"First of all," Callista leaned against one of the window-frames in her room, notebook in one hand and a pen in the other, "why did you want us to come all the way to Samara, exactly?"

I sat in a chair opposite of her, arms hanging down the armrests and eyes staring at the ceiling, intrigued people had gone through the effort of painting it. "Like I said, it's where the Eyeless were active before they grew into the cult they are today."

Emily had taken the bed to my right, legs crossed and hands neatly folded in her lap—the perfect image of piety. "We're going to need more information than that," she spoke, and I sensed the underlying tension in her voice, our argument unforgotten.

I was sure Callista noticed as well, but she had wisely decided to stay out of it. I pursed my lips, thinking of how to best elaborate, eyes still tracing every single painted flower above. "They started as a religion, like the Abbey, in a sense." I was certain Emily recognised the gist of what I was telling. "They came promising wealth, good crops and better health." I righted myself, turning to meet Callista's gaze. "There were no machines back then, no proper medicine. People died of a simple flu. Bad crops meant many would starve." My eyes darted to the window, drawn to the darkness. "They built a church here. That's what we're here for: that church."

Callista's gaze shot up at my final words, a frown pulling at her brow. "A church? Are you even sure it still exists? This was how many years ago?"

I glanced at her again, crossing my arms. "No," I admitted, "for as far as I know it could be gone."

"Excuse me?" Emily snapped, "you're telling us you made us come all this way for something that might not even exist?"

I cocked my head her, a slight pang shooting through me. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

Emily was about to say more, disbelief plastered across her face, when Callista intervened. "Let us hope it still does, then."

Emily wasn't about to let it slide, rising from the bed and coming to a stand between us. "So? We're just going to look for some mystery church now? Not even sure of its existence?" She crossed her arms, gaze darting between me and Callista.

"Yes," I drove home the point, "I believe that's exactly what we'll be doing."

"Great." She dropped herself down on the bed again, directing a scowl towards the window. I was aware her frustration had little to do with the church.

"Let's first get familiar with the town," Callista suggested. "We can memorise roads and possible escape routes in case we'll ever need them." She shrugged. "If we're lucky we might even find the church while we're at it."

"Does this mean we'll visit the festival?" Emily was still staring out the window, arms and legs crossed.

I caught Callista glancing at me, eyes unreadable. "I don't think I could stop you if I tried," she conceded.

I sat a little straighter, a feeling of discomfort rising up my spine. "You're not planning on going alone, are you?"

"Why?" Emily rounded in on me, raising her brows. "Afraid some Tyvian stranger might come for my hand?"

I sent her a look of disbelief. "No," I caught the flicker of annoyance in her eyes, "safety reasons."

"Speak for yourself; with your social skills you need all the protection you can get," she taunted, cocking a brow, lips twisted into a daring smirk.

"I think it's best if we stick together. Always go out in pairs." Callista ended the discussion, obviously not in the mood.

I watched as the former Empress's face fell, quickly collecting herself with a flippant shrug. "Well I think I'd like to take a stroll right now." She stood, gaze darting between Callista and I.

"I think I'll pass." Callista pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closing. "Five minutes with the two of you together is enough to give anyone a headache."

I felt a hand on my shoulder, knowing it to be Emily's, my gaze avoiding her as I sourly stared ahead. "Guess it's you and me, huh?" she quipped, a little too happily.

"I can't imagine living in darkness for six whole months!" Emily complained as soon as we set foot outside, eyes taking in the small street. "How can one stand not having the sun around to warm their skin?"

"You do know that's what fireplaces are for, right?" The snow crunched beneath our boots, the cold air wrapping around our breaths, turning them to thick tufts of smoke.

"Of course you wouldn't understand," she muttered, hands rubbing her arms. "You've lived in that god-awful pit of darkness for centuries."

The comment stung, something I scolded myself for. "I thought you wanted to see the city?" I changed the subject, turning away from her.

"I do. I need something to wear to the festival."

I turned to face her again, features twisted in disbelief. "You want to go shopping? Now?"

She latched herself onto my arm, her previous anger with me apparently forgotten. "I don't see why not. If the world ends it wouldn't matter either way."

I had half a mind to stop myself from leaning into her, my brow furrowed as I stared at her instead. "You're spending your funds on party-wear?" What was she doing?

She shrugged. "After everything that happened I figure it's the least I deserve." Clicking her tongue, she turned around to face me fully, the hints of a smile curving her lips. "We can get you something as well."

"No." I scowled, turning away from her gaze. What was her angle?

"Come on now, have a little fun for once." She pulled my arm, further pushing her chest against it, the outline of her-

"I'm not going to participate in your frivolous game of dress-up." I noticed my clipped tone, a hoarseness at the back of my throat. Soon I would vaporise, like my breath.

She halted, shaking her head. "It's not. Parties, fine clothes, good food, music, arts... they're an expression of the human soul." She smiled dreamily, pulling me along as she resumed her walk. "They transcend mortality."

I stared at her, distracted by fingers stroking my arm. My voice had abandoned me, replaced by trails of warm smoke.

"Here's a deal," she continued, a finger poking my chest, lingering above my thundering heart, "I'll drop the fiancé act for today, if you agree to pick out at least one article of clothing for yourself."

"Why not drop it entirely?" I croaked, squaring my shoulders, trying to regain composure.

She giggled. "That would hardly be fun, now would it?" Her finger left my chest, hand wrapping around my arm instead. "So, what do you say?"

I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat. She was too close, too overbearing. "Fine," I quickly conceded. She squealed, hugging my arm even tighter. "I thought you said you would drop it?" I spoke through gritted teeth, trying to fight the heat flooding my features.

She paused, stare burning into my skin. Then she released me, taking a satisfied step away from me. "Fine," she sighed, feigning disappointment, gaze searching around for something else to focus on.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, hiding part of my face in its collar. My body cold in her absence, I almost regretted saying anything, almost.

"Did you spot the church yet?"

"No." I'd been looking, but so far I didn't recognise a single part of this city. No building sported the tell-tale structure imprinted in my brain—so far we'd passed a bakery, different kinds of shops, several boutiques, a museum and a school. Chances of the church still existing were extremely small, but I honestly didn't know a better way to find the information I needed.

"There's a lot of flower shops here," Emily noted as we passed yet another one. "Strange for a country with hardly any sunlight."

"They represent hope and rebirth."

"Hm," she hummed, mostly to herself, "is that why you enjoy drawing them?"

I kicked forth a small lump of snow, its weak structure crumbling to powder. "You could say that."

I saw her nod from the edge of my vision, gaze still on me, watching me. "Didn't you mention something about the dead of Samara and flowers?"

"I did." She'd been paying more attention than I'd expected.

"Must be interesting, to know so much of the world," she mused.

I snorted, "that's rich, coming from you."

"Hey! I was young, okay," she protested, sending me an offended frown before turning back to the snow-covered path ahead. "I wanted experiences, not lectures."

"Don't we all," I mumbled beneath my breath, gaze trailing wooden balconies and icy rooftop ridges.

"Oh, let's pick this one!" She gestured at a small boutique, its windows framing a collection of wintery-looking fashion.

"I'd rather not," I admitted sourly, knowing my words would fall on deaf ears.

Emily entered first, holding the door for me, making sure I followed. I sent her an annoyed look as I passed, trapped as soon as she closed it. The interior of the store reminded me of the inn, if not slightly less old-fashioned. Still, many of the same decorative choices returned: from those carefully carved wooden accents, to the painted details that adorned the ceiling. It even seemed that same traditional style had been processed into their fashion, every item radiating the essence of an age-old culture.

"Welcome." A cheery woman around Callista's age greeted us from behind her small counter, hair wrapped in a messy bun and eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. "May I help you?"

Emily made her approach, dragging me along as she went. "Yes," she answered eagerly, "we're planning on visiting the festival and we were wondering if you could offer us something suitable to wear."

"Oh, why yes, of course!" the woman exclaimed. "An outfit for each?" she asked as she moved towards a clothing rack.

"Yes." Emily smiled, following the store owner. "If you could find something for my friend first?"

"Your friend," the lady spoke absentmindedly as she delved through layers of different clothing. "I think I might have something..." Her gaze darted to me several times, seizing me up. "Do you have a preference in colour?" she asked, collecting several items and hanging them over her arm.

Emily sent me a pressing look, urging me to answer.

"Oh," I mumbled, a bit taken aback, hands fumbling with the hem of my coat. "I think I..." what did I like? I had no idea, I'd never considered the thought. The lady paused, watching me expectantly to which I dared a quick glance at Emily. She observed me, amber eyes flickering—I liked the colour of her eyes... but I could hardly go around saying that. Instead I went with the first colour I could think of. "I prefer... blue?" I shrugged.

"Good choice," the lady smiled, returning several items to the rack before walking up to us, carrying the remaining clothes. "Is this your first time visiting Samara?" she asked.

"It is." Emily was quick to respond, gaze drawn to the fabric the woman was holding.

"The winter festival is part of Samara's tradition, as are these clothes—our ancestors wore similarly decorated fabrics and accessories," she explained, dark eyes shining with pride. "You won't have to worry about the cold, there'll be plenty of warmth at the bonfire."

I eyed the different articles she held. "How old are these traditions?" I found myself asking, eyes flitting back up to her face.

She appeared to be pleasantly surprised by my interest, eager to tell us more about her heritage. "It's said they go back an estimated 4000 years."

"So after the sacrifice?" I offered, features schooled into a mask of cold indifference.

"Y-yes..." she hesitated, gaze flicking between the two of us warily. "I'm sorry—we don't speak of him here..."

Emily shot me a questioning look, turning back to the woman. "Wait, who's him?"

The store owner shook her head. "Samara has always been safe..."

"Of course," I smiled, "we wouldn't want the Outsider to come spoil your festivities- oh," I feigned shock, "I apologise, I shouldn't have spoken of... him." I sent the surprised woman an apologetic smile as I took the clothing from her. "Where do I try these?"

It took her a few seconds to process my question, too flabbergasted by my carelessness. "O-over there." She pointed towards a small door at the back.

"Thank you." I sent her another polite smile, ignoring her shaken demeanour as I passed, headed for the appointed door. I heard Emily apologise once more, a feeble attempt to get on the lady's good side again. Entering the small changing room, I noticed a large mirror to my right where I was faced with my reflection, my own gaze staring straight at me. I hated looking at myself—I looked lost in my own skin, and perhaps I was. I glanced down at the clothes I held to my chest, the different shades of blue contrasting with the paleness of my hands. These clothes were part of Samara's tradition, one born from my death all those centuries ago. The irony of me wearing these culturally significant items wasn't lost on me—if anything it encouraged me.

I moved to undress as I hung the pile over a nearby stool, freeing my hands. The outfits I'd been handed consisted only of long-sleeved shirts made from thick wool, their sleeves and high-collars adorned with diverse floral patterns. Each of them came with a sash, all equally decorated. The colours ranged from a light sky-blue to a dark navy. Going for the darkest of the bunch, I pulled the fabric over my head, weaving my arms through the sleeves. I was surprised by how warm and soft it felt, as well as how snugly it fit my frame.

I swallowed, throat feeling dry, and I blamed the stuffy air of the shop, the smells of fire and smoke wafting through the space. My gaze travelled towards my reflection, reluctantly trailing the edges of the shirt, focusing on everything but my face. I found myself liking the detailed embroidery, the love and care put into it evident through every single stitch. There was a passion hidden in the repeated patterns, a pride that let itself be known through the maker's craftsmanship. I twisted my ritual rings around, their touch cooling my skin. I decided I'd take it—not necessarily because I liked it, more-so because I liked the idea of me wearing it. It was wrong, a perverse twist of how things should be, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

We were headed back to the inn, expecting Callista to have grown hungry by now. Emily had picked an outfit for herself as I'd been in the changing room, refusing to show me, the set carefully packed into a paper bag. We walked in silence, the dark streets of Samara starting to come alive as people took a break from their work. It was almost as if nothing had changed here, as if the whale oil hadn't lost its power. Unlike Dunwall, life went on. We blended in without trouble, nobody batting an eye at the two of us. I wasn't used to this anonymity, and I was certain Emily wasn't either. The last time she'd been able to walk the streets freely had been in Serkonos, but even then she'd been forced to mask her features.

Which reminded me of Corvo, and I wondered if he'd find Emily's instructions in the Safe Room—if he'd survived Shindaerey. I knew both him and Billie were more than capable of taking out the Abbey if they needed, but still... I glanced at Emily, surprised to find her observing me. She didn't shy away from my gaze, brows lifting as she continued to stare.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, raising her head.

I looked away, focusing on the people that passed us, trails of smoke following them. "Your father," I admitted.

Her expression darkened, and she didn't further press the topic.

The inn had already come into sight, its ornate front easy to spot. We were greeted by a happy Nadia, the elderly woman a shining beacon amidst frilly fabrics. I didn't like it. All of it, I decided. I hadn't managed to close the door behind us before the two women became engrossed in conversation, Nadia's cheerfulness quickly matched by Emily's smile. I bit the inside of my cheek, teeth grazing the skin hard enough to taste blood, its metallic flavour wholly mismatched in this world of wood and wool. My feet carried me towards the stairs, fingers clenching the bag of festive nonsense.

"Oh!" Emily exclaimed, stopping me inches from the first step. "I'll go fetch Nora," she offered, gaze darting between me and the innkeeper.

"It's fine, I can do it," I bit out, sending our elderly company a suspicious glance.

"You shouldn't reject a lady's offer, young man," Nadia giggled, directing a wink at Emily, earning an amused grin from her.

I rolled my eyes, startled when Emily pulled the bag from my hand.

"I'll put this away for you—don't worry, I won't peek!" she promised, launching up the stairs in a way no Empress should.

I was left at the overcrowded lobby, surrounded by old-fashioned clutter—reminding myself I was old-fashioned clutter.

"She's quite the catch, that fiancé of yours," Nadia smiled, gaze a little too pointed, a little too circumspect.

"She is." I narrowed my eyes, a strange feeling creeping up my back, hand missing the crinkle of cheap paper.

"Such a kind and honest heart, it's rare to see one of those these days," she continued, causing my skin to crawl. It sounded like an accusation, almost. Her eyes proceeded to stare at me—through me, it felt like.

"What are you implying?" I cut to the chase, raising my chin, straightening my back.

She shook hers, a melancholy settling over her. "So anxious-"

"Don't pretend to read me," I interrupted.

"I know those rings. Sacrificial, are they not? Old tradition. Who was it? Your father, perhaps? A sibling?"

Me. It was me. Me, me, me.

"Your soul, it carries an age beyond your years, thickens the air with its weight, smells of silt and ozone."

My heart throbbed—the muscles in my neck tensing.

"I'm so sorry," she spoke, soft as old dust, covering all of me.

"Don't give me your pity." Anger flushed my skin, drew my knuckles white.

"I won't," she smiled, "I'm happy for you."

I didn't reply, mind wiped of coherency.

"You found her, didn't you? Violet. Treasure that." Her fingers stroked her scarf, stopped above her heart. "Love lights up even the darkest of times." She closed her eyes, smile still in place. "My Peter, he was a lot like you. Rough around the edges. Real piece of work."

"I doubt it."

She chuckled, but the sound was hollow. "Maybe you're right. I'm just an old lady after all—senile..." She'd opened her eyes again, that same penetrating look in place. "Soon I'll be but a shadow in the Void."

Droplets of cold sweat ran down my back, the shard of black stone I had kept close searing my skin.

"My, aren't you quite the picture!" she suddenly exclaimed, gaze directed at someone behind me.

I turned, relieved at the shift of attention, fingers digging into the edges of my sleeves. Some of the tension slipped off of me at the sight on the stairs; Emily, looking exactly the same as she had before leaving. Why was it then that my face grew hot all the same? I promptly forced myself to look away, eyes shooting to the carpet below, fingers wrapping around the ritual rings. I cleared my throat, how cliché. Stupid. I'd fallen for Nadia's trick: line, hook, and sinker.

"You flatter me, Nadia," Emily giggled, halting next to me, putting a tentative hand on my shoulder before whispering, "are you okay? You don't look too good."

I turned away from her, stepping out from under her hand, muttering a blunt, "I'm fine."

Callista followed, shooting me another one of her unreadable looks, probably noticing my pallor, probably thinking me some fool. They all did. They all watched me, read me like a book. How it made me want to disappear. How it almost made me long for the solitude of the Void, where none could read and none could see.

"I don't trust that old woman."

We sat around a small table, its cloth bedecked with a plethora of flowers. Each of us had been served a plate of food. Freshly baked bread, covered in a variety of seeds, alongside raw seafood, a seasonal yet rich meal. I felt dirty eating it.

"Who? Nadia? Why not?" Emily raised her eyebrows at me, fork in her mouth, pushing against her lower-lip—why was it still in her mouth?

"Because," I started, ready to defend myself, until her tongue had darted out to wrap around the silverware, trailing it slowly. I paused, pulse rising, own lips remembering the touch of- "She told me I smell of silt and ozone," I blurted, brow furrowing, feeling my face heat at the propensity of the complaint.

"Hm," Emily hummed, a sound that more resembled a purr. She leaned in, crossing the table, dark blouse revealing increasingly more cleavage. She stopped, right in front of me, fork in hand, the tip of her nose bumping into my cheek as she went for my neck, warm breath tickling my skin.

My hands clenched to fists around the stupid silverware. "What are you-"

She leaned back into her chair again, placing her fork on the table, lips puckered in thought. "Smells more like vanilla with a pinch of sea-foam to me."

I narrowed my eyes. "And how long have you been contemplating that exact assessment?"

"Honestly?" She smiled, leaning her chin atop her folded hands, elbows on the table—another disgrace to her royal upbringing. "Even before that night in the hallway, but getting another good whiff never hurts."

Around us the sounds of cutlery persisted, the murmur of people caught in casual conversation creating an unfamiliar ambiance. Emily's gaze bored into mine, unflinching stare a heady mix of amber and gold. I reminded myself to blink, to breathe, to fight the brewing hunger none of this food could satiate.

"Although I'm sure the tale of 'that night in the hallway' is a mighty interesting one, I'd appreciate it if we could keep this lunch a bit more... professional." Callista eyed the both of us, posture betraying little of her true feelings.

"Of course," Emily smiled, gaze still locked with mine. Without looking, her fork had managed to pick off another piece of bread, raising the morsel to her mouth, lips wrapping around it slowly-

My breath hitched, gaze shooting down to my plate, away from the sight ahead. Still, I didn't miss her moan, the sound humming through me, settling down my stomach where it smouldered.

"Violet," Callista whispered in exasperation.

"Hm?" Emily took her time swallowing the bite, allowing another poorly suppressed moan to escape. "My apologies, it's just so good to taste actual food again."

My back stiffened, gaze shooting back up, catching the amused twist of those damned lips as it dawned on me: she was doing this on purpose. My brows pinched together.

Turned out she hadn't let the argument slide, not at all. Instead, she'd chosen a different route by which to convince me, one more reliant on allure than words—a field she could easily outmanoeuvre me on. After all, the odds were tilted in her favour; I'd already outed my attraction. It would only be a matter of time until I'd break. I tightened my grip around the silverware, fighting to extinguish the fire within my gut. I was over 4000 years her senior, I wouldn't be outsmarted by her tricks. She caught on to my shift of mood, the pleased smile that had curved her lips fading. Good. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, reaching forward, taking my glass and gulping down the water at once. All gone.

"You're right, it does taste good," I sighed before I raised a hand, grabbing the attention of the waitress; a girl around Emily's age.

She was pale, as was to be expected, hair dark and sleek, covering her face. I'd noticed her glancing our way several times, eyeing Emily in what appeared to be mild envy. I knew I could use that, envy in women was as sharp and cutting as any sword, one just had to know where to point the blade. She was quick to notice me, a polite smile lighting up her features, heading our way, notebook in hand. I watched Emily's expression turn from suspicion to plain confusion in a matter of seconds, sharp eyes observing my every move, eating the rest of her bread in silence.

"May I help you?" The waitress offered me a timid smile, notebook held close to her chest, eyes flitting between me, Emily, and the paper. Good. Perfect.

I leaned forward, casually, elbow propped on the table, resting my chin against my hand, eyes focused only on her. I could feel Emily's gaze burn holes into my skin, and the feeling did nothing but bring me a sly sense of satisfaction. I conjured the most convincing smile I could muster, using every last bit of lingering warmth my soul still possessed.

"Yes," I started, voice purposefully low, words drawled with the kind of patience that belonged either to the immortal or those who considered whatever they were doing a phenomenal investment of their time—for now I liked to pretend it was the latter, "I was considering ordering another glass of water, but then I wondered if perhaps you could recommend me something… better?" I allowed my gaze to stray to her lips—obvious enough for her to catch on, but brief enough to make her question it—shooting her another inviting smile. "You look like someone of fine taste."

The girl turned a bashful red, lips parted, eyes unable to hold my gaze as I continued to stare her down. "You flatter me, sir, I-"

"Please," I leaned closer, shielding us from the rest of the table, "Matvey… Miss?"

She smiled again, red as ever, notebook inching higher in an attempt to hide her face. "Helin."

"Light of the sun," I mused, "a beautiful name to suit a beautiful- my apologies," I feigned slight nervousness, fingers rubbing my temple as my gaze darted to the floor, "that's improper of me."

"Oh, no- please," Helin responded, notebook lowering, attention solely on me, "it's fine, truly, thank you!" She sent me a reassuring smile, cheeks still flushed a hot red, and I knew I had her-

"Are you getting drinks or a marriage proposal?" Emily interrupted, Helin's timid gaze seizing up the unamused woman across from me.

I gritted my teeth, shooting the former Empress a spiteful glance. "You'll have to excuse my… friend." Could I even consider her that? "She's very thirsty, you see." I paused, narrowing my eyes.

"Oh that's rich," Emily laughed, crossing her arms. "Last I remember it was you who wanted a drink in the first place."

"Did I?" I recoiled. "Because I seem to recall it was you who poured your drinks all over me, asking me if I'd ever had a sip!"

"Enough," interrupted Callista, the entire table falling silent. The waitress appeared at a loss for what to do, standing awkwardly between me and Emily. "Violet, make sure to pay the lovely girl for the exquisite meal. Matvey, no more drinks—and I mean the drinkable kind. I've had it with the both of you, I'm off to bed." She stood, placing the cutlery atop her emptied plate, walking away from the both of us without so much as a second glance.

Emily let out a groan, rubbing her temple with one hand as the other grappled into her coat for coin, retrieving several pieces and placing them on the table between us. "Thank you, Helin, for the delicious food." She smiled at the waitress, but even I couldn't miss the sourness of the expression. She then directed an annoyed look at me."I suppose I'll just have to get something to quench my thirst elsewhere."

I didn't like the implication of her words, not one bit, and I watched her leave in an open-mouthed stupor.

"She's so confident and pretty," Helin spoke, voice a soft mumble as her gaze followed the former Empress.

I turned to the girl, mentally reminding myself that I shouldn't feel guilty for using her, that my actions could hardly be of consequence—but I knew better, and that knowledge gnawed at me, an ugly thing that dropped down the pit of my stomach. I blinked, collected myself and stood, finding I towered over the small waitress. She didn't meet my gaze, stare instead on her shoes. I reached out, fingers tucking her hair behind her ears, revealing her face. I didn't miss the hitch of her breath, eyes darting to me.

"When she was twelve," I started, attempting a consoling tone, "she cried for an entire week, because a man had told her she had the face of a wolfhound." I didn't mention how the man had been a part of the Royal Guard, or that the comment had been made in regards to her mixed, and illegitimate, heritage. Instead, I shrugged, suddenly realising I was actually horrible at offering any helpful advice. I knew there was supposed to be a point, so I dished out the best I could think of on the spot. "Turns out wolfhounds and pretty girls are really similar on the inside."

I'd spent most of the remaining afternoon wandering around town, hopelessly searching for the cursed church that probably didn't even exist anymore. My hands still shoved into the pockets of my coat, face ducked behind its collar. The cold had gradually managed to sneak under my protective layers, its icy presence wrapping around my limbs, pinching my skin. I had forgotten what true cold felt like, how snow and ice soaked into your clothes, your flesh, until it glaciated your very bones and you felt like you might never warm again. By the time evening rolled around, I didn't even feel like eating anymore, the pangs of hunger replaced by the sting of cold. I wondered if Emily worried, if Callista slept soundly.

Eventually, I dared head back to the inn, boots trailing a path of snow, soaking the thick carpets that layered across the wooden floorboards. I'd glanced at Nadia, ignoring her greeting, headed up the stairs in silence instead. Her words had shaken me, their meaning unclear; I didn't like that. When I entered the room shared by Emily and I, it didn't take me long to notice she wasn't there. The sounds of running water came from the adjacent bathroom, its door closed. Figuring she was taking a shower, I directed myself towards the couch I'd claimed, noticing she'd placed my paper bag on top of it. She probably expected me to weasel out of wearing the pretentious garb, but I wouldn't allow her the satisfaction of being right.

I changed into the traditional piece of clothing, its ornate designs matching with the surrounding room. I didn't try to see what my hair might look like, knowing any attempt at taming the unkempt mess to be futile. Instead, I shrugged on my coat, covering the blue of my outfit with a familiar shade of black. I left the room before Emily finished, deciding to wait downstairs. Unfortunately, that meant being in the same room as Nadia for an unknown period of time, a fact in which I hardly rejoiced.

"Going to the festival, I see?" Her voice rang out.

"Not just an innkeeper, also a psychic, I see," I drawled, passing her desk without sparing her a glance, headed straight for the large couch.

"My, you have quite the bite, don't you?" She chuckled, the old texture of her voice causing me to feel uncomfortable within my own skin.

I dropped down, taking a deep breath before pointing my gaze towards her, surprised to find her staring straight at me. The crackling flames warmed my skin, the fire's dancing light soaking me in orange. I was about to make a retort when a sound drew our attention. Looking towards the stairs, I caught Emily as she made her way down, coat covering what appeared to be a dress, hair still damp, its stresses rolling down her neck and shoulders in shiny waves. I rolled one of my rings between two digits, keeping my posture as straight as I could. This time she looked different. This time, I had to swallow the painful ache that weighed down on me. She was beautiful... skin a burnished olive, hair dark and swirling. I looked down, eyeing my boots, trailing the leather clasps that had withstood the ages. Reminding myself: I would not snuff out her light—would not pluck her to watch her wither. I was an anathema personified, a sacrilegious corruption of flesh.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here," she spoke as she reached the end of her descent, and I caught the earnest surprise in her tone.

I glanced at Nadia, noting her stare, before forcing down the sting at the back of my throat—ready to surmount whatever weapon Emily might brandish this time. "I have no other place to be." I shrugged as I stood, aware of the old lady watching our every move.

Emily raised her brows, gaze lingering on me as she turned towards our hostess. "We won't be out for too long," she promised, a smile on her lips, "when do you close?"

"Don't worry about it, child," Nadia waved a hand at her, "I'll give you the key to the front door. Enjoy yourselves, please." Her gaze turned to me, sending a chill down my back. "Both of you." She smiled, eyes crinkling kindly—frighteningly.

Emily happily thanked the old woman, taking the offered keys before turning to me, hesitating, gaze searching mine, perhaps trying to glean whatever I might be devising.

I smiled coolly in return, offering her my arm, trying to remain calm, trying to ignore the deafening drum that slammed against my ribs. She took it, eyeing me, hand settling into the crook of my arm. I bit back my grimace, gaze darting down to the floor instead, shielding my eyes from Emily's stare. The front door creaked within its hinges, the snow beyond greeting us with its wintry presence. I led her out into the cold, observant eyes never leaving my face. The door closed, and Emily released me, leaving me to follow behind, more disappointed by her commitment than I liked to admit.

"If you're lucky, Helin might be there," she threw over her shoulder.

"Who knows," I replied, feeling my spine stiffen, the muscles in my back pulled tight. The streets were more crowded than I had expected, people flocking together to head to the center. There was laughter, an air of excitement rolling off large groups. A month full of partying, how demeaning. I felt a sharp pang of something. "I bet you'll be missing Wyman's company on a night such as this." I found the words slipping off my tongue before I could bite down on it. Emily stiffened, and I couldn't resist edging her on further. "I wonder how they're doing... have you?"

"Have I what?" Emily snapped, turning to look at me, words a dangerous hiss.

"Wondered," I allowed my gaze to find hers, "about Wyman."

Hurt flashed across her face, followed by a fire in her eyes fierce enough to sear me, the hints of a scowl twisting her features. "Truth is," her words were sharp, threatening, "all I've been wondering about is where to get a good last fuck before we all die, Wyman included," she sneered, perfectly white teeth exposed.

Her anger excited me. It hurt, but it was a better kind of hurt than her smile, a better kind of hurt than the laughter that greeted us up ahead. I wanted more of it, yearned for her cutting remarks—the very quality Wyman had detested. I wanted the sizzling tension that had thundered below my skin all day to explode.

"For some reason it's always the nobility that stoop the lowest in the face of their own demise."

"I'll stoop as low as I want, and you'll get to do nothing but watch, like you always do."

I stopped walking, feeling the words as they twisted up my insides, holding her indignant gaze with my own. She stopped as well, the candlelight of the surrounding lanterns reflected in her eyes, burning. Behind her, a large bonfire roared, spreading a bright orange glow across a square filled with people. I opened my mouth, ready to throw another retort her way, ready to release more of my own hurt, when a voice rang out from the surrounding crowd.

"Violet, Matvey, how good to see you've made it!" A man approached us, dressed from head to toe in the most ridiculously robes. Emily turned, eyeing our sudden guest, a frown on her features. "It's me! Artur," he grinned, face unobscured by the hat and scarf this time. He was pale-skinned, hair a russet-coloured mess. He looked like any other fool to me, but I still found myself watching Emily's reactions from the corner of my eye.

"Oh- oh, I'm sorry," she laughed, a complete turn-around from literally 2 seconds ago, "I didn't recognise you without the scarf."

I glowered at the unwelcome man, hoping he'd get the hint and leave.

"That's alright." He smiled, glancing at me and stiffening. "I… hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

Emily's gaze flitted between us, and I caught the flicker in her eyes, features shifting into a farce of disappointment. "You did—I mean, not that's it that important, I…" She paused, biting her lip, orchestrating a sad frown. "I came here wanting to dance, but my fiancé just told me he won't." Her shoulders dropped in defeat.

Artur dared a quick glance my way, chased off by my persistent scowl. "I'm sure he'll change his mind after some of our wine-"

"He won't," Emily cut in, preventing me from having any say in the situation, "but if you'd be willing, you could perhaps offer me one dance instead?"

"I-" Artur blanched, raising his hands in defence, taking a tentative step back.

"Please?"

"I suppose," he cleared his throat, gaze darting to his feet, "if… your fiancé doesn't mind,"

"I do mind-"

"Nonsense, hold my coat would you, dear." Emily shoved her coat into my hands with enough force to push me back a step, silencing me.

By the time I had regained my footing, she was already gone, leading Artur into the crowd, dress shimmering with the glow of the bonfire, its fabric alight with hundreds of golden flowers. I followed, pushing through groups of people, ignoring their protests as I bumped shoulders with several of them. There was music, an overly excited violin that played a sickenly warm, joyful song. I was overwhelmed by the crowd: laughter, shouts and gut-wrenchingly happy conversations everywhere. Still I pushed through, fighting not to lose sight of the two figures ahead, Emily's dress an easy target. The further I got, the more people danced, the sharp smell of alcohol stinging my airways, saturating my senses. Everywhere around me I saw glints and flashes, shiny objects, burning flames, cheerful faces. I was starting to become lightheaded, suffocated by the thickness of my own coat, by the sense that I did not belong here. I stopped, shrugging off the fabric, dropping both mine and Emily's to the snow-covered ground, not caring if we might lose them, desperate to be relieved of some weight yet feeling nothing change.

Up ahead, I noticed they had stopped, an attentive Emily listening closely to Artur's ludicrous teachings. I tried to breathe, feeling as if a thousand eyes were staring at me; noticing the anomaly in the crowd. Her gaze trailed off, watching the other people closely, a strange expression settling over her the longer she watched, the dawning of something alighting her eyes before they landed on me—recognition stopping her, lips parted in silent regret. I watched her excuse herself, a surprised Artur gaping after her before his typically Tyvian eyes landed on me—and everything hit me: the stupid architecture, stupid decorations, stupid traditions, stupid clothing, stupid people, stupid innkeepers, stupid music, stupid dances, and worst of all, stupid me. I turned on my heel before Emily could reach me, curses echoing in my mind. The music had never sounded happy or warm to me—it was laughter at my expense, all of it, everything.

I didn't hear the offended gasps or angry curses as I plowed through the crowd, eyes pointed at my boots, watching the flames reflect off of old leather.

"Wait!" Emily called after me, trying her best to keep up, calling my name in an attempt to make me stop. I didn't, and it took all of her strength to pull me around. My eyes snapped to her face, causing her to flinch. "I'm sorry, I didn't know, I-"

"I don't care." I felt tired, weathered by a storm that had never ceased. "About any of this." I pulled away, wanting to leave, wanting to be gone, regretting how far I'd allowed her to take me.

Another pull, delicate hands holding on to me. "Matvey, listen-"

"I'm done, okay?"

"Please talk to me, for once," she pleaded, gaze desperately searching mine. "Let me in." the words were a delicate whisper, another rehash of our earlier discussions, another battle of words. I didn't want to fight anymore, didn't have a clue how to deal with everything.

"You want to get in?" I bristled, turning towards her. "You want to know how I feel?" That urge was still there, the overwhelming hurt that made me want to lash out, strike at whatever I could find. "Because I do feel! So fucking much it drives me insane! But no, you're right, let's just go out and party—let's all get fucking drunk and light a bonfire for the stupid idiot who got himself murdered!" I hadn't intended for my voice to break, but it did, and the emotion of it mortified me.

Emily's reaction was instant, almond eyes gone round, those lips I'd kissed parted in bewilderment. "You know that's not what they're celebrating..." Her voice was paper thin, as fragile as her contention.

"Oh it isn't?" My movements were sharp, angry, confused. "Then tell me. What else happened 4000 years ago?"

"That's not what I meant—traditions, yes, they're born from an event, an idea…" she stumbled over the words, hands wrapping around my arms, trying to pull me together. "But those get corroded over time... Chances are most people don't even know why they're celebrating, all they know is that they want to have fun!" She shook her head, round eyes no longer filled with candlelight. "It's not like they'll bother understanding the customs—the world isn't some open museum where everyone wants to know every little meaning behind everything."

I froze, completely still, the beating of my heart overpowering every other sound. "That's it..." Where had we passed it? When?

"What?" Emily frowned, gaze examining my features as I looked away, my own eyes searching the street we stood in.

I pulled myself free, starting into an immediate run, boots crunching across snow-laden streets. Emily followed, confused, still calling questions at my back. I ignored her, trailing buildings and memories, eyes searching for familiarity. I found a path, recognised the houses, the small stores, until I halted across from a darkened structure: the museum.

"What are we doing here?" Emily questioned, panting as she stopped beside me, breath forming thick clouds.

I walked up to the front door, windows showing not a single light, the surrounding street abandoned. Chances were everyone had left to enjoy the feast. I reached out a hand, channeling the galvanising energy I felt swirl within my abdomen, touching the painted wood with only my fingertips. I took a deep breath, mentally praying Sokolov wouldn't disappoint me, and released the electrifying power that followed my command. My veins were flooded with white, their brightness illuminating the panels I touched. Emily made a small sound of surprise, head whipping around to see if no one else was there to watch.

I released my breath, and the woodwork started to peel away, large parts of the structure disappearing, reforming, rebuilding—until only a small, white building remained: the church around which they had built the museum. It was a strange sight, a simple construction that felt utterly foreign and out of place. It was like looking in a mirror, and I was reminded of my reflection that afternoon, the ancient exterior before me an uncanny analogy to my own skin; a meaningless shell containing nothing but the burdens of the past. I pulled back my arm, noticing how the limb shook ever so slightly, betraying the impact the sight had on me. The wooden panels slowly returned, rebuilding themselves out of thin air, until the museum was restored to its original state.

"I didn't know you could do that." Emily's eyes roamed the building before us, trailing its wooden details.

"You should pay better attention," I deadpanned, searching for a way in, checking to see if the door was locked or not.

She ignored the comment, eyes still on the museum. "Are we going to break in?"

I felt along the doorframe, checking it, before taking a step back, never turning to look at the former Empress. "Of course," I mumbled, assessing my distance, preparing my muscles. I released one swift kick, and it was open, revealing a lobby shrouded in darkness. I entered, eyes investigating the cluttered room, sweeping across framed pictures and dusty posters.

Emily followed, closing the door behind her, gaze flitting over to me several times. "Listen," she started, and I felt inclined to ignore her, "about just now…"

"Let's not." I rounded the large desk at the center, headed for a door at the side of the room. I read the plaque that said 'staff-only', checking to see if it was locked as well.

"I just feel so stupid, okay?" Emily followed, still babbling. "The answers were in front of me this entire time, yet I was too daft to connect the dots."

Pleased to see it wasn't, I turned the knob, revealing a small hallway that ended in a flight of stairs. A small desk was stacked with lanterns and matches, which I took, inspecting the objects before offering them to Emily, knowing she'd be more capable of lighting the burner than I.

She took it without question, still talking, fingers working the strange contraption. "It all makes sense now, I mean…" She paused, a small flame coming to life at the end of her match before she used it to light the gas."The cold, the flowers, the dance… the reasons why you wanted to come here."

"I'd really prefer it if you remained silent." I took the lantern from her, sending her an annoyed look.

Instead she just smiled, a strange expression settling over her features. "Those clothes, it's like they're a part of you…"

I found myself glancing down, a knot in my stomach, the lantern illuminating the embroidered fabric. "I hate them." The words slipped off my tongue as I turned away, headed down the stairs, distancing myself.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" She continued as she followed after me, undeterred by my petty comments, our feet causing the old steps to creak. We arrived in a large storage room, piles upon piles of items and objects stacked upon large cabinets. I paused, taking in every detail, feeling a soft hand wrapping around my shoulder. "Why didn't you say this was your home?"

The truth was like a slap to the face, and I flinched at the words, backing away from her touch, sneering, "I've never had a home." The lantern swayed, causing large blotches of light to travel across the room, across Emily's face. She looked sad, and I knew it was for me, which only served to worsen my anger—skin tight with tension—because she'd promised she wouldn't. "In fact, I've never even owned clothes that weren't thrown to the fucking streets by somebody else, or had anything to eat besides rotten scraps to ease the constant threat of starvation." I felt my body start to shake, hands clenched to trembling fists. "I've never had a mother who wasn't in constant despair, or a father who wasn't an alcoholic abuser!" I took a step forward, yet Emily didn't attempt to move away, eyes still locked with mine, the light of the lantern dancing off of our faces. "You beg me to let you in, unaware that as soon as I do you'll be begging to get out again—there is nothing I have to offer but shame and misfortune and misery. So, no, it's not you or your kiss I'm scared of, it's me! I am nothing, so stop asking me to give you what I don't have!"

The quiver of her lip was subtle, "Ma-"

"No." I silenced her, squaring my shoulders, trying not to crumble beneath her sorrowful stare. "I'm really, truly sorry I kissed you, okay? It was terribly selfish and stupid, so let's forget about it and do what we're supposed to do."

She hesitated, those eyes of hers staring at me, my own heart a broken drum, until she finally cleared her throat, gaze darting to the floor, head nodding in agreement. I turned away as well, feeling emptier than ever before, a heavy silence settling over the both of us. All because I loved her.

My body had started moving on its own accord, eyes investigating the open cabinets for anything useful, anything to help us make progress. My words still bounced off the walls, left bruises beneath my skin. Emily had started searching too, even if she had no clue what to look for, hands digging up a large tome from one of the cabinets. I managed to spot only antiques, garbage, and garbage antiques. Nothing felt like it stood out, nothing seemed to date back to my past. I rubbed my forehead, trying to push through my own fatigue. Behind me, Emily seemed engrossed in whatever she was reading, fingers flipping page after page. I was about to give up when I spotted an old chest, its design the oldest looking thing so far. I approached it, fingers wrapping around the lid, lifting the soot covered object. Inside, there were only books and parchments, all yellowed and covered in centuries of dust. I sifted through them, and at the bottom I spotted a dark little booklet that spelled 'дневник' on its cover. My heart stilled, eyes taking in the familiar language. Frowning, I picked it up, fingers rubbing along its damaged spine.

This was it. This was exactly what we needed. I took in a shaky breath, realising we had to take it—all of it.

"Woah, did you know they once disowned a Tyvian prince for having a child out of wedlock?" Emily gasped in surprise. "Imagine if Gristol had been as strict…"

I glanced at her, putting down the booklet in my hand, feeling my throat close up as I watched her read and- I abolished whatever emotion was about to grip me, reminding myself of my own words. I moved to a stand instead, hands closing the lid before turning back to her. "Come on, we have what we need," I gestured at the chest, my voice a hollow and lonely sound, "let's go."