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Sanguine fluttered around playfully, colourful feathers trapped in the thrall of the whimsical wind as the beat of hastened foot steps rang through the narrow streets and alleyways of Silver Spear. Glistening rubies gazed through a shroud of bone towards the dance of lights surging through the streets, taking in the gleaming joy and mirth from a people secluded in a sanctuary of peace amidst an ocean of turmoil. Confusion and caution had taken root in the thin slits of the helmet shaped out of bone, barely standing out amongst the sprawl of masks and helmets portraying the most vile of beasts known within the reaches of the Wolf-Haunted Kingdom. The scarlet shade of cloth and bone listened to the howls of man, to find what they hunted in their reveries. Steps quickened as glistening eyes never strayed far from the pinnacle of the great silver city, Watching the dark twisted arches and the elaborate web of glass grow ever more refined and detailed as the shadow of the cathedral drowned out the shadow of the creature of red and white. 

The swirl of cloth came to an end, sanguine cloaks hanging fallow as the thing of masks stood motionless before the swarm of beasts, completely idle, settled on every perch and arch of the sepulcher. Cloth parting briefly to bare a swelling chest, heaving slowly with a deep inhale of precious air. The head of bone angled upwards, horns angled downwards as the shapeless form managed to tense up regardless, a palpable tension felt from the very fiber of its being. Time not measured in the march of its hands, or the even smaller measures of words and grains of sands. But rather in violent beats of a black heart, pounding and pumping with searing hot blood. Laughter from afar broke the spell placed upon the creature of crimson, finally stirring, tension melting like snow on a summer day. In a complete contrast to its earlier demeanor, a humble door of wood gave way to its desires, protesting with only a silent creek drowned out by reverend song and mirth of thousands.

A new shadow joined the many others within the halls of faith, candlelight and moonlight being the only guide offered to the furtive creature, as it made its way deeper inside. Pale digits tracing along the edges of the caliginous edifice, curving along the detailed and elaborate stone features, known to the love of far more gentle and caring fingers that had given it shape and purpose within these hallowed halls. A journey of touch that came to an end once one moving shadow swelled to number eight, belonging to those who did not belong, not within the home of the silver god or amongst the realms of man. Strangers to reason, to the natural order of things and perhaps even to peace itself. Soft snickering laughter spilled past the unmoving jaws of the bestial skull mounted upon the head of the shade of scarlet.  

Yet that expression of amusement could not overshadow the faint but powerful throb of life, pounding at a slow and almost deathless pace. Every beat of a heart resonating through the halls of the sanctum wrapped in silence. It came directly from the scarlet shade, from amongst the many layers of cloth draping over its true form. Its pale arm parted from the wall, sliding back into sanguine veil shrouding the creature of bone and blood. Briefly exposing the simple shirt found beneath along with the wreath of blessings hanging from her neck. Small pouches holding blessed stones, hair clippings of saints, leafs and twigs from everlasting trees. Each promising golden fortune and prosperity, yet easily discernible as gilded blessings offered by soothsayers and silver-tongued peddlers rather than true sages and druids. 

[color=9e0b0f][i]“Fifty-Seven”[/i][/color] A feminine voice spoke from beneath the abominable skull, tilted towards the visage of the raven-haired aristocrat. Crimson eyes turned towards the scholar of gray and chaos. [color=9e0b0f][i]“Fifty-Eight.”[/i][/color] She declared in a firm voice, yet not one aimed towards the collective of sinners within the hallowed halls of the Cathedral. [color=9e0b0f][i]“Fifty-Ni- “[/i][/color] She spoke as she gazed at the reflection within the mirror presented by the raven-haired aristocrat, canting her head to peer over her shoulder towards the only place where the pale reflection of the woman could have come from, only to find nothing. [color=9e0b0f][i]“Fifty-Eight”[/i][/color] she amended her count, resuming onwards to include the remaining five strangers in her count. [color=9e0b0f][i]“...Sixty-Four.”[/i][/color] Her voice rang through the skull. [color=9e0b0f][i]“Fifty-Seven beasts shaped from stone.. Seven from flesh. But I have come here for those of Ash.”[/i][/color] The Orphan of Anshu departed as swiftly she had joined the eight-pointed star, parting with her end of it to make way to the passage that held the greatest promise to lead to the undercroft beneath the Cathedral. The languid beating of the black heart slowly fading from the halls of Verimos, unless she were to be halted in her descent.