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A cold blistering pain swelled in Felicity’s chest, far more chilling and damaging than any northern wind that had been hurled at her by her homeland’s cruel climate. This was beyond a nightmare, nightmares are suspended somewhere between reality and fantasy – frightening and yet unable to harm you... What was before her eyes was rooted one hundred percent in gritty reality. She wanted to deny it, pass it off as a cruel trick, and yet she knew that was impossible.

She had been wary the second that she saw a crowd of people clustered around her church. Usually people paid the building no attention – there was a dire need for secrecy to avoid the detection of their enemies who misunderstood the will of Obscuvos and cruelly treated his followers. The church was situated for that reason in a rather worn old building that blended with the other buildings in the street, plane faced it was only the interior that paid tribute to their Glutton god... It was large enough inside for their ample sized congregation and the fact that this area of town was mostly deserted, with the markings of the plague ridden on most doors, meant that suspicious neighbours querying why so many people went in and out was not a problem. Thus, with so much attention bubbling around the entrance Felicity knew that something different to the norm was happening.

However, as she inched her way past the onlookers in a casual attempt to mimic their observing she couldn’t hold back her shock and horror at the sight.

The door to the entranceway had been broken down and its splintered body was clogging up the doorway. At first glance Felicity thought that perhaps one of the on lookers was trying to get inside the church, clambering over the wreckage of the door in order to trespass inside... However, there was something very wrong about the figure sprawled across the fragmented wood. They were too still. Rather than heaving his body forwards, the man’s hands were still – grasping the fractured wood as though frozen by some magic... It wasn’t until she had seen the other corpse, spread eagled on the floor at the feet of the crowd, that she saw the reality of the situation and her chest felt like it was caving inwards, consumed by that deathly chill known as loss.

She knew him. He had been at every single service that she had attended. It was strange though... Death had somehow warped his face into a pain snarl. He had been a proud father, she remembered him bringing his child to the services from time to time... Such a cute little being; he had been as good as gold – perched on his father’s lap. Giggling and clapping as his family, not blood family but rather his family in faith, cuddled and tickled and made a fuss over him. She shivered. She could not keep eye contact with those glassy orbs that emanated pain and hatred; they were accusing in their unblinking stare.

It was difficult to determine just how he had died. There wasn’t that much blood, but the blood that was present stood out starkly against his pale flesh and the trampled snow. He was weirdly contorted... One arm was twisted inhumanly out of joint and his neck looked cricked at an angle that nobody could naturally do. Whatever had finished him had evidently been the end of a long session of roughing up. The thought of all the pain that he must’ve gone through sickened Felicity. Who could do this? What had he ever done to them to deserve this?!

The flower plague huddled between her Grimm’s neck and the material of a heavy woollen scarf; she guessed that keeping as hidden as possible was wise. There was still a mood of violence heavy in the air. These bystanders were not the culprits responsible for this raid on their church – she could tell that by the way they gawped and seemed slightly stunned by the scene. And yet the message daubed on the wall clearly summarized the mood of the crowd. “PLAGUE WORSHIPPERS ARE SCUM.” Felicity may well have been too stunned to be paying attention to the people around her, but Claudia could hear them mumbling amongst themselves in agreement.

“They deserve this really...”

“I heard the mages were doing this kind of thing now – after all that trouble those Obscuvian nuts stirred up.”

“Good riddance.”

One particularly forward man gave the murdered man a boot to the face, making a crunch and hideously contorting his face even more – so that it was twisted nearly one hundred and eighty degrees. Felicity whimpered. It was horrible. Truly horrible. Claudia shrunk closer to her guardian’s skin, feeling the eyes of some of the more tetchy onlookers drawn to them. They stood out amongst these people. They were mostly men; burly looking, ugly brutes who had probably heard about the raid and had come in hope of a fight or possibly to go into the building and pilfer what they could get their filthy hands on. Standing here, on the verge of tears it seemed, Felicity was obviously going to be cast as a sympathiser and although, for once, Claudia didn’t condemn her Grimm for this show of emotion (despite her hatred for humanity in general, her overpowering dedication to the Glutton god tied her black heart irrevocably to his supporters) she didn’t fancy seeing how the weedy woman fared against a mob that could flare into violence.

“Felicity... I think we should go home.”

“G-go home? That’s.. th-that’s what-t..!”

“No Felicity. Turn around and go now. I’m telling you, we are leaving right now!” The flower added a sharp pinch to the woman’s neck to emphasis her point.

Shuddering into motion Felicity turned her back on her fallen brothers. It hurt her to do this... But her flower was correct. Yet even as she hurried off she had to share something with the plague in a hushed voice whilst it was still in the forefront of her mind.

“Obscuvos knew t-this was g-going t-to happen Claud-dia. He t-told-d me.. That-t c-crow... It st-topped me from g-going to ch-church yesterd-day. I kn-new I wasn’t im-magining it... I h-have a purpose C-claudia... Obscuv-vos needs me.”

“He needs us Felicity. Us.”

It was truly soul destroying walking into the church in which many of her usual devout Obscuvians were taking refuge – welcomed, sadly, in under the wings of fellow followers of the glutton god. A child was in the arms of a weeping mother; coughing and spluttering it took Felicity a moment or two to realise what the youngster was saying. “Papa, papa, where is my papa?” The onlooker felt a cold hand tighten around her gut as the mother hushed the boy... His papa was gone – he fought valiantly against the cruel raiders and he would be remembered by those lucky enough to have escaped without being slaughtered or had not been at church that day. He was with his god now, and, someday in the future he would be able to meet his father once more when they were reborn again through Obscuvos' might... Yet what were these promises to a sad young boy? Hollow words from mask wearing priests... He simply wanted the warm embrace of his papa, the comforting rasp of his beard on his forehead when he kissed him before bed each night, and the happy expression on his mother's face when she saw him rather than the desperate loneliness which was now a constant feature.

Felicity felt only guilt. She knew that there had been little she could have done to prevent this tragedy from occurring, yet her survival lay heavily upon her shoulders.

The hum of prayers filled the air and mingled with the strained sorrows of the many – mostly women – who had been left bereaved by the raid. Felicity nudged her way through the over crowed aisles (this was a much smaller place of worship than her previous church and the influx of ‘refugees’ meant that it was full to the brim with the faithful) in an attempt to get a pew seat near the front. She liked being close to the altar, so that the priest’s words would hit her directly; as though he or she were addressing her and her alone. She did not encounter any resistance as she walked and people parted with their heads bowed. However, Felicity could not tell if it was a mark of respect, or if it were, like how she was towards the thugs who boldly scythed through the crowds in town, they were trying to avoid her eye out of fear...

It had not taken long for the news of her vision to leak through the church community; Claudia had made sure of that. Felicity was not certain of the intentions of her plague being so bold and declaring the news left, right and centre. On the one hand she hoped that it was simply that the rose was proud of her. Finally she had proven herself to be a worthy Grimm to the headstrong flower – with potential prophetic status to be declared there was no longer any reason for the flower to be ashamed of being bonded to the frail girl... But alternatively Felicity knew in her heart how selfish the caedos was. They were a pair, and by exposing her Grimm’s merits and pushing for a ‘promotion’ in the ranks of The House, Claudia was also garnering status for herself. Felicity herself was not all that sure what to make of the newfound attention that her visions her given her... She was glad that, if they continued, she might be able to be an aid in bringing the lord’s messages to the people of The House, but, unlike Claudia she did not particularly want to be raised to any prominent of worship-able position. Continuing on in her humble way would suit her just fine so long as it pleased Obscuvos.

“E-excuse me..”

An old couple, with wide masks with stout hooked beaks like owls, shuffled away from her, allowing her room to sit down next to them on the end of the pew. One of them grasped the other’s hand and their wrinkled lips murmured something too quietly for Felicity to hear. Claudia was perched proudly on her Grimm’s shoulder, tutted with disgust and turned her head away from the decrepit pair and towards the small altar and organ at the front. It was no way near as grand as what she was used to... There were no tapestries depicting the end of the world, or illustrations of Obscuvos’ first meeting with man – giving the grand Prophet his message... And yet as a deep resounding note oozes from the metal pipes of the organ Claudia smiled and let the opening hymn envelop her.

Felicity was surprised to discover that The House had work for her. Since moving to Auvinus she had been left alone for the most part. She attended services dutifully and occasionally mingled with her fellow believers, from time to time she had been invited to other marginally important people's residences for tea and had made polite conversation about the state of Panymium whilst grasping her rapidly cooling tea-cup and stumbling over her words. Claudia had occasionally sneered that the only reason they were keeping her was because of her prophetic dreams... And with those apparently being in short supply since moving to the hub of Obscuvian activity the northerner woman had begun to fret that she would be whisked back to her terrible old life. Consequently, when she was informed that she was to give a sermon she had accepted the role, glad to be of use to her Lord Obscuvos... And yet, the prospect of speaking in front of people filled her with nervous horror.

What made it worse was that it was not simply a sermon in front of the congregation she had come to know in the headquarters. No, she was to be whisked off to Gadu - a place where she had never even been before, with faces she didn't recognise, scrutinising every word that she uttered... Or... More likely, every word that she stuttered.

Since settling in with fellow followers of Obscuvos her nerves had soothed somewhat and her stutter had relaxed... But the very thought of her task made her throat tighten and reduced her speech to a repeated rattle of almost unconnected syllables. It made her want to cry, even Claudia had abandoned her - refusing to go with her, certain that Felicity would make a fool of herself in front of this alien congregation.

Thus Felicity felt entirely alone as she stood in the dilapidated building in the woods. It reminded her of the place where she had experienced her initiation into The House, where the innocent people she had collected had been taken and Claudia had been birthed into Obscuvos' care through the spilt blood of a child. Needless to say - it was not a pleasant atmosphere. This place had evidently once been used for farm work of some description; it had a high vaulted ceiling, although in places the darkening sky could be spotted through the rotting timber and thatch insulation, stalls for animals still lined the sides of the barn and the musty aroma of their sweat and manure lingered no matter how much incense the bird masked attendants burned.

So far the attendance was low. A handful of people milled around, some perching hesitantly on the makeshift pews that had been constructed. Some had bird-masks, proving themselves to be enrolled members of The House, but about an equal number went without a mask... These were the people Felicity was charged with bringing into The House. She must save their souls from damnation and win them to her cause, taking them under the protecting wing of Obscuvos. Such a responsibility! Her heart fluttered and she felt a little faint... Taking a deep breath Felicity steadied herself by leaning against the crude alter at the back of the barn.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Another person was at the door... None of the predecessors had knocked, instead they had come right in. Looking around nervously Felicity hoped someone else would answer the door. A little while passed and nobody had moved. The two attendants who were helping her run the service were busy tending to incense and dressing the alter with depictions of Obscuvos in all his crow-headed glory. Blinking back tears she made her way through the barn and heaved at the heavy wooden door. The hinges squealed menacingly. With all her heart she wished to return to the comfort of her warm Auvinian abode.

"H-h-hello... C-c-com-me i-i-in-n-n."

Life in the rose’s household became very peculiar – even more so than before –after the strange outburst in reaction to her dinner being interrupted. Whereas servants felt like they had to creep around on tip toes so as to not anger their mistress, they found the flower to be hideously good natured and consequently they all relaxed a little. Shoulders which had before been jacked up around their ears, tensed as if ready to bolt, sagged downwards and they sauntered through the hallways of the extensive doll’s house positively beaming. If the flower had broken her miserable spirit and was warm towards all of them, there was nothing left to fear and they could, for once, enjoy themselves! Of course, one or two were not so trusting of the devious caedos. They knew her best and knew better than to take this kindness for granted – Claudia was up to something and they were not going to let themselves fall into her sweet scented trap. However, for the most part the morale was high and all thanks sat on the shoulders of Isolade and Tristan; the loved up pair who had crashed into the room and shattered the ice around the rose’s blackened heart.

Yet the pair did not take part in the wonderful mood that was overtaking the population of the house. No, they were more frightened than ever. They could not deny that Claudia wasn’t being decidedly better natured than before... Yet they were aligned with those who believed that there was something off about the whole situation, however unlike those lucky observers they couldn’t stand by the sidelines and continue as per usual; they were stuck right in the centre of it all with all eyes on them.

At first they had indeed tried to carry on as usual; completing their household duties in silence, abiding by their given schedules to the last second, remembering all the correct formalities... Yet as the rest of the household abandoned the strict routines that had been established during the rose’s reign of terror, they found it nearly impossible to carry on like they wanted. Companions cajoled them and taunted them to loosen up. More often than not they were forced together by people so that their little romance, which had brought the whole house salvation from misery, could be allowed to bloom beautifully. Evidently they didn’t want to object as they were smitten with each other, yet all this additional attention being put on them made them extraordinarily uncomfortable.

About a week after the incident Isolade had noticed that the rose had been going out of her way to be around her... At first it had been simply walking past her in the corridors occasionally, nothing more than a drift of white and a breeze of faintly decaying flowers, but then she would sit in the rooms that Isolade was meant to be cleaning, watching the stunted intently with those intense glowing eyes. It happened so often that the poor girl felt like she was being stalked. Despite the friendly smile upon the older excitos’ face there was still a sense of being in grave danger and that, rather than joyful observation – for many said that the flower was in awe of the love exchanged between Isolade and Tristan – the flower was sizing her up, ready to crush her when the time came.

Isolade had tried to tell this to her lover several times, but he always hushed her and looked around with his eyes filled to the brim with nervousness. He was convinced that they should not say a bad word against the mistress... Like her, he was of the belief that the rose had nefarious plans for the both of them, but it was best if they kept as quiet as possible; who knew... the rose could have ears everywhere. And yet, as if sensing her increasingly nervous state Claudia was making her observations more and more obvious. Isolade simply couldn’t shake off the feeling that the caedos’ net was drawing in around them.

“Isolade? May I say something?”

Isolade’s whole body stiffened as the white clad plague spoke. She had grown used to Claudia’s presence and had trained herself to swallow her nerves and treat the other plague like just another part of the furniture; only she could not scrub her down with her scrap of dusting cloth. Never before had Claudia broken her reflective silence to interrupt Isolade’s work and quite frankly it had knocked the stunted right out of kilter.

“Isolade?”

“Yes ma’am?” She did not pause in her cleaning. Absolutely not... She could not look into those pale green eyes without a shudder of repulsion itching its way down her back. Not wanting to appear rude was not something that overrided her growing sense of self-preservation; one should not look dangerous animals in the eye for fear of inciting some primal challenge.

“I’m sure you are aware that I find you and Tristan very interesting -” Isolade sucked in her breath and tried to brace herself for the evil that was about to befall her. In her slightly quivering hands she held a tiny glass vase with miniature blown glass flowers (for real flowers did not last nor came in small enough sizes for the excitos’ needs). Until moments ago she had been delicately polishing it, careful not to break the tiny green stems with rough handling, yet now her thin black fingers gripped the glass, ready to turn around and hurl it at the poisonous flower should she reveal that Isolade was doomed regardless of her actions. “I do not know if you are aware of it... Felicity, my Grimm and mouthpiece for our lord Obscuvos, was in love once... I was only a putesco, inanimate and mute, but I like to believe something of her relationship with that man that she refuses to name no matter how hard I press her...” Here a slight bitterness crept into the rose’s tone of voice, but it was washed away again with sweetness almost as soon as it appeared, “Well... I like to believe that some of those emotions she was feeling resonate within me... Love is a beautiful thing, knotted into my core, and that is why I find watching you an dearest Tristan so fascinating. You do not mind my observations, do you?”

The stunted girl supposed that this little admission was intended to set her at ease... The rose’s confession about how she felt towards love felt carefully planned and Isolade could not help but suspect that the rose had sense how ill at ease she was and was trying to put her nerves at rest; make up some fabricated story which would make them kindred spirits, or something of that nature. Yet she had achieved completely the opposite. Behind the pretty petals of the lie that the rose had created Isolade could see the thorns, barbed and venomous. Felicity had been in love. Had. That one word was a denotation of a thing of the past – the stunted evidently could not pry into what had transpired between Felicity and her lover to end the feelings of endearment but she guessed it wasn’t a happy tale in the end.

“Not at all ma’am... I’m glad we make you happy.” Isolade placed the vase back on the counter, turned and looked Claudia in the eyes. Something dangerous hovered between them. They were both playing a game now, that much was clear. Claudia hadn’t said that they made her happy. In fact, her suddenly cold body language and dead eyes said decisively other. The slight stress that the stunted had put on the word was meant to be something of a warning. Isolade knew Claudia’s game – she knew that she was in danger, but she was prepared. Unlike the other foolish servants Isolade was ready for when the facade of niceness fell away and whatever evil was brewing behind the pleasant curtain lashed out at all of them. “I am needed elsewhere ma’am. I hope you don’t mind.”

Isolade moved to make her exit before Claudia could reply, however before she could leave the room entirely the rose addressed her with one more query.

“Something Felicity once said is a lasting curiosity to me... She said ‘I would’ve died for that man’... I was wondering... Would you do that Isolade? Would you die for Tristan? It seems a silly notion to me.”

A chill coursed down Isolade’s spine and she was tempted to leave without answering. All it would take would be two determined steps and she would be out of the rose’s malignant influence. Yet something possessed her to answer...

“Yes... Yes I would.”

The responding chuckle that chased her from the room haunted her for the remainder of her day.

Something was wrong, and each passing second only proved to crank up the level of unsettlement that Tristan was feeling.

He had agreed with Isolade that they should meet here, in the entrance hallway, fifteen minutes ago. They had planned it carefully – the time was selected because most of the other servants would be busy doing their evening chores and Claudia would be on the other side of the house having her dinner. Even if another member of the household did stumble across them when they met in this place it would be easy to excuse their actions. The hallway was a crossroads of sorts; the many doors leading off from the (faux) marble and tastefully decorated open area went to nearly every part of the house and if questioned he and Isolade could say that they bumped into each other here whilst each going about their business. Tristan wanted to say that it was just a little blip, that perhaps there had been more laundry than usual, maybe someone had chosen a most unhelpful time to start up a conversation with her in the corridor... Yet underneath these imagined explanations Tristan could not shake the distinct feeling that something bad had happened to prevent his lover from showing up on time.

Each crack of the grandfather clock at the centre of the hall was like a blow to Tristan’s confidence. The prime time for escape was slipping away, tick by tick. When he had first arrived he had heard nothing but the ticking, but now the sounds that he registered were growing in number; footsteps on the floors above, voices muffled through the walls, he even believed that he could hear the clamour of pots and pans from the kitchen, though that was halfway across the house. On the one hand it could be his paranoia... But on the other it could be confirmation that the longer he idly waited here, the more likely it was for everything to fall apart as the golden moment was shattered by the routine shifts in activity around the house.

When the clock face showed twenty minutes past the hour, he could wait no longer. He had already weighed up the possibility that if he left the arranged spot then he was in danger of putting Isolade in the same position that he had just suffered if she arrived whilst he looked for her... But at the same time maybe if she was in some kind of a pickle he could help her, and anyway – so long as he took the route that was quickest between their new bedroom and the hallway there was a pretty high chance that he would stumble across her.

He stole through the corridors like a thief, his feet skipping over the flooring, be it carpeted or wooden, without making a noise. He realised that there was little point in creeping around as it would only raise suspicion if he was seen, yet he couldn’t help it and whenever he came across another stunted he nearly jumped out of his skin, stuttering his “Good evening” like he had been caught red handed stealing rather than just walking through the house. He cursed himself. He needed to keep his head. He wasn’t doing anything wrong! Yes... There was a distinct feeling of betrayal, leaving the house in secret... But really, what could Claudia level against them if they were caught leaving? They had their rights. They had come into her service willingly soon after their birth. She had given them a roof over their head and kept them safe... But now they simply wanted to move on. It was a speech he had practiced over and over in his head and he was sure that he could deliver it fluently and convincingly. The only doubts he had was whether or not it would be listened to by the rose.

Inside his chest his miniature black heart pounded faster and faster as he approached his room. This was partly due to the physical exertion he was putting it through – he had sped up to an almost unrestrained run as he went further and further without bumping into Isolade – but it was mostly because of the overwhelming dread which was growing larger and larger. He should have met her by now. In fact, they should be outside of the room now – facing the dilemma of keeping safe outside the protection of Claudia’s household but safe at last from the fear of the rose’s vengeance.

When he reached the door to their room he fumbled with the opening, his fingers slipping against the smooth brass knob. He hoped against hopes that when he opened it Isolade would be inside, equally flustered as him but bursting with apologies about the reason for her lateness. However, when he wrenched the door open the room was as empty as he had left it... And furthermore, it seemed as though she had not retrieved her meagre inventory she had packed underneath her pillow as the bed linen around her side of the bed was as smooth as it had been when they had made the bed this morning whereas his side was crumpled and unmade where he had pulled out his possessions earlier. However... The room was not entirely the same as he remembered...

Trodden into the carpet were dirty footprints. Neither he nor Isolade ever really left the house and when they did – to go to church services for example – they were normally carried the majority of the way by Felicity, and thus they never really got dirty. The only people in the household who roamed frequently enough to get soiled feet were Claudia (who bathed in her rose water so often that enduring dirtiness was a rarity) and her guards. Perplexed he moved over to the bedside. Perhaps he ought to check that her stuff was still there... He had been on edge before but now... Now he was walking along a razor sharp knife edge and he knew that a slip up could be deadly; it was even possible that they had already slipped up. He swallowed and prayed to Obscuvos – to whatever god would head his prayers – that he was simply being overly skittish... Maybe the dirty marks had been there all along and he was only noticing them now, in this time of hyper awareness?

Cautiously he slipped his hand under her pillow; so tentative that it almost seemed as though he were expecting a snake to be residing under the cotton rather than her mundane possessions. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he found her things: a few scraps of paper – most of which held his loving scrawl on their surface, mementoes of the good times had in the house; nothing very valuable in the material sense. Relieved that nothing had happened to her belongings he turned to leave the room and perhaps wait in the hallway for her arrival; he was sure now that it must be an irksome hold-up. However, as he was about to move away from the bedside he noted that there was something peeking out from underneath his pillow.

Guts twisting into huge knots he tentatively extended a hand across the white expanse of the sheets to probe at the glint of hard green. He could guess what it was but he dared not believe it until he pulled it out from underneath the pillow. A large glass shard – cruel and sharp and shaped crudely into the resemblance of a knife. On the hilt cloth had been wrapped tightly so that the wielder would not slice their hands open. Evidently someone had taken time to ensure that it would be able to be used with, no doubt, murderous effect.

“Wh-what?”

Before he could begin to work out just how the blade had found its way under his pillow the door to the room exploded inwards and there was a spine chilling titter of laughter that he recognised. Tristan felt sick as he turned to look at the two leaf cronies of the rose and, behind them, standing casually in the doorway as though she were simply conducting a little social visit was Claudia.

“So it is true!” She stepped forward over a few shards of broken wood, a grin playing over her black face. Tristan’s grip on the knife tightened instinctively, an action to which the leaf guards responded to by narrowing the gap between them through which Tristan may have been able to dart through at the rose and placing their hands firmly on their blades – warning him not to try anything rash. “My little petals have been whispering that sweet little Isolade and handsome Tristan haven’t been happy... Some said that they didn’t like me. I tried to make you happy – you can’t say I didn’t treat you well, and yet I still heard that you were planning to leave me... And now, not only that betrayal, but it seems that you were planning to kill me too!”

Aghast at the accusation Tristan went limp. It was all over. In a second they had managed to set him up and ruin his escape. However, it was not his own position that sprung to mind but rather it was his love’s. Was Isolade alright? Had they pulled the same trick on her? Where was she? Was she safe? He raised the knife and pointed it at Claudia. He wanted to hurl it at her smug face but he knew that her cronies would block it with ease. Ignoring the fact that both of the silent guards had drawn their blades and seemed ready to attack him he spoke to the caedos.

“You’re not to lay a finger on Isolade. Understand? If you do I swear I’ll hurt you. Even if you slice me into pieces, I swear I shall climb from my grave and kill you.” The leaf guards were moving towards him, swords up, ready to subdue him. “I did this alone, you hear?!” Maybe if he admitted to the set up they would leave her alone. “She had no part in my plans. I just told her we were leaving; she didn’t know how I was going to cut your ugly head off. So punish me. I don’t care! Just leave her out of this.” With that he threw the knife down and it was impaled in the floor – quivering slightly. Defiant the stunted stuck out his hands in a sign of surrender so that the leaves could restrain him with ease. There was no point stuggling.

“Ha. I’m glad you’ve given yourself over without a fight...” The rose sneered at him; the insult had ruffled her feathers. “I have better ways to dispose of you. Spilling your filthy blood all over such nice clean sheets would be a mess and a waste.” She clicked her fingers at her guards who had by then bent Tristan’s arms roughly behind his back. “Take him away... And don’t be gentle with him. A few cuts and bruises won’t hinder my plans.”

Felicity had just been out minding her own business, tottering through the quaint village marketplace of a rural Auvinis town, when the messenger ran up to her. At first she had presumed that the man wasn't there for her - she glanced over him and was about to make her way over to a stall to examine some little handmade wooden carvings: if they had a crow it would make a fine little good luck charm. However, when the uniformed man stood directly in front of her and unfurled his message she blanched. How did he know who she was? What did the council want with her? She doubted anyone in this town really knew her name - so how did this complete stranger find her? All these worries about the ease that the stranger had delivered his message and the possible implications for her safety (a prophet of The House would be a hated figure by some remnants) caused her to stand gormless and not reply.

Claudia's mind however, who had been sitting - rather bored - upon the prophet's shoulder, launched into calculating the dangers and merits of going along with the messenger. On the one hand she mirrored what Felicity was silently stressing about, it could easily be a trap: there was no saying whether they would be taken to where the message proclaimed... Then again, the man didn't necessarily know who Felicity was. He could have simply spotted a plague and Grimm and felt compelled to deliver this message, addressed to all Grimms. If that was true it was vital that they found out what exactly was going on as it could pertain to something important to The House. "Go with him." Claudia whispered in Felicity's ear. Better to take a risk than miss a great opportunity.

"W-where d-do we g-go? With y-you?"

There was a very odd and very hard to place sensation that Felicity felt in her very core when she was about to have something more than a dream. When what she was seeing was a message from her lord something strange and powerful seemed to shift inside of her... Like a snake uncoiling from a stone-still slumber; slowly and steadily the body of her gift would reanimate itself and she would feel the stir of the pure, potent power of Obscuvos seeping through her unconscious sleeping mind. Now, in a state of half sleep half waking, she felt the hypnotic gauze of prophecy wrap itself around her body like the silky sheets that she slept in. The dim light of her room faded, the quiet chatter of Claudia’s household waking up in their tiny residence became muted, even the sound of her own shallow breath vanished. Felicity displayed no resistance to the pull of her gift she allowed herself to be submerged in the still black pool of her vision.

It was not unusual for her visions to take place in a world of destruction. Since accepting her placement under Obscuvos' wing she had experienced several minor visions... Mountain ranges strewn with thousands of frozen dead bodies; fields burnt to blackened wastelands with ash swirling round her bare feet; great houses in which carrion crows feed upon the bloated bodies of rotting nobles... At first the skittish woman had been terrified. She viewed the dreams as bad omens – so full of death and destruction that surely nothing good could come from them... However, the interpretations of her visions offered to her by fellow members of The House had changed her stance. Those bodies in the mountains were surely mages – striking forth with renewed violence in the north was surely the best thing to do to sew the seeds of chaos that Obscuvos wanted. Desolate burnt up cropland symbolised the famine that had swept over Panymium: a pre-warning that allowed The House to guard itself against the worst of the starvation. Corrupt noble patrons of The House leaking secrets were swiftly punished after her feasting dream... Destruction was more often than not a positive force where Obscuvos was concerned and she had quickly become immune to the horrors that appeared in her visions, in fact she had come to expect scenes of mutilation and decay whenever the power of her Lord throbbed through her mind.

Thus it was somewhat of a surprise when Felicity found herself in a garden, the moon full overhead casting ghostly white light upon the neatly ordered beds of plants. There was no breeze, the place was pleasantly warm, and there was no sign of danger... Nothing whispered of death or chaos... The stillness of her surroundings was peaceful rather than pregnant and tense with ominous atmosphere. It was everything that Felicity had come to not expect within her god-given visions. Never the less she was not displeased with what her Lord was communing through her... Perhaps this was a glimpse at what was to come after the catalyst; the perfect world that Obscuvos would rebirth the devout into.

Stepping lightly upon soft young grass she moved through the silent garden. There was no other living thing present. That too was odd. Usually there were at least crows within her visions. She kept an eye on the clear night sky – oddly devoid of stars – for their fluttering black wings... However, they did not seem to be present. Either that or they flew too high, or blended so perfectly with the pitch palette of night, that she couldn’t spy them.

Felicity closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. It was quite beautiful here. She was happy.

When she reopened her eyes something had changed. It wasn’t anything major. Neither was it a sign of the destruction that she expected to blossom any minute now... Instead all that had changed was that a little way ahead of her a wall had appeared. It stretched out across her path and as she glanced along its length it seemed to go on for a very long way – stretching seemingly impossibly far in both directions. A change like this had to be read as a divine prompt and thus Felicity padded up to the boundary, curious as to just where this dream was taking her. The will of Obscuvos was a complicated thing, but thus far she didn’t even have a tiny clue as to what could be the message here.

What she found on the wall shocked her. There was a doorway with heavy looking wooden doors with a twisting flower motif carved into the surface, which in itself was not disturbing however in front of the door a dead crow had been hung... Protruding from the wall above the doorway was what looked to be a human hand, grasping a length of rope that wrapped cruelly around the poor bird’s neck. So appalled by this undoubtedly negative omen was Felicity that she felt tears p***k her eyes. As much as the thought of touching the dead bird sent shivers up her spine she felt duty bound to release the messenger of her god from its entrapment. Thus, with shaking hands, she began tugging here and there at the cord...

It was a most peculiar rope. Not spun in a strong singular thread but instead it was made of many silky black fibres. They were not individually very strong and snapped easily as she struggled to free the corpse, but clearly when they were wrapped tightly around the poor creature’s neck they had been communally strong enough to have snapped the neck and support the hanging body.

When she had freed the bird she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Should she carry the body around as a mark of respect to her Lord? Should she dig a grave for it? She had nothing to dig with except her hands and with her feeble strength she doubted she could dig suitably deep... It all felt very wrong. Usually her visions were less... well... real. She glided through the events like a spectre. Observing, noting the signs, but not actually partaking in what was going on. Here she was clearly wrapped up in this vision – the crow weighed heavily in her hands – it was a world away from the other passive experiences that she was used to.

However, before she settled on what exactly to do with the corpse the still body was still no longer. With slow jerky movements, life flashed through the crow’s body and, startled, Felicity dropped the bird with a yelp. Simultaneously a blast of bone chilling wind hit her from behind, the wooden doors slammed open and she and the bird were pushed forcefully through the doorway. Felicity was thrown to the ground and remained curled up for a moment or two, protecting her body from anything else bad that was about to happen to her. When nothing malignant seemed to strike her she raised her head, removed her pale sticky arms from their protective position over her face and glanced around.

She appeared to still be in a garden, yet this garden was different to the one she had previously been meandering through. The flowerbeds here were much bigger. The foliage spread outwards and as she unsteadily made her way along the pathways, leaves brushed against her body; teasing at her skin and clothing. Besides the growth of the plants there was another more noticeable difference, one that began to suggest perhaps a meaning to this vision. The bushes were covered in flowers. Big white roses were scattered amongst the dark green leaves and they seemed to glow with a light of their own in the pale moonlight. The flowers reminded her of Claudia... Indeed, as she moved to examine one the glistening black dew drops on the petals mimicked exactly the rose that the caedos had been born from.

For some reason the resemblance made Felicity shudder.

The crow that she had saved had taken to the air after being hurled beyond the wall. It circled above and in the complete absence of any other noise, the flapping of the black wings sounded oddly loud. Felicity watched it for a while... It was oddly mesmerising... The rhythmic beat of its wings. The cyclical path of its flight. Round and round. She recognised the way that it was acting. The crows in real life did that when there was something on the ground - a carcass of some description usually. They would swirl in circles, getting lower and lower, ensuring there was no danger, until finally perching upon their prize and getting their fill of the rancid meat. She squinted at the bird above her. Was it getting lower? A few minutes of perplexed observation later and she could definitely confirm that the avian shadow was descending. It got so low in fact that she could see the glistening black bead of an eye - her pale face surrounded by glowing roses reflected back at her.

For a second Felicity thought that the bird would surely hit her, but before that could happen the crow gave a shrill squawk and something lashed past her cheek. She balked and stumbled backwards, but her foot sunk into a writhing mass. Felicity screamed. She had no idea what she had stepped on but the way it was twisting and coiling around her ankle brought to mind images of snakes and worms and terrible sea beasts from the depths that would drag poor sailors underwater... Repulsed she pulled forwards but whatever had a hold of her foot constricted and yanked against her, sending her stumbling to the ground.

Shrieking she clawed the earth and struggled forwards. Her fingers tore into the turf and clumps of mud came away in her hands as she fought against whatever had her in its grasp. Her heart beat in her ears and her breath came in rasping gasps. She felt real danger, despite the niggling knowledge that she was dreaming. This couldn't be real - it was a vision - but if she died in this dream... Would she wake up? And even if she did wake up what would it mean... So far all the messages she had divined from her dreams from Obscuvos had come true, in some form or another, in her waking life. Would she meet this terrible fate in reality?

With tears clogging her eyes she twisted and looked back at her assailant. What she saw through her blurred vision made her double take.

Whereas before the gardens had been neatly maintained, now the borders were overflowing - tendrils of plant life had spilled onto the pathways and were rapidly snaking across the ground and meeting up with the other bushes. The white roses she had examined earlier where bobbing around in the moving mass like little paper boats tossed around on a choppy sea. A leafy tendril had caught hold of her foot and was trying to drag her into the mass. She was lucky that it seemed to be a very skinny creeper - deeper within the broiling mass of vegetation she could see stems as thick as her arm and barbed with thorns as big as her fingers.

If she gave up now she would be snatched into the monstrous heaving chaos and shredded. The sickening image of her blood dyeing the white petals red made her wretch and renew her frenzied escape attempt. "Obscuvos help m-me." She gasped, using the foot that she had free to kick wildly at the encroaching plants. Maybe if she could get out of its grasp and run away she could find a safe place in her dreamscape... As if her prayers were answered the crow from earlier swept out of the sky - it had clearly avoided the swipe that the plant had made at it earlier - and landed on her leg. It's sharp claws pricked her skin but as soon as she stopped thrashing as much it began tearing at the snare around her leg, it's glistening black beak doing a fine job at tearing through the stems...

Released from the blinding Felicity got to her feet and ran. Although most of the chaos was occurring at her heels, the rose garden becoming a monstrous writhing sea of seemingly blood-hungry thorns, the beds that she passed as she pressed onwards towards what she hoped would be safety were also becoming animated. They squirmed on either side of her - she could see the white roses winking amongst the dark leaves... One or two thin stems flicked outwards to catch her skin or yank at her hair. To Felicity it felt like time was running out. If she didn't find safety soon then she would be consumed - and it would not be the same kind of consumption that her glutton god promised her. There would be no rebirth, no salvation... Just the agony of a multitude of barbs tearing her piece from piece...

Suddenly, just as before, a wall appeared and again there was a doorway. Gasping for breath Felicity sprinted the last hundred or so metres, wrenched door open, stepped through and slammed it behind her - not caring if a new horror awaited her.

What she found was... surprising.