Observation of the every-man’s plight and its monotonous drudgery was generally a tedious affair for Lisette, but, as she knelt in the tall grass, not yet moistened by the predawn dew, she barely masked her delight as the symphony of chaos around her dilated. Cast in an amorphous halo by the full moon’s beams, the countryside, to her already exotic given her exclusivity to the city, seemed nigh numinous. A stone’s throw behind where she waited, the line of trees that formed the forest vanguard likened to a daemonic host of behemoth black sentinels. Similarly, the rustles of limb and leaf ripened in her imagination to the plaintive utterances of those eternally damned. Such sounds accented the very real and mortal ululations of terror that emanated from the train’s rear. 

What attracted her wide-eyed attention the most, however, was the rearmost carriage most severely damaged by the train’s ominous stoppage. While the smog of coal readily dissipated, given the lack of a locomotive, a miasma nevertheless billowed and poured forth from the windows of the final derailed carriage. The grimy scent of oil tinged her nostrils. Someone screamed [i]‘Fire!’[/i] At last, harsh radiance lunged as wicked tongues from its shattered windows and a cascade of embers exploded into the night. From where she sat, she veritably tasted the charred flesh of the souls within imprisoned.

A girlhood memory of an old wives’ tale stirred and she recited: [I]‘Those who die by fire will in Perdition ever burn.’[/i]

Transfixed though she was by the fiery flesh carnival and proletariat woe, an emanation of pure evil from the train’s fore invariably piqued and subsequently enraptured her interest. Tea an abandoned expectation, she resigned her post, stood, plucked up her violin case, and advanced in prim and quiet footfalls toward the gravel. There she followed the steel rail forward in pursuit of the malignant emanation. She noted, as she neared, how very dark the shadows pooled upon the ground where the locomotive ought to straddle the track. Even with the night, the darkness was uncanny. Delightful, in fact. Then a firm and unwanted hand clasped her shoulder. Confounded, she turned on her assailant and shook herself free, her upraised face, illuminated by the moonlight, pale as a corpse’s. Yet life was belied as her eyes shimmered angrily and her anemic lips twisted in contempt. 

[i]“You presume much—”[/i] she looked him up and down then, with haughty venom, spat, [i]“—swordsman.”[/i]

[i]“Lady,”[/i] Weiland politely inclined his head in respect, then reclaimed command of the situation, [i]“this place isn’t safe. You need to go back to where the other passengers are.”[/i]

[i]“Those—those commoners?”[/i] she incredulously retorted and pointed her chin derisively at the dozen or so riffraff vomited from the plebeian carriages.

[i]“For your own safety,”[/i] Weiland insisted. [i]“If necessary, I’ll escort you there.”[/i]

While not necessarily engaged in her surroundings at all times, she was wilily enough that she noted the implied, albeit politely unspoken, [i]by force. [/i]

Furious as she was impotent in a physical contest with the swordsman, she peered beyond his bulky frame toward the small crowd. Even from here, the rabble stank of poverty. She did not wish to be amongst them. Confined to an asylum cell for so long, the thought of people, particularly noisy and near, unraveled the threads of her composure. Moreover, the darkness called to her. In a final effort to get her way, she stepped back from Weiland. He matched her gait and likewise stepped forward. His hand lifted, prepared to enforce his simple-minded and presumptuous wisdom. She didn’t want him to touch her again, but was too arrogant to recoil. Instead, she brought his action to a halt as she snapped, [i]“So be it. I shall make my own way back, brave swordsman, to the safety of the mob,”[/i] her sarcasm evident. As she heeded his demand, and they stalked along their diametrically opposed trajectories, she sneered again, deliberately loud enough for him to catch her vitriol on the wind, [i]“May the night devour your impudent soul!”[/i]

Her threat punctuated by an insidious cackle, she paused. No, she would not pretend to take safety in numbers. Instead, she flung open her violin case, grasped her instrument—its ivory exterior practically luminous in the twined radiance of orange firelight and argent moonglow—and in motions that seemed equal parts exaggerated and languished, she moved her bow over the crimson cords of her violin and afflicted those around her with a beautiful if not [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWrt0m-cOkU]melodramatic dirge[/url].