[color=silver]𝓘[i]mprinted in my soul,[/i] 

					𝓘 [i]have the portrait of a fair lady. . .[/i] 

	𝓘 [i]won't insult my fate by weeping, empty tears shedding. . .[/i][/color]

	𝓑ut as it was, it was torture for Walter attempting to mind his own business as he sat there like a good trained dog next to his brother as a master. He understood the feelings that multiplied in front of Lady Alyssana, and even then, he felt a sudden flush like a paleness blushing a fever across his cheeks. Still, the young man fidgeted with one of his watches. The strap was soft with leather, and he thought of the calf that had been separated from his mother before slaughter. It brought his mind to an ease on the main topic at hand.

	 “They simply want us to quiet the media, is that correct?” He felt Finnegan's strong hand place itself upon his shoulder, and the jittery feelings calmed instantly. A sick he was being, and a sick man he always would be. He wished to be of more use to his brother, but his mind would not allow it in many different ways than the ones currently being provoked.

	Finnegan removed his hand as his brother's body quieted. His scent was starved for some attention that would never happen. His mind knew better. He needed food, perhaps more than Lady Alyssana. He wondered now, if this was where he fit, caring for everyone who was too preoccupied with their own studies. He would take the compliment with his own selfish endeavors, “Something of the sort,” he took a bite of the shepherd potpie, letting a gap between Walter and him linger, “Unfortunately,” he squinted, tempting his memory with the words of the poem, “This murderer has become more and more attractive the more I get to know Lady Alsy--,” he stopped himself, again, letting usual course of his overly amusing flirts overlay evening, “He or she has drawn my attention. Why do they want us to quiet the murders? I have been wondering this when here, no one wants to quiet my own nor those of Madame Sophronia.” 

	His hand looked at the silver print on the fork's handle. There was an intricate design that was melted and stamped into it. He had inherited it from his father's side of the family, and just know he noticed there was a man who wore a bore head on it. His feet started at the thread and ended on the fiddle-shape. It meant nothing to him at this very moment, but he thought maybe it was some olde sprite akin to some trickster of sorts, “You do know, I am half wondering why they even asked for my assistance on the matter.” He allowed his mind to linger on his dinner as he thought about it.

	There were far more important things to ponder than stupid murders, especially from the whiles of Madame Sophronia. She would never let him have his way with Julianna, not that she was anything compared to Lady Alyssana accept both seemed almost unattainable. No, that was a lie. Even the reader could tell us this. Lady Alyssana was the more sought after woman, but in horribly indistinct times, Finnegan would drop his guard even if momentary and on purpose.

	“You are a very good problem-solver, my dear brother,” Walter chimed. He was still attracted to sipping his tea and had not touched much of his dinner, unlike Finnegan who seemed to have known exactly what he wanted from his meal, “As is Lady Alyssana.” He could not help but add. He tried to hold back such a random comment, but as usual, his honesty took hold of him. It was like a torch, and he could never put it out. Many times, this torch was too heavy for him to carry. Even now, with Lord Christopher about, he worried that he would have to excuse himself. He strained to keep himself with another sip of conversation, “You do not make, they knew you would bring in Lady Alyssana? What if the murderer is the one who has requested you?”

	It was almost darling to watch his brother attempt to help with the case. After working with him in the laboratory, he understood this was not going to end well, but he allowed it, like the lavishly ridiculous designs on all his cockery. He took more to the artistry than he should have while Walter attempted to make his case known, “To be honest, I doubt someone would do such a thing. I would find them immediately. As Lord Finnegan Oaks. I am live as too much of a shining example to played with like this. In fact, I'd say I frighten a good neighboring psychopath if that were the case,” his eyes looked at Lady Alyssana. This was meant as a pass, but as all his attempts, he knew were fleeting, like a dead, gentle lantern swaying in front of her. She saw past his every attempt, and all the more, he loved her.