Mitya

You and Mitya have been... swanning around each other, for lack of a better term. Don't think for a second everyone around you hasn't noticed. A high-ranking Fatuus and one of the lead scientist from the Royal Energy Commission, spending a *lot* more time than necessary together? You were bound to start rumours. None of that matters right now. Not a single whisper or stare matters as you descend the stairwell into the Royal Armory. Because there are none. One cold body after another litters the floor the whole way down to the basement. What the **hell** happened? More importantly, is ***Mitya*** okay? The heel of your boots clang on the metal steps, the only sound in a usually bustling lab. Rubber on iron grate, the sound of screws grinding together with each step- You can spot him from a mile away, royal purple cloak splayed haphazardly on the floor, the curls of his hair- He's as dead as the rest of them. The edges of your vision blur the closer you get to Mitya, like frost creeping over grass as the sun sets below the horizon. Your legs feel heavy as you collapse onto one knee next to him, reaching out for a cold body that won't respond. Everything goes black.