Cleo was having nightmares. She was in her cursed cell, but things were different then. The glass window was clear and brightened the room. She had furniture, a chair and a small table. A few parchments were sprayed on it, next to a quill and an ink vial. A lone used candle was standing over the scene. The walls and floor were clean, while her bed was made of feathers with proper sheets on top of it. She was not distressed though, Cleo felt like she deserved her imprisonment. She sat at her table and began writing, there was some time left before that man would arrive. A knock on her door made her jump in fright, but a glance at her window calmed the girl down. She still had some daylight ahead of her. An old woman dressed in white came in, she had her hands full. She put down a basin on the floor, before arraying foods on the desk. She left without a word, leaving the door opened behind her. Cleo did not even glance at it, where was she to go anyway? She set out to feed herself with ham and cheese, accompanied by some bread. The nun came back carrying a jug of warm water and dumped it into the pan, before going out for some more. Cleo was staring at the container with dread, she did not want to be clean. She brought her attention back to her food, for it was better than thinking about what would come. It had been all her fault, and this was her punishment. A small tap on her shoulder snapped the girl out of her considerations. The basin was full and she was offered a small towel and a bar of soap. She did not take them. It was time now she thought, trembling, as the last ray of sunlight had gone. She took a bronze mirror from the desk to have a look at herself. She was wearing a white robe, her hair was flowing down to the top of her shoulders, black and straight. She was clean, her whole body was. She had tried to resist but to no avail. The elderly woman had forced her to wash thoroughly. Cleo considered her face. Fair skin, sharp blue eyes, and pink colored lips. Was this girl beautiful? She did not want to be. A sound coming from behind made her blood run cold. The door opened but Cleo did not turn to face him, she shuddered in anticipation. She did not fight back. It lasted longer when she did, and there would be bruises too. She emptied her mind and tried to ignore the pain. She was guilty and this was her purgatory. The girl's hair was down to her shoulder blades now, and her robe was too large. Cleo was sitting at her desk, crying, she did not feel like writing. She glanced at the door, it was not locked but going outside was impossible. The man lurked out there, wearing a different face. The girl had seen him, looking calm and solemn as he prayed, but she had not been fooled. He turned into something else at night. Like clockwork, her caretaker arrived. Cleo was letting herself being fed and bathed, not feeling the need to participate. She stared at the door as the white robe left. The man was coming today, as regular as the cleaning ritual was. She did not want to be pretty for him. With a cry of despair, she stood up and ripped pieces off her dress. The emotion turning to anger, she tangled her black strands, disheveling her hair. That was not enough. She lashed out at her face using her fingernails, ignoring the pain. The man was here, and the change in appearance had not stopped him. The girl closed her eyes and held back tears, she was not going to give him the satisfaction. How long would she have to pay for her sins? The grunting was intensifying now, along with her agony. She did not look at him. Cleo sat down in a corner when he left, knees to her chin. She felt sick. The dark mane had lengthened, and the scars on her face were more numerous. The girl's attempts at rebuking her tormentor had been futile. How long had her penance gone for? She could not tell. Time was probably passing, she was not sure, for the days were the same. The only evidence she had was in her hair growing. Cleo deserved to be here, she told herself, but she could not accept the nightly visits. These were wrong. Inside of a church, under the very eyes of his god, a man dressed as his servant was committing the unspeakable. It had to stop. Cleo tore her bedding open and took out feathers. She piled them in a corner along with her sheets. Using her frail arms, she lifted her chair and smashed it. It felt good, all that destruction. The pile was raising, but she continued, breaking her desk's legs and throwing the lot together. She grabbed flint and candle, before adding arsonist to the list of her crimes. Perhaps she had overdone it a little, Cleo reflected while looking at the blaze. The girl did not care. She took a long piece of wood from the fire and held it, staring at the burning end closely. She swallowed a lump in her throat. She was not going to be pretty for the monster. **** Cleo awoke in a scare, sweating. It had all come back to her, she remembered most of her life in the church now. The conditions of her imprisonment used to be a lot better, before she lost her mind and face. That was of course, setting apart the matter of her former tormentor. She recalled trying to speak about it to the monthly visitor, not trusting her jailers. They had cleaned her and bathed her, before bringing her to the chapel for the meeting. As soon as she had begun to speak of the abuse, they had intervened, blaming her insanity for the accusations. She had burst out in outrage as they dragged her out, but it had just added weight to their claims. Then she had marred her face in a gesture of despaired madness, before fainting from the pain. The white robes had carried her out of the room shortly after, when noticing the fire. They had not understood her gesture, thinking it an attempt at suicide. Perhaps it had been, she was not sure. The priests had increased the amount of drugs afterward, and her cell's condition had worsened drastically. And now, that monster was still on the premises, only its prey had changed. It was the sole other girl incarcerated here, so identifying Brother Gregory's new victim had been simple. Cleo must have walked by him as he was abusing the girl the night before. She had not been paying attention to the cells around her at the time. He could have seen her! The idea made a cold shiver run down her spine. Cleo remembered with guilt the poor, empty-eyed woman she had found later then. She had wanted to take her into her arms and reassure her, telling her everything was going to be fine, even if it was a lie. But the Lady had not been able to. She could not bring herself to feel another person's body since the memories had returned. Those made her sick with disgust. She wanted to scrub no, rip her skin off to make the monster's touch go away. Younger Cleo had felt relieved after the arson, relieved and victorious when the nightly assaults had stopped. And while she had felt better, that other girl had taken on her former burden. The guilt was terrible. Cleo was currently back in her cell, recollecting only faintly how she had gotten back there. The lady had been incredibly disturbed after she had seen the horrible man's face. The rest of the night had gone by in a blur of painful memories and emotions. She had then spent the day sleeping, lost in vivid and sickening nightmares. Her younger self had thought she deserved her situation, it was punishment. But that girl was a victim whereas the Cleo of now was not, or rather she did not want to be one. She went through the labyrinth of her past, searching for the cause of her fate. She found none, nor was there a crime that would justify all this, if such one even existed. 'MONSTER' The wall told her. It was not Cleo, she knew who it referred to now. She wished him dead, she wished it with all her might. The writings had also called her a murderer, perhaps they were right after all, when contemplating her current feelings. But there was the matter of the visitations, she had to know the identity of her caller. Was it worth letting Brother Gregory roam free for one more week though? Cleo wanted to kill him herself, and she vaguely recalled asking Ben to teach her. She considered the matter. Evidently, hiring the thief to perform the deed would be a safer, surer option. He could also do it outside of the church, another point in his favor. A death on her prison's grounds would definitely arouse suspicions. She could not afford the jailers to perform a closer inspection, fearing them discovering her returned wits. There was also the possibility of them searching her room, finding the cache beneath it. Last but not least, whatever her wall claimed, she did not know how to kill someone. She understood the general concept obviously, but theory and practice were different matters. All things considered, logical thinking required turning to Ben. Reason proved to be naught but a feather against the storm of her emotions. She wanted to do it herself. Cleo needed to, she owed it to herself, and to the other victim. **** She began counting down to five minutes as soon as the three ominous figures left. She had stared at the ceiling to avoid looking at Brother Gregory before they did. It had been near impossible to appear calm, to stop her body from shaking with anger and disgust. Cleo was growing scared, thinking the monster could be outside, she could run into him when leaving the room. She had not even reached a minute when clicking sounds stopped her short. Fear overtook her, was it him, Coming back already? But he had another girl to torment now, surely a half burned woman was not worth harming? The door opened, showing Ben crouching behind it, wrench and pick in hands. She let out a sigh of relief. "Cleo. How's yer head?" He asked. She could see he had a worried expression behind the scarf on his face. "My head is fine, or as much as possible, I appreciate your concern. Though an explanation for your early arrival might be the more welcome." She answered, voice muffled by her own piece of cloth. Ben's shoulders dropped in relief. "Guess yer all good If ya can make 'em long phrases. Don't got no time though, let's move." He said before gesturing her towards the roofs. The smoke was rising so she did not protest, and went out to follow the thief instead. Cleo paused in front of the girl's cell, whose name she did not even know. She was standing still, staring at her wall, unconcerned with the surrounding fumes. The lady stopped, knelt in front of the bars before taking out wrench and pick. Ben cursed from behind and came back her way. Cleo recoiled as he drew close, even her unconscious had been hurt by the monster, she realized. "Calm down, jus' wanna help. Step away, 'tis faster if I do it." She obliged his request. He knelt in front of the lock and began picking it. "What is it with ya and freein' them loons now? Got enough damn work as it is." He complained. She ignored him, focusing on her companion of misfortune. "I am helping, ain't I? Least ya can do is givin' bloody answers." Cleo was about to do so when her beloved *Clonk!* relented. She rushed inside and Ben stepped out of her way, startled. Cleo approached the girl but then her body froze on its own. "Would you be so kind as to take this young woman outside, Ben? I am having a few... issues." She pleaded. "Reckon' you have more than a few." Cleo glared at him. "A'right girl. Damn women ordering folks around like dogs." He grumbled as he went in and took the other girl by the hand. The girl not seeming responsive, Ben decided to lift her up atop his shoulder. He did so in quite a rude fashion, Cleo noted. They hurried to the stairwell then, for the drugs would not give them the courtesy to wait. Unlike every other night, Ben stopped in the attic, putting the sad shell of a girl down. Cleo raised an eyebrow in askance but he ignored her, in his usual infuriating way. Perhaps he did not see it in the darkness, she remarked, it was even worse here than on the floor bellow. He pulled out his bag and fumbled inside while Cleo went to sit by the other woman. "A'right!" Ben exclaimed as some light brightened her vision. She was glad for it, but he could have thought about it earlier, really. "Reckon there's not much smoke 'round here." He observed and took off his scarf, Cleo imitated him."What's that 'bout that lass then?" He asked, pointing at the still form beside her. Judging by the look on his face, Cleo had to give him an explanation. She did not know how to proceed however. "She... is being hurt by a man and I..." God, she was back to babbling. "Same folk ya want dead? One made you all cracked up yesterday?" She nodded. "Damn, trouble never stops. Jus' when I think I got somethin' good." He sighed. Then Cleo's eyes went wide when he took out a scroll, then more, and handed them to her. Ben had gone and stolen them from Lord Chaffaud! Finally some positive news, something to take her mind off the recent horror. She eagerly wanted to open the parchments. "I see yer mouth waterin', lookin' at 'em scrolls. Ain't nothin' I want more than let ya have yer fun and take a nap myself. But seems to me, you have some explainin' to do." He told her, pointing at the other girl. Cleo steeled herself. "I would like to kill one of the priests, his name his brother Gregory..." **** Cleo had now finished her piece about the monster, and was holding her breath. She was staring at the floor, waiting, her emotions in turmoil. Then something appeared in front of her eyes. Ben was holding his knife out to her, handle first. The Lady glanced at him, she had told him everything about the beast. Everything except her own abuse. She could definitely not share that part, but something in his stare made her think he understood. Ben's face was hard and he was keeping silent. She took it and weighed it, the weapon was surprisingly light. The new nightly income of foods might have been doing her body some good. She stared at the blade, wondering if it would be a smart idea after all. "Not much to it. Jus' stab, is all." He pointed at a wooden rafter that went from the ground up to the roof. She looked at the other girl, lying on the floor unresponsive. Having found her resolve, Cleo stood up and planted the blade in. "Gotta do it the other way 'round. Good way to get stuck in 'em ribs, this is. Knife down and strike going up." The thief corrected her. Cleo had never considered anatomy in such manner. She reversed her grip before going at the target once more. "Now see, lots 'a folks stick some bastard in the gut the first time, they think it's done. On the count of him making a face, bleeding and all. Ain't false, gut wound sure kills ya, only slowly. Then the bastard got time to stick ya back." She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for further explanation. "Simple, really. Jus's like with them locks. Jus' wiggle a bit and 'tis over." He finished. "You make the whole affair sound simplistic. Surely you can teach me more about it." She asked, incredulous. "Ain't easy, 'cause ya don't know how to fight. Most of the job is planin' and thinkin'. Reckon' yer good at that.Nice thing ya got to wait til' next month. Got time to plan." Ben observed. "Evidently, I was not going to charge him while yelling atop my lungs." Cleo rolled her eyes. "Wasn't sure, seein' ya last night." Ben frowned. She averted her gaze. The young woman gave a dozen more wounds to her target, stabbing upwards and twisting the knife once stuck in. She has been picturing the ghastly man during the whole exercise. It helped with the fatigue. It felt right. "I believe everyone is entitled to have a bad moment." She answered after a while, pausing to catch her breath. "Jus' wonderin' if 'tis a good idea to give a knife to a cracked girl. Don't wanna find it in my belly afterward." He said, biting his lip. "You haven't given me cause to harm you." She paused between two strikes. "Yet." Another one. Cleo was sweating now. Her condition must be quite poor, she thought, it has only been minutes. "Did ya jus' make a joke?" His eyes went widened in surprise. God, did he take her for a court jester? "What if, for some reason, I cannot reach his stomach?" She questioned. Hitting a still target was not difficult, but there was no guaranty the white-clad horror would stand still and oblige her. Picturing him fight back made the Lady feel sick. "Throat works too. But ya gotta slice, not stab." He gestured as he explained. Cleo tried imitating him but the weapon almost dropped down from her hand as she hit the beam. "Grip the other way 'round for slicin', that or put yer thumb behind the blade." He explained. It did work better, at least it did on the wood. "What ya gonna do once he dead?" The thief demanded. "I am hoping to find a solution in the scrolls you procured." Cleo answered. She had no idea where to go if the information proved useless though. "A'right. I'm gonna sleep a bit. Been a while since I slept, and inside to boot. Wake me up before dawn will ya?" Ben told her as he lied down on the floor. "I cannot imagine how harsh resting outdoors must be, it sounds horrible." She said as she stopped practicing. It made her reconsider the quality of her room a little. Commoners really had a harsh life. "Damn right. Always wake up with 'em pigeons." She ignored the absurd remark and set out to study the scrolls.