Christopher Clarke
It was necessary for Creatrix to die. Her mind was gone, and her actions drove the brothers and sisters against each other.
Still, there are the questions of our origins, the how and the why. Our inner workings.
Any hope of receiving a straight answer died with Creatrix's mind. But she will have records, journals explaining her methods and motives in far greater detail than one simple explanation could ever provide.
The others would likely want nothing to do with her research. I do not blame them. But somebody has to do it, after all.
Having long ago washed the blood off his hands with enough soap to obliterate the coppery scent of the crimson liquid, Christopher was now busy scouring the mansion's library, looking for a few good books for the road, among other things. He had already packed the other essentials, so there was still some time left to find what he needed.
When the Decimuirs killed Creatrix, Chris was one of the last to inflict a wound on her, and by that time she was pretty much already dead. He stabbed her body through the heart with a scalpel, quickly, quietly, and taking great care not to get any blood on his clothes. The deed itself felt... somewhat cathartic, after what he'd been through, although whether the others felt the same way was up for debate. It was obvious that they couldn't stay at the mansion any more. Too many bad memories. Once the decision to leave was official, he wasted no time in getting his possessions together for the exodus.
Christopher was now at the back of the library, where none of the Decimuirs were allowed to go. His long, pale fingers briefly traced each book as his eyes grew more accustomed to the gradual gloom. Several minutes of searching had yielded favourable results. Creatrix's research journals, his for the taking.
In these books were the answers to the questions in the back of his mind. How had they been created, and given these superhuman powers, and more importantly, why? But not here. This wasn't the time for reading right now. It wasn't the place either, come to think of it.
He carefully packed the books into his case. His work here was done. Exiting the library, he tried contacting his Decimuir with his mind, essentially using it as a pager. He would be waiting for her in the front room, ready to leave this place once and for all...