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[b]Location:[/b] Almack’s
“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”
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	Fyror’s auburn brows furrowed with concern as he took in Millicent’s current state. He looked her over to take a mental inventory of any visible injuries on her person. Upon closer inspection, he noted the gashes on her arms and the laceration on her exposed thigh. It was hard to tell how deep any of the wounds were as blood flowed freely from them in streams of red, distorting one’s view of the individual wounds. He stopped his inspection to meet her gaze when she spoke up. He found that this was not the same woman who he had seen boldly come to his defense when Mrs. Wyndham had slighted him. This was not the same woman who he had held in his strong arms as a smile graced her delicate features. This was not even the same sullen woman who he had seen on Lord Rutherford’s arm. For the first time, he was quite possibly seeing Millicent in her most vulnerable state, and his heart ached for her. Her voice was lackluster as she spoke, and her eyes held a glossy appearance to them. It was hard to tell exactly what she was thinking or feeling, but one thing was certain, none of it was positive.

	She denied that she was hurt, but he would beg to differ. The bruise he had seen earlier today could now be seen in all its horrific glory as the sweat on her face washed off her makeup. It was a large, dark, and bloodied bruise surrounding an imprint of a ring that had split her skin. Whoever had hit her had marred her beautiful face and could have easily cracked her cheekbone in the process. Why would she claim that she was not hurt when she clearly was? She was in shocked, surely, and who could blame her. Fyror glanced over at the severed head nearby, cringing inwardly, before returning his worried gaze to Millicent. He reached out to help keep her from falling down as she slowly rose to her feet. Once on her feet, she stared blankly at something behind him. He followed her gaze to find a man dressed head to toe in black standing over the decapitated body nearby with a sword held in his hand. Perhaps he was the one who had killed it?

	Thalken was looking down at his craftmanship, his successful beheading of the Ryne Catherine. The Ryne that had caused so much pain and devastation in such a short amount of time. He looked up as he felt eyes boring into him, and he turned his head to meet the emotionless gaze of Millicent. She was the complete stranger he had just saved from the Ryne, a fact that had yet to fully sink in. However, as the woman blankly stared at him, he vaguely wondered if he had done more harm than good. His gaze held that same intensity to it, and it was not swayed, even when the British infantry officer Fyror met his gaze. The man’s scarred face, strong build, and higher ranking did not deter Thalken, for he had witnessed more disturbing things in his lifetime. The decapitated body at his feet was proof of that. He held Fyror’s gaze until the man finally turned his attention back to Millicent and the other injured women.

	Fyror’s gaze snapped over to Mrs. Wyndham as she screamed out in pain. He was honestly surprised that the woman was still alive given that she was impaled by an iron rod. Without a word, he followed behind Millicent over to her stepmother and stepsister, moving carefully on the blood covered concrete floor. He stopped beside her and watched as she worked out what to do. Unfortunately, he did not think much could be done for Mrs. Wyndham, as trying to move her could very well prove detrimental. However, he also felt that it would be cruel to just leave her there to suffer. Perhaps removing the iron rod would be the most humane thing to do. So, when Millicent asked him to lift her stepmother off of the table leg, he obliged. He got closer and bent down at the knees before grabbing underneath Mrs. Wyndham’s arms as Millicent took the woman’s feet. He carefully tried to lift her off of the table leg, but all the blood made him lose his grip. 

	Thalken turned his attention to his surroundings, surveying the area with a shrewd gaze and honing his skill in intelligence gathering. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Ryne he had killed was not the only Soulless present at Almack’s. His suspicion was confirmed as his keen eyes picked out a Ryne [i]and[/i] Hraew entering the ballroom at the other end of the balcony. His grip tightened on the hilt of his Dao sabre as he watched them disappear into the chaos inside. It was troubling to see two types of Soulless together as they typically did not associate with one another but rather preferred to keep to themselves. Something was certainly not right here, and he was unfortunately caught in the middle of this debacle. Thalken continued to survey his surroundings, looking for any more potential threats, particularly any in close proximity to him. He noted that the woman who had got caught on the blade of his sabre earlier was still fainted on the ground. What little empathy he had did not readily include someone stupid enough to walk between a raised sabre and a vicious Ryne. Perhaps the Soulless will view this fainted woman as being already dead, or she may just become their next snack. Whatever the case, it did not concern him at the moment as he felt a vague prickling sensation on the back of his neck. There was a distant static in the air, not necessarily close enough as of yet to be a huge concern, but nevertheless it sent a chill through him. [i]Cargast are here.[/i]

	"Oh god!" Emma screamed as her mother was basically dropped on the ground. Mrs. Wyndham screeching out in pain. The only reason the woman was still alive was because the rod of steel hadn't hit any vital organs. Spearing her through the soft flesh mostly. Millicent grunted as she shifted her hold, grabbing her step mother under her hips instead and letting Elizabeth's legs fall on either side of her. Looking back over towards Fyror, her expression filled with determination at this point. She was pushing down everything at that point to get the job done. Duty to her family came first, mourning would have to come later. She couldn't afford the weeping frenzy she so wanted to collapse in at that point. [color=0072bc]"Shall we try that again?"[/color] she said calmly as her grip tightened on her step mother. [color=0072bc]"On three... 1...2...3. Lift,"[/color] she said as she she began t lift Elizabeth once again and prayed that it would work this time. 

	A grimace crossed Fyror’s face as he lost his grip on Mrs. Wyndham, unintentionally dropping the woman harshly back onto the iron table leg, further impaling her. Unlike Thalken, Fyror could feel empathy for even those who have wronged him. Mrs. Elizabeth Wyndham had made it clear on more than one occasion that she did not like him even for the pettiest of reasons, such as his marred appearance and being in the presence of Ms. Crane and Lady Crypt. However, he felt that no one truly deserved this agonizing pain. He glanced over at Millicent and nodded his head in response. He secured his grip this time before lifting on the count of three. This time they successfully lifted Mrs. Wyndham off of the table leg and carefully set her down on the ground beside it.

	Thalken ran a hand over his face as he let out a disgruntled sigh. The presence of all three types of Soulless, Ryne, Hraew, and Cargast, in one confined area was a sure sign that the night was going to get a lot darker and a lot bloodier. His dark gaze swept back over the bloody massacre that had been left in the wake of the presently decapitated Ryne Catherine. One life had been lost. Jane’s limp body lied in a growing pool of her own crimson red blood. The life of Mrs. Wyndham likely hung in the balance as she lifted off of the iron rod she had been impaled upon. And the lives of Millicent and Emma were forever changed, having witnessed the traumatizing massacre and having to deal with the subsequent bloody aftermath. Thalken vaguely wondered how many more lives would be lost before each and every Soulless could be killed. His gaze landed on his throwing knife that laid roughly ten feet away from Millicent and Fyror in the midst of the blood. He stalked over to it, unfazed by the carnage he had to step over and around to get to it. He bent down to pick it up, and as he straightened back up his gaze landed on Millicent and Fyror for a moment. He deftly spun the throwing knife in his free hand before sheathing it and returning his attention to his surroundings. Whatever danger lurked in the shadows, he would be ready for it.

	Elizabeth screamed in pain as she was set down on the cold ground, blood flowing freely from the open wound that pierced her from back to front. Emma fell to her knees in hysterics, the body of her sister laid spent on the ground near her and her mother lay dying in her eyes. Millicent however looked as cold as the stone balcony in which they stood. Reaching over and grabbing the torn slip, wrapping it quickly around her step mother despite the screams. Pulling it tight as she could muster and then even tighter still. Elizabeth gasping and passing out from the pain, her body going limp. "No!" Emma wailed, thinking her mother had too passed away. Yet Millicent could still feel the warmth in her mothers skin and see the beat of her heart against her throat. 

	[color=0072bc]"She is asleep, the pain was too much. It is good that she rests through it,"[/color] Millicent uttered in a frozen voice. Though she knew if her mother passed away she would feel no obligation to marry Lord Rutherford. Elizabeth had been cruel to her always but she was the only mother she had left and she would do whatever was needed to see that she lived another day; no matter the pain that it would bring her. Even then, in the middle of everything Millicent could feel the sting of the broken skin on her cheek and everything it meant but she still tightened the silk even more, staving off the blood flow.