Archive of Our Own ^beta

1) In the Memorial Gardens 

The scary elf just … appears one day. The few known facts about her do absolutely nothing to dispel the aura of danger she carries around, they actually just strengthen it. One, she was the reason Professor Volkarin had taken his sabbatical, visiting the Necropolis over a year ago to personally recruit him. Two, they travelled frequently back to the Necropolis during that time, but only interacted with Myrna and Vorgoth. And three, and mostly importantly, she was an Antivan Crow. 

She was dangerous, the other side of the coin of death. Dealing in the creation of corpses instead of caring for them. 

Naturally, opulent whispers flew around the Necropolis: this was the elf that had cleared out those escaped hauntings, she was a part of the main force that defeated the Blight last year, she has the elven gods blood on her hands, or - and this one was by far the most insane - that she was the reason Professor Volkarin returned from his prolonged sabbatical so happy . 

Marguerite will admit that Professor Volkarin has been exceedingly chipper since his return, but he has always been an upbeat sort of fellow. He truly has a passion for his work and teaching which shines through in every conversation. And his progress with Curiosity! That would raise anyone’s spirit, no pun intended. The little skeleton - Manfred, it even has a name - follows the Professor around like a duckling, always chittering away as if it’s engaged in constant conversation. And it can even say simple words! It’s an astonishing breakthrough in spirit research and she - as well as the entirety of the Necropolis’ population - cannot wait to take his new class on the matter. 

The professor’s new class schedule is another reason the rumor mill is busy. Upon his return, students flocked to his class list only to be disappointed in the meager three classes he was scheduling. Only three! There was a waitlist and rumor has it that two separate physical altercations took place over the advanced courses. When questioned, he had only laughed and said that he was making time to  “continue Manfred’s education and pursue personal matters.” 

Personal matters like showing the scary elf around the Memorial Gardens in the evenings. 

The pair leisurely wound their way around the gardens, halting on occasion to pick flowers or to wait for Manfred to catch up. They made a bit of an odd pair, with the professor being so tall, so prim and proper, while the elf wore a startlingly low cut blouse and was a full head shorter - constantly moving out of the way every time he turned, lest his overcoat’s shoulder pads hit her. 

Hopefully they won’t see Marguerite, she wasn’t sure what she would say if they tried to talk to her. What does one even talk to an assassin about? Nothing that would interest Marguerite, that’s for sure. She just wanted to get some studying done for the upcoming finals while her roommate has exiled her from their room for a few hours. 

The new boyfriend seems to be going well. 

Marguerite scoots closer to her great-great-great grandparents mausoleum which she has set up in front of. Maybe if she extinguished the candles they wouldn't talk to her… a cowardly option for sure but she was taking no chances. They would leave and she could go back to studying. The gardens surely couldn’t hold their interest for long.

Or they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. Marguerite felt her heart sink as the professor drew them to a stop in front of the towering statue of the two lovers. Oh no, they were far too close. She had to get out of here before they spotted her and tried to make her socialize. Professor Volkarin could rope her into a conversation about botany for hours, which Marguerite usually didn’t mind - he had so very many interesting opinions on flowers -  but she wasn’t sure how it would fair if she actually had to meet his lady friend. Slowly she begins to close her books, taking care to not make any noise as she prepares for her escape. 

Professor Volkarin says something as he plucks a blossom from the stalks around them - Delphinim elatum, common name Larkspur, a beautiful purple flower that is deceptively poisonous - and tucks it behind his companion’s ear, making her laugh. His hand remains on her face, stroking her cheek as the pair stare at each other as if they are the only two people in the world. 

Oh no. Oh no.  

Marguerite wants to die, she should not be here witnessing this. He’s her professor for Maker’s sake. And his lover could kill her with only the flower tucked behind her ear. She should not be watching this. 

And yet she’s frozen in place as the assassin tilts her face up into the professor's hand, slotting them together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and off balance, the professor has to throw an arm out to stabilize them. The pair are now pressed into the statue, barely in the shadows. 

As the professor’s hands slide down over her hips, turning the kiss into something more passionate - turning sharply into “unabashedly making out” territory - Marguerite gathers her books and quilt, fleeing back to her room.  

2) During Office Hours

Siofra is having an excellent afternoon. A fantastic afternoon. The best afternoon she’s had in a very long time. Her astoundingly good luck was in full swing: the last class of her day was cancelled and she not only managed to get Caelen to skip his class, but also succeeded in getting Marguerite out of their room for a few hours. With finals looming around the corner, Caelen and Siofra haven’t been able to spare a minute to be together.  

Their relationship was still so new and exciting that every moment apart has been agony. And it wasn’t only finals, class loads were becoming heavier and balancing dates with whose roommate was out for the night was way harder than it seems, especially when they both had the misfortune of having particularly homebody roommates. Siofra can’t even recall the last time Marguerite went out on a date or to a party. 

But none of that mattered now. Siofra had done the impossible and her reward was Caelen’s soft hands unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked a rather large hickey into the side of her neck. She makes sure to run her long fingernails over his scalp and down his long ears just the way he likes, earning her a delicious moan.

Pure bliss . 

Caelen’s hands finally work their way across her breasts just as a pounding on the door has them springing apart, Marguerite flying back into their room not even a second later. The door slams behind her, practically rattling in the frame as she throws her books and blanket onto her bed before turning to her friend. 

“Professor Volkarin and that scary Antivan Crow lady are kissing in the Memorial Gardens!” 

Siofra, sitting on her bed with her shirt open and no bra on, can only manage a strangled, “whaaa?” at the news. Caelen isn’t doing much better, pulling the blankets up over his bare chest and staring at Marguerite with the most befuddled expression. 

Unaware or uncaring of the couples’ general nakedness, Marguerite presses on. 

“Professor Volkarin. And the assassin. Are together. Like, romantically.” She flaps her hands around in the air, pointing and making gestures that presumably back up her statement. She looks like a demented bird. 

Siofra says the very first thing that comes to her mind - “But he’s so old!” - and then feels immediately bad about it. What a wicked thing to say. If her brain was more in her head than floating around Caelen’s hands she might be able to string more than two thoughts together. And, honestly, the whole thing just didn’t make any sense. 

“Professor Volkarin has been single for, like, ever. I didn’t think he even did the whole dating thing.” Siofra slips a few of her buttons back together as she talks. The professor has always been on the more private side for his personal life as well. His dating life has been underwraps for so long that it doesn’t even register to most people. Unlike Professor Pellegre who broadcasts her emotions so loudly that everyone knows when her husband and her are arguing. And they argue a lot. 

“Well he very much does the whole ‘passionately kissing pressed up against a statue in public’ thing! There weren't that many people in the gardens but still! They were very much in public!” 

“Are you sure it was the scary Crow lady?” Caelen looks like the cover of some cheap romance novel with the way he is clutching the sheets around himself. The force of Marguerite’s eyeroll should knock them right out of her sockets. 

“I am sure! And honestly, how likely is it that he was kissing some other woman when the two of them have been joined at the hip since she got here. Raina says she attends to his classes too, just sits in the back and is all mysterious.” 

“And then jumps him in the garden for some quick public indecency? I don’t know Maggie, this all sounds a little … far-fetched? Professor Volkarin is so modest, the man couldn’t be more buttoned up. He doesn’t even take off his coat or roll his sleeves while he works. He seems more of the type to be into gentle lovemaking on a bed of roses - not so much the graphic public displays of affection.” 

Marguerite waves her finger around at the both of them, a flush beginning to appear along her high cheekbones. “Oh no, I know what I saw. You don’t believe me? Fine. But that doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen!” 

~

Siofra puts the whole thing behind her after Marguerite leaves them again. Professor Volkarin and a common Antivan assassin? Doubtful. She’s also maybe twenty at most, but who knows with elves they always look younger than they really are. Caelen looks like he’s barely nineteen years old in bad lighting when in reality he’s closer to thirty. There is absolutely no way the professor’s lady friend can be older than thirty and the professor is obviously in his sixties. Maybe seventies, who knows, he’s been at the Necropolis practically forever. He’s even taught a good majority of the younger teachers on staff. 

Besides, it has been weeks since anyone has even seen “the scary elf lady.” She has all but been forgotten. Final semester exams begin next week and the students of the Necropolis have no extra time to worry about their professors’ hypothetical love lives. Grades are at stake here. 

Which is how Siofra has found herself wasting a perfectly good Friday afternoon sitting outside Professor Volkarin’s office with a notebook full of questions she needs clarified before the exam. Marguerite had been absolutely useless in helping her study, her roommate hasn’t taken a spirit based class since she finished her core studies two years ago. She’s moved on to botany and decay based classes now and has left Siofra to study with her professors. 

How sad. 

She had been lucky to even secure a spot for Professor Volkarin’s office hours today. Even luckier that it had been the last one. Exam season always sent everyone into a tizzy and the professors were forced to put out sign up sheets, otherwise the hallways would be overflowing with students begging for “just a minute of your time!” 

The girl before her had gone into the appointment crying, so Siofra had a little more confidence in her abilities. She could get a better grade than that girl at least. The muffled sobbing from behind the door had stopped, perhaps there was hope for them all. While she had been so focused on taking notes and cross-checking a few facts on the history of the first noble families to build the Necropolis for her - extremely dry and boring - history class, Siofra didn’t even notice another presence in the hallway. Not that she would have paid it much attention if she had, the wisps were always flitting to and fro, causing cold patches and rustling papers off of desks. A hazard of working with spirits. 

The office door opened and the crying girl came out, clutching a stack of books and loose papers but no longer in tears. Siofra looks up and notices the other woman leaning against the wall at the same moment the professor pops his head out of the door. 

“Rook! What a surprise, I was not expecting you for another day or so!” Professor Volkarin’s usually upbeat candor was downright ecstatic at this turn of events. 

The woman - Rook - curls the book she had been reading over on itself, practically bending the spine in half. Siofra was appalled. She may not be the best student but even she knew better than to treat books like that! That better not be from the Necropolis libraries! 

“You know I just can’t stay away. Viago is on a job so I couldn’t resist sneaking out to see my favorite person.” Her voice is more of a purr as she comes to stop in front of Professor Volkarin. The professor’s face looked a bit flushed, oh Maker, were they flirting? Marguerite’s ears must be burning. “Where is Manfred anyway?” 

“He’s just inside finishing up his exercises, I am sure that he will be thrilled to see you, my dear.” Professor Volkarin waves her in the office with a flourish. Rook shoots him what can only be described as a coquettish smirk, tapping her folded book on his chest as she passes. 

“I’m stealing him away for a bit, if that’s okay with you. He probably needs a break after listening to your students cry about how hard their exams will be.” She raises an eyebrow and Siofra flushes at the innuendo. Professor Volkarin finally seems to notice her presence, still sitting on the bench with her notes spread out around her, and blushes . 

“Ah, Siofra, I am terribly sorry, if you would just give me a moment to handle this I will be with you shortly. My apologies.” 

Finding that she could only nod her head at him, it took all of Siofra's energy was being used to keep her mouth shut instead of hanging open like a gaping fool. Their familiarity sure was something but the fact that this woman - Rook, her name was Rook - was going to take Manfred from the professor? That was unheard of! As much as Professor Volkarin encouraged Manfred to explore, the spirit typically stayed close to his side, clearly preferring his company. 

Siofra sighs as she starts to clean up her notes. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long, she only had a twenty minute slot and a whole lot to go through. Looking over her notes was out of the question as she couldn’t help keeping an ear out for their muffled conversation. The professors’ office doors were all made of thick wood that blocked most of the sound, giving students a mostly private audience. The large frosted glass windows, however, let shadows and muffled conversation through. Like now. Siofra could see a tall figure leaning against the desk - Professor Volkarin - as the smaller figure greeted the even smaller figure with a hug and what looked like a game of ‘rock, paper, scissors.’ There's some murmured conversation as what she assumes is Manfred turns to the back of the room. The Professor’s shadow reaches out for Rook’s and she goes willingly, giving him a quick kiss. 

Siofra looks away. She really shouldn’t be watching but Marguerite has been so insufferable since she swore to have seen them kissing in the Memorial Gardens and no one really believed her. Professor Volkarin is hot and all, in an older gentlemanly way, but he’s also weirdly unobtainable. So many students and a few teachers have made passes at him over the years and he just shakes them off. Like he wasn’t really interested in a romantic partnership, which would make sense, the man is practically married to his work. 

The shadows behind the frosted glass tell a different story. 

At first it’s just little kisses and quick pecks, the kind you would give out to tease. But then Rook’s shadow pushes the professor’s back, leaning him farther into the desk as she practically climbs on top of him, clearly deepening the kiss. Siofra can’t tell whose hands are where through the distorted glass and she finds that she really doesn’t want to know if Professor Volkarin is getting felt up in his office right before their appointment. 

A few very long minutes pass before the shadows part, the professor’s chasing after Rook’s for one more kiss. It would be terribly romantic if it was anyone else and if Siofra wasn’t on the verge of a stress induced meltdown. She can feel her face burning. 

Finally the door opens and Manfred comes rushing out, happily hissing and repeating “Rook! Rook! Rook!” while Rook follows with a knapsack slung over one shoulder. She leaves the door open as she passes Siofra’s bench.  

“He’s all yours. Good luck on the exams!” 

Siofra manages a smile and little wave as Rook and Manfred start down the hall. Neither of them say anything about Professor Volkarin already sitting behind his desk, looking slightly disheveled when she enters the office. She just pulls out her notebook and closes the door behind her, praying that her face isn’t too red.  

Caelen won’t believe her anyway. 

3) In The Library

If anyone asks Caelen - and they won’t, they never do - he would say that everyone is blowing this whole thing out of proportion. For one, who even cares that one of their professors is finally getting some. And even if he was, it is highly doubtful that his lover is an Antivan Crow. Whoever started that rumor is probably very smug as now everyone is treating it as if it’s a fact. The likelihood of a man like Professor Volkarin, a scholar who has dedicated his life to the Mortalitasi Mourn Watch, finding anything in common - let alone to love - in a foreign assassin for hire is outrageous. 

The Crows might have helped during the unusual Double-Blight-Caused-By-Old-Gods debacle last year but they aren’t exactly known for being team players outside of their own immediate interests. Professor Volkarin’s ‘young lady friend’ is more likely to be one of those pirates in Rivain than an assassin. Honestly, the whole thing is ridiculous. 

Over the past week the rumors have turned away from the general excitement of the relationship and towards whether or not this ‘Rook’ is playing the long game to kill a senior necromancer. Why anyone would want to put a contract hit out on Professor Volkarin, Caelen has no idea. He doubts that even in the professor’s long life that he has many enemies. Maybe the hit is from someone who is taking out the entire Mourn Watch? Much more plausible, at least, the rest of Thedas is ages behind in funeral rights. Most still burn their dead like heathens. 

Not that Caelen has much time to ruminate on the matter. Two of his professors have already given out research papers the moment their exams have concluded so here he was, being a model student and attempting to find references from the library. Botany and Spirit studies were great and very much needed, but Caelen’s specialty was body preservation and the anatomy books quite literally flew off the shelves. He sends up a prayer to the Maker that the exam insanity is over and students have started to return their study materials. The best reference books are in the very back to the library, of course, locked away and never allowed to leave the premises, but he has a plan. 

Caelen wasn’t below begging and pleading with the library assistant to grant him a temporary pass to the locked shelves. He puts on quite the show, almost crying in front of them as he begs. Ayven is well known for not handling big displays of emotions well and it works in Caelen’s favor. They quickly write up a pass for him, spouting off the rules as they shoo him away, threatening to freeze him if anything is out of place when he’s finished. He’s now set up quite the spot for himself back here, squeezing a low table between two shelves to spread out on, the space already overflowing with papers and open books. Most of the advanced anatomy books were still here, thank the Maker. He needs to get the outlines done today - with potential references noted - before the library closes. 

It’s a task of the utmost importance; Siofra has planned their whole weekend together and there is no time to lose before the holiday break tears them apart. Caelen isn’t too excited to go back home for a few weeks; his younger sisters have been unbearable with all of their nosy questions about his dating life. 

He is too busy planning his potential hiding spots from said sisters as he browses the shelves to hear the conversation happening a few rows down. It isn’t until he rounds the corner that he sees who else is in the reference section: Professor Volkarin and his unlikely assassin. 

Andraste’s tits.

The professor leans against one wall, head turned away from Caelen, completely enraptured in his lady’s actions of scaling the library ladders. He looks absolutely smitten. It’s almost embarrassing to witness. Rook barely glances at the titles before pulling books off the shelves and passing them to the professor. Caelen backs his way out of the exposed aisle, pressing his back against the adjacent shelves, craning his neck to still have the pair in his sight. Marguerite and Siofra would neve forgive him if he didn’t report back. Luckily for all of them, elves have excellent hearing. 

“I shouldn’t be so surprised, but I am really impressed by how many books about poisons the Necropolis has! These are fantastic, I think some of these are first editions! Viago is going to be so jealous.” Caelen can’t believe that Siofra never mentioned Rook’s accent - decisively Antivan. He might have even overlooked it if not for the fact that she seems genuinely excited about books of poison, who but an assassin would be excited over poison tomes? 

“Yes, well, we deal with all manners of death in the Mourn Watch, my dear. Poison has always been a crowd favorite with the nobility and their many coups. Why just a few years ago -”

“Oh a book on animal venoms! Sorry, love, I interrupted.” Rook spins on the ladder, leaning against the shelves as she opens the tome. “Viago is going to be so sad he missed this, he loves venoms.”

“No worries, my dear. I am glad that you are enjoying yourself.” The professor sets the stack of books he has been holding on the floor. He smiles up at Rook as he comes to stand at the bottom of her ladder, one hand resting on her calf. “I was of the belief that Viago was more into poisons, which are quite discernable from venoms.” 

Rook beams down at him. “I see that you’ve been doing your research, professor. Perhaps in the hopes of getting my family to like you?” 

“Just so.” Professor Volkarin presses a small kiss to her calf above where his hand rests. It’s shockingly intimate. “I am not so superlicious to pretend that he does not frighten me in his own way. He loves you very much and is highly skilled in his craft. I have no doubt that if he truly wants me dead that I would not still be standing.” 

“Viago would never take a contract out on you, you need not worry.”

“I think we both know, my dear, that he would draft his own contract if that was the only thing truly standing in his way.”

Caelen nearly gasps out loud. She is an assassin! A Crow! And here they are joking and laughing about her - father? brother? former lover? - killing the professor. 

“Viago thinks very highly of you and he knows how happy you make me, he’s not going to draft a contract up for you. Besides, Teia would never let him.”

“He has a rather interesting way of showing it.”

Rook laughs, a sharp bright sound in the quiet library. “Viago loves three things: his family, his poisons, and being eccentric. He is so happy to have a new person to flaunt about. I’m sure that he will introduce you and Emil any day now.”

“Is Emil another family member that I have to look out for?”

“In a way,” Rook hums, continuing to flip through the tome in her hands, “Emil is the adder that attempted to kill Viago a few years back. He adores that little snake. It’s a very high honor to meet him.” 

“Your family fascinates me, my dear.”

“Coming from the man that adopted a magic wielding wisp-skeleton son.”

“Manfred is -”

“I know, I know, Manfred is different and special but still most definitely your son. You can’t fool me, Emmrich, I was there. I know your secret.” Rook snaps the tome shut with a flourish. “You love him.” 

“Mmm, you’re teasing me. You should stop that, my love, while we are in the library.”

“Oh Emmrich, my dear,” Rook purred, towering over him on the bookcase ladder, “you know that you’ll have to make me .” 

Professor Volkarin growled - growled! - as he reaches out, grabbing her by the chin and pulls her down to his level. Rook was nearly folded in half hanging off of the ladder, a wild look in her eyes and a smirk dancing across her lips. 

“Don’t tease me, my love.” Professor Volkarin sounds wrecked, like he’s holding himself back from ravishing her right here, right now.

“Oh it’s no tease, it’s a promise.” Rook reaches one hand out, gold rings and bangles glinting in the veilfire as she traces her fingers over his lower lip. “I promise that you’ll have to make me.”

Unluckily for him, elves have excellent hearing. He can feel his face burning listening to this. Whatever this is. Flirting? Doubtful, the exchange is so sexually charged that it jumps right past mere flirting and lands in pillow talk territory. He’s learning more about the professor than he has ever wanted to know.

Caelen doesn’t see who initiated the kiss. One moment the two of them were staring at each other, tension thick enough to cut through with a knife. The next moment, they were passionately kissing. The professor’s hand remained on her chin, tilting her head to one side so he could slide his other hand around the back of her neck. Rook moans into his mouth, her own hands coming up to cup his cheeks. It is pretty much a miracle that she stays on the ladder as she is now contorted to reach the professor on the lower level. Professor Volkarin takes another step forward, upsetting their stack of books, one foot now on the bottom rung. 

Fuck the books, fuck his grades, Caelen is out of here.

4 In the Supply Wing

“Oh, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.” 

Ayven freezes, their hand hovering over the ornate glass knob of the main supply room door. 

“Did you put a curse on the door again because I don’t have time for this; Professor Pellegre has run out of ammonia and the first years are starting their lessons on skeletal cleaning.” 

Caelen doesn’t look up from the front desk, spreadsheets and ledgers practically spilling from the haphazardous piles he’s attempting to file. 

“No curse this time, although the stinging nettle curse worked brilliantly. The theft of graduated cylinders has been nearly stopped! Which is good, because I’m really tired of having to petition to order more of them every month.” Caelen glances up at them, a haggard expression in his eyes. “Professor Volkarin has been in there for the last thirty minutes and I’m pretty sure he’s with his scary lady friend.” 

“Oh Maker not you too Caelen! Siofra is rotting your brain. There is no way Professor Volkarin is in the supply wing canoodling like an undergraduate.” 

One of Caelen’s long ears twitch in agitation as he points a finger towards Ayven and laughs. 

“I’ve seen it! With my own eyes! They were in there making out on the library ladders! Siofra saw them in his office during exam week and Marguerite caught them in the Memorial Gardens going at it ages ago!” Caelen waves his hands around, the gesture lost on them. “And she’s a Crow assassin! She can kill you for sneaking up on their very public displays of affection.”

Ayven levels him with a flat look and turns the doorknob. “You all are cracked, exam stress has finally gotten to you. I doubt that she’s a Crow; an assassin worth any grain of salt isn’t going to let students sneak up on her.”

“Don’t say I don’t warn you. They’ve been in there forever, who knows what you’ll find. Who knows if you’ll come out alive. I’ll have Siofra interrogate your corpse just to tell you that I told you so.” 

“Cracked! You are all cracked in the head,” and with a roll of their eyes they leave Caelen behind, heading deeper into the supply wing. 

It was a wing like any other in the Necropolis, long interconnecting hallways peppered with floor to ceiling doors and veilfire braziers lighting the way. The main difference was that most of these rooms did not have windows and the rooms themselves were slower to move around. Which was great for storage. Each door was meticulously labeled, a matching placard hanging eye level next to the doorframe. Underneath each placard was a detailed list of what was in each room and where it could be found. So far, the rooms that moved have kept their signage, making it easier to find them when they wander. The supply wing might be one of Ayven’s favorite places; it embodies organized chaos. 

One would think that ‘ammonia’ would be towards the front of the main hall but Ayven knows that the chemicals room likes to hide in the back, tucked away from the majority of the wisps. Each and every time someone spends the effort moving every decanter and basin somewhere to make things easier, the Necropolis rearranges itself overnight. It was one of Ayven’s favorite things about the Necropolis, how stubborn it could be. It definitely had a personality of its own. 

The veilfire seems to dance as they make their way farther down the halls. Despite Caelen’s warning, Ayven can’t hear anyone else in the supply wing, and voices do tend to echo. He’s probably pulling some prank on them, roped into it by Siofra and Marguerite no doubt. Their obsession with Professor Volkarin’s guest is a bit worrisome. She seems nice enough and stays out of the Mortalitasi’s way. And the curiosity spirit that Professor Volkarin is so fond of absolutely dotes on her. They’ve seen it bring her flowers before, even going so far as to tuck a stem behind her ear. 

Why do they even care? It seems … sweet almost, how the professor and his spirit adore her. If you take the somewhat minor age gap out of the equation, there’s nothing to even gossip about. Other than Caelen’s new obsession with whether she is a Crow or not. 

All of them are cracked in the head. The final year of Mortalitasi candidacy has finally broken their - otherwise brilliant - brains. 

They freeze as the veilfire shifts, throwing new shadows onto the walls. A supply room door is open farther down the hall and the shadows seem to dance around it. Tiny flickers of light betray the cluster of wisps collecting around the frame, bouncing the light around as if the hallway was underwater. Hopefully the door was just left open by a careless Mortalitasi, Ayven didn’t have the time nor the energy to be involved in the protocol that was charting the moving rooms. They probably jinxed it by thinking about how well the supply wing had been behaving lately. 

Peeking around the doorframe just showed an empty room, shelves bare and tables lined up against the far wall. The placard to the side simply said ‘furniture’. So not a misplaced room afterall, just a case of people - or wisps - leaving the doors open. They gave a small glare to the band of wisps as they made to shut the door when movement out of the corner of their eye ade them halt. 

Someone was in there. 

Ayven opened the door again, ready to call out, before promptly shutting their mouth again. Two figures were very occupied in the back corner of the room, half concealed in shadows. Professor Volkarin leans over the smaller figure that is sitting on the table, his hands cradling her face as they kiss. Soft, slow kisses, the really romantic kind when time seems to stop and the only thing that matters is the other person. 

Well, they have to get out here. There is no way that they’re getting roped into whatever this whole thing is. They’ll just avoid Caelen forever; it's not a big deal, maybe they’ll just ban him from the library and never go into the supply wing ever again. Solid logic. 

Very cautiously, Ayven steps back into the hallway, leaving the door open a crack. With the way their luck has been going in here, closing the door would alert them to their presence. They just need to get the ammonia and get out of here. 

They don’t run down the hallway, that’s unbecoming of them. 

It’s more like a brisk walk.

5) In The Hallway 

Usually working in the Grand Necropolis while her youngest sibling studied to join her as a Moralitasi wasn’t such a bad thing. Vanora spends most of her time deep within the tombs, preparing bodies for the funerary rights, and therefore rarely crossing paths with Ayven unless one of them sought the other out. Ordinarily she enjoys spending time with them, even though she was nearly twenty years their senior; they were generally level headed and had a passion for necromancy that rivals even their mother’s. 

Today, however, she was questioning their sanity. 

“I cannot believe that you are feeding into the rumors about Professor Volkarin!” Vanora wants ever so badly to pinch the bridge of her nose yet has been unable to do so with her hands full of various organs. When they had asked her if they could watch her work she had been thrilled at the initiative. Ayven is supposed to be helping her record the weights in her ledger; they have instead spent most of their time together interrogating her on the Senior Necromancer’s love life. 

She wishes that she could take place with the cadaver on her table. He, at least, didn’t have to listen to this absurd conversation. 

“They’re not rumors if it’s true! Half of the Mortalitasi candidates have seen them fooling around all over the place. I’ve seen them with my own eyes - in the supply wing!”

Vanora levels them a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Heart weighs two-hundred and ninety-three grams please write that down. Moving on to the lungs and away from this conversation now.”

“Vanora please, you cannot seriously tell me that not one of the Mortalitasi have noticed. I’m honestly surprised that they haven’t been caught by Vorgoth at this point. Siofra says that the spirits are all worked up over it.”

“While the spirits may be huge gossips, you don’t need to be. Combined lung weight is eight-hundred and forty grams. Professor Volkarin is an adult and can be afforded his privacy when it comes to his romantic life. Right lung is four-hundred and forty-five grams.”

“But that’s just it! It’s not very private if the two of them are getting caught all over the Necropolis!”

“Left lung weight is three-hundred and ninety-five. Why does this matter so much to you anyway, Ayven? Even if you did see them - which I’m not saying you did, but I’m also not saying that you didn’t - why is it such a big deal? People have relationships all of the time, the concept has been around since the literal start of time.” She can’t believe she was even entertaining this conversation. 

“It’s not a big deal it's just Professor Volkarin - one of the most talented Mourn Watchers who was under consideration for lichdom - is out in public acting like a besotted teenager. With a woman that is easily a third of his age. None of that is odd to you?” Ayven waves their quill around, splattering tiny specks of ink on themselves and her notes.

“First of all, Rook is twenty-nine, not a ‘third of his age.’ And secondly, who told you about Volkarin’s assessment for lichdom.” Uncaring of the blood on her gloves, Vanora puts her hands on her hip and tries to muster a glower that would rival their mother. 

“Okay so half his age, whatever. And everyone knows he gave up lichdom, Van. It’s not every day that someone walks away from the biggest honor there is.” Ayven snaps their head up. “Woah, woah, wait. How do you know how old she is?”

Vanora can feel a migraine coming on. Her work is half done and here she is, standing around gossiping about her associates. “I know her age because she told me that she recently celebrated a birthday and is now ‘one year away from thirty.’ I can do basic math, therefore she is twenty-nine this year. And before you ask: Professor Volkarin introduced us in passing. I did not talk to her much longer than that and she seemed nice. They make a handsome couple.”

Ayven was silent for a few minutes as they digested the new information. Maybe this conversation can be over now.

“Back to work, the liver weighs one-thousand, five-hundred and sixty-one grams.” 

“So is she really a Crow then? Caelen is certain she’s a mysterious assassin.”

Oh for the love of the Maker and all that is holy. She takes a grounding breath and sends up a quick prayer for patience, lest she strangles her own kin.

“I typically don’t ask people if they are assassins on my first meeting with them so no, I do not know. I figure either way that it’s not really any of my business, now is it?” She shoots Ayven a glare. “Now then. I’m moving on to the kidneys and we are done with this discussion, are we understood?” 

~

The Maker sure has a sense of humor when it comes to the rest of Vanora’s day. Her and Ayven eventually complete the process of weighing and wrapping the organs. She ends up shooing them away from watching her sew the corpse back up, it's a long and tedious process that she quite enjoys if she can let her mind wander. It must have wandered too far, by the time she is finished cleaning the room it is far past dinner time. 

Hopefully it wasn’t the blood orange salad that she missed out on. The latest cook has a real talent for displaying the oranges that she swears makes them sweeter. With a wave of her hand, she extinguishes the candles and makes her way out of the room. No need to lock up, the apprentices will come through soon enough. Vanora is contemplating if the allure of possible blood orange salad is enough to make the detour away from her rooms when she rounds the corner and can practically hear the Maker laughing in her face. 

For all that she had defended them from her youngest sibling today, here they are in all of their glory: Professor Volkarin and Rook, pressed together in an alcove far too close to tell whose hands were where. 

Her migraine is coming back. 

The professor looms over Rook, nearly folded in half as he pulls her against his body, his overcoat falling down his back. One of Rook’s hands seems to be making its way down the back of his shirt, anchoring them together. She has one leg hooked around his waist, trapping the jacket from hitting the floor. Vanora is grateful for the shadow obscuring their lower bodies; she doesn’t even want to know what the professor’s hands are doing past Rook’s hips. 

Standing in the middle of the hallway and gawking like an idiot seems unbecoming of her. She stands on her principle that it is a perfectly healthy and normal relationship but is coming around to Ayven’s side of this whole … debacle. These two need to learn better locations for their affections. Vanora turns back to the kitchens.

Blood orange salad would be just the thing to fix this. 

+1 In Myrna’s Office 

It’s not very often that Myrna hates her job, but today is definitely one of those days where she feels like she just can’t catch a break. She should have just let Vorgoth handle this, they were so gleeful when they offered to take on the assignment. But, no, Myrna had decided to handle this herself. Keep this quick, keep it professional, in and out in under ten minutes. Then everyone could get back to their actual work. Just five little words to get things started. 

“Professor Volkarin, a word?” 

And so here they were. Sitting in her office staring at each other from across her desk. She wasn’t quite sure where to even start and he was so earnestly sitting there, waiting to solve her problems. She takes a deep breath.

“It has come to my attention that there have been an increased number of spirits of Love and Passion as well as a few Desire Demons making their way into the Necropolis.” Myrna forces herself to keep eye contact with Professor Volkarin, even as his face starts to color. “It is my job to get to the bottom of this and discourage overzealous spirits from causing mischief in the halls. But you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you Professor Volkarin?” 

“Oh dear, Myrna I am terribly sorry for -”

Myrna raises a hand, cutting off the next part of his sentence. “The Necropolis just wants to remind everyone that spirits are such curious things, always watching and responding to their environments. Such a revered professor such as yourself should have no problem discouraging any such spirits from … attaching themselves to aforementioned behaviors.” She raises an eyebrow, “Rook on the other hand… Maybe just limit her visits until after things start to settle down?”

“That is entirely possible. Again, Myrna, I am so very sorry for the trouble our… affections have caused.” He rises in one fluid motion, clearly ready to rush out of her office and never speak of this again. It was sweet that he was so flustered; she knew that Rook wouldn’t be. Rook is rather bold with her affections. One of them must be aware of the situation at hand, however, it is still a learning institute afterall. 

“And Emmrich?” Myrna smiles as he turns back, extreme apprehension of her next words written all over his face. “Congratulations on your engagement, I’m so happy for both of you.”

“Thank you Myrna.” 

“Vorgoth is very excited for the wedding. You can send him back in as you go, I’m sure he’s hovering outside the door trying to eavesdrop.”