In the cool grass behind the old house of the Ashworth manor, empty now of its once grand family, Breanna lies with Delilah beneath the moon's light.
Delilah mixes her darkest paints with dripping blood and draws the warm brush over Breanna's naked flesh, murmuring strange words as she traces her twisting patterns. "Can you feel it, my love?" she asks. "Can you feel the power I share with you?"
Breanna shivers as the paint cools and dries, the Void humming and singing along her spine. "Oh, yes," she murmurs, her lips to Delilah's skin.
When the Grand Guard came for Breanna, on new orders that supposedly came from the Duke himself, she was standing still at one of the high railings overlooking the main exhibit hall, contemplating the distance of the drop.
She did not resist as they shackled her hands together. She did not take any slim satisfaction, as she might have before, from the fear in their eyes as they hesitantly laid hands on her to drag her away.
Delilah was truly dead this time, of that Breanna was quite certain. She could feel it deep within her bones, a quiet stillness where life and power once burned through her marrow. She thought she had known emptiness before, when Delilah was first taken from her, but it was nothing compared to this. There would be no hope, no sweet promises whispered in the night as her dreams took her through dark and warping worlds.
Back then, when she stood at the edge of Kaldwin's Bridge and stared down at the icy, hagfish-infested waters below, it had been Delilah's voice that talked her down, purring that it would be such a waste of all she had given, that Breanna still had a greater purpose in this life. The first of her otherworldly whispers, though Breanna had not recognized it for what it was at the time. It had been enough to pull her back from the brink, to send her to Karnaca to build a new start and live up to Delilah's expectations as best she could.
But there was no voice this time, no plea, only chains to drag her away from the edge.
Breanna had often heard it said that the Serkonan prisons were less harsh than any in Gristol, a claim that could be both praise and insult depending on who made it. She couldn't imagine there was really much difference in the end; rats and rot and spitting, snarling guards were the same all across the Isles.
They meant to keep her alive, at least. That much was clear. She was kept separated from all of the other prisoners, and though she heard screams echoing down the halls at all hours, the interrogator was much more keen to offer bribes and bargains over violence when he visited her.
It did not matter, of course. She would not tell where her remaining sisters had escaped to, nor would she reveal any of Delilah's secrets, still held close to her heart. It did not matter what they offered or threatened or who they chose to approach her.
The Duke himself came to reason with her once, hoping to appeal to their long alliance, but Breanna could tell with a glance that it was not Luca. A shame, really. She was never overly fond of the man, but Delilah had found him useful and he had always been quite loyal, the only other one to hear Delilah's whispers beyond the Void. He was in the madhouse now, Breanna supposed, locked up along with Jindosh, that poor fool. She had caught a glimpse of him on the day of her arrest, had seen his puzzled smile and far off gaze as they loaded him unresisting into a carriage.
Such a strange path that was carved through Karnaca. No trail of blood and bodies, and yet…
Perhaps death was the better end, given all that she had seen. After all, Breanna, too, had known the touch of Emily Kaldwin's mercy, felt the gifts so lovingly bestowed on her ripped violently away until she was left a useless and pale thing before her dear Empress.
Perhaps Delilah was the lucky one.
By a rough estimate – counting sunrises through barred windows to the best of her ability and listening to the guards idly discussing their plans and schedules – Breanna had been imprisoned for nearly four months when the false Empress finally came to call.
She did not deign to speak to her directly, of course, but Breanna could hear her voice echoing down the hall as she talked with the head of the prison guard. "I'll discuss it with the Duke, but unless he has any particularly convincing arguments, I've made my decision. You'll have official notice by the morning."
"Of course, Your Majesty," said the head of the guard. Breanna could practically hear the man averting his eyes and bowing.
"You're sure about this, Emily?" This one was the Royal Protector's voice, unexpected but not surprising. Of course the spoiled, wretched child had not come unaccompanied.
"She's harmless now," Emily replied. "She has no power and no allies, and Delilah is dead. Our spies can keep track of her out in the world, but if she has no information to give and she's not a threat, then there's no reason to keep her here." She paused then with a heavy sigh. "I can't fill my prisons with every enemy I have, not when there are truly dangerous people we need to keep locked away. I have to focus on the safety of my citizens, not my own comfort."
How noble, Breanna thought, lip curling in distaste. The discussion faded as footsteps echoed away down the hall, and she tipped her head back to lean against the rough, stone wall of her cell. So she would have freedom soon, or something like it.
She wasn't sure what she would do with that anymore. She'd only known freedom before with Delilah at her side or whispering into her heart.
There was a chill in the air the day Breanna was released, a little early for Karnaca unless her rough timekeeping was even more inaccurate than she thought. It was still more comfortable than her damp, dirty cell had been.
Two guards escorted her to a carriage and handed her a bag containing the belongings that had been taken from her at the moment of her arrest: her earrings, a jeweled hairpin, and a half-finished letter to Delilah. She'd had other things at the time, bits of carved bone and raw materials for her effigies, certainly burned or ground to dust now. She dreaded to see what had become of the rest of her possessions left in her home.
With a sigh, Breanna tucked the jewelry away and held the letter tightly to her chest as the carriage began to move, ignoring the curious glance from the guard seated across from her. The paper was creased and rumpled in a way that suggested it had already been read over several times, but at least it was back in her hands now. No doubt they had hoped to learn some deep secrets through their snooping, but it was not that kind of letter. It was the kind that began with 'my dearest' and went on to complain of loneliness and long, cold nights, the kind she wrote daily and rarely sent. She hoped they'd wasted hours trying to decipher a code that wasn't there.
The carriage came to a stop outside her home, and Breanna was ushered out onto the street and up to the door. The guard saw her inside with a curt nod and a thinly veiled warning, and then she was left alone.
Alone and free and utterly without purpose.
Breanna was not like Delilah, who wore her ambition like armor and could always find reason to claw her way back up from the bottom, no matter what she'd lost on the way down. With Delilah gone, there was nothing left for her to work toward and no way to start over.
Letter clutched tightly in her hand, Breanna sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and waited for the whispers that would never come.
They sit on the rooftops as darkness falls each night, watching the lights shine down from Dunwall Tower. Delilah's eyes gleam with desire as she stares at them across the river, and she strokes her fingers lovingly through Breanna hair, over her neck, down her back. "We were both made for a greater fate than this," she whispers into her ear. "I was born to be an empress, and you, my love, you were born to help me rise."