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Only two sets of shoes rang against the floor, accompanying a total of three people. Eurydice’s footsteps were as silent as always; her bare feet knew the coolness of this concrete very well. No one in their wildest dreams could say they truly knew its winding path, yet it never failed to take her exactly where she needed it. She never understood why the domain’s faceless master insisted on providing her with a guide.
She used to meet a woman there. Of eastern descent, with hair of flowing ebony silk, a face of restrained, boyish beauty, and a piercing, cold gaze as red as the bloodshed it was made to witness. Only a couple years her junior, yet already brimming with power. So much power… Too much power. Eurydice would teach her things sometimes: patience. Acceptance. Compliance. They would sit and stare at each other unmoving for hours and hours on end, until the boredom and frustration got to even her. She stopped coming when the prescripts stopped ordering her to, by which point the lesson must have been long since learned.
Eurydice could tell that the woman guiding her and her companion through the corridors now was not the same. She was younger. Smaller, weaker. Somehow… Inconsequential. She has led them into a familiar dining hall and delved into the shadows, as if made of them. The second she was out of sight, Eurydice couldn’t for the life of her recall her face.
At the dinner table in the dramatic shadows of a lamp sat a man, body limp, expression blank, like an abandoned puppet. Not for a second did Eurydice doubt he knew they were coming. Once he registered their presence, he booted up with a beep, his shoulders straightening, head as if twisting into place. A mere dummy brought to life by the hand of its ventriloquist.
“Salutations,” he must have said, and once he turned their way, Eurydice saw he was, somehow, more faceless than she remembered him. She pondered how that was even possible, and whether he’d enjoy it more if she called him “less faced” instead.
“Whatever happened to you?” she snickered. Whatever was under that mask, she hoped it hurt, and that petty wish she found herself revelling in. “And where is your-” she cut herself off. She knew better than to direct useless questions at dummies. “Nevermind,” she figured she’d find out soon enough.
Rien’s singular visible eyebrow rose in something that must have been trying to be amusement. “I could ask you the same.”
“Please, do.”
He almost chuckled, air flowing out his lips with a whistle. “You really did change…!”
She failed to see what it was he found so funny.
“What a peculiar face you’re making… Oh, forgive me; I’ve never noticed you had such bright eyes…!”
An unpleasant feeling was beginning to throb its way in her throat; annoyance, she’d later come to know it as. Even past his prime, The Oracle’s Proxy Rien was regarded as a man of many talents, the most exceptional of which must have been getting on her nerves.
“Because you haven’t seen them before, dear friend.”
“Ah… Naturally.”
Eurydice seldom saw her own eyes herself; she hasn't taken off the eyepatch in years. Orpheus insisted on doing so when he washed her. She remembered their gazes locking properly for the first time: that look of utter bewilderment. The following day, he showed her a picture of a ruby in a geology book he found. She never cared much for what she saw in the mirror – that phoney smile, not much different from Rien's own. Yet once she removed the eyepatch for that one final time, the face that greeted her was that of a woman thoroughly tempered by life. Tear-streaked, greasy hair streaming down, honest in its disheveledness, two rubies adorning it like the most noble of crowns. She didn't think twice once she set the useless cloth on fire.
“Whatever brings you here now?”
“Came to bid farewell to an old friend. Purely on a whim,” her joy was cruel, yet the shape of her smile remained gentle. “I'm afraid your hospitable realm is soon to become unaccessible to me, for I will be resigning from the ranks of The Index.”
The sheer unmitigated gall he had to laugh. “My-my… Ill-behaved child, you must be aware it is impossible to sever a finger without feeling pain or spilling blood.”
She felt her eyelid twitch; who was this empty shell to lecture her on the ache that already ached and the blood she was more than willing to spill?
It came to him then that there was no beeping. He waited for her: she came here, she said it, and she just stood there motionless, her new master fiddling with his belt hoops uselessly beside her. Never once has his cruel God intercepted this encounter, and it compelled him to no action, left him there to bear it on his own. To their mutual detriment, it came to them at that moment that the Will of The City ordained this much.
His face melted into neutrality, single golden iris shrinking, locking on its target. “Where are you going?”
“Far below, to the very heart of fate. The only thing to reach me from the surface will be its echo. Rest assured, we will never see each other again.”
Rien's head dropped, expression blank, hanging over the empty table as if his puppeteer had let go of the reins.
For the first time, he regarded the man standing by her side. “I suppose that is the one who shall guide you?”
Rex Infernus smiled and nodded awkwardly; Eurydice stepped on his foot.
“I see. That must be true. Fragile things like you change owners rather naturally...” He made his best impression of making peace; she saw it for the sham that it was.
Eurydice grinned; the air in her lungs never tasted sweeter. The blinded doll was lying; he probably never knew an outcome like this could be possible. She wasn't bold enough yet to claim she outran fate, but she had certainly outsmarted Rien. The despicable hominid was to forever bite the dust behind her, and she savoured that petty victory gladly. She wished for life to become full of these small delicacies to the point that even the smell of them made her want to vomit.
“I want to say I wish sincerely for Hermes to lead you to a final resting place the same, but I'm afraid I'd just be wasting my breath.”
Rien, from what she could discern, was not built for that eternal respite. Besides… No rest for the wicked. What a delectable feeling it was: pity. Not for oneself but from oneself, directed at a truly miserable wretch.
Rien nodded. Blinked intently, then shook his head. All seeped in that pretentious, dishonest sense of purpose. “I suppose there is nothing left for me to do other than to bless you on your merry way.” He smiled again, trying to reach his hand towards her. “May the will of the City guide you to…”
He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. “Don't overexert yourself, sir.”
There was something about him at that moment, the most genuine she's ever seen: bitterness. “Then, I suppose that spells farewell.”
Nothing compelled her to, and yet she bowed. Her companion, who might as well have been digging through his nose thus far, followed suit. The hand that pulled at Rien's strings let go, and he once again turned lifeless in his seat. Guided by no one, Eurydice went for the exit.
Then suddenly; beep.
“Say,” Rien's voice came in from behind. “You know I could never ask for such a thing…”
“Right?”
“But if I ever went to search for it, do you suppose I could be granted it? A final resting place of my own.”
Eurydice was about to say something, but her companion intercepted, gently grabbing her by the shoulder. “No way in Hell,” he said, and they were out the door.
The door took them to some dingy alleyway, damp and dark, the humming of cars and buzzing of people distant. The air here smelled of ozone, and Eurydice, with her bare feet, stepped straight into a puddle.
“God dammit,” she brushed his hand off crudely, “you just had to interrupt me, didn't you?” She stormed off, hair swinging side to side.
Rex Infernus scratched the back of his head innocently, “I was just trying to be honest. Guy seemed like he was about to ask if we had room for a third.”
Eurydice rolled her eyes. “He wouldn't.” As far as she knew, Rien was quite the prude.
“Guess not, huh… Is he always like that?”
“Like what?”
He hurried after her. Rex was now walking in the front, as he usually did when he wasn't indulging his soon-to-be-queen's whims. “Right; guess you wouldn't notice... I must say, you God-fearing folk never fail to surprise me; that friend of yours was certainly a lot.”
Eurydice sneered. “He really isn't much of anything.”