Ch 11.3

After the funeral, the Tranquil Pavilion sank into a quiet, suffocating gloom. No one knew why Nisa had chosen the rope. Some whispered about a lover gone wrong. Others murmured about cruelty from another courtesan. The city guards found nothing—no wounds, no signs of struggle—and ruled it a suicide.

Three days passed. The incense faded, but the grief did not. The sisters still moved as if underwater, smiles brittle, laughter gone. And while the Pavilion mourned, its core members gathered behind closed doors.

The meeting hall was tense and dim. Gina and Fina sat off to the side, silent observers, hands folded tightly in their laps. The air felt heavier than usual.

Aisha was the first to break the silence. She stood, arms crossed, voice measured but strained.
“So,” she said, “what is it you wanted to discuss?”

Tevu straightened from her place near the table, eyes hard.
“Nisa’s death,” she said. “Don’t you want to know why she killed herself?”

Aisha’s gaze flicked toward Kazyak before returning.
“I… I don’t know,” she said carefully. “She seemed fine at dinner. The guards investigated. They found nothing.”

That was enough.

Kazyak lunged forward and seized Aisha by the collar of her kimono, claws bared, eyes blazing.
“She died because of those bastards,” she snarled. “And you’re still doing nothing?”

Aisha didn’t flinch, but her ears twitched.
“What are you talking about?”

“The guest house,” Kazyak shot back. “Those men tortured her. Every girl assigned to them is shaking like a leaf, hollowed out from the inside. They pushed Nisa until she broke. Can’t you see that?”

Aisha pulled free, jaw tight.
“I checked the girls myself,” she said sharply. “All of them. No injuries. Nothing we can prove. Don’t accuse without evidence.”

“Fuck evidence,” Kazyak snapped. “I’ve watched long enough. I’m not waiting for another sister to hang herself for you to finally open your eyes.”

Aisha’s voice hardened.
“And that’s exactly what they want. They’re provoking us—baiting us into attacking so they can turn it against the guild. Can’t you see the bigger picture? They’re luring you.”

Tevu spoke then, arms still folded, tone grim.
“I agree with Kazyak. They’ve stayed too long. Since they arrived, none of the girls assigned to them is right in the head. Maybe there’s no proof—but if we wait for proof, it might be too late.”

Aisha stared at her, disbelief flashing across her face.
“Even you, Tevu?”

Haria let out a slow sigh from the side of the room.
“I saw this coming,” she said softly. “Wallus and his dogs are absolutely provoking us. But if we move without something solid, the Church will tear us apart. We need evidence—real evidence—or we lose everything.”

Silence followed.
No one argued.
No one looked convinced either.

The quiet stretched on, heavy and suffocating, until it snapped.

“That’s it,” Kazyak growled. She turned on her heel. “I’m going there myself. They’ll have answers. And if they don’t—” her claws flexed, “—I’ll carve the truth out of them.”

Aisha shot to her feet.
“You will not.”

Haria moved instantly, stepping into Kazyak’s path. Her voice stayed gentle, almost apologetic.
“I hate to do this, but you need to cool off. A nap should—”

A sweet, cloying fragrance bloomed from her skin.

Before it could spread, the floor answered a silent command. Stone surged upward, folding around Haria in a sharp, geometric rush, sealing her inside a pyramid of earth. The scent vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

Tevu lowered her raised hand, eyes cold.
“I hate that smell.”

Aisha stared at them, shock giving way to anger.
“So that’s it? You’re just going to confront them on your own?” She stepped forward. “Do you remember how badly you were beaten, Tevu? Do you honestly think you can face Wallus and his crew alone?”

Tevu didn’t waver.
“I’m not alone.”

Kazyak stepped in behind her, claws gleaming.
Gina and Fina rose from their seats as well, moving without hesitation to stand at Tevu’s back.

Aisha’s shoulders slumped.
“Madam Onteko is out of town. Lady Shania is with her. Mesphine isn’t here yet. Riasmel is in deep slumber.” Her voice cracked despite her effort to stay calm. “If any of them were here, I’d agree we could do this safely. Can’t you wait a few days? Mesphine is already on her way back.”

“That’s enough,” Tevu said flatly. “We wait another minute, and another sister breaks. I want those men out of our guild. Now.”

She turned and walked out.
Kazyak followed.
Gina and Fina went with them, silent and resolute.

The doors closed behind them.

Aisha remained alone in the hall, staring at the sealed stone casket that held Haria, the empty chairs, and the path her sisters had chosen—one she feared could only end in blood.

Not long after, Tevu and the others announced a curfew within the Pavilion spaces. And commanded everyone of their sisters to be cooped inside their rooms until further notice. A curfew was swiftly declared by Tevu and the others within the Pavilion. They ordered all their sisters to remain confined to their rooms until a further announcement was made.

It had only been moments since the order was announced—curfew across the Pavilion. Doors bolted. Windows shut. No one wandering the halls.

In a small, quiet room, a single oil lamp burned low, its flame wavering against the dim walls. The shutters were drawn tight, allowing only a thin blade of daylight to slip through the cracks. Chloe sat on the edge of her narrow bed, shoulders slightly hunched, hands resting loosely in her lap.

Her skin was clean now. She had scrubbed until the last trace of sewage stink had vanished.
But the weight clinging to her chest would not wash away.

A girl had taken her own life.

The words echoed in her mind like a bell struck too many times. Suicide. Rope. Hanging.
Her blue, jewel-bright eyes remained fixed on the thin line of sky visible through the shutters.

Why was it so easy to give up on life?
The question stirred something old within her.

She remembered a woman from her village—one of the regulars who came to the church each morning, palms folded, voice soft, faith unwavering. She had trusted the confessional booth with everything. The bruises she hid beneath long sleeves. The husband who drank and gambled. The child she had lost after a violent argument that ended in blood and silence. Still, she came every day, bringing sweets for the children, smiling through pain as if it were nothing more than a passing shadow.

Then, one day, she stopped coming.

Chloe had learned later, in hushed whispers and bowed heads, that the woman had taken her own life after her husband gambled away the last of her savings. All that endurance, all that hope—gone in a single, desperate moment.

Chloe’s fingers curled in her lap as the memory settled. She had been so young then, unable to understand how someone who endured so much could still choose to disappear.

Now, sitting in the Tranquil Pavilion with another sister lost, it finally made a cruel kind of sense.

In the end, she thought quietly, beastfolk or human… we’re not so different after all.

She closed her eyes, palms pressed together in silent prayer—not for answers, but for strength. For herself. For the girls still breathing. And for the ones who had already slipped beyond reach.

A knock broke the quiet.

Chloe stirred, wiping the corners of her eyes before rising from the bed. When she opened the door, she froze.

A girl stood there with a feather tucked awkwardly at her back, short bobbed hair framing a face drained of colour. Her floral kimono hung loosely, as if she’d lost weight, and the shadows beneath her eyes spoke of nights without rest. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to fall.

“Miss Chloe…” the girl whispered, voice brittle.

“Sheila?” Chloe’s concern surfaced instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Sheila’s fists tightened at her sides. Her head dipped, shame heavy in the angle of her neck, and then the dam broke. Tears spilled freely, tracing down her cheeks as her shoulders shook.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.

Sheila stepped forward, and Chloe wrapped her in a hug without hesitation.

The sob that tore out of Sheila was raw and unrestrained. She clutched Chloe’s clothes like a lifeline, fingers trembling as her grief finally found release. Chloe held her close, rubbing slow circles into her back, murmuring softly.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. Let’s first get inside.. okay?”

She guided Sheila inside and shut the door; the world beyond was reduced to muffled silence. Sheila cried until her knees weakened, until her voice broke and her breath came in ragged pulls. Chloe stayed with her through it all, steady and patient, offering nothing but warmth and presence.

Sheila had always been like this—gentle, docile, painfully kind. In a place filled with sharp claws and sharper ambition, girls like her were rare. And rarity bred resentment. Many courtesans despised her softness, mistook it for weakness, though the clients found her adorable and worth protecting. That isolation was why she’d clung to Chloe from the moment she’d been saved, back when a rat-faced client had tried to drag her away in the open. From that day on, Chloe had been her hero.

At last, the sobbing slowed.

Sheila’s eyes were swollen and red, her nose running as she tried to catch her breath. Chloe wiped her face gently, unbothered, then took her hands and held them between her own.

She didn’t ask questions. She waited.

Minutes passed in silence, broken only by uneven breathing. Then, finally, Sheila spoke.

“Nisa…” Her voice trembled. “The girl who died. She was cheerful. Kind. She laughed easily. She was never the type to… to give up like that.”

Her fingers tightened around Chloe’s.

“She changed after we were assigned to serve Mr Wallus and his men,” Sheila continued, eyes fixed on their joined hands. “All of us did.”

She swallowed hard, and the truth—long buried, long feared—began to surface.