Giselle never thought that she would ever step foot at Wainsborough Hall again. But after the disastrous events of the previous day, Icarus insisted that she tagged along with him, in case she decided to wallow in a dark alley in the middle of the night again. And so, Giselle found herself on a horse-drawn carriage bound for Wainsborough Hall.

Months ago, on the eve of Adolphus Curran's assassination, she was greeted by a sight of pure splendour, swishing silks, crystal chandeliers and glittering gold. But that cold, late winter evening, Wainsborough Hall felt bare, dull and lifeless.

      "So, is this where you hold your meetings, Your Grace?" Giselle asked as they walked up the staircase. She tried to keep her tone upbeat, but she could not deny that being in this place unnerved her.

      "Yes," Icarus said to her. "We have always held our meetings here, Ephraim, Adolphus and I. We considered changing the venue after Adolphus passed, but I believe that we should stick to the tradition. Adolphus would have liked that too."

Giselle nodded simply, not knowing how to respond. She knew very little about Adolphus Curran, and all she knew was that Willoughby hated him and wanted him dead. So, she, his instrument, had no choice but to do as he wished. But now, hearing all these details about Adolphus Curran, made him appear all the more human to her, and the more she learned, the worse she felt.

They stopped in front of a tall oak door, and the servant that stood by the door immediately bowed deeply at the sight of Icarus, before offering to take his and Giselle's coats.

      "Thank you," Giselle said softly as she handed her coat, and the servant briefly smiled in return, but once she finally took a good look at Giselle's face, her smile vanished, replaced by a look of confusion instead.

       "I'm sorry, is there something--"

       "Come along, Giselle," Icarus interrupted as he pushed the door open and urged her along. Giselle looked away from the servant and quickly followed along, but in the corners of her eyes, she could still see the servant staring at her, up until the moment when the door slammed shut.

    Giselle took a good look around the room, which was what she assumed to be a study. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, and the carpet underneath her shoes was thick and plush. Fire crackled in a marble fireplace in the corner of the room, and above it was a large window that overlooked the River Thames, as well as the sprawling cities that surrounded it.

There was a round table in the centre of the room, where three people sat, calmly anticipating their arrival.

    Giselle had seen the first. And she was certain that every person in England had seen his face at some point. Ephraim le Roux, a remarkable statesman who lived in the early 1600s, and mysteriously 'died' at the age of fifty. The so-called brilliant mind that many revered, and the mastermind behind the Blue Faction. But to Giselle, he was simply the man on the one-pound note.

      The second, Giselle had not seen before. Stout and stodgy, Edwin Bartleby barely reached the height of Giselle's shoulders. He was young, perhaps only a few years older than herself. Of course, knowing Icarus' circle, Giselle knew that physical appearance did little to indicate someone's actual age, but Edwin's cheeks were ruddy, and his eyes were a muddy shade of brown, making it clear that he was human.

     As soon as he saw Icarus, he immediately jumped off his chair and dropped into a deep bow. "A very good day, Your Grace! I am so, so pleased to meet you again! I do hope that you remember my name.. My name is Edwin, Your Grace. Edwin Bartleby. You might remember my father, he served at the-"

     "Yes, yes, Bartleby," Icarus said almost dismissively as he gave Edwin a pat on the shoulder before walking past him.

     And the third person, who had been sitting quietly, watching, was a person that Giselle had hoped she would not see. She had only seen Cecilia Curran once before, moments before she shot a bullet into her father's head.

     Cecilia was cold and quiet, her green eyes narrowed as she watched Edwin's stupid attempt at currying favour. She could not have been more than nineteen, but she surely displayed a superior sense of maturity compared to Edwin, who must be approaching his thirties.

Her dark brown tresses fell down her shoulders in adorable ringlets, and every now and then, she would twirl them around her slim fingers.

       "Come sit, Icarus," Ephraim insisted. "And you've brought your maid with you.."

       "Well, why not? I thought it fit to do so. You may sit here, Giselle," he said, gesturing to the remaining chair at the table, between his and Cecilia's.

All of a sudden, all eyes were on her, and a wave of pressure overcame her. "It is alright, Your Grace. I should be on standby, in case you need anything.."

      "Nonsense," Icarus said with a frown. "Come, sit."

Giselle decided to just acquiesce, but just as she was about to pull the chair out, a sharp voice stopped her.

     "You can't sit there!" Edwin shouted. "That is Lord Curran's seat! It would be such a disrespect if a mere servant-"

      "Oh, shut up!" Cecilia interjected, rolling her eyes. "You are behaving as if everything that my father touched is sacred! It is a goddamned chair, just let her take a seat!"

At Cecilia's sharp reprimand, Edwin sunk into his chair like a sad kitten, his head lowered and his mouth clamped shut. He did not speak another word as he turned his head away from Giselle's face.

Giselle did her best to ignore him as she took her seat beside Icarus, and once she was settled down, their discussion commenced.

They were an interesting bunch to watch, Ephraim was wise, well-versed and calm, and it was no surprise why many regarded him so highly.

Icarus was mostly quiet, but once he opened his mouth, everyone would immediately fall silent and listen intently. His voice was not particularly loud, but it was resolute, and no one would dare to refute him.

       Cecilia intrigued her the most. So young, yet so bright. She spoke of things that Giselle had never even heard of, her eyes bright with passion. Cecilia was bold and chirpy, and not once did she stutter, even when speaking about the most complicated of topics, a clear indication of her wits and knowledge.

As for Edwin, his subsequent actions only made Giselle's impression of him grow worse and worse. He tried to speak in a loud and deep voice that made him seem more bold, but every now and then he would stutter, or his voice would become shaky, making him appear all the more pathetic.

     "You must agree that the Green Faction's tactics are working quite well," Cecilia sighed. "Simply elect a leader who can speak eloquently and occasionally make jokes, and you get to take over the Parliament. Barlowe makes the people feel good. He makes them think that he is one of them. It is his pretence that endears him to them, and they no longer care about the effectiveness of his government."

      "Barlowe might be a horrible leader, but he certainly is a good actor," Ephraim chuckled. "A leader capable of ruling magnanimously is rare, but a leader capable of that, while also rousing the spirits of the people is even rarer. Your father was one such man, though they do not come by so often."

Icarus frowned. "That reminds me... The top position in the Blue Faction is empty, is it not? It has been that way for months.. It is time that we chose someone to fill in the spot."

       "Who?" Cecilia questioned, an eyebrow raised. "If you asked me, there is no better candidate than Lord Kingsley."

Edwin, of course, had something to say about that. "Lord Kingsley? He may be good at governing, but that man can barely speak in public! And when he does, he stutters like a fool! Doesn't he, Your Grace?"

His murky brown eyes darted towards Icarus, so starved of approval. And when he did not get it, he decided to go on even further.

      "Ahem," he cleared his throat, puffing his chest out. "I believe that a leader must be capable of garnering support by the means of persuasive speech. Lord Kingsley certainly can govern, but he is far too meek. It is best that he remains where he is. The top position should be reserved for someone more.. fitting."

Icarus grinned with amusement. "And what are you trying to suggest?"

In an instant, Bartleby's eyes lit up with excitement. But before he could say anything, Cecilia shut him down.

     "Loudmouths like Barlowe are a plenty. You can find them at any fish market. The ones who actually know how to govern are rarer, and so much more valuable."

     "You might think that you're correct, sweet Cecilia, but the people have spoken. They adore Ebenezer Barlowe. And there is nothing that you can do about it."

       "I stand by my point. Barlowe speaks of a greater England, and he boasts of all these new projects, like his 7th arrondissement copycat, and how they will generate trade and new jobs for the people. But in the end, a vast percentage of income generated from these establishments will go into his pocket.

He speaks of eradicating poverty, and.. ah, this blows my mind to this very moment.. he made it legal for children as young as seven to work at the factories and sweatshops. Because what better way to feed the poor than to force their children to slave their days away? And to no one's surprise, these children are paid much lesser than their adult counterparts.

Even worse, children are no longer legally required to go to school. Do you even understand what this means, Mr. Bartleby? These children will be uneducated, they will not know even the most basic of knowledge, they do not know their own rights, and they have been conditioned to think that they must toil away day by day just for the littlest of pay. And these children will grow up into desperate adults, looking for the slightest hope that they will somehow be saved from this cruel cycle, and then comes men like Ebenezer Barlowe, the harbinger of this false hope."

     Edwin listened in stunned silence, and when Cecilia finished her tirade, he leaned back in his chair, and folded his arms across his chest, his jaw clenched. He had been clearly beaten down, but he was unwilling to admit defeat. And certainly not by a woman far younger than him.

     "Do not worry your pretty little head over such matters, dear CeCe."

The insult caught Cecilia by surprise, and her mouth hung open slightly before she shook her head and sat up straight. "What did you just call me?"

     "Ah, forgive me. I mean no harm," Edwin laughed, though it sounded far from genuine. It sounded so hollow, so.. artificial. "But I stand corrected. There is no use in you worrying over such matters. After all, there will never be a day when someone would ask for your opinion on such things. The world's greatest leaders have been, and shall always be men. And if you think too much, you'll get grey hairs sooner. That's not a pretty look, CeCe."

Cecilia glared at him in utter disgust, but she did not get angry. She knew very clearly that it was what Edwin had hoped for, to see her overreact, to see her explode with rage. But she refused to give him that satisfaction.

      "I will have to disagree with you on that, Bartleby," Ephraim said with a frown. "Many of the greatest rulers have been women. Most famously, there is Cleopatra. From the East, there is Wu Zetian. And only decades ago, Catherine the Great of Russia. Perhaps you should read more, instead of speculating when Miss Curran will gain grey hairs."

He turned towards Cecilia, smiling. "And besides, I see nothing wrong in a woman taking charge. Miss Curran here will be able to perform as well as you think you can, and perhaps even better."

Bartleby had gone home by supper, disgraced beyond words. His absence was not missed.

Supper was a meal of cold meats, slices of cheese, bread, and a warm, hearty soup. It filled up Giselle's empty stomach, and for the first time, this austere room felt much warmer.

It was only her and Cecilia who ate, since vampires did not require human food for sustenance. They did, however, sometimes eat for the sake of enjoyment.

That night, as she and Cecilia sipped spoonfuls of the potato soup, the servant brought over two chalices filled to the brim with blood. Blood of what kind, she did not want to know.

Ephraim picked up the chalice, before downing its entire contents in one go. His eyes were tightly pressed shut, and he slammed the empty chalice back on the table, looking as if he were holding back the urge to vomit.

     "Forgive me," he said briskly. "It has been so many years, and I still could not get used to the taste."

      "You do not like the taste of blood?" Giselle questioned.

      "Heavens, no," he chuckled. "If it weren't for the fact that I would waste away if I don't drink blood every three days, I would never even go near it."

        "But I thought that vampires love blood."

Ephraim shrugged. "Some do, I suppose. But I certainly don't. It is an acquired taste, for sure."

Giselle nodded quietly, not sure of how to respond. To her left, Cecilia coughed slightly, clearing her throat awkwardly.

     "You know," Ephraim suddenly started speaking again. "You two actually look quite similar."

Cecilia frowned. "How so?"

    "There is something very similar about you two, but I can't quite pinpoint it. Something in the air, I suppose," the older man chuckled.

   "I do see the resemblance," Icarus interjected. "If your hair was a bit lighter, and your eyes green, then you two would pass as sisters."

She was rarely likened to anyone before, and she  did not expect this. Giselle turned to look at Cecilia Curran, finally taking a good look at her for the very first time. Surely, Ephraim le Roux must have had too much to drink that she and Cecilia's faces started to morph together in his eyes, and Icarus was simply playing along with him.

But they were not. Looking at Cecilia Curran was like looking at herself, but younger, more sheltered, and more loved. They had the same deep-set almond eyes, the same aquiline nose, and the same heart-shaped mouth.

Cecilia too was staring at her, her green eyes trained on her face in scrutiny. And then, her lips quirked into a smile. "I guess we do look quite similar, sister."