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Richard groaned slightly as spirits twisted around his arm, pulling the tattered flesh back together. Cerise knelt next to Kerrian, watching as the young man glanced up at his bloodied hand. "He's healing normally, so that's good," she whispered into Kerrian's ear. "Sometimes it doesn't."
"Another, another set of scars to match, match the other hand," Richard managed to say, with a small pained laugh. "Sis, sis will never let me down when she finds out about this..." His smile quickly faded at the thought. "Thank, thank you." He didn't seem in the mood for Nicolas' playful jibes, instead drawing in on himself and falling into a sullen silence.
The young man managed to drag himself back up on his feet, still cradling his bandaged arm to his chest. He gave a forlorn glance back at the ruined mirror, his gaze lingering for a long time, before he finally dragged his eyes away, turning to follow the rest of you up the stairs.
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Whoever was upstairs had made no effort to hide their presence or their location. The sounds of frenzied movement came quite clearly from a parlor on the second floor, a low, arcane chanting emerging from behind a door that was somewhat ajar. The words were soft and hard to hear, shorn of any kind of meaning you could grasp at. It ended as you approached, and as you opened the door to the parlor, you were welcomed with a soft, albeit rather chagrined female voice.
"You're still alive?"
Anna-Marie was a young woman in her early twenties, with dark brown hair and a dusting of freckles around her nose. She was dressed in a practical outfit of sensible dress and long-sleeved blouse, with a high collar and black gloves on her hands. She looked like one of countless well-to-do Dementlieuse women, save that unlike most of them, she was waving a knife at you.
It was a grim tool. A spur of bone as long as a man's forearm, the hilt consisting of merely leather wrapped around the bone. The knife was sharp, and spattered with blood, rich crimson staining the gleaming ivory blade.
"Well it doesn't matter if she didn't get you." Anna-Marie smiled slowly. It was not a sane smile. "You're too late anyway."
She took a step towards you, pushing aside a table and overturning the water-filled bowl atop it. Pink-tinged water stained the carpet. She lowered the knife, running a loving finger along the blood-spattered blade.
"The rite's begun, and you are too late."
