"Memories are hidden doorways."

Memories

Weeks. She has never felt so alone during these weeks; the empty sounds of black magic provide no comfort for her, and the presence of the Whalers doesn't quell the gnawing feeling of loneliness. Julia walks blindly through the Boyle house-hold, so confused on what to do. Only when the third week passes by does she decide to go to the music room.

The room looks untouched. Untouched by dust and germs but also untouched by humans, the smell almost stale from the windows never being opened, and the picture of the three Boyle sisters hanging proudly over a fireplace.

Julia does not look at it.

She instead opens the window and frowns as the smell disappears out of the new opening, almost smelling essence of Lydia too being lost in the large world. Her fingers slide down the wooden frame and across the glass pane, droplets of rain almost trailing after her fingers. She then leans her head against the window, listening to the distant chimes of the clock tower, the shouts of the City Watch below and the happy bustling of citizens carrying on with their lives.

She takes a deep breath and sighs. "I hate the rain," she whispers. "So did mother."

-f-

"But what about Julia?" Esma pointed out, her eyes darting over to the sick child sitting near the fire. "I can't leave her alone."

Waverly stared at her reflection whilst bringing a hairbrush through her golden mane, not looking at her older sister as she spoke. "Esma you need to go. The Boyle family has a powerful position and if we don't show it off, people will think we are going soft."

Esma fiddled with her gloved hand anxiously. She looked over at Julia again; the small child staring into the flames that licked the air, the glow of the fire highlighting the features of her daughter. The sound of rain hitting the glass pane was the only sound in the room, that and Julia's harsh wheezing. "But it's raining."

Waverly stops brushing her hair and turns to her sister. "Really Esma?" she frowns. "Stop being such a child."

Furiously, Esma stomped over to the door and left the three remaining Boyles alone. Lydia shook her head disapprovingly, not at Esma's childish behaviour or Waverly's bluntness, but at the fact that the two couldn't get along like the sisters they were. Julia coughed and stood up, shuffling over to her aunt and pulled softly on the sleeve of her red shirt. "Aunt Waverly?"

Said woman gazed down at her niece and smiled softly. "What is it Julia?"

"Does mommy have to go to the party?" she asks, staring up like a curious wolfhound pup. "I don't want to be alone..."

Waverly realized what the young child was doing and goes to turn her head away, but Julia proved faster and pouts sadly, her eyes big and watered a little. Staring for a few seconds, Waverly frowned deeply and sighed, picking the young heir up and balancing her on her knee whilst resuming brushing her hair. "I don't like it when you use that look on me."

"But you said to play peoples' heartstrings to get what you want," Julia pointed out. "Didn't you?"

Waverly paused. She had the woman there, and she growled mentally at herself for being caught off-guard by a child, though she had to give her niece points for pulling off such an amazing feat. "Esma can stay here, but only this once."

The grin on Julia's face shone so brightly that Waverly could have passed it off as the sun. Small legs hit the floor and before she could react, Julia was running out of the room to inform her mother of the change of plans. Slim fingers played with golden curls and Waverly once again stares at her reflection, at least she wouldn't have to deal with the promiscuous sister at the party tonight.

Lydia spoke out for the first time that evening. "Like mother, like daughter."

"Yes..." The youngest sister replied. "I can see where the hatred for rain has come from."

-f-

The smell has long disappeared as Julia continues to stare out of the rain-splattered window. She tears her gaze away and sits down in a plush chair, her slim body sagging into the plump cushions and luxurious silks. She stares into the fireplace -now lit- and plays with a jewelled necklace that sits around her fragile neck, the gems shining in the whale oil-powered lights, and giving off a spectrum of light.

For a while she sits there. Her eyes never tear away from the dancing of flames, and from the way the heat beats against her face as she leans forward on her arm. When it proves tedious to stare any longer, she instead turns her head slightly and looks at another painting donning the wall; one of herself when she turned ten, just a few months before her mother's murder.

She smiles to herself and plays with one of her gloved hands. "I hated that man," she mutters to herself. "Mother had some trouble keeping me still for the painting."

-f-

"Julia, please keep still!" Esma shouted, her soft hands gripping hard on her daughter's shoulders, trying hard to keep the girl from squirming about. With a red face, Julia proved to be stubborn and refused to sit still for a man who was as horrid as Anton Sokolov.

She stared straight into her mother's eyes and yelled. "No!"

"Julia Boyle!"

She didn't to listen to the rest of Esma's scolding as she screams. "No! No! No! No! I don't want to sit still for hours!"

Waverly watched on from the sidelines as her sister continued futilely to keep Julia from running away, her made-up face scrunched up in embarrassment. "Julia please," she spoke from behind a hand that she covered her face with. "It won't be too long."

Lydia then joined in on the convincing of the young heir. "And the sooner you stay still, the sooner it will be over."

The look on the child's face when she ceased squirming made everyone cry out in relief, her eyes emotionless as she calculated the benefits from what she had to do, and she did not appreciate being painted by a man who looked like a tall, half-shaven bear. Biting her lower lip softly, she slowly nods and sits up straight, feeling her mother's hands slowly lifting and frowned at the loss of the warm touch. "Alright."

Anton grabbed his paints and started to create visual magic, painting in a way that Julia thought impossible, and the Tyvian was actually enjoying it. Occasionally her eyes darted over to her mother and aunts, watching them converse quietly with each other and then look at her smiling. She felt grown up after the ordeal, like she could just become a woman like the other Boyles if she wanted too.

She soon changed her tune when Esma tried to make her eat her vegetables.

-f-

Julia stands up and looks at the painting of the Boyle sisters, before gripping onto the frame with enough pressure to turn her knuckles white, disgust written on her face like an open book ready for reading. She stares at it as she throws it into the fire, frame and all, and sits down whilst watching the canvas burn quickly. The faces of the Boyle women turn charcoal black and soon are engulfed by roaring flames, the heir swearing she could see red paint flowing down the remainder of the painting.

Red.

Like the colour of blood.

Like the colour of Esma's blood.

-f-

A gasp. A shudder. A call of Esma's name. Julia had another nightmare again and awoke in a cold sweat, grabbing her doll tightly as if she could have lost it, and looks around the dark room slowly. The light from the hall outside proved to be the only source, laughter and chatter coming from downstairs proved that the party was still going on, meaning that Julia was not allowed downstairs to search for her mother.

She whimpered and moved to the edge of the bed. "I'm scared."

She pulled back the sheets and slowly, touched the cold floor with a small gasp. She had another fit not two days ago and was still wobbly on her legs, but she managed to walk to the door and open it, looking out to see if any servants were around. There was no sign of them and so she crept out of her bedroom, slinking to the grand staircase like an agile cat.

She looks down and spotted Aunt Waverly talking to two other people. "Well little Julia is still sick in bed," she sighs sadly. "The fits are becoming more frequent in the cold months."

One of the conversers, a woman wearing a moth mask, gasped loudly. "Oh the poor thing! So sick at such a tender age!"

"Indeed," her male companion agreed, taking a sip of her wine. "And Lydia is looking to the Strictures for guidance."

Julia paid no more attention to the conversation as the three walked away from the staircase, the ten-year-old seizing her chance and running down the stairs before moving out of sight. She looked around the large hall in search for her mother, but was only confronted by bizarre masks and even bizarre people, all cooing and awing at the heir.

She finally plucked up the courage and asked one of the guests. "Do you know where my mother is?"

The guest, sporting a creepy doll-face mask, looked down at the young girl and then points to the library. "She's in there, Lady Boyle."

Julia thanked the woman and walked towards the library, pushing her way through the tight cluster of guests that were talking to each other, and paused at the doorway as she could hear Esma talking to someone. "Maybe I should wait until she's finished talking."

"So dear, what brings you to my party?" That was Esma speaking, a drunk drawl edged her voice.

"Lady Boyle, may I suggest that we continue this conversation in the basement?" That was a voice that Julia didn't recognize, but sounded foreign and very uncomfortable.

"Oh? And what shall we be doing there that we can't do here?"

"Please Lady Boyle, I strongly sugge-"

The man was caught off by his own yell, and the sound of metal hitting the floor was clear, before Esma's gasp accompanied it.

"O-Oh no," she stutters, the sound of her footsteps moving further away from the doorway. Julia heard the scrape of metal from the floor, and knew that the man's mask must have fell on the floor before he picked it up. Esma gasps once more and then a shrill shriek makes Julia jump. "Guards! Guards! Kill this man, he's-!"

Julia picked that moment to look into the library, watching as just that moment, the masked man drew his sword and impaled Esma in the gut. A shocked cry escaped her before she could stifle it and both adults turned their heads. The masked man's body stiffened and he pulled out his sword, allowing Esma to collapse to the floor undignified and Julia to run up to her dying mother.

She grabbed her shoulder and shook it. "Mother! Mother!"

The sound of footsteps came closer to the library and the masked man stared down at the sobbing child, before he disappeared into the night, leaving the essence of dark magic in his wake. The footsteps stopped and Julia could hear her aunts cry out in fright, the scene before them silencing everyone. She looks up at Esma's face and sees that she is still alive, but unable to speak. Instead she brought a hand up to Julia's face and caressed it softly, like she did whenever her daughter had a nightmare.

And then she was gone. Esma Boyle was dead.

-f-

She watches the burnt remains of the picture from her chair, her head leaning lazily on her hand and her eyes flickers in the light. Tears fall down her face slowly as she wipes them away, not wanting to think of the incident anymore. Slowly, her eyes flutter down on themselves and her chest slows as sleep begins to take her, and it would have if not for a rough hand on her shoulder.

Then Thomas' voice rings in her ear. "Wake up Julia."

"Thomas?" she yawns, blinking as she looks up at the assassin. She smiles greatly as she stares at him, before looking over to another man watching her from the window, his scarred face showing nothing that she could read. "Who is he?"

Thomas straightens himself and coughs softly, gesturing his hand over to the man who is wearing a red coat. "This is Master Daud."