"No! Get away from her!"

The last few moments of Empress Jessamine Kaldwin's life were lost in a churning sea of adrenaline, fear, and the inevitable haze that descends on one's memories of times of danger. Everything had happened so quickly. First dismissing the Royal Spymaster, then Emily announcing Corvo's arrival-

Corvo-Lord Protector-born of Serkonos-brown hair-brown eyes-quiet

-then the letter and its grim news of the other nations' decisions to blockade them, in order to wait out the plague, or to wait for them to all perish in their walled city, whichever came first-

blood from the eyes-she'd seen-heliotypes of the Flooded District-oh by the Seven Strictures what had they done to deserve such a horror

-then little Emily calling out, pointing out distant figures moving on the rooftops, suddenly dissipating in puffs and whirls of shadowed air-

appearing before them like wraiths-masked like the old whalers she'd seen when she was a girl-swords in hand

-her bodyguard engaging the assassins, steel clashing on steel, Emily running to her arms, the pair of them huddled against the storm of violence that now buffeted them-

Corvo moving faster than thought, locking a blade with one hand and jamming his pistola underneath the man's chin with the other, gunshot-where were the guards

-thinking themselves safe, a smile spreading onto her face as it so often did when she looked at Corvo, a good man in a bad world, the only one she could trust-

another flash, another assassin-flinging her bodyguard into the air with an eerie green light, tethering him there

She cried out only one more time. Not out of fear for her own life, but for her daughter's, and that of her protector. Who had, against all odds, failed them. But she felt no bitterness, bore no grudge.

A man grabbed her shoulder. She saw a glimpse of a red overcoat, black glove. A hard face, weathered and lined, eyes boring into hers. Was there sadness in them? No…not sadness. But no rush of pleasure either.

She stretched out a hand to Corvo. Their eyes met, one last time. His mouth formed words; face screwed up in anguish-

The blade slid into her stomach, and her blood rushed out in a torrent. Red upon white, like the costumes at Lady Boyle's party at the Fugue Feast-she remembered that night well, both she and Corvo had-

She toppled to the ground, her heart already feeling like a dying ember in her chest. The world tilted crazily, and grew dark. Everything slowed, and stopped. Dimly, she saw them take Emily away and disappear. No. She tried to get up, to stop them, to follow them. But she could not.

The plague. It had not killed her. A man in a red overcoat with curious eyes had. There was almost some humour in that…

The world ended, there and then, for Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, sprawled out on a marble floor.