Beatrice, an orphan rendered servant and friendly, part-time medieval demon’s assistant, generally treated every reaping job, one after the other, with an extended enthusiasm that reflected her increasingly faster, echoing pitter-patters as she flew towards her target. Today was a special case, however, for the elderly man that they were about to review the memories of was none other than the King’s (and all of Gale’s for that matter) beloved, noble Duke Curtis himself! Admired, respected, living among riches and attending parties that peasant children like herself could only dream of… “Oh, how grand his memories must be, Bill-!” She harshly whispered with a grin, wisps of hair floating by her face as she scratched her head at the base of one of her pigtails. “‘Ey, do ye think we could observe him beforehand en study ho-”<br/><br/>Oh.<br/><br/>Bill’s annoyed grip pinned Beatrice’s tangent back to the ground. She raised her eyebrows as her grey rags abruptly sunk back to her legs and swivelled to face the boy, seemingly surprised by his expression. “Ah, heh, sorry, you’re right, Bill. But!" A friendly poke brushed the boy's shoulder. "We ne’er usually get someone just as important as this fellow. I’m<span style="font-style: italic">excited</span>.” Her voice was high pitched but mellow in tonality; an odd mixture of proper language observed through listening to conversations between nobility in the castle, and Gale’s street colloquials that were most predominantly heard in the general public’s local taverns late into the night. Admittedly, even the swearing side of a drunken peasant filtered into her voice when the mood persuaded her, amused that Bill, probably being exposed to such language himself all the time, would find it so scandalous. For a moment, Bill's puffing chest rose and fell more intently than the girl realised. Whoops. What a friend I am, she thought, patting him on the back. Well, maybe it was a little bit too hard of a back pat, but just as caring all the same, until the sheep-haired boy announced them ready to get back on track.<br/><br/>The two of them pursued deeper into the shadows of the corridor and around the bend to the elegant courtyard. Tranquil water hitting the rock of the fountain created ambience over the otherwise eerie quiet of their nighttime pilgrimage. She snorted a snicker at Bill's comment. "Ninny-goat-! Heh, more so a ninny-<span style="font-style: italic">ass</span>." Bill did have a point, though. Besides the strains of hierarchy and class establishing some forms of tension, the Kingdom of Gale and its residents were relatively peaceful. Good thing that it was, for Beatrice had enough problems of her own to battle already. Rumours of Karkherand were told through songs and stories of grandeur, but Beatrice didn't really want to believe any of it until she actually saw such a beast with her own eyes.<br/><br/>Wielding his glorified stick to the dodo, the girl smiled, amused, tilting her head at his comment. "Ehm, naw, I haven't seen a knight like that," she stroked her chin contemplatively, "but a Shepard's axe like yours is real deadly! Maybe you'll start a new movement!" Picking up a stick with him, she pointed her right leg outward, turned on its heel and danced around an imaginary opponent of stone, ready to swivel around and jab a solidified noble figure by the throat until the loud clanking of metal sounded from a castle opening. She slowly put the stick down and turned to glance at Bill, who contrastingly had a much more startled response. Blinking with a small, entertained smile, she guarded the open courtyard suspiciously, looking around as Bill tended to the armour. She wanted to keep a careful watch at each corridor and balcony entrance in the case that anyone within the castle walls may have woken up to investigate. As a pair, they had to ensure they looked out for each other's back; servants such as these two children also couldn't afford getting into any more trouble, as to find themselves kicked out to rot without any guardians to support them.<br/><br/>The clucking of a dodo reverberated along with Bill's voice and Beatrice sighed a wave of relief. Good; it was only one of those silly oddly-shaped chicken things that the Kingdom treasured so much for no reason. However, this pause in their plans passed by and lingered for an unsettling amount of time, settling a small fear at the bottom of her stomach as her partner hadn't yet returned. Staring daggers towards the corridor that Bill vanished off into, the night cloaked around her with bated breath and long, endless seconds. Finally, she heard his voice call back and his silhouette outlined as he returned, giving her a proper reason to sigh. "Goodness, Bill, what took ye so long? Had me worri-"<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">Oh!</span></span><br/><br/>Urgent arms reached out from her sides as she leaped towards him, noticing the fall in his step. Once she observed the cause of his trip, though, she retreated her arms, her lips pursing into a curious smile. From behind his bent knee erupted an excitable, little, feather-wagging dodo! "Oh my<span style="font-style: italic">ged</span>indeed - what the 'ell were you doin' in there to<span style="font-weight: bold">woo</span>a bleedin'<span style="font-weight: bold">dodo</span>?!" A laugh bubbled from her throat, bending down to observe the tiny creature. It stared back before darting its head to Bill. She poked a tongue out and teased, "Birds of a feather fly t'gether. It's daring, strong, and short, just like you!" She patted him lightly on the arm at his small disgruntled groan. "Horaah to your newfound motherhood~ But let's hope this bird-butt companion doesn't get in the way. I swear, if that thing clucks in the dead of silence-" She shot the creature a threatening squint of her eyes in exchange for its dumb, open circular eyes blankly meeting her gaze. With one last scoffing laugh, she reached for Bill's hand and lightly tugged at it, pulling them back onto track again.<br/><br/>The underworld communicated to them through a sense of grim reaper instinct. In the girl's case, the blade of her steel sword casted illusions of small, detailed cursive lettering that only she and Bill could see through their reaper filters for eyes. Today, it marked: 'Duke Curtis. Dies of old age by the stroke of midnight. In a chair at the rear garden of the castle grounds, looking at tonight's full moon.'<br/><br/>"Lucky him, eh? A peaceful death. Won't even hafta know we're here." Calm deaths were easy to take care of, but many times in Gale people died during fights or battles, making things a little bit tricker. One could appear invisible to humans through dark sorcery, but it was another thing altogether to try and pierce a target's heart as accurately as possible if all they did was keep moving around until you let them have their demise. As an experienced grim reaper had explained to Beatrice before she returned to earth, a human's soul was like an agitated, immortal bird in a cage. If the cage rots and rusts through external forces on earth, the bird is not any less trapped. It was only through a reaper's enchanted 'keys' that these souls, these innocent birds, were truly set free.<br/><br/>"Look, do you see him? Apparently his ring's worth half as much as his property," she whispered as she had led them through the courtyard, crouching quietly along the side of the castle and to the back garden before peering through a hedge that was adjacent to the man, sitting only a few metres away. “So, do you want to do the honours?” Slowly drawing the sword from her side, the faint hum of the Duke could be heard, breaking through the chilly night's breeze.