>>5767777>>5767847>>5767854>Go check up on Lucinda.Maybe you wouldn’t recommend a little girl to spy on a famous psycho, mostly if said psycho is out for her specific throat- but you are curious, what can you do. Thankfully enough, criminals always come back to the scene of the crime, and even if in this case said crime wasn’t hers Lucinda is back for more coffee. If it’s her, you’ll take it; she could paint a target on her back and the bullet would still end up in either asscheek of her stalker. Of course, you aren’t about to go tell her that her spotless track record isn’t at stake; you tell Felicia to book it. You already know where Lady Lu lives. Operation Heart Melter is a go!
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The Newhorn residency looks, as usual, like a Van Gogh that was painted with turds for brushes. You’d love to know how they even got a gargoyle at the entrance because stealing one of those can’t be easy. Two hours later shows up the heiress to the castle of shit, immaculate as ever, and you remember that she rejected three modeling contracts.
λ Felicia: (whispering) Why is everyone so mad about her? I don’t get it.
You tell her that Lucinda’s one true appeal (besides her overwhelming beauty) is that she kept on rejecting very important people, that most people want her just to gloat to the rest- to be ‘the one’. You ask Felicia, who still doesn’t get it, if she’d like to be the first to climb the biggest mountain in the world.
λ Felicia: (whispering) What, that would be awesome! But, haven’t they done that already?
Many died climbing the Everest- but nobody made it to the peak of Mount Newhorn. The door opens. You jump from Felicia’s shoulder and sneak behind Lucinda, who turns around to close the door too late to see you.
ರೃ Lucinda: I’m home.
As usual, only darkness and the black trash bags at the foot of the staircase greet her- the same as yesterday. The castle of this princess seems unusually still today, which is a great start. The Magical Girl’s red and black satchel bounces with every step she takes up the stairs; she didn't even turn on the lights. You look at those hole-ridden bags leaking nameless liquids on the rug; no wonder she didn’t mind the smell back at the dark alley. Once on the second floor, you wait until Lucinda is up to her usual ‘super intense hand-washing’ ritual before rushing into her room. You will watch her from the roof of that wardrobe, the one that's a repurposed coffin, which is almost entirely occupied by a single boxing punching bag.
When she comes back and sits, Lucinda doesn’t undo her hair, she doesn’t change clothes either- she always remains ready.
It doesn’t worry you, though: she’s always like this.
