Sleep is such a wonderful thing. Deep, peaceful, healing, really. And last night the bed was blissful. A rare evening spent in her own company, the sheets just cool enough to enjoy the weight of the goosedown covers. THe windows shut tight to block out the terrible chill of an Arxian Winter. The snow outside gently falling in drifts, blanketing the city in a gentle, muffled quiet.

The first thing she feels upon waking is the cold. The room is *freezing*. Wind whistles through the gaping hole in a window, the source of all that cold turning the comfortable room to ice. The fire in the hearth is long since guttered out, and the cause of that hole in the window, is, disturbingly apparent at a glance: A large owl is partially laying through the hole, the blood pooled beneath it makes it clear it did not survive impact with the glass. There is no memory of such a sound... but given the amount of snow and the temperature of the room, it must have happened in the middle of the night.

She's from the Lyceum which means lots of tempered winters. Only in Arx does she get to experience snow and, well, she loves it. When its OUTSIDE and she's in her warm cloak. Waking to the freezing temperature, Miranda shudders and hesitates from getting out of her warm bed. Still, things have to be taken care of. She slides out of the bed, freezing in the tunic she wears. Gripping a blanket, Miranda pulls it off to wrap about her like a cloak and she moves towards the offending window. She stops just before she steps on any glass and frowns at the window, then the glass, then the... Oh! No doubt her cat has fled for warmer pastures or Jewel would be sniffing at the dead owl. The owl is an odd thing to see and she furrows her brows. "Now where did you come from?" And why didn't she hear it? She moves in her room to find some sort of old blanket she can use to gather up the owl, poor thing.

There is a creeping, gnawing feeling that grows within Miranda's belly. That sensation of eye, unseen, but present, watching Miranda with predatory intent. Not the predation of a potential lover from across a croweded room, but the feral sort that makes itself known in the raised hairs on the back of one's neck, the kind of sensation that seems forever wedded to the night and the dark when one is all alone. The Quartz suite is particularly dim in this early morning. Shadows are long, colors are faded to ghosts of their usual hues, and the floor, gods, the floor is so cold, it almost burns. The hunt for a blanket or appropriate cloth seems to take twice as long as it should. Nothing found seems right. Not the gown of faded lace, ivory from age, nor the aeterna tatters of a gown worn years ago. There is a doorway up ahead, a closet perhaps? The cold seems more intense near it, the handle frosted over, and yet there is a strange certainty that what is needed awaits behind it.

The search is a bit annoying. Her feet are freezing! She rubs at her arms, having to discard the blanket she snatched from the bed in her search for something old and useful enough to gather up the owl. She slips her cloak over her shoulders, having left it nearby. At least it will drape about her and she won't have to hold it in place. But in the meantime... her feet! She looks around the room, used to the darkness as she often keeps her room dimly lit and knows where everything is. But still.. there is something... She shudders at the feeling of being watched, moving in a circle in place as if to make sure she is, indeed, alone. "Juana?" a call to her Lady's maid who should be sleeping in her own room, really. Heh. She'd be surprised if the woman was here because there's a mess! Juana's old and would never leave Miranda in a freezing room with a bloody owl, literally, on her floor to find. Never. And, well, this coldness is beyond the temperature. She narrows her eyes, focusing on the room and on the dreaded closet ahead. She starts to head for it, trying to ignore the burning in her feet. She doesn't reach out yet, focusing her eyes on the closet, on the door she needs to open to retrieve what she needs. Focusing on it, then on the room... something Abyssal here? A taint she can see or sense? Some evil that's come? Or her imagination?

There is no response to the call -- in fact that odd muted silence seems to be pervasive. Even the Palazzo is oddly silent, no call of servants back and forth, no sound of messengers moving back and forth. It is as though the entire house were empty.

Though she focuses her eyes, there is nothing there but that knob, frosted over, radiating that burning cold.

There's hesitation there, a sense of dread on Miranda's face. The House might be -quiet- but this? This is... not right. Still. First things first. Another glance about the room, just in case before she moves to the closet, stepping aside a bit. She uses the cloak to protect her hand to put it over the knob to turn it and open it, keeping the door between her and the opening.

The door opens and the entire closet is filled with insects. Beetles, spiders, roaches, worms, flies, wasps all come pouring out of the opened door in a cascade of horrible things. There is a hissing, buzzing thrum as the tide of insects threatens to engulf Miranda. The scent is pungent, earthy and sour, as more of them spill out of the closet, she can see bloody bones in a huge pile on the floor, butterflies covering them, their dainty legs red with blood.

She's a Knight. She's a Commander of the Infantry. Miranda's been through battles, big and small, including being a veteran of the Gyre War and the Lodge of Petrichor. There is a lot.. A LOT she can stomach. A lot that might make her have nightmares for days, weeks, months! But nothing makes her scream more like a frightened little girl than a swarm of insects! She doesn't just stand there and scream, either. She jumps back, up onto a chair, out of the way, hurdling herself clear of the wretched closet and assaulting multi-legged critters! She dances about, making sure none of them are on her and none reaching her. It takes her several minutes of screaming in terror before she realizes there are BONES in the closet! And butterflies on them?! Since when do butterflies like blood? She puts a hand over her mouth, gasps at the sight and swats at anything that comes too close!

Miranda probably should have thought to close that damn door, too!

Miranda checked perception at difficulty 15, rolling 0 higher.

The insects continue to boil out of the closet like a chitinous puddle, scattering as they move across the floor at various speeds. Up on her chair, the only creatures that come near are the flies that occasionally buzz past her. She almost misses it under the sound of her screams, but there is, coming from behind her, the grating tinkling sound of glass shards being moved against the floor and each other. When she turns around, that owl is moving awkwardly, the wings twitching, feathers rippling, the taloned claws scrabbling against the air before getting purchase on the window and bracing, pushing the body through. The head begins to turn, twisting around, 180 degrees. When the face is revealed, instead of a bird's head, with large eyes and a beak, it is Brenlin's face, wreathed in feathers. His blue eyes staring towards her, unfocused, blind, weeping tears of blood. A similar trail of red runs from the corners of his mouth, "Mir-- Miranda? Are you there? It's so cold... it's so cold Miranda and you locked me out. Why did you lock me out into the cold?"

Watching the bugs in horror, there is relief as they don't come too close. The flies are swatted at as she bats them clear of her. She finally catches her breath, then... then she hears it and turns, slowly to look behind her. HEr eyes take a moment to look down at the floor, tot he glass shards and the owl. Her eyes widen in horror as she watches the poor thing twitch and move. She follows it to the window, it's progress kind of amazing, really. And.. frankly, stupidfying. Twisting its head around - that's normal, if always odd. Owls are weird that way. But, then.. Brenlin is is looking at her, crying. Her mouth drops open a bit, stunned. What the...?!?! "Brenlin?" No. This can't be, can it? "You should be in the barracks..." Nevermind the fact he's an OWL. Her breath comes out in white wisps in the frigid air and she glances from the owl to the closet to the insects to the Brenlin-owl.. "What.. what.. who.. what did this to you?" Because.. uhm... what?!

"You did. This is all your fault, Miranda. Why? Why? Is this because of the thing with the duck? And you told Thea that I loved her and now she will not look at me... You broke my heart, Miranda..." The voice warps as this litany of deeds is laid out, from abject pain and terror to something akin to anger. And as that anger bubbles forth, the face begins to distort, stretching in places, the skin pulled outwards as if knives from within were testing the elasticity as the blade protrudes from his face. Tiny holes pierced in the skin, bleeding, he is bleeding everywhere, the body begining to unfurl, the wings flapping a gale, a terrible wind that only brings the cold to bear as a weapon, flakes of snow attacking Miranda's skin like needles of ice, freezing her on contact until every inch of her skin burns with that terrible cold --

The dream -- well, nightmare really -- ends abruptly, thrusting Miranda back into reality.

"What? No, that.. I didn't! You did that! You were drunk!" Miranda insists, horrified that she's to be blamed for things her aide's done to himself! ... Eh, maybe she teased him somewhere too. But she didn't start it! Still, she quiets and gapes in horror as his face begins to distort and she grimaces as it gets worse. Then worse still. A blade comes out of his face and then he's bleeding.. everywhere.. She starts to swipe at the snow and try to defend herself, only to start screaming as she feels the tiny sensations of needles all over her! She can't get it off... it won't come off! Her hands wipe at herself, trying to get the snow off, to deflect it.. The pain is horrific as it begins to burn where the cold touches her...

... And she shoots up in bed, sitting upright, sweating in the cool room, gasping. The hearthfire still going because Juana's awesome that way. Her window is secure and closed. She swallows as she stares around her room, making sure there's... nothing... nothing. Here.

There is a pounding on her bedroom door, "Commander! Commander! You are needed immediately!" The sound of the fist on the door is almost frantic, the voice pitched in such a way as to motivate.

She looks about the room, to make sure it's as it should be, only to be surprised by the pounding of her door! She gasps and then clears her throat, "One moment!" She flings covers off her bed to grab her cloak to put on and boots, then goes to the door to open it. "Yes?"

One of her lieutenants, a woman who everyone calls Shaw, stands there, eyes wide, a spray of red upon her pale cheek. "It's Brenlin, Commander. You have to -- in the barracks. You have to come, he's hurt real bad."

She stares a moment at the red on Shaw's cheek. Miranda frowns, steps back a moment to grab gloves. They go on as she exits, taking off at a run. Gods. Brenlin. What the hell?! She hurries, running as fast as she can to see what has happened to her aide.

The run to the barracks is quick but cold. The snow came down hard last night, thick drifts that have been shoveled to either side of the path, radiating an aura of cold as they pass through. There are men gathered outside the barracks, none of them look well, many green around the gills and one is vomitting into the snow. Once inside, they are able to identify Brenlin's bunk. He has the best one, closest to the hearth, in a corner with a modicum of privacy and a few spare inches for extra personal items. The aide-de-camp is laid out on his bed, skin far, far to pale, his scalp has several long gashes that are profusely bleeding, more such wounds running up and down his arms. But perhaps worst of all are the litter of dead insects that circle his bed in a black, chitinous halo. That circle has been disrupted by the booted feet of his fellows, but the pattern is still clear. Brenlin's eyes are open, staring, his expression one of horror. He is alive, but he does not seem present.

Miranda runs with her people daily, yet she outpaces Shaw in her hurry to get there quickly. Brenlin is not a fighter, he's an aide. He's fuckin' good at his job, but he's not a soldier the way the rest of his compatriots are. THe rest of the infantry unit is. Not to say he can't hold a sword or defend himself, but his skill doesn't rank up with those who take the field. And that's how it should be. You get a person REALLY good at organization who doesn't have an itch to hold a sword and you make them your aide! She comes to a halt just before the circle of bugs and stares a moment. "Call the mercies. Get Isidora here." Her sister-by-marriage. Her go-to when someone is injured. "Or Thea." The other one. The soldiers would know. "Now!" she barks. She recalls the insects, the horror of them in her room, coming at her. She tries to shake it off. It was a dream.. a very bad nightmare.. right? RIGHT?! She steps forward carefully, not touching him. Her eyes lose focus, staring through the man - it must be an Abyssal attack. Why would anyone attack Brenlin? He's a pencil pusher!

Miranda checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 13 higher.

Brenlin's hands are clasped into fists, but clutched into one of his hands, Miranda can see a sliver of ivory parchment. The color of it immediately calls to mind that lace dress from her dream. When she focuses on it, testing with her senses, she can see a moving line that crosses the sliver of parchment clasped in his hand.

She frowns, moving closer, staring at her aide. The others might watch, but they'd know the look. "Brenlin, I'm here. Help is coming." Miranda frowns and uses her gloved hands to gently try to pry his fingers loose of the parchment to try to see what it is that's there.. that line. What -is- that?

A sound is made, not a word, too primal to be a word, too gutteral. But it is something. His hand is like a claw, gripping that paper, though Miranda is able to prize it free. A roach slithers out with the paper, causing a groan of dismay from one or two of those gathered. But Miranda gets the parchment and when it is unraveled, there is a scrolling sentence in a script that is both ancient and utterly legible. She has a sense that only she can read it, a dim glow to the black letters that subtly move across the page.

I See You.

Ew. A roach. She's not going to get enough baths in. She swipes it away and opens that parchment carefully. Miranda's eyes gaze at the writing and shivers. "Who -are- you?" she asks it. She'll feel dumb later. Right now... she's had a dream where she felt watched and her aide is... cut up. Dying? She glares at the paper. "Who are you?" she asks again, demanding.

As the sound of running footsteps approach, a flash of white -- the Mercy is arriving, and Miranda shouts that question, the wind picks up, blowing through the barracks, slamming shutters open, the sound loud enough to make people jump. The mercy's robes billow around her and in Miranda's ears, the wind carries the sound of horrible, horrible laughter.

Out <O> is now unlocked.