I don’t know what to think. So much has been happening lately, or at least it feels like everything happening all at once. I’m sure outside of my own mind things are different, calmer. Makes me wish the Outsider would have granted me the the power to be someone else for a while. Even a day would do, but I doubt it would help. There’s so much running through my mind and piling up on my shoulders that there are times where the only think I can think of to do is do nothing at all. But that doesn’t make it go away. I wonder if this is what my mother meant when she said that the life of an Empress was perilous? Did the world ever threaten to come crashing down on her, too? But she had my father there. Corvo would never let that happen.
And I know the same goes for me, but-I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like he’d rather be doing other things than...that. My father has his own burdens to bear. There are times where he slips and I see that he’s not as strong as he likes to put off, or that he likes to show me. It’s these moments that I try to ignore and forget, pretend they never happened but when I see the wear that the world-that life-has put on his face and even his body, I can’t forget it. I still like to think of Corvo as an unstoppable force and an immovable object. I force myself every day to keep that image in mind.
(This entry has not helped as much as I hoped it would. I suppose I’ll just continue to stress and come close to crying about all this until its all finally over. This ending better come sooner rather than later, or I’ll make it happen myself.)
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The Hound Pits. Emily knew it well. It all smelled of dank wood, old paint and beer. The Wrenhaven ran behind it, casting it’s own stink into the mix. She had gone nose blind to it after a while, but returning now was a blast from the past. She remembered living their, for a time, as a child during the Rat Plague. She slept in the tower. Just like a little princess in all the stories she refused to read. Just like then, the pub was dimly lit, showing as a dull, dying star across the waterfront of Dunwall. Even in the low light, she remembered it well along with all the places she used to hide from her old governess, Calista when lessons were especially dull.
The only thing she couldn’t remember was why she was there.
As she walked across the old floorboards of the pub, dragging her fingers across the bar and watching the dying light sparkle in the glasses that hung above her, Emily tried to remember the reason for her visit. She never gave it much more than a passing thought-the building. And last thing she knew, the place had been demolished, seized or even burned down-she hardly remembered. Her eyes unfocused as she found herself lost in thought and only a small thump from the floor above her stirred her, but barely. It had to have come again two or three more times before she was back in her right state of mind. She listened and waited before hearing it again. It was a steady rhythm, like a ball dribbling steadily between the floor and someone’s hands. She wasn’t alone then.
Haphazardly, Emily turned and trotted up the stairs, slowing on the second landing to listen again. The noise came eventually, but this time, it was yet another floor above her and then another. It finally stopped when she reached the attic and stepped inside. The bed and table that belong to Corvo temporarily during his stay remained. The lanterns had been extinguished, and only recently. Smoke still billowed in steady ribbons to the ceiling and the Empress found herself staring, watching the gray haze rise and dissipate. The noise had ceased. Now, she was confused. An eerie silence lingered over the building now, like a thick blanket. No board creaked, no rat scurried behind the walls. The dribbling of the river and the squawking of its birds had left as well. The air had stilled into a suffocating, stagnant veil and the room continued to grow darker and darker until Emily could see nearly nothing at all. There was no moon, no stars to grant any kind of air and her heart began to pound. Ever since she had lived here, her childhood fear of the dark had grown into a phobia. It tightened around her chest and caused her heart and hands to tremble.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, there was a light. A dull, flickering light, but a light nonetheless. Across the metal catwalk and across to the tower she had reigned from for a short time. Emily’s chest heaved again. She pulled herself towards the window, stepped out and dared to look down. There was nothing. Only a black, bottomless pit. She looked back up and expected to see dark islands around her, suspended in a cold, blasting wind but there was nothing. Was it not the Void then, she wondered. There was nothing here. Nothing but a world of a childhood lost.
Emily crossed the rest of the way quickly and fell into the door, pushing it open only to be greeted with the overwhelming stench of rot. Emily fell to her knees, still stumbling from the impact, and vomited. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she raised her head when a child’s voice was heard. It was her ward, Matilda. Her familiar freckled face stared sadly back at her, drooping eyes and frown far to exaggerated-like a child’s drawing. At her feet, was the body of her mother, surrounded by dead and dying rats and shadows that threatened to consume bother her mother and the child. Behind the girl was a shrine, constructed of the old metal bed frames and sheets where black eyes and a small smile stared down at her.
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Emily opened the door slowly, only allowing enough light to enter from the hallway to see whether or not the girl was asleep. Thankfully, she was and the Empress stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She crossed the room quietly, boots padding softly on the embroidered area rugs until she reached the girl’s beside. She lowered herself slowly, carefully on the edge of her bed and pulled the blankets a bit tighter around the girl, tucking her in. The child barely stirred. Moonlight from the nearby window flooded the darkened room. It cast a pale light on the child’s soft, freckled face. Her hair lie in loose locks around her face and her eyelids fluttered over closed, flickering eyes. With a gentle hand, she moved these strands from her face before tucking it back onto her lap. Emily sighed and contented herself with watching the child sleep.
In so many ways, she reminded Emily of herself when she was a little girl, though Matilda was not nearly as outspoken and reckless as she had been. Matilda was quiet and kept to herself. She had no desire to run the rooftops, cross the ocean in a huge battleship, learn to wield a blade or summon armies at her will. Unlike a younger Emily, Matilda just wanted to be safe, under a roof with food in her belly. It was all she ever asked for-the simple things. And she seemed happy with that. It made Emily wonder if things would have worked out for the better if she had been more like her as a girl. What would Burrows had thought if Emily was always obedient, dutiful and quiet? Would it have changed his mind? Would her mother still be around if she had just been more well-behaved?
Emily glared at the floor, forcing the thoughts from her mind. The past is in the past. There was nothing she could do to change it now. She should be through grieving-her father did enough for the both of them, and as much as Emily wished he would stop, she knew there was no fixing her father now. Grief was now a part of his personality and to rip that out would be to rip out his heart, and Emily feared it would fall apart in her hands. The Empress turned her attention back to the girl as she began to stir. Emily did not move from her spot. She reached over to stroke her hair as her dark eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened.
“Empress...?” her little voice chirped.
“I was just checking on you.” Emily softly cooed. “It’s getting cold tonight and I wanted to make sure you were warm enough.”
The child hummed. Matilda kept her eyes locked on Emily as the Empress hand still lingered in her hair. Emily noticed her stare and pulled her hand away, returning her gaze to the floor, but only for a second. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was a little girl.” she said. “You’re much better behaved than I was, though. I was boisterous, to say the least. Not as reserved as I probably should have been. Not like you.”
“I’m not an Empress, though.” Matilda said quietly. “Maybe that was just how Empresses were supposed to act and you didn’t know.”
Emily laughed softly, smiling down at the girl with a tired expression. She hummed and tucked the child in again and placed a hand on her much smaller one. “You’re a good girl, Matilda. You’re a kind and creative child, lively, and you bring this sad city light and life. You would be remiss to let this world take it from you.”
“Is that what it did to you?”
Emily hesitated, swallowing. “Yes,” she sighed. “Yes, it did and I let it. Do better than I did, child, and you’ll do better than this bitter Empress one day.”
The child hesitated. Clearly, the visit was unexpected and probably a bit jarring, but she nodded and Emily smiled. “Good.” the Empress said. The woman stood, bidding the girl goodnight and watching her settle back into her sheets before turning her back to the door and gently turning the knob. She she looked back, she smiled sadly. Oh, how she wished she could take the years back, turn back time and go back to when things were easier, when the hardships of life only consisted of figuring out what to wear and her tutors’ lessons.
Emily turned away and the door was latched gently shut.
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The glass was set back down on the table harder than Emily had intended. By now, she was heavy and hazy, contended with staring at the wall rather than making any kind of conversation with the woman next to her. Unlike her heavyweight mother, Emily was unable to down so much liquor in a short amount of time and still be able to walk straight. She had quite a few, after all, and Dunwall’s distilleries never created weak alcohol. She crossed her arms over each other on the table top and slouched forward, exhaling a heavy, nauseated breath. Emily closed her eyes against the feeling in her stomach and the world around her. She raked her mind back over the past week, reviewing the events in her head over and over, trying to find where things went wrong-where she went so horribly wrong.
There was fire. Light and ash. She was standing one second and on the ground the next. Everything was so loud to the point where she heard nothing at all. Images and sounds blurred together in her head, causing a flurry of confusion that only served to frustrate her and attempt to stir emotions that the liquor had suppressed. She remembered faces-vaguely. There was Anne-Marie, recognizable by her thick black curls and blazing green eyes. She was scared, Emily could remember. But she felt nothing after the initial shot; she was dead before she hit the floor. There was Alexei Mayhew, a fierce captain of the City Watch and loyal to the Empress. Loyal until death. By another man in uniform, she was impaled with his blade. She died doing her duty and in a pool of her own blood. There were more, many more guards, all in a blur of blazing reds and whites and golds.
Then there was Corvo. There was her father. She had always been told that there was nothing fiercer than a parent when their child was in danger, and Corvo had proven that. Though to a witch like Delilah, he didn’t stand a chance…
“What’s wrong with you?” came a sudden voice from beside her. Emily turned her head slowly to see the concerned face of a young blonde woman. Her eyes were clear blue and her face lively even in it’s confusion and calm state of being. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The Empress blinked. Emily figured her face must be flushed and her eyes heavy compared to the other’s. She must seem like she’s been there a while. Emily turned back to the glass in front of her and shrugged. No words came to her mind, only a tired understanding of what could heard around her and repeating images. She rubbed her hands, her movements slow.
“Hey,” the woman said again, scooting her stool a few inches closer. “I’m serious, you alright?”
Emily cast the woman a sideways glance, tired, red rimmed and heavy. Her eyes flicked back to the wall across from her. “It’s not really any of your business.”
The blonde’s hands flew up in mock surrender. Her blue eyes were wide with shock. “Yeesh. Alright. Just trying to be a nice person here.” She waved to the bartender and placed her order with a few quick words while Emily’s drunken glare came to rest on her again. No words came to Emily’s mind. There was nothing she could think of to say-for there was nothing to say. It was none of her business, after all, and Emily would drag her into it by deciding to get angry with her. The dethroned Empress decided to ignore her and order another drink.
When it arrived, it was gone in seconds, but Emily left it at that. She continued to hold the small glass in her hands, twisting it in her hands, tracing her fingertips along the rim and watching the glass and ice dance in the dim light. The emotions that she was working so hard to suppress continued to pound weakly against her rib cage. Much like herself. Things had barely started and Emily was already tired and at a loss. There was no one left to turn to, no one left to trust and no one to follow her down aside from the shadow-the figure of a man-that followed her every move. It was always there, just out of sight, watching everything with bitter black eyes.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you were gonna stop after that one.”
Emily turned to face the voice again. Now armed with a drink to her lips, the blonde beside her sipped her poison with raised eyebrows. Emily sighed, slapping a palm on the polished table while finally turning her shoulders to face her. “Do you need something from me?” she asked bitterly.
“Only an answer.” the blonde retorted.
“To?”
“What I asked you not five minutes ago?”
“Am I alright?” Emily assured.
“Yes.”
“No.” the Empress growled. “I’m not. You don’t usually see a lady sitting at the bar alone drinking if she was alright.”
There was a silence between them, the ambiance of the crowd around them filling the gap. Slowly, with pursed lips the blonde lowered her drink to the table while Emily turned away, facing forward again with her face in her hands. She wanted to cry, but now was not the time and the space provided offered little comfort, so she refused. She swallowed the urge and let it burn in her chest and throat again, causing her heart to pound and breathing to labor, but she did her best to conceal it. She would not dare give Delilah the privilege.
And she would do her father the honor.
“Was it a man?” the woman asked more softly. Emily looked at her through her slender fingers. There was a sincerity in the other’s eyes that Emily had recognized daily in her father-a pain, a scar, a moment in time that replayed over and over in your head. Emily’s eyes softened, but she shook her head.
She moved her hands away from her mouth. “A woman.”
There was an excited gesture from the other and she moved even closer, dragging her drink with her. “Oh, a woman! Here,” she waved a hand. “I’ll buy you another and you can tell me all about it.”
Emily scoffed, the rest coming out as a laugh bordering a sob. Her head was foggy and she wasn’t so sure how to react anymore. Any emotion could have sufficed at the moment, but Emily chose to laugh and turned to the woman, glossy brown eyes locked onto the other’s under a mess of dark hair, set in a flushed face. Her words were finally slurring as she spoke. “Let me tell you something about thieves, ma’am.”
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For a while, she had just contented herself with sitting and staring, watching her father from a distance, Wyman at her side. The two had been talking back and forth. Cracking wise at one another and speaking fondly of the late Empress as the occasion called for. Emily always cut that end of the conversation short, however. The last thing she needed was to become too emotional, to break down and start crying. She’d never pull out of it then-and she couldn’t afford it. Not among her subjects and certainly not around her father. Emily figured and feared that she was the only thing holding Corvo together and had been for the past fifteen years. She decided, then, as a young girl, that she must be strong for him. Corvo had already given so much. Emily only did her best to show him that she could now pull some of the weight as well. She was more than willing, after all.
Now, however, Emily’s mind drew farther away from Wyman and closer to her father. He seemed calm, as always, but he was standing alone, hands clenched behind his back while he stared at the displayed portrait of her mother. She could not see his face, but she imagined a perfect picture-his eyes hard and hazy, jaw clenched and brow furrowed as he once again struggled to keep himself together. His mindset on that matter was nearly identical to her’s, but Emily knew he could never hold it longer than he had to. She had seen that man cry. She had seen him break down into a mess of gross sobbing and futile anger. Things were thrown, swept off of desks and broken. But Corvo could only go for so long before he would collapse in a chair or on the floor and cry himself into exhaustion or to sleep. The Empress winced at the thought. Perhaps tonight she could help that from happening. She could stay with him, talk with him and keep his mind distracted, perhaps. She knew, however, that if she waited too long, the feelings would root themselves in Corvo’s chest and he would have to rip them out himself in the only way he knew how.
“Hold that thought,” she whispered to Wyman. They stared at her for a moment before nodding in understanding, a solemn look returning to their face. Emily smiled sadly and rose, gracefully sweeping across the room to her father’s side. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
Corvo turned his head to look at her quickly, his face softening, before looking back at the painting. He rolled his shoulders and assumed a taller, prouder stance. The picture of a strong man. Emily paused before speaking, her eyes lingering on the portrait of her mother. “Maybe you should-”
“Don’t let me take you away from Wyman, Emily.” he interrupted, casting her a quick smile. “I’m fine.”
Emily sighed through her nose. “No, you’re not.” Stiff silence followed. Emily tucked her hand under and around Corvo’s bicep, hugging him closer to her. He shifted his weight towards her and sighed, a heavy breath leaving the barrel of his chest. The Empress lingered there for a while, her head on his shoulder and eyes focused on her mother.
Just like it used to be.
Emily straightened immediately. She cast the thoughts from her mind. She would have none of that. Not now. Not when Corvo needed anything besides it. Gently, she tugged on his arm, gesturing with her head to the spot where Wyman remained. They smiled as the Empress and her bodyguard turned to face them, watching kindly as the two returned to sit beside them. Corvo sighed as he sat, lowering himself more slowly than Emily whose bottom was in the seat instantaneously.
“You should be careful with him, Emily.” Wyman began, sounding horribly concerned. Their tone was dark, but a small, creeping smile betrayed their air of seriousness. “He’s getting old, after all.”
Emily chortled and nudged Corvo with her shoulder. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. His rumbling voice made both Emily and her lover smile with his lighthearted tone. “I’d gladly prove you otherwise, but I’m afraid that I’ll kill you by accident.”
Wyman held up their hands in mock surrender. Emily grinned widely from the other side of Corvo, who watched Wyman with a small smile and charming eyes. The older man’s attention turned back to his daughter as she nudged him again.
“Just like that ‘incident’ with our Captain was an accident.” she grinned.
Corvo suddenly sat straighter, pointing at her with an excited finger. A smile could not be held back. “Hey,” his voice boomed. “You watch it-that was-”
“He couldn’t walk for two days.” Wyman interjected.
Corvo turned to them as well, finger aimed now at the both of them. “-That was an accident.”
Emily laughed before speaking more quietly. “You cannot control your strength.”
Words barely escaped Corvo’s wide grin before he threw his head back in a wheezing laugh. Emily and Wyman grinned at one another as they laughed as well, her father’s proving to be funnier than the joke. Perhaps that was what less than five hours of sleep did to you. Everything was funny-funnier than it should be, but Emily was not complaining. She was happy to give her father all the poorest reasons to laugh as long as he did. He needed it, and so did she.
