Unbridled Song · Conversa

In the tower attic of the resistance's secret hideout, heaps of discarded canvas and rusted weapon parts lay piled high, with a few forgotten plush dolls scattered in the corner. Florian had brought them back on a whim from some trade, and nobody had paid them any mind. The dragging sound of iron chains across the floor arrived before the man did. When Richard Sterling kicked open the attic's wooden door, the spiked shackle on his shoulder slammed into the frame with a harsh, metallic clatter. Having just crept back from the perimeter of the Holy City's dungeons, he hadn't yet cleaned the grime and blood from his body. Dust clung to the tattered hem of his coat, and fresh blood still seeped from cuts on his bare forearms. He had only come to retrieve Edgar's hidden drafts of heretical paintings—only to discover an uninvited guest. "...Get out here."