“Lenore Beckwith; daughter of Roger and Marilynn Beckwith; wife of Moritat Grimweld and mother to no registered children. Accused of arson, murder, and is charged with the destruction of Swarthmore. Tryst in session.”

The words rang out with a frightening clarity, seeming to echo in the large, hushed room. It was a cylindrical room, with a ceiling that reached up, too high to even see. The walls were made of a glistening marble, and lanterns fixed into the walls kept the room fairly bright. At both ends of the room stood large, oaken double-doors just inside elaborate archways. At one end of the room there sat a chair, reminiscent of a throne, albeit with large manacles built into the arms and legs.

A long, fancy table sat adjacent to this throne, and at this table a panel of men and women. The rest of the room was filled with a myriad amount of chairs, all facing the throne in a semi-circle. I happened to be seated in one of them, placed a good ways back and just next to one of the two lanes that ran through the semi-circle.

A woman who I’d not noticed before was walked to the large throne and sat in it, manacles quickly fastened by two very thin men, with long, tied-back black hair and eerily-painted faces. The woman looked up, her face cool and grim. She had a firm chin and angular features. Her eyes were brown, and her hair was a pitch black.

The man who had spoken before was seated at the panel of men and women. He had bright blue eyes and a mess of curly black hair, and watched as another man, with wavy brown hair and a pince-nez, went to stand beside the angular woman. I decided to call her “Mrs. Angle-y”.

“Thank you, Randolph...” said a man with a very deep voice. His rich, resonating tones immediately drew my attention once more to the oaken table where he sat—in the very middle of the seven men and women. He had short grey hair, with frazzled mutton chops, and eyes just as intense as the man who sat next to him—Randolph, I supposed. At this point, I deducted I was sitting in the midst of a trial... and inwardly withered at the thought of sitting through the entire trial, even though I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

“Pay attention, Jiri—for the love of God, if you plan to be a man of law, at least listen to the trials...” a woman next to me whispered harshly. Her name was Agatha Porine, I think, and my favourite time to talk with her was when she was asleep.

“I’m listening.” I said. The elderly man with the sharp eyes turned to look at Mrs. Angle-y, who I had the oddest urge to call “Lenore”.

“Lenore Beckwith... as a Heirocand, you have been taught that the power of Heirophant is not to be abused... am I correct in assuming this?” He asked. I blinked, pausing in the middle of scratching my nose. Heirocand? I made to lean over and ask Agatha what it meant, but Agatha was too busy absorbing the humiliation and pain of Mrs. Angle-y—because she was a sadist witch... and part of me admired her for that.

Lenore bit her lip, looking down at the floor. She didn’t reply for quite some time. Finally, Mr. Muttonchops persisted.

“Lenore?”

“Yes... yes, I have been taught...” she said, firmly.

“Then why did you burn down Swarthmore, Lenore...? Those are women and children and good men who died in that fire...” said Mr. Muttonchops. The entire room seemed to glare at Lenore, who continued to stare at the floor.

“I love, Darius, how you’re so quick to assume it was all me...” Lenore said venemously. The atmosphere in the room seemed to coalesce with tension. I scratched my nose again, obviously not as interested as I was supposed to be. Mr. Muttonchops—or Darius, if you will—only frowned at Lenore.

“Mr. Nichols... feel free to defend Mrs. Beckwith as you can...” Darius said. Mr. Pince-Nez nodded and stepped in front of Lenore, as though silently shielding her from the glares of the collected court.

“Meine damen und herren...” he pronounced gutterally, gesturing to the court. “Ladies and gentlemen of the court and Armament... I am here to defend Mrs. Beckwith, as I believe her completely innocent of her charges...”

“My first bit of proof...” he continued, beginning a steady pace in front of the people. I leaned back in my chair and attempted to balance on my nose a coin I’d found on the floor. “What motive does Lenore have to burn an entire town? What reason would she find to burn a whole city to the ground? Surely, it wasn’t whimsy. I have talked to this woman in the past and have concluded there are far more likely suspects.

“My second point—Lenore is not nearly so learned a Heirocand that she can manipulate fire well enough to light aflame an entire city...” said Jeremiah. A far shorter man, who had been standing on the opposite side of the throne as Jeremiah, called out in a thick, sticky voice that made me think of bubbling mud on velvet.

“Weak arguments,” he said. He had large, bloated cheeks, smattered with red blotches. Just beneath his bulbous nose was a curled moustache and a disdainful mouth. Agatha prodded me with a finger.

“Look, Jiri—it’s your brother,” she said, never taking her eyes off Lenore. I looked in the direction she was pointing and found it was to the ugly, portly man who I’d just been scrutinizing. He was my brother? Eugh.

“Lenore Beckwith’s husband was a sociopath who spent a year in Windsborough Asylum. Who’s to say the apathy didn’t spread like sickness in the house? Who’s to say she didn’t have a motive—that she and Moritat Grimweld didn’t have a marriage-threatening tiff?” Mr. Lard (who was my brother) said cruelly. Agatha giggled.

“... I really hope the Grimwelds disown Moritat...” she said, looking over at Randolph, who had paled several shades. “I bet Fan all my savings for the month that they would. Because they will, you know? Fan’s a damn sucker, she is.”

“Your mum know you talk like that?” I asked, giving Agatha a sideways glance. She frowned.

“You aren’t any fun, Jiri, I don’t know why the hell I’m courting you,” she said, as if flaunting how much cussing she could now fit into a conversation. I rolled my eyes and sat back into my chair, just barely listening to the trial anymore—I hardly knew anyone or any of the places they were talking about. I therefore deemed it far more interesting to tune out the trial, though bits of it still seemed to sneak in.

The argument between the two men of law seemed to escalate, until—finally—Darius of the Mutton Chops called an end to it.

“I fear we’ll reach no conclusion this way...” said Darius, looking from each of the men to Lenore. “We must resort to the Oath.” He finished. Both men nodded and took their respective places at each side of Lenore’s throne. Lenore became blanched, her entire face as white as paper. I sat up, watching her, suddenly interested. Agatha, too, seemed to lean forward in her seat.

The painted men returned to Lenore’s side and unlatched each of her manacles, pulling her up and holding her arms tightly—tight enough to where her forearms began to turn purple. It was then that a man from the crowd stood. He had a wide-brimmed hat and a large coat that came up, almost to his chin. He also had a black case in his hand. The hat, coat, and case all signified that this new man was a doctor.

He approached Lenore, whose eyes had gone wide. The calm, collected, and even somewhat defiant woman who’d been sitting just moments before had been replaced by a cornered animal, cowering from some new enemy. The doctor laid the case on the seat of the throne and opened it, withdrawing a syringe and a small bottle. Lenore watched him, mouth agape, as though too frightened to move.

I leaned over and tapped Agatha.

“What’s an oath?”

“The Oath... bloody idiot. It’s when they administer truth serum to an accused criminal,” Agatha hissed. I ignored Agatha’s insult and watched intently as the doctor filled the syringe and approached Lenore with the needle.

It all happened before I could figure it out.

One second, it was fairly cool in the room. The next it was an inferno. Blazing hot air hit my face like a bat out of hell—or at least I imagine a bat out of hell would feel blazing hot if it were to hit my face. I heard howling and immediately looked over to the throne. The two painted men were screaming in pain, dropping to the floor and flailing, while the doctor—who had already extinguished his flames—was holding his hand and wincing. Lenore was gone.

“Jiri!” I heard Mr. Lard-Who-Is-My-Brother shout. “Run! Sustain her! We’ll catch up and arrest her—just hurry!” He bellowed. I stood up instinctively and darted down the isle I was nearest, hurrying to the set of double doors that my brother—whose name I think might’ve been Chauncey—pointed at. I pushed them open and dashed down the darkened hall beyond.

I hadn’t ever realized how dark these halls were until I ran down them now, noticing how dim the lanterns seemed to be. I squinted as I ran, the hall slipping by in a long, wallpapered blur as I vyed for some glimpse of Lenore. At first, there was nothing—nothing but long, thin walls, stretching on to supposed infinity. After a few minutes—just when my hope was dying out—did I see black hair, trailing through the darkness. I assumed Lenore was leading that black hair.

I picked up my pace, finding it unusually easy to do so, and Lenore—as she noticed me behind her—let out a scream.

“Stop it! No! Get away! Get the hell away from me! Leave me alone!” She screamed, sobbing now. She knew that if she were convicted of this crime that she would be sent to a place far more torturous than hell. ... Probably somewhere with labor, and immigrants with grating accents.

“Wait, Lenore!” I shouted, catching up to her steadily as the bluish glow of twilight appeared at the end of the hall. Lenore did not wait. Instead, she bolted straight through the large wooden doors at the end of the hall, into the waiting mountain air. I followed as fast as I could, and watched her as she attempted to dart down the hill, into the thick woods.

I circled around her and blocked the path, making to grab her arm. She pulled away and, instead, skittered to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the wooded valley. She looked backwards warily, shuddering slightly, and taking a slow step nearer to me.

“Now, listen here, Lenore...”

“No! God, no! Leave me alone, Saathof!” She snarled. My name was Jiri Saathof? That’s a weird name...

... Oh, right. Must convince Lenore not to run.

“I don’t understand, Lenny... you were always such a sensible woman, really... what’s gotten into you?”

“They’re going to kill me...” she said, eyes wide, her chest heaving still. “They’re going to kill me, I know they are...!” Well, that doesn’t sound crazy at all. I frowned.

“Who’s going to kill you...?”

“The court!” She shouted. “The Grimwelds! Oh, God, the Grimwelds! They hate me for almost killing Moritat, I’m sure of it!”

“Actually, I think they’ve been considering it, themselves...” I said, rubbing my chin. ... Ah... I said that aloud, didn’t I? Lenore looked at me, as though considering whether or not I was joking. Either way, she wasn’t amused.

“Please, Jiri—please. If you’ve any mercy, you’ll let me go...” she said, before looking back at the hallway frantically. She turned to me again. “Please!” She screamed, her voice breaking.

“Why d’you think they’re going to kill you, Lenny? You know they’re just going to send you somewhere for reform. You know, a penitentiary or something...” I said, trying my best to be soothing.

“No!” She howled. “No, I heard! I heard it! I heard people think I’m going to be an Athanasian! They’re going to kill me so some other soul can come and take my shell! I won’t have it! A pox on them—a curse on their family and loved ones for daring!” Now, pox sounds just too cute to be intimidating.

“Lenny...” I said. “You’ve got to trust the courts... really, I’m sure you’ll be fine...” I extended my hand. “Come here... I’ll take you back and make sure you’re safe, all right...?” I asked. She jerked her arm away and shouted ‘no!’ again, but this time lost her balance. She swayed on the edge, and I watched, entire body frozen with sudden apprehension.

Was she really going to fall? Was I really going to watch someone fall to their death?

Her foot slipped and I watched as she toppled—head first—off the cliffside. For a few minutes, I had absolutely no idea what to do. I just stood there, and looked at the abandoned cliff. After a minute or so, my brother and several other men rushed out of the hallway, approaching me and asking me many questions. I didn’t catch any of them in my numbed state.

Finally, Randolph approached me, taking me by the shoulders and looking me in the eyes. I shuddered, snapping out of my spell as he stared at me. Not only was he a man of power—a very powerful man of power—but he also smelled strongly of patchouli and it seemed to awaken my senses a bit.

“Jiri,” he said, in a strong, commanding voice I suddenly really wished I had. “Where is Lenore?” Without any idea what to say to him, I just sort of pointed at the cliff.

“She fell,” I said simply. He stared at me for a few more seconds, before turning his head to look at the cliff. He frowned deeply, looking over the edge. I followed suit, if just propelled by macabre interest, but it was too dark to see. Randolph sighed and turned to the men.

“Please meet me back in the courtroom... I do believe our Lenore Beckwith is dead...” He said. The men stared at Randolph for a moment. Many of them looked on the verge of inquiring, but Randolph merely put out a hand and turned to the cliff. Obediently, the court’s men turned back to the hall and filed back inside. I approached Randolph carefully, trying my best to piece together how I’d ask him if I could go down and see. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulder again. I froze.

“I’m... sorry, I’ll go back now...” I said quickly, pointing at the hallway. Randolph shook his head.

“I’d like a very large favor from you, Jiri...” he said, looking over at me. Was... he seriously asking me for a favor? Me? A very large favor...?

“Of course, Mr. Grimweld, anything...” I blurted out, unaware of what I’d said until it was too late. He didn’t pull his eyes from the cliff. He grabbed the sleeve of my jerkin and lept from the cliff, and I found myself lifted from the ground, as light as a feather. Randolph was—of course—a transvective... which is to say he could fly without gravitational bounds. Of course, transvection wasn’t my forte, so it wasn’t hard to see just why—when we’d touched the ground—that I puked. A good amount.

Randolph paid no mind to it. Instead, he motioned to Lenore. My eyes shot open when I saw her, then I quickly looked away. The scene was swathed in blood, and Lenore was bent at an unusual angle. Mrs. Angle-y was a suiting name, indeed... maybe I should be checked for the Sight or something...

“I have a confidant who tells me she’s an Athanasian...” said Randolph. My eyes widened; so Lenore was right. “I didn’t believe this would happen—I didn’t believe she would actually die... However, this is far too convenient to be written off as coincedence... If she is an Athanasian, she will be awakening in a few hours... I have very few people I have confided this in—only Nonius Janus Tartarus, Dr. Ravencroft, and now you. I would appreciate it if you passed this along to no one... not even your brothers...” He said quietly. I nodded slowly.

“Why me, sir?”

“Because you were the nearest man of the court...” Randolph said wryly. “You’re also a shape-shifter... that should work to our advantage. You also have lessons in the Citadel every month, am I correct...? Meaning I see you every month... it’s rather frequent, and ample time to report everything that’s gone on to me,” he said. I nodded slowly.

“Well... all right... One problem, though... Isn’t, ah... isn’t Lenore a bit too... broken to move...?” I asked. Randolph smirked.

“Astute observation,” he mused. “That’s why I informed Dr. Ravencroft... he’ll be coming around to fix her up fairly soon. Whatever he can’t fix, Athanasia will, God willing...” said Randolph.

“Oh...” I said, quietly. I decided not to ask just how “Athanasia”—whatever it was—could fix a body so utterly mangled. Randolph folded his arms against the cold, looking over at Lenore.

“I need you to watch her as she traverses Dimarchai, Jiri, and I need you to bring her to me. It is of much importance that she make it to the Citadel so I can talk to her about her time... her place... et cetera. The sooner I find out, the sooner she can go back, and the sooner you can return to your civic duties. As it is, I’ll be paying you for this...” Randolph said, before straightening his Inverness and looking up at the cliff.

“I’ll tell your family it’s a part of a lesson I’ve given you at the academy.”

“In psychology, sir?”

“‘A lengthy expedition into the heart of human culture’... I’ll tell them you’re rooting out the philosophies of various cultures by studying there... This, of course, means lying very low. I don’t want you or Lenore seen by anyone, am I understood? If you do see anyone, go under different names... disguise yourselves until this is all over... understand?” He repeated. I nodded slowly.

“You want me to watch over an Athanasian, to be seen by no one, and to bring said Athanasian to you, without telling anyone...?” I clarified. Randolph nodded. I frowned slightly, scratching my head. “And... how much are you paying me...?” Randolph smiled thinly.

“More than enough,” he said. “It puts neither you nor your family in any sort of danger. I’d just like you to guard the Athanasian and help her get used to our way of life... no doubt there will be a culture shock of sorts...” He explained. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. True, it was certainly worth the money... I just didn’t want to seem too excited about it in the face of such a respectable figure.

“I don’t know...” I said slowly.

“Fifty guineas.” He said simply. My entire body tensed and I whipped around to look at Randolph fully.

“You lying bastard!” I shouted. Randolph smiled slightly, still looking at me. Ah, well... so much for retaining my good first impressions. “Er... sorry... But really—fifty guineas? For bringing a girl to you...? Couldn’t you pick her up, yourself?” I asked.

“I’d prefer that she get used to this realm of being first... she can better compare between her home and this place if she has a better idea of our land.” Randolph explained. I nodded.

“All right... then I’ll do it. As soon as she wakes up, I’ll start taking her. There’ll be no delay, I promise you, sir...” I said formally. Randolph smiled weakly.

“Good,” he said. “There will also be a Hellion following you... Janus, by name. Dark hair—and blue eyes. No need to fear him... he’s just watching from a distance for your assured safety...” Randolph reassured. I shuddered and looked at the surrounding woods as Randolph looked once again to the cliff face.

“I’ll see you at the month’s end, Jiri...” he said, before frowning and looking harder into my face. I backed away slightly.

“Er... what...?”

“You’ve got a bit of an oniero in you...” He said. I frowned.

“A what?” I asked, somewhat alarmed. I didn’t really want anything in me that I didn’t know the purpose of.

“A dreamer... come here,” he asked. I walked slightly closer and he put his fingers on my forehead. Suddenly, I felt very disoriented.

“Wake up, Serena...” Randolph said, his lips never moving. Slowly but surely, he began to fade. “Wake up... wake up...

... wake up.”