"Ahem..." Capella's voice cut through the air like a razor gliding across velvet.
The two women on the couch froze—caught in a moment that now felt too fragile, too loud. Lara slowly pulled back from Madame Beatrice, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush, though her composure remained largely unshaken.
Beatrice, for her part, seemed to savor the silence for half a second longer before finally leaning away, licking a trace of lipstick from the corner of her mouth.
"Oh, Capella," Lara said at last, her tone light, almost amused. "I hadn't expected you so soon. We were just... reminiscing."
"Is that what it's called these days?" Capella replied dryly, folding her arms and tilting her head. Her expression was placid, but her eyes shimmered faintly with something unreadable.
Beatrice chuckled, brushing an invisible wrinkle from her dress as she stood. "I suppose I should be thankful. Any later and you might've caught us discussing matters of state—far more scandalous, I assure you."
Lara laughed softly at that, though it came a touch too quickly. She glanced at her daughter, searching her eyes for a mutual understanding, but they only held a sinister mischief in them.
Beatrice dabbed at her lips with a wine-colored handkerchief, her expression unreadable but composed. Lara simply tilted her head and offered a small, wry smile toward her daughter.
"You're early," she said, tone dry.
Capella stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind her with a muted click. Her expression was a calm mask, yet her eyes glinted faintly—like moonlight slipping over a blade.
"I didn't wish to keep Madame Beatrice waiting," she said, her voice smooth. "There is still much to discuss."
The three of them settled around the ornate table at the center of the room, its surface etched with subtle geometric runes masked as simple vinework. The chandelier above flickered briefly, casting their faces into pale relief.
A long silence passed before Beatrice broke it, her hands folded neatly on her lap. "Everything is proceeding according to your schedule," she began, voice measured.
"We've identified the next candidate for the project. His name is Sean. He's quiet and sometimes pretends to see and hear ghosts. We think it's caused by the trauma he went through since he had to kill his parents to prevent the curse from taking hold of them."
Capella's eyebrow lifted slightly. She had just recently learned that in this city, if you are dying of normal means - then your familiar relatives must deal the finishing blow or else they will turn into monsters or demonic wraiths.
She honestly doubted if this was truly caused by 'God's abandonment' or some other explanation that the Six-member council was hiding.
'All the more reason why we need to rapidly increase the motion of our plan.'
Lara slowly shook her head in opposition. "No, if his mental state is already unwell then the chances of him losing control are extremely high. He only has a 5 - 10% chance of staying cognitive."
Capella then voiced her thoughts, interrupting her mother. " Actually, I don't think he's insane or is suffering from any trauma at all." She said crossing her legs.
Beatrice's eyebrows raised in confusion and she beckoned for the intelligent girl to continue.
Capella then asked a question. "Were one of his parents listed to be a beyonder?"
Beatrice furrowed her brows and responded, "I would have to receive his files from medical in order to see. Why?"
Suddenly a light bulb appeared above Lara's head and she quickly understood the point at which Capella was getting at. "I think what my daughter is trying to say is that if his parents were beyonders, then he probably could have inherited one of their extra characteristics and actually posses the ability to see the spirit realm. Though, he could just naturally have this power through his uniqueness alone."
Capella then learned forward from her position sitting down. She then began to clap a few times while laughing hysterically.
As she wiped a small tear from her eye, she thought out loud: "That's Excellent! He will be the utmost perfect candidate to receive my gift."
She then inclined her head slightly, and turned to Beatrice. "And what about the sermons?"
"Held thrice a week," Beatrice replied, her tone now tinged with reverence. "The little ones have taken to the new doctrine better than expected. Especially the girls. They seem automatically drawn to 'Her' will by instinct—almost as if they were born for it."
Capella said nothing for a moment, only allowed her gaze to drift toward the curtained window. The heavy lightning outside had depleted, but the sky remained heavy—pressing down upon the orphanage like the weight of the Earth.
"And the older children?" she asked finally.
Beatrice hesitated. "There are... some strong-willed ones. One of the boys became aware of the contradicting teachings in the schools, and started spreading it to the other children. He then asked one of the religious leaders but was quickly neutralized and sent to our solitary confinement."
Lara's fingers tapped the stem of her glass once, rhythmically.
"I'll Hypnotize him," she said softly, not unkindly. "Just contact me through a letter for when, and I can just rewrite his memories and impart a mental cue that he is a strong devotee in the Church of Desire."
Beatrice bowed her head, accepting the order. "Understood."
The conversation fell into a lull once more. The fire crackled in its stone enclosure, giving the illusion of warmth. Then, with a gentle sigh, Beatrice leaned back in her chair and looked at Capella, not Lara—with something bordering on longing.
"I've served you loyally for two years now," she murmured. "I've kept your secrets, and have followed your every word... no questions asked."
She paused, letting her gaze linger on Lara's pale hands. "I think It's time you let me into your world of the extraordinary. I know you both are hiding some strong power that you're going to use to soon take over this city, and I wish to obtain it. Whether it is a beyonder potion or some other power, I want to have it."
Madame Beatrice had long wished to be apart of the extraordinary world of beyonders since her youth, but due to various reasons for her not getting accepted into the patrol team or exploration team, she was not granted a potion.
And the underground black market in the city was strictly monitored by the council to not hand out beyonder potions or ingredients as a way to avoid unnecessary monsterization.
Capella's smile did not change, but her posture did—just slightly, casting her sight on her mother as she looked back in an unspoken agreement.
Lara then leaned forward, placing her glass of wine carefully down on the table. The room seemed to darken, though no candle had gone out.
"I suppose you've earned the truth," she said, voice hushed but firm. "My daughter was born with a special connection to a deity. You can probably guess who the deity is, but to make a terribly long story short, we are cultivating her to reach the sequence 0 on a certain pathway."
A strong beat thumped in Beatrice's chest.
Then another.
'Sequence 0?'
She had no clue what exactly the term sequence 0 really meant, for she was not well educated on beyonder's affairs. But she knew, they were surely starting on a glorious journey destined for greatness, and she didn't want to be left behind!
Capella didn't react outwardly. She merely uncrossed one leg over the other and rested her chin on the back of her fingers. But inwardly, her thoughts stirred.
She was not just going to become the sequence 0 for the Patriach pathway. She needed to find a way to ascend even further than that - stealing 'Her' position, but in order to do so, she needed the help of numerous powerhouses that were outside of the City of Silver's reach.
Madame Beatrice started continuously at Capella after this revelation. She then pulled herself off of the couch, and discarded her title as a 'Madame' for a small moment.
She got on her knees, in her green ballroom dress, and solemnly spoke. "I hereby dedicate my life to you Lady Capella. But please, take me with you on this grand path to greatness! I don't want to be left behind in this boring role that is my life."
As she proclaimed this, tears began to stream from her eyes. Capella stole a glance towards her mother, and she seemed to be looking at the woman with a mild affection and sympathy.
'This definitely will not do in the future...But for now, what's the harm.'
Capella stepped forward with measured grace, her boots soundless against the velvet carpet. She reached out and gently lifted Madame Beatrice's chin with two gloved fingers, her touch almost tender. The older woman trembled faintly, eyes wide, lips parted in a breathless mix of awe and anticipation.
Capella looked down into that gaze—a gaze burning with longing, foolish devotion, and the faintest glimmer of hunger. She smiled. It was not cruel, not exactly, but there was no kindness in it either.
"Since you desire it so deeply," she murmured, her voice as soft as falling ash, "I shall grant it."
*Shlick—*
The sound was almost organic. A jet-black scorpion tail unfurled from beneath Capella's cloak, sinuous and gleaming like oiled iron. In one smooth motion, it drove itself into the side of Beatrice's neck, just beneath the jaw.
Beatrice's mouth opened, but no scream emerged.
Her body convulsed. Blood trickled down her collarbone in thin, scarlet ribbons, soaking into the lace trim of her dress. Her hands clawed weakly at Capella's wrist, but the girl's tiny grip had transformed—flesh giving way to something monstrous.
The scorpion tail pulsed once, twice—delivering its liquid contents with a surgical rhythm.
Beatrice's eyes began to bulge. Her lips turned blue.
Each breath came harder than the last, her throat crushed within Capella's grasp. She gurgled, her heels scraping against the floor as her knees buckled. The pain was not short. It unfolded in long, fractal seconds—endless within her skull.
Still, Capella did not blink.
Eventually, Beatrice's eyes rolled upward, showing only the whites, and her body sagged in her captor's arms - not being able to bare the agony.
She collapsed with a whisper-soft thud as Capella released her, the scorpion tail retracting with a wet hiss.
Before the darkness claimed her completely, she saw a blur—a flash of pale limbs and black silk.
Lara was beside her.
The woman knelt quickly, one hand cradling Beatrice's cheek, her expression strained.
"This," Lara whispered, her voice trembling not with regret but with gravity, "is to grant your wish."
The world faded then, as if swallowed by deep water.
Capella then took another glance at Lara, really thinking that she shouldn't have given her this mission in the first place considering her mother might have truly fallen for Madam Beatrice.
Completely forgetting about her father!
And in an unknown location that the City Of Silver's exploration team was in, they were currently examining a stone monument with a dark aura and spirituality surrounding it. As they began to take a closer inspection towards it with flashlights, Gareth standing beside Chief Collin, suddenly let out a loud sneeze.
All of his team-members looked at him, as he had now possibly alerted unseen monsters of their current where-abouts.
...
Madame Beatrice awoke to the faint scent of dried herbs and candle smoke. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, but the pain was distant, as if remembered from another life. Blinking slowly, she found herself reclined on a velvet-lined couch, a folded cloth—warm and damp—resting gently on her forehead.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of lantern-light filtering through crystal sconces and the gentle flicker of candle flames with a dimmed out chandelier. Across from her, framed by a massive window that reached from floor to ceiling, Lara sat on the edge of another couch.
She was gazing out into the black expanse of sky, where no stars twinkled—only the heavy, eternal darkness that hung over the city like a shroud.
The faint strikes of lightning in the distance illuminated Lara's silhouette into something statuesque and serene, a quiet monument to something both lost and enduring. Her long hair, caught in the lamplight, shimmered faintly.
Madame Beatrice, still weak, found herself strangely moved by the sight—captivated by the unassuming, melancholic beauty before her.
"Lara…" she tried to speak, but her voice rasped like parchment. She lifted herself slightly, the compress slipping from her brow.
Lara didn't turn, but lifted a hand slowly—index finger to her lips. Then she pointed, almost reverently, toward the far corner of the chamber.
There, seated upon a round pillow embroidered with comfortable materials, Capella sat cross-legged in complete stillness.
A small charm of red-gold fire floated before her—no larger than a child's palm—burning without heat. Around her, a ring of candles flickered gently, their flames unnaturally steady. Dried herbs were arranged in careful bundles at each cardinal point.
She had sealed the area within the herbs and candles off using her spirituality.
"She's meditating," Lara said in a soft whisper, her voice carrying a weight of respect. "To regulate the merging of her spirit with the fragment of the Mother Tree's essence."
Beatrice looked on in silence, awe and confusion swirling in equal measure behind her tired eyes.
Lara turned back toward her, her expression unreadable. "How do you feel?"
Beatrice exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment before answering.
"Light-headed… and—" she paused, swallowing, "hungry. Strangely hungry."
Lara gave her a long look. One that was not without pity, but lacked comfort.
"I suspected as much," she said at last. Then her voice lowered further. "Tell me… do you feel like something's missing?"
Beatrice hesitated, searching inward. Her fingers curled instinctively around her own arms, as if cradling something no longer there.
"…Yes," she whispered. "Like… like a part of me was scooped out. And all that's left is a hollow shell."
Lara sighed—a sound not of surprise, but of inevitability. She rose from her place by the window, her silhouette briefly blotting out the light, and crossed the room to sit beside Beatrice.
"You're dead," she said simply, quietly, as if offering condolences at a funeral long since passed.