"Do you see what you made me do!" His voice ripped through me, raw and violent. He slurred the words, movements out of control and sluggish. "Look at her!" His skin was dirty and stained, reeking of something strong and sickening—hand wrapped around the back of my neck, nails dirty and damaged; neglected. The air left my skin cold and blue, the ice in it clung to my breath, turning it to a thick, swirling mist.
I stumbled forward at the brute force with which he pushed me, hands and knees breaking my fall, rough cobbles tearing into my pale skin like stony teeth. Her eyes were bruised and swollen again; forced closed by his violence like so many times before—behind me I could hear him start to weep as my blood stained the dirty ground. It would freeze soon enough... red crystals to decorate the cracks.
"You did this—you made me do this, boy," he took a shuddery breath, the rough stubble that covered his features littered with glittering droplets, left there by his own drunken spittle, lips red and glossy, "you did this."
I didn't startle awake this time, mind still clouded by remaining drowsiness, entire body wrapped in a broiling cocoon—no, I soon realised; this time something was different, this time I wasn't alone. Still drunk with sleep, I felt the beginnings of a drowsy smile lift the usual frown off my lips, arms wrapped around the source of heat that warmed me to the very core. I wasn't alone.
My eyes opened, slowly, needing time to adjust to the light of day, but as soon as I shed the last remnants of sleep, I started realising something was wrong. My vision was unusually hazy, as if blocked by smoke, and so it took me some time to see there was no one next to me, arms wrapped around my own blanket. The realisation hit me hard, like a blow to the face, as did the discovery that there was no other source of heat; I was the heat. I was burning, clothes damp with sweat and sticking to my skin. My surroundings danced before my eyes, as if mocking me, as if celebrating my shattered delusions. Had all of it been a dream? Had I imagined the entire night? The contentment I had felt earlier abandoned me as swiftly as my confidence in the validity of my memories. My murky gaze bore into the blankets, the pattern woven into the fabric bending and twisting beneath my stare—as if alive. My body scrambled to rid itself of the cursed cover, forcing it to the floor as I threw myself against the wall in a flurry of movements, head spinning from the exertion.
My heartbeat was scattered and wild, the loud slosh of rushing blood deafening me, fresh beads of sweat pebbling across my skin. Out of breath and dizzy, I tried to calm myself, to recollect my thoughts. I was being dramatic—crazy. It had all been a dream, just a dream, nothing more, all harmless. The Void had poisoned my mind with nightmares and terrors for centuries—harsh truths and terrifying realities. I was better than this, I was stronger. I forced my lungs to fill with air, tried to calm my breathing and heart, gulped down on oxygen as if I'd die otherwise. Willing my body to move, I neared the edge of the bed, trembling hands gripping the mattress as I searched for the fallen blanket. My gaze crossed the edge, but it wasn't met with crumbled fabric, instead focusing on a whimpering figure; skin bruised and purple, hair greasy with grime and sweat.
Terror froze me into place, breath stilling along with my entire being. I felt the hairs on my neck rise as the figure continued to wail and moan, its sounds of agony grating against my skin, disturbing enough that I swore I felt them cut into my flesh, pulling out the very life of me through newly-made fissures. The air around me cooled, wrapping around my burning body like an icy blanket. The figure twitched, its frame covered in old rags and blood, long, dark hair spilling across the floor like cascading waters.
"You did this," a voice spoke from beside me, words brushing against my skin, smelling of decay.
I didn't look towards the source, didn't dare, didn't turn from the trembling figure, the suffering human dressed only in foul rags and remnants of clotted blood.
"You did this!" Louder this time, the sound rough around the edges, damaged by years of heavy drinking.
I closed my eyes as another gurgle escaped the trembling heap, fighting to block out the chilling vision, wishing to disappear entirely, to be free of the tormented sight. A cold hand wrapped itself around the back of my neck, rough fingers digging into my skin, accompanied by the sharp cut of nails, forcing me forward, towards the moaning form.
"Look at her!" The voice penetrated into the deepest corners of my mind, banging against the edges of my consciousness.
I fearfully opened my eyes, feeling a strange sting as I willed them to focus. The woman before me no longer wailed or trembled; she lied deathly still instead, form as heavy and unmoving as rocks, gratuitous amounts of blood soaking into the wooden panels beneath. I choked on the bile that stung my throat, vision blurring even further as I viewed the corpse before me.
"I'm sorry," I heard myself whisper, the world around me spinning and swallowing the room like a vortex, blending colours until everything was red, only red. "I'm sorry," I spoke once more, crawling towards the still figure, trembling hands met with nothing but sanguine waters, sinking away as I moved. "I'm so sorry." I shook my head, feeling droplets of seawater run down my skin. The hand never released me, its nails surely leaving marks where they cut into my flesh.
"Matvey?" someone called from far away, and in response the assailing hand forced me further down, my spine curling beneath its push. The red waters rose, swallowing me as I was forced beneath their surface, drowning in what could only be blood, eyes closed in an attempt to shield them from the swirling ichor. "Callista!" The words were warped by the flood of liquids, my lungs burning from the lack of air and begging for breath. New hands wrapped around me, pulled me back to the surface, my skin cold as I emerged. I gasped for air, coughing and flailing as I tried to grab onto something to help find my bearings. "Calm down." The voice was closer now, accompanied by tender hands.
I blinked my eyes open, the blinding sun burning into my retinas, chest dancing as it fought to fill itself with air. The red had gone, the ship returned to its wooden state. As my vision adjusted, I searched the floor for the broken woman—only to be met with crumpled bed sheets, my legs thoroughly entangled in their folds.
"Matvey?" I turned to the owner of the voice, discovering I had fallen to the floor, finding Emily Kaldwin kneeling next to me—features pale with fright.
Just then the door swung open, the familiar face of Callista filled with worry as she hurried to the Empress's aid.
"Lady Emily, whatever is the matter?" Her eyes darted from Emily to me, widening with shock at the apparent state of me. She bent down, joining Emily where she kneeled, one of her hands finding my face, firmly pressing the cool limb to my damp forehead. "By the Void…" she mumbled, eyes widening at the touch, gaze locking with mine. "He's burning up," she spoke to Emily, before turning to the younger woman, "help me lift him."
I wanted to speak, but my throat still felt blocked by rivers of thick blood. The air around me appeared hot, like a sea of fire, and all I could breathe were cinders. They spoke to each other, but I couldn't follow the words they formed, had no idea what to listen to. I felt isolated, skin soaked with sweat, shirt damp and sticky and suffocating. My gaze seemed to drift off, vision gone afloat, lost without purpose. I faintly registered my body being pulled back onto the bed, its springs creaking beneath my weight. In the distance I heard it again, the song of whales, their melancholic voices cradling me in a strange promise of comfort. My eyes found Emily's, hers like flickering flames against the darkness that threatened to consume me.
"Take off his shirt." I caught Callista's order as their hands worked on removing the damp fabric, replacing it with the sheets which they picked off the floor together.
My eyes followed Emily wherever she moved, fighting to stay lucid, the edges of my vision lost to the growing blackness. Was any of this real? I couldn't focus my scattered thoughts, my mind was made up of splinters. My breath turned to white smoke, icy crystals, and my gaze found her hands—perfect limbs, free of decay.
"You're clean," I croaked, my own hands wrapping around hers, "it's okay, you're clean." My breath stilled as the tips of her fingers turned black, perfect skin blistering beneath my touch, the flesh peeling off her pale, glistening bones.
"Matvey." She pulled her limbs free, breaking the hallucination and using them to cup my burning cheeks instead, forcing me to look at her. "You're not well…"
I shook my head as I gaped at her, hands wrapping around her arms, holding her in place, making sure she was really there. Anxiety held me in its freezing embrace, my frame wracked by shivers. How weren't they cold? Everything was so cold, everyone was cold. "No, no," I felt myself fade in and out of consciousness, muscles twitching involuntarily, droplets of sweat running down my jaw. My eyes traced the shaken features of the woman before me, lingered on the teeth that worried her lip. "But it wasn't me, I promise." She'd believe me, right? She'd know. Surely she'd have faith.
"He's delusional, Lady Emily. It's the fever talking."
My head whipped towards the other woman, blood running cold at the strange accusation. "I'm not delusional! I'm telling you I didn't do it!" I protested, hands traveling up Emily's arms as I turned my attention back to her, cupping her cheeks, thumbs stroking along her skin. "He did it—no one listens to me," I frowned up at her, her features strange and blurry, my limbs gone deathly cold. "Don't leave me alone," I added in a whisper, shaking my head, trying my best to ignore the dark figure that loomed behind her, threateningly.
"Lady Emily, I don't think it's wise to-"
"I'll stay," Emily cut her off, eyes never leaving mine, "I'm sorry I didn't wake you." So I hadn't imagined her coming into my room? Good—that was good. I couldn't keep the relief off my features, but she was kind enough to ignore it, turning to Callista instead. "Do you have any elixir nearby? Or perhaps some medicinal herbs?"
Callista appeared reluctant to go along. "Yes... I have some stored," she paused, licking her lips, "I'll go get it along with some food..." her frown deepened before she finished with a final cautioning; "be careful."
Emily simply nodded, letting go of me only to fetch a nearby stool, settling herself directly at my side. Callista left the room, but not without shooting a final glance towards the both of us. My eyes avoided the corner next to the door, the same ominous figure standing watch there, probably waiting for another opportunity to strike.
"Who is it?"
My attention was brought back to Emily, gaze tracing her expression, trying to place it, distracted by the hand she wrapped around mine. I fought the urge to glance over at the threatening shadow, chewing the inside of my cheek on impulse. "He's right there," I spoke, softly, nodding towards the corner.
Emily turned her head before I could tell her not to, but once I followed her gaze I found it to be empty, the familiar figure gone. She returned her attention to me, a somber look in her eyes. "There's no one else here." She squeezed my hand, her other one smoothing across my forehead, parting the strands of hair that stuck to it. "You're safe."
"You left." My eyes still searched hers, trying to hold onto the image of her, as if it was the only thing to keep me sane, to help me stay awake. I felt clearer now that I had calmed, now that I knew she would be here and I wouldn't be alone.
Her lips parted, but she didn't speak right away, her initial response quickly dying on her tongue, brows pulling together. "I didn't think y-"
I shook my head before she could finish, a frown pulling at my lips. "I do."
"You're sick..." She sighed, averting her eyes before speaking again.
Yet her voice never reached me, the blackness that had gradually swallowed my vision now snuffed out every noise within the room, until nothing but a high pitched ringing remained. The noise deafened me—but soon even that faded away, leaving absolutely nothing in its place...
The rising sun announced the start of another day, its warming rays casting the world in their golden light. In the distance I heard the bells that signified the start of the morning service, the church's way of propagating their religious dogma. The majority of the city would be there, occupying polished seats in the newly erected chapel. All in the name of some great unseeable being, some hearsay about dimensions and esoteric forces. I wasn't prone to believing such tales—the world had beaten that out of me very early on. Ironic was it then, that he was one of the leading figures, all cleaned up and sober.
He hadn't sought me out, perhaps not wanting to be confronted with what he'd abandoned—or perhaps too ashamed to acknowledge his past. Either way; he wouldn't be able to convince me. Men like him never turned over a new leaf, they just found new ways to enact their violence. In his case it was fear-mongering—scaring the people into worship. It was what he'd always done, wasn't it? This time without his fists, though.
I took a deep breath, looking out over the snow-covered fields. Nothing remained of the rich crops now that they'd been timely harvested before winter's arrival. In their place, only broken stems and left-over leaves littered the icy land, all wrapped in a crystalline blanket. I knew I couldn't stay here. Soon the service would be over, and my short window of opportunity would close. Rubbing my hands together—ignoring the bloodied bandages I'd wound around them—I emerged from my place of hiding; leafless trees and bushes that would cut the skin if you weren't careful.
The town was safer without its inhabitants, at least for people like me. Society had been gradually changing, growing more hostile to those designated to the streets. It wasn't uncommon nowadays for beggars to be forcefully driven out or attacked—pollution they called us, nothing but wasteful vermin. The population had grown weary of the criminal underbelly that terrorised the town, blaming the poorest for their troubles. They were right in a way, but failed to see that the true offenders walked among them, well-off with their stolen riches. In that sense the presence of the religious zealots wasn't all bad, at least they cleared out the streets with their ceremonies. Easy pickings for a hungry outcast like me.
The morning air was crisp, a thin layer of powdery snow cracking beneath my boots, leaving footsteps that would betray my short presence. I didn't waste any time picking a target, deciding on a moderate house near the edge. Rapping my knuckles against several parts of the wooden door, I soon found its weak spots. Taking a step back, I prepared myself for a well-placed kick. Gathering my strength, I aimed at the door with everything I had. One loud bang and it was open.
But what greeted me wasn't an empty home.
The putrid smell of rotten fish hit me in the face, stomach lurching at the scent. Covering my mouth with my hands to suppress a gag, my eyes scanned the interior. Flies buzzed throughout the small space, and my gaze was drawn to the center of the room. At the dinner table sat a family, all gone limp like a sack of potatoes, parts of their flesh eaten away by rodents. Their empty sockets stared at me, maggots crawling in their horrifyingly dark pits. Before them, the table stood covered in food, their plates still filled with rotten fish.
They had died eating.
I was slow to wake again, instantly aware of the hand that laid wrapped in mine, my fingers tightening their hold. I knew exactly who it belonged to, the feel of her skin already familiar, unique in the way it sparked against mine. Pieces of my dream still lingered, like mud beneath boots. My throat felt dry, the air itself parching it further with every breath. I vaguely recalled what had happened the first time I'd awoken, the strange feverish delusions that had plagued me. It was a dangerous thing, to be followed around by ghosts. Thinking of what I'd been trying to tell Emily, I knew exactly who was here to haunt me.
"Shortly before I died," I croaked without opening my eyes, "someone poisoned the streams, killing off the fish. The newly settled church spoke of damnation—of bad omens and divine judgement." I found myself stroking a thumb along her skin. "But river mud oozes between every crack and crevice it can find, leaves gritty remains in its path." I turned to look at her then, taking note of her intrigued stare. "I don't believe in bad omens, Emily, nothing happens without someone willing it just so—I always made sure of that—and river mud does not soil the hands of innocents without reason. But it's easier; ignoring whatever presents itself so plainly to us in favour of believing some otherworldly power might be at hand."
Her gaze shot between mine and our hands, teeth worrying her lip as she appeared to take my words into consideration. I couldn't help the way my eyes were drawn to every detail of her face, mesmerised with her; glowing skin and vibrant eyes, so full of life.
"The Abbey uses fear to control the population, fear of an invisible evil force; an outsider—much like the Eyeless did. Every cult starts beneath the guise of religion."
"You must be feeling better already; spouting incomprehensible riddles as soon as you wake."
"Perhaps," I breathed, feeling a shiver run down my spine, skin still damp with sweat. "Or perhaps I'm trying to compete with your ability to riddle me into a stupor at any time."
There was a faint tilt to her lips that suggested a smile, barely visible, like the subtle pink that dusted her cheeks at the remark. "I-" She shook her head, frowning, eyes darting away, almost nervously. I studied her as she remained at a momentary loss for words. Instead she focused on something to her left, revealing a small tray containing food and a vial of elixir. "Callista brought this for you."
I sensed her discomfort, wondering about her carefully veiled nervousness. Narrowing my eyes, I pinned her down with my gaze. "What else did she do?"
"Noth-"
"What else?" I pressed on.
Emily's gaze shot down to our hands, fingers fidgeting with mine. "She had some questions... regarding a comment I made."
I lowered my head to try and get her to look me in the eye again, hand tightening around hers. "And what did she have to say about your answers?"
Meeting my gaze, she sat up a little straighter, lifting her chin before speaking. "She thinks I'm blind to who you really are." She looked away, letting out a shaky sigh before adding; "she told me about her parents..."
I swallowed, a scowl pinching my brow. "I can't save everyone, Emily..."
"Yet why do you constantly insist on saving me?" she countered, sharply, gaze suddenly hot against my skin.
I felt myself stiffen, feeling suffocated by the blanket that covered me. "You're different."
"Why? Why am I different?" Her tone was meant to command me into talking, regal and imposing.
"I- I don't know-" I stammered, thoughtlessly.
"Why, Matvey?"
Why was she different? Why her? Why couldn't I stand the thought of seeing her gone?
"I..."
"Why!"
"I don't know!" I pulled away from her, righting myself against the wall—forgotten they had removed my shirt, and immediately regretting the position.
Emily appeared unsatisfied with the answer, unyielding in her resolve to get one. "How can you not?" she asked, incredulously, driving me further against the wall with a pointed glare.
"Because I don't understand!" My fingers dug into the blankets that covered my legs, shoulders squared in a folly attempt to appear convincing. I felt dizzy, the world around me starting to spin again, her stern features coming in and out of focus with every fevered breath I took.
But in some forbidden part of my mind it did make sense—and that realisation sunk in. Looking at her now, I had a hunch she might suspect too; judging from her reluctance to further press the issue. Instead she stared at me, lips parted and skin subtly flushed. Behind her, I watched the shadows move, that same haunting figure emerging from the darkness, its movements jarringly unnatural. I tried to move away from it, but was sorely reminded of the wall behind my back. My pulse quickened, the air hard to breathe. Slowly, it approached, and with every step my instincts screamed louder for me to run away. I soon realised what it wanted from me, its menacing presence overbearing, almost scolding me for my refusal to face my feelings.
"Ma-?"
"Because you reminded me of myself," I offered quickly, cutting her off. The figure stopped, now an unmoving shadow at the edge of my vision as my eyes found Emily's again. She regarded me with a look of perturbation, brows raised in silent question. I shook my head, gaze darting away in shame.
"What are you..." But she seemed unable to finish what she had wanted to say, large eyes staring at me instead.
My gaze traveled across the room, trying to avoid her questioning look but finding it impossible to escape. "I could do nothing to prevent the assassination of Jessamine," I started hesitantly, licking my lips before proceeding further. "I know you know this, I know you have seen what would have become of Dunwall: a burning city. So I had no choice but to stand by and watch as the blade took her life and you were dragged away." I let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through my damp hair.
A sad frown turned those regal features into those of a lost, little girl again, the one who wandered the Void without invitation. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I shook my head to her question, not meaning for any excuses. "I was dragged away too, you know—right after, I mean. Even though we came from such vastly different backgrounds, our experiences were almost the same—we were both deemed tools, means of power for people to use." My hands covered my stomach as I recalled the blade that had coloured the snow with her blood. "Except I was the one who led my mother's killer straight to her, and she was left unable to run because of me. I had amputated the legs that could have carried her to safety." Images of blistered flesh and bloodied bone seared my mind, vivid as if it had been only yesterday, the smell of infection that had burned my airways still as strong as it had been then. "No human should ever have the power of a God. No mortal should be given the choice who lives or dies." I looked down at the palms of my hands as I opened them before me. "There are no right choices, Emily. Every decision ripples across time and has consequences no one could possibly foresee. No one but a God." I closed my eyes, willing my heart to stop racing and my head to stop spinning. "I saw... everything, but only once it was too late—once I couldn't save her anymore. It's enough to drive anyone insane."
Her hand took a hold of mine where it rested in my lap, delicate fingers wrapping around it. "I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be." I frowned at her, bitterly. "It was my own fault." I caught the menacing shadow as it shuddered wickedly in the corner, its dark presence chilling the air around me, filling my mind with poisonous fog.
You did this.
"You couldn't have possibly known..."
"It doesn't matter whether I knew or not. I damned her just by being born, and after her my existence has damned a thousand more."
"Is that really what you think of yourself?"
"It's what everybody thinks, isn't it?" I shot her a pointed look. "It's what you think, if you're being honest with yourself. You find yourself wondering; what if Callista's right?"
She averted her eyes, hand still holding mine. "Sometimes I just don't know what to think or believe anymore…"
My eyes were drawn to my lap, our hands joined in union there—for how much longer? "I can't help you with that."
She opened her mouth to reply, cut off when several knocks came from the door, followed by Callista entering. She shot us a guarded look, gaze drawn to our hands. Emily didn't move to pull away, the limb held securely in place.
"Why is he up?" Callista approached, reaching out to touch my forehead. "Did you give him the elixir yet?"
Emily's eyes darted between me and her old teacher. "No- I... we were just talking, I hadn't-"
Callista withdrew her hand, turning towards the tray that sat unused next to Emily. Picking it up, she sat down next to her former pupil, resting it on her lap. Unscrewing the vial first, she handed it to me without looking me in the eye. "Drink that, we need to get that fever down."
Taking the glass container from her without question, I moved to drink the red liquid that danced inside. Putting the cold material against my lips, I downed the foul medicine in one go, gagging at the taste.
"Only a few hours remain until night falls." Callista took the empty vial from my hands, replacing it with a tin of food, the sharp smell of fish stinging my airways. "What do you plan to do?" She turned towards Emily, leaning back as she awaited her answer.
I just stared at the two of them, excluded from the conversation. Wrapping my fingers around a fork and using it to pick off some fish, I took a bite, minding myself not to spill.
"Well, obviously he's too sick to go..." Emily started, averting her eyes from mine. "I'll have to do it by myself."
"I'm not letting you go there alone," I protested.
Callista sent me a stern look, telling me to back down without the need for words.
"I have to. We need to leave Dunwall as soon as we can, the longer we stay here the higher the risk of us being found." Emily shook her head, crossing her arms as she spoke. "Besides, you'd only slow me down. It's too dangerous."
"Absolutely not."
"Emily dear, you've been up for a long time. I think it's best you get some rest now that you can. You'll need your strength tonight."
"No, it's fine, I'm fine-"
"Lady Emily." Callista put a hand on her shoulder, sending her a serious look. "I insist."
Emily appeared to be mulling over the advice—which filled me with dread at the prospect of her leaving. I put down the food in my lap, hunger completely gone. "No, she can rest here, she can have the bed, the floor is fine for me, she doesn-"
"Finish your food," Callista turned to me, "I'll stay until she returns."
The words were meant to calm me down, but they had the opposite effect; Callista keeping watch was even worse than being left alone. I wasn't sure how her judgemental stares were supposed to help me get better in my currently delusional state, if anything they'd leave me worse for wear.
"You're right... I should rest before I go," Emily muttered, gaze directed at her lap, avoiding my pleading looks. "I-" She hesitated, chewing her lip before reaching out to squeeze my hand, eyes still averted. "Thank you," she spoke softly, quickly adding; "for your story."
I wanted to stop her, to convince her to stay with me, but I realised Callista wouldn't allow it—and, judging from Emily's sudden demeanor, she also knew this. "You're welcome," I breathed, stare still stuck to her face, searching her schooled features for any clues. But there were none. And so she stood, thanking Callista before leaving the room. I stared at my hands in silence, the smooth metal of my ritual rings reflecting the light that streamed through the single window.
"You should finish that," Callista spoke, tone strict.
Glancing at the unfinished tin of fish, the thought of eating more made me feel queasy. "No, thank you."
"You'll need a full stomach if you plan to help her."
My eyes shot up, locking with her detached gaze. "Why are you doing this?"
Callista straightened, raising her chin in silent protest. "Eat, or don't eat. You know it's not my problem if you starve."
My scowl deepened at her words. "I'm not hungry."
Folding her hands in her lap, she adjusted her seat, gaze directed at the discarded tin of food. Her lips parted, but no words left them, instead she clicked her tongue, eyes caught in a silent stare. She stayed like that for a few seconds, before she collected herself, meeting my glare as she took the container, placing it on Emily's vacant seat instead. "Fine," she offered, "you should rest then."
Watching her, I tried to decipher her actions, but found my feverish brain too sluggish to think, so instead I moved to lay down without breaking eye contact, glare still in place. Callista didn't seem at all fazed by my effort, still as cool and collected as she had been. I quietly turned my back to her, and to the looming presence that watched me from the shadows. I knew my dreams would offer no refuge, the thought of another trip down memory-lane filled me with nothing but dread. Still, I closed my eyes, knowing Callista was right; the more I rested, the better I'd feel.
It took a while, but soon I felt my consciousness start to fade, my thoughts adrift like ships on a current.
The town had gathered, the people all packed together at the central square. Huffs and puffs of smoke arose from all over, the cold air wrapping its crystals around their breaths. I tried to blend in, but knew if anyone were to pay attention they'd know; I was an outsider, a low-life beggar dressed in scraps—their unwanted waste. I knew I was just as unwanted, and thus I made sure to remain as inconspicuous as possible, face hidden behind a ratty shawl and wild hair covered with an old hat. If I didn't draw any attention, I wouldn't stand out; everyone was dressed in the same faded browns and blacks after all. The only difference would be the tell-tale marks of threadbare fabrics I sported.
It was late in the afternoon, the sun already low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dirtied snow that covered the streets. Hundreds of working-class boots had plowed through the area, mixing mud with snow and leaving a wet, icy sludge in its place. I easily spotted the robes of white through the sea of people, their light colour contrasting sharply with the dark browns that surrounded them. Whispers and murmurs came from all directions as I continued to move forward, ears perked in case I could manage to catch anything of interest. The men in white did their best to calm the anxious crowd, the smell of fear getting stronger as I moved further into the mass.
"There is no need to panic," I heard one of the so-called priests declare, hands waving at the restless group before him, attempting to get them to move back.
Around me, I caught the disagreeing stares and whispers as several people started pushing to get closer, demanding answers. I was lucky enough to be small and skinny, my lithe frame making it easier for me to slip by unnoticed.
"Calm down people, we shouldn't fight amongst ourselves," a new voice spoke out, stopping me in my tracks as I recognised it. My gaze snapped to the small group of priests dressed in white, only a short distance away now. "In the shadow of darkness, one should not submit to it, turn to the light instead and embrace it," he continued. "These are indeed trying times, but we would do ourselves no favours by straying into sin—for I believe it is sin that has brought us here."
His words sent another wave of whispers through the crowd, the people around me all huddling together conspiringly. I pulled the scarf tighter around my face, paranoid I might be spotted amongst the ruckus.
"What will we eat once winter comes?" a man at the far left called out, words echoed by many more people. "Surely we can't survive off of bread and wheat?"
I watched as the priests raised their hands again, attempting to silence the murmur of voices. "We have sent our best messengers to the neighbouring villages to request help, but I fear that might not solve our problems yet," the familiar one spoke out again, words managing to cause another outrage. Waiting for the people to silence before he continued, I used the moment to move away from the priests in question. "I believe it is damnation that has cursed us, divine judgement delivered by the ancient one, sent upon us to-
"Hey you, watch it!" Rough hands pushed me to the ground, the wet sludge soaking into my clothes as I was forced to break my fall. A silence fell, the people around me starting to move awat as I attempted to get up again, trying to escape their attentions.
"It's a street rat!" a woman nearby shouted, causing the nearby groups to gasp in dismay.
"Away with him!"
"Chase it out!"
Hands started to grab me, pushing and pulling me in all directions, causing my hat to fall first, followed by my scarf. I cowered beneath raised arms, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of people. Their voices continued to get louder, their hands growing more violent, until I was dragged from place to place, muddy boots digging their noses between my ribs.
Until it all stopped.
I was on my knees, eyes screwed shut and hands above my head to try and fend off possible attackers. But they didn't come. Instead there was silence. Fearful the attacks might start again at any minute, I opened my eyes, my vision taking a minute to focus. I noticed the people had moved away from me, and as my eyes followed the cleared path before me, they landed directly onto the group of priests, their leader staring straight at me.
"You," he spoke as soon as his eyes met mine.
I gasped for air, launching myself to a seated position, skin covered in cold sweat. The village was still there, at the edges of my vision. If I concentrated hard enough, I could see the faces of the people that surrounded me, glaring down with distaste.
"Guilty conscience?" a voice spoke from beside me, familiar and feminine.
I turned to look, aware of my shaking hands. The face that met me, however, wasn't feminine at all, his robes white as snow, eyes wide and dark. I gasped and flew back, spine colliding with the wooden wall, the impact creating a loud thud.
"Woah there, calm down, easy now." Hands held me down, but like the voice, they weren't rough or aggressive. The room spun around me, head painful and mind disoriented. "Outsider?"
The word triggered a series of flashes, glimpses of events passed, memories. The glint of a knife and the feeling of blood filling my lungs—I was starting to calm, realising I'd been dreaming. I looked around again, noticing the white-clad figure had gone, replaced by a frowning Callista.
"Everything alright?" she asked, a hint of worry in her voice. I glanced down at myself, noticing I was covered in sweat, skin paler than usual. Looking back at the woman next to me, I flinched at the hand she pressed against my forehead. "Your temperature hasn't lowered one bit, even with the elixir…" Her frown deepened, eyes distant.
That's when it all clicked, all remnants of drowsiness and confusion gone, replaced only by stone-cold realisation. "My body can't heal itself," I muttered, vaguely remembering Sokolov's findings.
Of all things, this shocked her, brows shooting up in surprise. "Can't- wait, why?"
I took a few deep breaths to regain my calm, racing heart leaving me lightheaded. "It's because I'm supposed to be dead." Screwing my eyes shut for a few seconds, I attempted to clear the strange images at the edges of my vision.
Callista considered the words for a moment, leaning back in her chair, a hand stroking the side of her jaw. "If you're dead then ho-"
"Magic, Callista." Likewise I rubbed my face with my hands, wiping at the droplets of sweat that stuck to my skin. "Sokolov created a substance that allowed me to channel it in order for my body to heal itself."
The woman nodded in understanding, a frown betraying her remaining confusion even though she didn't inquire further. "Lady Emily can see to it being retrieved—if Sokolov still possesses it."
"Probably…" I mumbled into my hands, watching the woman from the corner of my eye, considering what she said before protesting. "I'm going with her, though."
"I don't think it'll do either of you much good if you join her."
"I won't have her clean up my mess by herself," I parried, hands dropping down into my lap, head still spinning even though my heart had calmed.
Callista crossed her arms, raising a hand to inspect her nails. "I don't see why it should bother you, it certainly never did so in the past."
The comment surprised me, and earned the blunt woman a scowl. "Well I wasn't human in the past, was I?"
"Are you sure that was the only thing stopping you?" she questioned, pinning me with a hard look, lowering the hand she'd been studying.
I narrowed my eyes, leaning forward ever so slightly, voice loaded with a dangerous undertone. "What are you implying?"
She mirrored my narrowed gaze, raising her chin at me. "My uncle joined the Abbey so he could track your every action, like many others he too was dead-set on uncovering your motivations."
I cocked my head, scowl deepening. "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but like everyone before him your uncle never came close."
"No, you're right," she admitted, leaning forward ever so slightly, "but I think I have."
My heart skipped several beats at the comment, scowl suddenly gone. "What do you-"
"Having yourself set up for execution, just to clear some Empress's name? I'm sure she wasn't the first to fall from grace during your time as the Outsider. I've never heard of you doing a similar thing."
"Like I said-"
"Throwing yourself to your possible death just to make sure she survives? That's nothing short of selfless."
"I-"
She raised a hand to interrupt me, eyes observing me intently. "Don't think I don't see the way you look at her."
I was starting to feel hot, and somehow I knew it wasn't because of the fever. "I don't know what you're talking about." My fingers twisted the ritual rings, wrapping around the cool metal again and again.
"You light up as soon as she enters the room, your eyes are always drawn to her, even when she isn't speaking." Callista continued, observant gaze doing nothing to ease my sense of dread. "You hold her hand as if afraid of letting go. You share a bed with her, yet you never take advantage of the situation—let's not pretend you don't have a reputation."
"What's your point?" I shook my head, another angry scowl in place.
"Dead or not, I'm fairly convinced that heart of yours still beats, and one certainly doesn't need magic to tell you're in love with her."
"You're wrong." There was no way I was in love, it was impossible. I was incapable of love. Love was something that happened to other people, had them make foolish decisions, made them...
"You're afraid," she observed.
I didn't like the direction of this conversation, and my feet screamed at me to leave, legs itching to get moving. "Even if I was, what would it matter? It doesn't change a thing."
She narrowed her eyes at me, furthering my discomfort. "Then why won't you admit it?"
"It's-" I frowned, breaking away from her burning gaze. Pulling up my legs just for sake of moving them, I wrapped my arms around my knees, sending another glare at the woman before me. "Everyone hates me," I sneered, "you included, might I add-"
"I do," she stated, matter-of-factly, as if it was common knowledge.
My mind was starting to ramble, thoughts one big cluster of emotions. "-and she doesn't love me, so again, why would it matter?"
Something changed within Callista's gaze, a flicker of emotion crossing her face for only a second—but she was quick to school her features, tone softer now. "It matters because it changes you."
I was left at a loss for words, puzzled by her claims.
"You'll do anything for her." She cocked her head, regarding me with that same observant look again. "You'd die for her… That," she raised her brows, "is the difference between you being my enemy or my ally."
Callista had always been smart, even though it had not always been appreciated. As a little girl, she had wanted to study cartography, but—being a girl—she wasn't allowed. She was taught how to sow instead. She'd ended up receiving her fair share of scoldings, mostly for sowing different topographic patterns into her bed sheets. In the end she gave up, realising her dreams to be just that; dreams.
"I think you know how deep my love for lady Emily goes…" She sighed, looking down at the hands in her lap. "She's… like a daughter to me."
"All the more reason to hate me," I supplied, watching her from behind my knees.
"You and I want the same thing. I think we should try and focus on that."
"And once we've accomplished that?" I raised my brows in question. "What then?"
"Lady Emily is no longer a child. I trust her decisions."
"What made you come to that conclusion?"
Callista sighed, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. "I think you should eat. You've hardly taken in any food or water. Like I said earlier, you won't get better by starving yourself." She changed the subject, obviously tired of the conversation. I watched as she retrieved another tin of canned food from one of her pockets, placing it in front of me. "Please," she pleaded, sending me a look of urgency.
I considered her suggestion, knowing she was right, but also aware of the queasy feeling in my gut, stomach twisting in knots. She genuinely wanted me to regain my strength; for Emily's sake. I couldn't disagree with her on that, I knew that was what I wanted as well—which immediately reminded me of her accusatory words.
Love.
Could it be that I was in love with Emily Kaldwin? I had no real experience with romantic love, but then again, I had no experience with plenty of things I'd been forced to undertake these past weeks.
"Well?"
I was pulled from my thoughts, reminded that now wasn't the right time to be considering them. "Oh..." I took the offered food, eyes mindlessly gazing at the contents, shifting my body to get comfortable. I ate in silence, thoughts still mulling over Callista's words, deeply unsettled by her observations. Had I been that transparent? Was I so easy to read? I recalled Corvo's observant stares, his seemingly all-knowing gaze always watching me—thinking his own incomprehensible thoughts.
He'd known something. If Callista had been able to figure me out in the span of a single day, surely Corvo would have been aware... Somehow, Emily saw me for more than the Outsider; she looked at me like a person, treated me as she would any other. She'd consistently believed I was more than a shell of the Void, a mere object for society to project their hatred upon. I'd been drawn to her for all those reasons and more. She challenged me to keep trying, to dare take a shot at living. Was it really so wrong of me to want her? And more importantly; could she ever want me in return? No. Impossible.
Even at the unlikely chance of her liking me, I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't take away her chance at a happy, and possibly normal future. We'd never be able to be together, and perhaps more importantly, we'd never get to grow old together. She wanted a family, a daughter. I couldn't give that to her. She would never be safe with me, and she also could never be an Empress with me at her side. Being with me would end every dream she had ever dreamt—and I couldn't stomach the thought of being selfish enough to consider it.
But at the same time, I also couldn't let her go. I knew I still had to fix all I'd taken from her, she deserved a chance at the life she was supposed to have. So I would stay with her, for now. I knew I could never act on what I felt, for her sake—I told myself—for her future... A future I could never be a part of either way.
I realised I'd already finished the tin of food, fork scraping along the bottom of the container. Putting it aside, I didn't dare look at Callista, too self-conscious after all she'd said and all I'd been thinking. So instead I turned away, deciding to get my final bit of rest, hoping to be able to forget about my thoughts as I slept.
Hoping to briefly forget the fact that I, a life-long outcast, had fallen in love with the Empress of Isles.
The sun now barely peeked out above the rooftops, still lowering ever further as time went on, soon to disappear behind the surrounding structures. Little did we know these would be the last rays of sunshine for months, the final light before the sky would permanently darken. He stood only a short distance away from me, dark eyes wide with shock. The surrounding crowd held their breaths, waiting for their priest to speak, all curious to see what would happen next—what would be done to me. He composed himself, wiping the shock from his features, securely hiding it behind a mask of confidence.
"Don't you see?" He turned to the crowd, spreading his arms. "Our sins shall never be absolved if we continue our violent ways!" he spoke warningly, turning towards me again, gesturing at me as he addressed the crowd. "We must learn to love all peoples! Be they our hard working labourers, or our so-called vermin." He approached me, white robe flowing with every step. "We are all cut from the same fabric, and we all shall return to the same Void from whence we came!" Coming to a stop in front of me, he lowered himself until he was at my level. Our eyes met, and for the first time I saw him up close; clean shaven and sober.
He reached out a hand to me, willing me to take it. "Come..." he spoke, gently, and I hesitantly took the offered limb, "my son."