Cleo dreamt about her sibling. Brother as she called him, was tall with long dark hair and crisp blue eyes. He was handsome, amazingly so. He was glowing as a candle in the night and people flew around him like moths. Little Cleo was imitating him in every way she could. Clutching to the neck of her pony as she followed his horse. Hiding behind bushes and mimicking his moves with a stick while he practiced the sword. Sticking her ear to the door and listening in during his war and history lessons, for those were not proper topics for small Ladies either. Brother seemed amused by his persistent little shade, unlike Mother and Father. But the scoldings and beatings they bestowed upon her would not stop the child's pursuit. Cleo had always been in his shadow, but she did not care, for in the shadow of a flame so bright one felt incredibly warm. She had then grown bigger and smarter, and his interest as well. News of Cleo berating her teachers had come to Brother's ears and his curiosity had been piqued. He shared books with his sister, a few tentative ones at first, before opening his whole collection to her. She devoured them all voraciously. They proved far more interesting than her own, the ones about courtly etiquette, dance, and poetry. She discovered the astounding worlds of politics and history. There were also a lot of stories about war, for history was filled with them. Those were Brother's favorites, but she could not bring herself to like them. Still she read them all, since it was his main topic of conversation. It was not her place to judge. It was now the happiest of times, for her parents had stopped their attempts to control her interests. Why, Brother had spoken up on the girl's behalf. They had complied obviously, everybody listened to the golden child. She did not feel any jealousy towards him however, how could she? Other children avoided or mocked Cleo for her strange ways, but she did not care. They appeared dull in comparison with Brother. Her own sun was blinding her to the rest of the world and Cleo she comfortable in her own little spot, lost in its shadow. Their relationship grew even better as she went into early teenagehood. She could argue with him about all sorts of topics now, and the conversations delighted her. She was envying the knights Brother trained under. She was not allowed to join in herself, but the siblings had their very own sparrings, only with words. It delighted her while it amused him, to have his little sister taking a stand against his smarts. They also played games together and checkers soon proving dull, he decided to introduce her to chess. The matches rapidly went from educational to challenging. It was the highest point in her life, so close to the light. She was trading opinions and game pieces with the center of her universe. The exchanges improved steadily, growing fiercer by the month. And then it happened. Her life went back to the way it used to be afterward. Tiresome tutors returned with their boring lessons. Hordes of empty-headed maidens were introduced to Cleo, following the girl around and spewing nonsense at her. Her books were replaced. History was switched for religion while politics became embroidery. She was back in the deepest of the night, watching her star from afar. But she would not give up. Cleo began plotting and lying, evading parents and tutors alike, just so she could spend a few moments with Brother. He was still bright and familiar, but something had been lost forever. It had been her own fault, she had destroyed it all. She spent every single moment, every spare thought, to find ways to mend things back together. All her energy went to crawl back closer to him and away from the dark, but she could not succeed for all her efforts. She had done the unthinkable. All living things looked up to the brightness. The moon, most of them all, stayed in its shade. The moon should never eclipse the sun. But she had beaten him. Cleo remembered the look Brother had given her, when she had made the cursed move on the chessboard, exhilarated at the time by her own cleverness. She recalled the hard, cold stare. It had dissipated her victorious smile in an instant, leaving the girl shocked and lost. Her proudest achievement turning sour in the blink of an eye. Tears had dripped down her cheeks while the echo of his boots grew fainter. She should have known. It had never been her place. **** Cleo woke up with a start, and sweat dripping from her forehead. The sound of keys clicking outside made her put thoughts about her dream away for now. She focused her eyes on the ceiling and tried to set her mouth to work. Drooling right after waking up was no easy feat, but she had years of experience. As the door opened, Cleo repeated in her mind the actions she would have to perform after her jailers left. As soon as she heard the metallic noise of the catch, Cleo sprang to her feet. She could see the fumes floating in the darkness, coming out from the ceiling and adding to her stress. The lady took out and tied up the scarf over her nose. She scattered the straw bed and opened the cache under it. After grabbing the tools Ben had given her, she steeled herself for the worst part, the waiting. Standing would mean absorbing more smokes so she sat, and began counting down five minutes. It has been four days since her first lesson and Cleo had improved a lot, but she was still anxious. She had succeeded forcing her way out the night before. But she had known Ben to be waiting outside at the time, in case something went awry. After some more practice runs, he had told her she would have to manage on her own the next once. He had a job of his own at this very hour. Now all that stood against a plunge back into madness were the thin metal rods in her hands. The appropriate time having elapsed, she stood up weapons at the ready, and set out to battle the dreaded lock. The smokes were heavier now, fogging her vision worryingly. She was shaking so hard that the clicking of pick and wrench against iron was deafening. After long, excruciating minutes, Cleo realized that she had not heard the expected *clonk* in the middle of her frenzy. She cursed, before opening the door and shutting it behind her, then she rushed towards the second one. She wiped her brow as she reached it, trying to calm herself down. Taking deep breaths would not help to stand against the fumes. Lock picking was quite simple in fact, but it involved a lot of listening. She tried to ignore the moans of her comrades and concentrated on her new foe. Cleo's head was lighter now, she had lost too much time in her chambers. The fear was maddening, her fingers were hurting from gripping too hard on the instruments. 'Jus' wiggle and twist, girl.' Ben had repeated over and over. Useless ruffian. Her sight was blurry now, did she just hear her favorite sound? She tensed and tried her luck. Sending a prayer to no one that really existed, she opened the door and took the following stairs in a flight. Cooling off from the ordeal on the roof required the better part of an hour. Where was that idiot of a thief when she needed him? Cleo had not been ready to do all this alone. Heavens, she had almost passed out. His absence however, was indicating their plan had progressed. He had provided her with a new batch of information the night before, coming from that woman named Mae. She was a whore, Ben had said. Cleo was consorting with burglars and prostitutes nowadays. The corner of her mouth twisted up at the irony. -It is the price you paid for reaching to the sun-. She recalled her dream, or were those memories? They had felt incredibly vivid and true, but she could not trust them. Her wonderful sibling would not care so much about a mere game. Her own shock was only the one of a young girl realizing everyone, even her worshiped brother, was not perfect. Cleo had been about twelve years old at the time, she noted. He had looked like a young adult right then, and pride was quite the family sin... She shook her head. He had definitely been too old for holding petty grudges, and she needed someone to believe in. Brother was leagues above Ben in all aspects, he was obviously a better choice. It had been a strange experience to see her old self in her reverie. She seemed a different girl and felt distant. Perhaps four years of drugs and hardships, together with memory loss, would do that to a person. But the little girl was happy and her thinking was sharp, whereas the Cleo of now was the opposite. Her mind was a fog, many different strange memories and thoughts pierced it randomly, like strikes of lightning during a storm. Her mood also was easily swayed, fear could change to anger or childish joy in a matter of seconds. Her little self had only seemed blissfully happy with the few occasional outbursts. That girl was gone now, she reflected bitterly, but who killed her? As time passed, she pondered how to spend her time. The sight of Gravelroy in the dark was growing dull after a few nights staring at it. Cleo realized she missed her shady companion. He might only be spouting random dribble most of the time, but after a while, silence was severely overrated. A bright light somewhere in the distance attracted her attention. The Lady felt a pang of fear as she saw it was a fire, quite a big one. It could be a considerable hazard in a city where most of the houses were built using wood. Cleo let out a sigh of relief when she realized it was happening the high district. Its brick residences and stone streets would surely prevent the flames from spreading. Still, the size of it was dreadful. She was waiting for her own smokes to disperse now. Leaving her room open could speed the process yes, but it was a risk she was not willing to take. The young woman was also waiting for her associate to bring new information so she could figure out her situation. Cleo had improved noticeably from the open-mouthed, mute and drooling shell she used to be not long ago. But she still felt powerless. The first of the month, her own writing had warned her, was less than a week away. She was done waiting, it was time to take matters into her own hands. She headed back inside the bell tower, treading carefully on uneven steps. Cleo then crossed the old attic as silently as possible. Perhaps it was useless she mused, hearing the clamor of the other residents underneath her. But it should prove useful practice for what she had in mind. Ben had told her the building should be empty, yet nothing was certain. The ladyS could not imitate his quiet ways so well, so she worked mostly on memory. She had taken this path on quite a few occasions after all. Cleo congratulated herself when she reached the end of the room without having made the wood cry once. Their disparate little group was trying to find the Parkhat. The most mysterious man she had ever heard of, controlling the city through crime. As much as his methods were despicable, Cleo could not deny her fascination for the creature. He was ruling without most of the usual inconveniences! He did not need to be concerned with nobles conspiring to usurp his place nor fear a popular uprising. 'When the body fails, the head must fall.' she quoted. Only in this case the head was someone else's. The Parkhat governed in any fashion he wanted, while lords fought each other and the common people blamed them for their troubles. The man was a genius, she marveled. Maybe he had to deal with his own plots and feuds in the underworld though. But surely these kinds could be dealt without care for propriety nor public opinion. -Only mercilessly- she shivered. Cleo had rushed through the cell level as she was reflecting on the topic. The smoke might have receded a little, but the risks were too great for her to linger. She took down the following stairs while listening attentively to every sound. The church's ground floor revealed nothing surprising. She found the customary altar standing in front of an alley between wooden benches. Stained glass windows shone moonlight into the middle section, while statues of Saints loomed in the shadows from the sides. Cleo waited long minutes for any sign of life before leaving the stairwell and stepping in the hall. She hugged the walls at first, staying among the shades, her heart beating fast at her own audacity. She wondered if that was how Ben felt while traveling in the dark. Cleo jumped at a sharp noise and stood still with fear, until she realized it had only been the wooden beams cracking. That should teach her not to think about him. That scoundrel would not be so tense while practicing his trade. Still, it was a daunting sentiment, exploring the night this way. Looking at doors as she was now, and knowing you could open them to unravel their secrets if you so wished. And so she did. Cleo felt as if she could do whatever she wanted, as if rules did not apply in the darkness. The lock gave way a few minutes later, revealing some sort of cellar. She could make out the shapes of barrels in the shadows. This must be how those other children had felt, Cleo reflected, as they explored their world while she was lost in her books. She inspected the containers, finding various kinds of grain and liquids as expected. This is where that disgusting brown sloth is made, she noted, before turning to the shelves lining the walls. She had to give up sight and turned instead to her sense of touch for the search. Some rough feeling jugs and amphorae, then a few iron pans and cooking utensils, her hands told her. She set away some square-shaped items for further inspection and found a small, cold vial next to something soft -a feather-. She gathered her findings before heading out of the room, with a spring in her step. Using the scant light in the chapel, she went through her bounty. As she had guessed there was a glass recipient containing ink together with a quill. These looked familiar somehow. Cleo then proceeded to open the wooden boxes in a quest for the writings -perhaps ledgers- she surmised would be there. A fair number of candles, some more of the dreaded weeds and there it was: a scroll. She unrolled it eagerly, the inside showed a long list of names and dates. She recognized a good number of them, nobles for the most part. The dates were regular, every first day of every month. Visitations, the lady gasped. 'Beware the first of the month, remember you are crazy' her scribblings told. Cleo would have to play the part of the drug-crazed girl on each occasion. The conclusion was a shock: she must have tried to convince her visitor of being sane at some point, and it had been for naught. No, there should be no call for caution then, the consequences must have been dire. It was confirmation of her previous suspicion: someone wanted Cleo to stay imprisoned and mad. And now her visitor was an accomplice. It meant she was a problem to that individual -a group of people, even-. But as much trouble as she was, she was apparently not worth killing. It was insulting, actually. It would also be easier than conducting this whole conspiracy to keep her locked up and insane. Thinking logically, there should be two reasons to go to such lengths. First, she would be inconvenient alive, but even the more so as dead. The only value she had alive without being anywhere relevant was in her title. She paused. The northern duchy, she realized. Kenmard, she recollected its name, was of considerable strategic value. Her husband then? A shame she couldn't remember him, for it was hard resenting a faceless man. Cleo wondered if she had driven him so mad he had decided to get rid of his spouse. She might not have the most agreeable temper, but surely it did not warrant her current predicament? She remembered the ominous phrase on her wall: 'YOU KILLED HIM'. Cleo shivered, was she a murderer then? Why exiling her in the free city then, outside of the Empire's reach? If she had been such a terrible wife, why care about her life? The Duke should not fear his domain being cut off from the empire, it was too important. The imperial court would definitely send a dozen new proposals to him the very moment she should die. Her consort was not innocented yet, but Cleo's suspicions against him were growing thinner. It worried her, it signified she had to consider the second possible reason for her situation. She was a nuisance alive and had to be stranded for good, but her enemy did not want her death. The explanation being that her foe either still needed something from her, or cared about Cleo. The young woman could not see what use she could be to anyone in her current state. As for caring, it only meant a handful of suspects: her family. She felt her throat tightening at the prospect. A sharp noise snapped her out of these considerations. Cleo jumped in fright, then swiped the room with a glance but she was still alone. The Lady let out a sigh of relief. She was glad for the distraction however, doubts about your own blood were definitely not pleasant to entertain. Once again, the same sound came to her ears, and she stifled a scream. Cleo gathered everything she had borrowed in a hurry and hid behind one of the alley's benches. *TAP, TAP, TAP* Someone was coming down the stairs from the upper floor. Cleo looked around her in search of an exit, then froze. She had left the door to the cellar opened. You stupid, silly girl! She chided herself. The Lady had been acting like one of the very maidens she despised. Getting excited and frivolous, while forgetting important things, but it was no time for self-reproach. Cleo only saw two options, either try to close it as soon as she could or hiding and praying. She wondered with dread how near the intruder was now. Would she have enough time to repair her mistake? Fear was creeping upon her body, locking it in place. *TAP, TAP, TAP* It was louder now, hitting against the stone floor and resonating through the hall. Cleo swallowed a lump in her throat. It was too late for doing anything, it only left faith as an option. She was in a church so the idea only seemed appropriate. But how was one to pray to something they did not believe in? God, her body was beginning to tremble now. Would she ever learn to control it? *TAP, TAP, TAP.* The trespasser was worryingly close, and Cleo pondered his identity. She wished with all her heart for it to be Ben. As much as the young man grated on her nerves, she would give anything at this moment for him to be there. She considered her hiding spot. Surely, one should not be looking in the shadows between benches at this late hour? It must be Ben, she thought. Nobody else could have been coming from upstairs without passing her earlier. The Lady sighed before taking a peek. She saw a man's shape, one wearing a long robe. Cleo's blood ran cold in her veins when she saw his face. Even with the scarce moonlight she recognized it, it was brother Gregory. The sight of him shook her, visions flashed through her mind, painful recollections. She wanted to scream but her throat was dry. Cleo held her head between both hands, then her entire body began shaking as she realized the reason. She knew why the sight of this monster had made her skin crawl before.