Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything happened too fast.

Waverly had been talking to the guests of the party, smiling, laughing- and she turned her head towards the entrance, catching sight of a tall man with a terrifying mask. And her mistake, she knows now, her critical and last mistake, was ignoring him. She giggled to whoever she was talking to- some useless Lord or Lady- and said, “oh, how frightening.”

It happened too fast. She’d turned to look for him again, but he was gone, and so she forgot he’d ever existed. Minutes passed. Waverly went to grab something to drink from the buffet, and then...

Then the scream.

It came from the basement. A servant girl, screaming her lungs off, the piercing shriek of someone who was about to die and they knew it and couldn’t do a thing to stop it. And Waverly stopped, petrified, wondering “where are the guards? They’ll take care of it, right?”

And then the guard screamed too. The one who must’ve gone to investigate. The girl had stopped screaming at this point, dead and dead again, and Waverly couldn’t move. Her legs buckled underneath herself. A platoon of guards swarmed down to the basement, try and find whoever do this, stop them. It wouldn’t work. Somehow, she knew, it wouldn’t work.

Moments later, they all screamed too. There was the distinct sound of swords, of blood splattering, gurgling, and that’s when Waverly knew that she was going to die.

Up. Footsteps stomping up the stairs, from the basement, and oh, Outsider’s Eyes, it was happening. Waverly looked up and could barely stifle her gasp as she saw him; the man from before. The man with the mask.

He stared her right in the eyes, walking towards her, only to be stopped by some bawling noble by his feet. Lord... well, it didn’t really matter. The Man (with emphasis) simply glanced down at the pitiful creature, then reeled his sword back, and sliced the man’s head off in one single motion. The blood welled upwards like a fountain. And then he turned back to her.

From the shattered lens of his mask, Waverly could see his eyes. It would be easy to say that his eyes were dark. That they were as black as coal, pure evil. But, no. They weren’t evil. They were warm, and comforting, like the eyes of a parent, like someone who always did good. Which made it so much more terrifying, really. Blood dripped from his mask, and he...

Walked away. Towards the new guards flooding the room. Not all of them, but most, and the Man seemed to forget about Waverly as he dove into the fray, a spectacle of fighting and motion that would be dizzying to anyone attempting to follow. Waverly just looked at him, then stumbled to her feet, not even looking back as she ran to her sister Lydia.

“Come on,” Waverly urged, and then they were both running up the stairs. Esma was still downstairs somewhere- Lydia had seen her, she claimed, somewhere in the largest sitting room- but Waverly couldn’t save her. Couldn’t go back for her. It was a coward’s truth, but it was the truth.

Waverly’s bedroom approached. They could hear the sounds of guards dying far below, of the Man methodically picking them off and then moving on to the guests. It didn’t make sense, none of it made sense, and Lydia was sobbing and Waverly had lost her mask some time ago and they barreled into the bedroom without stopping. Waverly locked the door, and then began pushing wooden furniture in front of it. Whatever she could manage. She didn’t want to die here, she didn’t want to die, she wasn’t a terrible person so why was this happening?

“Waverly,” Lydia sobbed, in the corner, her arms open wide. Waverly didn’t hesitate as she ran towards her sister, hugging her, and they were both young again, afraid of the dark, not being hunted by a madman. There was the sound of whistling wind outside, and the two sat there together, straining their ears, terrified beyond belief. Waiting for the executioner.

Step. Step. Wooden floorboards creaked. Lydia had managed to smother her sobs, but only barely. Waverly stared at the door. Step. Step. He was right outside the door.

Waverly held her breath.

The door shook, only once. He was trying to open it- and, in failing that, simply stepped away. It seemed that he had given up, and Waverly wanted to cry with relief, until...

A pause.

“Found you,” the Man stated. He had a pleasant voice, deep, and he sounded playful as he said it. Lydia let out a terrified screamed, clinging to Waverly tighter. But the Man didn’t try to break down the door. Instead, the sound of footsteps walking away. Maybe... maybe he had given up? Maybe he knew he couldn’t-

Oh. Oh, no. Waverly’s eyes darted up to the tiny wooden door, the crawlway through the attic. It was unlocked, and so was Esma’s room, and there was an entrance through there.

Oh no no no.

The floorboard above them creaked. The wind whistled. It sounded like crying.

And then the tiny attic door slid opened, and the Man dropped down. Lydia was trembling, and Waverly was too, as the man approached them slowly. Gently. His feet didn’t make any sounds on the carpet, but his sword gleamed, glistening with fresh blood, making no attempts at the lie of mercy.

Waverly began to cry as well. The blood rushing through her ears might as well have been an orchestra, of terrible violin strings played frantic. And then, the Man stopped in front of her.

“Please- please, don’t hurt us,” Waverly attempted, begging, “The Boyle Cameo is in the attic. Take it- take anything you want, just, please, leave us alone. Leave me and my sister alone. Please-“

The Man carefully inclined his head. But before the illusion of mercy could fully settle, he reached out, taking Waverly from Lydia, and then-

Pain. A sword through her stomach. She cried out, shocked and confused and pain, why was this happening, this was supposed to be a good night, fun, not like this, everything was too fast and she was crying and Lydia was crying and, and then... and then everything was getting dark. Waverly let out a gurgle, and the Man slid the sword out, gently cupping her back, as he set her to the ground. The last thing Waverly saw was her sister reaching for her, calling her name, and then...

Nothing.

...

Corvo Attano... blinked. He folded his sword away, and looked at the two bodies beneath him. Ah. That was relaxing. Nothing like a party to get rid of nerves. It was hard, being non lethal all the time. This was just what he needed to loosen up- not to mention, keep his combat abilities sharp. He sniffed once, rolling his shoulders, before feeling the Outsider’s Mark burn for a moment.

It would take only a moment to turn back time to the very beginning of the party. No one would remember a thing.

Corvo smiled as the world disappeared around him, and then, just as before, he was standing in front of the guest book. And just like before, he hummed pleasantly as he signed his name.

They had been right. It was a party to die for.