With a flair for melodrama and an affinity for being overdressed in vibrant red, Lady Catherine of Marberry looked out of place in many situations. The small, neglected cottage littered from floors to ceilings with books was no exception. She knew better than to comment on how the rooms were being suffocated under layers of dust though.

She supposed the moths thrived in that kind of house anyway.

"I had quite some trouble finding this place," she chirped while discreetly glancing down to make sure her deep red shoes stayed away from the grittiest parts of the floor. "It's been such a long time since we saw each other after all."

"Yes, it's usually Derek out of the four of you." Cyril Vizcarra's voice was as monotone as ever, with no indication of his apparent surprise as he sat down behind his desk. "Also I've moved twice since last time so you struggling to find me makes sense."

"Honestly I don't know why we don't talk more often." Catherine gently removed two heavy, intricately decorated books from a chair to free up the sole available seat in the room. "We're both equally curious people, and we basically have the same colour preferences... Yours just being a little diluted."

She tapped the side of her eye as an explanation, but Cyril showed no sign of agreement.

"My eyes are irrelevant to my colour preferences." He turned his gaze away. "I didn't choose them."

"Well I wish I'd known that before." Catherine still picked a light pink rose from her otherwise red ones decorating the top of her gown and fixed it above Cyril's ear. "But it will suit you anyway."

Cyril showed no reaction to imply he appreciated the gesture, but he didn't remove the rose either.

"Actually my favourite colour is—"

"Well pink would have been more convenient." Catering shrugged before bringing a bottle out of her abnormally deep pocket to place it on the desk between them. "Anyway, I made a guess you don't have much to offer beverage-wise, so I took the liberty of bringing some wine for us to share."

"You can have it all," Cyril said as he watched Catherine's attempt to sit down without toppling book piles over with her cherry-patterned, inconveniently poofy skirts. "I'm not much of a drinker"

Catherine tilted her head with a mischievous smile.

"Come now, you don't have to act like a child just because you look like that." She gestured to Cyril's round, acne-ridden face. "You're still a man over what, at least two hundred? Albeit an adolescent looking one."

"It's got nothing to do with my body." Cyril's voice turned dead. "Now tell me why you're here."

"I would have thought you'd know already." Catherine nodded at Cyril's shoulder where a handful of his countless, white moths were resting. "Your pretty-eyed friends tend to make sure of it."

"I don't have any need or desire to know what you're up to." Cyril's eyes lowered to his moths as well. "I know better than that."

"But surely you must have a hunch?"

"I'm guessing it's about Bria." Cyril's nose scrunched ever so slightly. "Since Anthony reached out to you for help."

"It's bothered me that I cannot remember her," Catherine said, eye twitching as vague images she couldn't place flickered through her mind, filling her with nauseating dread and she quickly got started on opening the bottle of wine. She couldn't add a face to the name, despite Lucius having claimed that she and the supposedly Scourge-infested woman knew each other back in the day. "I'm sure there's a good reason, but now that it could have come in handy I wish there were at least some traces."

Cyril raised an eyebrow.

"I'm surprised you'd want to help Lucius Cromwell after the explosion. Last time I saw, you were angry with him and willing to let him die on hallowed grounds."

Catherine returned the questioning look with a smile.

"I thought you weren't spying on me?"

"I spy on him though."

"I've moved past it since then, anyway." Catherine held up the necklace with the wooden figure that she'd previously let Lucius borrow and had now found its place around her neck again. "And I do have my reasons to care, even if it's not about him specifically."

"So it's about the veins," Cyril concluded, gently removing a newly awoken moth that had crawled up on his cheek, rose coloured eyes matching its owner's. "And yes, much like any other memories you discard, you wouldn't want the ones about Bria back either."

"It's not surprising, I suppose." Catherine wrinkled her eyebrows, pressure building behind her forehead. "I'm still not rid of other memories of him... Other times it's happened, and it's always just as harrowing. If Bria's fate was anything like it, I don't regret losing memories of her one bit."

"By that I imagine you know something I don't?" Cyril raised an eyebrow and Catherine nodded slowly.

"He's going to die," she said, voice almost a whisper before raising the bottle to her lips. "If they exorcise him, he will most certainly die."

"I've predicted as much." There was, surprisingly, a hint of pain in Cyril's eyes. "In a condition like that I doubt anyone would survive, or would want to."

"So is that what happened to Bria?" Catherine asked, graphic memories of unrelated, gruesome events surging through her mind as it tried to find a connection, and she took a deep swig of her wine. "Was I foolish enough back then to suggest such a thing?"

"It was long ago, and I think your Cromwell knowledge is more recent than that," Cyril reasoned, perhaps as an attempt to comfort her, but being him it seemed unlikely. "But no, Bria didn't make it that far."

"She—"

"The cluster managed to invade most of her body, with its unholy essence growing stronger than any exorcist could deal with."

Catherine stared.

"So it got out?"

"It would have, sooner rather than later." Cyril's sombre gaze lowered, and he reached a finger out to pet one of the moths. "But she was killed before that."

Catherine's mind hit a wall, and her headache boomed accordingly. She hurriedly emptied more of the bottle before daring to continue.

"I... Take it that's one of the more specific memories I didn't want." She exhaled a deep breath before continuing. "Was it a mob? People found out?"

"She was mauled by a group of unhinged, supernatural creatures," Cyril replied unceremoniously, and Catherine raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Just like that?"

"The further the veins spread, the more it seemed as though supernaturals were drawn near her." Cyril shook his head. "Not for consumption, but... Some kind of primal urge that arose as soon as they could smell her blood."

Catherine's eyes widened at that, and she quietly stared into nothing as more recent, familiar and even heartfelt visions were added to the already cursed blend.

"Is that... So?"

Cyril gave her a moment of silence as an opportunity to continue, but moved on as nothing happened.

"Something you want to share?"

Catherine snapped back to reality, and she hurriedly cleared her throat.

"No, not right now, at least." She narrowed her eyes in thought. "But tell me... What happened to Bria's veins after?"

Cyril drummed his fingers against his desk absentmindedly before releasing a hum.

"I doubt no one knows... It's been over two hundred years."

"But it is troubling, isn't it? With blood like that," Catherine continued, mind stirring again as pieces wanted to connect but ultimately couldn't. "The poor ladybug is surrounded by supernatural people at all times, isn't he?"

"If Cromwell is the ladybug you're referring to, then yes." Cyril leaned back in his chair. "He's in much more danger than he realises."

"So... What can they do? What is the best possible outcome?"

Cyril let out a soft scoff.

"I don't think there's a 'best' outcome. No matter what happens, things won't end well."

Catherine folded her arms with a reproachful look.

"That's it? Seems I'd forgotten just how cynical you can be."

Cyril didn't budge, instead daring to look amused.

"I don't need to hear that from you, Lady." He proceeded to scrunch up his nose. "Regardless, there's not much you or I could do now. Especially since he's not in South Kerilia anymore."

Catherine blinked.

"He's—? Then where is he?"

"On a ship headed for Hrimrike." Cyril pursed his lips. "... Captain Vandelay's ship."

"Vandelay?" Vague memories bubbled up in Catherine's head again, and she stared in horror as they fell into place. "You mean... Ethan's Vandelay? Our ladybug is on his ship? Isn't that—"

"Yes." Cyril nodded gravely with a glance at Catherine's necklace. "Possibly the worst place he could be right now."

***

Author's note:

Welcome back! Hope you're all excited for the third and final book! I've been feeling a lot of pressure to get the chapters done right immediately even though they're still technically rough drafts, and it's slowed down my process a little, but I hope I can let go of that mentality and pick things up again soon!

I'd love to hear your thoughts and expectations now that we're rolling! Any predictions? Thoughts about this chapter with Catherine and Cyril being their eccentric, complicated selves? Concerns about what they've discussed? Just general things you want to yell at me? Get into those comments!