That night, I realised I dreamed for the first time. I'd recognised the cliffs surrounding the tower as I silently dropped off them, my weight reduced to air and my body eternally falling in a sea of warm amber. My vision flashed with a million pathways, yet for all their differences every one of them seemed to lead to the same place. I found her, as I always found her, and silently ghosted across her olive skin, my fingertips flowing in a gentle caress—drawing her in with fluid movements. Her golden eyes gazed upon me with a familiar wondrous delight, and I found I was utterly enthralled by such a vibrant expression which I had never before been the intended recipient of. She pulled me towards her as her delicate fingers streamed down my shoulders and back in a feathery embrace. Her eyes fluttered and her lips formed my name. My name.
I awakened in a state of perplexed shock as I realised just what I'd been dreaming of, my skin covered in sweat and still burning from the lingering memory. My body twitched and ached, and I quickly became aware of my dire need for another shower to help wash away the sins of sleep. I cursed myself as the cold water beat against me, trickling down my back in a sensation far too eerily reminiscent of my dream. I dropped my head against the cool surface of the tiles, my arms listlessly wrapping around my skull as I tried to gather my wits. The thought of likening the Empress to something that could be described as beautiful had been frightening—terrifying even.
But dreaming about her? My heart was racing and my stomach was filled with an overbearing sense of sick, my guts tangled and twisted whichever way. I closed my eyes and groaned as I abhorred my own utter stupidity. To think that I could even entertain such thoughts filled me with more dread than the Void itself.
"I heard you have a real talent for the art of illustration."
I glared at my plate as I tried to ignore every single life-form that occupied the room, to say I felt embarrassed would be nothing but pitiful.
"He does. You should see his work." Lurk's voice broke through the air, the ambiance of fine cutlery clinking against porcelain plates a constant reminder of my current company. "It's beautiful."
I hated that word right now.
"You draw, Mel?" Corvo's inquiring tone was surprisingly less hostile compared to the day before, yet I felt the vague hint of an insult hidden beneath; a mocking edge to his voice. I could wonder what gave, except I knew exactly what had given.
"Wyman, I don't think he wants to talk about it." The Empress meddled. I could see Wyman as they picked at their food without having to look, their vague shape hard not to notice. Their golden hair glittered with a blinding shine and I was sure their disheveled blouse was the whitest I'd ever had the displeasure of viewing. I hadn't looked at the Empress, but I'd noticed her slightly disheveled appearance from the corner of my eye—a stark contrast to her usual imperial perfection.
"Well you should see Em's work, she's quite talented."
I stirred the tasteless goo in front of me, the shiny substance curling after my fork. "I've already seen all of her work." I lifted a mouthful of the unsavoury meal, swallowing almost immediately after. I pushed a shuddery breath past my lips at the taste of the medicinal food before tilting my head as I continued to watch the mud-like sludge with feigned interest, my lips moving to speak in slow sentences. "Did you know the ancient people of Samara would adorn the eyes of the dead with flowers? The petals would eventually fall, symbolising all past agony and tears to have been cleansed from their souls before passing on to the next realm." My eyes had lifted to gaze off into nothing, Wyman's moving form a mere blur in the corner, and took another bite. A stifling silence hung in the room, the clatter of cutlery momentarily halted. I knew Sokolov was watching me with meaningful interest. I also knew the old man could go suck his beard for all I cared.
"I didn't... wherever did you read that?" Wyman's dulcet tones wavered with question. But I didn't speak again, noting how the Morley Noble had been waiting with baited breath for me to continue until it became apparent I wouldn't, and they awkwardly cleared their throat instead.
"You have a meeting with Lord Heaton this afternoon. Think you'll manage everything?" I heard Corvo grumble to the Empress from the other side of the table, the soft sounds of silverware thumping against porcelain returning once more.
"I've seen some strange things." Lurk whispered in my ear, drawing my eyes towards her in a questioning gaze. She pointed at the bandaged half of her face, the Sliver of the Eye hidden beneath.
"Again? He's been bothering me for days now. I'm not going to fund his party, we're running out of finances as is, we can't waste the Royal Reserves on such trivialities," the Empress complained.
"Whales," Lurk hissed. I knew I was the only one capable of hearing Lurk's hushed tones, but I glanced around the table nonetheless.
"Can you move his appointment to tomorrow? I'm too wrapped up in arranging other things first." The Empress's voice was loaded with hidden meaning and I knew she was talking about her father's departure.
"I know," I whispered, sending Lurk a look that emphasised the finality of my statement, not elaborating any further. I'd heard them for days now, their continuous songs ever-growing in their volume. I had no idea what they wanted, yet they continued their begging melody, calling for me endlessly.
"Month of Darkness is fast approaching Em, I think it'd be good for the people to, you know, have some fun before it arrives. It would certainly help boost morale," Wyman argued.
I noticed the thickening of the air around us right after the sentence had been spoken. "By 'the people' you must mean 'the Nobility', right?" The Empress's voice was sharp as it cut through the tension.
"Is something going to happen to you?" Lurk sounded concerned, and as I glanced up at her features I noticed the worried pull of her brow.
"We can't afford it. Not now," the Empress continued to reject the notion. I hadn't pondered the economics of Dunwall, or the Isles for that matter. I'd never taken much interest in the arduous never-ending political squabbles over coin and valuables. I'd always been more attracted to seeing what people would do for said coin. Coin and love weren't so different, and I found—in essence—almost the same. Billie's gaze stung me with its intensity, but I wasn't about to give in.
"You know I don't mean it like that..." Wyman hesitated. "The nobility are an important fraction of your rule, in return their collective finances could support the Empire right now."
"I won't have it. Not now the crisis has sent even more of the populace into poverty. The beggars of our city need it more, and a lavish party won't do to boost their 'morale'."
Wyman's hands shot up in defence, trying to temper the Empress's sudden aggravation. "Now, now… I think you're being a little too soft towards those- those... street-dwellers. If they had wanted more then couldn't they have worked for it harder?"
"Wym-" The Empress cut herself off and I knew she was glancing at me. I could always tell when her gaze touched me.
Wyman was quick to defend their words, their tone soft and apologetic. "I don't mean it like that, Em… All I'm saying is—there's often a reason why some fail where others succeed." I knew Wyman couldn't help it. They were but a product of their biased upbringing. The delusions of the Nobility were grand and widespread, and I knew it had taken a lot for the Empress to fully rid herself of them. There was nothing more humbling than being cast out. Some learned that lesson all too well.
The people in the room reacted with silent shock as I swiftly stood from my place, my eyes locking with Wyman's for a long moment. I'd never truly looked at them before, not from a human perspective at least. Now that my perception of reality had been skewed, I found that I envied them in some ways. Their golden curls shimmered like a sun on water, and their features possessed the very delicacy mine lacked; they were refined and graceful, whereas I was rough and lanky. Their bright blue eyes shone with an innocence I'd lost centuries ago, and I could only hope—for their sake—they wouldn't lose it too. That innocence was part of why the Empress was happy to be with them, I knew. I'd often heard them recite poems together, their light laughter and easy-going relationship an escape from the harshness of the world, the very harshness I had been reborn to represent. They were everything I could never be.
I didn't say anything as I turned to leave, the final remnants of my meal easily ignored. Billie's hidden eye burned into my back with its crackling magic, scratching questions into my sensitive skin. But I knew she was overreaching, it wasn't all that deep; I simply wasn't in the mood for this particular topic, or perhaps these particular people.
"Pardon me if I'm overstepping my boundaries here," Sokolov uttered beneath his breath as he pricked a needle into one of my veins, a clear liquid pouring into my system immediately. "But what exactly was your social standing. As a human, I mean."
I studied his weathered skin as he worked, the aged epidermis hung loosely folded around his skull, the leathery texture of it punctuated with pores and deep-set wrinkles.
"What do you think it was?" I wasn't in the mood for answering questions right now, I had too many questions of my own burning at the back of my mind.
"Well I've heard the songs, of course. And I've seen the signs, if I may call them that." He turned to inspect the container of clear liquid, carefully adding small, dark drops of another substance.
"Then why are you asking?" I used my free hand to support myself as I leaned back on the table I was sitting on. The cold of the room nipped at my bare torso, raising goosebumps all over my pale skin. Sokolov had repeated his measurements, uttering small words of wonder under his breath as he found change after change. My previously skeletal form was starting to look healthier, which made absolutely no sense to me—but then again, magic had never made sense before.
"Curiosity, I suppose." His fingers wrapped around several tools as he used each in turn to check for different bodily signals.
"A dangerous habit." My words lacked conviction, knowing all too well the consequences of curiosity but feeling too detached to truly care about them myself.
Sokolov made noise of agreement under his breath, his fingers now shakily holding on to yet another instrument I didn't recognise. "I've been testing out different ratios of processed whale oil extractions, mixing them in with your food. It seems your body takes well to them, repairing itself much like it helps repair your wounds." He moved to scribble down some notes, muttering incomprehensible sentences beneath his breath before bringing his focus back to me. "But it's weak as of now. Too watered down in order to prevent poisoning." He added a few more droplets of dark liquid, and this time I could feel it take immediate effect.
My veins glowed a hot white and my vision filled with flashes. The floor beneath me disappeared as all the surrounding walls tumbled down to reveal a vast array of fields, stretching all the way into the horizon where the dark shape of a crumbling hill fort blocked out the setting sun. I knew this place. I recognised the slight mounds of earth and muddy roadways. This was Dunwall, nearly 2000 years ago. Under the rule of Alexander Herrings, yet another corrupt king that exploited the land and the people. He'd meet his bloody demise soon—as most rulers did, bad or good. The knife never discriminated.
As soon as the fields had appeared, Dunwall Tower reconstructed itself back around me, revealing a tense Sokolov who held me with his pensive gaze. The experience was disconcerting, and it took me a few breaths before I felt myself stabilise again. The sounds of the tower returned, louder than before. And with the increase of hearing came an unexpected increase of knowledge. My eyes shot towards Sokolov's, my brow tensing as I gazed at the weathered man. I could hear it clear as day now, the slight abnormality in his breathing. It instantly dawned on me and I knew he noticed.
"You're dying," I stated calmly, closely watching the elder.
He chuckled weakly, his heady breaths more resembling wheezing gasps now. "Aren't we all." He turned away again, scribbling down more of his findings.
After that we didn't talk much for a while, instead the room filled with nothing but the huff and puffs of steam and Sokolov's laboured breaths. Sometimes I swore I felt my limbs leave me, transported to places far away, and each passing minute made it increasingly harder for me to keep my intrigue at bay. I felt the words slip from my carefully sealed lips, leaking from the cracks and falling prey to the temptations of habit.
"Doesn't it scare you? You'll be drowning on air soon, choking and wheezing as each gasp for breath suffocates you further. I've seen it before; the disease of wealth and progress, an accumulation of pleasures."
If Sokolov had felt anything regarding the words he did well in hiding it, mixing several compounds together as he continuously took notes on everything he did. "Well I've earned it," he rasped, his apparent self loathing tinging his tone. I curiously eyed the old man, the Philosopher of the age, Physician to royalty. He was a far cry of the genius he'd been. Weakened. Fragile in both body and in mind.
"If there's anything I've learned it's that we rarely earn something. Things happen, it's up to chance—not virtue." The words were a bitter recollection of my own brief time of wandering this earth.
Sokolov eyed me warily. "I thought you'd be happy to see me punished." He studied me with an unreadable expression, but the words I'd spoken to him days ago still echoed in the depths of his eyes. I had never been a being of hate. Apathy, or sometimes disappointment, much closer described my usual state of mind and I wondered right then and there if the Physician had taken my scornful judgement for an expression of hatred.
"Punishment never brings me happiness."
The Physician glanced at me from underneath the thick hairs of his brow. "Hm," he grunted, turning away from me to once more focus on his work.
I continued regardless. "Those out for revenge often find themselves consumed by their own merit, burned by scorn and eaten by self pity."
"You should write a book," the old man quipped darkly in between coughs.
I didn't respond, my eyes drifting off to the steam powered machines. Water. It was everywhere. Water didn't feel nor bleed. Why was it then that humans insisted on butchering the whales if not out of necessity? Of course I knew why. Coin. Even with the advancements that had been made, the market was thusly invested that changing the source of power would lead to sure economic bankruptcy. Coin more often than not stood in the way of progress.
"What if whale oil never regains its power?" I dared ask the working elder, surprising him yet again with my questions.
He seemed to ponder the query, eyes darting first from his tools, to me, and then towards the puffing machinery. "The world will adapt. But we all know it's not the whale oil we're truly worrying about here." He sent me a grim look, more telling than anything he could say.
"What do you think will happen if we fail?" I felt breathless as I spoke the words, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth that I was sure would linger for days.
Sokolov hesitated before pointing a shaky finger towards my abdomen, towards the place where the gaping wound had been. "There'll be a tear within the kosmos." An unshakable feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, like icy water rising ever higher and freezing the life out of everything. I realised then that he wasn't all that worried with curing me. The infliction of mortality was incurable after all. "But you've known that, haven't you?" Sokolov paused, his grim eyes darting towards the wall behind us, the wall facing the ocean. "They know it." His body was wracked with several more coughs, his trembling fist rising to shield his mouth as he sputtered and gasped for air. I looked at the needle inserted into my vein, watching the subtle white glow that still emanated through my skin as I recalled the strange visions and changing landscape.
"What are you working on?"
Sokolov sent me a meaningful look. "My days are numbered," he paused, his serious expression turning more morose as the seconds passed. "I'm sorry." I met his gaze head on, my face betraying nothing of my inner turmoil. Sokolov had uncovered more than I'd given him credit for, which I could probably chalk up to my own thoughtlessness. My mind tended to be foggy with emotion nowadays, my judgement no longer possessing the same detached clarity it did before my expulsion from the Void. I could blame it all on those hormones the Empress had mentioned, but I knew there was more to it than that. Each breath I took was one breath further away from the unyielding abyss, further away from the clearness of inhuman perception. I'd err. I knew I'd already done so. It was human to err.
"Do you think it selfish of me to want to stay?" That seemed to surprise the Physician, drawing his shocked eyes towards mine.
"I don't." He sounded winded, his gaze traveling the planes of my face curiously.
I nodded in response, turning to look at the vials he was holding. He followed my eyes, and watched the glass containers before moving to add more drops to the liquid that still poured through my veins, the white glow of my arteries intensifying. I could feel that familiar crackle of magic as it persisted, somehow more vibrant and alive within me. The lights in the room flickered and my vision swam with a million images, I was there and I wasn't. When the sensations calmed I could feel the rhythmic beating of my heart echo with a familiar hum. Sokolov carefully removed the needle, and disinfected the small puncture wound before bandaging it. I flexed my arm and hand as soon as he was done, the uncomfortable sting still present even with the needle gone. I sent the Royal Physician a curious glance then, remarking on the tired set of his eyes.
"Your body will need some more time getting used to a higher dosage, but I believe these injections have the power to forge a new tether to the Void and artificially replace the one that was severed by the Eyeless—it'll restore your magic, so long as it's in your system." Sokolov's trembling fingers smoothed across his brow, his body moving to lean back against the creaking chair he occupied.
"You're only fattening me up for slaughter," I snorted as I took the articles of clothing he handed me, the silken fabric gone cold from disuse. I carefully slid off the table, my feet connecting with the wet concrete floor. A puddle revealed my reflection as I looked down to the ground, my features illuminated by the flickering lights—I didn't know what to think of the figure who stared back at me, and it was Sokolov's sudden interruption that pulled me away from my own image.
"You're only a man in your twenties. Enjoy your youth while you can."
I shot the elder a confused look, a frown pulling at my brow. He didn't elaborate, turning away to focus on a pile of books as soon as he'd said it. His words stayed with me as I made my way to the courtyard. I wasn't looking forward to my lesson with Corvo, and I had to wonder what use it would be with him leaving the next day. I had the irking feeling that this wasn't necessarily about training me as much as it was about enforcing more distance between his daughter and I.
I vaguely noticed someone's heartbeat nearby, but before I could search the area I was surprised by a large hand that appeared to grab me out of nowhere, the familiar scent of Corvo catching me off guard. I felt his breath tickle the shell of my ear, realising he stood directly behind me, his face hovering next to mine.
"You need to be more alert." His voice was as low and gruff as always.
"Innocent nobles usually don't get jumped by the Royal Protector, do they now, Corvo?" I drawled in a sarcastic lull, annoyed by the persistent nearness of the man. His large hand slid off my shoulder as he moved to walk around me, his eyes trailing mine with each step he took.
"Innocent nobles usually don't draw tasteful portraits of the Empress." He raised a questioning eyebrow at me and I tipped my head in response, a low chuckle rumbling in my chest.
"You'd be surprised, Corvo."
Corvo's brow furrowed at the comment, creating deep lines that spoke of all past frustrations within their shapes.
"I take it you've been snooping?" I crossed my arms in front of me.
"I am Spymaster," he deadpanned, his upper body leaning towards me to make a point.
"I thought it was the Spymaster's job to serve the Empress, not to spy on her too."
Corvo snorted, his frown deepening in disagreement.
I decided to push a bit more. "How'd you know I made it?"
"None of your business," he grunted, obviously not wanting to share just how much he'd been watching his daughter. It irked me to know Corvo had been lurking around more than I'd expected him to, which was another thing I could chalk up to my persistent and highly underestimated thoughtlessness, something I really needed to be more aware of in the future. This was sloppy, especially for me.
"What do you plan to do about it while you're gone?" I knew the question was a bold one, much more daring than what was to be considered wise—but my desire to know all outcomes ruled over my common sense.
The lines on Corvo's face deepened beyond what I thought had been possible, his skin deeply folding together. "We have a cell down in the basement that has your name on it." He was baiting me, his eyebrows rising in challenge now.
"You don't know my name," I spoke breathlessly, inching backwards from the threat.
"Don't get smart with me." The Royal Protector further narrowed his eyes, taking another step towards me.
"You'd lock me up because of a portrait?" I raised my chin in response to his advancements, not keen on having the Royal Protector dominate the conversation.
"I'd lock you up because you're an ancient Void entity with a questionable moral code." He made a fair point and I wouldn't do well to deny it. He rightfully took my sudden silence as affirmation for his beliefs, and I let him have it, his sharp eyes unrelenting as they burned into me. "Come on," he gestured for me to follow him, leading me further outside where the cold winds once more cut into my skin. Corvo continued to talk as we walked towards an exclusive part of the courtyard, the familiar gazebo sticking out like a sore thumb in the distance. "Since I won't be around to save your skinny ass," he started, "you'll need to know the basics of defence."
I nodded reluctantly, unhappy with my current predicament.
Corvo halted in front of me and took a stance, his legs equally positioned beneath his hips and distributing his weight. I'd already learned that from my lessons on etiquette and posture, if I could call them that. "For starters, there are several weak-spots in the body you need to know." He inclined his head at me, "do you know any of them?"
I shook my head, never having been too interested in the physiological details of humanity. Corvo's hand moved to motion at a number of areas around his body, circling his chest where his rib cage connected first.
"The solar plexus is an important one, it's easy to leave the enemy winded when applying a measured amount of force right here." His hand then went on to point at his shins and feet. "When your arms are constrained you can try to use your legs, kicking your enemy against their shins or stomping on their insteps. Of course, the easiest point of attack against males would be the groin." He broadly gestured at his crotch for emphasis and I was about to click my tongue at his overt display when he continued his monologuing, his sharp eyes observing me purposefully. "When wrestling for control, the eyes and windpipe are easily accessible. You can use your hands or fingers and don't need the same amount of controlled force as you'd need on other places."
I nodded to everything he said, not paying full attention as I became increasingly distracted by the pleasant feeling of sunshine that spilled down my collar, warming my back and shoulders.
"Now when it comes to actual combat, you probably won't stand much of a chance," he scoffed. "But there are some things you could keep in mind." I felt my center start to gradually warm as my skin continued to drink in the rays of light. "Always try to evade any attack the enemy might throw at you, rather keep your distance and retreat. When charged, use the direction and speed of the enemy to ward them off." Corvo's hands danced in front of him to help enunciate each sentence.
I nodded again, stifling a yawn. I was feeling worn out by the day already, and I wondered if Sokolov's experimentation was to blame, or perhaps my restless dreams had a thing to do with it—I was wise enough to quickly steer clear from the memory of those as I watched Corvo relay his knowledge on defensive actions to me.
"I'll demonstrate; you charge." He quickly adjusted his posture, lowering himself and shuffling his feet further apart. I noticed the sudden movement and snapped my full focus back to the Royal Protector.
"Excuse me?"
"Charge me," Corvo ordered in a low grunt.
I hesitated, wondering just what exactly he wanted me to do, until I gave up and decided I'd just go with it. I ran at the Royal Protector with measured steps, my feet still finding it hard to properly balance my body. I watched as Corvo readied himself, controlled his breathing and narrowed his eyes. When I reached him he was quick to react, twisting his body with trained agility and grabbing onto my moving form as he used the momentum I'd built to throw me off balance.
The sudden jerk surprised me, and I felt a short burst of blinding static shoot through my body, a deafening sizzle filling my sensitive ears. When I realised I was no longer moving, I quickly glanced around me to see what had happened. When my eyes met Corvo's, I noticed his grave expression. I was about to ask what I did when he provided me the answer before I'd even had a chance to open my mouth to speak.
"You flickered."
I frowned as I became aware of the familiar crackle that now wrapped around my bones, sneaking through my limbs beneath the cover of my skin. My gaze darted around the space we occupied.
"Where to?" I asked, my mind working hard to recall what I'd seen and felt in that brief fraction of a second.
"Nowhere." The Royal Protector closed the space between us, his dark eyes trained on my form as if it might happen again at any moment. "You were just gone."
My frown deepened, my fingers wrapping around one of my ritual rings as I twisted it in thought. Corvo watched me carefully, waiting for me to speak again. My eyes shot back to his face, my back straightening. "Do you think we could make it happen again?" I asked.
Corvo seemed uncertain of the request at first, his watchful gaze scanning our little corner of the courtyard in suspicion. I continued to stare at him as I mulled over the possibilities. I'd been fully aware of the constant hum of magic within me ever since I'd left Sokolov, but I had yet to find out how to use it. I wasn't able to finish my thought due to Corvo's hands, which roughly slammed into my body, leaving me winded like he'd said it would, but also caused me to lose my balance, forcing me to fall to the hard ground beneath me. My arms quickly moved to break my fall out of pure and immediate impulse, and the action left me wincing painfully as the stones beneath tore into my skin. I skidded and tumbled across the hard dusty surface, my cheek grazed the tiles and I could feel the wetness of blood as it trickled down my broken skin. Dust floated around my form in a suffocating cloud that filled my lungs, and I hastily attempted to get up, my limbs clumsily searching for something to grasp and help me regain my balance.
A sudden hand wrapped around mine, and I immediately looked up in surprise, only to find Corvo standing over me, a dissatisfied look on his face. He helped pull me back to my feet, and my uncertain gaze darted to nothing in particular.
"Sorry," he grunted earnestly, lowering his head to try and get me to look at him. "I thought it might work if I surprised you."
I nodded absentmindedly, my gaze slowly lifting to meet his. He frowned at my injuries, his large hand moving to wipe some of the dirt from my cheek. My first reaction was to flinch away, but Corvo's patient approach allowed me the time I needed to calm myself and stay put. He was more gentle in his movements than I would've expected him to be, his warm eyes set in an apologetic look as they carefully held mine. "It's easy to forget how vulnerable you are," he mumbled, and I felt my eyes narrow at his sudden change of attitude. He was quick to catch on to my distrust, his sharp gaze that so resembled the Empress's rarely seemed to miss a thing. "That wasn't the first time someone did that to you," he paused, diverting his eyes for a moment before continuing, "I can tell."
I frowned at the words, not sure how to react. I felt embarrassed that he'd been able to see something I hadn't even expected to carry around still. I wasn't willing to acknowledge it in the slightest, and his words cut all the deeper for it.
"I'm sorry." He rested his large hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"It's okay, Corvo." I looked off into the distance, at the dancing waves that seemed to mock me for all my shortcomings. "It doesn't matter." I squared my shoulders, causing Corvo's hand to slide off, and retreated towards Dunwall Tower, the tower of a man trailing behind me in silence.
Corvo led me into the dining room, his hand reluctantly gesturing for me to enter as the other held the door. I didn't meet the gazes of the people already seated around the long table, swiftly moving to sit beside Lurk—who sent Corvo an annoyed look.
"You always beat up kids?" She asked indignantly at the sight of my torn pants and scraped cheek, her arms and body turning towards me to inspect the damage. "Anton do something about this," she complained as she noticed the cuts on my knees.
"Father, I thought you were teaching him self-defense? Not beating him to a pulp!" The Empress managed to sound shocked.
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding, but why are you training him, Sir Corvo?" Wyman asked, the question purely curious, their eyes inspecting the damage done to my face, and I had to fight the temptation of wanting to spit in theirs.
"He's sick. Self-defense is a good core-strengthening exercise," Corvo sounded distracted, his words lacking the conviction they usually carried.
"Oh. Well I suppose it could be," Wyman laughed nervously in response to the Royal Protector's blatant disinterest.
"Will you stop touching me?" I softly urged the former assassin next to me as she continued to inspect my body for other signs of injury. The comment earned me a knock against the head as she sent me a threatening glare.
"Don't let them push you around like that, kid." Her voice was low and serious, only meant for my ears, and her sole visible eye softened as it met mine. She sat back as she cleared her throat, sending Corvo a final annoyed look. I flinched when two light hands took hold of my shoulders, pulling my body around to meet the stern face of the Empress. Her eyes scanned mine as my heart beat in my throat, my chest high and tight with the breath I was holding. Her fingers moved across my face and stroked through the strands of hair that covered my forehead.
"He's not a child, Emily."
She shot her father an angry look. "He's our guest, not a punching bag." Her eyes traveled back to my face as she took in the damage done, letting out a soft hiss at the angry scratches that cut into my right cheek. I made a point to look at anything but her face, my gaze awkwardly inspecting the wall behind her bent frame. I could feel Wyman's tense stare burn into my back.
"I'll have him patched up in no time," Sokolov rasped from next to Billie. "Nothing to worry about, child."
The nearness of her face unsettled me, and the places where her fingers had gently traced across my features felt unpleasantly cold. If the Empress had noticed my unease she didn't show it, her hand darting across my skin one final time before she stood to reclaim her seat. I dared a single curious glance at her, and noticed the way she was watching Corvo, her amber eyes fixated on her father, who appeared to be lost to his thoughts. Dinner from there on was a muted event, the people in the room speaking in mostly muffled voices. I didn't bother to reply to anyone this time, eating my meal without looking up once. I was acutely aware of the glances sent my way; even Wyman couldn't keep their eyes away from me.
After a while I registered Corvo's baritone voice as he softly spoke to the Empress, the clatter of cutlery drowning out their conversation. When dinner was over, and almost everyone had left the room, Sokolov turned to me as he moved to attend to my injuries. His thin fingers were tightly wrapped around the familiar container of his neutralised oil, the black, grimy substance hissing at his touches as he deeply twisted his fingers into the thick matter. He'd occasionally lift his arm to help cover up his mouth whenever another fit of coughs wracked his body. Billie stood nearby, watching as my skin glowed at the sizzling touch of the healing goo. This time I caught snippets of days past, familiar laughter around a small fire, an umber hand resting on my shoulder, the glint of a red eye.
"You look positively radiant today, Whale Boy." Lurk's voice held a friendly tone as it mocked me, the former assassin softly approaching to closer inspect the oil at work.
"I'm not a whale, or a boy," I rebutted, momentarily closing my eyes to keep my focus as the visions slowly faded.
"Pretty sure Emily noticed too, like moths to a flame I say," she mused, and I could hear the smirk in her tone.
"You ate a moth when you were eight," I said matter-of-factly, opening my eyes to meet Lurk's gaze, and I noticed Sokolov chuckle beneath his breath as his fingers worked on my scraped knees. "Your small hands wrapped around its fragile form, sheltering its frail wings from the harsh place you took it from." I made a cupping motion with my hands to imitate a younger Lurk for emphasis. "Until hunger took over and the harshest place imaginable lay within your own tiny fists."
"Think you're being clever, huh?" Billie dropped down next to the Physician, fixing me with a pointed stare. "Don't think you'll manage to change the subject, kid." She swung a stern finger at me, narrowing her one eye.
I watched her carefully, my schooled expression carefully hiding my slight discomfort with her sudden approach. "I usually refrain from interfering too much, I prefer to flow with the natural course of things." I tipped my head at her, narrowing my eyes.
"Bet that's not the only thing you'd like to flow with," she quipped, and Sokolov let out another chuckle, a rather sickly sound of amusement in his case.
"You're leaving tomorrow, you'll be 'flowing' far away. I think you'll like that. I will, at least," I sneered, crossing my arms to erect another barrier between me and the exuberant woman.
"Are you saying you'll miss me?" She teased, a mocking smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
I frowned, not used to such blatant and vaguely companionable taunting. "On the contrary, but I know you've never been one to linger on the subtle complexity of language."
Her teasing smile widened as she raised an eyebrow at me, and I could tell I would hate whatever she'd say next by the mere image of her. "Need me to tell you about the birds and the bees before I go?" Her voice was sultry, and Sokolov let out a cough that I knew had nothing to do with his declining health.
"I think you're forgetting who I am," I countered, "I've been witness to the evolution of the birds and the bees before you were even born."
Billie sat back, her teasing expression stilted to a deadpan. "Gee kid, no wonder the Abbey's always on your ass, couldn't even fuck without the Outsider popping in and out."
I blinked in stunned silence at the audacious remark.
"Alright, I'm done, if you two will excuse me." Sokolov threw up his hands as he stood, turning from the conversation and headed straight for the door with a slight limp in his step, his shoulders raised stiffly as if to shield him from our words.
Lurk let out an audible sigh as soon as the door clicked in its place. "Thought he'd never leave," she grumbled beneath her breath before turning her full attention back to me, elbows lowering to rest on her strong legs. "I need you to tell me the truth right now, before I leave tomorrow." All previous traces of humour had been replaced by a tone of grave urgency, the room's atmosphere heavily changed by her attitude.
"I have nothing to tell you about the whales, Lurk," I insisted, glaring at her.
"Not the whales," she dismissed the notion with the wave of her single visible hand. "Anton. Will he be alright?" Her concern for the old man caught me off guard. I knew they were close, but I hadn't expected her to be this worried about him at this point, seeing as she wouldn't have been with him if it hadn't been for me.
"You're quite presumptuous if you think I hold all the answers," I deflected, luring her out first.
"I know you know this. He knows it," her eye flitted towards the door Sokolov had exited through. "He's hiding something." For all her time on the streets, Lurk had developed a commendable ability to read people, quite contrary to how she often dispositioned herself.
"You're sharp."
"And you're avoiding the question. Tell me," her voice was clipped, speaking volumes of her emotional investment.
"I don't want to meddle like that, Lurk," I sighed, I had already been annoyed by Corvo's past coercion and this was adding insult to injury.
"You meddled for Emily all those years ago, so you'd do good to explain your shifty morals when I get back, if I get back, but first help me. For once. Help." A hint of pain leaked into her expression, and I knew right then how much she actually feared she might not make it back alive, and knowing those thoughts were on her mind, yet she did nothing to force me to tell about her own fate made me look at her with renewed respect.
"He's sick," I uttered breathlessly. "Soon there'll be no more air left in his lungs."
Billie nodded. "Will he be here when I get back?" She inclined her head at me, her voice lowering as she her tense gaze held mine.
I hesitated, "I don't know." I felt my chest constrict, an echo of a feeling long forgotten.
"You don't know or you won't say?"
I frowned, diverting my eyes and inspecting my pale hands where they rested in my lap instead. "I don't know."
Lurk nodded, leaning back in her chair. After some time she spoke again, her voice softer now. "Will you be here if I get back?"
My heart stuttered within my chest, and an itch crept up my back. I looked up to meet her gaze once more, her eye unrelenting. "No."
Lurk took a deep breath at my words, her carefully controlled expression neutral and resigned. "I see," her eye stayed glued to my face as she spoke. "Do me a favour, kid," a sad smile tugged at her lips, "live a little." She wouldn't know my familiarity with the words. No one did. So I just nodded.
I'd been lying awake for hours, my mind too occupied with thousands of varying thoughts. Tomorrow would be the day, and my guts protested the prospect. From behind the barriers of stone and glass, I heard the deep-sea tunes of the whales as they bellowed their usual sorrowful chorus. They were louder than ever, and I was certain they were partly to blame for my inability to rest—the other part being the strange pull I felt, begging me to get up and walk these thoughts out of my mind.
After several more minutes of tossing and turning I gave in, pushing the covers off me as my bare feet lowered down to the wooden floor. I could hear the slight creak of the boards as my weight rested against them. The air was cool, but not too cold to warrant more than the nightshirt and loose pants I was wearing. The light of the moon poured in through the windows, painting my room in silver. I tried to commit the space to memory, taking a few deep breaths of air to appreciate the clean and nicely scented atmosphere. The urge to wander only grew stronger now that I'd left the warmth of bed, the pooling darkness calling me to it in a language written by shadows.
The dead of night invigorated my body with a strange liveliness—the crackling magic pulsing and prickling beneath my skin, like static. It joined with the rhythm of my heart, traveling and mixing with my blood. The door that led to the hallway let out a slow squeak as I pushed against its wooden surface, carefully peeping out from the safety of my room. My sensitive ears were able to confirm the absence of any guards, my feet gingerly crossing the small space between my quarters and the hallway. Each step in the silent tranquility of the ever-watching walls felt like a step closer to home, my racing heart pounding loudly in my ears.
The desolate darkness felt unusually safe, like it was urging me to go on, to linger in this secret space in-between time and sleep. And so I walked without a destination, existing only between the cracks of moonlight. The silence around me felt as if the Void itself bled into the world and snuffed out the noise of this realm. I was acutely aware of my own breathing and heartbeat, the natural rhythms like drums in the surrounding orchestra of whale-song. I had wandered for several minutes when I noticed another heartbeat, a gentle sound that lured me to it. A slight scent traveled through the air and I recognised it immediately, my heart breaking rhythm and stuttering as I rounded the nearest corner, careful not to make any noise.
My eyes strained to see in the presiding dark that blanketed the small space, but I caught the subject of my dreams sitting against a wall, her sharp features illuminated by the light that trickled in through the large windows before her. She was staring—but her eyes weren't looking. Instead her mind's eye seemed to be working overtime as the hints of thought reflected in that warm gaze, their amber hue lightened by the brightness of the moon. Her long, slender neck left entirely visible in absence of the scarf she often wore, and I felt my eyes linger at the sight of the bare patch of skin. The woman before me appearing less like the regal Empress, and more like the wandering girl that had cried out once: in the haunting depths of the Void.
Her hair was loose, dark locks spilling over narrow shoulders. She was wearing white sleeping garments, a silken dress that flowed against her lithe form, her feet peeking out from under the edges. Her skin looked darker at night, her foreign heritage more evident than ever. It took her some time to notice my presence, but when she did I registered the way she quickly erected the invisible walls she always seemed to inhabit, the vulnerable girl I witnessed moments ago gone at once.
"What are you doing?" She managed to mask her surprise well, but not well enough to completely elude me.
I shrugged as I continued to stare at her. "I can't sleep," I replied honestly, carefully moving closer now that I'd been spotted. Her amber eyes tracked me, watching my every move. I felt emboldened by the darkness that surrounded us, adrenaline shooting through me in my night-time high.
"Wha-?" She let out a surprised sound when I dropped down against the opposite wall, my eyes never leaving her face. I sat there watching, my form wrapped in shadows and hers bathed in light—a contrast that ironically served to illustrate our differences. She opened and closed her mouth several times, moving to say something, but each time thinking better of it. Instead she dropped her head against the wall behind her, returning my stare in equal silence. I could hear the flutter of her heart, the delicacy of her breathing. Young and full of life, her skin shining with a healthy glow that made me want to know what it would feel like beneath the tips of my fingers.
"You look better," she noted, a strange lilt to her voice.
I squinted my eyes, trying to see more of her, more of what lay hidden inside those walls. "Better than terrible?" I was grateful for the shadows that blurred my image, hid the minute changes of my expressions as I found it hard to keep my curiosity at bay.
"Better than pretty good." Her face didn't change, her stiff shoulders perfectly straight against the barrier behind her, as if forced up by those walls of hers.
"Meaning I looked pretty good already?"
This did elicit a small reaction from her, a lift of her eyebrows, her toes that touched and moved against each other. "Your eyes have a strange glow." She'd avoided the question, and I'd learned such evasiveness was often more telling. My thoughts wandered for a moment, to times long gone, to small girls and bad dreams.
"Does that scare you?" I could make out the slight narrowing of her eyes. She was analysing my question, picking it apart. I could see her try to unearth meaning, forcibly pulling and dragging the bowels from the query, cut apart by her mind.
"No," she was short in her reply, allowing a silence to fall between us in which we simply stared at each other, sitting within the atmospheric emptiness of the abandoned hallway, severed from the thread of reality. The Empress's eyes roamed me, each passing minute encouraging an increasing boldness within her. I noticed the subtle way my own curiosity was slowly mirrored in her gaze, and it reminded me of Billie's words. Like moths to a flame, we were drawing each other in, our reservations slowly drifting away from us. The Empress took a deep breath that caused her chest to rise, the thin fabric of her gown accentuated the swell of her breasts in a way that seemed a little too intentional.
"Have you ever been with anyone?" She inched slightly forward, her dress rustling softly as she folded her legs beneath her and wrapped her fingers around her now exposed calves.
I felt the wall behind me press into my spine, the windowsill digging into the back of my skull as my weight shifted backwards in response to her slight movement. "No."
She hadn't expected me to answer—as I rarely did—but this time I felt intrigued by what she'd do knowing the truth. She chewed the inside of her cheek, her fingers moving against her calves, the dusky limbs increasingly distracting. I watched her gaze flit across my body, roaming the places where my pale skin laid beneath the fabric of my clothes. She leant forward, carefully, observing my reaction as if I might have been a skittish bird that could flee at any moment. I tempered my natural reaction to move away, grounding myself on the floor beneath me.
She noticed my lack of movement, and took it as an opportunity to get even closer, her hands leaving the curves of her calves and coming to rest on the carpet before her, supporting her weight as she lifted herself towards me. Her knee turned beneath her and carried her as she crawled forwards with a cat-like grace, her eyes still glued to mine in an unspoken expectation that I'd bolt when pushed too far. I didn't. My breath hitched when one of her hands came to rest on my thigh, the warmth of her skin soaking through the fabric of my pants. She watched my reactions intently, her eyes filled with a naive wonder. Her other hand took my raised knee and pushed it down to the floor, simultaneously lifting herself as she settled herself in my lap, her legs straddling my hips and her nightgown flowing across my limbs. I could feel the full heat of her as her body melded against mine in a way that felt entirely too good for it to be acceptable for a thing like me.
"What are you doing?" I spoke cautiously, as if too much sound might shatter the realm we'd unconsciously sunken into.
She was watching me still with that same look, as if I was a pretty little thing to observe, and I had registered the breathless sound of my own voice as air eluded me—all I could breathe was her, and she filled my lungs with nothing but hot smoke and my coiling muscles with static. Before I knew it her hand was beneath my shirt, and it lay splayed out over the place where my heart beat at a frantic pace. The sensation of her skin against mine sent ripples of shivers through me, and I felt entirely too exposed as she carefully registered the one thing I couldn't hide—I had to give her credit for her cleverness in doing so.
"Because you're something I don't understand," her voice was soft, like gently moulded air forming secret thoughts, instead of intentionally spoken sentences. "And whenever I look at you, I see the ghost of a person in your eyes." She leant forward, her moving body gently sliding against mine, and in response I felt a soft sound escaping my throat. Her cheek brushed against the side of my face, the softness of her skin caressing mine as her lithe body pressed against me. "Who is that?" Her heady whisper tickled my skin and erected goosebumps and shivers alike.
I felt my eyes flutter closed as I broke beneath her hands and relished the sensations that crashed over me as I drowned within the waves of her, and soon she completely engulfed me until it seemed I could breathe no more. My hands moved on their own accord as they gently swept up her thighs, slipping beneath her gown as they explored the expanse of her skin, drinking in the feel of her. They came to rest on the small of her back, the lively feeling of her muscles moving beneath my fingers new and exciting—and absolutely not okay.
And the sense that this was something I'd been robbed of, something I had and would forever be denied made me pull her even closer, tightly wrapping my arms around her waist and pressing my face into the crook of her neck. I could hear the way her breathing sped up, my actions catching her off guard, her body noticeably stiffening on top of me. I shouldn't—but this wasn't real, for now, what happened here would never see the light of day—yet I could already feel the self-loathing pour under my skin like ice that snuffed out that delicious fire within me, and I could already hear myself cursing my own weakness.
But not now, not now.
So I nuzzled the curve of her neck as I breathed in the familiar scent of her, enjoying something wholly unbidden and impossible, my lips graced her skin as they lifted to her ear and memorised the intoxicating taste of her upon them, my warm breath heated the places it caressed and my fingers soaked up every addictive detail of her body. She was diamond and I was stone, and she would have cut me to dust if I hadn't been meaningless dirt already.
"Emily," I whispered—my voice thick and primal and ancient—in a sorrowful tone long forgotten and long gone. "He's dead."
I could feel her body still as I spoke the words, a subtle tremble traveling through her limbs as I continued to hold her to me. I opened my eyes as she moved back, her questioning gaze burning into mine. Her walls had been effectively blown away, and in that moment she looked absolutely breathtaking, from her shapely lips to the slight tilt of her nose, she was enough for me to desperately want to pretend that I wasn't who I was. But I knew I'd never been good at pretending, and she would pay a heavy price if she kept up her own dangerous game of pretence.
"Don't let curiosity rip your soul in half for someone who has none." The parts of me that had leaked into my tone before were carefully stored away again, but not without one final act of defiance as I lifted a hand to cup her cheek, fighting off the grimace as the hurt—something I hadn't expected myself still capable of feeling—started to set in, whilst allowing myself a final indulgence before the sun would rise, before reality would shift back into place and would tear it all to pieces.
She seemed surprised by the gesture, her parted lips closing as her teeth dug into them out of that wholly endearing habit of hers, and I felt a rare smile tug at mine. Her lips parted again to speak but I shook my head to silence her, her sharp eyes searching mine with the words I took away.
"You'll regret it. Because you are good and uncorrupted, and entirely too naïve to continue reminding yourself that I am none of those things," I whispered. I didn't wait for her to say anything as my hand left her. I took hold of her narrow frame and lifted her off of me with surprising ease, the places where her body had been immediately cold in the absence of her. I crawled to a stand, leaving towards my room without looking back—because looking back would confront me with the mistake I'd made; letting her reach into the deepest parts of me so easily, allowing her graceful hands to wrap around my guts and heart, spilling them like a whale hung before the butcher.
I settled back in the familiar comfort of my bed, my white knuckles and twisted fingers holding together my stomach with all their might, the whales bellowing from beneath in those same sorrowful notes that mocked me for my own pity.
Because the sun would rise. And the day would tear it all to pieces.