"Well then."
His voice echoed in a now empty room - dreadfully empty. Gone were the various books that once adorned the shelves on the walls of the oval chamber, the mahogany drawers that were now pulled and were lazily hanging from the desk. There was not a single piece of memory from the previous owner if one could exclude the large portrait that was still hanging from the wall, still framed by the black drapes of shame. The cold eyes of the former Magister were staring down from the canvas, only to see a life's work and collection stacked away into wooden crates.
Apologetic eyes were looking up at the painting as the Dawn Priest was examining the work by the apprentice's eyes. Not that his eyes would find any errors. There was nothing forgotten in any area of the barren area; had there been the slightest thing, it would stand out. In spite of that, Emberray approached the wall to his right, carrying out the inspection. He lifted his hand to run a flat digit against the woodwork, humming. Not a mote of dirt had stuck to the white glove.
"I took the liberty of cleaning as well." Celysiel explained, without moving any further from the large door that separated her from the corridor behind her. Frantically, the fingers of her left hand sought the journal that ought to have been hanging from her belt, feeling a sting of panic when nothing was found. It took a moment for her to remember that it had been left behind deliberately lest the copied texts and stolen notes were somehow found. "There was dust, which was quite unpleasant."
"Interesting." mumbled the Dawn Priest, without removing his gaze from the glove. "I did not expect dedication of that level to your task."
"It is what I do for a living, my Lord." the youth explained, showing no lack of respect towards the individual, even if not a single ounce of it was sincere. "I clean. It would not be proper to leave any dust behind. My job would not have finished."
Amusement appeared to find the man's features as he finally spared Celysiel a glance, along with a hint of digust. "A maid." he scoffed.
It pleased the apprentice greatly to be underestimated. Hardly ever did she refuse to look at one's eyes while carrying a conversation, though now she gladly lowered her head, as if to give the other a better impression of how lowly and incompetent this commoner was. Quite content with her behaviour, Emberray moved away from the shelf, though his eyes soon thinned at they met those of the painting. Tension grew on his shoulders, making them visibly stiffen. There was rage building in his form alike, something that Celysiel noticed. She tried to step back in the sea of crates, the endless ocean of knowledge locked away, knowledge that was hers. But just then, the Dawn Priest took a deep breath in order to soothe his fury.
"You disappoint me, Ashfury." is all that came out of his lips eventually. "I thought we had an understanding."
Great was the temptation to raise her eyes and look at him, though the male elf appeared to be among those who preferred the subordination of others. Celysiel had asked and, as was natural, her questions had borne fruit. A pureblood and prodigy Emberray was, a man whose powers in the Light were related to faith, though his character was little forgiving to foes and those he deemed incompetent. Thus the girl kept her head low and tried not to wonder which of all her crimes he had noticed.
"Did I do anything that displeases you, my Lord?" she asked softly.
His reply came with a sharp gesture of his hand towards the portrait. Flaring digits with the holy energies' radiance hinted that his rage was there still, carefully contained under a visual mask of serenity, though true serenity was absent. "Do you not recall what we discussed?" he asked, his voice strong, echoing in the oval chamber. "These people exist no more. That portrait should have remained covered."
Suddenly, Celysiel realised her error. She shot her head upwards, blinking eyes matched with a gaping mouth. "I..." The gears in her mind started working quite fast to weave a lie, so she would not have to admit the truth. That she liked being under that ghost's gaze. That his presence was a fond one, for he had not always been a traitor, but a seeker of knowledge, just like herself. Idealized in her mind, a stranger to whom she had given her own identity now that her locket had fled. But perhaps that was not needed. Not with the Surveyor's return in the Sanctum.
"I pulled the drapes, thinking I needed to remove whatever was there too, but the portrait was too large to be brought down. I then tried to close them but couldn't and then I... I guess I simply forgot about its presence."
It came with a shrug of her shoulders, one that she was certain that Emberray would deem insolent. However, the priest took a deep breath and nodded. "That is it." he agreed. "Forget them, it is what these traitors deserve. To rot in the darkness that has swallowed them for what they have become. They are degenerates."
But we could be so much more.
No.
It took true effort from Celysiel to keep her features neutral as that mocking echo was heard into her voice. Frantically, her eyes looked around in the room, expecting to find a mirror, though none could be spotted. And yet, there it was, the remnant of the stolen shadow that was still lingering behind. Who was to blame for this? With less sympathy than before, the apprentice directed her eyes to the portrait that presented the figure of Maridren Ravenfall. He was idolized now more, for if he had truly become a tool of the Void, like others, did he deserve her sympathy?
She knew very well what she could become if that emotion was indeed spared. That outsider, that wretch, the image on the mirror.
"Degenerates." the youth agreed, resisting the shiver that threatened to shake her frail form. "Though, if there is nothing else for me..."
"No, Ashfury." mumbled Emberray, with his eyes locked on the canvas. "There is nothing for you. Consider your debt to our glorious Kingdom paid."
Celysiel offered no comment to these words. She only lowered her head deeply to the Dawn Priest, before offering the traditional farewell. "Blood for the Fallen."
"May the Light guide us all."
As she left, the apprentice never saw the holy flames, but she felt their suffocating sensation, heard their trembling on the man's hands. Nor did she ever see the black stain spreading across those inquisitive eyes of the former Magister as his face on the canvas was burnt away, the Light showing the traitor no mercy.
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