Emily liked the Hound Pits Pub well enough, but she did not like her room in the tower.

Every night the wind would howl and scream, making it hard to fall asleep for the young girl, and whenever sleep did finally find her, she would be haunted by strange dreams of whales and flames and a young man with black eyes that whispered terrible secrets into the darkened confines of her own mind.

"I don't want to sleep here anymore," the young Empress told Callista more than once when she woke up with dried tears staining her cheeks and the echoes of a whale song still fresh in her memory.

"I'm sorry, Emily," the nursemaid answered every time. "But we are safer in here if something happens, and there is really no other rooms for us to use."

"But it's haunted," the young girl had said once, and the dark look Callista had shot her had been enough for her to never attempt mentioning the black-eyed ghost again. Since then she dreaded returning to the tower each night.

One morning she found a singing bone on the beach, washed up with the midnight tide, and she hid it under her pillow that evening, hoping it would chase the dreams away. She had heard they were used for protection and good luck by some people across the Isles, and knew it was forbidden to do so. She was careful to hide it from Overseer Martin and Callista.

But the dreams that night were more vivid than ever, and the girl rose early to throw the sculpted bone from the top of the tower. She watched with satisfaction as it sank to the bottom of the river. She hoped to never see it again.

Up until then, her dreams had always been different each night. But after the night she spent with the bone under her pillow, the black-eyed ghost whispered but one thing, over and over again, until it became etched into her memory, branded in fiery letters into her tender young mind.

You will never be Empress.

The sun rose one morning to find the Pub strangely still – or at least, it seemed so to Emily. Even as the servants flitted about as usual, something dark seemed to bear down over all of them. The Lord and the Admiral seemed restless, even more so than they usually did when Corvo was away, and when the Overseer arrived later that morning, the three locked themselves away inside Havelock's room. Emily went about her lessons with Callista, the uneasy feeling that a storm was brewing never leaving her even as the others went about their business without a care. Corvo came back that night, successful, and they raised a glass in his name and hers. She kissed his cheek and he went up to sleep, visibly exhausted. She stayed up for a while, drawing, before Callista dragged her to bed, and she remembered seeing Havelock, Pendleton and Martin whisper amongst themselves before she left the common room.

That night, she did not dream.

She woke in the morning to find Corvo gone. She was disappointed, but Havelock said he had only gone to inspect the sewers for weepers, and should be back soon.

Then the servants were called into the yard, and the killing started. It was so sudden that Emily could not cover her eyes. Wallace was first – he was cut mid-sentence by a shot to his chest, and his blood sprayed Emily's shoes. The girl watched as the fine crimson droplets dripped off the tip of her feet and to the ground – drip drip drip; she could almost hear it. She looked up from her feet to see Callista being pushed to the ground and Martin striding towards her. She could not run. She could not fight. She let him cover her eyes and drag her away.

"Go fuck yourself, Havelock," said Lydia.

Another shot.

"No! Not her!" Emily could hear Havelock shout. "I owe her uncle a debt. Miss Curnow – "

"Leave her!"

There was the sound of hurried footsteps toward her, before the sound of a slap and a gasp from Callista rang out. Still blinded by Martin's hand, Emily saw nothing.

"Do not make me regret my kindness, Miss Curnow."

"Your kindness? You – "

The click of a pistol cut her off.

"Run. Leave this place. They will kill you if they find you here."

The distant roar of an engine was heard from the river. Emily squirmed in the Overseer's grasp. It had to be Samuel, but he must not come, not now, they would kill him too –

"Piero's locked himself in!" Pendleton snarled as the heiress felt herself being dragged toward the dock. The sound of the engine was closer now, and the girl could tell it was not Samuel. She was relieved. Emily started to struggle, but Martin's grip was too strong. She kicked and tried to bite, only earning a grunt from the Overseer.

"Leave him. We have to get to Dunwall Tower. Quickly," Havelock answered.

Had she seen any less than what she had, she might have believed they were taking her home. But she knew now she would never truly go home, not as long as they lived.

"CORVO!" she called. She wondered what they had done to him and felt a shiver of dread run through her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unbidden. "HELP! SOMEONE! CORVO!""

"This should keep her still," a voice she did not know said, and she felt a needle in her arm before darkness engulfed her.

When Emily woke, she could smell the salt of the ocean and feel the rolling of the waves. They were still on the boat, then? Had they already been to the Tower? She did not know how much time had passed since they had left the pub.

"Is it done, then?" she could tell Havelock was near.

"Yes," answered Martin's voice. "I am the High Overseer, after all. With my support, they had no choice but to name you Lord Regent."

"Excellent," the Admiral replied. Emily tried to sit, but she felt sick and chose to stay put. "The girl?"

"She should be coming to any minute now. I told them we were taking her to Kingsparrow Island for her own safety."

The heiress could hear the shouts of sailors as the boat slowed to a stop, and Martin's face appeared above hers, forcing her to stand. She refused to speak to him even as she swayed and he held her upright, slowly bringing her out on the bridge.

"Lady Emily," the soldiers saluted as she passed before them, and she could feel the Overseer looming behind her threateningly, his hand pressing into her shoulder and ushering her forward. She wondered who they would believe should she tell everything she had seen them do that morning.

Not you, the black-eyed ghost whispered from the border between her reason and her imagination. The girl against the Admiral. The heiress against the Lord Regent. The traumatized child against the seasoned warrior. They will think you mad.

And so she was silent as they brought her to the Lighthouse, and she told herself she would not fight them. Someone would come for her.

But then she saw the small room atop the Lighthouse, and the key in Havelock's hand, and she knew what he wanted to do, memories of the Golden Cat flooding back into her mind. She felt Martin pushing her forward even as she struggled, her shoes still speckled with blood catching on the carpeted floor, her hands trying to find purchase on anything that would allow her to resist.

"No! No, please! Admiral, no! Corvo! CORVO!"

But the two men were too strong for her, and as she tried to push past them they threw her into the room, her head banging loudly on the wooden frame before they slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place even as she laid on the soft carpet covering the floor. She could hear their voices as they stepped away from her door.

"Would you care for whiskey?" asked Havelock. The young Empress sat up, and she could feel the side of her head pounding. She ran her fingers over the sore spot. No blood. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Gladly," she heard Martin reply. "I trust you will join us, Lord Pendleton?"

"Of course."

They talked for a long while after that, but Emily did not listen, curling up in a darkened corner but refusing to cry all the same.

Soon, there was only silence.

She had not wanted to fall asleep, but she must have, for the black-eyed ghost was before her again, and this time he did not speak, only showing her images of men and women in strange masks she had seen only once before, on the day where everything had changed. For the first time in her life, Emily felt hatred coursing through her.

But then he showed her the dark-eyed man who had stabbed her mother, and called him friend.

She screamed and cried and raged at the specter, and he did nothing but smile. When finally she was silent and breathless, he bowed to her. The smirk had never left his lips.

"You will see."

Emily woke to voices outside her door. Her head was still throbbing, but she leapt to her feet and pounded on the door until her fists hurt, calling out and screaming.

"Havelock? You have to let me out! Who's there? Corvo? Can anyone hear me?"

She heard footsteps on the other side of the door and she stepped back, ready to bolt, but as the lock clicked and the door swung open, she saw the sinister mask that she knew hid the face of her Lord Protector, and she smiled. But something was wrong. The dark coat and breeches were gone, replaced by a crimson jacket and leather gloves that Corvo had never worn. Her smile faded, and her eyes rose to meet the mask's cold, empty lens.

"Who are you? How did you get this mask?"

The stranger's hand rose, and she could see silhouettes behind him, silhouettes wearing the whaling masks of those who had murdered her mother. The girl felt a cold hand grasp at her heart as Corvo's mask moved away to reveal a scar and dark eyes.

"I'm a friend," said Daud, the man who had killed the Empress of the Isles.

She ran.

She ran and he let her go, the other assassins not attempting to stop her either, letting her flee to the elevator. She barely noticed Pendleton and Martin slumped over the table, but almost tripped on Havelock, who was laying facedown across the doorway. Bodies greeted her on her path – but they were still alive, she noted as their chests fell and rose in time with their breaths. The heiress hurriedly rushed into the elevator, pulling the lever and fidgeting as it began its slow descent. As soon as the door opened again, she leapt from the lift, going down the stairs as fast as her feet would allow her. More bodies. More deserted posts. An empty courtyard that she knew should have been crawling with soldiers. She did not linger.

When finally Emily reached the beach, she saw Daud waiting for her and knew it was useless to run. She slowly came to a stop, panting from her run and staring straight into the assassin's eyes.

"Where is Corvo?" she spat, and saw him step forward. "Don't come any closer!" he complied. "Did you kill him too?"

"No, girl," he answered, and she could feel relief flooding her veins, but it was short-lived. "Havelock did."

Emily felt herself falter, and her vision became blurry as tears welled in her eyes. A whimper escaped her throat before she felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks. The last remnant of her former life was gone.

She heard Daud approach and lowered her eyes to her shoes. The blood, so red and bright before, was now black and dry, flaking off the leather. She refused to look at him when she spoke.

"Are you going to kill me too then?" she asked, and her voice was frail and broken. Her tears flowed still, but her hands had clenched into fists at her sides.

"No," he answered. "We're going to take you away."

Emily looked up at him then. She did not know if she was more surprised, angry, or sad. She had never before been so tired.

"But I'm Empress," she protested weakly.

A smile twitched on his lips.

"No," he answered. "You're a little girl. And Dunwall, the world, is not kind to little girls."

She was silent for a moment, thinking on his words.

"I've been having dreams about a black-eyed ghost," she said. "He said I would never be Empress, and that you were a friend."

The assassin stared down at her pointedly. She could feel the wind of the ocean drying her cheeks. A boat was swaying on the waves at the dock. She had expected him to laugh, or scold her, as Callista had done, but he only sighed.

"I've met him too," Daud said after a long while, and he peeled off a glove, showing her the mark on the back of his hand. She remembered seeing the same symbol painted on the singing bone she had found at the Pub, so, so long ago, it seemed. "We don't like each other very much, but I've known him for many years, and he's never lied to me."

"I will never sit the throne, then?" asked the girl who had been raised to rule an Empire.

"I don't believe so," answered the Knife of Dunwall.

They were silent for a long while before Emily sighed, and she sat in the sand, staring down at her hands before once more looking up to the man that still stood before her. She felt… almost relieved. The city was dying; she had understood that long ago, even if everyone thought she couldn't. She did not want to rule over ashes and bones.

"Take me away," she whispered, and she let him gather her into his arms, turning away from the Lighthouse to step on the boat. The Whalers busied themselves around her, and her hands tightened into fists, the jacket bunching into her hands. Daud was silent. She thought she ought to be sad, but Emily only felt hollow.

She fell asleep to the breathing of the assassin and sound of the waves, and dreamed of oil-black eyes and flying whales.