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“You'll answer one question,” you says slowly, “Will you actually answer it honestly though?”
“I will,” Juno confirms, giving you a coy smile, “And, as a show of good faith, I won't even count that as your one question. Just be more careful with your words next time, will you?”
You'll admit, you walked straight into that one. “I'd like to ask you about my father,” you decide after a moment, “Do you know what he was searching for?”
“Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?” Juno raises an eyebrow, “Let me see... I believe he was trying to get to the bottom of the Demesne.”
“I know that already,” you point out, trying not to sigh, “What I want to know is why, what lies at the bottom of the Demesne?”
Juno spreads her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “How should I know?” she says with a laugh, “I was really hoping you'd be able to tell me that. I'll tell you what, though. You go ahead and march down to the bottom of the Demesne, then come back and tell me what you see. Deal?”
You just glare at Juno, holding your tongue until she relents with a sigh. “Okay, fine. Since I couldn't really answer that one, we'll strike it off as well,” she concedes, “It's only fair.”
“I didn't know you meant the meaning of the word,” Ariel mutters to herself.
“Well, maybe you'll be able to answer this one. It relates to the Demesne too, so I'm sure you'll find it interesting,” you begin, “I met an old man in the Demesne, a man who claimed to be a member of your family. He gave his name as Kalthos Tomoe, although that's not his real name. I was wondering if you might know anything about him.”
A curious light enters Juno's eyes. “I don't, but I think we might be able to find out. First of all, we need to get a name. A real name,” she explains, leaping to her feet, “Follow me.”
-
Through corridors that drip with dark luxury and nightmarish artwork, Juno leads you through to a large hallway lined with tall portraits. Haughty faces sneer down from countless oil paintings, their costumes growing more and more archaic as you pass backwards through the generations. There's a similar look about the men, with hawkish features and slick black hair, while the women all share an ethereal beauty. Then you spot a picture of a bearded sage, stopping dead in your tracks before it.
Though the Kalthos you know has degraded somewhat since this portrait was made, you recognise the evil glint in the eyes – a glint that the artist captured perfectly. “This is it,” you announce, “This is him.”
“Ymir Tomoe,” Juno reads, squinting at the brass plate screwed to the base of the portrait, “Wait. You said you met this man?”
“I said that, yes. I'm glad to see you were listening.”
“It can't be,” she murmurs, gesturing to the dates listed on the plate, “According to this, he'd be over one hundred and fifty years old.”
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