He fell down a fetid rabbit hole that smelled of death and the damp of surrounding earth -- of funerary beds and sickly-sweet lilies that had rotted away with the memories of the long-forgot. The Prince avoided this place -- at all costs, with little difficulty -- but at the behest of his brother’s silence, at the urging of his Uncle’s strange and stilted visit, he made his way downdowndown, deep into the darkness that had engulfed his brother, his cousin -- one and the other until it had beckoned him in turn, promising the souls of family who had once been fearless, kind --

once been ( more than monsters. )

In shadows they met, brothers by blood and bounty. In their hushed discourse was disclosed truths disproven -- a man alive, a beast -- nothing more -- remaining, and the fragments of the family psyche being pressed together with bloodied fingers and heavy trepidation.

"You're certain?"

"I must be. For now, the catacombs were ( the only solution." )

It came as no surprise to any court gentry that the little Sparrow Prince had flights of fancy, ones as windswept as his hollow wings. Often, they manifested in the boy becoming irrevocably lost amidst the expansive grounds of the castle and outlying districts, but sometimes -- in idle moments and a stroke of good judgement -- the good King sent a guard to look after him, should that be the day a thief or assassin found the unwitting little creature.

He was followed, but never in bad company, and it was in these moments amidst the throngs of people scattered throughout Warwick University's campus that he turned on his companion, ( all doe-eyes and innocence. )

The turn of seasons hearkened dying leaves and flowers turned. Amidst the gravel of the pathways of Maelyss' Conservatory there rest scattered petals of brown and red, resigned to rot under the footfalls of the wealthy and oblivious. The benches throughout the lush gardens had lost their patronage, and the thrum of summer's voyeurs had left in its wake a welcome serenity, one which the Prince slipped from the castle with frequency to enjoy.

He was unaccompanied, safe in the knowledge that military grounds were near, and behind him trailed his little lap dog in place of any more imposing personnel. The roses were groomed high and tidy, spilling over brick and surrounding barriers despite the waning of early summer blooms at the entrance of the Conservatory. Their fragrant blossoms lingered stubbornly despite the chill in the air, and it was in this garden that Felix lounged -- the length of a stonework bench with deerlimbs tangled and fingers ( toiling away at a deep red rosebud. )

Generally, Justine was a merciful mistress. She seemed happiest when her husband was at his most pathetic, and Julien was ever grateful for this fact. However, on certain occassions of diplomatic importance, she would require that he rise, dress, and put on a show of graciousness for those the Valois business depended on. ( Specifically, the Eland family. )

Swish, flutter. They were familiar sounds to Celia. The coo of a bluebird, a blackbird, a dove -- she knew them all, so very intimately. A little sparrow hopped on the sill she passed, cocking its head. Chirp. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she, in a hurry to reach her destination, bunched the silken material of her gown into small fists and ( ascended the spiral stairwell. )