A tale of artists, intrigue, and the magical renaissance

6.01 – Octo Studeo {The Eight Studios}

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter


Master Bernardo De Luca liked the quiet calm of his Studio’s halls at night. The sound of footsteps echoing, the gentle light that emanated from the painted designs on the tops and bottoms, courtesy of garzona Flickerflow so many years ago.

It was also a nice change of pace to have a garzona following behind him, curious but quiet, without jabbering or asking questions, without levelling accusations even though she’d finally connected who and what he was.

She’s grown, he noted to himself as he walked, she’s changed. It had been months since he had seen the little fabera, almost a year since she had shown up at his little studio, but then he knew she would change.

He knew this of all of his students, present and former, with the exception only of Midora.

He knew quite a few people, a lot better than they knew themselves.

“Master De Luca,” Ele spoke up first, breaking the silence, and Bernardo sighed internally.

“Yes, Ele?”

“Sir, we’ve got a lot of people who really need our help right now, do you think-”

“He knows what he’s doing, Ele,” Elena murmured, “he’s Master Zeus, he’s handled worse than this before.”

Bernardo swung the door to his office open, gesturing for them to enter before him. The relevant blueprints were already laid out, he’d been reviewing them for hours. All but Elena’s.

“You asked me about my Storm, when you were here as a provisional garzona. You’re not the first to have done so, I assure you, but you’re the first to have spent time both as my garzona and alongside members of the Eye. I trust you’ve put two and two together by this point?”

“No,” Elena said, “not entirely. Master Zeus has information about people that he can’t possibly get…and you’re too dangerous to have in the courts. These look like designs? Building plans for people?”

Bernardo watched the girl walk around the room, unaware that she was the first person she’d let look at his blueprints in many years. As she spoke, he walked to the bookshelf and searched through his collection of scrolls.

“It’s a good enough metaphor for our purposes.”

“You have some sort of shorthand here, I can’t read it, but this looks like Prince Langone,” Elena said, stopping in front of the most relevant painting. It had been so natural for so long that Bernardo barely remembered that others couldn’t read the spidery shorthand that circled the sketch of the Prince of Milia, a design of the man he was inside, slowly and almost imperceptibly shifting as the man himself was rearranged.

“Prince Langone indeed. The man who chafes beneath the Studio system his king has imposed upon him, who bristles under the arguments of his Principessa. An outside source who knows how to play his mind exactly how she pleases…”

“You knew all of this was going on, and you haven’t done anything about it?” There was a hardness in Elena’s voice, and despite himself Bernardo inwardly smiled. The fire in her eyes was good, he liked to see that in the Eye’s junior members, it was a point in her favor that she was willing to take him to task when she saw him as neglecting his duties.

“It only came together tonight,” he answered, “the Prince wants a revolution to put down for political capital, not knowing that his ally means for that revolution to be utterly successful. Unfortunately, he is being influenced by his husband, by the Rebel Queen, by others less directly, it makes him harder to map out, and thus harder to predict. My Storm is much more concerned with the single person rather than the connections between them. Usually, that is.”

“Usually?” Elena latched onto the word as Bernardo unfurled the scroll in his hand, as he knew she would. Bea would’ve scolded him for his theatrics, but he couldn’t resist.

“In a few rare cases, I see a subject who is seemingly influenced by everyone around her.” He clipped the blueprint to the easel over the Lady Falmina, stepping back to let Elena get a good look.

“It’s me,” Elena said matter-of-factly. The diagram of her was static, but the numbers and notes that filled and annotated her slowly moved across the blueprints. “Is this how you know which of your garzona to get rid of? You plot them out in your architecture designs and can tell who will do well?”

“More complicated than that,” Bernardo said, “I still get to know my students, to watch them and review their art…but it gives me an idea of potential. Sometimes that potential is wasted. Sometimes that potential is realized. Other times that potential is marvelous for a garzona’s career, but not well suited to the studio system. In your case-”

“If it’s alright, Master De Luca,” Elena interrupted, “that’s not why I came here. The Eye and my friends are in trouble, and the longer we wait here…”

“Of course,” Bernardo nodded. He was very much interested in why the girl had cut him off. Was it that she really didn’t care why she hadn’t been accepted into his studio, or was it that she was afraid to find out? One would be very much in keeping with the frightened young girl who first arrived at Studio De Luca. The other seemed more in line with this commanding woman who stood before him, hands clasped behind her back, looking at the blueprint with her brow furrowed.

“With the two of us, we have some resources even without the Eye,” he said, “though if we’re attempting to move tonight, perhaps not as much as you may think. Given the nature of your abilities and your familiarity with the situation, I would assume you will be able to come up with a plan?”

“I think we have all of the resources we need right here, Master De Luca,” Elena seemed to have caught her breath by now, although each breath was coming shallowly and she clutched at her left side. “I have a plan.”




Master Flaviano Crivelli needed eight hours of sleep every night. It wasn’t a matter of wanting them, he needed them to function, and his servants all knew that, his garzoni all knew that, anyone who was familiar with him knew not to disturb him as he slept.

This meant that he knew something was horribly wrong when the knocking at his door roused him, even before his servant informed him that Master De Luca was waiting in his foyer.

Flaviano didn’t like to pidgeonhole himself by making flashy entrances or playing around with intimidation and showmanship. When he entered the foyer, it was through the side entrance and wrapped in his customary red cloak.

“Master De Luca,” he said, clasping the old man’s hands in his own, then falling silent to step back. Fla greeted Bea silently, then stood at his customary spot at Flaviano’s side, and the room lapsed into silence. He had nothing to say, and was quite willing to let De Luca begin explaining the curiosities sooner rather than later.

There were curiosities aplenty in this little scene: a fellow master calling to his studio in person, the call arriving so late at night, a young courtier girl in a ripped and bloodstained dress and bandages.

The silence stretched for a long few moments, and a quick glance at the faces of his visitors told him that the Master was waiting for the girl to speak, while the girl was respectfully deferring to her elders. Crivelli sighed and turned to Master De Luca. “Something tells me this is not good news.”




“I wish it were better news that brought us to your studio tonight,” Master De Luca began quietly, “but tonight is not a night for good news. I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s been a rebellion brewing within Milia?”

Master Tomasia Gritti hadn’t heard, in fact, and a glance at Tom confirmed that he hadn’t heard a thing either. A few months back she had gotten word of some smugglers captured as they tried to raise funds, but she had thought it ended there. Though the feeling of being left in the dark was not new to her at all, it still rankled no less.

Why was she always the last to know? Why was she always the Master behind? Did the other Masters have so much trouble? She doubted it. Even when she thought she was up on the latest movements in Milia, something always happened to show her how behind the times she really was.

Take the girl, for instance. She hadn’t ever met Cog in person, but the girl had been described to her enough to recognize. Tomasia had been absolutely confident that the girl had failed out of Studio De Luca, that she was now a garzona at Studio DaRose, but apparently her information there had been wrong as well.

And now, to learn there was a rebellion in Milia…it was enough to make Tomasia grip the edge of her table to keep the frustration from showing on her face.

“Of course I’ve heard,” she said, raising her chin a fraction of an inch. Her mind raced, trying to get ahead of the information for once. A battered girl from court, accompanied by the highest Master of the hierarchy…what would bring the two of them together in a single purpose like this? The answer hit Tomasia like a lightning bolt.

“I presume that you’re here to try to recruit me for that same rebellion,” she said, forcing a confident air into the words. Master De Luca’s eyebrows shot up, and for a single glorious moment Tomasia thought that she was finally, finally ahead.

“Absolutely not,” Master De Luca said, dashing Tomasia’s hopes, “it is in fact my loyalty to Milia that brings me here tonight.”

“Of course,” Tomasia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, “go on.”

Why couldn’t she have all of the information, just this once?




His loyalty to Milia, not his loyalty to the Prince. Were it another Master, I might be worried by that phrasing.

It was a great boon, being able to have all of the information. Master Rachel Malatesta had always known this, it was the reason she had risen so far even though she was the youngest of the Masters in Milia. Even knowing this, it was in moments of great emergency that the boon truly began to show itself. Hundred Eyes had informed her of Master De Luca and Elena Lucciano from the moment they left their studio, and by the time they had travelled to Studio Crivelli and Studio Gritti and arrived at Studio Malatesta, Rachel was ready for them, fairly confident that she knew the broad strokes of the situation.

Voicebox’s source in the castle had already informed them of the small uprising in the castles, so far blamed on the rebels who had been slowly amassing their forces over the past year. A group of students and spies, from the sounds of it, and the guards were still trying to flush them out which indicated Stormtouched students and spies.

Of course all of the information was rather a moot point when the girl sat here in a hastily-mended but bloodstained dress and bandages. Cog had undoubtedly been involved, but her presence here with Master De Luca, known friend and confidant of higher courtiers in the Florenzian court than Rachel had even met, meant she would at least hear the pair out.

“You know the respect I hold for you, Master De Luca,” Rachel said, “that respect is the sole reason I’m meeting with you today. This girl is absolutely no friend to Studio Malatesta, nor, if my sources are correct, is she a friend of the Milian crown at the moment. I trust whatever you’re about to say about the rebellion isn’t going to make me feel unsafe as a loyal subject to His Princeps Langone.”

There was a desk between them and she, and beyond the curtains behind her two stone servants Alfonso and Galeazzo waited for a signal from Rach. Unseen by De Luca and Cog, Patchwork lurked invisible in the corner, a final determining factor should things turn ugly. There was a reason Rachel trusted she wouldn’t feel unsafe.

“His Princeps Langone has been assisting the rebels,” Master De Luca said simply. His simple frank statement was enough to catch Rachel off-guard, a feeling incredibly rare and unpleasant for her. “He seeks to restructure the Studio system in a way more pleasing to him, and to do that he needs an upheaval.”

“You think he’ll take credit for putting the rebellion down and then blame the Studios for causing unrest?”

“We don’t believe he’ll even need to go that far. Even if he makes the case that the Studios encourage violence, it might be enough. At the back of a rebellion His Princeps will have the capital and momentum to make whatever changes he wishes, while giving His Highness the King an excuse not to punish him for it.”

Rachel tapped a finger against her chin, turning the words over in her mind. Was this another ploy by the nasty little girl? If so, it was impressive that she’d roped Master De Luca in on it. The pieces all seemed to fit, but that didn’t always mean they were true. And even if they were true, it still left the difficult question of what she should do about it.




It was a difficult question, deciding what to do about it. Master Addoralata Nencia wanted very much to pace, he thought better when he paced, but pacing might give the wrong impression. Addoralata didn’t sit, and so his visitors didn’t sit, the three of them standing in the bare and functional meeting room. Along the edges of the room, his garzoni stood at attention, their black uniforms and masks pleasingly in line, the students both decorative and functional. Behind him, Addoralata could tell, his Echo was probably pacing, but her movement only highlighted his steadiness, a counterpoint to his rock-solid nature.

If the little courtier was Cog, that would explain why she kept glancing worriedly at the students that lined the walls. Studio Nencia garzoni held a deep grudge for Studio DaRose, and for her in particular, for the mental wounds Bronzehand had sustained from a fiery torture glued to his hand.

Addoralata didn’t bear any such grudge. DaRose had shown themselves capable of the right amount of brutality, and he respected the girl Cog for it.

He mentally shook himself. That was beside the point, and he couldn’t let himself be swayed by the fact that giving his support to De Luca would make for one hell of a fight.

“It’s an interesting ethical quandary you’ve presented us with, Master De Luca and Cog,” he finally said.

“How is this a quandary?” Cog said, but Master De Luca held out a hand and the presumptuous girl quieted at once.

“I’m only thinking aloud here,” Addoralata mused, “but it seems to me a matter of discerning which side honor demands we support. Is it more honourable to support His Princeps, ruler of Milia, against those who oppose him? Or is it more honourable to support Milia, against His Princeps himself. It’s important to make the choice that keeps us honourable…”




“It’s important to make the choice that keeps us safe, whether that’s saying ‘yes’ to Master De Luca or supporting His Princeps.” Snugglet had gotten better at articulating her points, and Master Monetto Foscari was proud of the mousy girl.

“Young lady, I don’t believe that is your decision to make,” Master De Luca said harshly, and Monetto sighed with annoyance, watching Snugglet wilt in her seat like a flower. He would never figure out why the other Masters found it so hard to understand what he stood for, to follow his thought process.

“It’s none of your-” Monetto began, but before he could continue his Echo Mone broke in.

“There is a reason this table is a circle, Master De Luca,” she said gently, indicating the place the group sat. Monetto and his Echo were at one end, De Luca and his Echo on the other, and around the table sat the garzoni of Studio Foscari, their Echos standing beside them. “An idea of merit has merit even if spoken by the lowest garzoni. A thought worthy of critique is worthy of critique is no less worthy because the Master has said it. Snugglet, please continue.”

“We’ve just… we’ve done very well for ourselves following a path of self-preservation,” Snugglet said quietly, shooting a frightened look at Master De Luca, “it makes the most sense to me to continue doing that.”

“Perhaps we stand to gain by supporting Master De Luca,” Expanse said, “in a post-Langone world how does Foscari fare?”

“There’s no question which is the safer route,” Inkblot spoke up, “the worst His Princeps will do to a Studio if he ends the Studio system is disolve us. The worst he’ll do to a Studio that opposes him is execute us all.”

Monetto nodded silently, his brow furrowed deep in thought. After a few moments of quiet, when it became clear that no more of his garzoni wished to speak their mind

“The question is not at all easy, but it is at least simple,” he said, “I believe we’re ready to vote.”

“You’re voting?” Master De Luca asked incredulously. Monetto grit his teeth at the Master’s condescension, but he didn’t say anything.

“Owl would vote to oppose His Princeps,” Cog spoke up for the first time.

“Owl’s objectivity is compromised,” Inkblot began, but Monetto raised a hand and the table fell silent.

“Objective or no, Owl is not here. Only those who are here will vote, I’m afraid we do not look well upon the practise of deciding how someone would vote or not. In Studio Foscari, we do not much care for intrigue.”




“Master De Luca, Garzona Cog, we do not care for intrigue here.” The girl Spectacle was doing a fine job of impersonating her, Master Saturnian Issota thought. Spectacle sat at the head of the table, cutting an imposing, commanding figure. Spread out along the wings of the table, Saturnian’s garzoni sat quietly, there only for the impression they gave, and sitting among them, her face covered by the same mask that they all wore, Saturnian watched the pair.

“We hardly come to foment intrigue, Master Issota,” Master De Luca said, “we’ve come to warn you that Milia is about to catch fire, and if we do not act quickly, it may burn far brighter and hotter than we can withstand.”

Beneath the edge of the table, Saturnian began writing once more. That’s very…

“That’s very well for you to say, Master De Luca, but it sounds as if you propose a second rebellion, one layered on top of the one we already know of. That seems to be intrigue to me.”

“Can we drop the ruse, if you don’t mind?” Master De Luca’s words sent a chill down Saturnian’s spine. Had the old man realized he was talking to one of her students, not her? Her mind raced with the implications. She’d have to come up with a new method of keeping herself safe from assassination attempts, and it would have to be less straightforward, perhaps paying a very skilled Caelator to-

“Studio Issota loves intrigue,” Maser De Luca finished, and Saturunian relaxed. She wrote another phrase, and Spectacle spoke it aloud as soon as the words appeared in her mind.
“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Studio Issota thrives on intrigue, Master Issota. Stretching your limbs in studio battle has kept you stated for some time, but you have been desperate for this day to arrive since the moment your Studio was founded.”

Saturnian’s eyes flicked to the garzona impersonating her, then up to the ceiling where a lever would release a paralytic purchased from Gritti upon the visitors.

“Alright…You may have a point,” Saturnian said aloud. The surprised looks on De Luca and Cog’s faces were delightful.




The whispers had told him that he was going to die today. That wasn’t too worrisome, they’d predicted his death five times already and none of them had come true. The real question was, was the little box of whispers trying to tell him that he was going to die, and it was calibrated along the incorrect path of time? Or was it that it was telling someone they would die today, and the whispers were meant to be told to someone else? Maybe it couldn’t tell the future after all, he could be wrong about that theory.

“Have you heard what we’re telling you, Master DaRose?” Elena asked, and Omerto started and looked up. Little Cog was looking at him piteously, but despite the rumors he was quite able to follow two trains of thought at once.

“You say His Princeps is assisting the rebellion, Cog, I’m right here,” Omerto said testily. Isadora looked relieved, which only serve to annoy him further, but he was at least glad that if he missed one or two details she would remember them. An excellent memory, on that girl.

Memory, that was an interesting thought, perhaps the box of whispers was concerned with the past, not the future? That would certainly be much easier to test for, he’d only need to bring in sets of histories, although now that he was thinking on the subject there was a much easier method of tracking things down.

If he could apply another layer to the lowermost level of the box, he could add more phrases generated, and connecting those to the little series of clocks could let him create further voices that spoke times. Hooking the time-voices to the main-voices would be incredibly difficult, and he ran the risk of breaking the delicate mechanism by which the box of whispers selected the next word, but that might be a risk he would have to take.

“-would’ve thought that having Master De Luca with me would’ve proved that,” Elena was saying.

“That’s another thing, why is it just you and Master De Luca?” Isadora said, no doubt asking some penetrative and hard-hitting question, “I’d feel a lot more confident of this information if Arturo were here to back you up.”

“I…I…Arturo, he…” Elena stammered, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

Hooking the time-voices and main-voices together would actually be a horrible idea, Omerto suddenly realized. The two speech patterns would be layered onto each other, very hard to distinguish, and he would need to distinguish them to see if they were coming from the future or the past.

How to do it, then? Could he layer in some sort of timing mechanism, a clock independent from time but solely linked to the timing of the voices? How could he even go about doing that? Was there a kind of- Omerto clutched his head with one hand. He appreciated Isadora’s enthusiasm, but he was sure that the girl didn’t have to yell quite so loudly. Ah well, if it were uncalled for then Elena wouldn’t be crying. Now where was he.

Ah yes, a timing mechanism…




“Your Princeps, please, sir, I’m sorry to wake you…”

Prince Langone was on his feet almost before the stammering guard had finished talking. Good news didn’t come before the sun rose, certainly not with an apology. He pointed at the door, but Rodiano was already stirring behind him.

“What is it, love?” his husband murmured.

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” Prince Langone ran a gentle hand down the side of Rodiano’s face, before turning to follow the guard out. “What happened? What went wrong?”

“I’m sorry, your Princeps, the old woman, you told me to obey her orders on pain of death, and she said to wake you at all cost-”

“Where is she now?” Normally Prince Langone would’ve been more patient with the man, but this news was becoming more and more worrisome the longer it took to receive it. “Did she tell you anything but to wake me?”

“She’s on the greater balcony-”

Prince Langone took off at a run, so suddenly that his personal guards standing on either side of the door were startled into stillness for a few moments before they careened after him. Damn dignity, if there was something happening that could be seen on the greater balcony, that was a very, very bad thing. The greater balcony had a view over the walls of Milia, which meant the old crone had seen an army.

No, not just seen, Langone realized. If there was something to see, his watchmen would’ve seen it first, he’d be alerted to an army seen on the horizon. This was the crone, which meant it was something she knew was coming.

He burst out onto the greater balcony, panting in the cold spring night air. The crone stood on her own, resting her weight on her cane and looking out over Milia. Prince Langone gestured to his guards to stay by the doors, and walked to join her, scanning the horizon and the city itself.

Not a single prick of light broke the darkness around the city. No banner broke the horizon. The city itself was full of the normal lantern-lit hustle and bustle that marked those moving to set up their markets and shops.

“I don’t know whether to be incredibly relieved or incredibly annoyed,” he said.

“Neither emotion seem particularly appropriate at the moment,” the old crone said testily. “Do you remember when I told you how important it was to kill Cog when we had the chance to? Both times?”

“I remember. Neither failure was my fault, you were there to see it both times,” Prince Langone let the crankiness at being woken up carry through in the tone of his voice.

“No, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s alive. We should’ve tried harder.” The crone extended a wrinkled finger over the balcony to point, and Langone looked down into the city again.

“What is it? Do you see her? I don’t-” the Prince paused and looked closer.

It wasn’t ordinary hustle and bustle down in the lantern-lit streets. The motion was too uniform, the clothes too uniform, the ages too uniform. The crowd was flowing towards the castle.

“The studios? Studio garzoni?” Prince Langone tilted his head to one side, confused.

“Malatesta, Gritti, Issota, Nencia, and Crivelli,” the crone replied. “I don’t see the four De Luca garzoni, though they may be just lost in the crowd, and I don’t see Foscari or DaRose. Other than that, every studio is on their way here.”

“I don’t understand, there’s no meeting or- wait this is Cog’s plan? Sending a bunch of children to storm the castle?”

“Not children, Your Princeps, fighters. Six full studios’ worth of fighters, mostly Stormtouched, ready-made into squadrons and with years of experience working with each other. Years of experience fighting.”

“Milia has an army, I’m hardly worried. What does this affect? How badly can they hurt us?” the Prince asked. The old crone put a hand on the his shoulder and gripped reassuringly in an action he found overly-familiar, but he didn’t say anything.

“As far as hurting me? We’ll see. I don’t relish the idea of slaughtering children or leaving the Studios crippled.”

“We’ll be disbanding the Studios,” Prince Langone reminded, leaning against the railing. The sight of the flowing students was making him dizzy.

“As far as hurting you…you’re not foolish. Cog has told every Studio in Milia that you’re behind the fake rebellion.”

“What do I do?” Prince Langone clung to the railing, his breath tight in his chest, “if they all know, what do I do? I won’t gain anything from putting the rebellion down now!”

“No,” the crone said sadly, still looking at the city below, “and more importantly, you realize that now.”

“We have to shut it down,” Langone gasped, “the whole rebellion, we have to kill it without…without…”

Things seemed loud down below, but a commotion behind him finally caught the Prince’s attention, and he whirled. The action made him so nauseated that he almost slipped, and his vision weaved in and out.

It was hard to make out the image of his personal guards dying at the entrance to the greater balcony, but the blurry carnage was enough for information to finally reach his brain. Reaching up with a weak hand, Langone clawed at his shoulder until he found the little fang buried in his skin. His hand came away red and purple when he tore the fang out, and as he fell to his knees all of his focus was set on just understanding why, in the tiny amount of time he had left.

“It’s a strange thing to fill me with nostalgia,” the old woman said, still looking down over the balcony. She only half turned when the Prince lifted the little fang, a question on his face.

“F…f…for Milia?” he finally managed.

“No,” said the old crone simply, as Langone crumpled to the ground, darkness filling in his vision. “For me.”



Previous Chapter | Next Chapter


If you’ve been enjoying Twisted Cogs, please consider voting for it on TWF


11 responses

  1. Well, this was an unfortunate little cycle…I stayed up late writing, and thus thought I’d put out another delay notice…but since I was so sleepy I definitely didn’t do that right :/

    Hopefully the 5x length chapter makes up for it all! Sorry for the delay and any confusion, and thanks very much for your patience, lovely readers!


    2015-12-22 at 5:45 pm

    • As someone who counts his delays in weeks and sometimes month, I sincerely suggest you relax about a day or two ;)


      2015-12-23 at 4:43 am

  2. RobT

    I call it worth. That chapter was sooooo good. Answers so many questions and asks more.

    I love it.

    Liked by 1 person

    2015-12-22 at 7:55 pm

    • D’aw, thanks so much :) I’m glad you enjoyed it!


      2015-12-23 at 6:40 pm

  3. Bart

    Typo thread while I’m reading

    He knew all of this student
    He knew this of all his students

    And there were a few others, but I was busy devouring the story. It’s so tasty. :)


    2015-12-22 at 8:55 pm

    • De Luca called Elena a garzona, but she is a journeywoman now, no?

      “Why couldn’t she have all of the information, just the once?” I’ve always heard it as “just this once”, but I guess both are just fine :3


      2015-12-22 at 11:59 pm

      • Thanks for the typo catch!

        Technically, her official state is very much in the air. It’s only on the Prince’s insistence that Elena was referred to as a Journeywoman, after all, and he’s hardly in the mood to continue insisting that.


        2015-12-23 at 6:44 pm

    • Wow, that was definitely a sleepy-typo, I’m surprised you could even tell what I was going for there! Thanks very much, and I’m glad you enjoyed it


      2015-12-23 at 6:42 pm

  4. So, Maddi (Inky?), would you be so very kind as to have De Luca gift Elena her blueprint?

    Imagine the possibilities. Just… imagine. Whoa.

    I guess she’d become just like Little One, but even more powerful, because her power wouldn’t be limited to herself.

    This was an amazing chapter! That prince… He fell right for it :/ I really didn’t want him or the Princepessa to die. Staging a rebellion or otherwise, they were pretty swell.


    2015-12-23 at 5:04 am

    • I’m very glad you enjoyed it! There’s definitely a lot of power bundled up inside our Elena, although I’d imagine De Luca would think long and hard about whether or not he wants to give her the tools to unleash it to that extent.


      2015-12-23 at 6:49 pm

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s