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Previously [River mood]
#1
Springtime
“Lord Faulkner, you are positively the most handsome of devils I have seen as of late- tell me, dearest, what shall you offer me for my soul today?”

Her ladyship Justine Eleanora Halsbrook nee d’Valois was a strange woman, Lord Faulkner had decided. While he most assuredly enjoyed her company, enjoyed the tea they had away from her husband and the discussions they had over magical theory. They had an accord- he understood the great and important work that she did for the greater magical community and she understood his diplomatic role within his chantry.

Aside from her cabal, the rest of the enlighten world saw little of Lady Halsbrook. Not since the incident with Malcolm Aisley, not since their little world was rocked by his indiscretions. Infernalism, people whispered, but were all too polite to say outloud. She’d dealt with the problem but not without a toll; Lord Faulkner wondered briefly if his dearest Justine ever emerged from that mindscape, if their tea times were just moments of clarity in a mess of sacrifices Euthanatoi make.

“Dearest,” he said in a voice that was soft, that rumbled against her breastbone when she heard it though he sat so far away. It may as well been worlds, “we shan’t jest of such things, lest someone uninformed believe you to be serious.”
“Oh, come now,” she purred, “we all know how I feel about the sanctity of our souls.”
“It still steels my heart to stop.”
“Why, Lord Faulkner, I had not been aware your heart still beat for anything save your Great and Glorious house.”
“You spurn me, dear lady- were it not for the Order I would say my heart beat only for you.”
“Ohhh, dearest,” she huffs, takes a sip of her coffee and looks at him with those starstruck eyes. She wears the raiment of madness so beautifully. Were she not a lady of breeding she would be in an asylum. Were she not a lady of breeding, she would have warped the world to her will long ago, the whole of it twisted to fit those visions of demons and madmen.

He looks at her, those sparkling eyes and those almost untamed ringlets. He could have sworn he saw the barest bits of baby’s breath in her hair. He could have imagined the tiniest of flowers, the reverie of spring in her countenance. He looked at her, with his dark eyes and his overly formal demeanor. He’d known her before this all. Known her before her husband and she had made their summer in India, when she came back with a new and glorious purpose. No longer a creature speaking in flowers and fans, she was creation. She was Change.

“What has you so vexed, Lady Halsbrook?”
“Aleister Crowley,” she sighs.
“Oh dearest, not this again,” he sighs between laughs. Amused, but he loves her rant.
“The man grasps at what he believes is the truth of enlightenment and peddles it with his Golden Dawn and, if what you’ve told me rings true, he comes so close to understanding but his erroneous and terrible assumptions hold him back.”
“He’s a human being thinking outside of the box.”
“He’s a poor excuse of a human will masquerading as a True Seeker… Also, I have met the gentleman. He is a twat.”

Lord Faulkner laughed, reached forward to take Lady Halsbrook’s hand. The Euthanatos met his eyes and smiled, laughed because his mirth pleased her. Because having another was grounding. It was so nice, for a moment, to feel normal, to be reminded of the real world around her. A moment of clarity before the inevitable madness came back.

A sacrifice. A worthy sacrifice for the safety of her homeland.
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#2
Once a month, Justine Halsbrook and Elizabeth Stanley met in the drawing room and attempted to kill one another. 

Elizabeth Stanley was a monster, that much was certain, with her delicate cheeks and her small, soft lips. She was not the picture of a murderer, the difficulty was that her position and standing kept her very much isolated from anyone who would dare be capable of removing her efficiently from the cycle. Others had tried. Others had tried multiple times and found themselves at best wandering the countryside dazed, unaware that they were marked for death by forces unknown. Her presence in Halsbrook manor was always punctuated by the most lovely of floral arrangements. Roses, typically. 

Once Elizabeth had not deigned to visit her dearest friend but, instead, left her regards in the form of flora- primrose and snapdragons, trimmed with the most delicate of violets. When Justine took the bouquet in hand all she heard was screaming, the breaking of a man's sternum wide while delicate primrose took hold. How Elizabeth watched with dead eyes and perfect smile, how the man pleaded with her for it to stop and she merely sighed, gestured on for her gardener to clean up the mess. 

No clue as to where Ms. Stanley stayed, she was an elusive creature. Difficult to find by magical means alone, and those who had been so lucky as to find her often found their end. She took students regularly, those who had a heart for beauty. Or, perhaps, those who lacked tact and needed to learn self control. 

Today, Elizabeth Stanley came- as Elizabeth Stanley often does- with flowers. Variegated tulips. 

Their respective husbands spent their time walking about the manor, to discuss whatever it was that clueless men do when they are surrounded by those who existed on a very different plane. 

"Dearest," Elizabeth cooed, reached forward for the other woman's hands. They met briefly and exchanged polite smiles, "why must you keep yourself inside this tower? I've countless associates who would draw their last breath in order to see your radiant face."
"Oh, Elizabeth, you do know how the outside tires me so," Justine replied as she led the woman to the sofa. Both sat. 

The contact between the two of them was purposeful. This time would be it, or at least Justine hoped it would. This would be the time that her dearest associate would drop face down dead in her parlor and she could leave the fucking help to clean up the mess because she didn't bring several associated back from the British Raj just to dispose of bodies on her own. It wasn't that she didn't want to, it was rather that she merely lacked the upper body strength and had not yet determined the appropriate way to impart to her companions that she needed assistance getting rid of the remains of those who had been granted a Good Death. It was merely easier to have enlightenened individuals on staff who were on board.

"When I'd heard rumor of consumption, I simply could not bear the thought of losing you," Elizabeth clasped her hands more tightly. Something pinged in the air, something sickly wrong. 

It made Justine smile; she could never make the first move. 

"Oh my dear Elizabeth, I am far more hearty than one of your peonies," Lady Halsbrook laughed, releasing the woman's hands and gingerly reaching for their tea. There were ripples on the water, the clouds of milk and cream churned like a hurricane on the horizon. Both women took their cups in hand, held close while their knees touched ever so slightly. They regarded each other with the kind of fondness that polite enemies could. 

"Are you sure? You look ever-so-slightly flushed," Elizabeth told Justine.
"Only the effects of a well-brewed cup of tea, dearest," and a sudden tightening in her chest, a feeling of drowning ever-so-slowly on land (not yet) "which you have not touched."

Lady Halsbrook looked at Ms. Stanley with a look of quiet disappointment, hands still on her teacup, still lest her opponent notice the slight tremor. The sweat on her brow. 

"Oh, how could I forget? You do keep the best of supplies on hand," Elizabeth replied. Took a sip and her eyes widened. Justine's own gaze narrowed, held the other woman's. 

Lady Justine Halsbrook never had difficulty holding the gaze of another. Sought the look in Ms. Stanley's eyes and noticed the sharp look of pain there. Presumed that the ritual would take effect soon enough, like drining liquid fire, down the way, the purest of water- blessed and consecrated. The tea was laced with dried flower petals, the very same that came from Ms. Stanley's own garden. Rife with the memories of those who had fallen to grow them. 

"Finish up now, dearest, this was brewed especially with you in mind," Justine half panted out. She was feeling lightheaded, the world was spinning, the air was getting thin but she was so... fucking... close this time. So close to rendering Elizabeth Stanley back into the stuff that forms the universe, shuffling her off this plane and onto her next incarnation finally. "What's wrong, I thought you would delight in getting to revisit some of your finer moments."

It was enough, and Elizabeth, capped by fury and panic and not knowing this would not be her last moment launched herself at Lady Halsbrook, knocking the smaller woman off the sofa, tea spilling, china shattering and effects dropped in favor of something satisfying, something visceral, something-

"Elizabeth!" her husband snapped. Both women  turned, discheveled and undone staring at Mr. Stanley, a clueless man. A lovely pawn. But, sometimes, he did have moments of clarity, did have moments when he realized his wife's behavior was erratic. He had moments when he was, in fact, more than just the moving shell Elizabeth Stanley needed him to be. 

Justine sat up, coughing, gasping for breath that just wouldn't come. Like her corset was too tight, like her lungs refused to pull in enough air, like she was suffocating herself-

"She was choking," Elizabeth chimed, pale and shaking, hiding all too well that the tea she'd just imbibed did a good job of highlighing her insides with Holy Fire, that it would have burned a hole through her very being had Justine been able to keep the effect itself going. She stood quickly and offered Lady Halsbrook a hand up. 

For appearances, she took it, and immediately collapsed on the sofa, coughing blood delicately into her gloved hand. Her grasp on consciousness was tennuous at best. Lor dHalsbrook arrived soon enough, going carefully to his wife's side. 

"Nothing some rest won't cure," Oswald Halsbrooksaid, "please Mister Stanley, do not take my Justine's poor constitution as a deterrent to keep away your dear Elizabeth's company. In these times, her dearest friend is all she speaks of."
"Well, certainly, your Lordship, I would not dream of upsetting such a delicate orchid," Mr. Stanley replied. His hands on his wife's as she watched with disappointment as Lady Halsbrook continued breathing, "Elizabeth does so look forward to these times. I say she benefits more from these talks than any of the days she spends in the garden."

Lady Halsbrook sat herself up, retaining what dignity she had. Eyes locked with Ms. Stanley's; Justine smiled. Despite all her breeding, she was more a weed than an orchid. More tenacity than her frame would indicate. 

You're slipping, Elizabeth's voice chimed in Justine's head. 
Your warding is sloppy, Stanley. You're on borrowed time, Lady Halsbrook replied.

The Stanley's departed, and Lady Halsbrook did not stir from her bed for several days after the visit, too busy piecing together whatever damages she couldn't see. Preparing for another day of battle and tea.
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