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A dull thumping noise draws Mister Collins, owner of Chester-le-Ford’s largest lapis lazulis mine, out of his stupor. He gets up and stumbles toward the window, where the sound came from. There he sees a sparrow, motionless on the ground just outside. It is clearly stunned by its impact with the glass. Grunting, Lord Collins sits back where he was, in the O’Kleefe villa’s comfortable drawing room.
Numb with alcohol, he nevertheless gathers his thoughts enough to consider this bad omen. It’s not the first one. He sees them everywhere since… the events. It has a while now, but it seems like it was yesterday, and yet, it also seems a lifetime ago. He’s pretty much been drunk since then, living in a fuzzy bubble of guilt.
He abandoned his healing practice after the events, no longer feeling very ethical, given the murd.. the deaths, and his permanent state of intoxication. It’s not like he needs the money anymore, as Lady O’Kleefe made him a powerful man, or as he bitterly puts it, her personal play toy and pushover. But hey, he’s a rich man now. He chuckles bitterly at his life, his life decisions, his blood stained mine, his fate and his drunkenness.
Lady O’Kleefe will see you now.
Startled, he jumps a little, then straightens himself and turns to face Mr. Boarston, an elderly dwarf serving as the butler of the O’Kleefe villa. A new visage in this town. Mister Collins staggers a little as he gets up, then follows the dwarf to Liserett’s personal study. “Lady” O’Kleefe as she likes to be called. So eager to gain a title she insists on being called “Lady” even though she’s really just a “Miss”. In this town anyway, she carefully presented herself as a “Miss” when the dukes visited.
The dukes… That noble from Perth was young, but seemed decent alright. At least Rosaly would be safe from that psychopath of a “Lady”...
Mr. Boarston hushes him in the study, not without his usual suspicious frown. There she is, studying some scrolls, elegant and poised except perhaps for the red and blue stains on her hands. She pays him no attention despite having summoned him. He knows the drill. He takes a seat and waits for her to feel like gracing him with her attention.
It doesn’t matter, he can wait. He actually loves this room. It is a truly fascinating space as it’s completely opposite of the facet Liserett presents the world. All her poise, all her calmness and her elegance transpire in the villa, in the town, everywhere under her influence. Her world is neat, organized, calculated, composed and harmonious. Well, the town is getting there anyway. Here is an exception to the rule though. Here is a glimpse of the madness that lurks within her.
Along with half empty tea cups, candle stubs and dirty dishes, piles and piles of books and scrolls litter the desk, the shelves and even the floor. Most of them treat of nobility, history, genealogy and a few treat of biology. On a wall, a large sheet of vellum features a genealogical tree on which a bold line links her name to the name “Shana”, and then to some foreign emperor. The whole thing is surrounded by little spidery notes, some of them half scribbled on the paper and half on the wall.
On the opposite wall, there is a giant map of Hemertia on which various male nobles’ names are written, some underlined and circled multiple times, other ones furiously scratched off. An abacus sits on her desk. It looks as though it has been thrown on the wall and repaired a few times, some beads are even missing.
And then, her new little project; glass jars, filled with water and colorant. Each bears a label identified with the name of a male Hermertian noble.
Lord Collins glances at the floor, on his left, at abandoned fragments of a jar she threw on the wall in an moment of rage. The spot she hit is fairly obvious, as the jar contained a reddish colored liquid which messed up the wooden panels. In the debris, a label reads “Gaston”.
The poor girl is completely obsessed with her precious blue blood’s dilution.
He smirks, drawing great pleasure from her maniacal obsession. A man takes his revenge where he can.
Ah, Mister Collins. I want your opinion on this matter. Which jar between these two has less red do you think?
I would say the one in your left hand, my lady. The one that says “Scrios III”.
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Lady Liserett of the House O'Kleefe
Countess of Chester-le-Ford, Wysteria
Deputy Minister of Hermertian History
Appointed Minister of Wysterian Architecture
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