"Read all about it! The ripper returned, or just another copycat?! Another girl found cold in Whitechapel!" The man with the papers crowed, his eyes looking without seeing as he appealed half-heartedly to the passers-by to pay for a paper.

"Oh, I'll take one!" Olivia de Vere declared, raising a gloved hand excitedly.

The man smiled faintly. "Wonderful, young miss, that'll be-"

"Eight pence." The lady's companion said firmly.

"What?" The man asked, glancing to Olivia's companion - a young woman in a french maid's attire. "Miss, are you-" He paused when he properly saw her, having the vaguest feeling he'd seen this girl before.

He'd seen her many times before, he realised, her appearance alone disturbing him. Darkly ringed eyesockets housed placid, grey eyes heavy-laden with dark purpose. His attentions caught on them when he saw a crimson cloud play across her glassy left eye.
It didn't look like damage - though the man with the papers was no optician - and it did not sit still like a wound might, the anomaly unfurling like dye dropped into water, the whole thing unravelling, flexing, grasping as though searching for an out. It was too excited to be confined, the grey of her iris shrouded in a closing claw of scarlet-

"Jesus." He breathed.

"I beg your pardon?" Olivia de Vere called out.

The man blinked at Olivia, his gaze switching back to her maid. The languid silver eyes stared back at him.
There was no scratch there, no claw, no blood-red shape.

"S-sorry, miss," He swallowed, "I was just-"

"Taking the Lord's name in vain, but let's overlook that. Could you confirm or correct my companion's assertion? Eight pence, is it?"

He couldn't remember what he mumbled, feeling the palm-warmed metal cross his fingers, seeing Olivia flash him a kind smile as she turned from him. He watched the girls begin to leave as he felt the compulsion grip him like fingers on his skull. The ripper returned. Sing it out loud.

"Don't..." He mumbled, his eyes glued to the maid with her knowing, malevolent eyes away. She led Olivia away from his stage, away from himself and his fellow actors, moving beyond the fog as the mantra reasserted itself. Recite the lines. Target moneyed gents and exciteable ladies. Sing it out loud. Finish at five. Go to the pub. Sing it out loud. Crawl into bed at nine. Wake up and repeat; the ripper returned. Sing it out loud.

He had to warn her. He tried to move, feeling a torpor pulling him down, dragging him to a standstill as he tried to leave the stage, to escape the play and break the deceitful tranquility that moved to smother him. The ripper's returned. The ripper's back! The ripper-

"The ripper returned, or just another copycat?!" He bellowed, staring gormlessly at the startled girls. His consciousness slipping beneath the spell's surface, into the warmth, the tranquility, the safety of routine. As his mouth returned to the script, forcefully expelling the headline and prompts to buy, his gaze slid from the girls, his appeal forgotten.

"My, what do you suppose that was about?" Olivia De Vere asked as they turned from the spectacle.

"I've no idea." The servant girl lied as she led Olivia from the intersection.

"Well, I hope he's not afflicted. I can't imagine it's a comfortable life, waking up early as the dawn and reminding us about this Ripper. You'd think the police might have caught him by now, at that. Though I suppose they'd need more people, Whitechapel's an absolute warren, as far as city planning goes!" Olivia chattered, her words trailing off as she was led into the alleyways and dark passageways of East London.

"Sakuya? I'm... are you sure this is the way to Remilia's place?" Olivia asked as they rounded a corner, the colour draining from her face when she saw the corridor was blocked by a hunched man in a flatcap, his almond-shaped, intense eyes fixed on her.
She turned, realising Sakuya had maneuvered behind her. She was trapped between the two.

"It is the only way open to us." The servant girl whispered, failing to meet her eye, catching only a glimpse of Olivia's forlorn face.

"Olivia, your father sent me." Sergei lied, the mention of her parent ripping Olivia's gaze back to him. There was a pause, the Russian's face turning vicious as he looked past her shoulder. "Hurry up!"

The servant girl's rag-clad fingers slapped across Olivia's face, causing the young noblewoman's gasping mouth to take in the sweet chemical stink by reflex.

"I'm sorry." The maid whispered as she held Olivia to her, the girl's struggles waning as the sedatives took hold.

Sergei was scratching his scalp beneath the hat as Sakuya gently lowered Olivia to the ground, his eyes regarding the maid with something approaching sympathy. "For her own good. Remilia wants her for herself. She won't be..." He trailed off.

The servant girl let out a shuddering breath, a pathetic nod seizing her chin. "Yes."

"You should change." He pointed out. The maid's attention left the unconscious Olivia to look down her front, at the blue-and-white uniform Remilia had given her. "Should throw it out, before he catches you in it again." Sergei said nonchalantly as he approached the body, getting ready to pick Olivia up.

"I'll," Sakuya nodded, wishing she hadn't been reminded, "I'll return the uniform now, if you'd allow. Will you be able to explain my absence? I'll-"

"You'll purchase a new dress, the last one was ruined." Sergei replied, shrugging his shoulders.

The servant girl swallowed. "Thank you, Sergei." She said, registering his acknowledging nod as she pulled away, her feelings assuaged.

Sergei watched her go, closing his eyes as the Noonwraith's voice blew into his ear. "Making excuses for the traitor, whilst telling her Olivia is meant for the Devil? Sergei, my love, whose side are you on?"

"Just ensuring things run smooth." He replied, feeling the load on his back lighten to make way for the human burden.

The Wallachian sallet helm stared lifelessly back at him before he moved on to the next.

He felt it would be perilous to continue any further into the mansion without assistance, so mister Osbourne had chosen to content himself with waiting in the entrance hall, examining the suits of armour that stood smartly at both sides of the hall. Some he recognised as european in style; elaborate and baroque full plate that was as protective as it was ostentatious. There were armours there that belonged to the Ottoman Empire as well; suits of chainmail interrupted with a utilitarian cuirass here, overlapping strips of plate there. There were some collections he failed to recognise, glimmering scale and colourful lamellar unfamiliar to him.
They were armed. His hand inched forward towards the handle of a shamshir that was clutched in bracer-decorated chainmail mitts.

"The fourteen." A voice said from up above.

Mister Osbourne's dominant hand flung to the head of his cane, his chin lifting to regard the voice's owner. It was a girl with chocolate-brown hair, a pair of black wings sprouting from her head and her back. He narrowed his eyes, tempted to comment on the wings, but shook it off. "Fourteen?" He asked.

"These suits belonged to the fourteen mortal knights that swore themselves to the mistress." Koakuma explained as she hurried to the stairwell that ran down the side of the hall, bowing low when she reached the bottom. "Welcome to the Scarlet Devil Mansion." Koakuma said quietly.

"So she's not as bad as she says with humans... I'm here to see the countess, Remilia Scarlet. Will you take me to her?" He asked her.

"Yes, sir, in due time." Koakuma said, offering a reserved smile as she led him beneath the walkway before leading him down the winding corridors. As they walked, he saw gouged brickwork, slashed paintings, furniture reduced to kindling, indented and broken doors that had been hammered off of hinges.

"What happened here?" He asked aloud.

"Sakuya's quarrel with Remilia had an... upsetting effect on the mistress." Koakuma said slowly, bringing him to an intersection. A sleepy-eyed girl in a pink and purple dress rounded the corner, a book tucked under one arm. "You must be the human, Jared Osbourne."

Mister Osbourne looked nonplussed. "Yes, that's quite right. Who might you be?"

There was a pause as Patchouli's calculating gaze swept down and back up to his face, her off-hand coming forward. "Patchouli Knowledge. Magician, Remi's- Remilia's friend."

Paying no heed of etiquette, Mister Osbourne took her hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

An awkward smile cracked Patchouli's face. "Likewise." As quickly as the smile appeared, it was replaced with a peevish frown. "I only wish we met under better circumstances, mister Osbourne. Walk with me."

"Certainly. Ah, about this Sakuya?" Mister Osbourne asked.

Patchouli's mouth became a thin line, turning as she hurried out a reminder. "Your servant girl. Sakuya. The two are the same. Remilia named her. She's like that-"

"Yes, I know, I've," Mister Osbourne cut in with a long-suffering smile, "I've seen how particular miss Scarlet can be."

Patchouli grinned, deciding then that she liked this old human. "Right, so-"

"They fought? Over what?" Mister Osbourne interrupted.

Patchouli paused again in her movements. "Ahh... now that is a long story. I shall start from the beginning, and you will hold your objections until the end. I know you will have a few."

Patchouli resumed her steady gait as she told mister Osbourne everything she could. She could sense the tension in him when she talked of the Barnes', Remilia's interest in sneaking Sakuya out from under their clutches, and Remilia's underhandedness in having Sakuya imbibe her blood.

On that last part, he broke his silence. "I ought to give Remilia a tongue-lashing for-"

"You can't," Patchouli cut across him, "That approach will ruin everything. The peace treaty ends tomorrow. We must be gone. Sakuya, Olivia, yourself-"

"What- what do I have to do with it? Or Olivia for that matter?" Mister Osbourne blurted out.

"Remilia's developed a liking for you, and you're one of the things chaining Sakuya to this place." Patchouli looked to him, regretting her wording when she saw the hurt flicker across his face. "A bond of love, mister Osbourne, I meant no offense. Benign, but... still a bond." She only started walking again when she saw that mister Osbourne had composed himself. "In any case, Sakuya's beaten you to it. She said enough to send Remilia on a rampage through the house." She said, letting her off-hand reach out, her fingers tracing over the brickdusted wounds that decorated the wall.

"What on earth did she say?" Mister Osbourne asked.

Patchouli repeated what Sakuya had said last night; how she didn't want to see Remilia ever again, and how she hated who she was. The shock was plain on mister Osbourne's face.

"That's... not my girl. She wouldn't be so cruel. She'd have some tact, at least..." Mister Osbourne protested.

Patchouli took in a breath. "So you and I are agreed in that what she said was unlike her," She said, vindicated, "Things worsened this morning, when one of the Barnes' met Remilia to discuss terms. Reparations. Remilia secured your release and Olivia's, but gave up on Sakuya."

She expected an outburst, but mister Osbourne was silent. She went on. "I tried to speak for her, but Remilia's mood was low, and... I did not speak well. Jill outperformed me," Patchouli felt her jaw set at the memory, "and played on Remilia's anger at Sakuya, vilifying her."

"Jill Barnes?" Mister Osbourne asked quietly, swallowing when he caught the nod from the magician, "So what did she say?"

Patchouli kept walking forward, couching her response. "She suggested that your girl is unable to distinguish right from wrong, or at least care about such distinctions. That she fantasizes about inflicting pain. She called her a danger to everyone around her."

"She's none of those things." Mister Osbourne asserted, the horror in his voice palpable. "Really, miss Knowledge, as God as my witness, she's none of those things. She's a kind-hearted, well-mannered- you didn't believe her, did you? That she's a danger?"

Patchouli found the next words especially hard to speak. "I don't believe her, mister Osbourne." She lied.

She forced herself to continue, even as her feet came to a halt at one of the staircases that led up to the apartments. "For Sakuya to behave so harshly... I believe she was ordered to denigrate miss Scarlet. Incentivised. Threatened, maybe. As a more sympathetic character witness, mister Osbourne, I should like you to convince miss Remilia that Sakuya is worth saving. You shall have to do so without me, at that. I fear she's tired of hearing my voice."

Mister Osbourne didn't know what to say, only nodding. Patchouli gave him a weary smile. "Up those stairs. Koakuma will lead you right to her."

As Patchouli watched mister Osbourne take the stairs, Koakuma rushed over to her. "You're not telling him you suspect Sakuya has a hand in the recent disappearances?"

Patchouli stared down her familiar. "What good would my suspicions do him, Koakuma?
Go, take him to Remilia."

Remilia's apartments looked like a warzone. Feathers spilled from pillows like guts from a rent stomach. The single marble statue that preceded her chambers had been beheaded. A moment later, both mister Osbourne and Koakuma passed the lump of white rock, now embedded into the far wall. A chest of drawers had been cloven in two. There wasn't a single thing within eyesight that had remained intact, with the exception of Remilia's bedroom doors.

Mister Osbourne rapped sharply on them with his cane, startling Koakuma.

"Please," She pleaded, "She's in a sensitive state-"

"I know dear," Mister Osbourne murmured, "I know."

"Go 'way." Remilia grated, her voice barely audible through the door.

"It's mister Osbourne. Would you open up, Remilia?" Mister Osbourne called softly.

There was a long, painful pause. Koakuma held her arms as mister Osbourne stared at the doors.

"Remilia? My knee's beginning to hurt again," Mister Osbourne lied, "You wouldn't allow a fellow war veteran to stand through such an old pain, would you?"

He heard the door's lock click.

He looked to Koakuma, who smiled unhappily back. "Wait outside, will you?" He asked her.

Koakuma bowed in thanks, hurrying away as mister Osbourne's cane pushed the door open.

Her personal bedroom had been spared her claws. He saw the rose coloured sheets, and saw the girl's outfit - the pink dress and its matching mob cap - was strewn across the carpet in untidy, rumpled scraps.

"Remilia, are you decent?" He asked.

"Yuh." The lump on the bed murmured, sitting up to stare sullenly at mister Osbourne between tousled, azure curls. She was wearing a long lavender nightshirt, the garment baggy and ill-fitted for her.
She looked unbelievably tired.

"First things first," Mister Osbourne smiled gently, "How did Olivia de Vere's visit go?" He asked.

Remilia rubbed at one of her eyes. "It went okay. We're friends now."

Mister Osbourne beamed. "Remilia Scarlet, I am impressed. How'd you do it?"

Remilia shrugged, disaffected. "We've missing parents in common. She liked my jokes, too."

Mister Osbourne's smile softened. "I see." He said quietly.

The moment dragged, breaking when he fished something from his pocket. "Catch. For demonstrating your diplomatic skill." He said, tossing the wooden button for Remilia.

She caught it without taking her eyes off of him. His eyebrows rose, disquieted by her sullen demeanour. "I expected you at eight. What are you doing still in bed, eh?" He asked, not unkindly as he spotted a chair by the dresser.

She said nothing, slumping back onto and into the sheets with a soft thump.

Mister Osbourne sat himself down before he pressed on. "Charming entourage you've gathered to yourself. Miss Knowledge... got me up to speed, on what's happened.
You know it was wrong of you, to trick Sakuya into servitude?"

At the question, the defeated bundle curled in a little harder on itself. "I thought she'd be happy to."

For a moment, mister Osbourne's hand gripped the collar of his cane at the tone. The self-importance, the selfishness. Remilia had deceived his adopted daughter. She had agitated a family whose name was feared throughout London. She had cut her way into all of their lives without thinking of the consequences. She was an arrogant, hot-tempered brat who turned now to self-pity when things hadn't gone her way.
Because she was still a child.
That errant, charitable thought broke the stern frown that marred his brow. He raised a knuckle to nurse his aching forehead. He thought of how easy it was to focus on the bad days with Remilia. Ignore her rogueish humour that dotted their lessons, her good-natured teasing, her bombastic and joyous declarations when he gave her the mildest praise, the determined pout and the grinding teeth when he urged her to try again.
The memory that shone clearest then was of the patient servant girl who was always in Remilia's corner, always at her side, always in her footsteps, smiling a smile mister Osbourne hadn't seen in years.

His shoulders loosened. "It's risky business, assuming what people want." Mister Osbourne volunteered.

"I'm tired of being wrong, Jared." Remilia said after a moment.

"It's galling, isn't it?" He agreed. "Fear not, my dear. It's a very human thing, to be discouraged by setbacks, to be hurt, to be dejected. It's also a human thing to work through it, and to recognise what can be done to do better, perhaps even set it right."

"How?" Remilia asked.

Mister Osbourne mulled over that question. "That man in my office... that was one of the Barnes'?"

"Yuh." Remilia said.

Mister Osbourne nodded his head, the weight of the danger depressing his shoulders. "Right... transport Sakuya - that's what you call her, isn't it? - somewhere they cannot touch her. That... that should do it." He told her, trying to sound certain.

"She doesn't want to go. I don't want to take her." The bundle on the bed shrugged.

Mister Osbourne felt hamstrung. He wasn't able to express his displeasure, to rage and shout at the girl; what was he to do? He swallowed. "Now, Remilia, you did promise me." He said with a note of disapproval.

The bundle closed up on herself. "I... I don't know if I can keep that promise."

"'No-one will touch her', that's what you said to me, countess Remilia Scarlet. I refuse to believe you would lie to me. Does your word mean so little? Do my wishes mean nothing?" Mister Osbourne asked tenderly.

"She w-wants nothing to do with me, Jared...!" Remilia choked.

"Because of what she said to you last night?" Mister Osbourne asked cuttingly, Remilia's stifled sob forcing him to calm, "She does too, you silly little thing."

"T-then why'd she-" Remilia was almost inaudible through the sheets she drove against her tear-stained eyes, "W-why did she say those things to me?"

Mister Osbourne's brow knitted. "Miss Knowledge believes you know why."

"She must hu-hate me-" Remilia sobbed.

"Nuh-uh, Sakuya loves you." A small voice said from behind mister Osbourne. Startled, he turned in his seat, seeing a face disappear behind the gap in the door, though a bejeweled tree limb clattered nervously against the panels.

"My sister- Flan, go away." Remilia demanded, her voice strained.

"No, don't- Flan, was it? Sakuya loves her?" Mister Osbourne rounded on the interloper.
Flandre Scarlet's red eyes stared warily back at him. "Yeah. She told me so..."

"Do you remember the wording exactly?" Mister Osbourne asked, keeping his smile warm and encouraging.

Flandre wavered, trying to remember the exact wording. "Umm... I think... that she loves me as much as she loves my big sister."

Mister Osbourne's inclined his head. "That sounds like her."

"You're so wrinkly." Flandre observed, prompting a splutter from Mister Osbourne and a muted chuckle from the bed.

"So wrinkly." Remilia agreed weakly.

"I was this close to thanking you for your input." Mister Osbourne said with exaggerated grouchiness, stowing the mockery when he saw the alertness in Flandre's eyes.
"We haven't been introduced. Jared Osbourne, Remilia's tutor." He flashed his grin and offered her his hand.

She smiled nervously back before her small hand grabbed at his.

"Flandre Scarlet. Pleasure to meet you." Flandre whispered shyly.

"I do hope so. Flandre, may I have a few more moments to speak with your sister alone? It's important." Mister Osbourne said.

Flandre's fingers lingered on his wrist, her grip firming as her eyes looked past him. "Is that okay, sis?"

Remilia stirred. "Yeah, he's okay."

Flandre's gaze returned to mister Osbourne, her nails grazing off his liver-spotted wrists. She sullenly nodded as she made to leave, tossing a "Love you, sis," over her shoulder as she stepped through the doors.

Mister Osbourne watched her leave before switching his attention back to Remilia, contemplating just how to convince her. "I didn't know the Barnes' had her, y'know." Mister Osbourne started, "All I know is, one day, the compassionate, considerate girl I'd been asked to care for became quiet. Sharp. Brittle. One time, I challenged her temper, and she... She stopped living with me, after that. She visited every now and then, but... I was ever at arm's length. I felt as though I was being visited by a spectre."

Remilia's red eyes blinked over the sheets at mister Osbourne. "I'm sorry." she said, not knowing what else to say.

Mister Osbourne smiled sympathetically. "Sorry? No, I should be thanking you, Remilia. You showed me that the girl I raised is still there."

Remilia's expression began to crumple. "But she- haven't you been listening?! She said she hates-"

"She adores you, Remilia," Mister Osbourne smothered her objection, "Just as your little sister said. Whenever I saw the two of you together, she was... alive. She was back to her old self, and awestruck with you, to boot. What she said to you last night, she would never, ever talk to anyone like that, not even a sworn enemy - and if someone ever threatened you, she'd do everything she could to protect you."

Remilia's stricken expression softened. "That's stupid. I'm- I'm the Scarlet Devil. I don't need protecting."

Mister Osbourne laughed sadly. "Sakuya may be taller than you, but she's still only a child, just as you are. Easily led, easily hurt, easily scared. I beg you, don't judge her so harshly."

Remilia let a shakey breath escape her as she laid back, saying nothing.

"Well, I'm here now," Mister Osbourne murmured as he pushed on the cane, getting to his feet as he made for the doors, "I'll retire to your drawing room, and we'll hold your last lesson in there. I expect you there an hour and fifty minutes ago, that leaves a ten minute window for arriving fashionably late."

"Why?" Remilia asked quietly.

Mister Osbourne paused, refusing to look back. "Because I do not believe that the countess Remilia Scarlet would satisfy her enemies by remaining out of the fight for much longer.
I'll see you soon."

"Why're you helping my sister?" Flandre asked, the question turning mister Osbourne around in the chamber that joined Remilia's apartments to the rest of the mansion.

"That's... a good question." Mister Osbourne admitted, his eyes dwelling on the question as Flandre smiled, taking his phrase as praise. "I think," He paused, persisting through the hesitation, "You and her, you measure your lives in centuries, correct?"

"I'm..." Flandre began, starting to count on her fingers, raising four for him to see. "This many."

He made a face that equated to 'fancy that' before his expression turned thoughtful again. "Ah... perhaps I'm just selfish. Maybe I want my life lessons to last a few hundred years." He wondered aloud.

Flandre seemed to ponder that question along with him. "Are you Sakuya's dad?" Flandre asked suddenly, causing the tutor to stumble.

"Ah- well, I suppose you could call me her foster father, yes." He admitted.

Flandre nodded, offering up the sheet of paper. "Can you give her this please?" She asked.

He took up the sheet, charmed by what he saw there.

"I certainly can. Thank you so much for this, Flan." He said delicately. Flandre beamed up at him before she bashfully walked around him and on into the mansion's corridors.

He carried the sheet of paper with him as he rejoined the nervous Koakuma, never once knowing that the mansion had an intruder besides himself.

"Gods, they're so ugly when they cry, aren't they?" Prosechtikos said in disgust.

The head house-maid was a brunette woman in her forties who had served the Chateau for a year - she'd lasted longer than most. Her lined mouth was clamped on the apple she'd been ordered to hold, her shoulders bucking as sob after hiccuping sob wracked her.

"Ethel, be a dear and stand still?" Morgen asked cheerfully as she stared down the shaft of the nocked arrow.

Ethel nodded, her tears stilling.

Morgen leered as she caught the delicious scent of anticipation, of dread.

She loosed.

The arrow whizzed by Ethel's face, the cold air rushing past her ear and eliciting a muffled cry. There was a wobbling wooden thud as the arrow struck the wall.

Morgen exhaled, feeling the fire in her breast calm as she drank in that intoxicating mix of terror and relief, her eyes sliding to the row of servants that stood to attention, their faces kept carefully impassive despite their collective fears for Ethel - and their own apprehension at possibly becoming the object of Morgen's interest.

"You missed." Alhajin noted, sitting with his back to one of the great tables, his stony fingers running down his scimitar.

Morgen restrained the urge to round on him and kill him.

It was Prosechtikos who spoke up for her. "Come now, Alhajin, you play with your food all the time. Or perhaps I should say, you only take your time with those who might frustrate you."

"To reiterate," Morgen said archly, "Red flare is...?"

Prosechtikos sat back in his butler's attire, tilting his neck until he felt a crack. "If we see a red flare, that is the signal to fall back to the Chateau. To concentrate our efforts here, in the event of a break-in."

Morgen drew the last arrow from the quiver at her hip. "And a green flare is a signal for? Not you, Prosechtikos, the djinn will answer." She threw a pointed look to the fire-cracked golem as he played with his sword.

"I will pass over the mansion and steal their lives. Our mundanes will surge into the red castle, this 'Scarlet Devil' will be put down, and I will... yes, I will take my time with the one that banished me, should she survive the reaping." Alhajin said airily, as though recalling some dream.

"Ah, yes, that witch had you, didn't she?" Prosechtikos murmured.

Morgen loosed the arrow, the tip slicing home, stopping Ethel's sobs. The servants held their collective breath.
Ethel cried out at the sharp kick in her mouth, her elated weeping muffled by the apple and the arrow shaft that had punched perfectly into its center.

"'Had' me?" Alhajin asked, his mirthful tone suddenly sharp.

"Alhajin, you are correct," Morgen cut in suddenly, "A green flare means you will grant our master's wish; the desolation of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, with the Russian making use of the beasts given to us by the army. Prosechtikos, you will wait here and protect the hoard, whilst the rest of us take Alhajin's leavings! Clear enough?"

"Certainly, miss Morgen," Prosechtikos said calmly, taking the out provided, "Is it my turn?"

Morgen passed him the bow, her hand going for the quiver, finding no arrows. Prosechtikos threw her a look that said 'what can you do'. Ethel let a caged breath rush out as the apple bounced off of the carpet, relief flooding her at the thought that their mad games would be delayed, perhaps even resumed with another unfortunate expected to caper for them.

"Dreadshanks? Fetch, boy!" Prosechtikos called out.

A growl rumbled above Ethel. She looked up.

She saw it lurking on the ceiling, glittering like a constellation of stars, its red, open jaws lined with bone-yellow diamonds.

Her nerve failed. She tried to run, her voice rising one last time.
She should not have tried to run.

The field of stars shivered and pounced. Ethel Morgan was crushed between the carpet and the thing's maw, the vicing, shaking jaws crushing her sternum, shattering her ribs and driving the life from her body before Dreadshanks padded towards the denizens of the mansion, its body pulsing with a dirty, mottled light.

Prosechtikos was chuckling apologetically as Morgen howled with laughter. Alhajin looked on, unimpressed. "Stupid creature, isn't he?" The djinn pointed out.

"Ahh, my boy, I did want the arrows, though it's an impressive catch," Prosechtikos conceded, his hand going to the monster's scaleless, lipless mouth. "Down. Down..."

Dreadshanks obediently let the murdered servant slip from its jaws to thud onto the carpet.

"Try the arrows now? Arrows. Fetch?" Prosechtikos asked.

"Where is the dog, that she might collect them?" Alhajin wondered aloud as Dreadshanks bounded away.

"Mmm... she's out, escorting Olivia de Vere here." Morgen said, raising her fingers and extending them towards a painting of a creek.

"Is that wise? Jill believes there is still a possibility of a peaceful resolution." Prosechtikos commented, watching as the surface of the painting distorted. A winding rope of water spiralling to Morgen's fingers, coiling into a translucent arrow that she lifted towards Prosechtikos, the gesture putting a wry smile on his face; Ethel might have outlived the night, had Morgen woven her magic a little sooner.

"Jill will be a part of what happens next, one way or the other." Morgen promised with a secret smile.

When she was finished laying her uniform out on the guest room's bed and had changed into the long, black and grey of the Chateau uniform, she made her way towards the mistress' apartments. It was easy to avoid the patrols of fairy maids that hurried and bustled around the house - it was harder to avert her eyes from the damage done to the mansion, her heart sinking further at the wreckage. Her words had cut deeply.

"Remilia?" The servant girl dared to speak to the doors that led into her bedroom.

There was no answer. She tried the handle.
It opened. After a long minute, she dared to step past the door. The room was empty, but for the dressers, the closets and the vampire's bed. The softness of the carpet beneath her shoe was padded further. She looked down, seeing the pink dress and mob cap she'd picked out for the mistress, cast aside and now underfoot.

Her shoulders sagged a little as she picked up the silk garments. It came as no surprise, but it still hurt. She would never see Remilia again, she knew that. She'd asked for it, literally, but to have the one good thing she had done, cast aside...

Perhaps it was because the silk dress was too plain to entertain niceties with. She remembered a conversation they'd had together days ago.

"If you'd like, I could sew some accoutrements to it?"

"Accoutrements?" Remilia asked.

"Additions. Perhaps some ribbons in a deeper colour to compliment the overall tone?" Sakuya recommended, "Perhaps to reflect your namesake?"

Remilia's excited smile resurfaced. "Yeah. Yes! Let's do it!"

Sakuya's eyebrows rose.

"There must've been countless humans who walked past this dress without seeing the true value of its fabric if a salesman didn't tell them.
Much like you, Sakuya."

She blinked her tears out of her eyes. She didn't want-

With a shakey sigh, she crushed her feelings down. She would find needles and fabrics, and she would need to work quickly.
She was gone by the time the mistress returned, the dusklight failing to pass the blinders in the windows.

"Oi. Maids? Who left my door open?" Remilia called out, storming towards her room in a red tea-gown that was wrapped in a golden outer robe that trailed behind her. She stepped in through the doors, seeing the scattered remnants of a sewing kit, her mouth opening to snap warnings to the fools playing at room service-
And stopped when she saw what was lying on the bed. It was her plain pink dress and cap made remarkable. The baby-pink silk of the outfit was accented now, the shoulders, collar and hemlines of both blouse and skirt now subtly trimmed with satin as red as her namesake, the cap and the back of the dress now each adorned with a beautiful scarlet ribbon that splayed outward like a butterfly's wings. It was a wonderful example of sewmanship. It was eyecatching without being loud. It was refined without being understated.
It was bringing tears to Remilia's eyes.
"You idiot." She whispered harshly, her palm crushing her tears across her cheek. She felt a warmth flood her chest as she heard her thready heartbeat grow faster, grow louder. She hated her for doing this. She hated to hate her. She hated herself for thinking the way she had, and hated knowing what she had to do.
She ground her teeth together before she opened her mouth and shouted out loud. The spirited roar put Patchouli Knowledge on high alert, sent the maids scrambling for cover and coaxed Hong Meiling's smile to resurface as she stared out into the street, her smile only brightening when she sensed that presence stalk from wing to wing, the mansion's mournful residents enlivened and animated by fresh orders and exhortations.

"So ends our time in this stinking city! So begins a new voyage!," Remilia shouted, exciting and scaring the maids in equal measure, "Fetch back mister Osbourne and Olivia de Vere! I am prepared to continue! Tell me, are you?!
We leave at dawn! Arm yourselves and stoke your spirits, and pray that you survive this night of nights!"

The last of the light disappeared behind the rows of housing, the sky painted a bruise-yellow, muddied further by smoke stacks. It was under such an inauspicious sky that Meiling turned to greet her mistress.
She was clad in the pink dress, now bedecked in scarlet ribbons, the material seeming to catch and twist the light around Remilia's porcelain skin.
Impressive though her physical appearance was, it was her qi - the life force that Meiling could see and sense and tap into - that left the gatekeeper in quiet awe. Impatience and arrogance radiated off of Remilia, but those monstrous qualities ground and clashed with a conviction and strength of spirit so bright that it might catch and set her own alight.
To see Remilia like this; softened, strengthened and remade by this complex, seemingly contradictory alloy made from inhuman power and all-too-human passion... Meiling had only seen her like this once before, and it scared her in the best possible way.

"Gatekeeper." Remilia nodded firmly.

"Mistress." Meiling returned the gesture.

"You missed out on the speech." Remilia told her.

"I caught the sentiment. How'd it go over?" Meiling asked.

Remilia's nose scrunched at the memory. "I think I confused the maids more than anything."

"It stimulated them, I'll guarentee that." Meiling said, letting her senses stretch out into the mansion, stifling a giggle as she perceived a clutch of fairies just beyond the doors, half-dead with fatigue and feeling pitiably sorry for themselves as they strained to move something heavy. "Gods, what do you have them doing?"

"Patchouli's been hard at work establishing magical barriers. I thought it'd be good to have some physical countermeasures in place." Remilia explained.

"Ah." Meiling said, noting how Remilia had used Patchouli's full name. The gap in the conversation lengthened until Meiling looked Remilia up and down, lifting her chin to indicate the dress. "Dressed to thrill, I see!" Meiling noted.

Remilia smiled gently. "Mmm. A parting gift from Sakuya. Thoughtful, but mistaken."

"Oh? How do you mean?" Meiling asked.

"I've no intention in parting ways with her. Not yet." Remilia replied, turning her gaze towards the city. "I would like a rematch with that voice in her head."

"'Not yet'?" Meiling asked.

Remilia nodded again. "Perhaps her path doesn't join itself to ours. But it shouldn't remain here. I've a duty to her, apparently."

Meiling's eyebrows rose. "You've grown up, it seems."

Remilia's shrugged awkwardly. "Ehh. I feel I have a long way to go, still."

Meiling folded her arms, smiling apologetically as she failed to gainsay that. "That may be so, but as long as you're putting one foot in front of the other, right?"

Remilia grinned at that. "Those words ring familiar."

Meiling nodded. "A good friend said something similar to me."

Remilia's grin widened. "My, she sounds like she possesses wisdom beyond her years! I imagine she's beautiful and graceful and elegant too, this friend of yours."

Meiling smiled knowingly. "And humble with it."

Remilia's chuckle bubbled up from the core of her. "Ahh... you're my friend too, y'know."

Meiling tried not to smile too hard as she stared ahead.

Remilia saw Meiling's eyes brim with tears, rolling her own in amusement. "Do we still have a termite problem?" She asked.

Meiling's watery-eyed gaze turned to Remilia, dragging her attention to the collection of buildings directly in front of them before she cleared her eyes with finger and thumb. "I've been noticing two's and three's daily, though tonight it's twenty. Confident, too."

Remilia stared up at the buildings, hearing the dormant pulses of a dozen men playing cards, cleaning weapons, reading books, sleeping and otherwise occupying themselves. Her red-eyes could see glimpses of the spotters and guards. They were smart enough to stand away from the windows, watching from the depths of their rooms and lookouts.
Such smarts were useless against a vampire, whose eyes could penetrate the dark of night.

Meiling heard a flutter of paper as Remilia moved her arm. She saw the scroll in her hand, neatly rolled into a thin, compact stick.

"Let these prowlers bear witness, then."

The scroll vanished beneath coruscating arcs of crimson fire as the lance rumbled to life, bathing the road in scarlet light.

"To whom it will concern," Remilia grated, levelling the luminescent spear, lifting it high as she drew it back, "We resume negotiations or hostilities, I care not which! Come at my call, or I shall come for thee! I issue this summons with this divine spear, the Gungnir!" She bellowed as she flung the spear forward.

The bolt of energy boomed above the houses, the hired sentries flinging themselves to the floorboards and scrabbling for weapons, not yet knowing they were never the target.
Down the street, a twin-tailed cat raced into an alleyway at the flash and the boom, panting rapidly as its instincts conflicted with its directive.

The sound of crashing thunder and tortured wood ripped through the Chateau Obscura. Edwin Barnes flinched. Jill tried to keep her composure, whilst Morgen's nervous laughter ran over her own lips. Alhajin eyelids lifted, his curiosity piqued, whilst the Russian sat up as though a stone had been lifted. Prosechtikos winced from the pain, Dreadshanks cringed beneath the tables and the servant girl numbly looked to the doors.

They moved into the entrance hall, seeing the dying pink flames that clung to them, along with the scorched parchment that was embedded on the splintered door.

Prosechtikos read the message aloud. Edwin's expression darkened as his subordinates grew still.
Sakuya blinked, her brow furrowing as she begged her lashes to catch her tears.

"What do we do?" Prosechtikos asked. At the question, the servant girl opened her eyes and looked to Edwin Barnes, who stared intently back.

"Let's give her what she wants. We arrange a meeting, with her dear Sakuya present there." Edwin told them with a loveless smile.

Gensokyo

Ran stared down at the blank parchment as she let the stick of ink soak against the wet stone tablet.

She had situated herself out on the porch in such a way so that the koi pond - and the portal into the Outside World - loomed just beyond the writing board. If there was a ripple, a report from her servants or an unwelcome turn in the waters, she would see it in her periphery. Her whims would ever remain secondary to her duties. She waited for the stick to soften so that she could drive it across the reservoir, and as she waited, she contemplated what she would write.

"My, that's an intense look." A dreamy voice said.

Ran stirred, looking into the gloom of the Boundary house's interior. Yuyuko Saigyouji emerged into the pale moonlight, concern plain in her smile.

"Mistress Yuyuko, is something the matter?" Ran asked.

"I called your name, twice now." Yuyuko noted without judgement.

"I- Excuse me, miss Yuyuko-" Ran managed, about to rise.

"Stay, stay! You'll knock your board over." Yuyuko insisted, gesturing at Ran to remain kneeling before the writing board. Reluctantly, the shikigami obeyed.

"I'm terribly sorry, mistress Yuyuko. Was there something you wanted?" Ran admitted.

"I was calling for another bottle, but that can wait! Why were you looking so troubled?" Yuyuko asked.

Ran sighed at the question, her focus straying to the koi pond. "I've been exchanging correspondence with one of Remilia Scarlet's associates for a few years now." She paused when Yuyuko sat herself down beside her. "She has so much to say in her letters. I've been enjoying the exchange of information, however... stilted my own sentiments have been."

Yuyuko nodded sagely. "You wish to be genuine with her, whilst remaining true to mistress Yukari."

Ran sighed in response, her shoulders relaxing. "I see her suffering through the gaps. She dwells on Remilia and her sister, and her own place in things. I can sympathise. I want to reach out, to let her know that someone sees her, but..."

"Then she'll know you're spying on her." Yuyuko finished, pouting thoughtfully.

Ran nodded, her eyes flitting to Yuyuko's lovely face before looking away, abashed to reveal such sentiments to her master's guest.

"We have quills and pencils in the house." Yuyuko remarked.

"What?" Ran asked, taken aback as she followed Yuyuko's pointer finger to look down at the dark stick in her hand idly pressed into the stone.

"If you were going to compose her a fairweather letter feigning ignorance," Yuyuko said, "you might use something convenient... rather than going to the pain of grinding out ink and using your calligraphy brushes."

Ran furrowed her brow. "I don't follow."

Yuyuko grinned at that. "Write out your feelings. Speak plainly."

Ran managed a troubled frown. "But it'll be far too obvious that-"

Yuyuko raised a hand. "You don't have to send the letter, Ran. You certainly don't have to do as I say, either; I just think it'd be a sad thing for such sweet sentiment to go to waste."

The shikigami's frown seemed to weaken, a brave smile upturning her mouth. "Thank you, mistress Yuyuko."

Yuyuko beamed back at her as Ran turned towards the parchment, the moment shattering as Ran straightened as though seized by some pain. The ink stick dropped and she hurried to move the writing board, getting to her feet.

"Excuse me." Ran Yakumo said as she marched past Yuyuko, a broad frown pulling at her features. Yuyuko watched her go, turning to look over the unspent passion. She saw the wasted ink and the unwritten words, shaking her head sadly.

"...Evaded their scouts, proceeding to rally at waypoint Heiwa to await further orders." The distorted voice - belonging to Zenki, or perhaps Goki, one of Yukari's crow shikigami - tore Yuyuko's attention from the abandoned calligraphy to look upon the pulsing light of the gap-thing's eye that lurked in the koi pond.
Within its red iris, she saw visions of letters passing from hands of carved granite into leathery claws. She saw a bone-white woman in jet-black armour, her smile tight with cathartic rage. She saw a cloud of darkness rushing from the east, spearing into Europe and towards England.