NationStates Jolt Archive

“This story is an odd one. None of the players in it now walk the Earth, having long since left the mortal world. People wonder if it really happened, as it became more myth and legend over the years, exaggerated beyond recognition. But there are a few left who know the real happenings from all those years ago, and you are about to become one of them…”


The De Burgh Cemetery, Klevitch, 1856

The tears rolled down the face of the small child, her hand clasped around that of the woman in black beside her. Her gentle sobbing could be heard by all that stood around the coffin, as the priest paused in his service, an eerie silence filling the cemetery, before the melodic voice of the priest continued. Those standing around, stared blankly at the coffin, the wooden last bed of the man they had all come to say goodbye too.

“Papa!” The child’s voice cried out, as the coffin was gently lowered into the ground. The woman’s hold stopping the young girl from rushing forward, her sobbing grew louder and more pained.

Madeline Delagarde crouched down beside her daughter, holding the child to her body. “Everything will be fine, Cassie.” She pressed a tender kiss to her head, as she whispered softly to the weeping girl. “Everything will be fine.”

Turning her head, she watched as they finished lowering the coffin, jumping slightly as she heard it hit the ground. The priest was beginning the end of the service; the sound of dirt as it hit the wooden lid that covered her husband brought a tear to her eye. The mourners, each in turn, threw a handful of dirt upon the coffin, as they filed past.

Getting to her feet, her hand still holding Cassandra’s hand tightly, she dropped her own handful of dirt upon the coffin, as the child threw down the flower she had picked. They stood before the grave for a moment, as the cemetery cleared, their faces stained with tears.

Why did you leave us, Armand? What are we going to do? Madeline whispered softly into the silence. “What is there for us to do?”

“Madeline, we don’t have all day. The horses are getting cold.”

The sharp voice broke through the young woman’s thoughts. Raising her head, she moved her gaze up the body of the woman who had offered…no, told her she was coming to live with them. Armand’s sister, married to the Baron De Burgh, the richest man in the area.

She had despised Madeline from the moment Armand had announced that he was going to marry the chorus girl. Not that her status had been the worse part in the eyes of the Baroness, the declaration of Armand to revert to religion had caused the biggest argument between the brother and sister. The repercussions of his decision had not done too much for his career either. Overnight, as word spread among his peers he found them slowly begin to turn their backs on him. Losing commissions, regardless of his status as one of the most brilliant pianists of his time, Armand was forced to spend most of his time at the opera, until eventually, due to lack of money he was forced to move out of the capital.

Baroness De Burgh stood a little way away from the widow and child, as if she did not want to appear too overly familiar. Madeline had wanted to refuse but there was nowhere else to go, they had no money to survive on their own, her husband’s remaining finances had been swallowed up by the Baron’s estate, in lieu of expenses and rights of inheritance.

Moving slowly, her feet barely carrying her anymore, Madeline made her way towards the carriage, her sister-in-law walking slightly behind, and off to one side as if she expect her to run. They both continued without a word, moving passed the deathly headstones, the more elaborate angels, dating back hundreds of years, each the last evidence of a life that once walked upon the earth.

Silent tears rolled down Madeline’s face, as she turned suddenly to look at the hole that now held the body of the man she loved. The soft sobbing of Cassandra pulled her thoughts out of the grave and returned them to the little girl who needed her more than anything now. She lifted up her daughter and placed her in the carriage, before disappearing into the depths herself. A footman closed the door, as the Baroness finished her way to her own.

As the carriages began the slow journey out of the cemetery, Madeline pulled Cassandra into her lap. They both gazed out of the window saying their silent farewells.


De Burgh Grange, Klevitch

Baroness De Burgh paced around the room, clearly agitated by the turn of events. She loved her brother dearly, and would do anything for him, but having to keep his widow and child under her roof was not helping her. She had found it hard enough to attend the religious ceremony that he had begged her to agree to on his deathbed. He had also elicited her promise that she would ensure Cassandra was brought up in the religion. The Baroness shook her head in disgust as she finished another journey over the length of the room.

“My dear, please come and sit down.” The Baron looked up at his wife; the constant rustle of her dress against the carpet was beginning to grate on his nerves. “There is no need for you to etch a furrow in the floor. They are here now.”

Turning to her husband, the Baroness sighed lightly. “I wish I knew what had gotten into Armand.” She shook her head slowly, as she moved across the room and seated herself on the settee. “I warned him not to go to Asmodeus. The capital easily corrupts the mind, especially one so gifted as Armand was.”

The Baron just nodded his head, having heard this particular line from his wife many times. “What is done, is done, you can not alter that.” He smiled kindly at her. “We have to make the best of what is to come.” Without further word, he lifted his paper and continued his read.

* * * * *

Madeline gently stroked the hair of Cassandra as she lay in her bed, the events of the day wearing the little girl into an early sleep. Tilting her head, the mother pressed a tender kiss on the little forehead, and stood up, a smile on her lips. Moving quietly to the window, she looked out upon the darkening sky, watching as tiny rain drops began to tap against the glass panes. But she could not see the water beginning to run over the window, her mind many miles away, many years away, back in Asmodeus, back in the theatres, and the little house she first lived in with Armand. As if to match the motions of the rain, tears began to roll down her cheeks.


De Burgh Grange, Klevitch, 1858

“Cassandra! Hurry, child!”

The Baroness was getting anxious as she waited for her ward to finished whatever she was doing up the stairs. The carriages were packed and waiting for the off. It was not often that the family travelled to the capital for the Season, but this year was very special, and everyone who was anyone would be gracing Asmodeus this year. Looking at the large grandfather clock that filled a corner of the entrance hall of the Grange, the Baroness let out a huge sigh.

“Sara, where is that child? We do not have all day.” Shaking her head the woman began her usually pacing, a sign that she was beginning to lose patience. “If she is not down in five minutes, we will leave without her.”

Suddenly on the staircase, the sound of rushed footsteps heralded the arrival of the seven-year-old. “I am here, Aunt. I am sorry I took so long.” Cassandra smiled as she looked at the Baroness.

“Hurry and get in the carriage.” She shook her head again, wondering what she had done to be given such a burden, especially since the girls mother had been taken the previous winter, not that she had ever recovered from the loss of Armand. “We do not have all day.”

The little Cassandra, too excited by the thought of going to the big city, barely noticed the growing annoyance in her aunt’s voice. She quickly made herself comfortable in the seat opposite her uncle, and was smiling happily staring out of the window when the Baroness entered the carriage. Moments later, a jolt indicated that they were beginning their journey.

“Aunt, are we visiting Papa and Mama before we leave?” The little girl’s voice filled the carriage with her melodic, sweet tones.

“If you had been down earlier you would have had time to say goodbye to them.” The Baroness was not in the mood for visiting the grave of her brother, especially as he now lay under the ground with Madeline. “You can see them when you return.”

Smiling despite her sadness, Cassandra watched the scenery as it passed by. As they rode passed the cemetery, she waved her hand towards her parents’ grave. “Goodbye, Mama. Goodbye, Papa. I love you.” Watching until it disappeared out of view, she sat back in her seat, remaining almost totally silent for the rest of the way to Asmodeus.


De Burgh Town House, Asmodeus

The journey to the capital had been a long and slow journey, the Baroness not being too keen on rushing down the roads, having an unhealthy fear of the carriage overturning. This came from a childhood incident, when she had been witness to a fool who was racing his horse and trap down one of the more uneven surfaces, and had managed to take a corner badly, causing both him and his horse to die in, what looked to the then ten year old Baroness, a most painful way.

The house had been aired and opened the week before, having not been used by the De Burghs for a couple of years. Visiting town for the Season was an expensive affair, and although the Baron had wealth, he did not wish to see it squandered on such lavish events, and personally preferred to occupy himself in the country, where he did not have to suffer fools gladly. This year was different, and no matter how much Asmodeus did not appeal to him, he knew that he could not avoid the big event that was taking place.

When the three entered the house, it looked as if it had never been closed. The staff that had travelled down previously had got everything ready, and made the house feel like it was already lived in, as if the occupants had never been away. The Baroness walked through the door first, greeted by the old butler, one of the staff that remained at the house even when it was closed up.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am. I hope you find everything satisfactory?” Melton asked, as he stepped back to let the family through. He watched as the Baroness ran her finger over a picture that hung on the wall.

“Everything seems fine.” She answered, as she inspected the amount of dust that appeared on her finger, delighted to fine none. “We’ll take tea in the Drawing Room, Melton.”

The Baroness disappeared through the door to her left. The Baron briefly passed a few words with his old retainer then headed off to the study, where he tended to lose himself for long hours of the day.

Cassandra looked around her, never having been in this house before, her eyes wandered over the walls, across the floor, and onto various features in the hallway, before they came to rest on Melton. She did not know where she was supposed to go, and this scared her, and it was with large wide eyes that she gazed upon the old man.

The Butler smiled. “You must be Miss Cassandra.” He bent as much as his body would allow. “Come with me. We’ll get some cake and find someone to take you to your room, while I arrange some tea. Would you like that?”

The little girl smiled and lost some of the haunted look from her eyes. “Yes, please.”

Offering Cassandra his hand, the two walked down the hall into the huge kitchen, where inside, the room was a hive of activity.


The De Burgh Townhouse, several days later

“Where is that child?” The Baroness pulled her bonnet onto her head and tied the huge ribbons under her chin. “That girl has no sense of time.” She patted down her hair, and ran her hand over her morning dress, as she sighed heavily. “We always seem to be running late.” She moved to the door, and looked towards the stairs. “Cassandra!”

The little girl appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down into the annoyed face of the Baroness. “I am sorry, Aunt.”

“You really do need to stop dawdling. What will people say if you are always late?” The Baroness shook her head and stepped out into the hallway, making her way to the front door. “We cannot keep the Earl of Englemere waiting.” Without another word, she exited into the street, Cassandra appearing moments later as she dashed after her aunt.


The Earl of Englemere’s Residence, Asmodeus

Cassandra sat off in the corner of the room, eating a sandwich, as the grown ups had their conversations, discussing this event and that, all of which was over the head of the little seven year old. She was sitting near a window, and let her gaze wander to the scene outside. She stayed staring for a moment, when a dog appeared in her view, reminding her on the one that they had back home.

Growing restless, and seeing that everyone was busy, Cassandra slipped off her chair and left the room, unnoticed by anyone present. Entering the hallway, she was greeted by several doors, unsure of where any of them left expect for the main one, that she had entered through on arrival. She moved to each of the doors in turn, listening to see if anyone was inside, before moving on to the next. Upon checking the third door and hearing nothing, she opened it carefully and crept inside, closing the door behind her.

“Who are you?”

Cassandra jumped as the voice reached her ears. She turned suddenly and saw a young boy, about three years older than herself seated on a chair beside a table, reading a book. “I’m Cassandra Delagarde.”

The boy closed his book, the one that his tutor had told him to study from. “And what are you doing in here?”

Thinking for a moment, Cassandra shrugged. “I got bored sitting in there.” She pointed over her shoulder in the general direction of the room she had left. “I saw a dog outside.” She frowned suddenly. “Who are you?”

Laughing, the boy climbed off his chair and moved over to where Cassandra was standing. “I’m Marcus, Viscount Englemere. The Earl is my brother.” He presented his hand to the girl in front of him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cassandra.”

Talking the boy’s hand, Cassandra looked at him questioningly. “You are not going to tell on me, are you?”

Marcus shook his head and grinned. “Why would I do that?” He took hold of Cassandra’s hand and led her to the window. “Do you still want to see the dog?” He was greeted with an enthusiastic nod of the head and a smile, as he pushed open the French window. “Come on then, I’ll show him to you.”

* * * * *

The Baroness laughed as the Earl’s story came to an end then took a sip of her tea. The visit appeared to be going well, she was re-establishing her ties with the right people in town and Cassandra was behaving, managing to stay quiet and out from under everyone’s feet. She turned to check on her ward, and was startled to find an empty seat, the child’s plate resting on a little table.

“Are you alright, Baroness De Burgh?” The Earl looked a little worried at the expression that had just appeared on his guest’s face.

“Cassandra…” She could barely utter more, as she saw the visit crumbling about her. How could the child be so foolish? The Baroness silently cursed the day Armand had met the girl’s mother. “She’s…gone.”

The Earl turned his gaze to where the girl had been sitting. “She could not have gone far.” He walked over to the fireplace and pulled the bell rope, summoning one of his staff. “We will find her in no time. Do not alarm yourself.” He smiled kindly at the Baroness, as he waited for his call to be answered.

* * * * *

Rubbing her hand over the dog’s back, Cassandra smiled happily, finally having the first bit of fun she had had all day. The spaniel wagged his tail enthusiastically as it attempted to lick the girl’s hand, causing a bout of giggles to echo around the garden. Sitting on the ground, the other side of the dog was Marcus, who sporadically patted its head, as he looked around for something they could throw.

“How come I have not met you before, Cassandra?” The boy watched her play with the dog, a crease furrowing his brow, as he tried to place whether they had met at some house party before.

“This is my first time here, since I was a baby.” Cassandra looked up at Marcus and smiled; her hand slowing in its attention of the dog, causing the spaniel to whine until she resumed her stroking, as she laughed. “You can call me Cassie.”

Marcus nodded and got to his feet. “Do you want to get the dog to fetch, Cassie?”

Climbing to her feet, Cassandra brushed the loose grass from her dress, as the dog looked up at her expectantly. Marcus had walked over to a bush, and pulled a large twig from it, removing any leaves that were growing from it. He walked back over to where his new friend and the spaniel were watching him, the dog becoming excited as he saw the stick.

“Here, you throw this.” Marcus handed her the stick.

Taking it in her hand, Cassandra looked at it for a moment, before waving it in front of the dog, before swinging her arm back and tossing it a short distance away. The spaniel shot off after it, bringing it back moments later. The two children continued to take it in turns to throw the stick, laughing heartily at the fun they were having.

* * * * *

The Earl looked at the Baroness, who seemed to be growing more agitated at the disappearance of Cassandra. One of his other guests had poured her a cup of tea with extra sugar to help her get over the shock, but this only caused the Baroness to almost spit the concoction all over the helpful woman. Not that the Baroness felt anything other than her annoyance rising, she still could not believe the child had been so selfish to wander off, especially in such company. The Earl was related to the Imperial Family through marriage.

It had not taken long for the servant to arrive and a search to begin. Unfortunately the house was quite large, and had more than enough rooms to check. The staff organised by the Butler began the slow process of going over the rooms.

“Oh, my dear, Lord Englemere, I am sorry to have caused so much trouble.” The Baroness shook her head sadly, appearing almost on the verge of tears.

The Earl smiled back. “No trouble at all, Lady De Burgh. This is the most excitement this house has had for some time.” He grew slightly more serious, seeing the lady’s distress. “I am only sorry that this has happened in my house, and has made your visit less enjoyable.”

Not being overly good at consoling women, his Lordship left the administering of care to his other female guest and strolled over to the window, hoping that this situation would come to an end quickly. He could not really see why the Baroness was making such a fuss, as it was obvious the child was in the house somewhere. He knew how his own brother could disappear from sight within minutes, be missing the whole day to the annoyance of his tutor, before turning up never having left the house.

As his thoughts were following this path, and as if they had conjured the appearance of Marcus, the Earl looked out of the window as he heard laughter and barking. There on the middle of the lawn, was his brother and the missing child. He smiled to himself, as Marcus had shown little interest in anything since his father died the previous year.

His Lordship turned back into the room, facing the two women on the couch. “We can call a halt to the search. She appears to have found Marcus.” He moved forward to where the others sat. “No harm done.”

“No harm, my Lord? Cassandra has caused uproar in your house.” The Baroness shook her head sadly, knowing that they would be lucky to be invited back. “She has had your servants rushing around looking for her and she…”

“And she has managed to make Marcus laugh, which is something I have been trying to do for months.” The Earl smiled. “Perhaps if she is willing, she might visit him from time to time, as long as it suits you, Lady De Burgh?”

The Baroness recovered quickly, almost forgetting the stupor she had been in only moments before. “I can see no harm in her visiting Lord Marcus, my Lord, as long as she will be no bother to you, of course.” This was turning out even better than she had expected. Cassandra would entertain the Viscount, the Earl would consider this a big favour, and the Baroness would be free of the little girl.

“Good.” The Earl walked back over to the window, and watched as the two children continued to play outside, while his two guests poured themselves another cup of tea.


[ooc: This is a closed RP, please do not post if you have not been invited to join.]

“But this story doesn’t really start with Cassandra, child. It starts much earlier, with a far darker past than even that little girl.”

Ewige Verdammnis Palace, 1838

“Ow!” The woman’s shout echoed throughout the large chamber. The fire leapt from the stove and slashed across the room on a run of grease from the splattered pan on the floor. The flames leapt onto a cook’s apron and the woman screamed, slapping madly at her dress.

The room was quickly turning into an inferno, the flammable surfaces and tools, the oils and grease that covered the surfaces made for food preparation. Each was imbued within seconds, burning, covered in the fires that consumed all things. Fumes of cooking filled the air, vaporized oils and grease, a dangerous combination amid the conflagration of the dying.

The explosion shattered every window in the Palace whose wall it did not destroy, walls which blew apart as the kitchen erupted, the fireball spilling into the night. The walls shattered in the servants’ quarters, exposing the highly flammable insides to the stalking torch of Death’s scythe.

Twenty were dead within a few seconds. The problem was it was night, and most of the servants were in their quarters. And the collapsed, burning section contained one of only two doors in and out of the massive structure. The flames leapt skyward, leaving little to no chance of escape. The all-consuming heat took life after life, as screams echoed in the night time air of the capital of the Empire of Tartarus.

Help began rushing in, the calamitous noise waking even the Emperor, who stood, and shushed his wife back to sleep. He gazed out the window at the blaze quickly consuming the servants quarters. All those people, helpless, trapped. He knew if he tried to help his soldiers would just stop him. It was no place for an Emperor. So instead, he watched with interest, the way an observer might watch an engagement on a field of battle, or watching a ship sinking.

His only thoughts were that he hoped it could be contained before too much was burned. Another section of the building collapsed, spraying burning wood into the night with a shower of sparks lighting the heavens. People were there now, fighting the fire, but it was far too late.

What remained now would be to see what survived.

* * * * *

The next morning, the Emperor stood on the wet grass and survey the sopping ruins. A late night rain had saved much of the Palace, but the servant quarters and all the new additions, built with wood frames, were gone. It was unclear what all had happened, and it was suspected that they would never know. Those few who survived were traumatized greatly by the horrid affair.

The Emperor sighed. People who he had worked with on a daily basis, kitchen staff, groundskeepsers, grooms and stablehands, among other jobs required to run the Palace on a daily basis.

The estimates stood at nearly three hundred dead from the fire. No stranger to death, the Emperor still wondered why. These people had done nothing wrong, no crimes, nothing more than any other, certainly less than he had done, though he scarcely considered that any longer. But to be taken without a care, by a cold harsh universe. This was why Asmodeus Tartarus worshiped no god.

A new staff would have to be trained.

* * * * *

It was some weeks later when the Emperor noticed the child. Construction had begun on new quarters for the servants and rebuilding the newest parts of the Palace proper. The boy, at least, he thought it was a boy, was draped in black cloth with a large hood over his head, coming down to cover his face.

The child could undoubtedly see out, but no one could see in. The Emperor turned to one of the workers, inquiring, as he indicated the child, “Who is he?”

“Your Majesty, he was the child of one of the kitchen women. She did not survive.”

“And the child?”

“Scarred beyond belief, but he managed to survive somehow. He is extremely intelligent for a simple child of a cook.” The man cast an admiring look on the child. “He actually managed to understand the plans for the new servant quarters and actually suggested a way to help improve fire safety.”

The Emperor blinked. “He is that intelligent, at that age?”

The man nodded. “Yes, Sire.”

* * * * *

The man came in the middle of the night, and the child woke as he heard the door to his room open. But before he could make a sound, the man’s gloved hand curled over his mouth. “Not a sound, child.”

He was obeyed.

* * * * *

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I do,” came the reply from the treble voice with surprising strength. The young boy stood there with the hood of his robe down, revealing the horrid disfigurement of his face, a line of burns which traced down his body.

“What is your name?”

“Derek, Sire.”

“Very well, Derek,” the Emperor said, smiling falsely. “This is what I want you to do…”

******************************************************************

“And so the little boy followed the Emperor’s instructions, and he lived in the library for many years, haunting the back corners, scaring the children who came to play, so much so that a story was whispered that the Palace library had a ghost who moved always in the shadows. And so, in this environment, where Derek learned all he could, and grew strong as his body grew up, he learned his most important lesson of all. He learned to live off fear, until one day, the Emperor gave him a new task.”

Ewige Verdammnis Palace, 1842

The young man smiled up at the Emperor, his face covered by a black mask, his eyes burning out with a strange intensity. The Emperor shifted on his throne, trying to hide his unease at that level gaze, disguising his discomfort with the situation with a glare at the gawky adolescent. “I have a new task for you, Derek.”

“Yes, Sire, what would you like me to do now?” The boy’s voice was hardly recognizable from the tender treble from a half a decade before.

“I have had some people look at some of the things you have designed while in the libraries, and they all agree that they are brilliant designs, though they also admit to being disturbed by them.”

A half smile, perhaps even a smirk was visible on the side of Derek’s face not covered by the mask, though the blazing intensity of his eyes did not alter. “I cannot say that I am sorry to hear that, Your Majesty. That was somewhat the intent.”

The Emperor smiled harshly. “I gathered that when you did not object to my men collecting the designs you oh so conveniently happened to leave laying about the library.”

The boy’s expression changed, almost a smile for real this time. “Did you like them, Sire?” His voice was earnest, as if seeking approval.

“Yes, Derek, I did. And that’s what I have in mind for you now. Design me a masterpiece work of the same type. A series of chambers, a veritable fun house for your and my amusement.”

The intensity returned, lighting the child’s eyes even brighter than before, though his voice was dripping with harsh pleasure. “Your wish is my command, Emperor.”

******************************************************************

“And so, at his Emperor’s command, Derek designed a veritable playground of horrors, the most elaborate system of tortures of mind and body ever seen in the world to that time, and perhaps to this day. It is said, somewhere under the Palace, the ruins of these chambers still remain, holding the remains of their victims, most slain by their own hand, giving in to the mental anguish, the suffering, the insanity that Derek transferred to them by his designs. Derek was fourteen when he next met with the Emperor.”

Scelerate, Capital of the Empire, 1848

It was underground, for by then, Derek was living in a small room built off the main entrance to the torture chambers, a room draped in dark cloth, with no mirrors, for Derek refused to look at himself, even with the dark mask he had adopted to cover the burns across the left side of his face. He wore high collared tunics to hide the burns on his neck, and long sleeves to cover the withering of his arm. Derek dressed in dark colors, black and maroon and navy, wearing a concealing cape about his form when the Emperor opened the hidden door.

Derek greeted him with a false smile, for he believed he knew why the Emperor was here. “Good evening, your Majesty.”

* * * * *

A loud cry of pain tore through the raining night, shattering the stillness of the Earl of Englemere’s residence manor. It was a woman’s scream, a scream of life, yet it was weakened, breathless.

The midwife looked at the doctor, a frown on her face, her glance flicking towards the anxious Earl and his son standing near the door. The doctor nodded, barely looking up from his patient, the Countess, laying on the bed. The sheets were soaked with sweat and blood.

Far too much blood.

* * * * *

Far beneath the surface of the world, the pressure was building, tensing, pressing towards a quick release. Rocks ground on rocks, the very bones of the earth pressing against themselves, eager to snap.

* * * * *

“Good evening, Derek.” The Emperor moved into the small room and seated himself carefully on the chair, taking note of how Derek had not risen to his feet upon the Emperor’s entrance. The decision the Emperor had made had been a correct one, it seemed. “I’m worried, Derek. I’m growing old, and it’s becoming harder to defend myself. Who else knows about the escape tunnel through the torture chambers?”

Derek smiled knowingly. “Only the two of us, Sire. You’ve had all the builders killed in the last year.”

* * * * *

More cries shattered the rain, which was beating down upon the roof as a god’s own army, marching through the skies, breaking the fabric of the night with a crash of thunder as lightning shed its eerie glow upon the land of Hell.

The Earl and his son stared at the door which they had gently been ushered outside, listening to the cries of wife and mother in pain. The doctor knew there was too much blood, that the child was too large. The woman on the bed spasmed with pain, crying out again, her voice grown weak by the long labor, the loss of blood.

It would be a miracle if either were to survive.

* * * * *

“That’s very good, Derek. In fact, precisely what I wanted to hear you say.” The Emperor stood, reaching under his cloak, stepping towards the teen.

Derek’s visible eye widened in surprise, and the side of his mouth curled up in a sneer. “You think to kill me, here, in my own domain?”

Eyes darkening, the Emperor snarled at the disfigured boy as he took another step, pulling out a long, wicked knife as he did so, a blade glowing red, the color of fresh blood. “I rule here.”

Derek stepped backwards, his clothing fading him into the shadows, his pale face ghostly in the dimness. “I think not.” He began to laugh as he seemingly faded from view, pulling his hood up, throwing a shadow over his face.

* * * * *

Silence echoed in the Earl of Englemere’s residence, and had for some moments. Both Viscount and Earl looked apprehensively at the door as they heard another sound, a new cry. A baby’s cry. The door opened, the doctor’s expression bleak as the cries echoed behind him in the bright room.

The glass rattled as thunder shook the house, covering the doctor’s words the first time, the blank looks of the two men in the hallway telling him he was unheard.

“I’m sorry, milords.”

* * * * *

“Derek!” The Emperor’s voice was harsh as he peered into the dimness, looking for motion.

“Yes?” came Derek’s voice from behind the Emperor. Asmodeus spun to face the voice and felt a gentle brush of air on the back of his neck, causing him to spin again, looking about himself wildly.

“Where are you, boy?”

The laughter again, harsh, unrelenting, echoing throughout the room. “Everywhere, Sire. And nowhere.”

“Come out and face me, child, and I’ll spare your life.”

That statement merely provoked more of the echoing laughter. “Leave now and I will spare yours.”

Asmodeus Tartarus snarled angrily. “Last chance, boy.”

“Wrong, your Majesty.” The caress of air was back, and the Emperor spun again, finally spotting the boy standing near a cupboard. He moved forward and came to a dead stop, his airway cut off as the wire reinforced rope cut into his neck. “Too late now, Sire.” Derek said as he took a step forward, the Emperor swiping at him with the knife in his hand, not yet having put all the pieces together.

The wire bit into the soft flesh of his neck and he gagged, blood beginning to seep from the cut skin as Derek took another step forward, interrupting as the Emperor tried to raise his knife to free himself.

The crimson red blade plunged into the old man’s heart, spilling hot blood from the wound, spraying it across Derek’s black outfit, as the young boy’s eyes lit with pleasure and victory, staring into the dying man’s eyes as the light in them went out. “Goodbye, Father.”

* * * * *

The music echoed in glorious strains throughout the house, rivaling the heavenly chorus so eschewed in the land of Tartarus, echoing and straining the beams as Margarite sang. What from the floor ascendeth like a ghost? ’Tis he! ’Tis he! Him from my presence chase! What would he in this holy place? It is for me he cometh!

Her love responds in the same manner. Thou shalt live!

But she continued to cry out, the audience enthralled at her actions. Judgment of God! To thee my soul I give!

The third on the stage turns his head to Faust, singing his own commands. Come, come! With her I’ll else abandon thee!

Continuing her prayer, Margarite lets her voice go, singing with all she is, Father, I’m thine! Do thou deliver me! Ye angels! Ye angelic hosts! descend, when her voice broke off with a loud crack

But she had not generated the crack, no, indeed, it came from above her, as the curtains, mounted on their heavy rods, collapsed towards the stage. The very earth itself heaved, and the stage split open, a mouth to Hell opening then and there, amid the inferno, the gas lines shattering, spouting gouts of flame through the wooden floor.

Screams echoed from the stage, and the audience began to clap at the new effects. This was better than it ever had been before. But it only took a moment, as the boxes to the sides of the stage began to keel forward, falling inward, before the screams began to fill the theater. The mortar and brick had become a death trap in the midst of the earth’s revolt as a powerful earthquake ripped through the Empire’s capital, consuming all that lay in its path.

Including the two hundred year old opera house.

* * * * *

The Earl of Englemere fell to his knees, staring in helpless rage at the doctor as the quake struck, causing the windows to shatter in the residence, sending the viscount tumbling in the fall, his father’s cries more anguishing than his stepmother’s only moments before.

The doctor fell, hitting his head on the doorframe, leaving a bloody streak in the white paint, as the shattering glass spattered the midwife, who turned to protect the child with her own body, taking the death meant for him.

* * * * *

Horror gleamed with the Emperor’s last breath, exhaled against his bastard son’s chest, and then Derek pulled the knife out, letting the dead man sag against the noose that snapped his neck as an afterthought.

Derek stumbled against the wall as the earthquake struck, the movement of the earth sending him flying towards the hidden door. Rocks began to pour down around him, trying to crush him, as he fled through the darkened chambers, knowing where each’s secret lay, outrunning the tide of destruction of the earth’s vengeance on those who dared bore into her for their perversions.

He slammed into the final wall, his hands grasping for the exit, the secret panel he knew was there. The wall snapped aside, revealing a pitch black passage, and letting in a sound of roaring terror. Derek blinked as the water rushed towards him and took a deep breath in the second he had before the pain struck him, trying to tear the life giving air from his lungs.

Against the current, he forced his way towards the only source of light he could see, hopefully the surface. The water had not been here before, the earthquake had freed it, trying to destroy him when all its efforts could not.

The young boy burst through the surface, staring up at the moon, his guidance, in the center of a new lake on the Palace grounds. Swimming towards the edge, he glanced towards the well lit and well built structure, apparently undamaged by the quake.

Collapsing on the shore, Derek dropped the knife, looking up towards the gleaming, peaceful orb of light over the city. “I am of the night,” he whispered. “An agent of God, whom he saved.” His own heavy breathing was the only sound Derek could hear. “I am an Angel.”

* * * * *

The moment was passed, and the viscount crept into the bloody room, picking his way gingerly across the carpet, soaked with blood and covered in shattered glass, as water puddled at the edges of the room.

He knelt, lifting the dead woman’s body, and was relieved to hear the cried begin anew. The young man picked the boy into his arms and cradled him against his chest, the high pitched cries of his half brother a strange counterpoint to the sobs of his father. “It’s going to be okay, Marcus,” he murmured to the newborn.

“What happened to Derek in the intervening years, no one is sure, he simply vanished from sight and from mind. Even those who knew of his existence slowly forgot him, until he was nothing more than a speck in the history of the Palace. But he did not remain hidden forever, and it was not long before all paths led to one place.

Emperor Malominous had ordered the rebuilding of Asmosdeus following the earthquake that had claimed the life of his father and had destroyed most of the capital. He decided to mark the glory of the city and the Empire with a building beyond compare and a night to remember…”

Captial City of Asmodeus, 1858

The darkness in the west facing room slowly faded as the sun caressed past the thin blinds, revealing a bed filled with two people.

As the light crept up the length of the bed, it illuminated a dark black mask, and glinted off a now open eye. The spark grew into motion, the man sliding out from under the covers. He wore a shirt and nothing else but his mask, for Derek still hid his disfigurement from the world, even in the bed.

But then, he paid well enough there were no questions asked. He would let her sleep for now, as he walked out of the bedroom, stripping off his shirt and heading to the bathroom, where he flipped a pump switch, letting the automated pump he had designed fill the tub with hot water. Then he moved to the closet, pulling out the clothing he would need for the night, his big night.

* * * * *

The darkness crept over the East Gardens at the Earl of Englemere’s residence as the sun moved into the west, and the Earl stood calmly on the porch, watching the children playing, tussling with the dog, which was yipping in that high pitched way spaniels do. He was still young, and smiled at the friendship that was there. “Marcus! Cassandra! Time to come in!”

There was a moment, and then the cavalcade of children and dog tumbled across the open grass towards him, coming as called. Their clothing was rumpled, and they both had grass in their hair, as well as grass smeared on their clothing. While he remained smiling outside, he grimaced inside, knowing that the Baroness would berate Cassandra for the state of her clothing. He had seen it before this summer. He knelt, bending down to bring himself to eye level with the young one, reaching out and ruffling the dog’s hair. “Time to go home, Cassandra.” His eyes lit up with excitement. “We’ve all got to get ready for the big night.”

* * * * *

Philip Grenville walked through the opera house, checking on the progress of his stars and staff. Being manager was a problem at the best of times, having to deal with the tantrums and other hassles that arose on a day to day basis, but today, he could not have anything go wrong. For tonight, the opening of the newly built opera house was the biggest thing happening in Asmodeus. And everyone who was anyone would be gracing his establishment, and he could not bear to see the night fail.

Walking up onto the stage, having made his way through the behind the scenes workings, he past men who were hastily adding the finishing touches to scenery, dancers who practiced a last minute move or pose, and singers who warmed their voices and walked through their paces.

Buried deep in the background, his leading lady would be preparing for her opening night, ranting that something was not quite right, and having her own staff rushing around after her like headless chickens. But he knew, when the time came, she would step out in front of the audience and send their spirits soaring with her voice. This thought cheered Philip no end, and he left the stage with a large smile on his face, knowing everything would be fine for the big night.

* * * * *

Derek stepped into the bedroom, watching the woman slowly get dressed in the outfit he had provided for her, standing silently as she stood half dressed in her loose corset. He stepped forward, and raised his hands, gesturing for her to turn around. He tightened the strings, pulling very hard, and grinning as he made her cry out in pain before relaxing his grip. As she turned around and faced him, a tear ran down her face.

Extending his hand, the horrific man wiped away the water with a leather clad thumb, still smiling at the woman he had hired to his bed the night before. “Where are we going?” she asked softly. “Why the nice clothes?”

“Tonight, my Kristaucia, we go to my Opera House.” The girl blinked, having never expected to ever go to the Opera House, much less on opening night.

“Is that why you wear the mask, Sire?” She thought she had made the connection, apparently. “And my name is…”

Harsh laughter filled the room and he slapped her, hard, cutting her off. “Don’t call me that. I am not him. And tonight, your name is Kristaucia.” He spun on his heel, leaving her sobbing softly, crumpled back in a chair. “Be ready to leave when I am.”

* * * * *

The Baroness De Burgh walked around her bedroom, her maid rushing around behind her trying to help her dress. Every time the poor woman thought her Ladyship had stopped, the agitated woman moved off again, causing the maid to sigh silently as she once more moved to get a grip on the fastenings.

“Oh, we will never be ready in time.” The Baroness cried out, as she paced the floor. “And today is not the occasion to be late.” She stopped for a moment. “Marie, stop playing around and do up my dress. How long does it take, girl?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young woman had just got the button to the hole, when the Baroness moved again, making her let go of the material.

Just then, the Baron walked passed the door on his way to get ready, and looked in at his wife. A brief glance at her maid told him all that he needed to know. “My dear, you really do not need to get worked up. We have plenty of time.” As he spoke, the Baroness came to a halt, allowing the exasperated Marie to finally get the dress done up. The young woman caught sight of the Baron’s wink and smiled, silently thanking him for his aid.

“It is such an important day, the whole reason for our trip to Town.” The Baroness looked on the verge of another flurry of worrying. “Just imagine, a night in the company of the Emperor, such an honour.” She smiled with pride, as she gazed at the invite that sat on the mantle over the fireplace, tucked slightly behind the clock. “We must not be late.”

The Baron took hold of his wife’s hand, in a sign of affection that he rarely displayed, especially in front of others. “My dear, let Marie dress you and do your hair, and you shall be the most beautiful woman in the whole Opera House.” He smiled at her tenderly. “Now, I shall go prepare myself so as not to delay us.” Letting go of her hand, he moved over to the door.”

“Oh! What about Cassandra?” She moved over to the door, and stood looking at the Baron. “Is she back from the Earl of Englemere’s?” She pushed passed her husband, and stood in the hallway. “Sara! Sara!” Her high-pitched cry filled the house.

The Baron placed his hand on her Ladyship’s shoulder and turned her towards him. “She is getting ready. Let me worry about Cassandra, you just get yourself ready. I will speak to Sara, and make sure that she will be ready in time.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you.” The Baroness gave her husband a grateful smile, before returning to her room. “Marie, I think we may start on my hair, and don’t pull it so roughly this time. I’m surprised I have any left following yesterday’s brushing.”

The Baron closed the door upon his wife’s preparations, and headed along the hallway to carry out his promise to check on the little girl who lived with them, anything to stop the Baroness from building herself up into a frenzy.

* * * * *

Continuing his progression through the opera, Grenville sighed loudly. There as one check that he could not put off, no matter how much he would have liked to. Moving through the corridors behind the stage, he finally reached one that seemed to have more than its fair share of people milling around both outside and in. Edging his way through the gathering, he reached the open door, and knocked loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around.

“Ah! Signore Grenville.” Rising from her seat, her presence almost as hard to miss as the huge dress that adorned her slightly rotund body, the opera’s main star waved her arms frantically at those standing around her. “Fuori! Tutto di Lei fuori! Ho bisogno di essere solo*.”

Grenville stood looking impressed as the room quickly emptied, leaving just the diva in the middle of the room, smiling as she gestured him to enter. “Signorina Consolata, you look…” He paused for a moment as if searching for the right word. “Magnifico.” Consolata graciously blushed as they went through their usual routine of greeting. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

The Diva looked about the room for a moment, and returned to her seat, trying to lower herself carefully into the seat, so as not to crush her costume. Around her, her dresser began to primp the woman’s hair, ready for her first scene, ensuring the wig would not fall off in the middle of an aria. “Signore Grenville, this is the most perfect of moments, everyone has been so kind.”

The manager looked for a moment stunned before a smile slowly crept over his face. “That is pleasing to he…”

“But…” The Singer cut him off mid sentence, causing him to sigh slightly. “I was most unimpressed with this…” She pointed dramatically at her outfit. “This…this…thing.” She once more rose from her chair and paced around the room. “Can you hear this rustle? It is so loud that I will be straining to be heard over it. Who ever thought that…?”

Grenville stood in front of her, ceasing her pacing as he placed his arm lightly around her shoulders, guiding her to the mirror. “This dress worn by any other world famous singer would be a problem, but the purest of voices will not be silenced by a rustle.” He stopped them so she could see her reflection in the looking glass. “And you Signorina have the voice of an angel.”

Following the same old pattern, the manager of the opera house, Philip Grenville set to work placating the woman, who in only hours would have to give the performance of her life

*Out! All of you out! I need to be alone.

* * * * *

Pulling the little girl’s dress down over her head, Sara let it fall about her body, before carefully doing it up. She brushed her hand over the material, once she had finished, and turned her around so that she could assess her. “Pretty as a picture.” The maid smiled, as she ran her eyes over the child, fluffing the bottom of the dress to lose any creases. “Your Aunt will be so proud of you when she sees how lovely you look.”

Cassandra smiled sadly, the thought of her Aunt thinking anything nice about her was hard for the little girl to comprehend. It was not that the Baroness had done anything bad to her, not in a physical sense. Cassandra could feel tears welling in her eyes as she remembered her mother’s soft words and her father’s praise whenever she did anything even remotely good.

“Oh, there now, Cassie.” Sara wrapped her arms around her, holding the child close to her. “What could have brought these tears on?” Using the corner of her apron, she dabbed the tears from the girl’s eyes. “Tonight is going to be a fun, you’ll see. There will be dancing and singing.” Sara smiled, as she stood up and took hold of Cassandra’s hands, dancing her around the room.

The little girl forgot her tears and giggled as the two moved around the room, Sara humming a tune, which Cassandra joined her in, with her melodic voice. The two continued to move joyously in their dance, laughing and singing when they heard the cough. Stopping suddenly, they saw the Baron standing at the door, watching them.

“Your Lordship.” Sara dropped the Baron a curtsey, while still holding the child’s hand. “We were just…”

The Baron nodded, and held up his hand to silence her. “Just as long as Cassandra is ready for the Opera.” He gave them both a brief smile, before leaving to make his own preparations. As he walked away, he found himself humming the tune that the two had been dancing to.

Sara looked down at Cassandra, the child looking up at her, smiling. The two broke into a little laugh, before the maid once more checked the little girl’s dress, straightening out any creases. “Let’s do your hair. I have the prettiest ribbons for you that will match your dress.”

“I don’t want to go to the Opera.” Cassandra looked at Sara, her face sad.

“You will have a good time, and then you tell me all about it when you get back.” Sara smiled, as she began to brush the little girl’s hair. “Perhaps if you can remember some of the tunes, you can sing them to me.”

Cassandra broke into a smile, her eyes shining. “I will remember them for you, I promise.” She looked over her shoulder at Sara. “And we can dance like in the ballet. Aunt says there will be one.”

“Yes, we can.” As she spoke, Sara pulled out the ribbon, and held it lightly in her fingers, as she began to weave it through Cassandra’s hair.

* * * * *

As the Manager of His Imperial Majesty’s Opera Company, Philip Grenville had to make sure that everything went exactly according to plan tonight. And now that he had dealt with Signorina Consolata, his next stop was the ballet dormitories. Again knocking politely before entering, he stepped into the rehearsal room, running his eyes over the older girls stretching out their legs and backs and smiling appreciatively at their nubile forms in the tight silk outfits.

His eyes continued around the room, nodding at the ballet mistress, who nodded back. “Can I do something for you?” she asked, lightly snapping her teaching rod at one younger girl’s back.

“Assure me that all will be ready, but I can see that you seem to have it well in hand.”

“We will be ready.”

“Good.” He remained in the doorway for moment, watching as one young girl weaved the ribbons tying her hard toed ballet shoe tightly up her calf, back and forth, under and over, tying it off with a pretty bow.

Just in time to get smacked. “You can do better than that!” Grenville heard as he turned and walked away, grinning to himself.

* * * * *

Derek strode through the large, boarded up house that sat a mere two blocks from the Opera House. It was just beyond sight from the main entryway, and around a corner, which was the only way it had survived the Emperor’s requirement that everything run down be removed from the area around the new Opera House.

But then, Derek had made sure of that when he had first met with the new Emperor, five years past now, subtly manipulating his half brother in to giving him exactly what he wanted. What the Emperor did not know, would not hurt him, after all. But Derek had designed the new Opera House, for of all his skills, architecture and music were his two favorites to exercise. And so when the new Emperor had made an open call for designs for a new Opera House, part of his plan to rebuild the capital following the earthquake, Derek had responded with a beautiful, powerful design. It would be the largest, best opera house in the entire world, with not the normal four but with five tiers of seating. Three massive crystalline chandeliers lit the main hall from on high.

It was beautiful, and tonight, Derek’s genius would be revealed to the nation, and perhaps the world, for even foreign ambassadors would attend tonight, along with more than ninety percent of the Empire’s peerage.

He kicked the door to the stable open lightly, smiling grimly as it slammed back against the wall. Only one perfectly black horse stood in the stable, near a carriage. He drew out the leather straps with which he would bind the animal to the conveyance and began weaving them into the metal hooks and rings, threading them through lovingly, before moving onto the horse, guiding it into place as well, tightening the straps down around its neck.

* * * * *

Grenville wandered into the back of the House, observing the workers, the door men, all the people that the customers never ever saw.

He watched as two small stable boys led a horse twice as tall as themselves into a large machine that helped move the scenery around on the stage, allowing them to quickly rearrange stairways and other heavy set pieces. As he watched, still more little boys led horses from the stable into preparation area, guiding them through the crowds of people.

But horses were one of those animals which can sense things such as nervousness, and the room about them was full of it. A streamer of blood arced through the air and Grenville fought down his gag reflex as a boy’s head was turned to pulp by the steel muscles driving an iron shoe, the whinnying horse rearing up and fighting its handlers. Women began to scream. The other boy flew away, tossed but not dead as the older stage hands moved in to subdue the frightened animal.

The manager forced a smile again as everything was brought under control and the doctor arrived, bending over the prostrate form of the little boy laying in a puddle of blood. He made eye contact with Grenville and shook his head.

Face growing pale, the blood leaving it as rapidly as it had the boy’s, Grenville fought down an image of rising disaster, the death a horrid portent of what might be to come.

* * * * *

“Cassandra!”

The Baroness’ voice echoed up the staircase that she was descending, filling the air with the single word. She was shaking her head, as once more she visualised them arriving late at the opera due to her brother’s child. The little girl had become the bane of her life, and she wondered not for the first time whether the child would have been better off with her mother’s family.

“Yes, Aunt.” The soft voice came up at Lady De Burgh from the foot of the stairs, where Cassandra was waiting for the rest of the party, dressed and ready to go.

Lady De Burgh looked a little taken aback for a moment, disorientated by this turn of events. She huffed slightly to indicate that the child was still at fault for allowing her to have to raise her voice. “Well, ready for a change. Wonders will never cease.” She turned her attention from Cassandra and looked towards her husband, who was standing nearby. “We might arrive somewhere on time for once.”

The Baron nodded his head slightly then looked at the little girl, giving her a small smile while his wife’s back was towards them. “We certainly would not want to be late for the Emperor.” He answered, replying with her usual phrase.

“If we are lucky, we shall arrive before all the crowds.” Lady De Burgh waited for her cape to be placed on her shoulders by her dresser, who was waiting near the door, not wanting to cause unnecessary creases to her mistress’ gown. “The last thing we want is to arrive after the Imperial family.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled, knowing that she looked her best. “Come, we must be off.”

With a swish, she was heading out of the door, held open by the butler, who stood back letting the party out. The Baron took up the rear, ensuring Cassandra could not be the cause of any more anxiety to his wife. The horses were stamping on the cobbles restlessly and Cassandra smiled up at the driver, who tipped his cap to her, sneaking a sly wink to her, so that the little girl would know which of the two ‘ladies’ of the house the courtesy was for. Lady De Burgh missed it. The Baron did not.

A horse whinnied as the Baron helped both females into the carriage, and within minutes the three were on their way to their engagement with Emperor Malominous.

* * * * *

The cobbles rattled under the wheels as Derek, standing arrogantly in the front of his carriage, guided the horses along them. It was not far to go to his Opera House. He glanced down at the young woman whom he still had bought for the remainder of the evening and all night.

The dress showed more skin than the upper crust of the Empire might be used to, he realized, his lip growing into a snarl. Everything had to be perfect, and the little tramp was looking too much like the whore that she was.

The carriage drew to a stop as he turned it abruptly into an alleyway, and the girl looked around in surprise. “Milord…” she got out before she was staring into his eyes.

Dark, humorless eyes, full of pain and suffering. Frightening eyes. Her voice died away as his hands touched her in a way no man touched a woman in public and her voice began again, angrily. She might be a prostitute, but she did have some remaining dignity. “Milord, this is highly inapp…” Her voice cut off with a muffled cry of pain and loss of breath as Derek tightened her dress, pulling the front up, covering her properly and leaving her unable to take a proper breath.

“Now, stay quiet unless you are spoken to. Understood?”

The girl nodded, unable to properly draw breath to speak. Satisfied with his handiwork, Derek spun back to the reins, and sent the horses trotting back into motion, headed ever closer to his masterpiece.

* * * * *

The orchestra began tuning their instruments. Normally they would perform this as the audience was entering, but today everything had to be perfect, and the musicians had to be ready to play the Imperial Anthem as the Emperor entered, and they wanted to get it right. Nothing sounded worse than an off-key instrument and the Manager and Conductor would have them hung if the performance had the tiniest flaw.

And it was the second of these two men, who hovered over their heads, standing on the stage listening to them warming up, the random sound of the various instruments playing random sections of music, made him cringe, and yet, even as he stood, he could hear the musicians discover the perfect pitch of their chosen instrument. He smiled to himself, feeling more relieved than he had several hours earlier.

“Maestro!” Philip called over to the conductor, who was overseeing his orchestra, aiding with the tuning. “I hope all goes well tonight. His Imperial Majesty will have us all shot if anything goes wrong.”

The conductor merely smiled, not in the least concerned that his musicians would be anything other than at their best. He was more concerned that the singers would miss their cues and let the whole company down. They had not had long enough to practice in his opinion. A small smile creased his face. They would never have long enough, because they could always do it better. He pushed the thought away and returned his attention to the orchestra, which had continued moving on with the tuning without him, and sounded horrible, ignorantly carrying on without instruction.

“Keep up the good work,” Grenville said with a tight smile. “I must go greet those as they arrive.” With a sweep of his arm, he departed, headed for the main entrance, eager to be there when the first of the Empire’s peers arrived to his Opera House.

* * * * *

Derek helped the girl down from the carriage, and frowned slightly at her expression. He leaned close to her and whispered in a rare moment of compassion. “You can loosen it once we’re in the box.”

After all, it would not do for her to faint. He nodded as Manager Grenville came down the front steps towards him. “Good evening, Monsieur Grenville? All is ready?”

“Of course. Did you doubt it, Monsieur…” Grenville’s voice trailed off as he realized, in all the times he had met the architect of the Opera House, he had never once heard the man’s name.

Derek ignored the prompting tone in the Opera Manager’s voice. “Good. The patrons will be arriving soon?”

“Yes, you and your lady are just in time.” Grenville nodded, once more expecting at least an introduction to the lovely young woman adorning the architect’s arm, but none was forthcoming.

Derek smiled, his face half hidden by the mask he always wore. “Very well, we shall wait with you, and greet them as they arrive.”

The Imperial Appointee nodded absently, already distracted by the sound as the first of the carriages began approaching the Grand Circle before the Opera House.

And so it went, hundreds of people, men in suits, women in dresses, even a number of children, flowing by in an endless stream. Barons, Earls, Dukes and Lords, all were in the capital, and all were there for the main event.

The Jewel of the Empire would regain its sparkle tonight.

One final element remained, as Grenville and Derek remained on the stairs of the Opera House, while all the others gathered inside.

* * * * *

Giggling, Cassandra wove her way through the crowd of fancily dressed adults. She knew she had seen Marcus over this way, she was sure of it. The look on her aunt’s face when she had slipped away had been priceless. Of course, it was not that Cassandra tried to upset her aunt. She just did.

Then she came to a sudden stop as the crowd gave way and revealed the orchestra, sitting ready to play. The wrong way, obviously. Marcus was not over here. She turned around and began weaving into the crowd once more.

* * * * *

The clatter of far more horses than was utterly reasonable announced the last arrival. First the armed horsemen rounded the bend, members of the Emperor’s Own in full parade regalia. Behind them was the most ornate carriage ever, perhaps even more gaudy than the Opera House’s façade itself, it was adorned in gold with the Arms of the House of Tartarus set in gemstones in the four doors.

The Emperor and Empress matched the glamour of their conveyance completely. Their clothing was, of course, the finest, that fit perfectly, in the richest colors. The brown and blue of their respective clothing brought out their eyes wonderfully, and the Empress’ eyes flashed like deep water in a blue that would echo in every female of the Imperial line for generations.

“Good evening, Your Majesties,” Grenville began, “and welcome to the Opera.” As he said this, he straightened from the deep bow that Derek had echoed and the prostitute had echoed with a deep curtsey.

The soft baritone spoke with a smile back to them. “Good evening, Monsieur Grenville, Mister Wren, Milady…”

The young girl glanced nervously at Derek, who nodded ever so slightly, and she gave her name, looking down slightly to not meet the Emperor’s eyes. “Kristaucia Devon, Sire.”

The Emperor smirked ever so slightly and looked lovingly at his wife. “Popular name,” he murmured to her before speaking louder. “Shall we go in, gentlemen?”

* * * * *

Cassandra continued struggling through the swarming adults, when she suddenly heard a loud voice, though she was unable to make out the words. Quiet descended as she pushed through the front row of people. She blinked stepping into the clear area as the sudden rustle of fabric was drowned out by the Imperial Anthem.

Having pushed between two men in the front, the little girl stood not more than ten feet from the Emperor as people all around her went to one knee or curtseyed. And so, with perfect form to do her Aunt and Uncle proud, she did the same, curtseying low for the Emperor and Empress.

Baroness de Burgh would have dropped from embarrassment if she could have, and if it would not have resulted in even further disgrace among her peers, or so she thought. Instead, she merely looked on, unable to disguise her horror while her husband hid a secretive smile.

A smile echoed by the Emperor and Empress, also dealing with a small child of their own, whom they had left at home tonight. By the time the Imperial Anthem had ended, and the peers of the Empire had risen once more, Cassandra knew her face was red, and immediately vanished back into the crowd.

* * * * *

The orchestra had vanished into the main hall after the Imperial family had completed their entrance, and then there was a large series of audiences to be completed. Each of the peers was speaking with the Emperor, meeting with a man some of them had not met for many years, to which they had sworn their fealty.

The Baron de Burgh was one such of these, having not traveled to the capital since the death of Emperor Asmodeus and the Coronation of the current Emperor. But being a baron, and not a particularly rich or powerful one at that, de Burgh was near the last of the peers to meet with the Emperor. Despite the difference in their ages, de Burgh felt nothing but absolute respect for the younger man, as it should be.

“It is good to see you again, Baron, Baroness. I trust all is well in de Burgh?” the seated Emperor asked his liege-sworn man and his wife.

Lady de Burgh was far too paralyzed with nervousness to speak, and convulsively nodded, trying to remain absolutely still and hide Cassandra behind her skirts, while the Baron responded. “Yes, Sire, all is well in the Barony. I have seen that all is well here in the capital as well. Much has been rebuilt since I last saw it.”

“Yes, following the earthquake we were in such horrible disarray.” The Emperor smiled. “I curse my father almost nightly for vanishing and leaving me with that mess.” It was then he spotted Cassandra, who was trying to squirm around the Baroness and finally succeeding. “I was not aware that you had a daughter,” he murmured with an amused smile, having finally figured out the reason for the Baroness’ stiffness.

“We do not, Your Majesty,” the Baron replied. “She is our niece.”

The Baroness became slightly more loquacious then, and spoke, expanding on the explanation. “She is our ward. We took her and her mother in when my brother died, and then grief killed her mother.”

Something in the tone of her voice clued the Emperor in. “How kind of you, Lady de Burgh,” he said slightly frostily, a somewhat unamused tolerance. “The children are the Empire’s future, after all.” He turned his gaze to the Baron and his tone returned to full pleasantness. “I hope you enjoy the show. Please come by the Palace before you return home, though. There are some business matters of your district that I need to discuss, but tonight is not for those.”

The Baron nodded his assent. An Imperial Command could not be ignored. “Of course, Sire.” Then gathering his family, he moved them down to the main floor, where the lesser peers had been assigned, to take their seats for the show.

In little time, the Emperor had finished his audiences, and entered the great hall, and the show began, much to the pleasure of the Emperor, Derek, Cassandra, Marcus, Philip Grenville, and a hundred others and more who would play a part in this great tale.


[Note: Tartarus’ capital is named after the previous Emperor/Empress. Once Emperor Asmodeus died, the capital changed its name from that of his father to his own.]

The performance began with a wonderful opening sequence, the full assembly filling the stage, singing in unison and then in tandem, before reaching a crescendo, that silenced itself into a single aria by the leading lady, followed by a duet, and more and more until the little girl sitting in the chair yawned tiredly and began to kick her legs back and forth as she waited for the one and only part she wanted to see.

A hand was placed lightly on her legs, ceasing her movements, as a stern whisper reached her ears. “Cassandra! Behave!” There was no mistaking the annoyance in her aunt’s voice, which managed to drip with venom even when quiet. “Do not make another spectacle out of yourself.”

To the other side of her, an elderly gentleman gave her a small smile and turned his attention back to the performance ahead. Baroness De Burgh caught sight of the man’s amusement and sighed irritably and turned to her husband, who was sitting beside her, and began whispering to him furiously. It was not hard to tell by the look that the Baron gave Cassandra that she was the topic of the conversation.

Just then, a light-hearted tune began to play, and across the stage a line of dancers came, dancing on the tips of their toes, before they began to spin and jump, filling the scene before them with a swath of colour and movement. Cassandra’s eyes fixed on the spectacle before her, mesmerised by the sight. She sat forward in her seat, her feet moving in patterns against the floor, as she pretended to be a ballet dancer.


The De Burgh Town House, Asmodeus

The carriage pulled up outside the De Burgh residence, the door swinging open as it drew to a stop. The servant pulled down the little step, just before the Baron emerged, followed shortly afterwards by his wife. Bringing up the rear, Cassandra leapt down on to the pavement, her hand being held by the footman to ensure she did not fall, before she did a little pirouette and released the man’s hand. She bowed to him and smiled, before following her aunt and uncle up the steps and entered the house.

“That child will be the death of me, I swear.” The Baroness had barely entered the hallway before she began ranting. “Did you see what she did in front of the Imperial couple?” Her hand was at her brow, as if she was about to faint at the thought. “Sara!” She screamed up the stairs as one of the servants took her cloak from her shoulders. “Something really needs to be done about her. Sara! Where are you, girl?”

Down the stairs came the familiar patter of footsteps, just before a young woman was revealed. She reached the ground and made a small curtsey to the Baroness. “Ma’am?”

“Get that child out of my sight.” The Baroness pointed at the little girl. “I don’t want to see her anymore today.” She almost added she did not want to see her ever, but she managed to hold her tongue.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Sara muttered before she moved over to where Cassandra was still dancing and presented her hand to her, which the little girl took enthusiastically and smiled up at the young woman. “Come on, Miss, and we’ll get you ready for bed.”

Cassandra let out a yawn and nodded, as she followed Sara up the stairs. “I want to be a ballet dancer.” The little girl said as she tried to dance her way up the stairs. “Can I dance before going to sleep?”

Nodding her head, Sara smiled. “Of course, you can.” She looked back over her shoulder at the Baroness, who seemed to have a strange and not overly pleasant look in her eyes.

* * * * *

Several days later

Baroness De Burgh was sitting in her drawing room, her embroidery on her lap, but despite her effort, she could not concentrate on the task at hand. Her mind was fixed on something, and no matter what she did, she kept coming back to it over and over again. And when it came into her mind, she had to think about it, as she felt it could be the answer to all her problems, and in her mind she only had one.

The Baroness was not an overly bad person. She was not overly cruel either, even if she did show no affection for her niece, but it was not entirely her fault, or not directly. Being the daughter of a gentleman, who had landed on her feet and had become the second wife of a titled lord, and not just any lord, the richest one in Klevitch, Catrina Delagarde had a lot to live up to. Stepping into the shoes of a first wife was hard enough, but when the first Baroness De Burgh was revered by many, it made the task more difficult.

By the time the Baron had taken a second wife, he was already in his middle forties and Catrina was barely twenty. But he had offered for her hand and she was not foolish enough to refuse such an offer. Being the young wife of the Baron had not been easy, he had done it all before with his first wife, and although he tried to be the kind of husband she wanted, he was too set in his ways. Despite everything, they loved each other. Yet, she still found it hard, having to live up to everyone’s expectations, having to prove to his friends and family that she was worthy of her new position, while knowing at the same time, they were waiting for her to fail.

When her brother had married the chorus girl, Catrina had barely managed to live down the snide remarks and cattiness that seemed to follow her wherever she went. This only increased when Armand had died, and his widow Madeline and his daughter Cassandra came to live in the manor as their guests. She could still hear the remarks that where whispered whenever she walked past those that were supposedly her friends. But she knew that no matter what they thought of her, if they wanted anything, they would still come running to her and the Baron, who went out of his way to make things easier for her.

Madeline had died and as bad as it made her sound, she was happy that the poor woman had been taken and returned to Armand. She had hated seeing the woman pine herself away, had detested the slow agonising way that she had withered down to nothing until she could no longer cradle her crying child. It had been a blessing when Madeline had given up the fight. But with this came the realisation that she would be the guardian of Cassandra and that there was no way to get rid of the child.

What pained her most about having Cassandra in the house, not just the fact that she had her father’s eyes, which seemed to gazed at Catrina reminding her of what she had lost, but she also brought to the Baroness’ mind her one failure. For she had not born children of her and it was this more than anything that ground on the young woman’s patience. They had been married for ten years and there was no heir to show, whereas her brother had been gifted a child early into his marriage.

Placing her embroidery on the chair, the Baroness moved over to the window, the shouts of a playful child filling her ears. Cassandra was out in the garden, still dancing around like she had since coming back from the opera. As Catrina watched she was taken in by the young girl’s grace and movements. She had taken after her mother, she could dance beautifully. Despite herself, the Baroness smiled and then pushed open the French door and stepped out.

Cassandra ceased her movements immediately as she saw her aunt, and stood there waiting for her to start shouting at her, telling her to keep down the noise, or worse, to go to her room, but there was no such instruction. Instead, Baroness De Burgh waved her hand, indicating Cassandra to come closer. The little girl walked slowly over to her, her face showing her confusion.

The Baroness crouched down to her niece’s height. “Cassandra, you like dancing, do you not?”

Cassandra nodded and smiled enthusiastically. “Yes, Aunt. When I get bigger, I am going to be a ballet dancer and dance like those people we saw at the opera.” She spun around, as if to prove her point.

“You do dance very well.” The Baroness smiled. “Would you like to go to the opera and learn how to dance, Cassandra? Would you like me to take to where they always dance and get up on the stage and dress in pretty costumes?”

The little girl positively squealed with delight. “Oh, yes, please, Aunt.” She wrapped her arms around the Baroness’ neck. “I love you, Aunt.” She took a step back and once more danced about the garden.

“Then I shall make the arrangements.” The Baroness smiled, finally putting her thoughts into action. She did not have to worry about anyone else disliking the plan she had for Cassandra, for the girl had no one else in the world that would care what happened to her.


The Imperial Opera House, Asmodeus, several days later

The woman sat on a chair, her gaze fixed to the young girl that was sitting on a chair beside the Baroness De Burgh. The child’s eyes were wide with fear and excitement, as if she was not quite sure what was happening. They were in the Manager’s Office of the Opera house, and he owner himself sat behind the desk, staring at the woman who had called in with her niece and who was in the middle of explaining her reasons for being there.

“…So you see, Monsieur Grenville, that my niece, Cassandra is most eager to become a ballet dancer, and I know that there is no better establishment for her to be trained than your opera house.” The Baroness paused for a moment. “Of course, on top of your usual fees, my husband, the Baron De Burgh, would be willing to invest a sum of money into your establishment.”

Philip Grenville opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off but Madam LeClaire. “Madam, do you realise what you are saying? You want us to take your niece from the bosom of her family and make her a ballet dancer?” Her voice rose credulously. It was not often that the nobility left their children at the mercy of the opera house and more importantly strangers.

The Baroness nodded. “Cassandra’s parents were both in the arts and it is only fitting that she should follow in their footsteps.” She frowned dramatically. “The child is unhappy away from what she knows, and she had set her heart on being a dancer. Have you not, Cassandra?”

The little girl looked at the ballet mistress and the manager before managing a small nod and in a very low voice replied. “Yes, Aunt.”

Although neither looked overly convinced, the manager smiled. “Well, in that case, we would be honoured to take Miss Delagarde as a student.” He turned to Madam LeClaire. “Will you show, Cassandra to her new home?”

The little girl looked at her aunt and then at the hand of the ballet mistress, and took hold, as she climbed off the chair. Cassandra looked over at her shoulder at her aunt, almost as if she was pleading with the woman to take her home, but the Baroness was focused on the manager, with a smile on her lips.

“How much will cover Cassandra’s expenses?” Baroness De Burgh's voice rang out as the seven year old was led away.