Time passed without Artemisia noticing. The world outside her room seemed to be continued to live as fast as it normally would. When the young woman decided, she was going to go out for a walk, the mansion looked like somewhere else. The windows were closed and almost all with the curtains covering them, the luminosity coming from the daylight was dimmer and a little grayish. The icy breeze that slammed into the girl's body was enough for her to come back and put a coat over her dress. As she descended the stairs, Artemisia noticed the noise of life in the mansion. On the third floor, it was difficult to see the movement of the employees and even their parents or sisters. In parts it was scary to be alone there, but most of the time the girl felt relieved not to be tormented several times a day, just when the employees went to clean that floor. There was also no way Artemisia could be scared to be alone on the third floor since that was her fourth since ... Since a long time. The

She could feel everything she ate, wanting to come back. The images were directed several times at the two dead women, in active decomposition, looking deep into her eyes. That was enough for her to cry tiredly. Artemisia was already tired of crying, but that was the only way her body could express herself in the face of all that horror. "The truth hurts, apparently." The thing said, laughing at the deplorable state of Artemisia. That just her off more. "What makes you think you can discover the story without consequence? There's no way. It is part of your life to suffer. Poor useless humans." The young woman felt her body being caressed by that thing; it made the disgust intensify. The fact that she couldn't move made it worse. She tried her best not to express that she was still afraid of it, especially when that thing took shape again in front of the girl. Those eyes, that look, she felt like she was going to throw up just by looking at it.

The autumn breeze slammed against her body, making the skirt of the dress move a little and the icy air touch the young woman's skin, making her return to "reality again." When Artemisia realized what that reality was, she realized that she was holding the book so tightly that her fingerprints were marked on the cover. There was also a bit of sweat on her palms, but it wasn't at all strange compared to what she had seen. Artemisia could swear that she had run through the corridors and down an unknown street; she still felt her legs were just a few steps away from failing. However, nothing seemed to have been real. The young woman was also seriously wondering what was real in that place, in that whole situation. Artemisia didn't have time to recover before she heard a muffled shout coming from the floors below. She left the book on top of the desk and quickly descended to the second floor. There, the maids were huddled around the largest window on the floor. It was almost impossib

"Are you sure you want to go to town?" Helga said as she squeezed Artemisia's corset. One night without using it and her body was already starting to get unaccustomed to that tightness. "Why wouldn't I? You keep asking, but you don't tell me why I shouldn't go." Artemisia raised her hand when it had reached the size she wanted. Helga ran the noose down the young woman's waist before helping her put on her shirt and skirt. She looked through the mirror at the bandage Geon had made on her hours earlier. Accompanying the memory of waking up in pain also came the memory of their kiss, that was enough for the girl's cheeks to turn red, as if she had gone through rouge. Artemisia was supposed to stay home, but something called for her to go to Leonore's house. Sometimes she thought the woman had done some spell to make the young woman have that need to go to the Nyx estate, but Artemisia knew Leonore well enough to know that the woman was uncomfortable using magic against her. In fact

"You remember when I told that story about what magic was like in Gaul, right?" "It was a bit of an incomplete story, but I can remember." Leonore got up and headed towards a shelf. Artemisia re-observed some parts of that place. It was small, dimly lit, full of shelves and bizarre things that witches probably used in rituals or even studies, but there was something in that room that caused a certain déjà vu. Maybe it was the color, the walls seemed to be a very ordinary orange hue in the fall, there were several things in that place that might remind the young woman of something, but it had something too specific to ignore. She saw the aged details of the shelves, some jars with flowers and herbs, Artemisia also searched within her own mind for what could be rescued from her memory with those elements. But, as expected, nothing came. It did not surprise the young woman, that feeling of having lived it before or of having been in that place came from nowhere and was adrift of