The Price Of Humanity (TMOE #3)

Chapter 1: Things won't end well

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."