The wall shook and roaches fell from the rafters on Lydia’s head. She shuddered and knocked them to the floor. Scuffling and that voice saying,<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“Its Shenyo,”</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>That voice sounded like equal parts thunder across the distant mountain, whiskey and honey and command. Lydia responded  to it with total trust. She sheathed the atheme on her thigh.<br/><br/>Then she heard,<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“Its safe but we need to leave.”</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Cracking the false door, she edged out among the dresses of wool and the cape of velvet. Silently as possible, she pressed against the inside of the wardrobe door. Standing in her small room was a robed figure holding a dripping heart in his hands that looked distorted, perhaps by the blood that coated them.<br/><br/>Lydia glanced at the noble who was bleeding out on her floor and watched as his face turned black as the true death began to claim him. The heart still beat slowly in the man’s hand.<br/><br/>“Burn it.” She said swiftly, heading toward the still room where her pentagram waited, undisturbed and the fire crackled merrily in a small way.<br/>“Toss it in and we can go safely in the knowledge that that one can not live again.”<br/><br/>Lydia gathered her Grimoire in a carpet bag and took her woolen cape from the hook. It was a glossy black shot through with gray, made in the manner of those of Caledonia. She readied herself while she waited on the cloaked man.<br/><br/>