#trialsofheartstask

then -

I had to convince my father it made sense; maybe it didn’t, but I was curious. Your name rings through history, and I wanted to see what made it worth so much more than mine to everyone who matters. …You’re not exactly living a fairytale, though, are you?

now -

I should start calling you Charming, with the number of times you’ve come to my rescue. You’ve got motive, I’ve got opportunity. But that’s not the full story, is it? Let’s write a different one.

Archer tilted her head a little, studying the mask she'd received. It was beautiful on the outside, but on the inside - in the place of the usual soft fabric used to pad the inner lining of such ceramic masks, fragments of newspaper were carefully inserted. Only one was recent, but all were familiar. The headline il fuoco fa strage. A fragment about a small company forced into bankruptcy shortly after IPO'ing after it was found that many of its most promising projects were based on intellectual property already owned by Drake Inc. A byline describing over a billion dollars awarded in damages to Drake Inc. after it was found that a rival company infringed on several of its patents. A clipping of an article regarding an overwhelmingly successful merger that came suddenly after months of bitter negotiation with CEO Ansel Janssen. A disparate smattering of stories with one connecting factor. Archer sighed again, more deeply, hunching her shoulders, her gaze skittering away from the accusations set in ink.

Just under the curve of the right eye on the interior of the mask, five tally marks were etched out in dark crimson, four long lines crossed with one diagonally, stark as spilled blood against the faded white of the newspaper clippings. Archer squinted down at the lines, frowning. "Two break-ins interrupted, one arson, one stolen car...one stolen phone." She counted out loud, frowning. "I get it. Cat, nine lives, five strikes, four more." She tossed the mask to the side, then hopped back up on the footstool she was using as an improvised ladder, resuming her careful inspection of the walls of her dorm. "This shouldn't count as a strike, by the way." She'd already ripped apart her smoke detector, unscrewed her lightbulbs. "Every move you make is seen. There's no rule against looking for eyes." A smile flickered across her face, there and then gone. "I can cover the damages."

"What did Vincent write? Never explain the rules in full. Explanation creates expectation. Expectation breeds control. Except, he was never really in control, was he?" She fell silent a few moments, knocking gently at the walls, listening for hollow spaces. "Dealers give the players their cards, ensure fair play, and know the rules of the game...but nobody says the dealer always wins." She gave up abruptly with a sigh, dropping down to sit crosslegged on her footstool. "Yeah, I know who always wins. The fuck am I doing?" She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyelids. "Talking to myself. Talking to whoever's listening. Great." A knock sounded at her door, precisely on time: Nicolai, come to take her dress shopping for the ball. Archer threw one last glance to the mask sitting on her living room table before she went to meet him, etching the mask's design into her mind.

then -

I trailed you through the streets of London, your personal shadow, quiet and unobtrusive. I saw you, and I thought you saw me too. The version of me separate from the Drake name. Messy. Reckless. Happy.

now -

Well, maybe you were blind. That's okay. Cookies and champagne and a hotel room card. That's enough. Next time, will you dig the knife in deeper? Or spare me your edge? I'll trust you until I know the answer.