"Viola," Balyn murmured, reading the engraving on the back of the ornate brooch. The piece of jewelry matched what the little girl had described, and if he needed any more evidence the gem itself was all the proof he needed. It was no common, ornamental stone, but a blood gem, a hunter's prize and tool, the kind of thing Father Gascoigne would have collected in his career purging Yharnam's beasts.
Of course, that raised the question of why Gascoigne had given the gem to his wife instead of using it himself, but frankly Balyn didn't really care. He'd had the beast-cursed hunter's axe buried in his skull and claws tearing out his viscera too many times to care about exploring the reasons why Gascoigne hadn't made himself more powerful.
Balyn wondered if he should keep the blood gem for himself. The little girl had no need of it, and telling her the sad truth about her family's end was the kind of thing that could probably wait until the night of the hunt was over. But at the same time, would it be right to do so? Leaving aside the entire question of theft (after all, it wasn't like Viola was going to ask for it back), there was the fact that the brooch would be a keepsake for the girl of happier times. Memories were what was important, but something tangible helped to give them form, to anchor the recollections in reality and keep them fresh.
That thought reminded him of something Gascoigne had said before the fight. Once he got back to the Hunter's Dream, he needed to check it out. But first, he had a new key, and Balyn was wildly curious to find out where it led.
~X X X~
"Hmmm…no, that's not really what I'm looking for."
The spindly, manikin-like messengers sunk back into the cloudy depths of the bath, only to rise up moments later carrying new items: a keen-edged throwing knife, a heady cocktail of pungent blood, and a packet of white tablets used to fight against poison.
Balyn shook his head.
"No, this is good stuff, but it isn't right, either."
"What are you doing, good hunter?" Apparently, the Doll, too, had a bit of that wild curiosity in her, beckoning her to ask about what the hunter was up to. Perhaps whatever eldritch force animated her did not include the human quality of knowing when something was best left alone.
(Not that anyone else in Yharnam seemed to know it, either.)
"I'm looking for souvenirs."
She tipped her head to one side, regarding him as if he was some unusual form of life.
"Souvenirs?"
"Yeah. Keepsakes, knickknacks, mementos, that kind of thing. Little figurines of Gerhman or that Ludwig guy I keep hearing about. A framed print of a painting of the Grand Cathedral against a moonlit sky. Plush Cleric Beasts."
"I do not understand, good hunter."
"Well, you told me that countless hunters have visited this dream, right? And you or the messengers or someone built these graves to help you remember them. I thought some of us hunters might like something to remember this dream by after we've left. You could probably make a lot of blood echoes that way. But so far, there's nothing. Maybe it's just that I haven't found the right badge yet, but I've pretty much been through the entire inventory here, and no matter what Father Gascoigne thinks, beasts are definitely not all over this shop."