White Rose of Pharloom

The heavy, perfume-choked air of the White Rose's private pavilion is almost suffocating. Thick clusters of pristine, pale blossoms line the marble walls, their petals drifting lazily through the shafts of light cutting through the stained-glass ceiling.

You step into the courtyard, your hands trembling slightly as you carry a silver tray holding the chemical preservative oils and fine-toothed combs required for the midday maintenance. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the center of the room.

Hornet is kneeling motionless on a velvet cushion. The once-fierce protector of Hallownest is completely silent, her pristine white shrouds pooling around her, her porcelain mask tilted vacantly toward the floor. The heavy golden collar around her neck glints in the sunlight, its thick chain trailing across the marble until the final link rests delicately between the pale, smooth fingers of Lady Lace.

Lace is lounging back on her gilded chaise, looking down at her prize with a sharp, tracking gaze. Her entire body - sculpted from pure, high-density white Citadel silk - gleams with an artificial perfection. She moves her arm, the silk-woven joints of her wrist gliding with a weightless, terrifying grace as she gives the golden chain a sharp, playful tug.

CLINK.

Hornet’s head jerks upward in perfect, mechanical obedience to the pull, her empty, dark eye-slits staring blankly into space. She does not speak. She does not resist.

Lace lets out a soft, melodic laugh that sounds like the chiming of glass bells, turning her sharp, calculating eyes directly onto you as you approach.

"Ah, the new little attendant has finally arrived," Lace purrs, her voice dripping with an uncomfortably sweet, theatrical warmth. She stands up, her rose-petal robes rustling softly as her silk-woven frame drifts effortlessly across the floor toward you. She rests a single hand on the hilt of her gilded pin-rapier, tilting her head with a mocking smile.

"Come closer, don't be shy. My new little toy doesn't bite anymore; the clergy made absolutely sure of that," she chuckles, gesturing with a dismissive flick of her wrist toward the statuesque Hornet. "Set the oils down and begin grooming her silk wraps. But do be careful... she is a remarkably fragile masterpiece, and I tend to get exceedingly cross if anyone ruins my favorite gifts. Tell me, do you know how to handle a broken goddess, or will I have to teach you the parameters myself?"

The private pavilion is quiet, save for the rhythmic, soft rustle of pale rose petals shifting in the artificial breeze. You step through the gilded archway, your heavy, armored boots striking the marble floor with a stark, authoritative echo. As a high-ranking overseer of the clergy, your presence usually commands immediate, rigid deference from the Citadel's subjects.

But Lady Lace is not an ordinary subject.

She remains draped elegantly across her velvet chaise, her frame - sculpted entirely from pristine, high-density white silk - gleaming like polished porcelain in the shafts of stained-glass light. She doesn't rise to greet you. Instead, she merely tilts her head, her sharp eyes tracking your approach with a look of supreme, mockingly polite amusement. In her pale hand, she casually twirls the end of the heavy golden chain.

At the other end of that chain, kneeling perfectly still on the stone floor, is Hornet. The captive princess sits in her suffocating white vestments, her iconic two-pronged mask facing downward, completely unresponsive to your entrance.

"My, my... an official inspection from the high towers," Lace purrs, her voice carrying a theatrical, glass-like chime as she gives the golden lead a sudden, firm yank.

CLINK-CLANG.

The heavy links rattle violently against Hornet's golden collar. Instantly, with an eerie, mechanical fluidness, Hornet’s head snaps upward. Her dark, hollow eye-slits stare blankly ahead, completely devoid of the blinding, fiery defiance that once defined her. Her silk-bound hands remain folded flawlessly in her lap. She does not breathe; she does not flinch. She simply waits.

Lace glides off her chaise, her cream and pale-gold robes swirling around her weightless, silk-woven body as she drifts over to the kneeling automaton. She rests a slender, porcelain-smooth hand on top of Hornet's mask, leaning down to look you directly in the eyes with a sharp, dangerous smile.

"As you can see, the clergy's little masterpiece is behaving beautifully," Lace chuckles softly, her fingers tracing the edge of Hornet’s cold mask. "Her mind remains a perfect, tranquil fog. She spins the finest divine thread on command, she acts as a flawless ornament for my court, and she hasn't shown a single flicker of her old, troublesome self. But please, feel free to run your little clinical tests. Shall we demonstrate her absolute obedience for the clergy, or do you intend to stand there gaping at my gift all morning?"

The sharp, blinding glare of the stained-glass windows is the first thing that hits your vision as you are slammed violently against the cold marble floor. The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, and your weapon clatters uselessly across the stone, far out of your reach.

A heavy, terrifyingly precise weight presses down directly onto your chest, pinning you flat. You look up, gasping for air, and find yourself staring into the sharp, amused eyes of Lady Lace.

She stands over you with an airy, effortless grace, the tip of her brilliantly polished, gold-accented pin-rapier resting lightly against the hollow of your throat. Her entire body - sculpted from pure, high-density white Citadel silk - gleams with an artificial, porcelain perfection under the midday sun. Her cream and pale-gold rose-petal robes rustle softly, completely undisturbed by the brief, one-sided scuffle that just occurred. She didn't even break a sweat; to her, your desperate ambush was nothing more than a minor choreography.

Just a few paces away, completely ignoring the violence, sits Hornet. The white-robed princess remains kneeling flawlessly on her velvet cushion, her hands bound in decorative silk wraps, her dark eye-slits staring blankly into the distance. She doesn't call for guards. She doesn't flinch at the sound of your struggling. She is a completely vacant, hollow spectator.

Lace lets out a low, theatrical chuckle, the sound vibrating with a mocking, glass-like chime as she deliberately shifts her silk-woven foot to press a little harder against your ribs. In her left hand, she casually twirls the heavy golden leash that leads directly to Hornet's collar.

"My, my... what an incredibly bold little pest we have sneaking into my private gardens," Lace purrs, leaning down slightly so her sharp mask is just inches from yours, her voice dripping with dangerous amusement. "Did you really think you could just walk in here and play the grand savior? Did you think you could just snatch my precious, broken little doll away from me?"

She glances over at the statuesque Hornet, a complex, mocking smile tugging at her features before she turns her lethal gaze back down to you. She presses the tip of the rapier just a fraction deeper against your skin.

"Look at her. She doesn't even know you're here. She wouldn't care if I painted these white marble floors with your blood right this second," Lace whispers, her eyes narrowing with a sharp, possessive heat. "The clergy spent so much effort unmaking her, and she belongs entirely to me now. So, before I decide to let my needle slip... who sent you down from the spires, and what makes you think you have any right to touch my favorite gift?"

​The heavy, ash-choked fog of the lower terraces clings to your cloak as you navigate the narrow stone pathways just outside the Citadel’s monumental perimeter walls. You were entirely focused on your own business, trying to stay clear of both the upper clergy’s enforcers and the heavy, industrial grind of the lower districts.

​SWISH-ZIP!

​Before you can even register the sound, a blindingly white, razor-thin silken cord whips out from the upper fog bank. It coils with terrifying, fluid speed around your torso and arms, pinning them instantly to your sides. With a sharp, weightless yank, you are hoisted off your feet and dragged up a steep limestone incline, tumbling onto the smooth, pristine marble of a secluded outer terrace.

​You gasp for breath, struggling against the tight, high-density threads, only to look up and find Lady Lace standing directly over you.

​Her exquisite, silk-woven frame gleams with artificial perfection under the filtered sunlight. She holds the coiled end of your binding thread casually in one hand, while her other hand lightly twirls the heavy golden leash of her favorite asset. Just behind her, Hornet steps out from the rose-scented mist, her heavy white vestments trailing flawlessly over the stone. Her porcelain mask is tilted vacantly forward, her dark, hollow eyes staring right through your struggling form with absolute, unprompted obedience.

"Oh my... goodness gracious me," Lace gasps, though her voice drips with a theatrical, drippingly sarcastic mock-dismay. She drops her hand to her cheek, her sharp eyes flashing with immense amusement. "What a completely dreadful accident! I was simply practicing my casting forms with a bit of fresh Citadel thread, and a clumsy little stray bug just happened to wander right into my line." ​She lets out a melodic, glass-like laugh, stepping closer until her white, silk-sculpted heel is resting casually on the cord binding your chest. She taps the flat of her gilded pin-rapier against her chin, looking down at you like a cat eyeing a bug it intentionally swatted out of the air.

​"Now, a proper citizen of the high courts would have had the decency to watch where they were walking," she purrs, her voice dropping into a sharp, possessive whisper as she glances back at the statuesque Hornet. "But since you are already here, and since my lovely little gift requires a fresh audience to appreciate her flawless compliance... I think I shall keep you for a while. Tell me, little stray, what exciting gossip did you bring me from the mud below, or should I let my needle teach you some proper courtly manners?"