Chapter Text
It should have been a night like any other. A little quieter than most maybe, with Romeo and Carlo out, but there was certainly nothing untoward about it. The sky was cloudless, the moon and stars bright. By the fire Sophia is warm, wrapped in a plush dressing gown as she does delicate needlepoint, little flowers and butterflies onto handkerchiefs she’ll give to one of her boys. Her father is in his study, consolidating his research after his latest archeological expedition. He’ll be up late, but he’ll surely be in bed long before her lovers return from their date night, to share her bed in secret.
Sophia tucks her legs under her and basks in the glow. She’s warm and happy, satisfied, as she ties off the thread and inspects her handiwork. Little forget-me-nots and red poppies curling around the borders. She’ll have to go through Carlo and Romeo’s drawers to see which one of them needs another one, especially considering every time she tries to ask they both insist they don’t need more. The fire crackles merrily, the window panes rattle slightly as the breeze rushes through their garden. Down the hall, she can hear the light thumps as her father moves about his study. Background noise, something she would ordinarily be tuning out, but she hears something she’s not quite expecting. The front door opening, and then closing again.
Sophia frowns, looking at the clock. Only half past ten. Earlier than expected, although she’s not complaining. She won’t deny a little bit of jealousy whenever they go out without her.
She stands, tucking the handkerchief into her pocket and slips on her slippers, padding from her room with the intent to greet them at the door. Waylay her father if need be, to sneak Romeo where he shouldn’t be. When she reaches the upper landing, the foyer is empty, the only indication of where they might be the sound of another door opening and closing, further down the hall in the direction of her father’s study.
“Carlo?” Sophia calls. “Father?”
There is no response. Slowly, uncertainly, Sophia begins making her way down the hall, ears straining for any noises. Unless Valentinus had managed to intercept the both of them to bring them to his study, she finds it unusual that they would be speaking to her father before going to see her. Something isn’t right and Sophia silently curses Carlo’s prejudice towards puppets, any puppet butler or maid would be active at this hour and could contact the police at a moment’s notice. As it is, their only phone is in her father’s study, and that’s where the problem may be. She dithers by the railing before wrapping the dressing gown more tightly around her and walking slowly down the hall. All is silent for a moment before there is a sudden loud bang that makes her startle. Fear locks her in place for only a second before Sophia darts down the hallway to her father’s study.
“ Father!”
She runs, the sounds of a scuffle filling her ears. The study door is ajar and Sophia can only just see the shadow of movement, thrown by whatever lamp her father may have had on his desk. She almost collides with the wall once she reaches the door, throwing herself into the room in her haste. She stops, chest heaving with the sudden rush of activity as she takes in the sight. Her father’s desk, scattered with his research, and the upturned chair he would have been sitting in. Some of it covers the floor like leaf litter, scattered about the boxes and crates he had pulled into the room only earlier this afternoon. The rug, no longer flat, kicked aside and there, atop it, her father. Face down, dark liquid, glittering in the light of the fire and seeping from beneath him as a woman dressed in a white robe pulls her massive sword from his body. Sophia screams.
“ No!”
“My dear,” a voice says and Sophia turns, covering her mouth in shock. A tall, dark shadow peels itself from the corner, straightening his thick coat and wiping at his nose to check for blood. He leans somewhat, on an ornate cane at his side. Simon Manus.
“Simon? What-“ Her eyes flick to the woman, who is very calmly and methodically cleaning her sword off on the edge of the curtains. “Simon what happened?”
“An unfortunate accident really,” he says. “Although one that is not without opportunities.”
People don’t just get stabbed through the back on accident. Her eyes flick back as the woman sheathes her sword and begins pushing crates aside, evidently looking for something. Sophia knows the piles, the things that her father has just brought in for further study, but the woman doesn’t seem interested in those, seeming more interested in the ones he had designated as needing to be sent out of the city. She kicks a few aside as Simon finishes making himself presentable, moving to stand just in front of Sophia, hands clasped behind his back. Now very aware of how wrong this situation is, Sophia tugs her gown tighter around herself. The phone is so close, just sitting on her father’s desk, yet so far away, and even if she could reach it there would be no way of getting through to the police in time. Her only option is maybe, just maybe, being able to run for it, hide in the gardens on their property. She just needs to get out of the house.
She takes a careful step back and Simon tilts his head at her, a crooked smile drawing his scar tight across his face.
“Don’t run away now dear, you’re still needed,” he tells her.
Her breath catches in her throat and Sophia has to force herself to try and breathe calmly. She needs a distraction, and her gaze catches on the papers scattered about the room. She tugs on the sleeves of her robe, fiddling with the tie around her waist.
“Found it,” the woman says and Simon turns his back to Sophia, striding across the room, stepping callously over her father’s body to see what the woman has found. From this angle, Sophia can’t see, but she doesn’t care. She rips the dressing gown off and throws it towards the fire, lingering only long enough to watch the fabric catch alight before quickly turning for the door, almost tripping in her haste. The woman yells and Sophia can hear the thuds as the two get tangled in each other, not caring as she sprints down the hallway. She’s almost at the landing before a hulking shadow steps out and Sophia shrieks, backpedalling towards her father’s study and further down the hall. The hallway loops around the back of the house, ordinarily giving a beautiful view of the surrounding gardens, but Sophia isn’t interested in that. They’re too high up and she’d likely break a leg if she jumped but if she can use it to get around the other side, she’s confident in her ability to escape. Behind her, the man thunders closer, pounding steps that could almost be shaking the ground with how loudly each foot falls. She almost slips again as she turns the corner, but the landing is in sight again so she steadies herself, breathing beginning to grow ragged. So close-
A meaty hand grabs her arm and wrenches her back and Sophia shrieks.
“ No! Get off me!”
She kicks and struggles but the man has her in a vice, beginning to drag her towards the landing instead of back the way they came. She’s not surprised, Sophia can smell smoke in the air. Simon is exiting the smoky hall just as they come out the other side, holding a delicate white handkerchief to his nose as he leads the way, the woman in white carrying a crate in her arms. When Simon sees her in the big man’s grip he only gives the man a curt nod and she is dragged down the stairs and towards the door.
“Let me go!” Sophia screams again. “You bastard-”
A big hand is clapped over half of her face, meaty fingers in her mouth and garbling her voice. She screams into it, trying to bite, the man doesn’t seem to notice, barely reacting to her struggling at all.
Simon follows close behind but he suddenly stops.
“Hold,” he murmurs quietly.
Simon’s companions stop, the woman setting the crate on the ground and stepping forward slightly, placing herself at the front of the group, while the man holding Sophia holds her steady. She twists in his arms, at least for the sake of it, letting out a muffled yell of frustration. Above them, smoke is beginning to billow downwards as more of the house burns, the crackling of fire growing louder, but Simon appears unphased, lips slightly parted as if beginning to say something. A moment passes and the front door flings open, a young man with dark curly hair coming loose of its hair tie coming to a panting stop just before them. Carlo.
Sophia twists in the big man’s grip, finally managing to dislodge the hand around her face and trying to desperately lunge forward. The man yanks her back and she yelps.
“ Carlo -”
Simon waves a dismissive hand and the woman lunges forward, aiming a swift punch to Carlo’s stomach that makes him double over as the air is driven from his lungs. He wheezes, but his rapid pitch forward is enough that he avoids the woman’s next strike, barely managing to bring his fists up to catch each hit as she tries again and again. He retreats, eyes flicking back towards the open door and then over to Sophia. Where is Romeo?
Simon makes a tutting noise and taps his cane on the ground and the man holding her releases his grip, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles. Simon very calmly places a hand on Sophia’s shoulder, fingers finding purchase in the joint and pressing just enough to hurt, making her gasp. In front of them, Carlo startles at the noise and it’s enough of a distraction that the woman’s fist smashes into his face, bright blood bursting forth. He grunts in pain, backpedalling as he thumbs at his broken nose.
“There is no need for violence boy,” Simon says calmly. “Do not throw your life away so needlessly, we both have what we want.”
Carlo spits and bares his bloody teeth in a snarl.
“I see.”
The woman leaps at Carlo now and he retreats across the foyer, clearly looking for something to give him an advantage. His blocks are starting to get sloppy and Sophia can already see his eye beginning to swell up as he is punched again in the face. The big man has reached Carlo by now and he grabs him, momentarily lifting him and throwing the smaller man against the wall with a crash. Carlo slumps, coughing wetly as Sophia screams.
“ NO! Simon, please stop-”
“It cannot be helped my dear,” Simon says. “If he wants to keep committing himself to this action, then there is only one way to end it. Adriana.”
He waves his hand again and the woman, Adriana, unsheathes her massive sword, dragging the tip along the floor as Carlo tries to rise. He coughs, clutching at his side as the big man also approaches, grabbing him about the neck just as he manages to reach his full height. He coughs and splutters, scrabbling at the hand now lifting him off the ground, feet kicking. He had looked so handsome when he’d left, the red satin brocade of his vest just peeking out from his black tailcoat, stark against the crisp white of his shirt. His face is a ruin now, nose broken, a cut in his hairline dribbling blood down into his one good eye, smeared across the delicate constellation on his cheeks. His shirt is stained with blood, smartly polished shoes scuffed as his kicking and struggling grows weaker. Adriana stops before him as the big man holds him out with ease, rearing her sword back. He gasps, fish-like, face slowly purpling as he tries to make eye contact with Sophia, brown eyes barely visible. His lips move, a soundless declaration.
Sophia screams, throat bloody and raw, collapsing almost in tandem with her love as he is let go, discarded from the blade like a rag doll and the big man nonchalantly makes his way back to them, hauling Sophia to her feet. She can barely support her weight and the big man grunts when she refuses to walk.
“It is for the best my dear,” Simon says as she is dragged past Carlo’s body. “A mercy, really.”
Mercy is for the poor and suffering, those in need of relief, not those who have everything, those with a long life ahead of them, one full of love and happiness. Sophia’s mind reels, far, far away and she is dragged across the rocky path to the waiting carriage. Behind them, the house burns, thick oily plumes of smoke that obscure the moon and stars overhead and a chill wind rushes past them as the big man climbs onto the front, spurring the horses into action. Simon sits opposite Sophia, a contemplative look on his face as he gazes at her. But she’s not looking at him. In her mind she is far, far away, wrapped in the embrace of the dead.
–
Sophia is barely aware as she is transported across the city, the heavy drapes of the carriage kept closed. She curls into a ball and tries to keep herself as far away from Simon and his dog as she can, never minding the fact that her head thumps painfully against the wall with each bump in the cobbles. When they eventually stop, the big man pulls her from the carriage, dragging her across the sea slick ground and across the splintered wood of the dock, where she is deposited in a tiny, dark cabin and left. Time shifts weirdly around her, the rocking boat seeming to plunge her in and out of sleep before she is pulled out again. A different dock that she barely registers as the big man, fed up with having to drag her everywhere, hoists her over his shoulder to carry her elsewhere. Sophia has no idea where she is and she doesn’t care. Maybe they’ll kill her too.
Sophia drifts but she startles to attention when she is suddenly flung off the shoulder and onto a bed. The big man snorts at her surprise, turning abruptly and leaving the room. Elsewhere, she hears a door open and close, locking behind him.
The room is… nice. A four poster bed with plush pillows, a rich red quilt over crisp white sheets, drapes on each edge that she can untie should she want extra privacy. Empty shelves, a cupboard and vanity tucked against the wall. There’s two doors, one that presumably leads out to the rest of the suite, the other presumably leading to an ensuite. When she finally plucks up the courage to leave the safe haven that is the bed, the other room reveals a dining table with enough room for six, more spotless, empty shelves, two overstuffed armchairs and a low table for casual conversation. The rooms she has been left in have that new construction feeling, the smell of sawdust and polish underneath lavender and cedar. As she runs a finger along the newly polished dining table, she is struck with the thought that this may have all been done for her.
It makes her sick.
One wall of the main living area is lined with windows, tall and wide that reveals the dark sky beyond. Sophia walks over to them and takes in the outside world. The view is beautiful and she can’t help but feel slightly awed by it, the ocean a dark glassy expanse that seems to stretch until the end of the world. In the distance is Krat, an ever expanding network of roads and buildings that extends all the way up to the Cathedral on the mountaintop, glittering with newly installed electric lights. It feels so close, like she can reach out and take it in her hands like the models she’d seen on display at the museum, rather than so distant and unreachable.
Below her is the Alchemist’s base, a strange combination of ancient ruins and modern workshops, tiny ant-like figures scurrying about their business even at this late hour. Her father has never brought her to the island, first too young then later not involved enough to warrant the travel. Everything seems twisting and labyrinthine from up here, and there’s no obvious port on the beach. She remembers a dark stone room where the boat had docked but she had been so distant and far away she can barely remember anything of the trip from there to her plush prison cell. Sophia smacked the window frame in frustration, sinking to the ground as everything finally came rushing back to her.
Her father was dead. Carlo was dead. Romeo… poor Romeo who had likely gone for help, only to return to the ruin of his home. Everything unspools, great racking cries shaking her body as she sobs, tears leaving wet streaks down her face and soaking her nightgown. She curls as tight as she can, holding onto all she has left.
When exhaustion overtakes her, she sleeps, propped against the wall beneath the window as if her Prince Charming would climb through and save her from this place.
–
When Sophia wakes she finds that she has been placed into the big bed, sheets tucked gently and carefully around her, her back propped up under big soft pillows.
At the foot of the bed is Simon Manus.
He sits in a chair with his feet planted firmly on the ground, hands clasped and leaning on his cane. She thinks, for a moment, that he is sleeping as his eyes are closed and he is breathing deeply and steadily but her slight shifting in the bed makes his eyes snap open, his gaze pinning her in place.
“How are you?” He asks.
She feels… dried out. Hollowed and scraped of everything that once made her soft and kind and happy. She won’t give him the satisfaction of an answer and jerks her head deliberately away, gazing at a point somewhere to the left of the door.
He hums, deep and rumbling from inside his chest.
“That’s too bad,” he says as if she had spoken. “I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here.”
“You abducted me,” she snaps. “You killed my father, killed my boyfriend , burned down my home and you’ve abducted me.”
Simon tilts his head slightly but he doesn’t seem phased by her anger.
“I’d say you were fairly responsible for burning down your home,” he says, flexing his fingers on the handle of his cane. “Although I suppose you aren’t interested in that distinction.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“True,” he says, almost flippantly. “I won’t deny that.”
He watches Sophia like he’s expecting more from her, but she keeps her head deliberately turned away from him. After a moment, Simon breaks the silence.
“I know you are a Listener.”
Her head snaps back to him, brows furrowed in a deep frown. The only person that ever knew is her long dead mother, and that’s only because she was also a Listener.
“An exceptionally powerful one,” he continues. “And I need your powers to bring about a new world.”
“I’m not helping you,” she spits.
“My dear,” he says. “You don’t have a choice.”
Simon leaves the room and any of the hard edges Sophia feels that she had break, becoming jagged and crumbling as she draws her knees close and begins crying again. There’s nothing behind this outburst of emotion, no dwelling on the dead or lost, just an emptiness and exhaustion that she can’t even fill with her tears.
Simon Manus had been her father’s charismatic right hand man, the one who knew how to get funding from the old families, how to ask people to look the other way when the Alchemists needed to do something not entirely legal. Sophia had never agreed with how her father and his organisation did things, but her choice to not get involved meant she had very little influence on the decisions her father made. Valentinus had at least tried to act with good intentions, had always paid back moral wrongs tenfold, but Simon was ruthless. Anything that Valentinus wouldn’t do, Simon would , with no qualms against who or what it hurt. Sophia had heard the arguments the two had had, differing opinions on the Alchemist’s goals and where their research should go, but she’d always hear them reach some kind of stalemate, an agreement that the rest of the high ranking Alchemists would hear their opinions. She supposed this time, the others had agreed with Simon.
Now all cried out for the next hour, Sophia considers her next course of action, picking at the edge of her quilt as she does.
Escape is her priority. She can’t let Simon get away with what he’s done, murdering Carlo and her father, stealing… whatever it is he stole in the process. He needs to be brought to justice, to be punished for his actions. And most of all, she can’t let Simon’s plans, whatever they are, come to fruition. She won’t aid him, she’ll refuse him at every turn if she needs to. The first thing she needs is to be able to leave her room, find a way to that secret dock. Stow away on a boat perhaps, or try and row herself to the mainland. But first, her locked cell.
There’s a faint knock at the door, so quiet that Sophia almost misses it until they knock again, slightly louder. She considers her bedroom door uncertainly, torn between wanting to see who might be knocking on her cell door, as if she could open it, and remaining petulantly in bed. Curiosity wins out and Sophia rises, padding over with bare feet to stand just in the doorway to see who her next tormentor might be. There’s a quiet jangling of keys and the faint kerchunk as the door is unlocked and opened, a young man with limp blue hair, juggling a covered tray in one hand enters the room and quickly tries to close and lock the door behind him. It suddenly occurs to Sophia that she could have just made a run for it as this poor, unfortunate fool struggles to balance the tray and fumble with keys at the same time. She takes a step forward but the man finishes locking the door and stowing the keys, turning to face her with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” Sophia responds, a little uncertainly. Despite her position as prisoner she can’t help but feel like a cat watching a mouse as the man scurries across the room, suddenly stopping and dithering in front of the dining table. He holds the tray out like a peace offering.
“I’m not hungry,” she says but as if on schedule her stomach tightens and gurgles.
“P-Please,” he stutters. “He’ll be angry if you don’t.”
She knows who ‘he’ is.
She reluctantly walks over and stands on the other side of the table from him, fisting the fabric on her nightgown as he haphazardly plonks the tray in front of a chair and takes a step back. She’s suddenly aware of how cold and naked she feels in the presence of this strange, timid man.
“Service is a bit lax,” Sophia says, trying to affect an air of control.
The man flushes, shoulders jumping to his ears and his fists tightening.
“I’m an Alchemist,” he spits. “Not waitstaff.”
“And yet here you are,” Sophia says.
Tightening her fists briefly, she strides over to him and pushes him to the side slightly so she can stand just before the tray. She straightens it and lifts the lid revealing a slightly soggy quiche, cutlery and a napkin . She carefully removes the plate from the tray, setting it in front of the chair next to where the man had placed it and sets out napkin and cutlery, neatly aligning each perpendicular to the edge of the table. She takes a step back, mirroring the man, and gestures for him to sit.
“I’m not eating this,” she says when the man opens his mouth to protest. “I don’t trust you and I don’t trust Simon.”
He snaps his mouth shut and scrunches up his nose.
“If I show you it’s not p-p-poisoned,” he says. “Will you eat?”
“I’ll consider it.”
Her stomach grumbles again.
The man fidgets before taking the seat Sophia has placed the tray in front of. He picks up the knife and bisects the quiche, pulling the two halves apart so she can see that they look normal.
“Eat some,” she says with a dismissive wave.
The man sighs and cuts a portion that includes both pastry and filling and eats it, chewing and swallowing and even showing his empty mouth to her. Sophia huffs and reluctantly takes the seat next to him but does not begin eating.
“Why d-do you think we’d p-p-poison you?” He asks. He leans back in the chair a little, giving her more space.
“Simon just killed my father, he’s not above murder.”
“Valentinus…” the young man looks genuinely distressed. “I thought… I didn’t think-“
Sophia wants to cry again and she lowers her head and bites her lip as hard as she can to hold back tears.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters.
He reaches out a hand but stops himself, long fingers twitching slightly as he hovers just out of reach. Sophia sniffs loudly and scrubs at her eyes, inhaling deeply to calm herself.
“Well I’m sure it makes no difference to you,” she says bitterly.
“Valentinus was a g-g-good man,” he says. “Manus is…”
He trails off and his face twists into a dark, bitter emotion that seems at odds with the man’s overall delicate features.
“There was a rumour that Manus might try something but I wasn’t expecting this.” He pauses before continuing so quietly that she almost doesn’t hear it.
“I’ll need to let them know…”
Sophia looks at the man, really looks at him, trying to get a sense of this timid, stuttering young Alchemist. He’s easy to write off at a glance, with shoulders hunched and long hair arranged to hang limply in front of his face but she sees it then, a coldness, something dark and calculating in the shadows and creases of his eyes, the way his jaw sits just that little bit tighter. And then the moment passes and his face softens, becomes shy and nervous so naturally she could almost fool herself into believing that this man was nothing more than what he made himself seem.
“Who are you?” Sophia asks.
He blinks, surprised.
“My name is Giangio.” He waits for her to say something, but she is rolling the name around in her head, trying to figure out if she recognises it. To her frustration, she doesn’t.
“You should eat,” Giangio says after a moment. “I’ve been here a while and…”
Sophia silently “ ohs” and picks up the fork and begins eating, the quiche flavourless in her mouth. She’s not focussed on that though, she’s thinking about cold, calculating Giangio and Simon.
And most of all she’s thinking about escape.
—
Left to her own devices, Sophia finds boredom cuts easily through the grief. She can only spend so many long hours crying after all.
She stands for a time at the windows, but there is little information she can glean from so high up. At least she can get an idea of the outside complex, the way the Alchemists have grafted their modern labs onto strange, ancient ruins, cancerous growths that destroy what beauty these structures once had. She makes a mental note to ask someone what this place had once been.
When the distant people watching bears no fruit, she goes looking for puppets.
Sophia settles herself on the too large bed and stretches out, letting her powers spool and untether from where they sit cramped within her breast. The first thing she notices is that this place reeks of Ergo. It seeps from the stones, floods the very air with its lightning sweet miasma. And with every waking second, something draws more of it in, a sucking whirlpool with the tower she currently resides at its centre.
The second is that there are no puppets. Sophia is surprised, she would have expected this place to be crawling with puppets undertaking the menial tasks the Alchemists felt themselves above. But she can’t feel them, no crystalised souls she can call out to in hope of aid. Perhaps they are beyond her range, but try as she might, no matter how thin she stretches herself until she is sure she will snap, she can’t feel any puppets.
Sophia begins reeling back, coiling into her physical body, but she feels something, not a puppet as she first hopes but not quite human. Something… more, perhaps. She follows it, a trail that seems to spider web across the base, no clear origin in sight, spiralling tighter and tighter until-
“It is rude to spy, my dear Sophia,” Simon Manus says.
He stands amidst a crowd of fawning Alchemists but he addresses her directly. She’s not sure where this trail has brought her, but she feels caught, trapped like a fly in some spider’s sticky web while Simon watches her with the curiosity of someone who pulls the wings from living insects. The crowd seems to clamour as he addresses her, confused as he speaks to someone they cannot see, someone who is not physically there. He opens his mouth and Sophia sees-
-a grotesque giant reaching forever heavenward until-
-she snaps back to her body, retching and gasping from the strain.
Sophia collapses sideways onto the bed, allowing her heart to settle and her lungs to fill with air. What she had seen was abhorrent, an abomination in the eyes of God, but there was an inevitability to the vision she couldn’t shake, like watching a high speed collision she had no way of stopping, with Simon at every point of impact.
What was he planning?
–
Simon visits her the next day.
It seems she has a rotating roster of food bearers because the Alchemist delivering her food isn’t Giangio, some hulking giant with tiny glasses perched atop a bulbous nose. He hovers too close as she eats, saying nothing despite her weak attempts at conversation. Her meal is interrupted when the door opens with a sudden kerchunk and both Sophia and her unfortunate companion turn towards the noise. When Simon steps into the room, the Alchemist just about falls to the ground in his haste to bow while Sophia turns back to her food, spearing another mouthful of bland, rubbery eggs and tries to chew them as insolently as possible.
“Miss Sophia,” he greets and waves the Alchemist off with a flick of his wrist. The man leaves quickly as Simon takes a seat opposite her and Sophia shovels more food into her mouth, any excuse she can get not to talk to him.
Simon sits in silence, just watching her for the moment as she keeps eating, desperately trying to avoid his gaze, desperately trying not to think of the ruin he’s caused her and how much she hates him. But the food is finite and eventually the plate is empty and her stomach churns with a breakfast she wished she hadn’t eaten.
“I do apologise for the lax hospitality,” Simon says as she sets her cutlery neatly down, fidgeting with the serviette as a desperate attempt to keep her attention elsewhere. “I am currently finalising your occupancy, amidst other things.”
Sophia doesn’t respond, making sure she keeps her gaze carefully turned away.
“Progress must continue regardless,” he continues. “I imagine you are curious.”
She is.
“No,” she spits. “I’d rather die.”
“Well that is no good,” Simon responds, his tone gentle and just this side of mocking. “But I can think of far worse things than death.”
Sophia has no doubts about that.
“This city sits on the brink of evolution and I will not pass up the opportunity to usher in a new age. And you will assist me, dear Sophia, whether you want to or not.”
There is an intensity to his expression, mouth twisted into a shape almost manic, scar stretched long and wide with fervour, that scares Sophia more than she cares to admit. For all her attempts at nonchalance, she is deeply afraid of what Simon Manus could do.
He stands and walks to the door, opening it and having a brief word to the man who’d just left. Sophia watches, anxiety gripping her lungs like a vice, as the man re enters the room while Simon stands easily to the side. The Alchemist hauls Sophia to her feet, ignoring her attempts to pull away. She is marched from the room, Simon leading the way with an almost idle pace, down stairs and corridors, walls that change from rough stone to smooth plaster on a whim as Sophia desperately tries to remember the way over the beating of her heart. The do not leave the building, only going lower and lower until she is sure they are deep underground, when Simon stops in front of metal double doors, flanked either side by two brutes with the lower halves of their faces covered with cloth masks, and one of them shoves the door open at the barest flick of their master’s wrist.
The place he has taken them is a laboratory filled with skittering Alchemists who crawl over rough hewn stone pursuing their incomprehensible research. This place had been part of the ruins once but the large cavernous space had made it an ideal place for the jumbles of crates, tables and machinery, all laid out in a way Sophia does not understand.
“This is one of our laboratories,” Simon explains as he leads them to a sectioned off corner. Every Alchemist they pass acknowledges him in some way, bows and lowered chins, salutes of all varieties. “We will begin here today, establish a baseline, before we push further.”
She tries to shrink away from Simon and the scurrying Alchemists but it only pushes her further into the grip of her loathsome escort.
“What do you mean?” She asks.
The Alchemist pushes back and Sophia finds herself stumbling forward into Simon when her escort lets go. The care with which Simon directs her to a chair is unsettling, all gentle hands about her shoulders, featherlight fingers brushing her skin as she is eased into the seat.
“I know you are exceptional, my dear, but I want to know how.”
The chair is padded, but Sophia cannot help noticing the restricting armrests, how easy it would be to bind her within it. A woman in white robes approaches and Sophia flinches, recognising Adriana from the previous night. She gives Sophia a hard look as she curls away from her, before setting a tray of implements almost reverentially on the table next to Simon while he removes his coat and rolls up his sleeves, rinsing his hands in a basin of water nearby. Sophia can see glass containers, scalpels, syringes and vials all laid out neatly for Simon’s use as Simon’s dog wheels a chair over and stands at attention.
“Thank you Adriana,” he says, and Sophia can almost fool herself into believing this is an ordinary doctor’s visit with the professionalism that Simon holds himself with.
“We start first,” he says, raising a syringe from the tray. “With blood.”
She wants to squirm out of the way, to bite and kick at the hand that wraps the strong leather cuff around her bicep, but Simon is nothing but efficient, finding a vein with ease and inserting the needle. Sophia can only watch with detached horror as her blood is pulled from her like juice through a straw, spiralling through the attached length of tubing and into one of the glass containers. It fills and fills, ruby red liquid that brings to mind the roses a suitor had once given her. The more he takes the colder she feels, her arm growing steadily numb and heavy, eyes drooping with fatigue until Simon suddenly stops the flow, removes the needle from her arm and passes off what he has taken to a now indistinct and faceless Alchemist.
Sophia can feel his hand on hers, the slight callouses on his fingers as he rubs at her knuckles.
“Stay awake dear Sophia,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
His touch is gentle and she is reminded of her father, a time when she had been delirious with fever and his hands had been a cold comfort to her burning skin.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises and she almost believes him. “The blood is necessary.”
A glass is raised to her lips and Sophia drinks automatically, something warm and sugary sliding down her throat while Simon packs up the remaining syringes and vials and passes them to Adriana to take elsewhere.
The glass is removed and Simon gives her hand a gentle squeeze.
“There are other samples I require,” Simon says, his tone serious.
He works methodically as Sophia slowly recovers. He had taken an exceptional amount of blood, a substance she understands the need for, but there are others she does not. Skin scrapings, fingernail clippings, a winding strand of her hair. When she is well enough to stand he tells her to fill a container with urine and sends Adriana to shadow her.
When she has given all she can, Simon demands more. He has Sophia blow into a strange device, straps a cuff to her arm and pumps it tight. He measures height and weight, before bidding her to strip. That, Sophia will not do and Simon frowns, something akin to anger clouding his features.
“You do not have any say in the matter,” he says, voice a deep growl with the tightness of his jaw.
“I have given you everything you wanted,” she replies, trying to sound calm and reasonable despite her high strung heart. “But please, let me keep my decency.”
Simon makes a scoffing noise and with a wave of his hand the big Alchemist grabs her and yanks roughly at the collar of her nightgown, the thin fabric splitting along its seams. Sophia struggles now, trying to break free as he yanks again and exposes goosepimpled flesh to the chill air.
“Let me make myself clear Sophia,” Simon says. “Your cooperation is not necessary for what I need. It has been appreciated-“ he looms over her, bending slightly and shrouding his face in darkness. “But not required.”
There is a numbness now as Simon measures her. Arms and legs and torso, firm cold hands on breasts and between her legs. She cries, because her thrashing does nothing, but Simon is unmoved. Only methodical as he makes notes, voices quiet observations to Adriana who is no comfort despite Sophia’s pleading.
When he finishes, Sophia curls in on herself, pulling what remains of her nightgown around her while the three Alchemists discuss something in quiet tones a ways from her. She wonders if this is what taxidermied medical specimens feel like, split open and their insides plucked like overripe fruit for consumption, sewn anew with cotton and sawdust innards.
There is a sudden touch at her shoulder and Sophia flinches away, but the feeling persists. She looks up to find a coat being draped around her shoulders and Giangio standing over her.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and she believes him.