth and nipped at it. The warrior shuddered at the wanton display, but didn’t look away as Maria pushed the blood-stained hand towards her own mouth. The Hunter’s lips went into a tight line.

“Open,” Maria demanded and just when she thought the Hunter would refuse her, the brunette hesitantly parted her lips. The noble wasted no time and shoved the two bloody fingers into her awaiting mouth, watching the Hunter’s eyes roll back into her skull as the divine ichor coated her tongue. 

Maria pushed the fingers as far as they could go, forcing the brunette to gag when they touched the back of her throat. The Hunter let out a debauched moan as her tongue swirled over the fingers, cleaning every minute drop of vileblood that she could reach. 

“Good girl,” Maria whispered before returning her mouth to the skin of the Hunter’s neck. She nipped, sucked, and licked along the column of Catherine’s throat, chin, and collar bone, delighting in the Hunter’s immodest whimpers and moans. Maria grew restless, her nails digging into Catherine’s wrist as she pushed her knee even harder against the Hunter’s core. She became so lost in the engulfing heat that she didn’t notice the Hunter’s trick weapon contort beneath her.

Then she heard a click, and the wildfire in her veins was quickly smothered. The noble sighed.

Before Catherine could pull the trigger on her flintlock, Lady Maria twisted her rapier, pushing the pistol away. Then she dropped Catherine’s wrist, pulled her arm back, and plunged her hand into the Hunter’s ribcage. A surprised gasp expectorated from the brunette’s mouth as Maria’s fingers curled around the fluttering muscle within. She hummed appreciatively, admiring how it twitched underneath her leather bound fingertips. 

The Hunter’s weapon fell from her hand, landing on the ground with a dull, thunk. Maria felt tremors shake through Catherine’s frame as shock settled in. The warrior’s hands trembled as they reached for the ashen-haired royal, pawing at the overcoat and clutching the brocade between her fingertips as Maria’s hand squeezed the pumping muscle in her hand. 

Catherine wheezed, unable to speak as the noblewoman gave another experimental press, she purred when she felt the muscle flutter in response. Maria watched the Hunter’s face contort as she moved her fingers around the organ, tracing along the coronary arteries and massaging her pulmonary veins. Blood poured out from Catherine’s chest, staining the Hunter’s shirt and waistcoat. The tepid liquid streamed down Maria’s wrist, seeping into the sleeves of her coat.

Eventually, Lady Maria lowered her head and rested her forehead against Catherine’s, peering into her beautiful mismatched eyes, now widened in shock. She breathed in deeply, savoring the all too familiar redolence of blood, sweat, and clove. 

“You girl, are insufferable,” she whispered against her lips, then tightly clutched her hand around Catherine’s heart before wrenching it from her chest. The arteries unevenly tore away from their thick valves, flooding blood into the empty cavity Maria had just carved out. Catherine’s body slumped forward, but remained upright as Lady Maria encircled her waist. The muscle in Maria’s free hand pumped uselessly a few times, desperately searching for the blood that now pooled out of Catherine’s ribcage. 

Lady Maria watched the light leave Catherine’s eyes. The Hunter gave out one final hiss of air before evaporating into a dark cloud of smoke and dust. The noblewoman sighed, retrieved her fallen dagger and silently walked towards the back of the clocktower, desperate for a change of clothes.

-

When Catherine’s eyes opened, she was looking up at a grey, overcast sky once more. She was laying down in the field of asphodels, inhaling the sickeningly sweet scent of decay. A cool breeze kissed her skin, and she languidly brought a hand to her chest, feeling her heart beating beneath her palm. Tears came to her eyes as a mixture of shame and anger settled within her.

She was pathetic, truly. How could she let that odious woman touch her so intimately? Why had she let the charade go on for so long? Why did her body and soul crave the noble’s touch so ardently?

How could she have been so weak?

The answer was blatantly obvious, and Catherine tried pushing it away, clinging to denial. Yet with each heaving breath she took, her heart ached, filling with sorrow and regret. No matter how much she tried to cast aside that infernal, wretched woman out of her mind, she couldn’t escape the underlying reality that she’d never be able to do so.

Because she still loved her.

And she hated herself for loving her.

The Hunter couldn’t bring herself to forgive the noblewoman after all she had done to her, and yet she longed for her regardless. There was something eating away at Lady Maria, the Hunter could see it in her eyes—a mournful penitence that was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Something had happened to the noblewoman during her time with the Healing Church, something she never told Catherine.

Catherine wanted to know—longed to know, but would it make any difference? 

Lady Maria was adamant about maintaining the corporeality of the Nightmare; there was nothing Catherine could do to persuade her otherwise. It didn’t matter that the noblewoman undeniably still cared for her, she was committed to preventing the Hunter from returning to the hunt at any cost. So there was only one solution: Lady Maria had to die—again.

It was so cruel, knowing that she had to murder the woman she still loved with every fiber of her being. It wasn’t fair. The Gods were mocking the Hunter; ten years ago, they had taken her beloved noble from her, and now they were forcing the warrior to slaughter her to return to the waking world.

To lose her all over again. 

How could they ask this of her? 

How dare they ask her to live with that grief?

What was she to do?

Catherine slowly sat up and curled into herself. She brought her hands up to her face, covering her wet eyes as she sobbed. Her shoulders trembled and shook as she wept—feeling a tight, piercing agony lance through her chest.

“Good Hunter?” Maria’s voice called out from behind her—filled with concern.

Catherine’s breath hitched; when the Plain Doll’s voice was laced with such worry and solicitude, it really did sound like her treasured noble. She shivered.

It’s not her, she thought, it’s not her.

The Hunter opened her mouth behind her hands, wanting to curse the doll and send her away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so—letting out a prolonged whimper as tears continued to fall between her fingers. Instead, she ignored the doll, and sunk further into herself.

The Hunter heard the ruffle of skirts and soft footsteps moving slowly among the dry grass and flowers. She felt the doll's presence next to her, looming over her prone form. For a moment, the puppet did nothing and simply stood above the Hunter. Eventually, Catherine heard the doll lower herself to the ground next to her, feeling the fabric of her dress brace against her right knee. 

“You are hurt, Good Hunter.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement—a fact that the Plain Doll observed. Catherine removed her palms from her eyes, fighting—and failing—the urge to look at the doll. Seeing the doll always tormented her; raised such a wretched agony within her. It looked just like her, like her beloved Lady Maria. 

Catherine’s tear-filled eyes peered into the doll’s glassy ones, which perfectly mirrored the noblewoman’s in every way. She looked at the doll’s face and observed her slightly furrowed brow and the crinkled skin at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth was drawn into a slight frown and she tilted her head slightly to the side. 

She looked so…solemn.

Genuine.

The Plain Doll moved slowly, as if she was afraid that the Hunter might flinch or strike her. She lifted her arms and outstretched them, offering Catherine a questioning look. 

Tears flowed relentlessly down Catherine’s cheeks, touched by the Plain Doll’s gesture. She had been nothing but cruel and spiteful to her, and yet the doll was still willing to offer comfort to her. The disgraced knight had done nothing to deserve such kindness or sympathy and yet, the doll was willing to forgive her. An overwhelming feeling of guilt welled within the Hunter, and she gave out a small cry as she leaned her head against the puppet’s shoulder, burying her face into her shawl.

The Plain Doll sighed before wrapping her arms around the Hunter, giving her a small squeeze before resting her chin against the brunette’s head. She began to hum and slightly rock back and forth as Catherine continued to cry against her. Catherine’s heart was clenching in such desolate agony—harrowed by the tragedy of her situation.

“I love her,” Catherine admitted woefully, bringing her hands up to clutch the fabric of the doll’s petticoat. “I love her, and yet she must die by my own hand…what kind of Gods would force someone to commit such an unendurable act?”

The doll hummed, bringing one of her porcelain hands to rest on the Hunter’s head, gently twirling a few strands of her brown hair between her fingertips.

“Hunters have told me about the Church,” she began, gently swirling the fingers of her other hand in soothing patterns along Catherine’s spine. “They spoke about the Gods, and their love…but, do the Gods love their creations? I am a doll, created by you humans, would you ever—” she stiffened, halting her ministrations.

Puzzled by the sudden change in her demeanor, Catherine dared to peek at the doll, who was looking down at her with a confused and forlorn expression, like she was struggling with her own conflicting thoughts. Her mouth pursed before tightening into a thin line.

“Would…would you ever think to love me?” The doll whispered somberly, “I—I believe I love you, but…but isn’t that how you’ve made me?”

Catherine’s eyes widened at the doll’s confession. She had barely spoken to the doll—barely even looked at her, and yet she claimed to love her? Even in her cruelty, the doll had still remained loyal to her, waiting to serve her like a devout follower. She held so much power over the Plain Doll, and she had treated her with such disdain, but the porcelain figurine still followed and obeyed her every request.

“I—” Catherine breathed, her throat clenching sorrowfully, “I am not your God.” 

The doll frowned at the Hunter’s response, furrowing her brow in confusion. 

“You—what you feel, what you do—it’s something you are in control of. Your free will.”

“My free will?”

“Yes. I—I cannot, nor do I desire to force you to do anything. I don’t want you to serve me out of fear or some twisted sense of obligation. You should act in whatever manner you please because you wish to do so.” 

The Plain Doll seemed to mull over Catherine’s words, humming inquisitively. She briefly looked away from the Hunter, who felt such pity for her. The warrior finally understood the suffering the doll had endured within her life; allowing herself to be mistreated and abused because it was what her “Gods” wanted. The doll was beholden to her creators; willing to endure their torment and mistreatment if it meant that she pleased them. It was disheartening, thinking that she had no other choice. Instantly, Catherine regretted her mistreatment of the doll.

“And,” the doll muttered after a moment, “…and if I wish to embrace you?”

Catherine gave her a sad smile.

“Then embrace me.”

The doll’s silver irises widened, almost shining with an unspoken admiration. Gently, she tugged the Hunter closer to her chest, and Catherine melted into her. Hesitantly, the brunette weaved her own arms around the doll’s midsection, marveling at how perfectly she slotted into the puppet’s frame. The doll was slightly cold to the touch, but the warrior’s heart felt warmer and lighter as the doll rested her porcelain cheek against Catherine’s hair, sighing in contentment. 

They remained silent, taking comfort in each other’s presence as the wind swept through the field, eventually lulling the Hunter into a peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

Chapter VIII: Longing Still for That Which Nurseth the Disease

Cainhurst Castle: Royal Infirmary 

1004 A.P.

The physician inserted a long, thick needle underneath Catherine’s left rib cage, carefully extracting an effusion of blood, air, and water from the soldier’s pleural cavity. Lady Maria watched the doctor’s practiced hands skillfully remove the fluid constricting the damaged lung, nervously fidgeting  with one of the cuffs on her overcoat. 

“Mostly air today,” he remarked, inspecting the large syringe and holding it toward the noble for her to see. She glanced at it and nodded, agreeing with the doctor’s assertion. 

Dr. Veselý was a tall, lanky man with dark curly hair that was streaked with silver. His moustache was trimmed and well kept, curling slightly at the ends. He had fair skin and pale blue eyes that haunted his patients like an ethereal spectre. Unlike his surname would suggest, he was not a very jovial man, remaining curt and oftentimes truculent to the people around him.

He hummed at Lady Maria’s assent before emptying the syringe into a large glass bottle. When finished, he set down the instrument onto a silver tray and reached over to Catherine, gently lifting her medical gown to inspect the injuries that littered the knight’s abdomen, hips, and back. The once large and gnarly gashes were now pinched lines of stitched tissue. Black silk was expertly sewn into her skin, suturing the extensive wounds. They were still slightly swollen and red, but thankfully showed no signs of infection.

“Remarkably, she’s healing rather quickly,” he observed, reaching for a small, sealed jar on the tray. He unscrewed the lid and dipped three fingers into the jar, extracting a yellow tinged ointment from the container. He cautiously rubbed the salve onto each of the knight’s healing injuries. 

“How long do you believe she will remain unconscious for?” Lady Maria asked, continuing to play with the button on one of her cufflinks.

Dr. Veselý sighed irritably before tugging down Catherine’s medical garb and covering her injuries. The young noblewoman had insisted on monitoring the knight’s recovery, much to his chagrin. Though incredibly intelligent, the ashen-haired royal asked too many questions—even dared to criticize him during his medical procedures. 

He would have completely dismissed her outright if the Queen had not insisted that he allow the young noble to shadow him during the knight’s recovery. The shrewd man begrudgingly acquiesced, and tried to politely answer the multitude of the scholar’s inquiries to the best of his ability.

He was still unsure as to why Queen Annalise had been so adamant about him treating this particular soldier; within the royal infirmary no less! Originally, the knight was being cared for by a physician residing within the barracks; however, after two days in their medical quarters, the Queen had ordered the young woman to be moved into the castle.

How very odd indeed.

No matter, he was not one to question Her Majesty’s motives. Instead, he treated the injured soldier with the utmost respect and care as he would for any highborn noble.

“It is hard to say,” he commented dryly, his deep voice hiding his annoyance. “I would prefer to keep her in a comatose state until the pleural fluid completely drains from her lung. Excessive movement on her part can exacerbate the injury and prevent her from properly healing, so it’s best to keep her unconscious with the laudanum until then.”

Lady Maria nodded, glancing over to the brunette who seemed to be sleeping soundly, slightly propped up in the medical bed. It had been over two weeks since their encounter with that vicious beast; leaving the knight broken, battered, and unconscious. Her hair was tousled wildly, flattened against her cranium by the sebum coating her scalp. Her eyes were closed, hiding the colorful, enchanting irises that Maria longed to see again. Fortunately, the superficial cuts on Catherine’s face had vanished, leaving her smooth, olive skin unmarked. 

A twist of guilt swelled within the noble’s stomach. 

She had done this—she was responsible for Catherine’s wretched state. 

If she had just paid more attention to her footing—just bloody watched where she was going—Catherine would not have been inclined to take action; to shield her from the monster’s attack. If she had just swiftly recovered from her fall, she wouldn’t have had to rescue the soldier from the brink of death; wouldn’t have had to—

Maria shuddered. 

The tingling memory of Catherine’s soft lips dancing along her skin set a low fire kindling in her abdomen. The noblewoman had attempted—and failed—to put that moment of intensity behind her. However, every time her eyes grazed Catherine’s parted lips, all she could think about was how lovely the knight looked with her blood rapturously smeared across her hungry mouth.

Gods above, Maria shivered.

What was she thinking?

“Before I retire this evening, I shall return to extract more effuse. I do not know the approximation of when I will return, but you are welcome to observe the process if you come here prior to my arrival.”

Maria nodded in response, allowing the physician to gather up his supplies before silently taking his leave. Once he departed, gently closing the large oak door, Maria sauntered over to one of the expansive windows closest to Catherine’s bed, tugging the red, velvet curtains shut to shelter the comatose soldier from the impugning sunlight. 

The royal infirmary was a spacious room filled with several large, comfortable beds ideally intended for the nobility. It was defined by the grand opulence that permeated throughout the entire castle, which included intricately carved crown moldings and lavish furnishings embroidered with golden silk. Each bed was littered with several plump, feather laden pillows and sinfully soft cotton blankets, ensuring the comfort of the nobility that rested within them when afflicted by illness—or drunkenness. 

Hardy oak end tables accompanied each bed, often covered by large silver trays that the physician would utilize as space for his various instruments. A large hearth was located on the far eastern side of the room, surrounded by several plush chaise lounges and accent chairs. A few bookshelves lined the walls surrounding the area, creating a comfortable space for patients or loved ones to entertain themselves.

Maria had moved one of the accent chairs next to Catherine’s bed after the first week of her treatment within the castle. The noble had developed somewhat of a routine; observing Dr. Veselý as he administered his treatments, waiting for him to leave before grabbing a tome from one of the bookshelves to occupy her time with as she retired in the chair next to Catherine, only for her to completely ignore the novel and simply stare at the knight, letting her mind run rampant.

It had been over two weeks, and in that time, the noble had scarcely touched her research, even going so far as to recruit another platoon of Cainhurst Knights to retrieve the remains of the missing scouts and recover whatever blood they could scavenge from that infernal beast. Oh, she had tried delving back into her research after the first few days of Catherine’s internment within the castle, but her mind would only wander back to the knight, completely consumed by the overwhelming desire to see her, to ensure that she was alive and well.

How could she think of anything else?

Catherine had risked her life to save Maria, completely disregarding her own self-preservation just to ensure the noble’s survival. It was a flippant, foolish decision that almost severed her spirit from the corporeal realm. The more Lady Maria thought about it, the more she questioned the logic behind the knight’s actions—or lack thereof. A maelstrom of emotions swelled within the noblewoman like a surging seiche. 

Maria was frustrated, that much was certain, but also worried and confused. With each passing day, she found herself lingering by Catherine’s side, wistfully whispering reprimands and supplications as if they could coax the knight out from her slumber. Oh, how she longed to hear her voice again—to have that soft, melodic timber caress the tips of her ears with a haughty epigram. However, the one thing Lady Maria coveted the most was the answer to one, simple question:

Why?

Why had Catherine decided to take her place?

The desire to uncover the inscrutable mystery left a burning ache in her chest that was torturous, gnawing, and unrelenting. Sure, they had developed somewhat of a friendship over the past few months, but they hardly knew each other. Was throwing one’s life away common behavior for acquaintances to exhibit? What in the world could possibly possess the knight to do so?

The unresolved questions bothered the young scholar—well, bothered would be quite the understatement. She was utterly tormented by the lack of a detailed explanation for the knight’s rash actions. So, in these moments of quietude, when it was just the two of them alone in the expansive medical wing, Lady Maria sat by Catherine’s side, daring to cradle her hand, and softly beseeching her to open her eyes.

She never did.

-

It was unclear what Gherman expected when he stepped out of the carriage and onto the steps of Cainhurst Castle, but it certainly wasn’t a conflagration of footman and valets bustling around the baroque landau in a wild whirlwind. They climbed along the sides, quickly untying and unloading his luggage before he could even get a word in. As they hurriedly ascended the steps, Gherman made an attempt to protest, but was stopped by a short, rather lithe gentleman that appeared to be in his late fifties. He had long, greying auburn hair that was fashioned in a simple braid. In typical Cainhurst fashion, he wore an elegant crimson waistcoat with golden embroidery under a sweeping black tailcoat. He gave Gherman a deep bow.

“Worry not, good sir,” said the seneschal, giving the First Hunter a welcoming smile. “Her Majesty has been expecting your arrival and has prepared a chamber in the west wing of the castle for you to reside in during your stay. Your belongings shall be safely stored there; however, if you wish to retrieve something before you retire for the evening—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Gherman interrupted, waving his hand to further disregard the steward. The shorter man frowned, his eyes twitching slightly, but he skillfully maintained his façade of impassivity.

“Quite right. Well, allow me to escort you up to the throne hall. Her Majesty has requested an audience with you.”

Gherman nodded, motioning for the man to lead on. The First Hunter was dressed in a simple light brown waistcoat over a white dress shirt tucked into black leather breeches. His long, dark trench coat was refined and billowed out along his calves. He stepped forward in his dark brown boots, letting his black and gold cane tap along each step as he trailed after the seneschal.

Gherman was an aging man of eight and forty years of age. He had mid-length, slightly wavy hair that was thin and had gone completely grey in his late thirties. His dark green eyes scanned the lavish architecture that exuded ostentatious pretension. Tall limestone steps, bracketed on either side by picturesque carvings; their sculptures depicting the Cainhurst Royals of many years past. As the pair reached the summit and strode into the main hall, where Gherman could only chuckle derisively at the continuous vulgar display of wealth. The seneschal spared him a questioning glance, but when Gherman provided no explanation for the discourteous utterance, he continued guiding the esteemed guest through the castle.

After several minutes of blissful silence, Gherman and his guide arrived outside onto the ramparts below the Queen’s Chamber. The myriad of steps that they had ascended winded the poor seneschal, who politely beseeched that they take a moment to pause before climbing up the last set of stairs. Gherman smirked, but said nothing, completely unperturbed by the extensive amount of physical effort. He took a moment to ascertain his whereabouts; looking for appropriate escape routes and vantage points should he be subjected to combat in such an open area. Master Willem had always said that the old man was exceedingly cautious to a fault; however, Gherman’s healthy degree of paranoia had ensured his survival on more than several occasions, so he did not believe the scholar had too much of a standing in that regard. 

Once the seneschal regained his composure, he beckoned the First Hunter to follow him up the stairs. Gherman took in the elaborate stonework on each side of the staircase and marveled incredulously at the sheer amount of statues that this castle seemed to carry. Finally, they reached the Queen’s Chambers and a steward greeted them as they approached a large mahogany door with the Cainhurst Crest carved into each of its panels. 

“Are you ready to be announced, good sir?”

“Indeed, you may call me Gherman, The First Hunter, Imperial Byrgenwerth Scholar, and Choir Initiate of the Healing Church.”

The steward nodded, taking each of the golden handles in his hands before histrionically throwing them open and stepping into the room. He bowed deeply towards the Queen before turning aside and bellowing out his announcement. Gherman soon glided across the threshold and had to stifle another discourteous laugh at the audacious opulence pouring out from each millimeter of the room. 

Thousands of sick and injured people were dying in the streets, and here the Cainhurst Nobility was, spending lavish amounts of echoes on the finest silks, velvet, and satin that would only be discarded once some inebriated fool spilled his tincture of blood all over the crimson cloths. Indeed, Gherman was not a man who enjoyed wasting materials that still wielded potential, hence his fascination with constructing and designing weapons. His intellectual prowess for engineering and using weapons was what initially caught the attention of the Byrgenwerth Scholars. Prior to his acceptance into the college, he had adjusted his everyday garb and tools to bravely lash out against the beasts plaguing the streets of Yharnam. 

The Healing Church quickly took notice of Gherman’s proficiency in combat in addition to his notoriety as the “First Hunter”. His popularity became widespread throughout Yharnam and Byrgenwerth quickly recruited him as a teacher and weapon designer. His weapon schematics were elaborate and clever—intended for multipurpose use within ever changing combat situations. These “trick weapons”, as he dubbed them, provided both a long range and short range transfiguration for which the wielder could modify at will. His most treasured of these trick weapons thus far was his own Burial Blade— a large curved sword that transformed into a two-handed scythe. 

Though his reputation was quite well known, he never actually considered that the Cainhurst Nobility would take notice of him. Indeed, if you had told Gherman a fortnight ago that he would be receiving a missive from Cainhurst, entreating him to have an audience with the infamous Vileblood Queen herself, he would have thought you gathered one too many eyes. However, upon receiving the summons, he had to admit that he was curious. 

It was no secret that Gherman was not a devout follower of the Healing Church and its pious rhetoric, but he did not think Cainhurst would be brazen enough to elicit the assistance of one of the Church’s most prominent assets. He supposed that was likely the reasoning behind the Cainhurst courier’s discretion while passing along Queen Annalise’s invitation. As far as the Healing Church was concerned, he was traveling around the villages outside of Byrgenwerth to recruit new, promising young scholars. In reality, Gherman’s only loyalties were within the people of Yharnam and whoever was lining his pockets with the most echoes.

The First Hunter treaded lightly along the red and gold carpet lining the length of the chamber, holding his head high as he approached the Vileblood Queen. Her Majesty was sitting on her throne, dressed in a formal silver gown, with a cowl neckline and an empire waist. The skirt was impressively embroidered with silver thread and translucent gemstones that sparkled dazzlingly within the candlelight of the chamber. Her very light blonde hair was pulled up into a low, braided bun, on top of which sat a silver circlet that enforced her authority as the sole ruler of Cainhurst. 

Queen Annalise was regality personified; perfectly poised and taciturn. Her dark grey eyes took in Gherman’s appearance, and even he admitted that he felt intimidated as the Vileblood Queen thoroughly picked him apart layer by layer. He tried to remain aloof as he knelt down at the foot of the steps in front of her throne and bowed his head. He opened his mouth to establish a repertoire with the Cainhurst Royal, but decided it was wiser to allow her to lead the conversation.

“First Hunter Gherman,” she said, her voice quiet yet commanding, “I am delighted that you have accepted my request to seek an audience with you.”

“It is I who should be delighted in Her Majesty’s impeccable generosity in providing me with such exquisite arrangements, especially considering the brevity of my stay here in Cainhurst,” Gherman responded with equal grace, carefully meeting the Queen’s gaze. Her eyes slightly narrowed, darting ever so slightly with practiced ease; masterfully attaining insight behind his guarded words.

What exactly am I doing here? He inquired beneath the practiced, political parlay.

“Cainhurst is honored to have such a distinguished pioneer and scholar within its walls,” she responded with a slight curve of her lips. “It is customary that our kingdom provide only the best of care for our guests, particularly after such an arduous journey.”

I know the Healing Church has you under its thumb, but I can assure you, what I have to offer is worth the risk.

Annalise reached out her hand and bid the First Hunter to stand. He nodded politely and rose to his feet.

“I highly doubt that you’ve summoned me all this way to your throne room immediately upon my arrival to simply wish me a warm welcome, Your Majesty.”

“I am pleased to see that the rumors of your exemplary deductive reasoning are no falsehood.”

Gherman winced at the quip.

“Yes, well. I must admit that I am intrigued by your request for my audience. As an associate for the Healing Church, I assumed that Cainhurst would rather avoid such…intimate contact with a political rival.”

“Your ties to the Healing Church are well known, Sir Gherman, and are not taken lightly,” Queen Annalise remarked, “however, I believe that someone of your faculty could provide my kingdom with an invaluable service.”

Gherman hummed inquisitively as Queen Annalise spoke, then he heard the door behind him open. A heavy, but graceful set of footsteps strode into the room and Her Majesty nodded at the mysterious figure who entered the chamber, outstretching her hand to usher them to the foot of her throne. As the new guest approached, the First Hunter turned his head ever so slightly to the right, unable to resist the urge to curiously peek at the new visitor.

And what he saw severed any trace of coherent thought as a warm rush of blood flooded into his abdomen.

In truth, it was unclear what Gherman had expected when he first arrived at Cainhurst Castle, but it most certainly wasn’t to encounter the most ethereal and gossamer woman he had ever laid eyes upon.

-

“You wished to see me, Your Highness?” Maria asked, kneeling in supplication at the foot of Queen Annalise’s throne. The young noblewoman’s heart was thrumming in nervous anticipation, having been caught off guard when one of the Queen’s courtiers had interrupted her solicitude in the Royal Infirmary. 

Despite the initial gratitude towards Queen Annalise for allowing Catherine to receive medical treatment within the castle, Lady Maria had not forgotten the unspoken threat solicited from the oligarch several weeks ago. The sudden request for her presence had instilled a nervous fear that Queen Annalise meant to reproach the noblewoman and follow through with her harrowing commination. Thankfully, yet much to her confusion, it seemed the Queen had other matters to discuss with her.

The strange man who stood beside the young scholar was not one that she had seen about the castle before. She surmised that he was not a Lord of Cainhurst, as he was not dressed in the finery and filigree that was befitting a Cainhurst nobleman; however, he still held an air of poise and decorum that would suggest that he was, at the very least, a respectable gentleman. He was a tall fellow, with an impressive frame and physique despite his age. Additionally, the large, curved blade strapped to his back was certainly a dead giveaway that the stranger was a warrior of some sort; however, he could not be a Cainhurst Knight, as he lacked the silver armor donned by the illustrious regiment.

The longer Maria found herself within the room with her patron and the strange man, the more she questioned the reasoning behind her summons. When the Cainhurst oligarch bade her to rise from her low bow, Maria raised her head and calmly stood, placing her hands behind her back as she waited for Annalise to speak.

“Sir Gherman,” Queen Annalise spoke, motioning her hand between the gentleman and the young noble. “Allow me to introduce Lady Maria Ravin de Cainhurst, my dearest cousin, as well as a distinguished scholar and fighter.”

The old man turned towards the ashen-haired royal and bowed deeply, extending his hand out to her. Maria hesitantly placed her hand into his palm, and he gently pulled the back of her hand towards his mouth before placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Ladyship,” he said softly, his gruff voice huffing along her skin.

“Gherman? As in ‘First Hunter Gherman’, one of the famed scholars from Byrgenwerth?” Lady Maria asked incredulously, more to the Queen than the man himself.

“Indeed,” he replied coolly, “the one and only.”

“I have read a great deal about you and your colleagues at Byrgenwerth. Your research on how ancient astrology and archeology impact modern beast transformation and behavior is quite compelling!”

“Ah, those articles were quite elementary to compose when provided with such impeccable evidence,” Gherman preened, “Byrgenwerth is an institution far ahead of its time, eagerly providing funding and collaboration to further the development of humanity.”

“Which is precisely why I have requested your presence here in Cainhurst, Sir Gherman,” Queen Annalise pointed out, lowering her tone just a fraction, forcing the First Hunter to return his attention towards her. “Lady Maria has been conducting research under my patronage for the last several months. Her work is quite unprecedented; so, despite her current progress, her work seems to have…reached a standstill.”

Lady Maria swallowed, ashamed by the Queen’s tactful admission of her egregious failures. She felt her skin flush with embarrassment, humiliated that her cousin had elected to conscript the assistance of a member of the Healing Church due to her dreadful incompetence. 

“Oh? And what pray tell, what does this revolutionary research entail?” 

Maria turned her head to look at her Queen to silently request her assent to reveal the premise of her experiments. Annalise gently nodded, but the guarded look in her stormy irises ordered the young noble to only give a paltry description of their work. The ashen-haired woman bowed slightly to her imperial ruler before returning her attention to the Byrgenwerth scholar.

“We—I have been researching and experimenting with human conception and the hypothetical usage of beast blood to strengthen an embryo to ensure it comes to full term,” Lady Maria said slowly, carefully; watching the First Hunter’s eyes widen just a fraction at her admission. He fixed his gloves and fidgeted with the handle of his cane inquisitively.

“Ah…as opposed to the utilization of it as a contraceptive?” He asked nonchalantly, surprising the young noble.

Just how many people had actually read her article?

“I—Well, um, yes—actually…” Maria responded clumsily, suddenly very nervous to be discussing her findings with such a well renowned intellectual. He chuckled lightly at her inarticulate rejoinder, his skin wrinkling at the corners of his deep green eyes.

“Your work, albeit unproven, has garnered the interest of many institutions—including that of the College of Byrgenwerth,” he added, revealing covertly that the Healing Church had its eyes on Cainhurst as well. Out of the corner of Maria’s eye, she could see the Queen stiffen at his comment.

Lady Maria could sense Queen Annalise’s discomfort in the notion that the Healing Church was keeping a close watch on the young noble and her escapades. Though the oligarch remained stoic and reserved, she hummed pensively—resolutely agitated. Maria knew—their blood relation notwithstanding—that she had inextricably become one of Annalise’s most valued assets.

The Healing Church was garnering more followers and political power with each passing day, and the only way for Cainhurst to remain seated at the head of the nation was to remain one step ahead of their rival.

Lady Maria was on the precipice of discovering a way to revolutionize human reproduction utilizing beast blood—an unheard of concept never put into practice before. If she could bring these experiments to fruition, what other maleficent ailments could she eradicate with the unholy power locked within the blood of beasts?

And what carnage would the Healing Church commit to garner such knowledge?

Maria shivered at the prospect.

“If you are interested in assisting Cainhurst in such prodigious research, I can ensure that you will be compensated more than handsomely,” the oligarch intoned obstinately, “however, I must insist that you handle it with the utmost…discretion.”

“Your Majesty, allow me to assuage your trepidations,” Gherman insisted, kneeling in front of Queen Annalise in obsecration. “You have my word as a man and scholar that I will gladly take the young Lady Maria under my tutelage. Additionally, I will ensure that any findings pertaining to her research shall not pass outside of Cainhurst’s borders without her knowledge.”

Maria flickered her gaze between Annalise and the First Hunter, genuinely curious on how the Cainhurst Royal would respond. The Queen’s mouth thinned into a tight line, as if she was unsure whether or not she could trust the scholar’s assurances. She briefly met Lady Maria’s eyes and the young noblewoman gave her a curt shrug, deferring to her judgement. 

“I am sure Lady Maria would be delighted to have such an acclaimed academic as her tutor,” Her Majesty responded, extending her right hand out, palm downward for Gherman to take into his own gloved fingers. He placed a small kiss on the crimson stone of the ring adorning one of Queen Annalise’s fingers, sealing his acclamations. “She will personally guide you through the castle grounds and her private workshop later this afternoon, but first, you must settle in and make yourself comfortable after such an arduous journey, Sir Gherman.”

The First Hunter nodded, rising to his feet before giving another low bow to both the Queen and Lady Maria. He then silently turned on his heel and drifted smoothly towards the entrance of the hall, where the seneschal gave him a short greeting before ushering him out of the chamber and towards the west wing of the castle. When the large mahogany doors closed, leaving the two royal descendants alone, Lady Maria broke her silence.

“Your Excellency, do you truly believe that this is wise? That man is a dog of the Healing Church—”

“That man…will be the collaborator required for you to overcome your little intellectual impasse,” the Queen hissed, narrowing her dark eyes at the young noble who had spoken out of turn. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Lady Maria apologized softly, feeling the color drain from her face at the oligarch’s harsh tone. “I do not mean to question your motives, I am simply concerned with maintaining confidentiality throughout this process. Can we truly afford to trust Sir Gherman not to submit Cainhurst’s most intimate secrets to his superiors within the Healing Church the moment they are breathed into his ear?”

“Sir Gherman’s loyalty to the Healing Church rivals that of my own—Cainhurst simply needs to keep him both intellectually and financially satiated.”

“And you believe that my research alone will keep him intellectually surfeited?”

“Lady Maria,” Queen Annalise entreated, bringing her hands together and placing them in her lap. “You are an upstanding Cainhurst noblewoman who is a highly skilled pundit with bright, innovative postulations that could revolutionize modern medicine and human evolution. I doubt that there is any scholar who would bypass the opportunity to shape and mold your ideas into viable and admissible hypotheses.”

For a moment, Lady Maria was taken aback. Those were the kindest words her cousin had ever spoken to her.

“Sir Gherman is obviously interested in your research, but he is more interested in you specifically. Lean into his desire to tutor you; polish his ego with your admiration. As long as you can keep his attention, Cainhurst will fill his coffers, and he will resolutely keep his observations to himself.”

Lady Maria meant to protest against this arrangement, but the dark look that Queen Annalise gave her advised against it. Instead she crossed her right hand over her breast and bowed. 

“I will do what I can, Your Grace.”

“Excellent, you may go now.”

The young noblewoman turned and calmly made her way to the exit, blind to the worrying look painted on the Queen's face as the ashen-haired woman quietly left the chambers. 

-

Lady Maria was sitting down in the infirmary, adjacent to Catherine, with an open book in her hands. She was completely engrossed in the volume, turned to a section that she kept re-reading, flipping the pages back and forth in a manic manner. The tome was a bestiary written and published by Sir Gherman and a few other Byrgenwerth academics. 

He had loaned the book out to Maria shortly after their tour of the castle, when he had inquired about the specific blood samples she had procured thus far. She had listed off all the ones she knew, but admitted that there was one sample that she couldn’t identify. When he asked her to elaborate, she briefly described her encounter with the mysterious beast in Ora Castellum—leaving out the intimate details pertaining to Catherine and her injuries.

He told her that it sounded like she had encountered a cleric beast, giving her the book to help ascertain which beast the group had come into contact with.

And damn it all, the First Hunter had been exactly right!

There, clearly outlined in the book, was an in depth description of cleric beasts, accompanied by a rough anatomical sketch. Each written word in the tome perfectly explicated the character and behavior of the beast that had gravely injured the poor knight. 

It also mentioned that most people did not tend to survive an encounter with such a savage beast, which made Lady Maria all the more thankful that she was able to stabilize Catherine’s condition with her vileblood. 

She shivered at the memory. 

Maria sighed, closing the book quietly before placing it carefully on the nightstand by Catherine’s medical bed. She was glad that she was able to finally put a name to the beast that almost took the soldier’s life; she supposed she had Gherman to thank for that. It had been over a week since Sir Gherman had arrived at the castle and he was already proving to be quite the decent adviser. His presence had encouraged Maria to work more on her experiments rather than spending time wallowing at Catherine’s side. Although she was pursuing her research more diligently, she still made time to monitor Catherine’s progress with Dr. Veselý, mostly in the mornings. 

Today, Lady Maria had gotten up earlier than usual—quite a bit before the sun came up—which was odd since she was up late into the evening consulting with Gherman about setting up a new experiment using the blood from the cleric beast. When her mind refused to ease into another interlude of respite, she decided to visit the unconscious knight. 

It was strange how Maria felt inextricably drawn to the Cainhurst warrior. They hadn’t truly known each other for very long, but somehow the young noblewoman felt connected to Catherine in a way that she had never experienced before. Catherine was so patient, kind, and attentive—always making sure that the noble was comfortable and taking care of herself. It was touching, in a way, to have someone so devotedly interested in her well-being—and she couldn’t help the warmth that blossomed in her chest when Catherine inquired about her welfare.

Which was precisely why Maria had felt so dreadfully cold for the past several weeks. 

She missed her.

Missed her warm, puckish smiles—her soft, gentle eyes—her light, melodic voice—her intoxicating redolent scent….

Bože, co je to se mnou? Maria thought embarrassingly.

Lady Maria was so lost in her own involuted—and rather alarming—musings that she didn’t notice the subtle movement of the knight’s left hand, nor the fluttering of her mismatched eyes. 

“M-My Lady?” Catherine whispered, her voice rough and grainy from lack of use.

A powerful gasp tore out of the taller woman’s throat as she instinctively grasped tightly onto the warrior’s hand closest to her. Tears welling up in her eyes unbidden as the brunette’s arduous, miserable silence was lifted. 

“Catherine!? Oh, thank the Gods—you’re finally awake!”

Catherine tiredly blinked her eyes a few times, drifting them carefully around the room before returning them to Maria’s tear-stricken irises.

“Where—where am I?”

“You’re in the castle infirmary,” Maria supplied before taking a seat in the decorated chair adjacent to Catherine’s bed. “You’ve been unconscious for a little over three weeks.”

“Unconscious?” Catherine asked, trying to move to sit up, but Maria panicked and quickly placed her other hand over the knight’s chest and gently pushed her back into the mattress.

“Don’t—!” The noble hurriedly entreated, “you suffered a broken rib during the attack in Ora Castellum and punctured a lung. You’re still recovering.”

Lady Maria could feel the rapid staccato of Catherine’s heartbeat beneath her palm, and for a moment she was lost in its tantalizing rhythm. Eventually she seemed to register the rather suggestive contact and slowly withdrew from the soldier.

“I’m—I’m glad that you’re awake…”

I missed you.

“What happened?” Catherine asked quietly, furrowing her brows as she acquiesced to remain prone.

Maria frowned.

“You don’t remember?”

“I recall being attacked by that behemoth of a beast…wait, Ajća and the others, are they—!?”

“They’re safe!” The noblewoman reassured. “They were able to take down and slaughter that cleric beast.”

“Was that what that thing was?” 

Maria nodded.

“Is…is that all you remember?” The young scholar asked softly, her cheeks growing hot as the memory of Catherine’s sinful tongue on her skin shamelessly danced through her mind.

“I—I remember being gouged by that beast…and being tossed across the church…I recall you coming to my side at some point, but…” she trailed off.

“Nothing else…?”

“I…well…I—”

Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated, instead she stared deeply into Maria’s eyes, forcing the young noble’s heart to thrum madly behind her breast. The scholar held her breath, terrified by what the brunette might say next.

“No,” finished Catherine.

Maria slowly dispelled her breath. For some strange, unknown reason, a part of Maria was disappointed that Catherine didn’t recall their—well, intimate affair. The other part of her was relieved that she didn’t have to give the knight a confusing and convoluted reasoning behind why and how such a… delicate procedure had instigated that raw, numbing maelstrom of salacious pleasure.

Maria felt her ears burn.

“Oh, well—um, no worries. We were able to stabilize your injuries before we returned to the castle,”  Maria explained, less articulate than befitting a noble, but Catherine did not seem to mind.

“And…the Royal Infirmary?”

Maria huffed out a laugh.

“The Queen had insisted on it.”

Catherine raised a brow and gave Lady Maria that cheeky smirk that the noblewoman had so vehemently missed.

“Really? Our esteemed Queen Annalise insisted that I be treated within the castle? Unprompted? With no coercion or persuasion?”

Lady Maria smiled sheepishly, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders as her silver eyes softened at the soldier’s incredulity.

“Well…I may have spoken my…predilection to monitor your progress.”

“Can’t keep me out of your sight, can you?”

“No,” Maria laughed, gently squeezing the knight’s hand, “no, I don’t suppose I can.”

They fell into a comfortable silence and Catherine gave the noblewoman a small, placid smile. Lady Maria watched the knight’s eyes slowly trail and roam over her, setting fire to each exposed patch of skin. Gods, she had missed those beautiful, vibrant eyes! It had been so long since she had looked at those bright, ethereal pools, that she nearly forgot the minute discolorations and imperfections in those irises. Maria unabashedly looked back at the injured woman, longing to commit the unique pattern of her illustrious eyes to memory. She felt herself leaning forward to get a better look.

“My Lady—?”

Maria felt lost in the bursting auroras surrounding Catherine’s pupils; feeling her mouth go dry, words cut and left dying on her tongue.

“Catherine—”

“And how is our patient today, Lady Maria?” 

The sound of Dr. Veselý’s deep, gruff voice nearly had Maria jumping out of her skin, violently tearing herself away from the knight. She abruptly stood, her alabaster skin emblazoned with a crimson that rivaled that of the Cainhurst flag. The aged man sauntered into the room, aiming to shut the door behind him, but he paused when he noticed that his patient was completely conscious.

“Ah, I see that the laudanum has worn off, and that the Cainhurst Knight is alert,” he muttered, stepping toward the bedside and laying his medical bag on the tray beside the end table. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out a binaural stethoscope before fitting it to his ears. He gently placed the bell slightly above her left breast and bade her to breathe in deeply. He performed this exercise on several portions of her body and nodded to himself when he was satisfied with his examination. “Heart rate is slightly elevated, but nothing to be concerned with. How are you fairing, Miss?”

“I’m feeling exceptionally sore,” Catherine admitted plaintively.

“Well, that is to be expected after the injuries you’ve suffered, in addition to all the bed rest. You are aware of the extent of your injuries?”

Catherine nodded.

“Good, well, I am pleased to inform you that you are making a splendid recovery thus far,” he stated, taking out the medicinal salve from his bag. “Your punctured lung is no longer filled with pleural fluid; however, I am still monitoring the volume of air between the lining of the tissue and will be aspirating it as needed. For now I would suggest minimal movement, but I will be able to fetch a maidservant for you to attend to you while you use the lavatories.”

“Oh, thank goodness, I was afraid that I would remain reeking of putrefying adipose for the remainder of my days,” Catherine quipped, wincing as her laughter punishingly pushed against her rib cage, to which Lady Maria sniggered.

“Well, even though they say, ‘laughter is the best medicine,’ I would heavily advise against it in this case.” He handed Catherine the jar of salve and instructed her on how often she needed to apply it to her healing wounds. After a few more routine tests and examinations, Dr. Veselý packed up his materials, bid his farewells, and exited the compartment.

Then the two were left alone again.

Maria tried to keep her eyes away from Catherine, casually flipping through the pages of the grimoire still on the nightstand.

“So…” Maria eventually heard the knight venture, “How have you been?”

The question completely and utterly stunned Lady Maria.

Catherine had been mutilated, gored, and maimed within centimeters of her very life, and she had the audacity to ask about her well-being? 

Her well-being? The well-being of the foolish noblewoman the knight had so thoughtlessly and injudiciously protected? Ensuring the royal’s welfare over her own—enduring an inconceivable amount of pain and agony, just to keep the noble alive? 

How had she been!?

Maria’s teeth clenched and she squeezed the edge of the wooden end table with her right hand. She kept her head lowered, tears suddenly pricking out of the corners of her silver eyes.

“How could you ask such a thing?” Maria questioned emphatically, her voice tight and strained.

“My Lady?”

“You were the one who was hurt—practically butchered to the brink of death—bedridden and unconscious for weeks due to your damnable recklessness and impulsivity—what right do you have to dare inquire about my welfare when you nearly lost your very life!”

The aggressiveness of Maria’s sudden outburst took both of the women by surprise. Catherine’s lips thinned and she turned her gaze away from the ashen-haired woman like a spurned dog. Lady Maria was letting out exasperated, shaking breaths, trembling from the ferocity of her ebullition. The torment and anguish of Catherine’s absence for the past several weeks suddenly flooded the young scholar in a turbulent tide of emotion, and tears began spilling down her cheeks in response. The noble lifted her head and stepped forward, but Catherine refused to regard her.

Look at me! Don’t you dare turn your eyes away from mine! Maria begged internally.

“Why did you do it? Why save me?” Maria entreated, suddenly grabbing Catherine’s chin and turning the knight’s face to meet her sorrowful eyes. Lady Maria felt the gasp of Catherine’s warm breath on her skin as their eyes met. Maria watched as the knight’s enchanting irises widened at the visceral intensity of raw emotion that was evident in the noble’s features. “Why?”

-

Why indeed?

Catherine stared into Lady Maria’s tragic, pleading eyes, struck by the sight of such vivid vehemence. A dull ache squeezed within her chest, afflicted by the desolation clouding those ethereal silver eyes. Catherine didn’t know why seeing the noble in such an afflicted state had affected her so, but she was desperate to come up with an adequate enough response to assuage the Lady’s torment.

But everything the scholar said was true.

It was foolish for her to put herself in Lady Maria’s place. It was impolitic to disregard all logic and reason to protect the noblewoman. It was careless of her to not even think about the consequences of risking her own life.

And yet, she could not regret it.

She would do it over and over again if it meant that Lady Maria would remain unharmed—to complete her research—to laugh—to smile—to live!

Gods, she would do it again without question or hesitation.

As Catherine held Lady Maria’s gaze, her mind tumbled and twisted, searching for an answer to the noblewoman’s question. The taller woman’s eyes flickered between her own, as if hunting for the answer herself. Her mouth was slightly parted, breathing in slow, staccato puffs, and Catherine’s breath hitched when the noblewoman’s thumb glided gently across her chin. 

“Why?” Her Lady bade again in a whisper.

Why indeed?

“I—I suppose,” the knight began, gently lifting her hand to cover Lady Maria’s lifted wrist, “that I can’t take my eyes off of you…either.”

The ashen-haired woman’s eyebrows raised in surprise; after a beat, her eyes softened. Then she smiled, her lips curled up—dimpling at the corners of her mouth—and she let out a breathy laugh. Her laughter grew until it was a joyful, warm velvet laughter that made Catherine’s stomach turn.

“Hloupá dívka,” she muttered, releasing her grip on the soldier’s chin and curling her fingers around the offered hand. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said, smiling widely, “but for what it’s worth, I am truly sorry…My Lady.”

For this time, and every time that I will risk my life for you.

-

Lady Maria stayed with Catherine until late into the afternoon, filling her in on the gossip and news surrounding the castle during her absence. She spoke of the recovery of the lost scouts in Ora Castellum, the retrieval of the cleric beast blood, and the new progress she had made in setting up her experiments. She also spoke of First Hunter Gherman and his helpful guidance.

Catherine expressed her concerns about Cainhurst hosting such a highly respected member of the Healing Church, but Lady Maria assured her that the Queen had faith in his word that he would remain discreet. Catherine wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t dare question Queen Annalise’s judgment, and besides, Lady Maria seemed reinvigorated in her research now that another academic had arrived to assist her in her work, so she supposed the man couldn’t be all that bad.

Eventually, a young maidservant was summoned to the infirmary to assist in guiding and attending to the injured knight to the bathing chambers. Once Catherine was able to stand, the maidservant placed Catherine’s arm around her neck to stabilize her movements. The three women then exited the room to make their way toward the lavatories. When they finally reached the entrance to their destination, Catherine—reluctantly—bid farewell to Lady Maria and the noble bowed before taking her leave.

“I will return later in the evening to discuss more details pertaining to my research,” Maria informed the knight with a smile.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Catherine said, her lips curling into a grin of her own.

The noblewoman nodded to the pair before departing, her cup-hilted rapier jangling with each measured step. Catherine watched her leave, a sudden sense of disappointment enveloping her as the noblewoman retreated.

-

After being able to finally soak in a bath and scrub the grease out of her hair after almost a month, the maidservant returned Catherine to the infirmary and left to fetch the knight a small, palatable meal. The sun was hanging high in the sky, peering through the velvet curtains in a seraphic light. Catherine surmised that it was approximately sometime around two in the afternoon, though, with the lack of a clock or watch, she couldn’t be certain.

The knight was resting her eyes, patiently waiting for the maidservant to return with her repast. She thought about Lady Maria and how eager she was to garner more information of what the noblewoman’s activities had been during the soldier’s absence.

Her mind also wandered to more…intimate places.

Catherine shuddered.

Why had she lied?

When Lady Maria interrogated her about her recollection of the events that occurred at Ora Castellum, why had she decided to lie?

Catherine felt her cheeks burn, ashamed by the salacious thoughts that began to flutter into her mind.

The soft skin of the noble’s wrist—the strong fingers digging into her sides, tugging her closer and closer until she was flush against the scholar—the ghosting of hot breath against her neck and ears—the scent of leather and rose ensnaring her.

The deep, raw sound of Maria’s pleading groans—her gravelly voice begging the knight to continue to take her into her mouth, to sup at her blood with wild abandon.

Her blood…

That sweet, saccharine, potent ichor that dripped sinfully down her throat—alighting a damning fire of desire in her veins and coquettishly swirling it down to the epicenter of her core. 

Fuck, the taste of her.

It was transcendent, rapturous and beautiful—but wickedly intoxicating.

And Gods help her, she wanted more . 

More of her addictive touch. More of that heavenly breath on her skin. More of that sensuous voice, moaning wantonly in her ear. More of that decadent, delectable lifeblood.

Gods!

The sound of a large oak door creaking open abruptly threw Catherine out of her prurient imaginings. The knight’s eyes shot open and she sat up on the mattress—wincing at the lance of pain that pierced her side—to stare at the sudden intruder. Shock overcame the soldier and her brows raised in alarm when Queen Annalise stepped through the threshold, followed by her seneschal.

“Your Majesty!” Catherine gaped, ruffling through the cotton sheets in the attempt to free herself from the encompassing confines of her blankets. 

“You may be still, Dr. Veselý has informed me of your precarious condition and I won’t allow your desire for propriety to aggravate your injuries,” the Queen stated authoritatively, waving her left hand to encourage the young knight to halt her movements. She was wearing a pale blue dress with an asymmetrical neckline and pleated skirt; her waistline cinched by a thick, silver ribbon.

“Your Excellency, I am eternally grateful for your impeccable hospitality and generosity for allowing me to recover within the castle walls,” Catherine said hurriedly, bowing her head low as the Cainhurst oligarch quietly approached the occupied bed, the seneschal remaining at the entrance.

“You may thank my cousin, as she was the one who adamantly insisted on relocating you to the castle for treatment…although, I suspect that she has told you that already.” 

The Queen tilted her head slightly to the side, her dark grey eyes appraising the wounded warrior. Catherine felt a nervous sweat begin to pool along her neck underneath the scrutinizing gaze. 

What could Queen Annalise possibly want with her?

“Leave us,” she commanded the seneschal without looking at him. He bowed and quietly exited the room, sealing the room with a deafening click. The oligarch continued her meticulous assessment of Catherine’s person, stalking around to the left side of the bed, where Catherine could only stare up at her intimidating expression. The way those stormy irises pierced through the knight made Catherine feel like she was being dissected.

Perhaps she was.

“My cousin has admitted that you rescued her from being attacked by that monstrosity found in Ora Castellum,” Queen Annalise intoned, her expression passive and guarded. “Is this true?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“According to her, you pushed her out of the beast’s path, sustaining significant trauma to your person as a result.”

“Yes, that is true, Your Excellency.”

“Why?”

Why indeed!?

Catherine swallowed, a sudden nervousness encroaching upon her, leaving her mouth dry. Despite the overwhelming urge to cower, Catherine didn’t turn her eyes away from the Queen’s analyzing gaze. Catherine watched the oligarch’s eyes narrow, crinkling softly at the edges as she patiently waited for an answer—but what was Catherine even meant to say!? How was she to respond when she didn’t quite know the answer herself! When the Queen gave her an expectant hum, Catherine licked her dry, slightly cracked lips.

“Well, her life was…is too valuable to end so quickly,” the knight slowly admitted, causing one of Queen Annalise’s eyebrows to raise.

“How so?”

Catherine was stunned by the curt question.

“Well, she is a noblewoman of Cainhurst, a member of the royal family by birthright…and…”

“…And?”

Catherine wrung her fingers anxiously through the cotton fibers of the blankets at her waist. What else was she meant to say? She didn’t feel it was wise to tell the Queen about their friendship, nor the strange impulses the knight was having towards the young scholar as of late.

“And…as I understand it, she is doing important work for Her Majesty, researching something on your behalf…”

The Queen’s gaze relaxed slightly, and she took a single step back, and it thankfully gave Catherine some room to breathe.

“And what details about this research has my cousin divulged to you?” Queen Annalise asked curiously, her voice darkening slightly, as if accusing Lady Maria of something treasonous.

Catherine would not have that!

“Lady Maria has not disclosed any information pertaining to her research other than it being vital to our country’s prosperity,” Catherine responded defensively, “she has not provided any further information that would suggest malice or sedition from her that would place her loyalty into question.”

The oligarch hummed, a small smile evident in her eyes even though her lips remained still.

“And it would appear that your loyalty is just as impeccable as her own.”

Catherine didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she simply nodded.

The Cainhurst Queen stepped away from Catherine’s bedside and made her way to the window, staring out at the sunny sky. Catherine watched Annalise’s mouth move, her lips contorting as she wrestled with her thoughts. Catherine was still confused as to why the Queen had elected to visit her in the first place—and even more puzzling: why was she being interrogated by her?

“I…appreciate what you have done for my cousin,” Queen Annalise stated impassively, “you are correct when you speak of how imperative her research is to our nation.” Annalise then placed her hands behind her back and turned to the knight. “The Healing Church has made strides to threaten Cainhurst’s authority. They have touted lies and impetuous falsehoods to manipulate the masses into believing that our country is full of nothing more than heretical blasphemers.”

Catherine already knew this, most people who worked in and around the castle knew this, so why exactly was Queen Annalise reminding her of it?

“To combat their political advances, I have devised a plan that hinges solely on the success of Lady Maria’s experimental trials,” she continued, “therefore, it is essential to ensure Lady Maria’s survival.”

Catherine would have hoped that Her Majesty wanted Lady Maria to live simply because they were related, but she supposed that might have been asking too much.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite following, Your Grace.”

“You are aware of Sir Gherman’s arrival at Cainhurst?” Annalise asked, ignoring Catherine’s question.

The knight nodded.

“Sir Gherman has revealed that the Healing Church has been keeping a close watch on Lady Maria—on her and her…activities outside of the castle walls.”

Catherine’s eyes widened. Lady Maria was being watched—stalked by dogs of the Healing Church who were eager to tear down the Cainhurst oligarchy to supplant their own world order? Simply thinking about the danger surrounding Lady Maria when they were out on hunts made Catherine’s blood boil. 

The Healing Church could not have her!

“This troubles me,” Annalise admitted, “if the Healing Church is already aware of Lady Maria’s investigations, I fear that they may attempt to claim them as their own—by any means necessary .”

Catherine clenched her jaw, the oligarch’s implication not lost on her. The Healing Church had been known to assassinate obstinate adversaries in the past—political or otherwise—to further their agenda; a spark of fear ignited within the knight for Lady Maria’s welfare.

“I cannot risk my cousin’s safety when she is so close to completing her work.” The Queen sauntered back over to Catherine, staring down at the knight with an unwavering authority. “I require someone to be a guard for Lady Maria—to keep her in their sight—someone who is willing to risk their life for the sanctity and prosperity of Cainhurst and its people. As you have already proven yourself loyal to that cause…I would ask you to pledge yourself to this task.”

Catherine’s brows rose up in astonishment, rendered speechless by Her Majesty’s request. Her? A guard? Lady Maria’s guard? She must be joking!

“Your Grace, my sincerest apologies, but I don’t think—”

“Are you under the impression that this is a request?” The Queen inquired darkly, leaning her head forward toward the knight with contempt in her stormy eyes. Catherine’s mouth shut abruptly, thoroughly scolded for her insolence by speaking out of turn. “Lady Maria has placed her trust in you…and your valiant deeds in Ora Castellum have proven to me that I can rely on you to protect her.”

Catherine didn’t know what to say to those impassioned words. She remained silent, briefly tearing her gaze away from the Royal’s intimidating glare. Of course she wished to keep Lady Maria safe, but she did not like the idea of relentlessly watching the young noble at all hours of the day; she doubted the esteemed Lady would appreciate being spied on so closely. Especially by a friend…

“Once you recover from your injuries, you will become Lady Maria’s personal guard. You will watch her, protect her, and confer with me if you encounter anything suspicious. Do you understand?”

Catherine gripped the sheets in her lap, her mouth in a tight line. Though despite the fact that she felt like agreeing to this task was a kind of betrayal to Lady Maria, she reluctantly nodded—she couldn’t deny a direct order from the Queen, no matter how much she vehemently opposed it.

“I understand, Your Majesty.”

“Swear to it.”

Catherine lifted her head and looked at the oligarch’s outstretched hand, the dark red gem in her ring gleaming menacingly in the sunlight. The knight took the offered hand and slowly brought it to her mouth to place a supplicating kiss on the stone.

“I swear to you, Your Grace, that I shall protect and guard Lady Maria with my very life—I swear that my body and soul will be bound to this task.”

Queen Annalise smiled, pleased by the warrior’s words.

“Excellent. I look forward to your cooperation, Miss Catherine.”

Chapter Text

Chapter IX:  That One for All, or All for One Gave; as Life Honour in Fell Battle’s Rage

The Hunter’s Dream

1024 A.P.

Catherine felt cold fingertips encircle her wrist as she stepped toward the gravestone portal beneath the Hunter’s Workshop. She turned her head towards the Plain Doll who held her countenance with a fretful expression; her porcelain brows were furrowed, accompanied by a small frown.

“You will only die again…” the doll stated, a twinge of sadness lacing her words. Catherine frowned at the doll, gently removing her captured wrist to quietly hold the fragile hand in her palm.

“I have to defeat her…I cannot allay the Nightmare until her heart meets the end of my sword.” 

“Must the Nightmare be dispelled?” The Plain Doll asked pensively, taking a small step towards the Hunter. “I know not how or why the Nightmare came to be, but if the Gods created it, is the curse not meant to endure?”

“Whether or not the Gods have created it is not my concern,” Catherine muttered softly, “I cannot return to the waking world until the Nightmare is eradicated.”

“Must you leave?” The doll inquired, reaching her other hand out to cup their intertwined fingers. “Is it necessary for you to leave the Dream?”

Catherine pitifully looked at the puppet, whose eyes were focused on their interlocked fingers; gently stroking the scarred flesh of the Hunter’s skin.

“I must,” she whispered, watching the doll tense at her confession. “There are people in the waking world who require my help—I cannot abandon them simply because the Nightmare can bring me to harm.” 

The Plain Doll’s frown deepened.

“I…I do not enjoy seeing you hurt…” She divulged—almost shyly. Catherine smiled at the avowal, her eyes softening as she regarded the tall marionette. 

“I don’t quite fancy it myself, but at the moment I find myself struggling to keep up with my opponent.”

“Do you perhaps require more strength? I can channel blood echoes into the power required to defend your person.” 

The Hunter gave the puppet a querulous raise of her eyebrows, indicating that she did not fully comprehend the ritual that the doll was describing. After a brief explanation, Catherine found herself feeling guilty for even entertaining the doll’s proposition.

“I…I cannot ask you to do such a thing,” the Hunter calmly protested, a lump unknowingly forming in her throat at the earnestness of the doll’s suggestion.

“You are not asking me, I am offering—because that is what I wish to do.” 

Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the doll’s words; a direct allusion to their previous conversation. 

“I assume that means I cannot convince you otherwise?”

The Plain Doll shook her head in a resounding, ‘no’.

“I see, well, at the moment I do not possess any blood echoes for you to utilize. If I am to enlist your help to embolden my spirit, I will need to return to the Nightmare to retrieve some.”

The Plain Doll seemed hesitant to release the Hunter from her grasp, but she ultimately unwound her porcelain fingers from the warrior’s warm hands. 

“Then I bid you farewell, good Hunter,” she began, taking a step back and clasping her hands together at the front of her skirts. “I will pray for your safe return. Should you need to return to the Hunter’s Dream—simply find a lantern.”

Catherine bowed and gave the Plain Doll one last fleeting smile before reaching out to the glowing gravestone, her figure shimmering in the pale light of the lantern before vanishing from the Dream.

The Plain Doll glided a few paces away, deciding to settle onto a patch of grass and asphodels near the bottom of the stone steps curling up to the Hunter’s Workshop. Once sat, she placed her hands in her lap, staring worriedly at the tombstone that had carried the strange Hunter away. She gently tugged and smoothed her fingers over her porcelain hands, a small blossom of heat forming in her chest as she felt the remnants of the Hunter’s heat radiating off the ceramic.

-

Catherine rematerialized from a dark, cloudy mist and into the Nightmare, finding herself upon an altar within a small, decrepit church. Recognition instantly penetrated the Hunter as she swept her gaze along the tall, crumbling pillars buttressing the imposing, carved archways. Shattered glass was scattered along the floor underneath the rotting wooden frames of delicately inlaid windows, in which drab, pale yellow sunlight poured into the decaying building.

As the Hunter meandered past the urns littering the small chapel towards a doorway, she recalled that this was the first place she had encountered when she had first entered the Nightmare. 

The warrior remembered Ms. Iosefka, the clinic proprietor and orphanage matron in Yharnam, who had bid the newly appointed Hunter to locate and collect her sister, Henrietta, from the Cathedral Ward. Catherine had accepted this task and meticulously searched the grounds for any sign of Lady Maria’s old governess, but couldn’t seem to locate her. This seemingly straightforward errand quickly waned in its simplicity when a colossal, six-fingered hand suddenly encircled her frame, mercilessly squeezing and crushing the Hunter in a punishing grip. 

Catherine recalled how her bones snapped and splintered underneath the desiccating phalanges—piercing her lungs, liver, and intestines whilst embedding shards of bone into each punctured crevice. The memory was so fresh that the young Hunter could still feel the constriction of her larynx as blood pooled into her perforated pleura and curdled thickly into her throat—could still feel the sickly warmth of her own ichor dampening and weighing down her clothes.

The pain had been excruciating, reminiscent of the torture that was inflicted upon her years earlier, but unlike that experience in Ora Castellum, this encounter had left her feeling…lighter.

It was almost peaceful—feeling her clenching muscles unwind, fiber by fiber. Her breathing stuttering and tittering into struggling gasps and hitches between the bubbles of churning blood—the tranquility of fog slowly enveloping her mind as her vision flickered like a waning candle. 

In the delirium of her dwindling consciousness, her mouth had formed one final word; reverent and full of adulation:

Maria .

Before the Hunter could even postulate the prospect of her own demise, she reawakened in the Nightmare—displaced and untethered from the mortal plane—unaware of the consequences that the blood-ministration had inflicted upon her. 

Catherine gritted her teeth.

If she had known that the procedure would bind her to the will of some unknown Great One—curse her to walk the earth as a soulless husk, destined to transfigure into one of the grotesque beasts that she had sworn to eliminate—she would have stayed behind in Cainhurst and have let the Executioners take her.

She supposed that it didn’t matter now.

As Catherine approached the doorway, she heard a muffled shuffling of footsteps to her left. Instinctively, she unsheathed her rapier and raised it to an inner left guard stance, protecting her neck and chest from any offensive attack. She pivoted her body towards the noise, only to see a tall, brutish man tens of meters away, within another corridor. He was wearing a frayed, light blue tunic under a white and gold overcoat, reminiscent of the regality of the Healing Church attire. He held a dark, iron longbow that was drawn and aimed directly at the Hunter, who quickly shifted her own weapon into its long range form. 

Silence enveloped the pair of warriors as they ascertained and assessed one another. Upon further scrutiny, Catherine realized that the hooded figure’s eyes were covered by a blood stained rag. She tried to quietly shift her weight to her right side to deviate from the nocked arrow’s flight path; however, despite the minute movement, the imposing figure imperceptibly followed Catherine’s direction, forcing the Hunter to freeze. A bead of sweat began pooling along her brow as the prolonged confrontation silently continued. Eventually, the young woman noticed the stranger’s mouth twitch into a taut grimace.

“Hmm, you’re a hunter with some sanity, aren’t you? Heh, must’ve taken a wrong turn then, eh?”

The man’s smooth tenor was melodic, but wasn’t disarming enough for Catherine to lower her weapon. She kept the flintlock of her Reiterpallasch steadfastly sighted on the man’s skull, ready to fire at a moments notice if the strange figure so much as breathed too quickly.

“No need for such prudence, Hunter,” the man assured warmly, “we’re more alike than you think.”

The man lowered his bow and Catherine watched as he manipulated the weapon to transfigure into a curved, ebony blade. He steadily sheathed the trick weapon into the scabbard at his side before lifting his right hand to tug and adjust the bloody bandages covering his eyes. Catherine took a cautious step toward the stranger, scanning his person for a hidden weapon or any other sign of deception—to which she found none. Unlike the other denizens in the Nightmare, this gentleman appeared to have his wits about him, but this observation did little to quell the Hunter’s trepidation. 

“Who are you?” Catherine inquired, her finger still poised on the trigger of her pistol. The man inclined his head towards the disgraced knight.

“I was once called Simon by my peers, although I admit the atrocities I committed in life likely damned me with a more…maleficent epithet.”

“Atrocities?”

“Indeed,” Simon muttered, slowly turning in the direction of another doorway before retreating from the Hunter. Without releasing the grip on her Reiterpallasch , Catherine hesitantly followed, passing through the cold catacombs of the decaying church. Clouds of dust buffeted the air with each measured step, fluttering in the dimming sunlight that penetrated through the panes of broken glass. The Hunter trailed close behind the tattered man, who skillfully wove his way through the corridor despite his lack of vision.

“I was once a hunter of the Healing Church,” he admitted, stepping over the shriveling remains of a carrion crow. Catherine fought to keep her breathing steady at the sudden revelation. “I can sense that this makes you uneasy…that’s understandable. Most people outside of Yharnam do not seem to hold a pleasant opinion of the Church.”

“How do you know that I am not from Yharnam?”

“The way you walk.”

Catherine tilted her head to the side, a gesture that went unnoticed by the Church Hunter. After another moment of passing silence, Simon elaborated:

“Your footfalls are soft and measured, supplanting your heel first before the arch—a practiced, confident stride. No, you are no Yharnamite…no, with such a refined gait, I would wager that you hail from Cainhurst.”

“How very astute of you,” Catherine replied softly, trying to mask the sudden nervousness that began to course through her bloodstream. 

“I assure you, you’ve nothing to fear from me. You have not yet succumbed to the lust of blood—you have time to turn back before it’s too late.”

“You admit to have committed egregious atrocities, and yet you encourage me to lower my guard?”

“Your insurmountable incredulity is yet another indicator of your heritage.”

Catherine huffed indignantly, finally lowering her pistol, but refusing to tuck the firearm away. She continued following after Simon as he ducked underneath a rotting doorframe. 

“In life, I was a Hunter for the Healing Church,” he continued, “I served in the choir and preyed on those who questioned the Church’s teachings—those who threatened the organization’s authority. I murdered hundreds of innocent people—people whose only crime was possessing a curiosity that frightened the leaders within the Healing Church.”

Catherine said nothing, shocked by the revelation. She had known of the corruption that plagued the Healing Church, for Lady Maria had outlined it within their correspondence on several occasions. Perhaps at the time she had been foolish, but the disgraced knight had truly hoped that her Lady held some modicum of influence or sway on the Church’s affairs. Evidently, the royal’s influence was either paltry or nonexistent. 

“At first, I killed simply because I was ordered to by my superiors; however, overtime I grew to enjoy the thrill of it—the agonizing screams of the wretched, the glorious flavor of fear percolating through their veins—ah, exquisite is an inadequate description.”

Catherine continued to listen to Simon’s exposition as she followed him through one last door which led to the outside of the chapel. Once outside, the sickly light of the setting sun casted shadows on the large boulders and stones that littered the landscape of a dried riverbed. Tall, dry grass blew languidly in the wind as Simon crept down the set of cobblestone steps that led into the cathedral. 

“My propensity for licentiousness regarding blood condemned me to the Nightmare, a place where all hunters end up when drunk with blood,” Simon continued, beginning to saunter carefully along the edge of the riverbed. “You’ve likely encountered a few wandering hunters already—slavering like beasts.”

Catherine said nothing, but recalled the deranged scholars of the Research Hall who attacked her without hesitation or reason, calling for the spilling of her own ichor. The image of Micolash also appeared in her mind; revile and repulsion reverberating down her spine at the memory of his fat tongue licking up the crimson on his bloodied fingertips. Indeed, Catherine had encountered several blood-crazed fiends; however, the notion that the Nightmare was some type of twisted purgatory created to damn avaricious hunters left the disgraced knight with more puzzling questions.

“Are you certain that only those who succumb to the call of the blood are condemned here?” Catherine asked, her voice tight and wrought with concern—images of a blood-drunk Maria plaguing her mind. Simon abruptly halted his movements, forcing Catherine to stop behind him. The Church Hunter peered over his shoulder to regard the brunette carefully, a slight hum emanating from his lips.

“Ah, I see…you sense a secret within the Nightmare and cannot bear to leave it be? Well, I would have asked you to refrain from being so brash, but I fear that your interest in the Nightmare will not easily be diminished. Am I correct?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Catherine stated plainly, setting her jaw into a tight frown.

“No.”

“No…what?”

“No, the lust for blood is not the only sin that consigns hunters to this wretched fate,” he finished, turning his head forward once more to follow along the dried stream. An anxious hum began tingling along Catherine’s skin at his obfuscating answer.

“What else could foreordain this miserable sentence? Who created this Nightmare—and why has it come to pass?” The Hunter demanded, her tone more biting than she had expected it to be.

“Secrets are secrets for a reason,” he replied solemnly, “some do not wish to be discovered. Especially when the secrets are particularly…unseemly.”

“What are you—?” Catherine started to question before noticing a deep maroon liquid trickling along the dried stream bed. As the pair of hunters continued meandering along the edge of the channel, an influx of a dark, burgundy fluid began to swirl and ripple across the sand, entrapping the small particles within its undulating flow. The crimson waters soon incised along the edge of the channel—threatening to spill over the crest—encouraging Catherine to take an extensive step to the side. “Is that—?”

“Blood? Quite so, I’m afraid. Master Ludwig’s insatiable appetite has irrevocably altered the geomorphological geometry of this stream,” Simon informed the disgraced knight, who tried not to linger on the scientific patois.

“Master Ludwig is also here in the Nightmare?” Catherine inquired, confused as to why a man with such honor and renown would be subjected to the wicked punishment of this Nightmare. 

“Yes. He resides underneath the catacombs of the Research Hall, cursed to feast on the thousands of wary souls that he devoured in life. Their mangled bodies are piled up like large heaps of rubbish; the echoes of their blood exsanguinating into these blasphemous baptismal waters.”

“Blood echoes?” Catherine pressed, ignoring Simon’s wax poetic. “These corpses—they still possess the echoes of blood?”

Simon gave her a querulous look. 

“Some, yes…but I would imagine that Master Ludwig, in his idled state, would not willingly part with his hoard.”

“Can you take me to him?” Catherine asked, pressing on the inner mechanism of her flintlock to transfigure it into a rapier once more.

“You intend to battle this accursed beast?”

“I intend to defend myself should he interfere with my collection of his excess blood echoes.”

“And for what purpose do you wish these echoes for?” Simon questioned, suspicion and distrust evident in his tone.

“Secrets are secret for a reason, pravda ?” Catherine retorted, reiterating the man’s enigmatic words. She watched Simon’s brow furrow underneath his hood and imagined that he was lifting a querulous eyebrow at her from beneath his bandages. He hummed.

“If you wish to remain reticent, I will not pry any further, but I will warn you,” he stated admonishingly, taking a step towards the Cainhurst warrior. He leaned in close to the Hunter, his bloodied blindfold leveled in front of her mismatched eyes. “Strength is not always found beneath the alluring call of the blood.”

His guarded idioms left Catherine puzzled and bemused, but she nodded slowly to indicate that she heard him. He gently pulled back and turned on his heel, continuing his path along the riverbank.

“Come, I will lead you to him.”

-

The rushing course of blood turbulently tumbling along the river was the only sound accompanying the pair of hunters as they delved deeper into the small canyon that led to the opening of a large cavern. When they reached the mouth of the cave, Catherine begrudgingly stepped into the tainted stream, soiling her boots as the warm ichor flooded into the leather. She kept her rapier high and close to her chest as they trenched through the ghastly brook, warily eyeing the dark crevices incised into the stone.

Bodies began to float into view, sporadically at first, before swarming the crimson river like a plague of locusts. Their flesh was shredded, tattered and mangled—the sinews of meat clinging to bone by the thread of swollen tendons. The telltale gnawing of teeth was evident on the scraped splinters of bone that fiercely jutted out of torn tissue. Catherine winced at the pitiful sight as corpses began piling in towering mounds of mutilated muscle.

“We’re here,” Simon announced, motioning to an imposing wall of brick and mortar that was inlaid into the far side of the limestone cavern. A tall, thin archway, armed with a raised iron portcullis, was carved into the intimidating edifice and appeared to be the only entrance.

The rotting stench of decay and putrefaction grew more potent with each step towards the iniquitous chamber, forcing the young Hunter to gag on several occasions. 

“One would think a Cainhurstian would be accustomed to seeing such irreverent exhibitions,” the Church Hunter goaded scornfully, giving Catherine a rueful smile.

“Not even the faux atrocities purported by the Healing Church rival the wretched abjection displayed here,” Catherine responded curtly, slightly offended by Simon’s prejudice. He said nothing, but motioned for her to follow him with a nod of his head. 

When they reached the entrance of the tower, Catherine spied a faint amber glow seeping out through the clenched fingers of a festering cadaver. She leaned down and gently pried away the curled fingers to reveal several bubbles of crimson spheres that glowed in swirling geometries, like the spiraling of stars in a fading galaxy. It was slightly warm to the touch, vibrating with the lingering essence of the person it once inhabited.

“Blood echoes,” she murmured, removing the item from the carcass’s hand. It fit perfectly in her palm, and she stared at it in marveling wonderment. It felt heavier than she expected, she didn’t recall blood echoes being this dense in the waking world.

“The sins of the damned carry a heavier burden than that of the rest of the world,” Simon stated, as if reading her mind, “I know not if I should vindicate or rebuke them.”

“You cast stones as if you have been exonerated from your transgressions,” Catherine gritted out through clenched teeth, angered by the man’s indifference. “These people were once human, and even if they succumbed to hedonism—surrendered to the allure and euphoria of the blood—they didn’t deserve this…no one deserves this.”

She slowly closed her fingers around the blood echo, a warm prickling sensation dancing along her skin as she stuffed the life essence into the pocket of her overcoat.

“You mean to absolve them then? Even after all the vile, malevolent atrocities they committed to satiate their licentious thirst for insight?”

“Insight?” Catherine queried, tilting her head incredulity at the Servant of the Church. “How could the desire for knowledge possibly lead to damnation?”

Simon held her gaze, a faint grimace settling on his lips. He remained silent, idly rubbing his thumb over the pommel of his ebony sword. After a tense moment of silence, he hissed out a breath.

“ Whereby the day that ye imbibe, succumb, and drink thereof, then thy eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods —I pray for your sake that you free yourself from this desolate Nightmare before you wrench and gouge the eyes within your own skull!”

Catherine opened her mouth to retort, to demand Simon to speak plainly—not in perplexing, circumventing riddles. However, before she could voice her displeasure, a subtle, drawn out moan spilled from the entryway. The Cainhurst warrior turned away from the Church Hunter and peered down the corridor, seeing nothing but swathes of fetid corpses within the dimming candlelight of the sconces lining the walls. Another warped groan reverberated through the hallway followed by a series of mangled ramblings that were incomprehensible from this distance.

“Am I correct in assuming that you won’t accompany me?” Catherine asked, donning a roguish smile. Simon nodded.

“You are correct—if you are adamant to uncover the secrets of this realm, then I wish you the best of luck.” Simon took the opportunity to step towards the young Hunter once more, placing a hand on her right shoulder. He gave her an imploring look, furrowing his brows from beneath his blindfold. “However, I must warn you: some secrets are best left dead and buried.”

The menacing way in which Simon confided this warning to Catherine made all the hairs on her neck stand on end. She was still perplexed by his mysterious locutions, but the intensity of his exhortation smothered the urge to ask for clarification. Instead, she swallowed down her inquiries and moved to step away from the man, who bowed slightly to her before turning and making his way back up through the cavern.

Catherine took a breath to steady herself as she began to wade through the bloody river and into the catacombs of the Research Hall. When she emerged from the corridor she found herself within a large room that entombed hundreds of blood soaked cadavers, piled up in haphazard hills of rotting flesh along the walls. Large, stone pillars abutted narrowed archways that were caked with splotches of intestinal lining and minced muscle. A prodigious stairway was placed on the far side of the room, with tangled limbs and appendages weaving in between the balusters. 

The domed ceiling was vaulted up to the very heavens, a drab edifice save for an oppressive chandelier. The mounted, four-tiered fixture was smithed from a caliginous iron—jagged spines jutted out of the column and connected to arms that curled menacingly upward toward shallow cupped bobèches. The candles had been melted to the wick, with some of the hardened wax encasing the sable linked chains that attached to a small basket. The sharp arête at the zenith of the chandelier was connected to a rusted chain. Catherine scrutinized the morose pendant, noticing that it was tilted heavily towards the west side of the room, and she wondered briefly if the crossbar affixed to the ceiling was warping.

The room was dark, illuminated by only a few candles on crooked candelabras, and Catherine found it increasingly difficult to watch her step. Suddenly, she felt something seize her ankle and she abruptly turned, her sword aimed and ready to sever whatever had encircled her foot, but she froze when she saw what—or who—grabbed her.

It was an undead man curled up on the ground, crawling at Catherine’s feet. His skin was completely peeled from his body, revealing tattered and flayed muscle. His lidless eyes were sunken into his skull, bloodshot and yellow from the pus that squeezed out from behind his sclera. His jaw was broken and unset, giving him a crooked mouth. Most of his teeth were missing and he breathed heavily through his mouth as he looked up at Catherine, fear evident in his features. 

“Ah…please…ah…h-help us!” He cried, reaching up to clutch at the Hunter’s trench coat. 

Catherine fought the urge to retch as she tore herself from the man and staggered backward, only to hear a dull rumble come from the far side of the room. The warrior turned her head to face the source of the deafening noise and her eyes widened in horror at the appalling amalgamation descending the stone steps. The ground beneath Catherine’s feet began to vibrate with each thunderous crash of the creature’s footsteps pounding mercilessly into the foundation.

“An unsightly beast…a great terror looms over us!” The disfigured man wailed, reaching out to Catherine once more. She stepped back again when she felt his hand tug on her trousers, but refused to remove her eyes from the grotesque chimera that hobbled towards her. 

It was unlike anything the Hunter had ever seen: an unholy agglutination of man and beast. The feet were disfigured, toes fused together as if to mirror the shape of a hoof. The massive body was emaciated with several unnaturally bent legs jutting out of the spindly spine. The splotchy white and purple skin was taut and riddled with pustules that seemed to leak with each of the monster’s stifled movements. Long talons adorned the beast’s atrophied fingers, which clutched the bodies beneath its grip so tightly that Catherine could see severed limbs begin to fly out from underneath its palm. Two heads hung low from the torso of the creature: one a gaping sphincter lined with thousands of slimy eyeballs, the other was a long, horse-like maw filled with jagged, crooked teeth. The eyes set in the deformed face were white from the large cataracts that hid behind its pupils, yet they still fluttered about the room as if to ascertain the Hunter’s location. The hair set into the horse-like cranium was matted and unkempt, blood coating the dry strands in a crimson dye. The Hunter noted the white and gold insignia of the Healing Church on a tattered cloth draped haphazardly over the beast like a dueling cape, hiding a large object beneath the stained silk.

Catherine’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest as the creature bent forward and let out a lurid, high pitched screech that echoed maliciously off the walls of the room. Fear began to course through her veins as the abomination lifted both of its heinous heads to stare at the Hunter, letting out another scream. Catherine tried to steel herself as she lifted her rapier towards the foul demon, adrenaline beginning to pump rapidly through her system.

“He is here—Ludwig the Accursed! Oh Gods, have mercy—have mercy on us all!”

Without warning, the terror moved; leaping towards Catherine with its claws outstretched. She reacted swiftly, dodging the strike as it rammed into the bloodied waters and onto the poor, tortured fellow; instantly obliterating him. Catherine took the opportunity to swipe the rapier against one of his six legs. Her steel sliced through the back of a knee, cutting through tendons and ligaments that kept the limb upright. The beast snarled and pulled back its free hand before swiping it at the Hunter, who jumped away from the attack before it could reach her. 

Catherine kept her vision fixated on the misshapen creature as she backed herself towards the steps. The crimson waters were slowing her movements as she waded cautiously through them, increasing the distance between herself and the monster. Vapor began excreting from its massive jaw, puffy and white as heat dissipated from its breath. It cried out again before rapidly limping towards the Hunter, its left arm pulled back and ready to strike. Its ghastly talons swiped through the air, but Catherine had managed to duck underneath the powerful blow; however, she had been wholly unprepared for the quick swing of its opposite appendage from underneath the beast. 

The Hunter maneuvered her rapier to attempt to block the attack, which proved mildly successful. Three of its claws were captured by the blade, the force of the strike sending a prickling sensation up and down Catherine’s right arm. The other two claws found purchase on her forearm, which caught and tore through her flesh as it pulled back for another strike. Catherine let out a small scream at the injury, feeling the blood drain from her forearm and down to her palm—coating the handle and knuckle guard of her sword. She grunted as she tightened her grip on the weapon before plunging it into its thick neck. 

Blood spluttered from its new wound as it squealed in agony. Catherine ripped the sword out of its throat, deftly transfigured her trick weapon with a flick of her wrist before firing a bullet directly into its gaping maw. The creature gave another deafening screech as it pulled back a few steps. Catherine reached blindly into her trench coat with shaking hands to retrieve a packet of gunpowder to reload her firearm. 

The creature leaned towards the ground briefly before launching itself up towards the ceiling. Alarmed, Catherine tossed her gaze up towards the airborne beast, dropping her gunpowder charge into the sickly depths below. She watched in horror as the chimera descended, barreling towards her with its claws outstretched. She tried to sprint in the direction of the entrance to avoid the incoming attack, but the force of its impact onto the floor threw off Catherine’s balance, and she quickly tumbled into the bloody river. 

Blood began soaking into Catherine’s clothes, making them heavier and increasingly difficult to maneuver in. She wasted no time in twisting her body and rising to her feet in time to dodge another swing from the beast. In a split second decision, she cast off her heavy-ladened overcoat and tossed it towards a pile of corpses. Left in her blood soaked vest and undershirt, Catherine had more mobility, but was left without gunpowder. She transformed her pistol back into its original form and pointed it at the menacing creature.

For several minutes, Catherine continued battling the beast, staying close to the edges of the corpse piles where the bloody pool was slightly shallower than the rest of the room. The Hunter avoided many of the monster’s strikes, riposting with her own calculated attacks. Much to her chagrin, Catherine knew that the string of duels between Lady Maria and herself had effectively trained her for this altercation.

Focusing on her opponents strikes, anticipating their next movement, preparing to disengage at a moment's notice—all a crucial part of the deadly rhythm of a battle; waiting for the final crescendo.

Waiting for the perfect beat to instigate an attack.

Grasping the blood soaked handle with both her hands, Catherine drove the tip of her blade behind the shoulder of the beast. With a grunt, the Hunter shoved the blade towards its haunches, haltingly driving through the mottled flesh and muscle of the horror. A raucous roar emanated from the monster’s mouth as blood sprayed and spattered from the wound, showering the Hunter in the rancid effuse. The ichor dripped down her forehead and into her eyes and she blinked rapidly to remove them from her lashes. With another cry, she pried the sword from the beast’s abdomen and quickly stepped away.

The damnable amalgamation writhed and tittered to and fro, its tainted ichor gushing out of the laceration in spurts of misting showers. Catherine maintained her distance even as the horrid creature fell to the ground, causing the large object to slip off its spine and set itself into the floor beside it. What struck the warrior as odd was not the object itself, but its appearance. It was a large greatsword with a silver grip and cross guard that pointed artfully towards the tip of the blade. The blade itself was a marvel of craftsmanship and beauty—a treasured weapon meant for the heroes of legend; however, an unnerving sense of unease began to slither up each vertebrae of the Hunter’s spine as she eyed the harrowing sword. An ethereal glow illuminated off the steel, which was engraved with symmetrical geometrical patterns that overlapped and entangled around their edges. A soft hum could be heard emanating from the blade—and it appeared to vibrate in tandem with the rhythmic thrum.

A flicker of movement behind the celestial instrument roused Catherine from her reverie, turning her blood cold as the monstrosity dared to turn one of its malignant skulls towards the sword. It stared curiously at the glowing blade before tittering out a pleased hum.

“Ahh, you were at my side, all along,” murmured the beast, the deep baritone grating from lack of use. It whinnied as it slowly reached out its left hand to cup around the massive grip of the greatsword; the sound of its ancient bones cracking as it hesitantly stood up and straightened its hunched spine. The truly terrifying height of the ogre was accentuated as it balanced itself onto four of its mutated legs, allowing two to dangle just above its hips. It positioned itself into a warrior’s stance, gracefully pulling the transcendent sword in front of its horse-like countenance.

Catherine watched in abject horror as the beast lifted the weapon above its head—a brilliant light bursting forth from the iridescent blade—before crashing it into the floor. A torrent of blue flames erupted from the foundation, blistering towards Catherine like a wrathful God of the underworld. She vaulted herself away from the arcane supernova, landing directly into several putrescent bodies. The sudden mephitis that assaulted her nostrils forced her to retch, but she staggered back onto her feet, tearing her Reiterpallasch free from the melting flesh beneath her. 

The Hunter turned her head and saw the beast coming towards her, the sword raised high behind its shoulder. Catherine rushed towards the monster, diving underneath its strike and plunging her rapier into its abdomen. She withdrew the blade as it roared and leapt backward. It closed the distance and swung the massive blade several times in quick succession. Catherine dashed to the left, avoiding another strike before pivoting through the gap between its mutilated legs. After a few steps, she twirled around, readying herself for another strike as she continued to retreat towards the stone stairway.

When she reached the edge of the steps, she scrambled up the landing, thankful for the return of her mobility. The vermin growled menacingly at her before tossing the blade behind its shoulder once more. The minacious irradiation ruptured from the steel once more before it cut through the air, releasing a blue energy burst that barreled towards the Cainhurst warrior.

She dodged and maneuvered her way between the energy blasts the chimera swept in her direction. It dug its hoof-like feet further into the bloody river, snarling venomously at the Hunter. Adrenaline rushed through Catherine as the monster lumbered towards her. She tried to steady her breathing and focus on the beast’s movements. If she wanted to survive this harrowing encounter, she had to be imperturbable and wait for the ideal moment to strike. 

The chimera continued to swing and pound his sword onto the staircase, shattering the foundation of the stone and creating several crevices. Through the commotion, Catherine heard a faint rattling coming from above; she followed the clinking din echoing off the chamber and finally set her vision onto the slanting chandelier capriciously hanging from the ceiling, swinging from side to side with each quaking resonance of the beast’s movements.

An idea sprang up inside the Hunter’s mind like an artesian well and she returned her focused attention to the behemoth as her plan sublimated. The demon dangerously sliced upward with his greatsword, forcing Catherine to lean back as far as she could to avoid being bisected by the blighted blade. She continued to step backwards and up the stairs, encouraging the beast to saunter up the steps and below the wobbling fixture. 

The monster groaned irritably at the disgraced knight and took three long strides up the steps. Catherine hopped to her left and towards the beast, seizing the opportunity to goad the horror into attacking her. A wicked grin spread across her features as the gnarled creature took the bait. Incensed by the Hunter’s proximity, the beast hurled its enchanted blade upward, snagging and entangling itself into the coiling iron. The abrupt interruption of its attack stunned the monster, who began to stumble as the chandelier rocked back behind its massive body. The sudden tension forced onto the chain affixed to the crossbar caused the leaden fixture to be ripped violently from the ceiling, taking shards of brick and mortar with it.

The chandelier descended, its tumultuous propulsion dragging the beast with it. No longer able to keep its balance, the ogre collapsed riotously into the pool of blood—and amidst the chaos, released its hold on the celestial weapon. It was still tangled within the iron chains of the chandelier, barely peeking out from the crimson river. Blood and dust whooshed through the air, obfuscating Catherine’s vision, but she dashed down the stairs, tracking the trajectory of the otherworldly blade by its blinding blue glow. 

As the warrior drew closer to the weapon, she saw the beast begin to move out of the corner of her eye. Her heart started thundering wildly in her chest as a wave of anxiety overcame the zealous Hunter.

What if she didn’t make it?

What if she died again?

How was she ever supposed to get stronger if she kept failing—time after time?

Was she truly condemned to spend eternity being ruthlessly slaughtered—leaving her burning questions unanswered?

Her questions about the Nightmare—the Gods—these damnable riddles regarding the thirst for insight and bloodlust—

Her questions about Maria…

Just keep going! Catherine chided herself.

Don’t think—just act!

The abomination twisted its body over, still disoriented from the crash. It reached out to Catherine with its terrifying talons and caught onto her trousers, above her knee. The Hunter stumbled as the claws tore through the fabric and sank into her flesh. She cried out in agony, but kept shooting through the bloody waters even as her own ichor joined the sanguine tributary. 

Within mere feet of the chandelier, Catherine abandoned her Reiterpallasch and reached out to the grip of the ethereal blade with both her hands. As her palms encircled it, a pleasant warmth spread through her hands and along her arms—a humming vibration tickling her nerves. She easily liberated the sword from the confines of the coiling arms of iron—adjusting to the new weight of the weapon before pivoting in the direction of the beast.

Pain branched out along her leg as she propelled herself forward, but she gritted her teeth and lifted the blade high. She swiftly closed the distance, raising the holy blade above her shoulders. The monster whimpered and tried to right itself to stand, but it was already too late.

With a ferocious cry, the Hunter rammed the blade down between the vertebrae of the creature’s horse-like neck—slicing through its flesh with ease as a fiery, blue energy burst forth from the sword. The impact of the steel, along with its mystifying energy, completely severed the head from its mangled body. Blood sprayed across the Hunter’s face and chest; painting her in a tainted crimson. 

The crown of the head splashed unceremoniously into the burgundy pool below, a tight hiss wheezing out of its jaw as it toppled to the side. The half-lifted body collapsed, breaching the surface of the tainted effuse.

Catherine stared at the marvelous weapon in her hands, entranced by its heavenly power. The bluish glow began to shimmer and dim, revealing the plain silver of steel. She found her mismatched eyes staring back at her as she peered wondrously into the reflection. A rush of euphoria swept through her, triumphant over her victory. She let out an exultant scream as she swung the massive blade in several excitable strikes.

When the adrenaline of her victorious battle wore off, Catherine approached the monster’s body and peeled back the tattered fabric of his cape to reveal a large scabbard. The Hunter set the sword into the flesh of the beast to hold it in place as she set about unstrapping the sheath and retrieving it from the defeated abomination. After several minutes, she successfully recovered it, along with the greatsword, and turned towards the chandelier to reclaim her rapier. However, as she passed the decapitated skull, it let out a soft, pitiful whinny.

“Good Hunter, have you seen the thread of light?”

The hushed words of the beast startled the wounded woman, who jumped at the sound of his hoarse voice.

“I saw it once—just a hair, a fleeting thing,” Ludwig continued, “steeped as I was in the stench of blood and beasts, I still saw it.”

Catherine regarded the mutated man with a slight twinge of sorrow. Lady Maria had written about Ludwig—an honorable cleric of the Healing Church who sought to train hunters and civilians alike to defend themselves against the scourge of beasts. The noblewoman complimented the distinguished man on his chivalry and assiduity. He was once an adept swordsman, utilizing his strength and abilities to protect the city of Yharnam from rampant beasts. His loyalty was unquestionable—dutiful to the Healing Church, even when their corruption had finally come to light.

“Please… please tell me that you too have seen the light?” Ludwig beseeched, his cloudy eyes darting around nervously. 

Catherine hadn’t the foggiest idea of what the fallen templar was inquiring about. She had seen no light—well—no light that illuminated the mysteries that plagued reality; this realm or otherwise.

“I haven’t,” Catherine admitted quietly, wincing at the pain reverberating through her leg and forearm as her adrenaline began to taper off. She needed to find a lantern and return to the Hunter’s Dream soon to heal the offending lacerations. 

“Ah,” he replied mournfully, “but perhaps that is for the best. I never wanted to know, you know, what it really was. Really, I didn’t…”

Catherine nodded and waited for the accursed mutant to continue his diatribe, but all she could hear was his slow, uneven breaths. Satisfied that the conversation had concluded, the Hunter went to retrieve her Reiterpallasch. She picked up the weapon and lightly shook off the excess blood. Catherine slunk the thin blade into her baldric before setting out to recover her soaked trench coat from the corpse pile on the other side of the chamber. Once she redressed, she could strap the harnessed greatsword onto her back and scout out a lantern.

As the Hunter trudged past the front of Ludwig's horse-like countenance and towards the place where she had last seen her dark overcoat, he called out to her again:

“Good Hunter, do—do you know of my hunters of the Healing Church? Are—are they the honorable spartans I hoped they’d be?”

Catherine bared her teeth at the misshapen mediocrity, his question lighting a tempestuous fire through her veins. He spoke of the Church’s Hunters—the Executioners— those vapid mongrels that ruthlessly slaughtered the citizens of Cainhurst. They were cold, callous, and indiscriminate—murdering women, children, the nobility, the peasantry—anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across their sadistic path. They acted as if they were the messengers of the divine, but in reality they were the harbingers of decimation and destruction.

All of the people the Cainhurst warrior grew to care for had been butchered—exterminated right in front of her.

And in her desperate struggle to live—to fulfill the unspoken promise that she had sworn to her beloved Lady— she ran away .

She abandoned them.

Just like how Lady Maria abandoned her .

A torrent of fury washed over Catherine as she watched the miserable creature wither right in front of her. She was fuming—furious at Ludwig for training those loathsome Executioners. Furious at that self-proclaimed martyr: Logarius—who led those barbarous hunters to Cainhurst. 

And furious at herself for being beholden to a woman already dead.

“No,” Catherine growled darkly, narrowing her eyes at Ludwig in disgust. “No, your debauched band of brutes were the most ignominious, abhorrent cretins I have ever encountered. They murdered thousands of innocent lives in the name of your Church’s ‘purity’. To even call them ‘beasts’ is an understatement. They were devils .”

A moment of silence passed between them, and Catherine wondered for a moment if Ludwig had even heard her. She was about to open her mouth to speak again when he began to laugh. At first it was a quiet chuckle, like the braying of a horse, but it soon swelled into a maniacal cacophony of cackling. It unnerved the Hunter, but it thankfully stopped almost as quickly as it began—replaced by a whimper.

“It’s as I feared!” Ludwig lamented, giving out another pathetic whine, “then a beast-possessed degenerate was I. As my detractors made eminently clear!”

He then began to weep helplessly, grieving over his spiral into blood-lusting madness. Any pity that Catherine had held for the fallen creature was now eradicated—erased by knowing his participation in the Healing Church’s cruelty. Without another word she left him to rot in the blood of his victims as she strutted to collect her coat. 

“Does the Nightmare never end?!” He wailed scornfully to the heavens, which gave Catherine pause. She turned her head to face the abomination as he let out one more ragged breath before evaporating into a dark mist, leaving behind a large vermillion orb. 

Catherine recovered her overcoat, donning it before strapping the greatsword onto her back. Once settled, she meandered back to the glowing sphere sticking out of the sanguineous pool. She identified it as a large blood echo, and although she couldn’t quite ascertain its worth, its density suggested that it would be plenty enough to garner some strength from the Plain Doll.

The Hunter held the warm relic in both her palms, taking a deep breath before making her way towards the battered stairway, up the steps and further into the Research Hall to locate an illuminated lantern.

Chapter Text

Chapter X: Perchance Light in the Light; I Desire Her Name

Cainhurst Castle: Bath Chambers

1004 A.P.

Characterizing Lady Maria as ‘attentive’ would have been an egregious understatement that was—frankly—insulting. The young noble was unapologetically scrupulous in nature, assiduously engrossing herself in every task that came upon her. 

Even when it was beneath her.

“I can wipe my own arse too, you know,” Catherine chided in a teasing and jovial tone.

Lady Maria did not pause in her ministrations, setting down the supplies cradled in her hands on the ledge of a large freestanding, copper tub. She meticulously placed the soaps, perfumes, and oils in accordance with their scent, unsure of Catherine’s preferential fragrances. The noblewoman had been mildly disappointed, having painstakingly hunted for products infused with clove only to be informed by several merchants that the aromatic spice was out of season.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lady Maria replied, reaching down to haul the last bucket of heated water to the rim of the tub. The two women were currently ensconced in the bathing chambers of the western wing of the castle. It was a small, yet luxuriant room with several wide mirrors, a modest mahogany end table, and a lavish bathtub with a matching copper chamber pot. The impeccable burgundy wallpaper was flush against the walls, not a hint of warping detected despite the consistent presence of moisture. Several unlit iron sconces were mounted on the walls, and Catherine wondered how peaceful the quaint chamber would be at night illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight.

The young scholar carefully tipped the silver bucket, encouraging the balmy fluid to commingle with the rest of the bath water, which had grown rather tepid.

“You must understand how unnecessary all of this is, My Lady.”

“Dr. Veselý is adamant that you should not push yourself while you are recovering,” she reminded the knight, placing the bucket on a small end table across from the bathtub. “And if that maidservant who was assigned to you was more competent, I wouldn't need to be so obdurate.”

“Oh please, she has the pox for Gods’ sakes!”

“And if she was just as attentive to you and your well-being as she was with her own health, I am shocked that you’ve come this far without incident!” 

Catherine couldn’t help but laugh rancorously at the noble’s diatribe. 

“Right! As if you haven’t impugned every decision and action she and the good doctor have enacted since I regained consciousness!”

The Lady’s silver irises locked with Catherine’s, widening at the accusation. A dusty rouge began to travel from the base of her neck up to the corners of her eyes; the bashful crimson radiating off her alabaster skin. The noblewoman’s lips thinned as her expression grew indignant.

“Well,” the ashen-haired royal coughed, “f-forgive me if I simply wish for my friend to be treated with the utmost respect and care, so that she may recover swiftly!”

Friend.

Catherine tried ignoring the unpleasant sting of that word, instead focusing on Lady Maria’s endearing bashfulness.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for, My Lady,” Catherine said reassuringly, giving the noble a small, thoughtful smile. “I merely jest—mostly—I simply wish to wash myself without being coddled.”

“I am not coddling you!”

“Says the woman who was trying to spoon feed me last week!”

“You couldn't lift your arms past your head!”

An enthralling fit of laughter sprung forth from Catherine and despite the lingering shame of embarrassment, Lady Maria soon joined in the elating merriment. The noble clutched her abdomen and bent forward as she wheezed and rattled at the absurdity of their situation. The Lady’s laughter was infectious, and even though Catherine was the one who broke first, hearing the charming melody of the scholar’s laugh had encouraged the knight to continue chuckling unabashedly. 

Catherine suddenly realized that she truly adored her Lady’s laugh, but she buried that notion deep within her subconscious.

After a minute or so, their elating revelry petered out, leaving a comfortable silence between them. Catherine gave the taller woman a cheeky grin to which she returned a knowing smile—a subtle, crooked upturn of her lips that made the knight feel warm.

“Perhaps you have a point,” Lady Maria finally acknowledged, rounding the tub and slowly inching her way towards Catherine. She approached the knight, peering down into her mismatched eyes, locking her gaze. 

The knight’s mouth felt dry and she tried swallowing around the sudden lump that formed in her throat. She was so close— the heat of her skin ghosting Catherine’s person in an enticing, almost beckoning manner. A furious fire began to alight along the knight’s skin, and she hoped that it was simply due to the heat of the bathwater.

The noble’s brow furrowed slightly, but her smile never waned. Her hands fidgeted and clenched at her sides as if unsure what to do with them. Catherine noted that the young scholar seemed to be trapped within her own thoughts—her own silent debate. Eventually, the ashen-haired royal hesitantly lifted her right hand and gently grasped Catherine’s upper arm. The warrior’s breath hitched.

“I—,” she began, flicking her stormy irises between the flecks of amber in Catherine’s eyes, “I am sorry if I’ve been a little…overbearing. It’s just that—well…”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for, My Lady,” Catherine whispered, her heart thrumming wildly against her ribcage. Maria was so close, so close to her—and Catherine willed her eyes to allow her Lady to see the truth in her words. “If I was in the same position as you, I’m sure I would be acting the same way.”

Lady Maria’s eyes widened a fraction, entranced by the knight’s admission.

“Would you?”

The soft breath of her inquiry stole the air from Catherine’s lungs, who could only nod in response.

They stayed like that for a moment—sharing the same intimate space. Catherine could detect that mesmerizing attar of leather and rose clinging to the noble’s dark waistcoat, making her feel lightheaded. Lady Maria’s silver eyes were spellbinding, pinning the Cainhurst warrior in place as they appraised her hardened features. Catherine watched, rapturously following the movement of those enchanting irises as they flicked downward for a fleeting moment—but before the knight could ascertain the focus of the noblewoman’s tender gaze, Lady Maria abruptly stepped back.

Catherine felt the heat around her vanish from the noble’s sudden departure, and she couldn’t help but long for its aching burn once more. 

The young scholar nervously tinkered with the buttons on her dress shirt sleeves, glancing everywhere throughout the room except at Catherine. The brunette’s chest tightened at the loss of her Lady’s attention and almost bid the anxious woman to meet her gaze once more, but thought better of it. 

“I’ll—I’ll leave you to it then!” Lady Maria sputtered, rushing past the knight to retreat from the bathing chamber. Catherine had been so flustered that she  was barely able to bid the noblewoman a timorous farewell. 

After Lady Maria tugged the door shut behind her, Catherine let out a heavy sigh, her heart still thrumming with the vigor of a war drum. She carefully discarded her tunic and chemise before stepping out of her trousers, folding each article of clothing before setting them on the small end table over the bucket. She gracefully slipped into the tub, positioning herself comfortably to avoid stretching her aching limbs too far. Once settled, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her uneven breaths.

It had been over a fortnight since the knight had returned to the waking world; in that time, she had healed remarkably quickly—surprising that of even Dr. Veselý. Although she was still stiff from bed rest, her wounds had closed quite nicely, leaving behind puckered blemishes of scarred tissue. Her lungs had returned to an amenable state, although breathing still put a slight pressure on her chest, but nothing she regarded as painful. 

The knight’s recovery was diligently documented by Lady Maria, who seemed to be splitting her time between her research and the wounded soldier. Catherine had adamantly remarked that placing so much energy and focus on her was unnecessary, but the young noble thoroughly swatted away her protests—becoming increasingly insistent as the days wore on.

Not that Catherine truly minded.

It had been wonderful to see Lady de Cainhurst alive and well—with a new passion igniting her spirit as she delved back into her research. The scholar had been attending to the knight in the mornings, reciting the results of her most recent trials and praising the assistance that Sir Gehrman  was providing. It was endearing to see the noblewoman speak with such fervent enthusiasm—to see the emblazing fire in her eyes as she discussed her findings and hypotheses. 

It made the ache of her departures all the more pronounced.

Catherine sighed and turned her head to one of the large mirrors against the wall, peering into her reflection with a wretched expression. The knight’s thoughts soon drifted back to her discussion with Queen Annalise—her agreement to monitor and guard the young Lady Maria. It was a distressing notion, being forced to essentially surveil the noblewoman at every hour of the day; although, given how often Lady Maria had entreated to see her, Catherine did not think it would be a difficult task.

It wasn’t as if she was reticent to protect the young noble, the knight had already made that abundantly clear to herself; however, something about the subtle subterfuge didn’t sit quite right with her. It felt  wrong to pry into Lady Maria’s affairs without her express permission, but she truly didn't have much of a choice. Besides being a direct order from Queen Annalise herself, the threat of the Healing Church loomed over the young scholar like a vapid venue of vultures. With the imminent threat of their presence in Cainhurst, Catherine was more than prepared to lay down her life to keep her Lady safe.

Her Lady?

Now since when did she start referring to the noblewoman in that manner?!

She’d need to remedy that…

Wanting to scrub away those humiliating thoughts, Catherine decided it was best to finish her bath routine, turning to select a soap from the myriad of products the young scholar had so fastidiously laid out. She plucked a pink-tinted bar from the ledge and wetted it, lathering the delicate castile between her fingers. She glanced over to one of the tinctures of oil and curiously pried it open. She was immediately assaulted by an overwhelming fragrance of leather that nearly had her choking. With a start, she realized that the sweet, floral bouquet that began enveloping her was from the small bar of soap she had brought into the tub. The Cainhurst warrior tightly shut her eyes and groaned as she was surrounded by the intoxicating redolence of rose and leather—images of her beautiful Lady swirling unbidden in her mind.

-

“Would you be so kind as to pass me another lumen needle?” Lady Maria asked Sir Gehrman without looking up from her engioscope. She heard him meander over to the far side of the table to open the small wooden box with which she stored some of her more delicate instruments.

“Of what gauge size do you prefer, Your Ladyship?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Hmm, rather small don’t you think? Do you believe it will be large enough to penetrate the ovum?”

“Well, you know what the old proverbs say,” Lady Maria commented with a hint of mischief in her words, “it isn’t the size that matters, it’s how you wield it!”

The lack of response from her mentor quickly indicated that he didn’t quite understand the suggestive idiom, so she simply sighed and moved away from the eyepiece.

“Nevermind—just—if you would, please?” The noblewoman extended a gloved hand out to the gentleman, who gingerly placed the instrument in her palm. He then strode quietly over to a small curio cabinet behind the ashen-haired royal and carefully opened it. 

Inside the cabinet were dozens of glass vials and bottles—all carefully secured and labeled with their own sample number, date of collection, and description.

“The cleric beast blood, I presume?”Gehrman inquired, narrowing his aging eyes on a few of the labels along the second shelf.

“Yes! If you could!” She responded excitedly, peering down the eyepiece once more. Mounted on the stage was a small petri dish filled with a translucent fluid. She gently turned the coarse knob to focus on the stationary ovum resting within the glass puck.

“Sounds like someone is eager!” He commented, locating one of the aforementioned vials. 

“My apologies, Sir Gehrman, but this trial has the potential to become the final breakthrough I require to complete this research!” The young scholar remarked triumphantly, turning to the old man to give him a beaming smile. She gently pried the vial from his fingers and moved another petri dish closer to her engioscope. She uncorked the vial and emptied its contents into the disc before placing the stop on the now empty vial, then returned it to Gehrman for disposal. “So you’ll have to forgive me for my garish optimism!”

He chuckled at her words, his laugh deep and resounding—like that of her deceased uncle. 

“Well, I unfortunately have always been of the curmudgeonly, ‘glass half-empty’ sort,” he replied, placing the empty glass back into the cabinet, “I wouldn’t preemptively declare success just yet.”

“Nesmysl! You’re the one who suggested penetrating and injecting the oocyte directly with the beast blood!” 

“We still do not know how the gamete will react once the blood is introduced to the ooplasm,” Gehrman stated with a grin, “but I am pleased to know that you think so highly of me!”

Maria turned her head to regard the Byrgenwerth scholar. 

“Your expertise has been quite valuable to me,” she said earnestly, her silver eyes sparkling with admiration. “I feel as though I’ve made more headway within these few short weeks than I’ve had for the past several months!”

“I’m glad to hear of it, but you can’t possibly give me all the credit,” he chuckled, moving closer toward the young noble. Her smile faltered slightly when he brought his left hand up to her shoulder, patting it encouragingly with his palm. The First Hunter was only about an inch or so taller than Lady Maria, so his muted green eyes were about level with her own. “Your brilliance is quite remarkable and your ideas are most compelling! In all the decades I have dedicated to scholastic pursuits, I’ve not seen—nor read—any research that thoroughly investigates the power of beast blood as yours does!” 

An overwhelming feeling of gratitude swelled in the noblewoman’s chest at the sudden praise. Lady Maria had been skeptical of Gehrman’s assistance when he had first arrived in Cainhurst; however, as time progressed, she found his knowledge and collaboration to be quite invaluable. 

He was exceptionally patient, allowing her to rant on end about her experimental mishaps before offering her small, eloquent suggestions. The First Hunter also provided detailed—but not disparaging—feedback. Being able to articulate her ideas as he supplemented his gentle criticisms had been exceptionally cathartic. His generous support had given the ashen-haired royal the confidence that she had been severely lacking over the past several weeks—no, months!

Not since her uncle had passed.

Indeed, Lady Maria couldn’t help but draw the comparison between Sir Gehrman and that of her benevolent uncle; whose mentorship she had never adequately commended when he was still alive. The First Hunter held similar mannerisms to him, being stoic and reserved—always with his head held high. His instruction was also reminiscent of Charles’ patient and pertinacious training, which always concluded with a warm praise.

She didn’t quite understand why, but having Sir Gehrman around to guide and assist her had made Maria feel as though she could somehow reconcile with her uncle. If she could demonstrate her appreciation for Sir Gehrman‘s tutelage, then perhaps she could eventually forgive herself for letting her gratitude towards Charles go unspoken.

“Thank you,” Maria said softly, “you don’t know how much I appreciate your kind words.”

He lingered for a few more moments, giving her a comforting smile before stepping back to allow her to continue on with her experiment. Maria turned to the table and dipped a lumen needle into the beast blood, extracting a few milliliters of the dark fluid. Carefully, she maneuvered the thin instrument beneath the objective lens as she bore her vision down the eyepiece. The fertilized egg was relatively stationary, its radiata twitching slightly as the thin needle disturbed the surface of the fluid encapsulating the cell. 

With meticulous precision, Lady Maria pressed the tip of the needle against the outer lining of the cell, prodding it experimentally. The ovum contracted slightly in response, but otherwise remained intact. Taking a deep breath, the young noble finally pierced the membrane surrounding the cell, through the ooplasm, and into the germinal vesicle, where the scholar could faintly see the outline of a detached spermatozoa. Maria held her breath as she slowly injected the egg with the blood within the tincture, watching the deep crimson penetrate and disperse throughout the nucleus. 

With bated breath, Lady Maria withdrew the needle from the ovum, placing the instrument on the table with a shaking hand, not daring to turn her gaze away from the cell. The effects of the blood were almost immediate—the ovum began pulsating in a rhythmic pattern, like that of a frantic heartbeat. The blood started to spill into the cytoplasm, swirling hypnotically around the center of the nucleus. The oocyte began oscillating rapidly and a small ridge began to form within the medial section of the cell.

The young scholar realized with great delight that the ovum was attempting to undergo mitosis, to begin cellular division and enter the first few stages of fetal development. Lady Maria braced herself against the table, squeezing her empty hand around the edge of the wood. She couldn’t hold back the childlike squeal as she watched the cell vibrate rapidly at the epicenter of the ridge.

“What is it? What are you seeing?!” Sir Gehrman asked, mirroring her excitement.

“The ovum—! It’s—oh it’s remarkable!” The noblewoman cried exuberantly, “it’s starting to undergo mitosis!”

“Truly?!”

“Yes! It’s—wait, what is—?!”

Suddenly, the shuddering cell began to jostle around the petri dish in an uncontrollable, frenzied manner. The ovum turned from a pleasant burgundy to a dark, frightful ebony and began to swell as it continued to tremble erratically.

“What’s wrong?” The First Hunter inquired worriedly.

“I—I don’t know! It’s—changing! It’s—”

The swollen oocyte ballooned and shook violently before abruptly rupturing at the ridge of the cell. A burst of blood and cytoplasm disseminated throughout the fluid in the petri dish in the wake of its demolition. 

Lady Maria watched helplessly as the remains of the cell floated aimlessly beneath the engioscope. She remained silent for a moment—too stunned to react to the brusque termination of the experiment. She watched the mangled, fragmented membrane slowly glide in and out of the center of the lens—desperately trying to stop herself from trembling.

“…Lady Maria?” Sir Gehrman ventured out cautiously, hoping to receive an explanation for her sudden quietude. 

She kept her focus down the eyepiece, not daring to look up and see the look of disappointment in her mentor’s eyes. A surge of anger and resentment boiled through the noble’s veins as the damnable failure of her experiment dawned on her. The noblewoman gritted her teeth as a seiche of indignation spitefully crawled underneath her skin. Tears began to well in her silver eyes as a tormenting anguish punitively squeezed at her chest. The urge to claw at her hot, itchy skin and tear her own heart asunder became as overwhelming as a riptide. Maria’s breathing grew ragged and rapid as her mind was overrun with self-flagellating disparagements.

She failed.

Again.

Could she do nothing right!?

How many times must she undergo such humiliation before she realized that she was nothing more than a miserable, incompetent fool?

What had possibly possessed her to think that she would amount to anything but a worthless charlatan—a dimwitted maiden armed with only the laughable fantasies of being an accomplished scholar!?

Worthless!

You’re nothing but worthless!

Lady Maria’s dark, self-deprecating thoughts continued to plague her—digging into her like thorns beneath her skin. She finally let out a deep, frustrated growl and slammed her right hand down onto the table, unknowingly breaking the thin glass of the dish holding the beast blood. She cried out in pain as small shards of glass pierced through her glove and embedded themselves in her flesh. Blood began leaking from the various wounds as she hurriedly stepped back from the table.

“Lady Maria—!”

“I need some air!” She hissed, absconding away from the alcove to tear her way through the library as fast as she could without rousing too much suspicion. 

As the young noblewoman briskly sauntered through the library, she bitterly felt tears cascade down her cheeks. Maria found her way into the main hall and wordlessly pushed past the grand entryway and down the limestone steps; thankful that Sir Gehrman had chosen not to follow her.

The sun was setting as Lady Maria woefully walked towards the eastern courtyard and ducked underneath the blooming gardenia trees. She collapsed onto the marble fountain, the hard stone grounding her as contempt and sorrow furiously burrowed its way into her heart. She wanted to rip off her glove and allow the glass to wreak havoc on her skin, but she forced herself to gently pry away her glove. Each stilted movement caused a sharp sting to twinge at the epicenter of each embedded shard. 

Tears of agony and frustration poured from her silver irises as she seethed and whined with each agonizing movement. With each passing minute, the sky grew darker, dimming her sight, and making it exceedingly difficult to remove the article.

“Zkurvysyn!” Lady Maria whimpered pathetically, “Why can’t I—!”

“My Lady?”

The soft, warm sound of Catherine’s voice startled the young noble, who whirled around to see the Cainhurst Knight dressed in her casual wear and holding up a small lantern. As soon as the royal’s tear stricken eyes met Catherine’s, the knight immediately rushed to her side.

“My Lady, you’re hurt—!”

“It’s nothing,” Maria seethed, trying to turn away from the brunette; however, the knight grabbed her upper arm and pulled the noble closer to face her as she took a seat next to her.

“Don’t lie to me,” Catherine said lowly, setting down the lantern between them. Maria shuddered at the slight darkness of the knight’s tone, feeling a sudden heat rise to her cheeks, but she refused to meet Catherine’s gaze.

“Look at me,” Catherine bade softly, but the noblewoman shook her head, shutting her eyes tightly. The white hot anguish of humiliation and shame had seared her like an iron brand, blistering her alabaster skin with its damning flame.

Maria didn’t want anyone to see her like this…so weak—so inadequate. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone witnessing her in this fragmented and fragile state—least of all Catherine. 

She didn’t want to look into those beautiful, mismatched irises and see the cruel enmity of pity refracting within them.

The thought of the knight regarding her as little more than a wretched, ineffectual damsel had mortified the noblewoman, whose tears started renewing in earnest. Maria tried shaking free from the soldier’s grasp, only to feel strong fingers tighten and pull the scholar closer towards her.

“Look at me,” Catherine entreated again, her tone so unbelievably soft, like the gentle caress of a summer breeze. 

“I—I can’t!” Maria admitted mournfully with a miserable crack in her voice. She kept facing her countenance away from the Cainhurst Knight, trying to focus on anything but the scorch of the woman’s burning touch. The noble’s breathing became erratic and her chest clenched maddeningly from the panic and dread that began consuming her. 

Why can’t you just leave!? Maria rebuked internally, desperately wishing for the knight to withdraw from her side. 

She didn’t want this—any of it! The unholy anger, the derision, the biting sting of condemnation in her own ineptitude—she didn’t want to feel any of it!

Gods, why can’t I just—

“Maria…”

The quiet, tender whisper of her name immediately sent a pleasant shiver down the noblewoman’s spine. The ghosting of Catherine’s voice was captivating enough to completely silence the noble’s antagonizing thoughts and focus only on the sound of its breathtaking melody.

Lady Maria slowly opened her eyes and turned to face Catherine, whose enchanting irises were warm and kind; leaving the noblewoman completely spellbound.

-

Catherine had dutifully returned to the barracks a few days prior after Dr. Veselý was finally satisfied with her overall progress. Most of her wounds had closed rather nicely, leaving behind several crescent and ring shaped scars of various lengths down and around her abdomen. There were a few stubborn cuts and scrapes that hadn’t fully healed, but the physician was adamant that as long as she remained steadfast in her treatment regiment, they would mend in no time. 

The knight had regained most of her strength and range of motion, but was still stiff from the prolonged lack of exercise and movement. She longed to instigate a sparring match with another Cainhurst warrior; however, the ridiculous coddling from Danika and Ajća regrettably extinguished any hope of that desire.

The knight’s return had been relatively unremarkable, with only a few additional soldiers extending their welcome to her back within the barracks, other than that of the merry misfits of her own squadron. Catherine’s departure from the royal infirmary had been simple, as she didn’t have many of her belongings within the castle walls. 

She recalled how quickly the chambermaids had been while organizing her few, meager possessions whilst clearing her bed of its well-worn sheets. The warrior had nary the time to protest nor inquire about anything at all as her spare clothes and healing salve were abruptly dropped into her hands and she was ushered out of the room.

Catherine laid restlessly in her quarters within the barracks, sighing deeply at the disquieting thoughts that seemed to continually plague her mind: all of them involving one, arresting and beguiling woman.

She couldn’t deny it now.

She was too helpless and enervated to repudiate it any longer.

She was…attracted to the noblewoman.

Decidedly so.

Catherine groaned, burying her face within the rough cotton of her pillowcase. It was pitiful, truly—to be so besotted with such a respectable and titled woman—and yet, she felt as though she had been ensnared by those dazzling, mischievous pools of silver. Like a sailor lured into the depths by a siren, she too was enthralled by the mellifluous timber of Lady Maria’s voice, which had praised and venerated her with such dulcet whispers.

The knight reached her hands in her short hair and tugged forcefully on them as she let out another whine.

She should be ashamed of herself for thinking such improprietous things. Lady Maria was her friend after all—of that the noblewoman had made very clear on several occasions.

Catherine knew that she ought to feel guilty for having these covetous thoughts about a woman so well above her station—let alone an endearing friend! Yet, despite her silent beseeching to ignore these arduous sentiments towards the noblewoman, the knight couldn’t bring herself to deny them. 

It was ridiculous—a foolish fancy that she knew could never come to pass, but that still didn’t stop her aching heart from yearning so ardently for her Lady Maria. 

Her Lady Maria.

Gods!

Catherine grunted, a furious blush rising from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Deciding that a brisk stroll would detain the soldier’s wandering thoughts, the brunette rose from her bunk and leaned down to drag her boots towards her feet. She gruffly shoved each foot within the leather boots before lacing them tightly. She stood and walked to the small hearth to retrieve a small lantern from the mantle. She lit the lantern using a small fire stick and moved to the entrance of her compartment. She opened the door and quietly exited, careful not to cause any unnecessary disturbance that would rouse the other cadets from their bunks.

The early summer evening provided a pleasant crispness that assuaged the impetuous heat of the day. The sun was barely peaking over the horizon, extinguishing the garish hues of orange and pink that gracefully splashed across the sky. The moon, full and bright, sat high in the sky; its light a comforting glow meant to guide the weary through the darkness that often accompanied nightmares. 

As the stars began peeking through the muted colors embracing the heavens, Catherine marveled at the beautiful sight. It had been so long since she had been granted the freedom to leisurely roam around the castle grounds. Before the attack in Ora Castellum, the young knight had often explored the courtyards surrounding Cainhurst Castle, as it was often the only time she was given to be alone, save for the stingy confines of her quarters.

The eastern courtyard in particular had been a favorite of hers. It’s wildly blossoming flowers bestowing a trove of brilliant colors—cerulean, crimson, chartreuse, and ivory—a sea of petals billowing gently in the breeze, carrying their sweet perfume. It was simply delightful!

Catherine walked aimlessly past the sparring grounds and into the sanctuary of the eastern garden, stopping at a well pruned rose bush. The ornate shrubbery was adorned with several flowers. The blossoms were exquisite, with soft petals neatly folded in graceful patterns. They were a brilliant white that almost glowed as the light of the moon passed through the petals, illuminating their captivating geometries.

The knight knelt down to get a closer look at the elegant blooms, admiring their becoming shapes. She set down the lantern by her side and reached out to gently cup the hip of a flower, allowing her fingers to brush against its soft petals. Catherine relaxed her shoulders, the lines of her brow smoothing away as she appraised the lovely bloom. 

She leaned in closer and inhaled the familiar, enchanting scent of rose—her thoughts beginning to wander as she stroked the velvety petals.

Did Lady Maria always prefer to use soaps or oils infused with the sweet, decadent aroma of rose? Was it a perfume that she dabbed on her wrists, neck, and ankles or was it simply her natural, fetching musk? These flowers reminded her of the noblewoman—the brilliant white mirroring the divine ashen tresses that seemed to glimmer like silk.

Catherine wondered how that lustrous hair would feel between her fingertips. 

Were they as soft as these rose petals? Would their satiny strands glide through her fingers with ease? If she reached around and tugged that infernal ribbon away, would she bear witness to the dazzling sight of a cascading waterfall of ash? 

And what of her skin?

That ravishing, porcelain complexion that blushed so prettily when she grew flustered. That darling vermillion that crept down from her ears and disappeared beneath her neck. Just how far down did that alluring scarlet go?

Did it reach her—

Catherine hissed as a thorn pricked her little finger as it strayed too far from the petals. She instinctively drew back and examined the small puncture and saw blood immediately seeping from the wound. She let out an irritated breath and casually wiped the droplet on her trousers before reaching into her pocket to retrieve the small jar of salve given to her by Dr. Veselý. 

Ordinarily, Catherine would ignore the injury, perhaps rub some dirt in it; however, she didn’t fancy having the steel of her rapier’s grip rub against the sore finger when she began training again. Instead, she twisted the cap off and gathered a small amount on her pointer finger of the opposite hand and smeared the yellow salve on the damaged skin.

Suddenly, the Cainhurst warrior heard the sound of hurried rustling from within the garden, followed by a series of huffing breaths. Catherine remained silent, a little petrified by the new presence within the courtyard. She remained crouched behind the rose bush, afraid that she might be spotted by the stranger—or strangers!

Over the sloshing sound of water gurgling from the fountain, Catherine couldn’t truly ascertain how many people had entered the garden. What if a pair of ill-fated lovers were sequestering themselves within the private sanctuary of the garden for a risqué rendezvous under the moonlit sky? What if it was a highborn Lord indulging in the sins of the flesh with a scullery maid—and in his anger of being discovered, implored Queen Annalise to banish the knight from the castle!? 

The brunette did not wish to stick around and find out for herself, so she quietly reaffixed the lid to the container and stuffed it into her pocket once more. Silently, she reached for the lantern, closing her fingers around the iron handle as she heard a series of muffled whimpers and whines. She tried desperately not to imagine any salacious visages of mysterious members of the court attending to their basest instincts as she slowly turned to creep back to the barracks. Yet before she could shimmy forward a single step, she heard a familiar voice, laced with frustration and misery.

“Zkurvysyn! Why can’t I—!”

“My Lady?” Catherine called out as she abruptly rose and darted into the inner sanctum of the garden. She raised the lantern slightly towards the noblewoman, who was sitting on the fountain trying to pry away a glove from her hand; a glove festooned with angry blotches of crimson staining the fabric. Alarmed, Catherine’s eyes shot up to Maria’s only to be met with a piercing agony that lanced through and stole the breath from her lungs.

Tears.

Lady Maria’s glorious, wondrous pools of silver were clouded by a wet sheen of flooding tears. Her brow was woefully furrowed and her mouth curled into a despondent frown. The raw anguish and desolation reflected in the noblewoman’s features made the knight’s chest ache. 

Wrong, it felt so wrong to see such despondency within those beautiful irises. 

Her chest tightened.

“My Lady, you’re hurt—!” Catherine started, panic rising in her voice as she stepped closer towards the young scholar. 

“It’s nothing,” Lady Maria retorted, turning away from the soldier. 

A bout of anger tremored through the Cainhurst warrior at the dismissive response. Lady Maria had been by her side when she was recovering from her fatal injuries, and yet was being denied the opportunity to provide the same comfort for her Lady!?

Her Lady.

“Don’t lie to me,” Catherine demanded as she gripped the taller woman’s arm, her voice sounding more harsher than she intended. She pulled the woman closer to her as she took her own seat on the fountain. The ashen-haired royal said nothing, keeping her eyes affixed to the flecks of white in the dark marble. “Look at me.”

Lady Maria shook her head, tightly shutting her eyes as an unknown affliction continued to plague her mind. Tears began pouring from behind those closed eyes and she let out a whimper as her tortured thoughts ensnared her mind.

The sight made the knight’s chest clench painfully.

“Look at me,” Catherine repeated, whispering her request. 

“I—I can’t!” 

The noblewoman’s breathing grew ragged as her anxiety started to consume her. Catherine watched helplessly—tormented by the visage of her Lady in such a tortured state. She had to do something; she needed the noble to calm down so she could help tend to her wounds. Internally and externally.

The name escaped her lips before she could even think to stop herself.

“Maria.”

With one final tremor, Lady Maria froze, allowing her respiration to return to a more comfortable rhythm. Silence surrounded the pair, save for the splash of water coming from the fountain. After a long pause, the noblewoman finally opened her eyes and turned to look at the knight.

There was so much Catherine wanted to ask, but she knew it wasn’t the time to inquire. Instead, she extended her right hand out to the young noble and waited. Reluctantly, Lady Maria offered her injured hand to the soldier, who examined it carefully under the light of the lantern. She gingerly plucked the visible pieces of glass sticking out of the bloodied glove. Maria winced with each tug of the glass, but silently urged the knight to continue by giving her a reassuring nod. Once all the visible shards were attended to, Catherine set to carefully remove the article from the Lady’s hand. 

With the glove peeled off, the knight was able to peer more closely and observe how utterly drenched the noblewoman’s fingers and palm were. A furious heat rose to her cheeks at the memory of the decadent taste of Lady Maria’s lifeblood and the euphoric ecstasy that accompanied it. She hadn’t known just how much the sight of that seductive ichor would affect her. That titillating crimson was sliding across Catherine’s skin like the touch of a lover, and the soldier couldn’t suppress the small gasp that spilled into the cool night air.

Lady Maria tilted her head slightly, as if to question what caused the knight to pause in her ministrations. Catherine took a deep breath to steady herself and smother the burning desire to put the noble’s fingers into her mouth. Instead, the warrior guided the bloodied hand into the fountain, where she methodically wiped away the scarlet fluid, careful not to touch any hidden pieces of glass. 

Once Lady Maria’s hand was cleaned, Catherine removed it from the water and brought it back towards the light of the lantern. After a few more quiet minutes, the knight successfully removed any remaining shards embedded in the noblewoman’s skin. Once satisfied, she dug out the salve from her trouser pocket and opened the lid to apply the ointment to Lady Maria’s wounds.

The noble tried to pull her hand away.

“Catherine—wait, I couldn’t possibly take your—”

“You are not taking anything,” Catherine interrupted, coaxing Lady Maria to accept her treatment, “I am giving you some of this salve to dress your wounds properly.”

“But what of your own injuries?”

“Already healed—for the most part. I truly don’t have need for it for much longer…may I?”

Lady Maria stared at Catherine for a long moment, her eyes hesitant and timid as they searched the soldier’s mismatched irises. The knight didn’t know what the noble sought in her eyes, but it seemed she had found something to cling to, for she nodded and then presented the damaged hand for the brunette to tend to.

Catherine cradled the battered palm within her hand, as gentle as if she was carrying a baby bird.

“Thank you,” she added softly, using her other hand to scoop up some of the poultice and delicately smooth it along the lacerations.

-

Lady Maria watched the knight dress her wounds, conscientiously rubbing it along and around each little puncture. She was mesmerized by the graceful movement of Catherine’s fingers as they slotted between her knuckles and caressed her palm. The feeling of the knight’s rough callouses on her skin, touching her with such unbelievable tenderness—it made the noble’s heart race.

She could feel it now, that sinful flame that ignited the blazing inferno of desire within her veins—felt the telltale sign of shame painted across her face like crimson pigment on a canvas. It was a familiar malady that bedeviled her so vexingly, despite her repeated attempts to quash the fatuous notions.

Yet she couldn’t nullify the sentiment when it was so brazenly indisputable.

She…admired Catherine.

Well, more than admired.

She was utterly captivated by her.

From the moment she had first laid eyes upon her, Maria had felt an inextricable, magnetic pull towards the knight. Their first encounter had left the noblewoman breathless and enraptured, enchanted by the physical prowess of the poised Cainhurst warrior. As time passed, she had grown closer to the soldier and those few sparks of admiration quickly erupted into a wildfire of adulation.  

Catherine was thoughtful and kindhearted—always attuned to the needs of others. She was righteous and cunning; a proficient soldier with such a talent for leadership. She was attentive, providing the noble with a companionship that she hadn’t known she needed, but it wasn’t just her character that the noblewoman admired. 

She was also so exceptionally beautiful.

Those constellations of freckles that charmingly stood out against her warm olive skin, the softness of her chestnut hair, that roguish grin, those breathtaking mismatched eyes that showed such genuine warmth and care—everything about this woman made her burn.

Burn to know her—all of her.

Burn to keep her at her side—to make her hers.

Burn to devour her.

And yet, she couldn’t act on these quixotic impulses; it would be improper.

Maria was a woman of high standing, but that didn’t quite bother her as much as it should. She knew that she should be more concerned with the opinion of the court, but she couldn’t muster enough energy to care. There may have been a time when maintaining the status quo was at the forefront of her mind, but now her priorities had shifted to accommodate the winsome, chivalrous knight.

Instead, she was worried about Catherine and her own feelings. The knight had extended such a warmhearted friendship with her and Maria was afraid that if she acted on her desires, the brunette would push her away. The young scholar had never had such a profound friendship with anyone else in her life before, and the fear that she might ruin their bond simply because she was infatuated with the handsome soldier kept her from daring to cross that boundary.

But damn did it make her heart ache with furious want.

Lady Maria silently watched the knight finish coating her skin in the salve, the heat of her yearning still evident on her cheeks. She almost protested when Catherine lifted her tunic to cut a strip of her chemise to use as a makeshift bandage, but one imploring look from the soldier kept her from voicing her dissent. The knight set to wrapping up her injured hand, mindful of how tight she secured the bandage. When she was finished, she softly brushed her thumb along Maria’s knuckles, causing the noble to shiver.

“You are too kind to me,” Maria said quietly, looking down at their joined hands.

“It is not kindness that encourages me to attend to you, My Lady.”

My Lady.

Catherine went to pull away, but the ashen-haired royal snatched her wrist to keep her in place, ignoring the slight pain at the movement as she remembered how the knight initially calmed her mind. 

“You called me by my name,” the noble stated, gazing into those wonderful eyes that she had grown to adore. “You’ve never called me by my name before.”

Catherine looked at her with a mix of surprise and confusion.

“I’ve called you by your name plenty of times.”

“No,” Maria insisted, “not without the title.”

Catherine’s eyes widened, and if it wasn’t for the dim lighting of the garden, Lady Maria would have seen the blush that bashfully bloomed along Catherine’s skin.

“Does—does that bother you?”

“No—it doesn’t…In fact,” she paused, unsure if she should even be telling her this. There were so many things that could nullify the barrier of their friendship, but she couldn’t help but yearn to hear her name rolling off the knight’s tongue once more. So in a much quieter voice, she implored:

“I—when we are alone—I’d actually prefer it.”

Catherine remained silent for a moment, which only served to make Maria’s heart flutter endlessly.

“Okay,” the brunette whispered, entwining her fingers in the noble’s hand.

At that moment, Lady Maria realized how little distance there was between them. She was so near to her person that she could count the individual flecks of amber within Catherine’s one cerulean iris. 

When had they gotten so close? 

“C-could you say it?” Maria asked, her throat dry as she gazed longingly into Catherine’s captivating eyes. They were so close that she could feel the gentle exhalations of the knight’s breath on her mouth and it was taking every ounce of her strength to resist closing the gap between them.

Maria watched the pupils of Catherine’s eyes expand as they flicked briefly downwards.

“Maria?”

It was so light, so reverent, as the air of her name brushed against the noble’s lips and it sent a scorching heat straight to her core.

Maria’s eyes drifted shut as the pleasure of her name on Catherine’s tongue sent tremors through her body.

“Yes?” She whispered back, quivering in anticipation.

“May I—?”

“Your Ladyship!?” A gruff voice shouted from behind the ashen-haired royal.

Whatever spell that had bewitched the noblewoman quickly evaporated at the sound of Sir Gehrman’s concerned tone. Her eyes shot open and she immediately pulled back from the knight, a furious blush covering every inch of her exposed skin. She turned to see Gherman stepping through the tree line as if he had been searching for her.

“Sir Gehrman,” Maria started, abruptly standing up from the fountain’s edge, “I apologize for leaving in such a dreadful state—”

“Are you alright? Your hand—you must have been injured.”

“Well, fortunately for me, my friend here was able to dress my wounds most thoroughly."

“Is that so?”

Gehrman stepped closer with his own lantern illuminating the small alcove in the inner sanctum of the garden. He looked at Catherine from head to toe as if appraising her.

“Well, I guess it is quite fortuitous that you have such a compassionate friend.”

Lady Maria’s mouth thinned into a tight line at the reminder of her and Catherine’s relationship.

Friends, just friends…

Nothing more.

“I am truly blessed to have her as a friend,” Maria reiterated, glancing over at Catherine who looked askance, avoiding eye contact with her.

The evasion sent a painful twinge through her breast.

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I didn’t come here merely to inquire about your well-being,” Gehrman stated methodically, turning to Maria. “The Queen has requested an audience.”

“With me?” 

“With both of you, and myself.”

Catherine’s head shot up at the statement and a gnawing feeling of fear and confusion sank into the pit of the noblewoman’s stomach. She saw the knight’s gaze dart between Sir Gehrman and herself, silently asking for clarification, of which she received none.

“Well then,” Lady Maria replied, clearing her throat. “Let’s not keep Her Majesty waiting.”

As they all exited the garden and headed back into the castle, Lady Maria couldn’t shake the trepidation and dread that cruelly coiled in her abdomen. She didn’t know exactly what Queen Annalise’s intentions were, or how they could possibly involve Catherine, but she knew that they wouldn't be pleasant. The noblewoman and the knight walked side by side as they ascended the steps that led to the Queen’s Chambers, and even though Catherine did not spare her a single glance, their hands would occasionally brush against one another, leaving a faint ghosting of heat on Maria’s skin.

-

Queen Annalise sat on her embellished throne, dressed in a diaphanous maroon gown with a lace halter neckline; a blood-red pendant hanging low between her breasts. She was impatiently tapping her long fingernails on one of the gilded arm rails. Worry lines were carved into her forehead as her mind raced, reeling from the information proffered to her by the spymaster—who stood on the Queen’s right side, just one step below the oligarch, facing forward towards the entrance.

The spymaster was a tall, lean man in his early forties with long white hair that peeked slightly outside the engraved silver of his full Cainhurst helm. He was adorned in a royal blue trench coat with silver buttons over an ebony waistcoat. His silver leggings and gauntlets gleamed haughtily in the flickering candlelight as he adjusted the sheath at his side, which held his Chikage. The intimidating visage was exacerbated by the dark, feather lined cape that swooped like a murder of crows down past his ankles—of which partially inspired his moniker: The Bloody Crow of Cainhurst.

The Crow had been serving as Queen Annalise’s spymaster for almost a decade, having been appointed to the position shortly after the King had tragically passed away. He had once been a Cainhurst Knight, whose reputation as a skilled marksman had quickly bolstered him up the ranks, and into Cainhurstian politics as an agent of the crown. His ruthless and callous nature had made him an effective interrogator, who often used inhumane and gory tactics to extract information from enemies of the state—hence his grisly sobriquet.

Queen Annalise hummed, a hint of frustration evident in the resounding vibration. Irritation clawed at her skin as the Crow’s disconcerting information settled in the forefront of her mind.

“Your Majesty, should we be involving Sir Gehrman in this matter?” The Crow asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

“If he is not incentivized to ensure his commitment to Cainhurst, then he will concede to cooperate through more monetary means.”

“And Lady Maria?” He added incredulously, turning slightly towards the oligarch. “Forgive me Your Highness, but she is still young and knows little about the intricacies of royal politics and affairs.”

“She knows enough to understand the severity of your investigations,” she retorted harshly before grounding herself by smoothing back her platinum blonde hair and fixing her chignon. “And given the circumstances in which your agents have found the corpses, her experience garnered from her research may prove invaluable to your inquest.”

“And the Cainhurst Knight?”

“A lowly guard dog who has consigned herself to protect Lady Maria with her very life. She can be trusted.”

He did not argue with her any further.

The seneschal opened the great mahogany doors, quietly ushering the three guests into the chamber. Sir Gehrman was taking the front, followed by Lady Maria and Catherine, who seemed to hang back several steps behind the young scholar. They all approached the base of the throne and knelt courteously, demonstrating their unwavering respect. Queen Annalise waited for the seneschal to shut the chamber doors before addressing the company.

“You may rise,” she informed, watching as they silently stood from their supplicating positions, “you have my appreciation for answering my summons at such a late hour; however, I regret to inform you that it is not for a salubrious conversation.” 

At this she nodded to the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst, who stepped forward and rummaged through a pocket on the inside of his overcoat. He pulled out a large, white cotton cloth and cautiously pried away the cotton to reveal a large syringe with a short, thick needle. The instrument was partially filled with blood, its sanguineous sheen glowing slightly from the candlelight refracting within the glass.

“What I have to say stays confined within this room at all costs,” he warned with a voice full of malice and contempt. “If I catch wind of you revealing what you hear tonight to anyone besides the people in this chamber, I will flay you. I will peel your skin off strip by agonizing strip, pulling hard enough to remove muscle and sinew until your bones themselves carry the echoes of your torment.” He looked between each of the guests, who maintained determined, almost impassive expressions, but the Queen could see the small flash of fear within their eyes. “I don’t care who the fuck you are or what your title is: you will be hunted, you will be taken, and I will show you no mercy.”

The three stood silently, utterly petrified by the malignant threats administered by the spymaster, but they communicated their understanding with several emphatic nods. The Crow stepped down and held out the syringe for Lady Maria to take. She hesitated, but held out her left palm to receive the bundled instrument.

“Do you recognize this?” He asked plainly.

“Yes,” Maria started, peering closely at the implement, “it is a hypodermic syringe with a vacutainer needle and a removable plunger.” 

“You seem to be most familiar with it.”

“It’s not mine, if that’s what you're insinuating.”

“I’ve made no such accusation.”

Lady Maria’s mouth frowned with indignation and she took a step forward as if to speak out against the Crow’s incriminating remarks, but Queen Annalise held up her hand to silence the young noblewoman.

“My spymaster is merely ascertaining your expertise. This instrument was found in the western section of the city, in an alleyway just outside the merchants district. It was found next to the corpse of a very prominent spice merchant.”

The sudden mention of a dead patrician alarmed all three of the summoned subjects, whose expressions quickly morphed into ones of shock and horror. Queen Annalise took Sir Gehrman’s stupefied mien as a promising sign that he possessed no knowledge pertaining to this incident. The oligarch watched Lady Maria furrow her brow and slightly shake her head in disbelief.

“A dead merchant?” The young royal inquired, perturbed by the disclosure.

“Indeed,” replied the Crow, “and he is not the only victim that has been found within the western sector.”

“Victim?” The First Hunter interjected warily, “you believe it to be murder?”

“Seven people have been discovered thus far, all esteemed members of high society, all found under the same set of circumstances.” The Bloody Crow of Cainhurst eyed Gherman suspiciously, attempting to ascertain the depth of this outsider’s trustworthiness. 

“What sort of circumstances?” Lady Maria asked, nervously fumbling with one of the buttons on her coat sleeve. 

“All of the victims have been found with their clothes and belongings, seemingly untouched. Their clothes are still freshly pressed, unruffled—no sign of a struggle. No lacerations or cuts anywhere along their bodies.”

“Then how did they die?”

The Crow gestured to the syringe in Lady Maria’s hand.

“All of the victims have a single puncture mark on the side of their neck, directly into the carotid artery…they were all—”

“Exsanguinated,” the young noble finished with a hitch in her voice.

“Correct,” the Crow replied.

“Do you have any suspects? Any leads?” Sir Gehrman inquired abruptly.

“Well…”

Gehrman scoffed.

“Oh, you can’t be serious!”

“A member of The Healing Church arriving in Cainhurst over a month ago, right around the time the first body was discovered, and you believe that I don’t see the correlation between the two?”

“It is merely a coincidence!” The First Hunter insisted. “I have no reason to harm a single soul in this kingdom!”

“And yet you’ve not outright denied the allegations.”

“Do you wish for me to say it to you plainly?!” The incensed old man shouted. “I have not killed anyone!”

“Silence!” Queen Annalise bellowed, irritation and anger evident in her tone. Both of the men backed down and remained silent, animosity still brewing between them. “I do not believe that Sir Gehrman is involved in any way…that being said, I would prefer that he reaffirms his loyalty to Cainhurst by assisting in the investigation to apprehend the killer.”

The First Hunter blinked several times in succession. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Members in the upper echelon of Cainhurst society are being taken and murdered via exsanguination. It is not a far stretch to assume that The Healing Church is behind these series of murders to instill chaos and fear within the walls of my city.” 

Sir Gehrman began to protest, but the oligarch gave him a punitive glare, which immediately severed the words in his throat.

“Regardless of who is behind these executions, between the rise in infections of the ashen blood plague and the encroaching influence of The Healing Church, my spymaster cannot afford to spare any more of his agents to investigate and apprehend the culprit responsible for these murders. Therefore, I would like to assign all three of you to this case.”

The trio exchanged confused glances, surprised by the oligarch’s command.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty, but why do you think we would be able to effectively investigate these string of murders?” Lady Maria asked with a tight frown.

“You have tremendous experience in exsanguination, do you not?” The Crow inquired, crossing his arms.

“I’ve extracted blood, yes, but total exsanguination is not a process I’ve completed!”

“We have reason to believe that The Healing Church has been keeping a close eye on your research.” The spymaster narrowed his eyes at The First Hunter, who threw his hands up in exasperation.

“I haven’t even been in contact with The Healing Church since I arrived here!”

“Regardless,” Queen Annalise reminded them, “if they know what your research and methodology entails, they could conceivably conduct an experiment of their own. You know your research better than anyone else in this country, if anyone could predict where the killer may strike next, it would be you.”

The young noble seemed to take in the oligarch’s words, mulling them over in her mind. She seemed to understand the logic behind her conscription to this task, but she still had a look of confusion in her silver eyes.

“Why…” she ventured slowly, “why would you need to involve Catherine in this investigation?”

Catherine’s mismatched eyes widened and she quickly moved her gaze from between the Queen and Lady Maria like a cornered animal. Annalise could practically hear the knight’s frantic little heartbeat as she swallowed a small lump in her throat.

“Despite my trust in Sir Gehrman, I would prefer to have someone absolutely loyal and bound to Cainhurst accompany you during your inquest.” Queen Annalise responded coolly, a wave of relief swimming through Catherine’s eyes. “If you would prefer another soldier—”

“No!” Lady Maria protested loudly, causing the oligarch and the aforementioned knight to raise an eyebrow. The young noblewoman coughed awkwardly. “That won’t be necessary…I understand, Your Highness.”

“Let me be very clear,” the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst started, his voice slowly rising, “discretion is of the utmost importance here. The Healing Church has already upset the political climate within Cainhurst. Members of the court are already putting in inquiries to the Queen regarding these mysterious disappearances, and Cainhurst cannot afford to sow any amount of fear of doubt in the Queen’s authority. You must promptly investigate these murders, find those responsible, and eliminate them before the public gets word of it. Understood?”

All three nodded at the Crow, before kneeling at the foot of the throne once more.

“Your cooperation is most favorable; you have my thanks,” Queen Annalise said plainly, “you’re dismissed.”

After the guests exited the chambers, Queen Annalise’s tall shoulders sagged slightly and she leaned forward to put her head in her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. She sighed deeply, a migraine slowly swelling through her skull.

“Nikdy to nekončí…” she mumbled, suddenly feeling exhausted. Then she felt a warm hand gently touch the center of her back and ghost up her spine, causing her to shudder.

“You carry too much on your shoulders, láska,” the Crow said softly, massaging the tension between her shoulder blades. She hummed approvingly.

“Perhaps,” she replied, gently taking his other hand to place a small kiss on his palm, “but Cainhurst needs me—needs a strong ruler to protect its people from those who mean to destroy them. I cannot abandon my path simply because it is too much to carry.”

“You need not carry it on alone, moje holubice,” he murmured, trailing his fingers along her neck, quickening her pulse and making her breath hitch.

“No,” she smiled, encouraging him to lean forward. When he bowed his head to her, she gently removed his helm, allowing his sweat coated hair to tumble out of the headpiece. She carded her fingers through his strands, gracefully untangling the small knots, as she stared into his dark green eyes. “I don’t have to do it alone.”

Queen Annalise then tugged on her spymaster’s hair, pulling him towards her to crash her mouth onto his. He growled hungrily and cupped one of her cheeks while his other hand went to her waist. She moaned wantonly against his mouth as his tongue swiped against her lower lip, begging for entry. She obliged him, opening her mouth to allow him to devour her as she fumbled with the buttons on his overcoat. The strong fingers at her waist desperately began to rake up her skirts, delving underneath the waistband of her underclothes to run through her soaked folds.

“Gods!” She groaned immodestly, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t you worry, Your Highness,” he whispered, causing her to shudder, “I won’t leave you empty for long.”

Queen Annalise bucked her hips and grunted response, her mewls and whimpers echoing throughout the chamber as her spymaster continued his salacious ministrations, and from the way he was slowly teasing her, she knew that it was going to be a long night.

“Allow me to silence those pestilential thoughts of yours,” he mumbled against her throat, nipping at her pulse.

“Gods, please make me forget!”

Chapter Text

Chapter XI: And There is Nothing Left Remarkable Beneath the Visiting Moon

Hunter’s Dream

1024 A.P.

“Are you certain of this?” Catherine inquired, holding out the large, fiery blood echo that glowed faintly in her hands. “I do not want to persuade or force you into committing an act that you’ve no desire to partake in.”

The doll smiled, a small, stolid upturn of her lips that communicated far beyond what words could convey. She nodded.

“Please, let me stand close to you as you shut your eyes,” the Plain Doll murmured softly as she stepped closer to Catherine and cupped her hands around the Hunter’s, so that they held up the glowing orb together. “Let the echoes become your strength as I channel them and pass them into your veins.”

Catherine obeyed the puppet’s soft command and closed her eyes, meditating to allow the power of the blood echoes to flow through her. She could feel the chill of porcelain fingers along her knuckles which contrasted sharply with the comforting warmth of the orb. The Hunter took in several deep breaths before she felt her body suddenly seize, a jolt of energy surging through her frame like a bolt of electricity. She gasped, but kept her eyes shut as pain began to vibrate through her limbs—a burning sensation radiating through her bloodstream. The scalding heat of the blood echo singed her palms, almost forcing her to drop the infernal essence; however, the Plain Doll’s cold grasp was grounding and provided the Hunter with a modicum of relief from the uncomfortable sensation.

Catherine could hear a soft, pained grunt coming from the puppet, which almost made her pull back, but she felt the doll’s hands tighten around her own, encouraging her to remain in place as the doll stepped closer to her.

“Allow me to strengthen your spirit, good Hunter,” she whispered softly, the air of her words ghosting along Catherine’s ear, causing the Hunter to shudder. She could only nod gently in response.

After about a minute or so, the violent, tingling sensations stuttered and petered out. In the aftermath of the discomfort, a rapturous burst of vigor thrummed down Catherine’s spine and into the tips of her fingers. The thrilling trickle of vitality made the Hunter feel exhilarated and enlivened—and she couldn’t stifle the excited laughter that tumbled from her lips. 

“Wow, that was—I can’t believe it, how did you—?”

Catherine looked at the Plain Doll, but found the doppelgängers’s features scrunched up in obvious agony: her eyes were shut tightly—her teeth bared and jaw clenched. She was trembling madly and her breathing was ragged and heavy as she clasped onto the Hunter’s wrists, her segmented fingertips gripping them with enough force to bruise the olive skin. 

“Hey—hey, it’s alright! It’s over, breathe with me!” Catherine encouraged, taking in slow, deep breaths and urging the doll to follow suit. The puppet mirrored her breathing; taking long pulls of air that exhalated in lingering clouds of vapor. Eventually, the Plain Doll’s violent shaking ceased and her respiration returned to a normal rhythm.

“Thank you, dear Hunter…I apologize, I did not mean to disturb you with my ailments.”

“Disturb me? Don’t be daft—are you injured?”

“No, dear Hunter, I am quite well now,” the Plain Doll reassured, stepping back and giving Catherine another placid smile. “The ritual—as I mentioned previously—is not very pleasant.”

“I know but—you didn’t have to go through with it, you know!” Catherine huffed, clearly upset. “If it was truly that discomforting, why would you force yourself to to complete such a malignant practice?”

The Plain Doll tilted her head incredulously at the Hunter.

“Because I simply wished for it—is that not how ‘free will’ is enacted?” 

“I…you…you need not always sacrifice yourself for my sake,” Catherine sighed, staring down at their joined hands. “You can choose to prioritize yourself and your own well-being.”

“But I do not have to if I do not wish for it.”

“That’s not—”

“Am I not allowed to assist you? To embolden your spirit so that you may achieve your goals?”

Catherine took a deep breath in through her nose to steady herself. She didn’t want to contradict what she had originally told the Plain Doll, but she didn’t wish to bring harm to her either.

“Of course you are,” Catherine stated, a hint of despondency in her tone, “I just don’t want you to become a martyr on my account.”

The doll hummed in acknowledgement, but said nothing more on the subject. She reluctantly slid her hands out from Catherine’s grasp and folded them in front of her skirts.

“The echoes have increased your agility, strength, and vitality—the effects of which should be immediate.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said, rolling her shoulders. An awkward silence passed between them; the doll’s silver eyes peering gently into her own. Catherine wanted to say something—to show her gratitude for the Plain Doll’s sacrifices. “Your assistance has been quite invaluable to me, is there anything I can do to repay you?”

The puppet’s brows lifted, then furrowed in thought. Her lips petulantly pouted—distinctly reminding the Hunter of Lady Maria and how she used to purse her mouth when deep in thought. 

It sent a slight flutter through her chest.

After a moment, the Plain Doll smiled widely and opened her arms out towards the shorter woman, who couldn’t help but let out a disbelieving scoff.

“Doesn’t seem like a fair transaction,” Catherine chuckled, stepping forward to wrap her arms around the puppet’s torso. The doll rested her chin on the top of the brunette’s head and sighed contentedly as the Hunter’s warmth percolated through her frigid frame.

“‘Tis not the only thing I want at the moment.”

The quiet breath of the doll’s confession against her hair pinned the Hunter in place, whose heart began nervously thrumming. Buried within the fabric of her shawl, Catherine was surrounded by the puppet’s comforting scent. Unlike the woman she was modeled after, the Plain Doll held the distinct scent of petrichor and asphodels—which was distinctly calming and inviting. A warm flush bloomed across Catherine’s features as she remained in the doll’s embrace, feeling ceramic fingertips trace gentle patterns along her spine. She shivered.

“O-oh? W-what else do you wish for?” The Hunter asked nervously.

The Plain Doll halted the soothing motions of her fingers and froze. For a moment, Catherine could swear the doll could feel the rapid pumping of her heart as it beat against her breast while she waited for the doppelgänger’s response. The puppet then gently pushed back the Hunter a little ways to properly look into her eyes. The glass eyes twitched between Catherine’s irises, narrowing slightly in thought. The Hunter nervously swallowed.

Without another word, the doll leaned down and pressed her lips to Catherine’s forehead, forcing crimson to blossom up to the Hunter’s ears. The slight pressure of her lips was familiar and inviting—like returning home after a long, arduous journey. The Plain Doll’s lips lingered, savoring the warmth of the Hunter’s skin; hoping to relay an unspoken request:

Please, return safely.

The doll unwound her limbs and ran her fragile hands down the warrior’s arms, settling the tips of her fingers into Catherine’s palms. She moved back a little to gaze upon the Hunter once more, her smile affectionate and adoring.

“I wish you luck, dear Hunter,” the doll said fondly, lifting a hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Catherine’s ear, “I pray your newfound strength helps you vanquish the prey you seek.”

Catherine’s face grew hotter from the tender ministrations instigated by the doppelgänger, but she nodded regardless.

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help,” Catherine said truthfully, her eyes filling with admiration and gratitude.

The doll’s smile grew.

“You’ve nothing to thank me for, dear Hunter.”

-

Catherine ascended the ivory steps leading to the Astral Clocktower’s entrance, her heart growing wearier with each muffled footstep. The enchanted greatsword was harnessed along her spine—its new weight unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant. In the baldric at her side was her Reiterpallasch , the flintlock already armed and ready to fire. She paused at the entrance of the doorway, looking up to the ornately carved iron that descended along the edges of the mahogany doorframes like the twisting roots of a rotting tree. 

The Hunter tried to stifle the discordant rhythm of her heartbeat, the pumping muscle at war with the resolutions already cemented in her mind. Her love for Lady Maria was steeped so deeply within her, that her very bones carried the echo of her devotion and yearning. Yet, here she was once more, at the forefront of a cruel destiny so far in blood that sin had plucked on sin. 

What choice did she have?

Did she truly have a choice? Or had the tainted strings of her fate been woven since the very beginning?

Was this how their story was foreordained?

Could she bring herself to deliver the final blow, when all was said and done? To execute the woman she had once wholly committed herself to?

She would have to.

There wasn’t any other way to bypass the clocktower—to return to the waking world.

To return to the orphanage, to Iosefka, to Henrietta—

So many people depended on her now…and she couldn’t abandon them by giving into the alluring desire to be selfish—to give into the temptress that had ensnared her heart. 

No.

Catherine had finally confessed her sins, bared her burdens before the Gods, and now her only option for repentance was within that miserable clocktower.

She would defeat Lady Maria, run her through with the silver greatsword, and see all the life and vitality leave those mesmerizing eyes for good.

And it hurt, of course it hurt.

What the Hunter felt now was a pain beyond any comprehension or description. An indefatigable ache that swelled mournfully within every thin vein and artery. The agony of being conscripted to be the executioner of a woman she had loved— still loved— with every tendon, ligament, and fiber that held her wretched body together. It was unendurable— unbearable— and still she was drafted to smother the only remaining memory of her cherished, treasured Lady.

“I don’t care much for tragedies,” Catherine recalled confiding to the young noble all those years ago at Cainhurst Castle. “I’ve lived through plenty of my own—I can’t stand the thought of others being subjected to such desolate suffering.”

A memory laced with a fiendish irony now that the Hunter was cast in yet another tragedy; one scripted by the very Gods she had once worshipped and adored. 

Curse them , Catherine rebuked internally.

Damn them for consigning me to this desolate path.

The Hunter reached out and caressed the wooden frame of the door before pushing it open; a lurid creak penetrating the still air. She stepped in, reaching behind her person to retrieve the magnificent greatsword from its scabbard. She walked several paces ahead towards the back of the clocktower, the warped floorboards whining beneath her boots. Lady Maria was standing in front of the clock face, her back turned to Catherine, seemingly staring out at the valley below the clocktower. 

“Do you ever grow tired of these games, miláček?” The noblewoman asked wearily, her timbre devoid of any emotion or cadence. The ashen-haired woman unsheathed her Chikage, but refused to turn and face the Hunter. Catherine frowned, a twinge of pain gnawing at her breast. There was once a time when such an endearing pet name had filled the warrior with such warmth and elation, but now it only made her feel cold and hollow.

“I do,” Catherine retorted, a miserable crack in her low voice, “why don’t we finally put an end to this charade?” 

The Hunter had her right leg leaning forward, the greatsword hanging up high by her cheek, an ethereal blue glow shimmering off the silver as the light of the moon spilled into the chamber and caught onto the edges of the blade. 

Lady Maria slowly turned her head, finally laying her eyes upon the Hunter, her stormy irises growing wide as they lingered on the weapon in Catherine’s hands. 

“Impossible,” she breathed, staring disbelieving at the ethereal luminescence of the greatsword, “how did you—?”

Before Lady Maria could utter another word, Catherine deftly twirled the greatsword above her head and powerfully swung it in front of her. A burst of energy shot out from the blade and flew across the room at an alarming speed, giving the noble little time to react. She jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the magical burst as it crashed through and shattered the glass of the worn clock face. By the time she shifted her gaze back to Catherine, the Hunter had already taken another dangerous step forward and sliced the blade through the air.

Another fiery charge launched from the enchanted weapon, heading straight for the noblewoman, who sprinted away from the attack. Catherine could hear Lady Maria growl in annoyance as she encouraged another bolt to propel itself towards the fallen scholar, who ducked before lunging forward and dashing towards the brunette.

Lady Maria aimed her blade and dagger at Catherine’s midsection, but the disgraced knight parried the blow with ease. She pushed the thick blade against the noble’s armaments and twisted her blade upward before cutting diagonally. The noblewoman side-stepped the attack and thrusted forward again, intending to keep pressure on the Hunter. 

Catherine gritted her teeth as she blocked another strike from the noble, jumping back a little to create more space between them. She tried to swing the greatsword to send another energy burst toward the ashen-haired woman; however, the noblewoman had already closed the distance and swiped her blades across the Hunter’s chest. Catherine grunted, but ignored the burning pain that blistered underneath her shredded vest as blood descended below her abdomen. Instead, the Hunter glided the luminescent greatsword along the ground, tossing it upward toward Lady Maria who was forced to retreat several steps to avoid the strike. 

When the noble was a sufficient distance away, Catherine swung down the ethereal blade with a mighty roar, crashing it into the floorboards. A damning flame erupted from the ground, sending splinters and rusted nails through the air as it barreled its way towards Lady Maria. The noblewoman gasped, but had no time to move as the electrifying energy connected with her right shoulder. 

Lady Maria screamed as the energy burst penetrated her flesh, easily slicing and singeing delicate muscle and bone before disintegrating into a cloud of white smoke. The intensity of the pain sent shockwaves throughout the noble’s system, blood spraying violently from the wound as it drenched the ashen-haired woman’s black overcoat and stained the floor with its crimson ichor. While the attack didn’t completely cleave the arm from her body, it certainly had injured the noble further beyond any other blows the Hunter had landed previously.

The noblewoman growled menacingly at the Hunter, not bothering to apply pressure to her mutilated laceration as she leapt toward the brunette. Catherine could see the outrage blazing behind her silver irises as they collided, steel ringing deafeningly. Sparks sputtered out at the contact of their blades as Lady Maria heaved her massive frame into Catherine. With her newfound strength, the Hunter was able to withstand the force of the noble’s attack without losing her footing. She bared her teeth at the ashen-haired woman as their arms began to shake from the ferocious power pressing up against their weapons.

“I don’t know how you got a hold of that sword,” Lady Maria hissed, her eyes narrowed in contempt, “but it won’t make any difference. You will never set foot outside this clocktower. That is certain.”

“You can withhold your speeches,” Catherine spat out with equal vehemence, “for they will fall on deaf ears.”

Catherine drew in a deep breath before exploding into the taller woman, shoving her back as far as she could; however, Lady Maria was insistent on remaining within her guard and quickly thrusted her dagger towards the Hunter’s abdomen. The disgraced knight threw up her greatsword to parry the blow, but only succeeded in deflecting it slightly. Catherine groaned as the ornate blade pierced through her leather ensemble and sliced through her flesh, splitting muscle and fat with ease. Blood immediately drained from the incision, the hot and sticky fluid uncomfortablely overlaying her skin.

Before Lady Maria could execute another strike, Catherine released a hand from the greatsword’s grip, swiftly retrieved her pistol, and fired a round off at the noblewoman. The lack of distance between the two warriors made it almost impossible to aim; however, the silver bullet embedded itself into Lady Maria’s left shoulder, just below her collar bone. 

The noble grunted, pain radiating from the new injury. The shock of being shot allowed the Hunter to move back and holster her firearm before cutting the air once more, sending another wave of energy towards the noblewoman. Lady Maria dodged it by ducking low and moving forward. The ashen-haired woman tried to close the gap between herself and the Hunter, but couldn’t seem to get within the disgraced knight’s guard. With each attempt, Catherine would move back and hurl another flaming projectile, forcing Lady Maria to evade the ethereal attacks. The scholar was growing frustrated and tired, darting around with wild abandon in search for an opening, yet in her impatient alacrity, she found herself in a very precarious situation. 

Catherine swished and twisted the enchanted greatsword back and forth in quick succession, sending several bursts towards Lady Maria. The noble had managed to scarcely avoid the first arc of flame by pivoting her body to the side, but she had no time to recover as the second and third energy waves collided and curled around her abdomen. 

-

White, hot heat perforated Maria’s skin, her flesh tearing and cauterizing simultaneously as an unholy agony ruptured along the gaping wound. The hellish blue flame seared across her stomach, and it felt like her blood was being used to douse the golden heat of a forged blade. Clouds of vapor emanated from the wound as the billowing blaze dispersed, the raw horror of the affliction still lingering. Her mouth opened, silently screaming as a tortuous, piercing pain punitively paraded down each severed nerve ending. Blood gushed forth, trailing over singed flesh and sinking deep into her dress shirt and trousers, clinging the fabric to her skin.

The force of the blow, paired with the intense anguish of the injury, had staggered the noble, who fell to the floor on her knees. She was breathing heavily through her nose, trembling and shaking from the sudden loss of blood. It usually took several minutes to heal minor wounds and injuries, save for the eternal slit that festered across the column of her throat—the mark of shame branded on her by Mother Kos, sullying her once impeccable complexion. However, such an extensive injury as this required more time to properly repair and recover.

Time that Maria didn’t have.

Maria stared down at the rotting floorboards, her hands still clinging to the weapons in her hands. She heard the sound of Catherine’s soft footsteps gliding towards her as she tried to steady her heaving breaths—pain still swirling through her gut. She watched as her blood pooled beneath her, the dull crimson seeping into the wood grain. The moonlight in the chamber shined on the surface of the sanguineous fluid, briefly casting her reflection—dull and blurry. She stared at her muted reflection through the blood, blood that was blighted with a divinity passed down through her royal lineage. 

Maria had always despised how their empyrean blood was utilized. Churlish, arrogant bureaucrats who pompously indulged in the powerful ichor—gaining strength and agility that they would have not been able to maintain without the invigorating essence. Those bumptious charlatans were always too cowardly to risk their pride and ego by combatting in a real duel, where one only relied on their true dexterity and prowess.

Maria had never employed the sacred puissance of her blood. She had unapologetically vaunted herself in burgeoning her abilities and talents as a warrior without the use of such an ignoble crutch. It was partly why she was so fond of her beloved Rakuyo , a blade crafted from an alloy of steel and silver. The trick weapon’s flexibility and balance were unlike any other modern blade, requiring a skilled swordsman to properly wield and maintain its durability. Her Rakuyo had been a badge of pride—of honor—and yet, she had grown sick of looking at it.

Sick of looking at herself.

After all of the innocent blood she had spilled, Maria couldn’t stomach the sight of the trick weapon any longer. It was a blade that stood for dignity, morality, and decorum—but in her blindness she had betrayed her own principles and lost herself in the false prophecies perpetuated by Laurence. 

She was unfit to wield such a magnificent weapon.

Unworthy.

“I wish…I wish things were different,” Catherine said sorrowfully—pitifully .

Maria sucked in a breath, the sting of shame rising up her throat like bile. 

What was she even clinging to anymore?

She had ruthlessly butchered hundreds of people, including children. Quiet, young minds so amenable to manipulation. She had already abused their trust— deceived them. She had given them false promises and hope only to treacherously conduct unethical experiments that resulted in miserable, agonizing deaths.

And she had justified it.

All of it .

Every lie, every needle, every eye, brain, and corpse—

All of it vindicated—rationalized.

‘For the good of humanity.’

At least that’s what Laurence had told her.

For the good of humanity…to ascend and purge that harrowing plague that poisoned our nascent bodies.

It had all felt so sensible then.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” the Hunter continued, stalking closer to the fallen noble, the ghostly wail of her greatsword echoing through the still air. 

But that didn’t matter, did it? 

It didn’t matter how much Catherine desired her, how her blood had sung so beautifully in her veins when Maria had suckled so fervently against her neck.

It didn’t matter how badly Maria wanted her in return.

The Hunter couldn’t be reasoned with, she adamantly defied all of Maria’s supplications, and she would stop at nothing to upend this false reality.

Catherine’s blurry visage appeared in the bloody pool shimmering in the pale moonlight, the glow of her sword radiating off the crimson surface. Maria did not raise her head, only stared blankly into the dark, oozing ichor.

Maria had never used the rapturous power locked away in her blood.

Her vileblood.

“But if this is the only way to banish the Nightmare and return to the waking world, then so be it.”

Maria watched the Hunter’s shadowy reflection in the pool as it lifted the enchanted sword, the blue luminosity intensifying. Catherine’s words had sparked a rancorous fury that sent a heat of anger through the noblewoman’s veins. She gripped her blades tighter, taut knuckles turning white underneath her gloves as she snarled out one single word.

“No.”

Lady Maria’s head shot up, her eyes full of a hellish hatred that burned a harrowing path up to the Hunter’s eyes. Her lips were pulled back, revealing white teeth that strained against gritting enamel. Her eyes darkened underneath her furrowed brow as she swiftly lifted her armaments, twisted them in her wrists, and plunged them deep within her chest. Cold steel cut through viscera and membrane, violently shredding sinew and tissue. The blades glided against her ribs, narrowly missing her heart as blood began bursting from both the entry and exit wounds.

The sudden action shocked the Hunter, who could only look on in horror as Lady Maria let out a vehement growl.

“I won’t let you!”

The noble tore the blades from her chest, ignoring the rippling pain that came from shearing her own flesh. The magic was quick to react, rupturing in an ungodly explosion of crimson that sent the Hunter back several meters from the supernatural force. The weaponized ichor had sliced several wounds onto Catherine’s face, neck, and hands—but she couldn’t be bothered to worry about these superficial wounds. Instead, the Hunter stared at Lady Maria with a petrified expression, completely astonished by what she had just witnessed. 

Maria rose to her feet, the enchanted vileblood coating the sharpened steel of her blades and dripping languidly onto the wooden planks below. She took a few slow, measured steps forward toward the Hunter, a vermillion vapor rising from her body in a blazing haze. Catherine stumbled backward, utterly frightened by the turn of events. Her teeth began to audibly chatter and her shaking hands tried pathetically to raise the silver greatsword up to defend herself.

The vileblood noble halted her movements and peered threateningly at Catherine.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Not her morals.

Not her pride.

Not even her undeniable lust for Catherine.

There was nothing left of her now…

So she would finally succumb and become the beast that she so desperately wished to cage.

Maria tilted her head slightly, her bloodshot eyes roaming Catherine’s person. When she captured the Hunter’s terror-stricken gaze, she took one more silent step forward.

Then attacked.

-

Lady Maria darted iniquitously towards Catherine, her blood-soaked blades arching behind her before slicing through the air. The Hunter tried to block the oncoming strike, but the extending reach of the noblewoman’s blood spatter struck the brunette before the steel connected with her sword.

Catherine cried out as the vileblood cut through her leather coat and across her right shoulder as easily as a blade. She disengaged and tried to retreat a step to create enough room for her to swing the silver greatsword, but Lady Maria had already lunged forward with her blades crossed. The noblewoman straightened her arms, ruthlessly slicing through the air and sending streams of deadly vileblood towards the Hunter. They brutally collided against Catherine’s abdomen, ripping through fabric and flesh indiscriminately. 

The Hunter tried to maintain her form and focus, desperately trying to not let the pain distract her. Unfortunately, the confounding thoughts plaguing her mind were overly distressing, making it difficult to predict the noblewoman’s attacks. 

How could Lady Maria do this?

How could she betray a moral so intrinsically woven into her soul?

Lady Maria was always so adamant about upholding her beliefs, valuing honor, integrity, and righteousness above everything else.

Catherine knew how the noble felt about her blood. Knew that she despised having the vileblood be weaponized in such a debauched and cowardly manner.

And yet here her Lady was: harnessing the power and vigor of her own blood to defeat her. 

Catherine could hardly believe it—didn’t want to believe it.

But she had done it.

In her desperation, Lady Maria had forsaken all of her principles and reduced herself to nothing more than a recreant, piteous woman. 

How could she do that?

What exactly was hiding behind this clocktower that frightened the noblewoman enough to force her to abandon her ideals?

What happened at Byrgenwerth?

Lady Maria let out a terrifying roar that echoed deafeningly throughout the clocktower. Catherine watched with widened eyes as the ashen-haired woman bent her knees slightly before shooting up into the air, twisting her body in a maelstrom of blood and dust. The Hunter started sprinting around the noble, resting the greatsword along her shoulder for more maneuverability. Lady Maria turned to follow the brunette’s path, raising the blood-cursed saber and dagger behind her. With an unnatural speed, the noble careened toward Catherine, a torrent of blood surging behind her. 

Once the noblewoman began her descent, the Hunter knew that evasion was impossible. The blades sliced through her shoulder, severing her right arm. It was a strike so swift and clean that she hardly felt it at first, until all the capillaries in her muscles ruptured and spat out rivulets of blood. She screamed, a feral, lurid wail that couldn’t even begin to convey the absolute anguish that wracked her body. The shining greatsword fell out of her grasp and clattered abruptly onto the floor. 

The force of the blow had thrown the Hunter off balance, and she collapsed to the ground with a resounding thud. Blood continued to pour from the severed limb, cruelly pooling around the distressed Hunter. The damning pain that enveloped her entire body almost caused the brunette to faint, but she shook her head back and forth to maintain some form of consciousness. Catherine had to regain her footing, so she pushed herself up with her left hand to lift her mangled torso, biting her lip to stifle the unholy agony clinging to her wounds. She was able to lift herself up enough to get a leg out underneath her and into a kneeling position. With shaking limbs she vaulted up and reached for the Reiterpallasch at her side. The Hunter quickly transformed it back into its rapier form and held it out in a front guard position as she turned to face Lady Maria.

The ashen-haired woman was already bending forward, her weapons now combined into a twin blade as a radiance of blood and light ringed around her like a baleful halo. Without a single word or sound, she launched herself at the Hunter, who couldn’t find the energy to even attempt to parry the strike. The dagger end of the twin blade pierced through Catherine’s chest, quickly finding purchase in her left lung. Blood filled her bronchi, expectorating from her mouth as she began to cough violently. The power behind the strike sent both of them across the room and into the bookshelves, practically disintegrating them on impact. The twin blade embedded itself into the wall behind Catherine, who continued to choke on her own ichor as it barreled up her windpipe.

Dust and blood mingled in the air, casting strange shadows in the moonlight. The quietude of the large chamber might have been calming if not for the Hunter’s haggard breathing. 

Catherine’s vision was already growing dark. Her pain was suddenly replaced by an intense numbing sensation that often occurred prior to her death. She slowly lifted her head to Lady Maria, and was startled to find that her red-rimmed eyes were filled with tears. 

Lady Maria was shaking, trembling in a mixture of anger, sorrow, and resentment. Her body was covered in blood, the crimson ichor clinging to her like an iron perfume. Her ashen strands were stained with blood, muting the once enchanting silver hue. Her skin, like paint on a canvas, was smeared with their mixed fluids. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, unbidden, her breath hitching and uneven. Her mouth was opening and closing as if she was attempting to speak, yet no words came forth. 

Even in such a ruined state, Lady Maria could be nothing but beautiful.

Catherine stared deeply into her swollen silver eyes and found a tiredness in them that she had never seen in the noble before. There was an untold sorrow—a deep grief hidden beneath her defeated irises—and it unwillingly tugged at Catherine’s heart.

She had to know.

“Why?” Catherine whispered, her voice hoarse from the blood coating her throat.

The Hunter could visibly see how much the noble regretted using her untapped power—the shame of using such a cheap tactic to subdue the disgraced knight. The mortification— the humiliation— of casting aside everything she once stood for.

And the guilt of knowing there was nothing left of her.

“W-why?” Catherine asked again, her breathing labored and uneven. Her vision was growing cloudy, but she was desperately fighting to hold on—to get an answer from Lady Maria before she succumbed to her injuries.

The noblewoman let out a strained whimper, the sound sending a twinge of agony through the Hunter’s chest. An onslaught of tears streamed down her face as she tightly shut her eyes and shook her head.

Catherine’s own mismatched eyes began to well with tears as she reached up her remaining hand to grasp a hold of Lady Maria’s arm. She squeezed her bicep with the remaining strength she had, trying to convince the noblewoman to confess.

“Please—M-Maria, t-tell me.”

The noble’s eyes shot open at the sound of her name on Catherine’s lips, a dismal penitence reflecting in her eyes.

“I—I can’t!”

Catherine’s grip lessened, but didn’t let go as she finally gave into the fading serenity of her death. Her head lolled to one side as her vision completely darkened, letting out one last stifled breath before falling into oblivion. Her visage shimmered and puffed out in a grey and black cloud, like the thick smoke of a turbulent fire.

-

Lady Maria dropped her twin blade, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. It clattered mockingly at her as the consequences of her actions ran rampant through her mind. She looked at her hands, which were shaking and still coated with her venomous vileblood. Hatred and self-loathing boiled within her, causing her tears to fall in earnest. 

How could she have done that? 

How could she have renounced her virtues to justify her own selfishness?

And for what?

To hide her shame?

She deserved to be ashamed, she had completely stripped herself of who she once was—who she wanted to be!

She had nothing left.

She had lost everything.

Her dignity.

Her compassion.

Her humanity.

Even Catherine…

Catherine, who still looked at her with such sympathy and tenderness…a tenderness she did not deserve!

She was an abomination, an errant cur who deserved to be damned to this wretched fate: cursed to exist in this unending Nightmare and guard the only thing that could promise her salvation!

After all the souls she culled, after all the sickening experiments she conducted, after all she had done to Catherine.

How could that wonderful, gentle woman look at her with anything other than disgust?

Abhorrence?

Maria couldn’t even look at herself without feeling the urge to wretch .

She was worthless—repulsive.

A beast.

Maria collapsed, falling to her knees as the weight of her sins dragged her down to a cavernous pit of self-loathing and denigration. Her heart, which recalled the rhythm of being alive, clenched in despair. Her tears couldn’t stop flowing; shame, guilt, and remorse residing within each pitiful drop. 

How long was she to go on like this—to know that she was just a derisory shadow of the person she once was?

Knowing that there was no hope for her.

No absolution.

No redemption.

Only perdition.

How long must this infernal Nightmare continue?

Maria glanced at her discarded Chikage, its vermillion haze now faded, leaving only blood-soaked steel. She looked at the moonlight passing through the clock face and falling onto the glittering blade. A dark notion crossed her mind, a silent prayer that she had been begging for, yet had been too cowardly to fulfill herself. Her body began to tremble as one single thought ensnared her mind.

I want to wake up.

The noble roughly grabbed her Chikage, splicing the dagger away from the saber and immediately bringing it to her neck, tucking it inside the gnarled gash and up to her pulse point. She swallowed and clenched her teeth, her limbs quivering fiercely. She was breathing erratically, trying desperately to muster up the courage to fully slice through the delicate artery..

It would be so easy. Just run it across your fucking carotid! The first time already completed most of the job!

Maria shut her eyes, clenching her abdomen to steady her resolve.

I’ll finally be free, I won’t have to feel like this anymore!

Execrable.

Repellent.

Hollow.

She pushed the blade a little further, feeling the cold sting of the steel against the fetid flesh of her opened laceration. 

Do it! 

Do it!

Do it now!

Maria let out a cry as she dropped the blade, placing her head in her hands while she continued to quake. She retched, but nothing would come up to purge her from this awful affliction. Her weeping crescendoed into loud, uncontrollable sobs and she threw off her hat to tear into her maroon stained locks. The noblewoman curled into herself, moving to lay onto the floor, feeling completely ashamed.

She couldn’t do it.

She was a coward.

And nothing was ever going to change that.

-

“My dear Hunter.”

Catherine woke abruptly, tears still trickling from the corners of her heterochromatic eyes. The Plain Doll was standing above her in the asphodel field, looking down at her with a quiet, forlorn expression. Her silver eyes softened as she silently lowered herself before the Hunter, placing her hands along both sides of Catherine’s face before calmly lifting her head to place it onto her lap. A stifled whimper escaped the Hunter’s lips as the puppet dragged her thumbs along the warrior’s cheekbones, wiping away the sorrowful tears.

They remained silent, the serene orchestra of a gentle breeze billowing through the flowers and grass accompanying them. Catherine watched the Plain Doll through tear stricken eyes, her chest tightening at the tender touch being given by a visage so viscerally reminiscent of Lady Maria. Those enchanting irises looked into her own, reflecting the anguish and remorse that she had just witnessed in the noblewoman. It was at this moment that Catherine realized the puppet’s eyes were glistening, a translucent substance leaking out and descending down the smooth ceramic of her face.

She was…crying?

The thought made Catherine’s heart ache. She immediately brought her left hand up to carefully cup the doll’s porcelain cheek, her thumb ghosting over the tears. The Plain Doll let out a shudder and leaned into the Hunter’s palm, removing one hand from Catherine’s face to gingerly encircle the Hunter’s wrist.

“I…I don’t know why,” the doll began, her tears growing fuller, “but I feel such a splitting pain in my chest—it’s overwhelming, and I—I don’t know what to do!”

Catherine opened her mouth to respond, but the Plain Doll erratically trampled over her words. 

“It happens every time—right before you return! There’s something inside of me that feels like it’s being ripped apart! And I feel like I’ve done something wrong—something that I cannot fix and it’s bewildering! I—I don’t know why it happens, or what it is, but it…frightens me!”

Catherine listened to the doll’s avowal, a sudden realization dawning on her.

No, it couldn’t be…

Could it?

The Hunter didn’t truly know all of the details to the answer, but the pieces were falling into place, a small puzzle taking form. 

Somehow, someway…Lady Maria and the Plain Doll had to be connected.

Some essence of the noblewoman had to be within this puppet, affecting her actions and emotions.

How was that even possible? If Gehrman had molded and sculpted the doll himself, how could he have placed a part of Lady Maria’s spirit within her?

It was a query that the Hunter couldn’t quite decipher, so she decided to shelf the thought away for now. 

She had more important things to attend to.

Catherine slowly lifted her torso and twisted around until her knees were brushing against the Plain Doll’s skirts. She reached both of her palms out to cradle the doll’s face in her hands, leaning forward to rest her forehead on the puppet’s own. The doll let out a small cry and wrapped her porcelain fingers around the Hunter’s wrists, pressing them closer into her jaw. They both continued to cry, attempting to ameliorate their misery.

“You feel guilty—responsible for my deaths, but I promise you, you are not at fault.”

Catherine’s voice had cracked, finding herself feeling accountable for the doll’s torment and suffering.

But beyond that…

She realized that this was how Lady Maria truly felt: crestfallen and guilt-ridden; plagued by the desolation she had wrought.

And that made the poor Hunter’s heart stutter.

“You care for me,” she whispered, holding onto the doll tightly,  “and so hurting me—seeing me hurt—it makes you feel awful…unhappy.”

“B-but I shouldn’t feel anything!” The Plain Doll protested, squeezing Catherine’s wrists as she began to tremble, “I am merely a doll! Created by you humans to serve and attend to your every whim! How should I be full of tears, hunger, and the fear of death when I ought not to be able to weep, want, or die?!”

“I don’t know!” Catherine cried out exasperatedly, unable to conjure up an adequate explanation to pacify the quaking doll. “I…I don’t know.”

The Hunter stared into the doll’s tear-stricken eyes, trying to relay her apologies and condolences, hoping that the puppet would accept her succor.

“I’m sorry that I cannot provide you with any forthcoming exposition, but believe me when I say that you are worth more than what you can provide to others. You are so much more than a simple doll. You regret, you feel, you care. These emotions you have—despite their discomfort—are a testament to your mortality…your humanity.”

The Plain Doll peered mournfully at the Hunter, her trembling bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her grip had slightly loosened along Catherine’s wrists as she continued to listen to the warrior’s oration.

“I truly do not understand how or why, but a part of you is human, and unfortunately, to be human is to suffer, but,” she paused, gently curling some of the puppet’s ashen strands behind her ear, “you don’t have to suffer alone. We can learn how to endure and reshape it into something more meaningful…together.”

“Together?” The doll breathed, a desperate hope clinging on to that single word.

“Yes, together.”

The Plain Doll continued to stare unabashedly at the Hunter, searching her eyes for something that Catherine couldn’t quite decipher. The puppet took in a deep breath before fervently wrapping her arms around the shorter woman in a crushing embrace while burying her face into the crook of the Hunter’s neck. Catherine wasted no time in returning the hug with the same fervor. 

“It still hurts,” the puppet whispered against her neck, a few tears dripping onto the warm, olive skin.

“I know,” Catherine said, nuzzling closer to the doll, “I know.”

They remained in each others’ arms, relishing in the comforting silence as their tears trickled away. Catherine gently swayed back and forth, rocking the doll into a comforting loll. Despite her best efforts to curb and calm the whirlpool of emotion that threatened to swirl into a circling cyclone, Catherine couldn’t stop thinking about the connection between the doll and Lady Maria.

How were they linked? To what end did their interconnectedness cease? What parallels were aligned in their association and how far did that tie-in go?

If the Plain Doll could feel Lady Maria’s anguish, was the noblewoman also affected by the torment exhibited by the doppelgänger? Could they share thoughts? Was Lady Maria the reason why the doll held such an affinity for the Hunter?

Did that mean that Lady Maria still cared for her? Despite everything?

Was she just as harrowed to murder someone she had loved so vehemently as Catherine was?

The thought sent lances of pain through her scarred heart.

The Hunter brooded over the recalcitrant noble, thinking back to each of their duels, trying to recall every word and reaction enacted by the ashen-haired royal. Every action the noblewoman had taken indicated that she was hiding something, something that she was deeply ashamed of—something that she was too afraid to admit or show to Catherine. 

That perturbed the Hunter to no end!

Before Lady Maria had left for Byrgenwerth, they held no secrets between them. They both had always been honest to a fault, but Catherine had valued the noblewoman’s transparency, especially when their relationship had been particularly discreet—well, as discreet as it could have been. 

Catherine’s thoughts wandered back to when the noble had been conscripted to work for the Healing Church, how the details of her letters had begun to dwindle months prior to her death. At the time, she had felt like something was wrong and even insisted on visiting her beloved scholar, but the noble had advised against it—claiming that she was fine.

And what a devastating lie that had been.

Catherine couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Lady Maria’s behavior began to shift, but one thing was clearly certain: something happened at Byrgenwerth. Something so ruinous that it forced the noblewoman to sever all ties to the living and retreat to the serenity of the void.

Evidently the Gods had other plans for her.

Plans somehow intertwined with what was outside that damnable clocktower.

What could possibly be hiding beyond that clocktower that would force the noble to rescind her own ideals?

“She petulantly bears the brunt of the curse!” Micolash had said, “as if defending the clocktower could possibly bring her absolution…”

Absolution? 

What sins had Lady Maria committed that required such repentance?

“We were thinking on the basest of planes, you see. What we needed was more eyes.”

“We only thought about what we could do and never paused to question whether we should…”

The crazed Mensis scholar’s words were echoing through her mind. His riddles and idioms were indiscernible, withholding any useful or relevant information; however, Micolash had admitted that he knew exactly what happened at Byrgenwerth prior to Lady Maria’s untimely death. If she was going to get answers, she was going to need to locate the deranged madman.

The soft shudder at her side turned Catherine’s attention back toward the Plain Doll, whose breathing had returned to steady, deep rhythm. The puppet had managed to nudge herself even closer to the Hunter, and her eyelashes were tickling the warrior’s pulse point. She gave a gentle squeeze to the puppet in her arms and rested her head against the doppelgänger. 

There would be plenty of time to locate Micolash in the Nightmare, for now, she remained fixed at the Plain Doll’s side, humming pleasant melodies to soothe the dull ache that plagued her soul.

Chapter Text

Chapter XII: This Dying Virtue, This Surviving Shame, Whose Crime Will Bear an Ever-During Blame?

Cainhurst Castle Library

1004 A.P.

Lady Maria was shuffling through several missives in her hands, taking in important details of each well documented report before tightly grasping a worn piece of chalk from the aluminum ledge. She began scribbling onto the small blackboard that Catherine had helped carry and wheel into the noblewoman’s private alcove in the library. The main desk, which had once been the quintessence of organized chaos, now was the epitome of bedlam and disorder. All of the young scholar’s instruments and journals pertaining to her research were pushed all the way to one side of the table to allow room for detailed schematics, reports, and evidence to be laid out across its mahogany surface. 

“It is a wonder that anyone can read your chicken scratch, My Lady,” Catherine commented, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Oh, shut it,” the noble scolded playfully, a smile reaching the corner of her lips.

“I can read it just fine, your Ladyship.”

“See? And if Sir Gehrman can read it, it should be no trouble for you.”

Catherine couldn’t suppress the small scowl that spread across her mouth at the First Hunter’s interjection. They had only been working together on the investigation for little over a week and Catherine’s disdain for the old man had increased with each miserable moment in his presence. She had tried to remain impartial—even friendly—at first, as Lady Maria seemed to hold the gentleman in a very high regard; however, his churlish demeanor and manner towards the knight had inevitably irritated her. 

He spoke to her as if she was an incompetent infant, dismissing almost all of her comments and suggestions. She swore that every time she opened her mouth to speak, his eyes rolled back so far into their sockets that he could probably see his optic nerves. Sure, Catherine had not been properly educated by a tutor or school, but that didn’t make her an imbecilic simpleton. The Cainhurst Knights were taught how to read and write in addition to some basic mathematics, history and the like, but most of their teachings were based on combat training and war strategy. Despite the brunette’s lack of knowledge in the hard sciences such as biology, physics, and chemistry, she was hardly an inept ineffectual cretin.

Yet Sir Gehrman was always quick to shoot down her ideas and recommendations, which entirely irked the young knight, but it wasn’t just his demeanor towards her that encouraged her dislike of the Healing Church Hunter. 

Catherine watched as Sir Gehrman slowly approached Lady Maria from behind. He raised his left hand to gently push some of her silver hair away to rest his hand on her shoulder as he took a piece of chalk into his fingertips. He leaned forward near her ear and began drawing on the chalkboard, communicating some of his own thoughts with the noble.

The sight made Catherine grit her teeth, desperately repressing the urge to gag or growl…or both.

Catherine wasn’t blind, it was evident that the First Hunter found Lady Maria attractive. It perturbed her, but it wasn’t because he made his appreciation for the noblewoman’s appearance so blatantly obvious, for anyone with eyes would recognize the beauty of the ashen-haired royal. What set the brunette’s blood aflame and sent tremors through her body was how he seemed to deliberately look at her while he interacted so surreptitiously with her Lady.

Her Lady.

Catherine took in a deep breath, trying to ground herself and resist the temptation to wrench the noblewoman from the lecherous curmudgeon. Logically, she knew it wasn’t her place to intervene unless Lady Maria’s life was in real danger, but his audacious attempts to charm the much younger woman curdled a cruel twist of resentment in her abdomen nonetheless. She sighed, knowing full well that it would not be becoming of a Cainhurst Knight to throttle an honored guest of Queen Annalise, but that didn’t stop her from imagining taking her rapier and slicing Sir Gehrman’s offending hand off her Lady’s shoulder.

Her Lady.

Catherine hummed quietly to herself, continuing to stare at the pair of scholars as they discussed the facts of the case. She was glad that at least Lady Maria didn’t appear to recognize or reciprocate the coquetries hurled onto her by the Old Hunter. Not that it mattered. If Lady Maria was—somehow— interested in him in a way that exceeded far beyond the pleasantries between a pupil and their mentor, who was she to deny her? It didn’t matter at all…

Right?

Catherine felt her eye twitch.

You know damn well that it matters, the knight rebuked internally.

Oh, shut up! It’s not supposed to matter!

But it did.

At least to her.

Catherine anxiously clenched the hands at her sides, releasing the tension before repeating the action, fingernails digging into her palms. She turned her gaze to the side, eyeing a detailed map of the western district that had inked circles demarcating the locations in which the victims were discovered. Seven members of the aristocracy had been killed, their bodies untouched save for the small puncture wounds left behind from exsanguination.

It was odd that the rest of the corpses had remained untouched; their clothes still freshly pressed, coin purses securely tied. The western district was full of wealthy merchants and lords. If these incidents were carried out by thieves, surely they would have taken the opportunity to collect the victims’ valuables. However, it was uncommon for looters to murder their targets; additionally,  exsanguination required several hours of uninterrupted time to completely extract a person’s blood. Time of which Catherine doubted a common thief could possibly possess. 

The exsanguinations gave Catherine the most pause. It would be nearly impossible to complete the process in an alleyway in such a populated area of the kingdom without anyone witnessing it. Therefore, it meant that the murders were happening at another, private location, before disposal. 

And therein lied another perplexing postulation.

That the victims had been deliberately placed in the areas in which they were found.

But why?

That was the question the trio had been trying to answer for the last twelve hours. Twelve hours in which Catherine had been subjected to belittling criticism from a self-aggrandizing, old codger who couldn’t keep his filthy fucking hands off her Lady! The torture was taking its toll on the poor knight, who pinched the bridge of her nose to fight off an impending migraine. 

She really needed to address her burgeoning possessiveness over the ashen-haired royal. Despite her increasing fondness for the enchanting noblewoman, Catherine knew that Lady Maria didn’t belong to anyone, and most certainly not to her. They were simply friends. Just friends.

And the bite of that word stung more harshly than any flippant flirtation executed by the First Hunter.

She didn’t want to be friends…

She wanted to be more…

She wanted to be—

Enough, the brunette scolded herself.

The knight knew that she should bury these blossoming feelings—abandon the notion of potentially being anything more to Maria other than her friend and guardian. The line of their relationship had been explicitly drawn and there was nothing she could do to change it. She had to remain content with what they were and not dare to ask for anything more. She needed to move on…

But, oh, how plagued she was by the burning embers of her affections. 

How her heart thrummed to life when she was simply in the Lady’s presence. 

How the breath was stolen from her lungs with each passing glance they shared. 

How her body trembled from the mere brush of the noble’s fingertips on the small of her back.

Oh, how could Catherine move on when she was so inexplicably bewitched by Maria?

She frowned and let out another long sigh.

“What are your thoughts, Catherine?” 

The sweet melody of Maria’s voice interrupted the knight’s conflicting thoughts. Catherine brought her gaze back towards the noblewoman, who was looking at her with a soft, warm expression. Her eyes watched Catherine inquisitively, the silver of her irises accentuated by the light of the setting sun peering in through a window. Her lips were pulled into that small, winsome smile that always disarmed the Cainhurst Knight.

Oh, how could she ever even hope to find the strength to move on?

“Well, we know that the victims don’t seem to have anything in common at first glance. No family ties or business partnerships; they didn’t even reside near one another.”

“Right, and none of the targets share the same physical characteristics; it’s as if they were chosen by random.”

“Exactly,” Catherine stated, moving towards the map she had espied earlier. She brought her pointer finger toward the marks drawn onto the parchment. “That means there has to be something to discover regarding where the killer is placing their victims.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Gehrman argued, waving his hand dismissively.

Catherine huffed, but ignored the Hunter.

“The victims found so far have been placed in the four cardinal directions and three in the intercardinal directions,” she explained, tracing the directions with her pointer finger, save for the southeast, which remained empty. “If you connect the dots, it takes the shape of an unfinished diamond, in all likelihood, we can likely assume that the next target will be found somewhere within that district.”

“We’ve already been over this,” the First Hunter groaned, running a hand through his graying hair. “The alleyways in that area are far too narrow for someone to easily dispose of a body.”

“It’s a popular marketplace, právo? ” Lady Maria commented, drawing close to Catherine’s person. The knight held in a steady breath, trying to ignore the goose flesh that raised all along her body from the taller woman’s proximity. “It is not a far stretch to assume that the victims visited this district on more than one occasion.”

Sir Gehrman scoffed.

“Forgive me, Your Ladyship, while your statement might hold some truth, it also nullifies the contention. If the marketplace is constantly overrun with customers, a serial murderer wouldn’t place a body there, lest they were determined to be caught in the act.”

Lady Maria hummed, scrutinizing the map for a few moments before reaching out to snag a blank piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a pen. She placed the paper over the schematic and dipped the pen lightly into the inkwell. The noblewoman began to trace the marks in which the bodies had been discovered, careful not to bleed the ink onto the map. She then drew a small ‘X’ in the southeastern corner within the marketplace.

The noble remained silent, tapping her fingers languidly on the desk. Catherine turned her attention to the Lady’s drawing, trying to focus on anything else besides the rhythmic motion of the woman’s elegant fingers. 

“What is the order in which the victims were found?” Lady Maria asked, to which the First Hunter started going through several pages of reports to provide her with the corresponding names. She carefully numbered the marks from one through seven, then began to draw a line connecting each number. She lifted the pen after the sixth point, regarding the drawing carefully. The illustration was of a triangle with a line through the middle.

“If we assume that the next target will be discovered in the marketplace,” she continued, hovering the pen over the seventh mark, located in the southwest corner, “then we may have just uncovered a possible clue.” 

Lady Maria drew one straight line connecting the seventh victim to the marketplace, crossing the north to south boundary line. Catherine gasped slightly at the sight of the rune scrawled onto the paper.

“I know that symbol,” the brunette said quietly, “it’s the one painted on the sign right above—”

“The apothecary shop,” Maria finished, pushing herself away from the desk to hurriedly return to the blackboard. She began erasing a small area of the board before grasping a hold of some chalk to redraw the symbol. “It’s the herbalist’s character for ‘essence’.”

“I’m afraid I am not following, Your Ladyship. What is the implication behind this motif, and how can you be so sure this was the killer’s intention?”

“I cannot be certain whether or not the culprit truly intended to create the specific symbol; I don’t even know if there actually is a pattern to find between these marks.” She frowned, taking a step away from the blackboard to return to the desk. “But this is the only lead we have that might suggest a connection between the victims.”

“You believe they were all seeing the apothecary? For what purpose?” Catherine inquired, thoroughly impressed with how her Lady was able to extrapolate this theory from such little evidence.

“Of that, I haven’t the foggiest idea, but perhaps the proprietor could provide some insight.”

“You aren’t suggesting that we interrogate this herbalist?” Sir Gehrman huffed in disbelief, crossing his arms emphatically.

“That is exactly what I am suggesting,” Lady Maria rebutted, “Catherine is right. The bodies are deliberately being placed in specific districts of the western sector. There has to be an explanation for it, and this is the closest we have come to a clue.”

“This symbol of yours could be merely a coincidence,” he admonished, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“That is true, but do you have a better suggestion?” 

The First Hunter remained quiet, unable to provide the noblewoman with an adequate alternative. The way in which Lady Maria had shut down the old goat and praised Catherine’s observations uplifted the Cainhurst warrior, who was reveling in the Hunter’s disgruntled state. She wanted to childishly stick her tongue out at the chided gentleman, but knew that Lady Maria would disapprove. Instead, she stood up a little straighter and held her chin up high in pride.

“It’s settled then, we will head to the marketplace and continue our investigation there, zní dobře?”

Lady Maria gave the knight a soft smile as she stepped a little closer to her, causing the brunette’s heart to start thrumming wildly. The noblewoman lifted her right hand and gently smoothed out the crimson cape before settling her palm onto Catherine’s shoulder. The warrior’s skin tingled beneath her armor, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of her Lady’s beguiling gaze.

Her Lady.

“You look tired, má drahá, perhaps it would be best if we all had a good night’s rest before we meet the apothecary?”

Má drahá.

Catherine shivered.

Drahá.

Surely she didn’t mean anything by it, just an affectionate word anyone would use for a friend…yet it made her flush nonetheless, her heart fluttering from each alluring syllable. 

“O-okay, yes My Lady,” she sheepishly replied, unable to look away from the captivating noblewoman. “If that is what you wish.”

Lady Maria nodded, but didn’t pull away, electing to remain close to the knight. Instead, she appraised the brunette’s disheveled hair and abundance of freckles, which had multiplied from the exposure to the summer sun. Catherine stared back, marveling at the long, white lashes surrounding Maria’s lustrous eyes. She could feel a thick weight in the air; a tension pulled as taut as a bow string. The warrior instinctively moistened her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue, a movement that did not go unnoticed by the ashen-haired royal.

A lurid, histrionic cough from the other side of the desk dispelled the otherwise spellbinding moment, forcing the pair apart. Lady Maria stepped back and removed her hand, gluing it swiftly to her side. 

“Well,” the noblewoman cleared her throat, “I suppose I should follow my own advice and retire for the evening, yes? Good evening, Sir Gehrman.” She bowed to him before turning back to face the knight, then bowed in her direction. “Good evening…Catherine.”

“Good evening,” the brunette timidly repeated, returning the bow.

Lady Maria swiftly absconded from her private alcove, leaving the First Hunter and the Cainhurst Knight behind. Catherine cautiously peered in the Hunter’s direction, the tell-tale crimson of embarrassment painted across her face. 

“You two seem close,” Sir Gehrman commented, nonchalantly organizing the reports and journals on the large table. “It’s nice to know that Lady Maria is privileged enough to have such a remarkable friend like yourself.”

Catherine remained silent, unsure of what exactly the gentleman was implying.

“Indeed, and I am lucky to have her friendship in return.”

“Oh, I agree! I couldn’t help but find it odd that a respectable young woman—of royal descent—such as Lady Maria did not have any ladies-in-waiting.”

The knight quirked a brow.

“Well, you know, it’s fairly common for noblewomen and other members of the aristocracy to possess ladies-in-waiting. Women who attend and assist them with their daily tasks, including managing a household once they’re married.”

The word was spat out like venom, paralyzing the young knight. The implications of that term damningly slithered through her mind like a virulent viper, making her heart clench painfully. 

“I’m honestly surprised that the Queen hasn’t found the young Maria a suitor as of yet. She’s already of marriageable age, and with their dwindling extended family, it’s one of the few opportunities they’ll have to maintain their bloodline.”

Catherine could feel bile rising up her throat, its acerbic burn singeing the lining of the delicate tissue. Nausea unforgivingly churned in her stomach from his suggestive insinuation. She stiffened, her mind weaving images of the noblewoman bound to another, destined to carry their child— children.

That thought alone was enough to make her wretch, but she swallowed down the pungent secretion and tightened her jaw. 

“Well, I suppose her Majesty is quite busy at the moment, but it will surely come sooner or later,” the First Hunter stated matter-of-factly, reaching for his cane before gliding past Catherine to head towards the exit. “And when that time comes, I’m happy that Lady Maria will have such a wonderful friend to support her!”

The Old Hunter left without uttering another word, leaving Catherine behind to miserably reflect on his locutions. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it until now, but it was possible that Lady Maria would be required to marry someone who could assist in continuing their vileblood lineage. Not only was it possible, it was highly likely. Queen Annalise and Lady Maria were some of the remaining women of age within the royal bloodline, and since the King had passed, the responsibility of maintaining their genealogy would predictably fall onto the young royal.

And that made her feel—

Made her want to—

She couldn’t let—

Catherine slammed her right hand onto the table, a sharp pain radiating through her fist. She grunted, a deep scowl etched onto her features as she tried to push away her thoughts. 

It wasn’t her place.

She had to be a good friend.

She needed to remain impartial and attend to Maria’s needs without expecting anything in return.

She had to move on.

“You look tired, má drahá.”

Catherine shuddered.

Oh, but how could she even begin to move on when Lady Maria looked at her so tenderly and spoke to her with such reverence?

-

It was mid morning by the time the conscripted investigators had summoned a carriage to transport them to the market district. The body of the large brougham was stained a deep ebony, matching the color of the Murgese mare pulling the coach. The valet was a soft-spoken young man with short, tawny hair and dark blue eyes. He carefully placed their armaments in the rear boot of the buggy before wordlessly pulling the door open and bowing slightly, urging the passengers to enter. 

Sir Gehrman extended his hand out to Lady Maria to assist her as she climbed into the carriage. She gave him a small word of gratitude before stepping into the coach, sliding onto the seat facing the groom. Catherine half expected the First Hunter to offer her assistance onto the buggy as well, but when he reached into his pocket to examine his stopwatch instead, she decided to jump in herself. She ducked underneath the roof as she stepped in, eyeing both sides of the compartment. The knight was inclined to sit on the opposite side of the noblewoman, but when she imagined Sir Gehrman taking a comfortable seat next to her Lady, she opted to sit at the noble’s side. 

Lady Maria was dressed in a light grey vest underneath a short, navy blue riding coat. She had a pair of matching grey breeches tucked into brown, full leather boots. Her signature hat was placed over her lap, preventing the feather from being quashed underneath the roof of the buggy. Catherine slipped into the vacant spot at the young scholar’s side, her fingers accidentally brushing the Lady’s velvet coat. If Lady Maria noticed this, she said nothing about it, giving the knight a small, cordial smile. 

Catherine returned the grin, turning to watch the First Hunter give his instructions to the coachman before leaping into the brougham. The brunette swore she caught a slight grimace on the old man’s features before he begrudgingly sat opposite of the two women.

“The valet says that it shouldn’t take more than an hour to get there,” he muttered as the coach pulled forward, “I suggest we scout out the area once we arrive, we don’t want to get caught with our guard down.”

“Agreed,” replied Lady Maria, “it may also provide us with a potential clue as to where the next victim will likely be placed.” 

“Well, let us hope that we capture the scoundrel before they commit another heinous murder,” he said, crossing both of his arms together. 

They went over a small bump, pushing the noblewoman and the knight closer together. The seat was so narrow that Lady Maria’s side was snugly pushed up against Catherine. The warrior tried to ignore the warmth spreading down her arm despite the layers afforded to her by her chainmail cuirass and capelet. Their thighs were barely touching, and yet her skin was burning underneath the fabric of her chausses. 

“Everything alright?” 

Catherine looked to the noblewoman, who was looking at her with a hint of concern in her features. 

“I’m fine—just—eager to get the investigation underway is all.”

Lady Maria raised a brow and pursed her lips, obviously doubting the knight’s excuse, but she didn’t pry any further, much to Catherine’s relief.

Although, she had to admit that the Lady’s incredulous expression was terribly cute.

Stop it! Now is not the time, she scolded internally.

The ride was rather quiet, with Sir Gehrman and the noblewoman exchanging a few words, mostly pertaining to her research.

“I am unsure of what my next steps should be. Honestly, I’m grateful for being drafted for this investigation, as it will provide an adequate distraction for me.”

“I see. I apologize that I cannot give you any further advice at this time. I’m afraid I also lack the insight on how to proceed going forward.”

“Think nothing of it,” Lady Maria assured, “I am sure I will stumble upon an answer in due time.”

-

It was almost midday by the time they arrived in the market district. The sanctuary of commerce was set in a large square with cramped stalls covering almost every meter of the street, their baubles and wares lavishly displayed to entrance the wandering eye of a customer. Scores of people entered the afternoon rush by making their way back and forth between stalls and storefronts. The raucous sounds of patrons haggling and conversing with the shopkeeps filtered through the air like a disharmonic symphony, grating the ears of the trio as they exited the carriage on the western end of the peddling prefecture. They retrieved their weapons from the valet, instructing him to wait by the main road before sauntering around the vendors.

Sir Gehrman had suggested that they separate to cover more ground, him taking the far right side of the market while Lady Maria and Catherine went through the middle and left side respectively. Catherine’s movements were stunted and clipped as she shuffled  towards the back of the marketplace, her person completely encompassed by denizens apparently unaffected by their surroundings. She tried desperately at one point to circumvent a portly man eyeing a large gold necklace inlaid with dark red rubies, only for him to stumble into her when he leaned too far back. The corpulent fellow whipped around as if to rebuke her, but the sight of her irritated scowl and hand on her sword rendered him mute. 

Catherine rolled her eyes, but continued to slowly meander through the crowd. At one point, she reached a large stall with three long tables adorned with dozens of finely crafted armaments. Her eyes couldn’t help but wander and marvel over the illustrious workmanship. Beautifully smithed steel shimmered in the sunlight, attracting her attention to the delicate artistry of the metalwork. She admired the variety of daggers and shortswords until her eyes fell on a magnificent twin blade. 

It was a marvel of craftsmanship; the grip was short, with a cup-hilted guard and branching quillion that looped around to attach to the hilt. One edge of the weapon resembled a saber—the blade long, sturdy, and slightly curved—while the other was like that of a dagger. The knight admired the spine of the dagger, which had a multiplicity of twisting vines etched into the steel while the patterned silver welded onto handles of both blades were layered like that of a dragon’s scales.

Despite its unique appearance and design, Catherine felt like she had seen it somewhere before.

“See something that you fancy, Miss?” The proprietor, which Catherine assumed to be a blacksmith, asked.

“No, no—just looking, thank you.”

He nodded at her, combing through his long, white beard. 

“That’s a fine piece there. Smithed it myself using an alloy of tungsten in with the iron ore. It’s probably the toughest steel I have on display. Hard, but light, and incredibly wear resistant.”

“I feel like I’ve seen a weapon like this before,” Catherine ventured hesitantly.

“You must be intimately familiar with Cainhurst weaponry then,” the old smith commented, his gruff voice barely audible above the lurid crowd, “I modeled it after the Chikage, a trick weapon often wielded by the Cainhurstian nobility; however, this particular blade doesn’t feed off of blood like that of its predecessor.”

Catherine made a brief sound of recognition before nodding several times. She had seen several people, including the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst armed with the blood blade that the blacksmith spoke of. It seemed like a fine weapon, although it was given a distinct advantage when enchanted by vileblood. 

Realizing that this was not the time to be window shopping, Catherine decided to take her leave, thanking the shopkeeper for his detailed explanation before siddling away from his stall. As the knight shimmied through the marketplace, she took note of the lack of adequate entry and exit points within the area. 

The storefronts actually set within buildings were abutted right against one another, leaving no room for alleyways in which one could potentially sneak and stalk around in. The only way into the market square was through the way they had entered, leaving it the only route for the killer to enter and escape, provided that they intended on placing their next victim within this district.

Catherine also noted that the abundance of stalls and people flooding the marketplace would likely provide an excellent cover for an assassin to subtly meander through the street without arousing any suspicion, so it was not a stretch to suggest that the murderer’s target could be silently killed within the market. The only problem now was ascertaining where the killer might store the body. 

“Catherine!” Lady Maria’s voice called out to her from beyond the crowd. Catherine looked up and saw the young noble give her a small wave. The knight returned the gesture, noticing that the ashen-haired royal and Sir Gehrman were standing in front of a parlour with a hanging sign that matched the noblewoman’s symbol. Realizing they discovered the apothecary shop, the knight set to move more briskly. pushing through the crowd of bumbling patrons.

- 

Once the trio reunited, they entered the store, the young scholar leading the way. A small bell heralded their arrival and within a few moments, a short, lithe woman in her early forties entered the main entrance from a room ensconced behind the counter. She was dressed in a pale orange smock over a cream colored blouse, her long brown skirt swaying with her movements as she entered. In her arms she held a wooden box full of spices and herbs, which she gingerly sat down on the far side of the cedar countertop before addressing her new customers.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted merrily, sifting through her shoulder length brown hair to straighten out some of the strands. Her movements slowed as she recognized the emblem of the Cainhurst Knight’s attached to Catherine’s cape in addition to the heavily armed people accompanying the young warrior. “How may I help you?”

Lady Maria stepped forward, bowing her head slightly.

“I apologize for the intrusion. I am Lady Maria Ravin de Cainhurst,” she announced, surprising the herbalist, who let out a small gasp. “These are my colleagues Catherine and Sir Gehrman. We are completing an assignment under the direct orders of Queen Annalise herself. If you have a moment, we would like to ask you some questions regarding some people who may have purchased some items from you, or perhaps they frequented your shop?”

The apothecary nodded slowly, her dark brown eyes holding a quiet curiosity and fear within them. 

“Would you…prefer to have this conversation out here, or somewhere more private?” She inquired motioning to the room behind her. Lady Maria looked to Catherine, who shrugged. The First Hunter voiced his desire for privacy, since they couldn’t be too sure who outside the storefront could see or hear them. The herbalist beckoned the trio to maneuver around the counter to delve further into the establishment. 

They all entered a storage room lined with dozens of shelves that held potions, tinctures, oils, and ointments in addition to alchemical ingredients. A small window was set in the back of the room, allowing sunlight to pass through the glass and illuminate the small alcove. The apothecary rummaged a bit through the area to retrieve a few stools for herself and the visitors to sit on. Catherine had elected to stand, leaning herself up against the wall near the window, occasionally glancing outside to make sure that they were not being watched.

Lady Maria took her seat on a stool abutted against the wall opposite of the potecary, retrieving a small notebook and pen. The proprietor offered her some fresh ink, which the young scholar took gratefully. Sir Gehrman opted to take the remaining stool adjacent to the older woman, clasping the handle of his cane with both hands as he got comfortable. Once everyone was settled, Maria looked to the shopkeeper and gave her an entreating nod.

“So,” the herbalist began, settling her hands on her knees, “what would you like to know?”

Lady Maria started by revealing one of the names of the victims, a lumber merchant who had been the first to go missing a month prior. She then inquired whether or not the apothecary had heard or served anyone of that name. 

“Why yes, I believe he came in a few weeks ago? I have the writ of exchange within my ledger, if you’ll excuse me!” The woman rose and hurried to the main room, retrieving a large, leather bound book. She took her seat again and flipped through several pages before finding the desired section. “Ah yes, I recall now, he had come in to purchase some more blood vials and charcoal tablets for his maladies.”

The young scholar continued to name a few more people until all of the victims were mentioned; all of whom were corroborated within the herbalist’s ledger. Strangely, it appeared that all of them had purchased the same medicines from her shop within the past month.

“What were their symptoms?” Asked Lady Maria curiously, baffled by how each victim seemingly possessed the same illness despite having no interaction with one another.

“Hmm, let’s see…intense muscle and joint pain, lethargy, fever. I didn’t really think too much of it; people come into my shop all the time to ameliorate such symptoms.”

“Do you always prescribe the same treatment regiment?” Sir Gehrman inquired, tapping his cane rhythmically on the floor.

“I typically create a tea blend or poultice; however, due to the severity of their symptoms, I opted to use a blood tincture to speed up the healing process.”

“And you didn’t think it was odd that these seemingly seven strangers all possessed the same illness?”

“They are not uncommon ailments—”

“They are in the dead of summer!”

Lady Maria lifted her hand to calm the First Hunter, who huffed in annoyance, but thankfully held his tongue. 

“Have you heard from any of them since their last appointment?” The noblewoman queried.

The apothecary shook her head.

“What is this all about anyway? Forgive me, Your Ladyship, but I fail to see how my little shop could have garnered the attention of the Queen! I’ve done nothing wrong!

“We’ve not accused you of anything,” Sir Gehrman assured, “we are simply investigating a matter on behalf of Her Majesty, and unfortunately, it may involve you and your shop.”

“But…how? The men and women you mentioned, what happened to them?”

“I apologize, but I’m afraid that information is confidential, madam,” Lady Maria stated, making her way to stand, “our investigation into this matter led us to your shop, and you’ve graciously provided us with all the information you have to offer. For that, you have my utmost gratitude.” 

The herbalist nodded, her brow furrowed in confusion. She looked as if she meant to question the noblewoman some more, but decided that it wasn’t her place.

“Are we finished here then?” Sir Gehrman inquired gruffly, adjusting his overcoat as he stood up.

Catherine moved from the wall and made her way towards the entrance of the storage room, following the First Hunter’s lead. Lady Maria stayed behind, flipping through her notes several times.

Something didn’t add up.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something odd about this whole set of circumstances. All of the victims had been suffering from the same illness—an illness that had only affected these seven specific people. And each of these seven people, with no physical or written contact between them, had all elected to go to this specific apothecary, encouraging her to prescribe them with these specific medications…

Blood vials and charcoal tablets.

Hmm.

“Those medicines you gave these patients, do you happen to have any left in stock?”

The woman looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“I do,” she said hesitantly, “why do you ask?”

“I’d like to collect some for our investigation, if you don’t mind? I’ll provide compensation of course.”

The apothecary pursed her lips, but nodded.

“I will prepare them right away, Your Ladyship.”

-

Maria let out a tired sigh that quickly merged into a yawn as she struck a match and lit the candle fastened to her engioscope. She doused the matchstick and placed the charred remnants onto the table, which was still in a sorry state of disarray. The young scholar then adjusted the shading fan and condenser until she was satisfied with its luminosity.

It was dreadfully late in the evening, and Lady Maria was still at work in the castle library, deciding to busy herself by analyzing the medicines she had procured from the herbalist. She knew she should have retired by now and returned to her room to claim the lost hours of sleep that had been stolen from her over the last several days. However, a stubborn nagging had tickled the back of her mind, eager to examine the blood tincture that all of the victims had been administering to themselves prior to their untimely deaths. 

It was curious to say the least, but it wasn’t terribly unusual, as blood elixirs were quite common in Cainhurst; at least amongst the aristocracy. Decades ago, when the consumption of vileblood was introduced to the members of high society, it became quite popular to use the enchanted ichor to ameliorate the infirmities that occasionally infected the upper class; hence the construction of the castle infirmary. 

Although nowadays it was exceedingly rare to have patients utilize these particular blood tonics for everyday afflictions, as they had drastically increased in price as the members of the royal family had dwindled. However, those who were a part of the de Cainhurst lineage that had vileblood swimming through their veins were duty bound to relinquish no less than one pint of blood every month to provide a steady supply of vileblood for both medical and leisurely prospects. 

Given the scarcity in supply, the young noblewoman thought it peculiar that such a steady amount of blood vials had been readily available for use. Though perhaps it wasn’t as mysterious as she had made it all out to be, as those with the appropriate amount of funds always seemed to discover a way to procure what they desired. Still, the Lady made a mental note to seek out the most recent shipment logs from the castle to hopefully ratify the number of blood vials being sent out into the city. 

The ashen-haired royal rolled up the sleeves of her dress shirt, having discarded her overcoat which had overheated in the hot summer air. She carefully opened a vial and used a small syringe to extract a few milliliters of blood from the tincture. The noble then continued her now, well practiced, routine of preparing a thin section for her to adequately observe underneath the eyepiece. She had just finished affixing the slide onto the stage of the instrument and started tweaking the focus knob when she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her waist. 

“You truly do not understand the meaning of rest, do you, My Lady?” A soft voice, warm and familiar, whispered into her back.

The noblewoman gasped, her heart shooting up into her throat at the smooth timbre of Catherine’s voice as it vibrated along her back.

“Catherine! By the Moon, you scared me half to death!”

The knight’s arms held her a little tighter, tugging the young noble flush against the shorter woman. Maria could feel the brunette’s cheek resting between her shoulder blades, the contact peppering goose flesh along her skin. Catherine hummed, sending a pleasant shiver down Maria’s spine.

“My apologies, that wasn’t my intention, Maria.”

The noble shuddered, the sweet melody of her name on Catherine’s tongue igniting a fire in her blood and making her feel light-headed.

“W-what are you doing here?” Maria stuttered, her throat suddenly dry.

“Hmm? Am I not allowed to seek you out to ensure that you are properly taking care of yourself?”

Catherine’s left arm loosened to allow her hand to ghost up Maria’s side, her warm fingers brushing lightly up the noblewoman’s ribs before moving down to trace soothing patterns along her hip. 

“C-Catherine!” Lady Maria whined, shutting her eyes tightly as a deep flush radiated off her soft, alabaster skin. Her breathing was growing uneven as the knight continued to touch her in such an intimate manner, forcing her heart to hammer luridly beneath her breast.

This was bad! If the knight kept touching her like that, she would—

Maria’s knees buckled when she felt Catherine’s powerful fingers dig into her waist before crashing her pelvis into the noblewoman’s ass. Maria groaned sinfully, bracing her hands against the dark wood of the table as the knight pressed her up against it.

“F-fuck!”

“Have you thought about this before, má drahá?” Catherine whispered against her neck, her lips barely brushing her pulse. “About me?”

“Yes!” Maria admitted shamelessly as a guttural moan tore from her throat. “Gods above, yes!”

She tried pushing her hips back against the soldier, encouraging her to continue the salacious act; however, it seemed that the brunette had a propensity for teasing, as she slowly untucked the white dress shirt from Maria’s trousers. The noble’s abdomen clenched as warm, calloused fingertips quietly trailed underneath her shirt and chemise to splay across her stomach, before daring to reach higher, just skimming the underside of her breasts.

Maria whimpered at the contact.

“I’ve thought about you,” Catherine revealed, allowing her right hand to gently cup one of Maria’s breasts, squeezing it gently before massaging it with her palm. “Ever since the day we met, I’ve felt drawn to you...That day at Ora Castellum still haunts me…for as soon as your essence touched my lips, I knew that I was ruined.”

Lady Maria felt a scorching heat swirl indecorously through her abdomen and settle damningly into her core. Her cunt clenched at the knight’s lewd admission, her wetness leaking between her legs and soaking into her underwear. Her thighs instinctively pressed themselves together and she moaned at the small pleasure the friction gave her.  

“Tell me,” the knight beseeched, whispering hotly against the noblewoman’s ear, “that night by the fountain, if that fool Gehrman had not interrupted us, what would you have done?”

Maria was trembling madly, her mind going numb as an unholy inferno of desire and need flooded her body. She cantered her hips forward, groaning in dissatisfaction when no pressure pushed back against her sopping core. She was just so empty, her pussy fluttering around nothing, desperate to be touched!

“I-I—,” she huffed, crying out as Catherine rolled a nipple between her deft fingers. “I would h-have kissed you! Gods—I…I would have devoured you!”

“What else?” The knight demanded, her hands now meeting below the noblewoman’s navel to unfasten her belt and unbutton the front seam of her trousers.

“I…I…hah!” She bit her lip, feeling Catherine’s rapturous fingertips dip slightly below the waistband of her underwear as her other hand shimmied down the noble’s trousers to cup her ass.

“Words miláček,” she encouraged, languidly licking a path from the nape of the noblewoman's neck up to her ear. “Let me hear that pretty little voice of yours.”

Maria mewled, the ardor of the knight’s illicit movements making her feel dizzy. She practically sobbed when she felt Catherine’s rough fingers settle into her ashen curls, an errant finger swiping up her labia.

“I would have begged for you to fuck me!” Maria confessed, reaching back to tangle one hand into the brunette’s soft hair and push herself more fervently against the knight. “P-please Catherine, Gods, I—I want it, I need it, I need you! ”

Catherine laughed haughtily as she trailed one finger through Maria’s soaked folds, dragging a desperate whine out of the noble’s beautiful mouth.

“Want what? Tell me exactly what you want, Maria.”

The sound of her name so deep and ragged on the knight’s lips had her pussy gushing over the teasing fingertips.

“I-inside!” She whimpered pathetically, “I want your fingers inside of me!” She accentuated her salubrious request by bucking her hips forward against the knight’s hand.

“As you wish, My Lady,” Catherine whispered before biting down hard on the noblewoman's neck and plunging two fingers deep inside of Maria's swollen cunt.

-

Maria gasped, her body nearly launching out of her bed as she woke up from the prurient fantasy. Sweat clung to her body, the cotton of her nightgown and undergarments uncomfortably sticking to her skin. She ran a hand through her damp hair as she tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. She panted heavily, an embarrassing flush trailing from her cheeks to her chest. With a groan, she rubbed at her eyes as she sank shamefully back into the pillows.

What the fuck was that? 

Well, Maria knew what it was, she just didn’t understand why.

At least that’s what the noble kept telling herself.

Maria sighed, peeking behind her hands to stare at the canopy of her bed, the warmth of her shame still creeping along her skin. Images of Catherine were vividly replaying in her mind—her electrifying touch, her sensual voice, her wicked tongue—all sending a renewed pulse of arousal low in her abdomen. She shut her eyes, remembering the seductive whispers the knight had uttered into her ear, feeling the phantom press of the brunette’s palm against her breast. Maria shivered, her right hand absentmindedly mirroring the same patterns the illusion had rubbed into her hip before they wandered beneath the skirt of her nightwear and ventured into the hem of her soaked underclothes.

She froze, cursing herself for even daring to sully Catherine’s image by using the memory of her dream to seek out her own pleasure. 

Maria groaned and reluctantly removed her fingers from under her nightwear. She huffed and twisted onto her side, mortified by her own actions and imagination.

The noble knew that she was undeniably attracted to the young soldier, but she didn’t know just how far her subconscious was willing to go to punctuate that fact. Evidently, a culmination of her innate desires for the Cainhurst Knight had manifested into an intense wet dream that still had her feeling light-headed. The young scholar buried her face into the crimson silk sheets as she let out a humiliating whine. 

How could she ever face Catherine now when all she could think of was how wonderful the knight’s calloused fingertips would feel curled up inside of her wet, needy cunt?

She moaned woefully.

Well, perhaps laying in bed and musing over these lustful fantasies was not the best strategy.

Lady Maria tossed the covers aside, rolling to the edge of the massive mattress to duck underneath the bed curtains. She tossed her legs out over the side of the bed and rose to her feet, deciding that it was better to look through and analyze the current evidence rather than remain in the quietude of her bedroom; where temptation was far too enticing. 

Maria struck a match against a matchbox that was resting on her nightstand, moving to light the wick of a candle nestled inside a small lantern. With the room slightly illuminated, the noblewoman moved to change her underclothes before stepping into a casual pair of brown trousers. She then donned a white dress shirt, ignoring the reminder of how Catherine's visage had delved her hands underneath a shirt of a similar style. Maria moved to the vanity and began combing through her long, ashen tresses with a wooden hairbrush, bunching it together behind her head before tying the ponytail off with a chestnut ribbon. Satisfied with her appearance, she shoved her feet into a pair of black boots, grabbed the lantern, and exited her room.

She quietly crept through the castle, occasionally running into a guard on the night watch who would give her a brief salute. The noble would either nod or return the formal gesture, hoping to seem as presentable as one could possibly be after awakening from the most incredibly homoerotic dream that had her practically soaking the bedsheets.

She winced, resisting the urge to slam her forehead against one of the marble pillars lining the halls.

If only she could toss herself out from one of the balcony windows to put herself out of her sexually frustrated misery; it would be exceptionally easier than ever having to face the knight again.

Oh well…

The young noble eventually made her way to the library and up into the workshop. She dragged herself to the front of the table and shuffled through a small, leather satchel that was placed at one of the corners. Collecting one of the vials from the bag, she set out to actually prepare a real thin section of the blood she had procured from the apothecary. Once Maria had properly secured the sample and placed it under her engioscope, she darted her head around the room to make sure that no one else was in the alcove with her.

She was, indeed, alone. 

Lady Maria sighed, then peered into the aperture and turned the coarse knob to retain a better focus on the blood cells writhing on the slide. She froze upon looking at them, a small gasp escaping her lips as she shakingly moved the sample around the stage. The vileblood cells, identifiable by their large, biconcave discs were interspersed with the unmistakable jagged and spiked vacuoles of beast blood. The noblewoman took a step back, shocked and repulsed by the discovery. 

Fearful that she might have contaminated the sample in her sleep deprived state, Maria removed the glass from the stage, discarded it, and set to prepare a new thin section. She snatched a new vial from the bag, grabbed several new, sterile instruments and set to work. When a new slide was made, she hurriedly placed it underneath the aperture and looked down into the engioscope once more, but there was no denying it.

Beast blood was commingling with the ancient vileblood cells, clinging around the divine vacuoles like ravaging parasites. The sight alone made the noblewoman feel queasy, but it was quickly replaced by an onslaught of panic as a dark realization took hold in her mind.

The blood vials had been tampered with—tainted by the blighted blood of beasts! The victims had been injecting themselves with a befouled ichor!

Maria felt the need to wretch.

This was madness!

Adrenaline began flooding her system at the implication, snatching the iron lantern and darting out of the room before her mind could catch up with her. Maria all but ran out of the library and toward the front entrance of the castle, ignoring the soldiers that called out to her questioningly. She headed east, past the courtyard and training grounds until she reached the barracks.

Maria didn’t care how late in the evening it was.

She didn’t care if anyone saw her or said anything untoward regarding her presence within the garrison.

She needed to find Catherine!

The noblewoman tumbled into the barracks, marching through the corridors without bothering to muffle her scuttling footsteps. She maneuvered her way to Catherine’s quarters, anxiety swelling within her like an unforgiving tide. Lady Maria’s fist was already in the air when she approached Catherine’s door, terrifyingly rapping on the wood to encourage the knight to awaken.

After a few seconds with no response, Maria decided to strike the door more aggressively, thudding it several times with her fist.

“Catherine!” She whispered vehemently, a hint of desperation and fear lacing her words, “Catherine open the door, please!”

Whether or not the soldier could hear her from behind the threshold, Maria could not know, but she heard the quiet shuffling of footsteps from beyond the barrier. The soft click of a lock, followed by the metallic creaking of a twisting handle alerted the noblewoman to the knight’s presence. 

“My Lady?” Catherine ventured out tiredly, dark circles of exhaustion illuminating the knight’s tremendous fatigue. “What are you—”

“We need to leave, now,” the scholar responded, her silver irises filled with dread and alarm. “Get into some armor and meet me at the stables!”

“What is this about? Have you found something?”

“I’ll explain more later, please, we have to get to the apothecary shop quickly! Before she infects anyone else!”

“Infects? My Lady—”

“There’s no time!” Maria exclaimed, grabbing the soldier’s upper arm with her free hand. She squeezed tightly, trying to convey the urgency of the situation. Her eyes were wild, like that of a caged animal darting between Catherine’s mismatched stare. “Please, just get dressed and meet me at the stables!”

Catherine looked as if she was about to interject with another inquiry, but ultimately refrained from speaking. She nodded emphatically to the taller woman who abruptly let her go to turn on her heel and stride towards her own chambers to retrieve her weapons and armor.

-

The quartermaster was not too pleased to be disturbed at such an unholy hour, but one minacious glare from Lady Maria had him saddling her stallion faster than a charging maneater boar. He graciously set up Catherine with a new steed, a sturdy gray Andalusian with a long, thick mane and tail. Once they mounted, Maria wasted no time dawdling, swiftly kicking her midnight Kladruper and encouraging him to gallop towards the western district. Catherine followed suit, holding onto her torch tightly as she tried to catch up to the disheveled noble and withdraw more information pertaining to this late night misadventure. 

“Care to elucidate what the actual fuck we are doing making a mad dash for the apothecary shop!?”

It was difficult to hear the noblewoman’s words over the constant thrumming of hooves on the cobblestone streets, but Catherine was still able to piece together a response:

“The blood vials have been tampered with—beast blood! She’s been giving out extractions of tainted vileblood to the people!”

“You’re certain!?”

“I saw it with my own eyes!” 

Catherine carded through her memories of the aging herbalist, stupified by the implication that the gentile woman was capable of such malevolence. She had seemed genuinely concerned and confused as to why the trio had even entered her establishment in the first place. She answered the line of questions truthfully and to the best of her recollection, even providing bills of sale to corroborate her claims; it seemed implausible!

And then there were the blood vials. 

Why would the apothecary willingly give up the tinctures to the noblewoman and risk exposing herself? Surely a criminal of this caliber—who had been evading persecution from the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst himself—wouldn’t have eagerly walked into the lion’s den by incriminating themselves? Try as she might, Catherine could not identify a logical explanation for why the herbalist would so easily proffer the evidence of her own deception. Regardless of whether or not the herbalist was the guilty party, they needed to investigate the mystery behind the tainted elixirs and discover who contaminated them, and why.

-

The market held an entirely different atmosphere under the cover of night. The stalls that littered the square were empty, their goods stored and locked away for the evening. The streets were devoid of life, the eerie silence a stark contrast to the bustling cacophony of caterwauling bellowing out from the city’s patrons. Only a few lampposts were lit, their muted orange glow casting small, flickering shadows in the firelight. The pair made their way through the vacant storefronts and to the front of the apothecary shop, which was darkened from the inside.

Lady Maria had turned to offer her own torch to Catherine, who accepted it as the noble began to dismount her horse. After tying the stallion up to the hitch post adjacent to the shop, the noblewoman collected both of the lit torches and allowed the young knight to do the same. When finished, Catherine retrieved her torch, a degree of nervousness plaguing her as her eyes roamed the seemingly unoccupied building.

“I don’t like this,” she admitted, a few hairs starting to stick up on the back of her neck, “something feels…off.”

Lady Maria nodded.

“Best keep our guard up then,” the noble stated, quietly approaching the entrance before generously rapping her knuckles on the stained wood. They were met with silence for over a minute before the ashen-haired royal attempted to knock once more.

“Do we even know that she lives here?” The knight inquired, darting her eyes around the marketplace. Her skin felt prickly, twitching as if it knew it was being watched. A bout of uneasiness creeped into her stomach and she instinctively removed her rapier from its sheath.

Maria didn’t answer her, deciding to delicately curl her fingers around the handle and pull. The door creaked open a fraction, revealing that it wasn’t secured. This prospect did nothing to allay the brunette’s fraying nerves who placed her hand on the noblewoman’s right shoulder to gently tug her back a little. The scholar’s silver irises met Catherine’s with a hint of confusion, to which the knight slightly twisted her head, motioning for the noble to get behind her. She hesitated, but eventually acquiesced, allowing the warrior to step in front of her as she gently pried open the door.

They stepped inside, carefully shutting the door behind them. The air in the room felt thick and stifling, like the blistering humidity that followed a summer rainstorm. It was uncharacteristically silent, making the groaning of the floorboards beneath their feet more jarring than necessary. The only light guiding them in that swallowing darkness was their torches, which illuminated a fair bit of space in the main hall.

All was still as the pair investigated the shop. The knight was heavily focused on maintaining her position in front of the noblewoman, eyeing each doorway unscrupulously. Lady Maria busied herself by looking around the shop, scrutinizing every herb, ingredient, and vial she came across. Eventually, the two women made their way behind the wooden counter, only for Catherine to freeze at the frightening scene before her.

There, in the middle of the floor, was a large smearing of a dark, burgundy fluid. The aimless spatter had curled up along the walls with dark imprints of palms and fingers splaying across the fading wallpaper. It trailed further into the storage area, the oozing ichor seeping into the wood grain as if something was dragged along the floor. Maroon stained papers and tomes littered the ground, torn and crumpled from the desperate attempt to grab a hold of something. Broken glass from potions and poultices were scattered around the room, accompanied by a toppled bookcase that obscured her view deeper into the alcove.

The ghastly sight did not go unnoticed by Lady Maria, who mumbled an expletive before moving past Catherine to delve further into the corridor. She carefully treaded around the broken shards as she followed the blood trail towards the back of the room. She held her torch up, illuminating the vile remains of a desiccated corpse. The cadaver was barely recognizable, completely drenched in blood with ripped fabric dangling at its wrists and the neck of its shirt. Pale moonlight flooded into the room from the small window in the corner, shining a modicum of light on the detestable scene.

“Shit,” Maria swore, crossing the room to examine the body more thoroughly. She knelt down before the crumpled form and placed two gloved fingers onto a wrist to try and take a pulse—there was none. The noble looked over the figure and it didn’t take her too long to identify the victim as none other than the apothecary herself. “Damn it all!”

After Catherine assessed the room for signs of danger, she sheathed her sword and quietly approached the noblewoman.

“The herbalist?” 

“Indeed,” the noble replied, handing over her torch to the knight before gently tilting her head back and to the side. 

Catherine winced, staring at the heinous marks and wounds lining the woman’s throat. There were several sets of raw, deep gashes marring the delicate skin, egregiously bubbled over by the beginnings of coagulation; however, it was not the grievousness of the wounds that had perturbed her so. 

Upon further inspection, the body was most certainly disfigured, but not by its disturbing lacerations. Her hands, coated in blood as they were, had enlarged; the fingers elongated with claws extruding out where her fingernails used to be. Her chin and maw were pushed out, with sharp, jagged teeth protruding from her gums. Her hair had gotten longer, and appeared to have been growing along her body as well. It was almost as if…

“By the Moon,” Catherine whispered, horrified by the discovery.

“She was—in the middle of transfiguring?” Maria said aloud, almost as if unsure of her own conclusion, but there was no mistaking it. The woman had perished betwixt the stages of being transformed into a beast.

“How is this even possible? She didn’t seem ill when we saw her merely hours ago! The ashen blood plague has never been reported to condemn someone so quickly.” 

Lady Maria grabbed one of the cadaver’s forearms and twisted it around to examine the hand.

“There’s blood and skin underneath her fingerna—claws,” the noblewoman observed, “it would appear as if the wounds on her neck have been self-inflicted.”

“You think she did this all to herself?”

Lady Maria hummed, eyeing the defiled corpse up and down before her gaze settled onto something on the wall by the woman’s thigh. The noblewoman encouraged the knight to come closer with the light, to which the brunette knelt down and brought one torch over the herbalist’s midsection. There, traced in blood above the trim, was an eye—or at least it certainly looked like an eye.

“Another symbol?” Catherine asked, bewildered by the increasingly confounding evidence.

“Apparently so,” the scholar responded, “do you recognize it?”

The knight took a long look at the crudely drawn figure, trying to recall if she had seen something like it before. She couldn’t quite put her figure on it, but it felt like she had seen this symbol before; however, her addled mind was unable to recount exactly where she had encountered it before.

“Maybe? I—I don’t know…”

“That’s quite alright,” Lady Maria sighed, rising from her position on the floor and retrieving her torch. “We can figure it out later…for now, we should search the premises and see if we can locate anything of note.”

They rummaged around the shop, trying to identify anything that might assist in their investigation. The disarray of the establishment made it exceedingly difficult to ascertain and identify what constituted promising evidence. After several minutes, the noblewoman observed something that she felt was out of the ordinary.

“How passing strange,” she commented.

“What is?” Inquired the knight.

“The blood vials are missing.”

“You’re certain that she did not give you her remaining supply?”

“She only provided me with four vials…while I am not certain that she possessed more, she seemed to imply that she had quite the steady supply, given the fact that she had at least seven customers coming in to purchase them. Repeatedly.”

“I suppose…we can check for a shipment report? Must be within her ledger, I’d imagine.”

The noblewoman nodded and moved to the main hall to search for the logbook. She brought her torch near the wooden counter, which had three, inlaid shelves. It was evident that the shelves had been rummaged through during the chaos of whatever had occurred with the herbalist: glassware was toppled over, ingredients spilled, and blood was splotched along the hardwood. Maria flitted her eyes toward the end of the top shelf, spying a thick, leather bound book. She collected it and placed it on the counter, opening it with her free hand as she hurriedly turned the pages.

Catherine loomed behind her, stepping close to the taller woman’s back and peeking over her shoulder to read along. Maria stiffened when she felt Catherine’s breath ghost along her neck, an involuntary shiver shimmering down her spine and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Her breath hitched, her face heating up as the memory of her dream pierced her mind.

Catherine’s arms encircling her waist, her strong hands drifting over the noble’s skin before pushing her against the desk.

Maria instinctively slapped her palm hard on the countertop, the lurid sound echoing slightly off the walls. Her mouth suddenly went dry and she tried to desperately swallow the lump that had lodged itself in her throat; butterflies fluttering around her abdomen at the recollection.

That low and luscious voice whispering filthily into her ear. Those sinful fingers unbuttoning her trousers, delving low below the waistband of her undergarments to glide along her sex, cruelly teasing her before they finally plunged—

“Is something wrong?” Catherine asked worriedly, taking a large step away from the noblewoman.

And, oh, how Maria wanted to pull her back.

“N-n-no, e-everything is fine,” she coughed, her cheeks absolutely burning from her concupiscent thoughts. She waved a few times with her free hand, “just, feeling a bit…cold is all…”

“Cold?”

“Yes—just—nevermind!” The noble insisted, pivoting to flip through the pages of the ledger once more.

The writs of sale, as well as shipment documentation, were all ordered according to date. Lady Maria sifted through the book, searching for the most recent entry, and backtracking from there. She located today’s—or rather yesterday’s—purchase that was between her and the apothecary regarding the vials. Underneath their signatures, the herbalist had written out the remaining stock after the purchase.

Forty-seven.

She had forty-seven blood vials left after her purchase!

If that was the case, where were they?

Maria tossed a few more pages aside, going back to uncover the original shipment details; however, no matter how many times she shuffled through the pages, she couldn’t seem to locate it.

“Impossible,” she muttered, flipping through the book page by page, growing more frustrated by the second.

“Where’s the shipment record?” Catherine pondered curiously.

“It’s not here! But that doesn’t make any sense! It should be here, not unless it was—”

She stilled after her gloved fingers moved one more page, looking down at the frayed ends of a torn paper trailing along the hinge.

“Removed,” the knight finished, now irritated by the revelation.

“Kurva!”

-

It had been three days since Lady Maria and Catherine had discovered the body of the apothecary. The Bloody Crow of Cainhurst was immediately notified, who discreetly sent his agents to retrieve her body and clean up the crime scene without arousing any suspicion from the public. 

The Cainhurst Knight was growing restless. The investigation was increasingly becoming more complicated as the days wore on and they had been forced back to square one. With their only lead now dead and potential evidence missing, the trio had no plan to move forward.

Sir Gehrman had insisted that the herbalist was behind the string of murders, as she was in possession of the blood vials and had given them out to her patients. He purported that the middle-aged woman was contaminating the vials with her own blood, given that she eventually succumbed to beasthood, which suggested that her own ichor had been tainted by the blood of beasts. He concluded that the apothecary likely took her own life after they had interrogated her, as she likely realized that she was going to be caught.

Though the exposition seemed sound, it still didn’t explain the missing shipment documentation. The First Hunter suggested that the herbalist tore it out and discarded it herself, but if that was the case, why couldn’t Lady Maria and Catherine find any evidence of its disposal?

And what about the missing blood vials?

Why was the woman infecting Cainhurstian aristocrats with beast blood?

And what of the eye?

None of those factors could be explained.

To start answering these questions, Sir Gehrman suggested that they try to collect the vileblood shipment records from the castle and try to ascertain the trail from there; more willing to listen to reason after Lady Maria made her dissent towards his simplistic claims known.

Catherine shook her head.

The knight was in the eastern courtyard, training by herself in the late evening. Ever since her recovery, most of her compatriots refused to properly spar with her; afraid that they would exacerbate her healing injuries. While she was still technically recovering, it was only her lungs that she needed to be wary about now. Still, the other Cainhurst warriors avoided her like the ashen blood plague itself.

Although Catherine had regained and maintained her strength by practicing on her own, it wasn’t the same as sparring with another person—to test your reflexes and instincts during a heated battle. Your form could be impeccable, but what did that matter if your opponent caught you off-guard by doing something unpredictable? That spontaneous intuition to counteract an enemy’s movements could only be applied in practice with a partner. 

Something that she distinctly lacked at the moment.

The brunette ran through some more drills, placing her rapier in first guard before rotating her wrist, cutting diagonally, then drawing through her imaginary target. She took a retreating step back, extending her arm out before lunging forward to execute a thrust. She repeated several of these motions with both her rapier and dagger, combining different cuts, parries, and thrusts; her feet rapidly retreating and advancing through each movement. 

“Your diligence is quite remarkable,” a voice called out to her, regal, yet clipped with a hint of satire, “particularly when you’ve only recently recovered from your dreadful injuries.”

Catherine quickly shifted her footing, pivoting her heels as she twirled and swiped her rapier through the air; the tip of the sword pausing just before the familiar figure’s throat.

“Výborně,” Lady Maria smiled, the setting sun glistening around her ashen crown like a golden halo. 

Catherine’s lips curled into her signature, puckish grin. 

“A knight’s blade is only as sharp as the wielder’s skills, My Lady,” she quipped, keeping her weapon raised against the noblewoman defiantly.

“We’re alone you know,” the noble said softly, “you needn’t use the title.”

The Cainhurst warrior faltered at her words, a slight warmth blossoming along the edges of her cheekbones. The sword shook slightly before she lowered it, relaxing her posture.

“My apologies…Maria, I fear I am not used to referring to you in such a casual manner yet.”

The scholar feigned offense, placing a gloved hand over her chest.

“Oh? Are we not close enough to regard each other with friendly epithets?”

Catherine scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes at the ashen-haired royal.

If only she knew.

“Escaping one of the First Hunter’s drab and perdurable seminars, are you?” The knight teased, shifting her weight to her left side. The noblewoman let out a small laugh in response; a velvety rumble that always sent a slight flutter through the soldier’s heart. 

“His lectures are actually quite fascinating, I wish that you two would get along better with one another.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s particularly interested in gaining my friendship,” Catherine replied, her mouth going into a tight line as she glanced away from the noble.

“You don’t like him,” Lady Maria stated, crossing her arms while a curious smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Catherine huffed.

“I don’t particularly dislike him! I’m sure he’s a fine mentor and confidant.”

“Whom you would rather not associate with.”

“I—” the knight paused, her blush creeping up towards her ears, suddenly hesitant to speak ill of her Lady’s tutor. “I…suppose I still do not trust him. After all, he is a member of The Healing Church. Forgive me if I’m hesitant to welcome him with completely open arms.”

“Worried that he’ll corrupt my mind and turn me against my own people?” Maria chaffed, her smile growing wider at the brunette’s burgeoning suspicions.

“You’re far too intelligent to fall for any of his clandestine schemes,” Catherine sighed, wishing to move onto another topic. 

She didn’t see the way the noble’s skin darkened at the comment.

“Yes—um, well,” Lady Maria coughed, rubbing her palms down the sides of her breeches. “Regardless, I…did want to try to get my mind off of everything—the investigation, my research…” 

The noblewoman took a step towards the shorter woman, who looked at her inquisitively.

“So, I was wondering…that perhaps you would like a partner? To spar with, I mean!” 

Catherine’s eyes widened for just a moment before they softened. She smiled warmly at her Lady.

“I would like that, Maria, if that is what you wish.”

The noblewoman nodded.

“Alright then,” the brunette continued, retreating a few steps and planting herself into an en garde position, “I’ll try not to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t forgive you if you did!” The noblewoman responded, unsheathing her own rapier and dagger before settling into her starting stance. 

They bowed slightly to one another before extending their swords to briefly touch. Neither one of them moved, their eyes unwaveringly locked with one another, wary with anticipation. Maria moved first, pushing her blade along Catherine’s to lunge at her sternum. The knight easily disengaged and took a step to the left before flicking her wrist to parry an oncoming strike from the swift noblewoman. Maria then quickly thrusted her offhand toward Catherine’s stomach, but the blade was instantly deflected by the knight’s swordbreaker. 

“You’ve grown much more aggressive since our last match,” the brunette observed, pushing against Maria’s steel. The noble smirked and pushed back, leaning forward until her mouth was just above Catherine’s ear.

“That charming cockiness of yours will only go so far to distract me,” Lady Maria warned, her warm breath tickling the shell of the knight’s ear.

Catherine shuddered, her cheeks ravaged by the burning flame of her Lady’s statement. 

By the Moon, how could Maria not know what her words did to the poor Cainhurst warrior?

They separated, allowing Catherine to follow through with her own strike, an upward cut that was effortlessly blocked by the ashen-haired royal. Maria retreated a half-step before feigning an attack that was recognized by the knight, who took a small step toward her opponent to properly engage with the blade. 

“Can’t fool you with that again, can I?” Maria asked, referring to her victory during the duelist tourney.

“It will take a lot more than that to catch me off guard again!” 

“Is that so? Hmm, I wonder what kind of pitiful state I could only be so lucky to find you in for that kind of opportunity.”

A tempest of fire scorched a blazing path from Catherine’s chest down to her abdomen.

Could the noblewoman not hear herself speak?!

That silky, sinful timbre of Maria’s voice, suggesting such a thing that could readily be mistaken for something so provocative, made the knight weak in the knees. She desperately tried to push away the indelicate thoughts ignited by the young scholar to focus on their duel.

Which was exceedingly more difficult than she initially thought.

The clash of their steel sang a blissful melody as the rhythm of their dangerous dance reached its zenith. Catherine watched each step and movement instigated by the noblewoman, completely entranced by her battle prowess. Her motions were unrestrained and fluid, allowing her to dodge and glide around the knight’s strikes with unbelievable agility. Her attacks were swift, yet powerful; well-timed in their execution as if she had planned them several moves in advance. Catherine had not misspoken or stretched the truth when she commended Lady Maria’s swordsmanship: the woman was an absolute marvel.

As the duel continued, the Cainhurst Knight couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face at the sheer joy she felt being able to spar with someone again, especially with someone as marvelously adept as Lady Maria. Adrenaline was brimming in her veins, sending a rush of endorphins and excitement through her system. She continued to parry, thrust, and attack while closely following the noblewoman’s steps, eager to get into her guard.

But Lady Maria was not making it easy for her!

The noble disengaged, dodged, and retreated perfectly, pacing herself to follow through with well-timed counterattacks. She was truly a sight to behold, gracefully moving in and around the Cainhurst warrior; performing her attacks with incredible precision and proficiency. Catherine greedily took in her appearance, admiring the way the sun reflected off her ashen hair as she danced within its divine rays. Her eyes were sparkling, a buzz of excitement evident in her ethereal silver pools. Sweat was dripping from her brow, sliding along her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her dress shirt. Catherine briefly wondered what she looked like beneath the offending cotton, wishing that she could bear witness to her Lady’s undoubtedly toned and muscular arms hiding underneath the creamy fabric. The noble’s breaths were heavy, yet controlled from the efforts of their sparring; her beautiful lips parted to intake more air. 

Gods above, how utterly enchanting she was.

How wholly and inexplicably divine.

And how devastatingly tragic that she could not have her.

Lady Maria forcibly caught the edge of her blade within the serrations of Catherine’s swordbreaker, harshly pushing it to the side, which caused the knight to stumble. Catherine gasped, but before she could throw her rapier up to parry Maria’s next attack, the noblewoman cut upward and thrusted the tip of the blade just underneath the knight’s collarbone. It pierced through her cuirass and gambeson, nicking the soft flesh underneath. She winced at the slight pinch, noting that a small amount of blood was trickling out from the wound and soaking into her armor. 

The noble grinned, cockily raising an eyebrow at the shorter woman, who looked down at the blade that was now lightly coated in crimson. She sighed deeply.

“You missed my heart,” Catherine chided, glancing up to give the noble a small smile; however, the look that Maria was giving her had made the brunette’s heart stop.

Lady Maria was staring at the knight’s blood as it dripped languidly down the steel’s edge, her pupils expanding until they practically encased her irises. Catherine tried saying the noblewoman’s title, in which she did not receive a response. Instead, the young scholar’s mouth parted, allowing her pink tongue to brush along her bottom lip. Catherine followed the motion and involuntarily shivered.

“Krásný,” the Lady breathed, stepping slightly closer to the knight, who whimpered as the blade sunk further into her flesh and released more of that tantalizing ichor.

“M-m-Maria!” Catherine gasped, shutting her eyes as an unexpected sensation of pain and pleasure swirled damningly in her core. She dropped her dagger and instinctively placed her empty hand onto her Lady’s shoulder, but couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to shove the noblewoman away or pull her closer.

She had little time to make that choice.

“Lady Maria?” A familiar voice called out from above.

It was Sir Gehrman’s voice.

Both women froze, their eyes widening before clumsily separating from one another, which unfortunately caused more of Catherine’s skin to tear.

“Shit! Ow!”

“Oh, sakra, my apologies! I didn’t mean to—!”

“It’s quite alright, My Lady, it’s nothing more than a small prick, no harm done!”

“You’re certain? Should I summon Dr. Veselý to examine it?”

“That won’t be necessary, My Lady, believe me. I am fine, truly,” Catherine assured, placing her palm onto the wound to impede the bleeding.

Lady Maria looked skeptical, but ultimately refrained from prying further. Instead, she looked up at the ramparts. Catherine followed her gaze, which landed on the silhouette of the First Hunter, who was looking down at them with a neutral expression.

“Good evening, Sir Gehrman,” Lady Maria called out, giving the hunter a small bow, “is there something wrong? Something you wish to discuss?”

“I have received the bills of lading pertaining to the distribution of vileblood within the kingdom from the Queen’s steward. I thought you would be interested in taking a look at its contents.”

“Ah, excellent! We shall convene with you in the library shortly then!” She exclaimed, giving him a small wave. 

Catherine couldn’t clearly see his features, but she had a feeling that he was narrowing his eyes at her. 

Well, it would appear that Sir Gehrman was just as eager as she was to become fast friends. 

The Cainhurst warrior watched as the First Hunter turned and walked off, his cloak swaying slightly from the abrupt movement. She didn’t notice Maria reaching down to collect her swordbreaker until the noblewoman cleared her throat. 

“Oh, thank you, My Lady,” she said, reaching out for the blade. A small breath escaped her lips when she felt their fingers brush, and she silently wished to feel the warm skin bound underneath the worn leather. 

Lady Maria gave her another fetching smile.

“Thank you…for indulging me.”

Always, Catherine thought.

“Come, let’s not keep him waiting, hmm?”

Catherine grumbled, obviously irritated, but nodded as she placed her sword and dagger within their scabbards.

Lady Maria laughed and motioned for the knight to lead the way as she sheathed her own weapons, falling quickly into step with the young knight.

-

The pair walked towards the main entrance in silence, drifting past the gardens and the gardenia trees. A short breeze billowed through the branches, jostling some of the ivory petals from their blossoms. They floated down like snowflakes, covering the ground in a floral blanket; some descending and landing in the brunette’s hair, which made the noble snicker.

“They look lovely on you,” Lady Maria remarked, a playful hint to her tone as she pried one petal away from the knight’s short locks.

Catherine scoffed, but still felt warmth bloom across her cheeks at the noble’s compliment.

“They’re falling a lot quicker than usual,” she commented, “must be too warm of a summer.”

“It’s a shame, they’re my favorite.”

“Are they?” The knight asked curiously, “I would have thought it would have been roses.”

“How so?”

The knight froze.

“Um, well—I, uh…hmm, no particular reason…I suppose,” she stammered, unable to conjure up a believable explanation other than the truth.

“Roses are rather splendid, I’ll give you that—but I prefer the gardenias. My uncle lacked a green thumb, so he never thought about keeping or maintaining a garden. Upon my arrival at the castle, I was completely taken away with how wonderful the courtyards were—latticed with such blooming colors. And yet I was drawn to the gardenia trees: their seclusion, their privacy…it felt like they were truly carrying out their purpose.”

“Their purpose?”

“Well, what they are meant to convey.”

“Convey?”

Maria smiled.

“Yes, flowers are often used to communicate or express a certain message, feeling, or thought,” she explained.

“And what are gardenias meant to express?” Catherine inquired curiously, taking a moment to gently remove one of the blossoms from a branch before handing it over to the noblewoman. Lady Maria took it and glided her thumb along the ivory petals.

“They have several meanings, but often symbolize tranquility, harmony, or self-reflection; however, they can also represent trust, hope, and lo—” she abruptly paused, halting her movements as her throat caught up on the last word.

Catherine stopped as well, tilting her head at the noblewoman. They stared at each other for a long moment—amber and cerulean drowning in silver. A small breeze drifted between them, carrying a subtle, sweet fragrance that seemed to heighten their senses. 

It could have been a trick of the light, or perhaps the coolness of the summer night wind, but Catherine swore she saw a slight dusting of crimson painting her Lady’s porcelain skin.

“And…what?” Catherine ventured, taking an involuntary step towards the noblewoman.

“N-nothing,” the Lady sputtered, turning her gaze away from the knight and pushing past her. Catherine was about to pry further, but decided to leave it be. 

“Have you any new theories regarding the investigation?” She inquired, catching up to the ashen-haired royal.

The noblewoman hummed and chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Not particularly, everything just seems so muddled. I thought we were finally getting somewhere after we confronted the herbalist, but now that she’s gone, it feels like we have moved even further behind where we started.”

“I understand; it’s beyond frustrating,” Catherine admitted, “the little evidence we have been able to compile is merely speculation at best, which makes it exceedingly difficult to adequately evaluate and derive a reasonable conclusion from it all.”

Lady Maria nodded.

“The symbols, the ledger, the tainted vials—none of it makes any sense. I don’t even know where to begin to interpolate their connection with one another.”

“There is no doubt that the herbalist was somehow involved; however, I am hesitant to assign guilt to her. Although her apparent infection does give me pause.”

The two women fell silent, slowly ascending the staircase leading into the great hall. Two Cainhurst Knights greeted them with a salute at the entrance, which Catherine returned. They turned right and drifted down the corridor before entering into the gilded elevator that heralded them into the library. The lift lurched with a loud screech as it ascended. Lady Maria moved to lean back against the left-most wall, crossing her arms as she did so.

“I don’t know how the apothecary was able to turn so fast, but it all seems rather convenient, don’t you think?” She asked the knight, who gave her a curious hum.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we decode some sort of cipher, leading us straight to her. She willingly gives us the blood vials without complaint or suspicion, then dies within hours of our encounter, leaving at least forty-seven other vials and their sale records missing.” The lift scuffled to a halt, and the noblewoman pushed herself off the wall and reached for the handle to pry open the elevator doors. They clicked as they were pushed to the side, Lady Maria crossing over the threshold to enter the library. Catherine followed suit. “Something doesn’t sit right with me, it feels like this has been all staged from the very beginning. I don’t believe that the herbalist knew anything about the contaminated vileblood.”

“You believe that someone else orchestrated it entirely? That someone was intentionally tampering with the blood and having the apothecary sell it to the victims without her knowledge?”

“And when we came snooping around the shop, she started asking questions, so the murderer decided to silence her, arranging it all to appear as if she was behind everything; taking her own life out of guilt or fear of being discovered.”

They meandered through the library ascending the stairs that led up into Lady Maria’s private workshop. Catherine nipped at her bottom lip in thought. The noblewoman’s speculations were sound, but had very little evidence to fully support them. The circumstances surrounding the herbalist’s death suggested some degree of foul play; however, one large questioned remained:

What was the motive behind it all?

“Why would the killer be so adamant to infect their victims with beast blood? And for what purpose do they need to extract it all once they’ve passed?” Catherine asked as she reached the top of the steps.

Lady Maria sighed.

“I do not know…but that is what frightens me the most.”

-

Sir Gehrman handed over a large, maroon tome to Lady Maria who placed it on her work table to thumb through it. 

“It appears that the last shipment of vileblood outside the castle walls was four weeks ago,” the First Hunter explained, “a total of 326 vials were included in that consignment, of which ninety-four were delivered to the western section of the city.” 

Maria flipped back and forth between several pages. 

“Nothing in here references the apothecary, nor her shop, directly?” 

“No, Your Ladyship.”

“Why?”

“Of that, I am uncertain of, perhaps you may inquire the Queen about this matter?”

“Queen Annalise is not in charge of such affairs,” Catherine informed with a small huff.

“Oh, forgive me for not being made aware of all of the intricacies of Cainhurstian regulations,” he stated derisively, irritably clicking the tip of his cane onto the floor.

“I wouldn’t expect an esteemed guest to fully comprehend the chain of command in Cainhurst,” the knight rebutted, narrowing her eyes at the Hunter.

“Catherine—please?” Lady Maria implored, looking at the shorter woman with an exasperated expression. 

Catherine gritted her teeth, but was resolute to remain cordial with her Lady’s mentor, so she refrained from speaking further. Instead she wandered closer to the table and glanced around the map, which now had a small circle around the apothecary shop to designate the newest victim.

The knight stared at the schematic, faintly hearing Sir Gehrman and Maria discuss the matters of the ledger. Her mismatched eyes trailed over the parchment, looking at the small squares that represented buildings and the faint straight lines that designated roads. The eight bold marks that demarcated the locations in which the bodies were discovered now formed a crude diamond, which disquieted the young knight. As she continued to observe the markings, her eyes moved to the middle of the diamond, where a large circular structure was located.

Catherine recognized the building as the bathhouse, as she had passed by the public sudatorium several times, and even heard some illicit stories from some of the Cainhurst Knights that frequented its saunas and pools. The building was flanked by two changing halls; small, triangle shaped constructs that were abutted on opposite sides of the bathhouse. Catherine tutted absentmindedly, it was curious to look at the structures from this perspective. She stared down at the drawing, lifting a brow as she let out a short laugh.

If she didn’t know any better, she would say that it resembled—

She froze.

It looked just like—

“An eye,” she breathed.

Catherine didn’t see Lady Maria turn her attention towards her.

“What?”

“The—the eye!” Catherine repeated loudly, stumbling around to find a pen. Her hands were shaking as she located one on the opposite side of the table, hurriedly pushing away loose papers and notebooks to retrieve an inkwell. 

“What about the eye?” Maria inquired, her voice filled with confusion and intrigue. 

“I have seen that symbol before! The one at the apothecary shop. It’s a rune!” The knight exclaimed, quickly dipping the pen into the ink before bringing it to the map. She started outlining the bathhouse and its abutting chambers so that it closely resembled an eye, followed by drawing several lines that connected the victims bodies to the sudatorium. When she was finished, a symbol depicting an eyeball with large sunbeams radiating off the center of the iris was displayed on the page in dark, running ink. “It’s the Cainhurstian symbol for ‘blood rapture’. It’s found on every servant of the Queen—defining our loyalty to her and to the kingdom.”

“That’s—that’s not possible, that would mean that someone inside the castle—a servant of Her Majesty—is responsible for these murders? For the vileblood contamination?”

“It would appear so, My Lady, as horrific as that sounds.”

“Moji dobří bohové…”

“You’re certain of this?” Sir Gehrman asked incredulously. “You’d incriminate someone in the castle with such treason?”

“There can be no mistake. I don’t know who in the castle is responsible for all of this, but I am certain that they have to be someone involved in the vileblood shipments.”

“There’s too many people connected to the process, how do we even begin to narrow it down?” Lady Maria asked.

“We don’t—we head right for the killer themselves; take them by surprise.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” The First Hunter questioned, raising a thick, grey eyebrow.

Catherine smirked.

“Well, to start, we are going to need a lot of bath salts.”

Chapter Text

Chapter XIII: Come, Bring me Where the Goldsmith is: I Long to Know the Truth Hereof

Hunter’s Nightmare: Research Hall

1024 A.P.

Re-entering the Nightmare was never the most pleasant of experiences; however, Catherine was pleased to discover that she had at least been transported to an area that she was semi-familiar with. The lantern she had manifested next to was the one she had located after her battle with Master Ludwig. The brunette ascertained her surroundings, adjusted her attire and gear, then moved up the stairs and through the Grand Cathedral.

She entered a large hall, where there were several pews and a resplendent altar settled far across the back of the room. Several candelabras were lit, the faint flicker of their flames illuminating the dark, shadowy room. Catherine curiously eyed several painted portraits of religious iconography, wandering quietly through the ward. Although the Hunter was treading lightly, she soon heard a shuffling of footsteps echoing behind her and she quickly drew her sword and held it close to her defensively; however, she slightly lowered her guard when she saw a familiar face.

“Oh, no need for that,” Simon stated, his ebony bow tucked at his side. “You are wielding a new weapon. Ludwig’s old greatsword, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Indeed,” the brunette affirmed dryly, “your powers of perception never cease to astound me.”

He ignored her obvious sarcasm.

“When you're blind, you tend to depend on your other senses to integrate external information,” he said plainly.

Catherine bit the inside of her cheek punitively.

“My apologies for my rudeness.”

He sighed.

“Think nothing of it…you defeated Ludwig, did you? Hmm, he was a tragic figure, but he will shame himself no longer.”

Catherine recalled her last and only conversation with Ludwig, how he had asked about his soldiers: the decrepit, tempestuous Executioners that were sent to Cainhurst, slaughtering its people.

“He was a failure as a leader,” she angrily insisted, “he and his rotten Church Hunters can burn for all I care.”

Simon remained quiet for a moment, perhaps pondering her words, but he made no effort to rebuke them. Instead he began to walk past the shorter woman and bid her to follow with the tip of his head. Catherine acquiesced, leaning the greatsword along her shoulder. They wandered about the cathedral for several minutes until a large doorway came into view. It was a small, intricately carved archway that led outside and into a small churchyard, where several, humanoid bodies had been piled up and burned.

Catherine grit her teeth.

“Not a pretty sight, is it? The true face of the blood-worshipping, beast-purging Healing Church. But this isn’t all of it.”

“It’s horrible,” Catherine said spitefully, “what could bring someone to employ such atrocity?”

“Ah, you still seek the secrets field by the Nightmare?”

“In a way,” The Hunter admitted carefully, “I intend to seek out Micolash.”

“The host of the Nightmare? For what reason have you to speak with that fool?”

Despite Simon’s previous assistance and seemingly auspicious nature, Catherine still didn’t fully trust the old Church Hunter.

“My reasons are my own,” she replied and left it at that.

Simon hummed at her answer, yet didn’t encroach upon it further. He pushed past the dessicating bodies and meandered through the tall grass beyond the courtyard. Catherine followed him, believing that he had more to say to her.

“What do you want of me?” 

“Do you know why the Hunters are drawn to the Nightmare?” He asked, not giving the warrior time to answer, “because it sprouted from their very misdeeds. Things that some would rather keep secret…a pitiful tale of petty arrogance really.”

The old Church Hunter paused, tilting his head upward towards the sky. Although he couldn’t see it, Catherine assumed he was facing the Astral Clocktower, which peered menacingly behind a large outcrop, illuminated by the light of a full, silver moon.

“It’s high time someone exposed the whole charade,” he muttered, mostly to himself, but Catherine caught his every word.

“What do you mean?”

“This Nightmare needs to end, but only those with a semblance of sanity can even hope to attempt to fulfill that task. You and I seem to be the only ones that are not completely drunk on the desire to perpetuate this false reality.”

Catherine looked upon him warily, unsure of what exactly he was attempting to accomplish and what role she was meant to play in it.

“I don’t understand.”

“The Hunters of Bygenwerth are responsible for this dreadful dream; their past actions have damned us all. Only we can take back our future.”

Catherine opened her mouth to inquire a modicum of clarification from the blinded man, but he silenced her with a gesture of his hand. Simon nodded once to her, but didn’t motion for her to follow when he began moving away. He pointed in the direction of the Lecture Building, signaling to her that she should begin her search for the crazed Scholar of Mensis there. The Hunter watched him leave, slightly puzzled by his words, but decided not to dwell on them.

She had more pressing matters to attend to.

-

Catherine winced, tearing out her silver greatsword from a naked, humanoid creature, spraying blood and brain matter onto the broken tiles lining the floor. She briefly flicked her blade to encourage the fluids to disperse before returning the weapon to rest against her right shoulder. The putrid scent of the rotting flesh still lingered on the sword, which repelled the Hunter, who could barely stifle a gag as she continued to wander through the crumbling building. 

The Research Hall was, by far, Catherine’s least favorite place nestled within the Nightmare: a ghastly mansion haunted by bizarre and warped figures that were often unpredictable in their actions. The atrophied constituents of the studious vestibule would laugh to themselves, rocking back and forth in corners or on soiled beds. Sometimes they would look upon her—or that was at least what Catherine assumed, when their massive, eyeless heads twisted in her direction—and cowered; using their elongated fingernails to dig and tear into their own flesh. 

Other times the grotesqueries would lunge after her with an improvised weapon in hand, swinging at her blindly. The Hunter needed to be more conscientious of her surroundings during those attacks, as it was commonly accompanied by several monsters aggressively throwing flasks at her. Only the Great Ones could know what hazardous materials were resting within those vials, but the disgraced knight did not think it was wise to try discovering it firsthand. 

The atrium was a large, intimidating room with a marvelous spiraling staircase that branched in several directions. Each branched pathway led to an opened hallway with demurely carved balconies built into the domineering archways. Bookshelves rested against the walls, filled to the brim with tomes and articles dating back centuries, before the Pthumerians. Several sconces were lit, allowing a ghostly glow to illuminate the vast foyer.

Although its grandness briefly reminded Catherine of the opulence of the Cainhurst Castle Library, the Research Hall was in such a deplorable state of decay that it felt inappropriate to compare the two. The floor tiles were chipped, exposing the decrepit masonry beneath the slate. Railings were broken or missing from several balconies, and the rotting wood of the termite infested staircase had forced the Hunter to climb along the outside of the balusters on several occasions.

Catherine scowled, growing impatient as another damnable monstrosity rounded the bottom of the staircase to swipe at her. The Hunter took a retreating step, forcing the creature to miss and accidentally hit the handrail. It trilled angrily, turning to attempt another strike before Catherine brought the greatsword down onto the monster, cleaving through its skull. Juices sprayed from the wound, coating the steel of the Hunter’s blade, who groaned in disgust.

Catherine had been roaming the Nightmare for several hours, carefully trudging through enemy infested plains and halls to locate Micolash without carousing too much attention. She had searched the Lecture Building where she had initially encountered the crazed Scholar of Mensis; however, she had only found several enthusiastic scholars determined to tear open her head and withdraw her eyes. Being eager to keep her optic nerves attached, Catherine had opted to migrate away from that troublesome place and head toward the Research Hall.

But that annoying charlatan had still yet to show his face!

Catherine was committed to confronting that insane, pathetic little man and extract any information pertaining to the Byrgenwerth scholars. He knew something about the downfall of the college and she was going to be damned if his asinine riddles were going to deter her from denuding the truth.

She just had to find the puerile, sophomoric twit!

Catherine had ventured only a few paces from the steps before she heard a muffled, low pitched groan emanating from one of the rooms abutting the main hall. She glanced in the direction of the sound, spying a doorway she had not been certain was present during her prior visit to the Research Hall. From her current position, the Hunter could only make out the outline of a long table within the faint candlelight emanating from the curious alcove.

Another sorrowful wail bellowed out of the opened corridor, its unsettling dissonance grievously perturbing the warrior. Gooseflesh pebbled along her skin; a sudden nervousness creeping into her stomach. The sound was unlike any other creature she had encountered in the Nightmare. This cry was not like the whining and growling of beasts; it was mournful—harrowing…it almost sounded…human.

Catherine swallowed, an unwelcoming feeling of dread snaking its way up her spine. Despite her initial instinct to flee and avoid whatever lurked in the cryptic corridor, the Hunter felt a gnawing curiosity prick the base of her skull. Her apprehension was slowly dissipating as she shuffled quietly to the opened doorway. When she approached the room, she opted to hug the wall adjacent to the doorframe and peeked her head inside.

The room was relatively unremarkable, an arcuate shaped alcove with several chairs and tables haphazardly abutted against the walls. Several tables were covered by various medical instruments and devices that Catherine couldn’t quite identify, but she had observed during her days at the clinic in Yharnam. 

In the center of the room was a long, stone table that was more akin to an altar rather than a medical cot. Upon the surface was a motionless figure with a ghastly, malformed face—a bulbous mass of skin folded over like the twisted sulci of a brain. It was a sickly, pale-pink mottling of flesh that lacked any distinct facial features. The creature was bound tightly to the altar by thick leather binds that looped around its head, torso, and legs.

From this position, Catherine could faintly see the outline of several instruments standing upright, sheathed into the rotting flesh of the body affixed to the table. She grimaced, perturbed by the frightful and disturbing sight. The Hunter took a step into the room, her sword raised in preparation for an unexpected attack. Her soft footsteps padded gently across the slate, measured and controlled, leaving only the slightest hint of a sound. 

Enough to garner the attention of a stranger.

“Is…is that you, Lady Maria?” A soft, timid voice called out to her.

Catherine immediately twisted her body and readied to block an incoming strike, however; she lowered her weapon ever so slightly when she noticed a tall, mysterious silhouette sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. The visage was similar to that of the poor creature strapped onto the altar: a massive head with pallid lumps of mottled flesh molded around a thin neck. The arms of the figure were strapped to the armrests by leather cuffs, the skin taut and raw from the creature’s attempts at escape. The bony, emaciated limbs were blemished by hundreds of pinprick scars, undoubtedly from the bristling bite of needles burrowing into skin. There was one large syringe mounted onto its right forearm, a burgundy ichor swimming hauntingly in the glass. 

Catherine was so heavily focused on the misshapen creature that she almost did not register the name in which it called out to her.

“W-what?” 

“No,” the figure intoned, “you’re not Lady Maria…you’re someone else.”

“You know of Lady Maria?”

The creature inquisitively tipped its head to the side.

“Yes, I do…who are you? Have you seen her? I’ve been calling for her, but she has yet to return! She’s meant to be monitoring my progress!”

The slight desperation in the figure’s voice was unsettling. The Hunter didn’t understand why the creature was so determined to ascertain Lady Maria’s whereabouts, but she hesitantly acquiesced to answer a few of its questions anyway.

“I have seen her, yes…and you may call me Catherine.”

The Hunter heard the swift puff of a slight intake of breath.

“Catherine? The Cainhurst Knight-Captain?”

The sudden use of her old title startled the poor Hunter.

“Yes…? How did you—?”

“At Bygenwerth, Lady Maria spoke of little else,” the figure stated, somewhat forlornly, “when we weren’t talking about the experiments.”

The notion that Lady Maria spoke of her often at the college sent a blip of warmth into the Hunter’s heart, and she instinctively raised her free hand over her chest.

“She—she spoke of me?” Catherine whispered wistfully, almost forgetting that she was soon meant to purge this false-reality of her past lover.

“Indeed, she never disclosed with me any of the details, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she seemed absolutely taken with you.”

Catherine could feel a scathing blush rise to her cheeks.

“Is…is that so?” 

The figure nodded slowly before turning her head away from the Hunter.

“You’re quite lucky to have won the affections of someone as delightful and kind as Lady Maria.”

Catherine frowned, a dull ache coiling around her heart.

“I was.”

The creature turned to her again.

“My name is Adeline. I am a blood saint—a nun of the Healing Church that was found worthy of becoming a vessel for the Old Blood and helping bring forth health and life to humanity. Lady Maria is in charge of administering the experiments to aid my ascension.”

“Ascension?” Catherine inquired, her eyes roaming Adeline’s decaying frame. 

“How else are we to cure the plague of beasts—the ashen blood plague—if we cannot ascend past our fallible, mortal bodies? The Pthumerians had once achieved immortality…could not humanity do the same?”

The Hunter had no answer to that, but if immortality required one to transform into a hideous monstrosity, she wasn’t so sure she was willing to be subjected to it. 

“I must admit: I’m quite envious of you,” Adeline confessed, “Lady Maria is so gentle and courteous with me and the other patients. She is incredibly attentive and good-natured—intelligent as she is beautiful…I couldn’t help but find myself growing fond of her.”

Catherine continued listening, taking in the saint’s admission. Her heart swelled at the thought of the Cainhurst royal tenderly administering medications to her patients, sneaking them sweets, and gossiping with them until they melted under her warm countenance. The Hunter couldn’t blame the woman for becoming so enamored with the dashing scholar—for Catherine had fallen for her for precisely the same reasons.

“Where is she?”

The sudden question caught the warrior off guard.

“The Clocktower,” Catherine replied, taking a few steps forward toward the figure, “she is…reluctant to leave its halls.”

“Hmm, I’m not surprised. She seemed to find great comfort in the solitude of that place after the expedition to that small village.”

The quiet revelation shocked the Hunter, who fervently began to question the blood-saint.

“What are you talking about? Village? What village?”

Adeline flinched at the ferocity of Catherine’s insistence, her long fingers curling uncomfortably around the armrails.

“She didn’t tell you?” The blood-saint inquired, utterly in disbelief.

“No,” Catherine gritted out through clenched teeth, “she didn’t.”

“It’s not my place to speak on it,” Adeline whispered, the growths carapacing her cranium bouncing slightly as she lowered her head.

“Please,” the Hunter beseeched, furtively grabbing one of the saint’s hands, “I have to know! Lady Maria spoke little of what had transpired at the college. She chose to shut me out, for what reason, I cannot fathom! But I know something happened at Bygenwerth, something that caused her a great deal of unbelievable pain!” 

Catherine’s grip on Adeline grew tighter, desperation evident in her cracking voice. Tears began to well in her eyes as she recalled the sorrowful gaze Lady Maria had struck her with. The despondency hidden within those silver irises haunted the poor Hunter who vehemently ached to uncover the reason for Maria’s torment.

“Please,” she begged, tears trickling in their cruel descent down her cheeks, “I have to know.”

Silence grew between them, and Catherine squeezed the blood-saint’s hand once more, urging her to relent. Adeline hummed and shuffled her feet.

“I’m afraid I know very little,” she began, “the Fishing Hamlet was a small village built along the sea, just beyond the Astral Clocktower. There was a rumor that the corpse of a Great One had washed ashore. Then the residents of the village had begun mysteriously gaining strength and vitality. The College of Byrgenwerth suspected it was due to the presence of the Great One. They decided to send a group of scholars to investigate the village, Lady Maria was amongst them.” 

Adeline shook her head.

“I’m unsure of the specifics of the expedition itself—of what the scholars did—but whatever it was, it devastated Lady Maria…she was never the same after that.”

The revelation gnawed at Catherine’s heart despite her mind’s incessant reminder that she was intent on slaying the miserable noblewoman.

“She…stopped eating…kept to herself mostly. I occasionally would see her wander the halls at night alone…but she assured me that nothing was amiss. I believe she was having nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Catherine repeated, her confusion growing with each minute disclosure.

“Yes…I never asked about it though. I assumed she just needed time to process—whatever had occurred in the Hamlet. Looking back, perhaps I should have inquired with her about it.”

“When did she,” Catherine paused, overcome with emotion at the recollection of Maria’s death, “when did she…leave?”

Adeline rubbed her fingers on the handrail, as if willing her memory to resurface.

“I believe…she left two or three months after that. To return to Cainhurst…or at least that’s what Master Micolash told me.”

That bastard! The Hunter thought, tightening her jaw.

He deliberately joked about Lady Maria’s death—her suicide. 

What rotten filth he was for that!

And Lady Maria?

What could have possibly happened in the Fishing Hamlet to deteriorate her mind to the point of taking her own life?

And why did Catherine’s fingers burn with the desire to hold her? To comfort her?

The Hunter took in a shaky breath.

Do not pity her. She has to die. Do not pity her!

But in her heart, she knew her need to reproach the noble was faltering—growing smaller with each passing moment. 

Yet she had to remain resolute, or else she’d never escape the Nightmare.

She sighed.

“Do you know where Micolash might be? I wish to speak with him.”

“About what, fair maiden?”

The sound of Micolash’s mocking tone surprised the disgraced knight, who scowled as she flitted her head about the room, attempting to ascertain his location.

“Where are you, you infernal man!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonished petulantly, “always so rude! Never once inquiring about my welfare!”

“I don’t have the constitution to listen to you squawk about your maladies!” Catherine shouted, her weapon raised defensively.

“Then you’ve not the energy to converse with me at all!”

After an off-putting fit of laughter, Micolash appeared in the doorway on the far side of the room, blowing an exaggerated kiss towards the Hunter before scurrying away.

“Get back here!” Catherine called out, her frustration already mounting. She took a step forward but quickly turned to Adeline and stumbled out a strangled apology before heading after him.

“If you see Lady Maria again,” the blood-saint shouted as Catherine rounded the door, “please, tell her that I am still waiting for her!”

The Hunter acknowledged her request, then ducked out of the corridor and into the grand hall. She spied the madman rushing up the stairway, merriment evident in his laughter. Catherine grimaced, leaping over a corpse to ascend the rotting oak steps. She chased after the Scholar of Mensis, who continued to mock her as he dashed onto the first landing.

“I don’t have time to play these ridiculous games with you!” The Hunter roared as she jumped onto the same landing.

“Oh? Not a fan of tag? Hmm. Well, then perhaps a game of hide and seek may bring you some joy!” 

With a snap of his fingers, the lunatic vanished into thin air, leaving behind wisps of dust. Catherine skidded to a halt and cursed.

“Why are you so insistent on being such an odious fiend! I wish to speak with you—plainly!”

The Mensis acolyte peppered the empty space with echoes of his laughter. Catherine tried trailing her eyes toward the shrill sound, meticulously scanning the second flight. After a brief moment, Micolash reappeared, giggling frantically as he twisted his palms around the balcony handrail. 

“Do my ears deceive me? A Hunter wishing to speak prior to striking!? Oh, a woman after my own heart, you are!”

“Unfortunately, I don’t relish the thought of being courted by you,” she called out to him with a bite of venom behind her words.

“A tremendous loss for you then,” he chuckled, abruptly stepping away from the balcony.

“Wait, please! I am attempting to withdraw answers from you!” Catherine pleaded, rounding the staircase once more to trot up to the second landing. She sprinted in the direction of where she had last seen him, but he had seemingly vanished once more. The Hunter growled and clenched her free hand tightly into a fist. “I truly mean you no harm! I simply wish to speak to you about Lady Maria!”

“What about her?” Micolash groaned in annoyance, his voice loudly coming from behind the irritated Hunter. She spun around and saw the madman leaning up against a wall near a bookshelf several meters away, his mensis cage resting unevenly against the rotting wallpaper. “Gods, that’s all any of the women—and Gehrman—talk about. ‘Have you seen Lady Maria today? She looks so positively ravishing! Such a bright and lovely young woman! Let me just fall on the ground where I stand in the hopes that she will graciously grant me the privilege of being stepped on by her!’ Bah!”

The high trill of his derision was exceptionally grating to the ears, and Catherine couldn’t suppress the slightest hint of disgust at the mortifying prospect of people—particularly the First Hunter—fawning over Lady Maria in such a brazen manner. 

“I apologize that you had to listen to that asinine drivel,” the Hunter began, deciding to remain still so as to not startle the crazed scholar and encourage him to flee from her again. “However, praise is not something I mean to offer to her Ladyship.”

That seemed to pique the madman’s interest. He crossed his arms, pretending to fiddle with a piece of lint on one of the sleeves of his robe. 

“Is that so?” Then what, pray tell, brings you to Micolash this time?”

“Can you assure me that you will refrain from speaking in such inane perplexities?”

He gasped as if offended.

“Micolash speaks only in a clear and concise manner!” 

The Hunter grumbled her dissent of his claim.

“Fine!” He spat begrudgingly, “I will attempt to speak frankly, but I must confess that this Nightmare has…altered the path of my thoughts. I cannot promise that your tiny, un-enlightened mind will entirely comprehend my manner of speech.”

The Hunter huffed, but nodded her head in understanding. Micolash responded by extending his left hand out and to the floor, inviting the warrior to speak. Catherine swallowed, taking a deep breath to collect her thoughts and curate her inquiries.

“How long were you listening in on the conversation between Adeline and myself?”

Micolash scoffed.

“I thought you wished to speak about Lady Maria”

“I do,” Catherine insisted, “the question directly relates to her, so answer me. How long were you privy to our conversation?”

“Long enough.”

“Then you know that she spoke briefly on the village that lies past the Astral Clocktower: the Fishing Hamlet.”

“Indeed,” he stated excitedly, “that excursion was one of the most fascinating and enriching expeditions I’ve had the pleasure to partake in!”

“You were among the scholars sent from Bygenwerth?”

“But of course!” He stated with a bit of flair, “I was the only representative from the School of Mensis asked to attend! An incredible honor! It was a rare opportunity…anyone at the college would have killed to receive such a privileged invitation!”

“Why? Because of the claim that a Great One had been found there?” Catherine posed curiously, “and that the denizens of the village had received some power—some gift from one of the Gods?”

Micolash laughed, a low, dark rumble that made the Hunter grip her sword tighter.

“Oh, it was so much more than that,” he replied, pushing himself away from the wall. He began walking a few paces away from the Hunter to the head of the staircase. Before Catherine could protest his departure, he motioned for her to follow him with his imprisoned head. The brunette assented with a nod of her own before she caught up with him and they started ascending the creaking steps of the spiraling staircase.

“I had been studying the Fishing Hamlet for quite some time prior to the expedition. It was a pitiful whaling village that had miraculously come upon the corpse of the Great One, Kos,” Micolash explained, reaching the third flight just before Catherine. “According to the citizens that found her, her body was teeminging with parasites, parasites that brought enlightenment, strength, and prosperity. Eventually, an unholy pact was made between Kos and the village…they had been communing with Her for quite some time.”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked as they made their way across the landing, occasionally stepping around the decaying flesh of fallen foes. 

Micolash began giggling quietly to himself, his sanity slipping for a moment.

“Mother to the village. A divine covenant…a sacred pact! Her blood, a promise of everlasting prosperity.”

Catherine looked at him with an expression torn between perturbation and confusion.

“I—I apologize, but I don’t quite understand,” she commented, slowing her pace.

Micolash stopped abruptly and tilted his head towards the Hunter.

“If only you had more eyes to line the wrinkles of your brain,” he muttered. Catherine scowled at his remark, but made no comment on the impertinent insult.

The scholar continued moving, approaching an opened archway that led into a different room. The room was small, with a few medical cots strewn about with discolored sheets. They were stained with bile, blood, and other bodily fluids Catherine didn’t dare venture to guess. Strapped and bound on one of the cots was another creature with an enlarged skull. Its gown was splotched with several dark patches of dried blood while a large incision was carved through its bulging flesh. It appeared lifeless.

“What are these things?” The Hunter whispered, grimacing at the gruesome sight.

“They’re our salvation,” the Mensis Scholar stated emphatically, “patients who willingly underwent our experiments to discover the pathway to ascension.” He continued expounding on the details of the perverted experiments. How the Bygenwerth Scholars cleaved into the delicate skulls, exposing the brain, and sewed an onslaught of slippery eyes into the wet folds of the sulci. Catherine’s mortification grew as he recounted the heinous process, noting the nuances between the patients who successfully took to the experiments…and the ones who did not.

Including the women and children.

“What happened to them?” Catherine inquired, her voice soft and full of trepidation, “to the ones who…failed?”

“We expelled them from the trials,” he chuckled nonchalantly.

“Where did they go?” She demanded, a terrible weight settling into the pit of her stomach.

“Where do you think they went?” He responded curtly, his eyes narrowed in contempt.

Catherine’s voice was small after his sickening confirmation. 

“You killed them?”

He laughed, a haunting, maniacal laugh that the Hunter thought was ill-fitted for the ghastly revelation.

“You murdered them!?” Catherine roared as rage suddenly seized her. She grabbed a fistful of his robes with her free hand and shoved him against the wall, bringing the silver greatsword to his neck. Steel rattled against the mensis cage, but Micolash couldn’t help but continue to laugh uproariously. “You’re scum, you know that?”

He spat at her from behind the iron bars and she growled before pushing the blade more fervently against his neck.

“I wasn’t the only one,” he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Catherine’s eyes widened.

“W-what?” 

“You don’t really believe she was all that innocent do you? She carried out her orders as dutifully as any soldier.”

The implication that Lady Maria had harmed—could even mean to harm—an innocent person, simply because they were the result of a failed experiment was entirely unacceptable. The Nightmare had changed her, of that Catherine was certain, but to think that her depravity was rooted within her when she was housed at the college; that she had deliberately maimed and executed her patients—the people who trusted her…It wasn’t right! It couldn’t be, Maria could never—!

“You’re lying!” She hissed, but the weapon weakened in the Hunter’s hold. Micolash took the opportunity to kick her in the shin and push the warrior away.

“Why would Micolash lie? What could he hope to possibly gain from speaking such falsehoods!?”

“She didn’t do that,” the Hunter vehemently insisted, “she’d wouldn’t do that.”

“No? Oh, foolish girl. She insisted.”

Catherine shook her head, denying the scholar’s accusations. She searched her mind for another explanation, willing herself to recall any letter of their past correspondence that could eclipse his imputations, but came up empty. She tried verbally repudiating him once more, yet could not find any trace of deception in Micolash’s eyes.

He was telling the truth.

And it was unfathomably revolting. 

The revelation left Catherine feeling ill as bile unforgivingly roiled inside her abdomen. A torrent of excoriation and anguish overcame the warrior; her breathing becoming clipped and ragged as her mind raced. Images of Maria putting innocent people, victims to the sword! Women, children—anyone the college deemed unworthy!

Catherine cried out in anger, squeezing the grip of the greatsword with both hands before whirling it behind her. The quick cut released a pulse of magical energy that sliced through the nearest bookshelf. The animated burst buffeted the tomes, billowing their pages around wildly as the creaking wood slid and tumbled to the ground. The silence that followed was deafening, but was soon cut by another agitated wail from the Hunter, who stabbed the enchanted blade through the floorboards.

Her heaving breaths echoed through the chamber, her mind a maelstrom of discontent and outrage.

To think, Lady Maria—the once charitable, righteous, and altruistic noble—had simply disposed and cast aside these patients on the account that they were deemed a failure in the eyes of Byrgenwerth? Of the Healing Church? In her quest to cure the ashen blood plague, she had turned her back on the people she had sworn to protect?

Was this what she had been hiding from the Hunter this whole time!?

Was this why she remained silent?

It was despicable!

It was abhorrent!

And yet…

‘Lady Maria is so gentle and courteous.’

Adeline’s words deliberately contradicted the actions purported by the Scholar of Mensis.

‘She is incredibly attentive and good-natured.’

Catherine’s heart clenched at the fond recollection of the noblewoman, recalling how kind her eyes had always been when she was alive.

Her eyes…

Those deep pools of silver that were now laced with such doleful misery—a baleful regret and despair sowed within those harrowing tears.

How could one be so deplorable and wretched and yet possess such a tortured look about them?

‘She…stopped eating…kept to herself mostly.’

What would have compelled Lady Maria to act in such a desolate way? If she intended to forward humanity through devastatingly loathsome and unethical experiments—why bother projecting such remorse?

“Oh please, you’re acting so petulant and callow—just like her,” Micolash stated irascibly. 

Catherine slowly turned to him, her trailing thoughts severed.

“What?”

“The wallowing, the weeping—I never liked that damned woman, she was such a hypocrite! Always claiming to have humanity’s best interest, but when it finally came time to push forward, she got cold feet.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Micolash rolled his eyes as he approached one of the foul creatures. He rolled up his sleeves and collected a scalpel from a tray that rested on the table closest to the patient. 

“That village held the key to humanity’s salvation,” he stated, moving the scalpel to the summit of the bulbous cranium, “We found the corpse…she was truly magnificent, the corpse of a god. We could hardly believe it ourselves.”

He pierced the dead creature’s forehead, plunging the instrument deep into its rubbery flesh. The grueling tinge of greenish-black blood oozed down the side of the monster’s head. Catherine felt nauseous, but didn’t look away.

“And then…a miracle,” he giggled, continuing his desecration of the corpse, “a fetus—stillborn—festering in her womb. It was an incredible discovery. And its eyes, numerous and bountiful, were just the perfect specimens.”

He cut through the skull, which had grown soft and spongy. Once satisfied with his incision, he carefully placed the small blade back onto the tray, curled his fingers around the bone exposed in the slit, and pulled. The sound was akin to peeling bark off of a dead tree which cracked after being bent too far. Beneath the scalp, sewn mercilessly into the cerebrum, were eyes—bulging, red, and putrid. They pimpled over the rotting flesh, their pupils devoid of any semblance of vitality. 

Catherine brought a hand to her mouth.

“We granted them eyes,” Micolash continued, “gave them knowledge beyond the ken of men. We were on the precipice of ascension, and then she suddenly couldn’t stomach the sacrifices it would take to do so.”

The crazed scholar began to giggle madly as he abruptly removed himself from the corpse and whirled around to glare at the Hunter.

“And now she has the gall to protect the orphan even when she was complicit in its dissection? What a fool.”

“You,” Catherine swallowed, utterly disgusted by the madman’s words, “you defiled a dead child—”

“A fetus!” He corrected her.

“You debased an unborn child—tore it from its mother’s womb, mangled its corpse, and stole its eyes! All to what, attain some forgotten or forbidden knowledge!?”

The Hunter was becoming incensed by the scholar’s disregard for human decency. His admittances were bereft of any empathy or compassion.

“We did what was necessary to ensure humanity’s ascension.”

“And that justifies it then? You would condone such unethical treatment if it led to some apocryphal inclination for human evolution!?”

Micolash scowled and narrowed his eyes at the Hunter, his stained teeth straining against his gums.

“There you go again, cavilling over the methodologies in the face of progress! You and that infernal woman are cut from the same cloth! What will you do now, hmm? Waste every second of this beautiful immortality defending something already dead!? Pathetic!”

“What are you on about?!”

“The clocktower!” He snarled, “She lies in that miserable place, preventing anyone from getting even near that village! Hoping to appease Mother Kos through some romanticized act of chivalry—of protection—to absolve herself from her own blasphemy! How pitiful!”

“Must you always speak in riddles, you insolent man!? Why must she protect the village?”

Micolash chuckled lowly.

“Oh, my dear, you didn’t think it was only us who were brought back to life, did you?”

Catherine froze, realization vibrating through her skull like an uncomfortable jolt of electricity.

“Mother Kos…her unborn child…it’s alive?”

Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place.

The reason why Lady Maria so adamantly defended the clocktower; why she was so hesitant to reveal her intentions; why such agony was reflected in her eyes.

Maria—her moon, her heart—was ashamed.

She had committed such grueling acts of malevolence…atrocities that betrayed her own rectitude and transfigured her into a beast. She had partaken in murder—in amoral, sacrilegious experiments that defied everything she once stood for. She had witnessed a divine being slaughtered, dissected, and harvested for parts like common livestock.

And she had done nothing to stop it.

And that knowledge damned Maria far worse than any purgatory conjured up by this despicable Nightmare.

Lady Maria was suffering. Plagued by the rotting reap that she had sown during her last few desolate months of life. She was writhing beneath the wickedness of her sins, drowning in an unholy tide of anguish that chained her into everlasting perdition. And within her misery, she sought repentance by shielding the creature she had once selfishly left to be violated.

Tears began to well in the Hunter’s eyes, her heart twisting beneath her breast. Lady Maria—her Lady Maria—had been enduring such searing torture this entire time within the Nightmare. Loathing herself for every single egregious act she committed. Defiantly guarding the unborn child of Kos in the desperate attempt to atone for her fiendish actions.

And she had been too afraid to admit her guilt.

Afraid to confide her sorrows to Catherine—in both life and death.

The Hunter let out a shaking breath.

“Indeed,” the Mensis Scholar replied, adjusting his robes to ameliorate any wrinkles. A lurid pang began to echo outside the Research Hall, followed by several, unmistakable rhythmic chimes of a bell. Both the warrior and the scholar turned their heads upwards toward the sounds. “Oh, dear.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Catherine demanded, a sinking feeling growing heavier in her stomach.

“Time is not quite linear here,” he explained, “the clocktower has never rung before.”

“Then why would it start now?”

“Perhaps someone has rung it themselves? A signal to forewarn on what is to come?”

Simon’s words swiftly came to Catherine’s mind.

“Their past actions have damned us all. Only we can take back our future.”

Blood began draining mercilessly from the Hunter’s face, a tumultuous swell of anxiety rising in her chest. The dawning recognition that Simon desired to discover the secrets of the Nightmare and dispel it himself brought upon a terror that almost petrified the disgraced knight.

Simon resolved to prepensely murder Lady Maria.

Her Lady Maria.

Catherine’s legs began to move before her mind could even register her intentions. She ran out of the room, leaving Micolash, to find the entrance to the staircase. The Hunter sprinted down the steps, her greatsword bouncing on her shoulder as she made her descent. From the balcony, she could hear Micolash’s mocking laughter before he called out after her.

“And, all my powers, address your love and might, to honor Lady Maria and to be her knight!”

Catherine ignored him, hastily following the path that would lead her outside and towards the Astral Clocktower. Her heart was racing, dread seeping into every pore while she silently begged the gods to grant her the celerity to reach the clocktower in time.

Praying that it was not too late.

-

Maria sat on her dismal throne, leaning forward with her head in her hands. Her eyes stung, a dull pressure building behind her irises from the intensity of her tears. She felt weak and drained, her corporeal body slowly recovering from her last encounter with Catherine; blood still clinging to her clothes, her hat discarded. It was cold and slightly damp. She shivered, the disquieting memory of her shame percolating through her skin everywhere the damning crimson touched her. 

Lady Maria had never felt so numb, so unbelievably apathetic and empty. After her last duel with Catherine, in which she had desperately used her vileblood to shamelessly garner the upper hand, she finally reached the conclusion that there was nothing of merit left within her. She had truly forsworn everything—every ideal, creed and virtue she had once upheld—now cast away to cover the odium of her sins.

She was truly a beast.

An accursed, sickening devil.

What was she even to do with herself now?

Maria’s flagellating despair was cut by a garish symphony of chimes echoing off the rafters of the clocktower. She immediately stood and looked up in alarm, shaken by the ominous ringing. The passage of time was more or less absent within the Nightmare, so she doubted the inner mechanisms of the chronograph would miraculously start functioning properly. 

Unless they were being manipulated by something, or someone.

The noblewoman’s eyes flickered amongst the wooden buttresses, looking for any sign of movement. A dark figure appeared from the shadows, caught between a strut and ceiling joint. Maria sighed deeply before calling out to Catherine.

“Must you continue this pointless pretense? When will you cease this asinine aspiration and torment me no longer?”

The Lady was met with silence, and was about to continue her reproach when an arrow flew past her head, nicking her right cheek. Fear quickly replaced the chagrin pulsing within her as blood oozed from the cut. The ashen-haired woman unsheathed her weapons as stepped a few paces away from the chair; her eyes never leaving the wandering figure, who slowly crept toward the glistening moonlight that peered through the clock face. The person was draped in a tattered white and blue overcoat with bandages enshrouding their eyes; an ebony bow pulled back with another notched arrow.

It was not Catherine.

The arrow was loosened and Lady Maria nearly avoided the sharpened broadhead by scurrying down towards the entrance of the tower. Her dead heart pumped wildly as another arrow was shot in her direction. The elusive man continued his barrage, sending arrow upon arrow at the noblewoman, unrelenting and inexorable. 

Maria used her blades to cut and sever the shafts that infiltrated her guard, effectively disarming the volatile projectiles. However, the opponent’s sedulous hands retrieved, notched, and fired arrows at an unremitting pace, preventing the noblewoman from utilizing her own firearm. 

The dead scholar knew she needed to conform to a different strategy, so she darted towards the rightmost wall of the room, placing her blades around the back of a bookshelf before pushing it as hard as she could. It was quickly forced from the wall, falling forward to crash into the rotting floor. Resting her weapons on the ground, Lady Maria hurriedly maneuvered and lifted the bookcase so that the edge was facing up horizontally, providing her a modicum of cover. The noblewoman recovered her armaments and crouched low behind the shelf, waiting for her attacker’s next move.

The room became silent, save for the soft, quickening breaths exhaled by Maria. She kept her head low, not daring to peak from behind her makeshift barrier. From her current position, her body was blocked from sight, with no vantage easily accessible via the rafters, so her enemy would have a difficult time aiming at her effectively. They would have no choice but to come down and meet her head on, where she would have the distinct advantage.

At least, that’s what she assumed.

Maria waited, a nervous trickle of sweat cascading down her spine. She narrowed her eyes, minutely peaking at the ceiling to ascertain the archer’s location; however, she found no trace of movement.

Then she heard a massive thud coming from the far side of the room, followed by several, slow footfalls.

“Cowards,” a voice called out, masculine and refined, “that’s all you lot ever were—arrogant and imperious recreants.”

Lady Maria refrained from counteracting his remarks, choosing instead to ready herself for her next attack. Opening a charge with her teeth and emptying the gunpowder into the barrel of her flintlock. He continued his castigation, his voice drawing closer with each passing word.

“Hypocrites too…All those secrets held by that blood-worshiping and so-called ‘beast-purging’ Healing Church?” He laughed, “All a front to satisfy your own deranged lust for knowledge.”

Lady Maria sprung out from her barricade and aimed the firearm, only to be met with a cold, iron arrowhead that punctured through the flesh of her shoulder. The injury stuttered the movement of her palm, which slightly altered the trajectory of the bullet as her weapon fired. It grazed the stranger’s neck and he let out a muffled grunt as blood began pooling along the collar of his coat.

Maria winced and instinctively holstered her pistol, wrapping her free hand around the shaft of the arrow and unwisely tearing the arrow out from her body. The broadhead ripped through her flesh, the serrations of the spear point roughly rending through muscle and tendon. She cried out, feeling blood begin to gush from the wound.

The momentary lapse in the man’s momentum allowed the noblewomen to leap over the overturned obstacle and dart into his guard. Lady Maria swung both her blades across the mysterious foe’s abdomen, but was chagrined to find him parrying her attack with a dark, curved shortsword. 

A trick weapon, of course!

The ashen-haired royal scowled, pushing against him and retreating a step before executing another attack. He easily deflected it, contraparrying and eliciting a strike of his own. Their steel connected with a shrilling screech; the force of his blow staggering the noblewoman, which coerced a growl from her person.

“Who are you?”

“The bow didn’t give it away?”

Maria stared at the enshrouded man, looking up and down his form a few moments before recognition sparked within the deep recesses of her tired mind.

“Simon?”

“Indeed,” he spat, reaching up to entangle the silver strands of the tied hair into his palm and forcing their skulls together.

Lady Maria’s tongue had unfortunately slipped beneath her teeth prior to his onslaught, splitting the delicate muscle, and filling her mouth with blood. She tried pushing herself off the infernal man, grunting as one of her heavy leather boots met his right leg. Simon puttered out a pained puff of air as he took a far step back, twisting the curved short sword in his hand.

Maria tried shaking off the blind man’s brutish blow to her cranium, but the recent duel with Catherine had left the poor scholar vertiginous and fatigued. Her limbs felt shaky, undoubtedly as a result of the blood loss she had sustained within the last several hours. Despite her addled state, she readied herself for her opponent’s next strike, bringing her blades up to closely guard her torso.

Simon clicked his tongue.

“You seem a bit out of sorts now, Lady Maria,” he intoned, stepping lightly to the left, “don’t tell me that after all this time you’ve finally decided to give up on this facetious charade of yours?”

He lunged at her then, his sword thrusting high towards her wounded shoulder. Maria deflected his blade with her dagger, but he twisted his wrist and quickly cut across her chest. The edge of the steel bit into her flesh, slicing through skin and rupturing blood vessels. The noble tensed, willing herself not to scream as pain erupted from the wound. Crimson leaked into her dress shirt and waistcoat, squeezing through the shredded brocade. 

Maria rashly dropped her dagger and drove her body close to Simon’s, using her unencumbered hand to curl her fingers into the bloodied bandages covering his eyes. He made a sound of protest and attempted to escape her grasp, but Maria steadfastly continued her assault. Fingers breached beneath the burlap, skimming the rim of dry, empty sockets before punitively plunging into the desiccated orbitals. 

Simon screamed, clawing at her arm as she mercilessly prodded around the gaping crevices and tore away at the delicate corium. She could feel the warm, sticky ooze of blood envelop her skin as her fingernails dug and scraped along his severed optic nerves. The man tried to incite distance between them, desperately trying to raise his weapon against her, but she had caught his arm between her elbow and hip, hindering his movements. 

Maria’s blunt nails continued to scratch and rip at the damaged tissue, pooling blood within the vacant caverns. Simon began shaking his head back and forth until he jostled her hand free from his eye sockets and promptly sank his teeth into her offending hand. The noblewoman roared and flipped the sword in her hand to thrust the pommel of her weapon between his ribs. The dull crack emanating from his thorax, followed by his pained cry suggested that she had at least cracked a rib or two.

Maria finally retreated away from the old Church Hunter and swiftly retrieved her fallen dagger. She took the opportunity of Simon’s delirium to fasten the shorter armament to the end of her saber, assembling a twinblade. The elongated weapon swirled within her grasp before she lunged at her opponent. He endeavored to parry her strike, but only succeeded in slightly averting her trajectory. The short edge of the twinblade glided along the right side of his abdomen, severing the stitches of his overcoat and slicing deeply beneath his pallid flesh.

“You wench!” He snarled as scarlet ichor drained from his injuries. 

Lady Maria bared her blood-stained teeth and dove to attack once more. Locked in combat, the two Church Hunters met each other with an indefatigable rage. The fury behind their strikes was like that of a wrathful god: unforgiving and merciless. It was a spiteful duel, dishonorable and inglorious in its step. Maria was fighting tooth and nail, relying on underhanded tactics to survive: aiming below the belt, throwing splintered wood, and thwacking his ears.

It didn’t matter anymore anyway.

Where was the sense in being honorable when there was nothing worth venerating?

Yet despite her vicious gambits, Simon remained nonplussed. Meeting her measure for measure with his own calculated assault. Dodging her unsavory strikes and countering with brutish blows and aggresses. He was fast, far more swift than Maria could ever hope to be in her sorry state. Weariness encroached upon her as the totality of blood loss between both confrontations began ruinously setting in.

Oh, how the noblewoman wished she could utilize her enchanted blood once more, but her lungs burned from the prolonged exertion. Adrenaline was fading, leaving her veins pulsing as they constricted—an intense exhaustion following their desperate contractions. A haze flitted about her vision, to which no amount of blinking was able to counteract. Maria gritted her teeth, a dismal thought crossing her enervated mind:

She was too weak to employ the formidable power of her vileblood.

And without it, she would undoubtedly lose this fight.

Defeat was inevitable.

Lady Maria’s heart sank, a spirited panic overtaking her at the thought of Kos’s Orphan being torn apart again; her efforts ignored and pushed aside—a damning failure. She tried, by the Moon, she had tried to make up for her contemptible sins against the Great Ones and the people she had vowed to protect. And now that her strength was diminishing, there was nothing she could do now to garner a sliver of forgiveness.

Maria’s chest ached.

Was there any forgiveness to be apportioned?

If there was, she certainly didn’t deserve it.

So, what was the point of it all anyway?

It didn't matter…

Did it?

Caught within her internal, solemn soliloquy, Lady Maria almost missed Simon’s oncoming strike. The ebony sword swept upward, hooking the edge of the twinblade and surrendering it from her hands. It spun away from the pair, and before Maria could even register the empty weight in her palms, the blind warrior seized her left arm and pulled her towards him. Cold steel slipped unceremoniously through the noblewoman’s flesh, a quiet, wet sound accompanying it. Maria gasped, pain reverberating from every nerve ending and centering high in her abdomen. The curved sword lanced through her liver and diaphragm, preventing her lungs from sufficiently expanding.

A tuft of strangled air left the noblewoman’s throat as Simon violently tore out the blade. A scarlet ichor billowed out wildly from the wound, the effusion warm and claggy as it clung to Maria’s waistcoat. Succumbing to her lassitude, the noblewoman collapsed; falling onto her knees. Blood trickled down her chin and she watched as her blood began seeping into the floor. Simon’s footfalls echoed as they creaked closer along the rotting floorboards, but Maria didn’t dare raise her head.

“How disappointing,” he murmured, his voice deep and filled with derision, “the mighty Lady Maria, protégé of First Hunter Gehrman. Honorable, righteous, and valorous. Adept in swordsmanship and combat with unwavering sensibility. That’s who you were, you know? That’s what people thought of you.”

Maria said nothing, his biting and callous words sinking into her like the venomous teeth of a viper.

“But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? A lie you projected to fool those around you, including yourself. A lie to recuse yourself of the atrocities you so zealously enacted. And now here you are: beaten, battered, and alone. A vacuous husk of what you once were.”

The blind man threaded his long fingers through the silver tresses resting on the top of Maria’s skull and riotously yanked her head up to force her to look upon him. The bandages that had once covered his eyes had slipped down to the edge of his collar. His face was blotched and stained from the ichor that had wept out of his eye sockets. Scarlet was painted along his tattered ivory overcoat; shorn in places that had met the edge of Maria’s Chikage.

“It’s dismal really, how far it seems you’ve fallen from grace. But you were never really noble, were you? No, you were always just a worthless, indecorous beast, weren’t you?”

The oppressive obloquy speared through the disgraced scholar. Though her mind was burdened by a thick, foggy drudgery, Lady Maria clearly heard his pejorative locutions and flinched. Anguish and sorrow crept into her heart as the deference for her own ineffectuality proliferated.

Simon was right.

She was a worthless charlatan. With nothing left of merit.

An abysmal, loathsome beast.

A monster.

So what was the point in denying it?

Why should she repudiate it any longer?

Why was she so staunchly insistent on fighting?

For what purpose did she so ardently defend the Orphan of Kos?

To save herself? 

Was there even anything left to save anymore?

No.

No, she didn’t suppose there was.

So why go on?

It doesn’t matter…

It didn’t matter…

And yet…

Through the murky depths of her internal diffidence and fatigue, Maria thought she heard the faint creaking of a door. She didn’t know why, but something compelled her to groan over the sound and mask its disrupting resonance.

Simon didn’t seem to hear anything except for her mournful intonation.

“Well, allow me to finally alleviate you of your burdens, Lady Maria.”

He squeezed his hand, dragging the follicles of her hair further into his palm. It stung as Simon tipped the noblewoman’s head slightly to the side, exposing some of the blanched skin of her neck. The ebony sword drew back high above his ears and shoulder, the onyx of the steel flickering briefly in the moonlight.

A hazy cloud settled in Lady Maria’s vision and she slowly shut her eyes and finally succumbed to her enervation. She waited for the fleeting wind of movement that would accompany the old Church Hunter’s swing, swallowing the spittle and blood that still festered in her throat.

Maria waited…

But his sword never came down.

Instead, a quiet click echoed throughout the chamber.

“Unhand her…now,” A voice, haughty and demanding, growled out.

Silver irises opened, knowing fully well whom that voice belonged to.

“Catherine,” Maria whispered, trying desperately to peer in the disgraced knight’s direction.

There she stood, like a paragon from one of those childhood fairytales: gallant and doughty. Her enchanted greatsword glowed faintly, resting dashingly against her shoulder. Catherine’s mismatched eyes were narrowed at Simon, her flintlock drawn and aimed directly at him. 

She looked utterly and devastatingly beautiful.

Like the knight she always was.

“Catherine,” the fallen noble whined, more pitifully than she had intended. 

Catherine stepped forward.

“If you do not unhand her this instant, I promise you, you will beg for my mercy!”

“Have you no sense—?” 

“I will not give you another chance, Simon,” Catherine warned, with an acrimony even Maria was stunned to hear. “Release her, and you’ll have the privilege of not having a bullet between your fucking eyes!”

A harrowing hush fell over them, and though Catherine’s pistol was cocked and ready to fire upon the old Church Hunter, he made no move to loosen his hold on the ashen-haired royal.

Chapter Text

Chapter XIV: So, There Goes Our Protector in a Rage

Western Cainhurst: Outskirts

1004 A.P.

“For what reason—if you even possess the wherewithal to explain—do we need such a ludicrous amount of sodium bicarbonate?”

Sir Gehrman’s irascible tone made Catherine chew on the inside of her cheek disdainfully as she impatiently tapped her fingertips along the top of her thigh. The knight had half a mind to wallop the old man for his peevishness, but the soft leather of Lady Maria’s gloves halting her stuttering fingers quickly severed that train of thought.

“We need a fitting distraction to lure the suspect into the bathhouse without tipping them off,” the noble said, her hand accidentally skimming across Catherine’s chausses after the carriage dipped a wheel into a small divot in the road, jostling the landau.

“Mind your driving!” The First Hunter scolded disapprovingly at the coachman, turning his gaze toward the window.

He didn’t see how the two women gazed at each other; alarmed, yet underneath—a subtle hint of anticipation.

Lady Maria pulled away.

Catherine angled her face toward the door. 

Neither noticed the flourishing flushes dusting their features.

“The sodium bicarbonate found within the bath salts of the sudatorium undergo alkaline hydrolysis when dissolved in water,” Maria continued, “the production of carbonic acid quickly decomposes into carbon dioxide and water, generating a notable amount of effervescence.”

“If we pour enough of the bath salts into pools and  draining channels of the bathhouse, the entire property will be overrun with bubbles and the proprietor would need to shut down the sudatorium for a proper cleaning. Word of the sudden closure will then reach the castle, enticing the traitor to come and recover his latest victim.”

Sir Gehrman raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

“How are you so certain that there’ll be a body?”

“I’m not.”

Gehrman huffed. 

“But even if there isn’t a body, it isn’t so far-fetched to believe that the killer would still investigate the matter,” the knight stated emphatically, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Regardless,” the young scholar added, “we still require the permission of the owner before we completely shut down his place of business for several days.”

Catherine looked at the noble, her lips curled unevenly in a puckish grin.

“Not a fan of brute force?”

Maria’s silver eyes narrowed playfully as she leaned slightly toward the knight.

“Not receiving it, per se, but giving it? Now, that is an entirely different matter,” she said, her voice lowered.

The heat that rose to Catherine’s face and ears was almost impossible to dissipate. She opened her mouth to respond—perhaps reply with a cheeky epithet of her own—but the way the noble’s eyes were reverently tracing her features had left her mouth entirely dry. She swallowed, enraptured by the way Maria’s steely pools followed the rise and fall of her throat.

“I suppose we will have to see what the proprietor says,” Sir Gehrman grumbled, a slight scowl traced upon his lips.

The sudden interjection from their curmudgeonly guest dispelled whatever allurement was beguiling the young women, who ducked their heads in opposing directions. 

“Indeed,” agreed the noblewoman, tucking a few ashen strands behind her rosy ear.

“Quite right,” Catherine added sheepishly.

-

Like most lodgings in the Western sector of Cainhurst, the bathhouse was a grand profligation of architectural design that was as inviting as it was opulent. The inlaid limestone bricks perfectly accentuated the white, marble pillars supporting each archway, where half-moon windows allowed liberal streams of daylight to pour through the building. 

It was mid-morning, just after the first wave of patrons had departed from their routinely dips in the aromatic pools. Slightly floral notes with hints of spices wafted through the air surrounding the sudatorium, to which Catherine couldn’t resist taking a deep, meditative breath. 

“We’ve no time to sniff the air like a curious mutt,” Sir Gehrman scolded while strapping his trick weapon onto his back. 

Catherine scowled, whipping her head around to confront the First Hunter. The knight took a step towards the old man, but the firm, reassuring press of Lady Maria’s palm along her shoulder kept Catherine grounded. The brunette briefly met the noblewoman’s eyes, who nodded once before casting them onto the First Hunter.

“Sir Gehrman,” Maria began, her voice commanding and resolute, "despite the time constraints we are operating under, I would appreciate it if you withheld taking out your frustrations on my most trusted friend.”

The Church Hunter seemed to balk at the Lady’s words, bowing his head slightly in apology.

“Forgive me, Your Ladyship. I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

“It would be right for you to remember them,” Maria finished, tossing the young knight a small, encouraging smile. She gave Catherine’s shoulder a small squeeze before releasing her grip.

A blossom of warmth swelled within Catherine’s chest as she watched the noblewoman saunter into the bathhouse. She quickly followed, the pleasant pressure of her Lady’s palm still searing her skin. It was such a trivial thing, something any sincere confidante would have done, and yet Maria’s defense against Sir Gehrman’s disparagement made her feel so…valued. So appreciated…so…

No.

She couldn’t even begin to hope…

But the word was lying in wait on the back of her tongue, longing to be set free.

Yet the knight kept it locked behind the cage of her teeth.

If she said it—even dared to think it—it would make it real. Would make her want to make it real.

And she couldn’t force that onto her Lady—couldn’t bear the thought of her rejection.

She couldn’t lose her.

She’d rather die.

Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration on her part, but in the moment it felt justifiable.

When they entered the sudatorium, they were greeted by two attendants who offered them a set of clean towels and robes; however, they were quickly dismissed by the First Hunter, who inquired about the whereabouts of the owner. After an eclipsed explanation from Lady Maria, the pair led the motley crew of investigators to their employer.

They migrated through the stuffy, humid halls of the building; the slap of padding footsteps echoing off the tall ceilings. The subtle sound of sloshing water and distant voices could be heard coming from the patrons deep within the labyrinthian pools. The manager’s office was located in an alcove adjacent to the palestra—a large training yard free from the stifling steam of the scalding pools.

A quiet knock from one of the assistants alerted the proprietor to their presence, who Catherine could hear grumbling from beyond the cedar door. After a few muffled sounds of movement and a creak of the doorknob, the door opened, revealing a tall, portly fellow dressed in an ivory dress shirt and tan waistcoat. The small, gold chain of a watch was fastened onto his pocket, just above a dark brown leather belt securing a pair of tawny trousers. The man’s thin, receding hairline was smoothed down with a styling gel, giving its grey tinge a reflective quality.

“What could possibly be—the…matter?” He asked, his initial irritation dissolving after he espied the unfamiliar guests.

The young scholar stepped forward.

“Forgive us for bothering you sir, but may we have a word with you? My name is—”

“Lady Maria Ravin de Cainhurst, fourth cousin to Queen Annalise de Cainhurst,” he finished, giving the noble a flourishing bow.

“Yes—um—quite right,” Maria replied awkwardly, “we have come to you by way of Her Majesty to investigate a personal matter on her behalf. May we come in and discuss the specifics with you further?”

“Why y-yes! Of course, of course, do come in!” 

The owner dismissed his employees with a shake of his wrist before inviting the three guests into his office. He circled around his large cedar desk, pushing aside some of the parchment and ledgers littering the surface. Pulling out his fanciful chair, he gestured for the others to recline on the two remaining seats across from him. A short apology was muttered for the lack of seating, but Catherine assured the man that she was content with standing. 

“Well then, your Ladyship, how may I be of assistance?”

Lady Maria began outlining the specifics of the investigation. Like any good politician, she kept her words refined and direct while withholding any notion of villainous malfeasance. A necessary evil, Catherine reflected, as it would be rather unbecoming if the public suddenly discovered that the Royal Family had neglected to disclose the existence of a serial murderer prowling the streets of the city without warning its denizens. Yet in spite of the young scholar’s tact and palliative disposition, the proprietor nearly keeled over when she alluded to their elusive scheme.

“You mean to flood the bathhouse with bubbles!?” He cried out, his remittance plainly evident.

“That is the long and short of it, yes,” Maria replied, offering him a sympathetic smile, “and we will require most—if not all of the sodium bicarbonate you have on hand.”

“Sodium bicarbonate?”

“Bath salts,” Catherine supplied.

“You expect me to allow you to commandeer our supply of bath salts to upend my business for several days—”

“Two at the most!” Maria assured, but the livid man pressed on.

“Impeding on my business and the hygiene of the citizens of Cainhurst for the purposes of luring someone out—whom you cannot even prove has set foot on this property—hoping to arrest them and bring them to Queen Annalise for judgement!?”

A heavy silence lingered in the room, which had grown warmer from the amount of overdressed bodies hunkering within. Sweat glistened along the back of Maria’s neck as the older gentleman stared her down.

“We are certain that Queen Annalise would adequately compensate you for any and all disruption to your business,” Catherine allayed, “and shall be more than willing to account for the portion of the bath salt stock we intend to use.”

“But…but!”

Catherine stepped forward, placing the palm of her hand around the pommel of her rapier while narrowing her eyes at the corpulent man.

“Excuse me sir, but are you intending to obstruct an investigation apportioned by Her Majesty?”

“O-of course not!” He dissented; all color draining from his face at the accusation.

“Then you should have no problem following through with our requests.”

He blubbered for several moments, stuttering through muddled mumblings. After a rather pointed look from the knight, the proprietor sighed and rubbed at his temples. Lady Maria extended her gloved hand out toward the cherubic man, who groaned mournfully before shaking her hand.

Once the deal was struck, the owner summoned his stewards and instructed them to quietly evacuate the building. Despite the various protests from the abdicating patrons, they departed from the bathhouse in quick succession. The agents of the crown took to the storage rooms to retrieve large burlap sacks of bath salts, which were unceremoniously torn and dumped into the pools. The water soon erupted into a bursting mess of bubbles which rippled out over the edge of the lido and washed along the floor like a raging typhoon.

A hiss of air expectorated from the violent waves of effervescence, drowning out the whines and screeches coming from the owner and his two attendants. White foam torrentially tumbled through the draining channels, flooding the narrow pipes with a gushing, fizzing froth. Eventually, retreat grew more pertinent, and Sir Gehrman suggested that they abscond before they were overwrought by the sweltering spume. The other two investigators agreed and made their way back towards the front entrance with the bathhouse staff. They exited the building and the owner procured a key from his vest pocket to lock the doors. He handed the key to Lady Maria.

“Feel free to use this as you like,” he said tiredly, disappointment evident in his voice, “word should spread about the closure soon. Dear Ebrietas, I hope this is all worth it.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated, sir,” Sir Gehrman replied, tapping his cane distractedly on the cobblestone street. “Worry not about your venture.”

“A bit late for that, I’m afraid,” the owner whined.

-

A spirited wind swept through Western Cainhurst; the metropolis illuminated by the ethereal, silver light of a full moon. It was quiet; silent as a graveyard, with nary a soul to be found—save for Lady Maria and her conscripted entourage. They slowly trotted on horseback, forgoing the cacophonic clattering of a carriage ride to assist in their subterfuge. 

It was in the wee hours of the morning, and they dismounted their beasts of burden a few hundred meters from the bathhouse, hitching them to a nearby post. They armed themselves, peering over their shoulders and scanning the city for any potential danger. Finally readied, Lady Maria took charge, motioning for the other two to follow her as she crept toward the sudatorium.

As they approached, Maria noted that there didn’t seem to be any hint of firelight emanating from the large windows, which suggested that the building was empty. What was more surprising was the lack of a horse, wagon, or some means of transport that someone from the castle would have undoubtedly taken to reach the Western sector. 

“Perhaps no one has arrived yet,” Catherine whispered, keeping her eyes out toward the city.

“Or they won’t be coming at all,” Gehrman hissed.

Before the incessant bickering could begin, Maria silenced them with the wave of her hand. The noblewoman then pointed towards the bottom of the doors, revealing a slew of tiny bubbles along the threshold.

“Someone’s been inside,” she stated quietly.

Sir Gehrman was not convinced.

“Couldn’t the bubbles have simply breached the underside of the door of their own accord?” 

“No,” the young scholar replied, “these doors have seals lining the bottom rail to prevent steam and hot air from escaping the bathhouse. The only way bubbles could have been tracked out here is if—”

“The door has already been opened,” Catherine finished, tightening her palm around the grip of her rapier. 

Maria nodded, tentatively raising her hand to the doorknob. She gave it a small twist, but was soon met with the tension of the locked mechanism. Retrieving the key from her overcoat, the ashen-haired royal silently unlocked the entrance. The scholar’s heart hammered as a tide of nervousness washed over her. Taking a steadying breath, she looked at her companions and handed out the key.

“Someone will have to flank us on the opposite side. According to the proprietor, there should be an entrance leading into the boiler room.”

Catherine glowered sternly at the First Hunter, who after a moment of hesitation, resigned himself and stepped toward the young scholar while extending his palm. Maria dropped the key into his offered hand, but before she could retreat from him, he enclosed her hand in between his own. 

Neither of them saw the way Catherine stiffened and bit the inside of her cheek.

“Be careful, Your Ladyship,” was all he said, patting the top of her hand gently before slinking around the outside edge of the bathhouse. Maria returned her attention to the door, but Catherine’s firm grip on her shoulder stopped her, gently encouraging the royal to look in the knight’s direction. A strong, piercing scrutiny of amber and cerulean met wary silver. The intensity of the brunette’s gaze startled the young scholar, who couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at its ardor.

“Catherine?” Maria asked, a quiet worry lacing her words.

The Cainhurst warrior took a step closer and boldly encircled the royal’s wrists, drawing her even nearer. Maria’s heart fluttered with the avidity of a hummingbird, stuttering as the knight’s face was brought within a breath of her own. A maddening flush rose to the taller woman’s cheeks, her mind growing foggier from each pressing moment within Catherine’s grasp.

“Maria…”

Oh, how sweet her name sounded on the knight’s tongue!

“Y-yes?”

Catherine swallowed, apprehensively searching the noble’s eyes whilst tightening her grip. Maria winced, which seemed to jostle the young warrior out of her stupor. She stepped away from Maria, and loosened her hold, allowing the noblewoman to retreat if she wanted to…

But she didn’t want to.

“I—I’m sorry…it’s just…” 

Catherine trailed off, turning her head away from the royal.

But Maria wouldn’t allow it.

The noblewoman moved and brought her hand to the shorter woman’s face, capturing the brunette’s chin between her leathered fingertips. At first, the knight stiffened at the touch, a slight shimmer of surprise reflecting in her irises as Lady Maria gently encouraged her to meet her gaze.

“What is it, ma drahá?” Maria asked gently, her eyes softening ever so slightly.

Catherine inhaled shakily.

“J-just,” she paused, trying to steady her resolve, “when we’re in there, please—promise that you’ll stay close to me. I don’t know exactly what or who we will be dealing with, and I…”

The knight raised her right hand to Maria’s, letting her thumb languidly move along the soft leather. 

“I want you to be safe.”

A pleasant warmth blossomed throughout Lady Maria’s chest at Catherine’s statement. Each word wrapping around her heart like a homely embrace. By the Moon, how endearing the knight made herself with every breath and action! The noble could hardly deny it now: the knight had her wrapped around her little finger, and Gods, did she want to be entangled even further! 

Maria smiled and—against her better judgment—brought her lips to the warrior’s temple. Her mouth pressed a light kiss to Catherine’s heated skin, delighting at the small hum uttered beneath her. Maria shivered and resisted the temptation to continue her brazen onslaught and place more affectionate pecks along the knight’s decadent olive skin.

“As long as I’m close to you, no harm shall come to me,” the noblewoman declared, forehead resting against Catherine’s. The brunette nodded, exhaling slowly as she pulled away, allowing several locks of her hair to brush against the noble’s tricorne.

“That hat of yours has tousled my hair,” Catherine quipped, turning her face to the door so that Lady Maria couldn’t see the flush overtaking her freckled cheeks. Maria chuckled, but said nothing further. The knight slowly turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside; the noble following close behind her.

-

The dark corridors of the bathhouse were as silent as a tomb, dreadfully contrasting the vibrant astir that typically accompanied the sudatorium during its operational hours. The two warriors snuck through the maze of empty passageways, guided by the moonlight piercing through the skylights and windows. Bubbles mingled at their feet, noiselessly bursting after each step. Catherine worried that the liquid might seep into her boots, but decided that this was not quite the appropriate time to dwell on such frivolous things.

Lady Maria suddenly grabbed a hold of Catherine’s wrist, halting their movements. The knight looked back, giving the scholar a questioning look before noting Maria’s raised arm pointing towards something. Catherine followed the arched finger and noticed a dim flicker of candlelight coming from the hallway in front of them. If she recalled correctly, that breezeway led into the caldarium, the room in which they had initially dumped the bath salts.

Catherine gave the noblewoman a quick nod before silently drawing her rapier and dagger, preparing to defend her Lady during the oncoming confrontation. Lady Maria followed suit, drawing her own weapons and taking more measured and precise steps. They crept into the corridor, noting the intensity of light increasing as they drew closer to the caldarium. Distantly, they could hear shuffling and stifled mutterings, confirming the presence of another soul within the building.

When they reached the entrance to the room, a dark figure was hunched over, moving something across the tiles. Bubbles were caked onto the floor, walls, and even ceiling of the bathhouse, making it exceedingly difficult to recognize who the figure was at first glance, and what exactly they were moving. 

Catherine raised her weapons and settled into a first guard stance, narrowing her eyes at the intruder.

“By the order of Her Majesty, Queen Annalise de Cainhurst, I command you to halt and yield,” she stated, drawing closer to Maria’s side. 

The figure froze, then gradually turned towards the two women guarding the entrance. Even in the slight dimness of the room, the soldier could identify haunting pale blue eyes and dark curly hair that was punctuated with silver streaks. The figure rose to its full height, the lithe frame familiar even when surrounded by a shiny carapace of bubbles. 

Recognition flickered in Catherine’s eyes.

“Dr. Veselý?”

The doctor fully turned towards them; his hair was unkempt and askew, his overcoat discarded—leaving him only in his dark waistcoat and trousers. The sleeves of his ivory dress shirt were rolled up, crumpled, and splattered in a darkening maroon the knight could only assume was blood. A faint ferocity was fluttering between his pale irises, giving an air of madness about him. He appeared unarmed, and yet Catherine could not shake the unwavering unease that welled within her. Dr. Veselý took a step forward, carding a bloodied hand through his hair before giving out a curt chuckle.

“Ah, if it isn’t one of my favorite patients! How may I be of service? Hmm? Are you breathing alright, or is your chest still bothering you?”

Catherine did not respond to his interrogation, a cold sweat dampening her skin at the intimate knowledge of her current condition. Her mouth went into a thin line.

“Doctor,” Maria interjected, “can it be true? You’re the one responsible for the recent string of murders in the city?”

Dr. Veselý stalked towards the pair, who defensively circled away from him, careful to avoid the pools inlaid into the floor.

“I suppose there’s not an effective way to refute those accusations,” he said plainly, a crooked smile coming to his lips.

“So you admit it then?” Catherine inquired, glancing at the heap that the doctor had been handling; a body wrapped in tattered, soiled linens. “You’re responsible for the deaths, exsanguination, and disposal of those involved in Cainhurst's high society?”

“A paltry description to be sure, but yes.”

“Why?!” Demanded Lady Maria, evidently angered by his flippancy.

He paused in his movements and looked at her querulously. 

“Why?” He echoed, almost as if in disbelief. “Why, for progress of course.”

“Progress?”

Dr. Veselý grinned unnervingly.

“But of course! We are living in unprecedented times…hindered by the scourge of beasts and their unforgiving pestilence!” 

He rounded one of the pools, menacingly moving towards the two women; his gait unsteady and daunting.

“And the people—our people—are suffering and dying in the streets whilst our illustrious queen sits on her throne; pampered and cosseted by the hedonistic fops of the court!” He sneered, hatred dripping from his bared teeth. Veselý unbuttoned his waistcoat, delved his left hand into his breast pocket, and retrieved a short, wide glass bottle. The glassware had a stubby cork plunged into the stopper, which trapped a dark burgundy liquid. It thickly swirled in the glass, and the sight of it made Catherine’s stomach feel leaden.

“And if that covetous, rapacious whore would rather spread her legs and pray for a miracle, well, someone else has to step in and bring the world to order.”

“You loathsome cur, how dare you speak of Her Majesty in such a way!?” Lady Maria rebuked, anger seizing hold of her whilst she unholstered her pistol and pointed it at the doctor. Panicked, Catherine nudged the firearm away from the target with her forearm and gave Maria a warning look.

We won’t get any answers from him if he’s dead! She tried to communicate with her tight expression, which the noblewoman seemed to comprehend as she settled back behind the knight.

“Why the beast blood?” Catherine asked, hoping to extricate an explanation for Dr. Veselý’s heinous acts. “Why inject the victims with that tainted poison only to exsanguinate them?”

The doctor swirled the bottle priggishly, the torchlight in the room gleaming briefly off the clouded glass.

“Beast blood? Is that what you think was being administered to them? No, no, of course not! But then again, how would you truly know?” He tapped his finger on the blood tincture methodically. “No, it is not the blood of beasts that will purge this plague…but the Old Blood? Now, that shall be our saving grace!”

“The Old Blood?” Maria ventured, both her horror and curiosity peaked. She had read about such a substance before in the articles published by the Byrgenwerth Scholars. Found within the tombs of the Gods in the labyrinth beneath present-day Yharnam, the university suspected that the fluid might have a great propensity for healing properties.

“Yes!” He smiled widely, pilfering a long syringe and needle from one of the pockets of his trousers. “What blood could rival the power and vigor hidden within the great Vilebloods, hmm? What feats could one achieve if the terrifying essence in their veins could be refined and evolve past human comprehension and understanding? Why, they themselves could become…Gods!”

Veselý brought the glass bottle to his lips and removed the cork with his teeth. He hurriedly took the syringe and inserted it into the maroon solution and filled the injector. 

“Why the apothecary?” Catherine questioned, encouraging the mad doctor to reveal more of his plot. “Why the merchants? Why only victims within the western district?”

He scoffed.

“Why, they’re the only ones who could afford to even purchase vileblood in the first place. Particularly that of the esteemed Queen Annalise…but I grow tired of these winded expectations. Why speculate when I can show you this unholy power firsthand?”

Without warning, the villainous doctor ripped the sleeve of his shirt upward and plunged the tainted syringe into the crook of his arm, piercing through tissue and settling into his cephalic vein. He pushed the plunger down and filled his bloodstream with his noxious tonic, roiling with laughter as he did so. 

His demeanor shifted immediately; his uproarious hysterics ceased abruptly and his body suddenly seized. Hundreds of tiny blood vessels began to pop within the sclera of his eyes, flooding them with a bright scarlet. Veselý hunched over, his bones cracking and rearranging beneath his thin, aging skin. A pained roar erupted from his throat, grated and curdling in its timbre. The sound rattled off the walls, morphing into a monstrous howl as the odious transfiguration continued.

Fabric ripped and tore as the doctor’s form grew wider, his shoulders bulging as rippling muscle thickened beneath taut, pale skin. Veselý’s torso stretched, raising him to an intimidating height; the corpulence of his legs increasing to accommodate his burgeoning frame. The arms lengthened unnaturally, claws extending from long, bony fingers. His lower jaw began protruding grotesquely, morphing to assimilate the added rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. Ghostly irises faded to wholly black pupils, the remaining humanity departing from the doctor completely.

A garish screech wheezed out of the beast, drool dripping down the sides of his misshapen mouth as he lumbered towards the young women. They readied themselves, settling into defensive stances in preparation for the monster’s attack. He lunged towards Catherine who easily avoided the attack—side-stepping before executing a strike of her own. The knight’s swept hilt rapier cut downwards, slicing into the horror’s forearm.

A strange, dark ichor spewed from the wound, accompanied by large vapor clouds that roiled through the air like a will-o-wisp. The mist enshrouded Catherine, who unwillingly inhaled the coppery fume. Her eyes began to water, a wicked sting coming to them as she tried to blink away the onslaught of tears. A burning sensation flooded her chest as the vapor surged through her sensitive bronchioles. Catherine’s breath stuttered violently before she began to wheeze and cough.

“Catherine!” Lady Maria shouted in concern, moving towards the knight.

“Stay—back!” Catherine warned between coughs.

“To hell with that!” The noblewoman countered, aiming her pistol at the disfigured fiend. She fired, the round hitting the doctor squarely in the jaw. The beast hissed and stumbled backwards, giving Maria enough time to yank the poor knight away from the noxious gas. The ashen-haired royal led them around one of the pools, almost slipping on the slick, bubble sodden floors. Catherine continued to rasp and hack mercilessly, leaning forward to alleviate her discomfort.

“Steady now, take a deep breath!” Maria encouraged, reassuringly rubbing the knight’s back. After a few moments, a dark phlegm exited Catherine’s throat and splattered on the tile. She drew in a deep, winded breath that only resulted in a hitched cough. 

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Think nothing of it,” Maria interrupted, staring warily at the monster, “you should stay a safe distance from the creature.”

“I’m not leaving you to fight that thing alone!” Catherine protested, the vehemence of her statement inciting another coughing fit.

“Catherine, please, see reason!”

“I will not leave you!” The knight repeated, narrowing her eyes at the noble. The tempestuous fire scorching within those gleaming irises both excited and frightened the young scholar, who nodded in understanding.

“You stubborn twit,” the Lady mocked, not unkindly, “stay clear of the bloody mist!”

The transfigured doctor hobbled around the pool, eagerly growling its dissent. Maria dashed forward, plunging her sword deep within its abdomen before rancorously withdrawing the blade. The creature cried out in pain and tried swiping at the scholar as another puff of aerosolized blood spread through the air. Though the foul scent was akin to rotting flesh, it didn’t irritate the noble in the same manner as it had Catherine, allowing Maria to avoid the monster’s strike. She ducked and counterattacked with a swipe to the doctor’s leg, cutting through muscle and flesh with ease.

More ichor oozed and bubbled from the beast’s wounds, coating the floor in a dark, ebony sheen. The creature roared and tried to lunge at the noble, but was quickly distracted by a sudden pain that erupted along its spine. He turned and noticed the retreating knight who had opted to cover her nose and mouth with the scarlet cloth of her cape. She beckoned the beast over with a few flicks of her blade, which goaded the damnable demon to follow.

The beast dashed towards the knight, his mouth open wide and spraying spittle about wildly. He made to sink its teeth into the soldier, but Catherine adroitly avoided the attack before stabbing her swordbreaker below the creature’s ribs. The beast moaned horrifically as the warrior wrenched the dagger from the elongated torso, the serrations tearing through meat and tendon as the muscle fibers caught between the blade’s indentations.

Catherine went to step back and dodge the inherent gust of vapor that was sure to spout out of the wound; however, the monster twisted his head and captured the knight’s wrist in his maw. Catherine cried out as sharpened teeth sank into her greaves, the dagger encased between the enamel. The fangs delved slightly beneath her skin, drawing a dismal amount of blood. The knight grit her teeth, resisting the impulse to jerk her hand out of the brute’s muzzle and encourage the beast to tear her flesh further.

The doctor suddenly released the soldier, an agitated yelp following her liberation. Catherine took notice of Lady Maria, who had brazenly clambered up the monster’s spine, one arm circled around its throat and the other desperately clinging onto the creature’s matted fur.

“Maria!”

The monster tossed its head from side to side, its body furiously bucking to dismount the young scholar. The ashen-haired royal tried wringing out her offhand weapon, almost tumbling off the beast as it jumped across one of the pools. The transfigured man snarled and hissed, trying to reach behind to grab the woman with its talons. Maria stuck tight to the creature, grunting as an errant claw scraped against her ear. The motion dislodged her decorative hat, which would have concerned her more if she wasn’t trying to prevent herself from being flung across the room like a rag doll.

Blood trickled down the Lady’s ear, staining the silvery strands with crimson. She finally managed to recover her dagger and drive it into its meaty shoulder. It screeched and thrashed about, finally jostling the young noble who tumbled to the ground. She rolled a few meters, groaning as pain radiated from her left wrist—evidently sprained. Maria managed to recover just quick enough to withdraw and raise her rapier against the creature, the maw open and hurdling towards the noblewoman.

Lady Maria skidded a little against the floor as the beast pushed against her; the sword lodged between his horrid fangs. He growled menacingly at the noblewoman, blood leaking from his mouth where the blade had cut his tongue. A smog erupted from the creature’s jaws, stinging Maria’s eyes. The noble pushed against the monster, her limbs shaking as she let out an exerting groan. The transfigured doctor bit down onto the steel once more and Maria heard a devastating crack. Before she could even fathom the trouble she was in, the sword snapped along the plane of weakness.

The breakage sent shards of steel into the doctor’s mouth, giving Maria just enough time to dive away from the creature and clamber to her feet. She turned and watched the beast pull one of its long arms back, talons extended and eager to sink them into the defenseless noble.

Suddenly, a large curved blade swept up along the beast’s arm, severing the limb just above the wrist. The creature luridly howled at the unexpected assault, blood spraying freely out from the wound. Lady Maria was astounded as Gehrman stepped back from the grotesquerie, swiftly attaching his sword to his long, dark oak snath, which snapped in place as the First Hunter whipped it around his shoulders.

The noblewoman watched on in amazement as the Healing Church associate swung his trick weapon with unrivaled dexterity. The distance created by the long ranged weapon allowed the First Hunter to assail the beast without wandering too close into his reach. Maria couldn’t help but admire the celerity of the old man as he maneuvered around the creature, cutting and slicing through the monster’s flesh with ease; gracefully dipping beneath the doctor’s attempted swipes and strikes. 

In that moment, Lady Maria saw the visage of her uncle, agile and resilient—perfectly within his element, bending his opponent to his will as he ushered them into his carefully laid plan of attack. A parry here, a blitz there—every step and movement timed to absolute perfection. It was incredible. It was remarkable.

It was inspiring!

Sir Gehrman finally leveled the beast with an impeccably executed swing across its throat, the siderite blade gliding easily along its carotid. A gurgling, wet whine escaped the creature’s maw—blood gushing and vaporizing simultaneously from the gnarly laceration. Veselý’s large frame then staggered and limped before cascading into one of the bathing pools. The effervescent bubbles ruptured beneath the new volume of displacement, hissing contemptibly. Dark ichor dispersed in the water, the ripples shimmering like an oil spill.

“Well,” Gehrman sighed mournfully, “I suppose her majesty will need to fund the proprietor for far much more than a standard cleaning fee.”

Lady Maria made to respond to the First Hunter’s quip, but found herself being turned about by a pair of strong hands. Catherine looked up at her with an unmitigated outrage.

“What were you thinking!?”

“I beg your pardon?” Maria inquired, stupefied by the knight’s sudden animosity. Catherine stepped closer and prodded an impugning finger against the noblewoman’s chest.

“What could have possibly possessed you to fall into such stupidity!?”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you to stay close to me—to stay safe! Where does leaping onto the back of a monster fall into that carefully curated plan, hmm? Or is your head as empty as your promises!?”

The insult stiffened the young scholar, who leveled a cold, piercing gaze at the soldier. She was hurt by the cruel accusation, her heart aching from the knight’s callous affrontery. 

“I made no promises to you,” she said frigidly, “and I’ll not have you calumniate my mental acuity after I helped free you from the doctor’s jaws!”

“You could have been killed!” Catherine shouted, voice cracking on the last words. The sound of it wounded Maria, who instinctively reached her hand out to gingerly touch the knight’s wrist, but Catherine swiftly pulled away. “You could have been killed, and I—it would have been…” 

Catherine turned away, shaking from adrenaline and emotional instability. She clutched the cape around her face tighter, as if meaning to hide the distress painted on her features. The blood coating her fingers sank into the crimson fabric, but she paid it no mind. Instead, the knight began wandering back to the entrance of the bathhouse, leaving behind the noblewoman without so much as a spare glance.

Go after her, Maria thought, gazing forlornly at her knight. Yet the noble’s feet felt heavy and remained firmly in place. She watched the soldier disappear behind a corridor, bubbles rupturing beneath her feet.

Much like Maria’s heart…

“Awfully mawkish that one,” Gehrman complained, returning his weapon to the strap along his back. 

Lady Maria didn’t answer him, instead she blinked away the subtle tears that had formed in her eyes and bent down to pick up her hat. She paused when she noticed a plum-colored mass on the floor adjacent to her tricorne. The young scholar raised an ashen eyebrow curiously at the mysterious lump. It sort of resembled a clot, a rather large one in fact. Maria surmised that the bloody clump had likely expectorated from the doctor’s throat just after Sir Gehrman’s fatal blow.

“What are you looking at?” The First Hunter asked, obviously intrigued.

“I don’t know,” Lady Maria replied, “Do you have a clean glass I could place it in?”

-

A full report detailing the events of Dr. Veselý and the bathhouse was given to Queen Annalise and the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst. It seemed that the traitorous fiend had stolen a copy of the key to the sudatorium months ago and had kept a hidden research clinic within the tunnels beneath the bathhouse. Her Majesty was able to adequately compensate the owner of the building for his cooperation and any and all damages sustained to his property during the confrontation. Evidently, enough echoes can earn a man’s silence.

In the aftermath of the investigation, The Bloody Crow of Cainhurst saw fit to promote Catherine to Knight-Captain, having taken notice of her excellent conduct and deductive reasoning. Danika, Ajća, and Marek extended their congratulations through copious amounts of ale and mead down at the Bloody Barrel. Although they were disheartened that the new title would remove her from their squadron, the Cainhurst Knights were ecstatic that their fearless leader had finally been recognized for her gallantry and aptitude.

Catherine had been surprised by the unexpected promotion, but diligently took on her new duties in stride. As a Knight-Captain, she was expected to attend war-table meetings with the other captains and commanders of the order, including the Bloody Crow of Cainhurst himself. They were awfully derivative, mostly discussions of resource allocation and tactical strategy, but she was learning quite a great deal, so she supposed she couldn’t critique them too harshly.

Additionally, she was now responsible for managing squadron designation, training soldiers, and enforcing protocol among the order; which unfortunately meant that she had to crack down on more contraband in the barracks—much to Danika’s chagrin.

“Keep the tip of the spear up!” Catherine instructed one of the new initiates, “Yes…yes…that’s it! Place your hands slightly forward…”

The recruit followed her directions and began executing his drills more effectively, his opponent blocking his strikes with a wooden tower shield. The newly appointed Knight-Captain continued to watch the fledgling soldiers, a late summer breeze billowing throughout the compound. Catherine’s eyes drifted to the sight of gardenia petals gliding through the air and across the training grounds, a furious twinge pulling at her heartstrings.

Despite the slight increase in wages and renown amongst the order, Catherine couldn’t shake the dismal dose of melancholy that beset her. It had been over a fortnight since she had spoken properly to Lady Maria. They had only offered each other polite greetings when passing each other in the castle halls, yet she refrained from glancing too closely at the young royal; afraid of seeing disappointment and resentment in her eyes. 

Catherine had been a bit of an ass, that much was clear. In her panicked, frayed state, she had inadvertently disparaged the noblewoman. She hadn’t meant to, she was only concerned with her welfare! She had been entrusted to protect the young noble, so when Lady Maria had decided to deliberately put herself in danger to rescue the poor knight, Catherine couldn’t help but lash out. After all, how could the noblewoman be so foolish!?

There was so much good in the world that Lady Maria could do—intended to do! How could she carelessly disregard her own well-being? And for what? To save Catherine? Nonsense! The knight was meant to protect her—had sworn herself to that ambition! And if Sir Gehrman had not been there—if Dr. Veselý had managed to harm the young noble…

If her Lady had perished…

It would have been all her fault…

Because of her incompetence and inferiority, any and all harm brought upon Lady Maria would have been decidedly her sin—and Catherine couldn’t bear that thought. The supposition that her Lady could have died due to her own inadequacies…it was unimaginable. The guilt and sorrow that welled inside of Catherine was pestilential—a dismal, solid heaviness that settled sickeningly in the pit of her stomach. She felt terrible; not only had she failed to effectively safeguard her Lady, but she had ostensibly offended the noblewoman as well. 

Ah, and what a churlish, acerbic, wretch Catherine was!

How was she ever to make amends?

The ring of clashing steel broke the Knight-Captain’s reverie, who followed the sound to a pair of the new apprentices fighting with worn sabers. She scrutinized the chipped steel, wondering how anyone could ever fight with such dismal weaponry. After a few more moments of gandering at this tinderbox of a scenario, an idea finally came to her.

-

Dearest Henrietta,

I know little of how I should begin to convey my regrets to Catherine. It has been weeks since the investigation concluded, and I have yet to amass the courage to even speak to her properly.

While I am still disheartened by her pejorative words, I understand the grievances that gave them life.

Perhaps I had acted too rashly, placing myself in danger in such a way, but had she not acted so similarly mere months before? The hypocrisy—the sheer audacity of that woman to think that I would not extend her the same courtesy!

After all, she is, well…important to me…

And now…

Dear Ebrietas, she won’t even look at me.

Oh, how I miss those enchanting eyes!

Those wondrous swirls of honey and azure that both bewitch and beckon me!

How I long to have those spellbinding irises look upon me again! Look at me with tenderness, devotion, and—

Maria’s quill froze, the ardor of her letter becoming apparent. Embarrassed, she hurriedly struck out some of the words that hinted at her deeper affections for the soldier. 

I apologize, I don’t mean to waste your time complaining about my own anxieties. How are you faring these days? You mentioned your sister has expanded her orphanage, has that made correspondence more difficult for you? If any of the children are as mischievous as I once was—still am—I’ve no doubt that your hands are quite full.

The experiments remain as fruitless as our last letter. Sir Gehrman has suggested that I take a break during his absence, as he believes some of his colleagues from Byrgenwerth might be able to provide some necessary insight; however, I remain ever as restless. He means well, I know. I dare say you would like him; he shares a similar countenance to Charles, which has proven comforting during my most recent failures.

I aim to continue my experiments, despite his brief sabbatical to the university. Perhaps I’ll be able to give him some exceptional news upon his return?

Well, one can only hope.

I pray you remain well, and eagerly await your next missive,

Yours,

Lady Maria Ravin de Cainhurst

She waited a few minutes for the ink to dry before folding the parchment and sealing it with wax. The noblewoman rose from the small writing desk at the corner of her room and readied herself for a trek through the castle. While traveling from the eastern wing, she stumbled upon a servant girl who was dusting the windowsills. Maria handed the letter to the young woman and instructed her to bring it to the court courier. The petite girl nodded, then ran off to complete the noblewoman’s errand.

Maria stolidly walked through the palace and returned to her ramshackle laboratory sequestered in one of the largest libraries in the nation. She removed her overcoat and hat, placing them on a small chair tucked into the long table before setting to start a new experiment. Rolling up her sleeves, the scholar went to work, pilfering the required supplies and tools. Petri dishes, syringes, slides, and slips—Maria gathered the equipment and set them carefully next to her engioscope. 

The scholar then moved to the curio cabinet behind her, opening its glass doors and inspecting the contents therein. She retrieved a vial that contained one non-fertilized ovum and another that contained several million spermatozoa; both swimming in nutrient-rich fluids. Maria’s gaze flicked to a small glass jar on the bottom shelf. Humming to herself, the noble plucked the container filled with the strange, clotted mass that came from Dr. Veselý and brought all of her samples over to the desk.

In quick succession, Lady Maria poured out her human samples onto each of the glass dishes she had placed onto the table; careful not to contaminate their contents. Once satisfied, the young scholar took a scalpel and cut a small section out of the clot, placing it on an empty dish. She sealed the sample vials and jar, then set them aside. 

Taking one of her syringes, Maria carefully extracted fluid from the vial containing the ovum and placed it onto the prepared glass slide affixed to the engioscope. She repeated the steps with a clean syringe to gently coat the egg with a single droplet of spermatozoa. Peering down the eyepiece, ashen-haired royal noted that the pellucida was already being accosted by the vivacious sperm cells. Maria adjusted the focus slightly before selecting a particular gamete to fertilize the egg with. Having fertilized several hundred ooids during her trials, the noble spent little time carrying out the task. 

Finally, the noblewoman used a sanitized lumen needle to draw out a small amount of blood sequestered in the clot and brought it over to the slide. Maria carefully bypassed the follicular cells and pierced the thick pellucida coat. Under the engioscope, the noblewoman couldn’t help but notice the twitching cells inside the dark, maroon ichor. She had seen several types of the deformed blood cells of beasts, yet these were unlike anything the young scholar had ever witnessed. They were white little wisps with hollow heads and long, thin tails. In fact, the cells eerily resembled that of common spermatozoa.

How passing strange, she thought.

Regardless, the highborn noble pressed on, using the same injection site to administer the strange blood. Maria then slowly removed the needle and placed it on the table without removing her head from the eyepiece, determined to watch the experiment play out.

Or so she thought.

“My Lady?” A familiar voice chimed cautiously, timidity evident in its tone.

Maria’s shock almost sent her supplies flying off the table. She quickly lifted her head and saw the new Knight-Captain stroll quietly into the alcove, carrying a long, ebony box. 

“Catherine?”

The knight approached the noblewoman, stopping in front of the mahogany desk and gently placing her parcel on top of it. She was dressed in her traditional warrior garb, which contrasted Maria’s casual, albeit untidy, appearance. Catherine’s eyes remained fixed onto the far side of the room, refusing to meet the noble’s gaze. An observation that made Maria’s heart turn to water.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Knight-Captain?” The noblewoman asked rigidly, nervously scratching her thumb along her forefinger.

She watched the soldier take in a deep breath.

“My Lady—Maria, I…” 

Catherine bit her lip, and the noble could have sworn she saw a sheen glistening in the brunette’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully, “I am so, so sorry for those abysmal things I said to you. You did nothing to deserve such boorishness. You are so kind and good—and if…if anything had happened to you, I don’t know what I would have—”

Lady Maria’s arms were around the knight before she could even finish her sentence. The brunette melted into the noblewoman, grasping tight against the soft cotton of Maria’s dress shirt. Catherine clung hopelessly to the young scholar, burying her face into the crook of the taller woman’s neck and shoulder, releasing a small whimper. Maria felt droplets fall against her skin and encouraged the knight to hold her even closer.

“I know,” Maria said softly, her own tears spilling down her cheeks, “I know.”

After several minutes within the calming embrace, Catherine’s breathing returned to a steady rhythm. Maria wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with the soldier curled up in her arms, but the stiffness of the Cainhurst armor would likely pinch and bruise her in less than favorable ways. So when the knight began to pull away, Maria—reluctantly—acquiesced.

“I’m sorry,” Catherine repeated, unflatteringly wiping her face with her palm.

“Don’t be, well—not for crying—but for being an ass!” 

Catherine laughed and it filled the noble’s heart with such warmth.

“I was an imprudent rube…could you find it in your heart forgive me?”

My heart is already so full of you.

The noble sighed.

“I’m sure I can find the space, ma drahá.”

Catherine gave her a small smile.

“Thank you.” She moved to the charcoal colored box on the table. “I was hoping that this gift would assuage the unpleasantness of this apology, but once again I have made a fool of myself and wept against your shirt instead.”

“You’re a fool for a variety of reasons,” Lady Maria reassured, “but that is not one of them.”

The knight gestured to the gift, signaling for Maria to open it. The noblewoman calmly pried the lid of the box of its base and let out a small gasp at the sight within—a beautiful cup-hilted rapier with an ornamental guard and branching quillion that looped around to attach to the hilt. The blade was long, sturdy, and slightly curved—a true marvel of craftsmanship. Next to it was an embellished dagger; decorated with twisting vines along the spine. The details of patterned silver welded onto both of the handles were marvelous, layered like a dragon’s scales.

The ensemble was breathtaking!

“By the Moon,” Maria muttered, gingerly removing the blades from the velvet lined box. She held them out in front of her and the light of the sun reflected off of them dazzlingly.

“Do you like them?” Catherine chuckled, admiring the noblewoman as she fluidly twirled them in her hands.

“Like them? I love them! Wherever did you get them?!” 

“I had seen it on a blacksmith’s stall when we were at the market last. I know your old rapier was damaged during our fight with Veselý, so I thought…”

“They’re absolutely marvelous,” Maria stated, her silver eyes shining with mirth, “thank you.”

“The blacksmith called it the ‘Rakuyo’,” Catherine said, approaching the noblewoman with her hands outstretched. “And the best part?”

The young scholar watched as the knight carefully lifted both of her wrists, moving them so that the blades were pointed the opposite of one another. It was then that Maria noticed a strange hole within the pommel of the sword. Catherine then brought the noblewoman’s hands together, sinking the pommel of the dagger into the mysterious gap; a short, pop clicking sound followed the action.

“A trick weapon,” the noble realized, excitedly looking at the section in which the two weapons met.

“Exactly!” Catherine breathed.

Lady Maria lifted her eyes to thank the soldier again for her kindness, but found herself captivated by how close the knight was to her. She could feel the reassuring warmth of the brunette’s hands as they wrapped around her wrists, her grip firm, but not oppressive. Her eyes, slightly reddened by the exertion of her tears, were soft and inviting, allowing a damning heat to rise to Maria’s cheeks. The noblewoman took in the knight’s sly smile—her lips full and slightly chapped.

At that moment, Maria understood that she wanted nothing more than to kiss her chivalrous knight.

Kiss her and show her just how much she had missed her company. Oh, it would be so simple to push the shorter woman up against the desk—to bite and suck along Catherine’s delicate neck like so many of her sensual fantasies…

However, a quick glance at the aforementioned piece of furniture immediately broke the noblewoman out of her prurient delusion.

“Shit!”

The young scholar released the trick weapon which steadfastly remained in the Knight-Captain’s hands. Maria clambered back to her engioscope, muttering panicked, slightly incoherent, disparagements.

“Oh, to mě pojeb, ne zase! Hloupá, Hloupá! Proč nemůže všechno jednou prostě—”

The noblewoman froze as she stared down the eyepiece. Her vision darted around the slide before she pulled back, blinked hard, and dove back into the instrument. There, amidst the dead, motionless spermatozoa, was not one, but two cells! Two blastomeres within the pellucida of the ovum. In her brief absence, the fertilized oocyte had undergone mitosis!

Maria began to tremble.

She had done it!

A short laugh escaped her lips—nothing more than a brief puff of air—before it erupted into something more jubilant and triumphant. Excitedly, she removed herself from the eyepiece, eager to find a journal to write down all of her observations. Maria swiftly pilfered a dark leather tome from the far side of the table, nearly spilling the ink from the inkwell as she dragged it over to the engioscope. She started writing furiously in the notebook, glancing in and out of the eyepiece as she began penning a sketch.

“What is it?” Catherine inquired, having quietly set the Rakuyo back into its gift box.

“The ooid has successfully undergone mitosis without any abnormalities or adverse reactions! It remains unaffected by the introduction of the sample collected from the bathhouse! Catherine—I’ve—I’ve done it! Ha ha! After all this time, I’ve finally made a breakthrough in Queen Annalise’s damned research!”

Overwhelmed with jouissance, Lady Maria dropped her pen and reached out towards Catherine. Grasping the shorter woman just below her ribcage. The noblewoman effortlessly lifted Catherine off the ground and spun her gleefully. The knight let out a shocked squeal, followed by an onslaught of merry laughter. 

“Put me down, you absolute madwoman!”

“I’ve tried and failed hundreds of experiments over the past half of the year! Of course I’m mad!”

“Indeed, and what a delightfully intelligent madwoman you are!”

Maria chuckled warmly as she set down the young knight. Without thinking, the ashen-haired royal moved to cup Catherine’s freckled cheeks within her palms and drew her closer. The brunette’s mismatched eyes were wide as they roamed across Maria’s reverent features.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” the Lady admitted quietly, gliding her thumbs against the soldier’s soft, olive skin. “Without all your support and kindness, I would never have gotten this far—have you any idea how much you mean to me?”

Catherine’s breath caught at the noblewoman’s profession, swallowing the whispered words down her lovely throat. The noble watched the rise and fall of her trachea and couldn’t suppress the shudder that echoed throughout her body. Lady Maria’s pulse quickened at their proximity; the sheer longing for the knight making her bones ache. Silver irises flicked down to that delicate mouth, in which the brief sight of a pink tongue instinctively trailed along the bottom lip.

How she envied that muscle! 

Perhaps she could mirror the action with her own—

“Lady Maria,” a low, commandeering voice called out from just beyond the alcove. 

Instantly, the young scholar pulled away from the Knight-Captain, her skin protesting the missing heat. Maria looked towards the entrance to the room and watched as Queen Annalise stepped into the chamber. She wore a plum colored dress with an asymmetrical neckline and boned bodice, accentuating her exquisite figure. She stared hauntingly between Lady Maria and the newly appointed Knight-Captain, her lips curled in a slight frown—not quite a scowl.

“Your Majesty,” Catherine said, lowering to one knee in supplication.

“Knight-Captain,” the Queen greeted in return, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Your Grace,” Maria bowed hurriedly before continuing, “I have excellent progress to report, I’ve—”

“I am aware of your success, cousin,” Annalise remarked, putting her hand up to silence the young scholar. “Practically half the staff in the library is privy to it on account of the sheer volume in which you use to preach your achievements.”

Lady Maria bit her lip, a wave of embarrassment flushing over her at the Queen’s comment.

“I…I apologize, your Excellency, forgive me—I should have reigned in my enthusiasm.”

“I would pray in the future that you do, considering how…discretionary this research is meant to be.”

The Queen looked to Catherine and narrowed her eyes, clearly indicating her discomfort with the soldier’s presence.

“You're dismissed, Knight-Captain,” she muttered, motioning for Catherine to leave.

“Of course, your Majesty,” the knight said, returning to a standing position. She bowed briefly to Maria before taking her leave. “My Lady.”

Maria wanted to give the soldier a proper goodbye, but didn’t feel comfortable doing so under the critical eye of her affluent cousin. Instead, she nodded once to Catherine, feeling her heart clench tightly as she retreated from the room. Once the noblewomen were left alone, Queen Annalise drew closer to the young scholar.

“You’d be mindful to hold your tongue around her,” she warned.

Ah, if only her Majesty truly knew where Maria wanted to put her tongue on that beautiful warrior…

The young royal shook her head to clear her mind of those impure thoughts.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” the noble coughed awkwardly, “would you like to see the results for yourself?”

Without confirming, Queen Annalise quietly rounded the long table and drifted to the engioscope. She stiffly lowered her face to the aperture and stared down into the eyepiece. Maria timidly scratched the back of her neck.

“If you need to put it into focus—”

“No need,” Annalise replied coolly. Lady Maria nervously wrung her hands, the silence between them growing more unnerving. 

“Marvelous,” her Majesty whispered reverently after several short minutes before straightening her posture. “How soon will you be able to inseminate a test subject?”

Maria startled at the ludicrous question accompanying the frigid gaze.

“Come again?”

Annalise stepped closer to the young noblewoman, and despite being taller, Maria balked at her intimidating stare.

“This research isn’t simply for theoretical purposes,” Annalise stated emphatically, “I need embryos to become fully developed fetuses and be successfully carried to full term.”

“You mean to have human trials?”

“Indeed. Why is this such a shocking request? I thought I made that assumption perfectly clear when I became your benefactor.”

“You said you wanted to see if it was possible to ensure a safe pregnancy with the utilization of beast blood.”

“I stated that this research was imperative to ensure Cainhurst’s success over the Healing Church.”

“By what means!?”

Lady Maria’s outburst incensed the oligarch, whose mask of propriety cracked under the young scholar’s insufferable imprudence. The threatening visage of her furrowed brow and glowering grimace made the scholar’s blood run cold.

“I do not have to explain myself to you!” She purported menacingly, “I am your Queen and you will do as I command!”

“I will not risk the lives of innocent people to make your delusional fantasies a reality!”

Lady Maria watched Queen Annalise’s jaw set, teeth grinding beneath thin lips. The young noble immediately regretted such an impolitic outburst as the oligarch’s features twisted into a harsh, glacial glare. A devastating sense of dread began to flood into Maria’s stomach, a cold sweat accompanying the terrifying trepidation.

“I-I apologize, your Grace. I don’t know what came over me, I—”

“What is your…relationship with Knight-Captain Catherine?” Annalise asked with an insipid insouciance, “What is she to you?”

Maria swallowed thickly, her chest squeezing tightly at the mention of her precious knight. The noblewoman could already sense the oligarch’s threat, so she attempted to rescind her insular dissent.

“Your Excellency, please—”

Queen Annalise silenced her with a mocking scoff.

“Oh, come now cousin, subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit.” The Queen turned to face the exit, humming to herself in thought. “I’ll admit…she’s quite lovely…for a toy.”

A heavy indignity filled the young noble at her cousin’s offensive discourtesy. Maria’s lips thinned, another surge of unease creeping down her spine. A torrential itch began to slither around her body, her skin crawling at the way the oligarch had uttered the word ‘toy’.

“But that is the tragedy with toys,” she continued, moving around the table and dragging the middle finger of her left hand along the black gift box. She inspected the digit with a small frown, deliberately avoiding Lady Maria’s fearful expression. “They can be quite…fragile.”

“Your Majesty—"

“She’s quite gifted, you know. A perfect soldier. Loyal…dutiful…cunning. She’d do brilliantly on the front lines, should the Healing Church decide to declare war on our country. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Maria stared at her cousin in disbelief, a great horror washing over her. Images of Catherine’s mangled and rotting corpse on the battlefield—her body mutilated and disfigured beyond recognition. Bile crawled up her esophagus, stinging the sensitive lining. She swallowed painfully, clenching her fists defeatedly. Maria couldn’t allow those appalling visions to come to pass; she would protect her beloved knight from such a cruel fate, even if she had to defy the authority of the Queen of Cainhurst.

The young scholar debated her options. She couldn’t outright deny the oligarch, as that would swiftly bring the headsman’s axe—literally or metaphorically—down on them both. However, she rebuked the idea of committing such unethical acts against innocent people; that notion was far too awful to possibly entertain. Lady Maria would not cast aside her morality in the face of progress.

She’d rather be damned.

“I will start with animal trials,” Maria proposed, trying to compromise, “once those prove successful then, and only then, will I move along with testing on human subjects. I refuse to test on anyone until I know that this procedure is completely and utterly safe.”

The oligarch grimaced, her stormy eyes narrowing slightly in contempt; however, she clasped her hands in front of her and hummed in acknowledgment.

“I find your terms…reasonable,” Queen Annalise finalized, turning to leave the small laboratory. Before she rounded the exit, she turned fully to the young noble and gave her a small nod. “I look forward to seeing how quickly your work will progress, cousin.”

And with that, she left the room, leaving a fretful Maria feeling as if she made a pact with the devil. She shuddered violently, scratching at her scalp just above her ears. To think that she would attempt something so parlous and uncertain, all to placate a woman who held Catherine’s life in her hands. 

Slowly, Maria realized that she’d do anything to keep the young knight safe. Ebrietas, she’d move the moon if it were to please and keep Catherine content.

But just how much was she truly willing to sacrifice to ensure her knight’s protection?

Maria froze.

Her knight!? 

When did she become so possessive?

Maria sighed deeply, putting the troublesome thought from her mind. Instead, she began to wonder…how the devil was she going to acquire enough rats for these experiments?