** Could an undying love blossom in the ruins of a shattered world? **
And so the world of men was lost
and a new one, our world,
was born.
- Morrígan
Goddess of the Battle
of the Túatha Dé Danann -
4th cycle anno Bellum.
The Second World War...
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Myreille remained behind as a frame piece gave way and fell clattering to the ground. The sea of shards glittered in the silver-white moonlight as her attentive eyes rested on the dead satyr.
The fabric of her robe flowed around her figure like mist as she dropped to one knee beside the satyr. The buttons of the vest were already undone, a sign of a struggle. Myreille's eyes were drawn to a slender, bloodstained chain, a guide to a secret. Her slim fingers, nimble and precise, slid into the worn, blood-soaked pocket inside. The metal clinked softly as she pulled the pocket watch from its tight hiding place in one fluid motion. The silver lid rattled, revealing a cracked glass above an antique dial. A sentence, a cryptic message, was engraved on it in curved letters:
"Retrouvez-moi dans une autre vie," Myra murmured softly. "Meet me in the next life."
The strigoi's bluish lips curled into a brief smile. Even if the filthy murderer of a Caith-Sith had gotten his hands on Orestes before her, he couldn't erase all traces.
The glowing eyes of bright glaciers, a reflection of her determination, slid to the window, where the shards glistened like fresh snow in the moonlight. Now, with the murderer still at large, was the time to act. She had to catch him and rush to the aid of her small, cheeky protégé before the bloodthirsty tomcat turned Casimir into mincemeat...
The moon shone silver-white over the world. A world that has changed in so many ways over the decades of its existence. Once, this light illuminated a city famous for its romance.
Old Paris was the city of love—the perfect place for her master because she never slept, especially not at night. The clatter of hooves filled the air as horse-drawn streetcars and carriages rolled over the cobblestones. The Eiffel Tower towered into the sky, and from the iron spire, you could look out over the sea of lights, see the stars twinkling overhead, and listen to the whisper of the distance on the wind.
It was a peaceful, almost fairytale-like picture that could not have been more deceptive. Even then, a disease was growing beneath the surface, ultimately ending in this fiasco.
Now the big, bad wolf, or rather the loup-garou, roamed the woods, gargoyles hunted through the streets like hawks, farfadets - popularly known as imps - roamed everywhere like a plague of rats. And a damned water snake lived in the Seine, where it struck fear into anyone who dared to pollute the water or venture into its favorite place.
