France

Please await the introductory post.

The cobbled courtyard seemed to glitter in the sun of late afternoon. The burbling of a fountain could be heard only a few feet away; coming from all directions. Wind rustled softly through the leaves of the trees, and birds chirped from their sweeping branches. Nobles paced quietly down the gravel paths, admiring ponds full of fish, but more often admiring each other. There was gossip, there was giggling. There was an air of early-spring love in the air. The world was warming, and so were the hearts of the court.
All except Cyrille's.
In years past, Cyrille had bubbled just like these silly young nobles. He had smiled and run in the grass, sat on the hill with a good book and enjoyed the feel of the water on his toes. He had gossiped like an old maid and chattered with those he had once called friends. He had flirted, courted, chased the young women of both the court and the street. He had spent nights disgracefully drunk at local taverns. He had sparred with those he called brothers.
He had talked to his sister.
But no. Deonne was dead now. He had found her like that, nailed to the ceiling, her blood forming a pool on the floor beneath. He still remembered slipping, falling in it. Remembered how it had covered him, hot and sticky, from head to toe.
How it had filled his sense with scarlet and iron and salt.
His boots clicked lightly over the stones. He scanned the area. Deonne had come here often, to these gardens, to spend time with her lady friends, and with the queen who was so very fond of her. She had been such a sweet girl.
Why? Who would have wanted to kill her?
He couldn't imagine.
His fist clenched over the note in his hand. Someone had written it. Written it in blood; her blood; and left it on her doorstep.
Meet me in the courtyard at noon-time. Near the mermaid fountain. Wear only black, and a feather in your hat.
And so he had come here, wearing lack, with a feather in his hat and his long golden hair done up in a sleek braid. He did not know what was waiting for him here.
He only knew that he recognized the handwriting. It was Deonne's. It was impossible, but the script on the letter was Deonne's.
Who had she wanted him to meet here?


(Patrick Giroux, talk to Van Giroux, your older brother. I sent him a message detailing the Deonne you knew and the organization from which you come.)

Antionette sat casually on a bench inside 'Madame La'mour's House', the walls were cream with wooden lining and lamps out of the side of the wall. Next to her was Prier, a girl who hads joined shortly after Antionette was forced to, Prier came willingly and stayed there because she didn't midn the way of life, but even through the different circumstances they were there for they were still fairly close. Still, they weren't as close as she and Deonne were, Deonne was basically her best friend and they talked everyday, but the passed few days Antionette was left waiting alone for Deonne at the bakery they met at but Deonne never showed for any of them. The worry reasonated on Antioneete's face as a man walked by her and escorted Prier off the bench into the back.

Antionette sighed and curled her knees up to her chest and sighed as she rested her hands on the top of her knees, the short dress revealed almost all of her long shapely legs and the semitransparent lace over shirt ruffled around her bottom as she sat on the bench. She wasn't expecting a customer today, but she still had to wait on the bench just incase a walk in came. The time passed and Antionette slowly got off the bench and walked back to her private room and changed into clothes more approriate for a woman. She put on a short sleeve pesant cut top dress that was cinched to her small waist and floowed freely down to her ankles. She slipped on some white shoes and tied her hair up in a ponytail, sighed, checked herself once over in the mirror, and left for the bakery again.

The streets weren't too crowded for the time in morning it now was and it was a lovely day. Antionette took in a deep breath of air and smiled as she walked, the smell of breads, sweets, and tea filled her nose as she came to the bakery. There were a few people in there already, she walked in bought a coup of tea and a croissant and sat at a table as she proceeded to wait for Deonne in her usual fashion. She sat on the outter patio of the bakery at a table with a parsol on it. She could see some men looking at her and hear them talking about talking to her, they looked to be around her age if not a year or two younger. She simply smiled to herself and sipped some more of the tea as she waited for Deonne.

The candles flickered, and shadows crept over the red wood walls. The blazing noon-sun peeked through a small opening in the dark, velvet curtains. A man shrouded in black clothing sat silently, as he gazed into one of the small candle flames. His jaw was perched atop his hand, which held steady his tilted head. To the untrained eye he would almost appear to be dozing off into a light slumber. He was not. He was fully aware and awake to his surroundings, however dreary they may have been.

Van Giroux sat silently, his breathing calm, and his conscious lost in thought. He remembered that night. The night when another one of them died, the night when one of them was brutally murdered. He pondered relentlessly on how it could have happened. He never thought once that it was possible for Deonne Bonnaire to be killed in such a way. However, Van Giroux was not a man to simply dismiss unanswered questions. Someone would slip. A tell-tale heart would come to surface, and Van Giroux would find out the truth from which to all was a mystery.

Van rose from his seating, and strutted to the edge of the curtained window. He peeked out the narrow opening between the curtains, in which the light of the sun began to sting his dismal eyes. He squinted in response to this greeting from the day, and peered down from above. The window at which he presently stood was on the second story of the Royal French Castle. It contained a large outdoor courtyard on its premises, which displayed several beautifully crafted statues along it cobble-stone walk ways. It also offered a view of an illustrious lake, whose steady waters often caught fluttering sparkles of the sunlight or moonlight. But, it was the sunset, and evening skies at which everyone’s eyes revered. The fiery red strokes of the sky were only as spectacular as the lake reflected them to be. It was one of the many luxuries of this grand estate.

Van exited his study, and advanced to the heartfelt gathering in the courtyard. Three days after Deonne Bonnair’s death, and yet they still engaged in common celebration. Even he was bewildered by the public’s forgetfulness at times. Van stepped through the entrance to courtyard, the small metal gate creaking behind him as it shut. He glanced over the small, sorted crowd. Young nobles mingled about with one another. Most were sipping a fine French coffee, while others had the acquired taste of an English branded tea. The two aromas competed with each other, as if to say the two cultures themselves were at war.

Van passed by the youth without a second thought. They were quite often mischievous amongst one another, a set of affairs Van would most commonly avoid. Their parents on-the-other-hand, were quite the opposite. Van would take the time acquaint himself with these elders, so as to stay on their more pleasurable side, no matter what the circumstances. It was his insurance in-case their children ever went as far as to challenge his prestige.

Van walked over and greeted an elder noble. “You look to be in good health, Duke Gerard.” Van said, a modest smile stretching over his face. The plump man chuckled in response, and laid a hand on his rounded belly. “It’s always a pleasure to see you Van. Whenever I do, I see a man void of any disrespect to the crown and its followers.” Van lowered his eyes, and folded his arm to his center, as he took a slight bow to the Duke. “And it is always a pleasure to hear such compliments from a gracious man as you, my lord Duke.” The Duke chuckled once more in amusement, as Van lifted from his bow with the same modest smile. The Duke looked to the side at his equally plump Duchess. “He really is quite the gentleman isn’t he, Abella?” The woman revealed a joyous smile, her distasteful lips coated in a pale red lip-stick. She nodded. “He is indeed. I-“ Before the woman spoke, in the corner of his eye, Van caught the wandering figure of a what he couldn’t discern to be a woman or man, dressed in black, with a feathered hat. He found this to be quite odd, as this person was only standing, nothing more, nothing less, just standing. Van smiled once more, though displaying an expression of apology to the Duke and Duchess. “Forgive me for this sudden retreat, but I have just spotted a dear, dear friend of mine, and I am inclined to go greet him. I pray you do not fault me for this, my lord Duke and lady Duchess.” The couple raised their brows, and smiled, until the Duke finally spoke. “Well, of course not Van, but you’ll have to make up for it in our next meeting.” Van smiled, and took his leave, though the moment his back faced the couple, his smile faded. His sights were set on this shady “black hat.” As he strutted forth, he wondered who this person was.

Cyrille was not unaware, like some. He knew when someone was watching him, and he knew when that someone approached him.
As such, he turned now to gaze at Van. His eyes narrowed at the man who approached.
"And you are?" He asked coldly. His bearing was tall, strong, and straight. Standoffish, almost.
He trusted no one, after recent events.

@}'-,--



The shade drifted quietly down the street. She appeared a normal human, except that her passing sent chills down the spines of humans.
It was outside the bakery that the shade paused, a small smile on her face. Ah, what a familiar place. So many long hours spent here, laughing with Antionette.
And there she was; the shade could see Antoinette, sitting there, waiting again for Deonne to arrive.
Deonne...
Well, Deonne couldn't come.
Her shade, however, had come to summon her to the proper place, at the proper time.
The image of Deonne stood in the street, smiling at Antoinette, waiting for the girl to follow her to the royal palace.

Antionette was waiting for Deonne, it was almost time for her to leave, she sighed and started to get up when she looked to the side, she did a double take and then say Deonne, she was sure of it. She smiled at Deonne and was about to wave when someone walked infront of her and she was gone. Antionette walked to were Deonne was standing and looked around. She saw Deonne's back walking around a corner on a nearby alley, she ran to catch up to her and looked around again. The procces kept repeating, slowly she was getting lead into the richer parts of town and soon she was at the gates of the Royal Courtyard.

She looked around, the heels of her shoes clacking softly on the cobble stone path way she looked down the alleyways and asked anyone if they had seen someone who fit the description of what Deonne had this day. some shook their heads others huffed off and some actually scolded her for being a pesant in this part of town uninvited. She would just smile and thank them all and kept looking. A guard near the gate saw her and elbowed another guard near him, "Look at that cutie, she seems lost eh?" he said and then he walked over to Antionette. "Miss can I help you with something?" he asked as he looked her up and down.

Antionette smiled up at the guard and nodded, "Yes Please, one of my friends is a noble, we were supposed to meet today, I guess she wanted to try out a game of hide and seek, though I personally think we're a bit old for that. I followed her here," she said as she started to explain Deonne's appearence. "Please, have you seen her?" she asked.

"No, but come to the gates if you see her in the courtyard we can go in and get her for you," the guard said as he rested his hand on her lower back and lead her to the gate. She looked around sadly through the gates and sighed. Her golden hair shimmered in the sunlight and her pale skin seemed to glow, her dark lashes fell hevily over her deep blue eyes as she looked sad as her hopes had been crushed.

"She's not here, I'm sorry to bother you," she said as she was about to turn and walk away.

Van’s eyes augmented in shock when the suspicious figure turned and faced him. “Deonne…?!” His voice was a no more than a slight whisper. It was only seconds later that the person spoke, and Van realized this young man’s apparel had gotten the best of him. Van stared at the boy, his eyebrows furrowed. He was confused as to why this particular individual would be here, dressed in such a peculiar attire. His eyes narrowed, as he addressed the boy in suspicion. “I never expected to meet you, Cyrille. You look just like her…” Van paused for a second after his words trailed on. “I am Van Giroux. But, why are you here, of all places? I wouldn’t think it to be of the norm for you to stand so… overtly, next to this fountain.” Van raised his brow, as he stepped the side, and stood directly next to Cyrille, though Van’s shoulder was reasonably higher than Cyrille’s. He was intending to stand with Cyrille. This minor seemed up to something, whether it was a game of some sort between friends, or an affair of higher consequence, Van felt it was at least respectable to speak with the brother of his fallen comrade.

---------------------------

The Duke and Duchess whom Van had previously departed went on to discuss political matters with other nobles of the palace. This is, until the Duke spotted a familiar face. He smiled and wobbled over to the entrance gate of the courtyard. He paid no mind to the guards. His eyes were only set on the young lady standing behind the waist level bars. He chuckled, his double-chin rippling as he carried on. “I didn’t expect to see you here Miss Clairmont.” Without allowing the girl to answer, he motioned his hand to the guards to let her to walk through the gate. “Please, come in!”

Cyrille stared at him.
"Van Giroux," He repeated stoically, "You knew Deonne?"
Of course he did. He'd almost told Cyrille that he looked just like his sister. Naturally, he would have to know Deonne to know how similar they looked.
"Did you send me this?" He demanded, pulling the envelope out of his jacket and handing it to Van.

Meet me in the courtyard at noon-time. Near the mermaid fountain. Wear only black, and a feather in your hat.

"I've been waiting. To meet whomever sent this to me. They're supposed to know something about my sister's death."

Partying for the sake of partying. It seemed like such a useless task. So a few got to enjoy themselves, but they wasted so many resources that could have been used to help people. Not to mention a celebration so soon after what had happened? It had been what, 3 days since Deonne's death? Did they have no hearts? No souls? Patrick couldn't stand being around them at first. They were almost cruel, rejoicing during what should be a sorrowful time. Even if they didn't like her, they shouldn't be partying after her death.

Patrick found himself outside of the Palace. He often liked to sneak off when Van wasn't looking and walk through the nearby wooded area, next to the Palace. There was a nice clean pond inside of it, that was easy to find if you knew where to look. It was one of his favorite places to be. As he reached the edge of it, he found a turtle. It looked as if he had gotten into a fight with a small, animal, but enough to do some decent damage. Damage that would be fatal if left unattended. Possibly a Fox or something like that. It looked like the turtles hard shell won out overall though, sparing the turtle from being eaten.

"Well look at you. Poor thing, you're bleeding and you shell is damaged pretty bad. Tell you what, I'll heal you and all you have to do is be a listening ear." He smiled as he started healing the small turtle. It fit in one hand perfectly, and despite getting blood all over Patrick's hand he could only smile at it. Although as he found the rock he usually sat on he sighed. "You know a friend of mine recently died. I wish I could have gotten to know her better, because I had this feeling she wasn't exactly honest and open with us. I guess it just wasn't in the cards to be that way though. I guess most would say I probably try to hard, or wish for too much."

Patrick layed back while still hanging on to and healing the turtle. "Maybe I do who knows. I just want to help everyone that needs it. People that won't open up though aren't the easiest to help. Everyone needs a hand every now and then though. You know what I think about most about my friend's death though? Not who killed her like most would. What was it like for her to die alone though? I mean obviously to be murdered she wasn't alone, but... I dunno I just hope a friend is nearby when my time comes. I'd hate to die without a true friend nearby."

By the time he had finished talking to the turtle he wasn't sure how long had went by, or how long ago he'd finished healing the poor thing for. The Turtle did seem content with staying in his hand though. Patrick knew if he didn't get to the party though, he'd have Van looking for him in no time. That wouldn't be good, after all Van seemed to like these somewhat. At lease deep down maybe. getting up and walking the turtle over to the pond he placed him at it's edge. "Be more careful Mr. Turtle. Maybe we'll see each other again sometime." He said with a smile as he started walking away.

It didn't take all that long to get back to the Palace, and once it was in view he sighed. Although the guards were letting someone that he'd never seen before in. Not that it really mattered to him, things never really got all that interesting around there. In truth he'd much rather be out traveling the world and just helping people. Although he was much too trusting according to Van. Patrick always respected his brother and he couldn't imagine going off on a journey without him. As he reached the gates the guards knew him. Neither said anything to each other, besides a greeting and Patrick was soon let into the Palace. Oh joy, another gathering that is naught but a waste of time. He thought to himself as he looked around a bit.

Antionette was surprised to see the duke, she was looking to closely for Deonne that she hadn't noticed him, if she had she would have left sooner, now it was too late. "W wait Duke Gerard! Please really I shouldn't be here," she opposed quietly as he lead her in through the gates. She kept her hands clasped together infront of her and kept her eyes low to the ground.

Duke Gerard simply smiled and let his jolly chortle bellow out. He took Antionette by the arm, and ushered her about through the crowd. There were round, mid-sized tables set up in one area of the courtyard. They were of the finest quality of chizzled stone. The tables were amassed with mounds of decoratvie food. The Duke walked over to a table with Antionette in arm. He motioned his hand over the eatable delights with a smile. "Pick whatever you like, Miss Clairmont. I'm sure you must be famished."

Antionette meekly shook her head, she knew if she ate anything here more than likely she'd have to pay for it one way or another, "N No really, I just came from the bakery, I was just looking for someone." she said softly. She started to look around, it was clear she was uncomfortable being there atleast that's why it seemed why she eas uncomfortable. A pretty yet fraile looking girl who's body and clothes screamed commoner. Some people snickered at her, some looked on in curiousity, and some even approached the duke to as how he knew her, one man approached the duke and started to converse with him about her and both of them walked off else where while talking about her.

She looekd around again trying to find Deonne, "I know I saw her come here I know I did," finally she saw what looked like Deonne in a black outfit with a white feather in a hat, she couldn't tell from the distance thought. She started to walk over but she had been so engrossed in her hope that it would be Deonne that she bumped into another man. She took a couple steps back and caught her balance and her mind went into a slight scramble, "PLEASE don't be an overly angry noble," she thought to herself as she looekd at the man she bumped into. He was fair skiined with blonde hair, deep green eyes, and dressed in nice clothes, but then again everyone was better dressed than here there, even the servants.

"I I I'm so sorry, this was really all my fault, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going," she said apologetically trying to beat him to the punch and apologize to him without him yelling at her. "Are you alright, you're not hurt are you, If I ripped any of your clothes Ican pay for them!" she said as she looekd at the man worriedly, truthfully she really couldn't afford any damages to clothes made of that material but she didn't know what else to say. "I I'm Antionette Clairmont," she said as she gave him her name incase he would need it.

Van stared down at the vellum, as it passed from Cyrille’s hand to his own. He read over it once, only to notice it to be written in blood. This was common for individuals trying to threaten one another, but this was not a threat. It was a request. “Are you certain this was specifically to you? I would understand if it was, as it seems to be Deonne’s writing. But, what I do not understand is why this is written in… blood.” He re-eaxmined the penmanship one last time, and lifted his head to face Cyrille. “How exactly did you obtain this, Cyrille?” His voice was not of suspicion any longer. Now he was curious.

"It was on my pillow when I woke up this morning," Cyrille answered steadily, "So, yes, I would assume that it was written for me." He shook his head, "How it came to be in my sister's handwriting, I can not say."
And then a movement distracted him. A common girl, running into a young nobleman.
Who... what was a common girl doing in the Royal Court?
"Excuse me," He murmured, bowing slightly to Van and starting towards Antoinette, "Excuse me!" He called out, swinging back his golden hair. For all the world, the gesture made him look exactly like his late sister, "Is there a problem here?"

As Patrick walked around, he wasn't really paying much attention as to where he was going. Thusly he bumped into a young lady appearing to be close to his age, at least if he had to guess. She was was wearing a long light blue dress, and had long flowing golden hair that reached down past her shoulders. She didn't look very comfortable being there though, but he wouldn't pry as to why. At least not yet anyway. She seemed to almost panic as if he was the type to completely freak out if the smallest thing was wrong after the incident. He could barely get a word in with the way she was trying to apologize. After trying to speak twice he just stopped and waited for her to finish.

After it seemed that she had said what she wanted to, he couldn't help but start laughing a bit. "Now now, calm down. It was just as much my fault as it was yours. There's no need to be upset. I'm not hurt, my clothes are fine and even if they weren't it's no big deal. "I am Patrick Remington Giroux. Although, most just call me Rem. It's a name I rather prefer. You aren't hurt, are you? If you are please allow me to help you, it's kind of my thing, to heal injuries and help people." He gave off a big smile, just as he would when he met anyone knew. However the happiness was short lived.

As he heard someone yell out excuse me, he turned out of a reflex. Anyone would after all, wouldn't they? However what he saw was almost like looking at a ghost. It was like Deonne was running right at them, but that couldn't be, right? Patrick's breathing became noticeably heavier and his whole body became almost ghostly pale. However when the man finally stopped before them Patrick realized that it was in fact someone else, although he looked just like she had. He must have been the brother that she had mentioned before. Although, he never had the opportunity to meet the man before Deonne's passing.

"You look... You must be Cyrille, aren't you? You're almost a spitting image of her..." Patrick shook his head trying to calm down after seeing whom he thought was a ghost. "No... There's no problem, we simply bumped into each other. In fact I was waiting to make sure Miss Antionette here was alright. It would be an awful shame for someone to be hurt here."

Antionette then heard a voice call out to her, "Oh no oh no oh no, that's it, I'm going to be in debt for the rest of my life there's no way out." she thought in horror as she looked from the man she bumped into to where the voice was. She saw it was the figure she thought to be Deonne but upon further inspection she was saddened to see it was a man. She heard the man she bumped into introduce himself in return to her.

"N n no, I I I mean I don't know. I uh I," she paused and calmed herself some, "I wasn't paying attention and I accidentally bumped into this gentleman, I was brought into the courtyard by someone I know, but I came here looking for someone else." she explained, "I'm so terribly sorry for this little commotion," she said as she looked down, she was just about to leave when Rem began to speak to they other man.

"I I'm sorry... did you say Cyrille? Cyrille Bonnaire? Deonne's brother? You must know where she is then?! I usually meet up with here once a day at a local bakery but she hasn't come the past few days I was really starting to worry but I saw her today and she lead me here and and," she stopped getting over excited again and took a deep breath, "She's told me so much abotu you Cyrille, I'm Antionette Clairmont." she said as she courtsied to him.

Duke Gerard walked back to see Antionette talking with them and he smiled, "Ah boys I see you've met my neice Antionette, I'm sure she's in good hands with both of you." he said then he placed her hand on the small of her back and said to here, "We can finish discussing our plans later in the afternoon do enjoy the get together though my dear." he said. Antionette recognized the hand placement as a signal to her she knew he wanted to talk with her in private later but she wondered why he lied and said she was his niecce but she dismissed it quickly.

Cyrille had almost completely ignored the presence of the Duke.
"You... don't know?" He asked quietly, shaking his head so that his long honey-gold braid swayed rhythmically down his back.
He sighed. How could anybody not know? It had been all over the Court. All over the city of Paris. Whispers of shock and horror.
Deonne is dead. The Lady Bonnaire has been murdered. Deonne is gone from us!
"My sister was murdered." He whispered, "Several nights ago."
He glanced away as he said it, to the man she had run into.
"And how is it that everyone I speak to today knew my sister?" He demanded, "Were you the one who sent the letter?"

Antionette had such a happy expression on her face that almost made her seem more radiant, until Cyrille continued to speak. "Wh what?" she said quietly as if she couldn't grasp for air. She looked down at the ground eyes widened and hair in her face. "How could Deonne be dead? I just SAW her!!" she thought to herself as she watched her hands writhe in eachother's clasps. She kept quiet as she tried to convince herself there must have been two Deonnes or that they were playing some sick joke on her. Her chain of thought was broken as Cyrille spoke to Rem about how he was meeting everyone his sister knew, and about a note. She glaced up as Cyrille held out the note to Rem, she red it over with still slightly widened eyes.

She stood still after reading the note and she seemed to have fallen quiet now as if she was extremely tired or in a daze. She was in shock from hearing of Deonne's death, for some reason she couldn't seem to cry though, maybe it was because there were a lot of people around, or maybe because she didn't want to believe it could be true, or possibly because she was too perplexed by seeing Deonne earlier, she was sure of it it HAD to have been Deonne. Everyone seemed to have nothing to say against her being dead, this was too much to them to have planned some cruel prank on the spurr of the moment, it must have been true, and what's more he said she was murdered.

She looked back down at the ground, alowing her golden locks to cover her face as some tears came out her eyes, she wiped the tears away and took a deep breath to calm herself, it only helps so much, she would sob her eyes out later but now wasn't the place for such a show. She looked back to Cyrille and spoke softly, "H How could she have been? I mean who would do such a thing? Sure Deonne's was like anyone else and had people who didn't like her, she was always getting into fights with men when she was around me.... but still nothing to the point where any of them had even threatened or let alone been angry enough to actually do something to her...."

Cyrille looked back to Antoinette.
"I don't know," He answered quietly, "I don't understand it, either. My sister never hurt anyone." He shook his head slightly.
Then he frowned at her description.
"Fighting?" He whispered, "Deonne? She would never hurt a fly...?"
What was going on? Who was this woman that the girl Antoinette had confused his sister with? Deonne had been gentle, quiet, afraid of violence...
A big sister who cared for her little brother and brought harm to no one.

Antionette listened to Cyrille and slowly shook her head as she still tried to hold herself together. "N no, she was always protecting the other girls and me, that's how we met, she saved me by fighting off a man." She spoke softly as a couple tears came out of her eyes and the blue in her eyes was brought out more, most would say she seemed prettier when she cried. She wriggled her hands slightly as she thought about the day Deonne had saved her.

She smiled through the tears streaming down her cheeks and said, "She often spoke of her wonderful beloved baby brother Cyrille, everyday she told me so many stories about you, it seemed like everyday she had something new to say about something you had done." her voice started to crack at the end and she looked down, letting her golden locks hide her face as some more tears came out and she fought back the urge to cry more. She wanted to just sob, "I I'm sorry," she could barely get the words out passed the lump in her throat and kept looking down at the ground.

Antionette then looked over at Rem, she took a moment and said, "H how did you know Deonne Rem?" she asked softly. "I remember we always met at the cafe' every single day, and we spent a lot of time together, she'd always tell off men who couldn't take the hint to leave us alone, and if one tried to grab either of us or any other girl around or with us she fight them away, she didn't put up with any of man not know his limits, and she always followed hers she felt so comfortable with herself like she knew she could get any guy if she really wanted but she never did, I envied her for her confidence...." she said as she smiled remembering Deonne.

Cyrille watched Antionette with a look of deep confusion, and of deep concern. She seemed so sad... she must really have known Deonne, not like these silly flittering nobles, talking of grief and regret when all they really cared about was spying one another. When they were really glad to have Deonne out of their way...
The disgusting traitors...
A shadow passed over his eyes with these angry thoughts.

The shade paused, standing only a few feet behind Van. It tipped its head; the face that looked so much like Deonne's was bright and curious. So these were the people that it had been sent to collect....?
She gave a clear laugh, a bell-like laugh, one that was sure to call the attention of the others.

The laugh was familiar; too familiar. Deonne's laugh. Cyrille jerked around, staring past Van, directly at the shade.
"Deonne?!" He gasped. It was impossible. He'd seen her dead. All that blood...
But no... this figure was translucent.

Van nodded his head in response to Cyrille. He was about to ask another question, but a sudden disturbance in the crowd drew his attention, and Cyrille’s as well it seemed. Van looked on ahead of Cyrille as he moved passed him. Displeased eyes glanced over his brother, and the peasant woman with which he stood. He began to tread after Cyrille, passing a small group of younger nobles. He suddenly stopped in mid-step. He felt as if he was being watched. Van slowly glanced around the crowd, but nothing was out of the ordinary. People were laughing, and the young nobles behind him were chattering up a storm.

This small group of three youthful boys were conversing about a small group of noble girls standing just on the other side of Van. They pushed and shoved each other’s shoulders, daring one another to speak to one of the lovely dressed young ladies. One of the ignorant bunch had apparently been knocked back, and stumbled into Van from behind. Van turned on his heels and faced the boy. Van stared down at the poor lad with a mild glare. “Here, let me help you…” Van snatched the boy up by his arm, and tugged him over to the group of young ladies. They giggled in amusement, as they slightly hid their smiles with their flamboyant fans. Van nudged the boy forward, so much that the young man tripped and fell into one of the girls –his face landing in her chest-. By this time, Van had silently slipped away. This fact only complicated the boy’s situation further, and he was abruptly driven away by the flustered young woman.

Van had stepped next to Cyrille just as Duke Gerard introduced his niece. Van glanced over the woman. He noted the odd fact that she was quite under-dressed for the occasion. A Duke’s family member was always clothed in the most fashionable of garments, yet she was not. Attending a Royal Court gathering in such hand-me down linens was as distasteful as simply walking about in one’s bed robe.

Van nodded his head in regards to the Duke, but his attention was soon regained to Cyrille when he began to mention Deonne’s murder. The girl, Antionette, seemed to be in shock at this news. An incident of such popular concern surely could not have gone unmentioned to her. This was another oddity. She was the niece of a Duke –a renowned Duke at that-, and had not heard any word of Deonne’s death. However, Van’s expression did not adjust to his thoughts. He simply held a plain front.

Van did, however, furrow his brows slightly when the girl began to explain her relationship with Deonne. Her description sounded somewhat similar to the composure of Deonne Bonnaire, but there was indeed a difference. Van then went on to raise a brow when Cyrille described her. He surmised that Deonne must have acted differently when in the company of Cyrille. This didn’t seem completely un-thought of, but the summary of words acknowledging that Deonne would ‘never hurt a fly’ was pushing the quality of her personality quite high.

Van turned his gaze back over to a tear stricken Antionette. He found it a bit suspicious that she kept referring to the presence of men when she spoke of meeting with Deonne. He harbored the thought, until suddenly a high-pitch giggle echoed behind him. Van’s eyes only widened slightly. “That’s…” Van watched Cyrille turn around. He noticed that the boy’s eyes weren’t on him, but in-fact staring past him. Van slowly turned on his heels, only to face the hued figure of Deonne Bonnaire’s shade. Van’s expression was still calm and impassive. Van turned and cocked his head, until he stared down at Cyrille out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t say anything more to it. Simply watch and listen.” He spoke in a steady tone. His eyes reverted back to the shade. He wasn’t entirely expecting this, but now his curiosity was set to new heights.

Patrick stood there silently as the Duke came over and introduced his "niece". Although there was something odd about it. Whenever the Duke lied he always had a small twitch in his eye. Patrick had noticed it a while ago when they were playing Poker. It was his tell. Patrick usually had a meticulous eye for details usually, probably because of the need for it in healing people. He needed to focus on the wound, and every single detail of it, healing it in the proper order. If he messed something up with it, then not only would it be near impossible to tell until it's almost too late, but they could very well die. He'd remember to see what it's about later, as now wasn't exactly the time to. Seemed there was a lot going on lately that wasn't the time for, but Patrick was one to actually care about that.

Patrick was trying to avoid Antionette's question about Deonne. Not that he didn't know, he just couldn't really find the words to say it. After Cyrille had answered her though, Patrick could only look away a bit. This was all so knew, and even if they weren't the best of friends, Patrick still wished that she was alive. "I sent no letter, I am not the one you're looking for." Patrick really didn't care what was in the letter, it wasn't really his business, at least so he thought.

He didn't say much as Antionette went on describing Deonne. There was some similarities but... a nice and kind Deonne? It wasn't exactly what they were used too. Although it was a confirmation to Patrick's theory that there was more to Deonne then they had gotten to see. Although how her brother spoke too.... There was apparently much more then he could have imagined.

As the conversation was turned to him he didn't say anything at first. He let Antionette go on about her experience first. He needed to think about how he would word things, after all he didn't know who this girl was at all. He did put his hand on her shoulder though, trying to comfort her since she seemed so broken up. He could heal almost any wound of the flesh, but his magic couldn't do a thing for a broken heart from a loss.

"Deonne... She was part of the same... the same group that my brother and myself belong too. Think of it as like an exclusive club type thing. Although I wish they didn't have this Godforsaken party today... It's not right..." The last part was more to himself in a tone barely above a mumble. After a few moments pause he sighed a bit. "I can't say that we were the closest of people, but I still considered her a friend. Her loss is a sorrowful blow to this world..."

It wasn't long after that they they all heard it... That small laugh. It was rather unique and unmistakable. He looked at the Shade, knowing exactly what it was. "Van's right. If we can see and hear it, we'll know what she wants soon enough." He didn't realize that he still had his hand on Antionette's shoulder, but it didn't really make much difference. He was more interested in the shade at this moment. What was it doing there? How was it there?

Cyrille had gone a bit... pale. He knew nothing of shades and ghosts and magic. To him, this was his sister, standing in front of him, free of blood and in one piece.
What was going on...?
The shade moved, starting off across the courtyard. It seemed to leave part of itself behind; an afterimage of sorts, as though they were watching through a camera lens that could not quite keep up with her.
"Well?" Deonne's voice sounded, echoing, garbled and uncertain. But Deonne's nonetheless, "Come with me, won't you?"
And the shade started away across the courtyard, moving as though it were perfectly natural for a dead person to abruptly appear in the Royal Palace. And it seemed to be. Certainly, her appearance didn't seem to bother the guests.
They didn't seem to notice her.
Could they even see her?
Cyrille began to think that they could not.
"Should we follow?" He asked in a voice that shook with fear and grief.

Antionette had heard a slight commotion of a girl slapping back a boy with a fan as a, to risk the cliche', tall dark and handsome man walked up. She did agree with the others mumblings and grumblings at the party being hosted today. She really didn't belong there but the duke had lied to make it seem like she did, even though anyone could tell she wasn't dressed for the occassion. She sighed as she continued to think about Deonne and wiped more tears from her eyes, she hadn't even noticed the warmth of the hand on her shoulder till now and she looked back at Rem and smiled faintly up at him, she did appreciate the sentiment.

She had an uneasy feeling for a short few moments and a cold chill down her spine, at first she thought it was the man that had walked up but then her skin lost what little color it held as she saw the same Deonne from the bakery earlier that morning. Her eyes became wide as she heard the bell like giggle she often heard Deonne use when flirting with a man or chattign with her. The ghost started to walk away and once she heard it ask them to follow her Antionette's mind was made up.

Before Cyrille had even finished his question of asking if they should follow Antionette had gently removed Rem's hand from her shoulder and started to walk though the crowds, trying to avoid eveyone as much as possible as she did. She hadn't cared for what the dark man, Van according to Rem, had said; Deonne was appearing before them, ghost, shade, real or imaginary, Antionette could see her which meant that for one reason or another the Deonne there wanted to show them something and Antionette wanted to know what that something was, even if the other three gentlemen didn't.