Chapter 8

I remember the Boyle party as vividly as when I had first stepped foot into its magnificent, glittering halls. With all the gourmet made foods, the finest décor, and nobles mingling about in their luxurious outfits, I was certain that my appearance, which appeared anything but delicate, would quickly give away my intrusion of the estate, but it was not so.

If anything, I managed to steal away a plethora of fresh fruits, bread, Serkonan sausages and a few accessories fetching hundreds in coin. I helped myself to liberal amounts of Gristol cider whenever the opportunity presented itself, whether from the fountain cornucopias or from behind an unsuspecting maid's serving platter.

The scene was a delightful and merry welcome despite the horrors that I had encountered outside, where tallboys patrolled the festering alleys and patrolmen rounded up any citizens hinting at the slightest symptom of plague. To say the least, the Outsider has particular taste for situations of irony.

I wandered about the halls while guests commented on the "fearsomeness" of my mask, and guards kept their watchful eyes on my whereabouts. Once I encountered one of the Boyles in the music room, who remarked rather disparagingly about how there were no more "men of worth" in Dunwall, and how it had become well on its way to becoming the source of all chaos.

"They ought to turn this city into a prison house," she said with an unmistakable air of arrogance, her white costume gleaming brightly against the candlelight. "The city watch has lost complete control over containing the plague rats, and the streets have become so disgusting, I can hardly fathom why anyone of taste would remain here much longer. It is truly an embarrassment of our reputation."

"Say what you will, but I remain in support of the Regent. At least there is someone in position of power who can solve this crisis," said another red-masked man.

Their conversations serving as motivation towards my goal, I eavesdropped on potential clues to the target while navigating my way towards the kitchen area.

"This point is off limits to all guests," said a guard captain standing beside the stairway leading upstairs that was visibly cordoned off.

I turned as if to proceed downstairs to the kitchen, but quickly slipped behind his back as soon as he left to "relieve himself".

What followed was a charade of events involving a dogpile of sleep – darted guards in one of the bedrooms, a rendezvous through the attic, and a mass burglary of the Boyle main hallway, where I recovered two Sokolov paintings and a brass Boyle egg keepsake.

As I flipped through the pages of Esma's diary, I discovered her unusual affinity for socializing with men and inviting them over to her estate for evenings of various entertainments. She was the Boyle mistress, dressed in black, as was finally revealed through a hidden letter addressed to her from the Lord Regent.

I carefully made my way downstairs, evading the guardsman I met earlier and blending with the bustling activity of the servants. Spotting Esma's approach from down the confetti – splattered hall, I feigned interest in an antique clock while tracking her progress to a nearby restroom.

I quickly placed a foot in the doorway before she could shut herself in.

"I had hoped to have some privacy in here," she said with a silky voice. "But you are obviously not an ordinary man. Would you be so kind as to offer a lady her space?"

"Actually, I was thinking we could meet elsewhere, more secluded," I responded, putting on my best impression of a debonair gentleman.

"Oh? Perhaps we can talk more in my room upstairs," Esma said with renewed interest.

Admittedly, I was impressed with the ease of which I had pulled off the stint, and even felt saddened in having to follow through with my initiative; she, like Emily, was a young lady at heart, exquisite and adventurous, caught in the spiraling events of this world so fraught with misery and disdain. As we proceeded up the stairs, I contemplated whether the outcome would make for a good tragedy, or a story meant to teach frightened young children on the fates of the hedonistic minds that came to power, but remained questionable as to whom the real perpetuators of sin were.

The door to her dimly lit bedroom opened, and Esma strutted in blissfully. I braced myself, with a hand gripped on my blade and the other glowing with the Outsider's mark. Rather than betray my guilt, I stepped behind her line of sight to encourage her anticipation.

"Oh, I do love surprises; I see you are as graceful as you appear…dangerous, and mysterious, like the man of my dreams…" she said quietly, basking in the warmth of the candle's glow as I brushed her hair behind her face with my left hand.

"The night will go on for an eternity, and you will never feel loneliness again," I whispered.

I sank the blade through her jugular in a brisk, determined moment of action, and shortly after collapsing at my feet, her body vanished into ash and scattered into the air.