[center][hr][h1][b][i][color=0072bc]Almack's, London[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[youtube]https://youtu.be/XXpjUePKFGk[/youtube]
[color=0072bc][i]"Am I only living, living to survive?"[/i][/color][hr][/center]

	Within Almack's the ton was starting to disperse, summoning their carriages and heading back to their homes. They were gossiping as usual, exchanging their stories and leaving the dead where they lay as if there was nothing to be done about it. Constables were being summoned by the staff and the last thing any of them wanted was to be caught up in a scandal. It could ruin any of them, especially the ones that had killed someone in their mob like mentality. So they left, as quickly as they could now. This would make headlines tomorrow, or perhaps it wouldn't. It would depend on who paid the paper the most to either run the story or to keep it hushed. Their pockets were deep, many of them. It would be left to the coin to decide. 

	In the ballroom some of the families remained. There was blood splattering the flood where no less than three innocents had died and their bodies were bleeding out. Their bodies still there staring off into the abyss. Eyes as empty as the rooms were becoming. The families of the deceased were there, at least one of them was. Mourning. Screaming for justice and blaming the Soulless because the ton couldn't have possibly done this to their own. They had no faults, they wouldn't panic. Of course not. 

	Elizaveta watched Vlad's semi-melt down over the fact she hadn't had more guards or summoned for more when she became aware of the Soulless. Taking a breath she reached out to him and rested her hand delicately on his shoulder and spoke to him in the same language they had been conversing in. She told him she was fine, that he had raised her to be more than capable to take care of herself. She was circus more than she was some frail princess. She was strong, like he had taught to her to be. And that she was no fool, she had protection. The name Mary slipping into the conversation. Telling him who better to be at her side than a warrior of God? A light to protect her. 

	The tiger Myska just looked at Vlad as if this was a daily thing and it almost was. The older Elizaveta became, the less she wanted to deal with the fact she was royalty and the more she sunk into the life of the circus. Taking chances was part of that. Myska just yawned, licking his jowls before resting his large head on his paws and continuing to watch with a look in his pale eyes as if so say, [i]are you done yet?[/i] 

	[color=a187be]"Please, gather bodies so I can tend to them. Then ve can make arrangements for their burials,"[/color] she said before glancing around a bit. [color=a187be]"Has anyone seen the voman vho was introduced to me by the lord? Or Sir Kildragon?"[/color] she asked. Neither of them seemed the type to her to run off. The lord on the other hand, did. 

	As she spoke Elizaveta suddenly gasped, a hand coming to her chest as the other pressed against the wall. Her eyes staring at nothing as she froze. Vlad would know the look all to well. Many in the circus who were trained were caught by it from time to time. A skill that could make itself known at any moment and without warning. A vision was coming to Elizaveta. Myska never took this way with Elizaveta well and roared lowly as he came to his paws and padded quickly over to her, taking a stance between her and ones he was not familiar with as if to protect her as she stood there unblinking. 

	After a moment she looked to Vlad. [color=a187be]"I fear more death vill come before the end of season,"[/color] she said quietly as her hand fell from the wall. It was never easy to describe the Tretiy Glaz. It would come in flashes. Sometimes it was nothing, sometimes it meant everything. It was like walking through a dream and as soon as it was over it was hard to recall if it was faint. This one was short even if it hit her hard. This made it more difficult to determine but she could feel a chill over her, death. She knew this sign. It was never good. 


[center][hr][h1][b][i][color=0072bc]Port Annan, Scotland - Teriny Inn[/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][/center]

	Calum ran his hand through his hair and was helped back onto the couch by Nigel before the tavern keeper and his wife finally exited the room. Hoping to god that he wouldn't end up knocking something over and burning the place to the ground. The parson was all a fuddle of course, seemed that the woman he had to escort was getting to him. Why on earth had his brothers chosen him to do this? He was a parson, not some underworld. Yet he had accepted nonetheless. He had his own reasons.

	Pulling his boots off they fumbled out of his hands and thumped against the floor hard, rolling under the couch. Letting out a long sigh and rubbing his face. "Fiddlesticks..." he said under his breath before falling back onto the couch and staring up to the ceiling. He opted to just sleep in his clothing instead of changing out. At this rate he would end up knocking himself out just by changing his shirt. 

	The town was rowdy, sounds coming in from the docks of people laughing and yelling and fighting and who knew what else. It was your typical dock noises at this time of the night. Thankfully inside the tavern things were quiet, even from the office where Calum was staying at this point. Nigel wandered around with his staff, clearing off tables and getting ready to close up the kitchen and bar area for the night. They would be up early the next morning getting things together for breakfast and people checking out to go on their way. 

[center][hr][h1][b][i][color=0072bc]Wyndham Manor, London[/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][/center]
	
	Millicent clung to Gerard as he carried up the stairs, weeping and crying out as the thoughts and feelings cut through her. It was all too much. She felt she had lost everything. Everything she held dear and everything that brought her any worth. Her very identity felt striped away. In her mind, she couldn't help but wonder why she had fought for so long. Fought to live or was it even living. Was it just surviving? What good had it brought her to try to protect those she called family? It had ruined her. Who was she anymore? None of these questions came with any answers as Gerard laid her down on her bed. 

	Rolling onto her side she curled up in fetal position. Her face burying against her knees as she tried to hide herself, hide her shame. She heard Gerard but what could she say? Tell him what happened? No, she couldn't. She didn't want him to see her for as worthless as she felt. She didn't want him to see her at all right then. Millicent didn't want anyone to see her. She felt like a shell that had been ripped of its contents, there was no way to truly describe how she felt other than utterly destroyed. 

	Abigail came in shortly after with a basket full of supplies and Cook followed behind, totting bucket after bucket of hot water. "Mr. Connolly, cans you helps Cooks with the waters?" she asked but as she felt a hand on her arm she glanced over and saw the look on Millicents face. Complete devastation. "Actuallys, wes got this. Cans you straighten up the office?" she asked him. It really didn't need to be done now but it would give him some busy work to do while she tended to Millicent. 

	Walking over to the door she waited for him to leave before closing it behind her. Cook making her way downstairs and into the hallway before she finally broke down. Seeing their mistress like that was slap to the face. Cook had always thought of Millicent like a daughter. How could someone do this to her? She just hoped that Abigail could get her patched up and at least in bed. Maybe Millicent would get some sleep, too tired to keep her eyes open after all the crying. It couldn't get any worse could it?

	Abigail helped Millicent sit up, Millicent had stopped crying at this point but she had slipped into a nearly catatonic state. Just moving as Abilgail moved her to clean the wounds, stitch her leg, help her undress. It was once Millicent was undressed and Abigail got a good look at her in the light of the room that she realized the full extent of just what had happened to her. The bruising wasn't just from a fight. Abigail had see such bruising before on friends of her. Servants in other homes whose Mistresses and Masters were not as kind as Miss Milli was. Girls... "Oh god..." Abigail could only say quietly as a look of shamed confirmation came to Millicents features before she looked away and tried to cover her form. 

	Helping Millicent into the bath, she rested soap and cloth over the rim. Millicent didn't move, she just sat there as Abigail left the room. Closing the door softly behind her. Once it was closed she broke out into a mad run down the stairs to find Cook. "Cook, cook, I have to go. I be rights back," she said as she grabbed her shall from the kitchen as she ran by and back to the front, placing it over her head. 

	"Where you be going? Miss Milli needs you!" Cook said as she wiped the tears away. 

	"She need Diachylon more," Abigail said sadly before running out the door. Cooks jaws dropped as Abigail ran off down the street. Cook knew what it was for. Normally it was used around the manor as a lead plaster but if Miss Milli needed it, there was only reason. To keep a [i]quickening [/i]from happening.