Asrael was hardly surprised to find someone waiting for him as he slid the manhole cover away to arrive in the Garrison’s cellar. There, seated atop the crate in the corner, Lita sat with her feet crossed tightly together- her pale face and her white hair illuminated by a lantern at her side. He pushed the cover back into place and did his best to avoid looking at her- however difficult it proved. Somehow, she was even more beautiful than ever. That long, white hair hung low over her shoulders and the intensity of her green-eyed gaze was something he could feel even in his peripheral view... but her beauty was part of her Gift- that cursed expression of her psychomancy that would easily draw him in, should he make a wrong move.

She giggled into her hand and slowly stood from the crate to look him up and down. His clothing had, like the people of Pilta’s, grown ragged over the course of the hardships that had befallen the city. His pants had numerous, small tears in them, as did his shirt and the coat. In the tears of the fabric, she could see his pale skin and the coarse scars, but most endearing of all his features, she found his frown. He was staring at the door while keeping his attention on her, but did not rear away as she approached to stand on her toes and run her hand through his black hair and giggle once more at the contrast between her pallor and the darkness of his scalp.

He could smell the lavender on her from up-close- that sweet, bitter, calming fragrance... His favorite.

“You can look at me, Asrael. I will not use my Gift on you- we are beyond that.” He might’ve known better, but suspected that if she truly wished to charm him, she would have her ways- regardless of his resistance. Hesitantly, he turned to look into her green eyes. Her white, long eyelashes blinked slowly as she moved her hand to gently stroke his cheek.

“Is this how you gloat, woman? Is this your way of celebrating that you’ve finally succeeded in bringing me down on my knees?” She giggled and shook her head.

“No, my beloved Asrael, I would never dare. You’ve always been far stronger when you’ve fought from your knees- you always will be...” He detested that look of wisdom in her green eyes. He reached his hand up and grabbed hold of her wrist to stop her warm, soft caresses and spoke:

“’Beloved’... you are as delusional as the other one. Tell me where you’ve hidden them- better yet, tell me what you want from me so that we might finally be done with this.” She giggled again before slowly and gently retracting her hand from his grip. Turning on her heel, she led the way towards the door and pushed it open to lead the way.

He had been uncomfortable before- he had practically been the definition of the word ever since the burning of the Tower... but this brought new meaning to the word. He followed after her and had to actively resist looking at her posterior, but every time he let his attention slip, he would catch sight of her green eye and that heartwarming smile over her shoulder. She led him up through numerous stairs, long, carpeted corridors until finally, they arrived by a tall, wooden, ornate door. There, she paused to extend a hand towards him and speak:

“Do not be scared. There is nothing to fear. They are unharmed.” He hesitated in taking the hand and crossed his arms while tapping his foot impatiently against the carpeted floor, but the girl remained stalwart in her gesture- silently insisting he’d take her hand before opening the door.

“You are yet to tell me what you want of me- for months, you have been playing these games and I have had it. Speak plainly and explain yourself- what do you want from me?” Of course... she did not answer. Not until he sighed, conceded and grabbed her hand to let her fold her fingers in between his own.

She giggled as she lay her free hand on the door and whispered: “You are warmer than what I have been led to believe.” Before he could answer and explain to her the concept of metabolic heat-production, she had already pressed the door open to reveal a fine chamber. He had not expected much- or so he had thought. He had imagined her leading him to some room in which she had been torturing her companions, but instead... she had led him to her quarters.

As opposed to the rest of the Garrison, her wall of windows faced the west, where she could see endless plains of wheat beyond the city’s walls. He imagined it might’ve offered her a scenic view as the sun rose, but the light chamber had... other... views for her to behold. Several, tall paintings hung on the walls- all of which depicted Asrael’s fall at the hands of Gustav Sargerrei, but she had taken care to scratch the High Inquisitor’s face out from all of them, so that she might only enjoy the look of his malformed face as it contorted in its dying screams. Lastly, he looked over to see that a silent corner of her room hosted two leather benches and atop either of them lay a woman. It only took him a moment to recognize them, but as he did, he finally dropped her from his hand and reached behind his back for the dagger.

“I would not.” She warned, but her smile never faltered. Asrael took cautious steps backwards and kept his eyes firmly locked on her hands to avoid being cursed by her pscyhomantic tricks, all the while swinging his weapon out ahead of him... the calm she exuded from where she closed the door in their wake was easily as disturbing as the stillness of the girls on the benches. He arrived by Eleanor’s head and reached out to verify that he could feel her warmth breath against his cold hand. Naturally, he slapped her cheeks before pinching her nose.

“Get up. We are leaving.” But Eleanor remained still- as did the sprawled-out Blightlander on the other bench. He jerked back as Lita stepped forth to explain: “I hope you can forgive me... I had to pacify them, but the poison will not harm them. They are comfortable- I have made sure of it.” The fact she had to resort to poison spoke of a slipping confidence- perhaps in regards to Neda’s breaking of her spell. Asrael fidgeted the silver knife hesitantly, before remembering... he had wandered in there on his own- confident that the girl would not be out to harm him, but how certain could he be that she hadn’t a trick up her sleeve to steal away his free will and, like them, use him for whatever she had planned?

“And I am to trust you, then? You’ve obviously brought me here to extort me, but you’ve yet to present why you seem intent on pestering me. Speak or let me take my companions and leave.” She raised her hand to her mouth and shrouded her mouth to giggle.

“And in ten minutes- when you’ve left this place, it will be swarming with your soldiers... you misunderstand me, Asrael. I’ve no tricks for you- no lies and I will not cast my magic on you. We are beyond that now...” He had to scoff at that.

“Yet you’ve poisoned my associates. Forgive me for not trusting your word- you've spouted nothing but insanity and lies thus far.” Her smile faded for a moment as she heard his accusation, but by long, it returned.

“They are well- I have only done what I needed to, in order to ease Eleanor’s pain and buy us some precious time. You are free to take them, if you wish... but I ask that you listen to me before you do...” For as long as he had known of the girl, she had never been so lucid- so... distraught. He braved looking into her deep, green eyes to see a profound pain beyond the thin veil of her smile. Had she finally reestablished her grasp on her mind? Had her insanity receded to allow them to talk? As much as he would have loved to dismiss her words as naught but tricks, he could not help but feel piqued. The girl’s magic was unlike anything he had ever seen and her connection and apparent understanding of his Satyr-tormentor all spoke to his academic curiosity... he wished to know more, and for as long as he could feel Ellie’s breath on his hand... would it hurt to listen?

“Tell me why I should stay. Why should I listen to your babble, when you’ve done nothing but inconvenience me... you’ve raped my mind time and time again.” As if not fearing the knife at all, she stepped confidently forward- she even went as far as to let him press the dagger against her throat and still smiled. A jerk of his hand and the ornate, red carpet below their feet would be squishing with her blood, but she remained stalwart, she remained confident- well aware... that he could not harm her. Not when there was still a tale to be heard- a mystery to be solved. Her long lashed blinked slowly towards him- her luscious, red lips formed another pained smile as she said:

“I will gladly lay my life at your feet, if you will only allow me a chance. If you intend to leave without hearing my tale, then I ask that you end my life, fore it would no longer be worth living... not after I have been offered his Boon, only to have it taken away before my eyes.” That pain- he knew it well... he saw it in Eleanor’s eyes- in Bartholomew’s, his own... she was wise with suffering- the same as they were.

He retracted the knife from her throat and dropped his arm to his side and took a step back to nod his chin upwards.

"Go on."