The boisterous crowd sang in a raucous harmony, their voices thick with the weight of too much ale. They swayed and stumbled, they laughed, as they collided with one another, their faces split into wide, unguarded grins. Vivian observed from a distance, her eyes narrowing as they burrowed into the scene, penetrating the surface of their merriment. Her teeth clenched, a veneer of irritation masking the simmering jealousy that Lady Amada's smile provoked within her. A smile that fell victim to Nicholas' charm. Jonathan appeared silently beside her, slipping a glass of whiskey into her hand with a delicate grace. "This will be of help," He murmured.
"Ordinarily, I would not accept libations from persons of unknown acquaintance," she replied, taking a deliberate sip before offering it back to him. Jonathan declined with a slight shake of his head, and she drained the glass with resolute finality.
"Indeed, she is a vision of loveliness, is she not? Her countenance possesses a certain...Puhlirah fehtoh'marih. The makings of a true challenge," Jonathan noted, his eyes searching Lady Amada's.
"She presents no formidable obstacle, she is but a mere bagatelle, a whim, a faint flutter, a ... hiccup, if you will," Vivian countered, "Forgive me if you know her, but that is where I take my stand."
"And she takes hers between whatever relationship you may have with the gentleman in question." Jonathan quipped, pointing at Nicholas. Vivian retreated from the conversation and plunged herself into the crowd, which absorbed her with exuberant cries, and she joined their rousing song, a hymn to the siege against the Alukeh.
The lyrics painted the Lati as liberators, their valor shattering the chains of autocracy that bound both the Lati and the Alukeh. It was a song of triumph, of breaking free from the rigid confines of a shared, oppressive heritage. Their voices swelled, each note an invocation of the liberties they held sacred. The lyrics of their impassioned song also spoke of the Vitsceh family, once a shadowy force of oppression, had sought to twist these freedoms to their ends, to bind and control. Yet, the people had risen, and the Vitsceh's dominion crumbled into the annals of history, their power extinguished by the dawn of a new era, and they to be forgotten.
Moments later, the afternoon sun bathed the sky in hues of twilight. Stars shyly emerged. The once-grand venue now lay in disarray, the class of earlier festivities drowned in a sea of intoxication. Bodies sprawled in ungainly repose, defeated by the potent spirits. Jonathan lingered by the campfire, his only companion a young man whose face, painted in devilish guise, bore the marks of a night's debauchery. The firelight brought forth playful shadows that danced upon their faces.
"Accordin' to your philosophy, Johnny boy, is my way of livin' an act of absolute freedom?" The young man queried, his legs crossed with nonchalance.
"To ponder such a question," Jonathan responded, "is akin to the sun asking if it gives life or death."
The youth's laughter was light, yet tinged with earnestness. "Y'all philosophers and your dadburn riddles! Jonathan, I just wanna know if I'm right in your eyes, honey child!"
Jonathan gazed into the fire, "Why seek my validation? If you perceive it as your truth, your freedom, then it is for you to decide its worth," rising from his wooden perch, Jonathan faced the abandoned grand edifice of the venue, "My philosophy dictates that one should live as though their actions bear no consequences—not from ignorance, but from the courage to face them, be they joyous or grim."
The young man regarded Jonathan with newfound reverence. "So, I'm free to do as I want, 'cause it ain't nobody's business but mine?"
Jonathan's gaze remained fixed on a solitary window, a portal to what lies beyond. "But you must embrace the harshness of consequences as readily as their delights, because the universe, my friend, has a way of restoring balance."
Behind the window, a puddle of blood laid beneath Nicholas, who slumped upon the side of the bed, his life force ebbing away with each fleeting breath. His stomach bore the cruel brushstroke of a fatal wound. Vivian entered the room to find the shocking revelation, and Lady Amada absent.
As she rushed to Nicholas' side, the door swung shut behind her. And there stood Lady Amada, a pillar of menace, her hand trembling with the weight of the blade that had dealt Nicholas' mortal blow. Yet, her face carried a terrifying calmness. Vivian's eyes locked onto Lady Amada's.
Her movements deliberate and unhurried. "How unfortunate," Lady Amada intoned, her voice a cold, mocking echo.
Vivian's lips parted, a silent scream trembled on the cusp of escape, and Lady Amada's hand guided the blade with a deadly precision honed to a singular purpose—"What's got ya thinkin' this way, honey child?" A hint of curiosity in the young man's voice.
Jonathan's eyes carried amusement and gravity. "What do you imagine revenge to be?"
The young man chuckled softly. "Ya think the good Lord above is fixin' to punish me, honey child, fer my lovin' ways with the gentlemen folk?"
"You asked me whether what you are is right or wrong," Jonathan replied, his tone thoughtful. "Such a question implies a doubt, a contention between what you believe and what others might condemn. If there exists such a dichotomy, it suggests that any action or behavior can be seen from opposing perspectives. If it is wrong, the universe will respond with a counterbalance of malevolence. Revenge, in my opinion," he continued—Lady Amada's eyes darkened, her hand moving with a chilling determination as she plunged the knife into her own stomach—"If it is right, a force of goodness will rise to meet it."
As Vivian's anguished cry for help pierced the air, a collective rush of feet heralded the arrival of an assembled group. They burst into the room, their faces etched with concern. Lady Amada laid prone upon the floor, her slender form sprawled atop Vivian's.
Jonathan mused, accepting the pipe of opium passed to him. "This conundrum arises from the notion that virtue and vice can oftentimes become conflated, wherein goodness can assume the guise of malevolence, and conversely, malevolence can masquerade as benevolence. Thus, a state of neutrality is achieved, wherein the discernment of such abstract concepts is relegated to the realm of individual perspective," He released a cloud of smoke into the air, "Thus, it is imperative to acknowledge that no man shall presume to sit in judgment upon the nature of evil, for each individual is inclined to rationalize their own conception of virtue."
"I'm mighty sorry, honey child, but would ya mind repeatin' yo' last name fer me?" The young man said.
With a whispered entreaty, dripping in hollow pathos, Lady Amada breathed, "Help..." The syllable hung in the air, as the assembled crowd's gaze was drawn to the lifeless form of Nicholas, his eyes frozen in eternal slumber. The men seized Vivian, their hands closing around her wrists, as they dragged her from the room.
"Gilroy, and yours?" Jonathan returned his gaze to the young man, who he had suddenly disappeared where he sat.