So this is to be my departure.

In all my time in the City, I never expected that I should know when I was departing. That was always the great pain and great risk of the City: to draw close to someone was to risk losing them when the City saw fit to send them away. And then there was a mourning like after a death--which I know well, as I have seen so many people come and go from the City. Never before has anyone known how soon or when or how he might leave the City. Here, we who are in the City now, we are the only ones to have this kind of bittersweet privilege, to know that we are leaving and to make preparations for that. Perhaps it was better the other way, though I'm not so sure.

I remember Lailis, the crippled queen; Megumi, who left and has returned again; I remember Princess Rue and Ahiru and Autor and Fakir who showed me such generosity when I first arrived here lost; I remember so many, both friends and foes. And Merry, and Riff--they've both come and gone so many times. And now I'll return to them again.

But for a little while. I have vows to keep in London and I hope that my father hears me again now, that I will not rest until the streets of London are baptised in either his blood or mine. And it will be his blood. Because that vow is only one of two I must keep. I will go to London and I will end this war between us.

And then I will go, by whatever means I may find, because I have found doors from my world to the City so I will find a door from my world to Daventry, and I will return to Rosella--I will return to my wife. As any soldier or lord would return from war. I have no doubt of this. I've made my vows here too.

I've packed my things in a trunk and a few bags--the things I brought with me to the City, the veritable clothes on my back from seven years ago, and all the things I've collected in my time here. It's quite a store of things, now that I've brought it all together like this. But, then, that's to be expected after nigh seven years in this place.

Rosella will take Kassandra and Noir with her, along with the rest of her menagerie. Kassandra I know she can keep well, though Kassandra could perhaps stay in the City as she fell out of the sky during a rainstorm some years ago. But she's coming with us. Noir only needs a little time in sunlight each day to keep his mechanisms running--best not to mention clockwork around Rosella-- whatever keeps an artificial cat moving. Rosella and I will say our own goodbyes properly and as we should, not here on the Network--

I've turned the Turnabout Cafe over to a young man who has been helping me with it for several months now, seeing to the day-to-day business there even though it was i my care. His family has lived in the City for several generations now, he says, and I have no doubt he'll take excellent care of the cafe.

I've walked through the Opera Abandoned a last time; taken a last turn about the City and Xanadu; I've stood a while under the cherry tree that never seems to lose its blossoms or go to leaf, the one I was told in perhaps my third or fourth day here that it was dangerous, and it was soon enough; I've set my affairs in order with the cafe and such funds as I had here; I have taken as last glance in the Fountain, watched the Carousel turn, and listened to the Clock. I wonder if I shall miss the sound of the Clock when I leave here. It's ticking slower than ever, but there's no malice to it now. It's restful, in a way. But I wonder if I shall miss it.

I shall miss the Opera Abandoned, I know. I shall miss this room I have claimed for my own--the one that Princess Rue offered to me but which Fakir and Autor stripped of anything and everything that could be used as a weapon. I have stayed in that room since. We kept the Opera Abandoned as a fortress then, and continued to do so for so many years. I put back in my own way what they took. This chair, that table, a lamp, bedclothes I preferred, books I chose myself, a carpet for the floor, some painting got cheaply for the bare wall, a secret place beneath the floorboards for my collection. It became my own place. A far cry from my house in Mayfair, but it was my own place.

I shall miss the ruin and grandeur of this place, the costumes hidden in closets, the trapdoors on the stage, the gilt and the cobwebs, the dust and the marble, the grand staircase and the great doors. I shall miss the performances we gave here, even once in the midst of a summer snowstorm--which I shall also miss, I think. I lived in only a very few rooms in this place, though I think I thought of the whole of it as my house. Save for the basement, which was the domain of Maestro Erik and He-Who-Kills, and woe betide any who would disturb their sanctuaries. I shall miss this place.

I shall miss the City, I think, despite the pains it has caused me. I remember how it was when I first arrived here, when I was wearied of an evening's ball and decided to walk home and saw a bright an inexplicable carousel turning down at the end of a dark alley. I don't know where the doorway between London and the City was in that alley, but I know I passed through it somewhere. And when I turned again to go back, the familiar streets I had left were no longer there.

I remember how confused I was, with the Network device and with the City itself. I should like to think I adapted quickly enough. Though I thought it was my father's doing at first, or someone in his organisation. Perhaps they'd drugged me and I was dreaming, or perhaps hallucinating. It seemed the most plausible thing--I even wondered if I was dead. And my father's voice rang in my head then-- A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth-- Little wonder it did; it still rings in my head, I won't deny-- And yet, the impossible became possible, and I have very much realised that the City is real, after all.

The bright lights of the City are dazzling, as are the voices and faces of those who live in it--even those who prefer the shadows to the light, much as I do. I recall before we had the coloured coins, we would pay for things with ribbon and bright bits of paper or pretty stones. I recall the stories of the Animal Trinity when they first visited the City--or visited the wrath upon the City, perhaps. I recall snow in summer and heat in winter and great storms. I have been transformed into a child, a woman, a cat, a crow, a sultan of some far Eastern country who attempted to sell a vampire named Radu to some other king, a man of times and places not my own, a madman--the City has done much and done much to me. And yet, this horrid and ugly yet beautiful and impossible place has held me here for nearly seven years. After so much time, how can I not think that I will, in some way, miss it? I've grown accustomed to its madness. I have learned how to live between the curses, as we do. I looked forever forward to its letting me free and thought that perhaps it would never let me free. But that day has come at last, nearly seven years on.

Seven years--Rosella, isn't there a tale about a princess staying silent for seven years?

There are so many that I wish to thank here at the last before I go: He-Who-Kills, staunch defender of the Opera Abandoned; Neil Perry and Todd Anderson, knights of Daventry and true companions; Megumi Yukimura, teacher and friend and one who recollects far earlier times and whom I hope I will never soon forget; Pai, who trails after me with silent questions and with her brother following her; and most of all Rosella, princess of Daventry, whom I know I will see again so very soon; all those whom I have known in the City, whether they be friend or foe, whether they are still here or returned to their own times and places. I have a thousand names and faces in mind as I write this. Thank you. Though I know there is always a risk of forgetting when one leaves the City, I know that I will not soon forget you.

I have promises to keep now--very old ones. Merry and Riff will be waiting for me. I am seven years late from returning from a party, though I doubt they'll know that. I have promises to keep to them and promises to keep to Rosella, to whom I have now promised my life.

The impossible has become possible in the City. That has changed us all, I have no doubt.

With that, I shall take my leave of the Network and make my way to that ring of doors down in Misery Square and I will search for London, for my home, in those doorways--

--and bid you all adieu.

~C.

[ooc: Bids you all adieu]

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Rosella, when you see this, come up to the nursery as quietly as you can.

He's sleeping in his cape--again. He's completely besotted with the thing. He absolutely refuses to take it off.

I don't know if we were foolish to call him 'Kit' or if we were foolish to have the cape made for him.

~C.

[ooc: In this future AU, Cain is only a very few years older. And he and Rosella have married and been married for a few years. And they have a son. And their son is named Christopher, called "Kit." And Kit is perhaps three years old here. And Kit has apparently taken to wearing his red woolen wintertime cape and hood to sleep. Probably because the hood has fox ears on it. Baby foxes are sometimes called kits, you know...]

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Well, there's only one thing that that noise can mean. By now, I'd quite hope I'd recognize it. It seems as though that peculiar 'Door' in the midst of Misery Square has worked quite as well as anyone might hope. It sounds like any time we've been inundated with visitors, but perhaps there's something more celebratory in it all this time.

As ever, I never manage to do as I say--to keep to myself, well inside, away from the windows and the Network, and all the rest. I've quite given up by now, really. I know I'm bound to appear on the Network, at the very least, and there always seems to be something I need to do on days like this. And it never seems to work entirely anyway when I do try to keep away, if only because it's rather difficult to keep away from all windows and it does become rather tedious. Sooner or later, I do find that I have to go out for one reason or another. There's the cafe, for example, that needs attending to for one reason or another--it might as well be open, on a day when we're likely to have a great deal of business. And that is all to say nothing of the fact that there are a few people who seem quite capable of coming into the opera house as they please, despite all our efforts to the contrary. And I don't think warning them about He-Who-Kills will do any good either.

I shall, however, keep a close watch for Merry. Riff, if he's here, will find me immediately, so I know I needn't even watch for him. He'll always find me. Merry, though, I shall watch for.

I haven't very much hope or wish for anyone else from my world to pay me a call. Although I do recall that my uncle came for a visit one year. And there has frequently been a young man come to call who seemed strikingly familiar but whom I'm sure I didn't know.

Although, there are yet others who seem to come into the City on days like this whom I should still like to see, even if I may not quite hope for it as I did with Riff and now with Merry so long ago and so often.

The little clutch of girls is back under my window, as I knew they would be. By now I'd be rather disappointed if they weren't there. It's still rather flattering. You would think they'd have grown tired of me by now, but perhaps that's the way time works in and out of the City. I shall be tossing them letters again this time, and I do hope they see this on the Network so that they'll be able to catch them. It would be a shame to have them fall to the ground unheeded.

And, yes, exciting as it always is at first, I know I'll be quite exhausted after a few moments of it. But I think I shall be a fool today and show my face. At least I'm quite aware of my own foolishness. And perhaps there's something clever in that.

Welcome to the City, I suppose.

Though why anyone would visit the City, I shall never understand.

If that 'Door' is working, though, I wonder how much longer any of us might have to endure curses and visitors like this. Especially if the 'Door' itself is working so well as this. I can't help but wonder, even in the midst of all this.

~C.
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[ooc: Hit him. Hit him gooooooooooood. 4th Wall away! Anything that doesn't match up or confuses him or spoils his ending he will forget or write off as madness. C'mon! Party up in here! Let's do this, one last time ♥]

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Well, I suppose it has been some time since last I found myself in this shape. I seem to be a cat once again. It doesn't even deserve mentioning anymore. Though it has been quite some months since the last time this happened. I think I almost missed it--almost.

I suppose only in the City could I say that--that waking up to find myself turned into a cat causes me more annoyance than alarm--in fact, for a time, I had fairly come to expect it. I was quite sure that, on some weekend, most every month, I will be a cat. I've really almost become accustomed to it. I shall go to bed on a Friday night and wake up on Saturday morning with whiskers and a tail.

Though this seems not at all like those weekends when everything goes mad for two days. It seems that we're all of us creatures of one kind or another.

Still, in all these days and weekends as a cat, after a little adjustment and after Kassandra and Noir have seen to me and have me as well turned out as a cat ought to be, I've learned a bit from having woken up those whiskers and that tail so many times before. I can turn on and use my Network device, as well one can see, get myself out of my room, up across the roof, out the window, down to the kitchen, through secret passages, into the cupboards--nearly anywhere I could go as a human, and perhaps more places, given my smaller size.

But that's enough of that. I spent the morning roaming the Opera Abandoned--I have my favorite passages to wander there--and wander them, I most certainly did. I frightened no small number of mice, but caught a few of my own. But all in fun. I let them go again after I'd had my fun. Now I think I had still better see to the Turnabout Cafe, where I have no doubt that I'll be given a dish of cream instead of tea. Though I doubt if I'll be able to spend the entire afternoon there. There's rather a lot I should like to see as a cat again.

And, of course, there's always the first part of the evening to enjoy. Because, really, I have found that evenings are remarkable when seen through these eyes.

So I think I shall leave off this pattering typing and go about my day and all my cat-like errands.

~C.

[ooc: Cat-like typing detected! Kitty!Cain is a kitty again ♥ Because he really does make such a remarkably fine cat. He'll be roaming the opera house and trotting down to the Turnabout Cafe here shortly.]

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I should have known this curse will come upon us sooner or later this month: mistletoe growing from every corner and doorway. I can hardly think of a better sign of the season in the City than this. Truly, it is splendid. And one must, of course, observe the custom of the mistletoe. And the City shall, indeed, enforce that custom.

Yes, laugh at it for the moment, if you like, but it's never as amusing as one might expect. It's tiresome and it's frustrating and I'm quite sure the Network will be full of apologies tomorrow. But there's no stopping it, of course, as there's no stopping any of the curses--neither the growth of the plant itself nor the compulsions that come with it. It's a wonder we're not all strangled or poisoned by the stuff by the end of the day. And it is quite poisonous, you know.

It's sprouting from the ceiling and from the side of my desk at the moment. I can fairly watch it growing. I almost think I can hear it. And, of course, it's in every archway and on every lintel and hanging from every lamppost. So there's no avoiding it and its effects. The City has seen to that very handily.

One could, in theory, avoid this curse, if one tried--if one were to keep indoors or avoid the mistletoe itself or others. Of course, one could find a plant growing from one's hat, as has happened to me before, which can undo all of one's efforts.

But I almost wonder if it's quite worth the effort.

I don't care. I've things to which I must attend. I've endured this curse and all the curses of this City long enough to begin to cease to care about any of them. I'm going out anyway.

~C.

[ooc: Yes, he is going out. He'll be around the City in lots of ways today, so feel free to action it up in the comments~]

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There was a man, a mad doctor, in London who was fond of collecting the eyes of young women and preserving them in jars.

Perhaps he did mean to use those eyes at the end as part of an arcane black magic ritual.

And yet, all the same--

I never in all my life thought that I would come to understand him so well as I do now.

~C.

[ooc: So very cursed, but trying to resist. After all, his brother's the mad doctor's motivations were quite different from what he believes are his own now.]

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I can hazard a few guesses as to what's been going on all day, though none of those guesses seem especially pleasant. I shall count myself fortunate that I seem to have been missed by this curse--though I'd thought that we were to be seeing the end of them soon, but I suppose that's how the City itself would have it. I've been trying to piece together some observations about the City and the curses, especially given what these newcomers have been saying of late about it all. And about how their attempts to stop the curses haven't met with much success.

Still, the cafe has been busy enough today. I wouldn't have thought it an especially romantic location, but it seems to have attracted a rather surprising number of couples coming in for a cup of tea or a coffee together. And new couples, it would seem, given how astonishingly affectionate they seem to be with one another.

Now, I must say that I'm on my smaller Network device here at the cafe itself. I've been here for the better part of the afternoon. At this point, I'm trying to look busy while I watch someone here. Because there seems to be a young lady who's rather fixated on me. In fact, I think she gave a few threatening stares to someone who was simply inquiring after something. Most of the time she seems to be staring at me.

I'll be honest and admit that this is far from the first time I've had someone staring at me. But there's something in this stare that's unsettling me. And I will admit that it raises a few darker suspicions in my mind. I've not heard word of my father in some time. It wouldn't be below him to draw in someone as young as this girl to his following. I don't recognize her from London, but I know my father has made allies in the City before.

And if she is one of his allies and if she should see this Network entry, then let this be a caution to her.

I wish I knew why she was staring. I'm watching her over the top of my Network device even as I write this. As I said: I'm making a show of looking busy.

I wonder if I've not been so missed by this ordeal as I expected. I feel absolutely nothing, but I wonder if the same is true for everyone in present company.

I'm not sure which I'd prefer either, though: that someone far too young for me seems to be infatuated with me or that my father might be gathering his forces again.

Probably the former would be better. At least that will end at midnight.

~C.

[ooc: Oh dear. It would seem that sleepingstar has developed something of a schoolgirl crush on Cain. No, Cain doesn't return the affection. In fact, he's rather concerned by it all. All that staring and so on. It's, ah, rather a bit too much like the way a certain someone in his own world behaved around him. And he isn't fond of her either. Ah ha ha... Oh dear...]

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[ooc: Cut for a large SFW picture of shoes. Playing the part of Cain's feet...Caru's feet! Thank you, thank you. They'd also like to thank the Academy. tl;dr: Cain's gonna try wearing stuff like jeans and sneakers from time to time. He'll probably keep on with the white shirts and black jackets. But with jeans sometimes. But it's a bit of an adjustment for someone who's used to wearing Victorian frock coats like...all the time. But I think he'll manage to do it with aplomb, don't you?]

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A second day aboard this ship. It's now late afternoon, perhaps early evening, on this second day. It's a marvelous ship, I will say that. It's as fine as any of the great vessels that set out between Britain and the Continent, or even Britain and the Americas. Perhaps it's even more fine than those. I think it must not have its like anywhere--perhaps in any world, and wouldn't the 'deities' be fond of such an idea as that?

Still, it cannot be what it seems. I know that much.

Given what I've seen in my time in the City and its curses, I would have expected the worst to have struck last night. The ship ought to have collided with something, sunk, been beset by pirates, or attacked by a sea-monster by now. By now we all ought to be rushing for the lifeboats or using bits of the ship to fend off our would-be attackers. And yet, there's nothing.

But I suppose there's still time for all that, even now. Perhaps we're meant to celebrate for one day and suffer for the second. But the time left for that is growing short. And I am most certainly watching for what might come of it.

But there's something more and--if not worse, then certainly more curious going on aboard this ship. I won't say more than that. I have my theories, though-- My father is yet in the City and he may have someone aboard this ship-- But I have my tasks too, strange as they are-- There are questions to be answered, to be sure-- Riff, I'm going to take a chance--

Well, it's been a pleasant enough voyage, I suppose, if a little rough. My fellow passengers could be a little more accommodating or polite as well. It doesn't surprise me that they aren't, the City being what it is.

So, here I sit for a second day.

I will say that I am looking forward to midnight tonight. But another close call like that between now and then-- Who is he?--

~C.

[ooc: Strike-outs are deleted! Cain is currently targeting Isaak Sirko in the course of all the boat-related shenanigans and Isaak is targeting him. And each may now have a notion that the other is after him (maybe). The point is: gentlemen in eveningwear having immense bloodstained battles. It's the best. Right now he's holed up in his room, tending to a few scratches and near-misses, and scheming.]

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