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Evelyn Mora was not one to abide betrayal.

She was not one to abide betrayal at all, no, but she was certainly not one to abide this particular betrayal. Just upon the cusp of flying free, she'd thought, just there, nearly there, and it was that precise moment that she had decided to let the petals drop.

No, Evelyn Mora truly couldn't abide this betrayal.

"And now, of all times," Evelyn was telling one of the girls, one knee crossed over the other, cane knocked gently against the floor at a slant. "How am I meant to take this, if not a personal slight?"

"Well," the girl started, with far more snark than Evelyn appreciated, her eyes almost bored as they settled upon Evelyn. "Perhaps, Ms. Mora, it wasn't about you at all."

The girls never had been fond of her habit of calling Evelyn by her first name, she supposed, or Evelyn's marked favouritism for that one, which, was, she could admit, fair enough. "She could have given some warning," Evelyn muttered, tapping her cane with rhythmic precision. "I would have liked the time to prepare one of you in her stead." Evelyn heaved a sigh a touch too heavy. "And she was so very marvellous at disguises."

The girl heaved a sigh of her own, but she was smiling too. "Yes, yes. Very marvellous at disguises. And," she added, side-eyeing Evelyn, "other closed-door activities, I suspect, you would know."

Evelyn's eyebrows shot up, turning to face the girl fully. "My," she said, with emphasis. "Now, what might you mean by that, Dahlia?"

"Nothing, nothing," the girl was quick to say, hands raising in surrender, but her smile had grown teasing. "Nothing of consequence, Ms. Mora. I just meant… well. We all know how… close you were." Her gaze dropped to Evelyn's crossed legs and then back up again, one eyebrow raised meaningfully.

"God, you're uncouth," Evelyn informed her, though she only just managed to keep the amusement from her face. "I certainly did not teach you that. And no, dear, I wouldn't know. I am not quite so uncouth as that."

Dahlia seemed genuinely surprised. "No?"

"You could stand to appear less shocked," Evelyn said wryly. "I'm afraid my favouritism towards her was purely skill-based, dear. I'm sorry to shatter your self-righteous illusions."

Dahlia scoffed. "She was good, no doubt, but that was not the only reason you favoured her."

Evelyn hummed. "Perhaps," she allowed, staring into an invisible point in the wall. The wall was a truly rather bland sort of yellow, pale, sickly. Evelyn had been known to toy with her, on occasion, but nothing quite so explicit as poor Dahlia was insinuating. "But it wounds me to know how lowly you think of me. Are the other girls the same?"

"Ms. Mora, please." Dahlia waved a hand, biting down on her smile. "It's nothing quite so… we just notice things, as you have taught us to."

"Don't blame your depraved thoughts on my tutelage, girl," Evelyn told her, a mock-warning.

"You're right, ma'am, I'm sorry," Dahlia conceded, just as insincere. Evelyn was a rather good teacher.

"Ms. Mora," another of the girls called out, poking her head around the corner of the door. "Sir Lamb is ready to receive you."

"Of course," Evelyn said, standing up in one swift and fluid movement. "Thank you, dear." She looked back at Dahlia, and then offered her one last smile, patting her on the head as she knew the girl would despise. "Cleanse that head of yours before I'm gone, you hear me? I'll be needing someone to stand in Marigold's stead."

Dahlia combed her hand back with a huff, but stood and gave her a salute. "Yes, Ms. Mora. Will do, Ms. Mora."

Evelyn flicked her fingers in parting, and nodded at the girl at the door as she stepped aside to allow Evelyn in.

"Ms. Mora," Lamb drawled, his eyes cold upon her. "I wanted to talk to you about our latest… runaway."

"I assumed so," Evelyn nodded, taking the seat in front of him without waiting for his inclined head to indicate that she do so. Lamb did not react.

"I understand she was a favourite of yours," Lamb continued, and his fingers steepled.

Evelyn felt her gaze narrow, and clicked her cane against the floor once. "She was an excellent student," she said carefully. "It will be a pity to replace her as successor to my position."

"It certainly would be," Lamb agreed, and his eyes were steady upon Evelyn, betraying nothing. Evelyn kept her stare measured. "I have one last request to make of you, Ms. Mora."

"A request?" Evelyn echoed. Lamb's requests were notoriously not exactly quickly accomplished, to put it lightly. "My apologies. Was I not to… retire soon?"

"Ms. Mora," Lamb said, and there was a thread of amusement beneath the insincere pain, crawling into the dull shadows of his eyes. "You wound me. What is it, do you think, about my institution that has so many of you so eager to escape?"

"That was not my intention." Evelyn switched the hand holding her cane. "I merely meant…"

"I have one last request," Lamb said again, and Evelyn pursed her lips, not interrupting again. "I want you to bring back Marigold."

At this, Evelyn straightened, and she found she couldn't quite hide her shock quick enough. "Bring her back?" she repeated slowly, the words engraving themselves upon the roof of her mouth, and she was half-certain she had misheard.

"You heard me, Ms. Mora." Lamb smiled, an oil-slick spread. "She's far too valuable to simply… let go of." He beckoned her to his desk, sliding a dossier forwards, and Evelyn leaned in to read the loose page set atop it.

"Oh," Evelyn said, because that was a familiar face, a face she knew far too well, the blankness behind those eyes and the empty expression worn well into the backs of her eyes. "And you are certain…?"

"Don't insult me, Ms. Mora," Lamb said, and though his tone was light, Evelyn's hand grasped the top of her cane tighter. "It is her."

"I see," Evelyn murmured, and her gloved hand hovered over the paper, butterfly-like. "She's chosen herself another name. Another identity."

"As she is wont to do." Lamb pushed the dossier further towards Evelyn, and Evelyn took it gingerly. "This one last request, Ms. Mora, and I will let you go."

Evelyn looked up sharply. "Let me go?"

Lamb's smile spread once more. "Isn't that what you wanted, Ms. Mora?"

Evelyn looked back down at the lifeless eyes of the photo staring back up at her. "More than anything, sir. I'll return Marigold."

Lamb nodded and did not respond, a dismissal as good as any. Evelyn stood and inclined her head once before briskly walking out.

"Dahlia," she called, and the girl was right where she had left her. "It appears you needn't cleanse your head so promptly, after all."

Dahlia's eyes widened. "You mean to say…?"

Evelyn smiled, and it was a wide, close-lipped one, painted and curved sharp as a blade. "My very last mission. A hunt, as it were."

Her attention travelled, inevitably, back to the poster in her arms. No betrayal was to be abided.

Martha, now, was it?

Evelyn had, of course, heard of Oletus Manor. It would have been far stranger if she hadn't.

"A desperate place," she had once told Marigold- though that hadn't been her name at the time, for she was ever so fond of changing identities- languidly one dark evening, "for desperate people in desperate situations."

"Is that so?" Marigold- or Martha, as it were- had said. "Why do you say that?"

Evelyn had laughed. "Hardly anyone comes back from that manor, dear. And those that do…" She tapped at her temple with one finger. "Well."

"Hm," Martha had replied, and she had reclined far back into Evelyn's cushioned chair, her neck bared long enough that Evelyn did not resist the urge to brush her fingers over the exposed skin, watching as it pebbled and reddened. Evelyn grasped her throat lightly, without pressure, feeling the warmth of her skin through her glove, the dip of her throat as she breathed, the curve of her neck. "They must be truly desperate. Desperate enough to throw their own lives away for nothing."

Evelyn had agreed, she remembered this much, but she couldn't recall the words she had said, focused far too intently on the stutter of Martha's breaths and the shape of her lips around her words. Evelyn had slid her hand off of her, slowly, and met her eyes smugly as Martha drew in a slightly deeper breath.

Martha had, evidently, become one of those desperate people. Evelyn was almost disappointed, in Martha for falling to it, in herself for not realising it, but there was pride to be felt in how completely and entirely Martha had fooled them all.

Evelyn checked her watch again and smiled to herself. She couldn't pretend that she wasn't looking forward to this.

The chair she had sprawled herself across was unimpressive, the cushions ineffectual and uncomfortable, but it was plain in sight of the door and that, really, was what mattered.

This was by no means the sort of luxury and glamour they were promised under Lamb's watchful eye, but Evelyn supposed it was better than nothing. This was, allegedly, to be Martha's first and only night in the place. She hadn't stayed in one place for the three nights she had been gone, all her stays pre-paid by who Evelyn could only assume to be her mysterious benefactor- the manor owner. This was meant to be her final night before Martha set off into the infamous Oletus Manor itself, as far as Lamb could discern, and Evelyn intended to take advantage. The manor, she suspected, would be far more difficult to sneak into than the flimsy security of this place.

It was dark, however, and as Evelyn watched the last glimmers of the sun dip away beneath the horizon, she wondered if Martha would be coming up to this room of hers at all.

At last, when darkness had fallen enough to blanket the little hotel room, the door cracked open.

Martha, disappointingly, did not notice Evelyn until she had closed the door behind herself. Evelyn arched one eyebrow with disdain, but, hidden as she was by shadows, Martha did not see it.

Truly, Evelyn could have sworn that she had taught her better than this.

It was not until Martha clicked the lights on that she appeared to realise she wasn't alone. Evelyn offered her a lazy wave.

"Hello, dear," Evelyn said, her head tilting back. "Took you long enough."

"Evelyn," Martha said, her voice betraying none of the shock written plain in the stiffness of her posture, calm and measured. "You're here."

"Mm," Evelyn agreed, sliding herself off the chair, "I was wondering if you would notice. Only, what, four days without me and you start to lose your edge? My, dear."

"I hadn't thought you'd find me so… quickly," Martha said, almost defensively.

"Your mistake," Evelyn tutted as she strolled forwards, watching with satisfaction as Martha backed away into the wall, eyes flicking to the door. "Ah-ah," Evelyn warned teasingly, shaking her head. "Eyes on me, Marigold. Or, what is it now that you go by? Martha, was it?"

Martha's eyes narrowed, and she pressed herself flat against the wall, entrapping herself between it and Evelyn. "You seem to know quite a lot, Evelyn."

"Nothing escapes us, dear," Evelyn reminded her. "I thought you knew that by now. Which does make me wonder," Evelyn reached her palm up, gently almost, to rest it against Martha's cheek, stroking the softness of her skin, wondering how it would feel if she slipped her glove off, "why try to run?"

Why, her eyes supplied silently, and she knew Martha saw the question clear as day, choose to betray?

Martha did not move an inch, not forwards, not back. "I guess I got desperate," she said evenly. "So, what now? Is this where you kill me?"

"Kill you?" Evelyn echoed incredulously, as though the thought had never occurred to her, even as her smile said otherwise. "My, no, Martha. Not kill you. Villhelm Lamb has some use of you yet." She tilted Martha's chin up. "Come along peacefully, and you'll make things far easier on us both."

"Evelyn," Martha sighed, and her eyes slipped shut, and for a brief moment, Evelyn felt her heart stutter. "You know I don't do things the easy way."

Martha shoved a gun in the sparse space between their faces, startling Evelyn enough with the suddenness of it that she had only a moment to lean back and out of the way before the gun went off with a bang.

A red bloom splattered forth in front Evelyn, and she hacked on it, feeling the smoke settle thickly upon her tongue, the sting of it in her eyes, and felt, for the first time, profoundly grateful for her lack of sense of taste. She couldn't imagine this would have tasted particularly sublime.

Martha was already sprinting, shoving Evelyn's stunned form away from her and taking great bounding leaps towards the door, closing the short distance quickly, and Evelyn only just regained her senses enough to follow, to grab ahold of the back of her shirt right before Martha could pry the unlocked door open, to haul her back and slam her against the wall, forearm tight against Martha's front, just below her throat, pressing down upon Martha's shoulders.

Martha gasped, winded, head cracking against the wall at her back, and Evelyn paused to catch her breath, still coughing the smoke out of her lungs.

"A flare gun," Evelyn muttered, disdainful, tossing her head to send her hair back into place. "Truly, Martha, I've certainly taught you better than this. If you'll use a gun at all," Evelyn dropped her cane in favour of retrieving her pistol from behind her back, and pressed its barrel into Martha, just below her sternum, "use a real one."

Martha breathed in sharply, and Evelyn watched her struggle, watched, finally, as fear bloomed upon her face, beautiful. "You won't kill me," she said, though she didn't sound entirely sure.

"No," Evelyn agreed, and her voice was hardly a breath, even to her own ears, "but Martha, you know me. You know I know exactly where to shoot so that you, my dear, don't die."

Martha exhaled shakily, and she licked her lips, a quick flash of a thing, tongue swiping over the pink of her dry lips, and Evelyn pressed in closer, gun pressing hard enough to bruise. Evelyn smiled at the thought. Martha's eyes flicked up, and she was still trembling, and she swallowed, rough. "I'm sorry," she said, and Evelyn almost believed her.

"You shouldn't have left," Evelyn told her.

"No," Martha agreed, straightening beneath Evelyn, drawing herself up taller so she was only just shorter than Evelyn, her face far too close. "I shouldn't have."

Martha swayed forwards, closing the meagre distance between them, catching Evelyn's lips on a gasp.

Evelyn's mouth opened to her of its own accord, easy as breathing, easier than breathing at that moment, the forearm against Martha's front shifting and moving so her hand could encompass Martha's throat, thumb swiping at the hollow, pressing down into it to feel the rabbit-pace of her pulse, and now, now was when Evelyn mourned her her inability to taste. Martha, she was sure, would have been exquisite.

The gun was still pressed into Martha, closer, even, than Evelyn was.

"This is very-" Evelyn had to pause to breathe, struggling to get the words out between Martha's incessant insistent kisses, and when her tongue swiped at her own, Evelyn could have sworn that she blacked out- "sweet, and all, but-" Martha swallowed her voice down, drinking it in, and Evelyn could hardly keep her eyes open- "tell me you don't think-"

"I know," Martha bit out, and then bit down upon Evelyn's lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and licked the blood away, drawing a strangled noise from Evelyn. "Now, please, Evelyn-"

Evelyn's hand had wrapped around Martha's throat, possessing a mind of its own, and a thrill ran through her at the wretched gasp Martha let out when she squeezed, and she smiled against Martha's lips. They were soft now, and Evelyn wished, suddenly, fervently, that she could have tasted the blood she drew from Martha's lips with a quick nip. It was thicker than saliva, sliding upon her tongue slickly, and it clung to the roof of her mouth.

Martha's hand, the one not currently at Evelyn's nape, pushing her down, further into Martha's kiss, made its way round to curl around the hand Evelyn had on her gun. Evelyn's fingers slackened around it, and she heard it drop with a colossal thud. Martha's palm replaced the gun, her fingers intertwining between Evelyn's, and Martha spun them around, pinning the hand in hers against the wall, pinning Evelyn against the wall, and Evelyn found her other hand moving down a heavy path from Martha's throat, trailing over Martha's every curve, to tug her in by the waist. Martha took that hand, too, and held it, gently almost, against the wall, pressing herself hard against Evelyn, and every faculty of coherent thought left Evelyn's mind.

And then Martha was gone.

Evelyn's eyes snapped open at the sudden lack, the emptiness, the cold, but Martha had already lurched for the unlocked door, swung it wide open, heaving, and sped away, her feet dully slapping against the carpeted corridor, with barely a glance back at Evelyn.

Evelyn made to follow, half-heartedly, down the hall, pausing at the stairs on both sides, and then laughed.

She laughed and she laughed and she laughed.

She laughed until she was dizzy with it, until her lungs burned with it, until her eyes stung with it, and then she laughed some more. She waved away a concerned guest that had come out of their room, not so much looking at them, and dragged herself inelegantly back to Martha's room. Her pistol lay useless upon the floor.

Evelyn moved to the bathroom, bracing herself against the sink, and dared to look up at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick was smeared and stained blood-red.

She looked, she mused, a desperate woman.