The morning greeted Aubrey with the sounds of movement outside the room as voices could be faintly heard. She sat up, blinking rapidly, and stretched with an unladylike grunt.
Seraphine peeked into the room, knocking twice. "Are you still alive in there?"
Aubrey groaned softly from inside the room, sounding groggy and still half-asleep.
"Well, good morning," Seraphine continued, opening the door wide.
Aubrey squinted, rubbing at her eyes, taking note of the bundle of books being brought over in Seraphine's arms. Her eyes lit up at the sight of them. "The promised material finally graces me? Sweet!"
Seraphine set the pile down on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Aubrey to make space for them. "I believe this will hold you over for a bit, yes. I do not own any 'erotic material', so the most suggestive thing I managed to procure might come across a bit tame compared to whatever lewd fantasies occupy your headspace."
Aubrey puffed out her cheeks and glared, but didn't bother retorting or correcting her.
Levy entered the room next, bearing food upon a tray. He frowned when he noticed her glaring in his direction. "Looks like you had a visitor last night. The front door was broken into, and there were scratch marks on the floor leading up to your room."
Aubrey winced at that revelation. "Oh noes! How awful! And after all that talk yesterday about me staying put as a prisoner and all, too!"
She gave the two Hunters a sheepish smile. "Ummm... I can't think of anyone else besides my bandmates that would visit me."
Seraphine crossed her arms with a stern look. "I suppose I should have expected something like this to happen. Well, regardless. The important thing is that you actually managed to stay in the room. I hope the books prove entertaining enough to keep you contained."
Aubrey nodded, still grinning widely as she reached for her breakfast meal of porridge, sausages, toast with jam, and apple juice. "Yuppers! I'm a woman of my word, yanno~?"
Levy didn't seem convinced, regarding her with an incredulous look while setting the tray down on her lap. "If you had tried breaking out the room, I doubt we would even be speaking now. There would only be piles of ashes left behind."
Seraphine sighed, stepping away with hands folded at her back. "I'll continue my investigations today, but from now on, Levy and I will take turns looking after you in this house while the other goes out." She turned around and glanced at Aubrey one last time before moving away. "I trust you enough to know that attempting another stunt like that would put your chances of gaining our trust even lower than they already are."
"Yeah, yeah," Aubrey grumbled, scooping a mouthful of porridge with her spoon and wolfing it down. Eating with her hands tied wasn't the most comfortable experience, so she took care with the movements of her arms so as to not spill anything. But still…
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Seraphine stood at the threshold of the Mordenstradt Public Archives, the morning sun casting long, honeyed shadows on the cobblestones. The building itself looked old, with cracked bricks and vines curling around its doorframe like grasping fingers. But despite its age, it gave off an air of solidity and reliability—a trait common amongst many prominent structures in the city.
She pushed the door open and stepped into the cool interior, inhaling the musty smell of old books and paper. A few patrons milled around the rows of shelves and bookcases, their eyes peering up at her over the edge of their tomes. The atmosphere was one of quiet reverence, the silence broken only by the scratching of pens on parchment or the occasional whisper among small groups.
Approaching the main desk, Seraphine was greeted by a bespectacled archivist—a stooped and elderly man who looked as though he had spent his entire life hunched over a stack of books. He smiled at her politely, his wrinkled face creasing around his mouth and eyes.
"Good day, miss... how may I assist you today?"
"Good day," she replied, her voice steady but tinged with an edge of urgency. "I’m here to access public records on a performer named Aubrey. She was quite prominent in the city’s cultural circles."
"Certainly, madam." With practiced ease, he set about opening up different books and scrolls upon the wooden counter. He skimmed through the contents of each in search of something in particular, before letting out a pleased grunt as his finger landed upon one entry.
He turned it around so that Seraphine could see what he had found. It was a page filled with dates and information pertaining to the performance schedules for one "Lady Aubrey Sinclair" throughout various periods over the course of a year.
"Ah, here we go," he murmured, pushing his glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose as he peered down at the page.
Seraphine scanned through it herself, frowning slightly when she noticed that the latest entry appeared to be from four months ago. "Is this the last scheduled date of a performance?" she asked, pointing to the date written beside the venue name, "Phantom's Opera House" located in the Gildenfaire district.
Stolen novel; please report.
"I'm afraid so," replied the archivist with a faint air of regret. "Since then, nothing has been added into our record books pertaining to her shows. Perhaps she took a break?"
"She's dead," Seraphine stated bluntly.
"...oh, dear." The archivist frowned down at his book once more, his brow furrowing slightly as he pondered how to proceed. "That does present something of a conundrum, I suppose. If she had died, surely there'd be some sort of report on that in our records somewhere, let's see..."
As he busied himself looking again through all the books and scrolls on display, Seraphine watched patiently with a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.
The search took some time—long enough for Seraphine to wonder whether she'd have to come back another day to continue investigating—when at last the archivist spoke up once more. "I believe I may have found something," he said, sounding pleased with himself.
Seraphine perked up, her attention drawn towards the book the man held out towards her. She moved closer to examine what he had found.
Her eyes widened as she stared at a collection of newspaper clippings and magazine articles describing the gruesome incident involving a group of unknown assailants attacking The Phantom's Opera House while Aubrey Sinclair performed for the evening.
They later burned down the building after killing everyone inside. Speculations ran rampant in regards to the motive behind this vile act, and theories on who the attackers might have been floated around—ranging from disgruntled criminals targeting a prominent figure in the entertainment industry, to occultists seeking to enact dark rituals within. There appeared to be no reliable witness accounts, only the gory aftermath left in the wake of that night.
Seraphine's head reeled at the information, but she knew better than to simply accept everything she read as fact—there was far too much hearsay and sensationalism involved in these sources, after all.
"May I see her genealogical archives or civil registries?" she inquired.
The man tilted his head slightly, looking somewhat confused by her request, though his answer came without hesitation nevertheless: "I'm terribly sorry, ma'am. But such records are not part of our public records, and cannot be accessed without the approval of higher authorities. I'm sure you understand."
She reached into her bag and fished around for her Hunter's Seal once more before flashing it at him. "I'm a Hunter with The Order of Viridian Cross. This is important to my investigation of certain occult crimes within the city."
The archivist hesitated visibly at this declaration, swallowing hard as he gazed at the official seal for several seconds. He looked back up at Seraphine once more, a pained expression crossing his face, before finally letting out a resigned sigh as he conceded. "Very well... follow me this way."
She gave him an appreciative smile and followed along after he guided her through a door in the back that led into a darkened hallway. This passage wound its way deeper inside the building for some distance before finally terminating at another door marked with an engraved sigil.
"Through here," said the man as he unlocked it with a set of keys from around his belt, pushing open the door to reveal yet another corridor. This one stretched ahead for a while longer before coming to end at a circular chamber filled with shelves upon shelves of documents.
"This contains various legal documents pertaining to births, marriages, deaths, and all those sorts," explained the archivist while gesturing towards the massive room beyond. "What you're searching for should be amongst these records."
Seraphine took a deep breath and thanked him, stepping past him to enter inside. As soon as she stepped over the threshold, a rush of magic washed over her senses. Whatever power dwelled here must have caused some sort of protection mechanism—or perhaps detection spell—to activate upon her crossing the bounds of the chamber.
"I shall remain behind while you make your inquiries," called out the man from behind. "If something goes wrong or any problems arise... just raise your voice, and I shall come rushing to assist! Do not fret!"
She simply nodded without looking back and proceeded to begin her search in earnest among the stacks of parchment lining every centimeter of wall space.
She began with her investigation into Aubrey Sinclair's family tree, realizing after some time that she appeared to have no living relatives, nor any known spouses or children of her own. Next, Seraphine combed through other papers connected to Aubrey—wills and titles of property ownership, inheritance claims and court cases regarding her legacy—hoping to glean some kind of clue from all this information about why such extremes were taken by these groups in eliminating her... but nothing came up that stood out to her. Everything looked relatively routine, mundane in the grand scheme of things.
Frustrated at having come up empty-handed again, Seraphine sighed and rubbed at her temples, wondering if perhaps it'd simply become too late in the day to conduct this level of research. She considered returning to the archives to resume later in the week, after she had time to sort through everything she'd discovered so far... when something caught her eye amongst the documents.
A death certificate belonging to Julian Blackwell, signed and filed by the office of the city's chief magistrate. The date printed on it showed he passed away a few weeks ago, coinciding with the time Aubrey infiltrated his theatre.
However, the filing date for the document itself showed that it was only completed two days ago.
Her brows knit in confusion at seeing this discrepancy between when he must've died and how long afterwards it took for someone to file an official declaration of his passing. Strange...
Another signature caught her gaze, belonging to another person mentioned in a separate paper as the legal executor responsible for settling the financial affairs of Julian Blackwell after his death, as well as his estate going forward—a man named Morgan Greaves.
She frowned and scratched her chin thoughtfully for several moments, recalling where she remembered hearing that particular name...
Ah... yes. She vaguely recollected him as one of the patrons funding a campaign to erect some sort of new monument within the Thornhaven academic sector. He was a prominent entrepreneur within Mordenstradt's elite business circles who owned a large stake within a manufacturing company.
Seraphine didn't have any personal experience with him beyond what information she gleaned secondhand through her peers. All told, he seemed respectable enough at a glance... although she supposed nothing prevented him from secretly dabbling with black magic and demonic entities on the side.
She had to admit that one couldn't truly discount the possibility of such corruption existing even among the most respectable facades. So, what was his connection to Julian Blackwell?