Chapter Fifty-One | The Orphanage

For the first time since arriving at this place, the Dream felt like a haven away from the damp, dark, twisting alleys of Yharnam and the beasts that hid round every corner. Gehrman somehow managed to spirit himself away each and every time Catherine set foot on that bubble in the clouds, though sometimes she could hear him murmuring, cursing at this and that as he fiddled with something inside the workshop.

The man had a sixth sense about him, as every time she went in to check over her weapon and armour he disappeared as soon as she started up those little crooked stairs to the main door. Sometimes she catches the tail end of his chair, white hair billowing behind him as he rolls from the workshop like a bat out of hell. More often than not it's the distant crunch of leather pads against gravel as he escapes to the gardens.

Catherine didn't know what she'd do if she had to talk to him again.

Make threats? Certainly. The hatred she felt for him was only second to that which she felt for Voldemort and his ilk. Gehrman was a petty, repugnant waste of a man, and if it wasn't for the fact that she would be forced to replace him as keeper of the Dream, she would slit his geriatric throat with as much flourish as a carnival entertainer, taking great care to eke out the cut so that it would be as painful as possible. She would stare into his eyes, savouring the way his pupils would shake, how his fingers would scrabble at the folded flesh of his throat, only serving to tear it wider, nails scraping against his own ruined esophagus and drenched with crimson spray as his artery jumps and sputters.

It would most likely turn into an argument, an argument of which would serve to further divide Melodie and Gehrman and make her living here even more of a tenuous affair than it already is.

Her first and truest friend of Yharnam, though Catherine herself didn't know it at the time, Melodie was entirely undeserving of whatever vengeance she wished to visit upon Gehrman, and for her sake she would stay her hand.

"You're thinking much too hard."

"Am I?"

Melodie hummed an affirmation. "Your brow scrunches, like this," she said, frowning slightly and pointing at her forehead. "Your moods jump so easily. Is this what it's like to be human, or is it unique to yourself?"

"I've always been angry," Catherine admitted. "My life, to put it kindly, is shit. Not going to come out of it without some anger, justified or otherwise. But… I never used to flit between moods until I came here." A scoff leapt from her throat. "I'm not exactly stable right now, don't think I ever will be."

"Time heals all wounds, does it not?"

"Or it lets them fester."

"Well, you must take care to help them along."

"And when did you get so wise?"

"After a young woman from a world away found herself in this Dream."

Smiling softly, Catherine leaned against her, only recently having gotten used to Melodie's sheer height. Even sitting she rose a foot above her, Catherine only barely coming up to her shoulder. "I've decided to brave the Nightmare."

"The Night-" Melodie spluttered. "Whyever would you do that? You must know- Catherine! Why?"

"To learn what happened to Tom, and also for the sake of Her."

"Kos."

"Her child is trapped there, and… well, she's already done enough to keep me as sane as she can. It's the least I could do after… declining her offer."

"Her offer?" Melodie questioned. "Take heed not to make deals with Goddesses and strange beings. Lest you end up like Gehrman."

"I was offered Ascension."

Thunder clapped in the distance, as if the Dream itself was angered at her proclamation. Melodie gasped, wilting beneath Catherine's simple, yet calamitous statement.

"Truly?"

"Yeah… I said no."

Suddenly, she was swept into a hug, flinching at the sudden touch before relenting, knowing that to Melodie, she was still learning the ways and whims of humanity.

"How troublesome that must be, to have such a great and terrible thing placed before you."

She snorted. "I'd rather live and die the maniac I am than step into that great unknown. Death is… something I craved, and still do, but to have my entire being changed? No, that would be far too much."

"I'm sorry, Catherine. I never knew."

"I've only known you half a year, haven't I?"

"But you spend so much time here, with me. You're much too kind to others, I think, and not nearly kind enough to yourself."

And wasn't that true? She could admit it, she wasn't a terribly big fan of Catherine Potter and all that entailed. Perhaps it was childish ennui, or maybe the symptom of something far grander, a glitch in who she was that left her feeling jaded and so horribly angry. Catherine raged at the world she was born into, the sheer injustice of it all, having to see the way Hermione (and god, she really didn't want to think of her) was treated, and would continue to be treated based on the circumstances of her birth. The way so many struggled even in a world in which magic was possible, something that could feasibly solve anyone's woes beyond that of death or some dire sort of affliction.

Yet here she was offering kindness to a doll, teaching her what it was to feel, to know friendship and kindness alike which she had not been granted until childhood was a long lost memory. No, that had already been taken by the whims of a cruel world and crueler people who wished her dead for the sake of a few words spoken by a seer she had yet to know the name of, or the very words themselves.

"I think I want to give to people what I couldn't ever have," she realized, mulling it over just enough to have the idea solidify and take root. "I never had a thing to my name. No friends, no family, only some bitter twits who just so happen to be related to me. It's only been four, five odd years since I've come to be so lucky as to know people who like me for who I am, and not a title bestowed to me. I've experienced more kindness here in Yharnam from a paltry few strangers than I have in the last few years of my life, from you most of all. Is it so bad that I want to make sure that once I leave this place, some mark remains? That even in all this horror I've made a couple of lives that much better?"

"I see no wrong in that, but…" Melodie paused, working over her words. Her arms tightened around Catherine, very nearly drawing her into her lap. "There must be more, no? I can scarcely imagine a woman such as you losing strength, or allowing the slights of your world to drag you down to such depths. I see something formidable in you, Catherine. I see a young woman terrified by her circumstances yet making the best of them all the same. It's why I, and so many others, have come to care about you. May this Doll speak her own kindness, and say do not let the ire of your own conscience clip your wings. Do not let the shadow that only you can see darken your vision. Once the night is done the sun will shine, and to her all Hunters hearken. Not the Moon and Her siren song, but the great candle in the sky and her benevolent warmth."

What could she do against those words, but freeze? Such passion, such care delivered by a being that until a few months ago she did not know was capable of emotion other than some twisted love poured into her by her creator, unending even in the face of so much abuse and torment as to leave Catherine wondering why Melodie had not torn herself to pieces - taken out the screws and latches that make her joints and shatter her own head beneath a sturdy heel.

Catherine's words were barely a murmur when she spoke. A frail, solemn utterance. "Thank you."

Then Melodie leaned over and pressed a kiss to her scalp, gentle, as if she believed Catherine would crumble beneath her touch. "Please, think nothing of it."

That sparked something in her, and the sudden urge to flee the Dream overtook Catherine, a few hurried apologies and goodbyes flung from her lips as she scampered away toward one of the waiting tombstones, pressing her hand to it and allowing the magic held within to spirit her off to Oedon Chapel.

The mist swept over her, and Catherine arrived in the chapel breathing heavily, looking all but the coward she was.

'Why?' Was her only thought, fingers brushing over her scalp before she shook them in the air, as if to fling away whatever feeling that simple gesture had brought out. She reached down, taking her hat from the already waiting Messengers and pressing it firmly atop her head.

"Ah, there she is. Cainhurst treat you well?"

Whirling around, Catherine offered Eileen a shaky smile, the woman sitting on one of the alcoves and using her feathered armour as a pillow, lit by the moonlight pouring in from the stained glass window behind her. She was still dressed in plainclothes, a softly smoking pipe in her hand that she drew up to her lips, taking a few puffs.

"As well as a ghost-ridden castle can. Had a chat with the Queen, sorted some things out."

"And where're you off to next?"

"Well…"

The Nightmare was certainly somewhere she needed to venture to, but as Catherine straightened out her duster she felt the weight of that key the Messengers had taken from Byrgenwerth.

"Think I'll pay the Choir a visit."

"The Choir, eh?" Eileen nodded slowly, taking another long puff of her pipe, smoke wafting through the air. "Heard nothin' but bad things about them. Strange folk, cavorting around atop the Bell Tower running all sorts of odd experiments. Not to be trifled with, but… knowing you that's more encouragement."

Odd mood forgotten, Catherine let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, that sounds like me. Thankfully, it's just off that way," she said, jabbing her thumb towards the side door that hid the lift. "Shouldn't take me more than a day to scout it all out."

"Well, don't let me keep you. And you'd best be off quick before Emilie catches wind that you're here, otherwise she'll never let you go."

Oh. Emilie.

Her shoulders fell, garnering a concerned frown out of Eileen, her brow pinched and lips curling around the stem of her pipe. "What?"

"Her sister…"

"Ah."

That was all that needed to be said, Eileen hopping down and closing the distance between Catherine and herself. She clapped her on the shoulder, gripping it firmly. "Wasn't your fault, that much I know. She'll be torn up about this, gods know anyone would at her age… but, 'tweren't your fault at all. Think of it this way, I'm retiring, aye? Best I break it to her, since I'm the one who'll be raising 'er."

"You and Arianna both. I don't think Emilie will ever let her go either."

Eileen let out a sad chuckle of her own. "A retired hunter and a prostitute, raising her? That'll turn heads."

"What?"

Blinking, Eileen's mouth opened a fraction. "You didn't know?"

"No, I mean- well, that makes a lot of sense in hindsight." Catherine ran her fingers along the brim of her cap, curling around to scratch at her neck. "Must be hard finding work for someone who escaped Cainhurst."

"'Bout the best she could have ever hoped for," Eileen offered with a slight shrug. "Now, before you go, thought I should give you something first."

"What is it?"

Raising one finger, Eileen wandered back to the alcove she was sitting at to take up her armour, bringing it back over to Catherine and shaking her head at the sudden onslaught of attempts to refuse her gift.

"No, I won't be having any of that. This is yours now, girl. You're a hunter, tried and true, and one of your stature is best in armour that suits the waves you've made. If I could pass this onto anyone in this damned city, I still think you'd be the best for it. Though…" she glanced down, eyeing Catherine's new greaves and gauntlets. "Can't say I'm impressed by the claws you've got on, but I'm not one to spit on pragmatism. They look mighty useful above all else, and they're sure to serve you better than my old boots and gloves."

"I…" Catherine was speechless, having to go from the Dream to this? Was everyone in a giving mood today? "Thank you. I can't express how much this means."

"Don't. Soak up those Choir-folks blood and come back dripping red, and know you'll have done me proud."

"I thought you worked for the Church."

"And look where that got me. Nearly dead at the hands of a man who couldn't tie a knot, let alone speak his own name." She shook her head. "No. Church's never done nothing for me 'cept pay for a roof above my head for killing off their mistakes. Let it all burn down, I say, Emilie and I'll find our way to somewhere safer than this. Nothing left for us here, anyhow. We've only got each other, now."

"I'll do my best then," she stated, resolute.

"Aye, there she is! Now go, and don't come back until you've killed every last one of those bastards and you've got a story for me. If I can't hunt, then you'd best give me something to work with, understood?"

"Yeah, that I can do."

Tearing off her duster, Catherine got herself into her new armour quickly, buttoning it up with a handy bit of magic and transferring the contents of her pockets from old to new. It fit her a bit loosely, Eileen being taller than her, but that was quickly remedied with a spell. The black hung off her shoulders in waves, the cloth feathers rustling imperceptibly as she moved her arms, checking the fit just to be sure.

"Now you look like a hunter!" Eileen howled.

"Feel like one as well." She nodded once. "Alright, I'm off."

Waving, she took to the lift, journeying up and thankful that she'd cleared the tower out ages ago. The stench of rot did nothing to hinder her as she walked past the man she had skewered a few months back, hunched in his chair with a gun still propped in his mouldy grip.

Catherine stared for a few seconds on her way, though, imagining that it was Gehrman slumped over and rotting on that little contraption.

Taking the stairs and ladder steps two at a time, she flew up the tower at a pace that would have once left her floundering, until she stood before that simple, blood-soaked door. The magic that clung to it was even more horrid upon second inspection, and she could see that same rust clinging to it that had Logarius' scythe back in Cainhurst.

This was where the souls of those people had gone. To the Choir, to Byrgenwerth, to shield the Church from prying eyes of those who wished to unearth their covetous secrets and the lengths they would go to in their quest to attain godhood.

Snatching the key from her pocket, Catherine looked down at it and knew it to be the right fit. There was an echo upon it, some cold remnant of the same magic that bound the mighty doors in front of her. It slotted in like the gears of a clock, smooth and precise. She turned it, listening as bearings whistled, latches shifted, and something electric crackled beneath it all.

The doors swung wide of their own volition, the key spat out onto her waiting palm, and Catherine wandered into the home of the Choir to have the doors swing shut behind her, slamming loudly and carrying their echo across the city.

She stood at a small landing, a half moon of stone that, once she'd walked up to the ledge, she could look down from dizzying heights to the city far below. Somehow the trees still snaked their way up here, hundreds of feet high to claw at the sky itself. It took her a second to notice that next to her was a strange beast that looked as if a slug, tadpole, and a mushroom had an illicit affair, a foot or two tall and scraping with its stump arms at the iron rungs that kept one from falling to the streets below. It did not notice her, instead moaning lowly and spreading its slime across the blackened metal, so she paid it no heed as well, choosing to move on.

A narrow stairway to her left took her up to a bridge on which two church-men walked. Simple guards, no Choir higherup but the mindless white-garbed ghouls that wandered the Cathedral ward with staves and torches. She killed them without effort, walking past more of the strange slug beasts as they crooned and slithered along.

Her steps took her to a large building attached to the side of the clocktower, and thus the Great Cathedral. It was lit by torchlight and the front of it curled in another half-circle, a great gate blocking direct entry to the building itself and the courtyard before that gate filled with the usual coffins she had come to expect from Yharnam, as well as a dozen or so slugs. But what caught her attention was the sign, situated proudly at the front of the building.

Yharnam Orphanage.

Catherine faltered, glancing between the sign and the small, almost child sized beasts that lurched and moaned around her. She blinked, slowly and steadily, fingers curling around the grip of her hammer as realization set in, and she found herself not looking at beasts, but failed experiments of the Church.

Hand shaking, she drew it up to her brow and pressed a single knuckle into her skull, driving it as harshly as she could into the thin flesh and relishing in the pain it brought.

"Are those what I think they are?" she asked after nearly a minute of silent contemplation. Her hardened gaze locked onto the slug nearest to her as it thumbed at her greaves, drool leaking from its open mouth, a fissure that ran from head to belly that was lined with tiny, glittering fangs. Two spider-like wings sprouted from its back, miniscule things, more like the skeleton of a bat than anything that could ever hope to fly.

And, if she didn't know any better (godammit, she did) it was once a child.

They are exactly what you presume them to be.

If Catherine had thought she'd felt rage before, it all paled in comparison to the tempest that overtook her in that moment. She could have sworn she felt her blood flash to a boil, popping in her veins and sending shocks of fury from head to toe, each of which so strong as to make her spine shiver, back twisting as she fought to control the sudden need to plunge her fingers into someones mouth and pluck out their teeth one by one, crushing bone against gum and turning their jaw into a splintered mess of gore.

All she wished for was to tear someone in two with her bare hands, to bury her face in the gore that was their chest and rip apart their heart with her teeth while they watched.

Breathe, child. Breathe.

She struck herself, fist slapping against her cheek and cracking the bone.

It was enough to take her back to reality, visions no longer filled with an ocean of gore but the mossy stones beneath her feet and the wretched beast a few steps away.

Catherine raised her foot and stamped on its head, a spray of golden blood erupting from beneath her heel as its skull popped open. Djura, of course, appeared to roar his displeasure, and she whirled on him with a fire in her eyes.

"This is your Church!" she screeched, spit flying from her mouth. "This is what they've done! Children! Taken from their homes and put under the knife for the sake of what? What? Nothing is worth this cost! Nothing! And if I have to put every damned beast in this city out of their misery I will! Look, look you bastard!"

Her hammer turned the corpse onto its back, the things belly wet with sludge and, visible even in the moonlight, scars criss-crossing the length of its leathery hide. "You mean to tell me I should keep such a thing alive? A child, cursed to whatever manner of existence this is? Tell me, Djura, tell me I've done the wrong thing. I insist, really, I want you to tell me, because I will find you no matter what hell you rest within and I will tear your throat out all over again. That, I promise you."

Breathing heavily, her teeth clenched and chin set forward, Catherine took up her hammer and crushed another beast beneath it. She roared as she turned on the rest, the next minute a blur of yellowed blood and the shrieks of the beasts (children, children, children) as they were reduced to a paste with every swing.

Heaving, she kicked aside another corpse, looking around herself to see them all dead. "You see that? That's your Church. Do not ever presume to push your guilt on me, Djura, because I will tear through your memories again and force you to watch as I kill everything you once knew and loved."

The spectre of the man melted beneath her glare, opening his mouth once before closing it with a snap, disappearing a moment after that.

Grinding her teeth together, Catherine took her wand and blew a hole in the gate, the rungs smashing against the stone wall behind them and reducing the masonry to rubble. The entire face of the building shook, nearly caving in on itself as she blew a hole through that as well, beasts inside - werewolves - shirking away from her as she strode inside, cloaked in magic and unbridled rage.

Catherine knew as soon as she stepped foot inside that almost none of the Choir remained. This place had been abandoned, or, judging by the werewolves that cowered in the corner, another of those strange, tentacle-faced Kin shuddering alongside them, that everyone here had turned already.

One of the werewolves exploded as her spell struck it in the flank, strips of viscera flying skyward as its chest erupted, the shrapnel of its bones tearing through the one nearest to it and leaving it limping as it tried to pull away from her, pressing itself against the wall.

The Kin rushed towards her, the back of its head unfurling into a long, fluid proboscis, trying to spear her in its frantic march.

It impaled itself on her sword, hammer at her feet and the Kin moaning uselessly around the steel that protruded from its mouth, sticking out the back of its neck. It scratched at the metal, its sucker flailing as it tried to spear her with it. Catherine batted it aside with one hand, dropping her wand into her sleeve so she could plunge her hand into its chest. It screamed as she pushed its ribs aside like they were paper, fingers spearing into its heart to draw out the stone it held within.

Catherine dropped the stone into her waist pocket, kicking the thing off her sword and leaving it to bleed out on the floor.

A shaking from above made her glance up, only to jump aside as a werewolf on the upper level flung itself onto the chandelier that lit the building, tearing it out of its rungs and sending it crashing down on top of where she once stood.

Summoning her hammer, she plunged her sword into its clasp, kicking the latch into place with her toe. She howled as she brought the hammer down on top of the werewolf, its spine shattering as it was laid out beneath her. The thing keened pitifully as she raised her hammer again, striking it on the back once more, its guts bursting out of its sides and spraying their filth along the stone.

Turning, Catherine pointed her hammer at the last remaining werewolf, the beast still cowering and, upon closer inspection, it didn't look quite as beastly as its companions. No, this wolf did not yet have the same, wicked claws, its muzzle short and pupils still keeping their shape.

"Ah, you've still got some mind left, don't you?" she crooned, easy steps taking her closer and closer. "The night's been long and hard, hasn't it? All you and your Choir friends are beasts now, and I promise you that if I come across any that are still human, well…" she kneeled, smiling at it, all sharp teeth and glittering, iron eyes. "You can rest assured I'll make them suffer."

Interesting. She didn't know werewolves could cry.

"There there, it's fine. See, if I'd known that these were the depths you and your ilk would sink to I would have found my way up here a long time ago. Someone could have told me, so you would have been spared this fate. Because you? I'm not going to kill you. No." She tapped the werewolf on the nose, grinning as it tried to bite her finger.

A vicious punch took it by surprise, blood bursting out beneath her knuckles as she sent the beast skittering, running to the nearest corner away from her. "You get to live through the rest of this. You get to see me tear everything you've ever worked for to the ground, while trying desperately to try and keep your mind. How does that sound?"

The werewolf leapt at her, steel chains erupting from her wand and shackling it before it could even make it a few feet. It thudded to the ground with a heavy whine, stricken gaze locked onto her.

Tutting, Catherine tapped it on the nose again, garnering another pitiful whine as she nudged a broken bone further out of place. "Even if you killed me it wouldn't stick. C'mon, use those new senses of yours. What do you smell? The Moon, right? The Sea?"

If the creature could look any more afraid, it did in that moment, the whites of its eyes peeled back and heavy breaths making its chest shudder. "That's right! Twice-blessed Dreamer I am, and what do you think I'll do with that power at my fingertips?"

She paused, cupping a hand to her ear. "No answer? Well, I'll let you know." Catherine leered at the thing, looming closer, so close that her breath rushed across its fur, lips brushing against its flattened ear. "I'm going to tear down your Church, stone by stone, person by person, until nothing remains but ashes. And you-" she prodded it again, forcefully. "Get to watch."

Getting to her feet, Catherine drove her heel into the beast's gut, grinning wildly as it howled in pain.

First, she wanted to look through this place. It would only be after she had turned over every desk, every book, every inch of this desecrated orphanage would she burn it all to cinder.

What a show she would give Yharnam tonight.