Chapter Sixty-Three | Look, and See What May

"Is she well?"

A few feet away and sitting on her stool, Eileen shook her head. Just the slightest motion, hardly discernible, but Catherine could hear the way her hair swished and the collar of her shirt ruffled as if it had been pressed right to her own ears. "She's become ill, though we don't know what with. Strange to happen with the blood close at hand, but not uncommon enough to be fearful of."

"Is she…?"

The remainder of her sentence went unsaid. Beasthood could come quickly or slowly, and pain of the body - even a belly ache - could be the beginning signs of the change.

"No. I've seen enough hunters and the like close to losing themselves. Arianna is safe from that, you can be sure."

Catherine's relieved sigh was a palpable thing. "Thank god."

"Your one god, eh?"

"There's people that worship more, though that's less common where I'm from. Or none at all, only spiritual in the sense of… I don't know enough to explain it. The one I know like that is called Buddhism. Me? I don't really believe in anything."

"You've met our Gods, spoken with them, yet you don't believe?"

"They may be called Gods, but only in the sense that they're so far beyond us. Might as well be, although, wouldn't a worm call you a god? Do you wonder if the insects below your feet sometimes look up and pray for the mighty boot of Yharnam to crush their enemies' burrows?"

"Ah. You're a philosopher." She wrinkled her nose playfully. "I'm not much for those sorts of things. What I can see, what I can touch, that's real enough for me."

"Seems a good way to live."

"And you? You've decided to live here?"

"I think so, yeah." Her lips curled into something thoughtful, and relief all but dripped from her leathers like the sodden rush from that corpse infested lake. For the first time in years, Catherine allowed herself to hope.

God, it felt good to hope.

"I can make something of myself here that I never could back home. A new life in a world where I fit, where I don't feel like the entire function of society is grating against me, and-" she laughed quietly, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. "-this will sound awful, but this place is so violent compared to my home. We still have wars, still commit atrocities, crimes on a far grander scale than anyone here could ever imagine, but daily violence the likes of which you experience is almost entirely unheard of in many places.

"But it feels right to live here in a way that my home doesn't. Like it never could. I could hide myself away but for what? I'd never be able to visit another place without wondering if I would be recognized. People would begin to wonder why I no longer age, even those like me. Oh, we live long. Very long, but nothing like a Dreamer."

"Your world is so peculiar. The way you speak of it makes me wonder more and more what it would look like. But… not violent, you say? I've never heard of war on such a scale," said Eileen, crossing her arms and one ankle over the other. "How grand, really? We've known war in our time, but Yharnam has mostly remained untouched. The neighbouring cities too fearful of us after the decimation of Cainhurst."

"Where I'm from, there's been deaths in the tens of millions. Wars that span the entire globe, dozens of countries dragged into them and sending young men to die in droves. We began to number our world wars after the second, and while a third is yet to happen… I don't trust us enough, don't trust people enough to not allow it to happen once more. It very nearly did, weapons of such immense power that all life as we know it would have been reduced to dust."

"That's… impossible," Eileen denied, her mouth hanging open. "I've never heard of such a thing. A war fought across the entire world? An apocalypse at your own hands?"

"Yes, but for many life is safe when compared to the threat of the beasts you're so familiar with. If a city were to experience horror such as this back in my home… it would be wiped off the map. Armies gathering to section it away from the rest of the world, stopping dead anything that may try to escape."

"And you say your world isn't violent?"

More laughter, and Catherine couldn't help but suck the air through her teeth. "I admit I see the worst in it all. There's a lot to be thankful for, but it feels like the people of my home have simply become more clever about the violence they inflict. Subtle in their horrors. Stories have even been written about what could become of us, pondering on the wrongs that already exist. Slave states fueled by propaganda machines, combined with enough of a drip feed of luxuries to keep us complacent while society unravels around us."

"Your people write stories about such things? Why? Every book I could find in this chapel tells tales of the rising sun, of the dawn that ushers in a new age."

"Because your world, or this city at the very least, is steeped in death. Look out the window and tell me what you see, what you hear. Silence, right?" Catherine let the words hang, her head cocked towards the window and a hand cupped to her ear. "Silence, and the occasional shriek of a beast. A few months ago it was still punctuated with laughter, of those hiding away from the dark and paying no heed to the fact that monsters prowled beyond their doors, people who believed the bars on their windows to be protection enough against such things.

"What stories would you tell in a place like Yharnam? More horror? No. Something prideful. Joyous. The dawn, the spring of a new day and the flourishing of those residing within her walls. I think the tales we tell are a reflection of the world we live in. Don't think that those kinds of stories I just told you about are the norm. They're far and few between, but some write them because they might see something that others have not yet put voice to."

"You'll have to bring me one of those stories someday, before you decide to close the door on your home. I think I might like to read one of them."

"I'd have to teach you a whole new language."

"And wouldn't that be something? Speaking in a strange tongue that none here know? I'm sure Emilie would think it delightful. I sometimes hear her repeating what you've said, Bri-tan," she enunciated, the words strange on her lips. "If you were to make a new life here I think you should tell your story. A traveler between worlds, a mage at that. It would make for a tidy home at the least, and a comfortable life."

"I've no need of money here. What would I do with it when I can make anything I need with a flick of my wrist? When I can grow crops where they could not grow? I've a century and more of knowledge at my fingertips, taken from one of the most brilliant minds my world has ever seen. I could raise a home in an hour, shaping the trees and purifying them so that they may never know sweltering heat, nor the cold of winter." She huffed a breath, eyes shining and her smile wide. "I could… simply settle somewhere far from these beasts and take you all with me. Fashion wards so that no danger will ever threaten you. You would be the safest, and most contented people this world has ever known."

For once Eileen had a mystified look on her face, gaze distant as she pondered Catherine's words. Her mouth opened. Closed. Then she shook her head. "Gods. I never realized once I'd met that frail little thing in the sewers that I might end up living like a Queen some day." The furrow of her brow deepened, and she extended a finger in question. "But why not tell your story? Perhaps even teach others your magic if they're capable?"

"I'm tired of fame," she stated, honest and weary. "I've only suffered five years of it but it's enough of a taste that I know I find it bitter. Anonymously, perhaps. Maybe written as fiction, but… I don't think I'd want to call that kind of attention to myself. Yharnam is sequestered, cold and distant to all foreigners. It wouldn't be much of a feat to disappear from it and never be recognized as the one who destroyed the Church and stemmed the tide of blood that flowed from its doors."

"And the magic?"

"Maybe. I haven't given this all that much thought yet. You're getting ahead of me."

"It's just an idea," Eileen spoke, her voice a touch less excited. "Seems I've got a lot of thinking to do m'self-"

They both jumped at the sound of knocking at the door, the noise soft. "Christ, I didn't even hear someone coming," Catherine laughed, glancing down to realize she'd drawn her wand. She put it away and got off the bed, opening the door to see a nervous Adella standing in the hall.

"You alright?"

"Yes. Quite fine. I was… wondering if I could steal you away for a moment."

"Sure, er-" she turned to face Eileen. "Talk later?"

"Think I've done enough talking for now. I'll head back down."

They nodded at each other, and Eileen slinked past the two and ventured down the hall.

Meanwhile, Adella still stood, wringing her hands and shuffling her feet. "Are you sure you're fine?" Catherine ventured, slightly hesitant.

She didn't rightly know how to speak with the woman without sparking whatever deific view she had of her. But at the same time she already dealt with enough of the same - worse, even - from Amelia and Beatrice that she'd long grown numb to such fervent words.

"Very much so. Just a touch- well-" she offered Catherine a weak smile, her lips drawn right across her face. "It's all a bit terrifying, don't you think? Gods on our doorstep, the red moon above…" A small bubble of hysterics slipped from Adella's mouth, and she pressed her knuckles against it. "I'm having difficulty coming to terms with it all."

"Would you like to… talk?"

"If you'd be so inclined. I'm hardly worth the time, but you've always been so kind, and- and you saved such a thing as me from that dreadful gaol. Please, don't think me presumptuous."

"No, no. I'm not- I'm not some majestic figure, Adella. You don't need to be so… well, you know. Just talk to me, alright? I can't say I'm much good at helping others when it comes to speaking. Tend to put my foot in my mouth more often than not, but I can try."

"You would!? Oh!" She nearly clapped her hands, instead jerking nervously and gesturing towards her own room. "Would you mind?"

"Lead the way."

She followed Adella to her room, identical in all ways to the others bar Emilie and Eileen's shared room, with the twin beds across from one another. A simple table in each one, stool, and cot. Catherine took the stool, and Adella sat down on her bed after a moment's hesitation. Still she fiddled with her robes, laced and unlaced her fingers, and cast nervous glances out the window - as if one of the Amygdala would thrust its hand into the chapel and drag her out to be devoured.

My people need no sustenance.

'Ah, you've been quiet,' was Catherine's mental reply.

Your mind was shaken after you drank that potion in the cave. I'd thought it best not to mar it further with my own words.

'And how have you been, since your possessive clamour beneath the Church?'

Kos seemed to grumble silently, an irksome feeling dredged up and making Catherine shiver. You are mine. Not the fodder of lesser things like that foul Ebrietas, with clipped wings and no inclination to travel back among the stars and meet with her forebears.

'You dislike her.'

I dislike all my kin. Schemers and rats that look at you humans as creatures of no purpose but their own worship. I am the only one of my kind to have lived among you in peace since we left this plane, short lived though it was.

'You're different how?'

I once cared for your kind. Once.

'Me?'

You're mine. Unique. The one and only Sea-Blessed wanderer. Never has there been one like you, nor shall there ever be another. A mage of the endless brine. How could I not care, Child? How could I not, when you carry my gift?

'I'd thought your kind beyond such things,' she retorted, curious and a touch unsettled by Kos' confession.

Were an ant to speak your tongue, would you not care for it? Or would you crush it underfoot and lay waste to its rotten hill?

'I've never spoken your tongue.'

You always have. The language of mine own branded upon your flesh and, within it, the lingering magic of the Dream. No words or utterances of the mundane, wind and meat and dripping things. No. You speak in the shifting of mountain stone, of the roiling of the sea, the crack of flame and crashing lightning. Your mind has always, and forever been attuned to our speech.

'Then I've never been human- I've always been-'

You grew to be more. Not Great, yet not human. Once, you were, but with the magic of my kind seared into your flesh… you could never be something so base.

'Explain,' she insisted, hands curling into fists and paying no heed to Adella as she tried to get her attention. "Explain yourself! Did you do this? Did you!?"

"Ca- Catherine!?"

Her surroundings returned to her, and she realized she was standing up, shouting at the wall. An annoyed huff slipped from her lips, and Catherine sat back down, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry," she muttered, shutting her eyes tight and trying to make sense of what she'd just been told.

Always, Kos decided to slither over and shake her world. Always, she left Catherine's mind shaking and cold as ice.

"I'm… sorry, again. There is… you know that one of the Great Ones speaks with me, right?"

"How could I ever forget?"

A snort, and nausea coiled in her belly. "She likes to come to me, tell me things that I never wanted to hear. It doesn't… it doesn't change anything, really, but- god, it changes everything."

"What does?"

"I'm… I'd rather not talk about it. I came here to help you, not for you to help me. C'mon, what've you got on your mind?"

"I…" Adella bit her lip, hands now clasped tight. "I've been wondering of my lot in life. Shall the Church live on in the aftermath of your fury, or shall it be consigned to be nothing more than a bygone age? Shall our faith continue, or with this long night has it finally reached its end?"

"A crisis of faith."

"Yes, and more. I do not wish for us to die out, for our way to dwindle and the blood to run thin. Nor do I wish for the obscene to continue, whatever horrors you witnessed enacted by my betters… was it worth it, I wonder? For them to try so very hard to speak with our Gods?"

"They didn't want to speak with them, Adella. They wanted to become them. It was never about faith. Your Church cared little for that. Everything they have ever done has been an effort to take the most rich and fat of their compatriots and turn them into the beings you worship."

"But what if there was a better way? A way without pain, without suffering?"

"If there was, I still think it a curse. These things are not Gods, not how you think. They're mighty, powerful beyond imagining, even their words can leave you unable to walk or think, their presence alone… but they're not Gods."

"Even… even if that were so," she faltered, wincing at her own blasphemy. "That is my choice, isn't it? Were I to conduct my own research into such things without the slaughter of small-folk and urchins, would that not be a blessing in and of itself? To launch our kind forward upon an unknown sea, and reach the very stars themselves?"

"If none are hurt, I see no issue with it. But… it's a futile effort, Adella. You'll lose yourself, all the things that make us human. To suffer is to hope, and you're wanting to turn yourself into something whose wants and needs are so alien to our own that they're incomprehensible. I speak with these things and still I have no idea what they wish for. What drives them - if anything even does, or if they simply drift alone within a great void. Everything about them is anathema, and I think you'd be signing your own death warrant, if not subjecting yourself to torture for the sake of becoming something so wrong, so… so aberrant, that even the wind refuses to touch you. Grass, withering at your feet. Men dying for having so much as looked at you."

"But what if we only took one step closer? Not to become them, not to ascend wholly, but just the slightest leap to godhood?" she continued, her words growing more fervent, her motions erratic. Adella looked up from her hands with wild eyes, frantic in their intensity. "You could help me. You could help us all."

"No."

"You don't understand, please. This would be good. You would- dare I say it you would enjoy such a thing. Please."

"Adella…" Catherine pulled away slightly, leaning back on her stool. Yet Adella stood, advancing towards her, and reached down to take her hands.

"You are a mage. A God in your own right. You are more, something beyond us feeble things. The Cathedral is… it is a sign of it. Divinity made man, exacting Her fury on those who stepped too far. You're the next step. Our next step."

She watched with blatant horror as Adella began to tug at her habit, unlacing the threads with shaking fingers.

"Adella, what are you doing?"

"A mage. You're a mage, that means- that means you can bless us. A line of monarchs borne of magic and the blood of Gods. Please… I confess, this has been on my mind for a while now-"

"-Adella-"

"-what it would be to lay with you, to harbour your child within my own belly - a new God, the first of their kind. One with the whims of humanity and the might of the cosmos. You must, please," she tried to shirk off her robes, pulling at them desperately, the strap of her brassiere caught on the fabric. "Lay with me, so that we might usher in a new age."

"No, no-" Catherine stood, pushing Adella away and sending her sprawling across the bed. The woman continued to tear at her own clothes, ripping her habit from neck to waist and revealing her-

She averted her eyes, feeling sick and more than unsettled by the woman's madness. "I refuse. You need to go. I need to go."

Try and do one good thing, Catherine swore, throwing open the door and slamming it shut behind her as she made her escape.

In her ear, Amelia shouted. "I should have stayed the turning! Whyever did I not think such a thing? To have a God on my doorstep?"

She tried her best to shut it out, the wails of a dead woman - normally so controlled - now furious at her own inaction. Catherine shouldered down the stairs and stood, looking haggard, in the chapel. Eileen frowned at her, and Arianna was busy playing a game with Emilie, their hands clapping together and back against their knees, a song chanted between them.

"I have to go," she announced, her voice wild. Her hand waved and the makeshift barricade, pews and chairs and god knows what else all levitated back into their rightful place. "I'll- I'll see you all later. And-" she paused briefly beside Eileen. "Watch her. You know who."

With that, Catherine stomped past them all, sucking in deep breaths once the door was shut behind her and she'd gotten out to the cold night air. It felt a balm, like a tincture passed down her throat to calm her ails. Her fingers shook slightly as she ducked towards the nearby stairs to a place she knew Eileen to often stand and think - before her injuries at the least.

Not that she hadn't spotted the weapons at her hips once she'd first arrived, just in case something did manage to break through after the fall of the Cathedral. Her head turned, and the skyline behind her lay empty. The massive form of the clocktower now gone and only stars left to fill the gap.

Her hammer trailed behind her as she took to the small graveyard beneath the chapel, long gone of beasts and - in the distance - she could spy one of the white robed churchmen with his eyes cast to the now empty sky, horror on brutish face. She glanced to the right and-

Was that a top hat?

A corpse she hadn't spied before nestled against a barren tree, just barely hidden behind the gravestones. A hunter, it looked like, rusted steel lying at their side and a blood vial resting a few inches away from their open hand, left at their side from when they'd presumably tried to stitch theirself back together.

Catherine's head turned back to the little spot overlooking Yharnam, towards the great bridge leading to the Cathedral ward, before it shifted back to the corpse.

Perhaps she could transfigure the tophat and make more of them, give the messengers proper clothes instead of the makeshift bits of leather and twine they wore now.

After putting on her mask she then sidled between the graves, hammer knocking once against the stone before she hefted it over her shoulder and stepped up to the corpse. Catherine kneeled in front of it, lifting the hunters chin to spy a young man - hardly twenty years of age - with not even a spot of hair on his chin nor lip.

Too young to die in such a way in any other place than this.

Catherine lifted the top hat off his head and shut his open eyes gently, offering a silent prayer to carry him on his way. Her neck tickled suddenly, as if she were being watched, and she turned around to spy a flash of leather, presumably another hunter watching her. Nostrils flared, and Catherine's nose wrinkled as she tried to place the strange, sweet scent she caught.

It was as if she was in the Dream once more.

Still, the feeling lingered, and Catherine's gaze carried upwards just as a massive hand grasped her around the waist. She shouted in anger, the hat falling from her grip and her hammer left on the ground as she was picked up. Her hateful gaze settled on the Amygdala that had taken her, swearing to herself that if it killed her she would come marching back out the chapel and open up its skull to see if there were eyes hiding inside it as well.

Just as the thought passed through her mind, eyes did bulge out of the slats that made up its head, a purple mist swirling around its hairy fist and brushing against her clothes. Catherine tried to reach for her wand, but was unable to push her fingers through the thin gaps between herself and the much larger fingers that held her.

Her mind began to grow fuzzy as she breathed it in - not mist but magic, effervescent as it flitted up her nose and tainted her thoughts. Catherine's motions grew more frantic as she bashed at the knuckles of the thing, swearing loudly at it as blood began to drip from her nose, from her ears, and trickle down her chin.

It felt as if thousands of needles had been jabbed into her flesh, into her skull, as she twitched in its iron grasp. Her breathing grew more frantic, something bubbling behind her eyes as hysteria began to take over. A bubble of red popped against the corner of her mouth, just as the haze overtook her, and Catherine only had a moment of clarity - staring at the things pulsing, hideous form - before darkness overtook her.