The year is 1879. When thirteen-year-old Ruth Merritt Holbrook emerges from her family's burning estate, bloody and charred, but entirely numb--She makes headlines. Reporters believe she is deranged. They accuse her of having set the fire. All the h...
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He has kept me waiting in his parlor for hours. There is a chance Levi is not even in today—his housekeeper refused to even hint at his location. I imagine she is putting on airs by just believing herself privy to such protected and, I'd wager, dangerous information. That's if she even knows.
I have been here since the building was cleared out early this morning.
When I knocked on the door to his home this morning the housekeeper, a rotund woman by the name of Mrs. Barton, nearly turned me away. She thought me a solicitor, looking for a gentleman. I suppose she is not entirely wrong.
I was distraught, clutching a letter and begging for Leviathan's help. I must have been a ghastly sight, pale and trembling, my dress hanging off of me in places, my hair a mess. Regardless of her doubts, Mrs. Barton placed me upon the sitting room sofa, fetched me a pot of tea and a few warm rolls, and then left me to wait on the master of the house to return. I took a pen and piece of parchments from the letter desk in the corner and now here I sit, trying to pass the time by writing.
My father would surely laugh at what has become of me. Wasn't I meant to be strong, alluring and unshakable? And yet, my writing wavers with the twitching of my fingers, the paper is damp with still drying tears.
Perhaps once upon a time, back before I was made a character in Lucius's vile game. Maybe I was strong then. I am not the type to be keeping a diary, but I worry that my words might be drowned out if I do not pen them.
Now I am afraid for my life—and what is more, I am afraid for the life of a complete stranger, one whom I do not even claim to like. I must tell Leviathan what I have done. Although I do not understand what has happened, I know that Miss Holbrook is most certainly in danger.
Let me slow down. Let me start to explain, the best I can.
Lucius found me in the early hours of this morning after the building was cleared out, after the officials arrived—after Viviane was found dead in the kitchen blue from what the medics called asphyxiation. I am told this means she suffocated. She stopped breathing due to some outside force. They made it sound so medical, so scientific.
My friend has died and I am entirely to blame—the letter Lucius gave me was proof enough of that. I must admit, he is a beautifully wicked man. I should already be dead, and if he were a lesser man then certainly I would be, but he is too patient for that. Like a snake he waits to strike when the moment is right. When my death with suit him most.
He found me in a local pub a few doors down from the Ballantyne. I am not sure if he was waiting in that dark corner just to see me, or if he stumbled upon me on accident—knowing who he is, I would stake the former. All the girls were corralled together, some crying, some still caressing the men they'd been with before the building needed to be evacuated—after all, we still had a quota to meet.
