Beatrice nodded at Bill’s reassurance. He always knew what to say, which had surprised her ever since they had first met, when the underworld had claimed them a pair. He may have been shy at first, but the girl was a keen storyteller, and enjoyed making him laugh with her tales of mischief and funny quarrels between the royals. Whilst fixing the hair of a young princess one fortunate day, she even got to overhear some royal women talk gossip about the men they fancied from other empires, which stirred a rowdy debate. Supposedly, Shepai bore many ‘unfairly attractive men with feet that tended to dance negatively, away from us!’, as one lady put it to cause Beatrice to chuckle.<br/><br/>Even though they had lived between the same walls in their previous lives, the two children would have never become such good friends unless they had died around similar times… It was a scary thought, putting it that way, but nonetheless she was grateful to work with someone so patient to stand her own character. Her small, plaited head bobbed slowly to the tune of Kiade’s Third Sonnet, mouthing a small part of the lyrics as grubby hands and muddy eyes peered through the leaves.<br/><br/>O, thy child<br/>Thy desperate eyes<br/>Look o’er the waters<br/>And stray from despise<br/>O, thy ch-<br/><br/>And then it stopped. Duke Curtis’ eyes hollowed out like faded mothballs as he slowly sank back into his chair. It was as though he were sleepwalking, unconsciously, magically stepping backwards and completing his peaceful death as heavy eyelids settled atop his complexion. Beatrice’s eyes glimmered, refracting the marvellous moon above them, jumping out of the shadows as soon as Bill had settled in his axe unto him. Gripping her sword, the prose on her weapon glowed and dissipated away. Like a calm army of fireflies, the girl could see the man’s memories exude around Bill, and before they completely disappeared after the boy reviewed them, she reached out her sword and poked at a couple of these ‘memory orbs’, latching onto them and opening them up…<br/><br/>Beatrice looked down at her hands, or rather, the Duke’s elegantly gloved hands, and when the memory guided her eyes upward she was looking at the unmistakable chandelier of a royal ballroom! Ladies in gorgeous gowns blushed and stirred as soon as they looked towards Duke Curtis; Bea’s first person observation from the man’s eyes brought a delighted grin and giggle to her face, dancing around these bright memories as they filtered into her vision. Grabbing onto another memory, she peeked into another aspect of his life.<br/><br/>But it wasn’t the same.<br/><br/>Beatrice looked down. There was a tiny, dirty hand in the Duke’s palm. A hand that Beatrice recognised; a child slave to the King. This was a recent remembrance. With a swift, harsh movement, he lifted the hand and threw it to the side of him, sending its defenceless, bony recipient crashing to the ground. Beatrice widened her eyes in shock, angered but so helplessly forced to dare stray her eyes away, reflecting the face of the opposing child that she could do naught to help. Revolted, she waved away the memory viciously from her face. She felt disgusted to have treated Duke Curtis so highly, to have wished to be in his shoes - to let people like this carry on behind closed doors. Before the memory completely left, the man’s deep voice resounded through her thoughts…<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">You don’t deserve to be regarded a person, do you?</span><br/><br/>“What the HELL did he just say?!” Her sword spun between her fingers, snapping them towards the perished body, swooping around and stopping short to barely graze his chin. She gathered her spit together with furrowed brows and spat nastily at the ground beneath his shoe, biting her thumb at him before spinning around to see what Bill had thought. Tears pricked at her eyes as she saw that Bill had reacted in a similar way. They were breathing proof that despite trading their souls to that of a darker hue, they were as human as human could ever get. How could the Duke say that? Wasn’t he a bleedin’ gentleman in their society?<br/><br/>She huffed. Growled. Bit her lip. Tentatively, with each passing second, her movements turned sluggish, fumbling for a moment with putting her sword back into its sheathe. She slowly made her way over to him, facing his back, her digits fixating a tenacious grip on Bill’s arms. “Bill,” she croaked, “you hafta promise me, that when you become old and think old-people things, when your back be achin’ and you find small things like the moon suddenly oh-so wondrous to look at… Ne’er in your whole entire existence<span style="font-weight: bold">dare</span>become a<span style="font-style: italic">gentleman</span>like him. I’ll ne’er forgive you if you do. And I’ll slap you with my strong hand.” She frowned at her words, bending down to bury her flustered face atop his scapula, fingers tense around his upper arm. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re not like them.” The dodo quietened its actions for a solemn moment as fountain water turned a dark, murky pool of constellations and building shadows crawled closer towards them.<br/><br/>“Alright. Let’s go before we get spotted!” She stepped to the opposite side of him to meet him face to face, offered a small smile, and took a few steps backwards to usher them back into the directions of the hallway, and eventually down into their rooms. “By the way, what’re we gonna do with the bird?”