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[color=9e0b0f][h2]CURIA NOCTIS[/h2][/color]
[h3]8:15 AM[/h3]
[h3]The Day of the Concert.[/h3]
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[h3][color=#6FA3D1]Amelia[/color][/h3][/center]
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	She had spent her night planning for the one to come. Her advisors had each done their part. Sabine had procured the maps—old and new—and gathered every relevant history and legend. Roland had utilized thralls—a barbaric necessity, soon to be obsolete—to secure intelligence about the present-day location, its goings-on, and its personnel. Sven and the Death Dealers had devised how best to put all of this knowledge into practice.  

	After a final review and check-in at the end of night, Amelia descended below once again to rest. Safely underground, with nearly half an hour to spare before the first rays of sun pierced the cold winter sky, she disrobed. Deep in the throes of her preparations for torpor, the elder walked from the shower to the fogged mirror. She wiped away the mist, revealing her eyes. She had long since learned to hold her own gaze. She was as ready as she would ever be for what came next. This was the final loose end to tie before she could return—before her next two centuries of rest. Who would he be then? She just [i]needed[/i] it; to see [i]him[/i]. To make absolutely certain…  

	[i]That he is well.[/i]  

	This needed to be the end of it. A single, decisive strike. There was little room for error. She had only so many nights left before she would make her purposefully drawn-out journey to Budapest, compiling the necessary narrative of her reign and to properly Awaken her successor, Markus, to take the reins once more. Roland would be entrusted with what remained here. She was grateful that centuries passed in but a moment for those not yet in control. Normally, she welcomed the end of another reign, eager to see how things would unfold over the next two hundred years.

	[i]Now, there is only anxiety.[/i]