[CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/xnc4Yeo.png[/img][/CENTER]
[CENTER][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjEwNi43YjY4ZWUuUlcxdGVTQk1iMjVuZDJWc2JBLjA/crustaceans-signature-demo.reg.webp[/img][/CENTER]
[RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sub]Tuesday, April 15th / Early Hours[/sub][/color][/RIGHT][hr][RIGHT][color=afa3f5][sup]13th Mourningdove Lane[/sup][/color][/RIGHT]

Emmeline had tried her best not to flinch when The Archivist [i]kindly[/i] referred to them all as wounded animals, yet her own body betrayed her. Her muscles tensed, knees locked, and that sensation paired with the feeling of dread that washed over her was enough to make her head swim. She'd been leaving traces of magic behind since that first day. If the Hunters were already in Twin Pines, they could very well be on her scent by now.

Her only comfort came from hearing a magical clairvoyant declare that they would all learn control, and even though his magic was impressive, and she would soon call it beautiful when he demonstrated it minutes later, she still understood that the future was always uncertain. Part of her still wondered if this mutual survival between them would only stand as long as they remained in his good favor.

Her eyes consumed the sight of what was deftly titled a Witchfinder's Dial. It was odd how such a simple device could doom them all, with its curious markings around the rim that she theorized were the only reason a thing lacking in magic could track the remnants of it- the [i]trails[/i] that they all left in their wake as they struggled to handle the power unwillingly gifted upon them so many days ago.

Emmy decided then and there that she was going to learn everything she could about the Witch Hunters. How they tracked their victims, how they worked as an operation, their strengths, their weaknesses, any loophole that she could use to escape the fate they wished upon her, any ounce of hope that she could grab onto so that she wouldn't be helpless against an ideology that had been passed down through generations. The mention of a study, filled with books that held the answers within them, was enough of a relief to keep Emmy on her feet.

If she couldn't trust the man before her, that had once been apart of a genocidal following, she could put her faith in the books he had gathered over his many centuries of life to keep her from their pyres.

As she followed the group between the large wooden doors to the study, Emmy found herself momentarily stunned by the amount of texts held in just one, grand library. The wealth of knowledge held within the room could only be considered priceless; easily compared to what was lost in the burning of the Library of Alexandria. Emmy was sure that she could find all of the information she needed here as her green eyes roamed the shelves. They halted on the painting that looked down upon them for only a moment before they continued on. The regality of it's occupants, and what it might mean about their host, did not concern her when this much knowledge sat before her.

Her gloved hand reached for a book nearby, only to quickly drop back to her side as The Archivist drew her attention towards the screen that appeared on the empty wall.

[hr]
While the other's expressed their feelings with colorful words, Emmy's breath left her chest in a whoosh of air. A dizzy spell forced her to find rest in the nearest chair, her heart palpitating within her chest as she processed what they had all witnessed. Her composure broken by what could have been a horrible demise for one of their own.

She glanced towards the short-haired woman, the target of the Hunter's wrath. Emmy expected her expression to be just as horrified, just as shocked, and yet anger burned there instead. The companion within the woman's grasp shined brighter, shifting erratically, and she worried for just a moment that it would catch the study on fire. Hoping that their host would be able to teach her how to reverse time on precious words rendered into ash. If it were even possible.

Emmy gripped the chair's wooden arm as frustration began to build again, listening to The Archivist refer to the armed militia as if they weren't a true threat. It almost seemed like he was boasting about the perfection of his former methods. Emmy released a breathy scoff into the room in response. The weapons and technology those "larpers" carried seemed effective enough. What could their magic do to prevent that poor cabin from collapsing in on them? What use was her own magic against that?

As if in answer, Emmy finally noticed the condition of her gloves had changed since she last looked upon them. She released her grip on the chair, before her gloves could dissolve completely and leave what was already an older looking piece of furniture in a terrible state. As she held her hands in her lap she looked over the well-worn fabric. They'd been brand new when she put them on earlier that evening.

Her brows knitted in disappointment, the feeling only growing when she noticed that the others were already beginning to pluck books from the shelves without disintegrating them. It seemed like any excess of emotion, whether it was excitement, stress, or anger, allowed her magic to run its course unchecked. If that was the key to control, Emmy would surely be discovered before she could even begin to turn the lock. She wrung her hands within her lap as she sat back in the chair. At least the gloves had spared her from owing the wealthy elf a hefty amount in compensation.

The conversation had continued during Emmy's moment. She'd picked up enough to figure out what was coming next. Their host's revelation enough to anger the few in the room that understood what his surname meant, and yet Emmy was not shocked. Instead she was intrigued, her eyes returning to the painting behind Ravensmere to focus on the children portrayed there.

Despite the others musings about the wilderness, beasts, Tic Tac?, and getting their wills together, along with the properly described nature of the Ravensmere name, which also made her question her own safety among the halflings in the room, one question lingered on the forefront of her mind.

[color=7B68EE]"If you're the ex-communicated Witchhunter, and your brother is soon to return to Hunting, then what role does the girl in the portrait have?"[/color] She asked from her resting spot, eyes flitting back to look upon their host. [color=7B68EE]"You've only mentioned the brothers tonight. Who is your sister?"[/color]