In spite of it all– the endless ventures into Chiropoler (parts known and unknown), rituals gone wrong, and conflicts beyond count– there had been no moment more terrifying than when Ianthe had witnessed the distinct absence in the Prosecutor’s eyes.

Ianthe had always made her way through the power of keen observation. In the same way Cole could dredge up remnants of the past from the barest shred of evidence, Ianthe could decode one’s desires and drives through the ease of conversation between individuals, the crux of the tension in their body– even the luster of an old ring or the lacking tan line beneath it told a story.

Gerard adorns his devotion in the form of dazzling silver– a shield between the people of Luisant and the enemies determined to dethrone them.

Sofie’s commitment to the good to be found in others is unwavering, evidenced so often by the grace given to her actions.

Cadence’s burden is more tangible– her blade an occasional source of strife that nevertheless compels her to shoulder the load for Luisant, even to her own detriment.

Fabron is dedicated, and he never fails to notice another’s hard work. Milo’s care for others goes beyond blood. Pascal’s faith in our priests is unshakeable. Teles misses his wife…

She couldn’t help but to be captivated by people, driven to learn what they care about, what makes them tick. Some would call it nosiness– which it was– but this affinity had been more helpful than not to help change and mold the minds of others in her favor…excepting the Prosecutor.

(Ianthe to Prosecutor Jean) Remove the Belief: Always do as the Inquisition tells me.

There is an absence in his eyes, which appear dark and empty. Your words ring hollow.
He has been so thoroughly conditioned by the Inquisition…there is nothing to be done.

Unsettling could not begin to describe it. Terrifying? Piteous…?

To have your mind so sundered that you could take on no bonds nor beliefs unrelated to your present loyalty to the Inquisition…his eyes were as haunting as they were heart-rending, made worse still by the unearthed knowledge that he had once been a Vecatran himself. Was this the fate that would await those who stayed? Ianthe couldn’t bear to imagine that hollowness belonging to Colibri, Lunette, Valko…

“We should leave,” Valko had agreed. “We should all leave.”

This thought floated to the surface again. It had been a subject of much discussion (and contention) in the final hours of last market. Many had seemed on board with the idea of exploring the world that had been newly-opened to them. Other Vecatrans had found a way to survive by moving around, trading– so Sheamus had confided. Perhaps they could learn.

This thought drove Ianthe to rise from her bed, already a twisted mess following a fitful night’s sleep. She needed to write while her hand was still given the motivation, and the wisdom of omission and etiquette had not yet given way to desperation, as there was another thing that she had observed for certain:

Prosecutor Jean will never allow a Vecatran to deny converting without dying.

cont. in Start Again [Letter to Sheamus]