In the depths of her private study, Lady Magdala Varga stood amongst a menagerie of books and artifacts that whispered secrets both delightful and grotesque. The walls seemed to breathe as shadows slithered and coiled around her, their formless tongues flickering in anticipation. Here, amidst the scents of aged parchment and the pungent fragrance of eldritch incense, was the nest where she weaved her web of secrets and intrigues.

Her slender fingers traced the spine of a leather-bound grimoire until they discovered the hidden compartment—a cavity within which resided her most treasured possession. With reverence reserved for the gods themselves, she extracted a multifaceted crystal shimmering with an ethereal glow that bathed the room in a sickly, verdant light.

The crystal was pulsating with a life of its own, like a beating heart trapped within a prison made of glass. Its sharp-edged facets reflected multiple twisted caricatures of Magdala’s eager eyes. Her harpyish visage danced alongside the shadows of those whose secrets the crystal had revealed for her to exploit: the round, doughy features of Alderman Whickam, the pinched weasel face of Magister Greeves, the once-pompous posture of Matriarch Fayden, among many others – a macabre masquerade of puppets bound to her will.

Magdala inhaled deeply, her chest heaving as she prepared herself for the ritual that would unveil her desired vision. Her fingers traced an intricate pattern in the air above the crystal. Shadows stretched and writhed upon the walls of the dimly lit chamber, as if eager to witness the secrets the crystal would unveil.

“Show me Alexander,” Magdala commanded, her voice firm yet quivering with anticipation. “Bring my husband before my eyes.”

The crystal pulsed, emitting an eerie, opalescent glow that filled the room with a spectral haze. The air grew heavy, laden with whispers and cold breaths from unseen mouths. Within the depths of the crystal, a myriad of images swirled like an otherworldly tempest, each one tantalizingly out of reach. Magdala's concentration wavered between hope and despair, her eyes darting from one vision to another in search of her missing husband.

And suddenly, there he was – Magdala gasped as she recognized the contours of Alexander’s face flickering within the depths of the crystal. Could it be that the years of uncertainty, frustration, and alertness were finally over? She managed to deepen her focus despite the excitement she felt on the verge of finally succeeding in her search. The dancing images faded away, and the vision got brighter. But something was off: the features of the figure she now saw much clearer did resemble Alexander, but they were softer and younger – tenderness instead of strength, innocence instead of confidence, enthusiasm instead of determination.

“Michail?” she whispered with disbelief, completely bewildered.

But there was no doubt about it: to Magdala’s disappointment, the crystal was showing her a vision of her son instead of her husband. But why? Unlike Alexander, Michail was well within her reach; there shouldn’t have been any reason for the crystal to show her something she was easily able to see every day with the naked eye. However, the crystal had always revealed information that – albeit uncommissioned – proved to be very useful. Could it be possible that she had missed something? Her own flesh and blood plotting against her? The thought made her heart beat quicker. She kept watching.

Magdala saw the shimmering essence taking shape of a veil. And somehow, she knew what was hidden in the shadows behind it – the secret that no one was ever allowed to find. The veil, created by herself, was there for a reason. Nevertheless, Michail, who was supposed to know his place, naively reached his hand, and started to lift the veil on the secrets never to be revealed.

“You foolish boy!” Magdala hissed. “Who put you up to this?”

She would have guessed the answer to this question all by herself. Yet, the crystal seemed to be eager to rub salt into the wound: now she was shown the odiously sheepish, watery eyes that she recognized all too well, staring back at the gaze of her own: Belinda Anroth!

“Damn you!” Magdala tried to yell at the crystal, only to produce nothing but a croaking mixture of anger and despair. “Why must you torment me with these visions?”

But the crystal offered no solace. Its light started dimming like the dying embers of a fire, leaving Magdala alone to confront the dark revelations. Feeling nauseous, not an unfamiliar aftermath of using the crystal, she sat down at her desk.

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“Michail…” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the cacophony of her own thoughts. “I will protect what I have built, even if it means protecting you from yourself.”

The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows whispering dark secrets in her ears. Something cold clawed at her heart, but she steeled herself against it. She would not be undone by this revelation. She would take control, as she always had.

She reached for the silver bell nestled among the shadows of her desk and gave it an impatient ring that echoed through the chamber.

“Joram!” she called out, her voice slicing through the echoes. “Enter.”

After a while, the door creaked open to reveal the silhouette of her most trusted servant. He looked taller than he actually was, his wiry frame draped in shadows that seemed to cling to him like a lover's embrace. Joram glided into the room, his movements as fluid and serpentine as a predator stalking its prey. His face was sharp, gaunt even, with thin lips that appeared perpetually poised between a sneer and a smile.

“Ah, my lady,” he purred, bowing low before her. “What can I do for you this fine evening?”

“I have a task for you,” Magdala snapped. “And it is one of the utmost importance.”

“Of course, my lady. Your wish is my command.” He straightened, his eyes glittering like chips of ice in the gloom.

“Michail,” she began, measuring her words, “has become… curious. He has been asking questions, probing into matters best left undisturbed.” She paused, feeling the weight of Joram's gaze upon her. “I need you to keep a close eye on him. Ensure that he does not delve further into his uncle's death.”

“Ah,” Joram murmured, the corners of his mouth curving upward ever so slightly. “I see. You fear that young Master Michail may uncover something... unpleasant.”

“Something dangerous,” Magdala corrected sharply. “Will you do as I ask?”

“Of course, my lady,” Joram replied, his voice as smooth and unctuous as oil. “I live to serve you. However… May I speak freely?”

“Speak your mind, Joram,” Magdala said, her eyes narrowing as she tried to study her servant.

“Michail needs guidance now more than ever. With his father gone, and now his uncle…” Joram made a pause full of poorly hidden implications. “Perhaps I should assume a more… paternal role in his life.”

“Paternal?” Magdala raised her eyebrows.

“If I am to keep him in check, I must have the ability to do so without restriction,” Joram explained, a faint glimmer in his eyes. “Allow me greater influence over his education and training. The more time he spends with me, the less inclined he will be to wander into treacherous territory.”

“He already has a magister,” Magdala objected. “As you should know, it is a lifetime post – unless Michail himself decides to end it after coming of age.”

“Lifetime…” Joram declaimed. “Such a slippery concept. I am certain that Magister Cornelius can be persuaded to give up his post.”

The idea of granting Joram such power over her son made Magdala feel uneasy. But on the other hand, she couldn’t see any better option under these circumstances. And this arrangement would be temporary anyway – her plans already extended further into the future. If needed, Joram could be persuaded to give up his post as well.

“Very well,” Magdala conceded. “But remember, your first loyalty is to me, not Michail. Keep him under control and ensure he does not stray from the path I have laid out for him.”

“Indeed,” Joram responded with sinister sweetness. “I shall provide the discipline and guidance that he needs. I am confident my influence will ensure that his focus remains on educational practices rather than delving into matters best left undisturbed.”

“Very well, Joram. I trust you to carry out your duties with utmost discretion,” Magdala said, her emerald eyes fixed upon him like twin serpents poised to strike. “Now go. Attend to your task.”

Joram bowed deeply and retreated from the room, leaving Magdala alone in her macabre sanctuary. The door closed behind him with a hollow click, as if sealing shut a tomb. For a moment, Magdala stood in silence, her thoughts tangled in a labyrinth of doubt and unease.

Her gaze wandered across the room, drawn to the crystal which now lay dormant on her desk, its eerie glow extinguished, as though it too were wary of the forces set in motion. Anxiety gnawed at the edges of her mind, threatening to consume her, but Magdala banished the sensation with a defiant snarl.

“Enough!” she whispered harshly to herself. “There is work to be done.”

With trembling hands, she reached for a quill and parchment, her heart pounding like the beat of a funeral drum. Her next move was one fraught with danger, yet necessary if she wished to maintain her precarious grip on power. It was time to reach out to an old enemy, a man whose very existence she despised.

“Werther Strout,” she muttered under her breath as the quill grazed the parchment, its ink flowing like venomous blood. “May this missive choke you with its words.”

Magdala began to write, each stroke of the quill was like a calculated dance between treacherous allies and cunning foes. The shadows in the room seemed to gather around her, their whispers echoing in her ears like a chorus of vengeful spirits. She did not allow herself to dwell on the implications of her actions: the chain of events was already set in motion.

As the letter took shape, a sense of suffocating tension settled over the study, thick as a shroud. It was a darkness that would not be easily dispelled, a harbinger of the twisted paths that lay ahead for those entangled in this deadly game.