“What do you mean ‘your mother’?” Lumière’s lip quivered, staring at the man. ‘Is this one of White’s ploys? Is this man controlled?’

Lumière hesitantly took a step backwards, but the man followed his stride, still holding onto him, crying out. “Why!? Why my mother!? What happened!? Why are you burying her!?”

“It’s- it’s not your mother. It’s my mother-“ He knew the man wasn’t speaking of his own volition, but he couldn’t help but stammer out a response. Madness festered in his mind, taking root. Thick streams of black-coloured tears began falling down his cheeks, warm and wet.

“I am Lumière Croft!” The man screamed at Lumière, pushing him to the ground. “Don’t you get it!? You’re a fake, and you killed my mother! It’s your fault! It’s your fault!”

His gaze trembled, replying in a hushed, broken, tragic tone, “it wasn’t my fault- it wasn’t my fault…” His breathing staggered, and he began to sob.

As Orion, the King in White, looked over the scene from the rooftop, amused, his body suddenly shivered. His skin felt cold, and he could sense the danger that lurked behind him. The point of cold steel pressed up against his neck, and he bit at his lip, caught.

He spoke to the figure behind him. “I could control you and pull that dagger away. Don’t you fear that?”

The figure replied in a soft, feminine voice. “You have to ‘observe’ to ‘control’. I know this is the main weakness of your power. I watched you for a time and learned of this. Before you can turn around to see me, I’ll cut your throat open. Judge your situation wisely.”

“Why watch me? What do you gain from this?”

“When I first saw that man, Lumière Croft, he snuck into the care home of his mother in the middle of the night, unaware of my observation of him. I was able to deduce that he was a ‘heretic’. I needed to know his motives, and so I’ve followed him this far, discovering you. Why mess with this man to this extent? So far, it seems all he’s trying to do is bury his mother, whom he loved? Are you a terrible person?”

Orion grinned, still staring towards the event before him. “Yes, that’s right. I’m a terrible person. I must do these terrible things.”

The figure behind him let out an audible ‘tsk’. She lifted the point of the blade from his neck. “Go home for today, and I won’t kill you.”

Orion quickly turned his head around, staring at the figure behind him. She had honey-brown hair and tourmaline eyes, a short figure with a dashing appearance, like a heroine in a novel. Staring at her, he smirked. “You’ve made a mistake, it seems.” There was a shimmer in his eyes, the activation of his ‘control’. However, the woman continued to stare at him, unperplexed.

“I’ve also been able to judge that your ability doesn’t work on those monsters who pretend to be people. Right now, they’re going along with the humans you’ve controlled for the sake of pretense.”

Orion’s eyes widened as he watched the flesh of the woman’s face contort slightly, revealing black-miasmic flesh under her skin before returning back to normal. ‘I see, so that’s why ‘control’ didn’t work…’

“Euler has told me much about you monsters… so you’re affiliated with ‘that’ profane Deity? How unlucky. It seems I was the one who made an error…”

“Go home, you horrible person. You’ve done enough for today.” The woman’s eyes furrowed.

Orion let out a sigh, lifting up his hand. In unison, the figures he had been controlling in the graveyard were released from his powers, unaware of how they had appeared there. “Very well. I’ll do as you say.”

The woman watched as Orion Callister disappeared into the darkness of the middle borough’s alleyways, and then the figures he controlled gradually returning to their lives. A few remained in the graveyard for a moment, looking up at her in unison with blood-red gazes. There was fury in their eyes, as if looking at an enemy.

“Go, you vile beasts. Return to the tit of your mother and fester. I’ll kill you all and let the people you’ve conquered have their peace.” The woman spoke at them with disdain. They stared at her a while more, before grinning, black miasma visible underneath their churning skin. Then, they departed, same as the others. Only Lumière remained in the graveyard, still sobbing as he curled into a ball, covering his face. Black liquid continued to seep from his eyelids, staining his cheeks like ink.

The woman fell from the rooftop, landing in the graveyard below. The streets had cloaked themselves in mist, and like usual, rain had begun to pour in droves. The dirt underneath her feet became mud, and as she approached the crying man, her clothes became soaked. She disregarded it all, and knelt beside him.

She spoke in a soft voice. “Mr. Croft, it’s me. It’s Cecilia. From the Care Home.”

Lumière peeked out from behind his hands, eyeing the woman knelt over him. The madness in his mind continued to fester, and his eyesight remained blurry from the constant flood of pitch-black tears. “Ms.- Ms. Yuran…?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Croft.” Cecilia smiled. With her hands, she brushed the black tears away from his cheek. “You’re close to losing control of yourself, aren’t you? The madness that comes with your abilities, that man was trying to ruin you, wasn’t he?”

Lumière was stunned, and although his mind was a mess, he could comprehend the situation before him. Still sobbing, he spoke, “how do you know of me?”

“It’s because I have quite an ordeal before me as well. We can talk a moment from now. For now, try and calm yourself. If you continue to bow to your madness, you’ll enter a crazed state… I don’t wish to see you like that.”

She sat next to him, smiling, and he began to prop himself up.

“Come now, Mr. Croft. You’ll be alright.” She lifted his head with her hand, pulling him close to her chest. “Rest for a moment, and be alright.”

And so he rested against her. Underneath the rain, beside his mother’s grave, it somehow felt peaceful. It felt more relieving than his time at the party in the monastery, more than the rest he got each night. It felt more relieving than anything he could possibly imagine.

“Every time I pretend, it makes reality that much harder-“ he whispered, “when all of my lies fail, will I break completely-? I’m scared…”

“Do you lie often, Mr. Croft?” She looked down at him, holding his cheeks with her hands.

“Always- it’s my career.”

“Does keeping up all of those lies stress you out?”

“No, not when it goes right.”

“Then it’s simple, isn’t it? It’s a matter of performing them well enough that they’ll go right. Isn’t that how it was when you pretended to be sad earlier at the Care Home?”

Surprised, Lumière glanced up Cecilia, unaware of her true motives. “What is that ordeal that you deal with, Ms. Yuran?”

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She looked off into the mist of the street, contemplative. “Do you know of the monsters that hide within people, Mr. Croft?”

“Do you mean to ask that metaphorically?”

“No,” she shook her head, letting out a hushed laugh, “I mean true monsters. Ones that resemble beasts of raw flesh and sinew, with churning miasma acting like skin. They have multiple eyes and flayed tendrils that writhe about, with teeth as sharp as spines.”

“The Nameless?”

Cecilia looked back down towards Lumière, surprised. Her cheeks blushed slightly, coming to a realisation.

“You’re quite a strange individual, Mr. Croft. I saw you drop a pendant related to the Crown of Thorns that night. Are you a believer in the Goddess, or was that simply for the sake of your Blasphemy?”

‘She knows of my abilities? No, she already said this much…’ Lumière’s eyes widened. “I would call myself a half-believer.”

“So you call those creatures ‘Nameless’, and you walk around with a pendant of the Crown of Thorns. Is it the case that you’re affiliated with ‘Heaven’s Roses’?”

“How do you know so much?” Lumière was truly shocked. Up until that point, he had only considered her a kind, unknowing woman. It seemed that everyone he ran into had hidden motives and libraries of strange knowledge. He really was a magnet for tragedy and danger.

“Heaven’s Roses and I have the same goal. However, they’re also keen to kill me.” Cecilia smiled regretfully. “If you wish to kill more of those beasts, and at the same time rid Leiden of corruption, then you should meet me here three days from now, in the cover of night.”

She retrieved a piece of paper from inside her clothes, passing it to Lumière. He sat up at the same time she stood, bowing her head. “Lumière Croft, I hope you’re not a terrible person. If you’re affiliated with Heaven’s Roses, then I’m sure you can help me. Please help me kill those beasts. Please help me get my revenge.”

He watched as she began to walk away from him, slowly disappearing into the mist that cloaked the street.

‘What was with her? Why does everything I have to do cloak itself in so much mystery? Why can’t anything ever be straight-forward and obvious? Still, it seems she scared off White… I have to thank her, so I should go see her again. If I can kill more of the Nameless, it will save me trouble in the future, I’m sure…’

Every time he uttered their name, he could only think of Asmodeus, and his failures against such a creature. If he could kill off the danger before Father Benedict and the others put themselves in front of it, it was to his benefit. He was done grieving over other’s deaths.

‘My brain feels as if it’s filled with sludge… and these black tears, I must be going mad. I let my emotions get out of control… luckily, it seems the monster in my shadow is still asleep...’

Lumière, wasting no time, made his way to the street. He began to look around, eyeing each door with suspicion, until he found a familiar one lying in an alleyway. In front of it, a familiar attendant with ochre skin dressed in a simple attendant’s outfit stood, guarding. Lumière reached into his jacket, pulling out the ‘One of Spades’ card, presenting it to the man. The attendant nodded, giving way for Lumière to enter.

In the familiar hall of the House of Cards, Lumière immediately noticed that the high-back chair at the end of the hall was empty. ‘The Joker is absent? I wonder why…’

Luckily for Lumière, a man with white hair intermingled with gold sat at the bar, laughing and talking with another familiar woman. It was Cartwell Heffen and Zelia Chatelaine, Lysander and Laertes respectively. They were members of his ‘Mythos Garden’. Cartwell was exactly who Lumière had been looking for. If he hadn’t been able to immediately find him, Lumière was considering using his meditative state in order to contact them using illusory murmurs and the connection between them through their contract.

He approached the two, tapping Cartwell’s shoulder. The man spun around, holding a drink in his hand, surprised. Spotting Lumière, his eyes furrowed, trying to ascertain his identity. Lumière placed his hand up to ease his nerves, speaking, “it’s One of Spades, not the person you’re thinking of.”

He had almost forgotten that his base persona, Lumière Croft, was considered the ‘vessel’ of the Demon, and had almost outwardly spoke to them without considering that fact. It would have certainly ruined his lie, but his festering madness was clouding his immediate judgment.

“Ah, One of Spades!” Cartwell exclaimed, sweat dripping down his brow. Unprepared in his heart, he had been terrified by the sudden appearance of the Demon. Although he had begun to trust Ophelia, the sight of him was still terrifying. It was even-doubly so for the man who chose to act crazy, the One of Spades. “What is it I can help you with today?”

“I need a philter prepared.” Lumière spoke coldly. He wasn’t interested in portraying his cold and crazy persona to Laertes and Lysander, but to anyone else who might be listening. If he could be seen as someone who shouldn’t be messed with, he didn’t have to worry about the cunning fools who sought profit within the House of Cards.

“Certainly. Should we adjourn to a private room?”

“Our ‘Master’ has entitled us to the use of his private room. We can use that.” He replied simply, turning his back to the two. Cartwell looked over to Zelia with a mixed expression and sighed, nodding his head as if to say ‘I’ll be back’.

As soon as the two were sitting in the privacy of the meeting room of the Mythos Garden, Lumière began to speak.

“I need you to concoct a philter for me, something that can abate madness.” It was a proposition he had no real hope for, but it was his only avenue, unless he were to ask Thomas Hawthorne for help. However, he was still averse to contacting the attendant of the Lord Sinner. After all, anyone connected to that labyrinth and its horrors was certainly a monster he shouldn’t associate with unless necessary.

As for Lysander, Cartwell Heffen wondering why ‘One of Spades’, otherwise known as Lumière Croft wouldn’t just ask the Demon residing inside him for help was of no worry to Lumière. Cartwell already obviously believed that the Demon of the Garden resided within the host, himself. If Lumière didn’t ask Ophelia for assistance, then Cartwell would have obviously assumed there was something preventing that. And he definitely knew better than to ask questions.

Thomas Hawthorne had put it well. ‘How can we think to imagine the whims of higher beings?’

“Yes, I can do something like that for you. However, it’s less a cure, and more a suppressant. There’s a reason why those of the Domain of Heresy choose to mostly rely on alternate personas in order to abate the accumulation of madness. A philter like the one you’re asking for will suppress your ‘base’, leaving your lucidity intact, but harshly impact your judgment. The effect will last for several days, so if this is the option you go with, I would recommend staying in a safe place for that period.” Cartwell began to wonder. ‘Has One of Spades really run into some trouble that resulted in him using an excess of his power? But he has that ‘Lain’ persona he can use, so why has his base persona suddenly accumulated madness?’

Lumière’s eyebrow twitched. ‘That’s not a particularly good effect. I have too many lies to keep up to be out of commission for so long. It would be a different story if I was unconscious, but to be active yet so inhibited, it could definitely jeapordise what I have going. I could lie and say that I’m still grieving my mother… the truth would definitely hold that lie together. However, the White Roses and Father Benedict are too kind, and now that we’re living in the monastery together, they’re likely to visit me… what shall I do?’

“Mr. Lysander,” Lumière chose to refer to the man in front of him with a bit of respect. He had settled on portraying his normal personality as the ‘One of Spades’, instead of the crazier persona that had eventually culminated in ‘Lain’. He had begun a theory ever since they enacted the commission to kill Johan Basque. Shylock, Juno, had told him to ‘create an entirely different person’. He wondered if there was a reason why he wasn’t told to create another version of his base persona instead. “Is there harm in creating a persona exactly like me to abate madness? If I were to do so, then I would be able to act exactly as myself while my base persona sits in the back of my mind while recovering, yes?”

Cartwell shook his head. “No, if that were the case, then the Heretics in the House of Cards wouldn’t be seen as such enigmatic figures. Have you heard your personalities in your head at times?”

Lumière’s eyes widened. He nodded his head. Was this common knowledge, he wondered?

“That’s supposedly a common occurrence. For these personalities, they are acutely aware of which of you is the base persona, in this case, being your reality as ‘Lumière Croft’. However, when a heretic creates even one, or multiple alternate versions that too-closely resemble their base persona, those ‘voices’ begin to get confused. Do you remember the murmurs you used to convince yourself of your identity as ‘Lain’? It’s quite similar to that. Slowly, you will hear them, and slowly, you will begin to get confused on which version of you is the ‘real’ you. Imagine one of those personae was meant to sit in the back of your head, slowly recovering from a mad state. But in your confusion, you became convinced that the mad persona was the ‘real’ you, and so you swapped to it, becoming mad yourself, irrecoverably so. Wouldn’t that be a detriment? This is why your personae should be so starkly contrasted from the real you, so that you’ll never be confused.”

He could feel it festering in his mind, like a plague slowly spreading through his brain. ‘So the only hope for me to recover my base persona is to use this philter… if I fully transfer consciousness to Lain, I’ll become a crazy, reckless individual. I can’t use ‘Ophelia’, that personality isn’t fully developed yet… I could only use Lain from the start because I based it off of that storybook character. So I really will have to give away my judgment for a few days…’

“Very well. I’ll take the philter.”