Quoted By:
“I’m going to ask the obvious question,” you begin, looking around the table, “Just what WAS that thing?”
There’s no immediate answer to your question, just a sea of faces gazing back at you. Elle looks thoughtful, but in no hurry to share those thoughts. Cato, beside her, wears a deep frown. Saint Lucille herself sits at the head of the table, her eyes flicking back and forth as she studies the faces around her. In the end, it’s Justine – as unreadable as ever – who breaks the silence.
“It was one of the formless ephemera,” the priestess answers quietly.
“It didn’t seem very formless to me,” Cato complains, rubbing his brow with frustration.
“By bringing it into this world, that man forced it to assume a fleeting form. When you defeated it, the beast returned to its original state,” Justine explains, “Such things have no place in this world, and it shall not return unless called up once more.”
“Forgive me, Miss Justine, but how do you know so much about this?” Elle asks. Her voice is pleasant enough, but there’s a sharpness in her eyes.
Justine meets the younger woman’s eyes, saying nothing for a moment as she weighs up her answer. “There are a great many secret things in this world, Miss Legrasse, as you well know,” she answers eventually, “I make it my business to know such things, and to judge how they fit into the church’s teachings.”
“But it’s dead?” you press, “We killed it?”
“You banished it back to whichever strange realm birthed it,” Justine clarifies, “Such beings, as far as I’ve learned, can never really die.”
Good enough, you suppose, so long as it can’t come back.
“It almost seems like a dream,” Lucille muses, resting her chin on her hand, “And, like a dream, it vanished without a trace.”
“But people are already talking,” Justine says, “The wounded soldiers have been whispering of what they saw, and the rumours are starting to spread. Already, some of the faithful are quoting a line from the Nicean Prophecies – “and the great white serpent shall be rebuked”. We shall have to put out an official statement soon, before these stories spiral beyond our control.”
“Hm, you’re right,” Lucille nods before turning to Cato, “Master Silvera, could you bring in your cousin?”
“Misty?” Elle blurts out, “You’re not actually-”
“You were obviously my first choice for the role of biographer, Ellie, but you’re right. You’ve got your own responsibilities,” the Saint offers a sympathetic smile, “Miss Silvera-Quail has volunteered her services, and I’ve decided to accept. I’ve seen some of her writing, and I rather like it.”
“I feel as if I’m going to regret asking, but what does she write about?” you ask.
“Oh, she writes about you actually. You and Master Silvera,” Lucille pauses, her cheeks darkening slightly, “She’s very, er, imaginative.”
You definitely regret asking.
[1/2]
