Rosalynde groaned at her chamber's door slamming open, her mind struggling to fully grasp consciousness. Her right hand under the pillow wrapped around her trusted gun, her left shielding her sensitive pale eyes from the whitish reflection of the glass panels giving over the main courtyard.

Turning on the side she cracked an eye open, spying who in the world had been so brazen to enter her chambers at the crack of dawn.

With her forehead drenched with sweat she pushed herself upwards with her arms, elbows popping her bust up, her gaze sharp as it could get right after waking up.

The venom had spread overnight, her thigh traveling in between a menacing numbness and excruciating flashes of agony, both situations had kept her awake for a good half of the night troubling her to no end. The torment met its end after reminiscing about a sack containing medial herbs that Katherine had gifted her to combat insomnia a few years back.

Passionflower, honeysuckle and hops crushed until they all three became light powder, mixed and then thrown into hot water. Checking the steadiness of her hands, she used the gun handle to smash the herbs and roots inside the mortar, rotating the pestle clockwise slowly - making sure to not use too much force to endanger another part of her body.

She'd fallen into a deep slumber after drinking that infusion, her eyes forcefully dropping in a state of drowsiness. The last memory had been the crackling of the tender fire lulling her to sleep.

But now the room felt cold, the fire had died while she was asleep, and the fever that she kept in check was starting to flare up. And the hands shaking her awake were slowly making her lose her last sliver of sanity.

It wasn't Pharah, it was too early for her to be up and moving, nor was it a man; the footsteps too light to belong to a male.

A cascade of shiny blonde hair filled her view, with a set of worried eyes searching for the source of her misery.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Rosalynde seethed to the intruder.

Cleia sat on the side of the bed, the folds of her green dress forming the illusion of vines lacing around flowers in full bloom.

"I heard what happened at District Street and came to check on you," her informant promptly replied, raising her hand to check the temperature of her savior.

Rosalynde made her body fall back on the soft mattress, her silver locks a tangled mess full of nodes. A bath would have been the first thing after getting up from bed.

"I won't ask how you got your hands on the information" She would have only

Cleia pursed her lips in a miserable attempt to keep a snarky remark in check, rolling her eyes at her friend.

"You wouldn't like it," Cleia winked, checking the weather outside briefly before turning her gaze back on the other. Her eyes settled on a particular on Rosalynde's face, carving a hole where her lips were.

Rosalynde knew what Cleia was thinking, her face betraying her thoughts. She was in pain, high with fever and weak thanks to the poison that'd struck her - and yet she could not let go of her feline smile. Cleia was one of the few that knew the history behind her constrained smile, and that was the reason why she kept quiet.

Coughing a few times, a moment of folly escaped from Rosalynde's chest, spots of blood straining her view as her bedsheets were stained red with her young blood.

Gasping for air, Rosalynde pointed her scarred finger towards the adjoined bathroom to her chambers, mouthing an incomprehensible list of herbs. Cleia got up, sprinting inside the bathroom as she started rummaging inside the cabinets.

It was then Rosalynde realized she still had not put on her beige day gloves, a sense of dread started crawling around her hands, tingles spreading around her fingertips and languidly making their way towards the rest of her scarred hands.

She didn't need to look to know to see the white cuts framing her callous hands, a mere glance would have made her vomit the infusion of the night before - and she had no intentions to let that happen.

Cleia lurched back inside with Katherine's herbal bag close to her chest.

"What do I have to make?" The entrance door slammed open once more as two new damned entered the room, both halting at the sight.

Katherine sprinted forwards first, snatching the bag from Cleia's hands, grabbing the mortar from the nightstand. Emptying the bag, she selected a bunch of herbs crushing them together before wetting the cloth Rosalynde had used the night before, spreading them smoothly.

"Where were you poisoned?" Not what happened to you, not an ounce of uncertainty related to her kept illness.

The other kept quiet in return.

"Rose, I need you to tell me where you were poisoned," she pressed again. Making the other grunt in reply, wearing a tight smile.

"I think you need -" Cleia started fumbling with her hands, voice unsure before Katherine turned around, her hazel eyes filled with nothing but raging fury.

"Shut up," Katherine seethed, taking a step towards the blonde-haired girl, who clenched the folds of her dress to keep her hands occupied. She raised her hand ready to strike, only to halt it midair, enclosing it into a fist.

Instead, she turned back towards Rosalynde, eyes filled once more with caring worry as she got on her knees beside the bed. She knew Rosalynde didn't like to be touched, and kept her now glimmering kind eyes set on Rosalynde's agonizing one.

Nobody said a word as Rosalynde slowly got up, peeling off the drenched covers which'd stuck on her curves before throwing them on a side of the bed. The bedsheets under her now a crimson artwork.

Quickly surveying the wound, Katherine took off the bandage, her soft fingers delicately prying the wound up to take a better look at the gash running down her thigh.

"Infected, and you'll need stitches," Katherine whispered while still examining the wound.

She turned to look at Pharah, completely ignoring Cleia's presence, and asked her for the strongest liquor she could find inside the room.

Rosalynde suppressed her growing smile when Katherine popped the tap open, examining the liquor's graduation, snorting at the label before dumping its contents on the gash. Rosalynde's body launched forward at the mere contact of the alcohol with her skin, her back arching like a bow bent by an archer.

A pair of hands came out of nowhere, gripping her shoulders and pushing them back against the bloody sheets.

Pharah smiled weakly at Rosalynde, who in return narrowed her eyes.

"You're going to dirty your sleeves," Rosalynde muttered, her pale eyes settled now on Pharah's covered wrists which kept her body anchored to the bed.

"Then that would be your fault," Pharah replied sardonically. Waving her laced-sleeve over her attendants head in sign of mockery.

"I swear I'll change that damned deadbolt one of these days."

"Do that and I'll make you sleep in my bed until one of us jumps out of the window to escape the forced proximity," Pharah threatened, showing her tongue in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

"I will," it was a promise set in stone.

"Rose, may I remind you that you've been threatening me with the same identical shit for years?" Pharah squeezed her shoulders and eyes shut to avoid the glare coming from her attendant.

Katherine gently rolled Rosalynde's body towards her side, applying her ointment over the gash with her thumb. She applied it with loving tenderness as if bathing a newborn for its first time.

Katherine huffed in amusement, the ends of her mouth tugging upwards forming an entertained grin.

Rosalynde shivered at her comrade's touch, a series of spams getting ahold of her body.

"Keep her still, I'm nearly finished patching her up," Katherine whispered. She pinched Rosalynde's good leg before wrapping the now closed wound inside a clean cloth brought by Cleia from the bathroom.

Nor did it go unnoticed by the other two Apostles the look Katherine gave Cleia - a stare loaded with nothing more than long-running hatred.

She'd never held her in high regard, that internal statement being a half-statement, for there hadn't been a day since their first meeting where Katherine had wanted to kill Cleia.

And Pharah and Rosalynde knew that the only reason behind Katherine's self control was Rosalynde herself.

She would have never endangered a patient - especially if that person was the closest person she'd even gotten close too.

They'd met young, when both didn't reach the bushes outside the Imperial Citadel. Rosalynde under the authority of Haywire, and Katherine under Hestor's guidance. Two different kinds of hells, both still extenuating to the soul and mind alike.

Rosalynde's eyelids suddenly started growing heavy, as if two rocks made out of sleep had been placed over her eyes. Her body too slowly started to shut down, the drowsiness of the night before dying inside her chest made her lids close peacefully.

꧁꧂

The next time she woke up the sun had decided to grace their skies with its presence, the usual fog and early mist nothing but a distant memory at the back of her mind. Someone had changed her in her sleep, the vests gifted by Grey nowhere in sight as her injured body now . She got up winching, checking for anything else that she maybe hadn't noticed the night before - if it'd been the night before.

Who knew how much time had passed since Katherine's ointment had put her to sleep, it could have been a few hours, or maybe a whole week had gone by and she had no idea.

It wasn't the same as when the after-effects of her curse manifested, in that scenario she knew it would have taken weeks for her to wake up again. Time wasn't an option when her curse sunk its fangs inside her heart, that was the reason why she barely used it after all.

"Good morning - and to answer the question I'm sure you're asking yourself. No.You've been out a couple of hours," Pharah's clear voice came from the other side of the room.

She sat on the couch in front of the fire, a leathered law book in hand and a cup of steaming hot tea on the coffee table at her feet. Immersed in her lecture, the apparent heir turned to the next page using her thumb, the paper edges cutting through her skin as butter.

She wasn't happy, the usual air of intimacy between the two of them nowhere to be seen.

Rosalynde rushed forward at the sight, her legs numb and zero-to-no strength in them. That made her crumble to the ground, hands sinking in one of the dark navy carpet at the sides of the bed. A labored breath the only sound that came from her.

The creaking of the floorboards moved under her, Pharah's delicate footsteps getting close, her braided hair falling to the side, ticking her attendants crouched body.

"Here." She helped Rosalynde back on the bed. Placing a third cushion between Rosalynde's back and the wooden headboard covered by a lovely shade of navy blue silk - the same color of the carpet below her feet.

It was then Rosalynde noticed the red dots on her lady's sleeves, a sigh of pure exasperation leaving her chest in a turmoil of coughs.

"Not my fault if you decided to drop dead over my gown," Pharah stated dryly, her cerulean eyes narrowing at the tight smile still displayed by her friend.

"Oh believe me. That wasn't my initial intention,"

"Doesn't matter, I'll take it off your salary anyway." That made Rosalynde still, bones chilling as if been thrown into a puddle full of ice, a bewildered look plastered on her cadaveric face, cheeks whiter than the reflex of the moon over the

Rosalynde whispered, pausing a few seconds before averting the gaze from the sleeve, making it travel to

"You aren't this petty," But Pharah was not to be moved by those words.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Rose."

"Says who now?" The Smiling Dame dared, firing the question without thinking twice.

"Says me." An astute glace from the apparent heir was enough to have Rosalynde's smile nearly falter. her features using their usual doll-like composure, with her pale eyes crashing briefly with Pharah's cerulean ones, her reflection staring back right at her.

The frail lightning in the room vanished as a cloud obscured the feeble winter sun's view. Pharah's shadow now one with the darkness looming over her thin figure draped with royal insignias, the air a block of tautness ready to be cut in half.

And yet in Rosalynde's eyes she seemed to shine in her own light. Her hair strands off fallen stars, her eyes the color she thought benevolence had.

Pharah was Rosalynde's star, her redemption, and that would have never changed.

The apparent heir got closer, going to accupate the small space between Rosalynde's body and the end of the bed. She then leaned on the other, her head falling in the concavity between the clavicle and neck, making sure to not apply any type of pressure.

A resigned sigh escaped her chest, eyes closing in an attempt to block out all the colors distracting her thoughts.

"What's going on Rosalynde?"

That question burned down all the resolve that'd gathered inside the other's mind, the truth now pending so close into being spilled into the four great winds.

She wanted to tell her - but she just could not tell her. Everything till this paint had happened so that Pharah would have never known the details of what was going on. Verity, Madame Hellenia, Krinston, and lastly the leader.

The puppeteer pulling the strings of fate to his own guilty pleasure.

"You won't even speak to me now?" Rosalynde hesitated once more, her pale eyes the specter of what she once had been.

She'd gone back to the frightened child haunting her dreams. Abandoned to a fate decided by others inside her own home, her once modest loving home which'd been filled with the scent of rotting corpses of her parents. And later with the wails of her young-starved self desperately seeking for help.

Her search soon then came to an end when her gloved hands found the cold edges of her gun. She stroked the loader, feeling the scratches that time and then passed her most prized possession to her master.

Then, she started talking, a vacant stare accompanying the whole tale.

She started from the very start, from Madame Hellenia, to then reminisce about what had happened to Adeline, ending it with what had happened the night before. The fear, the dread latching itself around Pharah's heart.

She kept silent for a while, with Rosalynde asking if her lady had fully understood the situation unleashing around her figure and future.

"You know how I knew whatever was happening had me somewhat involved"? Pharah replied with a question, delicately getting up from beside her injured friend.

An assertive nod was the only thing she got as a reply.

"The only time you didn't talk to me was when you were silently hunting down that anarchic," Pharah stood now beside the window, her fingertips tracing an intricate pattern down the glass panels, head slightly tending towards the back.

Then the tracing stopped, and Pharah slowly leaned her head forward, forehead resting against the cool surface.

Enclosing her hand in an iron-steel fist, she then slammed it against the glass, which trembled at the force shaking its fontaments. It didn't shatter under her iron first, much to Pharah's obvious displeasure.

Turning around, Pharah looked around the resting chambers. There wasn't a single muscle on her face not feeling the truth of her attendant's revelations. Every single word an anchor chaining her to the ground.

They were after her, and the reason behind their gesture did not matter, not anymore.

All that could be taken into account now was that a new death sentence loomed over her exposed young neck. It wasn't the first time someone was going after her, but somehow it felt different, more imposing, more real than ever.

More threatening than a thousand blades all pointed at the same time towards her heart.

"Who knows about this?" Her voice felt suffocated, the knot inside her throat making it difficult for her to swallow.

"Only Grey, he's the one I'm collaborating with," Rosalynde replied, a sliver of frustration filling her mouth, the powerless position they'd fallen in was everything but helpful.

"Why am I not surprised by it?" Pharah rubbed her hands over her face, smearing the light makeup she'd applied without the usual help of the maids just before going out of her chambers in search of her attendant.

Just then a new knock came from the door, the silhouette of Cleia peeping from the door, her short blonde hair hiding her neck. She quickly stepped into the room, looking back as if expecting someone to join her from one second to the other.

Pharah had no words to describe the chaos that was starting to unfold around her, stepping close to Rosalynde's bedside, acting like some sort of shield.

"How dare you enter when I expressly told you to stay out," Pharah seemed to remind her.

But Cleia, bravely- or stupidly ignored the outburst of the apparent heir, dropping to her knees in the middle of the room. Her ragged breaths clear evidence of whatever physical exposure she had to endure up until now.

It seemed she'd run miles and miles without rest, her clothes beaded with sweat, the ends of her dress

Her stupor grew with the door opening for a third time, her eyes settling this time on a pair of gray eyes squaring her bandaged body. Grey said nothing, her expression speaking more than all the words in his vocabulary combined.

Cleia was the first one to break the silence, regaining her strained breath before slapping her palms on her knees, a weak attempt to pull herself up. Rolling her shoulders to shake off the stares, she took courage, clearing her throat with a few forced coughs.

"I come back with something I thought you both would be interested about," her gaze turned towards Grey's sharp one, making him narrow his very own at her statement.

"What are you talking about?" Rosalynde grunted out as she rolled on her side, painfully standing up, under the constant protest of her serving lady.

"You asked me to investigate the Underworld," Cleia blurted out, hands resting on her slips as Rosalynde mentally repeated her words. The ends of her mouth tugging upwards at the last real conversation between them, her smile morphing into something grotesque, at the limits of human nature.

Even Grey seemed to not hold still at the comment, the Underworld playing a singular effect on him.

"You found them?" But Cleia shook her head, a ghost of a smile gracing her small lips.

"They were the ones that found me first. And they want to meet you, both of you," once again she turned to look at Grey, who said nothing about the comment regarding his participation.

"When?" Rosalynde was now standing on her feet, tasting the floor under her bare foot before Pharah's hand materialized on her shoulder. A clear reminder to not overrun her body like she'd been doing in the last few days.

But the other simply shoves it off, casting a fairly amused smile to mitigate her friend's outburst in some way.

"On the shore of Noor Lake facing the Barracks at noon," And Rosalynde was off, quickly changing her nightgown before exiting her room, with Grey on her heels.