Genevieve followed Lenn’s instructions and turned left down the hall. Her footsteps echoed around her, and she realized all at once how eerie it was going to be walking alone through an empty underground corridor. But she was far too tired and far too strung out to let herself be afraid of something silly like the solitude of a dark, forgotten basement labyrinth. She walked forward confidently, one step after another after another, and she didn’t see the door Lenn had promised, so she walked a few steps more. And a few more after that.

Logically she knew that she hadn’t gone very far at all, but her mind was already turning to paranoia. What if she had walked past the door without realizing? There was bound to be another door past it, and anything could be in there. Maybe even something she wasn’t supposed to see. Lenn could be doing anything down here. Storing horrible monsters to devour their victims, or dismembering corpses in sick, sadistic rituals to honor some twisted version of the Pulse, or smuggling priceless stolen jewels they couldn’t afford to let anyone, even a princess, walk away knowing about. For all she knew, she had been led into a nefarious trap, and some horrible fate beyond her worst imagining was waiting for her just around the corner.

Once she actually thought about it, of course, she knew that was all ridiculous. Lenn was stern, but they seemed sincere. Genevieve couldn’t bring herself to believe they had ill intentions. And it was harder to believe Marcie had the capacity to trick anybody. She was as guileless and goofily charming as a well-loved hound, and that wasn’t an insult. Genevieve quite liked dogs. Marcie just didn’t seem inclined to lead someone into a murder basement, let alone a murder catacomb. As strange and unlikely as the day’s events had been, it would only be even stranger if it was all somehow an elaborate ruse to capture her in… what? What would there even be down here?

So her fears were unfounded, when she actually thought about them. But that required her to think about them, which did not, as it turned out, do much to quell the irrational part of her brain trying to find something to be afraid of down here in the cold and the dark. Even after she dismissed her most sensationalist fantasies, a part of her started to worry there was a chance, however slim, that this hallway went on forever and there were no doors to leave it. That voice only went silent once she yanked herself out of her head and realized there was in fact a door directly to her left.

“You can be a very silly girl sometimes, Genevieve,” she muttered before she gripped the door handle and stepped inside.

Any fears she had about the room itself were equally unfounded, as it was just another dormitory like the one she had come from, albeit one filled with a few more cots. There wasn’t any light inside, but that was easily remedied by picking up a candle near the door and lighting it with one of the torches outside. Once she had a bit of light to see by and a moment to gather her thoughts, she took a deep breath and threw the paranoid anxieties of her exhausted mind aside. There was no point being afraid of monsters in the dark. She had a real monster to face. It was finally time to deal with the damn gown.

The accursed thing wasn’t meant to be removed by the wearer on their own. Genevieve chose to take that as a challenge. After everything that had happened through the day, her failure to save herself, all of the running around and relying on the kindness of strangers, she needed catharsis. She needed a struggle. She needed to tear the pile of rags apart with her own two hands.

First she tried to slip it off over her head, but it was too snug around her shoulders to just come off. She grabbed and tugged at the back of the collar to try and undo the zipper forcefully, but it was secure enough she only managed to move it down a few teeth. Pulling her arms in through the sleeves was briefly successful, but it all fell apart once she realized she’d just gotten herself stuck with her arms pinned inside the gown. She fell over onto one of the cots, struggling and flailing, a wild animal caught in a bundle of sheets, until finally, after a great amount of effort and a few busted seams, she managed to get her arms free and throw the beast off. It fell to the ground in a tattered, unceremonious pile, and that’s where it was going to stay.

Genevieve gave herself a few minutes to let the adrenaline fade. It was even chillier now, wearing only the lacy undergarments she’d been made to wear under her wedding gown. She was going to need to do something about those, but that was a problem for another day. For now she unlaced her corset and tossed it aside–more than happy to be done with it–and undid the garters on her legs, casting them onto the top of the dress pile.

Finally, she put on the clothes Lenn had prepared for her. The shirt was plain wool, sort of a creamy off-white, and a little bit big on her, but it was comfortable and very welcome in the chilly underground. She had to take her shoes off for a moment to put on her pants, but she slipped them back on as soon as she could. You didn't truly appreciate a pair of shoes until you spent the better part of an hour running barefoot through the city streets.

I must look like a mess, she thought to herself. All the running and tumbling would have ruined her hair, and the ridiculous makeup they put on her was bound to be runny and absolutely grotesque. She took a moment to bury her face in the gown and wipe off as much of it as she possibly could, which might have helped, but it couldn’t have been by much. She was still covered in smeared makeup and partially-melted hair product, standing in some kind of abandoned conservatory wearing dirty second-hand men’s clothes.

It was the most herself she had felt since she arrived in Gryst.

After blowing out the candle, she left the room and returned to the dormitory she had come from–without spiraling into any paranoid fantasies this time. Stepping inside she found Lenn at one of the desks, with their scarf down beneath their neck and a pensive expression on their face. She didn’t know what she expected them to look like, but their face was perfectly normal–slender and elegant, with a tiny hint of stubble. When they saw her enter, though, they pulled the scarf back up to cover their mouth and nose. “You look surprised,” they said. “Not to worry. My face is hardly a secret.” Genevieve’s expression must have been easy to read. “I only cover it because I work with the sick, and the scarf is woven to limit the spread of sickness to others. It may not be necessary just sitting here with you, but I view it as a symbol of my dedication to the work.”

“Oh,” Genevieve said. “I admit I was wondering.” She knew the doctors back home sometimes wore masks for similar reasons, though theirs did not have the same flair as Lenn’s finely-made scarf. “I left the gown in the other room,” she added. “I apologize. But I simply did not want to look at it any longer. I will move it in the morning.”

Lenn held up a hand and brushed it across the air, discarding Genevieve’s suggestion. “Do not worry about that. I will scrap the fabric and find a use for it.”

“Very well,” Genevieve said. “Thank you very much.” She glanced around the room, which was conspicuously quiet. “Where’s Marcie?”

“She went to relieve herself.”

“Oh." Genevieve tried to cover her embarrassment with a cough. "Do you have a, uh…”

“At the end of the hall to the right,” Lenn said. “It isn’t the most pleasant arrangement, but I make sure to empty it regularly.” They certainly got to the point.

"Well, that is good to know." Just standing in the doorway felt strange, so Genevieve went to sit down on her cot. "Thank you for all of this," she said. "I know I have said it before, but… I am grateful to you. And to Marcie as well. I would be much worse off without what you've both done."

"You are welcome. I’m happy to lend my aid. And Marcie may not remember to say it, but she is also happy to help, in the way that she does." Lenn looked at Genevieve, a curious, almost interrogatory glint in their eye. "She's a strange girl, isn't she?" they asked, folding their arms as they leaned back in their seat.

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"I've certainly never met anyone like her." Genevieve fidgeted awkwardly on the cot, worried about agitating her stern benefactor. "I am sorry we have brought all this trouble to your door," she said meekly, trying to show humility as best as she could.

"You don’t need to apologize," Lenn said. "You aren’t doing wrong by needing help, or by asking for it. And the only payment I will ask, Princess, is that when you find yourself in a position to care for those in need, you offer them aid in turn."

"That… is a fair request." Genevieve slowly nodded her assent. "I promise I will do as you ask."

"Then all debts are settled." Lenn clapped their hands together, and Genevieve assumed that meant the deal was sealed. "We are here in this world to serve one another, Lady Genevieve. To reach out our hands and hold each other tightly, so that we all may survive the storm. That is the nature of the True Pulse that runs through all of us. And those who live only to serve their own interests, the interests of their own clan or name or crown or nation, defile themselves before it."

"I see why you aren't popular with Cornelius and his father," Genevieve said wryly. "I'm not sure that philosophy would be accepted by any sovereign. ‘The Pulse guides the People to their King, and the King to his People.’ As my father loved to say. He always told me that serving the people was our duty.” And he took it for granted that the people’s duty was to serve us, she thought. But she didn’t want to slander her father in front of Lenn, so she kept the editorializing to herself.

“Yes. It’s a convenient fiction, isn’t it?” Lenn rested their arm on the desk and their head on their fist, watching Genevieve’s reactions curiously. “We absolve ourselves of our duty to each other. Sacrifice our unity and our solidarity to a monarch who will find any reason he pleases to discard those he can’t, or does not wish to, see. And when we watch them suffer we say to ourselves–if not even the King can save them, how could we mere humans? Perhaps the light does not shine on them because they do not deserve it.” They sit up again and shake their head disapprovingly. “It is our nature to lift one another up. But it is easy to be self-serving and cowardly. And so we take the excuses we are given to choose the lesser path.”

“That’s an… interesting thought.” Genevieve looked down at the bed for a while, quietly thinking. “I don’t know if I can agree. It would be hypocritical of me, at the very least. But I can’t deny you make a good case.” She glanced up at Lenn, and after a bit of consideration, gave them a little grin. “It’s definitely heresy. But I won’t tell anybody. You’ve shown me more generosity than any of the cardinals I knew back home, so maybe there’s something to being a heretic.”

"The church above can call it heresy if they like. It remains true all the same." Lenn shrugged theatrically, spreading out their arms. "Those who find it inconvenient can reject it all they wish. Truth does not bend to power."

"I have no power to speak of now," Genevieve said, "and I would not challenge your truth even if I could.” She crossed her legs and sat up on the cot, holding her hands politely in her lap. “I hope that we can get along, regardless of my station."

"You hold no station here," Lenn answered. "Princess is only a word, and I am not swayed by it. If that is acceptable to you, then you are acceptable to me."

"Honestly, it sounds like a nice change of pace," Genevieve said. "The last few months have left me with little regard for titles."

"I see. In that case, then." Lenn dipped their head just slightly in an informal bow. "It is nice to meet you, Genevieve."

"And it's nice to meet you, Lenn." Genevieve stood up to pantomime a little curtsy before dropping back down onto the cot. "I'm grateful for your hospitality. You're not as surly as I thought you were, when we first arrived.”

"If I seemed blunt,” Lenn said, “it was only because that is what Marcie responds to. She is a cudgel of a woman, and stubborn as concrete. If you don’t tell her plainly how things are, she won’t understand your meaning. And you can't speak to a powder keg in ambiguities. "

"A powder keg?" Genevieve asked, tilting her head curiously. "You think that she is volatile?"

"I think that she is Marcelle," Lenn said. "Daughter of war. Conflict is in her nature." Their eyes lowered slightly, and they spoke with a sense of distant remorse. "The world could not let someone like her be. And even if it did, she could not let the world as it is stand."

"I don't know," Genevieve said. "She doesn't sound like some crazed warrior when you talk to her. It seems like she just wants to do the right thing, in her way."

"That is precisely what I mean."

"I don't follow," Genevieve said. "Why should wanting to do the right thing mean she's, what, destined for conflict?"

"Because she does not know how to stay her hand." Lenn shifted in their chair, leaning their arm against the desk beside them. "It isn't a bad thing. The Pulse gave us all our own talents and our own paths, so that we could help each other in different ways. Sometimes you need a person who will look into the face of evil and choose war. But that does mean she has a way of attracting trouble. Or rather that trouble has a way of attracting her. And when she encounters it, things will always end the same way."

"Gunshots, explosions, pandemonium?"

"Something along those lines."

"Hm." Genevieve crossed her arms, and frowned to herself. "Well. It worked against Cornelius and his automatons, at least. And if she's what pandemonium looks like, then perhaps pandemonium is what it would take to show this barren land a little bit of life."

For a good long while Lenn just looked at Genevieve, considering her, or perhaps sizing her up. And then, finally, they said, "You may have a point." They shrugged again, more casually, with a hint of dry irony in their body language. "You'll just have to make sure she doesn't destroy herself in the process."

"What does that mean?" Genevieve asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"It means that you're a charming young woman with a strong will and a sharp mind. There may not be anyone who can stop Marcie from picking a fight she believes is worth killing for, or dying over. But she'll allow you to temper her decisions, if you talk to her about them."

Before Genevieve could decide how to respond to that, the door opened and Marcie stepped through it, with the apologetic shuffle of someone uncomfortably aware they take up physical space in the world. "Ah… hey. Sorry. You doin' all right?"

"I'm quite fine, thank you," Genevieve said, nodding politely.

"That's good, that's good. Glad t'hear that." Marcie slunk across the room to sit on her cot. "You look nice."

A smile crossed Genevieve's face and she giggled. "Well, that I have to doubt. I'm sure I'm an absolute mess right now."

"Less of a mess than you were in that big poofy thing." Marcie yawned and stretched out across her cot, laying herself out like a cat. "Y'look more comfortable. Less like you're all lost and freaked out and stuff. And if nothin' else, at least those are clothes meant for wearin', not just for lookin' at."

"I don’t think most people would look at it that way," Genevieve said, "but I suppose you're right."

"I do hope you're more comfortable." Lenn stood from their seat and nodded to them both. “If you don’t mind, I have some work to get back to. Before you arrived I was busy sorting through my medical supplies, and it still needs to be done. I imagine you’re tired from everything that’s happened, so I would suggest getting some rest, if the mood takes you. I’ll be around later with some food, as well.”

“Thanks, Lenn,” Marcie said, kicking her feet up onto the short, thin footboard at the end of the cot.

“Thank you very much,” Genevieve said. “I may take your advice. Glad as I am to talk, I think the day is beginning to take its toll on me.” She’d been noticing it for a little while. Her limbs feeling heavier, her head swimming, losing focus. She needed to sleep. To sort through it all in her head.

"I hope you have a good rest, then, Genevieve." Lenn left the room, and when the clunk of the heavy door closing behind them faded from the room, there was only silence.

Genevieve let herself fall back onto the thin mattress beneath her with a soft sigh. As soon as she was lying down her energy absolutely vanished. Even the effort of putting a blanket over herself was troublesome. She didn't fall asleep instantly, but once she shut her eyes she knew she wasn't going to open them again any time soon.

The sound of a creaking bedframe and rustling clothes came from the other side of the room. "Damn," Marcie said, quietly but more than loud enough in the quiet, echoing room. “You really do look like you’ve been worn right through.”

"I feel something like a coil that's been unwound." Genevieve sighed, exhausted, into the chilly air. "You could try to bend me back into shape, but all the tension is gone, and I will simply flop over."

"Hrm," Marcie said, in her voice of deep consideration. "Is the tension bein' gone a good thing, though?"

"Perhaps." Genevieve nestled herself against the bed, rolling onto her side and tugging on the blanket so she could roll herself up in it. "I'm honestly not sure."

"Ah." It sounded like Marcie was chewing that thought in her brain. "Well, I mean, speakin' just for myself, and stuff. I think when you're proper tired, it's easy to feel like y'ain't ever gonna be workin' right again. And then once you get some rest and actually make a go at it, you realize you're still good for a lot more than you thought. So… yeah. I wouldn't be gettin' discouraged just yet. Exhaustion makes everything else feel even worse, y'know?"

"It does," Genevieve acknowledged. She pulled the blanket around herself a little more tightly. "Thank you, Marcie."

"Oh. Uh. Sure. Anytime." There was some more shuffling. "I'm, probably not gonna crash out all that soon. So, like, you know. If anything happens, or whatever, I'll be on top of it. That's a promise."

"That's good," Genevieve muttered in a low breath. "I appreciate that."

If Marcie said anything in response, Genevieve passed out before she could hear it.