SOMETHING WICKED. ⁽ ᵃᵖ ⁾

FOR ALL SHE’S LEARNED IN THOSE MONTHS,     dunwall no longer believes in tears. those weeping in the sewers are doomed to only one fate; widowed men and women, parents that have lost their children to the pandyssian demise   —-   they are weeping too, and, perhaps, are to end up only ever… weeping, before they are given the chance to meet with their loved ones. should the outsider, the whale god, the gift-giver be so kind.

he is not. or else, why would he watch so apathetically as small children weep, sometimes tears, sometimes blood? no, the outsider never believed in tears. but jessamine will let her daughter cry; she will soothe and kiss her forehead, kiss her cheeks, kiss the salty water away.

‘ …no, no, my darling. what they said no longer matters. but… tell me, emily, did they… — ’ a swallow. she decides that she will publicly execute the pendleton twins, should emily say the word. no, she will —-  

‘ tell me, darling, what happened after… after they took you away? it is very important. ’

her fingers are almost shaking as they cup emily’s face     —–     she fears the worst, but now it is only half anxiety. half pure, barely stabilised rage. rage as cold as the void, but, something akin to whale oil, it takes a simple spark for it to blow up. they need to get out, soon, but    —-  

‘  no one is going to take you from me now and ever again, emily. i promise.  ’

          Oh, relief, sweet relief !  Some feeling of warmth floods through her, something akin to comfort she has not felt in weeks. Against the warmth of HER MOTHER, she feels safe, and in her arms, she feels content. But the tears cannot, do not stop as even if she holds her, the young girl’s face is drenched with sobs. Her voice is equally gripped with these tears, wiping them away as viciously as possible, despite knowing she is perhaps the only person who would permit her to cry, and cry and cry. 

          ❝ They... they, uh... ❞     a sniff, a cough as both hands sweep her hair to the side,     ❝ they... they asked me questions ; asked me if I could give them power over THE THRONE, some stuff about, um... about PARLIAMENT, or something like that. When I said no, they’d... they’d throw me in here... ❞     And it floods back : all those nights alone, cold and dark and dangerous and strange... and she was dead, CORVO was dead —

                 there is a warmth in his tone and a smile that is only meant for her. for her mother once, long gone to time, for family emily will never get to meet. she is left, and oh how dear she is to his heart. dunwall could drown in itself if it meant she would get so much as a paper cut otherwise. he would reach out a hand, the one not wrapped to hide what it should, would simply smile and nod. ❛  i know you’re not a child. ❛  a sigh, a roll of the eyes, though joking. he feels old. ❛  you don’t have to remind me.   ❛

              emily would never see him softer than when she agrees. it is a favorite memory, one of many. jessamine reading and him singing as she drifted. even in the hound pits would he have tried to continue, and feel the loss when he spent that time out in dunwall’s darkness.❛  whatever you like, sweetheart.  ❛ but the intrigue is undeniable.

          Those ravens and vultures, sycophants and cronies and gentility sneaking through the ranks of THE DUNWALL COURT, will never see her smile. The one she gives them is false, based on diplomacy and desperation to show good image, or something to show out of pity or fear. But around the only man she trusts wholeheartedly, laughs and grins and any emotion becomes genuine. They had seen each other at the worst point in their life, and would undoubtedly vow to see each other in the best.     ❝ I’m sorry, FATHER. I don’t suppose you need me to tell you how old you’re getting. ❞

@voidregnant         /         PLOTTED.

    THERE IS NOTHING IN THE WORLD A MOTHER WOULDN’T DO FOR HER CHILD.         falling from the very pinnacle of her power to the deepest pits of dunwall, hidden places where only the damned would lurk       —-       it wasn’t nearly as bad as knowing emily was out there, somewhere, her well-being and life itself no doubt endangered. knowing that she thought everyone she loved and counted upon was dead. crying in her sleep, calling for her mother…

you’ll know what to do; those were the last words the protector heard. but do you know what to do? what precious principles of yours are you ready to sacrifice          ———–

his heart was heavy; it frightened her how she failed to realise the whole impact this life, and she herself, had on corvo                ——                and now that it has occurred to her, it was all too late. it was now her burden to carry, hers alone, and yet even after his death, it was his voice she clung to in the dark, when all else was failing, when she thought her guiding star went out for good, was gone forever.

jessamine kaldwin, no longer the empress, was standing in the doorway, her face pale in the half-light, eyes shining as if in fever. her daughter was drawing        —-        she looked safe. unharmed?

‘  emily  ——   ’   she almost didn’t recognize her own voice,   ‘   i’m here. i’ve come to take you     —–  ’   home? no, there was no such thing anymore; the very concept of home perished with the last breath of corvo attano. ‘ to a safe place. ’  

          It had happened too fast : the swinging of swords, the spill of BLOOD, the sounds of screaming and the thud of a body, heart racing to go back to the safe confines of THE TOWER, but one blink of her eyes and she was somewhere else. A child cannot mourn in a place like this, in a place where no one would find her ; those conniving PENDLETONS made that very clear. The only thing she knew in those weeks were loneliness : an wordless pain, silence despite the whole world collapsing in the four walls around her. It almost seems impossible, unreal, and soon MOTHER will come into the room, late into the hours of the night, hold her close and wipe her tears and tell her that this is all just a bad dream —

          But alas, MOTHER — her sole confidant, her dearest, the person she loved most in the world — somewhere unknown, dead and gone ! CORVO — the hero of her many stories, the subjects of her little masterpieces, the closest thing she would ever have to her unknown father — slain like a dog, dead and gone ! What sort of fool is she to think there is any kindness left in the world, when it has taken so much from her?

          And yet, the world can still be kind. This figure by the doorway has not the gait of the brothers, but owns a voice both steely and kind, only to her. The tears sting her eyes, after crying for many and many a night out of fear ; these ones are shed from joy.     ❝ Is that you, MOTHER? Is that really you? ❞

he does not correct her in his doubt. it seems like she was a child, told to turn the lights out followed by the insistence she was just about to. but seeing her will never be something to complain about. ❛ i don’t sleep so you can.  ❛

when nightmares return it is for stretches of time. a day will turn into a week, into a month. sleep is rare then. seeing dearest empress is the best medication, if judging by the tired smile on his face. ❛  do you need help ? i could sing you to sleep again.   ❛

          Her own presumptions flower at the mouth, but they wilt once he speaks and they seed themselves in her chest, making this warmth she has not felt in so long flow through her. The laugh that leaves her is a weak one, but it is a laugh nonetheless. Will there ever come a time where she can repay all that her parents have done for her, all they have sacrificed to ensure her happiness, the barest minimum of her safety? AN EMPRESS had died and did all she could to make DUNWALL a city worth loving, A ROYAL PROTECTOR risked life and limb to rescue her from threat after impending threat. Both loved her more, and more and more, every waking moment.

♛     ╱    CRY PLAYS DISHONORED.   ❪ accepting ❫

          The pit of vipers that everyone so politely calls THE IMPERIAL COURT will never get the opportunity to see her laugh. The luckiest they will probably ever get would be a huff or a roll of the eyes at some horrid joke one of the younger OVERSEERS might say, as if nobody can hear them. But here in presence more comfortable, quiet and lazy and serene, she lets out a small giggle under her breath, quiet enough that even she cannot hear it properly, but the smile remains.

♛     ╱    CRY PLAYS DISHONORED.   ❪ accepting ❫

          The more regal, disdainful part of her would think those words are nothing more than HYPOCRISY, but she has learned men’s hearts are not kind to her, to anyone in this world. Only a select few have the compassion to survive ; those who are unlucky are swallowed whole by cruelty in the world they have chosen to foolishly to trust. It had happened so unfortunately to HER MOTHER, to her— too much times that what could have been kindness in her is buried by layers and layers of cynical weariness.