#AC:Unity- Confluence

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Dear mutuals, how are you all doing????

After so long since my last WIP Wednesday, allow me to share with you a few words from all the chapters I have been working on while I was without WIFI!! <3 I truly hope you will like them!

(...) “I dare beg your pardon, mademoiselle,” Mathias murmured, his hands leaving the keys of the piano as if they had suddenly turned scalding hot. “It was not my intention to cause you torment,” With a quick gesture, he put on his soft gloves again, hiding away his scars, feeling the shame he always felt at the sight of them.

When Dorothea raised her face from her own hands to look at him, eyes were swollen from all the crying or her nose and cheeks splotched with white and purple stains, Mathias felt mortified for having been the cause of such heartbreak.

What caught him off guard and caused him to feel washed over with sympathy for her was the absolute emptiness inside those gray irises. That void, that absolute desolation, he had seen it and known it, times and times over, every single moment his dark eyes had the misfortune of landing in a mirror, after the great fire, when he thought there was no hope for a better day, no consolation in knowing that the dark of the night would soon end and the sun would kiss him again with his rays.

He stood there one moment longer, apprehension growing in his chest for he felt unfit in how to approach her, not knowledgeable in what to do or say to bring whatever comfort he could to that strange woman.

Had she been one of his sisters, he would have taken her in his arms and embraced her until all tears had left her; he would have jested, suggesting her that they could go for ride outside of Paris or pick up some flowers that he could braid in their hair.

But this woman was different, more akin to how his Lady Mother was in the way she carried herself. He tried to recall how his father would console his mother, but couldn’t.

He bowed his head, standing awkwardly next to the piano and considering if to take his leave so not to inconvenience her any further when she finally spoke.

She whispered something barely audible from the tightness of her throat.

“Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle, I…I am afraid I didn’t hear what you said,”

“It was my father’s favourite,” she repeated with broken voice, her eyes looking at the piano with desperate affection.

She stood up, the gown that Colette had given her almost creating a tray behind her for how much bigger it was, it almost made her look like a ghost.

“I was afraid I would forget it, afraid that whatever happened to me - whatever made me lose my mind - might also take away whatever memories I had of the people I loved the most. So, I wrote the song down,” she started to say, heavy tears started to roll down her cheeks again as she caressed the keys with gentle hand.

Mathias could understand only partially what she said, but the pain behind her words was unmistakable.

“Your father played the piano, mademoiselle?”

She nodded, as a tiny smile full of bitter regret touched her lips.

“He did. He does. Splendidly so,” she hiccuped, heart squeezing in her chest. “As a child, I could always hear him playing at night. I would sneak out of my bedroom and sit just outside his solar door, listening. My mother used to sit beside him, there, always there, always at his right, and they would sing and sing and sing to one another, laughing. Byron would find me asleep in the corridor, and tuck me away in bed, and then I would dream of songs and laughter and dances and happiness,”

She sat at the piano bench, pressing one or two keys, before lowering her head to give her tears way to fall in silence once more, staining the light fabric of the nightgown as they landed on her knees. Her chest heaved, the only sign that she was sobbing, holding within all of her pain.

Mathias’s eyes turned down in sadness in seeing all that suffering.

Gently kneeling at her side, he looked at her, offering his most comforting smile.

“I do not pretend to fully comprehend what happened, Mademoiselle, nor am I so presumptuous to say that I know what you must feel. But I promise, on my honour, we will discover what happened to you, and if there is a way to bring you back to your family, if there is a path, we will find it. You have my word. As an Assassin.” Dorothea raised her eyes, furrowing her brow for a moment. Assassin? (............)

(......) “Kill him.” Byron murmured. “But Lord Harrison-“ Byron walked up to his face. “If you think Lord Starrick would allow any piety toward our enemies, you have no wits to yourself whatsoever. Kill him, Master Barclay. I won’t ask it again.” Markus’ whole face transformed, body reacted almost against his will, and with hands trembling, he made the mistake of looking for one moment into the eyes of the Assassin sitting on the floor. The silent plea of mercy was there, all written in watery blue eyes. The gun went off with a deafening boom. Byron looked once more to the desolated rest of the two Assassins, his face not letting transpire a single emotion. If anyone were to look upon him, one would have thought him bored by the whole ordeal. But this would have been the furthest from the truth. He looked at Markus, whose face was pale and covered in sweat as if he was about to either retch or pass out. Byron narrowed his eyes as he walked just by him, his footsteps heavy as if to underline the solemnity of his pace He stood by the Master Templar without so much deigning him of a glance. When he spoke, he saw the man flinching. “I do not take insubordination kindly, Markus. Defy my order again and I will make sure that no one will ever find you ever again. You have taken an oath. You were given a second chance and I will make sure that you follow through with it. I will see you abide by it by any means necessary, or I swear on what I hold most dear in this life, I will make you regret the day you have set foot inside the Manor. Understood?” Markus turned to look toward the man that was towering over him, his voice a squawk that died in his chest before it could pass through his lips. A shaky nod was all that he could muster. Satisfied with the response, Byron walked past him, never turning to face either the Master Templar or the slaughter of the room. As he walked past the entrance door, he saw Victor reaching out to him, his dark eyes looking just past his shoulders with worries. “Mylord,” “Yes, Master Dorian?” “I received a message from Master Starrick the Youngest. You are needed in White Chapel as soon as you can,” Byron nodded, as he took the short telegram from his pupil’s hands. He skimmed through the message with careful attention: even if the words were written with great economy, the urgency of its tone couldn’t be denied. When he raised his eyes to meet Victor Dorian’s apprehensive gaze, his lips were thinned in a grimace of almost satisfaction. “Your Commands, My Lord?” “I shall answer the Young Master Starrick’s call. I will go alone. Keep Markus with you. And before you head back to London-“ Byron turned to look at the small house, hatred seeping into all his being like a poison spreading in his veins with every heartbeat.”- Burn everything and then spread salt upon the soil. I want to see this place erased from the face of the Earth,”

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