Xavier Szelkac

O Minister, you once were so mild
O Minister, why do you run?
The things that you flee
Don’t look scary to me
O Minister, you once were so mild

O Minister, we have just begun!
O Minister, why can’t you see?
You stare and you plod
With eyes so roughshod
O Minister, we have just begun!

O Minister, the baby makes three
O Minister, it’s not so odd!
A vampiric child
Can be found in the wild
O Minister, the baby makes three

O Minister, go pray to your god!
O Minister, corpses are piled
Please don’t come undone
Though survivors are none
O Minister, go pray to your god!

- Aethelwyne’s Short Verses and Tall Tales

September 4, 1884

Ellen Spruce will die tomorrow.

I had tea at Xavier’s this afternoon. Triskele tagged along. Xavier always has a few choice tidbits for her. Sometimes I wonder just how much the man knows. The quiet look of pain in his eyes becomes louder by the day.

I know the story as if I had written it myself. Xavier will darken that door only long enough to console his friend. He will leave a small, innocent flower behind. The flower will do its work and Percival will keep his vows to this wife, for one. Xavier will get the house, but he will never set foot in it again; and his last days, at least, will be peaceful.

Triskele reminds me that I did, in fact, write this one. It was only a matter of time. Someone had to put them out of their misery.