⤿ ❐ AS CHIEF SECRETARY of the eleven fatui harbingers, your work was already complicated enough ─ their obsession with you made it even more so.
this guide brings together all the rules you have established to ensure your survival ; follow them to t...
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RULE NUMBER 4 : TRUST NO ONE.
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The Zapolyarny Palace was full of people— cooks, servants, clerks, soldiers... the list was long. As the secretary of the harbingers, you were in contact with various employees quite often when you were not with one of the eleven harbingers. However, you always had to be on your guard ; no one was trustworthy here.
You remembered chatting with that nice maid once. An innocent discussion that started after she kindly complimented the floral brooch you wore in your hair — a simple, delicate brooch, but one that brought out your e/c eyes nicelly. You then talked for a few minutes about the style of accessories you preferred, and you revealed to her that you loved simple and delicate jewelry, not too flashy, and that you loved the color blue.
An innocent discussion, really.
You then continued on your way without thinking about it more than that. You had a lot to do, and many other things to think about.
So when the ninth harbinger called you into his office a few days latter, you didn't expect him to hand you, in a small decorated wooden box and placed on refined red silk, a magnificent necklace adorned with a delicate blue stone that shone with a thousand shards.
"What's the problem, Miss Y/n?" He asked as you stared at the beautiful piece of jewelry.
"I– I shouldn't accept this, Lord Pantalone." You stammered, anxiously wringing your hands. His expensive gifts always made you uncomfortable, even if you had to admit that this necklace was truly beautiful.
"Isn't this necklace to your liking? I thought blue was your favorite color, isn't it?"
Your eyes widened. How did he know that —
Your blood ran cold. That maid...
"Is something wrong? Your face looks very pale right now, Miss Y/n. Should I call a doctor?" The Regrator's tone could almost have sounded concerned, if those words hadn't been spoken with a slight smirk.
Your hand clenched the hem of your dress, the bitter feeling of betrayal invading your heart.
"No, Lord Pantalone. Everything is fine. Thank you for such a beautiful present."
The Regrator's gloved fingers gently caressed your skin as he put the jewelry around your neck, and his hands were as cold as the silver chain of the necklace.
Walls have ears, doors have eyes ; trust to one but yourself.
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