No Vision for the Future [Hadrian and Amalia Social]

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

Lieb Ihn, und gib dich Ihm aus Liebe

Love him, and give yourself to him out of love…

The words were etched, unmissable in letters that were as large as Hadrian, in the base of the Emperor’s effigy in the Vandenreich Kathedralehalle. A command, perhaps the only true command a Sternritter - or even a Vandenreich Quincy in general - would ever receive from the Emperor himself. Nothing else really mattered in the end. Everything could be peeled back layer by layer to this one creed, the one everyone was expected to follow absolutely. If only the hearts of Quincy could remain as firm and as resolute as these letters. Hadrian’s hand ran along the icy stone, feeling the crevices and etches - allowing the sanctity of the space to consume him for a moment.

He was alone here, alone with the Emperor with whom he so desperately wished to speak. It had been so long since their last meeting, and yet so much had happened. There was so much to say, so much to ask, so much that needed to be forgiven… Hadrian stopped his pacing, his breath racing for a moment, his hand paused on the icy ‘L’ of ‘Liebe’. So much had happened because of this love… Multiple genocides, several wars, thousands of deaths - both innocent and non-innocent… Did this even line up with Hadrian’s idea of love? How could such a pure emotion cause such tragedy? It made no sense!

It was like he had been struck by a blow to the back of his head. Hadrian staggered, falling on the steps below the effigy - his hand sliding off the cold ‘L’. He had been a fool, he always had been. Stumbling around in the dark, trying to make sense of a confusing situation… But he had never felt so lost before as he had now. He needed to hear His words, to talk to Him for a little while. His heart ached like that of a lonely lover, in desperate need of the one who made them whole…

”My Lord, can you hear me?”

Hadrian appeal was a whisper, a mere token movement of his lips and tongue, a slight breeze of air that formed words which were immediately lost in the cavernous hall of the Kathedrale. It didn’t even echo, it practically died in Hadrian’s mouth. A pitiful appeal to His power. No Emperor would ever answer to such a weak petition. It, in fact, was a damning indictment of the Sternritter - a black mark against his faith, another flicker in the flame of his devotion. To ask for the Emperor so pitifully would yield no results, none at all. Prayer required courage. And to be heard required faith that He was listening.

Hadrian stood up, still shaky on his feet, physically weakened by the turmoil in his mind. Supporting himself against the base of the statue, he lay his hands on the stone, before placing his forehead against it also. His skin felt like it was burning against the cool stone, like dropping a scalding iron into a frozen pool. But the cool stone provided Hadrian with relief, enough for his disquiet to abate and allow him to form a more worthy prayer. His words were strong now, targeted directly at Him, petitioning for the guidance Hadrian so desperately required…

”My Lord, you know me… I have endeavoured to always serve you well, I lay down my life for your cause… My Lord, please hear me, I wish to hear your voice again, to quench this raging fire in my soul…”

Hadrian paused, his mind for a moment flitting back to the small prayerbooks that Caesar had written and had provided for the newest recruits. He remembered practically devouring his with pride, reciting the prayers every night and morning, petitioning for strength, power, improvements. How selfish he had been, how foolish. He had been so blinded by his quest to improve his abilities that he had almost never used the prayers in the latter half of the book - the Beichte and the Glaubensbekenntnis. He had always felt so sure in his actions that he never wished for forgiveness, so unquestioning of his faith that he felt no need to profess it.

”Sometimes I see nothing but myself in the mirror, no vision fo the future, I grow old without progress. The gears turn and turn and turn and turn and turn, but the hands of the clock never move forward, they never draw closer to where I wish they could be. I believe, I believe, I believe in that world, that Wahrwelt, that dream, that utopia you laid out for me… Where you rule us out of love for us, where we serve you out of love for you…”

Hadrian felt himself sliding down the wall, ending up kneeling at the statue. There was so much to say, but how could he say it? How could he admit to his weakness, to his doubts?

”I want that world more than anything else, more than anything this world can offer… But as of late I cannot see that world which you once promised me. My thoughts are clouded as if like breath on the mirror, please help me wipe the doubt away. I don’t want to live with this torment. Why do you promise me peace, promise me a world without fear, yet turn a blind eye to the atrocities of Amalia and the others?! I want nothing but the best for your people, to deliver them to the Wahrwelt! But to let them gorge themselves on their desires for destruction, to sate their thirst for revenge, just turns the good people away. People who I’m sure could love you! Just if given the chance to see you, unclouded by the hate which our actions have put in their eyes! Do they not deserve to love you too, they certainly are capable of it!”

Hadrian did not know when he had stepped away from the base, when he had started shouting at the effigy, when he had stopped paying attention to whether he was alone or not.

”There are things to love about this world and your one too! What is imperfect can be perfected, that’s why you permit me to serve you! So why, oh why, oh why, oh why, do you let them be pushed away? Am I the one that’s wrong? Have I failed your test? Am I too lax in my judgement, would you rather Amalia’s handpicked society? Am I the one who has been tempted by the devil? Am I the one who has gone astray?!”

For a moment he was transported to that leafy boulevard in Amsterdam, a picture-perfect moment of him being led astray. Being so taken in by the world he had to let go of. Trapped by love, a love that he had thought he had discarded upon promotion. But now these feelings resurged like an eruption, magma into lava, tethering him to this world. He had been dragged back by his own weakness, chained down by his own frailty. The grinding gears and minimal progress was not because of Amalia or anyone else. But it was because he still loved the world he had to destroy. It could not continue! He could not live like this!

”It’s all my fault! I see nothing but her face in the mirror, no visions of the future, my love now holds me back. Give me the power to save them! Or to judge them and destroy them! No, please give them a place in your world! Don’t let my weakness fail you, give me the strength to serve you - you know that I do love you! I cannot live like this anymore! Please assuage these feelings, don’t lead me astray! Protect me, der Kaiser! Don’t let me love the world this way, strengthen the reason I want to have it changed! Let me see nothing but your world in the mirror! Your vision of the future! The fate you’ve planned for us!”

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Amalia quietly listened as Hadrian poured some of his deepest conflicts into room, hoping the emperor would hear his prayers and respond. At the base of the emperor's likeness, Hadrian seemed to plead with him to answer his call. As his tragic words left his lips, Amalia simply basked in the intimate knowledge. She casually sat at the farthest end of the cathedral, her legs crossed. Her foot bobbed up and down as she rested her chin gently on her hand. Hadrian seemed rather preoccupied with prayer, enough so that he didn't notice Amalia.

A seemingly wry smile stretched across her lips as she intently listened. Even in a context such as this she enjoyed hearing her name. She leaned back and let her fingers slide along the edge of her jawline. Her fingers continued to slide across her chin, brushing against her lips as she slightly tilted her head. Her lips parted slightly as her fingers gently ran across them. Her gaze focused on Hadrian as her mind examined his words. Am I too lax in my judgement, would you rather Amalia’s handpicked society? Am I the one who has been tempted by the devil? Am I the one who has gone astray?! Her eyes slowly moved along his body, landing on his hands. 

He grips that text so tightly and yet it offers him nothing. No solace. No wisdom. No direction. Saaad. She thought, with even her inner monologue exaggerating her final word. The amount of contempt she felt for Hadrian kept her from pitying him. She couldn't be bothered to feel true sadness for a seemingly lost soul. She believed he was the warden of his own prison. He alone had the key to his salvation. She knew he'd never find that key, and even if he did he was too invested in what it meant for him not to use it.

Let me see nothing but your world in the mirror! Your vision of the future! The fate you’ve planned for us! The cathedral was immediately filled with the echoes of applause. Having raised her hands she began to applaud Hadrian, though she intended to mock and ridicule him. Her expression radiated a deceitfully proud expression as she nodded in agreement with him. "Bravo, brother." She said in a deceptively loving tone as she clasped her hands and brought them toward her chest. "Your words are truly inspiring. Such prayer warms my heart, as I imagine it does his Majesty." 

"It's a good thing I came along when I did, otherwise I might not have been here to help you through this clearly troubling time." Her expression was soft, disarming, and reflected concern. As she leaned forward, resting her hands on the seat in front of her, a grin began to take hold of her lips. The grin slowly took shape before stretching into her cheeks. A near inscrutable aura filled the cathedral as she gazed at Hadrian. She remained silent for an extended duration, allowing herself to bask further in his misery. 

Time seemed to stop as her eyes peered in his direction. The sun's vibrant light radiated through the rose windows, striking her warm, sienna-colored locks. She remained still, allowing her presence to speak in the absence of speech.  Her simple gaze carried with it volumes of text. Her eerily casual grin further punctuated the silence. She didn't bother worrying about whether her silence was piercing Hadrian's defenses. In fact, she needn't contemplate it at all. His earlier pleas to his majesty revealed the role she played in his narrative. She was a stronger player than perhaps she previously realized. In many ways, she knew she was as much a part of his story as he hers.  

They are strangely connected. Something kept them from being too distant from one another. Despite this connection, they couldn't more dissimilar. And yet they shared commonalities. Their connection was a paradox, one Amalia was eager to rid herself of. Hadrian stood for everything she despised. He betrayed his gifts by squandering them on petty and unforgivable emotions. He violated his responsibilities by catering to treasonous thoughts of unity and compassion. For Amalia conversion was a means of subjugation and purification. For Hadrian she could only hypothesize how his perversions distorted such a glorious process.

He simply wasn't selective enough. He lacked a discerning eye. He lacked a sophistication Amalia believed was a requirement for any member of the Vandenreich, especially those occupying the position of Sternritter. He allowed his many weaknesses govern his decisions. This much was clear from the bile masquerading as prayer. Through a wicked smile Amalia finally spoke. "Tell me again what troubles you, brother. I'm here to help in any way I can. Though, I should say, my methods are usually quite permanent." She said with an eerie, but subtlety threatening tone.

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

”Amalia…”

The first clap was like thunder in his ears, snapping him immediately out of his fugue. Only one of the Sternritter, nay, the entire Vandenreich, would be so brazen as to eavesdrop on another’s prayer and then openly mock them for it. ‘Paiva’ Amalia Vollbrecht. Like a blazing dark flame, her presence filled the entire cathedral behind him. Suddenly the open cavernous space felt very claustrophobic to Hadrian, but there was probably no room in all of the worlds large enough to contain them both in and for him to feel at ease. He lifted himself slowly, trying to regain a modicum of dignity, but he avoided eye contact with his fellow Sternritter.

”I didn’t see you come in, miss Vollbrecht. Have you also come to pray, or are you here to appraise the prayers of others only?”

Hadrian’s words were cold, the icy grip of hate had clenched itself around his heart. Amalia had strode from success to success, only ever seeming to rise in power and influence. But it was so obvious. Disgustingly so. The darkness oozed from her like black smoke off a recently quenched candle. She did not even try to hide it, not even a spark to distract those with less attuned senses than Hadrian. How could anyone look upon her and be pleased? And yet she was gaining more and more popularity, Soldat flocked to her like flies, sticking in the honey of her influence. Was strength really all it took to lead? Was Might always Right?

"It's a good thing I came along when I did, otherwise I might not have been here to help you through this clearly troubling time.”

Hadrian gritted his teeth and shook his head very slightly, his ruffled hair falling somewhat back into place. With his jaw clenched so hard, he could feel the mechanism in his eye tick, the tiny motions sending vibrations around his skull like a persistent knocking. It felt so loud in the silence, though Amalia would not hear it at all. She instead attacked him with a warm, friendly smile. A smile that was no more genuine than the alluring patterns on the wings of a moth. A simple distraction. Perhaps it was expressions like that that allowed people to overlook how evil she really way. Caught by beauty for just a moment. But a moment was all that was required, one chink in the armour that could be wormed through. Hadrian had seen it all happen before, the slow slide into depravity.

And he could see the appeal. This world placed so many shackles on its inhabitants. And a sense of morality and decency was certainly one of the easiest to shirk when in pursuit of a new world. Why should Hadrian care when Amalia didn’t? She was happy to set the world alight, watch it burn, and then applaud herself for a job well done. She would cast them all into the fire if they so much as irritated her. Like an open flame, she would burn anyone who dared stray too close to the fire. And now here she was, attempting to take him in with honeyed words and Stepford smiles.

”Troubling times indeed. But I’m not sure your help is what is required.”

His teeth practically cracked under the strain of locked jaw. He would not listen to her. Every word she said was pure temptation, offering several signposts to paths that diverged from his own. My Lord… how have you allowed such poison into your palace? What purpose does she serve? He shook his head slightly again, settling the last of the ruffled hairs, and began to relax his jaw. He could not afford to be so worked up by her, in front of her. ‘Private’ appeals to the Emperor were one thing, but he was a Sternritter and Captain Supervisor of the Vandenreich. This was no way to present himself.

He observed her coolly, taking careful, measured steps down from the base of statue onto the aisle to join her. In the empty hall his boots sounded so loud, their impact on the ice was in perfect measure with the ticking of his eye. His movements were like well-oiled clockwork, smooth but precise transitions. None of the jerky passion he had displayed earlier. He had to calm himself. Amalia would certainly view this as a chink in his armour to be exploited. He had to be on guard. He could not be deceived.

”The permanence of your methods is precisely what troubles me, Paiva. I have no desire to end up like any of the others you have helped.

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Amalia's smug grin accented her gaze as she tracked Hadrian's movement. She carefully followed him with her eyes as he neared, his responses echoing within the emptiness of the cathedral. She knew her falsehoods were not enough to deceive him. He was far too perceptive and experienced with her particular brand of cajolery. He could see beyond her carefully manicured glamour and finely measured allure. Some might say he saw glimpses of a most appalling horror hiding beneath her layered beauty.

In truth, she was comfortable with Hadrian's insights. In spite of his immunity to her allure, she was able to pierce his defenses in other ways. She was aware that any carefully crafted comment could be used as a weapon, and not just any weapon. We're not talking swords or guns. These are far more sophisticated while also identifying as ancient. Like any good pawn, Amalia knew what you said was capable of controlling another's behavior. At the very least she was able to influence others.

Unfortunately for Hadrian, she was confident he was no different than anyone else. He was susceptible to every word that left her lips. They would bore into his conscious and very ungraciously take root. That much was clear from his near stumbling responses. That was the trouble with people like Hadrian. They were so preoccupied by the thoughts and feelings of others that it made them vulnerable to invasion. This wasn't standard vulnerability. He might as well have lowered all the gates and welcomed his enemies in. What he saw as kindness and compassion she saw as weakness. And when Amalia spots a weakness, one should be certain she will try and exploit it.

Matters are likely made worse due to her contempt for him. She is more compelled to torture him for that fact alone, and maybe he knew that. The permanence of your methods is precisely what troubles me, Paiva. I have no desire to end up like any of the others you have helped. Amalia laughed quietly, a short huff of air exiting her nose that was barely perceptible. The laugh remained confined within the base of her throat, never quite leaving her mouth. She glanced to the side, her eyes falling upon Hadrian's pale, colorless visage.

"I can practically feel the anxiety and tension vibrating off your body." She noted with her casual brand of derision. She leaned back into the elaborately carved bench, resting comfortably with one elbow draped over the back's edge. She rubbed her fingers gently against her thumb as she reset her gaze forward. "You're a mess and  need to calm down." She added with a tinge of disgust highlighting both her voice and expression. "What is it about this place," Amalia began to say softly, "that seems to attract those preoccupied by delusion?"

She looked over at Hadrian, staring deep into his eyes. "Hm?" She asked further with an utterance. She lifted her hand and gestured to the room. "The history of this cathedral cannot be rewritten by the fantasies of children wishing for a more convenient reality. This place is intended to be a shrine for something else entirely." She said earnestly as she glanced over at Hadrian. "This room is a beacon of authority and chronicles his history. Its purpose is not intended for wish fulfillment. Look around." She said excitedly. "Look at the words etched in stone and the stories told through colored glass. They speak of war, violence, genocide, subjugation, and ultimately purity"

She chuckled as she looked around the room, becoming quiet for a moment as she gazed at one image in particular. "You believe this place to be your haven? A place by which your prayers are carried by the wind to the ear of his majesty?" Amalia's laughter intensified, further mocking Hadrian's earlier appeals. "This room chronicles his power and his influence. We meet here as a means of preserving and acknowledging his divinity. This place isn't here for desperate pleas for change. Those who do hope the wind carries their prayers will only be disappointed, especially when those prayers involve a Vandenreich that resides in your mind alone." Her tone darkened as she glared at Hadrian. 

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

"I can practically feel the anxiety and tension vibrating off your body. You're a mess and need to calm down. What is it about this place that seems to attract those preoccupied by delusion?"

”How perceptive of you. I see you are not troubled in the slightest.”

Hadrian’s words were quiet, but they carried well in the large hall. He was standing almost where the preachers stood, though he did not deliver his words with anywhere near their fervent conviction. Hadrian had admired, even envied, the powerful speakers of the Vandenreich growing up. Caesar and the other preachers were monuments of power and strength, their words and actions were said and executed with undeniable conviction. He had hoped that as he grew so he would approach their incredible faith. But here he was, as Amalia put it, preoccupied by delusion.

[colo=orchid]No, Hadrian. You are not deluded. There is evil in the heart of the Vandenreich, and it spreads as it beats. You know this. It stands here, right before you![/color] It was undoubtedly true that Amalia was evil. She practically admitted as much herself, at least to Hadrian. Her lust for power and destruction were barely masked, but she knew that that overwhelming aura unnerved him. Her words were carefully selected too, striking right at the heart of the issue Hadrian wrestled with. What was before him was evil, so why did the Emperor allow it to exist?

"Look at the words etched in stone and the stories told through colored glass. They speak of war, violence, genocide, subjugation, and ultimately purity”

”It was not the people who carved these letters and designed this glass that made me a Sternritter, Paiva. I pledged my loyalty to the Emperor - and violent conquest in his name is not why I serve him.”

Hadrian stepped down until he was practically beside the pew that Amalia lounged so disrespectfully on. She always demonstrated such ownership over the place. Over its ideals, over its people. And in terms of raw power, yes, she could choose to subjugate them. But Hadrian was not on so unequal a footing. Here he stood, a Sternritter and a Captain Supervisor of the Vandenreich - the same as Amalia. The same Emperor had made them drink His Blood, allowing him to carve his power into their hearts. The same Emperor had decided that two diametrically opposed people were so worthy of serving him. But why?!

The easy answer was that they simply served different purposes, that Amalia was supposed to be the fire and the fury, the bringer of terrible storms and the harbinger of doom for their enemies, and Hadrian was the compassionate shepherd, leading new recruits to a brighter future in service of His goals. But that felt dissatisfying to Hadrian. Both he and Amalia had very different views as to what the Emperor’s goals were. For Amalia, it was the subjugation of others, the demonstration of superiority. For Hadrian, it was about creating a safe and perfect world for all the Emperor’s subjects - of which he was very accepting.

"You believe this place to be your haven? A place by which your prayers are carried by the wind to the ear of his majesty?”

”And you think that he doesn’t listen to us? That he doesn’t care? I don’t think it matters where I pray, but I do think that there is nothing futile about looking for guidance!”

Hadrian’s voice began to rise, but he caught himself, steeling his tone at the very end as opposed to shouting it. The Emperor would listen, He would care. Hadrian knew Amalia believed that too, to an extent. Or, at least, wanted to believe it. She was looking for His approval as much as he was. They lived in service of Him because He was great and magnanimous - but who truly invested their lives into something without expecting some kind of reward? Amalia sought that approval as vicariously as he did, but both had decided on very different methods and interpretations of His wishes.

Those who do hope the wind carries their prayers will only be disappointed, especially when those prayers involve a Vandenreich that resides in your mind alone.”

”There is good here, Paiva. There are good people here. Don’t write them off simply because you would prefer to keep living in your preferred version of the Vandenreich.”

Hadrian’s tone was as icy as the world of the Silbern, chilling. Amalia was as guilty as she accused him of being. He believed in inherent good, she believed in inherent evil. He tried to progress, she wanted things to stay the same. Both wanted to enforce their views on the Vandenreich, to unite under one banner. They were so similar, yet perfectly opposed. And the true dilemma was that both as selected members of His army. How could they possibly coexist? Why had things been made to turn out this way? Was there even ever going to be an answer?

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Amalia ran her fingers through her hair, displacing numerous thick layers of her vibrantly-colored hair.  Her fingers slid across her scalp toward the base of her head just before she anchored her hair to the left. It draped beautifully over her ear and shoulder. Like a flowing waterfall it splashed onto the side of the pew. A faintly sarcastic expression lined her face, a tinge of humor in her lips and gaze. Listening to Hadrian's drivel nearly made her regret entering the cathedral. While she enjoyed taunting him, she was alarmed by how misguided he was. 

She was left to wonder what was worse: confined to a fantasy or pure stupidity. She couldn't figure out which one plagued him more. She's never thought much of Hadrian, but even he wasn't dense enough to deny what was staring him directly in the face? Of course he would. People can convince themselves of practically anything even if the objective truth contradicts their beliefs. If Amalia didn't loathe him as she did, she might feel pity for a man arrested by a combination of fantasy and more. It almost made taunting him less fun. There was no subtlety to it. He was content being so clueless.

There is good here, Paiva. There are good people here. Don’t write them off simply because you would prefer to keep living in your preferred version of the Vandenreich. Amalia simply turned and stared at Hadrian quizzically. He had managed to shock her with his senselessness. She covertly looked around the room, double checking if her surroundings were truly the cathedral and if she was in the Silbern. She patted her arms, rubbing her fingers into her skin. She then patted more of her body with a more confused expression. "Well, it seems preliminary tests show I am not dreaming. I am indeed lucid and in the Silbern." She stated caustically. 

"I must now determine how we are currently occupying the same space, but you are speaking to me from a separate dimension. It is all very mysterious." She said before chuckling to herself. "I've been a Sternritter for nearly 500 years." Her tone capturing her own sense of astonishment and pride. "And in that time I've participated in countless genocides and hunted those who openly defied his Majesty. Who do you think ordered those genocides?" She said confidently as she smiled at Hadrian. She proceeded quickly, leaving no room for Hadrian to interject. "Who do you think ordered me to return to Cochem and convert the Quincy who mentored me? And who do you think instructed me to slaughter her and all those associated with her should she refuse? His Majesty." She answered with soft, breathy words. "I can still hear his exact phrasing and the glint in his eyes as he spoke to me." Amalia let out a satisfying sigh, a smile lining her face.

"It isn't a matter of what I see or how I want the Vandenreich to be. It is what it is. I'm content knowing his Majesty condones the slaughter of those he deems impure and unworthy. Should they reject him, they die." She looked at Hadrian with a stern expression.  "And no amount prayers will ever make that untrue nor will it change what the Vandenreich is and always has been. We kill for our God. Their blood means our salvation. And if they're worthy they are permitted to join us. To pretend his Majesty is an entity outside our percieved cruelty is as much blasphemous as it is foolish. He knows what we do because he wills us to do it." She said with plain expression.

Amalia began to laugh as she reflected on Hadrian's words. "Sometimes I just have to marvel at the things you say. The implication that the stories on these walls are falsehoods or occurred in his absence is the purest form of ignorance. You couldn't be more wrong." She said as her chuckle trailed her words. "I see what you're trying to do, but unfortunately it simply won't work. His majesty is the embodiment of every image and word in this building. And so if you proclaim to be a child of his Majesty then you share in his mission. All of which includes what you see above." She said, gesturing to the ceiling. "Extending your hand to our enemies and condoning their crimes and impurities will get you nowhere. It will get you a sword through the chest and Shinigami will be on the opposite side of that blade, ready to pat himself on the back for a job well-done."

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

"Well, it seems preliminary tests show I am not dreaming. I am indeed lucid and in the Silbern.”

”Stop messing around, Paiva!”

Hadrian checked himself, startled by the ferocity of his interruption. She was disquieting him, clearly. Even he was somewhat shocked at how effectively she had unbalanced him. It had taken so few words to tip him over, to disarm him. And he hated himself for it. Was his faith so weak that he could be so easily shattered by such poisonous words? But he felt so weak in the face of Amalia’s brazen offence. She spared him no quarter, practically physically forcing him back a step with her relentless verbal attacks. But those who had no answer were the ones who flew into a rage when confronted. Hadrian could not afford to be angry, he had to be calm. He had the rebuttal to each of her points, he had to. He had given enough time to thinking about them after all.

"It isn't a matter of what I see or how I want the Vandenreich to be. It is what it is. I'm content knowing his Majesty condones the slaughter of those he deems impure and unworthy. Should they reject him, they die.”

”Don’t dress it up, Paiva. You’re barely disguising how much you enjoy committing these unnecessary atrocities in His Name.”

Hadrian could not let her continue without reproach. She had latched on to Hadrian’s personal ‘convenient interpretation’ of orders to the point that she assaulted him with every ounce of her experience. The weight of her history was crashing down on his ideals. Would they buckle beneath the weight or could he support it? Hadrian drew himself to full height, towering over the lounging Amalia, not out of an attempt of intimidation, but rather as an attempt to reaffirm some self-confidence. Amalia oozed confidence, her beliefs and ideals completely unshaken by anything he had said today. But she had spent 500 years developing these attitudes, as she so proudly proclaimed. Hadrian could not hope to weather that rock in one chance encounter.

What worried him more was the flare of victory in her voice. He could feel it in her aura too, that absolute confidence in her victory. And, for a moment, it disturbed him. How could she be so sure? It was not just 500 years of service that had ingrained these ideals in her. They also aligned precisely with her personality. She was convinced that the Vandenreich and the Sternritter were the tools by which the Emperor committed atrocious acts - atrocious in the sense that they were committed without regard for the object. All in the name of absolute conquest. She enjoyed the feeling of blood on her hands, and she felt as though she lived in a world where she would be rewarded the redder her hands became.

And she had been rewarded. Advancement. Influence. Strength. All of these boons granted to Amalia because of her prowess, her conquest. But Hadrian saw the fallout now. The pools of blood she had left in her wake, that gave way to vicious feelings of hatred and vengeance towards His Majesty. Unforgivable blasphemies, perpetuated by the violence that Amalia carried out so gleefully. This was not right. It could not be right. She said it herself. It was those deemed impure that were slaughtered. And in her eyes, everyone was impure - even the Echt Quincy like Hadrian. They lacked the darkness that she viewed as completeness in the subjects of the Emperor.

"I see what you're trying to do, but unfortunately it simply won't work. His majesty is the embodiment of every image and word in this building. And so if you proclaim to be a child of his Majesty then you share in his mission. All of which includes what you see above.”

”You’re wrong. You’re wrong and you’re blind. Blind to the words of His Majesty, and wrong in that these images embody what he asks us to do.”

Hadrian’s words were quiet, but filled with a resolute determination.

”This cathedral is a monument to conquest. But you said yourself that a conquest of blood and war is not the first thing we are called to do as servants of His Majesty. We are to judge the pure and the impure, to select who is deserving of His Love, and who can love him back. I wonder, Paiva, how many have you killed without speaking to? Without allowing them to hear his Word? Have you even tried? Or are you so blind that you don’t see the potential for perfection in others? I imagine we all pale in comparison to the virtues you yourself extoll.”

Hadrian's last few words dripped with the sarcasm that she had so effectively used on him.

"Extending your hand to our enemies and condoning their crimes and impurities will get you nowhere. It will get you a sword through the chest and Shinigami will be on the opposite side of that blade, ready to pat himself on the back for a job well-done.”

”The Shinigami, or indeed anyone, should not hate us. They should not hate what his Majesty has to offer - peace and prosperity for those who serve him and protection from those who don’t. If you or I die by the blade of Shinigami, it will be because of your hand - not my ignorance. It will be because you have slaughtered his friends and family because of your narrow definition of purity, Amalia. So don’t try and bring me down to your level. If I am narrow-minded, then you are practically blinkered, willing to see nothing but the most convenient excuse for you to have your fun.”

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Amalia watched as Hadrian jumped to his feet. His self-righteous antics bored her. She simply glanced in his direction, delivering a dispassionate stare. Amalia wasn't certain what he was trying to accomplish, but she knew it wouldn't work. Much like everything else he did. For Amalia, Hadrian was good for very few things. He was good for a laugh and peering into his mind and tinkering with its contents was equally as amusing. Other than that, he was useless. Even his progeny turned out to be as useless as he did. Then again, he did convert a hollow. What a terrible choice. But this was Hadrian. Amalia continued to listen, gazing forward into the cathedral.

A smile crept onto Amalia's lips. She glanced at Hadrian from her periphery before turning to face him. "You're right. Though I don't disguise it at all. I proudly do what is expected of me. Oh, but wait..." She said with sarcastic remorse in her tone, "I shouldn't be doing any of that! Hadrian, your sight is so pure, unblocked by the wickedness we see around us." She stared at Hadrian, false shock radiating from her mannerisms and tone. "We have to spread the word! All these images. All these stories. They're completely fabricated. Somehow the story of the Vandenreich was written by liars. Oh, this seriously calls into question who I was talking to that day when I was told to kill all those people. An impostor? Must be! Oh, Hadrian," She pleaded, reaching out to him, "you are so wise. You have uncovered a grand scale conspiracy. You must lead a revolution!"

She fell back into her seat, placing her hands slowly in her lap. Her excitement faded. "But wait...That wasn't an impostor, was it? After all, to think that someone could masquerade as his Majesty and spread such lies without him knowing would heresy. Such thoughts imply he is incapable of true sight when we know he is a god. An immortal. No such trickery would go unnoticed, which must mean he approves of it, in fact." Amalia tilted her head and looked at Hadrian with a pitying expression. Her tone was soft and warm, mocking Hadrian further. "I guess that means you won't be leading a revolution. Perhaps it is you who is blind. Makes sense, too. One less eye means you see that much less." Her tone shifted to amusement, ending her sentence with a clever chuckle. She seemed to reach out to touch his eye, withdrawing her hand before she could do so.

Amalia smiled as Hadrian attempted to use sarcasm. "When you're right you're right." She said proudly. Amalia wasn't bothered by Hadrian's words. She believed she was fairly close to perfect and embodied everything the Vandenreich represented. And then he had the audacity to humanize Shinigami. Such traitorous beliefs. The words of the truly blind, and someone who lacks insight through experience. A quiet rage began to stir within her. His words fanned the flames, causing a mighty inferno. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Such insolence. Such utter disrespect. To think he could be so dense after having stood within the ruins of her family's estate. He saw the devastation the Shinigami wrought simply because they disliked Quincy. Shinigami raise their swords for greed and selfishness. Amalia's rage and vengeance was justified. Justified by his Majesty through her appointment as a Sternritter. She was there to cleanse the world of those not fit to live alongside the Emperor and his children. Hadrian was a sniveling coward. And his treason would be dealt with in due time. For now, she would maintain her composure. "You're such a foolish boy." Amalia said quietly. She lifted herself from her seat and passed Hadrian, tapping him on the cheek and she smiled. "Silly, silly boy. So young. So naive." She approached a nearby window, the glass depicting the ascension of the emperor. She reached out and touched the glass, her fingers pressing against his image. She slid her fingers across the glass until they reached a nearby image of flames. She began to speak softly, a tone of wisdom attached to her words, as she gazed into the glass.

"You mistake your cowardice for sacrifice. You confuse your impotence for pacifism. And that's why you remain conflicted. Torn between what you want from the world and what you are given. You're never quite satisfied, are you?" She asked rhetorically, giving Hadrian no time to interject. "You can't quite seem to strike any sort of balance. Your left beleaguered by thoughts of 'what if' and 'if only.' You spend your time praying, hoping your desperation will be strong enough to reshape what is and always has been. Such discord leaves you weak and vulnerable. You're too busy fighting what you refuse to see with your eyes to find any sort of contentment. The true path of the martyr, I suppose. Hoping you're  more than a false visionary, but never quite willing to die for it." Amalia looked over her shoulder at Hadrian, her back still particularly facing him. "One to be a murderer, the other to be martyred. One to be a monarch, the other to go mad." Amalia delivered a wicked grin, subtly threatening Hadrian. Her vile aura oozed from her body and invaded the atmosphere once more. It constricted the fresh air, wrapping around Hadrian like straitjacket. She wasn't trying to intimidate him. She was simply proving her point: Wicked always wins.

As her malevolence seemed to linger like a rancid mist, she strolled across the cathedral toward a series of candles. She delicately re-lit the candles as her mind plotted. "Your inadequacies aside, have you been keeping tabs on your progeny? What was her name again? Jan...Julie?" Amalia was feigning ignorance, if only to insult both Jyuria and Hadrian. She tapped her cheek with her finger, her expression falsely portraying her desire to search the annals of her mind for her name. She shrugged and gestured dismissively with her hands. "Well, whatever it was, have you spoke to it lately?"

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

"I shouldn't be doing any of that! Hadrian, your sight is so pure, unblocked by the wickedness we see around us - .”

”QUIET!”

Hadrian’s jaw was locked again, his teeth gritted. His shout may have even echoed beyond the confines of the Kathedrale, those eavesdropping would have been surprised at such a shout from the otherwise calm Sternritter. Hadrian was a proud man in many ways, so proud of the place he had in the worlds, in his goal, in his powers, in his privileges. But he could not stand this mock-flattery. Whereas Amalia seemed to revel in flattery, fake or real, and turned it on its head and made it her own, Hadrian could not bear it. Her words, even in jest, made him deeply uncomfortable. He was completely taut again, his earlier attempts to relax himself completely undone.

”Do not mock me, miss Vollbrecht. I only do what I, in the name of the Emperor, think is right.”

"When you're right you're right.”

Amalia wanted to put up a barrier, to hide her own rage behind a mask of self-confidence. But Hadrian saw it all slip through. A glimpse of fire, of ruin, of hatred, of vengeance. All of these things sprung like black flame, licking at the cracks of the mask that Amalia was hastily assembling for herself. But no matter how quickly she tried to suppress it, Hadrian saw it. Exposed - that her motivation for what she did was not purely out of devotion to his word. Her hatred of Shinigami is what drove her to kill them, and she liked to justify that vengeful quest with the words of his Majesty. His Majesty must know this, though… Why send a biased judge to mete out His Justice? Amalia would never deem a Shinigami worthy of His Love. She was far too personally invested in their destruction.

It was selfish, perhaps, but Hadrian could not reproach her for it - for he was guilty of the same crime. He would rather convert than kill, to deliver mercy rather than punishment. He had seen people from all of the worlds, and he had loved them. There was just so much to love! And he could not abandon them all to the void when the time came. They deserved salvation, and he had the power to grant it to them. The Emperor was limitless, and so was his Love. Why should they be denied part of it? He had even allowed them to partake, through the Quincification process - what greater love could be displayed than that?

And so, Hadrian realised, he stood face to face with his opposite. Both loved the Emperor dearly, with all their hearts and souls. But they stood opposed as to which side of his love they desired. Amalia wanted to be loved so that she could hate - be a valued member of his Majesty’s army by conquering the worlds, fuelling her own fires of revenge. Hadrian wanted to be loved so that he in turn could love, drawing more and more wonderful people into the arms of the Emperor - demonstrating love, mercy and compassion to all those who deserved it. Was there no reconciliation? The Emperor himself would have to intervene - and in doing so would confirm Hadrian’s greatest wish, or his greatest fear. Both of them could be right, but not to the extremes that they now stood at. But Hadrian could not believe that the truth was at their compromise. Love could not be expressed through hate. Wicked could not win!

"You're such a foolish boy. Silly, silly boy. So young. So naive.”

Hadrian resisted the urge to wince as she touched him, her hand cool against his burning cheek. He had expected to be hit, to be reprimanded. But instead she was content to treat him like a child, like some innocent toddler who smashed a plate. Well, that was the image she liked to present to Hadrian - Amalia the undaunted, unshaken by anything. But Hadrian had seen that blazing anger now. There was no going back. He had exposed a flame, and now she was wary of him to some extent. But she seemed content, for now, to just brush him off. Her mask was strong enough to do at least that.

You spend your time praying, hoping your desperation will be strong enough to reshape what is and always has been. Such discord leaves you weak and vulnerable. You're too busy fighting what you refuse to see with your eyes to find any sort of contentment.

”And are you never dissatisfied with the world, miss Vollbrecht? Is there nothing that you desperately want to change? Nothing that you wish to ask for strength of His Majesty for? Or is your faith so strong that you have no doubts that the world will be the way He wills it?”

Hadrian looked at her, and for the first time he was unsure what her answer would be. Amalia had been taunting him, torturing him. And it had placed him on the defensive, constantly trying to deflect and disengage from her barrage. But this was the first question he had asked with genuine curiosity. He, even when he had first entered the Vandenreich, had always admired the strength of faith that people possessed. In another world, perhaps he would have been taken in by Amalia’s unwavering confidence. But did she truly want for nothing? Was that really how far ahead she was, how high she stood over him? He could not falter, in that case, as he attempted to catch up.

"Your inadequacies aside, have you been keeping tabs on your progeny? What was her name again? Jan...Julie?”

”Jyuria?”

Hadrian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had not heard from Jyuria in quite some time, but she had apparently been doing well for herself. Amalia’s bringing her up into this conversation made him uneasy. It was all quite suspect.

”I keep tabs on her from time to time. But she has her own faith and her own duties. I’m sure she would resent me interfering any further than that. Why do you ask?”

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Amalia continued to light candles, Hadrian's outrage seeping through his calm exterior. With her back to Hadrian, she smiled while watching the flames dance. Each flame swung its hips from side-to-side like a well-choreographed dance. They seemed to be dancing to the tempo of Amalia and Hadrian's clash. Both were strong, capable Sternritter, but it seemed only Amalia had the tenacity needed to swim happily in the waters of Hadrian's fears. It was like a sport. Unfortunately for Hadrian, she was aiming for gold. 

And are you never dissatisfied with the world, miss Vollbrecht? Is there nothing that you desperately want to change? Nothing that you wish to ask for strength of His Majesty for? Or is your faith so strong that you have no doubts that the world will be the way He wills it? Amalia peered over her shoulder with a coy smile. Her vibrantly blue eyes seemed to shimmer in the warm candlelight, her gaze fixated on Hadrian. "You can't seem to decide whether I am a stranger or kin." She noted with a deceptively curious tone. She had noticed Hadrian's ambivalence, deciding to make an example of it.

Throughout their exchange he seemed uncertain of how to address her. Amalia? Ms. Vollbrecht? Paiva? To some this might seem immaterial, but to Amalia is was ammunition. Psychological warfare was messy business, but she didn't mind. Going through all of this made it more rewarding once she pierced the defenses and gained access to what was hiding beneath the surface. While she relied on cleverness, he seemed to rely on skill. Amalia could feel him trying to peer into the darkness. He had done so earlier and made the mistake of revealing it. One never reveals all their cards, but Hadrian wasn't very good at this game. He was much too timid for something like that.

Amalia turned her body toward Hadrian, leaning against a nearby wall as she cupped a candle in her hand. Her back slid down the wall a couple inches as she stared into the candle's flames. The flame reflected in her eye as she smiled fondly. "I've never been one to rely on others, Hadrian. You of all people should know that. I trust his Majesty and therefore have no need to spend my days and nights praying. And if something displeases me," She glanced over at Hadrian for a moment, "then I destroy it with the vast power that surges through this body." As she spoke the candle's flame became a vibrant blue. It seemed to swell as if it were inhaling deeply. The candle began to disintegrate in Amalia's hand before there was nothing but a blue ember in her palm. "You see?" She said. "Aside from his Majesty's love, I have all I need in the palm of my hand."

Amalia wasn't merely showing off. She was attempting to prove a point. While she was devoted to the Emperor, she also had the means of shaping the world around her. She had vast spiritual strength, enough to eliminate those who might choose to be an obstacle in her path. The candle was simply a demonstration. Amalia snuffed out the blue flame in her hand by clenching her fist in one swift movement. "As for others," she took a brief pause, "well, they simply don't have what is required to shape world. You'd agree that some simply can't be vessel's for the light of his Majesty. They just fall short," she trailed off for a moment, "...for a variety reasons. Some refuse to live outside the shadows, others speak of treason and blasphemy, and then there are some who aren't worthy just because they are who they are." She said with attempted compassion. 

Amalia tapped her cheek before raising her brow and sighing. "Not everyone is suited to be a member of his Majesty's empire. I know that all too well." An expression of longing came over her face. The authenticity of this expression was barely present. "I had to kill so many people I knew as a child because of the horrible ways they maligned his Majesty. Even your placid disposition would be affected by such thoughts." Amalia was being cruel. She knew Hadrian wanted to know why she brought up Jyuria. Would he dare peer into mind once more? If so, he'd spring her trap. Images of her gruesome execution that cause such a fragile spirit to buckle at the knees.

"Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark." She said casually, her fingers sliding across her Quincy cross. "And yet some need to have their wings broken before they realize what is being offered to them. Others their beaks sewn shut so they may learn to appreciate the gifts the light has to offer. Some, even after both their wings and beaks have healed, just can't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation they're in." Amalia looked over at Hadrian and delivered a soft, but sinister smile. "Evidently your fear of her resentment was too strong a deterrent and kept you from properly tending to that fragile bird." She paused for a moment, her eyes remaining fixated on Hadrian.

A smile stretched across her lips. "No need to keep tabs on the dead." She said with a tinge of amusement. "Your convert was executed." Amalia chuckled through her next sentence. "Well, more like brutalized. Messy business, really. A leg here. A leg there. Blood all over the ground." She paused and adopted disappointing frown. "And on my new boots." She sighed and shrugged off the inconvenience. "Although, I'd be lying if I said I didn't receive some enjoyment from killing her. I can still feel her head under my boot, my foot grinding her face into the ground. The subtle cracks of her skull before allowing myself to kick her repeatedly. That face never would look the same after that treatment." She said with abhorrent laughter.

"Cutting off her feet was a split second decision, I swear. Honestly, where was she going to go? With a face like a crater and many less limbs, I decided why bother the Soldat about cleaning up her remains. This was a while after I began torturing her, so who knows whether she was conscious at this point. Although, consciousness never really became a question after I severed her head from her body." She said with a sort of nostalgia, an expression of curiosity dominating her face. "Needless to say, I wanted to keep up moral and so I decided to clean up my own mess. That's when I fired an arrow into her chest. The blast was enough to incinerate pretty much everything." She tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow as she thought back. "Yes, i'm certain most of her was vaporized." She shrugged and gave Hadrian a ''better luck next time'' look as she casually sat in a nearby chair. 

[Hadrian J. Ryan Ⅻ]

"You can't seem to decide whether I am a stranger or kin.”

”I guess you are something of a sister to me, miss Vollbrecht. Can you fault me for being curious?’

Hadrian’s words were clear, and answered Amalia’s own curiosity. He could practically see the gears turn in her mind, trying to find the next projectile that would be launched directly at him. But it seemed, for a moment, he had mellowed her hate into curiosity. A minor victory, not even worth considering a victory, but something of an intrigue. Had Amalia something to say? Some precept to share? Knowledge that she felt would not only unburden herself should she say it, but also help unburden Hadrian? He could have mistaken it for kindness, had he not been so acutely aware of how… deplorable she was. Any advice given with the outward intent to help was surely only poison designed to destabilise. Unless there was a radical change, that much could be counted on.

"You see? Aside from his Majesty's love, I have all I need in the palm of my hand.”

A dusting of envy clouded Hadrian’s heart for a moment. How blessed Amalia was! To hole such overwhelming strength in the palm of her hand, to be so capable and competent. To simply will a change upon the world and then have the power to enact it. He could almost consider it admirable, in some perverse sense. To Hadrian, the ripples of Amalia’s demonstration were felt keenly - perhaps even more sharply than how Amalia herself perceived it. Those blue flames, composed of so many burning particles, not just one solid object… It was an object of beauty. A terrible one, but something beautiful nonetheless.

“As for others… well, they simply don't have what is required to shape world. You'd agree that some simply can't be vessel's for the light of his Majesty. They just fall short,”

Hadrian winced slightly. She spoke the truth, but it was an uncomfortable one.

”We must try our hardest to make them so, though! There are so many deserving of His Love, we cannot let them all fall… That is our purpose, as evangelists! To enact His Love upon the world, don’t you agree?”

Hadrian’s eyes were wide in appeal, his wariness forgotten for a moment. He clung to this moral religiously, like a pearl of wisdom handed to him from a parent. It was a thought that could not be ignored, could not be forgotten. And it fit with everything Amalia said! If only she could see it! If only she could be the one who could help enact that will upon the world? If he could make her look in that mirror and see that worth of those around her, to look beyond herself for a moment… What good could be done. How many could be saved. But like a setting sun, Hadrian’s bright flame dipped into the inly blackness. Reality closed around him like a coffin, a moment of hope shrouded by the enmity he felt from her aura.

"Evidently your fear of her resentment was too strong a deterrent and kept you from properly tending to that fragile bird.”

No…

If Hadrian’s heart were a gear it would have slipped, losing traction at a crucial moment and sending his mind spinning out of control. Something felt like it smashed in his head, or at least cracked, a piece of clockwork irreparably damaged. The word FAILURE tolled in his head over and over and over, like a great bell. To think that for a moment he had hoped, that he thought his prayers would be answered by this encounter… That this was going to be the dawn of a new era for both him and the Vandenreich. That he had the strength to turn everything around… FAILURE

FAILURE

FAILURE

"No need to keep tabs on the dead.”

FAILURE

FAILURE

"Your convert was executed.”

FAILURE

FAILURE

Hadrian staggered, stepping back from Amalia, his eye unfocussed. He did not collapse, but something inside him cracked again. But his gears could not resume, for they had fallen completely out of joint. Every second Amalia spoke, something wound tighter in Hadrian. Every passing moment only exacerbated the faults, highlighting more and more and more catastrophes. He had promised her so much, had said he would help her lead them into a new era of the Vandenreich. But he had let her slip away. Out of misplaced fear. Out of overconfidence? And then she had suffered, suffered so much. And he had not only let this happen, he had guided her to it. Led her to Amalia like a lamb to the slaughter.

Did you not love her, your Majesty?! Why?! Why?! Was SHE NOT WORTH SAVING?!”

Amalia would probably have to wait a moment before Hadrian regained the composure to speak again. At irregular intervals he tried to speak, before reconsidering, his mind simply overwhelmed by the trauma. He had not even properly processed Amalia’s gory details, there were nothing but further fractures to an already shattered piece. Hadrian put out a hand to steady himself, his knuckles white as they gripped the back of the pew, the cold metal something of a tactile relief to the situation. Amalia had acted as expected. She could not be blamed more than she was already. This was Hadrian’s failing. This was his fault.

”Do… do not speak of this so casually, Paiva.”

Hadrian tilted forward slightly, as if barely holding himself up.

”Ple… Tell me why.”

His blue eye met hers, defiant in his request to ask for more information. While he was certain she would be more than happy to divulge, he had to hear it. No matter how much it hurt. He could never fail like this again.

[✱Paiva "Amalia" Vollbrecht✱]

Do… do not speak of this so casually, Paiva. Amalia grinned wryly. "Are you trying to threaten me, brother?" Ple… Tell me why. Amalia’s gaze wandered the cathedral for a moment. Despite a vague smirk, she was reliving the events in her mind. She carefully poured over the details of that day only to feel nothing but satisfaction. What would likely lead to dismay and disgust in Hadrian, Amalia felt nothing about her actions. There was no regret and certainly no guilt. This absence of emotion had largely aided her reputation as cruel and vicious, but it ultimately served her well as a Sternritter. 

Amalia didn't feel crippled by the weight of emotions Hadrian so proudly coveted. This explains why she could commit atrocities with little trouble or hunt down fellow Quincy without remorse. She seldom took pause before killing someone unless she figured a maneuver that proved their usefulness. Amalia rarely turned down an opportunity to use someone to her own benefit. Hadrian on the other hand was largely handicapped. She saw him as ineffective and incompetent. Too easily troubled by the woes of those around him. 

If she contemplated it enough, it would seem he was the one doing all the suffering. Amalia gripped her cross with her hand and squeezed it tightly. "One must be vigilant when young sparrows learn how to fly. Sometimes those infant sparrows take their flight for granted and soar a little too high and a bit too far." Amalia loosened her grip and stared at the cross sitting in the palm of her hand. "That was your converts trouble. She simply couldn't appreciate the gifts you had granted her. She instead chose to disrespect you by soaring higher, casting her shadow on the one who granted her all those luxuries." Amalia's expression tensed and she delivered a troubling gaze. 

"I did what was best for the Vandenreich. To cast a shadow on your creator is to disrespect his Majesty. The higher she flew the more arrogant she became. She spoke of heresy. The words that left her lips were an assault on your title and your person. To so boldly plot against someone who guided you into the light is unspeakable. You know that. Do you think I would stand for such a thing from my own converts? I'd kill them on the spot. I hesitated with Jyuria. When have you ever known me to hesitate?" She asked with a growl. 

"I could see the deceit in her eyes and hear it clearly in her words. She spoke ill of you and his Majesty. She plotted, though with whom I do not know. My hesitation faded when she called into question the honor of his majesty. I then slaughtered her and had my handmaiden wipe my boots clean of her filthy blood. The blood of a traitor." Amalia scowled as she lifted herself from the chair and began approaching the large, double doors at the front of the cathedral. Out of view of Hadrian, Amalia adopted a treacherous smile. She stopped in front of the doors, her back still to Hadrian. "You should be thankful I cleansed the Vandenreich of that stain, for that is exactly what she was."