[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ
xx────── ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ ──

Rosie's French didn't have the fluidity of Petyr's, she couldn't quite roll her 'r's either, and found herself unable to replicate the way in which Petyr did. It was true: She'd never spoken a single word of any other language until she had tackled Petyr that faithful day. (Other than the latin motto, that is, and even then! Rosie could never be sure if her pronunciation was indeed accurate.) So, when Petyr started to explain, she was attentive, hanging onto every word. "A silent 's'? Similar to the word island? instead, she tried to replicate the sounds. "So... nuu? And then, ah, ah-vuu?" Still, it never quite held the same edge that was given by Petyr's own accent. Rosie didn't allow herself to be flustered by it, though, she had all the time in the world for Petyr to teach her French. She huffed an incredulous laugh, "Surely I do! You need not spare me. Of course I seek to learn, you expect less from your Queen of Nothing?" she grinned, crinkling her face at his wink. Her blink was slow and deliberate, drawing out her response. "That she is! But what does it say of the turncoat whom fought for her?" a wide, Cheshire grin tugged at the corners of her lips.

"And I, you," she replied with a soft voice. "Together, we are oft stronger than the sum of our parts." Rosie was glad the words worked to soothe his nerves and inspire a sense of assurance. Petyr seemed confident with the task she'd asked of him, and it made her smile at the diligence of her soon-to-be assassin. Her bright eyes followed him as he took to searching documents; settling down to begin hers. The ink and quills were gently pushed aside towards the centre of the desk, in order to act as a divider between their work stations. She was quick to freeze though, sucking in a breath as droplets of water from her hair tumbled through the air. A sudden bolt of fear shot down the assassin's spine at the idea of leaving evidence of their foul play, helplessly watching on as they narrowly missed the papers she was sorting through. She breathed a quiet sigh afterwards, though her heart remained in her mouth. Rosalee was quick to dab at the patch of pooled liquid, pausing briefly to stop and stare. Through narrowed eyes, she furrowed her brows while the darkened colour of the wood began to ebb, as if leeched from the surface. She curled her lip back in disdain as it dawned on her: Imitation mahogany. Her next port of call was to glance at Petyr, just to notice the knight had already figured this out. Shaking her head, she shoved the visitor's chair backwards, eliciting a slight scrap from the floorboards. Nimble fingers worked quick to braid her traitorous hair and fix it atop her head, similar to how it had been arranged before. Then, it was back to searching.

If Rosie noticed him watching the door, she didn't speak up. Instead, she sorted through sheets one at a time in particularly careful manner. The assassin didn't look at him, and only somehow managed to catch his smile from the corner of eye. In response, she smiled, warm and sincere, but never did she look away from the stack of papers. No, she was far too focused to break her attention away, only murmuring a distant, "I would be highly appreciative if he were to fall further than his designated six feet," in reply to his wit. For her. Petyr was doing this for her. Her eyelashes fluttered, but other than that tell, she seemed completely in control.

She was still yet to come across the will and believed it to be hidden away in the lower, locked drawers of the desk. Perhaps Petyr had been gifted with something of Victor's within the will, it wouldn't have surprised her if he had. But she'd get there in due time, no need for her trademark impulsiveness right now, Rosie didn't want to miss a single document. Then, Petyr held up a sheet, detailing expenditures -- one she was quick to survey. "Any anomalies? If you can find any written indiscretions within the numbers, unknown sources, we can keep it. Merci," she nodded briefly. "Anything you believe to be... irregular, put it aside." With that strong affirmation, her determined eyes swept over the next in line. Regency Street. Regency Street. It wasn't a housing deed, no, but a confirmation describing the change of ownership. From one Alexander Dagenhart to one Victor Pravda, complete with signatures and all. No. And the price, gods, the money he had earnt from the assets! Gods, it was like staring at the sum of her parent's lives, reduced down to simple numbers! And it angered her like none other.

Forcing out a breath through her teeth, she placed the paper to the side -- face down. Rosalee held a hand over her mouth. "How many? How many did he rob?" she asked no-one in particular, one fist clenched as she thumbed through this pile. More of the same scenarios to her own, same transfer, same unknown body, same unfortunate deaths. Anything she deemed important, she placed on already-growing pile. At least the next few sheets were basic accounting's. She was quick to files those admissible parchments away. Rosie then paused. The next documents... they mentioned Petyr and his family by name. More curiously, Christoph. Not Cross; Christoph. Letters, notes. She glanced at Petyr with unreachable eyes for a brief while. "These are not mine to read." Rosie shrugged, and reached out to hold his wrist, gently sliding the Lécuyer papers across to him.

[Ahh, thank you xD]

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxMaybe she didn’t speak with the perfection that the natives did back in France, but she sure did try. It was an effort that he appreciated. Petyr smiled when he realised that she was actually listening to what he was saying, which meant she cared. ”Yes, as in island. Nuu, yes. As if to say your English ‘new’, but less stress on the ‘e’. Ah-vuu. Yes, you have it,” he encouraged her with a wide grin. ”Certes nous avons tous.” Practise made perfect, didn’t it? Sooner or later, Rosie will gain an edge on her words and learn to pronounce them correctly. She already knew how to perfectly say ‘merci’, ‘jusqu'à la fin’, ‘je t’aime’, and ‘va savoir pourquoi’. Her accent was good with those four words, but with the rest of the French he would have to help her learn to not stress her consonants all so much. ”Spare you?” he questioned, resting a hand over his chest mockingly. ”Never would I dare to think of it!” he grinned, shooting her a look. Petyr kept his eyes on hers, watching the slow blink that she gave. Petyr then shrugged, tossing his glance away from her with a chuckle. ”It says that the turncoat must also have a strong character in order to put up with her as he does.”

xxxxxHe nodded, agreeing to her words. It was the two of them working together that made them as strong as they were. ”We walk in together and we leave together,” he told her with a faint smile. This is how empires fall and kings are slaughtered. From the corner of his eye, he caught Rosie catch her breath and hold onto it. His heart stopped at the thought of someone having possibly found them, but he soon discovered why Rosalee had done this: her hair was still wet, and a few drops of water had left the strands and almost splattered upon the papers. Petyr stopped for a long time, staring at the small pool of water that rested upon the desk. The assassin made quick work of dabbing it up in order to erase the trace of evidence that she had left. The light stain of water dried quickly, thereby confirming Petyr’s suspicions of the wood being fake. ”Il est sans surprise. He was cheap, comme de juste. We knew this already, so it is of no surprise that this is the case.”

xxxxxPetyr gave her a light smile, lowering his head a bit as he scanned another sheet of paper. It was a list of names. The eleventh entry was a name he’d only ever heard Rosie say: Alexander Dagenhart. He was quick to stop, narrowing his eyes before setting aside, along with the paper that Rosie had set down there not so long before. ”I am not too sure what you like to consider as an anomaly, but I will do my best.” He tapped the sheet that he had set down, looking to the assassin for a moment. ”Your father’s name, Alexander. It is written upon this paper, along with other names that I do not know. I will assume that’s important.”

xxxxxWhen he heard the air that was pushed out from her mouth, he winced slightly and raised a hand to his hair, going to run his fingers through it before stopping, his expression pulling into a scowl at her words. His hand dropped, resting on the desk in front of him. ”Victor lives no more, so he can rob no more.” The rest of the papers he encountered were purely business, speaking only of numbers. They weren’t large sums of numbers, either, so it was nothing of interest to either of them. Petyr felt Rosie’s eyes on him before he saw, and he looked up, meeting her eyes and tilting his head slightly in question. When she took ahold of his wrist and gave him the papers, he took them from her with several blinks. ”And who’s to say that I am?” He asked, looking over the one on top. The first thing that jumped out at him was his father’s name, causing his blood to run with ice. What was Victor doing? His fingers were shaking as he thumbed through the next few pages, his breathing a bit heavier than it was a few moments ago. Petyr caught his own name, Serge’s name, and his mother’s name. He shook his head, setting the papers down in a separate pile from the rest. He was not going to let that cloud his judgement, or let that interfere with their time. Instead, he swallowed thickly and nodded, going back to the papers he had before hand. ”Merci. I will look over these later.”

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ
xx────── ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ ──

Turning to face Petyr so she could catch the way he articulated the sounds, Rosie made to rehearse them. Her face brightened at his encouraging smile. "Nuu and ah-vuu," Momentarily, she glanced away to speak them as a mantra under her breath. "Nuu and ah-vuu, nuu, ah-vuu, nuu, ah-vuu. Ah, this beautiful language will be my undoing," It was oddly foreign; as though the tongue she spoke with wasn't completely her own, and Rosie couldn't help but laugh at the way she sounded. Even she could barely recognise her voice. Is this what it is like for you? She was always ensnared by the language when Petyr spoke it, and him repeating it for her benefit was no different. It didn't take long for her eyes to flicker back to the turncoat's magnetic gaze. Silently, she mimed along with him, tracing out the way he pronounced sounds. "So, nuu and ah-vuu, then. Right," she stole a pause. "Certes nous avons tous?" she drummed her fingers and tilted her head to the side. At his next response, Rosalee huffed a breath of a laugh. "As you should!" she chuckled. Quirking an eyebrow when Petyr turn his eyes away, she made a mockery of fake offence. "'Put up with her'? she repeated, feigning the hurt in her voice. Rosalee then gave him a light-hearted clip on the shoulder for that one, her grin never wavering. "Nonetheless I must agree; she is quite the problem for the turncoat to cope with, that reckless assassin," regardless, she laughed.

Her arms folded across her chest, tapping rhythmically against her arm with an index finger. "Always and forever." she sighed, reaching over to take his hand in hers. I shan't let us fall and will not allow us be to slaughtered. There wasn't panic on Petyr's face, she noticed, but a steely look. Even if fear had slithered it's insidious way into his heart, he didn't let it show. That made Rosalee proud of her assassin-in-training. He was quick off the mark, too. "It does not sit well with me, though. If he owns such a fortune," releasing his palm, she made a sweeping gesture. "Where did he invest it? For, I cannot see anywhere in which he did, unless I am missing something?" Something is not quite right with this, Petyr. I do not like it. Her mouth pushed to the side, and she settled back to searching. The rest of the sheets barely yielded anything of interest.

"I trust in you enough to discern the discrepancies." she murmured, making to grin, but the smile was slapped from her face. Rosie's eyes snapped to attention, once Petyr mentioned her father. There was a storm upon the ocean of starlight-flecked blue as she stared bullets at him. Well, at the hand that was tapping the sheet of paper he had just placed on the ever-growing pile. She made to snatch the sheet away, her eyes grazing the surface -- only to turn it face down like she did the other one. She glanced away from both Petyr and the documents, clenching her jaw so harsh she was almost certain her teeth would break. "The dates listed are wrong." she growled. Rosie didn't bother to expand upon this revelation for him. Didn't care to. She was far beyond sadness, no this was something else, the assassin was beyond furious. If they needn't be so careful, Rosalee would have destroyed this entire office in a fit of rage. She had to hold back the urge to slit someone's throat by gripping tight onto the edge of the desk, her knuckles a deathly shade of white.

Catching onto his sudden wince, she watched out the corner of her eye as he went to brush a hand through his hair, only to stop once he recalled the flowers. Rosalee then flinched at the thump of his hand on the wood, the sound guiding her away from the red-haze invading her senses. "Justice prevails," is all she could really say, the words a veiled thank you. Squeezing his wrist, the assassin moved away to give him space. The papers clearly had an effect upon him, with his now audible breathing. "Trust in me," she shrugged her shoulders. "May you find the answers you seek." Watching as he pushed them aside, she frowned briefly, before schooling her features in neutrality. He wasn't bitter? He didn't let it impede the search? He moved on? Gods, Petyr was a far better person that Rosie could ever dream of being! Didn't he see that? "I am sorry. Forgive me, I do not usually act this way on my missions," Crestfallen, she let her eyes wander for a while.

Finally her wits decided to return -- as did a fierce determination to finish what her parents started. There was fire in her heart as she pushed her chair backwards and leant down to unlock the last drawer near the base of desk. The assassin then dropped the keys back onto her pocket, loosing a long breath. She gently ran her hand across the smooth intimidation mahogany in the hopes that the cool wood may work to calm her rattling heart. She shut her eyes and yanked it open. Lo and behold: A box situated above a wax-sealed letter. Reluctance hindered her movements, unease prickling her skin as she lifted the two objects onto the desk for Petyr to see. Breathing a shaky breath, she nodded. Last, but by no means least. Rosie fixated her gaze at Petyr, slowly extending her hand in his direction before stopping just short of him. The action: To show him his assassin was here.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxHis expression was alive as he listened to her pronounce the words, repeating them in hopes that they might stick to her memory. Rosalee was making an actual commitment-- Not only to him, but to his words and his language. ”Nous, this word means ‘we’. As avons is the word ‘have’. Your English is gorgeous, I will say, but complicated. But for as English is complicated, as is French. We may learn together.” His eyes flickered briefly, showing her the pure emotion that was tucked away in the colour of them. Did she know how much her effort made him love her all the more? He smiled gently, looking to her for a long moment, before breaking into laughter at her next words. ”Put up with her, yes. It is quite difficult to keep track of you. You’re quite unpredictable, but no less… I enjoy it.”

xxxxx”Jusqu'à la fin, no?” the corners of his lips turned upwards, the smile reaching his eyes just barely. Petyr’s eyes kept trained in front of him, moving away from the place where the water had fallen and back to the papers that he had sorted before him. ”All of his house is cheap, but he is said to be rich. Perhaps all this money goes towards keeping the guards off suspicion, or hiring those demons that work for him. Who is to know? Perhaps we will find out answers in these documents,” he said, sweeping his arms out in a gesture as to encompass the papers aforementioned.

xxxxxPetyr noticed the effect that mentioned her father’s name had on her, and he immediately regretted it, even if it wasn’t meant to be ill in any way. It was just his attempt to draw her attention to the paper, and it had never been a lie. What dates? Dates of what? ”Rosie--” he began, but stopped himself as he watched her eyes, the way the gold in them shifted as the light caught it differently from before. It was intent or fury or both-- And Petyr wasn’t too keen on finding which one it was. He looked away from her, training his eyes on something else. Do not let your rage control you, Rosie. He silently reminded her of this: that fury and anger were deadly things that could end up using her to its will: Which was something that he never wanted to see happen to her. It is something that we will move on from. Let it make you stronger, not angrier.

xxxxxThe papers were an obvious weapon against him. They tore him down like nothing ever did before, because he knew the papers held secrets and answers that he needed. The answers that he’d been looking for for so long. Right in front of him, begging him to open it and look inside. But he couldn't, he couldn't let it distract him from the mission. He brushed a hand over his eyes and sighed slowly, tapping his fingers on the wood of the desk. Focus. When Rosie apologised, he looked up immediately and shook his head. ”You have no need to apologise. You are fine, and all well. Thank you, though.” He gave a slight smile and lowered his eyes, looking away from her.

xxxxxPetyr’s eyes returned to her when she leant down to unlock the lower drawer, placing the keys in her pocket. His breathing grew slower, steadier. His heartbeat slowed with it, Petyr willing for anticipation to not eat away at him so steadily. He tried not to peek over her shoulder to see what was inside, as he was a patient man who could wait until she pulled these things out. Eventually she did, setting a box and a piece of paper onto the desk. Petyr looked at her hand that stopped just short of him, and he nodded slowly, his eyes flickering a bit but staying steady otherwise. ”A means to an end,” he whispered, mostly to himself than to his assassin. His mind hopelessly wandered over the possibilities as to what the box could have contained.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

Petyr's emotions were a tangible thing, constellations dancing across his features, and Rosie's eyes followed them in awe. "You stated earlier that the added 's' made them plural? I am guessing it is not the case for all French words? It would never be that easy, correct?" her chuckle was accompanied by a curl of her lips. A brief flash tore across his otherwise calm eyes for a brief moment; yet Rosie caught it. The tawny-bronze eyes of his shimmered with more emotion than she thought possible. Rosie also noticed how his gaze lingered, as though he was seeing her through a different filter. With her heart beating out of rhythm, she brushed a thumb across his cheek. "I pride myself with my volatile nature. That way, not a soul can anticipate my actions. And after all, I must keep you on your toes, no?" she winked at him.

Rosie grinned at him, even if his own smile barely ghosted past his eyes. "Jusqu'à la fin, but, va savoir pourquoi?" she murmured, returning to a past joke of theirs to lighten the atmosphere, as it had taken a nose dive rather recently. Still, she couldn't shake the prickle of unease scratching away at the back of her mind. It demanded attention. And she trusted her instincts enough to let it. "I see what you are conveying, yet, if you hold the authorities beneath your thumb, then why bother with documentation? You simply do not need it." Petyr, I do not like this. There is something we are missing. It was clear Rosalee did not like the wool pulled over her eyes, especially in this matter. "Perhaps his riches were all just a façade? Which is why he sought out to acquire more assets?" Though, she didn't quite believe this to be the full case, however. Maybe, just maybe, he had invested it elsewhere in order to hide it from thieving hands.

Some awful, vengeful part of her still held Victor in some form of contempt, and she wasn't sure it would be something she could ever forgive. She curled her lip back once she felt Petyr's regret taint the atmosphere. The assassin wasn't upset at him for pointing the name out, though. Reactions would have been far worse if he, in fact, hadn't drawn her attention to it. It is not worth mentioning the dates. It is of no relevance, not any more. A beat passed, and Rosalee refused to react to her name, keeping her expression cold and jaw clenched. It did not take long for a dagger to appear in her hand, twirled with both confidence and bitterness alike. Rosalee pressed the tip of it against the table, slid her fingers down the blade, lifted, and let the hilt fall. She repeated this until a steady rhythm was established. Slowly, painfully slowly without moving her head, she flicked her gaze from the blade to Petyr with a threatening blink. Do not forget, anger is not so easy to toss aside. The anger, despite what she would like to lead Petyr to believe, was subsiding. Of course he was right, anger was violent, manipulative, but Rosie wasn't exactly in the best of moods to admit this to him, though.

The knife continued to beat out a smooth rhythm against the fake oak, or mahogany, whatever material it was supposed to resemble. The blood in her ears pounded along with it, acting to drown out her stupid selfishness. "Je t'en prie." Now, she was focused on the letters addressed to Petyr and his family. ...It was probably best this way. Though, what the papers supposed to mean? Blackmail? Threats? Apologies? Or perhaps those answers, the ones he so desperately deserved. Not ones he may have wished to hear, but answers, regardless. Perhaps they may contain a form of solace for him, a sense of finality to his searches; but knowing Christoph and Victor, she doubted it would be that simple. They were probably a ploy, to tempt Petyr into feeling a shred of compassion for his father. Christoph had that way about him. It was clear to Rosie, that Petyr wished to read them, the intense glint in his eyes gave him away, though he showed great self-restraint in pushing them aside. By now, she knew his ever-curious nature, and so decided to give him the opportunity to read them; with a little ingenuity and impulsiveness on her part. "It will take me some time in order to forge his will, and it will give you enough time to read those papers. If you wish, that is." Petyr glanced away, and Rosie touched his shoulder to capture his attention. "No matter what you discover in those letters, remember, this was never your fault. I do not blame you. None of it was ever your fault." she blinked. "'It is not my fault'. Repeat this back to me, please? 'It is not my fault'." Rosie was saying this, because well, it is what she would have wanted to hear if she stood in his place.

While she was technically looking in Petyr's direction, the assassin could feel his eyes upon her every move. The box was the first item under scrutiny by her piercing gaze, and a flick of her dagger swifty broke the lock. The time for the decency of keys was long gone. The contents was far from interesting; a variety of coloured wax coupled with the corrosponding seals. Something needed to make her forgery authentic. Beneath that was a sheet with a poem that chilled her to the very core. Shuddering, she passed it to Petyr to read, see if he could make sense of the alarming thing. Next, Rosalee peeled at the wax seal of the letter with her knife before stowing the blade away. It was sheer luck, or something else that lead her to glance up at the moment Petyr's eyes wavered ever so slightly. "Tonight, we take back what is ours." The parchment crunched as she unfolded the aged paper, evidenced as dust jumped and infected the air. Rosalee placed the will to the side of her, so Petyr and her alike could both read it. Huffing, her scarred hand brushed at the ink. Victor had written in such a way that would mean she'd need to rewrite the document to fit in her part. The headings were names, and listed beneath, were the belongings Victor gifted them on the day of his passing. Items to persons of interest and nobility alike... Christoph... and Petyr. "Victor may have inadvertently helped us dividends," It didn't take long for the assassin to locate a fresh sheet to write upon. "Perhaps... under your name, along with your new assets I may write... "in care of Petyr Lécuyer: The Regency street address, open bracket, to be gifted to one Léa Lécuyer upon the day of their wedding, close bracket". Yes, I believe that shall do nicely. The nobles in the will shan't suspect a thing."

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxHis father always scolded him about his emotions, but yet here he was with someone who appreciated them. His father was a cold man, whilst his mother was a soft woman with heart. It was a balance that he had never been able to find throughout his childhood. Thank every god, however, neither Petyr nor Serge turned out like Christoph, as both took from their mother’s personality. Perhaps even stole it, as their mother wasn’t quite as bright and gentle as she always used to be. But that was no matter. ”Only for certain words,” he told her with a soft chuckle. ”If you use ‘nous’, you have to use ‘avons’ in pair with it, because it helps simplify the plural nature of ‘nous’.” Petyr’s expression was a little strange as he attempted to explain this to her. ”But, yes, of course, anything ending with an ‘s’ does not mean that it is plural.” His smile was bright, and he rocked back on his heels slightly as he spoke. ”Example: The French word ‘la pomme’, which means the apple. To pluralise this, you would change it to ‘les pommes’, but you would also have to make the article plural, not just the noun as you do in English,” he explained, then laughed a little, ”French people like to over-complicate things.”

xxxxxJusqu'à la fin, mais les dieux savent pourquoi.” Petyr laughed a bit, nodding slowly. Her attempt to lighten the mood with their old and running joke worked. ”My gods may not know why, but I know why. C'est parce que je t'aime. It is because I love you.” His head tilted slightly, and he smiled, recalling the first phrase he ever taught her. ”Quand on parle du loup. Do you remember its meaning?” It wasn’t a big deal if she didn’t, he just wished for an answer. Petyr’s eyes still wandered over the desk as she spoke of Victor. Not that it was a sore subject, he was just troubled as much as she was. ”I see your meaning, but I do not understand it, either. It is a puzzle, a mystery. I suppose we might... “ he looked around the desk, squinted, and frowned. He didn’t have answers. And he hated not having answers. ”Perhaps so, but how, then, would he be able to pull off such lavish parties and outfits? Or hire the likes of those that he does?” He wondered aloud.

xxxxxVictor was a man that Petyr had learnt to trust in his earlier years. However, since meeting Rosie, that trust had been shattered, a crack running through the glass. The thought of Victor sat uneasy with him still, and he would be quick to admit that to Rosie if she ever asked him about it. Already the memory of his uncle was starting to fade, just as the memory of his father was slipping from his mind. Some expression close to that of fear quickly flashed across his face, and his grip on the desk tightened slightly as he forced himself to exhale slowly. When Rosalee pulled out a dagger, the fear that had rested in his eyes quickly vanished, and he watched the glint of the blade for the longest time, listening to the thunk of the hilt of the dagger against the wood. When he felt her eyes, his own snapped up to meet hers, but he was slightly apprehensive to the warning those blue and gold eyes gave him. Learn to control your temper and you will learn to control your anger.

xxxxx”Bien sûr.” His response was quick to her ‘je t’en prie’, instinct. The words meant ‘of course’, but he didn’t tell Rosie this. His eyes kept wandering to those papers, pondering over their contents. When she spoke, Petyr’s features lightened and he sighed out, nodding. ”Merci,” he whispered, his fingers pulling the papers closer to him, setting them in the space in front of him. Her touch made his head turn towards her, his eyes watching her carefully. Slowly, one of his hands reached up to rest on hers, listening to her words with a slightly lost look on his face. Not my fault? How could you be so sure of this? That it is not? Regardless of whatever thoughts that moved through his mind, he repeated these words to her-- for her, and for him. Thus, one English, one French. ”It is not my fault. Ce n’est pas ma faute. You offer me strength that I should not have the power to hold, yet I will, so I thank you,” his eyes searched hers for a moment, and he smiled briefly, ”but I will only hold this in mind if you promise me that you, too, know that it is not your fault. Understand?”

xxxxxWhen a sheet of paper was passed to him, he took it without hesitation, without even blinking, scanning over the sheet. His breathing slowed a bit at the chilling words written upon the parchment.

xxxxxxxxEvery known thing used to be unknown
xxxxxxxxAnd every rock could become a stone
xxxxxxxxSomeday nature will have to atone
xxxxxxxxWhen soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone

xxxxxGently, he set it down, gently rubbing a finger against his temple. He struggled with finding its meaning, but it would kill him if he didn’t. He had to know. Petyr’s posture fell a bit as he read the poem once, twice, ten times. When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone. Of course this meant death. Death was something that was easy to point out from figurative language like this. Every known thing used to be unknown. Would this hint on the answers that he’d been so desperate to find? Or something else? What? His teeth gritted together, and he finally gave up on it, shoving them aside and picking up the letters that he had previously set aside. There were several, lettered to Petyr by name, some to Christoph (also by name), and some to… Serge? Slowly, he unfolded the one that had been addressed to himself, and noted the signature at the bottom was not that of Victor’s. The word, the name, Cross, scribed carefully across the bottom. His father. Inhale, exhale. Breathe and think. He frowned a bit, however, at the hand of the actual body of the letter. It was in Victor’s hand-- Victor’s unmistakable hand. ”Rosie, I can’t--” I can’t do this. It is a lie that I wish not to indulge in. No, if anything, the only wish he had at that moment was to set fire to everything in the room and leave without looking back. He scanned over the letter, despite everything. But these were not the answers he wanted.

xxxxxHe went to the one addressed to Cross, signed by Victor and written in his hand. These were genuine, as far as he could tell. Maybe not the content, but the signature certainly was. Petyr was quick to read this one, too, leaning back away from the desk slightly, trying to figure the meaning over the words. Victor had brought Petyr up by name in the letter, telling his brother that Petyr was fine, alive, well, and progressing in the Guard. However, it was evident that this letter never made it to Cross.

xxxxxThe one that was meant for Serge was signed by Victor, and was in French, as Serge didn’t know English all too well. The entire gist of the letter was nothing ground-shattering, just simple exchange of greetings and farewells and good lucks. Victor, you played a dangerous game, and you have perished for it.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

Rosalee wasn't entirely sure whether he oh-so carefully hid his emotions due to a past event, or whether it was perhaps in order to gain the approval of someone. (The latter, she could relate to.) So, with Petyr deeming her worthy enough to walk through those nebulas of emotions in his eyes, well -- the sweet notion gave her wings. Her own nature wasn't nearly as inquisitive as Petyr's, it was a given, though in a strange turn of events, Rosie noticed her piqued curiosity whenever they happened to discuss his native mothertongue. "So, nous avons means 'we have', correct? Is there also a version of 'we had'? Oh, can you switch the words to create a question? Avons nous? 'Have we?' Does that work?" she furrowed her eyebrows in an attempt to work it through her mind. "Ah, it would never be that simple now, would it?" a chuckle of a breath escaped her nose. "Well, you are certainly complicated, let alone the language!" Rosie's voice rose in a slight tease. "How about contractions, you have those? We have, to we've? Oh, do you have triple contractions? For those unwilling to properly enunciate: 'Could not have', you can go with, 'couldn't've'." Rosie's voice slipped into a drawl when she spoke the 'couldn't've.

Her nose crinkled upwards at his words, staring into the near distance for the longest time in order to figure out the words she didn't quite know. Rosalee figured the mais translated to 'but' and the les, she had just learnt meant 'the'. And it was plural, which supposedly meant dieux was also. That word must've meant 'gods'. So that left savent, and it could only mean 'know'. And so, through a process of elimination, (which took her longer than she wished to admit), Rosie spoke up to clarify them with him. Her fear of failure was exhibited in the way she trained her cold eyes downwards. "Mais means 'but', les means 'the' and is plural; therefore dieux is 'gods' and savent is equivalent to 'know', is this not so?" Rosie's features were schooled into neutrality as she awaited his response. "C'est parce que je t'aime aussi," Did I, did I say that correctly? Patching the aussi at the end I mean? Petyr's head tilted and Rosalee reciprocated by shooting him the charming smile of a Cheshire cat. At his query into her memories, she allowed her eyes to languidly drift toward the ceiling. It was simple for her to recall the fond moment of that night they'd run from the law -- quiet literally. She shuffled her chair a hair's breadth closer, eyes blissfully falling shut and leaning her head softly against his shoulder. She spoke with a calm and gentle tone, as though reliving the memory. "Speak of the devil, how could I forget? I would not dare part with the first words you taught me," Frowning at the mention of Victor again, Rosalee kept her head where it was. "Exactly my thoughts! It is a mystery, indeed. I do not have cause to believe he was working for a higher authority." She turned away, straightening her back so she could returning to working on the papers. Perhaps he may not hire the guards per se; why pay what you can blackmail?

The matter must have caused a far share of turmoil for Petyr. There was no doubt something infected his thoughts, hazed his vision. That dreadful man had practically raised him; after Christoph's desertion, no, violation of his family duties. (If Rosie were in place of Christoph, never would she have even dreamt of leaving him. Though, what would her admitting this to him prove? She had no right to make such claims.) He'd built his entire world's view of Victor as one of unbreakable trust and Rosie had sauntered up, plucked free a brick from the sturdy foundations, and consequently, completely obliterated his castle of glass. But that wasn't enough, the destruction of Petyr's loyalty, was it? She'd then gone on to further devastate his world by murdering his father. She had killed his family. Denied him access to the answers he desperately sought. The thing standing in his way, was her. And Rosalee knew it, the anger redirecting itself at her. The fearful reflection of Petyr in the knife was unwelcome. Why are you frightened? There was apprehension in his eyes, Rosalee observed. Are you against me using anger to my advantage, Petyr?

More French for her to figure out. And did the assassin ever love a challenge. The brightening of Petyr's feature's wasn't lost in her, Rosie knew he was relieved. "Je t'en prie." she repeated again. A clench of her jaw accompanied the swish of papers as Petyr pulled them towards him. They were for his eyes only; not hers. Never hers. So rather considerately, the assassin's star-flecked eyes were averted, trained on his sadden face. In an effort to soothe his worry, she brushed her thumb along the hand atop hers. I know you, my Petyr. Your intentions are good. You hold such an unrivalled purity in you heart. "I will fight, jusqu'à la fin, to show you the strength you hold. For you, I would steal the stars." Rosie only gave him a clipped smile when he asked for her word. That same one that held a such powerful meaning. It was her reputation. A Dagenhart never defaulted on their word. A Dagenhart's word was their vow. "It is not my fault."

The words of the poem gave the feel of spiders crawling down her spine. Never had such a cold dread seized her heart.


Someday nature will have to atone
When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone
Those two lines hit far too close to home. The massacres, the lives she'd taken. Someday nature will have to atone. When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone. Atone for your heinous crimes, killer. Bile stung the back of her throat. It is justice. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Rosalee shrugged it off, let Petyr read his letters, and returned to her forgery. The assassin plucked free a quill and held the pretty feather in her fingers, twirling it like she did the knife as she studied the script. The lettering was precise, and rather distinct. Any mistake, any deviation from the nature of his hand would betray her. She tuned out the world and set her jaw. And then, she started, dipping the quill lightly in the inkwell every now and again. It was a thing of wonder, as she switched between the two sheets and perfectly replicated his hand. An assassin at their best, no less. She would alternate, sometimes by using the signature technique of copying the words upside down, and sometimes working from her own back. On the original will, she had marked the whereabouts of her addition, and traced the more intricate letter forms over before writing them on her new sheet. Rosalee's head flickered to and fro, whispering the words and letters under her breath as she wrote them. It required all of her collective focus and it took time. The most difficult part was imitating his hand when in came to writing in her addition. She'd flip the papers, locate the letters she needed, and patch them together. And good gods, was she damn good at it.

Rosalee was nearing the end, when Petyr spoke out her name. If it had been anyone else, any other situation, the assassin would have ignored them and continued. Yet, for her most trusted, she pushed everything aside. It was a strange thing, that innate need to help him. "What is wrong?" she murmured, stealing his attention by turning his face in her direction, leaving her hand against his cheek. Whatever on earth could they say? It hurt to hear the pain latched to his words. Oh, my most trusted, why do you not believe in yourself like I do? "What did you find? A lie, you say? Petyr," Rosie stopped, not wanting to intrude on the letters if he didn't wish for her to see. Rosie was never one to pry. If he wished to let her know, he would.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxNo longer did he so carefully hide those emotions that he dare not show to anyone else. Rosalee was someone he trusted, someone he could easily confide in without hesitation. She offered him something he never really quite had before, as she offered Petyr the ability to express himself truly. To speak his mind and show her everything that made him exactly who he was. Rosie was a maze that Petyr has been walking through for so long, an intricate labyrinth that he often found himself lost in as he tried to solve the puzzle. But what would happen once he solved it? A puzzle was no fun if it was solved and finished. Petyr briefly closed his eyes as he listened to her speak, then he smiled just slightly. "That is correct. Nous avons des pommes. We have apples. Whereas, here 'des' is used as 'some', and it isn't necessary to include in the English translation." Petyr hesitated a moment, before shaking/nodding his head. "Yes, but, not necessarily, instead you would say ‘avons-nous’. Complicated, non?" He chuckled.

xxxxx"Contractions? Ah, yes. C'est, this is translated to it is, or, it's. C'est une pomme. It is an apple. Just as we have t'aime', which is 'tu' and 'aime' put together. You and love. With 'je' in front of it, the sentence, as you know, reads I love you. Je t'aime. You'll find these if the previous word ends with a vowel and if the word following it starts with one. L'homme. The man." He shook his head, lowering it slightly. "I hope that makes sense?" He laughed a bit when he caught the slight drawl she put on the triple contraction, 'couldn't've. "No, no. It's a bit improper, is it not?" he teased.

xxxxxPetyr knew that look very well, and knew exactly what it meant. She was thinking, piecing thoughts and ideas and facts together in order to find the answer to something. However, what she was pondering over was a mystery to Petyr. However, that mystery was resolved when she spoke. "Yes, yes. That is correct, wonderful! And 'pourquoi', as you will notice, means 'why'." His smile was bright as Rosie was slowly learning and catching onto his language-- It was a wonderful feeling to know that someone else, here, in this English country, could share some words with him in his native tongue. His hand covered his mouth at her next set of words, and he was grinning profusely behind it. You are truly clever, mon cheri. He pulled her into a light hug, placing a kiss to the top of her head, even despite her hair that was still damp. That was no matter though, of course. She was learning and catching on quickly, and he loved her for it. Her head rested upon his shoulder, and he smiled. "Speak of the devil," he whispered along with her, nodding gently. "Then, I thank you, not only for keeping me in your memories, but also for keeping my words." Petyr's words were something that he'd long learned that he must cherish and hold onto. The fact that Rosalee did the same with his words, it was powerful.

xxxxxHis eyes flicked downward again at the change of subject, and he adopted a puzzled expression as he pondered over it. "I do not know what to make of it. No, that couldn't be that he was working for someone. Victor wouldn't do that, he's a man of his own work." When Rosie's head lifted off his shoulder as she turned back to her work, his posture straightened and he sighed gently. But what kind of dirt could he have on the guard?

xxxxxPetyr's attention was turned back to that dreadful letter. "Look. The note, it is addressed to me, and the body is written in Victor's hand. At the bottom, signed 'cross', also in Victor's hand. However... I never knew my father as 'Cross', always knew him by his true name, as Victor never knew that I knew him by the name he used in the Brotherhood. Yet, Victor thought that I didn't know that, so why would he forge a letter and sign it by my father using the name he styled himself with? It doesn't make sense. Victor was a smart man, he wouldn't do this. Don't you see? What if... What if, this wasn't Victor who attempted the forgery of a letter from my father and to me?" Petyr was making pretty broad and brass assumptions, but he needed something akin to answers. The games that two dead men played weren't getting him any closer and he hated that. He was losing in a game where he never had a chance to win in, and he was utterly helpless in the position that he was permanently stuck in. Petyr was desperate, so of course he would look to Rosalee for help. She was his rock in the storm, the one star that he knew he could follow. She was everything, answers and questions that he needed, needed to have.

xxxxx"I refuse to be fooled by two men who lie in their graves, Rosie. I don't know--" He broke off his, his expression strange as he thought over it for a long moment. He then dropped the letter, picking up the poem once more and reading over the four lines for yet another time, then reading it aloud-- Slowly. Just in case he missed something. "It's a..." He swore, shaking his head and giving a nervous laugh. "I understand that this is not your battle, and I do not expect for you to have answers or have willingness. I just need..." Help. Answers. Advice. Something. He then shoved the papers towards her, looking her in the eyes with a steady expression. "Please. If you do mind to look these over, to see what you can find. I can't make any sense of it, but I know something's wrong, Rosie. This does not sit well with me." Petyr frowned ever so slightly as he took back to the poem. Every known thing used to be unknown, And every rock could become a stone, Someday nature will have to atone, When soul sees dead flesh leaving the bone. Every rock could become stone. But, to answer the puzzle, he must first answer: What was the difference between a rock and a stone? A rock was often connotative as being rough, with no smooth edges. A stone? Smooth, in contrast. But what did that have to do with anything? With death? With… Whatever else the poem hinted towards?

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

It felt as if they'd first met a lifetime ago. How long had it been? How many days, weeks, months had they been side by side? And to think, Rosie had once been so conflicted over reading him! Now, Petyr's feelings and emotions were as natural as breathing. To her, it felt as if they had known each other for beyond eons! Even if there was an air of mystery respective to the two halves of the duo, Rosie still felt as though she knew him. And he let her. Yet somehow, Rosie held an inkling they'd never quite unveil every last secret of the other. But you know what? That was okay with her. "Je avons des pommes. I have apples? Is that so?" Perhaps she was over enthusiastic in attempting to piece together her own sentences. The assassin was tripping over the clouds with a new-found joy. It was bound to go wrong at some point, but that didn't dampen her spirits. "Oh, it beyond complex, Petyr!" she laughed.

"Nous avons une pomme. We have an apple. It is our apple, and I love it. Je aime pommes? No, plural rule... so: Je aimes pommes?" her pronunciations were lacking in her made-up sentences, still trying to fit her tongue around the dialect. She tapped him on the nose, listening with an intensity like none other when he spoke. "T'aime? You love? Y'love," her brows furrowed and she laughed despite it, a mixture of confusion on her face at the idea of 'you' and 'love' contracted. It was a whole new set of rules of learn. "Petyr, can you contract 'je' and 'aime' to j'aime, then? 'I love'? They follow the vowel rule, no? J'aimes pommes?" Curse the seven hells, am I rushing ahead of myself? "I will try, I believe I may understand? When Petyr teased her triple contraction, Rosalee made a point of using them for pure entertainment. "Oh, I wouldn't've said so. I'd've thought you'd've liked them," her eyes twinkled with defiance, her voice dropping an octave.

Petyr watched on, considering her gaze, considering her thoughts. There was unmistakable pride woven into his features once she spoke and it had her face flushing, (it was near impossible to hide herself away with her hair this time around, what with it held hostage atop her head). Rosie brushed a hand over her face as a last resort. "I adore this language very much, almost as much as the man speaking it," Such an endearingly soft smile danced across his lips, and it coaxed one out of the assassin whom was trying her hardest to remain neutral. Out of habit, her head inclined in a questioning manner as his hand shot up to cover his growing grin. I would not go that far. It is your teaching, my dear Petyr! Then, she was enveloped in an expected hug by the turncoat, one that prompted a noise to escape her lungs. He pressed a kiss to her head regardless of her hair, and she closed her eyes; holding him tightly. Of course, Rosie didn't know whether her rate of learning was up to par, but it didn't really cross her mind. "Whom is the devil this time? Is it still me?" She chuckled at the memory. She couldn't see it yet, but Petyr's golden-etched jacket caught the light just about right, the perfect angle, in which it threw a web of stars throughout the room, cascading and twirling of their own accord. Their own mini-galaxy, right here: Under lock and key. "C'est parce que je t'aime, Petyr Lécuyer. I wish to remember every little detail parce que je t'aime." Somehow, by some minor miracle, the assassin managed to phrase it as both a statement and a question, bundled together as one. Rosalee knew that as a turncoat, his words were often held dear, and in response, she held on as if they were life itself.

Rosalee couldn't help but sigh. They weren't gaining answers here at all! Only gathering more and more questions. The rate at which the questions piled on was clearly sinking their ship; any captain with a sense of rationality would have long since fled. "See? This is exactly my problem! I cannot think of a logical explanation here. And I for one, certainly do not like being stranded in the dark." she didn't want to move, but they had loose ends to tie. It would not surprise me if he held dirt on the entirety of London.

Always a keen listener, was Rosie. Often apart of the job description, actually. And Petyr was no exception, in fact, she listened more intently to him than she did most others. A frown crept onto her pretty face when he explained it. She pushed her papers aside, careful not to smudge the ink. Why indeed! Damn it all. She didn't have a good answer to his questions, and that spike of unease had flared up again. Petyr was desperate. Petyr was flustered. And it was hindering his judgement. So, Rosalee gently took his hand in hers. Ignore the letters for now. I am going to let you in on a secret of mine. Trust me. "Can you recall the name of the street you lived on as a child? Speak it in your mind, or out loud, I do not mind which." she paused, giving him the chance to do so. "Now, walk to the very end of your street, and name the one alongside your own." another pause. "Then name the street alongside the second." Finally: "Repeat the three together, take a breath between them and recite them slow. Continue it as a mantra," Rosie's eyes closed, face relaxing. Then, she gave him her own example. "Regency Street... Hide Place... Vincent Square. Regency Street... Hide Place... Vincent Square. It is a coping mechanism of mine, I find it calms me, I thought it might help you also." It was the simplicity of naming streets from memory that focused the mind and drew attention away from troublesome thoughts. It was to the point -- it did not matter what happened on those streets, it was just a straightforward, soothing act. And it was effective.

"You seek answers," I cannot guarantee I can give you them. I shall see what I unearth. Rosalee took the letters in her hand, unable to read the French ones and instead opting for the English ones. Oh, Victor. Oh, Victor, the insolent rat. He was idiotic! So forgery as well, then. Add that to his list of crimes. He didn't even attempt to conceal his hand, didn't even attempt to emulate Christoph's. Only an amateur would be as stupid as to let these pass. "This handwriting is a poor show. Code, maybe? "...Petyr? Remember in Christoph's home when I scorched the underside of the letter? It revealed hidden words? Perhaps... it is a stab in the dark, I know... please hear me out -- but perhaps, that technique is used here?" Rosalee suggested. Anything to figure out the cryptic clues. Unless... Something clicked in her assassin's mind. The only other option: They were planted here by Victor as a distraction. And what did a distraction entail? Wasting time. Diverting attention. An assassin's game. "We may be searching in the wrong place." That left them with the poem. A stone was a rock worn down by decades of wear. Decades. History. But how was relevant? Rosie was never any good with riddles; she was direct and upfront. She read people not words. She understood manipulations not meanings. If those letters were distractions, then the real answers lay elsewhere in this room -- house, even.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxPetyr was never one for numbers-- Words and letters were the only things he seemed to care about, especially in times like these. He never bothered to count down days, hours, minutes, seconds, and that precious space between those seconds that he believed mattered most. It was those words that took place in less than that second, the words that could easily twist their future into a whole new direction. Time couldn't do that. Petyr smiled a little at her attempt to string together a sentence to say 'I have apples'. As much as he hated to correct her, he did so anyways. "Remember when I told you that 'avons' was plural, which means that it would only be used in groups of people. To say 'I have', you would use j'ai. Je and ai pushed together, with our vowel rule causing them to become a contraction. J'ai des pommes." However, she had made an effort: And an enthusiastic one at that. He wasn't hoping to discourage her-- In fact, the very opposite.

xxxxx"Your pronunciation is getting better," he pointed out to her with a smile. "Ah, ah, aime does not become plural here. Instead, you would add 'les' in front of 'pommes'. J'aime les pommes." Oh, Petyr was a scholar, not a teacher. He was better at learning! Yet, he continued, wishing to help her more than anything else. His eyes briefly closed when she tapped his nose, and he laughed a little. "T'aime, oui. You love, you like." The way her brow furrowed as she thought, it made him smile as he watched her take on the challenge of his language. "Yes, Rosie, you can absolutely do that. J'aime des pommes." Do not worry to slow down, keep going, keep going, lest you forget something. "You're definitely catching on very quickly, despite the complication of it all," he said with a chuckle. At her sentence full of triple contractions, he made a show of rolling his eyes and wincing like he was in pain. "Oh, that is absolutely horrid." His voice reflected his feigned hurt over those contractions that he hated so.

xxxxxLécuyer knew that any progress was progress that hadn't been made yesterday-- And it was something to commend and commemorate. Her words made him blush, but he smile no less, using the back of his hand to press against his left cheek as if he could brush the heat away. "Despite everything, and all of its personal complications, I love your language, as well as the assassin who uses these words as her weapons." Rosalee was the one thing he treasured more than anything else at that moment and onward, and almost everything else was forgotten. He looked to her at her question, and he rose an eyebrow before laughing. "The devil is the man who has fled this place, because he knows that it now belongs to you." Petyr brushed away a lock of fallen hair away from her face and back to the pin that held it up, his expression soft. "You are our Queen, and we bow before you with no hesitation. C'est parce que je t'aime avec aucun doute dans mon esprit." He couldn’t exactly bow when seated, but if he were standing, he would definitely get to a knee. Instead, he opted with dipping his head, smiling a little. ”It is because I love you without a doubt in my mind.” Petyr rose his head, meeting Rosie’s eyes. ”Your words will now double as my own weapons, but with no edge do they sit in my heart."

xxxxxThe knight’s expression quickly fell at Rosie’s sigh, and he repeated hers with his own. They were getting nowhere: Running in circles helplessly whilst letting a man whom had been dead for hours get to them and still manage to manipulate them. ”I do not like this,” he admitted, his teeth gritting together as his jaw clenched. ”As we have both learned, neither of us do.” The entirety of London? How can a man who sat at a desk all day happen to know so much?

xxxxxHis assassin took his hand, and immediately Petyr was pulled-- yanked-- away from his thoughts. The turncoat looked to her, listening to her words. The street I lived on? Of what importance is this..? Despite his confusion, which shone clear in his eyes, he told her the name of the street: ”Rue de l'Église.” Street of the church. He didn’t understand the point of all this, anything, but he went with her on this. He trusted her. ”Rue Neuve.” The one beside his own. And, the one after that: ”Rue de l’Étroit.” Things like that, you didn’t forget. ”Rue de l’Église… Rue Neuve… Rue de l’Étroit.” He repeated the rest of the newly made mantra under his breath, his expression and entire demeanour physically relaxing. Her method-- it may have seemed silly, foolish, at first, but it worked.

xxxxxAnswers have what I’ve always been after, my entire life. I trust you not to give them to me, but to help me towards them. He nodded in his agreeance, moving a bit closer as she read over the letters. A moment passed after she told him of the paper, where she had let the paper over the flame and as they both had watched words appear on the page. ”I remember.” He thought over it, his eyes scanning the words on the parchment, before he nodded. ”It could be a possibility. Please, if you think this would work, then we must do it.” Petyr was sitting straighter, eager to see if this method might work on these letters. What would they reveal? Or would they just burn? His head tilted slightly when she mentioned the poem again, and he picked it up once more, letting out a frustrated sigh. Suddenly, he stopped. ”Rosie.” It clicked. It was just there, how had he not seen it before? ”Oh, how was I so blind to not see it before? Look, look here.” He pointed to the second line, gently tapping it. ”Rock to stone. Rocks, when you think of a rock, what do you think of? You think of something sharp, something rough and biting. However, stones are smooth. Old. Weathered. Aged. Le temps passe. This rock, that had once been new and rough and untouched, it is now old and smooth and weathered. Rosie, where would you keep all of your old things?” He gently tapped his own temple, and smiled.