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❝ Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to witness a tale of treachery, corruption, murder, greed, and envy— all of the things man holds near and dear to his heart. 

Enjoy the show. ❞

Two years ago…

     The avenue just south of Metropolis’ downtown area boasted bright, spiraled, and intricately-made buildings that loud, rowdy music seeped out from any hour of the day, accompanied by members of the upper class bustling to and fro on the sidewalks in their suits and dresses or in their fancy new cars; those who could afford to live there spent their time drowning in the worldly pleasures of wine, gambling, and whatever they saw fit after a day’s full of hard work.

     Among them was a man named “Orpheus”, his true name hidden from the public eye. As the owner of a massive publishing company, he made a living by roaming the poorer areas of the city and taking whatever talent he could, gaining inspiration from their stories for his fictional works while a vast of majority of his employees worked to publicize the name of the street urchin Orpheus found favor with. 

     It had happened several times since Orpheus first founded his publishing company— the names that reached even the Eternal Aurora’s ears were all those who used to never smile or dance or sing, burdened by the stresses of life until Orpheus had stepped in. 

     Among the poorer groups, there was gossip. Perhaps the publisher had toyed with them, stolen their soul, sold them to the devil! But such rumors stayed in those parts of the city, for mostly no one else spoke against him. 

     Anyone who wanted a chance at a stable writing career appealed to the Nightingale Publishing Company. There, it was said, you could write about anything. You could be a journalist, a newsboy, or maybe even an author just like Mr. Orpheus himself. Many were inspired by this and were enthralled with the prospect of getting famous or meeting one Orpheus’ stars or simply being rich.

     The motivations for Ms. Alice DeRoss, however, was simple. She enjoyed writing— she found solace in using words— and enjoyed sharing the truth with others. She excelled in analyzing situations involving crime without allowing any bias to slip through, and because of that, many encouraged her to try and get a job with the Nightingales. 

     And so, she did. She figured a bigger platform would allow her words to spread to many others, and the thought of many others being able to have a reliable source to depend on pleased her. 

     Prior to her interview, her works were already quite popular and this said popularity seemed to only increase day by day. Those working with the Nightingales took notice, and eventually her name was uttered by the newsboys, then the other reporters, and then the stars, until Orpheus himself caught wind of it. 

     One day, on a trip to the middle class area of Metropolis, he took a few newspapers for himself to see if all of this commotion was necessary. He had often been disappointed by a Call of Abyss copycat here or a tabloid spreading rumors about his stars there, but as he lay back at home, reading Alice’s work, he recognized her talent. 

      Her writing was simple, concise. It was so unlike his own, fastened together by evocative and long-winded imagery depicting dramatized tragedy, that it played to his fancy. 

      And when he saw that she was seeking an interview with his company, he couldn’t help but intervene. 

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     When Alice walked into the dust-laden office after several flights of black stairs, she wasn’t expecting Mr. Orpheus, of all people.

     He sat at a circular, wooden table in a white suit with a teal jabot, reclining in an oversized brown armchair. He adjusted his monocle with a tiny sigh. Alice half expected him to be smoking a pipe.

     “Good afternoon, Ms. DeRoss,” he cheerfully welcomed her, still melting into the chair. 

      “Ah… good afternoon to you too, Mr. Orpheus,” she eyed a small wine glass— no, two, on the table. They were filled with some kind of red wine, although Orpheus’ glass held much less than the one which was presumably hers.

     Noticing how focused she was on the table, Orpheus beckoned her over. “Come, come sit. I hope you enjoy the refreshments.”

     “Thank you for your hospitality,” the words quietly slipped from her mouth as she sat across from the man in an equally oversized and brown armchair. She sat on the edge of it. 

     Orpheus raised his glass. “My pleasure, Ms. DeRoss. Feel free to have yourself a drink. It's merlot.”

     Her eyes fell to the glass of wine again. She wasn’t too fond of its tannic taste, preferring the nutty taste of white coffee. “…Thank you, I will keep that in mind.”

     He kept his eyes trained on her, placing his hands on top of each other. “Well, let’s get this interview started, shall we? I must say, Ms. Deross, I am truly amazed by your talent.”

     “Thank you, Mr. Orpheus. I am likewise amazed by yours,” Alice replied after a few moments, the clock behind her ticking with every word she spoke. She met his gaze. He saw she had some lovely hazel eyes. 

     A tiny, self-satisfied smile rested on his face. He looked Alice up and down, noting tiny details such as the blue bow in her hair or the way she fidgeted with her soft, white gloves or the way she sat with unnecessarily perfect posture while thinking of a response. But her face— she bore the slightest hint of contemplation with her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pursed. 

     The man found it almost… endearing. “Wonderful. Now, please tell me more about yourself.”

     “Of course, Mr. Orpheus,” she nodded. “As you know, my name is Alice DeRoss. I came back to Metropolis, my home city, a few years ago after living in the countryside with my adoptive father.”

     “And what, pray tell, sparked your interest in journalism? Or crime? Or both?” Orpheus suddenly leaned forward. 

     “Where I used to live, crime was rampant,” she took notice of his abrupt interest, her gaze only intensifying. “I found comfort in being able to step back from it all by writing. I would sit alone in my room for hours, unbothered because I claimed I was writing a report or catching up on my studies. My adoptive father was something akin to a scientist— he understood just how long a single report could take.”

     “You seem quite insistent on saying he was your ‘adoptive’ father.”

     “We were… not that close. But personal relations aside, he allowed me to exercise my writing skills on a daily basis, and as I got older, I eventually started writing about the crimes that went on around me.”

     “What crimes specifically?”

     “Torture and medical malpractice,” she seemed cautious to speak as she said these words. Orpheus caught the way her eyes sharpened before she shut them and cleared her throat. She had a lovely voice, like that of a songbird. And Orpheus loved birds. 

     “Now you write about murder?” Orpheus put a hand to his chin.

     “Well, it is an extremely popular topic often mishandled by tabloids, exaggerating the culprit's guilt. It bothered me, so I wrote about it better than they would.”

     He found her just as concise as her reports. “Excellent. You often write about the facts, yes?”

     “It is the only thing I publish, Mr. Orpheus.”

     The publisher hummed and straightened his back. He looked at her and then out the window. And then he spoke again. “Well, why don’t we change that?” 

     Alice opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “I’d say you're a prime candidate in my book. But, I prefer my reporters to be well-rounded in multiple different areas.”

     Alice nodded. 

     Orpheus leaned back in his chair again, his eyes drifting up to the ceiling. He rested his arms on the sides of the armchair and hummed. “Why don’t you write me an opinion piece on… hm… why people murder? Since you seem to report about the subject so much.”

     Her eyes slightly widened, more so in confusion than fear. She squinted at the table before looking back up at Orpheus with her hands folded on her lap. “…I suppose that can be done.”

     He gave her an unreadable smile. “I understand you may be no expert in psychology, but with your smarts, I’m rest assured you’d think of something. And if I find your work adequate enough, I will consider you for the job.”

     “Yes, of course,” the woman wondered just what she was getting herself into. Was it too late to back out now? 

     “You have two weeks, Ms. DeRoss. It's been a pleasure meeting you.”

     Yes. It was. “As to you, Mr. Orpheus.”

     And just like that, it was over. She barely had time to even think about his words before he showed her to the door.                                                    

     As Alice walked down the stairs of the dimly lit building, hearing the faint cries of trumpets and saxophones and pianos from nearby, she wondered just how she was going to get the evidence needed for her research. She knew no murderers in Metropolis personally, and the people similar to murderers, the ones she did know, were the same ones that made her flee to Metropolis in the first place. Such thoughts kept pecking her in the head as she went round and round down the staircase, feeling rather nauseous.

     After a few more moments, she jolted at a sharp whine, whirling around to see that the door to the building had shut behind her. She had made it to the exit, and was now looking up at a tall, metal door as wind brushed past her back.

     Metal. Alice did not hate many things, but she hated the screechy noises metal made. Perhaps she just hated the material itself. It was an ugly color, anyway.

     And just like the door, she knew of a place where metal kept someone from going in or out. She knew what it was like, to be restrained by bars of rusted metal, to feel like you were trapped in hell on earth, like a bird in a cage being poked and prodded by more metal things —sharp metal things, round metal things— that intruded every inch of one’s body…

       She snapped out of those thoughts as hurried footsteps filled the air, as the music continued to swell and get louder, as the hustle and bustle of the city only increased now that evening was approaching. 

     She took a deep breath. All was well. She was in Metropolis now. 

     No one would ever do such things to her again.

     On the walk home, she finally realized the perfect place to find inspiration to write was only a few minutes walk away from her apartment.

     A place where metal enclosed people in— people seen as animals, subhuman and sinful. A place where the mere presence of bars of rusted metal declared one guilty and kept them from growing into anything beyond that, unless they suddenly became rich or famous or were somehow declared innocent. 

      And that place was the Aurorian City Jail.

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     In the end, Alice managed to get permission to visit the most recent convicts in the jail. They also just so happened to be the ones who also happened to cause the most stir in the media for their morally ambiguous motivations, to the point where the Eternal Aurora had to intervene and affirm the judges decisions.

     Alice herself even reported on some of their cases in the  past— the murder of a secret serial killer, the murder of a corrupt cop involved in dealings with the underworld, and the murder of a famous artist by the name of Edgar Valden. And it felt quite menacing, walking up the steps to the jail, because she knew that over the course of these few days, she would voluntarily enter many metal cells to talk with murderers.

     It was not her ideal way to spend her free time, but if it would get her a chance to join the Nightingales, then hopefully it was worth it.

     When inside, she met the clerk and the warden there. The two had stone-cold faces and were quite tall, the clerk much more so. She scrutinized the reporter with such intensity Alice might have thought she was a criminal herself. When the clerk was done giving her necessary information, the warden led her to the cells.

     She followed behind him, her steps light and cautious as she eyed the white walls, a sterile smell infiltrating her nose as she flanked the man. Like the walls, he was rather pale. She noticed he had crimson eyes. 

     “We’re here, miss. Do you know who you want to visit first?” he looked back at her before quickly averting his gaze. Light, blonde hair —almost white— swept over one of his eyes. 

     “Ah…” maybe she didn’t think this through enough. She squinted at the cells in the distance and placed a hand on her hip. There were six occupied cells— she could stand to visit at least three of them.

     “I think I’ll visit that one first,” she answered after a few more moments, pointing to the very first cell on the left.

     “Of course, miss. That would be the cell of the ‘Embalmer’, Aesop Carl. Are you sure about this?”

     “Yes.”

     Without further ado, he headed forward and unlocked it, stepping out of the way for Alice to enter.

     She took one last look at the warden, ignoring the stare of the murderer in the cell. “Thank you, Mr…”

     “Mr. Kreiss,” said the warden mutedly, before backing away and closing the cell. 

     Alice then looked at the masked man sitting before her. He had some nicely combed gray hair, that was one thing. He had gray eyes, more gray or dark clothing… he seemed to be quite fond of that dull color. There was a conveniently placed table to separate them.

     “Good morning,” she said at the same time he did. An awkward silence filled the room as she stiffly took a seat.

     “You’re the reporter sent to interview us?” he tilted his head to the side, his gloved hands resting on the table.

     “Ah, yes, I am,” she followed suit, her eyes drifting down to his gloves. Fair enough, she supposed. The cramped area seemed like a harbor for germs. “Let’s get started, then?”

     Aesop nodded with a small hum. He seemed pleasant, Alice decided, for a murderer.

     She continued. “Mr. Carl, you’re an embalmer, yes? Taking after your late guardian’s profession.”

     “…That’d be right,” he seemed to stiffen at the mention of his victim. The only sound after that was his fingers drumming against the table monotonously, rhythmically.

     “Would you say it's true that you were the one who embalmed his murdered corpse a few months ago, on May 19?”

     He raised an eyebrow. “…With all due respect, Ms. Reporter, I already declared myself guilty in the courtroom.”

      Hm. Firm in his guilt— unique. “Yes, my apologies. Would you mind sharing what led to such an event?”

     “What exactly do you mean? There were many things that led to his death.”

     “Let’s focus on what went through your head the day of the murder. And if you’re comfortable enough, please share your relationship to Mr. Jerry Carl.”

     “I see…” his eyes moved to a place beyond Alice’s head. He paused, although his hand motions only got firmer. “Mr. Carl had been my guardian ever since my mother died. He taught me all there was to know about the world— how to speak, how to embalm, how to kill.”

     He listed off each item with his fingers.

     “We were never truly close. As a child, I had wished he paid more attention to me rather than dead bodies— as you know, he was a serial killer. But as I grew older, I appreciated the quiet.”

     Aesop paused shortly after he said that. Maybe, the man thought, that appreciation was really self-deception. Because he understood that being denied love and care was probably not good for any child struggling with loss, and yet so often those children received no help. He was among them.

     Alice nodded, beckoning him to continue after looking up at him from her notes.

      He cleared his throat and did as such. “I was mostly compliant to Mr. Carl’s commands. Sometimes he would tuck me in after a good night of helping him bury a body, or sing me to sleep. Or cook my favorite pasta dish. Unnatural death was so normalized I didn’t realize there was anything too wrong with what he was doing. After all, it was him, aside from my mother, who taught me about what was moral.

     “As I got older, however, he was less lenient and careful. After a long night, he would messily drag a corpse to the basement. He wouldn’t bother to clean up after himself, either. There would be blood on the staircase to the basement. And the worst part was the noises that came from that room.

     “You see, Ms. Reporter, I am someone particularly sensitive to specific noises. And whenever I heard Mr. Carl carelessly scrape metal against metal or play with a body to test whatever squelching noise he could make with it, it was like I was the body he happened to be experimenting on. For many nights after the first incident, I couldn’t eat well at all. I could not bite into anything without imagining that squish. Every time I lifted up a fork or a spoon or a knife I heard that dreadful squeak in the back of my mind. It was so unbearable I had to stop whatever I was doing just to avoid it. 

     “Eventually, he caught on to these little dislikes of mine, and if I was found unsatisfactory in my own embalming endeavors, he would make me pay for it by making me watch him torture those bodies and deal with every single sensation.”

     Something in Aesop’s face darkened. Although she couldn’t see his lips and his eyes were rather blank, she felt a shiver down her spine.

     “Ms. Reporter, you seem rather disgusted,” Aesop noted, causing Alice to once again straighten her posture. He raised an eyebrow. 

     The woman set down her pen and looked back at him. “Yes, I am. And I must say, Mr. Carl, that you’ve gone through things no man should.”

     While her tone was resolute, her mind was not. It swirled with ashes of dusty, evil memories similar to Aesop’s own.      

     “I’m sure that goes for everyone, Ms. Reporter,” his fingers tapped on the desk once more, his head tilted to the side. “But perhaps I should stop here?”

     “Only if you desire to,” Alice gave him an empty smile before returning her gaze to her notes. She took a deep breath and stared at the barely legible words, especially at the ones that bled through the paper. 

     “Hm,” Aesop eyed the paper with curiosity, intrigued by such… stylistic handwriting.

     “Do continue. I’m listening,” Alice mumbled. Normally she was much neater than that… Then again, listening to a primary source discuss such horrendous topics was not a familiar or comfortable thing, no matter how much she enjoyed writing. 

     “Very well then. Long story short, I became disgusted with that hypocrite man’s actions. If I had failed to wipe the tiniest speck of blood from my workstation, it was over for me. Yet he got away with it all. The blood on the walls, the torture, the burials… It was unfair. So, I took matters into my own hands.”

     His expression darkened further; his hands had stopped moving completely. “The night I embalmed him, he was drunk. I took a knife from the kitchen and stood behind him just as he lifted the glass. And, well, I killed him.”

     A small “oh” escaped from Alice’s lips. It was one thing to hear about it from an outward source, but to hear it from the man himself…

     “And just like he did to all of his victims, I embalmed him afterwards. I was a very attentive mentee.”

      Then the silence returned. 

      “…Thank you for your time, Mr. Carl. If I may I ask one more question?”

     “Of course, Ms. Reporter.”

     “Would you say it was revenge that made you kill him?”

     Aesop looked down at the table and hummed once more. After a few moments of contemplation, he looked up at Alice with a sort of lightness in his tone. “No. I’d say it was justice.”

     “…I see. Thank you again, for your time.”

     “No need to repeat yourself twice, Ms. Reporter. Enjoy your day.”

     Alice straightened and stood up, gently filing her papers into one neat stack. She grabbed her pen and stored it away in her purse before looking back at Aesop, who looked back at her with a neutral expression.

     They were two very different people, Alice recognized, but still… Would she have done the same to her own adoptive father —that wretched Vilhelm Lamb— if she had been pushed far enough? It was a harrowing question. 

     And it was one she didn’t bother to find the answer as she turned around, feeling Aesop’s eyes dig into her back. Mr. Kreiss, like a phantom, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, unlocking the cell and allowing Alice through.

     Alice took a deep breath as she exited the jail.

     Justice. 

     Was what Aesop did truly just? Or was it simply justifiable?

     Either way, Alice now had an idea for how to begin her next work for Mr. Orpheus— for better or for worse.

                                  ~

     While the Aurorian City Jail was certainly not the most comfortable place to be— the cells were cramped, the area was practically barren, and it was eerily silent most of the time—, the workers certainly tried their best.

     Every evening, under the watchful eye of matron Yidhra and sometimes Mr. Kreiss, the inmates were allowed an hour of free time, which, ever since the arrival of Galatea Claude, had turned into art, tea, and gossip time.

     Such accommodations made everyone’s stay a little better, even if Yidhra would haunt everyone’s dreams with her nightmarish tea-time stories. (Orphans suffering, everyone agreed, was not entertainment as Yidhra had thought. It was a wonder how that “witch” owned an orphanage.)

     Whenever Andrew was around —which, much to the displeasure of inmates Ann and Aesop, was happening less and less these days—, the ladies would often ask him to play model for them or sing them a song. He balanced out Yidhra’s menacing presence quite nicely and even danced with her on occasion despite his two left feet.

      The session Alice DeRoss had visited, however, was one that happened to be a little less playful.

     “What did she ask you, Aesop?” 

     All of the inmates sat around the circular tea table one of Yidhra’s orphan girls had built. The one who spoke was Ann, a murderer who, like Aesop himself, had been in jail for quite some time. 

     “She simply asked me about my relations to Jerry, what went through my head the night I killed him, and what reason I had for doing so,” Aesop listed each item off by raising each of his fingers. He then took another sip of tea in the grey cup he was so fond of and then used a napkin to remove his tea mustache.

     Grace, who understood minimal Aurorian and was mockingly dubbed the ‘Naiad’ by the media, looked to Ann. The former missionary had served as her translator ever since Grace was jailed for a murder that had taken place on the outskirts of the city. 

     Ann whispered something in her ear. Eta, also known as the Night Watch Killer, looked to murderess Chloe Nair. 

    “So she’s coming back to interview all of us?” Chloe hesitantly asked, smelling of her famous perfume. 

     “I don’t know,” Aesop shrugged, and that was that. 

     Yidhra, who was leaning against an empty cell, headed towards them. Her steps were unnaturally smooth; she moved like a snake. And perhaps that was why Keigan, the clerk, had put her in charge of the inmates when Andrew wasn’t looking— she haunted all. 

     “Didn’t you bother to learn her name, Aesop?” she stood behind the man, who sighed the moment he realized who was behind him. He crossed his arms and looked up at her as she walked over to take her seat next to Grace, who was always alarmed at her presence.

     “I didn’t think it was necessary to,” was all Aesop said. 

     Yidhra chuckled lowly before looking around at all seated at the table. Nobody looked her in the eye. “Well, her name is Alice DeRoss. Up and coming reporter. I’ve read some of her works before— don’t know why she's reporting on you bunch again.”

     “Crime journalism?” Eta murmured.

     “You know it,” Yidhra nodded, pouring in way too much tea for herself as usual. And also as per usual, the inmates all uniquely expressed their disgust.     

     Ann stood up.

     “I’ll go refill the teapot,” she offered, brushing her black veil away from her face. Nobody quite understood why the woman continued to wear the dark, intricately made clothes she had the night of her murder. Some theorized she still secretly mourned the altar boy she killed, hence the black. Others suggested she was like a cartoon character— maybe she had a closet of identical clothes. 

     “Some things never change,” Yidhra remarked, keeping her eyes on the tea she had poured for herself. “Just make sure Andrew’s with you while you’re at it, Annie.”

     Ann simply sighed and nodded. And everyone knew she would do that, because Ann was a stickler for rules no matter how much she tried to deny it. And everyone also knew that she had a fondness for Mr. Kreiss, in the way a mother had for her son. 

     “Alice DeRoss…” Galatea hummed, setting down her chisel in favor of a biscuit. “I’ve heard of her before. And she’s asking us about why we murdered?”

     “Seems so,” Eta met her eyes. Galatea wrinkled her nose.

     “Well… she’ll be in a story when I tell her about my favorite little Edgar Valden—”

     “Galatea Claude,” Chloe pinched her nosebridge, shutting her eyes. 

     “Fine. I’ll be quiet just this once!”

     Right as Galatea said that, Ann re-entered with a fresh teapot and with Mr. Kreiss slinking behind her, trying to keep himself hidden. It came in handy that Ann had a bizarrely long neck. 

     Unfortunately, he could not escape Yidhra’s piercing gaze. 

    With a chuckle, the matron suddenly stood up, knocking over her teacup in the process. Aesop quickly caught the plastic thing and cringed as the warm liquid spilled over the floor and got onto his gloves. 

     “All is well, Galatea,” Yidhra declared as Mr. Kreiss froze the moment she caught his eye. “Your superior model Andrew is back.”

     Mr. Kreiss groaned. Eta snorted. Chloe blinked in confusion. Aesop, his gloves now off, slowly looked back to face the wilting warden. 

     Grace giggled, because even though she didn’t quite understand what everyone was saying at every moment, she did understand that even the meanest of the group all had a soft spot for the warden, who seemed to have a soft spot for them. Plus, he wasn’t as scary as Yidhra, and Grace enjoyed his presence. 

      Ann smiled and sighed, placing the teapot on the table. A devious grin spread across Galatea’s youthful face as she picked up her sculpting knife. 

     “Come here, Mr. Kreiss!”

      And before everyone knew it, the hour of tea time was over and Galatea had yet another dazzling bust to add to her ever-growing collection. The tea set was put away, the table was cleaned, and soon every cell went back to being locked. 

     Such was routine for the inmates at the Aurorian City Jail. To anyone else, it might have seemed dreadful to be consigned to such a fate. But to the inmates, it was reality-- and the only future they could think of. 

     Anything beyond that was remotely unthinkable, much less what would become of that Alice DeRoss in the next few years. Time worked differently in a jail, where metal kept every “sinner” in and every “saint” out.

Chapter Text

     For a few more days, the inmates saw Alice DeRoss come and go from the jail. Each day, she would interview someone new, just as they had all suspected. Some grew curious as they learned more about her from their experiences and Yidhra’s newspaper readings (thankfully, she gave up her scary stories to do so). 

     After Aesop, Eta was interviewed. That evening, everyone sat around the table, eager to hear what that mysterious, blonde woman said. 

     “She didn’t seem afraid at all,” Eta remarked. “It's like that woman has a heart of steel.”

     “ Gut of steel,” Chloe corrected, delicately lifting her teacup.

     “Whatever,” Eta rolled his eyes, although his face was barely visible anyway due to his whole face mask. Grace could barely understand him with how muffled his voice sounded. 

     “Well, what else did she ask you? And what did you tell  her?” Galatea looked up from her latest work. It was another sculpture of Mr. Kreiss that she began that morning, now featuring defined and chiseled legs. These days, it was either sculptures of him or Edgar Valden or Ann. 

     “So nosy,” Eta scoffed mutedly before continuing. He eyed her mini Mr. Kreiss with an unreadable expression. That woman… “She asked me what led to Nathaniel’s death. And I told her all about that cursed man.”

     Normally, Eta was a quiet man. Like Aesop, he typically spoke only when necessary or, unlike Aesop, to scoff at someone. But most of the time, the man could be considered pleasant (ignoring his questionable criminal record).

    There were things everyone  knew not to ask him about lest they face his not so pleasant side— the first being his brother, who he only called by his first name. To Eta, there was no brother. And aside from the basic details, nobody knew much about that dead, corrupt cop of a man. 

     Another thing that went unspoken of was Eta’s mother Lagertha, whom he loved dearly. Yidhra told everyone that this mother had gone insane, and that was why Eta was so hush-hush (read: mysterious, dark, and brooding) all the time. The cause was unknown. It was debated if Yidhra’s words could even be trusted.

     The most recent thing Eta had said about Nathaniel was that he could not hold his arsenic. And the most recent thing Eta said about his mother were words he never said consciously. 

     “ All about him?” Galatea prodded, also prodding at her sculpture. She squinted at the ear that was now gradually forming on the stone piece. “So you spill everything to the girl next door and not to us? Rude.”

     “My personal business is none of your business,” Eta sniffed. “At least I was concise. You’d bore out that woman quite easily with your rant about that artist.”

     The table’s gaze shifted from Eta to Galatea and then back again to Eta as the bickering worsened. 

     Galatea continued to chisel and Eta looked just about ready to throw his stilts (he was only allowed to be high and mighty during tea time) at her when Mr. Kreiss finally spoke up.

     “Stop this,” he commanded, lightly placing a hand onto the table. He had a faint accent Grace and a few others recognized, as the man was from the outskirts of the city. His voice was also unfittingly gentle for his appearance. 

     The two looked at him, and then at each other, and then back at Mr. Kreiss. He was not a feared man— in fact, Eta debated throwing his stilts at him instead— but the two held respect for him due to his respect for them.

     “Only because you’re my second favorite model,” Galatea nonchalantly replied, checking her nails and adjusting her wheelchair’s position at the table, ignoring Eta’s eyes. She turned to face Aesop and tried to chat with him instead. 

     By the time things had calmed down, Eta had no appetite for tea. He looked down at the cup and, as was his routine, subtly dragged it next to Grace. 

    Grace looked up at him and smiled, unaware of the grave expression on the man’s face. Suddenly, the talking stopped as Grace began pouring Eta’s untouched tea into her teacup, and soon the only sound in the room  was the tea  hitting the plastic cup’s insides.  

     Grace briefly wondered why everyone was so interested in her tea. Maybe they all wanted some more. She looked to Ann, who shook her head. 

     “Well?” Yidhra started, looking at Eta. “Aren’t you going to tell us more?”

     “No,” Eta replied, his eyes transfixed on Grace’s now full cup.

     “Boring. No need to be so dark and brooding all the time, you know.”

     Eta shot the matron a look. Compared to her, however, he only managed to look like an angry puppy. Only compared to Yidhra, of course. 

     “She’s probably going to interview you next, Ann,” Yidhra turned to Ann, pleased with Eta’s reaction. She patted the man’s head and even ruffled his white hair before continuing. “Your cell is right next to his.”

     At that, Ann set down her cup and sighed— a quiet noise. Grace looked over at her in confusion. Ann just shook her head. Chloe and Aesop watched with interest.

     “I don’t have much of a story for Ms. DeRoss,” was all Ann said after that. 

     “I’m sure Eta did,” Galatea smirked.

     “I’m sure you will, Claude,” Eta grit his teeth.

     “The drama between you two is astounding,” Chloe remarked. And to that, Aesop nodded.

                                ~

     Shortly before tea time ended, Ann took Grace aside and explained the discussions that had occurred to her.

     “A woman named Alice DeRoss is coming to interview me tomorrow to ask me about my murder case. Please do not be alarmed. Eta was sharing his experience with the woman. She seems to be a kind soul,” Ann said in Grace’s native tongue, her voice soft.

     “ And me ?” Grace signed, rocking back and forth on her feet as she fidgeted with her long hair. 

     “I’m not sure, dear Grace,” Ann answered. “But perhaps— if it is God’s will. And you can tell her all about your story should the time come.”

                                ~

     Alice’s apartment room was a dreadful mess. Paper after paper lay on the floor. Her board was covered in red lines connecting various cases and people together. Somehow, her typewriter was on the floor.

     The assignment, as embarrassing as it was to admit, had her in shambles. Writing an opinion piece was harder than she thought.

     The evidence was simple enough. Today, she would interview the murderer Ann and book it. All she needed to interview was one more person and then she could finally push the draft. Hopefully, all would go well and she would get into the publishing company and go back to normal crime reporting.

     She grabbed her colorful reticule and put on her gloves and began the short walk to another morning spent at the jail. She fought against the morning wind to open the jail door entrance.

     The regular occurred. She greeted the clerk, whose name was Keigan. She greeted Mr. Kreiss, who shyly greeted her back. He led her to a cell. It was Ann’s.

     Alice hadn’t heard Ann’s story yet. She knew of Eta’s, sure, and learned how he had poisoned his brother after discovering the man’s connections to his mothers hospitalization. But she had never heard of Ann the murderess before. She had no special nickname and little coverage by the media. 

     The cell opened. Once again, Alice stepped in.

     “Good morning, Ms. DeRoss,” Ann said. The woman wore a lovely but tattered black dress and a black veil on her head. And were those specks of blood on her clothes? Alice could barely tell— it was too dim in there. 

     “Good morning,” Alice smiled back at the woman. The cell smelled funny, as if a dirty animal had rolled around and left its scent everywhere. And judging by the muddy paw prints on the floor (much to Alice’s disgust), it was probably so.

     “You can take a seat, Ms. DeRoss,” Ann snapped her out of her thoughts. Alice did so and kept her shoes off the floor.

      “Thank you,” Alice nodded. “Shall we get started?”

     “Yes.”

     “Ms. Ann, I must confess I am unfamiliar with your case. Please tell me the circumstances of this murder and why you did it.”

     “As you wish,” Ann was a little surprised by the reporter’s straightforwardness. “Well… It was midnight. I was visiting my local church, which has perpetual Eucharistic Adoration. After around half an hour, the newest altar boy named Thomas came in. And all of a sudden, as he sees me kneeling there in front of the Eucharist, he accuses me of something evil.”

     Eucharistic Adoration? The Eucharist? Alice had no idea what those things were, but she was unwilling to interrupt Ann. She scribbled the words down to the best of her ability as Ann continued.

     “You’ve been desecrating the Eucharist he says, as if he was crazy. ‘You’ve been desecrating the Eucharist!’ And he repeated it over and over, approaching me and forcing me to come outside with him!

     “And— Ms. Deross, you must believe me— I didn’t mean to kill him. He happened to have a stake on him, but I happened to have the height. And so that poor man, Thomas, he ran into that stake.

     “He ran into that stake ten times.”

     Alice paused. Ink dripped onto her notes and bled through the paper as she sat there, trying to comprehend what Ann had just said.

     Aesop had explained it all thoroughly. Eta gave her Nathaniel’s whole life story (and by extension, his mothers). But this Ann…

     “He ran into it?” Alice looked up in bewilderment. 

     “I felt so impure afterwards that I knew there was no coming back for me. Unfortunately, I believe that was the final time I would ever be in church again,” Ann looked down and sighed. “I do not believe I will be forgiven for such a mortal sin.”

     Murderers, Alice realized, could be such different people sometimes. And there was maybe no singular reason why somebody killed, and she was sure no two people reacted the same way to what they did.

     “I think you could be,” Alice murmured. 

     “It cannot be so,” Ann stared at the woman in bewilderment. “It’s too grave of a matter. I killed a holy man.”

     “A holy man or not, he was still just a man. And of course you’re here now for a reason, but if you really want to be forgiven then I’m sure you can be.”

     The words fell out of Alice’s mouth— she didn’t even understand half of what she was saying. Normally, she considered herself an eloquent speaker, but visiting murderers had truly warped her senses…

     Ann’s mouth was shaped in a tiny ‘o’. She craned her eccentrically long neck and continued staring into Alice’s eyes.

     “My, my,” Ann began. “I wasn’t expecting you to be such a sweetheart, Ms. DeRoss.”

     Alice blinked. “What?”

     “What?”

     “Sorry for my rash words, Ms. Ann. I'm not sure what came over me. If that was unhelpful in any way, please disregard it—“

     Ann chuckled. “No, no. That was quite kind of you to say, actually. And to get us back on topic… did you need anything else from me?”

     “…I just needed to know why you decided to murder that man, Thomas.”

     “Well,” Ann’s smile shifted back into a neutral, thoughtful expression. Just like that, the joy was over. A part of Alice felt strangely disappointed. “My lawyer argued it was self-defense. But… I’d be lying if I said it was only that. Thomas —and many others, do not get me wrong— had been slandering my good name for a while. I suppose it was the final straw, to have him bear false witness against me before God Himself.”

     “Was it justice that motivated you during this act of self-defense?” Alice questioned.

     “…I cannot say it was. The feelings I experienced as that man was stabbed to death were sinful at best. Justice is a good thing, is it not? And so is self-defense. But the sensation of revenge was quite…”

     “Quite…?”

     “It was poisonous, almost. But quite delicious.”

     Revenge being delicious… Alice wrote that down. Wasn’t it a dish best served cold?

     “Is that all?” Alice lifted her gaze.

     “It should be,” Ann nodded.

     Alice felt almost blindsided by how quick it all was. Her perception of time faltered in such a desolate place. “It was… nice meeting you, Ms. Ann. I’d best get going now.”

     And just as she always did, she began to pack up her items.

     Ann squinted at her as she did so. “You’re… not staying for afternoon tea time?”

     When had Alice ever done that? What even was afternoon tea time? Alice’s eyes snapped back to Ann’s amber ones.

      “Pardon?” Alice said.

      “Today all of us inmates have our tea time in the afternoon rather than the evening— it's a small tradition of ours. I understand we may not be the most reputable bunch, but… I’m in charge of rehabilitating everyone, so it seems. I’d be honored if you could join us.”

      It was so out of the blue Alice barely knew how to respond. But seeing as Ann was eagerly expecting an answer and that more time with the inmates now possibly meant skipping a visit tomorrow and possibly ever again, she relented.

      “Of course, Ms. Ann. I will join this tea time of yours.”

                                 ~

      At first, having Alice at the tea table was an awkward experience. Aesop and Eta were surprised to see her already sitting there, where Grace usually sat.

      Alice was mostly surprised at how quaint it all was. Eta’s stilts also caught her eye, however, along with Aesop wearing what appeared to be new gloves. They were a nice, navy blue shade.

      “Ms. Reporter,” Aesop acknowledged her with a nod as he sat in the same chair he always did. Eta squinted at the chair Alice was in.

     “Am I in someone’s seat?” Alice quickly asked as Eta loomed next to her. She stifled a laugh as she saw the stilts again. 

     Eta nodded. Alice quickly got up and stood between two empty chairs. 

     Soon, the other inmates started to file in. Grace took the seat Alice previously had and waved, looking at the reporter with a curious expression. Chloe walked in smelling of the same perfume per usual. Galatea rolled in with her chisel. For some reason, she had dressed up for the occasion. 

     Finally, Ann entered, with refreshments carried by the two behind her— Mr. Kreiss, and the matron. 

     It was the first time Alice had ever seen the matron, but not the first time the matron had seen her. And the way Alice’s eyes widened did not escape Yidhra’s gaze.

     “Good afternoon, Ms. DeRoss,” Yidhra smirked once she approached the shorter woman. Everyone around her seemed to cringe as Yidhra stood beside her.

     “You can take my seat for today,” Yidhra gestured to an open seat across from where the two stood. Nobody said anything.

     “I… uh… thank you, Ms…?” Alice placed her hands on her reticule as she awkwardly inched towards the chair.

     “I’m the matron here,” Yidhra grinned, following Alice and standing behind her as she took a seat. “My name is Yidhra. Although a few of these little ones seem to call me other things… ”

     “Like a witch,” Aesop offered. 

     Galatea locked eyes with Eta. “Or ‘Mama’.”

     Eta glared daggers at her but said nothing to make Alice think otherwise.

     “Thank you, Ms. Yidhra,” Ann sighed as she gestured to the drinks in the matron's hands. “Please do us all a favor and bless us with these lovely drinks.”

     “Bold of her,” Galatea whispered to Chloe. Chloe rolled her eyes and said nothing.

     Yidhra obliged, taking her sweet time as she slowly gave everyone a glass of water. As she did so, the table fell into silence. Half of its cause was the agonizing speed at which the matron poured her water and half of it was due to Alice DeRoss’ presence. 

     Of course, it was Galatea who broke it first. How could she resist? The reporter, just as she had suspected, was finally here-- that annoying Eta with his annoying silts that hovered over her annoyingly tiny frame couldn’t stop her mouth (or her new statue, which was going to be in Alice’s likeness whether she liked it or not) now. 

     “Cute camera,” Galatea remarked as Alice set it on the table. “And reticule. I’ve heard people are getting more stylish with them nowadays.”

     “I believe they are,” Alice appreciated Galatea’s attempts to socialize with her, because she most likely wouldn’t have dared to speak on her own accord. Alice then gestured to Galatea’s latest sculpture. “You are Galatea Claude, the Sculptor, yes?”

     At that, Galatea’s lips twitched and formed a smirk. “Yes, I am.”

     Alice was rather mesmerized by the way Galatea’s hands were so precise in their movements. Even without looking, the woman carved each and every curve with purpose-- and she did so without fail, even as she continued talking to Alice. 

     “I’m sure you’ve probably heard of my fallout with that so-called artist Egdar Valden,” Galatea’s smirk seemed to double in size. It was strange, thought Grace, to see Galatea so happy. Then again, she always seemed to be whenever the words ‘Edgar Valden’ were spoken. 

     “I sure have,” Alice nodded. Without knowing it, she took out her pen. Of course, everyone else took notice. 

     “What a lovely man,” Galatea began, brushing her blonde hair away from her face as she continued chiseling. Alice’s eyes widened as she realized that Galatea’s sculpture looked a tad like Alice herself-- if she was seeing that face correctly. “Sensitive. A painter.”

     Immediately, everyone knew what was about to occur. Galatea was about to, yet again, go about her jealous rant…

     “Yet he was troubled. Every night-- even though I was supposed to be his model-- he would go about finding a new muse. Instead of me! And of course, as you probably know, dear Reporter Lady, he came back with Tracy Reznik. Wendy Foote. And… that blasted Luca Balsa!”

    As she said Luca’s name, she practically threw her chisel down in a fit of frustration. It rolled over to Chloe, who flicked it back with a wrinkle of her nose to accompany it. 

    “Hahaha! Artistic differences, he called it… I’m sure he thought it was very artistically different when I saw him dead over his own bloody canvas!” Galatea practically shouted, stabbing her chisel into the table. Grace flinched and reached for her teacup. Galatea took a deep breath and leaned against her wheelchair as Alice quickly stowed her pen away, letting the ink dry on her paper.

     Despite all of this, it seemed as though Galatea just wasn’t finished. “What a horrendous, selfish, dirty man--!”

     “We get it, Galatea!” Eta finally snapped. His gaze quickly shifted to Alice. “Ms. DeRoss, tell this woman to be quiet! Surely you already understand her story!”

     “Uh… yes, I do,” Alice nodded. She avoided looking at Galatea’s face or her sculpture, concerned about her wrath. But everyone noted she was not as afraid as she should be. 

     “Fine!” Galatea yelled back. Mr. Kreiss sighed and facepalmed, off to the side. Galatea folded her arms and leaned back in her wheelchair once more. “Go on, Chloe-- er, Vera! Talk to Ms. DeRoss so Eta doesn’t.”

     They finally started using her real name, Alice noted with a smile. 

     “Me?” Chloe placed a hand on her chest. She had a rather impressive fashion sense, Alice thought, as this Chloe or Vera known by the media as ‘Lady Euphoria’ spoke. “Ah, well… what’s there to say?”

     Chloe’s eyes fell onto Alice, as if asking the reporter if she really wanted to hear such a sad tale. Alice nodded, because all stories needed reporting no matter how evil. 

    “My sister… who is really called Vera… and I traveled around, selling my beloved perfumes. One, two, three, four, five-- all of these perfumes I had conceived within my own home had all been sold within a matter of days with her help. Well, this one night, we were down in the hotel Desaulniers-- this was when my most beloved perfume Euphoria was in its prime. I walk out for a moment for a bathroom break-- really, to adjust my hair and this lovely veil you see here-- and then I see Vera. I see her taking credit for the perfumes that she only sells. Mind you, I make all of them perfumes. I design them myself, I make them myself… and then she has the nerve to use her charisma to claim credit for them all!”

     Chloe rarely discussed her own tale, so as she did, her face grew redder and redder until tears fell from her eyes. Alice’s own eyes softened and she debated giving her a tissue, but Grace had already beaten her to it.

     “I…I was in such a state of shockIcompletelyblackedoutIcan’trememberathing!” Chloe wailed. Ann sighed and got up to support the young woman, who kept blowing her nose every few seconds. Ann laid her bony hands on her shoulders and murmured presumably comforting words under her breath to Chloe. 

     “You needn’t continue, Ms. Nair,” to see the woman, even a murderer, but a human still, so upset made Alice somewhat upset, too. It also made everyone else a little more uncomfortable. 

     As if stirred on by some unseen force, Chloe blurted, “It was only when I was washing the blood of my hands I even knew they were DEAD!”

     Then, her beauty drained from her face, she threw herself onto the table and concealed her tears as she wept. 

     “Don’t mind Vera,” Galatea said a few minutes into the sobbing and Ann’s quiet consolations. “She’s usually nicer than this. And much more pleasant than I am.”

     “Not a hard thing to beat,” Eta scoffed under his breath. 

     “Shut up, Stilts,” Galatea growled. 

     “I’ll have you know these stilts represent my greatness--”

     “‘Greatness’ Edgar’s FOOT! Shut up, God Complex!”

     “Settle down,” Mr. Kreiss stepped forward, leading to both parties shutting up once more. For such a quiet man, he had quite a strong presence, Alice observed, although… it was to be expected since he was the warden. 

     “Ignore those two,” Aesop finally spoke. “They usually bicker like this.”

     “...Thank you, Mr. Carl,” a frown had crept onto Alice’s face. She felt second-hand embarrassment just seeing those two steal glares at each other while sipping tea. 

     “Please. Since we now drink tea together, you can just call me Aesop.”

     “Thank you, Aesop… you have quite the nice name.”

     “Oh?” Aesop met her gaze for a brief moment, tilting his head to the side. “I suppose I should thank you then, Ms… ah, Ms. DeRoss.”

     “Yes.”

     Then Alice and Aesop drank tea together-- a moment of solidarity. And so did everyone else, until tea time was just about over. 

     In that short time, Yidhra had filled the silence with embarrassing stories about the inmates and Mr. Kreiss and even Keigan the Clerk unless someone dared to interrupt her with a joke or a shout of disapproval or to ask Alice something. By the time it was over, Alice’s notepad was drenched in ink. Her handwriting, thankfully, was actually legible and able to be used as evidence for her opinion piece…

     Right. That thing.

     The whole reason why she was here. 

     The whole reason she was able to reflect on these moments before meeting the Nightingales with a strange sense of nostalgia-- and maybe a hint of irony as well. 

                                                           ~

     Right before Alice left --and left for a very long time, as she had warned the inmates she might, much to their displeasure--, she was stopped by somebody. 

     Whoever it was, their footsteps were light and they were rather speedy. Before Alice had left the jail, they quickly placed a cold hand onto her shoulder and waited until she had turned around. 

     Alice slowly did, much to the mysterious person’s surprise. Was she truly not startled by anything?

     “Hello,” Alice said, face-to-face with… ah, the one inmate she didn’t ask about. Alice studied her for a brief moment, noting the woman’s green hair, ragged and simple dress bearing stitches, and a gentle face. 

     “ Hello ,” Grace signed back, praying to a God if one existed that this woman understood sign language, because Grace was not supposed to be so far from her cell and it was scary being in a new place even if it was the same jail because it seemed like trouble followed her everywhere--

     Alice hesitated upon seeing Grace’s quick hand motions. Alice took out her notepad and her pen and offered them to the woman.  

     Grace raised her eyebrows in surprise. She took the items and, trying the best she could to write in Aurorian, wrote:

     “ My name = Grace. 

     I am “NOT GUILTY”. 

    Please, help me.”

     Alice took the notepad back and read over Grace’s words a few times before nodding. She wrote back, “ How can I help you? ”

     “ I did not kill Eli Clark.” Grace wrote. And she couldn’t think of what else to put because she was not from Metropolis and could not understand its strange, flashy language. Then, she shook her head, and with tears forming onto her eyes, handed the notepad back to the reporter. 

     She feared that, just like all of the other reporters, they would laugh or scoff or mock her with their own nonsensical hand gestures. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, awaiting Alice’s response. But much to Grace’s surprise, the notepad was back into her hands a few moments later. 

     And on it were words in Toparti -- the language those in her hometown spoke in, or signed, or wrote in. 

     In Aurorian, they read: “ What would you like to tell the world? ”

     Grace’s jaw dropped. Alice smiled as she got the notebook back. Grace looked left, right, and then behind her. She had to take this chance before Yidhra or Keigan or Mr. Kreiss caught her!

     “ I moved to the outskirts of Metropolis to find better work. I lived in an apartment and I had a kindly neighbor named Eli Clark. But then, one day, he mysteriously disappeared. The police found him beheaded by the lake. I did not do it, I told them. Eli is my friend. But they did not listen. I do not know if they spoke Toparti or not, but they declared me guilty before the world for something I did not do. Was I an easy target? I believe so. But it is not right. Please, if you share this with the world, tell them to --listen-- understand those who they do not care for. Thank you. 

                                                     I am Grace. The world calls me the Naiad. But I am Grace.”

     Grace wiped tears from her eyes and shoved the notepad into Alice’s hands before running away. She knew she would probably be punished, but at least someone finally understood who she really was. Her footsteps echoed in the distance as Alice looked down at the notepad.

     Alice quickly skimmed the paragraph. She found Grace’s handwriting beautiful. It was beautiful, like her name. And Alice liked that, because the whole point of her being a reporter was not to spread lies, but the truth, and she found that graceful. 

     Then, the reporter departed the opposite way. She wondered if she would ever see any of those inmates again.

                                                      ~

     Alice’s apartment was still a mess when she came back. Alice only mustered a sigh before hanging her coat on the coat rack, placing other items where they needed to be, and changing into more comfortable clothes --ones that did not smell of the jail-- before looking out the window at the district of Metropolis before her. She found it calming. 

     Then, she turned. She picked up the typewriter from the floor and placed it on her desk. She moved her notepad aside and flipped all the way back to her notes on Aesop’s murder testimony so she could begin that opinion piece of hers. 

     Little did she know it would give her a rather murderous story of her own. 

Chapter Text

     Only five days after Alice had submitted her opinion piece, she found herself in the same dust-laden office she had been in when she first met Orpheus. And, just like that encounter, she sat across from the dignified man with the same kind of wine set before them. Except this time, there were biscuits. They, too, were collecting dust. 

     “Ms. DeRoss…” Orpheus murmured, a hand lifting his fancy monocle while his other hand was occupied with Alice’s draft. He seemed enraptured in her words and, at times, would hum after reading a sentence in his head. It meant nothing to Alice; she found that words were more understandable than whatever strange noises Orpheus’ made.

     Meanwhile, Alice sat with her hands on her lap as she awaited his feedback. All he had done since she got here, however, was read her opinion piece as if it was the last thing he’d ever read again. 

     Alice would understand if it was a novel-- maybe even one of Orpheus’ own. But an opinion piece? Alice never found such things --much less her own works-- to be so enlightening. Then again, he was the one with the top publishing company. 

     “Ms. DeRoss, this is…” he stirred again, suddenly. And then his eyes met hers, sparkling now with a stirring, fervent passion. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed and he leaned closer to her as he clenched the paper in his hands.

     Alice found it endearing.

     “This is… wonderful,” Orpheus whispered to her, unable to restrain the pride in his tone. “Of course, your talents for evidential sourcing are just as prominent as ever, but… your reasoning is rather excellent considering your supposed inexperience in this field. Even I find myself agreeing with your words and how all motives may be different, but most lead to something gratifying— at least in the moment. But yes, Ms. DeRoss, this is a wonderful article… I… I shall see to it that this is published immediately.”

     Alice was rather floored, then, because although she knew the hours of interviewing and writing and rewriting and whatever else she crammed into her life aside from her usual journalism routines would all result in some form of success, she wasn’t expecting it to be so beloved by Orpheus, a man whom she believed was simply above her in level in terms of opinionated writing. While she wasn’t wrong, she underestimated her own work ethic and ability. 

     “Thank you,” was all she said, with a smile on her face. 

     “Welcome to the Nightingale Publishing Company, Ms. Alice DeRoss,” Orpheus smiled back— and his own smile was even larger. 

                                 ~

     The next few weeks were quite busy for our star, Alice Deross. Her fame and wealth only grew as she wrote more and more, staying true to her journalistic integrity. She met with reporters regularly, participated in several conferences throughout the Aurorian Districts, and even got her own reporting team to assist her in anything she needed.

     She had her own personal newsboy, a personal photographer, and a manager of sorts who kept all of her works in order and handy for any sort of interviews.

     The newsboy was a kind gentleman named Victor who was always accompanied by a rather plump brown dog. The dog had a vicious face but a kind heart and resisted any paper eating temptations whenever his owner was near. Alice swore she had seen Victor before, whether it was collecting trash in her neighborhood or serving coffee at a cafe or even providing letters for her typically empty mailbox, even just decoratively.

     The photographer, who looked just as youthful of Victor but was very much older, was Joseph. He had been experimenting in new photographic technology for a while and assisted Ms. DeRoss with any extra photographs for her reports. However, she was reluctant to call for his help as he was a bit of a gossip, always talking about case manager this or famous actor that. She could barely get any work done if he wasn’t taking photos.

     Alice’s own manager was a young lady by the name of Helena Adams. She was rather short and carried a walking stick around due to her blindness. She found favor with Alice what with her gentle personality and timely assistance. Alice admired the young lady’s smarts and cheerfulness despite the way other workers seemed to baby her. Helena was also using this job to raise money for her next few years at college. 

     Out of the three of these workers, only two of them would come to be personally involved with Alice’s life in the upcoming years. But for now, all was well and Alice’s hands ached every single night because of how hard she worked. Joseph would often tease her for her messy manuscripts and then praise her for her writing anyway. 

      Other journalists and workers gossiped about the young woman being the last one to leave her office. They read her analyses, astonished at her sheer integrity. Nobody managed to get more than a few polite words out of her because she was always found writing something new. So while the workers liked her to some extent, they also found her mysterious and liked to make up stories about her. Rumors would often spread about her and Orpheus being seen in the same room together, too.

     All of that aside, all of Alice’s work paid off. By the very next year, Alice found herself moving to an apartment just south of Metropolis' downtown area. 

     Of course, she had some assistance from Orpheus. She accepted his help as minimally as she could nowadays, lest those in his circle think there was more to their very much work relationship. Then again, Orpheus had always been rather generous with his gifts— in that same apartment he had gifted rooms to his most prominent star Norton Campbell, a well-known movie composer named Frederick Kreiburg, and a humble but scientifically gifted professor named Melly Plinius. 

     As Alice entered with Victor carrying her bags, (because the man worked multiple menial jobs, and with such ease at that) she felt out of place. The apartment’s colors were gold and white. The staircase before her was of fine wood and led to multiple floors. An elevator was a few feet to her left, situated near a little corner. Victor would be heading there.

     Alice decided to take the stairs instead, letting Victor know of this choice before she slowly headed upwards, her hand on the golden railings. The stairs were carpeted with a lovely crimson color with flowers decorating the middle.

     Alice, Orpheus had declared, would live on the fifth floor of this grand place. He told her it would be the best option due to the small number of people living on that floor (he said most people preferred the shorter walk to the exit and their close proximity to other rich people) so she could write with minimal disruption. He warned her that she would still have neighbors and gave her the keys to Room 514 before she stepped foot into the apartment.

     The trek upstairs was long and Alice was already out of breath when she noticed a man leave a room down the hallway. He straightened his back, looked around and then headed towards the staircase with rushed steps, his fedora tilted downwards. 

     Although he wasn’t in his typical flamboyant attire, it was still quite easy to recognize who he was.

     “Excuse me, can I help you?” Alice stood on the landing, watching as the man skidded to a halt at her voice.

     “Ah…” he whirled around and stared her up and down with his eyebrows furrowed. He had a scar around his left eye, marring his light skin. He staggered backwards and failed to think of a response.

     “Sorry to interrupt you,” Alice quickly said afterwards. “I was simply passing through—“

     “Who are you, woman?” 

     “…Alice DeRoss. I live here now.”

     “That cursed Orpheus…” he thought he was quiet enough, but Alice could read lips. The split second of disdain on his face was unmistakable.

     “Can I help you?” Alice repeated. While she was no fan of celebrities in general, she was surprised by this man’s blunt attitude.

     “No… no. You go unpack whatever you need to unpack. I have to… I have to go.”

     And Alice saw the way he fidgeted with his hands. The way he shifted his weight from foot to foot. The way he spoke to Alice the floor instead of Alice the woman. It was most strange, because Alice DeRoss had always seen the man, or rather, the actor, whose name was Norton Campbell, appear so confident and charming in all of his media.

      “Where to?” Alice was intrigued. She leaned closer, as if interrogating him. But her tone was gentle enough, as if coaxing a secret out of him.

     “None of your business,” he scoffed before darting down the staircase. She saw him stumble on the way down.

                                   ~

     Later that day, some more neighbors from the same floor or even the floor below came to visit her. Of course, Orpheus did so as well. He brought friends.

     “Cheers to your new home, Alice,” he smiled and raised a glass of red wine. Around Alice’s new table were Joseph, her photographer; the entomology professor named Melly; and that rude actor Norton Campbell. There was also a Frederick Kreiburg among them, but his sustenance  for the night was him playing the piano for them all. His chair at the table was occupied by Norton’s legs. Whenever she looked at him, Alice didn’t feel so bad about her help from Orpheus. He was like a spoiled child. 

     The others raised their glasses and Alice soon followed. She made sure Orpheus got her white coffee instead of wine, which some of the others (especially Joseph, who got his wine glass privileges revoked by Melly) found odd.

      It was really an awkward ordeal, similar to meeting the inmates in the jail, Alice realized, because it was almost suffocating being with these random people aside from Orpheus and Joseph. Plus, all of these newly met people seemed to have very strange stories like the inmates too.

     They had all been busted out of jail at some  point in their lives, and Alice only knew that because she reported on those cases. Now she sat with them.

     It was really, really awkward.

     But out of all of the new neighbors, the professor seemed nice enough. She was quiet and spoke with an air of maturity. Alice enjoyed listening to her low, smooth voice, and thought the white veil Melly wore was rather beautiful, suiting her perfectly.

     It seemed Melly shared the same fondness for Alice, too, because whenever Orpheus and Frederick erupted into another argument or if Joseph tried to drunkenly take photos of Norton, Melly would always turn to the woman next to her and give her helpful advice.

     It was all a little too much for Alice for a first day in a new home, but at least Melly made it better. 

     Now, once all of the group festivities were over, Alice received gifts. 

     “To get you started in this new home of yours, I’ve gotten you a phonograph,” Frederick approached her first, adjusting his garnet coat as he presented her with the stunning item. He had slicked back white hair despite not looking too old. 

     “Oh, wow,” was Alice’s response as she gently took it into her hands. And the gift made sense, because he was truly a musical man at heart and enjoyed all things music. Alice liked that. She offered him a cookie in response, because she had no idea people—strangers— would bring her gifts.

     He shook his head. She placed the cookie back down and just offered a smile instead. He nodded, grabbed his tuning fork, and walked away.

     Next was Melly, carrying a glass case with a (dead) butterfly inside. Tucked under her arm were two rolls of toilet paper. The dissonance was stunning. 

      “Ms. DeRoss, I’ve gotten you something practical and something beautiful. I’m sure you can tell which one is which— may both make your house more pleasant to live in.”

      Alice received the items with joy, even though she struggled to carry them all at once. Melly chuckled and took the toilet rolls from her, placing them on her table instead. 

     Alice sighed with relief and said, “Thank you, Ms. Plinius. These are lovely gifts indeed. I will make as much use of them as I can.”

     “I have no doubt you will.” And then Melly made room for Orpheus. 

     “Ms. DeRoss!” the publisher sported a jovial smile as he appeared with three books in his arms. Alice wondered where all of them had hidden their items, because they certainly didn’t walk inside with them. The Nightingale Publishing community was strange, she realized. “I’ve gotten you all the top editions of my Call of Abyss series for future reading and to fill that beautiful bookshelf of yours. Enjoy!”

     He spoke so quickly in that chipper voice of his that Alice could only comprehend the words ‘Call of Abyss’, ‘bookshelf’, and ‘enjoy’ before Orpheus shoved them into her arms. And boy, were those things heavy. Like rocks.

     “Thank you, Orpheus,” Alice muttered, her voice strained as she settled the books onto the table with the toilet paper on it. 

     Finally, it was Norton’s turn. He shuffled over and gave her a classic, stunning smile with eyes that did not match his expression at all. He carried a handful of lovely, shiny gemstones in his hands.

     “Here you go,” he said, giving them to her before she could even react. “Have a good home.”

     Orpheus shot Norton a look. Norton slowly turned and gave Orpheus a winning smile. Alice stood awkwardly, watching the two of them. Melly folded her arms in the back, remaining here even though Frederick had left.

     Norton turned back to her and nodded before scurrying away. Alice almost thought he would dig a hole on his way out and flee that way.

     She looked down at the gems before her and also set them on the table. Alice had never been a huge fan of precious metals or stones, but she appreciated the sentiment.

     “Goodnight!” Orpheus called, snapping her out of her thoughts. He tipped his hat towards her and then left after Norton.

     Still, Melly remained. And once she decided Alice had stared at the now closed door long enough, she spoke:

     “Ms. DeRoss, a word with you please.”

     Alice’s head snapped up to look at the woman, who had seemingly come out of the shadows.

     “You understand who your neighbor is, yes?” Melly stepped closer to the younger woman.

     What with all the chaos, Alice barely had time to even learn who was in the room next to her. “Ah, uh, no, Ms. Plinius.”

     “Please, call me Melly. Formalities are frivolous, yes?”

     “I… I suppose. Now, who exactly is my neighbor?”

     “Norton Campbell. I’m sure he needs no further introductions.”

      “Oh, well, okay. Thank you… Miss… Melly. See you tomo—“

     “Not so fast, Ms. DeRoss. I must give you a few words of warning first.”

     “Ah… okay. Go ahead, then.” Alice took a seat.

     “Norton Campbell is a notoriously moody man. As a person, he is rather gloomy and prefers to spend his time looking after all of his riches. My advice? Stay away from him. I do not trust that man, and I fear he may bring a lot of trouble to you.”

     She continued. “I am not sure why Mr. Orpheus has situated you in such a place. Mr. Campbell has always preferred to be alone when not acting and cannot hold a normal conversation to save his life. Truth be told, I’d much rather prefer you were closer to me and Mr. Kreiburg downstairs. We’ll be on the third floor if you need anything.”

     “Thank you, Melly. I… I really do appreciate your wisdom. I will keep your advice in mind.”

     “Hm,” Melly tilted her head. “You’re always welcome.”

     And then, she left, leaving Alice DeRoss alone with her thoughts, a phonograph, books, gems, an unmoving butterfly, and two rolls of the finest toilet paper there ever was.

                                   ~

     She saw those guests a few more times that first week in her new apartment. While it was still an apartment where she was free to roam and read and write just like her old one, it was not the same.

     For starters, ever so often someone would come in and bother her. First, it was Victor, curious about the toilet paper. Then, it was Joseph. Because he was like a father, he nagged her about making her apartment more like a home than an office. Finally, Norton came in deep into the evening. He had knocked, and then Alice had opened the door.

     “Hello?” she rubbed her eyes, ready to fall asleep.

     “Good evening…” Norton hesitantly greeted her, eyeballing her wrinkled clothing. She wore a plain white nightgown and her hair was down.

     “Do you need something?” suddenly, Alice straightened up and looked him dead in the eye, trying to ignore the blush on her cheeks.

     “Um… Mr. Orpheus wanted me to check on you.”

     “Is he rather busy?”

     “…He’s the owner of a company. Are you really that tired?”

     “…I’m surprised you aren’t.”

     “I’m an actor.”

     “Okay, why are you here again?”

     Norton looked Alice up and down again and shook his head in annoyance. This was the journalist everyone was raving about these days? Must’ve been her looks.

      Norton folded his arms. “I’m coming inside. Mr. Orpheus wants me to check in with you on how you’re doing. You know, since you just moved and all.”

     “Okay…” Alice blocked the doorway.

     “Move, lady.”

     “Why does he want you to come inside?” Alice scoffed. Goodness, this was the actor everyone was raving about these days? Must’ve been his looks.

     “To make sure you’re not as disorganized as your manager says you are.”

     “What does it matter to him? Tell him I’m ready to go to bed and that he can visit me on his own time.”

     Norton took a sharp breath. “Just let me in, lady.”

     “Hm. Come on in,” Alice relented. She noticed Norton held something behind his back. Her eyebrows raised. “What are you holding?”

     “Wine,” Norton answered, pressing past her and entering the room. Melly was right, Alice believed. This man was very, very strange.

     “What for?”

     “Mr. Orpheus says I’m supposed to make you feel at home.”

     “…Okay. Take a seat, then.”

     “Okay.”

     He sat down. He placed the bottles of wine down as well. Thankfully, it wasn’t merlot.

     “Do you even drink wine?” Norton looked up and Alice. The woman wished she hadn’t changed into her nightgown so early, even though it really was around the time she began her nightly routine. 

     Papers sat around everywhere, once more. However, the typewriter she owned wasn’t on the floor and her deduction board was clear of any photos. She was a little off her rocker, Norton decided, but not insane.

     “Occasionally,” Alice answered, heading over to her dressing area. She stood behind the large, wooden folding panel and quickly changed into something more professional before exiting out.

     “Do you drink Moscato?”

     “…Yes, actually,” she headed towards the table and took a seat. “It’s my favorite.”

     “Good,” Norton nodddd. Orpheus did tell him the lady was a bit of a sweet tooth. “Drink up, then.”

     “…All right. Is that all?”

     “Nope, sorry.”

     “Go on, interview me then.”

     “I’m not the journalist here, but okay.”

     “How else were you planning on ‘checking in’ with me?”

     “A room inspection. Then I’d give you wine. And then I’d walk out so I could go to sleep.”

      “Well, forget what I said then. That makes it easier in both of us.”

      “No. Orpheus probably wouldn’t like it if I didn’t talk with you.”

     This man was all over the place, Alice internally grumbled. But she put a false smile on her face— one Norton recognized as false immediately— and poured some wine into the wine glasses she had quickly gotten from her kitchen area. 

      “Okay. First question. Do you like it here?” Norton asked as Alice took a swig of wine.

     “Yes.”

     “Okay. Uh… what do you do in your free time here.”

     “Write. And you?”

     “Act.”

     Alice smiled. “Hm. Well.. go on.”

     “Next question! Is the elevator treating you well?”

     “Yes.”

     And then Norton paused. Those were all the questions he had in mind. He looked at Alice’s face. Then her clothes. When did she change out of that nightgown? 

     “Why so serious?” Alice stared at him with the same sort of intensity he had for her. “Are you all done with your interview?”

     “Let’s just drink wine.”

     And so it was. And Alice decided that maybe he wasn’t too bad company, because at least he brought something sweet with him. 

                                 ~

     Before the week ended, Alice encountered Frederick Kreiburg at a local bakery. He sat near the windows, on a couch. He seemed deep in thought and studied a paper before him, sipping a quill into ink before making sharp, short strokes.

     As much as Alice wanted to leave him be, she was curious. So when visiting him became something she wanted to do, she didn’t resist and went to go investigate.

     “Good morning, Mr. Kreiburg,” Alice quietly greeted him with a lovely brightness in her tone.

      The man slowly set down his quill, sighed, took a sip of his coffee, and then looked up at Alice. He had lovely but dull blue eyes. “Good morning to you, Ms. DeRoss.”

     Then he looked back at the paper. Alice realized there were music notes on them… 

     “Composing?” she pointed at the line of music notes.

     “Yes.”

     “May I sit with you?”

     “Yes. But do eat quietly.”

     “Of course.”

     Alice smiled and slid into the couch across from him. He gave her a nod and then went back to writing his music. Not wanting to disturb him, she held her tongue and gave the waiter a simple order.

     “Ipoh white coffee and truffle cake. A big one, please.”

     “What?” Frederick immediately looked up. Was Ms. Alice truly so hungry?!

     “Do you not like truffle cake?” Alice looked back with a rather mischievous expression on her face.

     “I mean… well… not really?” he squinted at her and then looked up at the waiter, who chuckled. Frederick looked at the music as if it would give him direction. 

     “Oh. Well, what’s your favorite dessert?”

     “Crème brûlée,” as if he hadn’t been caught off guard at all, Frederick reclined against the couch and adjusted his clothing. 

He appeared as neutral as ever as Alice told the waiter she would order some crème brûlée and a small truffle cake.

     But once the waiter left, Frederick practically flung himself across the table and stared into Alice’s eyes. “Ms. DeRoss, why did you do that?!”

      Alice giggled at his sharp whispers. He sounded just like a cat. “It’s my treat, Mr. Kreiburg. I’m… I’m in quite a good mood.”

    Frederick then leaned back and sighed. It was a very long sound. “…I will pay you back.”

     “It’s my treat, Mr. Kreiburg.”

     “No… I’m… I don’t accept gifts right now.”

     “Well, you gave me that phonograph, so now I’m giving you crème brûlée.”

     Frederick clenched his teeth and sighed. He then went back to writing, his strokes as artistic as ever. Abruptly, after a few minutes, he paused and spoke once more.

      “Ms. DeRoss… how are you liking your new home?”

      “I like it quite a bit, honestly. But it's still… unfamiliar to me. And it's so big! Much bigger than my old apartment.” How different her answers were around this man! He was certainly not like that Norton Campbell.

     “I see. Well, I’m sure it’ll be familiar soon enough,” then he looked down at his papers once more.

     “Ah— before you go back to writing, Mr. Kreiburg, do you have any… home advice?” Alice earnestly questioned, a small and also earnest smile accompanying her words.

     “Hm? As in how to make it feel like a home?”

     “Yes, exactly!”

     “I don’t know if you’re a particularly musical person, but… when I first moved to this area, I would often sing lullabies I had made for myself every night. They were old, back from when I had lived in my old home, and made my new home feel much better.”

      “…That’s very sweet.”

      “It’s just a strategy. A musical one, but a strategy nonetheless.”

      “Well, thank you anyway, Mr. Kreiburg,” Alice’s smile grew. 

      “Of course,” Frederick also smiled. A tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Enjoy your truffle cake when it arrives.”

      And Alice, just as she had taken Melly’s advice and her time with Norton from earlier to heart, treasured these moments too, because they marked a new beginning for her. And at least she wasn’t alone while she was at it.

      For now, all was well. She did not consider the road ahead— the path after such a gentle beginning— may be lonely. 

Chapter Text

     After the move to the southern district, Alice had no time on her hands to visit the Aurorian City Jail again. At first, the thought saddened her as she  truly wanted to see all of them again-- strange as it was. She entertained thoughts of another afternoon tea time, imagining the glares Eta and Galatea had for one another and Grace and Aesop sipping tea quietly in their places or the way Yidhra and Mr. Kreiss stood off to the side, both figures of authority yet so different all the while.

    These thoughts  faded with time, of course. Eventually, the woman had spent so much time with her new friends and acquaintances that she was more accustomed  to their presence than to even think about her former apartment so close to the jail. But one thing never left her: the feeling she bore when she witnessed Grace write her testimony lingered in her soul, always by her  side, especially as she wrote. 

     “Mon chouette, your food is getting cold,” Joseph, her photographer, placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder. It was another fancy night at  the same fancy restaurant with the same beautiful, orange lighting near the Aurora’s River. Alice remembered she was here celebrating something, but she couldn’t remember what. She looked down at the filet mignon before her, and then at Joseph, and then back at the food. 

     He was such a father sometimes-- more so than her own stepfather ever was. “I know, Joseph.”

     “Eat,” he gestured to the food. And while he talked, many more things went on around them. Victor made no effort to conceal his dog-feeding habits, Orpheus was cleaning his monocle for the millionth time, and for some reason, Norton Campbell was there, and he was stuffing his face full with roast beef and pudding. 

     Oh, right. They were all here to celebrate Norton’s newest movie release. That was why, Alice recalled, gemstones adorned the restaurants pillars. Why there were gemstones on the tablecloth, or on the windows, or even on the sides of the chairs. 

     It was unbelievably tacky to Alice, but she said nothing since she was only here to interview and report on Norton’s thoughts about the movie. And it was rather boring, because she didn’t usually write about movies. Unfortunately for her, someone had called out sick earlier that day and of course Orpheus relied on his ‘most trustworthy’ reporter to come through.

     Alice took a bite of her steak. It was, per usual, amazingy juicy and tender. Its savory flavor filled her whole mouth. She took a sip of water afterwards. 

     Her eyes drifted to her notes from the interview once more. While in private conversations he had been rather blunt and gruff, his words now were surprisingly and suspiciously eloquent. He talked on and on about his appreciation for his fans' support, how much effort he put into this new movie (it was something about cars and time loops), and how much he loved acting. 

     Distracted by the strange inconsistency between his public and private personas, she fell into silence once more until a camera shutter went off.

     “Put the wine down, M. Desaulniers,” Alice immediately placed a hand on Joseph’s camera, assuming he had gotten drunk in the few short moments of reflection she had. Surprisingly, it was not so.  

     “Perhaps you should be a journalist yourself, Norton,” It was Orpheus who placed the camera on the table, looking at Alice’s twitching eye. “Tell the world how deep in thought all of them are!”

     “Precisely why I’m not one,” Norton rolled his eyes, keeping his eyes on the camera-- or more precisely, the film.

     “I’m sure it's less about Alice being a journalist and more about her being herself,” Joseph lightheartedly remarked. 

     “Or maybe the steak was really good and that's why,” Norton immediately sided with Joseph. 

     Orpheus chuckled and almost knocked down Victor’s wine. The quiet man reached out for the tall glass and caught it from tipping over, watching the sight  with a hint  of amusement in his eyes. 

     “Maybe so,” Alice agreed, standing up. She placed her  coat back on  before all the men and  reached for her purse. 

     “So soon, Ms. DeRoss?” Orpheus quirked an eyebrow. Alice wondered how such an expression came so naturally  to him.  

     “Yes, more and more writing and  such. You know how it is.”

     Joseph’s eyes softened. Victor released Wick so the chunky dog could say goodbye, (and he did so by sniffing Alice’s socks. Alice thought dogs were very strange, but very cute nonetheless). 

     “I ought to lessen your workload…” Orpheus clicked his tongue, before shaking his head in disappointment. 

     “Okay.  Bye,” Norton said at the  same time. But then, an idea seemed to form in Orpheus’  head. He stepped  in front of Norton and said:

    “Why don't we get you a ride to your apartment, Ms. DeRoss? This area is always so rowdy and noisy— I (as your boss) would hate to let it disturb you.” 

    “Her apartment? It's  also mi—“ Norton began. 

     “Exactly why Norton should drive you back home!” Orpheus exclaimed, raising a finger in the air. At  that, the two apartment dwellers' eyes widened in astonishment. Then their eyes locked with each other. Then at Orpheus. 

     “Why’re you so insistent on me and her—“ Norton began… again.

     “Great! Thank you!” Orpheus cheerily cheered before elegantly scrambling off with Joseph and Victor at his sides.

     “Is he always like this?” Alice whispered to Norton, who pinched his nose bridge before looking at her with furrowed eyebrows.

     His response was a flat, unhappy, “yes”.

                                    ~

     “I like your car,” Alice said as they drove to the apartment. While it was really only a half hour walk, Norton took every opportunity to sport the thing. 

     “I do too,” Norton nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. He told her beforehand that nobody was allowed to touch the wheel except him, so it was nothing personal.

     Then the car was silent. Aside from the radio: an ad talking about the Eternal Aurora’s greatness and prestige was on, playing its ridiculously catchy jingle. Alice found herself humming along while Norton kept silent. At least she could actually hum. His voice was all worn out from his job. 

     “…Why does Orpheus act like such a narrator all the time?” Alice hesitantly asked, looking at the road too.

     “He writes books for a living.” There she was, back at it again with her useless questions. 

     And for Alice, there he was, back to his blunt answers. It was a nice change of pace from the interview, but still rather unpleasant for the two of them.

     “Do you like that he does that?”

     “What does it matter what I think?”

     “Well, you’re very popular. You’d think you’d have a say because of that.”

     “Okay, Reporter Lady.”

     “So?”

     “It’s kind of annoying,” Norton shrugged, one hand on the wheel now.

     “Annoying how?”

     “No wonder they hired somebody like you…”

     “Okay, Mr. Campbell.”

     “It’s kind of annoying how he bosses me  around so much, even if he’s my boss,” Norton added. He looked over to her for a brief moment. “Happy now?”

     “Sure.”

     Then the silence continued until they reached the apartment. Alice opened the door and went ahead of Norton, who stood beside his car. He stared somewhere beyond Alice --rather, through her-- as she  walked through the entrance. 

     On her way there, she realized Norton wasn’t beside her. She paused, then  shrugged, then kept walking. She assumed the man was  probably admiring himself in the mirror or pumping a tire or admiring the gold on his car. 

      She was alarmed by the sudden rush of footsteps that headed towards her. Only then did she look back, witnessing Norton stumble towards her with that abnormally long, black feathery cape trailing behind him. He stiffly fixed his posture and tipped his hat.

     “Hello again,” Alice waved before walking through the doors with him flanking her. He nodded. They both headed towards the elevator.

     “Do you want to come visit my room?” Norton suddenly asked as the elevator, with nobody else in it, slowly moved up.

     “…What?”

     “For your interview, I mean.”

     “Oh! Well, I’ve already completed all my questions—“

     “Ask some more, then,” he interrupted. “It's a great opportunity to make more money off me.”

     “And why would you let me do that?”

     Norton looked at her. Then he shifted his feet. Then he sighed, pinched his nose bridge and spoke again, this time with a hint of embarrassment. “…It’s been a while since I’ve had a neighbor.”

     “Oh.”

     “And you seem nice enough.”

     “I try to be.”

     “Well, that’s good enough for me. Come on, let’s get going.”

     They both stepped off the elevator and onto the magenta, carpeted flooring of the fifth floor.

     “Do you have any more Moscato?” Alice asked.

     “Yeah.”

     Norton unlocked the door and gestured for her to enter. She slowly did, eyeing just about every detail in Norton’s room.

     ‘Lots of gold’ was her first observation. Anything that could possibly have gold did— from the flooring to the windowsills to the table. Towards the back of the room, a few inches away from the window, was a large pickaxe on the wall. It rested on two ledges poking out from the wall and was tilted sideways. Its rusted tip and worn wooden handle stood out amid the rest of the room. It was a rather bizarre addition. 

     She headed further inside and stood next to a wooden table with golden carvings. The chairs, which were also wooden, had gold and gemstones on the sides. This man…

     “Take a seat. I’ll get the food,” Norton declared with his back towards the woman. Alice did so, ignoring his flippant tone, before taking out her pen and some paper.

     Norton didn’t take too long— he got some pudding out from somewhere and carried two bottles of Moscato in his hand. Alice squinted at the two very different items as he set them down before her with an inquisitive, almost judging look.

     “Pudding,” Norton told her, pushing the pudding towards her before taking a seat. 

     “Great,” Alice stared blankly at the pudding as Norton inched his chair further towards the table, making the floor squeak. She looked back up at him.

     He was already starting to eat. He dabbed at his face with a napkin upon realizing she was staring at him and shrugged. “Go on, ask me questions.”

     “Uh..”

     “See? Not so easy when you’re the one in somebody else’s room.”

     “…Yes, yes. Now let me think…”

     “Don’t think too hard or else I’ll have another round of wine. And it might be from your bottle.”

      “All right, all right. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself— and I don’t mean anything relating to your acting expertise or how much you like gold.”

     “I think I’m pretty handsome,” Norton answered.

     “Okay… how about your childhood?”

     “Sheesh, Lady— just like that? Well, let me think…” he put his hand to his chin and squinted at the table.

     “Is Lady all you’ll ever call me?” Alice tilted her head, amused.

      He looked up at her once more and quietly muttered, “What’s your name again…?”

     “Alice. Alice DeRoss.”

     “Like Alice in Dreamland. Got it.”

     “Now please answer the question.”

     “My childhood, was it? It was pretty dull. I’m surprised you don’t know about it already.”

     “Why don’t you tell it to me as if I’ve never heard your name before?”

     Norton cleared his throat, took a sip of wine, and then leaned closer. He listed off the following with each of his fingers, speaking with a rather low tone. “Mines. Child labor. Me.”

     Alice raised her eyebrows. 

     “Then Mr. Orpheus came to visit— he’s younger than me, by the way— and told me he’d take me in as an apprentice out of the blue. So I followed, and eventually those folks allowing me to work such terrible hours at such a young age got prosecuted. Serves them right.”

     “…Yes,” Alice nodded, clicking her pen and scrubbing some details down.

     Norton’s eyes followed. “You have some neat handwriting there, La—ahem— Alice.”

     “Oh, thank you,” Alice smiled. 

     “I hate cursive,” Norton confessed. “I can’t read it great.”

     “It takes practice,” Alice nodded, writing down that detail too.

     “I’m sure you get a lot of that,” Norton murmured. “Why do you write so much?”

     “I like it,” Alice met his eyes. “It’s relaxing and I’ve done it ever since I was a kid.”

     “Speaking of childhoods— tell me yours. Tit for tat.”

     “Sure. I was born here, but moved to the countryside with my stepfather. He was something like a scientist and made me study a lot, so I used writing as my way to get away from him under the guise of studying…” Alice listed off the usual story she told everyone else— Mr. Orpheus, for instance.

     “No child labor? You struck it big.”

     Alice almost laughed. Not because child labor was a funny matter —it was a violation of the law and she made sure to deem it as such in all her reports— but because she was sure Norton didn’t want to experience what she had when she was younger, either. Talk about unethical business practices…

     “…Sorry,” Norton coughed a moment later. 

     “You’re fine,” Alice shook her head. “Now let me ask you a question… what did you do as an apprentice to Mr. Orpheus?”

     “Just did some organizing and writing for him… kind of embarrassing since he’s a baby genius, but whatever.”

     “A what?”

     “Did I say something? Anyway, he would have me keep track of his manuscripts for that novel he writes, even though I knew he could it fairly well on his own.”

     “So… how’d you become an actor?”

     “I was getting there, Alice. One day, one of his model friends comes to visit him and I’m there, and that friend asks me if I’ve ever considered modeling. Her name is Violetta. Little lady with prosthetics. Weaves like a spider. Anyway, she asks me if I could be her model for her new line of clothing and I say yeah, because I want more money and that woman pays a lot. So I go and model for her and then a bunch of agents offer me small roles for acting in movies or commercials because Violetta and Orpheus have marketed me as some hardworking and attractive guy. I agree to the agents, of course, because there’s even more money involved. I go do their little cleaning commercials or Eternal Aurora propaganda or whatever and eventually, I get my first big role: Orpheus’ Call of Abyss One. And everyone likes me, so I keep getting roles.”

     “Wow,” Alice blinked. 

     “Couldn’t have done it without Orpheus,” Norton reclined and folded his arms.

     “…How old are you again?”

     “Twenty eight. Why?”

     “…How long ago did all of that happen?”

     “Few years.”

     “Like… five?”

     “Four. Okay, how old are you?”

     “What? Oh, I’m, uh, twenty one.”

     Norton smiled, revealing a golden tooth. “Aww. I’m sure you’ll get somewhere with all of those questions in your head. Maybe you’ll be more famous than I am in a few years.”

     “Thank you..?”

     “I mean that as a compliment by the way. You seem pretty smart. Smart people always get somewhere.”

     “Thank you,” Alice nodded again. “I’m not looking to be famous, though.”

     “Fair. It's definitely not for everybody. Why don’t you drink your wine? We’ve talked enough.”

                                                    ~

     That night, Alice wondered.

     She sat up in bed and wondered what led to success. Was it by pure chance that out of all those miners Norton had worked with, he was the one who struck gold? What had been the fate of those others, even if they were free from such terrible working conditions? 

     Similarly, out of all the journalists, why was she able to live in such a lavish apartment? Why was she the one situated next to Norton Campbell himself? Many other journalists in the countryside wrote with blunt honesty, too. 

     Of course, she figured, it couldn’t have been purely luck. The two of them were hard workers. They excelled in their craft. And also, the two of them had been taken in by… Orpheus. 

     A powerful influence always helped tip the scales in someone’s favor— so it was in their case as well. Alice wondered if life would go on like this forever. If she would always wake up in the morning without an itchy mattress or with her always hearing the birds chirp outside; she wondered if she would always be out doing something new with her newfound friends aside from reporting something new every single day. She also wondered if she would learn more about Norton. It was nice to have a neighbor— especially one she got along with. Would she see him again in the days to come? 

     Would it all really go on ‘forever’? 

     Was this new life a reward for success? Or was success yet to come? 

     All of these questions and more rang through her mind like a thousand different voices all clamoring for her answers, one on top of the other. Alice always tried to answer those voices, because if they didn’t, they would nag her again and again, poking through her mind like a bunch of tiny needles searching every ounce of her brain for something that would satisfy each one individually. 

     One could say it was obsessive. Alice would be inclined to agree. But curiosity could be as much of a curse as it was a gift, and she had been resigned to that fact long ago.

Chapter Text

    The next few weeks were filled with more parties, more new people, and more visits to Norton. 

     Alice had completely disregarded Melly’s warning. And the other several warnings Melly had given her about that man. Other than that, Alice took her words to heart. They both shared an aura of wisdom and charm that couldn’t be found in any other person Alice had previously met. 

     Alice saw the two as mentors. She certainly learned a lot from them. She was glad she never used the second-floor family restroom (Melly) or never ate too many shrimps after trying the Aurorian Festivities Orange Sparkling Drink (Norton) or told either of them about her personal friendships with the other (because, as Alice would soon find out, Norton and Melly did not like each other). 

     The journalist learned about this animosity one night during Joseph’s birthday; it was spring after Alice had just moved in. 

     Of course, despite his age nearing his mid-sixties, he held a party like it was a debut (an Aurorian upper-class custom— the celebration of a young, rich heir receiving their money or a large allowance). And to be fair, Joseph always had money flowing from somewhere. 

     Everyone invited made sure to watch how many bottles he took. Word had it that the first time Joseph got drunk around everybody would have to be the last— according to Melly, things got very personal in a record amount of time. Something about a dead brother and drinking wine to ease the sorrow and lots and lots of crying and evil photography soul-snatching scheming. It was said that Joseph went to therapy the day afterward. Some even went so far as to say he went to rehab. 

     As for Alice at this current moment at this current debut where Joseph was not, in fact, drunk, she was watching from the corner of the room when Melly approached her. 

     “Ms. DeRoss,” Melly dipped her head. Alice did the same and subconsciously straightened out her skirt before Melly spoke again. “How are you? Enjoying the party, I hope?”

     “I’m doing all right,” Alice answered. “I’m not so used to all this… energy, however.”

     “Ah, understandable. I felt that same way, too.”

     “…I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks this is all a little too much,” Alice confessed, knowing that while Melly did not actively show it (or much at all, really), she also was not too fond of the nightlife in the South district. 

     “Most of the residents here are known for being over the top in one way or another. For example, some say I am over the top in my honesty. Some might even say you’re over the top in your work ethic, Ms. DeRoss.”

     “Well…”

     “Perhaps that’s a good thing.” a smile crept onto Melly’s lips. 

     “Perhaps.”

     Norton walked past the duo as he got himself another round of wine. 

     Melly’s smile fell. Norton’s movements were stiff and almost robotic as he unscrewed the bottle’s cap and took a swig of its contents before walking away. 

     “Do you care for some wine?” Alice looked at the woman. 

     “…No, but thank you. Do you?”

     “Me neither. To be honest, I’m not sure what to do now.”

     Alice’s eyes surveyed the room. She landed on Joseph singing into a microphone with a large crowd surrounding him, a band accompanying the man a few feet away, and some important-looking business people chatting with each other while playing cards. 

     Melly’s eyes, on the other hand, rested on a man who had just gotten himself wine, walked a few feet away, and then circled back. Melly always wondered why Norton was so hesitant, so hurried nowadays. 

     “Alice,” all of a sudden, Norton was back and behind the journalist, causing her to jolt. He took a brief look at her and then stepped in between her and Melly. 

     “Good evening, Plinius,” Norton gave a quick nod to the professor. 

     “Evening,” was all Melly said back. 

     “I was wondering if you’d prefer it if I took you to a quieter area,” Norton offered, his words hesitant as he kept his eyes mostly on Alice. He kept his voice low, as if Melly didn’t have the talent of being able to read lips. Just like Alice did.

     “Surely this offer extends to me also? After all, it would be quite inconsiderate to pick favorites,” Melly tilted her head to the side. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Campbell?”

     Norton scoffed, ignoring Melly’s comment. “Well, either way, you both certainly don’t look as amused as he does.” 

     Norton pointed to Joseph, who was now having his hair tended to by some women while the band continued to blast impressively loud music. 

     “Hm,” Melly noted with the utmost indifference. 

     “Hm,” Norton said back, almost mockingly. “Well, take it or leave it.”

     “Sure,” Alice slowly nodded, looking between the two with the utmost confusion. While Melly seemed icier than usual, Norton’s face was slightly red. Alice cleared her throat. “Where is this… quieter area?”

     Joseph had booked the Orphesian Tower in full, allowing the three of them to go anywhere between it's twelve floors. This was the regular for Southern parties. Alice found it ridiculous.

     “Your pick,” Norton answered, facing Alice and ignoring Melly in full. Alice found it almost comical, if not rather embarrassing. 

     Alice looked to Melly. Melly gestured back to her.

     “Why don’t we visit… um…”

     Twelve floors gave way to an extensive amount of opportunity. On the rooftop was a pool. There was a cafe on the third. As of now, Alice was on the fifth… 

     Or was it the seventh? Or the ninth? Alice looked at the two who eagerly stared back at her and cleared her throat.

     “Let’s visit the… the golf room!”

     And while none of them really knew (or cared) about learning the ways of golf, Norton and Melly followed after the younger woman and all three of them entered the elevator with nobody else inside. 

     The elevator even had music!

     “Oh, what a nice song,” Alice mumbled as the elevator headed up. Norton and Melly remained in utter silence. Alice ran through any kind of conversational topics in her head because it was strange to be silent after being in a room so noisy. 

     “How’s your butterfly garden, Melly?” Alice turned to Melly. 

     “It's going well, Alice. You ought to come by,” Melly answered-- and while her words seemed tender, she was strangely stiff. She turned away a moment later. 

     “How’s your new movie, Norton?” Alice turned to Norton. 

     “I don’t have one,” he looked down at her. 

     “Oh.”

     They all remained in silence for a few more moments until the door opened, revealing a room with neon lights  and a carpeted floor before them. Alice cringed and  blinked several times as they all strolled through the area. 

     It wasn’t very full; here and there some golfers were present along with some staff. There was a tiny bar with only the barmaid present. 

     “Are we playing golf?” Norton asked, almost distressed as he watched someone swing a club with dazzling precision. 

     “We should not,” Melly muttered under her breath before shifting her gaze to Alice, who was already starting to move ahead towards the bar. 

     “She  wants  wine?” Norton looked at Melly as he increased his pace. 

     Melly only shrugged. Soon the three were seated at the bar and the barmaid greeted them. 

      “Nice to see anybody wantin’ some of my drinks,” she grinned. “Your orders?”

      The three listed off their drastically different orders. Alice suddenly regretted taking up Norton’s offer, because by now she could tell something was off between her two dear friends. She found her night was now growing to be even more awkward than other party nights.

     The barmaid, Demi, went to prepare the drinks. Alice, who sat in between her two friends tried to get yet another conversation going. 

     “So do you two… know each other?”

     “Oh, yes, we do,” Melly answered with a tinge of sharpness, cutting off Norton, who had his mouth open to speak.

     “From where?” Alice tilted her head, now looking to Norton. 

     “Melly over there became Orpheus’ assistant around the same time I did,” Norton stared at Melly with a dim expression. 

     “You both were Orpheus’--?”

     “Yes,” both answered, deadpan. 

     “Norton liked to be very aggressive and headstrong with his decisions,” Melly added. “I was simply there to help balance him out.”

     “Melly didn’t do too much,” Norton sniffed, looking at Alice with the same intensity Melly did. “She sat around and critiqued every little thing I did. Must’ve looked down on me because of my job back then, huh, Plinius?”

     His voice was raised by then. 

     “You act as though I wasn’t lowly too,” Melly’s voice remained level. She looked down at Alice. “I was a maid.  He was a prospector.”

    Alice nodded, holding her tongue lest she make the situation worse. Why did wine take so long to come?

     “Anyway, Plinius’d always come in with some papers and just watch over me while I did my work. She’d be off drawing bugs or something while I was stuck reading over Orpheus’ manuscripts. Mind you, she has the better eyesight.” Norton continued rambling. 

     “I had a job to do and I did it, Mr. Campbell,” Melly sighed. “My apologies that I used my free time to be productive. ”

     “You didn’t have to take all of my colored pencils, you know,” Norton grumbled as Demi returned with wine. 

     “You know, this sounds very… intimate,” Alice acknowledged Demi with a nod before taking her Moscato in a glass. “Why don’t we talk about something else?”

     “You really wanna hear this lady yap about bugs ?” Norton scoffed, folding his arms. He ignored the glass of red wine Demi slid next to him (and also ignored the little smirk she gave him too).

     “If you have a more ideal topic then you might as well say it,” Melly faced him, looking over the top of Alice’s head. “For your information, gemstones and acting and prospecting don’t count.”

     “Pyrite?” Norton pleaded. 

     “No.”

     Alice’s glass was half empty by now. For some reason, this kind of bickering was mildly entertaining-- even if the journalist would never admit to it. 

     “Well… then you shouldn’t be allowed to yack about your little caterpillars either, Plinius!”

     “I’ll have you know those caterpillars have now completed metamorphosis--”

     “Lady, aren’t you going to speak?” a sharp whisper caught Alice’s attention. It was Demi, the barmaid. And Norton and Melly didn’t even notice when Alice quietly replied:

     “I… I don’t know what to say.”

     Demi gave her a strange look. "Is that so? Let me handle this--"

     "No! No.  Let them talk," Alice interjected. "I think they can handle it  by themselves."

     Demi just shook her head and smiled, looking over at the two next to Alice. Melly had barely touched her wine. Norton’s glass was already empty. Alice’s glass was on its way as well. 

     Norton and Melly were still heatedly talking. Or, rather, arguing by now. 

     “--then maybe you shouldn’t have let caterpillars into my room, Plinius!”

     “Mr. Campbell, this  is  why you don’t have roommates  anymore.”

     “Yes, I do! Look at who’s next to me, woman!”

     “She’s a lady alright,” Demi interrupted, resting her head on her hand.  Her gaze fell on Alice. “A smart-looking one, too. Shame none of you bothered to ask her what to talk about now, eh? Might’ve solved your, uh, lover’s quarrel.”

     “Lovers?” Melly probably wrinkled her nose under that veil. “Excuse you.”

     “They’re not dating,” Alice awkwardly smiled and leaned forward. 

     “Sorry,” Demi mumbled back. “I just see sights like this too often. You’re like a little kid watching Mama and Papa go at it with each other, you know?”

     “What? No, I… I just met them.”

     “Haven’t  you been living with them Nightingales for a year now?”

     “...Almost. Almost a year. Not the same thing.”

     “I get it. You don’t want to be associated with these folks.”

     At that, Norton and Melly looked at each other and then at Alice. Alice gulped. 

     “No, no, I do. I care for them dearly, you see? Here-- I’ll even pay. My apologies for disturbing you with our very very personal conflicts.”

     “It’s no big deal--” Demi waved Alice off, stopping short  when she heard Norton whisper behind Alice’s back and at Melly:

     “It's a little less personal when you got caterpillars on your back, Plinius.”

     Demi snorted. Norton looked up and glared. Demi, still smiling, backed away and waved her hands. 

     “There’s no need to pay for us, Ms. DeRoss,” Melly shook her head, already taking out her wallet (with a caterpillar embroidered on it). 

      Alice watched her incredulously. “No, no… I have the money--”

      “Let her pay,” Norton sniffed, also taking out his wallet. “It's our treat for you.”

     Demi placed a hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

     “What did I do for a treat like this?” Alice murmured and looked at the two, who placed wads of cash next to their glasses. 

     “It's a housewarming gift,” Melly calmly answered, despite Alice living with them for almost a year by now. “Welcome to Oletus.”

Chapter Text

     The months continued to pass until it was late into summer— the perfect time in Metropolis to visit the neon beaches with their annual festivities and music shows.

     Metropolis often boasted its colorful and musical culture to other cities nearby. Under the guidance of the Eternal Aurora, the city was deemed a haven for those seeking refuge from the hardships and dangers of the outside world (and critics claimed it came at a soul-snatching cost). Such praise would have to be saved for another time, however, because neither beaches nor propaganda were in Alice’s mind when she opened the door and saw quite the sight before her.

     There was Joseph—in all his white-haired, young adult-looking glory— wearing a flamingo pool floatie around his waist. There was Victor in a blue swimsuit with a large smile on his typical, happy face with Wick in his arms. And down the hall, footsteps (and the sound of aggressive bickering) were heard until Norton Campbell and Melly Plinius stopped short before the two men and poked their heads through the doorway.

     “Hello,” Alice croaked. Her voice ached. Her fingers ached. She could barely comprehend the sight before her as light stung her eyes.

     “Ms. DeRoss,” Melly nodded. “A pleasure to see you this early in the morning.”

     “Yes… yes. I… you know, I was in the middle of working on my latest piece—“

     “So much writing! Goodness, mon chouette, it's a wonder how you haven’t ended up in the hospital yet!” Joseph dramatically cried and put a hand to his forehead, his blue eyes facing the ceiling. 

     Victor furiously nodded. Wick woofed in agreement. More footsteps were heard until Frederick Kreiburg made an appearance, hiding behind Joseph. Orpheus was present soon after. Everyone made room for him.

     Alice was going to get a headache on top of all her other early morning aches. “May I ask why there is a whole entourage outside of my room at five in the morning…?”

     “Well, it's tradition!” Orpheus exclaimed with a large smile. He also wore a swimsuit, but never dropped the monocle or the smug smirk underneath it. “As you’re still quite new here by all of our standards, we’re taking you for your first Pool Party Extravaganza at the Campbell Neon Beach!”

     “Campbell… Neon… what?”

     “Get a swimsuit on,” Norton peered behind Orpheus’ shoulder. “We’re going to the beach.”

     “The …Campbell… Neon—“

     “Do it.”

     And then Alice realized she had no say in the matter. Without another word, she turned around, closed the door, and went behind her folding screen. 

                                   ~

     Sometimes, Alice couldn’t believe life in the southern district was real. Somehow, she had found herself in the state where one could have everything they wanted— all because of a good turn of fortune. It was almost nonsensical, so Alice chalked the good fortune up to her hard work and continued listening to whatever chatter was going on around in Joseph’s long car. 

     Of course, he wasn’t driving. He sat next to Alice and tended to his hair, fumbling with his ribbon because it just wouldn’t stay where he wanted it to. Melly flanked Alice’s other side while Norton held a conversation with Victor (because, he told Alice on the way to the car, at least Victor didn’t have any insects up his sleeves). Frederick and Orpheus were up front and one of them had decided to drive. 

     “I hope you’re excited, dear,” Joseph looked down at Alice as he finally tied his hair to liking. Alice never realized he had such long, beautiful hair until now. “Out of all the parties you’ve been too, I can assure you this one will be your favorite.”

     “Why so?” Alice inquired, meeting his gaze. “You know I’ve never been too much of a fan.”

     “An Extravaganza, as Orpheus likes to call them, are mini parties he funds every summer,” Melly interjected. “He’ll choose the newest resident and allow them to pick some of their friends to go to a Neon Beach together.”

     “Who’s the new resident?” Alice asked, because it was very evident she did not get a say in this at all. And as for what a neon beach was, she had no clue. 

     Norton snorted. “You, obviously. I thought you were the brains out of all of us?”

     “Mind you,” Melly sniffed, seeing as she was the professor here. 

     “Oh,” Alice cleared her throat. “Well. I didn’t get a say in this at all, that’s for sure.”

     “We figured you would need a bit of a… nudge, let’s call it,” Joseph put his hands together and flashed an apologetic smile at the woman. “Because you seem to be so invested in your writing all of the time— we figured you’d forget if we told you.”

     “Oh,” Alice mumbled. 

     Victor suddenly held up a paper. It read:

     “It’s not good to be stuck in a room all the time. Take care of yourself! :)”

     That man had some lovely handwriting.

     Alice felt her cheeks grow red. She offered an awkward smile and a brief nod to Victor before turning to Melly, who she hoped would get her out of such an embarrassing topic. They all really did think she was overworking herself— and perhaps she was, to some extent, but she deemed it necessary to maintain such a lavish life. 

     “Leave Ms. DeRoss be,” Melly came to the rescue. “I personally voted against this plan, yet here we are.”

     “It’s for the best,” Joseph nonchalantly declared. “Everyone needs the beach once in a while, don’t they?”

     “Nah,” Norton lightheartedly scoffed while Victor nodded his head in agreement with Joseph. 

     Melly sighed and offered Alice an apologetic smile. “If you end up not liking this trip, you can tell us to take you home any moment you please.”

     “Thanks,” Alice rubbed her eyes. Why did they choose this hour to go swimming? She bet the waters were cold. 

     Alice didn’t like the cold very much. The cold of steel, the cold in a basement— cold water was no exception to her list of dislikes. Normally she tried to play polite, but these were not very normal circumstances. 

      “You may be wondering why we’ve chosen this ripe time of five AM to bring you to these lovely Aurorian waters,” Joseph said once he noticed Alice’s less-than-pleased expression. 

      “I’m… I am questioning your decisions quite a bit here, Joseph,” Alice stared past Norton’s head and through the window. 

     “Told you we should’ve done seven,” Norton folded his arms, as if seven AM was any better. 

     “Hush, Norton,” Joseph shook his head. “Five is the ideal time indeed! We can watch the sun rise over the Aurorian clouds, sitting next to our technicolor sandcastles while splashing each other with the gentle waves of the beach.”

     “Are you even awake?” Norton appeared flabbergasted. He shifted with the water gun in his hands. Alice hadn’t noticed it before…

     “I’m sorry. We’ll ‘splash each other while watching the sun rise while sitting next to sandcastles’?” Melly, seemingly amused, repeated.

     “Ah, stop, stop, stop. You all know what I mean,” Joseph smiled and leaned back without a care in the world. He then looked to Alice, trying to catch any reaction from the woman’s rather distraught looking face as she stared into the void (which was the window behind Norton, for reference). 

     “DeRoss staring syndrome,” Victor lifted up another sheet of paper once more, holding his bright purple marker. A neon shade. Alice stared through it. “I’ve seen Miss Alice do this before—  and it's usually when she questions her decisions.”

     “Personal business, my goodness Victor,” Joseph chided with a click of tongue as he looked at Norton, who was making silly faces at Alice before Joseph caught him. Norton straightened up and tried to fix a collar that wasn’t there. He flicked his sunglasses on and laid back.

     “I realize we’ll be at the beach soon,” Melly shifted her head to see past Norton and out to the window, where buildings were slowly being replaced with water on all sides of the vehicle. 

     “Ah, the Auroria II Bridge,” Joseph placed a hand on his chest with a rather fond tone. “A herald, indeed, of the bea—“

     “Do you photographers ever shut up?” Norton, albeit lightheartedly, interjected— and it was this that snapped Alice out of her staring syndrome. 

     “Mayhaps,” was Joseph’s answer as Alice quickly surveyed the area around her, her eyes darting around everywhere as everyone watched back with curiosity.

     “It’s too early for this, Joseph,” Norton declared, keeping his sunglasses on. When Alice realized he was even wearing sunglasses (and was reminded of his rather revealing attire), she cringed and looked elsewhere. 

     “What are we supposed to do, hm? Turn around and cross the bridge when we are already on the edge of the other side?” Melly challenged, almost patronizingly (but no one could ever tell with that woman, for she was extremely elusive with her emotions). 

     “I never said anything about that,” Norton wrinkled his nose. “I’m just saying that our dear friend Alice over here is looking a little sleepy for Desaulniers’ sandcastle sunrise picnic fantasies.”

     “No, no, I’m fine,” Alice muttered, staring down at the car’s floor with a tinge of red on her cheeks. “I can swim.”

     “You sure?” Norton lifted up his ridiculous glasses, revealing his brown eyes with a hint of (surprisingly) concern in them. “Have you even touched the water?”

     “You can’t make assumptions about people’s skills due to their background, Norton,” Melly folded her arms. 

     “I— You know I was poor before all this!”

     “Well, better to make no assumptions no matter who you are.”

     “What?! I was just asking a question!”

     Alice groaned. Norton looked at her and pinched his nosebridge. He quietly swore under his breath.

     “Givin’ us all a headache here, Plinius,” is all Alice could make out before the car suddenly rolled to a stop and the doors unlocked. Soon, Mr. Orpheus and Frederick (who appeared to be in even worse condition than Alice) were at the windows and opened the doors for those inside.

     All gave their thanks before stepping out into the parking lot. It was still rather dark outside and there were no other cars in sight. For a moment, Alice wondered if Joseph had reserved the beach as well. Seeing such a popular place so desolate was… almost unnerving.

     Joseph adjusted his flamingo pool floatie once more and swept his soft hair to the side. He led the group and occasionally looked behind him as they all migrated across the road to the Neon Beach. 

     The Campbell Neon one, apparently, Alice remembered. And for a brief moment she wondered what kind of heroic deed one had to do in order to have a beach named in one’s honor. 

     What did Norton do to surpass the priority of having public monuments, buildings, everything, being named after the Eternal Aurora? While it was an intriguing question, Alice could barely begun to form an answer before Joseph’s shouting filled her ears.

     “Mon amis!” he cried, pointing to the gentle waves a few feet ahead. “L’eau! It is before us!”

     “We know, Joseph!” Norton and Melly shouted back in discordant unison. It was almost as unnerving as seeing nobody else on the sand or in the water. Alice, realizing she was lagging behind, picked up the pace and eventually caught up to the others. 

     And Joseph was not wrong about the beaches being neon. The grains of sand, although faint, were made up of bright shades of orange and pink. It was particularly dazzling. 

     Alice shifted her gaze to the horizon. Soon, the sun would rise and illuminate the dark waters. The woman decided to wait for the sunrise, because cold water was extremely unfavorable for anybody to swim in.   

     “Ready?” Alice felt someone nudge her shoulder. She turned, met with Victor’s smiling face and a paper illuminated with a flashlight behind it.

     Alice nodded. She was amazed at Victor’s cheerfulness so early in the morning. She watched as he stowed away his items in a duffel bag before gesturing for her to follow him to the edge of the sand and towards the waves.

     Hesitantly, she followed. It was strange seeing Victor— or rather, everybody— dressed in swimsuits dashing towards the ocean. Even Melly seemed rather excited, even if the veil stayed on.

     Some, like Joseph and Norton, paid no mind to the darkness and ran quite far out into the waters. Soon enough, the two men were splashing each other and laughing. Of course, Joseph brought his water proof camera. Alice prayed his film wouldn’t get stolen by the waves. 

     Victor stayed near the rocks on the left side of the beach, perched atop a small rock while he watched his plump dog splash around. Wick, the said pump dog, made sure to keep close to his owner.

     Melly also stayed close to the shoreline on the other side of the beach, heading towards a collection of rocks that appeared to hold a tide pool in the distance. Alice wondered if she would find any interesting specimens and take them to her home, or to her lab, or to wherever such research occurred. She wouldn’t judge— her own apartment room really was a second office.

     As for the journalist herself, she initially stayed right on the shoreline, dipping her toes into the water. Surprisingly, the water was warm. 

     It was pleasant, and yet it felt wrong. Artificial, almost, but the woman had no time to dwell such things much  longer before she heard somebody shouting her name. Orpheus headed towards her, calling her over with Frederick lagging behind him.  

     “Alice!” Orpheus dashed over with specks of water on his monocle. “How’re you liking the water?”

     “It… it's warm,” Alice answer stiffly. “But there's a breeze and the sun isn’t even out right now. What is this-- a hot spring?”

     Orpheus  shrugged. “All that matters is that you make the most of it. It's why  all of us here, no?”

     “I suppose…”

     “So enjoy it, dear  friend. This is all for you!”

     Behind him, Frederick nodded. “Yes, yes. Enjoy the  quiet while it lasts.”

     The absence of the familiar music heard all around the district was not lost on Alice. She stepped out further into the ocean with the only noise being that of the waves amid Joseph and Norton’s squealing and laughing. And once she felt she was far out enough, she stood where she was and simply just watched the horizon before her, paying no mind to Orpheus and Frederick, who were still watching. 

     The novelist watched with a rather pleased expression. Frederick was more neutral, on the other hand, and walked away a few moments later to go sit somewhere on the sand and work on his latest compositions. Still, Orpheus remained where he was-- as did Alice, who was once again deep in her thoughts watching what was a world away from her. 

                                                         ~

     Soon, the sun began making its ascent through the sky and all members of the little group sat or stood right on the shoreline, admiring the beautiful view.

     “How beautiful,” Joseph, per usual, stated the obvious as Victor did the photographer’s hair. The two sat down on a beach towel that had Norton’s face on the other side. 

     Joseph was seated next to Alice, who watched as he stuck his tongue out and searched for the ideal camera angle as the sun peered just above the horizon and reflected its light onto the waters. 

     Alice hadn’t seen the sun rise often. While she woke up early, she preferred to stay indoors and cozy up in her bed, reading a book or something or other. And she knew many who did the same— either finishing drafts or preparing for work or simply lying down in bed, exhausted by the weight of the world. 

     Of course it was only here that people had the time, luxury, and money to be able to focus on the world’s beauty. 

      Alice wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. Because, in a way, it felt wrong to be able to face something so luminous while knowing every other evil was bound to happen under that same sun’s rays. And perhaps she would report on such evil as well-- uptick in crime had been reported lately on the outskirts of town and all the propaganda magazines were eager  to capitalize off it. 

     “Ma Cherie, you ought to smile more,” suddenly, the camera was pointed at her now. Joseph was speaking, and his voice only registered through her mind once the camera’s shutters went off. 

     “Joseph,” Alice sighed, flustered. “Why do you always do this?”

     “Aha— I do really do have the heart of a child, don’t I?”

     “Might as well be one,” Alice, in the spirit of Norton Campbell, replied with her eyebrows scrunched together. 

     “But would such a child be so elegant and dazzling and talented?” Joseph tilted his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. 

     “Maybe not,” Alice folded her arms. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. 

     “Of course not,” Joseph corrected. “And as your very much elder, let me give you some wise advice: smile more.”

     “Of course you’d say that. Your job is to take photos of smiling people.”

     “You act like I am a man of no depth!” Joseph feigned disbelief, placing a hand on his chest. Victor snorted. 

     “Perhaps you are one.”

     “Astute, aren’t you?”

     And for the first time that morning, Alice laughed. “I’m not a journalist for no reason.”

     “Oh, journalism this and observation that. You know, my dear, it's  not always a good thing to be in your head all the time.”

     Alice tilted her head. “Why’s that?”

     “You, mon amie, write about such… dreary topics. Sometimes it's better to step away from it once in a while. Life isn’t always so black and white.”

     “Your photos are, though.”

     “Touché. See, aren’t I a master at the art already?”

     “At what? Making people smile?”

     “Do not act as if you weren’t just smiling a second ago. There are witnesses here, yes?”

     Victor nodded with a brief ‘mhm’ and finished tying Joseph’s hair back once more. At his feet, Wick barked and whined, seemingly gesturing towards Norton and Orpheus, who were using state-of-the-art water guns and pelting an unfazed Melly and a screaming Frederick with gallons of water.

     “Oh wow,” Alice murmured, almost dazedly. She had never heard a man scream so musically before— she figured it came with the job of being a composer. 

     “You ought to join them,” Joseph smiled as Victor walked away with Wick clinging to his leg. 

     Alice’s gaze snapped back to the almost fatherly man. She ran through her mind and tried to think of a witty response. “And… and leave the elderly behind? How disrespectful of me!”

     “Well, grand-pere is a pacifist, so he will not join the war. He encourages you to do so and fight for him. His back hurts and he wants to paint the sunset.”

     “If you’re such a pacifist, why is there a water gun behind your back?”

     “Catch, ma cherie. Spray them all! When you’re back I will have a gorgeous tableaux for you.”

     “Of the sunset?”

     “Go!” Joseph shoved the water gun into her arms.

                                                             ~

     “I didn’t want to have to do this to you, Alice.”

     Across from Alice stood a man named Norton Campbell, who dropped his tacky black sunglasses onto his face as he drew a stance. In all but his appearance, he resembled one of the protagonists of his action movies. 

     He raised the gun and struck a pose with stunning glamour. Even the ‘dead’ bodies on the ground, whose bodies were drenched in water, couldn’t help but gasp (save for Melly, who refused to play dead and was investigating water bugs nearby). 

     “A fine lady like you shouldn’t have to put up with a scoundrel like me,” Norton recited from one of his latest movies— it was possible to guess which one, as most of his movies nowadays involved a repetitive but entertaining formula of Norton playing a scoundrel who dressed up in fancy clothes who always ended up betraying his love interest to get money. “But then again, maybe a scoundrel like me shouldn’t put up with y—“

     “Just shoot her already,” Frederick whispered a few inches away from Norton’s sandal. 

     Alice stood a few feet away from him in the distance. She barely had any water on her  body because nobody was quite willing to shoot her down. 

     Norton kicked Frederick’s side and continued monologuing. “After all, there’s only one thing I want in the end—“

     “Money!” Orpheus shouted in glee despite playing a corpse. 

     “That’s what Ronald of Ness wanted,” Norton smirked and shouted back to his boss. “But there’s only one thing I want in the end, and that’s to win!”

     He shifted his gun and aimed at Alice, who didn’t move an inch. 

     “Huh—?” Norton’s eyes immediately widened as he lowered the gun once more and inspected it. He pulled the trigger towards the ocean many, many more times. Yet nothing came out.

     Now it was time for Alice to shine. “Dearest Ronald, you may think all the money you carry in that bag is now all yours. But I have fooled you so! Using my extremely luminous charm and intelligence, I swapped out your money bag when you weren’t looking! Now it is your turn to suffer for your crimes!!!”

     The crowd of not-quite-dead onlookers watched with amazement as Alice, whom nobody suspected to be so good at reciting monologues, began shooting at Norton. The actor stood there in utter shock before screaming like a babe as Alice chased him down in hot pursuit. 

     Orpheus began rolling across the sand in laughter. Frederick couldn’t resist applauding. Wick woofed joyfully as Victor whistled in appreciation. Melly looked up from her water insects and gave a brief nod. 

     There Norton stood before everyone in all his drenched glory, with his glasses askew. He covered his exposed torso after raising his hands in defeat and collapsing onto the sand. 

     Alice smiled again. And then, she grabbed Norton’s hand and helped him up before escorting him to the nearest bathroom. 

     Soon, all had to get changed. Joseph, after going on and on about his portrait of the sunset with Alice in it and now it symbolized hope for humanity and the welfare of nature in society, announced that he had secretly coordinated with the top jazz artist and dancer Margaretha Zelle to perform for Alice. 

     “I thought this was supposed to be a closed event, Desaulniers,” Norton sniffed with new clothes and extremely wet hair that clung to his face.

     “Well, our dear friend has been missing out on the local jazz scene around here,” Joseph side-eyed Alice. “She’s somehow managed to worm her way out of every single event.”

      “Does she even like jazz?” asked Frederick, who was obviously biased towards classical music.

     “We’ll find out,” Joseph smiled, his eyes closed as he laid  onto the beach towel.

     “When is Margaretha coming?” Melly folded her arms.

     “Oh no, it's not just her,” Joseph calmly answered. “She’s bringing her whole group. Oh, look! There they are now. In that luxury car that conveniently says ‘Zelle’ on it.”

     All immediately whirled around to try and see across the road. In the faint distance there was, in fact, a luxury car. Nobody knew how Joseph saw ‘Zelle’ on it.

     Alice turned back and gave Joseph a look of furrowed eyebrows and a slightly agape mouth. She then shut it, not wanting the man to unleash his Josephian communication tactics. 

     She hoped she liked jazz.

Chapter Text

       Apparently, even stars like Margaretha and her Vaudeville troupe Hullaballoo didn’t mind performing with no stage. Later on in an interview, the singer described the experience as ‘freeing’, because before her was a diverse audience who watched them all with money in their hands and quite a range of smiles on their faces. The best crowds, she found, were always the toughest ones. 

     After Mike Morton performed his rounds of extremely successful comedy (especially a hit with the man with the white hair and a camera) and juggling and Murro Morton’s surprise collaboration with Frederick Kreiburg and all the other acts presented to the audience, Margaretha launched into her finale.

     “ Ladies and gentlemen, today I bring before you a ballad of tragedy, heartbreak, murder, and justice-- all of the things we hold near and dear to our  hearts,” Margaretha curtsied, standing in the center of the beach with several sandcastles surrounding her. She found the sight endearing and, as she swayed to Murro’s gentle melody, made sure to avoid crushing even the tiniest one. “I hope you all enjoy.”

     She made sure to keep her eyes on the audience. The words on her lips were familiar to her by now, for she had sang them for a variety of audiences. Audiences who had never heard of the  name or the fate  of a lesser known criminal who had resided in the jail of Metropolis itself. 

     It was easy enough to capitalize on such a sorrowful tale. It was harder still to mask it as a tale of hope and dreams and whatever other luminescent things were required for Magaretha to be  able to sing about what would’ve been an unpopular tale about a woman, her victim, and the lake. 

                                                      ~

     No names were ever uttered in Margaretha’s tale, Alice realized midway through her rapid applause. Yet strangely, it seemed familiar. Perhaps Alice was just too familiar with a whole variety of crimes by now.

     The group had given the dancer-singer a standing ovation, for despite such an unusual stage of sand, Margaretha had managed to keep their attention. The attention of such utterly chaotic people was still centered on her, even as the whole troupe bowed before them and began trekking back to their luxury car. 

     Alice kept her eyes on that dancer. Her ballad… it had been about an unnamed woman executed for murdering an innocent man by drowning him in a lake. For some reason, such a death sentence was painted rather positively. Alice, while not able to criticize the woman’s voice in the slightest, wondered why she had chosen such curious repertoire. 

     After all, Alice hadn’t had to write about executions in a while. Nowadays, she wrote about the results of court cases for more petty crimes. Of course, she made sure to avoid the typical praise of the judges the Eternal Aurora had assigned, and stayed true to the integrity and neutrality that brought her continued success. 

     And yet that ballad lingered. Maybe because it was quite jazzy and catchy and lovely. Maybe it because it was about crime. Maybe both. 

     She found herself humming it before she, too, began packing up her items. With Melly at her side, she headed for Joseph’s car. The time of enjoyment was somehow already over, and  while Alice knew all pleasures came to an end eventually, there was a slight yearning in her heart for such an experience to happen again. 

     Joseph really was right. This truly had been her favorite party yet. 

     The way home was initially rather rowdy -- and not because Melly and Norton erupted into another argument. Joseph had found wine hidden under his seat and began chugging it down, much to Melly’s chagrin and Norton’s excitement. But all calmed down when Victor revealed it was just Sparkling Aurorian Orange Festivities juice. After that, Joseph had cleared his throat, demurely hid  the bottle under the chair again, and promptly took a nap. 

     He was rather fascinating, Alice thought to  herself, because the man could play the face of a father and then then the face of a heir set to have  their first drinking party. Alice, personally, preferred his more… fatherly tendencies. 

      They arrived back at Alice’s apartment in the afternoon, when the sun was at its peak and warmth and light hit all of their faces as they exited  the car one by one, watching Joseph (who again, thankfully, was not drunk) drive away. 

     While nobody else hesitated to escape the sun’s dreadful heat, Alice stopped short just in front of the door. 

     The ballad still echoed in her  head. It reminded her of the Aurorian City Jail  what with all its references  to  crime and justice. 

     It  reminded her of the faces of those inmates. There was something unique about them, something in their eyes that she didn’t quite see in  any face of the Metropolitans living in the district  she could now say she lived  in. 

     It all  reminded her  of her words of promise to the inmates: to come visit them. 

     ‘ Soon, ’ she had told them. And perhaps, even now, it wasn’t too late for soon. 

                                                            ~

       Even now, not much continued to occur in the Aurorian City Jail. Yidhra was still the menacing matron. Mr. Kreiss was still getting bossed around by just about everybody-- when he was there,  that was. 

     Even the same set of the inmates remained. In fact, there was only one absent when Andrew escorted Alice to the cells she vividly remembered being crammed in with her paper and pen, talking with the criminals. 

     Alice wondered if Ann was still keeping up with her tea times. If Eta and Galatea still held the same level of vitriol for each other. If Aesop still had the same pair of gloves. Mundane were the things she considered, for sure, and yet they flooded her mind as she watched Mr. Kreiss unlock most of the cells. 

     The inmates seemed more dampened than usual. Their steps were slow as they dragged themselves out of the cell (Galatea wheeled herself, of course, in a similar pace), they kept their eyes  to the floor, and some would occasionally shift their weight while  seeming deep in thought about something even as Alice, with a quiet voice, greeted them all. 

     “It's nice to see you all again,” Alice couldn’t bring herself to look back at all of them once she had broken the  silence. It seemed the same for some of the inmates as well. Then, someone stepped forward. 

     It  was Ann. On her face was a lovely, yet solemn smile. “It is a pleasure to see you too, Ms. DeRoss.  We appreciate you being here.”

     So it was. The inmates waved  or  nodded and or smiled at Alice following Ann’s words. Alice counted them off in her head. Eta had  no stilts, making him appear shorter than usual. Galatea’s chisel remained in her hands, looking more worn than usual. Chloe smelled of luxurious perfume  that seemed to fill the room with a lovely, euphoric smell. Aesop stood next to her with that same old mask. 

     Only Grace was missing. Strange. 

     “A pleasure,” of course, Galatea spoke first, wheeling herself in front of everybody. She fidgeted with the chisel in her hand and kept her eyes on it, moving some blonde hair aside. Her lipstick was smudged and her usual fancy dress was torn. 

     “I heard you made it big,” Aesop lifted his eyes to stare somewhere past her. 

     “I… I suppose you could say that,” Alice gave him a tiny, awkward grin. 

     “Congrats,” Chloe offered her a brief smile. She folded her arms before looking over to Eta, who tried to straighten his back when Alice looked over at him. 

     Alice cut to the point. “I would ask how everyone’s been, but not everyone is here… yes? Where is Grace?”

     At the moment of her name, all stiffened. Glances were exchanged. Silence filled the room. Not even Yidhra or Mr. Kreiss spoke. 

     “Is she just using the bathroom, or…?” Alice turned around, trying to find out where she was. 

     “Bless your soul,” Ann quietly said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Alice’s shoulder. Alice turned around, met with the taller woman wiping a teary eye with her slender finger. 

     Alice felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her— it was a rock-heavy weight. Burdensome. Claustrophobic, almost. She didn’t know what to do to escape such a strange situation or what had caused one in the first place, even as Ann spoke again. 

     “I’m quite surprised you haven’t heard, Ms. DeRoss,” Ann stepped back into the group of inmates. “Grace was…”

     ‘Was?’ Alice’s eyebrows furrowed. She stepped closer and opened her mouth before closing it again. Something was very, very wrong— and suddenly the memories of beaches and water guns and jazz were years away. Suddenly, Alice was back to being a novice journalist trying to make it by in her apartment only a few minutes from this very jail, with a pen and paper constantly in her bag. 

     “Hah…” Ann sighed, slouching with the ghost of a smile on her lips. “The judges… they decided…”

     “Don’t strain yourself,” Aesop placed a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Alice. “They decided to execute her.”

     Chloe broke into tears. Galatea shook her head. Alice opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Still, all eyes remained on her. 

     Alice cleared her throat, raised her shoulders. In her eyes was a glint of terror. “When?”

     It was like a scream. Her voice resounded throughout the jail, reflecting off of the bars and piercing through her ears. It was a voice unlike her own. 

     “A few weeks ago,” Chloe sniffed. Alice realized her eyes were bloodshot. Galatea tossed the perfumer a box of tissues. Ann headed out of the room. 

     The tension in the air only grew thicker. It filled Alice’s throat, froze her body, made her straighten her posture and clear her throat and look down at the floor that just a year earlier, Grace had walked on with her other inmates. 

     “By drowning,” Eta solemnly added. “A journalist like you should know about the new Reparation laws.”

     And Alice remembered— she was no law student, but she had overheard her secretary-manager Helena complain about the brutality of the informally dubbed ‘Eye-for-an-Eye’ Laws. But Alice had never reported about it being used. In fact, as she had reflected on before, she never reported on murderers anymore. When was the last time she had checked on a newspaper column not her own? 

     What had she done? Why had she missed it? 

     “Why… why didn’t I hear about this sooner?” Alice mumbled, the words flowing out of her mouth like they weren’t her own. 

     “I thought you wrote about murderers,” Eta shot her a wary look.

     “Yes… I… I used to,” Alice looked down at her hands. “But then I was assigned to write about other crimes, and…”

      “Look what you’ve done, Eta,” Galatea snarled. “You’ve gone and made her upset!”

     “It’s just rather suspicious, that’s all,” Eta waved Galatea off with a flick of his hand. The short woman growled. 

     “I haven’t heard… I’ve never seen…” the words Alice wanted to use to explain herself —to defend herself, really— left her at once, and she continued staring at the ground as shame filled her body. 

     “Easy,” Yidhra placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I get it. I’m assuming it hasn’t been widely reported on yet. Think about it.”

     Yidhra shifted her gaze to Galatea. “Was Grace’s case as popular as yours?”

     She looked at Eta. “Did Grace kill an underground crime boss? Or did she kill some unknown member of society?”

     Aesop sighed. “What you’re trying to say is…”

     “Grace was a nobody. A Miss Cellophane, if you will. Why would anybody care if a foreigner like her was executed? Why did we think for even one second that anybody would care if she was alive?” Yidhra folded her arms, staring down at the inmates indignantly.

     “But…” Alice tried to say something. She had given Grace a time to speak. She had written about her. Orpheus had published it—!

     “And how long has it been since Grace last became the talk of the town, hm?” Yidhra continued. Something in her tone was off— it was not the same, lilting one with a tinge of patronization in every sentence. She sounded… bitter. The drawl was still there, but there was an edge to it that made the inmates uneasy. 

     “Since Alice last wrote about her…” Mr. Kreiss answered when all the inmates fell into silence.

     “Which was when, Kreiss?” the heat of Yidhra’s gaze was on him now. 

     “I… last year?”

     “Roughly two damn years ago! You think the public has the attention span of a god or what? Of course - curse it all - nobody would care for a foreigner like Grace!” 

     Mr. Kreiss flinched. Yidhra took a deep breath, pinched her nose bridge, and sighed. Locks of her ink-black hair fell over her face. She looked down at the fearful eyes who quickly averted their gazes. 

     “Blasted system,” Yidhra concluded. 

      As she finished, silence filled the room. A few minute afterward, Ann came towards the group carrying a fresh pot of tea that smelled strongly of honey, vanilla, and chamomile. 

     “I figured that since we’re all reunited in some way or another, we could have a tea time in memory of Grace and pray for the repose of her soul,” she quietly explained, setting the pot on the floor. “I’ll get the cups… everyone stay put.”

     Alice began to weep. The inmates, a curious group to be comforted by, surrounded her and offered her their own repeated words of consolation or simply offered her tissues and their presence. 

     And soon, everyone was seated on the floor with many boxes of tissues empty and cups full of warm, soothing tea. And while many weren’t religious, all prayed that Grace was somewhere better now, as was fitting for such a kind and quiet soul— because despite how luminous it seemed, Metropolis was no heaven on earth.

     What with how Grace’s punishment was handled, nobody could say it was a heaven at all. 

                                                         ~

     The matter had disturbed Alice thoroughly. It was almost midnight by now, and yet the woman had no chance of sleep. 

     It was strange, wasn’t it? Oh, so strange— that she was a woman who had visited a beautiful beach just that same morning, only to be met with the knowledge of Grace’s end. And at the hands of water, at that!

     What was it like? Alice wondered as she tossed and turned and slammed her face against her pillow, seeking refuge from the way her thoughts invaded her with the feelings of having gallons and gallons of water flood not only through your mouth, but through your eyes and nose and lungs until there was nothing left to do but die. 

     Why did it have to be Grace? And yet Alice knew the answer. Yidhra had declared it already. Alice’s words could only do so much. She could speak honestly, write out the truth— but some things were inevitable. 

     Or were they really? For if Alice had been smarter, if she hadn’t switched topics so easily, if she had continued to defend Grace until she was proven innocent, then maybe Grace would’ve been standing there when Alice finally came back to the jail. 

     Alice had only met Grace once, and then never again— that in itself was a tragedy. And the notion that Alice would never see her again only shook her even more. 

     The journalist flung her blankets off her body and rose. Trying to sleep with such obsessive thoughts was impossible. 

     She decided she needed a drink. And she knew just where to get one. 

                       ~

     As one might recall, the only other neighbor Norton had aside from previously Orpheus and Melly in the Oletus Apartment was Alice. And when asked by reporters why Norton never had neighbors on his floor, he would tell them (if he didn’t say it was none of their business) that he stayed awake most nights and slept throughout the morning unless he had work to do. 

     Nobody ever got far with their prompting— even when Norton had to play polite, nobody was ever able to get beyond surface-level answers as he wormed his way out of every personal question. 

     As far as the public knew, Norton was like any other rich man— he slept when he wanted, got money when he wanted, and spoke whatever he wanted so long as he appeared charming enough to not get the Eternal Aurora to bat an eye. 

     Of course, the public knew nothing. 

     Close to midnight, Orpheus had entered Norton’s room dragging in a cooler full of wine and snacks. It was appeasement, Norton believed, because when he wasn’t being interviewed by some fancy dame reporter, he had quite the  dirty mouth and looked for every opportunity to use it against Orpheus. And if his mouth was full of food or drink or both at once, he couldn’t talk back to his boss. 

     “Red wine, icebox, mashed potatoes,” was Orpheus’ lovely greeting that particular night.

     “Thank you,” Norton greeted back, taking the cooler from the younger man’s hands and prying it open. He promptly snatched a bottle and placed the icebox cake on the table before retreating to the kitchen to get some plates and utensils. 

     “Do you know if Ms. DeRoss is asleep?” Norton heard Orpheus ask before the novelist pulled a chair out from the table and took a seat. 

     “I don’t know,” Norton scoffed. “I don’t go peeping in lady’s rooms.”

     “And yet you had no problem invading mine…”

     “Well, I’m sorry I wanted to make sure Plinius didn’t steal my precious gemstones. It was terrible trying to live knowing that the woman and her grimy caterpillars could be anywhere.”

     “…Such complaints are why she was so happy to move next to Frederick. Did you hear about his new piece, by the way?”

     “Does it look like I listen to classical, Orpheus?” Norton turned around, shot the man a look, and walked over to the table with plates and utensils in hand. 

     “Hm,” Orpheus lightheartedly rolled his eyes and adjusted his monocle as he accepted Norton’s items. “Well, it's a rather gorgeous piece. He based it off your beach fight with Alice. And also your encounters with the caterpillars…”

     “Why does everybody like to see me tortured?” Norton exasperatedly groaned. “It’s not funny.”

     “I don’t know. Maybe it's because you're attractive. I know my fans love to torment my pretty characters.”

     “Enough. Don’t ever say those words to me again,” Norton grumbled.

     “No, no. I understand. I wouldn’t like it either if I were you.”

     “Okay, Boss. Can we get to business now?”

     “Is Alice asleep?”

     “You already asked this, Boss. I don’t know.”

     “Alright. Well. Just keep your voice down…”

                                                       ~

     By the time Alice decided to eat her pride and get a drink from Norton’s hands, Orpheus was long gone. Despite her inability to sleep, it had taken Alice a while to get the strength to actually leave her bed, change her clothes, and walk out her door. 

     It was around one in the morning. Alice’s head smarted. She knocked on Norton’s door, unsure of whether to hope if he was still awake or not. 

     She knocked a few more times, each attempt quieter than than last. Eventually, she got an answer. 

     “Orpheus, if you don’t…” said somebody —presumably Norton— from the other side. Then, an eye appeared through the peephole. A quiet gasp came from Norton’s side of the door, and he promptly opened it. 

     “Alice?” Norton mumbled, squinting at the journalist while looking her up and down. Why was she dressed in casual clothes? Why were her eyes red and puffy? Why did she come here at 1AM? 

     “Mhm,” Alice didn’t meet his eyes. She rubbed her own and rocked back and forth on her feet as though she could barely keep herself awake. 

     “Go to sleep,” Norton told her before attempting to shut the door. Such an action shocked the woman, and without thinking, she put a foot through the door. Norton paused and stared at her questioningly. 

     “I can’t,” Alice answered. 

     “Then why’re you coming to me, huh?” Norton asked, more out of confusion than condescension. “Melly’s the one with all the sleeping tips. Sleeps like an angel, that woman.”

     “I’m not going to ask how you know that… but I need a drink.”

     “Hah!” Norton heartily chuckled. “Don’t take after that old man Joseph, would you? Getting drunk isn’t going to help anybody.”

     “No… I just want a drink.”

     “Then get yourself some Sparkling Festivities Aurorian Drink from Melly. I gotta sleep too, you know.”

     “…I don’t like those things.”

     “What?” Norton’s eyes widened before he shook his head. “Well. Uh. I’ve no more advice.”

     Alice looked up at him with tired, pleading eyes. Or maybe it was irritation. Norton couldn’t tell. 

     “Alright. Come on in,” Norton sighed and gestured towards the interior of the room. Alice crept in, almost silently, and kept her hands clutched on the sides of her skirt. 

     “I’m guessing you want Moscato?” Norton shut the door behind her and watched as the woman hesitantly pulled out the same chair Orpheus had sat in just half an hour earlier. 

     “…Yes, please,” Alice nodded, slouching and resting her head on her fist. It was very different from the confident journalist she usually was— but who was Norton to judge? He’d had the same exact experiences before, as well. Which was probably why him and Orpheus were so close. 

     Norton made way for the kitchen. He debated whether or not to ask about Alice’s restlessness. When they had first met, it seemed like she had a perfect routine and everything. Norton supposed everything failed once in a while. He was curious as to how it befell even Alice herself. 

      He got her two bottles and headed for the table, taking a seat and rolling them over to her. She barely managed to catch them. 

    “Thank you,” she murmured. 

    “Of course,” Norton nodded. 

     He watched as she placed her hand on the cap and tried to open it, failing miserably. She strained and strained, yet the cap wouldn’t budge. 

     “Pass them over,” Norton couldn’t stifle his grin. 

     She did as such. Now there was a slight hint of pink on her cheeks. 

     He opened them both with relative ease and placed the cap back on one, leaving it unscrewed. He gave her the other one back. 

     “Thanks,” Alice mumbled again. 

      Norton debated messing with her further, but decided to let her be. She hadn’t done anything wrong to him. Unlike Plinius. 

     All there was left to do was watch Alice take tiny sips from the bottle every few seconds. And although Norton loved silence, there was something irritating about this one. He was sure Alice wouldn’t mind at all if he just went to bed then and there, and yet…

     “So… you want me to be a listening ear for you or what?” Norton drummed his fingers over the table. 

     “What? No, no, I’m okay,” Alice spluttered. This morning was getting stranger by the second. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think I wanted solace or any—“

     “Calm yourself,” Norton held up a hand. “If you want to share why you can’t sleep, then just say it already. I’ll probably forget it later today anyway.”

     And for some reason, Norton wanted her to talk with him. He found her a pleasant enough woman and wished to know just a little bit more about her, even if he would indeed most likely forget it all when he woke up later. 

     “If it's not a bother to you…” Alice looked away, towards the door. 

     “It won’t be,” Norton leaned back, following her gaze. “And if you’re worried about secrets— I can keep many.”

     The man really could. He had kept many for himself over the course of a lifetime, and knowing when to shut up about something was his own personal secret to gaining success. He was much rewarded for such things many a time. 

     “It wouldn’t be right of me to lay my personal dealings on you at one in the morning,” Alice shook her head, although she knew that she was only stalling the inevitable— she was also inclined to speak to him, for she felt like he wouldn’t mind too much. After all, he had given her a lot of wine and a lot of kindness over the past year. 

     “So? I do it to Orpheus all the time. And he to me,” Norton shrugged. “I used to even tell Frederick to make songs about all the rants I gave to him when I first started working around here.”

     “Oh,” a giggle slipped from Alice’s mouth. “I had no idea you two were actually friends.”

     “Now she’s talking,” Norton hummed. 

     Alice rolled her eyes and smiled again before taking another sip of wine. “Alright. If you don’t mind me talking myself through what happened…”

      “Enough. Just tell me about it already. I can sit through a lot of things, you know.”

     “Alright.”

     Alice took a large gulp of wine, cleared her throat, and then spoke. “You know that ballad Margaretha sang for us?”

     Norton nodded. 

     “It reminded me of someone I knew at the Aurorian City Jail…”

Chapter Text

     For a while, the nightly meetings continued. The ones with Orpheus obviously had, and they had been for the past few years (much to Norton’s chagrin). The ones with Alice were the exact opposite— they were pleasant. Charming, almost. Norton gave the little lady information about him and she gave him just about the same amount of information in return.

     It wasn’t hard to see their friendship was growing. Soon, Melly caught word of it. As did Frederick. The duo had the faintest feeling that Norton and Alice’s bond would only result in no good, and yet day by day Norton appeared more relaxed, more… nicer, even. And not only when he was in public.

     Melly had collected some arachnids and placed them in a specialized container to bring them out to Professor Diruse, her co-worker. The tiny spiders crawled about on the sides and, bless those cute little things (in Melly’s eyes), they tried to escape. But Melly was experienced enough to know they would not, no matter how many tried to team up.

     On her way down the staircase, she spotted Norton leaning against the railing on the landing. His back was away from the stairs and he seemed to be mumbling something to himself. Melly stopped short and craned her neck forward to try and eavesdrop. She was no spreader of gossip and had no care for it, but she was always on the lookout for something to defend herself against Norton with.

     “That blasted Orpheus…” she heard him grumble. The words “deal”, “experiment”, and “wine” came up. Shortly after, Norton practically stormed a few inches away. Melly continued creeping down the stairs.

     “Good thing I’ll see Alice,” Norton sighed, a hand on his forehead. He tapped a foot impatiently and didn’t notice Melly when she reached the landing.

     Until he did, that was. And then he whirled around, right as Melly opened the door.

     “Plinius!” Norton blurted, flinching when he saw her veil.

     Melly barely stirred. “Campbell. Good to see you.”

     Norton was at a loss. He cleared his throat, looked from left to right, and then looked at the clear container. He squinted at it. “Fancy load you got there, huh?”

     “Good to see your eyesight hasn’t failed you yet. You really ought to wear your glasses more.”

     “Alright, Perfect Vision,” Norton scoffed— except it missed his usual edge. He smiled, even if most likely was to himself. Then he tipped his hat and turned away, letting Melly slip through the door.

     A relatively short interaction, but one of the most peaceful ones Melly had ever had with such an arrogant man. When nobody was looking, she let a smile appear on her face and looked down at her container of arachnids once more.

                               ~

     Later that same day, Frederick appeared in Norton’s room. For some reason, he had the keys to the room and for some not unexpected reason, was going hard at Norton’s dusty piano.

     Norton walked in and already knew the sight he would see there. He could hear Frederick’s (admittedly gorgeous) playing from the staircase.

     “That time again, Kreiburg?” Norton stepped in the doorway, letting the door creak behind him.

     Of course, Frederick did not respond. Or maybe he did, if him violently shaking his head while letting his gloved fingers fly across the keys was any satisfactory answer.

     Norton sighed. He shut the door behind him ever so quietly and crept over to his bed.

     If Frederick wasn’t playing the piano or taking with him at the table that was now stained with red wine, then he would be found making Norton’s bed.

     It was a strange habit of his, but Norton knew that all musicians were strange in one way or another. Or maybe it was just a Kreiburg there. God knew.

     Norton walked away from his perfectly made (and therefore unsleepable) bed and made way towards the piano. By now, Norton would’ve shove Fredrick towards a side of the seat and mess up his playing by slamming some random lower keys… except for the fact that Alice made him promise to let him play through a song at least once after a lost bet.

      Frederick called Norton’s interference impolite. Norton called it impressionistic. 

     Of course, Norton only did it beforehand because he knew Frederick secretly savored every moment the actor was at the piano. Norton saw the way Frederick would whip out some stray camera and pretend to not be taping him. If it were somebody like Orpheus on the other hand…

     Norton shoved that annoying man out of his mind. He wondered if Alice would like to learn how to play the piano, or if she already knew how to. She was smart enough.

     “The first time you’ve ever let me complete a piece, Norton,” the piano music was replaced with Frederick’s quiet voice. Like Norton, the man constantly sounded particularly gloomy.

     “You’re welcome,” Norton folded his arms. “I don’t always give praise to classical composers but I gotta give you a hand. You somehow make money off this stuff.”

     “My inspiration is you. And Plinius. And Orpheus.”

     “That’s the reason why a third of your albums fail— you’ve got to stop making songs about the Boss.”

     “Still so ill-tempered, hm? Here, perhaps my new divertimento in D Major will soothe your mind—“

     “No, Frederick,” Norton shifted his weight onto his other foot. He sighed.

     After a beat, he spoke once more. “Tell me why you’re here again. It's been months.”

     “Okay,” Frederick shrugged. “Well, to put it simply… it's about Alice.”

     “Ah. That lady. What about her?”

     “You shouldn’t allow yourself to get so close to her, you know,” Frederick sighed. He leaned forward and placed a hand over his bloodshot right eye. Norton thought the man was working himself to death these days. 

     Frederick continued, now with a lowered voice. His sudden change in stature and mood prompted Norton to listen closely.

     “After all, you never know who’s watching.”

     Norton straightened and placed a hand on his hat. He cleared his throat and avoided looking at the sole security camera in this room, straining his voice so that the camera would pick up on it. “So grumpy over a single piece… never knew artists could be so sensitive.”

     “I’m serious,” Frederick lowly hissed. “Isn’t it strange how Orpheus made her your neighbor? What’s he getting at?”

     Norton rolled his eyes and folded his arms. He responded back with the same quiet hiss, “You’re overthinking it. She’s a nice gal. What— is she Orpheus’ guard dog or somethin’?”

     “You and Mr. Orpheus haven’t been on the best terms lately…”

     “You’re crazy, Kreiburg. She’s not a spy. Plus, I keep my tone around her. She’s just a young lady.”

     “She’s also a journalist. And what do journalists do? Observe people—“

     “She’s an honest one at that. I admire that about her. Sweet. Intelligent. Gets along well with everybody—“

     “Including Orpheus!”

     Norton huffed. “Keep your voice down. What’s your point? Are you trying to get a rise out of me when I’ve been such a sweetheart lately?”

     “Sweetheart? You’re far from that.”

     “Shut up and explain yourself, Kreiburg. I don’t got all day.”

     “Haven’t you had enough of Orpheus? What profit have you gained from losing your soul?”

     “Can’t you speak normally for once?”

     “All I’m saying is that I can tell you’re unhappy with the way things are. You’re tired from Orpheus’ meddling, aren’t you? And if you truly want to get away from him, then you should get away from that woman.”

     “You have no evidence. Stop being paranoid.”

     “Is that so? Then why is she so highly favored by him? Why does he so willingly sponsor so much for such a small journalist?”

     “She’s one of the best of her  time, Krei--”

     “And? Did he give as much for you —you, Norton, a star!— when you first started? Even just a fraction of all that wealth? 

     “I… no. Cut it with your fancy arguments. So you want me to cut ties with Alice? Fine. But what if she turns up to my room asking for a drink? What if she wants me to drive her somewhere? You know that woman doesn’t even have a car!”

     “We ought to move her down a few floors,” Frederick simply stated, folding his arms. 

     And while Norton would never admit to the man, Norton found that the thought of Alice no longer being his neighbor, no longer sharing drinks with him during obnoxious hours in the morning, no longer forcing him to take her to the bakery so they could share a ridiculously large truffle cake was… rather unpleasant. More so than  unpleasant. It  was a strange, troubling emotion the  actor could not describe. 

     But because he was an actor, it was easy to supress such emotions with a simple frown. “And if she doesn’t like it?”

     “Oh, no. Melly and I can bring the matter up to Orpheus-- why should he deny us?”

     “And not get the woman’s consent first? You know, I really thought you liked her…”

     For the first time during his little argument, Frederick paused. A hint of hesitation glimmered in his eyes. “Well, yes. She’s no bothersome woman and can afford a hefty crème brûlée… but it is all inconsequential when it comes to you.”

     “Oh,” Norton blinked. “Never thought we were so close.”

     “Well. Regardless. It… It's for the best,” Frederick faltered. “I will bring this matter up to Orpheus and ask him to relocate Alice elsewhere.”

     “I never said I agreed--”

     “I am just letting you know of what is to come in the next few days. And  while I’m at it, you can figure out how you’re going to negotiate with Orpheus to fix that blasted contract. Without interference. Without wasting your precious time with that woman.”

     “Do you want me to say thank you?”

     “I need no thanks. Goodbye, Norton.”

     Then Kreiburg stood  up, shifted the piano bench, and headed towards the door. 

     And the moment  the door was closed, Norton slumped onto  the piano  bench, buried his face in  his hands, and let out the longest groan he ever had.  

                                                         ~

     That night, Alice did not visit. Perhaps it was due to Kreiburg. Perhaps it was due to something else. But as Orpheus sat in front Norton that very midnight hour, the actor wished he was anywhere else. 

     He’d rather get drenched with a water gun then listen to Orpheus yack on and on about Norton’s work performance while Orpheus cleaned his monocle every five seconds. No food was going to quell Norton’s temper tonight. 

     “Why, you’ve barely touched your wine, Norton,” Orpheus said, almost chidingly. His turn from casual, repetitive business talk to something as mild as a drink almost gave Norton whiplash. 

     “I’m too tired for this, Boss,” Norton groaned, rubbing his eyes. For the whole meeting his head had been buried in his arms. “Can’t you just visit in the morning or something?”

     “By all means! It's 12:34 AM. Ante meridiem.”

     “At a normal hour, Boss.”

     “Well, drink some wine. It’ll help you stay awake better.”

     “Source: who?”

     “Dr. Bourbon,” Orpheus smirked, referencing Norton’s famed doctor. Fame worked for fame— it was a reality in Orpheus’ company. 

     “I don’t like him,” Norton sniffed, reluctantly taking the glass into his hands and inspecting the wine as if it were poison. “I think he’s lying. Been feeling crappy ever since you took me off Riesling. More tired. Can’t scream at you if I’m tired.”

     “Well, Dr. Bourbon doesn’t buy your wine. I do.”

     “Whatever,” Norton took a tiny sip of the drink and then put his head down. 

     “Drink some more.”

     “Why?”

     “I can’t just talk to your walls, silly goose! It's important you know all this information. How else will you be able to strike it big with the Eternal Aurora?!”

     Norton sighed. Without any more prompting, slowly roused himself and took a large gulp before leaning all his weight on the back of the chair. 

     Earlier in his career, Norton would’ve adamantly resisted Orpheus’ long-winded explanations on profit and data and this medicine or that behavior. He briefly recalled a time— a blurry one— where he had walked out and slammed the door in Orpheus’ face. He couldn’t remember much else, except for the fact that Orpheus switched out his wine and meal the next meeting. Those meetings seemed to mix together. 

     The mornings after them were usually even worse; some were filled with vomiting, some with dizziness, and some with an unhappy amount of brain fog.

     Nowadays, Norton felt as though he gave in too easily. But what else was there to do? He was too exhausted to try and use his words against someone who was already a master at them. All there was left to do was comply with that very annoying, commanding, and eccentric someone who seemed to enjoy seeing him squirm.  

     A someone  who also gave him tons and tons of money, nonetheless. It had to be worth the minor inconvenience of being told to listen or drink wine or sit up straight or smile or stay up at ridiculous hours. It was all inconsequential. It was better than the mines. It had to be. 

     “So, here’s what we’ll do. To get you an audience with her— and to get you some lovely funding— I’ll just need you to do some things for me…”

                                                       ~

      On a certain floor of the Oletus Apartment, there was one vacant room in between Frederick Kreiburg and Melly Plinius’. Seeing as nobody had occupied it in a long while (for the last person there had been afraid of insects and sick of classical music) and nobody desired to (for nobody wanted the wrath of either), the duo used it as a conference room of sorts.

     Orpheus barely checked it. The same followed for security. Cameras had been dismantled long ago. It was a very much ideal room for discussing important topics such as research, albums, and their dear friend-of-sorts, Norton.

      “He’s been a hint nicer lately, don’t you think, Frederick?”

       Melly closed the door behind her, looking at the man a few feet away. He was at the windowsill, hurriedly yet quietly locking a silver case. 

     “Yes, yes he has,” Frederick mumbled, turning to face her with a rather apathetic expression. “It must be because of that Alice.”

     “Today we tell her about our… plan, yes?”

     “We? Ah, no, you’d be better off talking with her. She seems to be fond of you, you know.” 

     “It is because you close yourself off too much. Even I understand that being open to human interaction, frivolous as it may be, can be beneficial one way or another.”

     “Oh, please. I already blow kisses to crowds and sign autographs every other weekend.”

     “You sound just like Desaulniers.”

     “Oh, yes. And I look like Joseph too, don’t I?”

     “You lack the height.”

     “Well! Regardless of how tall I am, it does not change the fact that Ms. DeRoss would most likely feel more comfortable telling her about this… sudden change in rooming.”

     “So we’re not getting Orpheus permission first.”

     “That’s what lies are for. Haven’t I told you this already?”

     “I would not like to lie to her, Frederick,” Melly’s tone was graver than usual. 

     “What? Then just make it seem like the truth. You know how life is up here— and you especially should know all about friendship and gain and social engineering.”

     “I won’t do it. If you’re so insistent on this plan of yours to ‘save Norton’, then tell Alice yourself.”

     “You’re more abrasive than usual.”

     “Perhaps this plan of yours has driven you insane.”

     “So what? I’ve been itching for a way to get rid of that novel-writing rat and to improve relations with Norton himself. This only helps me kill two birds with one gun.”

     “Two birds with one stone.”

     “Oh. I suppose you haven’t seen my state of the art weapon yet.”

     Without another word Frederick turned back and opened that silver case once more. With a smile (such a smile Melly had never seen on his face before) and a strange glint in his eyes, he presented the treasure inside.

     Before her was a small, silver pistol, only as big as her hand. And yet…

     “You truly are a madman…” Even Melly seemed unsettled by him now. She took a step backwards and straightened her posture. 

     “Only the most disturbed artists can make the best art,” Frederick stepped closer, with his smile only growing bigger. “And who can say it's a murder anyway? All they’ll have is a dead man, a gun, and a murderer only two blocks away.”

Chapter Text

     “The dosage needs to be higher.”

     Orpheus barely got a word in about his report of his beloved star-of-sorts and Dr. Sam Bourbon’s beloved research experiment before the latter interjected. It was morning now, in the doctor’s office. Yet due to the lack of windows and anything but bright, cold white light and a gloomy arrangement of furniture consisting of several shelves filled with medical equipment, a Posey bed, a sink with paper towels nearby, and a single dying plant, it felt like anything but.

     “Well, with all due respect, the pacing of these drugs are fine, Doctor,” Orpheus adjusted his monocle, standing before a taller man in a white coat. He sounded uncharacteristically indignant. 

     Dr. Bourbon barely batted an eye. “The Eternal Aurora wants results quick and fast. And I am a man of my utmost word. What she demands, she shall receive.”

     “Well, perhaps Norton is just a little rebellious—“

     “Hence why he must receive a higher dosage, Orpheus! Can’t you see? Ugh, this is what happens when you allow a sensationalist novelist to be in charge of administering your drugs. Can’t you just give them to him raw?!”

     “How rude of you! And don’t you go contradicting yourself now— wasn’t it you who wanted the experiment to be a secret?!”

     “Can’t you just get him drunk and force feed him some good ol’ hush money?”

     “Illicit!” Orpheus cried. “I would never perform such illegal acts!”

     “Rules can be circumvented to justify their ends. Especially if they're for the Eternal Aurora.”

     “Who made those rules, yes?”

     “You think she’s a saint? Hah. Soon everyone will, if we can actually progress with this subject of yours…”

     “And if he resists?” Orpheus retorted. “Understand, you insolent Doctor, that I got him from the mines. The mines! Have pity on him!”

     Dr. Bourbon sniffed. “Insolent, hm? Well, you money-suckling brat, I have no time for these sentiments of yours. If he will really be such an issue (and that’s what is so pitiful about him), then I suggest you do what I say and increase the dosage.”

     “But what kind of reaction could occur, Doctor? You know he is rather aggressive at night, don’t you?!”

     “Hush now, novel boy. There’s only a pickaxe in his room, isn’t there? Just keep that out of his hands or, like I said, get him drunk enough to where he’ll play right into your ink-stained hands.”

     “I—“

     “Enough. Do as I say, or I’ll do it for you. The man signed a contract-- he can handle a little mishap from adverse reactions.”

     “My, my, Dr. Bourbon!” Orpheus sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “This must be the first time I’ve heard you call them anything but side effects…”

     “Stop being so uptight. Go forth,” Dr. Bourbon mocked, shooing Orpheus away. “Stay safe out there. Make the Eternal Aurora proud. Hail Her Luminosity, or whatever I’m supposed to say.”

     “Well, I will not deign to leave before telling you this: if somebody  gets hurt, then just know it was all in self-defense.”

     “Save it for the  lawyer, not for me,” by now, Dr. Bourbon had managed to back Orpheus toward the doorway. When the man noticed the novelist’s foot just past the other side of doorway’s threshold, he promptly snatched the doorknob and slammed the door in his face. 

     “Rude!” he heard Orpheus cry from the other side. 

                                 ~

     For once in her new life, Alice was outside and exploring the southern district without prompting from any of her friends, especially Joseph.

     She had told nobody but Norton about her plans that day. 

     As she strolled through the sidewalks in a disguise consisting of a sundress, a comically large sun hat with the widest brim known to man and unnaturally well-cushioned flip flops, she reflected on what had happened in the past few days.

     More parties, yes. More drinks with Norton, yes. Even the occasional truffle cake with Victor or Melly or Joseph here and there. But none stuck as deeply in her mind as when she had entered the Aurorian City Jail, only to find that there was one cell now unoccupied, and not because the person inside had been declared innocent. 

     She had come, only to hear the inmates talk of that person's demise. Only to see them cry and weep and mourn.

     It was the worst tea party ever— and not even a tea party, it was a makeshift vigil. Perhaps even a funeral with no body.

     Alice doubted anybody would go through the trouble of honoring the body of a criminal, much less a criminal from a foreign land. And she had drowned now, hadn’t she? Perhaps her body now lay on the ocean floor with no soul left in it. Perhaps it was somewhere still out there, drifting.

     The thought terrified Alice, and yet— it soothed her. Because if the woman rested at the depths of the ocean floor, who would have known of her beside the sea creatures? But if somebody found her, maybe they would bury her and give the respect due to her, a human being, with a beautiful name and an ugly, unjust death. 

     It was most likely improbable, and yet it was all Alice could bear to think of as she now stared at the sand before her a few feet away.

     The Campbell Neon Beach was a little more busy now, with a couple here and there or someone lounging on the sand or some little children splashing each other in the ocean. She could hear it all now.

     She broke into a sprint. Far were the memories of her and Joseph and Melly and Orpheus and Norton, Frederick, and Victor now, but she still yearned for the same happiness she had felt all those days ago. On the same day she had felt the saddest since she struck it big. 

     Both were important to remember, in her eyes. What was joy without sorrow? What was pain without solace?

                                ~

     Frederick swore under his breath. The one time he actually wanted to see that blasted journalist woman was the one time she hadn’t isolated herself in her room to write. What— had she decided to go to the market? Visit a jazz lounge? Maybe even get a little tipsy at the Dovlin Bar?

     Frederick placed a hand over his face and sighed as Melly peeked around the room. She noticed the neat stack of papers on Alice’s desk. The typewriter on the floor next said desk. The chair was pushed in. Obvious Alice had planned to go somewhere.

     “Well then,” Melly clicked her tongue. “The more I think about it, Mr. Kreiburg, the more I wonder if we really need to disturb Ms. Deross’ peace. Why does she truly need to have a room between us?”

     “Isn’t it obvious?” Fredrick grumbled with disdain. “Norton can’t think of a way to plot his way out of the contract and save his career once Orpheus is dead if that young woman keeps pestering him for wine.”

     “Ah. So the rumors really are true…”

     “Well, somehow they manage to keep it from the public eye. Norton must really enjoy her… presence… if he cares enough to keep her reputation intact.”

     “Tsk. Stop making it seem scandalous, Frederick. She’s just a young lady.”

      “He told me the same. A shame this young lady everybody speaks of nowadays is —poof!— nowhere to be seen.”

     “Perhaps we should talk to Norton—“

     “No! Do you wish for us to interrupt his privacy? He’s probably having one of the only breaks he can right now! Privacy, Melly, privacy!”

     “Mind yourself. You were the one who somehow had access to Alice’s spare keys.”

     “…A composer has his ways, all right?”

     “Piano keys, room keys… of course, Mr. Kreiburg. They’re one in the same to you, aren’t they?”

      “The best art is always created by the most disturbed artists,” Frederick reminded her with a hint of a smile on his face. “Now, let’s go and ask Desaulniers instead. I’m sure that man would know where she is at this time in the afternoon…”

     “What makes you so sure?” Melly mused, and yet she followed after him, making sure to lock Alice’s door on the way out. And as she headed, she could’ve sworn she heard a voice not-quite-like Norton’s through Norton’s door.

                                 ~

     On the way to Desaulniers’ lavish old-Auroric style mansion, Melly and Frederick found themselves discussing their plot once more.

     “Simply put: by this time tomorrow at 9PM, Orpheus will be shot dead by a certain man’s handgun… through the temple,” Frederick recited lightly, raising a finger and closing his eyes as if he was giving a motivational speech.

     “You ought to not speak to me about your murderous ideations while I’m driving, Kreiburg,” Melly grunted, squinting through her veil as the sun blasted through the car’s front window.

     “Ah, but I’ve decided! Aren’t you eager to hear my plan? It's foolproof, if I do say so myself.”

      “Says the madman. My goodness, Kreiburg. How far you’ve fallen.”

     “And yet you’re complicit, aren’t you? Because just like me, you wish to see Orpheus’ downfall—“

     “No, Frederick. And please quiet down. The Aur Patrol is just up ahead.”

     “So concerned about the suburbs… what does the Eternal Aurora expect us to do there?”

     “Well, never mind that. Keep your voice down and be polite if you wish to even get an inch close to Joseph’s mansion.”

     “Why must he live so far from the city? He is a city boy at heart!”

     “I believe I am the wrong person to ask,” Melly answered as she rolled down her window to pay the travel toll. Frederick straightened up and dusted off his red coat before looking out his window until they were a safe distance away from the toll area.

     “Goodness,” Frederick grumbled. 

     Melly said nothing in reply. 

     “As I was saying…” Frederick resumed a moment later. “Surely you agree that what I’m doing is just, don’t you? After all, I know you do not partner with just anybody.”

     “Just…?” Melly paused, drumming her fingers over the steering wheel as the car lulled to a stop in front of a traffic light. “No. But I agree that your ends are ideal. It would be interesting, to say the least, what would become of the Nightingale Publishing Company should Orpheus be gone.”

     “Surely we wouldn’t harmed, right?” As if reconsidering his actions, Frederick blinked rapidly and looked at Melly for reassurance.

     “I would imagine not,” Melly hummed. “He has built us up; we can fend for ourselves now. And surely someone is already in line to take his position.”

     “Hm,” Frederick nodded. “Yes, yes, that’s right… we’ll just be getting rid of the worst part of the company, won’t we?”

     “I suppose you could say that,” Melly quietly answered. Then, after another beat, she spoke again. “And yet I question whether or not this is the only way to do so.”

     “It’s the only way we haven’t tried,” Frederick answered with a hint of maniacal glee.

     “But does he truly deserve such a fate, Frederi—“

     “Oh, Melly. How have you already forgotten? All those long, dreary nights of him forcing you to try this substance or stay up at this certain time or monitor your reactions or watch your behavior… all that aside, consider Norton. He’s gone through much more torture in his pursuit to become rich, when he already is! And we all know it's Orpheus who drives him to such irrational decisions. Isn’t it our job to look out for such a foolish, dear friend? Or enemy, in your case… but you stand for the principles of justice, don’t you?”

     “Good grief,” was all Melly, in a deadpan tone of voice, initially said.  She sighed and then looked out the window before continuing. “And, well… I suppose you have a point. Perhaps this is the best —and only— way.”

     “You don’t have to say that again,” Frederick muttered as the car headed straight for a lovely looking Old-Auroric house in the distance that screamed ‘Joseph Desaulniers’. 

                                    ~

     Before Orpheus was a man dressed in a lovely white suit and a fedora covering his head. Of course, the man was currently passed out with his face resting on the surface of his table and a spilled glass of wine a few inches away from his extended, gloved hand. Bright sunlight shone through his windows and onto his unconscious body. Orpheus wasn’t used to such lighting nor such an unflattering scene.

     “Oh, that doctor…” the boss mumbled with something along the lines of pity as he got up from his chair and quietly headed over to Norton’s collapsed body. He didn’t stir as Orpheus carefully felt for his pulse. 

     Orpheus sighed in relief as he felt a clear, slightly rushed but present, rhythm. 

     Increase the dosage, that blasted Bourbon had insisted over and over again since their last meeting. Orpheus quietly imitated that stuck-up royal scientist’s words as he pulled Norton’s limp body off the table. 

     “That fool of a wisecracker,” Orpheus grumbled as he placed Norton’s hat over his face. “Increase the dosage: look what I get! The man can’t even stand.”

     First, the drug had only given his client something akin to hangovers. Then it was the screaming, the irritation, the yelling. The fits over the mines, over the money, over how annoying Orpheus was. Orpheus never failed to thank the Eternal Aurora for all the days post serving Norton the drug mixed with Riesling. 

     Now…

     Orpheus pinched his nose bridge. Norton had just… lost consciousness. A strange, unfitting reaction. Orpheus thought Norton would chuck the wine glass at him. There had been an almost animalistic look in the actor’s eyes before his sudden collapse. It was rather frightening. 

     No matter. There was nothing stopping Orpheus (or that Doctor) now. Norton had been under trial for so long— it would be a waste for all involved if Orpheus were to stop now.

    All of this: Bourbon’s concoctions to Orpheus’ records to Norton’s long nights— they all had to amount to something. If they hadn’t, well… 

     Orpheus took a deep breath and smiled. There was no dwelling on what was never to be. He was no pessimistic man, after all. Who got anywhere by being negative? Norton would wake up soon, and when he eventually did, Orpheus would have to repeat the same process again. Hopefully, it would yield more productive results. 

     His eyes drifted to Norton once more. A man formerly built of gloom and icy cold and brooding. If this ‘experiment’ worked, the world would never see such ill-luminated traits again. 

     It would be a utopia for all— starting with Metropolis’ most beloved star himself. 

                                                     —

     A quiet conversation:

     “Boss, no. I… I… What time is it again?”

     A man spoke; he sounded dreary, as if he could barely keep his eyes open. Someone replied.

     “A good time for you to drink some wine, my dear friend! Relax and be merry— aren’t you glad I’ve given you a break today?”

     “T-Today…? What even happened this morning?”

     A chair creaked suddenly, as if someone scooted it backwards. 

     “You don’t remember? Um… another party, of course! How could you not remember the way the Eternal Aurora looked at you? My friend, you’re truly in her good graces!”

     “I… Well, I’ll be. I don’t remember a damn thing. Are you lying to me, you toff? Well, whatever. Wouldn’t be the first damn time. I  oughta get back to work.”

     He sounded indignant.

     “Shh, sit back down. Why are you so eager to get back to work, Norton? It's time to relax.”

     “I can’t even remember if I went to the bathroom, you fool.”

     A pause. 

     “Of course you did. My word, Norton, you’ve been working yourself to exhaustion!”

     “If you say, so, Boss… but this all your fault, you get?”

     A chuckle. “Of course, of course. Now sit back down and have a drink. Or enjoy some snacks if you feel so inclined.”

     “Alright, alright. Just shut up while I’m at it, will you?”

     “Harsh.”

     “Always for you, Boss.”

                                              ~

     A record in cursive writing:

     5:26 PM

     Subject has fallen asleep again. The dosage has been increased by ———. Previous state upon awakening was disoriented. Subject was increasingly aggressive when not answered clearly, but retained proper behavior.

                                              ~

     Another conversation:

     (Muffled noises-- something akin to groaning. Following it  is a sudden, sharp breath.)

     “Agh! Boss… boss?! Hey… boss!”

     (The man’s words are slurred, as if pronounced in a state of stupor.)

     Then, the sound of footsteps rushing towards the noise.

     “Ah… yes, Norton. What do you need?”

     “I… I just had the worst bloody nightmare ever, Boss… I have to go… I have to leave…”

     “Norton, you’re shaking. Sit up straight and breathe for me, okay? Just breathe.”

     “The hell do you think breathing is going— is going to do for me…?!”

     “Calm yourself, Norton.”

     The speaker’s tone was gentle. Heavy breaths filled the air. The other man spoke once more.

      “Hah… Boss, what are you doing to me?”

     “Why, what do you mean, Norton?”

     “It never used to be like this..”

     Then the sound of something slamming onto a wooden surface.

     “Norton! Good grief! Can’t you stay awake for just one moment? Goodness gracious, your eyes…”

     “Wha… what’s wrong with ‘em, huh? They’re pretty, aren’t they? Nice shade a’ green… Miss Reporter likes to compliment them.”

     “Chatty, aren’t you? How quaint.” 

     “…So what’s wrong with my eyes, then, huh?”

     “Oh, did I say something about them? No matter. Here, let’s try something: can you stand for me, please?”

     “Sure.”

     The sound of something screeching against the floor. After a few moments, a cry:

     “Shi— fudge! My head!”

     “Norton! Oh, dear… forget what I said. Sit, sit.”

     “Why the borealis am I so bloody tired, Boss?! What in the world did you actually do—?!”

     “Hold on… Here, take some medicine. It’ll help you feel better.” 

     “...I don't want to. Get that medicine away from me. And stop tapping it against my face. It's cold!”

     “You must drink it. It's for the better.”

     “Tch.”

     “Drink. Don’t turn your head away from me.”

     The speaker’s voice was restrained, spoken through gritted teeth.

     “Mix it in the wine or something, then! Screw it all. I’m too tired for this.”

     A pause. A quiet, light chuckle. And then, the sound of liquid clinking against a glass. 

     “If that's what you  wish…”

                                                         ~

     Another record is written:

     7:38 PM

     Subject is asleep again. The dosage has been increased by ---. Previously, Subject awoke to nightmares (presumably about the mining ‘accident’). Subject complained of throbbing pains in the head before taking dosage and expressed several mood changes when in conversation; these ranged from extremes of aggression to exhaustion. Subject was unable to stand as well… I will leave him be for a bit. 

     Remember my words, Bourbon. If anything goes wrong, my blood is on your hands.                                 

     “How the hell is  the door jammed?”

     A quiet mumble followed by quiet, then incessant rattling. 

     A man had his hand on the doorknob to his main door. He was decked out in fancy but stained clothing. 

     The door to his bathroom was closed. He did not know why, but he did know one thing:

     “Bloody luminescence, I really have to pee.”

     The closed doors were all he could think about at the moment. Why the hell was he trapped within his own apartment room? Who the hell was using his bathroom? Who else was even in his room?

     As far as Norton Campbell knew at the moment, he lived, isolated, on the top floor of the top apartment of the top district in all of the city of Metropolis. He had no neighbor. He had no equal. He had everything now, and everything was now his.

     Except for the bathroom, apparently.

     He tried rattling the doorknob of the main door again. Weren’t the things here supposed to be functional, at the very least? Ridiculous. One day he’d take his gold and shove it straight out of here. It wasn’t worth his time.

      For now, however, he truly was trapped. With a great groan, he whirled around just in time to witness the bathroom door open and reveal…

     A bloody Knocker. And by Knocker, Norton meant a fancy ass man wearing a monocle and a teal jabot. He also had a white suit on, except his wasn’t stained. And he was basically bald with all that brown hair he was showing. Norton preferred blondes. And fedoras, which was why he wore one to cover up his particularly ugly hair (of course, most women never neglected to compliment it). Either way, it was a Knocker, who either just gave his toilet a good plumbing or flushed all his gold down the drain. Stupid vengeful mining spirits. When the Eternal Aurora heard of what it did…

     Norton stared at the creature a little closer. He wondered why this evil mining spirit wore a monocle, just like his mean boss Orpheus. That monocle, that hairstyle, that suit— it all made him look just like Boss, actually…

     On second thought, did the demon have one monocle? Or two? Wait, did the Knocker have multiple heads? Why was the room swaying behind it? Norton put a hand to his forehead and shut his eyes, and yet he could still feel the floor move beneath him. 

     Fudge. Was he drunk or what? He hadn’t seen one of these demons since he punched Orpheus’ lights out that one time, thinking he was one of them. Or was it Orpheus who beat him up? Fudge. He couldn’t remember a golden thing. 

     Norton opened his eyes and squinted at the Knocker. He could barely understand the expression on the thing’s face. But either way, he decided he hated it so. Vitriol, like the bitter tang of certain wine, stung his throat as Evil Monocle-Wearing Spirit no. 17 flinched. 

     Why? And why had Norton thought so harshly? Norton had no idea. He wasn’t one for quick judgements— he himself had been judged many a time before he left the mines (the pre-rich era) for his own hardwork and grit. But its piercing stare behind that monocle(s?) just made him angry. 

     That thing was probably judging him just like all monocle-wearing freaks did. What a pain in the head. 

     “Norton. You’re awake,” said Mr. Monocle, taking an almost cautious step forward as if Norton was an animal. 

     An animal. Hah! Wouldn’t be the first time somebody’d thought of him that way either. Regardless, Norton swept some hair to the side and marched straight towards the bathroom. 

     Screw it all. He’d deal with the intruder later. For now, he needed to sit down on a nice marble floor after using a high quality urinal and think about why in the world he was drunk and seeing mining spirits cosplaying as Boss. 

      Unfortunately for him, all would have been resolved much more easily if he had just taken a look at the three glass bottles on the table a few feet away from the bathroom. 

     One bottle was filled to the brim with red wine, one three quarters of the way empty, and one had no red wine at all— but instead bore a label reading Muse.

                                        ~

     Orpheus didn’t normally keep records of how long his proteges took to use the bathroom, but he certainly wished he had as he snuck over to the only thing that caught a prestigious man’s eye in this room.

      That haphazard pickaxe. After all that time, even after Norton became so high and mighty, even after Norton had been almost become the ‘perfect muse’ (as Bourbon had dubbed it— it seemed a little too idealistic for Orpheus, who was a dreamer himself), Norton still had one part of himself from the past.

     (Many other parts as well, such as his ‘too big nose’ or ‘ridiculously coal-colored hair’, Orpheus noted as he reached the wall and went on his tippy toes to reach for the grimy, rusted pickaxe. The handle had Aurora-knows-what on it.)

     Orpheus wrinkled his nose as he slowly —ever-so-slowly— lifted it up from its resting place on the wall. He immediately grunted.

     The pickaxe itself was large, Orpheus knew that. But the novelist hadn’t handled such an unorthodox weapon in such a long time… goodness gracious, he had to get back into shape. This was why guns were better… 

     Why did Norton love such a bulky pickaxe? Orpheus thought, already knowing the answer. And he knew a lot more about Norton than Norton remembered about himself. 

     Psychology expertise aside, it was mainly because Norton was no stranger to late night drunken vents and dramatic fits of secret crying and also cursing the world, especially in the early days of his career, whining about his hard work and how he had deserved something good from all the evil he suffered. What a fun thing to use to Orpheus’ advantage! 

     Of course, Orpheus also had ‘associates’ monitor the man at almost every corner as well. Which was why Orpheus knew every little detail about his actions, and was able to get Bourbon to make his concoctions adapt to such unruly behavior (and, obviously, work to erase some of the cognitive causes of such actions. People were, unsurprisingly, gullible when they lacked their memories).  

     All in good fun, of course! All Orpheus was was a good hearted, jovial boss who was just really, really invested with the lives of his protégés. It was like a really, really enjoyable book! And all good authors knew a good read when they saw one.

     Orpheus chuckled quietly and smiled to himself. He was always such a bright and colorful thinker… but the sky outside was quite the colorful contrast! Somehow, Orpheus had managed to keep his little Guinea pig (in the shape of a rude, daunting, former miner… some may even say, ‘attractive’ man) cooped up in his room for a whole day just sipping wine and getting drunk over Bourbon’s Aurora’s Muse over and over again. The Doctor had a peculiar habit of naming his drugs as though they were wines.

     But the repetition Norton was stuck in was like a time loop. It was as if Orpheus was God and Norton was a plaything.

     But not so! Orpheus was a humble servant of the Eternal Aurora, a luminescent goddess in the world's eyes. And Norton… was a really important figure to society, which was why he had to get inebriated so much! For the benefit of soci…!

     The bathroom door creaked open. Orpheus, who was about five feet away from Norton’s bed and therefore ten feet away from the adjacent bathroom-in-a-room, stood there like a bumbling fool with a pickaxe in his ink-stained hands. Hopefully Norton wasn’t as possessive of his items as he usually was when was drunk. 

     He was so very needy. And yet the actor would rather die than admit that!

     Speaking of that man, every second Orpheus could feel Norton’s stare growing darker. More vicious, if you will. Like a rabid dog. In the shape of a— 

     “Who the hell are you?” Norton stepped forward. “Are you a hallucination or somethin’? I’ll have you know security is just a call away…”

     “Why, I’m… I’m just a little servant of yours, sir,” Orpheus channeled his own actor within. “Just… organizing your bed. As all good, hard working men deserve.”

     “Huh?” Norton mumbled, in a daze. He blinked several times. Orpheus noticed his overtly larger pupils and noted the way Norton leaned slightly to the side, as if pulled by some unseen force. He shook his head and then pointed to the pickaxe (or rather, the bed, which was a few feet away). “Why… whad’ya have my pickaxe for, huh?!”

     Norton’s bloody pickaxe, in that good-for-nothing slime’s hand! It all reminded the now wealthy man of a bad day at the mines. The way of those dogs-of-men miners would taunt him and rob his money until they’d be so bold to steal even the dirt off his pickaxe. That gold-licking Knocker was probably working with them, too.

     Norton should’ve known he’d never get away from greedy freaks, whether or not they wore hard hats or fancy monocles. But at least now he had the means to get rid of them.

     Finally, forever.

     That was what money was for, wasn’t it? And after all his hard work, he deserved it. 

     Orpheus bit his tongue. Norton, whose voice was raised by now and face bore a  more-than-pouty expression, was a beast to reckon with under the influence. The boss instinctively felt his nose, remembering what happened the last time things had gotten out of hand.

      “Oh, no. I was actually about to take away this very unnecessary and dangerous item that could possibly be used to hurt or strike another person, Mr. Norton. Rest assured that I will take care of everything and you only need to be still,” Orpheus replied, as if he were speaking to some orphanage child. To be fair, Norton was an orphan. And sometimes, he could be quite the child—

     “Fudgin’ Knockers after my property now…” is what Orpheus could make out from his protégé’s grumbling. Norton dragged himself forward, his body unnaturally tense.

     Orpheus pinched his nosebridge. What in the world was going on in that man’s head? “No, no, Norton. You’ve got it all wrong. Norton, listen—“

     “Cut the reasoning, smartass. Hand my axe over. Now.” 

     And this time, the man’s voice was loud. He straightened, albeit with some difficulty, and put a hand to his forehead while keeping his twitching eyes trained on Orpheus. 

     That was… slightly menacing! Orpheus felt sweat pool on his forehead. “Can’t you tell that I’m supposed to be here, based on my very luxurious outfit?”

     Orpheus felt a strange chill run down his spine. Everything would be fine, surely. Norton was just… having a very, very adverse side effect, surely. Just a regular Riesling moment, for sure…

     “I bet you stole it off’a Kreiburg’s back,” the man slurred. His lips quivered. He curled his hands into fists. Aurora be burned if he couldn’t get what his back into his hands. All of this— the apartment floor, the room, the money, especially that bloody pickaxe— was all his! His blood be on his own hands if he couldn’t, for once in his life, have it all. 

     Were those rational thoughts? No matter. Norton was beyond thinking. It was all his. It all had to be. Who was that demon, trying to take it all away from him? Hadn’t Norton suffered enough? Hadn’t he lost enough? Wasn’t he enough?  

     “Why… why don’t you sit down and have a fine cup of wine, which I will prepare for you in just a fine, lovely moment?” Orpheus batted his eyes, keeping his tone as light and jovial as possible. It wasn’t too hard, seeing how he did it on a daily basis. Norton was hopefully dense enough to be oblivious to the fear seeping into Orpheus’ voice— the slight quiver at the end of sentences, the occasional uncharacteristic stammer…

     “Fine cup of wine my ass,” Norton spat. Quite literally, at that. Orpheus cringed and backed away, still holding the pickaxe. Except this time, he had it slightly raised, as if it were some sort of shield.

      Norton continued yelling, and more coherently than before. “You know, I know the kind of fancy monocle-wearing toff you are. I don’t know what in the bloody hell you’re planning to do with my pickaxe, but you better hand that bloody luminescent thing over—“

     “You must be mistaken, my fine sir,” Orpheus put a hand over his other, slightly lowering the pickaxe so that it was just below his face. “I’m just your, ah, butler… who was going to put this lovely object away after cleaning it.”

     A beat. And then, 

     “Cleaning it?” a strange expression washed over Norton’s face. A smile. 

     Norton hadn’t let anybody touch that pickaxe since he settled here. He himself only brought the worthless item to admire it. And admire it was all he’d ever do— all that dirt and grime on it was a telltale sign he had risen from his past. And a very, very earnest reminder that he had to do everything to stay away from there. 

     But why? Was his life now any better than it had been before? Yes, he had everything… but one thing hadn’t changed. 

     He was still trapped, wasn’t he? Knockers— no, human beings even worse than them roamed about everywhere, didn’t they?    

     Managing his words, scripting his behavior, threatening to take it all away if he didn’t do all he was supposed to…

     In order to gain everything, he gave everything. 

     He’d traded his own soul for fool’s gold, hadn’t he?  

     And this wasn’t a new revelation either— he had known it ever since he beat up one of Orpheus’ little spies. He had known it ever since Orpheus began those midnight meetings that lasted hours on end. He had known it even before Frederick and Melly had warned him about the hell he was digging himself into if he decided to play to Orpheus’ whims, even if he ending up drunk wasn’t what they had in mind. 

     “Norton?”

     But Norton wasn’t listening. 

     Where was Orpheus now? He had no idea. But all that blasted man had done to him still remained.

     And then Norton giggled. A tiny giggle. He slammed a hand over his mouth, but the sound couldn’t be stifled.

     The smile on his face grew and grew and continued growing as Norton couldn’t help but laugh.

     Stupid, stupid, stupid… he was so, so stupid.

     “Ah, Norton… are you all right?” 

     Orpheus stepped forward. But still, the man was not listening. 

     To Norton, his stupidity was absolutely hilarious. Sold his own, “hardworking” soul for nothing but a fleeting day in paradise? 

     Everyone was right. Even though he had everything, it would never last in his hands.

     In the end, he had nothing.

     Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Still…

     “Haha…. Ahaha…. Aha!”

     His face was red from laughter now, but whether that laughter stemmed from comedy or from tragedy, he couldn’t decide. The creature in front of him staggered backwards. The room seemed to melt around them. A strange, itching sensation filled Norton’s body.

     He couldn’t go back now, could he? The pickaxe was still in the Knocker’s hands. Norton might’ve gotten himself into hell, but he sure as hell could save himself from it. 

     It was the only thing he could do. 

     In the end, he still believed he could be free. All it would take was a bit of hard work and a beating.

     Meanwhile, Orpheus straightened for a moment. He dusted off his pants. He looked at Norton, who had gone from drunk to insane to hysterical in an instant. And all of a sudden, Orpheus wondered if he could just tiptoe past and…

     In a split second, the weight of the pickaxe shifted. Before Orpheus knew it, another hand held the pickaxe with him. 

     The author instantly felt bile rise to his throat. He stiffened, his face as pale as his parchment paper. His protégé had to be stopped. He had been pushed too far, had too much wine, too much drugs…

     All this Orpheus had known for a long time now. But it only truly registered as Norton shouted:

     “Clean my axe, huh? Sure as fool’s gold you will!” 

     And then the man lunged forward.

     Orpheus attempted to raise the pickaxe above Norton’s head. No flowery words of reason filled his mind, much less his mouth.

     The man desperately tightened his grip on the handle, his hands burning as Norton looked him dead in the eye with no expression at all. 

     Orpheus continued fighting to keep what little grip he could. The pickaxe rose higher.

     Just as Norton raised his other hand, which was in a fist, Orpheus mustered the strength to raise the pickaxe over his own head.

     He had to do something! Anything to get his protégé—a miner, an actor, an experiment, and a threat all in one— away from that blasted weapon.

     But the other man was relentless. Orpheus felt the sharp, pulsing pain of Norton’s fist fill his face after letting out a large gasp. 

     And then came another blow. 

     And then a third, until Orpheus could take it no longer.

     His hands trembled. His mind went blank. 

     Without a second thought, he did the only thing a man in danger could think of doing.

     The pickaxe came down. 

                                    ~ 

     The Final Record: 

     [The handwriting below is barely legible. The ink is smudged in some areas, as if it had mixed with a few foreign liquids.]

    11:15 PM

     Mr. Bourbon,

      Experiment failed.

       Subject is dead. 

Chapter Text

     “Norton Campbell… certainly one of the most well-known names in Aurorian history to this day. Formerly a miner who resided in the Far Western district, —one that, as the reader may know, has been charged with several controversies since Campbell’s rise to fame— Campbell became an intern under Nightingale Publisher “Orpheus” before being offered acting roles by several other companies within the Nightingale brand. Soon, the man moved to the Oletus Apartment (which I now reside in, hah) and after some time, I became his neighbor.

     He struck me as a bit of a wanker when I first met him what with his two-faced behavior in front of me and then in front of the press, but over time I grew close to that same man who was depicted everywhere, from billboards to commercials to the very movies Joseph forced me to watch with him.

     I must admit, I like Norton Campbell a lot. I visit him frequently at night for wine, and sometimes we play a card game he learned back in the Far West District. Under that rocky (haha, see what I did there?) exterior, he seems to be a sensible, honest man. And I admire that about him.

     I admire a lot about him. 

    But sometimes, I also wonder about his past. Of course, it's not as if I have any right to pry, but… everyone has their beginnings, don’t they? And I know about his path to fame, but what before that? The only thing he told me was essentially ‘child labor’. Perhaps that’s why, in front of me and obviously other friends as well, he is so rough.  

     But how does he strike the balance so well between being an upstanding, Aurora-fearing citizen and being the bit of a brute (pardon my Joseph) he is so nicely? Certainly it's  no easy task.

     I would love to learn more about him. Every night, I learn just a little more. But I would like to learn about what he thinks there still is to achieve in this world. What he feels about his wealth now, coming from such a background.

     Is there truly anything else a person could do in his position? What does he want, if he could possibly want anything more?

     No— perhaps I’m missing something.

    I should just ask him all these things tonight.”

    All these things and more Alice DeRoss wrote at the Neon Campbell Beach, during her second visit there. She had taken refuge on the rocks with no one to bother her. She had remained there until the heat of the afternoon had become too much and she felt her skin began to prickle.

     After that, she refused to go home. Perhaps if she had, things would have been different.

     She roamed more of the district and admired its elegant, towering structures. She listened to some jazz. She even got a hold of the microphone and sang a tune before dashing off into a restaurant. It was a day in Wonderland for Alice.

     And yet, when she headed home (by a very long walk), all the excitement and glory from being in the spotlight, from all the colors, from all the energy was long gone.

     There was a strange hollowness in her soul now. She wondered if Melly or Frederick or Norton or even Joseph knew the feeling— and knew it well.

     It was dizzying. Confusing. She did not like such things.

     Regardless, she headed into her room after unlocking her door and removed her purse and took out all the memorabilia of the day that it held before being struck by a sudden memory:

     “‘Course I won’t tell a soul, Alice. Just don’t leave me out on all the fun, okay? Come meet me when you come back. See you.”

      All those things Norton had said to her when she revealed her secret personal day off. She smiled as she thought about her friend. At least he could keep a secret.

     And of course she resolved to visit him. She changed her clothes into some more comfortable (but still nice) wear and knocked on Norton’s door.

     A beat.

     “Norton?” she called.

     There was… no answer.

     Strange. Maybe the man was just in his bathroom. 

     Alice knocked again, harder this time. For some reason, she put a hand on the doorknob. 

     Strangely, the door opened with minimal pressure. Alice almost flinched at the groan the door made as it slowly swung open.

     The lights were on. The table was set (and there was a wine glass or two, with one knocked over). But Norton wasn’t at the table. 

     Wherever he was, he was deathly silent.

     Alice expected to say something now, now that she had finally entered the room. Perhaps he was hiding. Perhaps it was another Far West game she didn’t know about.

      How strange of him to keep the door unlocked. Even if Alice visited, he usually kept it shut.

      “Norton? It's Alice,” the reporter took another hesitant step into the room. She looked towards the kitchen area. He was not there. Maybe he really was in the bathroom. 

     No matter. She would simply just wait at the messy table until he came out.

     She turned her gaze towards the table, but something —or rather, the absence of something— caught her eye.

     When she had first entered Norton’s room, it was not very different to many of the other rooms situated throughout the apartment. His had the same kind of pizazz and fancy, sleek sheen just about everywhere in the room. It was like an odor. 

     But: there was a unique item in his room that Alice had never gotten the courage to ask about.

     There had been a pickaxe on the wall, hadn’t there?

     But that pickaxe was strangely missing.

     There was no tool on its little wall stand. Like Norton, it was missing in action.

     Alice, now with a furrowed brow, took quick steps towards the area. All of a sudden, a surge of an unsettling feeling —a feeling akin to being watched— boiled beneath her skin. 

     She fought back the panic, as she had done years and years before. She was no stranger to fear. To restlessness. Certainly everything would be fine. She just had to find out the truth. That was all. 

     “Norton?” she whispered, as if he was behind her. But even when she peered over her shoulder, there was no such man. She wished he would just come out already. This prank was growing more and more unpleasant by the minute. 

      She inspected the ledges that poked out from the wall that the pickaxe had rested on. There had been no changes to those things, if memory served her right. 

     Alice sighed and then glanced to her right, where the sleeping area was situated. Like Alice, Norton also had a tall room divider to change behind. She had never noticed until now, mainly because she never bothered to look at where the man slept. 

     Maybe he was sleeping? She couldn’t tell well from this distance. She decided it would be best for her to just go and check. Just in case. 

     How awkward would it be to wake up Norton Campbell himself! She hoped he wasn’t a deep sleeper. 

     The comical thought was almost comforting and the woman couldn’t help but laugh as she snuck over to the bed, lifting up the blanket.

     Only to find five stacks of gold bars where there should have been a body.

     Alice’s giggling had ceased by now, and she certainly wasn’t pleased. She let out an exasperated groan and threw the blanket down over Norton’s gold. 

     Typical. Typical! If it were any other situation, Alice would have teased him about that.

     Alice whirled around and shut her eyes, shaking her head.

     How on earth was she supposed to tease someone who wasn’t even there—?

     As she finished that thought, her eyes fluttered open. She faced the room divider now, but on the floor next to it was…

     A shoe?

     Norton’s… shoe?

     This event was only getting more and more peculiar by the moment. Had Norton suddenly leaned into escape rooms? Was this some kind of detective simulator? Or even better: a murder mystery? 

     Well, whatever the case, Alice was done with it now. She was a journalist, not a Mr. Inference. 

     She hesitantly crept behind the divider, keeping her eyes on the floor. 

     First she saw the shoe. Oh, but then it had a leg.

     Then Norton’s pants. Oh. Oh, there was his other leg. Thank goodness he was clothed— at least up to there.

     Had he gotten… drunk or something? Alice was almost too shy to keep looking, lest she accidentally discover he had no shirt on. 

     But she decided that it would be better if Norton (if it was the man, for she still had to see his face), who was apparently passed out and laying on the floor, had someone standing by him to help his recover from this very strange incident. 

     She finally moved her eyes off his legs and then moved up to his torso. Well, he wasn’t shirtless. And he was wearing gold. She didn’t doubt it was her friend by now. 

     She watched his torso carefully. 

     Why was it so still…?

     Another second passed. And then a third.

     Oh, dear.

     Alice’s hands flew to her friend's neck to feel for a pulse. But as she moved her hands, she moved her gaze to his face as well and…

     Alice’s breathing halted. Her face became as pale as her journal’s paper.

     What was once such a popular and beloved face was before her now, except one thing (or rather, many things because of that one thing) was different.

     One eye was closed, as if the man had been sleeping peacefully.

     His other eye, and in fact, that whole side of his face, told a different story.

     “…So that’s where the pickaxe went.”

                                                   ~

     Alice was like any other sensible human being.

     There was no time to play the detective or the hero when there was a dead body in front of you.

     Even if you wanted to be. Even if you wanted to be at that person’s side, even if you wanted to hold them in your arms, even if you wanted to talk with them as if they were still the person you knew and not a corpse with no soul left in it. 

     They didn’t let Alice see the body again once she had reported it. In fact, she hadn’t even been allowed back into the room. The whole area was shut off from the public (although nobody really ever visited the fifth floor anyway) and Alice was told to come with an officer for some questioning. They entered her room. The room was cold.

     Questioning. Standard routine. But most of the time, Alice did the questioning. It was strange. Alice didn’t like this change— and yet she knew that it must be done. It was the law of the land, after all.

     She calmed her breathing, flicked away a few tears, and stood before the officer now with a slight frown on her face.

     “Sorry you had to witness such an event, Miss,” the officer shook his head with pity. He sighed and then took out a notepad from his back pocket. “I’m Officer José Baden. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

      “Of course, Officer.”

     He asked the basic questions first— these Alice answered easily. Norton Campbell, a friend of hers and her room neighbor, had been found dead behind his room divider at around 12:27 AM with a pickaxe plunged through his right eye. (How was that not foul play? The officer knew just as well as Alice did that this must have been a murder.)

     Officer Baden wrote her words down and then asked some more questions. These forced her to jog her memory— a memory that already felt scattered and shaken by how quickly things had changed. 

     Alice did not know if he used any medication but often drank wine with him around this time (now, she internally noted, Norton would never drink again). She had been out for the whole day taking a trip through the district (but what if she hadn’t wasted the whole day?). She did not return until an hour ago (would she have found the murderer?)

     Norton, to her knowledge, had no known enemies (why would anyone want to kill him?). The security in Oletus was complex and routinely enforced and updated (so the killer must’ve been a resident, then?). There was no sign of forced entry— the door had been unlocked (it had to have been a friend of some sort…).

     “Thank you, Miss,” said José with a tilt of his head. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Please rest assured that we will find the perpetrator of this crime. But also… please keep in mind that you may have to keep in communication with us. As you can tell, this was no normal murder, was it?”

     “Indeed, Officer. I will be here if any further action needs to be taken.”

     “Of course. May the Aurora enlighten your dreams.”

     Alice doubted she would dream at all. If anything, she was living in yet another nightmare. Except this time, it was in a world masked with gold— the drastic opposite of a previous hell thought to be escaped from.

     Even in such a new, glorious world there was no freedom from death.

     She shot the officer an insincere smile as he gave her advice: maybe find a friend to share a room with. Drink some tea. He even gave her a lovely pocket watch with some ornate, mesmerizing patterns on it. And then he left.

     And once he did, a miserable feeling swept over Alice’s soul. There was a strange feeling of soreness in her eyes— maybe because not only did she yearn for sleep, but because she was crying again. Her feet ached. Her head ached.

     All she could think of now was her dear friend’s corpse. 

     She would never, ever see him the same way again. 

     Maybe she would never see him again, either.

                                  ~

     After Alice failed repeatedly to sleep in her room (not only were the detectives annoyingly noisy, but everytime she closed her eyes she couldn’t stop thinking), she got up and made her bed.

     This was a natural reaction, was it not? A reaction of grief in one of its many forms. Restlessness. Overthinking. Re-thinking. Thinking of what could have been or what would happen now.

     It was almost a typical night for the woman, but the only differences were that now, with her mind clouded over with such a dreary feeling, she could not stop herself from thinking at all— or the grave tone that accompanied each and every thought that entered her mind.

     If she wasn’t thinking about the strange appearance of a man’s eye crushed through with a pickaxe, she was thinking of that man chatting with her the night— no, just hours before he had died. If she wasn’t thinking about her time with him, she was thinking of the time he spent with the killer.

     It had to have been a friend.

     Norton did not let just anyone into his room, Alice reminded herself as she put a thin coat over her nightgown. But who else visited him at night aside from her?

     A pang of guilt struck her heart as she suddenly remembered the list of questions she had prepared for Norton, that she had written earlier that day (or yesterday, now that it was midnight). Those questions would remain unanswered now.

     She opened her door, adjusted her purse, and walked out of her room. Of course, she made sure to lock it— and in doing that, she thought of Norton again.

     What a strange situation. What a horrible murder.

     Surely the other residents would have realized something was amiss now. Surely the news would be released by the afternoon. 

     Nothing went too far without the press’ notice these days. Who would want to miss such a pressing scoop?

     Alice blew off those ridiculous thoughts as she crept down the stairs and to a certain floor where she knew a room was vacant in between two dear friends.

     If anyone deserved to know what had happened to Norton first and foremost, it would have to be his friends.

     Each step Alice took felt hurried yet hesitant. All of that had really just happened, hadn’t it? She wasn’t dreaming, was she? The caution tape, the questioning, oh, the body— she wasn’t drunk, wasn’t she?

     She commanded her thoughts to shut up so she could focus on walking again. She could barely keep her balance as she stopped short in front of Melly’s door. 

     Even her knocks were rushed. Urgent. Because the matter was urgent, was it not? Very dire. Very deathly. Was that how Norton’s murderer had knocked as well? Or had they simply strolled in? 

     How had the pickaxe gotten into their hands? Why couldn’t Norton stop them? Why would they want to kill Norton? Who was ‘they’—?

     “Alice?” Melly opened the door. It was as if she said more of a statement than a question. She still had her veil on as well. Alice wondered if she would ever see her without it on. 

     “Melly,” Alice answered. But with that short answer came another pang of despair as Alice looked away, almost ashamed to look at the face of someone who had been so kind, so welcoming.

     So alive.

     Alice grit her teeth.

     “Do come in,” Melly immediately gestured toward the interior of her room. “It’s awfully late right now.”

     “Thank you,” Alice forced the words out of her throat. Another lump was already forming there. She was thankful Melly was by her side, ushering her into the room, lest Alice stop short and run away.

     She was rather conflicted. She could barely keep her emotions under control. Good Aurora, she could barely speak properly. Would it be of any help to Melly if she ruined her night with the terrible news of such a death? 

     Would it be of any help to the journalist herself?

     She had never quite brought anyone else into her problems before. She had also never been a herald of death. She wouldn’t know how to begin—

     “Take a seat. I will make you some tea,” Melly gently said, pulling out a chair for the woman. And all of a sudden, Alice recalled the way Norton would do the same before getting her some wine.

     Alice nodded. Once Melly was out of view, she shook her head profusely. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she think properly?

     She hadn’t been so scatterbrained in a while. She loathed the barrage of question after question that ricocheted throughout her mind. It was as if the questions only wanted to speak, not to be answered.

     Alice felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. Every second she sat in this room was too familiar. She could almost taste the wine Norton would give her, hear their laughter, see his face—

     And there it was again! The woman let out a grunt of anger as she saw that image —the very angle of the pickaxe inserted into Norton’s face— in her mind.

     A fearsome sight, truly. But Alice was never one to be afraid. Fear took its shape in many forms, but what truly had its way with Alice was the ticking sense of injustice that clawed at every ounce of skin in her body.

     She had to find out who did it. When. Why. Norton did not live just for somebody to end him in the prime of his life—!

     “Alice,” and there Melly was again. The thoughts died down. A sense of temporary relief courses through Alice’s mind. Melly set the teapot down and provided her with a lovely teacup bearing images of butterflies before pouring her some tea. Melly then sat across from her.

     Alice silenced her thoughts and just stared at the butterflies on the teacup. They came in many different colors. And sizes. But they were all butterflies.

     “How are you?” Melly asked. Once again, Alice was being questioned. She bit back the loathing seeping into her body once more as she answered:

     “Not well, Ms. Plinius. Have you seen the Aur Officers in the apartment? Have you heard the sirens of their cars?” Alice was almost snappy about her words, yet she could barely restrain herself. A headache was starting to form.

     “No, I have not,” Melly answered, much more calmer than her friend. “What brings you here?”

     Melly’s peace irritated Alice to no end. It was strange, because Alice had always admired the woman’s reticence. But now was no time to be so neutral. Not in a time like this!

     “Ms. Plinius,” Alice said through gritted teeth. But hearing just how aggressive she sounded, Alice feigned a couple coughs and then straightened. “Melly… I am here because Norton Campbell is dead.”

Chapter Text

      It was easy for Melly Plinius to say she was rather unaffected by the world around her. She lived quaintly, quietly, in a room full of insects big and small, harmful and decorative, and even the occasional collection of tiny reptiles from Professor Diruse. Her world consisted not of the glamour of a thousand banquets in one day; nor frequent, unplanned interviews; and not even the hottest new luxuries such as the newest ‘Rora’s-Royal Choice (Roice) Luminescent Ghost car model.

     What her world did consist of, when she wasn’t tending to insects or sharing research with the press or discussing new scientific breakthroughs with Professor Diruse, was a fair bit of social life with her inner circle. And by inner circle, she meant those who did have ten million parties per day (Joseph), got interviewed every step they took in public (Frederick), and never stopped bragging about their sleek Luminescent Ghost model X (Norton).

     The newest member of this interesting collection of ‘friends’ was Alice DeRoss, who at least wasn’t as grandiose with her living or popular with the crowds. Melly found the young lady charming. Apparently, so did the rest of her group. 

     Having that woman (who was usually so composed and headstrong) sit before her now, with her emotions on full display, telling her that one of the few things that she cared an iota about was now deceased  was… rather disturbing. As one would expect. 

     But there was no need for sudden reactions such as tears or consolations just yet. Alice had not yet closed her mouth. Melly could sense there was more the woman had wanted to say. 

     She remained silent as Alice, on the verge of choking with every word she spoke, continued to tell her about the grim way Norton Campbell had died. A pickaxe? Through the eye? How curious. How… ironic.

      It was easy enough for the entomologist to conceal the slight twitch of anger in her eye or the violent sensation of chills down her spine as Alice recalled all that had happened. There was no need to take away from Alice’s story with such things, after all— no matter how they made Melly feel. 

      If anything, the young woman needed more comfort than Melly did. Despite Alice being a crime reporter, it was quite obviously the first time the woman had seen a dead body. Or the dead body of a friend, at the very least. 

      Poor woman. 

      As she continued rambling on about minute details such as the door to his room being unlocked, the presence of two wine glasses on the table, and the wine stains on Norton’s suit (aside from blood, obviously), Melly thought of another murderous incident that had occurred.

      That of Frederick’s plan to assassinate Orpheus.

      She wondered if, upon learning of Norton’s death, he would still have the courage to go along with his maddening plan. Especially knowing that now, there was no other motive other than for his own personal revenge.

      Frederick, so Melly had thought, had always been a sensible man. Surely he would reconsider his plans… or execute them all too well. 

     But enough about that man! For now, Melly realized, Alice had grown quiet with an uncharacteristically pained expression.

     She looked as though she was fighting tears. Melly knew the sentiment well.

     “Miss Alice, there is nothing to hide with me,” Melly gently said, trying to sound as motherly as she could— trying to radiate the same tenderness she’d show to a butterfly with a broken wing, or a fallen beetle, or a sad-looking arachnid with a missing leg. “I understand you are facing an… unprecedented situation regarding a beloved friend. If you feel so inclined to do so, then please: do what you must. There are tissues in my bathroom.”

     A slight flush appeared on the journalist’s cheeks. She looked down at the floor. She pushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear. In her eyes was something so unmistakably human: a deep, passionate sorrow. But she immediately tried to blink away the tears and awkwardly cleared her throat. 

     “If you want, I can leave you here for a moment or two,” Melly suddenly stood up. She pushed her chair in, giving Alice not much room to answer with anything but a nod. 

     The two of them both had business to attend to, after all. 

     Melly made a beeline for the bathroom. She gently pushed the door open and, heading to the table with the tissue box, stretched out her hand.

     She reached for the item beside the box. A phone.

     Melly dialed one of the only numbers she knew. 

     After a few rings, someone answered.

     Without giving him a chance to speak, Melly quietly whispered:

     “Frederick, Norton is dead.”

                                                  ~

      Melly found her friend more compliant than usual. Perhaps it was due to exhaustion. Grief. Most likely both. What else was Alice to do, except trust in one of the only other friends she had made in such a place?

      Melly found it almost amusing— and it truly would’ve been if she didn’t share the same burden of the loss as well. Norton was no friend (Melly only kept him close due to Frederick’s closeness, really— she was the reason why Norton developed severe entomophobia), but even she could respect his grit… and also his charm.

     Now Frederick bore the burden and he, too, would be coming over (if he could walk past the vast sea of crumpled composition paper around his fat piano).

      Melly would not allow him to stay the night, of course, but whenever Frederick was angsty, he wept for tea. The only person who would give him such a luxury was Melly.

      Specifically, he always yearned for  honeyed vanilla chamomile tea— two spoonfuls of Melly’s bees’ honey. Nothing more, nothing less. He said it put him in a reflective mood. Melly thought that was an artistic man’s way of saying her bees made good stuff. 

     Now Frederick would weep, and for a little more than honey.

     He was apparently on his way right now, despite the clock almost striking two in the morning. No matter. Of course it was Frederick with the wayward sleeping schedule. He had never bothered to change it after his own meetings with Orpheus.

      Other such business aside, when Melly returned, she immediately offered Alice the chance to stay the night.

     “Miss Alice, it would be wrong of me to not offer you the chance to stay here tonight. I understand you wouldn’t want to sleep alone on the same floor of such a horrible incident.”

     Alice, who sat next to a full trash can of tissues, simply nodded her head. Her normally light face was blotched with red and her amber eyes were abnormally puffy. Yet there was still an air of passion around her. If she wasn’t so tired, Melly thought Alice would’ve launched into yet another spiel about ‘finding justice for Norton’ or ‘sending that that pickaxe murderer to jail’ or some random crime scene detail yet unheard of (although by then, Melly had understood the image of the scene of the crime quite clearly).

     “Come on then,” Melly beckoned. “A woman like you needs sleep. After all, you cannot ‘find justice’ with an exhausted mind, can you?”

      Alice shook her head. Slowly, she got up and followed Melly to her bed.

     “Are you sure?” was the only resistance Alice offered.

     “Yes. I can sleep in a chair.”

     “…Okay.”

     Alice hesitantly climbed into the unfamiliar bed and pulled the canopy curtain by the bedside so that she was obscured. Melly closed the curtain at the foot of the bed while Alice closed the curtain on the other side. Then the woman was completely hidden by cloth that bore designs of beautiful butterflies and other such insects.

     Melly heard a sniffle from inside.

     Understandable, really. The entomologist sighed and headed over to the wall, dimming the lights in the room. 

     Melly would have to remind Frederick of the woman’s presence (and perhaps her emotional state as well), or better yet, have her and him talk in the frequently visited vacant room.

     But then she paused. A chill ran over her spine. 

     Something disturbed Melly as she thought of leaving Alice alone. Because this murderer… had they only truly meant to kill Norton? Or perhaps they wanted to do a little more than that?

     Was Norton their intended target? Perhaps Alice had been correct in saying that the murderer was a friend, or at least a trusted acquaintance, of Norton’s! 

     Melly realized that by now she had begun to tremble. She promptly straightened and took a deep breath.

     …How utterly disturbing. 

     She collected Alice’s teacup and washed it before a light knock came on the door.

     Melly’s breathing hitched. She fumbled with the fine material of the cup, swiftly catching it as she set it down.

     Ah, she was growing paranoid again… she had always disliked meetings at such irregular times of day. They reminded her of… unpleasant men. And events. 

     Regardless, she approached the door and checked the peephole first.

     Oh, good. Melly sighed in relief.

     It was Frederick, in all his youthful yet white-haired glory… in pajamas.

     Melly opened the door. 

     Frederick let out a quiet grunt as a greeting and crept inside, immediately noticing the dimmed lighting.

     “What…” he mumbled under his breath. “Is this a meeting to discuss a death or a candlelit date, Melly?”

     “Hush,” Melly put a finger to her lips. “Alice is sleeping.”

     “Oh, good. Miss Truffle Cake is here as well,” Frederick rolled his eyes and sauntered over to the table. 

     “Serve yourself,” Melly flippantly told him as she quickly brought him the washed teacup from earlier.

     “Where’s the honey?” Frederick quietly demanded. “And… and is it vanilla chamomile?”

     Now it was Melly’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes. I will retrieve the honey bear for you in a moment. Oh, and allow me to grab the tissues while I’m at it.”

     “You never cry…“ Frederick began under his breath, but quickly clamped his mouth shut when he understood her words. An almost flustered look took hold over his face and he dipped his head. He had always been the more… sentimental one between them. 

     Without further ado, Melly got the honey bear and the spoon to get two spoonfuls of honey with. She decided she was too tired to get the tissues and promptly turned away from the bathroom, returning to the table.

     Frederick watched as she measured the perfect amount of honey into the perfect sort of tea, despite her insistence for him to do it himself earlier. She left him on his own to stir it to his liking.

     Such mundane things aside, once Frederick had lifted his eyes from the tea (and his nose as well, for he loved the scent as much as the taste), the two tried to keep their focus on the elephant in the room, who had always been the rich, handsome, troublesome elephant between the two of them.

     Except now, he was dead, so he was the elephant in the room in the way a dead mouse in the corner was. 

     “Tell me about what she told you,” Frederick demanded once more. Melly found him more unbearable when he was exhausted out of his mind while pondering murder (both in Orpheus and Norton’s case).

     Melly recounted the events Alice had informed her of. Frederick would occasionally gasp or flick a tear from his eye or sip tea with a rather disgruntled expression.

      What really displeased him was the one off comment that a friend had most likely ended Norton’s life.

     “Is it not that Alice then? Norton hadn’t gone out yesterday, had he? Who else would have visited him?” Frederick hissed.

     “I doubt it,” Melly shook her head. “There’s no cohesive motive I can think of. She respected him very much, judging by how she spoke of him alone. She’s not known for being a liar, much less someone who can handle such a large pickaxe.”

     “Maybe Norton taught her how to use it,” Frederick sniffed. “That bumbling fool. He always gets so out of hand with rich women.”

     Melly stared at him with bewilderment, as she usually did. Except, as usual, he would never be able to tell. 

     “…No,” Melly deadpanned. “Norton hasn’t touched that thing in ages.”

     “Then who would have done it, then?” Frederick stuck his nose in the air.

     “Not Alice.”

     “Who else does Norton have such a bothersome fondness for but her?”

     “My word, Frederick. Will you scandalize the man even after his death or what? Be productive.”

     “I cannot fathom it being anyone else.”

     “But I can. And mind you, I’ve always been the more intelligent one out of the both of us.”

     “Not like you to brag…” Frederick growled, although he appeared more like a small, kicked dog than anything. Then he sighed and leaned back, drumming his fingers over the table.

     Silence filled the room. There was more to a murder than who did it, after all. This the two knew full well.

     “About your plan—“ Melly began, only to be cut off.

     “I need a moment to think. And mourn, for Aurora’s sake,” he confessed after a few more moments of deep sighs and grunting.

     “…So be it. I will go call Joseph while you’re at it.”

     Frederick pulled out a pocket sized package of tissues and nodded. The look of casual indifference he usually wore was replaced by a hint of a frown and sleepy eyes.

     “Thank you for your time,” he murmured before Melly walked away. 

     Melly gave him a dip of her head before she let him be. And still, the question lingered:

     Was he still seeking to kill Orpheus?

     Melly looked back one more time, but Frederick was already occupied with the more recent death.

     How strange it was, to be on two different sides of two different murders.

                                   ~

     It was strangely comforting to Alice that when she awoke, it was not in her simple white bed with a desk full of mocking books yet unread beside it and a typewriter just a few feet away. Normally, mornings were filled with a pursuit of work to beat out any early rising gossipers seeking to twist the next hottest criminal case. 

     Now, however, the gossip would be unstoppable. Alice knew it full well, which was why she was glad that in such an unfamiliar bed with little insects embroidered on the blankets over her, she was shielded by some lovely canopy curtains. It made her feel somewhat safe. It kept her away from a world where even the brightest star fell and where the impact of its fall remained yet unseen.

     And, it reminded her she was also still alive. Aurora knows what could have happened if Alice had tried to sleep in her room…

     Alice sighed. Once she was more alert, she knew the thoughts would return and interrogate her as if they were the paparazzi. Truthfully, her own self questioned her more than any other reporter did. 

     “Miss Alice, are you awake?” 

     The first question of the day, except thankfully it was not one of Alice’s own. The journalist saw the vague outline of presumably Melly through the curtain. 

     “Yes,” Alice mumbled. 

     “I’ve prepared you some tea. Mr. Kreiburg is here to see you as well.”

     Mr. Kreiburg? Strange. But then again, he was a friend of Norton’s as well. 

     Norton. Goodness gracious. Alice needed to get that man out of her head. 

     “Thank you Melly,” hesitancy slipped into Alice’s tone. “But… you don’t have to—“

     “Hush now, lest the tea get cold. I’ve brought out the honey bear for you and him. Be careful— he is quite protective of it.”

     “Uh…” Alice, upon realizing the veiled woman was giving her no other options, returned the statement with a brief nod of her head and opened the curtain.

     A small smirk appeared on Melly’s face as she pointed to the table where Frederick was staring intensely at some paper.

     Alice attempted to straighten out her clothes and tried to comb through her hair as she slowly made her way towards the man. She kept her eyes on the honey bear all the while.

      “Miss DeRoss,” Frederick threw her a look with his usual cold expression. When Alice looked up to meet his gaze, however, she realized that his eyes were rather puffy. She gave him a quick nod back and took a seat across from him.

     “Mr. Kreiburg,” she began, noticing that he had taken her cup and was pouring her some tea for her already. “I’m assuming you’ve also heard the unfortunate news.”

     “Unfortunate,” Frederick wrinkled his nose as he repeated the word. He stiffly stirred two spoonfuls of honey into her tea before handing it back to her.

     “…Yes. I take it you and Norton were close?”

     “Indeed we were. He’s inspired many of my albums,” Frederick nodded with a faint hint of nostalgia in his  eyes. “Of course, at times he could be an annoying, disrespectful brat… but I mean that affectionately.”

     “Yes, naturally.”

     “Anyways, drink up. You look rather awful— take care of yourself.”

     “Frederick,” Melly clicked her tongue as she pulled out a seat for herself. “You ought to say the same to yourself.”

     “Ugh. So judgmental, this Plinius,” Frederick dryly retorted before sipping his tea. He watched Alice do the same. Melly placed bread on the table.

     “Eat up,” she told the two of them, who looked at the bread with either curiousity or disgust.

     “I’m not eating it unless Norton sponsored it,” Frederick flicked his wrist at the bread as if to shoo it away.

     “It is. You had my word I wouldn’t buy you any more cricket bread,” Melly folded her arms and took a small nibble of the bread.

     Alice almost choked on her tea. It was strange to her, that despite the gravity of Norton’s death weighing on all of them, the duo still had the same charm they usually did.

      The journalist could not say the same. She could barely drink her tea without feeling rather nauseous. 

     “Try the bread first,” Frederick whispered to her across the table, so loudly that Melly could obviously still hear him. “I do not believe this woman.”

     “I’m… I’m not hungry,” Alice shook her head. “Thank you all so much for your time, but I really ought to get going…”

     “Very well then,” Melly nodded after a brief moment. “But at least finish your tea. I wouldn’t want you to go without a little more sustenance.”

     Frederick nodded in agreement after taking a small nip of bread. He pulled some white hair behind his ear and resumed eating afterward. He did so particularly elegantly.

     “If you insist,” Alice forced the words out her throat and did as Melly had suggested, albeit with much struggle.

     Then the table fell into silence, what with everyone being occupied with their breakfast after such a dreary night. The air of something heavier settled in as well and questions lingered in the back of everyone’s mind.

     Had the officers already caught the murderer yet? How much did the public already know? What were they going to do with the knowledge that even a man like Norton wasn’t safe in the safest part of the city— no, not even the city, but the whole world?

                                  ~

     That same evening Alice, who had been allowed to move back into her room (but who wasn’t allowed to visit Norton’s room at all, understandably), had been writing at her desk about a crime verdict that had come out recently.

     Aesop Carl was to be sentenced to jail time for twenty years for the murder of his guardian, Jerry Carl. Aesop had been able to get away with a lighter sentence as he claimed it was self-defense, exposing Jerry’s crimes while downplaying his involvement in them. Apparently, he had succeeded because of his testimony that Jerry had tried attacking him in the first place. But that testimony, while reasonable, wasn’t the same he had told Alice… 

     It was troubling, especially since Aesop had seemed to be such an honest man, but Alice was not too surprised. Perhaps it was more of his lawyer’s decision— such a thing was a common thread in stories of famous criminals like him. 

     There had been rumors that if Aesop had hired defense attorney (and lawyer if need be) Frederick ‘Freddy’ Riley, he would have gotten off scot-free. And while they appeared in Alice’s mind for a brief moment, she ignored them. 

     She did not believe in spreading such things. Nor did she believe in fueling what-ifs, even if she herself was plagued by them in multiple ways. Especially what with the recent murder.

      As one would expect, it had already spread far and wide. There had already been one “life celebration” (for mourning was not publicly allowed as it was not very ‘luminous’) suppressed by Aur officers near where Norton had previously lived. Several co-actors and actresses and crew and directors had publicly announced their hopes for Norton to ‘rest in the spotlight forever’ or ‘that the Auroras of the past may bless him with peace’ or whatever other kind of empty words they wanted to offer.

     Of course, nobody publicly questioned who had killed him. While that wasn’t illicit under the Eternal Aurora, one could say it was… significantly monitored.

      Even the most scandalous gossip magazines that Alice despised with all her heart did not dare make an assumption. It was both an admirable and somewhat curious thing about the district.

     Everyone had their limits, didn’t they?

     Alice set down her pen and cracked her knuckles. Her final manuscript was finished. Now to send it to Orpheus…

     A knock on the door.

     Alice’s breathing halted as more knocks came through. Gentle, but unrelenting.

     Alice wondered who it was. She stood up, dusted herself off, briefly checked her puffy eyes in the mirror, and headed for the door.

      Before her was the same officer she had met yesterday— José Baden, was it? And yet, something was immediately off when they locked eyes.

     “Miss DeRoss, you are under arrest.”

Chapter Text

     Well, Alice DeRoss certainly wasn’t expecting a visit to the Aurorian City Jail so soon— and certainly not under such troubling circumstances, at that.

     Officer Baden had taken her into a cell. It smelled like mildew. It was dim. There were cracks in the walls. It reminded Alice a lot of her interviews that had gotten her the success that brought her right back where she started.

     Except this time, she was not a mere journalist. Apparently, she was a criminal.

     “We have good reason to believe that you are the perpetrator behind Mr. Norton Campbell’s death, Ms. DeRoss…” Officer Baden’s tone was grave. He had announced this very obvious statement after Alice had given him her fingerprints and even got a state-of-the-art mugshot.

     Andrew Kreiss had taken it himself. Needless to say, he and Yidhra were extremely surprised. Alice had no doubt word, just as it had of every other criminal arrest, would spread soon. 

     She was partially resigned to having the inmates as her companions for life. At least she got a head start in befriending them. (What a sad fate.)

     “—Ms. DeRoss, are you listening?” Officer Baden asked as Alice began to drift off. She had closed her eyes and rested her head in her eyes, only nodding as a response.

     José offered her a weak smile that she did not see and cleared his throat. “As I was saying… you will reside here for the next few days until your arraignment. You are allowed to receive visitors, and, what with your level of status, I’m sure you will. Such as your lawyer.”

     All Alice did was nod. She was too tired to do much else.

     Soon after, Officer Baden left and left the woman to her own devices— that was, sleeping.

                                                ~

     “…Came at a bad time. Look, the doll is resting.” 

     “Well, dear Matron Yidhra, I can wake anybody up with a few simple steps…”

     “Always took you for a more, hm, how do I say this… bedtime story kind of guy, Mr. Orpheus.”

     “I’m very paternal. But Alice is no little girl  and I can wake her up just fine, thank you very much.”

     “I’m hesitant about you disturbing the peace out here. Ithaqua’s already shot you a side eye.”

     “The Sculptor one can make a fine bust, can’t she?”

     “…You don’t want to know what she does with those things. Here, I relent— come inside and wake ‘er up. I’ll be standing outside to make sure you don’t do anything funky.”

     “You’ve been… standing out here the whole time.”

     “I sleep with my eyes open.”

     “…Okay then.”

     Alice heard the door open as her brain finally started to comprehend what was happening. Bedtime stories? Yidhra? Funky town?

     “My dear Alice!” said Orpheus, practically strutting into the room with his plain white suit and casual monocle. Alice realized he had gotten his hair cut. She thought it made it look younger.

     He loomed over  her  with a bright smile that she  saw through the dim lighting. His teeth practically sparkled as he continued. “I am so sorry to hear about this terrible arrest. I must ask though: did you really kill my dear protege?”

     How was he so jolly…? 

     “No, of course not, Mr. Orpheus,” Alice mumbled, opening her eyes and resting her cheek on her arm. “I loved the man very much. He was… like a confidant to me.”

     “Certainly not more than I?” Orpheus chuckled. An unfitting noise after such a few horrible days. 

     “Ah,” Alice awkwardly answered. “Well, anyway, what is a man like you doing here?”

     “What am I here for…? You, of course!” Orpheus practically cheered. His voice bounced off the walls. “I’m getting you the city’s top lawyer: Frederick ‘Freddy’ Riley!”

     “Ooh,” even Yidhra couldn’t help but indulge herself. “Haven’t seen somebody arrested here hire a guy like him in years.”

     “Uh…” Alice watched as Yidhra entered the room, her dark attire almost blending with the room itself. Alice’s eyes flicked back up to Orpheus. “Thank you, Mr. Orpheus.”

      She sat up straight now, awakened by Orpheus’ alarm clock of a voice and disturbed by Yidhra’s presence. (Who knows? If Alice fell asleep, Yidhra would probably seep into her nightmares!)

     “My pleasure,” Orpheus chuckled again, although his voice felt strained. “He and his assistant Matthias Czernin should see you in a bit. Goodbye now!”

     “So soon?” Alice mumbled as Orpheus already started his trot towards the door.

     “I am a busy man, after all!” Orpheus called, shutting the door in his wake leaving Alide and Yidhra still inside.

     All Alice could do was stare  at the door with nothing short of bewilderment. 

     “He’s such a suspicious man,” Yidhra snorted. “All rich men are.”

     Alice looked up at the matron with concern in her eyes. The only thing she could think of now was, once again, Norton Campbell (or rather, his dead body that she was now apparently responsible for). 

     “Don’t worry, lady,” Yidhra folded her arms, her  voice raspy. “Riley’s probably a good lawyer.”

     “I’m not concerned about that. I… I just…”

     “It's fine. You won’t have a criminal record after he’s done with you.”

     “But I didn’t do it,” Alice bitterly grumbled. 

     “You don’t think that’s what matters, do you? You know Grace was here and she was a saint compared to all of us. Pleading ‘not guilty’ this and ‘not guilty’ that until the very day of her execution.”

      “Did you go?” Alice blurted, for she was curious. Public executions were no small thing in the city-- the worst criminals were always put on display. It contradicted  the laws of keeping joy and happiness in everyone’s mind in Alice’s opinion, but her opinion was nothing in the eyes of the Eternal Aurora. 

     Yidhra blinked, a bit taken aback. “...Mm, no. Wasn’t allowed to.”

     “But you’re… the matron,” Alice thought that at least someone who worked in the jail would have the right to witness  something so crime-related. 

     “So? Everyones knows a matron loves her ‘children’.”

     “Uh… what?”

     “Kreiss and I aren’t allowed to go, even if it's just one of  us. You know, personal relationships and forging connections and all that.”

     “I suppose that makes sense…” Alice nodded. So, if for any reason Mr. Riley failed at defending her, she had the chance of being executing with nobody to help her escape. What a luminous thought. 

     “Anyway, stop thinking about her. Ann’s already offered about a dozen masses for her to rest in peace. ‘Requiem aeternam’ or whatever nuns like her say.”

     Yidhra was certainly some kind of company, Alice noted in her head  before she spotted Mr. Kreiss standing outside the bars to her cell. 

     “Oh, look who’s here,” a hint of amusement slipped into Yidhra’s tone. It was rather menacing. Yidhra took a look back at Alice and smirked. “I’ll be off, then. I hope you enjoy  Kreiss’ legal advice. Or whatever he’s here for.”

     “Bye, Miss Yidhra,” Alice quietly murmured, giving her a small wave as Yidhra exited and Mr. Kreiss entered. 

     He looked just about as exhausted as usual. Except now, he  had eyebags under his red eyes and his light hair seemed rattier than usual. He had some dirt on his clothes. 

     “Good evening, Ms. DeRoss,” he shut the cell  behind him, his voice quiet. 

     “Evening,” Alice greeted. 

     “I hope Miss Yidhra didn’t bother you too much… I saw you zoning out and thought you’d appreciate a nice change of pace.”

     “Oh, thank you. That… sounds nice.”

     “I have some food for you,” the warden revealed a small tin box from behind his back. “Do you like crackers?”

     Alice paused. For some reason, she appeared deep in thought. Then she looked up, nodded, and received a cracker.

     “I know this probably isn’t the easiest thing you’ve had to experience,” Andrew stated the obvious. “If I may share some advice…”

     “You’ve… been arrested, Mr. Kreiss?” Alice said with a hint of confused amusement. “I hadn’t taken you for the sort.”

     He seemed to blush. “Um, well, we can discuss that later. But I’ll tell you this: listen to what that lawyer tells you. I’ve learned the hard way that everybody else in that court is out to get you. Surely every case needs its answer, doesn’t it—?”

     “Kreiss!” Sudden rattling echoed throughout the cell. It was Yidhra again. “Kreiss, get yourself at the door! The lawyer is here!”

Chapter Text

An old interview:

     “Mr. Campbell, in your latest movie you played a daring and dashing crime boss who falls to the whims for the Eternal Aurora. Do you, like him, ever feel like there’s a target on your back?”

     “Why’re you asking?” the actor scoffed. He paused for a moment. Then he leaned forward, shooting a brief glance towards the cameras, before adding:

     “‘Course I do. Everybody gets a little jealous now and then, don’t they? I’m a star, arent I? Who wouldn’t be jealous?”

     The interview giggled. “I’d say they’re more charmed than envious, Mr. Campbell.”

     “Well, you never know…” Norton mumbled under his breath. “What was that saying? ‘Hold your friends close and your enemies closer’? Seems accurate enough.”

     “What?” the interview raised an eyebrow. 

     “What?” Norton repeated back, batting his eyes. 

                                                                                                        ~

     The lawyer, Frederick Riley, and his assistant Matthias Czernin  were a strange duo. On one side was Mr. Riley, who insisted on being called Freddy, with a full on suit and some lovely buckteeth; on the other was a sad-looking, thin man in a wrinkled business suit that looked just as exhausted as he was. 

     Occasionally Alice would see Yidhra or Mr. Kreiss peek through the bars and whisper amongst themselves. The lawyer and his assistant obviously noticed something was amiss (at the very least, they noticed Andrew’s wide eyes staring at Alice’s as she nibbled on a cracker), but said nothing. 

     After Alice had presented any necessary or helpful documents with information about the case (Baden allowed her to bring what was necessary after some  convincing), asking any pressing questions and answering any the lawyer had for her, Mr. Riley had taken a seat across from her, cleaned his glasses, and then shifted the conversation away from the court.

     Freddy began. “Now that we’ve discussed some key details, why don’t I hand you some free advice?”

     “Ah… sure. Go on,” Alice nodded. 

     “Don’t try to reason with the media,” Freddy flashed her a wide, almost cocky grin. “I know you’re a journalist and all that. That means you probably know how cutthroat it is out there, don’t you?”

     “Naturally—“

     “So! My suggestion is for you to shield yourself from it completely. Don’t let any of those scummy journalists get a single word with you. Strut past them. Flash a smile if you have to. But never, and dear girl, I’m serious when I tell you never, give them a single word from that mouth of yours.”

      “Understandable,” Alice nodded. 

     “We actually have this in our legal contract,” Matthias revealed an abnormally thick packet of paper behind his back. “As your team, it's our job to defend your good name. We are only able to do this by your allowance to let us defend you in and out of the court.”

     “I can see the concern about my public image…” Alice’s mind thought of all of the inmates in the same jail as she was, whose names were either tarnished or worshiped by gossip magazines. She hoped she would end up as neither. That life would go back to his it had been before— being comfortably rich with a comfortable amount of friends in a comfortable apartment room situated next to a… now dead man. She figured being murdered was no comfort at all.

     And what if life would never be the same again? She still wished it did. 

     “Oh, trust me, it's a very necessary concern,” Freddy nodded solemnly. “As we all know, nobody is safe from bias. Even the judges that the Eternal Aurora handpicks look at each convict with their background in mind. Are they a yucky foreigner? Can they sing or dance or have nice hair? No— are they attractive? Smoking hot? Hotter than the victim? Luminously rich? Forget about the evidence: that’s what truly matters.”

     “How rich I am?” Alice pointed to herself. 

     “How charming you are,” Freddy corrected. “You could be as crippled as that Galatea Claude or as beastly as that Eta Viluf but avoid their fates with a little sprinkle of razzle dazzle. And that’ll only happen under this firm.”

     “Why is that?” Alice drummed her fingers over the table, slightly offended on the inmates’ behalf yet knowing their sentence was terrible for a reason.

     “Nobody else’s got what it takes to turn a beast into a beaut,” Freddy folded his arms. “They think the only thing that matters is what happens in court— tch, fools. There’s a few simple steps to getting off scot-free: the first one is by starting outside of court. If everyone is convinced of the truth: that you didn’t murder Norton, that you were more than a mere stranger to him, that you cared about him and would never kill him, then why would the judges think otherwise?”

     “I see… what are the other steps?”

     “That’s for the court arraignment. One step at a time, friend.”

     “Um… not to rush you two, but Mr. Riley’s next meeting is in twenty minutes. Ms. DeRoss, if you could please sign this contract now and begin working with us.”

     “It’s rather thick,” Alice mumbled as Matthias hurriedly placed it in front of her. She got to work quickly, and as someone who had to read through poorly written drafts in short amounts of time constantly, she was able to make it to the end.

     But she paused as she saw the area where she ought to put her name. It was a simple enough decision, wasn’t it? Alice was in trouble. Freddy Riley had an abnormally wonderful track record for getting people out of trouble. If it were anybody else, they would’ve signed with him without thinking. 

     However, there was one part somewhere in the many pages she had skimmed through that had caught her eye. It brought her a feeling she couldn’t name. 

     ‘Hereby you agree to allow us to speak on your behalf throughout the period of time of legal conflict both inside and outside of the court. By signing, you allow us the full right and discretion to answer to the media in any way we see fit to maintain or otherwise elevate your good name without any interference from third parties.’

     It was just another paragraph full of fancy and hard-to-comprehend sentences about agreements and usage, and yet if Alice agreed to it, she would be giving up something so vital to her life.

     She had written for the newspapers. She had spoken for dozens of interviewers. She was renowned in Metropolis by now, making money off of a field that, if she agreed to this contract, she would not be able to respond to with her own pen until after everything had blown over. 

     It was almost like a gamble. And Alice didn’t gamble. 

     She always chose right. 

                                                                                                      ~

An even older mock interview:

     “Mr. Campbell, how does it feel to live in a world so different from what you’re used to? How does it feel to stand in the spotlight or to see the sun? How does it feel to be on TV and not in a mine?”

     “Is this one of those stupid test questions with ten questions in one? I just forgot half of what you said, Boss. Agh…”

     “Oh, don’t stretch like that on TV, Norton. Nobody wants to see your, um…”

     “Well, whatever. What was the question?”

     “How does it feel to live in a world so different from what you’re used to?”

     “Better. I got money. Lots of money. Thanks to you, Boss. Heh.”

     “…Wrong, Norton.”

     A sigh from the Boss after speaking. The other man slams a fist on the table.

     “What the f—“

     “Fudge.”

     “What the ‘fudge’, Boss?! I do make money! More than some random journalist interviewing me!”

     “Well, guess who makes more money than you? The Eternal Aurora— the top client in any business ever! And if she hears about MY protege, my star, sounding so… so like that, then she won’t approve of it!”

     “And? Where was her ass when I was eight mining my ass off?”

     “Language!”

     “Boo-hoo, Orpheus! Not my fault you’ve never seen a donkey—!”

     “Norton, quiet!” a sharp snap.

     A pause. Silence fills the recording.

     “…Okay. Sorry. I’ll change my answer. What do you want me to say then, huh, big shot?”

                                                                                                       ~

     “You should sign it, Alice,” Orpheus’ voice, face, tone: it was all so kind. So gentle, as if from a father to a child insisting the consumption of veggies. “It’s for the best. I don’t say this for myself, but for you.”

     “I understand that Mr. Riley is a well-meaning man, but even such a high profile man like him can make misrepresentations… and the fact that I am not allowed to interfere in their w“Chi sa ridere con coraggio è padrone del mondo quasi quanto chi è pronto a morire"ords? He might be famous, but fame alone is not infallible,” Alice countered, although it was hard to counter when everyone around her supported the same notion. That this was what was best. That this decision was necessary.

     It certainly was a pressing ordeal, and without fully knowing it, Alice was already slipping onto their side. 

     “Why in the world would he misrepresent you, dear Alice?” Orpheus continued, his words like honey. She so desperately wanted to believe that the lawyer had only had the best of intentions, that he, like all of her friends, was on her side. 

     But she was a crime journalist. She knew better than that. But still, she hoped. 

     “I don’t wish for anybody to stretch this story in order to make me look innocent. The facts and reality alone should be enough.”

     “If only,” Orpheus smiled, although there was something bittersweet in his tone. He rested his chin on his hand and looked her in the eye. “Do you really think the Eternal Aurora has achieved the paradise she claims we live in now?”

     “Well, it's certainly implied in just about everything.”

     “Implied, yes, but a reality, no. Sometimes, in order to get the best outcome… a few strings must be pulled. I believe the only reason why all people are unable to achieve success is because not all people have access to such strings. But you do, Alice. So why don’t you use them?”

     “I’ve always stood for integrity,” Alice answered, as if trying to remind herself of her own morals. Orpheus noticed the slight edge to her voice, as if she was distracted in trying to defend herself. How quaint. 

     “Ah, I as well. But you are standing for the truth, aren’t you? You are innocent. If the ‘facts’ end up being… slanted in order to say you are not, then why wouldn’t a little stretch be permissible?”

     “But Mr. Riley’s a lawyer, Mr. Orpheus. Isn’t it his job to set things straight without having to resort to falsehoods?” Alice argued. And the boss found that amusing, in a way. Naive. For he had seen a thousand minds like hers before, thinking so upright and so morally in a world that was the exact opposite.

     He knew the sentiment. He knew the sentiment oh-so-well. And he had been there all the times he had witnessed it fall apart in front of all those protégés long ago. There would always be something strange about them a little afterwards. A poor crack in a porcelain doll’s skull, perhaps.

      The world was fast-paced; everyone forgot a little mishap here and there. It was why he was able to witness such despair so often. With that in mind, he said:

     “Who is to say that Mr. Riley will even use falsehoods, Alice? But understand that the powers above are no friends at all. Just look at that Naiad girl you were so fond of.”

     Alice almost blanched. She hadn’t heard of Grace in a long while. None of her reactions escaped Orpheus’ unwavering gaze. 

     “Yes, I read your editorials. And did you know that your piece, despite the affection the Eternal Aurora has for you, was promptly censored and inaccessible in the Royal District?”

     “W…What?” Alice forced herself to speak, trying to the best of her ability to hide any sense of anxiety. 

     “Well, that’s a story for another time. But in the event that the truth —that integrity, really— is threatened, I’m of the opinion that it is in no way morally reprehensible to defend it. Even if by such undesirable means.”

     “Well… I…”

     “Hush now. Take my words to heart. I’m sure that, as you have so many times before, you’ll make the right decision. Goodbye, dear Alice.”

                                                                                                       ~

An ancient drinking party on Oletus’ fifth floor:

     “An interview? That’s how you know I’ve made it big.”

     “Only natural a man like you would strike it rich someday. Norton, you’re one of the most hardworking men I know.”

     “...You flatter me, Boss. Hey, what this wine called?”

     “Riesling. Special mix.”

     “Tastes delicious. Odd aftertaste, though.”

     “Mm. Well, no matter. This interview of yours: two weeks, hm? It's coming up, isn’t it?”

     “Yeah, yeah… you already told me that. We can worry about all of that later.”

     Silence, aside from glass clinking against the  table. 

     “You’re looking at my manuscripts like you want a bedtime story, Norton.”

     “Huh? What? Me? I don’t read, Boss.”

     “Well, I do. Would you care to listen?”

     “What do you even write about, Boss? Fairy stories? Just to let you know, I’m not into those things--”

     “Hahaha! Oh, my word, Norton… you  are hilarious. I write horror. Psychological horror.”

     “Oh.”

     “You seem like the type to enjoy such a thing. I can tell. You’re  blushing.”

     “I… Fine, read me away. Just don’t blame me if I snooze off. And… and! You’d better not tell anybody I’m cozying up to one of your cheesy books.”

     Chuckling. “How typical of you. Well, cozy up then. And don’t come whining to me about your favorite character dying or whatnot-- you should know by  now that everything you’ll see downtown is something of a story.”

     “You gonna read that book to me or not?”

     “I’m just warning you, friend.”

                                                                                                        ~

     If something happened within any of Orpheus’ companies, it was obvious who heard about it first. 

     Before any news got out to the  public, everybody within his sphere of influence knew at least a little something-- and with something as controversial as Norton Campbell’s death and Alice DeRoss’ apparent perpetration of it, the only  media source allowed to gather any information about it were those in the Nightingale Company’s journalism sector. 

     Of course, Alice was not notified of it nor allowed to be there, because she had (after long hours with talks featuring Melly, a half-awake Frederick, and many other sincere opinions) signed off on Mr. Riley’s contract, giving him full authority to portray her any way he liked.

     No. Alice didn’t like the way that sounded. And yet, that was exactly what she had given him the ‘full right and discretion’ to do. 

     It was the right choice, wasn’t it? So why did her conscience bother her so?

                                                                                                       ~

                                                                         Mr. Freddy Riley and the Press Conference Rag

     Across from the famed lawyer Freddy Riley and his lesser known counterpart Matthias Czernin sat three people:

     The photographer and interviewer, Joseph Desaulniers. 

     The famous author and boss of the client, “Orpheus”.

     And finally, the scribe of sorts, Victor Grantz. 

     One might’ve called out the small group, complaining the following: “But doesn’t Alice know all of these people?” “How do we know if they won’t be biased?” “What in the world even is a press conference… and are they supposed to be so small?”

     A shame the general public cannot attend these private matters, much less speak of them. The only questions that would  be answered, or even heard for that matter, would be the ones Joseph relentlessly hurled at the quick-thinking lawyer. 

     “Mr. Riley! A pleasure to meet you, but seeing as we’re so unfortunately short on time I must skip these formalities. As you know, our beloved Alice DeRoss has  been accused of murder-- how horrendous! I shall now ask you the basic question: Where was Alice DeRoss from?”

     “Ah,” Matthias stood up, a clipboard in his hand. Mr. Riley kept a close eye on him but let him continue regardless. “Her birth records indicate that she was originally born in the eastern district of Metropolis. She herself has told us that she moved out to live in the countryside with her adoptive parents, but she moved back to the city as soon as she could as an adult.”

     “Oh, what a dear,” Joseph giggled. Victor blinked profusely at the sound. Orpheus pinched his nosebridge as Joseph kept going. “She’s a city woman at heart, just like I am.”

     “Focus, Joseph,” Orpheus sighed. Victor wrote Matthias’ answer in lovely cursive that was unintelligible to Orpheus, whose handwriting had suffered due to his long nights of writing with aching wrists. 

     “Pardon me, everyone,” Joseph cleared his throat. Mr. Riley watched the trio with a hint of amusement as Joseph continued. “You imply she lived in the countryside with her parents. Where are they now?”

     “Six feet under,” Matthias answered, shaking his head in a display of sorrow. Of course, it was merely a display-- Matthias figured the sentimental photographer would be awash with pity. And pity was key in court. 

     “Poor thing,” Joseph copied the gesture, allowing Matthias room to continue. 

     “But I believe it is important to note that Ms. DeRoss never lost heart. In fact, her talent for writing, which began under her parents kind tutelage, continued to extend and spread the truth to all in her district. Of course, Mr. Orpheus over here understands just as well as we all do that her writing is truly spectacular. She has defended the innocent, spared the guilty, written about the marginalized… it is no surprise a woman like her has been framed for the same crimes she writes about.”

     “With all due respect, Mr. Czernin,” Orpheus stood up, his back rigid. “You seem to be… rather confident in Ms. DeRoss’ innocence.”

     Orpheus turned to the interviewer and the scribe. “My friends, I am not trying to prosecute our beloved Alice, but we must agree that the murderer cannot possibly be anyone else, can it?”

     This sudden statement caught everyone off guard. Orpheus, the man who had sponsored, who had gifted, who had cherished Alice more than any other journalist… was now apparently turning against her? 

     Nobody in the room wanted to admit the woman was a murderer— whether for personal reasons or monetary ones. 

     Then Orpheus turned to Matthias. “Framed, you say? If not Alice, who could it be?”

     “That’s… that’s not my job to figure out,” Matthias backed away. He hid the clipboard behind his back and looked up at Orpheus with a furrowed brow. 

     “The Eternal Aurora may not like this argument, my friends,” Orpheus stared back, his voice low. Under the chipper tone of his voice was something more menacing. “In this scenario, it is impossible to defend Alice without having the true murderer captured first. Those cruel judges… you may find Alice at their mercy despite all you claim. After all, when have they cared about the morality of a murderer? All who sin even once are sinners in the Aurora’s eyes.”

     “What are you trying to say?” now it was Mr. Riley’s turrn to speak up. He placed a hand on Matthias’ shouder. The assistant promptly backed off and took a seat. 

     “I can see the approach you are attempting to use from a mile away, Mr. Riley-- with all  due respect, of course. But you understand how the  Aurora is cracking down on cases with no murderer found and executed. Norton Campbell surpasses Alice in popularity by thousands of people. I can’t imagine the Aurora nor the public would be very pleased with no justice served for Mr. Campbell.”

     “So you’re saying the case is less about defending Ms. Alice than it is getting justice for Norton?” Joseph asked hesitantly. His heart ached-- his dear friend (in some ways, a daughter) would not  have had the heart to kill such a man. But Orpheus did have a point.

     Everyone, from the Aur officers to the Nightingale Company to the public (and especially those who adored Norton more than themselves), could only draw one conclusion from the minimal details known about the body’s discovery and its murder. After all:

     Alice was the first to discover the man. 

     Alice was last seen with the man. 

     Alice was the only one who had a relationship with the man, who lived on the same floor he did, who could have accessed his room, who could have gotten him intoxicated and whatever else had occurred that night.

     “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Orpheus crossed his arms. “But there is a solution. Alice can still be free. Do you hear me, Mr. Riley?”

     “This was not what I was expecting when you hired me for this woman, Mr. Orpheus,” Freddy mirrored the man’s posture and looked him dead in the eye. “But I suppose it can be done. With a little extra gift, if you will. I’m not one for surprises, you understand…”

      “Of course, of course,” Orpheus grinned-- it was a particularly evil grin. He moved in front of the lawyer and, after whispering some words in his ear, took out something from his back pocket. 

     Joseph looked to Victor in confusion. While the duo had witnessed their fair share of bribes throughout their career, this was almost absurdly obvious. 

     Victor shrugged and wrote ‘She’s innocent’ on his whiteboard. Joseph’s lips twitched into a brief grin before Orpheus turned to face them.

     “Victor, if you have written down anything pertaining to my little spiel… be a dear and erase it. Or at least make sure it does not reach the final draft,” Orpheus smiled, although his eyes did not match such an expression. He turned again to face Freddy. “Now, Mr. Riley… with my suggestions in mind, let’s redo this press conference. Starting with why Alice DeRoss murdered Norton Campbell.”

Chapter Text

The Metropolitan Tribune

A Murder, But Not a Crime: A First Look Into the Primary Suspect in the Murder of Norton Campbell

     Fans of the hit crime journalist Alice DeRoss may be surprised to learn of her significant involvement in the death of famed acting star Norton Campbell. According to her defense attorney Frederick Riley, she did commit the capital crime that has been the focus of Aur officers since Campbell’s body was first discovered.

     In the interview below, Mr. Riley has provided us with some key, exclusive details necessary to understanding this murder: and if it really should be considered a crime.

     DESAULNIERS: Mr. Riley, is it true that Ms. Alice DeRoss is guilty of murdering Norton Campbell?

     RILEY: Unfortunately, it is. 

     DESAULNIERS: The only thing we as the public understand about this murder is that it was extensively brutal and severely condemned by every moral law the Eternal Aurora has upheld. Why would such an upstanding woman like Ms. DeRoss do such a thing?

     RILEY: Well, upon discussion with the client, I had gotten extremely helpful information regarding the context of this murder. 

    DESAULNIERS: Such as…?

     RILEY: Ms. DeRoss and Mr. Campbell routinely met in the waking hours of the morning to share drinks with one another— these are informally dubbed as ‘drinking parties’, for anyone who is unfamiliar with the district’s culture, and are often used to facilitate and grow relationships. 

     DESAULNIERS: I see. Were the two close? 

     RILEY: Very much so. So close, in fact, that Norton Campbell even let her touch his pickaxe! 

     DESAULNIERS: The famed pickaxe that was almost put in the Aurorian Museum of Cultural Arts?!

     RILEY: Yes! While fingerprints were presumably wiped off of the pickaxe, it is safe to assume that Norton, during his nightly drinking parties, would let Alice inspect his things! This is evidenced by the fact that at the scene of the crime, the table was prepared in standard drinking party style— obviously Ms. DeRoss was handling the other glass at the table considering their routine. She was also seated near the wall bearing the weapon. Her fingerprints can also be found on some of his other items, like his gold bars. Or… his bedsheets.

     [Editor’s note: Desaulniers has noted the specific detail of Mr. Riley 'wiggling his eyebrows’ during his final sentence.]

     DESAULNIERS: Um… I see, I see. But again, why would she kill him if they were so close?

     RILEY: Monsieur Desaulniers, do you understand what it's  like to… be in love? Do you know the slight flutter in your chest whenever a particularly luminous and attractive woman hands you wine or takes a photograph of you?

     DESAULNIERS: …Yes. But what does that have to do with—

     RILEY: M. Desaulniers, reports from Mr. Campbell’s doctor indicate that he was being treated for ‘trauma caused by working in the mines’. This treatment was prescribed via a newly developed drug from the Dovlin family (Muse, that’s its name), with side effects that were mainly a result of interaction with wine promptly afterwards. Now, this was a nightly pill. What does this mean, M. Desaulniers?  

     DESAULNIERS: Mr. Campbell was experiencing side effects… so Ms. Deross killed him? But what does that have to do with love?

     RILEY: As you know, the two became extremely close. One may even call their relationship… romantic. You as a reporter are well aware of how private Mr. Campbell keeps his personal life, as do all his fans. But do you ever notice how, in public, Mr. Campbell and Ms. DeRoss are always… near each other? She’s the one taking photos of him. She’s the one making articles about him— even if she reports on crime! Certainly this isn’t a coincidence. 

     DESAULNIERS: Doesn’t her boss decide what topics she focuses on?

     RILEY: Ah, ah, ah! That still does not explain their extensive personal history. Drinking parties were, in early Aurorian ages, used to court someone or to exert influence over a peer. Mr. Campbell has always been more a traditionalist, as reflected by his display of traditional Aurorian values— from his clothing, to his charm, to his words in interviews. It is no surprise that he would want to keep Ms. DeRoss close without sparking controversy with his fans, reflecting the Aurorian values of a dignified man. 

     DESAULNIERS: So you’re saying he was in love with her, so much so to the point where he engaged in drinking parties—

     RILEY: Many drinking parties. Ms. DeRoss told me their little meetings started even in the early days of her joining the Nightingale Company.

     DESAULNIERS: Okay. 

     RILEY: Because these drinking parties happened almost every night, it is reasonable to believe that Mr. Campbell’s side effects became exacerbated as a result. In wanting to maintain his relationship with Ms. Deross (for unless if the two are in public, they cannot really interact without garnering suspicion), he went against prescribed medical orders in favor of his displays of affection to her. 

     DESAULNIERS: And these side effects were?

     RILEY, taking out a notepad: According to his Doctor, Dr. Bourbon, these side effects could range from ‘extreme aggression’ to ‘extreme fatigue’. Extensive mishandling of the drugs were more likely to entice Mr. Campbell into ‘dangerous behaviors and ways of thinking— i.e possessiveness, neediness, cruelty, nihilism’.

     DESAULNIERS: So the night he was murdered, he was not in a sound state of mind?

     RILEY: Precisely. His attempts at charming Ms. DeRoss to visit him worked, but at the cost of his sanity. The wine presumably subdued the healing properties of the drug, and, in a display of the aggression so prevalent and innate in those from the Northern Districts, he had a mental episode that resulted in violence against his beloved. This wouldn’t be the first time a Northern man attacked his partner.

     DESAULNIERS: But why did Ms. DeRoss have to use the pickaxe to subdue him, then?

     RILEY: She’s a woman. You understand that, against a physically capable man such as Mr. Campbell, she wouldn’t have gotten very far in trying to reason with her silver tongue. She had the pickaxe since Mr. Campbell was allowing her to inspect it prior to when he snapped, this meltdown both due to inebriation (the autopsy shows this) and his unsound state of mind, leading him to attack her. He most likely saw her as a threat for interacting with the pickaxe; it has always been a source of bitterness for him, after all. Perhaps he thought she was going to hurt him. So Ms. DeRoss did the only thing you or I would do when attacked: defend.

     DESAULNIERS: …So this was a matter of self defense after all?

     RILEY: Yes, it was. That’s all there is to it. It just goes to show that even one of the most morally upstanding men of our time can still be filled with darkness. What Ms. DeRoss did is completely just— who can say what she did was reprehensible? 

     DESAULNIERS: Agreed, Mr. Riley. Thank you for your time. 

     The court arraignment date for Alice DeRoss has not yet been released.

                                                   ~

     Words-- aren’t they wonderful? They’re everywhere. I use them. I’m using them right now. I’ve used them in the past. I’ve used them to talk about murder. I’ve used them to talk about Norton’s next hit movie-- although I will never be able to do that again. 

     Words-- powerful, aren’t they? Just signing your name in a field of vicious words holding you hostage can kill. They can kill you. They can kill your reputation. They can kill your sanity. 

     Not that I would know much about that, of course. Every contract I’ve ever signed has been one made out of a deliberate decision. I had thought long and hard  when offered my position by Mr. Orpheus. Even in my deals with scoundrels did I take every step cautiously— and look at me now. I have made it to a level of success I have never thought possible.

     Perhaps I am suffering from it, then. Because it is rather… unfortunate… that someone like me has ended up in trouble once more. And due to the murder of a friend, nonetheless.

     I can only hope Mr. Riley is able to defend my name while Norton’s murderer is brought to justice. And I say ‘hope’ —because not only is it important, but when all seems dark, it might as well be everything aside from strength— instead of ‘demand’ because I have been barred from writing about crime or reading any kind of crime media as of late. Mr. Orpheus says I’m ‘on a sudden vacation’ and has provided me a hefty sum of money despite my lack of labor.

     Of course, I haven’t checked any newspapers since I had been arrested as well. This has been of my own volition. If I really wanted to, I could always demand for Victor or Joseph to bring me a copy and play dumb (of which Joseph is especially fond of doing) to Mr. Orpheus.

     But I am always held back. Whenever I dial Joseph’s number or begin writing my nightly letter to Victor, I cannot bring myself to ask. Maybe this is because I’m afraid concerned about the words Mr. Riley has been spewing. (What I have heard about is how the man works day and night to protect my image). 

    I should ask, now that I reflect on it. I have never been subdued for long, really. I know Mr. Orpheus would chide me for doing so, saying something along the lines ‘don’t you trust his professionalism, dear Alice?’ or ‘don’t you respect his integrity, dear Alice?’.

     I could care less. He wouldn’t find out if it was Victor or Joseph reporting to me. And his words about Mr. Riley’s integrity: I don’t know Mr. Riley personally. I am not fond of his buckteeth, or the kind of charisma he exudes, or his extremely long-winded promises of reassurance that ‘everything will be fine’ and I ‘will make it out without even a slap on the wrist’ while his assistant reads my personal information in a sad, dark corner. 

     Words— they can be true or false, can’t they? They can be fleeting promises or covertly hidden truths or lies or anything in between (although between a truth and lie there is no middle ground). And sometimes, they can be comforting. In the right situation, they can be. 

    But the best reassurance is what can be seen. What I can read on a page. What does not hide anything in the heat of the moment,  because at least those words will not change and will be on record forever. 

     I only ask that the words Mr. Riley has said about me --the words that will keep me out of jail, that will allow me to go back to a life as normal as it could possibly be now-- are true. 

                                                                                         A. DeRoss

                                                        ~

     As Joseph roamed the corners of the local downtown market on behalf of his dear friend Alice, many things caught his eye. 

     He stood in front of the newspaper stand, which bore articles with boldened titles such as ‘Small Journalist Accused of Murdering Aurorian Star Actually Dated Him?!’ or ‘Fool’s Gold: What Norton Campbell’s Boss Thinks About His Legacy’ or ‘Top Ten Wines to Share With Your Friends: Campbell’s Favorites’. Even in death Norton had the spotlight. Except now, his co-star was not a famous actor but a kindly (and apparently murderous) journalist.

     The same one he was shopping for. The list of things she had requested included items such as ‘chickle soup’, ‘new pens (4)’, and ‘a copy of The Interview’. And by ‘The Interview’, she meant the public’s first look into Norton’s death and the primary suspect of it all: herself. 

    What a poor, poor thing. Joseph heard all about how she had no work to do, no crime to write about (because all the talk of crime was in regards to her now), and no access to any sort of media released within the last 72 hours. Needless to say, it was the longest time Alice had spent ranting about anything. Murders always had some kind of toll on the human mind.

     And despite what Alice’s lawyer said about Norton’s, Joseph still could not believe someone as mature and intelligent and kind as Alice would murder anyone, ever. 

     Which was why he was so willing to do a little controversial deed for her: to secure a copy of ‘The Interview’ and deliver it to her without anyone else’s interference (somehow). 

     Except, as he put his hands on the copy, he was promptly interrupted. 

     “Joseph!” oh, Joseph knew that particularly jovial tone from anywhere. The photographer whirled around and flashed Orpheus a bright, inelegant smile. 

     “Mr. Orpheus! Why, what are you doing in this humble little Aurorian market?” Joseph played up the pleasantries per usual. 

     “I noticed your car parked behind the store, Joseph!” Orpheus matched the man’s energy with stunning accuracy. “Not like you to hide your Rora Royale from the world…”

     “I just didn’t want any birds pooping on it, that’s all,” Joseph lightheartedly rolled his eyes. And he knew he came off convincing at the very least, because it was partially true. He hated birds, with their eccentric beaks and lack of respect for nice cars (and French men). 

     “Reasonable,” Orpheus stifled a chuckle. “Are you… looking for any magazine in particular over here, or?”

     “I want a copy of  the interview with Mr. Riley. Specifically to see if the editor added any of my notes as requested…”

     “No worries. I’m sure she did,”  Orpheus chuckled. “Nobody has gone out of their way to deny you anything yet, Joseph.”

     “I’m just a very reasonable man,” Joseph nodded  in agreement, turning to snatch up a copy once more. But he was stopped again, when Orpheus said:

     “Is that Ms. DeRoss’ handwriting?” 

     He pointed to the shopping list, which had drifted onto the floor without Joseph realizing. 

     “Is it?” Joseph let the copy fall and quickly --but not too quickly, so as to not draw suspicion from his boss-- lifted it from  the floor. He squinted at it and held it close to his face, prentending to read it. “I doubt it. That woman never writes neatly.”

     Orpheus clicked  his tongue in disapproval. “It is not her fault you’re the only one who can write in the original Auroric Script, Joseph. Can I see—?”

    “‘Chickle’…” Joseph held the list close to his face once more. “What does that even mean? Chicken… noodle? Chicken noodle soup? Alice hates chicken noodle soup, doesn’t she? She wouldn’t buy this.”

     “How  would you  know that? Maybe she’s just willing to try  some… cheaper food for once,” Orpheus countered, bewildered by Joseph’s dramatic cries. The boss was still trying to peek at the list, which only seemed to spur Joseph further. 

     “Eugh!! As if ma cherie would stoop so low!” Joseph  crumpled the paper and  stuffed it in his back pocket. “Disgusting!”

     In reality, Joseph loved chickle. Still-- it was yet another half truth. It was kind of disgusting. But the photographer had always had a fondness for theatrics, and apparently this was the moment he had decided to let it shine through (not that it didn’t every other party, of course).

     Regardless, the list was successfully hidden from Orpheus once more, and with it, the truth that Alice was about to get her hands on something she truly shouldn’t  have asked for.

                                                        ~

     “How many times must I tell you  to leave me alone, Melly?!”

     In the same room in the same area where Frederick had once stood so proud and victorious with a silver case bearing an ode to Orpheus’ death, he now stood hunched over with his face buried in his hands. 

     His hair was tangled, sweeping over his face and covering his red and puffy eyes. Light, as faint as it was, shone over his exhausted frame as if the heavens were mocking him with their spotlight. And  the man certainly felt mocked. 

     “This all would have been solved if you had just answered my calls, Frederick,” Melly took a step further into the room. “I was worried. I thought you had gotten into yourself into trouble.”

     “You sound like a mother,”  Frederick grumbled. 

     “I know all about your mother issues. I assure you I am only trying to be a good friend. After all, it would  be a shame if you rushed into something so dire, one thing right after  another…”

     “Just what are you suggesting?! Aurora’s borealis, I have no time for your enigmatic poetry, Melly!”

     “I noticed you haven’t followed through on your plan to murder Orpheus,” Melly sternly retorted, each word slowly spoken. “He is still alive, after all. Still smiling, still working… still deceiving everybody.”

     “...Of course I haven’t murdered him. Was this the only reason why you’ve been pestering me?!”

      “Calm yourself,” soon the woman was behind him, placing a hand on his  shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure that, in light of Norton’s death, you weren’t seeking to gamble with your life.”

     Frederick remained silent, although he straightened slightly and shifted away from Melly with a small grunt. 

     “I can’t bring myself to kill that blasted man,” he fixed his posture now and moved off to the side, allowing the light to reveal a bouquet of irises where the pistol’s silver case once lay. 

     A pause. And then, a quiet sniffle from the man. “…There are better things for me to do with my time.”

     And so he went forth, snatching up the bouquet and leaving Melly alone in the dusty, quiet room.

                                                         ~

      It was raining when Frederick reached the Sacred Heart Cemetery, one of the only  places in the entire downtown area that was not full of the Eternal Aurora’s bright light party culture (and, of course, whatever else came with it). 

     It was a sad place, a relic of the times before She took over. It retained the pre-Aurorian architectural style of drabness: gray and marble stones for structures, statues of saints above graves —rows and rows of graves— with the only color in sight being those of the flowers and grass surrounding them. It was dimmer than everywhere else in the city and certainly felt that way as well. 

     Norton had apparently wished to be buried here. Frederick partly understood why: his friend of sorts had never been a fan of the few other cemeteries available, which the actor found unbelievably tacky and ugly. Frederick argued there was nothing wrong with the Eternal Aurora’s focus on rebranding funerals as ‘life celebrations’, even if those celebrations featured the next hit pop song instead of a classical funeral dirge.

     Why had they been visiting or even discussing cemeteries? Frederick had forgotten. Whenever he recalled his time with the man, Frederick always remembered what the two were doing, but not why. 

     At the moment, Frederick was recalling a time early in Norton’s career when Norton revealed he was bewildered by luminosity of the downtown area. 

     “It's too much stuff,” Norton had complained one night after the eventful debut-party of a dead actor’s child. “I’m gonna go blind before I can ever hit a million dollars.”

     “I thought you liked the light,” Frederick had checked his nails, ignoring the way Norton’s rapid blinking. “A stark contrast from the mines, hm?”

     “You bully,” Norton grumbled, elbowing him. “Just look at me. I can’t even see what color your eyes are. Aww… are those eye bags?”

     “Not a word more! But… as for the lights, you’ll get used to it.”

     “Hah! As if. But then again, I’d rather go blind than be dead in a cave. Guess life has no good options.”

     Frederick had always felt that despite how hard working and high achieving that man was, he had a bit of a pessimistic edge. At least in the early days. If it weren’t for Orpheus’ hush money, Frederick figured Norton would have been arrested for disturbing the public with his constant complaints. 

     He was quite the public disturbance when he wanted to be, particularly around Frederick’s piano. It was a wonder how Orpheus tamed him. But the word ‘tame’ gave Frederick a strange sense of disgust…

     Frederick’s mind blanked as he was finally met with Norton’s mausoleum before him. It was boxy, unlike the tall sweeping structures throughout the downtown area. A large figure of a marble angel with outstretched wings loomed over the mausoleum, which was made of simple gray stones. The thick wooden door was slightly more ornate, with small gemstones of all colors on it. 

     It was large enough to hold several bodies, and yet only one was inside. Only one would ever be inside. 

     The composer’s heart sank as he gently opened the door. 

     “Norton,” Frederick muttered under his breath. But his heart then skipped a beat upon realizing he was not the only living person in the mausoleum.

     The other person— a deathly pale man with sickly blonde hair and crimson eyes— flinched as well, almost dropping his broom. He was cloaked in all black like some kind of reaper, donning a cross pendant with an iris pinned to his clothing. 

     Frederick looked down at his bouquet. The other man kept his eyes on him. 

     “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” said the unknown man, who straightened. He was of rather tall stature. “As you can see, I’ve been maintaining the place.”

     “No, I…” Frederick began, but what with Norton’s casket being right in the center of the area, with the stained glass of two saints, a man and a woman, allowing colorful light to filter through on what was a mere corpse, he could barely get past a sentence. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

     The grave keeper walked closer, his eyes on Frederick’s face now. Frederick tried his utmost best to conceal the pool of tears that pushed past his eyes, burning them and searing his vision. 

     “…I’m sorry for your loss,” the grave keeper handed Frederick a relatively clean looking handkerchief. 

     “No, no…” Frederick stammered, shutting his eyes. By now a faint tinge of pink was on his cheeks due to embarrassment alone. Who was this kind stranger that he should stand there like a servant, watching Frederick cry? 

     The composer hated the sensation of losing his composure. He repeatedly tried to wipe away every single tear in hopes that it would be last, and yet it never was.

     The grave keeper remained. 

     “I insist,” he pressed the handkerchief into Frederick’s hands. And without another word, he quickly scuttered off. 

     “Stop,” Frederick ordered, turning to the man. The grave keeper obeyed and turned back, tilting his head. 

     “What is your name?” Frederick forced the words out of his throat. Blast him if he couldn’t learn this kind soul’s name. 

     “…My name is Andrew.”

     “Andrew…?”

     “Kreiss. I’m the local grave keeper around here.”

     Frederick stifled a sniffle and nodded, straightening his back to appear as confident as a man in shambles could. “Thank you for your generosity.”

     Frederick’s eyes fell onto the cross this Andrew Kreiss was wearing. “…The Lord bless you.”

     Surprised by his words, as Andrew rapidly nodded. His hand flew to the cross while his eyes settled on something behind Frederick— the stained glass, perhaps. 

     “Thank you,” Andrew nodded again, with wide eyes. And then he turned. This time, he left. 

     Frederick turned and looked at the handkerchief. He couldn’t bring himself to use it— as if it would be of any help anyway, for with every step Frederick took, he felt his eyes burn and flood with tears. 

    His body burned as well. Every step he took made his body tremble violently. 

     But he made it to the casket, and the very least. 

     He made it. 

     And the moment he did, his legs gave out. The man was on his knees. 

     There was not much to do now. The sun still shone through the silent glass saints and put a spotlight on the corpse of an actor and the body of a man who believed he did not deserve to live. 

     The bouquet of irises fell to the ground. The composer placed his head on the top of the casket.

     “I’ve been reading some articles lately, my friend…”

     Initially, Frederick felt like an idiot for talking to a corpse. But by now, even in such a short amount of time, he found it comforting. He didn’t believe in heaven, in paradise any more than he did believe in the Eternal Aurora’s utopia called Metropolis. But talking to Norton’s dead corpse was better than talking to nobody at all. 

     “Even her lawyer says she did it. Was it her, Norton? Did she kill you?” 

     Frederick heaved. He resisted the urge to slam his fist on the casket lest he break the glass. But merely thinking of the idea of someone murdering Norton made Frederick furious to no end. 

     “…Well, anyways, it's not like you can respond now.”

     He turned his head away from the sun. By now, the tears had stopped flooding his eyes and only the occasional few drops would spill out. 

     His heart was nothing if not bitter. Originally, the man had felt emptiness. A void. Perhaps it had always been there since he had risen to fame. Perhaps it had been there since Norton’s death. No matter when it had settled in, it was filled now. 

     With vitriol. The same flavor that had risen in his heart all those days —days!— ago when he had plotted to kill Orpheus. 

     Oh, killing. Somebody had taken the liberty to kill Norton, hadn’t they? And that, much like Orpheus’ crimes, was inexcusable. 

     Now it was not sorrow that flowed from the composer’s heart, but hatred. 

     “I’ll get them,” Frederick swore under his breath, his voice trembling. “Forget about murdering Orpheus… Norton, I will avenge you.”

Chapter Text

     If anger could not manifest itself through screaming, it would always find another way  to do so. 

     This was a realization Alice DeRoss had made earlier in life, a time when one had a mouth they could not scream with. There were a range of situations in which one had several reasons as to why they did not scream. 

     In Alice’s particular situation, it was to keep the peace. Because nobody in this new life of hers ever heard her break composure: not for mourning, not for excitement, and certainly not for an emotion as brutish and unbecoming as anger. 

     She was not about to break face in front of Joseph, of all people. He was the star when it came to such things. He would react for her, punch the newspaper for her, tear it in half… 

     If only he wasn’t the one involved with the content in it. 

     “Ma cherie, you’ve been staring at the paper  for ages now…” the man was visibly anxious, repeatedly drumming his fingers over the chair’s armrest. 

     Alice read the paragraphs over one more time. Drugs, romantic, Northern men… Was this an interview or a gossip magazine she was reading? It was as if the circumstances of the murder were equivalent to an explicit romance story (and Alice was certainly not about to be featured in one of  those). 

     Yet everyone was seemingly falling for it. Mr. Riley had done more to defend her name  by now-- he was scandalizing it. 

     “This… this  is not true,” Alice resisted  the urge to grind the newspaper into the ground. She resisted the urge for  her tongue to strike, to correct every single incorrect detail for Joseph to understand. Or worse, to stir the public with a pen and paper to do so. Because who would understand? Why would they? 

     Her anger boiled further. She resisted the urge to grab Joseph by the neck and ask him why he allowed Mr. Riley to spew such absurd lies.      

     Joseph, on the  other hand, remained silent. 

     “Joseph, you  know this is all false, don’t you?”

     “...He was representing you. I thought… I thought…”

     He trembled. 

     “That’s what I thought, too,” Alice said, her eyes boring into the  ground. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her legs. From there on, she did not stir. “That is what I really believed.”

                                                       ~

       “Melly, do you believe Miss Alice murdered Norton?”

     “I’ve given you my… no, Frederick. I do not.”

     “But really, who could it be?”

     “Why are you fussing about this? He is already dead.”

     “Because I must know. You agree with me that this was no happy murder.”

     “No murder is happy, Frederick.”

     “Indeed. But not all murders  are intentional. This one certainly was and all evidence-- including words from Miss Alice’s lawyer himself-- point to her being the murderer.”

     “I refuse to believe it. You know how the courts, with those lawyers and judges, are.”

     “How typical of you. You always seek to be brutally honest except for when it comes to your loved ones.”

      A pause on the other side of the telephone. 

      “...If you are too stubborn to trust my judgement,” Melly began with a hint of a snarl. “Then ask Miss Alice yourself. Because I know she did  not kill Norton Campbell.”

     The other  line went silent. It was as though Frederick set the  phone down. Until he said:

     “I will do more than just ask her, Melly.”

     Click. 

                                                         ~

     There was not much for Alice to do these days now that she was awaiting her trial. She felt cramped in the same room she would spend hour after hour writing in-- but now the only things she could write about were her grievances with the press that had tarnished her name. 

     Her publications, according to Joseph, still circulated around the area from time to time, and he assured her that she was still an acclaimed source, but no longer  was she able  to connect with the public in the way she once did. 

     And it ticked her off to no end. Of course, she still had to live life under  the guise that no, she did not in fact realize she had somehow made the wrong choice that upset her deeply and scarred her pride to an unbearable degree.

     After all, she considered herself a humble woman. The only things she prided herself on were her work ethic, her integrity, and her wisdom.

     It did not take age to realize that someone was conning you out, that someone was a worthless simpleton not to be trusted, or that someone hid a knife behind their back. All such knowledge could come with experience, and applying lessons from such things— so she believed.

     And now it had backfired. Spectacularly. She was still ruminating on what to do.

     Why bother keeping such a blasted contract anyway? She was famous now, a star in the media. Why would the masses trust her lawyer over her?

     But no. She knew they would, because Riley was more charismatic than she was. And more rich and famous, because of his career. Goodness, he could proclaim she was insane! That the murder had truly warped her mind! There were more than a dozen things that man could make up to slander her with, based off the disgusting lies he pulled out from his nostrils alone!

     Hah! Romance Norton her foot! The lawyer had a knack for the theatrical just as every lawyer did, and for some reason Alice just hadn’t been in her right mind when she signed off on that paper. 

     Why hadn’t she been as strong witted as before? So what if Orpheus or Joseph or Victor or Helena or Fredrick or Melly told her to succumb to such blatantly exploitative demands? She should’ve disagreed!

     She knew the signs. She knew them all regardless and yet she put her trust in fallible humans rather than the infallible truth that had stared in the face and now laughed at her from every newspaper bearing her name.

     Alice almost slammed her pen down in frustration. But no! Because everything was a choice now. Everything had been a choice. Every tick of anger, every sigh of sympathy, every pitiful hour spent pitying herself was a choice! And from now on she was resolved to not be swayed by any of the matter, lest it take control over her composure.

     Face it, and it will all be over. Such was her motto since childhood… since nightmares had stormed the vestiges of her brain ever since she was stripped of what little dignity a small child had after dignity had been set aflame. And now life back in Metropolis was still aflame, even if in a different kind of life altogether. 

     The horrors persisted. Truly, every kind did.

     Alice sat in her chair staring at her twitching, pale-knuckled hand with the pen still inside as it dripped what felt like gallons of ink onto the table. 

     What a waste of ink.

     She stood up to throw the pen into the trash.

     As she did so, a knock came to the door.

     “Come in,” Alice hollered, because she had left her doors unlocked since the incident with Joseph, who would regularly stop by. She had no concern about the murderer coming after her by now. Anger was easy to summon and all the more easier to use.

     The door slowly opened, as though the person behind it were trying to aggravate her further.

     Alice stood where she was, in front of her tiny trash basket. The door clicked shut. She flung the pen into the trash with a flick of the hand and stared straight ahead as she heard footsteps— slow, confident— resound throughout the room.

     “Miss Alice,” it was a masculine voice. Cold, unlike Orpheus’. Softer, unlike Joseph’s. And not at all like Norton’s. 

     “Frederick,” Alice answered, not bearing to look at him what with her disgruntled state.

     “It seems as though you’re doing as fine as usual. Cooping yourself up in this apartment as always.”

     “I’ve gotten accustomed to it with your advice. Singing lullabies to myself from my old hometown.”

     “What an excellent tip, hm? Music does heal the soul.”

     “Too bad it cannot do what we wish it could— resurrect the dead.”

     “Hm. Well, all things have their limits, I suppose.”

     He took a step closer. And then a strange noise was heard throughout the room: the sound of parts —metallic, rhythmical— clicking together. It was brief. And yet to anyone who knew how a gun worked, it was all too familiar. 

     Alice remained silent. She did not stir. 

     “So you’re the murderer of the dear star Norton Campbell, aren’t you?” There was a hint of a lilt in his voice, as if he were teasing her. Yet he was calm. Just as she was. 

     He stepped closer again, just as she said:

     “Mr. Riley has made a clown of me for the public.”

     “If not you, then who, you journalist? You know all about this subject, don’t you?”

     “As if I was at the scene of the crime. I merely discovered the body.”

     She felt something small yet cold press against her flushed skin.

     “Do you have a suspect, perhaps? Or perhaps you’re just afraid to confess to what you did, now that justice has really found you now?”

     “I am not the police.”

     “Do you confess, Miss Alice?” the tiny gun was pressed further into her neck.

     There were only two words that made it through Alice’s head and out of her mouth. And they were firm, these two words— because the woman believed them, with all her heart and soul.

     “Not guilty.”

     Still, the gun remained where it was.

Chapter Text

     “You may kill me, Frederick, but nothing you do will revive your friend.” Alice did not turn to face her accuser. 

     “It will be a justice of some kind, if only you confess to the crime first,” he gritted his teeth. He was closer now, impatiently tapping his foot to some random classical melody, or so Alice imagined.

      “I am an honest woman. I did not do it.”

     “Does this fine gun still not encourage you to tell the truth?”

     “I just did. Still, you refuse to believe me.”

     “Again. If it isn’t you, then it must be somebody. ‘My friend’ did not kill himself.”

     Then a strange thing occurred: the journalist smiled. “Do you wish for me to launch some kind of secret investigation with you? Is that what you want, hm?” 

     “You patronizing scum… I am not saying that.”

     Alice decided to tease the man a little further. “Come, let’s take Norton’s body out of the casket to ask him who did it. He will tell you for sure it wasn’t me— perhaps he’ll punch you while you’re at it.”

    She knew his face was probably as red as a disco light by now. Certainly the composer wasn’t expecting this. But still the woman was fearless and the gun wavered slightly.

     “You… you should know better than to mock the dead!” 

     “I am not mocking them. I will join them soon when you pull that trigger, and I will watch from purgatory with Norton laughing at you as you go to jail. You understand your vigilante justice will send you to the Aurorian jail, where you’ll be stuck playing patty cake and having tea time with the inmates forever, yes—?”

     “I do not care! Blast the system— I will get justice for Norton!” the gun shook again.

     “I’m sure Norton will be pleased to know you’re on your way to kill an innocent woman, then. Sure of it. He’ll be more than pleased to know that the Aur officers will arrest you on both murders— his and I.

     “What are you rambling about? I most certainly did not kill him!”

     “Have you not heard of the case of Kreacher Pierson? The court just wants an answer-- even if it is the wrong one. And you… Does the public love you more than Norton to save you from social death?”

     “I… you! Kreacher Pierson…?! He was a scumbag—!”

     “If the media can turn Norton into a lovesick, insane boyfriend and myself into a snivelling murderer, I wonder what they will do to you,” Alice pondered aloud, speaking over the steaming man. “Perhaps they will say your music possessed you to kill us! Then your sales would fall for sure! Or perhaps they’ll find your medical records and proclaim you a schizophrenic!"

     “Quiet,” Frederick ordered.

     “They’ll call you Norton’s uncle! ‘Yet another violent Northern man murdering, what a pity, what a pity!’”

     “—What are you rambling about? Quiet!”

     “They’ll sing songs about you in the clubs while Orpheus reads the verdict to them! They’ll use your records to fuel their bonfire parties! ‘I hate Frederick Kreiburg! Why did I ever enjoy even a second of his despicable works?!’”

     “—I said quiet!”

     “Oh, hah, they’ll all believe you’re guilty! Guilty, guilty, guilty!”

     “—My word, shut it!”

     “And how I will laugh on that day, Mr. Kreiburg! How I will laugh! Then you’ll really know how I feel, you nonsensical composer—!”

      It was yet another gamble, but Alice knew this Frederick well enough to know she chose right. Every word, every emotion fused within… that would be enough to disrupt him.

     “You insolent, NOISY woman!”

     —the words were accompanied by a crash. 

      The gun was now on the floor. Frederick continued on with his rant.  “Perhaps you’re just insane as everyone says you are what with all your nonsense! It’ll be more of a punishment to let you live rather than die!”

     “Good on you,” Alice scoffed, finally turning around to face him with a rather blank expression. “Don’t forget your gun on the way out.”

     She toed the thing with her bunny slipper.

     “Insufferable,” Frederick mumbled under his breath as he stiffly bent down to retrieve it. “Insufferable, insufferable…”

     “Wow,  is  that a new song?” Alice folded and her arms and watched him do it. His face was now a deep shade of pink. 

     “Shut it. At least I can still work,” Frederick dusted off the gun with his gloved hands. He met her eyes. “You blasted fool, getting yourself into a situation like this…”

     “You can curse me all day if it makes you feel better,” she batted her eyes before letting her face fall again, looking just as ticked off as  he was. 

     “I have better things to do with my time,” he turned around and sheathed the gun in some hidden pocket God knows where. 

     “Like what?” Unlike Melly, the woman did not leave him alone. 

     “Paying my respects to respectable people.”

     “Where?”

     “...A cemetery.”

     “Which one—?”

     “Aurora’s blasted borealis, do you ever shut up Miss Alice?”

     “I’m a journalist.”

     Frederick took a sudden step forward. And then he scrambled for the door. 

     “Hey!” Alice shouted, slipping in front of him and blocking the door. “I should  have you arrested for your attempt on my life. But do me a favor and tell me where you’re going.”

     “Why? My gun should still operate…”

     “I am trapped in this building for hours on end to avoid any sort of public media as per Orpheus’ orders. And I know you do not pay any mind to him more than I do.”

     “Um. Okay.”

     “So bring me to this cemetery. I want to go outside.”

     “I’ll get stopped by the Aur patrol outside. What do you want me to do-- throw you out the window?”

     “You wanted to do that.”

     “No, I wanted to shoot you.”

     “Well, distract the guards, then.”

     “Why couldn’t you get Joseph to do this…?”

     “Stop complaining! You are one of the only people I know who would possibly agree to smuggle me and smuggle me somewhere where I won’t get caught!”

     “I’m. Honored? But I don’t care enough about your dreams to smuggle you to a cemetery, of all places.”

     “I know you want to pay respects to Norton. So bring me with you so I can do the same.”

     “Stop being so insistent. You’re so pitiful, Miss Alice.”

     “Then pity me enough to bring me to the graveyard. Here: I’ll take all the blame if we get caught. Give me the gun.”

     “Heavens no!”

     “Fine. If we get caught, I’ll tell them that I threatened you to bring me to the graveyard so I could pay respects to Norton. Imagine how the public will feel: ‘oh, how she truly loved hi—’”

     “Hush. I understand now. But are you really there to pay respects for Norton or are you searching for a way to kill me now?”

     “No.”

     “Give me your word.”

     “Journalist’s honor. If I attack, you can shoot.”

     “Okay. But what’s in it for me?”

     “I will…  buy you another batch of creme brulee.”

     “That’s crème brûlée to you. And I am rich enough on my own! Now let me thr—”

     “I… will help you find who truly killed Norton Campbell!"

     “And just how do you plan to do that,  hm?”

     “Let me think,” Alice put a hand to chin, her mind running a kilometer a minute. “So… we’ll re-examine Norton’s body in the cemetery. If you have connections with any big shots in law or forensics or the officers, we can get the official documents surrounding his death. Um… we can also think of some more possible  suspects! And…”

     “You can stop now--”

     “And! Hm… ah, we can interview! Or threaten those suspects! I’ll be the good officer, you’ll be the bad one…”

     “Allow me to stop you before you really do spiral into insanity,” Frederick folded his arms, looking somewhere over her head. “I understand. I’ll allow you to try out your little scheme. But you must take all the blame, and if you don’t…”

     “I will, I will,” Alice answered, but she still seemed stuck in thought about her plans. 

     “Go change then. I will stand outside.”

     “Hm… help yourself to my snacks. I don’t trust you enough to trust you won’t run away. I will not back out of this matter, so you better not also.”

     “Whatever,” he brushed his  hair aside and headed towards the table. Alice, once she made sure he was seated, headed over to her folding screen and tried to pick out a convincing disguise. 

     It took a few moments, as did most things. But when she came out…

     “Nobody dresses like a ballerina on the way to a graveyard. And is that… a bald cap?” Frederick’s frown was deeper than usual. 

     “Would you think me to be the hit journalist Alice DeRoss?” she wobbled towards him in shockingly high heels, now in iridescent colors and shades for 70 rora per box. 

     “...Go change. Look like a mourner or something.”

     “Oh, come on!”

     But still, she obliged. The bald cap remained on, but when she was done scavenging through her closet once more:

     “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

     “I’m glad I can still emulate the Kreiburg style,” she brushed some nonexistent hair off to the side and approached him. Instead of her usual look, she now wore a long, red, fringe flapper dress and a black cloche hat that shadowed her face. Her usual simple shoes were replaced with some rather stylish black Mary Janes. She looked something along the lines of Marie Kreiburg, Frederick’s politician and beauty guru of a cousin.

     “I don’t want people to think we’re related,” Frederick sniffed. 

     “Well, I’m certainly not changing again. Let’s go.”

                                                      ~

      “Requiem aeternam… dona eis, Domine… et lux perpetua luceat eis.”

     The grave keeper and jail warden all in one, Andrew Kreiss, was no stranger to the curiosity surrounding his two professions. Yidhra knew full well that being a grave keeper in a ‘dim’ place that the Eternal Aurora barely tolerated did not pay well at all, hence Yidhra’s  several attempts to try and get him out of such a sorry excuse of a career.

     He never gave it up.

     It had been his first job, after all. A little something for an orphan boy who lived on scraps a ways walk from the city who now, as a man, did not have the strength to walk away.

     He knew his lack of  choice was  particularly unwise: in an hour he received more money standing tall and menacing while doing nothing at the jail (for he had quite a bit of favor in the inmate’s eyes and so they never layed a finger on anyone else when he was around), than he ever did doing manual labor in front of an audience of solemn, silent graves… yet he always came back. 

     What exactly for, he wouldn’t dare give an answer. But there was something so amusing about a place like this still standing in the heart of a culture that prided itself on its luminosity, on life, on pleasure. Although the cemetery was a part of Metropolis, it was an anomaly. And that was much like how he felt about his own presence in the city. 

     He stood up from the place where he had previously knelt— on the marble floor of the only crypt that even had a functioning floor. He looked at the casket again.

     There was never such a man in this graveyard before as Norton Campbell. Andrew was not keen on pop culture but he had a faint idea that somehow, the resting man was related to that Alice DeRoss. He didn’t bother himself with any details. 

     Mr. Campbell was dead. And he would stay dead. So now he was related to Andrew as well. 

     To Andrew, it didn’t matter if so-and-so was bludgeoned, shot, or choked to death. All who were fortunate (or unfortunate, Andrew let them decide) enough to have to reside in this cemetery all received a special favor Andrew doubted they received elsewhere:

     A petition for the rest of their souls.

     The tradition of praying for a soul’s repose had died out light years ago, but it still remained with a few. Andrew knew Ann did it, but to a different god. And that was about it.

     The argument was the Eternal Aurora would handle all, so there was no need to ask: just to simply be content with how bright one’s life was.

     Her commands, Andrew felt, often lead to a sort of unbridled hedonism he and his beliefs sharply condemned.

     Andrew peered over the casket, trying to shift away from such gritty thoughts. 

     The man inside was paler, now. Much more so than he had ever been on a billboard with lights shining on his face. Well, he was pale then, but this type of pale now was more natural. More of an indicator of deadness.

     Yes, Andrew nodded to himself. Still, the actor was recognizable. His eyes were closed— hadn’t he suffered an eye injury? Was he lobotimized? With a pickaxe, right? Where was that pickaxe now—

     Andrew immediately backpedaled. He couldn’t imagine God would be very pleased if he speculated about a deadly pickaxe lobotomy in front of a dead pickaxe-using person.

     But there was still something off with him. How did the newspapers say he died…? Ah, a pickaxe through the eye. Something about a brain injury. Oh, poor soul… 

     Andrew knelt down and prayed again. “God, bring justice…”

                                                        ~

     “I am beginning to regret this,” Frederick warned as he took a sharp left. Now there were only a few more kilometers between the duo and the graveyard. Alice was seated in the passenger seat so as to avoid any sort of light from shining on her face. One could change their clothes but not their face.

     Only a few cars roamed through  the area, and most were suspected to be officers in disguise. Some appeared to be leaving the graveyard. Some were simply trying to move past the eerie spot of land and move onto their next party. 

     “Well, don’t,” Alice countered, her voice low. She eyed a bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat beside Frederick. “After all, you’re not doing this solely for my sake.”

     “I suppose…” the man sighed again and, after a few more  seconds, pulled his car over to a parking spot. He retrieved the bouquet and then exited his side of the car to open the door for Alice, who slipped out of the car and already began walking towards the open entrance-- a gothic gate with a pointed arch and elaborate tracery. 

     “No Kreiburg walks that fast,” Frederick chided, struggling to keep up as Alice entered through the gate. Upon hearing his voice, she slowed down (only slightly enough for him to be a few steps behind now) until she stepped onto a multidirectional gravel path. 

     Then she stopped and turned toward him. “Go on. Show me to the grave.”

     “It's a mausoleum, actually,” he corrected, passing in front of her, then taking a left.

     “A mausoleum? Splendid. I doubt there’d be anybody else in there,” Alice mumbled as she followed behind. She lowered her hat even further, surveying the area for any people. The few people that were present moped around with only color in sight being that of nature’s. Never had Alice seen such wild greenery aside from that of the countryside.

     “I pray not,” Frederick grumbled, stopping in front of the structure.

     “This is some marvelous architecture!” Alice whisper-shouted. “My word, look at those gems—“

     “Hush. Investigate now, ogle later,” Frederick snatched her hand and, after swinging the door open, forced her inside.

     “I wasn’t ogling,” Alice sniffed, swiping her gloved hand away from him. She looked forward and immediately went quiet.

     What rays of light were left in the sky filtered through the colorful glass saints. Alice knew the pair of saints from her research back in her younger days— one was Barbara, the patron saint of miners while the other was Genesius, of actors. How on the nose.

     But it was beautiful. Remarkably so. The colors were much like the gemstones on the entrance door. 

     It was all so hauntingly beautiful. 

     Frederick stepped forward and moved his hand to his forehead before beckoning Alice to follow him. When she spoke, his tone was much more subdued.

     “Don't just stand there. If you want to pay your respects then pay them properly.”

     Alice said nothing and complied. Frederick handed her two flowers from his bouquet. She placed them on top of the casket.

     She immediately averted her gaze from Norton’s face.

     “May he rest in peace,” she shook her head. It had been a while since she had been to a cemetery. Much less a mausoleum. She hadn’t even been allowed to make it to his funeral…

     Frederick placed his bouquet next to the lone set of flowers and placed a hand on the side of the casket. He looked straight through the glass and sighed.

     “Some time ago— a day or two, I can’t recall— I swore to take revenge on the brutal murderer of this man. I was adamant it was you. Yet here we are.”

     “I’m sorry,” Alice whispered. “For your loss.”

     “It was your loss as well. It was everyone’s loss. Everyone loved that man.”

     “Yet few knew him as well as you did.”

     “Inconsequential,” Frederick muttered. He was a world away by now.

     So the two stood in silence. Some kind of twisted solidarity, Alice figured— united by the fizzling of a star. There was not much more to say, to add. There were no words of solace. In fact, there were no words at all between them. But as for Alice, the silence became a breeding ground for more and more thoughts. 

     All of a sudden, she found herself inspecting everything. Her eyes flew over every single inch of the area aside from the one Frederick was preoccupied with.

     The mausoleum was for sure recently built. Inspired by pre-Aurorian architecture, but that was obvious enough. The saints must’ve been handpicked by Norton himself, or at the very least the funeral director, because who even remembered saints when one could pray to the Eternal Aurora? The stained glass’ positions were specifically angled to allow such an assortment of gentle, soothing colors to hit his face. Someone must have been very exceptional with glasswork to do such a thing.

     But enough about the glass! Blast it, the murderer, Alice, the murderer! The journalist resisted the urge to wince at her careless thoughts. Why bother with the glass when there was a murderer still on the loose, one she had promised to find?

     Suspects, suspects… the woman begged herself to think harder. It must’ve been a friend. She established this already. Was it possibly a relative? No, no, he was an orphan! Orphan…

     Her eyes darted to the floor.

     Was it Orpheus? Quite possibly an associate of Orpheus’? Who else was in Norton’s inner circle aside from such a small selection? Could it really have been Orpheus or maybe even Melly Plinius? Was it a hidden third party? Was this a planned murder? All the same, all the same... she had pondered these things a thousand times over.

     Her gaze shifted to the entrance of the mausoleum. The door bore no gems from the inside. It was plain. It stood out because of its plainness. Like the pickaxe, like the weapon…

     Would they ever find the murderer at this rate? She had no suspects. No pickaxe to even inspect! D'oh, she wasn’t even supposed to be here right now! And, her word, she didn’t even have the forensic documents—!

     The door creaked open. 

     Alice’s jaw dropped.

   Frederick immediately jolted from where he stood. He immediately blocked Alice as his hands flew to a mysterious, obscured area in his coat.

     But then he released the mystery item and grumbled something strange under his breath. “Ah. It's him again…"

     Him, who? Alice attempted to peek from behind him, but Frederick blocked her view and straightened up. 

     “…I’m sorry,” said the newcomer, who sounded mysteriously familiar. “I do believe I’ve left my broom in here somewhere.”

     “Go on and get it then. Make it quick,” Frederick answered in a very expected manner. Alice always found his responses to be either gentle or snappy, and there was no in between. At least in her case.

     “…Of course, Mister.”

     The figure closed the door behind them and then inched closer towards the light. Alice finally got a glimpse of him when he was forced to reveal himself in the light’s glow. 

      “Mr. Kreiss,” Alice whispered, biting back her surprise. There was the warden, shielding himself with the back of his hand in a black cloak so unlike the fancy uniform he wore at the jail as he inched closer and closer to a corner in the mausoleum, where a broom was conveniently propped against a wall.

     She just couldn’t believe her eyes. 

Chapter Text

     Frederick turned to Alice and stared at her with no little ounce of judgement. He maintained a frown on his face and chided her. “You’re standing there like you’re ill. The man is not a ghost.”

     “I…I am well aware of that, Frederick. He is no ghost, naturally, because he is also the warden! At the jail!” she leaned closer to Frederick. “He has connections--”

     “To the prisoners. Not to Norton,” Frederick began, crossing his arms. Then after a brief moment, he hummed. “Already so worked up over this case… Norton’s idiocy seems to have rubbed off on you.”

     “You mean that affectionately, don’t you,” Alice sniffed as her eyes followed Mr. Kreiss, who was scurrying away from the corner with the broom. He had quite a bit of a distance to go. For a man his height and stature he seemed, oddly enough, like a tiny mouse. “I have no comment for your cheeky little remarks.”

     “It's quite humorous to see you get all worked up about it,” Frederick pressed on, lifting his eyes to where Andrew was. The composer had a feeling the gravekeeper knew he was being watched. It was hard not to stare. It was even more harder to not poke fun at the journalist nearby. “Miss Alice, don’t think I do not see you over-analyzing every detail of this place while I pray.”

     “Hush now, composer,” Alice grit her teeth. This man was even worse than Norton when she first met the actor. 

     After a few seconds, she added. “I never took you as the type to pray. You always seem so worked up about albums and compositions to spend time in silence.”

     “Oh, quiet,” Frederick retorted. “...Anywho, if  you  believe Mr. Andrew can be beneficial to our cause than go and intercept  him yourself. Look-- he’s almost to the  entrance.”

     As much as Alice wished to pester the man and almost-murderer further, she obliged and quickly paced over to Mr. Kreiss. At the sound of her rushed  footsteps, Andrew promptly stopped and turned toward her. His eyes were rather wide.

     “Ms… Kreiburg, I assume?”  he dipped his head, keeping his eyes on her shoes. “A… a pleasure to meet you.”

     “Oh,” Alice forgot about her disguise. “Yes, yes… we are not related. We just happen to be… co-workers with similar fashion tastes. And how are you?”

     “Well,” Andrew answered, his voice shrinking in volume. 

     “...Do you often come around here?”

     “‘S my job. My second one.”

     “Ah. Ah, I see. Do you often visit this mausoleum?”

     Frederick cringed at the question. He could hear Alice as clear as day and yet Andrew spoke as if he were whispering secrets into her ears. Frederick inched closer after taking one last glance at Norton’s corpse. 

     “Yes. As you can see it is very… big,” Andrew tilted his head towards the general direction of the casket. 

     “A gorgeous mausoleum,” Alice nodded. “So, hm, did you know about Norton before his tragic death?”

     “...Yes, of course.”

     By now, Frederick was a mere few feet away from the duo. Andrew took a few steps away, slinking towards the door. 

     “Ugh. You’re scaring him off, you fool,” Frederick exasperatedly threw his hands in the air. He looked Andrew dead in the eye while Alice side-eyed him. “Mr. Andrew, if you haven’t been living under a rock you know just as well as I do that a certain woman has  been accused of Norton’s death. She insists  it is not so. So, to put it simply, we are… lauching an investigation. Me and my… friend.”

     “Didn’t the Aur officers already do that?” the gravekeeper softly countered.

     “You can’t trust those prats with anything,” Frederick rolled  his eyes. Andrew pursed his lips as the composer continued. “Let’s just say Miss De— this fine lady and I are here to… cross-examine their claims. If they were more competent they would have found the murderer already anyway.”

     “I… I see. Am I to  be of assistance or should I take my leave?” Andrew pointed to the door with his broom clutched to his chest. 

     “Go,” Frederick waved him away just as Alice interjected:

     “Ah-- stay. We want to ask you about a few things...”

     “Who is ‘we’?” Frederick hissed under his  breath. Alice shot  him a smug grin. 

     Andrew looked on with a kind of apprehension in his eyes as he inched closer to  them, waiting for any kind of questions. Frederick pitied the poor man.

     “What do you wish to know?” the gravekeeper mumbled.

     “Have you seen the body up close during your time here? Enough to evaluate any particular injuries above the torso?” Alice whipped out a notepad. Frederick sighed as she fished for a pen in her pocket. 

     “Like… the head?” Andrew blinked. 

     “Yes! Yes, precisely like the head. And… have you gotten a good look at his face, perhaps?”

     “Um… yes, I have. I was with the embalmer. Who, uh, embalmed him,” every word he spoke made him more and more flushed. It was one thing to maintain face surrounded by inmates, but another when someone who was good with words was recording your words and could possibly use them against you.

     “Would you say the following is accurate?” Alice looked up from her notepad which bore borderline unreadable handwriting before flipping to a new page and reading off some text. Frederick glared at it from a distance as she continued speaking. “Norton Campbell suffered severe blunt force trauma to the brain and complications to his right eye. He was left in such a state for approximately an hour, rendering him dead by the time he was discovered.”

      “Um… I think it's accurate. You understand I wasn’t at the scene of the crime, Miss…” Andrew was struck with a strange sort of deja vu. As if Alice DeRoss, that journalist with her fall from grace, was interviewing the inmates once more.

     “Okay. Great! This means that we’ve narrowed our list of things to investigate, even just slightly…” Alice mumbled, scribbling some more. Frederick itched for any sort of opportunity to interrupt her further. Andrew found all of it off putting. 

     “How so?” Frederick took a step forward, peering over her shoulder. 

     “Now we understand that the autopsy is most likely accurate. Unless, Mr. Kreiss, were there any extra things you noticed about the body? A secret wound? Did the embalmer mention anything about poisoning?”

     “Um. Not to my knowledge. Just the things you described earlier,” Andrew mumbled, placing his hand on the doorknob but waiting for either visitor to dismiss him first. 

     “Wonderful! That means the publicly available information on the cause of the death is most likely accurate…” Alice explained to her unwilling ally with a hint of a smile on her lips, shifting her notepad away from his gaze. Frederick followed after it and continued judgementally scanning it. “Now… we should probably research things like who could have possibly been there before me. Norton couldn’t have possibly been alone the whole day… Oh! Yes, Frederick, we should search for camera footage next. Or you, rather, since I’m still not supposed to be out of my—“

     “Goodness, your handwriting is horrible. Is this cursive or chicken scratch? Do all countryside people write like this?” Frederick placed a finger on the paper. 

     Alice cleared her throat. “Ah. Uh. Excuse my writing… and my yapping.”

     She lifted her gaze to Andrew, who wiped some sweat from his forehead. “You are… free to go. Mr. Kreiss. Have a nice day.”

     Andrew shot her something akin to a smile and then clambered out of the mausoleum.

     “I now see why you’re a journalist, Miss DeRoss,” Frederick pinched his nosebridge. “Give you an inch of the right topic and you’ll take your sweet time analyzing every little centimeter of it.”

Chapter Text

     “I wasn’t actually expecting you to be so focused on this… task of yours,” Frederick admitted once the duo had entered the car once more, heading for Oletus. “I still have my doubts, to be sure. You still have much work to do to actually solve a murder with what little you have. But I appreciate the effort. And how long until your arraignment again?”

      “Why thank you. And… I have no idea. Orpheus told me he’d give me word when, but he hasn’t told me anything much since our last call.”

     “Does he not visit?”

     “Sometimes. But very inconsistently. Figures, considering his job.”

     “…Do you like him?”

     “We get along just fine.”

     “He seems quite fond of you,” said Frederick, more of an accusation than a statement.

     “As if Melly hasn’t told me such things a million times over. I pay it no mind— some people are drawn to certain people more than others.”

     “Hm,” Frederick nodded. Her words rubbed him the wrong way. If only that prick knew what Orpheus had done to himself and to Melly and to Norton. Of course she was spared. And although it wasn’t her fault —it was certainly Orpheus’ for all his evil— Frederick still found himself grieved by it anyway. It was almost unfair. Unjust. But what ever was?

     Even now Frederick dreamed of a world where things went to plan: Orpheus would be dead, Norton would be free (although alive, Frederick couldn’t say), and perhaps somebody reliable like Melly would lead the Nightingale Publishing Company and all its daughter companies as well. But such a world had as much life as a corpse.

     And it pissed him off. 

     “Are you all right with visiting security at some point today?” asked Alice, still riding high on her own little pipe dream of a project. And although Frederick rooted for her, he figured this dream, like his own, would be crushed by the putrid trappings of reality. Alice continued. “For the cameras, I mean.”

     “Yes. That is fine with me.”

     “Wow… no arguments from your smart mouth? Thank the heavens.”

     Frederick had half a mind to snap back but refrained from doing so. He simply took a deep breath, as audible as a deep breath could be,  and then went quiet to focus on driving.

     The car was in silence. Until Alice spoke once more.

     “It’s been a while since I’ve used a disguise. I almost forgot I was… well, not myself.”

     “What a niche skill. Did you often play dress-up wherever you came from?”

     “…Yeah. Often to wander around the countryside.”

     “The countryside? So that’s where you’re from— I had forgotten. I’d ask you what for but I fear you’d think we’re starting to become friends.”

     “You’re one to talk. But I’ll bite: I’d do it avoid any prying eyes— don’t you know how nosy some people are?”

     “Well, surely you weren’t famous back then, were you? How can someone even have fame in a place like that?”

     “You can be a saint for nursing the sick. You can be a criminal for stealing from the sick. Or… you can be like my stepfather and be both.”

     “I didn’t ask for your father issues, Ms. DeRoss. But it's quite a hefty drive to Oletus, so if you happen to continue, I will not be too upset…”

     “You love gossip just as everyone else does, don’t you?” Alice chuckled. “Just as long as it doesn’t sully you and your friends' names. Typical.”

     “You’re the one offering. Now go on— we don’t have all day.”

     “Are you really that desperate for a hint of entertainment? I’ll humor you. My stepfather, Vilhelm Lamb—“

     “Ah. Someone of his status adopted you?”

     “Discreetly. Yes. I know he is not well reported around these parts…”

     “So you’re really humoring me. No way that scientist was your stepfather.”

     “Oh, please, I'll humor you further. He adopted me after my wealthy parents fell ill from… I’m sure you know what. He took me in and examined me— a doctor, he said he was. He said I lived despite contracting that plague myself. He put me under quarantine for years. Examining me. Imagine: a small child being poked and prodded in just about every crevice of her tiny little body for the sake of a worthless experiment to cure a disease that still runs rampant to this day.”

     “Not too far-fetched. There is no perfect world, after all,” Frederick replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “We can only pray that one day somebody can stop such a horrendous disease.”

     “You and I are well aware of that fact. Isn’t it funny, how… despite our good lives, we know that full well? That we are helpless?”

     “Way to dampen the mood, Miss Journalist. But there’s no reason to be so sour— everyone realizes it someday. I’m sure even the Eternal Aurora knows about this. Then it is only natural for people to still seek refuge in perfection. In completion. No matter who offers it.”

     Alice nodded, looking out the window.

     “But enough about that. It bores me— what good can come out of the plain? Go back to your story. It’ll help me with my next album…” Frederick prompted.

     “Look at you, capitalizing off me once again for your art,” Alice snorted. “Well, if you insist. The doctor, who was somehow my guardian now, was by no means a kind man. How much less of a father he was! He had no sense of nuance when speaking to a little child. No patience, no care… I took every chance I could to be rid of him.”

     “Ah. So that’s where your little disguises come in, I assume?”

     “Not quite. As I grew older, I knew very little. I wanted for little, aside from one thing: to get myself out of that hell. Being used to the scavenging of my body was… not something I was glad about. So at first it was me ‘furthering my education’ by cooping myself up in a room writing. Sound familiar?”

     “Yes…”

     “Then it was the bribing. I would bribe the nannies or servants who had pity on me so I could roam at first near the house. Usually in the garden. Then I started sneaking out and about. But if anyone caught word of Dr. Lamb’s daughter in the face of the public, it was over for everyone. So naturally I began to make disguises.”

     “Ah.”

     “Disguises are very simple, you see. It is easy to be someone else when you cannot stand yourself or the life you live. In hindsight, I debate whether or not my state of mind was helped or not by these little endeavors. But what does it matter? That is all in the past, isn’t it?”

     “You speak of all this so casually, Ms. DeRoss. I would have never thought I’d hear your sob story. Much less without the sobbing.”

     “Oh, please, Frederick. Everyone has a sob story. I might as well reveal it even if just for entertainment— that’s what you first wanted, right? Entertainment… that is what everything is nowadays, anyway.”

     “It’s quite satisfying to hear you so bitter, to be honest.”

     “Maybe I am bitter. But I rarely give myself the chance to reflect on the past.”

     “As if I don’t know that full well. Nobody knew anything about you when you came to Oletus aside from your little publications that caught Orpheus’ eye. I suppose one could only go so far by not staying stuck in the past.”

     “…Yes. Yes indeed.”

     “That will be… difficult, since the present is not a very friendly place either. And the future— it bothers me.”

     “Most things seem to, Mister Fredrick.”

     “Oh, hush now. I suppose whatever comes we must face together now. So stop teasing me almost every chance you get. For the foreseeable future, I suppose we are stuck together.”

     “You don’t suppose so, you know so.”

                                ~

     Saying goodbye was simple in itself. To say mere words, formalities, was no problem for the renowned Melly Plinius. Words were all too easily thrown around, and those who could not adapt to their usage were quickly scorned by the public.

     Melly resolved to say as little as possible to the public if it was not related to her scientific endeavors, which were promptly on hold in those few days of her bereaving Norton and trying to dissuade Frederick from murdering anybody.

     But now she doubted her attempts. She dialed his phone for hours on end. No response. She called Alice. No response either.

     It was maddening. Connections between people were so fleeting, which Melly knew full well, but her calls were more than just small talk consolations and check-ins.

     She was wondering if those two were even still alive.

     You see, Frederick’s words during their last call had bothered her to no end: 

     “I will do more than just ask her, Melly.”

     What did that mean? Did he take her out on a date? Cry in her arms about Norton? Take her out to be slaughtered, and then cry about Norton while Alice was in the grave’s arms?

     She calmed her breathing. There was no point in worrying about a situation one had no control over. But Melly worried anyway. 

     Evening was coming fast, after all. 

     Her fingers twitched as she dialed the phone one more time.

                                 ~

     “Made it just before the rain…” Frederick mumbled as he dusted himself off. The newly allied duo were on the fifth floor of the luxurious Oletus Apartment, where people had lived, where Norton died, and where Frederick watched Alice take off her bald cap and hand it to him.

     “What in the world do you expect me to do with this, woman?”

     “It was making my scalp itchy,” Alice grumbled as she hurried into her room. She quickly surveyed it just to check that all was well. And, much to her relief, nothing was out of place. “Go put it on my table.”

     Frederick grumbled as well but obliged. He watched as Alice made a mad dash to the room divider she promptly changed behind. Soon enough she was Alice again and not Ms. Not Kreiburg.

     “You look exhausted,” Frederick blinked. 

     “Thank you, Mr. Obvious. You ought to get going to your room… let’s hope nobody wanted to meet you while we were gone.”

     “We?” Frederick hissed, looking up at the security camera overhead.

     “I’m not concerned about that thing,” Alice yawned. “It is rather primitive. It only works half of the time, and ever since Joseph began visiting I made sure to rub some of his gifted cheese on it. And tape the camera too, of course. It's  mostly been the tape—“

     “What a waste of cheese!” Frederick bristled, both at her bizarre answer and the method itself. “It must smell! How unsanitary of you!”

     “I did not know what to do with it and was bored out of my mind! And my hands were gloved!” Alice cried out in protest. “It… it was somewhat worth it.”

      She then folded her arms. “Now get going! And let my busted camera be a reminder for you to ask about the cameras in Norton’s room. Who will deny you? You’re his friend.”

     “Bossy,” Frederick clicked his tongue, but left anyway.

                                  ~

      All always went according to plan in Orpheus’ eyes. He was a bit of a believer in divine providence but more so in his own wit. 

     All worked out because of who he was. Who he had access to. When the world gave him riches, he used them wisely in very wise ways: 

     To uplift the poor— look at how he had rebranded the likes of Norton Campbell and all the other unwanted incurables of today’s modern time!

     To influence society— his novels were classics in the making! His nuanced commentaries on what occurred outside of the gates of Metropolis and the Eternal Aurora’s reign within it were sure to inspire at least a hint of critical thinking in the next few generations!

     And finally— to keep the riches flowing. The poor made him money. The middle class made him money. He amused the benevolent Aurora enough to gain her good graces as well, which was more than all of Norton’s gold bars combined.

     So it was no surprise that he had the little criminal situation under his control as well. It was a wee accident, for sure, accidentally sending a sharp object through his little handsome protégés eye that may or may not have killed him on the spot (Orpheus didn’t stick around to find out. Poor little Alice did). But it was nothing irreparable to Orpheus’ reputation. 

     Or to Alice’s. Because the boss had a little thing called money! 

     It was a shame money couldn’t heal the sick feeling Orpheus felt whenever he saw a tabloid bearing his dear little fighter of a protégés name. Or the pounding in his head whenever he saw that little drug that pushed that protégé to madness. (Orpheus himself had switched to a new kind of prescription for himself to avoid it.) Or the suffocating sensation in the depths of his mind whenever the lawyer reported any change in dear little Alice’s reputation. 

     You see, it was one thing to toy around in someone’s head. A drunk or intoxicated or impaired person (never “drugged”) was still alive. And very satisfying pliable. It was certainly another to end the same life you were studying.

     An alive human was always better than a dead one, in Orpheus’ opinion. You could learn so much about the inner workings of a soul just by talking with them! Especially when in a more lax state of mind. 

     …It just so happened that Norton’s lax state of mind was a little exacerbated by a hint, a pinch— ah, he’ll admit it, a large serving of trauma. Orpheus chided himself for not sending the man to therapy first.

     But he usually never chided himself anyway. Why be sorry about it?

     About the murder, of course. Not the experiments. Experiments were beneficial to improving the human mind in such a sorry world like this. But the murder was not intended.

     Ah. Murder…? He was using the word murder again. It wasn’t a murder. It was very much not. It was a… subduing. A kind of restraining process of the impaired. With the side effect of death.

     (Every time Orpheus ran through this little procedure of justification in his mind, he felt his sanity slip a little further. But he was fine, he’d tell you. Fine.)

     Orpheus is very fine and there is nothing wrong with him and all he needed to do was to keep running the company and keep Alice in everyone’s good graces.

     Because he felt a connection with the woman! She had all he admired in a person, and if only all people could be like her.

     He wondered, as he wrote down some more checks with his pen, if Alice was writing too. Not a crime piece, of course, because he had discreetly snatched away any hint of outside media and ensured his workers took any measures necessary to do so to protect her in court (and if they violated that little order they were promptly fired with a secret extra dose of infamy awaiting them). (Orpheus had eyes everywhere.) (They wouldn’t get away with it. Trust him.) But, as in, a normal writing piece.

     Like a diary or something. 

     Yes, yes, perhaps that was what Alice was doing. He wondered if he would see those works too. She always had a talent for writing. A passion for it, akin to his. 

     How beautiful.

     And, thinking about her writings more and more, he put down his own pen and stared out his window.

      (Her innocence kept his mind off his own guilt.)

     And he stared out the window until the phone on his desk abruptly rang.

     “Yes?” Orpheus lifted it to his ear. “Who is it?”

     “Mr. Orpheus, Alice’s court arraignment will be in 21 days.”

Chapter Text

     “Yes, Mr. Beck, it is really me, Frederick Johannes Kreiburg.”

     Frederick, after a brief chat with a rather clammy-looking Melly Plinius, had made it his duty to promptly visit the security officer who tended to the cameras— Mr. Leo Beck. The officer was an honest man— burly, with a kind voice, and quite menacing to any straggler seeking to sneak in and nab a photo of their favorite icon. 

     He was also incredibly easy to persuade. Frederick, of course, had no real interest in learning about or watching cameras in his free time, but he was famous and talented and charming and rich, which allowed him to check them anyway. 

     Particularly on a certain day, when at the early hours of the morning, a certain fellow famous and talented and charming and rich man had died.

     Security cameras and their footage were relatively new things to the world. The Eternal Aurora had them developed by previously  prisoner tech nerds (what were their names again…? Lucas Balthazar? Trudy Rizzneck?) who had been on the news several years ago for their broadcasted rebellion against her regime, and also for what was presumed to be their lovers' quarrels. That was, until they were captured and arrested after blowing up their own base. And then the Eternal Aurora worked her magic and made them reverent and subservient to her as mankind should be, so the story went.

     But still, the geniuses and their technology sparked a certain kind of fear for the Eternal Aurora once they were placed just about everywhere. Suddenly, crime went down— no longer were pickpockets hiding about in clubs or alcoholics casually fighting in lounges. The Aurora boasted of it in every news article about her since then.

     Although it may have worked to some degree, it was still new stuff. In Oletus, although it was never reported to the masses, Mr. Beck had complained of glitches and breaks and even cameras that never worked in the first place. He wasn’t listened to, obviously, but he was heard by quite a few of the residents.

     Frederick included. He even knew the man’s daughter since she was a fan of his and apparently listened to his music while going out to plant her flowers. After Frederick learned that, he had given Mr. Beck’s daughter his autograph and had been in the man’s good graces ever since. 

     Which, on top of the charm and the money, was why Frederick was able to get away with searching for footage so easily by a man as moral as Mr. Beck. Or why Frederick was able to try to.

     Because when he finally located that blasted date and accessed the footage of what had happened in the early hours of the morning, he was significantly disappointed.

     “What?” Frederick resisted the urge to slam his fists on the screen. Mr. Beck was keeping watch at the door behind him. 

     Frederick grit his teeth and re-entered the information again. And yet the screen read the same thing: Footage lost.

     Had Norton’s cameras turned faulty the day of the murder? Had that blasted killer tampered with them? 

     Frederick groaned and entered the information to access Alice’s camera. If Norton was killed at so-and-so time, maybe he would catch a glimpse of Alice doing something suspicious and have a clear answer after all. 

     Footage not found. 

     Frederick’s face grew red. Perhaps he ought to try the hallway camera. Perhaps something in this evil apartment would go right for him after all—!

     Footage not found. 

     “Mr. Beck, is this typical for these state-of-the-art cameras?” Frederick seethed. “Why are all of the cameras on the fifth floor busted?!”

     “Hm? Is that so…?” Mr. Beck retreated from his watch at the door and quickly shuffled over. “Ah… let’s see. You’re looking for footage from this day… hm, what an early time…”

     Mr. Beck inspected the computer in front of Frederick without any questions. He went about the searching process much more easily than Frederick did and he too was met with the same answer.

     “Strange,” Mr. Beck clicked his tongue. “I guess on that particular day the cameras malfunctioned. The hallway camera has been like that for a while now… ‘bout a month of or so. Would you like me to check if the room cameras work now?”

     Frederick pondered his question for a moment, somewhat appalled by the man’s willingness to offer. But after recalling Alice’s tampering with her own camera and knowing that Norton’s camera would show a room with him in it, Frederick decided against it. Was Mr. Beck even aware of such things? There were an awful lot of cameras to monitor for a whole day.

      “…No thank you,” Frederick sighed.

     “All right. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you, Mr. Kreiburg.”

      “Oh, please, just Frederick is fine. And do not worry about it. Have a good day, Mr. Beck,” Frederick forced the words out of his mouth, as pleasant as they sounded to the officer’s ears. 

     Frederick turned on his heel,  clenching his fists behind his back and blinking continually to hide the twitching of his right eye. He needed sleep. He needed answers. He also needed to tell Alice about this at the earliest time possible…

     “As to you,” the officer, with no other comments, tipped his hat to Frederick before the composer left.

                                ~

     When Alice realized it was Orpheus at the door the morning after the secret visit to the graveyard, she paled.

     “Just a moment!” Alice nervously shouted at the door, scouring her room for any trace of her disguise or any newspapers.

     She hurriedly shoved the latest newspaper Joseph delivered her into the depths of her trash can, scrambled over to her divider and shoved the Mary Janes of her disguise into an unsuspecting box, and then washed her hands for roughly twenty seconds before shoving her gloves back on.

     She straightened out the dress she was wearing and took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

     “Good morning, Alice!” Orpheus extended his hand for a handshake. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

     Alice shook his hand and shot him as bright of a smile as she could, running through all the potential scenarios that could happen now in her mind. 

     Did she really throw away everything Joseph had given her? What if there was a newspaper still hiding under the table? Or near the sink? Wait, no, she was just there. But what if Orpheus wanted to search through the depths of the trash can—?!

     “Please, take a seat,” Alice smiled, although it was much too large to be a natural smile. She hoped the author wouldn’t take notice as she gestured vividly to a pulled out chair. “I’ll make you some tea.”

     Orpheus smiled back as well and obliged, but he kept his eyes trained on Alice’s face in an almost menacing manner. Alice felt like scavenged. Why was he staring at her like that? It had been a while since she had last seen him… had he always done that?

     “No need to trouble yourself,” he said finally, after a terrible period of silence. “Your presence alone is enough.”

     “Oh, of course— I mean, thank you,” Alice stammered, taking a seat as well. She cleared her throat and tucked a stray hair behind her ear, knowing full well that her other several stray hairs were mocking her. “What brings you here to visit at such an early hour…?”

     “I got news on your first court appearance!” Orpheus cheerfully announced, as if he were telling her she got promoted. “It will be in twenty one days.”

     Twenty one days…? Alice fought back a gag. Was she to somehow solve a murder in twenty one days? Well, it was just a court appearance… but time was of the essence! 

     Alice took a deep exhale. The smile widened even further. She folded her hands and looked at Orpheus again. “Splendid.”

     “…You seem awfully pale, Miss Alice. This is one of the earliest arraignments I’ve ever seen!”

     “How exciting.” Alice grit her teeth.

     So the judicial system decided to step up their game the one time they absolutely shouldn’t have? Fine. Alice would take it. She’d take it all and she’d solve that blasted murder like she was Lady Truth AND Detective Inference.

     “I understand it's quite early in the morning for such business… my apologies,” Orpheus blinked, shaking his head. His tone, as always, was suave and light. “Why don't you stay put and I can get you a treat?”

     “You… have food with you?” Alice raised an eyebrow.

     “I’ll order. And while we wait, we can chat. Ah, it's been so long since I’ve been able to meet with you in person.”

     “All right…” Alice slowly nodded. She wouldn’t put it past Orpheus to just want to chat. But maybe she could get some more news, clues, anything out of him…

     She just couldn’t give herself away in the process. Now that her mind was a little more at ease, hopefully that be a cinch. 

     She cheered herself on internally, resisting the urge to whip out a notepad. 

    Even without such an item, it was time to interview the boss.

    Except for the fact that he was on the phone, ordering something.

     “Yes… uh, yes, Mr. Chang, I’d like to order two mini truffle cakes. Yes, two. Oh? A special deal for three? No, no. I want two coffees. Both Ipoh white. You know how much I enjoy that… no, I have no time to discuss your sister… I’m working on it.”

     Alice blinked. She had no idea Orpheus had contacts with the baker who made such lovely, delicious, luscious cakes that made her stomach rumble. A cake and coffee sounded very good by now…

     She shook her head, chiding herself for her gluttony. Questions, questions… what was she to ask him now?

     Orpheus hung up with a large sigh and returned his gaze to Alice’s face. He smiled again and watched, as if waiting for her to speak.

     “Thank you for the food,” Alice said. “I haven’t been able to enjoy much since Mr. Campbell’s death…”

     Now Orpheus raised his eyebrows. “Oh, my. What a grin and dreary topic… and only at seven in the morning!”

     “Well,” Alice forced a frown on her lips, trying to appear troubled— although she already was. “I haven’t really been able to discuss with anybody who I thought would understand…”

     She partially cringed at her words, because in no normal lifetime would she want to share her thoughts with her own boss of all people. But Orpheus seemed intrigued and leaned in further.

     “You see, Mr. Orpheus… I’ve been blamed. I really didn’t do it. I know Mr. Riley is supposed to say as such, but there is no full closure without knowing who truly committed this murder.”

     “I understand, I understand… after all, this wasn’t only your loss, but mine. I am so sorry,” Orpheus shot her a pitiful look. And if Alice knew him better, she’d have understood that he was sorry for a different reason entirely.

     Alice sighed, internally shocked by his nonchalance. “Yes, yes, I understand as well… but who could have possibly done it if not for me?”

     Orpheus suppressed the urge to giggle at her words. He gave her a sorrowful look just as dramatic and fake as the one she was showing to him, although Alice was rather convinced. “Hm… I’m not entirely sure. Would you like me to look into it for you, dear Alice?”

      Alice slowly nodded, trying to suppress the little sparks of joy that threatened to make her maniacally giggle. Yes, yes, this murder would be solved very soon… “Oh, yes, please… do you have any suspects?”

     “Eager, aren’t you?” Orpheus was very amused by now— he couldn’t help but let it slip into his tone. “As you know, I don’t live her, so I can’t quite put my finger in anybody just yet. But knowing Norton… perhaps Melly Plinius?”

     “Melly Pli—?”

     “Now before you get yourself in a twist, please do listen. I’ve known Miss Plinius longer than you have, along with our poor Norton Campbell. The two had had a bitter rivalry since they first met, you understand? Jealous of each other… that is why Norton despises— ah, despised— insects.”

     “Ah…?” Alice looked down at the table, looking at her gloved hand. Was it even possible for someone as composed as Melly Plinius to enact such a brutal murder? “But that conflict was petty. And of an almost humorous nature, wasn’t it? I heard it from Melly and Norton themselves.”

     “Oh, you pure soul,” and Orpheus believed his words, because the journalist intervening him now (wasn’t that was she was doing? How adorable.) had a much more pure soul than he did. Perhaps almost desirable in the Eternal Aurora’s eyes. Orpheus wondered if she liked the same strong wines Norton did nowadays. They were very good for masking other substances… “Do you not understand the effect you had on them? They downplayed their loathing for one another for you. For you were so close to the two of them— we all knew how much it would break your heart if they fought every other minute. So I told them to… keep quiet about their enmity. And they agreed, of course.”

     “What?” Alice almost couldn’t believe him. But he was their boss. And he had the authority to command such a thing.

     …But it stung, slightly. If his words were true, then apparently her dear friends thought her too much of a baby to not put up with their arguing.

     “I’m sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable,” Orpheus rested his chin on the back of his hands. His elbows were propped on top of the table. “I thought it was for the best, but I see now what trouble it could have caused…”

     “Why didn’t the Aur officers suspect it was Melly then, Mr. Orpheus?”

     “Well, Melly is notoriously meticulous and organized. And she knows quite a bit about you, doesn’t she? Perhaps she murdered him in such a way that only you would be able to take the blame.”

     But Alice couldn’t believe it. If she could only have Melly’s testimony on what she was doing at the time… surely somebody would vouch for her. 

     If Melly was so hellbent on revenge on Norton from their older days in the company, wouldn’t Frederick have noticed? Wouldn’t he have pointed the finger to her first, then?

     There were a multitude of other reasons for Alice’s doubt, of course including her own love for her friend.

     “…Mr. Orpheus, I don’t think I can believe that.”

     “And why not, dear Alice?”

     And just as he said that, a knock came through the door.

Chapter Text

     The person on the other end of the door didn’t bother waiting a response. Much to the duo’s dismay, the door swung open to reveal none other than…

     “Ah, Frederick!” Orpheus jovially cried. He dramatically stood up and gestured to his chair. “What a fine time for you to join us! I just ordered Alice some truffle cakes and coffee.”

     Frederick, on the other hand, appeared rather frightened. Seeing Orpheus’ display and hearing his loud, recognizable voice bounce off the walls of Alice’s room almost made the man shriek like an opera singer.

     Almost. But he wouldn’t dare embarrass himself in front of the likes of the journalist. It would make him look… unprofessional. And anyway, it was because of that journalist sitting so innocently over there that he even bothered to visit.

     To discuss the cameras. Those useless things.

     But alas, Orpheus was before them both now. With his disgustingly happy smirk. With his fattened pockets full of enough money to pay for desserts at ridiculous hours in the morning. Was he here by chance? Had Alice… double-crossed Frederick?

     No. She… she wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. Because she didn’t know of his earlier plans, way back when Norton was alive…

     Frederick glared at Alice. Alice gave him a tiny shrug.

     “Ah, my apologies. Is my presence interrupting something?” Orpheus asked, his tone light yet his face bearing traces of confusion and a little bit of irritation. Apparently the man hated not being in the know.

     “This insolent woman has been teasing me all about my latest album,” Frederick lied, trying to summon his usual annoyed charm. “I figured I ought to swing by and take her to my piano to see how she fares with it.”

     “Miss Alice, you play the piano?!” Orpheus, wide-eyed, gleefully asked. 

     “…Yes,” Alice nodded. And this was not a lie, because the woman indeed knew how to play the piano. Although Frederick was much more experienced with it. (Alice would not want to have a piano battle with him.)

     Of course, the composer thought she was lying and smiled as she nodded. “Of course, she’s just an amateur. But I see I’m interrupting you two’s conversation, so I suppose I shall take my leave—“

     “No, actually,” Orpheus turned and folded his hands, staring Frederick dead in the eye. “Why don’t you join us? Then I can hear all about the drama between you two. I never knew you two were close…”

     “We’re not,” the duo chimed in unison. 

     “Apparently you are, if Frederick’s let you anywhere near his piano to hear his music.”

     “Where did you get that from…?” Frederick grumbled, taking a seat at the table. There was no escaping from this one. 

     “Well, there’s no pianos here aside from the one downstairs and the one in your room, yes? Yet I’ve never seen Alice play for a crowd,” Orpheus chuckled. “Frederick, if she’s such an amateur, you ought to take her under your wing and mentor her when all this crime talk is done with!”

     Alice quietly groaned. Frederick elbowed her and scowled. 

     “Yes, well…” Alice began, trying to shift the conversation away from such a muddled lie— because if she couldn’t, how else would she get details on the murder case?! “Mr. Orpheus, did you want to continue on with your thoughts on who killed Norton?”

     Frederick shot Alice another glare. Alice rolled her eyes. 

     “Well, some ill-informed media insists it's you, dear,” Orpheus drummed his fingers over the table. “But I know Mr. Riley’s working hard out there to defend your good name.”

     “Yes, and you know it wasn’t me…” Alice quietly hissed under her breath.

     Orpheus’ eyes flicked up to Frederick. After what appeared to be a brief moment of deliberation, he asked, “Frederick, what is your opinion on the matter?”

     Alice was rather taken aback by Orpheus’ sudden unwillingness to defend her. Out of all the people…

     “Oh, please,” Frederick raised a hand. “I pay no mind to lousy media these days. If it was her, if wasn’t her… Does that even matter at all?”

     ‘Yes,’ Alice wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut for the sake of good appearances. She stared innocently at Orpheus.

     “You never know,” Orpheus deflected. “Frederick, if not her, then who would you think Norton's killer is?”

     “Certainly not me,” Frederick placed a hand on his chest. “If that’s what you’re trying to imply now.”

     “Certainly not! I was merely curious. Miss Alice, do you have any suspects in mind?”

     “No,” Alice sighed. “Which is why I’ve been asking you. Has Mr. Riley or the officers come up with any other suspects aside from myself?”

     Frederick gave her a questioning look, for the man had forgotten about Orpheus’… restrictions. But Alice remembered, and she knew it full well every second she had a pen in her hands. Every minute Joseph gave her a new article, showing nothing had changed. Every hour she sat alone in her room or tried once again messing with her security camera. 

     “Not really,” Orpheus shrugged, as if he hadn’t just accused Melly Plinius recently. “A lot of us have just been focused on defending your innocence.”

     “What about your words on Mel—“ Alice began, but alas, a knock once again came through the door. 

     “Food’s here!” Orpheus announced over Alice. The woman grumbled.

     Orpheus headed to the door and promptly opened it, to reveal none other than Victor Grantz standing in the doorway with the food. 

     Frederick’s stomach rumbled. He promptly covered it up with some classical music humming. Alice blinked as she heard that, saw Victor, and smelled a hefty pound of cake in the distance. 

     “I’ll split the cake if you can get anything out of him,” Alice whispered to Fredrick. 

     “Out of Victor?”

     “What? Out of Orpheus! Have you even had breakfast today?”

     “What? Of course not. I thought nobody would be in your room at this hour aside from yourself!” Frederick hissed in her ear. 

     “Stop hissing in my ear,” Alice hissed back. “You insolent, noisy man.”

     “You’re so embarrassing," Frederick retreated and slumped in his chair, watching as Orpheus handed the check to Victor. Alice chuckled before getting up to get plates and utensils. 

     Just as Victor turned away, however, Orpheus tapped the man’s shoulder and gestured to the table, speaking quietly. Soon after, Alice returned with the plates and the utensils and began setting the table.

     Frederick sighed and turned to Alice. “We may have a new guest at your table today, Miss Alice.”

      “What do you mean by that…” Alice mumbled, taking a seat and keeping her eyes on her tablecloth. But after a few moments:

     “Hello, everyone! Mr. Victor Grantz, it is a pleasure to have you situated with us today!” Orpheus sat Victor in the only unoccupied chair at the table before opening the boxes of truffle cake. Victor handed the coffees to Orpheus and Alice while Frederick watched like a poor, hungry puppy.

     Frederick’s pout did not escape the postman/deliveryman/everythingman’s eyes. Victor gave him a pitiful look and a pat on the shoulder.

     “Go on, you two, greet him,” Orpheus whispered to Alice and Frederick. Fredrick waved. Alice smiled and said hello.

     Victor waved back with a bright smile. Alice’s smile grew as well, because it felt like a long time —and it really had been— since she last saw him. It was nice to have a friend like Victor in her life. 

     “So, Victor, how’s your day been so far?” Orpheus stared intently at the postman. Victor ignored his gaze and looked at the now open truffle cake Alice was cutting up. Frederick appeared on the verge of tears. 

     Victor gave Orpheus a thumbs-up in return.

     Frederick and Alice whispered to one another as Alice placed cake on her plate. Frederick’s face was rather red. Alice quietly laughed at him.

     Victor shifted his gaze away from that rather distracting duo and continued silently answering Orpheus’ bombardment of questions. Victor had no idea why Orpheus looked so relieved or that Alice and Frederick were so close. Victor always figured that since Alice and Norton were close by, they would have shared a closer bond. (It certainly reflected in their casual talk at debut-parties and the like. Victor found it rather sweet.)

     Although, Norton was dead now… so Victor supposed it made sense that Alice would have moved on. Which was rather cruel to think, but the man figured a lady like Alice wouldn’t be inclined to mope around in her grief. Even if, according to her lawyer, her and Norton had a little thing going on.

     Orpheus continued staring shamelessly at Victor’s blank face. He wondered what went on in his head, and despite his multitude of small talk and questions (which he knew the postman disliked but put up with as Orpheus was his employer), he couldn’t get much out of him. Which was why Orpheus never considered him for the role of protégé— Victor was probably an interesting fellow deep down, but without any deep knowledge about him, Orpheus couldn’t really dig deeper and spend quality time (exploit, blackmail, manipulate) with him. 

     But certainly an interesting fellow Victor was— which would have to be discussed another time seeing he was not the star of this show. In fact, at the moment he was thinking of something almost everyone seated at the table was involved in. The murder. 

     Everyone at this point knew the details. Victor had learned that apparently Alice really did do it (but since Victor was in cahoots with Joseph and heard a little bit about the Joseph’s rebellion while the party man was drunk, he doubted that part significantly), that Alice and Norton had been dating, that everyone loved the drama (despite a few certain Norton fangirls raging at the woman), and that her court arraignment was soon to come. 

     Alice hadn’t made a public appearance in a while. Victor wondered if it had something to do with Joseph sneaking her things from the store. Like articles. But it was none of Victor’s business— he was just the mailman. Who sometimes heard a lot of things. 

     Who sometimes, just like everyone else, was a little —more than a little— curious. 

     Not that anyone would know, of course. 

     “Fine,” Victor caught Frederick grumble, his voice slightly louder than it had been during Orpheus’ small talk. Victor perked up slightly and turned to face Frederick, who stared intently at the slice of cake Alice was delivering to his plate. 

     Alice gestured to Orpheus. Frederick cleared his throat, and with a dark look in his eyes, he said. “Thank you, Mr. Orpheus, for the cake. Now… shall we resume our talk of the murder?”

    Victor blinked rapidly. Out of all the things to talk about…?

    “Why don’t we let Victor share his thoughts on some more… lighthearted things?” Orpheus gestured to Victor. One of Orpheus’ eyes twitched slightly.

     Victor nodded and whipped out his notebook, in which he spent a few minutes writing something. After a while, he presented it to everybody, in big, bold, and beautiful fancy letters:

     Murder.

     Alice snorted. Frederick shielded his cake. Orpheus smiled widely.

     “Of course, Victor! Of course we can discuss the murder,” Orpheus nodded, with a kind of hatred in his eyes. “What do you want to discuss about the murder?”

     ‘Suspects.’ Victor wrote on the page. 

     “We’ve been at that already,” Frederick folded his arms. “Do you believe Alice did it, Victor?”

     ‘No.’

     Orpheus eyes narrowed, staring directly at Victor’s. Victor shrugged and gave him a careless grin— so what if he was the scribe who wrote the words declaring Alice guilty? It was the lawyer’s words, not his.

     “I’m personally inclined to believe it was someone else in Norton’s personal circle that was not me,” Frederick declared, his eyes shifting back to Alice for a brief moment. When she nodded, he looked around the room for any sort of response from the other two. 

     “Why’s that?” Orpheus questioned.

     “Well…” Frederick’s eyes drifted to Alice once more, who stared straight ahead. “Um… you see… Norton…”

     “I think what Frederick’s trying to say is that Norton is a rather antisocial man. Frederick’s told me many times that if Norton wants to be alone, he WILL be alone. So it couldn’t have been a random person, because Norton would never let a random person into his room, especially at such a time. But if it was someone Norton trusted…” Alice smiled at everyone, hiding a gulp. “He would have let them in without a second thought, even if it was at such a weird time.”

     “What an astute observation from Mr. Kreiburg,” Orpheus slowly nodded. 

     Frederick nodded as well and discreetly wiped some sweat away from his forehead. “Yes, of course. I am very well versed in… common sense.”

     Victor giggled, which he masked with coughing.

     “What else do you have for us?” Orpheus leaned forward.

     “In regards to suspects?” Frederick tapped his chin. “As you all know, it's not me and for the sake of it all I am going to defend Miss Alice. Which makes this significantly more easier since Norton certainly didn’t have many friends—“

     Harsh! Victor scribbled on his paper.

     Frederick shrugged. “So logically, we could narrow it down to Joseph, Melly, Mr. Orpheus, and you, Victor.”

     “A small reminder me and Mr. Desaulniers don’t live in this apartment,” Orpheus gave Frederick an almost patronizing look. “Neither him nor I have a reason to visit him in the middle of the night.”

     ‘I was out of town,’ Victor flipped to a new page of the notebook. ‘I visited my house in the countryside. Mr. Orpheus knows about my leave.’

     “It’s true,” Orpheus nodded. “He submitted papers in advance.”

     “Oh…?” Frederick squinted. He looked to the table and then to his half-eaten slice of cake. All of a sudden, he wasn’t all too hungry anymore. “So… Melly? Impossible, but—”

     “Not so fast,” Alice interjected. “I don’t want to eliminate Joseph or you, Orpheus, just yet. I am not accusing, I am simply just trying to validate your arguments. I am aware Joseph lives in the countryside and since he is a mere photographer, I don’t see why he would want to hold a secret midnight photo-op. But as for you, Mr. Orpheus, —and I am simply playing the darkness’ advocate here— you live… what? A fifteen minute drive away? It would be easier for you to leave the scene.”

     “Sure, sure, but why would you think I’d be in the building in the first place?” Orpheus challenged, keeping tone level and his face neutral. In a twisted way, he was proud of Alice’s cross examinations. She was smart. She reminded him a lot of Norton what with her determination. But perhaps she was even better than him, because she was in pursuit of truth rather than money. Which, depending on how he used it, could be a very excellent ‘carrot on a stick,’ if one would. 

     “Perhaps you… wanted to check on Norton?” Alice struggled to think of a reason why a boss of all people wanted to check on an employee so late into the day. 

     “I have mornings for that,” Orpheus countered. And he would offer Alice a little hint of something-something to keep her thinking. “And, in fact, I did visit him in the morning. But I left after my business was all finished.”

     “Is that so…? Well, perhaps later on we can examine that with the cameras,” Alice tilted her head.

     “Of course,” Orpheus smiled again. “I’ll accompany you myself later this afternoon.”

     Victor and Frederick went silent. The two men eyed each other with rather wide eyes. 

     “Do you two have anything else you want to discuss about the case?” Alice faced those two, looking rather victorious. “Because if not, I think we should all have our cake and, well, eat it.”

     ‘What cake?’ Victor gestured to the empty spot before him. Alice sighed and went to get him a plate and whatever else one needed to eat a cake.

     Orpheus apportioned his cake and gave half of it to the man once Alice returned.

     “This went surprisingly well,” Alice whispered to Frederick once the cakes and coffee were finished. The two extra guests received water. Orpheus stood up to collect plates and cutlery to put them in Alice’s dishwater. Victor took his leave.

     “Indeed it has,” Frederick nodded. “But Miss Alice, I came here just to let you know…”

     He leaned in closer, his voice a mere whisper. Although he made sure not to hiss again. “I checked the footage of this floor during the night of the murder… and I got nothing.”

     “What?” Alice stifled a gasp. “What do you mean? What happened?”

     “I went to Mr. Beck after our little escapade,” Frederick whispered over the noise of the dishwasher. “I found the footage— it either said ‘footage not found’ or ‘footage lost’— and it was lost only for Norton’s room. Norton’s.”

     “That’s… rather suspicious,” Alice mumbled, putting a hand to her chin. “Maybe the murderer tampered with the camera?”

     “Well, that’s what I was thinking. But how? Did they delete it themselves? Perhaps they broke the camera,” Frederick kept an eye on Orpheus, who was rinsing his hands.

     “Hmm… maybe they broke the camera. But to be honest, I don’t remember anything too off with the room when I discovered the body. Then again, I didn’t check for the camera in the first place.”

     “Ugh,” Fredericked pinched his nosebridge. “This ridiculous, blasted murderer…”

     “I know, I know,” Alice sighed. “But come back in the evening and I can tell you about my findings with —or on— Orpheus after we check the cameras.”

     “Of course. And I’ll check in with Melly as well, although I doubt it was her. When you reported the death, did you notice anything off with her?” As Frederick said this, Orpheus shut off the sink.

     Then Orpheus turned and headed towards the duo with a kind of bounce in his step. “All right, you two. I’ve just about put everything away. A pleasure seeing you both— I must take my leave now!”

     “So must I,” Frederick stood up and dusted off his coat. “Goodbye now.”

     Alice and Orpheus watched as Frederick strided to the door. Orpheus lingered and turned back to Alice. “I will see you in a few hours, dear Alice.”

     “Goodbye,” Alice waved. “Goodbye, Orpheus.”

Chapter Text

     That afternoon, after continual ensuring there were still no traces of foreign media in her room, Alice changed into a more professional outfit— the usual one she’d wear when she used to be able to go outside and report on things…

     And soon after more jaded thinking, Orpheus arrived.

     When he did, he seemed just as jolly and spirited as before. He didn’t delay and took her straight to the security office, where Mr. Beck was.

     “Good afternoon, Mr. Beck!” Orpheus called from the doorway, Alice standing behind him. She tried peering over Orpheus’ shoulder, taking a glimpse of the tall man watching over the monitors.

     “Oh!” Mr. Beck flinched before turning to face the newcomers. “Mr. Orpheus! Oh my, Ms. DeRoss too! A pleasure to see you both. I seem to be getting lots of visitors lately…”

     “Splendid,” Orpheus nodded, quickly striding over to the monitors. “So, me and my dear friend are looking for some footage…”

     “Ah! Just like Mr. Kreiburg. Very well then. Do you know how to operate the system?”

     “Just like Mr…?” Alice heard Orpheus mutter after nodding and accessing the computer, which caused her to break into a cold sweat. Hopefully Orpheus wouldn’t get too suspicious…

     Alice thought back to the strange gathering from early that morning. Why did Orpheus let Victor join? Not that Alice was complaining— 

      Click, clack, click. Orpheus began typing on the keyboard. He was… awfully noisy. And fast. But too noisy, and the noises were too frequent for her to continue thinking about the breakfast gathering.

     “There we go,” Orpheus clicked his tongue. “Miss Alice! I’ve gotten the footage. Come over!”

     Alice obliged and peered over his shoulder at once, craning her neck to see footage from 9AM on the day Norton was murdered.

     “Ooh! That’s me, that’s me entering the building!” Orpheus pointed to himself as if he were in a movie.

     “Yes, I can see that…” Alice followed his white-suited pixelated figure joyfully skipping across the screen along the pixel street and as it entered the building with the fancy bag he carried with him now. She eyed it outside of the camera world, the bag propped against the seat. Alice hummed to herself.

     “Okay, that’s when I see Norton,” Orpheus tapped the screen again. The clock on the top left of the screen read 9:07 AM. 

    “Huh…?” Alice’s eyes widened in confusion. “Norton’s camera was working then?”

     “Why’re you surprised?” Orpheus turned and questioned, albeit lightheartedly. When he turned around, he didn’t see Alice quickly cover her mouth. “There’s him and I talking… aw, he looks so happy. He was talking about you, actually, dear Alice.”

     “Talking about… me?” Alice leaned in closer, watching the two talk. Norton was moving his hands around vividly and he seemed to chuckle ever so often.

     Her face paled. Out of all the things to see in the outside world, out of the confines of her room, this was one of the worst ones. 

     She had seen Mr. Riley defame her name, Frederick’s gun, Norton’s grave, all without Orpheus’ knowing. But this he did know, and now Alice knew it too. 

     It was something happy. Sweet, cute almost. 

     But also so unbearably bitter. Alice’s eyes stung. 

     “I don’t remember exactly what he said, but he said something about ‘wine parties at midnight’ and that you were ‘more well-mannered than I could ever hope to be.’” Orpheus chuckled, which made Alice’s temper ever so slightly rise. It amazed her how gleeful he continued to be, even now.

     Orpheus had the pure luck to be able to have that final conversation with Norton before he died. Alice grit her teeth as Orpheus went silent and continued watching the footage, which he promptly put on fast forward. 

     He continued watching. Alice, on the other hand, could not get her mind off how utterly blessed, lucky, fortunate, Orpheus was. That blasted day had been the one —the ONE!— day she hadn’t —and hadn’t expected— to say goodbye. But this man… he acted so casual about it. If she were him…

     Alice pinched her nosebridge. Perhaps that was just how Orpheus coped. But Alice couldn’t stand it.

     The segment of footage involving Orpheus lasted about two hours, until 11:13 AM, when Norton, for whatever reason, fell asleep. 

     “Rewind, please?” Alice pointed to the screen, another hand on Orpheus, shoulder. “Did he just…?”

     Orpheus rewinded, and then nodded. “Yes… he was awfully tired towards the end of our conversation. Perhaps it was due to his medication…”

     “Hm,” Alice nodded, watching Orpheus gather his belongings after patting Norton on the back. She wondered if a midnight pill could really make one that drowsy in the early hours of the morning. “And this is the point where you leave?”

     “Mhm!”

     “I see…” Alice’s eyebrows furrowed. So it couldn’t have been Orpheus. Right? But then who out of Norton’s inner circle… “Well, I suppose you’re cleared.”

     “I’m glad we got that settled,” Orpheus smiled and turned off the monitor right as it displayed his pixelated self leaving the building. He stood up and got his bag, pushing the chair in before looking at Alice. “I know this is a very troubling case, dear Alice… but soon, it will all be over. And everything will all go back to normal. Now why don’t I escort you back to your room and—?”

     “No, wait,” Alice interjected. “Could we possibly… visit Melly?”

     “What for?” the man appeared incredulous.

     “We can interrogate her as well…”

     “So you really do trust my lead then, hm? I suppose we could try, but she might be with Professor Diruse at the moment.”

     “Let’s go,” Alice insisted, quickly moving towards the door. Orpheus gave a quick wave to Mr. Beck before shutting the door behind him.

     The duo reached Melly and Frederick’s floor soon enough. And lo and behold, when the duo walked in…

     “Hm…? Oh, greetings, Mr. Orpheus. Ms. DeRoss,” Melly gave the duo a brief tilt of her head. She gestured to the inside of her room, where Frederick was seated at the table.

     Alice caught the composer scoffing and mumbling something under his breath akin to ‘you’re joking’ as Orpheus took a seat beside the man. Alice sat between Melly and the composer.

     “What brings you?” Melly looked intently in Orpheus’ direction, her veil over her face per usual. 

     “Oh, ask Alice. She wanted to visit,” Orpheus flashed her a bright smile, gesturing to the journalist.

     “Ah,” Alice cleared her throat. “Yes. That’s right. I… I wanted to look into possible other suspects of Norton’s murder that weren’t me. Seeing as I did not commit this murder.”

     “I see,” Melly nodded, prompting Alice to continue. Melly wondered why this wasn’t done earlier, and why Alice (according to Frederick) kept herself cooped up in her room every day since the news of the murder came out, and why, if she truly was innocent, she didn’t say so in any interviews through her lawyer, who in fact insisted she did so. But Oletus was known for its strange people and attitudes and so while Melly thought much of the matter, she did not comment on it. 

     “I suspected it was someone else in Norton’s inner circle, starting with Joseph and Orpheus. But Joseph has no motive and Orpheus was not in the building when Norton was murdered.”

     “And I’m innocent because I would never kill such a dear friend,” Frederick huffed, suppressing his surprise at Orpheus’ innocence. Maybe it was Frederick’s bias, but the novelist was extremely suspicious. “Melly can confirm that I was at quite a few gigs that day. I was sleeping until Melly’s call woke me up, telling me Norton was dead.”

     “What time did you come back?” Orpheus questioned. “Norton was murdered around midnight, if the reports were correct.”

     “A little later than that, I believe,” Alice mumbled. 

     “I came back… nine in the evening. But, again, Melly can confirm that I went straight to my room and did not leave it until I went to visit her after I heard about Norton’s death.”

     “I vouch,” Melly nodded with her arms folded, her tone neutral.

     “And what were you doing that day, specifically around midnight, Ms. Plinius?” Orpheus inquired. 

     “For most of the afternoon I was visiting Professor Diruse’s lab. He wanted to show off some of his research. I came back at around 7 and, as the cameras can attest,  stayed on the ground floors with some acquaintances until around 11. Then I stayed in my room expecting to get some rest until Miss Alice came in and told me about the murder.”

     “I vouch for Melly,” Frederick confirmed. “I would have known if she had left her room.”

     “Would you really? There’s a room in between you two, not to mention you were sleeping,” Orpheus countered.

     “Is Melly capable of wielding a pickaxe?” Frederick retorted. “And you know how much social interactions exhaust the woman-- especially talking to people like us.”

     “I wouldn’t underestimate her,” Orpheus shrugged.

     “I have no mining experience,” Melly whispered to Alice. “And talking to certain people on the ground floor does fatigue me.”

     “I doubt it's you anyway,” said Alice in reply. But there was something hesitant about her words, which Melly caught onto instantly. Because if it wasn’t Frederick, who was apparently the only other suspect who could have been in the building at the time…

     “Just food for thought,” Orpheus straightened. And then he faced Alice again. “Anything else, dear friend? I must get going soon.”

     “I’m… I’m all set. For now,” Alice stirred. She stood up, looked at Frederick then  Melly, and pushed her chair in. “We can get going, Mr. Orpheus.”

     “Whatever you say,” Orpheus nodded, mirroring her actions before leaving to escort her to her room. 

     On the way there, Alice thought of how strange it all was. Of course Metropolis in and of itself was a controlled environment— the Aurora tolerated no dissent and reserved the right to incriminate anyone or anything at any given time for the sake of protecting humanity— and in a way, wasn’t Oletus as well?

     She wasn’t sure if anybody else in this company was allowed to suddenly have restrictions placed on them ‘for their good’ when it interfered with simple matters such as media interaction. She would ask Orpheus, but she was already exhausted, looping her mind around the murder case and…

     And he was the one who imposed such rules anyway. Did he impose any other eccentric things on other workers? She’d have to ask. Or perhaps this was all normal and she was overthinking it just as she did with much else. 

     It was all so annoying. How beautiful the day would be when she would be free from it all. Starting with going back to square one for her investigations to solve the murder. Which was going to be at the forefront of her mine from now on.

     How ridiculously annoying. 

     “Journalists first,” Orpheus gestured to Alice’s closed room door. 

     Alice unlocked the door and almost shut it in Orpheus’ face as he waved goodbye and made his exit. 

     Once she heard him tread down the stairs, she immediately pursued and located her notepad. 

      ‘Suspects, ’ she scribbled in writing as elegant as her mental state at the moment. And then she continued: 

      ‘Suspects: Close friends of Norton. No known living relatives, no details or known records of contact with old coworkers from the North. 

     ‘Suspects: Me — It is not me. Frederick — he threatened to kill me to avenge the man; safe to assume it is not him. Orpheus — apparently wasn’t in the building when the murder occured. Melly — most likely as of right now. Check cameras* to validate her statements: entered her room at 11 and did not exit —I do not want to believe it is her—.’

     ‘Unlikely suspects include Victor and Joseph. Victor has no motive, although he is somewhat close to Norton. Joseph lives in the countryside. To clear his innocence all I’d have to do is somehow access Aur patrol records to see if his car was in the area after the murder, trying to head back to the countryside. 

     ‘I doubt it was anyone else but the names listed above. All else who live here revere Norton’s presence and would have nothing to gain by his death. But if matters escalate from here and all of my suspects are cleared, I suppose I’d have no choice but to ask around.

     ‘I hope it doesn’t get to that point. I am already exhausted as is.’

                                                        ~

     In the evening, Frederick came as he promised he would. Except Melly was with him. 

     “I hope you do not mind the extra visitor,” Frederick folded his arms as Alice looked up from an old newspaper with one of her analyses on it. Specifically the first of her published Nightingale writing, the one about why people murdered. 

     “Oh?” Alice set down the newspaper and stowed it under her chair. “Be my guest… Ms. Plinius, what brings you here?”

     “Miss Alice, I will be frank with you. Please tell me why Mr. Orpheus has of late --since the day media came out about this murder you seem fascinated by-- been dissuading me from visiting you.”

     “Mr. Orpheus… What? Take a seat, take a seat…”

     “He tells me you’ve fallen ill because of stress regarding this murder, that you want no visitors, that he is reluctant I should even call you. And after seeing your condition when you first informed me about the death, I took his words to heart. But just this afternoon I found it so odd how well-off you seemed. Orpheus insisted you were crying every night, that I was to not visit the floor because you were constantly having talks with your doctor… but when I saw you this morning you spoke just as you usually do. You appeared just as you had been all the days before when we all used to take you everywhere. Perhaps I am looking too in depth-- after all, I am well aware people hide their emotions and conditions on the regular. I am no stranger to that myself. But, forgive me: I earnestly ask you to be straightforward with me now.”

     That was the most Alice had heard Melly say in a while. It caught the woman so off guard that she was rendered speechless until Frederick cleared his throat. 

     “I… I did not say anything to Orpheus about any of that,” was all Alice could muster. 

     “Another oddity I must take fault with is the fact that, this same afternoon, you plead your innocence in front of three people who have all read the explicit statement of your lawyer declaring you guilty. Ms. DeRoss, what is the meaning of all this? Were you ever aware Mr. Riley wrote those things of you? Please do speak up, and forgive me, because all of this has been so unlike you that I am becoming suspicious.”

     “Suspicious of what?” Frederick whispered. 

     “Quiet, Frederick.”

     “I…” Alice’s gaze flickered to her busted security camera. Then she lowered her voice and spoke. “I must first of all ask you if you’re even allowed to be here visiting me based on what you just said.”

     “Highly discouraged. But not forbidden.”

     “That figures… Initially, when word started to spread around about Norton’s death, Mr. Orpheus ‘expressed high concern’ about how problematic it would be for me to have access to any sort of media or to create any articles of my own due to ‘the increased attacks’ on my good name. So, through Victor and Joseph, he told me I would not be receiving any more news nor would I be allowed to publish anything in response as per my contract with my lawyer, who would speak on my behalf.”

     Alice’s eyes narrowed. “And my lawyer lied.”

     “Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” Frederick frowned. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”

     “Because of the consequences: if I speak out against my own lawyer he may repaint the situation to keep his good name afloat by whatever means. Then my reputation would most likely be even more warped than it already is, and Aurora knows how Orpheus would react if he learned I did such a thing. But if I can find the real murderer, I can bypass anything from Orpheus on account of justice and expose Mr. Riley’s lies while satisfying the judges who think I am guilty. Does that make sense?”

     “Ambitious. But I suppose not impossible,” Melly nodded. “Where to begin? What have you done so far?”

     “Um… well, I’ve been working with Frederick, for starters.”

     Frederick immediately sighed and covered his face with his hands.

     Melly blinked and then turned to face him. She leaned in close and hissed in his ear, “We will discuss this later.”

     Alice wondered what the two were talking about. Or why Melly was so stiff. Or why Frederick’s face was red as he slowly lowered his hands. 

     The two turned their gaze solely on Alice, which reminded the woman faintly of a press conference.

     “We know for sure that the pickaxe caused the death and not poison or anything of the sort,” Alice answered. “We talked with the gravekeeper at the cemetery and he told us he saw the body be embalmed.”

     “And also because it's in the official report,” Frederick added. “Which, by the way, Miss Alice, declared that Norton had a lot of alcohol in his system and a high level of duphrin, often nicknamed as ‘Muse’ and featured in dovlin drugs, in his body.”

     “Which, by the way, Mister Frederick, Freddy Riley used as a way to prove I was guilty.”

     “That was a very strange explanation to read about,” Melly remarked. “I would have never concluded you and Norton were in love with each other.”

     “And we were not. I do not know how Mr. Riley came up with such an outlandish plot to cast me as the murderer, or what he would have to gain from it.”

     “You know how the judges are,” Frederick grumbled. “They wouldn’t let you off the handle if there wasn’t another suspect, probably. Or at least the public would hold you in contempt.”

     “As if I would rather be clear in the eyes of the people than in the eyes of the law,” Alice scoffed.  

     “What else have you two discovered since this afternoon? Any leads?” Melly redirected the conversation. 

     “I’ve been a little stuck,” Alice confessed with a sigh. “Because your own testimony just isn’t strong compared to some others. For now.”

     “What would you like me to do?” Melly smiled. 

     “Well, I’d like to check the cameras to confirm you never left past eleven, but I can’t really leave my room.”

     “Why is that? You seemed fine earlier.”

     “Let’s assume Orpheus’ highly discouraged her from leaving the building… or her room, in fact. Security has been on the rise here since the murder anyway,” Frederick interjected. 

     “What he said,” Alice echoed. “But if Frederick could go check the cameras and vouch, then that’d be great. I think it’ll also clear your name for good.”

     “That can be arranged,” Melly nodded. “Do you have any other things you’d want us to check for you?”

     “Hmm… could you check if Joseph’s car was in the area towards or after the time of the murder? And also if Victor left his room around those times as well?”

     “Of course,” now Frederick nodded. 

     Alice was rather surprised by their cooperation. “I… Thank you, you two. I am feeling rather hopeful now… maybe a little too hopeful.”

     “Ah, don’t think like that,” Melly chided. “We still have much to do even if you’re making progress. So keep hoping. And is there anything else you… or you , Frederick, want to tell me?”

     Frederick told her about the camera malfunctions on the fifth floor around the time of the murder, both before and afterwards. Alice gave her testimony about what she had done during the day while Norton was in Oletus and her thoughts on the body’s discovery. The three decided to reconvene the next evening and Alice was to call if for some reason it would have to be rescheduled. 

     “Thank you, thank you,” Alice thanked them several times throughout the whole discussion. Because it was nice to have support, and to have it from some of her closest friends… 

     Perhaps the murder could be solved after all.       

Chapter Text

A letter to Orpheus, dated five days after the murder of Norton Campbell:    

     Dear Mr. XXXXXXX, 

     I’m quite sorry to hear that this first subject of yours has failed after doing so well. Know that your complaints have been heard and that Dr. Bourbon has been relocated for some questioning.

     I saw the reports you wrote about your little protégé before he died. I suppose every star fizzles out eventually.

     Or perhaps we simply chose the wrong one. You know how that one was. I could sense from miles away that he was a wet, pathetic man deep down inside. Regardless, I’m glad you chose him— there’s something incredibly amusing about desperate, paranoid rats like him. 

     Don’t be ashamed of yourself, dear little XXXXXXX, for this little blip: it didn’t take me very long to understand his love of money was what drove him. What a predictable motive. A nice way to start this project— something easy and pliable. 

     Again, do not berate yourself for this failed task, and even for being the cause of his death: it is a very hard task to bring someone from the shadow of death into the face of light. I wonder if there was any hope for him to begin with. 

     Anywho, my dear, have found the solution to rectify this little roadblock in our project:

     Next time, choose somebody who actually has morals.

                                                                         ETERNAL AURORA

     Orpheus wrote a lot about murder—it came with his genre— but never really understood what it was like to be the man behind the crime until now. That was what journalists, therapists, and the poor were for. They all probably had some idea what would cause a murder.

     Alice DeRoss certainly did. And lo and behold, Orpheus was reading the very article that got her into the mess she was in now— the one about why people murdered. The one that got her hired.

     She had concluded there was no specific reason why: depending on the person—their personality, livelihood, motive— it could range anywhere from self defense to an inhuman, sadistic desire to see another’s mind shattered.

     It was well-written enough and Orpheus found it to be organized and factual when he first read it. But now he saw all of her words from the angle of the subject. He was now eligible to answer why one would commit murder. He now read her words with a slightly more attentive eye. 

     When Orpheus… “killed” Norton (again, restrained, subdued, quelled, were all appropriate synonyms for this situation) he could certainly have said it was out of self defense. So there it was. That was his reason. And it was one listed in Alice’s piece. 

     He wondered what would happen if he asked her to figure out why a murderer reacted the way they did to arrest, whether they complied, whether they struggled, whether they threw their scapegoat under the bus, so to speak…

     He himself could have turned himself into the officer immediately and spared his dear little employee the grief and struggle with the media, after all. 

     ‘Self-defense’ would have gotten him a mere pinch of the cheek. A mere slap on the wrist. 

      …Maybe a little more than that (maybe a little vacation to a torture cell? For a month, at least.) But certainly not anything like a common person would get (execution, obviously).

     The Aurora would take matters in her own hands and figure something out to quell the judge’s anger— would, if he had turned himself in in the first place. 

     If. Why didn’t he?

     …

     What was wrong with him?

     (Coward, coward, coward.)

     The familiar feeling was back again.

     The one that made his head ache, spin, pound, as if he was the one being rammed with the pickaxe. His sight went dim again, as if something was clawing at the edges of his peripheral vision. 

     He felt the urge to throw up just thinking about the gore he had seen. 

     That he —he, himself, he alone— had caused.

     (The pickaxe had been used against rock many times, Orpheus was sure of it. It made a certain kind of clink as it chipped off one hit after another.)

     (But when hit, the human skull made a kind of different noise.)

     Orpheus paused. 

     Well, that was rather disgusting.

     Slowly, the tension —the feeling, that devil— ebbed away again.

     It always seemed to do that. 

     He set aside Alice’s article and retrieved a fresh page of paper for his next draft.

     And then he picked up his quill (better than pen) and began writing. 

     …

     After a few minutes, his thoughts drifted back to his thoughts about his thoughts on the murder.

     It was kind of sort of really Norton’s fault anyways. He —not Orpheus, certainly not him— was kind of sort of really the cause of his own death. 

     And as for Alice…

     And it was all a part of a larger plan for Alice to be the pawn, you see. Orpheus was no IDIOT bossed around by mere emotions, you see. 

     Unlike Norton— and that was what destined his own death, in reality: his passions, his lust, his irrationality.

     Orpheus just happened to be holding the pickaxe.

     That was all. 

     But Orpheus found it so strange how desperate Alice was to prove her innocence lately. He had everything under control, didn’t he? 

     He gently took her under his metaphorical wing and placed her under Riley’s care. Even if he pulled some strings to play with the story. Of course, she didn’t know about that part. Which was a bit troubling, because now Frederick and Melly were sure to act on the little dissonance that Orpheus allowed Alice to create. 

     Key word: allowed. If Orpheus really truly very honestly wanted to, he could have just drugged— excuse his rude language!— gently suggested things to Alice and turned her words on her head the day he visited her, which was yesterday. Maybe could have gotten her a little tipsy first. Maybe tried to sprinkle a pinch of duphrin over her cake. Just a pinch…

     Orpheus almost slapped himself. Use such tactics on such a gentle little soul?! Orpheus would never! 

     Compared to that little twat of an actor Norton, Alice was an angel! 

     An angel… 

     Alice, Alice, Alice… not much got past that woman. 

     Whereas Norton had very little morals—the man was a dog for money, so easy to influence— Alice had a little too many. 

     Maybe Orpheus shouldn’t have indulged in her little detective fantasy— that was all it would be, after all. It would have been so easy to convince her to just stay in her room and Orpheus could give Melly the message and so on and so forth. 

     But, anyhow, it was all still under his control. And it was good that he let that happen anyway, because then he got to know a little more about his dear little friend Alice: 

     She really, really, really did love the truth. It was something she was desperate for.       

     Much like how Norton was desperate for money. 

     Perhaps it wasn’t even the truth anyhow, but her reputation she was so desperate to save. Maybe both— people were multifaceted.

     Regardless, both were motivators. Both could easily be used to gently ‘guide’ someone’s path…

     The man cast his writing aside and got a new paper— one for writing letters. The one with the golden color palette, reserved for the Eternal Aurora.

     Because if the truth became a little too troublesome, Orpheus knew just what to do.

                               ~

     That evening, in Alice’s room, Melly and Frederick came back with more evidence.

     Melly had gotten in touch with some of the Aur patrol guarding the crossing to the countryside. By use of a favor, she discovered that Joseph’s car was not present in the area at all the day Norton died.

     Frederick, after visiting Mr. Beck once more, reported that Melly’s testimony was valid. But he noticed something interesting…

     “You know, I saw Mr. Orpheus come back into the building while I was watching cameras in the lobby,” Frederick rested his hand on his palm, staring rather blankly at Alice.

     “What?” Alice immediately perked up. “Did you… did you follow up on that after verifying Melly—?”

     “Yes. Obviously,” Frederick rolled his eyes and sighed. “Otherwise, you’d have my head for it.”

     He continued, after Melly stifled a chuckle with some flat coughing. “Orpheus seemed to linger near the bar area on the first floor. After about half an hour, he went into the elevator and I saw him land on the second floor. Fifteen minutes later, he went into the elevator. But it seemed like he disappeared after that.”

     “Disappeared? He’s no magician, Frederick,” Melly said.

     “Thank you for the very helpful observation, Plinius,” Frederick gritted his teeth. “During the next half hour, the footage for the first, second and fifth floor hallways was unavailable. But after doing some further inquiries, that seems to be relatively normal.”

    “Premium security system…” Alice mumbled under her breath.

    “Better than no security system,” Melly lightheartedly countered, which took both Alice and Frederick by surprise. Melly Plinius? Being comical?

    “Anyway, I checked multiple sets of footage, but I never saw Orpheus exit the building at any point after that. Not even through the back entrance. Mr. Beck told me that if any cameras had stable footage, it would always be the main ones. You know, like the ones in the lobby. Or the back of the building.”

     “Strange…” Alice clicked her tongue. “So did he just sleep over in someone’s room, or…?”

     “That’s not entirely out of the question,” Melly added. “In our early days of working, Orpheus would often visit us at night and give us little presents.”

     “Night?” Alice furrowed her brow. “Like… midnight?”

     “Pretty much, yes. He says it's because he’s busy throughout the day,” Frederick folded his arms. “Which, I suppose, is true.”

     “He only did it for about a month or so. The meetings were rather uncomfortable— at least for me, since I like to sleep at night. Perhaps someone new moved in?” Melly offered.

     “Not that I know of,” Frederick answered. “But then again, almost anybody here would be glad to have a little party with the man himself.”

     “Why would he lie about leaving the building then?” Alice put her hand to her chin. “It would be easy enough to just say he stayed the night with someone.”

     “Maybe it could cause a scandal,” Frederick shrugged. “Especially if it was with a lady.”

     “Oh, please. I’m already in a scandal myself— as if I could have been bothered to spread any news about that.”

     “Orpheus likes to keep his personal affairs private, surprisingly enough,” Melly glanced at Alice. “Usually if he keeps something secret, then it stays a secret until he reveals it.”

     Frederick sighed. “Melly and I know that full well. Be glad you weren’t around two years ago, Miss DeRoss.”

     “…I won’t ask.” Alice shook her head. “In fact, I’ll bring us back to Orpheus. It's unbelievably odd for him to just leave, present that as his alibi, and then come back into the building and never leave. Frederick, you said he left the second floor after fifteen minutes? What if he…”

     “What if he what?”

     “What if he went to visit Norton after that?”

     “Hm,” Melly nodded. “That seems reasonable enough. But Norton was murdered close to midnight, yes? Frederick, what was the timeframe of Orpheus' second visit?”

     “He came back midday, close to four.”

     “Even if he did visit Norton, would he really just stay in his room until midnight to murder him?” Melly questioned.

     “Well, maybe it was an accident,” Alice suggested, letting the words fall out of her mouth. “Do either of you two know if Orpheus uses pickaxes a lot?”

     “What kind of question… of course not, Alice. Does he look like a miner to you? There’s no caves here within miles.”

     Slowly, things began to click in the journalist’s head. “Give me a moment…”

     The murderer couldn’t possibly be Melly or Frederick or Victor or Joseph or herself— and all of these were prime suspects. Alice had no idea why Orpheus would want to kill someone making him so much money.

     Unless it was an accident.

     Alice thought back to how Mr. Riley reasoned in his interview with Joseph.

     It was an accident, he had essentially said. Self-defense against a man who could have certainly hurt Alice.

     Of course, Alice knew full well that Norton would never try to injure her. Even if he didn’t like Orpheus or Melly very much, she knew he would never try to injure them either.

     There would’ve been too much at stake if he wanted to hurt them. Or, in this case, Orpheus. Alice knew—everyone close to him knew— that Norton loved money, and he would have no good reason to want to end the source of his precious material. 

     No good one.

     Mr. Riley had framed the murder in a way that insisted Norton was drunk when he tried attacking Alice. And, even if Alice really despised that lawyer, his analysis made sense.

     There were high levels of alcohol and duphrin in Norton’s body, after all. Being drunk certainly would have influenced the way Norton thought. And while she wasn’t too sure what the effects of duprhin mixed with that amount of alcohol were, she imagined it wasn’t anything pretty.

     But why would Orpheus visit Norton at such a late time? Why would he stay with Norton from evening till midnight? Alice didn’t know.

     But something made sense, even just a little bit of sense… at least in her head. 

     “Ah…” Alice lifted her gaze to face the two curious faces staring back at her. “Please hear me out. What if Orpheus did visit Norton, and for whatever reason, stayed with him until midnight? Perhaps he was having one of those kinds of meetings he used to have with you two— I mean, maybe he was just trying to congratulate Norton about something. But maybe Norton had too much wine. And somehow, too much of his medication in his system, which made him angry at Orpheus? And maybe he lashed out against him?”

     “Hm…” Frederick pondered her words in his mind. “It would clear up the autopsy for certain…”

     “It seems strange to me that Orpheus would want to stay with Norton for eight hours straight,” Melly countered. “Orpheus is usually very busy, and if he’s not, he certainly wouldn’t be in Oletus of all places.”

     “Maybe he popped in and out of the room…?” Alice shrugged. “Maybe he was… checking in on his employees?”

     “That’s one way to reconcile it. Although I doubt that’s what he did. I would have seen him more often on the cameras if he was bouncing around floor to floor. After he left the second floor midday, I never saw him anywhere else,” Frederick added. 

     “Perhaps we need more information before we can conclude anything,” Melly rested one hand on top of the other on the table. “But don’t worry, Alice. I have a feeling you’re on to something.”

     “Thank you…” Alice nodded. She watched silently as Melly and Frederick said some final remarks to each other before starting to collect their things. 

     A part of her didn’t want them to go yet. She appreciated their companionship, their work, their thoughts…

     Most of all, their presence. 

     A part of her didn’t really want to have to wait until tomorrow to see them again. Every second they spent on this case was too important to lose. 

     And even if they were gone, she would still be obsessing about it. And her obsessions got her nowhere without someone to straighten her out. 

     “Wait,” Alice called out after the duo were halfway to the door. 

     The two paused and looked back at her.

     “Perhaps you two should check Mr. Riley’s first interview again. The one with Joseph. Maybe… that lawyer has a point. And maybe try seeing what would happen if you substituted Orpheus in for me.”

     “Will do,” Melly nodded. Her eyes then locked with Frederick.

     “Yes, yes,” Frederick nodded. “Get some rest while we’re gone, Alice.”

     “No promises,” Alice mumbled as she watched them exit the room.

Chapter Text

     “Why did she tell us to bother doing this?” Frederick groaned, flipping through the pages of the first interview with Mr. Riley. It was now the next day since Alice’s suggestion, and it featured several hours of theorizing about how Orpheus could have actually been the murderer. 

     Safe to say, the duo was stuck. And very, very concerned. “There’s no way Norton and Orpheus would have had any sort of ‘secret relationship’ brewing between them— much less a romantic one.”

     “Please,” Melly raised a hand. “Do not haunt my nightmares with such horrific thoughts. It… it disgusts me thoroughly. I cannot imagine it. I refuse to.”

     “Glad we’re on the same page,” Frederick scoffed. “Would it really make sense for Orpheus of all people to have midnight meetings with Norton— and somehow just before Alice’s little drinking parties with him? You’d think Orpheus’d be cooped up in his room writing or hosting another Aurorian party or perhaps star in an opera…”

     “Well… if you really want to stick with this little theory, perhaps this was a one-time visit. Perhaps the one unfortunate night Orpheus decided to visit Norton was the one Norton, um… decided to increase his intake of alcohol and drugs.”

     “But that makes no sense!” Frederick retorted. “Why would he drink himself to death if Alice would visit him later?!”

      His words lingered in the air. And then, a few moments later,  a dark thought entered both of their minds.

     “You don’t think… he wanted himself dead, do you, Melly?”

     Melly sighed and leaned forward, analyzing the table. Or rather, analyzing Norton’s thought process. “…It is possible, Frederick—“

     “Will you be quiet about your ‘possible’ theories, Melly?!” Frederick began to turn pale. He quivered. “First we go into a rabbit hole thinking about abusive relationships and now we’re thinking Norton wanted to… to kill himself! Ludicrous! Madness!”

     Frederick practically slammed his elbows onto the table and held his head in his hands, fuming several music related curses under his breath. It would’ve been comical —in a sadistic way— if he wasn’t taking this all to heart. 

     Melly pitied him. “Well, no matter what, he is still dead. It's best we find out how, hm? Even if it means indulging in some of Norton’s more… unsavory aspects.”

     “Unsavory my anacrusis!” Frederick shouted. 

     But soon after, with a flushed face and ashamed of his temper, he cleared his throat and gently gestured for Melly to continue.

     “I’m not sure why Orpheus would visit in the first place, but let’s assume he did on the basis of celebrating an achievement or a role in something. Maybe it was to make up for a bet. Regardless, imagine: Orpheus comes in and discovers Norton halfway through his… er… suicide attempt.”

     Frederick opened his mouth as if to argue, but he relented shortly after. 

     “Orpheus tries to stop him. But Norton, probably too drunk to understand, grabs the pickaxe. Perhaps he wants to threaten Orpheus, just to dissuade him. But then, Orpheus thinks Norton’s really going to stab himself with the pickaxe, so he tries to take it away from him.”

     “And then ends up killing him anyway?” Frederick scoffed.

     “Well, that’s why it was an accident. Perhaps Norton lashes out at him —you know how much he loves that pickaxe— and then Orpheus, trying to defend himself, does the exact opposite of what he set out to do. Then, cue Alice discovering the body and whatnot.”

     The duo fell into silence. It was… an excellent deduction, really. And as much as Frederick didn’t want to admit it, it made some sense.

     But he didn’t want to believe it just yet. “But I visited Norton some time before he died! He seemed just as happy as ever. I thought… I thought Alice’s visits were… enjoyable for him.”

     His eyes darkened. “I thought he was getting better.”

     “And perhaps he was, for a little while. But there’s only so much a single person can do for a man like him.”

     “Melly…” Frederick sighed. And then, breaking character, he slumped in his chair and buried his face in his hands. “What are we going to do…?”

     “We have to confront Orpheus. It's strange to me that he would let someone like Alice take the blame. I never took him to be a coward.”

     “…Yes, we must confront him,” all traces of energy in Frederick’s voice were gone. “Yes…”

                                    ~

A letter to Alice, two days after Orpheus’ visit:

     To a certain Ms. DeRoss,

     The following message has been designated to be seen by you from Her Luminosity, the Eternal Aurora. Please read all her words with the reverence they deserve:

     Greetings! Ms. DeRoss, it is a shame I have never been able to meet you in person. I must say, I have been following you since the beginning of your time with the Nightingale Company. Your writing is impeccable. 

     I was especially amazed at your first very piece about why my people murdered. It was fascinating to me.

     When news finally reached me regarding the infamous case of the ‘Naiad’, or rather, Grace Csonka, I couldn’t help but act. Unfortunately, those judges were later found to be corrupt and bribed after a private trial I held a few weeks ago in the Capital. Have you heard? Most likely not— I know word doesn’t quite spread from here to where you are.

     Anyway, I hope it pleases you to know that those unjust individuals have been executed in the same manner they chose to execute that innocent woman. I promptly had them shackled and drowned to the bottom of the sea. 

     But I write all of this to you not to boast or brag of such a victory for justice, but to personally invite you to the Capital for the purpose of holding a proper luminous vigil for the victim soul. The aforementioned success would not have occurred had I not been enlightened by your writings, especially on the ones about Grace and her true testimony all those weeks ago. 

     I have a feeling you’re rather curious as to why this invite is coming now rather than earlier. According to some reliable sources, you seem to be quite the timely woman.

     Well, dear Alice, I was waiting until we recovered poor Grace’s body, which has just been fully restored today (it was a bit mangled). While this may not be the most opportune time for a visit, it is certainly an important one. 

     I understand you yourself are going through some turbulent times: your court arraignment is in nineteen days! But this visit shouldn’t be long— three days at most. All accommodations will be provided should you choose to attend this vigil. I have invited some others who were close to the woman as well. They hope to see you there.

     Please respond as soon as possible! I’d like to get you and all others invited to the Capital in two days.

     All the brightness,

     Eternal Aurora

Chapter Text

     The letter. 

     That letter, that blasted letter, that cursed letter. 

     If only they had found the body sooner. If only there hadn’t even been just ‘a body’, but a soul in it as well.

     If only Grace Csonka was still alive.

     “I can’t possibly go,” Alice murmured to herself, reading through the letter in haste for the twelfth time that morning. “I can’t possibly go… I must solve this murder… I must get to the bottom of—“

     There was a knock at the door. Gentle.

     Alice flinched, snapping out of the kind of strange trance that washed over her as a few more knocks came at the door. 

     She slowly set the letter aside and stood up, walking up to the door. Although she felt no recollection of doing so when soon after, Orpheus was seated at her table just like he had been two days ago, running his mouth.

     “So you see… Eternal Aurora… sad death… more executions!… come to Capital…” were some of the words Alice (barely) managed to catch onto. 

     Eternal Aurora… the Capital… had Orpheus also been invited?

     “Mr. Orpheus, my apologies. I wasn’t quite paying attention. Did you also happen to get a letter from the Eternal Aurora this morning?”

     “Ah, yes, Alice. That was what I was just talking about, you see.”

     “Oh, I see.”

     “I wanted to check in with you as soon as possible to see if you were going,” Orpheus folded his gloved hands on her table and flashed her one of his classic bright smiles. 

     Alice’s mind blanked. 

     “…Alice?”

     Orpheus formed a particularly concerned expression that was only half genuine and tilted his head. Behind his look of pity were cold eyes observing her behavior.

     He had seen her more aware and alert at hours much earlier than this, if the Truffle Cake incident was anything to go off of. She was a strong listener— usually. So why now was she zoning out?

     ‘Perhaps she’s just having a bad morning,’ a gentle voice chirped in Orpheus’ mind. ‘It happens to the best of us, Orpheus!’

    ‘Oh, is that so? Then what could be keeping her so preoccupied? Certainly it's her little detective scheme! Somehow, just as we thought, she’s done and discovered our plot, Orpheus!’

     Well, in truth, both of Orpheus’ arguing voices were correct. It took Orpheus a moment to snap out of the debate.

     Either way, she was being rather suspicious. It was rather paranoid of him, for sure, but paranoia was better than naivety in Orpheus’ eyes (and only in Orpheus’ case. He hated dealing with the distrustful otherwise). (It was very boring. Or exasperating— like Norton when they first met.)

     “Alice?” he repeated. It had been two minutes now of her just staring somewhere past him with pursed lips, drumming her fingers over on the table. 

     No matter what, he had to make sure the plan the Eternal Aurora had cooked up would succeed: both in part because it benefited that little protégé project but also because it would hopefully get Alice’s mind off the murder.

     It would also isolate her from Frederick and Melly. Orpheus was no idiot— by now he figured that she probably somehow managed to get her hands on something akin to the truth of her public image or otherwise blabbered her mouth about her innocence further to them and was trying to get them to do something ludicrous. What ‘something ludicrous’? Orpheus couldn’t say. But he knew for a fact that if Alice had information, she did something with it.

     At least for now. Once she was safely delivered to the Capital (delivered was a bit strong of a word— Orpheus would be there too and go sightseeing. Although Alice certainly wouldn’t.) or more specifically, delivered into the hands of the Eternal Aurora’s more competent ‘doctors’ (they were one down after the mysteriously mysterious disappearance of Bourbon), Orpheus couldn’t say she would be the same ever again.

     But that was all right. He told them to be nice to her during the lab tests, when those eventually happened.

     Orpheus was sure looking forward to that whole mess being fixed and also to the joyous sightseeing that would happen! As long as Alice said yes.

     “I… I don’t know,” Alice mumbled after a while. 

     “And why’s that?” Orpheus questioned, keeping his tone just as light as usual. His eye twitched. 

     “The trouble with the case, Orpheus. How in the world am I supposed to celebrate justice when it is not even with me now?”

     What did she mean by that? Orpheus’ smile grew wider as he grit his teeth. “Well, Alice, I don’t mean to rain on your little justice parade, but you seem to be quite the overthinker. I understand: there’s a lack of closure what with the buzzing of the media and such, but I think the best thing for you to do would be to do distract yourself right now. You seem to be obsessed!”

     “And I am,” Alice nodded. Because she had to be. 

     “Well, come to the Capital and relax for a while. It’ll be fun! I’ll be there. I heard the matron at the jail will be there. And the warden, too.”

     “Go to the vigil for me,” Alice shook her head and closed her eyes. “I can’t possibly do it.”

     ‘What will it take for this woman to just go, Orpheus?!’ the previously upbeat voice in Orpheus’ head screamed at him. Orpheus mentally swatted away and said:

     “Why not, again? So be it— if you’re so hyperfocused on this case then you might as well make your statement before the Eternal Aurora herself, hm?”

     Alice leaned back and opened her eyes again. “Well, that sounds promising, but I doubt she’d take an audience with me. I’m there for a vigil, not to—“

     “Celebration of justice,” Orpheus blurted, saying the phrase with jazz hands.

     She gave him a look.

     “Oh, please. If the Eternal Aurora preaches on and on about justice then surely she will listen to the queen of it herself. Come and I promise you I will get you an audience with her to figure things out.”

     “Orpheus, you can’t just—“

     “But I can, Alice! I’m rich! And I have connections.”

     “…”

     “Don’t just look at me, Alice! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity— how else are you going to get things settled if not by going to the head of the whole luminous world?!”

     “I… I’ll think about it.”

     “Goodness gracious… so be it. Make sure to call me to tell me your answer as soon as possible.”

     “Is that all?” Alice watched him stand up from his chair and dust himself off, although Alice had already cleaned her room front to back a dozen times within the past few days. 

     “Yes.”

     If he hadn’t been so sudden she would have asked him about the camera situation and his true testimony… but she figured he was busy. “Goodbye, Orpheus.”

     “Goodbye, Alice.”

                                  ~

     Except it wasn’t quite goodbye, because ever so often, Orpheus would call her:

     “Hello, Alice! I’m at the Sangri Opera House right now. Do you want any autographs?”

     “Hello, Alice! I’m at the beach right now! The sand has been so vibrant lately! Do you want some glowshells?”

     “Hello, Alice! I’m at the market. Do you want some Aurora berries?”

     Never once did he bring up the letter from the Eternal Aurora. And yet, because of his constant calls, that invitation hung over her head like a very annoying cloud (and soon Orpheus would be on his way with Aurora berries). 

     Alice thought about going. She really did— it was lovely of the Eternal Aurora to hold a public vigil for Grace. It was amazing that justice —as brutal as it was— had been served. It was nice to know Alice would be there with Yidhra and Andrew, if she went.

     But the case was more pressing. The woman knew her priorities and didn’t want to gamble with Orpheus being able to get her audience with the Eternal Aurora or not. It sounded highly promising, but the woman just couldn’t fathom Orpheus —famous as he was— having that level of influence. 

     She wanted a second opinion. 

     Frederick was out for a concert in the Eastern district, so only Melly was able to make it around noontime. She had just left her insect enclosure and was still in proper research attire. 

     “What do you think?” Alice anxiously drummed her fingers over the table, after telling Melly about the letter and Orpheus’ visits and her own wishes.

     “Hm,” Melly hummed. “It would certainly make our efforts easier if you managed to convince the Eternal Aurora you were being defamed by Riley… and convinced her that the Officers needed to re-open the case, but it seems to be a hint risky. I don’t doubt Orpheus could get a visit with her, but you’d need to be very charismatic to convince the Eternal Aurora of something like that.”

     “Well, she seems fond of my writing…” Alice offered.

     “Would you want to do this?” the entomologist tilted her head. “I’m not one to impede on your options, Alice.”

     “I want to go… but not if it gets in the way of the investigation.”

     “Hm. A journalist at heart. Rest assured it will not if you choose to go. You’ll be in the Capital of all places, so you’ll be able to dial me anytime if you have any concerns or if you need me investigate anything else.”

     “But being here in person would make things more efficient, don’t you think?”

     “Well, it would certainly speed things up more if you could discuss things with the Eternal Aurora and get a firm resolution— if not, Frederick and I would simply pick up the slack.”

     “I never slack,” Alice frowned.

     “Which is why it wouldn’t necessarily be harmful for you to go. I’d say you should go with whatever option you think would benefit your situation the most. You’ll always be getting work done anyway, knowing you.”

     “And if I believe my best chances are in the Capital…?”

     “Then you should let the Eternal Aurora know as soon as possible,” Melly replied. “Once you’ve thought it through some more, of course. Don’t let time pressure you to make any sudden decisions.”

     “All right,” Alice nodded. 

     “Is there anything else on your mind?”

     “There always is.”

     “I figured,” Melly stood up.

     “Already leaving, Melly?” Alice rested her chin on her palm. 

     “Yes. I still have my work clothes on, after all,” Melly shrugged. And although Alice couldn’t see the woman’s face well at all, she felt unsatisfied with her answer.

     “And what else?” Alice questioned.

     “Frederick and I find your theory plausible. We’re planning to contact Orpheus soon,” Melly lowered her voice and pushed her chair in.

     “Well, you’d better be quick then,” Alice sighed. “As you know, he’ll be going to the Capital as well.”

     “Him and I plan to confront him tomorrow. Somehow we’ll break through that busy schedule of his.”

     The journalist’s eyes softened. “Is that all?”

     “Now it really is.”

     “Thank you again, Melly. I’m sorry if this interrupted any plans of yours.”

     “It didn’t. You’re always welcome, Alice.”

     “Goodbye.”

     “See you soon.”

Chapter Text

     “All of these berries are sweet. But only one of these berries,” Orpheus, wearing some new white gloves, began meticulously arranging several of the Aurora berries he got for Alice on a platter. “has a special mutation that gives it a nice little spice to it when you bite it.”

     All throughout his current visit the man still made no mention of the Eternal Aurora or the letter. It was slightly unsettling. How was she supposed to connect berries to the letter? Especially when he seemed so strangely passionate about them.

     “It could be any of these berries, you see,” as Orpheus spoke, his new record player resting on Alice’s floor, playing some opera music. There was some sand stuck to his neck. “I know they’re all very colorful. Quite mesmerizing, is it not?”

     “Of course,” Alice blinked. She hadn’t even understood half of what he said. What was he, a botanist?

     “Here, try one,” he handed one to her. She took it and popped it in her mouth.

     “Orpheus, I really appreciate your visits as of late,” she said after chewing on the berry— no spice. “I’ve thought more about the letter from the Eternal Aurora and…”

     She trailed off, trying to see if Orpheus would interrupt. He didn’t. Only after a while did he speak. 

     “And what?” he crooned. Purred, even. 

     “I think I will go. But only if you can guarantee me a visit to the Eternal Aurora.”      

     “That can be easily arranged,” Orpheus grinned. “Have you prepared your letter already?”

     “No, actually.”

     “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting…”

     “I will get to it after I eat these berries, Orpheus. No need to look so trigger happy.”

     “Trigger happy? Me? You must be mistaken.”

     Alice rolled her eyes and picked up another berry. “One step at a time.”

     “You’re one to talk, Miss Crime Investigator.”

     “Oh, please. More eating and less talking.” 

     Orpheus sighed lightheartedly and obeyed. He dramatically consumed his share of the fruit and watched her do the same for a while until he spoke once more.

     “What are you looking forward to the most?” Orpheus asked after most of the fruit was gone. It was a generic question, and he knew it, but he was admittedly curious.

      “My talk with the Eternal Aurora that I’m sure you will graciously provide for, Orpheus,” Alice cheekily answered. “But aside from that, it would be the vigil itself.”

     “Figures. It’s wonderful that your friend now has some closure, hm?”

     “Friend…? That’s quite strong of a word. But you’re right. It's a very great thing in this world. She can’t be the only one who’ll start getting closure now.”

     “How right you are! Certainly you’ll get your share of closure too, Alice.” 

     “That would be very nice, that’s for sure,” she ate the final berry— a nice spicy tang in its aftertaste. “So thank you for your help.”

     “The pleasure is mine. The pleasure certainly is mine.”

     He eyed his now empty basket that once held the berries. “Ah, you’re all set now, Alice?”

     “Yes. Thanks again for the berries,” Alice smiled.

     “Of course, of course. Now I’m afraid I must get going…”

     Alice watched him stand up and dust himself off before taking his tiny basket into one hand. He adjusted his jabot and then turned away.

     As he did, she wondered what that confrontation between him and Frederick and Melly would look like.

                                               ~

     Except —and the word has been appearing a while now— there was no confrontation to be had. Not yet, at least.

    “Orpheus?” Melly had called the man for the umpteenth time on all numbers. Office, home, even his old number reserved for partying invites. 

     “What, has he suddenly gone missing? Is he stuck on the toilet or something?” Frederick grumbled. And to think he had prepared such a beautiful speech against that sneaky little man…

     “Perhaps he’s watching another opera,” Melly sighed, hanging up her phone. The two were in her room, failing to get a hold of Orpheus at all. By now they thought he was bound to be in his home, but perhaps he was more of a party animal than they thought.

     (Or perhaps he was simply ignoring the phone to focus on some other projects: namely, preparing for the Capital. He didn’t take calls before vacations. Or when plotting with the Eternal Aurora. And especially not during both.)

     “Call Joseph,” Frederick ordered Melly.

     Melly called Joseph.

     “Bonsoir! You’re calling Joseph Desaulniers. Who is this?” Joseph immediately picked up, unlike some other rich man.

     “Joseph, it's Melly. Where is Orpheus right now?”

     “Not calling to gossip? Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Joseph clicked his tongue. 

     “I don’t gossip—“

     “I jest. Didn’t he tell you about his little trip to the Capital? If I had to guess, he’s probably packing right this instant. At his house.”

     “Packing?” Melly suddenly recalled Alice’s words from earlier. “Does he not answer calls when he’s packing? Mr. Desaulniers, does it take this man two whole hours to pack for a simple three day vacation?”

     Frederick, upon catching onto her words, immediately sighed in frustration.

     “Of course not. I know he seems so careless and all but when it comes to vacations? He does everything, ma cherie. Various checklists, triple checking— it's simply wondrous how meticulous he gets with it,” Joseph answered. 

     “Thank you Joseph,” Melly adjusted the phone. She looked to Frederick, who gestured for her to end the call, moving his hand over his neck

     “When did you become the boss, composer boy?” she mouthed to him before telling Joseph she appreciated his help. She promptly slammed the phone onto its base.

     Frederick raised his hands defensively. “Be my guest and make the next move then, Melly.”

     “By the look in your eyes I can tell you’re ready to bust down that man’s door.”

     “Please hold me back no longer.”

     “Remember: we are doing this to interrogate the man, not murder him. Don’t  think either of us have forgotten your… vitriol towards him, Frederick.”

     “I’m not trigger happy.”

     “That’s something both you and him have in common,” Melly rolled her eyes behind her veil. Frederick caught onto her sarcasm regardless.

     “Whatever. Shouldn’t we get going? Less idling and more action, Plinius!” he chided, with a pink face.

     “Of course, dear Frederick…”

                                                                       ~

     “You don’t even know how to break down a door, do you, Frederick?” Melly folded her arms as Frederick stood in front of Orpheus’ shockingly modest house, looking at the front door with a purely blank face. 

     “…You can’t even say the same,” he clicked his tongue, his eyes drifting to a window.

     “What’s so attractive about that window, hm?” Melly followed his gaze. He stared at the window— a window large enough to let slip even an adult male if pried open somehow— and then, after slowly blinking, he said:

     “I can open it.”

     “…Excuse me?”

     Frederick placed his palms on the window. He applied pressure. It appeared as if he was trying to move it up and down.

     “Are you serious…” Melly muttered under her breath when, after a few moments, the window began shaking. 

     He did this for a few more minutes with Melly watching in utter bewilderment until the window’s latch lock eventually gave out. Frederick slid the window to the side and, without looking back, vaulted in.

    Only after vaulting did he turn to Melly and gesture for her to enter, as if he just remembered she was there.

     “Remind me how you know how to do that?” she hesitantly slipped through the window and shut it behind her, locking it once more.

     “I often tend to accidentally leave my sheet music behind in my concert halls,” was all Frederick said before making the trek up Orpheus’ spiral staircase.

     “Carpeted,” Frederick wrinkled his nose. “Tacky and disgusting.”

     Melly said nothing. She observed in bewilderment as Frederick went through Orpheus’ home as he owned the place and knew it like the back of his hand. Which, Melly realized once Frederick knocked on Orpheus’ door, the composer did, because how else would he be able to plan a murder in Orpheus’ home without knowing Orpheus’ home?

     What a character.

     The duo waited until the door slowly creaked open about a half inch.

    “Frederick, Melly,” Orpheus’ voice was unusually quiet, as if he were merely observing them rather than greeting them. He only revealed a portion of his face. Hair fell between his eyes. “Please, help yourselves to the lasagna in the icebox.”

     Then he tried to shut the door. 

     “We need to talk,” Frederick threw his foot in between the door. Melly promptly nudged Frederick out of the way. 

    “Orpheus, can you spare us a moment?” Melly, attempting to be somewhat cordial after breaking into a man’s house, calmly asked.

     “…I’m changing,” Orpheus used the bunny slipper on his foot to force Frederick’s shoe out of the door. “Certainly you two can have some patience and wait downstairs? With the lasagna?”

    “If you insist,” Melly gently closed the door. Then she turned to where used to be and blinked. He was gone.

     “His food isn’t even that great,” Frederick grumbled, already halfway down the stairs. 

     Melly sighed to herself and followed after. She wasn’t about to try Orpheus’ food either, especially not with this temper from Frederick. At this rate, he’d probably cover his ears and shut his eyes and hum calming songs to himself if she was even eating it.

    When she caught up to him, he was in the kitchen, eyeing the dining table with a strangely fierce glare. He drummed his fingers on the glass to the tune of the waltz he was quietly humming.

    “I can’t stand that man,” Frederick wrinkled his nose.

    “You seem to hate him more than usual,” Melly noted as she sat across from him.

    “You know what?” Frederick hissed, his teeth gritted. “He probably killed Norton anyhow.”

     “Won’t you give the man due process?”

     “Due process is a lie,” Frederick rolled his eyes.

     “Just be patient, good grief,” Melly chided. 

     “…Of course I will.”

     He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

     “I wish he was dead, Melly.”

     “Oh, I’m quite aware.”

     “If Norton didn’t die…”

     “Please stop talking about that right now. He has cameras. And you need to speak to this with a psychologist, not me.”

     “…Okay.”

     Soon enough, Orpheus came down in a suit.

     Frederick rolled his eyes. Melly remained silent.

     “So, friends,” there was an edge to Orpheus’ tone. “What’s the matter this time?”

     He stiffly took a seat between the duo. 

     “You lied about your testimony,” Melly said just as Frederick declared:

     “You’ve messed up this time, Mr. Orpheus.”

     Orpheus stifled a chuckle. “One at a time! One at a time. I wasn’t aware you two were so eager to talk with me.”

     He looked at both of them. “But please, make it quick. If you weren’t aware, I’m going to the Capital the day after tomorrow with Alice.”

     “You lied about your testimony,” Melly repeated. “You were seen re-entering the building on the security cameras and you apparently never left the building after that.”

     “What else did the cameras show you? Are you sure there was no missing footage?” Orpheus responded.

     “I’m sure of it,” Frederick answered with furrowed brows. 

     “Are you accusing me of staying in the building in order to murder Norton, you two? Is this what this is?”

     “Essentially,” Melly nodded. Frederick nodded as well with a large scowl on his face. He had a pen and notepad in his hands in an Alice-esque fashion.

     “I was having a bit of a ‘sleepover’ with someone living on the second floor,” Orpheus lied.

     “Who? And what room?” Frederick questioned. 

     “206,” Orpheus answered— which matched the room he left as far as Frederick and Melly were concerned. “The resident is a friend of mine, Alva Lorenz.”

     “Why were you having a sleepover with him?” Melly asked. 

     “I drank quite a bit with him when I visited. He has all these wines he doesn’t bother drinking per his faith, and well… I wanted to try them,” Orpheus shrugged. “He gets rid of the unholy items, I drink to my heart's content. An excellent deal.”

     “So you got drunk,” Frederick scoffed.

     “Yes. And since Mr. Lorenz is such a caring man, he ordered me to stay with him for the night lest I get into a car accident with how drunk I was.”

     “So why did you leave the room?” Melly asked.

     “He told me not to use his bathroom when I needed to defecate.”

     “You had an awfully pleased face when you needed to go defe—“ Frederick began, only for Melly to intervene.

     “What happened after?”

     “I went back into his room after using a bathroom and stayed the night.”

     Frederick observed the notes he’d taken on his notepad. “Mr. Orpheus, what time did you leave the building the next day?”

     “Around five. Early in the morning, I don’t quite remember. Somehow I was able to walk home.”

     “Alright,” Frederick blew on the page to let some ink dry and then stowed away his items. He turned to Melly. “Any other questions?”

     “No,” Melly answered. She faced Orpheus. “Thank you for your time.”

     “Thank you for not laughing at that rather embarrassing story,” Orpheus sheepishly muttered. He was a good actor— maybe it was from all the operas and plays. Either way, he was able to watch without issue as Melly and Frederick left out the front door.

     He triple-locked it behind them.

Chapter Text

      That evening, after some food and casual chatter: 

     “He’s guilty!”

     “He’s got another alibi.”

     Frederick and Melly looked at each other with obvious disappointment, and then looked at Alice expectantly.

     “How is he guilty and what is this new alibi?” the actual journalist folded her arms, staring at the both of them with the look of a mother watching children squabble. (She was, in reality, trying to emanate Melly, who always seemed to be a witness to the squabbles of Oletus.) 

     “You go first,” Frederick gestured to Melly.

     “Oh, how polite of you,” Melly flatly thanked him, although it seemed genuine enough for Frederick to let it pass. “Orpheus suggests that he actually had a sleepover with his pious friend Alva Lorenz because of a hangover.”

     “And him leaving the room?”

     “The need to defecate,” Frederick snarled.

     “This Lorenz doesn’t let his own guest defecate in his bathroom…?” Alice quietly muttered.

     “Perhaps he knows Orpheus in that regard better than we do,” Melly concluded, trying to steer the conversation back to its main focus. “Anywho, Orpheus left to use another bathroom and apparently stayed the night.”

     “What do you think our next course of action is, everyone?” Alice rested her chin on her hands, her elbows propped on the table. It was eerily Orpheus-like. 

     “We’re going to visit Mr. Lorenz and interrogate him, aren’t we, Alice?” Frederick sighed. “I’m sure you’ll be there in spirit.”

     “I will,” Alice nodded. 

     “Oh. Here’s my notes from that Orpheus interrogation, by the way,” Frederick shuffled through his pockets and placed his notepad on the table before slowly pushing it towards her with the tip of his finger. 

     “Thank you,” Alice took it into both hands and skimmed it. “Your handwriting is much more elegant than mine.”

     “Oh, I’m fully aware.”

     Melly shot Frederick a look.

     Frederick simply watched as Alice continued reading through the notes until she returned it to him in the same fashion. Except she did so much more slowly.

     “You’re welcome,” Frederick said, putting the notepad back into his pocket. “Your thoughts?”

     “If he’s lying, he’s an excellent storyteller,” Alice answered. “But please, check with Alva for me, you two.”

     “Of course,” the duo answered. 

     “Anything for you, Alice,” Frederick murmured, reclining slightly in his chair. Then he raised his voice and met her eyes. “Anywho, I’m of the opinion that Orpheus is guilty of killing Norton.”

     “Go on,” Alice prompted.

     “I may be biased, but it's like you said: he’s an excellent storyteller. Suppose we go to 206 and then it's revealed Orpheus fled the country the next day?”

     “Uh, he’s going to the Capital. I’ll see him there,” Alice raised an eyebrow. “But still, I’ll indulge you.”

    “Everything seems too perfect with this man,” Frederick wrinkled his nose. “Even when I first met him, he had a reason for everything: why he was late, why my salary was cut for a year, why he showed up with a fresh new piano for me to try out. It's extremely suspicious.”

     “Mhm.”

     “I understand that, IF this new testimony is real, he probably hid it from us to not embarrass himself. But to be frank? No one would be surprised if Orpheus got himself dead drunk. Not even himself. He’s usually shameless.”

      “Maybe not to Alice,” Melly countered.

     “Maybe,” Frederick hummed, then looked at Alice. “Considering how he seems to impress you at every turn.”

     Alice raised her hands defensively. “I didn’t ask for him to do that.”

     “We’re full aware,” Frederick replied. “Still… humor me: this testimony is a cop-out. Perhaps we’ll visit Mr. Lorenz tomorrow and he’ll have been bribed by Orpheus. Perhaps, instead of getting drunk and whatever else he said about himself that night, Orpheus had that sleepover with Norton and then killed him on accident, as per your theory.”

     “But why?” Alice sighed. “Why a… a sleepover?”

     “Orpheus is juvenile,” Frederick murmured. “Aurora knows what goes on in that man’s head— I sure don’t. He’s a madman.”

    “You said the same of me once,” Alice murmured back.

     “Oh, quiet now, you journalist. Perhaps Orpheus didn’t even want a sleepover— maybe he just wanted to visit Norton since he shuts himself up in his room whenever he’s off.”

     “If I may humor you as well, Alice,” Melly said, after Frederick went quiet and a few beats passed. “Imagine Orpheus wants to bring some of these wines to Norton and instead of getting drunk in Lorenz’s room, he gets drunk there with Norton. That could explain the intoxication.”

     “But he wasn’t seen with any wine in the footage,” Alice put a hand to her chin. “Was he?”

     “No. But he had an awfully pleased look on his face,” Frederick recalled.

     “Hm,” Melly paused for a moment. Frederick, a hint surprised by her words against Orpheus, shut his mouth as she continued. “Humor me more: Orpheus decides that he wants more wine and Lorenz is unable—or unwilling— to stop him from going to Norton’s room. Then, cue the accident once both men are drunk.”

     “That’s… somehow rather convincing,” Alice remarked with a hint of surprise. “But again, let’s see what Mr. Lorenz has to say first.”

     “Good deduction, Miss Due Process,” Frederick muttered under his breath, side-eyeing Melly.

     “You’re welcome, Frederick,” the entomologist replied. 

     Melly’s eyes then shifted to the clock on the wall. “Ah… it's  been an  hour. We ought to get going.”

     A quiet enveloped the trio. Only one more of these little sessions until Alice would be gone for three days. 

     A lot could change in a single day. How much more in three?

     “Thank you,” Alice said, as she always did. “I will thank you two even more when this is all over.”

                                        ~

    It was a surprise when, the very next morning, someone unfamiliar was at Alice’s door.

     Not many visitors, even when Alice was even allowed to have visitors, made the trek up to the fifth floor. Many had been afraid of the famed Norton Campbell and most weren’t interested enough in a journalist to interview her personally. But this one was a little more than a curious Oletus resident.

     “Lustre Guard! Please open up!”

     As Alice stared through the peephole, she saw a man in typical Auroric armor: the bright cream colored suit with several glowing medals; the golden headpiece, a figure in the shape of a sun with its spiky rays masking his upper face… this one even had a cape on.      

     She had only seen such an outfit in newspapers. Such kinds of people belonged to the Capital. 

     Alice quickly opened the door. “Ah, good morning… sir.”

     The man eyed her up and down with an almost sardonic smile. “Richard Sterling at your service, madam. I apologize for interrupting your rest.”

    Alice’s eye twitched. His outfit was particularly eye-burning as the white hallway light shone on his figure.  At the very least the man had a soothing voice. “All is well. May I ask why you’re here at —what time is it— six in the morning?”

    “The Eternal Aurora sent me,” he answered. He seemed a hint smug about it, which only served to make Alice a hint grumpier. She stared at his concealed eyes. 

     He stared back as she spoke. 

    “To do what? I am leaving tomorrow, if she didn’t get my letter. It’d be unfortunate for you to make the four hour ride here for no reason.”  

     “Oh, no, she got your letter.”

     “So you’re here because?”

     “My, you really are a journalist! Although I indeed must explain myself,” he brushed away a loose strand of silky gray-black hair. “Due to security reasons, the Eternal Aurora, in her goodwill, has sent some of her enforcers to guard you, erm, District visitors until her carriages come to pick you all up tomorrow.”

    “…Carriages?” Alice blinked.

     “Yes, her state of the art new ones. I’m unsurprised you don’t understand.”

     Alice frowned. She had half a mind to slam the door in his face. 

     “Oh dear, pardon my language. Did I offend you?” a sickening smirk appeared on the handsome man’s face. 

     “Enjoy your stay outside,” Alice shot him a flat smile before attempting to close the door. But unfortunately, he stuck his baton in the way. 

     Alice hissed under her breath as she opened the door to reveal his face once more. 

     “Why, you don’t have a… guest room for me to reside in?” Richard said after a few moments of the strangers staring uncomfortably at each other. 

     “This is an apartment room, sir.”

     “Richard Sterling.”

     “Mister Sirling, If you want a place to stay, you can pay the fee upfront with our clerk.”

     “…Okay.” 

     Alice thought he heard his stomach rumble. Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion at his statement. “Did the Eternal Aurora not tell you that?”      

     “In the Capital it's the duty of the people to provide a place for the Guard to stay,” Richard put a finger to his cheek and sighed, not daring to scratch his radiant and pale skin. Alice was simply astonished at him. 

     “Oh,” Alice blinked again. 

     “But alas, payment where payment is due,” Richard masked his annoyance with a polite smile. “Please do not die while I go to find a room for myself or else the Eternal Aurora will have my head.”

     “Oh, yes, of course,” Alice nodded, before slowly closing the door once more.

     What was with her and eccentric men visiting her at early hours of the morning? Even worse: it was a Capital man! Alice thought all the rumors of their beauty were unfounded! 

     The woman sighed and went to change out of her nightclothes. Even if that Sterling were to go get himself a room, she was already awake! Trying to go back to sleep would be futile now. 

     After she changed into her typical professional attire, she sat at her desk and pulled out one of Orpheus’ novels that he had gifted her. But she couldn’t get any sort of reading in before another knock came again.

    “Lustre Guard! Please open up!”

    “Good grief,” Alice shut the book rather aggressively and trudged towards the door. She took a deep breath before being met with the agonizingly blinding sight of Richard once more. Except now, he had a nice little silver key in his hands, identical to the one every resident had here. 

     “Room 502… that’s not the place where that actor died, right?” Richard, fortunately for the two of them, cut straight to the point. She thought she heard his stomach rumble. 

     “Oh, no. I…found his body there, actually.”

     Richard stiffened slightly and curled his fingers. He took a hesitant step back as if Alice would declare she found his body next. 

     “Oh, I see,” he immediately tried to mask these actions by flicking away some stray hair, adjusting his posture to appear taller. 

     “Go on,” Alice prompted, gesturing to the room next door. She felt she was being a little too blunt with the man, but it was too early in the morning and she had to get her final conclusions about theories and evidence before her final evening meeting with Frederick and Melly. She also couldn’t afford to think about that room or the memories it held within it right now. 

     She couldn’t afford that at all. 

     “They’ve cleaned up that room in whole, yes, Miss? I’ve heard it was a particularly gruesome murder.”

     “It was.”

     “The cleaners here in the Districts do their job well, wouldn’t you say…?”

     “I think you should do some investigative journalism and find out.”

     “…Oh, well, perhaps I should just stand guard at your door. What with your lovely change of clothing and my armor, I doubt either of us will be able to sleep comfortably.”

     “Okay.”

     Richard then closed the door on her with a polite smile still lingering on his face.

     Alice frowned and went back to reading.

                                                                   ~

     At eight in the morning, Melly and Frederick went to visit room 206. 

     “Did you sleep?” Frederick quietly asked as the duo crept down the stairs. 

     “Barely.”

     “Neither did I,” Frederick sighed. 

     “You ought to get more rest, Frederick. You know your tour is in a month.”

     “Ah, where I just pretty  sit in front of a piano and simply do what I do best? I could do it even if I was dead.”

     “You ought to pray that murderer won’t come for us next, Frederick.”

     “Oh, please. If it was an accident like we’ve been theorizing, there won’t be a murderer next time.”

     “204, 205… 206 is here. Frederick, where are you going?”

     “Ah,” Frederick, who had mindlessly wandered ahead, slowly retraced his steps back towards Melly. “Forgive me. It was the lack of sleep.”

     Melly shot him a blank look and then knocked on Alva Lorenz’s door. 

     The man answered promptly. The duo could see his eye through the peephole. 

     “Greetings. May I ask what your business is, doing here?” the man, who had a rather gentle voice, inquired. 

     “Hello, Mr. Lorenz. My name is Melly Plinius, an entomologist. I live here with Frederick Kreiburg—“

     “Oh, my apologies. I know full well who you two are from Orpheus. He’s a friend of mine.”

     “We’re aware,” Frederick stepped towards the peephole, folding his arms.

     “May I ask why you two are here right now?”

     Melly shoved her hand in front of Frederick’s face before speaking. “We would like to have a nice chat with you about Orpheus’ visit recently—“

     “To get to know you better,” Frederick lowered the woman’s hand. 

     “Hm, I see. Do come on in, I have some tea prepared that you both can help yourself to,” Alva opened the door.

    The two slid inside and Alva promptly closed the door behind them.

     “You said you wanted to get to know me better?” said the man in front of the door, peering down at them. His room was dim, with only warm candles perched on things around the room to brighten it. 

     Melly was already on her way to his kitchen area. Frederick's eyes could only register the tall, eerie man looming over him with a peculiar staff in his hand. 

     “Yes,” Frederick fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. “Yes, indeed.”

     “Come, join me at the table. What is it you’d like to know?”

     Frederick ignored the eyes of what seemed to be statues of cats around the room. They were also perched, right beside the candles. They all had sickly, deep yellow eyes.

     “A pious man, huh,” Frederick grumbled under his breath. He had believed this Lorenz to be an Aurora worshipper, not some strange cultist. His eyes flicked back up to Alva, who sat at the head of a small rectangular glass table as Melly observed the tea kettle. 

     “Mr. Lorenz, Orpheus is certainly a friend we both have. How would you describe his visit with you some time ago?”

     “It was quite pleasurable,” Lorenz answered. “He came in and, after some casual small talk and catching up, he asked me about my inventions.”

     “Inventions?” Frederick raised an eyebrow. Such a reaction made Alva smile. 

     “Yes. I am an inventor. I was discussing with him the possibilities of a perpetual motion machine— the theories behind it, the probabilities and calculations needed to make such an invention, and even the very face behind such a controversial piece of technology that has yet to exist.”

     “You mean that arrested rebel Luca Balsa?” Frederick asked as Melly headed over to the table with a teacup in each hand.

     “Stay focused,” she whispered in his ear as she placed the cup in front of him. “…I added your honey.”

     “Thank you,” Frederick whispered. 

     “Yes, Luca Balsa. And a pleasure to have you join us, Ms. Plinius,” Alva dipped his head to the entomologist. “His notoriety with that mechanic Reznik has led to discussions regarding the invention to cease.”

     “Unfortunate,” Melly remarked, briefly glancing at one of the many cat and candle duos around the room. “Was Orpheus looking to reopen such discussions?”

     “He considered it, but as we all know, his work is rooted in his pen. He feared he would be overwhelmed at the mere prospect of having to discuss mathematical calculations.”

     “Did he say anything about wine?” Frederick asked. 

     “Oh, yes, a lot about it. He said he was in hot pursuit of some delectable red wine that night. A lot of it.”

     “Red wine?” Melly hummed, glancing knowingly toward Frederick. “I… had a friend who enjoyed red wine as well.”

     Frederick scribbled Alva’s words on his notepad. “What else did he say about wine? Or what did you say about it?”

     “I said he could have all of my wine— due to my current faith it is impermissible for me to consume large quantities of it, yet my old life was full of revelry.”

     “Did he drink a lot of wine in your presence?” Melly tilted her head. “Excuse me if this question sounds odd— I’m just hoping that Orpheus would know better than to down it all in a night.”

     “He had, mm, quite a bit of wine in my presence. It was… concerning, to say the least.” Alva seemed bashful to even say those words. He scratched at the bandages on his neck. 

     “Enough to declare him impaired?” Frederick reviewed his notes from the Orpheus interview with disgust. 

     “I would say so,” Alva sighed, folding his arms. 

     “So what did you do afterward?”

     “I invited him to stay the night with me. I tried to reason with him that it was dangerous for him to drive or walk home in such a sorry state.”

     “And he…?”

     “He laughed at me.”

     “Did he go use the bathroom afterwards?” Melly hesitantly asked. 

     “No, but I did tell him that if he ever needed to do some bodily business, he was free to go to a bathroom anywhere else but mine.”

     “Did he stay the night with you, though?” Frederick clicked his pen.

     “No. He left after laughing at me and said he’d let me do my ‘ripoff Vespers’ in peace.”

     Frederick gritted his teeth, his expression hardening as he scribbled some words onto his notepad. Melly decided to take the lead after seeing the man glare at her before scribbling some more.

     “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Lorenz,” Melly shook her head. “Sometimes the man makes irresponsible decisions that are no one’s fault but his. Did he tell you where he was going once he left?”

     “No.”

     “Mm, I see.”

     “Do you have any other questions? I can tell you two are a rather curious duo, for certain. A composer and an entomologist… I’d never have thought you two to be interested in something like journalism.”

     At his words, Frederick perked up. 

     The ghost of a smile formed on his lips. And then, with the other two watching, he told him:

     “You’d be surprised.”

                                           ~ 

     “Hey… Mr. Sterling?”

     Alice opened her door at the same time Alva opened his, for an entirely different reason than his as well.

     Richard Sterling was faithfully keeping watch by strolling down the hallway almost mindlessly, more focused on polishing his already glimmering baton than on guarding the door.

     Thankfully, he had paused right in front of it. 

     “Yes?” he immediately stood in formation, raising a hand to his forehead with his napkin conveniently hidden behind his back.

     “Did you have breakfast yet?”

     “…Of course I did,” the man had to actively think of words to say. Who even asked such a thing? “The Eternal Aurora, our blessed provider, provided for our food while we were traveling.”

     “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

     “No,” his mouth twitched. Alice found the lack of his smirk satisfying.

     “I made some pancakes.”

     “Okay? In the Capital we eat bisque for breakfast.”

     “Suit yourself then. How unfortunate for me to have to consume all of it myself… I was even planning on drawing out some Aurora berries delivered to me last night with the addition of Lucky’s Whipped Cream.”

     “S-Suit yourself indeed,” Richard scoffed and raised his hand. “I don’t even know who Lucky is.”

     “You know… it must be painfully hot for you out there with all that armor, Mr. Sterling. My room has beautiful air conditioning.”

     “A Guard bears all trials faithfully. And the whole building has air conditioning, Miss.”

     “But they don’t have a toilet as nice as mine, do they?”

     “You’re embarrassing yourself. I already have my own room.“

     “You’re afraid it will be dirty. Blood-stained, even. Just use my bathroom instead.”

     “What if I don’t need to use the bathroom?”

     “You will have to at some point. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

     “So you are hospitable after all, hm?” Richard smiled and brushed past the woman, heading into her room. 

     “The bathroom is to your left,” Alice whispered behind him as he stood, simply surveying the room.

     “Mhm,” Richard surveyed some more before turning on his heel to go use the bathroom. 

     Alice prepared him a serving of pancakes with a nice number of berries and portion whipped cream on top.

     When he came back, she was already seated at the table. It looked as organized as ever— Alice made sure to once again hide all the latest newspapers that were cluttering the table. Now they were a pile on her bed.

     “Pancakes,” Richard mumbled under his breath as he fidgeted with his hair for the thousandth time. 

     “Delicious,” Alice smirked at him as she watched him inspect his knife.

     “If only you offered this to me when I first arrived,” he snarkily replied, elegantly cutting his pancakes into equal shapes. 

     “The pancakes weren’t ready then,” Alice countered, cutting her own pancakes however she pleased before stuffing one in her mouth. 

     A curious part of her—really, what part of her wasn’t curious— wanted to know more about this strange Capital man. He had obviously heard of Norton’s death, given how famous he was. Was that all he knew?

     How much information was allowed to go through the Capital? What was it even like there?

     She decided to just ask.

     “Mr. Sterling, could you tell me more about your life in the Capital? Seeing as I’m going to be there tomorrow, after all.”

      Richard thought about an answer as he chewed and then looked at her. “It’s very bright.”

     “Just like you,” Alice muttered.

     “Excuse me?”

     “Tell me a little more about… your day-to-day business.”

     “Of course,” Richard added some more whipped cream to his plate. “Each day varies due to the unique duties we are all summoned to do.”

     Alice grit her teeth but kept her face blank otherwise. “Do you have a skincare routine?”

     “Yes! Naturally.”

     “Could you share it with me?”

     “Just go into a Capital pharmacy and you’ll be fine.”

     “You seem to adore the Capital to the point where you have nothing to say about it.”

     “Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil any of it for you. And mind yourself: I’m eating. I don’t speak when I chew—”

     “How did you get hired?”

     “Confidential! But my family has worked with the Aurora since she came into power.”

     “The Sterling’s…”

     “Yes?” he eyed her.

     “I’ve never heard of that name until now.”

     “Just as I’ve never heard of yours until the Eternal Aurora brought it up, Miss.”

     “Why do you think there’s such a disconnect between the Capital and these Districts, Richard?”

     “First name basis already, hm? Well, perhaps it's because the Capital doesn’t need to know about whatever goes on here.”

     “Why?” there was an edge to her tone. 

     “It’s beneath them, you could say. Why should we care about what goes on here when we’re very much already cared for somewhere else? The Aurora rules over you people as well— if there’s any issues she’d be the first one to figure it out.”

     “Well, it's good to want to know how other places in the world are doing.”

     “And why? Most of the world is in shambles. What, do you want to kill morale, dear journalist?”

     “If you know where the world is in shambles, you know the first place to help. How is that ‘killing morale’? You could be saving lives,” Alice retorted. “The Eternal Aurora is just one person: imagine how many issues she has to solve alone if no one else is willing to care about them? Then the world would really fall into shambles!”

     At her reaction, Richard tilted his head as the tiniest grin appeared on his lips. “You speak as though she’s a merely frail human being.”

     “What, do we live solely to be pampered?” Alice scoffed, biting back a harsh laugh. 

     “Who can say? But you seem awfully invested in the topic. It's quite amusing. Adorable, even.”

     “Why don’t you quiet down and finish your food?” Alice hissed. A strange half-smile formed on the journalist’s irritated face as she gestured to what little remained of Richard’s food. Her plate still had half a serving left on it. 

     “I could say the same thing to you, Miss Alice,” Richard smiled back. Brightly.  

Chapter Text

     “That liar,” Frederick fumed, staring at his gloves with such disgust that they might as well have been Orpheus himself. “That utter shell of a man! Oh, Melly, Melly, Melly, when I get my hands on that--”

     “No murdering, Frederick,” Melly ordered. She had also ordered him to stay with her in her room lest Frederick go back to reorganizing his murdering plans. She had only been partially joking. 

     “I will tell Alice and she will have his head on a fine, lawful and orderly platter!” Frederick spat. Piles of sheet music surrounded his chair. He remained seated at the dinner table even though it’d been half an hour since the duo had eaten. 

     “I don’t doubt that,” Melly, who sat across from him, simply took a sip of her honeyed tea. 

     Frederick groaned, grumbled, sighed, whipped out his pen to write some more music, and then groaned again. Melly tried to peek at what he was composing now. 

     “Stop looking at me. I can’t compose when people are looking at me,” Frederick grumbled. And then he moved his pen again. 

     Melly could barely make out the notes he was drawing. She took another glance a few moments later, when Frederick was in his own musical world humming a particularly menacing melody of strange notes and the occasional satisfied lip smack. 

     Sometimes Melly wondered how the duo were even friends. 

     “It's almost time, Frederick,” Melly said after a few more minutes of Frederick frantically scribbling on the page of sheet music. His humming had grown louder. He was smiling like a madman, with an occasional cackle to boot. She heard his foot tapping in 24/16th time. Or had Frederick discarded the idea of a time signature entirely? 

     Once Frederick’s mind actually understood what the woman was saying to him, he froze and rapidly straightened up, staring at her face with a ghastly expression. If Melly believed in demons she would have thought the man to be possessed. 

     Frederick blinked. Stiffly. And then he blinked some more, until his rigid expression gave way to something more human. 

     “Right, yes,” his eyes softened and he quickly crumpled up the paper he had just been working on, stuffing it into some pocket. He shoved the pen in there too and adjusted his garnet coat. He then stood up and pushed his chair in, heading towards the door. 

     Melly frowned. She remained at his chair and then gestured to something. “The sheet music, Frederick. I am not cleaning that up.”

     “We have a meeting to get to,” Frederick calmly replied. “I will simply clean it up later.”

     He opened the door and dipped his head, continuing. “Patience, dear Melly, is a virtue.”

     Sometimes Melly wondered how Frederick Kreiburg was even real. (She also wondered how to get a man like him to therapy.) 

     And so the duo headed upstairs, thinking that Alice would be alone. It was only natural, of course, because the woman technically wasn’t allowed to have guests. 

     “So… who is that?” Frederick whispered, partly terrified, partly shocked, at the gleaming, glittering, glowing man keeping guard at Alice’s door. Or rather, shielding the whole door with the weight of his body. Like he was guarding those on the outside instead.

     Regardless, he was the first thing either of them could see the moment they reached the landing.

     “We must be hallucinating,” Melly immediately concluded. 

     “Alva Lorenz… he must have spiked our tea,” Frederick squinted as he slowly made his way towards the room, Melly shielding her eyes. “Never trust cultists, Plinius.”

     As they got closer, they heard pounding on Alice’s door. Muffled. From… the inside?

     “What the quintuplet?” Frederick muttered under his breath.

     Suddenly, the glimmery being turned its head towards them. 

     It raised its baton while its other hand remained on the door. 

     “Who goes there--” it began, only for it to be overshadowed by a familiar voice shouting:

     “RICHARD STERLING! I will break this door down if you do not open it in the next five seconds. I. —Bang!— Am. —Bang!— Waiting!”

     More pounding.

     Melly’s face paled. Frederick released a horrified gasp.

     The two glanced at each other.

     “You take him,” they commanded each other at the same time. 

     “No,” Melly pushed Frederick in front of her. The composer stumbled forward and crashed into The Richard as Melly knocked on the door. 

     “Alice! Alice, it's me, Melly. Are you okay? Who is this ‘Richard’?”

     Frederick raised his tuning fork slowly, menacingly. The Richard flinched and tried to dust himself off. He strained his neck towards the door as Alice’s voice filtered through it. 

     “Oh, Melly! Um, he’s, uh, a part of the Lustre Guard from the Eternal Aurora and…”

     Frederick realized the scary captor named ‘Richard’ was distracted as Alice continued speaking through the door. 

     An evil grin formed on Frederick’s face as waves of music flowed through his head, louder than it had been when he was climbing up the stairs.

     Frederick mustered the adrenaline and what little strength he had in himself as he stared at the lost-looking man. 

     “And what, Alice? Frederick’s dealing with him right now. You must tell us! Did he lay a hand on you--?!”

     “No! No! We had just gotten into an argument about Orpheus’ suggestions and--”

     Bam!

     “Melly!” Alice cried from inside. “What in the world was that!”

     Alice pressed her ear to the door as she heard some incoherent yet loud noises. She strained herself further and made out some words. Sentences, really. Very, very, strange ones. 

     “G-Get off of me, you worm! Ugh, don’t touch my headpiece! It's gold!!”

     “Frederick, keep the man pinned down.”

     “Do mi sol la so fa re ti do…”

     Was that… Frederick singing? 

     “Melly, what was that?” Alice remembered she could open the door. So she did. 

     She was met with the sight of Frederick tormenting Richard with the sound of music as Melly offered the woman a bright smile. 

     “Good evening, Ms. DeRoss.”

                                                                    ~

     “This is heathen behavior!” Richard screamed as Alice placed a pancake in front of him. He was currently tied to the chair with some makeshift ropes consisting of bedsheets. “I can’t believe you Districtians! Such savage beast--”

     “Do re mi, do re mi, do you hear anything, Melly?” Frederick covered his ears and glanced at the entomologist. 

     “No,” was all Melly answered. 

     “Heathens!!” Richard seethed.

     “Richard, please shut up,” Alice, who was seated beside him, sighed and pinched her nosebridge. 

     “When the Eternal Aurora learns about this savagery--”

     Both Melly and Frederick turned to face him with blank faces. 

     “I am not afraid of y--” Richard began, only for Alice to slam her hand over his mouth. 

     “So, you two… how was the interview with Lorenz?” Alice smiled. 

     “Toss him outside,” Frederick suggested, gesturing to the squirming Guard. 

     “What? No. It makes no difference whether or not he knows about this,” Alice frowned. “In fact, it's better he does, since he works for the Aurora herself."

     “Hm,” Melly mused. “I suppose you have a point.”

     ‘Even if we did tie him up and could possibly get sued,’ Melly internally added. She hoped Alice and this Guard got along well enough for that to be avoided. 

     Even if the first interaction Melly witnessed was of them having some kind of quarrel. 

     “Okay. Well, let's make all of this simple: Orpheus lied,” Frederick leaned towards the table, throwing his hands up. “Lorenz said Orpheus laughed in his face and left him that night. Therefore, Orpheus is clearly the murderer.”

     “Orpheus lies for a second time…” Alice muttered. “This certainly makes him the most suspicious.”

     “We already have a theory as to why he did it anyway. Can we get it published now?”

     “Not so fast,” Alice countered, eyeing Richard as he sorrowfully ate his pancake. “While I’m gone, I need you two to be smart about this. Sure, a tabloid might publish this-- but remember that Orpheus is, oh, I don’t know… the head of our company? The largest publishing company and shareholder in Metropolitan society?”

     “We have connections,” Melly offered. 

     “Of course, I don’t doubt that,” Alice nodded. “But before anything even gets published, I want to hear how you’ll connect the theory to Lorenz’s testimony. And Melly, do you think we need to go over anything else? I feel as though we’re missing something…”

     “Publishing and popularizing the theory would be a crucial moment for certain,” Melly affirmed. “But in the end, it's a theory. A very probable one, but a theory nonetheless. Without any solid evidence of Orpheus actually being the one who was present in the room, I don’t believe this would get too far.”

     “I’ll bribe the officer,” Frederick volunteered. 

     “Bribing?” Richard wrinkled his nose. “When the Eternal Aurora--”

     “The official report stated officers checked the pickaxe and the scene for fingerprints, but never specified if they were successful or if they even matched mine,” Alice told the Guard. “If we put some money into their hands, perhaps they’d be willing to share.”

     “Don’t you have a lawyer for that?” Richard countered.

     “He’s a liar as well. Didn’t I tell you this an hour ago? Before you started insisting Orpheus was in the right to ‘suggest’ that I stay away from the media?”

     “I’d tell you to suck it up, again, but your friend over there might pummel me again as well,” the Guard rolled his eyes. 

     “I didn’t know you were so afraid of him.”

     “I’m not,” Richard checked his nails. Except, since he was tied up, he had to strain his neck to do so. 

     “Anyway, resolution: Frederick and I will try to source some evidence that at least suggests things are not as they seem. How does that sound, Alice?” Melly tilted her head, resting a hand on the table. 

     “Fine by me. Anything else you two will do while I’m off to present the case to the Aurora?”

     “Ah, so that’s what you’re doing,” Frederick formed a tiny smile. “How very like you.”

     “Always working wherever she goes…” Melly smiled as well, proudly. “Mm, we’ll let you know, Alice. But once we find some more solid evidence, we’ll try to work with somebody to get it publicized.”

     “Great,” Alice beamed. She grabbed her truffle whipped cream can and shook it vigorously. “With that settled, let's eat!”

                                                                          ~

     A call at midnight (Richard finally made it to his room): 

     “Hello. You’re reaching out to the Lustre Guard.”

     “Mr. Sterling, with all due respect… you need to drop that greeting when you know I’m calling you.”

     “...Sorry, Madam Aurora.”

     “Mm. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

     “My ap--”

     “Well, anywho, tell me about the girl! What should I expect? Does she trust you? All Mr. Orpheus’ given are some rather unflattering pictures of her.”

     “I believe she does trust me, Madam. She’s also adamant to prove her innocence. Her friends are vile as well. They tied me to a--”

     “The girl, Sterling. The girl???”

     “Madam, she’s the same age as me.”

     “Yes, boy. But the girl. I need to make the preparations for our meeting.”

     “She likes truffle cake. She’s passionate about her job. She gets annoyed whenever I talk about the superiority of the Capital. The first time it happened she rambled on and on about the ‘disconnect’ between us and the Capital. She also seems interested in the story of those rebels you transformed. Said she’d like to meet them. I hear her hum songs sometimes-- the ones by that composer you like. Wait. He’s the one who tied me to the--”

     “Ohhh, Frederick Kreiburg! Yes, yes. Okay, what else did you learn about her? Don't tell me you scared her off, did you?”

     “I didn’t, Madam,” Richard rolled his eyes, his tone flat. “I told you she already trusts me. And... I made a fool of myself to appease her. Now she gives me extra whipped cream and Aurora berries on my food. Even when I, er, bully her.”

     “Lovely! Thank you so much. Now continue, please!”

     “She seems to be obsessed over the murder of Norton Campbell. Upon inspection of her room I saw some newspapers regarding the case-- even the ones from when he was first murdered. They were all in a pile on her bed.”

     “Mhm.”

     “While she was doing some business, I looked through them. There were multiple annotations in each one. She seemed very angry at her lawyer.”

     “Hmm… Can you tell me more about her personality, Sterling?”

     “Yes, Madam. She’s very easy to talk to. Curious, as well. She was trying to learn more about me before I could even get to know much about her. She really does love the truth, just like Mr. Orpheus said.”

     “Aw, she sounds cuter than that Campbell rat. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him. Especially when we got him to shut up. Such a complacent little thing. Money this, money that. But, you know, when Orpheus first presented him to me and got the man intoxicated, he was such a delight. So pitiful. Like… like a wet kitten. An adorable, pathetic wet kitt--”

     “Madam…”

     A beat. 

     “Excuse my rambling, Sterling .”

     “...What else do you wish to know, Madam?”

     “Tell me more about how you made a fool of yourself. You know better than to let random people tie you up."

     "It was your favorite composer... but of course, Mad--"

     "Oh, and wake up the girl early, please. The carriages will arrive midmorning.”

     “That much earlier—?”

     “I said midmorning. Good night, dear!”

     Click.

Chapter Text

     “Lustre Guard, please open u--”

     “Good grief, Richard. Can you please stop saying that? I’m already at the door.”

     It was another horrifically early time when Richard Sterling decided to wake Alice up: namely… 6:30 AM. 

     Richard bowed before her. “A luminous morning to you, my lady.”

     Alice squinted at his position and blinked. Did he just bow? And call her such a strange title? “A… luminous morning to you as well, Richard.”

     “Why, you speak to me as if I were a whole different man!” Richard put a hand to his chest, as if hurt. 

     “Maybe you are,” Alice rubbed her eyes. Her vision failed to adjust to the light bouncing off his armor. It never did. Any and everywhere she looked, there was blinding light. She raised a hand to shield her eyes. 

      “Oh, poor you,” he sighed rather dramatically as she did that. He decided to do her a favor: he took off his helmet.

     “Wow,” Alice mumbled as the light that was blinding her eyes eased. Now there was a set of heterochromatic eyes looking back at her. She nodded slightly. “Thanks.”

     Richard smiled at her. “Of course, Miss. Now… I must herald some news. The carriage for you will be here midmorning.”

     “Midmorning…” Alice repeated, and then sighed. She slumped slightly and let out a tiny groan, pinching her nosebridge. 

     “Don’t fear, Miss,” Richard, ever so charming despite only one hour of sleep, chirped. Another smirk had sprouted on his face. “I will not be driving.”

     Alice stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head as well. Richard wondered why she kept giving him such deathly glances as he stared back. The smirk fell. 

     “Do you want pancakes?” she asked in an uncharacteristically blank tone. Richard noticed her eyebags. Then a clump of stray hair on the left side of her head. And finally, a zit on her nose.

     Richard frowned. And then he blinked. And then, after taking a very deep and audible breath —of disappointment or disgust, Alice couldn’t tell— he told her:

      “I’ll make them.”

     Richard brushed past her and headed straight for the kitchen.

                                             ~

     “Do you think she’ll be the same way, Orpheus? You know, I was thinking of using the same settings as last time. Get it all… luxurious looking. Have ‘Euphoria’ wafting in the air. What wine does she like? You said she likes the sweet ones? Okay, I’ll serve her those then. But would she like that—?”

     “Madam Aurora, there’s truly no need to worry yourself,” Orpheus, already dressed in suit and jabot with his monocles freshly cleaned, responded from the other line of the telephone. He was seated at his desk, observing the still dark sky. It was clear.

     He had hoped to see the morningstar. 

     “Of course I know, dear!” the Eternal Aurora’s voice exploded from the telephone’s speaker. Orpheus held it a few inches away from his ear nowadays lest she make him go deaf. “But think about it: Campbell’s motivations were really, really simple to deal with. Answer this: how do you change the truth?”’

     “You’re teasing me,” Orpheus rolled his eyes and smiled. “You already have a plan and you’re just… teasing me, Madam.”

     “I just can’t help it!” she giggled. “Your little theories are so adorable! Novelists are such pleasant yappers. And I love meeting your little protégés! How lovely the world will be once this new one becomes a little more than that!”

     “Who would have thought…?” Orpheus mumbled as the Eternal Aurora continued yammering about the protégé project and luminosity and whatever else happened to entertain her. He drummed his hands over his desk as he thought back to those two years ago when Alice DeRoss had joined the company. 

     Really, she was a blessing in disguise. A replacement blessing, at that. And she didn’t know how much of a blessing she would be once they started running the tests on her. And after all that as well.

     Then she would be more famous. Rich. And… happy. 

     And nobody would even think about Norton Campbell then. Nobody would think about his murderer, either. 

     “...Hellooo? Mr. Blanche??” the Aurora repeated for the fifth time. “Stop zoning out and overthinking! Or are you sleeping again… at this rate your guards will see more of your door than you!”

     Orpheus lifted up his head. He hadn’t realized he had lowered it onto the table until then. “Madam, can you blame me? The beds in the Capital are wonderful. And it's only natural for a man to want his privacy--”

     “Ah, ah, ah. I can hear the grogginess. End this call now and eat your breakfast. A good man needs energy to be available to serve Her Luminosity. Or do you want me to serve you coffee on the way to the Capital? It's not happening.”

     “Oh, no, Madam, I can stay on the li--”

     “Orpheus.”

     “I’m… not a child--”

     “Mister. Blanche.”

     “...Fine.”

     Click.

     Orpheus rolled his eyes. The man was not interested in serving himself any food of any kind— in part because he didn’t want to go through the mess of cooking or cleaning or dumping coffee grounds into a cup with milk and sugar, but also because he wanted to see the sun rise.

     ‘These next few days will change everything,’ he told himself. And on days when he was aware everything was about to change, he always awaited the morningstar to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

     He wanted to see the darkness of his past be blinded by the Eternal Aurora’s light.

     Hopefully then, life would go back to normal.

                                             ~

     “What is this… truffle whipped cream?”

     Richard shook the can a few times, mumbling to himself while Alice dozed off at the kitchen table. She thought he didn’t notice when her head would occasionally droop down or when she quickly looked back up and pretended to be deep in thought, staring out her window at the dark sky.

     Richard looked back at the woman. While she certainly wasn’t his first choice when it came to remodeling someone into the ‘perfect citizen’, he saw why the Aurora was so excited about visiting her.

     And, as anyone in her inner circle might have expected, it certainly wasn’t to hear her out with something as minor as a murder charge. 

     Richard almost felt bad for the journalist. She seemed noble, as far as District people went. She was not to be underestimated, for certain. She had a sweet tooth as well. Richard found people like that really easy to please. 

     He spurted the whipped cream onto the pancake he had just made. She would need a lot of sugar to get her through today. Richard himself would really need to play up his own succour too, if things ever got out of hand with delivering her to the Capital.

    “Peasant food,” he mumbled once more to himself as he eyed the spiral of whipped cream with disdain. He topped the meal with a colorful assortment of Aurora berries, reminiscent of when he had to play chef before playing Sterling.

     In short, he was really talented. And the more he thought about playing tour guide in the Capital, the less worried he was about playing traitor. 

     It’d be easy enough to distract her anyway. She’d probably ask a thousand questions about a miniscule detail and get lost in the beauty of the Capital. Or get lost in how sad she would be at the vigil because apparently she was friends with that Naiad girl. 

     Richard would have to ask to skip the coffin viewing— he had better things to do with his time.

     He looked back at Alice, whose head rested on the table, covered with an open newspaper. She ought to try the coffee he drank in the mornings, not much more of that sweet white ‘coffee’.

     He headed over to the table with two plates in his hands and gently set down hers in front of her head.

     “Lustre Guard, at your service,” he hummed and lifted the newspaper from her head.

     She didn’t stir.

     He rapped on the table, half tempted to torment her with his door greeting once more. 

     But then he decided now was a good time to investigate her room some more. Best to get to know this version of Alice a little better— her pre-Aurora era.

     Setting aside his helmet on his end of the table, he surveyed the room and eyed the room divider concealing her bed.

     He had already seen newspapers there, with those aggressive annotations. Perhaps it was time to look again.

     He took one final glance at Alice, who was beginning to snore quietly, and then crept over past the divider. 

     He took a look at her stuff once more. He saw her packed luggage. Good. But he wanted to dig into something more interesting…

     Specifically, her closet— in which he found wigs, several different styles of clothing, multiple pairs of shoes, and a bald cap.

     “I remember when I had to be bald once,” Richard sighed fondly, remembering the night he became Richard Sterling. Unfortunately his own bald cap was a little too stained with red to be reusable.  

     He set her clean bald cap back where it was and dusted his hands off before shutting the closet. He hummed the national anthem before turning back and seeing a tiny pink box that he hadn’t noticed before.

     No— that wasn’t there before. He knew Alice’s room almost as well as she did.

     He stooped down to pick it up from the floor, where a mess of crumpled paper surrounded it. What a clumsy attempt to hide such a nice pink shade.

     He blew on the top of the box, holding the medium sized thing with both hands before undoing the neat little yellow bow on top of it.

     It took him a few seconds. (Minutes.)

     Occasionally, he would peek at Alice and fear she would stir. Alas, she didn’t. Trying to prove your innocence was probably very taxing. Richard figured as much because proving innocence was also very useless. At least for him. Not for that naive blonde girl.

     Once he undid the suspiciously troublesome bow, his eyes widened at what he saw inside.

     A diary. Seriously?

     This young lady was more juvenile than he thought. Richard didn’t record much of his past because the past was relative! 

     Anyway, he quickly opened it up and flipped through the pages. 

     “Norton and I seem to be improving our relations…”

     He’s dead— that wouldn’t matter.

     “I wasn’t aware Melly had such fine honey!”

     Boring.

     “Why does Frederick Kreiburg hate me so much? Here I thought Norton and I were off to a rocky start yet…”

     Again with this dead guy. Richard wanted things about her, not about her rich friends.

     He flipped and flipped and flipped (seeing several more entries about random people in her life in the process. By the time he arrived at later entries, he had recognized some key words and names being ‘Norton’ and ‘wine’, ‘Frederick’ and ‘investigation’, and ‘Melly’ and ‘friend’) until finally he found something remotely about her without any of those names involved.

     It was dated recently.

     ‘I wonder why Orpheus cares so much. Perhaps it's strange of me to write this— goodwill is goodwill and in this world I am more than blessed to experience it firsthand. Yet I know not all goodwill is good. I am not naive.

     ‘After catching on to his ‘orders’  being masked as suggestions, I must confess I have grown to like him less. I would never say I hate the man, no. But when I look at all of those around me and then compare them to my very own employer, it concerns me just how… involved he is.

     ‘Now I know I live in a new world where words are often thrown around until they lose the very essence of their meaning, but what am I supposed to think when I see meaningful words used time and time again with a meaningful purpose and yet feel so empty? That is what Mr. Orpheus makes me think.

     ‘He is a genuine man. But overbearing in a sense. I could breathe and he would find a valid way to laud me somehow, so he’s certainly not like Vilhelm. Yet Orpheus too seems to understand the weight of his authority and how powerful he truly is. So with every word he speaks, I know inside that it is not with the depth of a friend. He speaks with the burden of authority masked in his friendly demeanor. 

     ‘This may be idiotic rambling. I realize that. I really am no philosopher— that can go to Mr. Orpheus what with his excellent writing. But at least nobody else will know how much of a fool I really am. 

     ‘Which is what I have often felt like, defending my innocence. But even more than that, I feel like a fool for being here.

     ‘In Oletus. In this District. In the only place I can really call home. 

     ‘So this is the price I must pay for the truth?

     ‘So be it. I will fight for it. I will defend it. I will pay for it.

     ‘But I am exhausted.’

     The one remotely interesting entry Richard saw and of course, it was about the truth. And she really didn’t  consider herself naive? Richard had to laugh (except he didn’t, because now he had to tie the annoying bow back on the box  just as Alice had lest she suspect anything).

     But that last sentence stuck with him. He had already remarked several times internally that she was exhausted. She certainly was now.

    But  ‘exhausted’ wasn’t the first word he thought of when he first met her. When she made him food (it was really only pancakes and a tiny truffle cake. Apparently she didn’t know how to make anything that didn’t have at least 50 grams of sugar in it). 

     Richard hadn’t thought her to be ‘exhausted’ she checked in on him despite them annoying each other. When she rambled on and on about a new piece she could write, or about her rich friends, or about something miscellaneous that he had reported to the Aurora. 

     But the Guard knew better than anyone else that nothing in this city was ever as it seemed. In Alice’s case…

     She had to deal with that all in the back of her mind, didn’t she? Pitiful.

     Richard believed she would be much happier, much more free— if only she would let the truth go.

                                         ~

     Most things in the Capital were fashioned for entertainment. 

     Of course, that was what the luxury sector was known for. In the center of the city was a square filled with dozens and dozens of spectaculars, surrounded by the large, colorful spiraling buildings of the modern Aurorian architecture. The spectaculars boasted of the latest hot product, of the newest hit movie, so on and so forth.

     But it wasn’t just the obvious entertainment displayed on the screens. There was news, as well. 

     ‘Victims of mycelium in remission thanks to Aurora’s latest supply of resources!’ 

     That was the first one Alice saw, riding in with the carriage. The dissonance between such a fancy thing and the strange-looking sleek cars in the street hurt her head. Next to the headline was a photo of a light-haired male standing next to a woman in a black suit with a mask on. They both wore rings.

     She also saw another spectacular with another blaring message and an image of a fashion designer posing with the Aurora: ‘Violetta’s rising campaign: will you side with the star and the Aurora to conserve your silk?!”

     And a third one similar to that. And a fourth one.

     The fifth one almost made her tumble out of the carriage. 

     ‘Not Guilty!: Pay respects to the late ‘champion of the destitute’, Grace Csonka!’ 

     An image of Grace with closed eyes in a bed of roses inside a coffin was displayed beside the text. Alice’s eyes bulged out of her skull as she felt herself move out of balance.

     Richard swiftly snatched her arm before any sort of accident occurred, however, and he helped her stabilize herself until she could sit back down.

     “Are you still tired despite all that sugar I fed you?” he teased.

      “No… it's just…” Alice found herself catching her breath. And why? It had just been an image. 

     “Just what?”

     “Her.”

     Alice pointed outside, to some of the spectaculars. Unfortunately, the one depicting Grace was already replaced. And with Alice’s face, at that.

     “What, have you never seen a photo of yourself before?” Richard snorted. 

     “What?” Alice’s head swung back to the spectacular. Upon seeing her face she felt the urge to recoil. 

     “Don’t be surprised. The Eternal Aurora loves doing this with Downtown stars. She did it every time that husband of yours came to the Capital.”

     Alice blinked. “Hus…band?”

     “Do you think the Capital is blind? You had something special with that guy, didn’t you?”

     “He’s dead, Richard. Even if I did, he is a dead man.”

     “Okay? I had crushes on dead people too. It's truly not that mind boggling, Alice.”

     “I have no comment on these accusations.”

     “Wow. The media is going to be fattened with your responses.”

     “I finally get to engage with the public after weeks of being shut out thanks to Orpheus.”

     “You should really stand up to him more. Remember that little activity we did?”

     “When you had me bang on the door and I demanded you to let me out? Fun times, Richard— what with your twisted sense of humor.”

     “I mean, I was really imitating Orpheus, wasn’t I? If that’s how he makes you feel you should really bang on those doors. Like I had you do.”

     “I hope you enjoyed being tied up afterwards.”

     “Would you like to experience that as well?”

     “…No.”

     “I thought as much. Okay, go back to your relationship with your husband.”

     “He’s not my— no comment. Mr. Sterling, I know you’re testing me. Provoking me. Just like with the door thing!”

     “Consider it practice for the media, Alice. You’ll be thanking me so much afterwards.”

     “Aww, do you want extra whipped cream on your pancake next time?” Alice teased. 

     “I gave you extra on yours and yet you were sleeping like a cherub for most of the trip.”

     “I’m surprised you even know what a cherub is.”

     “Oh, look. We’re at the hotel checkpoint. Start talking about something Capital related so we can get through security easier.”

     “What?”

     “Ah, what a nice and lovely day it is in the Capital! Right, Alice?!”

Chapter Text

     Once upon a time, Alice thought the downtown district was overwhelming. 

     There, no one could escape the constant music, or partying, or iridescent lights from just about every building. Over time she adjusted to it— as she did with everything else. 

     But this…

     “Richard, I have a slight feeling I am very overwhelmed.”

     “You’ll get used to i—“

     “No.”

     The hotel room itself (or rooms— Richard, being her Guard, got a room that connected to hers via an inner door) was more like a house. There was a large, framed portrait of the Eternal Aurora, in standard black medical attire with crushed mycelium in her hands, staring into Alice’s soul. 

     Underneath was a large glass dining table bedecked with fine gems on its border. A vase of large, sprawling, pastel flowers emitting tiny bits of white, yellow, and soft purple light adorned it. 

     The seats were bordered with clear gemstones and their top back rails had refined, intricate patterns of light-related things on them. They were highly cushioned with white fabric. 

     Several Capital-related emblems sat on the shelves around this one part of the hotel room alone. There were some books— ‘How I Killed Mycelium’, ‘IriDECENCY: Know Your Capital!’, and ‘Manners Versus Manors’ to name a few— on those shelves as well. Tinier flowers of the same variety as those on the table, now white pottery, sat next to those books. Alice couldn’t even begin to describe the chandelier in the center of the room.

     “Richard, did you put something in those pancakes?” Alice mumbled.

     “Um, no,” Richard scowled. “How dare you even accuse me of that.”

     Alice couldn’t bear to blink as she surveyed the room for the millionth time. 

     “Let’s get you to bed, Miss,” Richard rolled his eyes and gently tugged on the journalist’s arm. 

     “I’m dreaming,” he heard her mumble again.

     Somehow, despite her awe and almost inhuman stiffness, they were able to move into the bedroom section of the hotel suite. 

     “Another chandelier,” Alice remarked in disbelief at the former, which rested above the bed. It appeared to resemble the sun, with bright warm rays sprawling out from the center. Richard snatched a remote from the wall and turned it on and off for her several times.

     Alice brandished her camera. 

     “Turn the brightness down, uh, fifty percent for me, Richard,” she ordered as she raised the camera to her face. 

     He rolled his eyes and did what she ordered, watching as she crouched down and snapped photos are various things in the room like some kind of journalist.

     “Okay,” he hummed after seeing her wander over to the other side of the room, where there was a white desk and another shelf of books with trinkets hiding between them. He heard the shutter go off a few more times as he continued. “I think you ought to take a nap now, Miss. The vigil’s in three hours.”

     “I’ll be fine,” Alice turned back, her camera to her face, and smiled.

     Click!

    Richard’s eyes widened, blinded by the flash of her camera. 

     “Photogenic, aren’t you?” she chuckled.

     “You must really enjoy seeing me suffer,” he scoffed, pouting like a child. “Now go take a nap or something— I must retouch myself!”

     “Oh, please, you look fine.”

    “And I’m to take your word for it? Respectfully, no,” he folded his arms. “I’ll be standing guard if you need me for anything. Hopefully you’ll be too asleep to bother me.”

     “Of course, of course,” she raised her hands in surrender and stifled another giggle.

     Only then did Richard realize there was something very, very different about her.

     Her smile… it was warmer. Bright. Luminous, if you would. It was fitting for a Capital citizen.

    It was also the largest he had ever seen Alice smile since he first met her.

    She must have really missed the outside world.

     Pitiful. 

                                              ~

     “Are you sureeee none of her friends were following the carriage, Richard dear? You see, the thing with the carriages is that they are very bright and flashy…”

     “I know, Madam, I know.”

    “Is she awake right now,  speaking of?”

    “I told her to take a nap. She’s going to need it or else she might explode during the vigil.”

     “I know how District people are, Richard. There’s no need to remind me. Anywho, have you contacted some of the other guards? Finn seems to really enjoy messing around with the jail matron.”

     “Florian? That Brand boy is a fool and a coward all at once,” Richard scoffed.

     “Ohhh, don’t be like that, dear. He has a bit of a deranged mind, but he has a good heart.”

     “Everyone on the Lustre Guard has a deranged mind of some sort, Madam. But Brand is something else and I ought to fire him.”

     “Oh, stop backbiting the little blonde! Ask about the matron instead.”

     “…What about her.”

     “It’s so funny how different her and the warden are! Fin and Bryn are both watching over them and I made sure they’d all share a carriage together. The warden’s a wimpy little thing! The matron teased him every other minute!”

     “Wait, why am I learning about this again?”

     “Don’t think, Richard! Just listen. Bryn made sure to call in at the Capital crossing checkpoint with the booth and told me all about this hilarious little stint Yidhra— that’s the matron— did…”

     “Aren’t you going to ask about Alice? You know… the one you’re supposed to ‘radically transform’ and whatever?”

     “I might as well radically transform you if you’re going to be so bratty.”

                                          ~

     “You look nice with those shades, Kreiss,” Yidhra nudged the poor soul as they roamed through the Upper East Capital Plaza, their personal Guards flanking their sides. For legal reasons, they said they were supposed to be with every second they were out in public. (Even though the Capital was supposed to be safe…)

      “Thanks,” Andrew dryly answered. He had gotten the thickest ones possible what with the headache all the lights were causing him. It gave the Guards an excuse to be mean to some curious patrons. 

     “I’m surprised I haven’t seen that Alice yet around here,” Yidhra sighed, her steps silent despite her  obnoxiously chunky black heels (for the two  had just gone funeral clothes shopping at a luxury store). “You’d think she’d be snapping photos of everything all at once, that woman.”

     Yidhra smiled. Except it was very much a smile that  never ceased to creep Andrew out. And now they were on a trip together, with two more creepy people. 

     One of them was a relative of one of the prisoners. 

     “Hey, blonde guy, how’s my cousin doing?” Bryn, his own personal Lustre bodyguard who never wore her armor, nudged him. She got Florian to forsake his as well for Andrew’s sake. She thought the warden was going to go  blind. 

      “Your…” Andrew, who had been snapped out of his graveyard cleaning musings (he was slightly saddened at the prospect of not being able to pay his respects to souls), looked up at Bryn, also known as Brynhildr, with wide eyes. 

     “Don’t you remember? Eta Viluf. My kompis. My ami. My other cousin’s murderer.”

    “Uhh,” Andrew gulped. He could barely think with the noise around him. All he  could do was stare into her face, blinking every other second. “Yeah.  That guy.”

     “Just as quiet as he  is most days,” she mumbled. “Are you planning to kill a guy too? You know, Eta doesn’t even answer my letters anymore. When we were little, we were so close. We would visit little dead Natha’s father and trash the place--”

     “Okay, Brinny, that’s quite enough,” Florian, Yidhra’s guard, interjected in a very Aurora-esque voice. He peered past Yidhra and raised his  pointer finger in the air.  “Stop now before I force you to eat biscuits with me at my tea party!”

     “Oh, please, Fin,” Brynhildr wrinkled  her  nose. “She could have you executed if I ratted on you. The ol’ razzle dazzle.”

     Bryn leaned closer to Andrew  and  whispered, “A nice little light show, if  you will. Gets pretty darn bloody sometimes.”

     “Tell her. I dare you— with all that fire it’d be heaven,” Florian wrinkled his nose, taking out a lighter from his pants pocket. He retrieved a cigar as well. 

     “I wasn’t expecting the Capital residents to be so… vibrant,” Yidhra snickered, looking between the two Guards. She then looked at  Andrew, bedecked in antiquity Capital fashion. He was staring at the white bangles on his wrist as if they were  hallucinations. 

     “Yeah,” Andrew slowly nodded, fidgeting with one. “I… hope we can see Alice soon.”

     “Richard probably bored her to death,” Florian huffed, smoke flowing from his mouth. “I can’t stand  that guy.”

     “Richard who?” Yidhra’s eyes narrowed. Andrew  looked at the center of the plaza, where the statue of the  Eternal Aurora was surrounded by a shallow pool of water. They passed by it into a section of the plaza that was dimly lit in contrast to the shopping areas— this part had …. Something akin to giggle juice wafted in the air. 

     “Where are we going--” he began. 

     “Richard killed a guy,” Bryn shook her head in disapproval.

     “Many guys,” Florian shook his head in disapproval.

     “I suppose that’s what happens when one rebels against the Aurora,” Yidhra mused. Now what was a murderer doing with Alice? 

     Florian and Bryn went silent. They exchanged knowing glances. 

     Yidhra pursed her lips. They  really thought they were slick, huh. 

     “Have you two had  the pleasure of meeting Alice DeRoss herself?” Yidhra tilted her head. “And is this… murderous Richard… her bodyguard?”

    “No to the first one, yes to the second,” Bryn answered first. 

     “I can’t believe he’s  the one watching over the hotshot,” Florian grumbled. 

     “It's because he’s the head of the guard and she’s the talk of the town,” Bryn rolled her eyes before glancing at Yidhra. “That Sterling boy can be anything. Two-faced slime. Anyway, I’m fine with being with this  guy.”

     She nudged  Andrew, who was staring into the void. He perked up with a frown and then  looked at Bryn, who shot him a smile. She pointed to a bar nearby. He shook his head.

     “Oh, by the way, Madam Yidhra,” Florian looked up to the matron, peering through  her black veil. In fact, everything she wore—from her feathered sunhat to her intricate dress to those shoes—was black. “Is it true that DeRoss killed a guy?”

      Yidhra stiffened, although her smile never left her. “According to her lawyer, yes. She has quite the tale going for her… Andrew prays the judges won’t have her skinned alive. 

     She seemed to bore into Florian’s skull. “A high profile case, what with her victim. Not sure how you didn’t hear about i—“

      “I executed one of the judges from downtown. One of  the ones involved  with the Naiad’s case,” Bryn blurted. “He was a pretty mean guy.”

     Andrew blinked. Yidhra whistled. Florian pursed  his lips. 

     He took a deep breath and resumed conversation with Yidhra. “Were you and DeRoss friends or something?”

     “Not quite,” Yidhra answered, her tone softer than usual. “She visited  the jail a few times to get information for an  opinion piece… two years ago. She was included in some of our team  bonding activities.”

     “Team bonding?” Florian stifled a snort. “In a jail?”

     “Perhaps you should join them yourself. They miss a feisty little blonde.”

     “Ask Bryn instead. She misses her feisty little murderer.”

     Yidhra shot a brief glance at the woman, who was quietly chatting with Andrew now. He was pointing to the tiny gems embedded on his white gloves. She seemed to be naming them for him with a bright smile on her face.

     “Never seen Aurorian gems before, that guy?” Florian pointed to Andrew. 

     Yidhra folded her arms. “He’s a  humble man, Mr. Brand.”

     “Ohh, I see,” Florian hummed, something akin to amusement in his tone. He himself wore sharp rings with flame-colored gemstones on all fingers. 

     “And he looks shockingly beautiful in all that white,” Yidhra muttered under her breath. She imagined a halo over Andrew’s head. “One could almost mistake him for an angel.”

     “Oh, we can make him even more beautiful if you want. Bald,” Florian snickered. 

     Yidhra immediately recoiled, repulsed at the thought of Florian shaving Andrew’s hair. She folded her arms, her eyes flicking down at him. “I don’t trust you with a single razor, boy. Those prisoners have caused him enough trouble already-- there’s no need for me to let you torment him further. Unless you’d like to go bald as well?”

      “Empty threats, lady…” he stiffened and formed a half-hearted smirk. 

     Yidhra smiled back. Eerily.

     The group continued walking until they reached the plaza’s exit, where another statue of the Eternal Aurora, now playing with kids, stood proudly.

     “You think that DeRoss will join those prisoners any time soon?” Florian asked as they passed by it, his eyes drifting to the intricate marble statue. Bryn and Andrew chatted quietly behind them. 

      Yidhra hummed. “Not without a fight… but she would be awfully bored living  in jail.”

                                                                    ~

      “Have that man executed for disorderly conduct… ugh, no, Mr. Orpheus, I cannot, in fact, have my Guards slander people for you… what else do you want? No, again, my servants aren’t fit to handle that kind of baking…”

    “Um, Madam…”

     “Just a second, Tracy. Orpheus! Orpheus, no, I am not ordering a truffle cake for you. Please stop asking about the cake… no, you have enough funds to hire someone yourself! All the bakeries are open! Yes, I know it's seven and I don’t care!”

     “Madam…”

     “Just a second, Tracy.”

      The servant  looked up at the Aurora’s raised finger, gesturing for her to hush. She adjusted  the phone, and after a brief quiet, she exploded. 

     “Orpheus, be quiet now! I have too many prisoners on death row and what with that little FAILURE Norton Campbell I don’t even have enough time to go experiment on them at all! Leave me be, boy— remember who is in charge here!”

     She rammed the phone onto its holder, took a deep breath, and then turned to the servant.

     “I don’t know how to make Moscato,” Tracy mumbled, presenting an empty golden chalice to  her.

     “Why won’t your friend do it for you?” the Aurora scrutinized the item, taking it into her hands. 

     “We’re not friends,” Tracy grit her teeth. And then she sighed, her gaze falling to the floor. “He says he’s doing the heavy work because he’s configuring the lights. And also cleaning whatever the doctors  will use. He says you’re burdening him and he’ll steal my ajvar if I tell you.”

     The Aurora folded her arms and smacked her lips together. Tracy eyed the intricate details of blooming Aurora flowers on her royal silk robes, not wanting to look up at her face. 

     “Bring him here,” she ordered. 

     “Now?” Tracy blinked. 

     “Him and I are going to have a nice little talk. After I chat with Richard about those threats…”

     “What threats?” Tracy inquired, fidgeting with the little golden cogwheels on her uniform. 

     “Nothing for you to be concerned about, dear,” her mistress gave her an uncanny smile. “Now go get that Balsa boy.”

                                                                  ~

     “It's seven  now,” Melly murmured, watching the clock in her  room tick by. Frederick was hastily organizing some notes and documents they  had taken from the officer they’d interrogated together.

     He was too busy humming a song to hear  her quiet words as he sorted them into different piles. He treated the official documents with extra care and even dusted some of them off. 

     Melly looked back at him, watching his meticulous work. 

     “What time is  it?” he asked, reviewing something in his notepad. 

      “A little past seven,” Melly answered. “Normally we’d be  seeing Alice at this time…”

     “You speak of her like she’s dead,” Frederick rolled her eyes. “She’ll be fine, Melly. It's just the Capital.”

     “And for three  whole days she will be there. Why would a vigil take three days, Frederick?” Melly shook her head, exhaustion in her tone. She reclined in her chair and sighed. 

      “It's the Capital, Melly. Everything takes longer in the Capital,” Frederick looked up at her, and despite the edge in his tone, his eyes were gentle. “Remember my last tour? I was stuck there for a week. Yet I am still here. So stop fussing over her.”

     “Taking advice from a madman…” Melly quietly scoffed.

     “Oh, well,” Frederick shrugged. He gestured to the piles of separate evidence. “Perhaps it would do you good to review this with me so we  can get her defense released as soon as possible.”

     “Sure,” Melly peered at it for a brief moment. Frederick passed her a document discussing Campbell’s autopsy. 

     She read over it a few times. It  was typical information with the keywords of ‘intoxicated’ and   ‘blunt force trauma’. This time, however, the document had a few annotations on it. 

     ‘Where did the girl go after killing him?’ 

     ‘she aint gonna report the body fresh, idiot. check cameras again & figure it out yourself, Baden.’

     “Hand me the investigation record, Frederick,” Melly extended her hand while Frederick sorted through photographs of Norton’s corpse. 

     Frederick obeyed and continued staring at the photos.

     “‘Camera Record: No footage available from midnight on the upper floors. Suspect seen entering the building approximately half an hour after Norton supposedly died’,” Melly read aloud. Her brow furrowed and she read over the words again, running her finger over the dried black ink.  

     “That should be enough,” Frederick muttered. “Now to blame it on Orpheus…”

     “Hush, Frederick. There’s still more. And these annotations…”

     She read through the red ink on the report. 

     ‘So she didn’t kill him.’

     ‘then who did, Baden? check if anyone left apartment after midnight. let them all be suspects.’

     Melly flipped through the file until she saw something remotely referencing that. 

     ‘Ten suspicious residents left the apartment after midnight. … At approximately 2 AM, Mr. Blanche was seen leaving the building from what was apparently the first floor. He had a briefcase with him and clothes that were different from the ones he was seen entering the building with.’

     Melly didn’t know whether to smile or frown. This felt rather incriminating, and yet…

     Orpheus was never mentioned again throughout the file. Nor any of the other supposed suspects Officer Baden might have talked with.

     It was Alice, the records insisted, who murdered the star.

     “You seem discouraged, Melly,” Frederick noted, resting his cheek on his fist as he watched her with tired eyes.

     “They had a list of suspects. Where are there interviews? Do you have them?” Melly drummed her fingers over the table, her tone level and yet her movements jittery. “And what did you find?”

      “Oh, I’ll tell you all that later. Remember, Baden is a simple officer. A prominent one, yes, but possibly not high enough to have access to such things,” Frederick responded.

     “Then who else do we ‘interview’, Frederick?”

     “Let’s snoop around and find out,” he smiled. “Like I always say— there are two things that can get you anywhere: money and music.”

     “…You never say that.”

     “Just pretend I do. And get that wallet ready for tomorrow.”

     “Another bribing adventure,” Melly sighed and returned the documents. “Pray we don’t go broke after this.”

     “Oh, we will.”

Chapter Text

     “The girl will be afraid if you start stabbing people en masse, boy. What do you not understand?”

     “Madam, it’s my duty to defend the people—“

     “No, actually. Snap out of your chivalrous charade. They are my people, not yours.”

     “Madam—“

     “As your supreme leader, queen, goddess, whatever, I order you to stand down and let Viluf and Brand handle it.”

     “Hah…”

     The Head Guard’s voice was quiet. He looked over his shoulder, where Alice was waiting outside of the telephone booth. And then he looked back at the phone with revulsion. 

     “Madam, you can’t be serious. Those two can’t handle a single thing. If it's truly that vigilante group as you said, they’ll be trampled in mere minutes—!”

     “Do you trust me or not? I often joke about executing you— don’t make me have to. It’d be a dark shame to see your pretty little head hung in the square.”

     “Madam, threats won’t work. I need to be able to get away from DeRoss in order to punish them—“

     “Any one of your cohorts is suitable to take your place, ‘Richard’. Don't think yourself special because I pardoned all of your atrocities. I pardoned theirs, too.”

     “Madam, this could end terribly if you don’t let me act—“

     “You say you want to defend the public and yet you will end up terrifying them if you don’t listen to me. Are you an idiot now? Whatever happened to you? Everything will go as I have ordered. Your cohorts will handle it. Those who want to kill will kill themselves. Nobody needs to see you prancing around assassinating people."

     “…”

     “I know you’re still on the line. I’ve already contacted those two. They should be heading to the Plaza bar now. Go ahead and appease that little DeRoss lady before the vigil starts in three hours.”  

     “We’re going to the nearest bakery, if you ever change your mind.”

     “Get me banana bread while you’re at it.”

     “Good grief—“

     “And a latte too.”

     Ram! (Click.)                      

     “What was that about?” Alice, with her hands on her hips, questioned as  Richard stiffly left the phone booth.

     “My boss,” was all he said, moving ahead of  her to lead  her to the bakery. It was a brief walk. A silent one, between the two of them.

     Alice caught wind of many other conversations instead. 

     “I hear they’re boosting security for the vigil…”

     “Did you see that strange duo in the mall today? They were flanked by Lustre Guards!”

     “That bakery… there’s something in the  bread, I tell ya.”

     And so on and so forth. Alice saw glimpses of their fancy clothing-- the delicate silky material they wore, the pearls and auroric gems on their hats and dresses or suits. 

     She felt rather underdressed. 

     “Alice,” Richard turned to catch her attention. “We’ve arrived.”

     He gestured to yet another  one of the sleek, spiral buildings of the Capital. Except  this one had  a flashing red  sign  above the glass door that read ‘Cueist Bakes Cutest Cakes’.

     In the window were several varieties of cakes-- colored, pompously overdecorated, some short while some a mile high. When Alice caught the sight of one as she dashed over to Richard, she almost sank to her knees. 

     She was speechless. 

     There was a glorious, big truffle cake staring right back at  her where she was.

     She could taste it in her mouth. 

     Richard pressed on the door to the bakery, not bothering to look behind him. Alice heard the brief song of windchimes as the bakery's door swung open, but she was too busy staring at that glorious lucious creamy cake to bother following after him. 

     After a moment, when Richard  realized Alice wasn't ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ behind him, he turned back.

     Only to see her still outside, ogling the cake as if it were the most handsome man (aka Richard himself). 

     He quietly sighed and pinched his nose before flinging the bakery door open. Again.

                                                                   ~

         “Of course he’s the one who gets along with all the rich people,” Brynhildr fumed under her breath as Florian led the little quartet of  him, Brynhildr, Yidhra, and Andrew, into the Lights ‘N Lanterns Bar. It was one of the only five legally sanctioned bars in the Capital-- and one of the best. 

    She glanced back at Andrew to see him fumble in his pockets searching for his ID. The bouncer Florian had flirted with sighed pityingly as she folded her arms and watched the warden. She had a fancy top hat on and black and white clothing.           

     Bryn scrambled over to him. She saluted the bouncer and grabbed Andrew and began hauling him along. 

     “Don’t worry, Miss! He’s with me!” she smiled amid Andrew’s uncomfortable squeaking.

     The bouncer blinked and then slowly turned to the next patron in line.

     Once the duo reached the table Florian and Yidhra were chatting at (they seemed to be talking about arsonists, something or other), Andrew dusted himself off and quietly sealed the little bag he kept on him. 

     “Thank you,” he mumbled to Bryn. She shot him a bright smile. 

     “No problem.”

     “And please don’t drag me away like that…”

     “No pro… okay.”

     Yidhra looked down at the duo. She smiled at Andrew knowingly before resuming her little talk with Florian. 

     “Take a seat,” Bryn gestured to the chair in front of Andrew. 

     “Oh, uh, of course,” Andrew blinked. He hesitantly sat in the chair and then drummed his fingers over the table, looking towards the exit. Soon the waiter came by and took everyone’s drinking orders.

     Andrew got the special pineapple juice. 

     “How… are you liking the Capital so far?” Bryn watched him. And Andrew felt watched. 

     “It's… loud,” Andrew moved his head and eyed the table and then his white gloves. “But not bad.”

     “You’re from downtown, right? I mean, is this really so far off?” Bryn tried to match the rhythm he was tapping the table to. 

     “Um… kind of, yeah.”

     “Last time I was there…” she began, and then remembered that the first and only time she had visited the downtown area was for a Viluf-ordered hit. She paused and, after remembering the bullet hole in that guy’s head, stopped talking entirely. 

     She figured the warden of all people wasn’t interested in hearing about another murderer.

     “You went downtown?” he turned to face her. 

     “Five years ago. So before all of this drama with  that DeRoss girl,” Bryn formed a tiny, almost melancholic smile. “Before Eta went to jail.”

     “You seem to really love him,” Andrew mirrored her tiny smile. Except his was crooked. Brynhildr liked that.

     “Yeah,” she  shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “He was such a brother. I told you before  how we always screwed around in Nathaniel’s house.”

     “Uh huh.”

     “He always told me where Nathaniel hid his suits. Then he’d dress up in them and pretend to be Nathaniel. Except nicer— and while Nata hated me, he seemed to really like Eta. But in a creepy way. Maybe because they had the same face.”

     “If you don’t mind me asking,” Andrew leaned closer, his voice growing softer. “I’ve been curious  as to how you and  Eta ended up in such different places.”

     ‘And also how you got hired as a Guard in the first place…,’ he added in his head, for the Viluf name was far from regal. 

     “You’ll have to get me drunk to get me  to answer  that one, buddy,” she smiled, and  while her  tone was light, there was a slight edge to it. “Now  you… you got a loved one at home or something? Is Yidhra your sister or what?”

     “Uh… no. Much too scary to be my sister.”

     “Some might think you’re scary with those red eyes.”

     “...Don’t even remind me.”

     “Okay, okay…” she threw  her  hands up jokingly. “So no loved ones, Kreiss?”

     “No. Just me. And my graves.”

     “Do you do hits or something?” Bryn’s eyebrows scrunched up. 

     “No! No, goodness, no, I’m a gravekeeper,” flush filled Andrew’s face. 

     “Does being a warden not pay  well downtown or something? You’ve got some high profile criminals in your jail.”

     “Oh, no, it's just that…” Andrew’s eyes moved down to the table. He hadn’t even noticed his drink until now. It had tiny Aurora flowers inside of it, crushed on the bottom. He hoped it was safe. “It’s just that the graveyard I work in is… special to me.”

     Brynhildr snorted. And then she quickly cleared her throat. “Right, no, yeah, I get you…”

     She reflected on the graveyards she had seen in her lifetime— the flashing lights, the opera-esque peppy dance music, the fireworks…

     She couldn’t imagine Andrew liking any of them.

     Andrew looked back at her, watching tap her chin and hum to herself and then take a sip of malt drink and then tap her chin again.

     “I don’t get you,” she said, with a smile on her face.

     “Oh,” Andrew mumbled quietly. His face was pink.

     “Not because gravekeeping is weird or anything. But cemeteries are so darn bright! If you need thick sunglasses here, how much do you need them in a graveyard!”

     “Oh, no,” Andrew sheepishly smiled. “It’s… it’s an old cemetery. Pre-Auoric…”

     “Oh,” Bryn blinked. “My bad.”

     “Um, Norton Campbell is buried there actually…”

     Bryn cursed under her breath in surprise. “That guy, huh? Crazy to think his murderer is among us now. Even if it was an accident.”

    “…Yeah.”

     A beat.

    “So were they really dating?”

    “Please don’t tell me you’re a tabloid reader.”

                                            ~

     “I’m surprised nobody’s harassed me at all today,” Alice, carrying a box bearing truffle cake, quickened  to Richard’s side. Despite sharing in such a delightful sweet feast, he still seemed slightly off. She continued. “It’s like I was never accused of murder in the first place.”

     “Perhaps it's because I’m the head of the Lustre Guard,” he offered, slowing himself down so she could catch up. And yet he knew his explanation was of no use— it was mainly because nobody in the Capital really knew what Alice DeRoss looked like.

     The tabloids, newspapers, journals— they were all about Norton. Since nobody was legally allowed to slander defendants (nor did anyone care to what with Riley’s sob story), they simply poked fun at her instead. ‘Alice DeRoss’ was, in actuality, less of a woman and more of a femme fatale fable. Articles didn’t even have photos of her.

     Just visually appealing photos of Norton against the visually grotesque photos of his corpse. 

     “Ah,” Alice figured his answer made sense. They took a few more steps until she added. “Where can we get newspapers?”

     “Why?” Richard stopped. He took a sip from the latte reserved from the Aurora.

    “I… want to catch up on the news here.”

     “It’s really not that interesting,” Richard shook the latte and then took another swig of it. He tapped his foot.

     “Well, maybe not to you. But I’m a journalist. It's my job to be nosy.”

    “Sure, I’ll lay the news on you,” he shrugged. He really didn’t want to take a detour to a news stand anyhow.

     “No, I mean… I’ll just get the paper.”

     “So you care more about letters on a paper than my own good word,” he scoffed lightheartedly. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

     “I want to see what they’ve written about the murder,” Alice confessed. She sighed and her pace slowed.

     Richard stopped walking again. “It’s almost the same as what you’ve seen downtown. Just less of it.”

     He eyed her up and down. “The Capital doesn’t really care about what goes down there. I thought you would’ve understood this by now.”

     “But there has to be something. It was Norton Campbell, of all people.”

     “Because you want to be proven innocent so badly? Sorry to disappoint— Riley’s testimony for you is all there is to your name. Aside from all the gossip.”

     Alice groaned. She eyed her truffle cake with distaste, as if it was the one spreading rumors. “Just as I feared.”

     “Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter what random people say about you, dear Alice,” Richard shrugged and resumed walking to the Upper East Capital Plaza. There were more clusters of citizens here. It made Alice somewhat uncomfortable. 

     “That’s not what I’m concerned about, actually,” Alice countered, an edge to her tone. “It’s just… I can’t have people believing a lie. It's wrong. It brings no closure to Norton. How can I live knowing his murderer is still out there, Richard? I worry.”

     “How noble of you,” he murmured. “Be patient. The Aurora will get to you eventually and sort it all out.”

     ‘And by the time she does,’ he added in his head. ‘You’ll have nothing to worry about ever again.’

     “Right, right,” Alice exhaled, shaking her head. “My apologies. I try not go to get worked up about all this, but this… is something that—“

     “I get it, I get it,” Richard brushed it off. “Since we’re heading to the Plaza, why don’t we get you a nice drink? Or find a place for you to finish all that truffle cake.”

     “…If that’s okay with you,” she mumbled, a hand drifting to her stomach. “I’m still kind of hungry.”

    “Let’s be on our way, then,” his lips twitched into a smile. “I know just the place.”

                                            ~

     “What is Richard doing here?” Brynhildr whispered in fright to Florian, who was currently scarfing down the remainder of Yidhra’s wine. 

     “Oh, shoot, what?” he slammed the glass down. His easygoing expression morphed into wide eyes and a frown as he looked at Yidhra and Andrew.

     “Over there, idiot,” Bryn moved his face to Richard, who had just entered the bar with Alice by his side. Some people whistled at Richard, who was once again blinding everyone with his armor. And by everyone, we mean everyone but the Capital citizens, who were used to it. 

     “We’re done,” Florian muttered. Bryn slammed her hands over Andrew’s eyes as Richard’s gaze flitted across the room and directly onto his cohorts.

     “He knows,” Bryn paled even further. 

     “Just what are you two so afraid of?” Yidhra chuckled. And then she stifled a gasp as she saw Alice.

     “Miss Viluf, get your hands off my glasses,” Andrew whined. “You’re making them dirty again.”

     “Sorry, buddy,” she grumbled. “It’s either that or you going blind because of Mr. Head Guard over there.”

     “So that’s the murderer,” Yidhra mumbled under her breath. “I am impressed. He’s quite handsome for a Capital goon.”

     “Florian, if you hide under the table, I can shoot him,” Bryn whispered to her coworker, brandishing her bow and arrow. “Then you take the two and hide.”

     “He probably just wants to drink,” Andrew quietly retorted. “Why’re you two so afraid of him?”

     “He’s mean,” Bryn grit her teeth. “I don’t want an earful of how ‘incompetent I am’ again, you know? I’ll just… I’ll just shoot him up before he starts talking.” 

     “With the whole bar watching,” Yidhra folded her arms, her eyes following Richard. “Right.”

     Brynhildr groaned and slammed her head against the table as Richard sauntered over to them.

     “What a poor way to greet your boss, Viluf,” Richard mumbled, tapping the space on the table near her head. He surveyed the bar for Florian, who had taken refuge under the table.

     Richard promptly kicked him.

     “Ow!” 

     Andrew watched in concern as Florian emerged from underneath the table, whining. “Boss, that was my—“

     “Shameful,” Richard clicked his tongue as Florian sheepishly dusted himself off. “You two— this is Alice DeRoss, my client. Be respectful.”

     “We know, dumb—“ Bryn began. Florian smiled stiffly and stepped on her shoe. She yelped and jammed her heel into his shoe. 

     Amid another Florian squeak, Richard turned to Andrew and Yidhra. “Greetings. I am Sir Sterling, head of the Lustre Guard. It is my pleasure to meet you all.”

     Andrew nodded. Yidhra flashed him a smile.

     “I was thinking you three could all catch up while I hold discussion with my…” Richard looked back at the underlings. “Coworkers.”

     “Sure,” Andrew, whose eyes were tightly shut, nodded.

     Yidhra nodded as well. 

     Bryn slowly stood up from her seat, allowing Alice to take it. Richard gestured for his coworkers to follow him. 

     “I wasn’t hiding from you under the table,” Florian immediately said once they were out of earshot from the Downtown visitors.

     “Shut up, Brand.” Richard hissed. “You two are an embarrassment to the Guard. I cannot fathom what the Eternal Aurora was thinking when she assigned you to take security positions at the vigil tonight.”

     “What? You’re seriously going to talk about that?” Brynhildr exasperatedly groaned, craning her neck. She side-eyed him. “It’s not that deep, Richard—“

     “Sir Sterling.”

     “He thinks he’s a knight,” Florian giggled, which led to Richard subtly kicking his shin.

     “Well, Sir Mister Your Honor Majesty Sterling, it's just for security. It’s not like she’s trying to replace you or something,” Bryn scoffed.

     “You two don’t know the hell you’re in for if those terror twats actually follow through with that blasted threat,” Richard put a hand to his temple and repeatedly tapped his foot. He pinched his nosebridge. “Need I remind you that this ‘Naib Subedar’ and ‘Emily Dyer’ are known for their violence?”

     “Okay, but one of them has a baby face, so we can spot him instantly, and the other one looks very sad because she killed babies, so we can also spot her instantly,” Florian shrugged.

     “This is why we’re all going to die,” Richard hissed with gritted death. “Brand. They’ve threatened to bring bombs. Bombs! And need I remind you of their gun proficiency?!”

     “Relax. That’s why the Aurora had us build bombs around their bases,” Florian rolled his eyes. “If they detonate, we detonate too. And then a bunch of their little goons go boom!”

     Richard froze.

     Bryn took Florian’s side immediately and whispered directly into his ear canal. “Florian… you weren’t supposed to tell him that.”

     “Why?” Florian whispered back.

     “And she told you all this without informing me first?” Richard’s eye twitched.

     “Well, yeah. Your goal is to defend that DeRoss lady to the best of your ability. If she’s alive, the other casualties won’t matter. Not like there will be any casualties, because I’ll just kill ‘em all,” Bryn shrugged, patting his back. “We got a spy on the inside— you know Ellis? He told us they’re coming in from the side entrances. I get to light them up!”

     “You weren’t supposed to tell him that,” Florian mocked, his voice high-pitched and nasally.

     “That is not what I sound like—!”

     “What in the luminescent world is the Eternal Aurora grabbing at?” Richard wondered incredulously, aloud, as Florian slammed his hand over Bryn’s mouth.

     He pointed to the Head Guard.

     Richard was pacing in tiny circles, quietly murmuring to himself. “Could this possibly be… a test? But why? Oh dear… does Madam doubt my loyalty? But I’ve shown her my proficiency in twenty one ways of execution… no. She’s playing with me. But why? She knew where the rebels were coming from all this time and could’ve deployed me to slay them… yet nobody bothered to tell me?!”

     He paused and stared at the wall in front of him, tapping his foot incessantly. The other two watched in silent amusement as he concluded. 

    “Why?”

     He brought a hand upon his face and sagged. It was the first time either of the underlings had ever seen him sag.

     They almost felt bad for him.

     “Because she knew you’d freak out about it…?” Bryn offered. “I mean, look at yourself. We’re in a bar, boss.”

     Richard flinched. And then he straightened, and turned back to his cohorts.

     “Right…” Richard sharply inhaled. He tucked a cowlick behind his ear. He smiled as if he hadn’t just spiraled out a minute ago. “Excellent observation, Viluf.”

     “So… why did you take us to this tiny secluded corner again?” Florian blinked.

      Richard’s uncanny smile only grew. “Nevermind all that. Let’s return to the clients now—“

      Bam! (The cry of a gun.) 

Chapter Text

     “Mr. Blanche.”

     A brief pause-- then the voice recording continues. 

     “Call back. Somebody’s onto you.”                                   

     “Here we go again,” Brynhildr grumbled, readying her bow and arrow. Florian whipped out a  grenade for a split second, much to the other  two Guard’s displeasure, and then he quickly swapped it out with the latest line of Lustre technology— a flare gun. 

     “This is exactly why the Eternal Aurora should have relegated this matter to me,” Richard’s eye twitched as he brandished his longsword in one hand and a tiny little gun in the other. 

     “No time for monologues, Your  Honor Majesty,” Bryn snickered as she surveyed the  bar. It seemed that there were only two attackers. 

     Except they had rather familiar faces. 

     “Hey, isn’t that chubby faced one on a wanted poster somewhere?” Yidhra whispered under her table. Alice was visibly shaken. Andrew did the sign of the cross several times. 

     “I’m not looking up,” Andrew gulped. 

     “Ohh, don’t be so afraid, Kreiss,” Yidhra, who  shielded the other two and  wielded her  high heels in one hand, chuckled. “A shootout in the Capital itself-- what a way to die.”

     “I can’t die now,” Alice muttered. “I didn’t come all the way here just… just to die.”

     “Then maybe you won’t,” Yidhra smiled. “If you  stay under this table.”

     “Um, wait, Madam Yidhra…” Andrew quietly began. “You said one of them was on a wanted poster?” 

     “Both of  them. Wow, these Capital criminals have no shame,” Yidhra folded her arms. She raised her head further and hit the edge of the table, causing her to hiss at it. “Especially that blue-eyed one. Dressed up like some kind of Aurorian soldier, eh…”

     “Oh no,” Alice frowned. “You mean that ‘Naib Subedar’ guy? From what I’ve read he seems to actually have  been a Capital sol--”

     “I guess so,” Yidhra, rubbing her head, peered out from under the table, much too enraptured by the anxious whispers of the other residents and by the movie-esque scene in front of  her to care about the rebels’ backstory. 

     “A warning shot, huh?” Florian eyed the new hole in the establishment’s ceiling. “That’s got to be the first time they’ve…” 

     Richard stepped forward, raising his voice. “Drop your weapons!”

     “I can’t believe this  is happening,” Alice mumbled. Yidhra eyed some of the patrons who were curiously peering at the trio from under their own tables. Those who dared to  look turned their focus back to the rebels against the Guards. 

     One of the attacker’s guns went off, through a window. Some patrons nearby squeaked. 

     “They’re incredibly well dressed for fugitives,” Bryn whispered to Richard, squinting at the one in an elegant white dress and veil-- ‘Emily Dyer’. “It's like they want us to kill them.”

     “Shoot,” Richard nudged Florian’s elbow. 

     “Which one?” Florian whispered back.

     “The lady who just shot. Dyer.”

     “That seems pretty unchival--”

     Richard snatched the flare gun and pulled the trigger. (He dropped the tiny lethal gun in the process.)

    “Please tell us what you are here for,” Richard stepped closer to the duo as the woman narrowly dodged it. The ‘flare’—although it should be noted it was a flare not of flames but of some sort of non-flammable Aurorian technology—  crashed into the wall. 

     Fshhhh…

     That strange fizzing noise, persistent and ringing, accompanied a violent explosion of light and ended with a sharp pop, like the explosion of a balloon.

     It was if the Aurora herself had brought down the sun-- onto that singular corner of the bar. 

     Gasps rang out as the faint scent of popcorn(!) wafted in the air. It was unbearable to even look in that general direction unless, of course, you were a part of the Lustre Guard, who were already quite used  to such intense levels of light and Aurora knows whatever  else.

      Some patrons  inched closer to Alice’s table, where Andrew once again had to shield his eyes lest he explode just like the flare. Some patrons slipped through the window and left.

     Some began laughing— whether out of stress at the bizarreness of the situation, or because they were drunk, or because, as the light slowly dissipated, Emily Dyer, local rebel, emerged with bloodshot eyes and the pinkest face one could ever see.

     She was not happy. 

     Naib Subedar, on the other hand, stepped closer. He was apparently unfazed by the sudden surprise and was now toe-to-toe with Richard.

    With a disgruntled expression, he lowered the gun to the floor, aiming at Richard’s foot.

     “We demand an audience with the Aurora.”

     “Do your theatrics on your  own time,” Richard rolled his  eyes. Brynhildr aimed at Dyer, who struggled to reload her gun. And then, after catching a whiff of the popcorn smell, Bryn glanced at Florian. 

     Expectantly, disappointedly, proudly-- Florian couldn’t tell.

     “So that’s where my popcorn went…” he murmured in surprise. 

     “Assure this visit happens before the vigil and nobody gets hurt,” Subedar, staring down Richard, continued. He didn’t even flinch as Richard checked the bedazzled hilt of his sword and replied: 

     “And tell me how you plan to harm even more innocent citizens of this Capital?”

    “You don’t want to find out, Sterling. Their injuries will be on your hands.”

     “I didn’t ask. You must be dense, Mr. Subedar. As all the infantry are…”

     Richard’s eyes flickered to Brynhildr, who kept her bow trained on Dyer. The rebel seemed much too disoriented to shoot it precisely, despite how she was  waving it around at the patrons with such a sharp glare.

     “Stand down,” Richard muttered to Bryn.

     She slowly lowered her  bow and grit her  teeth. 

     Dyer’s eyes flickered to  her partner. 

     The only audible sound now was Richard’s brief sigh, before he spoke once more.

     “So be it, Subedar. I will take you to the Aurora if that’s what you really want.”

     Richard’s gaze drifted to Dyer, who stepped closer. Her gun remained raised. Her steps were uneven.

      Richerd continued speaking to Subedar, his tone suave and gentle while his eyes bored straight through his pitiful partner in crime. “Truly, there was no need to be so dramatic about it. You could’ve simply turned yourself in if you wanted to kiss up to her, do understand. Don’t be afraid— you wouldn’t be the first scum rebel to do that.”

     “…I didn’t ask, Sterling.”

     “Well, get your little medic over here then so we can finish this little deal.”

     “This is going way too fast,” Florian mouthed to Brynhildr. It took her a few seconds to understand what he was saying as Dyer stood beside her fellow rebel. 

     Richard and the attackers began discussing terms.

     For the silent two Guards, it was really boring.

     “Do negotiations usually go like this?” Bryn mouthed back.

     “I don’t know— I’m the arsonist.”

     “You’re the wha…?”

     Florian shook his head. “I’m just the rescue guy.”

     “Stop. Talking,” Richard grit his teeth, halting his conservation with the attacker’s. He turned back and continued.

     “Simply allow me to escort you in the carriage and I will deliver you to the Aurora first hand— and if you try anything threatening the livelihood of these people as you did before… do be aware that I am very practiced and experienced in the art of  human torture.”

     He smiled at Dyer. “I did my first lobotomy last weekend.”

     “...Good for you,” Emily Dyer, who was known for her own crimes involving botched lobotomies, eyed him up and down with concern in her  gaze. She blinked several times as she did so, her eyebrows knit together. The light from his armor was unbearable to her.

     He was unbearable to her. And not only to her, but to Subedar as well. 

     “Just move on with it,” Subedar scoffed, shifting in front of her. “We have no time for your baseness, Sterling.”

     Richard released another sigh, as if he were merely a disappointed father. “You’re one to talk… Very well, then.”

      He extended his hand to Brynhildr. “Your arrow, please, Brynhildr.”

     “Uh,” she placed an arrow in his hand.

     Richard smiled and looked up at the criminals. “You two know how deals work: please draw your blood after kindly handing  over your weapons.”

     Subedar grunted and surrendered his and Dyer’s guns to Richard’s fellow Guards. Richard himself quickly drew blood from the palm of his  hand. 

     “When was this a part of terms?” Bryn whispered to Florian, leaning behind Richard. She eyed Subedar’s gun  with interest afterwards. 

     “It's an infantry thing,” Florian shrugged. 

     “Weirdos,” Bryn snorted. 

     Richard spun the arrow between his fingers. “Now, shall I draw for you or--?” 

     Subedar snatched the arrow and dragged its head across his palm without a word, tossing it to Dyer.

      She, with a pained expression, did the same— although her cut was more delicate, like a surgeon making an incision.

     “Excellent,” Richard beamed and returned the arrow back to Bryn. She inspected it before tossing it on the floor as Richard continued. “Let’s get to the carriage as soon as I pick up my clients.”

     “Your—“ Subedar began.

     “Madam Yidhra! Mr. Kreiss! Miss DeRoss! We must get going now!” Richard beckoned from where he stood as the criminals exchanged glances at each other’s hands.

     “Did you bring bandages, Naib?” Dyer whispered to her partner in crime, now avoiding the sight of her newfound wound.

     “You won’t die from a tiny infection, Emily,” Subedar brushed her off as the downtown visitors, in a haze, inched toward the Guards.

    Alice couldn’t even remember entering the carriage afterward. 

                                           ~

     “Tracy, dear, you must understand how hard it is being the Eternal Aurora some days what with all these run-a-muck rebels…”

     At the same exact moment Subedar and Dyer had entered the bar, the Eternal Aurora was found lounging about on her  silk couch in her glittering royal robes. One could almost see her pale white scars through the translucent material. 

     “Uh, yes, of course,” said the servant, Tracy, who had also once been a rebel.

     “I’ve incited Sterling to go to the bar so he can lead the other two in dealing with the rebels… oh, do they even have group names anymore? I can’t bear to keep calling them SubeDyer. There’s hundreds of tiny little baby SubeDyers…”

     “They have kids together?” asked Tracy, highly concerned, as she fanned the Aurora.

     “Um???” the Aurora blinked. “…Anyway, Ellis already told me of their plan to assassinate me once they get here. Can they get any less creative? Ugh, and to think of the stress this must have caused poor baby dear Alice too…”

     “Do you call everyone ‘baby’, Madam—“

     “Three hours… In roughly three hours, I have to be at the vigil, and those stupid SubeDyers think I’ll either be dead or they’ll be martyrs… woe is me! Life is so tiring…”

     After a long sigh, the Aurora continued. “No matter what, I need Fin and Bryn to guard the exteriors of the venue. My luminescence, they’d better have improved on their cleaning skills!”

     “Their… cleaning skills?”

     “Ohh, you see, dear… knowing those two, there will be a lot of casualties.”

     And then the Aurora chuckled. 

     The servant, not entirely sure how to react to her own former enemy venting to her while whining on her couch, continued fanning her silently.

     “Are you not curious?” the Aurora gazed up at her, shifting slightly on the couch. “After all, it's not every day I have those two act in place of Sterling.”

     “Madam, I don’t really keep up with the Guard’s drama…”

     “Why, you ought to. It's incredibly amusing. If any of them get out of line I ought to sell them to a theater.”

     “Oh, um--”

     “Especially Richard. He’s such a pup. And handsome, too…”

     “I think all of them are rather beautiful--”

     “I know, right? And hopefully I’ll be able to ‘beautify’ my stray little rebel soldiers once they get  here,” the Aurora smiled. She gestured towards the tea kettle on the low glass table in front of the couch. “Is the tea ready?”

     Tracy briefly glanced at it. “Should  be one more minute, Madam.”

     “Oh, so be it. You know, dear Tracy, I have many plans with Subedar and Dyer. I wonder how they’ll try to kill me? Do you have any idea how, dear?”

      “Uh, no, Madam.”

     “Probably some surprise attack once we get all buddy-buddy with each other,” the Aurora scoffed lightheartedly. “I’ll give them a cup of tea and then they’ll lunge at me. Strangle me, even… oh, I ought to wear my high heels.”

     “Why?” Tracy paused her fanning.

     The Aurora gestured for her to resume immediately. “They’re so short they couldn’t possibly reach my neck, even if they  did catch me off guard.”

     “...Oh.”

     “Have you heard from the tabloids? Eugh, how they romanticize them! They’re actually quite the adorable duo. A murderous duo… Costly. Annoying, for sure. But at least they’re cute together.”

     “But they’re dangerous--”

     “Just like you and Luca when you two were younger,” the Aurora sighed, almost nostalgically. 

     Tracy raised an eyebrow. “Madam, I don’t think…”

     How long had it been since her and her annoying right hand man had even repented their crimes? Tracy couldn’t even remember. 

     Anything from the past year alone was fuzzy, untouchable. 

     The servant stood in front of the  Aurora dumbfounded, with her mouth agape. 

     “It was a year or two ago, dear,” the Aurora shrugged. “Relax. It's really not that important.”

     “Why… why couldn’t I remember?”

     The mistress straightened and stretched, signaling for Tracy to stop fanning. “Because you’ve been so exhausted with Luca, probably. You know, he could  barely make moscato either.”

      At the mention of her former partner in crime’s name, Tracy cringed. “…Unsurprising. He's inept at anything lacking a circuit.”

     “Like having a social life. Right, dear?”

     “Madam… are you trying to make me upset? Maybe we shouldn’t even waste our breath talking about that foo--”

     “But I remember when I saw you two broadcasting together on my hacked jumbotrons… you two looked so happy together. Like best friends. What a tragedy your friend just couldn’t keep up when I rescued you two from your darkness—“

     “Madam, why are we talking about this?!”

     “Just teasing you, dear. You’re much too quiet nowadays— so pensive. Remember: this empire is about luminosity! Re-illumination! Joy! Loveliness! Restoration!”

     The Aurora stood up and headed for the tea kettle, looking back at Tracy while she poured tea into a small cup. “And since you’ve made the correct choice to join it, those things should be granted unto you as well, dear.”

    Tracy watched as the Aurora dropped two sugar cubes into the tea. Her mistress’ eyes never left her as she continued.

     Her mistress’ tone was sweet. Motherly. “Why fret about the past, anyhow? The future I have in store for everyone is bright— that is all that matters.”

                                            ~

     Update: Suspects narrowed to Lorenz, Blanche, Bourbon.

     Date XXX: Cleared Bourbon.

     Date XXX: Cleared Lorenz.

     Scheduled interrogation with Blanche on XXX.

     (A blank.)

     Order: Release all charges against Mr. Blanche (“Orpheus”).

     Ordered: XXX | Signature: D.HSTR

     “What kind of information is this?” Frederick wrinkled his nose.

     “It’s quite helpful, considering the fact that I can’t find any records from that date anywhere,” Melly peered over his shoulder. The two were currently reviewing and retrieving some documents Officer Baden had left them in his office within the station— there were copies of precious case records and orders from the head of the department, Director Hastur. 

     She presented Frederick with some more papers. “Here are some checks for funding… although they’re not under Orpheus’ name, but the Aurora’s. And they’re a month early, if Baden’s calendar truly was correct.”

     “The dates correlate eerily well,” Frederick remarked, tapping the dates between the documents. “Conspiracy theory: Orpheus is the Aurora all along.”

     “Don’t even start,” Melly stifled a chuckle. “Perhaps you should dig deeper into the Aurora’s apparent involvement, hm?”

     “Is there enough evidence to prove anything like that?” Frederick wondered aloud, sifting through some more documents. 

      “Well, it's quite obvious the department can be bought,” Melly replied. “Keep looking. In the meantime I’ll refer to the records pertaining to Orpheus…”

     The two continued shuffling through the unorganized notes and data and interviews and whatever else Baden had thrown to them. Frederick found a letter from the Aurora to Hastur, making her even more suspicious: 

     ‘Dear Director,

     Apologies for all this legal conundrum with my colleague! Take the money— you could use a good vacation.

      All the best, 

      The Eternal Aurora’

      “Somehow there’ll be an excuse for this one, too,” Frederick scoffed. 

     “Orpheus and the Aurora being colleagues…” Melly mused. “Are we going too left field?”

     “You told me to investigate this, Melly.”

     “I was partially joking. And it really does seem Orpheus never had an interview…”

     “So far, we have quite the case,” Frederick noted, taking a peek at the documents Melly was holding. “Famed author and publishing star Orpheus, out of nine other suspects, gets cleared before he even gets interrogated in correlation to the Eternal Aurora’s hush money.”

     “It sounds like a tale Orpheus would have written, doesn’t it?” Melly smiled, setting down a file. “He’s quite obviously got something to hide if he’s managed to get so far without having to reveal anything to the Officers.”

     “Is it enough to prove Alice is innocent already?” Frederick huffed. “I fear my piano skills might shrivel up if we do not expose Orpheus soon. Surely anybody out there can just take our word for it?”

    “Take legal commentary from an entomologist and a composer, Frederick?”

     “Yeah?” Frederick shrugged. “We’re smart. Are you suggesting otherwise?”            

     “This is a high-profile case, mind you,” Melly shook her head. “Perhaps we could get an extra helping hand… after all, just having us two organize all of this and try to make sense of it is quite exhausting.”

     “And do so without Alice knowing?!”

     “I never said that. We could simply use an extra person to offer any insight we might have missed, like Alice did before she was shipped off to the Capital.”

     “Who do you have in mind, then? Officer Baden?”

     “No. Then he’d really be the richest man in Metropolis.”

     “Then who?”

     “…Do you know anybody in law school?”

     “No, Melly, not this again...”

      Ring, ring.

      “Director Hastur?”

      “Ah. It's you, Mr. Orpheus.”

      “You said someone was ‘onto me’?”

      “Yes. Do you know a certain Melly Plinius and Frederick Kreiburg?”

     “…Yes.”

     “Unfortunate."

     A beat.

     "Would you like me to dispatch a hit, Mr. Orpheus?”

     “Yes, please. But make sure every single trace of evidence they had disappears before you do so.”

     “Of course, Mr. Orpheus. Enjoy the vigil.”

     Click. 

Chapter Text

     “This reminds me a little too much of the jail, Kreiss…”

     In a spacious, large bright yellow carriage with huge golden wheels sat Richard on the front exterior, driving; Yidhra, Andrew, Alice, the two criminals, and Florian on the inside; and Brynhildr in the exterior back seat. Yidhra, Andrew, and Alice and  the opposing trio faced each other.

     It was Yidhra who spoke, her tone amused, as she eyed Emily Dyer intently. She took full advantage of being seated directly across from her. Andrew eyed the criminals wearily before returning to the view from the windows.

     “Sorry about that,” Florian smiled at Yidhra. The matron’s gaze fell to the Guard, who had been staring at his bandaged hands. “We don’t usually pick up criminals with visitors around.”

    “Right…” Alice nodded. She had been quietly observing the rebels since the start of the ride, wishing she had some kind of newspaper to understand just who these criminals were. 

     “You know, Alice over here interviewed a few of my own some two years ago,” Yidhra grinned, her eyes roaming back to Dyer and Subedar. “Are you two photogenic?”

     “…Us?” Subedar pointed to himself. 

     “No, clearly I was asking Florian and that redhead out back,” Yidhra deadpanned.

     “I’m not,” Dyer quickly answered, and then looked away.

     “You would be if you weren’t a criminal,” Florian shrugged, seated between the criminals. He donned a bright, cheeky smile and nudged Dyer lightly.

    She cringed and inched away. 

     “What’s that supposed to mean?” Subedar wrinkled his nose. He briefly glanced at Andrew, who was looking out the window and fidgeting with his gloves, and then looked at Alice, who was looking back at him.

     “Naib Subedar, right?” Alice immediately asked. 

     “Yeah…?” Naib blinked. 

     “Is it true you were a part of the infantry?”

     He huffed quietly. “Yes.”

     Naib’s eyes drifted to Dyer, who was trying to avoid looking at anybody’s face. 

     “Were you a soldier as well, Miss…?” Alice followed Naib’s gaze. 

     “Dyer,” Naib answered for  her. 

     At the sound of her name, the woman perked up and turned to face him. She noticed Alice’s staring and frowned. 

     “Excuse me?” she stiffly responded. 

     “Were you a soldier alongside Mr. Subedar?” Alice gently repeated. 

     “Um, no,” Emily Dyer’s eyes darted around on the floor. She rubbed her arm almost bashfully and looked at her partner.

     “Are you not from around here or something?” Naib scoffed at Alice. “We’ve been rather popular lately.”

     Florian immediately gestured to a billboard depicting the criminal’s faces outside of the carriage. It read ‘WANTED: SubeDyer rebels -- 12,000 credits reward!’. 

     “How timely,” Yidhra chuckled. 

      “Those are some nice photos,” Florian hummed as they drove closer to the billboard. 

      Except they weren’t nice photos, as evidenced by Emily’s repulsed face as she took a peek. 

     She gasped. “How did she find those photos—?!”

     Naib just scoffed and turned away from Florian. Outside was another billboard depicting Naib’s childhood photos…

     “Why is that boy on a wanted poster?” Andrew blinked several times as he registered the small child with a duck floatie on, reading ‘12,000 Credits If Caught!!!’.

     Florian snorted immediately as he saw it. “That’s Naib. That photo of him has been circulating for a looong time before he was ever wanted…”

     “Tch,” Naib scoffed again and rested his head against the carriage window. Emily gave him a pitiful look and did the same.

     Silence filled the carriage once more— it was quiet enough to Brynhildr shouting at Richard to drive faster. 

     Richard yelled something back, incomprehensible to any of the passengers. Yidhra chuckled. Alice studied the billboards outside with great interest. Andrew looked just about ready to doze off. Naib and Emily already had.

     Florian was disappointed. And antsy.

     “I’m bored,” he whined, rolling his eyes when Naib began snoring. He locked eyes with Alice as a large smile formed on his face. “I think we should play a game.”

     “What kind of game?” Alice folded her arms. She had a sneaking suspicion the games these eccentric Guards were into weren’t very… game-like, to put it one way.

     “It’s called ‘interrogate the suspect’,” Florian whispered; although he did it loudly enough so that even Andrew and Yidhra could understand what he was saying. “You’re a journalist, right? Ask them questions and if they lie…”

     He brandished a lighter.

     “What’s that supposed to mean?!” Alice sharply whispered, blinking rapidly. Where had the lighter even come from? Did he intend to burn the carriage down?!

     “Relax, relax,” he crooned. Alice figured he took quite a bit of amusement from her hissing. He reclined in his seat and took out a cigarette. “If they lie, I light this  thing and smoke it.”

    “Where’s the fun in that?” Yidhra mumbled, eyeing the  unlit  thing with an unreadable expression.  Her  eyes flicked up to Florian, who was already starting to wake the criminals.

      “Stop that,” Naib flinched as Florian began shaking his arm like some kind of bothersome dog. Naib looked just about ready to slap the Guard, but relented once he noticed the open lighter.

     Naib stiffened and cringed. “You’re not allowed to torture people in a carriage, you freak.”

    “Oh, I won’t be the one torturing you,” said Florian back, with that same bright smile. And Alice realized the Guards, who were particular smiley, all had different smiles.

    Richard’s was more… charming. Brynhildr’s was cocky. And Florian’s…

    He treated all his words like a joke. In a very joyous manner, to boot.

    Emily Dyer stirred at the sound of her partner’s sharp words. She quietly straightened, inched closer to the window, and then looked back to see Florian looking straight at her.

    She yelped.

     “What am I— some kind of monster?” Florian raised an eyebrow. “You’re panicky for a criminal.”

     “Mr. Brand, just tell them about your idea already,” Alice sighed and pinched her nosebridge. 

     “Of course,” Florian grinned. He glanced back and forth between the criminals. “So, basically, this journalist here interviews you and if you lie, I get to have a smoke.”

     Emily gave him her signature disapproving look— the one on all her government photos that he had seen. “So a Capital journalist was here all along, huh…”

    She eyed Naib with disdain, as if he were the one at fault.

     Naib rolled his eyes and gave her a tiny shrug. 

     “Oh, no, dear,” Yidhra chuckled. “This woman is from downtown. We just happened to be escorted by these Guards when all of a sudden you two decided to attack the bar we were drinking in.”

    “Yeah, right,” Naib scoffed. He glared at Andrew, whose reaction was indiscernible due to his sunglasses. 

    “First question, go!” Florian prompted.

    “Uhh,” Alice stiffened as the Guard’s eyes locked with hers. The criminals appeared wholly uninterested.

    But despite this unorthodox setting and the unorthodox way the journalist entered their lives (or rather, they entered hers), Alice’s heart fluttered a hint of excitement—the same kind excitement she always had given the chance to talk with someone unfamiliar, to understand them even just a little bit— that she hadn’t experienced in quite a while.

    Her last interview—one where she was the journalist and had all the questions instead of feeling trapped in a room with a sketchy Officer— had been with Norton, after all. 

     “What would you like to be called?” Alice asked. And asked it in the way she would’ve had she seen them in a courtroom— her voice filled the carriage. Her fellow downtown visitors straightened.

    “We have no official group name, if that’s what you’re asking,” Naib checked his nails boredly. He looked to Florian, whose finger was ready to ignite the lighter. 

    But he didn’t. Not yet.

    Alice faced Emily now, thinking fast. “What would you like your rebellion to be remembered for?”

Chapter Text

     What would you like your rebellion to be remembered for?

     Out of all the questions Emily Dyer had been expecting, this certainly was one of them— but to start off with such a question? 

     Unexpected. 

    “Ah,” Emily perked up. She paused and eyed the floor before answering:

     “I… We… want the people under the Aurora’s rule to know about those who have  sacrificed their lives trying to carry out her orders. To understand the pain of those who were advertised as being ‘heroes’—“

   “‘Closest to the Aurora’s bosom’,” Florian and Naib chimed in. Florian grinned. Naib glared kukris at him.

     “Yes, yes,” Emily scoffed. “Either way, the Aurora has made no attempt to provide for the families of dead infantry. They were married, they were caretakers, they had kids— and yet all she does is put out blanket statements and glosses over the death tolls she’s helped raise.”

     “I see,” Alice clicked her tongue. “Is this all there is to your rebellion? Do you think your actions have been appropriate so far?”

     “Appropriate?” Naib grimaced. “Debatable. But the only way to capture the attention of anyone in this wretched place is to be bold.”

     “By bombing,” Florian perked up. 

     “Is that your modus operandi?” Alice hummed, looking between the two criminals.   

     “Flash bombing. Our intent is never to kill,” Emily shook her head, her lips pursed. “Although we most certainly could…”

     “But we won’t,” Naib quickly tacked on. 

     “Is your sole goal to spread awareness of Aurora’s apparent neglect of soldiers?” Alice tilted her head.

     “It’s grown since then,” Emily mused. “We have some dissenters —particularly those from the Estelle Experiments— wanting justice for their own children. People want to know what happened to their family members after the mycelic outbreak in the Cryoura mining sector. University students want change to the Aurora's ‘dictatorship government’. So on and so forth.”

      “I see,” the sound of so many foreign yet controversial ventures gone wrong made Alice’s heart race just a bit faster. What were the Estelle Experiments? The Cryoura Project? “Seeing as I’m not from around here, could you tell me a bit more about the timeframe of these controversies? How long has it been since you noticed the Aurora’s neglect, and when did the experiments and project occur?”

     Florian eyed the  two criminals with interest. His gaze lingered on Emily for a few seconds.

     “The Aurora’s treatment of her infantry has always been under wraps. It was only when…” Naib’s eyes drifted to the floor. “Well, one of the first incidents was with the Estelle Experiments. Ten years ago, a few of our men and women infected with mycelia volunteered to help find the cure— with promises money would go to their families.”

      “Interestingly enough, the money was delivered. But we have yet to hear from our comrades after all this time,” Emily folded her arms.

        “Eight years ago,” Naib continued. “A mass outbreak of a different disease spread among some commanders— Ulliel, Ness, and Melodís. It drove them to madness.”

     “It was actually a different strain of the mycelia,” Emily corrected, reaching behind Florian to nudge him with her cuffed hands. 

    Naib cleared his throat. “Yes. Right, Dyer. Anyway, this led to the infantry being forced into factions. Fighting broke out. Some of our rank died as the commanders —not in their right minds— were forced to continue planning to clear wasteland for development. They led comrades to their deaths.”

     Florian fidgeted with the lighter. 

     Naib’s eyes darkened. “The Aurora did nothing.”

     “Does this have a particular name to it as well?” Alice frowned. “I imagine the terms ‘Estelle Experiments’ and ‘Cryoura’ stir tensions in residents to this day.”

      “It doesn’t,” Emily sighed. “The Aurora had paid out reparations to the families of those who passed, but… there was no official public statement or anything. There were no reports. No news.”

      She looked up, a kind of despair in her eyes. “And things like that still happen—“

      “Name three examples of it happening,” Florian ordered. There was a lilt to his tone, as if he were amused, but his eyes were cold.  

     It did not escape Alice’s notice.

     Emily froze as she felt Florian’s eyes bore through her.

     After a few moments, she gulped.

     “I…” she began fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Um…”

      “Don’t be afraid,” Florian cooed, although there was something so mocking about it. He leaned closer. The lighter’s tiny flame flickered close to his eyes. “The journalist is still listening.”

      “Are you threatening her?!” Naib’s shackles rattled. He swiftly turned to the man, his eyes sharp. 

     “Me?” Florian straightened and raised his hands, the cigarette between his fingers. He smirked. “I’d neeever.”

      “…Perhaps we should end the interview here,” Alice suggested— even though her mind was on a rampage with questions. “I do believe you’re making the interviewees uncomfortable, Mr. Brand.”

     “Just call me Florian,” the Guard beamed and reclined in his seat, with the other two criminals glaring at him.

Chapter Text

     The Aurora’s Grand Palace (yes, because she had to have a palace) was at the north tip of the Capital, on a large hill overlooking the Third Sector and Upper East Plazas. While dot-like now, their spiral towers glistened with white light and resembled a star shape altogether.

     “The flowers are in full bloom,” Yidhra nudged Andrew, who by now was wide awake. He was a night creature— Yidhra was not.

     Now her eyes were starting to ache.

     “I’m sorry  dwyou all have to walk alongside these rebels,” Richard shook his head and sighed as he led the group towards the entrance of the palace, which was in the center of the Royal Lumine Garden. For some reason, despite it being the evening, twinkling iridescent butterflies and small yet big-eyed adorable animals were roaming about. 

      Alice snapped a photo of one that was biting her ankle. 

       Richard kicked it off. Alice was aghast as he continued. “The Aurora has given us clear orders that we are not to leave your sights while traveling  in order to provide the best tourist experience, however, and none of us are inclined to disobey her.”

       “Richard, I think the criminals are a little behind…” Brynhildr flat-tired Richard with her hard boot as she tried to drag Naib, with several more curious animals trailing alongside him, with her.

        Richard pinched his nosebridge, grit his teeth, and then turned around. He continued walking facing  the group. “Lady Viluf, just kick the little demons off.”

       “They’re not demons,” Florian huffed as Emily after screeched. One of the critters had started licking her leg as Florian rolled his eyes and mumbled: “You’re the demon, Richard.”

         “Why are the animals not crowding us?” Yidhra frowned at Andrew. “I could stand to commit theft just once for my girls…”

       “Those ‘girls’ would torture them,” Andrew mumbled unhappily and shuffled along, eyeing a ladybug perched on his index finger. Tiny little thing. 

       “Everyone, please get your little demons off you now— the Aurora wants no drooling visitors,” Richard announced, slipping past the now open doors of the Grand Palace. 

       The visitors groaned. The criminals sorrowfully set down their cute, non-judgmental, non-freaky companions. Alice snapped a barrage of photos before Richard quickly shoved her through the entrance. 

      Where the Aurora was already waiting. 

                                                                    ~

      A little more earlier in that same day, the makeshift detective duo of Melly and Frederick were up to their typical shenanigans.

      “‘Professor Kreiburg’, ‘Professor Kreiburg’… it’s wonderful to see that beloved moniker of yours be used once more.”

      Frederick was currently taking a sip of tea in the faculty lounge of none other than the Auroric Conservatory of the Arts when Melly opened the door, her tone bearing a hint of amusement. 

      She watched him drink the tea, his white hair in a neat ponytail. It was no wonder why, despite young age, his hair was such a color— Melly could not imagine teaching children anything. 

      “Don’t,” Frederick grumbled. He set his mug (Melly immediately noticed the design reading ‘World’s Best 🎵Professor’) down and then cracked his knuckles. The sound resounded in the otherwise empty room.

      “Yet everyone downtown thinks you are a mere composer,” Melly chuckled. “Nobody there really knows about you aside from that, do they?”

      “For the better, I say,” Fredrick scoffed. “The Conservatory should not be diminished to simply being ‘Frederick’s Old College’. It is a high functioning facility—“

      “—Full of the Capital’s next stars,” Melly finished. “I know, Frederick.”

      “You sound… happier than usual. Alice must have done something to your honey supply before she left.”

       “Sure, Frederick, sure,” Melly stepped closer. She took a seat next to him. “Now where is the law student you had family connections with? Is she… a music artist as well?”

      “No,” Frederick rolled his eyes. And then he cleared his throat. “Well, yes, she is. She’s a… a banjo player.”

      “…Interesting,” Melly sipped her tea. Where had it come from? “You’ve never told me her name.”

      “You’ll know her,” he rolled his eyes. “Works a side job downtown. Something Tower or whatever it's called— the one where Joseph keeps holding his debuts like he’s still eighteen.”

      “Hmm. Is she in the middle of a banjo lesson? And have you actually… told her about this case?”

      “I telegraphed her brother about it. She answered it and said she’d love to.”

      “Hm, I see. Do I know this brother?”

      “Yeah. Stop deducting everywhere. You’re being too much like that Alice.”

      “I see nothing wrong with t—“

       “Found ‘em!” the door slammed open. Several terrifying banjo riffs reverberated the room, accompanied by a much more pleasant sounding flute tune.

       Melly tackled Frederick the table.

       “Ow! Ah, anacrusis, my kneecap!” Frederick cried as Melly quickly lifted her head.

       In the doorway stood two confused and concerned looking women—students, most likely— carrying their respective instruments. The tune slowly faded out as they looked at each other. 

      One was extremely familiar— Deedee? Delilah, perhaps? That one had a red beanie over her brown hair and green eyes, wearing a bedazzled, glittery  version of the Conversatory uniform. The slender, serious one next to her had neat, long black hair and a flute in her hands. 

       Well, whoever they were, they certainly weren’t Orpheus. 

        “Sorry,” Melly stood up, dusted herself off, and extended a hand to help the beloved retired professor off the floor.

        He snatched it and then folded his arms, eyeing the students. “Bourbon. Shiyi. How kind of you two to barge in on us in the teacher’s lounge.”

       “Hey, you told me to meet you so I met you where I you’d be,” ‘Bourbon’ stepped forward. 

       Melly blinked several times behind her veil when she finally realized that she had been the bartender in the Orpheusian Tower the first time Alice had been there. 

       When Norton had still been alive. And very much argumentative. 

       She was the one who called her and Norton Alice's arguing parents…

       Apparently, Demi realized that, too. She formed an awkward, toothy smile and extended her hand. “Uhh, good evening, Madame Plinius… Hope Ms. DeRoss has been okay since uh… her friend died…”

       “She has been faring… decently,” Melly shook the hand and then let it fall. “She’s in the Capital now. I’m sure you’ve been made aware of your newfound duties--?”

       “I’m ready to get my degree, baby!” Demi pumped her fists in the air. “My professor said I could do this instead of my boring stupid thesis!”

       ‘Shiyi’ cleared her throat. “Baby?”

       Demi rolled her eyes. And then she stared eagerly at Frederick. “So? Where do I begin? Do you guys have the docs? Can Qi stay and watch? Can she help me? I’m kind of bad when it comes to reading evidence, sorry.”

       “...We need you to sign a contract first,” Frederick cleared his throat. “This is a high stakes and hot button topic, you see.”

       “Which is precisely why I’m the lawyer for the job,” Demi snickered, heading over to the  table. She whipped out a pen from her skirt pocket and adjusted her contact lenses and then bent down to read the fine print first. 

       The lounge went silent, save for Demi reading various parts of the contract to herself before quickly signing off. 

       “Fantastic!” Demi cheered. “Hand me your notes, everybody! Ms. Alice DeRoss is not going to jail with me around!”

       “I can’t believe we’re doing  this.” Frederick whispered to Melly, his face deadpan. 

       “The night just keeps getting stranger,” Melly whispered back. 

Chapter Text

         “Thank you, kind souls, for bearing with these silly little soldiers of mine,” the Aurora, surrounded with the glowing white butterflies whose kind was seen roaming around the garden, cheerfully said, embracing two extremely repulsed infantry rebels-- one on either side. She kept a firm grip on their backs while staring the downtown visitors down with a bright smile. 

        “Never knew she had a veil,” Yidhra whistled on the way out. “And that hair, too… why, she almost rivals you, Kreiss.”

        Andrew blinked. His face prickled with pink. “Uh, thank you, Yidhra… I could barely see her hair because she was so bright…”

       “Aw, poor Kreiss,” Florian hummed, flanking his side for some reason. Brynhildr flanked Yidhra’s. “You’d never survive being in the  Guard.”

       “Oh, shut up, Fin,” Bryn rolled her eyes. “You can’t even survive Richard half the time.”

       “Richard?” Richard, who was leading the group out of the palace and down through the garden again (his hair was tangled thanks to the butterflies circling around it-- they had placed a flower crown on his head), stopped short, causing Alice to bump into him. 

       “Richard, what--” Alice began. But Richard  had already turned to face Brynhildr with a cold smile on his face:

        “That’s Sir Sterling to you, Brynhildr.”

        “Pompous prick…” Florian fidgeted with the lighter in his pocket. And then he too formed a smile and continued escorting the clients back to the carriage.

         “How long until the vigil, Richard?” Alice caught up to Richard's side once more. “I feel like it's already been quite a long day…”

         “Ah, then feel free to nap in the carriage,” Richard breezily replied, hopping onto the driver’s seat. “Glory Aurora, those filthy criminals are finally done for. You have nothing to worry  about, dear Alice.”

         “...Thanks, Richard. How long until the vigil again?”

         “An hour. My sincerest apologies for this little detour… although at least somebody got to enjoy the little demons in the Aurora’s gardens.”

        “They’re nicer than you think,” Alice smiled, tapping her fingers over her camera. “They even gave you a flower crown, Richard.”

        “I’ll take it into consideration when I escort you to the Aurora tomorrow,” Richard looked down from his high horse and smiled. He then gestured to the actual carriage itself. “Now let’s get going. Traffic should be heavy near the square-- you wouldn’t want to miss front row seats to the vigil, would you?”                                                                               

        No servant dared to meet their eyes. 

        Emily Dyer and Naib Subedar, willing to be martyrs for their  cause that seemed to constantly sink into suppression no matter what efforts they made, willing to kill for that cause to succeed, had been sitting alone in a lounge with servants coming in and out providing them with a variety of delicacies such as desserts, wines, and appetizers. 

        Emily took none aside from a small slice of carrot cake. Naib ate anything and everything offered to him, provided that he cussed out the waiter or waitress providing the food first. 

        “What do you think she’s going to do first?” Emily murmured, still wearing the same dress from the bar fight earlier. She straightened it out stiffly and looked at him.

      He was digging into a chicken leg.

      “Naib,” she hissed. “When that Aurora bullies you for being a bigback, don’t come crying to me.”

      “Relax, Emily,” he spoke with his mouth open, his behavior a stark departure from his stoicity with Florian. Emily cringed and crossed herself as he continued, patting her shoulder lightly. “When we kill her and take the palace for ourselves, you can be a bigback too and nobody will bully you over it.”

      “Hmph! If we even survive, Naib. What is she going to do to us first? You know, I asked you about that earlier but you were too distracted with your little chicken leg.”

      “Well, if she executes us on the spot… good thing I ate my death row meal,” he shrugged. He gestured to an uneaten dish that smelled harshly of fish oil. “Come on, Emily. It's your favorite.”

       “Naib, our plan—“

       He hissed in her ear. “You think the Eternal Aurora’s not going to hear it? All those slimy servants… they may be acting like we’re invisible when they’re coming in and out, but do you really think they’re not spying? There’s probably a camera somewhere here too, disguised as something like that tacky flower pot on the table.”

     He pulled away and then smiled handsomely at the flower pot before snatching a fish with its guts open, spilling out fish oil. Emily promptly slapped it away and took the fish for herself.

       She was halfway through chewing it when Naib suddenly slammed his hands over his eyes. A sharp burst of light slipped through the door; all the minute chatter of the servants halted immediately, allowing for only the sound of high heels clacking against the ground to be heard.

       And then the typical gushing:

       “Madam Aurora! Your robes are as dainty and illustrious as always!”

       “Madam Aurora! Those beautiful white lumiflowers in your hair… how blessed are they!”

       “Madam Aurora! Those lovely translucent high heels— they make you a foot taller!”

      “Thanks,” the Aurora giggled. “Tracy recommended them. Now everyone please kindly head out! I must have a talk with my beautiful little soldiers… or soldier-medic duo, rather…”

      “Dropped the veil, eh?” Naib remarked to his partner in crime as the Aurora approached the couch they were sitting on.

           “Greetings, beloved soldiers,” she waved and then took a seat on the golden portable throne that had been there all along. “How was the food?”

          “Disgusting,” Naib answered, clearing off a charcuterie board. Emily side-eyed him and straightened her posture.

        Naib did nothing of the sort.

        “That’s my little Naib,” the Aurora cooed. “So refined on paper yet not showing an ounce of respect to your goddess…”

         “Can Emily be my goddess?” he snorted, patting his face with a napkin.

         “Too dull,” the Aurora's gaze flickered to the rigid woman. She scrutinized that ugly dress. “She could be your wife, though.”

     “That’s my little Aurora,” Naib, with a nasally voice, mocked. “So refined on paper yet not showing an ounce of care for your soldier’s boundaries.”

      “Or wellbeing,” Emily chirped. 

      “Oh, the girl finally speaks!” the Aurora smirked, now swishing some red wine around in a tall, obnoxiously ornate glass with a glass model of her face on it. “Good, good, good. Now that I have both of your attention, I must warn you-- this will all be quite quick. Your little antics have halted my pamperment time with Tracy before the Vigil…”

Chapter Text

     The Aurora took a sip from the glass and sighed drearily, loudly. “I must say, I am not pleased. But it is good that you came here.”

     “Will you execute us?” Emily, with a furrowed brow, immediately asked. Her voice quivered. Naib placed a hand on her shoulder.

     “Glad you asked, dear,” the Aurora gave her a look mildly resembling pity, protruding her lower lip before chuckling. “I have something much more exciting for all of us, actually.”

     She stood up and peered down at the two of them. “Take a guess as to what it is.”

     The Aurora looked up at something in the distance before quickly looking back down at her subjects.

     “It’s us killing you—“ Naib slowly began, before getting whacked on the head with none other than an electric rod.

     Emily sprang up from her seat and gasped in horror at the sight of him collapsing to the floor, tiny sparks and ‘bzzt’s’ from the rod still ringing in her ears.

      She watched with wide eyes, feeling her legs shake as if she had been doused in ice water, as one of the Aurora’s servants dragged Naib’s limp body out of the lounge.

      “Oh… oh my…” Emily, pale-faced, staggered backwards, straight into the Aurora.

      “Oh, oh my…” the Aurora mocked, a smile on her face as she put her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Sit here for a while, dearie.”

     She shoved Emily back onto the couch. 

     Emily continued trembling uncontrollably. She fidgeted with each and every single thing she could. 

    Her head pounded as the Eternal Aurora spoke.

    “I’ll be brief, darling: I must get to vigil promptly so my servant Tracy will be handling the latter half of these torturous affairs. Do you have any questions?”

    “N-Naib…” Emily sputtered. “You… he…”

    “Darling, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. But my Aurory Senses tell me this: you want to know what I am going to do with Naib… and with you.”

     Emily nodded frantically. What an adorably pathetic rebel. 

     “Well, there’s a lot of terms for it,” the Aurora shrugged, now reclining on her throne. She raised a hand and listed the following off. “Sensationalist rebels like you call it ‘brainwashing’. I call it reforming.”

      “H-How…? What do you mean by tha—“

      “Sweetheart, I was getting there. I’m basically going to have your lovely little Naib lobotomized.”

     A pause. Emily sat there stunned.

     A cruel smirk appeared on the Aurora’s lips as she watched the wretched thing continue trembling. “Oh, and, my dear… here’s the best part: you’re going to watch all of it.”

     “What?!” Emily shrieked. Her eyes practically bulged from her skull. 

      The Aurora feared the woman was about to have a heart attack and die before the show.

     “Relax, dear,” she sternly replied. “Torture isn’t so bad— you’ve done your fair share of lobotomies yourself, yeah?”

     “But Naib… he’s sane… he’s… he’s—“

     “He’s! He’s!” the Aurora nasally mocked.. “You’re an embarrassing pig. He is impure by my standards, love.”

    The Aurora’s eyes widened, just like Emily’s— for a very different reason, of course. 

     The Aurora beamed very brightly and craned  her neck forward. “And guess who is the ruler of the Capital? Me. Not you, a sorry excuse of a rebel. So speak clearly and ask me more questions or else I’ll have Naib get a little more than a lobotomy done.”

                                           ~

     When all is said and done— a conversation:

     “Madam Aurora may be away right now, but she demands an answer from you, Ms. Dyer.” 

      Tracy’s voice held no ounce of remorse for the rebel, who sat with her lips pursed and her eyes still wide as she stared at an unconscious, officially… ‘reformed’… Naib.

      There was no obvious difference that screamed that cursed word, ‘reformed’. 

      He was dressed in the same uniform she had seen him in since his time working for the Aurora, but he had been a rebel even then. He had his hair slicked back— that was, again, a return to the past, when he actually cared for his ID photos. And he appeared very peaceful.

       That was new.

       Still, after all of that, Naib was still Naib. 

       Except Emily Dyer knew full well that he wasn’t. 

       “I… I…”

       “The Aurora told me you’d have problems expressing yourself after seeing your partner in crime break. Do you wish to write your will down?” Tracy folded her arms. Her expression was the same cold one she wore watching Naib’s brain be poked around with needles after several rounds of nauseating forced drugging sessions. (It was really gross.)

        “Write a will?” Emily breathed, still staring at Naib’s body. “I.. she is not… am I going to be executed?”

        “Well, no. Remember her ultimatum?”

       “…I… what was it…” Emily’s eyes shifted to Tracy, also pleadingly.

       “Oh, I’ll just tell you. She told you you could be reformed with him and live in peace with the Aurora or survive with all your memories intact in her dungeon.”

       “Ah…” Emily exhaled. Her eyes fell to her partner in crime was more.

      He was still there. Breathing. 

      What had they been fighting for?

      Emily paused.

      Would they truly ever win?

      She finally moved.

      As if a disjointed doll, she slowly slumped forward in her chair, not daring to stare at Naib’s ‘corpse’ anymore and calmly answered: 

       “I… will think about it.”

Chapter Text

An echo of the past:

    “Well, no. Remember her ultimatum?”

       “…I… what was it…”

       “She told you you could be reformed with Naib and live in peace with the Aurora or survive with all your memories intact… in her dungeon.”

                                             ~

     “Welcome all! Welcome all! Here comes your goddess, your government: your good and gracious Eternal Aurora!”

        (A stronger rebel would have gone with the second option, wouldn’t they?)

     Richard Sterling, with a megaphone, shouted the invitatory custom to the sea of people crowded at the outdoor venue. Citizens stretched out for miles in a circle around the late Grace Csonka, otherwise formerly known as the infamous Naiad, and her open casket. 

     All made sure to make room for the Aurora. Even those who despised her.

    The Aurora knew she had targets on her back the moment she drove in.

     (A stronger rebel would have stuck with the truth. A stronger rebel wouldn’t have caved so easily just because of something as… as…)

     (No. It was evil. Emily had every right to choose the path she did.)

      Brynhildr and Florian blasted the trumpets like it was their final time doing so. They did so rather terribly out of tune, of course, and in doing so, almost singlehandedly blasted Alice, Yidhra, and Andrew’s eardrums simultaneously.

      (After all, what was the point of living for a cause that would never come to be true? If no one could hear her trapped in a dungeon, what was the point?)

       (Martyrdom… Emily had to laugh. All the followers who would have risen if she was imprisoned would end up dead or worse with everyone else none the wiser. All of their deaths--physically or otherwise or none at all-- would be worthless.)

        (Justice was a dead cause.)

        (And poor little Emily Dyer chose to live.)

       “I… wasn’t expecting so many people to show up,” Alice’s cheeks were tinged slightly pink. The mere thought of seeing Grace --reuniting with her, in a way-- made her strangely overwhelmed. The chanting and cheering of the crowd did not help either.

       “I’m not too surprised,” Yidhra sighed, a tiny melancholic smile forming on her blood-red lips. “The Aurora has a talent for getting her citizens rallied around anything-- even someone like Grace.”

        “Good,” Alice nodded-- and a hint of hope swallowed in her chest. If Grace could get justice, certainly Alice could as well…

        Yidhra nudged Andrew, who had earplugs in. After a few more elbows, he finally stirred and stared at her with a rather bemused expression, his lips pursed.

        “You seem displeased,” Yidhra lightly scoffed.

        “Thank God the Sacred Heart Cemetery doesn’t attract this number of people,” was all he mumbled, before slumping in his seat like a moody child. Yidhra ruffled his hair and chuckled lowly. Alice had half a mind to snap a photo; the other half of her mind was somewhere else. 

        The Capital had its oddities, but if Grace’s innocence could be brought to light--and with such high reception, too-- certainly, certainly Alice’s had to as well. 

        Alice wouldn’t take anything else for an answer now.

        All of those sitting in the interior of the carriage could hear the Aurora, seated pretty on her high horse, call out to her citizens once the applause and shouts quieted slightly. 

        “Hi sweethearts!!” she called out. “My, my, what gracious applause do I receive from all of you dears… what a fine society I’ve raised! Can we please give our applause to our dearest late Grace Csonka-- our beloved Downtown Martyr?!"

        Alice had to cover an ear at that point. Still, she was somewhat surprised at the Aurora’s manner of speech. It was like if Orpheus ran the government-- and then some, because the Aurora seemed way more approachable than that Nightingale CEO. 

        “Yes, yes, my dears!” the Aurora cheered, leading the carriage a few feet away from Grace’s lone white casket on a flat wide golden platform. The carriage rolled to a stop and soon the Guards opened the doors for the Downtown visitors. 

        “Hey, Brynhild--” Andrew began as soon as he exited, glancing down at the Guard’s cheery smile. And yet the moment he called her, she bounded off somewhere else. 

        He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

        Andrew stiffened immediately. 

        “I’m sorry, Mr. Kreiss,” Richard sighed, coming into view. The Guard shot him an apologetic smile. “Lady Viluf and Sir Brand will be working to ensure you and everyone else’s safety by keeping watch at some stations throughout the event. Did you have a question, perchance?”

        ‘Perchance’? And what was with that unsettling smile? Andrew squinted at the Head Guard and brushed his hand off his shoulder, inching away before answering. “I was going to ask her how to keep the earplugs in my ears--”

        “Say no more,” Richard, as if he were a shadow, slinked behind the warden and quickly readjusted the earplugs. By the time he was finished, Andrew could barely hear his ‘you’re welcome’ before running off to join the Aurora’s side.

        “Just before we begin this really lovely and exciting vigil,” the Aurora had ascended onto a stage that was a foot taller than the platform; she held the megaphone Richard used earlier close to her mouth. A large flatscreen supported by the stage’s back structure flashed on as she continued. “I have some really bright and luminous news for us regarding our not-so bright and luminous Capital rebels.”

         The crowd split into bewildered factions-- some oohed, some booed, some gasped, some even fainted (and of course, the final faction of onlookers Brynhildr and Florian were searching for, tried to follow suit as well)-- as the unflattering wanted photos of Naib Subedar and Emily Dyer flashed onto the screen.

          “Don’t worry! I actually found them today,” the Aurora beamed. Those words alone triggered another round of applause and cheers until she opened her mouth once more. “Do you all want to see some progress photos?!”

         While the Aurora went about her usual chatter to hype out her people, Florian and Brynhildr were hard at work searching for suspicious characters.

    Brynhildr eliminated five already. Florian, zero. It made Bryn really, really trigger happy. 

    “Okay, so here’s Naib eating some chicken like an uncivilized rat before I really got through to him…”

    Slam. 

    Another body hit the pavement outside of the venue’s stanchions, courtesy of Brynhildr. 

    That made six-- that sixth one was a poor little runaway. Brynhildr saluted her lower ranking guards as they dragged the corpse further away from the almost blissfully unaware citizens (of course, the ones that did witness Brynhildr’s little shooting spree made sure to leave her quite a bit of room and turned a blind eye; to be fair, most of the residents on the fringes of the crowd were also enforcers of some kind, so they were quite used to the sentiment). 

    “I got six now, Fin,” Brynhildr teased. “How many for you, eh? Eh?”

    “Now look! These photos are from my esteemed and beloved servant Tracy Reznik. Does everyone remember Tracy?! She used her super smart camera technology to catch Naib after his transformation. And don’t worry, Luca fans! Luca helped with the beautification process,” the Aurora rambled on. Behind her was a photo of Naib shyly posing for the camera in the same uniform he had once grown to despise. 

       “Wow, she doesn’t shut up,” Florian pinged back a few moments later. “Uh, I finally got one. They’re kind of freaking out over here-- guess they weren't expecting to see their head honcho get lobotomized.”

       “Language! Nobody knows we do lobotomies, dumba--” 

       She was drowned out by the Eternal Aurora once more. “Okay, here’s some photos Tracy took of the other supreme rebel leader, Emily Dyer after her own glow up too!”

        “She did not just say that,” Florian snickered over the walkie talkie to Brynhildr. She heard a sharp ‘whizz’ from his side of the speaker.

         “Does that make two??” Bryn gasped, continuing to survey the crowd for any more rebels. 

         “Make it three… wow, that one was pretty old.” (Thump.)

         “Womp womp.”

         “Okay, now here’s the kicker before I turn our attention to our beloved dead!” the Aurora cried. “To all our beloved rebels still stuck in the darkness, you’ll really like this one!”

        The downtown visitors looked at each other in bewilderment after a photograph of not Naib or Emily, but a document, appeared on the flatscreen. 

         “Well, would you look at that.” Yidhra mumbled, lowering her shades. 

         The screen before them read: 

                             STATEMENT OF ACQUIESCENCE

         I, Naib Subedar                                                   I, Emily Dyer            

         Dedicate this day in reparation to                       Dedicate this day in reparation to

         THE ETERNAL AURORA                                        THE ETERNAL AURORA

         In recognition of the justness of                          In recognition of the mercy of 

         Her Luminosity, I solemnly order                         Her Luminosity, I solemnly order      

         All reinforcements to STAND DOWN                    All allies to DISBAND IMMEDIATELY

         And submit to the authority of                            And release all vitriol towards

        Her Luminosity.                                                    Her Luminosity. 

         Do so now.                                                          Do not face her wrath.  

         YOUR FIGHT IS OVER.                                          YOUR STRUGGLE IS OVER.                                                                                                

     And shortly after those words flashed on the screen, a video played.

     A simple video of two, smiling former rebels reading out their statements with no other care in the world at all. 

      The flatscreen turned off. 

      “Now onto the vigil of Grace Csonka, dears!” the Aurora clapped her hands. 

      “What?” Alice immediately did a double take as the crowd’s cheers somehow exploded in their already deafening volume. “Those rebels… the ones from earlier.. Just like that?”

       “What was that?” Yidhra turned, her arms folded. A smile rested on her lips, and yet she shifted side to side as if she were cold (in the middle of the rather humid square). 

       “Had… have they been planning to do that, or…?” Alice glanced up at the matron. “Earlier they seemed so passionate about their cause, I… it's hard to believe it's already been settled.”

       Andrew peered from behind Yidhra’s shoulder. He stepped closer and tilted his head, trying to comprehend her words. After a few moments, he came to her side. 

       Leaning in close, he whispered. “Maybe it hasn’t been settled, Miss.”

       “But why would they acquiesce so… so easily then?” Alice furrowed her brow. 

       “They could’ve been bribed. And who knows if what they said during that interview was true at all?” Andrew inspected the journalist’s face with a grim expression. 

       Alice’s eyes moved to the ground. “...I suppose you’re right.”

       “You two,” Yidhra placed a hand on each visitor’s shoulder. “Casket viewing. Let's go.”

Chapter Text

      As tears were shed and as memories resurfaced that fateful night in the Capital, Frederick Kreiburg, Melly Plinius, and the newly hired Demi Bourbon survived their latest hit attempt.

      “That…” Demi Bourbon— a sheltered lady, once living under the protection of her now departed-to-the-Capital brother (a certain scheming doctor involved with the death of Norton Campbell)— could barely register her mouth moving as she stared in utter bewilderment at the newfound corpse on Melly’s apartment floor. “…was so not cool, Mr. Kreiburg.”                      

       “Shoot,” Frederick grumbled, blowing over the edge of his gun. “I have never killed a man until today.”

       His eyes flickered over to Melly, who was inspecting the corpse. The documents from Officer Baden now safely rested under her mattress. 

      That was what mattered. (This case to justify Alice was getting more scandalous by the hour…)

      “Demi, please avert your gaze while I clean this mess,” Melly ordered after shutting the eyes of the apparent hitman.

       “I want to but I can’t,” Demi confessed, hands over her face— her fingers were just wide enough so she could see Melly bridal carry the body over to a less… conspicuous area.                    

       “This was in self defense,” Frederick declared as he promptly strolled over to a cabinet, slamming it open to reveal cleaning materials. “You saw it full well and can attest to that. Fun fact: that dead scum had been trailing us nonstop as of late, even before we picked you up from the university.”

      “Qi’s gonna freak out when she hears about this…”

      “Under no circumstances are you allowed to spread your extracurricular drama to anybody, Miss Bourbon,” Frederick scowled before promptly wiping the floor while spraying chemicals over it.

        “Oh, yeah, no, of course not,” Demi squinted. It was a strange sight, seeing such a popular music professor wiping the blood of a dead guy.

        Kind of embarrassing, too. 

        “Do you want help?” Demi offered. “I used to clean vomit at the Orphesian.”

         “Janitoring?” Frederick raised an eyebrow, putting himself to work.

         “Nope. Drunk guys.”

         “…It was Joseph, wasn’t it.”

         “That guy needs to go to rehab or something,” Demi grumbled. She scoffed and blew hair out of her eyes before eyeing the cleaner-looking floor once more. “Anyway, you want some help there, Professor?”

        “No, Demi. Please go review the documents so that we can get this case off our hands as soon as possible. We need a miracle if all of us are going to survive whatever this has become…”

       “Ah, don’t let your hair fall out, Professor,” Demi rolled her eyes as she crawled out from under Melly’s desk. “I’m on it. Call me heaven sent.”

       “…Thank you.”

       “Don’t sweat it. Give me two days tops.”

       “Impressive,” Melly hummed, returning to the room’s center. Since when did she have bodybags?

                                             ~

       “Melly! Frederick! So glad to hear from both of you again!”

       Richard did not know why Alice DeRoss was up at 4 AM calling some friends, but as a Guard… it was his job to protect her in almost every questionable life decision. 

      And to snoop, of course. He wondered what juicy details he’d bring to the Aurora today.

      AKA: the day Alice would meet with the Eternal Aurora in person. In the morning. 

      Midmorning. Because the Aurora was currently busy either tormenting the newly reformed SubeDyers or having a spa session with Tracy. (Once this Alice DeRoss was off his hands, he fully expected a spa day with the Aurora as well.)

       “Ah… um… glad to hear that’s been settled!” Alice’s voice rang through the door once more. I Richard wished he could hear the other two voices. He heard Alice chuckle before continuing. “Ah, Demi Bourbon! Law and music… What a smart student!”

      Bourbon? Like… the Bourbon that was Norton Campbell’s doctor?!

      Richard resisted the urge to whistle. That man was not coming back home anytime soon after what Orpheus told the Aurora.

      “Yes! Thank you, you two! If she really can, that would be amazing!” Richard imagined Alice beaming as she said those words. Even during the hours of the vigil a smile, or at least something akin to hope, was never lost on that woman.

     How hard would the Aurora have to work to break that smile today?

     Richard quietly hummed to himself as Alice continued gushing, cheerily saying, “Yes! Today is the day I’m meeting with her. … Thank you, you two! Thank you both so much! Tell Demi I say hello and thanks as well!”

     She sure was chipper today— even at four in the morning. Richard heard her hang up the phone with a tiny click before her footsteps echoed presumably heading in the direction of her bed.

      Good for her friends— maybe it was a good thing she was so chipper. At least it would give them a sense of closure when tomorrow—or even the day after that, when Richard would return her to the Downtown district— Alice would never be the same again.

Chapter Text

     “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Alice DeRoss. I’ve heard… lovely things.”

     The Aurora gestured to a cup of tea after speaking those words. She once again sat on the portable throne she had used when talking to the (newly reformed and very loyal) SubeDyers just the night before, staring down at the stiff and off put journalist who hesitantly reached out to take the (spiked) glass of tea. 

     “The teacup doesn’t bite,” the Aurora teased, her eyes roaming over the woman’s face and her downtownian choice of clothing, which the Aurora found a little simplistic. Alice DeRoss had her face scrunched up in such an expression she might as well have sucked a lime dry. 

       The journalist took the teeniest sip of tea the Aurora had ever witnessed. “Thank you, Madam Aurora, for your generosity.”  

      “Why, of course, dear. It's in the name,” the Aurora’s lips crinkled into a smile. Her lips were a blood-red shade in contrast to the pale of her face, Alice noticed. 

      “I hope your day has been well,” the journalist itched to get straight to the point, but she also seemed to notice that nobody in the Capital was partial to straightforwardness. Richard was unhelpful in prepping for the meeting for certain. 

      “All my days are full of light and whimsy, dear,” the Aurora took a sip of her own tea, holding the intricate cup with all kinds of 3D engravings of flowers and whatnot with both hands. “Judging by the threat of a criminal record… I cannot say the same about yours.”

     Alice did a double take. Her eyes widened for a brief moment before she quickly inhaled and shut them. 

     She nodded. When she spoke, the Aurora noted how her eyes fell somewhere to the left of her bright face. “Yes, Madam Aurora, that would be correct.”

     “So I hear the reason for your visit is related to that… criminal case, is it not?”

     Alice’s heart raced a hint quicker than it already had been. She could hear it ever more clearly now as she took another deep breath and then tried to look the Aurora somewhere in the face, focusing more on the black mesh of the ruler’s veil (or the flowers resting on her black hair) than her actual beady eyes. 

     “Yes, it would be,” Alice nodded again. 

     “Okay. Well, speak then. You’ve never seemed like the type for small talk anyhow.”

     Alice blinked. 

     “Go on,” the Aurora flicked her wrist. “I won’t waste your time.”

     “Ah… um, yes, thank you,” Alice’s eyes fell to the floor. She placed her hands over each other on her lap before praying for courage and looking back up once more.

      It felt like something was blocking her throat.

       Alice swallowed despite it and then spoke slowly, weighing her words. “With all due respect, I think you should consider intervention in the case of your late servant, Norton Campbell.”

     “I think I got that point already,” the Aurora hummed, a hint of amusement glimmering in her eyes. “But carry on… and do just use his name, dear.”

     Alice opened her mouth to speak again, and then promptly shut it. What was going on with her? She had spoken at so many events, talked with so many people…

     Why was it so hard, now? The power of a person had never quite fazed her before…

     Alice reached for the tea and took a larger sip this time. 

      “As you know, Norton was recently murdered in the same apartment I live in. I have been wrongfully accused of his murder.”

     “Drama in downtown,” Aurora tilted her head. “Interesting…”

     “But I am not.”

     “So you say, dear.”

     Her sharp words were spoken in such a gentle tone, and yet hearing that shade of doubt felt like cold water doused right over Alice’s not guilty head. 

     “Madam,” Alice’s voice quivered. And then she cleared her throat. “Madam, I have been slandered by my very own lawyer. I need your help to figure out who the true murderer was.”

      “I see.”

      Alice abruptly stood up. 

      “You see, Madam Aurora, how it would be not only unfair to me but to Norton Campbell himself that one of his closest…friends… will be wrongfully accused and put on trial, thrown into a jail under the facade of justice? You see how he will receive no justice, because his murderer will laugh and laugh from outside the courts roaming free to kill whomever else they please? Madam, as the bearer of justice in this world, do you see this?”

      “Spicy,” the Aurora took another sip from her tea. “You have a compelling argument, Miss DeRoss. Carry on-- and take a seat before you have a stroke, beloved.”

      Alice obeyed; however, her leg repeatedly bounced. She took another sip of tea before continuing.“Madam, you’ve seen what your influence can do. You have brought Grace to justice and sent her accusers to darkness. You have humbled the rich and uplifted the poor.”

     Alice leaned forward. “Yet Norton Campbell was no mere outskirts man. He wasn’t like Grace-- an unknown ‘alien’ brought to the downtown area. He was an inspiration. A stronghold to Aurorian society-- to its culture, even! Look at how he has inspired so many with his acting. I know for certain… that he has inspired me.”

     The woman--the accused--let out a bitter sigh. “Do you, as the guardian of all our souls, believe that his own soul can rest in Eternal Luminescence if his murderer rests in light as well?”

     “Well, no, obviously not,” the Aurora deadpanned, drumming her fingers over the side of her teacup.  

     “So, knowing the hearts of all your servants, how would he feel seeing my own self thrust into a darkness that wasn’t mine in the first place--?”

     “So you were his friend, yes?” 

     “...Yes. We were very close friends.”

     “Some may argue you two had a stronger relationship than that.”

     Alice stiffened. “I insist we were simply friends.”

     ‘We’ll see about that…’ the Aurora internally rolled her eyes before replying:

     “Very well then. What else do you have to say?”

     “I’ll just give my conclusion,” Alice bitterly smiled. “Madam, as the embodiment of the Auroric Haven, you already look kindly on the poor. Please— take action for your beloved rich as well.”

      Her ghost of a smile fell and gave way to a sorrowful expression; her voice was slightly hoarse now as well. She resisted the urge to yawn. 

       She imagined the face of the beloved deceased once more-- relieving the days of when he had been more than a corpse displayed on a newspaper's front page. For some odd reason, her eyelids felt rather heavy. “What more can be said about Norton Campbell’s achievements? What more must I say to convince you? You know of all his successes. His rags to riches story.”

      Alice shook her head. “You knew him as an icon. I knew Norton Campbell for who he was: a mere man. A man who listened when I spoke. An honest, hardworking man. A man who didn’t deserve to die…”

      “Is that all?” the Aurora rose from her throne, continuing to stare down at the exhausted woman. It didn’t really matter if  she said anything else— unfortunately for the beloved accused, nothing  would halt the Aurora’s plans. 

     “…Not unless you’ll help me,” Alice gave her one of the most sincere, pitiful looks the Aurora had ever seen.  

     A beat. 

     They stared at each other.

     “I will,” the Aurora beamed.

                                                     ~

     “You know, dear Tracy, when I was young… I always thought I’d be a storyteller before I went into the medical field… before I became ruler of everything, of course.”

      The Aurora wore a simple lab coat over her elegant, silk garb, retrieving a tiny vial with a strange symbol on it.

       The symbol of a Hydra. 

       “Oh, uh that’s pretty nice,” replied the servant Tracy, who didn’t know exactly why the Aurora was talking about her childhood while the servant tended to a currently unconscious blonde journalist. 

     They were prepping for yet another AurorianSpecial™ surgery-- one that usually only applied to traitors to the Capital (the SubeDyers, for instance). The appearance of this accused downtown woman surprised Tracy slightly, and to be frank, somewhat disturbed her. 

     “Well… all dreams do come true, I suppose,” the Aurora chuckled, transferring the liquid into a syringe with a rather fat gauge. “I’m glad that journalist had some relations with Norton… otherwise this wouldn’t be so fun. Or easy, to be frank.”

     “What is that supposed to mean?” Tracy scrunched her eyebrows together as she gently propped Alice upright against the chair and pulled out the chair’s side extension table for the journalists’ arm to rest on. 

     “Well, everyone comes to their mother when they cry, don’t they?” the Aurora inspected the syringe once more and added some more of the liquid.

     “Uhh, yes, Madam,” Tracy hastily nodded. “Except mothers don’t usually betray their children…”

       “Well, A: I’m not anybody’s mom,” the Aurora rolled her eyes. “And B: It's not really betrayal if I give them the thing and then take it back.”

       “That’s… a little cruel, Madam.”

     The Aurora, having finished her syringe inspection and set the vial back into its storage, headed over to her servant. She patted her servant’s shoulder and smiled. “Good to see you need some reworking too, Reznik. Are you all set with the prep? Did you do it just like you did with Norton?”

     “Yes, Mada--”

     “Remember how we made him cry? People are funny when they’re drunk. And high. They’re abnormally stupid.”

    Her eyes lit up. “Ahh, remember those days, Tracy? When begged me for money… Much like how the dear over there begs for the truth—”

     “They were begging?” Tracy raised an eyebrow, a frown on her face. “Like, on hands and knees—”

      “No, Tracy,” the Aurora scoffed. “I meant it figuratively. Anyway, much like Campbell, this little sweetheart is in for a treat.”

      “How?”

     “Oh, because everyone gets what they want from their Momma, don’t they?” the Aurora formed a smug smirk. “Norton, that sad little wet dog, got his money. And Alice over here… I can certainly let her know what happened to the poor little prospector man.”

     The Aurora bumped Tracy out of the way with her waist and then whipped out an alcohol swab, vigorously rubbing it against the middle of Alice’s arm, where her veins could be seen. 

     The Aurora then raised the needle.

      “Uh, Madam!” Tracy cried. 

     The Aurora paused. With the needle still dramatically hovering several inches above Alice’s vein, her eyes drifted to the servant. 

     “What will that do?” Tracy, with wide eyes, asked. She stiffly pointed to the thick syringe. 

     “Don’t worry about it,” the Aurora beamed. “I’m board certified.”

    “Madam, you are going to show her the truth, right? I know she’s not a criminal, so maybe--”

     “Ohh, sweetheart…” the Aurora’s smile dimmed. “The truth is… has always been… relative. All you need to know is that a few milliliters of Hydra or Mnemosyne or Eggsbenedict or whatever I call those drugs can turn somebody inside out.”

     “But isn’t she innocent--”

     “Look at you, being all moral,” the Aurora’s smile disappeared. “Perhaps you’d like a taste first, Tracy.”

      “N-No, Madam…” the servant bashfully looked away, about to draw her hand away from Alice’s arm.

      The Aurora snatched the servant’s hand and placed the syringe in it.

      Tracy immediately flinched.

      “I’ve let Luca do too many of these lately,” the Aurora mused. “Electrocuting, drugging, binding… you name it. He even did it to Naib yesterday. Now it's your turn, dear.”

      “I… you… um…” Tracy immediately began sweating. The syringe felt like burning coals in her hand. 

       Tracy’s vision swam. She couldn’t bear to look up at the victim. 

       Her fellow ex-rebel had always been the meaner one out of them. 

       “Go on,” the Aurora cooed from behind her. When had she gotten behind her? When… 

       The Aurora placed a hand on her shoulder. It was ice cold. 

     “I… I ca--” Tracy began. 

     Another icy hand flew over Tracy’s own--the one bearing the syringe-- and, like a puppeteer, raised it over Alice’s vein. 

     “Let me help you,” the Aurora beamed.

                                              ~

      Alice had a really peculiar, strange, eccentric— whatever kind of flavor of bizarre one could think of— dream that night.

      “How was your little trip to the beach, huh?” Norton rested his chin in the palm of his hand. 

      It was a familiar scene: it resembled one of the many nights the duo had spent in his candlelit room (the chandelier stayed on though) drinking wine, sharing icebox cakes, and simply chatting.

      That night—the night Norton Campbell died— Alice had been the night Alice had gone out of her way to travel solo to the beach. She had been so enraptured in the sights of the district she returned to the apartment so late, too late, because by the time she came back Norton Campbell was dead.

     She remembered it all.

     Or so she thought. 

    According to this… dream (this…memory?) she had arrived to find Norton waiting for her arrival at their secret little midnight meeting.

      Norton’s glass of wine was half empty. 

     “It was quite lovely, actually,” Alice smiled at him, although she didn’t actually remember saying those words at all. “You would’ve liked it.”

      Norton’s green eyes never left her. She always thought the man had a rather piercing stare. But before he died, she had grown used to it.

     “Really?” and the actor drew out the word. He swished the wine in his glass.

     A strange smile appeared on his face. That was what this all was— strange. Norton never smiled like that at her once when he was alive (and also dead— dead people don’t smile, Alice.)

      “You know, Alice…” Norton set the glass down. And then he stood up and pushed the chair in. “We’ve been having these meetings for a while now. I think we should talk about something new this time.

    (Why was he speaking like that??? Usually Alice did most of the talking— and Norton admitted to liking it. Or at least tolerating it.)

       “Like what?” Alice mirrored his actions. The chair whined as she pushed it in. It was all too vivid-- was this truly a mere dream?

      “Have I ever told you… how much you mean to me?” Norton strolled over to the sole dirty, non-gold/luxury material item in the room: his nasty pickaxe.

       “Uh, not really,” Alice remained where she was. And she knew she was remembering correctly, at least on this fact. 

     “Hey, come over here for a moment.” Norton gestured for her to come closer.

      Alice obeyed.

      She stood beside him now. 

     He put a hand on her shoulder. A very foreign action. “I know I’m not the most… cheerful man, Alice. But every time you come over for one of these dates…“

     “Dates?” Alice wasn’t aware they had been dating. So this wasn’t a memory after a--

     She was pulled to the man’s chest-- her face slammed straight into it. 

     “Norton, my nose--!”

     “I can’t help but love you more,” he cooed. And while the words did in fact make her nice and warm and fuzzy, she was still very confused.

     She didn’t appreciate the contrast. 

     “Wait, since when were we—?” Alice began, again. Her voice was muffled.

     Was this real or—

     “Shh,” he murmured. “I know your memory has been strange lately, I know… but I don’t care what they tell me.”

     He let her go.

     He got down on one knee. 

     “Alice DeRoss, will you marry me?”

                                                     ~

     “Well, it took seven tries to get that part of her memory corrected,” the Aurora mused, checking off several checkboxes on a paper on her glowing clipboard decked with Aurora flowers. “Wow, this is the longest time I’ve spent on corrections. Am I losing it, Tracy?”

     Tracy had been gone for a while. 

     “Ugh,” the Aurora rolled her eyes as she received no response. 

     She turned to a random corner in the room and then began speaking, imagining the corner as nothing more than mere words on a screen someone was reading and watching her through. 

     “It's going to take me till midnight to get through this session,” the Aurora grumbled, reviewing her checklist with several more implementations unchecked. “I’ve been routinely feeding Miss DeRoss with lies whenever she wakes up before stuffing her full of Hydra in random veins or by having her drink it. Every hour or two she gets a banana because the process is extremely taxing… for her and especially for me.”

     “But,” the Aurora sighed and reminded herself while telling the corner. “It's extremely important that I handle this matter lest it all go wrong.”

      She smiled. “I suppose nobody is as great a storyteller as I am.”

                                                ~

      It had to be real.

     (Let it be a dream, Alice, let it be a dream…)

     The sheer amount of gore that stemmed from jamming a pickaxe into a man’s eye was nothing a mere dream could conduct.

    Horrible atrocities like it had to have been seen. Felt. Heard.

    Committed— in order to be thought of. Or at least, thought of so… so vividly. 

     Yet it made no sense.

    Alice dropped the pickaxe, marred with her own supposed fiancé’s gore.

    It clanged to the ground; only then could Alice think.

     Why did she…? 

     When was she holding the…?

     She opened her eyes. 

Chapter Text

    “She won’t pick up, Frederick.”

     For the first time in a long time, Melly’s veil was removed from her face. And her face was strained as her gaze flickered back and forth between the composer and the phone that sat idly on its register. 

    “Well, perhaps she’s busy--”

    “Five times. And she told us she would call…” Melly’s brow furrowed in contrast to her nigh monotone tone. 

    “Well, don’t worry about it, Melly. Perhaps the dead body was a little too much for the both of us.”

     Melly paused. She looked back up at him, deeply inhaled, and then looked back at the phone. 

     “After all,” Frederick hummed, following her gaze. “Nobody quite expects to get a hit on them just because they want to clear their friend’s name.”   

     Melly’s eyes softened. “It seems like the murderer cannot afford for his name to be revealed.”

     Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes raised from the red telephone to Frederick’s gaze. And then she lowered her voice, gently asking:

     “How is Demi doing?”

     “Excellently,” a small smile crept onto Frederick’s lips. “She should have her initial defense finished by tomorrow.”

     “Will she be her own proofreader as well?” Melly tilted her head. 

     “I’m… thinking about letting her rope in that friend of hers, actually,” Frederick mused. “What was her name… Qi Shiyi.”

     “I don’t see why not, although it could cause some stir if this Qi is a gossiper.”

     “From what Demi tells me, Qi is nothing of the sort. Although we can ask her more if you think it’d help us.”

     “Why, thank you,” Melly let out a tiny but genuine chuckle. “It seems like this whole investigation has really improved your interpersonal skills, Frederick.”

     “...Shut up, Melly.”

     The two left the phone and headed towards the colorful little workspace Demi had set at the same desk she had hid under not so long ago.

     At least the body was gone. 

                                                         ~

An answered phone call:

     “Orpheus.”

     “Hastur.”

     “Orpheus.”

     “Di-rec-tor Hastur, please tell me exactly why the hell the hitman is dead instead of Melly and Frederick. Immediately.”

     “...They killed him.”

     “Then dispatch another hitman. If you haven’t already--”

     “We cannot.”

     “What do you mean by that statement?” Orpheus grit his teeth, holding the phone closer to his ear as he hastily surveyed the exterior view from the Capital phonebooth.

     “It's too late, Mr. Orpheus.”

     “It is not. What makes you even say such a thing.”

     “There’s some kind of publication your friends are intending to release as soon as possible.”

     “So? It's not out yet. Dispatch another hit.”

     “We cannot afford to do that.”

     “I have the money, if that’s what you’re concerned about. You’re seriously defaming me with every word you speak.”

     “Mr. Orpheus, I mean there’s been an outbreak of mycelium among our staff.”

     “Even the--”

     “Even them.”

     Click. 

     (Orpheus threw the phone.)

                                                            ~

     All such conversations took place the evening of our dear tourists second day in the Capital, the same time the Aurora was hosting Alice in the secrecy of her Palace.

     The journalist was forbidden to leave. The Aurora had to ensure everything was newspaper ready-- especially the journalist herself, when she would eventually have to take the stand in court. 

     All the while, a little closer to the Palace, Brynhildr and Florian took Andrew and Yidhra shopping! 

     “Wonder how the inmates are doing,” Yidhra hummed as she walked around in some chunky high heels, allowing her to menacingly loom over Andrew. 

     “Probably the same as always,” Andrew murmured, ignoring Yidhra’s piercing gaze as she stared at a zit on his forehead as he continued. “Keigan will keep them in check.”  

     “Who is Keigan?” Florian raised an eyebrow. It became a newfound pastime of his to eavesdrop whenever possible.

     “Our clerk,” Yidhra answered. “Alice’s met her.”

     “Has anyone heard from Alice lately?” Andrew interjected sheepishly. “I was hoping to talk with her… especially about her, um, legal troubles recently. It's just so strange to me that she--”

     “I haven’t heard a single thing,” Brynhildr shrugged, lying through her pearly white teeth (and singular golden teeth way in the back). “Have you, Fin?”

     Florian tried to mirror her energy with a shrug as well. “Not at all. Sorry, you two.”

     In reality, they knew full well what the Aurora’s plans had been for a while. Thanks to Richard. 

     And he had ordered them to keep their mouths shut about Alice-- at least until the journalist herself ‘relearnt the truth’. 

     Neither of them wanted to risk actually getting on his bad side. He had eyes everywhere.

     “A shame,” Yidhra sighed. “I could have treated her and that indomitable sweet tooth of hers.”

     “Big word alert,” Florian muttered. 

     “Well, where is that bodyguard of hers?” Andrew, in a strange stroke of curiosity, asked Brynhildr. “Richard, right?”

     “Yeah,” Brynhildr feigned a smile on her lips, ignoring the flicker of distaste in her stomach. She briefly locked eyes with Florian before answering (in a slow, deliberate manner-- slightly suspicious if one knew her well enough) “Richard… called in earlier… but it was just about work.”

     In reality, it was about the order. And also about how Brynhildr should go bald, because Richard just couldn't stand red hair. (But Brynhildr had already forgotten that part.)

     “Any new assignments?” Yidhra’s eyes fell on the redhead. 

     “Nothing below my paygrade,” Brynhildr remarked. She felt a twinge of guilt in deceiving them.

     Still not enough to garner getting sniped by Richard. Or whatever kind of sadistic execution he’d give to them.

     “Hm.” Yidhra amusedly hummed. 

     “Where should we go next?” Florian grinned, nudging the matron. “Come on you two-- let’s try to enjoy your second-to-last-day while it lasts!”

     Still, the thoughts of Alice never seemed to dissipate. 

     For everyone involved. For very different reasons. 

                                                          ~

    “She’s making such. Excellent. Progress!” the Aurora cheered over the phone. She eyed Alice, who was currently taking a nap in one of the many spare rooms of the Palace, before adjusting the phone once more. She had been awake for brief periods of time during this... recovery stage, and each conversation with the Aurora made her more perceptible to the Aurora's lies than the last. 

     It was really empowering. The Aurora continued. "She's like little Emily, in a way! And now Emily has a much better temper... I actually sent her off to one of the hotspot areas for the mycelium. So dangerous-- but don't fear. She's adequately prepared and I sent Naib to go with her so they can die together. Anyway, rest assured Alice will be prepared for the world again soon--"

     “That’s wonderful, Madam Aurora,” Orpheus grumbled. 

     “...Someone’s in a not-so-excellent mood. I heard that grumble, Orpheus."

     “Ugh! Hastur’s not sending out another hit. Apparently, the mycelium is back downtown and he is too much of a coward to accept my bribes."

     “...” Was that a giggle Orpheus heard?

     “Madam?”

     “Hm? Oh, I already knew about the mini-outbreak, dearie. Don’t worry about it.”

     “I’m not worried about the outbreak, Madam. But can you believe this: Hastur’s not going to assassinate Melly and Frederick for me--"

     “Not so loud, you drama king.”

     “Apologies, Madam. But what do I do? Those two fools are planning to drop a defense for Alice-- I imagine they’ll turn the public’s vitriol to me instead!”

     “Well, obviously,” the Aurora quietly murmured. 

     “...Hello?”

     “Oh, did I say something, dearie? Well. Anyhow. Alice’s own word will triumph over their claims-- if not in the public eye then in court-- so even if those two publish something, I wouldn’t fuss over it. Do you know when this document will be released?”

     “I don’t.”

     “Well, don’t fret. She’ll be back the day after tomorrow. You’ll have a ball hearing her case.”

     “It better be so, Madam.”

     “Trust me, darling. This temporary suffering --yours and hers-- benefits you as much as it does me.”

     “And… and for her?”

     “Good question," the Aurora smirked. "Goodbye!”