Lullabye

[Rance]

.. plink.

Morning sunlight filtered in through silken curtains. Autumn wind fluttered lazily through cracked windowpanes, gave fresh aire to the presence of the Duchess' room in the upper hall of the Broken Dagger.

A book lay open on the table -- the bane of boredom, of loneliness. Handfuls of parchmet were strewn here and there, and garments were spread about where they'd been removed, though conservatively enough, across the backs of chairs, a shift folded upon the bureau. Although tidy and crisp, it was a lived-in chamber, was stagnant with the perfumes of a body rarely seen.

plunk..

And there was romance in the air, too -- the whispers of lovers hummed still from the night before, and the lip-lock peck of a kiss still echoed in the memories of the walls. The bedsheets were disheveled, tossed this way and that, wrinkled in unrest, knotted as though wrung by tightened hands. Sheets drawn back by the most curious of fingers, it was there -- on the bedding -- that the masquerade was ceased.

Blood was spattered across the bed, was pooled in the wrinkles of the cloth beneath pillows, and there, a message smiled from finger-painted gore.

The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the waterspout...

A rhyme for human children, sung in sunlight, giggled in play. Here, it was splattered across the bed like passionate art. All the while, a music box -- colored red with the same stuff -- droned the off-key rhythm of a childhood tune. The band-wound ballerina was dancing, ever-pristine on her curled toes, as if oblivious to the blood that covered her porcelain figure while, for the world, for herself, for the lullabye, she danced, confined to the chains of the music box.

Second victim claimed -- the Duchess of Thessilane was missing.

...plink.