The weather kept on playing with the hearts of the subjects that lived in Rowlian Capital of Lowen, the low temperatures dropping even more as the winds crept from under the half-broken doors, and into the homes of the one that lived between the Barracks and District Street.

The Barracks was the oldest neighborhood that Lowen had ever had, or at least the oldest neighborhood that still was standing, built between the High Strands and District Street, it was the only locality that had been designed solely for the Empire's military to reside in. Families of both stationed soldiers and of the infantry standing just outside on the outskirts of the capital were the ones that had the right to reside there.

But not families only, even orphans victims of war had been relocated there, in the same orphanage Pharah Des Reslow had inaugurated under Steel's vigilant gaze a few months back.

It taken two weeks for Rosalynde to finally clear her schedule, two neverending weeks of reunions and new plans to approve for the next military campaign that the empire would have soon carried out under the excuse of a failed assassination against the Des Reslows. Because of that, work had tripled since becoming Apostle IV, the soldiers under her command multiplying like rabbits with each passing day.

Everyone was slow in comprehending the reports that Steel's new personal informants all around the capital sent her daily, there had been times where someone had asked for her to repeat, and coincidentally the same person had decided to stay home for three days. The week later only to find out the person had moved to a different city outside the capital, or that he'd passed under the protective wing of Lord Sandors.

Her new office had appeased her a lot when first stepping inside it. She'd given out precise orders when Pharah had asked her if she wanted to change a few things inside it.

However it hadn't been just a few things that had changed, Rosalynde had changed everything, everything that her eyes could connect to the deceased Brek Haywire. The wallpapers, the expensive decorations the man had bought while trading with the Atrean Kingdom, even the couches and armchairs which had been realized with the finests of fabrics had been swapped with new ones.

She'd change every single object inside the room, for a penumbra-like workplace to a candid environment, not even Pharah had expected it as she stepped into Rosalynde's office the first time a week before.

All she'd said to her private attendant was that she would have given a look at the registers containing the economic transactions to see the amount of money that'd been used for the project.

Rosalynde simply rolled her eyes at that, inviting the apparent heir out before getting back to work.

This was the first time in weeks that Steel had the possibility to get out of the palace, even if it was not to take a leisurely stroll around the capital to buy small trinkets to appease the continuous whims of the Lady she served.

Again she'd used a hood to cover a bit her appearance, especially her hair, silver hair wasn't exactly common in the capital, but she'd already met some people possessing her same hair color.

She'd used an automatic carriage to get to the Barracks, what the latest thread of inventions had called Cooling Automatic Transport, C.A.R as abbreviation, even if Rosalynde preferred associating the moving vehicle with a carriage. Same structure for her meant the same purpose.

"We've arrived, miss." She waited for the diver to dismount from his seat and open the door for her before getting down, giving her an arm to aid her feet into safely touching the floor. After getting down she took from her purse two silver coins, leaving them inside the automatic carriage before patting the man on his shoulders.

"A little extra for the great service you made me today," she said, a predatory smile gracing her features as the driver seemed to understand what she was talking about.

"May your soul be at peace." She laughed at the man's words, completely disregarding them as she went to open the newly painted gates that led to the same orphanage that Pharah had inaugurated a few months back, the same one that had been on the Lowen Chronicles front page.

Knocking on the front door she waited for someone to open it for her, pulling her hood a bit higher before hearing light footsteps and a thumbling of keys trying to enter the keyhole to no use.

A small child popped out of the crack that appeared after opening the door, his short red hair the same color of the roaring fire made her want to toss him in the river Seadris to extinguish the fire on his head.

"Who are you?" The child asked, bringing the nail of his thumb into his mouth.

"A friend," she replied dryly, putting on the sweetest smile Pharah had taught her during the years.

"But you're not my friend." She signed loudly at his reply, throwing her head back to not scare the kid with the expression she just knew would have made the kid cry.

"True, but just because I'm not your friend doesn't mean I'm not acquainted with someone else here, do you understand that?" By the time the young boy shook his head to tell her he hadn't understood Rosalynde's patience had run out.

"Forget about that, is Cleia Spinster inside?" Finally a nod of head from the boy.

"Could you tell her that Libby has come to see her?" Libby was the name she used when contacting Cleia and Cleia alone.

She'd gotten used in changing her name when it was needed, going all the way in while even forging identification papers that not even a magistrate could have unmasked as fakes, and the name of Libby Brown had become the routine when she decided to pay a visit to Cleia at the orphanage she worked in.

There was something though she paid particular attention to when going out, and that was making sure the other Apostles didn't find out about her affairs outside matters strictly regarding the Crown or what went on inside of the Imperial Citadel.

The door was then closed on her face, shouts and laughter coming from the other side before the door opened again, a familiar blonde hair kept short with a headband to keep the shorted locks from hindering her view.

"Is that pest's hair color real or did you dye it to appease the lack of color in your life?" Rosalynde commented as she shoved past her, not bothering to see if Cleia was following.

"Hello to you too Libby, and no, Raphael got that lovely shade from his mother, or that's what he says." Cleia closed the front door as a few children came up to her, asking to pay hide-and-seek.

"You seem to have settled well in the role of caretaker," Rosalynde commented as Cleia picked a child up, bouncing him on her leg right after spinning him around twice, only to then tell him to run along with the others.

"I like caring for them, it makes up for my lost childhood. What brings you here today ? I was expecting you in a week." They settled in the kitchen, Rosalynde looking around to see if no kid nor adult was around.

"Tea?" Rosalynde nodded with her head.

Leaving the tea leaves soaking in the water, Rosalynde studied the tense body of Cleia, wondering what was happening inside her mind.

"You seem anxious to have me here, after five years you still think of me like the villain of the story that scares those little brats that you care for, so much for sparing your life from being hanged in Deslow Plaza for stealing." Rosalynde sneered at the memory, Cleia scoffed in reply before going to check how far along was the tea.

"I wouldn't call you the villain, just the personal dog of the imperial family who unfortunately saved my life years back betting her right hand," Cleia replied.

"You seemed like a good investment at the time, and look at you know, seems like I assured myself a good one." Cleia narrowed her eyes, threatening to drop a teaspoon of sugar inside her cup of steaming tea.

Rosalynde raised both hands up, mocking the other with a wolvish grin, making Cleia lowered the spoon.

"And after so many years you've become one of the best investments I still keep in contact with." Rosalynde said, watching how graceful the other had become in serving tea, thinking that Pharah would have surely hired her after seeing how elegantly Cleia made tea.

"So, what do you want me to look up for you? By the way congratulations, I got your letter yesterday morning," Cleia whispered.

"I need you to dig up everything you can on Hector Grey," Rosalynde kept on wearing a demure look as Cleia first choked and then spit the tea on the table.

She couldn't even blame her, knowing the task she'd just given Cleia.

"Grey? That Hector Grey? You must be out of your mind," but after a good minute passed in absolute silence Cleia finally understood that the request was real.

Signing loudly, Cleia took another sip from her tea. "It'll take a while, are you still okay with that?" Another nod came from Rosalynde.

"Very well, I'll do what you want Libby," Cleia said, a hint of restless agitation rolling out of her tongue.

"Excellent, then I presume I shall be hearing from you soon," Rosalynde finished her tea, leaving the cup inside the racket after cleaning it with cloth.

"And you? Where are you going now?" Rosalynde smirked as she raised her hood over her head.

"To the Opera actually, an acquaintance of mine is a member of the Imperial Orchestra, and tonight marks the start of the musical season."

Escorting herself out, Rosalynde bumped once again into the little Raphael, who'd kept on biting his right thumb nail, halting the gesture only after Celia got out of the kitchen the two had just used.

"Rapheal, what's wrong?" Cleia went on her knees as Raphael rushed into her hands, whispering something that however still reached Rosalynde's ears.

"Miss, is Libby going away?" When Cleia nodded, Rapheal snuggled deeper into her embrace, a sigh of relief leaving his frail body.

"I don't like her Miss Libby, you know the story you read to use every Friday? She's the same as the monster that stalks in the shadows of our dreams! She reeks of death, just as the officers did on the day they told me that mom and father had died."

The front door shut close at that exact moment, Raphael words still ringing in Rosalynde's ears.

꧁꧂

The lights of Imperial Opera had all been switched to their electrical counterparts for the first night of the leading musical season in Lowen, dozens of dozens of carriages and C.A.R.s piling up one after another denouncing the imminent event.

Rosalynde exited the carriage bearing the crest of the Imperial Family, waiting to descend only after Pharah checked her appearance in the pocket mirror she always kept inside her purse while visiting the outside of the palace

Checking her appearance herself, Rosalynde looked upwards towards the Opera's front face, her eyes deciding to rest on the sculptured angel resting on the balcony – its eyes void of life and joy watching over them all, so lifeless and solitary as the statues of the saints that Daunting Cathedral was full off.

Sliding a wary gaze around her, Steel studied her surroundings as Pharah and her were escorted to the theaters in the round, the higher the box where located the higher rank you posed.

And the ones that could afford the higher far-right boxes were nowadays only three: the Duke of Sternston, the Marquesate of Gilderoy and the Des Reslows.

"Tonight the place is full, well it's to be expected as it's the first night of the season," Pharah commented as they were seated down inside the Imperial Box.

Rosalynde turned her gaze down towards the pit, trying to figure out where Katherine was. She knew she was going to be there, a precise week before the premier Katherine had sent her a letter stating both rehearsal days and the day of the premier, pass and tickets to all three events alleged inside the envelope.

However, she hadn't been able to present to both rehearsals, and at the end had opted to use the tickets that Pharah had been granted in advice for sponsoring the soprano that would have performed that night.

Claire Adeline had been discovered by one of Pharah's and Rosalynde many unknown strolls around Lowen, singing between dirty brothels and disreputable taverns only to be found and taken under her wing by the Imperial highness, Claire Adeline at the young age of twenty-two had already performed in all the four great.

"Ah, Claire has prepared so much, you should have read the letter she sent me yesterday." She licked her lips before continuing.

"Oh but how forgetful of me, you already read my letters, my bad," she ended it with a light tone, making Rosalynde roll her eyes in reply.

It was her job to make sure nothing could put her lady in harm's way, that meant even reading all the letters sent to the apparent heir in advance, looking at the contents before sealing them again and sending them into Pharah's hand.

"Believe me when I say I take no pleasure in reading what people write to you," Rosalynde said, painfully annoyed.

Pharah snickered in reply.

"Oh look, the duke of Sternstorn arrived!" Pharah exclaimed, standing up to greet the man that'd just entered the box on their left.

Regulus Aurelium, otherwise known as the twenty-ninth Duke of the Sternstorn Duchy had always taken part on the first night, but just the first one.

He'd never attended twice to the Opera nights, even if he'd bought the box for all the season, not even selling the tickets to who could afford to spectate the magic that the Imperial Opera could provide with its never ending splendor. Rosalynde thought that he'd done that so that nobody could even come close to dare and try to associate themselves with the Imperials, but that theory had never been confirmed by the interested man himself.

Regulus Aurelium had always been known to the people as a gentleman when playing the title of head of Sternstorn, acclaimed by the crowds as a man of high morals and an integrity that only few people before him had ever possessed.

So when he took his top hat off and brought it to his heart, all while lowering his head, Rosalynde just knew that half of the woman present in the ample room had started swooning over his manners and appearance.

Lord Regulus was after all, only forty-six years old, and the one of the most prized men on the market that women her age could only dream of getting married to.

Another man that could make it to that list was Grey, but he'd been clear on the day they'd last met that he had no intention of getting married, abhorring the idea of getting tied down to the point of rejecting the hand of the apparent heir.

Not that that made Pharah brawl her soul out of her chest, as she was more than happy to remain in the position she currently was in.

Marriage for her could only mean that in her mother's eyes she'd lost all that made her a valuable chess piece to use, nothing more than a pretty face to sell at the best price.

"Duke Aurelium, we're delighted to see that my mother didn't keep you from coming here tonight," Pharah greeted the man.

"Imperial Highness, Lady Steel, and yes her majesty Empress Amelia was kind enough to let me come here tonight," he was wearing a collected smile on his face, very much similar to the one Rosalynde wore at all times.

"Happy to hear that my mother doesn't behave like a tyrant." She said after asking for a glass of champagne to accompany the talk.

But Lord Regulus did not fall for the subtle trap Pharah had just laid out for him, instead he decided to change the argument, turning his gaze to meet Rosalynde's passive one.

"Have you heard the latest news regarding the Marquisate of Gilderoy?" Both women stopped talking to look at the man.

"What happened?" They then said in unison.

"It appears that Lord Indor has sold the title of the Gilderoys to someone not sharing his blood." All eyes turned towards the free box beside Lord Regulus, Rosalynde's eyes narrowing oh so slightly with each passing second.

How had she not been informed?

How had she not found out before Lord Regulus?

Shame was all that invaded her mind, toes curling in disgust and incompetence as she lowered her head to not meet the other's eyes.

"I had no idea the view for the right side was so spectacular, had I known this I would have bought Indor's title months ago." All three went still, with Rosalynde being the first to raise her gaze towards the familiar voice she was growing to hate every day.

"You!" Was all Rosalynde seethed as her eyes landed on the seated figure of Hector Grey, who in reply tilted his head to a side, squaring her well before grinning at the reaction she'd given him.

"Lady Steel, Lord Regulus, You're highness," was the last thing she heard before the lights slowly started dimming, the first about to start.

Rosalynde was the last to avert her gaze, with him keeping his eyes set on the stage in front of them.

꧁꧂

Claire Adeline had the most angelic voice that Rowlian had been blessed with in the last thirty years, her voice only comparable to what the church and ancient texts announced as the beginning of humanity's ascension to heaven in the first passages of the Unitarian Scriptures as she sang without taking a single break the first act.

Nobody had dared utter a single word, no one had dared waved their pricey fan, the ones with a cold had kept their coffs from filling the room.

It was like Claire had put a spell over the whole listening crowd, just like an enchantress casting a spell over them all, demanding all eyes and ears on her to be looked at.

Rosalynde had kept on switching her gaze from Adeline to Carter, with Katherine's form elegantly becoming one with the harp she was playing.

She made her fingertips gilded forward, pitching the strings before tilting her head to pass to the next sequence, eyes closed as her hands created the music that got mixed with Adeline's heavenly voice.

Shuffling in her seat, Rosalynde turned her eyes without moving her head, her nails digging against the palm of her hand as she sensed a persistent gaze on her left. She found Grey, who with legs crossed and hands resting on the armrests had kept his stare on her for the last ten minutes.

Avoiding a superfluous battle of side-glances, Rosalynde turned once again to look at the stage, but froze on spot as her pale eyes nearly broke free out of their sockets as she closed her eyes before opening again.

Madame Hellenia had appeared on the other side of the theater, a few steps away from one of the entrances to the backstage close to the pit, dressed in a brilliant viridian dress.

But what made her get up from her seat, hands shooting on the railway in front Pharah to cover her was, what she saw Hellenia do next.

She was waving, Hellenia was waving at her, mouthing words that Rosalynde from afar was not able to hear, nor read the labial.

Telling Pharah to get on the floor, Madame Hellenia turned her gaze to look at Adaline, who, still unaware of what was going on, had come closer to hitting the last notes of the first act.

As her voice filled the theater for the last time, Hellenia bowed down facing the stage before a ringing click resounded in the air.

Fire was the last thing that the crowd saw on Claire Adeline, before her body was engulfed in a sea of flames, before her entire being was lost in the explosion that soon followed the end of the act.

There was no time to draw the curtains over the stage, nor the time to scream at the young soprano of what was going to happen to her.

Chaos being the only thing left in the wake of despair.