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“Hey. Hey, Jan?” you call out softly, “Help me out here, my friend. Explain to me how this all works, and don't let that girl put words in your mouth. I'm curious. Really.”
“You wouldn't...” Jan begins, only for his eyes to clear slightly as he stares at you. “No... no, maybe you would understand,” he continues, shaking his head slightly, “You must know how it feels, Isambard, to see your family fall from grace. Well, we've never known that because we never had grace to begin with. We were never great, never respected. Even when our coffers bulged with wealth, we were only ever tolerated.”
The little history lesson causes Eleanora bares her teeth in anger, but Jan doesn't seem to notice her.
“Even the Pale family were respected once,” he murmurs, “But we've only ever had ourselves. We're a family, Isambard. We've fallen from grace too, but only because we were divided. Because my answers fled here, to seek a life that was never meant for them. They went against the natural order. But I'm here now, I... I'll put things right!”
“Jan, no!” Elle protests, “Look around you, look at these... things! How can you think that any of THIS is-”
“Enough!” Eleanora shrieks, pushing Jan away and stalking a few steps closer towards you. Her hands grasp and spasm, as if desperate to choke the life out of the oracle. Then, as the muzzle of your revolver swings to cover her, she seems to realise her error. What little blood she has retreats from her cheeks, leaving her with a true deathly pallor.
Freed from Eleanora's touch, Jan looks around himself like a man emerging from a hideous dream. He looks at the withered corpse upon its throne, at the emaciated creatures grovelling in worship around it. He looks at Eleanora, at his “bride”. Clutching his head, he almost seems as if he's going to faint before some hidden resolve steadies him. When he looks back up at you, his eyes are clear and sharp.
“Jan,” you say gently, holding out your other hand to the young man, “Come here. We can talk about this up on the surface, talk about it in the morning. A bit of sunlight will do you good.”
Swallowing heavily, Jan nods and takes a step towards you.
“It looks like the wedding is off,” you tell Eleanora firmly, giving her a blandly polite smile even as you aim your revolver at her, “So we'll have to decline your polite offer. We're leaving, and we don't intend on coming back.”
“You...” Eleanora clenches her fists and gnashes her teeth, “You bastard, you don't know what you're talking about. You won't ever see the sun again, I'll... I'll devour you myself!”
“Not the first time a lady has told me that,” you remark drily, “But you're not my type.”
Eleanora seems about to explode with fury, only to freeze as a new voice rings out.
“That will be all, Eleanora,” the rasping whisper orders, “That will be all.”
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